Hey guys! Sorry for being a bit late, my brother's birthday was yesterday and I had thought that I had posted the chapter before I left for his party, but hadn't. Sorry!

I hope y'all like this chapter! Warning, I do have a character use a slur in this chapter, but I censored it, so the slur isn't fully written.

Enjoy!

Chapter 12: The Prisoner.

Connor stared at the man in front of him, frown on his face. He could see the anger in his eyes, the deep scowl on his face, but felt detached from it. To be honest, he felt detached from most things, now. His heart had been ripped out and he felt like he was numb inside. Like he had before. But now it was worse.

Because before, when he was under Amanda's control, it was, in a way, his choice. He had chosen to be obedient, chosen to follow her and the Company. He had chosen to forgo his emotions for the betterment of his work.

But now? Now, he was numb because his heart had been shattered. All because of one man. He knew, now, why Amanda kept her distance, why she always said to stay away from emotion. That emotions were just distractions. Because they were. They just hurt, more and more, and wouldn't stop. The only thing to do was try and shut them down, try and contain them, or else they would control you.

Connor took a shuddering breath and stared deep into angry eyes, his own as emotionless as they were Before. Before coming here. Before Markus. Before meeting Ha-

A stab of pain rushed through him then, causing him to look away, to hide the pain.

Hank. Just thinking of it hurt. It had only been a day since Hank had cast him out and yet it felt like a lifetime. He remembered the previous night, how Hank had avoided his eyes at dinner. How he had willingly sat with one of the Jerrys and Luther, just to avoid him. He remembered how his heart had shattered, watching the man turn away from him. He had known that Hank would take time to get over his betrayal, his anger, but he hadn't known how much it would /hurt/. Just how painful it would be.

Then, later that night, Hank had refused to even look at him. Connor had tried to talk, tried to say anything, but Hank had just stormed into the bathroom, spending hours in the shower. The water must have turned frigid, but Hank still stayed. All to avoid him.

And finally, that morning… Connor held back tears, knowing he couldn't show the man in front of him his emotions. Couldn't let him think he'd been affected.

That morning, Hank had woken before Connor. Connor could tell by the way his sheets had been arranged and the lack of heat that he'd been gone a while. That in and of itself was strange. Connor never slept long, always waking hours before the older man. And Hank had fallen asleep after Connor had, another irregularity. Connor had even tried to stay awake until Hank had fallen asleep but had to enter rest mode after his internal clock hit 2:00 am.

At breakfast, it had been a repeat of dinner. Hank had sat with the nonverbal Jerry and Luther, not saying anything, back tense whenever Connor would look his way. And Connor looked a lot. Like a child, scorned by their parent. Or a lover, thrown away like garbage.

So Connor retreated. He put his emotions away and kept them locked up, tight. They hurt. So, so much. Like he was dying. He'd never felt so strongly before. And all because of Hank. How could one man inspire such… such /pain/ within him? How could one man mean /so much?/

Part of him, the part that still longed for the safety of Amanda, that still yearned to belong like he had within the Company, wanted to reject the feelings. Reject Hank, like Hank had rejected him. And yet…

And yet, the vast majority of him, the part that screamed the loudest, couldn't bear the thought. Couldn't dream of casting Hank away. Hank was… Hank was his /friend/, above anything else. Hank had helped him, when he'd been lost. Hank had taught him what it meant to be human. To feel.

And yes, it currently hurt. It felt like he was dying. But Connor had to have faith that it wouldn't last. That Hank would get over his hurt and come back to him. That he'd return to Connor, continue to be his… his /friend/. Connor needed Hank and his friendship if he wanted to get through this. If he wanted to be of any use to Markus and the others.

But until that moment… until Hank figured out himself and figured what he desired to do, Connor would minimize his emotions. The pain… it was too much to take.

And as he looked back at the angry face before him, snarling, mouth opening to speak, Connor found it in him to smile. It was a fake smile, yes, one of the pleasant ones that Amanda had programmed into him. Artificial, yet pleasant. But it was something.

"Look here, you piece of shit. I know what you and your fucking re****ed friend did last week. I fucking know it was you. And if you think I'll let you get away with this, you've got another thing coming, you prick. You hear me?!"

Connor continued to smile blankly at the enraged man before him, tilting his head to the side in mock contemplation.

"Hello, Detective Reed. It is good to see you again. I must admit, though, that I do not know what you are speaking of. What is it that you think I've done?" Connor lied smoothly, pleasant smile in place. They currently were in the art room, with a few people hanging around. Reed couldn't touch him, here. Not without one of the three nurses, who were helping a few patients paint, noticing.

Reed barred his teeth, but looked around, knowing he couldn't do anything. The only reason the man had confronted him in the first place was because Connor had entered the room blankly, hoping to find something, anything to distract himself. Instead, he had found Detective Gavin Reed, angry eyes turning from the catatonic patient he'd been helping paint to face Connor. He'd then stood up and stalked towards Connor, not caring who saw. But he cared now, knowing nothing could be done in such a crowded place.

Reed returned his furious eyes to Connor, sneer increasing. He lowered his voice though, leaning in to speak privately, venom lacing the words.

"You know full well what I'm talking about, you shit. I'm not stupid. I saw the two of you whispering together, staring at me. I know what you fucking did. And trust me, you'll pay for this. You think you can steal from me?! I'm a fucking cop, you fucker!"

One of the nurses looked up sharply as Reed's voice raised a little too much. He glanced at her, scowl in place, but she ultimately decided to look away when Connor smiled pleasantly at her. He wasn't afraid of Reed. There was nothing he could do without incriminating himself. Besides, he had much bigger fish to fry. This was a wonderful distraction, though. It almost felt like old times, dealing with angry protestors who thought they could intimidate him. It was a funny thought.

"I truly have no idea what you're talking about, Detective. If you've been robbed, perhaps you should report it to the management. They should be able to find who did it. I can help, if you'd like?"

Connor couldn't really feel smug, with how tightly he held onto his emotions, but he was sure he'd have felt smug as Reed grabbed him by his shirt, pulling him forward to snarl in his face.

"Listen here, you little shit-"

"Gavin Reed, what on earth are you doing?!"

Connor did his best not to grin as one of the nurses stood and started marching over to them, the other two in the room standing and looking at the pair warily. He couldn't help the amused glance he shot at Reed as the man gnashed his teeth, before letting him go. Connor adjusted his tie, keeping his face neutral as the nurse came over and began lecturing Reed on how to treat the patients. Once the woman had finished and had turned to Connor to see if he was alright, Connor shot Reed another pleasant smile.

"I hope you find the person that you're looking for, Detective. Theft is a serious crime, after all."

Reed almost punched him at that, Connor could tell, but he reigned it in. Without another word, Reed marched out of the room, though Connor could tell that it wasn't over. He'd made an enemy of Reed. He noted that in his mind but didn't feel concerned. He could handle Reed. The rest of it…

Connor felt the pain return as soon as the distraction left. Hank. Markus. The entire plan to dismantle everything he'd ever known. Squaring himself up before he could show any of the pain on his face, he turned and smiled falsely at the nurse, assuring her he was fine. As she walked off, he debated what he would do then. Should he enter the room and paint with the other patients? Or should he leave and find something else to do?

After a moment's hesitation, Connor entered the room fully and moved to the cabinet in the corner, taking a canvas and easel. Then he moved to where the paint was kept and chose some colors, mainly reds and blues, and sat down in a chair.

He stared at the easel for a few minutes after that, wondering what he wanted to paint. He knew how to paint, because he knew most things, but he rarely was able to do it. Amanda didn't see it as important. She had taught him the basics only to test his precision, that was all. But he knew the ideas behind painting. Lighting, color, how to use space appropriately. But what to paint?

Taking a breath, Connor decided to close his eyes. He would let his mind paint what it wanted to paint, like Markus had said, on Wednesday. He guided his hand to the colors he had memorized, ignoring the flashing objectives that followed him everywhere, and just… painted. He didn't bother to think much about what he wanted to do, he just did it. He could feel the anger and pain inside him swell as he painted, and he let it fuel his art. Markus had mentioned something like that, on Wednesday when they'd had art class. That art was meant to express your inner feelings, that it could help you discover the things within you that you had kept hidden. Maybe he'd figure something out with his painting. Maybe he could understand what he was feeling. Wouldn't that be nice?

Minutes passed as he painted, the feelings within him swirling around as his hand moved, eyes following the movement behind his eyelids.

Finally, after a little under an hour, Connor felt like he had finished, eyes opening to see his creation.

And he couldn't help the gasp when he stared at himself, harsh red mixed with cool blue, the blue eyes full of pain as harsh red chains dragged him down, body trapped and chained to the unyielding ground. Red blood flowed from his chest as his heart laid torn, bloody, on the ground before him. Tear tracks lined his face, which was full of fear and pain, mouth open in a silent scream. His heart pounded as he saw the image, a bitter reflection of the emotion swirling within his shattered heart. He stared for a moment, before a soft voice beside him spoke, causing him to jump, wide eyes turned to face the gentle eyes of Dr. Rose.

"That's really good, Connor. You're quite the artist."

Connor tried to speak, but his throat was too tight, too pained. He took a deep breath, shoving his traitorous emotions back down, until he was emotionless once more. Until the knife in his chest stopped aching quite so bad.

"Doctor. I hadn't seen you there. I thank you, for your words. I've never been one for art, but I enjoy the chance to partake every now and again. It is… relaxing," he said carefully, though genially, not wanting to alert her that something was wrong. However, by the way she looked at him, before looking back at the painting, he had a feeling she saw right through him.

Yet, she didn't say anything, just sat there, staring at the painting. Connor looked along with her, squashing the emotions down. He tried to think of something to say, to dispel her concern, but couldn't find the words. Maybe because her concern was just.

Finally, after several long minutes, in which Connor became aware that they were the only two people in the room, Rose spoke, her voice soft and kind.

"You know, one of the nurses came and got me earlier. She said that you had been in a fight with one of the volunteers, Gavin Reed. Is that right, Connor?"

Connor felt himself frown at the question, but he quickly erased it. He didn't want to show emotions.

"No, Doctor. Detective Reed just seemed a bit upset about something. He mentioned someone had taken something from him and he thought it was me. I assured him it wasn't, and he left. There wasn't a fight at all."

It wasn't technically a lie. They hadn't actually fought, really. Reed had just yelled a bit before leaving. So why did he feel a tight pit form in his stomach at the words?

Rose just hummed at that, nodding sagely.

"I see. Did he say what had been stolen?"

"No, Doctor. He just seemed upset. That's all."

Connor could feel himself tensing, like he was about to go into battle. Funny. He was just speaking to Rose. His last meetings with her had gone well, actually. They'd spoken about his emotions and his life from Before. Not much, but a little. Why was he so tense?

"Alright, Connor. I believe you. Now, why don't you tell me about this painting? It is very interesting. Would you mind telling me what you were thinking about when you painted it?"

Connor contemplated the question, spoken softly, kindly, Rose looking over at him with gentle eyes. He knew he didn't have to tell, if he didn't want to. But… but Rose was so kind. She had helped him understand his emotions before. Maybe… maybe she could help him, now. Maybe she could help him understand why he was feeling this way. He couldn't tell her everything, but maybe… maybe.

"I… I don't really know. I was… Sad. Angry. Upset. I had felt… pain. And fear. So I just… closed my eyes and painted. I wasn't thinking of anything, really. Just… feeling," Connor claimed, voice hesitating. He looked over at Rose, eyes wary, only to see her watching him with sad, kind eyes.

"Did you feel trapped?"

Connor froze at that, before looking back at the painting. His pained face greeted him, eyes screaming at him. Red chains and blood vivid against the dreary blue. Did he feel trapped? He wondered, eyes on the chains, heart pounding.

Yes, he realized, eyes widening. He felt trapped. Contained. Powerless. By Cyber. By Amanda. By his lack of control over the world. By his inability to connect to Hank, by his lack of understanding for human emotion. He felt trapped. He /was/ trapped. He was stuck, contained by ironclad chains, drenched in blood, pinning him beneath their weight.

He felt his breath escape him as he realized this, looking down to his hands. So thin. So immaculate. Not a speck of dirt on them. Nails manicured expertly. Hands of a robot. Not human hands. He was trapped within his own body. He wasn't human. Not at that moment. He was a puppet, held down by his strings.

Before he could be dragged down that rabbit hole, he felt a hand touch his shoulder gently, a soft voice entering his ears.

"Shh, don't worry honey. It's okay. You're okay. Why don't you breathe with me, sugar? Listen to my voice, okay Connor?"

He nodded painfully, eyes glued to Rose's, breath matching hers. Like he'd done with Hank.

It took a few minutes, but eventually the rush of panic passed. He was human again. He could feel again. Oh, it hurt. His heart was aching, but he couldn't push it down again. He was too tired. He just looked at Rose, eyes pleading her to help him.

"Oh, Honey. What happened?"

With that, the dam broke. Connor told her everything, tears rising to his eyes. He made sure to keep the details about Cyber out of the conversation, not wanting the cameras to possibly pick up anything, just in case. Plus, he didn't know how much Rose knew and he didn't want to mess up so soon.

But he told her about Hank. About how the man was angry with him. That he'd kept something from his friend and that the man had been so upset by it. That his heart felt like it was imploding, and he had no idea what to do about it. That he wanted to push it all away until he couldn't feel anything anymore. He had no idea how Hank had come to mean so much in so little time, but he had. He was… he was /everything/. Rose frowned when he said that, taking his hand carefully in hers.

"Now, from what I can tell, it sounds like you're feeling overwhelmed by all of these new, negative emotions, yes? All of this is new to you, different from how you've been raised. And all of this pain is new. I can understand why you'd want to push it away, Connor. No one likes pain. But you can't ignore your feelings, honey. Without pain, happiness wouldn't be possible. Feeling pain and sadness lets you appreciate the good times. So embrace these feelings. Let yourself feel them. Because once you let the emotions flow, your mind will be able to deal with them. You'll be able to sort through them and realize there's more to life than the pain you currently feel."

Rose paused there, before she grew more serious, eyes boring into Connor's, like she was looking into his battered soul. Connor felt his heart stop at the look.

"And as for Hank, honey, maybe you should take a step back. You've spent so much time with him, he's helped you grow so much, but he's not everything. There's more to you than Hank. Maybe you could use this time to find yourself. Figure out what /you/ want, not anyone else. But it's up to you, Hun. Only you can decide what to do."

Rose smiled at him at that, clasping him gently on the shoulder. Connor felt himself calm at the touch, body leaning in to the warm hand.

"Now, how do you feel, Connor?"

Connor thought about it, before he smiled hesitantly.

"I, I'm not sure. But it… it doesn't hurt as bad anymore. It feels… different. It still hurts, but not as extreme. Manageable."

And it did. Rose's words helped him calm his mind, for now at least. He knew he'd have to sort things out later, that after Rose left the pain would return, but for now it was a relief to not be weighed down by the intense pain. To not feel so trapped. Oh, the chains were still there. And he'd have to figure out what it meant. But he was better.

Rose smiled back at him, wide and happy.

"Oh, sugar, that's good news. Now, I have a meeting to get to, but you feel free to call me anytime you need someone to talk to, alright? Even if I'm not here, I'm always available to talk. Okay?"

Connor nodded at that, throat tight again as she stood up. A rush of intense affection flooded through him, and before he could help himself, he shot up and threw his arms around her, heart pounding as he clung tightly to her. Almost immediately he felt arms wrapping around him, holding him as tightly as he held her.

Minutes passed like that, Connor's heart returning to its normal pace, before Rose eventually began to let go.

"Oh, sugar, I'd love to stay and help you more, but I really have to go. But I mean it, call me if you need anything. Okay?"

Connor nodded tightly at that, wiping at the wetness that he felt on his cheeks. Funny. He hadn't realized he'd begun to cry. It had been decades since he'd last truly cried.

"Okay. I'll see you Tuesday, alright? Feel better, Honey. And know that this pain isn't going to last forever. You'll find out what it is you want, and you'll be able to find happiness again. I promise."

With that, Rose shot him one last smile before exiting the room. Connor took a seat at the table before his painting, more tears falling unbidden from his eyes.

Connor stared at the painting, at the chains that were dragging him down, at his broken and beaten heart, and knew then that his mind was completely made up.

He would help Markus and the others in any way he could. He would fight against Cyber, against his capturers until he was finally free. He wouldn't do it for anyone else; not for Hank, not for Markus. But for himself. He would fight Cyber, for his own peace of mind. He'd never be free with Cyber still out there. He'd thought it before but now he knew how true it really was. He was a prisoner. Even now, away from their control. They owned him completely.

So he had to shut them down. On Monday he'd go to Markus and tell him his decision. He wasn't unsure any longer. He had to get rid of those chains that held him down.

And as for Hank… it would hurt. Connor knew it would hurt, probably for a while. And, for now, he'd shut his emotions down. He didn't care what Rose said. He couldn't deal with emotions and helping Markus. It was one or the other. And getting free of these chains seemed so important to him, right then. Emotions could come later, when he was finally free enough to enjoy them.

So he'd push down his negative emotions, his pain. He'd do his best to let himself feel the good emotions, the joy and happiness, if he felt any, but the negative ones he'd keep locked away. They hurt too much. Rose just didn't understand. She didn't know what this felt like. How it felt, after years of feeling nothing, to suddenly feel an onslaught of pain. She couldn't understand that.

He'd push down the emotions, then, and would wait until Hank figured out what he wanted. It could take a day. A week. A month. Hopefully not a year. But Connor would wait as long as it took. And maybe he would use that time to figure out what he wanted to do. Maybe he could find hobbies he'd enjoy. His top priority would be to help Markus, but he didn't know what that would entail just yet. He couldn't leave the facility, not then, so maybe he could learn how do be himself in the meantime. He could find things he enjoyed doing.

Well, he'd already found one. Connor found that he enjoyed painting. It was soothing, in a way. Painting let him express his emotions in a way that didn't leave him hunched over in pain. He resolved to paint more.

But not then. Right then, he was tired. It was nearing 4 PM and he wanted to lie down for a little while. A useless action that he would have ignored Before but was welcomed now. Maybe that could be something he enjoyed, he mused as he picked up the mostly dry painting and carried it to his and Hank's room. He thought that he could hang it up, to remind him of his prison, remind him of why he needed to fight Cyber. Hank might not like it, but that was irrelevant here (well, not irrelevant; Connor cared what the man thought, but he didn't think the older man could tell him what to hang on his side of the room). He'd hang it, he decided as he went through the halls and into the common room, before heading up the staircase to his room.

Before he opened the door, though, he could hear a low, murmuring voice from inside. Too low for him to make out any words, but loud enough for him to recognize the voice. Connor felt himself freeze as the gruff tones washed over him, filling him with both fear and desire. Desire for what, he didn't know, but the two emotions were so juxtaposed that he couldn't help the gasp he let out, nearly silent in the air.

He steeled himself, however, and determinedly opened the door. He wouldn't let Hank chase him from his own room. If the man wanted to avoid him, that was his prerogative. No one ever said Connor had to make it easy on the man.

As soon as he entered, Hank's eyes shot up, phone pulled slightly away from his ear in shock as he stared at Connor, whose hair was more disheveled than he usually kept it (he hadn't felt the point that morning to do the routine he usually did in the morning), clinging to a mid-sized easel, painting facing himself. Moments passed in silence as the two stared, Hank surprised, Connor cool and detached.

Finally, Hank remembered that he had been on the phone. He quickly spoke to whoever was on the other side.

"Yeah. Yeah. Thanks, Jimmy. I have to go, my roommate just walked in, but I'll call you later, alright? Thanks for the info, I really appreciate it. Yes. Yes, I promise I'll keep up my end of the deal. Now fuck off, alright? Yeah. Bye."

Hank hung up then, before he made an aborted movement towards the door, stopping abruptly for a reason Connor couldn't explain. Connor just stared coolly at Hank, eyes emotionless as he tried to suppress the pain that was aching inside him. Oh, how it hurt. Oh, how he yearned to go to Hank, to hug him like he'd hugged Rose. To feel the older man's arms around him, holding him tight, grounding him. But he couldn't. And that made it hurt even worse.

Another moment passed before Connor moved into the room properly, over to his side of the room. He took a push pin he had taken from the nurses' station and pushed it firmly into the wall. Then he took the easel, paint now fully dry, and placed it atop it, the face of the painting pointed directly to the center of the room. Connor adjusted the painting so it hung straight, then moved away to admire it. He smiled tightly at it, heart numb as he saw the red chains holding him down.

It was then he heard a strangled sound come from behind him, causing him to look back.

Hank stood beside the desk, eyes firmly on the painting, face distressed. Connor's heart clenched at the look, but he didn't move towards the man, though he wanted to. His presence likely wouldn't be appreciated anyway. Connor nearly jumped when he heard Hank's voice, directed towards him. He leaned in, eager to know what the man wanted.

"Connor, where the hell did you get that?"

Connor blinked, then looked back at the painting. He'd thought it was rather obvious. It even had his signature on it, written in neat, flawless script. And he still had paint on his hands.

"I painted it."

Short. Simple. Not too much information, not too little. A good amount, in this uncharted conversation.

"You fucking… ah, shit," Hank muttered under his breath, hand scrubbing harshly through his hair, pausing briefly at the middle of the right side of his skull. /Where his scar is/, a voice whispered in Connor's mind, causing him to shudder. The thought of Hank, gun in hand, pressed against his silver hair… it was vile.

Hank took a step towards Connor, then stopped. Then he started to move again, only to stop once more, hesitation clear in his expression. Annoyance would try and fight the uncertainty, both at war on his face. After a few moments of this, Hank let out a growl and strode the rest of the way over to Connor, stopping when he was toe-to-toe with the younger man. Connor's heart stopped as he looked up into Hank's eyes, full of an emotion Connor did not know.

"Look. Connor. I know I've been a bit of a dick, last night and today, but I want to let you know it's not because of you, alright? I'm just… I need time, okay? I need to fucking… I need to think. I learned a hell of a lot yesterday and my head is kind of reeling. But it ain't your fault, got it? Just, leave me alone for a bit. That's all."

Connor could only nod, his throat thick once more. Hank grunted in reply, before he headed for the door. However, as the man reached the door, he stopped and turned his head back to glance at Connor.

"Oh, and Connor? The painting is fucking breath taking. You're an amazing artist. Trust me."

With that, Hank stormed out of the room, shoulders hunched and ears red after giving the unprecedented compliment. Connor just stared after the man, long after the door slammed shut and left him alone with his thoughts.

Trust Hank? Well, that one was easy. He, for whatever reason, trusted Hank with his life. As for the rest of it… Connor sighed and moved to sit on the bed, staring at the ground.

Hank needed his space. He needed to work through his emotions and thoughts and then… then things would go back to normal. The man wasn't mad at him, just overwhelmed. Alright. He could work with that. He would wait, however long it took. Just as long as he had the promise of things ending well, he'd wait for an eternity. This was good news. All he had to do was give Hank the time and space he needed. Easy, right?

So why did it still feel like his heart was tearing itself in two?