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She put a hand to Ironpsyche's chestplate, its iron finish rough below her fingers.
"Beatrice," he said. "You know I can't take this suit off."
"I know," Beatrice replied. "But wouldn't it be nice?"
Ironpsyche stayed in place. "Of course it would."
Beatrice's hand rested on his chestplate, her eyes and hair reflected in the opaque visor covering his face. "I can't imagine what it's like in there."
"I'd figure...," Ironpsyche said, taking almost a step toward her, before stopping at her hand.
"Figure what?"
"I would figure you'd know something about how it feels to be trapped in something like this."
"Maybe," she said, drawing her hand away. Her other hand grasped her wrist. "I used to." She shrugged. "But I'm not really trapped. I can still walk around, and I can change my body and make it look however I want it to. I can make it be anything I want it to. That's different, that's not this."
Ironpsyche's visor remained opaque, unfathomable in its reflective concealment. "It's not having a cold, metallic exoskeleton you can't take off."
"Exactly," Beatrice said, shrugging again, before taking a step back. "Well...," she said, after taking a breath.
"Well." His suit nodded.
"I guess I'm just avoiding the hard part."
"Yes," he said.
She put her arms around herself, not like a cross but like a hug. "You're not gonna help with that, are you?"
Ironpsyche's suit clanked as he shrugged. "I can try."
"Yeah," Beatrice said.
"What's the hard part?"
"Do I have to say it?" she asked, glancing right at his opaque visor.
"No."
"Then help me." She looked away, then right at where she thought his eyes might be.
"Everyone has a weakness, Beatrice," Ironpsyche said. "Even me. Especially me. I'm not immune. I don't last forever."
"I thought we could." Her voice was quieter, somehow.
"But not like that?" he asked.
"Of course not," she said.
"Yeah."
"Yeah."