[font=Book Antiqua]N-4N-C—An android who is rather more human than she seems at first glance. After all, robots can't create life—but Jonathan's "Nancy" has.[/font]

[font=Book Antiqua]JONATHAN WALSH—A Rreign presently working undercover for one of the most corruptive forces of magic in known multiverse, hence his nighmarish appearance.[/font]

Nancy felt....strange. Had felt strange since this had started. She was a creature of wires and electricity, unchanging and unaging. She should not have the biology for this to be possible.

(But she had wanted, had seen her directive knelt at the side of children, looking brighter than he had in a long time. Had seen and recorded words of mothers and fathers. Children were a gift, something that, logically, she could never give him, but one that he wanted but would never voice. They were something, the more that she researched, the more that she learned of raising them, of life in general-

That she would have never admitted that for the first time she was regretful of her creation, that she could not bear children.)

It was, she knew a struggle for her- their child even before conception.

They were not something that was supposed to exist. Much like herself, and she found her arms cradling her lower chassis, where their child grew in those moments of thoughts, without realizing why They were a careful mix of magic, technology and very, very, precise biology. They grew in her chassis, an impossibility that she had tried to do alone before realizing that-

(It was not single parenthood that she want, it was a f-)

-Jonathan's expertise would be needed.

It meant that her body was changed (not invaded, never invaded) in ways that she had not predicted. Leaving her power low, and her processors sluggish, as they diverted to the being she was trying to grow. It meant that while she tugged the blankets closer in order to maximize the heat that her systems were not correctly regulating like they should have, and while the tea was appreciated-

(All she really wanted was her directive near as she dozed off)

[font=Book Antiqua]Jonathan sat at the kitchen table, arms folded, one long leg jigging furiously, glaring at the inoffensive electric kettle as though he could boil the water quicker by sheer force of will.

He was terrified.

(He glanced over the breakfast bar, saw that Nancy's position was unchanged, and went back to mentally urging the laws of physics to bend for his purposes which were, after all, Pure and Just.)

No one who had witnessed the shift in Jonathan's bearing when his work brought him into contact with children could have doubted Nancy's observation, her logic—as always—as irrefutable as the pinholes of the stars in the sky.

But that was the great thing about children, Jonathan reflected (another glance; he exhaled through his nose, a little shakily, his nerves wound like an overstrained rubber band): they were someone else's, and if he dropped one out a window, he wouldn't have to be the one looking into the big teary eyes to explain why.

The boiling became loud enough for Jonathan to hear, pressure roiling noisily within the tempered steel, and he decided that was probably hot enough, even if the whistle hadn't actually gone. He lunged across the galley kitchen, pouring steaming water over the teabags, then carried the mismatched mugs back into the living room, bare feet padding across the floorboards. (They'd had a rug down for a little while, a really lovely teal and orange paisley pattern, but Jonathan's claws had kept snagging in it.)

"Tea's ready," Jonathan announced, setting down the mugs to steep on the coffee table and settling onto the couch beside Nancy, slipping an arm around her shoulders, trying not to smile down at her too foolishly and failing.

For one of the first times in his life, Jonathan Walsh was lost for words.[/FONT]

Nancy blinked but did not reach for the tea that Jonathan had made, instead leaning into the steady presence that he offered. Her muzzle twitched briefly, as she mentally tried to give a reason for the need of comfort, tried to justify her actions as she always did. It made her falter, and in that need-

She found herself wanting to shove her muzzle into his neck and never move again.

It was not a feeling she was supposed to have. (She was not supposed to feel at all) And it did not benefit one in her position. Feeling and wanting would hold her back from protecting her directive. She had built herself a personality with his help- but even that had been in his name. An android would not provide the friendship, and later love, that he not only craved, but needed so desperately.

She had set his words down as her cobblestone, and his smile as her sun.

There was nothing she wouldn't do for him, even if it meant rewriting herself from the ground up. And it was in part, because he would never ask her to. Would never consciously require it from her. Would be horrified if she did it for any reason at all. Because he truly thought of her as alive.

And perhaps-

Perhaps she finally, truly was.

(Science declared that continuing the lineage of genetics was a requirement of life after all.)

She blinked, whiskers twitching in surprise as she realized that in her distracting musings, her head had drifted and was now settled comfortably in the crook of Jonathan's neck.

[font=Book Antiqua]Jonathan had never much minded the sensation of cold metal under his fingertips.[/font]

[font=Book Antiqua](because metal meant technology, and technology meant Nancy, and Nancy meant home)[/font]

[font=Book Antiqua]Tenderness came as naturally to him as laughter—one of the many, many things that separated him from the rest of his race, not to speak of the vast majority of Her army. (There were newer members, soldiers whose hearts had not yet been eaten away by the corruption coursing through their veins, but these were fewer and fewer, further and further between.

[/font][font=Book Antiqua]Jonathan wondered, sometimes, when it would happen to him, and whether or not he would feel it)[/font]

[font=Book Antiqua]So as her head settled against his neck, Jonathan's hand lifted to squeeze her far shoulder—gently, gently—the tea momentarily forgotten.

"Oh, my dear," he breathed, his voice soft and low, a rumble in his chest. "Are you okay? I'm sorry I'm so cold—I'll turn up the thermostat—there's another quilt in the closet—the tea's almost done—or I can just stay here and shut up if you want to, want to sleep. Or are you hungry? There's a little Chinese left, I think ..."

He would have done everything at once if he could have, but Jonathan, lamentably, had his limits.[/font]

[FONT=BOOK ANTIQUA]Nancy wasn't sure if her claw dug into Jonathan's leg at the suggestion that he get up, but if she did, it was another lack of control that had come with her choice. It was a common occurrence now, her steel walls having been irreparably bent and Nancy found herself struggling, acting in ways that she never would have before, feeling like she was drowning in-

(Feelings, life, the future, the past, Jonathan, their child, fear, confidence, wanting Jonathan, everything)

the change.

She tilted her head up to nudge his face gently, and let her visual processors flutter shut. She wanted things to just-

stop.

Just for a moment.

The gears in her legs clicked as they folded upwards and she curled into the side of her directive. (Her husband) He was safe, and happy, and with her. Their child was safe, and Nancy was-

Content[/font]

[font=Book Antiqua]"Ow," said Jonathan, more out of surprise than pain—but quietly, with an absurd pleasure he would never be able to articulate in a hundred hundred years.

But it answered his question—all his questions, even the ones he hadn't been aware he was asking—and so, after a brief moment's hesitation, he rested his head against the tightly coiffed coils of Nancy's mane and exhaled.

He could close his eyes for a moment, the tea would be fine ...

"Fuck," he muttered to himself conversationally, digging with both hands through the bottom of the closet and all the laundry neither he nor Nancy had had either the time or energy to wash or put away. "Fuck, fuck, fuck. Ke~eys, where are you? Fucking—fuck!"

Jonathan threw himself backwards, slamming the closet door with a flare of dark magic that buzzed in the marrow of his bones like angry wasps.

He spent a moment he didn't really have struggling to ratchet himself back down. Plenty of people were late, sometimes on a daily basis. He had a saunter that turned heads, and he had only encouraged the rumors of his sexual escapades, which were many and varied and—most importantly—never so much as glanced off the truth.

There was no reason he should attract Her attention.

None whatsoever.

Anyway, he could carpool with what's-his-face, who'd once extended the invitation but had never withdrawn it. Convincing-sounding environmental buzzwords chased each other through Jonathan's mind as he half-lunged, half-flew through the living room, pulling on his suit jacket as he went.

"I love you! Stay resting! I'll be back! I love you—wait, I said that already—call if you need anything!"[/font]

[FONT=BOOK ANTIQUA]Nancy stood in the center of the room, hand unconsciously resting on her stomach as she watched Jonathan bustle around the small apartment. Her claws scraped against her chassis, (gentle, ever gentle with the small life held in it) as she tried not to think too hard about his leaving.

She would not be there to watch his back. He would not be alone but he'd be alone, in a den of creatures that Nancy could never classify as anything other then dangerous. He would stand alongside the Witch, and do Her work. He would lie and slither through her meticulous laid tests, but he would not have any support as he did so.

Nancy took a deep breath, and tried not to violently flinch back at the sudden reminder of all her panic, at the scent of her directive mixed with blood and dark magic. She would have preferred to pick up on hormones that meant happiness.

He was never quite content, not now, head abuzz with the worst case scenarios, until she wanted to remind him that the future was her job. Lately to reach up with metal paws and smooth out the ridge in his scaled face and wipe away his stress.

Normally she would have offered to simply shoot his problems until they stopped moving, but no longer was that an option.

Her claws cut there the simple layer of clothing she wore and Nancy tried to run a program to calm herself down. It was fine.

He was fine.

They were fine.

~~

Deimos leaned back against his car, chewing lightly on the end of his cigarette. The anyu glanced down the street once more and let out a heavy sigh, pushing off of the metal contraption. He really should get going, seeing as Her Lordship sounded like she had something for him today, and he hated to upset her.

It was a mix of fear and desire, to see her happy, to please her, to not turn her terrible wrath in his direction. A need to follow her commands despite the urge to flee as far as he could. The power of the dark magic coursing through his veins.

The burn of it

Maybe he'd get a decent partner this time.[/font]

[font=Book Antiqua]Jonathan would not realize for hours that the slight crease to Nancy's usual impassive expression was anxiety.

The revelation would occur at the worst possible moment, as always.

He came down hard on the pavement inches short of Deimos's rattling deathtrap of a car, absorbing the shockwave in his powerful haunches, breathless with the thrill of hot blood rushing over warm muscles. He wanted to scream. He wanted to roar. He wanted to sink his claws into living meat and pull.

Jonathan reached up, coolly, to adjust his tie, but his smile showed a few too many teeth.

"Hi, Deimos! Remember me? It's Jonathan Walsh! How the hell are ya, buddy? It's been a while, huh?"[/FONT]

[FONT=BOOK ANTIQUA]Deimos blinked slowly, stumbling at the way his car rattled. He dropped his cigarette and felt a flash of anger, magic bubbling to the surface for a brief moment before sighing. He reached into his jacket and pulled another stick from his pack, flicking his lighter several times to get it to start. Cupping his paws around it he took a long drag, studying the dragon in front of him.

He breathed out the plumes, slow and deliberate like the rest of him. "Walsh," he greeted, as if the man that had dropped out of the sky in front of him didn't make his skin crawl. Not that he was going to do anything about it, the very thought of going out of his way to avoid Walsh made his fur stand on end.

Manners demanded Deimos ask what he could do for him. But he refused to put that much effort into anything that didn't involve Her.

"A while," he murmured back, thinking that it hadn't been long enough. "Did She send you, or is this a social visit?"

Even if the thought of social visits between members of the army was laughable to him, the idea that anyone was doing anything except for themselves, for that drop of power that they could grasp at. Deimos didn't have acquaintances let alone friends. It made his life easier.

Coworkers were simple, give and take, and with none of the work that relationships demanded. None of the looking out for emotions and actions. Just getting the job done and moving on.

He took another drag, and rolled the taste along his tongue, flicking the muscle along his fangs and wondering what he would have to do today. She didn't send anyone with him if he wasn't required for more than just information gathering.[/font]

[font=Book Antiqua]"Well," babbled Jonathan, because maybe if he kept his mouth moving he would be too busy to imagine the taste of blood coating his tongue like salty velvet, the sweet crunch of bone between his molars, the struggling—

"Well," Jonathan repeated, a little louder, "that's the interesting thing. We're going to Darkside!" Jonathan fanned out his hands, jazzily. "I'm driving, because Tesh is loaning us his skimmer, so we cannot crash it or he will crush me like a bitty bug. Not you, though, mostly because I think you're the only one that could take him in a, haha, a fair fight, insofar as anything any of us does is fair.

"So it's a little from column A and a little of column B. How are you? I asked that already. Should we get sandwiches first?"[/font]

[FONT=BOOK ANTIQUA]Deimos closed his eyes for a brief moment and prayed for strength. Someone like him wasn't going to get any sort of divine support unless She counted as a goddess. He desperately wished that he could turn right back around and return to his bed. Or to simply sit and watch people pass under his small one room apartment, mentally dreaming about how they'd all die when She made her move. Maybe he'd pick out one or two that would be the type to rise against Her.

Of course, if he saw any then he'd be bound to report them to Her, and then he'd likely have to track them down to kill them.

Maybe She'd assign someone else and he could get back to his cushy job of talking to the idiots that didn't know how to stay afloat without any work. He missed the days when that's all he had to do.

Small embers curled and fell from his cigarette, drifting to the ground in bright spots of heat and death. He wondered if they'd catch something nearby on fire and he'd get to watch people scramble to deal with it. Maybe they'd drag him into it, or maybe he'd be arrested. The thought made him heave another sigh.

"Whatever," he replied finally, uncaring of what they did as long as they finally got moving so he could be done. "It don't matter to me."

Tesh and Walsh go both go fuck themselves.

Dark magic slid along his muscles, sly and slow and calculated. It wove it's way down to his bones and kept him moving when all he'd prefer to do was nothing. It crafted strings that commanded him in a dance he did nothing to struggle against.

He wondered if he'd have to use it at all on this assignment.[/font]

[font=Book Antiqua]"Great!" Jonathan exclaimed, a little more loudly than he intended; a Kumos walking past them down the street glanced over, then pulled her shining white wings a bit closer around her, walking faster.

It hurt him to see—he wanted to rush after her, pulling her back, insisting that he wasn't like Deimos, he wasn't like any of them; the cool vapor rising from his scales was no more than a jacket pulled over his true colors.

(Whatever they were, they certainly weren't black.)

But he had already been late, and that was already suspicious, so he forced himself to turn around[/font]

[font=Book Antiqua](he dreamed sometimes, and anymore his dreams were always red and black)[/font]

[font=Book Antiqua]and stride off towards the aeroport—where Tesharrat had parked his air-skimmer—where it had been waiting for months, forlorn, for a little attention.

Jonathan pushed the goggles up on his forehead, huffing through his open mouth. "Whoa, it smells like a sewage plant and a nuclear waste disposal facility had a baby," the Rreign remarked, not without a certain suicidal intrigue. "You could bottle this shit for smelling salts, or maybe biological warfare. Say," and he blinked, "d'you think that's why we're here? You can get the glassware out of the back. It's only fair, since I stored it."

He'd been talking the whole way, and showed no signs of slowing any time soon.[/font]

[FONT=BOOK ANTIQUA]Deimos had pressed his cigarette against his thigh, feeling the slight burn of it and smelling the cooked leather and fur from the action. It didn't matter. He flicked the remainder over his shoulder, shoved his claws into the pockets of his jacket, trailing after Walsh.

From there, he ignored the other man's rambling, dozing off as they flew.

It was easiest to just do as he was told, and in the end required little thought and work from himself. There was no responsibility, not fear of making the wrong choice. He simply did, and then moved on. It kept his life easy, ordered, and pain free. She was never happy with disobedience anyways.

But it didn't stop him from rolling his eyes at Walsh's words, twisting his large bulk out of the cockpit. He was still unsure as to why they were doing this, but it wasn't his place to question. Deimos sighed, and longed for a beer to go with the stick he had earlier, the taste lingering in his mouth even after all that time.

He hefted the box of glassware over his shoulder and glanced idly at Walsh, gesturing for the other creature to lead the way.[/font]

[font=Book Antiqua]Jonathan wished with every fibre of his being that he could sneak away and call Nancy.

(She didn't even know he was leaving the Continent, he'd had no way to tell her, what if she worried, would it affect the baby—?)

But Deimos was watching him with those cold, white-pupiled eyes, and Jonathan thought the payoff proooobably didn't outweigh the risk.

Unless ...

No. The risk was too great, it was— ... it ...

"Right," said Jonathan, a little breathlessly, There was so much riding on this, and he thought he could trust Deimos's general lack of interest in followup, but— "so we're to head to Kīlauea and get ..."

He stopped, tapping his chin thoughtfully. "And get ... shit, you know, I don't remember what size sample we're supposed to collect. Gimme just a sec, I'll call back and doublecheck—you can get started heading thataway, yeah?" Jonathan smiled, winningly, then winked. "Or maybe take a smoke break,eh? I'm the last person with room to judge."

He slid his phone out of his pocket, turning away, because it was all about confidence. Act like you had every right, and most of the time people didn't question that right, whether or not it actually existed.[/font]

[FONT=BOOK ANTIQUA]Deimos, personally, thought that splitting up when they were in the heart of Maleria's territory and being members of Cimmeria's army was the height of foolishness. He blinked at Walsh and sighed again, hefting the crate to sit against his shoulders better, claws scrapping against the wood.

He lumbered off, wondering if this was going to get them both killed.

He wondered if their blood would be seen against the red stone, or if the ground had already been dyed with too much death for another couple to matter.

~~

Nancy has tried knitting. They would need new clothes for the child once they were born, and such expenses on either account would lead to suspicious. They would not be able to hide from Her, not forever, Nancy knew that. They just had to hide long enough.

(She feared no amount would be long enough)

Because if they were found-

If something happened to Jonathan while she was stuck here-

She felt her processors catch and the needles held delicacy in her claws snapped again. She bit back an uncharacteristic snarl of frustration, and tossed the broken metal into the small pile that had accumulated the past few hours. She would run out of needles at this rate.

Her visual processors snapped up as the phone rang and she heaved herself off of the armchair to answer it, fangs biting down on her muzzle.

Calls mid-mission were a toss up between bad news-

And Jonathan, being Jonathan, and needing to simply talk to her.[/font]

[font=Book Antiqua]Although Jonathan would fight with his last breath against the suggestion, he fairly melted at the sound of Nancy's voice.

"Hi," he breathed, clutching his phone perhaps a little too tightly, claws scraping against the sleek black plastic. "I'm in Darkside, I'm sorry I couldn't call you before, I was piloting an air-skimmer and I didn't even take out any birds this time, be proud of me. How are you? Are you all right? If you need anything, anything, I can—we can figure something out. Are you? Okay, I mean?"

Jonathan had spoken for too long without taking a breath, and the harsh, acrid air made him dissolve into a fit of coughing when he tried.[/font]

[FONT=BOOK ANTIQUA]For a brief moment, the phone creaked in Nancy's grip, gouges making their way across the plastic as her claws tore through the inferior material. "I am fine," she replied mechanically. "I have been-" She paused and looked down at the dented needle in her grasp.

(What if he got injured? They were in Maleria's territory. She was not Cimmeria's biggest fan. They had no back up. Any other member of the army that Jonathan went with would be more concerned with self preservation.

She didn't want to raise a child alone.

She didn't want to love without-)

She took a deep breath, shoving down on the possibilities that seemed to flood her calculations. They had never seemed like such a bother before now. Before she couldn't provide back up. Before she was flooded with foreign magic and feelings.

Her sensors reminded her that she was in the middle of a sentence, steam curling up from her form. "-Knitting," she finished, far too late.[/font]

[font=Book Antiqua]"Knitting," Jonathan repeated blankly, clutching his phone. "Knitting?"

He knew: Nancy sounded upset.

He knew: while she was occasionally upset, Nancy never sounded it, partly because tones of voice required processor space she could be spending on something more important, but also (he suspected) a little as a matter of pride.

Therefore: something significant must be wrong, and 'knitting' was code he felt entirely too stupid to tease out after flying over boring, featureless ocean for four hours.

Jonathan made a little noise of frustration. "Dumb it down for me, Nance, okay? D'you need me to come home? I can ditch Deimos, I've still got the keys to the skimmer, I can—"[/font]

[FONT=BOOK ANTIQUA]"Oh feel free Walsh," Deimos said dryly, and didn't react to the gun that dug deeper into the small of his back. Part of him wondered if their mission had been known from the beginning. From the way that they had found him smoking as he waited for Walsh to get back, from the ease of which they had taken him down, from the watcher they had on Walsh already so they could get the pair back together.

"I think it would be better for everyone if you just took off," he added, wincing as flames licked at his back in response.

"Hey hey hey," the terracoon hissed, shoving him forward hard enough that he stumbled next to his fellow Nightmare. The Reborn critter rolled her eyes. "Look, the Boss is just doing a favor for Mal-Mal. And you two-"

She gestured with the gun, taking a step back so that she was out of reach, flames licking up and down her arms in warning. The leather coat she wore smoked, acrid smell rising from it. "-Are trespassing and up to no good."

"Normally," she said, her tone taking on an edge of boredom, "I'd give you the chance to apologize and leave but-" Her face split into a grin, fangs flashing and flickering against the light she cast, "-I hate your kind so, we'll just skip that part."[/font]