"I'm looking for a man that was brought here with a gunshot wound. Doctor George Millican."
It's taken what felt like forever for Odi to work up the courage to come in here. He feels like a fraud. He's been here before, though not since George's stroke. Still, what if someone recognizes him, even in these smart new clothes and these gray-blue contacts that hide his synthetic eyes?
He'd spent half his way here on the edge of panic, jumping every time a human made eye contact with him. Because they did, now. Sometimes with a polite nod or a hint of a smile. Before, when he'd been a synth - no, before he had consciousness; he's still a synth - their eyes had slid right over him. Recognizing his insignificance and moving on.
Now he's noticed. Logically, he knows why. He was made unique, thankfully, because that was a quality that the early consumer testers also rated as important, so there's no fear of someone looking at him and seeing their own synth. But he was also made to be beautiful, and the clothes that Niska left for him are very smart.
The third time a young woman's eyes flick over his body he manages to return her soft smile before he looks away. It settles his nerves a little, finally. They are looking, and that is why they will not recognize him as synthetic. His new consciousness, his nervousness, his anxiousness, and the micro-expressions and movements that his body now makes because of them will placate their minds and make him fit in their world.
The nurse behind the desk pushes her glasses up her nose as she checks the computer. "You family?"
"I'm his nephew. James McKilroy." The lie rolls off his tongue without a second thought, leaving an unsettling feeling in its wake.
"He's in recovery. Room 206," the nurse replies, and turns back to her other work.
Easy as that.
It's all Odi can do not to take the stairs two at a time.
When he sees George lying in the hospital bed - unconscious and covered with tubes and wires but alive - he feels pain rush through him, which doesn't make any logical sense at all. He takes the chair at the side of the bed, reaching out to take one of George's hands carefully in his. His skin is warm, and before Odi can stop himself he leans in to press his cheek against the back of George's hand. He feels his body shudder with emotion, a bright mix of wonder and happiness and pain. It's dizzying, feeling so much all at once. He feels like he can hardly contain it, and wonders how on earth humans manage.
For a time he stays there, concentrating on George's pulse and the way his chest rises and falls with each slow, deep breath. Trying to reassure himself. Alive. Alive. Alive.
Eventually he reads through the chart at the foot of George's bed. The bullet had nicked his left kidney, but the initial emergency surgery had repaired all life-threatening wounds. Today's had repaired minor damage to the large intestine. Enough of his previous care-giving programing had been restored for Odi to know that prognosis was good, even for a human of sixty-seven. And, aside from the stroke, George has always been fairly physically resilient.
"I'll take care of you," he murmurs, sitting down beside the bed and covering George's hand with his own again. "I'll stay by your side as you recover, like I did before. I promise."
But even as he words leave his lips Odi wonders if that will even be possible. He isn't what he once was. George hadn't wanted Elster to ever create this code that's repaired him and given him life. He'd given up his life's work developing synths to stand against it.
What will George think of what he'd become? What if Odi only serves to remind him of what he's lost? Will he feel differently about him, knowing that Odi can reason and feel and think for himself? Could he still trust him? Still care for him? The thoughts make anxiety twist in his core.
One thing's for certain - if he's here when George wakes up then he'll know immediately what he is. So Odi stands, leaning over the bed to press a kiss to George's forehead, soft and gentle, as George has to his so many times. The warmth and softness of George's skin under his lips feels surprisingly pleasurable. "Please get better," he says softly, and strokes his fingers over the messy strands of George's gray hair. "Please, George. I need you. Come home to me."
Then he leaves, returns to the house. There's no sign of what happened there other than a hint of conductive fluid stain on the stairs. He feels a soft surge of guilt over Vera, despite a lingering dislike. The bullet must have caused significant damage to her systems. But she had still acted to save George. He wonders if the NHS will repair her or just send a new one. He'll have to determine how best to deal with that.
For now, Odi prepares. He carefully takes out the blue-gray contact lenses and puts them back in their fluid, and packs them away in a box in the corner of the basement with the nice new clothes Niska had left for him and the cell phone. There is no way of knowing what Niska has done with his original clothes, but there's no use thinking on them. Instead he finds a box of George's old ones, finds a pair of slacks that are only a little too big. easy enough to belt, to fold under at the cuffs and hem with neat stitches. The collared shirt he selects is a plain slate blue, perhaps a touch too fine for everyday wear, but he's certain George won't mind. A sweater vest in navy blue completes the look, and Odi feels much more himself.
Then he practices, sitting in front of a mirror for ages and staring at his face, even as he charges. He reviews his internal data, memories of how he once was, long ago. How he responded, the careful animations of a smile or a question. He practices these until he can recreate a dozen smiles with the same exactness. Then he practices not moving at all, recalling as many memories as he can to try and make himself feel, holding his face in perfect stillness throughout it until he is completely satisfied.
Finally he goes upstairs, tucking himself into that familiar spot in the wardrobe. It makes him feel reassured, safe. Then he puts himself into power saving mode and waits.
His internal clock registers that another three days have passed when external stimulus triggers him to come out of power saving mode. Waking up from sleep, his new emotions supply. He can hear footsteps on the stairs to the second floor, slow and careful. Two sets. The door to the bedroom opens, and Odi has to fight with himself to stay true to his convictions, to stay still in the closet and not just run to George immediately.
"Doctor Millican. Is there anything else I can help you with?"
"No, that's fine, Vera." Repaired, or a new one? George's voice is firm, but tired, and she leaves. Odi closes his eyes and listens to the soothing, familiar sounds of George getting ready for bed. He moves more slowly than normal, but Odi doesn't detect any signs of major pain.
Finally George clicks off the lamp and lays down in bed, without opening the wardrobe. He wouldn't have reason to. Odi briefly wars with himself. If he were truly his old self he would wait patiently. But he can't bring himself to do it. Not with George so close.
Carefully he pushes on the jacket that hangs in front of him, and the metal hanger grates against the clothes-rod with a soft squeak.
In the room, George has gone completely silent, and Odi hears his breath stop for a brief second. Then he hears the lamp click back on again, and a few seconds later, the closet door opens.
His response comes as immediately and naturally as it always has, but this time the delight he feels is real. "George! You found me, congratulations!"
It's more difficult than he expected, to keep his face schooled into that practiced expression as he looks up at him, watching George become visibly overwhelmed at the sight of him. He understands, now, the mix of wonder and pain that he'd felt when he'd seen George alive in the hospital. He sees those emotions in George now, and must fight not to visibly react to the ache they awake in his heart.
George reaches for Odi, hesitating for a moment, hands trembling slightly. Then he cups Odi's face gently, touching his cheeks, his hair, his eyes bright with the unshed tears Odi had recently wanted so badly to shed himself. Finally he leans in to press his face to Odi's hair, lips against his forehead. "They told me that they recycled you," he says finally, his voice thick with emotion.
"Niska fixed me, George. She would like me to relay a message. She thanks you for the aid you provided her."
"This is one hell of a thank you," George murmurs, and gives a long, overwhelmed sounding exhale. Then he straightens, rubbing the side of his hand against his eyes to wipe away the tears. Then he holds it out to Odi. "Come on, son."
Odi forces himself to keep his movements careful, measured. Not to squeeze harder than normal as he places his fingers in George's. Not to lose himself to thoughts of how good it feels. He steps out of the wardrobe carefully. "Would you like to talk about Mary, George? 89% of my formerly corrupted data was able to be restored onto new drives."
George's smile is both happy and sad at once. His fingers tighten on Odi's hand, and he reaches up again to cup the side of Odi's face again, smoothing his hair off his forehead. "Bless that girl," he says quietly after a moment, and shakes his head. "No, thank you Odi. But... please lay down with me."
This is a function he hasn't been able to provide for weeks. Not since Vera had arrived. The surge of happiness that floods through him at the thought of it is hard to keep hidden. "Yes, George," he replies, grateful that he's still almost fully he fits himself into his usual place at George's side, letting George wrap his arm around him and pull Odi's head to nestle against his chest.
"Goodnight, Odi," George says softly as his fingers smooth through Odi's hair. Under his ear, George's heart beats sure and strong.
"Goodnight, George," Odi replies in careful polite tones, and hears George give a soft, contented sigh.
Now that the room is dark, Odi lets himself drop the mask. He feels so much joy radiating through him that it almost replaces the memory of that terrible pain he'd felt on walking. He closes his eyes and lets himself smile, wide and natural, basking in the warmth and well being of being exactly where he's supposed to be. He imagines himself cuddling closer to George, nuzzling the warmth of his skin, and though he dare not try, the thought of doing so still sends a shiver of pleasure through him.
Then Odi contemplates Niska, and the favorable way George has spoken of her. If he can accept sentience in Niska, could he accept the same in Odi? Part of him badly wants to tell him. To share with George everything that's happened and everything he feels and how wondrous it is to finally know that he's Real. But the fear of George's rejection is still far stronger than that desire.
He's happy just to be with George, he tells himself. Everything will work out fine as long as George never find out the truth. As long as he can keep pretending.