A/N: I know it's been years since I updated this story. It had been on my mind again recently, and I remembered I had drafts of the next two and half chapters that closed out an arc of the story in a way that may provide readers with some closure. I'd intended to continue the story beyond this end point, but for now, I'll post what's left (even though it's a bit drafty) and call it done. Thank you, everyone who has read and who decides to pick this fic back up at this late date!


Chapter 8 - Stand-by

In which Quatre goes through with his decision


I went to work Monday fully intending to call ARI during the workday to arrange for Trowa's return. Each time I thought to ring their customer service line, however, something would come up to take precedence. Distractions were plentiful when I was avoiding something unpleasant. Strange that my decision to return Trowa had not yet brought me the peace I expected.

By the time I went home that evening, it was after ten o'clock, and I had not made the call. I reminded myself of my decision as I exited the elevator and approached my front door, on the other side of which I knew Trowa would greet me. My resolve must remain firm, no matter how solicitous or charming the android might be. I did not need him in my life. I did not want the upset and the confusion he brought.

But when I came in, Trowa was not there to greet me. The lights were dimmed, and I saw no sign of the android. I left my shoes in the foyer and proceeded in stocking feet. On the bar sat an empty snifter and a bottle of cognac - waiting for me. I set my briefcase on the floor and shrugged off both my overcoat and my suit jacket. I lay them over the back of the sofa and poured myself a couple fingers of cognac. My salad I put in the fridge; the bottle of cognac I returned to the drinks cabinet.

Gently, I swirled the amber liquid in its glass and made my way to the library. The door was open, so I walked in. "Hi," I said to Trowa. He sat in his usual spot by the window.

I sipped the cognac, let its warm raisin and oak flavours spread over my tongue. Just the feel of the alcohol in my mouth was enough to melt away some of the day's tension.

"Good evening, Quatre," said Trowa.

I leaned against the doorjamb. Usually - for the past week anyway - I would ask Trowa what he had done that done. What he had explored or learned. Today I didn't care so much. I took a longer swallow of my drink, swallowed it full to feel the alcohol burn down my throat.

"Would you like for me to make dinner for you?" Trowa asked.

I shook my head. "I picked something up for myself," I replied. I wondered if he would tell me why he hadn't met me by the door. Could the android be passive aggressive? I doubted it.

"Would like for me to use a different room?"

"No, you're fine here," I said. I watched Trowa over the rim of my glass as I sipped again.

The android watched me watch him.

"Is there something you require of me, Quatre?" he asked as he stood.

"No."

"Something you... desire, then?" He cocked his head in mock inquisitiveness.

"No, thank you, Trowa." I smiled at him; the expression did look fetching after all.

"Do you remain upset with me?"

"I'm not upset with you." This I said more softly.

Trowa laced his fingers together in front of himself; it made him look self-conscious. "Then what do you want, Quatre?"

"What do you want?" I countered, contrary, yes, but also I was genuinely curious.

"To please you."

I shook my head. "Not that."

"It is my purpose," he said.

"There's nothing else you want, nothing at all for yourself?"

"No," said the android. "I am made for you."

Not passive aggressive, but completely co-dependent. I hoped this was not a function of me in the android. It was unattractive enough. "I don't want you to be like that," I said.

"I can be no other way. I am for you."

"I know," I said. A strange sadness nestled in my chest, and I sighed. "I'm going to return you, Trowa."

I thought saying this would affect the android in some more profound manner, that perhaps telling Trowa this would prompt something within him, something more real than his subservience to me. But nothing changed in Trowa's expression. He asked, "Will returning me make you happy?"

I laughed, humourlessly. "Not happy," I said. "But it will help me get back to myself and my life."

"I have been a disruption?"

"You could say that."

"An unpleasant one? I have displeased you?"

I shrugged. It wasn't true to say he had displeased me, but then, what other word was there for it? If it were not an unpleasant disruption, then I would not be wanting to return the android. That seemed sensible. But I had not wholly convinced myself. Part of the trouble wasn't the ways in which Trowa had disappointed me; I knew that was due to my own expectations being too high for an artificial intelligence. It was the ways in which he had tempted me that sat ill in my conscience. It wasn't that I was particularly moral about sex, but the idea of having sexual feelings for someone - something - which could never really return those feelings. And I did not enjoy casual sex. Perhaps it made me old fashioned, but I liked for my sexual relationships to be for something more than scratching an itch.

"I am defective then. You are right to return me."

"Are you trying to make me feel guilty?"

"Why should I wish for you to feel guilt, Quatre? I wish only to please you." The android pressed his lips together, and then continued. "But perhaps that's what is wrong with me. Despite my intentions I do things that make you feel badly - guilty or upset."

"It's all right," I said, oddly wanting to reassure Trowa. I supposed it didn't matter to him, but I felt better. "I'm probably not the sort of person who should have a PA."

Trowa said nothing to that, but he did appear pensive. If only I could believe it were more than appearance. I did feel guilty, but not because of Trowa. If only I could pretend.

"I'm going to bed soon, so good night," I said, ending the exchange.

"Good night, Quatre."

I ate my salad, and then went to bed. I did not remember any of my dreams that night.

The next day, I made myself ring ARI first thing when I got to my office. I still felt guilty, but I was used to guilt, and so I set it aside and agreed to have the ARI techs come to my home on Saturday to collect Trowa.

However, I made the mistake of asking what would become of the android upon his return. They told me he would be dismantled. Some components would be reused in new androids, others - including what passed for his unique 'brain', the part that had been hard-coded for me, would be destroyed. Its silicon melted down into slag.

I made myself smile and say "all right" and "thank you," to the customer service rep on the other end of the phone. She had delivered the information to me dispassionately. For them it was merely disposing of an unwanted product. She also told me someone would contact me to ask if I would permit to be interviewed about my reasons for returning the android. It was my decision, of course, whether or not to do the interview, but ARI encouraged such customer feedback, so they could make improvements to future models, avoid a repeat of whatever my issue had been with the android.

I supposed it was reassuring in a way that the ARI people indulged no sentimentality about their product. They did not consider an android of their manufacture to be alive, and they would know better than anyone the potentials and the limitations of their androids. Even the personal androids, with their greater sophistication, were nothing special.

So. Saturday, Trowa would leave me. I would have my life back as it had been, as I had liked it.

The rest of the week I worked long hours and brought my dinner home with me. I did not spend much time with Trowa, and he seemed content to simply sit in the library and wait for Saturday.

Duo called me on Thursday, but I did not answer nor did I return his call. He'd likely heard from ARI regarding my return of the android. I did not want for him to try to change my mind. This was my decision.

He called again Saturday morning. I turned off my phone. I still did not want to talk to Duo.

On that same Saturday morning, Trowa dressed in clothes I had given him. Olive green trousers and the amber silk shirt. I told him he looked nice. He smiled and thanked me, and I felt sad and guilty again.

"I've enjoyed having you around, Trowa," I said. "Even though it hasn't worked out."

"I have liked being here with you, Quatre. I have learned many things."

I smiled. "Yes, you really have."

"Now I will learn about death," he said.

A lump formed in my throat. "I guess, maybe you will."

"Do you believe in the existence of a soul?"

I shook my head. "No," I said. "It's too fanciful a notion for me."

"Then you are not a person who believes in an afterlife?"

"No, Trowa. I don't."

"If you did believe in the existence of a soul, do you think, Quatre? Do you think that I would have one?"

I think my heart broke a little bit then. I hadn't expected this line of questioning from Trowa.

"Many people who believe in souls, believe that only humans possess them. Others believe only animals may have them. Most agree a machine, a computer or an artificial intelligence, cannot have a soul, and that's why they cannot ever be alive or like a human being."

"What do you believe?"

"I don't believe in souls," I reiterated.

"Assume that you do."

"I, um, I haven't really thought about such things. It's hard for me to know. If I have a soul, something that lives on after I die, it would be part of my consciousness. So I think to have a soul, one must possess consciousness, and I don't know if you do possess consciousness. I have no way to know."

"But you doubt that I do."

"Yes, I doubt you're conscious."

"I believe I am."

"You're probably just programmed to say that. I doubt you can believe either, not in the sense that I believe something. Belief for you is merely a programmed directive to accept something as true or not. It has nothing to do with reality."

"If I am conscious, do I have a soul?"

"I don't know."

"Will I cease to be when I am shut down and dismantled, or will I continue to be aware of something. Will I continue to learn?"

I shook me head. "They will...Trowa. Your brain will be incinerated and melted down."

"I know," Trowa said.

I had to look away from him. His acceptance of his fate began to seem to me like helpless resignation. He had no power over his fate. I glanced at my watch. It was nearly time.

"I should probably shut you down now," I said.

"All right, Quatre." He arranged himself neatly, sitting straight on the sofa as he had in his packing crate when I received him. It had been two weeks. Tears stung my eyes, but I did not permit them to fall, not did I let myself consider how much I would actually miss Trowa and his childlike metaphysics.

"Quatre," Trowa said.

"Yes?"

"I wish I were not leaving you."

I blinked, and I smiled. "Stand-by, Trowa."

He closed his eyes, his illusory breathing ceased, and he stilled into the stillness of a statue.