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“That’s not what I mean.”
    “Well, what do you mean?”
    “You know what I mean.”
    “No, I don’t,” he lied. “Why don’t you tell it to me straight?”
    “You’ve tried…” Her fingers fluttered. She brought them into her lap. Her blush was so pink and so instant it would have taken his breath away, if he’d had any. “I mean, we’ve tried. Before. And it never seems to go very well.”
    He scrambled up to his knees. “That’s because it never seems to go very far , either. I’m not a first baseman. I hit home runs.”
    Amy blinked. “I don’t know what you mean.”
    Of course she didn’t. That was part of the problem. Just a year ago, she’d been a kindergartener. Playing house was enough for her. Having never taken the other steps, she saw no need to. She probably didn’t even want to.
    “Is it me?” he asked.
    “What?”
    “Is it sex you don’t want, or just me?”
    Her mouth fell open. “How can you say that?”
    He shrugged. “I can see why you wouldn’t. I’m not exactly clean. I’ve done a lot of bad things. I’m just about the world’s worst father–”
    “That’s not true–”
    “Sure it is. I know that. There’s not much about me that’s respectable.”
    “I respect you! I respect you very much!”
    Javier grinned. Amy was pretty adorable when she was getting called on her shit. Her eyes went wide and her posture went straight, like she’d just been asked to spell out a really difficult word for a prize. It made it easier to remember she’d spent most of her life as a child. Easier to be patient with it.
    “I guess what I’m saying is, I can understand if you don’t want me.”
    She had the grace to look embarrassed. “Don’t be stupid. You’re really…” Her mouth worked open and closed. “Pretty.”
    “ Pretty? Is that the best you got? I may be all machine, but I’m still all man.”
    “I know that, but…” Her fingers skittered across the floor, as though she were physically searching for the words she wanted. “You don’t look like human men.” She smiled. “You look better!”
    He rolled his eyes. “Please. I look like all my other clademates. I’m mass-production, nothing special.”
    “Don’t say that. You’re very special.”
    “Not special enough, apparently.”
    Amy frowned. “You don’t understand,” she said. “I don’t work that way. Without the failsafe I don’t… like humans that way.”
    “Well, it’s not like I worship the ground they walk on, or something–”
    “No, Javier.” She shook her head softly. “What I mean is, I don’t understand what’s so great about humans.”
    This was the crossroads. No matter which avenue he took in this fight, they always came to it. Amy didn’t see what he saw. Didn’t feel what he felt. She’d never know that exasperated affection he had for them, as they puttered around their kitchens looking for the coffee cup they’d just put down ; how you kept loving them the way you kept loving a puppy as it looked you straight in the eye and pissed on your rug. You collected them like you collected pieces of handmade earthenware, old and chipped and fragile and unique. They weren’t perfect. That was the whole point.
    And then sometimes, as they slept, you listened to the creak and squeeze of their decaying hearts, or heard the bubble and choke of their lungs, and you realized how very temporary they were, and you started to reconsider your programming.
    Time to bring out the big guns.
    “You could fix me.”
    She frowned. “What?”
    “Break me. Hack me. Whatever. You could do it. You put yourself back together; you could do the same for me. Just do it without the failsafe, this time.” He reached for her softly-twitching hand and stilled it in his grasp. “And then I’d choose you all over again, free and clear.”
    Her fingers trembled with restrained gestures. He only ever had a fraction of her bandwidth at any one time. The island consumed so much of it, even at