"Andy the Android"

8pm, Thursday night:

As the beat cops entered the bodega, the elderly owner pointed them toward a man standing at the end of the counter, casually eating from a bag. With a heavy accent, the owner complained, "Won't pay, won't leave. Make pay ... leave."

The officers made their way casually though cautiously over to the man. He was in his mid-20s, attractive, and athletically built. He wore a simple white tee shirt, loose fitting jeans, and hiking style boots, all of which appeared as if they'd just come off the rack from any one of a number of shopping mall stores. His brunette hair was short and neat, and he was freshly shaven. When he turned to make eye contact with the approaching officers, he smiled politely. His teeth were stained orange as he offered out the bag in his hand and invited, "Cheetos?"

"Are you carrying any weapons, sir?" the male asked. "Gun...? Knife...?"

The man with the chip bag only smiled as he stuffed another treat into his mouth and shook the open end of the bag to the officers. "I like Cheetos. Do you like Cheetos? Have a Cheetos?"

He shook the bag again, then donned an expression of comical confusion. "When you offer another individual a single Cheetos, should you say 'Have a Cheetos', plural, or 'Have a Cheeto', singular?"

It probably seemed obvious that the man hadn't begun his day with a full bag of Cheetos between his ears. The officers began the routine questioning and arrest procedures routine for the mentally challenged, treating him politely while always maintaining their own safety. Off to the side, the bodega's owner was once again reminding them, "Make pay!"

The man with the Cheetos willingly submitted to the officer's instructions. When they didn't find any ID, the female asked, "What's your name, sir?"

"I am Andy, Thomas Robotics and Android Advancements prototype Unit A-6," the man told her. He smiled politely, asking each of them individually, "What is your name?"

"Andy Thomas...?" the male officer asked, unsure of whether he'd heard Andy Thomas, pause, and the rest, or Andy pause, and the rest. He'd never heard of the company which was generally simply referred to as Thomas Robotics because the company was one of the most secret technology companies on the planet. He pulled his hand cuffs from his belt and dangle them, saying calmly, "Well, Andy Thomas, we're going to take you to a safe place, but ... I need to put these on you. Do you understand?"

"No," Andy said politely to the male, asking just as politely, "Can you explain?"

His partner took the handcuffs and explained precisely what she was going to do. Andy nodded politely, then held his wrists close to one another in front of him. Procedure called for the hands to be behind the back, but soon enough the pair were walking Andy out the door, hands linked before him, to a patrol car they'd called to the scene.

"Am I going home?" Andy asked with a tone that lacked hope or concern, as if he cared not one way or another. When the male officer asked him if he knew his address, Andy only said, "No."

"We're going to take you to a safe place, Andy," the male officer told him, as his partner gave their report to the car's driver. "Do you have someone you can call when you get there, Andy, to come pick you up? A friend? Wife, girl friend ... boy friend. Parent maybe?"

The male winked to his partner as he finished, "Doctor maybe?"

"No," Andy answered simply. He smiled as if a child who'd just been given a cookie and said, "I will go to your safe place."

As the car headed off into the thick, early evening traffic, a teenage girl stepped up and said, "I saw'em dump'im."

"Saw who dump who?" the male officer asked.

"Saw who dump whom," she corrected. After getting a get on with it gesture, she nodded in the direction of the departing car. "Him whom. A car pulled up, the driver got out, came 'round, opened the door, helped that guy out, then split."

The cops asked the girl for any details they could give about the man or the car, but she'd been flirting with some guys and hadn't been paying that much attention. She asked if they could use traffic or sidewalk cameras, adding accusingly, "Got enough of them in this police state of ours, right?"

"They probably dumped him after the insurance ran out," the male cop suggested after waving the teen off. As he glanced around, finding no obvious cameras that could help, he looked to his partner and clarified, "Mental institution, I mean. They're not gonna keep him if no one's paying the bills, no matter how nuts he is. Andy the android. Yeah."

The pair went back inside to talk to the bodega owner, but there really wasn't much more to be done.



Midnight, three days later:

Andy was standing on the sidewalk outside the precinct when the female officer to whom he'd offered a Cheeto -- singular -- descended the steps at the end of her shift, now dressed in her street clothes. Andy was wearing the same clothes from that night at the bodega, and by the looks of them he hadn't removed them during all that time. As he caught her eye, Andy smiled as politely as ever.

"Thank you for taking me to a safe place, Lady Officer," he said as if the last two words spoken were truly her name. He held up a sheet of paper that had official looking letterhead, explaining, "The nice doctor from the safe place told me that my mandatory stay of 72 hours had passed, and that I should find a friend or relative with whom I should stay while my meds kick in."

Andy lifted his other hand, which contained two prescription bottles. He went on, "I did not understand what the nice doctor from the safe place meant when she said I should stay with a friend or relative. She explained who a relative is, and I said I have no such person. She explained who a friend is, someone who does nice things for you and for whom you do nice things."

He took a step closer, continuing, "You found me a safe place to stay, and I offered you a Cheeto."

With a smile and matter of fact tone, Andy finished, "You are my friend."

Layla Sune whistled a few bars of an old song - poorly.

It had been a quiet night. Well, so far as policing went. Patrol was routine - the only hiccup was a “missing child” case, which, thankfully, had turned out to be a combination of a game of hide and seek and sibling hijinks. Apparently the middle brother had told the youngest to “hide” in the bushes in the woods behind the house, and not to come out until he gave the signal. The middle child was distracted by an ice cream truck, and apparently “forgot” that the younger brother had been hiding out in the woods. A bit of a headache, but, hell, everyone was able to laugh about it.

Slinging her purse higher on her shoulder, she was nearly down the stairs when she stopped so abruptly in her tracks that she nearly fell.

That was a face that she hadn’t expected to see.

Instinctively, she reached for her side-arm - and remembered two things. One - that her gun was in her purse, and two - this man was harmless. She’d been around a few of the “One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest” perps before, and whatever was wrong with this man, well, he wasn’t violent. He’d been lead around the precinct with a childish innocence. True, she hadn’t been a cop for that long and was often teased about being “naive” about the job, but she hadn’t honestly felt any reason to be scared of this man.

Now, though, she was beginning to wonder if maybe, just maybe, her coworkers had been correct.

“Okay…” She breathed out, her dark eyes darting from one corner of the street to the other. Sure, there were other people in the station, but they’d just throw him in a cell. She bit her bottom lip. There was the cell….maybe a homeless shelter? No; that wouldn’t work - it was far too late for any shelter to be open.

“Yes, I am your friend,” she repeated, softly. Best to agree with him; he needed to trust her. That trust would -hopefully- keep him from being violent, or even humoring being violent. God, she hoped she’d been right about him being a bit more stable than the other cops had assumed. What was his name? Something beginning…

“You know,” she ventured, licking her lower lip, “We were never properly introduced. My name is Layla Sune. You can call me ‘Layla.’”

She hadn’t moved from her position on the steps, perhaps the only thing that remained as the semblance of something sane. It was ridiculous; she should take him in. All of her procedures said she should take him in and put him in a cell until she could figure out a social worker to get him back on track. And even then, that was being generous. They simply didn’t have the resources to hand-hold every hard luck case that happened. But things had been quiet; at least they had been recently. If she could just find a place for him tonight, she could start trying to find more permanent arrangements for him, get her friend Billy on the phone; Billy was always the best.

“Do…do you really not have a home to go to?”

Andy shrugged his shoulders. The gesture was a bit sharp -- up, pause, down, without any corresponding facial expression, almost as if he made the gesture without emotion.

Then, contrasting that emotionless gesture, he tilted his head a bit, with a contemplating expression filling his face. If the officer had known what Andy truly was, she might have wondered if maybe he wasn’t entirely educated on human emotions and body language.

“I can see I am making you uncomfortable,” Andy said, straightening his head once more. He said flatly, “I should go elsewhere to find another friend.”

Oh, shit.

“No, wait!” she was darting down the stairs now, grasping her purse close to her side. “It’s just…it’s just strange, is all. I wasn’t expecting to see you again.”

God, how bad did that sound?

“Do you really not have anywhere else to go?” She stepped closer now, finally standing on the concrete. She wasn’t directly in front of him; more at a slight angle. If he was able to read her body language, there was a…a bit of a change in her shoulders. They weren’t bunched so tightly. Her footsteps were slow, cautious - as if approaching a growling dog, trying to gain its trust.

“…Are you from here?” A rumbling in her stomach caused her face to flush, and she gave him a shaky smile. “Have you eaten?”

Andy turned away, looking up and down the block for someone to consider as a new friend. But before he could even take a step, the officer was calling, “No, wait!”

He was happy to see her hurrying toward him. It seemed as though a good sign.

“It’s just…it’s just strange, is all. I wasn’t expecting to see you again.”

Andy smiled a bit wider. He'd been programmed to be optimistic, and over his three day ordeal with the police and then the County's Mental Health Department, he'd always expected to see the officer again.

She asked, “Do you really not have anywhere else to go?”

Andy contemplated. He could go a lot of places he imagined. But had he understood the true meaning of her question his answer would have been a quick no. Quick, as in coming from his between his lips almost before she'd closed hers.

There was a lot about human behavior that Andy was yet to understand. His programming hadn't yet been completed. But luckily, two portions of it had been: the portion that allowed him to learn from those humans with whom he interacted; and the portion that told him to slow his roll, his Programmer had called it, or in other words pause a moment between deciding what to say and actually saying it, because he thought and then made decisions far faster than those people he would come to know.

In this instance, she was again speaking before his protocol had Andy opening his mouth to do so.

“…Are you from here?”

"I do not believe so," he answered. It might have sounded vague to her, but it was honest to Andy. He honestly didn't know where he was from, other than being from Thomas Robotics.

“Have you eaten?”

Think, pause, speak: "No, I have not."

Andy thought he caught the woman peek past him, and when he turned to follow her gaze, he caught sight of a mom and pop greasy spoon that was popular with the officers of the precinct. He looked to her with a smile, and almost without a period separating the two thoughts told her, "I would like to eat with you. I have no money to pay to eat with you."



"You are very tall."

The waitress looked down into Andy's face with a raised eyebrow. He wasn't the first customer to have ever pointed that out to the 6'4" woman, but after dealing with so many regulars for so many years she didn't get the comment often anymore.

"Do you find it difficult to be a tall woman," he began in a calm, steady voice, "in a world in which the majority of your male counterparts--"

Glancing to the very familiar Layla, the waitress cut off the question of building offense by asking, "What can I getcha, honey?"

Andy went silent. He understood from the tall woman's interruption that he'd gone some place forbidden. Lesson learned, he stored away in his processors. He listened as Layla gave her order, then further as the two of them chatted.

Andy compared them as the moment passed. Despite being of the same gender, they were very different examples of it. The waitress was tall and structurally built for tasks requiring strength, power, and dominance.

(One day in the near future, Andy would spy a photograph on a billboard of the local community college's women's basketball team, and he would recognize his waitress as their assistant coach, here in the greasy spoon to make ends meet with a few hours of late night minimum wage service and tips from the always generous officers from across the street.)

The tall woman was very different in her skin tone as well. She was black as night, Andy thought would be a proper colloquialism, with smooth, glass-like skin and what most men would find to be great facial features. That beauty had led to an ongoing string of commercials with a local gym and then later with a sporting goods store.

Andy looked to Layla and studied her. She had what he recognized as a true, natural beauty as well, though it was both the same and different from the waitress's in a number of ways. Of course, what did he really know about such things, anyway? It wasn't as if he'd grown up around girls and come to learn what about the female he as a male was supposed to find attractive. He only knew that with which he'd been programmed. And what he knew was that if he were just a man looking for a woman, he probably would have stopped looking that day in the bodega when he met Layla.

"I will have what The Lady Officer is having," he said with a smile when he realized that the two of them were looking at him expectantly. He again thought he caught something in their expressions, looked to the woman sitting across from him, and asked, "Was the nice doctor incorrect when he said you name was The Lady Officer?"

She was fresh enough out of the academy that her mind still had a bit of that old “structured” thinking – that procedural way of looking at handling people and situations that had less to do with real world interaction and more with what she read in her books. When he answered that he didn’t know if he was from the area, her mind was already running through the possibilities – all, however, clustered around some sort of traumatic brain injury. And a fleeting thought that maybe he was a part of a cult and had been trapped in a bunker. Yeah, it was a little far-fetched, but stranger things had happened.

When he responded in regards to food, her face brightened considerably. It’d be a good chance to get him to talk – all the better to help him – and, also, well, she was hungry too.

“Don’t worry about it, Andy. I should have enough to cover the both of us,” and her smile was reassuring.

___

Her cheeks flushed, and she struggled to come up with a way to explain away Andy’s comment. Thankfully, the waitress, Evangeline, seemed to take it in good stride, with nothing more than a deep inhale.

“My usual, with extra whipped cream!” Layla added.

“You’re the only diner over the age of five that orders waffles with whipped cream and chocolate sauce,” Evangeline sighed, shaking her head slowly. “You’re going to rot your teeth out.”

“Don’t forget my extra side of bacon and hot chocolate,” Layla added. “Lots of whipped cream on that too, please. The hot chocolate, I mean.”

“Or die of a heart attack, with all that bacon. That fat is terrible for you – you’re young now, but that’ll catch up to you.” Evangeline clicked her tongue. “You sure you want to subject him to that mess?” A raise of her eyebrows as she looked over at Andy. Layla responded with a light shrug.

“If he wants the same as me, I guess so?”

Evangeline gave Layla a steady stare, clearly trying to suss out exactly what was happening between her sweet-toothed regular and this odd, somewhat dirty man sitting across from her. Normally, Evangeline had a habit of keeping her nose out of the police officer’s business, because, well, who wants to talk shop off the clock, but this one, she had to hear a little more about. Ah well; perhaps in time.

As Evangeline padded off, Layla turned her attention back to Andy. She was quite different from Evangeline – much shorter, at least. An average 5’5, with lighter brown skin. Once, she’d found the exact match of her skin in a paint shop – Behr’s “Madera Satin.” Of course, the paint didn’t match the warm undertones that Layla had, which could come through in her cheeks in the faintest flush of brick red when she was embarrassed. Her hair, unlike Evangeline’s always neat and tidy high black silk ponytail, was an explosion of black curls, catching the light in a brown corona. Despite the “difference” in societal stations, Layla had the messiness of someone who appeared barely put together, the type that would run out the door with her shirt buttoned incorrectly and mismatched socks. While it wasn’t entirely too far from the truth (she was pretty sure that her right foot was a pink flamingo sock, while the left may have been blue dolphins? Maybe that piano key sock that she finally found after what felt like weeks of searching?), she was far from absent minded, and found that her general cloud-cuckoolander appearance seemed to set people at ease – especially children.

Now, out of her uniform, in her paint-spattered jeans and oversized sweatshirt, she looked the farthest thing from a cop. If it was strategically done or just how she dressed was a mystery.

At Andy’s comment on her name, she laughed, lightly. It was a soft sound, free of mockery. “Not quite. I just told you my name outside of the station. It’s Layla – like the song. Layla Sune. You can call me Layla, or, if you’d like, my friends call me Lala.” It’d been a nickname she loved, hated, tolerated, and circled back to loved as she’d gotten older. People from her old neighborhood still called her ‘Lala’ – so much that she wasn’t entirely sure that they knew what her real name was.

“I usually order really sweet things,” she said, with a bit of a sheepish grin. It wasn’t so much apologizing for her personal tastes, but a future apology to his indigestion. “If you don’t like any of it, I’ll totally eat what’s left over, and you can order something else that you like. You like cheesy things, right?” She’d remembered the Cheeto incident. “So, maybe, if you don’t like the waffles, you could get an omelet. That can have cheese in it.”

“If you like it, Lala--” Andy said, choosing that name because Layla’s friends use it and he, of course, was now her friend. He continued, “--I will like it.”

Some laughter at the far end of the counter drew Andy’s gaze. The couple there -- also off duty cops and, against policy, secretly lovers also -- were trying to keep their conversation to themselves. But Andy’s hearing was 350% of the average humans, and -- while not intentionally eavesdropping -- he’d heard every word.

“Do you fuck your partner, too, Lala?” Andy asked with a conversational volume and tone, as if he had asked nothing more personal than Do you eat whip cream on more than waffles? He saw Layla’s reaction and, again, understood he’d gone somewhere he shouldn’t have. He glanced towards the other officers, then back to Layla. “They used that word in describing their current physical activities with one another. I am sorry, should I have phrased my question to you in another way?”

She was going for a sip of water when Andy asked his question. And to no small surprise, she nearly choked, coughing and sputtering.

But, to be fair, she would have had the same reaction to anyone inquiring into her (to her dismay) bereft love life.

“Er, ah..” She tried to take another sip of water, more to calm her nerves than an attempt to actually drink.

His rephrasing of the question did not help matters.

“No,” she finally managed to sputter out, “God, no,” the dragging of the word “god” made it quite clear that she hadn’t even considered it. Her partner, Jae Jin Cha, was not only several years older than her, but happily married (really and truly), and was over the moon about having his first grandchild. “Mr. Cha and I…” She was struggling, trying to figure out how to put into words how ludicrous a suggestion was.

“Mr. Cha,” she said again, after swallowing and taking a deep breath, wiping at the tears that had trailed down her cheeks from her coughing, “are just partners. End of story.” Though her tone had been light for the most part, the firmness she used now was very clear in that she would no longer entertain any thoughts about her having any sort of salacious relationship with her partner.

“Wait,” she paused. Glanced over at the table that he looked at – that was clear across the restaurant.

Her first thought was that of “well, I guess that makes sense” – the officers weren’t as discreet as they thought that they were, and scuttlebutt in the station suggested that if they continued on, something was going to give.

The second thought was that of incredulousness.

“What...You mean that you heard them?” Maybe he was joking with her; an ice breaker? “How? They’re all the way on the other side of this place.”

Andy repeated his rather awkward shoulder shrug again, enjoying the informal gesture as much this second time as he had the first.

“Using that word, fuck, in the context in which I used it was correct grammar, yes?” Andy went on, eager to learn, “but … I am under the impression that my use of it in your presence or in this setting was somehow inappropriate. Is that correct?”

Andy listened to the words of Layla’s response, but even more than that he studied her tone and expressions. He had a feeling that his programming, training, and education into understanding people hadn’t been completed prior to his being let loose upon them. That didn’t make sense to him, of course. But then, Andy’s memory of his being out here in the world had only begun with the departure of the vehicle that had brought him into it. He had no specific memories of his life prior to opening that delicious bag of Cheetos.

When Layla went quiet, Andy admitted with an over abundant combination of innocence and ignorance, “I have never done that. Fuck, I mean. I do not know why. I think I remember it being on my list of things to experience. Perhaps it was still too early in my existence. Perhaps I am not ready. Perhaps I am not old enough.”

That was likely to get an interesting response from Layla. Andy looked to be in his mid-20s. He was good looking and athletically built, and even in an environment short of available females, he likely would have attracted one or two or ten before many other men did.

Why was it that every time he opened his mouth, she ended up with fifty more questions than she had prior? This had to be some sort of joke; Maybe Jae-Jin had a better sense of humor than she initially thought.

She worried her lower lip with her teeth before she spoke. It was so hard to figure out where, or rather, how his mind was working. If this was a joke, they hired one hell of an actor to give her the run around. She was expecting half of the police station to randomly pop out of hiding spots around the diner, cell phones recording her every reaction.

“Yes, it was…appropriate, but the…subject,” a slight grimace, a pulling of her full mouth to one side, “isn’t really appropriate for polite conversation. And some people are sensitive to the word ‘fuck,’” she said it with as little inflection as possible, “as it’s a swear word. You know, things that most people try not to use in regular conversation. Is English not your first language?” She hrmmed, a sound trailing on the edge of musical. He had no discernable accent, and her Spanish was a step up from atrocious.

Thankfully, when he spoke again, she wasn’t drinking, but it didn’t keep her eyes from going wide and her eyebrows shooting up on her forehead. “That’s just what I was talking about,” she hissed, hoping that he caught the hint to lower his voice, “These aren’t things that people generally talk about.” And, in a flash of insight, she continued, “Whatever you heard from those people sitting over there is because they’re intimate – closer than friends – and comfortable, and talking quietly so that no one hears them. They’re talking about it because they’re comfortable having sex with each other.”

Oh, why did it feel like the more she was explaining, the further she was mudding the waters and making things worse?

“Yes, it was…appropriate, but the…subject...”

Andy listened to Layla's explanation about the word fuck and about the reactions people had to it. He thought he understood, but after his comments on his own lack of experience with fucking resulted in his being chastised, Andy realized that he hadn't, at least not enough to continue on the subject.

Thankfully, Layla had asked him about another subject about which he felt he could speak without being disciplined.

"I would not say that English is my first language," he told her, clarifying, "Because you and your partner used English when first we met, I felt you would be more comfortable conversing in it. Prior to our meeting, I conversed with the proprietor of the establishment in his first language of Korean..."

Suddenly, Andy fell into Korean, speaking with a very authentic accent as he explained, "...specifically the Jeolla dialect from the southwest of the peninsula."

He moved quickly on to list a number of the languages in which he was fluent, each time speaking in that language with a near perfect though slightly monotone accent. By the time he was done naming them, Andy had spoken to Layla very briefly in Spanish, Dutch, German, Russian, Chinese -- Mandarin and Cantonese both, and in three dialects of each -- Maori, Yoruba, and Malagasy.

Evangeline was passing by during this display and asked, "Do you speak Afrikaans?"

"Ja ek doen," Andy said with a positive tone and smile. "Ek vind dit 'n interessante taal wees."

"Mense ek weet uit die Nederland roep dit baba Nederlands," Evangeline said with a laugh.

Andy's expression showed a moment of confusion, then he perked up with understanding. He asked "Want dit is 'n vereenvoudigde weergawe van Nederlands?"

"Presies!" the waitress responded before laughing. She glanced to Layla, saw the officer's reaction to what was happening, and laughed again. In English she explained, "I may not look that old, or at least I hope I don't ... but I was born in South Africa while Apartheid was still a part of daily life. My father was White, my mother was Coloured, and life wasn't always easy for us, so we emigrated to America when I was little, 5 years old. I grew up speaking English and Afrikaans side by side."

"Many people refer to Afrikaans as Baby Dutch," Andy filled in, explaining the conversation he had been having with Evangeline. He translated, "Baba Nederlands ... Baby Dutch."

Evangeline clarified, "Because it was a very basic version of Dutch ... simple ... like a young child might speak prior to formal education."

Just then, a cop in full uniform came into Layla's view. The Sergeant waved tentatively, reluctant to interrupt the off duty officer. "Hey. Sorry to bother you, Layla, but ... remember the Amber Alert kid ... the Hide and Forget to Seek Your Playmate caper? One of the parents is at the precinct and wants to talk to you. I told her you were off duty ... but..."

The Sergeant shrugged, but before Layla could make a decision about whether to go or not, Evangeline said with delight, "Leave your friend with me. I'll keep him company..." She looked to Andy for his approval, telling him, Ons sal Afrikaans praat ... I mean, if you don't mind. I rarely see my parents to practice the language."

"I would enjoy practicing Afrikaans with you," Andy said to Evangeline before looking to Layla. As if seeking permission from a parent, Andy asked, "May I stay, Lala?"

Layla’s mouth was hanging open so wide that she could have caught an elephant in it.

This isn’t normal.

No one could be fluent in that many languages. No one.

“Erm….so it is!” She laughed, albeit a bit too nervously and loud to sound natural. She knew Evangeline in passing, the comfortable distance that came from frequenting the same restaurant and making small talk often engendered. Whatever interest that she could have had in Evangeline’s (undoubtedly, now, fascinating) personal history was overshadowed by her sheer disbelief.

Something was rotten in Denmark.

Well, maybe not “rotten,” but something clearly wasn’t right. Not normal. ‘Natural,’ at least. She resisted the urge to squeal and just clutch at great fistfuls of her hair; she was so overwhelmed.

Rather, she took in a deep breath. How did her older cousin handle this? Her cousin, after all, had been the eldest of 8, and had the patience to deal with 7 squabbling, screaming siblings with a grace that was nothing short of divine. Taking another deep breath and focusing on the way her nostrils flared as she did so, she was able to calm the long shriek in her mind to get words to her mouth.

Then the sergeant approached, and it was like Christ himself had appeared and given her a lifeline. Which then caused a whole ‘nother list of questions to her mind.

“…It’s past midnight. Why is she at the station? You know what - I don’t want to know. I’m off duty,” and the sharpness of her tone caused the sergeant to start. Layla was known as a bit of a space cadet, and never, even with her most pressing perps, sounded like she was angry or that her patience was running out. The fact that her voice now had the slightest, barely discernable edge to it was telling.

The sergeant gave her a look - not a punishing one, but one of concern. Layla, catching it, gave him a small smile.

“It’s really unusual, you know? She might still be wound up after everything that’s happened. It might be for the best if she just goes home to her kids, you know? It’d be hard on them to wake up and see that mom wasn’t there. Tell you what - maybe I can do a home visit tomorrow?” Layla’s tone was far more conciliatory; a reassurance that she was okay, but underlying the unusual nature of the situation. Picking up on her unspoken cues, the sergeant nodded.

“Sounds fair, Sune. I’ll find out when’s a good time for her and leave it for you at the station. Enjoy the rest of your night. And remember - you’re off tomorrow. Got that?” He pointed a sausage like finger at her, and she grinned, turning a bit red at the tips of her ears. A few months ago, she’d come in not once, not twice, but four times on days that she was scheduled to be off. Since then, it’d been a bit of a running joke for those in the station to keep track of her days off and remind her. Some even went so far as to leave post it notes on her lockers - and one particularly cheeky officer (whom she wasn’t sure if she detested or had some weird crush on), had taken to leaving said post it notes taped to her shoes in her lockers.

As the sergeant ambled away, Layla turned her attention back to Evangeline and Andy. “I’ve actually got to call it a night and get him squared away - but I’m sure he’d be more than happy to come back and speak Afrikaans with you.” And she reached across the table to grasp Andy’s hand, further emphasizing that he was indeed with her.

Irrationally (and she knew it was irrational), she’d felt the smallest flare of jealousy watching Andy speak with Evangeline. The older, stern woman had lit up, and it had added such a dimension of beauty to her normally severe features that even Layla had to take notice. Plus, how cool was that? To know a second language? And here she was, fumbling her way through “que paso?” on a good day. Maybe Jae Jin would be willing to teach her Korean on those long patrols together.

But all of this was still avoiding the fact that she was holding Andy’s hand like he wasn’t a strange man she’d just picked up from outside of the station like a stray puppy.

God, she groused in her head. Still living in the shadow of her older sister - that little twinge of insecurity, that twinge of automatic possession. Old habits died hard, and when you grew up fighting with someone who was prettier, smarter, and well, just all around better than you, you did what you could to hold onto the few scraps that were tossed your way.

Another thing that she needed to work on.

“Andy, you’re going to come home with me,” she said with a finality she knew, somewhere deep down, was sheer folly, “I have a lot more questions for you.”

Like how I’m beginning to even wonder if you’re real.

"I am going home with my friend," Andy said to Evangeline as Layla caused him to twist away from the waitress with the tugging of him toward the door. He followed behind her without resistance, like a Radio Flyer being pulled by its handle, calling over his shoulder now in Evangeline's childhood language, "I will return to conduct conversation with you in Afrikaans, and you and I will then be friends because we have both done nice things--"

He finished his declaration to Evangeline, but she didn't hear him as the café door had already slammed shut behind him. Andy looked to a suddenly very determined appearing Layla, then down to the hand still grasping his own.

And he smiled.

No one had ever held his hand.

At least, not that he could recall. Layla and her partner had held his wrists when they'd put him in the handcuffs, and then again later when they took them off. The nice people at the Mental Health Service had often laid hands upon his arms or back or stomach, but that was usually to guide him this way or that.

Holding or touching his hand -- as opposed to the other parts of his body -- wouldn't have seemed such a happy thing to Andy if it hadn't been for what he'd seen between his discharge from the Service and again finding his first friend earlier this evening: others holding hands in ways that even Andy recognized as significant measures of their friendship. During his hour long walk from the Service to the Precinct, he'd seen friends, lovers, spouses, first dates, and even a call girl with her from-out-of-town client holding hands as they traveled this way or that.

(Of course, Andy didn't know what the relationships were between the members of these couples. He only knew, right or wrong, that they seemed to be friends and that they seemed to delight in holding one another's hands.)

Without hesitation, Andy tightened his own grasp on Layla's hand. He thought he saw her reaction in her expression. When she met his gaze, his smile widened even further. He might have appeared happy to her ... or maybe maniacal. He meant the former, of course.

If she didn't release his hand at some point during their walk, Andy would continue to hold it all the way to their destination. And if she did, he would simply wait for the wonderful moment of holding it once again.

He liked this.



That distance to their destination wasn't all that far, much shorter than his walk across the city from the Service to the Precinct. Andy sensed something in Layla as she unlocked and opened her door: hesitation or fear or reservations or excitement or...

For all his education in the emotions of human being, Andy was still lacking in this area at times. He sensed that there was something wrong with his programming. Little did he know that the man who had left him on the street before the bodega three days earlier had tinkered with his memory vault; or that that tinkering had inadvertently affected some of his other abilities, such as being able to accurately read the expressions, emotions, and body language of people he met.

Sometimes Andy got it. Sometimes he didn't.

"Do you have another friend that occupies your home with you?" he asked politely once they were inside beyond the closed door. He listened, then said with a bright smile, "I like your home. It is so you."

Andy didn't know why he made that last comment. There was simply something about the space that seemed so Layla. He looked about for a moment in place, then turned in place for a better view, then began a slow walk about to see things from a closer vantage point. He picked up an item, studying it.

"I have never seen an object such as this," he said, turning it in his hand. "What is it and what is its purpose?"

He listened to Layla's response, then moved on to another interesting object, lifting it as well as he said, "I have never seen an object such as this. What is it and what is its purpose?"

Andy continued his little walk and talk all about the living room, occasionally looking to and smiling at Layla. He was thoroughly enjoying himself. As he studied Layla's reactions to his inspection, Andy struggled with his inaccurate reading of her. There was definitely something askew with him. Although he had the ability to go off line and perform a diagnostic, he wasn't aware of that ability. (It, too, was one of the things tinkered with, though in this case it had been an intentional act.) It would come back to him in time, though.

He poked his head through an open doorway and found the kitchen. He asked, "Can Evangeline come here one night and cook for us? We could talk in Afrikaans, and I could finally be her friend."

Andy moved on slowly, still inspecting with delight. He arrived at another door, this one to a bedroom. "You sleep here, Lala."

She said what she wanted to say, which led to Andy innocently asking, "Will I sleep here with you, Lala?"

Andy couldn't have known what to expect in his hostess's reaction. His own reaction to hers was polite and innocent, as was his apparently programmed nature. And ... he moved on again.

"May I?" he asked as he reached the last door -- the bathroom -- and pointed inside. Not being specific about which feature of the little room he meant -- sink, toilet, or shower -- Andy told Layla, "I have not used one in too long."

He entered the bathroom and -- as he thought was appropriate in company of mixed genders -- swung the door shut behind him. Although he hadn't meant it, the barrier locked. After a moment, with another interesting object in his hand, Andy called through the door, "I have never seen an object such as this. What is it and what is its purpose?"



Andy's internal clock had also been inadvertently tinkered with, so he had no idea how much time had passed between his locking himself in the bathroom and Layla getting herself past the lock and into the room. When she did, she would find him standing against the back wall, almost as if at attention, with his eyes closed. One of his hands was inconspicuously pressed palm to the wall, covering the 110 volt socket there. It wasn't the most efficient recharging method, but it was the only one available to him at the moment. Sensors within his hand connected wirelessly to the hot leads, converting the AC power to the charge his abdomen-located battery needed. His other hand was pressed against his six pack abs, and while Layla obviously couldn't have known it, that hand was aiding in the distribution of power through Andy's body, once again wirelessly through sensors in his hand.

Although mostly off line for recharging, Andy's external sensors had been in standby mode. So, while he couldn't know whether he'd detected Layla's presence within fractions of a seconds or many seconds, he did in fact detect her. He opened his eyes and registered Layla's reaction ... to the fact that he was stark naked.

"Did you need to use the bathroom, Lala?" he asked innocently. "I can postpone my hygiene maintenance procedures until later."

Despite being what he was, whatever that was -- he still wasn't entirely sure himself -- Andy still sweat like any normal every day human. It was part of his cooling and lubrication process, just as was with any normal every day human. And he needed to occasionally clean said sweat and grime from his body, just as with any normal every day human. Well, any one of them with good hygiene, anyway.

Andy's body was perfectly toned, perfectly sculpted. Although earlier models hadn't been, Andy's body had been accessorized with a penis. It was larger and thicker than the median human penis by 40%, and was accompanied by a tight sack that, while not functional in the way Layla might one day wonder, was still there to fill out the image of Andy being just a man.

His just a man penis was just a bit swollen still, causing it to be lifting just forward enough to not be laying against the flesh of his muscular thighs. (Part of the recharge process was for his appendages -- fingers, but penis, too -- to flex and move about to cause flow of fresh blood into them. For his lower appendage, that meant expanding to full erection, then relaxing once again.

Had Layla witnessed this portion of the process? Andy couldn't know, as he'd been off line when she'd entered and didn't know whether she'd been ogling him for a second, a minute, or an hour.

"Should I redress and continued this later, Layla?" he asked politely, removing his hand from over the wall socket and taking a single step from the wall. "It has been three days or more, but I can postpone longer if you need the room."

She didn’t know why she’d grabbed his hand.

Maybe it’d seemed natural at the time.

Originally, she’d only meant to grasp his hand across the table; a small show of…of, well, what, besides “possessiveness”? She’d felt threatened, simple as that, and no amount of self-loathing would have bene enough to mask that truth. Oh well. She’d have time to ruminate on it later. Surely there had to have been an altruistic reason behind it, other than the knee-jerk reaction of feeling threatened by Evangeline’s infinitely more interesting life that had instantly turned her into a beauty beyond compare.

Could have been. Needed to be.

But here she was, still holding his hand, her fingers cupped round his, as she lead him to the car. Habit, she told herself. How many times had she held the hands of frightened children? From her cousins to the children that came into the station? It was no different than that. Surely. He was childlike, yes, but…

It was in the car when she let go of his hand, and she spoke, on auto pilot, before she did so. “I’m going to have to let go so I can drive, okay?” Her voice had floated into marshmallow softness, soft without being saccharine. Luckily, she didn’t live too far from the station, and once they were outside of a modest brownstone apartment, complete with twining ivy covering a good bit of the walls, she took his hand again. Her palm was cool, slightly damp; the only case of nerves that could be immediately discerned.

Taking one wooden step at a time, she lead him to the fifth floor, and opened the door to her apartment. It was small without being claustrophobic; artfully decorated and sweet-smelling to imply “cozy” as opposed to “microscopic studio apartment.” Large posters of space phenomena covered the walls – from spectrally colored nebulae to the looming presence of Jupiter over her couch, the décor was an odd combination of the outer reaches of the cosmos and the all too terrestrial snags of daily life – furniture that was both new and old, the lingering smell of something floral.

As one walked into the apartment, they’d immediately be in the living room, with the kitchen to the direct right, the “living room” section marked off by a couch and a flat screen TV that had a fair amount of dust on it. A bookshelf, sparsely covered with books, but dense with knick knacks and photo albums, an anomaly in the day of cloud sharing and Instagram. Two steps out of the living room, straight ahead, took them to her “bedroom,” one of the two rooms in the whole place that had an actual door, the other being the bathroom. Well, something of a “door” – she’d taken it off of its hinges, and set it neatly against the wall of her bedroom, opting to hang a beaded curtain instead. The bathroom door, however, she’d kept, although if she had her druthers, she would have removed it as well. After all, it was just her living there.

Well, her and the fish tank.

It was a massive thing, brilliant in its aquamarine clarity, taking up the middle shelf of the bookshelf. Brightly colored Tetras swam back and forth in schools of light, tangled amid neon rocks and plastic plants. Dwarf chiclids, gouramis – all gems highlighted by the flow of the water. Once one got a good look at the aquarium, it was clear that the rest of the apartment had been situated around that one, glowing point, with the couch perfectly positioned to allow for comfortable viewing of the tank.

As he spoke, all she could do was let out a long sigh, closing the door and leaning against it. Behind the tangle of her hair, a gold nebulae was frozen in time by a photograph.

She watched as he went through the knickknacks, not bothering to answer his questions. Instead, she watched – his questions were too rapid fire for her to really keep up with (just like a child’s!), but in observing, she was able to learn more about him. Some of the questions he asked about the knickknacks he got a pass on (for some of the things she had had been presents from an older cousin in his trips abroad, and even she didn’t know what the hell they were), but others, ordinary household things – an intricately carved sandalwood fan, a TV remote, the little adorable polaroid InstaMax camera and its credit card sized photos.

So, if he WAS human, because there was simply no way he could be anything else (could it?), a cult. He had to have been part of a cult. Locked somewhere in a bunker, with the world in ashes up above and really, the only ashes that would be there would be of the society he’d known before he’d been kidnapped.

Clicking her tongue against the roof of her mouth, she slid her feet outside of her simple slip on shoes, and looked down at her mismatched socks. The right one was pink, with flamingos, and the left one, a deep purple with a glittering unicorn. Wiggling her toes, she focused on the glints of deep blue toenail polish she could see, and tried to get her thoughts together.

“I’m sure if Evangeline wanted to come over, she could,” her tone was cautious now, not suspicious; cautious. Still listening, still probing his every word for some sort of clue. He hadn’t shown any interest in what was actually in the kitchen, so maybe he was familiar with cooking. And he hadn’t flat out asked her where the knives were, so there was that.

As he approached the bedroom, she pushed off of the door, following him now. “You’re a guest, so you’ll be sleeping in the bed. I’ll be on the couch,” and she gestured back to it. When he approached the bathroom, she suddenly felt like a heel. She’d asked about him eating, but hadn’t thought about asking him about the bathroom, if he needed to use one. Perhaps she’d been taken in by his adult appearance and just assumed that he’d excuse himself if he needed to.

“Oh, yeah, um, make yourself at home?”

It was only when the door locked that she remembered that she had her rabbit on the edge of the sink, charging. She’d gotten it (and another rechargeable toy – buy one, get one 50% off!) on a whim, and kept it in the bathroom. It had claimed to be waterproof, after all, though she hadn’t tested it out to its full capacity.

If she could just…curl up somewhere and die, now would be a good time.

“It’s um, a ‘personal massager’?” she answered through the door. At that point, she tried the door, hoping to just run in, grab it, and hide it, decorum be dammned. And it wasn’t like she hadn’t seen a cock or two or people on the toilet before in her life. And it was her house! Panic ran electric through her when she discovered that it was locked, then she swore silently to herself. That was one of the reasons why she wanted to take the damn door off; if it slammed too hard, it automatically locked, and the lock itself was faulty. Whoever had lived there before her had shoved a key so deep in the lock that it snapped, making getting the lock re-keyed impossible, and the super didn’t think that a faulty bathroom lock was worth his attention.

Well, he wasn’t getting cookies for Christmas.

Kneeling, she retrieved a bobby pin from one of the shelves next to the bathroom. She’d kept a small jar of them next to the bathroom door; a jar full of temporary keys, as it were. In a short amount of time, she’d gotten the lock to agree with her, and opened the door.

She hadn’t been expecting that.

The rabbit lay where she’d left it, the base of it illuminated to show it was fully charged. He, however, was as naked as a jay bird, and sporting a…

Okay, so maybe he DID know what the rabbit was.

Though her mind wanted to grasp at his erection (oh, God) and the fact that he clearly might be lying to her (goddamn it, this is what you get for being so nice! Stupid, more like it!), she tore her eyes away from his groin and refocused on his hands – and then what he said. Her training finally kicked in, and words worked their way from her mouth.

“Continue what? What were you doing?” Her voice, though broken at first, was stronger than she thought it would have been. ‘Hygiene maintenance’ her foot. It looked like he’d been having a wank (and, to be fair, she could be partially to blame for that. Who leaves sex toys on the bathroom sink? Ai-yi-yi-yi-yi.), but to get entirely naked? Nope. No, Layla, you are not going down that road.

“Why was your hand over the outlet?” Observant, she was – had to be. But to be fair, if he was just having a tug, he could have just put his hand anywhere. So she was grasping at straws – but dammit, she wasn’t going to think he was just…getting off in her bathroom.

Unconcerned with his nudity or with Layla's mixed reaction to seeing him such, Andy answered simply, "Recharging."

He was going to leave it at that, but the expression on Layla's face was hard to read, as would be so many in the future. Andy held his hand up, palm facing Layla, as he delved into a rapid, deeply technical explanation of how his hand operated as a power transformer to recharge the plasma based batteries that were primarily located in his torso but also we scattered througout...

And ... that was when Andy did properly read Layla's expression and stopped speaking. After a moment he said with a friendly smile, "I did tell you I was an android. When we first met. Remember?"

Ash.

David.

C3PO.

HAL?

Her mind whirled. “What do you mean, an ‘android’? That’s impossible.” A stutter. “P..pr..Prove it! Show me!” How he was going to show her was still beyond her capacity, but, in the corner of her mind, there was a small flicker of reassurance. Because, well, no normal person could know that many languages.

"Prove it," Andy repeated with a slightly bemused tone. He hadn't expected Layla to ask that of him. He asked, "Could you give me an idea of something that would serve as proof for you, Lala?"

But before she could get a word out, Andy's face lit up, and as he leaned forward and reached out over the bathroom counter, he said, "Oh, I could put on a demonstration, something a human could not do."

Suddenly, untpuched and still an inch below his palm, the workings of her personal pleasure device picked up the wirelessly transmitted power and came alive next to the sink. With absolutely no concept of the rabbit's purpose, Andy asked, "Does that work for you, Lala?"

Please come and just kill her. Right now. Let the Boogeyman shove her in his bag and just haul her off to nightmare land.

Her face was such a dark red that it was maroon. Her tongue thick in her mouth, she had to swallow several times before she could figure out what to say.

“Wires…chest…WIFI…”

Wasn’t it the androids from Alien that had milk for blood – remember reading that one Wikipedia article or was it from some other website that the guy that played the android, God, what was his name, BISHOP, Bishop, that’s what it was, actually got really sick in the last scene because the milk that they used for his synthoid -god, what a great word- blood had been sitting out all day under the hot movie lights, so it may have been him actually projectile vomiting when he got skewered, because, wow, grody old milk –

“Seams…rivets…blood…” She wasn’t aware that she was actually talking; her thoughts were so fragmented. A lightheadedness threatened to take over, and only that nagging sense of, oh, you know, all of that police training, kept her on her feet. She grasped the edge of the sink heavily, the pleasantly quiet whrr of the rabbit continuing unhindered.

“Can you…chest….” She gestured to her chest – in all of those movies, the robots had those amazing chests that just miraculously swung open to show a collection of wires and flashing lights, like if all the scientists who build androids were ultimate egotists, wanting to see the amazing nature of their work whenever they wanted.

Andy wasn't immediately certain what Layla was trying to say, but he sensed that the continuing movement of the device on the counter was bothering her for some reason. Was it the surprise that he was able to make it work in that way? Or, was there something more? He was about to ask when it occurred to him what thought Layla's brain was trying to get her mouth to say.

"I don't open up to reveal my hardware," he said, hoping that was indeed where she was going. He wasn't entirely sure why he'd been created -- that part of his memory vault was blocked from his consciousness -- but he was able to tell her, "My creators wished me to be a human-like as possible from the outside."

He held his arm out before Layla, showing him his lightly hairy arms as he said, "As you may recall from when you and your partner put the handcuffs on me, my skin is very realistic feeling. It sweats, as you can probably smell. It has been three days since my last hygiene restoration procedure."

Andy did indeed smell, though not horrifically overwhelming. The designers had spent years creating a cooling lubricant that had a smell similar to human sweat. It was a bit more oily smelling, but as Andy had nothing to which he could compare it -- let alone a reason to compare it -- it didn't occur to him to question the smell.

"My torso umbilical connection, though, as well as my hearing canals," he said, touching his belly button with one finger tip as he reached simultaneously to an ear with another finger, "are portals with a multitude of functions, from the introduction of and or replacement of coolant to the physical inspection of my internal parts."

Without preparing her for it, Andy suddenly inserted a pinky finger into his belly button all the way up to the last knuckle.

"See?" he said. He pulled the finger back out, revealing a glistening coat of liquid that automatically resealed the portal. He giggled, explaining, "Tickles."

He glanced down at his still naked body, then back up to Layla as he commented on how his designers had wanted him to be physically attractive to others, even sexually alluring. "I'm not sure why that is important. Of course, I am unsure of my purpose. Perhaps, once I learn more about my reason for being, I will be able to understand why I can do this."

He leaned forward a bit, looking down again. As he stared at his penis, it swelled to full rigidness, reaching a length of over nine inches and a girth that would hurt some women. As with the rest of his body, Andy's cock was very realistic as well, with a large bulbous head that got smooth and purplish once he was totally stiff and blood vessels snaking along the shaft that gave it an animalistic quality.

Andy looked back up to his hostess and asked with innocence and ignorance, "Is this a quality or ability that would make me attractive to others, Lala?"

Okay.

Okay.

First thing was first: breath. With an audible gasp, she forced air back into her lungs. For a few moments, she sounded quite overwhelmed; winded as if she’d run a mile in a minute. Grasping the edge of the sink until her knuckles paled, the contact with something solid gave way as he inserted her pinkie into his navel.

Her vision swam in great black dots in front of her, and she was on her knees before she could register that yes, she had almost just passed out, and, oh, look – a giant cock was now in front of her face. On her knees in front of him, she was perfectly eye level with it, going a bit cross-eyed to take it all in. The fact that he could just “will” himself an erection was all the evidence she needed.

He definitely wasn’t human.

Possessed by some particular imp, her eyes darted back to her rabbit, still fainting humming on the sink, then back to the member in front of her, and, she realized, with no small amount of bitterness, that the toy (and she had been so fond of it, too!) would simply be no comparison to what was now in front of her. Like Pavlov’s dog, she felt herself salivating, before she abruptly dug her nails into her arm, nearly hard enough to draw blood.

“...Can you…put that down? Or get dressed…?” She wanted to sound sharp. She did. She had wanted to sound angry, insulted. But instead, there was an undeniable heat to her voice, a “don’t really listen to what my lips are saying” that made her sound just the slightest bit insincere. Maybe he may not have picked up on it, but she certainly had, and her face burst aflame again. Closing her eyes and sucking in a deep breath through her nostrils, she tilted her head up at the ceiling. If she didn’t see it, it wasn’t there.

Even if she could feel her cunt clench in eager anticipation. Down, girl.

“...Can you…put that down? Or get dressed…?”

Andy was having a difficult time reading Layla precisely, but it was obvious that his nudity and or display were bothering her in some way. Timing...? Context...? Setting? he thought. He was sure it was one of those or something similar. Simply put, now was not the proper time for Andy to be showing his friend his engorged penis.

"Of course," he said, willing the massive erection to begin abate to its normal (still impressive) appearance.

It would take nearly a full minute for the blood that had stiffened it to be redirected, causing him to once again be flaccid. But, even he could only do so much so quickly. In the meantime, Andy had taken note of Layla's current state: she'd apparently nearly fainted, dropping to her knees; her eyes darted about; her skin seemed pale. He was concerned for her, and without hesitating he leaned down and swept her up into his bent arms as easily as if he'd picked up a bag of laundry.

"You need to lie down, Lala," he said, heading out of the tiny bathroom and into the also small bedroom. "I know you offered me the bed this evening, but I insist that you sleep in it. You seem exhausted. I am sure it has been a long and hard day for you. You protect and serve the people of your community, and they need you rested, strong, and sharp of mind."

With one arm behind Layla's back, around her hip, and -- with its powerful but gentle hand -- and upon one buttock cheek, Andy managed to support the relatively lighter weight woman against his chest while he leaned over the bed and, with the second hand, pulled back the bedding and moved the second pillow atop the first, to the near side. It was an almost acrobatic feat, a movement of body that required great strength that the Gods of Physics would have nearly declared impossible if they'd been asked.

"Do you need anything more, Lala?" Andy asked as he backed up half a step. "I will retrieve for you a glass of water and something to fill your stomach, which will aid you in sleeping as well. Would you like an alcoholic beverage as well? The nice doctor at the Mental Health Service was telling a colleague one evening that he was eager to get home to a bottle of Chardonnay and then his bed."

As he'd been talking, Andy had crossed his hands before his groin, understanding now that flashing his junk had been upsetting to Layla, for reasons he was still contemplating. The problem wasn't entirely solved: the still slightly swollen head of his dangling cock reached to beyond the privacy his extended fingers offered, as if peeking out to remind the woman that it was there.

Layla didn't answer, seeming still a bit overwhelmed. Andy told her to relax, that he would be back shortly, and he turned away. Still naked, he headed for the kitchen, found a bottle of spring water, two energy bars of differing flavors, and a half full (or half empty, depending upon your optimist-pessimist point of view) bottle of wine. He returned to the bedroom, set the bars and wine next to Layla, and opened the water before setting it down as well.

"I will put something on," he said, spinning on a heel to show her his muscular backside as he headed for the bathroom. "I feel as though my current state of nudity is upsetting you."

He'd spotted something to wear on his first visit to the bathroom, and a moment later when he returned, Andy was wearing Layla's white cotton robe. But once again, as with his hands before his groin, it simply wasn't enough. The comfy robe that when wore by the shorter Layla reached to mid-thigh allowed ended much higher on Andy's, and once again his cock just insisted on poking its head out as if to ask Wanna play?

But as if his penis's refusal to be put back into its stall for the night wasn't bad enough...

"I have been attempting to analyze some of the interesting objects in your home, Layla," he said in a very matter of fact, friendly tone not at all in line with where this conversation was going. "It is difficult at times. I believe that is something wrong with my memory vaults. It is as if someone has deleted some of my memories and or connections between memories and ability to understand new experiences. I will diagnose later after I have recharged and completed my hygiene restoration procedure. I was, however, able to analyze some fragmented information on human sexuality, as well as incorporate some free thinking skills inherent in my Android model's most recent update.

Andy suddenly reached both hands out, setting Layla's sex toy and a bottle of lubricant on the edge of the mattress. He continued in the same calm, friendly, helpful tone, "If the collected data and my calculation of said data is correct, I believe that this device is intended to provide personal service of a sexual nature, causing pleasure and, if effective, providing ecstasy and euphoria which will then allow for the release of tension and relaxation of the body and mind."

Andy had stood tall again during his monologue, and as he looked down upon Layla, he very innocently asked, "May I watch in an attempt to learn more, Lala? Or would you prefer I return to the bathroom to complete my own procedures?"

Definitely not human.

It must have been shock, the way that “understanding” just fluttered into her head. Okay, so he was a robot. Technically an android. What was the difference, really? The prefix “an” meant “man,” she remembered that (though where she’d picked that up, God knows), or maybe she was misremembering it. Maybe “android” just meant a robot that looked like a man, man playing God, and how could this even be possible, even smartphones weren’t that new, but 3D printing meant that people could make organs, and –

She began to hum, before she actually just…started singing softly under her breath.

It was odd, certainly (but hadn’t most of this night been?), but it was a coping mechanism, one that she only used in in extreme cases. Something about focusing on the repetitive chorus of a song, particularly elementary school ones, got her brain to break the “panic” loop and refocus on the matters at hand. The little things, like how his phallus wasn’t directly in her line of sight anymore. That was an improvement. Even with the singing, every time she attempted to open her eyes, to look back at him, her mind dissolved in a haze of red screaming, faced with something that couldn’t be possible.

Her singing abruptly ended into a soft squeak as he picked her up. If everything else she’d experienced around him hadn’t been enough to convince her, the fact that he was able to lift her up single-handedly was yet another reminder that no, he wasn’t human. On sheer instinct, she wrapped her arms around his neck, clinging to him with wide eyes. As he attempted to lower her in the bed, there was a flare of panic in the pit of her stomach – she didn’t seem to want to let go of him. Though he wasn’t real, he felt like it – and his ‘realness’ was…well, something that could be tangible in a world flipped upside down.

Slowly, realizing that she was clinging to a very naked man who she’d arrested a few days before, her grip slackened, and she sunk into the bed, quite overwhelmed. As she lay there, the blankets over her, she realized that it was stifling. The initial urge to strip down to nothing and just go to bed like everything was a bad dream teased the corners of her mind, but she compromised by just tossing the covers off. And unbuttoning her jeans, because she was not a savage and laying in bed with fully buttoned jeans was against the natural order of the world. From the unzipped v, the edge of violet panties peered through, the slightest hint of dark, curling pubic hair slipping above the silken band.

Pulling herself up to a sitting position as he returned, she waved away the energy bars (a corner store freebie that she kept forgetting to bring to the office to give away), the glass of water, and the wine (why did she have that, anyway? She hated wine – oh, yeah. A girlfriend brought it over for the last time they had a girl’s night, and you just didn’t throw away gifts, and she’d tried to drink the stuff, made it through half the bottle in a show of sheer obstinacy with her, and after she left, she’d recorked it and it just sat, because even if you could give away a gift, who would want a half-drunk bottle of wine?), and pinched the bridge of her nose, titling her head down. She dimly registered that he was going to get dressed, and it was only when she returned that she wondered why he’d chosen her robe of all things.

And then he brought out the rabbit and lube.

Figures. Absolutely figures.

She pinched the bridge of her nose harder, the momentary pain and the chorus of that Korean pop song ringing round her head bringing her back to the reality, the logic of the situation. He didn’t, doesn’t, know any better. He just said that he was having problems with his memory vault. A walking, talking internet, with potential access to limitless stores of information, but what good was all of it without a query linking it together? He was a child, a prodigy – could tell you all the scientific reasons behind things but not the human impulse to do them to begin with. A child.

Okay.

She exhaled, slowly, mouthing the final lines of that song.

“…Do you remember,” she started slowly, letting her eyes drift open, “that conversation we had in the diner? About what’s appropriate to discuss? This is one of those things. Sex, and things of a sexual nature, are very sensitive subjects that people are private about. I wasn’t expecting anyone to come over, so I left out my toys. But I use them in my private time. Private time,” she emphasized, though not unkindly. “And while friends share a great deal of things, usually people have to know each other for a much longer time to start talking about sex. And,” she gently tapped the head of his penis, “nudity, for most people here, is assumed to be sexual, especially when men are in a state of excitement. Like this,” and she tapped his penis again. “Which is why I asked you to…put it down and get dressed.”

She didn’t think it was necessary to explain that she was slightly mortified – she’d had the assumption that he was in her bathroom masturbating (perhaps, as her mind took a flight of fancy – he’d been so aroused by her beauty, but, yeah, right. Only in those dirty stories she read; never in real life), but, now that she knew better, it was easier to fit him in that neat little box of “child.” In fact, the way she spoke to him, not unkindly, practiced personal, could have been written from any procedural guidebook. The way she was so quickly able to (at least, outwardly) divorce herself from the personal was a hidden strength of hers, and what was shaping out to be one of the many reasons why she was an excellent cop, and dealing with abused children.

Now, she was trying to think of how to answer his request. He was curious – why not; even humans were perpetually curious about sex -, but that was not going to happen. “You should complete your own procedures. You said it’s been a few days, right? I assume you can ‘eat’, to look human, but your body doesn’t get energy from it?”

If he had been human like Layla, Andy probably would have laughed at the way his semi-erect cock bobbed back and forth at the tapping of her finger upon it. Instead, he only attempted to expedite its shrinking: he couldn't actually tell it down boy any farther than it naturally had already, but -- with a simple thought -- he was able to trick what amounted to be a stomach into thinking it needed a surge of his synth-blood, and over the next few seconds his cock returned to its normal flaccid state. Still, the tip of it was visible below the hem of the robe when he stood at full height.

"I don't digest food in the way that you do, Lala," Andy began, attempting to answer her question about whether or not he ate. "My digestive system does break down food in a way that is rudimentarily similar to your own method. However, I only extract a few oily substances and other chemicals used to lubricate my body or generate new volume of what you would consider blood."

He took a step back, worried that his proximity in his semi-exposed state was continuing to be an issue. "I will perform my hygiene tasks now and then recharge."

And turning away, Andy headed back into the bathroom. He didn't peek around behind the bathroom door to view what might be back there, as he had the first time in the room, so the door didn't slam shut this time around. Instead, it stood fully open as the perfectly sculpted man dropped the robe and stepped into the shower. He worked the ancient knobs to set the water to mildly warm, finding a temperature that would allow his very human like pores to open and release their poisons without draining him inadvertently of lubricating coolant that, without Taylor Robotics' maintenance, Andy couldn't replace.

If was only after he'd been standing there for 30 seconds or so with his junk still on display to the bedroom beyond that Andy was happy with the temperature and closed the glass shower door. He ran his hands over his flesh without soap or rag, both of which would have been unnecessary. After just two minutes, he was out and drying, again within full view of the bedroom and -- if she was watching -- his hostess. Andy didn't look to the bedroom, though: he felt as though Layla needed some privacy. (It didn't occur to him to shut the door because he was perfectly capable of ignoring her without the physical barrier.)

Once he was dry, Andy moved back to the wall at which Layla had found him earlier, took the at attention stance, pressed his opened hand over the socket, and went into his semi-alert charging mode once again. If he went undisturbed, he would remain in it this time around for 10 hours.

And every 32 minutes, his cock would once again stiffen to absolute hardness for 44 seconds, before taking another 12 minutes to slowly loose its rigidity and again lay flaccid against his thighs.

Once he’d padded away, she grabbed the nearest pillow, held it to her face, and shrieked as lout as she could into its recesses. It was juvenile, but dammned if it wasn’t the best way to let off aggravation.

Okay, Lala, let’s be logical about this. There is an android in your house - and he needs to shower. Well, let him shower, it’s not like it’ll make that much difference to your water bill, and most importantly, he doesn’t really need to eat, I bet if you talked to him, you could find out what oils he needed and just, like, make him a robot smoothie - would he find that term offensive, robot, actually, no, does he even have emotions? What would even make him angry? Would I even want to find out?

The sound of the water stopping jerked her out of her thoughts. Leaning over on the bed, she could see the faint curl of steam slipping from the shower door. He hadn’t thought to close the door to the bathroom, and at this point, the initial shock of his naked body rapidly fading, she didn’t get up to close it. Instead, she took the opportunity to watch his “hygiene tasks” - a faint toweling off, and his hand back on the outlet. Now, she didn’t watch him standing there for the entire 30 minutes - she took the opportunity to stumble to the kitchen in a haze, drink a tall glass of cold water, and then wander back to her room. He was in a fully erect state, enough to cause her to do a double take, then, with an exhausted expression, she sighed, and kicked her jeans off.

Fumbling under her large sweatshirt, she undid her bra and whipped it off through one of the arm holes (and in a long sleeved shirt, it was quite the accomplishment), before rolling over onto her side (facing away from the bathroom), and closing her eyes.

I just need to sleep on this. I get a full 8 hours, I have tomorrow off, then I start figuring things out. This is okay. This can be dealt with.

Those were her last thoughts before sleep overwhelmed her.

Before he'd put himself into recharge mode, Andy had given himself -- given his diagnostics program, that is -- a set of commands: search for recent changes to his programming and memory storage ability; determine the reasons for those changes; classify said reasons as beneficial or detrimental to his operations; and formulate methods to reverse the detrimental changes to allow him to operate at full potential.

And, of course, to allow him to determine why he was where he was in the condition that he was.

Andy knew there was something not right with his being out here in public in the way he was. After all, if all was well, his hostess wouldn't be acting like she was around him. Andy hadn't hesitated to tell Layla that he was an android, finding the revelation no more explosive than explaining that he knew how to turn on a light switch or open a door. And yet, she'd been stunned and amazed and, it seemed, very doubtful. Why did she have such a hard time believing that androids existed? After all, they'd always existed in Andy's world.

Of course, that was part of the issue, wasn't it? The person who had messed with Andy's memory vaults had made it impossible -- for now, anyway -- for the android to know how long he'd been alive, how long he'd been out in the real world, and other such details. Andy's existence began just shortly before learning that he liked the taste of cheese puffs, yet for all he knew, he'd been out here in the real world for days, weeks, months, or even years prior to that and simply couldn't remember.

A signal suddenly brought Andy out of recharge, even though he was only at 82% power. His diagnostics had found something more important than charging, and he quickly but quietly located and donned his clothes. The bathroom light had been left aglow during the evening, but the room beyond it was dark. Andy activated his night time vision systems and returned to the bedroom, able to see as well as if all the lights were on.

He hesitated at the sight of his new friend, though, having not yet seen her as exposed as she was now. Layla had kicked the bedding down off her, obviously having gotten to warm during the night. That didn't surprise Andy, of course: the cotton sweat shirt she'd worn to bed would provide thermal containment for her body, which must have been the reason that below the waist, the overheated female worn nothing but a pair of panties that clung tight to her buttocks and groin and provided little heat preservation at all.

Andy studied the slim, petite woman's legs for a moment, noting how different they were from his more muscular, more substantially constructed ones. Her back was to Andy, giving him a view of her buttocks as well. They were smooth and curved and fit, which -- even without much knowledge of the human body being currently available to him -- seemed to Andy to be an appropriate and efficient design. He'd seen people of all sorts of sizes and shapes at the mental facility, and while he hadn't always understood what some of the men (and even women) had meant with the comments they'd made, Andy understood that there was something humanly appealing about a female who had a shape similar to Layla's.

He took a moment -- .22 seconds, to be precise -- to contemplate what he did and didn't know about the appeal that one human might provide to another. He wished he understood it better. Andy was obviously missing a great deal of information concerning what caused one human being to be attracted to another. Of course, maybe he wasn't meant to know such things. After all, he wasn't a human being. He was an android. It wasn't as if Layla would come to be attracted to him, after all. Oh sure, physically he was a model human male: tall, handsome, muscularly well constructed, sexually well endowed--

New information!

Without the expression of shock or the light bulb over the head type of reaction that a human might experience, Andy realized that that last bit of information was new to him, something that his memory vaults had uncovered and made accessible to him during the diagnostics: if he had been a human male, Andy's penis -- with its above average length and girth, perfect symmetry, colorization, and even blood vessel design -- would have been found to be sexually appealing to most females (and even many males).

He looked to the sleeping Layla and wondered whether she had found his ... cock, another word uncovered by his diagnostics ... Andy wondered whether she had found his cock appealing. But, if she had, why had she wanted him to put it away as she'd demanded, rather than partake of it? Andy had found the cheese puffs to be appealing to him, and he had partaken (even though the Korean grocer hadn't been too excited about it ... or about Andy's inability to pay for the snacks he'd consumed).

The reason was simple, of course, for Layla had explained it to him ... twice! Sex was something that had to wait until a proper relationship was formed between people, unlike Andy's freedom to simple open a bag of chips and scarf them down.

Layla rolled over in the bed, toward Andy. She was still asleep, though. He took another fraction-of--second-moment to study her front side. The sweat shirt had either ridden up a bit or been pulled up, exposing Layla's umbilicus. (Belly button, Andy's memory told him to call it if ever he needed.) She had a smooth flat belly with just a hint of the tight abdominals beneath the flawless skin. Again, Andy's slowly reconstructing memories told him that this portion of Layla's anatomical design and appearance would be found appealing to many others.

There was some conflict in Andy's memories about this, though, as his vault told him that not every human found such petite tightness attractive. He would have to ask her about that later, but right now he had other thoughts on his mind. They needed to go.

But Andy was hesitant to wake Layla, too. His internal clock told him that the time was only 2218 UTC, 5:18 am here in this time zone. Studying Layla, Andy knew that she needed more sleep. But that would have to wait. He crossed to the far side of the bed, knelt down close to her, carefully wrapped one arm around her midsection over her arms to contain her -- Andy knew she was going to be shocked and possibly scared -- then placed his other hand over her mouth.

Layla's eyes opened quickly, and he knew she was suffering panic. He held her tightly but not so much so that he would cause her harm and whispered to her, "Do not be frightened, Lala. It is only me, Andy. You must be quiet. You must not scream. I am letting go of you, and removing my hand from your mouth. Please do not make any unnecessary noise."

He removed his hands from Layla's body and stood over her in the dark, the only light upon him from a street lamp across the street. He told her in a serious tone, "We must go. Now. Someone is coming for me. Please."