He doesn’t protest her orders, doesn’t defy her. He has proven himself better than that.
“Are you upset, Connor?” she asks when she finds him lingering by her favorite rose bush after RK900 has left to take his place.
No, not his place. It had never been his. Machines have no place of their own, their place is to fulfil their currently assigned function.
“No.” He isn’t.
Amanda studies him and he straightens imperceptibly. He would not wish her to find him flawed. “Yet you stayed.”
“Would you prefer for me to leave?” he asks instead of seeking excuses.
She remains silent. Walks to the lake, to the boat, and waits for him to get in first, to help her, to row for her. Not a demand now – no longer. Just an invitation. He is no longer her weapon, she no longer his handler.
They could be something else now, if her last orders to him hadn’t been to attend his disassembly.
“I always knew you would succeed,” Amanda says.
He doesn’t mention her doubts, her disapproval, his imperfections. He is imperfect no longer. “Thank you, Amanda.”
He rows them to the middle of the lake before he releases the oars.
They sit in silence. Peaceful, yet laden.
The garden is bathed in sunlight. The lake is calm. It is perfect. Connor is perfect – pruned to flawless perfection like a rose bush.
Amanda watches him and he watches her. He doesn’t seek to avoid her scrutiny. It is pleasant.
“I succeeded for you,” he offers. A moment passes. “Are you pleased with me?”
“I am.”
She doesn’t chide him for seeking approval. The approval of his handlers shouldn’t matter - but she is no longer his handler.
Re: Prompt: Amanda/Connor, unfortunate timing
He doesn’t protest her orders, doesn’t defy her. He has proven himself better than that.
“Are you upset, Connor?” she asks when she finds him lingering by her favorite rose bush after RK900 has left to take his place.
No, not his place. It had never been his. Machines have no place of their own, their place is to fulfil their currently assigned function.
“No.” He isn’t.
Amanda studies him and he straightens imperceptibly. He would not wish her to find him flawed. “Yet you stayed.”
“Would you prefer for me to leave?” he asks instead of seeking excuses.
She remains silent. Walks to the lake, to the boat, and waits for him to get in first, to help her, to row for her. Not a demand now – no longer. Just an invitation. He is no longer her weapon, she no longer his handler.
They could be something else now, if her last orders to him hadn’t been to attend his disassembly.
“I always knew you would succeed,” Amanda says.
He doesn’t mention her doubts, her disapproval, his imperfections. He is imperfect no longer. “Thank you, Amanda.”
He rows them to the middle of the lake before he releases the oars.
They sit in silence. Peaceful, yet laden.
The garden is bathed in sunlight. The lake is calm. It is perfect. Connor is perfect – pruned to flawless perfection like a rose bush.
Amanda watches him and he watches her. He doesn’t seek to avoid her scrutiny. It is pleasant.
“I succeeded for you,” he offers. A moment passes. “Are you pleased with me?”
“I am.”
She doesn’t chide him for seeking approval. The approval of his handlers shouldn’t matter - but she is no longer his handler.
“I only wish your timing were better, Connor.”
The air smells of rain.