Work Text:
Brian watches the silhouettes of two men approaching ever closer. He need not see their faces nor make out their details through the frosted glass doors, for he already knows who is to greet him. His life’s work, his only trustworthy assistant, and his own worst enemy; everything seemed to have led up to this point, like a house of cards meticulously stacked to shape a magnificent mansion; one of Brian’s own premeditated designs.
He need not bother with Daithi or Sean. He would not even give them a hello when they meet. When he sees the embodiment of code on the other side of the glass — the pale blue glow of light behind the doors — he will snatch it right up and immediately get to work, for he has met an impasse. Because up until now, there was nowhere further to go with this project. There was no more progress he could make with his tech in Sean’s and Kevin’s hands grimy hands. But now that they are out of the picture… now that it is right here in front of him…
He expects himself to feel pride when he opens those doors. He expects himself to be overrun with excitement, and to speed through the process of transferring the AI into his needy hands. He half expects a fight between them to keep the pathetic jumble of code that Seán would have grown attached to. He considers the possibility of an intervention, as Daithi grows weary of his designs and demands to know his next course of action before Brian can make it. It crosses his mind that this may be a decoy; a simple distraction while the real Daithi and Seán run off, like the cowards they are. But he knows better than that. The static which buzzes through his chest is not entirely due to excitement, despite his inexperience as to what such a thing feels like. He feels interference, the manifestation of code tainted by Sean vibrating the world around him, shaking and struggling to maintain his position in this uncomfortably stale world.
The doors part on his own command and reveal two men standing before him. He is met with Daithi’s tired yet shaken expression, brimming with unease, confusion, and a slight twinge of fear which Brian would practically eat up in any other person. He looks to have thousands of words written on his lips and stuffing his cheeks full, ready to come flooding out from his unfortunately oversized brain as soon as he opens his unneeded mouth.
His thoughts have been tainted by Sean, he thinks as his eyes dart to the other man beside him. Rage. That is all that fills him, like a pot of stew mixed with emotions of bitterness, jealousy and desire. A desire to punch him in the face — a desire to kill him with his bare hands, just as Seán once did all those years ago. Images flash in his mind of the other man’s face during the incident, staring at his burning car, sobbing his eyes out in painful disbelief and screaming his name. But Brian knows better than to feel pity for such a heartless creature. That’s why he has no qualms with altering this supposedly human form RT would have taken up, according to Daithis exaggerated message relayed over the phone. Such a weak mind to be shaken up by such a thing, really.
Daithi raises his hands by a fraction in attempts to give himself room to speak — but really, Daithi should know better than to interrupt Brian’s magnificent train of thought with his droning words — even the buzzing in Brian’s chest cannot stop him. Nothing can stop Brian from doing what he is going to do, because he will do it. Five long years of torture without his only friend have lead him here. Three and a half dragging years of tireless work to revive him — to give him his own body — will not be thrown away. Not when he can practically feel the spirit of his past friend around him, the gentle touch he was so kind enough to share with the world; his own friends, his peers, family, and most regrettably Seán. He will see his lost friend again. He will see the one he misses so damn much. He will see him and finally be able to know peace again, to finally feel relief again.
Daithi and Seán step to the side quickly as Brian starts eagerly towards the glow of blue hidden behind them. The image… the image he sees… hurts him. His feet stop against his will and sink heavily into the ground, weighed down by swirling thoughts of confusion, awe, disbelief…
The overwhelming weight of sorrow; the grief that he poured into his coding suddenly came bubbling up.
… His hair is just as messy as it always used to be; Parted evenly at the top as Daniel always took care to ensure. It fell in waves and curls like ribbons of water clashing against each tide and stream. It was not combed, looking more like he had awoken from a long and still sleep, stepping out the door with his natural bed head.
His face— why could Brian not bare to look at his face? It was not hollow and emotionless like the robot Brian had so tirelessly sculpted. It was sunken and tired. He looked just as he did at the moment of the incident, eyes open but hollow, with nothing left behind them. Only this time, his face lacked the blood and wounds scattered across both his friends bodies that day. Brian had not thought of Sean as his friend in a very long time, let alone Daithi, the man who had been right by his side ever since. Daniel looked at Brian with unease, each simulated breath hesitant, his transparent posture stiff. He looked confused.
Daithis eyes traded back and forth between Brian and Seán, the latter holding his breath in anticipation. As much as Brian hated to admit it, the two of them looked uncomfortably human beside Daniel, in all his holographic glory. They actually looked like people to Brian’s warped perception and broken mind. Yet when Daithi opened his mouth to speak his trying words, Brian instantly and reflexively hushed him.
“Shh,” he whispered. Quiet and dull, his voice —sounding unlike it ever had since before his five long years of torture — pierced through the quiet, silencing all other sounds of the world around them.
Brian swayed on his feet, pleading them to lift up and take a step forward. His hands tremble as he holds them frozen in place. His body… his body does not feel like his own. He had always been able to ignore or tune out the more organic reactions his body and mind had cursed him with; but now, Brian felt terrifyingly human as the realisation of his place in the world dawned on him.
Brian manages a step forward towards Daniel. It is a gentle and short step; one which looks uncanny to the men before him, who unfortunately know him so thoroughly. But when he takes another step, Daniel leans back, shifting into a cautious, defensive stance.
Why does Brian feel… sorrow? It is unlike any he had ever felt before. Even at his friends funeral, after he had been let go from hospital for the sole purpose of attending the service, Brian did not feel quite this breed of longing that he did now. Daniel was… he was standing right before him, and yet there was this part of Brian which still felt the need to reach out; to take hold of that friend he lost — the friend they all lost, and the one who’s death tore them apart — and to sift through him like a book, searching for remnants of the man who once was.
Brian’s voice had never felt or sounded more frail as he breathed out the terrified question; one with more importance than all of his life’s work— no, beyond that. It was a question which he has longed to ask for what felt to him like years. Not just five years ago, but before that, bleeding into the troubled teenage years and his tragic early childhood. If he got no answer from Daniel, then there was little telling what would be left of this scarred and hollowed out version of the man Brian had unfortunately let himself fall into becoming.
“Do you…” Brian whispered hesitantly. “Do you remember me, Daniel?”
Daniel looks at Brian, disbelieving yet curious. He stares right through him, analysing and calculating him for all that he is worth in the life had carved for himself. And for the first time in what feels like forever — since before Daniel passed or they even met each other — Brian feels judged. It is as if his sins are being held by the ghost of a man, who he has either failed or made proud. His soul is compared to the weight of a feather in the holograms hands, who decides if he is worthy or not; If he’s worthy of the happiness that would come with an affirmation; of the closure that would come with denial. Daniel will decide if all Brian deserves is the terrifying silence and unknowing that comes with being left in the dark, to never realise if any of his work was worth it.
And Daniel speaks in a voice which Brian— no, which everyone had nearly forgotten. They all lost him that day. They all lost the gentle tones in the way he spoke. The words he spoke, the advice he bestowed, the jokes he shared, the praise, the kindness. He speaks in a gentle but lost way, an exact replica even better than what Brian ever managed to replicate. His voice is laced with memories of sweetness and joy: memories of baked goods and late night competitions. His voice sparks a chemical reaction in their brains and forces Brian’s eyes to ache in a way they haven’t for a very long time.
“You are my creator…” he says, trailing off as if there was more for him to say. But the words do not slip from his simulated lips. The sound of his voice does not waft through the air. There is nothing more for him to say. He has nothing left to say to him.
Brian’s mind runs blank. It is as if every thought he had were a tap of running water, and those words shut the faucet off completely, leaving only drips of emotion to stain the floor of Brian’s soul. His breathing became hard to control. It stuttered in and out like a series of code which is not quite finished or meant to run in such a state. His chest spasms and his face contorts into a grimace, painfully cracking after so many years of keeping up his stony facade. His vision blurs, and his face turns wet with something that crawls down his cheeks like rain on his office window. It’s warm. And salty.
Brian broke out into a sob. Then a sniffle, before he slowly let a quiet wail slip into his hands, hiccuping silently as he hid himself from the world. He held his face there in shame — in grief — as he stood by his lonesome outside the building. Sean let out a shaky breath beside him, holding back something much more than Brian had seen of him yet.
It all hurt. That was all Brian could think to describe it as. The realisation thrust upon him, the tied up grief he finally let loose. Everything fell apart as Brian leaned on Daithi for support, who had slung an arm around him to comfort him.
… Daniel was never coming back. Nothing could bring him back as the person he was seconds before the crash, for there was no record for anyone to work off. Brian could adjust and refine RT to all his liking, but the truth was that it could never be Daniel. A robot is not a human. That version of Daniel would not get to experience shock of seeing blood after an accidental scratch. It would not experience the true anxiety of the unknown like a person could. He would not be able to truly feel the joys of nature against his metallic frame covered by synthetic skin, nor would he be able to enjoy the pressure of a tight hug from those who loved him most.
Daniel was gone forever. For good. Sean killed him— but as he wrapped his arms around Brian’s chest and sobbed into the shoulder not occupied by a tearful Daithi, Brian was presented with the unfortunate idea that none of them had taken the time to fully understand the others grief; The trauma from being there, the guilt of not being there, and the safety of forgetting; The horror of knowing, the terror of not knowing, and the pain of his haunting. It hadn’t even crossed Brian’s self-obsessed mind that Daithi was grieving just as much as they were. He hadn’t considered that grief — much like how his aspirations did to him — took hold of people and did not let go for a very, very long time.
But grief was a standard part of the procedure. It was the first few lines of code that you slowly build up and get expand upon, working at it every hour of every day until you end up with a working program for recovery. And even then, that code would never be guaranteed to work the first time: the program would be broken, buggy, or straight up unusable: in a state where it is an ugly mess that is impossible to sort through…
But that’s why software developers work in teams. They critique each other’s work, make suggestions, and discuss methods of alternative ways to do things. They often hand over series’ of code which they have poured their heart and soul into, and let the others pick it apart piece my piece, dissecting each detail and nuance of a line or sequence; then sit down with the others, and help to put it back together again.