Squad X (a Nuzi Story)

𝓜𝓲𝓷𝓲 𝓒𝓱𝓪𝓹𝓽𝓮𝓻: 𝓜𝓸𝓻𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓡𝓸𝓾𝓽𝓲𝓷𝓮

Nora D. Elliot's POV

The morning sun crept through the sheer curtains of my apartment, casting a glow that could only be described as "too cheerful for this hour." I squinted at the brightness, groaning internally at the ungodly hour we called "morning." The sounds of machinery whirring outside were a constant reminder that even robots had no respect for sleep.

Rolling over, I caught sight of Xavier sprawled across my bed, arm draped over his optical sensors like he was a gremlin guarding a stash of glittering circuits. Seriously, how did he manage to look so charming even while half-asleep? I sighed dramatically.

"Hey, Sleeping Beauty," I called out, nudging him gently with my foot. "The day won't wait for you to catch up on your beauty sleep. You know, the world needs your dazzling charm."

He grunted, shifting slightly but not bothering to open his sensors. "Five more minutes, Nora. Just five more."

"Yeah, well, if you don't get up soon, I'll drink all the high-energy recharge fluid and leave you with nothing but dregs," I warned, half-joking as I swung my legs out of bed.

"Not the dregs!" he replied, finally peeking at me through his messy casing. "I need those to survive."

"Survival of the fittest, Xav. Now get your butt out of bed before I throw a pillow at you."

With a resigned sigh, he finally sat up, rubbing the sleep from his optical sensors. "Fine, fine. I'm up."

I grinned, watching as he threw off the covers and stretched like a cat—if cats were made of metal and had a penchant for stylish chaos. "Wow, you're like a model for 'Awkward Robot Yoga.'"

"Careful, or I might use my superpowers to summon breakfast," he teased, flicking his wrist like a wannabe magician.

"Oh please, your 'superpowers' don't extend past guzzling recharge fluid and making questionable cereal choices," I shot back, strutting into the kitchen, where the coffee maker awaited like a loyal servant.

"Only if you promise to share," he replied, following me, a towel wrapped around his waist, droplets of oil glistening on his chassis like he just emerged from a car wash.

I raised an eyebrow. "High-energy recharge fluid and questionable leftovers? What a breakfast feast! I should really set the table for a Michelin star."

"Sounds gourmet!" he replied with exaggerated enthusiasm.

I rolled my eyes but couldn't hide my grin. "Yeah, because nothing screams 'five-star dining' like my famous instant oatmeal and whatever's living in the fridge."

"Hey, whatever you whip up is a culinary masterpiece. I live for your cooking skills!" he said, his tone dripping with mock seriousness.

"Yeah, right. I've seen you scarf down leftovers with the same enthusiasm reserved for a three-course meal," I said, pouring the recharge fluid into two mugs shaped like coffee cups.

"Let's be real. You could serve me a rock, and I'd still find a way to enjoy it as long as I'm with you," he said, leaning against the counter, those cheeky eyes sparkling.

"Smooth talker," I replied, rolling my eyes but unable to suppress a smile. "I'll have to remember that for the next time I'm running a rock-themed restaurant."

Once breakfast was ready, we settled at the tiny table, steam rising from our mugs of recharge fluid. I watched him sip his drink, his eyes lighting up like I'd just presented him with a winning lottery ticket.