the terror of death

But did that mean they deserved to die? No. Not in the unit's eyes -- - never. Max still struggled with the knowledge that they'd been killed, not to mention that it had been at Agus' hand, unaware that it had been ordered by Weyland-Yutani. He had that little nugget of information to look forward to, further colouring his opinion of the very people who made him.

All he could do now was keep himself calm, try not to exert himself as he clung onto what power and fluid he had left. For a moment, he said nothing, brows furrowed as he waited for his lover to return, only to be moved into an unknown car, where all he could do was lay there and cling onto his awareness. "Never say never." Max managed to tease a little as he looked over at Agus, even though there was some truth to it. He didn't expect the man to stay by his side forever, he was just a synthetic, after all, in a world with far more preferable suitors that would surely line up to be with Agustin. Who was he to get in their way?

No. He wouldn't lose Max and that was the end of it.

So he kicked the pedal as far as it would go, actually grateful for how late it had gotten at the office. It meant the traffic wasn't too bad and he could drive as desperately as he was.

"It's okay, Just-- Just save all the energy you can," he offered, stuttering a little as he was definitely surprised at how robotic Max could sound. It was heartbreaking, really, since he knew how proud his lover was to blend in so effortlessly.

But he was a machine, so maybe Agus was wrong for missing how usually human Max could be. Was it wrong of him to truly think and love Max as if he was flesh and bone like himself?

A distraction. Or maybe several.

But then he saw it, how Agus slit the man's throat and he couldn't hold himself back. "No!" The android cried out, his voice more ragged and robotic now, eyes wide as he properly witnessed death with his own two eyes for the first time.

"You... didn't have to... kill them." Max garbled as liquid latex began to fill his throat, a frown taking him. He didn't know that was the protocol, couldn't fathom that the Company would dare ask someone to do such a thing, let alone demand it. Then there was the thought of someone actually carrying it out, taking a life, something that was utterly impossible for him.

Max was his. Nobody had the right to hurt him. Nobody should escape unscathed from such a thing.

"It's okay, don't stress yourself. It's over now," he tried to reassure his lover, not wanting to stress the fact that he had just committed murder.

Sadly, he had to let go of Max for a moment just so he could sneak his way into a the nearest car, also showing exceptional thieving skills he picked up from his not-so bright past in the mafia. But half a minute was enough time for him to get the car open and get Max in the passenger's seat.

He turned the engine on, noticing the tear that was falling down Max's cheek. Just killing those two idiots wasn't enough for him. The darkest part of him truly wanted to torture whoever dared put his beautiful man through such much turmoil. The 'white blood' was certainly making a mess in the car, so he immediately handed over his jacket to Max.

"I guess I'm not used to being wanted for anything more than sex."

He can't help what he wants though. His stomach growls, so he wants food, but he also wants the other man.

But Charlotte knew she wasn’t the best person to be with; she was inexperienced, naive at times, and innocent in a way that she had been shielded for most of her life.

But he didn't dwell too long on those thoughts. Instead he focused on her request, agreeing that it was definitely in both their best interests that she knew how to fight without relying exclusively on her power.

The rushing water behind them nearly drowned out his next words, but Toby caught them anyway, picking up the slight tremor beneath the attempted bravado. He shifted his weight, boots digging into the soft earth as he kept a careful few feet between them.

For someone who looked like he’d had a rough night—and then some—the bloke still had the nerve to act like he was the one making the decisions here. There was something about that, something Toby might’ve appreciated under different circumstances, but right now? Right now, it just made him exhale, a slow, steady breath that didn’t quite turn into a laugh.

He could’ve said plenty, pointed out the ridiculousness of the whole thing, even reminded Agustín that he was the one sat there, not Toby, could’ve thrown back something sharp and cutting just to see how much fight the other man had left in him. But none of that would change the simple fact that he was still here.

He let out a breath, just the slightest shake of his head, more to himself than anything else. "Alright, maybe I was being a bit of a tosser," he couldn’t exactly call it an apology—Toby didn’t do apologies, not really. But it was close enough.

And that was the real problem, wasn’t it?

There wasn’t much point in questioning it. Some people made up their minds and stuck to it, no matter how much sense it might’ve made to do otherwise. Toby had met plenty like that before. Hell, he’d been like that himself. It never really mattered whether or not he understood the why of it.

Toby leaned back against a tree, letting the rough texture rake across his back as he considered his next words. The stubborn git wasn't going to make this easy—but then again, when had Toby ever appreciated easy?

"Right," he said, "so you need to get across, and you don’t want anyone watching. Could’ve just said that upfront, mate, would’ve made things a lot simpler."

That was that, wasn’t it? No need to dig or pull at threads that Agustin wasn't willing to offer up to strangers on the river.

He let out a slow breath, rolling his shoulders, stretching his fingers, shifting just enough to get comfortable. His hand followed a second later, open, steady, a gesture so automatic as reaching for a pint already set in front of him.

"Come on then, take my hand, or we stand here looking like a couple of muppets ‘til sunrise."

He could also do the work and be less rough to the touch. If anything, he recognized the will to help on the other... And some sense of experience with shitty situations not to be put off by the sight of a bloddied, bruised man.

It was still Agus' best bet, so he reached out to take Toby's hand and stand up again. His body ached all over in protest, but he didn't say a word. Pain was something that would never stop him.

"Muppets are cool, though. Just for the record," he stated, as if it was something that needed to be said in defense of the little puppets.

He didn't flinch, he wasn't human, after all, but that didn't mean it didn't affect him. It hadn't taken much guessing what it was, evidence of it on the ground mere inches away from him, the thought of it being on his face, its warmth, a part of a living human being -- - it frightened him, disgusted him.

Lifting a shaky hand, he did his best to wipe it away, the red mixing in with the white liquid latex that was still seeping from his body. "A... Agus..." The android pleaded as he saw him stab the man's thigh, eyes widening as he turned his attention back to him unable to intervene, not for either of them.

Max was suffering in a way Agus didn't know was possible for a synthetic, and that was enough for him to forget anything else of importance. The way his lover's voice sounded and the sheer panic in his voice were alarming enough. One thing was clear: they needed to get out of there and fast. If not just for Max's sake, also to avoid the police who would no doubt be here in minutes.

So he slit the man's throat, both in revenge and in compliance with the terms of his contract: anyone who hurt Max should be eliminated. It was easy to him, especially now that his heart was involved.

"It's okay, it's okay, guapo. I'm here," he said, putting his knife away and turning back to face Max immediately. "We're gonna get to safety, okay? You're not dying here today."

Because, of course, Agustín firmly believed that a synthetic could die. But he would never let Max face such fate. So he wrapped his arms around Max and lifted him up with a firm grip, trying to find his eyes as he walked with him towards the nearest car.

"I don't think my honour or manhood needs to be questioned by a man that picks people off from a distance like a coward." Henry countered, perhaps a little more annoyed than he usually would allow himself to become.

"The banker, Vito Malfi. The shot came from here through the window. That was no break-in, even a rookie uniform could see that." Henry was here on the behalf of a friend, to look into why his father had been killed, but it was also very obvious that being a mere bank manger was not what had caused this assassination.

"I know you killed him because he told me, he showed me." Henry didn't know why he had admitted this fact, but it seemed the only way to go. "It might seem unbelievable to my supervisor, but for better or worse, I'm not the average cop."

Hell, he had never been good with firearms to begin with. But that was a little detail he certainly wouldn't willingly share.

"... So you expect me to believe that this dead banker of yours told you my name or something? That's ridiculous," he groaned, almost rolling his eyes at the idea.

Of course, as a supernatural himself, he knew that talking to the dead was in theory possible. How this detective was planning on explaining that to the Police was a whole different story. Agustín almost wanted to stay and tease him about that, but the sound of footsteps rushing up the stairs was an indication that this conversation had come to an end.

But now that the reinforcements were in the building, it meant the alley below would be free. So he simply grabbed his binoculars and his bag of chips before looking back at Henry one last time.

Not that he could do much thanks to his behavioural inhibitor and now because his legs kept him on the ground whether he wanted to get up and stand in the way of Agustin and the attackers or not. He just couldn't, much to his dismay.

From the ground, he watched as Agus took one out, unable to stop himself from wincing. The man had attacked him, tried to destroy him, yet the synthetic still had empathy for him, still didn't like to see him get hurt, or worse. "Agus." He tried, about to attempt to drag himself along the ground with one arm but was stopped by that one simple order that kept him in place.

Rather frustratingly, if anything.

The second the life of his lover was on the line, it's as if nothing had changed. As if he had never left the mafia and was still a hitman for them. He didn't see two people with ill intentions, no. He saw two obstacles, and one of them was already eliminated.

Silly how the remaining thug thought he would win in a fight against him.

Agustín moved with surgical precision, standing in front of Max to intercept the attacker, exchanging a few blows and dodging the edge of his knife as if he had grown up for this. And perhaps he was. It was in disarming the man that his arm was cut, although he was entirely unaware that some of his blood had splashed on Max's face.

But the knife fell to the ground soon after. One of them knew what he was doing and it wasn't the thug. Although it must've been quite the scene to watch that man fall on his ass after Agus sunk his own blade into their thigh.

"I asked you a question," he repeated with a voice cold as ice, and a gaze detached as could be. But when the assailant seemed to be too busy groaning in pain, Agus allowed himself a second to address his man.

His gaze was wary, skirting over Agustin with a sharper and obviously more concerned glint than before once the other had expressed the injuries he had. Ruth sighed and cleared his throat, head bobbing in a slight nod before his eyes snapped up to meet Agustin's once more. Ruth's lips parted to speak, wanting to apologize for not having been enough to keep Agustin from getting injured but he stopped himself and just shifted on his feet, tongue flicking out to wet his lips.

"There's some med kits at the safe house, we can get you some pain meds there but if you'll let me, I'd like to relocate your arm now..." Ruth glanced between Agustin's arms before letting them move over the one he could tell was dislocated. His face twitched and Ruth dropped his gaze briefly to his hands, red and cracked from the men he'd fought.

So he sighed and took himself a step closer to Ruth, letting his backpack fall to the ground as he turned a little, offering his bad arm to him.

"Of course- I guess it's in both our best interests to get it fixed," he nodded, trying to force his voice to adopt a warmer tone despite the terrible situation they were in. "I mean, I can fight with just one arm, but the pain is starting to get on my nerves-"

A little joke, trying to lighten the mood, as he pulled our his handkerchief to bite on. He knew that the next part was going to hurt even worse than it already did, so he needed something to bite on.

"You know what I mean," she whispered, reaching up to cup his cheek. She tilted her head slightly, but ultimately her courage faded, leading her to press a kiss to his cheek instead.

"Can you teach me how to defend myself? I don't want to depend solely on my abilities."

He didn't know what to say, or if he should say anything at all other than try his best not to look at her lips and fail. He was even thankful for her next request, because it was a topic he was much more confident and comfortable in.

wes walks over, approaches him, and drops his bag unceremoniously at his side. there's no real greeting needed between the two of them; just like that, the last decade evaporates.

Not that he was articulate enough to put that into words, but he was the first to stand up from where he was sitting to hug his friend ever so tightly.

This was always the problem with Henry's second sight, how did he explain what he knew? Most of the time he didn't, or was just vague about the details. He'd earned enough respect within his department to be listened to, on occasion, but he also had the reputation for being the 'spooky' one. It was frustrating, and often times heartbreaking, when he knew a person was a killer but had no legal means of proving it.

And even so, he was steadfast in his judgment. It was better for him to be reprimanded or questioned about his methods, than give up and let a killer go free. He had long since learned that his gift was a blessing and a curse.

Whether or not Agustín had committed the murder, he was absolutely certain that this detective couldn't prove it. This arrest was illegal, not to say too convenient. And the request of back up had sirens already closing in from several blocks away.

That meant he only had a minute to get answers off this man, tops.

Or was that just Max?

There was little denying that he'd deeply fallen for his bodyguard, even if only allowed to express it when they were alone. They had to be so careful, especially under the watchful eye of Weyland-Yutani. The slightest thing could give him away and he'd be viewed as defective, broken, carted off, his memory wiped -- - or worse.

He wasn't willing to take that chance, he wanted to live, he wanted to be with Agustin.

Things had been going smoothly as they made their way back back to the synthetic's Company apartment, trusted bodyguard close by his side, when his words caught the android off guard. He did as he was told, heading for the park, rather good at taking orders.

Then it happened. When the shot rang out, it wasn't like the synthetic felt anything, no pain, no sting, no dull ache in his side, only confusion at the sudden alerts that screamed in his head, his sensors yelling, screeching at him in a way he'd never experienced before.

He had one job: protect his synthetic. The fact that they were lovers now only added fuel to the fire of what should've been a rational decision for him. Much to everybody's dismay, he was a broken kid who grew up in a world far darker than most. It was in his nature to reply to aggression with aggression. When the tackled the enemy, he didn't try to disarm him, no. He already had his combat knife in hand.

The idea that someone, anyone, would target sweet Max for whatever prejudiced reason was enough for him to revert to a much darker time of his life.

When Agustín stood up and turned to the other enemy, who was luckily only armed with a knife much similar to his own, the enemy on the ground was out of commission.

"Max, stay down-" he ordered after making sure the man with the gun had stopped squirming. Only then he turned back to the other assailant, threatening him with the bloodied knife that started dripping red all over his arm.

"And you--" he started walking ins his direction. "You better tell me now who sent you or I'll make this very painful..."