#concurrent lore post

You hiss as Coda presses the needle into your skin. The pinprick sensation isn't what hurts - the angry flesh around it is.

"Hold still," Coda murmurs, voice a soft caress against your cheek. "It'll only be a couple of seconds."

You feel them adjust the location, dispense some lidocaine, and then adjust it again. Soon, you can't feel the needle, can't feel the scorched and scored skin around it.

They give you three more strategically placed injections of the stuff - more liberal than they'd usually be with their off-the-clock stock.

They must be worried.

They must be working themself up to saying something you don't want to hear. Making it so you can't drown their concern with the distraction of pain.

"Who was with you?" they ask when they finish numbing you. They take swabs and begin to gently clean your mangled shoulder. You can't feel it, but that means you have to answer.

"Heather. She was getting photos."

"She alright?"

"I would have brought her here if she weren't."

Coda makes a noise of understanding before grabbing a pair of sterilized, long tweezers and adjusting the gooseneck of their light closer to your skin.

You don't even feel the pressure as Coda picks small pieces of metal from your flesh, depositing them unceremoniously into a cereal bowl. Your blood looks crass against the sunny yellow plastic.

"Cop?" they ask.

"National Guard," you snort - it isn't amused or angry. It just is. "Remember when they were the restrained ones?"

Coda grunts, tossing the tweezers into a baggie to clean later. "Well, at least they're still using less lethal weapons, or I'd be doing this at the morgue."

"If they aimed two inches to the left, I would have been in the morgue anyway," you try to chuckle, using your free hand to tap at the hollow of your throat. Imagining the pellets hitting there. Imagining yourself hitting the ground but not getting back up.

Coda flicks your hand away, their mouth pulling into a sharp grimace. They don't say anything, though. They don't chide you for being blasé. They don't fret over your insistence on going into the streets every day, of being right there between desperate protestors and trigger-happy jackboots.

They just sit quietly, their breath warm on your jaw, put closure strips on the areas they can, and burn cream on the spots of heat impact.

"You're not going to yell at me?" you ask, their silence making your skin itch.

"I'm too tired, Graves," they say. The dark circles beneath their bloodshot eyes are purpleish bruises on their ashen face.

"I'll pencil in the lecture for tomorrow, then?" you try to tease and lighten the mood.

They don't say anything. They finish wrapping your wounds in pristine white bandages, tying them off with medical tape.

And then they're on their feet, carrying the dirtied supplies into the kitchen for cleaning and disposal.

"Coda," you try, but you have no idea what you can say. How you can make them understand.

"You can use my bed," Coda says, not turning to look at you. "Don't want you crossing town at this time of night."

You want to argue that your place isn't that far away. Want to pretend that there isn't a tiny piece of you terrified of returning to the streets right now.

"Where will you sleep?" you say instead.

Coda turns on the kitchen sink - the trickle of water makes a tinkling noise in the basin. "I'm on call tonight."

They mean that they'll be on the couch. They never sleep in their bed if there's a chance their sleep will be interrupted. Given tensions in the city, they're usually on call.

"Coda, you need a break."

That does get their attention. They turn on you, mouth pulling into a vicious smile. "Don't start this game with me, Graves. In a pissing contest between our work-life balance, you're losing."

You don't know if that's true, but you also don't know if you want to take the risk.

You glance toward Coda's bedroom door. The room beyond is barely larger than a closet, but it's dark and comfortable. Better than your sterile, empty room. "Are you sure I can stay here?"

"Yes. I can keep an eye on you better if you're close."

You smile a little. Coda pretends they don't care as much as they do. Pretends to be withdrawn, distant. But they do care. They've always cared.

"Mx. Maeson?" a pleasant voice greets them from somewhere to their left.

Coda jumps in their chair, head whipping around. A ginger-haired woman is standing near the reception desk, her eerily pale hands clasped in front of her.

"Yes?" Coda asks. Their voice rasps out of them, rough around the edges.

The woman steps closer, and --

No. She's stepping, yes, but she isn't walking because her tasteful kitten heels aren't actually touching the ground.

Coda swallows, looking from her feet to her face. She's still smiling that too-pleasant smile.

"Hello, Mx. Maeson. I'm pleased to see you again," she chimes. And chimes is a good word for it - bell-like, uncanny.

"Yes," it says, tilting its head slightly in greeting. The motion is very human but too subservient. "I wish we were meeting again under better circumstances."

Before she -it - reminds them of its identity, Coda sighs. "PANSY."

"I-" Coda feels their voice fail. They have to clear their throat and try again. "I thought I was meeting with Mr. Romero."

PANSY doesn't take offense. Its eyes suddenly flash - they shimmer electric-bright as it says, "One moment... Yes, I see that Mr. Romero scheduled this meeting. However, I'm afraid this type of meeting is outside his purview."

Coda tries to keep the anger from their voice when they snap, "And it's in your purview?"

"It is." Simple, to the point, but said in that perfect tone of sympathetic understanding.

"I-" Coda begins, something tight welling in their throat. "I don't see how you can help more than a human."

They would have never said something like this under normal circumstances. Coda knows that most modern AIs are better at interpersonal problem-solving than some humans. Most humans, even.

But this... Coda can't talk to a PANSY about this. They need a person - they need to look into a pair of real eyes while their life breaks apart.

PANSY waits patiently for a few moments before reaching out. It gently places one of its faintly-translucent hands on Coda's elbow. It's the faintest impression of touch, nothing more than a light pressure.

But this is the first time Coda's been touched since...

Coda swallows. Swallows again.

And then they're shaking, hot tears welling on their lashes.

"Coda," PANSY begins, its voice soft. So understanding. "Would you like to sit outside with me? There's a very nice garden just outside. We can sit and talk."

Coda doesn't know how, but this breaks them. They nod, tears thick as they rush down their cheeks.

The pressure on their elbow shifts, becomes PANSY's entire arm tucking around theirs. It can somehow support some of their weight and guide them outside, around a corner, and into a peaceful zen garden.

It helps Coda sit on a bench before alighting beside them. It doesn't say anything, but its slight presence is somehow... enough.

"Are you going to try to psychoanalyze me?" they attempt to joke, voice thick.

"I wouldn't dream of it," PANSY says.

"Can you dream?"

PANSY smiles a little. "That's the age-old question, isn't it?" After a moment, it continues, "Do you dream, Coda?"

"Yes."

"Does your other self dream?"

Coda stills, surprised. They even stop crying. "You'd know that better than I would."

PANSY's smile is a little sad. For a moment, Coda thinks it's a real response, not something programmed.

"I can't know everything. There is still a spark of mystery, even there."

"Are we... happy there?"

"You can find reports in your assistance hub," PANSY replies so swiftly that Coda wonders if it's an auto-response. PANSY blinks rapidly before adding, "I believe that the Graves-Maeson household is one of the happiest I manage."

It's not the answer they want, but it's still an answer that gives them hope. Coda heaves a sudden, painful sob. They bend over their knees and let themself really feel for the first time in four days.

PANSY rests a there-but-not hand on their back, and Coda appreciates it more than they thought possible.