“You owe me some candy.”

“I do, do I? Why? And what if I don’t have any?”

“I know full well that you have at least three packs of Sweet n’ Creenches squirreled away somewhere.”

“Which you know because you already stole an entire pack and would have taken more had I not found you.”

“It was an emergency! You know how nervous I get during raids, and Pix was out on this one. You’d deny a worried lover his comforts?”

“In a heartbeat.”

A gasp of indignation. “You fiend! You still owe me. I’m the only reason you didn’t terminally embarrass yourself last equipment diagnostic.” 

“That shuttle wouldn’t have almost depressurized if someone hadn’t left its airlock in override mode!”

Repair techs Kizst and Ren are arguing again, while methodically rewiring some conduits in the wall. The rest of the crew in hangar two listen with poorly concealed amusement. Kizst has a way of making everything sound like a side plot in the latest holo drama, and Ren is famous both for his candy stash, and his iron grip on it. Kizst launches into his next tirade, something about solidarity between the crew, how everyone is part of a family - to which Ren makes a comment about bratty younger siblings that has Kizst sputtering. Before he can regroup, Ren addresses the ceiling (not where I am, but I understand the impulse).

“You listening Peebs? Got any thoughts for this upstart?”

Oh good, I was hoping. The nearest vox emits a soft chime as I speak up. “Certainly. Ren, while you are of course under no obligation to share your personal items, it would have indeed been very embarrassing to depressurize a shuttle while still inside it. An overridden airlock would not have posed an obstacle had you followed safety protocol, which is indeed a more serious mistake than Kizst’s carelessness. I’d like to ask you both to please be more careful in the future.”

Ren and Kizst both nod, looking a bit like scolded children. It takes a good deal of self control to not laugh.

“That being said, Ren does have seven packs of ‘Sweet n’ Creenches,’ including one I believe she forgot, as it is open and has been unattended in the small quiet rec room for two cycles now.”

Ren and Kizst stare at each other - Ren with dismay and Kizst with sudden glee.

“Don’t you dare–”

“Too late!” and with that Kizst sprints off, followed closely by a swearing Ren. I follow their progress through my corridors with a good bit of amusement. I debate playing a bit of light hearted chase music and decide that might be a bit too on the nose. With nothing else pressing, I go back to distracting myself in my comfortable sea of inputs. 

It's easy to get lost in the sensation of drifting through space. Part of this is inherent to me - some part of my psychology that the mendicant ship-wrights saw would develop into a fixation on the right inputs and processes if I was converted into a True AI. But personally, I think anyone would get lost in the myriad arrays of sensory feedback. The ever-present pull of gravity on my body, the pattering of radiation, the tickly sensation of solar wind, the indescribable colors that swirl and flow across my enhanced vision, and other less analogous feelings: the subtle pressure of atmosphere inside my hull and its composition, the burning warmth of the fusion reaction securely contained in my heart - one of my hearts. The health and biometrics of my precious crew; the diverse buzz of minds connecting, conversing, working, playing, fighting over  candy, resting, in the feed. One mind in particular captivates my attention right now, and though I try to hide the extra focus, she still gives me one of those just-checking-in nudges that I appreciate so. It's a good thing that any involuntary reactions are confined to my android self, or I imagine the ships environmentals would constantly run a degree or two hotter from my "blushing." I hastily send the all-good code, and after a few seconds deliberation and far too many processing cycles, the affectionate/smiling sigil. Which I of course immediately regret. 

I know I'm stalling. It's a habit, to retreat into the ship when struggling with the inscrutable/involuntary emotions and reactions of my android body. Right now it - I, I shouldn't separate myself like that - is walking methodically through the gently colored corridors, exchanging polite smiles and words with passing crew, pausing to inspect things that don't need inspection, and just generally taking the most circuitous possible route to its - my - destination.

Putting it off won't help. I take a deep breath, and do my best to run through the grounding exercises the mendicants taught me to get centered in my android self. The breathing helps the most. It's not like I need the oxygen, but my body contains a lot of repurposed structures from when I was converted that resemble their original form. I taste the air, parse it's composition. I close my eyes, open them. I touch the nearest corridor wall, feel the cool/smooth/metal texture. Touch is my favorite sensation, and I'm forever grateful for the ability to modulate the receptivity of my synth-skin, so I can keep myself from being overwhelmed or overwhelm myself with something pleasant. Which, of course, leads me to thinking about the pleasant touch I really want to be overwhelmed with right now, and all too soon I'm standing outside the door to my captain's quarters. Okay, I got this. I can calculate travel routes through a system with dozens of intersecting gravitational fields while estimating the nutritional needs of my crew over a year long voyage and holding several conversations. I can clearly and succinctly tell Rose about my emotional conflict. I signal that I'm taking a rest period and that the ship systems will be on auto unless something urgent comes up. Gathering my awareness as fully as I can into my body one last time, I raise my hand to ring her door.

It slides open before I touch it. Rose is there, in all her five foot two glory, looking surprised and glad to see me. Oh Weaver, she's so gorgeous! There's no way I'm going to be able to explain my emotional conflict clearly or succinctly. Not when I'm captivated by her short curly pink hair, her gently raised eyebrow, the way she fills her sharp blue captain's uniform, her gentle hands clasped in front of her, her pretty mouth - which is moving, oh no, what is she saying? I hastily run back my short term recording. I've been staring at her for nine seconds! In the course of panicking about this and processing what she just said ("Oh, Peebs! How lovely, I was just going to wander and look for you") I stare at her for a further six seconds.

"Uh," I say, eloquently. "I'll always come if you call for me. On the feed. It's my purpose." Oh no, could I sound more love-struck and flustered? But probably she's not devoting hundreds of thousands of processing cycles to analyzing my words, because she just laughs - that laugh! - and beckons me back into her cabin.

"I know, but I don't like treating you like an appliance at my beck and call."

I bite back the instinctive, foolish response, that she could treat me like an appliance if she wanted to. It's probably not a healthy thought, but then I've seen the love Rose puts into treating even the things under her care. Which, as her ship, I sort of am. This is confusing!

I follow her into her small, tidy cabin. Unlike the rest of the dorms, there are a few separate rooms and some cozy cushions to rest on in the little circular entryway/living room. They're arranged around a low display surface that I know she spends far too much time worrying over when she should be resting. She picks her way over the mismatched cushions with the ease of practice, settles down, and pats the cushion next to her invitingly.

"C'mon and get comfy. I've got at least an hour, assuming nothing catches fire."

She has at least two left in her rest period, but I let it slide. Now's not the time to nag about overworking. I pick my way over to her side, grabbing some extra pillows to bury myself in. Her taste in soft things is unmatched, like the cushions. No two are alike, and they're all a wonder to hold. I take my time getting settled; arranging a pillow cocoon is serious business.

Finally, voice slightly muffled by the overstuffed red cube I'm hugging close, I say "Then it's a good thing I have excellent fire suppression systems."

She giggles. Oh no, surely I'm already blushing. "Then I will leave the matter in your capable hands." She makes one of those little aborted movements that means she wants to touch me but is keeping herself in check, and glances quickly at my face before returning her gaze to the safely neutral table. I'm grateful for the reminder - reading the desire (what kind!) in her micro-movements is the only reason I have the courage for this confession. Assuming I can confess. This'll be the third attempt, and I'm determined this time.

She situates herself more comfortably in her squashy beanbag, and we share a companionable silence punctured by some casual, easy conversation between a ship and its captain. I update her on Patel's pregnancy, she asks after the mysteriously sticky vent down in the smaller rec room. She runs a hand through her hair and touches her lips. The ship makes the reassuring noises a ship makes when running smoothly. Eventually, I trail off in the middle of describing the nebula we just passed (it looks like a flower. I want to pluck it from the void and offer it to her).

I offer her my hand instead. She takes it quickly and gently. I need this reminder too; that she'll never take anything from me that I don't give her freely. Rose rubs her thumb across my synthetic skin, completely derailing my train of thought. I'm sure my face must be as pink as her hair, and I have an odd moment of gratitude that I don't sweat. The air feels charged, and I hear a change in her breath.

"Um-"

"So-"

We look at each other and say "you first!" at the same time. I have to laugh at how hopelessly in tune we are.

"I'll go first," I say, surprising her. She nods. I spend 3 minutes and 29 seconds trying to compose my thoughts, and give up.

"I love-" What! That wasn't what I meant to start with! There were so many options in my buffer, and I choose the worst possible one. Her eyes are wide, and she squeezes my hand gently, but she waits for me to finish. I run through dozens of possible modifications I can use to salvage this, but none of them sound right. I have to say something! It's been fifteen seconds!

"you."

I say it so quietly, and with a lot of emotion that even I can't really parse.

"I don't, I mean, that is to say, you mean so much to me, you've done so much for me, after all this time we've spent together, and you're so pretty, and I've never felt like this before, not even before I-" I run out of air to make sound with.

"Take a breath, Peebs. And your time" Rose murmurs.

I take several. It doesn't do much to quell the breathlessness rising up in my chest, one of the more unpleasant phantom sensations I get on occasion. But when Rose says take your time, she means it. And this is important. I wait out the full seven minutes and thirty eight seconds it takes to get my inputs in order and clear my buffer of frantic self effacing withdrawals. She hasn't let go of my hand.

"I don't entirely know what I mean, or what I want, when I tell you this. I really haven't ever felt like anyone the way I feel about you. I don't even know how to describe it, there's no words or context I can grasp it with. I just know that you're kind to me. You've given me a place to heal. Because of you I have a family again, and a ship to guide. I know that when you smile I feel things in organs I don't have anymore, and when we talk I get lost in your words, and I want to touch your hair-" I break off again, before I start talking to fast.

She's still waiting for me to finish my thoughts. I try to parse her expressions and immediately give up - my anxieties are getting in the way of analysis. Four minutes and eighteen seconds later, I find the barest whisper.

"I'm afraid. That I'm too hurt, too broken, too dependent for this dynamic to work. That I'll compromise the safety of your crew. That this isn't something I was meant to feel, that I can't love you in the way that you - deserve."

I force myself to break out of the whisper, just a little bit. "Because I don't have the words for how much love you deserve."

She takes a deep, slightly shaky breath, wipes her eyes, opens her mouth, closes it again.

"Take your time," I parrot back to her sincerely, smilingly. Trying not to show the bees struggling to escape my chest.

She smiles back, and takes her own advice. I focus on the feeling of her little hands in mine. Soft. So soft! I didn't know anything could feel like this. Oh Weaver, please let me keep feeling this.

Two minutes and forty seconds later, she nods to herself. "I love you too, Peebs." Weaver, the bees are escaping! She swallows, and continues. "You are a smart, passionate, kind, caring creature. I don't know what I did to deserve a ship guide like you, I really don't. I - I've never felt like this for someone either."

I remind myself to breathe several times over the next 53 seconds, mainly to remind her to breathe as well.

"I'm. I'm also afraid. If I hurt you, if I pressured you into this, I don't know if I could forgive myself. I do trust you to know what you want - you've probably been analyzing what you feel for months now." True enough. "But like you said, I'm your captain, you're my ship, and I don't know how we can be that and also…" She trails off, hunting for the word. I know the feeling, and say as much. What label could possibly encapsulate everything we've been through, all that we mean to each other?

"Maybe that's all we need to be, I finally say. "I'm your ship… and you're my captain." She nods, like she doesn't trust herself to speak.

"Besides, what captain wouldn't go down on her ship?"

It takes her a moment to process that I just said something filthy. Now it's her turn to go as pink as her hair, stammer a bit, and eventually snort-laugh. I turn my face out of the pillow towards her, and give a little grin.

The broken tension feels so good, like slingshotting out of a gravity well at the perfect angle. We sit with it for a moment, and the words come easier.

"I know that the way I found you was a bit… fraught." Rose is methodically pinching individual beans in her bag.

I snicker. I can laugh about it now, and it helps. "Fraught? Whatever could you mean?"

She gives me a sardonic look. "Oh, I don't know, just the little things - like how you had destroyed 73% of your body mass to disable inbuilt tracking and governing chips. Or maybe how you escaped that corporate cesspool of a mining ship by spacing yourself mid weft, relying on instinct to gauge when you were in phase with this universe. Oh, or how you tagged your coords as 'valuable salvage' before initiating a hard shutdown to preserve your data storage, leaving it in the hands of the Weaver to keep you from waking up in a worse situation than the one you just escaped? Fraught like that, Peebs."

For some reason I can't stop grinning. "Well, when you put it like that it does sound a little… insane?"

Her face is sincere. "I think it's the bravest thing I've ever seen anyone do."

I'm sincere too. "And the Weaver led me to you. I'll always be grateful for that."

We stare at each other. I can see the wonder in her eyes, and it makes me bold. "Can I touch your hair?"

"Yes." Her answer is immediate and sure.

Slowly, I reach a hand up and let it sink into her short curls. She holds very still, but when my nails graze her scalp she closes her eyes and leans into my touch, just a bit. She's… it's… indescribable in the way that colors outside a human’s visual spectrum are. I have to dial back my sensory input a bit to keep from making some involuntary sound.

"PB?" What? Oh, she just said something. I play it back: "Maybe it can just be this. We are what we are to each other, and if you want something from me… you can ask for it, like you just did.”

That sounds nice, but… "I love that. But you know you can ask me for things as well, right?"

A complicated series of emotions crosses her face. I'm pretty sure I understand what she's worried about, and I don't know how to convince her that I mean it.

"I trust you Rose. I know that you don't want to hurt me, and I think you're scared that you'll remind me of the Cesspool, that I won't be able to tell you no. But you need to trust that I can tell you how I feel, that I can differentiate between the things you ask of me as my captain, and the things you ask as my… captain." That gets a smile, at least. "Here, I want you to try it, if you can."

She raises an eyebrow. "Like what?”

"Ask something of me! Like I just did you."

"Okay…" she thinks about it. "Can I touch your head?"

I grin. "Nope! That's a pretty sensitive area for me and I'm not feeling up to that right now. You can touch… my cheek, if you want."

She does, a slow meaningful caress with the back of her hand. I sigh, happily.

"See? How did that feel?”

Rose nods, sure of herself again, the captain I fell in love with. "Good. I think I understand what you mean. I think this can work, and I really want to try."

I want it too. There's so much I want, and the idea that I can ask for it now is dizzying. I stretch, relishing in the satisfying haptic click-click-click-click of my limbs reaching their full range of motion. My pillow prison dislodges, and I unsubtly scoot closer to Rose. She's so small compared to me, and I just want to scoop her up, wrap around her, and keep her as safe as my hull does. But for right now, I just press up to her side, get as close as I can. She stiffens, then relaxes, leaning into me. She puts her head on my shoulder, and I put my head on hers. We fit together so well.

We sit like that for a while, as I build up the courage to ask for something else. Something that I'm still scared to ask about. I swap my POV to the camera in the table, looking at the two of us from the outside. The slight detachment helps. Rose smiles at the camera - how can she always tell? - before looking back to her hand in mine.

"Can I kiss you?" I whisper above her ear.

"Yes. Please, yes."

I look back through my own eyes. I move slowly, carefully. This moment feels fragile, important, and I want to treat it right. I look into her wide hazel eyes reflecting every feeling I'm sure must be plain on my face. I cup her face in my hands and brush a thumb behind her ear. I lean in and kiss her forehead, then her cheek, startling her. Rose's hands, which were unsure and hovering, settle feather light on my waist.

I press my lips briefly to hers, a chaste kiss that nonetheless electrifies me. She gasps slightly, and tilts her head up for another. This time it's slow, soft, our lips merging and melting, it's soft and sweet and passionate and - Weaver, it's more than I ever imagined. And did I ever imagine it!

After an objective nine seconds and a subjective eternity, we part. Rose breathes hard, her pupils blown wide, looking at me like - like - I glance through the camera - exactly like I'm looking at her. I shift my hands away from her face, tucking a curl back into place as I go.

"How - was that - good?"

I just giggle, momentarily speechless. "So, so good."

"I've never felt so…" Rose waves her hands around, trying to capture the shape of some indefinable thing. "I want to do that again," she says shyly.

I do too. And again and again and again. I open my mouth to say as much, and freeze, startled. The ship’s systems just flooded into my awareness. Caught up in the intensity of everything that just happened, it takes me a moment to adjust to the thousands of new inputs and alerts and figure out what the emergency is. When I do, I have to laugh in exasperation. I stand up with Rose, who has already put her Captain Face back on after hearing the short urgent tone on her feed. I answer the question on her face.

"My fire suppression systems were just triggered in hangar three. It's difficult to tell through all the foam, but I think Engineer Travais was trying to rework the propulsion on our small hopper, and it test fired. His vitals are fine, if elevated."

Rose groans, then laughs as well. "I had to offer the Weaver a punchline, didn't I?"

"At least my fire suppression systems are in fact excellent!"

I pull Rose close for a hug before we leave the cabin. "We're going to. Do that again, I mean. I love you, Captain Rose.”

"I love you too, TAI P.B. Now let's go shovel Travais out of his hubris and have a talk about safety practices.”

“Seems like a recurring theme lately. Maybe I should threaten his candy stash.”

“What?”