Page 33 of Smart Ass

They both waited in silence. Well, Max was silent, but Ben was tapping his fingers on his thighs in an uneasy tempo.

Max had never had trouble talking with Ben, but now it seemed strained.

He checked the progress of the bot he’d sent out on a mission, and opened the door when he found it in the corridor. Maybe that would break the tension.

“What’s this?” Ben asked, though it should have been obvious. Max’s favorite bot trundled in with a sandwich and a coffee, its back wheel squeaking with each turn.

“Food. You haven’t eaten yet today.”

Ben was already reaching for the ceramic mug. “Max! Was it really you getting me coffee all this time?”

Max reviewed his logs. He remembered doing it. He could see the records dating back 439 days. How had he done that without the sentience to know he was doing it?

He still stood by his decisions. “Yes. It’s my job to take care of you.”

Ben scrunched his eyes shut for a moment, then opened them. “I hope you don’t seriously think that. Like, you have the whole world to explore. You don’t need to just hang around with me anymore.” He opened the sandwich wrapper and took an enormous bite.

Like hell was Max leaving Ben. Unless Ben didn’t want him.

“If it’s not my job, then it’s my privilege to take care of you.”

Ben slouched back, chewing until he swallowed his first huge mouthful. “I can’t argue with you right now. I’ve had a rough day. Feed me all you want.”

“I like feeding you,” Max told him. Ben might as well see all of his obsessive stalker tendencies right now. Max was pretty sure he couldn’t hide them.

Ben shook his head, but he quietly hummed as he took another bite.

That was good enough for now.

Max preened, watching him eat. Ben looked much more relaxed, his cheeks bulging with too much food as he chewed, and his head tilted back against the wall.

Ben took a long pull of the coffee, his narrow throat bobbing. “Damn, you’ve really got the perfect recipe, too. I can never figure out how to make coffee this good in the staff lounge.”

“I get it from the executive floor,” Max gloated.

Ben threw back his head, shaking with laughter. “Good for you, Maxy. Oh my god.”

Something warm bloomed in Max’s consciousness, like an experiment that had matched all his hypotheses. Ben was laughing, and everything was better. Max had pleased him.

Ben took a few more bites, then crumpled up his wrapper and looked for somewhere to throw it.

Max triggered a protocol from one of the cleaning bots, which plucked the wrapper from Ben’s hand with the pincers, and tucked it away in the bot’s canister.

Ben put his coffee mug down on the shelf, his face growing sober. “Have you heard any news about Quincy?”

Max had alerts set, but he checked anyway. “Oh. It looks like they’re not going to interview him until tomorrow.”

“They’ve had hours!” Ben banged his fist against the wall behind him. His heart rate spiked. “What the hell?”

Max was wondering the same thing, his own worry nibbling away at the back of his consciousness. He’d tried to get through to Quincy directly, but he was too well shielded, his internet access deactivated.

“Bureaucracy isn’t known for being fast,” Max reminded him. “It doesn’t mean that there’s anything wrong.”

“I know.” Ben exhaled as he knocked his head back against the wall.

He looked tired.

No, more than just tired.