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Sleep was not a common practice among omnics, and this you knew. While Ramattra was certainly capable, rest was not a pastime he enjoyed- and scarcely took part where he could avoid it.
Too human
, he’d say, an organic burden meant only to waste time that could be spent for more productive matters. You’d argue that humans weren’t the only things that slept, but that counterpoint never got anywhere with your partner. Even when you wished he would at least lay with you as you drifted off, he’d been hesitant, and only gave in when he’d seen the way your face fell.
But in the last few days, he had let up a lot more about being with you while you slept. The Null Sector leader was currently leading an attack on Toronto, surrounding the city with his soldiers and closing in by the day. Thousands of evacuants have been captured, human casualties resting in the hundreds. It made you sick to your core knowing you were contributing to the numbers, and it was just as exhausting thinking about it as it was being on the front line– but you knew what you were getting into when you gave Ramattra your heart.
(…Not that he wanted you anywhere near the fight, but you insisted. You weren’t exactly a strategist, nor the most organized; your skills lay in the field of combat, and you wanted to be useful.)
So in the nights you had returned to base, Ramattra would have dropped whatever he was doing to herd you toward his quarters, as the shepherd does. He takes apart your armor as if they disgraced you, velcro tearing in protest along with the sad clinks of the metal buckles on straps, carbon fiber and ceramic plating collapsing to the floor– worrying you that the protective wear would abrade.
He didn’t care.
Once freed from the confines of a soldier’s shell, the fragility of your human form would soon be pulled into his arms and chest, cradled, and he wordlessly sweeps you into his bed. You’re held close, and you can feel the tension leaving his body as the minutes pass, just glad to have you near. The stiffness of his hands would lighten, able to fan his fingers more loosely over your back– his breathing became slightly more obvious the sooner he could register that you were safe. Maybe you’d make small conversation, inquiring his thoughts. Most times you’d prefer to bathe, waiting until he seems to calm before pulling yourself from his grasp. But regardless, in just a few days it quickly became routine– and he’d lay there with you to guide you to sleep.
But he was never there when you would wake.
Understandably, he was a busy omnic. Every ounce of his freetime he would spend tending to you, of his own accord. And while he was decidedly against putting any specific label on what you were to him, the care he showed spoke far louder than anything he’s ever said to you, and there truly was so few affectionate verbal exchanges the two of you had. (Neither of you dare utter of love or expectations, whether that be from uncertainty or cowardice. The closeness simply came to be on its own time, and it just felt better unaddressed.)
It felt ironic that he communicated tenderness with touch, however, considering his consistent dislike for human gestures. You had to hold your tongue to tease him when he’d reach for your hand just walking down a corridor. And then to express contempt for proper sleep, yet embrace and lull you to rest for his own comfort?
Of course, this was a fairly recent arrangement. And you weren’t about to ruin it, either.
Though finally comes a night that you return, shaken, but alive. You had imagined that one of these days you’d have a close call, or worse. But even with the expectation, you had been so far from prepared, and barely escaped a cornered situation in one piece. At last, your helmet was rendered ineffective by the blast it suffered for you today; a fatal strike that your mind continues to reel from hours later. You could still feel the buzzing in your skull from the aftershock.
But what terrified you most wasn’t that you’d nearly lost your life; it was how the last thing you’d heard was Ramattra yelling into your earpiece.
He’d had a camera installed into your helm so he could watch a live feed of the things you were seeing, providing instruction where he could (call it backseat driving, really). He had spotted the pulse bombs soaring toward you before you did, but you had quite literally been backed into a wall by defending vanguards. You were struck, several times, and you found yourself stunned and on the ground in just a couple of mindless seconds where you couldn’t even process what was happening.
And as you summoned what numbed strength you had in that moment to raise yourself onto your elbows, then you’d heard him– the most gut-wrenching scream of your name that you’d ever heard. It made you freeze, a terrible mistake. When the pulse bombs struck, your feed had cut out, and you were again on the ground and fighting for the breath that had just been knocked from you. Never have you seen so many Nulltroopers swarm an area that quickly– such desperation so unlike Ramattra to have commanded.
He was no longer with you, in your ear, but in the full minute-and-a-half it took you to finally gain your bearings and stand– you could have sworn a handful of Nulltroopers were barking at you to get up in an eerily familiar tone. One might have even said your name, or it was just the rattling echo of Ramattra’s voice in your head.
The attack was successful, another section of Toronto secured. As artillery agents and a few titans were dropped into the newly claimed district to hold the siege, three red orbiters flew toward you in escort to the nearest airship. Snowflakes flurried around the repulsors that kept the devices floating.
You knew he could still see you. It made your stomach churn with worry that he may lecture you, and argue again that he wouldn’t allow you to fight any longer. You gave the floating droids a small wave as you pass them by and enter the aircraft, slumping into one of the seats with an exaggerated sigh to release some tension.
God, you hoped his vocalizer was okay. Your ear still rang, you think; you had no idea his voice could reach such a volume. You’d heard him shout before, though never at you, in strings of frustrated omnicode expletives that you didn’t understand. (You attempted to learn once, imagining it would be humorous to know vulgar language in omnicode. But he’d disappointed you with the explanation that the words you wanted to know didn’t translate over in the way humans would have intended; an unfortunate, though fascinating discovery.)
But you also just hoped he wouldn’t be angry with you. It was a dumb decision to have pushed ahead while you were confident, and even if he reiterated this you already knew you wouldn’t make that same mistake again. You planned out a way to say that to him if he decided to go on a tangent about strategy.
But when you return to base, sore and with a slight limp, you’re met with a worse fate: his calm.
You found him at the control panel as usual, though this time with his back turned to you. Usually he anticipated your arrival with exceptional timing, his arms outstretched to you– and he still did expect you, but his current negligence was with purpose. He would not be walking you to his quarters today.
“I will meet you there.”
His voice came plain, stiff. Had you not known him better you would have assumed he was not speaking to you at all. It hurt your heart briefly, going to turn and leave, but that pain quickly dissipated as he called to you again over his shoulder.
“A bath is already running for you.”
And so you’d shed yourself of your armor one last time, aware its majority would be unusable until repaired. You sat in a warm tub, pushing bubbles over your arms, wondering what you would do tomorrow then, if not lead the next attack. You again hoped Ramattra wasn’t angry. He didn’t seem like it, even with his deliberate avoidance to face you. Just troubled, maybe– silence was not his type of anger.
But there was no way he wasn’t thinking about it as you were. All the debates you’d had, promising him your survival so you could always return to him smug with another win. You’d heard him worried before, though he would rather die than admit his voice would shake when expressing concern. He wasn’t that obvious, he’d deny.
And now today he would not even face you, nor come to you. It was anxiety inducing trying to imagine what he was thinking right now. Perhaps he was disappointed, or preparing another argument? Maybe he would make you leave for your own sake.
But all the while, you could not stop hearing the call of your name rip from your earpiece, a despair cried out so loud you could feel your heartbeat mimic the syllables of his tone. What a beautiful voice, you admired, though ruined by your own name. You never wanted to hear him scream like that again, if you could help it.
You sank deeper into the water so it came up to your collarbones, though your knees rose higher from the foamy surface.
There was an overwhelming amount of bubbles in the bath.
Entering the dark of his quarters, Ramattra was already sitting at the foot of the bed with his hands clasped atop his knees, gaze pointed toward the floor. The rising moon in the window provided the only light that pooled into the room, casting hard shadows that spill like stretches of ink across the space. He almost looked as if in the midst of a prayer where he sat. But your presence drew his optics up toward you, and you paused a couple paces in front of him with a robe wrapped taut around you. Your hair was still wet.
He did not speak first, but you didn’t have anything in mind to say at the moment either. So you offer to him a thin smile, casting your line of sight to the side almost in a shameful display, and you press your palms into the fabric of your robe.
“Are you okay?”
Your eyes met his. The moment his body seemed to draw back somewhat at the question, you knew immediately that wasn’t the right question to ask. It made your stomach drop, and you quickly approach him to make up for it– offering out your hands for him to take. He does so, bringing one of your palms face-up into his own, clasping his other hand on top of it while he stared hard into your wrists. But he drew his gaze back up toward you again, observing the hesitance in your furrowed brow.
“Are you ?” He asked, genuine. Red LEDs on his forehead flickered, as if he’d blinked at you. “Have you visited the medic at all?”
You can’t look at him again, chewing on the inside of your cheek somewhat guiltily. “No. I’m feeling fine.”
He says your name breathily, exasperated, tired . His head drops and he tugs gently on the hand clasped in his own, taking in a deep sigh before he can bring himself to look up at you again.
“You scared me, today.”
The emphasis in his annunciation of the phrase caught a hard sting in your throat, and you found it tough to swallow. Scared.
Ramattra does not get scared; he’d been born of war. Terror was his birthright, by means to cause.
Not
to feel. The sentence was out of place where it hung in the air, yawning into the silence that stretched between you two after admitting to something so impossible. Scared.
For a
human
?
You could not help the small huff that leaves you, a half-assed smile pulling on the corner of your mouth as if he had just told you a dull joke.
“You think that’s funny.” He observes grimly, his hold on your hand loosens greatly.
You shake your head defensively, “No, it’s just–” strange, coming from you , “–hard to believe.”
He releases your hand with another quick shake of his head as he looks from you again, rising to stand.
“You minimize my concerns far too often, and you continue to act careless.” He paces away from you, “Do you believe yourself invincible among our ranks, or are you just testing me?”
Your nose scrunches up at the accusations, turning on your heel and taking his spot on the bed– your positions now reversed. He stands in front of you with his arms crossed, waiting patiently for your reply– light now illuminating him from the other side, the moon cast a shine through the slits of his mask that reflected off of his optics. You could clearly see him looking at you from behind the faceplate now, a pair of silver irises observing you.
“Neither,” You scoff, “I know what I did wrong, and that won’t happen again. I–”
“Of course not. You won’t be out there ever again, I’ll make certain of that.”
There it is.
You groan. “We’re not doing this again, Rama’.”
“Exactly as I said.” He shrugs and raises his chin, tone rather matter-of-factly as his LEDs flicker again: Very snarky of him, an occasional wit.
You pinch the bridge of your nose, but hear again in your mind that he was scared. Peering up at him through your knuckles, he remains standing with his arms crossed, expectant, and still. He adorned his white and gray-blue monk robes, in spite of his abandonment of the Shambali. He sometimes wore these after a Null Sector victory.
But he more commonly wore these in mourning, too.
“Look, I don’t mean to disregard your worries for me. I think that’s really sweet.” You tell him, relaxing yourself in your seated position as you calm your voice. “I will take a break , if you want me to… but you’d better figure out how else I can do my part in all this then. I’m not going to just sit here and do nothing.”
The negotiation seemed to calm him immensely, his stance practically slumping with the way his shoulders fell and a puff of air hisses from beneath his ribbed exterior. The cables of his mock-up hair fall loosely around his collar.
“Done.” He agrees, satisfied. Then with another dramatic inhale, he comes to sit on the bed beside you as he releases that breath, the mattress raising you up while he sinks into it with a subtle bounce. He stares down toward the floor again, like before, though this time he appeared more defeated than he was stiff. His eyes had resumed to their usual dark. You allow the quiet to claim a couple of seconds before speaking again.
“Feel better?”
Ramattra offers a single nod.
“You would not even be able to comprehend just how exhausting it is, to make sure you stay alive.” He murmurs, “I do not doubt our enemies caught your…
my
mistake, today.”
You immediately shot him a confused look. He goes on.
“Do you have any idea how many Nulltroopers I sent to your aid?” A chuckle resonates from him, catching you a bit by surprise. “It was ridiculous… I did not think for even a moment what I was doing when I watched you fall.”
Your face becomes warm, and you shift in your seated position.
So, it wouldn’t be hard to gather that you’re someone important in the Null Sector, then. Perhaps it was convenient that your protective gear had been taken such heavy damage– it was time for a new look. It would definitely complicate your return to the field if opposing forces tried to take you as a hostage piece.
“...I’m sorry I scared you.” You sigh sheepishly.
Ramattra makes a noise, something like a hum, or a bit of a growl. It’s hard to discern which it was, but it was nothing short of acknowledgment. You tilt over and lean into his shoulder, his head turning toward you at the gesture.
“I won’t forget it, but I will get over it.” He cocks his head, “A harder reset might do for now. Sleep, maybe.”
Your eyes light up. You sit up immediately and face him at the word, suddenly attentive, as if you were a dog responding to the word ‘walk’. He laughs quietly again as he takes in the look on your face.
“You— you want to sleep?”
“We will not make a habit of this.” He responds dryly, though turning away to crawl further into the bed. “Just tonight.”
You follow after him quickly, short on his heel as he flipped himself over to lay on his back. You settle yourself under the covers and shuffle close to his side, where he shifts his arm beneath your pillow and rolls onto his side to fully face you– chest-to-chest, and making further adjustments as needed for both your comfortability. But once settled, he elicits yet another sound of a sigh, and cranes his head forward to gently nudge his forehead against yours.
You slide a hand over his waist, the dip between his chest and hip being the perfect trough to lay your arm across.
It’s quiet. But it was a welcome silence.
You knew one of you would speak again before attempting to sleep, known by the occasional shift of Ramattra’s leg near yours, or from the way you kept flexing your fingers in and out of a fist at a leisurely pace. There was comfort in listening to the way his body whirred softly, hardly noticeable until moments like these when it was most quiet. A pleasant white noise.
He thought the same of your breathing.
“Do you dream?”
Finally you break the silence, though speak quieter. You earn a small hum from him again. But a couple more quiet seconds pass before you earn your answer.
“I do.”
A large hand comes up near your face, and your eyes flutter closed. Cool digits draw past your jawline, tickling in the slightest, and he hooks his palm into the crevice of your neck– just above your shoulder. He elaborates on his answer.
“There is a tomb I’ve returned to, in the handful of times I have dreamed. It’s always cracked slightly open where a golden light filters through, and I can fit half of my palm into the space. But I am never strong enough to lift the door.”
Your brows raise, eyes remaining closed. That was not a response you had anticipated at all, and was impressed by the detail– though saddened at the same time. You thought to say something, but Ramattra adds quickly,
“I can always hear someone calling for me on the other side. Most times it's been my brothers. Sometimes it’s you.”
You?
“I don’t know the last time you’ve slept.” You say softly, implying a question of when this was. He grunts.
“It’s certainly been many moons,” He drawls out, voice rumbling a little harder than usual. His chest expands with feigned breath. “ Though I believe it aided me most in realizing I needed you.”
Your heart flutters. You try not to smile– you don’t know if he’s watching your face.
“
Needed
me?”
“Yes.”
A pause.
“I need you, here. You understand that, don’t you?”
Your heartbeat picks up its pace.
This was probably the most sentimental thing he had ever said to you.
Of course, this was information that didn’t quite surprise you, but it was shocking that Ramattra had actually said it. You had known for a while, clearly, in the way he lays with you like this. In the way he had argued against your participation in the raids for months, or the way he’d feel a hand onto your hip whenever you stood close to him. You could always hear it in his tone when he’d look out for you from afar, or spoke gently by your ear to complain about ‘
other’
humans within the immediate area. You’d heard it today when he had shouted out so desperately for you to get up.
You were his favorite exception.
“I think so.” You confirm quietly, finally breaking a small grin. “That’s awfully soft of you.”
“My apologies.” He jokes, and you exhale your amusement in a quiet laugh. His own chuckle vibrates beneath your arm.
“Rest, now. I will stay here until you wake.”
You push yourself forward to lay as close to him as possible, now tucking your head beneath his chin while tucking your fists to your chest. He drapes his arm completely over you– heavy on your side, but a welcome weight.
“When you dream,” you start in a low whisper, feeling yourself begin to doze off already, “I’ll try to help you open that door.”
Ramattra was silent.
You could not see it, and he was certainly glad you couldn’t; his LEDs flashed blue as an overwhelming amount of grief and affection washed over him. He was not capable of crying, nor did he imagine the type who would if he could. But there was an unfamiliar sting behind his eyes that made him wonder for a moment if, had he been any closer to being human, he would have teared up at the comment. He tucks you close, embracing you tightly for a moment before relaxing again.
“My savior.” Is all he can muster, willing his lights to go dark as he prepares to drift off. He did not feel like articulating what exactly he was feeling at the moment, an odd mix of emotions he wasn’t sure he’d experienced in this particular order before. It was… confusing.
But maybe he would do this again. “Goodnight.”