Work Text:
Most days are better. This isn't one of them.
He blames having too much time on his hands: a week off, now the fallout from the London mess has settled down. Miller said it like it was relaxing, rather than enough time for his brain to dig up old wounds. He muttered something about how stop moving and you can drown, and got a weary retort. You're not a shark, Jensen. Even you're human, Jensen. You never relaxed in your goddamn life, Jensen? Sounded something like that. Probably more formal. He was running on a couple days without sleep at the time, so he let himself get shoved out the office.
The first couple days, he managed not to think too much, aside from a scrap with some Dvali. Even caught a game while looking over the reports he wasn't supposed to be editing. He messaged Malik, and she asked pointedly if she'd ever get to see Prague. He's had worse weekends.
The third day, he wakes up from dreams of dark water and scalpels. He tries to get his head together and breathe, half-expecting to see his old place, to hear Megan working on something in the next room. It takes a second to hit him. He scrapes his hands down his face and feels sick when he sees black metal instead of skin.
He hasn't had a day like this in a while. Can't say he's missed it.
Turns out showering is pretty hard when you're trying not to look at the butchered mess of machinery that used to be your body, but he gets through it. He skips breakfast, even though the augs won't thank him later. The Sentinel would stop it coming back up, probably, but it isn't worth it for how off it'd feel.
He closes his eyes, inhales. He'd call it steeling himself, but all that comes to mind is some crack Pritchard made. Here I thought you were mostly titanium and fibres, Jensen.
He opens them and tries not to look down too often, shoving a cigarette into the corner of his mouth - and pausing. He checks the packet. He even shakes it a little, in the hope his luck has somehow improved in the past five minutes.
Shit. Empty.
He puts it aside with a sigh.
He only stops to get dressed, put his last cigarette in his mouth and light it before he shuts the door behind him, listening to the triple security system engage. Then he heads out to find the kiosk down near the station that doesn't keep hiking up their prices for "the weird American aug, not like he can read the labels anyway."
Once he gets onto the main streets, the noise of the crowds almost drowns out the noise in his head. But that fades once he gets close to the side alleys near the shopping district, and he focuses on the nicotine instead. Leans on a wall next to some multi-tool place, slips into the shadows where no-one's likely to bother to bother the clank, and takes a decent drag. Wonders about trying to get a hold of Alex, even though the Collective's more of a "we'll call you" operation.
"You don't understand. He moved like lightning."
He recognises that voice, though he can't put his finger on where from. It's coming from around the corner, and he considers looking before figuring it's none of his business and giving a mental shrug. He's done enough invading other people's privacy, one way or another. He tries to shut it out. She's speaking Czech, anyway. He could always shut off the CASIE translator, but he'll need it to haggle in a few minutes, and he's gotten good at not listening over the years.
"And there was lightning - I think it was his augmentations - "
Another voice, female. Scoffing. Disgusted. "Some clank saved you?"
Her voice is quiet. "Don't use that word. It makes you sound like a bigot." She sighs. "Without him, things would have been much worse. He sent the ones that weren't on the ground running."
Wait, that was - He knows exactly who they're talking about.
Yeah, now he remembers. The owner of one of the tech stores. She was opening up early in the morning, and some Dvali thugs had been hassling her on her doorstep, offering "protection." He really did try to keep walking, but he's never been good at walking past rather than walking into. Call it a cop thing.
"Then what was he?" her friend asks.
"You won't listen."
"Try me."
"He was... It was like he didn't even have to think. I've never seen anything like it. Anyone. He was beautiful, Marta."
He shuts his eyes. He's pretty sure he shouldn't be hearing this. He exhales smoke near-silently, tries to make himself move.
"What, so he was a handsome clank?"
"Yes - no - yes. But that's not what I..."
"You're some kind of aug fetishist now?"
"It wasn't the augs... They weren't... He was kind. And his eyes... It was like he understood."
For a second, he has to wonder when he took the shields down - then he remembers. She was still shaking. She flinched away from him, and he backed up, tried to show her he wasn't going to hurt her. He asked her in halting, mangled Czech if she was all right, if the Dvali were usually a problem. Probably came out more like Thugs shop often? The translation mods are good for some things, but not for that. He figured she'd get the idea. The Dvali owned half the neighbourhood.
No, she said, that's a recent thing. She smiled, still hesitating, and finally met his eyes. You know, you can speak English. I studied in London.
He took the out. The accent give it away?
That, and you're dressed like an American TV show.
He looked down at himself, a little self-consciously.
Do you think they will come back?
He looked back over his shoulder. It'd be better if they didn't.
"I don't remember you being a fool for a pretty face."
Her voice was flat. "He sat in the front for nearly an hour with me, just to make sure they wouldn't come back."
Well, it was his day off. Not like he had a prior engagement.
My name is Jana, she said eventually, after offering him tea. He refused, told her she'd done more than enough. You have a name?
Jensen.
Is that a first name, or last?
Last. Day off, he reminded himself. The first's Adam.
Thank you for keeping me in business, Mr. Jensen.
He nodded awkwardly, recalling the labels he'd read on the way in. You're the only place within five blocks that doesn't overcharge.
Mm. She looked at him, amused. So really, you were doing this for better supplies. Nothing to do with the goodness of your heart.
He inclined his head, letting that be an answer.
What brought an American to Prague?
He considered his answer, knowing most of it was redacted and red tape. Work, mainly. He looked down and realised that a plate had appeared on the table next to him. It had some kind of shortbread on it. He glanced back up.
Are you police?
I... Not anymore. Not for a long time. Just bad at keeping out of trouble.
I thought you couldn't be. At his questioning look, she said, Too nice. She laughed at the look on his face, and there wasn't fear in it.
"Did they come back?"
"No. And the crowds came in, after that. Enough people to make the Dvali hesitate."
"You got crowds with some aug glaring at them?"
"He was... quiet. Not glaring. I didn't even see him leave. But he probably saved my life. Or at least my store. I'd only seen the domestic augmentations, the construction augs. I'd never realized - the ARC posters."
"The yellow ones at the station?"
"Those. There's a reason they paint augs like angels."
He stares at the opposite wall, unblinking. Drops the cigarette stub and crushes it underfoot, and pauses. He looks down at his fingers, considering the glint and shine of sunlight on metal.
"And that's not overdramatic at all," her friend says, with a laugh.
"I know, I know. But I can't help thinking it."
"I always knew you liked shiny things, but this is a whole new low. Come on. I'm making you tea."
He steps out of the alley and keeps walking. Coffee. Maybe coffee'll help him wake up, after the kiosk. He keeps walking, and in the sunlight, he blinks away the last of the nightmares.