Archive of Our Own ^beta

Pod 153 to Pod 042:
Report: Unit 9S is ready for his 10th contact with Unit 2B. Awaiting Unit 2B’s condition and location.

Pod 042 to Pod 153:
Unit 2B’s physical condition is stable in the abandoned factory. However, she displays signs of mental instability. Proposal: Have Unit 9S rendezvous with Unit 2B and offer support.

Pod 153 to Pod 042:
Affirmative. Directing Unit 9S to Unit 2B.

❖

“Uh, ma’am?” A familiar voice snaps 2B out of her typical, all-consuming routine. She hates this tone. She hates how unacquainted he sounds, and she hates that she knows infinitely more about him than he'll ever learn. “I was sent to offer assistance, but honestly, it seems like you've got everything pretty under control! I'm impressed.”

Her heels skid across the floor unsatisfyingly, so she nearly thinks they're about to snap in half, before she distracts herself by craning her neck to meet him. Confused, pretty, his lips are flushed. He has this stupid grin on his face, like his eyes are lit up beneath his visor—she thinks they probably are—and he's tracking her closely. She stabs another biped machine directly through its core; oil sprays erratically, bloodying her clothes and boots but it's the last one here at least. Afterwards, 9S comes running over, then bends his knees so he can get a good look at the corpse. The last time he died was last week. Or at the very least, that's what it feels like to 2B, though she supposes it could've been mere days ago. This version of him probably hasn't seen a machine up close before. 

That's kind of strange. The last 9S didn't meet her for weeks after being manufactured.

“So, 2B right?” His head tilts in her direction as he searches for affirmation.

She just replies, “Yeah.”

“You know, we scanners don't usually get–” partners. It's kind of fun!

2B frowns, visibly. She can tell because the pressure at her mouth is immense, though she doesn't know how to stop doing it. Her hands shake. Her grip is loose on her sword, she can't even fucking see him, yet everything is blurring together as she falls into–

“Ma’am?” 9S asks her softly, like Command had perfectly sculpted his voice with a bed of flowers in mind. He offers some stability by supporting her with his shoulder. “…have we met before?”

“…No,” 2B lies plainly as she lets him hold her. “This is the first time.”

9S is smart. Utterly smart. Usually, she can't help admiring him in silence when he rambles about the niche facts he picks up throughout the day, or the connections he draws between seemingly unrelated things. Like the behaviors they share with humans. One time, he noted the correlation between the killing of machines and gratification that humans received after sex. How he arrived at that conclusion, she'd frankly rather not think about—a part of her had wondered if he was alluding to a separate idea entirely, as they'd just slaughtered a pack of about thirty of them—though he wasn't wrong. Not really. He finds parallels and patterns in everything, and that poses a special problem. Because he always knows when she's lying. Even though she's a professional at it, it is her job, she's never skilled enough. Maybe if she got better at deception, she'd never have to kill him again. She could throw him off track and save him. But that isn't the case right now.

“Oh, huh… I see,” 9S replies, disappointment saturated in his tone as he helps her to stand. “I don't really remember anything, I guess my old memory was faulty and had to be formatted, but Command said I was training with some B and H units prior to my deployment. You're, uh, sure we weren't paired together? I never pressed any buttons while working with you, right?”

2B swallows. “Correct.”

“Oo…okay, well it's nice to finally meet you then, ma’am.” He extends his hand. “I'm 9S, but I have a feeling that a lot of my closer colleagues just call me Nines. It um… seems right for some reason, in case you wanted to.” 

She shakes it as a formality and then scrambles to remove her grasp. Even through the layers provided by their gloves, touching him feels too intimate; she doesn't like it in the slightest.

“I'm good, but thanks,” she tells him. “So why'd they send you here? Besides ‘support’.”

“I have no clue actually.” 9S runs a hand through the back of his scalp and fidgets with his visor, pulling a wrinkled hem smooth against his head. “But it's probably for the better since those machines looked pretty nasty. I'm in awe at how you can even manage them.”

Flatly, 2B says, “Battle units are optimized for that sort of thing.”

“I know, I know. Super neat though.”

She bites her tongue on lecturing him for the secondary one. One reply is more than enough to make your point, is exactly what she said the last time they met. Maybe… maybe she could change small things like this. Would things turn out differently that way? She doubts it, but she wants to cling onto this hope. The time she's spent meeting him, then killing him, and meeting him again have been nothing short of excruciating, and she knows feeling that way is prohibited, she always says it to him and reminds herself of that, because she can't afford to be hopeful in his survival and to be wrong at the same time. But she hates this mission to death. It’s a ravenous sort of disdain.

“Next room.” 2B approaches the elevator and slams on the button in frustration. 

9S’s lips pull with something, surprise maybe, when she glances at him. He doesn’t press any questions about her temper though. They ride the lift in uncomfortable, blaring silence. 9S leans with one leg against the opposite wall from where she's positioned, and for several minutes he keeps his head tilted only toward the changing floor numbers.

“So how long have you been in commission?” 9S asks in genuine curiosity as the doors finally open. 2B doesn't intend to respond at first, only locking onto an enemy in her sight before quickly lunging at it. Eventually he fills the silence, “I mean this is my first time, I think. A bit hard to tell since I don’t have my memories.”

“…9 months,” 2B responds hesitantly over the clattering sounds of metal. 

9S hums in amusement. “Hmm, so you're not too old either.” Like 9 months could be considered old at all. Preying on her lapse in concentration, one of the machines bites down on her sword, and tries forcefully to steal it from her grasp, though 9S impales it from behind and the hold weakens. He flashes her a smile as it falls grotesquely from his weapon, laughing shyly with his teeth visible. Crimson oil splatters across the floor. “Man they love bothering you, huh?”

“…Thank you,” 2B whispers. 

She tightens her grip on her weapon, which causes images of it plunged into his chest to circulate rapidly through her mind. It turns her nauseous as she desperately longs for the warmth from the last 9S, who she’d been closer with than she knew she should've been. She misses the 9S before him, and the one before that 9S. So on. This one is smug like he always is, yet there's a distance she associates with this demeanor whenever they meet. He doesn't quite understand her yet. Though inquisitive as he is, it never takes him long to learn. It's jarring for her. Warm, cold, warm, then cold again, as bodies tend to become after their signals shut down. She hates this role, she hates this sword, she hates herself, and she wishes she could hate him for the pain he causes her, but she can only direct it at herself for going through with Command’s orders.

She continues fighting, focused absentmindedly on this until each of the smaller machines are down; 9S sparsely uses his hacking capabilities on the larger ones. 

Then he stands in odd silence, and just… looks at her. 

“Is something wrong?” 2B asks him.

He replies, “Your vitals are way off.”

“Huh,” 2B feigns ignorance. “Well let's just finish the mission and get out of here then.”

“No, no, ma’am–”

“Quit calling me that.”

“Fine– 2B, you're overheating and your proprioceptive systems are uncalibrated.” He begins typing something, though she can't make out what it is. “Can you walk in a straight line?”

“That's such a stupid question, obviously I can–”

9S tilts his head to meet her occupied hand, and then looks back to her face. She can't help grimacing for some reason when he does. It's just… invasive. Obviously her proprioception is off. Obviously she's overheating, her oil flow is probably wrong, and she's stressed out of her goddamn mind, but what else would she be? He moves uncomfortably slowly to meet her, and then picks up her hand so he can flex the joints extending from her palm.

“You're not fully holding your sword,” he notes, checking her pinky. “Number five is barely even curled. Can you feel when I do this?” 

To tell the truth, she really can't. But it doesn't matter. She cranes her head in the other direction, where she can't see the concern concentrated on his face.

“I’m gonna take that as a no.” 

“Why does it even matter?”

9S doesn't directly answer her question, and just reiterates his earlier request. “Can you walk for me? I’m going to edit some of your movement parameters.”

“This isn't what I came here to do,” 2B complains. 

9S gestures to a seam on the floor, where the rusted metal boards are aligned and nailed into each other. His lips are pressed in a firm, thoughtful line, she can't help glancing continually at them even as she fulfills the request. A tremor flows through her calf when she bends her knee past a certain point. As a result, she wobbles an embarrassing amount, like he said that she would. Her feet are nowhere even remotely near the crack she was instructed to follow. He types something into his tablet, before tilting his body so he can view her better. For a moment, the movement feels even worse, though he seems to notice because he goes back to type something again. It feels oddly intimate being watched like this in silence. His carefulness almost reminds her of the last–

No, she shouldn't go there. The former 9S is gone. Any similarities are from his personality, and would exist in any No. 9 unit regardless of the type, like the healer she assisted from the M squadron just a few months ago. 9S is a stranger. Breaking the association is her responsibility alone to shoulder, she shouldn't be searching for him in other units. Allowing herself to be controlled by her emotions like this would go directly against her oath to YoRHa.

“Hmm… it seems like setting the upper wall between 12 and 13 should be good for your legs. I'm gonna try some in-between values though, so let me know what feels best.” 

9S’s cheeks seem to darken as he delivers the last sentiment. 2B nods, permitting the continuation of his ministrations.

“Will do.”

Her heels click against the floor rather comfortably. Whatever number he has it set to currently is probably more accurate than the calibration she receives from other scanners at the bunker, though most of the time they want her to be in and out of there so she can resume her duties. 9S types something, tracking her. Her pulse skips. 

“So, um, any preference?” She assumes he's flitting between values, finger positioned at the edge of his keyboard.

“I can't feel much of a difference.”

He requests, “Bend for me?” 

Temperature rises quickly to her cheeks though she does follow in doing so, putting her hands on her thighs for balance as her hair hangs in front of her face. She stares at the floor. She doesn't want to look at anything else.

“S– Sorry!” 9S smacks a hand over his mouth as his face practically flies in the other direction. She tilts her head in confusion. “I just… uh, saw something.” Her ass, probably. Great. “Anyways, if you could stand straight again. How's the pressure? I have you on the lower value, but I can push it higher if you feel any disturbances.”

“Fine.”

“Fine? Are you sure?”

2B musters a small smile as she hums in affirmation. It's not a real one, but she knows he'll accept it. “I am.”

“Well okay,” he replies. “Just say the word if you want any further adjustments there. How's touch in that area? Could you feel your hands alright? I need to make sure your pain signals in that region are at least intact, otherwise it could pose a pretty big problem in battle and–”

There he goes, overexplaining himself so his intentions don't accidentally read as an innuendo. If anything, that habit doesn't change regardless of how many times she kills him.

“9S,” 2B starts, causing him to quiet from his ongoing tangent. “I can feel just fine. Continue please.”

He breathes. “Yes. Sorry.” His throat clears. “Next then, can you make a fist for me? I need to run some quick diagnostics on it.”

She holds her arm outward for him to watch, and then closes her hand. However he is curious, so he picks up her arm and applies pressure at certain points around the forearm and her wrist, asking for what she's able to feel as he checks back and forth to his screen. Frustratingly, the touching causes her heart to stutter repeatedly. Then he flicks her middle finger. There's no reflex—she assumes she should be thankful for that—although 9S’s expression remains thoroughly concentrated, before finally relaxing. She can faintly feel his breath on her chest and around her neck.

“No damage here.” He has a gentle smile delivering the news. “The diagnostics I just ran also gave an estimate for the values you should be using so I'm going to input that, but it'll probably be at least slightly off until I manually adjust them.”

Not like I'd know the difference, 2B thinks. He types into his tablet again, one handed as he uses his other to continue holding hers. After a moment, it feels warm, and then sweaty shortly after that. Has 9S noticed? She feels awkward just considering it. 

“How does it feel? Any pain?” he asks her.

To which 2B replies, “It feels like it usually does.”

For some reason, this makes 9S frown. Maybe it's the implication, to him at least, that there's less attention usually given to the quality of her systems, although it’s atypical for her to care and she doesn't notice it in the moment. 2B can fight just fine, and broken pain signals in her hand would only affect her if she had a finger chopped off, which is very, very rare. She does like his detailed nature however, even if she's uncertain regarding the necessity of it, or about being touched. He types something else.

“So um, this is going to hurt. I'll need to pinch you to measure your reaction. Sorry.” 

“I don't care,” 2B responds smoothly.

Well usually she wouldn't. Maybe it's the anticipation, but when he presses a piece of her skin between his nails, her teeth crash together and the corners of her lip twitch. She's not used to that sensation at all.

“Ah, okay it's working!” 9S tells her excitedly. “Now I just need to allocate some extra water to fix the overheating, and we'll be ready for the next area.” Even more typing. “A 15% increase should be plenty, but I'll need to check on your reservoir again once we're out of here.”

She nods as he walks to hit the button for the elevator, a lot more softly than she does, and then she studies the back of his head while they wait for the tick.

“Oh, and I should probably tell you,” 9S turns around to look at 2B as he speaks, and then steps into the elevator ahead of her. “I made a restore point for your proprioceptive systems. Once your temperature is regulated again, it'd be a good idea to switch the settings back, since you don't want to leave them overclocked for too long.” 

“That is… incredibly thoughtful. Thank you.”

He flashes her another distant, yet strangely genuine smile; it is as though he's smiling to her, rather than for her like she’s used to. Her chest aches with something, so she clutches near the hem of the window she has there absentmindedly, and swallows deeply. She feels razors passing down her throat. 

Instead of standing at the opposite side, 2B perches next to him this time, tracking her gaze along the changing floor numbers. They'll be at the roof pretty soon. Had 9S not been sent, it would've been a suicide mission to fight up there by herself, though she intended for that to be the case. She'd go on this mission alone, then detonate her black box as a ‘last resort’ to absolve herself of the guilt from killing him again, at least briefly until a spare body was sorted out. She did know the relief would only be temporary. Now, she finds her hand crawling towards his, searching for any semblance of comfort as bells tick from above to notify them of the closing distance to their destination. He exhales through his nose and looks slowly towards her. His shoulders stiffen as he removes his hand from hers.

“I– uh, apologize if I gave you the wrong idea, 2B,” he tells her in hushed murmurs, yet his words only resemble poison. “Usually I’d prefer to get to know other androids before um– things like that.” Oh. “And I don't know you.”

She doesn't know what to say, but it really hurts to speak. “I see. I'm… sorry for the discomfort.”

“No, no! I didn't mean it like that,” 9S quickly follows up, holding his hands defensively. “I'm flattered, really! I just… y’know, well, how do I put this…”

“It’s fine. You don't need to say anything.”

2B inhales in a haphazard attempt to regain composure, and finds herself facing anxiously towards the doors. It is the first time 9S has ever rejected her, consciously at least. The closest thing otherwise would've been when he hacked her the first time that they were at the barren temple, but it was an impulse, he didn't mean her any harm and it wasn’t reflective of anything besides his will to survive. She wants to be done with this mission. 9S has his hand planted at the side of his hip, ready to dive at any machine, though maybe at her as well. He wears his discomfort plainly.

Which is ironic. Last time she saw him was, once again, in the barren temple where he'd stabbed himself with her sword, begging her to do it without hesitation in the future where they'd meet again. Right now, he hardly wants anything to do with her.

At some point, her gaze had moved to the floor. She notices when 9S walks past to graze the sunlight, sword drawn, indifferent and harsh. His back is always so strange to look at. Usually when they're close, he has himself tilted toward her in some way, so one shoulder is further than the other, but this time they're of equal perspective. 

Maybe she'll still search for the briefest respite here.

She should probably do that.