Tell me what you see
Elliot opens his eyes and Tyrell is there in the darkness.
He can feel the shape of Tyrell's fingers as they press against his stomach, against his wet, sticky skin. It makes his heart pound, and it makes his skin crawl, and then the pain is everything, white and hot and all around him.
He's suffocating. He can't see anything.
Can't feel anything, either, not over this amped-up precision point of searing heat that makes everything go white and then whiter and then black and then nothing.
When he opens his eyes, it doesn't feel like he's been asleep for six days.
It feels longer - it's almost as if the world has somehow changed fundamentally while he was asleep. Either that, or the gunshot has changed something inside of Elliot, some kind of factory reset, maybe.
Six days, and when he opens his eyes there's this feeling, this horrible, hopeless, empty feeling, and at first he thinks maybe it's because he's finally gone, but it's more than that.
He can see it, as he moves through the city - how the fear has grown. How the shadows have spilled out through the cracks. He can see it in the resigned faces of the people he passes on the street, can see their hatred for this new world, their resentment. He can see it in the way they walk, the way they shift around the corners.
The streets seem darker, and there's the smell of rot, of decay. It's been like this since the 5/9 hack, he knows that, but... What they did was supposed to have leveled the playing field.
He should have known that it would be impossible.
It's been six days, but sometimes it feels like seconds ago. He'd had so much control, and he'd lost it in an instant.
He opens his eyes and it's raining, and then he opens them again and Angela is there.
Her lips are soft against his, but she doesn't want this. It should have been obvious.
He doesn't want it either, not really, but she's so close he can smell her shampoo, and something inside of him reaches out, this thrillingly sharp instinct that flares up, and is gone again a second later. But this is what he's supposed to do, right? He's supposed to seek out this kind of closeness.
His chest tightens. He loves her. The way that he loves her is specific, and genuine, and this is why it happened like this, he thinks. This is why sometimes, when he stands so close to her that he can feel the warmth of her body, when he looks into her eyes and senses kindness there, he finds himself searching for something in the press of her lips. Something to make this emptiness stop, something to bind her to him, to justify this level of trust that he's placed in her.
It's not there; it's never there. He's not sure why he keeps looking.
Outside, moving through the city, Elliot feels thin, thinner, almost transparent sometimes. He's an easy target, unprotected like this. His side aches. He's slow. He wakes up every morning exhausted. He hurts.
The gunshot opened his eyes, but now his side aches and throbs, and it pauses his forward motion, the pace of his feet on the pavement. Elliot doesn't like this feeling, doesn't like feeling stagnant like this. He needs to be able to run.
Elliot can't figure out what's keeping him away when he's obviously so weak, so vulnerable.
Maybe something else is going on, something he can't see, can't hear.
Elliot closes his eyes, and when he opens them Tyrell is there, he's right next to him on the floor.
He shouldn't be here. This shouldn't be happening. Elliot is not supposed to be bleeding.
And then Tyrell's lips press against Elliot's neck, against his ear. Tyrell is babbling, his voice low, and urgent. He's sorry, he's really, really sorry, but he had to do this, and his hands are pressed up against Elliot's skin and it hurts so much, and then Elliot can t understand what Tyrell is saying anymore. He tries to speak but nothing comes out, and when Tyrell's lips close over his mouth, he gasps.
He tries to breathe, but all he can feel is Tyrell's hot breath sinking into his mouth, into his lungs. Tyrell's face is wet, his mouth is wet. He's crying. He's sorry. Tyrell is desperate, and it feels familiar, like a voice calling out to him. What is this? When did it start? What is he supposed to do?
But this pain is too much, it spreads out over everything.
He just wanted to change the world. To hit the reset button.
And then he made it happen, and it ruined everything.
Flipper stops at the corner, sniffing the air. Elliot tugs at her leash. They should keep moving. He has a strange feeling. He's felt it for days; he knows that someone has been watching him.
A man on the other side of the street crosses against traffic, moving quickly. The streetlights flicker, a motorcycle races past.
Elliot suddenly has the urge to run. His side still aches, but it's not nearly as bad as it was a week ago. He could get away before the man approaches, disappear into a shop somewhere, maybe.
He turns down the alley next to the Korean grocery, but he knows he's nowhere near fast enough. The man is already here. Elliot braces himself like he knows what's coming, except he doesn't think he does, and he's terrified.
Tyrell's hand closes over his shoulder and he flinches.
"Help me understand," Tyrell says, through gritted teeth. "Please. I want to hear it from you."
He hasn't let go of Elliot s shoulder yet. Elliot hasn't pulled away either. It's like they've been here before. He stares at Tyrell. He can see that Tyrell is in pain. Confused, hurt. This isn't good.
"This..." Elliot starts, glancing down the alley, down the street beyond. It's dark. There's no one else there.
"This is dangerous," he says, finally.
He takes a step back, feels Tyrell's fingers tug at the edge of his sleeve before they fall away. Flipper stares up at them expectantly.
"Why are you here? Elliot asks. What do you want?
"What do I want?" Tyrell lets out a strange, bitter laugh. "I've been waiting for so long-for-for you-for this-and..." Tyrell takes a deep breath, stares at Elliot for a long moment, shakes his head.
"I don't understand," Elliot starts, but his breath catches in his throat at the look on Tyrell's face. Sympathy. Pity. Disappointment.
"This isn't you," Tyrell says quietly, and Elliot can hear the defeat in his voice, can see it on his face. Tyrell has given up on him. He's not sure why it hurts like this. Why it matters at all.
It's because he's not here. You can't do this alone. You can't do any of it without him.
Elliot closes his eyes, and shivers, and somehow Tyrell is already gone, he's halfway down the alley, disappearing into the darkness. He should follow him, find out what he knows, what's going on, but he won't, he doesn't.
His chest feels tight.
He sinks down to the ground, and pulls Flipper into his lap. Buries his cheek in her fur for a moment, listening to her tiny heart thumping against his ear.
Sometimes Elliot thinks he must have imagined it all; Tyrell, Angela, even Darlene - these people on the edges of his life, that have somehow crept in, closer than they should be. Closer than it's safe for anyone to be, ever. It doesn't make any sense that he would have let any of them in, not this close, not now. Maybe none of it was real.
He's so tired.
If he can stop all of this, if he can reverse what they did, will it bring him back? Is he back already? Is that what Tyrell meant the other night? Was that real?
Okay, he thinks, because he can t tell anymore if he's out of options, or if things are falling exactly into place.
Okay, he thinks, maybe you can help.
Things are different, now, after all. His eyes are open. At least he thinks they are. But he could use some proof, or at least a little reassurance.
Elliot closes his eyes.
Are you there?
His pause is deliberate, measured. It's meant to motivate a response. It might work, this time.
If you're still there...
Can you tell me what you see?
end
A/N: This is what happened after I decided I wanted to try to get into Elliot's head during the first couple of episodes of S3, with a little more of a focus on Tyrell. (Title from Daft Punk's Touch - I love how they used this song in episode 1 so much.)