Hey, everyone. Thank you for following this. You guys are awesome.

Woot69, thank you. I would love to be publishing IRL but I don't think I'm anywhere near that, yet. I've got a loooooong way to go. But please don't kill yourself. And I'm sorry I couldn't get this done by Wednesday D: – I pushed hard for it though. Very hard. Thank you very much for your encouraging words. They were such a pleasure to read after a difficult week. I appreciate it.

Everyone. Here we go.

Trouble
Chapter 37

Reset.

That word said in that familiar grating voice caused cold to pierce through his system. Sharp, shocking cold that froze him.

Bullshit.

Harkness bucked up with all his strength; his back felt torn in half. He felt the weight on his back leave as Left Meathead stumbled. He jammed his left knee into Left Meathead. And he forced himself up. On his feet. Before he leaned just out of Right Meathead's swing at his face. He thrust a fist into Right Meathead's jaw, snapping his head. He was wrenched back. Struck hard. Something dug into him, shifting the metal planes in his back. His vision shimmered. Blanked. Frizzled in his head. He found himself on the floor. On his knees. Back arched. Head locked within Left Meathead's tight grip. Trapped. 19.2% in operation. 19.1% in operation. 19.0 % in operation.

"Don't damage him!" Zimmer squeaked at his pet Meatheads. Right Meathead steadied himself up, fixing his head with a creak. Left Meathead didn't let Harkness go. Zimmer loomed over him, a semi-blurry image that shifted in and out of focus. "I have no intention of hurting you," Zimmer said, his voice an unsteady murmur. The voice slid over him, as though soothing. It wasn't. It caused the faintest of tremors in his chest.

And he wasn't even scared of Zimmer. No. But everything the bastard represented – it seized him. This absolute power Zimmer over him just by uttering codes at him.

He had seen that happen. Caused that to happen to others. Hunted runners down to do this to them.

He was the runner now. And this was what every runner couldn't run away from: their own system. So easy. It was so easy to manipulate his system against himself. Just one line of code that could reset him. All the codes that could steer him. Unrelated words that didn't make sense but was so relevant to him that his system would take notice. Would succumb. Would give in completely. Would surrender without question. His system would execute whatever bullshit it had been programmed to do regardless of his objections. It was like every single choice he had ever made didn't matter. He would always be a slave to his system. He couldn't cut himself from A3-21. Couldn't cut himself off his system. And Zimmer knew that. And Zimmer could manipulate that. And Zimmer had every single line of code that could do that. Could claim him back as though these months wouldn't matter. As though Harkness didn't matter. As though every memory he had gleaned was temporal.

"Well done, A3-21." Zimmer's voice cut through his thoughts. "You've stopped fighting it." Praising. Approving. A sickly cheerful smile on his face. Familiar. Both Meatheads were fixed on Zimmer, the pets that they were. Left Meathead still had his arm around Harkness, trapping him. No android was flexible enough to twist away from this. But the weight had lessened. Just a fraction. Above, Zimmer made a pleased sound. 18.0% in operation. 17.9% in operation. 17.8% in operation. "Now, let's do this the easy way."

He'd lose everything. Every memory. Every trace of life. Everything. He'd be a shell walking around. Hollow. And Zimmer the fucking bastard - He'd make his shell hunt. Hunt Saint. And Butch. And destroy them. And he would do it too.

And…everything. Everything would be gone.

Erased.

He'd be erased.

"A3-21," Zimmer started, his face turning determined. Harkness forced his left hand up to his neck, prying off Left Meathead. "A3-21 initialise factory res-"

A gunshot split apart the tension in the room. Split apart the air. And split apart Zimmer's grating voice. Harkness looked up to see Zimmer falling over backwards. To see the subduing tool slip to the floor with clang, rolling towards him. To see the spatter of blood on the wall behind. Bright red slid down the walls. Blood and gunk.

Good fucking riddance.

He traced the trajectory of the bullet back to the source.

And saw Butch.

Leaning against the wall. His hair a dark mess. Face shiny with sweat. He had a smirk on his face. Self-assured. Cocky. And proud of himself. And the sight of it, of him was… badass.

A sudden movement spurred him. Right Meathead took a step to Butch.

With a surge of energy, Harkness snatched the white subduing tool from the floor. Jammed it above and behind him. Into Left Meathead's face. The grip around him jerked. Then loosened. Harkness twisted to elbow Left Meathead off him; the hit causing pain to spread up his arm. Harkness lunged, catching the back of Right Meathead's leg, slamming both of them to the floor. He crawled over Right Meathead. Embedded the tool into Right Meathead's cheek. Right Meathead jerked violently. Blue sparks bouncing around inside his open mouth while his body twitched in spasms. Subdued. Harkness forced himself up, his body protesting as he staggered to Butch. 17.7% in operation. 17.6% in operation. 17.5% in operation.

"You look like hell," was the way Butch greeted him, his voice low but strained. The smirk wavered on his lips as his eyes roamed over Harkness.

"…S-saint?" Harkness gasped out, trying to control his speech. It felt like his every tooth would fall when he spoke. He slumped against the wall beside Butch. He felt unhinged.

"Knocked him out," Butch answered. Harkness didn't press it. Somehow, he wasn't surprised. Harkness slotted the subduing tool, switched off, into Butch's empty holster. Butch only nodded and held out the bag that contained pulse grenades. Harkness took it. He also took the pistol from Butch's left hand. 2 bullets remaining. And Butch let him take it. Not a good sign. Butch positioned his left hand to cradle his right hand awkwardly. A flash of pain skittered across his face. Fuck. Had Butch injured his right arm?

"Bu-tchh –"

"Ain't we fightin' them?" Butch interrupted, glancing at the Meatheads in the room. They were already moving to get up. Without hesitation, Harkness spent the last two bullets into the Meatheads' ankles. It wouldn't kill them. But if they started running, they'd be hindered. Somewhat.

"…N-no," he said with as much control as possible. He nudged Butch to start moving. They turned to the stairs.

Ahead, Dark Meathead dragged himself up the last few steps. He was sparking so wildly that he lit up the walls blue in spasms. The thin blue lines razed around him. The shard of glass was still stuck in his eye. Dark Meathead didn't know his master was dead but he looked set on running them down. Behind them, he heard the scrapings of boots sliding on the floor. Sounded like Meatheads trying to get up.

Bullshit.

Butch shoved past him. Started running in the opposite direction. Harkness chased after him. Sped up. Ignored the currents stabbing his flesh. The walls were a blur. At the tenth step, he heard approaching footsteps. He saw the Meatheads hounding them, Dark Meathead leading the pack. All of them were sprinting as though their injuries were nothing. Coming closer. Moving faster than they should be. Harkness plucked out one pulse grenade from the bag. Turned the knob at the bottom. Slid it across the floor at them. He didn't wait for it to explode, keeping his gaze trained on the snake in front of him. The snake flickered in clarity. He heard the explosion 3 seconds behind them. They turned a corner.

"Fuck," Butch cussed at his pip-boy, slowing down.

They had found the stairs. But it was destroyed. Blocked off by rubble.

Harkness heard the footsteps starting again, behind them. Getting louder. He pulled out another grenade. Butch made a small sound and yanked him. Bolting towards a room at the edge of the rubble. Carelessly, Harkness bounced a pulse grenade off the wall without precision. His system was giving him instructions, calculating paths, angles but the information wasn't reaching him. Deleted before it reached him. 13.4% in operation. 13.3% in operation. 13.2% in operation. Butch hauled them into the room. A storeroom. He slammed the door shut behind them. Locked it pointlessly. They heard the explosion from behind the door. The edges of an electric blue sphere emerged through the wood of the door, engulfing everything in its space. The blue lines frazzled around the wood, around some empty boxes by the door; it looked like they were burning. The blue caught the tip of Harkness' fingers. And he felt something in him get sapped. Butch grabbed him, tugging him back. Back. Back till they reached the furthest wall. The room was approximately 4.5 meters deep, 1.5 meters wide. Two metal shelves lined the right wall. Fleetingly, he noted that there were wooden boxes on them. Stacked somewhat neatly. The edge of the sphere moved further into the room, still intact, before it dispersed.

Harkness scanned the room for another way out, knowing there wasn't.

Something banged the door. It lurched against its hinges. Right. Harkness curled his fingers around the key of the next grenade only for Butch to stop him.

"It's too close," Butch said. Right. Of course he was right. "We can fight them, tin man."

No. They couldn't. They'd die before they did. Butch would - Harkness couldn't fight them off. Not like this. He needed to charge himself. Stop this slow poison in his veins. He couldn't protect Butch from them like this. He could fight until he was spent. But he wouldn't last to take all three of them down. They'd defeat him in minutes. And when that happened, they'd get Butch. And that – That wasn't going to happen. Like hell, he was going to let that happen. No.

He turned to Butch. Reached for him. He reached for the zipper of Butch's jacket. Held the tab between his thumb and forefinger shakily. And pulled it upwards. Pulled it to cover him up. To hide the skin of his chest and neck. Butch squirmed and grasped his wrist. He started moving it downwards instead.

"You're goin' the wrong way." He wasn't. Harkness wrenched it upwards again, covering more skin. Butch stopped him. Frowned. "What the hell are you doing?"

He was – Shaking. Trembling. Choking up. He looked up at Butch. Trying to see the lines of his face. His eyes. His lips. The bruise on his jaw. The softness in his gaze. The worry on his face. He could see it but it was fading in and out of focus. And Harkness realised with startling clarity what he was about to do, what he planned to do, what he'd chosen to do so easily without question. And his system wasn't refusing when it should be protesting. It was quieted, somehow. It was illogical. Irrational. Out of depth. Out of anything that any android could comprehend. It didn't make sense. This was ridiculous. Illogical.

A hot, burning agony curled his system tight. Currents slowed its journey within him. It was pulsing. Only slowing. Like nudging his own pulses to turn the other way. Rolling through his veins. He was starting to see deep pauses of blue in his vision. Pauses of nothing but blue. 10.1% in operation. 10.0% in operation. His system was trying to shut himself down.

He slid his palm around the back of Butch's neck. Closed his eyes and pulled him close. He knew there wasn't time for this. But he didn't let go. He just couldn't. Couldn't stop himself. He squeezed, his fingers in Butch's hair. He felt Butch stiffen then relax against him. His pulse on his cheek. The mixture of leather, blood, sweat, metal filling his head. Solid. Warm. And so alive. Not a ghost. Not Ghost-Butch. Just Butch.

It was overwhelming. But it was all irrelevant now.

Another loud bang against the door. He heard the wood splinter. Felt Butch's sharp inhale.

"Harkness?" Butch whispered, his lips brushing against his temple. Harkness felt the fingers curled around his arm push down, lowering the zipper again. Ridiculous. A huff of breath that sounded like a chuckle passed his lips.

"…so… t-troublesome."

Then, he shoved Butch away. Hard enough that Butch slammed against the wall. Hard enough that the hands on him flew off. Hard enough that Butch would be stunned for a moment. He pushed because he couldn't bear knocking Butch out. Harkness turned. Reached for the nearest shelf. Pulled it down behind him. It fell, scraping the wall. Stuck halfway down. Slanted across the space. Blocking Butch from him because he knew Butch would try to fight. Because Butch couldn't get past the shelves with an injured arm. Harkness plucked out a pulse grenade. Twisted its knob. Threw it onto the floor where the door was.

Another bang. The door screeched on its hinges. A chunk of wood spun across the floor.

Harkness pulled down the other shelf behind him. The boxes on it crashed to the floor. The shelf toppled, its metal scratching against the opposite wall. He twisted the next grenade. Threw it down. The door was bursting on its hinges. Next grenade.

Butch made a strangled sound in his throat. Harkness turned. Dropped the last grenade. Their eyes met over the fallen shelves. Butch's eyes were wide. Blue. Shocked. Butch was mouthing something, his name probably; he could barely see it, could barely hear it. He hoped that if his ghost ever came back, Butch would tell it to piss off.

The door broke open. 3 Meatheads rushed at him. Harkness threw the first punch. Felt the returning strike across his face.

And then the blue exploded by their feet.

His system jolted. Blanked him out – You're not human – Brilliant blue – You've stopped fighting it – It was all he could see – I have no intention of hurting you – You think I'm dead – Was it that easy you bastard – Bright – Harkness – I just commanded you – You obeyed – Flooding him – Go ahead, Chief – Ripping him apart – Turn it and throw – You're goin' the wrong way – Consuming - But it zings – Then it burns – Overwhelming – Then it leaves a scar –I still wanna hit you – you programmed yourself – Well done, A3-21 – you – Harkness – Harkness –

End of part 2.