strengthofhisart | Empatheias Inbox

[Even if the pressure did register as danger, it's doubtful Connor would have reacted much to it. The most he does in response to the touch is lean an inch sideways, more out of a lack of resistance than anything.]

This time.

[That doesn't mean it won't happen again in the future, and they may not be so lucky in the future. His response to the question is more automatic than anything as he thinks about the possibility, the temperature slowly dropping.]

There isn't much of it left.

[Markus clocks the temperature falling, even though he doesn't quite feel it, and in response he shifts his arm around Connor's shoulders, hand squeezing his opposite shoulder.]

That's good.

[He doesn't let go - he doesn't exactly want to let Connor go back in there with his own emotions unstable. Especially not with Connor threatening to ice over himself.]

He's a good man. I can see why he means so much to you.

When I had been taking care of Carl for a few years, one time he was in the hospital overnight, and I wasn't allowed to see him.

[Obviously, goes unsaid. He was just an android, and at that point he was just a glorified household android with a few extra elder care protocols.]

I felt... absolutely lost. I think I dusted everything in the library at least seventeen times. When he was able to, he called me to make sure that I was okay without him.

[Markus looks out at the pile of ice in the grass.]

Looking back now, I know that I was worried. But at the time I just knew that hearing his voice made it easier to keep the house without him there.

Of course, then he tried to convince me to break him out of the hospital. Which may have been his own stubbornness and his dislike of hospitals, but I think it was also his way of trying to make me feel better.

[Despite his previous stance on whether he should feel anything, Connor is sympathetic to Markus' story and makes no effort to keep that suppressed, a faint line between his eyebrows. But ultimately, he's an android focused on logic, and that's what ends up coming out.]

You were made for him.

[The dependence makes sense, for Markus. At the beginning, he wouldn't have been anything without Carl, even if he'd developed towards emotion in that time. He didn't have a purpose beyond the old man. Connor does, even if it isn't something he can pursue here. He was meant to be partly autonomous, not necessarily needing anyone as long as he had orders from CyberLife. The legality and access to information were the only reasons they wanted him to accompany the police. It doesn't make sense for Connor to feel this way, helpless in the face of an attachment he was never meant to have.

He rubs his thumb against the hand he's grasping tightly, a nervous gesture born from an idle animation built in to make him seem more real.]

I don't do what he tells me to, half the time. He's always just... accepted it, even if it annoys him. Even when we first met.

[Some of the other officers might not have been so forgiving. It brings to mind one of them: when he had a gun pointed at him for disobeying, only for Hank to defend him with his own weapon. They hadn't known each other for more than a few hours. For all his hatred of androids, the lieutenant had always treated him as something that was valuable, worth something more than just an expense for the station. Connor didn't understand it, and he still doesn't know that he does, even if he's ended up feeling the same way—placing a value on his partner that he wasn't supposed to, that CyberLife never programmed him to.]

More often I'm the one telling him what to do, and he does it. It's ironic...

[He wasn't meant to be a caretaker, like Markus, and instruct his singular patient on what to do. He was meant to follow orders from CyberLife, sent out to whatever situation they deemed important enough to investigate. It's not even like he's a mass-produced model designed be bought by whatever precinct he was assigned to. He wasn't meant to have connections, only prove that he could work seamlessly with humans.

Maybe it would have been easier that way, to not ever get to know anyone well enough to start caring.

Connor's voice is quiet, nearly a whisper.]

I don't know what I would have done.

[Markus doesn't know much about his birth or his creation. Much of the earliest parts of his life, before Carl had warmed up to him and started treating him like a son, is fogged in his memory, written over or filled with error messages. Sometimes he wonders if that's a consequence of being a deviant, or a lingering consequence from being shot in the head. Maybe he spent so long fulfilling his purpose as a caretaker that it persisted even after he broke through his programming. Maybe that's what made him step up to lead his people, the desire to see them safe and free.

But it's that caretaker programming (instinct, now, or second nature, maybe) that makes him slide over on the step, his and Connor's legs pressed together and Connor tugged just slightly into a half-hug. Markus' other hand reaches over and covers Connor's restless hands. His skin pulls back from his fingers.

He had hoped to let Connor just talk himself out of the depths, but he offers up a tactile link, putting forward enough support and encouragement and reassurance that even if he doesn't open the interface, he can still feel a trickle of it from the places where they're aligned.]

Hank is lucky to have a friend like you.

[He can't say that Connor won't ever face life without Hank; humans die, while androids are designed to last decades, even centuries in the right environment. But he has confidence in his own skills as a caretaker, skills that Connor now has free access to. And he wants to remind Connor that he's prepared now, more than just whatever basic first responder programming they gave him that might be standard for a law enforcement android.]

You don't have to be perfect. Humans didn't make us to be infallible, they made us in their own image.

[But Connor wasn't raised to philosophize like Markus was, to grapple with bigger questions of autonomy and personhood. Connor deals in logic, and action. When Markus had trusted him, he had immediately thought of what he could do to be worthy of that trust and set out to do it at risk of his own life, as if he had anything to repent for. As if he could be blamed for how the humans had used him and tracked him.]

You know how to help him, how to recognize the help that he needs and whether you can provide it or not. And if you can't, you're stubborn enough to convince him to see someone who can. [He's probably just as scared as you are, goes unsaid.] You don't have to be the only person he has. You're not his nurse, and knowing what I know of Hank, he'd probably hate it if you were.

[Markus squeezes Connor's hands, bends his head to catch Connor's gaze.]

Instead of thinking about what could have happened, you should go back up there and cherish the fact that it didn't. Whatever you need to reassure yourself that he's alive now, and for now the danger is passed.

[Connor is too shaken to put up any pretense of distance between them, and when he's pulled closer, his head finds its way to settle against Markus' shoulder without thought. Physical reassurance hasn't been something he's ever considered as something an android would need, especially not him, but every time he's found himself facing situations where malfunctions and irrational prompts overpower his logic, it's a comfort that helps settle everything back into place.

His own hands reveal the white surface underneath in response to Markus', grasping for a connection where Connor feels like he's failed to make enough of one with Hank. Before the reassurance slips in enough to abate his feelings, anxiety and guilt throb behind the link, although he's doing his best to keep it rigidly contained. If he'd been better somehow—maybe Hank would have consulted him instead of a bottle of whiskey.

But Markus is right. Both in that Hank would hate for Connor to make himself his primary caretaker, and that he can't waste his energy on the what ifs of what's already in the past, not when there are still things that need to be done to make sure it won't happen again. He already knows that Hank needs help Connor can't provide, so all there is to do is stabilize the situation and find the ones who can.

As troubled as his gaze is when their eyes meet, Connor nods and sets his jaw.]

Yeah. [He reaches up to rub his face, the skin returning to cover his hands.] You're right... we have to move forward.

[Markus can feel Connor's pain and grief and anxiety, throbbing like a tiger pacing in a too-small cage. His heart aches for Connor, who's hurting himself by not acknowledging the depth of his feelings for what they are. He worries that when the floodgates open, Connor might get swept away in the tide.

But for now he seizes on the connection, focuses what he wants to say on the spot where their bone-white fingers overlap. You aren't alone. I believe in you.

As much as he can see his own bond with Carl in the connection between Hank and Connor, he knows it's not the same at all. Hank is a hearty middle-aged man who can still very much take care of himself. He doesn't need a nurse, he needs a partner. Sure, Markus' nursing skills may serve Connor well in the occasional minor emergency, and having them might be enough to just reassure him that he can handle nearly any situation, but hopefully he won't need to fully employ them for a good twenty, thirty years.

When Connor pulls his hand away, Markus lets his skin cover his fingers again, but leaves his hand briefly on Connor's knee.]

Unfortunately, even we prototypes aren't so advanced that we can turn back time itself.

[Markus gives Connor one last squeeze against his side and then extracts his arm from around Connor's slim shoulders, pushing himself up to his feet and offering Connor his hand to stand. The gesture is symbolic, more than anything. The one thing androids do mostly have going for them is intuitive balance and grace, it's not like Connor needs help to stand. But Markus is there to support him anyway.]

What can I do to help you? Is there anything I can get for you so that you can just stay with Hank? I can bring over a hot meal, or take Sumo for a walk after a while if you and Hank still aren't feeling up to leaving the house.

[Under ordinary circumstances, a man who nearly froze to death would certainly be in no condition to walk a dog after only a few hours. But with the magic here, anything is possible.]

[Connor doesn't know what he's done to make anyone believe in him, but his feelings are starting to numb slightly, now that he's finding the will to partition them off piece by piece and file them away until they're no longer so vivid and erratic. Or forever. Preferably the latter.

There's an appropriate raising of his eyebrows to acknowledge Markus' quip, but that's the most that he can drag out of his social module. He at least can take the offered hand to get to his feet, despite it being unnecessary. Even now, the strategic side of his programming recognizes that symbol, and how accepting those kinds of gestures is good for building trust, and he sees no reason not to.

The guilt pulls at him a little again at taking Markus' offer to help further, though, even if he ultimately decides to take it. He knows he needs the help.]

We have groceries. [Food, at least, won't be a problem. They have a stove that's good enough for most basic tasks.] It might be good to let Sumo out later. I'll let you know.

[Connor will have to debate with himself whether to ask for some kind of healer or to try to keep things private, which he's sure Hank would prefer, as far as whether the man would be able to handle Sumo later. Either way, having someone to help with the Saint Bernard will mean Connor doesn't necessarily have to take his eyes off the lieutenant.]

[Markus doesn't immediately let go of Connor's hand. He puts his other hand on Connor's shoulder and squeezes supportively.]

I'm here for you, whatever you need. Just keep me updated, alright?

[Connor nods to the request, a tired-looking gaze on a spot on the wall at first, but after a moment he lifts his eyes to express his gratitude properly.]

Thank you, Markus. [He lets out an artificial breath, the tension in his shoulders unwinding slightly. He has things to do—temperatures to check, a stove to turn on... and maybe a few issues to discuss. As anxious as he is about it, he doesn't feel quite as helpless.] I really owe you.

[Markus smiles.]

I'm just happy to help.

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