Work Text:
Officially they don’t need sleep, but the fine print states an android requires uninterrupted time to go into stasis at a charging bay to perform routine maintenance on their system. The length of time varies from android to android, and he’s never needed more than two or three hours at most . Simon though, Simon is a PL600 and requires much longer to recuperate. He knows it’s a source of shame for the other android, he knows it’s an uncomfortable topic Simon never likes to speak about but he tries in turn to ensure his partner gets the rest he needs. The trick, he learns, is to make it a habit, to add it to their routine so it’s just another objective to complete for the two of them.
Since the beginning Carl always instilled human habits in him, always treated him like a living being instead of a machine. He’s always had a small room of his own, always had a bed to lie in with pyjamas to change into so he never had to stay in his uniform. In lieu of a charging bay, Elijah Kamski had the UV lights installed in the ceiling to mimic regular light bulbs, ensuring Markus could recharge while lying down in bed as a regular human would.
Now that the revolution is over, now that he shares this space with the android he loves, Markus sees this daily habit as a little luxury. Simon had been reluctant at first, feeling as though he were overstepping when Markus offered him a place in his home, a chance to rest in his bed to aid the failing temperature stabiliser in keeping him warm. It took longer to learn why, though, before Simon confesses it’s the guilt that gnaws at him, knowing he spent so many days in Jericho in stasis just to pass the time, just to stretch the meagre battery power he had left because of course there were no charging bays in that rotting freighter. There had been a solar power mat, outdated tech on the ship’s deck for their android crew, but they risked exposure to the humans working at the docks if they tried to use it.
Self-sacrifice seems to be at Simon’s core, and Josh has told him many tales of Simon forgoing blue blood to ensure others had it first. He’s so eager to die, and Markus wants him to feel just as eager to live .
It starts with sleep, of course, it starts with turning a one-off into a habit. It starts with soft flannel pyjamas and the promise of warmth and five hours of uninterrupted rest. It starts as an offer of friendship and it grows organically into love. It blossoms into a habit so ingrained in both of them that they can scarcely function without it. Though he doesn’t need all five hours, he’ll use the spare three hours to go through messages and tidy up his mind space. More importantly, he’ll use the spare half hour before Simon wakes up to just marvel at his lover.
There’s something so startlingly intimate about that small window of time when Simon is at his most vulnerable only for Markus to see. As a gift, Carl had reworked Simon’s dermal layer and painstakingly crafted it to have more depth, more colour, more life and along with the new prototype thermal regulator, Simon appears much more human in his sleep. His chest rises and falls with the inhale and exhale of breath now used to keep his core regulated, and his skin will flush accordingly. When the world is quiet and still, when Markus is awake while Simon begins to stir from stasis, he feels like the luckiest being in the entire galaxy. Markus wants to paint a galaxy on his body, wants to leave swathes of colour in the wake of his touch as if that could ever be enough to convey how infinitely precious he is to him. It still feels thrilling, almost as if he’s breaking a law by touching him the way one feels compelled to touch a Van Gogh, to touch those layers of paints on that canvas just to prove it's real.
It’s a gentle, gradual process as his systems come back online one by one, and his body reacts accordingly. It’s a gentle, gradual quickening of his hearts, a deeper intake of breath, a slow wash of rosiness to his skin that pools in his cheeks like the flush of sleep. His complexion is so pale that it brings such loveliness and liveliness to his appearance; a hyperrealism usually seen on a canvas but has instead been painstakingly layered on nano liquid that sweeps and shifts with each and every move. This is the meticulous work of Carl Manfred and Elijah Kamski coming together to create something beautiful, speaking a language of colour and programming seen only once before in the RT600. It is a blessing, Markus thinks.
He watches Simon come alive like the dawn that creeps up over the horizon and floods their room with light. It’s a small sigh, a little huff as Simon exhales against his collarbone and he cards his hand through his short blond locks, feeling their texture against his fingers as he scritches his nails along his scalp. Simon makes a sound, a little pleased hum in the back of his throat as he curls closer to Markus, seeking his warmth. The flannel pyjamas that usually provide him warmth are still strewn on the floor after last night’s desperate intimacy, and Markus smirks against his skin as he pulls Simon into his arms. Again he makes that little pleased hum, and Markus commits it to memory.
How is it that he fits so well in his hold, how is it that not only are their hearts are compatible, but their souls are too?
“Good morning, gorgeous.” He presses a kiss to his brow as Simon blinks awake.
“G’mornin’.” Simon smudges into his shoulder, sighing as he clings to him and soaks up the feel of their bodies tangled so tightly against each other. “My love.”
They’ll have to get out of bed inevitably, as their duty demands, and they will spend the day as they always do- giving themselves to their cause, their people. But for now the world is just this room, just this bed, and Markus shares this moment with Simon and only Simon. Cupping his jaw, he tilts Simon’s head slightly and seals their mouths together. They’ll have to get out of bed soon but… not just yet.
Five more minutes.
Before Markus and Josh’s clandestine flight to the White House, androids were required by law to power down and be kept in the cargo hold. Partly because at that point they were still just machines, treated more like luggage than a passenger, but also because androids were perpetually connected to the internet and used bluetooth frequency hopping to communicate at short range. When Carl Manfred booked first class tickets to fly Markus and Josh to the White House it had been yet more uncharted territory to cross. For safety’s sake they had to switch off all short range communication and disconnect from the internet. Unlike electronic devices, an android’s connection to the internet is crucial in maintaining their software updates as well as keeping them tethered to their people.
When Markus and Josh stepped off that plane and reactivated their communication channels and reconnected to the internet the sudden influx of stimuli caused them both to crash, prompting their system to reboot and enter emergency stasis to cope. It did them no permanent harm but upon surfacing they were running at less than optimal rates, slow to process information and clumsy in their actions for about an hour. It was, amusingly, an android form of jetlag.
With the Sentient Life Act granting them new rights, androids used the opportunity to fly interstate- some to visit friends, others just for the thrill of it. Jericho published an important informative document warning androids to be careful after flying and immediately seek shelter to safely weather the instability in their system. They are at their most vulnerable when reconnecting to the outside world, so much so it has been advised they do not reconnect right after disembarking, but to wait until they are at their accommodation.
It’s been six months since the passing of the Sentient Life Act, and Markus and Josh have become seasoned travellers, flying all over the country to represent their people. North doesn’t care much for it, and Simon hates it. He’s only flown twice now and tries to avoid it at all costs. Not that the flights are ever unenjoyable, quite the opposite since Carl insists on booking them in First Class. He can still hear Carl’s irritation, his indignant huff as he declared ‘I will not send my son in law to fly in coach! ’.
What Simon hates is the nauseous reconnect afterward, and the first time it happened he collapsed and blacked out for a full five hours as his system tried to cope, and then he needed a further two hours to reach optimum functioning capacity. The longer the flight, the longer the downtime, but much like stasis it varies from model to model. Simon needs on average seven hours in total to recover, whilst Markus only needs one or three hours of stasis at the most and another to ease back to functioning at full capacity. The Anderson brothers need even less, with Connor snapping back within thirty minutes and Ronan in ten. He’s only a little jealous, though he’s quite content to keep his feet on the ground thank you very much.
“Thirteen minutes late.” Connor frowns, watching the crew connect the stairs to the plane door.
“Congestion on the runway.” Ronan murmurs on his other side. The Anderson brothers bracket him as they stand by the sleek black vehicle on the tarmac. Their presence is a given now, ever since there was an assassination attempt four months ago when an anti-android terrorist group tried to kill Markus as he disembarked from the plane. It’s the other reason Jericho urges android travellers to postpone reconnecting right away in favour of waiting until it is safe to do so: they are at their weakest, too disoriented and uncoordinated to identify and elude threats.
“Will you both stay for a cup of Tearium when we get home?” Simon rests his palm gently on Ronan’s arm as the RK900 keeps his steely eyes on the plane, hands gripping his rifle.
“That is very kind of you but unfortunately we are needed at a briefing, so we must decline.” He replies courteously, accented English always charming for Simon to hear.
“Next time, then.” Simon promises, as the door opens and the passengers start to trickle out. There’s Markus resplendent in a long overcoat, scarf casually looped around his neck looking ever the fashion model as he descends the stairs, briefcase in hand. He catches Simon’s gaze and offers a lazy grin as he trots down the last few steps and makes his way to them.
“Hey gorgeous.” He greets, leaning in to catch his lips in a kiss.
“Hello my love.” Simon smiles, cupping his cheek. “How was the flight?”
“As enjoyable as it can be sharing the same space with wary humans for four hours.” A slightly strained grin this time. “Glad I’m back in one piece.”
“And best it stays that way.” Connor quips, opening the car door. “Come on. Let’s get the two of you home safe and sound.”
It’s a strange thing to be disconnected from the neural network, something Simon’s had trouble describing to Leo. It’s an absence, the total lack of something that’s meant to be there; a Markus shaped hole, a void in the system, like slamming into a brick wall you can’t see. Markus is right here, right beside him, but only physically. There’s no reassuring connection between them, no neural pathway shared, no funny little anecdotes flicked back and forth in the blink of an eye wordlessly, soundlessly. He twines their fingers together, and Markus smiles as he brings his hand to his lips and peppers kisses all over. It’s not the same all-encompassing wave of affection that interfacing brings, but it’s pleasant enough.
The RK brothers drop them by the end of the driveway, and Markus smiles tiredly as the security chimes a soft ‘welcome home, Markus’. When he crosses the threshold he greets his father and brother briefly before Simon guides him to their room. He goes through the motions of undressing and changing into a pair of pyjamas before crawling beneath the covers. Simon kisses his brow as he closes his eyes and finally, finally he reconnects and reactivates all his communicative processes. The connection between them solidifies again, and Markus manages a sleepy little ‘hello’ as he brushes against Simon’s mind. Rest, Simon implores, and Markus’ connection dims a little until it’s a faint thread between them as he eases into stasis.
Laying atop the covers and stretching out beside him, Simon watches the steady rise and fall of Markus’ chest as he simulates breathing. Reaching over, he rests his hand gently on his chest and feels the soft thrum of his pump regulator against his palm. He’s a work of art for an artist, and Simon will never tire of admiring his beauty. He’s secretly mapped out entire constellations with those freckles, and he wonders if that’s what Chloe and Elijah referenced when they decided to dust his body with dark stars. Moving his hand, Simon threads his fingers into the tight nest of curls Markus has recently taken to sporting rather than his default shaved head. The texture differs from his own fine hair strands, and feels slightly coarser to touch. There’s a short beard on Markus’ jawline to match, artfully blended into the fade at his nape and temples. That too is an interesting texture, a scratchy prickly feel against his palms and also, as Simon discovered by accident one night, against his thighs when nothing could dissuade Markus from sating his oral fixation. He stays that way for a while, just watching his lover sleep and losing himself to admiring all the minute details that compose him like tiny brushstrokes coming together to form a masterpiece. It’s a wonder Simon’s here at all, let alone the object of said masterpiece’s affection.
After an hour has passed, Markus starts to stir awake. It’s more akin to Simon’s own morning routine where his system will gently ease him back into consciousness, coming online one by one to avoid overloading his processors.
“Hi.” Markus smiles sleepily, and Simon taps his nose.
“Hello.” He watches him blink owlishly, one blue eye one green, watches him start to focus on his surroundings. Slow inhale, steady exhale to recalibrate his internal temperature as he rolls onto his side and unearths an arm from beneath the covers so he can drape it clumsily around Simon’s middle.
“Missed you.” A mumble smudged more against his chin than his lips, and Simon laughs at the sensation.
“I missed you too.” He buries a kiss into those delightful curls. “How are you feeling?”
“Tired.”
“It’s barely been an hour. Rest a while, Markus.” Simon insists, playfully tugging on a curl and watching it spring back in place. “I’m right here.”
“Mmf.” Markus huffs, none of his usual eloquence at his disposal. “Have documents to read.”
“Yes, and you’re definitely awake enough for that are you?” Simon teases, and Markus groans in protest, huffing indignantly as he buries his face in the crook of his neck. “The documents can wait. No one expects you to function immediately after a flight.”
“Missed you.” Markus murmurs again, words pressed into the column of his throat. Simon shivers as Markus slips his hand beneath his shirt, fingers tracing the dips and bumps of his spine. “Missed you so much.”
“I’m right here.” He reassures, smudging more kisses atop his head. “Sleep, my love.”
No one else sees him like this, there’s no one else Markus trusts to be with him at his weakest, at his most defenseless. It’s enough to floor Simon every single time.
“Let’s go to Paris.” Markus sighs longingly, breath warm on Simon’s tactile sensors.
“Hm?” He rubs his back soothingly, turning to rest his cheek atop his curls.
“Paris. See the Louvre. Stay at a nice hotel with a pretty view. We can spend the first day recovering, just like this.” A pause, voice softer still. “For our honeymoon.”
“We have to get married first.” Simon says automatically, and there’s a missed beat, a skipped beat as his hearts stutter. He feels the curve of Markus’ smile against his neck.
“We do.”
“We can’t, not yet anyway.” Simon tries not to think about it, tries not to let his imagination get carried away with the thought of marrying Markus Manfred, of belonging to him wholly, completely, in another way. A legal way, in the eyes of the law that now recognises them as living beings.
“Workin’ on it.” Markus heaves a tired sigh.
“It’s on the list.” Simon laughs softly, toying with the shorter curls at the top of his nape. “After you recover from jetlag.”