There are no memories of Ilana that Razer doesn't want to keep.

But there are memories he avoids. The scent of warming tallow-wax, the dim soft light of candles, the way shadows flickered and made monstrous shapes across Ilana's face. The night they married, some some mentally and apparently morally deficient individual brayed the soongi horn right outside their window all night long. (Everything else about that night, especially the way she blushed the first time he brushed aside her veil, Razer holds onto with both hands.)

There are days he almost (but not entirely; no, never entirely) wishes he could just enjoy the happier times, and leave everything else behind.

Kilowog corners him on Oa, away from Aya, away from the ship. Away even from Jordan. Above them, Guardians flit through the air, and other Green Lanterns. A few of Kilowog's trainees wave; Kilowog frowns heavily and Razer doesn't bother waving back. It's not him they're waving to.

And then Kilowog starts talking.

Razer tries to listen patiently (for Jordan's sake) to all the gruff awkwardness, but he finds himself curling back one lip in a sneer. "Get to the point, Kilowog."

"Look," Kilowog says, pointing so hard his index finger brushes the Lantern symbol on Razer's chest. "I don't get what she sees in you, but it doesn't matter. Can't believe I'm saying this about an AI, but you make her happy."

Ah. Kilowog has decided to play the protective father. Razer doesn't back away, but he folds his arms across his chest.

"The day you make her unhappy, I'll toss you out an airlock."

"I know," Razer says. "And believe me when I tell you that's not why I want her to stay happy."

Kilowog stares at him for a moment. The corner of his mouth curls up, and Razer frowns at the sneer. Then Razer sees the way the other man's eyes crinkle and realizes with dawning horror that this is the beginning of a smile.

"Huh. You might just do alright, kid."

Razer does the crew of the Interceptor a favor and refrains from charring Kilowog where he stands.

Things about Aya that Jordan and Kilowog haven't noticed:

She likes casual touch. (There could be many reasons, but he's noticed that she is most comforted by touch.)

She appreciates small gestures of all kinds, but she likes to receive new information most of all. (This is why she likes Jordan's earth flowers — the gesture brings her a new experience every time. It has nothing to do with the earth stereotype of sapient females preferring flowers.)

She finds small forest creatures aesthetically pleasing. Also bears, unless they're angry. (Angry bears are never pleasing. To anyone. He hasn't yet eradicated Planetoid C-617 from his own recollection, but he has certainly stopped acknowledging it ever happened.)

Despite Hal Jordan's best efforts, she has a limited appreciation for music. She is not fond of his "rock and roll," though she says she enjoys the mathematics of earth classical.

And even though she phrases her censure mildly, she hates the soongi horn as much as he does. (It's a thoroughly detestable instrument. Even Hal Jordan hates it. Three different horns, all attached to one air-source, all off-toned and facing backwards. He admires the lung capacity of those who can play, but so help him, if he ever hears another soongi note…)

Sometimes, after missions, he'll settle into the galley and drink something hot and sweet, let the steam and heat ease him away from the simmering anger. It leaves him edgy and surly, but it's better than setting fire to everything in sight.

Aya does not eat or drink the way he does. Nevertheless, she sits or stands or leans next to him. Every time, she watches him, and when the fury subsides, she places one finger near the edge of his glass.

They've been at this game long enough that he curves his mouth up for her, and she dips her finger in.

"Detecting dihydrogen monoxide with tannin and other compounds, citric acid, and trace elements of sugar…?"

"Earl Grey with sugar and lemon," he says. "Don't ask me to explain the name."

She smiles. "This drink is lightly caffeinated. Does that affect your mood?"

"No," he says.

He told her that the source of his anger is how full of injustice — petty and profound — this universe is. He has not told her that the source of his anger is injustice and that there are people who view her as lesser, not-alive, or would hurt her because she is a Green Lantern, or is in their way, or is female, or is "only" an AI. Compared to these, what is caffeine?

"Then what does it taste like?"

"Warm. Bitter. Citric. Sweet." He shrugs. How does one describe taste to a being who does not experience taste?

"Like its components?"

"Like the sum of its parts," he agrees, and she smiles wider.

He dreams Aya dies. It goes like this:

He delays too long accepting the Star Sapphires' offer. He takes their portal too late, arrives just in time to see the light leave her eyes. It really is light, and it really is dimming. Her face is slack.

"Please enter new designation." Aya's voice sounds more listless and less alive than he's ever heard her.

"New designat —" Drusa says, and stops, because he uses his ring to remove her jaw from her face before she can finish the sentence.

He blasts her again. Again. Again. Again. Blasts until she's a smoking corpse, patches of her skin blackened from the force of his own fury. Then he rips the control patch from the back of Aya's head and tries to reconnect everything Drusa broke.

Aya stills, then whirrs back to reanimation. He pulls her close.

"Please enter new designation."

"Please," he says to the top of her head. "please, I came back for you."

"Input invalid. Please enter new designation."

The dreams go no further. Aya always wakes him.

He used to dream that Ilana lived.

He doesn't anymore.

"You know, I've never thought about it," Jordan says, casually. Razer has for once accompanied him rather than Aya, at Jordan's request.

Razer swats a jungle vine away from his face. It only stays gone for a moment before snapping back, but he's grown used to this sort of stubbornness and singes it before it can smack him in the nose.

"Thought about what?"

"Can her circuitry get wet?"

"If you were fool enough to empty a bucket of water over her head, certainly."

"No, I mean, is it okay for it to get wet?"

"Why are you asking me?"

Jordan just looks back at him with a smirk that Razer labels as superior-arrogant-knows-better-than-you. In short, typical Green Lantern. So he punches another vine out of his way and is gratified when a connected vine hits Jordan in the back of the head.

"Jordan, you should trust her judgment on her own safety."

"No, seriously," Jordan says, a few minutes later. "Rainforests are all muggy and get a lot of rain, right? It's right there in the name."

Razer hits another vine (missing Jordan), but says into his ring, "Aya, will your circuitry be damaged if it rains?"

It will shut Jordan up, at least.

"I constructed this mobile platform to withstand the pressure of vacuum. Excessive precipitation will not hurt me," she assures the team.

Razer smacks another vine away. Jordan hisses.

Victory is sweet.

The mess doors slide open for him, then sweep closed. Kilowog and Jordan have gathered around Aya, who holds a steaming mug in her hands.

"Dihydrogen monoxide with tannin and other compounds. A moderate amount of caffeine. Small amounts of citric acid. Trace elements of sugar."

She catches his eye and lets her lips quirk up just a touch. She looks… shy, almost? This bears some investigating. (Also possibly some shouting, if the Green Lanterns are ganging up on their not-a-rookie-anymore.)

"No, no, no," Jordan says. "Don't analyze. Just experience."

Aya takes a sip, closing her eyes for a moment. Kilowog and Jordan let out exaggerated sighs.

Her mouth twists into an expression of distaste, lips curled and wrenched, bridge of her nose puckering, eyes squinching tighter shut. But then she opens her eyes and looks straight at Razer and smiles. "Earl grey with sugar and lemon."

Kilowog's lip curls up into the rough beginning of a grin. Jordan lets out a loud, whooping noise and claps Aya on the back, near her shoulder.

"You tasted! Remind me to thank Red Tornado, huh?"

"When you return to Earth, please thank Red Tornado." She says it crisply, without the passion and energy Jordan and Kilowog pour into every word, but Razer hears the sly amusement underneath her words. She takes another sip, mouth twisting again, and tells them all, "I do not believe I like lemon."

"Razer?"

The voice, inescapably female, cool, mildly inquisitive, intrudes on the memory and he jolts awake. He rolls out of bed, hands automatically pulling on the ring, before he's even fully cognizant of where he is.

"Aya?"

He looks over his shoulder, but he doesn't see her. Her "eye" glows in the darkness and he realizes that despite the absense of her mobile platform, he can hardly call her voice disembodied.

"Your vital signs were more consistent with distress than with restful sleep. Elevated heart rate, rapid breathing. Was this a nightmare?"

"I'm fine now," he says. "Thank you, Aya."

Ordinarily, she would respond with Think nothing of it, Razer. But tonight the ship pauses. The eye remains bright for a moment before:

"You have been experiencing nightmares with greater frequency since the destruction of the Red Lantern armada." Mercifully, she leaves out by what percentage his nightmares have increased.

Another pause, but this time it's hesitant rather than calculating. "Is it invasive or impolite to ask what these nightmares consist of?"

"It's not," he says, and rubs a hand along his face. His ring keeps track of the time, but he honestly doesn't need to know the specific ship's hour to know that it's time to crawl back into bed and hope he sleeps until breakfast time.

"Then what stimuli comprise these nightmares?"

"I dream I didn't make it in time. I dream Drusa killed you."

Another pause, this one both hesitant and calculating. "Killed? Not deleted?"

"Killed," he confirms.

"But I am not dead."

"You're alive," he says, and means every nuance inherent in the word.

There are no memories of Aya that Razer doesn't want to keep.