Work Text:
An effervescent sensation crawls down my spine as I see Daniel's eyes flick to my chosen injection sight. I do not pause to consider it, I never do. Instead I pull the syringe back, now empty, and step away. The ceiling lights that Daniel has recently installed illuminate the laboratory well, letting me select my next serum quickly.
This time, I silently promise. This time I will finally achieve true rebirth. My hands do not tremble as I take the second syringe and inject the short-acting pacifying sedative, a precaution which is reluctantly adhered to at my colleagues bequest.
We both wordlessly take our positions, myself checking for a pulse and my enamoured colleague checking for breath with a mirror. I briefly lament that due to our frustrating need to remain 'lying low,' equipment has to remain limited.
Seconds pass like hours as I mull over the myriad of possible mistakes made while developing this new formula for my reagent. Of course the instant aggression will be addressed with the previously administered sedative, but my concern is that I've yet to clearly identify the reason for the continued violent psychosis. To date my main theory has been brain cell decay, so I had been aiming for perfect freshness. Now however, I have new ideas.
My most recent amendment to the life-giving formula is intended to assist the subject in clarity of reason and to this end, I have prepared a list of questions for my colleague to ask if - when - our patient awakens. I intend to be too busy recording the behaviour and movements of our patient to trouble myself with talking, so it naturally falls to Daniel.
I'm interrupted from my musings by a terribly sudden twitch from the wrist in my grasp, and the distinct feeling of blood flowing in once-still arteries under my fingers.
Delight washes through me at her cadaver awakening, a trained emotional response after past years of painful failure. I note in my peripheral that Daniel is watching me, rather than our patient, with that perplexingly soft expression of his. I cannot give myself time to ponder this as I rush to ensure that the currently unconscious girl on our operating table remains stable.
When 40 seconds have passed, her vital signs are steady and consistent with that of a young female, giving me confidence that her body has fully recovered from her cause of death.
Shortly the sedative wears off, her eyes open and although she appears disorientated I note healthy pupil dilation. Daniel proceeds to test this and a few other stimulus responses thoroughly, in the proper manner of a practicing doctor. I remain uninvolved for the moment despite my normal inclination to be at the forefront of every experiment, as for now I am content with my given role of watching Daniel, observation and note-taking.
Given a few seconds to adjust, the girl seems reassuringly placid, although she does not yet meet my gaze and still remains silent. I momentarily flick my gaze towards my colleague and he notices the glance, responding with a smile that seems brimming with nerves, or perhaps anticipation. He knows that I am observing his capability, so I presume that to be the cause.
It occurs to me how ironic it is that despite his heart resting eternally on his sleeve, I can but guess at the inner machinations of his mind as his cheeks lightly flush. I assure myself it is simply excitement, which would certainly be understandable as I cannot sufficiently emphasise the gravity of the moment. Our life's work lies before us, potential perfection within our grasp. A million lives waiting to be saved, to be given a second chance.
With each breath the girl takes, tension rises as we wait for her to either begin writhing and screaming as with our other attempts, or to speak rationally and calmly, thereby irrevocably changing modern medicine. Dr. Hill had been an exception, we both knew that now. His powers over the human mind had rendered his case unique, and since that terrible night no patient has ever shown such ability to reason.
At long last she blinks, and utters a tremulous, wonderful question. "Are you doctors?" In the same beat she continued, "Am I ill?"
Daniel nearly drops his sheet of questions in his haste to reply. I note his naturally caring instincts as his demeanor subconsciously shifts to appear less intimidating, and he rapidly soothes her fear with reassurances of our legitimacy, of her current state of wellness. I myself struggle to hold back a triumphant expression, unbefitting of the scene.
I know full well Daniel's obsession with the gift of life is almost as severe as mine, so as he speaks to the girl in that reassuring manner of his I am not in the slightest bit surprised to see his hands trembling. No doubt a reaction to the fantastic implications of the scene unfolding before him. My eyes linger for a moment longer than needed on his adept fingers and well-toned forearms.
She answers all of our questions reasonably and we learn that she lived with her mother in Boston, that she was studying in university, and that her name is Emma. None of this matters of course, but myself and Dan share mutual utter exuberance at such improbable success. I had previously relegated myself to the role of note-taker, but with our shared high energy I cannot not restrain myself from questioning her as well. Mine are of course off script, and much more medical in nature, mostly inquiring as to the whereabouts of any pains or numbness. As I engage further with her, I move closer to Daniel. There comes a sense of warmth which although not unusual, I have always struggled to place.
I glance sideways into warm brown eyes. Perhaps at last, I finally understand it.
Inconsiderate of our desire for knowledge, she tires quickly, as most newborns do. When she is soundly asleep I can finally put my pen down, bursting with deep rooted excitement and unable to stop my muffled, delighted laugh. I cannot say for certain that there is a singular cause for my heightened state of emotion, as it's two-fold nature is now undeniable. It never was just the work.
Daniel practically springs upon me, his very being radiating joy. "My god Herbert, you did it." His eyes seem to shine as his hands firmly grasp both my shoulders. I do not object to my sudden manhandling. It feels as though it is right, as if we've earned this moment of intimacy.
His rapid breathing is close enough that I can feel it, I find myself thinking of every spat and dispute we've fought through to get to this point. His eyes flick over my features as a cat chasing a ball, and I consider every dreamless night we've shared slaving over books, notes, and beakers unending. His height over me increases as he brings his body closer to mine, and I remember every time we have shared secrets, every time we've spilled our guts to each other.
For a moment he stills, his strong bone structure illuminated perfectly by the green fluorescence of our concoction close by. The fruit of our labour, so incredible that most would think it impossible. As his hands trail uncertainly to my neck I know that for every time we have remained steadfast together it has finally paid off. No Meg, no Francesca, just us together in the place we toiled so hard in.
It feels like closure when he presses his mouth to my willing lips. I close my eyes and I know that our ecstasy is deserved, for the trials we have faced.