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They’re swept down three flights of stairs and into a wide hallway where all of their footsteps are impossibly loud. Connor is at the front leading them even as he trails thirium on the floor with each step he takes. Somehow, he still looks more qualified than the four guards flanking them with their automatic weapons.
Markus’s audio processor is still ringing with feedback from the deafening crack of the sniper rifle and the screams that had chased it, but he can hear Connor speaking to the DPD liaison through a walkie-talkie, confirming the safety of Markus, Simon, and himself.
He feels as though his nerves are out touching open air, leaving him laid bare and hypersensitive. The basement beneath the hockey arena is cold and drafty, so much so that when Connor opens the door to their safe room his hair is blown back from his face. It grates on his sensors and dries his eyes.
Connor watches Markus and Simon file in before turning and addressing the members of the security team waiting outside. “Check that the west stairwell is locked and clear this level, then report back to the tunnel.” Once they leave he shuts the door and locks both dead bolts on it. Only then does he finally stumble, catching himself on the wall with a smear of blue blood as his legs threatened to go out from under him.
Both Markus and Simon move towards him simultaneously, gripping him by the armpits and hoisting him up on a solid wood desk in the corner. The room was probably used as storage at some point, but before the rally they’d had the hindsight to stock it full of thirium and thick moldable plastic for line repairs in preparation for a situation just as this. It won’t be enough to fix the massive fucking hole in Connor’s back, but it’ll keep him alive.
Connor grips the edge of the table tightly as Simon climbed on top of the desk behind him where he’d have better access to the damage. Together he and Markus make quick work of stripping Connor’s ruined button up off of him, revealing sharp shrapnel. The sniper’s bullet had sheared the rotator cuff in his shoulder clean off its mount, destroyed three power ribbons, and even nicked a neat bundle of nerves lined up in a row across his back. Just looking at the damage is enough to make Markus wince— pain was a foreign concept to them, but the corrupted feedback from the nerves alone had to be burning.
“My gun.” Connor said, eyes flashing towards the door. The chances of their assassin getting past all three security teams in the upper levels were low, but Markus knew Connor wouldn’t rest so long as there was a threat present, so he reached around his back and slipped the gun out of Connor’s holster and tucks it into the back of his pants where he’d be able to reach it quickly in a jam. Reassured that should worse come to worse, someone would be shooting, Connor let them fuss over him.
Simon was shaking his head in disapproval even as his fingers skimmed along the damage. “Almost shot your arm off.”
“Sniper’s bullets are high caliber. They do a lot more damage.” Connor grits out between clenched teeth, staring down at his own hands as he focused on holding still.
Markus could feel rage begin to overpower the survival instincts still thrumming through his synthetic veins. It rushes up on him so intensity that he’s almost surprised by it— fear, worry, grief, those could be expected emotions of someone just made the target of an assassin, and yet all Markus can identify is anger— anger for the people who dared to do this— who dared to ruin the revolution before it even got its feet on the ground.
But they’re not here, and they’re also not the only people he’s furious with.
Connor’s hand slips and he nearly falls right off the table, abruptly bringing Markus out of his stewing. He just barely keeps him from tumbling to the ground, wrapping both arms around his middle and settling him back upright. He stays standing between Connor’s thighs while Simon worked to section off the bleeding.
Connor’s stiff in his arms, but if it’s because he’s being bombarded by integrity warnings or because he’s uncomfortable with the close proximity, Markus isn’t sure.
“Do we still have the spare RK800 parts?” Simon looks up just long enough to glance at Markus. He’s heating up a small blow torch to melt down some moldable plastic.
“Yes.” Markus says, fighting not to explode right that second as he wished. His anger always ran too hot to contain, making him dizzy and rash. He bit his tongue to keep from doing something stupid. Simon seemed to read his him anyway, and a knowing frown tugs at his face.
Connor’s walkie chirps at them twice, and Connor picks it up before either Simon or Markus can protest. “Copy.”
“DPD requests you and the target stay in the safe room until the building is cleared. We’re doing preliminary sweeps now.”
“Affirmative.”
“Standby.”
Connor lets the radio fall out of his hand to bounce onto the floor carelessly where it continues to chirp with the traffic of the other security teams. His movements were stilted and slow as all of his energy is consumed in his systems’ self-regulation to reroute his thirium reserves.
Simon let out a heavy sigh behind them, his eyebrows bunching together when he speaks. “I’m going to have to deactivate the arm. It’s too damaged. I’m sorry Connor.”
Connor only nods.
Markus frowns. “We can replace it once everything settles down.”
“I’m going to leave it attached— I don’t want to scare the shit out of the humans.” Simon tells them as he finishes up with the final patch. “Leave your skin off there, let that cool down.” He climbs off the table and wipes his thirium stained hands on his pants.
He goes over to the large repair case they’d brought and digs out three pouches of thirium and a sling before coming back over and helping Connor manipulate it over his head while Markus tucked his broken arm into it. That done, Markus stepped back and turned away for a moment. He couldn’t look at the blood staining Connor’s chest any longer— it was making the anger bubbling in his chest that much harder to ignore.
Simon took a pouch of thirium and ripped it open before forcing it into Connor’s good hand. “Drink as much as you can. This room has all signals blocked right?”
When Connor nodded again Simon spoke. “I’m going to step outside and contact North, then. She needs to know we’re alive.”
Markus watched as Simon swipes the walkie-talkie from the floor and unlocks the deadbolts to step outside, giving Markus a meaningful look as he goes.
Connor watches Markus pace for a moment before speaking. “We’re safe down here you know.”
“I know.” He snaps, turning away. “Drink that.” Only once he hears Connor guzzling down the pouch does he start walking again.
“You can’t do that again.” Markus’s voice comes out far tougher than he means it to. He sees Connor fight to scoot back farther so he can lean against the wall out of the corner of his eye.
He can hear the confusion in Connor’s voice when he speaks. “What do you mean?”
“You can’t—“ Markus sucks in a deep breath and forces it through his cooling cycle, nerves still thrumming with desperate energy as his body slowly calmed down from the rush of a near assassination. Finally, he turns to look Connor in the eye. “You can’t take bullets for me like that. Never again, Connor.”
The confusion morphs into something deeper, feathery brows scrunching together as Connor’s LED spins an alarmed yellow. “I don’t understand. That’s my job, Markus.”
“Your job is to lead the security detail—“
“My job is to protect you—“
“That doesn’t mean dying for me, Connor—“
“Doesn’t it?” Connor growled, eyes flashing. “If I can save you, then why wouldn’t I?” He uses the back of his hand to wipe his mouth of any lingering thirium.
Markus can’t help but throw his hands up, his voice raising as his anger thrashed in his head. “At the cost of yourself? You can’t just throw your life away like that—“
“I certainly can.” Connor counters. There was something darker brewing behind his eyes that Markus has never seen before. “I’m sentient, and I get to decide how to use my life. If I decide that your life is more important than mine, then who are you to say I can’t use it to save you?”
Something in Markus’s chest stutters and grinds to a halt. “What are you talking about? That my life is more important than yours? This isn’t Hart Plaza, we don’t have to make choices like that anymore.”
“What happened tonight would beg to differ.”
Markus slams his hand on the table, the storm of emotions inside of him spilling over. The resulting bang is enough to startle Connor into silence. “My life is not more important than yours, Connor. It never has been.”
Connor’s face is annoyed. It was an expression Markus had never seen on him before. “How can you not see that I am nothing compared to you?”
Everything in his mind stops, does a double take, and comes up empty.
...
“What?”
Connor’s voice gets louder. “How can you not see that I am nothing? I’m broken, Markus. I don’t make good decisions, I’ve failed each purpose I was assigned. I was designed for a task that is no longer prevalent— I’m responsible for the death of hundreds of androids, and for all we know I’m still a threat. I’m obsolete. I’m—“ He cuts himself off and turns to glare at the wall so he doesn’t have to look at the devastation on Markus’s face. The darkness that was brewing is boiling now, shrouding Connor’s face in such a deep heartache that just seeing it is almost like a punch to the face.
Everything in Markus’s mind is tumbling over itself as it tried to process just what he’d heard— he’d been prepared to argue with Connor, sure, but he hadn’t been planning for this. Connor had saved his life an hour ago at the cost of his own health, and he’d done so because he believed himself to be so utterly expendable and unimportant?
“You can’t—“ Markus starts, stops, and closes his eyes. There are words on the tip of his tongue, words that have tumbled around in his chest every time he was in the same room as Connor, every time he brushed by him, heard his voice, saw his face. He can’t say them, not now, not when Connor was so fractured.
But he doesn’t bury it all. “You can’t die, Connor.” And certainly never for me. Never for me. “We need you.” I need you.
He steels his nerves and steps forward, until he’s standing between Connor’s thighs again. He reached out and caught his good hand from where it fiddled with the seal cap in the empty thirium pouch. He looks at Connor’s face where he was fighting to shove back his fears and doubts, where he was trying not to lean closer to Markus’s warmth.
Sometimes, words aren’t enough, but for now, they’re all Markus has. “It takes time, to find yourself. To understand who you are outside of your programming. It’s tough, but it’s possible.”
Connor is watching him intensely, soaking in his words, so Markus plows on. “I suspect, for you, it will be much harder. But once you get there—“ He gives his hand a tight squeeze, “It will be worth it. I promise you. You don’t know why you’re here now, but you will, in time.” He can feel the way Connor’s body slowly sags against his, tension draining out of his shoulders and hips as he adjusts to Markus’s close proximity and words.
“Please don’t throw your life away before you get there. And for the love of everything, don’t throw it away for me.”
Markus knows personally the weight that comes which such a concept— the concept of being forced to leap back into the notion of living, to dig oneself out of the comfort of a near death. It’s exhausting and frightening, but Connor is strong, far stronger than he believes.
Connor finally grips Markus’s hand, squeezing it tightly in his own. “What if I really am just nothing in the end?”
“No one is. That’s what’s so wonderful about being alive.”
“What if I don’t know how to get there?”
This, Markus knows the answer to. “Then you let me help you.”
Connor searches his eyes for the lie, and when he finds none he finally relents, leaning forward until his head bumped into Markus’s shoulder. Careful of his damage, Markus wrapped his arms around him, relishing in the warmth coming from him. “Just let me help. Please don’t die for me. I don’t know what I would do without you.” He feels the puff of artificial breath on his collar and relents.
The anger is still there, but it’s not directed at Connor anymore. He’s not surprised. He’d been learning that he can never stay mad at Connor long anyway.