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The day had ended, and the two coworkers known as Francis O’Doyle and Rho Banks were currently on their way home.
In most cases, they departed apart. But today, they ended up walking together.
Today had been a strange day for them both. Banks had started glitching, only to find out that she had malware in her system. Which then led to a whole other chain of events: O’Doyle entering her head to try and get rid of the malware, him then discovering some previously hidden memories of Banks’, Banks entering her own head and rediscovering the memories in question, her questioning everything she had once believed, learning that the company that had taken her in was a cult, and then to top it all off, she and O’Doyle ended up having to escape her head.
So overall, not the strangest day they'd experienced (working under the president of the United States certainly came with more than its fair share of stories), but it was up there.
What Banks found strangest of all was how O’Doyle had treated her.
She usually knew the guy to be closed off and not always that nice (especially to her) but always efficient when it came to his job.
But today, he had actually been nice to her. Or at least, nice by his standards. He had noticed that she had been struggling with her newfound knowledge and he had told her that the scars were part of her.
…And had also said something about owning the scars so one’s mom couldn't own them.
That was especially more open than Banks was used to seeing from her stoic coworker.
Part of her wanted to ask for elaboration, but she also felt like he wouldn't want to talk about it further.
As for O’Doyle, he had been just as quiet during the walk home, though his mind was anything but.
He kept ruminating over the time he had spent in Banks’ head when trying to fix the glitches she was going through. He certainly hadn't expected to unlock repressed memories and he had expected to need to rush to escape even less.
Strange day for sure. Not the strangest he’d had, considering the workforce he was in. But still pretty strange.
What had surprised him the most was when he had taken notice of how Banks had clearly been a bit down after he learned about her past. And instead of taking the opportunity to brush it off, he had made an attempt to, dare he admit it, comfort her.
So what if he had, though? She was his coworker, and it was in the unwritten contract of coworkers to look out for each other. And maybe sometimes that meant trying to offer comfort. So maybe O’Doyle had done just that, sue him.
He'd done it in one of the only ways he knew how: attempting to relate. He'd opened up just a little bit about his scars, most of them covered by his various tattoos painted all over his body. But he had been going somewhere with that. He’d told Banks what was probably the nicest thing he'd ever said to her: her scars were part of her.
(And maybe he'd quite accidentally let a little more slip out. Maybe he'd said something about the mom he'd been cursed to be born to. That part, he definitely regretted.)
The silence continued to hang over the two of them, neither one sure what to say or if anything even needed to be said. The quiet between them actually felt nice, whereas it typically felt awkward.
But finally, Banks was the one to break it. She cast a glance O’Doyle’s way. “Hey, O’Doyle?”
He looked over at her.
“Thanks…you know, for earlier.” She felt a bit awkward saying that specific word to her coworker given how she hadn't been in many situations that warranted it. But she wanted him to know how much he had helped her and how much she appreciated it.
O’Doyle’s eyes widened, but just slightly. His expression otherwise remained fixed in its typical impassive look. He hadn't really expected to hear his comfort attempt get acknowledged. He'd thought that today would go unmentioned and the two of them would slip back into their usual dynamic of bickering or ignoring each other.
Actually hearing something that nice left him feeling confused as to how to respond.
(Yes, he knew that probably sounded sad. But hey, one couldn't pick their family.)
After a minute, O’Doyle remembered that Banks was likely waiting for some sort of response. Time to try and figure one out.
He snuck a glance over at her, trying to mask the awkwardness he was feeling. “Oh, uh…you're welcome,” was the very eloquent reply he finally settled on. He looked away, pointing his gaze ahead again as he kept walking.
He was so good at his job of protecting the president and he was good at fighting (after all, he fought himself every day), but he couldn't even handle someone being nice to him? Why was he like this?
(Actually, he knew exactly why he was like this. But he didn't intend to dwell on it right now.)
Banks smiled a little. “What you told me actually really helped.”
“It did?” O’Doyle looked over at the robot woman again.
Banks nodded. “You're right, scars do become part of us. For better or worse.”
“Worse in my case,” O’Doyle muttered.
Banks glanced at him. “What?”
Crap, O’Doyle thought. He schooled his face back into its default deadpan expression. “Don't worry about it."
“If you say so.”
“I do.”
Banks shrugged, letting it go. She was curious and as much as her coworker frustrated her at times, she knew no good would come of trying to force it.
O’Doyle fell silent again, shocked that she hadn't pushed it. But he was also glad about that. How was he supposed to repeat his words and then elaborate on them when she inevitably had questions?
He didn't know why he was so averse to the idea of opening up when he had already done that a bit earlier, but there he was.
(Scratch that, he did know. But once again, he was trying not to dwell on it.)
But that was the thing, he always did find himself dwelling on his past no matter how much he tried to avoid it, no matter how much he threw himself into work just so he wouldn't have to think. And it sucked.
Sometimes he wondered if it would help to talk about it with someone, but then he remembered all the reasons he didn't open up and it effectively prevented him from making what he was convinced would be a mistake.
The coworkers, once again quiet, continued their walk. By now, they were both almost home.
Banks reached her place first and headed over to it. She paused and cast a glance over her shoulder at O’Doyle. “Thanks again for what you told me earlier. Goodnight, and I'll see you tomorrow.”
O’Doyle allowed himself to smile at her just a tiny bit. “Anytime. See you.”
Banks smiled back and waved before opening her door and heading inside. She closed and locked the door, then turned a light on as she made her way through her bedtime routine and retired to her room.
Even as she drifted off to sleep, exhausted from the day she’d had, her thoughts swarmed through her brain. It wasn't too often she literally got stuck in her own head, and it was even less often that her coworker traveled into it.
Even more than that, her mind kept circling back to O’Doyle’s words. Her curiosity had remained piqued since his words had been so oddly specific. She knew on a surface level that he had issues with his mom, but he'd never been too open about them.
And still even more than that, she kept thinking about how he'd told her that her scars were part of her. There hadn't been any trace of judgment in his voice, he'd just stated it like it was a fact. Like it wasn't anything to be ashamed of.
She couldn't remember the last time anyone had said anything so nice to her. And it had come from her coworker she often argued with, no less.
She would probably be thinking about that for a long time.
But for now, she began to doze off.
Meanwhile, O’Doyle had resumed his own walk home. Much like Banks, his mind was still reeling from the events of the day.
His thoughts only persisted as he finally reached home and even after he had gone to bed.
He looked up at the ceiling, thinking about how he'd tried to reassure Banks and how it had actually worked.
He hadn't expected that, but he did feel the slightest hint of warmth deep inside him because it had.
Considering his and Banks’ usual dynamic of either arguing or avoiding each other, he never thought his words would help her in any way.
But they had.
Maybe it was a step in the right direction.
Maybe one day, he would even grow comfortable enough to open up a little more. He still wasn't sure if he'd reach that point, but a part of him hoped he would. Contrary to what most may believe about him, it did actually get lonely sometimes to hold everything in. Trust issues weren't easy on either end, especially on the wielder’s. He struggled with forming relationships due to his reluctance to trust anyone and he wished he wasn't like that, but such changes were not easily made.
That being said, once again, he did hope to get there one day. Maybe he would.
For now though, he drifted off to sleep.