"It's really high up here." You lean over the edge, gripping the railing. "Ridiculously high. I can't even fathom how high."

"Please don't do that." I reach for your arm, but you spin away, laughing. "If you fall--"

"I'll be rebuilt. Just like all the other times." You flex your arms, imitating the old body builder posters we found in my uncle's attic. "I'm almost all cybernetic now!"

"That's not really something to brag about." I stand back, hands in my pockets. I never know what to do when you get like this. "They can't replace your brain."

"Ah, but my skull's unbreakable." You knock on the side of your head, and I know it's my mind playing tricks but I swear I hear a hollow 'clang'. "I could float out into space and my brain wouldn't even implode!"

I sigh. "That's not what actually happens, you know--"

"Especially not to me!" You laugh again, clutching your stomach from the force of it.

Your skull was already biosteel when I met you, but I didn't know it at the time. We dated for six months before I discovered your self-destructive streak. At first I thought it was a side-effect of the daredevil in you -- you always wanted to dive deeper, drive faster, turn off the safeties in the sim, fly without your safety-belt, go outside the bounds of the spacewalk -- but its one and the same. You're not trying to kill yourself. You promised me that the first time I saw it happen, the first cliff I witnessed you swandive off of in a moment of unbelievable awe and beauty before I remembered that this was real, not a hologram.

"I don't like it when you do this," I murmur. I can't look at you. I know what's coming next. How many times will this happen before I can't stand it anymore? How many times before my fear conquers my love?

"Love," you say. You touch my arm, when did you come so close? A moment ago you were out of reach. "It's okay."

"No, it's not." In a rare reversal, I'm the one pushing you away. "One of these times it's going to kill you, and I'm going to have to see it. I don't... I can't do that!"

You bite your lip, wipe my tears away. I didn't realize I was crying. Your hand rests on my cheek. I want to grab you, pull you in and hold you and kiss you and take you the hell away from here, but I know you won't let me.

"Love, I'm only able to do this because you're with me."

I laugh. It's bitter. "Come on. You've done this before. Your unbreakable skull, remember?"

Now you can't look at me. "I didn't do that."

I hug you now, and you let me. You rest your head on my shoulder. For the first time since I've met you, you seem fragile.

"What happened?"

Your arms tighten around my waist. Part of me wonders if your biosteel arm is stronger than your natural one. "My mother."

You don't talk about your family. I was halfway convinced you were an orphan and ashamed of it for some reason. I tangle my hand in your hair. "An accident." I don't want to make it a question. I don't want you to say what I can feel you're about to say.

"According to the police report." You pull away a little to look me in the eyes. "I haven't spoken to her since."

I don't know if I should ask. I don't know if you want to talk about it. I kiss you instead. "I'm sorry."

You smile. "It's all right. It was a long time ago." Your hands are still around my waist. You tug me forward, taking steps towards the balcony. "Come with me."

"What?" You're stronger than I thought. Your biosteel arm must be enhanced, after all. Or maybe I'm not really trying to stop you.

"It doesn't hurt as much as you'd think."

"My skull isn't steel--"

"Land on top of me. I'll take the brunt of it. You might not even break anything."

I'm breathless. We're at the balcony. You're leaning against it, not quite over but ready to go if I say the word. This is more intimate than kissing, more intimate than sex, and I'm aroused and shaking against you. "Aren't you afraid to die?"

There's steel in your eyes. "Are you afraid to live?"

I grab the balcony and pull. You're off balance, arms around me, grinning like a madwomen and I am falling in love with you again.

"No."



This work by Gabrielle Kinsman is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.