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[ He stops playing, bringing his hands to his lap and his feet up off the ground. He sits cross-legged on the bench and stares down at the keys. ]

No, I haven't eaten. [ He sighs out. He's not to the point where he's shutting off, at least - it's just difficult to talk about. ] I should. Coffee on an empty stomach tends to turn it.

[ He rubs absently at his fingers - specifically the joints that connect his fingers to his hands. ]

[ K's about to jokingly chide him about stopping, but the odd way he's rubbing at his fingers stops him short. He doesn't stare, though, just continues past Royce and heads into the kitchen that's connected to the main room. ]

Good time to take a break. Are your hands bothering you? [ He asks it conversationally, trying to make it sound like an offhand comment. Not wanting his concern to become a burden, the way he usually feels like it is for the people he considers his friends here. Even Connor has trouble accepting his concern and letting himself be taken care of. ]

[ He startles slightly, and looks down - he didn't realize he was doing it. He doesn't seem bothered by the concern at least, just a little thrown. ]

I - no. Well. [ He hesitates. ] No, they're not physically bothering me. They're fine. It's a Norfinbury memory thing.

[ He leaves it vague not because he doesn't want to tell, but because often times he doesn't know how much people want to hear. You wear your truama like a badge of honor still haunts him, sometimes. ]

[ As he'd expected. He frowns to himself. ]

One of those more recent memories? [ It's a gentle sort of prying. Whether he asks for specifics will depend on Royce's reaction.

There's the sound of running water as he washes his hands, followed by a quiet clatter of dishes and such as he begins collecting ingredients for a simple stir-fry. Vegetables, some quick-cooking meat, garlic... ]

Yeah. One of the more violent ones. [ A beat. ] You don't have to make something from scratch.

[ He pulls himself up to stand. ] Or if you're going to, at least let me help.

No leftovers, and I like to think my cooking's gotten better than the various food tree offerings. [ He says lightly, giving Royce a look. Because turning down his offer is tantamount to insulting his cooking, of course. ]

There isn't much that needs to be done for this. Mainly cutting and stirring. [ He elaborates as he arranges the vegetables and some bowls on the counter. But he isn't going to let the topic stay on food, not if there's a chance Royce might actually want to talk more about his memories. ] What happened to you? If you— want to talk about it.

[ Royce huffs a little - it feels rude to make K cook something for him, like he's asking too much as a guest. But he doesn't argue. He folds his arms instead, and looks away. Direct questions are the best way to get him to answer. ]

We were put in a tower. Some of us were kept in cages. Others were in charge of torturing those in the cages. The person in charge of my torture cut my fingers off, one by one, from the base. Cut out my tongue. [ His voice is steady, but only just barely. He's clenching his fists really hard. ] We were kept in the tower for something like four days. Couldn't remember who I was by the end of it.

[ He sits back down, taking a deep breath. ]

[ Shit. Now he's glad he didn't ask Royce to do any of the cutting for him. He also subtly stands in such a way that he's blocking Royce's view of what he's doing, when he slices up the meat and vegetables — just in case. Talking about it is surely hard enough without also being subjected to visual stimulus that might bother him. ]

As an experiment? [ It's a guess based on what he knows about Norfinbury. The disgust is clear in his voice. ] They did that to you and then— healed you? [ Or possibly he died and was brought back, since that's apparently par for the course with that place. ]

[ He's okay with the knife - it was scissors that Al used. But he appreciates the care, closing his eyes and bringing his feet back up on the piano bench. ]

As a lesson. [ He says quietly. ] The ghosts of cultists wanted to convert us. But we woke up one morning and we could walk, and we escaped. I think it was... Andromeda that helped us. I don't remember. It's a blur.

We were healed. Left scars, though.

[ Cultists. He remembers hearing about them, vaguely. There's still a lot about Norfinbury he doesn't know the specifics of, probably. ]

Who was Andromeda? [ Eve was the administrator, he knows that much. And Winter was another AI. It's likely he's heard about Andromeda indirectly before and just not by name. ]

I think she was another AI. [ He never really paid much attention to her relevance other than she existed in the town when Winter did. ] I think she was in a relationship with Winter.

Ask John, sometime. He'd know better than me. [ A pause, as he rubs at the base of his fingers. ] Or I can ask him and then tell you, if you'd prefer not to talk to him.

[ K catches the continued rubbing in his peripheral vision but doesn't comment. Instead, Royce will find himself being handed a bowl of the soy sauce mixture and a spoon. ] Stir that together, please. [ Not a difficult task, but it'll keep his hands occupied. And then K returns to the kitchen to check the heating pan. ]

Protecting me from the paranoid doctor? [ Not bothering to mask his amusement. Yes, he's picked up on John's paranoia too. ] Is he prejudiced against— AIs, androids?

[ Oh. Okay, he can do that. He concentrates on mixing, just an idle movement to keep his hands busy. He appreciates it - it's more subtle than what Alfie does, which is to just reach over to take Royce's hands and hold them. ]

You don't need protecting, you're not a fainting maiden. [ Royce says, glancing up at him. ] I don't know if he is or not. He seemed to like Winter fine. I just know he can be difficult to deal with.

And by difficult I mean nosy. Can't mind his own business to save his life.

[ He just isn't going to mention the fact he's felt close to fainting because of the headaches a time or two; he appreciates that Royce doesn't consider him weak. ]

Oh. He actually treated my hand before. After he'd burned it. [ Which had been unexpectedly nice, but he still isn't sure he really wants Dr. Watson examining him. Maybe if they knew each other better. ] I think he was too distracted at the time to pry much, it's when he was a... gun. [ A Weapon, specifically. Or something like that. ]

Mm, the only thing that stops the nosiness is guilt. [ Royce says wryly. ] If he ever gets too into your business, bring up the fact that he burned you. He'll stop.

He's not a bad man. Not the worst I've ever met. Just an annoying one. [ This is a good distraction, actually. ]

It wasn't his fault. He warned me it might happen. [ And he's still secretly pleased it did happen — according to Watson's explanation, it's essentially confirmation he has a soul. Sort of. A soul wave length, at least, one that doesn't align with Watson's. ]

I know how he feels about you wishing for the memories. [ He'd seen the bulletin board, like he'd said. ] But he'd still help you, wouldn't he? If you needed it. [ The sort of help best given by a licensed doctor, that is. ]

He would. He has. [ Royce sighs. ] Like I said. He's decent enough that for the most part, he won't let you die even if he disagrees with you.

He's just preachy. I lost interest in hearing someone lecture me for survival when they don't know the circumstances years and years ago.

[ That's reassuring to know — that Watson, and of course Alfie, would be willing to help Royce. Maybe Renart and Monty too. Whether Royce will accept the help is another matter, but at least he has the option.

Once everything's ready to go, K takes back the bowl from him and begins the actual stir-frying process, alternating between adding ingredients and mixing it all together with the sort of relaxed ease that suggests he's done this a lot. ]

Preachy about more than just the memories? [ He pauses briefly, considering whether or not to share some of what's still been bothering him about the Libra Station business; it pertains to Watson, and another Norfinbury transplant. Maybe Royce will understand. ] He seemed to care more about the... digital copies of humans, than anything else. [ And Watson was hardly alone there. Even Alfie had seemed to, unless he was simply being argumentative for argument's sake. And that leads him to: ]

And Dr. Strange with his brilliant suggestion that I had already been attempting to do from day one. Sought help on the bulletin board, which went ignored. But suddenly everyone cares when he brings it up. [ There's a faint but definite note of anger in his voice, but mostly he just sounds weary. He's so used to being treated that way it probably isn't worth being upset over. ]

[ Royce keeps his eyes on the stir frying process, trying not to get too lost in his own thoughts, trying not to leave K here in the present. He thinks over what he wants to say for a moment, leaning against the counter - he'd wandered in when K had taken the bowl back from him, reluctant to be entirely on his own in the other room. ]

Men who call themselves heroes and saviors tend to surround themselves with cheerleaders who kiss their feet.

I don't have an explanation for you as far as either of them go. But if it helps, I think it is because more people know Stephen because he's nosy and in people's business, not because of any sort of dislike for androids or you. People run in packs. They only respond to what is familiar to them.

Maybe. I've noticed people from Norfinbury prefer to stick together in general. And I understand why, after what you've all been through together. [ It's said thoughtfully and not as a condemnation. He's considering Royce's words. He also tends to err on the side of assuming his emotions aren't real or valid, which makes dismissing his own feelings easier. After a moment his shoulders slump a little in acceptance. ] You're probably right.

[ The meal preparation is quick; within a few minutes he's dividing it all between two plates. Fetching a couple forks, he offers one of the plates to Royce. ]

Wine? [ He guesses, already reaching for the Montemorcey ~~assuming Royce has sent some over by now~~. ]

[ He takes the plate offered to him, looking down at it for a long moment. He'll also accept the offer of wine, because of course he's delivered it over here. While K is grabbing it, Royce speaks up again. ]

I might be right, or I might be wrong. Either way, I hope you don't take that as invalidation. [ He says, glancing up at K. ] I would've been upset if my idea had been taken and popularized by someone else. If you felt upset, my intention was to make you feel better, not tell you that you shouldn't.

It's all right. I didn't take it that way. I think your insight's more likely to be correct, you know them all much better than I do. [ And not for a lack of trying. But K doesn't assume everyone's robophobic, it's more likely down to clashing personalities — well, what passes for a personality in his case. He didn't exactly come programmed with one, and sometimes it's made painfully apparent, like with his struggle to form genuine, close friendships.

The wine and a wine glass are set on the coffee table for Royce, a glass of water for himself, and then he returns to his place on the couch. It's more comfortable than the kitchen table. ]

I appreciate hearing your opinions.

[ But he's still probably going to hide behind logic to ignore his feelings, because it's always been safer that way. ]

Not that much better. [ Royce argues under his breath, almost petulant. Either way, he follows K to the living room, and sits on the floor in front of the coffee table. He takes the wine, glances between it and K's glass of water, and then sets it down to grab his plate instead.

At least he's distracted. ]

I appreciate hearing yours. [ Royce says, firmly. ]

[ Royce setting his wine down gets a curious look. Maybe K should've poured himself a glass? It hadn't occurred to him that drinking alone might be awkward.

The distraction does seem good. But at the same time, especially considering their current conversation, he wants Royce to feel comfortable coming to him, too, if he ever wants help. Or to talk about those difficult memories. K had meant what he'd said before — he cares. He'd like to be someone Royce feels he can rely on. ]

Do your hands often bother you?

[ He asks at length. Do the memories often bother Royce, he means. ]

[ Royce takes a bite of his food - it's good, and it makes him feel a little better to have something in his stomach. Soothes the anxiety a bit. He's quiet for a moment, focusing on just the plate in front of him for a moment, and then he answers. ]

Not often, but more than I'd like. There's nothing there. No scars. But I can remember them. Around my fingers and on my tongue, too. [ He plays with his food a bit, still looking down. He trusts K enough to tell him, because he's told K things like this before - K has been good about it, respectful. ] There are things I've been unable to do because those things remind me of losing limbs. That bothers me.

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cw: reference to finger mutilation, tongue mutilation, torture

cw: reference to finger mutilation, tongue mutilation, torture

cw: reference to finger mutilation, tongue mutilation, torture

cw: reference to finger mutilation, tongue mutilation, torture

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