Work Text:
It’s that time of day when even the busiest of minds starts growing slow and gravid with the possibility of sleep. Sweet unconsciousness. Today’s loop felt longer than normal, with that guy Ray and his dog and that scuffle on the court and Leon helping him through that panic attack before everything started, his mom sniping at him about missing a spot on the dishes and Mr. Robot mocking them both.
Now, though, Elliot feels his limbs starting to cool, growing heavy and soft, his mind pliant with those flashing upcoming attraction-like trailers right before REM sleep and dreams.
Leon with his bark of a laugh and trickster's grin, his Seinfeld monologues, and him humming some new song at his side when they're heading places together, a bop in his step and an easiness in his face like nothing else Elliot has seen before. It's attractive. Elliot wants that more than anything. Does he want Leon, or does he want the comfort that he seems to wear like his bandana? That warmth and sunshine in his grin, the kind that Elliot's finding himself wanting to feel – as if he'd been stuck inside a cold place without any kind of light for far too long.
He isn't sure, but what he does know is that now is not the time to really consider and ponder these things. That can't wait. And tomorrow, he can figure it all out – or at least, start to do so. His eyes close, and then that place beneath his eyes shuts too, and it's blessedly dark.
It's a really quiet night for this area of New York, and he'll take it. He's grateful for the lack of noise.
“Getting ready to go off to sleepy time, kiddo?”
Mr. Robot's voice is soft but rough, like the sand at Coney Island. Soft but with a thousand grains of glass sticking out of it, some shards bigger than others that will cut you if you're not careful. Elliot doesn't open his eyes.
Fuck. Do not engage.
His childhood bed dips beneath him, and the warm weight of Robot joins him. It isn't sweaty summer quite yet here, the humidity and dew point not quite so high. But it's enough for him to lethargically kick off some of the covers to compensate for that extra heat suddenly added in.
Mr. Robot shoves him over, though it's half-hearted and almost gentle. Just enough space for him to fit and stretch out, hands beneath his head, staring up at a starless mica ceiling with moonlight slashing across his face with a terrible violence.
“Fuck off.” Elliot's voice is just as quiet, but there's no weight behind it. He's so close to that sweetest of analog places and times. Just a little further, a little further and he'll be there.
Leon's face flashes across his brain and he smiles. Doesn't know why but doesn't really question it, either. It's nice.
“Huh. Thought so.” Pause. “You're thinkin' of that annoying kid, aren't you? Leo?” He scrunches his face up in thought. That's not quite right but he doesn't correct himself. There's a perfect velveteen finish to that voice, all quiet and malice and an eagerness for harm.
Fuck. Do not engage.
“I would stop where you are, kiddo. I wouldn't go to that place you want to go to so badly. You don't know if he's gay. Don't know if he has those feelings. If he doesn't, he'll hurt you, and he may even run away in disgust.” Robot sighs. “On the other hand, even if he does feel that way for you, he'll hurt you anyway. That's the hedgehog's dilemma.” He's enjoying himself now, beaming at tiny mica flecks that now start to look like stars as moonlight hits them. “We can't be alone, and if we try to get close to others, we hurt ourselves and them, too. The human condition, and all that."
The human condition is a straight-up tragedy, cuz. Leon's voice curling in his cortices.
Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.
“You don't know that”, it's a sigh, and Elliot opens his eyes, shifting on his side and bracing his jaw against his fist. He's too tired to fight, to be loud right now. But he's not exactly keen on the idea of Robot abusing him for awhile either, too.
“Don't I?” Mr. Robot raises an eyebrow. “I know you like I know myself. Better, if anything.”
“But you don't know him.”
“True, but I know human nature. And so do you.”
Robot rolls his eyes. “Please. Don't turn that church group rhetoric on me, kid. You're better than that.”
Elliot raises an eyebrow. “Am I, though? Am I really?”
Robot's face grows serious once more, and he inches away, putting just a bit of space between the two of them. “Yes, Elliot, you are. You don't deserve a lot of what's happened to you. I want to protect you. That's why I'm here.”
The unspoken words, that's why you summoned me, hang between them.
“I hate seeing you hurt.”
“Even if you're the one doing the hurting?”
“That's tough love, kiddo. I thought you knew that by now.”
Elliot shakes his head slowly. “If you're shoving a gun in my face at least once a day, everyday, how am I not supposed to want to run? How am I supposed to react? Thank you, sir, can I have another?”
It causes Elliot to pause for awhile, taking in those features so like his own that he can easily see himself in twenty years in Mr. Robot's face. There's that glimmering light of pure, honed rage – sharper than one hundred knives and four times as deadly in the older man's gaze. He knows it well. He saw it as a child in his own face. It's probably still there, a malicious glee that's aching for an avenue of exit. A target, a hostage. Something to aim at and strike.
“Why are you so angry?” Elliot's voice is not much more than a whisper, but it's also awed – how can someone be this angry and still be walking around?
Robot's eyes study the walls beyond Elliot's shoulder. “Don't quote Dickens at me.” But it's weak, and they both know it.
More loud, more noticeable is the fear coming off of the older man. It's enough to cause Elliot pause. He really is terrified.
“You can't keep doing this to me.” He says gently to Mr. Robot. “We both know that. I just want things to go back to the way they were.”
“The way things were was terrible. That's also why I'm here. Did you forget that?”
Like you forgot about your sister, the words not spoken but they don't need to be for them to still wound. Still, it's not a new complaint, and Elliot sighs quietly.
“It's okay.” He finds himself reaching out toward Mr. Robot, one hand cradling the older man's scruffy cheek. As if soothing an angry animal. That wouldn't be so far from the truth, really. Mr. Robot closes his eyes, eyelids trembling.
Elliot has finally found his bug, his exploit. The raw bleeding place from which Mr. Robot operates, his reason d'etre – fear, rage. The fear of being abandoned. The fear of being replaced by Leon or others. The rage at which therein.
“It's okay”, he says again, but this time, he doesn't know who he's talking to. To Mr. Robot, or to himself? It seems like it's something they both need to hear. “No more. Not tonight.”
Mr. Robot seems like he's about to say something, but Elliot closes his eyes, and lays his head back down on his pillow. But his hand is still there, holding the older man's cheek. Something inside of Elliot releases, and he feels sleep finally coming down upon him.
And tomorrow, he'll have breakfast with Leon.
And tomorrow, they'll catch another pick-up game at the park.
And tomorrow, maybe he'll even teach Leon how to play Pokemon Go a little better.
And tomorrow, they'll grow closer together. Hopefully.
And tomorrow, things will continue. Life will go on.
And a thousand tomorrows from now, long after Elliot is gone, the planet will still remain, turning in a sea of silence and dark, comfortably indifferent to all of its creatures and their plights and pleas.
As REM sleep begins and dreams start to assemble themselves for another nightly audience, Elliot's hand falls to the mattress. Mr. Robot is gone. His words float on the light breeze coming off the ocean and into Elliot's window.
Thank you, kiddo. But fuck you, too.