Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The gentle rumble of the train cart jostled dust into the air once more, glinting in the light of the early-morning sun. Of which was Illuminating the snowed-over fields just beyond, the reflection from the pure snow near-blinding. The serenity outside was a stark contrast to the sleek blackness of the cart; A fancy private to-hire, made for the transport of one eccentric elite to another. The few leaders of Jericho had voted on their mode of transport to and from D.C, Connor was the only one who wanted to fly there.

He really hated the train, and the cart they chose.

And that he was the only one of them with the money to afford it.

Connor analysed the faint reflection of himself in the window, tilting his head to capture every angle; He did this often, every time he struggled to actualise the fact that he was, despite everything, physical and real. His hair curled over his forehead unpleasantly, Connor wondered if it was intentionally designed to be so fickle, after one hot shower had rendered it permanently untamable.

Behind him, on the opposite side of the cart, his leader had strewn himself across the seats, faintly whirring in stasis. The noise of which was decidedly unpleasant, and seemed to occur every time Markus slept. Connor thought about all of the times he’d advised Markus to allow him to replace certain inefficient components, but was only met with some moral jargon about him not needing to be perfect to exist.

Maybe, in some way, Markus was correct. But, old habits die hard; Connors freakish neatness was one of his few essential traits to remain in his deviancy.

In the next cart over, Simon and North remained in the provided beds, seemingly unwoken. Markus should’ve been in there as well, but he instead opted to work into the early hours of the morning, until he’d collapsed on the less-than-clean seats. Connor turned around to face him, the shine from the hollo patch on the front of his jacket conveniently reflecting a patch of light dead-centre on Markus’ face.

Seeing Markus begin to irritate under it’s shine made Connor wish he had more wardrobe options other than what was donated to him from the department in his new-found personhood; they didn’t have his size to begin with, and being branded with the incessantly bright “POLICE” lettering everywhere he went was less than fun.

Markus’ face scrunched further, the light bringing newfound attention to his light freckles, of which had appeared faint and faded all winter. He groaned, frustration getting the better of him as he awkwardly rolled himself over on the thin seats; effectively burying his face into the back of the chair. His jacket wasn’t cooperationing, however, forcing him to spend an uncomfortable amount of time adjusting himself. Connor smirked at his struggle, stifling a giggle. Matkus eventually gave up with a frustrated huff, and sharply sat up. His jacket may have won the battle, but it certainly did not win the war.

With a speed even the RK800 across from him would envy, he threw his jacket off of himself and onto sleek flooring of the cart; Childish frustration getting the better of his cool demeanour.

“Good morning,” Connor was forced to continue to force down his laughter, pausing in his speech to take a breath. “Markus.” Markus turned his head slowly, rubbing his eyes feverishly, his tiredness having finally caught up to him after his harsh awakening. Somehow, despite their bleary-ness, he still managed to pull off his signature stone-cold glare. Connor didn’t get much in the way of a reply, the mixture of mumbles and tired groans he was served would have to do.

Turning back towards the window, Connor’s GPS pinging him as he crossed the border; Alongside a withered blue sign appearing beyond the window, it greeted him. ‘Welcome to pure Michigan’, The sign read; Laughable, he thought. The state leading the automobile industry is the farthest thing from pure. A reminder manifesting in his vision yanked him from his thoughts.

// Global Positioning System //; Reminders; Message Hank once you enter the state.

His lips thinned into a grimace. The lieutenant's near-ancient cell phone wasn’t able to be interfaced with, and that fact serves as the single reason Connor owns a phone to begin with. The fleece lining of his jacket was soft against his fingers as they dug through his breast pocket for the device. Upon feeling the warm metal of the apparatus, he grasped it, gingerly pulling it from the pocket.

Pressing his thumb against the lower portion of the screen, it stirred to life. The short-cut to Hank’s contact being the only thing on the screen to greet him, gleaming with a harsh notification. He pressed the icon.

// Hank Anderson

://Attachment//
:I think he misses you
:God knows why

Curiosity struck the android, he opened the image.

It was a picture of sumo sulking, sprawled over Connor’s spot on that decrepit couch; The exact opposite side to where Sumo’s usual favourite place is. A stupid grin spread across his face, a contrast to the upset feeling in his chest, missing his dog. He shuffled on his feet around, seating himself in the corner of the carriage, leaned against the wall; He continued to smile to himself as he tapped at the screen, feet subconsciously tapping against the ground.

Seeing Connor’s smile that wide was a rare occurrence. Something inside of Markus lit up whenever he did get to see it, not unlike the feeling one gets when a stray cut rubs up to you in the street, pure joy; Maybe Connor’s happiness was just contagious. The android paused in his stretches to observe, which, he deducted, was only weird if he noticed.

Simple pleasures were still quite an experience to Markus, after so long without it. Warm moments such as these serve to both remind him of everything he’d lost, and everything he’d achieved. He reminisced on his days serving Carl, every second of which being that happiness he craved in his life.

He bit the inside of his cheek, eyes still on Connor.

His expression dropped as Connor looked up, meeting his eyes, still wearing that goofy smile. Markus looked away, flushed.

I love you.

Chapter Text

The incessant flashing of the press-photographers forced Markus to narrow his eyes; his answers hesitating to exit his mouth. The crowd of formally-clad figures just beneath the stage was bustling; They pushed and shouted over one another like animals, grovelling for the attention of the famed ‘deviant leader’. There was a larger crowd beyond the press-exclusive area. It consisted of androids, for the most part, not many humans cared quite enough to show up in person.

Markus scanned over the audience through squinted eyes, feeling an unease with everyone he met; This was mostly due to the looming reminder of possible threats standing right behind him, in the form of two armed bodyguards courtesy of the DPD. Maybe the real element causing his anxiety was the fact that that one of them was Connor.

He’s seen what Connor can do, he knows he’s in safe hands; But he can’t help but worry.

The screaming of the press quickly became too much, he realised could no longer stall, and decided all too quickly on a person to call on. He hesitated, making eye-contact with a woman in a blue suit towards the front of the group. “Yes, you.” He shouted over their chaos. The rest of the crowd grew silent.

“Mr. Manfred, have you yet delegated the recent grants your organisation received from cyberlife?” She shouted in a firm, yet hasty tone of voice. Markus paused to find his answer.

He spoke, with “Yes, the vast majority of the recent grant has been delegated for future use.” The people beneath him devolved into their previous chaos once more. Markus called on another press-member.

“How are you planning on using these funds? What have they been placed towards?”

“A large sum of the money has been put towards the renovations of Detroit's south-west housing district. The remainder of the budget is being utilised for Jericho’s android resource scheme.”

The crowd erupted again, Connor grimaced, finally deciding he’d had enough. There hasn’t been many times he’d been grateful to be an android, but this was certainly one of them; LED flashing a vibrant gold, he intentionally tuned out every close-ranged sound above 85 decibels.

Flourishing in his newfound peace, he allowed his focus to return to the assignment at hand, securing the event. His cold gaze weaved through the numbers of people like a snake, waiting for the right moment to strike. His system ran automatic background checks on everyone within range, and brought up nothing of concern; This didn’t ease his nerves, however, the press-exclusive section was the least of his worries.

His eyes continued to pick apart the crowd at large, the grip on his glock-22 steadily increasing in force. Once more, nothing of suspicion cropped up. Perhaps it was just his overactive brain, but everything about the conference as-of-yet was going unnervingly well. He allowed his gaze to wander, carefully analysing whatever he found it landing on.

Being still made Connor uncomfortable; Perhaps self-conscious would be the better term for what he felt. Maybe it’s just old habits coming back for him, but he felt utterly useless when in a position such as this, a waiting game. As strange as it sounds, he craved action, and he loved the chase; But he’d found himself guarding more events such as these as Markus made himself seen in public more often.

Pensive, his eyes remained searching for something, anything, to occupy his mind. The sky loomed above him, ever increasing in size. It was a blinding white, in the harsh Detroit winter, there wasn’t much diversity in that front. Until he’d noticed a small discrepancy in the skyline; He narrowed his eyes at it, catching his attention. A small silhouette was poised on the corner of a nearby rooftop, roughly seven stories above where Markus stood.

Connor’s experience as a sniper didn’t allow this to be lost on him, it was a clear shot.

His heart dropped.

“246!” He shouted over the crowd, lunging towards Markus. “246 at 10 o'clock!” Connor’s advances were not lost on the figure, seemingly having decided to take the last possible opportunity they had to make their shot count. Connor skid on his ankle, using the momentum to propel himself in front of Markus, making haste in pinning him to the ground.

A gunshot embedded itself dead-centre into Connors back as he did so, the force throwing him down onto Markus’ frame. Forcing himself back onto his elbows, he hacked, Looking upwards to the other assigned guard. He sent out a select broadcast, calling for backup. Every sound around him quickly became muffled even further, the quick loss of thirium causing his auditory processing to shut down first. The world seemed to move slower than it did before, the shuffling of shield-bearing soldiers surrounding him caused deep shadows to pass over the two. Warnings spread across his vision, the blood-loss clearly not coming to slow any time soon.

His partner quickly situated himself in front of the two on the floor, assimilating a defensive position, gun poised against his shoulder, eyes focused down the barrel; Being an RK900, he took advantage of his large stature in acting as a human-shield of sorts. He kicked his foot backwards, opting not to turn around, the nudge of his heel ushering Connor to escort Markus to safety. Connor responded in a pained grunt, the shouts emanating from the man below him still thoroughly tuned-out.

Staggering to his feet with a vast struggle, he slung Markus’ arm around his shoulder, much to Markus’s displeasure. Markus quickly adjusted their position to support Connor more than himself. The cool sensation of thirium leaking into his jacket made him feel sick to his stomach. The two stumbled down the stairs, reaching the make-shift backstage.

Markus watched, frozen in place as Connor collapsed onto the ground, an attending android rushing to his side to aid the bleeding.

~

“I still can’t believe that stunt you pulled, Connor.” Markus lulled into the musty air of New Jericho. “What were you thinking?”

The atmosphere around them quickly stiffened. The latent absence of androids in the church had made it more ominous in nature, the silence doing it no favours. The grime lining every crevice was somehow more bothersome than before, and the air laid thick with moisture; The place was in utter ruin, it made Markus glad most of its previous residents had found more comfortable arrangements. After all, the dingy corner they were stationed in was less than comfortable; Let alone sanitary.

Simon tensed at Markus’ speech, pausing in his repairs. After the untimely death of Lucy, he’d found himself having to take over her position, as he had the most knowledge in her absence. He removed his fingers from the gnarled exit-wound on Connor’s chest, the other man's anger seemingly singing his hand. Connor’s brows quickly furrowed as his head whipped upward to face Markus.

“That stunt I pulled?” He grovelled through his gritted teeth. “I Saved your life!”. Even in his rage at Markus’ seeming ungratefulness, he tried to keep his signature composure.

Markus pinched the bridge of his nose, moving to rub his eyes afterward. The feeling of Connor’s ice cold glare was not lost on him. “And just about got yourself killed for it.” He near-mumbled, opting not to make eye contact.

“Are you being serious, Markus? Are you being fucking serious?” Connor let out an anger-charged laugh, causing Simon to stand and step back further, trying his damn hardest to somehow step out of the room’s rising tension. “It was my job to make sure you were safe! You would’ve died if I didn’t act!”

“Why do you always have such a disregard for your life, Connor?” Markus met his eyes, tone steadily rising. “I can’t have you doing this, Con! Not while we still have so much left to do!”

“You have so much left to do!” Connor quickly leapt to his feet. “Maybe, just maybe; consider for one second that you’re an essential component in a literal civil rights movement! And that maybe, your life is infinitely more important than mine! Think about this with some logic!”

Markus stiffened, concern spreading across his face. “Besides, it was my job! My mission was to keep you safe and I completed it with an almost insignificant casualty! Would you have rather I told Nine to cover? Is his life somehow less ‘valuable’ than mine?”

“Connor-”

“Just be grateful you’re not splattered all over that fucking stage right now!”

With an unmatchable haste, he snatched his jacket from the ground, wrapping it around his frame. The sound of his heavy footfalls filled the room as he ran for the door, slamming it behind him.

“Ouch.” Simon whispered, earning an angry glare from Markus. It quickly dissipated, however.

“I’m sorry you had to see that.” Markus murmured, taking a defeated seat on a crate nearby. Simon stepped towards him, leaving on the wall beside him. Simon sighed, a pensive look spreading over his face.

“No, I understand.” He said, in the most comforting tone he could muster. “Connor can be… stubborn…”

Markus raised his gaze to meet Simon’s, pouting like a child.

“And reckless…”

He looked away again once more, the feeling of guilt familiar in his chest.

“But you can't deny how amazing he is.” Simon ushered through a chuckle. “I’d do anything to be able to pull off half the insanity he gets away with…”

Markus sighed, pressing his back into the wall behind him; A fine layer of dust jostled from it. “Sometimes… I hate his insanity.” he uttered quietly. “You’re not wrong, though. He is amazing.”

Mulling over the array of examples of this in his head, a soft smile manifested on Markus’ face. Every elaborate move Connor had pulled off, a statement in his agility; Every shot he’d taken and every time he’d quite literally carried Markus out of trouble. Thinking about this only made Markus worry further, Connor is incredibly essential, and it could be his own rash decision-making that takes him away from them.

His rash decisions have never been wrong, admittedly, he thrived on his logical methodology. He damn-near foams at the mouth whenever he gets told to loosen up.

“I just worry.” Markus suggested. “He was probably right in what he did at the conference.”

“I’m just scared of losing him, I guess.”

Simon offered an empathic smile as he raised a hand to Markus’ shoulder. “You should call him.” He spoke in a soft, unproblematic tone. “I do still need to cauterise that nasty exit wound.”

Markus offered an annoyed expression. “A-and you should make up with him! That's very important.” Simon hastily stammered out. Seemingly satisfied, Markus did as Simon suggested. He requested a ranged-interface with Connor, not expecting him to answer. After a few silent seconds, he accepted. Connor’s voice sounded raspy, strained in Markus’ head.

“I’m sorry Markus; I shouldn’t have yelled at you.” He forced out. “I understand why you were mad at me now.”

Has he been crying?

“Please don't be.”

I could never stay mad at you,
He wanted to say.

I love you.
He didn’t say either of those things.