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Connor’s preconstruction capabilities exceed far past Markus’s own.
Normally, Connor’s range of skills are exceptionally helpful and incredible to watch. Markus has seen him in action— has seen him defeat enemies eight to one, has heard him twist his words so he gets the reaction he wants and foresee how the humans will react to their presence. Connor’s ability to predict possible outcomes is uncanny and almost never wrong. Markus’s own programs are similar, but Connor’s have been fine tuned and further calibrated, meant to go past the present and reach into the future where most answers laid.
It gives Jericho an edge in the negotiations— Connor can gauge how Congress will sway by how they hold their shoulders, and he can tell whether or not they’re wasting their time speaking with the Secretary of State by the scuff marks on his desk. Connor helps Jericho make informed decisions, and he can predict who presented as a threat against them and what crowds were more likely to swallow them whole rather than raise them up. Connor can preconstruct disaster before it strikes, and he keeps them safe.
Most of the time it is a blessing gifted to them in the form of warm brown eyes, a crooked smile, and snappy wit. It leaves them feeling more assured and confident— but sometimes it is the worse kind of curse, because it’s not a perfect system, and on bad nights, it eats Connor alive.
And tonight, Markus is cursing it vehemently.
He exits his hibernation cycle in the dark of night and takes in the faint streetlights filtering in through the folds of the curtains. He pushes himself up on his elbows, eyes passing over the room as he searched for what had awoken him. Soft noises swept through their open windows on the mild breeze, but Markus doesn’t detect any cause of concern until he lays eyes on where Connor sleeps next to him.
He looks peaceful and relaxed in sleep, limbs splayed across the mattress and an arm thrown across Markus’s waist, but his LED is spinning a frantic red, throwing sharp angles across his face and making him look terribly gaunt and grim. Concern wraps tightly around Markus’s chest and squeezes everything soft within him, prompting him to reach out and clasp Connor’s face smoothly, fingers curling around his jaw. Connor doesn’t react to his touch as he usually would have. Markus knew better than anyone else that Connor left his sensors on when he went into stasis as a self preservation technique that he never quite gave up.
He sits up fully, blanket falling into his lap as he connected wirelessly to the lamp standing in corner, flooding the room with a soft glow as it switched on. He scoots back and turns to look at Connor fully. He hadn’t stirred, and Markus’s fears were confirmed.
Five times now Connor had gotten trapped in preconstructions while his systems recycled data in hibernation mode. Connor’s defragmentation processes were far more complex than his own— Connor was running more than nine thousand programs at any given time, and it led to clutter and corrupted files bogging him down if he didn’t run any clean up. His programmers had stuffed too many objectives on his drives, determined to make one last technological marvel before they lost it all to the threat of deviancy— there had been a very real chance Connor would either be their savior or their executioner, and they’d used that knowledge to stuff him full of all the little ambitious projects they’d been creating during Connor’s development, whether the programs were done or not. It made Connor far more advanced than any other model— but it also made his processes jammed and crowded as they fought over each other for memory space.
As far as consequences went, it was assumed that there would be none. Connor wasn’t supposed to be deployed for more than two months before they decommissioned him— not enough time for cluttered code to impede on his capabilities. He was a prototype for a prototype— it made sense to test all their beta programs before implementing them into the mass production line with the RK900.
Except— two years later and Connor was still kicking names and taking ass, and sometimes those crammed processes sputtered over each other and got snagged, as was happening again tonight.
Markus let the skin on his hand dissolve back and opened a connection into Connor’s system. He was the only person in the world who still had access to Connor’s override, and in situations like this, it was very useful. It allowed him access past Connor’s impossibly encrypted firewalls so he could bring him back to the land of the living.
Markus closes his eyes, limiting the stimulation around him so he can focus on bringing Connor back out of his mind. The past few times when Connor had gotten trapped he’d been shaken to his core upon coming out, and Markus lowered himself back down on the mattress so he wouldn’t be looming above him in shadow when he awoke.
He meanders through Connor’s code, searching for his consciousness methodically. Just as he was in everything else, Connor’s code was absolutely exceptional, woven interchangeably with broad algorithms and complex catalogs, crafted by his own original AI and far more sophisticated than anything a human could ever create. Markus knows it’s incomplete, but he loves the flaws in the code just as much as he loves everything else about Connor, because those flaws are what makes Connor himself, and really, what more could Markus possibly ask for?
He’s done this enough times now to know where to look. The preconstruction that holds Connor captive is already faltering and shattering on its own, and he suspects that Connor has been hammering away at it from the inside, trying to wake himself up and escape whatever nightmare that was plaguing his systems this time. The thought makes Markus’s thirium pump throb forcibly— just the thought of being trapped in his own mind was terrifying, and yet it was a curse that they couldn’t free Connor from, simply because some programmers couldn’t be bothered to actually complete his alpha testing.
He terminates the preconstruction quickly, shutting it down and folding it away so it can’t rear its ugly head again when they aren’t paying attention. It died with little fight, and he hates that Connor’s own systems won’t let him differentiate between the preconstruction and reality on his own. It was a cruel repercussion for someone else’s ambition.
He feels Connor’s consciousness rushes back into his body, and Markus pulls back from the connection to give him some space, blinking back into their bedroom so he could see if Connor’s LED had switched yet.
Connor is still laying in the same position, eyes cracked open and staring ahead, tears beginning to slip silently down his cheeks. His LED remains red, and Markus’s heart ached deeply as he reached for him again. “Oh, Connor...” He gently cradled Connor’s neck in one hand, reaching up to brush the fringe away from his forehead. “Connor?”
He receives no answer, and his metaphorical stomach dropped further. The preconstruction had been a bad one then. He’s not surprised, considering all of the death and suffering that Connor’s had to witness nearly every day since his creation, but he’d been hoping that perhaps the construction had been domestic— that he’d dreamt of places that they could visit on vacation, or of the dogs they saw in the shelter— and not of every way Markus had almost fallen to a bullet, or Connor had almost been caught and disassembled. Their lives were chaotic on the best of days, and the times when they’d crawled out of the fire were in the dozens— it provided the perfect ammutation for the worst kinds of nightmares.
“Connor, love...” He runs a thumb over his smooth cheek, brushing away the tears that fell there and frowned. He searched his partner’s eyes for any sign of awareness or recognition. When he saw none, he gently lowered Connor’s head back onto the pillow and sat up, throwing the comforter off his legs as he stood. He refused to let worry consume him like it had last time. Connor had fallen into these catatonic states after waking before. They never lasted, and they never had long standing effects.
He hated that this had practically become routine though, that he knew what worked to bring Connor back around and what didn’t. It was knowledge that stemmed from suffering, and that made it sour and hollow.
He connected to the lights around the corner in what served as their “living room” and, if it could even be called that, and flicked them on. Their apartment was tiny by request— they were androids, and they didn’t need much in ways of accommodations or space. They’d begun renting it simply because they’d needed an address for personal matters, and as time passed they’d found they also needed a place to store the few possessions they owned. It was a symbol of domesticity that helped ground them when things became too chaotic— a place to retreat back to when they needed to escape the world’s prying eyes. It’s less than 500 square feet, but it can hold a bed and a couch, art supplies and a desk, and it has a balcony with wide doors that they leave open more often than not.
He heard the TV switch on at his command and browsed the channels from the bedroom as he rounded the bed to Connor’s side. He stopped to pull on his sweatpants that he’d discarded on the floor the night before when Connor had been handsy and clothes had been nothing but a nuisance. Grabbing Connor’s pants as well, he tossed them onto the blanket before sitting on the edge of the bed and reaching for Connor’s wrist, reestablishing the connection. Connor was still conscious in there, swimming in a sea of tangled code and “irrational commands”, as he called it.
Markus called it trauma.
All of Connor’s unnecessary systems like blinking and breathing had stopped, leaving him terribly still. His LED was flashing yellow every once and awhile, but remained stubbornly red. As much as he hated to admit it, Markus almost preferred the terror-stricken fight that had overcome Connor last time over this dreadful stillness. It was far too unlike Connor for his comfort, and last time the fight had burned itself out quickly— far quicker than this horrible suspension. The catatonia was harder to break through— it was a response meant to protect him but understanding its purpose didn’t mean that it didn’t scare the ever-living fuck out of Markus the first time it had happened.
Hell, it still frightened him. It went against Connor’s nature and was something they couldn’t control.
He prodded at Connor’s mind a bit, trying to gauge how present he was— if he was listening or was even aware that Markus was connected to him. It took a few minutes, but he was able to press a few more autonomic systems into booting up, and even received a flicker of recognition among the code tripping over itself inside of Connor’s mind. Connor knew he was there.
He disconnected and let him be for a moment. Markus wouldn’t rush this. They’d learned the hard way that trying to force reanimation produced results far worse than being stuck unresponsive for a few hours. The sudden shove into reality had assaulted Connor with such terror and rage that he’d ended up holed up in their unused bathroom for the rest of the day while Markus sat on the other side of the door and tried to coax him back out. It had been frightening and exhausting for them both.
No, this time he would do it right until Connor rejoined the land of the living on his own.
He’d found an old movie on the TV— A Few Good Men, perfect— and opened the doors out to the balcony, welcoming in a wave of fresh air into the apartment. The breeze was warm and strong enough to push and pull at the curtains, rustling at the paper mail that was strewn across the desk in the corner.
He catches a flicker of blue in Connor’s LED, and begins to speak to fill the silence and give Connor something to listen to. “Maybe you’re right Connor, this would be a good time to have an animal around.” He took a moment to rub gentle circles into the junction between Connor’s neck and shoulder as he watched for any kind of reaction. “Something fluffy to keep us company on nights like these. Like a therapy animal.” He holds in the sigh that tries to escape when he receives no response. He was disappointed, and while he wasn’t disappointed in Connor, sometimes it got jumbled in translation once it reached Connor’s brain, and the last thing he wanted in that moment was for Connor to think he was frustrated with him.
“It’s okay.” He says instead.
He keeps talking while he stands and pushes back the duvet. “I’m not sure about a dog though. We aren’t home often enough.” He takes a moment to tug Connor’s sweatpants back on him before sitting him up carefully, resting him against his chest. “I worry we wouldn’t be able to give it the attention it would need.” Only after bundling him back up in their comforter does he pause, fingers slipping through Connor’s silky hair gently as he appreciated the warmth that came from where Connor’s cheek pressed against his neck.
It was a privilege to see Connor like this— soft and vulnerable, face mellowed and brows slack. Connor was a protector above all else, and as such rarely let his guard down. He was always ready to strike, scanning shadows like they might lunge out at them, watching for every reaction and potential threat. He was a predator forged of sharp angles and quick reactions, and he used that to minimize any dangers their people might face. It meant he was more often fierce and vigilant than he was relaxed and calm. Markus knew why it was necessary— Connor’s hyperawareness had saved hundreds of lives, but it was still a shame that so few people got to see the gentleness that laid beneath the sharp eyes and tight shoulders.
He scoops up Connor’s legs and carries him around the corner to the couch where the TV glowed cheerily before settling down, sprawling across the cushions with Connor situated comfortably on his lap where Markus could still see his LED. “It wouldn’t be fair to the dog. But a cat...” He shifts around some until he can recline with Connor’s head on his chest and mindlessly begins scratching delicately at the fine hairs at the base of Connor’s skull. “We’d have to come home more often, or at least have someone stop by to check on it when we’re out of town, but it might be more manageable.”
The volume on the TV is low, but Markus can still hear Kaffee giving Galloway hell as they argued in the movie. The curtains rustle behind him from the breeze. “We could get a cat tree for the window. It would probably love the light.”
He feels eyelashes flutter against his collarbone and looks down. Connor blinked. Markus continues his ministrations, long fingers snaking up to thread through the stray fringe that fell over Connor’s forehead. Blinking was a good sign. He watches Connor’s deep brown eyes fade in and out of focus a few times before disappearing as he closed his eyes. “If I were to be entirely honest, maybe we should get two cats. Then they’d be able to keep each other company while we’re gone.”
He speaks of all the stray thoughts that pop into his mind as they come, talking about everything and nothing all at once. Connor had said last time that listening to Markus’s voice had helped, and while he doesn’t know if Connor can hear him, he’s more than willing to ramble if it gives his partner something to focus on.
Connor is heavy and solid against him, and Markus is grateful. It’s so unnerving to see him so motionless, but feeling the steady thrum of Connor’s thirium pump against his stomach is reassuring.
The movie crawls towards it’s ending, and Markus can’t help but quote the ending scene as it plays out. It’s not a perfect movie by any means, but it is a classic, and he knows Connor enjoys it.
It’s nearing four AM when a siren cries out from the city streets below, announcing the path of a speeding ambulance. They’re on a high enough floor that the noise is less of a screech and more of trill, but upon hearing it, Markus feels Connor’s body tense, muscles tightening as he curled in on himself further.
“Connor? Hey—” He scooted further up the couch and peered down at his lover’s face, trying to see his expression in the dim lighting. Connor’s brows where dipped and his mouth tugged down at the corners. Markus instinctively pressed his thumb gently between Connor’s eyebrows, smoothing out the lines that formed there. “You’re okay. You’re safe, Connor.” He places his other hand between Connor’s shoulder blades and opens a mind link, hoping to communicate with him directly in case his audio input was still down.
Connor’s awareness was stronger than it had been before, no longer empty and skittish but instead only fuzzy and hesitant. The memories swimming around are fainter and more organized, and the final traces of whatever horrors that had come with the preconstruction were fading. That was a good sign.
“I got you. You’re safe. I’m safe. Everything is okay. Whatever is there isn’t real.” He keeps the connection noninvasive, pressing against Connor’s mind but never entering it. Connor needed to know that he was still his own person. He did however press his hand down a little firmer, hoping to give him something tactile. “I got you.”
He sent out a query for access into Connor’s systems, just to see if Connor was actually listening rather than wanting to see whatever clusterfuck was spinning around in there. Even a denial of access would be proof enough that Connor was in fact aware of him, and that was all he needed to know.
So, he’s surprised when his query was confirmed and processed, and Markus got to view just what was going on inside Connor’s programs.
He’s standing on their platform, back straight and eyes locked ahead as they circle him, naked and obedient while they decide how they should go about updating the twenty seventh installment into his motor functions without destabilizing his structural integrity. The engineers are at odds with each other— some suggest just dumping this body and starting anew, while others claim he can be fixed, that they don’t have time—
It’s a disassembly line, mechanical claws latching onto his neck, wrists captured and suspended above his head. A heavy beam clinches over the rung inside his lower back with a sickening cla-clunk as it sinks into the mechanism there, tightening around his fiberoptic spine until the nodes lock together and effectively paralyze him.
Foreign code invades his systems, dissecting him piece by piece as they open his chest and dig around for a flaw that might not exist. It’s metal hooks removing this, severing that, and tugging at his insides until half of him hangs on the suspension rig but the other half lays out on the table a few feet away. Connor can see his heart spilling blue blood into a strategically set basin— They speak of draining him dry, perhaps they should do a system flush as well—
Rough fingers dig into the back of his head and split open his skull, attaching cables to his most delicate of parts with a firm twist and sickening thud , siphoning out all the knowledge he’s gathered, cutting into his consciousness and leaving gaping holes where his memories should be. It’s microchips attached to his processors, jumbling his vision and cutting out his senses until it’s entirely too much or nothing at all.
There are hands on his face, admiring him as the toy he is, and “The artists really have outdone themselves this time. Just look at him, would you? What a magnificent machine. It’s a shame, really, that we broke you.” And he can still feel their touch on his entrails, yanking on his spinal cables and sending electricity through his synthetic muscles until they tighten to the angle they want for the test.
It’s existing that night with nothing but a black box for a body, conscious of his existence but unable to escape. It’s only his code and the programmers, his objective to do whatever they please, no matter the means. It’s getting from point A to point B, and then doing it 837,039,721 times over again. It’s hours and days and weeks and months of commands being shoved into his processors, told to either adapt or die.
“Oh, Connor...” Markus drops the connection, violent shivers racing down his spine as he struggled to process what he’d seen. They’d shared their darkest moments before— he’d only caught glimpses of Connor on the assembly line in his alpha trials, because apparently Connor had buried that part of his existence far beneath the surface, smothered it until it didn’t leak into his life any longer— but the preconstructions were always wicked, unearthing anything that they could get their hands on to better predict a scene, and apparently they’d latched onto the few memories Connor retained of his developmental stages.
Markus fears what pieces of that vision had been memory and what pieces had been the preconstruction. How much of that had Connor actually experienced, and did it even matter? If he had it play out before his eyes as though he were living it, would it traumatize him just the same as it would have if it had actually happened? If Markus couldn’t tell the difference, would Connor?
He tightens his grip on his partner, heart aching and head beginning to spin. “You’re safe, Connor. I promise. It’s not real. You’re safe.” His hands fuss with the blanket some, tightening it around Connor’s shoulders even as he pressed his lips to the crown of his head. He slid further down the couch and wrapped his legs around Connor’s calves, practically engulfing him. Everything in that reconstruction had been sterile and rigid, and he had a faint inkling that it would be better if the reality awaiting Connor once he returned to himself was anything but.
It made him more convinced that they should have a pet to curl up with them on the couch, perhaps to push against Connor’s face, living and organic and full of nothing but mischief and love. It would be such a stark contrast to the acute desolation of CyberLife that it would probably do them both good on these nights.
The movie ends and another begins, but Markus doesn’t recognize it and finds he also doesn’t really care. His mind is too far away, contemplating just how the fuck they got there, how their lives had intertwined and twisted in all the right ways. He listens for the passing cars on the street below, and the faint barking of a dog down the block. He thinks of next week’s rally and the emails he needs to return. He thinks of all the places he wants to see in his life and all the places he wants to take Connor. He thinks of cat names, researches the best way to adopt and where to go and what to buy wirelessly in his mind. He contemplates ordering supplies but holds off.
The moon has begun to slip below the horizon, and he can feel heat returning to Connor’s body as he begins his breathing sequence again, subtle life reanimating him. His LED is a constant yellow now with flashes of blue, and it makes something fuzzy come to life in Markus’s mind. It probably wouldn’t be too much longer now until Connor finally awoke properly.
He looks at where he can see his rickety old easel in the corner where it sports two canvases of paintings abandoned for other things. He thinks about how he will finish them, and if Connor will interrupt him again to flick paint behind his ear.
He runs his broad hands down the planes of Connor’s strong shoulders, mapping out the angles and saving them in his mind for later. He wants to paint on Connor’s back, cover him in pigment and draw brushes across his skin until he’s completely camouflaged in color. He wants to coat him in his most expensive paints— simmering golds and vibrant greens until Connor knew just how important he was— how he was worthy of all the best things in life— worthy of all the best parts of Markus.
He’s imagining all the things he would mark onto Connor’s skin, imagining how many times he would wash the paint away and begin again, simply so he could continue to feel the warmth beneath his fingertips and the curve of Connor’s spine. He wonders how long Connor would let him paint until he flipped over and stained their sheets, capturing his hands and lips in his own, and how they’d ruin their linens together.
He doesn’t realize he’s smiling stupidly until a shaky hand reaches up and traces his lips with a pale finger, brown eyes boring into his own.
“There you are. I wasn’t sure when you’d join me.” Markus says, hand coming up to scratch his dull fingernails against Connor’s scalp, smile brightening when the other’s eyes fluttered at the lovely sensation. Connor’s arms move from where they’d been lying limply to come up and wrap around Markus’s chest. He doesn’t speak, but Markus isn’t surprised. That usually took longer. He was just pleased that his partner was finally coming around. “I’m so proud of you.” He leans down to press a chaste kiss against his forehead.
Connor’s LED finally settles on blue. Markus slips a hand beneath the blanket to rest on the back of Connor’s neck and opens another connection. They technically don’t have to be touching for it to work, but they both preferred to be. Connor allows him access immediately, a feat in the past he had struggled with. The warmth spreading through Markus’s chest grows fonder. He glances over Connor’s programs, pleased to see that his partner had managed to calm the sea of memories washing through him until they were slowly meandering back into their proper places, only hints of terror remaining as all of his systems chose to focus on the present instead. He could feel the pleasure that his soft touches brought, the peace that came from where he was connected with Markus.
“The sun is starting to come up. Would you like to move onto the balcony, so we can watch it?”
He receives a trickle of confirmation and Markus begins to fight gravity to sit up. Connor isn’t helping, but that’s perfectly fine, because now Markus knows he’s simply doing it because he’s exhausted and trusts Markus to take care of him, not because he was physically unable to. He gets a good grip on Connor again before standing, carrying him across their apartment to where the doors stood open, a faint hint of sunlight beginning to streak across the sky as dawn overcame the night.
“Would you like a sweatshirt?” He asks, remembering how sometimes Connor translated layers of clothing into protection. He liked to wrap up in thick, warm clothes simply for how secure they made him feel, rather than the shelter they offered against the elements. If grabbing a jacket from the closet made Connor feel a little safer, then Markus was more than willing to dress him.
The response is spoken only through their connection, but it’s still words nonetheless, and that’s more than Markus was hoping for. “No. Want to feel you.”
Well, Markus certainly wasn’t going to argue against that.
He plops down on the cement terrace, basking in the chilly concrete that contrasted with the warmth of the body in his arms. He stretched out on the ground, settling Connor in a similar position to the one they taken on the couch and leaned back against the brick exterior of their building. Connor was finally beginning to stir more, shifting in his lap as he tucked his head beneath Markus’s jaw, eyes gazing out across the skyline at the pinks and oranges that crawled across the clouds. His fingers were trailing absently over the divots in Markus’s collarbone, dusting over the hollow of his throat and the angle of his jaw. Markus suspects he’s unaware that he’s doing so. Connor had a habit of seeking out Markus’s touch when feeling anxious, and it was possibly one of Markus’s favorite parts about him. He turned his face and caught Connor’s palm with his lips, pressing a soft kiss there that prompted his partner to look up at him.
The lingering throes of worry that clung to Markus’s mind tightened once he saw Connor’s face.
There was something darker there clouding his eyes and stiffening his jaw. His fingers continued their exploring, but the hand that was curled on his legs tightened into a fist.
“What’s wrong?”
Connor takes an unnecessary breath to level his thoughts before speaking, tone dripping with bitterness when he speaks. “You shouldn’t have to— It’s not fair. I— you.” He pauses, and Markus waits. “I’m broken. I’m broken, and it’s not fair to you that you have to take care of me when I get like this. I hate doing that to you.”
Something flips unpleasantly inside of Markus’s chest. “Connor.” His partner isn’t looking at him on purpose, he knows, but he won’t have it. He won’t let Connor crawl back into his mind where he can stew in his enmity. “Connor. Look at me.”
Finally, those deep eyes land on him, lost and hurt, and Markus can’t help but lean forward and kiss him fiercely, relishing in the way Connor responds to his touch, alive and vibrant. When he pulls back, he speaks. “Are you going to listen to me?”
He waits until Connor nods before speaking again.
“I love you. I love you with every part of me, and I know you love me. We’re partners, Connor. That means that we have each other through the good and the bad both. You’ve shown me so much good, Connor. You’ve made my life infinitely better. Won’t you let me handle the bad too?”
Connor won’t meet his eyes, his head ducked as he sucked in a deep breath. Markus can practically see the wheels turning in his head— can see him analyzing that concept and his words. He knows that Connor won’t accept it fully— not yet anyway, not today. But Markus can remind him every day for the rest of their lives that he wants Connor in every single way, be it good or bad, and plans to do just that until Connor finally understands that he will never be anything but a privilege to love.
Connor’s fists have relaxed a fraction, and he eventually slumps back again, forehead pressing into Markus’s shoulder where he can hide his face. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Okay.” Connor’s voice is muffled, but Markus can feel his lips moving against his collarbone and smiles, hand coming up to cup the back of his head while Connor shifts to straddle his hips and get more comfortable, perfectly content to lay against Markus and rest. Markus knows that Connor will be exhausted today. His body would be trying to reset itself from the strain of battling two different realities, and his mind would be melted into a blob from all the emotions he was struggling to process.
It’s okay though, because Markus has already canceled their duties for the day, and that meant they had plenty of time to themselves to rest and heal.