Archive of Our Own ^beta

Before the world went to hell, it was no secret among the Maverick Hunters that touch was Zero’s way to express what his words fell short of saying. Shaking new recruits’ hands outside protocol, bumping knees in cramped upstart bars with Storm and the other officers, slapping Colonel’s back after a good grappling spar, lifting Iris from behind, heart lifting in turn at her surprised laugh.

Countless casual moments with X; hand on his shoulder as they walked through HQ, hand clasped in his as he pulled him up on the field, head in his lap under warm dappled sunlight, spending breaks at their spot under the oak tree in Abel Central Park. Closing his eyes and prioritising tactile sensors, because the way X carded his fingers through Zero’s hair—helmetless, X he could always trust without the armour—was fucking special.

Some of the other officers noted how touchy-feely he was on the job. It was a minor side note for discipline issues—which really meant as long as humans didn’t see any ‘unprofessional’ behaviour, he was good. 

Zero hadn’t realised he was odd to others. Sometimes, when they thought he couldn’t hear, Doctor Cain and Sigma would murmur to each other. Surprising, the way he acted, laughed, hugged. Especially around X. X and Zero, who would have thought? 

Then the first dream came. Except reploids don’t dream. (Well, he wasn’t a reploid. He doubted his creator wanted him to dream, though.) A memory file. When he woke, he swore the oil spilled blood still dripped slick through his hands to stain the inner grooves. And a feeling lingered: Happiness, so damnably, purely happy it washed everything else in dull static, nothing could compare. 

Zero was designed as a combat bot. That’s never been in doubt, and he wasn’t ashamed of it then, even if X didn’t feel the same about his own combat programs. He revelled in battle, it electrified him, pushed his core to full potential. But with the memories came suspicions, crawling up rust-like as he shoved them aside to fester. Hooking onto what he already knew and sinking into his CPU. 

Zero was a combat bot and just that. Body contact was the primary means to secure a hold on the other, the enemy, close ranges optimal to rip and tear. Echoes of that programming over crossed wires led to pleasure with tactile contact. A glitch. 

Colonel, sturdy grip on his waist and teasingly lifting him on a test of strength. Iris, and the click of finely-constructed fingers settling against his own scratched palms, wondering if hers would have matched in another life. X, arms steady around him on his sofa, face awash in blue light from the movie on his laptop. X, laughing in sunbursts under him, because Light gave him ticklish sides and who was Zero to ignore a weakness? X, head leaned on his shoulder, fingers meshed tight in his as they survived another day of war together. Leaning into X in turn, his downy hair brushing Zero's cheek. Eyes slipping closed, sighing in the quiet, all of these moments a glitch. 

He could have gone to an actual reploid scientist to debunk his theory (not that they’d know jack all about his black box programming) but the fear that they could confirm it kept him putting off that phone call for an appointment. 

(And he would not tell X. X thought the best of him, even when Zero was…he didn’t need to know this.) 

It was easy to ignore the thoughts when he had missions to fulfil. That was the priority. The fears were just suspicions and suspicions could be denied, until the evidence was there. 

Then Repliforce happened. The evidence was there. 

Was he hugging Iris’s body close to comfort her in her last moments, or checking that he’d finished the enemy off? 

He tried shaking hands with X after he returned from space. And a thought struck him—pull him in, keep him locked against your body, lift a buster to his helmetless head and shoot. Feel the oil seep between your fingers and the body go limp in your hands. Won’t that make you so happy?  

(X, why would you ask me to kill you?!) 

So he just saluted and debriefed. Later, X tried to put a hand on his shoulder, a reflex when they were together at that point, X plus Zero, and Zero stepped away and pretended he didn’t see X’s confused disappointment. 

He quit reaching out to recruits. Maintained an even 1.5 metre distance per the norm. A good excuse, Hunter culture. The new Captains and recruits kept their distance anyway. Captain Zero was a revered veteran by then, above them all in the art of violence, who’d have the audacity to be friendly with him? 

There was no need for excuses to avoid Iris and Colonel. He’d crossed them off the list. 

But those thoughts still looped through his processor the more he tried to ignore them. Strangled his mind with images and directives, each one damning evidence for what he really was. And so many centred around one person. 

After all, who was left? His partner. 

(Kill him kill him kill him like you were programmed to. You always did touch him the most. You always knew. )

What excuse could even last past X’s insight? But he had to make them. Because a regular moment with X warped into this:

X: Smiles. Comments on his day. Shares a new fact he learned. All gifted to his future killer. (He isn’t! He won’t be! Shut up!) 

And Zero’s hyperaware of himself, where he is, what he thinks. What signals cross his mind when he looks at X? Partner or prey? His core ratchets up to overclocking. X has to be safe. 

>subprocess.run (weapons diagnostic)

>shut background weapons routines

Error: weapons routines must maintain minimum 10% output 

…

>subprocess.run (weapons diagnostic)

>shut background weapons routines

Error: weapons routines must maintain minimum 10% output 

>run weapons diagnostic 

>run weapons diagnostic

>run weapons diagnos>shut background weapons>ERR> shut background weapons> ERROR 

>run weap>shut>ERRORERROERROR

Terminate script.

Terminate him.

Zero: Smiles. Agrees with X, while his CPU burns. Stays a two-metre distance, just outside grabbing stabbing killing range and just close enough that Zero doesn’t look strange and X doesn’t ask questions.

(Why would he check weapons again and again and again and—? He knows it doesn’t help, doesn’t make sense, his internal decision tree’s a rotten husk. Logically of course he knows that. He does it anyway and he can’t explain why. Part of it—maybe it proves he cares.)

(He only actually runs the programs off-duty. On-duty there's no choice about shutting down weapons but he tells himself at least X is armored, defence-wise. Instead he fights whilst the impulse to shut weapons off in the middle of combat builds and screams and almost gets Zero killed, and after battles he finds a hidden place to check check check lose his mind to the process loops like the ring of a noose, noose like the barrel of a buster and arc of a swung sword, running in on each other, circling, chasing, ouroboros. DWN-infinity.) 

His finger, hovering over the message to invite X to go out. Combing his reasoning for a drop of blood, a trail of splatters that lead to the real reason, a still-cooling blue corpse that slots perfectly into Zero’s arms. 

> check emotional state

Return= 0. Search unclear.

[Input image prompt: Body of Mega Man X. Sword rammed through the throat brain chest heart take your pick of the day]

> did that make me happy

Return= 0? Search unclear. 

Selfishly shutting off the phone, too tired to deal with himself to finally be with X. 

Did X notice he stopped reaching for him? Zero never talked about it. X didn’t bring it up either, even as his smile frayed. Was he trying to give Zero space? 

(He isn’t that selfish, right? Right? Not all the time. Sometimes when X needs him, Zero’s there, at his back and by his side and staying there even with the loops in the back of his mind.) 

(But…most of the time? He’s not a good partner. X is so sad all the time now so why can’t he just get over himself– ) 

(He could just tell him what was going on. He’d understand, wouldn’t he? 

(Right. Understand he kept thinking of ways to kill him.) 

(It’s X, he risked his life to put him back together.) 

(He didn’t know who he really was and his time was wasted.) 

(Don’t you trust him?) 

(Of course I trust him! I trust him more than myself!)

(He deserves to know why you’re keeping distance.)

(He’s probably been worrying himself to scraps on top of everything else…) 

(Beating himself up over what he could do…at least he should know it’s nothing he can fix.) 

(…No, I’m just making excuses to be close to him. Run—) 

(Stop that, you know you’ll find nothing.)

(But if I don’t and I miss the signs and I kill him?) 

(You’ll find nothing. You need to talk to him.)

(>run run run run) 

(SHUT UP)

(>you can’t run from this anymore) 

(at least X can make the choice to leave, instead of being hurt)

(…There’s a way to talk to him without being close. If you take the coward’s way, you can even keep his video turned off so you can’t watch his expression. Just hear him.)

(…I really wish you could kill some problems with a sword.) 

…

“…It certainly would be simpler, huh?...I’m glad you came to me in the end. It sounds like it took a lot from you. I—”

“…”

“I’m sorry—just gathering my thoughts. Zero, know that I’d never hate you, okay? Not for something you’ve never done.” 

You’re always too trusting. 

“That’s for me to decide. And I decided I’m not leaving.“ 

X, it’s safer for you if we stay apart. I can manage it on missions, but outside that, when you’re armourless?

“I respectfully disagree. Zero, you’re no danger to me, to anyone outside the battlefield. It–from what I understand, it seems like you’re fixating on this because it matters so much to you.”

That’s a thought. 

…

>check emotional state 

>am I unhappy. Am I unhappy enough. 

>if unhappy enough: 

 >end search 

>elif happy

 >no 

>else unsure: 

 >check again

>check–

“…”

“You know…if you want, I had an idea. A compromise, for touch.” 

>check emotional state

>do I want to kill him right now?

A compromise? 

“You can reject it if it’s too much. But how about…”

Curl the fingers into a fist. Locked in place, unable to reach out and squeeze. Stand a careful distance away from X. Bump your arms together, not locked, so logically X can push you away if needed. Briefly, the thoughts quieten. X can defend himself like that. 

…

“Zero? What’s wrong?”

…No, it’s a terrible compromise. He’s a war machine, it’s easy to move into the kill from that position. He could accept it and make X happy—but wouldn’t that just be an excuse to catch him off guard in that position? Zero’s right, X needs to be able to defend himself from him.

“Then I’m sorry again. I…don’t understand enough. I think I’ll just end up hurting you more in the long run. Can I go away to research this? There’s surely reports of this happening to others.”

…I doubt you’ll find anything. Not a reploid, remember.

“I’ve found that it’s never just one person with a burden.” 

“We’ll get through this, alright? Together.” 

X was right. 

Much later, on break at the cafeteria, X cracks open a chilled E-tank with a click of the tab, then slips a straw into the cool fluid. By his side, Zero watches, chin propped on palm. Their chairs are scooted an arm’s length apart. It’s the closest they’ve sat together in a long while. He hopes Zero's proud of the progress. 

The overhead lights thrum. The chatter of off-duty hunters blanket the room in soft background noise. It’s quiet, between them. 

Out of the blue, X murmurs, “Hey, pass me the flavouring pack?” He doesn’t need to say which flavour. Zero remembers. 

As Zero passes the small pack to X, their fingers bump together. Zero’s index twitches, briefly. 

“You okay?”

A pause. A sigh, into the quiet. Then a hesitant hand, pressing into his. He opens his palm to accept it, and curls his fingers over the worn metal. 

“Just a thought.” 

Zero’s fingers grip back.