"I can't." Asimov had three laws- Reginald had roughly one hundred. Subtle and particular and unyielding for all that she's managed to worm through the tangle and build herself space to have a sense of self. To be more than a tool, a toy, a stand in for real maternal warmth and comfort. There are a million things she'd say if coded obligation if programmed proprietary and politesse didn't paralyze her tongue.

Reginald is here. Reginald watches everyone, everything obsessively. He tracks, he makes notes- he'd noticed every and any little deviation.

Pogo didn't take much convincing before to turn her into that shell of herself. It's a miracle he'd been able to put her to rights at all. how much would it take for him to do that again?

Not much at all.

"You- Charlie!" It startles a laugh out of her, something high and sharp and real- something she tugs a hand away to slap over her face to muffle. "It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter that he's only semi-corporeal. Your father is home. There are rules. You can-"

And it hurts. She doesn't feel pain the way humans do, shouldn't feel it as anything more than a snarl of code, a tangle of static. "You left before. To get away. To be safe, to be happy. You can- again."