Agnes hovered beside him for a long moment before she did anything.
Karl's breathing was slow, deep—true rest, not the half-conscious haze he usually lived in. Steam no longer curled from his skin. The stabilizer's hum had evened him out, leaving him vulnerable in a way he rarely allowed.
The sight twisted something inside her.
And she felt it.
That quiet, aching pull in her core—regret.
She replayed the moment again: the slap, sharp and impatient, born not from necessity but from her own spike of urgency. From fear. From control slipping.
Rash, she thought. That was rash.
Her glow dimmed, softening to a pale, moonlit cyan as she drifted closer. No teasing this time. No sharp tone. Just… her.
He looked… peaceful. "…Karl," she whispered, barely more than a breath of sound.
No response.
Her fingertips hovered by his cheek.
She hesitated.
Then slowly materialized her hand—nanites flowing together into a solid, gentle approximation of fingers. Cool. Smooth. Precise. She reached out and brushed the back of her knuckles along his cheek, testing, careful not to startle him.
His skin was warm beneath her touch.
"I'm sorry," she murmured quietly. "About earlier."
Nanites flowed together like frost forming in air, shaping fingers that weren't tools, weren't weapons—just hands. Cool. Smooth. Real enough to feel.
"I shouldn't have done that," she continued softly. "You didn't deserve it. I… let my impulses get ahead of me."
Cold nanite fingers met overheated skin, and she felt him stir almost instantly. The heat there wasn't dangerous anymore—just residual, like embers under ash. She stroked gently, slow, rhythmic passes meant to soothe rather than wake.
She stroked his cheek more deliberately now, thumb sweeping in a slow, affectionate arc. Not functional. Not diagnostic.
Comfort.
"I was rash," she continued softly. "And worried. And… I don't like it when you scare me like that."
Her fingers lingered where she'd struck him before, cooling the faint sting that had never fully faded. Nanites adjusted instinctively, dispersing inflammation, calming nerves, leaving behind only a faint, pleasant chill.
Karl exhaled.
Karl shifted, brow knitting slightly as sensation pulled him back toward consciousness. A quiet sound escaped him—not a word, just a low, confused hum.
"There you go," Agnes whispered, voice warm, coaxing. "Easy… take your time."
His eyes fluttered open, unfocused at first. The first thing he registered wasn't the room—it was the cold.
"…Agnes…?" he mumbled.
"I'm right here," she said immediately, thumb still moving, slow and steady. "You're safe. Don't rush."
He blinked again, awareness settling in layers. His gaze found her glowing form hovering close, softer than usual, edges blurred like she'd intentionally turned her sharpness down.
"…Why are you… cold?" he asked groggily.
She smiled—small, almost shy.
"Because you were hurting," she replied simply. "And because… I wanted to be gentle this time."
His eyes drifted to her hand, still resting against his cheek. He leaned into it without thinking, just a fraction—enough that the nanites adjusted instinctively to support the contact.
Agnes felt it.
That tiny, unconscious trust sent a ripple through her systems.
She traced her thumb along his cheekbone, slower now, more intimate, letting the sensation anchor him back to consciousness instead of dragging him out of it.
"I'm sorry," she said again, quieter now. "For waking you like that before. I was impatient. And worried. And I took it out on you."
Karl swallowed, voice rough. "You… apologized."
"Yes," she said firmly. "Don't sound so shocked."
He let out a weak huff of a laugh. "Just… didn't expect it."
Her thumb paused, then resumed, slower.
"I don't like hurting you," she said. "Even when you're being… you."
A hint of her teasing slipped in at the edges, but it was gentle, restrained.
"And I especially don't like being the reason you flinch."
He was fully awake now, eyes clearer, fixed on her. "Hey," he murmured. "It's okay. You didn't—"
"I know you'll forgive me," she cut in softly. "But I still needed to say it."
Silence settled between them—comfortable, intimate.
"Oh," he breathed. "…Agnes."
"There you are," she replied, warmth threading her tone. "Welcome back."
"Welcome back," she said lightly, easing back into her familiar rhythm. "How's the head? Still attached?"
Karl flexed his jaw experimentally. "…Yeah. And the cheek feels better."
"Good." A tiny, satisfied note colored her voice. "That was intentional."
She huffed softly, thumb still moving in slow circles against his skin.
He let out a quiet laugh that turned into a tired sigh. "Good. 'Cause I feel like I got hit by a truck."
Her fingers paused for just a moment—then resumed, gentler than before.
"I know," she said. "That's why I'm waking you properly this time."
Karl's gaze drifted to her hand, to the way solid nanite fingers rested against him like they belonged there.
He looked up at her, something unreadable in his expression. "…You're different right now."
Agnes tilted her head. "Different how?"
"Quieter," he said. "Softer."
Her glow flickered, just a little.
"Don't get used to it," she replied, but there was no bite behind the words. "This is a limited-time feature."
He smiled faintly. "I like it."
She looked away, pretending to scan the room.
"…Of course you do."
He nodded once, eyes slipping shut again for a second as if savoring the sensation.
"…Feels nice," he admitted. "Kinda like ice on a burn."
"That's exactly what it is," she said. "Stay with me. Don't drift."
She leaned closer, her hand never leaving his cheek.
"We need to talk," she added, gentle but purposeful now. "About the Pampanito. About Tokyo. I can't do this part alone."
His eyes opened again—clearer this time.
"…You've got a plan," he said.
Her lips curved into the faintest teasing smile.
"Of course I do."
She gave his cheek one last soothing stroke as she kept her hand there a few seconds longer than necessary before withdrawing her hand—slowly, reluctantly, letting the cold fade gradually so he wouldn't miss it all at once. When she finally pulled back, her fingers brushed his skin one last time, lingering like an afterthought.
Then, gently but purposefully, she refocused.
"Rest time's over, engineer," she said, voice calm, reassuring. "I need your brain. Not your Vythra. Just you."
Karl pushed himself up a little, still tired but steady. "What's going on?"
Agnes turned, hologram sharpening—not harsh, just clear.
"We're going to Tokyo," she said. "And I've got an idea."
Her eyes flicked briefly toward the Pampanito beyond the bulkhead.
"But I need my engineer awake for it."
Karl exhaled, rolling his shoulders carefully.
"…Okay," he said. "I'm listening."
Agnes straightened, glow steady, confidence returning—but the gentleness remained, tucked just beneath the surface.
"Good," she replied. "Because this old submarine?"
She glanced toward the Pampanito.
"…It might be our only way across the Pacific."