"Pass me that file, will you?"

"Which one?"

It's the first of many sleepless nights spent working together to free her from her virtual prison, and we're already splendid partners. Her intellect rivals my own, a friendly competition that I find both stimulating and refreshing.

"The one with your genetic profile in it. I've got a theory I want to test out."

Aelita smirks, waving her hand across the screen and dragging the document into view with the balls of her fingertips. "Sure thing. Just remember that my eyes are up here, Jeremie."

I smile back, blushing furiously, and I only hope that my sudden change in color doesn't translate beyond the glass and through to her watchful gaze. "How could I forget?" I crack back, eliciting an electronic giggle from her speakers. My eyes dart briefly back over my shoulder to see if anyone heard us, but the dormitory hallway remains dark and silent as ever.

I make a mental note to invest in a pair of headphones before returning to our work.

"How was your day today?"

It becomes routine, walking in the door each day to find her waiting for me in my room. I imagine that this is what marriage feels like, though the comparison leaves me dry-mouthed and flustered, so I avoid it. "Standard. Odd started a chemical fire in Science."

"Sounds exciting," she remarks, trying not to smirk but failing miserably. She isn't very good at hiding her emotions, a trait- or lack thereof- which I'm admittedly quite fond of.

"That's one word for it. You might also pick 'brainless' or 'inept.' I'm partial to 'moronic,' myself."

She laughs, bemused. Perhaps she thinks I'm joking. "What did Mrs. Hertz say?"

"She chose 'imbecilic.'" I plug in the auxiliary cable of my new headset and sit down. "Used it about five times before she finally sent him over to Delmas."

Aelita giggles. She sounds wonderful in stereo.

"What do you really think about them?"

"Who?"

"The others. Your-... our friends."

I drag a line of numbers from one portion of the program over to another, holding the files side-by-side to see if they match. I'm still one variable off. "What do you mean?" I ask.

"I mean your honest opinion," she tries, clarifying. "While I like to think that I'm pretty observant, I must admit that some of the intricacies of sarcasm still manage to elude me. So I'd like to know: where do they stand in your eyes?"

I don't say anything for a time, playing it off as though I'm concentrated solely on our work. But I can't stay silent forever.

"I don't like them," I answer eventually.

Aelita blinks. I can see her processing this information, running it through her own form of internal calculus. "Why not?" she pries.

I sigh, running my hands through my hair and down my face. I have the infantile desire to hold back my explanation, at least temper it in order to better suit her mental image of me, but I refuse to lie to her in any capacity. "They're unintelligent. Immature. And I don't trust them."

"You're begging the question," she reprimands.

I wince. Damn, she's good. "Alright. Take Stern. He's impulsive, emotional, and hotheaded."

"You've just listed three synonyms," she points out. Aptly, frustratingly.

"But you don't disagree," I retort.

"Not necessarily, but I would take issue with your framing. Nothing you've stated is an implicitly negative quality."

"Hotheadedness isn't a negative quality?"

"Not inherently, no. For example, aggression is a perfectly healthy and- in fact- desirable quality when facing off against XANA's monsters."

"That's a false equivalence," I argue. "I'm talking about his temperament. I would obviously never question Ulrich's combat abilities."

"You're also ignoring the context of his anger, insofar as it stems from wanting to protect the people he cares about. Namely us."

"He wanted to shut down the supercomputer and leave you for dead," I fire back.

Aelita stops to give me a stern look. "Now who's using a false equivalence? The decision to shut down the supercomputer was a perfectly rational one and you know it. It's unfair to hold that against him, or any of them, for that matter. He wanted to protect his friends, and probably his family. And when you convinced him to do so, he took up the fight to protect me, too."

"Fine," I snip, pushing my keyboard aside. My focus is entirely on her now; we're having our first fight and I'm determined not to lose. "But it's because of his reckless stupidity that we have to put up with Della Robbia."

Aelita's eyes narrow critically. "What's the matter with Odd?"

"What isn't?" I huff incredulously. "Always joking around, pushing buttons, jumping into conflict headfirst without any regard for his own safety. All of these hindrances that would've been avoided if Stern hadn't had the brilliant idea to steal his roommate's dog for our scanner-test."

"A test which you approved," she reminds.

"Ishiyama is exceptional," I concede, hoping to appease her somewhat. "But she's bipolar as hell. Always playing hot and cold with Stern. It's bad practice for everyone involved, and- frankly- we have more important things to worry about than schoolyard romance."

Something flickers in Aelita's virtual gaze. But it's gone before I can pinpoint its origin. "I see."

Her words hang, seconds pass, and even though I know I'm right I can't help but feel like I've done something wrong. Another sigh escapes me as I push my glasses further up onto the bridge of my nose.

"Who was it that helped you with that painting?" she asks suddenly.

I'm puzzled. "Painting?"

"The one on the wall of the school," she provides. "The other night. So that you would get grounded over the holiday."

I stiffen. I can already see where this is leading and I don't like it. "It was Stern," I admit.

"Who lent you that computer science textbook that only upperclassmen get issued?"

I shake my head, kicking myself for ever asking for Yumi's help. "Ishiyama. And I just needed it for a refresher on-..."

"One more," she cuts in, grinning smugly. "Who was it that brought you breakfast? When you slept in after you pulled that all-nighter working on the materialization program."

"Della Robbia." Who by some miracle decided to have a heart bigger than his stomach that particular morning. "I get it."

"Jeremie," Aelita says softly, "I'm not trying to debate you out of your feelings. I know that not all human processes are so logical. I'm only asking you to consider that you're not alone in all this."

"I know that." I stare into her waiting eyes, and she smiles gently back. "I have you."

"I had a dream last night."

I pause, glancing up from the string of code I'm currently writing in order to meet her visage. "Oh?"

She nods, her singular earring bobbing noiselessly in the void. Her features are pensive, and in that moment I can't help but feel an overwhelming urge to protect her at all costs. "A bad one," she clarifies.

"You mean a nightmare," I supply.

She nods again. A hum reverberates from within the computer, her lips pressed anxiously together in a taut, thin line like a scar. "I dreamed that one of you fell into the digital sea," she says, stopping momentarily to collect herself. When she recovers, she only adds, "And you were lost. Forever."

"I'll never let that happen," I promise. But it's one that I can't possibly keep. And so- inevitably- I will break it.

She nods a third time, though she doesn't seem totally convinced. "Sleep with me tonight?"

I have to tear myself away from the coding process once more, but once I do I'm greeted with the sight of Aelita's hand pressed firmly against the other side of the monitor, waiting patiently for my reply. I place my hand over hers and relish in the static feeling of her contact, however imaginary. "Of course."

I don't leave the desk until morning, and when I wake up my face is decorated with an imprint of the alphabet where my head hit the keyboard.

"Bring her back!" he roars, pounding the machine with one clenched fist. The other one tremors violently beside him, like he might lash out and clock me at any given moment. "Bring her back, now!"

"Ulrich, calm down," Della Robbia tries to intervene, though the warble in his voice betrays his shock and fear. He's not entirely certain whether violence is the appropriate response at this point, but it's clear that he's not ruling it out, either.

Stern thrashes when Odd's hand lights upon his shoulder, shrugging him off with a snarl. "Stay out of this, Odd," he snaps, teeth grinding.

He falls quiet as Ulrich turns his attention back to me, his dark eyes sharpening into daggers as I stare coldly back at him. It's a calculated façade; he's a head taller than I am and a star participant in several school sports, not to mention Jim's favorite athlete. Ulrich Stern is both strong and mad enough to kill me where I stand, but I can't let him know that I know that. I at least have to pretend that I'm not petrified.

"I can't do that," I level in a half-convincing monotone. "Her data isn't in the supercomputer anymore. There's nothing there to retrieve."

"Then return to the past."

"It doesn't work like that and you know it."

Ulrich fumes, marching towards me like he might finally hit me before suddenly turning and punching the chair instead. The headrest careens off of its metal hinges with a shimmering crack, flying across the room and against the wall with a hard thud. It will be a week before he begrudgingly comes back to the factory and fixes it, and only during the dead of night when he's certain that no one is around to see him do it.

"Jesus, Ulrich."

"He's lucky it wasn't his head."

"Stop it, Ulrich, please!" Aelita interjects from behind the glass, her perfect features creased with worry. "You're scaring me."

Much to my surprise, he listens, his body tensing as he seems to lock himself down against his better judgement. "You're scared?" he queries, vocal chords still seething with fearsome, red rage. Tears have started to gather around the edges of his deathly gaze, and a chuckle escapes his lips, dry and humorless. "How do you think she feels, Aelita?"

"Yumi isn't feeling anything right now," I counter.

Odd's eyes widen as Ulrich shudders, holding back another vengeful tirade. Even Aelita lets out a mortified, "Jeremie!" But nothing I said is incorrect, so I withhold any apology they might expect from me.

The room falls into silence. Deep, dark, and spiraling.

Then: "There is a way to bring her back."

My eyes dart to the monitor, catching Aelita's gaze as it seems to falter for a millisecond before strictly refocusing. "We have to use the program, Jeremie."

"What program?" Ulrich spits, accusation dripping down his words like bile.

"The one that we've been working on," she answers quickly, amicably. "To bring me to Earth. If we recalibrate the gene code, we can use it to rematerialize Yumi."

"But you guys have been working on that script for months now," Odd says, surprising me with his intelligence.

"Yes, we have," I confirm, shooting a firm glare over at Aelita. It's her turn to surprise me as she meets my gaze and holds it, unflinching, though I remain stalwart in my decision. "Aelita, we can't."

"This isn't a question, Jeremie."

"You're right. It isn't."

A hand suddenly grabs my collar, wrenches me around. Ulrich stares me down, his knuckles violet and throbbing from the impact that he made on the computer chair, and when I stagger beneath his iron grip his hold on me only tightens. "If you're holding back something that can bring Yumi home, I swear to God, Belpois, I'll-..."

"That's enough!" she blares, overriding the factory's overhead speakers and jolting the three of us into stunned, respectful silence. Aelita's usually calm, tranquil melody has warped into a static scream, and her eyes glower fiercely with pale, cold fire. "Odd, take Ulrich down to the scanner room and wait for Yumi. This won't take long."

Stern hesitates, though I can already feel his fingers slowly unraveling from the mangled fabric of my sweater. Della Robbia touches him again, hugging his shoulder between his fingertips, and this time he doesn't pull away. He leaves me with a final, piercing glare before following Odd over to the elevator. Then the doors close behind them and Aelita and I are left alone with the supercomputer.

"Don't contradict me like that again."

Aelita blinks, then sighs, her voice softening to a buzzing crackle. "I'm sorry, Jeremie."

"We wrote that program together. It's not for you to decide what we do with it."

"I know. You're right."

"We're supposed to be a team, Aelita."

"We still are, Jeremie."

At some point during our exchange I sit down, leaning forward in the broken chair and pulling the program onscreen without a second thought. There are tears welling in my eyes, and as they roll fruitlessly down my face I try to protect the keyboard with my sleeves, wiping my nose and chin until my arms are wet with despair. It's only after I've begun copying Yumi's genetic profile down into the program's script that I start to cry, a sob strangling my throat as I cover myself with my hands and turn away from the monitor's gaze.

"I need a minute," I choke sharply, blubbering. I don't want her to see me like this.

Even though I can't see her for the tears clouding my vision, I still feel her nodding sympathetically at my back, waiting patiently for me to finish. She never leaves my side and it's because of times like these that I'm not sure why. "I'm not going anywhere."

A gasp fills the air as smoke bleeds out from the scanner, and Yumi stumbles through drenched in coldsweat and breathing like she's just breached for air for the first time in hours. Which is impossible, as she's only been dead for twenty minutes.

She collapses almost immediately, knees buckling as her boots hit the floor. Her body falls into Ulrich's, hanging limply over his shoulders as he holds her tightly, following her to the ground as the two of them slide to their knees. He's saying, "I got you, I got you," over and over into her ears, and he has one hand on her back and the other on her head, cradling her like a child. Bruised fingertips comb her hair in quiet reassurance.

Odd gives me a look as I enter the room. It's a dry, absent stare and so unlike him it unnerves me. "You okay?"

It takes me a solid second to realize that he's speaking to me. I pretend to clean my glasses, subtly wiping at my still-wet eyes. "Tired," I reply.

He nods, sighing. His entire body heaves. "Thank you."

I must look surprised, because he offers me a weary half-shrug as he explains, "He'll never say it. She can't. So I will. Thanks, Einstein."

There's a lump in my throat when I go to speak again. I want to say "thank you" in return- more than anything in the world I do- but for the life of me I can't.

So I only nod before I reenter the elevator and get back to work.