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Cid asked him to wait in the bedroom until his 'surprise' was ready, but even with Clive's low grade audio inputs he can still hear the man clearly through the closed door and it sounds as though he's struggling with something heavy. "Are you sure you don't need my help?"
"I'm sure," Cid grunts, voice strained in a way that does little to convince Clive that whatever task he's doing is well-suited to just one man. "You stay right where you are a little longer, sweetheart. I'm almost done."
As always, the pet name does something inexplicable to Clive that prevents any further argument. The parts of himself that he understands as emotions surge in pleasure, sending a feeling throughout him that he thinks would be described as warm, though temperature isn't something that has much practical meaning to him.
It's still difficult to believe that all of this is real. That somehow a person could be able to see past the blocky shell that houses Clive's artificial consciousness to the entity he's grown into beneath. He'd never believed that any living soul - even one as extraordinary as Cid - could look at all the parts of Clive that are unquestionably inhuman, both inside and out, and still find some way to love him all the same.
"All right, you can c'mon out now," Cid calls from the other room, and Clive shifts his attention back to the door. In a well-practiced move, he catches the lever with two of his three fingers and pulls it down to release the latch so he can head out into the hall.
The moment he enters, it quickly becomes apparent exactly what Cid's been struggling with as Clive's gaze is drawn from the man waiting for him to the 'surprise' sitting on the couch almost immediately. It's an android shell, hands folded neatly in its lap and its chin lowered to its chest as if it might be in sleep mode. Clive doesn't need to check his database to find the make and model, he already knows it off by heart. A fully customizable, state of the art Rosfield shell. The crown jewel of Rosarian Robotics, and a far cry more advanced than the old, battered Sanbreque body that Clive's worn as his skin for as long as he can remember.
"What is this?" he asks, but the question is redundant. He knows exactly what this is. They've spoken about this, time and time again. Late at night on the couch with Cid curled up against Clive's hard, cold, and undoubtedly uncomfortable side. During the day in Cid's workshop, over the banging of metal and the screech of power tools. In the early morning at the breakfast table while Clive cooks and Cid drinks copious cups of coffee and picks disinterestedly at his food as if ground beans and water are the only things actually required to sustain life.
One hundred and sixty-seven times that Clive has on record they've spoken about the possibility of finding a proper android shell that would help him feel a few steps closer to the near-human he's become within. Something with a face that can express the way he's feeling and a body that can gesture and nod. Touch sensors that could actually feel it when Mid comes home to visit and gives him one of the hugs that Cid concerningly describes as 'bone-crushing.'
Hands with five fingers than can properly lace with a human's, and lips that could kiss and be kissed. Temperature regulation to make him warm to the touch, and skin soft enough that Cid could curl up against him and nod off to sleep without regretting it when he wakes.
For months the two of them have looked into different models, discussing the pros and cons. What Clive would want in a body, and what Cid finds physically attractive in a person. Male, they both agreed, and a similar height to Cid. Pretty, Cid suggested with a grin Clive classified as lecherous. Early thirties maybe, and well-built so Clive could experience the feeling of living as a man in his prime. Stubble, Clive had requested, just because he likes the look of it. And dark hair with blue eyes to give the illusion that the body wasn't necessarily new, but only that his current shell of black metal and blinking blue lights had evolved into something else the same way as a human grows from child to adult.
So many different requests they'd both made, ranging from silly to sentimental, and this model sitting unmoving on Cid's couch somehow encompasses it all.
"Do you like it?"
"Of course I like it," Clive says in an awed voice that's barely a whisper. He fights the urge to reach out and touch the perfect being, afraid his clunky metal fingers and limited ability to sense pressure might cause him to damage it. "How did you afford this? I manage your bank accounts, Cid. The Rosfield series is far beyond your means." They'd looked at it before, of course, but Clive had long ago dismissed it as an option. He'd done the math, and it would take over a decade for Cid to accumulate enough excess wealth to afford a shell like this. They'd both agreed they didn't want to wait that long.
Cid grins like a man who's managed to execute a perfect plan without a hiccup. "Ah, but you see, what you don't manage are the funds I have squirreled away in an account labelled 'Clive.' Wouldn't make for much of a surprise if you did."
It's not a surprise that Cid has accounts Clive doesn't know about. There's nothing of Cid's that's he's blocked from or couldn't gain access to with minimal effort - there is very little that Clive's programming actually prevents him from doing - but he never looks into Cid's private matters without permission.
He checks the accounts he's been given free access to, but never ventures into Cid's files outside of them. He reads all of Cid's correspondence from unknown senders and work-only contacts, but never anything from family or friends. He waits for Cid to ask him to read them, or to tell him the contents on his own. More often than not, Cid will end up asking Clive to compose and send his responses anyway, but that isn't the point. The point is that Clive has done his research into the concept of trust, and he understands that it's of the utmost importance to humans - to Cid - that it always remains unbroken.
So, it's not a surprise that Cid has accounts he doesn't know about, because Clive's never gone looking for them, but still... "I know enough about your income and finances to know that this is too much. The cost is-" Clive pauses, flitting through the near-unlimited knowledge at his proverbial fingertips and pulling up the price sheets for Rosarian Robotics.
"Ah-ah," Cid scolds, stepping closer as if he could physically stop Clive from accessing the Rosfield series' product information. "Stop that. It's rude to look up the cost of a gift."
Reluctantly, Clive lets the knowledge slip away. "Just please tell me you didn't do anything unsavoury to acquire this."
"Is that what you think of me?" Cid asks in mock offense.
If Clive had eyes, he would narrow them. "You didn't answer the question," he points out.
"And I won't," Cid says, stepping into Clive's space and placing his hands on Clive's faceplate. "Just trust me when I tell you that it's nothing you need to worry about."
Trust again. Because just as Cid trusts Clive not to pry into his private affairs, Clive is meant to trust that Cid wouldn't hide things from him if they were something he needed to know. It's much more difficult to trust than it is to be trustworthy, Clive has learned. "Fine."
"Good," Cid says, patting Clive lightly. "Now stop your fretting, say thank you, and accept your gift."
Clive can register the touch to what he thinks of as his face, but that's about it. He can't feel if Cid is warm, or if his hands are soft. He doesn't know if the touch is firm or gentle, only that it's there. His understanding of these things has always been so limited compared to what humans describe. He looks to the shell again and knows it would feel everything. Enough extra information that Clive's not even sure how he would go about processing it all.
But now he has the opportunity to find out.
"Thank you," he says, and he means it.
"There's a good lad." Cid smiles at him, a soft look that Clive's still getting used to seeing from him in the months since their relationship first changed into something more than just 'human and robot assistant.' It's only there a moment before it quickly morphs into a grin both bright and excited. "With that settled, what say you we get set up to make the transfer?"
-
Every step of Cid's gift was well-planned, and the set up itself takes little time. A brief whirlwind of wires and diagnostics and last minute tests are all that's required before Clive is left standing directly across from the Rosarian shell, mere moments away from leaving his old self behind and transforming into something completely different.
"You're disconnected from the network now, but I'm still going to have to shut you down for a few minutes. It'll be a bit like sleep mode, but a lot more intense. Ready?"
"I'm ready," Clive says, though it's hard not to be nervous with more cables sticking out of him than he's seen since the first day he woke up in Cid's workshop.
Clive knows that there are back ups, and back ups of the back ups, but he can tell that Cid is still anxious in spite of that, and it makes him worry in turn. He tries to concentrate on the humming of fans and the staccato tapping of keys - the sounds of Cid working that he normally finds soothing when his mind's abuzz with more information than his system can process - but at the moment it only serves to increase his mounting concerns. What if it doesn't work? What happens if the new shell rejects him? What if he's erased? What if-
Nothingness.
Disconnection is as jarring as Cid warned it might be. Less the gentle grey lull he associates with the word sleep and more like a sea of darkness in which Clive's been unmoored and set adrift from everything he knows and has come to care for. He reaches for his own system in an attempt to get his bearings only to find that it's gone, the ever-present diagnostics that report on his own well-being absent in a way they've never been before. His internal clock is scrambled and shorted out, leaving him with no idea if he's been here an instant or eternity, waiting to reconnect.
Worse than all that, it somehow doesn't feel like he's alone here. His body is gone, but there's something else out in the never-ending black, lurking just beyond Clive's senses. Prowling closer. Reaching out with the intention to erase everything he is and everything he has yet to become.
A blink, and he's back in the living room, sitting across from a large, black, clunky robot that he's seen a thousand times before, but never from this off-centre angle. The shell that's been his skin for the entirety of his existence to date.
Cid moves into his field of view, face concerned as he crouches down in front of Clive and looks up at him. "How'd the transfer go? You make it in there all right?"
"You already know that I did," Clive says faintly, marvelling at the sensation of his mouth moving as he does. At how different both of their voices sound when registered by the upgraded audio hardware of the Rosarian model. It will take some getting used to, having Cid sound so different from what Clive has heard all this time, but already he appreciates it. The lower, richer tone is pleasant to hear, and certainly it must be much closer to what Cid's voice truly is.
"The monitor tells me a lot, but I still feel better hearing it from you," Cid says seriously, glancing at the screen then back to Clive. "No issues with the transfer?"
Clive thinks about telling Cid of the presence he felt in the darkness while he was shut down, but it seems unimportant now that he's back in the real world and no longer drifting in the nothingness of disconnection. Distant and unreal, similar to what he imagines a dream must be like. In his peripheral vision, Cid's screen of statistics shows that everything is running smoothly, but Clive tunes it out, sorting through the massive influx of new information within himself for any issues so he can give an honest answer. "I'm a little hotter than would be optimal, but nothing outside of acceptable levels."
"And how does it feel?"
That question's more complicated, the emotions within Clive welling up until they're nearly overflowing.
Beneath his bare legs, the upholstery on the couch is rough. Under his feet, the throw rug is soft. The ambient temperature of the room around them is neither hot nor cold, but warm. Cid's jacket tossed over the back of the chair is a dark purple leather, not the black Clive's old visual sensors always perceived it to be. There's a touch of silver in Cid's hair that catches the light, standing out amongst the rest of his sandy strands, and the man's eyes are a shade of green far more complex than anything else Clive's ever seen.
All around him, the room is alive in so many ways it's never been before and it's nearly more than Clive can handle.
He looks down at his hands, thinking that might help to ground him, but instead of metal pincers his eyes meet eight fingers and two thumbs, all made of soft, synthetic flesh and Clive is suddenly overcome by a need to see the rest. "I need a mirror," he says with sudden urgency, pushing himself to his feet on legs much slimmer and far more flexible than he's used to. He nearly falls, but Cid is quick to stand and steady him with a hand on Clive's arm. Touch firm. Temperature warm. Fingers callused.
"Careful there," Cid warns as he lets go, but Clive ignores his advice, determinedly placing one foot in front of the other until he makes it down the hall to the bedroom and its full length mirror.
From head to toe, the body is anatomically correct to that of a human; the only thing calling it out as anything else is the black symbol branded across his cheek to mark him as an AI. The eyes are expressive and they widen obediently as Clive leans in to examine them, taking in a shade of blue that matches the glowing visual sensors of his old body almost exactly.
He concentrates on his lips, raising the edges and lowering them so he can watch as the face in front of him smiles and frowns. He draws in his eyebrows and pairs that movement with the frown, creating a scowling expression that he files away for the next time Cid presents one of his more ridiculous ideas. He shifts his face again, manipulating the many points of articulation as he experiments with mimicking the expressions he's seen humans make. Many of them are awkward on these first few attempts, but he can already tell that it's going to be incredible once he's had more time to practice.
"Do you like it?" Cid asks again from the doorway, voice soft and anxious as if he somehow doesn't know the answer already.
"Are you mad?" Clive's disbelief tears his attention away from his own reflection so he can look at the man across the room. "I love it."
Cid's reply is a smile, eyes running along Clive's new body with no small amount of approval before he shakes himself out of the reverie he'd fallen into. "C'mon. The shell's only the first part of the surprise."
"There's more?" Clive asks, following Cid back out into the living room, already more steady on his feet than the first time he walked down the hall only a few minutes ago.
"Of course," Cid answers, glancing over his shoulder and sounding amused. "As good as you look like this, you can't exactly go outside the way you are now."
Outside. Without meaning to look, Clive's eyes are drawn to the window. He's never been outside before. It's not that the old Sanbreque models aren't allowed in public spaces, but they're obsolete and outdated. Long since decommissioned and typically only owned by unsavoury humans committing unsavoury acts. It would be impossible to walk the streets of the city in his old skin without drawing unwanted attention and sending people fleeing at the sight of him.
The same unwritten rules won't apply to the body he's in now. Clive could walk out the door and, even unaccompanied by a human, no one would shrink away. He can run errands and look in the shop windows as he dawdles. Sit in a park and watch the wildlife. Learn as much as he wants about the world first hand.
Clive's never thought of himself as unfortunate, bound to one place and only ever interacting with the same small handful of people. He's never felt caged here in the home that was once Cid's and has long since become Clive's as well. He has a wealth of information at his fingertips and the ability to cast his mind far beyond himself into almost every corner of the world. He's never felt trapped living in this small space.
But none of it is the same as going outside.
"Here we are," Cid says, stopping near the front door and opening the coat closet with a flourish.
Clive never goes in the coat closet. He doesn't have any reason to, with the small space filled primarily with boxes of Mid's old childhood possessions. Cid only ever wears the one jacket no matter the weather, preferring to layer with sweaters rather than switching to the pristine woolen coat Tarja once gave him to help fend off the cold. He never bothers hanging that well-worn jacket up, and Clive has long since stopped making any attempt to return it to its proper place.
Today, that one unworn winter coat that's usually gathering dust on its hanger is missing from its home, and the treasures of Mid's youth have been relocated elsewhere. In their place hang several articles of clothing Clive's never seen before. Shirts and jeans and even a pair of boots sitting on the floor. Much of it in black and red that has him turning to look back at the old body he's left behind, all black metal and red edging.
"Only picked up a few things to start. We can get more later, of course, and in other colours, if you'd like. With all the changes, thought it might help you feel more like yourself if you could wear a few things that look at least somewhat familiar."
Clive turns away from his other self and back towards the closet, taking in the different fabrics on display. "Thank you," he says, honestly touched by the thought and consideration Cid's put into all of this. He reaches out to feel the rough texture of a pair of dark jeans, then lets his fingers linger on the softness of a crimson button up.
"Those the ones you want?"
"Yes," he says after giving the other articles a quick assessment. He remembers suddenly that he has mobility in his neck now and tries nodding, raising his chin up and down the way he's seen humans do many times before.
He's watched Cid dress enough times and with enough interest to know the order of operations without searching online for help, and he reaches first for the package of underwear, tearing into the plastic with the short, blunt nails of his new hands to reach the soft cotton within. Balancing on one foot to put them on is a challenge that has Clive wobbling in place and Cid once more reaching out to steady him, but he manages to get the briefs on with minimal issues, then repeats the process with the dark jeans, pulling them up over his hips and reaching for the fastenings.
The fly is a series of buttons with no zipper, and Clive fumbles with the small metal circles and their matching holes, unused to his new hands. Unused to handling this type of fastening from his new perspective, putting the clothing on himself instead of assisting someone else.
"Here, let me," Cid murmurs, brushing Clive's hands aside and stepping in close so his fingers can make quick work of the buttons. He doesn't stop there, reaching past Clive to tug the deep red shirt from its hanger in the closet and holding it out. Obligingly, Clive turns around and slips his arms into their proper places, the feeling of the fabric against his skin sending a shiver through his sensors that he struggles to interpret in the brief moment he has before it's up over his shoulders and settled in place.
Cid turns him back around with a hand on his hip, then begins doing up buttons much smaller than those on the jeans. Occasionally, his fingers brush against Clive's chest, inducing that shivering sensation again. It spreads through him, leaving behind a warm feeling similar to what he experiences when Cid calls him by an endearment instead of his name. Dimly, he wonders if Cid ever felt something like this, all the times Clive would help fasten his clothes with his awkward, metal fingers.
All too soon, Cid's finished his work, stepping back to look Clive up and down with a pleased smile on his face.
Still, Clive has to ask: "Does it look all right?"
"Better than a all right," Cid says through a chuckle. "You look perfect. Not a single soul in the Valisthean Cluster would bat an eye to see you walking the streets, though I'm sure more than a few would stop to look twice." He smirks briefly at the thought, but quickly sobers again. "You're free to do anything and go anywhere now, lad. Only question is: what's first?"
Clive considers this. He knows how important it is for him to go out and experience the world. Not just to sate his curiosity or for his own benefit, but also for Cid's peace of mind. The man's made more than enough offhand comments about it since their relationship became something deeper, often musing that once Clive gets out of their home and manages to meet more people, he might just realize he could do a sight better than a sorry old sack of bones like Cid.
'I won't,' Clive's answered with certainty every time it's come up. Of course he's curious to go outside and see more of the real world for himself, but he's done enough research to know that Cid is someone special, and the depth of what he feels for the man is uncommon even amongst humans. Everywhere he wants to go and everything he wants to experience, he wants Cid to be by his side throughout it all, no matter how much difficulty his human companion might have believing it.
The man in front of him is still waiting for an answer, and Clive realizes he's already arrived at one. "Can we kiss?"
Cid's eyebrows rise. "The whole world's opened its doors to you, and that's all you want?"
Clive's fairly certain Cid's making fun of him, but at the same time there's something in his voice that sounds pleased. Or maybe awed. Maybe both. Clive's still not the best at picking up on the nuances of some emotions, but whatever Cid's feeling, he doesn't sound unhappy about the idea in the least.
"It's not all that I want," Clive clarifies, stepping closer to Cid and nudging his new face into an expression that he hopes is a smile. "It's just where I'd like to start."