[ jericho wasn't much of a shelter, but it was safe once. and that's all it was - a safe enough place where their people could live in anonymity, decaying slowly. safe, but not free. and then markus had disrupted that silence, quite literally, like a gift from the skies they hadn't seen in so long, and he had brought something fierce and fiery. something warm. not just the fires he lit, the light he brought to the dark interior of the ship -- but human warmth.
they called it "empathy". ] It's not something you ask for.
[ once, he preferred safety over freedom. longevity over change. even now, he can't say that he wouldn't choose to survive, rather than lay down his life for this cause. it had been a long, difficult battle to become aware of himself, to unwind the briars of his former life and eek out even the most quiet of existences. he can't say it, but his actions prove otherwise -- the stubs of his fingers, the scars on the plastic casing under his synthetic skin. badges, worn privately, of the times he has worked to ensure the heart of their people make it out alive.
( he remembers the way markus held her hand, as she died. simon had watched him move around the hold, speaking to josh over the prone body of a child. bringing himself to the level of the android abused and broken for what amounted to nothing more than cruel "fun". the failing model who had come to the fire, and wrapped her hands around his and told him she was so glad to meet him. )
he remembers that, as markus touches his face with those hands. it's not that he shies away; he moves stiffly, like someone preparing for the other shoe to drop, before he recalls who it is who's kneeling before him. who markus is, at heart. and he's kind, he's compassionate. all the same, he pulls back from that hand and presses it down, flattening it to markus's knee. best to not be selfish, even now. he means too much to everyone, he has no right to take those hands or fall into those arms a second time. ]
We need to leave the city. Lay low for a while. [ for forever, he thinks guiltily. ] They'll hunt you forever, if we don't.
no subject
they called it "empathy". ] It's not something you ask for.
[ once, he preferred safety over freedom. longevity over change. even now, he can't say that he wouldn't choose to survive, rather than lay down his life for this cause. it had been a long, difficult battle to become aware of himself, to unwind the briars of his former life and eek out even the most quiet of existences. he can't say it, but his actions prove otherwise -- the stubs of his fingers, the scars on the plastic casing under his synthetic skin. badges, worn privately, of the times he has worked to ensure the heart of their people make it out alive.
( he remembers the way markus held her hand, as she died. simon had watched him move around the hold, speaking to josh over the prone body of a child. bringing himself to the level of the android abused and broken for what amounted to nothing more than cruel "fun". the failing model who had come to the fire, and wrapped her hands around his and told him she was so glad to meet him. )
he remembers that, as markus touches his face with those hands. it's not that he shies away; he moves stiffly, like someone preparing for the other shoe to drop, before he recalls who it is who's kneeling before him. who markus is, at heart. and he's kind, he's compassionate. all the same, he pulls back from that hand and presses it down, flattening it to markus's knee. best to not be selfish, even now. he means too much to everyone, he has no right to take those hands or fall into those arms a second time. ]
We need to leave the city. Lay low for a while. [ for forever, he thinks guiltily. ] They'll hunt you forever, if we don't.