As much as Connor seemed appalled at the idea of fingerprinting, he took to it with remarkable enthusiasm. His tiny fingers moved across the canvas both precisely and erratically making images of controlled chaos.
Markus had been sure to pick out paints he had sampled in the past so he already knew their chemical composition. While he didn't fully understand the need for it, he wasn't about to question Connor's process. It worked for him, that's all that really mattered.
Connor had always been an expressive painter. Despite his odd color choices, he somehow always managed to isolate and capture his amalgam of emotions on the canvas in a strikingly accurate representation. He prided himself on his ability to decipher these images, it was like a secret language that they shared. Connor had always been open with Markus, never wanting to hide, but lacking the words to express the feelings that were so foreign yet natural to his code. Art helped him show what he couldn't quite say.
Evidently, that was still the case while he was a child. The only difference was that, instead of sectioning off specific emotions, Connor was letting them all flow onto the canvas at once in a mad jumble. In a word, it was beautiful.
Connor certainly seemed to be enjoying himself as well. After his initial hesitation, he had thrown caution to the wind and dove in. He was now covered up to his elbows with pigment, little dots speckling his clothes and hair. His tongue stuck out slightly as he concentrated on the image as it formed. The sight was enough to brighten Markus's whole day.
Admittedly, he was enjoying it too.
Something about using his fingers instead of the brushes let him feel more connected to the paint and, by extension, more connected to Connor. Without the ability to interface with him, Markus was going to take what he could get.
Markus had… exaggerated how much he had been able to glean from when he had tried to interface with him. It was true that he hadn't detected any issues, but he hadn't really detected much of anything. He didn't want Connor to know that though. Confident as he was that he wasn't actually suffering a malfunction, his goal had been comfort, not deception.
"Markus?" Connor asked suddenly, breaking him from his musing. "Do you prefer me like this?"
He had to pause for a moment, taken back by the abrupt question. "What? What do you mean?"
"I was just thinking," he muttered. "A lot of people seem to like me as I am now, even Detective Reed has been nice to me." He moved his multicolored fingers through a streak of yellow paint leaving behind a muddled rainbow. "Maybe people prefer me like this. As a kid."
"I don't necessarily think that's the case," Markus countered. He had to handle this carefully, Connor was sensitive about how people viewed him. After the whole 'deviant hunter' label had been affixed to him, he had been ready to do almost anything to gain approval. "I think that most people like children and find novelty in it. That doesn't mean they prefer it."
"What about you though?" He persisted.
Markus brought his own strike of blue across the canvas, meeting the mark Connor had just made. "I don't prefer you one way or the other," he said neutrally.
Connor let out an exasperated sigh, dramatically plopping a handprint down onto the painting. "Could you please answer without your diplomatic voice?"
"Without… what?" He stammered.
"That voice you do when you're being all diplomatic and trying not to upset people," Connor explained. "Just… give me an honest answer."
Markus wasn't aware he had a tell like that, but he wasn't surprised Connor had picked up on it. "I will admit there is a certain charm to you being a child," he admitted honestly. "But I wasn't lying. You are my brother, Connor.I Love you, big or small."
Evidently he used the right tone that time judging by how his face lit up with a smile. "Yeah?"
"Yup." He punctuated the word by dotting the tip of Connor's nose with a paint-covered index finger.
He gasped out a surprised squeak and promptly rubbed at the spot on his face, failing to register that his own hands were also covered in paint. "Oh no," he whispered to himself once he realized his mistake. He sat frozen, staring at his messy fingers as though at a loss as to how to fix his predicament.
"Here, let me help," Markus offered with a chuckle. He pulled a clean rag from the table nearby and began wiping at the paint stains. "Thank goodness syntheskin is easy to clean."
"You mean it though, right?" Connor asked, ignoring the comment. His voice sounded as smushed as his face was under the rag. "You love me. Big or small?"
Markus rubbed at the spot he had put on Connor's nose. "Of course."
"Good," he mumbled. He leaned away once he was done and watched as Connor nervously picked at some of the paint on his hands. Most of it was still wet, but some had dried and flaked off as he fiddled with it. "I knew that, I just wanted to be sure. Just in case."
"In case of what?" He wished, once again, that he could interface with Connor. That he could quell whatever insecurities he had with a touch.
Connor dotted some green paint from the pallet onto the canvas. "In case I don't succeed. If I fail and I don't get my body back and I'm stuck like this."
"Than is not going to happen," Markus insisted immediately.
Connor rolled his eyes. Another streak of worried green crossing the page. "Yeah, ok," he conceded, unconvinced.
"I'm serious, Connor. You will not be stuck like that," he reiterated. He mixed a little yellow into the green on the palette, lightening it. Logic, that would be the best way to handle this. "Think this through, even if, and I do mean if, you and the DPD can't solve this case, I'm sure we can work something out with the precinct and get them to release your body."
"Yes, but-"
"And," Markus went on, not willing to let him interrupt. "Even if we don't have that option, Simon could always build you a new adult body. You will only stay in that body if you choose to."
Connor selected some of the paint that Markus had lightened, staring at it on the tip of his finger for a moment before adding it to the canvas. "I suppose you're right," he sighed. "I just… worry. It seems I worry about a lot of things these days."
Markus offered him a sad smile. "You do have a lot to worry about."
Connor's focus shifted back to him, eyes piercing and focused, if not exhausted. He would need to take his nap soon. "How do you do it?" He asked. "You have so much more to worry about then I do, but you just… I don't know, deal with it. It's like nothing bothers you."
"I think you know that isn't the case," Markus told him. "A lot of things bother me, I just know where to put my focus at a given time. It's a skill I had to learn, one I'm sure you will figure out when you are older."
He yawned, but continued making little swirls of pale green. "I don't know. I wasn't very good at that even in my adult body."
Markus shook his head with a smile before pulling Connor into a gentle hug and standing, child secure in his arms. "I said older, Connor, not bigger. You are still young, not even a year old. You still have a lot to learn about the world."
"You're not that much older than me," he argued. Markus noticed the paint smudges on his coat where Connor was clinging to him, but didn't worry about it. He could get the stains out later.
"A decade at least," he chuckled. There was a lounge on the far end of the room he sometimes used when one of his friends agreed to model for him, it would be suitable for Connor to rest on. "It is more than enough time to pick up a few things."
"I guess so," he conceded, apparently too tired to argue the point. Weariness set upon him quickly, there was likely a threshold in the battery level that triggered it. He would need to talk to Simon, see if they could make it a more gradual transition in the future. "Where are we going?" He asked sleepily.
He set him gently on the lounge, detangling tiny arms from around his neck. "It's time for your nap," he told him.
"No!" Connor cried instantly. "No, I'm not tired!"
"Connor," Markus said, tone bordering on scolding. "I am not returning you to the Lieutenant tired and grumpy. Your battery is depleted, you need a nap."
Connor pouted, but followed Markus's lead as he guided him down onto the cushion. "I don't want it to be over already," he lamented.
"You don't want what to be over?" Markus asked him, confused. He brushed at his tousled hair gently, hoping the motion would help lull Connor to sleep. It left some streaks of paint behind, but he would help him clean up later.
"This," he said with another yawn. His eyes drooped even as he fought to keep them open. "It's rare that I get to spend time with you like this. I don't want it to end."
Oh, so that's what the Lieutenant meant when he said Connor could so casually pull at the heartstrings without even trying. He sat on the lounge by his feet, keeping his hand in his hair. "Why don't I join you then?" Markus offered.
Connor frowned up at him. "But your batteries don't need recharging yet."
"No, they don't," he admitted. "But a nap still sounds nice." Admittedly, his battery was running lower than it probably should be. If it weren't for North dragging him to bed each night, he would likely forgo rest mode to continue working throughout the evening. Maybe the Lieutenant had a point, they both needed to take time to rest now and then.
Connor looked confused by the concept of enjoying a nap, but still made room for Markus to lay down beside him. He wasted no time pulling the tiny android close like a teddy bear. To Markus's elation, he was unfazed by the sudden contact and made himself comfortable in his arms.
"Since you're so good at dealing with things, could I bother you with one more worry?" Connor asked around another yawn.
He began running his fingers through Connor's hair again. The paint, mostly dry now, flaked off in places. "You are never a bother, Connor. What is it?"
He was quiet and, for a moment, Markus thought he had fallen asleep. "Hank is going to adopt me," he said at last as he fought to remain conscious.
"Well that doesn't come as a surprise," he laughed. "You have thought of him as your father for quite some time now, what is there to worry about?"
Connor nuzzled his face into his chest, sighing deeply. "Carl adopted you, right?"
"That's right," he confirmed.
"So you're Markus Manfred. I'm going to be Connor Anderson." Connor turned to look him in the eye, biting his lip before continuing. "Does that mean we can't be brothers anymore?"
"Oh, Connor, no!" Markus insisted immediately. "Of course that's not the case. I promise, nothing will stop us from being brothers. Especially not something as trivial as different last names."
His tired brown eyes searched him, looking for any indication of dishonesty in his words, before Connor smiled. "Ok, good." He snuggled back into Markus's arms, cheek pressing to his chest. "You really are good at that, you know."
"It's my job to be," Markus smiled down at him. He shifted just a bit to make himself more comfortable, but was careful not to disturb his little brother.
"I guess so," Connor sighed, nodding off. "It makes sense that you are good at taking care of everyone, you were designed as a caretaker after all."
Well that was a way to look at it. "I… hadn't thought of it like that before," Markus admitted. That his leadership was an extension of his original caretaker programming, it was an interesting prospect to consider.
When Connor didn't respond, Markus looked down to see he had finally drifted off. He looked so peaceful, so innocent. It was hard to believe everything he had been through. He hoped, at least, he had been able to provide a temporary escape from the stress of life.
Moving slowly so as not to wake him, Markus leaned forward just enough to kiss the top of Connor's paint-streaked head. "Sleep well," he whispered. He leaned back again contently, closing his eyes and initiating his own rest cycle.
