Work Text:
Aloe Cookie was sleeping, passed out from exhaustion, over sheets of research and various papers. Her whole desk was unruly, messily disheveled - a mug of coffee stained the desk's top, computers and various machinery whirred faintly.
Cyborg Cookie walked in, silently, in the middle of the night. They inspected the lab, darker, dimmer than they remembered, looking around the familiar shapes of machines and monitors, and a certain slumped figure caught their attention. They approached, squinting, having to make out shapes out of darkness and screen lights. Eventually, they recognized familiar features.
They hadn't expected to see Aloe Cookie. She would only work during day, back when Cyborg Cookie used to spend the entirety of their time in her lab - in earlier, younger days. She'd never slept on the job, as far as she ever knew.
Now that they saw the quiet figure, they wondered whether they should've fled, or stayed, possibly meeting the cookie whom had saved them so, so much time ago.
They opted for the latter option.
"...Aloe Cookie?" Cyborg Cookie sounded, ever so faintly, ever so disbelievingly. The very cookie they'd never thanked, yet they'd remembered every day for as far as they remembered, in thankfulness they never had the chance to express as much as they would've liked, because she had let them go years upon years ago.
They were her best creation, and for being the most complete, she gave them the gift of freedom, unparalleled, unprecedented. Dismissed them, heartily.
Back then, she assured they were ready to let her go, but while they appreciated the due freedom, their chance at life, they were so glad they found their way back to her again, so coincidentally, yet so easily.
The whole lab felt so familiar, like they'd only been away for days. Cyborg Cookie could name every shortcut, understand every machine, feel every engine's whir. This was the place they felt no shame in calling home anymore, the place where they'd become what they still were, all thanks to her.
They approached the sleeping scientist with calculated discretion and quiet carefulness.
She only softly took quiet breaths, the faint heaving of her chest the only testimony of her being alive, slumbering over piles of work and dedication. A peaceful expression betrayed how tense she had been during her wake, scribbled notes being a far memory of it.
Cyborg Cookie was reluctant to wake the other up. They weren't certain as to why the scientist would still be in her lab at this hour, as glad as they were they could find her whatsoever. They could only suppose she'd overworked herself, so they let her get her deserved rest.
They hadn't come around just for her after all: they had wanted, needed, to find some old research and data.
They quietly frisked the whole room, one quietly opened drawer and skimmed over file at a time. They knew the place inch by inch, and searched with certainty around the entire room, like it were a home still incredibly familiar. They had the stealthy quietness of a thief, but the caring motive of a researcher. They kept extra care not to leave out or mismatch anything, ordering files whenever they stumbled upon poorly sorted ones, out of service, out of memory, out of knowledge that still resided deep into them.
Only few of the files in the places they searched were any different from how they remembered, only dust and age differentiated them from the ones they still pictured so clearly.
They knew exactly where their own files should've been. But they were simply... missing, lacking.
Perhaps she'd forgotten about them, or lost them, on accident? They couldn't shake off a feeling of betrayal, then resentment, as they felt hurt the cookie whom they cared about valued their files, their memories and the research on them, so little.
Cyborg Cookie looked back at the sleeping scientist, now with longing, but without any less care. The scientist they so vividly, unregretfully remembered. However now they wondered if they were, to her, too just a memory, a memory better off forgotten. A memory better off swept away from the archives, and her mind.
They contemplated her sleeping form, again, wondering if they could've, should've, woken her up, showed themselves to her. Or fled, without answers, but without making her resent them. They felt a shame they didn't feel before, an uncertainty - maybe she was better off never seeing them again?
They debated. Wondered, why she could've loathed their files enough to wipe them clear, even off the archives.
Cyborg Cookie stared, quietly, subtly. As quietly as they'd roamed the archive, as subtly as how they'd made their way in. But even then Aloe Cookie's overworked senses picked up the slightest shifting, a perpetual tension that was so easily broken...
And broken it was. Not even the most careful cookie was stealthy enough to not alarm her, and her perpetual, impending awareness she'd acquired over the years.
She stirred slowly at first, grasping the pen she was holding in her last wake, a confusion mixed with caution, as she looked around, first, to notice nothing, then, to see them.
They were standing low, eyes wide, stance tense. They felt overwhelming emotion, seeing the scientist look their way, that same way she used to look at them with gleeful eyes, that were now dim, outlined by eye bags and lineaments too old for her age. A gaze tired, older, but familiar.
A face that they could still recognize from across the world, even when it had been ten years since they had last seen it. And they knew, by the way she stared back at them, with eyes as wide as hopeful, that she could recognize them too.
Everything remained still. They were quiet, not deliberately. Words felt estranged, for that painfully long moment. Silence let way to so many unspoken feelings they could both mutually understand, but not vocalize. She was the first who could choke up a sound, shocked, surprised, reassured.
"...You?"
A question, an exclamation. A note that didn't quite belong on her tired face, a sound of relief that brought back gratefulness that felt exactly like the one Cyborg Cookie remembered coming from her.
Not a day had passed. It was still her, she was the very same.
"Aloe Cookie..?" Cyborg Cookie sounded again, this time, less quiet. This time, gone heard.
"It's you," The scientist almost fell from her chair, as she scrambled to her feet, caught by surprise and overcome by memories. The two kept staring for a moment, just to make sure, they were truly one another.
"You're back - why are you back? Did something go wrong?" The scientist's face immediately contorted, flooding with worry just a mere second.
"No, no! I'm... it's just me. I'm completely fine..."
Slowly, Aloe Cookie relaxed. She seemed to finally be able to last at being calm eventually, as finally her eyebrows dropped and her gaze softened.
Cyborg Cookie wasn't completely ready for this. They staggered over their words, contemplating what to say next, completely dried from any way of reasoning out of surprise. They'd come here for a reason, but it mattered so little, compared to finally seeing her, ok, and still hanging on.
"I'm so glad for that..." Aloe Cookie mused. "I... hoped you would've never had to come back to this place. But what brings you here?"
Cyborg Cookie's mechanical heart ached seeing how the cookie worried about them, regretting their concerned expression, seeing how they truly cared. They could understand, why she'd be worried, especially considering she might've not awaited or enjoyed their visit.
"No, don't be sorry. I don't mind it at all, not anymore. I've made so many memories I now treasure here..." They fell silent for a while, before Cyborg Cookie could muster one last sentence. One more truth. "And I've missed you, Aloe."
Aloe Cookie stared at their oldest memory, this cookie they treasured. She smiled warmly, but not contentedly. "I'm happy. But... you shouldn't, I don't have to be a part of your life anymore. You shouldn't feel bound to me, not anymore."
"What? Why?"
"No, no, it's not bad you missed me. But you shouldn't, I'm simply part of your past... I was of help, and I hope, pray, I've done enough good for you. My magnus opus... but that hard work exactly, it'll truly have blossomed into something beautiful, if you can finally live without having to look back, if you can survive, live on, be happy without having to return to me again!.."
They listened, confusion jagging at their mind. That was never what they wanted. "What? But... why?"
"Because you deserve your life, and I don't deserve to disrupt it... all my efforts, were so you could be someone as I wanted you to be. As you deserved to be. So you don't have to only be someone I help, but whoever you choose to be. And please, don't feel like you have to be linked to me anymore."
"But that's not what I want... I really..." They were cut short from the other cookie, who couldn't meet their gaze, guiltily glancing down.
"I believe that's what's best for you... I have missed you too." Aloe Cookie now looked at them longingly, as if they saw something more behind their eyes.
"But it's not fair for you to remember me, when I still remember you for someone you used to be."
Cyborg Cookie couldn't respond.
They, for years, had yearned to understand, remember, their origin. Memories they didn't quite have, of a past life, a puzzle they could never piece together.
The puzzle they needed done, to know purpose, to have purpose.
They wanted to know who they had been, how and why they were who they were now. The reason they had come back after so long.
Aloe Cookie knew who they once were. But at the same time, she only knew them for who that was.
"The reason I saved you, is because I held onto the memory of someone. But now, I don't know you anymore, and it's fair! I can let you go..."
Silence hung thick in the air after the explanation, but it was solely the background for Cyborg Cookie's racing thoughts.
"But I don't want that. I don't know who I was. But... I care about you nonetheless."
Aloe Cookie smiled, a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.
I don't know who I was.
She knew, they didn't. But that still hurt, and maybe it hurt more, because she knew.
It took so much of her strength to maintain that smile. It didn't take little, to bite back how guilty she was, that she still thought she saw her through their eyes. To gulp down how much of her she still saw in them.
Cyborg Cookie noticed.
Oh, The pity they felt.
The help they couldn't lend.
The grief they didn't help. Not at all.
The grief, they enhanced it.
They could only continue sputtering words, pretending they didn't notice her holding back from breaking down. And hope she would've forgiven them, for being something they weren't before. And still caring.
"I'm... sorry if I care too much. I... actually deliberately came, to find who I was. I searched for reports, files maybe... you don't have them anymore. I wish I knew too, so we'd both have closure at least..." Cyborg Cookie held their hand to their chest, choking in grief they could only partly emphasize with, share.
Do you hate me? Cyborg Cookie thought, hoped not, almost cried out. But didn't dare ask, didn't dare hear an answer.
Aloe Cookie looked down. Then up. Her gaze was so distant. So pained. So warm, but also, very frail.
"Sincerely... You're just like her. She was so determined. So caring. I can't hate you, not at all. But I hate that I could save you, not her."
I can't hate you.
I hate that I could save you, not her.
One cried. Maybe, both would've cried.
But one could. One couldn't.
Not anymore. Not ever again.
Cyborg Cookie? They were never programmed to cry.
No, they were never programmed to overload so much with emotion. Gears whirred. Cables overloaded.
It was soon enough, they couldn't feel at all anymore. Their eyes turned off. Their senses languished to nothingness.
They might've looked like they died. Aloe Cookie knew better, and frowned.
Their system, Aloe Cookie had programmed it so many years ago. It was meant to make them independent, no longer dangerous, no longer needing from her. It was a simple system, really. Once their emotions slurred out of hand, an automated mechanical response shut their system down for a reboot. It was meant to both reset the emotions, and let her forget the threat she'd felt. It was designed to forget, forever.
Which meant her system would've blocked out who knows how much of all they had felt, all she had said.
Aloe Cookie watched silently as the other fell to the ground, without grace, without support, gears whirring, overheating. It was an action she didn't flinch at. One she expected.
It was a system she'd developed after, so much long ago, when they first lost their memories, forgetting Aloe Cookie, they had identified her as a foe. A mistake, but one who inspired precautions.
It was a system she hated having to have given them. But a system they themselves allowed, no, requested, as that was the final upgrade they needed to... Finally let her go.
It was the end of their dependency.
And it should've been the end of hers too.
Aloe Cookie looked down sadly at the cookie before her, no longer conscious, no longer them. Tears were still running down her cheek. This hadn't been how she expected things to end...
With gentle movements, she picked up the limp, robotic body, which she easily lifted without resistance. Knowing, it would never know; knowing, it would never remember.
She was careful not to let her tears drip onto the mechanical cookie below, having to face away, choking back sobs, for the sake of them - for the good of them - for the life of them. Well spent, harmful sorrow, which she wouldn't allow to hurt the other.
It was easy, too easy, to walk out of the lab, to walk out into the setting sun, to bring them far, far from where they had come from, far from what they had known. From all they had ever known. From all she had ever known.
It was too easy to let them, her, go. But only physically.
Worst part, she knew they wouldn't have remembered everything. But she also didn't know if she would've remembered anything.
She wished she, too, were designed to forget, forever.
But didn't dare imagine what it would've been like to forget her. She didn't dare hold onto the memory. Yet she didn't dare let go.
She set her down. Carefully. Lovingly.
With a longing she wished she'd last feel ten years ago, and never again.
A longing, she could only feel for them.
For her.
"Maybe in another universe, Silver Licorice Cookie."