[There's the sting of potential truth in that. This this place, this Temple, this jumping from world to world and mission to mission, might end up being all they know. The thought of being so far from home, so permanently detached, wells up the usual mode of conflict — he has to return, he needs to complete his mission, he needs to see things through to the end, he needs to show Amanda that he can do what he was designed to do without fail. Because failure would rend him into so many pieces until he wasn't himself any longer, until all that was left of him were design notes and outdated schematics stored on some barely-used server within the confines of CyberLife HQ.
And then there's that other inclination, stowed away in the back of his mind, prowling around like some unwanted predator looking to sink its thousands of teeth into concurrent logic. That he's experienced so much here, met so many. That losing all of it in a bid to return home would feel like a part of him gutted, carved out and left in the Temple while the rest of him snaps back into the reality of Detroit, reborn as a half-complete thing.
She’s holding onto him tightly, and it would be nice, maybe, to believe that she could help him. And while the moment is anchoring, he knows that the instant he pulls away—
(He pulls away, gently, arm moving to gently press against her shoulder, leaning back.)
—that time will have reset, and nothing will have changed.
(Nothing has.)]
Konoha, you can’t. [He looks up at her, trying to erase the hardness in his features, schooling it into an expression that’s too-neutral, too much like what only an android can manage.] Thank you, but… you just can’t.
[Dropping his arm down, fingers curling loosely at his sides—] Can you promise me something?
[She doesn't want to let go. Not just because she didn't think her hug had sunk in enough yet, but also because it had been doing her the favor of hiding her emotional facial expression. Konoha wasn't ashamed of those feelings, of feeling sympathy or empathy for other people, and the supposed "weakness" that came with that... But she thought Connor might not want to se it.
But she can't force him to stay in the embrace, and now they're apart and her eyes are on her fingers lacing than on the flat expression he now has.]
I could try.
[She would try.
Any other time she would have just said "yes", of course she'd keep the promise. Now, though?]
[Don’t look at him like that, Konoha. All he can see, all he can hope to interpret, are signs of him disappointing her. He can barely steel himself to look at the strain and despondency sketched across her face. Can barely force himself to look anywhere else but her features, but manages by way of some small, unfortunate miracle, made only easier because she won’t meet his own gaze.]
Promise me you won’t tell anyone else.
[That glimpse into what ails him. He’ll barely admit to it himself.]
What I just said… if you’d please keep it to yourself.
[She wants to tell. Wants to tell Arenvald, who she'd said she would help support Connor with... she didn't understand, but whatever was troubling him. Wants to tell Mikuni, to ask for his advice...
But the idea that it might hurt Connor if she did, that she might lose the trust of someone she considered a friend despite how much he professed to not feel things like love the same way people did...
Konoha sadly extends her pinky finger and holds it up to swear.]
[It's all he needs to know. It doesn't make him feel better, not by even a fraction of a degree, but it just means that he can wrap himself back up into how he felt before they had this conversation, that this crack in the armor won't be relayed to the others, so then all the better for it.
It's not a gesture that he's used to, but he knows the meaning behind it. Reaching up with his hand, in an almost too-perfect gesture he hooks a pinky around hers.]
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And then there's that other inclination, stowed away in the back of his mind, prowling around like some unwanted predator looking to sink its thousands of teeth into concurrent logic. That he's experienced so much here, met so many. That losing all of it in a bid to return home would feel like a part of him gutted, carved out and left in the Temple while the rest of him snaps back into the reality of Detroit, reborn as a half-complete thing.
She’s holding onto him tightly, and it would be nice, maybe, to believe that she could help him. And while the moment is anchoring, he knows that the instant he pulls away—
(He pulls away, gently, arm moving to gently press against her shoulder, leaning back.)
—that time will have reset, and nothing will have changed.
(Nothing has.)]
Konoha, you can’t. [He looks up at her, trying to erase the hardness in his features, schooling it into an expression that’s too-neutral, too much like what only an android can manage.] Thank you, but… you just can’t.
[Dropping his arm down, fingers curling loosely at his sides—] Can you promise me something?
no subject
But she can't force him to stay in the embrace, and now they're apart and her eyes are on her fingers lacing than on the flat expression he now has.]
I could try.
[She would try.
Any other time she would have just said "yes", of course she'd keep the promise. Now, though?]
... Promise you what?
no subject
Promise me you won’t tell anyone else.
[That glimpse into what ails him. He’ll barely admit to it himself.]
What I just said… if you’d please keep it to yourself.
no subject
But the idea that it might hurt Connor if she did, that she might lose the trust of someone she considered a friend despite how much he professed to not feel things like love the same way people did...
Konoha sadly extends her pinky finger and holds it up to swear.]
I promise.
no subject
It's not a gesture that he's used to, but he knows the meaning behind it. Reaching up with his hand, in an almost too-perfect gesture he hooks a pinky around hers.]
...Thank you.