Work Text:
Something was wrong.
I was patrolling—pacing—ART's corridors, restless, agitated. I had been feeling this way for days, on and off, thinking I was back to normal and then getting set off again. At first, ART had let me refuse its attempts to help. I had told it I wanted to sort it out on my own.
It was a weird impulse. I trusted ART. I had let it help me with the shit that had happened at the Adamantine colony. Usually I was fine letting it all up in my systems.
So why was the idea of it making me so panicky? Why did it feel dangerous?
Please let me help, ART said plainly. It had already asked several times, growing more worried every time I refused.
I trusted it. I trusted it.
How? I asked. That was as much as I could bring myself to say.
I want to review your recent memories to find the source of the problem.
I told myself again:
I trusted ART.
I couldn't make myself reply, but I granted it the access it needed.
ART was silent for the 0.9 seconds it took for it to finish examining my memory files.
It's Kaede's new perfume, ART said. Scent is a powerful organic memory trigger.
I stopped my patrol to lean my head against the wall. This sucked.
Probably something from before a memory wipe, I said.
Yes, ART said. I will submit an anonymous request that she not wear that perfume while aboard.
I was too emotionally exhausted to protest. Okay. Then, because knowing what was happening made me feel bad about not letting it help sooner, Thanks.