Somehow, walking up to Carl's house became less daunting every time you did it. It probably had something to do with the fact that you were getting shot at on a fairly regular basis now. That tended to make other things in life a little more manageable.

Your head still throbbed a bit from where you'd hit it, and you had a lovely black and purple bruise forming on your cheek. Battle scars , you told yourself. The jury was still out as to whether that outlook was actually helping you or not. Markus holding your hand as you made your way to Carl's door was much more reliable. You had never been the hand-holding type, or at least you didn't think you were until now. Still, it was nice to have something that reminded you he was there. You figured he must have appreciated it too, or he wouldn't have his fingers interlaced with your own.

You squeezed his hand lightly when he stopped in front of the door, looking up at him. He looked almost afraid, but that fear softened as he squeezed your hand back. He took a breath - when did he pick up that habit, if he didn't need to breathe? - and stepped forward, the snow crunching beneath his boots as he went. You followed, letting your hand slip out of his as you approached the door.

The lights inside turned on as the door swung open. A synthesized voice came from overhead, "Alarm deactivated. Welcome home, Markus."

Welcome home indeed . He hadn't seen Carl since the night he'd been shot. You hadn't seen Carl since before the night you rescued Simon. It hadn't been more than a few days but it seemed like a lifetime ago. Funny, how time worked that way.

The two of you stepped over the threshold, finding the beautiful house unchanged since your first dinner there. That, too, seemed like a lifetime ago.

You were snapped out of your memories when Markus took a few steps forward, heading for the mirror that rested on a marble-top table. You followed close behind, only realizing what had caught his interest when he activated the message machine and a hologram of Leo sprang to life. So he's doing better. You were glad, even though Leo was the reason Markus had nearly died. You were glad for Carl, glad that his son was still alive.

You felt Markus stiffen for a moment, his reaction so small you might have missed it if you hadn't been looking out for it. You had told him that Leo had survived their fight, but it had done little to lessen his guilt over what happened. It never ceased to amaze you how much compassion Markus had, even when the world did nothing but try to choke it out of him.

"Hey Dad. I'm getting out of the hospital tomorrow . . ." you looked up to Markus, gaging his reaction. Something flashed behind his eyes - relief, maybe? "I um . . . I'm really sorry about everything that happened . . . I'm gonna stop all that shit. It messes me up, turns me into somebody I hate."

You let your head drop as you listened, your eyes wandering while your mind did the same. You thought again of Luther singing to Alice, of how you hadn't spoken to your father in even longer than when you'd last spoken to Carl. You bit your lip, forcing yourself to focus.

"I . . . I just wanna let you know . . . I'm proud to be your son." The message flickered out, and you and Markus were left in silence.

"You okay?" you asked, smiling when he nodded.

"Come on," he ran his fingertips over your knuckles, leading you towards the stairs. You climbed the beautifully colored steps, keeping your footfalls light. You swept your gaze around, eyeing the massive blue painting that sat at the top of the stairs.Thirium blue , you realized as you passed it, heading for Carl's room. You no sooner rounded the corner that a man stepped out, his white uniform and glowing blue armband giving him away immediately. The new android. One meant to replace Markus, as if such a thing were possible. You had seen him once before, the last time you visited.

"Who are you?" he asked, his LED spinning. "How did you get in?"

You looked at Markus, not sure of how to handle the situation. "I need to see Carl," he said, a cautious answer.

"Carl isn't seeing anyone. You need to leave."

Markus looked back at you, and you could swear you saw fear flash across his eyes. His hand slipped out of yours as he moved forward, stopping right in front of the other android. There was a moment's hesitation before Markus reached out a hand, his synthetic skin disappearing as he made contact with the android. You didn't have to ask to know that he was freeing him, waking him up for the first time. He was giving him the option to deviate. "Please," he begged in a tone that broke your heart. "I need to see him."

The android's eyes softened as he spoke, easing your nerves. "He's very weak. I'm not sure you'll be able to talk to him."

Markus' shoulders stiffened. He released the android's arm, letting his own hand fall to his side. You stepped up next to him, looking between him and the newly freed android. You knew Markus well enough to recognize pain, even as well as he concealed it. Carl had been largely in the same condition the last time you saw him, though even then he hadn't been too weak to speak. You hadn't known things were that bad. Neither had Markus, if his expression was any indication. Still, he looked relieved too as the other android stepped back, making way for you and Markus to pass through the door. You muttered a thanks to him, waiting for Markus to make the first move.

For a moment, you were sure that he wasn't going to go through with it. He stood still, his focus locked on the door in front of him. Then, he closed his eyes. His shoulders rose and fell. He opened his eyes and looked back at you. You nodded back, a silent conversation passing between the two of you. When he looked forward again, he took his first step forward.

The door slid open as he walked.

Seeing someone you loved hooked up to hospital machines was always hard. There was no way around it, no matter how many times you saw them. The steady droning of a heart monitor was always more like a reminder that someone's days might be numbered, rather than a sign that they were alive. That held true with Carl, a man you had known for so short a time. Your heart dropped at the sight of him, a feeling that was made worse when Markus ran to his side, taking the old man's hand in his. You were at the bedside in an instant, just in time to see Carl open his eyes.

"Carl-"

"Markus." Your lips quirked up at the sheer joy in Carl's voice. "I was hoping you'd come." His eyes moved up to you, and his smile widened. "Both of you."

Markus looked over his shoulder at you, his eyes shining like glass. You smiled at him, stepping closer to him. Letting him know you were there. Markus smiled back and he turned back to look at Carl. "I've missed you so much, Carl . . ." there was a pause, so many unspoken words exchanged between the two. They smiled and there was a pain in your chest. "You don't know how much I've missed you."

Carl looked between the two of you, and you realized just how close you had instinctually gotten to Markus. The look Carl was giving the two of you was enough to let you know that he had noticed that too. He smiled, having just maneuvered into a checkmate.

"I've missed both of you, too," he said, squeezing Markus' hand with a feeble kind of strength. "And I'm happy for both of you. It's about time."

Markus froze for a moment, taken aback. Carl just gave him that look in return. You couldn't help but smile. He'd known since the beginning, after all. Markus looked back at you again, his eyes softening. You shrugged at him, your smile widening.

"I'm old, but I'm not blind, Markus." The old man smirked. "I've been around too long not to notice something like that. So," Carl gave you a pointed look, "did you start things or did he?"

You couldn't hide the look of horror you took on at the implication. Markus couldn't either, it seemed. The only thing that the two of you had shared so far was kisses and somehow you felt guilty for that. Well, kisses and some pretty intense hand-holding , you reminded yourself. Can't forget the hand-holding, the greatest sin of all. You and Markus shared a look, both of you watching Carl grin out of the corners of your eyes. "It sort of . . . just happened, I guess," you finally conceded, not really remembering who had leaned in first. The world had been spinning too much for you to really remember what had happened.

"So it was you, then." Carl could have winked, with how much wry wit he spoke with. You and Markus exchanged another look, and then looked back to the aging artist. Carl went on, tired and weary but content. "It's alright. There's enough bad in the world, you both deserve some good."

"Too bad the rest of the world doesn't think that way," you huffed, noting how Carl's eyes lingered on your newly blossoming bruise.

You wondered how much Carl knew, how much he'd seen on the news. Then again, with the condition your face was in, it would be hard not to know that the two of you had been in the line of fire. His smile had faded and a muted look of worry had replaced it. Worry for you and Markus both. You were worried too. How could you not be? Markus might be leading you into war in the coming hours, if that was the path he decided on taking. So yes, you were worried. Worried because you couldn't really see any other way out of this, either.

"The world is always going to try to push back on you in some way. You have to hold on to what you care about."

You nodded, a single, solemn gesture.

You had let so much that you care about slip through your fingers. You hadn't fought to go to the arts school that you wanted because your family didn't have the money. You let your friends grow distant because you always had to work. You let your family move away without you so you could save up. So many things you let go because the world told you that you had to.

You were going to hold on to Markus. Damn what the world wanted.

Carl looked pleased enough with your nod, his eyes turning to Markus, who had remained quiet. When you looked at the android, his eyes were distant, his shoulders tensed again. Carl had made him think of the real world, outside this reunion. You grimaced, thinking of it too. No matter how nice things were for a moment, the real world was always there to remind you of the way things were. Ever-present and bitter. You can never escape life. It always catches up with you. Another piece of advice given to you a lifetime ago. Something your father had said when you tried to hide your homework to get out of doing it. Different circumstances, but the principle held up.

You missed him.

You missed both of your parents, and your siblings and your friends who had moved away.

If things go bad . . . no one would know. None of them would know what happened to me.

The realization struck like a hammer.

I need to call my Dad.

"You two should catch up," you murmured, nudging Markus gently. The two of them gave you a questioning look, and you took a breath of air. "Carl, do you have a phone I could use?"

Markus knew that there would be no easy answers. The situation had thousands of variables, too many for him to even begin to calculate the outcomes. That didn't make Carl admitting he couldn't help any easier, though.

"Life is making choices. Between love and hate, between holding out your hand or closing it in a fist . . . I don't have any easy answers, Markus. You have to accept the world as it is, or fight to change it." Carl's voice was steady as ever, even as Markus' thoughts were a whirlwind.

Still, there was something in Carl's eyes. Like he knew what he would do, but wanted Markus to come to the conclusion himself. Markus had half expected that. Carl had always let Markus find his own answers, rather than point them out himself. It was strange - both comforting and discomforting - that Markus was fighting for the right to make the kinds of choices he was struggling with now. Maybe that was the reason Carl remained impartial. It wasn't about Markus doing what others thought was right. It was about Markus deciding for himself, gaging the world with his own values. It was about being alive. Love and hate, peace and war, all of it.

That could have been it. Markus could have left it there and gone back to the church to ponder his choice more. Instead, something held him in place. Something that gnawed at him from the inside-out.

"You're worried about her ," Carl observed, taking the words out of Markus' head and making them real.

Markus lowered his gaze but nodded, admitting the truth that had been tearing at him. "I want her to be safe," Markus admitted, "I don't know it that's possible anymore."

Carl let his eyes drift closed for a moment, his brow furrowing in contemplation. "She's strong, Markus."

"I know." If Markus knew anything about you, it was how strong you were. You had an ability to take a hit and keep on walking like no one else Markus had met. But that didn't change the fact that you could have died tonight, or at the march. It didn't make the danger ahead any less real.

Carl must have heard as much in Markus' tone. "She cares about you," the words were enough to make a lump form in Markus' throat. "She'll follow you to hell and back, I think. But even you can't control who lives and dies. All you can do is keep each other safe. Look after each other."

That was the problem. There was only one way that he could make sure that you were safe . . . and that was to make sure that you weren't there when this ended. The thought was painful enough that Markus hadn't considered it as a real possibility. Now though . . . things weren't as clear anymore.

Markus made his way to Carl's side once again, taking the old man's hand. Carl offered the same, wise look that Markus had come to know so well. "You're my son, Markus. Our blood isn't the same color, but I know a part of me is in you." Carl took a breath, offering a small nod - a signal to listen close. "When the world falls into darkness, some men have the courage to lead it out. You're one of those men." The old man took a moment to think, his eyes narrowing in thought. "Face the abyss, but don't let it consume you." The words hung in the air, and Markus knew that this was the advice Carl wished to impart on him. It may not have been what he came for, but it was precious to Markus nonetheless.

Carl held Markus' gaze and the warmth in it was enough to quiet the android's mind. He laid his other hand over Markus', and the android blinked at the feeling. It was so familiar - one that he had felt hundreds of times before - but now Markus found himself transfixed. Both his life and Carl's might be nearing their end, he realised. This might be the last time they ever saw each other.

With that in mind, Markus took to cataloguing every wrinkle, every joint in Carl's hand. He memorized the feeling of it - so that no matter what happened tonight or in the future, he would always have this piece of his father with him.

The old man's eyes drifted closed and Markus stood, letting his hand slip away from Carl. He realised, as he made his way through the door, that he was leaving with more questions than answers.

He was standing in the eye of the storm, and he resolved to do everything he could to protect you from it.

You realized, as you listened to the phone ring, that you had no idea what you were doing.

Sure, you had a general plan of what to say if your parents picked up the phone, but you couldn't exactly tell them why you hadn't called. You couldn't tell them that you were helping androids rebel against their creators and that you had been shot at. You couldn't say that you were fine either, because you weren't. You couldn't facetime them for that very reason. You knew that your father would press you about the bruise on your cheek. Even if you had a good lie for that one, you knew that if your father could see your eyes he'd know in an instant that you weren't telling the truth.

He would probably be able to tell with just your voice, too, but it was a risk you had to take.

You squeezed your eyes closed, leaning up against the intricate railing of Carl's staircase. Maybe just say you were having trouble at work? That you lost your phone? Pretty much anything but the truth would be preferable.

The phone kept ringing, and you held your breath.

Maybe no one would pick up. You were calling from a strange number at night, it would be perfectly reasonable for your parents not to answer. Leaving a message would be easier; you would have complete control over how much information you gave up. It wouldn't be the same, but it would be easier.

Then again, the easy route had never been your style.

"Hello? Who is this?"

You almost choked on air when you heard your father speak, your eyes snapping open. "Dad?" Your voice was quiet but coarse, no doubt already giving away that something was wrong.

Your name, spoken in a cautious, questioning way let you know that your father wasn't entirely convinced that it was you on the other end of this call. Or at least that he hadn't been expecting it. You couldn't blame him for that one.

"Hey," you started, only to realize that you had no idea where to go from there.

Luckily, your father handled that for you.

"Where the hell have you been? We've been trying to call you for days." There was an unspoken 'I was worried sick ,' that went along with his question, something that you had come to hear after years of living with him. You couldn't blame him for that, either.

"Lost my phone, I'm sorry." You hoped that he wouldn't be able to hear how bad you were bullshitting him with that line. "Things have been crazy around here." That part was entirely too true.

"We heard." There was a pause, one that made you hold your breath. Did he know- "You doing' okay?" You let your shoulders slacken. If he did know something, he had decided not to bring it up. Not yet, at least.

You nodded, even if he wasn't there to see it. "Ya I'm fine."

Another beat. "What did I tell you about lying?"

"That I shouldn't."

"Exactly." His tone softened, in the way that it always did when he was about to ask what was wrong. You had figured that he was going to know that something was up, one way or another. You just hadn't thought that it would happen so soon in your conversation. "You wanna tell me what's really going on?"

There it was. The question with an impossible answer.

It would be easy enough to lie. Maybe you wouldn't be completely successful in it, but you didn't have to tell him anything. You could just make up stupid things about how annoying people were at work, or maybe some news with your friends. Suddenly, you thought of thousands of possible responses, all of them varying degrees of truth. I made some new friends, we've been running around town a lot. I've been trying to get more involved with the community. Give back, you know? And I've been seeing a really nice guy. Things are getting pretty serious . . .

You hadn't called him for that. You didn't want this conversation to be nothing but untruths. You had called him because you needed advice just as much as Markus did. Advice and comfort.

So, you chose your words carefully. "There's just a lot going on." Your father stayed quiet, listening patiently. "I'm . . . I think I'm in over my head, honestly." It was the first time you'd said it out loud. Finally acknowledging the feeling that had been clawing at your brain. You didn't appreciate how your voice quivered when you spoke, covering it with a dry laugh.

"Are you in any trouble?" His voice was grave, like he already knew the answer.

"When am I not?"

A sigh let you know that your joke hadn't worked. And they say laughter is the best medicine.

"You always did have a talent for getting yourself into trouble." You laughed, remembering how many times he caught you trying to snag an extra cookie as a child, or sneak out of the house to draw. The not-so-secret trips out of class to get food with your friends, and the few busted parties you'd gone to. "But you also had a talent for getting yourself out of it."

"I don't know if that's gonna work this time, Dad."

You could hear him take a breath of air from the other side of the call. "If things are that bad, there's a place for you here. You mother and I would be happy-"

"No." Your voice was sharp, and it silenced your father. You couldn't go home, not now. No matter how afraid you were, no matter what happened next, you wouldn't give up this fight. "I . . . I have to see this through."

"You're not giving me much to go off of, kiddo."

"I know. I'm sorry. I just-"

"You don't have to say anything, if you don't want to." He reassured you, and you felt yourself ease. Then, he lowered his voice to a familiar tone. It was one that you had heard countless times before; the kind that you and your siblings had learned to snap to attention to. It meant that he was trying to tell you something important. "Do what you've gotta do. You've always been tough. The world's thrown some shit at you and you're still here. If you want to fight for what you believe in, nothing can stop you. At least not me. I couldn't stop you from sneaking out of the house."

A short laugh escaped you, despite his implications. It occured to you, in that moment, that there had been cameras at the march. There had been people all over the world watching when Markus had stepped in front of the guns, and they'd been watching when you pulled him back to safety after he was shot.

Caught with your hand in the cookie jar, as it were.

"There are enough people who just roll over and do what the world tells them. We could use more people who want to change it."

"The problem is that the world doesn't want to change," you muttered, looking up when you heard footsteps. Markus stood at the top of the stairs and even from so far away you could see the change in his eyes. The storm had quieted, if only a bit. He smiled at you as he made his way down, taking a seat on the steps next to you as your father spoke again.

"People usually don't, if they're comfortable. Sometimes all it takes is the right person to make them realize that change needs to happen."

"Or lighting a fire under their asses." You saw Markus grin out of the corner of your eye.

"That too. Just don't burn yourself in the process."

You scoffed. "There's always something."

"C'est la vie, as your mother would say."

You smiled softly, remembering the countless times she'd repeated the saying to you. "How is she? Can I talk to her?"

"She's still at work. Another late night."

You had guessed as much, but your heart still sank. You'd been hoping to get both of them. Still, one was better than none. "Will you tell her I said 'hi'?"

"Of course."

You thought of your siblings, the ones who had gotten out of Detroit the first chance they got. "And everyone else, tell them 'hi' from me too."

"I will. You could always call them and tell them yourself, you know." Markus must have heard that, by the look he gave you.

"I know. I'll try, if I get the chance." It was the only promise you could give, but it seemed to be enough.

" Alright. Anything else you wanna vaguely allude to?" You couldn't help but appreciate his tone. Wisdom and sarcasm. The man had the two of them in abundance.

You'd inherited some of both. A mischievous look took your face as you thought of a response. You wouldn't pass up the opportunity to mess with Markus, at least a little. "Not much. There's this guy though," you flicked your eyes to the android beside you, pleased to see that you'd caught his attention. His mismatched eyes were wide. "He's nice. Kind of artsy. No regard for personal safety, though."

Markus stared at you in disbelief, and you smiled back innocently. The horrors of war have nothing on the horrors of 'meeting the parents' . Not in this particular moment, at least.

Your father gave an audible sigh on the other end. "Well sounds like you're on an even playing field, then." It was Markus' turn to grin, while your eyes went wide at your father's betrayal. Still, he wasn't wrong.

"Okay that's fair."

He laughed and suddenly you felt the air around you become heavy again. Heavy because you knew that the conversation couldn't last forever. He must have realized the same thing, because his laugh wasn't a long-lived one.

"Are you gonna be alright?" he asked, giving you one last opportunity to tell him otherwise.

It was strange that you could honestly answer either way and have it be completely honest. "Ya," you said, looking back at Markus, "I think I'll be okay."

The android looked back at you, sheer adoration in his eyes chipping away at the dam holding yourself together.

"Alright." Your father sounded satisfied with the answer. "Just take care of yourself, will you?"

You grinned, fighting the sting of tears against your eyes. "I've never been good at that."

"Oh, I know." You could almost see him rolling his eyes.

The grin turned into a full-force smile. Some of the weight of the world was gone, if only for a moment. "I've gotta go," you said, again hating your shaky voice for betraying your feelings. "I'll call again as soon as I can, okay?"

"Okay." He didn't want you to hang up, you could tell. You could also tell that he knew you had to go. It was the same feeling you'd gotten from him when you told him that you were staying in Detroit to save up money; the bittersweet mix of understanding and sadness. It was a two-way street; things were the same on your side. "Love you, kiddo." He finally said, his famous sarcasm absent. It reminded you of fathers sending their children off to war. That's what it was, you supposed.

"Love you too."

You hung up and the world sat in silence. He knew, because of course he did. He knew that you were fighting on Markus' side. Thinking that you could have gotten out of that phone call without him knowing at least part of what was going on was foolish, you knew that. Your father was many things, but easily fooled wasn't one of them. Whether he believed in the movement or not, he was with you. He supported you. The man who had cautioned you so long ago to give up on your dreams lest you find them broken was telling you not to give up this fight. People only care about artists after they're dead. Something he'd said to a child, a roundabout way of trying to protect you from the world. If you want to fight for what you believe in, nothing can stop you . Advice from a father who knew that he couldn't protect you anymore. It was up to you now. You grinned despite the tears welling in your eyes. Should have figured .

In the end, you were glad that he'd found out. You were glad that you'd called, and that he'd been able to give you the advice that he did, even with how brief it was.

"Are you alright?" Markus asked, and you snapped your attention back to him.

There was some hesitation, but you nodded all the same. "Yeah, I'm okay." You were surprised at how even your voice was. "You?"

Markus took a moment to think too. You were sure that his LED would have been spinning, if he still had it. "Yeah." He finally nodded. "That was your father, wasn't it?"

You nodded. "I haven't been able to talk to him - to any of them - for a while. I figured this would be a good time . . ." in case things go wrong. Markus didn't need you to voice the end of the sentence. He would understand better than anyone why you had made the call. "How was Carl?" you asked, pushing yourself away from the banister so you sat closer to Markus.

The android smiled. "Good. I'm glad I got to see him."

"Me too," you admitted, letting your voice be small. "Any advice from him?"

"He said we need to take care of each other," Markus grinned, "because we're so bad at taking care of ourselves."

Again you found yourself laughing, because that was spot-on. Markus, despite the serious look in his eyes moments before, joined you in your uproar. "He's got us there."

"I suppose he does." Markus trailed off, his eyes finding the door.

You took the cue. "Time to go?"

Markus nodded, offering you his hand as you stood. You took it, letting him pull you up beside him. Back to the real world, you thought, bracing yourself as you followed Markus down the steps. "What's wrong?" Markus asked, seeing your hesitation. You gave Carl's house one last look around as you went, trying to draw it out for as long as you could. It was like its own little world, all art and expression, not like the one you grew up in. You felt selfish for wanting to stay in that world for as long as you could, but you couldn't help it. It was everything you'd dreamed about as a kid, real and tangible and just out of reach.

Maybe your old man had been right, all those years ago. Maybe you just weren't destined to become a famous artist. It certainly didn't seem possible now, given that you were something of a fugitive. Maybe even a terrorist, in some people's eyes. Art seemed so far away from you now.

You looked back at Markus, from his blue eye to his green one. "Nothing. It's just . . ." You sighed, trying to find the words. "I don't know. Life is funny." Markus quirked an eyebrow and you elaborated. "I thought I was going to be stuck waiting tables for the rest of my life. I never thought that I'd actually be part of something important. It's . . . it's weird to me, I guess."

Markus looked surprised at your answer. "Even with your art? You never wanted to pursue it?"

You laughed. "I always wanted to. It just seemed impossible. You don't hear about kids from my neighborhood growing up to be artists."

"You don't hear about androids becoming artists much, either." The corners of Markus' mouth curved into a smile, and your chest warmed. You had seen the painting of his in Carl's studio, when you had picked up your own canvas. Carl told you that he had asked him to paint it the morning before everything happened. Even before he deviated, Markus had been capable of thinking for himself. Capable of passion and expression, even if the world told him that he wasn't.

"Well, I guess we'll just have to prove some people wrong, then. When all this is over," you smirked, though it fell when you saw a glint in Markus' eyes. It was almost . . . mischievous? Maybe that was the wrong word; you weren't sure that Markus was capable of mischief. Still, the look had you excited. "What?" You asked, eager to hear the answer.

"Do you still have your spray paints?"

You couldn't stop your eyes from lighting up.