Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

[Regret and Acceptance]

{Four days after fully waking up, Time: Unknown, POV Taylor Anne Hebert}

Opening her eyes, Taylor awakens to the sound of footsteps getting closer to her, slowly lifting her head. She watched as doctor Constantinou and nurse Espérance walked through the doorway to her room. She noted that Constantinou was carrying a case with his right hand.

Setting the case down on the small table to her left, Constantinou turns to face her and speaks, "Hello Taylor, how are you feeling today?"

"I — I could be doing better, Sir, but I get the feeling that's not what you're here about."

"It is not, but it is good to hear you are recovering, please, if you would show me your arm."

Guessing which arm he was talking about, she slowly lifted the amputated appendage, when she lifted it up enough, he grabbed a small roll of sewing measuring tape from the drawer of her nightstand. Before he wrapped it around the stump that ends three inches below her elbow.

Noting down the measurements, he unwraps the measuring tape from around her arm, and puts it away before turning back towards the case.

Letting a mix of curiosity and hope into her thoughts and a small amount into her voice, Taylor speaks, "What was that for doctor Constantinou? What's in the case."

Opening the case with the clicking of its latches, he spoke as he grabbed whatever was in it and lifted it from the case before turning towards her and presenting it to her.

Her eyes widened when she could clearly see it, "A prototype, one based off of something developed in the late-seventy's to early-eighty's by a soviet scientist, and then later perfected by a now defunct PMC."

Staring for a few more moments, she swallows a lump in her throat before speaking, "H-how does it work? I mean, will I need surgery or something to attach it?"

Smiling at her, nurse Espérance spoke for the first time since Taylor had met her, "Not at all, and the arm itself is controlled by Myoelectric Control: The bionic arm primarily functions through myoelectric signals generated by your residual limb muscles. So when you flex specific muscles, sensors embedded in the arm will detect the electrical impulses, which are then translated into movements by a microprocessor within the device. Which allows you to control the hand's grip, wrist rotation, and other arm-based actions intuitively."

Staring at the nurse for a few moments, Taylor blinks before speaking, "I-I didn't understand half of that."

Taylor then turns to face Constantinou who, as he begins speaking, is hiding a small smile, while Miss Espérance sighed and muttered something about "Kids these days"

"What she means, Taylor, is that you will be able to move it just like your original arm, if with the ability to fully rotate your hand 360 degrees."

"Ohhh, cool," looking down at the arm she continued, "So, how will it attach to me?"

Turning the arm so she could look at the connection area, Constantinou spoke, "The anti-chafe padding on the inside is filled with a specially made gel, which upon the arm being put on, well your arm, will inflate and push any air out of the socket, allowing the arm to hermetically seal to the 'glove' that will be placed over your own arm."

"What about water or sweat? Won't that be a problem," she asked, looking back up at doctor Constantinou.

"No, not at all, the arm is fully waterproof, as for sweat, just press this button here," he flipped the arm over to expose a small recessed button on the inside of the arm near where it connects, "Just press this, and the gel will either expand or condense and allow for you to take it off if you ever wish too." The man said

"What happens when I regain my muscles? Will I need another arm?"

"Not at all, I've had it sized to fit an arm with nearly double the muscles you would've had at your current age, the only way this arm won't fit is if you take steroids."

Looking from the arm to doctor Constantinou and then to nurse Espérance, she looked back to the arm and thought about it before looking at the old man and nodding, "I'll give it a try."

"Good," doctor Constantinou said, then set the arm on her bedside before turning back to the case and retrieving what Taylor had to guess was the sleeve. He then turned back to her and stepped forward, removed the bandages, and slid the 'glove' on.

Doctor Constantinou then grabbed the arm, flipped it over, and slid it up the stump of her arm, holding it in place. He pressed the small button on the underside of the arm. Before Taylor then felt a small amount of pressure on the end of her arm before it faded away.

Hesitantly, she tried to close her now metal hand, the gray, and red colored fingers on the hand stuttered for a moment then slowly closed until she made a fist with a small click. Splaying her fingers, they snapped open, jumping slightly, Taylor then made a fist again, the fingers closed without the stutter, but still too slowly.

Looking up at nurse Espérance as she spoke, Taylor continued messing around with her new arm, "It will most likely take either a few hours or days for the chip to adjust and then process the electrical signals from your brain properly, so it's best to be patient."

Slowly nodding, Taylor looked at Constantinou and spoke, "Doctor Constantinou, when can I see my mom and dad?"

The man paused at the question and shared a look with nurse Espérance before he turned to face her again, "You should be able to see them tomorrow, in fact, you should have some visitors in the afternoon. For now, why don't we get you down to the physical therapy gym so you can get walking again."

While she had been in a coma for three years, Taylor could still tell when someone was avoiding a question, like that one time she asked her parents where babies came from.

But, in the end, she nodded and let them assist in getting her in a wheelchair, where she was taken by nurse Espérance down to the gym, while doctor Constantinou went to deal with other patients.

Being wheeled throughout the hospital was interesting, if just for giving her perspective on how rich a majority of the other patients are, and how miserable they are. "I've endured worse conditions when I had to escape that hospital in Cyprus… wait, what? I've never been to Cyprus, why did I—"

"Okay, let's get you up and out of that chair and onto these bars."

Said nurse Espérance, snapping Taylor out of her thoughts and bringing her attention back to the present, where she noticed the parallel bars in front of her before nurse Espérance walked around and up to her left side.

"Now, this is just a formality so that we can see how much exercise/therapy you'll be needing, we won't be doing anything serious until tomorrow morning."

Nodding at her words, Taylor carefully, and slowly grabs onto both bars before hauling herself up and out of the wheelchair.

With her muscles straining, Taylor held herself up, nurse Espérance placing a hand on her shoulder, ready to catch her if she slips.

Adjusting her grip, Taylor began slowly walking forward, absentmindedly noting her metal hand had left indents in the bar.

Over the course of minutes, Taylor would slowly move down the bars, until she'd stop halfway down, her arms and legs shaking from the strain.

Trying to move forward again, her right arm nearly collapsed out from under her, catching herself with the help of Espérance. She looked at the woman as the nurse spoke, "Maybe it's time to stop for today, we can always continue this tomorrow."

"No, I can do this," looking forward, Taylor looks down briefly before bracing her left arm and leg, she grits her teeth then slides her right hand and leg forward.

"Taylor—"

"I said I can do it, now let me do this."

"I seriously think—"

Looking at the woman again, Taylor speaks with a look of desperation in her eyes, "Please… let me do this. I just want to be able to walk into my parents' rooms and show them I'm getting better."

A look of… sadness? Briefly passes over nurse Espérance's face before she hesitantly nods and places her right hand on Taylor's shoulder blade, ready to catch her if she begins falling again.

Looking forward again, Taylor slides her left arm and leg forward, continuing to slowly walk down the parallel bar, her limbs shaking as her muscles strain in protest.

Back in her bed after a long day of exercises and tests, Taylor was now enjoying the fine dining of the hospital, which had surprisingly good food.

"Probably because the patients wouldn't accept anything less. Ugh, they're like pampered children.'"

Pausing in her enjoyment of her chicken and gravy, Taylor thinks over that thought before speaking softly to herself, "Not wrong, but where did that come from?"

Shaking her head, she goes to continue eating her dinner when her red and black metallic hand briefly and softly shakes.

Looking down at it while chewing on a piece of chicken. Taylor rotates her hand and forms a fist, watching the fingers flex before settling against her palm almost silently, the small *tink* barely audible to her ears.

Splaying her fingers, she watches as they open slower than earlier in the day, in fact, they opened at nearly the correct speed. Turning her attention back to her meal, Taylor quickly eats the cooling food before drinking from the cup of juice given to her with her dinner.

Finishing her food, Taylor places the tray onto a small table by her bed. Lying back, she stares at the ceiling, her mind whirling with a hundred thousand thoughts.

Rolling onto her side, her mind is awash in questions and desires, 'Mom, dad… where are you, why won't the doctors tell me what happened… I miss you,' Closing her eyes as a tear falls down her cheek, she thinks one final thought before falling asleep, 'I want to go home.'

In the darkness of her sleeping mind, a memory surfaces. "Okay, Ahab, Time to go." After he walks up to her, Taylor is able to see that the man is wearing only a hospital gown as he kneels above her, bandages covering his head and right forearm and hand, before seemingly answering an unasked question, "The woman? I – we – gave her a light. She took the short way down."

There was a pause that lasted a couple seconds before the man continued, "Who am I?" He asks before looking away and ducking his head, "You're talking to yourself." He then points at her before continuing, "I've been watching over you for —-e years.”

Pointing a thumb at himself, he continues, "You can call me Ishmael."