A depression appeared between his brows, when she called him by that name, concepts that he'd been working on for months struggling to take up the places that he'd made for them (such shallow places, compared to the deep, bruised tracks in his mind).
Then the depression deepened at her request, and he had to pause a little longer before he could comply. Remembering what she'd said, trying to make it relevant so he could talk to her. (What was there to say?)
Eventually, he started. Slowly, his voice a little different. "It's not about gentleness. Or teasing." He knew that it wasn't, because he wasn't hurt or upset. In fact, he felt...
Right. This felt right.
But it wasn't what she expected of him. And the way she was talking to him, patient, attentive to him, matched up with that nagging feeling that it wasn't what should be, waiting for orders from her. It took him a moment, the question, what is it about, then? ringing loud and clear in his mind, and then he pushed the false sensation of peace back. Away.
Catching himself at what he'd just been thinking, doing, made his face twist in anger, the metal fist closing tight so fast the servos could be heard clearly even as his arms dropped to his sides. He turned away, chin tight. Watching her from the side of his eyes. Watching her in her reflection on the refrigerator handle, the reflection on the clean stovetop. It was better than trying to look at her after he had just been... that.
He still took a little more time before he attempted to speak again.
"Pain through food isn't what I can remember, but there was usually pain. Punishment. Experiments. Sometimes merely catching my attention. At least that's what I remember happening, doesn't mean it actually did." Though some of it had been real, he knew the scars. "Then there was amusement. Often satisfaction, at how I handled the pain." Mirth. She'd laughed. "After that, I was told what to do and why, whether or not I tried to tell them anything I thought might be relevant. After a while, I stopped trying, I think."
His right hand twitched, his palm flashing at him her for a moment as he relaxed from its fist, and then returned to it, again.
"This is how easy it is for me to go back. That's why I haven't attacked, yet. I don't want to give them back this asset."
no subject
Then the depression deepened at her request, and he had to pause a little longer before he could comply. Remembering what she'd said, trying to make it relevant so he could talk to her. (What was there to say?)
Eventually, he started. Slowly, his voice a little different. "It's not about gentleness. Or teasing." He knew that it wasn't, because he wasn't hurt or upset. In fact, he felt...
Right. This felt right.
But it wasn't what she expected of him. And the way she was talking to him, patient, attentive to him, matched up with that nagging feeling that it wasn't what should be, waiting for orders from her. It took him a moment, the question, what is it about, then? ringing loud and clear in his mind, and then he pushed the false sensation of peace back. Away.
Catching himself at what he'd just been thinking, doing, made his face twist in anger, the metal fist closing tight so fast the servos could be heard clearly even as his arms dropped to his sides. He turned away, chin tight. Watching her from the side of his eyes. Watching her in her reflection on the refrigerator handle, the reflection on the clean stovetop. It was better than trying to look at her after he had just been... that.
He still took a little more time before he attempted to speak again.
"Pain through food isn't what I can remember, but there was usually pain. Punishment. Experiments. Sometimes merely catching my attention. At least that's what I remember happening, doesn't mean it actually did." Though some of it had been real, he knew the scars. "Then there was amusement. Often satisfaction, at how I handled the pain." Mirth. She'd laughed. "After that, I was told what to do and why, whether or not I tried to tell them anything I thought might be relevant. After a while, I stopped trying, I think."
His right hand twitched, his palm flashing at him her for a moment as he relaxed from its fist, and then returned to it, again.
"This is how easy it is for me to go back. That's why I haven't attacked, yet. I don't want to give them back this asset."