A simple word. A less simple concept.
A knife, through him, sharp enough he thought he’d bleed from the ache of it.
Markus’ expression cracked, pain washing over him as he heard Connor’s voice waver. Connor’s eyes, warm and dark, a fixed point he’d stared into to ground himself on more than one occasion, were wet with tears. Eyes that he’d focused on in the midst of a storm, when nothing else had mattered but the panic. Eyes he’d watched soften, over months, until they laughed when Connor smiled.
He took a halting step forward (nearly a lurch, as he told himself to wait, stop, don’t push), testing, nearly asking permission. Could he approach?
“I know.” Markus breathed, closing the space between them slowly, steadily, every step nearer, “I know.”
He would never known the width and breadth of Connor’s exact fear. Each of them held their own unique terrors, lived with them. He couldn’t understand the yawning agony of being possessed, controlled, made a puppet to a master he thought he’d broken free from. But he would help Connor carry it, help him bear it, as long and as heavy as was needed, until it eased or the world stopped.
Markus was near enough now to hear the pull of Connor’s breathing, feel the tension wired into his shoulders, “I can’t promise to take that fear, but I’ll help you hold it. I’ll help you-…”
He reached and wrapped his arms around Connor, drawing the younger RK against him. He tucked his face into Connor’s hair and whispered, fervent and desperately gentle, “Let me help you carry it. Let me in-…”
Connor could reason about all of it all he WANTED. He could go over motivations, likely plans of attack, speculate about if and what Cyberlife might be up to. And he had --- thousands of preconstructions of how events might occur. Connor was trained, built, to be prepared to anticipate outcomes and take them for how statistically LIKELY they were.
But that was the PROBLEM with Deviancy, wasn’t it? Despite the facts, the statistics, despite all logic ---- feelings factored in. It wasn’t just the matter of something being less likely, less probable. It was the fact that he was scared that something, despite being unlikely, was still always possible. That possibility lurking around the corner of his every thought, every move. Connor spent a majority of the time soaking in this HAPPY little life he was carving out for himself, while simultaneously WAITING for the other shoe to drop.
So yes, he was SCARED...He was terrified. To get close, to stay away. To let Markus in, to shut Markus out.
"I can’t ASK you to...to take this on.” And then Markus was approaching once more, and Connor was backed against the wall so it wasn’t like he could back away. But even if he could, he wouldn’t. He wanted to believe. Believe in a future where they figured this out. Where everything was okay. Where they could be happy. Was wanting ENOUGH? Would wanting EVER just be enough?
"Markus...” he meant to sound STRONGER but it came out as a whisper. He stiffened as Markus’ arms wrapped around him, but before he could even consider the repercussions, his posture softened. Eyes shut, he felt the soft skin and warm breaths against his hair as his head was placed gently down to the crook of Markus’ neck. Arms wrapped around Markus and pulled TIGHT, until there was no space in between them remaining.
“I’m sorry...” he murmured against the other’s skin, eyes shut tightly. Connor’s body SHOOK once, the beginnings of a sob that he quickly stifled. He didn’t have the right to break down. Markus was the one in danger. And it was Connor’s fault. He didn’t have the RIGHT. “I’m so sorry.”
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