That snaps her out the fugue. Her eyes move from his, back down to the curled hands. Back up, then down. Her thought fall like twigs over a waterfall.

Emotionless Being.

Perfectly Logical.

Perfect Officer.

Prevented by the limits of programming and construction against giving or accepting hate or sadness. Or gentleness. Or joy. Or...

Nothing you do drunk...

Typical.

Don't know.

Encounter or possibility.

It would be safer if she ran. She's not running.

"This seems a bit more intimate then drunkenly fumbling around and then literally turning you off while -"

Nope. Can't finish that statement. He's blunt enough to follow up if he wants.

She tightens her grip. "I keep warning you. You deserve better than me."