Bovine beginnings 2[Jason Pov]

“It’s not just that she’s a hot goth chick. It’s that she’s an alum from my alma mater and definitely saw at least one of the plaques they’ve dedicated to the research team I was on back in undergrad when splicing was still in its infancy.” She grumbled to her husband, the coffee doing little but adding to the anxiety. “What if she gets here and is disappointed to see me operating solo out of an in-home lab? I don’t even have separate centrifuges for synthetic and organic splice compounds. Hell, I'm a published researcher sorting my own applications!” She tosses one of the files marked rejected across the room onto an overflowing trash can. She groans and throws her arms in the air when it lands just short.

“Aoife, baby listen.” Jason placed his hands gently on her shoulders. “So many great things

Started in a garage or home office. Including Margocorp, y’know the mega-conglomerate funding our relo and your equipment. You filled out the application for a second centrifuge and an assistant last night before we had our fun anyways. Rome wasn’t built in a day.” He does his best to soothe her nerves. Her shoes had apparently gotten very interesting as she avoided his gaze. “Accept her application, give it a chance. If you don’t like her, fire her with two weeks pay and a letter of recommendation.”

Resting her hands on his wrists, she wiggles her way out of the contact. Rolling her neck with a few loud pops. Jason tuts and begins to massage her shoulders, working on the knot in her left shoulder she always gets while stressed. Jason looked over her more closely, not being the early riser of the two had had consequences. She was in the same green jumpsuit she wore the last time she was in the lab, and the time before that. There were small stains on her bust and the sleeves of her lab coat was tinted by a cacophony of dyes for tracking injections or labeling splices in synthesis. He sighs and lifts her up by the armpits.

“You are overworked, I’m approving this Sammy chick and you’re gonna like it. Not to mention you’re exhausted and wearing a dirty lab outfit. C’mon let’s get you in something casual and you’re taking a mental health day.” He didn’t wait for a response or dignify her protests, as soon as she was out of the chair he swept her up bridal style with a small “eep” coming from the doctor.

She playfully hit his chest as he ascended the stairs to their bedroom. He planted her on the bed with a kiss, then went to run her a hot bath in the tub and shower combo. When he came back she was quietly slinking back to the lab

“I was just gonna finish one more report, honest!” she protested as he scooped her back up. This time throwing her over his story and swatting her ass. This time he took her all the way into the bathroom, kicking and giggling at his display of concern.

“Strip and get in. I’ll wash you myself if I have to Aoife. Honestly I swore in sickness and health, so I’m gonna try and keep you in the latter against your destructive habits.” He huffed, plating her feet back on the ground. He pulled the labcoat off for her. Then watched her as she stripped out of the jumpsuit.

Aoife had neglected to wear a bra with her jump suit. A pair of white cotton panties and matching socks being all that was left once her usual garb was on the floor.with a look he got her to take those off too and sink into the warm water of the tub.

“Thanks hubby.” she said softly relaxing in her soak. He took the short steps to the sink in the master bath, digging around in the cabinet below to pull out a thing of bubble bath soap? Syrup? Not his forte so he just blasted one good squirt in with his wife. Her eyes lit up slightly.

“Do not get out of this tub until you feel lighter than when you got in, y’hear?” His drawl stuck out for a moment and she giggled. He grumbled something about northerners and left the bathroom. He had his own reports to do, checking his watch it was half past 10. Jason elected to do his usual final mid morning task, brushing up on his philosophy research, struggling to answer the oldest question of form Descartes had imposed. People weren’t wax, so being a thinking thing was great and all but the issue that now persisted in his mind was tied to the brave officer dilemma. Some of his patients had now lived post splice to a degree they don’t remember life before the changes, it troubled him to wonder if they were truly still his patients at that point.

If he was still himself since he could not remember how he did things while blind before being spliced. There were echoes of the blind Mr.Flynn, his incessant need to touch his wife, to rub his eyes at too bright of a light, the dull aching in the early morning when he wakes and doesn’t dare open his eyes for fear it had all been a dream. That Aoife was just a figment of an evil genius. He took a shaky breath, and counted time to inhale and exhale. Slowing his breathing and heart in turn. The panic on the edge of his mind fading away as he walked over to their window and stared at traffic bustling along in the city. Splicing was real, and he could see.

Two damp arms wrapped around his waist, a toweled form pressing to his back with hot breath on his neck. No such feelings in a dream.

“I feel so much better, so how about I make you feel good in turn? A nice little before lunch quickie?” Now that he could dream, but the hand groping his crotch proved it was entirely real.

"Aoife, if I ever say no, send me to a farm upstate."