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After a short and necessary rest, Elliot and Mr. Robot came up with a plan: Spend some time each day going over how they're going to take down the "1% assholes."
Today is their first "official" team meeting and they're sitting across from each, Elliot's small coffee table situated between them.
Mr. Robot is sitting slightly slouched over, hands resting between his thighs. He's been looking more calm and collected lately and his current demeanor is making Elliot feel better about their future.
Elliot thinks about the incident that happened a few days ago in which he woke up with a soap bar in his hand and a warning about the FBI on his mirror.
"Thanks for, uh, letting me know about the FBI."
Mr. Robot nods gently. "No problem."
Elliot's feeling embarrassed because the stress of his sister getting kidnapped and almost murdered zapped some of his memories. Sheepishly, he asks Mr. Robot, "Can you go over what happened that night again?"
Mr. Robot sighs and rolls his eyes. "I know we've been through a lot these past days, but your brain is gettin' real fucked up, Elliot. Like I told you, I went to Tyrell's for a little one-on-one. Price showed up uninvited and made Tyrell an E Corp puppet. When he left, we talked about Tyrell's vacay with the FBI and he told me what was up. Oh, and Tyrell's working under us again."
Elliot is kind of annoyed that Mr. Robot is still being a dick to him, but a flash of a memory interrupts his thoughts.
He's on his back on cold, hardwood floor. Tyrell, face full of quiet rage, is straddling him and pressing down on his forearm, which is wrapped across his shoulder.
"What the hell was that?" Elliot asks, more to himself.
Mr. Robot shrugs nonchalantly. "I gave Tyrell the facts, he didn't like 'em, so he decided to smack me around a little bit. No biggie."
"No biggie? My brain is fucked up because you keep giving me brain injuries! If you really want us to work as a team, stop going around acting like an asshole!"
Mr. Robot throws his hands up in frustration. "Tyrell's a nutjob, Elliot! I'm not responsible for his crazy bullshit! You're acting like I made Tyrell hit me!"
As Elliot processes Mr. Robot's words, he feels a warm, buzzing sensation coursing through his body. Confused, he looks up at Mr. Robot. Mr. Robot's arms are folded tightly across his chest, his eyes fixed on the floor. He looks uncomfortable.
"Wait. Did you want Tyrell to hit you?"
Mr. Robot continues to stare at the floor. "I was under a lot of pressure. I needed a break."
Elliot is flustered. "How...how the hell is getting my ass kicked a break for you?"
A wave of sadness suddenly washes over Elliot as he remembers how Mr. Robot used to yell at him, insult him, attack him. Sometimes, he even seemed like he was enjoying it. The only logical explanation is that Mr. Robot wanted to punish him.
"Do you hate me or somethin'?" Elliot asks, voice shaky.
Mr. Robot sighs softly. "Elliot, like I've said a billion times: I don't hate you and I never will. I admit I did some fucked up shit, but everything I did was to try to get you to do what you designed me for. But that's all in the past. We're finally working together to do what we both want to do."
"Elliot, look at me."
Elliot looks into Mr. Robot's softened eyes.
"I'll never hurt you again. I promise."
Mr. Robot's kindness is making Elliot feel better about the whole "Tyrell kicking his ass" thing, but something continues to nag him.
"I still don't understand why you wanted to rile him up."
Mr. Robot suddenly leans forward and rests his forearms on the table. His bright eyes pierce Elliot's as the shadow of a smirk flickers on his face.
"I really didn't want to say it out loud and pop the bubble wrap that's holding your mind together. But I don't want to keep playing this game either, so I'm just gonna lay it all out there: I've got a huge masochistic streak, kiddo."
Elliot fights the urge to reach across the table and start throttling Mr. Robot, wipe the self-satisfied grin off his face.
Instead, he squeezes his eyes shut to center himself and runs a hand through his curls. "Can you not do that kind of stuff ever again?"
"Done. It was just a one-off thing anyway. I agree that we need to protect your brain." Mr. Robot taps his left index finger on his head, laughing. "Can't fix society without it."
Elliot's lips twitch into a smile.
"You definitely don't have to worry about me doing anything with Tyrell again. He's cute and kinda funny, but the guy is cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs. Not my type."
The familiar warmth begins to envelop Elliot's body again. Alarmed, he looks at Mr. Robot again.
Mr. Robot puts his hands up defensively. "Don't look at me, kiddo. That's all you."
Elliot feels his face burning up as the realization dawns on him.
A wide, teasing grin crawls across Mr. Robot's face. "Don't tell me you have a crush on Tyrell? You really are crazy!"
The younger man shakes his head in frustration as Mr. Robot giggles with glee.
"I don't have a crush on him! I've just been...I've been worried about him..."
Mr. Robot snorts. "Whatever you say, kid. My only advice is to just keep it at a crush. Like I said, that man is a complete nut. And not in a good way."
Elliot shoots him a sharp glare. "You don't have to worry about it because you're seeing things that aren't there," he protests through gritted teeth.
Mr. Robot raises his hands in surrender as his laughter dies down. "Okay, okay. I'll stop teasin' you."
The older man shoves his hands between his thighs. "Man, this has been an awkward meeting so far. Let's take a lunch break."
Elliot feels his shoulders untensing. He's grateful for the distraction. "Okay."
"Excellent. I can whip us up some fries if you want?"
Mr. Robot's words send Elliot back to a memory of his dad surprising him and Darlene with homemade bacon cheddar fries one Saturday morning. Elliot feels his heart warming up. Even though Mr. Robot isn't his dad, he really can care for him and help him. And that's better than nothing.
A sincere smile eases across Elliot's lips. "Sure."