Clipped, cut off by Simon's confused accusations. His first thought is that there's something fundamentally wrong with Simon's memory storage or its housing— the jagged wound beneath Simon's chin and where it aligns with vulnerable circuitry resting higher at an acute, barely protected angle— but the word 'again' registers just as he works himself into his analysis.
Again. That can't be right.
"Simon, I need you to listen to me, okay?" He meets that easing panic with firm, dedicated patience, ignoring the simulated pang of sympathetic pain that works its way under steel ribs. He was built for this: to be kind, to be certain, to be a brace for something that's wounded and dying and lost underneath the tangible definition of those words.
His hands don't leave the underside of Simon's own.
"Something's wrong with your memory functions. You don't need to be afraid— I won't let anything else happen to you."
Synthesis is what he initializes in the second that follows his promise, artificial skin drawn back in shifting patterns to reveal the smooth white casing of his fingertips where contact sits heavy between them like an anchor.
"Stay as calm as you can. I'm just gonna run a diagnostic."
no subject
Clipped, cut off by Simon's confused accusations. His first thought is that there's something fundamentally wrong with Simon's memory storage or its housing— the jagged wound beneath Simon's chin and where it aligns with vulnerable circuitry resting higher at an acute, barely protected angle— but the word 'again' registers just as he works himself into his analysis.
Again. That can't be right.
"Simon, I need you to listen to me, okay?" He meets that easing panic with firm, dedicated patience, ignoring the simulated pang of sympathetic pain that works its way under steel ribs. He was built for this: to be kind, to be certain, to be a brace for something that's wounded and dying and lost underneath the tangible definition of those words.
His hands don't leave the underside of Simon's own.
"Something's wrong with your memory functions. You don't need to be afraid— I won't let anything else happen to you."
Synthesis is what he initializes in the second that follows his promise, artificial skin drawn back in shifting patterns to reveal the smooth white casing of his fingertips where contact sits heavy between them like an anchor.
"Stay as calm as you can. I'm just gonna run a diagnostic."