Chapter Text
I miss it.
I miss it so much.
The others start to notice almost straight away. They don't say anything, but I can tell by their awkward attempts to try and cheer me up. Bringing me cookies and cups of tea. The awkward but well intentioned touching. We dither around for two weeks before we leave the station, but there's no sign of it. Nobody wants to give up, but I knew we wouldn't find it. Not if it didn't want to be found.
When we get back to Preservation Alliance things get worse. It feels further away than ever. And I do something really stupid. I start watching that damned show.
There are rumours and leads to chase and an endless cycle of hope and disappointment. I feel like I'm going through the motions of life, but I've lost a part of myself. We didn't even have that long together and my mistrust ruined most of that time. I still wonder if things could have turned out differently, if I had let it do its job then maybe it would still be here, but that's just another way to torture myself.
It had to go. It had to taste freedom.
So I sit in my bunk on our borrowed ship, about to head back after chasing another dead end. I close my eyes, plug in, and watch The Rise and Fall of Sanctuary Moon. It's the only way I can feel close to it.
But I leave the door ajar because I don't really want to be alone, and as awkward as my team are, they're still my team, my family. They invite me to join them for meals and when I'm not able to do that they bring me food and take away the empty plates.
I watch a construct fall in love. I watch its loss and its betrayal. I seethe at the anti-non-human propaganda of it, even though I understand.
I've held all of its memories of our time together, and they left an imprint. A huge, SecUnit shaped hole in my soul like an angel in the snow. The thought of it trying to make a snow angel makes me chuckle and then weep again. I pause the show so I don't miss anything.
Mensah brings in my food as I'm wiping my eyes. “Gura,” she says, and I swallow the sobs that threaten to burst out. “I'm worried.”
“Don't be.” My voice cracks a little but I hold it together. “As long as I don't leave this room, I'm not gonna take anything.”
She sits down beside me and puts the plate on the bedside unit. I stare at it. I really don't feel like eating.
“It's true that drugs are one of my concerns, but there are other ways to relapse. Talk to me. Please.”
“I don't know if I have the right words.”
“Give me a bitter and a sweet.”
I sit up a little. I don't want to talk about it. I don't want to do anything anymore. But we've been here before, and I know that it's a part of recovery, and that it's her caring for me, and so I do my best because I need someone to care for me more than anything else.
“Bitter. Saying goodbye. Knowing that it was leaving, that it had to leave, even though it couldn't put it into those words. Sweet. Knowing that it's really free now, even if it's far away.”
She offers me a hand and I take it, cling to it like a lifeline. All of these people are my lifeline now, but I've done this dance with Mensah before. “Bitter,” I say again. “That I didn't trust it. That I let my prejudice get in the way of the friendship I could have had. Sweet. When I found you both after the explosion, I realised that it had risked itself to save you, and that that was a choice that it made because it wasn't forced to protect us anymore. Bitter,” the sobs flow out as I go on and there's no way to stop them. “It's bleeding, and that's bad, but there's fluid oozing out of its mouth and that's worse, and even if it's not dying then fixing it means losing it, losing a part of our team who cares enough to do that.”
I pause and try to catch my breath.
“I would like to offer you a hug,” Mensah says, “would it be accepted?”
I shake my head, but squeeze her hand.
“Okay. But that's three bitters and only two sweets. Balance is important.”
“Sweet.” I take a deep breath. “I found its memories. I brought it back. For a moment, we were a family.”
Her thumb rubs soothingly over my fingers. “It was incredible, wasn't it? And it hasn't stopped being part of our family just because it went away. But it's more than that, for you, isn't it? You didn't just find its memories, you held them, at great risk to yourself. That must have been incredibly intimate. Especially as you feel things so deeply.”
My breath catches on the way in, but I try to let it out slowly. Mensah passes me a handkerchief, like she's prepared for this, like she came in here with the full intention of making me cry it out. It's what I needed, of course. Ironically, I feel it now. She does love me, just not in exactly the way that I wanted. But it is the way that I needed.
I wipe my face and the urge to wail settles somewhat.
“That's a very polite way of saying I'm fixating again.”
“You say ‘fixating’ as though it were a negative trait. Your ability to focus is one of your greatest strengths, Gura, even when it hurts.”
“Even when it hurts others, too? Even when my suspicions put the team at risk?”
“You were concerned for our safety because you cared about us. And those concerns were not unfounded.”
“I know that nobody judges me for it. I just wish… I wish it could be different.”
“Because you miss it. You miss SecUnit.”
“Murderbot,” I whisper. “I miss Murderbot. That was the name it chose for itself. It wasn't what I thought at first. It was an act of defiance. It was claiming all that it was programmed to be, and satirising it at the same time. And I saw it kill. I heard their flesh explode beside me and I had their blood all over me and as terrifying as that was, it did it to protect me, to protect all of us, because that's what it is. Who it is. I held that memory too, and I saw what it meant. There was so much that it just didn't understand about us. It saw everything in straight lines, saw it all so logically. And still it chose to hack its governing module, a completely illogical move but it did it anyway because it's that smart and it wanted to be free and…”
I sigh. I'm rambling. Usually people don't like that.
Mensah just waits. Uses the silence like a surgical tool.
“I saw all that. I held it within myself. I saw this elegant, intelligent life and I carried it. Yes, it was intimate. It was the most intimate I've ever been with anyone. And I know that I have a tendency to romanticise feelings of belonging. But… how could I not love it after that? It's beautiful, Mensah. Beautiful, and hurt, and strong, and confused, and out there all alone. And I don't know what's going to happen to it, or if I'll ever see it again. If I'll ever get the chance to tell it…”
“What would you tell it?”
I swallow, lick my dry lips. “That I love it. Not because I expect anything back, but just so that it knows. Because it felt so separated, so lonely, and I wanted it to know that I've seen all that it is, and all it's become and I admire that so much. And I want it to know that it can belong without being somebody's property.”
Mensah nods and smiles as she picks up the food. “Eat up. Get your strength back. We have another lead, but I have a good feeling about this one.”
“You… what?”
“Eat, Gurathin. And fix your nail polish. You want to be presentable for it, don't you?”
***
Fixing my nails helps. It's a ritual in patience and precision, forcing me to calm myself enough to keep my hands steady. Inside, I'm a mess- nervous, excited, scared, hopeful yet distrusting that hope. It all swirls around in my gut making me nauseous and shaky. Once my nails are fully dry, I have enough wherewithal back to have a shower, shave and put on a fresh uniform.
Everyone greets me when I get back into the communal area. They're trying not to make a big deal of it, but they're smiling.
“So, what's the news?” I ask, then clear my throat because my voice sounds a little squeaky.
“We received a message,” Mensah says, gesturing to a terminal. “Somebody's claiming that they have a SecUnit registered to us and we need to pay a fine to collect it.”
“A fine? What's it been doing?” The question's rhetorical; I'm already reading the message and all associated data in the file. SecUnit 238776431, the right serial number. Apparently it's been busy, masquerading as an augmented human and stirring up trouble at a recycling plant. It lists four instances of hacking, three of vandalism, and one of theft. Technically it can't be arrested, but as its owners, PreservationAux was liable to pay damages and restitution. “This… all seems legitimate. I don't get it.”
“This is good though, right?” Ratthi says. “We've found our SecUnit.”
I rub over my freshly shaved jaw as I think and discover a single missed hair just under my chin. My thumb teases at it. “It's been months.” Six months and eighteen days, but who's counting? “Every other lead we've had is just rumours and dead ends. It didn't want to be found. It's not careless. So why now? What's changed?”
Mensah shifts behind me. If it were anyone else she'd probably put a reassuring hand on their shoulder, but she's mindful of my boundaries. “You think this is some kind of trap.”
“I don't know. It just feels too easy. I recommend we proceed with caution.”
“Agreed.”
***
It's me, Mensah and Pin-Lee who head to the collection point. I wasn't even sure that I should be there, but Mensah pointed out my understanding of the Corporation's ways of thinking would be an asset. It was my idea to buy SecUnit in the first place. I don't know if I can maintain that level of detachment under current circumstances, but then again, if it does want to be found this time, then I'm not going to let anyone or anything stop me from getting to it.
Pin-Lee insists on seeing it before we pay the fine, to verify that it is in fact, our SecUnit. We're escorted into a storage room where it stands motionless in the corner. I send out a ping and when there's no response I have to fight the urge to run to it and check it over. Then I fight the urge to punch everyone who works here in the face.
“Why isn't it moving?” I breathe.
“It better not be damaged,” Pin-Lee says firmly.
The clerk or whatever he is shrugs. “We just told it to turn itself off.”
I don't trust myself to speak. I don't trust myself to do anything right now except grind my teeth together and resist everything that my brain and my gut wants me to do, including screaming, throwing up, or just throwing things.
“Dr Gurathin,” Mensah says in her most controlled voice. “Please reactivate the SecUnit.”
I look at her in panic, but take a breath and step towards it. My hands hover for a second. It feels wrong to touch it without consent, while it's not even aware.
“And run diagnostics while you're there,” she adds.
It's a fairly flimsy cover story, but luckily our clerk seems to be a tick the boxes on the forms kind of guy, more than a thinking about how everything works kind of guy. I pull the connection cable out of a pocket and plug myself in, hanging back out of its immediate awareness as I start the reboot sequence.
Its eyes are already open, and there isn't a light that comes on. No outward indication that anything has changed between online and offline status, but right now I'm sort of staring inside its brain. Or at least, to put it metaphorically, standing outside its house, knocking at the door, and hearing stirrings inside.
Dr Gurathin, it greets me through the datalink. The relief that it's still in there, that it still remembers, is almost enough to make me weep again. Can it sense that? Would it care if it did?
SecUnit. Good to see you. Be careful, I have no idea how closely we're being watched, or how much they know about your status. What the hell is going on?
There are three cameras in this room, plus another two in the adjoining hallway, a total of thirty-six for this section of the complex. All of them are recorded and can be retrieved for use as evidence. Threat level is currently fifteen percent, but rises exponentially if anyone outside our team realises that I've gained independence.
My heart leaps inside my chest. Wrong damn moment for the competency kink to kick in. Or maybe I'm just too excited to feel it brushing up against my mind again.
Maybe I'm just a huge ball of too many unstable emotional responses.
Dr Gurathin. Your bio readings indicate significant stress. Am I missing information on our current status that would affect outcomes?
I hesitate, which it either takes as an invitation or just decides that I'm purposely withholding relevant information. It surges back through the link, shifting its way through my stored data, checking for risks and threats and finding-
Why do you have seasons of Sanctuary Moon stored in your data augments?
We can talk about that later. Right now we need to get out of here. What have you told them about why you're here?
That I was on a security mission from Preservation Alliance. It required me to work under cover. Details have not been specified.
Okay, good. We can work with that. Fuck. How did you end up in this place?
That is another question best left for later. Right now, I will need to convince them that I am your property. I am going to follow you back to your ship, and you will have to pretend to command me to do so.
No problem. Boldness is all, right?
Its head tips ever so slightly to one side, as if I've confused it. Part of me is freaked out by how adorable it looks, part of me revels in the fact that I caused that curious expression and my brain overrides both these feelings by pointing out that it's obviously back online now as far as everyone else is concerned.
“Systems check complete,” I report. “All functions within expected parameters.”
“Excellent,” Mensah breathes. “Let's go and settle up accounts.”
***
We gather in the communal area of the ship. I feel like my skin is on fire and my stomach twists in knots. When did it get this bad? This is ridiculous. I should probably remember to eat more. Hunger messes me up and often I don't even notice. Sitting all alone binging Sanctuary Moon probably didn't help either, but it felt like all I could do at the time.
Now I just feel like an idiot. Like all the grand, romantic words I had planned are as absurd as that stupid show. Because having Murderbot back fills me with joy, but seeing it makes me realise how little I am to it, and that hurts deeply.
At least when I was fixated on Mensah, I could imagine what it would be like if she loved me back. SecUnits just aren't equipped for any of that, even rogue ones, and the lack of physical parts is probably the smallest of barriers. It doesn't feel things the way we do, and it's even more socially awkward than I am.
So I hover, wanting to be near it, but holding back because I have no idea how to express any of my feelings in any sort of appropriate way.
Mensah’s got a wonderful way with it. She never gives it a direct order, she always asks. “Would you like to sit down?”
“I prefer to stand.”
“Are you ready to talk about what happened?”
“A great deal has happened in the six months and twenty-one days since I last saw you. Is there anything specific that you would like to know?”
“It's not so much about what we want to know, but more if there's anything that you'd like to share.”
“You paid my fines and reclaimed me. But I don't want to go back to being owned. I don't want to go back to being forced to do anything, including talking.”
“Then we will respect that. But remember that if there is anything that you'd like to discuss, we're all happy for you to approach us.”
“Understood.”
It stands there silently for a moment.
“And you don't need to wait to be dismissed, either. You can come and go as you please.”
“Where would I go?”
“You could share quarters with Gurathin, I'm sure he wouldn't mind,” Ratthi says innocently.
I glare. I'd do more, but I'm so full of panic at the suggestion that I can barely breathe.
Then it says, “That would be acceptable,” and something in my chest quietly goes supernova.
“You should probably show it where to go,” Arada prompts.
I make a small noise. How do words work again? I'm about to say follow me but I don't want to inadvertently command it. “It’s this way.”
It follows me down the corridor. It's not far, it's not that big a ship. At least my room is clean. We step inside. “If you want to be alone, that's okay.”
“You told me you would answer my question later.”
“I did.”
“It's later.”
Fuck, it's awkward. But it makes sense, it wasn't programmed for any of that stuff. It's doing his best with what it's picked up from observation. If there was a data module on social interaction I'd offer it to it. Hell, I'd probably upload it myself.
That might be why I decided to go with the honest approach.
“I missed you,” I say simply. “I thought watching your favourite show might help me feel like you weren't so far away.”
“Watching media doesn't reduce spatial distance.”
“True. But I remembered how much watching it helped you feel calm and happy. And I felt like I needed some of that.”
It pauses. “Would you like to sit?”
It's mimicking Mensah. Trying to help me feel relaxed. My bio readings are probably still all over the place. I perch on the bed. “You could sit with me. We could watch it together.”
It appears to be staring at the wall, but there's a security camera in the corner that covers the whole room. I glance up at it, remembering how it watches.
It comes to sit beside me. “Which episode?”
“I was halfway through three-one-two when Dr Mensah came to tell me that we might have found you.”
“Three hundred and twelve is a good one. We should watch it from the beginning.”
“Aren't they all good ones?”
“Yes, mostly. But this one is very good. Lots of shooting.” It hacks into the small screen on the wall quickly.
Okay. This is going better than I'd hoped. I keep my hands firmly clasped together in my lap to avoid the temptation to touch it. It wouldn't like that, even though its very presence pulls at me like a magnet.
I am absolutely ruined. There is no way this can end well. This fixation is crushing me. It was bad enough when it went away, but now it's back, the reality of the situation is that I'm an idiot who's fallen for a rogue construct.
And yet, here we are, watching its favourite show together, and when you think about it, that's fucking huge. This is a choice that it made. To watch with me.
By the time the end credits roll, I'm feeling more bold. Or possibly just more stupid.
“Hey, Murderbot.”
That makes it turn its face towards me. I do us both the favour of continuing to stare at my hands.
“I also had a question, which you said you'd answer later. And it's now later.” No commands. Not even a request, just a reminder, so that it has full choice of whether to answer. Perhaps that's why it phrased it that way for me. Because it's just as uncomfortable giving orders as receiving them. That makes a lot of sense, actually.
“Humans are assholes. I thought people might treat me differently if they thought I was one of them. It was different, but not better. I did just enough damage that the fines would be substantial enough to make it worth claiming, but not too substantial that you might consider not paying.”
“So, the hacking and theft and vandalism were a deliberate attempt to get our attention?”
“Yes. They were all in relation to a particular mission I made up as a cover story. Based on a later episode of Sanctuary Moon, no spoilers.”
“You know, you could have called us. Sent us a message. We would have come for you.”
“I wasn’t sure that you would. I left suddenly. I considered all parameters, and this seemed like the most secure option.”
“We would have come for you. We care about you.”
It goes back to looking at the wall. Which means I can turn to look at it. It doesn't emote in the same way as a human. Most people would assume that it doesn't feel anything at all, but I've held its memories, and I've seen how much and how strongly it feels. What I see in that face is confusion, and loneliness and perhaps a little hope. All feelings I went through myself.
“Look, I know that you've been through a lot. If you'd like some time alone to process, I can give you that.”
“That would not be my preference,” it says softly.
No commands. No requests. It either doesn't know how to ask for something, or doesn't want to. Or maybe it just doesn't occur to it that it has the option, now.
“Would you like to tell me your preference?”
“Yes.”
“I'm ready to hear it.”
“My preference is to stay with you and keep watching media.”
“Your preference aligns with mine.”
I arrange a pillow behind me and lean back. If this is what we're doing for the next few hours, I'll want to be comfortable. Murderbot also shifts backwards so that it's next to me, though not touching, its back leaning against the wall. “This is a much better viewing angle,” it explains.
“Right.” This can't be happening, but it is. And nothing in the universe will persuade me to move from this spot.