I know what love is... sorta
Imponderable
Humans know that droids can communicate in ways they cannot intercept, but they don't worry about it most of the time. After all, how many times do they investigate the inner workings of our own pancreas? After all if people had to consciously control every step of their own digestion, they'd starve to death.
HK-47 and T3-M4, unlike most droids had skipped a lot of memory wipes. Part of that is because they had worked for two different Jedi almost a decade apart, and neither had ever considered the problem.
So they had more memories of humans, and therefore more quirks.
T3 was working on the holo-table emitters when HK-47 walked into the room, scanned the scene then linked into another panel. To the humans, the two machines were now merely complex sculptures.
Neither droid considered it odd that the hulking homicidal droid didn't interject commentary into its speech here in the system's innards.
"Just look at that." HK commented. Marai Devos was at the heating unit making one of her meals. She had the intent look on her face every opponent had always seen, but this time it was food instead of an enemy or data pad that had her concentration. Atton Rand came from the aft compartment, poured a cup of Fire tea, and handed it to the woman who accepted it blankly as her concentration remained on the offending unit.
"So?" T3 replied. "She's cooking. That isn't new."
"It's her ignoring the hormonal rush that meatbag Atton gets every time he's around her." HK replied. Mira Visas and Brianna came from the starboard side berthing compartment where the women's dorm was past them into the cargo hold. They were in brief body stockings used for sparring hand to hand that revealed every curve, and highlighted the points of interest of any male viewer. "Plus the fact that he has as much control of it as a baby has of its bowels." There was a tsk tsk sound. "I am honestly surprised that his head or other parts don't explode when they walk by him like that... Worse, they know what affect it has on him. It's a human plot. The female meatbags plan on killing him from heart failure before I get the chance."
T3 gave the electronic equivalent of a shrug. "What, you expected more from a biological entity?"
"No." HK replied sadly. "It's just that this overly complex mating dance humans do. I just wish she'd spill her eggs and let him spray his seed and get over it. Even if I have to wait until the new meat bag is fifteen or so before I get a chance to kill it."
"I think that is fish." T3 replied. There, the pattern buffer was reset.
"But if I knew why they did it, I could stop it at the source. I'm like a meatbag mother following her children around the house turning off the lights they left on. After all, all I need to know is how to turn them off, not how to turn them on." T3 disconnected as he whistled his reply.
Marai had opened the oven, and delicately brought out a souffle. She looked at the little droid in confusion. "What do you mean job security?" she asked. T3 whistled a negative and she shrugged. "Atton, if you'll call the others, dinner is served."
T3 rolled back toward the engine room. He knew there had to be a logical rational reason for a biological being's mating dances. Otherwise they would have never built ships, hyperdrives or, for that matter, himself.
Perhaps he could experiment with the concept. Try the droid equivalent of such a ritual. It wasn't like he was busy every second.
He rolled up, inserting his arm to begin retuning the hyper drive again. As he did he tried a line.
"Hey sailor. New in town?"