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“Ah, this gear is so difficult to replace, y’know. What do I gotta do to keep you out of trouble, Vin?”
Click. A whirl, followed by a grind of metal on metal, machinery coming to life under clever hands that hold far more kindness for Vincent than they should. Cloud is not his maker, nor his first mechanic, however he is the only one that Vincent chooses to return to. Who he wants to return to.
When Vincent’s maker had held him, it had been with clinical disinterest. A prototype, one that had exceeded expectations yet still fell short. Too volatile, too independent – he does not adhere to the correct laws, no matter what his coding reads. A bug, they said, one that requires a hard reset of the taking apart variety.
In truth, there is no bug. Vincent is simply made wrong. He is made in the vision of his creator’s dead son and to build something humanoid based off something with a soul is sacrilegious according to the Teachings.
(Unfortunately, he is not very versed in the teachings because his maker decided it was not needed for his programming and any attempts at learning has resulted in a malfunction of his optics.)
In Cloud, there is nothing sacrilegious to be found; on the contrary, he is a devout soul, one of humanity’s strongest – not just in strength, but in resilience and empathy. How many other humans would go out of their way for an android, never mind multiple times. Granted, he has been finding many an excuse to visit Cloud now, going even so far as to cut a few of his own wiring. Cursory reading of literature that aligns with what he can process tells him how morally unethical this is, however he does not think any governing body or even Minerva would judge him for wanting to experience kindness.
What he knows of the young mechanic, he would not judge, either. Sometimes, if Vincent appears suddenly at his door, Cloud clearly does not have enough time to clean up and he can see the shrine with its burning incense tucked away in the corner, the curtain hastily pulled shut in an attempt to hide it from view.
Cloud too, does not follow the Teachings.
“Tell my enemies to be gentler,” Vincent finally answers, catching Cloud’s lips quirk up into a smile, his hands busy with the cavity of Vincent’s chest.
“Handsome guy like you shouldn’t have enemies.” Though the words come as a surprise, they seem to surprise the man whose mouth it came out of even more; Cloud’s cheeks flush the prettiest pink that Vincent has ever seen, and he coughs, turning his head away. “I mean, you’re…uh. Surprised you’ve got any enemies. Thought that was my thing,” Cloud adds hurriedly, turning away from Vincent’s inquisitive gaze.
Does he share how many enemies he’s made, thanks to his defection from his maker’s protege and her husband? Or Those That Follow and their desire to scrub the lands of all that is unholy in the face of the Teachings? Androids who do not fall in line are bound to have many enemies, just like humans who burn incense on shrines, and repair deregistered androids for no cost.
(No matter how many times Vincent tries to pay Cloud, he always figures out a way to give it back to him.)
“I have more than enough. It is why I should not come here,” Vincent answers, ignore how warm his face feels. A side-effect of having his chest opened up, he supposes – one of his circuits must be acting up. “Burdening you like this is bad enough, who knows what might come after you.”
“You say that like I can’t take care of myself.”
Click. Something slots into place, causing a faint vibration to go through Vincent.
“You say that like I don’t wanna be doing this.”
Another click. This time, his chest plate resonates with a hum.
“You say that like I shouldn’t care you have enemies.”
Vincent cannot believe how warm his face feels. Has something more gone wrong? He cannot bear to look at Cloud while he speaks with such intensity, in a way that he knows he does not deserve. “My life holds significantly less value than yours,” he points out, finally turning his head to meet Cloud’s intense stare, cornflower blue eyes seemingly starting right through him. Not with the scrutiny that so many others have shot his way (much like their bullets), but with an expression that is far more foreign even with Vincent’s vast database of catalogued expressions.
“It doesn’t. All lives have meaning, including yours. Especially yours.” Cloud pushes Vincent’s chest close with one final click, though his hand lingers against his skin. Underneath, the nerves react, warming to the touch. “Whoops. You’ve got oil on you.” The hand drops away; Vincent looks down to see a perfect imprint of Cloud’s hand on his chest – and he looks up to catch Cloud grinning at him.
“So it seems. I will clean it off when I head back.” He won’t. He will try to preserve it for as long as possible.
“Or you could clean it off here. You’d be surprised to hear I have a shower back there with tepid water. Besides, you used up a lot of the spare parts I had, so I think I should keep an eye on you. Jus’ so all my work doesn’t get destroyed immediately.”
There is nothing in Vincent’s programming to prepare him on how to react. All he can do is stare, watching as Cloud wipes his hand on a rag before offering it out to him. “C’mon. Let me show you ‘round proper.”
Wordlessly, he takes the outstretched hand and allows himself to be hauled up off the table, the low rumble of his protomateria reacting, quickening just like a heartbeat would. Just like Vincent would react in the presence of a potential sweetheart, only it’s a kindhearted mechanic who is making a foolish decision – one that Vincent does not feel inclined to argue with.