xenosaga. allen & KOS-MOS. set somewhen between episodes ii and iii. g. characters belong to NAMCO/monolith soft.
IRO-BOT
-
-
Allen hasn't slept.
It's three in the morning, and everyone's finally gone home. The computers hum to themselves, the lights are dim, and a delicate calm settles over the room.
Allen hasn't slept, because these moments alone are worth it. Alone isn't the right word, exactly, because he's not, actually. Glancing at a row of monitors, he presses a few keys and stands, walks, places a hand on the pod and looks at her-- his-- their precious creation.
KOS-MOS is beautiful in the slight illumination, but then, she's always beautiful. Flawless as only a machine can be, she stares sightlessly up at the high ceiling of Vector's First Division. Allen smiles kindly down at her, observing her for a long, silent moment.
Allen hasn't slept, and he doesn't want to be alone. Upon activating, KOS-MOS sits up with unnatural speed; no previously-sleeping person would be that responsive. He finds it endearing.
"Good morning, KOS-MOS..." Allen says, speaking borrowed words lovingly for more than one reason.
"It does not appear to be morning," she responds, like clockwork. Like machinery. Like a friend, a daughter, a confidante. "It is unlikely that my sensors are malfunctioning."
Allen chuckles quietly and shakes his head. "No, KOS-MOS, you're right. It's too late to be night, but too early to be morning. I'm not sure what to call it, either, but I had to greet you with something, right?"
KOS-MOS stares both at and through him, eyes blinking on intervals too regular to be human. He's proud of her for it. "It is possible that such a term exists. I am capable of searching for the necessary information, should you require it."
Allen fishes behind him for a rolling desk chair and pulls it closer until he can sit. He leans his folded arms on the edge of KOS-MOS' "bed," still meeting her faintly-glowing gaze. "That's okay, KOS-MOS. We can just call it 'morning' anyway, if that's alright with you."
"Affirmative. Good morning, Allen."
For another long, silent moment, they simply sit together.
Allen is tired, lulled by the droning of the computers. He mumbles, words spoken softly into the crook of his elbow. "Sometimes I wonder if I'm the right person for this job."
KOS-MOS blinks steadily.
"It's just... Well, with the Chief leaving, and all these demonstrations, and tests, and politicians getting involved... Ever since the Woglinde was attacked, things have just been total chaos."
KOS-MOS' eyes flash blue so briefly that Allen thinks he imagined it.
"Anyway, I guess I'm rambling now, huh? Sorry, it's just nice to have someone to talk to, y'know?" Maybe she doesn't know. Maybe he shouldn't've said that. Maybe he's hurt her feelings. Maybe she doesn't have feelings, and maybe he shouldn't even think that at this point. Maybe--
"Do not apologize, Chief Allen Ridgeley. You are both capable and respected."
He jolts out of his almost-dozing, shocked and pleasantly, reassuringly surprised. Did she just...? It's working better than they'd ever imagined, she's interacting, artificial emotions finally programmed just right and--
KOS-MOS blinks and didn't flinch when Allen did.
He reaches for her hand, gloved mechanical hand that could serve death to hundreds, thousands in a fraction of an instant. Blink of an eye, heartbeat. He takes her hand in both of his and meets her regularly-blinking eyes.
"Thank you, KOS-MOS. I mean that."
"I am pleased to be of service to you, Allen."
The computers hum. The lights are dim. The room is calm. KOS-MOS blinks. The clock displays the ever-changing time as the past-night slides further towards almost-morning.
Allen hasn't slept. KOS-MOS never truly does.
It's worth it.