by Aidan Wayne
Jason stepped back. “I’m good. They’re what, barely fifty pounds each? I’ve got it.”
Chase glanced at the bags but nodded. “All right. Lead the way.”
Strangers at his back again. Jason could deal, even if this was supposed to be familiar and comfortable soil. He was fine. “Like I said,” he started, as they began to climb, “I’ve got your bedroom already set up, but you can decorate it however you like.” If you decide to stay. “There’s a nice hallway bathroom, big, open living room, decent kitchen. There’s plenty of space in the living room to section off if either of you want an office space or something. My bedroom’s got a lock on the door, and that’s the only room that’s off-limits.” His mat was his safe space, and it was staying invite only.
“Of course,” Chase said, sounding a little out of breath, and how did that work, exactly, for an AI? Jason knew a little about some of their inner workings, but that changed depending on the AI’s body. He guessed it made sense that some weren’t as cardiocentric as others. “We’ll both respect your privacy. The only exception is if, and only if, you are in protocol-allowed danger.”
“That’s, yeah, that’s fine.” Ha.
The next few minutes were spent in silence, and then Jason exited the stairwell, moving to open his door.
“This is it,” Jason said, standing aside to let Chase and Shade enter first, giving him the door at his back. “Uh, welcome home? I guess?”
“Thank you,” Chase said, smiling. There was moisture around his forehead, condensed steam emitted to help keep him cooler during the trek up. Shade was breathing out of his mouth.
“Here, lemme show you the bedroom. You guys can unpack if you want. And then, uh, lunch?” That’s what you offered when it was nearly noon and you were in your right mind, wasn’t it? He paused. “Are, uh, are you guys the kind that eat? I forgot to ask during the interview.”
“Both of us are equipped with taste sensors,” Chase said. “To taste-test food for in-home care, but I don’t have a digestion and distribution mod to cycle food through my system and convert it into energy; I just have to manually remove what I’ve consumed from its holding tank. Shade has the mod, but he doesn’t use it much. And we can drink water with flavorings, including hot water.”
“Enjoy a cup of tea with the family?” Jason asked.
“More or less. But please, don’t feel uncomfortable about eating around us. If you prefer, we don’t have to join you at the table.”
“We’ll figure it out,” Jason said. He wasn’t eating a whole lot right now anyway. And he could always go and eat in the mat room if he needed to. “Maybe I’ll just eat while you guys get settled in.” At least it meant he wouldn’t have to deal with lunch and could go with his usual protein shake.
“That sounds like a great idea,” Chase said. Shade walked forward, face blank, and held out his hands. It took a sec before Jason realized what he wanted and handed over the duffel bags.
“That door straight ahead on your left,” Jason said. “The one next to it’s the bathroom, if you guys want to wash up or clean out.” Chase smiled in thanks, and he and Shade walked into the bedroom.
Jason let out a breath and slumped against the door. He was already exhausted. And he’d have to live with them.
God, he hoped he didn’t end up doing something he’d regret.
“SO WHAT do you think of him?” Chase asked, as he and Shade unpacked their things. The bedroom was a decent size for two people. A lot of the room was taken up by the king-size bed (made up with military corners, looking like it’d never been used), but there was also an ample closet and a nice wardrobe. Two end tables. A desk in one corner.
“Angry,” Shade said, in the clipped tone he used when he wasn’t synced up to Chase. “Scared.”
“That’s what you said an hour ago.”
“Still true. Does not want us. Me.”
“Us, I think,” Chase said, putting their reserve battery packs away. “It’s obvious he’s doing this because it’s a work requirement, not because he thinks he needs the help.”
“Maybe doesn’t.”
Chase sighed. “Shade, you saw how twitchy he is. He honestly might be one of the worst in-the-right-mind cases I’ve ever seen. Do you really think, for a nanosecond, that he doesn’t need help?”
Shade shrugged and glared at the bedspread.
“Big bed. Smells like him. Old.”
“So this used to be his bedroom? And his bed?”
Shade nodded. “Doesn’t use. New smell with laundry.”
“He remade it up for the Companion. Us. Well, he has a bedroom at least. Though now I’m curious as to what he sleeps on.” He pressed a hand down into the mattress. “Probably something stiffer.”
Shade shrugged again. Turned away to finish emptying his own duffel. They were almost done when Jason knocked on their door.
“Uh, hi,” Jason said through the wood. “Just letting you guys know that I finished lunch and stuff. I’m going to be in my room. Car keys and your storage keys on the kitchen table if you want to go out or get your stuff. Just, uh, just knock on the door if you need me.”
“Of course,” Chase said, glancing at Shade, who was frowning. “Thank you.”
“Too much trust,” Shade said immediately, once Jason’s footsteps retreated from their door.
Chase held out a hand and let out his palm-cable, offering to sync. Shade immediately attached it to his own. They sat down next to each other on the bed, hand in hand.
I don’t like it, Shade said. For how paranoid he is, just from the ride over, he shouldn’t be able to leave us alone in his house. Or with a kitchen and food we could potentially lace. Or leave us his car.
Think about it, Chase replied. You saw the inside of his apartment. There’s nothing here. No personal touches, barely any decoration. He’s got a single houseplant in the living room and it’s a cactus, Shade. He got us from a trusted agency via his own workplace, so he won’t be more overly suspicious than he usually is, but I’ll bet you my backup drive that he considers the car disposable, that all his food is single-serve and tamperproof. He considers us a threat but one he’d rather remove himself from, instead of the other way around.
I don’t like it, Shade said again. I don’t like that he has a locked room.
I know. And I’m sorry. I know as well as you do that Companions usually need access to all rooms. But he’s a special case, I think. And so are we. I doubt he was expecting two. Few people want a matched pair, especially with live-ins.
So why did he get two, when it’s obvious he doesn’t want one?
I don’t know, said Chase. I guess we’ll have to see.
A pause, Shade processing, then, If I smell anything from that room—
I’ll interfere, Chase said. I’ll even let you help. But until we have an actual protocol-allowed reason, we have to assume that it’s just a room and that it’s just because he wants privacy. Which was probably the truth, over the horrors Shade could think up. He sighed. I know you don’t like it. But do you dislike him?
I don’t know yet, Shade said.
Okay. So why don’t we wait and see how things evolve?
Shade grumbled, but he disconnected the sync and went to rumple the bed up a little so it looked less stark. Shade preferred his rooms to smell lived-in.
JASON WAS on his one hundred and seventeenth push-up, and he was pretty sure he was freaking out. He had strangers in his home, and while he wasn’t worried about them stealing anything, he had strangers in his home. The only people he ever allowed in were people he trained, and those were already agency approved.
But Chase and Shade were agency approved too. So they weren’t a threat.
But they were also civilians. And easily damaged, even if androids could be repaired slightly easier than humans could. If Jason had an episode, or a flashback, or god forbid they tried to touch him and he wasn’t expecting it…. And that was the problem, wasn’t it? His touch aversion was making him too t
witchy in his downtime. He could work fine, but he wasn’t—safe outside of it. That was the whole point of a Companion, according to his job.
Two of them, which probably wasn’t approved, especially not Shade, who was obviously recovering from a forced Hound protocol, and that added another variable that Jason had to worry about, possibly overstepping or saying the wrong thing, triggering something. He stopped, breathed, managed another eleven push-ups. Kept going until he hit one-fifty. Fell onto his stomach, then rolled onto his back. Leg lifts next. Keep his body busy, help his mind settle. He’d save the bag for later, when they’d powered down for the night maybe. It wasn’t like he’d be sleeping much.
But he had to show his face, at least try for his brand of normal. Let Chase try to do his job, hopefully have him see that there was nothing he could do. With luck they’d both stay but leave him alone until this whole Companion thing blew over. A couple of AI roommates. That was all. Probably they’d be neat, at least. Not that the barracks weren’t.
He did leg lifts until his muscles gave out on him, then dragged himself into the attached bathroom to shower. The mat room had been the apartment’s master bedroom, and converting it had been the best decision Jason had ever made.
He’d shower, emerge slightly more human, and at least his reflexes would be slower now that he’d exhausted himself (ha, not with adrenaline, not with fight-or-die engraved into his brain). He’d tried, anyway.
Jason shed his clothes and turned on the hot water, stepping into the shower. He knew he was a danger to others. That’s why he didn’t interact with others. But he’d try his best, if only so he could say he did. He just needed to get put on active duty again. A mission meant stress and pain and fear, but at least it also meant busy. Occupied.
Useful.
“THERE YOU are!” Chase said when Jason emerged from his bedroom. He was sitting on the living room couch and had twisted around to greet him. Jason could just see Shade curled up next to him. His eyes were closed. Chase was holding a book.
“You read books?” Jason asked, surprised. “Sorry, I mean—I know you said you liked to read, but I thought you meant, um, digitally.”
“It’s fine,” Chase said. “I enjoy the physicality of reading. There’s something different about how it processes when I read it with my eyes and my brain, as opposed to absorbing a story all at once.”
“Oh. Okay.” Jason didn’t have the concentration or control for reading for pleasure much these days. Being able to get a book all at once sounded kinda nice.
“Shade’s reading too,” Chase said. “Or was, before he decided to take a nap.” Shade opened one eye to glare before closing it again with a huff.
“Oh,” Jason said again. “Well, enjoy. The books are yours to read if you want to.” Half of them were textbooks, or in other languages, but that wouldn’t be a deterrent for an AI with language modules. He edged toward the kitchen. “I’m just gonna make myself some coffee, if you don’t mind. Do, uh, either of you want some?”
“No, thank you,” Chase said after a quick glance at Shade, who didn’t move. “But we appreciate the offer.”
“Sure thing,” Jason said awkwardly, before crossing over into the other room and starting to fiddle with his Keurig. He did his best to keep his movements even, go about a normal routine.
Chase and Shade were Delegate-assigned AIs. They’d been created like regular service robots, had been the usual one-in-one-thousand to develop independent thought, and they’d used said thought to want to help and work with humans to foster relationships. They’d both gone through an exhaustive evaluation process to determine they were fit to foster said relationships and then had done training on top of that to make sure they were capable. Even if Shade was off active duty, he still had all those facilities. And Chase had them and more besides.
They were safe. He might not be, but they were.
Jason just had to keep telling himself that.
SWEAT, FRESHLY showered, soap, adrenaline, Shade sent through the sync once Jason was out of the room.
So exercise, sounds like, Chase replied, looking back down at his book. A lot of vets use that as a coping mechanism. And look at him—it’s obvious he keeps himself in shape. Hell, he goes up and down those stairs every time he leaves his apartment. That’s not all us.
The timing was, I think.
I’ll keep an eye on it, Chase promised. Shade might have been prickly with strangers, but he cared about the well-being of others even after his bad experience. If he was in place as a Companion, even off the record, he was still going to do his job.
And it wasn’t as though Chase hadn’t made his own observations so far. There’d been no smell of warmed food before or after Jason had said he’d eaten lunch, and Chase had checked the kitchen once Jason retreated to his own room; the only dirty item in the sink was a shaker cup. There’d been a single-serve chocolate protein packet in the trash, along with a banana peel. And that was it.
Now, after what had clearly been a hard workout by the way Jason’s hands were faintly trembling, he was making himself coffee. A hot liquid to fill up the stomach.
Either Jason wasn’t comfortable eating around them at all, or he wasn’t eating period. Chase was guessing the former; Jason was at least keeping himself functional and combat ready. No doubt he knew just the amount of nutrients he had to imbibe to keep his body from quitting. Regardless, it needed to be addressed if it continued.
Chase had worked with a lot of different people over the years. Some more pleasant than others, some fighting his help more than others did. Jason seemed like the kind who turned everything inward. Hyperaware and hyperfocused, he was on all the time because bad things happened when you were off.
It made Chase ache. He had become a Companion because, at his core, he wanted to help. Help others be safe, be happy, be comfortable. The idea that Jason felt so unsafe that he needed to control everything so tightly, including his food….
Chase? Shade asked, in response to whatever feeling Chase was sending over through the sync. Chase, what’s wrong?
He’s hurting so much. He’s hurting so much, Shade.
Shade moved a little closer to him. That’s what you’re here for.
What we’re here for, Chase insisted. That was an important distinction. For both of them. Shade was part of this too. Jason had chosen them both.
THE THREE of them spent the rest of the day learning how to be in one another’s space. Or at least, trying very hard on Jason’s part. He did his best to stay outside of the mat room, but he had nothing to do in the kitchen, and he couldn’t sit on the living room couch with Chase and Shade there, not yet. There was the armchair right next to it that he could use. Close enough that there’d be proximity but far enough that Jason had time to get away if he needed to distance himself suddenly. He ended up grabbing a book he hadn’t read in a while but one he’d opened so often he knew it practically by heart. It was an easy read, and a comforting one, and something he could do while also keeping one eye on his new Companions. He was counting Shade, since the guy was there.
He got up a couple times to use the bathroom, grab some water, and when Chase got up to peruse the bookshelf again, used the opportunity to quickly duck into the kitchen and managed to down a handful of trail mix.
Jason had finished his book and had started it over from the beginning, hands shaking, to keep himself seated, keep up the illusion of normal, when Chase called his name.
“Yeah?”
“It’s nearly seven,” Chase said. “What time do you usually eat dinner?”
“Oh,” Jason said, jerking to his feet. “Right, yeah, sorry, forgot.”
“It’s fine,” said Chase. “I know we’ve thrown off your schedule a little. I’m hoping that as you get more comfortable with us, you’ll return to your normal soon enough.”
“Right,” Jason said, trying to think of what he could eat. “Yeah. I’ll just—” He set his book down on the chair and went back into the kitchen.
His stomach was already churning, and the last thing his body needed was to lose the food it had already taken in.
Maybe he could try a comfort food. It was better than nothing, and he needed to eat something he could keep down. The problem was eating around them.
Deep breaths. They were sent by his job. Or at least assigned by it. Practically. He just had to think of them as colleagues, not threats or civilians. Chase had PTSD protocols and experience and would know what to do if something happened, and Shade…. Shade probably had enough experience of his own to deal with whatever. It was okay. It was fine. And he was here, and home and safe (even with strangers but they weren’t strangers they were agency approved it was fine it was fine) and he could eat a damn PB-and-banana sandwich.
He made it, ate it, put the plate and knife into the sink. He didn’t use enough dishware to make his dishwasher worth turning on. And washing dishes was something to do when it was two in the morning and you couldn’t sleep.
Anyway. He’d eaten, he was keeping it down even though his stomach was protesting, and he’d be able to use the mat again in a few hours. It wasn’t all bad. He just had to get through the first acclimation week. Then he was allowed to start training again, even if he was off the active list. Just a week. He could do that.
Chapter Two
SHADE FOLLOWED Chase’s request to give Jason some space while he went into the kitchen for his dinner, but that didn’t stop him from cataloging the sounds and smells to put together what he ate. Whole wheat bread, peanut butter, another banana. Not as hearty as it should be, but at least a meal with substance. And solids.
Shade wasn’t sure what to think of Jason yet. On the one hand, the man had been sent from one of the top government agencies in the country, so his background checked out in a way most others couldn’t even imagine. But he was still a stranger, and one with issues. Shade’d been taking stock of him, and his observations so far had been typical of someone with PTSD. Though stocky and fit, at five foot nine Jason wasn’t the tallest guy around, and yet he still seemed to spend all his downtime trying to appear smaller. It was a warm day, and Jason was wearing long sleeves and long pants. He had a habit of running one thumb over the other, as if checking to make sure they both worked. While he sat and stared at his book for a painful, painful-looking four hours, he’d methodically and completely absentmindedly done a medical-grade check on both of his knees. Twelve separate times. That last part was what worried Shade most. Not even for himself or Chase, but for Jason’s own well-being. Having that sort of ingrained habit spoke to a lot of past pain.
