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It happens when they're a few drinks in. Macready's the kind of exhausted where he's been slumping a little lower every twenty minutes or so, like maybe in a half-hour, if he had a little less pride, his head might hit the table. There's a scrape on his cheek he hasn't even bothered to bandage. Not like the guy needs another scar. They're sitting in a corner booth, shadowed and in one of the few bars in the red light district that isn't Dvali-owned.
Adam thought they were meant to be fighting. And then London happened, and then they got dragged off on a mission to Ireland, and then... the day they got back, Mac cocked his head and said, "I could do with a drink. You?"
Yeah, Adam's pretty sure they were meant to be fighting. But this... isn't fighting. Sure, it's exhausted, mostly-silent drinking, but Mac actually bought him a beer. And he returned the favour. Between that and the quiet, he's starting to wonder if Macready got a head wound in Galway. No-one's gotten punched yet, anyhow.
And then Macready sighs and says, suddenly, "You know, I used to think augs were beautiful."
Adam figures Mac must have had a few more than he'd thought. Or definitely some kind of concussion. He considers activating the smart vision and taking a look, but he gets the feeling Mac wouldn't take that well. Instead he grunts in acknowledgement, thinking that over. Then he says, "The augmentations, or the people?"
"The first thing. I haven't got a fucking fetish." Mac takes a heavy swig of his pint. "The second depends on the person. They're not much without someone using them." He sighs. "I used to think they were... you know, hope. Building the future. All that shit. And then the Incident happened, and all the shit we had to see..."
Adam tilts his head, conceding that.
"You know the worst thing?" Mac looks at his pint. "I still do. Don't get me wrong, they're fucking terrifying. I hate what the pozy does to people, and I've watched them blow people up. But even now I've been choked out by a few or had a nanoblade thrown at my head... I still do."
Adam looks at him, and tries to find the words round the hole in his chest. He just snorts. Comes out bitterer than he meant, but he's tired and his back aches and he couldn't look at himself in the shower this morning.
Mac's head snaps up. "What, don't tell me you don't?" His eyes run over Adam. "But you're..." He trails off.
Jesus. Adam thinks he preferred the swearing to Mac trying to be tactful. "A goddamn robot?"
"I..." Mac grimaces, head bowing. "Yeah." Adam waits for the fight, but Mac just frowns. "I read your file. Emergency situation, wasn't it?"
Somewhere in his head, Adam sighs. Telling the story should get easier. It never does. "Merc put me through a plate glass window. Shot me in the head to finish the job."
"Yeah, that was it." Mac says it like he's just doing admin. Takes a drink.
Adam drums his fingers against his glass. He drinks, too, because his throat's dry. This'd be easier drunk, but that'd take too long and too much work. "Thing was, the guy also took half our team. And it's... kinda hard to make an augmented retrieval machine who can take on TYM goons when he's... mostly natural."
Mac squints at him, something dawning in his eyes. It's appalled realisation, and he's fighting it, because he doesn't want to realise. "I thought it was the accident."
"Accident took out my chest cavity and an arm. Skull was pretty screwed up, too. The rest was salvageable." Adam drinks, and doesn't look up until he can make himself.
"Fuck me. Who... Your old boss?"
Adam nods. "Guess he needed a show model." There's a silence, and he looks up.
Mac's staring at him, eyes wide. "He stole your fucking body?"
Adam glances around in case that was too loud, but no-one's looking their way. He tilts his head and shrugs. "Not all of it."
"Like that's better. Jesus. Here I thought you just wanted to be a supercar."
Adam laughs a little at that. "Yeah, that too."
"No wonder you hate the bloody things."
Adam chews that over, staring at the wood of the table. "It's not that simple. These days, they're almost..." Me. "It's not as bad." He looks up. "It's kinda nice to hear someone who thinks they're..." He grits his teeth, shrugs, and watches the patrons, the bar, so he doesn't have to look at Mac. He doesn't even think he can say the word. Delara would have a field day with that. Damn it. He really, really wishes he was drunk right about now.
There's a pause. He listens to someone order a martini, and wonders how the hell he got here. Other than infiltration and recon, pretty rare to hear Mac speechless.
Then Mac says, "You know when I said it depends on the person?"
Adam bites his lip and looks back to Mac. He leans back, an arm across the back of the bench, preparing for another barb. "Yeah?"
"...Yeah," is all Mac says, looking straight into Adam's eyes.
Adam stares back, and figures he must have misheard. Or that that was an insult.
He knows it wasn't when Mac abruptly looks away, drains his pint, and grabs his coat, standing. "Look, long day tomorrow. I'd better get going."
Adam swallows. "I - "
"Don't drag yourself in hungover tomorrow, alright? Miller will have my balls."
"Mac..."
"See you tomorrow, Jensen."
Adam looks up, and their eyes meet for a second. He thinks of pushing it. "...Yeah," he says, eventually. "Tomorrow."
Then Mac's halfway to the door, and Adam's left sitting and wondering what the hell just happened. He watches Mac's coattail head out, the tense set of his shoulders.
Then he pulls out the CASIE, just because he can't be - He checks the passive reads taken in the past hour.
He stares at the results, and thinks that he should be surprised. But he knows.