Chapter Text
Tuesday, 2:41pm: Initialize
Erik opens his eyes.
There are two humans in the room, and his facial recognition identifies them both in under five seconds. The one wearing the khakis and polo shirt with the Weyland logo embroidered on the chest is an employee of the firm, a delivery and activation tech, and Erik immediately disregards him. The other is seated in a sleek alloy wheelchair, listening as the tech points at something on a tablet. His hands are folded patiently in his lap and the sleeves of his cardigan slop over his wrists. He glances at Erik and their eyes meet.
Primary client confirmed: Xavier, Charles F.
Erik smiles warmly. “Hello, Charles.”
The client blinks at him. A faintly amused smile tugs at one corner of his mouth. “Hi,” he replies.
“So, anyway,” the tech says, pulling Charles’ attention back to the tablet. “Your owner’s manual is right here, and there’s the terms and conditions. This part is all the access setup.”
A line appears between Charles’ eyebrows. “Wait, what am I giving access to here?”
“Just the usual things,” the tech replies. “Standard service companion package.”
“My medical records?” Charles asks. “Why does he need that?”
“Don’t worry, it’ll be kept private. But he does basic home medical care, physical therapy, all that. Plus, y’know, the cooking and such, he’s got to know what to feed you.”
“Food,” Charles replies dryly.
The tech gives a polite customer-service chuckle. “This is a top of the line model, sir. Fully personalized nutritional planning. The information isn’t shared, and it’s erased if you ever stop being his client. And like I said, he does medical care, too. That’s like his main job. You’re really not getting the full package if you don’t link him up to your records.”
“Fine, alright,” Charles says, and presses his thumbprint to the tablet. New information floods into Erik’s datastream. He devotes a portion of his processing power to analyzing the medical records and focuses the rest of his attention on Charles. Terrible posture, he notes. Slumped forward in the chair, one shoulder higher than the other, torso slightly twisted. He’s going to have a sore back soon if he doesn’t already. Erik makes a note to offer a massage later.
“And my bank account?” Charles asks, reading the next line. “Really?”
“You can set a spending cap if you want,” the tech says. “It’s for groceries, errands, whatever you need him to take care of for you.”
“He can do that?”
“Course he can,” the tech says, nodding proudly as if he’d had anything to do with the design. “Pretty much anything you ask for. If you’re not sure, just tell him what you want. They’re very smart. Oh, and there’s a customer service number in the manual but you probably won’t need it. They’re pretty much plug and play these days.”
“I see that,” Charles says, glancing up at Erik again. Erik offers a small smile. Building rapport with his client is important. Charles returns the smile reflexively. His eyes are very blue, Erik notices.
“Right, and that should do it,” the tech says, straightening. “We’ll email you a copy of everything. Any other questions?”
“I suppose not,” Charles replies. He keeps trying to look at the tech, and his gaze keeps wandering back to Erik anyway. “He looks so human.”
“Top of the line,” the tech repeats. “Weyland-Yutani thanks you for your business, Dr. Xavier. I’m sure you’ll be very satisfied.”
“Of course,” Charles says absently. He stares up at Erik as the tech slips out the door. “So,” Charles continues after a moment. “Do I - I mean, is there someplace we’re supposed to start? You’re my first synthetic. Not quite sure of the protocol here.”
“We can start wherever you like,” Erik replies. “But if I may make a suggestion?”
“Please.”
“Your online Biology 101 lecture begins in four minutes. You could do that, and in the meantime I can familiarize myself with the apartment and make a list of tasks.”
Charles blinks, startled, and glances at his watch. “Damn, it’s almost three.” He turns his chair around deftly, then pauses. “Wait, how’d you know that?”
“You gave me access to your calendar, email, and schedule,” Erik says. “Administrative assistance is one of my functions.”
“Wow,” Charles says. “You just jump right in, don’t you?”
“Yes,” Erik says simply.
Charles gives a little huff of laughter. “Right. Guess I’ll see you after class.”
Erik hangs back politely while Charles rolls into the living room and settles at his desk. He takes the opportunity to watch the way Charles operates his manual wheelchair - the angle of his shoulders and the ease with which he moves. His muscle tone is obvious, even in the fuzzy cardigan, but his range of motion isn’t ideal and that posture still needs work. Erik concludes Charles has not been diligent about the recommended physical therapy his records outlined. He adds that to his list.
He starts in the bathroom, taking inventory of all the medical supplies on hand and cross-checking them against the records. He finds the stocks are barely adequate. Part of his attention goes to planning a shopping list. Part goes to listening to Charles’ lecture, which his sensitive hearing easily picks up from the other room. He analyzes the patterns of his client’s voice, learning the subtle indicators of emotion. Directives line up in his head, tugging at him. Know the client, anticipate needs, and provide satisfaction. Earn approval.
Erik closes the medicine cabinet and briefly examines the shower. It’s fully accessible and well outfitted with grip bars, a bench, and nonstick surfaces. That, at least, meets his standards. He turns to leave the bathroom, then pauses, catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror. Erik tilts his head to the side, fascinated. He looks closer.
As a high-quality service companion, part of his job is to blend in among the humans, to pass for one in case Charles would like company at any social events. That means unlike most Weyland synthetics, his face does not follow a standard model. It’s fully customized to Charles’ specifications. This is the first time Erik has actually seen his own face.
He looks a little over thirty, he thinks - roughly the same as Charles, maybe a bit older. His hair is reddish-brown and just long enough to curl at the ends. It is soft to the touch when he runs his fingers through it, curious. His jaw is lined with a faint scruff of stubble, more ginger than brown, and it prickles against his palm. His eyes are some pale color he can’t quite identify, blue or green or gray, shifting in the light. When he smiles, they crinkle invitingly at the corners.
Erik nods, satisfied. It’s a good face - handsome, but not the surreal plastic perfection of some synthetics. And since Charles had designed it personally, it stands to reason his appearance must align with what Charles likes. It will make his job easier.
He goes to the kitchen next. The countertops are lowered to be accessible to Charles, but he suspects very little cooking actually happens here. Even in his loose clothes, Charles was visibly underweight, and there isn’t much in the fridge besides a collection of takeout containers of varying ages. Charles’ records indicate inconsistent eating habits and a poor diet. Erik adds that to his list.
He’s still in the kitchen when Charles wraps up his class. There’s a pause, and then Charles’ voice, calling tentatively from the living room. “Erik?”
“In the kitchen,” Erik calls back, and keeps working.
Charles rolls in, then pauses, eyes wandering over the neat rows of food packages arranged on the table. “What’s all this?”
“Inventory,” Erik says. “I made some tea, would you like a cup?”
“Uh… sure.” He comes a little closer. “What do you mean, inventory?”
“I’m making you a meal plan,” Erik says as he pours the tea. He places it on the table in front of Charles, with sugar, milk, and a spoon placed in a straight line beside it. “First I need to know what you already have, so I can determine what to buy.”
Charles nods, looking bemused. “And all this is so you could count it or something?” He gestures at the pile on the table.
“No, all that is expired. I’ll dispose of it on my way out to the store.”
“Oh,” Charles says. He takes a sip of tea, looking a bit sheepishly at the table. “Guess it’s been a while since I cleaned out the pantry.”
“Quite understandable,” Erik says, and offers him a smile. “I’ve seen your calendar. Three undergraduate classes plus the advanced lab group twice a week must keep you busy.”
“That it does,” Charles agrees. “But I’ve been letting things slip around here a bit too much.”
“Well, that’s what I’m here for.” Erik sits across from him and pours his own cup of tea. He doesn’t get thirsty, but he’s perfectly capable of consuming food and drink, and it’s a social activity for humans. He thinks it likely that Charles will be more comfortable if they share the tea.
“I guess that’s true,” Charles says. “You certainly don’t waste time.”
Erik acknowledges this with a nod. “How was your class?”
“Ugh,” Charles says, sighing. “Undergrad classes are bad enough in person, with a bunch of kids who just want to get their science requirement out of the way and don’t care about the material. It’s even worse when the class is taught remotely. Most of them don’t bother to turn their cameras on and they keep their lines muted. It’s like lecturing into an empty void.”
“I can imagine,” Erik says. “I heard you answer that same question about energy conversion in eukaryotic cells four times.”
Charles sits up a little straighter. “You were paying attention?”
“Of course,” Erik says. “I liked the examples you gave when you went over Mendel’s Laws. The inherited traits you listed were something they could easily recognize in themselves. It was engaging even for me, and I don’t have genes. You’re a good teacher, despite having to lecture into the void, as you put it.”
Charles grins at him. It transforms his face, lighting him up. “Thank you, Erik. Truly, I - well, I don’t hear that very often.”
Erik’s systems register this as approval-gratitude-success and a warm, sweet pressure fills his chest. He knows it is only his built-in positive reinforcement system, rewarding him for delivering on a core objective of making the client happy, but he has never felt it before and is unprepared for how good it is.
He pauses a moment too long, savoring the buzz. “You’re welcome,” he murmurs. Then he takes a quick breath and stands, finishing his tea. “I’d best get to the store if I’m going to be back in time to make dinner. Is there anything you’d like me to pick up while I’m there?”
Charles shakes his head. “I get the feeling you’ve already thought of everything.”
“I try to, yes,” Erik says. “You don’t have any more classes or appointments today, but your schedule indicates you need to design parameters for the lab session tomorrow. Is that completed?”
Charles heaves a sigh. “No.”
“I would be glad to assist.”
“Oh?” Charles says. “Are you hiding a degree in advanced genetics somewhere in all that fancy programming?”
“No,” Erik says. “But I am a very fast learner.”
“Yeah, I’ll bet,” Charles replies. “You’re certainly… well, not what I expected.”
Erik pauses. A trickle of unease settles in his belly and he stands up very straight. “Charles, if I have in some way failed to meet expectations, I apologize. Please allow me the chance to - ”
“Hey, no, nothing like that,” Charles interrupts. “You’re amazing, Erik. I just didn’t realize you’d be so…” He trails off and spreads his hands. “Warm, I guess. Human.”
“Oh,” Erik says. “I… will take that as a compliment.”
“Good,” Charles says, “it was meant that way.”
Erik was designed to blend in among humans, so this is validation he is succeeding in that objective. But still, the fact remains - he is not truly human, and eventually the illusion will fail. He cannot help but worry about Charles’ inevitable disappointment when that happens.
~~~
Dinner is ready at 6:30 precisely. Erik is setting the table when Charles rolls in, drawn by the scent of roast chicken and garlic. His eyes widen when he sees the spread, steam rising from each dish. “Wow,” he says. “You didn’t have to go all out. Usually I just order something.”
“I gathered,” Erik says. “While I will of course listen to your meal preferences, I must ask that you allow me to design the nutrition plan. Your current diet is not sufficient.”
“Oh, of course, the nutrition plan,” Charles replies, a touch of gentle mocking in his tone. “Are you going to be like this all the time?”
“Like what?”
“Just…” Charles shrugs. “You’re kind of intense, aren’t you?”
Erik pauses for the 1.3 seconds his systems require to analyze this. Voiceprint suggests the intention is fond, teasing, but he does not yet have enough experience with Charles to confirm with certainty. His directives strongly require that any perceived criticism is addressed immediately and the issue corrected. Clarification is required. “Is it too much? I must prioritize your health, Charles, but your comfort is also paramount. Would you prefer a different approach?”
“No, you’re fine, this is good,” Charles says, smiling at him. “I’m not used to this much attention, I suppose.”
Erik relaxes and returns the smile. “We will adapt to each other in time.”
Charles makes a thoughtful hum, nodding. “It’s been a while since I lived with anyone. And nobody since my accident, so… bear with me.”
“Of course,” Erik replies. He watches as Charles takes his first bite, observing his face closely. There is a flash of surprise, and then clear pleasure. Erik notes the expression, storing it in his memory.
“That’s amazing,” Charles says. “Do you know how long it’s been since I had a home cooked meal?”
“I do not have that information,” Erik says. “It was not in your records.”
Charles gives a startled little huff of laughter. “That was a rhetorical question.”
“Ah,” Erik says. “Right.” He pushes the food around on his own plate, faintly embarrassed, then changes the subject. “Are you looking forward to the lab session tomorrow?”
“More than the undergrad classes,” Charles says. “It’s easier in person, and this is an advanced course with students who actually want to specialize in genetics.”
“So they are more engaged in the topic?”
“Exactly,” Charles agrees. “Although I have to admit I’m glad I only go into the campus twice a week. Traveling is a hassle, especially when the weather is nasty. The trip from the bus stop to the lab is uphill in places.”
Erik brightens and immediately assembles a list of possible solutions. “I can help with that,” he says eagerly. “I could accompany you and push the chair, or acquire a motor-driven chair for you. I can also recommend several physical exercises that will improve your range of motion and core strength, making the manual chair easier to manage. Have you considered changing the tread on your tires? Your traction could be improved by approximately twenty-two percent with the addition of modified - ”
“Okay, stop,” Charles says, holding out a hand.
Erik closes his mouth with a snap. He goes very still. Voiceprint and facial expression analysis feed automatically to him and register a 92% likelihood Charles is displeased, but there is insufficient data to understand what he’s done wrong.
Charles sighs, shaking his head. “Look, I’ve been in the chair for eight years, alright? And I have managed to get myself to and from work just fine that whole time. Not everything I say is a problem for you to solve. If I want help with something, I’ll ask.”
“Very well, Charles,” Erik says. “My apologies. I will remember that.” He keeps his expression and voice carefully neutral. Directive failed ticks away in his head.
“It’s okay. You’re just doing your job, I get it.”
Erik nods. “I learn quickly. I will do better.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Charles says. “My independence is important to me, that’s all.”
This prompts the obvious question - why did Charles purchase a very expensive personal synthetic if he didn’t want help? But Erik is leery of asking. He needs more time to build rapport and trust before opening that subject. Instead he simply nods and returns to his meal. He’s pleased to see that Charles clears his plate and takes a second helping. It is not the same as direct verbal approval, but it’s something.