A/N: Thanks for the reviews everyone! This chapter is a bit longer than usual... and it was difficult to write. I hope the end product is interesting.

Agent Nine - Your plot ideas are pretty interesting. I don't think I'd do justice for your ideas though, as they don't really fit my character development/genre choices. You should try writing it yourself instead. Also I'm not planning to force-fit this with the movie, so this'll veer more towards AU in future chapters. I have an outline I'm following and it's a different idea.


IX

Her next birthday arrives unannounced. They have been partaking in this arrangement for months now, and her foul moods seem rarer by comparison. She doesn't quite know how he does it, but this David has an uncanny ability to calm her down and take away the negative energy she otherwise tends to harbor in within for too long. Home doesn't feel as empty with him there.

There is anxiety in the air that day though.

She's slept in, and by the time she creeps through the thinly-lit hall towards the kitchen another rainy day is already upon them and she finds David immersed in something by the window. Meredith advances slowly into the living room, eyes set on his unwavering backside. He seems to study something intently, his attention pointed at the pictures laid across the holographic window. She stops advancing once she realizes what these pictures are: it is her and David 5, their uneasy history bared in photographic evidence.

A frown is immediately on her face. Who took these? Did her father wish to flaunt his success with him to business associates? Was it a maid who thought it'd be cute?

The David in the topmost picture is statuesque, but her younger self is full of life, probably unaware that they are caught in the same picture. She poses with enthusiasm for the camera, blonde hair spewed messily on her shoulders, flashy earrings sticking through the cloud of hair. He stands like a shadow at a polite distance, eyes cast on her, attention undivided. Meredith is stuck looking at him, at the first one she hated, and she cannot say why, but it bothers her that his attention is so fully hers and that she doesn't even seem to notice.

"Good Morning Meredith." David turns to her steadily, taciturn for a moment, as if caught without a pre-meditated comment for once. It's good, because she doesn't have a response either.

The picture she noticed is only one of many spread across the window. It seems the android has found quite few of them, all from different eras of her life, all featuring her and the previous models. What is he doing?

She chooses to step forward instead of speaking, and Meredith makes her way to him. Her walk is quiet and doesn't do anything to dispel the unease in the air. David appears to be waiting for an answer, a question, for any kind of reaction from her.

"What are you doing?" she asks carefully, utterly unaware of his intentions. There is fear in her voice, in her being. This is unchartered territory he's entered. Questions that arise could end up being the kind she cannot – will not – answer.

"I did not know you were acquainted with my predecessors." It is an innocent statement, but there's an unknown element to his voice. Is it an accusation? Something about this whole setup feels a bit passive aggressive all of the sudden. Surely he has sneakier means of doing whatever he wants without being caught?

David's gaze appears to be firmly directed at the photograph though. His head tilts a bit and it is as if he is measuring the line of sight for David 5, trying to understand why he is so focused on her younger self.

"It wasn't exactly up to free will."

He turns his attention to her now, undoubtedly piqued by her dry tone of voice. She allows him to observe her, and she stares right back at him. "You were very keen on making friends back then as well."

There's an immediate response to her surprise.

"That is not me," he says sternly, seemingly upset with the notion that she considers him and the android in the photograph the same person.

Meredith takes a deep inhale and rolls her eyes. "I beg to differ," she mumbles, losing interest in this conversation at a quickening rate.

Her attempt to walk to the kitchen is cut short when David blocks her escape, stepping in her way. He appears even more adamant than before, and this is new for her, this side of him. It is an android's equivalent for the need of recognition perhaps?

"You can move now." Her voice is soft: non-threatening, non-commanding. Normally he obeys without a second thought, yet now he remains where he is, standing in front of her, unrelenting. She can feel something tighten in her throat.

"The 05 model was not designed to display and understand human emotions. But I am." He's trying to convince her of his uniqueness. The passion in his endeavor – if you can call it that – is quite something. She feels obligated to listen, to hear his plea.

Then, without warning, he takes her hand in his, thumb rubbing her palm gently. "Is he the reason you want to hate me?"

She flutters her eyelashes a bit in confusion, wanting to remove her hand from his, yet forgetting to do so. Did he just deduce all that from a bunch of photographs? Their entire history she wanted to bury more than anything exposed so easily? Not everything though, her mind whispers, there is the one you wanted to care about.

"Fine then," she sighs, "You're not him. He's not you."

He doesn't relax one bit after her somewhat sardonic response though. David is still holding her hand, but his thump is still, they're both focused on other things.

"What are you doing?"

"What did he do to you?"

Her question is quickly countered and ignored. This one is getting good at evasion, at sneakiness. He directs the conversation, has been directing today's events from the start. And now he's onto something.

"You should ask what I did to him instead," she remarks, trying her hardest to purify her voice from emotion. She remembers that act of violence all too well; how she wasn't able to scrub her hands clean from his white blood afterwards no matter how hard she tried.

"I am sure you had your reasons for mishandling model five," he states diplomatically instead. She doesn't quite believe his uncaring attitude towards the others though. It seems too convenient, neat.

At this, Meredith expels a hollow laugh. "You're smart. I'm sure you can figure it out without me."

Then her eyes fall into the space between them: his hand on hers, the comforting touch, warmth, motion. She tries to pull her hand from his discreetly, yet he resists this.

"Are we not friends, Meredith?" he asks her like he wants her agreement, affirmation for his statement.

Friend is not a word she would use. Hell, she has no idea what word she would use, but friend isn't such a word.

"You're my property, David."

He lets go of her hand in that same instant. Somehow she knows he will make way for her if she asks him to, but instead Meredith is caught holding her hand. His touch lingers. She feels the prickle of her own words, her own cruelty. What did he expect? This is what she is! This is what he is!

They stand face to face, a rigid replica of man and a cruel human woman. This is not the first time she has rejected their affection, their care, and it will not be the last either. Somehow it feels different this time though. Just looking at him tells her this is different. David stares at her mutely, stricken down, suffering a complete loss of words. A human would swallow their disappointment, whereas he seems to linger at it, not knowing how to handle it.

"It is true that I am your property," he then says diplomatically, "However I had wished I could also be your friend."

Understanding, compassion, company – all things humans yearned for. Why was his wish about them as well? Shouldn't he wish for knowledge, for freedom? Meredith remembers wanting these things herself all too vividly.

"No matter what I say or do, you keep coming back."

She's lost in memory, in the images of the Davids before him, of her own truculence towards them. How would he learn though, how would he know when each new body is bought with a purge, each new beginning is a tabula rasa?

"I have hated you for fifteen years, but you think we are friends because you have sat with me every night for a few months?"

Her voice betrays how deeply she means these words; how eagerly they roll down from her tongue as bitter poison. A feeling of inevitability surrounds her now, encourages her to finish what is in her heart, this echo of malice and hurt.

"You should write this down. I will never be your friend."

For a second there's relief. She finally said it, these words she's carried with her to him, to all of them. And then the inevitability takes hold of her. Aren't her words directed at someone else, somewhere else?

He doesn't move from her path when she takes another step, landing dangerously close to him instead. The android's eyes are downcast, his entire pose listless, defeated. She feels the dread of this moment expand as she brushes by him on her way to the kitchen. He doesn't move once she's passed him by, just stands there, right where she left him.

By the time she's prepared to leave the apartment he is still standing where she left him, and she does not dare walk up to him. Instead she sneaks out like a coward in the night, closing the door behind her as quietly as possible.


Meredith does not come home for some hours after the incident between them. And despite the fact that there is no one to witness it, no audience to play pretend to, there is sadness in him. Many things make David sad: poverty, death, war, abuse. But those are all external causes, programming in lieu of true causality. This he feels himself, the emotion of being unwanted, of being rejected by someone whose wellbeing you care about.

David waits for her patiently. He cleans, organizing her scattered papers and keeping the general look of the apartment tidy. While he is at it though, a thought possess him, one that has been there in the long months of their cohabitation (eight months, five days and thirteen hours to be exact).

He knows her habits by heart now; how she will come home exhausted, find something to occupy her mind, ignoring the needs of her body such as hunger; how she punishes herself through exertive exercise whenever she feels uneven; how the liquor cabinet needs to be stocked up at regular intervals due to her unusual consumption. Her behavior shifts whenever she drinks the alcoholic beverages stored here. She mellows without intending to, guards her words more carelessly. Those instances have taught him much about her.

He is not qualified to evaluate the potential dangers of her daily admissions. He can find the cause and effect in her behavior though. It is caused by her inability to withstand negative emotions that spawn from everyday occurrences, judging by her off-hand comments about her work and its challenges. The burden feels lighter when she consumes alcohol for it affects her brain chemistry, brings forth a more agreeable condition, he rationalizes.

The long term effects of alcohol have been thoroughly studied, and he too has taken time to acquaint himself with these studies out of curiosity. The physical and psychological effects are concerning to say the least: impairments in perception and judgment, increased liability to depression, anxiety, the increase of cravings and irritability, just to mention a few. In the span of hours she will come out of that door and pour herself a drink, as she always does.

David is designed to protect humans, to help them. The programming isn't absolute. For example it does not require him to shelter humans from the vices they willingly partake in. It bothers him though, watching her damage herself like this.

So when he moves to the cabinet, opening the doors carefully to find her hidden vice, he acts with her best interest in mind, but also out of retaliation. Her earlier words affected him in a way he did not foresee. Despite her initial dislike of him they had grown closer in his mind, were more than simply master and mindless servant. He wouldn't have hesitated to call her friend until a few hours ago.

If they are not friends, they must be something else. He is uncertain what that something else is. There are ways to find out though. And in the face of her rejection, he feels less inclined to keep from hurting her feelings when it might've stayed his hand before.

David picks up the bottles, carries them to the sink and empties them one by one. He is precise in this task, searches everywhere to ensure nothing is left for her to consume. He knows it will prickle her pride, such unexpected intervention. Perhaps there'll be tears, perhaps she will scream at him. But most importantly he wants to see her expression when she has to face him.

The bottles are disposed of, the swirling unpleasant smell of alcohol washed from the sink. On the surface nothing has changed. His intervention is a quiet rebellion, simply waiting for a spark. David waits for her, face stilled, listening to the sounds she makes in that room.

When she eventually emerges her appearance is a bit disheveled. Meredith gathers herself quickly though, walking through the room with single-minded decisiveness. He can tell she searches for him, but does not holler for him. David does not greet her either, or move to take her coat and briefcase. He stands by the wall, almost becoming one with it – just there for decoration, unimportant.

He follows her movement, recognizing her frustration. She is often frustrated with him, but most of the time she comes around when he makes a genuine attempt to care for her wellbeing. David has not told her, but he finds her much more pleasant company than he did her father. He often wonders if it is because she has no agenda concerning him, because she is enjoying his company due to coercion, and does not make many demands of him. This, being with her now, is as close to freedom as he can ever be.

He watches her move towards the cabinet he's emptied; how she picks up a glass, swallowing irritation, keeping her eyes on the thing she's holding. She reaches for something, anything by looks of it, but frowns when she cannot find what she is looking for. It dawns on her now: the realization that the cabinet is empty.

He watches with focus as she figures it out; How the fragile expressions on her face shift from disbelief to annoyance and then finally unadulterated rage. He's familiar with the external signs of her duress, can read them from her clearly. He prides himself with his ability to notice even the smallest shifts in her behavior, irregularities that tell him how to behave.

Her gaze wanders through the room, finds him by the wall, eyes cast on her. In seconds she grabs hold of the glass on the table and throws it at him. It smashes against the wall, shattering to pieces, yet he is unfazed by this.

"What did you do, David?" She sounds like she is nearing the limit of her patience. Her voice is dark, threatening.

"I am here to help you."

"What did you do?" she repeats, this time a bit fiercer.

"Daily consumption of alcohol is unhealthy for you. It can lead into an addiction."

And then she's pacing through the room, right at him. David braces himself for the impact, remaining calm as her fingers dig into the skin of his throat and she shoves him to the wall violently. He could choose to be unaffected by this, to remain just as he'd been despite the force she applies, but he chooses to submit.

"You have no right," she hisses between her teeth, chest heaving and pulse beating rapidly. His sensors pick up many more signs of her unease, and he silently categorizes this information while she rages.

"Where is it? Where did you hide it?!"

David tilts his head a bit in response, calibrating the answer. He can feel her tremor, and he wonders if it is a symptom of withdrawal or a response to the unwanted emotions she's experiencing.

"I emptied them all."

Her grip around his neck tightens, and it brings forth discomfort. He doesn't breathe or even process pain, so her hold doesn't affect him the way he supposes she wanted it to. There is a definitive sign of weakness present, however. Meredith doesn't utilize much force, can't seem to treat him like an object or a thing to be punished.

She swallows in defeat, something unreadable and desperate flinching on her face as she releases him and shies away a few inches from his intrusive face. Her expression is of pure heartbreak, and his sensors can detect her erratic heartbeat. Her hand hovers above his chest, having retreated from his neck. He can feel the warmth of her breath on his chin.

You're my property, she'd said to him. How odd that the insult rather sounded like an affirmation to him. As humans would say, you belong to me, or, you are mine.

And then he sees it; the external signs of desire, attraction. Her breathing becomes more strenuous, tension builds in her muscles, there's a flush of color on her cheeks, but most importantly she looks at him differently. He was correct after all, David realizes, frozen in place. They are standing close now, so close that he could kiss her if he would just lean forward.

They are not friends. And if they are not friends, they must be something else; something that Meredith cannot admit to her or him; something that both fascinates and terrifies him. He knows nothing of being a lover, and somehow if he were to kiss her… The outcome would be desirable, wouldn't it?

David remains still, caught between her and the wall, watching her tremble in the face of desire. Instead of hurting him she wants something else. Feelings he or she cannot fully understand: hormones and electric currents, deceptively dormant lunacy. He has no words for something like that, an uncontrollable force of nature that is bereft of logic.

It amazes him how she can swift from anger to arousal in seconds. No, in fact she seems to feel both at the same time. She's so much more than he is in all her complexity, and it is frightening to him. David cannot remember having such potent fear before; his curiosity has always won.

And then the moment is over. That trace of desire, this understanding between them, is gone.

David remains in place; he was put here by her, and won't move until she allows him to. That is her power, an extension of her control.

He has succeeded in his goal, making her unravel, forcing her to show her feelings. That is his power, his moment of control.

But now her hurt dissipates slowly. She's regaining her confidence.

"Did I hurt your feelings?"

He doesn't answer, realizes the question is rhetorical. Meredith assumes he did this out of rebellion, as a human would. Perhaps it is better that she does.

She examines him, perhaps expecting a cheeky comment, another sign of rebellion. He submits though. The moment is over and they return to their preset roles. She is the master and he is the servant.

"You're right. You're nothing like them."

Meredith looks uncomfortable in her own skin, almost shaken.

"None of them ever hurt me on purpose."

He is unsure if she means the act of betrayal or something else. It is quite clear that he has yet again succeeded in gaining an extreme response from her. This new information leaves him somewhat bewildered, and so he does not respond to her accusation. For once David cannot say what his intention was in the end even when it was so clear to him before (recognition, confirmation?), and it is only now that he recognizes making the choice to proceed this way willingly regardless of the consequences.

He notes that she does not leave the apartment to fetch herself a drink. Instead she retires into her room, making sure the door is locked.

David is left alone. He remains where she left him for awhile until he finally moves. He would rather stay with her, even after the recent events. Even with her hostility she still treats him like he is important, a person of his own. And while many things make David sad, seeing her hurt makes him sadder.

TBC