Kiss With A Fist

"Excellent," she hums, then pulls another drive from her pocket and hands it over. "Use this one from here on."

 

"..." He gives her a flat look, staring, before he takes it. "Fine."

 

"Good," she hums, taking the papers and the drive. "I'll be in the office. Continue your work per usual routine. I'll give you direction shortly."

 

He flushes red with temper, but nods, turning back to his work.

This is not his day.

Maybe he'll get lucky, and she'll get herself killed like the last supervisor.

 

The hours pass, and there's no sign of her return from within the little office off of the lab. The door stays closed, and his assistants glance at him in concern. Abigail watches him especially, biting her lip and clearly resisting the urge to try to comfort him. He doesn't appreciate it when they acknowledge weakness, but they recognize his work for what it is.

 

He ignores them all, red-faced and scowling dangerously, as his hands move methodically through titrations and tests.

 

Abigail is the last to leave, hesitantly saying her goodnight, and asks him to "try to sleep tonight?"

 

He stares at her, eyes dark. "... I'll try. We'll get back to work in the morning."

 

"Okay... just. Hang in. I know you're going to get a break," she goes pink, dark enough that it almost hides the splash of freckles across her cheekbones and nose. "You're brilliant. They have to see it."

 

He blinks slowly, considering her words. Finally, he flashes a slight smile at her. "... Someday. The work is what matters."

 

She nods. "...and yours is some of the best I've ever seen. Uhm. Goodnight." She scurries out.

 

He smiles wider, looking... actually touched. "... Goodnight."

He'll work for a few more hours. Just a few.

Maybe eight.

 

He wakes to the feeling of a hand on his shoulder and breath against his face.

 

He freezes, jerking fast away, going for a gun he's not wearing. "Let go--"

 

The woman leaning over his shoulder gives him a cold look, face lit by the glow of the computer screen.

 

He glares angrily at her, and jerks farther away. "Don't touch me."

 

"I'll touch you if I want to," her eyes go back to the screen. "Your body is company property. Your opinion on the matter is irrelevant."

 

He growls, arms crossed. "That is not part of your prerogative."

The screen is blinking cheerfully, generating some sort of graph.

 

"That's what you think."

 

He stares, eyes dark and wary.