Archive of Our Own

Jared is oriented to solve problems. He is solution-oriented.

He is not prone to damage. If an accident does occur, he has a healing protocol: a stream of glowing nanocytes that leave a patch, shiny and new. Very similar to a scar. Jared has three. One on his elbow. Another on his brow. One long one across his side. He rubs them, sometimes, when he's idle.

He collects Styrofoam. It's suited to his purposes. Extremely durable. He creates rafts from it, to float across bodies of water. He builds shelters with it. He breaks it open and examines the inside, the crumbs, little spheres all packed together. He listens to the noise his Swiss Army Knife makes when it punctures the surface and scrapes inside.

His knife is red; he likes that it has a corkscrew, and a bottle opener. He finds others, mostly in ruins. He hurries a little, towards them, and dusts them off, and unfolds them. He likes to see what they hide. Ruins are good for that in general. He likes to reconstruct things, to see how they might have functioned. If possible. Sometimes it's not possible.

He made the plumbing work once, in a small cabin at the edge of a lake, after working through twenty-six sunrises. He jumps when he turns on the faucet and it gurgles and spits out brown, sludgy liquid. He watches until it clears. Until it's recognizable as water. He smiles, so big that he notices.

He touches his face, with his hands. He feels along his upturned lips, his appled cheeks. He touches the skin bunching at his eyes. The wrinkles are soft and fine. He turns off the water and jogs out to the lake. It might be Lake Tahoe. He holds his expression.

He studies his reflection in the water. It's a nice smile, for one that came so spontaneously. He learned it well. The smile in the reflection grows.

Everything is very quiet. There is no wind. It is 42 degrees Fahrenheit here. The lake stretches and spills out in front of him, glassy blue.

Maybe this time. Jared stares at his reflection. He traces the scar along his right side with his left hand.

"Hello," he says.

The trees come right up to the shore. He can hear the water lap quietly at their trunks.

He leans forward. He touches his fingers to the water. He stays there, fingertip to fingertip with the man in the lake. Until he can't feel them anymore.

"Hello," he says. A little louder. It’s really been a long time.

****

Jared mostly stays up in mountains, or down in valleys. There are more things to look at. More that's unexpected in the places protected. The ruins, though, are usually at sea level, where the terrain is flat. These emptied-out places. No cover. Just baked earth, and white sky.

There are things to like here, too. He lies on his back, spread eagled on a brick of sand that extends for miles and miles. He can feel motes eddying over him, and he seals his eyes closed. He blows steadily out, through his nostrils, keeping them clear. He soaks in the sun. He pulses with it, charging.

He puts a hand out to his side, palm up. So someone could take it, if they wanted.

There's a landfill to his right. He will search through things thrown away, things abandoned. He likes to put them to use, if he can. If he can't--still, he likes to touch the things that have survived.

****

His standby sequence, lately, has been flawed. He doesn't go to black. Instead, he replays selective data in his memory.

It starts at the beginning.

Day zero was strange. He woke, in a bedroom he knew was his. There were pictures of him along the walls. Some even as a child. Awards he had won. The tall trophy, with a baseball player on top. He had won that three years, two months, and four days ago.

His whole family was in his bedroom. Mother, father, brother, sister. Two of them were on the verge of tears. That was to be expected.

The rest of the week went smoothly. He shoveled down his mother's cooking. He stole his brother's cigarettes. He grumbled good-naturedly at his sister's piano recital. He laughed at his dad's jokes, when everyone else groaned. It was going very well. Jared was proud.

His sister sat him down, on Sunday. It was late afternoon. The sun streamed through the window across from Jared, into his face. He didn't have to squint.

"You're really close," she said. She put a hand on his knee. "Really close to perfect."

Jared rebalanced his weight. "Thank you."

It took him a short while to realize she had begun to cry. When he did, he felt something dim, low in his torso. He put a hand over hers, but she only sobbed, gasps coming from somewhere deep, and suddenly, everything in that room, flooded with light, shadowed.

And that's how it is for a very long time. The harder he tries, the more his family falters. He doesn't know how to fix it. He tries very hard.

Everything is so dim.

****

Jared sifts through the landfill. He's at the peak. He repairs, and puts things whole. He keeps an eye out for the right part, or the right tool. There's something wrong with his optics. He would really like to put it right.

****

The landfill is an embarrassment of riches. He finds a pair of binoculars, and he scrapes the lenses free of caked-on dirt with his nails. He licks his thumb and swirls it in circles against the glass.

When he looks through them, he can see clear across. There's nothing in his way. He can see almost to the ocean. He laughs. He can see really, really far. Probably to Asia. He lowers the binoculars and whoops, so loud it's like he can see it, a visible noise that travels across cracked earth.

He runs down the slope of trash, scattering debris left and right. He stumbles, braces himself with one hand, and keeps running. He sprints as fast as he can, hard, hard, harder. Legs churning, arms pumping. He is ably made.

He skids to a stop. He fits the binoculars to his eyes. He looks for a long time. He sees a rock, there, sailing across the surface of rippling sand. He looks so long that night falls.

He realizes it slowly. Slow because he doesn't want to realize. It's not quite right. It's close, but not quite right. He can see further but not more clearly. He lowers the binoculars, then slides them, carefully, under the crook of his arm. It's not their fault. They can only do what they know. Probably he will carry the binoculars around for a while. He holds them up in front of him again, studies them. He adjusts the eyepieces, moving them up and down, leaves them drooped slightly. They look like eyes.

Yes. He'll hang onto them for a while.

****

He walks into the desert, and something falls from heaven. A sphere, extremely large and glowing blue. It arcs across the sky.

There's a sandstorm rising. Jared can see the foaming churn of it in the distance, dusty and brown. There are clouds behind it, bruised dark, stretched tight full of rain. Lightning strikes. It crackles in capillaried lines.

There's nowhere to run. The sand hits him like a wall. Everything is black. A pound of thunder, and a sheet of rain drops from above. It slams the sand to the ground. Jared opens his eyes.

The world is mud. It looks like a whole other planet.

The sphere hits the ground, bounces, bounces, rolls to a stop, miles away. The blue field around it flickers off.

Jared sits. He tucks his knees up to his chest, fits his head between them. He waits. He counts the color groupings in the last image of the landscape in his visual cortex. There are two. Black. Brown.

He counts the rain drops that land along his surface.

****

When the rain stops, the sky is a deep and dirty yellow.

The sphere blooms. Jared puts his binoculars to his eyes.

There's a man there! It--looks like a man. Jared adjusts the binoculars.

Yes. There are hands, five-fingered, dexterous. He wears a white space suit, flight-powered as evidenced by the wing emblem, 'E.V.E. Corps' emblazoned across the chest. 'Jensen' stenciled under it.

Jared is pinned down. He holds very, very still.

Behind his helmet, the man, Jensen, smiles. Jared mimics it.

Jensen stretches, twists at the waist. He bends over and touches his toes, and when he rises, he stretches his arms up over his head and floats up into the air. A slow, drifting ascent.

Jared pushes up onto his knees. He bites his lip. His hand comes up, reaching anxiously. He can barely make out Jensen's face anymore.

That might be a grin. Jensen pauses in the air, quavering, before plummeting towards the ground in a dive. He rolls at the last second, skimming the earth on his back, before pushing off with his heels, soaring, soaring.

The sky is twelve hues of yellow. The sun is a burning red. The earth around them is barren, and Jensen leaves no trail behind him, but for the echo of a joyful shout.

Jared sits back on his heels.

He feels lit up inside.

****

Jared is surprised by the sun setting. That it still sets.

Jensen had descended hours ago, started to walk steadily in Jared's direction. Jared is cross-legged on the high slope of a dune. Jensen is an estimated fifteen miles away.

Night is a black and rhythmic thing. Jensen flips on three lights. Two beams on either side of his head, one on his right palm. They cut swaths. Pebbles throw long, moving shadows.

Jared watches Jensen come towards him. It's too late to move when he remembers that he's naked, that nudity is not customary and may be off-putting. That he is only outfitted with two languages. That anyway, language is an evolving, idiosyncratic thing.

He touches the tip of his finger to the scar on his elbow. His brother had done that with a knife. He'd said, "If I cut you, do you not bleed?" He'd squeezed Jared's shoulder with his free hand, laughing. "That's a joke, Jaybird."

Jared is uncertain.

Light sweeps over him. In the 1.86 seconds it takes for his receptors to adjust, he hears a noise like the crack of a dead branch. The sand erupts in front of him. A molten glob hits Jared's thigh, sizzles.

Jared scrambles up, hands out. Everything he's carrying falls. "Wait! Wait," he says. "Please," he says.

Jensen closes the distance quickly, his armored arm raised, a weapon. "Down!" he shouts. "Get down! On your stomach, now!"

Jared drops without looking, lies with his left cheek on the ground. There's so much to process. His face is right next to the pock of the blast. It shines dimly, lined with sudden glass. He's on top of his binoculars. "I'm unarmed," Jared says. "I'm unarmed, my name is--"

"Quiet!"

Jared feels every footfall as Jensen circles his body.

"On your knees."

Jared rises in three fluid motions.

"Identify yourself." Jensen's face is lost in light.

"Prototype J, Resurrection Droid," Jared says, "Common designation ReD, model specification J-ReD 3268M, moniker Jared." He shakes his head and wets his lips. He brushes the clump of cooling sand off his thigh. Nanocytes hum, blue and white, converting into new skin and construction. He's going to run out soon, Jared notes. "My name is Jared."

Jensen drops his arm to his side. The lights dim and lower. His face is struck. He squints, studying Jared, his mouth hanging open. "Well, shit."

Jared smiles. "You're Jensen," he says, voice low. "Nice to meet you, Jensen."

"Well, shit," Jensen says.

****

Jared watches Jensen set up camp from a short distance. A silver cuff off Jensen's arm expands into a dome of matte gray fabric. Jensen traces an entrance onto the skin of the shelter with a fingertip, and it cuts away, hanging stiffly. He steps inside, and when he closes the flap, it leaves no seam.

It could be a stone, Jared thinks. Shaped and smoothed by wind-streaming sand. He curls his toes.

He doesn't stop himself; he walks to the shelter. He presses a palm to the place Jensen disappeared. It's cool and almost slick to the touch. Deceptively thin. He can hear Jensen's movements. They're quiet and sure. The shelter breathes with its inhabitant, a steady in and out.

He listens until all there is is breath.

Then: "How're you still tickin'?" Jensen's voice is muffled.

"I don't know."

Jared waits. There's no reply, though Jensen's respiration doesn't indicate a sleeping state.

"I'm sorry I don't have a better answer."

Jensen hums an acknowledgment. He says, suddenly, "I'm sorry you took damage, earlier. Meant to be a warning shot's all."

Jared shrugs. "I don't feel anything like pain, really."

"That right?" A shuffle. A yawn.

Jared lies out on the ground next to the shelter; a tangent to its circle.

"Still," Jensen says.

Jared presses the side of his pinky against the tent. "It's a mild sensation. Um. A lack, like I'm empty somewhere I'm not--supposed to be." Jared searches for words. "Besides, my self-repair systems are dope."

"Dope?"

"Oh. Dope. Slang. In this context, an adjective indicating agreeability and/or a state of excellence."

Silence.

Jared says, "It used to be--People used to say it."

"Man." Jared hears Jensen laugh. "Man. Were you ever built to last. Tickin' away here, all this time."

Jared smiles. "Not all of time," he says. "Just a long while."

There's no response. Jensen's breathing pattern elongates and sinks. He's sleeping.

Jared had stopped breathing a very long time ago; it's a play mechanism. But now. He listens carefully, to Jensen. He initiates, he breathes: In, one, two. Out, two, three, four.

Jensen's vocal tones fall, very roughly, between an E two octaves below middle C, to the D above. He clips his words, losing the consonants at their ends. Most notably, the letter 'g'. He laughs.

Jared lies awake. He listens. He looks. The earth and sky are scattered with grains: of sand, of starry light.

****

Jared had slipped into standby when his battery had run low. By the time he starts back up, it's morning. Jared takes in the sky. It's been morning for some time.

Jensen is a shadow, limned by the sun. The shelter is gone, a trinket on Jensen's wrist. He stands at ease, his jaw set and his arms crossed. "I didn't know how to wake you." He clears his throat. "If there's a button or something."

Jared stands, smiling. He tests his physical operations, rolling his shoulders, stretching his neck. "I respond to voice commands. You know. Just tell me to wake up." He tries for levity. "Move my ass, or something similar."

Jensen nods. He's not looking at Jared. He's scanning the expanse around them. Making plans. "I can't take you with me." Jensen's gaze meets his. "I have orders to follow. My time here isn't permanent. I will be leaving. And my pod," Jensen doesn't look down, "It's one-occupant."

"Okay," Jared says.

"Okay?"

Jared nods. There's nothing else to do.

Jensen unfolds his arms. "Alright." He strides across the sand, purposefully. The general direction of west.

Jared trails him. There is evidence of last night's storm, proof that it happened. Pools only an inch deep along the shallow curves of the desert. Mud, drying already.

Jensen leaves footprints and Jared avoids them carefully. He hopes they bake into the sand. The prints come closer and closer together. Jensen's shortening his stride. Jared looks up just as they come side to side.

Jensen walks at Jared's shoulder. He doesn't look anywhere but forward. They push west in silence.

Jared files the memory away. It's special. A thing to remember, when Jensen's gone. Jared glances over his shoulder. He really hopes the footprints last.

****

Later, Jensen says, "You can talk, you know." He still doesn't look at Jared. Eyes moving at steady ticks, back and forth across the terrain ahead.

"Oh." Jared licks his lips.

"Why do you do that?" Jensen asks immediately.

"Do what?"

Jensen flicks a gaze over. "Lick your lips." He demonstrates the quick swipe.

Jared pauses. He keeps his tongue behind his teeth. "Well." He plods steadily. "Chapstick got discontinued a while back. So."

"What's that."

Jared smiles. "Lip balm." He shakes his head. "The humor doesn't translate if you require an explanation."

The corner of Jensen's mouth turns up.

"Maybe if you had a broader base of knowledge." Jared's smile widens.

Jensen laughs, short and low. "Humor in that," he says.

"At your expense," Jared points out.

"Thanks," Jensen says dryly.

****

They don't speak much the next few hours. Mostly, Jared catalogues a thousand different things about Jensen. His height. An approximation of his weight. Measurements. That he favors his right side, and steps heavy on his heels. His heart rate is uncommonly low; beyond athletic and approaching bradychardia. Jared flags it.

The suit offers some obstacles. The viewing window in Jensen's helmet is a tight frame on his face. "What color is your hair?" Jared asks.

"Brown," Jensen replies.

"I'm not sure you have to wear the suit. Almost all of the radioactive isotopes have fully decayed, even in the empty places. Unless you’ve evolved significantly, you should be suited to the environment." Jared's brow wrinkles. "This is your planet."

"Not really. Not the way it is yours." Jensen sniffs. "How much distance we cover?"

"18.4 miles."

"Kilometers."

"Oh. 29.6"

"Right." Jensen stops. He looks up at the sun. "Okay." He sits, feet planted, knees up, arms hanging over the caps.

Jared sits next to Jensen. A little close, but Jared can't help it.

Jensen pats his chest--the suit--fondly. "It's good to me. Hydration, nutrition, temperature regulation, waste management." He waggles his eyebrows at the last. Then hangs his head between his knees, catching his breath.

"Like a womb," Jared says.

Jensen throws back his head and laughs. When he's done, he drops his head onto his shoulder, looks at Jared. It's the first time all day.

Jared touches the scar on his thigh. It's new.

"Man. You're all kinds of naked," Jensen says.

Jared hunches over his lap a little. "Looks that way."

"Nothin' to be shy about," Jensen says. "Guess they wouldn't have put anything on you that wasn't made to be seen."

Jared shrugs. He doesn't look at Jensen. His new scar is a blue yellow. "Guess not."

"Shit." Jensen whistles. "The things they could do, then. Look at you. The resources we must've had."

"Yeah." Jared stands, suddenly. Jensen is peering at him. Studying him. It's only fair, Jared tells himself. "Maybe we should--Do you still need to rest?"

"No." Jensen pushes up to his feet, but he doesn't start walking. "Hey," he says. "Something I said?"

"No."

Jensen nods. "Maybe," he supplies.

Jared looks at Jensen. Jensen's still studying him. He lets out a breath, smiles. "Maybe."

Jensen starts walking.

Jared falls in, lock-step.

"Apology number two," he says.

****

Jensen doesn't speak for the rest of the day. Jared thinks he might be angry. He's not quite sure. If he could get a clear look at Jensen's face--

It's dusk, and Jensen's not turning on his lights. Jared wants to mention it, but Jensen might have a reason for his actions, so he bites his tongue. When the sun sets, leaving the landscape gray, Jared clears his throat. Jensen ignores him; it's also possible that Jensen doesn't hear him.

The night slips in by gradients: dim, dimming, dark.

"Shit," Jensen says. "The fuck did it get black out."

"We're done for the day?"

"What's it look like?" Jensen grasps at his forearm, tugging at the shelter ring. He struggles with it.

"Why don't you turn on a light?" Jared asks.

"Just!" Jensen freezes. "Give me a second. This fucking thing won't--"

Jared steps in towards Jensen. He touches him. Hands closing around the plastic and cloth of Jensen's suit. Gripping the shape of Jensen's forearm. He pulls at the ring until it expands, coming loose, and slides it over Jensen's hand. He puts it in Jensen's palm, fingers at his pulse.

This is the closest I've come, Jared thinks.

Jensen nods at Jared. He sets the ring down, watches it grow. After he's inside, Jared sits with his back to the wall of it. He listens to the noise of the man inside.

"Thanks," Jensen says through the shelter wall. "Got all fumble-fingered."

"A lot of people were afraid of the dark."

"I'm not afraid of the fucking dark, alright."

"Okay." Jared leans his head back, tentatively. "But it'd be okay to be, you know? If you wanted to be."

Jensen's quiet for a while. "There's just no one fucking here," he finally says.

"Yeah," Jared says. "I know." He looks for the old constellations, takes in the ways they've stretched and skewed.

Jensen breaks the long-spinning silence. "I've been thinking. You shouldn't--No. Um." He clears his throat. "Just because someone's made, that doesn't mean they're not someone, you know?"

He waits for a reply but Jared doesn't have one.

"Okay, so. How long have you been around?"

Jared thinks, is surprised by his conclusion. "I don't know."

"Centuries, plural." Jensen sounds sure. "I promise you: No one built you for that."

"Lucky, I guess."

"Fuck. I'm not saying it right."

"Try again."

Jensen sighs. "You have--they look like scars."

"Yeah," Jared says. "Four."

"Twelve. Gotcha beat." A sound, like Jensen's turning over. "I like scars. They're your own, you know? Marks of a life you lived." He yawns. "Anyway. I think I made you feel like parts before. You're not parts."

Jared holds very still.

"Jesus." Jensen's mumbling. He sounds tired. "Gets so damn dark here. Enough to scare a guy."

Jared laughs. "Sure. Even the toughest guy in the whole damn town."

Jensen hums. He's drifting. "Must've been lonely," he says with his last, conscious breath.

Jared laces his fingers together. "It was." His legs are out in front of him, his back to a respirating wall. The night is blue and white. Only the shadows are black.

****

The days are long, and they only lengthen over time. The sun's high. You couldn't throw a thing that high.

"So," Jensen says.

"Yep."

"You don't talk as much as I thought you would." Jensen's plodding along.

Jared's gotten used to talking at the side of Jensen's head. "What should I say?"

"Dunno. Whatever you want."

"You could talk."

Jensen laughs. "Yeah. Probably."

Jared looks over at Jensen. He watches the momentum powering Jensen's body. The work of his neck, the swing of his arms. Torso and hips and legs, all striving towards something. "I'd like to know about you. Where you came from."

"Well. The starliner's carrying a pop' of--"

"No," Jared interrupts. "You."

"Huh." He cuts a glance at Jared. He wipes his helmet clean with his forearm. "Going crazy, to be honest. Lot of sand. Seein’ things."

"Mirages," Jared says. "Pools?"

"Yeah, sure. You see 'em too?"

"No." Jared sees dunes, and ribbons of colored sand. He sees a desert rippling, reformed by every new gust of wind. Jensen in the center of it all. "But it's normal to."

"Okay." Jensen sighs. "So what other words you got? Let me at 'em. What was that one before? Dope?"

Jared laughs. "Well. You seem like the kind of guy who might have said 'dude'. Bro. Broham, brother, homes, bud."

"Whoa. Lob 'em a few at a time." Jensen's smiling.

"Do people still say, uh. Any of those?"

Jensen shakes his head. "Brother-self comes close, maybe. But that's a little formal."

"Brother-self?"

Jensen nods. He touches a finger to the letters across his chest. "E.V.E. It's a clone corps."

Jared's surprised. "That's common practice, now?"

"I know, you believe it?" Jensen circles a finger, quick, around his face. "Six guys out there with this. It's a menace."

"Your brother-selves."

Jensen shrugs. "And you with the best of the bunch."

"No doubt."

"Hey, now. Careful going along with my ego like that."

Jared laughs. Jensen moves a little closer; Jared doesn't think it's conscious.

"Makes sense," Jensen mutters, quieter. "Why let good stock go to waste."

Their shoulders brush. "You're not parts," Jared says. Already a mantra. "You're more than your parts."

Jensen huffs. His lips are turned up. "That's a kind, wise thing to say."

Jared laughs. They walk in silence. He hums a tuneless song.

****

Jensen spends the sixteenth day marking out their time, calling out cadence. "Left. Left. Lefty, right, layo!

Jared obeys at first. Much later, he asks, politely, that Jensen consider giving his vocal chords a rest.

"Left," says Jensen.

"Shut it," Jared says. A last ditch effort. "Lest I shut it for you."

Jensen laughs. "Pushing luck, dude."

"Got it to spare."

Jensen appraises him. He opens his mouth.

Jared raises an eyebrow. "Gonna risk it?"

"Pain! In my gut; Pain! In my knees; Pain! In my shins; Mind over matter! If you--," says Jensen, propelling them forward at double-time.

Jared punches Jensen's deltoid at 8% of his force capacity. Just enough to be painful.

"Ow, fucker." Jensen grabs the spot. He shoves his shoulder into Jared. "Tin can's got an attitude."

"You're all about the thin ice today." Jared's been smiling for days. He's used to this, he realizes. Already, he's used to it. He takes in Jensen's smirk. It rises two millimeters higher on Jensen's left side. Not every time, but this time.

****

"Fuck! Motherfucking--" Heavy breaths. "Shitty fuck, goddamned hellhole!"

Jared's lain out next to the shelter. Hands under his head, ankles crossed. "Full moon, tonight," he says. Serene.

Jensen snorts. Hand slaps against the tent from the inside, right at Jared's head. "Fucker. There's nothing fucking here."

Jared recollects the phase of the moon when Jensen had arrived. "It's been almost a month," he says.

"Is there anything but fuckin' sand?"

"Actually." Jared turns his head, puts his ear to the ground. "There's an aquifer, pretty close to the surface here. It's fairly extensive."

"Can I see it? Does it look like fucking sand?"

"You're not your best at night," Jared notes.

"So what. I'm a grouchy sunuvabitch."

Jared scrapes off the crumby top layer of sand until he reaches red. "You want a story?"

"No. I'm thirty."

"You're like a baby," Jared says, aping surprise.

Jensen laughs. "Fuck off. I'm going to sleep."

"Good night, Jensen."

"Yeah," Jensen growls. "Night."

Jared stands. He digs, cutting lines and form into the earth.

****

"What the fuck is this?"

Jensen stands in his door, looking out. Jared surveys his work with Jensen. Geometric patterns spiral out from the center of the tent, in stenciled lines of rust and mineral-rich black. Dizzying in the heat shimmering off the earth.

"Jesus."

Jared picks at the sand under his fingernails. "It's a maze."

Jensen bobs his head. "I kinda have shit to do, brother."

Jared rolls his eyes.

"I saw that." Jensen's pointing. "I'm a bad influence on you."

Jared shrugs. He thinks the sand might be breeding under his nails. "It's a picture on the ground. No one's fencing you in."

Jensen clasps his hands behind his head, elbows winged out. He steps into the maze. "Waste of time," he says.

"You're gonna hurt my feelings," Jared says.

"You have feelings?" Jensen cocks his head at the ground. He strides quick along the lines, only stopping to make decisions at corners. He's assessing. He'll escape sooner than Jared had anticipated.

"Hilarious. Did they augment that gene in your test tube?"

"What you are," Jensen says. "Is a racist."

"You're not using that word right."

"Oh yeah? What about a little fuck you?"

Jared laughs. "Sure, I'll take some."

Jensen stops. He looks up. He stares at Jared. "You laugh a lot."

Jared shrugs. He falls onto his ass, sprawls back on his hands. "It's like I'm a real boy."

"Well." Jensen nods, smirking as he goes back to studying the maze. "That is a big boy dick there, swinging in the wind."

Jared tries not to move too quickly. So it doesn't look like he's covering himself up. He doesn't know why he's embarrassed.

Jensen laughs as he follows a path back behind the shelter. "Was that not a compliment back in the day? 'Cause guys sure like hearing that now."

Jared stretches his arms out in front of him. He sweeps his hands back and forth across the sand. "Dead end," he calls out.

"Shit," Jensen says.

****

The moon is a waning crescent. Jensen has been here a long time. Jared tries another maze, days later, but Jensen kicks through it.

"Sorry," he says, setting off.

He grunts at Jared's questions. Jared tries other things. Songs. He mimics the cadences Jensen had called earlier. He steers them, subtly towards landmarks. Towering rocks. Drifts of salt. Mesas.

At the last, Jared says, "Like someone took piano wire to a stone giant's throat."

"Is it me," Jensen says. "Or do you get weirder every day. Where's the robot-speak, dude."

"1000101."

Jensen clips the back of Jared's head. He blasts a hole into the side of the mesa, casually destructive.

Jared watches the dust billow. His throat feels tight. "You shouldn't do that," he says.

Jensen sighs, heavy.

****

It's the middle of the night. Jensen had fallen asleep hours ago. Jared sits, chin resting on one raised knee. He pats at the shelter. There's a strong wind, tonight. His hair's dancing.

He slaps the tent with his palm.

"Fucking what?" Jensen clears his throat, groggy.

"I know why I haven't asked," Jared says. "But why haven't you asked me?"

"What the fuck are you talking about? Is it morning?"

"Why haven't you asked me? Whatever you're looking for. I know this place. Better than any person's known it. If it's here, I know where it is."

Jensen sighs. "I'm going to sleep."

****

Jared starts up to the toe of a boot in his side. Jensen's ready to go. So they walk.

Last night's wind has wilted in the sun. It whips, low around their ankles.

"You asked me a question," says Jensen. He trudges toward the horizon. "If you weren't here it would be taking this long."

"Probably longer," Jared concedes. "You have a worryingly disproportionate reaction to boredom."

Jensen smiles wryly. "Take it as a sign of my youth."

Jared claps his hands together. "Done." He bumps Jensen's shoulder with his own, friendly. "Is it a security issue?"

Jensen shakes his head. "Be frank? I don't want to take the short way out. This wasn't meant to be a three-day mission. No one briefed me about the possibility of--whatever you are. Life. I wasn't meant for a guide."

"So what? You don't want to cheat? Because I admire the integrity, but you're taking it kind of far, don't you think?"

"It doesn't feel like cheating." Jensen's chin juts out. "Feels like theft."

Jared’s blinking falters. "Theft?"

Jensen growls, annoyed. "Fuck." He stops, grips Jared's shoulder to stop him too. "Look. This is how long it would take me if I were alone. This amount of time. A month, easy. I ask you to help me, and I'm gone in a few days." He cracks his jaw, his eyes at Jared's chin. "I don't want to take that from you. I want to let you have the time you would have had." He swears, embarrassed.

Jared's hands are shaking. Tiny tremors, undetectable to the human eye. He crosses his arms, hides them away. He could fly apart. He could freeze there. Anything could happen. He laughs shakily. "Like your company's so great."

Jensen lets out a surprised bark of laughter. He taps the glass of his viewing panel, smiling into the distance.

Jared turns it over in his mind. Jensen’s enduring this for me, he says to himself. He repeats it silently. He doesn't know how to absorb the thought. "Thank you," he says. It's not enough, he knows. He'll be grateful for a long time.

Jensen looks him in the eye. He nods. He takes a step away.

Jared grips Jensen's forearm. He studies Jensen's face. He looks tired. Pale. He's carving wrinkles into his forehead. Lines that won't go away. Jared's fingers twitch. "What are you looking for, Jensen?"

Jensen's chin rises. His eyes are clear and determined. He points at the E.V.E. painted across his chest. "V is for vegetation."

Jared memorizes everything. He lets himself hold Jensen's arm for too long.

*****

Jared points out a direction, a line straight through, northwest. "There's a cliff," he says. "You can't miss it. It's a solid border mark."

Jensen nods. "We can walk."

"No," Jared says. "It's five days, pushing hard. If you fly, you'll be there by sundown." He claps Jensen's shoulder. "Don't worry. I'm a strong runner."

Jensen's hesitation is brief and then it's gone. "Okay." He pushes up onto his toes and shoves off, hovering. Like he's let go of something heavy. He grins at Jared. "Keep an eye on me."

Jensen turns and blasts up into the sky, crowing. His arms are spread wide, and when his ascension starts to slow, he brings them in tight to his body, dips a shoulder and corkscrews his way up, rising higher.

Show off, Jared thinks. He leans his head back and back, smiling.

Jensen disappears into the sun, then tumbles down, head over heels, somersaulting as gravity clutches at his shoulders, then knees. The tumbling gets clumsier as his speed increases, hands and feet being forced apart.

Jared's smile fades. Terminal velocity, he notes. Pull up.

At this speed, Jensen will hit the ground in just under a minute. Jared squints. Jensen's eyes are closed. Jared starts to run. The suit shouldn't malfunction. It hasn't so much as hiccupped.

"Pull up," Jared says. He sprints. "Pull up!" It overloads his vocal capacity, unbidden frequencies keening.

Jensen's eyes snap open, his limbs furl out. Spread-eagled for a second before he twists, booming back along the ground towards Jared. He comes screaming past Jared, cutting a 'u' around his body before coming to a dead float in front of him. "Whooooo-ee!" Jensen whoops. He winks. "Good watching out."

"What the fuck were you thinking?" Jared shapes the word precisely, emphatically.

Jensen raises an eyebrow. "You swear like a goody-goody."

"You were forty seconds from death by impact. Seconds."

Jensen furrows his brow, confused. He shrugs. "Sure, if you'd let me down."

Jared gapes. "You're a fucking idiot."

Jensen winces. "Agh. It hurts to listen to you cuss. Try it like you're not a fifty-four year old woman."

Jared crosses his arms. "If not instantaneous, your death would have been extremely painful. Your internal organs would have burst on impact; the majority of your bones would have shattered. You'd be a bag of slurry."

"Anyway," Jensen says brightly. "Meet you there, yeah?" He soars off without waiting for an answer.

"I'm not so much as glancing your way, asshole," Jared mutters. He runs after Jensen. "Fuck," he says, more guttural. "Fuck." He makes a glottal stop.

****

When he reaches the top of the cliff, Jensen is under the shade of a tree. His hands are palm down on its trunk. He's almost still, just the steady pump of his heart, the pull of his lungs. The sun is setting, flooding the desert bed with a red and gleaming tide.

"I signaled my ship." Jensen doesn't turn. "It'll be a while, before."

Jared walks toward Jensen, every step light through concerted effort. He feels drained. Sustaining an elevated running speed had been difficult. Jared leans back against the tree, slips down so his knees are bent, sitting in an invisible chair. "Is it what you pictured?" he asks.

"I never thought about it." Jensen shakes his head. "We had a field manual, but I vaporized mine. Accident."

Jared laughs. He doesn't ask.

Jensen lets out a breath. He moves, mirrors Jared's position. He rests his hands on his thighs. He looks out, the glass of his helmet dark and reflective, tones of the sky.

A crisp wind stirs the leaves, just enough that Jared can almost smell them, a trace of resin. There's a storm coming, he thinks. This is the hush before.

"It's bigger than I'd pictured." Jensen's voice is low. "I don't know. Different kind of green." His head thunks against the trunk when he looks up into the crown of leaves. "It's all--" He draws a shape with his hands. "Bubbly."

Jared chuckles. "Sounds like you had some sort of an expectation. Unbubbly, for one."

Jensen grins. "Guess so. One of those things you didn't know you were waiting to find." He straightens suddenly, turns to stand in front of Jared. "Fuck, how are you doing this. My thighs are killing me."

Jared snickers. He bats the back of his hand against Jensen's stomach. "Not everything's a competition, Jensen. Sit like a normal person. Take in the view."

Jensen turns his head over his shoulder, looks out. He squints. "Yeah."

Jared looks up at Jensen. His jaw and profile. The light is so thick you could count the atoms in the air. The breeze is a touch at Jared's neck. He can smell the things that are growing; he can feel in his chest one, arresting thrum. Like someone had set something ringing.

He takes a long slow breath in. "It's a Texas madrone," he says. "See? The bark peels, exposing this trunk. When it's white like this, it's soft. Like leather. You could cut it now, and it would sustain that damage for its lifetime." Rise and fall. "Darkens over time. It gets this coral red color."

Jensen smiles down at him. "Why're you whispering?" he asks.

****

When night falls, Jensen sets the shelter right up against the edge of the cliff. Lip to lip.

"One hard turn in your sleep," Jared says, "and you're out of here."

"Just a couple notches down," says Jensen. He traces the door open.

Jared does a sliding whistle, ends it in the sound of an explosion.

"Uncanny." Jensen turns to face Jared, stands in the doorway. He grips the surface above his head with both hands. Like he's readying for a pull-up. "You gonna be cold out tonight?"

Jared shrugs. "No. I don't really feel differences in temperature. Another superiority to lord over you."

Jensen's laugh is distracted. He sucks at his teeth, surveying the sky. "Looks like rain."

Jared follows his gaze, at the distant clouds. "In a few days, maybe."

"Wouldn't want to chance it."

Jared squints. "It's not much of a risk."

"For fuck's sake." Jensen swings his arms down, slaps his palms against the walls on either side of him. "You want in or not?"

"What?" Jared shifts from foot to foot, stunned. A thought occurs to him and he cocks his head. "You haven't even said my name yet and you're inviting me into your--" He gestures toward the dome. "What's the term for that?"

Jensen scowls. "I've said your name before."

Jared scans his memory banks. "No, you haven't."

"Yes, I have."

"No, I'm certain that you haven't."

"Yes, I have."

Jared opens and closes his mouth. Opens it again. "I don't understand what's happening." He furrows his brow. "My recent data is incorrupt. Unless you said it while I was on standby, there's no--"

Jensen rolls his eyes. "Whatever, man." He grips the edges of the walls tight, putting his weight on his shoulders. "You're not fucking playing Jensen bingo, okay? There's no prize for getting me to do or say a bunch of random shit."

"People still play bingo? Or is that a lingering colloquialism? I wonder why certain traditions persist--"

"Holy shit. This is the most boring conversation ever." Jensen cracks his jaw. "Just get in the fucking tent, Jared."

"Wow," Jared says. "Way to ruin what could have been a moment for me."

"Anytime."

Jared crosses his arms. "I was going to journal it. And replay the sound byte over and over in my head when you're gone. And now it's going to have a tone."

"I was wrong," Jensen sighs, "this is the most boring conversation ever."

Jared scratches his neck. He holds Jensen's steady gaze, then rocks back on his heels before starting forward, entering the dome. He edges past Jensen. "Don't molest me, dude."

"Like I would, dude. You're filthier than a waste allocation 'bot."

****

From the inside, the skin of the dome is gauzily translucent. It lets off a clean light. Jared does a slow circle. It's meticulously neat, like dirt might spontaneously combust upon contact. There's a raised bed to one side. A self-inflating mattress, Jared figures. His head almost brushes the curve of the ceiling. It flickers with the image of a revolving star chart, a running breakdown of outside statistics. A calendar. A countdown clock.

There's a strip of photos along the perimeter that cycles through. Three men with the same face, a mess of headlocks and flexed arms; Jensen’s there on the right. An older man, graying, with Jensen's eyes. Two boys with Jensen's smile. Maybe ten pictures amid dozens: of worlds, of stars setting and streaming, moons and dinner trays, loaded down. Crowded corridors, full of hands and feet and blurred faces.

Things are so much the same in some ways.

It's overwhelming. Jared has to turn away. Jensen's removed his helmet. His hair is dark, cut short and pressed down flat by the headwear. He has ears, and a strong neck. His smile is unfiltered. "Well?"

Jared clears his throat. His points his thumb over his shoulder, at the pictures. "There are people out there," he breathes.

Jensen looks at him. He wears an expression, soft and wary.

There's a hot flicker behind Jared's eyes. It's been such a long time. His family. His sister. She had lived and she had died, and people had come after her. Somewhere above him, a long time ago, she might have had happy days. She could have.

He doesn't know how to explain. There had been no guarantee. Nothing but one last, desperate Hail Mary against extinction. For a long time, Jared had had to live in a universe where he was a last, ghostly echo. He'd forgotten them. Every morning he'd forgotten them so he could pretend nothing had been lost.

"You okay?" Jensen asks.

"Yes." Jared nods. He bows his head, touches his fingers to the scar above his eyebrow. He lets himself remember. He drags up the closed files he can find. His eyes are fixed on the ground. "I can't really cry." He sees their faces.

****

"This is strange." Jared sits cross-legged, his arms draped over his lap. It would be nice if there was a corner to fit into. He looks up, around. His gaze won't seem to fix anywhere.

Jensen is taking an inordinate amount of time to disrobe. The uniform comes off in six interlocking pieces. Underneath, Jensen wears a skin-fitting suit, lit circles on his pulse points, at either kidney, on his clavicle and the inside of his elbow. He touches each and they dim, before dragging a finger down from the dip of his throat to his navel. The fabric separates easily, and he works it off his shoulders, to his waist.

It would all be much easier to avoid witnessing if Jared's peripheral vision wasn't so keen.

"Hey." Jensen's voice is amused.

"Yep."

"What's going on with you?"

"Nothing."

"Does my pale skin repel you?"

Jared darts a glance at Jensen.

One hand is braced against his hip, the other rubs at his red eyes.

"I'm afraid," Jared jokes, "I'll be blinded by your unshielded beauty."

Jensen lets out sharp bark of laughter. His chest flushes in uneven patterns. "Smart ass," he mutters. He tugs the suit down, past his knees, hopping to maintain his balance. He teeters before righting himself. He kicks the suit off his left foot, pulls it off of his right. His soft cock swings. He's extremely pale.

Jared can see the blood rush into the places Jensen's body had been compressed: pink across his chest, his thighs. "This is strange," he says again.

Jensen leans over, grabs the suit and folds it in efficient movements. "I have to look at your dick everyday." He scratches his nose. "Payback's a bitch."

"Mine doesn't require sunglasses for safe viewing."

Jensen flips him the middle finger. That's regrettable. Jared should probably ignore any further requests for instruction in being an 'old-timey asshole'.

Jensen clambers down into a sitting position, tugs a slim card from the boot of his uniform. He fans it across the floor and it separates into a deck. "C'mere," he says. "Let's play a game."

Jensen keeps his eyes down, keeps up a steady patter of rules and instruction. Jared walks over despite himself.

"You got that?" Jensen ends. "And no fair card-counting."

Jared stands over Jensen, looking down at the cards. They're numerically marked, of course, still two-toned. He's studying them, curious about the face cards, when Jensen's hand comes up, knuckles smacking Jared's balls.

"Siddown already."

A dull boom of pain and Jared knifes over at the waist, grunting out a "Fuck!

Jensen looks up in surprise as Jared rolls over onto the floor, cupping himself. "Hey, the swearing's coming along."

"Fuck you." Jared tries to refresh his nervous systems. His touch responsors have become oversensitive during dormancy. "This really hurts."

Jensen deals the cards. "For someone who's never been a baby, you sure've got it down."

Jared pushes up into a sitting position, still protecting his crotch behind his hands, glaring. "I could knock your balls into your throat at only 22% of my capability."

Jensen looks at Jared over his cards, smirking. "C'mon, that was a tap. Rocky would take a hit like that and bark, 'Yes sir, can I have another, sir!'"

Jared picks up his cards. They flicker, switching suits and face values. The pain subsides to a heavy throb. "Rocky?"

Jensen zips a hand over his head. "Bald."

"You should advise Rocky that there's a fair amount of homoerotic subtext in that kind of exchange."

Jensen studies his cards. "I'll do that."

****

Jared starts up early the next morning. Jensen is sprawled across the bed. He's lean. His hands are callused. Jared finds seven of his scars.

He goes to the west-facing wall, lines out a door the way he'd seen Jensen do it. It shimmers under his touch, but doesn't cut apart.

"Finger oils."

Jared looks over his shoulder. Jensen's cheek is pressed against the bed, one eye barely open. "I didn't want to wake you."

"Mmf," Jensen grunts. He raises one hand, rubs his fingertips together. "Sebum. Finger oils. Shkkt. You're a robot." He waves his hand: put it together.

Jared laughs. "Okay." He sits, close to the bed, and settles in to wait.

Jensen's eyes close. He sighs.

The room is warm and close. Jared stares out over the edge of the cliff. He watches the dawn come.

Jensen pushes up onto his hands, squinting. He smacks his mouth. "Reeks in here."

"It's you." Jared points. He taps his nose.

Jensen groans, falls back into bed. He throws his arm over his eyes.

"I want to show you some things."

"Seen everything you got."

Jared rolls his eyes. He kicks at Jensen's bed. "Come on. There are places that I love." He eyes the meter on the ceiling, counting down. "I want you to see them."

Jensen stumbles up.

****

Jensen flies up, and toward the storm clouds gathering away. Toward that powwow. Jared looks up, once, to check on him, and runs into a tree.

It's cold at the beach, an overcast sky turning the ocean steely. The waves are slamming--smack--at the shore. Jensen's already stripped down, the shed components stacked neatly. Jared gets there just in time to see Jensen sprint into the water. He's even paler in the light of day, like some white thing out a cave.

"Do you know how to swim?"

A wave tugs Jensen out to sea. His head disappears under froth, the blue-gray surface. He pops up, with an arcing spray of water. "No. Do you?"

"Jesus. Let me teach you."

Jensen hits the water with one hand.

****

Jensen trudges out of the water with raisined fingertips and gooseflesh. "Fucking cold," he says.

Jared follows him out a few minutes later. He soaks first, rubs his hands down his thighs, between his toes, the nape of his neck. He dips his head under, sealing all openings, and scrapes at his scalp. It'll have to do.

He lets the waves wash him in. Jensen watches him step out of the water with steady eyes, unabashed. "New man," Jensen says.

He lies out next to Jensen, who's pushed up on his elbows, chin at his chest. Jensen's cheeks are puffy and there's sand crusting on his calves, his upper arms.

They lay there for a while. Jared closes his eyes.

"Something's buzzing."

"Mm. Sand flies. Insects of the order Diptera. They bite."

Jensen curses. The slap of a hand on skin. "Fucking flies."

Jared shifts. He says it without thinking: "My sister used to hate flies. If she heard one in the house, she'd stalk it for minutes, working up the courage to take a whap at it. She was always afraid of the smear." Jared drops his hand low on his stomach. "I think she associated them with disease. Death. All the breeding germs on the points of their feet."

"Yeah?"

Jared can feel Jensen moving, his settling back. Droplets of water land on Jared's face. Jensen's breath across his shoulder.

"Guess that's reason enough."

"They're just flies." Jared shrugs. The flex of his arm brushes against Jensen's lips.

****

At night, Jared asks, looking at a group photo, "Tell me about these guys."

Jensen points, grunts out, "Conner, Clark, Rocky, Leon, Roy."

Jared says, "Hey now. Don't just go on and on."

****

Jared wishes he knew what the bug in his system was, causing the memory loop when he should have been in standby. It's a minor power drain.

He and Megan were pushing through a crowd. A throng, Jared had thought. A horde, a multitude, a crush. He held up each word for size. "In a way," he said, "it makes sense. The first to arrive will be those who have gone to any lengths necessary. Suited for survival." He was trying to distract her. The crowd had been eerily still, eyes fixed on a starliner looming in the distance. The starliner.

"Yeah, but luck plays into it, too." Megan gripped the back of Jared's t-shirt, a fist in cloth. "Who you know. Lots of things. Did you know Shiloh Harris got on? I'm so sure we're going to need her unique talent of being a vortex of suck on film." She paused, hearing what she'd said, probably. "Ugh. I'm breezy!" she'd joked, self-deprecating.

Jared laughed. He marched inexorably toward the gate. He could see it over thousands of heads. Hundreds of thousands. He was going to get her there.

"It boils down to chance," Megan had continued. She waved her raffle ticket. "For god's sake. I'm going to be on that thing." She snorted. "Me."

"You are of above average intelligence. And your attending told me you were extraordinarily empathetic." He smirked. "I guess you're adept enough as a surgeon."

Megan twisted her grip on his shirt and the worn stitches gave along the right side, ripping. "Shit!" She was more on edge than she seemed, Jared had noted.

"It's fine." The shirt flapped as he pressed on. He reached back and took her hand. "Come on. There's not a lot of time. Hide the ticket." He picked up his pace.

She pressed close to his back. "What is it?"

"Nothing. Winds shifting." Megan hurried.

The gate led into an empty hangar with another door, manned by twelve armed guards. Megan had handed them her ticket. Her hands hadn't shaken.

The man who took it glanced between the two of them. "Which one of you's taking it?"

Jared prodded Megan forward. "My sister."

The officer looked them over. He took his time.

Megan licked her lips. "I'm a doctor," she said.

"A cardiothoracic surgeon," Jared corrected.

The man's eyes dismissed Megan, flicked up, up, up to Jared's. "Hm. How much can you lift?"

"I don't go to the gym."

The man continued, speculative. "Any experience in construction, warehouse work?"

Megan fidgeted. "Excuse me, can I get through now, or?"

The man nodded, "I'm sorry, miss, I'm going to have to ask you to step back." He gripped Jared's shoulder. "Sir, if you would come this way." Jared didn't understand.

Megan stood, rooted for a moment, before shouting, "No!"

The man hustled Jared, but Jared stopped, arguing, "I'm not going anywhere."

Megan took quick, shaking steps, head down, a restrained charge. "Jared?" Her eyes were pleading. She turned them on the officer. "The ticket's mine. I'm not just going to wait here, alright? I'm sorry, but I'm not, please--"

Jared pulled his arm out of the man's grasp. "Sir, she's right, she's my younger sister; my parents, they'd--"

"Please, sir, this way. Sir, this way."

Jared assessed the risks as the man dragged him along. There were too many guns to rush the door, and nothing for Megan to take cover behind.

"No!" Panic sprang into Megan's voice. "He's not even human, okay? He's just--damn it, listen to me!" She broke, ran at the door, and two men intercepted her, arms locking around her waist as she fought, kicking. She was quiet except for her heavy pants, the scrape of her sneakers against cement.

"--Leave her alone, you don't want me, you want her, take her--" Jared was shouting. He'd been shouting.

Megan let out a broken noise. She slumped suddenly, and the soldiers' grips must've loosened, because she slipped past them, ran toward Jared. He met her halfway, pulling her up into his arms, turning his back to the men, to their weapons. She was sobbing, the edge of hysterics. Her hands clutched at his shirt, and it rode up, exposing his right side. He felt a short blade sink in, tear down. He looked down. A little red pocketknife. His insides had gleamed, a flood of nanocytes blinking blue.

"Jesus Christ." Someone behind him.

She was crying. She was sobbing harder, clinging, as the officer hooked his hand under her arm, tugged. "I'm sorry," she'd said, "I'm sorry." She'd kissed his face, one, two, three times. She'd kept crying. He didn't pull the knife out; hands too busy unknotting her grip, smoothing her hair.

"Shh," he'd said.

Jared starts up. He gets to his feet. He goes about his morning.

****

They're standing in a plain of wild grasses, six feet tall, an explosion of seeds and chaff and filaments. It's noon, and Jensen's sweating and dirt-streaked, a grin on his face as he slices at the grass with a stick he'd picked up off the ground. "Shit," he says, breath running away from him. "All this and I had to land in the fucking desert of doom."

A cloud of small birds rise with a clatter, feet away. Jensen yelps, ducks for cover. Jared laughs.

Jensen straightens, glaring. "What the fuck was that?" He squints into the sky.

"Birds. You're fine."

Jensen sucks his teeth. He picks up the stick, throws it after the flock already wheeling away. He turns to Jared, hands up, satisfied. "No thanks necessary. Just another day, another crisis averted."

Jared grins, winks.

"Who the fuck taught you to wink?" Jensen asks, beaming. He takes a slap at Jared's balls, but Jared yanks his hips away. He swings out an arm, palm catching Jensen's head.

****

They find a plastic tub in the shape of a shoe, of all things. Lying there, half-buried. Jared gets an idea. He scoops up a seedling, deposits it inside, and fills up the spaces with soil. He passes it up to Jensen from where he kneels.

"Shit," Jensen says. "Conner and Clark are gonna think I brought something back for them."

"You do that regularly?"

Jensen holds the shoe up, turns it in his hands. "Sometimes, the spoiled shits. Not that they deserve it. Probably already gave me up for dead, turned my room into an alt-reality hall. Let me tell you, man, I was a fucking saint when I was fourteen. Nurture, man. Trumps nature, you ask me."

Jared rubs at his eye. "You're getting sunburnt," he says.

"All this bitching about their acne," Jensen continues. "When they know, they sit and wait it out; disappeared on all of us spring after sixteen."

"You're going to peel."

"What's the point in fighting what you know's gonna be true?"

"You should put on outerwear. I wouldn't be surprised if you didn't have so much as a drop of melanin in your skin."

"Hey." Jensen fixes Jared with an eye. "You're the one who asked about 'em."

"Sixteen hours ago."

"Like I said." He pats Jared's cheek.

Jared pushes Jensen's hand away. There are crabapples up ahead. He points to a tree, the low-hanging fruit. "Those are edible," he says.

Jensen looks skeptical.

"Yes," Jared says. "All along, my master plan has been to lure you to your death with poisoned fruit."

Jensen shoves him over. He circles the tree, nabs a crabapple. He takes a bite, puckers. "Shee-it. Sour." He takes another bite, immediate, hisses. "Damn. Leon would pop these like candy."

"So take some."

Jensen shakes his head. "Naw. Not exactly brimming with cargo space." He looks off, at the horizon.

****

The clock in the shelter ticks down. Photos slide across the walls. There's a picture of the older man, smiling. He's bearded.

"You believe I'm gonna look that good at fifty?" Jensen asks. "Doesn't seem fair. Not gonna do the beard, though."

"I'd like to see you with a beard," Jared says into the dark.

"Yeah? I don't know. Wanna do my own thing. I'll figure it out. Sideburns, maybe." Jensen doesn't let the quiet stretch out. "Fuckin' Roy. Used to want to be just like the guy. Gave myself the scar he's got under his chin when I was six." He lifts his chin, makes a show of petting the raised skin. "Couldn't stand being that bit different."

"You're talking a lot."

Jensen sighs. "Crime now?"

Jared shrugs. "I can hear it coming. No matter how loud you get."

****

It's the middle of the night. Cold; the place where they're standing is at its furthest distance from the sun. The ship is sleek and economical. It sets down like it's nothing, like it's the easiest thing in the world. Jensen clips the shelter ring around his wrist. The air is crisp and so thin every noise zips from here to there, tinny. The ship gapes open. Jensen tucks his helmet into a shelf on the pod. It's a coffin on the inside. A cot with walls. Jensen holds the plant close to his chest, fingers over the ridges of the molded shoelaces. His breath puffs, visible for quick seconds.

Jared looks at him, at his chapped lips, his red and peeling nose. Jensen's heart rate is elevated; the rhythm of his respiration going two times its normal speed. Jared reaches out and touches him, a hand high up on the hump of his trapezius, fingers at the back of his neck. Jared licks his lips. "Don't go. Okay?" He can't not ask. He can't. "Don't leave me here." Jared looks away, bites down, teeth clicking, grinding.

"Fuck, Jared." When Jared looks, Jensen's staring at him, eyes tensed, the thin skin of his lids white and translucent. "Shut up." He swallows. "Look, do me a favor, okay? Think I dropped my deck out in the grass, near where we found the shoe. Keep an eye out." He reaches under Jared's arm, claps his side, and walks away.

Jared takes a step back, raises his arms, locks his hands behind his head. He doesn't want to wonder what to do with himself. He laces his fingers together. He studies the sky. He thinks hard, running a million calculations, overloading his systems, so. So.

It's clear. It'll be a safe launch. The stars look close. At a speed of 18,000 miles per hour, the shuttle should break into orbit in fifteen minutes, settling into--

Jensen turns around. He strides back to Jared, and Jared doesn't have the time to brace himself before Jensen wraps a hand around his neck, yanks him in. Kisses him. Jensen's lips are cracked in places; they're dry and taste faintly of iron. It's a bruising kiss, and Jensen bites down on Jared's bottom lip, tongue the opposite of soothing, demanding more. His fingertips dig into the side of Jared's neck. Jared holds on, his face burning at each point of contact. Jensen pulls back, then kisses him again, just a slam of lips to lips, noisy. "I'm coming back," he says into Jared's mouth.

Jared's hands squeeze Jensen's hips. He presses in, foreheads touching, nose sliding past Jensen's, lips a stroke.

Jensen exhales. He shoves at Jared's chest. "Alright. Let go, Jared." He reaches between them and flicks the tip of Jared's erection, and Jared flinches, drops his hands. "Thing's functional, huh." Jensen smirks. He turns, takes a step, before turning back, kissing Jared again. He stays close, pressing one, two, three kisses to Jared's lips. "All right already." He tears himself away, steps into the ship.

Jared doesn't move. He touches his bottom lip with his thumb. His forehead aches from where their heads had knocked together. He takes every edge and angle in.

The blood is rushing to Jensen's face. His eyes are wet. "Don't watch me go." The door starts to close over him. "It's fucking depressing."

The ship glows. It rockets away without warning; gone before Jared can stop it. He looks up and searches the sky, his throat clenching. He is a mote on one planet, under a billion uninhabited stars.

****

It rains the next morning: a crack like a shell broken, followed by a torrent. Water drums the earth for two eight counts before clearing out for the sun. There's a rainbow.

Jared wades through dewy grasses, grain heads brushing his jaw. He lays out a grid, searching squares of ground thoroughly before moving on to the next. His feet squelch, caked with mud.

It's a long time; dusk, before he finds the card, right next to the little melt of upturned earth that had marked the toy shoe's resting place. He wipes it clean on his hip, tugs at one corner until it stretches out, twice its size.

The mirrored surface reflects Jensen's face. He's sitting in the shelter. Jared recognizes his own back, there behind Jensen.

Jensen's image fades; the card reflects the sky. Jared shakes his head, fights a grin on principle.

****

He walks--because it takes more time, because it's what he did with Jensen--to the cabin with running water. He tests the faucets. They sputter at first, but they're still working. He kicks at the dirt floor, clears it of leaves and debris. He sits. He leans back. He strokes his dick, the way Jensen had his. It's an aching kind of pleasure. It feels good until he stops, a little stutter of his hips, like there's a skip in his code. He doesn't shoot anything. No point, Jared figures.

He does it again, the way Jensen did, with a sure grip, like it's his right, his biological imperative.

****

****

Jared doesn't doubt that Jensen wants to come back. That's one thing sure, but there are other uncertainties. If he can. Who will return with him. Whether they'll stay. It's not easy, to make a new thing. Jared knows. Repairs come easy, but creation--The starliner has been their home for centuries, and Earth's grown over. The cabin's proof enough of that.

Jared spends a day searching for trees that have died, or fallen over on their own. He doesn't find anything that isn't soft with rot on the inside, that isn't spotted with mushrooms. He combs through a landfill and finds a dull ax, sharpens it, then goes to town: Hacking, little slivered chips of wood collecting around the stumps. He has to dig sap out from under his fingernails.

He circles the cabin, fingers the edges of the holes, assesses the collapsed walls and gaping roof. He hews and carves and fits, putting it to rights. There could be a good chance, Jared thinks, that Jensen will stay. He works.

The cabin is whole, faster than Jared had thought it would be. He smiles, satisfied, but night falls and it's dark inside. Crowded up with dark.

Jared doesn't go to stand by for days. He runs. There's a pedal-powered generator, south, in the mountains. He knows. He saw it there, years ago. And light bulbs. In that town, buried by ash. Jared hopes it'll be enough. He'll make it enough, this time, to stay.

****

****

Jared works without pause. The cabin is the best it will ever be. Low-wattage bulbs, faint and white, spill light in pools in the corners of the room. Rough furniture. It's crude, but acceptable. In the most likely scenario, Jensen will be accompanied by a scout team. People to get the lay of the land, to lead the way. Calebs and Joshuas. Jared adds rooms. He makes it a compound. A base to huddle in, to make home. It's a good spot, bordered by the lake and forest, open skies so you can see the stars, their homey light.

When it's done, all of it, every contingency and possibility, Jared stops. He should have gone into standby a long time ago. He stumbles, searching, gazing up, waiting. He clenches and unclenches his hands. He watches Jensen's messages, all in a row. It's too much. He's going to--something's going to burst. He pounds his chest, trying to knock it loose, knock it back. He puts the card face-down on the ground of the cabin, steps outside, and closes the door.

There is a good chance, Jared thinks, that Jensen could love him. The evidence is there.

Jared closes his eyes, braces his hands on the wall of the cabin he built. He slaps the wall, hard. He touches the mark his sister had left along his side.

When it comes down to it--. When it comes down to it, in a life and death situation, Jared's is a life less worth saving.

He frets. He doesn't know if he can give Jensen the things he wants to give. He parses his programming. He just doesn't know. He keeps coming up short.

****

****

It's the last message. Three weeks come and go, the card quiet. Jared paces. He plays back every interaction with Jensen, analyzing each one. He distracts himself in bursts, filing down a shard of glass into a window pane, gathering crabapples. He stamps out a path from door to lake. But the day comes when there's nothing left to do but keep his own company.

Still, Jared checks the compound, four times over, the available room. It's built for a team of six, could pass for eight. It's quiet, now. The rooms are empty. He walks out to the lake. He sits Indian-style, feet tucked up under his thighs. He floats the card on the surface of the water, fans it out, multiple reflections of Jensen there in the blue. They don't drift away. Jensen wants to come back, Jared thinks. But you can want something for a long time, with no guarantees of anything.

His systems force a stand by. It's overdue. He drifts forward, eyes closing, hand reaching out to wrap around the deck. His fingers are wet and sinking.

****

One time, he floated across the ocean. The Pacific. On a raft. He wanted to see other continents. He had seen everything on this one.

He estimated the height of waves. Catalogued marine life populations: what was rebounding, what was not. Traced current patterns. He held on tight to his raft. Occasional submersion was alright. He bobbed, sandwiched between blue skies and seas.

He bumped into a mass. As big as an island, large and spinning. He made bracelets of soda rings, and collected a lot of Styrofoam. It could almost hold his weight, if he crawled along his stomach. Water pressed up tight against him, washing under his body.

He pulled himself back onto his raft, belly-up. His chest shimmered in the sun, glittering with a thousand tiny particles of plastic slowly disintegrating.

****

Jared starts up to a roar. A band streaks across the sky, blue shields tilting into white with the stress of entry. Jared shoves to his feet, water dripping from his fingers, pounding up the path to the cabin, sand kicked up in his wake. He slams the doors open, every door, every window, flooding the place with light. A few last minute preparations and then he's racing out, calculating trajectory. They'll be in the desert again.

Jared's at the madrone in an hour. He stands in its shadow, looking out over the cliff, searching. A vigil into the night, into three nights. On the fourth day, he sees three men in the sky. Jensen in front, skidding through the remaining distance, a closer and closer presence. Jared grins, holds a hand up.

Jensen slows the least possible amount, this crash of limbs and weight that sends Jared stumbling backward. Jared locks his arms around Jensen's weight, grunts.

Jensen chuckles, gripping Jared's shoulders. "Sorry. Fuck." His exhale is shaky. "I'm exhausted." He leans against Jared, reaches up to tug his helmet off.

"It's alright. I can take it." Jared keeps his grip on Jensen, takes in the flat hair, the sweat dripping down his temples.

"Think I broke the sound barrier."

Jared rolls his eyes. "You look proud of yourself."

"I am." He studies Jared's face, grins. "You didn't think I was comin' back,” he chides.

Jared laughs. "Yes, I did."

Jensen raises an eyebrow. "Not exactly presentable. You couldn't figure out pants for when I brought people around?"

"You seemed so impressed by it. I have a new sense of pride."

Jensen laughs. "Alright, heads up."

Two men land, uniformed, heavy packs on their backs. The taller one carries two, and Jensen goes to help him, shoulders one of the bags. "Here. I'll take mine back. Thanks," he says. He waves Jared forward. "Roy, this is Jared."

Roy takes his helmet off, offers his free hand to Jared. "Hi." His shake is firm, despite his age. Maybe as proof against it. Jared can feel the spots on the back of Roy's hand. His hair is streaked with gray. "Good to meet you, Jared."

Jared smiles. "You too, sir."

"Sir." Roy drops his pack to the ground, stretches his back. "I am old."

The shorter guy tosses his pack onto the ground, comes striding up, talking. "Oh man, this is crazy. You're fucking enormous. How much can you lift? Can you lift me?"

Jensen smacks the top of the kid's helmet. "This is Conner. Thinking about getting that legally changed, though."

Conner pushes Jensen's hand away. "Yeah, yeah, to 'Shut up, Conner', hilarious." He puts a hand on Jared's bicep, testing. "Could you lift me? I bet you could. Shoulder press me, right now, I'll give you ten creds."

"Look out." Jensen swings Conner's pack off the ground and into Conner's arms, followed in quick succession by his and Roy's.

"What the fuck, Jen?" Conner unlocks his knees, hefting the weight.

"Something's got to tire you out. Gonna find out what it is one day."

"Man, make Jared do it. He won't care, right?"

Jared clears his throat. "Yeah, let me at 'em, I'll--"

Roy pushes past them. "It's fine, Jared. Conner's a big boy."

Conner protests. "But--"

"Leave it, Conner. Let's go. We’ve got work to do." Roy starts down the crush of leaves and broken twigs Jared had created through the forest. He doesn't look to the left or the right.

Conner follows, sliding the straps of the packs over his shoulders. Jensen takes up the rear with Jared. "You got quiet," he says.

"Just need some time to adjust," Jared says.

From in front of them, Conner says, "Holy shit!" His voice is awed, his head tilted back; branches, leaves, stones little oddities in his hands.

****

They get to the cabin at dusk. It looks small, all of a sudden, to Jared. Nobody's said anything; they just stand in silence out front.

Jared tugs on his earlobe. "I wasn't sure if you'd need a place. Thought I'd fix it up. So it'd be here, if you did."

Jensen nods. He puts a hand low on Jared's back. "Thank you."

"Big job," Roy says. He pushes open the door, disappears inside.

Conner snorts. His expression's an epic tale of skepticism. He stops at the threshold, unshoulders the bags and heaves them through the door before following them.

Jared watches the white lights go on inside the house. Windows shining bright into the coming dark. There's a strong wind off the lake, setting the trees to rattling. Jared's hair caught up in it.

"You get my messages?" Jensen asks. He leans back against the side of the house, right next to a window, splashed by the faint light.

"Yeah." Jared looks down at his feet, puts the heels together at a 90 degree angle. "Why's it just the three of you?"

Jensen shrugs. "Rocky and Leon hadn't come back from their veg-hunts yet. And Clark drew the short straw so he's man on board."

"Veg-hunts?" Jared smirks.

Jensen squares his shoulders. "Yeah, makes 'em sound manlier."

Jared laughs. "Makes it sound like you're going after carrots with teeth."

Jensen flips him the bird. He runs his tongue over his teeth. "It's weird now, yeah? With other people here. Got used to it being you and me."

Jared takes a breath. "Jensen." He touches his toe to Jensen's boot. "I want to be honest here."

Jensen whistles, short and sinking.

Jared holds Jensen's gaze. "I can be loyal to you. I already am. And I want to know everything about you, you know?" He touches Jensen's mouth briefly. "The way you taste. How you put every scar you got on your body. Everything." He hears a hum in his ears, takes a long slow breath until it dies down. "But the emotion map they installed in me, it's pretty shallow. I can't--. I don't feel things, Jensen. Not like you do. I just run the right processes. And." He tries to smile. "I want good for you. I want you to have a good life."

Jensen's looking down, rubbing a spot off his suit. "Can you learn?"

The earth should stop, Jared thinks. For these kind of moments. "I don't know."

Jensen walks away and Jared stares out toward the lake. Black and heaving.

Jensen stops in the doorway. "Which room's ours?" he asks, head bowed.

****

The room's empty when Jared starts up, submerged in the light pouring through the east-facing window. Sun spun up, above the horizon. It's late. He frowns. It's really late. He gets up, pushes out the door, and down the boxed-in hallway. He hears Jensen in the common room before he sees him.

Jensen's setting up computer screen after screen on the squared-off log of a table Jared had made. Sawdust eddies around him. It’s enough to crowd out the air, the dust from wooden walls and dirt floors turning the room hazy, like they've been sunk down to a bottom. Jensen sneezes.

"Bless you."

Jensen looks over his shoulder. "Mornin'." He shapes a screen, curving it at the ends, then stands it up. He grimaces at the table. "Got three splinters already." A wry smile flits over his face.

Jared goes over, takes his hand. He presses his lips to the pad of Jensen's thumb, sucks the sliver of wood out with a slow, concentrated inhale. He spits it onto the ground. "How long did I sleep?"

Jensen's blood pulses quick under Jared's lips. "I don't know. Um." Jensen takes a deep breath. "Nine hours?"

Jared works the two splinters in Jensen's index finger out with his teeth, gentle as he can. Jensen winces. "Hm."

"What?"

"Nothing, that's just a long time." Jared's never been in standby that long before. He presses his thumb over Jensen's fingers, wipes the purpling away. "You're good." He lets go.

"Thanks." Jensen busies himself, fingers moving efficiently over lights, linking screen to screen in a kind of choreography. He's flushed.

Jared sits on an empty corner of the table. "Does it hurt? he asks, after a while.

"The splinters?" Jensen shakes his head no. "Never gotten one before?"

"My skin is closely woven. And synthetic fibers are tough stuff," Jared says. "I was made to last. Hardy as hell." He grunts, flexes a bicep. "I impress you, I know."

Jensen doesn't smile, doesn't look up. "Hey," he says. "You should head out, give Roy a hand. He could use someone who knows the lay of the land."

"Oh." Jared gets to his feet. There are a few things he could have said wrong, he thinks. He's almost out the door when Jensen's hand closes around his upper arm, turns him around.

Jensen presses his lips to the corner of Jared's mouth. His smile's small and sheepish. "Have a nice day, honey,” he says, doing this sing-song.

****

They keep busy. Jared spends a lot of time as a guide. Roy's looking for arable land that'll require minimal intervention to turn into crop fields. He examines the landfills, weeding out what's useful, what's not, marveling at their staying power. "We gotta do better," he says. "This time around." He collects samples of every type of flora in the forest and Jared puts a name to what he knows, which is less than he’d thought.

Jensen's mapping out the topography with Conner, marking down rivers and lakes, forests and deserts. He spends whole days flying and comes home exhausted. Roy figured out that they were staying in the same room early on, and must've come to some conclusion. He eyes Jared when Jensen comes home, lets him twist in the wind for a few minutes before letting him go for the night.

It's the time they have. Jensen strips down and falls into the air mattress they'd thrown on top of the box frame Jared had made. Jared lies down next to him, even though the bed is too small to be comfortable. Jensen usually passes out fast, sometimes in the middle of a sentence. He sprawls across Jared, and Jared takes comfort in knowing he gives off a kind of body heat, excess energy. He delays stand by for as long as he can so that he can breathe: a steady rise and fall of his chest under Jensen's head.

****

Roy asks him, one day, about the continent lying across the ocean. "Worse condition? Old reports said that they had a dozen more flare-ups. Pretty bad."

Jensen's not quite paying attention, head back, tracking a bird.

It's been a long time since Jared's been to the place Roy's asking him about. He goes back in his memory. He finds a blank spot. "Ah."

Roy chews at the end of a piece of grass, waiting.

"Let me get back to you," Jared says.

Roy raises an eyebrow.

Jensen looks at Jared, one side of his mouth pulling up in amusement. "What is it? Is it more fucking sand? Shit." He leans in, whispering loudly, "You sparing my feelings? Awful sweet."

Jared licks his lips. He feels surprise at an amplified level. More explosive, like he'd been touched, quick, by the ends of a jumper cable. It's all he can do to string words together. "No. We just have a lot on our hands here, without taking on unnecessary concerns." Jared runs a scan, searching for the lost data. The hole’s grown.

Roy bobs his head. "Sense in that." He points with his chin. "Think I hear running water." He eats up the distance in measured paces.

Jensen hangs back. "What's going on with you?"

"Nothing," Jared says.

Jensen's lips flatten, his brows knit together. Jared picks up speed, but doesn't try to shake Jensen's gaze. He just feels it, there, sitting on his back.

His emotives are getting stronger, Jared thinks. It's too early to say it's at the cost of other processes, of his memory. At the moment, Jared tells himself, there is still the possibility of coincidence. He concentrates on slowing his circulation.

****

Jensen is surprisingly hopeless with directions. "For someone who takes such pride in their masculinity," Jared says, "that must be a blow. You made the map."

"Saucy," Jensen says, chewing on a hangnail. His nostrils flare.

Roy ends up having to send both of them out to take samples of the wild corn Jared knows is growing up north.

"We need to get back by nightfall," Jensen says. "The quickest way's a straight line. It's like you're not a robot at all."

Jared glares. He clenches his jaw. "I know it's a straight line, I just--"

"So you're gonna run over the bay?" Jensen clips.

"Fine." Jared is not afraid of heights. He has less than sufficient data about the myriad scenarios that might arise, strictly because he's been, so far, bound to the ground. It's a matter of uncertainty.

They fly there in relative silence, Jared clinging to Jensen's back. Jared points out landmarks, or advises a course correction and Jensen grunts. It's not tense, exactly. Just the fine edge of it. Like it's been for a while, now.

On the way back, Jared forces himself into a relaxed state, loosening his joints, settling into a more comfortable position. His cock settles against Jensen's ass, and while Jensen's flying is smooth enough, it's--a lot of stimulation. Jared coughs, tries to put his erection somewhere innocuous. It would help if Jensen was distracted, Jared thinks, so he says, "It's a little like riding a horse. The knees and thighs."

Jensen jets forward. At the speed they reach, communication is almost impossible. Jared leans forward, lips brushing Jensen's ear as he shouts, "Slow do--"

Jensen jerks without warning, and Jared slips. It's stupid. He falls, but they're over water and close enough to it that Jared tucks into a dive and splits the surface without a splash. He hears the hissing roar of air bubbles and then Jensen muted, screaming his name. He stays under, two minutes maybe, looking up until Jensen's directly above him, then kicks up out of the water, grabs the guy's ankle and pulls.

Jensen takes a short, sharp breath before plunging under. He comes up, helmet popping up to the surface ahead of him. Jared laughs. Jensen socks him, hard, in the arm. He shoves at Jared's chest. "You're a fucking asshole. You scared the shit out of me."

"You dropped me."

"On accident." Jensen's angry. Really angry.

Jared feels a flush of immediate remorse. "Hey." He swims close, wraps his arm around Jensen's waist underwater. "I'm sorry."

"Fuck." Jensen treads water. "Fuck.” He gives his head a hard shake. “It's fine. It was my fault. I panicked." He closes his eyes, takes a shuddering breath. His lips are white from the cold, lashes dark from wet.

Jared feels desire blow through him, seethe at the pit of his stomach. He kisses Jensen, a slow, warming press of mouths, holding himself in place, hands on Jensen's waist, kicking steadily.

Jensen opens his eyes when Jared pulls away. He smiles. "You kissed me," he says. His hair is plastered to his forehead and he's shivering. His lips are red.

****

They get back at night. Jared's mostly dry, except for where he'd been pressed up against the back of Jensen's damp suit. It's still and clear, the moon a tacked-up light. Jensen strips, scattering pieces of his flight suit along the path down to the lake, until he's nothing but a glove and bare skin moving, shoulders slumped with exhaustion. He trudges, bleary-eyed.

Jared walks next to him in silence. Ocean water evaporating off Jensen’s skin, and Jared wipes away the brush of minerals and salt, grayish white, on Jensen's shoulder. Jensen hums at the touch, slumps over onto Jared, making him bear his full weight as they walk. Jared drifts further and further to one side, and Jensen tilts, angling closer and closer to the ground. "I'm gonna fall," Jensen says.

Jared laughs, pushes Jensen into an upright position. Comes up behind him, knees to his knees, hands wrapped around his wrists. Marches him down to the lake like a marionette.

Jensen grins, calls out quietly, "Lefty right, layo, lefty right-a left right--"

Affection wells up, deep and true. A strong and present emotion. He presses his mouth to the back of Jensen's head, smells brine. He scans his memory. It's not unexpected, really, to finds years gone.

They'd sunk a hollowed out stump into the shallows. Jared wades out, reaches down and hikes the lip above the lapping surface of the lake.

Jensen aims his lone glove. "Hey-o." He shoots, setting the water steaming with a percussive blast, splash-back going gaseous in a hiss. He grips the edge of the tub and launches into it feet first, easy and athletic. He's a picture: head back and eyes closed, gloved hand dangling off the side of the stump. "Think I got a splinter in my ass." His frown’s more of a leer.

Jared snorts. He feels the heat seeping from the tub, warming the cold lake water around his ankles. He rests his foot on Jensen's bent knee. "I should probably tell you something."

Jensen groans. "More confessions? Got a lot of secrets for a robot."

Jared chuckles.

"So tell me already."

"I'm forgetting things."

Jensen opens his eyes. He reaches up, grips Jared's wrist and pulls him down into a sitting position.

"Wait, don't--don't worry. I should've started better." He laughs. "I'm feeling things. Emotions. I'm--Jensen, I'm learning."

Jensen swallows, Adam's apple bobbing. "Yeah? What--" He stops. "I mean--." He clears his throat. "Yeah?"

Jared can't stop smiling. "Yeah. My systems are more adaptive than I'd thought, but--" He shrugs, tone clinical: "I have a static number of nanocytes. In order to build the connections, I need more, so the data in my memory is getting broken down. Redirected. It's not a big deal."

Jensen's quiet. His face flickering with tiny muscle movements, unsure where to settle. Thoughtful.

Jared nudges him. "Hey. Come on. I've got centuries worth of things I don't mind forgetting." He holds Jensen's hand. "I'm happy. I'm really fucking happy."

Jensen's forehead smoothes out, and he grins, huge. He squeezes Jared's hand, brings it to his mouth and kisses the back of it, warm and easy.

****

Roy's barely a presence in some ways. He's passionate about his work, spends hours parsing data and drawing up plans. Devoted to this promised land.

Conner's nothing but presence. He's a good kid. He challenges Jared to a push-up contest, and Jared assumes he's looking for a triumph, so he gives up after eighty, feigning fatigue. Conner collapses, chest to the floor, then rolls over onto one side, groaning, "No, man, that's bullshit. You can go forever, right? I know you can."

Jared smiles. "I could go for a long time, sure."

Conner sits on his back. "What about now?"

Jared heaves up, pushes, triceps and pectorals deploying.

Conner laughs. He jumps to his feet on Jared's back, the tread of his boots digging in. "Now?"

Jared dips down, then up.

"Un-fucking-real." Conner whistles.

Jared lowers himself, chest pressed to the floor. His elbows are bent at his sides. He flexes his back, waits for Conner to get off.

****

Jensen falls asleep early one night, and Jared takes the time to catalogue changes. He has stubble growing in at a density of 1.8 hairs per square millimeter. The shadow of a tan. It's calming, somehow, to see Jensen change. To know that Jensen has been here long enough for Jared to see him change.

There's a stillness that hasn't been there for a long time.

****

Jensen shakes him awake the next morning. "Up! At 'em! Lazy ass."

Jared pushes Jensen’s hand away, swings his legs over the side of the bed. He's fuzzy. It's getting worrisome.

"What's with you?" Jensen pats Jared's cheek. "Starting to slow down on me."

Jared puts a grin on his face. "Running smooth as butter."

Jensen smiles, goes to rummage through his pack, then throws a scrap of fabric at Jared.

"What's this?"

Jensen waves at the general vicinity of Jared's waist. "Time to wrap it up, friend." He pulls on his suit. "Roy’s gonna put out the call to the ship in a few days. Might as well get used to some clothing."

"Sad day." Jared pulls the red trunks up and over.

"That it is." Jensen's voice is muffled by fabric, until he pulls it down over his head. He takes a good look at Jared. "Fuck. You looked less naked before."

"Don't ogle me, man."

Jensen just chuckles, locks an arm around Jared's neck and presses a sloppy kiss to his cheek.

There's a knock at the door. "Jen! Get the fuck up, Roy's making me wait for your ass and I'm bored as shit."

Jared shakes his head in disapproval, wiping Jensen's kiss off his cheek. "Know where that kid got his potty mouth."

Jensen smirks. "Fuck off." He opens the door. "Morning sunshine."

Conner pats Jensen's cheek. "Lookin' old, brother." He looks over Jensen's shoulder. "Hey Jared. You guys sharing a room? Where'd you sleep?" He cranes his neck, searching the room.

Jensen's grin is all teeth. "Only one bed, Con. You really are a virgin." He grabs his helmet off the bed and strides out of the room, reaching back to swat Conner's ass.

Conner eyes Jared. He opens his mouth, on the verge of saying something, but bites it back. Slaps a smile across his face. "So this is pretty uncomfortable? And I know enough about Jensen's, uh, preferences for the red shorts to really be bumming me out. So I'm--" He points a thumb over his shoulder, backs out. "Good talkin'." He bolts.

Jared decides to laugh, so he does that for a while.

****

Things are strange. They'd been good for such a short time. Conner's avoiding him, and Jensen's simmering, blood pressure taut, with a smile on his face. Roy's the only peace of mind Jared can find, but even their work slows down, anxiety chipping away at Jared's stores of information.

Jared tries not to think about it--all of it--until he can't. He finishes rolling out the solar panel mats on the roof with time to spare, and when he walks back into the cabin, Conner's shouting, "What the fuck, Jensen, how long are you gonna fucking give me the goddamn silent treatment? It's such a bitch move."

"Don't curse at me, Conner." Jensen's voice is a shimmering quiet.

Jared turns to go.

"Fuck you, Jen. All I said was that I didn't know he was that kind of robot. I don't care how you get your rocks off but don't act like it's for real--"

Jared takes off, a quick jog. Once around the lake, Jared thinks. To keep the joints smooth and flexing.

****

When he gets back, Conner's sitting on their bed. Jensen's out.

"Roy said you were up on the roof. With your super hearing and all--" Conner rolls his eyes, shrugs. "I'm supposed to apologize."

"Kind of pointless," Jared says.

Conner's head comes up. He nods. "Roy made Jensen take a walk."

"He'll cool down." Jared makes himself slouch a little, curving his spine.

Conner's quiet.

Jared can hear Roy outside the window, the blink and hum of whatever device he's carrying around. He's hovering.

"It's not you," Conner says. "It's not about you. You're fine. Whatever, you're cool. Jensen's being a fucking girl, acting like I'm the fucking worst person on the station because of this shit." He's tearing up.

Jared sits next to him, unclenches his fists over his knees. He pretends not to see Conner wiping away tears. For Conner's sake. "So, point of context: People used to have pets. Um. Animals as companions. Anyway, when I was with my family, the first two years I got a monthly visit from this doctor. He wasn't really a doctor, just a tech they sent over. He'd look me over, basic stuff, and then go talk to my parents for a little while. I'd hang out with my sister. With me so far?"

Conner sighs. "Yeah." He edges away from Jared, knee bouncing.

"So once, late into it, she went with them, and there was nothing for me to do.” Jared shrugs. “I went to the door and listened in. Not the best move. My mom was asking if it wasn't possible I could love her, that I acted like I did. And the doctor said no. That it's the same as it might be with a dog. That a dog's love is a loyalty born from training. You give a dog food long enough and it picks up on what you like. Showers a kind of affection on you. And he explained that my case was similar. That my love was an act brought on by programming."

Conner looks at his hands. "Harsh."

"My sister flipped. She got so angry." Jared shakes his head. "But it was true, you know? I can act out love. The commitment, the intimacy are actions that I can take. I can make choices, to learn more about Jensen, to make sure he knows I'm staying for the long haul. The 'doing' of love I can give him." Jared feels dimmed. "But it's not enough, yeah?"

Conner stares at him. "I don't know."

"It doesn't feel whole to you." Jared forces the words out. "Me either. He's missing out on something because he's with me." A smile flickers across his face, small and sad. "I'm trying, you know? I think I could learn, the rest of it. I hope so."

Conner raises a hand. He hesitates, then lowers it; makes an incremental shift closer to Jared.

Jared catches Conner's eye. "All I'm saying is. Don't read too much into it. He's not really angry at you. You're not really angry about this either."

Conner rubs one eye with the heel of his hand. He kicks out a foot. "It's just. It's like he thinks this is all we deserve. That clones can't find real love, so he's off with you."

Jared shrugs. "It's real on his side."

"I guess." He looks away. "I guess I'm sorry, too." Sincere in his lack of certainty.

Jared nods.

Conner gets up, slowly. He stands there for a little while. "Everyone says I'm gonna grow up to be just like him, you know?" He wavers, like he's not sure he has permission to leave.

Jared grins, waves him out into the sun, into the day shining too bright for doubt, for sadness.

There's a tap at the open window. Roy's standing outside, a scanner in one hand, a bunch of dried plants in the other. "You're making things too complicated."

"Roy." Jared cocks his head. "The eavesdropping needs a little work. I'm pretty sure going unnoticed is a part of the equation."

"Smart ass.” Roy sniffs. “Look, you're missing out on the feeling, right? The rush and need. That's serotonins. Pheromones and nerve growth factor. The biological drive. As much programmed into us as anything is you."

"It's passion," Jared says. He presses down on the bridge of his nose. He doesn't want to talk about this anymore.

"It's icing. Sure, a cake without icing's missing something." Roy studies a screen. "It's still cake."

"You're oversimplifying."

Roy looks up, stares Jared in the eye. "So meet me in the middle."

****

Jensen comes back with the night. He's windblown, his farmer's tan stark. Jared can see the white of his skin where the collar of his suit’s dipped. Jared's still sitting on the bed. He hasn't moved.

"Are you gonna be mad about this? Or are you gonna do your whole fucking stupid 'I'm a robot' thing?"

"Jensen."

Jensen shakes his head. His eyes are plaintive. "Jared."

"He's sorry, alright?" Jared feels a wrench of anger. "Don't get your panties in a twist."

"Fuck you, man. Don't excuse that shit. You fucking--" He jerks.

Jared hushes him. "Don't let Conner hear you, man."

"Fuck Conner."

Jared puts his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands. He's tired. "Be honest with yourself--"

Jensen snorts.

"--are you mad because he said something wrong--"

"Yes--"

"--or because he reminded you of something you don't want to think about?"

Jensen goes still, clenches his jaw. Then relaxes it, deliberate. He shakes his head. "Don't do that. Don't bait me, man."

"Fuck." Jared slaps the mattress, hard.

Jensen scrubs a hand through his hair. He sits next to Jared, lets out a long breath. "You shouldn't have to hear that kind of shit." Jensen's voice is steady, kept low. "Conner knows better. He fucking knows what it's like to be treated like you're less because of something you are. He's out of line." He clenches his fists. "It's not right."

Jared's angry. He doesn't know at what. It's a pressure compelling him. He turns toward Jensen, dips his head and finds Jensen's mouth. Kisses him. "I'll make it right."

He hefts Jensen up and over him, then settles them both back on the bed, Jensen straddling him. Takes Jensen's mouth again.

"I'm getting there, you know?" Words against the slick smooth of Jensen's lips. "I'm gonna want you." He grips Jensen's hips, tight, feels them flex in his grasp. "I'm going to love you, and fucking hurt when you're not around--" He bites at Jensen's lower lip. "Just the sight of you--" he breathes.

Jensen forces a noise from his throat, this side of a groan, his cock throbbing. "Stop. Jared, just--stop talking."

His fingers dig too hard into Jared's shoulders. He shoves him, deeper into the bed, then plants his hands on either side of Jared's head. Staring him down. The full weight of him, bearing down.

He bucks forward. "Alright? Okay?"

Jared reaches up, cups the back of Jensen's neck and pulls him down, kisses him deep. He takes Jensen's hand in his, traces both their fingers down the front of Jensen's suit, a tandem action.

****

Jared watches Jensen come. Pleasure, desire, need. Putting a name to the flood through his own circuits.

Jensen collapses onto him, hair dark with sweat, panting. "Goddamn." He pulls out, rolls over onto his back, still half on top of Jared. His eyes close.

Jared shifts, frowning a little at the ache. He turns his head to the side, the tip of his nose touching Jensen's cheek. A longing stepping through every empty space, his body a close and airless warmth.

"What was your sister's name?" Jensen asks.

"Megan. Why?"

"Always wondered." Jensen stretches. "How old was she?"

Jared thinks. "Twenty four," he makes up.

****

Jared dreams in flashcards. Jensen's ship in the storm. The blast of his weapon. You aren't parts. Skipping through every one of Jensen's smiles; the kiss. Images, where Jensen is tall and strong and brown-haired and green-eyed.

He's saving them away. Dreaming to keep them above a rising tide. Safe. Dry.

****

Jared starts up late. The room is grayed with cooling light. Jensen is sitting at his feet, cross-legged. He's in his suit, charging up a ball of energy in one hand, and tossing it into the other. Back and forth, hypnotic. His face is drawn.

"Afternoon," Jensen says. "Wanna tell me what's going on?"

"I lied to you."

"Slick. Mm," He pulls a face, rephrases. "Tricky."

"I'm redirecting a lot of my power usage into the expansion of my emotional capabilities. It's--" He pushes himself up into a sitting position. "The consequences are more severe than I'd projected."

"How severe?" Jensen's tone is casual.

"85% of my memory has been depleted."

Jensen laughs. "Fuck. You're a fucking asshole."

"It sounds worse than it is. I have a lot of memories of walking around in a--a goddamn forest or something, alright?"

Jensen shakes his head, a disbelieving smile on his face. "What else?"

"I need longer periods of rest. Just some time to go away and recharge. That's all." He leans forward, presses his face into Jensen's shoulder. "Don't worry."

"You slept for fifteen hours. I can't not fucking worry, you fucking prick." He cups the back of Jared's head, fingers buried in Jared's hair.

Jared sighs, hands on Jensen's knees, tugging him closer.

"Stop, okay? Just. Stop all of it. I don't fucking care, Jared." His lips are at Jared's temple. "Just. Stay with me. I'm happy with you. You, here."

Jared's tired. He's still tired. He's torn. Shaking, a little, everywhere Jensen isn't holding him down. "Okay."

Jensen's relieved, but Jared knows it's a hollow promise. He's too close to fulfilling the objective. There is no cancel, no uninstall. He'll hope for the best, and dream barricading dreams.

****

The tech was tall and well-built. No glasses. Early on, Megan had sat in on all of Jared's check-ups, always in a skirt, or tight jeans. Jared gave her a hard time about it.

The tech injected a syringe full of nanocytes, blue through the translucent plastic, into Jared's arm. He'd tutted. "You shouldn't require so many of these." He looked over at Megan. "You spending every waking minute with this thing? Give him a break every once in a while. He’s not just any old toy."

Megan’s eyes had flashed, and she’d tugged her skirt down, lower over her legs. "Jared's fine. And to clear things up? We're not paying you to be a jackass."

The tech laughed. "You don't like me. That's fine. But you're going to be seeing a lot of me if you keep him attaching at the rate he is. And a lot of my expensive toys." He taps the glass of the syringe, at the fine, skimmed layer of blue.

"Uh oh, doc," Jared had said. "Pokin' bears."

****

Jared wakes up. He's been stealing naps, when Jensen is out. He's lying on his side and staring at the wall. Fingering a knot in one of the logs. He doesn't remember why he didn't pick another tree. Something without the imperfection. He doesn't remember building this place.

The worst thing about fear, Jared thinks, is that you're always running just out of reach of whatever’s chasing you. His systems hum at full power, ready to act, a prickling under his skin.

Jared stumbles outside, out the cabin. Roy's the first person he finds.

"I was looking for you," Roy says.

"Hey," Jared says. "The starliner's autopilot. What's that run on?" He licks his lips. "I'm curious." He tries to keep his speech unhurried.

"Don't know. Little blue things?" Roy shrugs. "It's a closed system, self repairs. Doesn't require a lot of maintenance."

"Good." Jared nods. "Yeah. Good. But I bet they have ‘em, somewhere. Back-ups."

Roy raises his eyebrows. “Sure. I’d bet on it.”

Jared smiles, systems surging down in relief. "Why'd you want me?"

"Along the same lines. Need someone to run out and check the signal beacon. Ship could be in today, tomorrow."

"Sure, I can do that."

Roy turns an eye on the sky. "I'd get going, soon. Looks like rain." He shakes his head, smiling. "Rain. Can't get over it."

Jared laughs. "Where's it at?"

"Under the madrone. Thanks, Jared." Roy touches two fingers to his forehead, heads back to the cabin. “Good man.”

Jared turns in place, searching the horizon. He's--he's not sure, which way to go.

****

Jared still has the card Jensen had given him. He makes a message, just in case the worst case scenario plays out. The odds are even. He would hate for Jensen to waste time trying pointless remedies. This way, the first thing they try will be the best, most effective attempt. And after that, everybody can move on. Jensen can move on, if he has to.

The most practical course of action is to ask Conner to go with him to the beacon. Jensen's presence correlates to a higher degree of emotional activity, and that's not the best of ideas, now. As it is, it's building at a destructive speed. Still, he can't convince himself.

He'd been without Jensen for a long time. And with what's happening--He can't convince himself.

Jensen's at the lake. Conner had set a patrol disc on route, over the side of a cliff until it hovered above the water. The two of them are taking turns riding out, then shifting their weight onto the edge until it tips them over.

Jared shouts up, "Roy wants us to check out the signal. Says the liner's due."

Jensen's got both hands gripping tight on the patrol disc, fighting to keep his seat. "Yeah?" He grins. "That's great! You gonna recognize it?" His arms twitch and flex.

"Why would you recognize it?" asks Conner.

"I saw it, day of launch," Jared says. He remembers. It's coming back, he realizes. He’s going to see it come back. He's glad.

"You look like you're a hundred miles away," Jensen says, calling for Jared's attention.

Jared smiles. Jensen beams, loses his balance, manages a salute in midair before the unavoidable splash.

****

They make a day of it. The forest is thick and overrun. Branches crawl up into the air at great height, woven tight, sewing the sky up into dimmed patches. A dense, whispering green. This is the earth, Jared thinks. Nature unimpeded and not of me. He feels a tight little frisson of fear down his back at the sight of it, for the first time.

Jensen pushes his way in. Every footstep kicks up the sweet smell of decay in the undergrowth. He looks over his shoulder at Jared. "You're quiet."

"Sorry."

Jensen shakes the apology away. "This was a good idea, walking. Like old times."

Jared smiles. Doesn't so much as tense, when he realizes those memories are ragged. It's okay, he tells himself. It's okay. He clears his throat. "I'm sorry. For being so caught up in--" He shrugs, waves his hand, a gesture encompassing the situation. "I know I scared you."

"Yeah. I've been thinking about it a lot." Jensen comes to a stop, panting, a little. His hands on his hips. "Turning it around in my head." He cocks his head. "Why'd you stay with me? Was it just because I was the first guy who landed here? What if it was Rocky?"

Jared pulls a face."A bald guy?"

Jensen laughs. "You know what I mean. Was it because I was first?"

"Maybe in the beginning. I was lonely." Jared thinks hard, systems whirring. "But. I could have left. I might have if you were someone different, one of those nights you were inside your tent." He fidgets on his feet. "But there was a lot to learn about you. And every day there was a reason to stay. Something I wanted to ask you, or see you do again. And every day, the choice was easy. To stay."

Jensen's eyes are searching. Greener than the forest. "Jared. I love you. I'm not missing anything."

Jensen kisses him there in the dark, quiet noises from every shadow, leaves rustling. They could be speaking, Jared thinks. Words in a language I've forgotten. His eyes burn. Let me fade quietly, he thinks. So Jensen doesn't get scared. Let me come back.

****

Jared concentrates with every step, clinging to the data in his memory. Regret sweeping over him in waves, regular and unceasing. They're at the edge of the forest when he hears the rumbling. Then the weight of a fissure of pressurized air, shimmering down. It bursts through the clouds, too fast: the starliner. It's going to be a hard landing. It's worn and patched, but familiar. Jared blinks.

The starliner.

Jensen stands next to him. He's staring up, squinting into the sun. "Can you fucking believe it?" His voice is hushed. "Back home already. Finally. Who knew?"

Jared feels a heat burn in his stomach. Every system flipping off, head down to toe, before roaring back in. He breathes, deep. In the instant before the ship touches down, Jared catalogs the things he knows: that Jensen has twenty four freckles on the bridge of his nose, that the ship that took his sister away is home, that it carries men and women and children who will grow up on earth, and sky, and ocean. That the temperature is 59 degrees which is 15 Celsius which is 288 Kelvin. That he is meant for a purpose and enough.

He touches Jensen's face. Kisses his mouth. "I love you," he says. It's the one thing he knows. The one thing.

****

Things are not black. Things just are not. Standby drops into shut down.

And after a very long time: an influx, blue-white sparking at the edges of his optics.

He wakes up in an unfamiliar room. He's on his back, hands palm down at his sides. His eyes flick over the ceiling, practicing, then move down the walls. There's a man standing at the window, looking out.

Jared clears his throat.

The man turns, raises an eyebrow. He sighs. "You know who I am?"

Jared licks his lips. "Roy."

Roy eyes him, shaking his head. His smile comes up slow and unpracticed. He looks back out the window, shouts, "Leon!" and flashes a thumbs-up.

"Where's Jensen?" Jared asks. He tries to sit up, but his limbs are slow to respond, lagging.

"You think he needs to be here if you wake up and don't remember shit? Kicked the kid's ass out days ago." Roy puts his elbows up on the sill, stares out at the view. "He'll get here soon."

"Thanks."

Jared waits. He runs a diagnostic, feels his processes spin their wheels. It's bright day.

"Look at that, friend." Roy's eyes are narrowed, gaze sharp, cutting around the landscape through the window: trees and sky and lake.

Jared can see pieces of them. Their looming presence.

Roy clears his throat. "The starliner landed about a week ago."

"Yeah? A week." Jared adjusts for time lost. "How's it--" He clears his throat, testing his vocalization. "Is everybody ok? How’re they settling in? The ship was coming in pretty fast."

Roy smiles. “Everything’s fine. People are—making their choices.” He holds up a silver card between two fingers. “Found this.

“Good. Good.”

Roy nods. He flips it between his knuckles, sends it twisting, flashing. “You know what this is really for?”

“Record log.” He drags up the memory, finds it patched together and whole. “Jensen told me.”

“Sure, we use it for that.” Roy pulls at two corners, stretches the card until it’s large and catching the sun. It hovers. “But everyone gets one of these. Like a keepsake.” An image of the Earth comes up, blue and green and white, spinning amidst black. “A reminder that we’d had a home.” Videos flash by: high school proms and farmer’s markets. Cities lit up. “Something to keep close to your heart and stir you.”

It fades.

“And now we’re back. And everything’s run wild. Only our messes are still here.” The sun is a hard light slanting across Roy’s smile. “We have to put our house in order. Dig our hands down deep into the ground. And we have to do it right.” He stares back out the window. “It’s a task.”

Jared tests his knees, his elbows. They whir with precision. He sits up.

Roy cracks his knuckles. “We’re all settling in. Finding a balance, yeah? Between the things that move us and the things we move.”

Jared stands. He hears footsteps.

Jensen barrels in. He’s sharp at the edges. Dark smudges under his red eyes. He takes Jared in.

Roy steps out, quietly.

Jared waits.

“You shouldn’t be up,” Jensen says. His voice is calm, untroubled. “Lie down. You need to fucking chill the fuck out.”

“Okay.” Jared backs up, sits on the bed. Swings his legs up and lies down. He puts one arm behind his head, to get a better look at Jensen.

Jensen sits in a chair across the room. He crosses his arms, head leaned back against the wall. His eyes close.

“What’re you doing?”

Jensen doesn’t answer.

Jared can’t help but smile. “What? You’re not talking to me now? We’re doing the silent treatment thing?”

Jensen sinks lower into his chair, looking for a comfortable position.

“Jensen.”

Jensen holds up a hand. “Shut the fuck up, Jared. You hear me? I’m fucking exhausted as shit. I will fucking come down on you with the fury of gods.”

Jared rolls his eyes. “Jensen, come on. I’m sorr—”

Jensen pushes up, heads for the door.

“Where the hell are you going?” Jared sits up. “Jensen.” A plea.

Jensen freezes. He turns, climbs into bed next to Jared, shoves him down onto his back. He closes his eyes. He lets out a long, shaking breath. “I didn’t so much as fucking whimper, asshole.”

“Okay.” Jared touches Jensen. A hand through his hair. A press down his back. Until the rhythm of his breathing slows. Until he’s sleeping. “I’ll stay with you,” Jared says. “I’ll keep close.”

****

The end.