• Normally enjoys hypotheticals. Thought experiments. This particular one is unsettling, though. Self soothing as his servos rub over the familiar shape, he’s afraid to look at you. Afraid you’ll start talking again and he doesn’t know how to do any of this. How to deal with others. Especially a tiny organic that asks strange, unsettling questions. Squeezing the shape in his hand, he focuses on the sound of his venting, his internal systems humming. “You can tell me to shut up,” you say and his optics flick to you and away as your shoulders rise and fall in an eerily Cybertronian gesture. “If I’m freaking you out or just being annoying. Or if you just don’t want to talk to me.” Smoothing a servo over a corner of the block, he shifts on his peds.

• “It was a reasonable question,” he finally mutters, staring fixedly at the little block in his hand as he rocks it back and forth under his servos. Making you think of those prickly, pain fidget toys you’ve seen. Things meant to focus you so you can think through the noise around you. Studying him as he plays with the little block and avoids looking at you, that guilt is a living thing twisting through you. You think suddenly of your bully in high school and the savage delight they’d taken in making you miserable. Is that you now? The bully? You’d gotten carried away. Had known you were making him uncomfortable and you’d just kept going. Swearing softly as you put your face in your hands, you hear him shift his weight. His shadow falls across you and you reluctantly look up, chin on your arm.

• “There’s a hands-on science center on the outskirts of town if it’s not closed down,” you say suddenly, legs drawn up and cheek on your arm as you watch him. Unsure why you’re telling him this, he waits since that seems to be the safest option. Why did you choose him? Can’t you tell something’s wrong with him? That he doesn’t know how to do this. Any of it. He’s been told so many times that he’s wrong. Difficult to deal with. Frustrating. If so many have said it, then it’s probably true. So why are you still here? Why haven’t you walked away, yet? You’re frowning and he’s not sure of it’s because of him or not, but he guesses it is. Why are you like this? The words lift up through him from his memory to leave him off balance. “I mean it’s for kids, but I think they have rocks and fossils. You know, science stuff,” you add when he’s silent. Still trying. Why are you still trying? Everyone gives up eventually. Drifts away.

• He’s just staring at you while he rolls that block between his servos. What is he even thinking? Probably wishing he’d never gotten assigned to you. That you’d go away. Inhaling slowly, you force a smile like the silence doesn’t bother you. Should be used to it, though. Because you’ve always been like this. Awful at making and keeping friends. It’s usually good for a day or two, maybe a month, but then you forget to pretend to be nice. The mask slips, the real you shows, and then you get left behind. “Fossils,” he repeats slowly and you blink. ‘Yeah?’ You venture as he finally slowly turns in a circle before easing down across from you. ‘And rocks.’

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• “So you guys just chuck stuff into a whole other dimension for storage. Is there anything alive in that other dimension?” He’s staring at you, but you’re just imagining some weird aliens just living their extra-dimensional, mundane lives when random crap just blips into existence trashing their house. ‘I don’t know,’ he says weakly, sounding slightly horrified. Like it’s never occurred to him to think about the possibility.

• Is there anything alive in that other dimension? They’ve use subspace storage for as long as their recorded histories go back. What if there are whole civilizations in that pocket dimension that are getting bombarded with anything they toss into subspace? Making a dismayed noise, he walks away. And you’re following him. What if you say more unsettling things? Glancing at you, he changes direction and you shadow him. “How has no one ever asked that? You guys are super old, right? I mean, compared to humans.” You’re still talking. Why are you still talking?

• Did you break him? Amused as he makes a funny little noise and starts walking faster, you jog after him. “Why are you chasing me?” He asks, sounding so bewildered you almost laugh. ‘I don’t know. Why are you running?’ You ask and he shoots you a look. But keeps booking it back toward the base. What’s his deal? ‘If the aliens that may or may not live in that dimension had the ability to do anything about you guys dumping stuff there, they would have by now, right?’ You ask, panting to keep up.

• “Stop talking about it,” he groans, trying very hard and failing to not catalogue every weird object he’s ever tossed into subspace. Because know he’s anxiously imagining aliens judging the things he’s stored in there. ‘Why? It’s cool,’ you say, running after him as he heads for the base. No, it’s awful. Traumatizing. Doesn’t want to think or talk about it. ‘What if you accidentally pulled one of the aliens out of subspace? Think the air or gravity would insta-kill them?’ Why are you like this? “Please, stop.”

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• Bending to pick up an interesting bit of quartz, he brushes the dirt off and holds it up to the light to see the way it sparkles. And despite your smiling and nodding, you seem distracted. Out of breath, as well. Subspacing the rock, he tries to figure you out. Maybe he’s wrong, but you don’t seem to be enjoying this even though it has been your idea. He’s never been good at reading people, though. Especially aliens. There’s still the problem of you wanting to wash him, too. Just thinking about an intimacy like that, someone touching him all over, leaves him deeply uncomfortable.

• Giving up and unzipping the top half of your coveralls, you wiggle your arms out of the sleeves and let it hang around your waist. Have you ever sweated so much? You’re pretty sure the answer is no. Why do people enjoy this? Slapping a mosquito as you trudge through brambles and weeds, your neck cranes to stare up at the sun filtering through the leaves. How can it still be so miserably hot in the shade? “Ah, look,” he says as he holds up another rock.

• “Cool,” you mumble and his attention dips back to the mostly round rock in his hands. Servos shifting on it to exert pressure, digging in until it cracks and you frown. “You broke it?” You ask and his servos open. Sorting through the broken pieces of the geode, he selects one and holds it out. “Oh, it’s a geode.” And it would have been better to use tools. To make a cleaner break in the stone. But you’re almost smiling as you turn the broken piece over and then hold it up to the light.

• It looked just like any other rock to you. Nothing special. On the inside, though, it glitters with tiny crystals. You’d never have picked up a rock like that. Never have guessed what might be inside. When you try to hand the shard back, the big mech retreats a step, optics flitting from you to the rock as the sun through the leaves spots him in shadow. “It’s yours. I have more,” he says, a servo touching the rest of the broken geode cradled in his other hand, stirring the pieces about. And you’re aware that he’s given you the biggest piece of it, you’re just not sure why. Watching him make it disappear into thin air, you pocket your piece. ‘When you do that, where does it go?’ You ask because you’ve seen them do that before and it’s bugged you. Alien magic even though it must be science, but if you can’t understand how they do it, it may as well be magic.

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• Rocks is an over simplification, but he supposes it’s not untrue. He does like them. They’re easier to figure out than living beings, anyway. They don’t do strange things that he has trouble understanding. But then, he’s always had trouble understanding others. Their tones, their motivations, and how they feel escape him sometimes until he feels lost, like everyone else speaks a language he can’t parse. “I could bring you earth rocks if you let me wash you,” you add and he hesitates. Why are you so set on him? So used to people asking what’s wrong with him, that he doesn’t know how to respond to someone that apparently doesn’t care that he’s not right.

• He’s not immediately saying no, so maybe bribery can get you somewhere with him. And it’s not like rocks are hard to come by. “I promise not to actually touch you. Hey, I can probably get one of those telescoping wash brushes,” you say, miming scrubbing him with one. “I could stand a few feet away and wash you that way.” It’s not like they said how you had to wash him, so as long as it gets done, you get paid. “Well?” You prompt when he almost looks at you before his attention is back on his fidget toy. Maybe he’s just painfully awkward? This conversation definitely is.

• What about him is it that makes you want to court him? Doesn’t want a conjunx, can barely tolerate someone touching him. Likes quiet, to work lost in his own little world. And he’s only going to disappoint you. “I’m afraid that I can’t be what you want me to be,” he says, afraid to meet your eyes. Because you’re going to be upset with him and it leaves him anxious, wanting to get away. ‘What, we can’t be friends?’ You ask and he goes still. You’re not courting him?

• “Friends?” He repeats slowly and you cross your arms as you shrug. ‘Well, yeah. I thought we could form a rockhounding club,’ you lie, not at all sure that’s even the right term. ‘Go out and collect interesting rocks? Talk about geology.’ All that boring stuff. Because to not have to pay back your sign-on bonus, you’ll absolutely pretend to care about rocks and dirt if it makes him happy and keeps you employed. Don’t hobby places usually sell rocks, too? They can’t be that expensive and shiny bits of quartz and semiprecious rocks aren’t too high a cost to keep this job and its benefits. “Ah,” he murmurs uncertainly, but he’s listening at least and you smile.

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• “Mostly sedimentary,” he mutters, bending to pick one up, servos tracing over the smooth surface. “Limestone. Ah, granite,” he adds, bending to pick up another and he holds it up in the sun. Doubts they’ll look like much when they’re dry, but they’re lovely when still wet. Glancing over at you as you tip your face up toward the sun, he clears his vents. Doubting you’re interested. Most aren’t. And you look more alien than normal limned in sunlight. Almost fragile.

• Reaching into your backpack, you pull out the little plastic bag of colorful rocks that came in the rock tumbling refill kit, genuine gemstones guaranteed, that you found and you ease down to sit by where your tiny assigned mech is digging in the shallows of the river. And his head turns to look questioningly up at you making you wonder if he wouldn’t prefer you to leave him alone. Has to realize how vulnerable he is this size, though. Or maybe he really doesn’t. Seems to be in his own world most of the time.

• “I have something for you,” you call out and he rumbles, bending to pick up another stone with a fossil inclusion. And you lean to dump out a little pile of colorful rocks. Curious, he wades out of the shallow water to see what you have. “I saw these and thought you might like them,” you say, one shoulder lifting in a shrug as he crouches and begins sorting through the pile. Surprised you’d bothered at all to bring him a gift. Are you friends now? He’s not really sure. Not really good at this sort of thing.

• “I thought quartz was always kind of a whitish color,” you say and he shakes his head. Reaching to take the tiny rock from you, he hesitates realizing he’d end up touching your palm. Dismayed, he clears his vents and you slowly bend to put the rock down near his ped before walking away to look for more. Not upset that he doesn’t want to touch or be touched. You’d brought him here, a wooded area just outside the base with a river nearby with rocks everywhere. Doesn’t really understand why you’re being so patient with him. Why you don’t get aggravated with him when most do. Quickly.

• Wandering down to the river, you can see plenty of water worn, smooth rocks in the shallow water. The cold water. Inhaling slowly and reminding yourself that you need to win him over and the way to his alien heart or whatever these guys have seems to be rocks. So you toe off your shoes, stuff your socks inside them, and roll up your coverall legs to your knees. Shuddering as soon as you step into the chilly water, goosebumps lift along your arms. Bending to pick up a promising looking rock, you hear a branch crack from the opposite bank and look up. And freeze.

• Turning over the piece of quartz to see how the light catches on it, he fumbles and drops it when he hears voices rising belligerently. Anxiously turning toward the river, he sees a couple of other humans running toward you from the other bank and you fall in the water trying to run away. Not friends apparently. Isn’t sure what they’re calling you, but you’re obviously trying to get away from them as you scramble for him. Rocking slightly, he groans and starts toward the river, rumbling anxiously when one of them grabs your arm and you rear back, fighting.

• Smoothing his servos over the edges of the dodecahedron in his hand, counting the sides keeps him calm. Mostly. Because you’re talking to him, staring at him. Making him uncomfortable by forcing him to interact when he really doesn’t want to. Just wanted to study the geology of this world, but then the humans had sent him one of their own. Who’d wanted to touch him even though they were a stranger. “I’m sorry to waste your time, but I don’t require your services.” Handles his own maintenance and washing just fine. Needs his routines and rituals, not new things he doesn’t understand.

• Uh huh. That’s not cutting it, because you’re being paid to play nice and get on his good side. Wash him, bring him energon. Basically ingratiate yourself to this giant in the hopes that they might think twice before starting up their war again and leveling another city. Except, you’re pretty sure this one isn’t doing any rampaging. “My services? I just want to be your friend,” you lie affecting a hurt tone and he still won’t look directly at you. “You know, take care of you. You’re pretty dusty. Must be uncomfortable.”

• Truthfully, it is unpleasant when dirt and gravel get under his plating. The grit rubbing uncomfortably against his mesh. Risking a glance at you, he looks away again, because you’re making an unsettling amount of direct optic contact. “Would you like me to wash it off?” You ask when he doesn’t answer, reaching for him. And he moves back, frustrated. ‘I don’t like being touched,’ he admits and you frown slightly.

• “Okay,” you say, trying to figure out how to wash a bot that has an issue with being handled. Though, maybe he just has a problem with humans touching him. “I could spray you off then? Get the dust off?” And he’s just fidgeting with that thing in his hands, nervously turning it over and over. “Or we could just talk?” He’s not at all what you’d expected. More skittish kitten than standoffish as far as you can tell. Actually seems afraid of you. “Do you want to talk?”