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it’s been a week. he still isn’t used to the solid gravitational pull of the sol. he isn’t used to the freedom of having no handcuff wrapped snugly around his left wrist. he still isn’t used to his right arm ending at the wrist. he isn’t used to the feeling of complete loss of control buried deep in his gut.
he isn’t used to being useless, really.
(“what would you like me to do?” he’d asked, quick to step up, eager to please, desperate to prove—
“you’ll know when we need you, warren,” cutter had responded. his voice had been too warm. his gaze had been too sweet. warren can almost hear the countdown timer placed on his own existence.)
more than anything, he isn’t used to the company. eiffel stayed with him on the first day. minkowski on the second. a face he didn’t recognise from some dispatch station light years away after that, and then another, a third, a fourth.
and on the seventh day, his god commanded him to rest in the familiarity of his first and last friend on this station.
he’s not used to jacobi, nor the smile on his face when their eyes lock, nor the brightness of his voice when he talks. he doesn’t know what to say to that voice. he doesn’t say anything.
(he waits for jacobi to complain, to announce it’s time for a snack, to exhale exaggeratedly and tuck his hands behind his head as they wait out the long hours together with no music, sir, really?)
“pass me that pen,” he says absently, when they’ve reached the third hour of this vile imprisonment, and pretending mr jacobi isn’t there is even more difficult than accepting he is.
jacobi bounces to his feet, and responds, “of course, sir!”
he passes him the pen.
now he has a pen, and he puts it down beside him. jacobi drops back down into his seat and resumes watching his former boss with an eerie cheer.
“you do anything i say,” he says, and despite himself his lip twists at the irony because—since when was jacobi doing as he’s told a novel experience? he himself has mentioned multiple times over to many different people that jacobi is loyal, jacobi is good, jacobi is an attack dog for all ages. of course, the dog has to know who it’s supposed to protect, and apparently when she dies, it stops following orders.
jacobi nods enthusiastically. “i sure do!”
“tell me,” and he hesitates, eyes glancing upward to see if the room is being monitored. “tell me i’m the worst.”
jacobi’s brow furrows in confusion for a brief moment, and he files this away as newfound knowledge. whatever pryce did, her machines can still think for themselves. the corruption must run deeper than a base control of every movement. still, after a moment of processing this, jacobi declares happily, “you’re the worst, sir!”
he smiles. the words are announced in exactly the same intonation as once before, sat in a cold truck on a rainy day to celebrate an anniversary. jacobi seems pleased with this reaction.
“what are your orders?” he asks.
jacobi perks up again. “i’ve been told to wait here, with you, and watch your movements. you can walk around any part of the station at any time, except for those considered off-limits by your security card or other specifically-named areas. these include—”
“i know,” he grits out. “what happens if i disobey these orders?”
he wouldn’t. it’s merely a question to pass the time.
“i’m to do my best to incapacitate you,” jacobi supplies helpfully, “and then alert dr pryce immediately!”
he stares at jacobi. jacobi stares back. “what if i order you to stand down?”
“you can’t!” jacobi’s voice seems even brighter. “any orders given by dr pryce automatically override orders given by anybody else on this station! this is a security protocol to enable that—”
“i don’t,” he interrupts slowly, “care.” he folds his hands in his lap. sitting on a chair with no straps holding him down still feels unusual. “from now on, when i ask you a question, you will answer it directly and provide no additional information unless prompted. am i understood?”
jacobi nods. even when wordless, he can see the merry undertone in his movement.
he exhales.
“tell me how you feel about ducks.”
jacobi blinks. “indifferent, sir! i haven’t seen a duck for over two years.”
he hums. “tell me how you feel about—” a hesitation. he wonders what to test jacobi on now. “dr pryce. would you say your loyalty towards her is more valuable than to that of the rest of the crew?”
“undoubtedly, sir. i owe dr pryce so much!” at the raised eyebrow he receives in response, jacobi continues, “she made the bad feelings go away, and replaced them with good feelings. i don’t feel pain, or sadness, or anger anymore. i’m just—happy to help out!”
a moment passes. the ship’s engine hums beneath their feet. “how do you feel about… dr maxwell?”
“dr maxwell was a former and now-deceased member of my old crew,” jacobi tells him.
“that’s not what i asked,” he replies.
this makes jacobi hesitate. “she—” he starts, and his brow furrows again in confusion. “she was a valued member of the team, an extraordinary ai developer, and we were co-workers.”
“that’s not,” he repeats, too slowly, “what i asked.”
something flickers behind jacobi’s eyes. leaning forward in his seat, he wonders if a question as simple as this could make pryce’s system malfunction. “she—” jacobi tries, “she—” and again, “she—” and this is perhaps more pathetic than having to listen to hera’s wayward coding glitch over the same word several times over, “she and i were friends, before she died. because she’s dead now.”
“how. do. you. feel—”
“she’s dead now!”
still that same, upbeat voice. the same glassy-eyed gaze. the same smile, the same intonation, the same…
he watches a tear roll down jacobi’s face. that smile doesn’t waver once.
“how do you feel about me?” he asks, and his hand absently twirls the pen between his fingers, skilled in coordination even in his left hand, even when his attention is raptly focused on his companion.
another tear falls down jacobi’s cheek. “you were my commanding officer,” he says comfortably, and that stupid goddamn smile doesn’t even falter now, “and then i betrayed you!”
kepler glances away. wolf 359 is beaming an orange glow through the window—another thing for him to have yet to get used to. he exhales, a heavy sound among the quiet. his fingers slip. the pen falls onto the floor.
“i think, mr jacobi,” and he pretends his voice isn’t unusually thick, “i betrayed you too.”