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Gurathin's fingers itched terribly. More precisely—the tips of his fingers. Even more precisely—the barely visible, long-healed scars beneath his fingernails. The fact that he couldn't reach the itching spot was driving Gurathin crazy, forcing him to grasp the handle of his teacup so tightly, that the thin porcelain was in danger of shattering at any moment.
"Gura, are you sure you're okay?" This was the second time in the last twenty minutes Bharadwaj had asked him this question.
"Huh? No, no, everything's fine. I'm just… It's nothing, really."
"Right."
Bharadwaj narrowed her eyes, clearly unsatisfied with this explanation, but didn't push further.
They were drinking tea on the terrace of her house on the planet, surrounded by a vast lavender field. The day was perfect, except for this damn mind-boggling itch, which, Gurathin knew, wasn't going away anytime soon. Ripping out his fingernails to get to the source of the irritation more and more seemed like a reasonable idea. Except it wouldn't help, either.
Usually, the adjustment period for new augments took several weeks, unless the body began to reject them for some reason. Gurathin's body accepted whatever his former employers (or, rather, owners) decided to enhance it with, without any objection. Until recently.
A few months ago—shortly before he went undercover to spy on Dr. Ayda Mensah; shortly before his target became his savior—he agreed to yet another procedure. New augments have improved his feed-navigating skills, allowing him to literally grab, hold, and manipulate numerous data streams with his fingertips.
The procedure was completely trivial, and, most importantly, optional. He could've just refused it without any usual… repercussions. The thing is, by that point, he didn't care enough to say "no". His mind was too mired in the "do the job, get your fix, get high, feel terrible until the next fix" cycle. But his body decided it had enough and expressed its protest not through pain, but through a severe itch in his fingertips. Sometimes it would cease, and sometimes it returned, even stronger.
This time, it was particularly annoying. Not the worst way his body had manifested its contempt for him for the years of abuse, but still in the top ten. As if each of these tiny augments had turned into a bunch of even tinier needles, scratching and irritating his fingers from the inside.
Would it help, pondered Gurathin, if he cut off the tips of his fingers? Not that he was seriously considering this option, but…
That thought must've shown on his face, or his trembling hands gave him away (so much for being a seasoned spy), because Bharadwaj put aside her tea and gave him a very concerned look.
"I don't want to sound rude, but it doesn't look like ‘nothing'. If you aren't feeling well, we can return to the station. Or, go to the hospital if… it's something serious."
Gurathin pursed his lips. He didn't want the stupid itch to ruin this wonderful day. It had been Bharadwaj's idea to spend the weekend together at her home on the planet, and Gurathin had happily agreed. He wasn't in a hurry to make new acquaintances here (Ayda's big family was the exception)—too many new people around, and too many old ghosts in his head. But Bharadwaj was not only comfortable to work with, but also just to be around. She and Ayda were the closest thing to friends he had in a long time.
The last thing he wanted was to burden Bharadwaj—or anyone else from Preservation—with his problems. These people had already helped him far more than he ever deserved. But lying to her would be even more offensive, even if it were a harmless lie.
Gurathin also put his cup down on the table and rested his right palm next to it, ignoring the tingling sensation that was building up in his fingertips again.
"It's all because of my newest augments. They've been acting up lately."
"In what way?"
"See those little dark scars under my fingernails?" Gurathin moved his palm closer to Bharadwaj. "The augments are underneath them. And they're itching like hell."
"Please tell me you've seen a doctor about this."
"My survival instinct may be terrible, but I'm no masochist. The doctor said there's nothing wrong with the augments themselves, they have settled successfully. The problem is in a different place."
"And where is it?"
"Here," Gurathin put his index finger on his temple. "It's a psychosomatic issue. Every time I look at the scars and remember what they're hiding, the itching starts all over again."
"What if you get rid of the augments? Would it help?" asked Bharadwaj.
Gurathin took a deep breath through his nose. The thought of someone cutting into his body again—even with the best of intentions—made him feel sick.
"No, I don't think so."
Bharadwaj narrowed her eyes again and said, "Wait for me here," before running into the house. A few minutes later, she returned with a box full of small glass bottles filled with something colorful. Upon closer inspection, Gurathin recognized them as nail polish.
"I figured that, since we can't do anything about the cause of your problem, we might as well try to cover it up."
Gurathin didn't know how to respond. It wasn't that he was against the idea—he just thought it was pointless. You can't just hide the problem and call it a day. He knew it because he had tried.
"What color do you prefer?"
"Um, I don't know? To be honest, I don't really care."
What's the difference, since he's going to take the polish off anyway, as soon as he gets back to his place? Maybe he should've just told Bharadwaj that he wasn't exactly thrilled about the whole thing. But she clearly wanted to help, and he couldn't bring himself to refuse her.
Ayda had told Gurathin to be bolder about saying "no" and setting his personal boundaries, even with people who meant him well, but… Everyone here was so fucking kind to him!
"Do you mind if I pick the color myself?"
Gurathin shrugged and gestured toward the box. Humming something under her breath, Bharadwaj began picking through the bottles until she finally pulled out one with dark blue nail polish.
"Here. I think this one will work. Shall we get started?"
She held out her hand, palm up, and Gurathin placed his hand on hers, slightly spreading his fingers. And almost pulled it away immediately when the brush lightly touched his thumbnail. It's not that the sensation was that unpleasant—just a slight tickle—but his fingers were too sensitive right now.
"If it makes you uncomfortable, I can—"
"Go on," exhaled Gurathin.
For fuck's sake! It's just a manicure, not another ordeal he has to endure, hoping things will get better. He could've simply asked Bharadwaj to stop, and she would've listened. But instead, he focused on keeping his palm still, gripping the edge of the table with the other hand.
Fortunately, with each new nail Bharadwaj painted, his fingers grew less and less sensitive. Her movements were precise and swift—she was trying to finish as quickly as possible, clearly sensing his discomfort. By the time they got to the second hand, he was barely feeling the brushstrokes at all.
"All done," Bharadwaj finally announced with satisfaction. "Now, we just need to let it dry."
Gurathin put both hands on the table and wiggled his fingers. The dark blue nail polish glistened slightly in the sun.
"Well? What do you think of it?" asked Bharadwaj.
"It's a bit unusual, but… not bad."
He wasn't sure he particularly liked it, but there was something calming about the weight of the polish on his nails. As if it added a thin, but tangible, protective layer.
"Anyway, just let me know if you need help with your problem again."
"Mmm, yeah, sure," muttered Gurathin, not very convincingly.
A few hours later, they returned to the station—it was already preparing for the night cycle. As much as they enjoyed this weekend, there was a lot of work ahead.
Gurathin was just getting ready for bed when he realized he'd forgotten to take off the nail polish as he'd planned. But there was also something else. All this time, ever since Bharadwaj had painted his nails, the itch hadn't bothered him. Of course, as soon as he thought about it, his fingers began to tingle again, but this feeling faded away just as quickly.
Completely forgetting about the time, Gurathin pinged Bharadwaj in the feed.
It worked!
Huh? Wha…? Her feed voice clearly sounded sleepy.
Did I wake you up? What an idiot! I just wanted to say thank you. Your idea worked. The itch is almost gone.
Oh, Gura! I'm so glad to hear it.
Gurathin hesitated for a few seconds before adding:
And can I borrow one of your nail polishes? I want to learn how to do it myself.
Sure, no problem, replied Bharadwaj. The dark blue one?
No, I think I'll go with black. It feels more like me.