Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It began with a simple plan.  

Well, maybe not the simplest, but it was somewhat a plan. 

Drop on the planet. Find out what happened. Leave. 

Maybe I didn’t really think about how I’d leave it— I guess I figured future me would have that handled. And I guess I was right. Future me did, more or less, “have it handled.” 

Did I expect to find sentient life? Maybe. Did I expect it to be a hyperintelligent lifeform humanity has been hunting for remnants of for years? No.  

Did I expect to go home with him? Definitely not. 

I’m still reeling from it. All of it. It’s such a blur now, and it practically just happened. 

This “he” I spoke of.  

He’s an Architect, as we call them, and one of the last few of his kind despite his insistence of their superiority over humans.  

His name—derived from his “seed designation code” (whatever the fuck that is), is Al-An. 

Pronounced weirdly. So I just say Alan. It’s a bit more comfortable for me to say, and admittedly less embarrassing.  

Now, I’ll keep this as short as possible, how I learned he existed and much less met him.  

I, Robin Ayou, crashed dropped onto 4546B’s northern polar region and went on my way collecting this and that to get along, as one does when self-stranded on an ocean planet. A frozen part of it, hurray.  

(Thank god for that wetsuit. It insulates very well.) 

I went there to find out for myself what happened to my older sister, Sam. She’d worked for that scumbag trans-gov Alterra, and they had the absolute nerve to say “Hey, sorry your sister died, she was a dumb bitch lmao.” 

… Well, they didn’t exactly say that. But they might as well have! 

While swimming around trying to keep my hair in the length my hairdresser had just trimmed it to-- not any shorter, like a lot of big stupid fish wanted— I happened upon a distress call. The classic SOS morse code, no less. 

I really should ask him about how he knows that. 

Bing bang boom, this aggravatingly smooth British (???) voice starts talking to me all disembodied and ethereal-like, asking for a storage medium. He thought that my cerebral cortex was counted as better than my stinkin’ PDA. So he was in my head for… a while.  

I’ll admit. Despite his voice, he was annoying for a while. Maybe I had a little sass too, but he didn’t really notice, usually. 

He needed a new body, and after some strangely poetic talk about his people, I caved and helped him build one. He’d grown on me. 

Not that I still appreciate the extent of which he snooped into my head, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like the fact that someone knew me that well after all this time. The last person I cared about that deeply died trying to save humanity from another bacterial outbreak, or whatever Alterra wanted to do with those green bastards.  

Always sticking their noses where they shouldn’t. I hope they get bitten one day.  

I built his body (dear lord, his body was not what I pictured it would be…) and he wanted to leave. I’d done everything I could on 4546B, so when he invited me to come along with him, I did. 

I noticed something, when we were readying the ship and forward.  

He’d gotten sweeter. I don’t know what that means for an Architect, the fact that we were still “connected” in some fashion (as he put it) somewhat like the Network he’s a part of; does he crave that same feeling of at least one other soul’s music? Maybe. Maybe not. For a man— or, sorry, alien— of bluntness, he sure does like clamming up.  

I don’t blame him. I respect it. If he wants to wait to tell me something, I trust him to.  

I digress— the thing I noticed. The sweetness. 

She noticed it when he offered his magnetic robotic arms to her, to help him put the power masts into place.

Would someone who considers himself superior to a lifeform like Robin usually do that? Maybe. But logically, it was unlikely. Yet, he did it anyway. That showed her trust. 

Then that recollection reminded her of something he’d said earlier— something along the lines of “it will lead us home.” What was important was the pronoun he used there, and someone so particular about his vocabulary wouldn’t slip up if he didn’t mean to imply it was both his and Robin’s home.  

That showed her connection. 

It just spiraled from there, honestly. 

“Join me, Robin.” (attachment?) 

“I’d help you to your feet…” (compassion?) 

And then, the one that made her breath hitch— from the surprise, of course— “With you, I am ready to face whatever awaits.” 

She doesn’t know what that last one shows her. The back of her head probably does, but it doesn’t like to tell her those sorts of things.  

Who knew I’d become emotionally connected to a member of an ancient alien race?  

The things that planet will do to you, I guess. 

He took her to his home world. 

It’s beautiful. 

The architecture— no pun intended— it’s wonderful. Nothing human-like. Gravity is flipped around and everything is in sync. 

They landed. He got back into his body and, lo and behold, actually walked alongside a dazzled Robin instead of blinking around, despite the fact that his body– according to her PDA– was not designed for classic quadrupedal walking. She’s thankful (and perhaps a tad flattered) nonetheless, for running after him after a month or so of constant swimming would prove a sore attempt.

“Are you scared?” she asks with a light, soft tone.

“I do not feel fear in the primitive sense you may, so I do not believe so.” 

She scoffs. 

“Al-An, I think I’ve demonstrated enough how humans aren’t primitive anymore.” 

“Yes, but your sense of fear is for survival purposes. My life is in no danger here.” 

“Not fear like that. Fear like, um… Okay, better words. Nervous anticipation?” 

“I do not know,” his lights pulsate with his voice, but he continues walking— and looking— forward. 

“You’re really helpful. But then again, describing emotions isn’t exactly easy, either.” She mutters the last sentence, mostly to herself.  

Something in his head whirs and his coloring shifts.  

“I see what you are experiencing now. That is… somewhat accurate.”

Her head whips around to look up at him.  

“You— how—?!” 

“I have explained this, Robin. Our minds are still connected.”

“Wh— you can still tell what I’m feeling?” 

“More or less. I suppose if your feelings are stronger, it will be easier.” 

She shakes her head and sighs. A moment of silence passes and Robin contents herself with staring up and around at the graceful nature of the what appears to be city she’s walking through with a local. 

Al-An speaks after said moment. 

“Do you like it?” 

She’s, quite honestly, surprised by that remark. Expecting him to care for her opinion on something he would normally consider superficial was unexpected, to say the least.

“Um, yes, I do. Your world is… breathtaking…” 

He flashes a pinkish orange— pride, one can only assume. 

“I am glad to see you find it pleasant.” 

Again, she can only wonder why he gives a crap. But she knows she can’t say that, even though she knows he’ll answer. I’m not sure why I’m afraid to ask, then.  

“What, uh, street are we walking through?” she quietly pipes. 

He thinks for a moment, probably trying to figure out what street means. Big dummy.  

“These buildings contain facilities that cultivate the seeds that become our vessels.”  

“So… a nursery?” 

“If you would like to call it that.” 

“Why did you choose to walk this way?” 

“If there is life, I will sense it in dormant seeds, or perhaps even in Architects watching over them. Either is good, but the latter is ideal.” 

“Ooh, smart.” 

“Was that sarcasm?” 

“What? No! That was smart of you to do, Al-An. Not everything I say is sarcastic.” 

“I see.” 

“Why did you think it was?” 

He’s kept his head forward this whole time, much to Robin’s strange disliking.

“You have a significant distaste for what you deem to be stupid questions or obvious answers. My answer was obvious, therefore I could predict a sarcastic response.” 

Ouch.  

“I… Sorry, Al-An. I’m sorry you’ve grown to think of me like that. Most of the time, I’m not being sarcastic, okay? That was one of the times.” 

“What is the purpose of it, anyway?”
“Um, to express… annoyance?” 

“You have been regularly annoyed with me, then?” 

A pang of hurt drops her heart into her stomach for a moment.

“No, I haven’t. Maybe sometimes when we first met, but rarely as I got to know you.”  

“Noted.” 

She’s not sure what the ground here is made of, but it echoes such a nice clinking sound when he walks on it. It must be its own music when there are a lot of them, but then again, they like to blink rather than walk. 

That being said… 

“You’re walking with me. Why?” 

“Robin, that was— as you tend to put it— a dumb question.” 

Shock easily strikes her face (again). She promptly stifles the following laugh.

“Really? Why don’t you tell me why it was dumb, then?” 

A flash of color goes by as he thinks, but she can’t decipher what hue it is nor what it might mean in time. 

“You do not know this place. My more efficient method of transportation would be too tiring for you to keep up with, and you may be lost.”

His head tilts down in her direction, but not enough to count as facing. That’s something, she supposes.

“Ignoring what I should respond to there, logically, couldn’t I just run to you each time? Wouldn’t that still be faster?” 

“You are damaging my reasoning.” 

“Aw, what, does someone not like being wrong?”
A quick flash of yellow. Embarrassment? 

Shoot, but he’s turned his head away again.  

Yes, fine. Maybe I myself do want a little human connection too, even if it’s from this towering alien without facial features.   

“I do not wish to share information about this anymore.” 

“C’mon, please?” Robin pleads comically, then proceeds to skip around him as he walks. The mischief in her childhood may have never left. 

He shakes his head.  

“You are incessant.”  

The human flashes a bright smile and starts skipping ahead of him.  

“I do find enjoyment in your company, Robin. It is worth taking the time to walk alongside you.” 

She almost trips from the inertia left over from her bounding when she halts in unconscious response. 

“Oh…” she purses her lips, then lets the hiding smile emerge. “That’s sweet of you, Al-An. Thank you,” Robin grins, turning to face him.  

He looks at her and goes blue. Happy. 

But then he stops in his tracks. 

Before she can ask, he answers. 

“I am sensing… something…” 

He dips his head in concentration, then the colors on his body go haywire and all of his formality goes out the fucking window. 

“Others!! Robin!! Others are here!!!” 

To her utter dismay and absolute delight, the lead honorable Architect scientist Al-An begins bounding around like a foal with the zoomies. She’s never seen him this excited and has to cover her mouth to resist smiling too wide in his view. But the joy is contagious. She closes her eyes from giddy laughter, partly from the sight and partly from the discovery, and somehow while in that state she is picked up by a pair of large claws and spun around. 

Robin yelps from surprise but then begins to laugh, and he starts to as well, and even though she’s spinning, everything feels amazing. His claws (or pincers?) aren’t too tight around her waist and he quickly brings her to him as a sort of embrace that she promptly meets. 

He puts his companion down, though, regardless of how painfully short that hug was. 

Maybe I’ll ask him how he knew what that was later.

For now, she’s forced to run after him as he gallops over to a specific forcefield-protected archway, wondering why he used his arms instead of the wildly more useful mechanical ones to pick her up. 

The lasers immediately shut off and he leaps inside, tilting his head once or twice— to hone in on the signal, probably— before absolutely booking it up a nearby path. 

Robin is still surprised he isn’t using the whole blink thing. Surely this merits the speed? 

Regardless, she makes it upstairs behind him, ignoring the aching in almost every muscle she has from the activity. He’s stopped in front of another doorway, lights tinted green. He looks at her as she eventually meets his side. 

“Yes… nervous anticipation.” 

“You ready?” 

“Yes.” 

But he still hesitates, then shifts to look at her again. 

“Will you join me?” 

“Of course!” Robin exclaims, as if this was obvious, but her words aren’t riddled with sarcasm– rather, a shared exhilaration.

He flashes blue again and struts in, toward the faint voices echoing past rows of small seeds. Al-An whispers that his people will not speak audibly for her, but he will share what it is they are saying after the fact. She thanks him with a pat to his arm.

They round a corner. 

There they are. 

Ten more Architects, varying in base skin tint and somewhat in build. They have all been facing where they emerged. They knew the two were coming.  

A few seem to stare at the small being next to their kin, so out of pure shyness she steps closer to Al-An.  

They’re communicating, yes, but it’s completely silent for her. Expected, yes, but still a bit awkward for Robin.

Their colors are all flashing and rippling, that's what gives it away that they’re talking, but she does wish they could maybe— 

“Hello, human.” 

Robin jumps in her skin upon hearing this other voice from an Architect with a more golden hue to its usual lighting and a slightly whiter shade of tissue.  

“Ah— hi,” she quickly stutters, suddenly embarrassed at her lack of professionalism. Alas, the xenobiologist had never expected such a gold mine as is meeting not just one, but multiple intelligent, spacefaring aliens. 

“Al-An here has informed us of your presence in retrieving him from the storage sanctuary on planet 4546B. He has requested we speak audibly for your convenience.” 

“U-uhm, thank you.” 

They look back up at the Architect she’s practically, and shamelessly, hiding behind. 

“This is your… pet?” 

She almost kicks Al-An, but he saves his ass very quickly. 

“No, do not mistake her for such. She is not a pet, although I do care for her for the sake of doing so. She is not to be researched; all needed and updated information on female humans will be shared with you.” 

Still bad, but not kick worthy. She lets it slide. 

“Understood,” says another. 

“She has a name?” 

“Yes.”

He looks at her and his lights go blue. 

“Her name is Robin.” 

“And we take it that she has subdued another possible outbreak of the Kahraa?”

“Yes, she has.” 

“What use is she to you now, then?” Another asks.  

She starts to shrink away, but a mechanical hand is gently placed on her shoulder. 

“She saved me. We have interests in similar realms. She is intelligent and practical. She is, by no means, inefficient, Hect-Or,” Al-An juts his head slightly forward, accusatively, toward a greener Architect who suddenly flushes with color. 

Like my face… Why’s he being so… compliment-y?

This better not be a trophy thing, I swear to God.

“It is good to see your face again, Al-An. We were concerned that all of the data collected on 4546B’s research party had been lost.” 

“I am very happy to see that our species has not fallen. Are there more of us elsewhere?” 

“Yes, we believe so. For now, however, we must cultivate the next generation.” 

Robin places a hand on Al-An’s side and whispers to him after he, in response to her touch, cocks his head down to look at her. 

“Do they know that there’s a cure now?” 

It seems he doesn’t know, as he immediately asks. 

“Are you still searching for a cure to the Kahraa bacterium?” 

“Yes, unfortunately. We have only been able to synthesize bases that slow the progression of the disease.” 

“The humans have developed a vaccine. The enzyme we were attempting to collect from the Sea Emperor was released over the planet centuries after the quarantine occurred.”  

Colors rush through the other Architects. Embarrassment? Shock? Who knows. 

“We do not know the exact means of how such a thing happened. I am sure it is spreading slower as a result, and Robin here can likely share the components as to its synthesis.” 

She nods. The human doesn’t feel like talking, suddenly.  

Strange, I know. Completely out of character for me. 

“It is… quite surprising, in all honesty, that such an inadequate species managed to do such a thing.” 

I take back my last thought. I have some words for that guy. 

Al-An beats her to it. And says it much more politely than Robin would’ve. 

“As I have said, the humans are proving themselves not as primitive as we previously believed. Although their ball-and-socket joints are still limiting, they appear to have ‘made do.’” 

The group seems to contemplate things for a moment. One, with a notably more feminine voice, eventually steps forward toward the two. 

“You have been disconnected from our Network for so long, Al-An, may we remedy that?” 

“Please. It has been… so silent and lonely, here in my mind,” he tilts his head down again, “I am lucky to have found such companionship with Robin here.” 

Now he’s making me blush. Sentimental bastard. 

That same Architect comes forward enough so Robin takes it as a cue to step out of the way. She waits. 

Al-An bows his head, exposing the glowing parts of the tips of his horns that the other meets with her own. Robin takes a mental note of that, her researching urge having never worn off.

Al-An seems to shiver (?) and the female shakes her head to rub some electricity off between them. Al-An freezes, but regains his composure quickly, although Robin is not entirely sure why he responded like that. More notes are scribbled down in her head.

His shoulders relax and he buzzes with a sound that she has come to recognize as the precursor equivalent to a sigh or purr.  

“It is good to be fully aligned again.” 

Nobody responds to him, though, and somehow Robin can sense the slight stress that suddenly hikes up from him.  

“What are they doing?" 

“They are analyzing my data,” Al-An mutters. 

“…" 

It takes her a moment to realize why he’s distressed. 

“Oh. They’re…” 

“They will know. Yes.” 

As if to discuss, or download, or whatever it is, the group leaves the room. 

“But— they’ll understand, right? Haven’t you made it better now?” 

“I do not believe it is logical, Robin, to forgive someone for the deaths of hundreds upon billions of your own kind just for discovering that there is a cure floating around. Even if I had discovered said cure, they are not bound to be ‘happy’ with me.” 

He makes a very foreboding point. 

“It’s… it would be inefficient to punish you for that, though, right? With how little of your kind is left, every Architect counts!” 

He’s quiet. His lights go dim and guilty and afraid.  

“…Right?” 

“They are clearly managing on their own. It is likely that I will be confiscated after all useful data is uploaded,” he almost rasps. 

Those words sinking in hit her in the gut and chest like a cold laser. Al-An’s head dips. 

“N… no, no. That’s stupid. They can’t—“ 

She starts to whisper-yell, but he suddenly turns and looks at her with piercing, bright, flashing colors of harsh fear and mumbles with force, “They will do what they deem best for the continuation of my species. The individual is less important than the community. You must understand that this is how we function.” 

“But that doesn’t mean it’s right, Al-An!” She grits her teeth and sneers, “Look at yourself. Look at what you’re feeling. You don’t like this just as much as I don’t!” 

“You have given me more sensitivity to the importance of oneself, yes, that is true. But I have lost my respect and dignity and I must come to terms with the simple fact that I am no longer of use to my people and they must dispose of me. I am essentially useless.” 

He gets out of her face and resumes his usual stance, polite and proper. Robin simply can’t believe this. 

“This is ridiculous, Al-An! You can’t just accept you’re going to die just yet. And you are certainly not useless! What’s all that talk about humans being inferior about, then, huh?” 

“I was referring to our species as a whole, Robin. Not solely myself. And I can fully accept that if I deem it logical to do so.” 

“Will my opinion mean anything to any of you?!” 

“It matters to me, but that is not going to serve either of us any better.” 

She huffs. 

It’s easier, nowadays, to mask her sadness with anger than it used to be. Sam’s situation gave her a lot of practice. 

“You’re no better than us for doing this,” she mumbles with her teeth bared. He doesn’t respond, as the group promptly reenters the room. 

“Al-An, you must come with us.” 

He nods and slowly walks away from me. They all turn and the lump in her throat expands and it feels like barbed wire is tightening around it. 

One Architect stays. 

“You will follow me, if you please.” 

She can’t speak.  

She doesn’t want to move, or listen, or do anything. 

So much for hiding it. 

But she follows anyway. She doesn’t care enough to object now. 

They bring Robin to a room near a collection of growing seeds. She is instructed to wait.  

For what? For them to tell me he’s dead and I’m a data slave now?  

She doesn’t want to wait. She wants to leave. But she can’t stop thinking of him and that little stupid bird on her heart keeps telling her that maybe he’ll be okay.  

So she waits. She waits to hear it. It’ll help me grieve properly, I guess… 

This is all just too similar to what happened before. Too soon.  

Suddenly Robin doesn’t have any shred of a plan left.  

She just waits there, in the cold facility, not even bothering to get up and look at the seeds growing nearby. Although she’s sure it would distract her. 

But then again, she doesn’t know anything at this point. It wouldn’t matter.  

… 

Every person I care about. 

Every single one. 

They always end up dead. 

And I’m just cursed to be here and miss them until I feel like tearing myself apart.

Chapter Text

Robin sits there for what feels like hours.  

It’s so quiet. 

Her head wants to be quiet. But it can’t be. Not now. 

I’m going to lose him. 

Less than 24 hours with him in a physical body, and after all that time before, doing all of this to get him home to his people… and they congratulate him with death.  

She wants to yell and stop them. 

But all the fight has left her.

All she can do is sit. 

Stare at the engraved walls and sit.  

Sit and wait to hear that her closest friend is dead. 

… 

But then she hears the faint sounds of heavy four-legged bodies, sporadically, as they blink closer. 

So this is it, then. 

Knowing that, despite all the time sitting, the numbness leaves her and moisture begins to well up in her eyes and her throat tightens up again. But she keeps staring ahead and away from the door. 

She concludes that part of her pain is stemming from a sense of betrayal. For Al-An’s sake. 

From what she can discern by not looking, two Architects stand in the doorway now. 

“Robin,” one says with the usual monotone. 

She doesn’t bother to turn, but she does acknowledge them with the slightest nod in their direction.  

“We are aware that Al-An notified you of his justified punishment for his previous actions.” 

I’m well aware, thank you.  

“Just tell me already,” she mumbles, an edge to her words as she starts to get angry again.  

“His sentencing will last for… eh, five human years,” the other says. “He has asked that you take care of him until he is permitted back home.” 

What? 

Now she has to turn and face them out of the purest confusion.

“Sentencing? You didn’t kill him?” 

“While his disobedience to the Network would merit death with any other, Al-An is a valuable mind. He must pay for his crime, but he will eventually reintegrate into our society once it has been rebuilt and he has felt full remorse.”

She stands up fast. Almost stumbles and buckles as a result.  

He’s alive. 

He’s alive!! 

“Well— then, what did he get instead?” 

The first Architect answers. “Through your time spent with him stored in your brain, you have fully come to recognize how much our people value our exquisite vessels.” 

She has to resist a snicker while fighting a twinge of stinging tears. Of course she has. He wouldn’t let up about it. 

“Yeah, I have. What’s that got to do with this?” 

The two, in perfect synchrony, step to opposite sides. 

“Al-An, if you please.”

All at once, as soon as Robin’s eyes register what they’re seeing, her heart jumps into her mouth and her jaw drops. 

He steps forward, hands held over one another, head dipped in what she can only presume is shame. 

But he looks up at her and— 

Oh my God. 

His wild, sharp violet eyes lock with hers and immediately grow sadder.  

His short black hair has stray strands that fall but don’t obscure his pale face as he looks up at Robin. 

Al-An’s very human body is hunched over, shoulders hiked, and shaky on his two legs. He looks up at her and his mouth opens and he can only rasp with a considerably less robotic undertone than before. 

“Robin.” 

She can’t breathe. For so many reasons. 

But her voice manages as well. She weakly utters his name to ensure that it’s really who she thinks it is. 

“Al-An?” 

He tries to take a step forward, mouth opening with an emerging, relieved smile, but with the towering Architects watching— and maybe she’s a factor too— he stumbles and starts to fall as his knees buckle beneath him.

Robin saw it coming; she runs over and gently catches him, hoisting him back upright with a hold under the arms.  

“I…” He starts, looking down at himself, then her again, deep into her brown eyes. Maybe taking in their face’s proximities too. “I am not used to… bipedalism…” 

“I-I’m sure you’ll get..." 

Her eyes are drawn to his bare torso, the accents of purple cascading along its sides, the sharp definition of his muscles glinting under harsh light.

Oh no. Don’t tell me he’s built. That’s not fair. 

Ah! Focus! 

“–I’m sure you’ll get used to it.” 

She helps him up until he stands again. His eyes just keep scanning and scanning. As are hers, of course– neither one can fathom this.

“Your punishment is… five years in a human body…?” 

He sulks. “Yes. I am quite uncomfortable.” 

“More than when you were in that cube? Or my head?” 

“Yes. I believe this could be described as the epitome of distress.” 

She can’t help but snort from brief laughter. 

“If you think this is discomfort, just wait until you get to live in it for a while.” 

In response, he whines. 

He whines?? 

“Oh, even my mouth is making strange sounds! Robin, how do you live like this?!” 

The two Architects behind him nod in approval. She can’t answer before they interrupt. 

“It is good to see that the vessel is sustaining itself,” the one on Robin’s left says. They look back at her. “You both will not be permitted any entry to this world until his five year sentencing is complete or if his life is in imminent danger. This is, by no means, a death sentence. However, any attempts that are not for that purpose will add time to his years.” 

Al-An looks back at her with pleading eyes. Eyes that say “please, no.” 

Very, arguably, beautiful eyes. 

“A-All understood, thank— thank you both…” she fumbles over her words but still manages legibility. “We’ll leave as soon as possible.” 

“A ship has been provided that does not require integration. You will find it where you landed previously.” 

“Uh… uh huh… okay..." 

She doesn’t know why, but this is mesmerizing.  

Al-An? In a human body? And… pretty? What the fuck?? His voice was enough!! Now this?! 

Although, she does admit that it is kind of funny how pathetic he suddenly is. 

Robin manages to help him properly learn to walk with two, rather than four, legs and use the arms he’s attached to rather than six magnetic floating ones. He’s still rusty, as she would expect him to be, but he caught on relatively quickly.  

The ship was simple. Unmarked, so probably taken for study from some regular old civilians that met an unfortunate end prior to discovery. Architects don’t seem the types to purposefully kill. They’re above that…

Now, to the elephant— er, human/Architect— in the room. 

First thing’s first. He’s naked. 

Which, sure, what does anyone expect? Synthesizing a body naturally won’t include any sort of clothing with it. But it’s still… interesting for Robin, to say the least. 

He’s been awfully quiet, though. She’s trying to distract herself with learning the layout of the ship while he just stands there with his big shining purple eyes following her every move, brimming now with curiosity. 

Instead of the usual way he used to hold his actual hands (in front of his chest), he’s chosen to hold them behind his back instead. Alas, Robin can’t stall forever, so she takes in a breath and turns around, trying to keep her eyes off of his lower half. 

“Let’s… uh, fabricate you some clothes…” 

He nods, then finally speaks again, looking down at himself and placing his hands on his hips as if scrutinizing the sight. 

“That is a good idea. My body does not seem to favor this temperature.” 

“……..” 

Robin has to cover her face with her hands before turning around and twirling her handy habitat tool. Not because she’s embarrassed from the sight— goodness knows she’s seen plenty of reproductive organs throughout her life and career— but because her face is positively burning up. So she supposes she’s covering her face out of sheer reddened confusion. And maybe his comment was funny.  

The habitat tool quickly builds a fabricator on the wall, and she manages to have it make a simple shirt, pants, and underwear. Before she hits go, though, she backtracks and give his outfit a little bit of flair. Just because she can. And his clothing should compliment his body– so as to not make it an eyesore, of course.

She shoves them into his arms as soon as they’re ready. 

“Put these on.” 

Robin swivels away on her heels promptly, then, and goes to sit back at the cockpit to ready the ship for launch. 

“This is not what you are wearing.” 

“No need for an ecosuit anymore, Al-An.” 

“Ah.” 

There’s a silence from him as the ship powers on. Curiosity gets the better of her. 

“You okay back there?” 

“I… am struggling with these limbs.” 

She snickers, paying no mind to concealment.  

“Robin.” 

“Sorry, sorry. You think four limbs is harder than…” she counts on her fingers briefly, “twelve?” 

“You are counting the magnetic ones. That is not logical for the present situation.” 

“Fine. Six limbs are easier than four?” 

“Architects do not wear clothes.” 

He says it with such sternness in his voice that she can’t help but laugh. “Yeah, well, you do now.” 

He makes some pathetic noise from his mouth, like a mumble mixed with a whimper.

“What?” 

His eyes snap up to meet hers again, as she had caught him midway through somewhat figuring out where the underpants go. He’d gotten it to his knees, so that’s good, but it does make her wonder where he thought they went all those minutes prior.  

“Imayrequireassistance,” he mutters. 

Oh-ho-ho, what’s this? This just keeps getting better and better, doesn’t it?
He’s so silly… hehe.  

“What was that?” she taunts, getting up and leaning forward with a sly grin.  

He hunches his shoulders and dips his head. “I may require assistance.” 

Robin chuckles.  

“Not so high and mighty now, are we?” 

“It is the vessel to blame, not my intelligence,” he growls.  

“Sure, buddy.” She motions to where he’d gotten the garment up to this point. “You’re doing it right. Just pull them all the way up now.” 

“What is its purpose?” 

“Underwear? Don’t you know this from living in my head for a month?” 

“I do not recall its importance, only that you thought of it from time to time.” 

“Fine. All they do is add some extra support to your… well, reproductive organs.” 

He pulls them up with his gaze fixated on her, then back down at said organs. 

“I do not understand this method of reproduction with these appendages.” 

“You don’t understand what a p—” 

He shoots the snarky woman a glare to stop her from bursting out laughing. It doesn’t help– in fact, it makes it harder for her to contain herself.

“I know that, Robin. They are just—” 

“— inefficient? What, like your lil’ tiny seeds are better?” 

“Well, yes,” he frowns. 

“Agree to disagree. Do the same thing with those pants there that you did with the underwear.” 

He huffs and nods. 

“Must I wear the shirt?” 

She pauses. Gives it a think. Attempts to command her face to stop glowing deep crimson. 

It is worth noting that, aside from his eyes, the only other indicator of his non-human origin are patterns that trace the sides of his body, resembling veins— but instead of looking natural, they’re sharply edged and look like the walls of Architect buildings. That, and the small symbol on his chest that looks like his actual body’s face.  

Did they have to make him muscular, though? 

She shakes her head to brush off the thought digression.

“If you want, I guess. The shirt is less important than the pants.” 

“Why? Are my vital organs not held within my torso?” 

“It’s not all about the vitals, Al-An. It’s about privacy.” She sits back down and starts revving the ships’ engines. “With humans, displaying the genitalia is a very high form of intimacy that implies… sex. Not so much with the male torso, although most people do find them attractive when exposed.”

“What about the female torso?” 

“Female chests also have reproductive organs, so they follow the same rule, generally. Some cultures don’t care, but most do.” 

“Have we not reached the appropriate intimacy levels for me to forgo the garments you have issued me?” 

“No, Al-An, being in my head doesn’t count. You’re not getting out of this.” 

He pouts, she can hear it. Even though it’s silent and she isn’t looking at him.

“…Fine.” 

He seems to manage the rest of the outfit; black slacks and a white collared shirt with purple buttons as a little accent. He tussles his hair out of his face into more of a comb-over and catches himself on two side bars as Robin books it out of the atmosphere, not wishing to test the patience of those other Architects.

It doesn’t take long for the two to be floating along in space, with no particular destination. 

Al-An stands back upright from his braced position. Robin leans back in her chair to look at him, upside-down. 

“You’re safe, now.” 

He blinks, then his face contorts until she figures out he’s smiling for the first time, but very cautiously, of course.
“Thank you, Robin.” 

“For what, exactly?” 

“Choosing to care for me during my time in this vessel.” 

“Oh. Well, of course I would. I’ve got nothing better to do, and you’re my friend, so…” 

“I appreciate it.” 

She inhales sharply and stands up. 

“Time to look around this ship,” she mutters with gusto, patting him on the shoulder as she goes by. He seems to be confused by the gesture but takes to trailing her quietly, with his hands tucked behind his back again. 

They make it to the first room, then something faint drops to the floor and Al-An makes a sound of surprise. Robin looks back to see his pants had fallen to his ankles. Oops. 

“Why did they do that?” Al-An tilts his head and questions, seeming genuinely puzzled. 

“I forgot to give you a belt, my bad,” she grumbles, heading to the fabricator with some fibers and titanium promptly materializing in her hand. He shuffles over behind her with said pants still around his ankles, and she laughs after the initial annoyance passes over. 

“Do you require a belt, Robin?" 

"No." 

“Why?” 

“Because I’ve got wider hips that keep my pants up. Men don’t have widened pelvises for childbirth, so they don’t get nice hips like women do.” Playfully she sways hers. It catches his attention, but not for too long for it to be anything to worry about. He seems satisfied by her answer. 

Good. I’m getting better at talking in a way that doesn’t require more questions from him.  

Reminds me of how my mom dealt with my younger self. I did the same thing. Huh… He really is a child. Hah. 

The belt is done swiftly. Not wanting to have him struggle anymore— as funny as that would be, he’s been through enough over the past few hours— Robin threads the leathery belt through the loops in his pants and buckles it. 

“Tight enough?" 

“Yes.” 

“Will you need help getting it undone?” she chuckles, not beings entirely serious with that question. 

“I may have it understood, but I will call you if the need arises.” 

Suddenly the thought of undoing his belt makes her flash with heat. But it dissipates quickly. Since, you know, why would that get her worked up? 

“Right. Okay. Great. Let’s keep looking, then…” 

She trudges ahead, swearing at her stupid human hormones and their consequential stupid human feelings. 

She realizes she sounds like him there. Perhaps, she reasons, she can understand some things regarding how he thinks. 

It’s not her fault he’s conventionally attractive. It’s his body makers’ and her brain’s fault.  

She shakes her head and takes to looking around again, now comfortably and without a time limit.  

This isn’t some trade ship, as she suspected. It’s purely civilian. There are two bedrooms and a bathroom and a kitchen and living room… Even a rudimentary gym section. 

Well, isn’t that nice, actually. This might turn out to be relaxing, especially after my last few months. 

Oh. But before I forget… 

“Okay. Al-An.” 

“Hm?”  

He cocks his head toward her, as he was standing with his side to hers, scrutinizing a fork. 

“I need to teach you a few things about human bodies real quickly, okay?” 

“That would be beneficial.” 

“Alright. Can we sit down?” 

He nods and they find the couch. Robin sits halfway off of it to face him. 

He’d assumed another modest and formal position, legs kept together and hands resting atop. Damn, does he look nice in those clothes she chose.

“Okay. First thing. Hunger.” 

“I am aware of what that is, Robin,” he raises an eyebrow. 

“Well duh, but— can you let me talk?” 

He purses his lips in response. 

“Thank you. So. You’re not used to this, so you need to know. When your body needs food, you need to eat. No more plugging yourself into an electrical outlet.” 

She can tell he wants to refute that last sentence, but he doesn’t. Only makes a face.

“I assume through your great intelligence that you’ll know what is edible and what isn’t, right?” 

He nods. 

“There are some things that look edible, but aren’t. Do your fancy scrutiny and if you can’t figure out what’s in it then ask me. Understood?” 

“Yes.” 

“I’ll cook for us. God forbid you try to operate a stove.” 

His befuddled look is exactly her reasoning for that. 

“Next, thirst. Drink water only for now. You were on a plant covered in it, so you should know what it looks like.” 

“The food and water go through here, yes?” He points at his mouth. 

“Yup. Don’t choke, please.” 

“I will try not to.” 

“You’ll have to sleep every twelve hours or so. You go to a bed, lay down, and close your eyes. That will tell your brain to sleep.” 

“That’s… very unproductive.” 

She blows a raspberry at him. 

“Welcome to being a human. Last thing now— waste.” 

“Waste?” 

“The byproduct of your food and the cleaning of your blood, i.e. excrement and urine.” 

“Ah. Yes. How is that expelled?” 

She fills up her cheeks comically, then blows the air out with a puff. She knows she got herself into this, and thus, she needs to finish what she started. Even if she’s explaining how you shit and piss to an alien in a human body. 

“You’ll feel a pressure down here,” she motions to the appropriate areas on her own body, “and that’ll tell you to go to the toilet. The front end means you need to urinate. You, uh, have to aim that reproductive organ and relax the muscles around your bladder to do that.” 

“The organ doubles in function?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Better than I expected.” 

She resists a giggle. Go figure. 

“To release waste, it’s the same thing, but back here. You just sit down in that case.” 

He nods. 

“I think those are all the vital functions you need to know, then. Any questions?” 

“You do not have said appendage on your front side. How does the expelling function work on females?” 

“There are, um, two different exits for that.” 

“I see.” 

A pause. Robin takes the silence as a moment to look over his body again. 

“They made you a nice vessel,” she comments. 

“Do you think so?” 

“Yeah. It’s got nice hair and eyes and build. A, uh, good human body standard.” 

“Build as in muscle mass?” 

“Yeah. You’ve got a good amount of it.” 

He seems happy with that, given the proud grin that suddenly illuminates his face. 

“Well, your vessel is quite nice, too.” 

Aww. 

“What makes you say that?” 

“I am not sure. Perhaps it is the combination of being a similar height and my new brain chemistry. I believe the word I am searching for is… pretty.” 

She shifts her gaze away and shivers a little. 

“Pretty? Me? Really?” Her stressing of the words does not fail to convey that she believes he is making some kind of joke at the expense of the human brain again.

Upon looking back at him, however, the soft look in his eyes tells her that no, he is not joking. 

“Yes. My mind is pleased by the sight of you.” 

She hastily attributes that to aesthetics and the aforementioned reasons he suspected to be the cause and quickly gets up before he gets too mushy. I can’t handle that yet. 

“Well, I’m pretty tired, so I’m going to sleep,” she mumbles, stretching, still feeling his gaze on her. 

“I hope you have good dreams about flying, Robin. Will I have any dreams?” 

“Nobody can tell whether you will or won’t. But if you do, I hope they’re good, too.” 

She smiles at him and starts off to the bedroom she liked the most after her first self-guided tour. 

“Thank you, Robin.” 

Damn. His voice. 

It’s not fair. Never has been. But especially not now…

“Mhmm. Come get me if you need anything.” 

“I will,” he says smoothly, getting up and mimicking the stretch she did, then humming with relief as he does so. The light falls on him and he looks almost angelic.

Get a grip, Robin. Please. 

Chapter Text

Needless to say, Robin did not, in fact, ‘get a grip.’ 

Truth be told, the remaining grip she had got looser and looser as the first week went by.  

Robin, undoubtedly, has a big problem on her hands.  

Well, under them. She lies on her designated bed, legs squeezed shut, growling through her teeth.  

Her premenstrual syndrome, undoubtedly, has hit a lot harder than usual.  

And not so much in the bitchy attitude sense, unfortunately. Al-An, she believes, could handle that. He has, even. 

Human sexuality, however… that’s a dangerous game to explain to an alien. She knows this without having even attempted such an elucidation. 

If she were to tell him what was going on, he’d understand it, to the extent that his companion is having an influx of random hormones that are putting her in a ‘heat’ of sorts.  

What she’s sure he wouldn’t understand is the fact that her body is absolutely yearning for his.  

Not by her own will, mind you. Yes, he’s pretty. Yes, he’s muscular and would probably do a good job at it. And yes, she would trust him to share that intimacy with her, but at the heart of it, it’s just the fact that he’s got male genitalia that’s putting her into the thick of thinking of him. Her mind bears no attraction to any other aspect of him. Just the fact that he’d do much better than something she could rig the fabricator into making.   

Regardless, though, Robin knows she can’t do that. It’s wrong, isn’t it? Just to use someone for pleasure?  

She can’t even say he’d enjoy it too. That’s the rough part. She’d ask if she wasn’t embarrassed to admit that she’s been thinking about him making her bed squeak and if she didn’t think he’d be disgusted or anything of the like by the notion or mere reference to the action.   

He’s my friend. That’s clear. I shouldn’t rope him into my own personal problems with my head and its hormones. I can figure it out myself.  

Yeah. I don’t need him for that at all.   

…  

God, but she’s gotta do something. It’s getting uncomfortably achy down there, and her mind’s wandering now that she’s really gotten to thinking about… that…  

She looks down at her hands. I suppose they’ll have to d—  

“Robin?”  

She almost jumps out of her skin, but tilts her head up to see him in her doorway.  

She doesn’t have any energy to do anything else, and besides, he’s seen her in worse positions. Robin lays her head back down and grumbles.  

“Yes?”  

“You are distressed.”  

What? Don’t tell me—  

“I can still sense the stronger feelings you are experiencing. I came to make sure you were all right.”  

“I’m fine, Al-An.”  

“Okay,” he pauses. “Would you mind telling me what is distressing you? Perhaps I can help alleviate your stress?”  

God, I wish he could.  

“Just PMS, Al-An. Nothing new.”  

“Ah. Your hormones are imbalanced. What are you feeling? Sad? Irritable?” 

“Eh, um… none of those, actually…”  

“None? There is another you have not experienced before?”  

“Well, I haven’t… had it at this intensity before…”  

Shut up, shut up!! Why are you leading this on?!  

He leaves his spot at the doorway and sits down next to her on the bed. She turns away from him, her guilty face starting to burn up again.   

“I am detecting what appears to be large amounts of… oxytocin? That is a breeding chemical, yes?”  

Shit.  

“Y- yeah…”  

“Your premenstrual syndrome is prompting you to breed? You are in a… mating period?”  

He doesn’t sound exactly astounded, but there definitely is an air of surprise to this discovery he’s made. 

“I— no? I don’t think so… But, yes, fine. It’s really amplified right now, that urge.”  

“How come it was never this intense during my time in your head?”  

“Uh…”  

She sucks in a breath. Somehow she can’t push him away from this, but he beats her to it. His eyebrows slowly raise as he puts two and two together.  

“If you have the urge to breed, and this intensely, then logically… that would lead me to conclude that I am the object of your body’s desires, then. Is that the case, Robin?”  

FUUUUUUCK.  

She can’t help but cover her eyes with a slap and groan, feet kicking against the bed.   

Muffled, she responds, “maybe.”  

To her utmost bewilderment, he chuckles.  

The motherfucker chuckled at me.  

“Oh, Robin, do you see now why humans confuse me so?”  

“YES. I’ve noticed. In fact, I live it.”  

“You… you wish to engage in… sexual reproduction with me…?”  

NGH-!  

“I— no! I don’t want to make a kid. Goodness knows that’s the last thing I need.”  

“I am not even sure that will be possible with my artificially synthesized body. If not that, then, what is the purpose of this hormonal influx?”  

She can’t help but notice that he leans over a little, toward her. She grits her teeth as her face gets darker with blood flow.   

“Pleasure.”  

“Pleasure?”  

“Sex makes people feel good, Al-An. That’s why we do it so much, even if it isn’t for a baby.”  

Robin finally drops her hands back down to her stomach and cringes, looking at him. “It’s ridiculous.”  

“You know this from study or experience?”  

“Experience.”  

Something flickers across his face that she can’t decipher.   

“Not a great experience, mind you. But it still felt good.”  

He looks away and she feels the weight of him sitting on the bed release, so she shuts her eyes.  

But his presence is definitely still in the room. Curious, her eyes flutter open again.  

Her mind sputters a holy fuck as he’s now leaning over her, hands behind his back, face closer than it’s ever been before.   

She can only guess he’s trying to figure out what’s happening, but that doesn’t help her body’s immediate reaction via widened eyes and a feverish heat fluttering in her core.  

She believes she’s right with her hypothesis. His eyes are darting this way and that with fervor...   

“A- Al-An-?!”  

“Do you find me arousing, Robin?”  

Her breath sticks in her windpipe and she can’t breathe at all for a second. It’s just stunned silence.  

But, before she can think, she rasps something just above a whisper.  

“Y- Yes, Al-An.”  

Robin’s brain catches up and OH FUCK I SAID THAT OUT LOUD.  

SHIT. SHITSHITSHITSHITSHITSHITSHIT!!  

He ponders. He leans back and looks at where she had, a few days earlier, motioned toward as the female reproductive organ entrance.   

It’s like she can feel his eyes on it and it is not helping her current situation in the slightest.  

“I am…”  

She freezes as he, slowly, sets his arms down on the sides of where she lies.  

“… curious.”  

Her eyes beg for her because she seems to have taken trauma to the head and cannot form words anymore. Her eyes ask, about what?  

“What it feels like.” He looks back up at her again, somehow perfectly answering her silent question. “I can consider it… research. It will alleviate your stress, correct?”  

“I- A-” 

Frantically she searches for words and a way to make her gaze stop combing his body for her urge to run her hands over all of it was growing increasingly stronger.  

“You’re asking to…?” she barely manages to whisper after a beat.  

“It will be beneficial to both of us, I take it.”  

“Hhh… y… yes..?”  

“May I, then?”  

Time seems to stop.  

Rewind a couple of months, when he was contained in her head and arguing about ball and socket joints, then fast forward back to now, with him leaning over her and asking if he can have sex with her for his knowledge and her relief.  

Should I accept it? No!  

Do I want it, though?  

“Yes…”  

He tilts his head and his hands start to whisper along her sides.  

Crown me the queen of bad decisions.  

“I do not… know how to properly conduct myself. I only know the mechanics of this act. I apologize if it does not satisfy you completely.”  

“The mechanics are all you need to know, Al-An… the rest comes pretty intuitively…”  

“Well, is it right to take my intuition into consideration and remove the barrier?”  

“What barrier?”  

“Your suit.” 

Without a doubt in his mind, it seems, he places a hand on the small of her back and leans her upright, then— somehow sensually, even for a first timer— unzips it.  

Her eyes are wide and her heart is pounding out of her chest and it is getting achingly wet and uncomfortably lonely somewhere south. 

She can’t speak. She only watch. Robin can only watch as his hands move like liquid while they pull her suit off with curiosity and a building glimmer of newfound lust in his eyes.  

This is going to be quite the experience for an Architect. 

He clears his throat as his face starts to heat up with blush and she watches as he becomes increasingly disheveled. After a beat of staring at her half-bare body, he blinks quickly and she sees that his hands are trembling.  

“Ah… Robin…”
She tilts her head, as he’d stopped halfway down with his removal of her suit. He stands upright and— 

Oop. He’s got to be uncomfortable in those pants now. No doubt about it...  

But the sheer notion, even the very implication from the sight, makes her mouth water. 

“That is supposed to happen, right…?”
“Uh, uh huh…” 

He seems to be a bit puzzled still, far from a man in bed who was all-controlling and confident, as one may think he would be— but Robin finds his slightly wet cat-like demeanor endearing. Maybe a little cute. Now, however, her thoughts are occupied by fantasies of what was yet to occur, and she has to squirm a little from the sudden rush of sparking fire that blossoms in her again. 

As he’d had practice, his belt unbuckles and all at once he hurriedly removes the confining garments and almost pounces on her, pushing her back down onto the bed, breathing heavily on her neck. 

“Robin,” he pants, seeing as he was most certainly feeling something he’s never had before and to the intensity level she is.  

Breathlessly, she gives him her all-clear. “Go ahead.” 

It’s too late to turn back now. She knows she needs this very, very badly. He tugs off the rest of the ecosuit and she’s bare beneath him, her hands suddenly snaking under his shirt to brush the sculpting of his chest while he inspects the two parts he’s supposed to put together. 

She keeps her head back, looking at the ceiling, because for some strange reason, she’s feeling shy. As if it were her first time, or perhaps, because nobody’s ever going to be this mentally and physically close with her ever again. An exceptional circumstance, really. 

But the engravings of purple start to pulsate with his accelerating heartbeat and her legs are spread apart. 

He puts his head on her shoulder and— 

She gasps.  

It’s been a while. 

It’s been a while since she’s felt someone push inside of her. It slid in so smoothly. Perfectly. 

Robin hears him whimper after a sharp inhale and his teeth grind together and his hips push into hers while he lets himself be enveloped by her. 

“Ah...” he buries his face in the crook of her neck and she shivers upon feeling his lips pressed against the sensitive skin there.  

“Ooh… that’s… good…” 

He takes a moment to recover, then the good old intuition kicks in and he performs his first thrust and HHHOOOO GOD-!! 

He grunts with the movement and it’s really, really difficult not to yelp with the extreme amount of pleasure that’s just flooded through her just from the first go.  

His hands grip the sheets and he moves from her neck to the bed below and seems to scream a bit.  

Scream, as in, moan very, very loudly.  

He gets to understand the rhythm with his movements. She lets herself watch him without any attempt to hide it. 

It’s quite the sight, seeing him over her.  

She realizes, then, that there’s no reason to be quiet, lolling her head back and arching up toward him. 

Her hands undo the rest of the buttons on his shirt and she gets to admire how his body moves under the sharp lights of the ship’s interior. She can’t help but grab him by his jet-black hair, shining with velvety violet undertones, and wraps her legs around his lower back for dear life. 

He emerges from the bedsheets after she starts to yelp unconstrained. 

“R- hah- Robin…! H-How do you—” he stops to pant, “how do you possibly go without this for so long?” 

“I— don’t— know—!” 

“Are you being, uh- ngh-! Is this h-helping?” 

“Y- Yes-!!” She has to scream, and somehow his body was made with perfect technique in mind because his speed immediately accelerates in response. Her voice is, apparently, turning him on. 

Robin takes in the moment. A ridiculously hot body with a ridiculously smart (alien) mind is currently railing her while they drift through space. His beautiful eyes are half-lidded and his mouth is oh so teasingly open, sharp jaw tensing every now and then when he breaks eye contact to suck in a desperate breath and roll his head forward. The whole experience is a whole new, undiscovered kind of overstimulation— a kind that he craves with primal drive, chasing the promise of unprecedented euphoria. 

She becomes acutely aware of the sounds that this whole action is making— the wet slapping of skin, mostly, and the whimpers coming from the both of them, and the bed squeaking. 

My god, his moans are delicious. 

“Al-An… Al-An..!” She can only shallowly inhale as her muscles start to tense up.  

He seems to like her saying his name like this, given the shiver that ripples down his spine and how he keeps himself somewhat upright in order to watch her face.  

He’s quite bedraggled for an Architect. For a second, she’s proud of herself.  

Then the next, she can feel that hot burning in every nerve she has climbing up, until he performs one more thrust to send her over the edge.  

It rockets and rips through her and it’s so intense she starts to curl up with all the stiffening, a silent scream escaping her lips, eyes rolling back.  

Needless to say it provided plenty of extra ‘lubricant’ for him, the very sight and feeling of her climax being enough to fascinate him into one himself. 

Robin doesn’t expect him to pull out, and he doesn’t. Usually she’d be worried about that, but he posed a good point about not being fertile because of his origins.  

His chest is heaving, a little bit of sweat dripping down his face.  

He looks down, then back up at her, and out of the corner of her eyes his arms start to tremble and he collapses on top of her with a satisfied, albeit exhausted, groan. 

I kind of wish that was my first time, too.  

It might as well have been. He’s an alien. That counts. 

And damn, did he do a good job… 

She’s thoroughly satisfied, but they both continue to lay there in silence, waiting for their hearts to settle and their breathing to go back from ragged and shallow to normal.  

“Thank you,” she whispers. 

“You... are… welcome...” 

His face is buried again, but then he rests it on her chest and looks at her with now quite a cute expression, his eyes sparkling brilliantly.  

“Thank you, too,” he mumbles, then lays his head back down and uses her as a pillow.  

Nap time. 

Chapter Text

That should have been the only time.  

Robin knows that, deep in her gut. It should have been a one-and-done. Her flow came and went and she wasn’t due for more horrible PMS for a whole month. 

But what she’d forgotten about sex is that it’s extremely addictive.  

And, like a drug, the first time you do it, you’re cautious, and you think hm, I’ll probably only do this once and a while. 

But it only takes one good time to get addicted, and she made the terrible, terrible mistake of letting an Architect unlock sexual experiences. 

She should complain. She knows she really should. 

But who am I to complain when I’m just as addicted as he is? 

The initiations vary between them. Sometimes she just finds herself teasing him—  and he can’t take much of that before he has to do something about it. Sometimes he’s the one pressed up against her on the edge of a counter, because he’d been looking at her too long and remembering the last time.

And who is she to complain when a person like him shuffles up to her and starts acting all affectionate afterward? She hasn’t received that kind of care in… well, forever. 

As it continued, he got better. That’s another thing, and that just made her want it more and more often than she should have. She started to teach him things and he caught on to them immediately and without fail. As if he were a significant other and this was a completely normal set of interactions.

Three weeks into being on this ship, floating around, Robin had to tell Al-An that they were, in human terms, ‘friends with benefits.’ 

Not romantic. Not romantic at all.  

I’ve learned my lesson from that and this is pushing it as it is. 

He seemed to understand, to an extent, what she was laying forth– but still stayed with her afterward and took turns using her as a place to rest his head.  

It’s one morning after and Robin is quietly shuffling through the ship with slippers and a blanket draped around her to fix a breakfast. Al-An’s still asleep, but she’d heard his stomach rumbling.  

It was pretty– ahem– wild last night, to be fair.  

The ship’s automated voice only comes on when she goes into the cockpit to monitor course, or when it warns them that a debris field is nearby and they should brace. 

This time, though, it said something different. 

“Ship docking. Airlock release in T-20 seconds.” 

Alarmed, she races over to the cockpit and tries to see what’s on them, but there’s nothing ahead as she would have thought.  

It’s gotta be pirates. That’s the only logical explanation here. They’re out of any trans-gov bounds. 

Fuck. Okay. Don’t panic. 

She darts back over to the end of the ship, running into her room for some a robe that she precariously shoves over herself, and then sprints to the cargo bay.  

“Ship undocking. Airlock secure.” 

What?  

Why would— 

Oh. It’s a hijack, isn’t it. Great! Just great. 

The bay is completely shut, which means they’re already on board. 

Robin growls and finds her locker, pulling out the only defense she’s got on her— a trusty thermoblade and a propulsion cannon. She hides them under her blanket and slinks around cloaked by it, promptly locking the room that Al-An’s asleep in. She can’t alarm him and needs to keep him safe; that’s the whole reason why he wanted her to take care of him during his sentence.  

Something crinkles, like a wrapper, in the kitchen.  

Gotcha.  

Taking a loop around, Robin finds a figure leaning their back against the counter, munching on a nutrient block.  

She thinks they don’t see her, so she skulks closer. 

Unfortunately, it seems they did, in fact, see her. They pull out a small gun from their holster and point it directly at her forehead.  

Robin freezes in place, a strike of cold fear rocketing through her.  

They don’t even look at her. They just finish their food (which, Robin notes, was supposed to be her food).  

But eventually their brown eyes glint in the lights above, face otherwise entirely covered in black cloth.  

“Honeymoon’s over, lovebirds,” they growl. 

Well, he growls. It’s a masculine voice that speaks. “You move and I shoot, you hear me?”  

She begrudgingly nods with a very clearly angry look on her face. 

“Good. Put down the cannon.” 

How the hell did he know I had the cannon? It was perfectly concealed… 

Fine. She might as well not test him. Slowly she places it on the ground. He stares at it for a moment, then looks back at her.  

“You locked the other in the bedroom. I guess that makes things easier. How long have you two been married?” their eyes crease with smug grin.

“This is not a honeymoon.” 

“Oh. Huh. Seemed like a vacation ship to me. A honeymoon since there’s only two of you.” 

Robin is honestly surprised he’s making conversation like this. Boy, though, do I wish I had Marguerit with me.  

“What do you want?” 

“Your ship. I’ll drop you off at the nearest colony as long as you don’t try anything funny,” he narrows his eyes and lowers the gun.  

A click resounds from behind him— a door opening— and he whips around at anxious speed and the rifle on his back is promptly lined up and charging.  

“Al-An!” Robin hisses, as her companion is now innocently peeking out of the doorway ahead.  

“Who is this?” he asks, ever so aggravatingly calmly. 

“I don’t know but he’s holding us at gunpoint so if you could please come over here and just wait with me everything’s gonna be fine, okay?” 

He huffs. The two men eye each other as Al-An walks by, assuming his usual position next to Robin with his hands behind his back. 

“Stay,” the man growls, slipping the rifle back on.  

It catches his hood. It falls. 

Robin gets a sudden flash of recognition in her head.  

He turns back around, albeit still with a very grumpy look on his face, but her suspicions are confirmed; she definitely recognizes him. From where, though…?
Al-An seems to know who he is. His eyes widen and his posture straightens as if he’d been hit with something. 

“What?” the hijacker spits, catching the stare.

“You disabled the quarantine enforcement platform.” 

The man freezes. Feigns a confused laugh that only sounds more nervous.

“What are you talking about?” 

“A large vessel crashed in the tropical crater region of planet 4546B two human years ago. One individual contracted the Kahraa but managed to find the primary containment facility and prompt the hatching of the Sea Emperor Leviathan’s eggs which provided him with Enzyme 42. Upon being cured they disabled the gun and left the atmosphere.”  

He said all that like he was reciting lines. Robin doesn’t entirely know what he’s talking about, but the man certainly does. His voice lowers in response.

“And you know that how?” 

“Forgive me for the lack of introduction. I am Al-An. A… currently exiled Architect.” 

“The… the precursor race?” 

He nods.  

“You mother fuckers,” the grumpy guy grumbles. “That God damned gun ruined my life, you know that?” 

“It was necessary for the protection of the rest of the vulnerable worlds.”  

“I’m sorry, Al-An, what’s going on?” Robin finally has to blurt. “Who is this again?”
He looks at me. With those dazzling indigo eyes. 

Focus!

“The human who cured the Kahraa, Robin,” he tilts his head, as if she should have already known this. “Do you recall a databank entry regarding news of the Aurora’s disappearance? I read it after entering your head.”  

“I… yes? I remember. It was sent to build a phase gate. Alterran.”
She starts to connect the dots. Her eyes shoot wide open and she snaps back to look at the man again. 

“Wait…!” 

The apparently bad-at-concealing-his-identity hijacker pinches the bridge of his nose and growls. 

“This damn haircut…” 

Al-An chuckles. 

“Fine,” he huffs, pulling his mask down. “You caught me. Guilty as charged. Ryley Robinson, king of debt and fucked up fish,” he says, teeth clenched, as he opens his palms out to them and does a sarcastic bow. Standing back up, he twirls his small laser gun in his hand. “So what’s a precursor doing here with you? What have you got to do with this?” 

“I visited 4546B to figure out the circumstances of my sister’s death a few months ago. In the arctic region.” 

“Ah. So you know how much of a shitface Alterra is too?” 

“Oh, do I,” Robin growls. “Are you still gonna steal our ship?”

He pauses, thinking, maybe. “Maybe. Most of the ships I’ve had to take were from Alterrans, so I don’t feel as inclined to throw you off now that you both are…” He waves his gun around at the two of them, “Well, whatever you are.”

“Why Alterrans specifically? If you—”

Al-An gets cut off. “I don’t like them. They don’t deserve nice things.” He crosses his arms after putting his gun away. He can’t conceal the poutiness in his voice.

“Real mature there, buddy,” Robin giggles.

Al-An leans down to whisper to her. 

“Do we harbor this fugitive now?”

She gives him a look of confusion. “We’re already fugitives. Why are you calling him one?”

He starts to speak but catches his illogical train of thought and tucks his hands behind his back again, looking over to Ryley, who was now occupied with rifling through our pantry. 

“Why so hungry?” She steps over to peep at his food choice. It can say a lot about someone. 

“I don’t prefer nutrient bricks. Living on that stupid fish planet made me appreciate actual food.” He stands back up with a benign egg in hand after swapping to the refrigerator. “Besides, it’s hard to keep up this physique.” (Cue a sarcastic flex) “Starved me down there, swimming every day… You don’t mind me making something, do you?”

“I…” He seems bent on it already. And Robin knows what he means when he says that planet messes with your body.

Ironic how that’s turned out, huh?

“No. Go ahead, I guess.”

It’s still weird— he came here to steal our ship and now she’s letting him fry an egg with all that classic rogue shit going on. But she reasons they have their similarities, and perhaps that’s making her empathetic. That, or the traumatized look in his eyes. Guy looks like a puppy trying to be a wolf. Poor thing.

She probably shouldn’t call him out on that, though. Goodness knows what happens when she challenges a man’s ego… 

Cough. Al-An. Looking at you there.

Right… these two. Robin immediately begins to wonder how they’ll interact. Ryley seemed pretty pissed off at him, but it doesn’t look hostile between them currently. Can’t have two fighting cats in here. I already had one that fought me way back when…

She leaves to put on some proper clothes (not hastily thrown on ones) and comes back to see Al-An somewhat staring at Ryley as he mumbles about “your little oopsie made me shit my pants fifteen thousand times, you know.” 

Robin can’t help but laugh at that, to herself. Maybe she’ll like this guy, even though the teal streaks in his hair are so two centuries ago… 

“You do not like 4546B.”

“No shit, Sherlock.”

“You also employ foul language in your regular speech a lot.”

Ryley frowns, then sees her. 

“How do you live with this? I hate him already. Sounds like my PDA.” He takes an angry bite out of his toast. 

She holds back another laugh, and when he looks puzzled, she points over at her poor alien, who looks thoroughly hurt. Big sparkling eyes and a frown. Ryley snickers. 

“Your PDA is… very helpful…” Al-An whines. Robin pats him on the back for comfort. 

“Yes, it is, Al-An. Don’t worry. It saved my life, and I’m sure it saved Ryley’s too.” She gives the rogue a pointed look, trying to convey please be nice to him, he’s autistic.

Ryley rolls his eyes, as if to respond, fine, but he still caused irreversible damage to me, so I’m not going to lay off on the sarcasm.

Might be good, she supposes, to have an actual human— who’s been human their whole life, to clarify— to talk to. Especially another survivor. 

Robin sits down on the bar stool next to Al-An. Ryley leans his back against the counter ahead, looking between us. 

Finally, she has to ask, because his contorting facial expressions are making her curious. “What?” 

“Nothing. Just thinking.” 

“Don’t hurt yourself,” she mutters. He shoots me a look. 

“I can still take this ship, you know. Any time.”

“Aw, but you wouldn’t do that to little ol’ us, would you?” Robin teases. He growls but relaxes again. This is shaping up to be quite the dynamic, now, isn’t it?

Al-An clearly wants to ask what Ryley was thinking about, so he groans and lolls his head back, then points at the both of us. 

“Just thinking about you two. No time on that planet would make me xenosexual, but uh, you do you, fam.”

Al-An doesn’t look the slightest embarrassed, because unfortunately he knows it’s true. The last few weeks have emphasized that enough. Robin, however, against her own will, flushes crimson and scowls, hoping he doesn’t notice the latter. “What the hell makes you say that? You just got here.”

He shrugs. That just pisses me off more. “Just a hunch. He’s pretty, you’re pretty, what do pretty people do when they’re alone?” He sips some liquid out of a cup he’d prepared a moment ago. Mumbling while he brings it to his mouth, “Bow chicka bow wow.”  

Al-An looks at Robin as if to ask if he should say anything. She shakes her head. Ryley spits out whatever he has in his mouth. 

“Ew! This is nasty, girl,” he shakes the cup in front of her. “Please get better juice next time you stop somewhere... I miss good apple juice.”

Ha. “You didn’t check what kind it was?”

“No! It’s in a fridge and it’s not growing mold, why would I check?”

“Well, not my fault you’re drinking my drinks that I like. You chose this ship, anyway.” 

He grimaces. “I take it back. We are nothing alike.”

“Oh, the shared experience on that planet doesn’t count?”

“No. Not anymore. Not after I find out you willingly consume sparkling apple water.”

“Why the hell do you call it that?”

“Because I call things what they are, duh.” 

“I can’t tell. Are you both enjoying this antagonistic exchange?”

Robin’s gaze softens when it finds Al-An, who is currently all puzzled upon seeing a real human conversation right before his eyes. 

“Yes, don’t worry,” She smiles.

“No. Do worry.” Ryley says through his teeth.

“Real sass you got there, you know that?” Robin quickly snarls at him. He pretends to curtsey with a smartass grin plastered on his face and starts snooping around the ship.

 “You two heading anywhere in particular?” He mumbles, looking over the photos in her PDA and making sounds of recognition or disgust— he’s probably found the chelicerates, then. 

“No. Just floating through space, really.”

“Mm.” 

“Why, did you have anywhere to go?” 

“Nah. Just wanderin’. Like you two.” 

She steps in front of him to prevent him from scrolling too far into her PDA and snatches it away from him. 

I can’t let this guy get all smug over his suspicions being confirmed about me sleeping with an alien. I mean– not because there’s any photos in there… just– the PDA records things…

Which, for the record, was still a major mistake for me to start up. Ugh, but it… I just… shit! Where’d my words go?! 

“You’re clearly on the run from Alterra. Why?” 

She’s decided this man has a resting what the fuck face. His eyebrows only slightly twitch with confusion with her question. He looks at Al-An. 

“Was she not here when we discussed this?” 

“She does not have as extensive of data as I do on you, Ryley. Further, you are quite cryptic with regards to your communication.”  

He turns back to her and huffs like this is taking a lot of his energy. 

“Recap. Aurora: Shot down. 158 people dead out of 159, nobody tries to save me except for a trading ship that gets pulverized. I get sick. World is sick. Big emperor leviathan mother tells me to hatch her kids for a cure. I do that, I’m cured, I turn off gun, I make rocket and leave, Alterra slaps me in the face with a 1 trillion credit deficit that I would never be able to pay off, so they take my things and throw me in a prison-bound ship.” 

He's explaining it, step by step, like it’s nothing at all and just a video game plotline. Not a good sign. In Robin’s experience, when people explain stuff like that in such a fashion, they’re generally deeply repressing some bad feelings about it.  

Yeesh. Gonna be a handful, this guy. But she does still feel bad for him, despite the attitude. She supposes she has one, too. 

“Okay. How’d you get to be a rogue, then?” She probes. 

“You lived down on that stupid fish planet. You either kill or be killed, right?” His eyes flash.  

Oh. 

Oh, no. 

Ryley clenches his jaw and turns away, highlighting a scar on his face, just along the cheekbone. “I think I went a little mad from being there for so long, so I… I grabbed my things and…” 

Robin almost sees some remorse and fear in him, then, but once he puts his gaze back on her, the mask goes back up and he chuckles. 

“They had it coming. Ol’ thermoblade: Kills leviathans, kills people, no problem!” He shrugs. “Took a ship and ran. They’ve been after my ass ever since. ‘Specially since I started telling people about their little shady doings.” 

She swallows. Great. Harboring a fugitive is one thing, sure, but… a spree murderer? Uh huh…

Ryley takes his scanner out (funny that he still uses one, now that she thinks of it) and starts strolling about while Al-An grabs her by the arm and pulls her into another room, with a bit more force than she would expect from him. He hisses when he speaks; looks like the human emotions are really settling into him now. 

“Robin, this is unacceptable,” Al-An grumbles deeply with a darkness over his eyes, making the iridescent purple shimmer with that hint of artificial body biology. “We cannot let him stay.” 

She exhales through her teeth, conflicted. “I understand what he’s done, though, Al-An. Can’t you?” 

Wait, no. Stupid question; he makes that clear through the dumbfounded look he gives her. She shakes her head. “Scratch that, actually.” 

“You… understand?” 

“He wasn’t as lucky as I was, okay? Nobody to be with him through a whole year there? You can imagine what that does to a person’s head, coupled with getting used to slaughtering things every day so you can keep breathing?”  

Al-An’s resolution flickers, but only for a moment. 

“I was alone for centuries,” he mumbles, hurt. 

Robin’s heart drops. “I know… but that’s not the same, is it? You didn’t have to kill anything to stay alive,” she breathes, speaking below a whisper, “People have psychotic breaks after trauma like his. His life was being threatened and that survival instinct took over. As long as we aren’t trying to hurt him, he won’t do that, okay?” 

He squints his eyes shut. “You do not know that for certain. You are, in fact, unsure of your decision and reasoning, are you not, Robin?” 

“Why are you upset about this, Al-An? You’re not in danger right now. I don’t think he’ll attack without rea—” 

“I am afraid for your safety, Robin, not my own.” 

That takes her a second to process.

“What? Why? You should be taking care of yourself.” 

“You are the one protecting me, as did you save me. I must protect you with my life if it so came to it, anyway.”  

He’d leaned down to grip her shoulders while he said it, but straightens up now. “Preferably it wouldn’t. But you are fragile. I am less so.” 

“Again about the fragility, Al-An?” Robin groans, letting herself slack– to emphasize. 

“It is merely a fact. You cannot withstand a generic energy blast to the torso without fatal damage, for example.” 

“Neither can you!” 

“Perhaps, but I am much more willing to withstand it myself than have you take it for me. That would…”  

He swallows, flitting his gaze to her once, before turning to leave.  

“…Not be an ideal circumstance.” 

He says it with his teeth gritted together. She can tell, but is honestly not sure why he’s still so selfless. 

Taking a gun for me? I…  

She shakes her head, not wanting to look too deep into this.  

“Al-An,” Robin hisses, “As long as he’s safe, he stays. We can’t just throw him into space.” 

“Why not? He would deserve a death sentence from any other federation, per your PDA’s dictation on the crime.” 

She catches the look on Ryley’s eyes, as Al-An— the fucking idiot— wandered back into the room he was in while talking about this!  

He looks hurt, for a moment. Scared. The wash of faint white, the slight shake in his hand. But he clears his throat and smirks. 

“Gonna throw me out already? A shame,” he laughs, although there’s a bitter aftertaste to it. 

“No! No. We’re not kicking you out to die, Ryley. I promise.” Robin sputters as calmly as humanely possible while elbowing Al-An in the ribs. He yelps.  

“Ow! What was the purpose of that, Robin?!” 

“Just showing you you’re fragile, just like the rest of us.” 

She knows it’s worthless trying to communicate secretively like this to him, but the best thing she can do is hope that he catches some shred of what she’s trying to actually say without making it obvious. He’s such a chore. 

“Good. You better not. Might decide to make your life hell if you try,” Ryley dusts off invisible particles on his shirt and smiles, but it’s forced. The air grows tense through the silence.  

Al-An, however, breaks this by— surprisingly— changing the subject to something lighter.  

“We only have two bedrooms on this ship,” he mutters.  

Oops. He’s right. Um… 

“I can take the couch. It’s fine,” Ryley mumbles.

Robin holds out her hands in protest. “No! No, that’s not right. I’m sure you haven’t had a good rest in a bed in a while, right?” He shrugs and nods. “Right. Take the other bed. Al-An can sleep—” 

“With you?” those stupid big purple eyes cut her off. She flushes red, but of course he doesn’t know what the phrase he just said connotates. Ryley snickers.  

“I— no, no. You can take the other bed. I’ll use the couch.” 

At least, I better. If I can get a grip.

Chapter Text

Al-An

Robin appears distressed. For what reason, she will not tell him. As much as Al-An tries to probe into her head again, her thoughts are a lot more difficult to decode than primal drives. Irrational anger or extreme sadness, that is easy to detect. But subtlety is more complex than that. He wishes she would speak to him as she did when he was restricted to her head, but he supposes that is not the same, as he could read everything she articulated within her strange mind against her will. 

Autonomy is something that the both of them cherish, although Robin is yet to understand the Network’s configuration. She does not want to tell him everything. But, he supposes, I understand this. I did not tell her everything about my actions, either. 

The human influence is strangely powerful; increasingly frequently he finds himself amidst the chemicals that his new physical brain concocts in response to whatever is occurring, and they are much more concentrated than he is used to. Al-An is, admittedly, still not accustomed to them. 

Robin’s distress varies in reason, sometimes without an apparent said reason at all. He sees her the least worried in the midst of their semi-nightly… rituals. Such times are when her head is the happiest and she seems to forget whatever it is she is upset about. The periods of which she is relaxing and demonstrating affection after the fact are also notably getting longer, which he welcomes. But she always disappears before morning now.

Al-An must confess to himself that he has grown extremely fond of their nights together, however dangerous an outsider may consider it. Robin has qualities to her that stir certain chemical reactions in his head and prompt him to attempt telling her that she is beautiful, among other things. He quite likes her voice, and he quite likes how she feels– not in the sole experiences they share at night, per-se. 

He is afraid he may be attaching himself to something that will one day wish to leave. That is Al-An’s only regret as of the recent weeks. He can only hope, as she taught him to, that his anxieties are unfounded. However, her distress as of recently is concerning. I must not be selfish and wish her happiness for merely my own gain; I wish her solely to be happy. I cannot help, nevertheless, the slight hope that her happiness will integrate my involvement as well.

He does not believe the source of her upset attitude is Ryley. Regardless of Al-An’s prompting, she refuses to release him from their ‘custody,’ so-to-speak, as if he were a newly aquired child. Al-An, personally, does not fancy his habitation here, for a multitude of reasons. He understands that he has had a similar plethora of negative experiences on 4546B, but that does not excuse his dangerous qualities. Robin says that the fact that he told them about his period of madness and its consequences is not a threat; rather, it is him being open and not hiding from them, which means he can be trusted. Her logic is, regrettably, sound, but Al-An still fears that he will become an issue of some kind. Robin’s safety is non-negotiable, but for whatever reason she does not believe he holds those statements as truths. Can she not see how much I cherish her living? I asked her to take care of me. Does she not want to?

Maybe she is ill. That is the conclusion his people would make if a similar situation was presented to them. Physically, she is perfectly fine and healthy. Her head may be sick. He would like to check in with her, but fears it will push her further from him instead. Perhaps distance would be best at this time for her– alas, he does not want to be away from her. She is my source of comfort. The first thing on my itemized list that generates the largest concentration of endorphins in the current circumstance. I am afraid she does not see this in me. 

Despite his best efforts, Robin has adamantly refused to let him sleep on the couch in her place. Why must she not care for herself in this way? Such a response leads Al-An to believe that she does not want to be physically close to him, although for what reason, she does not say. They have shared their sleeping hours together in the same bed multiple times before, but some part of him– his “gut feeling” as she says humans typically describe it, although no feeling is present in his gut to indicate his suspicions– believes that Ryley has some part in this. 

It pains him to think so, but he supposes it is entirely possible that she wishes their relationship to be altered in favor of one between her and the other naturally-built human now inhabiting this living space with them. She had said that their arrangement was for personal enjoyment, not to breed and not to connect the intimate experience to our general life and establish what Al-An believes is called a romantic relationship.

…

He hopes this is not the case. He feels that he would be… hurt. Emotionally. If she were to participate in these nightly routines with him instead… 

Upon such thoughts, I am flooded with an uncomfortable heat to my neck. 

Robin’s PDA calls this feeling “jealousy.” 

…

For what reason I am feeling this way, I cannot say. 

Al-An cannot stand a night without her. It is very difficult to sleep, and the ritual has engraved itself into his head and is causing unprompted issues. 

I must see her. Even for a moment. It will comfort me. 

He slips out of his room and his feet patter against the floor as he enters the living room, on which the couch is occupied with Robin’s sleeping figure. He exhales a breath he did not realize he was holding. 

Crouching down beside her, Al-An senses her sleep is light, if not sleepless. His hand reaches out of its own fruition and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, although such a sentiment is fundamentally useless. He resists, however, the step further he could take to stroke her cheek. That is too far and thankfully he has enough strength to regain power over his movements.

She is peaceful like this. He takes happiness in seeing her without worries creasing across her face. Her… beautiful face…

He jumps a tad, suddenly, as her eyes flutter open, as if she knew he was there the whole time. She is still relaxed, still peaceful. In fact, she smiles and whispers his name. 

Al-An is suddenly overcome with a funny feeling in the pit of his chest. He has been informed that these are called butterflies, although he is almost certain those are extinct and is extremely certain that they are not living in his chest cavity. 

“Why are you not asleep?” he asks her, barely above a whisper, but with a hint of a soft, loving tone to it. 

“I think I miss being in a bed.”

“You are still welcome into mine.”

She pauses and scrutinizes him under the gentle, dimmed interior ship lights. 

“Just this once,” she mumbles.

Let it be known that he did not mean this as a sexual advancement, but he nevertheless found himself being pulled down to her after he situated the bed to her liking, and things went on, as he has come to expect, from there. 

Al-An does not mind, or so he wants to believe, that she does not have any attachment to him through these experiences; that aspect is the whole point of their arrangement. While some part of him wishes she did have some drive to express feelings of that nature, he understands that their relationship is not of that kind, too. I must respect her wholeheartedly. And I take it upon myself to ensure her pleasure during moments like these when I, too, can pretend that I am loved.

That was also not the last time. She said those same words after the first time. Something is preventing her from letting their nightly doings go. 

I, for one, am not complaining. 

But she’s gone the next morning.

Chapter Text

Robin

Ryley doesn’t know. He suspects, but he doesn’t know, and that’s what’s important. Robin wouldn’t be able to stand him if he did, and he already dislikes Al-An enough. She can’t have two smug men on one ship. And it’s embarrassing, too. She plans on ending the ‘agreement’ soon, anyway.

What Al-An did that inadvertently led to Ryley’s experience on 4546B was obviously not on purpose, but Robin thinks he holds a grudge against him regardless. 

She would worry, but when she found them bonding (?) over their whole shared Kahraa infection, she took it as a good sign. Ryley seems to be getting used to Al-An’s way of interacting with people and their world pretty well, although he does hold him to a higher standard considering his Architect past– so when Al-An forgets how to detect sarcasm, Ryley still gives him a look of clear-cut confusion.

They’re silly, those two. But at least Al-An knows how to keep his mouth shut. Ryley won’t know a thing.

Ryley 

They’re fucking. No doubt about it. 

Robin won’t say it, and Al-An’s too socially dumb to catch onto my attempted prompting of information. Will I ask outright? 

… 

Actually, that’s not a bad idea.

Robin won’t say it, and Al-An’s too socially dumb to catch onto my attempted prompting of information. Will I ask outright? 

…

Well, if she’s right here, then maybe I ought’a try. 

She’s reading through her PDA voicelogs with a smile, fond of the memories he assumes she’s having. He takes a swig of water and swirls it in front of himself, not looking at her.

“So.”

She looks up, confused, drinking something from her mug. “So?”

“What’s he like in bed?”

She, honest to goodness, spits out her coffee. 

“Wha–? I– What the fuck are you talking about?!” She sputters, already trying to mop up her spill while her eyes bug out at me. 

“You know what I’m talking about, Robin, don’t play dumb,” Ryley sips some water again.

“I– I really don’t. Who- who the hell would I be sleeping with?”
She realizes how stupid that was a millisecond after she said it, marked by the pallor wash over her face. 

“I’m not,” she growls in response to a question he was just about to reiterate. 

“Uh huh. Sure. Crazy response to me pointing it out, though.”

“A- Anyone would react like that!” 

He makes a face, pursing his lips and giving her a knowing look. “I wouldn’t.”
“You would. If Al-An asked if I was sleeping with you, you’d react just the same.”
“Pssh, no. I’d look confused and ask who the fuck he was sleeping with if the only woman on the ship was with me.” 

Her eyes shoot daggers at him as her face heats up. He leans back in his chair and stretches with an exaggerated groan, maybe just to piss her off more. It’s kind of fun.

“I mean, no hate. Love is love, or whatever.”

Robin stands up immediately and gets all up in his face after he mumbles that. Somehow she’s even angrier.

“I do not love him. Not like that. Don’t go getting that idea stuck in your head,” she says through gritted teeth.

He has to raise an eyebrow. Her attempted intimidation failed to account for how many murder fish he’s had in his face too. People aren’t nearly as scary as that. 

“So you are sleeping with him.” 

“No! Why in the world would I do that?!”
He shrugs. “I dunno. I don’t do the do very often. I don’t get the appeal too much… but, you know, the experience? Knowing him, he’d consider it research or something rather. Am I right?” 

He is, and he knows it, but she mutters a no.

“Besides, you said you’re a xenobiologist. What better way to get to know him?”

She smacks him in the arm, but not with enough force for it to be considered a hit. Good sign, that. It only tells him he’s flustering her effectively.

“Achievement unlocked: sleep with an alien. What an accomplishment,” he flutters his hands above his head like there’s a banner between them.

“I’m not,” she stomps her foot. Ooh.

He gives her a shamelessly smug grin and speaks with a matter-of-fact tone. “You’re fucking an alien, miss.”

“In a human body!” 

Gotcha. He gets up, crosses his arms, and leans into her face, beaming. This is so much fun. I’ve missed having fun. :(

“Still an alien.”

She huffs. “You’re ridiculous. You… You’re such a child.”

He shrugs. “Gotta cope somehow.”
“You don’t see me doing that, though!”
“Yeah, duh, because you had mister smooth voice in your head the whole time. That, and your coping mechanism is–”

She claps a hand over his mouth before he gets to finish his tease. Al-An walks into the room, oblivious. 

Ryley catches the pep in his step, though, even if he doesn’t know it’s so obvious. Universal truth: humans (or, in this case, human bodies) always walk differently after they’ve been laid. Always.

Probably why I walk like I’m about to collapse, but as mentioned, my libido doesn’t really exist. Did the planet desensitize me? 

I guess it’s possible. But it’s always been like this, really.

He doesn’t see the problem with it, even though it did cause a little bit of teasing unto himself a while back. But hey, people are people. If Robin wants to kiss an alien– in a human body– then that’s her prerogative. That doesn’t mean he’s not gonna jeer at her about the irony, though.