Without fear

GUESS WHAT MOTHERFUCKER

GUESS WHAT MOTHERFUCKER

She bit down on her bottom lip as she smiled briefly. Looking away from Austin, eyes falling on the exit for a moment. Tara was afraid to think of what was going to happen once they went their separate ways. She sunk down farther into the bench and looked up at him, her fingers coming to her face to poke her cheekbones. 

"I always thought reincarnation was kind of dumb. I mean, I don’t want to die and come back as a different version of myself. It’s still not me. I’d rather just die and not come back. Could you imagine what it would be like to just vanish, but have to come back and be the same person with no idea? I’m missing chunks, and that’s enough for me to know I’d fucking hate that," her fingers dragged down her face slightly until they fell into her lap. Long slender digits lacing together as she sat with a lack for words. What would she say to him?

Would she tell him how much it meant to her that he was validating her? That he was trying so hard — or, maybe he wasn’t — to make her think she was worth something before they pulled the plug. She knew what most people thought of her, that she was defective. A miscalculation. It was nice to at least pretend that someone disagreed with them. The idea of it seemed to give her some sort of peace. Hell, if he was genuine then… Well, then she hoped he would survive this no matter what. Selfishly, she wanted someone in this world to remember her as something more than just a broken machine. Desperately, she wanted to be remembered simply as Tara.

"I’m glad I found you, Argentina."

She closed her eyes and tilted her head to the side slightly, her ear touching her shoulder. A smile stretched across her lips, and a light of amusement in her soft blue eyes. The nickname was as stretch. A call back to a different time, when things had been so much simpler for her. When she had been Tallahassee’s shadow, when she had a home. But it was something they could share. A subtle reminder that they had been there long enough, that they shared some sort of history through Tallahassee. And that — for Tara, anyway — was comforting.

Tara had never really understood the idea of having a home, she imagined some of the other A.I. might have, but she never did. A side effect of Tallahassee for an agent, perhaps. Of having a man who had never had a sense of peace constantly inside your head. He had told her once that she was his home, and she had decided in that moment to make him her home as well. But she had learned a lesson through him, she had learned that putting your roots down into another person was a dangerous thing to do. Because people were fickle and fleeting things, and eventually there would be nothing left to call a home. Her hand slid up to the chain around her neck and she looped a few fingers around the metal, using it to hold her arm in place as she let it hang loosely. The last physical pieces of Ellis Worthing. Such a strange idea.

At least if they shut her down, there would be no more Cheyenne. No more remembering Talla. No more being forced into someone’s head, being forced to put down roots in someone’s head. The Director had once told her that to lose the aspect of choice was to truly understand humanity, and she had no doubt her death was included in that.

"I think if it had to be anyone, you make a good friend for the end of the world," she untangled herself from the necklace and raised her hand out. Awkwardly, really. Tara wasn’t the best at a lot of things, and that included the art of physical communication. In fact, when it came to that, she might as well be blind, deaf, and dumb. But still, in moments like these she tried. She tried, because as much as she hated it, and is much as she wanted to cringe away from touch, she also craved it. A different kind of connection, a reminder that she was not alone. 

Finally — in a way similar to something Helena had done to her — she let her hand fall gently over his hand. Tara gave him a small squeeze before pulling away quickly and moving her hand down to pull her foot up onto the bench. Sitting now with her legs curled under her and her hands secured safely in her lap, kept in check. Far from doing any more harm. Had she been able to, she might have felt a small warmth radiate on the apples of her cheeks. Luckily for her, there was no blush. There never would be. 

Had she thought on that, it might have made her sad.

“Christ, it's been awhile since anyone called me that.” It was almost humorous that the person who pulled them back away from the finer details and gruesome outcomes of life was the man with no filter. Tallahassee had never been Austin's favorite person, the two of them unable to be in the same room without some petty little interaction. Out of all of the Agents on the ship, Tallahassee had been the most frustrating. There was no answers behind the nicknames or bizarre behavior no matter how long Austin stared. All he could find was baseless, unanswered aggression. Looking back only caused more confusion and pointless irritation. The man was long dead.

Sort of, at least. Tara was his AI in the beginning, the two had been paired up and shipped out together. A large part of her was him, or at least had origins in his personality and reactions to things. She was far softer, or at least was more compassionate about the nicknames and threats of violence. Not that he really knew who she was on her own, communication had been very sparse. A habit of avoidance that hadn't died until they were dying. Tallahassee would have been livid.

It did seem fitting for the two of them to have a conversation on something that was ignored out of denial. The others didn't talk about death because they were ignorant, not even because they were afraid. It wasn't possible to fear something that didn't exist. Tara had been someone he had never really had a chance to know, someone he didn't know he wanted to get to know. Between being on another team and being protected by the ghost of a psychotic man with a punch that could hospitalize any normal human being for months, Austin had just learned to stay away.

What a waste. The whole idea of teams not interacting with each other. The idea of a single agent and a single AI only being capable of looking out for each other. It was all a waste. Everyone was dying around them and no one managed to reach out and try and connect. He had always assumed it was out of fear of going through the loss of a friend, but now as he stood here on the edge of the cliff he wished he had tried a bit harder. Not out of selfishness, but out of some small ounce of hope that there was more of an army willing to fight for him. For her. For anyone who step foot onto the field. The Equniox was a lonely place to leave.

Topeka had the right idea when he had forced all of the bonding and all of the silly team events. The game of scrabble that had gone off kilter had been one of his best memories looking back. There were moments of easy conversation. Out on the field there was never a doubt that there was someone there watching your back. Not once had he worried about a gun pointed at his back. He should have written that down in his note to Denver who absolutely had to be the next leader of Beta. It was a feeling that they should never have given up so easily. He wondered if any of the others noticed or cared.

“Hah, thanks. You're not so bad yourself. Even with the nicknames,” he paused and turned to smile at her, hoping the earnest gratitude he felt would show through. The night would have been very different if he had sat there alone with his thoughts. “I'm glad you stayed. Really, thank you.”

It was better just to vocalize his thoughts instead of depending on his faulty expressions. Especially when he felt the weight of her hand rest against his own, which was both warm and cold at the same time, and give a firm squeeze before the pressure was gone. It was strange. The feeling of unexpected touch was one that was usually never welcomed, never hoped for. It made him squirm and cringe, and leave the presence of whoever had intruded his personal space. Here he only flinched for a half moment before relaxing again, and it had been more out of surprise than it had been discomfort.

It made him wish for those days he and his sister had spend lounging. She would sprawl out and rest on him, while talking about whatever book she was reading or whichever boy she was tormenting for the time being. He missed the positive touch of someone he felt like he could trust. He hated that he had gotten a tiny taste so close to letting go. It wasn't something he would seek out or demand even if he did survive, it would be a tiny footnote in the back of his mind. One that would go untouched for fear of ruining what had been a final moment where he felt semi-normal. Or at least a moment where he wished he was normal.

If he had been normal he would have been inclined to return the gesture.

“Hmm, six hours to do anything...well. I'd love to sit down and eat a metric ton of ice cream right about now, or maybe have a nice, alcoholic something or other. Maybe on the beach, no, on the lake I grew up skating on. Maybe go for one last drop,” he closed his eyes with a gentle sigh. If he pretended hard enough, the brisk air that hovered above the floor felt similar to the frozen lake through socks and skates. The bitter smell of metal was too overpowering for his memory of fresh snow and trees, though he was pretty sure he could remember the smell of used goalie pads over everything else. It was a silly wish. A pointless way to spend his final hours. “Maybe smuggle out a few friends with me. Teach 'em how to play hockey.”

The thought of taking out the Director crossed his mind. Ending the project and shooing everyone back to their old postings. It was a very tempting thought, one that might be the key to sparing his life. He supposed going out a hero would have been nice.

They could have dropped him on some random planet that was under attack and leave him there to fight alone. It would have been cheaper, no body to dispose of and no pesky medical reports. It would have made for a good story to send home. If it would be sent home. Phoenix was more likely to tell an embarrassing story if he told one at all, and even that depended on him following through on the promise.

The bright red lipstick and high heels had been traded in for more combat appropriate attire, leaving Andromeda back in simple lip gloss and combat boots. It was a sad state of affairs, but one that was necessary – at least in short bursts. Even her hair had been pulled back up into it’s simple, military standard bun, loose golden curls tucked neatly away from the collar of her uniform. She had arrived at the training room prim and proper, and ready to participate in anything FILSS could throw at Agent Austin and herself.

Which, given everything that already had been – specifically the alien attack and the training session with Tara – wasn’t likely to pose any kind of real problem. She arrived a little before Austin, a rare surprise, and busied herself with running over weapon selections. Andromeda was, of course, completely equipped with her own weaponry, but she couldn’t help deny the lure of the heavy pistols some of the Agents had. Sleek, elegant things, much more precise than her own shotgun. Perhaps useful for longer distances? She picked one up and played with it, getting a feel for the weight of it in her hand. It was easy enough, a few adjustments here and there, and the weapon was more of an extension of her arm than a foreign entity. No flourishes, no extravagance. There was no need to show off with no one around, nothing to prove to anyone. Andromeda was confidant in herself and her abilities, whatever arena they were in.

She shifted her stance and considered the far side of the room, picking a random target in the bright, sterile lighting. Without hesitation, she emptied the clip at it, and sniffed. Adequate. Her lips pursed as she lowered the sights and considered the neat little grouping of hits. Simply adequate. Not the perfect that it should have been. She should be splitting the arrow, so to speak. But instead it remained adequate.

He had been dragging his heels a bit instead of just jumping in. His morning run had gone a lot slower than he would have liked, but the pace had been dictated by aching knees that cried out with each stride. It had put him far enough behind that by the time he had completed the circuit he was forced to skip out on several sections of his morning routine – which had become increasingly frustrating as he walked past the kitchen to attend to the thousands of things he had to finish up before the day was done.

Most of it had been difficult to focus on. There was a building haze of fatigue and pain that seemed impossible to clear, no matter how many painkillers he took. Scheduling had been a nightmare, and following up with notes and video from the training sessions had almost put him over the edge. He found himself having to take small breaks to pace to keep himself awake and focused, which had the downside of aching feet and tired legs before he hit the halfway mark.

There were several reports and tapes he had to rewatch several times, either because he dosed off halfway through or he just couldn't remember what he had read or watched. There was a point where he knew he should have just cut himself off and let his mind rest. It would have been the smarter option. The stubborn part of his brain wasn't at all interested in listening to reason, instead keeping him struggling to pay attention until the small chime of an alarm called him away to the training rooms.

The walk to the training rooms had been uneventful, the hallways quiet as everyone had stuck to their own routines and habits. It seemed like everyone else had slipped into life on the ship again without any trouble. Part of him couldn't help but be jealous. He stepped into the empty room with his armor and weapons, grumbling as he yanked on the durable undersuit before starting to pick up the green plates.

Each section was carefully secured and tightened, his hands able to go through the practiced motions without a single thought. He couldn't keep his mind focused on anything in particular. His eyes would refocus on the texture on his armor, the gashes where the color had been removed drawing his eyes to especially damaged areas. If he continued to be under this much fire he would have to replace the whole set.

He was less than amused by that idea. It would mean he had to spend time breaking in new armor. He'd have to put up with armor pinching and shifting while it formed to him. With a frustrated grumble, he picked up his helmet and tucked it under his arm. No more stalling, he was already late enough. Andromeda would be sure to remind him of his lateness, and as he ran his free hand through his hair, his appearance would be criticized shortly after. Best to get the worst of this over. Putting on the best pleasant face he could muster, he stepped into the painfully bright room.

Even if she hadn’t traded in hers for this dress, just as all the other female agents and units had done (and she complied with the trend, not wanting to stand out), she thought she would have looked uncomfortable by comparison. Maybe it was all about mindset—in spite of her training, Helena still didn’t regard herself as a soldier first, and she had never been a marine, like him or several other Freelancers. It was moments like these that caught her off guard, made her wonder what she was even doing out here. The insanity of having an A.I.—mechanoid—implanted into her brain aside, how had this become her life?

And then she looked back—Austin was watching her, while she was looking daft. Shit. What was he saying? “It’s been all right, for the most part,” Helena answered a half-second late, stepping a little closer now that she had been welcomed into the corner, standing at a proximity easiest to carry on a conversation. “I hope you’ve been having a decent time of it, as well. I can’t complain, really—I managed to get some errands done, and see things I’d never thought I might.”

Idly, she swapped her champagne between hands; the glass was getting too cold for her palm, and too warm for its contents. “And I think it’s been healthy for everyone to have some space to themselves.” She was still uncertain if the timing was appropriate, but she was starting to lean towards the positive. Beyond the fact that the Equinox was in severe need of repair, had they stayed cramped together any longer, the tension would’ve built too high and something even worse would have followed.

Helena turned so that she could watch the room and its occupants, while still mostly facing him. “I am ready to get back to routine, though…” she murmured, a sigh edging its way into her voice. And then she remembered, and felt stupid. Insensitive. (Hadn’t she been in this position before with him?) Yes, for the most part it would be back to business instead of this dragged out indolence, but it wasn’t the same. “Or as close as we can to it. I’m sorry, about Acadia, and Gem.”

His team. His friends, too, probably. Taken out by one of hers—and fucking hell if Cheyenne wasn’t her responsibility, but there were times when she thought— If she had just talked to her more, had gotten her partnership with Tara to work, if they had been together during the attack, if only— If only.

It was troubling that when he reflected back on shore leave, all he could think about was how thankful he was that his team hadn't gone out and gotten in trouble. He knew at lease one of them had broken the law – the disturbing part of it was that it had been his own AI who had committed fraud on a very large scale – and at least one other member had managed to get themselves into a personal disaster. Considering what they had been through, two or three out of the group getting into trouble wasn't bad. Fretting over them, however, had made for an exhausting time.

The alone time had been nice. He had forced beta to meet up once, to talk things over and make sure everyone was still alive. Other than that, it really was a good move for the majority of the project. It gave them a chance to think and reset, maybe even put themselves back onto their feet and ready to go. That, or they were dreading the trip back to the ship. After all, the last time they had been on the giant metal death trap they had lost five people. Being kicked off right after that to go sit around in the sun and think may not have been the best timing. Though, this way no one on beta would accidentally run into Cheyenne and beat her to death. This formal event was the first real test on how things had changed.

He turned to look at her as she wished for routine, following it up with an apology over Gem and Acadia. While he was on the same page when it came to a steady routine – he was looking forward to a solid 8 hours of sleep – it was difficult to start piecing things together knowing two wouldn't join them. It had already presented a problem when they all met up earlier that week. Denver had done his best to be polite, and had covered up the ache very well. Olympia on the other hand had already shown that the wounds were still raw and painful. They would both have to go back into training, into the haunted hallways, and eventually muster up the courage to get back into their armor. They would have to do all of that without their usual company. Denver would have to do it with a brand new partner, he had no time to mourn and adjust.

“Ah, I-” he frowned, unsure of what to say. He wanted to apologize to her for whatever his team inevitably would do. He wanted to apologize over the fact that she had someone who had killed teammates, and wouldn't be punished in any official way outside of her AI being taken away. None of those sentiments seemed appropriate for the occasion. “We'll adjust, we always do. We've got no choice.”

Austin just hoped this time around things would less explosive. He shifted his gaze to the glass in his hand and cursed himself for poor phrasing as the bubbles flew up to the surface. At least he hadn't said it out loud.

There was a moment of hesitation on his end when she brought up Tara's transfer. Helena had mentioned at one point that she was friends with Tara, even going out of her way to thank him for being a decent human being. It was a relationship he hoped they both maintained, it was good to have friends on other teams. Especially with tension being as high as it was between the two teams, it was nice to see someone who still appeared to be willing to step up and fight for Tara.

She sat up slightly, propped up on her elbows to look out at the beach he was referring to. A small, but amused sound escaped her. A breath, barely more. She gave a small shrug and took a moment of silence to think about how she would respond. 

"A bit tan and a bit blue. Too salty, and I ran a diagnostics earlier, I legitimately have sand in places that do not exist,” she paused again and let a small smile touch her lips before brushing the tip of her nose a bit lazily. “It’s perfect, really. Just leave me here, honestly. Just take the ship and get outta’ here. I’m fine in the sun, thanks. I have to say though, it’s a shame I can’t tan. But at least there’s no risk for melanoma. An upside to everything.”

No, not everything. She tried to think of Helena’s words, how she had told her that even though it had taken such tragedy, things were finally working out for Tara. The older woman had tried to put a positive spin on things, and it was hard for Tara to keep that in mind. Her immediate reaction was always to retreat a place of desolation. Since Tallahassee’s death, she had been more of a ‘glass half empty’ sort of AI. Did the AI even have types like that? Certainly they did. Otherwise they wouldn’t have AI like Peter. Peter. Peter. She felt the proverbial lump in her throat, she hadn’t sought him out since Boston’s death. It had been such a shock to her that she wasn’t even sure it would fully sink in until she was back on the ship. He had left her a flower crown that she had made out of one of Cheyenne’s stolen blouses, something she had given to Boston. She really could have been more considerate. She should have found him right away, but she didn’t. She was too selfish to surrender what few moments she could have here on Solace. 

"Almost everything, anyway."

Tara pulled herself up farther, no longer needing her elbows to support her. Instead, she rested her chin on her knees and felt the warmth of the sun touch her mostly exposed back. A few strands of hair falling from a poorly executed braid. She reached out into the space between them and took a small handful of sand, closing the distance and letting the sand slip out of her hand and onto his leg. As if the act would dismiss the words that had just escaped her, a small action to replace a smile she refused to force. 

"I built a sandcastle earlier, or I started to but then I got bored. I’d have been a shit kid, I just know it." 

Not that he had really thought of anything beyond an opening line, which he hoped wouldn't turn into a problem. Knowing his past interactions it would be something that would come up and he'd have to default to something ridiculous, like bad poetry. That wouldn't be an awful way to talk with her at least.

He let a hearty laugh escape as she broke the silence with a wave of 'complaints' and turned to look at her. A pristine smile was quickly hidden behind her hand as she lounged in the sun, something he thought she would never get the chance to experience. It suited her. There was something very calm about her here, the chaos of war a distant scream in the background. Her fair skin blended better with the saturated blue water, it wasn't the stark contrast of her skin against the abyss of space or the cool metal walls that usually surrounded them.

“Sand is really good at that. The longer you stay the worse it gets,” he turned his focus to the waves and sighed. He missed this. Sitting on a piece of land, not worried about being shot at or hunted down. “Mm, I promise not to turn you in as long as you don't force me back either. Or make fun of the sunburn I'm bound to get.”

A small part of him was saddened by fact that no matter how happy he was here, there was no real escape from what he had signed up for. Chances were there was no escape for her either. It was still tempting to just go AWOL and hope whoever chased after would have some sympathy and drop the issue. He wondered what she would do with the freedom to leave it all behind. To do whatever she pleased without fear of someone shutting her down or dragging her back to hell. He was particularly fond of the imagery of her in a crisp chefs coat, learning how to turn something she enjoyed into a full blown passion. A small little bakery on the corner of a street in the middle of nowhere, far from the reach of war.

He wished he could see himself doing something like that. Cooking lessons filling his days before turning back into a rink rat. It was a far off dream, one he knew he could never have. The minute he enlisted that silly little dream of his was buried, no chance to bring it back to life. Not even Frankenstein style. If he left the project, which was tempting, he would find a way to go back to being just another no-named soldier. Maybe his old squad would take him back. The sad truth was that there was probably room. He hadn't kept up with any of them, he had already said his goodbyes knowing full well that the chances of them seeing each other alive again were close to zero.

He had been lucky enough to escape death. A cool breeze brushed past his face, rustling his messy curls, and all he could do was close his eyes. Lucky was a term he wish he would stop using most days. In the last year alone he had witnessed enough deaths to make him ready to leave. Gem and Acadia had been the most recent losses, and their deaths were felt more than he would have ever guessed. He had gone through losing Topeka, and watching Topeka lose Tallahassee. He'd watched gamma lose a rookie, and alpha lose three highly valued members. Counting all of them it hardly seemed like anything compared to the deaths before he joined. For whatever reason, these seemed harder to swallow.

Part of it, he reasoned, was that Gem and Acadia had been ripped away from his team by someone who was supposed to be on their side. They hadn't had a chance to live or experience anything, and here he was sitting on a beach soaking up the sun. Something he had done before. Something he could have lived without and never known it was missing. It was beyond unfair, it was something that deserved harsh punishment the Director would never dole out. The universe had to have something planned, and if it didn't he wasn't completely against the idea of the same punishment he had witnessed carried out by other soldiers on the field. Hell, even if he had to bend the -

He stopped and opened his eyes as sand rolled down his leg. For a brief moment all was forgotten as he tilted his head just slightly and watched the small grains fall from her hand. He stretched out his cramping fingers, unaware of when they clenched and trapped a fair amount of sand.

“It really is a beautiful day out. Suppose silver linings have made themselves plentiful recently.” His voice was a lot more hollow than he had imagined it would be. He should have made a note to work on it. He didn't.

Instead, he turned to look around for the hints of anything that could look like a sandcastle. He knew was long out of sight – at least it would be if her pride had won out over her desire to sit around – and offer a small smile in the brief silence that washed over the conversation again. He waited for the tide to break, taking the time to recenter himself.

“Nah man, sandcastles are something you build with other people. That's most of the fun,” he paused as he shifted into a more comfortable position. He stretched out the leg furthest from her, the muscles cramping up in response to all of the work he had put in on an injury. “When I was a kid, I was always assigned to digging up sand and making moats. That's really all I was good at, I was way too fussy to do any building. I was a pretty alright kid despite my inability to build sandcastles.”

Kate had always done the building, and had always enlisted the help of their parents before darting off to go play in the water. By the end of the day it was nothing but a lump on the ground long forgotten by those who had built it. He kept that thought to himself. Chances were he had already revealed more personal information that she wasn't at all interested in. He really should have cared about that fact more than he did.

How lovely the environmental controls…?

Was he joking? She couldn’t tell when she turned to look—he just had that kind of face. Honest. Was this what they had really come to? How absolutely sad. How oddly funny.

Helena failed to stifle a snicker, which quickly broke into a full giggle that she couldn’t stop. It took a moment to regain control of her breath, “I’m sorry, I’m not— I’m really not laughing at you, Austin, please don’t think that’s it.” Helena wasn’t trying to make fun of him, hated to think he might be insulted, and reconsider whether or not she was a person worth his time. No one liked to be mocked, and she wasn’t trying to do that to him. She waved a hand, “This is just ridiculous, is all. ‘Environmental controls'…” She snorted again. How lost were they to normal social conventions that they were scraping the barrel for topics and landed on that?

Oh, but she felt so bad—he’d been trying in earnest (at least up to that point because she really thought he was joking) to sort out a topic of discussion. She hadn’t been doing much better. “Sorry, really, I just… I feel like we’re both getting worked up over something that ought to be simple.” Helena bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself from grinning idiotically, reducing her wry amusement to a kinder smile, “We are people. I think we should be allowed to behave like it.” From time to time, at least—it didn’t benefit anyone to allow personal issues to override common sense during a mission, obviously. But in the downtime, there didn’t always have to be a frigid air of professionalism between agents.

"So, here, we’ll play it safe and start talking about food. But if the conversation somehow strays… I promise I won’t turn you in," she whispered conspiratorially, though it was obvious she was still being lighthearted. No matter what Phoenix thought of her, she wasn’t a snitch—reporting him was a matter of protecting other agents from someone in a volatile state—and she wasn’t a zealot about following rules to the letter. For the most part, Helena obeyed where they seemed necessary, but this veil of secrecy, the denial that they were more than the Director’s wind up toy soldiers, was absolutely pointless.

Try as they might to forget, there was always a part of her that knew her name wasn’t Helena, the same as Austin wasn’t…Austin. They were not who they’d become without a history to shape them. And even if she only managed to scratch the surface of that identity—it seemed worth the risk.

The idea of being human had been lost somewhere along the way. It wasn't just him who had forgotten either, the majority of the freelancers had closed themselves off. Moments of humanity were limited to small interactions and usually between teammates in quiet, private moments. He tried to think about the last time there had been any big displays of pleasant conversation. It had certainly been awhile, and it hadn't been a sober moment either. Outside of that, most of the agents seemed to be content with keeping all of that tucked away.

That could have been nothing but projection, he wasn't there for every conversation and interaction. If he could manage to break down and share details about his personal life to someone else, surely the majority of the ship had already done so with someone else. Not that he was eager to reveal major events to everyone who asked, but that was something he learned from his last posting.

“I appreciate that,” he said with a soft chuckle, easing his mind back into the situation at hand. There was no reason to shut down all attempts at communication, he reminded himself as he moved to the table as Helena continued to shuffle around. Fear was a terrible excuse not to do something. He waited until after she had set the silverware down onto the table before setting his glass down and making himself comfortable.

“Mm, I have no issues with being a guinea pig. Trying out new recipes is always exciting,” he paused to take a small sip of his water before continuing. Cooking experiments were really the only ones he very consciously enjoyed. His subconscious had lead him into being a test subject more than he would have liked, seeing as the last time he had been in a test of sorts he had ended up with some rather unpleasant side effects. The worst part was that even after all of that he stayed put, waiting for more. “If it turns out terrible, we'll blame it on the recipes. If it tastes as good as it smells I doubt we'll have to, I'll just compliment your ability to cook with carefully disguised envy.”

He waited for her to join him at the table before starting in on serving himself, only hesitating for a moment before assuming that she would pull the same thing he would and refuse to eat before the guest. He moved sheepishly, taking enough to not appear rude or greedy. A delicate balance he hoped he still had mastered after years of being forced to serve himself in an attempt to get him to eat. It hadn't really worked, but he did get good at it.

Too manufactured. She closed her eyes, bending forward a bit. Resting her elbows on her knees and her forehead fell to her hands, keeping her hair out of her face. The warmth that radiated off of his skin and brushed against her, it was real. It was real, and what was she? Too manufactured. Like Austin and the soil, she had spent moments alone with herself with her eyes closed in silent contemplation. Closing her eyes and seeing silence, it was almost real. It was almost perfect. It would never be enough to stick under someone’s nails. It would never be enough to cause the same sweet melancholic homesickness that the man’s voice carried. Too manufactured, but close. Almost perfect. 

Close enough to be afraid of death, but not quite real enough to truly die. A single breath of air escaped her, a ghost of a laugh. She leaned back, relaxing back into the bench. Allowing her head to loll back slightly, eyes opening up to the ceiling, her hair spilling back over the edge of the bench. In her lap, she picked almost nervously at her nails. 

"I think I’ll pass, I’ve just—" there it was again, that sound. "Just once in my life, I think I’d like the real thing. Just once."

Oh god, just once. She wanted more than anything to have some tangible proof that she was more than just a replica. She wanted the scars to show what she had survived. Because without the scars, what was she? What story did she have? She had survived so much, but there was no evidence. Without wounds, what was she? Her wounds were her life, what little past she had. But with no scars on her face, she was nothing more than a porcelain doll. Milky white, untouched by colour save for soft brushes of pink along her cheekbones. She didn’t look like a survivor. She looked fragile.

If she couldn’t be real, then she wanted something to feel real. She wanted to be swallowed whole by the dirt and the mess, she wanted it matted into her hair until no shower would wash her clean. She wanted oceans and trees and dirt. She wanted to see more before she died — no, before she simply ceased to be allowed to exist. Before they filed her chip away into storage, before she vanished while her body lay waiting among other models of herself. So many women who could be her, but they weren’t. Or maybe they were. 

"I used to pretend I was real," she held up her hand lazily and looked up, investigating the long fingers attached to hairless arms. So pale, they were almost transparent.

"Real in a different way. I used to imagine I was modelled a girl he knew, and that somewhere out there she was living a life I could never life. I’d imagine being her and stepping outside, I’d imagine what it would be like to feel the sun on my skin," her eyes fell shut as she spoke, in love with every word. "To smell the ocean, hear a bird. Feel a breeze that wasn’t being pushed through a vent. And I would be this woman, and I would be so loved that someone had to replicate me. I don’t want to die, but maybe if she’s real, it’s okay if I do. I mean, I can live with that. It’s not really dying if it’s just… forgetting."

He paused. It was more than that. It went back to the part of her that hadn't lived, not like the agents had. Almost. She would live, but it wouldn't be the same life as the humans had a shot at. All of the comforts he could yearn for and rest on were things just out of her reach. It wasn't the lack of real soil – though it was for sure part of her dreams, that was clear – it was the lack of reality in general. A harsh frown tugged at the corners of his pursed lips.

He almost stopped her at her next line, ready to argue that she was real. She was sitting right next to him, thinking for herself. Her emotions, her thoughts, those were all real. He watched her extend her hand and bit his tongue to let her finish. He had already made a fool out of himself with failing to recognize his less than stellar phrasing earlier.

So he listened, hanging onto each word. Part of him understood what she was coming from. Not to the same degree and obviously from a different angle, but he had been in a similar spot. There were times where it was easier to slip into fantasies, not to escape but to cope. She wasn't running from what she was, or at least it didn't sound like she was, but she was finding a way to make the harsh blows of reality softer.

Maybe she had tried to run at one point. Ignore the obvious faults that separated her from everyone else, striving to fit in with no exceptions. It was a hard desire to fight. Who didn't want to be normal? Who didn't want to fit in? Learning and adapting to situations while conveniently ignoring the truth wasn't hard to do. He certainly had fallen into that trap.

It had left him feeling like even more of an outsider.

Her dreams of being based off of someone else, a copy of someone who was unquestionably real, was something easy to step into. Accepting where she was, but still having an outlet. It was just whimsical enough that part of her could stay in reality, but just plausible enough that she could escape into the fantasy. A quiet part of him wished he could join her in thinking that there was a copy of him out there living life. Growing up he would have latched onto it.

It would have been an easier dream to crush than the hope of him being whole. It was easier to swallow than the fact that in their own ways, neither of them would have a chance to be real. Both of them would die as fragments still trying to catch up and learn. He hoped that she would have more chances after this to learn, to find a place that was comfortable for her full time. It was something that he had been trying to find for thirty years and it was something he wasn't sure he had found.

This moment was probably the closest he had ever really gotten. He wasn't faking anything, he wasn't pretending to try and fit in. Whatever instincts he had, and didn't have, were the only things he was depending on. No internal struggles to figure out the perfect thing to say, or walk in circles trying to figure out every contextual clue he was given. He almost felt like thanking her.

When it came to death he was indifferent. They could both agree to go into what came next without hesitation, not real hesitation. He had been frustrated with her earlier over not fighting, over not being angry and ready to fight back. As he watched her and listened, he understood more and more that while it was awful, it was inevitable for her too. Fighting wasn't always the answer when facing an impossible odd. The real fight was mental, learning to make things easier for when it did happen.

To tell her to fight back was ridiculous of him. He couldn't bring himself to do anything other than lean back and wait. He'd close his eyes, take a deep breath and jump. Just like he had always done. Lie through the fear and call it a miracle when things didn't go wrong. If he could just keep lying to himself a bit longer, he'd never have to face the harsh reality of it all ever again.

“I like that, actually. It's...” He paused for a moment, debating on what he should say. It's comforting but probably shouldn't be. A guilty escape. He brushed a hand through his hair, tilting his head slightly with a soft hum as he thought.

The only thing he could really focus on was the fact that it was possible she was created from someone else, or based off of them at least. The Director wouldn't throw away something that he had gone through the process of recreating someone else. Not unless he absolutely had to. Tara was not broken, not in Austin's mind. Even if she was broken, there would be other steps that came first. For humans it would be medical visits, hours sitting around talking with a therapist hoping to patch over whatever holes were causing the problem. If the AIs had been created with such care, such importance, surely the Director would try something like that before just tossing them aside. Wouldn't he?

He was hardly the right person to ask. His life was disposable, he would fit the mold or would be removed. At the worst, Tara would be wiped and rebooted. Given another chance. That was something he wouldn't bring up. Her fate was in a way much worse than his. She'd cycle through the same hallways until there was no amount of deleting and restarting that could save her. His misery would be something he only had to endure once. He shook his head pushed the thought away. The Director wouldn't be that cruel.

She would not be kept in such a small, confined area. Satisfied with whatever meager space was allotted to her. Which reminded her, she would have to discuss her room with Agent Austin, or the lack thereof. Another thing for the list.

“Fascinating,” she replied without much enthusiasm. “I would have never considered the fact that such manual labor could be relaxing. And cooking as well, would seem more of a chore to men than anything else. Are you not supplied with adequate rations?” Surely his own nutritional requirements would not be ‘above his paygrade' to question. She queried FILSS for a list of daily required calories and vitamins, making another mental note to check with her human's last medical examination to ensure he was on par with everything.

The UNSC would have supplied their soldiers with everything required for their nutrition, of course, but if he had been deviating, there might be an imbalance. She would not tolerate his health to dip and jeopardize his placement on the team and the leader board.

“Yes, I require—” she glanced at the human in front of her, regretting the word choice instantly. She would have show more caution. “I would enjoy seeing the garden, and ensuring you are receiving adequate nutrition in your… cooking endeavors.”

She briefly wondered if all humans thought of such chores as hobbies. Strange creatures.

The door opened for them with the comforting mechanical whir, a rush of strange smelling air gusting out, picking up the loose strands of Andromeda’s hair. She blinked in honest surprise, not completely compared for the sheer amount of green filling her field of vision. They stepped inside the room, her sensors immediately telling her there was an increase in temperature and humidity. She stayed at Austin’s side for another few moments before her curiosity got the better of her and she ventured deeper into the room without him. It smelled… what did it smell like? She had only been exposed to the recycled, cooled air that circulated around the rest of the ship. And even then, there was little point in her breathing – this was the first time she had really taken the time to pay attention to the air around her.

“The rations are fine, we have enough to last us a very long time. I just prefer to cook for myself, helps avoid food triggers, the taste is better and it gives me something to do in between all of the work related things or long hours of silence. It's a good way to stay connected to everyone else as well, the kitchen tends to be a bit of a gathering point.” Not that it was always a plus. There had been many times he had wanted nothing more than to be left alone when someone – usually someone incredibly unwanted – had barged in and demanded his attention while they were in there. It hadn't been a problem in the last few months thankfully, but he feared with all of the new additions to the program it would be a lot harder to spend whatever time he had left trapped in terrible conversations.

“There's a good variety of things in here, and I promise you I'm a responsible cook. I make sure I hit the benchmarks I need to be hitting while having some control over what I have to eat. I worry more about the agents who seem incapable of feeding themselves at all.” He waved her through the large door into the greenhouse and repressed any stray thoughts about the taste or smell of some of the MREs he had been forced into eating. Even some of the freshly prepared meals had been something he wished he could forget.

He followed her into the large, open room and glanced around at all of the plants that had grown quite a bit since he had last been in here. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath of the musty humid air and smiled. It had been something he had overlooked since the announcement of his implantation, there was a very large part of him that was thankful that she agreed to go inside. Opening his eyes with a sharp exhale, he started to move around the room to get a better look at some of the plants that had been obscured by heavy foliage.

Everything looked a lot greener than he remembered. It was good to see that everything was in good shape here, nothing looked neglected or forgotten. He wondered if someone else had been coming in and taking care of some of the little things. It was very possible. Once things calmed down a bit he wanted to get back into the habit of visiting and just checking in on things, maybe he'd run into someone else who had taken an interest in it.