That Sort of Partners

by Hollis Shiloh

  Green

  My friend Jake was miserable. I hadn't liked Gregory at all, but I found myself wishing the man hadn't left Jake. I'd thought at first that my friendship would be of some help or distraction, but it wasn't. Jake was gloomy, withdrawn, sad. I knew I had to do something. The odds of my getting his boyfriend back seemed minuscule at best, so I "bit the bullet" and tried the next best thing—probably the better thing, long-term. I offered to help him find a new boyfriend.

  "What?" He looked at me, surprised but smiling, like that was funny.

  "Or a girlfriend, non-binary partner, or other of your choosing," I added. He'd certainly not suggested that he was only attracted to one gender; I was simply thinking along the lines of replacing Gregory (that rat) with someone better. "I'm not suggesting I know better than you do whom you should date." I might think it, but I would never say it. "I could simply help you sort through potential partners so you don't have to risk so much emotionally. I could, quite unemotionally, sort through them and find ones you might be interested in, within certain parameters."

  "There aren't that many people clamoring to date me, Greenie," he said, but he was smiling like I was charming, and it was the most I'd seen him smile in some time, so I went on.

  "There should be. I could help with that too, you know. Optimizing your profile, putting it on more sites, getting you out there a little."

  "You could give me a makeover, too."

  "I could—" I stopped and stared at him. Why was he grinning like that? Not mocking me, surely? I spoke carefully, feeling a little hurt, wanting to be clear on what was going on here. "Is it humorous to you that I want to help?"

  "No, Green." He put a hand on my arm. His touch was light and warm. "You're very kind, you know that. I was just—I don't know. Thinking about other things."

  That clearly wasn't the case. I sighed. "Jake, I want you to be happy. If I can help, let me know. If you'd rather handle it all yourself, that's okay, too." I sounded weary, and I felt it. It took it out of a bot, caring about someone this much, my happiness tied up in his and no way to help it, or him.

  But I still wasn't ready to program it away and make myself forget, or feel differently. I felt there was value in this experience—and I didn't want to change myself.

  For better or for worse, caring about Jake had become part of who I was.

  "Ah, Greenie. Sometimes I think you're the only one who sees any value in me at all. Thanks. For caring." He gave me a little half-hug, then drew away quickly, embarrassed. "I may take you up on that with the profile sometime."

  That clearly meant "not right now, and maybe never," which I accepted.

  My circuits were humming with happiness, though. He'd smiled; he'd touched my arm; he'd embraced me. I could make him a little bit happy after all.

  And, yes, I knew feeling that way was probably pathetic. I didn't care.

  Jake

  There was a reason I didn't drink: I was really bad at it. Of course, going on a first date, I'd also been too nice to say I didn't want to drink. I'd gone along and been flexible, as always, and now here I was, outside the bar, having not impressed my date, needing to head home, and feeling hopelessly befuddled after two glasses of wine.

  I was a lightweight, which would have been funnier if I were home and not feeling confused and a little scared in an unfamiliar part of town. I knew that was easy to solve: I just had to...call something...or find a taxi...but everything seemed slightly mountainously impossible right now, and the mountain was swaying as well.

  I finally got my phone out, dropped it, and picked it up again, rubbing off some grime, blowing on the screen as if that would fix it. Then I called my partner. He'd always be there for me, and I knew it, and right now that felt like the best and safest thing in the world.

  "Green? Can you come and get me?"

  "What is it? What's wrong?" He sounded worried; I'd worried him. My best pal in the world, and the only person who really cared about me—and I'd worried him.

  "I just had a date and I drank too much and it didn't go great and I'm outside a bar." I looked up, craning my neck. "A big bar with a flashing red sign." I tried not to start giggling; that wouldn't help. "I don't remember the name."

  "I can find you from your phone's current location, Jake," Green said, very gentle now, his voice soothing in the way he could do best. "I'll be right there. Don't worry, buddy."

  He'd even called me buddy. And to think, a few weeks ago, you thought he... No, no crying. I wasn't going to be even more pathetic than I was already being.

  No tears. You didn't want him anyway, did you? So, who gave you the right to feel sad he's just a pal?

  Green

  Seeing Jake slumped against the outside wall of a bar, his phone sliding from his hand while people stepped around him, made me feel awful in a way I didn't know how to define. What was this feeling, and why did it hurt so much?

  I walked up to him briskly, took his phone so it wouldn't break, and helped him to his feet. I ran a quick diagnostic on him; he appeared to be simply inebriated, not drugged, although a tiny prick through his skin and a blood analysis would tell me for certain. However, that seemed needlessly invasive. "Are you injured? Drugged? How much have you had to drink, and has anyone tried to harm you?"

  "Two twinks. No. Sure as hell not that. Drinks. Two...wine. I had wine. Nobody did anything. I'm just stupid. And people don't date stupid people, unless they're hot. I'm not hot."

  "Here." I pushed the phone carefully into his pocket, and he giggled a little and leaned against me. "That tickles. Sorry, Green. Sorry. Thanks for..." He waved a hand vaguely, almost smacking a pedestrian who gave us a dirty look, and then a dirtier one when she saw it was a robot and a human together. Did she think it was my fault he was drunk?

  "Time to get you home." I picked him up and carried him easily.

  "Green!" He hid his face against my neck. "I can walk!"

  "You called me because you were having difficulty with navigation," I said, keeping my voice calm with some effort. It was unreasonable to be angry, yet I was. People were staring at us, at him. People were looking down on my Jake.

  Yes, he was a lightweight, and it was true he shouldn't have drunk anything. He knew it affected him poorly. But he was still Jake, and I didn't like to see him viewed this way. It was a serious affront to my sense of rightness.

  I got him quickly to a subway and rode home with him. He didn't sober up much in that time, so when we reached his place, I held his hand steady for him against the plate for his handprint to let him in.

  "Are you fit to be on your own?" I held him by the waist and didn't let him smack into a wall as he tried to walk indoors. When he didn't answer, I followed him in, still holding him up.

  It felt good to hold him. I told myself sternly not to enjoy it. I'd been telling myself that since he giggled.

  He was my partner, and I needed to look after him. That was all.

  Jake

  The next day, I was as penitent as possible. Green was smoothly polite about it, of course, but that only made me feel worse for taking advantage of him that way, being a pathetic friend who got drunk and begged someone to come pick him up. I'd known Green would come; of course I had.

  "I am in no way offended that you called on me, Jake," Green said, as if he was reading my mind. But he couldn't do that—yet. No doubt there'd be a program for it sooner or later, and he could download it and leap even further ahead, while I stayed stuck in stupid ruts, unable to change my idiotic ways.

  "I appreciate that a lot. I shouldn't have gotten myself into that situation, but I'm glad you were there."

  "Of course I was there. I'll always be there, Jake." He turned back to the work files he had been browsing.

  Damn it, I was going to get emotional again, because I realized he meant that entirely literally. He would always be here. He was never going to die. His Restart and Rebuild insurance was great; there was literally no way he could be destroyed completely, unless he w
as in a fire bad enough to destroy his black box, and the backup copy was hacked at the same exact time. Plus, he hadn't changed the way he felt about me. He was my friend, even when I was an idiot. I didn't deserve him.

  After work, though, I called on his help again, because I needed it, and I thought he'd meant his offer.

  "What you said about helping me with dating?"

  Was it my imagination, or did he hesitate a bit? "Yes?" He sounded cautious in his reply. Maybe he'd changed his mind already?

  I strove for "casual." "Well, if the offer's still open, I could use it, I think. I need to do a better job at dating."

  "I would agree," Green said calmly. "You should not date people who pressure you to drink. Or who make you feel as if it would be rude to refuse to drink," he added smoothly when I was about to protest that it was my own damn fault, that nobody had forced those drinks down my throat.

  He came home with me that evening, and we worked on my profiles for a while. He seemed to have an eye for it. He took a couple of really good pics of me to replace my plain white-bread profile images, and updated my profiles efficiently. The non-drinking element had to be non-negotiable, but a lot of other things were pretty flexible. He almost doubled my brief personality descriptions, and I've got to say, he made them pretty flattering.

  "You need to be realistic here, Greenie," I protested, leaning close and watching him work. I rested my chin on his shoulder. "You're making me sound too good."

  He didn't look at me, and his typing didn't falter. "If anything, I am minimizing your qualities to keep this from sounding conceited."

  I snorted. He was doing things for my ego, but it wasn't true.

  I thought again of how I used to think he was interested in me. How I'd been a bit disappointed that he wasn't, when I was drunk. But it had been an honest emotion, more honest than I usually let myself be.

  That wasn't the reason I avoided alcohol. I could be honest with myself without it.

  Was it possible I hadn't been wrong? That his ability to see the best in me was because he saw something he liked—that way? It was easy to dismiss, but if that was the case, asking him to help me date someone else would be downright cruel.

  Be brave for once. I took a breath and decided it was now or never. I would feel him out on the subject, and then forever let it go if it was all in my head. Maybe someday we'd even be comfortable enough to laugh about it together, but I didn't think that would be today. If I was wrong, it would be awkward and embarrassing—but it would be honest, and my partner and best friend deserved honesty between us, after all he'd done for me, how he put up with me.

  And after he'd promised to be here for me forever. That was a touching truth, and it deserved as much honesty from me.

  Hypothetically, if...

  No, he deserved the same blunt speech that he preferred. Not a two-step around the real issue.

  "You're awfully good at knowing what to say is appealing about me," I said, leaning close to him. "Is that because you notice these things yourself?" Hell, that still wasn't blunt. My little teasing smile would have been clear to a human, but would it be to him?

  He stopped typing. "I'm not sure how to respond to that."

  "I'm just asking. Don't be offended." I hesitated; he hadn't started typing yet, and he wasn't looking at me, which was odd—as if he'd frozen. "I guess I'm asking if you're attracted to me. If you'd rather not answer, it's okay. I wouldn't be offended by either answer."

  "Wouldn't you?" He began typing again, efficient as ever. "You have certainly seemed offended enough at the implication of robots and humans having such interactions in the past."

  "Well...let's say startled. Unnerved, maybe." And maybe I'd changed a lot in the last few months.

  "Yet you would not be unnerved if I felt such things? That seems unlikely, Jake."

  "I think I've mellowed a bit. One could even say I've become positively urbane and worldly on the subject. I mean, that's probably not true—but it might be." I smiled at him again. "Anyway, you're not just some robot in an alleyway. You're you. I have nothing but respect for you, and I could never be offended by you thinking I was...you know."

  "You know?" His mouth twitched into a small smile. He'd gotten so good at making them automatically at the appropriate, usually wry, moments. I liked to think he'd picked that up from me, but he probably hadn't. I wasn't half so cool; no ironic little smiles that were just right on this mug.

  "What does 'you know' mean to you, Jake?"

  He wasn't giving me an inch here. He wasn't answering. But after all the times he'd pinned me down on some topic I'd tried to wriggle out of, this conversation wasn't over yet.

  "Oh, you know—that you think I'm amazing, awesome, sexy, and devastatingly handsome." I grinned at him, absolutely teasing him. He deserved it, after all the times he'd...

  He turned around on the chair and faced me. "You are certainly you know, in that case, Jake Elliot. I'm surprised everyone doesn't see it."

  My mouth sort of dropped open, my smile disappearing along the way.

  He said quickly, "I'm sorry if that alarms you. You asked for an honest answer, so I assumed you wanted one." He turned back and began typing again.

  "Uh—yeah. I'm not offended, just surprised."

  "You did ask. You must have suspected something."

  "I guess I did. But...you never said anything."

  "That is because I thought you had made your feelings on that topic abundantly clear, and I did not wish to disgust or alarm you."

  "You couldn't," I promised, but my head was spinning. "Really? You think you'd really—find me attractive?"

  "I already do, Jake. You asked. I answered. Was I unclear?"

  "Sorry. No."

  I sat down beside him, thoroughly chastened. This was clearly a touchy subject for him—and he hadn't stopped filling out my profile for me, so he clearly thought...

  "Green, would you stop that and look at me?"

  "I'd rather not, just now. Would you say you're more an otter or a twunk?"

  "I wouldn't use such outdated language. Greenie. Look at me?"

  He made a heavy, very human-sounding sigh, stopped typing, and turned slowly to face me. "Yes, Jake?"

  "Thank you for being honest. That means a lot. And...maybe...you could stop filling out the forms for a while?"

  "I am no less, or more, objective than I was a few moments ago. If you didn't object then, you shouldn't—"

  "That's not it," I interrupted. How to say this? "I guess if you're really interested, maybe we could deactivate my profiles for a while and see if there's any real compatibility here? I mean, I know there's compatibility, but...you know. As more than partners."

  Green stared, and a distressed little beep came out of him. "But you do not like robots."

  "If I said that, it was dumb. I like you, Green. I'm not sure it's a good idea for us to date. Hell, it could be the biggest mistake in the world. I honestly don't know. But it would be a shame not to find out, wouldn't it? In many ways, you're my ideal guy—personality-wise, and how kind you are. The way we get along. We won't find out if there could be more, if we don't talk about it...and maybe try?"

  "I am uncertain how to reply, Jake. Thank you." He flexed his slim, cool hands and then closed the computer and turned to me abruptly. "I don't think I want sexbot modifications. That would be a big step for me, and I'm not certain I want to take it. But we could explore other...things. Possibilities. With me the way I am. There are certainly..." He made another small, soft series of beeps, which illustrated just how flummoxed he was.

  "Yeah, I get it. You don't have to put it into words."

  "Clearly, things must be put into words, Jake Elliot. I had no idea that you didn't find me intensely repulsive." He rose from his chair, towering a bit.

  "I don't." I rose as well, almost matching his height. "It's not all about looks, but—your looks are fine. Great, even."

  "For a robot."

  I winced. "Don't. If you don't wa
nt to—it's fine. We don't have to date or experiment or anything. It's probably better for our careers if we turn back now. But don't say it in that disbelieving tone, like I couldn't possibly—"

  "You gave me no clue, Jake Elliot. None at all. I have obviously not been entirely discreet, whatever I thought, but you are a dark horse, indeed." He was so reproachful about it.

  "You sure about that? Even though we go out together all the time, and you're the only one I call when I'm in trouble, and I trust you with my dating profile passwords, I've never given you a clue, huh?"

  "No. You haven't." He stared at me. "May I kiss you, Jake? I can do that without any modifications."

  I'd been wondering about kissing him. Trying not to—but still wondering. "Sounds like a plan," I managed, almost managing not to croak nervously. I wiped my palms on my pants, maybe a little more nervous than I'd tried to sound.

  He drew me competently into his arms, which felt nice. Then he drew back and looked down at me sternly. "Your heart rate is increasing, along with your perspiration. If this is already increasing your anxiety levels, it is not appropriate. I don't want to hurt you, Jake."

  "Well, you know, there are different sorts of reasons for heart rates to get excited. And a little bit of nerves is pretty normal for a first kiss." I stared at him. "Of course we could always give up now and go back to filling out dating profiles. Lots of long, long data lists, and many people to choose from. You can pick someone else for me to kiss. That's cool."

  He said something quickly in robot language, then grabbed me in his arms and kissed me.

  It was a very tender kiss despite the fierceness of that moment. It was just the way I liked.

  I really didn't know how to process my feelings, so I kissed him back with everything I had, and hoped it wouldn't be rotten for him.

  Green

  We kissed for less than five minutes before I came to the conclusion that he was not allowed to kiss anyone else if I had a say in the matter. Jake was too vulnerable when he kissed; he gave too much of himself. When I thought of that jerk having had this experience with Jake and not being satisfied—wanting other people as well, even though Jake didn't—it rankled.