artificial heart.

He had always wondered what had made him so special to have the first. In all honesty there was nothing, probably. It just made him the first to know just how uncomfortable the procedure was.

And the first to realise just how much a blessing in disguise an AI was.

But he and Acadia- they had instantly connected to one another. He couldn’t remember a period of hostility towards each other, or awkwardness, or anything else to put a kink in things before ‘things’ had even properly begun. She had just simply slipped into his life, as if she had been there from the start; almost like a daughter, though he knew others would find the notion ridiculous.

And so his smile subdued itself when she didn’t turn her eyes to meet with his own, and though the shine in his eyes didn’t extinguish it faded, much more temperate now. That natural connection wasn’t there. There wasn’t some sort of instantaneous bonding. No new revelations without words even being necessary between each other. Perhaps that connection hadn’t been there for Cheyenne, either- only Tallahassee, which could be a symptom as to why it never worked out for her, and why it could very well not work out for him.

The first time he had met Acadia, she became akin to a daughter to him. The first time he had met Tara, she became an acquaintance.

But that meant nothing. He had to persevere. And the first step to persevering would be at least making some semblance of an effort to get comfortable with her and tone down the awkwardness that threatened to hang stagnant in the air if he didn’t say something. But what could he say? He didn’t even know how to begin to make small talk with her, to do anything more than just nod and agree with the comment she made, and then moments later he didn’t need to, as her eyes finally looked up at him and he could feel himself being studied by them.

I’m really not. 

He was looking at her, and her lips didn’t move. But he heard her voice, hardly clear as day within his mind- more a murmur, and seconds passed by as he took his own opportunity to study her, her synthetic skin flawless. He didn’t ask her: ‘I’m really not what?’, though he had no idea what she meant by those words, even if his subconscious, the only thing that had pointed out who she wasn’t, did.

His heart thumped in his chest, though by all appearances he seemed nothing more than normal. It was safest to reason that he was imagining it, or maybe she hadn’t meant for him to hear her. He didn’t know. Probably over thinking it. Stop over thinking it. Keep talking.

"All the same, I’m sorry to have kept you waiting. I would’ve thought you’d of been back there," he gestured with a hand behind him, in the vague direction of where he had just emerged from implantation, "instead of out here." Another hand gesture, encompassing the empty area around them. Nothing much of interest was around, really; it was just the two of them.

"So did you want to go somewhere, or did you have somewhere else to be, or someone else to see, or…" He trailed off, shifting on his feet. Still not knowing what to say- seemed like he was getting like this an awful lot since he had woken up with Acadia dead beside him.

"… Or I can show you my room, if you’d like." That sounded weird. "I mean, just so you know where it is; you’re free to come and go now as you please. Some of Aquarius’ things are still lying around in there, but if you want you can just…"

For a moment, he lost contact with her eyes, his own pair flicking away for barely a millisecond. “You can just move them, if you need the space for anything.”

Choices were something that Tara's life seemed to lack. The choice to weaponise her body, to be thrown from agent to agent like a worn out toy, to chose how she wanted to live. How she wanted to die. She felt everyone deserved the choice to do what they pleased, no matter the consequences, no matter who it hurt. Would a soldier feel this way? Someone who had picked this life out for themselves? He's standing here because he chose to. He chose to join the UNSC, he chose to open his mouth and speak to her. 

She could still remember Tallahassee's first look. When their eyes met it had been like completing a circle. She knew she had been made for him, and he had told her much later that he often felt the same way. It had set a fire in her heart that had never quite extinguished, even through everything. It seemed to burn everyone she touched, it set flame to everything she tried to love. Cheyenne had burned them both, but something about Denver was soothing. He invoked a different feeling from her chest, warm instead of scorching. It was something much softer. Was this why Arcadia had been so pleasant? Why she seemed more like a porcelain doll than a war machine. 

For a moment, she wondered what effect she had on him. Would he have preferred for her to stay with him after the implantation? The idea of sitting by someone's bedside was an odd one, of holding their hand or stroking their hair. She wasn't sure she was capable of such a feat. 

Tara pulled some hair behind her ears and opened her mouth slightly as he continued on. Not so much dumbfounded as she was confused. It had been too long since someone had shown her this much kindness right off the bat. Helena was right, maybe they would be able to take care of each other. Or maybe the kindness was a front, maybe he was just too diplomatic to share how he was really feeling. Maybe she was being paranoid. Probably. 

"If you want to show me, then yeah, sure," she smiled at him and shrugged slightly. She felt like Tallahassee, so artfully noncommittal. Easy to read in any direction. Tara had spent most of her early days in Tallahassee's room, it was as much hers as it was his. It was strange now, how empty it seemed. She would have liked to have more of his trinkets left behind for her. Her fingers slid across the chain around her neck, the tags attached to them hidden under a maroon tank-top. It was the only thing left of him. 

That was why the idea of touching anything that belonged to Arcadia seemed almost sacrilegious. If Denver had cared for his previous A.I. half as much as Tara had cared for Tallahassee, then she knew how important those little memories were. The things they had touched last, unmoved from where they put them. Tara could still see a shirt draped lazily over a chair, something she would have folded away in a heartbeat. She remembered running her fingers over it, feeling the fabric, the grit of sweat and defeat. She had never had the heart to move it, but it vanished along with the rest of his things. If Denver was able to keep those small moments, she wouldn't be the one to tarnish them.

"But, uh, I keep most of my things in the armoury. So, I, uh," she exhaled and scrunched her face for a moment. "You don't have to move her shit -- her things, I mean. I'm not fussed." 

Against the metal wall, calloused fingers tapped with apprehension.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

He would’ve wondered if the woman around the corner could hear it, but the sound fell deaf on his own ears; the voices of doubt and uncertainty in his mind blotting out the noise.

Turn the corner.

                          Talk to her.

She’s your AI now, remember?

                But then; what was it? There’s a reason why you had Acadia.

There was a reason why Cheyenne had Tara.

              She wasn’t made for you; you’re just her replacement.

But all the same, she’s in your head now. Wonder if she’s tuning in for this conversati-

                                  What are you doing?

The tapping ceased, Denver’s right index finger pausing just above the solid surface. Really, if the same words had been said in reality by someone else they would’ve hung in the air, him acting as if they were unanswerable.

But he knew exactly what he was doing. He was stalling himself. Procrastinating. He was standing by a wall wasting time, too anxious and terrified to face what lay around the bend whilst being fully aware of the stupidity of it all- and she was already implanted within him, for god’s sake! Shouldn’t this have been all too familiar for him; the weight of someone else sharing your mind through an implantation chip buzzing with their life?

Denver took a breath. Closed his eyes. Exhaled. Opened eyes, staring at the other wall parallel from the one he had his back pressed against with a hand still hovering, that final tap never completed as his digits curled into a fist that was dropped down to his side, his tense shoulders relaxing as he did so.

Another breath. And then-

He pushed himself from the wall, turning the corner and Tara’s form came into full sight. The incessant mental questions continued (How long has she been out here? Was she waiting for you to wake up from it? Is she annoyed at you? No, wait; she didn’t seem all that annoyed about this on Meridian, did she?) but it was all background noise as he approached, slipping into the usual placid façade.

"I apologise; I have a feeling I was dead to the world for longer than anticipated."

He tried on a smile to greet her as he came by her side, but he couldn’t help himself; it was a genuine one that came in its place, his eyes brightening despite himself and for a moment, he was his old self again.

That weight and presence within his mind was a familiarity, and it was welcomed, and even in his mind he didn’t hear the voices continuing to question that-

Tara could hear his footsteps, she had never paid him much attention before. Now she was part of him. He was part of her. Would it last? It had to. She wouldn't lose another agent, besides, Helena had told her that they would be able to take care of each other. Helena had told her that she would be able to help him. If anything, she would be able to be cooperative based solely on the fact that she assumed Austin might want her to. Austin was her friend, she owed him so much. If helping Denver meant helping him, then she would do it regardless of how the man reacted to her. 

"I apologise; I have a feeling I was dead to the world for longer than anticipated."

There was a moment as Tara turned to look at him where she wasn't sure what she expected. His face wasn't unfamiliar, nor was his voice. But something seemed different now. Was that just her imagination? He wasn't Tallahassee, he wasn't Cheyenne. He was Denver, and now -- for better or for worse -- he was her agent. 

"It's different for everyone. It's not a comfortable process for either of us, so it's okay. There wasn't any rush."

She can't quite look at him, and there's no telling why. Tara can feel the discomfort radiating off of him, the doubts. For a moment, she thinks she can almost hear an echo of it, but he hasn't let her in. She can't hear what he doesn't want her to. But the run offs of whatever it is running through his head hit her like a flood. The A.I. half considers running away from him, going into the opposite direction until they're separated by miles and miles of ship. But she doesn't. She decided hours ago that she would stand her ground, she was determined to make this work.

But the words that hit her next didn't help her resolve any. She doubted it was intentional, maybe it was just the freshness of their implantation. But she was certain she could hear it inside her head, maybe she was just imagining it. Maybe she was being paranoid. 

She's not Arcadia. 

Strangely, it's then that she's able to look him in the eye. Tara studied his face, the creases from years she couldn't imagine, the blue that seemed so much more alive than hers. His eyes looked like the blue-green ocean of Meridian, while hers looked like nothing more than a winter's day. She wondered if that meant anything, if it mattered at all. 

"I hate you."

"You’re dead to me."

"I trust you."

"I’m dying."

"I’m pregnant with your baby."

"I never really loved you."

"I want you. Naked. In my bed. Now."

"I’m proud of you."

“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.

A small smile touched her face and she put her elbows on her knees, her fingers lacing through her hair. She plucked out a strand of her hair and inspected it, the dark brown that faded softly into a pale blonde. It was strange to think that it was hers. That someone had designed her as if they changed their mind half way through. She wondered if it was the same person that had programmed her. Everything about her seemed to be in conflict with itself. Tara couldn't help but hope it was intentional. 

"I couldn't just leave you here to die alone," she tried to carry a small trace of amusement in her voice, but it tapered out awkwardly. Eclipsed by her own fear of the situation, of what waited for them in the morning. "You didn't leave me. It's only fair."

It was true. He had come back for her body, for her chip. Austin had put himself in danger to ensure that she wasn't left there to rust in those caves with those creatures gnawing dumbly at synthetic flesh and hair. It would have been easy to walk away, to write her off as expendable. To assume there could be some replacement made the moment they found themselves back on the ship. He had gone back for her when no one else did, there was no way she could leave him now. A debt was a debt, and more than that, she wanted to be there with him.

Tara found him oddly comforting. The familiarity of him. One of the original agents, one of the first faces she ever saw. A man that -- for better or for worse -- was connected to Tallahassee. Thinking on everyone on the ship, she couldn't think of anyone she'd rather spend her final hours with. Except for maybe Helena. No, definitely Helena. Helena was the closest thing she would ever have to family. She wondered if she would miss Tara after they shut her down. Certainly, after all they'd gone through she would. 

No doubt Cheyenne would be relieved. If Tara was replaced, then there would be no issue. No question of loyalties. She'd have someone to treat like a magician's assistant. Someone who didn't know the difference between tool and partner. She wanted to pull her hair out at the idea, at the very thought of it. She wanted to stand up and scream and bang on the Director's door until he told her what was going to happen. Until he told her if she was going to die, because in this moment there felt like there was no other possibility. Only the raw and biting fear that she was going to be shut down and there was nothings she could do about it.

She was nearly swallowed by it by the time he answered her question, but she focused on his words. Listening hard, searching for the image he laid out for her. Trying to imagine things she had never seen. Things that simply didn't exist in her world. The ice of the hockey rink, the comfort of familiar foods and drinks, bodies of water that had sprung forth on their own. Natural wonders. Human wonders. She looked out to the stars once more, eyes searching for the distant dot that marked Austin's homeworld. All of humanity's homeworld. She imagined him skating, tried to imagine him any younger than he was now. It seemed impossible to her that he had existed before this moment, or before she had known him. Impossible that any of the agents had lives before the project. But they did. 

They had families, friends, homes. They had places to go home to. People who would mourn their loss. Lovers, enemies. She wondered what it was like, to face death from his perspective. To think back on all the things he was going to lose. All the people who would be without him. Who were already without him. It seemed unfair that he was here, that they couldn't just send him home before they killed him. He's not going to die, she reminded herself fiercely. She had to believe that someday he'd find that lake and eat that metric ton of ice cream. She'd make it her last wish, and that had to count for something. 

"Give me an hour to research it and I bet I'd kick your ass. Assuming I'd be any good with skates. I don't know if we're built for that kind of balance, I mean. Who fucking knows, really. But I bet I'd kick your ass anyway."

Maybe not, but Tara felt she had to say it. Say something. Anything to make him think that she wasn't going crazy inside. When she was still new, Tara had learned to be strong for Tallahassee. Strong because he was so inherently broken, always looking death in the eyes and screaming for it to take him. Ready for it to consume him. Ready. She didn't know how any living creature could be ready for death. It baffled her. Terrified her. The idea of giving up, it was the most horrifying thing she could imagine. She wondered if he was as scared as she was. Tara wondered if Austin was trying to be strong too. 

He was doing a good job of it if he was. But she doubted he was the type to put on a show. Maybe that was the greatest flaw of all the Agents. All of them were broken. All of them seemed so resigned to their fates. Just once she wanted to see one of them fight back, to snap. To take it all and hold on so tight the whole world could just burst. That's all she wanted to do. She just wanted to clutch it all and never let go. 

“What about you?”

Tara's mouth opened slightly. She hadn't been expecting this. She hadn't even considered it. Sitting up right she pulled her hair back into a ponytail and held it there on the top of her head while she thought about it. If she were going to pick any way to spend her last six hours how would she spend it? On the beach? See snow fall for the first time? The gentle flakes falling down onto her skin, a harsh frigid air. Would she spend it here in this spot? Would she find some way to stop it from happening at all? Some last ditch effort to save herself? 

No. 

She knew exactly how she would spend her final hours. The way she had always intended to spend them. The only way she really knew how.