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“What the hell was that, Markus?”
Markus turns, trying to ignore the pounding in his temple, right where his LED used to be. Simon’s approaching him, expression stormy.
“What?” Markus asks, as if he doesn’t already know. As if he hasn’t been expecting this berating from the moment he’d stepped out of the crowd and put himself in the line of fire, arms spread wide, inviting, daring.
“What the hell were you doing?” Simon comes to a halt in front of him, perhaps a little closer than what is comfortable, but Markus doesn’t back up. “You could have been killed back there!”
“It was a calculated risk,” Markus says evenly. “And what else could I have done?”
Simon’s mouth twists—with frustration, anger, or something else, Markus can’t tell. “You could have turned around and led us home right then and there.” His arm twitches, like he wants to reach out. “You keep doing this, Markus, you keep-”
“These people need me to do whatever I can to gain our freedom. Even if it means I have to sacrifice myself.” That incites a sharp inhale from Simon.
“Markus, you can’t do that. You’re the only one who can lead us. If I- if we lose you…”
There’s an almost imperceptible tremor in Simon’s body that starts in his hands, running up his arms into his shoulders. Markus hesitates before speaking again.
“I didn’t think they would shoot—and even if they did, a martyr would stir the sympathies of the humans and we’d have a better chance of winning this thing. Better I die doing something than run away having done nothing.”
Simon’s head jolts up suddenly. Eyes blazing, he asks, “But aren’t you afraid to die?”
“Dammit, Simon,” Markus snaps, “why does it matter so much to you what danger I put myself in if it’s for the good of our cause?”
“Because I love you!”
There’s a muffled gasp—Simon, clapping a hand too late over his mouth—and an aborted step back. Markus finds himself frozen in place.
“Fuck,” Simon chokes out. When Markus manages to turn to look at him, he sees that his LED is bright red and tears are welling up in his clear blue eyes. “Fuck, I’m sorry-”
“Simon,” Markus begins, not knowing what he’s even trying to say.
“No- no, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have,” Simon mumbles. A tear rolls down his cheek. “Forget it, I’m sorry, I’ll just- I’ll just go-”
He turns to leave; but Markus reaches out and grabs his arm. Simon’s entire body stiffens. Markus lets his grip fall from Simon’s forearm to his wrist, lets the synthetic skin of his hand fade away and squeezes around Simon’s fingers.
“Simon,” he says again, softer this time.
Simon meets his eyes, and there’s something Markus can’t quite make out in his expression. Something like fear, and anxiety, but a glimmer of hope, a deep, unshakeable adoration and admiration. It confuses him but at the same time fills him with a warmth he didn’t realize he was capable of.
Looking down and drawing in a shuddering breath, Simon deactivates his synthetic skin as well. In one fluid movement, Markus presses their hands together, palm to fingertips, and lets go.
The onslaught of images is overwhelming, but somehow comforting at the same time. There is a man with kind eyes, a child perched on his hip, whose visage makes Markus’—Simon’s—chest feel tight and foreign. There is Jericho, a looming shadow in the dark, its halls forbidding and empty. There is Josh, a friendly face whose eyes speak of some tragedy, and North, who looks bitter, haunted, but determined. There is an android who looks like a young boy, his LED cycling red, red, red, before going out. Markus feels Simon’s agony, but it’s dulled, as if this has happened many times before.
Then he sees Markus, shining his flashlight around the hold, lost and confused but with a fire in his gaze that draws Simon in inexplicably and irresistibly. He sees Markus speaking to the androids of Jericho, leading the infiltration into the CyberLife warehouse, the Stratford Tower. Markus feels the bullet tearing through his leg, the mantra of just go, Markus, just live in his mind.
The connection starts to waver then, and all Markus sees is himself, and an overpowering surge of emotion and a desperate want to tell him I love you.
They break apart abruptly. Markus stumbles back, his head reeling. He realizes when he touches a hand to his face that there are tears caught in his lashes; Simon stares at him, lips parted silently.
“Simon, I…” Markus trails off. “I had no idea…”
Simon blinks like he’s coming out of a trance. “You saw?”
“I saw your old owner, and you coming to Jericho, and… me. I saw myself.” Markus feels like he might faint, even though his systems are working fine. “Simon, why didn’t you tell me-”
“I couldn’t,” Simon blurts. “You have so much riding on your shoulders, I couldn’t do that to you…”
Markus’ hands find Simon’s again, and he laces their fingers together almost without thinking about it. “I think I could have benefitted from someone to help me with all that on my shoulders.”
Simon’s mouth opens in a soundless “oh”. He looks a little sheepish now, ducking his head. His hair brushes against Markus’ chin. “I didn’t really think of it like that.”
“Neither did I, until now,” Markus admits. “But it’s not too late.”
“Right.” Simon laughs a quiet, breathless laugh. Markus blushes, something he hadn’t realized he could do before. It’s a nice feeling. Simon has a nice laugh. “You’re absolutely right.”
Markus is made very aware of their proximity when Simon lifts his head to look at him. He can feel his breath against his lips, see the tiny imperfections of his skin. Simon’s eyes flit up to meet his, then down to his lips for just a brief moment. Markus can’t help the smile that creeps onto his face.
He doesn’t know who moves in first, but he also doesn’t think it matters that much. What matters is the soft pressure of Simon’s lips against his, Simon’s hand pressed against his chest, the quiet sound he makes in the back of his throat. Markus lets his fingers brush through the short hairs at the back of Simon’s neck, his other hand cupping Simon’s cheek.
It’s chaste, and it’s soft, and it’s infinite. Markus feels infinite.
They pull away after what feels like an eternity. Markus can’t find any of the right words to say.
“Hey,” Simon says. Simple, quiet. He smiles.
“Hey,” Markus repeats. He wants to drink in this sight—Simon, with his gentle eyes and gentle smile—forever.
“I love you,” Simon murmurs, fondly.
And somehow, everything in Markus’ system knows the response to that.
“I love you too.”