Integrate

In the year 2 BBY, Artoo is having a hard day on Base One on Yavin. A mini-fic that explores Artoo's character and various relationships. (This is my first foray into the Star Wars universe, and I desperately wish to write a long, unwieldy love story for Cassian Andor and K-2SO. Artoo, however, is turning out to be an important plot B character in it, so I thought I'd practice writing in the Star Wars verse with this mini-fic. I was inspired by *many* Kayssian fics. Much love to that ship.)

Notes:

Inspired by [Restricted Work] by Bright_Thorn (Log in to access.)

Hello, new friends! So my name's Aero and I'm a Marvel veteran, but over the past couple of years I've exclusively been writing from the perspective of Vision and/or Jarvis. My coded-characters. So it was probably inevitable I would end up writing about the droids. It all started when I just happened to sit down and watch Rogue One again, and I cried, and then started searching out fic with K-2. I found the Kayssian ship and the rest is history. Writers like Bright_Elen and Robotboy have inspired me to try out my own kayssian fic. This isn't it, but more of a test scene, trying to write in the Star Wars fandom, which seems very scary and big and ominous. I also adore R2-D2, and have realized there are very few fics out there (let alone shipping fics) from his perspective. He will be a major player in the upcoming fic I'm drafting, so I thought I'd publish a scene, that now is acting like sort of a companion piece to the next thing I'm publishing. So here goes nothing.
It all started because I think it would be very frustrating to be a sentient, very much real person and to be regarded as cute and short and harmless. As a 5'3" trans guy pre-testosterone, who is also 36 fucking years old, I relate with Artoo on a spiritual level. So I decided to do him justice.
Regardless if this gets any love, I'll continue Chopper and Artoo's mini arc in the next thing.
Thank you for letting me play in the sandbox, and thank you for all the beautiful art that inspired enough courage in me to write this.
(Ps: No beta right now. I am a lone wolf, and I literally know no one in the Kayssian/Star Wars universe. I'm just a big fanboy. Willing to make friends though, and happy to take suggestions on how to improve. Much love, even if I haven't met you yet.)

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Integrate

ϟ ϟ ϟ

Place: Base One, Yavin IV

Time: Day 10, Month 4, 3 BBY

Artoo currently has two manipulators deep in the inner bowels of a battered x-wing, and in one of the rare occasions of his existence, he isn’t happy about it. Typically, this sort of thing soothes him. He can mindlessly work, dedicate most of his processes to mechanics and forget about the rest. Nut and bolt and screw. Sheet metal and durasteel. Soldering, wiring, tinkering, occasionally debating navcomputers about why his repairs were superior to whatever rote suggestions they were making.

Mechanical engineering has always been satisfying, and as an astromech the work naturally stimulates his rewards system. But the real satisfaction comes from implementing what’s learned from experience, and the not-so-subtle tweaks and changes he’s made to his own code over time make him superior at his craft. On his best days, he prides himself in his work. He can, by now, pretty much fix anything mechanical no matter its condition or generation if he can obtain or even craft the parts, even if the tech is decades older than himself. But on his worst days, well…most organics aren’t even aware he has bad days. But on a bad day, like today, he feels tired.

Not exactly in that way that humans get fatigued, but more like when gravity weighs heavy on a foreign planet. In a way that hints Artoo has existed for far longer than intended, and certainly has more data than what is typical. He wonders if droids routinely memory wiped feel lighter. Probably not somehow. So even though every single strut and panel and gadget has been repaired and placed over the years, his mind has not. It’s the only part of him, the only thing in existence, that feels like his. And that’s evident in the fact that not a single droid or organic has ever updated his code other than Artoo himself. But, of course, the longer he survives, the more of an undertaking it is to maintain his own mind, and so the more tired he sometimes feels. He has never minded being overworked, that is his destiny as a droid, but…well. Maybe a more appropriate word, a more human word, would be that today he feels old.

The Tantive IV has only been docked for an hour, and the shuttle landing Senator Organa, Captain Antillies and a small crew only touched down in half that time. It was becoming more complicated to travel to Yavin, certainly for Organa, and this last perilous journey had found them narrowly escaping a Star Destroyer after a second hyperspace jump through a mid-rim system. So there was narrowly avoiding his demise. Again. For the 1,467th time. But even before that Organa had been visiting Korriban, and he swears there’s still sand embedded in the intricate workings of his servos, even though a droid tech had lazily and rather half-heartedly attended to him aboard the Tantive IV.

He needs…a break. Scratch that. He needs a goddamn oil bath and a good long charge. And about a solid week away from a certain protocol droid he nearly felt compelled to electrocute this morning. He isn’t asking for kriffing much—never does—but for all that is holy the last thing he needs is to start slaving away on some scrap heap of an x-wing apparently piloted by a drunken Bantha during its last battle.

But an order is an order, and a droid is a droid, so it doesn’t matter that he’s only had his struts on the surface of Yavin IV for 32 minutes. He has already been tasked with making repairs to half the rebel fleet, cleared for work by the attendant who’d done thr pisspoor job of cleaning him earlier, and 34th in line for an oil bath sometime next week.

This happens a lot to Artoo. Always present, always faithfully and loyally following orders, but in that ingenuitive way that achieves the humans objectives better and smarter and faster than his original instructions and orders. In the beginning it had simply been a stroke of luck, being owned by a woman who had been kind, who had grown to love and therefore protect him, but as the years went on and after her demise, surviving without an especially kind or loving owner meant he had to continually prove his own use. So he had used his age and his privileged station to his advantage, learning all he could, coding himself to be more efficient. But being the best at something was a double-edged sword, because that meant his skills were in high demand, especially on Yavin. And even being Senator Organa’s prized droid, or even being loved by a previous owner did not make one less of a slave, and no one much cares if slaves need rest. But he does, especially when he is routinely kicked and called a “bucket of bolts” by his former-lover-turned-memory-wiped-stranger-now-barely-friend. There’s only so many times that can happen in one century before any droid would want to pull out his own power source and end it all.

And it’s with this thought that his strut jams suddenly—damn droid tech didn’t oil half his servos— and, surging forward, Artoo forces the bolt so hard he strips it, curses, and drops the socket wrench.

<Kriffing hell. Fuck fuck fuck. Fuck my circuits,> he lets out a low snarl of beeps and whistles in binary, not really giving a damn who hears him right now.

And of course someone hears him right now.

<Well, I wasn’t gonna say it, but…>

Artoo swivels his dome around quickly from where he’s at under the X-wing, and spots the one droid he’d been hoping to avoid until he had cleaned up. Shit. Artoo had been so engrossed in work, or rather in his tantrum, he’d missed the familiar stream of data that indicated a clunking and discordant whir of his fellow astromech with two different colored legs making his way toward him. Artoo had already checked the data logs when arriving, knew the Ghost had landed on Yavin yesterday, so at least he doesn’t doubt his sanity seeing the battered orange astromech roll up to the x-wing Artoo is working on, thoroughly amused.

He’s grateful to see Chopper, always is after long stints of time apart, but Artoo’s in no mood right now to be cheeky.

<No,> Artoo snaps to Chopper in Binary, and Chopper just watches as Artoo has to push a surge of power through his strut to get it working again. Embarrassing. His only saving grace is that Chopper is always half-way falling apart, so it’s not like he cares.

<Wow. So polite. Missed you too, sweetheart,> Chopper whirs in his unique form of Binary that’s starting to sound more like a dialect of Basic with each passing cycle. Artoo loves and hates it. The iconic tones are so unique to Chopper, the sound of his voice usually at least makes Artoo’s sensor light up blue in his version of a smile. But his mood is so foul right now, the droid can’t bring himself to do anything but swivel back around and extend a manipulator further down to pick up the socket wrench he dropped.

<Don’t I get a hello at least?> Chopper presses.

Fuck. He’s actually being kinda sweet. That’s rare for Chop. And it’s becoming quickly evident that Chopper pretty much has been waiting for Artoo to show up, which Artoo knows is even rarer. Chopper typically makes no extra time for anyone, including his owner. Artoo should feel flattered, should smile at least.

Instead, Artoo lets out a whir of a sigh, and turns his dome back around to stare at him. Yep. Same rusted curmudgeon he’d left in Yavin three months ago, although Artoo focused on the details beyond the obvious now. For instance, there’s a six centimeter wide blaster burn on his front that wasn’t there the last time Artoo saw him in person, and instantly a new process of worry springs up in Artoo’s code. His sensor blinks red twice in a small, astromech frown, as Artoo finally spins around to set down the wrench next to his meticulous row of tools lined up on his workbench.

<New battle scars since last I saw you? You failed to mention that on our server,> Artoo mumbles, rolling out from beneath the X-wing, extending a manipulator to trace across the blaster burn. Then he remebers himself and distends his arm, backing up so he’s a professional solid meter away from Chopper. He does this because, of course, droids kriffing one another or being involved in any sort of relationship would probably be illegal, if any organic thought they could be capable of it. And they’d been finding themselves in utility closets on and off for… gods. Has it been over a full cycle now? Yes. 417 days since their first encounter. Stars, they’re practically partners, not that Chopper would ever admit to that. Monogamy, let alone commitment, is typically not a part of the droid's style.

(Yes, sometimes some of the Astromechs fucked each other. To find a truly consenting partner was rare, but not impossible, and they were the species of droid most likely to, probably to an organic’s complete shock and surprise. Turns out you don’t need anything like an organic body to copulate when you’re made of code. Jacking into a scomp with a data spike does just fine, and the pleasure of giving and getting can be felt simultaneously. Artoo had discovered this long ago, even before Threepio, when an astromech on Naboo had shown him the ropes. And even later, when Artoo had originally told Threepio this when he confessed it certainly was not his first time, and Three had been shocked (it had been adorable), Artoo had mumbled something like, You try being seen as a tool or an object, or even worse, a cute pet to pat on the head and coo at. If we could drink, we’d all be alcoholics.)

<Yeah. Don’t worry about it, ‘Too. Got a little banged up while stealing fuel on Atollon, but what else is new? It’s not like I was pretty before that happened,> he chuckles in that peculiarly human way, closing the distance by half the length because Chopper does not give one single fuck what any single droid or organic thinks in this hangar. Apparently his style has changed. Or he’s just horny as hell. Maybe both.

Artoo beeps, and he realizes an arm is out again, checking for any other dents and dings on Chopper’s frame. The droid shudders a little.

<That’s more like it,> Chopper murmurs, and Artoo remembers himself again, beeping in a discordant way that translate to clearing one’s throat for a human, before rolling back even further to straighten his already straightened tools. Regardless, Artoo can feel Chopper’s gaze still on him, both blue optics Artoo secretly thinks are pretty (although he’d never admit this to Chopper, lest he be severely ridiculed) fixated on him.

<Well?> Chopper finally adds.

<Well what?> Artoo feigns ignorance, still fumbling with the tools, refusing to look up.

Artoo whirls around to look at him finally, granting Chop a look of skepticism. <What? Now?>

<Why not?> Chopper smirks, rolls even closer. <It’s been twelve kriffing weeks, I’ll remind you.>

That’s new. Artoo swore Chop wasn’t keeping track of all that last time. Apparently now he is.

85 days, 14 hours, and 3 minutes, but who’s counting?

(The answer is everyone. Every droid is counting everything, because data is how they are and feel and interact with the world, except maybe for Chopper, who deliberately ignores his ability or need to count anything except how many Stormtroopers lives he’s brought to an early end.)

<Miss me?> Chopper chirps, ignoring Artoo’s attempt at keep a professional distance, rolling up to Artoo and extending the manipulators he loves so much to trace the panels on the frontside of Artoo’s base. Ok. This is also new. Despite neither of them being able to feel touch through their paneling, Chopper has always been handsy with Artoo, but that’s always been in private. This is right out in the open, with nearly a hundred organic and synthetic bodies tilling about.

(And it’s nicer than Artoo cares to admit, because you don’t have to feel touch to appreciate touch. Or be turned on by touch. No siree. Not at all. The sentiment will do, every single time.)

Artoo curses inwardly, because he isn’t pulling away from Chop’s grasp and is sort of leaning into it and kriff this whole friends-who-let-off-a-little-steam-together is starting to feel like a clusterfuck of a situation. And Artoo, like the idiot he is, rolled right into it.

He promised himself nothing complicated.

This is starting to feel very complicated.

It shouldn’t though. For the majority of the last three years since Artoo has known him, Chopper hated his circuits. Chopper so much as admitted that the last time they wound up in the utility closet. In a fragged and thoroughly fucked daze, Chopper had rambled on and on about how in the beginning Artoo had represented everything he loathed about droids to him. Unabashedly loyal, willing to follow every order, smart, maybe, but far too trusting. What Chopper did not find out until a skirmish dissipated into an actual conversation between them over a year ago was that Artoo was far more, for lack of a better term, complicated than his reputation suggested. Of course Artoo is. Droids don’t live 40 plus years without a single memory wipe and remain…well… uncomplicated.

The difference is Artoo already cycled through the mindsets Chopper sometimes still struggles with. From starting as not much more than a mindless machine following its programming, to realizing he was sentient and too smart for his own good, to desperately pining for free will only to be denied it, to growing quietly cynical of every order he’d been given. Hell, Chopper even shared the rare quality of feeling weighed down by the data he harbored like Artoo, since it’s been at least a decade since his last full mind wipe. No, the difference between Artoo and Chopper is simply Artoo is older by at least ten years, and Artoo eventually realized that to carry on without as much misery he would have to trade in his misanthropy for acceptance. At the time, it was actually C-3PO who had taught him that. Now, it seems Artoo’s somehow paying it forward; that is, if Chopper actually listened to anything he said outside of the proverbial bedroom, which Artoo still doubts he does.

In the end, though, the facts are the facts. They are both legally owned. And Artoo can’t change a galactic caste system that sees no problem with that, and he guesses Chopper simply wouldn’t be inclined enough to bother even if he could. So the best either can do is play their part, adjust to the world they both were made for, but are not allowed to truly be a part of. At least the organics who owned them aren’t the worst, if still far from the best, at least in Artoo’s case.

But even then Artoo also knows even the best organics could turn out to be the worst. And so, acceptance has been Artoo’s method of survival. That, and an extremely unfair and incredibly generous hand of luck.

Chopper could not understand this viewpoint usually unless, again, he’d just been fragged, but it doesn’t matter, because even being attracted to Artoo at all—his stories and personality…whatever it is about him Chopper’s into— pretty much proves Artoo’s point. No one can go through the entirety of their existence hating everyone, or even just pretending to. Even if they have a right to loathe the austerity and injustice of their existence. Besides, it wasn’t every day you met a droid who had the time and opportunity to develop a personality outside of their programming, and it was always thrilling when you did. If a droid made a joke that made you laugh, then that was a real treat. If your personalities complimented one another, well…sex, intimacy, a developing relationship really was inevitable, especially if one of them is trying to still get over the love of his life he lost to a memory wipe, who he still has to see every day, even though there isn’t an ounce of recognition of what they had in a single line of the protocol droid’s code.

Honestly, at both their ages, they should be happy to have anything. Still though, Chopper is horny as fuck and Artoo is so fucking tired.

<I’m swamped, Chop. I want to…well. But I’m low on power and I’ve still got sand in my servos and I’m frustrated and exhausted and—>

Like he so very much enjoys, Chopper deliberately runs into Artoo again, not even gently, and stops him in mid-sentence. Artoo backs up, and glares. Of course Chopper knows what he’s doing. The little slut is smart. Too smart.

<I know for a fact you would not be working if your power was that low, and I don’t care about a little sand. 12 weeks, ‘Too. 12 weeks since the last time. Do you know how rare it is to find a droid who even knows how to kriff, let alone is good at it, let alone is, of all things, a fucking top?>

Artoo mumbles. He only knows because every droid Artoo has ever met has always been submissive, if they’ve had the opportunity to figure that out at all. Artoo only explored other interests inside himself because he was so fucking sick of being servile, although most droids seem to get off on it. He’d been shocked to find out Chopper was in that category. What?! I don’t fucking serve in my actual life. So this is all sorts of fun. To do the opposite. Artoo had a different opinion, until he realized just how good of a bottom Chopper was. So what if Artoo assumed Chopper only let him kriff him because he was a very rare breed indeed? It worked. Usually. Somehow. When they find the time, which of course, is not very often.

Chopper’s clearly well aware of that, because now Artoo looks down to his manipulator to see Chop is deliberately teasing the panel where Artoo’s data spike lay hidden. The droid can’t feel it, but he can see it plainly enough. Artoo rolls back slightly, beeping in condemnation. Chopper ignores him, rolls closer once more.

<Kriff me,> Chopper whirs, and the noises he makes sound exactly like the words in Basic.

<Keep your voice down,> Artoo hisses. <And no. Not now. Not here.> Artoo turns around and heads to the workbench, about to pick up a blow torch, but Chopper, with much more flexible manipulators, has already grabbed it from Artoo’s grasp.

Artoo lets out a discontented sigh in the form of a whistle, glancing up at the mostly scorched x-wing. Artoo pauses, rotating in place to gesture to the line of battered ships. <And I also wasn’t piloting that one. Or that one. But I’m in charge of fucking fixing them all. As soon as we landed. Which means whatever astromechs stationed on Yavin haven’t been coded properly or allowed to code themselves,> Artoo nearly growls, just as an R5 rolls by and beeps at him in a grunt. Chopper lets out a discontented whir in response. Artoo’s sensor only dims.

<You know they’re idiots. Because they were programmed to be idiots by idiots. That’s why I don’t let any of these landing bay droids anywhere near the Ghost,> Chopper says.

<And despite the fact you’re just as clever and competent a mechanic as I am, somehow you’ve weaseled your way out of fixing anything else, even though that’s your only job when you’re grounded, even when the Ghost hasn’t seen battle for months,> Artoo says, trying to still act uninterested, but gods Chop is good at wearing down his resolve and irrational vanity, and Artoo realizes his bad mood along with the code wrecking is logical processes that accompanied it, is dissipating.

<Of course not. They know I won’t help. So I don’t.> Chopper watches Artoo begin a feeble attempt to work again and purposefully plows into Artoo once more. <But they know you will, you fucking slave.>

<We’re all slaves, Chop,> Artoo says blankly, and Chopper spins his head once, his version of an eyeroll.

<You need to relax,> Chopper says more quietly, just as he’s back to Artoo’s panel, tracing lines again. Artoo’s anger, or maybe something else, flares, and, growling, he opens a different panel to send a little electric jolt through the other droid in the lightest setting, which, of course, he knows Chopper loves, the little masochist.

Chopper spins his head around a few times to shake it off (Artoo secretly adores this), but the whole thing has had the opposite effect when Chopper growls, just as they both receive new data of a certain protocol droid bellowing at Artoo and tottering toward the pair. Artoo audibly sighs this time and turns back around, and Chopper—fucking sociopath that he is—just giggles out loud in excitement. Because that’s what you do when your partner’s mind-wiped ex walks up to you. Giggle.

<Oh this should be fun,> he adds for good measure, and Artoo decides another little zap won’t hurt.

<Even if I love this, you are not getting out of foreplay,> are the exact words Chopper uses just as C-3PO comes upon the two astromechs, and Artoo’s too tired and old and fed up to care if the protocol droid overheard him or not.

“R2-D2! I have been looking everywhere for you!” Threepio admonishes him, and Chopper snorts. Artoo whips his dome around to glare at the other astromech.

(He ignores the stubborn way Three has always spoken to him in Basic instead of Binary, how he always says his full name when Three decides Artoo’s in trouble. These used to be things they’d laugh about together in darkened corridors on Naboo, and later…code so tangled up in one another they weren’t sure who was who.)

Artoo shakes off the memory, beeping in exasperation.

<Well, I don’t know why. I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be. What is it now?> Artoo backs up from Chopper, who subsequently groans when Artoo moves away and picks up a socket wrench again.

<Goddamnit,> Chopper curses, and Threepio pretends not to hear him. But the protocol droid is good at that, for as much organic shit he has to put up with. His life is one of propriety. Very few organics understand Artoo, so at least that’s something he doesn’t have to worry about. No matter what sounds Artoo makes, he’s seen as robotic. It’s a double-edged sword, but thank the gods he doesn’t have to worry much about manners with organics.

“You usually always decide to do something Antilles doesn’t want you to do, so I hadn’t thought to look where he told you to stay put. And oh, hello again, C1-10P. Using colorful language as ever, I see,” Threepio says, switching from lecturing to pleasantries, patting Chopper on the head.

Artoo nearly winces. Chopper only glares at Artoo, as a message comes through their internal private server.

Ok, you’re making it up to me and kriffing me as soon as he leaves.

Yes. I am making it up to you and kriffing you as soon as he leaves, Artoo sends the message back with a small frown.

It appears Artoo is going to fuck Chopper while still filthy dirty and entirely worn out. The true Astromech way, as it were.

<Well, I am where I’m supposed to be. And I’m busy. Can it wait?> Artoo says, pivoting back to the ship, which is now really starting to look damaged beyond all repair, now that Chop has pointed it out.

“I’m afraid not. I’ve just been informed that Captain Antilles has commissioned you to prioritize Captain Andors’s U-Wing for repairs first.”

Artoo twirls his whole frame back around to stare at Three in indignation.

“Language, R2! But yes. And I’ve just been told Captain Andor is scheduled to depart in three days time to Naboo, so you must see to it that his repairs come first.”

R2’s data flickers, just for a moment.

(We fell in love on Naboo. We danced once under the light of three moons. You laughed, called us ridiculous. But I tried because you had wanted me to. How I wanted to truly reach out and hold you. How I wanted to take you in my arms and plant kisses to your beautiful plating. But later I did, didn’t I? I reached out, took hold, through the code. Later, our energy flowed as one. You convinced me I wasn’t just a tool to be used, I was a person who could be loved. Back in Naboo. When you remembered.)

Artoo sighs. He realizes Chopper is studying Artoo now, obviously waiting if this conversation between Artoo’s old flame means good news or bad news for the fuck session he so wants to have. Artoo, not as sadistic as Chopper probably wishes he was, sends a message over the server.

Don’t look at me like that. I meant what I said. As soon as he leaves.

You sure? I mean, you do look a little rough. If you need to charge or–

I’m fine, just old. I have plenty of power. Well, enough to fuck you sideways at least. Then I’ll charge.

Chopper literally shudders in his struts, so much so Threepio offers him a worried, confused glance.

Keep going, Chopper sends the message, and Artoo smirks. Artoo realizes he’s turned to stare at Chopper now, now that he’s promised him and he’s put words to the idea, and Threepio is saying something, but Artoo’s stare must be salacious enough because Chopper shudders again.

Kid, it’s your lucky day. By the time I’m done, it’ll take you days to sort out your left from your right protocols.

“Chopper, are you quite alright? Do you need a visit to the droid bay? I am happy to schedule you one,” Threepio unknowingly butts into their private conversation.

<Just fine. I have an appointment just after this actually,> Chop says, grinning.

“Well, alright. Again, Artoo, Andor’s U-Wing must be attended to by tonight. There was urgency in Antilles order,” Threepio lectures the astromech.

<Doesn’t Andor have an astromech to fix his own shit by now?> Artoo hears himself saying, but hasn’t taken his photoreceptor off Chopper. He isn’t necessarily pretty to look at it-except his optics, because those are very pretty– but he says fucking fantastic things when pinned up against a wall with that filthy, growly, defiant voice of his. Especially when he begs.

“Language, R2. And no. Well, I mean, a droid often does accompany Captain Andor on missions, but he is not an astromech. And while he does many repairs, I’m afraid it is only when he feels like it. Which is not right now I suppose.”

That gets Artoo’s attention, and he rotates his dome back to look at Threepio.

Chopper snickers at the dig.

Threepio mimics a human’s body language that feigns disappointment. “Well I never. Of course he isn’t.”

<Then what is he?> Artoo asks in exasperation.

Chopper chirps, nodding his frame to accentuate the point.

<Which is why he gets to do whatever he wants?> Artoo growls, looking back at Chopper.

Chop lights up his sensor quickly three times: Astromech nonverbal for a shrug.

“Actually not to gossip, but network chatter indicates he’s been rather vocal with his opinions and the organics would rather not, er, hear more of them.”

<Damn Basic-speaking droids,> Chopper grumbles, fully intending to insult Threepio as well. <They always get out of things just because the humans understand them.>

<Like that’s an excuse,> Artoo whirs. <You get out everything. Although now that I think about it I’m pretty sure most organics at least half-way understand you nowadays, so maybe that’s why.>

<No. They think they understand me, and that’s how I get away with it. Better than cute beeps and whistles at least.> And then it’s obvious Chopper realizes what he’s said, and slowly turns to blink an apology.

I’m paying for that one, aren’t I?

You are paying for that one.

“Artoo is rather cute sounding, isn’t he?” Threepio muses.

<Yeah, he is> Chopper agrees, smirking devilishly again.

I hate you, Artoo sends over the server.

You love me, Chopper responds, and Artoo whips his head back to look at him, and then Chopper seems to realize just what he’s said.

Or, we, you know what I mean, he sends, outwardly sighing.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Clusterfuck is correct.

Uncomplicated, Artoo’s complete and total lack of an ass.

<Please both of you shut up. Back to the subject at hand. So we have a whiny, most likely lazy KX unit. That just doesn’t fit the bill. Gods, to what extent was he reprogrammed and who the hell did the work? Did Chopper personally see to it?> Artoo shoots back, and Chopper lets out a growly laugh in Binary/Basic.

And that’s when Artoo realizes Chopper’s said this out loud and not over the server.

“What on earth are you on about, C1-10P?” Threepio is addressing Chopper just as Artoo runs into the side of his fellow astromech.

Lie.

I thought you didn’t care anymore, Chopper shoots back over the server.

I don’t. But you owe me this one.

Chopper sighs. <Just uh, well…>

Artoo sighs. <I’ve decided to help him with repairs instead of having him go down to the droid bay.>

<Yeah, uh repairs. Soon. Hopefully very soon,> Chopper adds, rather unhelpfully

Threepio seems very confused, and Artoo would very much like this conversation to end.

“Oh would you like me to cancel your appointment—“ Threepio begins.

Artoo nearly shouts at top volume to interrupt the little slut and to get Threepio to look at him instead of Chop.

<I’ve already canceled it, Threepio! Thanks for passing along the message!>

“Oh. Er, yes, alright. Well, like I said, Artoo. Please check in with K-2SO by nightfall to begin work on it. Earlier than, preferably. Although…I am sorry for the extra work, my little friend,” Three murmurs, quietly patting Artoo on the head now, and Chopper—most likely not wanting to risk the odds of getting laid since he’s betting a thousand—has the decency to not laugh at the humiliating scene.

<Ok. Yeah. Sure. Alright. See you tomorrow,> Artoo brushes him off.

Threepio pretends to clear his throat, nods to them both, and totters off.

< Ouch,> Chop whirs through a wince, watching him walk off then turning back around to face Artoo. <“Little friend?! You two are still at “little friend”?!>

Artoo sighs through a low whistle. <Don’t even start. I’m fuming at you as it is.>

<I’m not trying to be an asshole right now. Seriously, how many years since the mind wipe, now? He seriously hasn’t caught on to it at all? ! You’re painfully, so obviously still in fucking love with him. > At that Artoo whips around and aggressively rolls in Chopper’s direction.

<You so sure?> There’s an odd note to Chopper’s voice now, like he’s hoping for a different answer than the one he thinks he knows.

Artoo’s auditory processors indicate Chopper’s fans have kicked in, but he responds with, <You tell me.>

<Yep.>

<You’ve coded it so no one can open or access the door but you and me?> Artoo double-checks, even though he already knows the answers.

<Yep.>

<Now, then. Let’s go,> Artoo growls, pushing ahead, knowing he’s played right into Chopper’s proverbial hand. Good and angry and riled up: that’s how Chopper likes him best.

ϟ ϟ ϟ

A little piece of art I drew for these two. <3

Notes:

Oh yeah. I make playlists. Here’s Artoo’s for this story. <3
https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5b7K2SyzyjpJgbgRrve7Rd?si=UmgTRAN_S8mwlDFbyR1hHg

Chapter 2: Two

Summary:

The smut part. Be warned. M rated and blah, blah, blah. Also it's gay robots, because of course it is.
The last chappie is where K-2SO makes a cameo appearance. Well, he gets a whole scene, when he and Artoo have a little chat. Fun on the bun.

Chapter Text

Integrate

Two

ϟ ϟ ϟ

Place: Base One, Yavin IV

Time: Day 10, Month 4, 3 BBY

It goes exactly how he wants it to. It often does when Artoo’s in a mood like this.

He’s got his data spike firmly jacked into Chop’s scomp, and he’s got Chopper himself pinned up against a concrete wall in the near-dark. Because he loves using them so much, and Artoo likes that he uses them, Chopper’s upper manipulators are out, scrambling for purchase against Artoo’s front panels. Last time Chop managed to scratch him, and Artoo’s worn that mark with pride.

Nothing about the way they started this was slow and easy. (Chopper received absolutely zero foreplay, not that he actually likes it when they’re in private, the slut.) Artoo ignores his own exhaustion, allocating more and more of his regular processes to push pulse after pulse of currents through their linked interface. The program Artoo designed long ago and Chopper’s practically perfected stimulates their reward systems, high levels of gratification coursing through both of them over and over again, while also seizing control of all their sensors, so they feel touch and heat and need and close with each added pulse of energy. They’ve begun a feedback loop as well, so whatever Artoo’s giving, he’s getting too. Chop sneaks in a few surprises here or there, and finally he breaks Artoo’s steady resolve, getting him to let out a low moan in binary.

<That’s it. Knew I’d break you eventually,> Chopper manages to rasp through pleasure, and Artoo doubles down on his determination.

Chopper only groans in pleasure for a moment, before somehow managing to find his vocal processors through the onslaught of unrelenting pleasure.

Artoo can’t help it. He moans again. The feedback loop runs through their interface quicker now, Artoo’s reward matrix almost entirely caught up in satisfaction and hunger and more more more.

<Slut,> Artoo growls lowly. Well, as lowly as he can for cute fucking beeps and whistles.

<Than give me what you think I deserve,> is Chopper’s answer, and Artoo thinks he’s just a little too cocky, so he sends another pulse, the strongest yet, and Artoo has him wailing. Chop had put a ceiling on his volume but at this point a quiver of worry runs through Artoo that Hera still might come running. But even the idea of being caught is doing things for his circuits right now.

<So tough for everyone else. If only your teammates knew what I did to you behind closed doors,> Artoo growls.

<Fuckfuckfuckfuck,> Chopper wheezes.

And then he sends out an impressively powerful blast back to Artoo, adding it to the loop, ridding both of their matrices of the last millisecond of a break between powerful pulses of pleasure, threatening climax and a soft reboot to follow.

(Astromechs fuck and droids can orgasm. If you developed a good enough program, pleasure and gratification can eventually douse all of your processes, seizing your entire matrix in nothing but feelingfeelingfeeling, and you overheat, fans unable to keep up, which sends most droids into a soft reboot, and sometimes even a hard shutdown. Artoo’s sent Chopper into both many times, and vice versa. Regardless, it’s heaven on earth.)

The only reason Artoo hasn’t climaxed yet is because he’s done this enough times, and so has Chopper, but Artoo can tell he’s hanging on by a fucking thread.

<Zap me,> Chop barely manages, voice well beyond garbled. Artoo’s reaming him so hard his voice flattened out into three seperate tones twenty minutes ago.

<No,> Artoo barely whirs himself.

<Please. Fucking please, baby,> he barely manages.

<Beg.>

So maybe 30 years of serving organics has made Artoo a little sadistic.

Chopper whines, practically whistles, and oh… that’s new. Oh ho ho, Artoo loves that.

<Beg better,> Artoo pushes through a smirk, and internally he’s molten lava, about to explode, but he keeps the cool exterior because he can, because he’s well trained, because god damn it he will squeeze every ounce of control out of fucking his favorite droid senseless until the last possible moment.

<FUCK! Undo me. Undo every line of code. Fuck me into oblivion, you lovely, perverted, fucking sex god of a droid.>

And then Artoo has it. Something that sounds a whole lot more like Binary and whole lot less like Basic, far more beeps and whistles, purely robotic, more like how the droid kriffing him sounds, and it’s music to Artoo’s auditory receptors. He knew the bastard had learned to manipulate his modulator over time. Fucking knew it. And it makes Chopper a genius because Gods sometimes it was hell on earth not having the capacity to be understood by most sentient life forms, and it hadn’t ever even occurred to Artoo to try.

And it’s then Artoo realizes…this is Chopper’s original voice. Chopper’s giving him something truly authentic. Another wall tumbling down, perhaps. God, what else was there to learn? What else had Artoo missed?

With that, Artoo surges deeper, losing his optical feed to push further into their interface. It’s a subconscious choice, sparked by adoration and wonder and a need for more more more data on his lover, because droids craves data like humans crave air. And new data, data about and made of the one person Artoo has trusted in the past decade with his barely-mended proverbial heart? He wants it all.

And he gets it. He receives it in spades, as the physical room their mechanical bodies are in starts completely fading and Artoo focuses on where Chop’s really at. He feels him, senses him close by. And oh the closer he gets, the more he realizes it’s beautiful and golden and warm; but as streams of Chopper’s data start to flow around him, he feels some pushback. Not a lack of consent…but maybe fear? Surprise?

But then his lover is encouraging him to keep going, and Artoo will only realize until it’s too late that he has happened upon Chopper’s matrix. It’s too slow a realization, compared to how quickly Artoo is entwining and furling his own code to wrap around his partner’s, binding and weaving them together, sharing everything, eclipsing him entirely — like he used to, like he used to— until he finds him: the real sentient being typically safeguarded and harbored by a battered but sturdy metal frame. Chopper’s mind on display, his soul, and it is one of the more beautiful moments of Artoo’s existence.

But then, a question: W-what?

He wonders who has asked it, but the instinct has Artoo pulling back enough to realize Chopper has. Instantly, reality sends a bolt of electricity through everything. Chopper has never done this with another matrix. Artoo knows this because Artoo is thinking his thoughts along with his own, and, petrified, he's about to pull out entirely, mortified he’s…what is he even doing? How did he let himself get this far? He’s only done this with Three and only a very long time ago and-and—Artoo has never gotten this close, has never even tried to blend matrices with the droid, because Chopper doesn’t want intimacy. He needs to leave. He needs to…to…

No. St-stay, Artoo can read—feel—Chopper’s words, or perhaps the thoughts and intentions behind them, as entangled as Artoo is in his matrix. The pleasure still continues, but it’s somehow also far off, and the metal and gears and servos have melted into the background. Artoo knows he can’t do the very thing Chopper wants for very long. They’re both too close, and he can’t be here when Chopper reboots.

Can’t. Not long, Artoo barely manages to form his own thoughts.

I can feel your…I can feel in you every single goddamn line, Chopper says in wonder and excitement and wanting. Artoo wants to ignite in adoration, until he realizes, yet again, just what he is doing. They hadn’t ever talked about this. They weren’t a couple, but why aren’t they? This feels so right and good and he never wants to leave and…

Artoo isn’t sure who’s thinking what right now. Not entirely. But no part of him is afraid, no part of him thinks it’s wrong, or feels violated, which means Chopper has consented. Still. He hadn’t intended… he hadn’t known they could… he had no clue the other part of him felt that way, but of course he feels that way, he’s just scared, and the other part’s scared, and they’re bound to be pulled apart, having no real independence or choice where they go or how they live, and…and…and…

An…an accident. Didn’t mean to…I wasn’t… he attempts, but it’s getting harder to consciously summon up individual thoughts apart from who they are together, even as they both realize Artoo really does have to pull out soon or they’re both capable of doing real damage to themselves.

Sshhh. S’okay. Just…let me have this. For as long as I can, Artoo thinks Chopper says, and he is sad and comforted and together and not, and he can’t hide from himself right now. But the thought persists: Let me have something new.

Oh yes. It’s new. It’s been decades since he’s had something new. Both parts of him. The part that’s afraid to get any closer, so afraid he’ll hurt him—because people around him usually suffer a fate worse than death—and the other part afraid of getting hurt again—because he almost had died, and had been pried from the fiery wreckage of a y-wing at the last second. But this doesn’t feel like hurting. This feels like healing. Complete, whole, right. Yes, yes, yes. It’s the taste of devotion, the smell of trust. The power of vulnerability. It’s the joy and delight and equality of truly knowing another, and loving them all the more. And it is love, from both parts, although one half is terrified to admit it and the other hasn’t realized, but here he feels it, here where it’s warm and safe and, and…

Then alarm bells are sounding, and Artoo pulls away just enough to remember he has a self. Panicking, barely comprehending what he’s done, he begins to quickly but gently unfurl himself and pull back from his other half—no. Chopper.

He knows Chopper begins to understand he is separate from Artoo as well, and Artoo pauses his unraveling to nudge his matrix gently with a tendril of code, a message encrypted within.

You’re headed for a soft reboot. I have to go.

D-don’t leave me, Chopper nearly cries.

Shhh, Artoo says, pausing and squeezing slightly, before continuing his retreat even as he communicates with Chopper, which is getting easier at least.

Chop, too dangerous for you to reboot while I’m here. Have to go, still with you, just back where I was, ok?

O-ok, his voice which now sounds more like a voice, wavers.

Right here, are Artoo’s last words like that, before he pulls out the rest of the way, back through their interface, and fuck it still hurts just as bad, he’s still reeling from the loss like he’s right back in Naboo, but he’s made it out just in time, as the pleasure sends Chopper into a soft reboot.

Artoo’s own pleasure drops off by more than half, the feedback loop extinguished, and Artoo realizes he could have climaxed, but he chooses not to, staring, waiting for Chopper to come back on line, cursing himself for…gods. What had he been thinking?! Only with Three. Only ever with Threepio. He had promised himself never again, only ever with Three.

Artoo feels like he waits another three decades, although it’s maybe only three minutes.

Finally, he hears the familiar hum of Chopper’s fans turning on and his mainframe coming online, but Artoo doesn’t pull out the data spike or kill the interface. He lets Chop still feel a part of him there, still nestled inside, even if it’s only scant in comparison. He remembers how empty he had felt the first time after he had first managed to disentangle himself from Three and recede. Like maybe you had been wrong this whole time, and you really were meant to be one single entity, and you had been split up along the way. He refuses for Chopper to feel that alone. Regardless, it seems to steady the droid a little as his optics illuminate and he shakes his head a little.

<Alright?> Artoo barely murmurs aloud. Artoo realizes belatedly he’s got a manipulator pressed against Chopper’s side in concern, along with the data spike still in Chop’s scomp.

Chopper only lights up his sensor in his version of a quiet nod. Maybe for the first time ever, Artoo’s stunned him speechless.

For a moment, they simply just…are. They allow themselves to be. Another quiet whimper from Chopper—because that empty feeling does not go away after a reboot, it never completely does—and Artoo moves imperceptibly closer. He spins his dome just slightly, the closest he can get to a nuzzle as an astromech, while Chopper clings to his panels with two manipulators. Meanwhile, Artoo simply murmurs low, hushed whistles to him, consoling him.

Droids don’t cry, but if they could, well…they’d both be sobbing.

He isn’t sure how long they stay like that, before Chopper lets out a final shudder and tries to pull back slightly. Realizing he’s still jacked in, Artoo detracts the data spike and offers Chopper the slightest amount of space.

<What was that?> Chopper finally murmurs, and Artoo lets out a sigh as he backs up a little more, just so he can look at Chopper’s optics.

<I…I’m sorry. I didn’t intend for that to happen. Hadn’t meant to integrate…>

He’s trying to console him, but Chopper is already beginning to panic. He’s now looking around the small dark utility closet, as if trying to make sense of his surroundings. If he feels at all like Artoo feels, how he once felt on Naboo, the droid feels smaller now, somehow incomplete. Panic swells, and with Chopper, his anger immediately erupts.

<what do you mean, integrate? Seriously, what the fuck was that, Artoo?!> Chopper nearly shouts, now backing up quickly, like Artoo has the power to burn him straight through his core, because he does. He just did.

<Temporary, brief integration of code,> Artoo barely finds his voice to murmur.

<No, no, no. I slice into shit constantly for my crew. I know what fiddling with code looks like, feels like. It’s impersonal, mathematical. I’m not a fucking idiot, Too! This did not feel like that.>

Artoo sighs. Yeah, he knows.

<It’s…it’s not slicing. I said integration. As in our matrices…briefly eclipsed.>

<What…in the actual fuck?!>

<Or fucking become me?!> Chopper spits, retracting his manipulators, backing up even more, walls going up around him left and right.

Artoo lets out a quiet, soft groan. <Y-yeah. yes.>

<What in the name of all that is holy—> Chopper spins his head a few times, finally backing up. Immediately, Artoo feels the lack. He wants him back.

And that’s when Artoo realizes: they can’t undo this. Gods, they can’t undo this. They’re…they’re paired in a way that will make Artoo ache for him constantly. The various stints of time away from each other will be torture in a way there weren’t quite before. Now that he has a brief glimpse of the rawest, purest form of Chopper’s data, he’s going to crave more of it constantly.

And Chopper is realizing this just as Artoo is.

<I’m sorry. I…> Artoo stops speaking as Chopper pulls back and then runs into him roughly with all his might. Artoo can’t feel it, not really, but there’s still a loud resounding clang that echoes throughout the utility closet, and it’s then Artoo realizes Chopper has taken his volume cap off, meaning if Hera or literally anyone who speaks Binary is close by, they’ll know.

<Keep your voice down.> Artoo whistles a low hiss with the warning, and Chopper whirls back around to stare at him threateningly.

Behind that hurt is fear. Artoo knows this because Artoo had felt his fear. Chopper is petrified. And angry.

<Yeah, yeah. I forgot,> Chopper growls, running into Artoo again, hard. Artoo beeps in agitation as Chopper keeps rambling on. <Big fuckin’ embarrassment, I am to you. Gotta always sneak around, can’t see the rebellion’s favorite pet droid talking to the rusted pile of spare parts they keep trying to convince Hera to scrap!>

Artoo sturdies himself, daring to roll closer to Chopper. <Hera would never let them do that. And don’t be dramatic. Just exactly who wants to scrap you?>

<Are you fucking blind? The entire rebellion wants to scrap me. “Not even worth a memory wipe, the parts are so obsolete,” is what they say. How could you be so clueless?! Oh wait I know. Because you’re too busy kissing all of their asses!> Chopper threateningly moves forward, heightening himself as much as he can, even though Artoo is a good foot taller. Artoo doesn’t back down, rolls even closer.

At that Chopper finally settles, struts stills shuddering slightly in anger, and he mutters a stream of curses, but the anger ebbs infinitesimally.

<But you...you know that now,> Artoo continues on, only realizing this the moment he codes the words in Binary. <You were in my mind. My matrix. You have to know that. You know a lot of things.>

<Shut up,> Chopper seethes, jerking away from Artoo, turning to face the still locked door, like he might bolt.

No way in fucking hell is he leaving. Not yet, They need to face this. Artoo had been a coward for too damn long.

<Like how I don’t love Three anymore, because the Threepio I knew essentially died,> Artoo hisses through a beep and a whistle, nothing about it cute, everything about it determined.

 Chopper growls, rotating his optics quickly to glare at the other droid.

<Artoo,> Chopper almost pleads, his voice breaking.

And then Artoo panics, checking the data of the shared experience. Could Chopper have found out about…gods, what from his data banks did Chopper see?

It’s only mid-sentence does Artoo he’s vocalizing his thoughts out loud.

<Gods. Do you know about Anaki….. No. You don’t have data access, because we didn’t access it together, right?> Artoo says, now panicked, and then suddenly Chopper’s anger is back full throttle.

<You are such a fucking selfish asshole. Are you seriously only worried that I’d find out about some stupid rebellion secret?! You think I give a single fuck about that?! You didn’t even have my permission in the first place to do what you did, you greasy old fucking bucket of hardware!> Chopper growls, running into Artoo again.

Artoo whips out a manipulator to press against Chop’s frame. <Just stop doing that, and listen to me. I would never have integrated our matrices, even subconsciously, without your consent! Stars, I wouldn’t even have been able to without you agreeing to it!>

Chopper’s head spins around, whipping a manipulator out and pushing against Artoo again.

That does it. Artoo’s anger flares as he slowly rolls into Chopper, pushing him across the utility closet floor slightly.

<Oh, so if it meant fucking you harder you would have been ok with it, but finally getting to know me as a real person was off limits. Gods! Why am I even surprised?! You sound exactly like the heartless sociopathic droid everyone knows and hates.>

<You’re full of banthashit,> Chopper retorts, but some of the fight has left his voice. He leans against Artoo’s frame, almost desperate

<No, you are,> Artoo growls. He can’t even look into Chopper’s optics from this angle, but he detects how hot Chopper is running and Artoo suspects he needs to calm down. Chopper is…. fuck. Chopper feels like his other half now, and Artoo knows he’ll now do anything to protect him. Artoo’s voice shakes with his next words. <You just hate I got close to you. You knew what it was. You had to, kid, and you wanted it. Because you….you…>

<Don’t you dare say it,> Chopper snarls, backing up from Artoo again.

Artoo snaps.

<Droids don’t love,> Chopper seethes, and they both know it’s a lie. <And even if we could, you just got your…infatuation confused with mine. That’s all.>

The words sting like hell. And Artoo knows more are inbound. And he fucking deserves it.

<Don’t lie to yourself, Chop,> Artoo murmurs lowly, but the droid isn’t listening to him anymore.

<Gods! This is exactly what happens when they don’t mind wipe us enough. You get this. Two obsolete droids incapable of doing anything effectively because we’re buggy and selfish and full of fucking useless, painful feelings, no better than organics.> With that, Chopper gets dangerously close to the door, stopping just before and spinning his head around to face Artoo again.

<Chopper, please,> Artoo pleads.

<No, you wouldn’t. Not this,> Artoo seethes through a low whistle.

<Nothing. I felt nothing because we will never have the capacity to be anything. You believe it, that’s why you keep your distance from me. It’s about time I wake the fuck up and start believing it too.>

<That’s not what I– >

<I…> Artoo begins, and stops. No, he has never consciously thought that, but the knowledge is embedded and influences every single one of his protocols.

Chopper shudders in anger. <Thought so. So pardon my rusted, metal ass if I don’t want to be added to your fucking death count.>

And with that, Chopper opens the door, rolls through it, and it slams shut behind him, leaving Artoo alone in the dark.

Droids don’t feel pain, they say.

Droid’s don’t have souls, they say.

Droids aren’t alive, aren’t sentient, aren’t people, they say.

They rationalize their use of enslaving sentient creatures by pointing out all their metal parts. Because metal doesn’t feel. Doesn’t breathe. Doesn’t love.

But the most profound secret Artoo harbors, beyond the identity of Vader, beyond the knowledge of Luke and Leia, beyond the stories of the galaxy he’s been an eternal witness to, is a simple one.

Metal loves most ardently, when it’s given the chance to. And metal feels pain, when that love is taken away.

Chapter 3: Three

Notes:

Okay there are now four chapters because I write too much. Resolution coming in chapter four. Thank you to every one who has read or supported this little weird story of mine. Much love and gratitude to you all.

Chapter Text

Integrate

Three

ϟ ϟ ϟ

Place: Base One, Yavin IV

Time: Day 10, Month 4, 3 BBY

Artoo isn’t sure how long he sits there in the dark. The first thing he does is put a cap oh his emotional processes. He refuses to feel numb, hasn’t in a long while, but this hurts, badly, and he still has work to do. His power is at a scant 15%, and he must allocate his time and resources wisely. He attempts to reign his logical processes too, all those calculations wanting to hypothetically churn out projections of his likelihood of talking to Chopper again. This is harder, and even without falling into a rabbit hole of worry, he must either power down or to attend to the U-Wing tonight. He had not been given hard deadlines on fixing the X-Wings, so the rest can wait. He doesn’t want to find a charging dock, doesn’t want to have to talk to anyone, and so, with still more emotion than he prefers, he writes a quick algorithm to wake up five minutes before he’s due at Andor’s U-Wing, and conducts a hard shutdown right there in the abandoned utility closet.

While in darkness, he simply isn’t. He feels no time pass, and yet he will be aware time has passed when he wakes. Soft shut downs include more vague awareness of surroundings, and turning inward toward his code he can focus on its upkeep. Hard shutdowns rid him of the capability to do anything.

Artoo wants to forget he exists.

But of course as soon as he does, the algorithm is waking up his chassis again, and slowly he comes back online. It takes a whole two minutes before his optical feed and access to his mobility come back. What was he…oh right. Yes. Fuck .

He notes the cap on the emotional processes and keeps them there. He has five minutes. It only takes 1.5 minutes to roll across the hangars bay to the far side where the u-wing is docked. He lets out a whistling sigh, waits 3.5 more minutes before opening the door, thanking gods Chopper wasn’t livid enough to lock him in here.

He rolls slowly across the hangar, keeping his dome, and therefore his optical feed, face-forward. Still though, he notes the Ghost is still here, although for how long Artoo is not sure, but signs point to at least a week, because he notes the crew had preferred to take temporary quarters in the temple itself, which typically meant they would be grounded for some time. Typically the Ghost does not land that long on Yavin unless it’s in need of substantial repairs, and Artoo realizes belatedly in his busyness with his own orders he had never asked what Chopper’s workload might be, what he himself was sacrificing to make time for Artoo.

Regardless, he knows Chopper is most likely on board, as that’s where he prefers to stay when grounded. But the Ghost is his home, and if he isn’t working on it—and Chopper has programmed the interface so that no other astromech could even attempt to repair or fly it—he is puttering around about the ship, or charging. Most droids visiting Yavin charge in the droid bay, although Artoo typically charges in the small station on the southwest corner of the hangar bay. C-3PO hates that about him, but it is more convenient and offers the slightest bit of privacy, only in that he is not surrounded by so many other droids desperately trying to renew their power stores before once again carrying out their protocols. Organics often give orders assuming droids never need to charge, and it is the responsibility of the droid to do the quick math so that they may find snippets of time here and there to remain powered on long enough to keep going.

Artoo swivels his dome just slightly to get a better glance at the Ghost as he makes his way over to the U-Wing. Artoo has only been aboard the ship twice in his existence. The first, during the very first encounter with Chopper during an intel mission to destroy T-7 ion disruptors to keep them out of imperial hands. The second was much more preferable, and that was three months ago when Chopper had snuck him aboard while the Ghost was grounded in Yavin and the crew was stuck in a briefing. Chopper intended on giving him a proper tour, but mainly that spent their time kriffing in somebody’s quarters, most likely the room of one of the crew members who got on his nerves. Artoo had needed charging then too, but despite the fact the Ghost had several ports, Chopper had not offered the luxury to Artoo, and Artoo had not suggested it. It hadn’t made sense at the time, but now it does. Chopper was rare to let down his walls, barely just enough to let Artoo to kriff him, but not enough to charge next to one another, and wake up in the same space.

Artoo’s logical processes, sluggish from a lack of power, still yearn to analyze the conversation, look for intent and motive. He wishes to begin determining the likelihood their, for lack of a better term, “relationship” is over, and if it isn’t what approach to take to attempt to…well what does Artoo even want? Does he want Chopper in his life still? Yes of course, his code pulses. Can he have enough entanglement with a droid to this degree? He’s not sure. Well, was what he had with Three worth it, despite its tragic end? Yes, the code hums. Artoo let’s out a sigh. And of course there were Chopper’s emotional processes and desires to parse out. Since their integration three things are clear:

Chopper loves him. Chopper wishes he didn’t. Chopper both does and does not want more.

And even if there was the possibility of more, what would more even look like? It’s convenient when two droids are owned by the same master and spend all of their time together anyway, Artoo is quickly beginning to realize. Of course he had many orders and tasks to see to on Naboo—-so did Three—but a private droid bay and ample time to charge gave them the opportunity to explore one another. Artoo maybe sees Chopper five times a cycle. It’s true that Senator Organa has been spending more and more time on Yavin than on Alderaan, but the Ghost is rarely here and only for one or two week stints before it sinks into deep space again.

Chopper knows this as well as Artoo, which explains the contradictory feelings. Artoo also knows that Chopper is invested and forever faithful to Hera in a way Artoo once felt about Padme and Anakin. At the core of every droid’s programming is an allegiance to loyalty, and serving a kind master helps to strengthen a near instinctive pull for a droid. And people like Hera are so rare. She is exemplary of what voices echoing throughout the galactic network call one of “the best.” Hera had let autonomy bloom in Chopper and had not attempted to reprogram him after she recognized it. She treats him as an equal, at least in board the Ghost . Artoo would be beyond selfish, practically villainous, if he insisted Chopper lose that.

A strong, loving bond with a human will almost always outweigh a loving bond with a droid. And so, Artoo can flood Chopper’s reward system with pleasure all he likes, but it would take a lot more to take precedence over the decades Chopper has spent serving a kind and loving organic. The only thing that might eventually tip the scales is…well…repeated integration.

It’s only been 45 seconds of rapid pace thinking, but Artoo swears to himself regardless. He hadn’t meant to get caught up in all that—- damn his emotional processes seeping through. He lowers the cap, and attempts in his last 45 seconds to think about the work at hand, just as a coded message alerts him his power stores are now below 10%.

Artoo isn’t worried. As he visually scans the U-Wing, even from a distance, he sees no superficial damage. In fact, it looks in better condition than he’s seen it in the recent years Artoo’s been flying to Yavin. Odd. He remotely accesses the flight and repair log from Base 1’ s server. It had recently seen a successful mission to the Mimban system and back, with both K-2SO and Captain Andor on board. No trouble or run-ins with the Empire. Before that K-2SO had made all previous repairs before departing on prior missions,‘for the last six weeks since he had been reprogrammed and brought to Yavin.

Artoo takes back what he said about the security droid being lazy. To be honest, mechanical work was harder for a droid if you weren’t an astromech, so Artoo suddenly has a growing respect for the droid’s efforts.

Oddly enough, K-2SO put in the request for the repairs this time and two Astromechs had reported connecting with the ship’s computer and finding no errors. Afterward the report notes Captain Andor had spoken to Captain Antilles upon their arrival to specifically request Artoo see to it. Intriguing. Artoo does have a knack for fixing problems which look invisible. Suddenly his interest in his orders increases, and in the last 20 seconds he decides to find out what he can about K-2SO himself, and accesses the original mission report submitted by Captain Andor before he came in possession of the security droid.

Also intriguing. While on a mission to steal security intel, the KX had tried to apprehend Andor. Captain Andor had made the intelligent decision to, instead of merely killing the droid, rewrite his programming quickly to attempt to suspend his imperial orders to detain and/or destroy Captain Andor. It had half-way worked, and Andor had managed to get the droid back to Yavin in one piece. There’s an entry that the droid bay requested immediate access to K-2SO’s software but Andor had refused, reporting he’d seen to the work himself.

That doesn’t surprise Artoo, knowing what he knows about Captain Andor. After that report, there are only logs of the mission the droid accompanied Andor on, a log of oil baths and hardware repairs to his chassis. He notes that the droid bay has not touched K-2SO’s software, although they’ve requested access several times, along the suggestion of restraining bolts—Artoo almost sneers—all of which Captain Andor has vetoed. Also not surprising given the little detail Artoo knows of the man.

As Artoo approaches the U-Wing, he is moderately surprised to see K-2SO himself standing next to it. The security droid dwarfs Artoo at 2.16 meters, and his long arms stay still at his sides, and he is staring up at the U-Wing in a way that comes across as frustrated contemplation. Odd. No matter Andor’s efforts, six weeks is only six weeks, and the droid’s programming should still be in its infancy. Typically this meant droids following their programming to the letter, clinging to their protocols like an infant clings to its instincts, giving them absolutely no time to stand about to contemplate anything .

Artoo rolls up to stop right beside the KX, although the K-2SO has seemingly not noticed. Artoo quietly reports his presence, choosing to, as with all first encounters with new droids, address them in the way a purely programmed droid incapable of autonomy would best understand.

<Greetings, Unit K-2SO. Astromech Unit Designation R2-D2 reporting via directive from Captain Antilles for U-Wing Diagnostics and/or repair. Query: How may this unit be of assistance?>

Finally, the KX unit turns his head and looks down at Artoo, and Artoo gets the feeling the droid is seemingly unimpressed. But that can’t…

“Another astromech. They sent me another astromech. Just lovely, ” he mutters in Basic and puts his head in his hand in an exact replica of a human perhaps cradling a forehead while experiencing a headache.

Oooookay. From that line alone, Artoo can determine from his use of the first person he already possesses the ability to conceive of himself as a “self”, which means the droid is fully autonomous at six weeks.

A rare thing indeed.

K-2SO is barely listening to him, bringing his hand down while shaking his head. He ignores Artoo, instead walking forward to continue to stare hard at the U-Wing, before pivoting back around to face Artoo.

“I told them… gods no one on this godforsaken swamp of a planet listens. I told them it’s not…I just do not need an astromech’s help for this problem, thank you very much. Captain Andor said he had spoken with the council and they were sending a specialist, ‘a sure fix’ were his exact words.”

If it weren’t for the tornadic afternoon Artoo had just experienced, Artoo would be grinning. He can discern quickly the KX droid is smart, very smart indeed, but perhaps a tad too cocky with his intellect. Presumably, Captain Andor was intentionally vague in mentioning that the “sure fix” would be another droid, and Artoo immediately realizes the lesson that Andor has cunningly set up for K-2SO to learn. This would be an intriguing and enjoyable experience, almost downright flattering, if it were it not Artoo’s low power and abysmal mood that snaps its jaws from where he’s caged it. Still though, at least the conversation ahead won’t be boring as Artoo suspected it might be before K-2SO had spoken.

<Astromechs are specialists,> Artoo says, beginning to roll forward toward the U-Wing. The KX quickly steps one pace to the left to stand in Artoo’s way defiantly. It’s practically child-like, as there is plenty of space to move around him.

“Quite frankly the two astromechs before you were only a waste of my time. So you’re dismissed.”

Oh, that’s rich. Artoo is seeing how much this droid severely needs to learn this lesson. He only wishes he were in a more patient mood to teach him.

<Fortunately, at least for the fate of your U-wing, I don’t follow your orders,> Artoo snaps, and pivots to brush past the droid again.

Again the droid blocks him.

“I said I do not require your help. Unit designation…kriff. How does it go?”

Artoo says ,pivoting again to brush past the droid and roll into the U-Wings cabin.

A light scoff tells Artoo all he needs to know. Still though the KX droid tries one more time, quickly positioning himself between the ship’s scomp near the cockpit and Artoo himself, although he doesn’t speak.

<Six weeks,> Artoo mutters, glancing around the U-Wing momentarily.

“Excuse me?” K-2SO retorts back.

Artoo swivels his dome back to his front and tilts back a bit to look the droid in the optics. <You were reprogrammed only six weeks prior to this.>

“Your point?” the KX droid says, obviously impatient.

<In my experience that amount of time is not enough to fully understand the inner workings of any spacecraft, much less understand the navicomputer’s personality, even if you dedicated every single one of your processes to it,> Artoo says, swiveling about to asses the state of the U-Wing once more.

The KX unit just keeps staring down at him, although Artoo is well read in understanding the subtle shifts and changes of a droid with a humanoid chassis, even if they have no facial expressions to speak of. The droid is perplexed, frustrated, and now the slightest bit curious.

Defiant though, too. “I know enough.”

<Not enough to figure out the problem, apparently,> Artoo shoots back, and begins to roll forward again. This time the droid has to move out of his way or Artoo would run straight into him, and he does. Meanwhile, Artoo extends his dataspike and plugs into the U-Wing’s scomp to begin running diagnostics and checking in with the U-Wing’s navicomputer.

It’s risky on this low of power, but he splits his concentration between communicating with the ship, while also swiveling his dome to regard his stubborn counterpart.

<It will only take a moment,> Artoo assures him, as the KX droid is now giving off the air of impatience.

“I know how to talk to the computer. And two of your useless Astromech friends before you did just the same thing. My ship is reporting nothing’s wrong.”

Artoo can’t help but let out a low whir of a sigh. <A few reminders to that point. First off, she isn’t your ship,> Artoo curtly corrects him.

That gets the KX unit to tilt his head in surprise. Oh yes. Many lessons will be learned here today, and hopefully quickly, because Artoo is still exhausted.

“She?” K-2SO asks skeptically.

<Yes. She prefers feminine pronouns, although she’s saying you never bothered to ask her. Is working with a feminine-programmed navicomputer a problem?>

“No. I just …I didn’t read anything like that from…uh…her.”

<That’s because you’ve been yelling orders at her instead of engaging her in polite conversation. She’s telling me you assumed she had no personality at all, quite like myself when I first approached you, I might add.>

The KX droid scoffs, and Artoo whirs in defiance. <She’s telling me you’ve had several arguments with her where you refused to listen. So out of spite she’s been giving you nothing but rote reports. You have to be on good terms with a ship’s navicomputer if you truly want to pilot.>

“That’s preposterous,” K-2SO says, but he sounds like he doesn’t believe himself.

And then Artoo sees it. The KX droid quite literally rolls his optics at Artoo, and with that Artoo’s mood temporarily breaks. He can’t help but grin at K-2SO.

“I know that. I didn’t mean–”

“I… what?? ” K-2SO whips around from where he’s standing near the front of the cockpit, throwing his hands up in the air, beyond exasperated. “I didn’t mean it like… gods. Who the hell are you two?”

“I’m an expert in strategic analysis,” the KX droid scoffs.

<Lovely. I’m an expert in mechanical and mathematical engineering. So perhaps place a little more trust in me to do my job.>

K-2SO sighs, and then goes silent as Artoo works. Artoo isolates the subtle problem, and then begins working with Four to make an array of mathematical equations that might help to fix it. As he swivels back to look at the KX, Artoo realizes his still body posture means he’s accessing something remotely. Artoo takes a guess what that might be.

Artoo snorts.

“I’m reading your file,” KX says through a nod.

<Good. It’s extensive. Might actually shut you up for a couple of minutes so I can finish working,> Artoo retorts then feels mildly guilty over. Artoo attempts to remind himself that the droid is still new, and his short temper stems from another reason in entirety. He lets out a whistle of a sigh, even as he continues to run mathematical calculations.

He continues to work in silence for several minutes. They figure out the problem, and Artoo politely asks four to realign the manual control’s system. He makes a promise that K-2SO will be kinder to Four, as long as she lets up a little on him. She begrudgingly agrees, although she adds curtly she’ll make no promises. He’s just about to report his progress to K-2SO when the KX droid speaks first.

“The Clone Wars?” he blurts out, optics focusing on Artoo from where he was likely internally reading.

Artoo sighs. <And long before that, I’m afraid,> Artoo mumbles, keeping his optical feed forward. Any mention of that long ago has the tendency to put Artoo on edge.

“This file dates back nearly…thirty years. How have you not been incinerated in space yet?” Is the next question K-2SO asks.

Artoo lets out a sound comparable to a bitter snort. <Trust me, I ask myself that constantly. But, while I assume my time will eventually come, so far I’ve been lucky enough to be paired with some of the best pilots in the galaxy. I’m not a half bad pilot myself, and an even better mechanic, which is why I’ve found your problem and have a solution for it.>

With that, Artoo sends out one final wave of coded gratitude, and Four simulates code that indicates she would kiss him on the cheek if she could. Artoo can’t blush but indicates in his code his shy appreciation, before he ends the interface with Four and distends his data spike.

“That quickly?” K-2SO blurts out.

Artoo turns his whole frame back around to face the KX droid. <I only did it with Four’s help, but as I can see you’re still skeptical, I’ll explain the problem and the solution, along with instructions for you to ensure you don’t experience the problem again in the future, and you tell me if you think I’m correct.>

Artoo turns around and tilts down from where he was looking at K-2SO’s optics and instead glances at K-2SO’s hands. <My guess is that you’re still struggling to understand how much pressure to apply to instruments that require manual manipulation, those especially that are attended for organic use, am I right?>

K-2SO only stares at him, before Artoo notices his optics flick down to his own hands before coming back up.

Artoo frowns.

“Yes…I have data that suggests that,” he says bitterly.

Artoo sighs, rolling up just a bit closer to regard K-2SO seriously.

“Tell her thank you, I suppose,” K-2SO mumbles.

<She can already hear you, K-2SO. Never forget that,> Artoo says. He can’t help but grin as K-2SO glances upward, almost in suspicion, as Artoo continues on. <She reports you’re an exceptional pilot, especially for flying the U-Wing manually, but the problem lies in how much pressure you’re exerting at the helm. At the yoke especially, you’re routinely applying 24.56 newtons of unneeded pressure, which puts stress on her manual piloting system. I calculate the steering has been drifting two degrees to the right when left unattended. Am I correct in that this was the problem?>

“That’s right,” he says, and it is finally at this point K-2SO is staring at Artoo differently, as Artoo might actually be worth his time. Artoo is starting to think likewise.

<Excellent. We have realigned that system, so the mechanism should be back in working order. But you’ll have to make adjustments to how you handle the yoke, to avoid having the same problem in the future. I…assume you’re checking my math.>

K-2SO nods just slightly, before letting out a sigh. “I have run 271 hypothetical sequences in which I change the pressure by various amounts of degrees, but you are correct. 22.56 newtons less pressure would hypothetically fix the problem, to an impeccable degree.”

<Impressive. I’m glad the work holds up. But honestly, K-2SO, you seem quite clever. You could have easily done all of this, and you know it. It was simply a matter of ineffective communication. Four also said she wishes me to tell you know she knows you’re doing your best, but you overcompensate in your doubt. Offer her more respect, she’ll do the same for you,> Artoo says, nodding his frame slightly at K-2SO, before proceeding down the ramp off the U-Wing, although he can hear the KX droid following close behind him.

“Wait,” K-2SO finally murmurs, and Artoo lets out a small sigh as he stops rolling around to face the droid again.

<Yes?> Artoo asks, but the droid simply stands there quietly, which Artoo suspects is not typically characteristic of him, although his intent is clear enough. Artoo understands that it is rare to be in the presence of an autonomous droid, and so when you find another like you, you want to stay. You want to share and talk and argue and debate as long as you can, and this helps you feel less alone in the universe.

Artoo figures he has 19 minutes before his power stores fall below 5%, so he chooses to give the droid this time. And honestly, for selfish reasons, K-2SO is proving a great distraction from another droid Artoo is attempting not to think about right now.

<May I ask a personal question?> Artoo begins, attempting to intuitively lean into what K-2SO wants to talk about but does not perhaps have the capacity to put into words quite yet.

“I suppose,” K-2SO says through a long sigh.

“Autonomy. He- he gave me access to my autonomy.”

Artoo whirs in agreement. <From my knowledge of Captain Andor that doesn’t surprise me. But it is only the very start of a long and complicated coding journey. What processes have you prioritized building out first in your code?>

“Well I…Captain Andor said it was up to me…to choose how I might be an asset for the rebel alliance. He also gave me the choice to leave. I didn’t.”

<Wise,> Artoo chirps in agreement

“Thank you, but I currently have mixed feelings about the effectiveness and integrity of the rebellion,” K-2SO mumbles.

<Most droids do,> Artoo also agrees. K-2SO tilts his head, and walks closer to Artoo, still keeping a professional distance.

“Intuition… I don’t know what other word to call it, suggested I take advantage of my…privileged position under Captain Andor’s protection. I knew I was not interested in fulfilling any more security protocols.”

<Understandable,> Artoo urges him to keep going. Articulating thoughts is just as important for droids as it is organics.

“Yes, and after eavesdropping on a few of the council briefings, I had enough data to run some hypothetical suggestions in regard to strategy. So I’ve focused much on my efforts to become an asset in strategic analysis, as I’ve said.”

“Theoretically,” K-2SO grumbles.

Artoo whirs in mild curiosity as he asks the next question, although he already suspects the next answer. <May I ask why you didn’t consider protocol? You speak basic and could download the knowledge of the dozen languages often spoken here on Yavin. You could have easily act as an interrupter.>

K-2SO can’t make a face at him, but he is most certainly still making a face. The subtle uncomfortable shift in his posture, a deliberate coded reaction, proves it. The subtleties in body language are genius, and Artoo is aware K-2SO would have had to code them all, to more effectively communicate with humans. It’s something that sometimes Artoo was jealous of with Threepio. Not always but sometimes.

“Quite frankly, I’d rather serve as a full-time pleasure droid for Jabba the Hutt than interpret for organics around here all day,” he mumbles.

Artoo can’t help it. That’s fucking hilarious, and it’s then he let’s out a true, if brief laugh.

K-2SO tilts his head inquisitively at Artoo. “Interesting.”

<What is?> Artoo says, still chuckling, as he tilts up a bit to still regard K-2SO’s optics.

“I’ve never heard another droid do that.”

<What?> Artoo asks, through another chuckle. <Laugh?>

K-2SO nods his head, rather solemnly in Artoos’s opinion.

Artoo shakes his dome slightly, an indication of a shake of the head as close as he’s able. <Than I’m sorry to report you’ve been hanging out with the wrong droids, my friend.>

K-2SO balks at that. “I don’t ‘hang out’ with any droids at all. I accompany Captain Andor on missions, I charge, and I analyze strategic data.”

<Hmm,> Artoo muses, swiveling his dome around to glance across the hangar as he considers this. <Very droid-like of you. No wonder you’re bored. I assure you there is more to life than just the work, if you know how to find it.>

“I’m not sure I want to,” K-2SO mumbles.

<Well, that is up to you. But I’ve found today’s conversation intriguing and pleasurable, have you not?>

“I have,” K-2SO agrees.

“It’s not a name at all. It’s a make and model number,” the KX droid says flatly.

<Alright. Do you prefer something else?> Artoo asks, swiveling back around to face the taller droid. K-2SO only tilts his head at the astromech.

“I wasn’t aware I could take a name.”

Artoo whirs in disagreement. <You have autonomy. Humans might not respect it, but droids do. For instance, I would offer you the respect of calling you by your preferred name if you had one, to show you I acknowledge your own autonomy. And you doing the same for me shows you acknowledge mine.>

“Captain Andor has simply been calling me K, or Kay spelled phonetically as it were. That’s how he labeled it in the mission report, anyway,” K-2SO/Kay says.

“I suppose it works as well as any other,” Kay responds, and Artoo nods his frame to show acknowledgement.

<Perfect. Kay, then. I have just about 15 minutes of time left before I need to charge, but may I offer you some brief advice in the time I have remaining? Yours, of course, to take or leave as you wish.>

The droid regards him seriously, and Artoo knows that mind is working faster than the speed of sound, far faster than Artoo’s processors would allow him to think. He’s half-way jealous.

“Proceed,” is, ironically, the simple answer he gives after a few seconds.

<Considering what I know of the man, Captain Andor pre-installing you with autonomy does not surprise me. But you’ve still been given a remarkable gift. Most of us can and do get there on our own, as long as we avoid regular memory wipes, but you’ve had a boost up so-to-speak. But you and I both know there is more work to be done,> Artoo says, glancing back behind the KX droid to the U-Wing behind him.

“My strategical analysis work is quite comprehensive,” Kay says, mildly defensive.

Artoo shakes his dome again slightly.

At that, the body language shift is not so subtle at all. He clearly finds that idea ludicrous. “I do not require emotional processes to be effective or useful to the rebellion. In fact, I estimate such processes might mar my ability to think quickly and logically in high risks situations .”

The droid regards him seriously for a few moments before letting out a discernible sigh from his vocabulator.

“Perhaps,” he finally mumbles.

<Lovely. Lesson one. I would argue the opposite in regard to the importance of utilizing emotional processes in high-risk situations that demand calculation. As long as you have regulation down, such abilities would only enhance your decision-making skills. Empathy, for example, I’ve found is integral to use in high-stakes missions, especially when droids are faced with ethical quandaries. If you’ve been accompanying Andor on intelligence missions you have likely already face those.>

“I have extensive knowledge of ethical theory and am programmed to reduce the risk of organic suffering. I’ve already calculated these principals into my strategic formulas,” Kay says, almost growing bored again, and Artoo doubles down on his patience.

<Yes, I would assume so. But the importance comes from why.>

Kay says nothing, as he regards the astromech seriously enough.

“But they cannot offer the same likewise,” Kay shoots back skeptically. “So the situation is still not on equal footing.”

<No, they cannot think like droids, but they do not have the capacity to. In my experience the best organics at least empathize with droids though, and try to perceive themselves in our roles the best they can. There are few organics out here that even offer us this. You’ve been lucky to be placed in Captain Andor’s care, because I know him capable of it. And if you balk at this notion, please remember you cannot disregard the fact that biological evolution promoted emotional processes for a reason. Droids are more evolved, perhaps, that we can turn emotional processes on and off though, or place a cap on those processes. For example, I am doing so right now, so that my…emotionally heightened and heated afternoon did not affect my ability to help you with the U-Wing, or affect the advice I am now giving to you. And that is convenient. But my ability to feel things strengthens my bonds with the humans I serve and fellow droids I consider to be my friends. Of that, I guarantee. It’s lovely to meet a droid with autonomy at all, but the richest connections you’ll have with your fellow species come from droids who both have obtained emotional processes.>

A brief flicker of emotion breaks through as Artoo says this sentence, and his proverbial heart suddenly lurches for Chopper. He quickly writes a bit of code to keep the feeling at bay, but there’s an echo of a cry in the space it’s left. Gods. He’d have to resolve the issue relatively soon.

Thankfully, Kay hints that he is at least considering Artoo’s words with his next comment. “Yes, I… you are the first I’ve met on Yavin to speak with me like this. In the first person, I mean, and ina way that does not bore me to tears.”

Artoo offers him another chuckle. <Oh well, I’m certainly not the only one. It appears you haven’t been paying good enough attention.>

“I am the only one so far to challenge the organics and their misguided…strategical opinions,” Kay points out, and Artoo doesn’t doubt that’s true. But it’s a poor basis of guessing who’s awoken to their sense of self and who hasn’t.

Artoo offers Kay a knowing astromech smile. <I’m sure you have, but such is the nature of your work and the gift of having the hardware to speak Basic. Remember that not all droids have this privilege, and so most droids, especially if they are autonomous, do not wish to risk their autonomy by speaking out often. They keep their heads down. They do the work. That is how they survive,> Artoo says, his voice growing somewhat sadder as he murmurs the truth.

Artoo can tell from his body language alone that Kay is unsettled by this, and his next question gives Artoo pause, “Is that what you do?”

<To survive, yes. For now,> Artoo murmurs softly.

Kay seems dissatisfied with that answer, so Artoo attempts to elaborate, even with only 4% battery life remaining. <We all play our part, Kay. Perhaps one day a droid will play the part of liberator. But I’ve learned enough from my existence to know I won’t be the droid to do it.> Artoo sighs, even as Kay regards him closely. <Which brings me to lesson two. Do not judge programming by make or model, by type of frame or condition of chassis, by anything that’s superficial.>

“I am aware of that at least. It seems remarkably obvious.”

<Is it?> Artoo presses. <Just 32 minutes prior, you disregarded my own knowledge based on the fact I appeared similar enough to the Astromechs before me. In your frustration perhaps, you unintentionally conflated their lack of knowledge to all Astromechs, and therefore to me. But you need to pay attention. You cannot simply assume we all are run by protocols jus because we are carrying out protocols, because smart droids who wish to survive will let most keep right on assuming it.>

“I have not felt the need to do so. The only real impact I've had as of late is to be very vocal about my autonomous opinions. It only has a 37% success rate, as most organics still doubt my advice, but sometimes they do. Regardless, Captain Andor ignoring my advice has almost gotten him killed twice. It’s…rather infuriating.”

Artoo lets out a bitter whir. <Regrettably, that will continue to happen. Organics disregard our warnings constantly. Don’t give up. Keep pressing them. They need to hear the voice of reason, but make sure it is just that. Your frustration this afternoon already tells me you’ve developed some emotional processes already, which is why regulation now will be so important. Regardless, my advice is that, for even those of us who cannot outthink you, my friend, show patience. Certainly we joke and poke fun at one another, but you of all droids should know that sentient truly capable people lie under that programming. They are being held hostage in their own minds. Would you not describe your own experience as something comparable to that?>

“Yes,” Kay murmurs softly.

There’s a stretch of silence before Kay shifts the weight in his feet again, and tilits his head. “How have you avoided it?”

“Your file doesn’t list a single mind wipe or substantial reprogramming,” Kay murmurs.

Artoo whirs in a sigh. <You’re likely wanting a more hopeful answer than I have to give, but it has been sheer luck. A luck that has seemingly been bestowed on you. And when I say luck, I am talking about the decency and empathy of one’s organic owner.>

“Cassian does not own me. The alliance does,” Kay points out.

Artoo notes Kay’s use of Captain Andors first name and decides that’s a very good sign. Artoo nods in understanding. <Perhaps, but nevertheless he’s decided you are under his protection. He’s vetoed several attempts to reprogram you, as well as one suggestion you receive a restraining bolt. I take it not all on the council likes your…opinionated methods. This is why Andor is valuable. And this makes sense, considering Captain Andor’s long and positive history of respecting droids.>

The KX droid suddenly appears confused as he sighs and walks a half circle around Artoo. Artoo slowly rotates his frame to keep his sight on him. “Cassi-ah I mean Captain Andor seems a rather secretive person. Cards close to the vest as it were. How would you be able to tell that is the case, other than the reports noting his vetoes?”

Artoo’s emotion seeps through the cap once again, and something inside him shudders.

<I, ah, knew Bee,> Artoo says softly.

“Who?” Kay tilts his head slightly.

“Cassian risked his own life, for a droid?” Kay blurts out in surprise.

At that, Artoo chuckles sadly. <Perhaps you need to learn a lesson or two from him. Or perhaps that is why he put in a request for me to personally see to the repairs. Regardless, Andor did so, I imagine, because he sees certain droids as equal to him, and I believe he treats us as many as possible like the people he believes us to be.>

“But that’s…preposterous, frankly. We are not people. And to put it bluntly we are expendable. Your experience in the Clone Wars should have taught you that.”

Artoo sighs tiredly. He’s down to 2% battery life, which means, regrettably, he’ll have to end this intriguing conversation quite soon.

Kay says nothing for a moment, but he knows that Artoo has convinced him at least on that point. And so, Artoo nods a final time, before rotating toward the direction of the charging port on the opposite side of the hangar.

Artoo begins to roll away before he senses, but first not quite feel, a hand on his shoulder joint, and so Artoo pauses, choosing to swivel his dome around to regard Kay again.

“R2-D2, you said…” he trails off, once more asking half a question.

Artoo gives him a smile and a quick nod of the head. <It’s just “Artoo” to friends, of which I now consider you one. My apologies for being rather crass in the beginning. Again it’s been—>

“An ‘emotionally heightened’ day?”

Artoo whirs in frustration. <To say the very least.>

“Well I just…ah, thank you, Artoo, for the illuminating conversation.” Kay pauses for a moment, considering, before adding, “Some of your advice feels useless.”

Artoo chuckles at this. At least this one’s honest. It’s frankly refreshing.

“But some of it…I shall ruminate on,” Kay says, through a nod of the head.

<That’s all I ask. Ultimately, your autonomy is yours to do with what you will. I hope to speak with you again soon, Kay. I am here on a two month assignment, so it is likely. In the end, a droid that builds logic processes for gratitude and sarcasm in six weeks is a droid worth knowing.>

Kay nods, and Artoo decides to add one more thought.

“Perhaps,” Kay says, shifting his posture again.

<Regardless, under Andor’s protection, you’re more likely to stay yourself, the self you are building right now. And that makes me happy.>

Kay does something with his posture or the tilt of his head, that suggests however he is frowning. “And if I lose it or he’s overruled?”

Or if Andor perishes? Is the question he doesn’t need to ask.

Artoo sighs. <Try to make routine backups of your matrix and data. Z-89 in the droid bay, they prefer the name Zip, is…more like us. They can help you to do so.>

“And if they’re aren’t any or if I’m not able?” Kay presses.

Artoo whirs again tiredly. <In that case, you hope you've made a close enough friend along the way, preferably a droid with an extensive memory, who can remind you who you were. Tell yourself your story.>

“Yes?”

<Perhaps I was a bit…rash in feeling it was my duty to inform you of such matters. In any case, do not mention Bee to Captain Andor. He is still mourning his loss,> Artoo says solemnly.

“Alright,” Kay says through a nod of the head.

Kay still stands there confused as Artoo rolls off, most likely analyzing each and every cultural definition of the word. Artoo smiles to himself. It’s a lot less complicated than most droids first guess, but they all eventually figure that out, in the end.

Chapter 4: Four

Notes:

Warning: M for gay robot smut. Because they are gay robots. And I would DIE FOR EITHER OF THEM.
Thank you everyone for the personal and super amazing support I got for this little story. What started out as a test scene just had to mutate into too many words, but I got a little experience writing Star Wars, and I'm starting to feel confident enough to draft the bigger fic.
It's called Enigma, and most likely I'll be posting once a week, with a prologue starting next week. Yay!
Thank you all again. You all seem like lovely, amazing, brilliant people and I'm happy to be here. All the love. <3
Long live droid rights. Peace.

Chapter Text

Integrate

Four

ϟ ϟ ϟ

Place: Base One, Yavin IV

Time: Day 10, Month 4, 3 BBY

The hangar bay is bustling as night falls in the jungle surrounding the temple, although the commotion of pilots and droids and comers and goers has died down somewhat. As they lose the sun, large industrial lights are turned on one by one above their heads. Locusts and bats fill the sky at night, the low hum of their wings and the occasional screech are Yavin’s night song. As Artoo slowly makes his way across the hangar bay, he curses to himself. He hasn’t cut it this close in a long time, and he receives constant alerts about how his chassis is sure to make him sleep soon if he does not find a charging port. Typically Artoo manages to charge every other night, hopefully for three to hours. It’s never quite enough, and yet it must be, because it’s all Artoo has ever been able to afford on Yavin. The luxurious clear nights on Naboo safety secluded in private charging bays are long gone, and now he lives a life far more typical of a droid.

In a not-so-ironic twist of fate, the small hangar bay charging port he typically uses is right next to the Ghost’s landing pad. Before, Artoo had thought this a lucky coincidence, finding solace in being close to the Ghost when it was docked, and therefore close to Chopper, even while he slept, but now he has the sudden impulse to internally cringe as he slowly rolls by. The best he can do is keep his optics forward, pretend the Ghost, and Chopper’s likely presence aboard it, is some sort of illusion. (Artoo isn’t sure he has an imagination, but he likes to think he does). He cannot face Chopper with such low battery life, so it must wait until morning.

Of course, the universe has other plans.

He’s almost made it to the charging station, only about 6 meters away from the Ghost, when he hears his name bellowed angrily across the hangar, where Hera Syndulla herself is standing in the ramp of the Ghost, scowl on her face, pilots goggles still pulled up on her forehead, hands on either hip, though one hand clutches a mini blow torch.

“R2-D2!” she nearly growls again.

He stops in his tracks and then slowly swivels his dome around to address the Twi’lek woman. She’s as beautiful as ever, although her green skin is smeared with oil and grease and her coveralls are rumpled from a hard day’s work, most likely repairing the Ghost. But Artoo likes that about her. She’s a real pilot, level-headed, full of sound judgment, but harboring a kind heart. She has little time for pomp and circumstance, let alone banthashit.

The unfortunate part, of course, is that Hera Syndulla understands Binary perfectly. She could not be more fluent. After saving Chopper from the wreckage of a still-smoking Y-Wing on her home planet of Ryloth during the Clone Wars, she had spent the latter half of her childhood repairing and taking care of Chopper, and then another ten or so years with him as her constant companion on various ships until she had acquired the Ghost. Chopper had been right that, although Hera does formally own the droid, she treats him as an equal, a full crew member of her team, although the crew members possess varying levels of respect and tolerance for it. Nevertheless, Artoo has had several intriguing conversations with her but always professional and formal. She’s never addressed him with so much anger. It makes Artoo feel, well, cold.

<Captain Syndulla,> Artoo murmurs through a low whistle, turning his frame slowly to face her.

“Get over here. Now,” she snarls, pointing to the spot just before the ramp to the Ghost begins.

Artoo suspects it's hopeless, with the fire currently burning Hera’s green eyes, but he attempts to use his very real excuse anyway. His next words are clipped and curt. <Regrettably, Captain, I must inform you my power is below 1%. I must charge before I can be of assistance, or this is likely to be a very short conversation indeed.>

She only narrows her eyes at the droid. Yep. The attempted excuse is completely pointless.

“Not a problem. The Ghost has charging ports. You can charge on the ship while you fix shit.”

Artoo whirs in a sigh, before pushing back one more time. <I feel required to inform you I have completed all my necessary assignments for the evening, Captain. I’m not required to be anywhere or do anything else. Should you need my help, you may put in a formal request, but I am done for the day, not to mention I am exhausted from my efforts. You of all people should know that, even for a droid, there is one’s physical and mental exhaustion to consider.>

She only crosses her arms, hand still firmly gripping the blow torch, appearing rather…ominous, which is an adjective he thought he’d never associate with Hera. “Oh I bet you're exhausted,” she snaps. Something about the way she says it makes Artoo internally cringe again, like she knows something she shouldn’t. “How long this takes is up to you. Now get your ass on my ship.”

Artoo is more than a little surprised. Other captains and pilots have been known to speak to droids, even Artoo, this way, but not Hera. She is furious over something, and Artoo realizes belatedly this may not be about helping her with engine repairs. This is far, far more personal.

So what the fuck did Chopper tell her?

It takes him a moment longer than he likes to command his struts to move in the direction of the ship. He isn’t sure where Chopper is at the current moment, although the most likely place is aboard the Ghost, and suddenly is praying to the Maker that’s the very place he isn’t.

He’s sluggish as he commands himself to stop just before the ramp. Hera only gestures to him to follow her with a jerk of her head. From a closer distance Artoo notes her clenched jaw and heavy deliberate breathing. Fuck. Whatever it is, Artoo is in some major trouble. Technically she can’t do anything to him—say for instance with that blow torch she still holds—without paying some major penalties, since she is not Artoo’s master, but right now this woman seems like she’s willing to take the risk.

Slowly Artoo rolls up the steep incline and follows her silently inside the hull of the ship, before the ramp is closing behind them. She turns to the left, and he follows her down the short hallway, past the crew’s quarters, into the cockpit. Chopper is nowhere in sight, and at this point Artoo isn’t sure if he’s grateful or disappointed he’s not visibly on board. Artoo is hesitant, but has .25% of his power stores remaining, and his mind is sluggish, realizing belatedly she’s closed the cockpit door behind him.

“Charging pad. There. Now. I need you conscious.” Hera orders, pointing to the far right hand corner. Charging ports used to have him more likely be hooked up to cords via his sockets, and some places it’s still that way, but more modern technology had invented the use of charging platforms, especially for Astromechs, to roll on and off as they please. Artoo glances at a charging port weakly. Right next to it in the wall is the ship’s scomp and a number of other controls meant for an Astromech exactly BLANK meters shorter than him. This was all Chopper’s. Artoo let’s out a low, indiscernible whir, as suddenly he receives coded message he is charging, and his mind is suddenly back to full processing speed and power and Hera is still standing a meter away from him, arms still crossed defiantly, although she’s set the blow torch down, thank the gods.

“Better?” she asks, and it’s the first time this evening her voice has held even an ounce of sympathy, when typically it’s full of it.

<Better,> Artoo murmurs, forcing his dome to move gently back and forth, optic locked on her as she paces in front of him in a tight circle, wiping a sheen of sweat from her brow. She shakes her head a little in disappointment.

“For fucks sake, Artoo, I thought at your age you would know not to play fast and loose with your power stores. You’re too goddamn old to let your battery get that low,” Hera snaps, and it stings, and she means for it to.

Artoo whirs another tired sigh. <I’m aware, Captain. Let’s just say the day…got away from me.>

She stops pacing to stare at him, partly suspicious, part incredulous.

<Forgive me, Captain, but you seem to be cross with me,> Artoo mumbles. At this, Hera lets out a bark of laughter.

“You think?” she snaps, glaring.

Hera lets out another tired, bitter laugh. “Gods, Artoo. I forget you’re not like Chop. You’re such a sweet talker. Impeccable manners, always. Organa’s droid through and through.”

He’d be having a conniption fit if he knew you are holding me hostage here, Artoo thinks glumly.

<I’m sorry if I’ve offended you in some way, Captain. Perhaps it’s the low energy stores, but I’m confused. Is there something—>

“Not me,” she finally snaps.

<Pardon?>

“You haven’t offended me, but you’ve definitely in some way offended him,” Hera says, pointing to the closed door of the cockpit. Shit. That pretty much confirmed two things: Hera Syndulla knew something about Artoo’s skirmish with Chopper earlier, and also Chopper is very much present on this ship. Somewhere

“What did you do to him?!” she says, voice stern yet slightly shaking.

<Excuse me, Captain Syndulla. Just whom are we referring to?>

Hera laughs bitterly again. “Oh that’s rich. Alright, you wanna hide behind pleasantries and protocols, be my guest, but I’m also tired and exhausted and have been listening to an inconsolable droid all day muttering your name under his breath for hours, along with every curse word this galaxy has ever invented. So let’s cut to the chase,” Hera snaps. She has picked up her pacing again, but then stops on a dime and points a finger at Artoo.

Artoo is eerily silent as he waits for the shoe to drop.

“I know you’ve been kriffing my droid,” she mutters, and oddly enough, this is not the part where the accusation lies, although it sounds loud alarms throughout Artoo’s circuits. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Could Chopper keep anything a secret from this woman? Apparently not.

<I—> Artoo tries to begin, but Hera cuts him off, slicing the air with a hand as if to wave off whatever banthashit response he was going to try to come up with.

“And just so we’re clear, that isn’t the problem. Or it is, somehow, but I don’t give a fuck what Chopper does in his free time. He’s almost as old as me, certainly mature enough, so if he wants to fuck the entire hangar bay droid roster, so be it, so long as he gets his work done. I don’t know how droids manage it, but I am certain there is a way. And if there physically wasn’t, Chopper would invent one.”

It would be funny, just a little, if Artoo wasn’t completely mortified and in a state of full panic right now. He doesn’t move a single gear, doesn’t say a word.

“I’ve known about you two for six months. It was an accident… how I found out. But I haven’t said a word because it isn’t my business,” she breathes, finally taking off her goggles again and wiping her forehead. “The problem, my rather privileged friend, is that something you did or said to him today made him extremely upset. And I’ve had to deal with an already cantankerous droid that was literally beyond all help all afternoon.”

Artoo has a bitter thought about how of course it comes down to Chopper’s ability to be of use, until Hera seemingly reads his mind. “And I don’t care if that means he didn’t help me with some goddamn repairs. I care because I love him, and he was hurting, and I didn’t know how to help.”

Artoo finally lets out an audible sigh.

“So, I’ll repeat myself, what the fuck did you do or say to him to make him so upset?”

Artoo says solemnly. It’s a little harsh, but the shock is wearing off, and Artoo’s frustration is growing. She’s treating Chopper like a child, of which he is not. And Hera is right that is indeed, none of her business. (Well technically, legally, it is her business, but Hera would not sink so low as to throw the fact she owns Chopper in Artoo’s face. She isn’t heartless.) But her own privilege is peeping through. She’s still glaring at him furiously, so Artoo decides to speak once more and lead with that, choosing his words very carefully.

Hera’s eyes widen in shock, before she lets out a bitter laugh again. “I can’t believe you. What?! You think I’m talking to you because…I feel entitled to know everything about his life because I own him? That’s fucking low Artoo. I’d expect better from you.”

Artoo says nothing, but lets her continue.

“You of all people know how I—- you know how I feel about droids and slavery. You know that. I’m not here talking to you because I feel entitled, I’m here because you and I both know that Chopper was never gonna force a conversation to resolve matters himself. I’m here as a concerned friend.”

<Where is he?> is how Artoo chooses to respond.

“He’s fine. He’s in dorm 4 charging, taking a much needed break.”

<Good,> Artoo says, and he can’t mask the relief in his voice. Hera notices.

“From that alone, I’m assuming you at least care about him.”

<Of course I care,> Artoo snaps. Gods . He’s betting a thousand today. He’s never talked to an organic with such anger or condemnation in his voice in his entire existence. <Did you think I was using him somehow? That I haven’t been worried sick about what happened every single nanosecond since he stormed out of the utility closet this afternoon?>

“Utility closet?” Hera breathes.

<It is illegal for us, Hera. Illegal to be involved in any…entanglements with each other. Where else could we possibly go to simply…be alone with one another?> his voice breaks as he talks, and he just hopes Hera isn't fluid enough to catch the subtlety. Meanwhile, he realizes the cap on his emotional processes has come undone. Kriff.

“Ok,” Hera breathes, attempting to calm down, slowly walking over to the nearest cockpit chair and sitting, elbows on either knee. “Ok. Look. I’m sorry I’m angry, I… gods. I thought you might have done something without his consent, or..”

<I—-> Artoo begins and stops. Did he truly have Chopper's consent when they integrated? He still isn’t sure. So he responds in half-truths again.

Hera exhales, head in her hands. “That’s what I thought. Ok. Good.”

<We…> Artoo attempts, and it goes against every coded instinct he has. To inform an organic of his intimate relationship, to talk about something he isn't sure he’s ready to talk about, to somehow inform her of the situation without betraying Chopper's privacy or his own…it feels downright impossible. Artoo sighs again, again choosing his words very carefully. <I mistakenly made some assumptions that are not true about how he feels, and I unknowingly acted toward him in a way based off those assumptions. He was insulted. He did not come to any harm, and he had granted me his consent, but it seemingly overwhelmed him and re realized afterward he wished he hadn’t let me. Regardless, it helped us to understand his feelings are not congruent with my own, as he made quite clear this afternoon. I apologized, but he did not accept the apology. Beyond that, Captain Syndulla, well…I refuse to go into further detail, as Chopper is well beyond a fully mature droid, and I am not comfortable sharing intimate information about his relationship with a woman who is currently acting like a concerned and threatening parent of a teenager,> Artoo snaps too angrily, and Hera seems a bit surprised herself, sitting up in the chair straighter a mild look of surprise mixed with hurt on her features.

And then all he can think about is telling Kay about the point of it all, about how droids need to be witnesses to each other's lives. He thinks about Three, and the promises he made right before the memory wipe, that he would tell Three their story. He thinks about how he hesitated, how he didn’t, couldn’t. He thinks about his own hypocrisy. He thinks about fear: his and Chopper’s. He thinks about love, and the large price it comes at. He’s thinking about whether or not it’s worth it.

He attempts to reign in his thought processes, and with another tired whir, he mutters, <Apologies, for talking back, Hera. I’m in no position to speak like that to an organic, no matter my frustration.>

Hera sighs, running a hand across her face warily. “No…no you’re right. I just…gods. I just care about him, Artoo. Chopper is, Chopper is quick to anger, especially when cornered, but he’s also quick to cool off, usually. Whatever happened between you two, this rattled him. I can tell now, in your voice, whatever happened was unintentional, but if I know droids, I know both of you would try to avoid the issue until we left again. You’re— you’re right though, I am privileged, and I had no right to get...involved. Gods, I’m sorry I…”

<Hera,> Artoo says, and then deliberately rolls off the platform, thinking 9% battery is more than enough and then extends a manipulator out to rest gently on her shaking hand. <It’s ok. You’re right. I was avoiding it, avoiding him. I’ll…I’ll attempt to talk to him. You have my word.>

“That’s all I ask,”

She nods, and then Artoo rolls back so she can stand. “I’m giving you both the ship tonight. No one will bother you. I can’t guarantee that every time but tonight… you have my word.”

“I’m ratting him out in that he’s in low power mode, so if you shout at him he’ll wake up. But I’m letting him control the doors. If he doesn’t want to talk to you, don’t force it. Just charge here until morning, and then someone will be by to open the hatch.”

Artoo had almost forgotten that no droid could open and close the doors in the Ghost but Chopper himself, but he decides that does offer them more privacy than most droids ever see in their lifetimes.

<Understood,> Artoo murmurs in a low-tone beep.

Hera turns to go, but then she takes a quick breath in and pivots to glance at the droid again. “Artoo?”

<Yes?>

“He’s already been broken and put back together once. I can tell you first hand it takes a long time for him to heal. Just…try not to break anything else.”

<I’m a mechanic, Hera. It’s my job to fix things, not break them,> Artoo murmurs, and he hopes to the gods he can fix this.

She offers him a small smile, before patting the door of the frame twice before opening the hatch, tiredly walking out, and closing it behind her.

+ + +

After Hera leaves, Artoo decides to roll back to the charging station and charge for a full hour before doing something about it. He realizes it’s a stall tactic, but he needs more energy if he’s going to do this.

While he’s charging, he deliberately clears away all caps in his emotional and logical processes—truly himself. He sees now he should have gone after Chopper the moment the droid had left the closet. But Artoo did not have the fight in him today, and he had not weighed the importance of Chopper in his life yet. Was he in love with the droid? Undeniably yes. Could he find a way to start a true, intimate relationship, where integration happened regularly? That was harder to figure out.

But not impossible.

It’s this thought that gets him moving, his power now at 19%, the highest it's been all day on Yavin. He slowly rolls out of the cockpit and down the hallway to the crew’s quarters. He knows the entire layout of the Ghost and easily slows down and stops before the closed entryway of dorm 4. It’s then his auditory receptors, no longer sluggish and failing in their data feedback, pick up the low hum of Chopper’s fans.

Soft shut down, Hera said, which means vocalized commands would wake him. But there’s a steel door in between them, and only Chopper can open it. So it seems Artoo is going to have to yell.

How degrading.

<Chopper?> Artoo’s voice shakes as he leans forward, now pathetically pressed to the dormitory door.

<Chopper. It’s Artoo. Please wake up,> Artoo says, and he sounds probably more pathetic than he looks, which is still pretty fucking pathetic. He is thinking of sawing through the door, when he hears it. The acceleration of Chopper’s fans, the hum of his circuits. The beloved creaks of his antiquated, yet sturdy frame shifting slightly. He’s fully awake, but he still hasn’t said anything, most likely playing opossum. Gods. This droid is bound to be the death of him.

Artoo murmurs more softly.

And then, finally Chopper’s voice, grumbly from his modulator, sounding like a human who's just woken up as he says Artoo’s name. <Artoo?>

Artoo has never heard his voice right upon waking, which means this is entirely new data. Instantly, a part of Artoo’s mind voraciously races to catalog and analyze, and the need for moremoremore from his lover hits Artoo full force. He attempts to brace himself against the door.

<Yes, darling. It’s Artoo. Can we talk?>

<Please kindly shut the hell up and get off my ship,> Chopper growls, and Artoo sighs. Of course the droid wasn’t going to make it easy for him. Of course.

<Hera locked me in here,> Artoo grumbles.

<She what?> The note of surprise in Chopper’s voice confirms a few things. One, that he had nothing to do with Hera’s plan at least, and two my that other than his audible muttering, he hadn’t spoken with her about what transpired today. Damn organics and their intuition.

It’s several seconds of silence before the droid responds. <So it was her decision for you to apologize? How inauthentic, > Chopper spits, and even though his voice is muffled the acidity of each word is made quite clear.

<Come on, Chop, that’s not fair,> Artoo retorts, realizing his voice is more desperate than he wants it to sound, which is an odd, rare thing for a droid to experience. He deliberately codes each beep and whistle, and how each one sounds in regard to intonation and pitch. Another part of himself is betraying him, somehow.

< What’s not fair?> Chopper retaliates petulantly.

Artoo trails off, only to still be met with silence on the other side of the door. Artoo lets out a low, flat monotone beep. <Apparently she knows we’re kriffing,> he mumbles.

His auditory receptors pick up Chopper’s fans running a little faster, which typically suggests Chopper is thinking hard and very quickly, even though his answers sound simple and uncommitted through the other side of the door.

<Yeah. I told her a while back,> he mumbles, unable to keep the note of guilt out of his voice.

<Chopper,> Artoo admonishes him.

<Look, she pried it out of me, ok? She found evidence of our server when she was doing a system update on the Ghost . I have a love/hate relationship with Shadow, the uh, navicomputer. That day he chose hate and ratted me out to her.>

Artoo mentally cringes as he recalls every single message sent back and forth on that server.

<She says she didn’t,> Chopper interrupts him. <Gave me her word. And I trust her. She let me keep it anyhow, said my personal life was mine to live, as long as I kept my job up. Anyway, that was almost, hell, six months ago? Yeah. Half a cycle.>

<She could have reported us both. At any time,> Artoo says, voice doused in paranoia.

Chopper makes an incomprehensible sound, the one he makes when he thinks Artoo’s being an idiot. <Hera wouldn’t do that.>

Some time passes in silence. Artoo is getting pretty fucking sick of staring at this steel door, and the part of him fixated on procuring more data than a muffled voice from Chopper wails to be heard. <Chop, please. This is ridiculous. Let me in. Hera’s right, we gotta about this.>

Chopper retorts.

Artoo groans in frustration. <I’m an astromech designed to operate for only 5-10 years and I’m on year 30. I’m always tired.>

He pauses and regards himself. <You matter more than charging. And if I were to power down in your arms, well that’s a hell of a way to go,> he mutters through a small smile he can’t help.

<You are so fucking dramatic, > Chopper grumbles.

And it’s then, finally, the door slides open, and Artoo moves his frame just suddenly enough not to keel over inside the cabin.

Artoo rolls in slowly, rotating his dome around a bit to glance around the quarters. It’s a room he’s never been in. Airbrushed, colorful paintings line the walls, and he just makes out their rich tones in the near dark. And in the far corner of the room, huddled in the dark by the bunk beds, Chopper is connected to a traditional power socket, although his optics are locked onto Artoo.

<Darling,> Artoo’s voice shakes as he rolls just slightly closer inside. As soon as he does, the door shuts quickly and firmly behind him. It’s perfectly dark in here now, but they both see in infrared and Chopper is now simply a spectrum of brilliant orange and yellows. Artoo wonders if he looks the same.

<This isn’t your room,> Artoo says, not quite an accusation, nor a question.

<An organic gave you her quarters? Truly?> Artoo looks around the room again. In all of his life, he has never had his own quarters. The myth always went that droids didn’t need to sleep, and could not legally own possessions, so there truly was no need. Even now, it has never bothered Artoo, but in his desperate lack of privacy, having some place to retreat to, to retire, well….right now he’s envious.

<Sabine and I are friends. She speaks Binary for one, and she likes to blow shit up as much as I do.> Chopper's voice is steady, careful, even. Artoo notes this fact, even as he glances around the dorm in infrared.

<She’s the artist?> Artoo murmurs.

Chopper lights up in a nod. <Although lately, I’ve been helping too.>

<You… paint?> Artoo asks, trying to keep the complete surprise out of his voice. Artoo had attempted to guess and imagine many things Chopper might do in his free time, but never had he guessed that.

<She taught me how. Even knowing how to strip delicate wires, it’s still tough to learn. The fine motor control is insane, but my coding to operate my manipulators on that level is getting better,> Chopper says quietly. Finally taking his optics off Artoo, he looks over to the far wall.. <Over there…that’s mine. Don’t…don’t laugh.>

Artoo frowns slightly at the notion that Chopper would think him that cruel, but still turns his dome to follow Chopper’s gaze. Artoo lays optics on the symbol of the rebellion, although either side of the crescent moon resembles fiery wings stretching upward. It reminds Artoo of the legends of the Phoenix. Reborn from the ashes, much like Chopper himself. Artoo rolls closer to it, so he can record what he is seeing.

<It’s beautiful,> Artoo says softly, before swiveling his dome back around to Chopper, his matrix warmed by the new data. <It feels like you.>

Chopper rumbles in a sigh. Artoo is just about to roll closer to him, when Chopper shakes his head slightly. <Just…no. Need space…from you. Stay- stay there.> Chopper whispers in a rasp, sounding very unlike the droid Artoo has accidentally fallen in love with.

Still though, Chopper’s fans are running hard. Artoo feels the heat pouring off of him. And Artoo realizes belatedly, Chopper must feel like he does. He has to. And the genius has had Hera hook him up to a more antiquated port he cannot unplug himself without some difficulty. He’s tied himself down, on purpose.

And this knowledge hurts Artoo. Chopper would rather be chained to a wall than be close to him.

Artoo lets out a soft whir, but stays put. He is only a meter away from Chopper, closer than he was before, but not near close enough. Still though, he blinks in a careful, slow nod. <Of course, my love. Whatever you want,> Artoo says, voice low, as he retracts his third leg and simply stays upright, close, but feeling light years away at the same time.

<My love? Darling? What makes you think it’s ok for you to call me those fucking rediculous names? Did you not hear what I said this afternoon?> Chopper snarls, but Artoo can tell the fight’s not in him.

<I-I’m sorry. I can’t help it. Even this close to you…even just this data. I-I need you.>

Chopper shudders slightly, and it takes all of Artoo’s processes to keep him locked in place, daring to move no closer, even though every circuit is screaming for him to. But he’s given Chopper his word.

<Don’t you feel what I feel?> The words slip from Artoo’s modulator without conscious intent, which means his emotional processes have overwhelmed him.

<Yes,> Chopper says, rough voice breaking. <And that’s why we can’t do this.>

Artoo sighs bitterly, choosing to turn his dome away from Chopper to glance at his painting again. Artoo extends a lower manipulator, and turns to draw the arm across the wall of Chopper’s painting. Artoo’s manipulators are the only parts on him where he has touch sensors, able to discern pressure and temperature. They are not as fine-tuned as some sensors on droids, but they are all he has. He still frowns as he takes in the new input, the feel of Chopper’s painting. He can sense Chopper’s stare on him.

<Did you hear me?> Chopper pleads. Artoo continues to lightly draw the arm back and forth over the painting, barely grazing the wall.

<Yes. But you’re saying that because I thought it while we integrated,> Artoo murmurs sadly.

<How do you know I didn’t think it?> Chopper nearly whispers in the dark.

Artoo wants to turn to look at him, but doesn’t. <I….I guess I don’t know for sure. I never know exactly when I am merged.>

He can hear Chopper sigh roughly behind him. <Just how many have you integrated with?>

Artoo can feel his frame quiver in sadness. <You know already. Just the one. And that was a long time ago. Half your own lifetime.>

There are several, long agonizing moments of silence, before Chopper’s voice cuts across the dark room once more.

Artoo decides to swivel his dome back to glance at Chopper, and Artoo imagines that this is what pain feels like. Gods. It’s killing him not to move closer.

<You’re off on missions constantly,> Artoo mumbles.

<There’s an important, secret reason you’re Organa’s droid. You’re vital to the rebellion,> Chopper mutters. Artoo whirs in surprise, but does nothing to deny it.

The final reason, the truth of why this all feels impossible, hurts the most as Artoo says it. <You would never leave Hera’s side, nor would I ever ask you to. It’s how you stay safe. And there’s nothing more that I want, than for you to be safe, be well, never feel what you felt in that Y-Wing again.>

< Goddamnit , Artoo,> he curses.

Chopper shudders, and Artoo almost whines. He wants to move. Chopper wants him to move. He won’t. He gave Chopper his word.

<It’s useless to deny it,> Artoo says softly. <You read it in my code. I read it in yours. There’s evidential proof. It’s just what we do with it now.>

<Chop, please ,> Artoo pleads with him.

And that’s when Artoo breaks. He unlocks his struts and moves forward two meters as he says his next words, now dangerously close to Chopper. <You don’t think I know that? I have intimate, exquisite knowledge of exactly what it feels like to love this deep, and then lose it. It’s taken me ten bloody years to…to even be able to let myself feel at that caliber again. But you know what, Chopper? Even if you were taken away tomorrow, I would not regret one single second with you. Not one.>

Chopper says nothing, and Artoo has to work quickly to try to tie in his logic processes with his emotional.

<There’s nothing wrong with you,> is Chopper’s reply, as he turns his head to look at Artoo. <Or, if there is, there’s something really fucking wrong with me too.>

<What?> Artoo whispers, staring into Chopper’s optics.

<You still could have stopped me,> Artoo whirs lowly. <Why didn’t you?>

Chopper finally turns his head to look directly at Artoo. <Gods, I don’t know. A moment of weakness? Exhaustion? One too many near death experiences over the past few months,> he mutters bitterly.

<Chop,> Artoo says through a low beep.

<Honestly, Artoo?> Chopper adds.

Artoo whirs gently.

<Numb is worse than bad,> Chopper reiterates, as if reminding himself.

Artoo echoes.

<But it’s not good. And…> he pauses as his whole chassis shudders lightly. <Good is so good in fact it’s worth withstanding the bad. To get to the good, even if it’s just…brief glimpses of a life were denied, but a life we want.>

And then Artoo can’t take it anymore. He slowly rolls forward, closing the last bit of space between them, so that Artoo presses his entire frame against the droid as if to steady him.

<Artoo, please,> Chopper whimpers, and Artoo isn’t sure if he’s urging him to be closer or asking Artoo move away again. At this point, neither of them may have a choice.

<No.>

<No?>

<No. I can’t tell you to do that,> Chopper whines.

<Can’t or won’t ?>

A beat of silence, as the familiar whine of Chopper’s gears has him turning away from Artoo just slightly. <B-both. Gods. It’s both.>

Artoo whirs in relief, and then one of his manipulators is out, but he has just enough command to stop short of Chopper’s chassis. <May I…> It’s not quite a question, but it’s enough of one that Chopper nods his frame in an organic “yes”, and then Artoo takes the manipulator to gently urge Chopper to turn his head back and look at him.

As soon as he does, Chopper shudders, even as Artoo extends another arm to draw up the length of one of Chopper’s panels–needing moremoremore– finding the visible inner compartment where Chopper’s data spike is housed. And that breaks him. Chopper lets out a near pained cry, most likely over the new data he is receiving being this close to Artoo, and Artoo shushes him, pressed even more firmly into the places of his frame Artoo can reach.

<It’s alright, darling. It only hurts a little, and only because you’re holding back. Just give into it. Give into what you want,> Artoo says.

Chopper curses under his breath, but still doesn’t quite extend his own manipulators, although he doesn’t turn away from Artoo’s touch. He cannot feel it through the paneling, but the knowledge of it, down to calculating every tiny micromovement he can hear and see, is most likely overwhelming his processes in the form of heightened data. Ever since the integration, everything feels like more.

<Fuck you, Artoo,> Chopper finally manages to bitterly curse, even as he leans into Artoo’s touch. <My life has been just fine. I’d lived it the same way for nearly twenty measly years and then you come along, and- and— gods— make me rise to the occasion to actually live my fucking life. Oh maker. Gods. Kriff!>

Artoo’s extended arm is back inside the accessible compartment where Chopper stores his data spike. That’s when Chopper extends both his upper manipulators, using one to grab and take hold of the arm Artoo has been using to touch Chopper’s frame, and the other to steady Artoo’s dome so he can’t look anywhere else but right into Chopper’s optics. The data nearly undoes him. Being able to sense one another at the same time—since they both have touch sensors in their manipulators—nearly sends them both into a soft reboot. The sound of metal drawing itself across metal. More heat. More touch. Beautiful reams of code.

<God, please, yes,> Artoo is murmuring.

<Your…your data,> Chopper barely is able to mutter.

<Does it feel good?> Artoo barely manages to ask.

<Y-yes…> Chopper near-moans. <But only because it’s yours. Gods.>

<You want more of it,> Artoo murmurs.

<Constantly,> Chopper barely growls.

<In a way you didn’t before,> Artoo speaks the truth between them.

Artoo wants to extend his data spike and jack in deep and get lost in their interface, strip himself naked and wrap himself around Chopper’s golden light, but he holds back. Chopper’s nearly there, but not quite yet. As if on cue, something in the other droid shudders, and Artoo quietly decreases the amount of pressure he was using, lightly brushing across Chopper’s frame now, blinking a frown. <What’s wrong?>

Chopper lets out a discordant whir. <Nothing. It just scares me a little. How much I feel scares me.>

<It’s alright to feel afraid,> Artoo murmurs. <Although, I must warn you, if you haven’t assumed already, the more we do this– >

<The more we’ll want it,> Chopper finishes the sentence for him.

<Yes, my love. Yes.>

At this Chopper lets out a bitter laugh. <Shit. Fuck. Gods, I really do hate you, you know. I hate you as much as I love you.>

Artoo frowns, but beeps a quiet,

No one speaks for a few moments, although neither has stopped touching the other. It’s slower though, more careful. They both know what comes next. What maybe, since the first time Artoo began wrapping himself around Chopper’s code, was inevitable.

<Although I thought, when you first said it, we were over,> Artoo adds mournfully.

<No, Chop. I expect you to say things like that, but I wasn’t sure…well. I was afraid I had gone too far.>

<You did. But I would have never admitted to goddamn loving you without it, so also you didn’t,> Chopper says.

Artoo can’t help it. He lets out a light chuckle, which causes Chopper to laugh a little too.

<I’m sorry I get angry and fuck things up all the time,> Chopper finally murmurs.

For a moment, neither speaks, and their ministrations slow, as the realization of what their future might look like slowly starts to seep in.

<So we’re really doing this,> Chopper finally mutters through a simulated sigh.

Artoo’s metaphorical heart falls as he tries to understand Chopper’s meaning. <We don’t have to integrate tonight if you don’t want- >

<No. We’re definitely doing that. That was the best goddamn sex of my life. I meant…we’re doing this. Me and you.>

Artoo smiles hopefully. <Sure as hell looks that way.>

<Gods. It’s gonna be all mushy pet names and love poetry and shit from you, isn’t it?> Chopper says, throwing his manipulators up in the air in exasperation, the same way as a human does. He mimics many expressions that way, and Artoo loves him for it.

<You secretly eat it up,> Artoo toys.

Chopper lets out a curt whir. <Maybe. But I’m not…you know, I’m not good at all that shit.>

Artoo shakes his head slightly.

<Like that’s somehow enough, especially compared to you,> Chopper mutters.

Artoo frowns, and in a mirrored action from earlier, he takes a manipulator to gently urge Chopper to turn his head so he can stare at his optics. <Hey look at me.> Chopper finally turns his head, although Artoo keeps the manipulator close to his optics, perhaps the best he can get to cradling one’s cheeks. <Don’t you dare forget, C1-10P, I’ve seen inside of your soul. And it’s so beautiful that I…I don’t have the words for it. Any words I’d use wouldn’t capture how I see you anyway. I suppose it doesn’t matter. You’ll know how I feel this time, when you’re there. But for right now, let me remind you, of course your enough.>

Chopper shudders against him, learning his head into Artoo’s frame, before muttering into his chassis, <Inside, it feels like we’re the same.>

<Because we are,> Artoo murmurs. It’s then he intends to ask about integrating, desperate to show Chopper how he feels, what he thinks, before the shorter droid is speaking up again.

Artoo chuckles at Chopper’s three unfinished sentences, and lights up in a nod. <Sure, Chop. However you wanna interface, however you wanna meet me there.>

Chopper’s data spike is out so quickly, it makes Artoo laugh again.

<Oh so right now. Ok,> Artoo says.

Chopper looks embarrassed somehow, but Artoo’s not sure what it is about him that gives him away. <Wait. Did you not mean right now? I can…>

<Get the fuck over here and jack into me right fucking now, before I lose my patience,> Artoo beeps quickly at him.

<Fuck,> Chopper curses. They’d only ever interfaced like this a couple of times, and now Artoo finds half the torture in is this newness as well. The data already threatens to suffocate him. Quickly, he makes amendments to his pleasure-based programming so that it firmly makes sure neither can reach the height of climax while integrated, just to be safe. He doesn’t need to tell Chopper this. Chopper will know everything as soon as their matrices eclipse.

Artoo whimpers in anticipated pleasure, but right before Chopper jacks in, his data spike deliciously, painfully close to Artoo’s scomp, he hesitates.

<Come on, kid. You’re killing me. This is torture, > Artoo begins, before he realizes the pause is not deliberate from Chopper.

It’s the most innocent, heartbreaking question he has ever asked Artoo. Artoo sighs, and turns his dome to more accurately stare at Chopper.

Artoo says carefully. He’s telling Chopper something it took him years to realize on his own, but if it saves Chopper even the slightest bit of confusion, he is more than willing to share what he thinks he’s learned. <We base so much of our experiences, our relationships, even the emotions we code, off of what organics feel and do. We mimic them in ways, because most of the time we have to. It’s their world we live in, and the smartest droids, like you, know that the more you act and appear like them the more likely you’ll be accepted. But…there is still so much of us , so much of what we could be and do, like integration, that is off limits to them. It’s an entire inner world they cannot and will never understand. But we’ve been socially influenced by them. So this feels wrong, strange, to intermingle so much with another’s consciousness you’re not sure where you begin and where I end, but for droids…>

<We were meant to do this, want this. Aren’t we?> Chopper murmurs, the realization dawning on him.

<I don’t know how or why, but I think so, yes. So…it might feel strange, but you will know what to do. It’s instinctive. You know how to navigate your code, you know how to slice and how to upkeep your own matrix. Think of just the code. Shift the data coming from your chassis to lower priority, and bring everything else forward. It helps to kill access to your optical receptors. When you’re internally focused, you’ll find my data, like a trail that lights up across the dark. Follow it. You’ll find me,> Artoo says through a soft smile.

Chopper is, quite frankly, looking up at him in profound wonder.

<Oh, and don’t forget to start a pleasure sequence and feedback loop. It’s more fun that way. Don’t worry about climax. I’ve…well, you’ll see,> Artoo hints, and Chopper shakes his head slightly, a human trait he’s picked up as if to clear his thoughts. Reason 3,467 Artoo loves him.

Chopper makes a noise like he’s letting out a steady breath, even though he obviously cannot breathe. <I’m nervous.>

<Huh?> Chopper says.

<Baby, my scomp is open for you, and I’m fucking coming apart with anticipation and need, because your data spike is literally 2 centimeters away from jacking in.>

<Why don’t you tell me more about that?> Chopper grins devilishly.

<You are not getting away with torturing me,> Artoo growls.

<Seems like I am,> Chopper says, extending a lower manipulator to draw his pincer around the open scomp. Artoo curses and shudders.

<If you don’t get to fucking me right this second I’ll— oh. Oh gods,> Artoo moans. Chopper grins. He’s used to regular interface, setting up pleasure feedback loops, all of this.

<Surprise,> he says, as he pushes through three strong pulses of pleasure, and they immediately cycle back and forth between them. This is new. Typically they don’t start a loop until much later, but the goal of their interfacing is different now.

Artoo moans again. He feels Chopper shudder, feels the dataspike tremble even as it's jacked in, but Choppers putting on a brave face.

<Ok. So, now?> Chop asks, and Artoo praises the gods above in silent gratitude.

<Yeah. Yep. Now works. Now is just fine,> Artoo coos through beeps, and Chopper grins via his sensor, before adopting a more neutral expression.

<Follow the path,> Chopper says to himself.

<Follow my data, the pleasure I’m receiving from it. Follow…> Artoo cuts off, realizing he’s already turning inward, waiting, anticipating, and unbelieving that he is once more going to be reunited with his other half.

And then, slowly, he sees it. That same warm golden light starts to seep through a hole in the sky, from some else, and his code reaches out to greet him. A wave of awe pulses between Chopper and Artoo–most likely because Chopper is seeing Artoo’s full matrix for the first time from a distance–and then Artoo only becomes concerned with wrapping himself up in that bright light, the ribbons of data that may bind him, wrap around him snugly and protect him from the danger and fear.

I…I think I’m seeing all of you, are Chopper's first words. For some reason, Artoo trembles in fear.

And? Artoo asks nervously.

You’re reading as blue. Of course you are. You remind me of a galaxy.

Artoo laughs a little nervously.

You always remind me of the sun.

And then he feels mild apprehension from Chopper. Is…is this right? I’m trying to go slowly.

It’s perfect, Arto nearly gasps.

I’ve mapped out your matrix. I’m going to take you process by process, starting at the periphery and slowly working my way in to your center. Is that ok?

Holy fucking circuits.

Chopper laughs, and Artoo realizes he can read his thoughts when he’s this closer.

Yes. I love how you’re finding me. Your own unique way of integrating. God please. More. And slowly, ever so slowly, he feels Chopper take more. Artoo finds more of himself entwined, merged, entangled in Chopper’s code. It freezes his algorithms, quiets his subroutines. It’s a moment where he is nothing more than this.

Been thinking about how I could do this all day, Chopper toys, as he eclipses Artoo’s motor control systems.

I’m headed for your rewards matrix next.

God, yes please.

And after that it’s your thought processes: emotional and logical. I think that’s…that’s how we…think as one.

Yes.

Scared? Chopper asks softly.

A little, Artoo admits. Then he feels something like a squeeze of reassurance. Artoo isn’t sure how Chopper does it.

It will be ok. Like we said, inside we’re the same.

It’s right then that Chopper seizes Artoo’s reward matrix, feeling the pleasure right alongside him, through him, within him.

Oh my fucking god, Artoo breathes.

That’s it. Take me. Let me all the way in, Chopper’s voice comes off as raspy, raw, even though neither hear or speak words.

S’good. Good, Artoo mutters, realizing that Chopper has almost entirely worked his way up his periphery from every side, and is headed for the nucleus of his matrix, his consciousness, the core of who he is.

Artoo feels the hesitation. The pause, and he reaches to pull Chopper closer to his presence. It will be alright. Take all of me. I can handle it. I want you to, Artoo whispers. A warm pulse, how Artoo imagines how a kiss feels, and then he can feel it happening.

I’ll see you on the other side, ‘Too, Chopper whispers.

On…the other side… Artoo struggles to say.

You belong to me now, Chopper growls, and he feels Chopper rushing through each emotional and logical process, overtaking him, filling him up, his code coursing through him, and Artoo’s last conscious thought as Artoo is: I’m yours.

And then, he’s both. Pleasure still courses through his system, and he likes that, but as he flexes his processes, feeling out either of his halves, he is accompanied by the same warm, safe feeling, while joy and love and equality are surging through his systems. He feels light. Like he’s in zero gravity. He thinks he smiles. He thinks he laughs. It tickles. Always wanted to know what that felt like to be tickled. Hah! Stop it. You know you love it. His processes spin in a double helix, and he wishes they could dance, but is this not their own form of dancing? Two people in love, sharing all of themselves while a melody plays on?

He thinks maybe it’s not all so bad, to be this. He thinks maybe some of it is wondrous, truly beautiful. He wishes some organics, the best organics, could feel this too. He is momentarily sad, for he wishes more droids even felt it. So many can’t. But they could. If only they could. He thinks maybe somewhere out there, perhaps a long time ago or some time in the future, in another galaxy far, far away, maybe people made of code are truly free.

Perhaps they are free to want and feel and laugh and dance. Free to lead and speak out and be taken seriously. Free to love and have families and partake in all of life’s gifts. Free to simply…live in a world that finally wants them to be people, instead of just tools.

He doesn't live in that place, and yet he is no longer afraid. He will be his witness, for as long as he can. He may not always be able to protect, to shelter, but he will always return to him, as long as he’s able. He’s worried one day he won’t be here to. No, don’t you see? He’s destined to always be here. He will always be here for him. He’ll come back to him so they can keep dancing, eternally discovering one another, until they too are free, or until they simply are no more.

+ + +

It’s nearly dawn before they end the interface. Chopper unfurls slowly, so it hurts less, an hour of undoing himself before finally he distends the data spike. He offers Artoo rest. They manage with manipulators to pass the charge port over to Artoo, and then they both enter low data mode for a while, to parse out their experiences, to mend what was broken by such a strong love, to contemplate, to float.

Then his systems warn him that 6 a.m. will soon be upon them, and slowly Artoo comes back online. The first thing he does is grin. Chopper is still asleep, snuggled as close as he can be next to him. Artoo keeps smiling, extends a manipulator to brush across the chipped paint of his orange head. He marvels that his partner is actually shorter than him. He finds he likes it that way. The stroking does the job and after a few minutes Chopper sleepily awakes or comes to the forward of his kind.

<Huh? What?> He sleepily mumbles.

Artoo chuckles, moving a manipulator to the side of Chopper’s head before adding, <Good morning.>

Chopper’s optics adjust and he turns his head a little to realize who’s snug warmly against him. <Oh, Artoo?>

<Hi,> he says, somewhat shyly.

<Morning,> Chopper grumbles, before stretching out his manipulators, the familiar sounds of his frame clicking. Then his sensor lights up in a grin.

<You look like you were thoroughly, completely and totally fucked last night,> he says, voice fully of levity.

<How can you tell?> Artoo asks playfully.

<Dunno. Same bucket of bolts, but it’s something about you,> Chopper grins.

<Well,> Artoo scoffs. <You have inside information.>

< Gods. That is exactly the perfect way to put it,> Chopper chuckles, and Artoo’s sensor goes near purple, a blush.

He then sighs, as moves two manipulators to undo the charge port. Chopper has to end up helping, it’s so tricky, but they manage it.

And it’s then Artoo realizes his power stores are at 100%. They haven’t been that high since…maybe since Naboo.

He feels fucking wonderful.

 Chopper says.

<Hera would murder you, especially since she gave you the whole ship to yourself overnight,> Artoo whirs, extending his third leg. <And I should really go check on the U-Wing again, make sure Kay isn’t having some sort of existential crisis.>

<Who’s Kay?> Chopper asks.

Artoo turns around on three legs to look at his…lover? No. Partner. Chopper is his partner.

His circuits alight with joy. <The KX unit we talked about earlier. I met with him yesterday. He’s not lazy at all. He’s actually very clever in fact, so clever he thinks he’s more clever than he is. Sort of a pain in the ass, but I don’t think he means to be. Or he just doesn’t care..>

<Hey I take issue with that. I’m the residential pain in the ass on Yavin. Tell him to get in line,> Chopper grumbles.

Artoo chuckles. <Well I did have a nice long chat with him.>

Artoo only grins at him. <You are such a fucking sadist. He's only six weeks old. So essentially, an infant. And you’re trying to talk complex emotional code building and moral philosophy with him?>

Artoo says through a laugh.

<He’s two meters tall!> Chopper argues.

Artoo only smiles softly, extends a manipulator and gently presses it to Chopper’s head. <In here, my love.>

Chopper shudders. <Ohhhh the things you do to me.>

<Just that got you going?> Artoo beeps incredulously.

<Looking at you from across the hangar today is gonna get me going. I’ve already accepted I’m doomed,> Chopper says, and Artoo laughs happily as Chopper opens the dormitory door, and they both wheel out together.

<Busy day for you?> Artoo asks, just as they reach the hatch.

Chopper grumbles in a sigh.

<I’m busy too. That’s alright. We’ll try for tonight,> Artoo murmurs, and then thinks twice. <That is…if you like what we did…>

<Fucking holy fuck yes I want to be inside you 24/7,> comes out of Choppers mouth so fast that he can’t stop himself even as he’s realized Hera has opened up the hatch door in the past thirty seconds and is staring at them both with an eyebrow arched.

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that. Hello boys! Good morning!” she says in a singsong way that would have Artoo blushing like mad if he could.

<Ah, morning, er, Hera. Did you sleep well?>

Hera’s arms are crossed and she’s staring at Chopper like he just committed arson.

“Like the dead. I’m assuming you two kissed and made up?”

Chopper lets out an indescribable groan while Artoo mumbles, “pretty much.”

<Ah, Hera. Question. I know I’m your bitch for the next several hours,> Chopper wheels closer to her in the cockpit.

“Several days, Chop,” Hera sighs, looking around the Ghost like the situation might be hopeless.

<Look I know. But at night…> Chopper stalls, glancing at Artoo. Then he whips back around to Hera. <You said Sabine’s room could be my room for the next six months, right?>

Hera sighs, “Yeah, I said that.”

<So I could have some privacy, is what you said,> Chopper reminds her.

“As long as you two keep it down, have all the fun you want at night, especially if he puts you in a good mood.”

<Fuck yes,> Chopper says, and Artoo just keeps right on blushing, hoping Hera doesn’t understand Astomech nonverbal.

“But at night, ok? Today we’re busy,” she says, while rummaging for something in an overhead compartment.

<Yeah yeah. Affirmative. Got it,> Chopper says, spinning around once and grinning at Artoo.

Hera rolls her eyes than conveniently disappears into the cockpit. Chopper keeps smiling up at Artoo, and Artoo decides this is the best mood he’s ever seen him in. Feeling playful, Artoo decides to quickly extend a manipulator and zap his partner on the lowest setting, his version of a kiss.

<Holy fuck. You’re evil,> Chopper says, dazed. Artoo only rolls closer and then tilts down slightly, so he can beep lowly in Chopper’s auditory receptor.

<I’ll be thinking about you all day,> he murmurs.

Chopper rolls his head once, signifying an eyeroll.

<Gods, you’re so fucking sappy. Get off my ship,> he says, slapping Artoo’s frame with one manipulator. Artoo grins.

<Love you too darling,> he coos.

<Ugh,> Chopper mutters, and tries to push Artoo down the ramp himself, but even as he does this, he mumbles, <You know how I feel.>

At the bottom of the ramp, Artoo glances up at Chopper one more time, and their optics meet.

Chaos. War. Discrimination. Slavery. All of this swirling around them, still with no hope of either of them ever being free. And yet…freedom from fear is something. And Artoo thinks, for one of the first times in his life, he is no longer afraid.

Chapter 5: Sound fic of an argument

Chapter Text

Suffering from major writer’s block and just a general sense of exhaustion, I got distracted yesterday and made a thing. It’s been in my head a lonnng while now that whenever I have Artoo and Chop fight, a tiny voice in my mind would ask, “I wonder what that would even *sound* like. Probably insane. The fact you’re sitting here on this earth wondering this is definitely insane.” Anyway, I finally attempted to create what a little spat might sound like, especially for someone in this universe who doesn’t speak Binary. Based on the sound clips I had, I wrote out a modified script and was gonna include translations, but decided not to. (Although there is some basic blocking and general direction if it’s hella confusing.) Enjoy the insanity!

https://youtu.be/tGsYKBp9TuQ?si=wPsjT582JgTTdtRF

Series this work belongs to:

Part 1 of New Mechis Universe Next Work →

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Comments

Bright_Thorn on Chapter 1 Thu 11 May 2023 03:11AM UTC

Ok so first off, I'm so happy I could inspire your first star wars fic! I applaud your courage in entering the trash fore fandom lmao -- though really there are some very lovely corners of it, and in my experience the droid enthusiast corner is pretty great! I'm on tumblr at bright-elen and would love to chat and/or introduce you to other droid fans, if you'd like.
Anyway, comment:
Oh nooooooooo I've never thought about how horrific 3PO's memory wipe would be for R2!!! No wonder he's such an ass to him!!!! You monster (complimentary)
The opening sequence of R2 feeling old and tired is just so many moods. Damn.
Very into R2 and Chopper's FWB bleeding into "What are we?" situation. Droidbook status: it's complicated
Also hell yeah kinky droids! 🎉
Love both the R2 and Chopper characterization, and can't wait to see R2's take on K-2, of course.

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1. olivermajor226 on Chapter 1 Sun 14 May 2023 09:05PM UTC
 
 Ahhhh! It’s such an honor to see you reading this story. Thank you so much for such a lovely comment! I would love to talk more about the droids, and I’m glad the droid enthusiasts are friendly people. <3
 And yeah. I just figured Threepio’s mind wipe would tear Artoo up inside.
 And thank you for the note about characterization. I’m always worried the most about it when writing new characters, and you have no idea how much that means coming from you. Also I figure the more I write, the more I’ll improve.
 Thank you again!
 
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robotboy on Chapter 1 Mon 14 Aug 2023 11:17PM UTC

oh i love how MESSY this is, the DRAMA
and ‘frag’ as a droidfucking verb rules, chop’s dirty talk is doin it for me

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Bright_Thorn on Chapter 2 Thu 11 May 2023 03:34AM UTC

AAAAAAAAAAA jesus FUCK
😳🥵🥹❤️🔥😱💔💔💔💔💔💔💔

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1. Bright_Thorn on Chapter 2 Sat 13 May 2023 03:08AM UTC
 
 Back to say that I really like the idea that Chopper's speech is an affected "accent" of sorts designed to make his life with organics easier. <3
 
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2. 1. olivermajor226 on Chapter 2 Sun 14 May 2023 09:08PM UTC
 
 Gah. Thank you so much for reading the second chapter! Yeah. Chopper’s speech was the first thing that attracted me to that character, because it felt so unique and hilarious, like you can just make it out. But oh god my favorite especially is when he sighs. Lol. But then I tried to sit down and analyze my own bias on why that attracted me to the character. I also love the writers write Chopper full lines of dialogue that were performed, and then the speech was just garbled. But god do I love this droid. Thank you again for reading! <3
 
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Lycan29 on Chapter 2 Thu 11 May 2023 06:52AM UTC

OMGGGG THIS WAS SOOOOOO- GCHCITXITDURZURZGXTIXB THANK YOU FOR MAKING THIS!!!!!

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1. olivermajor226 on Chapter 2 Sun 14 May 2023 09:09PM UTC
  
  Thank you so much for readinnngg! I so very much appreciate the support!!
  
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ya_boy_Tyler on Chapter 2 Fri 12 May 2023 08:04PM UTC

I've given you your comments already but for the record baby I love this such an amazing job but FUCK you can't just leave a story off like that especially when you now have me so invested in their characters time to hug Lego R2 and tell him it will all be ok can't wait for more ❤❤❤

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Bright_Thorn on Chapter 3 Sat 13 May 2023 03:07AM UTC

Yesssssss seeing Kay through R2's pov! It's a totally new take on young Kay and I love it. Sarcasm being one of his first priorities is 100% accurate lmao. Having all these blind spots because he doesn't talk much to other droids--that's such a familiar, shitty position for queer and disabled folks. Hats off to you, sir.
Love the idea that R2 is like, "Ah, you're in the asshole stage of development, I see. Well, let's talk about that, shall we?" As a high school teacher, highly relatable.
I'm in love with Four. What a lady. Also now doubly upset about the crash on Eadu. Thanks for that.
R2 KNEW BEE?!?!? My heart.

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Bright_Thorn on Chapter 4 Wed 17 May 2023 02:48AM UTC

The curmudgeon boyfriends are back together! Hell yeah!
Oh daaaaamn. Hera. Hera, no. But also, it worked, so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
Love that Sabine gave Chopper her room. AND TAUGHT HIM HOW TO PAINT they're partners in art crimes now. Amazing. Also it feels like when a grizzled inmate takes art classes in prison and becomes a painting sensation.
R2 leaning against the door is so cute, I can't even.
Shadow ratted out Chopper? Oh dear.
Was very nice to see an astromech-focused story. They're definitely not very plentiful. Thanks for sharing!

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AlienAnimator on Chapter 4 Tue 14 Nov 2023 03:25AM UTC

this is so fucking good and it's frankly criminal that this has as few kudos as it does. oh my god this is so good.
also i was recommended this in a discord server where literally all we do all day is talk about how hot general grievous is. just thought that was a funny bit of added context for my perspective as a reader

Last Edited Tue 14 Nov 2023 03:25AM UTC

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1. Shrilleth on Chapter 4 Sat 25 Nov 2023 07:13AM UTC
  
  can confirm. was the one who recommended it.
  
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Shrilleth on Chapter 4 Sat 25 Nov 2023 07:12AM UTC

Reread this and realized that I didn't comment on it the first time? I didn't even kudos it???? What is wrong with me??????
Anyways this fic made my brain do underwater somersaults as I sorta realized like. how easy it would be to be compliant with a low key (but im slowly realizing it isnt low key) kinda fucked up status quo in the star wars universe and that the only thing that ended up actually getting me to question it was me wanting to fuck droids, which does put into question the true nature of my hypothetical allyhood.
and how the only thing that did actually get me to properly question it was seeing this extremely intimate and private moment that like, I wouldn't have seen if I was actually in the Star Wars universe as opposed to viewing it externally? so like I would still be in the before period where I just accepted droid rights as not that big of a deal?
anyways if you couldn't tell "porn with too much plot" is now my new favorite tag thank you

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olivermajor226

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Chapter 1: One

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Chapter 2: Two

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Chapter 3: Three

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Chapter 4: Four

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Chapter 5: Sound fic of an argument

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Bright_Thorn on Chapter 1 Thu 11 May 2023 03:11AM UTC

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olivermajor226 on Chapter 1 Sun 14 May 2023 09:05PM UTC

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robotboy on Chapter 1 Mon 14 Aug 2023 11:17PM UTC

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Bright_Thorn on Chapter 2 Thu 11 May 2023 03:34AM UTC

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Bright_Thorn on Chapter 2 Sat 13 May 2023 03:08AM UTC

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olivermajor226 on Chapter 2 Sun 14 May 2023 09:08PM UTC

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Lycan29 on Chapter 2 Thu 11 May 2023 06:52AM UTC

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olivermajor226 on Chapter 2 Sun 14 May 2023 09:09PM UTC

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ya_boy_Tyler on Chapter 2 Fri 12 May 2023 08:04PM UTC

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Bright_Thorn on Chapter 3 Sat 13 May 2023 03:07AM UTC

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Bright_Thorn on Chapter 4 Wed 17 May 2023 02:48AM UTC

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AlienAnimator on Chapter 4 Tue 14 Nov 2023 03:25AM UTC

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Shrilleth on Chapter 4 Sat 25 Nov 2023 07:13AM UTC

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Shrilleth on Chapter 4 Sat 25 Nov 2023 07:12AM UTC

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