Trinity Blood Fan Fiction ❯ Experimental ❯ One-Shot

[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]

“Experimental”
by Viridian5
11/3/14

RATING: R; Tres/Abel. If m/m interaction bothers you, pass this by.
SPOILERS: Vague spoiler for “Gunmetal Hound” in volume IX.
SUMMARY: Tres asks for Abel’s help on something unexpected.
ARCHIVAL/DISTRIBUTION: Anywhere, as long as you ask me first.
FEEDBACK: can be sent to Viridian5@aol.com.
DISCLAIMERS: All things Trinity Blood belong to Thores Shibamoto, Sunao Yoshida, and Kiyo Kyujyo. No infringement intended.

================
“Experimental& #8221;
by Viridian5
================

Their vampire attackers had pressed them so hard that Abel had been forced to operate Crusnik at 80% instead of 40%, while Tres had switched to genocide mode. It hadn’t helped Abel that the vampires had swarmed him from initially thinking he’d be an easier target to subdue. In Crusnik form he could see in the dark and watch all the damage he and his partner did... and enjoy it more. The roar of all the gunfire from Tres’ direction annoyed his more sensitive ears though. By the time he finished feeding off his last attacker Tres had already holstered his guns.

Although he should be glutted from all the vampire blood he’d drunk, he greedily searched for more, determined to get it all, and one of his black wings quickly swept across Tres’ face to suck away the blood there. Although Tres’ face usually showed little emotion, Abel could see his minimalist version of “What. The. Fuck!” written across it.

Oh, God. Horrified with himself, Abel immediately reverted to his human form, his double-headed scythe, wings, claws, sharp teeth, and augmented senses disappearing. Also, this way he could no longer see Tres’ face. “I’m so sorry! That was disgusting!”

“Apology is unnecessary, Father Nightroad. It did no damage,” Tres answered.

“That doesn’t matter....”

“Immaterial. Status report?”

“...undamaged.” Not quite the truth. “I finished off my opponents.”

“Likewise. Rewrite resident tactical program, switch mode from genocide to search. Let us return to our hotel room.”

Although it would be preferable to return to the Vatican immediately to report in to Her Grace and receive new orders, trains went express and ceased to stop at this town at 2300 hours, forcing Tres and Father Nightroad to stay overnight until local train service resumed at 0700. Tres made good use of the time by cleaning himself, washing and repairing their torn, dirty uniforms (washing out only dirt, since Crusnik had already removed all the blood), and cleaning their guns. Father Nightroad claimed the shower after him and stayed in it much longer.

Father Nightroad would make best use of his time by sleeping afterward but probably wouldn’t, not after he had killed many beings, lost some control of his Crusnik form, and, to his thinking, infringed on Tres’ person tonight. (As a machine lacking human emotion, Tres could not be disturbed by Father Nightroad’s wing sweeping so suddenly and quickly across his face that he had no option of preventing it, although he set a high priority on the reminder of Crusnik’s speed compared to his own.) Judging by past behavior, Nightroad would remain awake to quietly brood instead.

Although Nightroad could fall asleep anywhere, like many soldiers Tres had known, he rested best in a bed in a stationary location. Well-rested, he performed better, showed more emotional stability, and required less caretaking.

Tres would need to distract and/or tire him out.

Father Nightroad returned to the bedroom with his long silver hair freshly dried and old, faded, blue cotton pajamas on. Although he sat on his bed, he did not lie down or show any signs of readying for sleep, while his facial expression showed discomfort and depression as expected.

“Father Nightroad, will you aid me?” Tres asked.

“Tres?”

“I have been considering new methods of gathering intelligence for the Duchess of Milan and require your input on how to seduce targets to turn them into informants.” Getting help from Father Nightroad on this matter while using it to also distract him from his angst would be multi-tasking, efficient.

Father Nightroad’s blue eyes widened, and his mouth opened and closed three times without uttering a sound before he asked, “‘Seduce’? Do you mean ‘convince’ or do you mean ‘seduce,’ like as in sex?”

“You know I speak with precision. I’m referring to sexual intercourse.”

“Caterina would never want you to do that! Not to get information out of people! There are other ways!”

“I have many methods but cannot overlook anything. If seduction could get data swiftly and more efficiently, I need to be proficient in it.”

“How am I supposed to help you in this? Not that I want to, because you don’t have to do this.”

Father Nightroad often protested that Tres should not take actions that violated his honor or dignity, refusing to understand that as long as the action completed the task Tres did not “care” because a machine lacked honor and dignity. Tres did not have human emotions, but he had to use human languages, which applied emotion to so many words.

“My body is merely a tool and cannot be ‘violated.’ If anything is broken, it can be repaired.”

“Then mentally!”

“Impossible. I am a machine. I do not have ‘feelings.’”

“Then your programming!”

Tres could not truthfully profess certainty on that but said, “You need not feel concern.”

“Rrrrgh. You don’t know what you’re getting into.”

“In a way, you are correct. I have downloaded applicable textual and graphic data but lack actual experience and the inborn instincts of a human body. To be proficient in the field, I need a partner to practice with, experience. If you refuse, I will employ a professional.” Presumably a professional would be very knowledgeable, but if he could he would prefer to experiment with someone he knew, someone he knew could keep secrets.

“...are you really telling me that if I refuse to make out and have sex with you you’ll go to a prostitute?”

“Affirmative.”

“Who put this idea in your head?”

“Father Garcia made suggestions.”

“Leon,” Nightroad growled. “Of course. He’s the ‘expert,’ so why didn’t he also show you what you want to know?”

“I lack his preferred gender and attributes.”

“So he pulls the pin out of the grenade and tosses it at me instead. Leon might just be messing with you.”

“The odds are good that he is, but I must consider all options anyway.”

“You should have told him that you could only accept him as a teacher since he’s such a master at it. It might have set him back. Do you even have, uh, the equipment? ...fluids?” Father Nightroad’s face had gone red and he couldn’t look Tres in the eyes.

“Knowing that I would go undercover at times, Professor Wordsworth installed genitalia that simulate all functions: erection, ejaculation, urination.... I look anatomically correct.”

“I’ll never look at Wordsworth the same way again.... Urination during sex is a highly specialized kink, Tres, so please don’t make me think about that!”

“My apologies. The ability to simulate urination was not installed for sexual intercourse.”

“Get that look off your face!”

“I do not have a look on my face. Do not fear that you’ve ‘given me ideas’ because, as I said before, I have already processed literature and images of sexual practices.”

“Are said fluids harmful to people?”

Did Father Nightroad truly think Professor Wordsworth would install poisonous material with the expectation that Tres would disseminate it to targets through sexual intercourse? “Negative. They are among the harmless organic components of my body I maintain.”

“...I can’t stop myself from wondering about the size. With the way the professor dotes on you, he wouldn’t give you a small or average sized.... After all, the man wants to give you eye lasers.”

“That would be a useful weapon.”

“My life is stressful enough without knowing you can burn people with your eyes!”

“If I had eye lasers, I would not use them on you unless absolutely necessary.”

“Somehow that’s not comforting.” Father Nightroad sighed. “A prostitute?”

“Affirmative.”

“You̵ 7;re set on this?”

“Positive.”

“Lord help me. I know you’re aware that I’m male.”

“Indeed. In doing my duties, I cannot afford to discriminate now or in the future. In any case, seeing how your male body moves and reacts would give me impressions of what I should do with my own.” The literature suggested that sex made humans mellower and tired them out, two things Father Nightroad could really use tonight.

Besides, Tres had not lied about wanting to investigate sexual intercourse for information gathering purposes and couldn’t help feeling that he was missing something in his lone perusal of media featuring various methods and bouts. The grimaces, writhing, sounds, and occasional begging humans produced during the act could display pleasure or pain; Tres felt that to be a design flaw of humans. Despite how undignified and messy it could be, Tres couldn’t help being curious, especially since watching and listening to it produced some kind of reaction from him. That he couldn’t define or comprehend the reaction suggested something gone wrong somewhere. It required testing.

“...I won’t do this with you if you go to a female prostitute afterward anyway.”

“I swear to you that I would not.” He might keep that promise.

“The Church doesn’t approve of men with men.”

“Only officially, and as ever I will do whatever is needed to achieve Lady Caterina’s objectives.”

“It’s not like I have a long list of conquests, much recent experience, or pickup lines for one-night stands.”

“You will suffice.”

“Gee, thanks. A lot of people in this hotel are aware that two male priests are using this room. We’ll have to be careful about making noise.”

“I doubt I will be the one making noises.”

“What if I can’t perform?”

“You flirt with me constantly, telling me I’m cute, sweet, and kind.”

“That’s the truth, not flirting.”

“You have a singular way of telling me those truths. Others have confirmed to me that it’s flirting.”

“You won’t be hearing as much of that from me in the future.... One-night stands might not surrender all the data you’re looking for. You might have to seduce people further into your confidence over time and make them love you, lie and misrepresent your own feelings for them....”

“Espionage requires lying, misrepresentation, and betrayal. I am experienced and well versed.”

“It’s wrong.”

“Is it really so much worse than the usual lying, misrepresentation, and betrayal I commit while gathering intelligence for Her Grace, our employer? Negative. Demonstrate this slow seduction for me.”

Father Nightroad sighed then went to stand in front of Tres and smirked down at him a bit as he loomed over him.

“We’ll do this seated,” Tres said. Tres should have anticipated that Father Nightroad would attempt some small attempts at vengeance for wearing him down into doing this.

“What, standing is a problem for you? A lot of people are taller than you, so you should expect this....”

“We will do this seated, Father Nightroad.”

“Yes, yes,” Nightroad answered with a grin. “Oh, and don’t call me ‘father’ or ‘my lord’ during this, unless you want to try kink. Call me ‘Abel.’”

So often informal himself, Father Nightroad had been trying to get Tres to call him “Abel” for the whole time they’d worked together. In this situation, Tres could surrender on the small issues and forgive the informality.

Father Nightroad seemed to be thoroughly and successfully distracted.

As they sat facing each other at the room’s small table, knees nearly touching, Father Nightroad removed his glasses and set them on the table. “I feel they’d get in the way for this.” He looked different without them, prettier yet also somehow more dangerous, removing part of the mask of harmlessness he projected much of the time.

When Nightroad continued to say nothing further, Tres prompted him. “Abel.”

“Yes! Fine. Your tactics will vary depending on how much time you have and how difficult your target is to entice.”

“Of course.”

“You could be direct and just tell the person you like them and want to get closer, but if that comes completely out of nowhere it might seem suspicious to them. Thus, you have to occasionally let them catch you watching them with longing and admiration. It’s a fine balance between ‘interested’ and ‘stalking’ so you have to be careful. Don’t look at the person like you’re scanning them down to their atomic level because that’s disturbing instead of romantic or sexy. If you can smile with your eyes or project a feeling of warmth with them, that’s great.”

“Unknown. Demonstrate?” After 125.7 seconds, Tres had to say, “I do not see a difference.”

Although Tres could not pinpoint the moment of change or what finally made the difference, after another 25 seconds he could detect a bit of what Father Nightroad mentioned in his gaze. Tres now understood why he removed the glasses. Now that he thought about it, he realized that Nightroad often smiled with his eyes at and showed warmth in his gaze to people, even if Tres suspected that he sometimes faked it. “I see it now,” Tres said.

“Good. If you’re caught at it, which is the point, act a bit shy or embarrassed. Also find excuses to spend time near this person and excuses for light touches, a hand on the shoulder, a brief touch on the arm, that kind of thing. But if your target looks too uncomfortable or scared over it, don’t persist.”

“You find contact comforting and utilize it yourself to show camaraderie.”

“Yes, and I’m not alone in that. When trying to form a connection more directly, mention things you appreciate about the person. Finding their physical attributes attractive is one way, although I think it’s more effective when combined with telling them about personality traits of theirs you like; it shows that you care about them as a person and pay attention to them. If I tried this with you, I might say that I appreciate how you listen to me and how you mostly let me be myself. All your protests aside, you are kind, sweet, and cute. I find the way the way your hair sticks up endearing and also like how red it looks in the sunlight, especially if we’ve been working outside a lot recently.”

Hearing this made Tres experience some... discomfort. “What kind of game are you playing?”

“No game. Some people have problems accepting compliments, and you seem to be one of them. Though in this case a lot of it is just statement of fact, which is something you should be all for. Besides, I do intend to push you a little. If any of this conflicts with your programming, it’s better for you to find out now in private with a partner than out in the field during a delicate operation while surrounded by enemies.”

“...I see.” It made sense. “That is correct.” They dared each other, pushing at each other’s limits and boundaries, sometimes.

Nightroad smiled almost sadly. “Despite what a lot of people say, nobody actually enjoys it when I use logic. Anyway, don’t overdo it on the compliments or shoot too many out at once, because that can look suspicious. Once you’ve declared yourself and the person has accepted your suit, you can move on to handholding and kissing.”

At last. “Research showed numerous kinds of kisses. Please demonstrate.”

“What, all of them? We still have to leave in a few hours. How about a random sampling?”

“That will suffice.”

“Are you staying seated for this?”

“Affirmative.”

“Do you even feel pleasure?”

“Although I do not feel pleasure or pain, my system recognizes some kinds of sensation as harmless or harmful, the last so I will know where my body is being damaged and avoid it when possible.”

“If you felt pain, you’d be less reckless with your body.”

“I am never reckless. Sometimes taking damage in the line of duty achieves the objective faster.”

“Now that you’ve thoroughly taken all the romance out of this....” Father Nightroad left his chair to sit astride Tres’ thighs, facing him, nearly in his lap, a warm weight, unexpected, his face so close to Tres’ that Tres could easily see all the shades of blue and gray in his irises, no magnification necessary. Unlike Tres’ uniform and gloves, which insulated him from many sensations, the thin pajama bottoms and T-shirt Tres currently wore and his lack of gloves let him feel much more. In his ignorance, Tres had not anticipated or calculated for all this and found himself unprepared.

“Whatever we do,” Nightroad said, “it’ll have to be me--or whomever--on top of you so no one gets hurt.”

Tres’ 200kg weight sometimes broke things, most memorably a bed that Father Nightroad had been lying on. A very surprised Nightroad had ended up rolling down into the depression Tres had created and had difficulties extricating himself. As a result, he had been afflicted with occasional giggle fits over it for the rest of the night and the day afterward, especially after he told Tres not to report the incident as “Father Nightroad and I broke the bed together,” and had the occasional random laughing fit over it ever since. Tres became more cautious with furniture, especially in cheap hotels, after that.

Watching Father Nightroad’s mouth twitch, Tres said, “Please refrain from laughing. It will disrupt the mood, and once you begin laughing it’s difficult to make you cease.”

“Okay, okay. But Tres--”

“Negative.”

“You don’t even know what I was going to say.”

“I can guess.”

“Hmm.” Father Nightroad suddenly leaned forward, into Tres, and put his arms around Tres’ neck, with Tres feeling all of it. Tres had never realized that the area of skin around the ports in his neck felt a smaller level of sensation than the rest of his neck, though it made sense. As he kissed Tres’ forehead and each cheek, he said, “That’s simple affection,” and when he kissed Tres’ nose, he said, “That’s whimsical affection.” His next kiss was a soft and very brief brush of his lips against Tres’, which provided a more explosive, jolting kick of sensation than such a fleeting touch should have. “Are you all right, Tres?”

“Affirmative.” He appreciated having a demonstration of this; he hadn’t really understood how noses could get in the way of kissing if one wasn’t careful....

This time Father Nightroad gave him a more prolonged kiss, closed lips to closed lips, press and focus and heat, with his soft silver hair swinging forward as a kind of curtain and brushing Tres’ face. When Nightroad moved away a little to breathe, he said, “Feel free to touch me during this.”

“We’re already touching.”

“You’re only doing it passively, letting me do things to you and on you. Stroke parts of me. Be interested. If you really want to make enough of a connection to get people to tell you secrets, you can’t just mechanically do things to them or lie back unresponsive as you just let them do things to you. You’ll have to be touching each other, reciprocating, and you have to react to their touches, show them you’re enjoying it.”

“Feign enjoyment.”

“Just like you’re feigning being interested in them as people and lovers and feigning being someone they can trust.”

As Tres feigned being oblivious to Father Nightroad’s pointed criticism, he set his hands on Nightroad’s hips, not touching bare skin but perceiving the heat of it through light fabric. “Understood. Continue.”

Father Nightroad blew out an annoyed breath then leaned in for another kiss, this time brushing Tres’ lips with light, wet, but somehow intense flickers of his tongue, seemingly asking for entrance. Tres opened his mouth. Although he occasionally had Nightroad’s hands partially inside him to help fix battle damage--and Professor Wordsworth’s hands did the same of course--having Nightroad’s tongue inside his mouth felt... odd. Although he told himself that he didn’t mind it, didn’t object to anything he might have to do during the course of his duties, a small part of him kept thinking, “Abort! Abort! Abort!” He ignored that unruly part.

(He professed an interest in how Father Nightroad would react to having a part of Tres inside him, penetration. Would Nightroad let him make an attempt? He had condoms and a small bottle of lubricant handy, prepared for any opportunity that might arise in his travels.)

Although he’d read some material about this, he couldn’t figure out the right thing to do with his tongue during it. Instead he moved one of his hands under Father Nightroad’s pajama top and ran it upward along the line of his spine, brushing hot, soft skin. Making an odd sound against Tres’ lips, which produced a buzzing but not unpleasant sensation, Nightroad finished the kiss but leaned his forehead against Tres’ and said, “...your mouth is somewhat dry and has an unusual flavor. That might make some problems for you, but there are things you can do beforehand to disguise both traits.”

“...saliva is necessary in some sex acts. Affirmative.”

“Yeah.” Father Nightroad’s respiration and heart rate had accelerated a bit, he was a bit flushed, and his pupils had dilated and his penis hardened somewhat. Sometimes in the field Tres would synchronize his breathing and heart rate with his partner’s to seem more normal, but when he did it now it somehow heightened the sensations of having Father Nightroad so close against his body.

As a machine he did not have emotions or human instincts, so he could not feel sexual arousal. Professor Wordsworth had designed his penis to react autonomously to some sensations, “just like a real one,” so having Father Nightroad moving in his lap explained his current erection. When Tres set his other hand to cradle the base of Nightroad’s skull, Father Nightroad moaned, which shouldn’t have made Tres’ penis twitch the way it did.

Although Tres could still smell Father Nightroad’s arousal, Nightroad murmured, “I can’t. I can’t.”

“All physical evidence suggests you can.”

“I shouldn’t, for my own safety. Doing this with you means something to me, emotionally, but you’ve assured me that it won’t for you, and we’ll still have to work together afterward. You must have downloaded something that mentioned how sex can negatively change and damage partnerships and relationships, because a ton of human literature has been written on the subject.”

“Are you suggesting I engage a professional after all?”

“No! I know you’re perceptive, so stop toying with me.”

This didn’t quite sound like Father Nightroad’s usual overblown, melodramatic complaining. Had Tres... hurt him without intending it? In fact, hurt him while intending the opposite? While it might not be Tres’ primary directive, Lady Caterina had told him to take care of his AX colleagues, especially Father Abel Nightroad, her longtime friend. Tres might be incapable of being emotionally affected by sex, but his human sex partners couldn’t say the same, which was the whole point of adding it to his repertoire of espionage skills. It would be inexcusable to damage a colleague and working relationship, jeopardizing Her Grace’s intentions and future missions with him, simply to assuage curiosity over actions he hadn’t been commanded to explore.

“My apologies, Father Nightroad. I did not anticipate the strain you would experience. We will cease lessons on seduction, and you do not need to worry that I’ll employ a professional.”

Father Nightroad’s body relaxed. “Thank you, Tres.”

“You are not extricating yourself from my lap.”

“You’re still holding me.”

Indeed, Tres still had one hand cradling the base of Father Nightroad’s skull and the other resting under his pajama top on the hot skin of the small of his back. “You do not sound displeased by this.”

“...it’s complicated.”

Remembering that Father Nightroad enjoyed touch and had been brooding earlier, Tres pulled him in closer to hug him in a fashion that he hoped made it a gesture of comfort and affection instead of seduction. Once Nightroad noticed the difference, he melted against Tres and held him in return, his face and hair sometimes brushing Tres’, his respiration and heart rate calming, which Tres matched out of habit, which seemed to further calm Father Nightroad. Perhaps this would be enough to get him to sleep. If it worked, Tres would incorporate it into his caretaking routine for this particular partner.

When Father Nightroad began to doze 454.7 seconds later, Tres said softly, “You will rest much better on a bed.” Also, Tres could return to his prior tasks.

Although the look Father Nightroad gave him suggesting that he was aware of Tres’ ulterior motive, he just replied, “I will, once you let go of me.”

Oddly, Tres... missed Nightroad’s weight, warmth, and particularly unique scent once they disengaged their embrace and Nightroad went to bed. Tres didn’t return to his earlier tasks until Father Nightroad had fallen completely asleep. Once he finished those, he went into a brief sleep mode for 3600 seconds then did a full system analysis but found nothing awry.

Father Nightroad slept deeply and well, and when he awoke they both didn’t talk about Tres’ experiment, as if nothing unusual had happened, but Nightroad’s cheerfulness seemed faker than usual, he didn’t say much of anything, and he didn’t touch Tres or lean against him even once during the train ride back to the Vatican. However, the more time passed the more Father Nightroad seemed like his usual self. Good, because Tres hadn’t intended to hurt him--Nightroad had been through much, much worse than what Tres had done--and would not need to intervene.

The long ride home gave Abel far too much time to think. He still couldn’t believe that last night had actually happened. If Leon ever heard about it, which he would not, he’d probably find it hilarious. At least Abel knew for certain that Tres hadn’t intended to be cruel; he just didn’t understand.

Abel really hoped that Tres would keep his promise about not going to a prostitute for further education.

Tres had pushed him into a corner and manipulated him, so Abel had pushed back as payback and self-defense--when Tres went into bulldozer mode, passive-aggression was sometimes the only aggression you could manage--trying to reach what was human inside Tres and show him that sex wouldn’t be a quick, clean transaction, just some transfer of data. He didn’t know if he’d really gotten that across, though sometimes he thought he could sense Tres really reacting, emotionally, to those touches.

Tres had known that Abel liked him and thought him attractive and used that, something as unexpected to Abel as everything else that had happened, something horribly disappointing. Abel hadn’t allowed himself to have any kind of romantic or sexual contact in ages--full denial because he knew himself well enough to know that if he ever had a little of something he always wanted more--which had left him so hungry and desperate for it that finally refusing to go any further had been really difficult. His hunger, desperation, and curiosity didn’t outweigh the potential horrors of the aftermath for the both of them.

There were things Tres should learn and experience before sex, things that would give him the ability to truly consent to intercourse. Porn and science texts and images didn’t provide them. Also, Tres’ self-definitions and boundaries--his programming--might break badly if Tres continued on, making Abel worry in advance for Tres as well as his potential targets.

The part of him that couldn’t help wondering and imagining what full-on sex with Tres would feel like could stifle itself. (Thank God he didn’t remember dreaming last night.)

Feeling Tres get hard under him had been surreal. The thought of the Professor designing, installing, and testing out Tres’ genitalia would haunt him for the rest of his life.

At least Abel and Tres wouldn’t be working together for the next few days. Some distance could help.

Two days later, while consulting with Her Grace about an important but usual AX mission, she began to cough very hard and Tres had a sudden, unusual urge to embrace her, to comfort and warm her with his touch and presence. Error. Incorrect. Inappropriate. Disrespectful. He quickly scanned his operating system for viruses and corrupt files and found none, but the urge to hold and touch her continued. He of course did not act on it, but the urge remained.

“Is something wrong, Father Tres?” she asked, her voice roughened from the irritation in her throat. The sunlight streaming through the window behind her made her long golden hair seem like a halo and nimbus of light around her. Fortunately, the tissue she’d placed at her mouth didn’t show any blood.

“Is there anything I can do to ease these symptoms?” Tres asked. Correct measures, not improper, too intimate ones that infringed on her person. “Do you need your doctor, my lady?”

“I’m a little worse than usual today, but I’m taking care of myself. There’s nothing you need to do. If it worsens further, I’ll consult a doctor. Don’t be concerned.”

“Affirmative.”

“WeR 17;ve covered everything. Dismissed, Tres.”

“Your Grace.” Showing proper, usual decorum, he bowed to her and left the room.

Father Abel Nightroad looked surprised and concerned to see Tres arrive at his small apartment at the Vatican and even more so when Tres closed and locked the door behind him, prompting him to ask, “What’s wrong?”

“That night you said to me, ‘You don’t know what you’re getting into.’ Today I experienced the very inappropriate urge to embrace the Duchess of Milan. Was this part of what you meant? How do I make it cease?”

“Inappropriate in some situations but hardly wrong,” Father Nightroad answered. “She’s an intelligent, beautiful woman who saved your life and gives you the sense of purpose you want. As much as you could be said to love anyone, you love her.”

“It’s an inappropriate action. Wrong. Do you feel such urges?”

“Yes. One of the reasons religion was invented was to stop people from always acting on such urges.”

“That seems an overly cynical hypothesis.”

“Not really. Society wouldn’t last if humans immediately acted upon every thought that floats through their minds.”

“There must be a way to cease such thoughts from occurring. Perhaps not for humans, but certainly for machines.”

“You lost some of your innocence that night, and you can’t turn back the clock on that.”

What horrors might have occurred to his faulty mind today if he had experimented in intercourse with a woman? Father Nightroad’s hair thankfully didn’t have the same texture as Lady Caterina’s as well.... “I could delete-- No, I cannot. The knowledge is entwined with data I cannot afford to lose.”

“Yes. Plus, the gaps would look suspicious so you wouldn’t be able to help yourself from investigating exactly what it was you made yourself forget.”

“I am a machine, her gun. I do not have the right to look at her or think about her like that. They are facts, so do not argue with me about them.”

“It’d be nice if she could allow someone to hug her. I’m sure she wants and needs hugs sometimes, but due to her position she can’t allow herself to be seen as vulnerable and thus discourages it.”

If Her Grace needed a hug now and then-- Negative. “Those are not helpfully dissuasive words. These dangerous thoughts must be expunged.”

“Is that what you came to me for? I’m sorry to disappoint you. Although I’m sure you’d be happier having what you consider to be a machine-like purity of mind, free of what you consider useless thinking, it sounds like you can’t delete these thoughts or stop them from occurring. You’ll just have to rely on your willpower not to act on the ones that disturb you. I know your willpower is strong, and if humans can do it so can you. Lady Caterina wouldn’t be horrified if she knew you occasionally felt the urge to hug her.”

She actually encouraged Tres to show more human traits. Observation showed that humans preferred to interface with beings like themselves.

Tres had his answers, even though they had been disappointing, and duties to move on to, so he should depart. Yet he made no move to leave and didn’t know why. His thought processes should be clear, defined, and logical, all the steps to the conclusions visible and obvious. Machines did not need psychoanalysis: he lacked hidden motives and a subconscious.

Father Nightroad observed him with what appeared to be concern. The half-filled plates and half-drunk cup of tea on the small table suggested that Tres had burst in on him during a meal. Nightroad stood there without his capelet and gloves on, and his collar was undone and loose about his neck.

Finally, Father Nightroad asked, “Would it be a help or hindrance to you if I suggested you give me the hug instead, get it out of your system?”

“...data insufficient.”

“There’s only one way to know for sure. I don’t bite. Well, I wouldn’t bite you.”

Father Nightroad enjoyed and seemed to need some degree of physical contact, and it would be a serious error to ruin his working relationship with him. Tres came in close and put his arms around him, but Father Nightroad reciprocated with a tighter hug and set Tres’ head against a part of his chest not covered by the metal of the links of his rosary’s chain or the ornamentation on his uniform, then lightly set his chin atop Tres’ head. This close, Tres felt Nightroad’s heart calmly beating and better heard the whispers of the nanotech coursing through his body. Wrapped within this hug, Tres began to comprehend how humans used them to show affection, comfort, and confer a feeling of protection.

Illogical as it might sound, hugging like this somehow seemed correct. Father Nightroad seeming happier and calmer at such close range made Tres’ hugging urge toward Her Grace seem less of a catastrophe. She would not fault him for it. Also, if she one day decided she needed or desired a hug from Tres, he would give her as many as she asked for.

In the meantime, he had damage to repair. If this business about hugging left him so muddled, how much worse had that night’s actions left Father Nightroad, who had a surfeit of emotions? “...Abel, this does mean something to me. Do not doubt that.”

Tres could nearly hear the smile in Father Nightroad’s answer. “Good. That’s how it should be.”

***********************THE END**************** ******

More Viridian5 stories can be found in The Green Room version 3.0 at http://viridian.shriftweb.org/

No-frames but no-frills access available at http://viridian.shriftweb.org/index2.htm