Stainless Steel Heart

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Author's Notes: Finally, a UK/US/UK fic from me. I promised I'd do one.

I originally came up with this because I so badly wanted to use "Plug n' Play" as a title. Then I titled it something else... ^^;

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It all started because Arthur is hard to buy gifts for.

Therefore, he muses (not without a bit of wry humour) that would make the awkward situation he's in, all his own fault. He shifts in bed, looking down at the sprawled form next to him, all arms and legs among the tumbled sheets. Touseled blonde hair falls across his companion's brow and he reaches out trembling fingers to brush it back, leans in to let his lips graze one smooth cheek and almost flinches despite himself as eyes open, impossibly blue.

"Arthur." Alfred almost sings it, that drawn out croon he only uses when he's excited or happy. It goes straight through Arthur's chest, clamping a vise around his heart.

"I can't do this." The words slip out before he can think about them, but they're true. He's thought about it before, hesitated before, but looking into that earnest face now, he's caught. "It's not right."

"This is cuz of the 'gay' thing, isn't it?" Alfred has that bland but slightly amused tone, a quirk pulling at the edges of his lip. "I told you already, I don't care about that church crap. I didn't think you were that devout anyway."

Arthur's fists glench in the coverlet. "It's not that!" When Alfred opens his mouth, presumably with another argument, another assumption, Arthur cuts him off. "Please, none of your babble. This is hard enough already."

Blue eyes widen. Alfred looks like he wants to speak, but he closes his mouth and gives a short, jerky bob of the head. It hurts but Arthur can't stop now. He has to see this through to the end... he'll never have another chance if he lets Alfred draw him into an embrace. His resolve will melt and he'll be drawn back into this sweet but ultimately futile dream...

He reaches out a hand, rests it on top of Alfred's and feels the quiver beneath his fingers. Alfred is afraid. "This isn't real, Alfred. You and me. Us. None of it is real."

"Arthur..." There is no sing-song this time, just words falling into an empty void where his insides used to be. "Are you breaking up with me? I-I thought you loved me." That hurt expression, a look in his eyes like a kicked puppy. "I love you..." It's almost a whisper, soft and desperate.

"I know you think you do-"

"Stop, Arthur! Please..." Alfred's lips twist, an expression that isn't a smile. It's all Arthur can do not to reach out to him and kiss that look in his eyes away. But he doesn't. He can't. "D-did I do something to upset you? Was it the burgers? I-I mean I'm okay having other stuff. I didn't mean that about your cooking. I'm sure I could get used to it. And I... goddamn it, Arthur, I'd do anything for you!" Swallowed. "What did I do wrong? Just tell me and I can fix it..."

So naive. It's sweet in a gut-wrenching kind of way. Because it's nothing Alfred has done.

It's what he is.

"You can't fix this, Alfred. It's nothing you did." And I love you, I really do. Damn me to hell because it's the stupidest thing in the world, but I do... Take a breath, trying to steady himself and say the words he's never been able to say. "It's... you Alfred." He can see the protest, the hurt and he hastens to get the rest out. "You're not real."

The hurt is gone for a moment, replaced with a dim sort of shock, the realisation settling in only slowly. "W-what the hell are you talking about, Arthur?"

"My friend Kiku gave you to me for my birthday..."

A sharp bark of laughter. "You had me going for a moment there, Arthur. Yeah, we met on your birthday but-"

"Do you remember anything from before my birthday?"

"I-"

"You don't. I know you don't. Kiku didn't think of that - other than what he needed to give you a personality..."

"But-"

"Serial number AL42286-47. Kiku's prototype..." But why... why Kiku had brought Alfred to him... He damns his friend silently for all of this.

"Arthur..." It comes out hoarse and pained. "Don't..."

"You're a robot Alfred." And there is the truth he's tried so hard to ignore these past months. That nothing is real. That it isn't emotion but a carefully programmed series of algorithms designed to mimic human feelings. Alfred doesn't love him. Alfred can't love him.

"I-" Alfred swallows and he looks every bit the human he is designed to mimic, overwhelmed and hurting. "Arthur... it's not true. I'd know if I was a robot... w-wouldn't I?"

Arthur smiles, soft and pained, reached up to brush hair away from Alfred's eyes - his perfect blue eyes... - "I... god, I wish it weren't true, Alfred. I'd give anything for it to not be true..." Swallowing past the lump in his throat. "But it is."

And then Alfred is up, out of the bed so quickly that Arthur can barely see the motion, grabbing shirt and trousers, struggling to tug on pants as he fumbles for the doorknob. And then Alfred is gone, the door swinging open into the hall and Arthur stares blankly down at the coverlet, at the spot where Alfred was lying only a few blissful minutes ago.

Raising hands to cover his face as he curls over himself in the blankets, noiseless sobs shuddering through him...

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End Note: I've always been fascinated at the concept of artificial intelligence. That's where this story comes from. Special kudos to anyone who can guess what things I took for inspiration for this story (though it may be obvious later on). Hope you've all enjoyed reading the fic so far.