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The station lighting was cycling into its best approximation of Preservation's second dusk, and Ayda would normally be scrounging up something for dinner. Instead, she was sitting carefully at one end of her small but comfortable couch, very deliberately not looking at SecUnit, who was sitting at the opposite end. She wasn't hungry. She knew she should eat, should show her body that it was safe, that it was home. Her stomach, tied in a tense knot since her first idle moment of relative safety, disagreed, and she couldn't be bothered to fight it.
Something in her knew that the moment she reestablished anything like a normal routine, something would shatter. The numb, exhilarating experience of being rescued would be over, and she'd be trapped in the aftermath. She wasn't sure what to do with that, couldn't look it in the eye, but things like hunger were locked away behind it. Anyway, she told herself, SecUnit didn't like watching humans eat. It was a functional excuse to let herself avoid the question a little longer.
It had its own hotel room on the station, of course it did, but it hadn't let her more than a dozen meters away from it since it had recovered from the reckless thing it had done to save them on the company gunship. Ayda knew she should object, but if she was being honest with herself, she didn't want to be separated from it either.
She wasn't new to fear, not by any measure, but… Some experiences reframed everything that had come before. Split time into before and after, with a black hole space in between that she wasn't ready to acknowledge. Not yet. Maybe not ever. Fuck it. Ayda knew she would have to face what had happened eventually, but today wasn't the day.
She didn't want to be alone. She wasn't ready to be alone. She didn't have to be alone, not until one of them decided SecUnit should leave. Telling it she was fine, that it should stop fretting and go back to its hotel room, was simply beyond her. The best she could manage in the moment was not to ask it to hug her. She had thought she would never want to be touched again, but when it had come to her rescue, she had clung to its hand like a lifeline, dragging her out of that place. Out of herself. Out of her head, back into the world.
But of course, her head had followed her here. She could be taken from that place, and put back into the space she had once occupied, but she couldn't escape from the fact that it had happened. She was self aware enough to see the trauma forming in real time, but utterly powerless to stop it. She just wished, uselessly, that it simply hadn't happened. Too late for that now, of course. And there it was: the mundane, expected panic, like a halo of pressure too-tight around her skull. Like a migraine that hadn't started to hurt yet.
Or maybe that was just the implant. She still wasn't used to it. Wasn't sure she liked it, even though it had saved her life. Part of her wanted the thing out of her head, but knowing that SecUnit could always track her? It should have felt invasive, but it didn't. It was a relief for them both.
Still, she didn't think of herself as an augmented human, even though that was surely what she was now. She wasn't a creature of the feed like Gura. She liked… well, she had liked her body. Had liked the physicality of the world, the ability to shut her feed interface off and step away from the onslaught of information. Her body didn't feel like an escape any more. It felt like a minefield of memories she was trying very hard not to look at.
Something soft brushed the edges of her awareness, almost physical in a way she couldn't quite put words to. It didn't feel like a touch on her body, but nevertheless, it had been a touch. Something huge and warmly familiar had touched her with a startling gentleness. She flinched, pulling back in on herself, and suddenly, SecUnit's voice was in her head.
I scared you.
Her body was still tense, but she… the only way she could explain it was, some part of her reached back for the thing that had brushed her. It was instinctive. It was new, and strange. It was only the natural thing to do.
SecUnit? That's you, isn't it. She hadn't ever been good at subvocalizing, was probably muttering the words quietly to herself, but it didn't matter. It was only the two of them, there was no one here to overhear.
Your implant is more advanced than my initial scans suggested. I hadn't realized you would be able to feel me. It was warmer in the feed, more expressive. She was catching bits of what she was fairly certain were its underlying emotions through their connection. Was this what the feed was always like for it? No, it must be so much more. Her implant was fairly basic. She was probably only seeing a glimpse of its world. And this was its world, she was suddenly certain of that. I was trying to pull a diagnostic, it added. It sounded a little sheepish. I thought you wouldn't notice. I probably should have asked.
It must have picked up on her growing anxiety. It had been worried about her. She was starting to get used to the unique experience of having a corporate surveillance machine for a friend. Or, a whatever-they-were. Precise labels weren't important, and none of them really fit. What mattered was that they were important to one another. It had come back for her. It had saved her life, again. It was here with her now, when she couldn't stomach anyone else's company.
You should have asked, she agreed, but it doesn't matter. I would have said yes. You can pull whatever reports you want. She should have set a firmer boundary, reminded it that her privacy was important, but it was hard to pretend to care. She was so tired of protecting herself. Right now, she just wanted to let SecUnit's presence comfort her, to give it any access it needed to comfort itself. It brushed up against her again, and then stayed put, leaning into her. She could tell it was being careful. Even so, it felt heavy against her mind. Comforting, in a deep-pressure way. Like Tano's weighted blanket, but present and alive.
It didn't move away, and experimentally, she let herself relax into the contact. She brushed her awareness slowly against something that felt like static electricity, that felt like way the night sky looked from her farm on a clear night. Her curiosity must have been obvious, because it said, That's my firewall. Accidentally, she turned her head to look at it, remembering at the last moment to divert her gaze and look over its shoulder.
It was as stoic as ever, face blank, body still and posture squared-off and precise. How much of this had always been going on, just under the surface? All of it, always, it was obvious. She had just found one more layer of the same truth she had always known: it was a deeply complex person, designed carefully to seem like an object. But it didn't really live out there, in its body, did it? It lived here, in the feed. She had never really understood that before.
Realization hit suddenly, and she almost pulled away before she remembered that it it had initiated this contact, that it was still pressing itself carefully closer to her. I'm touching you, she said, uncertain. Is that ok?
Something rippled around her. It wasn't a sound. It was more of a texture, a movement, a local gravitational instability, a color. It felt like laughter. You didn't have to say it like that, it said, and it was pure relief to know it wasn't upset. It was joking. It's fine, though. The feed is different, it doesn't bother me in the same way. You can… it winced, but finished, 'touch me' as much as you want, in here. Is it ok that I'm touching you?
It was more than ok. It was a gift she had never expected to receive. It was the comfort she had been fighting not to ask for since it had let go of her hand. Since it had pushed her under the barrier and tried, again, to die for her. She needed this more than she was willing to admit. Her throat felt tight. She hadn't cried, not since her first night in captivity, not even when she had thought it might be dead on the floor of the company gunship. She didn't cry now, either, just said, please, do.
After that, they lapsed back into the kind of comfortable silence that defined most of their time together. This time, though, the silence felt different. They weren't quietly existing in the same space; they were reaching for each other, falling into something that felt half like a hug and half like a gravity well. She brushed herself along its firewall, feeling the static, feeling the traces of emotions it allowed to bleed through. The depth of them stunned her. She had known, but she hadn't known. It had been so scared. It was still scared. It was always scared. Now, it just wanted to hold her, to touch her, to remind itself over and over again that it had her, and she was safe.
She wasn't sure if it could feel her in return, but she tried to put her emotions into the way she was touching it, leaning into it, tracing the outline of the parts of it she could reach. You saved me, her touch tried to say. She knew it would never accept any of this in words. Thank you. I missed you. I'm not mad you left, I just missed you. I'm just happy that you came back. I need you. I'm sorry, I wish I didn't, but I do, I need you right now, I need you, I—
It moved faster than she could follow, wrapping itself around her completely and holding tight. Something overwhelming was happening between them. An emotional overload of need, presence, and relief; of the joy of being alive and together and the desperate burrowing comfort of coming closer, closer, closer.
It felt like her brain was being compressed in on itself, tight enough that there wasn't room left for anxiety. Like if they could somehow get even closer, there would be no raw-edged black hole of memories in her head. There would just be SecUnit, strong and warm and safe and needing her just as badly as she needed it.
And then, almost as if the thinking of it was the doing of it, she was closer. Its firewall felt thinner, its presence all around her more overwhelming, and for a glorious moment, there was nothing else. Just the two of them, just its presence in and around her, just her comparatively tiny self pressing back against it, greedy for every touch she had tried so hard not to want.
She reached, ran her awareness against one of the sore spots of its emotions in a way that was meant to be affectionate, to soothe the pain of its fear and guilt. I'm here, I'm here, you saved me, I'm here, we're together. She realized she was murmuring the words into the feed, directly into its mind. How long had she been speaking?
It wrapped impossibly tighter around her, saying, you're here. You're safe. You're here, I have you, I almost lost you but I didn't. It almost, almost hurt. She realized with a little broken gasp that it could hurt her so easily like this, without even trying. It was trying so, so hard to be gentle. To be safe for her to touch. To hold her as tightly as it could without breaking her. I don't want to let you go, it said, sounding almost as fucked up as she felt. Don't make me let you go, please don't make me let you go.
And oh, fuck, it felt so good. Her mind felt like it was on fire; electric and bright. It was like nothing she had ever experienced. The places they were touching were pulsing and wonderful, and it was touching her everywhere. It was making little sounds every time she moved against it. It needed something from her, and all she wanted was to press herself into it until she figured out how to give it what it needed. Something distant in her overwhelmed mind raised an alarm. Everything she was feeling was new, completely unexpected, but there was familiarity in the rhythm of it. Familiarity in the sounds they were making. She felt almost entirely disconnected from her body, but reluctantly, she brought her attention back to it.
Oh no. At some point, she had slid halfway down the couch. Her head was thrown back, throat bared, mouth hanging open. Her body felt like a live wire. She was breathing hard. And, oh deity, shame swept through her at the realization, but she was wet. Her clit was throbbing, and she was almost far gone enough to reach down, to brush a thumb across it through the damp fabric of her pants. Instead, she shoved her hands under her legs, holding them in place.
She needed to make herself pull away, to break their connection. SecUnit wouldn't be ok with this if it knew what her responses meant. It must not have realized the implications of what they were doing any more than she had. She hadn't even known that it was a possibility. Hadn't ever really thought about SecUnit that way, if she was being honest. They were friends. It trusted her, and its trust was hard won. What the fuck was she doing?
In the feed, it had her pinned, was twined around her, touching her everywhere, and it felt so, so good. Part of her hoped it would never stop. Don't make me let you go, it had begged her. Maybe it understood, was doing this on purpose? No. No. She needed to stop this, give it a chance to realize what they were doing, even if that meant it would leave and never come back. She couldn't extricate herself by force, it was so much stronger than she was. She was going to have to say something.
She was about to. She really was. She even managed, SecUnit, wait, but it was too late. She heard it gasp, heard a ragged, helpless moan spill from its vocal emulator, and then she lost track of her body entirely as its orgasm flooded her mind and pulled her down with it.
She had never come like this before, completely untouched. She had never felt someone else come like this, tumbling her head over feet like the undertow of a vast ocean. It was bright, sweet pleasure, pulsing and looping between them in endless waves, washing her words away and taking her shame with them. At first it was completely non-physical. Without her body's tendency to slip into hypersensitivity too soon, it felt like it went on and on, an infinite loop. Distantly, she heard herself make a sound like a sob, felt her hand pull itself free from where she had it trapped. Then, finally, her fingers brushed her clit and her body, already teetering on the edge, was coming too.
As she shuddered through the last waves of pleasure and came back to herself, she realized with horror that SecUnit had felt that part, too. Normally, it breathed so slowly that it was easy to forget it needed to breathe at all, but now its breath came in ragged gasps. She could hear fabric tear, as if it was gripping her couch cushion hard enough to rip it open.
She pulled her knees into her chest, riding out a final little aftershock of pleasure as she moved.
"Fuck. SecUnit, I'm—I didn't mean to—I didn't know that would—I promise I would never—" She couldn't get the words out. But SecUnit was still wrapped around her in the feed. It hadn't pulled away, hadn't cut their connection. Still, she made herself speak aloud, ashamed of how much she still wanted the intimacy of contact. Of how much better she felt, how she felt like she had reached some much needed catharsis, like there was more out there than just the numbness, like there were still good things in the world. This wasn't a good thing. This was—this was a violation. If her friend never talked to her again, she would deserve it.
Except, SecUnit was almost nuzzling her in the feed, and only some of the emotions bleeding off of it were horror. Mostly, it seemed relieved. More relaxed than she had ever known it to be. Soft, sweet, almost melty against her. It still wasn't pulling away.
Doctor Mensah, it said, in a voice that was somewhere between confused and astonished, still a little broken with pleasure. Ayda? It was a question. She didn't know what was happening, but that, at least, she could answer.
Yes, of course. If you wanted to call me Ayda, I would really like that. She sounded shaky. Very, very carefully, she said, Murderbot?
Yes, it said, right up against her brainstem. Only when it's just the two of us. But yes. For a little while, neither of them said anything. She was starting to think it wasn't about to flee in horror, and leave her alone with the black hole. She wasn't sure of anything any more. Then, in a small voice, still holding her with an aching tenderness she never could have imagined was in it, it said, It wasn't your fault. I… I wanted… I touched you. I didn't know that would happen either, but I didn't stop. I didn't want to stop. It was—Not awful. Do we have to talk about it?
For the first time since the day she was kidnapped, Ayda laughed. It came out stilted and strange, but it was a laugh. She could still laugh. She was still a person capable of laughter. That was—something.
She was a grown-ass woman, with two spouses and a house full of children. She knew how important it was to communicate clearly and directly about these things. But she didn't want to talk about it either, she just wanted to lean into Murderbot's feed presence and pretend that nothing had changed between them. Maybe, by some miracle, nothing would have to.
"No, we don't have to talk about it," she said, and its relief was so palpable through the feed that it was almost comical.
She heard the familiar hum of the kitchen printer turning on, and glanced a question at the spot next to its left ear. Humans need to eat at regular intervals, it said, with that too-familiar awkwardness. She snorted an embarrassing little laugh as the printer recipe for nachos appeared in the feed in front of her eyes. She was a creature of habit, had printed them several times on late nights during the survey when she couldn't sleep. Of course, it had logged every printer command, had known what she needed even though it didn't eat.
Suddenly, she was starving.