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[serialskiller]

Messages will be answered when I'm done with this episode of my serial.

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Late one night in mid-January

[not_the_last]

A text message appears on SecUnit's phone.

I don't wish to disturb you, but are you free to talk?

[serialskiller]

For you, yes. Would you prefer a conversation over text, or would you like to meet?

[not_the_last]

I'd like to meet. Somewhere out on deck, maybe?

[serialskiller]

Of course. Should I bring anything?

Blanket, snacks, a book, a weapon...

[not_the_last]

There's a pause before the reply comes back.

I don't think so. Thank you.

[serialskiller]

Acknowledged. I will see you shortly.

And it heads immediately, directly to the deck even as it's sending that. It may be dressed in a pink and white hoodie with cat ears, but it still moves with the efficiency of a proper murderbot.

[not_the_last]

Cassandra, when she makes her way to the deck, is in a soft gray caftanlike dress with a dark blue cloak over it for warmth; her hair is caught back in a tail but not braided. She looks ... more tired than anything else.

"SecUnit," she says on seeing it, and straightens visibly. "Thank you for coming."

[serialskiller]

"Of course." It sees how tired she looks, but doesn't know how to offer its help with that. Besides, that's not why she requested its presence. "You wanted to talk?"

[not_the_last]

"Yes, please. I ..."

Wanting to talk and knowing where to start aren't the same thing, unfortunately.

"Will you walk with me?"

[serialskiller]

"Of course." And so it falls into position. While walking, it doesn't need to offer her the opportunity to even look at it, as it might were they stationary. It guards her back and has her ear and that's how they work as a pair.

[not_the_last]

The feel of it at her back is steadying, calming, as always. Not having to look it in the face, or deliberately avoid doing so, helps as well.

So it's with less circumlocution than she might otherwise have needed, when she says "Tell me, please -- have you ever spoken directly with the Captain?"

[serialskiller]

"Yes. On multiple occasions."

Oh, this may be an awkward one...

[not_the_last]

"Can you --"

Her heart skips faster, beating wildly against the bars of her ribcage.

"Can you tell me what it's like? Talking to him?"

[serialskiller]

"He's petty and mean and sharp, but in a way that feels like he's acting in defense. He doesn't know what to make of kindness, he uses barbs to try to push people away. But he likes stories--he internalizes them. The first time I talked to him, one-on-one, I brought my media player up to the bridge and started watching a serial, and he came out to join me. We both prefer fast-forward through the scenes where people are doing pairing things. Though I don't know if he would still, if we watched again."

And Murderbot understands something about media, about stories as a form of escape. Something something, a little under 35,000 hours of movies, serials, books, plays and music combined. If it had the power to create its own worlds, mightn't it lean into the tropes that are familiar?

[not_the_last]

She's quiet for a long moment, absorbing that. Still slowly walking down the deck, hands clasped.

"He tries to push people away," she says at length, "but ... by trying to make them want to leave. Not by forcing them to."

[serialskiller]

"Yes. I think he counts it as a victory, when people get fed up and walk away from him. Like they've proven him right, when they do. He anticipates being given up on, or written off."

Is it projecting? Perhaps. But it isn't wrong.

[not_the_last]

Cassandra swallows.

"If I might ask," she says, "and if you'd prefer not to answer, I'll understand ... what made you decide to try talking with him?"

[serialskiller]

"Skulduggery encouraged me, after I found one of the books that an excursion was based on. I wanted to share with him a story that mattered to me, like the ones he works from clearly matter to him." It hesitates, then looks off to one side rather than at the back of her head. "You're nervous, when you discuss him. You're trying to slot him into your understanding. But what you hear is upsetting to you."

[not_the_last]

A deep, steadying breath. "Yes," she says. "I'm nervous."

It feels like a lie, and she doesn't want to lie to SecUnit.

"I'm scared."

[serialskiller]

"Ah. That seems like a sane response to the circumstances. I'm uncertain how reassuring I can be. But if you want to talk about what it is that scares you, I am here."

It's not judging her for her fear. Hell, the fact that it's not experiencing the same fear is probably a sign of the ways in which it is broken.

[not_the_last]

She turns toward the railing, looks out toward the dark sea under the strange stars. Folds her hands over the top rail.

Low: "It's very good to hear you say that. I ... I'm afraid this is going to seem a lot less sane, but ... I don't think I want to be reassured."

[serialskiller]

"I don't think it's less sane, but I'm not sure if I'm reaching the correct understanding as to why you don't want that. Is it about wanting to maintain a level of vigilance where he's concerned, perhaps?"

Not quite a guess, given what it already knows about her.

"You don't want to give him buy-in like some of the others have, because the situation reminds you of your past. To you, being reassured feels like being asked to comply."

[not_the_last]

"Yes."

Her hands clench on the railing, shaking with the force of that agreement.

[serialskiller]

It moves from its usual spot to stand beside her, resting its hands on the rail as well, looking out into the blackness of the dark sky reflected by the sea

"I like knowing that I have someone close who is deliberately keeping that perspective. I know that when I think and talk about the Captain, I have a risk of projecting, because I see him as similar to myself in certain ways."

The hand nearer to her slides closer, but stops several inches before making contact.

[not_the_last]

She drags in a breath of cool salt-smelling air, lets it all out in relief.

"That's it," she says. "That's what I'm afraid of. Losing that perspective. Forgetting what -- what the whole shape of the situation is, or forgetting that it matters."

Pause. "Or just ... deciding that it doesn't matter, so long as I'm safe."