A/N: I've missed these two.
Of Spare Parts (and their echoes)
[b]urning
Sometimes, dreams of the end still haunt him.
The facility of white, so alien, stretches as far as the eye can see, AI voices mocking his feeble demise. He focuses on the warmth of blood, heated with flames, with hatred, with frustration; lying there, A2 at his side, anger coursing through his veins; the image of the only person he has ever wanted fading from memory.
But then, the flames are replaced by the campfire before him, and his gaze is drawn to stormy eyes. A hand gingerly touches his, metal glinting through cracked skin in the flickering light. Her brow creases, and he smiles, watching orange-yellow dance across her beauty- not a memory.