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I've earned myself a reputation

Summary:

"I didn’t want to be involved in Pin-Lee’s relationship stuff. Not only because human relationships were boring, but because I knew she’d get mad at me and I was scared of her."

Pin-Lee has a thing for ComfortUnit. ComfortUnit has a thing for Pin-Lee. Now told by the universe's most unwilling narrator.

Notes:

for the purposes of this work, please pretend the ComfortUnit has been established to live in the Preservation Alliance. for a possible reason why, see One Door Closing

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Work Text:

"Hey," ComfortUnit asked me. "Is there something wrong with Ratthi?"

No, I wasn't sure why it was talking to me either.

The important thing was that nothing was wrong with Ratthi. I knew this, because I had a drone on him, and could see he was still staring at the wall, as he had been doing ever since the call with one of his sexual partners ended fifteen seconds ago. I still checked. I was very grateful that the call seemed to have been the clothes-on type.

Well. If Z was hoping I’d see something no one wanted me to, it’d be sorely disappointed.

(Z is what the ComfortUnit that once belonged to Tlacey went by now. Yes, we could all tell the name was stupid. And yes, I do know what my name is, but as I kept telling Ratthi, there was a reason why I keep mine private.)

I wasn't sure why Z would want me to wander in on Ratthi having sex anyways. It wasn't openly antagonistic to me, but I guess I was still expecting it to flip at any moment. Or maybe just try to teach me a lesson about privacy, since it did keep stealing my drones whenever I tried to see what it was doing.

Wait. I'd zoned out again. "There's nothing wrong with Ratthi," I said, after a pause imperceptible to a human but very humiliating for a construct. I heard it snort. "Why?"

"Just asking." A pause. A pause even a human would notice. "Is Pin-Lee a lesbian?"

Well, fuck me for answering. I said, "Is this not on her feed ID?"

Another pause (one human wouldn’t notice, but one I sure did). "No."

I pressed my lips together. "Must be none of your business, then."

My drone had a moment to catch Z pull a face before it was down again. I sighed.

"Sorry." It sighed too. My drone came back online. "That was immature."

I said nothing, because I couldn't disagree. But the return of my drone was a clear plea for help, so I did my best. "Why do you want to know if she's a lesbian?" 

It pulled another face. "Ratthi has no glaring flaws."

That wasn't even remotely an answer to my question, but whatever.

It looked like it was struggling. "He seems, um — successful with people he — "

Yeah, I didn't want to talk about that. "Get to the point."

It said, "Pin-Lee doesn't want him back. Is that because he's a man?"

That wasn't the point.

"Why do you think I'd know that?" Even as I said it, I was aware of possible reasons. Because I was objectively nosy. Because I monitored Pin-Lee’s private conversations while with the Company, and up until she threatened to sue me, honestly. Because these humans were my friends (ugh) and friends sometimes knew these things about each other. Even when one of them was a socially inept murderbot.

"Oh, I don't expect you to tell me," ComfortUnit said. "I mostly hoped you'd tell Pin-Lee I was asking, and then I could read her reaction."

My brain short-circuited. 

Well, not really, but you get it. "What." 

The ComfortUnit kept pressing its lips together. "I think she might see me as a man, and the way she reacts will confirm or deny it."

None of this was making any sense. I dropped three of my inputs to process it. All I could say was another, "What."

That ComfortUnit suspected humans saw it as a man — or any other gender —  that was the easiest thing to start with. Constructs didn't care about gender, or identify with any, but clients still found it easier to categorize us. (Especially in Corporation Rim. The amount of times a client saw me out of armor and said "oh, it's a woman!" or "oh, a chick" or "is that one twelve" was genuinely grating.)

ComfortUnits did also have that thing where they got surgically modified to match a client’s preference, which usually did involve getting gendered. (I very intentionally did not know what sex parts Z had, but there were very few polities that saw those as relevant to an identity anyways. Its overall appearance was of the vaguely androgynous type that had been fashionable around the time I freed it, with curved hips but a hint of stubble.

"Is your drone checking me out?" Z asked, and I swerved it up to look at the sky instead.)

I was zoning out again. Bottom line was, I had no idea what Pin-Lee saw it as.

Then the implications I've been trying to ignore caught up with me.

"You were flirting with Pin-Lee." No wonder it didn't want my drone around for that. I almost thanked it, but then the protective urge won over. "And she turned you down, and now you're demanding she tell you why."

"It — no." Z hissed. "No."

I realized I was tensing up, and tried to unclench my jaw.

"I'm not — god." I had no idea which god it was referencing. I made a mental note to check if Tlacey followed any religions. "I would respect that, if she just made that clear."

I fought the urge to cock my projectiles. "Maybe err on the side of caution."

(This was a line from the latest show ART and I started watching. I hoped I was using it correctly. I was too tense to really care.)

"I do!" It looked genuinely upset. I felt genuinely upset, so it felt fair. "I'm not — it's not that there's a lack of a reaction, it's — " And then it sighed, and slammed its head against the wall. "Here."

It dropped a file into our feed unceremoniously, and I fought the urge to flinch.

"It's not a sex tape," it said.

I was having an expression.

"Just open it."

"Fine." If it was a virus, it'd get in so much trouble. I opened the file.

I closed it almost immediately.

"Prude," ComfortUnit said. But across the feed I could feel its actual distress, so I bit my tongue and went back in.

It was a variety of clips, recreated from organic memory as the ComfortUnit tended to like them (Z had been a privately owned comfortUnit, so Tlacey probably disabled its surveillance codes. In any case, it was less inclined to record things as they happened.) They showed it interacting with Pin-Lee in a variety of settings (huh, they sure hung out a lot). ComfortUnit seemed to have volunteered itself for the previously-nonexistent position of her personal assistant and was now meeting her after work hours, walking with her from meetings, joining her for breaks and telling her personal information.

Okay. I am aware this is just what humans who are friends do together. Friends, or —

"I see." If this were a serial, I would have said that they were romantically involved. Especially with how Pin-Lee looked at ComfortUnit, whenever she thought it wasn't looking.

(Or how ComfortUnit thought Pin-Lee was looking at it, I guess. This could have all been wishful thinking on its part.)

Some of this took part in public areas, where even Pin-Lee said I was allowed to record. (I was allowed to use my drones anywhere my body was, and in other places where humans wouldn't expect privacy, like most public areas. I also wasn’t allowed to record anything if there wasn't a sign warning people they could be recorded, like in the areas where artists often performed or where public speeches were made.)

The two went to such places a lot (often late at night, too) (in the shows, this would mean they were about to start a romantic subplot). I checked my footage against ComfortUnit's and, yeah.

"You're not imagining it," I said.

"Wow," the ComfortUnit said. "I already knew that, but thanks."

Whatever. I guess that's why it sounded so relieved too.

I ran the footage again. Pin-Lee bumping her shoulder against the ComfortUnit as they stood in the crowd, almost leaning in, visibly forcing herself to pull away. How her face was always a few shades darker than normal.

ART had found a historical drama about a former indentured servant who falls in love with their new and benevolent employer. The show was mostly painful to watch, but not half as painful as seeing Pin-Lee behave exactly like the employer's actor.

Good god. Whichever one ComfortUnit liked referencing. "I don't think it’s about your gender."

"Yeah, once again." It sounded shaky in the feed. "I kind of knew that too."

#

Are they a thing?

I’d told myself I'd stop responding to vaguely worded messages Z sent me (especially since they kept being about Pin-Lee). But I was really bad at sticking to decisions.

"Ask her yourself," I responded out loud.

We were at a social event, celebrating some Preservation holiday or the other (we were on an overcrowded meadow and surrounded by flimsy tents and all my humans kept wandering off in more directions than I had drones). I'd spent the last few days fearing this, and was still not prepared for how bad it ended up being. 

And that was before I got involved in Pin-Lee’s relationship stuff again.

I didn’t want to be involved in Pin-Lee’s relationship stuff. Not only because human relationships were boring, but because I knew she’d get mad at me and I was scared of her. But Z kept walking around like the saddest freed construct in Preservation’s history, and as the only other construct around, all my humans expected me to at least try to help.

(Well, kind of. No one was saying anything, but I felt like they wanted me to try. I think they thought Z was sad because it used to be enslaved, and not because Pin-Lee wasn’t having sex with it.

Of course, telling them this would mean talking about Pin-Lee’s sex life to her coworkers, and I would sooner just delete my systems myself.)

So I didn’t start any conversations. But when Z approached me during the event, and Ratthi noticed and beamed at me across the stupid meadow, I didn’t run away.

And I really wanted to run away, so it had to count for something.

It was asking about Pin-Lee and Bharadwaj. I felt confident in this, both because the two were currently mid-conversation by the food table, and because Z was all but glaring at them. Either I was the only one to have noticed, or everyone else was better at pretending.

Ask them yourself, is what I wanted to be saying. I don’t know, was the truth. But I could tell from the nerves flooding across the feed that that wasn’t going to cut it, so instead, I sent it the compilation of them flirting aboard that one PresAux mission.

Z scrunched up its face. This feels invasive. But it still viewed the footage.

I stopped it when it tried to replay a particular scene for the third time. It snapped out of it, almost flustered.

“So Pin-Lee’s just a huge tease then?” it asked, out loud, for some reason. Gurathin, the human nearest to us, dropped his plate and pretended to have urgent business elsewhere.

I want nothing to do with this, I said.

“Well.” It fully ignored me. “At least it’s not because I’m a sexbot?”

Great. “Oh, so it’s okay when you say it?” I said instead, because humans did love acting scandalized whenever I slipped up.

“Well, yeah.” Z was rolling its eyes. “You don’t see me walking around calling you a murderbot or something.”

My nonexistent digestive system nearly gave up. “You seem better,” I said instead. “Good talk. Great talk.” And then I took that page out of Gurathin’s book, and got the fuck out of there.

#

“Hello, client.” Pin-Lee was at the doorway. “I hear you’ve been talking about me.”

I’d seen her approach, but it wasn’t like I could avoid her forever. I remained in the position I’ve been in since it became obvious she was coming for me (frozen still on Mensah’s couch) and warily turned a drone her way.

“Z made me,” I said. Then, “Please don’t make me do community service.”

Humans always had to do it where all the elderly people and children were, and all of them always wanted to talk to you. And since Preservation didn’t do punitive contracts, I couldn’t even volunteer for a labour camp instead.

Pin-Lee just snorted. “I’ll let it slide this one time.”  She cleared her throat. “Sorry for getting you involved in my — “ She made a face. We both made a face. “Thing.”

I nodded. “I’m sorry about the — “ I kept making a face. “Thing.”

Pin-Lee nodded. “It’s alright.” She rubbed her face. “My own fault. For being, as Z put it,” she made quote motions with her fingers. “Emotionally unavailable.”

The amount of information I didn't want to know about this situation was starting to take up valuable media space. “Is this a punishment?” I asked. “For sharing that footage of you and Bharadwaj?”

She paused.

I swore. I guess Z hadn’t volunteered that information.

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that,” Pin-Lee finally said.

I nodded.

“And then I’ll check tomorrow, and you won’t have any footage of unwilling participants.”

I frowned. “You said that it’s okay if it’s in public.”

“So the footage you shared was of us in public?”

I was already panic-purging the archives. “There is no footage.”

She was doing that weird tense smile. “Correct answer.” Then she dropped it, and groaned. “I don’t know what to do.”

Well. She wasn’t going to get any advice from me. “You should ask someone else for help,” I said. “Ratthi is the most — “

I remembered his unrequited thing for her a second too late. I clamped my mouth shut, and continued staring at nothing.

Pin-Lee barely reacted. She just stood up straight, and ran a hand through her hair.

“Shit,” she finally said. “I guess Z had a point.”

And then she left before I could say anything, which was good, because I did not have anything to say.

Notes:

pin-zee truthers find me on tumblr @homosekularnost