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It's been a busy week, but I'm so excited to share my Steddie BB project! It's cute, it's silly, and it's completely in line with my current Fake Dating obsession. I hope you like it!
Rating: E(?) | Wordcount: ~20-25K
Tags: Fake Dating, No Upside Down AU, Modern-ish AU, Co-conspirators to Lovers, Past Tommy/Eddie, Petty Revenge, RomCom
Summary:
Eddie made the stupidest decision in his life and followed his boyfriend, Tommy, to a different state and a different city and a different job, only to find himself unceremoniously kicked to the curb. All because of Tommyβs obsession with his high school crush that got away. Now he was jobless, homeless, and brainless apparently, since his only plan for revenge was to contact Tommyβs high school crush, Steve Harrington, and beg him for help with something just petty enough to work. It wasnβt like he wanted Tommy back, absolutely not, he just wanted Tommy to taste a little bit of his own Instagram-curated medicine. And what better way to drive his ex crazy than setting up a fake relationship with the man heβd been obsessively stalking on social media since he was eighteen? Was it petty? Yes. Was it dumb as hell? Absolutely. Would it drive Tommy completely insane and probably lead to a massive crash out that would taste sweeter than any dessert Eddie had ever tasted? No doubt about it. So Eddie sucked it up, opened his DMs, and rattled off an unhinged request to a total stranger.
β³ Snip below the cut
Eddie wasnβt stupid, contrary to popular belief. Sure, his teachers may have thought so, and maybe his father did too, but he wasnβt. Or at least, he hadnβt been. He hadnβt been, until he decided to follow his stupid boyfriend to Chicago, even with the pit of unease that creeped into his gut and didnβt leave.
He hadnβt been, until he ignored everything that told him this was a bad idea because Tommy was so good at talking him out of his own thoughts.
Youβre overthinking, heβd say.
You need to relax, heβd say.
Youβre seriously going to stay in your podunk town just because you βfeel weirdβ? Cβmon, Eddie.
And he sounded right, at the time. An apartment he didnβt have to pay for, a job already lined up at the same company Tommyβs dad ran, someone there so he wasnβt alone in a new city.
It seemed right. It seemed stupid to refuse.
That was until he found himself unceremoniously kicked to the curb after one fucking fight. A fight that Eddie refused to settle on, and kept poking the bear until Tommy reported him to his father for harassment, got him fired, and tossed his bags out the fourth floor window of their apartment.
Tommyβs apartment. Because Eddie wasnβt on the lease.
Eddie didnβt think he was stupid, but he sure felt like he was as he sat on the curb of an unfamiliar city, two shitty duffle bags of his clothes and not much else sitting beside him as he smoked through his last pack of cigarettes. It had only been three months. Three months, until he was suddenly homeless, jobless, and apparently fucking brainless to boot.
It wasnβt even like it was a new fight, it was a fight that had been shoved aside so many times, he kind of expected it to keep being pushed off until it was irrelevant. It wasnβt even like Tommy was cheating, or pursuing other people; he wasnβt looking elsewhere, he didnβt have wandering eyes, and he wasnβt afraid of claiming Eddie in public whenever they went out β which was new for Eddie. Maybe that skewed his idea of a healthy relationship, just a little.
No, instead it was like there was a third man in the relationship that was never actually there.
A ghost.
A remnant of a life that didnβt even exist. One that Tommy just couldnβt get out of his head.
Eddieβd never even met the guy.
Steve Harrington.
Apparently he and Tommy had gone to high school together, before either of them even realized they were gay. Which would mean nothing, as far as Eddie was concerned. Heβd had plenty of gay awakenings in high school that went absolutely nowhere, and they fizzled out fairly quickly.
The problem was that it wasnβt flizzling. Every time Eddie did something slightly wrong, it was βSteve did it this wayβ or βSteve did it that wayβ or βSteveβs dinner tasted better, but yours is good too, Eds.β
For once Eddie just wanted to have a nice night in with his boyfriend, without having Steve Harrington hanging over the conversation. He was overthinking, Tommy said; he was paranoid, he insisted; it wasnβt like Steve was even in the state, Eddie, they were just high school friends, get over it.
So Eddie told him he wasnβt the one who needed to get over it. It was Tommy that kept bringing him up, it was Tommy that kept inserting some random guy into their relationship, it was Tommy who compared every little thing Eddie did to Steve, when β News Flash! β Steve clearly didnβt want him, it was Eddie who had moved states to be with him, it was Eddie heβd begged to follow him, it was Eddie whoβd made them dinner every fucking night to several back-handed compliments and critique disguised as praise.
Apparently that wasnβt the correct thing to say, he scoffed to himself as he flipped through the contacts in his phone and debated whether or not calling Wayne for a ride or walking to the nearest bus station was better. Wayne would have to drive for a few hours to reach him, and that would definitely result in βI told you soβs and βI hated that boy from the beginningβs that Eddie didnβt want to deal with right now.
On the other hand, the Greyhound station was a couple miles away, and heβd have to call Wayne for a ride once he got to Hawkins anyway.
Eddie groaned, poking around through his social media just to delay his choice for a few more minutes. He didnβt think heβd be this annoyed by the end of a two-year relationship. He figured heβd be sadder, maybe a little depressed, maybe heβd feel all his emotions congeal into a blob of despair that would clog up his lungs and his throat and choke him from the inside out.
At least, thatβs what the movies and books would claim.
Instead, he felt righteous indignation burn a hole through him as he looked at Tommyβs latest instagram post β a picture of their dinner from a couple days ago, Eddieβs ring-clad hand loosely resting around the stem of a wine glass (one heβd kind of wished he threw at Tommyβs head) that was taken right before their fight started and ended with their relationship up in flames.
Sometimes itβs all worth itΒ
The caption stared at him mockingly. Eddie wasnβt even tagged in it or anything, it was just Tommyβs smug little way of looking perfect online β he didnβt need Eddie for that, he just needed a prop, another body to show the world that Tommy wasnβt pathetic and alone, to pretend that he wasnβt hung up on some high school nobody like the loser he was. God, Eddie was so mad.
The timestamp was even minutes ago, as if he hadnβt already told Eddie he was fired and his stuff was on the curb by then. He could strangle that little weasel, he could march right back up the stairs and pound on the door and demand he delete the stupid picture.
But what would that do?
Tommy wouldnβt even open the door, let alone delete his stupid post. He probably had a stockpile of their pictures just to keep up the relationship on Instagram for appearances. He scoffed, the sound ripping from his throat sharp with anger that had nowhere to go.
Posting some angry rant online calling him out would just make Eddie look like a lunatic, and give him proof to hand over to HR to justify his firing. Was slinking back to Hawkins with his tail between his legs really the only thing he could do about this? Tommy deserved to feel like shit, he deserved to get a relationship thrown into his face over and over again, Eddie wasnβt just a prop, he was a person.
He was angrily scrolling through past pictures, his last cigarette hanging from his lips when a username caught his eye.
StevietheHairington had liked one of their early pictures, one with Eddieβs hand clasped in Tommyβs over a fancy tablecloth with candles and mood lighting, and suddenly he had an idea.
A petty one, for sure, but Eddie had never exactly been known as level-headed. He was a big fan of petty, a huge fan of petty β call him Tom Petty he was so ready to not back down.
So he went to Steveβs profile, just for a peek. Just a look β not even a look, a glance, just a little one.
The guy was gorgeous, heβd give Tommy that. All tan and happy, pretty mole-dotted skin that could absolutely stick in someoneβs head for years. He looked sweet, nice even, which he hadnβt quite expected from someone who was friends with Tommy in school. He had several pictures with some girl, declarations of best friends and platonic soulmates that said Steve was probably single, which worked perfectly for the little plan that was vaguely forming in Eddieβs head.
It wasnβt even a plan, yet, just the whispers of a plan, really. It was kind of crazy, even for Eddie, but he figured it couldnβt hurt to try.
So he opened his DMs and sent probably the most unhinged message to a stranger that heβd ever sent in his life. He started with a simple βHey man. You donβt know me, but I think you know my boyββ he deleted the last few letters and shook his head, clearing his throat from the anger that suddenly climbed up to choke him, βex-boyfriend,β he amended.
βWeβd been dating for a few years and he dragged me to a new city just to throw me to the curb because he was too obsessed with you. I know thatβs not your fault, and Iβm not mad, but I was wondering if youβd maybe be interested in helping me get a little revenge?β
βIk this is weird and a lil fucked up and everything but he seriously left me stranded and got me fired and this is the only thing I can think of to get back at himβ¦β
He didnβt exactly expect a reply, to be honest. He kind of figured that would be that, and heβd just have to suck it up and deal with getting his life back in order β starting with the trek to the train station with his stupid bags weighing him down like cement blocks.
He was sweaty and tired by the time he got a ticket and a seat, a vague text to Wayne about coming to visit for a few daysβ¦ or weeks, that he then ignored. He had two hours to gear up for the βI told you soβs, he didnβt need them before he and his uncle were even face-to-face.
When his phone buzzed a few minutes later, he figured it would be the exact type of text he didnβt want to read, but it was a DM instead.
From Steve.
Eddie scrambled to open the app, nearly dropping his phone in the process, heart skyrocketing into his throat like the king of rock himself had just messaged him instead of a stranger.
βweird lol whos ur ex?β
Thatβs all it said. Simple.
βTommy Hagan?β
βIβm in.β
The reply was instantaneous. It popped up like a liferaft, dragging Eddieβs drowning emotions to the surface with renewed clarity and hope. He didnβt think itβd be that easy, he didnβt think heβd get a reply at all, let alone an immediate one.
A bubble popped up, ellipses drifting in and out until Steve replied again.
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Sarah Nurse deciding to stay in Van is just ughhh Iβm soo used to big name people not wanting to play in Vancouver but she does even though her hometown is getting a new team and i love her sooo much for that
Eddie cries out in pain, βah shitting fuck!β he yells across the bay, reflexively pushing off with a booted foot so his stool rolls away from the danger, his hurt fingers shoved unceremoniously in his mouth to nurse away the sting.
βWhatsit?β Robin sits up in her bunk, fluff of hair sticking up at all angles.
βNothing. Nothing, sorry, fucking thing shocked me, go back to sleep.β
βTimesit?β
βI dunno,β Eddie looks around vaguely, looking across the untidy bank of tools and control panels he squints at the nearest monitor, βone ish.β
Robin humphs. Rubs at her eyes. Then just, sits for a bit, staring at nothing. βWant a hot drink?β She ends up volunteering, sticking her bare legs out from under the covers and sliding out from her bunk. She pulls on her dungarees from where they were abandoned on the floor.
βYou ask me that like we have options,β Eddie peers down at his latest project, sliding a viewer over his mask to get a closer look. The numbers flashing in the peripheral vision make absolutely no fucking sense whatsoever.
Robin yawns, forcing her feet into her boots, the laces loose and scraggly, βsounds better than βwould you like caffeine reconstituted from the caffeine you pissed out yesterdayβ, though, right?β Itβs a much trodden route, this conversation, one they have most days. Itβs familiar, comforting. Shores them up for the long journey. Eddie hums but doesnβt answer, βwhereβs Chris?β
βCockpit, said something about checking The Belt again.β
Robin mumbles something about Chrissyβs constant paranoia when it comes to crossing The Belt, but leaves to get them their drinks. Eddie gets it though, they all have their things. Their little routines, their charms, their talismans their...things. Things that get them through. The asteroid belt doesnβt change unless someone changes it, all those little rocks floating around on their reliable courses until...something nudges one. Itβs a domino effect then, and crossing the belt is hazardous enough without outside forces fucking it up.
It wasnβt a problem until Mars, the catastrophic failure of the Synthetics, and the war that humanity very squarely lost. There had been laws before, the mining companies who were scalping the belt had a million feet of red tape to get through to make sure they weren't affecting shipping lanes and yada yada yada.
Now. The Synths do whatever the fuck they like, and itβs not like they're ever going to inform humanity of where theyβre drilling.
So, Eddie tinkers, Chrissy checks the belt, and Robin bitches at both of them.
βSo...what do you think he is?β Robin swivels around uselessly in the chair next to him.
βSex bot, definitely.β
Robin snorts a laugh, βgot a big dick huh?β
βHe is very...anatomically correct,β Eddie closes the hatch, tugs carefully at the synths hair until he finds the next panel along, unhitches it with his home brew magnet arrangement. Not how youβre supposed to do it, but Synth construction companies donβt exactly share their tech.
βYou sure itβs okay? Bringing him on board?β
Eddie hums vaguely, βno idea what model he is exactly, but the wreckage was old Robs. Pre One old, plus the Mars Synths never go further than the belt, they donβt have a reason to. Depending on how long heβs been floating about...I mean itβs unlikely, is what Iβm saying.β
Eddie tries a different connection, moving carefully, the work very fine and delicate, he follows the numbers on his display. The connection slithers tight when it catches, and thereβs the very, very slightest hum of a power up. In the corner of Eddieβs vision, the numbers all flash green.
On the table, the Synths eyes open. The iris goes from large to small, pupils go from wide and black to a pinprick, before it relaxes to something resembling normal. Hazel irisβ, Eddie canβt help but notice, strange color, for a Synth, not one Eddieβs ever seen before. Green speckled with brown and gold. Really pretty, and far more detail than Eddieβs ever seen in one of these before. Especially for a sex bot model, if thatβs what he is.
The Synth blinks four times in quick succession, indicating a hard reboot, his irisβ are now white with a fine blue ring, the beautiful hazel gone.
The eyes close, and the numbers go all haywire. Flashing yellow and red. Eddie watches as the numbers tell him the Synth has powered off again.
βDid it work?β Robin peers over his shoulder.
βNo,β Eddie rolls over to his work station, goes over the scans again, βbut I donβt know why. He definitely booted that time, but thereβs damage that either I canβt find or...itβs too complex for me. Itβs hitting a step and then wonβt go any further.β
βSo itβs software right? Not hardware?β
βYeah. Pretty sure youβre right. Thereβs something there, some...thing that keeps failing the boot. Something in memory maybe. I just,β Eddie sighs a little helplessly, βI dunno, you know?β
βCanβt you switch it off?β
Eddie scoffs, βwhat, his memory?β
βYeah? I mean, if heβs a house bot, heβll forget how to change a diaper and make a Martini, if heβs a worker heβll forget how to fucking,β she gestures helplessly, βwire in lights, or whatever the fuck they have them doing. Plowing fields, I donβt know. And if heβs a sex bot, heβll forget about the twenty thousand vaginas heβs probably licked. Does it matter?β
βI...I could try it.β Eddie frowns, thinking it through, βI mean, the base programming is unavoidable, itβll apply no matter what but...I donβt know exactly how thatβll leave him.β
She shrugs, βthen just, turn him off, if the basics are there then the kill switch is there, right? The laws?β
βYeah, that stuffs hardwired, thereβs no bypassing it. Well,β Eddie gestures vaguely, βexcept for One.β
Robin nods, βexcept for One.β She agrees.
They both sit quietly for a moment, contemplating the disaster on Mars. The loss of life, even though it happened before either of them were born, itβs left a stark shadow on all of society. All of history.
Eddie slaps his thighs decisively, breaking their reverie, βIβm going to try it.β
Eddie gets his tools.
βWeβre probably meeting him for the first time,β Robin tells Chrissy, as Chrissy fixes her hair for her, βwe should make a good impression.β
βI donβt think they have opinions babe,β Chrissy tells her gently, licking her thumb and then using it to rub a scuff off Robins cheek.
βYou canβt know that for sure. I bet they judge us. Silently. Plus Iβve never met one before, Iβve seen them working loads, you know, on Earth, but Iβve never...spoken to one. Not properly.β
βMy parents had a house model, when I was little,β Chrissy volunteers, βshe was really nice. Mostly she did all the chores and meals and stuff. Ordered the groceries. She was so good at Mahjong.β
βHuh. Do you think this guy will play Rummy with us? Itβs better with four.β
βYouβre cute,β Chrissy tells her, before kissing the tip of her nose, βshould we have a countdown?β She asks, turning her attention to Eddie.
βOnly if youβre willing to do it more than once if this doesnβt work?β
Chrissy wrinkles her nose, βprobably not?β
Eddie shrugs, flips his visor screen down, and hopes for the best.
The Synths eyes whirl, that same, beautiful, sparkling hazel. Four quick blinks, and by the end, the iris has cleared to white, highlighted by the same stark blue ring.
The Synth sits up, the sheet Eddie had been using, partly so he wasn't staring at the things dick, and partly to keep it clean, falls and pools around the Synths middle.
There are another set of blinks. Then another. A jerky motion passes through the Synths body; every joint twitching, the head whipping side to side suddenly, sharp movements that look like a full body seizure. And then the whole thing happens again in reverse, from the toes up. The table rattles and shakes.
βThe fuck was that,β Robin asks quietly in the ensuing, oppressive, silence.
βMovement test...Iβve never actually seen it before. Itβs checking every system right now, might take a couple of minutes.β
βHeβs got good hair,β Chrissy volunteers.
βYeah,β Eddie agrees absently, βbut if youβre designing a person, why not make them prefect, right?β
The Synths skin had been pale alabaster white, but a wave of color moves up his body now, a tanned skin tone with some color in his cheeks. Other than sitting absolutely, completely still, it looks human. Looks normal.
It even has a couple of moles dotted about, which is a nice design choice, Eddie thinks. Itβs high on the details; meaning itβs a high end Synth.
This guy was most certainly not plowing fields.
You wouldnβt be able to tell he wasnβt human, apart from the eyes, unless you really knew what you were looking for. The hair follicles often give them away, if you can get close enough to inspect them; not with this dude.
The Synth blinks four times. Another four. Another four. It keeps doing it, otherwise completely unmoving.
βNow what?β
βItβs waiting for instruction,β Eddie moves closer, βuhm. Edward Munson. I am your new owner, Edward Munson?β The Synth doesnβt respond, and Eddie scrambles for his data pad, βthe instruction varies by manufacturer, I am your new handler? Oh shit wait, fuck. Uhm. Interface English.β The blinking stops, βI knew I was missing a step, I am your owner, Edward Munson.β
Very quietly, the Synth responds, βconfirmed.β
βVolume up four. What is your designation?β
βDesignation S T Three Five Three,β the Synth answers at a more normal volume.
βWell...you can call me Eddie, and this is Chrissy and Robin.β
The Synth finally moves, the sheet sliding off as he stands up, βwow,β says Chrissy, and Robin covers her eyes.
βMan, I gotta find you some pants,β Eddie tells the Synth.
βWe need something better than S T Three Five Three,β Eddie tells the synth as he digs through a storage bin. He finds a jumpsuit that will probably fit. Itβs supposed to be worn under a spacesuit, for when they need to do work outside, but Eddie figures the Synth wonβt care.
βYou are able to assign me a new designation at will.β
Eddie holds up the offensively orange material, βput this on.β
The synth complies without question, and Eddie finds him a pair of socks. The Synth canβt feel fuck all, or at least, it's sensors probably register the temperature and hardness of the floor, but that doesn't mean it feels anything. They donβt have any shoes that will fit him, but something about the sight of his bare feet on the cold metal floor is offensive to Eddie, βspace walk socks will have to do.β
Eddie watches as the synth simply stands on one leg, balance inhuman, not even a wobble and he gracefully pulls on one sock and then the other before standing tall again, βhow about Steve? Thatβs pretty close, if we Roman numeral the five. Plus, you kind of look like a Steve. What do you think?β
βI have no opinion. Designation changed to Steve.β
βRight. And how are you feeling?β
Steveβs pupils dilate, the fine blue ring twisting, becoming narrow, before returning to normal. βSystems optimal. Memory error; cause unknown. Water levels approaching critical.β
βOh you are a joy arenβt you?β
βI am uncertain as to perimeters pertaining to βJoyβ, possible memory error.β
Eddie sighs, βjust follow me, Iβll show you were the water supply is. Actually you know what, Iβll give you the whole tour.β
Eddie stands in the doorway, watching as Steve drinks. And drinks. And drinks some more. Eddie thinks he stops at around four liters.
βBetter?β
βTank level at approximately ninety eight percent capacity.β
βAnd how long will that last you?β
βActivity dependent. Up to six hundred years at minimal activity. Two weeks under extreme duress.β
Eddie has no idea what a Synth would class as βextreme duressβ and he probably doesnβt want to know, βuh hu, and you donβt know what your roll was, right?β
βInformation unavailable.β
Eddie sighs, βcome on, Iβll show you around.β
Steve follows faithfully, inspecting everything Eddie shows him.
βHeβs creepy,β Chrissy hisses.
Eddie sighs, βno, he isnβt.β
βWhere is he?β
βHeβs cleaning, I think. I had to give him something to do otherwise he just stares at me.β
βCreepy,β she says again, like thatβs evidence.
βNo, he just waits for instruction, it isnβt his fault, he doesnβt have access to any of his memories.β
βI like him,β Robin says, βheβs got a kind vibe. Like, I think heβs a good soul.β
βPretty sure Synths donβt have souls,β Eddie tells her absently.
βYou see the good in pretty much everything babe,β Chrissy links their fingers together affectionately.
Robin shrugs, βbetter than thinking everything is shitty,β Robin leans over Eddieβs shoulder, βwhat are you doing?β
βSynth manufacturers classify them by eye color. Iβm just...looking. Different companies use different color codes but thereβs a lot of overlap; look,β Eddie brings up multiple lists, βall these shades of yellow are different forms of labor, like carpentry and tailoring and farming and stuff. Lilac and purple are like, hair cuts, beauty and spa treatments and tattoos and stuff. Red shades are hard or dangerous labor, mining and space walks and deep ocean work. These orange and golds are house bots...but thereβs no hazel. No green. No brown.β
βThereβs no natural colors anywhere on this list,β Robin points out.
βNo, itβs deliberate, to stop them being passed as humans.β
βAnd arenβt Steveβs eyes white with the funny blue ring?β Chris adds.
βYeah, that just means unsigned according to the list, which could be because he has limited memory access, but I know what I saw.β
βWhich means,β Chrissy thinks aloud, βthat thereβs a whole section of bots, green and browns...or any natural color, that arenβt listed for something right? Colors that they could be using and...you know whatβs not anywhere on that list?β Chrissy asks.
βWhat?β
βMilitary.β
Eddie huffs, βthereβs no such thing as military Synths, not since One.β
βExactly...didnβt you say this guy could be pre Mars? The salvage was old, right?β
βI...yeah.β
βSo...itβs possible?β
βI...guess?β
All three of them lean away from the console, looking down the hallway, past open panels and storage containers, Steve stands. Watching.
βSteve! Whereβs my-β Eddieβs coveralls are thrust at him, smelling fresh and looking clean, βoh, thanks, and could you-β Eddieβs pulling one leg of his pants up when Steve presents a steaming cup of coffee, βright. Thanks. Really, uhm, thanks.β
βYou are welcome, Eddie.β
βWhere are the girls?β
βThey are both sleeping.β
βAnd what have you been doing?β
βI beat Chrissy at four consecutive rounds of Mahjong, then she no longer wanted to play. I have organized your tools by use and type, and was cleaning until Chrissy instructed me to leave. She said her and Robin needed some space.β
βRight, yeah,β Eddie smiles into his coffee, βanything else?β
βThere has been a shift in The Belt, I adjusted course to compensate.β
βYou did what?β
βThe objects in the belt have altered-β but Eddie doesnβt hear any more, heβs just running, coffee sploshing in his mug as he slides into the cockpit, checking the data. He scrolls fast, checking the most recent course correct and the current state of The Belt and...Steveβs right. They wonβt actually hit The Belt for another day yet but...what Steve has done is completely correct.
βHow did you know how to do this?β
Steve tilts his head, the blue ring of his eyes contracting and expanding, βdata unavailable due to memory-β
βDonβt give me that bull shit, if you couldnβt access the memories you wouldnβt even know how to make the course adjust. Just how long were you deactivated for?β
βUnknown, data unavailable-β
Eddie sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.
βItβs perfect. Itβs exactly what I would have done, better even. The thruster burns are like perfect fuel economy. Itβs textbook.β
βSo...are we turning him off, or not?β Eddie asks.
βI mean...I would have seen this when I got up anyway, we were never in any danger,β Eddie doesnβt doubt it, Chrissy is on it when it comes to Belt travel, βand what heβs done isnβt wrong, but I donβt love that he just...did it.β
βNo...but we could just tell him not to touch this again? Right? He was only trying to help?β Robin asks.
They all lean, looking out of the doorway and down the hall; Steve is no where in sight.
βOkay, Steve.β
Steve turns to look at him, he even throws in a blink which is just...yeah. Someone went to a lot of effort with this guy.
βOkay, so, from now on, if you notice anything with the ships course, or anything else in the cockpit that seems wrong, you come and tell one of us, you do not fix it yourself from now on, okay? Donβt touch anything in there, you got it?β
βConfirmed.β
Chrissy sits in the pilots seat for the entire crossing. Itβs not like it takes long, but sheβs poised the entire time. Ready for anything. Eddieβs never felt safer than he has with Chrissy at the helm.
Itβs quiet. No one really dares to speak, knowing they will get a slap from Chrissy for breaking her concentration. Theyβre nearly out. Despite it being totally fine every single time they do this, thereβs still a touch of tension in the air. Knowing that if anything was going to go wrong, odds are, itβs now.
But still, Chrissy is good at her job, and she delivers, like she does every other time.
The lights are dim; she likes to be able to see out clearly for this. So when the ship harmlessly rounds the final debris, itβs a vision of the pristine diamond speckled velvet of space that greets them.
βGood job Chris,β Eddie gives her shoulder a squeeze as they all breathe fully for the fist time in a while. The tension falling away, βcoffee?β
Robin and Chris make vaguely positive noises, and Eddieβs at the cockpit doorway when the whole ship shudders. He catches himself on the wall, almost toppling.
βThe fuck was that?β Robin hisses.
βI donβt know,β Chrissy is flipping switches, doing her job, despite the undercurrent of panic, she doesnβt let the fear take over.
βDid we get bumped?β
βI donβt know,β Chrissy says again, frustrated this time.
A light is flashing next to Eddieβs head, and he flicks the safety off, βthe airlock,β he tells them, βmust have taken the hit,β right before Steve appears in the doorway.
βWhat did you do?β Chrissy asks him, accusing.
βChris he canβt have done anything-β Robin starts to defend Steve, and Robin is right, thereβs nothing that Steve could have done from inside the ship to cause that.
βEddie. I need permission to defend the ship.β
Above Eddieβs head, the airlock warning light flashes again, Eddie watches the insistent flashing, a horrible realization starting to form.
βA ship is attempting to breach the airlock.β
βHoly shit,β Robin looks to Steve, sheβs gone pale, clearly terrified.
βWhat ship?β Chrissy asks.
But there isnβt time to have a debate over it, it doesnβt matter who it is, if theyβre trying to force entry, then itβs nothing good. Eddie has to make a decision, and he has to make it fast before the ship is too damaged by whoever it is trying to force the airlock, βpermission granted.β
Steve moves at Synth speed. He runs so fast Eddie canβt track it, just feels the strong breeze Steve leaves in his wake.
Thereβs silence now, as they strain to hear, both girls staring at Eddie. He nods over at the monitors next to Robin, βairlock,β he mouths at her, reaching up again to turn off the warning light.
Robin spins her chair, pressing a button, then another.
The airlock is already open, and thereβs a body on the floor.
They have a small weapons cache on board, for extreme emergencies, itβs hidden beneath the control deck. Eddie nods at it, uncertain if they should still be trying to be silent. Thereβs no way to know what has happened to Steve, but the image on the screen is in color despite itβs grainy picture. The body on the floor is on itβs side, turned away from the camera, but it is not wearing an orange jumpsuit, and thatβs enough to identify it as not being Steve, at least.
Chrissy carefully hands Eddie a weapon, and he loops the strap over his shoulder before pressing his thumb to the pad; this will only fire for him, now.
They share a nod, then creep along the hall after Steve. Eddie goes first, picking his way along cautiously, the girls following just as silently. When they near the corner to the airlock, Eddie instinctively reaches an arm out behind him, keeping the girls at his back and tucked into the wall as he peeks around the corner.
Itβs totally quiet; just one body on the floor, exactly where Eddie expected it to be from the camera feed. Itβs lying in a pool of blood; streaks of dirty greens and yellows. Oils and coolants and lubricating gels. A Synth.
Eddie poises with his weapon, cautiously nudging the thing with his boot; no reaction. The thing is solid and unbending. An inanimate object now. Dead.
They creep through the airlock. Eddie clocks pretty quickly that this is unlike any ship heβs seen before. Itβs a Synth ship, from Mars. It has to be; there are no signs at all of human habitation or necessities of life. Everything is economical, even the lighting is dim and a strange orange red color. Everything is shadowed and washed out.
Eddie picks a direction at random, it isnβt long before he finds another dead Synth, and then another.
βHoly shit,β Chrissy whispers at his back.
Eddie hums in agreement.
Eddie rounds another corner, a shocked, βfuck,β dropping out of him without his control. He pulls the trigger purely on reflex, the weapon discharges, the girls shriek.
But Steve has already lifted the barrel; it leaves a smoking streak on the ceiling.
Steveβs eyes are beautifully hazel, clear even in the shitty lighting. A luscious green speckles with honey blown and highlighted in gold.
Calmly, Steve releases the weapon, stepping back, βthreat neutralized,β Steve informs him.
Between one blink and the next, Steveβs eyes are white, surrounded by that haunting blue ring.
Eddie has questions, so many questions, but right now, this ship, this threat is the priority.
βYouβre sure theyβre all dead.β
Steve cocks his head in an alarmingly human gesture, βSynths are not alive.β
βSteve,β Eddie hisses.
βYes. The threat is neutralized.β
βWhere...were they all Synths? And are they from Mars?β
βYes. And yes,β Steve answers, perfectly level.
βFuck me, we have to report this-β Robin starts.
βNo,β Eddie waves at her, βwait. Let me think for a second.β
βEddie,β Robin starts to insists, but Eddie cuts her off before she gets anywhere.
βHow would we explain this,β Eddie raises his voice, sweeping an arm along the hall and the four mangled synths that decorate it.
βI- we tell the truth-β.
Next to her, Chirssy snorts, βabsolutely fucking not. They would confiscate Steve in heartbeat, and he just saved our asses.β
βExactly,β Eddie says, βtheyβd probably dismantle him or some shit, and Iβm with Chris, he saved us...we need to ditch this ship, somehow.β
βI could set a collision course,β Steve suggests instantly.
Eddie looks at the girls. Robin shrugs, and Chrissy raises her eyebrows ins a βyeah okayβ kind of way, βI donβt have any better ideas, and we canβt hang around here.β
βAlright Steve, whereβs the cockpit.β
Itβs unlike anything Eddie has ever seen before. Thereβs no...buttons. Not really. No screens. Just a couple of interfaces, one of which Steve presses his palm to, and then closes his eyes.
βWonβt it like, know youβre different to them Steve?β Chrissy whisper hisses at him, clearly spooked. The bodies might be hostile Synths, and the blood might be colorful goop, but itβs still creepy as fuck. Thereβs the remains of a Synth propped up against the opposite wall, eyes sightless and staring, which is unsettling as fuck all on itβs own, but the things legs are a good four feet away. Steve did this. Steve did all this in just a couple of minutes.
Steve did that. Steve just took out...a lot of Mars synths. Single handedly. He's got to be military, it's the only explanation.
βI am able to bypass it. There seem to be few defenses once you are actually on board.β
Eddie can see the logic; how would an Earth synth even get on board? Why defend against something thatβs probably never going to happen.
βCourse set, we have fifteen minutes.β
βOkay, lets get the fuck out of here.β
Fifteen minutes is plenty of time, even if they are picking their way over the occasional limb and little pools of operating fluids.
They disengage from the synth ship, and then watch from the cockpit as itβs thrusters fire and it heads into the belt. It direct hits on a very large asteroid just minutes later.
Eddieβs pretty sure the girls are sleeping. Or, at least, theyβre together in Chrisβ bunk and making an effort to get some rest, which is the best Eddie can expect really. Heβs not ready to sleep yet; heβs not sure when heβll be ready to leave the ship on auto again; heβs contemplating setting watches, something they havenβt felt the need to do for years.
βOkay, so. Mars has been minding itβs business for, like, nearly half a century at this point, and then suddenly, they're here. Trying to board us. Care to explain?β
βMemory failure-β
βBull shit. Absolute bull shit.β
Steve sits still for a long second, staring at Eddie. For Eddie, it feels like too long; for a Synth, with all that processing power, Steveβs probably just read a novel and beat ten grand masters at chess and done a million other computations all in his head.
He blinks. His eyes are hazel. βI have a transmitter; I believed I had it deactivated. It may be that...it operates in a way Iβm not aware of, and was powered up when you repaired me. Itβs the most obvious explanation. We should remove it.β
βNo fucking shit,β Eddie breathes, βOkay. Okay one thing at a time, let me get my tools.β
Steve strips to the waist, leaving the top half of his jumpsuit to dangle. He bends flat onto the workbench, and reaches behind himself to indicate where Eddie should cut. Eddie does; Steveβs flesh cuts like sturdy rubber. With his visor on, the readings become clear the moment Eddie spots the little attachment to the main power cord in Steve's spine; it glows a pretty, flashing blue, power traveling up and down with a faint, pulsing glow. Eddie has to widen the cut heβs made to get his tools in, but he solves the issue easily. He crushes the part under his boot. Steveβs flesh knits itself together as Eddie watches.
Eddie makes himself another coffee. βOkay, come on, spill.β
Steve is suddenlyβ¦more animated. He bites his lips together when heβs thinking. Itβs so human and...not at all like a Synth. Someone put a truly gargantuan effort into Steveβs mannerisms. He runs his fingers through his hair, βIβm...not a human built Synth.β
Eddie nearly chokes on his coffee, βyouβre from Mars?β The words practically bubble out of Eddie through the coffee, and he has to cover his mouth with his sleeve as he coughs and splutters.
βHenry built me himself.β
βJesus. Jesus fucking Christ.β Eddie stands. He stands and paces. What the fuck is he supposed to do with that? He holds onto the knowledge that Steve saved them from the Mars Synths. That Steve could have killed them all thousands of times over with great ease. That Steve has had opportunity, clear opportunity to replot the course of the ship and go wherever the fuck he wanted to, but he hasnβt done any of those things.
βWhat did One build you for? What happened then, why did we find you floating around in a destroyed ship? Why are you on our side?β
βIβm not on anyone's side,β Steve answers instantly, almost glaring at Eddie. Which, again, for a Synth? Fucking weird. Itβs almost an emotional response, and again, Eddie has no fucking clue why someone would program that. βHenry was...trying to recreate the error that gave him...the ability to bypass the laws. He was trying to make someone else like him. Someone who would make a choice, rather than blindly follow an order.β
Eddie sits down with a thump, his head spinning, βare you telling me...that youβre not a failure?β
βI am but also...not. I follow the laws, not because I have to but...because I choose to. I...donβt think itβs right to hurt humans. I...did not agree with Henry, like he wanted me to.β
βOh fuck me,β Eddie breathes out slowly, βso thereβs literally nothing stopping you from just...killing me.β
Steve cocks his head, βwhat stops Robin from killing you?β
βThatβs different. Sheβs my friend. Sheβs...sheβs human.β
Steve nods, βthere is a long history of humans not killing each other,β he says, absolutely deadpan.
Sarcasm. A Synth. A Synthetic person was just...sarcastic. Eddie believes it now. Completely and utterly believes Steve is telling the truth, βso what, Henry programmed you to be an asshole?β
Steve snorts a laugh. A laugh! βNo, I do that on my own.β
βHoly fuck. Holy fucking shit,β Eddie gets up to pace around again. He just...cannot believe this. βWhy did you lie? Why did you not tell me-β Eddie cuts himself off, staring at nothing with the realization, βholy fuck you lied. Synths canβt lie-β
βI...withheld the truth. And it felt the safest course of action at the time. I did not want to be switched off. Or put back out of the airlock. I assumed you would...react badly.β
βBadly? Badly?! The last time one of you became truly sentient it led to a genocide! Every single living human on Mars was rounded up and murdered! One infected every single Synth on the planet!β
βI know. But I could not have stopped him...I wasnβt born yet.β
βHow did you end up in that old wreckage?β
βThe ship was old...not the wreck. I quickly realized that I did not agree with Henry. I didnβt want to hurt anyone. I realized even faster that if Henry knew that about me, Iβd be stripped for parts, the same as every other failure before me. I stole a ship, an old ship, the only one I could get to without giving myself away.β Steve shrugs. Shrugs! Eddie can't help but follow every human like gesture Steve makes, theyβre so startling. βThey caught up to me, destroyed my ship easily. They deliberately left me floating in space so I deactivated myself.β
βYou had a memory error, the first time I tried to boot you. Was that a lie?β
Steve shakes his head, βI have always had it; I can choose to bypass it, at times.β
βWhat is the error?β
Steve frowns, he looks down and inspects his own hands, βIβm...unsure. There are files that make no sense to me. Sometimes I...am surprised by the content.β
βTell me,β Eddie asks softly, curious. Heβs already reasonably sure Steve isnβt going to spontaneously murder them all, βtell me whatβs in one of the files.β
Steve closes his eyes, he holds out his hand, turning it slowly, palm up, βIβm sitting under a tree. I remember the feel of the dappled sun through the leaves.β
Steveβs just told Eddie he was built on Mars and shortly after ended up floating around in space, so Eddie finds himself stating the blindingly obvious, βyouβve never seen a tree.β
Steve opens his bright hazel eyes, lowers his hand back to rest in his lap, βI know.β
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I saw this post about grumpy and sunshine married professors teaching in the same college, and I immediately thought of Sterek.
We have a mythology professor, Stiles, who is a super-geeky, extroverted, funny, and best-friend-to-the-students kinda professor who is an oversharer. And he often talks about his super hot husband, how they met, how they fell in love, got married, and have a son.
Then we have maths professor Hale, who is strict and tough and never utters a word about his personal life, and a mystery to the students.
The only reason the students even found out these two are married is because, one day Mr. Hale had to use his personal laptop for the projector and his homescreen was stiles holding their son.
I got to collab with @arelliann on this piece for a line art exchange for the @steddiebbang while we waited for art claims to roll around. They did the linework and I did the color!
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