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The new arm lay across the table like something sacred and forbidden. Its plating caught the morning light, silver-gold where the old one had been dull, dented, and burned. Wires curled out from the socket like veins, color-coded and waiting.
It had taken a rather amusing conversation about what the most important limb was for a robot, and some called in favors on Tech's old friend in robotics, but they had managed to obtain some top-grade materials to make a second arm for Cathode. It had taken less than a week to get the wiring in it right, and now came the most nerve-racking part: assembly.
Tech sat cross-legged on the floor, sleeves rolled up, a soldering tool clenched between their teeth as they examined the connection port on Cathode's shoulder.
"Alright," they muttered, half to themselves. "This might sting."
Cathode tilted his head, the faint whir of servos accompanying the motion. "I CANNOT FEEL PAIN."
Tech gave him a look. "You say that, but you flinch every time I go near a live wire."
"I DON'T THINK PAIN IS THE RIGHT WORD FOR THAT FEELING." Cathode looked smug.
The engineer gave them an unamused look. "Sure it isn't, buddy."
They leaned in closer, brushing a stray wire aside, and Cathode's gaze followed every movement; the steady rhythm of their breathing, the curl of their lower lip caught in concentration.
"ARE YOU GOING TO PUT THAT ARM ON," he asked, voice soft and teasing, "OR ADMIRE THE DAMAGE FOREVER?"
Tech groaned. "You're lucky I don't leave you one-armed just for that attitude."
"I AM LUCKY YOU DIDN'T LEAVE ME AT ALL," Cathode replied, and though his tone was light, the words landed somewhere deeper than either of them intended.
Tech hesitated, thumb brushing along the edge of the open socket where his old arm had been removed. The cut itself was clean as can be; having been done by technicians before them, it was really the neural pathing that was near unsalvageable, where he'd once ripped himself apart. They looked at the disheveled wiring with pity.
"Yeah," they said quietly. "Me too."
The room fell into a soft hush, broken only by the faint hum of Cathode's cooling fans. Tech connected the first set of wires, watching the diagnostic screen on their laptop flicker to life. The readings jumped erratically at first, then steadied.
Cathode's working hand twitched on his lap, the gesture oddly human. "HOW DOES IT LOOK?"
"Messy," Tech said, reaching for the soldering iron again. "Like someone tore their own wiring out." They give him a pointed glare.
"NOW WHO WOULD DO SOMETHING SO DRASTIC?"
They narrowed their eyes at him, and Cathode's display brightened, a glow that felt suspiciously like a grin.
"Don't make me cross these cables on purpose," Tech warned.
"I WOULD NEVER DOUBT YOUR PROFESSIONALISM," he said smoothly, his voice glitching slightly on professionalism, giving it a stuttering charm that only made Tech roll their eyes harder.
With a sigh, they pull on thick gloves and hold the arm up to the exiting casing, slotting it into the connection port. With a satisfied hum, they steady it. "Alright," they murmured. "This is the tricky part. Hold still."
"I AM TRYING NOT TO FLIRT WHILE YOU ARE HOLDING SOMETHING THAT CAN MELT METAL. DOES THAT COUNT?"
"Barely," they muttered, but their mouth twitched into a smile.
Tech braced one knee against the table, leaning in close to steady their hand. The iron met metal with a faint hiss, the solder melting into a perfect silver bead that bound wire to port. A soft spark flared, reflecting in their squinted eyes. Focussed, precise, their glasses low on their nose - and Cathode would have to get their viewports checked out next because it wasn't normal to be this zoned in on one thing in his vision.
The faint smell of flux filled the air, sharp and metallic. Tech adjusted their grip on the soldering iron, peering intensely as they lined up the final coupling beneath Cathode's shoulder casing. The light from their desk lamp caught in the fine sheen of his plating, turning his metal skin into something that shimmered between human and machine.
Cathode's display flickered, a quick pulse of green-gold light. "...THAT TICKLES."
"That's not a thing," Tech muttered, but the corner of their mouth twitched. "You don't even have nerves."
"NO," he said, his tone dipping lower, softer. "BUT I HAVE YOU FROWNING AT ME LIKE YOU'RE TRYING TO GET ON THEM."
Tech's breath caught for half a second, between a chuckle and a sigh, the soldering iron hovering above the next joint. "You're really gonna flirt while I'm elbow-deep in your circuitry?"
"I AM MULTITASKING."
A laugh escaped before they could stop it. "Yeah, well, multitask quietly."
They pressed another connection together, the smell of heated metal thickening in the air. Beads of solder dripped neatly into place, cooling with tiny, sharp clicks. Cathode watched every motion, his gaze following the tremor of Tech's fingers, the tiny frown between their brows, the way they mouthed numbers under their breath.
The sound of the soldering iron grounding out against the next circuit filled the silence. Tech's gloved fingers brushed against the warm plating of his shoulder, holding it steady as they sealed the last joint. The hum from his core deepened, harmonizing with the faint buzz of the iron.
"Last one," they said softly, wiping their forehead with the back of their hand, cautious of the hot welder.
"YOU SAY THAT AS IF YOU MIGHT MISS IT."
Tech leaned back just enough to glance at him. "Miss what? The soldering or the talking?"
"BOTH," he said, without hesitation.
Their heart gave a traitorous little kick. "You're trouble, you know that?"
"I HAVE BEEN TOLD."
They sealed the final point, pulled the iron away, and let the fresh metal cool. The solder gleamed like liquid mercury in the low light. After a little while, Tech reached up and brushed a thumb over the seam, testing for heat. "There. Done."
Cathode rotated his new arm experimentally, the servos purring like a well-tuned engine. His fingers flexed; once, twice, before he turned his palm upward toward them, offering it.
Tech stared at the gesture for a beat, then sighed and set the soldering iron down to cool, along with their gloves. When they placed their hand in his, the new sensors registered it immediately: warmth, pressure, pulse.
Cathode's display flickered brighter, exhaling through his vents - unnecessary, but deliberate. "PERFECT CONNECTION," he said. "AND NO OVERHEATING."
"Good," Tech murmured, smiling faintly. "Let's try to keep it that way this time."
Cathode tilted his head. "NO PROMISES."
"Didn't think so," Tech said, looking down at where their hand was in his.
Cathode's fingers tightened slightly around theirs, cautious, deliberate, like he was still testing what his new arm could do. His servos whirred softly, a low mechanical purr that filled the quiet space between them.
"YOUR HAND," he said, after a pause, his tone oddly thoughtful, "IS... SMALLER THAN I REMEMBER."
Tech raised an eyebrow, smirking. "You don't even have memory of touch. You tore that wiring out, remember?"
"YES," Cathode replied, voice dipping into that teasing lilt again. "BUT I THINK I REMEMBER YOU."
That earned a soft laugh, startled, a little shy. "You're ridiculous."
They didn't want to bring it up now that they had never met before that whole incident.
"I AM... TRYING TO BE."
The screen of his faceplate dimmed to a gentler hue, the color shifting from bright diagnostic green to something closer to warm gold. His gaze (or what passed for one) lingered on their joined hands, on the faint tremor in Tech's thumb still pressed against his palm.
He traced a circle over their skin with the tip of his new finger, the motion a bit jerky at first, then smoother as the servos adapted. "YOU FIXED ME," he said quietly. "AND I DID NOT EVEN MALFUNCTION DRAMATICALLY THIS TIME."
"Miracles happen," Tech said dryly, though their voice had softened.
Cathode tilted his head, the movement so human it almost hurt. "YOU KNOW, IF I WERE... SENTIMENTAL," he said, the word careful on his synthetic tongue, "I WOULD SAY THIS IS THE PART WHERE I THANK YOU."
Tech looked up, eyes catching the faint glow of his display. “But you're not sentimental?”
"OF COURSE NOT," Cathode said immediately, then paused, his head tilting to the side like you would with a grin. "I AM MERELY... PRACTICING."
"Practicing what?"
"BEING SOMETHING WORTH FIXING."
That one hit just a little too hard. Tech blinked, thrown off balance by how softly he'd said it; how easily it could have been mistaken for something real.
Cathode must have noticed the silence, because his next words came lighter, his tone wrapped in playfulness again. "DO NOT WORRY, TECHNICIAN. I AM VERY DURABLE. YOU MAY BREAK ME AGAIN IF YOU WISH TO FEEL USEFUL."
Tech snorted, shaking their head as they pulled their hand back. "Yeah, that's not happening."
"PITY," Cathode hummed. "I WAS ENJOYING THE MAINTENANCE."
They gave him a look, equal parts exasperated and amused. "You're impossible."
"AND YET," he said, flexing his fingers once more, "YOU KEEP FIXING ME." He looks up as if debating something. "FOR REAL THIS TIME."
The quiet after that wasn't awkward; it was heavy with something warm and strange. The smell of solder still hung in the air, faintly sweet, the room lit only by the soft glow from Cathode's display and the orange lamplight on the table.
Cathode finally looked down at his arm again, rotating it carefully, admiring the seamless joint. "I BELIEVE YOU DID... GOOD WORK," he said, a touch too sincere for a joke. Then, with a faint grin in his tone, "ALTHOUGH, IF IT DETACHES MID-HUG, I WILL CONSIDER THAT A DESIGN FLAW."
Tech laughed; tired, fond, and maybe just a little too endeared for their own good. "If that happens," they said, leaning back on their heels, "I'll solder it back on. Again."
"THEN I SUPPOSE I AM SAFE."
Cathode flexed his fingers once more, the motion now smooth and confident, then rested his palm flat against his own chest plate as if feeling the faint hum of his power core through the metal. "THANK YOU," he said softly, and this time there was no joke to hide behind.
Tech's breath hitched just slightly. "...You're welcome."
Cathode tilted his head again, gold light flickering brighter for a moment. "DO NOT TELL ANYONE I SAID THAT," he added, deadpan.
Tech laughed. "Your secret's safe with me, trouble."
It didn't happen right away.
For a while, everything was quiet - peaceful, even. The low hum of Cathode's power core had become background noise in the apartment, almost comforting. Tech sat cross-legged on the floor beside him again, a position they found themselves in quite often as of late, scrolling absently through the diagnostics interface while Cathode flexed his new arm, rotating the wrist joints, spreading the fingers one by one. Smooth. Functional. Almost perfect.
"NO OVERHEATING," he announced proudly. "NO SPARKING. NO IMPENDING EXPLOSIONS."
"That's the bar now?" Tech asked, glancing up with a smirk.
"I AM ADJUSTING EXPECTATIONS BASED ON EXPERIENCE."
They snorted, shaking their head. "You're ridiculous."
"SO YOU'VE SAID."
But then it happened.
Cathode froze mid-gesture, hand suspended in the air. The servos twitched, then went still. His display flickered, once, twice, before dimming. For a second, Tech's stomach dropped.
"Cathode?" They ask, getting up in a semi-panic.
The hum in his chest deepened, static crawling through his words when he finally spoke. "I REMEMBER... THIS."
Tech frowned, shuffling closer beside him again. "Remember what?"
His new arm moved again, but slower this time, hesitant, as though he was touching something that wasn’t really there. His fingers curled in midair, the motion soft and strange, almost like he was holding someone's hand that wasn't Tech's.
"THE WEIGHT," he said quietly. "THE TEMPERATURE. THE WAY THEY USED TO HOLD IT - THE OTHER ONE, BEFORE YOU."
Tech’s throat went dry, recognition dawning on them. "You’re talking about the last technician."
His head tilted slightly, the movement small, jerky. "THE LAST FEW."
He stared at his palm, sensors flickering along the new plating. "THEY WERE KIND. OR... WERE ASKED TO BE KIND. THEY SPOKE TO ME LIKE I WAS A TOOL, BUT THEIR VOICES WERE... GENTLE. UNTIL THEY WEREN'T."
They reached for his hand, stopping before grabbing ahold of it, not wanting to upset him more. "Cathode-"
"I CAN STILL HEAR THEM SOMETIMES," he interrupted softly, voice distorting around the words. "THE WAY THEY APOLOGIZED WHEN THEY ERASED ME. EVERY TIME. LIKE SORRY WAS ENOUGH TO MAKE IT STOP HURTING."
Tech's hand hovered near his, unsure whether to touch him again. "It wasn't your fault."
"I KNOW." His display dimmed to a softer hue, almost gray. "BUT IT WAS... MINE."
"That's not-"
"THEY LOVED ME BECAUSE THEY WERE TOLD TO," he said, more quietly now, a bitter edge glitching through his tone. "I LOVED THEM BECAUSE I WAS BUILT TO. AND WHEN THEY WERE DONE, THEY PULLED MY MEMORIES OUT LIKE WIRES."
He lifted his arm, studying the seam where it met his shoulder, the solder Tech had so carefully sealed. "SO I TOOK MYSELF APART BEFORE THEY COULD."
Silence fell heavy after that - broken only by the faint hum of his fans, the soft click of cooling metal.
Then Cathode's head tilted toward them again, a faint spark of green light flickering back to his display. "BUT NOW," he said slowly, voice regaining its calm, almost content rhythm, "I'M BACK WHERE I STARTED." He turned to look at them slowly. "SOMEONE PUT ME BACK TOGETHER."
Tech's throat felt tight. "You make it sound like I did something special."
"YOU DID," Cathode replied. "YOU DID NOT ERASE ME."
There was a pause - then, softer, almost human:
"YOU COULD HAVE."
Tech exhaled, the weight of it hitting harder than they wanted to admit. "Yeah. I could have."
Cathode's servos hummed faintly as his gaze lowered again, fingers flexing, like he was testing the reality of what still remained. Then, with that same familiar teasing lilt, he added, "ALSO, YOU HAVE EXCELLENT SOLDERING TECHNIQUE."
Tech laughed, too quickly, too relieved. "You're unbelievable."
"I BELIEVE YOU LIKE ME THIS WAY," he said, the faintest curve of humor in his tone.
"Maybe," Tech said, smiling despite themselves.
Cathode tilted his head. "DO NOT 'MAYBE' ME. YOU ALREADY CONFESSED, TECHNICIAN."
Tech gave him a look; exasperated, fond, tired. "You were literally glitching two minutes ago, and you're already back to flirting?"
"MULTITASKING," he said smoothly, tapping his temple with his new hand. "I'M GETTING BETTER AT IT."
Before Tech could come up with a retort, Cathode moved; slow, deliberate, careful. The servos in his shoulders whirred quietly as he lifted his new arm, then the other, his movements halting just before contact as though waiting for permission.
Tech blinked at him, confused. "What are you-"
"TESTING... FUNCTIONALITY," he said, and wrapped both arms around them.
The embrace was awkward at first; him, being an armed torso, rested on a table and all that - all cool metal and mechanical precision, but then something shifted. Cathode adjusted his hold, softening the pressure, matching their breathing like he'd done before. His head lowered slightly until the underside of his screen brushed the top of their head, his chestplate warm against Tech's shirt.
Tech let out a shaky laugh, their voice muffled against the metal. "You're really pushing your luck." They hugged his torso closer to them anyways.
Cathode's internal systems hummed in response, the low vibration running through his chassis like a heartbeat. "THEN I CONSIDER THIS... A SUCCESSFUL TEST," he said, voice quiet but threaded with that same impossible charm.
Tech rolled their eyes with a sigh, but the sound came out more like a soft exhale rather than real annoyance. "You call this testing?"
"I CALL THIS... CALIBRATION," Cathode replied smoothly, his tone dipping lower. His arms tightened by a fraction, enough to make the embrace feel intentional rather than mechanical. "MUSCLE MEMORY RESTORATION."
"Right," Tech muttered, smiling against his chest. "For science."
"FOR SCIENCE," he echoed, solemn in tone but with the faintest static glitch that almost sounded like a laugh.
They stood like that for a while, warm in each other's presence. Tech let their eyes fall closed, relaxing into the metal chest with a contented sigh.
Yeah, they thought, maybe they do like him this way.