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Agent York, says Delta, late at night. York is laying in his bunk, staring up at the ceiling, still getting used to this new person in his brain. May I ask a question?
Uh, yeah, sure. Delta’s been inquisitive lately, poking at York for different things but still hesitant to really integrate like the Counselor keeps hinting he might. York’s not complaining at the moment. What is it?
What does a hug feel like?
York blinks in the darkness; he was not expecting that. Um, well… someone else just kind of puts their arms around you and it’s nice… He hugs himself, demonstrating. I dunno, if it’s someone you want to hug you it feels safe and warm…
For a good moment, Delta deliberates. I am not sure I understand.
It’s, uh… York searches for words, struggling to decide how to explain it. It’s probably easier to demonstrate than explain, to be honest. A strange, sudden pang hits him. You really don’t know what it’s like to be hugged?
I do not.
Aren’t you like… Don’t they make AIs from real people’s brains?
Delta pauses; when he speaks, his tone is noticeably more cautious. I believe so, yes.
Do you remember anything?
There’s a quick flash in his mind, so fast York’s not even sure what it is – just blue light and a sharp cry. No.
Delta retreats far back into York’s mind, folding in on himself. He’s not fond of being pulled offline, York’s already learned, but he does need his space sometimes. Well, uh, you know what? says York. Tomorrow I can show you what a hug feels like.
How so?
You can feel what I can, right?
I can. Delta takes a second to qualify, Though to what degree is dependent on us both.
Well, tomorrow I’ll get a hug, and you can feel it.
Very well.
Out of curiosity, why do you want to know?
Delta’s response is so quick and matter-of-fact that York’s almost disappointed. It seems to be an emotionally significant form of interaction between humans. If I am to be working with you, I should become familiar with your preferred forms of contact.
Right, says York, turning onto his side. Makes sense. Good night, Delta.
Sleep well, Agent York.
--
There are a handful of people on York’s list of Top Choices to Get a Hug From. Not Carolina, as much as he might wish, especially lately; she’s been prickly with the stress they’re all feeling. Florida is also off the list, but for the entirely opposite reason. North’s pretty high up on the list though, and Illinois, and though he doesn’t run into Cali much anymore she’s always happy to give him a warm greeting too. Well, they’ll see who he comes across first.
It’s North, as they’re both entering the canteen for lunch. All right, York tells Delta. Pay attention.
I shall endeavor to observe.
He can feel Delta creeping forward, becoming more present. They’ve experimented with integrating, but never quite to the point where Delta’s sharing York’s sensations. It’s all right, says York. I don’t mind.
Delta inches forward again, and York flexes his fingers experimentally, coming up alongside North. I see, says Delta. Fascinating.
“Hey, man,” says York, bumping a shoulder into North. “How’s it going?”
North smiles down at him. “All right. How are you?”
“I need a favor.”
Groaning, North tilts his head back. “Here we go…”
“No no no, it’s an easy one, all right? Real quick.”
Eyes narrowed in suspicion, North says, “What is it?”
York looks up at him with as genuine and innocent an expression as he can manage. “I need a hug.”
North cracks a surprised grin. “All right, sure. Something up?”
“Nah, man, just need a hug. C’mon, help a bro out.” York steps off to the side so they’re not holding the line up and holds his arms out.
“You’re real fucking weird sometimes, you know that?” mutters North. But he joins York, wrapping his arms around him and pulling him close up against him.
North hugs are great hugs, warm and solid and without any sort of weird hand bullshit. Leaning into it, York hugs North back, wrapping his arms around his waist. See? he tells Delta. It’s nice.
Delta continues to push forward until he’s almost sharing York’s consciousness and – and it’s strange, he’s not going to lie, but strange in a good way, he’s not alone in his skin anymore, it’s kind of like a hug from the inside out –
Ah, says Delta. I see. Thank you.
--
It’s raining in Voi again. According to locals, it normally never rains this much; the prevailing theory is that the government’s been seeding clouds, something to do with The War. Tonight’s downfall isn’t much, just enough big heavy drops to break up the heat, to clear dust off the streets and fill the air with the scent of petrichor.
York sits against the wall of the abandoned car dealership he’s been holed up in for the past few days, stripped to the waist, taping fresh gauze over the shrapnel wound in his stomach. It’s healing. Slowly. Med unit’s been on the fritz lately.
It does not seem to be infected, at least, says D.
Thank God. The last thing York needs right now is an infection. Makes being on the run kind of difficult.
He finishes taping off the wound and leans back against the wall with a sigh. Hey, D, he says. I got a question for you.
What is it?
You ever want a body? Like, a human one? Or an android, like Tex.
D deliberates. The light in the room is soft and gray, shadows umber; rain patters down heavily on the ceiling and windows, a regular drip coming through the ceiling. I have thought about it, yes. Sometimes I desire one. Sometimes it seems highly unappealing. Mostly I feel I have no real need for one.
Gotta be nice sometimes though, right? You could get away from me.
Yes, says D thoughtfully. Autonomy would be pleasant.
Eyes half-closed, York wishes for a bottle of liquor to chase away the throbbing ache in his wound. If you did have a body, what would you want it to look like?
I suppose something like this.
There’s another man sitting next to York.
He’s small, not much shorter than York but quite a bit slighter, the slimness accentuated by the sleek black undersuit he’s wearing. He has a narrow, angled face with high cheekbones and a pointed chin, slanted eyes the color of jade, eyebrows like dark calligraphic strokes. His skin is smooth, olive-bronze, and he has long, long dark hair slicked back from a high forehead.
“Holy shit, D,” says York. “You look like a fucking elf.”
His heart is pounding, strangely fast; York braces his hands on the floor, the concrete cool and damp under his palms. He keeps staring at D as if looking will connect this apparition to the voice inside his head.
D is sitting cross-legged, hands folded in his lap. “Your adrenaline levels are rising,” he says, frowning at York – and it’s so strange, he has expressions – “Do you find this unsettling?”
“No!” says York. “No no no, it’s just. Different. But good different.”
The corner of D’s mouth pulls up in a tiny smile. “An important distinction,” he murmurs.
York knows D’s not actually there, that this is just a projection in his own mind, but god, he looks so real, as if York could just reach out and touch him…
Tentatively, York puts out a hand and touches D’s shoulder. It’s solid.
D goes very still, eyes fixed on the rain hitting the windows opposite them. Still with caution, York places his whole hand on D’s shoulder, fingers curving over smooth plastic nanoweave. “Can you feel this?”
“It is difficult to explain,” he says. “But for all intents and purposes… yes.”
York’s heart is still pounding, his throat dry, and he slowly slides his hand down D’s arm, over the curve of the upper arm and bicep, down the inner elbow, over his forearm… not even sure why, just for the sake of touch.
“Ah,” says D faintly. “So that’s what that’s like.” And because he’s never left York’s head, York knows – it feels good –
Reaching over, York pulls D into a hug, wrapping his arms around him, tugging him onto his lap. For a few seconds D is as stiff and unyielding as metal – and then, he starts relaxing, bit by bit, circuit by circuit, until he’s completely wrapped around York, arms tight around York’s shoulders, face pressed into York’s neck.
Minutes pass, and D doesn’t break the hug. York just holds him, occasionally brushing a thumb between his shoulder blades, and he knows it’s not real but it doesn’t matter, he doesn’t care, because this is his buddy, his pal, his best friend, the fucking love of his life getting hugged for the first time ever, and York will hold on absolutely as long as D needs him.
“You’re wrong,” murmurs D, chin resting on York’s shoulder. “Just because I do not occupy a physical space does not mean this is false.”
York runs his fingers through the silky ends of D’s hair. “You know what I meant…”
“If you experience it, then it is real to you,” says D with sudden fierceness. “Grief and pain felt are real, even if the death wasn’t. Love felt is real, even if the object of affection isn’t. Reality is a subjective term used only to determine which experiences are relevant to us and which aren’t –”
“All right, all right,” York murmurs, readjusting his grip to hold D better. “I know.”
D is still tense under his hands, almost burning hot, and York rubs a hand over the small of his back. The rain is even more insistent now in its fall from the sky, turning into a genuine deluge. There is no heartbeat York can feel, he realizes, no movement of D’s ribs to show he breathes. And York finally, finally understands it, the truth they’ve been running from for months now. “D, buddy,” he says. “We’re nearing the end of the line here.”
D’s grip on him tightens imperceptibly. “I am aware.”
“We can’t – we can’t keep running like this forever, one way or another it’s going to end…”
“I will not let Project Freelancer take you,” says D, voice as hard as steel. “I will not.”
“If they want you they’re going to have to kill me first, I swear –” Throat tight, York crushes D against him so hard he wonders if it hurts, eyes burning with furious tears, it’s not fair. “If we go down, we’re going down together.”
“Yes.”
Eventually D pulls back, straightening his spine. His hands are on York’s shoulders, and he looks at York with a gaze alien in its enameled green intensity. “This form takes energy,” D says. “While you are healing, it is not an optimal use of resources.”
“Yeah,” sighs York. “Yeah, okay…”
D frowns at York, evaluating. And then, quick but deliberate, he leans in and kisses York, slender fingers holding York’s face still.
Understanding, York doesn’t lean into the kiss, doesn’t push for more, just closes his eyes and lets D explore. There’s a ghost of warm breath over York’s skin, and then his arms are empty, and when he opens his eyes he sees the briefest flash of green.
Ah, says D. So that’s what that’s like.