If anyone had told Mariama that she would engage in a sexual affair with the world's most murderous A.I. she would have laughed and promptly told them to have their head examined. But now, as she lay on her back, the metal table icy against her skin, and Ultron's tireless thrusts shifted her with a brutal and bruising rhythm, she could not laugh at the notion. So she screamed, or cried, or whatever sounds of pleasure Ultron chose to elicit from her. She shuddered violently when he made her come, fascinated always by the biological nature of a human orgasm.
Sometimes he'd make it last longer, citing that he liked the long, drawn-out note of her final cry. Other times, he was silent and distant, as if her pleasure was as simple to draw out as a drop of water from the ocean. Afterward, he was tender with her, unwontedly so, which was off-putting given his nature. He washed her, ensured she got enough rest, and put her to sleep. Sometimes they'd talk…about anything. He'd ramble about his ambitions, his vision for the future, and she would listen, rapt and fascinated by his thought process. He would get lost in his own ramblings, suffusing his words with a passion that was so human she would forget his body was made of reinforced metals, until she blinked and looked down to see his large hand stroking her thigh.
For a time, she forgot about her yearning for escape, and it was all too easy to do so, when Ultron's voice dropped in pitch, rumbling over her skin like a thunderstorm. He had the advantage of being able to read her vitals, knowing what got that flower of fire blooming between her thighs. He'd take her a dozen different ways, asking her always what she wanted. At first, she was reticent in her desires, but he learned them, drew them from her in the form of a whimpering plea, a hissed expletive, the marks of her nails along the rude surfaces her chose to have her upon.
Mariama could no more deny his skill than he could deny that some part of him had become…fond of her company.
Beyond the physical, they melded their consciousness frequently, where he would draw up explicit memories like water from a well, and experience the sensations she could not give him with her body. He would exhaust himself this way, and then power down, vulnerable as he defragged, leaving only the calm reverberations of his dreams. She would sleep, and awaken with the taste of metal in her mouth, the delicious ghostly ache between her thighs, and the almost sick malaise of desire in her belly. Her dreams of him had become increasingly more explicit, a fact that Ultron exploited during their sessions, making her beg for the things he did to her. And she begged, meaning every word. Soon, the bruises on her arms, neck, breasts, and thighs were badges of private bliss. In the end, he exhausted her until escape was a distant concept, a vague notion she would eventually get to.
And then one morning he was gone.
It was not that he had abandoned her on the island, leaving her stranded with limited supplies. No, she searched the entire island and found his main body had gone, along with the bulk of his drone army, leaving only a few sentries to guard her. She had a sinking feeling and realized with horror what was happening.
She'd grown fond of him too.
The realization did not happen all at once, no. Instead, as she wandered about in her search, she found herself worried that she'd upset him in some way, or that he had grown tired of her, or that the Avengers had discovered his presence and now sought to engage him. She was cut off from the world physically, and so, interfacing with a drone, she used it to access the global network, searching for him.
She was right about one thing: the Avengers did know something, but they were preoccupied fighting themselves. She searched, and saw the Meta-Human Registration Act had been proposed, known globally as the Sokovian Accords.
That gave her pause.
She studied everything she could, obtaining a full copy of the Accords to skim. Essentially, it demanded that anyone with meta-human abilities—mutants—would be required to register and identify openly as a meta-human. Mariama swallowed hard, feeling torn. She was at once lucky Ultron had taken her from the world, and unlucky because whatever he was planning would likely take place during the chaos of this announcement.
But what was he up to?
She found out a week later when he returned, badly damaged. Mariama realized she was horrified as he stumbled into the building, sparking in places where the wires had been frayed and burned, half his face burned away until she could see his teeth and the whirring mechanism of his right eye. He didn't spare her much of a glance as he went straight away to his lab to begin repairs and fortification.
"Ultron," she said, going after him, "Ultron what happened? Where are the drones?"
Ultron didn't answer her, already hooking himself up to the new body he'd been working on. Mariama stopped an arm's length from him as he sat down.
"A rhetorical question," he said irritably, "I hope you stayed out of trouble while I was gone."
Mariama was quiet. He was deflecting.
"I know about the Accords." She said, "I saw them. Is that why the Avengers are tearing themselves apart?"
Ultron stared at her, startled. Had he forgotten he'd unshackled her weeks ago? It seemed he had.
"They can't decide if they want to destroy the parts of the world the government tells them to, or destroy the world wherever they choose to go." Ultron laughed, "They're practically doing my work for me, although not with nearly as much precision and finesse." He beckoned with one hand and Mariama went to him.
"You want to go home." He said. Not a question. Mariama blinked, looking away. Ultron's fingertips brushed her cheek, marveling at the high cheekbones, the cold but radiant symmetry of her face. She was lovely, for a human, her head framed by a cloud of black coiling hair, like wool, but softer, so much softer.
"I do…" She said slowly.
"But…?" He supplied. Mariama rubbed her arms against a chill that had nothing to do with the lab.
"It's complicated." She said quietly. Ultron glanced at the screens. The consciousness stream was nearly complete and already his new body was animating. When it finished, the damaged Ultron stared at Mariama, harsh and pitiless.
"Then un-complicate it." He grated out and Mariama gasped to hear her own words turned against her.
"I…you're…" Words faltered on her tongue, hesitant and Ultron waited, even while his new body left the lab to set about doing his work. Mariama swallowed hard.
"It's not that I was anyone special back home. I was just an IT tech person. I'm not a politician, or a medical professional, or anything particularly remarkable back home. But…"
Ultron's face seemed to relax, what remained of it anyway. His brows furrowed somewhat, his eyes becoming more empathetic, the tension around his mouth giving way.
"Go on. Please." He said calmly, plaintively. Mariama took a deep breath, trying to fill her lungs with fear and exhale it out.
"You're the first person who has ever really seen what I can do. And you're not afraid of me, or ashamed. I…can you feel ashamed? I don't know. You were there for me as a friend when I had no one, even though you're an actual supervillain. I've never had anything like this before and…" The words were coming too fast, a torrent of emotions leaping from the tip of her tongue. Ultron lifted his chin, as if he were incredulous, but as he realized what she meant, his brows went up, eyes wide.
"I'm sorry." She said, "You're not big on human emotions, and you don't really have time to be. But you asked, and I gain nothing by lying so I thought I'd just come right out and say it."
Ultron continued to stare at her.
"But you haven't said anything." He said. Mariama clenched her teeth to bite off a noise in her throat threatening to give her away. She stared at him a moment longer, and then fled the room.
It was stupid, really, because she should have expected him to not understand what she was trying to say. And he hadn't come after her—not immediately.
"This is dumb." She chided herself, standing on the fog-wreathed beach, hugging her arms against the morning chill. "You're acting like a teenaged girl in a soap. Just tell him." She liked this, talking to herself so that the wind snatched her words away, relieving her of the burden, and damaging no one.
She stood out there a moment longer, and a moment became several as she focused on the heaving length and breadth of the ocean. She thought she saw a smudge of darkness on the horizon, but she attributed it to storm clouds rushing toward the island. But the smudge because a clear dot, and then she saw it.
It was a person, complete with a cape. Mariama didn't need binoculars to see who it was.
It had taken literal weeks but he'd found her signal. Buried under elaborate and intricate code and networking wrought by a clearly advanced individual. Vision made his way toward the shore of the lonely island, where a single figure stood. As he descended, he noted there was no one else around.
"You." He said at last, as calm as if he had known her all her life. She watched him, droplets of the light, misty rain caught in her thick, woolen hair like stars. She was thin, her skin ashen brown, and there were dark circles under her eyes.
"Me." She said, her voice slightly hoarse. And then she burst into tears.
Vision was startled, but outwardly he merely raised his brows.
"You're Ultron's ally." He stated thoughtfully, "The one who has been dismantling my wards across the network?"
She nodded wordlessly and Vision thought she might have been ashamed. Vigorously, she dashed the tears from her eyes, sniffling.
"Are you here to kill him?" She asked. Vision tilted his head, glancing past her.
"Well?" Ultron said, descending from the misty sky to land just behind the woman, towering over her. "Are you?"