Infinity Smashed: Strapping
Feb. 2nd, 2025 03:56 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lb_leeTitle: Strapping
Series: Infinity Smashed
Summary: Bob and Grey's relationship was supposed to be casual and short-term, but now everything falls apart... and gets rebuilt. NSFW.
Word Count: 3068
Notes: Uploaded in honor of Infinity Smashed's 25th anniversary! Also someone discussed the events of this story as "history" and I felt old. As a side note, I'm down to the last ten copies of the paperback of Found Wanting, and I don't plan to reprint it. If you want it, now's the time! (I will also likely be weeding the ebook as well. Sorry Infinity Smashed; you are not a hot seller.)
They’re down to Bob’s MISC boxes, never unpacked, when Grey finds a neon pink and purple dildo shaped like something from a tropical aquarium.
“That’s where it ended up? I’ve been looking all over!” Bob plucks it from her hands and puts it in his headboard, next to the latex gloves where anyone could see it. “It’s good, right? You should see it under a black light.” He sees her face, snorts, and pats her shoulder. “There, there, Grace, it’s mine, not yours.”
But that’s not it. Sure, she’s shocked at first, but when she goes home to bed, she can’t stop thinking about the sinuous swirl of silicone, its bright, cheerful colors. Like it’s nothing to be ashamed of. Like it’s fun.
Bob must like it, if he keeps it right there in his headboard. Maybe it’s his favorite. Maybe he likes the way the ridges and swirls feel inside him. Maybe—
Grey turns onto her stomach and hugs her pillow, squirmy and overheated. She’s never wanted to put her genitals inside someone and still doesn’t. But the dildo in Bob’s headboard looked nothing like any piece of human anatomy, in shape or color. Texture either, she presumes, being made of rubber.
She slides a hand down the front of her shorts, pushes her hips into it. The pressure feels good. If she was wearing that dildo, it’d push against her like this. And if she was wearing it while tucked…
She curls her fingers into herself and shivers, burying her face in the pillow. Yes, yes, it’d feel like that. It’d feel good…
She falls asleep imagining Bob’s face and voice, the curve of his back.
Bob’s never pushed back against her three forbidden things, so if she wants it to happen, she’ll have to bring it up. But how? The next time they’re in his room, she decides. It’s right there in his headboard; she can ask about it.
But when the time comes, his headboard’s empty.
“Where’s…?” she signs, but while she knows SGSL for “dildo,” (sex toy bootleggers) Bob doesn’t, and she can’t voice it. She has to settle for gesturing.
Bob frowns, then realizes what she means. “Oh! In the dishwasher.” Her confusion must show. “Cleaning. Why?”
So he does like it.
With her hands, she says, “I want to use it.”
Bob freezes.
“On you.”
“Oh.” She can’t read his face. Maybe this is like borrowing his toothbrush.
Her throat tightens. “Okay?” she signs.
“More than. I just… thought that was a never.”
Grey shrugs. She did too, until she saw it in his hands and realized she had options besides her own anatomy. “It looks fun,” she signs.
He laughs, pets her hair. “I’ve clearly been a bad influence on you, beautiful girl. So, were you planning on using your hands, or do you want a harness?”
He makes it sound ordinary. She holds up two fingers: harness.
“Okay. Thigh, face, or…?”
She’s going to catch fire from embarrassment, but she gestures at her hips.
Bob’s expression goes distant. She taps him inquiringly.
“Nothing. Just fantasizing.” He stands up and grabs his laptop bag. “Duct tape and cheap jeans is fine when you’re young and horny, but we’re a class act here: we’re buying from the Internet. You want leather or neoprene?”
She shrugs. “Not black?” she signs.
Bob is not a miracle worker. In her size and price range, the only non-black options are blue imitation denim, chain mail, or pink lace. She wrinkles her nose. Black neoprene it is.
By the time they get that sorted, the dishwasher has finished. When Bob unloads the aquarium dildo, he asks, “Did you have your heart set on this one in particular? I have others.”
Of course he does. “Show me?” she signs.
There’s a whole rainbow of them in a tub under his bed, mostly rubber but also glass and metal. Some of them look human, others like fantastical modern art. Most are beautiful.
“What kind do you like?” Bob asks.
Her mind goes blank.
Bob must see it; he reframes. “What do you want to fuck me with?”
It helps. “Not a normal one. More like this.” She indicates the aquarium dildo. Then she has a revelation. “Your favorite. Loan me your favorite.”
After all, that’s what got to her, the idea of using his favorite on him.
Bob grins and cups her cheek. “How did I ever mistake you for vanilla?”
She kisses his palm and leaves him to it.
Bob can’t pick just one either but narrows it down to three, the aquarium dildo among them. Grey’s happy to take it. It’s pleasantly squeezable in her hands and she’s trying not to squish it too obviously when Bob clears his throat.
“I should warn you, Grace, I’m a lousy bottom.” He acts blithe, but his tone is apologetic. “Hard work. Sorry.”
Grey smiles, tugs him down on the bed, and signs, “Help me practice?”
Bob isn’t hard work. Grey’s used to years of labor with little to no reward besides her own satisfaction; Bob doesn’t even take hours, most of the time, and the pay-off is fantastic. Some kissing, heavy petting, hands and tongue and focus, and he melts like butter. She learns how he breathes, moves, talks as his body moves through its paces. She doesn’t notice the clock; it takes as long as it takes, and Bob mostly doesn’t complain. (Mostly. Once, she falls asleep in the middle of proceedings, much to his dismay, and another time, he has to stop her because it’s been long enough that he needs to eat something.)
Bob seems surprised at how intent she is but not displeased. He knows what he wants, how he wants it, and gives good directions, which Grey takes well. What starts as “practice” becomes sex in its own right, Bob clutching her shoulders or hugging her neck as she slides her fingers or the toy into him.
“You’re going to drain me dry, beautiful girl; leave something for when the harness gets here!” he chides, but he’s laughing and never tries to stop her.
The day it arrives, Grey shuts herself in Bob’s bathroom. It fits fine, thank goodness, though getting the whole rig on comfortably takes a couple tries—the dildo has to be worked through the O-ring of the harness first and the whole contraption pulled halfway up her thighs so she can get herself situated. It’s worth it when she gets everything in place and sees herself in the mirror.
She doesn’t look like a man at all. She looks like herself. And when she comes out, Bob’s naked on the bed, all black and brown and gold in the stripes of sunlight through the blinds.
He swallows when he sees her. “I should’ve put you in lace.”
Grey smiles and comes over to kiss him and press him back on the bed, enjoying the unfamiliar weight in her shorts—which is Bob’s, not hers. When it brushes against his thigh, he jumps, but the sound he makes is excited.
It’s their weekend. They have all the time in the world, Bob’s bed is high enough off the floor that she can do this standing up, sparing her knees, and she’s had months to learn Bob’s body. She’s almost disappointed when he warms and opens to her so quickly, and his expression is almost comedic.
“You are the service top of my dreams,” he swears. “Holy shit, Grace—”
She laughs and kisses his cheek.
“Wait, hold on a little—there.” His nails dig into her back and she arches into it, thrusts instinctively, and Bob makes a rapturous noise. “Yes, just like that, beautiful girl, don’t speed up, keep it right there—yes!” His thighs squeeze her waist. “Perfect, fucking perfect, good girl, god, when I get to fuck you—”
This feels nothing like Grey’s awful attempts to act the boy in high school. This feels right. With everything tucked up inside her, the base of the dildo rides perfect. She doubts she could come from it, this time anyway, but that’s fine. What she really wants is to make Bob come.
She’s going to get her wish. His voice is getting rough and broken.
“Good, pretty, perfect girl, you make me want to keep you—”
“You can keep me,” she says.
He snaps his hips like he’s almost there, but he gasps, “No, no—”
It’s cheating, but she’s seen the look in Bob’s eyes when he shaves her, when he gets her on her knees, when he marks her up. And she wants to, so badly, so she ducks her head and whispers in his ear, “I’m yours.”
Bob’s eyes go wide, and he comes almost sobbing, but when he comes down, his expression is raw. Nervous.
“You shouldn’t say that to me, Grace,” he says. “I like it too much.”
She kisses his fingertips. “I like it too,” she signs. “I like being yours.”
He pets her hair as she snuggles to him. “Even when I’m gone?”
“Yes.” That’s how she works. She loves people, and it’s better that they don’t love her back. It hurts less. She’s known from the start that one day Bob will go, and that’s fine.
Apparently he isn’t the same way; he has to think about it for a while. Then he says, “What happens to you after I’m gone?”
She freezes.
“They passed the Homeland Security Act a few months ago; the restructure is official and mandated now. Surely you’ve noticed.”
She has.
Bob takes a deep breath. “I think I know why 9109 was on our planet.”
She sits up, pulls back so she can frown at him.
“You know, it stuck with me, the way One-Week Williamson went on about our trade agreements. You, Larkin, Harmonius, you’re all old horses, and none of you knew what he was talking about.”
“Snow job.”
“See, I thought that too, last November. But by Valentine’s Day, Larkin, you, and I had all been roped into informal sedition meetings—everyone but Harmonius, who was never officially involved. Remember that DARPA goon, the one you didn’t know? Turns out he was from the Information Awareness Office. Heard of them?”
“No.”
“I didn’t think so; they’re more my set than yours. They’re out to data-mine any and everything they can, and today they started funding R&D for a thing called Total Information Awareness.”
“Wiretapping?”
“Among other things. The Patriot Act they passed last year? The one that makes our lives free wiretapping? It applies to fizzy boxes too.”
A horrible chill is coming over her. “Boxes are unreliable.”
“Yes, they are, because Johnson made them back in the ‘60s, but 9109’s transceiver is from a lot later down the line… and with a lot more people and money involved. I think our government wanted it for surveillance purposes, and Apur was here to sell, until 9109 escaped. You said the 107 was a telepath; I’ll bet that’s why Management wanted it and kept us in the dark, because we didn’t play along then and they knew we wouldn’t now. So now they’re purging the ranks, replacing us with people who will.” He looks at Grey. “You don’t look surprised.”
Grey shakes her head. “I’m not.” Even in ignorance, she’s felt the changes.
Bob takes her hands. He looks so sad, so worried, and she knows it’s over. The part about DARPA is new, but this part, she’s dreaded for months. “Grace,” he says, “there’s no way Neurophysics doesn’t know about us. Harmonius can’t tell Gujarati from Hindi, but he can still get a partial read on me. Even if your wetware makes you completely unreadable—”
Grey remembers Andersen clocking her on sight.
“—They can still read our friends.” He looks at her hopelessly. “I’ve racked my brains for months wondering why nobody’s outed us yet. And then I realized: it’s because of you.”
Grey’s heart caves in. She was a fool to hope that Bob would never figure this out. He got hired for his ability to piece information together, his mind is a cat’s cradle, and all she can do is watch as he tells her things she already knows.
“You’ve protected me since September before last, and you’re Andersen’s favorite workhorse, but he’s long past retirement. Eventually they’re going to oust him, and when they do, they’ll send you to the glue factory.”
“Yes,” Grey voices. “I know.”
Bob’s voice goes sharp. “You know? How long have you known?”
“Since your sedition meeting.” And the one thing Andersen demanded was that she keep her hands to herself. His protection is long gone. She knew it the moment she said yes to Bob on Valentine’s Day.
“Well, what’s your plan, then?”
She sits there, silent. Bob jumps to the wrong conclusion.
“Grace, I told you last year, they don’t care about you. They’ll out you the moment you mention retirement, and even if they don’t, even if I leave without a hitch and Andersen lives forever, you can’t keep doing this to your body. What are you going to do, just die in the field and never get old?”
He says it like he intends it as a joke, but then he sees her face.
Grey gets off the bed and reaches for her clothes.
Bob sits up. “That’s it, isn’t it? That’s your retirement plan.” She sees it click then. “That’s always been your plan.”
Grey starts getting dressed.
“That’s why you treat yourself like cannon fodder. You never planned on living long enough to deal with the consequences, did you?” His voice is getting louder. “You know, it bugged me that you, Ms. Forever, were so calm about me leaving, but I didn’t question it because,” he pauses, “because it was convenient for me. But you’ve known this entire time. Haven’t you?”
Grey sighs. “They told me things were changing, the day they denied your Diwali leave,” she voices. “Never told me details. I told them no first.”
She sees the realization dawn. “You said they wanted you out of the field.”
Grey buttons her shirt.
“I thought you meant management or something!”
“Same thing,” Grey voices. Management is about leadership, social skills, multi-tasking, all the things Grey is worst at. Even if she morally agrees with the incoming changes (which she doesn’t), even if she tries, she will fail. A retirement-wash will leave her with no skills to sell but janitorial, and her knees and back won’t even let her do that anymore. Better to die in the field before she becomes a professional slave-catcher.
“Did you hope to get killed by the 107?”
Grey says nothing, only grabs her overnight bag.
Bob’s putting it all together now. “You never let on you were attracted to me until afterward. What am I, your last hurrah? A loose end?” He realizes she’s leaving and rushes to take her arm. She throws it off. “You could’ve retired if not for me! Why the hell did you say yes to me at all?”
The words rip out of her. “Because I wanted you!”
She has never raised her voice to Bob before. He freezes like he’s scared of her. Grey hates it. She hates all of it, feeling angry, raising her voice, being what other people are afraid of. Her throat locks and she turns to SGSL, too upset to sign clear and careful. “Twenty-five years. Never touching anybody, loving anybody. I was tired. I am a stupid, silent monster, and you treat me like a girl. Your beautiful girl. It was supposed to be one night. You’d go. You wouldn’t have to see this. I…” Her hands hover, fall. “I just wanted to enjoy it.”
Bob looks stricken. “Grace—”
She holds up a hand to silence him. “You’re smart. You’re funny. You’re going places. When you leave the PIN,” because he will, she’s always known that he will, “you will have other jobs, other people who love you. You’ll be fine. You’ll be—” her mind is starting to lock. “You’ll be—”
Golden. Because that’s how Bob has always been, golden and unstoppable, no matter who tries to grind him down. No one, not society, not the PIN, not the world, has ever been able to stop Bob from being himself. It’s why Grey loves him. He deserves someone as golden as him, and Grey’s only ever been good for one thing: her amoral, uncaring, miserable job. And she’s always known that when that job is done, she will be put away and turned off, because that’s how the story is supposed to go. That’s how her story ends.
She’s starting to gulp air, rock in place. She doesn’t want Bob to see her like this, but she’s locked, unable to move.
Bob reaches up to cup her face. It’s what makes her realize she’s crying.
“Come with me,” he says.
She starts to shake her head, but he tightens his hold.
“Listen to me. I haven’t left this hellhole because they’ll blame you. Getting out of this panopticon requires an old horse like you. Everyone knows we’re close, you’re already on their radar, and I’m a selfish, flighty son of a bitch, but I’m not letting you take that fall for me, Grace, even if that’s what you think you have to do. You are so much more than this place. I don’t want you to die for this job, and I sure as hell don’t want you to die for me. I want to keep you.”
She stops fighting.
“Grace, this stopped being a fling a long time ago. You’re my beautiful girl, I love you, I want to keep you.” He wipes her tears with his handkerchief. “Okay?”
Grey stares at him. “I’m not good at anything else,” she signs.
“Bullshit. I am a picky, pushy bottom, Grace, but you topped me like an angel tonight. You sure as hell didn’t learn that from the PIN. And anyway, you’re the best when it comes to protection, and I’m going to need it.” He takes a deep breath. “Now, do you want to go on the run with me or not?”
He stands there, holding her face in his hands, waiting for her to move everything around in her head. His face is open, vulnerable. Beautiful.
“Yes,” Grey says, and everything changes again.
Series: Infinity Smashed
Summary: Bob and Grey's relationship was supposed to be casual and short-term, but now everything falls apart... and gets rebuilt. NSFW.
Word Count: 3068
Notes: Uploaded in honor of Infinity Smashed's 25th anniversary! Also someone discussed the events of this story as "history" and I felt old. As a side note, I'm down to the last ten copies of the paperback of Found Wanting, and I don't plan to reprint it. If you want it, now's the time! (I will also likely be weeding the ebook as well. Sorry Infinity Smashed; you are not a hot seller.)
They’re down to Bob’s MISC boxes, never unpacked, when Grey finds a neon pink and purple dildo shaped like something from a tropical aquarium.
“That’s where it ended up? I’ve been looking all over!” Bob plucks it from her hands and puts it in his headboard, next to the latex gloves where anyone could see it. “It’s good, right? You should see it under a black light.” He sees her face, snorts, and pats her shoulder. “There, there, Grace, it’s mine, not yours.”
But that’s not it. Sure, she’s shocked at first, but when she goes home to bed, she can’t stop thinking about the sinuous swirl of silicone, its bright, cheerful colors. Like it’s nothing to be ashamed of. Like it’s fun.
Bob must like it, if he keeps it right there in his headboard. Maybe it’s his favorite. Maybe he likes the way the ridges and swirls feel inside him. Maybe—
Grey turns onto her stomach and hugs her pillow, squirmy and overheated. She’s never wanted to put her genitals inside someone and still doesn’t. But the dildo in Bob’s headboard looked nothing like any piece of human anatomy, in shape or color. Texture either, she presumes, being made of rubber.
She slides a hand down the front of her shorts, pushes her hips into it. The pressure feels good. If she was wearing that dildo, it’d push against her like this. And if she was wearing it while tucked…
She curls her fingers into herself and shivers, burying her face in the pillow. Yes, yes, it’d feel like that. It’d feel good…
She falls asleep imagining Bob’s face and voice, the curve of his back.
Bob’s never pushed back against her three forbidden things, so if she wants it to happen, she’ll have to bring it up. But how? The next time they’re in his room, she decides. It’s right there in his headboard; she can ask about it.
But when the time comes, his headboard’s empty.
“Where’s…?” she signs, but while she knows SGSL for “dildo,” (sex toy bootleggers) Bob doesn’t, and she can’t voice it. She has to settle for gesturing.
Bob frowns, then realizes what she means. “Oh! In the dishwasher.” Her confusion must show. “Cleaning. Why?”
So he does like it.
With her hands, she says, “I want to use it.”
Bob freezes.
“On you.”
“Oh.” She can’t read his face. Maybe this is like borrowing his toothbrush.
Her throat tightens. “Okay?” she signs.
“More than. I just… thought that was a never.”
Grey shrugs. She did too, until she saw it in his hands and realized she had options besides her own anatomy. “It looks fun,” she signs.
He laughs, pets her hair. “I’ve clearly been a bad influence on you, beautiful girl. So, were you planning on using your hands, or do you want a harness?”
He makes it sound ordinary. She holds up two fingers: harness.
“Okay. Thigh, face, or…?”
She’s going to catch fire from embarrassment, but she gestures at her hips.
Bob’s expression goes distant. She taps him inquiringly.
“Nothing. Just fantasizing.” He stands up and grabs his laptop bag. “Duct tape and cheap jeans is fine when you’re young and horny, but we’re a class act here: we’re buying from the Internet. You want leather or neoprene?”
She shrugs. “Not black?” she signs.
Bob is not a miracle worker. In her size and price range, the only non-black options are blue imitation denim, chain mail, or pink lace. She wrinkles her nose. Black neoprene it is.
By the time they get that sorted, the dishwasher has finished. When Bob unloads the aquarium dildo, he asks, “Did you have your heart set on this one in particular? I have others.”
Of course he does. “Show me?” she signs.
There’s a whole rainbow of them in a tub under his bed, mostly rubber but also glass and metal. Some of them look human, others like fantastical modern art. Most are beautiful.
“What kind do you like?” Bob asks.
Her mind goes blank.
Bob must see it; he reframes. “What do you want to fuck me with?”
It helps. “Not a normal one. More like this.” She indicates the aquarium dildo. Then she has a revelation. “Your favorite. Loan me your favorite.”
After all, that’s what got to her, the idea of using his favorite on him.
Bob grins and cups her cheek. “How did I ever mistake you for vanilla?”
She kisses his palm and leaves him to it.
Bob can’t pick just one either but narrows it down to three, the aquarium dildo among them. Grey’s happy to take it. It’s pleasantly squeezable in her hands and she’s trying not to squish it too obviously when Bob clears his throat.
“I should warn you, Grace, I’m a lousy bottom.” He acts blithe, but his tone is apologetic. “Hard work. Sorry.”
Grey smiles, tugs him down on the bed, and signs, “Help me practice?”
Bob isn’t hard work. Grey’s used to years of labor with little to no reward besides her own satisfaction; Bob doesn’t even take hours, most of the time, and the pay-off is fantastic. Some kissing, heavy petting, hands and tongue and focus, and he melts like butter. She learns how he breathes, moves, talks as his body moves through its paces. She doesn’t notice the clock; it takes as long as it takes, and Bob mostly doesn’t complain. (Mostly. Once, she falls asleep in the middle of proceedings, much to his dismay, and another time, he has to stop her because it’s been long enough that he needs to eat something.)
Bob seems surprised at how intent she is but not displeased. He knows what he wants, how he wants it, and gives good directions, which Grey takes well. What starts as “practice” becomes sex in its own right, Bob clutching her shoulders or hugging her neck as she slides her fingers or the toy into him.
“You’re going to drain me dry, beautiful girl; leave something for when the harness gets here!” he chides, but he’s laughing and never tries to stop her.
The day it arrives, Grey shuts herself in Bob’s bathroom. It fits fine, thank goodness, though getting the whole rig on comfortably takes a couple tries—the dildo has to be worked through the O-ring of the harness first and the whole contraption pulled halfway up her thighs so she can get herself situated. It’s worth it when she gets everything in place and sees herself in the mirror.
She doesn’t look like a man at all. She looks like herself. And when she comes out, Bob’s naked on the bed, all black and brown and gold in the stripes of sunlight through the blinds.
He swallows when he sees her. “I should’ve put you in lace.”
Grey smiles and comes over to kiss him and press him back on the bed, enjoying the unfamiliar weight in her shorts—which is Bob’s, not hers. When it brushes against his thigh, he jumps, but the sound he makes is excited.
It’s their weekend. They have all the time in the world, Bob’s bed is high enough off the floor that she can do this standing up, sparing her knees, and she’s had months to learn Bob’s body. She’s almost disappointed when he warms and opens to her so quickly, and his expression is almost comedic.
“You are the service top of my dreams,” he swears. “Holy shit, Grace—”
She laughs and kisses his cheek.
“Wait, hold on a little—there.” His nails dig into her back and she arches into it, thrusts instinctively, and Bob makes a rapturous noise. “Yes, just like that, beautiful girl, don’t speed up, keep it right there—yes!” His thighs squeeze her waist. “Perfect, fucking perfect, good girl, god, when I get to fuck you—”
This feels nothing like Grey’s awful attempts to act the boy in high school. This feels right. With everything tucked up inside her, the base of the dildo rides perfect. She doubts she could come from it, this time anyway, but that’s fine. What she really wants is to make Bob come.
She’s going to get her wish. His voice is getting rough and broken.
“Good, pretty, perfect girl, you make me want to keep you—”
“You can keep me,” she says.
He snaps his hips like he’s almost there, but he gasps, “No, no—”
It’s cheating, but she’s seen the look in Bob’s eyes when he shaves her, when he gets her on her knees, when he marks her up. And she wants to, so badly, so she ducks her head and whispers in his ear, “I’m yours.”
Bob’s eyes go wide, and he comes almost sobbing, but when he comes down, his expression is raw. Nervous.
“You shouldn’t say that to me, Grace,” he says. “I like it too much.”
She kisses his fingertips. “I like it too,” she signs. “I like being yours.”
He pets her hair as she snuggles to him. “Even when I’m gone?”
“Yes.” That’s how she works. She loves people, and it’s better that they don’t love her back. It hurts less. She’s known from the start that one day Bob will go, and that’s fine.
Apparently he isn’t the same way; he has to think about it for a while. Then he says, “What happens to you after I’m gone?”
She freezes.
“They passed the Homeland Security Act a few months ago; the restructure is official and mandated now. Surely you’ve noticed.”
She has.
Bob takes a deep breath. “I think I know why 9109 was on our planet.”
She sits up, pulls back so she can frown at him.
“You know, it stuck with me, the way One-Week Williamson went on about our trade agreements. You, Larkin, Harmonius, you’re all old horses, and none of you knew what he was talking about.”
“Snow job.”
“See, I thought that too, last November. But by Valentine’s Day, Larkin, you, and I had all been roped into informal sedition meetings—everyone but Harmonius, who was never officially involved. Remember that DARPA goon, the one you didn’t know? Turns out he was from the Information Awareness Office. Heard of them?”
“No.”
“I didn’t think so; they’re more my set than yours. They’re out to data-mine any and everything they can, and today they started funding R&D for a thing called Total Information Awareness.”
“Wiretapping?”
“Among other things. The Patriot Act they passed last year? The one that makes our lives free wiretapping? It applies to fizzy boxes too.”
A horrible chill is coming over her. “Boxes are unreliable.”
“Yes, they are, because Johnson made them back in the ‘60s, but 9109’s transceiver is from a lot later down the line… and with a lot more people and money involved. I think our government wanted it for surveillance purposes, and Apur was here to sell, until 9109 escaped. You said the 107 was a telepath; I’ll bet that’s why Management wanted it and kept us in the dark, because we didn’t play along then and they knew we wouldn’t now. So now they’re purging the ranks, replacing us with people who will.” He looks at Grey. “You don’t look surprised.”
Grey shakes her head. “I’m not.” Even in ignorance, she’s felt the changes.
Bob takes her hands. He looks so sad, so worried, and she knows it’s over. The part about DARPA is new, but this part, she’s dreaded for months. “Grace,” he says, “there’s no way Neurophysics doesn’t know about us. Harmonius can’t tell Gujarati from Hindi, but he can still get a partial read on me. Even if your wetware makes you completely unreadable—”
Grey remembers Andersen clocking her on sight.
“—They can still read our friends.” He looks at her hopelessly. “I’ve racked my brains for months wondering why nobody’s outed us yet. And then I realized: it’s because of you.”
Grey’s heart caves in. She was a fool to hope that Bob would never figure this out. He got hired for his ability to piece information together, his mind is a cat’s cradle, and all she can do is watch as he tells her things she already knows.
“You’ve protected me since September before last, and you’re Andersen’s favorite workhorse, but he’s long past retirement. Eventually they’re going to oust him, and when they do, they’ll send you to the glue factory.”
“Yes,” Grey voices. “I know.”
Bob’s voice goes sharp. “You know? How long have you known?”
“Since your sedition meeting.” And the one thing Andersen demanded was that she keep her hands to herself. His protection is long gone. She knew it the moment she said yes to Bob on Valentine’s Day.
“Well, what’s your plan, then?”
She sits there, silent. Bob jumps to the wrong conclusion.
“Grace, I told you last year, they don’t care about you. They’ll out you the moment you mention retirement, and even if they don’t, even if I leave without a hitch and Andersen lives forever, you can’t keep doing this to your body. What are you going to do, just die in the field and never get old?”
He says it like he intends it as a joke, but then he sees her face.
Grey gets off the bed and reaches for her clothes.
Bob sits up. “That’s it, isn’t it? That’s your retirement plan.” She sees it click then. “That’s always been your plan.”
Grey starts getting dressed.
“That’s why you treat yourself like cannon fodder. You never planned on living long enough to deal with the consequences, did you?” His voice is getting louder. “You know, it bugged me that you, Ms. Forever, were so calm about me leaving, but I didn’t question it because,” he pauses, “because it was convenient for me. But you’ve known this entire time. Haven’t you?”
Grey sighs. “They told me things were changing, the day they denied your Diwali leave,” she voices. “Never told me details. I told them no first.”
She sees the realization dawn. “You said they wanted you out of the field.”
Grey buttons her shirt.
“I thought you meant management or something!”
“Same thing,” Grey voices. Management is about leadership, social skills, multi-tasking, all the things Grey is worst at. Even if she morally agrees with the incoming changes (which she doesn’t), even if she tries, she will fail. A retirement-wash will leave her with no skills to sell but janitorial, and her knees and back won’t even let her do that anymore. Better to die in the field before she becomes a professional slave-catcher.
“Did you hope to get killed by the 107?”
Grey says nothing, only grabs her overnight bag.
Bob’s putting it all together now. “You never let on you were attracted to me until afterward. What am I, your last hurrah? A loose end?” He realizes she’s leaving and rushes to take her arm. She throws it off. “You could’ve retired if not for me! Why the hell did you say yes to me at all?”
The words rip out of her. “Because I wanted you!”
She has never raised her voice to Bob before. He freezes like he’s scared of her. Grey hates it. She hates all of it, feeling angry, raising her voice, being what other people are afraid of. Her throat locks and she turns to SGSL, too upset to sign clear and careful. “Twenty-five years. Never touching anybody, loving anybody. I was tired. I am a stupid, silent monster, and you treat me like a girl. Your beautiful girl. It was supposed to be one night. You’d go. You wouldn’t have to see this. I…” Her hands hover, fall. “I just wanted to enjoy it.”
Bob looks stricken. “Grace—”
She holds up a hand to silence him. “You’re smart. You’re funny. You’re going places. When you leave the PIN,” because he will, she’s always known that he will, “you will have other jobs, other people who love you. You’ll be fine. You’ll be—” her mind is starting to lock. “You’ll be—”
Golden. Because that’s how Bob has always been, golden and unstoppable, no matter who tries to grind him down. No one, not society, not the PIN, not the world, has ever been able to stop Bob from being himself. It’s why Grey loves him. He deserves someone as golden as him, and Grey’s only ever been good for one thing: her amoral, uncaring, miserable job. And she’s always known that when that job is done, she will be put away and turned off, because that’s how the story is supposed to go. That’s how her story ends.
She’s starting to gulp air, rock in place. She doesn’t want Bob to see her like this, but she’s locked, unable to move.
Bob reaches up to cup her face. It’s what makes her realize she’s crying.
“Come with me,” he says.
She starts to shake her head, but he tightens his hold.
“Listen to me. I haven’t left this hellhole because they’ll blame you. Getting out of this panopticon requires an old horse like you. Everyone knows we’re close, you’re already on their radar, and I’m a selfish, flighty son of a bitch, but I’m not letting you take that fall for me, Grace, even if that’s what you think you have to do. You are so much more than this place. I don’t want you to die for this job, and I sure as hell don’t want you to die for me. I want to keep you.”
She stops fighting.
“Grace, this stopped being a fling a long time ago. You’re my beautiful girl, I love you, I want to keep you.” He wipes her tears with his handkerchief. “Okay?”
Grey stares at him. “I’m not good at anything else,” she signs.
“Bullshit. I am a picky, pushy bottom, Grace, but you topped me like an angel tonight. You sure as hell didn’t learn that from the PIN. And anyway, you’re the best when it comes to protection, and I’m going to need it.” He takes a deep breath. “Now, do you want to go on the run with me or not?”
He stands there, holding her face in his hands, waiting for her to move everything around in her head. His face is open, vulnerable. Beautiful.
“Yes,” Grey says, and everything changes again.
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