Sneak Peek into my Reverse AU (RK1K)
Markus smiles down at Carl, wheeling him beside the table before seating himself. Carl smiles at him, placidly watching him take a few bites before he turns on the TV. Markus’ glabella scrunches as he takes in the news, more coverage on the situation in the Arctic with Russia.
He sighs, sitting back in his chair with a petulant chomp of his bacon. “TV off.”
Carl tilts his head at him, blue eyes curious. “Markus?”
“I’m alright. Thank you for worrying, Carl.” Markus pauses and takes a sip of his coffee, “How about you find something to occupy yourself until I finish?”
He earns a nod and then Carl is wheeling himself across the room to the door beside the giraffe, moving into the studio and grabbing at a canvas before it can even slide shut. Markus smiles softly at the sight, even if the sight of Carl being unable to walk to his favorite activity makes him feel a pang of distant sadness.
“The damage was excessive, you might just have to get a replacement. I’ll give it to you free of charge, good friend, but even if we transfer his memory, he won’t be the same Carl that you know.”
“It’s fine,” Markus assured her.
“Then we’ll prepare--”
“No, I mean that that’s not necessary. We’ll be going now.”
Carl stared up with a certain twinkle in his eyes, and when they arrived home, all he managed was a, “Thank you,” to which Markus smiled, ever enigmatic, and told him that he was only sorry that he couldn’t be fixed.
Markus grabs for the remote on the table, turning the TV on and lowering the volume immediately. He changes the channel and rests his chin on his fist, melting into the table with a large, silly grin on his face.
“Lieutenant Connor Stern has just solved yet another case! Revealing a man who’d advertise himself as a loving father to be an abusive alcoholic, the victims of the abuse come forward to thank Stern personally.”
The scene cuts to a brunet little girl sat beside a woman with short blonde hair, both of whom brighten up upon a distracted-looking, mildly disheveled brunet male entering the room. He smiles at them gently, but his features contort in surprise and then sheepishness as the two females envelop him into hugs, smiling gratefully into his coat.
The newscasters voice-over the scene, cooing and gushing over the bashful grin the Lieutenant has. He notices the cameramen filming them and flushes beautifully, and Markus barely represses the urge to slam his fist into the table as an expression of his overwhelmingly swollen heart.
“Fanboying again?” Carl asks, suddenly right beside Markus, to which the dark man can’t completely quiet his shout of surprise, nearly toppling out of his chair.
Markus sputters before managing to shout indignantly, “N-No! I was just watching the news and he so happened to show up! That’s it!”
Carl smiles, amused. Markus blows him a petulant raspberry, crossing his arms while looking away. The TV draws his attention once more, as now it shows the Lieutenant, on his own, rubbing his neck and looking to the side.
“I just wanted to help them, the fame be damned. If I couldn’t find a steadfast legal method for saving them, I’d find a loophole or do it someway else,” he says, even as someone in the background attempts to reprimand him.
Markus unwittingly releases a dreamy sigh, upon which Carl belts out chuckles that stain Markus’ cheeks dark red.
“I didn’t take you to be someone who appreciates art,” he says, hinting at an inquiry.
Connor sputters, pink dusting his cheekbones. “I’m not—I mean, I just—it’s—I do! I like...! I like art...” he finishes lamely, deflating. Hank casts him an amused look, his LED cycling yellow as he likely documents that information.
“Quite a reaction to such a simple question. What aren’t you telling me, Lieutenant?”
“I didn’t climb my way up the chain just for my title to be used so mockingly,” Connor mumbles, but Hank doesn’t take the bait.
“You can’t change the subject so easily with me, kid. What has you so intrigued by this piece? Its uniqueness in comparison to the other images in this gallery is relatively low, so it should not garner such attention.” Hank continues his analysis of Connor, heedless of the redness crawling up to his ears, “You paused at a similar work on your terminal at the department, made by the same--“ A smile creeps up Hank’s face as he comes to a realization, his LED shifting to blue, to Connor’s dawning horror, “Do you, perhaps, have an interest in this particular artist?”
Connor’s face burns. “N-No, it’s just a coincidence, that’s all! Je— This artist’s art just happened to come up that day, and the name just... seemed... familiar.”
“Lieutenant, they don’t have the names displayed right now.”
Connor’s expression is that of defeat, his shoulders slumping and smile dead. “...Ah. So it seems.”
The HK800 refrains from laughing, his social programming dictating that he act as human as possible to maintain a friendly relationship with Connor, though Fowler’s disapproval from within the Zen Garden is inexplicably calling for him not to. His sly grin is still enough to garner a sigh.
“Damn android,” Connor mutters, burrowing into the collar of his coat with a petulant pout.
“This thing is not our dad, okay? Mark, look at it! You’re wheeling it around when it’s supposed to serve you! What good is it to you, huh? Did you replace your brain with your fancy paints? Or maybe plastic, like this fucker-- “
“That’s enough, Leo,” Markus breathes, trying to keep himself from lashing out. He steps in front of Carl, who stares up with forlorn azure orbs and an LED of faint yellow. “That’s enough.”
Leo seems to look for something, in his eyes, in the room, in the sad-eyed android in the wheelchair behind him, the one who’d been introduced as a servant and became akin to their—more Markus’ than Leo’s—father-figure.
Markus’ heterochromatic gaze yields nothing to him, and he flounders for a moment, stumbling over his words and over himself as he makes to storm off, “You--I-It can’t replace dad. Your little toy there, it can’t play house with you forever. It can’t love you the way dad did, and you’re just going to ignore your only family left for it because you think you care about it. But you never cared, Markus, not about it, not about him, and not about me.”
Markus feels a lump in his throat. Carl places a hand on his shoulder consolingly, and the two of them watch in subdued silence as Leo repeats himself quietly and leaves the studio.
“Wakey, wakey, Lieutenant.”
Smack!
“Ah, shit, what the hell, Hank?” Connor whines, rubbing his cheek with bleary eyes, hissing as the stinging mark isn’t cooled by his palm.
Hank appears neutral, but Connor knows that behind the blank expression, he’s cackling at Connor’s expense. Or, rather, he has a feeling that that’s the case. He can’t see any other reason ‘the android sent by Cyberlife‘ would be such a pain in the ass.
“I need you for a case, so I had to wake you.” Hank’s eyes shift to the bottle of pills Connor tries to conceal behind his back, “In regards to your sleep, Lieutenant, why’d you consume a few too many doses of melatonin and then proceed to sleep on the kitchen floor?”
Connor laughs weakly, “I have trouble sleeping.”
Hank sends him a pointed look, glancing at the bottle for barely a moment and then, for just a fraction of a second, flicks his eyes over to the picture frame face-down on Connor’s counter, beside the cabinet where he keeps his medicine. “These are rather strong pills, Connor.”
“And my body has a strong resistance to medication of any sort.”
The two stare at one another, waiting for the other’s will to break, and it seems Connor is more stubborn than Hank had anticipated. Noted.
“I’m still tired, so how about you take care of this case yourself? You’re more than capable, as you’ve proven, so please just replace me early.”
Hank wordlessly stands up, which has Connor laying back on the kitchen tiles, curling up with his hand cushioning his head.
Not a moment later, Connor’s shooting up with a shriek as Hank dumps a pitcher of ice-water over him, enraged beyond measure.
“WHAT THE FUCK-- “
Hank doesn’t hold back his smile as he tells Connor that he’d better freshen up. Connor tries to punish him by having him pick out his clothes, but he ends up regretting it as Hank picks up a gag shirt someone’d gotten him at the department Christmas party, one with the design of a pug, holding a shield and a sword, majestically riding a horse. The words once printed overtop have long since worn off.
Bidding goodbye to his favorite cacti and a picture of his childhood dog, he follows Hank out to an autocab, unwilling to drive or let Hank into his car.
“I’m amazed that you managed to lead a revolution in this state,” Connor says, genuine awe written in the shines of his eyes.
Carl laughs, “It was a matter of planning. I was a strategist, but it was my--“ he almost seems to choke up at the next word, which still has Connor reeling, because how could anyone have ever thought these beings aren’t alive? “--my son who really did the hard stuff, like supply raids and marches. I ran speeches and the like, but it was all thanks to him and his support.”
“Your son? Is he--“
“He’s a human; his name is Markus Manfred. He was my owner, but he always felt more like family, and maybe we can now make that official.” His entire face softens when he says it.
The brunet smiles, and Carl can certainly see why his son is so taken with him. Little dimples frame his grin, and his earthy eyes have this gleam of knowledge that contradicts the naivete he seems to radiate with his boyish features, and his curls seem to bounce with life as he says, “I’m happy for you.” It’s so clear that he really, truly means it.
Hank seems to take an interest in the ‘making it official’ part, because he gazes upon Connor with a thoughtful look on his face, as though considering it. Carl sends him a secret smirk, and Hank gains a faux-sourness, to his amusement.
“I’ll introduce you two if you’d like. I think he’d be pleased to meet you.” Carl’s eyes have this slyness he’s no good at concealing, but Connor pays it no mind.
“I’d love that.”
((I’ll paste the link later after im finished ;D))
