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maple-writes · 11 months

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Questionable late night quality scene that I thought up in the shower the other night between Indigo and Richard before he broke free of the organization that made him. It's fun playing around with how different Indigo acts in the different areas of her life, and the difference between her cold cruelty in Umbra Ursa and more compassionate and fair side working with her research subjects and handling Richard as a weapon.

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“Well done, Trout.” Indigo stood with an approving smile as the cyborg returned to the airship, bleeding from a limp arm but otherwise intact. She beckoned him closer, turning him when he stood before her to see his arm, gently palpating for breaks and noting where he winced. “On a scale of one to ten, how bad does it hurt?”

He thought, eyes flicking to the wound a moment. “Five or six, keeping still.”

Likely only flesh deep then, nothing that had to be fixed immediately. “Noted.” She flipped through her notebook and jotted down his response. “I’ll see if I can arrange for painkillers until we can get that looked at. In the meantime we are about an hour out from home.” She put her book away into her back and drew out a puzzle toy and a small packet of strawberry licorice, holding them out to him. “You did well today, keep it up.”

He took them, careful to keep his razor-sharp claws from grazing her skin, and Indigo returned to her table and reports. The chair creaked and echoed in the near-empty cargo bay as she returned to her papers, reading and marking changes to documents and reports from her team. At the edge of her vision PSH-1 settled down, sitting cross legged with a strip of licorice in his mouth as he worked at the puzzle. She grinned as she focused back on her work. According to the others on her team he chose to sit so close to them on the returns home. She had a feeling he listened better to her too.

The ship rumbled, docking, and Indigo shuffled her documents back into their folder. She stood and without having to be told PSH-1 did too, watching her attentively. He followed her quietly when the cargo door opened and she led the way from the tarmac back into the facility. In the late light his shadow towered over hers, though, it wasn’t as if he didn’t tower over her already. She slowed, beckoning with a wave of her hand for him to walk beside her. He slipped in step beside her like a dog at perfect heel.

He glanced down at her, the one mechanical eye glowing faintly in the dim evening. “Are you staying the night?”

“Likely.” There was a laundry list of things she needed to check up on in her lab, things to follow up on and reports and papers to write. It was easier here than back home. “You are welcome to join me once your arm is addressed.”

He nodded and for a moment the faintest hint of a smile crossed his face, so subtle anyone else would have missed it but Indigo knew what she saw. She spent more time with him than any of his other handlers cared to. He kept quiet the rest of the walk through the facility and when she dropped him off for medical attention. At this time of night there would have only been one or maybe two staff to see him. It could be awhile until the post-assignment evaluation was complete.

“Dr. Carmine, can I talk to you for a moment?”

She paused as a Allan called from behind her in the hallway. One of the others tasked with overseeing and handling Trout, he had been a part of the initiative just longer than she had and had grown closer than she liked with the founder.

“What about?” She turned, frowning. No one asked to talk like that about something good.

He caught up with her and kept walking in the direction of his office. “It’s about you and PSH-1.”

Her frown deepened. “What about us?”

Allan opened the door to his office and held the door for her. He stepped in after her, taking a seat at his desk. Indigo stood where she’d entered. She didn’t intend to stay longer than she had to so saw no point in sitting down or getting comfortable.

“Well, I and some of my other colleagues have been talking about you and your methods.” He folded his hands on the desk with propped up elbows, resting his chin on his knuckles. “You spoil him, and it’s showing when he has to go out with others.”

Indigo crossed her arms, tucking her folder in one hand. “How so?” She had a feeling she knew what he was going to say but she wanted to hear him say it.

“He doesn’t respond as quickly to the others. He’s distant, as if he expects a reward for doing what he’s told.”

“But he does listen to them, correct?”

Allan sighed, leaning back in his chair. “Well, yes. He does as he’s ordered but—”

“Then what exactly is the problem?” Indigo tilted her head, meeting his eyes with her stare, silently demanding a response.

“You coddle him, that’s the problem. He is a weapon to be used, not a pet. He shouldn’t be treated for doing what he is supposed to be doing.” His shoulders hunched as he crossed his arms to mirror her posture. “He can’t expect to be babied every time he comes back from a mission.”

Indigo bristled. “I think he knows full well he’s not going to get a damn thing from you when he comes back. He’s smart enough to know who rewards him and who doesn’t. And let me reiterate what you just told me: he still listens to you. I fail to see how this is a problem and I fail to see how this is my problem.” She jutted her chin out, letting a hint of sharpness into her voice. “If I didn’t know any better I would say you were envious that he is willing to do more for me and I can tell you why he doesn’t. Tell me Allan, would you jump higher to please a boss who recognizes your work or one who treats you like a machine?”

“He is a machine! He should be reliable to anyone handling him, Indigo.” He leaned forward again, pointing at her across the table. “We can’t be giving him reason to play favourites. It’s no secret you invite him to linger around you when you work and talk with him and share lunch with him. It’s unprofessional for you to baby him like that.”

Her jaw clenched and her stare hardened. She uncrossed her arms and stood before his desk. “First of all he is a cyborg, not a machine. His brain chemistry is regulated to be pliable and obedient, but he is not a robot without thought and association. Have you ever thought that maybe the reason that he prefers working with me, and why he gets better results with me, is that I have taken the time and put the effort into gaining his trust? Into becoming someone he wants to work with and wants to please instead of someone he has to listen to just because he’s conditioned to obey? That he works harder for me because he knows he will be rewarded for it?” She growled. “I put in the work to build a bond with him and that is why he works harder for me than he does for you.”

Allan scowled, glaring. “You treat him like a pet Indigo! Hell, I’d even say you treat him like a son the way you spoil him with toys and treats and attention. You—”

Indigo slammed her hands on the table, leaning over to Allan with venom in her eyes. “Did you forget where his base genetics came from? Who’s ovum was used as the framework from which he was engineered? He would not exist without me.” She snarled. “And how dare you insinuate that treating him worse than the mice in my lab is by any means proper as a way to deflect from your own poor performance.”

She pushed off from his desk and snatched her folder. “Why don’t you learn to handle him better yourself before coming to me and demand I lower my standards to make you look better.”

Before he could argue she turned and left, slamming the door behind her. It echoed in the quiet hallway as she simmered with every step towards her lab. As if she didn’t already know that the others thought she was too soft, too permissive, but it didn’t take a genius to look at the data and how her methods were working and they just couldn’t be bothered to see him as anything other than a barely sentient weapon.

As she unlocked the door to her lab though unease crawled through her stomach. She had nothing concrete, but it wouldn’t be a stretch to suspect they would find a way to retaliate. Find a way to frame her as too soft, too permissive, to maternal to continue to handle PSH-1. She’s already heard whispers about her alluding to her being too emotional, too driven by feelings in the way she handled her lab. How she insisted on the highest standards for her lab animals, her mandating their wellbeing in her studies, as evidence she lacked the objective authority the job demanded. That she was too attached.

It didn’t matter that her studies came out clearer, more accurate, and more consistent with her subjects happy and relaxed. It didn’t matter that PSH-1 was more regulated, calmer, ever since she started spending time with him. If she stopped now she could almost promise that he would go back to stereotypic behaviors, the pacing, the clawing at his own skin, the yelling and tearing at his hair and on and on and on. But that didn’t matter to them. To them he was nothing more than a tool so what did his wellness matter?

Maybe they’d start caring once it hampered his performance but it was doubtful they’d connect the dots on why.

She set her file down and sank into her computer chair, not bothering to turn the lights on. There was enough soft glow from the computer screen and the safety lights scattered around equipment anyway. She leaned back, closing her eyes and draping her arm over her forehead.

“Dr. Carmine?”

She startled at Trout’s voice beside her, almost jumping from her chair before recognizing him. “Don’t sneak up on me like that.” He walked as close to silently as a human-shaped being could, and probably didn’t realize it.

He stepped back a little. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” She turned in her chair, crossing one leg over the other. “Make yourself comfortable just don’t touch anything without asking.”

He nodded, and slipped into his usual spot under the corner desk beside her. He’d made a near-nest over the last few months with a blanket he might have swiped from one of the common areas but she didn’t feel like taking back, and a few of the puzzles she’d given him to keep himself busy. He tucked himself into the corner and picked up one of the puzzles that he had been working on for the last week or so, eyes focusing and adjusting as he manipulated the shapes to try and solve it. Some days if she had more math or statistics to go through than she wanted to deal with she would pass it along to him to figure out and he seemed to enjoy it but tonight there was nothing she needed done, and had a feeling he would be asleep within an hour anyway. He usually didn’t stay up long after he came back from a mission.

Just as predicted, he put the puzzle down not long after she logged onto her computer and started typing in the dim light, lulled by the tapping of the keys and the humming of the desktop as it worked.

#my writing #space reboot #that isn't in space anymore but I don't have a better name #Indigo Carmine #Richard/Trout #it's fun to go and flesh out how she was before the story working on project super human (hopefully find a better name lol)

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