Cym blurted out, “I want to help you. Anything you need. Anything you want, I’ll give it to you.” He didn’t know how he’d do it, but somehow Cym would find a way to make good on his words.
A sad smile appeared on Fourteen’s face. “You’ve already done enough. There’s no need for you to do more.” He ran a hand down Cym’s arm and squeezed his hand.
“You saved my life. Several times. Even if I didn’t…” Cym bit back what he wanted to say which was something along the lines of, Even if I wasn’t becoming hopelessly attached to you, I’d still help you. He took a deep breath and tried again, but the next thing his mind offered was, Even if I didn’t want to ride you til your wheels fall off, I’d still help you.
Stupid brain. Fourteen needed help, and all Cym could think about was getting his V card punched.
He changed tactics and stopped focusing on himself and started thinking about what The Company had done to Fourteen. What kind of monsters would do such a thing to a child?
Anger surged up hot and prickly, and Cym’s hand clenched around Fourteen’s. “You didn’t deserve what they did to you. No one should have to go through what you have. Don’t norms have laws to protect people from something like this?”
“Laws don’t apply to The Company. Too many important people are in power today because of us. Because of them.” Fourteen corrected himself.
Cym threw his arms around him. The sudden movement of the hug forced Cym to break away and grab his throbbing head. He crawled off of Fourteen so he wouldn’t be tempted to throw himself again. It would be better for them to keep the cuddling and touching to a minimum until they had sorted things out more.
Once the pain in Cym’s head died down to tolerable levels, Cym promised, “They are never getting you back.”
Fourteen reeled backward like Cym had slapped him, then he repeated dully, “They are never getting me back.”
Cym’s stomach lurched at the tone in Fourteen’s voice, and he searched the man’s eyes. What he saw there made him gasp. “Fourteen, what’s happened? Did I say something wrong?”
Fourteen said nothing, his face void of all expression
“Fourteen, answer me!” Cym waved his hand in front of Fourteen’s face, but his eyes didn’t track the movement.
“I need more information to comply,” Fourteen stated, his eyes staring straight ahead.
“Is this a joke?”
“I need more information to comply.”
Unwilling to believe Fourteen would be the kind of person to take such a horrible joke so far, Cym panicked. He jumped off the bed and then, after realizing he had no plan, sat back down on the edge of the bed and twined and tangled his fingers together uselessly.
What was wrong with Fourteen? One minute they were wrestling around on the bed, and the next they were baring their souls. Now Fourteen was a lifeless doll sitting at attention at the head of the bed. Had asking him such personal questions broken him in some way? Or was it something else?
What had Cym been saying when it happened? He had told Fourteen that The Company was never getting him back, and the Fourteen Cym knew vanished and became a cold, empty shell.
Cold.
That was what Fourteen had said it felt like when Cym wasn’t touching him. Fourteen hadn’t been acting funny until Cym had stopped touching him. Could it be that? Could something have happened inside the mess of programming in Fourteen’s mind to reduce him to his current state?
Cym took Fourteen’s hand in his and waited, willing his magic into Fourteen’s body, but he saw no change to the man’s lifeless features.
Cym had to be missing something. Fourteen had been more than this strange automaton when they had first met. What had happened just now?
Fourteen had said he needed more information to comply. Maybe the answers to this problem lay inside Fourteen himself.
“Fourteen, what are you doing right now?” Cym squeezed Fourteen’s fingers until it hurt.
“Awaiting orders.”
“From who?”
“My handler.”
His handler? Fourteen told him his handlers had been killed. Did he have another one he didn’t know about? “Who is your handler?”
“You.”
Shock almost made Cym drop his hand. “Me? How can… Do you mean… What?!”
Fourteen didn’t respond, remaining passive.
Cym thought he sensed an increase in the flow of magic between their entwined hands. Hoping his magic was doing something helpful, he tried to think past his surprise enough to ask a coherent question. “As your handler, what do I need to know?”
Fourteen reached into a zippered pocket on his jacket, pulled out a white piece of plastic, and placed it in Cym’s hand.
Its smooth surface felt cool to the touch.
“What is it?” Cym rolled it around in his hand, he’d never seen anything like it before, but it looked like it could be computerish. Electronics weren’t terribly compatible with magic, so he’d had zero interaction with computers until his escape.
“My operating system.”
“Your operating system…”
Cym felt like crying. Someone had taken this enigmatic, sexy man and reduced him to little more than a robot. The injustice of it choked him, and anger surged through him. Pink fire flared in his veins and poured through Cym’s hand into Fourteen’s. Gripping Fourteen as tightly as he could, Cym bowed his head over their hands and concentrated on a single thought.
Give him back to me!
