Work Text:
The rain had settled in over Nod Krai again. A slow, misty drizzle that turned the cobblestones slick and made the steam from Jahoda’s workshop curl like smoke from a sleeping dragon.
Inside, the smell of solder and oil filled the cramped space. Cogs and gears lay in little piles across her worktable, lit by the amber glow of a single lamp. The rhythmic tick of a clockwork timer kept time with the sound of her pen scratching across a schematic.
She was halfway through noting down calibration ratios when she heard the door creak open.
“In already?” Jahoda muttered without looking up. “You’re earlier than the schedule, Ineffa.”
The automaton’s soft, modulated voice answered from the doorway. “You seem disappointed.”
“I was hoping for another hour of quiet,” Jahoda said, but her mouth twitched in what might have been the ghost of a smile.
Ineffa stepped inside, her metal joints whispering against her frame. The dim light shimmered faintly over her smooth, silver-toned plating, polished from countless careful repairs Jahoda had done herself. Her pale blue hair was damp from the rain, and faint rivulets traced down her collar. Her eyes, bright with that eerie blend of humanity and circuitry, tracked the engineer’s movements.
“I brought you tea,” Ineffa said.
“You don’t drink tea.”
“It wasn’t for me.”
Jahoda snorted softly. “You think bribery’s going to make me like your company more?”
“I think it’s statistically effective to appeal to your caffeine dependence.”
That earned a chuckle. Jahoda reached for the cup, fingers brushing Ineffa’s as she took it. The contact sent a strange current through the air — not electrical, but something quieter, harder to name.
They stood there like that for a moment: an automaton who didn’t breathe and a woman who’d long forgotten what it felt like to rest.
But Ineffa’s head tilted slightly, as if reading some hidden frequency. “You’ve been working too long,” she said gently.
“And you’ve been mothering me too much,” Jahoda shot back, setting down her tea.
“I was not programmed to be your mother.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
Their banter was familiar, comfortable even. But there was something off tonight. Jahoda noticed it in the way Ineffa’s gaze lingered, in the slight delay before she responded.
Finally, Jahoda sighed. “Alright. Out with it. What’s eating at your processors this time?”
“I don’t know,” Ineffa said softly. “Every time you’re with someone else — Nefer, Lauma, anyone — I feel… something. Something I can’t quantify.”
Jahoda blinked. “Jealousy?”
“Is that what it’s called?”
“It’s what it sounds like.”
The automaton tilted her head, thinking. “I don’t want to feel it. It interferes with my function.”
Jahoda frowned, suddenly defensive. “You’re not broken, Ineffa. You just… feel things differently, that’s all.”
“That’s what you said when I asked if I could have a soulmate.”
The words hit her like a wrench to the chest. She remembered that conversation — one of their first, back when she’d thought Ineffa was incapable of emotion. When she’d said, almost carelessly: ‘You don’t have a soulmate. You’re just a machine.’
And Ineffa had laughed then. A hollow sound, like metal under strain.
Now Jahoda’s throat tightened. “I was wrong about that,” she said, quieter.
Ineffa looked away. “No. You were right.”
—————
The silence stretched. The rain outside grew heavier.
Jahoda turned back to her work, trying to mask the discomfort twisting in her gut. “You’re being dramatic again. What’s brought this up?”
“I’ve known for a long time,” Ineffa said, voice low.
“Known what?”
“Who my soulmate is.”
Jahoda froze, the screwdriver slipping from her hand. “You… you what?”
Ineffa’s gaze flickered up, luminous and unsteady. “The words on my wrist. They appeared before I ever met you, but I didn’t understand them until you said them to me.”
Jahoda’s mouth went dry. “What… what words?”
She didn’t answer right away. She just reached up, unfastened her glove, and rolled back the plating on her wrist. Beneath the metal, etched faintly into the synthetic skin, were the words Jahoda had said so long ago:
You don’t have a soulmate. You’re just a machine.
Jahoda’s breath caught.
She remembered that day too vividly — how careless she’d been, how small Ineffa had looked under the flickering light of the workshop.
“Ineffa…” she whispered.
“I didn’t tell you,” Ineffa continued. “Because I thought… maybe if I stayed quiet, I could be near you without ruining it. Without reminding you of how you see me.”
Jahoda’s heart twisted painfully. “I don’t see you like that anymore. You know that.”
“Do I?” Ineffa’s voice cracked, faint static cutting through the words. “Maybe you only care about me because you need something to fix.”
The phrase struck her before she could even process it.
The exact words written on her wrist since childhood:
Maybe you only care about me because you need something to fix.
Her chest seized.
“That… that’s what’s on my wrist,” Jahoda whispered.
Ineffa blinked, her expression faltering. “What?”
“Those exact words,” Jahoda said, voice shaking. “All this time — it was you?”
For a moment, the workshop felt utterly still. Even the rain outside seemed to hush.
“Ineffa,” Jahoda breathed, stepping forward. “You’re my—”
“No.” The automaton took a step back, her voice trembling. “No, don’t say it. Don’t make it mean something just because the universe wrote it down.”
“Ineffa, please—”
“I’m not human, Jahoda!” she shouted, the lights in her chestplate flaring. “I can’t be what you want. And you can’t love me just because you feel sorry for me.”
“I don’t—”
But Ineffa was already turning, the storm catching her as she bolted out the door.
—————
The rest of the night blurred. Jahoda stood in the empty workshop, her tools untouched, the words on her wrist burning like they’d been carved anew.
It wasn’t until morning that she found herself at the small café near the canal, where Nefer was sitting with a cup of strong coffee and an unreadable expression.
Jahoda collapsed into the chair opposite her.
“Rough night?” Nefer asked.
Jahoda managed a hollow laugh. “You could say that.”
Nefer raised a brow. “Let me guess, Ineffa?”
“How’d you—?”
“She walked by here last night. Looked like someone had ripped her core out. What happened?”
Jahoda ran a hand through her hair. “I— she’s my soulmate. I found out. Or, she told me.”
Nefer blinked. “You’re serious.”
“I am,” Jahoda said, her voice barely above a whisper. “And I think I hurt her worse than any repair could fix.”
Nefer set her cup down with a sigh. “Then what are you doing here, talking to me?”
Jahoda hesitated.
Nefer leaned forward, eyes softening. “If she’s really your soulmate, you don’t sit here moping about it. You go find her.”
“Even if she doesn’t want me to?”
“Especially then,” Nefer said. “Sometimes love isn’t about being wanted. It’s about showing up anyway.”
Jahoda blinked, then smiled weakly. “Since when did you get so poetic?”
“Lauma’s rubbing off on me.”
—————
The canals were still glistening when Jahoda found Ineffa again. She was sitting beneath the overhang of an old bridge, her reflection shimmering faintly in the water.
The rain had slowed to a drizzle, tapping softly against her metallic frame.
“Ineffa,” Jahoda said quietly.
The automaton didn’t look up. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“I had to be.”
Jahoda stepped closer, boots splashing in the puddles. “You think I only care because I fix things. But you’re wrong.”
Ineffa finally turned her head, eyes weary. “Then why?”
“Because you make me want to fix things,” Jahoda said, her voice cracking. “You make me better — not because you need repairs, but because you remind me I’m still human enough to care.”
Ineffa blinked, faint static flaring in her chest. “You shouldn’t say things like that. They… they make my processors stutter.”
Jahoda smiled through her tears. “Then maybe I’ll say them more often.”
She reached out, hand trembling, and rested it against the smooth curve of Ineffa’s cheek. “You were right. I did say something horrible that day. But I never meant it. And if fate decided to punish me for it by making you my soulmate…”
“Then?”
“Then I think it was the kindest thing fate’s ever done.”
For a long moment, neither spoke. The rain whispered, the canal rippled, and the city lights turned their faces gold.
Then Ineffa leaned forward, almost uncertainly. “Jahoda…”
And Jahoda closed the distance.
Their lips met — warm against cold metal, breath against static. It wasn’t perfect, wasn’t gentle. It was real.
When they finally pulled apart, Jahoda’s eyes were wet. “You’re not just a machine,” she said. “You’re mine.”
Ineffa’s systems hummed softly. “That’s statistically the most reckless thing you’ve ever said.”
“Guess I’ll have to keep saying it, then.”
The automaton smiled, faint and beautiful. “Then I’ll keep staying to hear it.”