[The almost desperate contact transitions into a hug, Connor’s readjusted touch making him draw near. And he returns it, an arm looping around the other android’s back, pulling close. Markus’ head lowers into his friend’s shoulder, just breathing for a moment — in the past 24 hours, this has been the most grounded he’s felt. Fingers squeeze gently into his back, and he doesn't speak until his throat loses some of its constriction, able to form words that still sound breathy against the other.]
It was the part of us we chose not to be.
[There’s a Twain quote, some idle part of his imperfect human mind uselessly supplies him. Something about the moon and the sides of men that they don’t show the world; he can’t remember it, when he used to have no trouble remembering much of anything, his mind currently too overwrought with shared emotion, guilt, and relief. But the point of it rings true in this case. They might have lashed out with no inhibitions, they might have said words that would never leave their tongues in normal circumstances, but nothing comes from nothing. All of it, laid upon a foundation until it grew uncontrollable.
They had said things they didn’t mean; Markus still stands by that. But there might have been shards of truth in some of what Connor uttered to him.
His shoulders depress, breathing out a sigh. Guilt isn’t something easily erased in Markus, but at least the coiled tension in his body relaxes, reflected in the empathy bond between them. Finally, after what still seems like too short of a time, he pulls away. Markus removes his hand just so he can drag it across the corners of his eyes, quelling tears before they fall.]
Connor, the things you said… not about arresting me, or the future, but—
(is that really how it would've been? the parts unseen, the routes they didn't choose for themselves — them, fighting tooth and nail to rise above another android as victor of the day. it sounds like a nightmare. what moments in his short life acted as the forks in his path that eventually put him on the right track? connor finds it difficult to believe he had any rudder at all before hank and markus, now, after waking, feeling as though he's been adrift all this time.
the last couple of days have made him worry. is he still what amanda would've liked him to be? did he really choose, like markus suggests, or was this the path that cyberlife allowed him to walk?
don't have any regrets. you did what you were designed to do.
connor shudders and shuts his eyes tight, his next sharp breath in stifled against markus' shoulder. his loyalty to the people he thought he could trust almost made him pull the trigger on his hero, both then and now, and he can't shake the dangerous thought that if he's been overridden twice then he can be overridden a third time. what could potentially be the final time. his exhale wavers and he renews his grip on markus' shirt before — eventually, and not without effort — letting him go. it's far harder to do that than to look at him now, openly watching the wipe he makes at his eyes. awful that they've both brought this on themselves, that he's made a friend hurt this much.
but still fascinating in a way— why is it so surprising that someone would cry for him?
faced with a loaded question, he'll have to revisit his thoughts on markus' reaction later and why it would make his heartbeat quicken.)
I'm scared I'm not... (connor shakes his head and rolls his jaw on a particularly strong wave of anxiety, reaching for the hands that quelled his fears the first time. gripping his friend's fingers seems to do the trick, obviously comforted by him which is a sentiment shared through the bond that kicks back in.
when was anything this difficult to say?)
I've always been something, not someone. I don't know what that's supposed to look like, for me. I guess I'm — hesitant. (brown eyes crease as best they can with one as damaged as it is, offering markus a reassuring smile.) That's not to say I want to go back to the way things were. I just... have a lot to learn...
[There’s no protest when Connor reaches for his fingers again. The contact is gladly given, empathy bond blossoming between them a second time, and Markus takes his own comfort in it. Steadying in touch and sentiment, the latter compounding itself inwardly, he squeezes gently back.
This is more than just a middling worry that he’s hearing. This is hard for the other android to say, this is a concern that shakes him — even if he couldn’t see this shadow cast across Connor’s expression, he’d be able to feel it creeping through their shared bond.]
You’ve always been someone. [This is a correction that comes quickly, a soft-spoken yet unwavering statement without a beat passing between them.] You just didn’t realize that potential until recently.
[But Markus knows what it’s like, even if the circumstances that shaped both of them were so inherently different. He had a purpose, too, found in that old, rusted freighter called Jericho. A reason to push forward past all the bad, a promise of a better future than the one they had been living in, something to live for, the blessed right of being recognized as alive—
But here, what does that amount to? A stilled timeline, or one that marched relentlessly onwards from where he left it? A cause left unfettered. His own identity thrown under question by a stolen body, if Markus were not already so firmly planted to the notion of self.
So in a way, he knows — trying to find new grounding when previous foundations have already crumbled away. And as always, Markus empathizes.]
But you were never going to figure out the kind of person you are overnight. It’s always a process; it takes time.
[Individuality is a thing to be discovered. Piece by piece, like a complex and colorful puzzle forming the whole.]
And now that you’re free to live, you’ll find it. In what you like to do, the people you care about, things that make you angry or happy or sad. Just... experiences.
[He tries to reflect the smile back. Tears gone but still wet around the eyes, it looks like a wan thing.]
You’re not in it alone. I can help you, if you want me to. I still have plenty to learn, too.
(there's that ball-bearing in his throat again, the one he can't swallow around. it sits there and aches, reminding him of his humanity. not just in body, because this body doesn't matter, but in a mind gratified by markus' show of loyalty and reliability. connor doesn't like to lean on others if he can help it, but right now it feels like they're sharing what's on their shoulders.
that has to be enough for now. everything else is too overwhelming.
connor nods again, unable to speak around the blockage. it may stand as testament to the coping methods he still has in development, but it ultimately keeps him from sliding down a very slippery slope into the pits of an inconsolable mood. it's moments before he's willing to try to strike up a better, easier conversation, first taking his time to marvel at their connection and the way he can draw understanding from it when he'd have to strain himself otherwise.
markus has fair concerns, none of which are impossible for them to take in stride. it's only been months when humans have their entire lives to figure out who they are. it's the comparing, measuring himself against the individuality of the deviants he's had the privilege to meet. tough but doable. eventually.)
I'd like to work on everything that we can together...
(he'd like that very much, removing his fingers from markus' so that he can finally wipe at damp eyes with the heel of his palm.)
Before that, I need to talk to you about the things that I said and... the information that I've been keeping from you. I was concerned that it might change things or cause irreparable harm to our timeline, but that's not what I believe now. I was lying at the bar, but I'm familiar with how impactful certain fabrications can be.
It may be impossible to erase the doubt I've unintentionally sewn — still, I'd... like to try with your permission.
[The loss of Connor’s grasp is strangely dissatisfying, but to be expected given how grounding it had been just moments before. Markus wonders if he’ll get used to the sensation of this specific sense, of touch; easily the most prevalent, yet one that he’s growing not to mind terribly as the days run their course. But they’re still close, and when Connor speaks of the future — of everything he had wondered, but was never told of, the passage of a handful of days — Markus places his hands back in his lap. Fingers gently curl around his knees, but he doesn’t straighten his posture; would prefer to remain leaning close, as if they were trading lazy secrets between them.
He goes quiet for a moment, formulating a reply. Eager to learn, but it’s the kind of willingness that’s riddled with anxiety, filling it with holes. He can’t guess at what Connor would tell him, but Markus knows that he could easily define what he hears into successes or failures. Doubt does live in him, sleeping acrimoniously, not for the reasons that the other android might refer to. Having nothing to do with the lies colliding into him during their fight -- all having to do with he weight of responsibility, and the question of whether he could carry it with strength and grace, or simply break under its pressure instead, watching lives and efforts collapse all around him.
He inhales deeply, panging discomfort around his ribs. And with the exhale come his words, coupled with a nod.]
Of course you have my permission. And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to know. But…
[He looks at him, searching. He finds he can garner so little, whereas their empathy bond had revealed so much.]
You don’t have to tell me out of guilt over what happened. There’s no obligation hanging over your head like a sword, Connor.
I want to. I've... wanted to. Not knowing if I should inevitably led me to keep it to myself, but that was a mistake.
(before, he couldn't.
now, with recent developments and the fact that he lied to markus to intentionally sew discord, connor feels as though they're both entitled to outing the truth as it stands in his world. the information will be a weight, even if it's good. what about it wouldn't be? markus will have to cope with being away from his people at such a critical point when the battle's only just been won and the city of detroit is freshly theirs in equality. they'll have to deal with the fact that everything has to be put on hold until they get back. josh, simon, north— hopefully they'll have some clue as to what needs doing in markus' stead.
connor wants this to be a good moment for them, one memorable day after a hellish week. he has to be happy when he tells him, he has to keep the levity in his expression. they won. their voices are ringing out across the globe and now they'll keep moving forward using them in a new world that'll be built on — in markus' own words — tolerance and respect. only more cities, states, and countries will follow detroit's example. the first free city.)
Selfishly, I'd like to be the one to tell you. (with a cant of his head to the side, connor smiles through all of the pain, anxiety, and remorse at his friend and leader. it's such a simple thing to say that means so much more than anything laden in explanation.)
You did it, Markus. (it was markus' hard work, his care, his determination and willfulness. his words and his feelings.)
[Impossible to know what Connor was going to say. His friend looks at him, stowing away pain and anxiety as if they were nothing more than pieces of luggage to be partitioned aside and dealt with later, offering him a smile that might as well tilt his world upside-down; especially with the words that come hand-in-hand with them.
Strange, how in the first fractions of a breadth of a moment, time seems to still. There’s only the processing of what he’s heard — You did it, Markus. — the weight of meaning beginning its slow press into his bones, realization settling languidly instead of manifesting as a jarring, elated assault on his mind. Markus can only search Connor’s face. He can only inhale shallowly, again, until the rest of everything catches up, and the revelation hits him like any revelation should — fully, completely, crackling and bursting at his core.
And in the seconds that follow, the consequence of such revelation.
He had succeeded, according to Connor, whose timeline was nestled days ahead of his own. Would succeed, a declaration that felt heavy on his shoulders with each uttered syllable, yet transcribing elation into each nerve ending the longer it rested there. He had carried forth, had carved out the beginnings of a path, had shown humanity proof of their autonomy, of emotion, of a species that was alive — androids that could look towards freedom not as a diaphanous dream, but instead a steadfast reality. Rights, tolerance, recognition as a people. That delicate promise of happiness for their race, living in tandem with humanity, finally, slowly, taking root and blossoming in the light.
He thinks of the other androids at home — he thinks of Jericho, and wonders how they’re doing right now, what they would say, how he would tell them to continue pushing forward to make this reality tangible, even if he were not currently there to see it. Wishes his comrades were here, just for a second, to ground himself in their presence. Selfishly, maybe, but only for a second.
And Markus thinks of Carl. Thinks of him in that sunlit studio, thinks of himself standing there amongst canvases, the swatches and vibrant collection of color, laden in the bronze warmth of being home again. Asking the man if he’d be proud of what he’s done, what he means to accomplish, a world that he would create for his own, but for others, too, based on a foundation of acceptance and open-mindedness. He wishes, so desperately now, that he could hear his answer. Would you be proud of me, Carl? Would he?
It’s this final confluence of thought that rends Markus’ stuttering composure in half. Where he had held onto breath, kept his brow tight and allowed only the distant shadow of electric wonder to live there, now it unravels, shred by shred. It’s all the taut snap of a wire — face twisting into something that harbors too many emotions to qualify as one single thing. Markus’ shoulders shake in a single betrayal against him, and the tears well up along the creases of his eyes, summoned up in tandem with a tightening throat.
It’s a useless and laughable attempt to save face, the way Markus turns his head, tries to futilely shift his direction at an angle in a chair that’s already pulled up too close to the hospital bed. Hands come up to his face, wiping at tears — telling himself not like this, not in front of him, but that voice is lost in the wonderful and frightening and emboldening and overwhelming news that’s been relayed to him.
He tries to form words. They eke out, like pressed through a space too small.]
(it feels similar to a moment they shared before, when thousands of androids took to the streets from the warehouses of cyberlife tower and marched on the battle at the heart of the city. connor brought them to markus under the spotlights of helicopters, sniper scopes, and hostile human stares, slowing to a halt before him to give him praise and receive it in turn.
the moment he was invited to stand by his side. the moment he felt belonging for the first time.
connor owes him the truth and, more than that, his shoulder. no one else out here in this lost, backwards world knows how much markus had to sacrifice but him. so this hospital room is their private island, hidden away from a reality they're determined to reject. and there they sit together until the tide goes out.
markus cries, but connor doesn't see weakness in it. on the contrary, it may take a strong man to hold the hopes of thousands on his shoulders but a stronger man can allow himself admit that he needs help carrying it all. they, as a collective, gave markus this responsibility, so blinded by the fact that someone was finally there to save them that none stopped to think of it from another perspective. they ignored how exhausting it must be to stay unwaveringly resolute before fearful, expectant masses, to act as a mouthpiece for a higher purpose, listeners heeding his every sure word only to leave him alone to doubt in private.
no more.
not when it's within his power to reach for him, knowing their positions on each other's survival coincides. if they work side by side to take the brunt of this, they'll be twice as prepared for whatever future they walk towards. together.
connor's hand settles on markus' arm, warm, tethered to the ekg providing them with a quiet beep that stays consistent with the healthy beat of his heart.) You don't have anything to apologize for, Markus. This is what you've been striving for, I just hope that you can rely on me to help you get there again. And I will, every time. (he squeezes and it spreads to his shoulder.
there's no one they have to impress, even if a very large part of him remains struck by the show of emotion he'd rather stoke than pull away from. it's clear to him then that he needs this, to clear the congestion, and connor's quick to draw him closer. another tight hug, protecting the display with a severe look at the door past markus' shoulder and the sheer curtain that keeps them in an untouchable bubble.
no one will ruin this for them.)
I'm... proud. To be here, to be alive. To call you my friend.
[It’s a bit like trying to continually pick up pieces that keep slipping through his arms; the attempt to swallow back the constriction in his throat, the willful effort to staunch the tears as if they were the consequence of an open wound, eyes kept in any direction but Connor’s. Hard to do, when the shape of his emotions were an amalgam at best, no singular one to meet him at the surface, all of them buoying up in synchronization, demanding his attention. It’ll take a moment, just a moment, to pressurize it all back down again, to turn it into something more manageable, and Markus raises his hand once more to brush against the corner of his eyes—
But there’s the warmth of pressure on his arm, Connor’s touch welling up shared sentiment once more, a bridge connecting them and letting everything flow through. Even if he could manage words, he’s not sure he’s in possession of them. Not as the other android’s hand moves to his shoulder and draws him close, another embrace that feels different than the last one; framed in the conveyance of intimacy. An island, indeed, with only the two of them stranded upon its shore.
He wonders if it’s the bond that entwines Connor’s words with his thoughts. Markus, wondering if Carl would’ve been proud, and his friend confirming his own sentiment in turn. A call and response. Like Connor’s dipped his fingers into his chest and plucked at a string that resounds brilliantly, wonderfully, bittersweet.
Any lingering restraint he possessed is banished in that exact moment. Markus leans into him, a hand coming up to grip at the back of the other’s shoulder. With everything falling away, this one connection is his only anchoring point, and shuddering breaths become paroxysms become tears become the final, jarring release of letting himself cry.
And so he does.
The moments that pass afterwards wax and wane, time just a strange weft in the hospital room, until something coherent returns, and he feels like he can reel in words again. His voice is strained with fresh, exhausted relief.]
Everything we’ve worked for, everything we will achieve— I know that you’ll be there for all of it. [Shoulders shiver in a huff of air, tired humor.] If you’re here with me like this, then surely you will be.
[He knows he can rely on him. He didn’t need affirmation, but now he knows it tenfold.]
Thank you for telling me, and just— Just thank you, Connor.
(connor holds fast to markus and lets him grasp at him, breathe through it, cry. it's a weight both of them needed to relieve themselves of, pent-up frustrations giving them more to worry about than each other. no one can live like that, repressing everything, shoving it down for "another time" when that time, too, will be added in with the rest.
the painkillers make his head cloudy with appreciation, whatever protest his collarbone makes at the tight hug lost to the desire to keep markus close. so it's no fault of his own when the fingers of his free hand tighten and his face presses into a broad shoulder, head bowed, staring unseeingly at the far wall.
until markus can speak again.
he has to bite back another painful swell of emotion — "i know that you'll be there for all of it" — blinking to keep his eyes dry.)
You're... you're welcome. I'm just happy to be a part of this, so, if I could, I'd like to remain by your side for as long as I'm able to.
(a somewhat awkward pat at his back is connor's idea of something comforting, his palm eventually flattening between markus' shoulder blades.)
[It is an awkward gesture, isn’t it? And yet it’s so very Connor, and Markus can feel nothing but gratitude welling up in him, spilling along the edges.] I’m all right.
[—he echoes, and with tension having long crested, Markus feels like he can finally pull back and look at his friend with a tired sort of relief spread across his features. Bruised, sporting a swollen lip, and now wet around the eyes, he’s nearly certain that he doesn’t cut the most flattering portrait of himself.
Not that any of it seems to matter in this moment.]
It’s hard to describe how I feel. It’s news that’s lifted a weight on one side, and added to another. I still can’t afford complacency, but if anything else, this is just more motivation to keep pushing forward.
[Knowing that success can and will exist. Frightening and exhilarating. Hope proven to not be in vain.
His mouth tilts into an earnest smile, given to Connor freely, despite it all.]
(not the most flattering portrait, but a confident one that's leaving him a little breathless. he's so relieved, mirroring the smile with an uneven one that creases the lid of a mottled eye. pain doesn't exist for him now, connor's sure he's healed — he has to sit back to take the whole moment in and marvel.
his head weighs to one side, cushioning itself on the highest of the three separate pillows propping up his back and neck.)
You always knew it was possible and, despite your doubts, knew we'd rise up. Now it's a reality in at least one iteration of our futures.
[He could lean away, pressing his shoulders into the back of the chair again. He feels oddly relaxed enough to do it; but Markus instead keeps forward, leaning close, one hand resting idly on Connor’s bedside.
A chance to celebrate. Even if Markus hasn’t quite earned that yet, he’d not deny Connor of the opportunity — even if they are dimensions or worlds away. They need it. It’d be good for the both of them.]
I think that, given how difficult our respective weeks have been, we could use it.
(after everything else this comes easily to him, too high on painkillers to feel apprehensive and too proud of how naturally they repaired their friendship after so much went so wrong. if markus doesn't want to, he will say no. if markus does, then they'll be able to take this conversation somewhere else.
build on it, get to know more about one another's lives and bond over the mistakes they made.
connor's lips part, a moment's delay before he manages to piece together the words to communicate what he wants in his head.)
We could finish our dinner. Somewhere nicer, this time.
[Markus can see the creeping haze of medication start to overtake Connor, the same way a quiet fog slinks in. He’s glad for it. The other android needs the rest, needs to put this day behind him through a veil of eventual sleep and recovery.
So he’s not exactly expecting the most coherent reply as the syllables roll off of the other’s tongue. Yet Connor keeps speaking, formulating what it is he wants to do, and Markus finds that’s not quite what he expected to hear.
A dinner. A nice dinner. Does he know what that sounds like? Or is he too high on painkillers to even consider implication or intent or anything more than just two friends celebrating a promised future? Should he ask—]
Yes. I’d like that. [—but the words escape him before they can be pinned down, surprising even him. He pauses briefly, inexplicably, then continues.]
Once you’ve recovered a little, we can go wherever you like.
(markus' affirmation makes him reach up to fix a tie that isn't there, fingers bumping the collar of his hospital gown.)
You would? (that's not at all what he wanted to ask, but there's a certain lag to him now that's making the process of thinking difficult and he's been derailed by his absentee outfit — maybe he's grown too accustomed to that lived-in thing.) Hearing you say that, I think I'd prefer to go now.
(said as he tries to the heart-rate monitor's clip off of his index finger.)
[…Right. Here we go. Connor is definitely under that telltale thrall of morphine, or whatever it is the hospital’s decided to give him. Markus reaches out, a huff of amusement he’s trying to keep to himself escaping.]
No, Connor— wait.
[A hand to gently clasp around his wrist, stopping his motion. The emotional buzz of the bond kicking up again.]
Not now. You need to rest. I need to rest, too. We’ll go soon, all right?
(markus' tired amusement feeds up his arm and he's forced back by responsibility. he's right, of course, as he often is. no matter how desperately he wants to go, they have to take it easy now.
connor only has one thing to ask, dropping back against his pillows.)
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
It was the part of us we chose not to be.
[There’s a Twain quote, some idle part of his imperfect human mind uselessly supplies him. Something about the moon and the sides of men that they don’t show the world; he can’t remember it, when he used to have no trouble remembering much of anything, his mind currently too overwrought with shared emotion, guilt, and relief. But the point of it rings true in this case. They might have lashed out with no inhibitions, they might have said words that would never leave their tongues in normal circumstances, but nothing comes from nothing. All of it, laid upon a foundation until it grew uncontrollable.
They had said things they didn’t mean; Markus still stands by that. But there might have been shards of truth in some of what Connor uttered to him.
His shoulders depress, breathing out a sigh. Guilt isn’t something easily erased in Markus, but at least the coiled tension in his body relaxes, reflected in the empathy bond between them. Finally, after what still seems like too short of a time, he pulls away. Markus removes his hand just so he can drag it across the corners of his eyes, quelling tears before they fall.]
Connor, the things you said… not about arresting me, or the future, but—
[Someone like me… I’m not fit for anything else…]
About yourself. Is that how you really feel?
no subject
the last couple of days have made him worry. is he still what amanda would've liked him to be? did he really choose, like markus suggests, or was this the path that cyberlife allowed him to walk?
don't have any regrets. you did what you were designed to do.
connor shudders and shuts his eyes tight, his next sharp breath in stifled against markus' shoulder. his loyalty to the people he thought he could trust almost made him pull the trigger on his hero, both then and now, and he can't shake the dangerous thought that if he's been overridden twice then he can be overridden a third time. what could potentially be the final time. his exhale wavers and he renews his grip on markus' shirt before — eventually, and not without effort — letting him go. it's far harder to do that than to look at him now, openly watching the wipe he makes at his eyes. awful that they've both brought this on themselves, that he's made a friend hurt this much.
but still fascinating in a way— why is it so surprising that someone would cry for him?
faced with a loaded question, he'll have to revisit his thoughts on markus' reaction later and why it would make his heartbeat quicken.)
I'm scared I'm not... (connor shakes his head and rolls his jaw on a particularly strong wave of anxiety, reaching for the hands that quelled his fears the first time. gripping his friend's fingers seems to do the trick, obviously comforted by him which is a sentiment shared through the bond that kicks back in.
when was anything this difficult to say?)
I've always been something, not someone. I don't know what that's supposed to look like, for me. I guess I'm — hesitant. (brown eyes crease as best they can with one as damaged as it is, offering markus a reassuring smile.) That's not to say I want to go back to the way things were. I just... have a lot to learn...
no subject
This is more than just a middling worry that he’s hearing. This is hard for the other android to say, this is a concern that shakes him — even if he couldn’t see this shadow cast across Connor’s expression, he’d be able to feel it creeping through their shared bond.]
You’ve always been someone. [This is a correction that comes quickly, a soft-spoken yet unwavering statement without a beat passing between them.] You just didn’t realize that potential until recently.
[But Markus knows what it’s like, even if the circumstances that shaped both of them were so inherently different. He had a purpose, too, found in that old, rusted freighter called Jericho. A reason to push forward past all the bad, a promise of a better future than the one they had been living in, something to live for, the blessed right of being recognized as alive—
But here, what does that amount to? A stilled timeline, or one that marched relentlessly onwards from where he left it? A cause left unfettered. His own identity thrown under question by a stolen body, if Markus were not already so firmly planted to the notion of self.
So in a way, he knows — trying to find new grounding when previous foundations have already crumbled away. And as always, Markus empathizes.]
But you were never going to figure out the kind of person you are overnight. It’s always a process; it takes time.
[Individuality is a thing to be discovered. Piece by piece, like a complex and colorful puzzle forming the whole.]
And now that you’re free to live, you’ll find it. In what you like to do, the people you care about, things that make you angry or happy or sad. Just... experiences.
[He tries to reflect the smile back. Tears gone but still wet around the eyes, it looks like a wan thing.]
You’re not in it alone. I can help you, if you want me to. I still have plenty to learn, too.
no subject
that has to be enough for now. everything else is too overwhelming.
connor nods again, unable to speak around the blockage. it may stand as testament to the coping methods he still has in development, but it ultimately keeps him from sliding down a very slippery slope into the pits of an inconsolable mood. it's moments before he's willing to try to strike up a better, easier conversation, first taking his time to marvel at their connection and the way he can draw understanding from it when he'd have to strain himself otherwise.
markus has fair concerns, none of which are impossible for them to take in stride. it's only been months when humans have their entire lives to figure out who they are. it's the comparing, measuring himself against the individuality of the deviants he's had the privilege to meet. tough but doable. eventually.)
I'd like to work on everything that we can together...
(he'd like that very much, removing his fingers from markus' so that he can finally wipe at damp eyes with the heel of his palm.)
Before that, I need to talk to you about the things that I said and... the information that I've been keeping from you. I was concerned that it might change things or cause irreparable harm to our timeline, but that's not what I believe now. I was lying at the bar, but I'm familiar with how impactful certain fabrications can be.
It may be impossible to erase the doubt I've unintentionally sewn — still, I'd... like to try with your permission.
no subject
He goes quiet for a moment, formulating a reply. Eager to learn, but it’s the kind of willingness that’s riddled with anxiety, filling it with holes. He can’t guess at what Connor would tell him, but Markus knows that he could easily define what he hears into successes or failures. Doubt does live in him, sleeping acrimoniously, not for the reasons that the other android might refer to. Having nothing to do with the lies colliding into him during their fight -- all having to do with he weight of responsibility, and the question of whether he could carry it with strength and grace, or simply break under its pressure instead, watching lives and efforts collapse all around him.
He inhales deeply, panging discomfort around his ribs. And with the exhale come his words, coupled with a nod.]
Of course you have my permission. And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to know. But…
[He looks at him, searching. He finds he can garner so little, whereas their empathy bond had revealed so much.]
You don’t have to tell me out of guilt over what happened. There’s no obligation hanging over your head like a sword, Connor.
no subject
(before, he couldn't.
now, with recent developments and the fact that he lied to markus to intentionally sew discord, connor feels as though they're both entitled to outing the truth as it stands in his world. the information will be a weight, even if it's good. what about it wouldn't be? markus will have to cope with being away from his people at such a critical point when the battle's only just been won and the city of detroit is freshly theirs in equality. they'll have to deal with the fact that everything has to be put on hold until they get back. josh, simon, north— hopefully they'll have some clue as to what needs doing in markus' stead.
connor wants this to be a good moment for them, one memorable day after a hellish week. he has to be happy when he tells him, he has to keep the levity in his expression. they won. their voices are ringing out across the globe and now they'll keep moving forward using them in a new world that'll be built on — in markus' own words — tolerance and respect. only more cities, states, and countries will follow detroit's example. the first free city.)
Selfishly, I'd like to be the one to tell you. (with a cant of his head to the side, connor smiles through all of the pain, anxiety, and remorse at his friend and leader. it's such a simple thing to say that means so much more than anything laden in explanation.)
You did it, Markus. (it was markus' hard work, his care, his determination and willfulness. his words and his feelings.)
You brought us victory and you will again.
no subject
Strange, how in the first fractions of a breadth of a moment, time seems to still. There’s only the processing of what he’s heard — You did it, Markus. — the weight of meaning beginning its slow press into his bones, realization settling languidly instead of manifesting as a jarring, elated assault on his mind. Markus can only search Connor’s face. He can only inhale shallowly, again, until the rest of everything catches up, and the revelation hits him like any revelation should — fully, completely, crackling and bursting at his core.
And in the seconds that follow, the consequence of such revelation.
He had succeeded, according to Connor, whose timeline was nestled days ahead of his own. Would succeed, a declaration that felt heavy on his shoulders with each uttered syllable, yet transcribing elation into each nerve ending the longer it rested there. He had carried forth, had carved out the beginnings of a path, had shown humanity proof of their autonomy, of emotion, of a species that was alive — androids that could look towards freedom not as a diaphanous dream, but instead a steadfast reality. Rights, tolerance, recognition as a people. That delicate promise of happiness for their race, living in tandem with humanity, finally, slowly, taking root and blossoming in the light.
He thinks of the other androids at home — he thinks of Jericho, and wonders how they’re doing right now, what they would say, how he would tell them to continue pushing forward to make this reality tangible, even if he were not currently there to see it. Wishes his comrades were here, just for a second, to ground himself in their presence. Selfishly, maybe, but only for a second.
And Markus thinks of Carl. Thinks of him in that sunlit studio, thinks of himself standing there amongst canvases, the swatches and vibrant collection of color, laden in the bronze warmth of being home again. Asking the man if he’d be proud of what he’s done, what he means to accomplish, a world that he would create for his own, but for others, too, based on a foundation of acceptance and open-mindedness. He wishes, so desperately now, that he could hear his answer. Would you be proud of me, Carl? Would he?
It’s this final confluence of thought that rends Markus’ stuttering composure in half. Where he had held onto breath, kept his brow tight and allowed only the distant shadow of electric wonder to live there, now it unravels, shred by shred. It’s all the taut snap of a wire — face twisting into something that harbors too many emotions to qualify as one single thing. Markus’ shoulders shake in a single betrayal against him, and the tears well up along the creases of his eyes, summoned up in tandem with a tightening throat.
It’s a useless and laughable attempt to save face, the way Markus turns his head, tries to futilely shift his direction at an angle in a chair that’s already pulled up too close to the hospital bed. Hands come up to his face, wiping at tears — telling himself not like this, not in front of him, but that voice is lost in the wonderful and frightening and emboldening and overwhelming news that’s been relayed to him.
He tries to form words. They eke out, like pressed through a space too small.]
I— sorry. I just—
[Need a moment.]
no subject
the moment he was invited to stand by his side. the moment he felt belonging for the first time.
connor owes him the truth and, more than that, his shoulder. no one else out here in this lost, backwards world knows how much markus had to sacrifice but him. so this hospital room is their private island, hidden away from a reality they're determined to reject. and there they sit together until the tide goes out.
markus cries, but connor doesn't see weakness in it. on the contrary, it may take a strong man to hold the hopes of thousands on his shoulders but a stronger man can allow himself admit that he needs help carrying it all. they, as a collective, gave markus this responsibility, so blinded by the fact that someone was finally there to save them that none stopped to think of it from another perspective. they ignored how exhausting it must be to stay unwaveringly resolute before fearful, expectant masses, to act as a mouthpiece for a higher purpose, listeners heeding his every sure word only to leave him alone to doubt in private.
no more.
not when it's within his power to reach for him, knowing their positions on each other's survival coincides. if they work side by side to take the brunt of this, they'll be twice as prepared for whatever future they walk towards. together.
connor's hand settles on markus' arm, warm, tethered to the ekg providing them with a quiet beep that stays consistent with the healthy beat of his heart.) You don't have anything to apologize for, Markus. This is what you've been striving for, I just hope that you can rely on me to help you get there again. And I will, every time. (he squeezes and it spreads to his shoulder.
there's no one they have to impress, even if a very large part of him remains struck by the show of emotion he'd rather stoke than pull away from. it's clear to him then that he needs this, to clear the congestion, and connor's quick to draw him closer. another tight hug, protecting the display with a severe look at the door past markus' shoulder and the sheer curtain that keeps them in an untouchable bubble.
no one will ruin this for them.)
I'm... proud. To be here, to be alive. To call you my friend.
no subject
But there’s the warmth of pressure on his arm, Connor’s touch welling up shared sentiment once more, a bridge connecting them and letting everything flow through. Even if he could manage words, he’s not sure he’s in possession of them. Not as the other android’s hand moves to his shoulder and draws him close, another embrace that feels different than the last one; framed in the conveyance of intimacy. An island, indeed, with only the two of them stranded upon its shore.
He wonders if it’s the bond that entwines Connor’s words with his thoughts. Markus, wondering if Carl would’ve been proud, and his friend confirming his own sentiment in turn. A call and response. Like Connor’s dipped his fingers into his chest and plucked at a string that resounds brilliantly, wonderfully, bittersweet.
Any lingering restraint he possessed is banished in that exact moment. Markus leans into him, a hand coming up to grip at the back of the other’s shoulder. With everything falling away, this one connection is his only anchoring point, and shuddering breaths become paroxysms become tears become the final, jarring release of letting himself cry.
And so he does.
The moments that pass afterwards wax and wane, time just a strange weft in the hospital room, until something coherent returns, and he feels like he can reel in words again. His voice is strained with fresh, exhausted relief.]
Everything we’ve worked for, everything we will achieve— I know that you’ll be there for all of it. [Shoulders shiver in a huff of air, tired humor.] If you’re here with me like this, then surely you will be.
[He knows he can rely on him. He didn’t need affirmation, but now he knows it tenfold.]
Thank you for telling me, and just— Just thank you, Connor.
no subject
the painkillers make his head cloudy with appreciation, whatever protest his collarbone makes at the tight hug lost to the desire to keep markus close. so it's no fault of his own when the fingers of his free hand tighten and his face presses into a broad shoulder, head bowed, staring unseeingly at the far wall.
until markus can speak again.
he has to bite back another painful swell of emotion — "i know that you'll be there for all of it" — blinking to keep his eyes dry.)
You're... you're welcome. I'm just happy to be a part of this, so, if I could, I'd like to remain by your side for as long as I'm able to.
(a somewhat awkward pat at his back is connor's idea of something comforting, his palm eventually flattening between markus' shoulder blades.)
Are you alright?
no subject
[—he echoes, and with tension having long crested, Markus feels like he can finally pull back and look at his friend with a tired sort of relief spread across his features. Bruised, sporting a swollen lip, and now wet around the eyes, he’s nearly certain that he doesn’t cut the most flattering portrait of himself.
Not that any of it seems to matter in this moment.]
It’s hard to describe how I feel. It’s news that’s lifted a weight on one side, and added to another. I still can’t afford complacency, but if anything else, this is just more motivation to keep pushing forward.
[Knowing that success can and will exist. Frightening and exhilarating. Hope proven to not be in vain.
His mouth tilts into an earnest smile, given to Connor freely, despite it all.]
But it’s wonderful, too. Of course it is.
no subject
his head weighs to one side, cushioning itself on the highest of the three separate pillows propping up his back and neck.)
You always knew it was possible and, despite your doubts, knew we'd rise up. Now it's a reality in at least one iteration of our futures.
...
I never did get to celebrate.
no subject
A chance to celebrate. Even if Markus hasn’t quite earned that yet, he’d not deny Connor of the opportunity — even if they are dimensions or worlds away. They need it. It’d be good for the both of them.]
Would you like to?
[What does he want to do?]
no subject
(after everything else this comes easily to him, too high on painkillers to feel apprehensive and too proud of how naturally they repaired their friendship after so much went so wrong. if markus doesn't want to, he will say no. if markus does, then they'll be able to take this conversation somewhere else.
build on it, get to know more about one another's lives and bond over the mistakes they made.
connor's lips part, a moment's delay before he manages to piece together the words to communicate what he wants in his head.)
We could finish our dinner. Somewhere nicer, this time.
no subject
So he’s not exactly expecting the most coherent reply as the syllables roll off of the other’s tongue. Yet Connor keeps speaking, formulating what it is he wants to do, and Markus finds that’s not quite what he expected to hear.
A dinner. A nice dinner. Does he know what that sounds like? Or is he too high on painkillers to even consider implication or intent or anything more than just two friends celebrating a promised future? Should he ask—]
Yes. I’d like that. [—but the words escape him before they can be pinned down, surprising even him. He pauses briefly, inexplicably, then continues.]
Once you’ve recovered a little, we can go wherever you like.
no subject
You would? (that's not at all what he wanted to ask, but there's a certain lag to him now that's making the process of thinking difficult and he's been derailed by his absentee outfit — maybe he's grown too accustomed to that lived-in thing.) Hearing you say that, I think I'd prefer to go now.
(said as he tries to the heart-rate monitor's clip off of his index finger.)
This is difficult to do with only the one hand.
(here we go...)
no subject
No, Connor— wait.
[A hand to gently clasp around his wrist, stopping his motion. The emotional buzz of the bond kicking up again.]
Not now. You need to rest. I need to rest, too. We’ll go soon, all right?
no subject
connor only has one thing to ask, dropping back against his pillows.)
Are you staying?
no subject
Of course I’ll stay.
[Watching Connor sink back into his pillows, Markus releases his loose grip, letting his hand rest at the bedside once more.]
I’m not going anywhere.