everythings a wip in my heart

“72-M, what’s your damage report?” Her steps were steady as she approached her workbench, sitting down with a small shutter. It was always cold in the repair room. The steel of the floor and walls were never made for comfort. Nothing here was. She could see some of the more obvious damage: the malfunctioning left wrist, the way his knee was locking and unlocking, and not to mention the three disconnected finger joints on his right hand

Her Pilot shrugged before promptly lowering himself into the chair in front of 72-M-R. His arm jittered as he brought it up to his throat, tapping twice.

“Your voice-box again?” She sighed, already pulling out her panel-access key. “Mic- 72, I’ve told you it can’t handle much strain.” Her hands were steady as she tilted his chin up and started opening his throat panel. “You’ve got to stop screaming so much during drives”

There was a small, crackly noise in argument. 72-M-R just rolled her eyes at the noise, focusing back on the delicate wires and tendons. She slowly reached in and loosened the speaker’s holding brackets. 72-M’s hand clenched the fabric of his pant leg, though if it was out of discomfort or the aforementioned wrist malfunction was none of her concern. Well, it wasn’t supposed to be her concern. Her knee pressed into the side of his leg. His fingers loosened on the fabric.

She clicked her tongue as she pulled out the speaker, assessing the damage. “It’s not the worst it’s been, but I’m gonna have to get you a replacement soon.” Her fingers ghosted the small tear on the speaker cone. “You’re lucky it’s not the voice coil, again. I’m out of spares.” She set it on the workbench before rummaging around in the drawers.

Her gaze flicked back to 72-M as she set out the glue mixture and a cut up coffee filter. He wasn’t looking at her, or, well, he was looking at her face covering. His eyes were tracing the outline of it, the folds of the fabric. Underneath that face covering, she pressed her lips into a thin line before looking back at the speaker.

“Rough drive or were you just doing something stupid again?” She said as she cut out a part of the coffee filter. She heard her Pilot exhale sharply from his nose, and she glanced over again, just long enough to see the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I’ll take that to mean something stupid.” She set her scissors down before grabbing her small paintbrush.

He nodded, and his eyes came to stare at her hands as she worked.

“Well, you can tell me all about it once the glue is dry so I can properly scold you.” Her tone was light as she painted a thin layer of the glue mixture to the coffee filter. She let the silence sit comfortably as she applied the coffee filter over the tear on the speaker cone, smoothing it down with the skill of someone who’s done this a thousand times before.

72-M-R could tell her Pilot was staring at her face covering again. She set down the speaker on an old mission report to let it dry, before leaning back and turning her head towards 72-M. “How long till 72-M-H comes to getcha?”

His eye’s glanced down at the ground as he accessed his clock, before looking back at her and clearly mouthing thirty-two.

She nodded, hands coming up to her goggles before sliding them up-and-off. 72-M’s eyes immediately started tracing the red imprint lines, before settling on her eyes. She was already grinning as she slid her face covering down. His eyes followed down, looking at her smile, before smiling himself.