Dr. Harris Nomine + Mickey
Day 1
Seven years of research, seven years of planning and working and laboring, and it was finally coming to fruition. I checked his vital signs for the ninth time in five minutes, my breath tight in my throat, making my lungs constrict and whine for air. I did not care for my own health. For the first time, the machines were not hooked into him. His heart beat, he breathed, and every so often, he would make a soft noise in his throat, as if he was dreaming. Was he dreaming? I had not bothered to take that into account all of the days he had been alive, from the moment he was removed from the artificial womb to now. In all those years, he had not once opened his eyes, but I was at fault for not thinking he might be seeing something even with his eyelids closed.
"Doctor, he should be waking up soon," my assistant, Beatrice, murmured to me as she showed me the data she had collected, all neatly placed on a chart sitting on her clipboard. "Would you like to remain with him, or shall we allow him to get used to his surroundings on his own?"
"No, I'll stay with him," I replied, pulling a chair up beside his bed and sitting down on it. I did not want to say it out loud, but I did not want him to wake up alone. What if he was afraid? He would need reassurance, even if I was the only person who could provide it.
Beatrice frowned but did not speak as he returned to her station outside of the room. The room was perfectly cylindrical, most of the wall taken out so observatory windows could be placed. The bed and a few life-support machines were the only things in the room, as we wanted to decrease the chances of him being a danger to himself. I had only hoped we had succeeded, and that we would not have to end his life as we had the others. I could only hope he would not wake up and attack as the others had.
I sat for an hour beside his unmoving body, listening to the soft sounds he made as he no doubt dreamed. I wonder what he saw in his dreams, if he could see anything, or if it was all swirls of color and unknown sounds. I had worked intricately with his brain so that he would be able to speak, so that he would know what was around him and, if I had been successful, who I was. He would know I was not a threat.
Finally, finally, he opened eyes the color of rich amethyst stones, keeping his long lashes feathered over them to stop the invasion of the bright lighting. I motioned to Beatrice, and she decreased the lighting in the room so that it would not hurt his eyes. He smiled and opened his eyes all the way, taking in his surroundings for the first time, examining everything with a curious gaze not unlike that of a young child. For seven years, I had forced myself into my laboratory, working straight through the holidays, and, now, he was awake.
"Hello, Mickey," I whispered, reaching out to gently touch his chin, tilting his head so he faced me. "How are you feeling?"
Those full pink lips pouted slightly as he thought of how to answer my question. He looked cute as he puzzled over what he felt, trying to find the right words. After a few minutes, he whispered, "I feel awake," then jumped at the deep sound of his voice. Thanks to a quickened growth, seven years had put him at about age twenty-two. He had already physically and mentally matured.
"Sit up," I suggested.
He placed large hands on the bed and lifted himself into a sitting position, resting his back on the back part of the bed where it was tilted upward. He was somewhere around seven foot three inches tall, with lush crimson ringlets that fell down the broad expanse of his back to his slender hips. His skin was creamy and smooth, covered in freckles. He was beautiful.
"Where am I?" he asked, turning his eyes to me with such a sweet look of unshakeable trust.
I took a slow breath, examining him with awe. He was flawless. For the first time, my work had paid off. "You are in my laboratory. Do you know who I am?"
"You're. . ." He tilted his head to the side and offered me a sunny smile. "You're Harris. I know you."
I let out the breath I had been holding and heard a soft cheer arise from my underlings in the observation room. Mickey was the first to recognize me for who I was without being afraid. I could barely remember the number of others who had run screaming or attacked, having to be euthanized shortly after. I had insisted upon a proper burial for all of them, and I had wept freely when all of them had died. It was not their fault, but mine.
This time, there would be no blood on my hands. Mickey would live.
The door to the room swung open, and Mickey turned to watch as my assistants walked in, each of them slightly wary in case I was the only one Mickey was not afraid of. I watched his expression, his eyes, saw how he studied each one and silently mouthed their names to himself. None of them were wearing name tags. Another success.
"Do you have any idea how incredible this is?" Beatrice asked me, gesturing at Mickey. "We'll make millions if we can repeat this! Sir, we have to-"
"It can wait," I said softly. "I'm sure Mickey's not quite up to the strain of meeting an entire group of strangers and have them probe him for answers. For God's sake, he hasn't even had a proper meal yet, and already you want to run him off to the government and hold a press conference."
Mickey looked back and forth between us, as if sensing the tension, and murmured, "What do you mean by a proper meal?"
The assistants started to whisper to each other about money and publicity, things that could not matter less to me than they already did. Instead, I stood and helped Mickey do the same, noticing how he wobbled slightly when he stood. Of course, he had never used his legs, but we had done our best to keep the muscles in them strong. Evidently, we had accomplished that.
"Let's find you something to eat," I told him, taking his arm and leading him out of the room. Besides the assistants and the two of us, the lab was blessedly empty. Good. No undue stress meant no violence.
The kitchen was simple, had cabinets, a fridge, and a table. After I explained how everything was set up, I helped Mickey find something to eat that he would like. After a few tries of different things, he decided on vegetable soup and the carb-filled Italian bread Beatrice had claimed would stop our hearts before we could even taste it. It was rather adorable to see his nose scrunch up when he tasted broccoli for the first time. I hated the funny-shaped green vegetable as well.
Mickey hummed to himself as he ate, something quiet and relaxing, while I spooned some soup into a bowl and stood against a counter, watching him. He seemed perfectly relaxed here, which made me hope for the best. If he was happy now, it would not be difficult to keep him that way. Soon, even, I could have him at my own home.
"Are you coming to sit down?" he asked in that soft, mellow voice.
With a smile, I sat beside him. Only time would tell what would happen next.
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I can keep going if you guys like it. :3
