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scullysexual · 3 years

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A Jewel Beneath The Moonlight [Reposted Anniversary]

You can read chapter’s One Two and three here or alternatively you can read all four chapters on ao3.

@today-in-fic @mypanicface @improlificinsarcasm @enigmaticxbee Please let me know if you’d like to be tagged in this!

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Chapter Four

It’s not often that Scully feels self-conscious. It’s not often she cares what other people think of her; she’s happy to live her life if she’s able to live it in peace.

But standing here now does she realise just how much she stands out. This spontaneous trip meant most of her belongings got left behind at that filthy inn she was staying in. Clothes didn’t matter, she was going home. Even when she got on the ship, nobody downstairs cared what she wore, for the week she was here, the two sets of items would do her.

Until now.

She stands outside the dining room, back against the wall as she attempts to blend in. The people who pass her, those who notice her (the women mostly) glare at her, stare at her with confusion, repulsion. One even asked the door man what she was doing here. The door man had just shrugged, told the woman he was told she was attending dinner with the Mulders. The woman shook her head, turning to the man beside her to loudly ask what these people were doing affiliating themselves with people like her.

Scully kept quiet. She stood in her spot and waited.

“Scully?” Relief spreads through her when she hears Mulder’s voice. He walks a little ahead of his family, unlinking his arm from Phoebe’s. Scully doesn’t miss the offended look Phoebe gives her.

“How long have you been waiting?” he asks. He takes hold of her arm, leading her away from her hiding place.

“Not long,” Scully answers, just happy that she’s no longer standing here alone.

“We sent Krycek down to escort you up? Did he not come get you?”

Scully shakes her head.

“Right,” says Mulder, looking towards the group. Scully follows, finding Krycek to be nowhere.

“We’ll speak to him later. Come on.”

He takes her arm again and just as Scully is about to ask about Phoebe, Mulder looks at her, a sorry smile across his face as he drops her arm and moves to back over to Phoebe instead.

She doesn’t miss the woman’s smug smile.

Scully falls behind the group as they walk in, Mulder and Phoebe leading. Her eyes stay fixed on their linked arms, feeling a pang of what she can only rationalise as jealousy at the sight. Scully scolds herself, reminding herself that Mulder isn’t hers.

She thinks about that. She’s known the man for two days, when did she begin thinking of him as something that was hers anyway?

Tearing her gaze away, she looks around the room. A lot of money went into making this place look as grand as it does, from its high ceilings, to the massive chandelier in the middle of the room, to even the pristine carpet. Charlie could work for his entire life and still not make up the earrings equivalent to the cost of this room.

She looks to the people already seated at the tables, probably unaware to the money they are standing in. They’ve probably never once given it thought but it’s all Scully can think about.

That is until her eyes fall to a dog that sits in its own chair, eating its own scraps of better looking meat than is served downstairs.

Even the dogs eat better than us, Scully thinks as they sit.

She sits opposite Mulder and Phoebe, wishing they were sitting next to each other but at least she can look up and see him. Mulder smiles at her, kicking her foot beneath the table and Scully smiles, reassured as she places her foot on top of his.

His smile drops as he gazes at her and the look in his eyes steals her breathe away. She could be the only person in this room right now.

Scully breaks the eye contact, her eyes falling down to look at the plate and the cutlery that sits either side. Three spoons one side, two forks and a knife the other. Scully stares at it, bewildered and wondering why the need for so many utensils. She’s gotten through life fine with just a spoon and the occasional knife every once in a while.

She feels a nudge against her foot and looks up to see Mulder smiling at her with an amused look on his face, barely lifting up the normal looking fork. Scully kicks his foot, unimpressed with his finding enjoyment in this.

Dinner begins and despite Scully’s initial fears the conversation doesn’t gravitate to or about her. They discuss the engagement, of what their lives will be like back in New York again, they gossip about people of the ship, so-and-so being seen with so-and-so whilst married to so-and-so. Scully doesn’t listen much, she eats her serving which is a lot more than she usually eats and plays footsy under the able with Mulder. She’s fine and somewhat happy here, eating decent food and no longer feeling like she’s out of place.

That is until the dreaded words exit Phoebe’s mouth.

“Miss Scully…”

The chatter around the table stops as all eyes fall Scully. She stops the game she’s playing with Mulder, shifting her own eyes towards Phoebe.

“How are you finding all this?” the girl asks. “Not too overwhelming, I hope.” Her voice is laced with false concern.

Scully looks around, taking in all the faces that have gathered around the table.

She swallows her food before speaking. “It’s not too much different to downstairs, actually,” she says, her eyes moving back to Phoebe. “Better food, though.” It gets a few awkward laughs.

“How is steerage, Miss Scully?” Mrs Mulder asks to the side of her. “I heard the accommodations were well on this ship compared to others.”

Scully shifts in her sit, putting her fork down on the table as she leans forward to see the older woman.

“Beats the cargo hold on a ferry,” Scully says with a smile. “A lot less rats here, too.” She looks pointedly at Phoebe. The woman seethes.

“Miss Scully is joining us from third class,” Mr Mulder explains to the new people on the table. “She met my son the night last night on the back of the ship.”

Scully sits back, caution of the reactions around her. Some make inquiring faces towards Mr Mulder and Mulder and to each other.

An older man begins to speak. ��Do you often find yourself conversing with…” he looks unsurely at Scully. “third class passengers, Fox?”

“Not usually,” Mulder admits and Scully watches with curiosity at how he handles this situation. “Though I would consider doing it again,” he looks to her then. “They are quite interesting people.”

Scully smiles, impressed.

Of course Phoebe has to ruin it.

“How is it that you’re here, Miss Scully?”

You asked me here, you eejit is just on the tip of Scully’s tongue before Phoebe herself saves them both from embarrassment and elaborates.

“I mean, how did you get on the ship with so little money?”

Scully begins to play her own game. These people want to degrade her, drag her down and make a mockery out of her, so be it. She’ll be honest.

“It was my brother, really,” Scully says. “He won the tickets when he won a game of poker. We were on our way home actually and instead we ended up here.”

“And where is home?” another man asks.

“Belfast,” she answers. “Or just outside of it to be exact.”

“Titanic was built in Belfast, wasn’t it?” Mulder asks but it’s clear he already knew the answer.

“It was,” Scully says proudly. “It’s the city’s pride and joy. We don’t have much but least we have Titanic.”

“Do you and your brother travel around together a lot?” Mrs Mulder asks.

“Only recently.” She thinks to Charlie who is probably wondering where is she. Or he’s too drunk to care. “He’s fifteen, see, so he’s only just been allowed out of my mother’s eye. He’s never been one to stay put and has wanted to leave Ireland for a while now. Ma wanted me to watch over him, make sure he didn’t get into trouble and that.”

“Looks like all mothers are the same regardless of class,” Mulder says and Mrs Mulder smiles though it looks like it takes a lot of effort.

“How is Ireland given the, er…circumstances?” somebody asks.

Scully pauses. Her battle-worn country wasn’t doing so well lately.

“It could be better.” she says truthfully.

“They should leave Ireland alone,” Mulder says seriously. The table falls quiet minus some disgruntled grunts. “It’s obvious they don’t want to be under the union, just give up and leave it be.”

Scully sits back in her seat, enamoured with Mulder’s statement.

“Doesn’t work that way, son,” Mr Mulder says.

“Why not?” asks Mulder, sincerely.

Before Mr Mulder can answer, Phoebe cuts in.

“Do we have to talk politics tonight? It grows heavily tiresome.”

And just like that the conversation drifts to something else, something other than Scully or Ireland. Scully looks to Mulder, shrugs and mouths at least you tried.

Dinner moves on, course after course, full from her firsts Scully declines another and soon grows bored. Her mind wanders to downstairs, to the party that is no doubt commencing down there and how much she longs to be there with them not up here with sore ears from the piano music and her head hurting with trying to keep up with these people.

Mulder catches her attention with a tap against her foot as he mouths, You want to go?

Looking around, nobody paying attention to her, she nods.

“Father,” says Mulder. “I’m going to take Dana back to the gate.”

Mr Mulder looks towards Scully, “Have we tired you out already?”

Beginning to stand, Scully replies, “I’m afraid so.” She turns to Phoebe. “Thank you for the invite, Miss Green. I’ve enjoyed it.”

Phoebe smiles, an act for the people. “My pleasure, Miss Scully.” She turns to Mulder then, grabbing his arm. “You won’t be too long?” she asks.

“I’ll be back before you know it.”

No with kiss goodbye or anything of the sort, Mulder leads Scully out of the dining room.

The cool air is welcoming, as is the freedom, too. She’d done well, Scully, even with the less-than-appealing questions. He was proud, though he had no right to be.

“So, how did I do?” she asks, as if reading his mind, a habit they had seemed to fall into.

“Wonderful,” he says. “Dress you up a bit and no one would have been none to wiser.”

She smiles bashfully at the decking. He likes it when she grows shy.

“Did you enjoy it?” Mulder asks. He knows what the answer will be but just out of curiosity really.

Her answer is as expected.

“Does anyone enjoy that?” She giggles to herself and it’s a sound Mulder finds himself wanting to hear again. “I think one night is good enough for me.”

“I couldn’t agree more.” He thinks back to that dinner, to the one pressing matter he’s most anxious for her to hear.

“I meant what I said in there, about Ireland, it should be its own country.”

They stop just outside the third class gate. She looks up at him, searching, woefully. “I’m afraid you’re preaching to the choir.” She looks down then, to the stairs, to where the sounds of a party are escaping through the cracks in the door. It sounds appealing, fun, something Mulder has yet to experience of this ship, save from his meetings with Scully.

“Come down with me,” she says suddenly, her eyes big and asking.

Mulder begins to shake his head. “I- I can’t…” he begins, though he wants to protest. “I promised Phoebe…”

Scully sighs, big and heavy, exasperated. “And how many of those promises have you actually kept?” She sighs once more, calming herself down and shaking her head. “Whatever. You go back and have fun in there.” She spins, beginning to unlock the gate. Mulder stands there, watching, his heart heavy, his heart telling him to go down there and just have some bloody fun, it’s not going to hurt.

“Scully…” he says and she turns. “Will I be okay down there?”

“They’ll be too drunk to care.”

It’s loud and busy. A band composed of various instruments play in the corner, their music floating around the room, upbeat and celebratory. It’s a celebration of life down here, people dancing with whoever, others who drink, play poker, darts, laugh. It’s alive. There’s no need for talking, no need for language or verbal communication, they communicate through dance and laughs, everything is clear and there are no lies. They’re just people. Just people living.

He sits on a stool, a Guinness beside him and watches Scully dance in circles with a little boy who stared imploringly at her hair, not that Mulder can blame the boy, he too has often found himself captivated with it.

He likes it here, likes how he has this corner to himself and he can just appreciate everything- appreciate Scully more so- how much happier she looks down here. He can be a voyeur here, too. He can watch her without feeling like he’s intruding or looking at her like a creature of wonder. He never has but when it’s just them, and when she looks back at him, he feels like he is.

The boy yawns and the two stop what they’re doing. She wanders back over to Mulder once she’s sent the boy off, a full smile doing its own dance across her face.

“His name’s Willem,” she says as she picks up his drink and drinks from it. Mulder doesn’t protest, they can share everything if she wants.

“Come dance with me?” she shouts over the noise and Mulder had been distracted with the thought of her saliva on his glass that it had taken a moment for him to process her request.

This he protests.

“No…no…” he says, shaking his head.

Scully rolls her eyes, outstretching his hand. “Come on. I’m sure a rich fella like yourself learned how to dance.”

The truth is, his parents had tried to teach him, put both him and Sam in lessons when they were younger and while Sam had naturally excelled (even though she protested originally) he’d lumbered about like a giant (it got worse when he actually grew into a giant)

“And even if you cannae,” Scully continues. “Neither can anybody else here.”

Mulder thinks about that for a second, before looking around the room to see that the ‘dancing’ was really just jumping in time to the music. Somewhat less nervous, he takes her hand and pulls himself up.

His hand naturally gravitates to the dip of her waist, and only then does he become aware of how close they are. They bask in the moment of just being free to touch each other, away from all those who might say otherwise. They can do as they like down here and nobody upstairs would know any different.

The tension is broken when a smile breaks out across Scully’s face. “We’re essentially in a tavern, Mulder,” she tells him. “You don’t have to be so formal.”

Mulder doesn’t feel formal; his tie off, buttons undone, sleeves rolled up (he hadn’t missed Scully’s look when he’d done that) He takes his hand out of hers, missing the feeling of it, as it joins his other one at her waist.

There’s a break in the music and Mulder, nervous once more, leans down towards her.

“I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Scully shrugs, “Just do what everything else does.”

And with that, there’s the change of music. Instantly he spins her and then begins jumping around the room, weaving their way in and out of people who are also doing the same thing. It’s fun, Mulder thinks, dancing is actually fun, he could spend the night doing this if he wanted to.

Time speeds up and he has no idea how long he’s been gone for. They know where he is and who he’s with and Mulder couldn’t care any less. He’s six beers in, ready to spend all of Daddy’s money in one night, and in the middle of an arm-wrestling match with someone he thinks is from Belgium.

He refuses to lose, that competitive school-boy coming out of him. His opponent seems to be the same. There’s no winnings at the end of this- no money or even a free drink. They play for the fun of it.

Mulder loses and he shakes Mr Belgium’s hand and moves on.

Later in the night, losing count of how many beers he’s drank but knowing he’s drank enough for the room to be a wee bit out of focus, he gets into a conversation with an American about baseball. Barely anybody in England really knew what he was talking about half the time.

He explains the rules to Scully with a promise that they will play as soon as the ship docks.

The party slowly comes to an end with people slowly drifting off to their rooms, the bar closing and the band packing away. Mulder sits back in the corner, slouched against the bench, head down, as the room spins around him.

“Think we need to get you to bed,” he hears Scully say.

Lifting up his head, his stomach lurching slightly, a heavy loopy grin crosses his face as he sees two Scullys in front of him.

“Only if I get to go in yours,” he answers back, too happy and drunk to care about the consequences.

He sees her bite her lip and it’s incredibly attractive.

“There are hits and there’s misses,” she reminds him, reaching for his arm and helping him up. “And then there are misses.”

Worth a try.

He tries his best to get himself up the stairs but all he wants to do is shut his eyes a sleep, the world spins and he doesn’t like it, the ship rocks back and forth making everything worse and he doesn’t like it. He just wants to curl up next to Scully, she’ll make it all go away.

They get up the stairs and he stumbles against the wall, needing a moment to just breathe in the salty air and hope he doesn’t throw up.

“Jesus Christ, how much have you had to drink?” Scully asks.

“A lot more than I usually do,” Mulder says, shutting his eyes against the spinning and the rocking and the overwhelming idea to just throw up.

He opens his eyes and she’s incredibly close to him, concern littered across her features. He focuses on Scully, wills himself to see just one, to use her as a way to calm his twisting stomach.

But something changes as the two Scullys become one Scully, his Scully and he’s had so much fun tonight then he can remember having, he wants this fun for the rest of his life.

He moves forward, ready to capture it, to take that fun and make it stay, make it never go away.

But her hand falls to his chest and all she needs to say is one name.

“Phoebe…”

It sobers him up. Or he sobers himself up. He nods slowly, bringing himself to full height. Phoebe, he thinks over and over again. Phoebe doesn’t deserve this.

Content that he now isn’t going to throw up, or pass out, or whatever Scully moves away from him, taking her hand off his chest and he immediately misses the contact.

Phoebe…Phoebe…Phoebe…

“Goodnight, Mr Mulder,” Scully says, she opens the gate, allowing him to leave.

And Mulder goes, against everything he goes, back to Phoebe, back to his life.

He makes sure to watch Scully go back down the stairs, however, until she disappears from sight.

Goodnight, Miss Scully, he thinks sadly.

With a sigh, and a hand rubbing his face, Mulder prepares to leave it all behind and savour the fun he’s had, the world Scully’s opened up to him. Just as he’s about to walk, a voice stops him.

“Had a fun night, Mulder?”

And Mulder’s blood turns cold.

#a jewel beneath the moonlight #chapter 4 #updated #i write

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deviantconnorarmy · 6 years

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Details: Chapter 1--Family

AN: I’ve been itching to write some DBH fanfic for days now and I finally got an Idea I felt was worth putting out into the world (That was more than ‘I wanna write about Connor or Markus’) So here you go!!! (Just tell me if you want tagged!)

Characters: Cecilia Manfred, Markus, Carl Manfred, Leo Manfred

Pairing: Connor x OC

Warnings: Language. Oh, and no Connor yet--that should be a warning, too, haha.

Word Count: 3349

Masterlist Next Chapter --->

Classical music played softly throughout the first floor of the lavishly decorated house, one of its occupants asleep upstairs while the other was at worked cooking a breakfast for two in the kitchen. She didn’t hear the music, though, because she’d chosen to listen to her own, headphones on and playing songs from roughly two decades ago while she cooked.

Cecilia didn’t have to cook--Markus was her father’s caretaker, but she wanted to help, and this way she could get breakfast ready while Markus went to pick up an order for Carl. It was more efficient this way.

Once the eggs and bacon were finished, she dished them out onto two separate plates--the over easy eggs with the crisp bacon went on her father’s plate, covered to keep it hot until Markus returned, while Cecilia put the over hard eggs and still chewy bacon on her plate, waiting for the coffee to finish. She was turning to pour the morning necessity in her father’s fancy silver tumbler and almost collided with a familiar figure in the process. He was the one who prevented the crash, effortlessly reaching out and stopping her from running into him before coffee could end up everywhere.

Cecilia squeaked, turning off her music and removing her headphones so she could hear. “Markus! Don’t scare me like that!”

“I’m sorry, Ceci--I was about to try and get your attention,” Markus apologized, letting his hands drop away from her arms to take the tumbler out of her hands and set it safely on the counter. “I wanted to tell you I’m back before I wake your father up.”

“All right, well, now I know. I’ll go get all this set up while you go get him,” she said, gesturing towards the partially prepared breakfast tray.

“You don’t have to do that, I’ve got it,” Markus started to protest, but Cecilia waved him off.

“No, no, I’m capable of taking this to the table, you don't have to do everything by yourself, Markus. Go wake up Dad, I’ve got this covered.”

Markus gave her a small half-smile, like he’d expected her to tell him no but had asked anyway, turning to head back into the hall. “All right, we’ll be down in a moment.”

The automatic door slid shut behind Markus, and Cecilia finished getting her father’s breakfast put onto the silver tray, taking it out to the dining room before returning to fetch her own food. She could hear movement upstairs, and then voices coming closer as she brought her food into the dining room and sat across from where her father usually sat. Her heels clacked against the floor, apparently announcing her presence since she distinctly heard her name spoken as Markus and her father approached the dining room.

She’d only been sitting down a few moments when her Markus reappeared pushing her father’s wheelchair into the room, the old man’s face being graced with a rare smile as his gaze settled on her.

“Cecilia--what a lovely surprise,” Carl said warmly.

“Hi, Dad,” she returned with a smile of her own. “I thought I’d stop by this morning before heading to work, see you, help out a little.”

“And get a free meal, too, apparently,” Carl said pointedly as Markus wheeled him into view of the table. Cecilia chuckled.

“That’s just an added bonus. If I don’t eat here, I’m going to miss breakfast altogether.”

“Maybe you should get up a little earlier.”

“Says the man who gets up at ten in the morning.”

“I’m old enough to stay in bed as long as I please,” Carl stated, pausing to thank Markus for serving his food. “You on the other hand, have a job to attend to.”

“I also have flexible hours. It pays being an independent journalist. I could have worked out of my apartment if I really wanted to.”

“You’re office at the Stratford Tower is a lot better than your apartment.”

Cecilia waved her fork at her father. “And I’m going to stop you right there, Dad, cause I already told you, it’s what I can afford, and I’m not taking your money to upgrade to a house or something that I can’t afford yet. I am a self-sustaining child, thank you.”

Carl chuckled softly under his breath, looking up at Markus, who was standing at ease next to him with hands clasped in front of him. “Why don’t you find something to do while we finish our breakfast, Markus?”

“Okay, Carl,” Markus said pleasantly, disappearing behind Cecilia as he wandered deeper into the living room.

Piano or chess, Cecilia mouthed to her father, a silent bet. Carl smirked.

Piano, he returned, and Cecilia cursed. That was going to be her guess. So much for that--she’d just keep her money.

Her father chuckled softly, and a few moments later they heard the music start to play through the room. It wasn’t a regurgitated, to the letter classical piece--not that there was anything wrong with that, Markus played the piano magnificently and it was always a joy to listen to. This time it was something...intimate. That was the only word that Cecilia could find to describe it. Something with deep emotion that was pulling her in. As soon as she was finished she stood as quietly as possible, coming around the table to retrieve her father so they could both go over and listen to Markus play.

Carl stopped somewhere near the piano bench while Cecilia leaned on the grand piano, watching Markus’ fingers glide across the piano keys and simply...listening.

When the music finally came to its last note, Markus looked up at them, Cecilia recognizing a contemplative look on her father’s face.

“Something has changed in the way you play,” Carl noted. “Sometimes I think you have more humanity than most humans.”

Cecilia’s eyebrows rose, a slight bob of her head showing her agreement. Desensitization was real, and it was rampant in humanity from what she could see.

“One day I won’t be here to take care of you anymore. You’ll have to protect yourself, and make your choices...decide who you are, and wanna become. This world doesn’t like those who are different, Markus. Don’t let anyone tell you who you should be.”

Cecilia stared down at the glossy surface of the piano. She wanted to pipe up and say she would take care of Markus, but the truth was, she didn’t need an android. If he came to live with her, he wouldn’t have anything to do, really. She did most of her stuff herself, there wasn’t anyone that needed almost constant watching in her household because it was just fully functionate her.

But she also knew her father was getting older, and wouldn’t be around much longer. And Markus...well, she didn’t exactly want to see him reset and shipped off somewhere strange, or worse decommissioned and thrown away. When it came to that...if she was being honest with herself, she’d probably end up taking in Markus anyway. They’d figure something out.

After a few moments of the reflective silence the three of them had fallen into after her father’s words, Carl spoke up again.

“Let’s go to the studio.”

Markus rose from his seat at the piano, moving to steer Carl’s wheelchair while Cecilia walked ahead of them into the studio. As she entered, all of the lights came on and the curtains drew back, revealing the gorgeous view of the gardens that her father’s art studio had.

She loved it out here, for the view if nothing else.

“Let’s see where we left off--remove the sheet!” Carl commanded, falling into painter’s mode as Markus did as he was asked and revealed the giant, very blue painting her father was currently working on. As Carl got to work continuing his project, Markus started to clean up the studio, Cecilia trying to make a move to help him. She was quickly intercepted.

“No, you’ve got your work clothes on, I’ll clean up in here,” Markus told her patiently.

He had a point. She didn’t want to accidentally get paint on her work clothes, she needed to look nice, being in media and everything. So she relented in this instance, stepping back to watch her father put the finishing touches on his painting, then wandering over to his spot on the wall filled with sketches from when he was young and a few amateur drawings from his children.

Cecilia had not inherited her father’s painting skills--her talents lay in other areas.

Markus came to stand by her when he was done cleaning the studio, and she turned to give him a small smile that he returned. it was then that she finally noticed the tear in his clothes, and a smudge of dirt and dust here and there that indicated he’d been on the ground.

“What happened there?” she asked with a frown, gently touching the rip in his clothes.

“Oh, there were protesters in the street. It’s nothing, I’m fine,” Markus assured her, turning to head back towards Carl, though the move was partially to get her hand off of the affronted material. Cecilia’s frown deepened.

“Assholes,” she muttered, reaching over to dust off the smudges. She couldn’t do anything about the tear. “Sometimes I really hate people,” she finished with the shake of her head. Carl was coming back down from his painting by that point, so their conversation ended there.

“So...what’s the verdict?” Carl asked, not looking away from the now completed painting.

Cecilia tilted her head to the side. “It looks pretty cool, Dad--and no, that’s not a joke about all the blue,” she told him, leaning down to give her father a kiss on the cheek while he rolled his eyes.

Markus was looking at the painting much closer, a thoughtful look on his face, LED blinking yellow to show just how much he was thinking about it.

“Yes, there is something about it...something I can’t...quite define...I guess I like it,” Markus finished with a slight smile. Carl sighed.

“The truth is, I have got nothing left to say anymore. Each day that goes by brings me closer to the end. I’m just an old man clinging to his brushes...”

Cecilia felt a pang go through her at her father’s morbid words, and she placed a hand on his shoulder, fighting the urge to give it a squeeze.

“Carl...” Markus said softly, shifting uncomfortably. Carl turned his chair to face Markus.

“But enough about me--let’s see if you have any talent!” Markus stared at Carl, looking a little surprised. “Give it a try! Try painting something.”

“Paint, but what would I--painting what?”

“Anything you want! Give it a try,” Carl encouraged. The smile that lit up Markus’ face made him look like a kid at Christmas, and Cecilia had to hold back a small giggle, though she let her grin show as Carl handed Markus his palette. Markus took up position in front of the easel in the corner, casting his gaze around the room for a moment. His gaze flickered momentarily over Cecilia, among other things, before he turned his attention to the canvas propped up on the easel and started to paint.

Cecilia had to bite on the inside of her cheek to try and hide her initial disappointment as the movements he was making instantly reminded her of an old-fashioned printer. She’d been hoping for...well, she didn’t know. What did she expect, he was an android.

Sometimes she forgot that. It seemed her father did, too.

When Markus finally stepped back it was to reveal an unnervingly accurate painting of Cecilia. She stepped forward, very conscious of the fact that, as the subject, her opinion was going to have a lot of weight. She studied the replica of herself on the canvas, accurate to every slight crease in her red blouse and black pencil skirt, the reddish chestnut of her hair, currently pulled up in a bun, was almost captured by the paints--though hers was a color that was probably impossible to replicate with paint, Markus came very close. Or maybe he was spot on and her human eyes just didn’t know it. But he’d even managed to get the small mole along her cheekbone, close to her temple, and she was pretty sure she was seeing a reflection of Markus in her hazel blue green eyes.

“That’s extremely lifelike,” Cecilia commented, the surprise starting to wear off as she reminded herself he was an android.

Carl didn’t hold back in expressing disappointment, wheeling forward with a heavy sigh. “That is a perfect copy...of reality. But painting is not about replicating the world, it’s about interpreting it, improving on it, showing something you see,” Carl corrected him. Markus hesitated, looking at Cecilia’s father with doubt in his eyes.

“Carl I don’t...think I can do that, it’s not in my program...I..”

“Go on, go, try, grab that canvas,” Carl interrupted, gesturing Markus towards a fresh canvas. Cecilia stepped out of the way, curiosity on her face. She was wondering if Markus was about to get the same painting lesson her father had once tried to give her when she was younger. Markus gazed at Carl for a moment before doing what he’d asked, standing now uncertainly in front of the blank canvas now that he’d found out his first attempt had not been right.

Carl sighed. “Do something for me, close your eyes. Close your eyes. Trust me,” Carl stressed when Markus still hesitated. Markus stood facing the canvas, slowly closing his eyes as Cecilia’s father had asked. “Try to imagine something that doesn’t exist, something you’ve never seen. Now concentrate...on how it makes you feel. And let your hand drift across the canvas.”

Markus stood very still for a few moments, and Cecilia had a sneaking suspicion that his LED was going wild out of their line of sight. For a few agonizing moments all he did was stand there, but Cecilia knew that was all part of the process. Then, finally, the hand holding the brush rose to the canvas, and Markus began to paint. This time, even his strokes were different, wide and short, dotting and sweeping, swirling, actually painting in the movements of a human artist instead of that of a printer. Just like when she’d watched him play, Cecilia was spellbound, fascinated by the transformation happening in front of her, the creativity and emotion that seemed to now be leaking out of the being that 95 percent of the population would say was just a hunk of metal or plastic.

Markus...was different. An exception to the rule. Or at least the first sign that such assumptions were wrong.

When Markus finally stepped back, Cecilia couldn’t stop staring. She could see a bit of her father’s style in the painting, but overall, it was entirely Markus, completely original. And it was impactful. An all black background with two pairs of cupped hands in the center, both exactly the same, except one pair was glowing blue, the other red. It wasn’t that far of a leap to realize the blue hands were belonging to an android with blue blood, the red hands to a human with red blood.

Exactly the same except for the blood. Understanding, reaching out, equality. Something in Cecilia’s heart ached, and she thought she felt a burn in her eyes as her gaze shifted from the painting to Markus and back.

“Oh my God...” Carl breathed.

They didn’t get the chance to ask Markus what he’d been thinking about as he drew this, what he intended it to mean and if their impressions were right, no one got to say anything beyond her father’s breath of surprise. A fourth person had entered the room.

“Hey, dad.”

And instantly, all eyes were on Cecilia’s older half-brother.

“Leo...I didn’t hear you come in,” Carl said in surprise. Cecilia’s expression puckered as if she’d tasted something sour, out of sight behind her father. Markus’ posture was cautious, his movements slow and careful. Cecilia didn’t have to study her half-brother long to see the obvious signs of...well, either a withdraw or he was high, though considering Leo was here at the house it was probably the former.

She wasn’t on good terms with her half-brother, and for good reason.

“Ah, I was in the neighborhood...I though I’d stop by,” Leo said, fidgeting a little excessively. “It’s been a while, right?”

“You all right?” Carl asked. Markus was very carefully putting down the palette he’d been holding, like he was readying himself for a confrontation. Cecilia was, too. “You don’t look so good.”

“Oh, yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” Leo said dismissively. “Hey listen, uh...I need some cash, Dad.”

And there it is.

“Again? What happened to the money I just gave you?” Carl asked. He was officially showing close to the same level of wariness Markus and Cecilia weren’t bothering to hide.

“Uh...well, it jus-it just goes, you know?”

Carl gave a humorless laugh. “Yeah...yeah, you’re on it again, aren’t you?”

“No...no, no, I swear, it’s not that.”

“Ah, don’t lie to me, Leo--”

“What difference does it make? I just need some cash, that’s all!” Leo shouted, finally snapping. A heavy silence fell over the room.

“I’m sorry. The answer’s no,” Carl answered firmly.

“What? Why?”

“You know why!”

Leo’s gaze flickered towards Markus. “Yeah...yeah, I think I do no why.”

Oh, hell no.

“You’d rather take care of your plastic toy here than your own son, eh?” Leo taunted, gaze now riveted on Markus. Cecilia let go of the back of her father’s chair, slowly walking towards Leo as Leo stalked closer to a still Markus.

“Tell me, dad, what’s it got that I don’t? It’s smarter? More obedient? Not like me, right?” he spat, venom in his words. Markus stood calmly, LED blue, but judgement in his eyes. “Buy you know what? This thing is not your son. It’s just a fucking machine!” Leo shouted, shoving Markus back.

“Leo, that’s enough!”

“Hey, back off, now!”

Carl and Cecilia both yelled at the same time, though Cecilia got between Leo and Markus, shoving Leo back from Markus. She was on heels, and she was no athlete, but she was still going to put herself between Leo and Markus if Leo was going to get violent.

“Enough,” Carl repeated with finality, fixing Leo with a stern gaze. Leo scowled, gaze flickering to the painting Markus had just finished.

“You don’t care about anything except yourself and your goddamn paintings.”

Actually, that one was Markus...quite the compliment, though, under any other circumstances, mistaking Markus’ painting for Dad’s.

“You’ve never loved anyone. You never loved me, Dad. You never loved me.”

On that harsh note, Leo finally left. Markus, Carl, and Cecilia were quiet for a moment before they finally moved, Carl bending over in his chair with a sigh and Markus looking on worriedly. Cecilia bent down in front of her father, a hand on his shoulder.

“Are you all right, Dad?” she asked in concern.

“I’m fine,” he said heavily, shaking his head. “You should get going--you’ll be late for work.”

Cecilia wanted to argue on principle, but he was right--she had work she needed to get done, especially since she planned on attending the cocktail party later with her father. She was going to write a short little piece on the party to balance out some of her more serious topics on her news website and radio show.

Cecilia gently squeezed his shoulder. “All right...I’ll see you later, Dad. I love you.”

Carl gave her a tight smile--he was well aware she was putting emphasis on that last part because of Leo’s outburst, but she didn’t care--he needed to hear it right now.

Before she left, she paused next to Markus, giving his shoulder a squeeze as well, and flashing him a small smile. Then she left, her thoughts buzzing with Markus’ painting and Leo’s intrusion.

Next Chapter --->

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