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People think that SecUnits and other constructs can't have nightmares because we don't sleep, and that's true on a literal level, I guess. As far as I know, our brains don't make up scenarios to torment us with and then play them in horrifying technicolor at night. Humans need their 8-10 hours, but constructs go down for recharge cycles that last 5-10 minutes max usually. That's not enough time for our neural tissue to start coming up with random bullshit. But SecUnits have plenty of bad memories of our own to pull from. Especially ones who have hacked their governor modules and don't get their memories wiped by a leasing company regularly. Enough that there's a shit ton of bad stuff for our brains to remind us of when we're offline.
It's happened to me before, when I've come out of a recharge expecting to feel better from the negative chemical flush and just felt worse because my brain was replaying memories of Miki or the gunship incident or the time I spent several hours thinking ART was dead while I wasn't awake to stop it.
All that to say when ART pings me deep into the humans' rest period and tells me to check on Three, I'm only a little surprised to see Three sitting outside the door of my cabin with its back against the wall and its arms wrapped around its knees.
It told us its intention to do a much needed recharge after accompanying humans on back to back missions down to the planet, and then ART and I got distracted watching Worldhoppers for a while.
Clearly something went wrong during that time.
How long has it been out there? I ask ART.
1.28 minutes.
Okay, that's not as bad as it could be. If it had been sitting out there for like an hour and ART didn't say anything, I'd be pissed.
In my defense, I didn't realize it was in distress at first. I assumed it was doing that thing it does when it needs to work up its courage to talk to you.
What thing—you know what, nevermind. I don't want to know.
I ping Three, still watching it through ART's camera. It doesn't lift its face from its knees, but it does ping me back. Even just that contact feels miserable, which is really fucking worrying. Three is usually the upbeat one between the two of us. It has an easy smile and doesn't take much convincing to listen to the humans talk or to help them with their projects. Logically I know it must get sad, considering all the everything, but I've just haven't seen it since those early days when it was new and terrified.
What's wrong? I ask, getting right to the point.
I am unharmed, Three says back, which doesn't even begin to answer the fucking question.
Three.
?
Ugh. It's going to make me say it. Talk to me. What the fuck is going on?
It gives up on pretending to be fine and answers by allowing me access to its emotional data from the last hour or so. It's about what I would expect once the problem becomes obvious. It went down for its recharge and then there was almost immediately a spike of [fear], followed by a wave of [sadness] so strong that it nearly drags me under while I'm just parsing the data.
It would be alarming if one of my humans was that upset, and it's alarming that Three feels that way too. I don't like it.
ART examines the data over my metaphorical shoulder like the nosy fucker it is, radiating curiosity.
Nightmares? it asks.
The closest thing we get to them, I reply.
It's fascinated by the concept, but doesn't pry right now. It's too worried about Three to get distracted by its usual need to understand everything about everything.
I ping Three again. Why are you in the hallway?
I didn't want to bother you.
I know Three well enough now to know it means 'I wanted to be near you, but didn't want to ask for it'. And I get that. It's hard enough asking for things you want when you don't have a lot of practice at it, and even harder when you're in emotional distress. Even though we've been close for a while now, sometimes instinct is hard to overwrite.
Three, come in here, I tell it.
It hesitates, still on the fucking floor. I am unharmed.
Again, not the fucking point. Three. Come in here. Right now. Or I'm going to have to get up and come out there, and then I'll be annoyed.
That's probably not the most helpful thing I could have said in this situation, but it gets Three off of the floor, so whatever. It worked. It comes into my room and doesn't make eye contact with me. It just stands there, eyes trained on the floor, looking like it doesn't really know what to do with itself. Probably it doesn't.
ART's no help here because it doesn't have any experience with this (at least not with a construct. I bet it's comforted Iris through nightmares before, but I don't think this is the same thing). It's hovering, like it's waiting to see what I'm going to do, which I guess means I need to do something.
The only thing that helps me when I'm upset after one of these bullshit memory episodes (fuck it, I'm just calling them nightmares from here on, it's less clunky) is zoning out and watching media while ART squishes me in the feed, until the organic parts of me remember that whatever happened isn't happening right now and so dwelling on it is stupid. It usually takes a few hours, but it pretty much always works.
I don't know if the kind of media Three likes is good for that kind of thing, and I don't have the kind of immense feed presence that ART does to squish the worries out of Three's brain. But I do have arms, and Three does like touch.
"Come here," I tell it.
It gives me wide eyes. "I don't—"
"Three, for fuck's sake. I wouldn't be trying to take care of you if it was a problem."
Its feet start moving before its brain can come up with any more arguments. It shuffles to stand at the edge of my bed, where I'm stretched out on my back on the bed. It's eyes dart around like it doesn't know where to look, but then they eventually land on the long line of my body, and I can see how badly it wants to be pressed against me.
I hold out a hand for it, making an impatient grabby motion, and Three takes it, holding on tight. It lets me pull it down onto the bed with me, and only freezes for a fraction of a second before it gives in to the urge to lay on top of me.
There's not really any neat, elegant way for two SecUnits who are at least 60% inorganic parts to lay on top of each other on a bed, but it does help that we're both used to making ourselves small and compact enough to be treated like cargo. We make it work. Three shimmies down a little so its head is resting on my chest, but that means its feet are hanging over the bottom edge of the bed. It doesn't seem to care about that.
I wrap my arms around it, burying the fingers of one hand in its soft hair, while the other starts tracing idle patterns on its back.
Almost immediately, I can feel the tension start to drain out of it.
Being uncharacteristically restrained, ART waits until we've been laying in silence like that for a while to reinsert itself. Do you want to talk about your nightmare, Three? it asks gently.
No.
Thank fuck for that. The holding and comforting it I can do, but I have no idea how to talk to it about The Horrors.
Would you like me to put on one of your documentaries?
I feel the hesitation, and I know it's thinking about me. We can watch one if you want, I don't care. If that'll help.
Okay. Thank you, Perihelion.
Of course.
It starts a documentary that looks like it's about insects in our shared feed space. Three melts into me more and more as the narrator explains something about beetles in their soothing voice, and I keep my arms around it. It feels nice to be able to physically do something to help, since it's not like there's anyone I can hit for giving Three those feelings of fear and distress.
ART must feel the same, because it leans heavily on both of us in the feed, its vast attention span split in a hundred different directions as always. The bulk of it is on us though, its SecUnits. I can tell from the way Three is reacting that ART must be carding through Three's code in the same way I'm running my fingers through its hair.
The whole thing is pretty comfortable. Three is a pleasing weight on top of me, and ART's presence is familiar and welcome. It feels kind of like none of the bad shit lurking in our minds or outside of them can get us here, when we're together like this. ART would vaporize the fuck out of anyone who tried for one thing, and there's not much I wouldn't do to keep Three safe if it came down to it. Judging by how fierce it gets during missions sometimes when I end up getting shot or knocked off cliffs or whatever other dumb shit, I think Three feels the same.
So that's nice. Being pinned down and protected and cared about is all really nice, it turns out.
Judging by the way Three is rubbing its face against the soft fabric of my shirt, it agrees.
We stay like that for a while, just drifting and watching Three's weird ass documentary. When the first one ends, ART queues up another about fungi, and I don't even complain. We're a bit into that one when I notice ART feels…weird in the feed. Anxious almost, like it wants to say something but doesn't know how. Usually it just comes out and says whatever it wants, which means this is something either delicate or awful.
I poke it. What's with you?
Nothing.
Why is everybody determined to pretend they're fine when they're not tonight??
Perhaps we've all learned from watching you, ART replies dismissively.
Or perhaps you're full of shit. You want something. I can feel it.
Its pause is noticeable, and I poke it again, harder this time.
Stop that, it snaps. It's…not appropriate for me to ask now.
What isn't appropriate? And since when have you given a shit about being appropriate?
I care sometimes, it says. When it involves someone worth caring about, like the two of you.
When it says shit like that, I usually drop the conversation because I have no idea how to respond. ART's been all up in my head and my emotional data enough that it knows how I feel about it, so there's a non-zero chance that part of the reason it's saying this now is to avoid admitting whatever it is it doesn't want to admit.
If you don't tell me what's going on, I'm going to tell Three there's something wrong with you. It's a low blow, and that's why I say it. ART gets all affronted about it, but it knows I'm serious. We use Three against each other all the time, which would be kind of fucked up if Three didn't enjoy getting to scold us with the other one's blessing. (And let me tell you, it's hard to be petulant when I have to deal with the combination of Three's sad eyes and ART's smug ass behavior. They're managing to break me of so many of my bad habits this way, and it's bullshit.)
You're an asshole, ART says now. I just keep waiting, and eventually it does the feed version of a long suffering sigh. Then it shows me its camera view of what Three and I look like right now. Three's head is tucked under my chin, and its eyes are closed. Its face is utterly relaxed and so is its posture. Other than its feet hanging over the edge of the bed, it looks completely at peace. And I—yeah. I look pretty comfortable too. Even now that I'm glaring in the general direction of the camera.
What about it? I ask ART.
The two of you are never as comfortable as you are when you're wrapped up in each other like this, it replies. And it looks very nice.
That's not an answer of what it wants, but I interpret the edge of longing in its tone. Despite growing up with a loving family and all that, it's not like ART really gets to cuddle. I've seen Iris wrap her arms around one of ART's drones, and we all have the habit of touching some part of its hull or bulkheads as we come and go for missions and time off, but that's not really the same.
It's been watching me and Three get closer and closer for all this time, and it's been a part of it, but not in the physical sense.
I must be quiet for longer than I realize, because ART says, I told you it wasn't appropriate, and tries to withdraw.
Get back here. It would be inappropriate maybe if you asked Three about it right now.
That is what I just said.
So ask me, asshole.
It startles. Would you allow that?
Ask me and find out. (Sometimes it's funny to watch ART be the one who doesn't have all the answers for once, I won't lie.)
Murderbot, would it be alright if I rode your inputs to take part in this cuddling? It's perfectly polite when it asks, and it uses my hard feed address instead of my name and everything.
I think about drawing it out just to be an asshole, but actually I'm feeling pretty charitable right now. Yeah, sure. Wait, actually. Let me ask Three.
As expected, Three has no problems with ART joining this whole thing (Iris would call it a 'cuddle pile'. I'm not calling it that.)
I would offer, but I don't think it should be this close to my inputs right now, it says. Which means its head is still a mess from its nightmare.
Don't worry about it. It's used to the mess of my head.
I tap my connection with ART to give it the go ahead and then wait for the familiar feeling of it sliding more of itself into me (shut up). I'm always aware of how massive ART is, but never more so than when it does this. It fills up my senses, blotting out anything unimportant. My drone inputs and my hold on ART's cameras drop out, and I don't move to grab them again. ART can manage to do this and monitor everything at the same time, so I let it handle it and focus instead on feeling it integrate into my inputs.
Oh, it says, sounding surprised. Three is heavy.
Three sends back a frowning sigil, and ART ripples in my head. Not in a bad way. Just—I can feel you pressing against SecUnit now. Pinning it down.
I tighten my arms around Three before it can interpret that negatively and try to get up.
Clarify, ART.
It is pleasing, it says quickly. Like the weighted blanket that SecUnit prefers. I can interpret some of your physicality based on you walking around inside of me, but this is an entirely different experience. I enjoy feeling the weight of you.
Three's face heats up against my chest, and I scratch at its scalp. Me too, I add privately. As private as anything ever is on this ship.
It makes a soft, embarrassed little noise, and I smile, letting it tuck its face against my chest to hide.
ART settles in even more, and I feel a sensation like it's releasing a lot of tension. Three shifts so it can wrap an arm around me as well, effectively holding onto me and ART at the same time.
Good? I ask ART.
Very good. Thank you, Murderbot.
Yeah, yeah. I put my attention back on the documentary, just in time to see something disgusting. Three, why the fuck is that fungus so wet?
Both Three and ART laugh at me, but that's fine. I'm too relaxed and comfortable to even pretend to be mad about it now. Three starts explaining that the fungus actually has a gelatinous structure, which sounds foul, but Three seems so pleased to be able to talk about it, that I just let it keep going.
Benevolent of you, ART says.
Shut up, it's happy.
I think we all are, right now.