Amy’s hands twitched. Her fingers fluttered over the dark surface of the island. She’d graded the floor of this room flat save for a futon-sized square of very soft bed. Their muscles never ached, but Javier appreciated the gesture. She’d even kept that little square of space consistently warm. Javier wasn’t sure how exactly she communicated these design specs to the island, but he assumed it had something to do with the little flicks and swipes her fingers made in her sleep.
At first he thought they might be dreams, and he waited for news about her first iteration. That was the only time he ever dreamed – when he was iterating. And Amy had started prototyping a little girl, a while ago. But nothing had come of it. Now, he figured it was the island she was talking to. At least, he hoped so. It was better than the other alternative.
She’d talked in her sleep back when they first met, too. Only back then she’d been talking to Portia, and Portia was telling her Christ knew what. Probably how to burn things. Whatever it was, it involved a lot of whimpering and moaning and pleading. The only time that stopped was when he’d reach over and rest a hand on her shoulder. Just a hand, just her shoulder. Nothing more. But it was enough. She’d go still and her body would slacken, relax, just like a human woman’s. He’d never told her about doing that, then or now. It was his secret.
He tucked himself in closer around her. It was nice, being allowed to do these things more openly, now. His lips brushed the edge of her ear. “Querida.”
Amy rolled over to face him. In this light, her eyes were an unnaturally deep green. Viridian.
“It’s nice, not being in the back of a car somewhere,” she said, as though having read his mind.
“That’s for damn sure.”
“And we’re not on the run from anybody.”
“Not today.” He smiled. “We do have a new shipment coming in, though.”
Her eyes dimmed. A new tension appeared between her brows. She looked around the room. “Where’s Xavier?”
Javier’s thirteenth iteration chose the name “Xavier” after tiring of being called “Junior.” He had also gradually – slowly, painfully, cock-blockingly – outgrown sleeping in Amy’s room. Javier couldn’t blame him for lingering. Amy had fought tooth and nail to keep him safe after Javier abandoned him in a junkyard. She took care of him when he was bluescreened and no better than a toy baby doll. She carried him and kept him warm and talked to him. The boy probably didn’t remember all that. That didn’t mean he’d forgotten it.
“I know this may come as a shock, but not all little boys want to sleep with their mothers. That’s kind of an organic thing. It takes a brain to have an id.”
Amy rolled her eyes. “I’m not his mother.”
“You’re the closest thing. You helped me iterate him. You were the first one to ever hold him.”
Amy smiled. “It seems like such a long time ago.”
“Well, you are only six years old. A year is a long time, when you’re six.”
Amy stretched. “I guess he’ll want to grow up and get big like you, soon.”
“Well, there are advantages to being all grown up.” Javier drew a small circle around her knee with one finger. He let it become a spiral, tightening, while he kept his eyes on hers. Maybe this time.
Amy peeked down at his hand moving across her skin. “Are you trying to have sex with me?”
Javier flopped onto his back. “Well not if you’re going to be so goddamn unromantic about it!”
“I don’t think we should have sex. I don’t think it would be right. I’ve told you before.”
“What are you saving yourself for? You’re an atheist, for Christ’s sake. You know robots can’t get married, right? Legally. I mean in some countries just living with you for a year makes me your husband. Which would explain the lack of sex, I guess.”
Amy sat up. She knelt over him and made him look her in the eye. “Dr Sarton told me–”
“Sarton is a fucking pervert otaku hack. I don’t give a shit what–”
“He told me that you only feel that way about me because I was raised with humans.” It all came out in a rush. Her gaze darted away from him and pinned itself to the floor. “I’m just good enough to fool your Turing process. Your failsafe. You only like me because your failsafe works.”
She had a point. Or Sarton did. She was just good enough. Just human enough. She had all the weird tics and habits that humans did. This whole righteous insistence on keeping their relationship chaste was one of them.
“So it just wouldn’t be right,” Amy said. “Because of your failsafe. Because you can’t choose.”
He had no answer for that. Technically, she was right. He had no choice, when it came to Amy. Each time they’d parted ways, he’d come back. Fought his way back in. Rescued her. He couldn’t help it. Once, he’d waited in a Redmond reboot camp watching a stream of DARPA-funded scientists trying their best to break her. He’d begged them to stop. He’d cried and screamed and totally lost his shit. He’d almost failsafed right there in front of the monitor, on the floor, holding his head and squeezing his eyes shut. Then he’d torn the skin off his hands crawling through duct work to get to her. At the time, he had not questioned why. He’d done it to make himself feel better. Sex with Amy would make him feel better, too. Probably. If he could do it.