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xmxisxforxmaybe · 4 years

Text

Decryption_Error: “Master Mind”

Summary: Elliot gets fired and Y/N blames herself. She begs a part of Elliot for help as she is faced with the reality of the lengths Mr. Robot will go to in order to protect Elliot.

A/N: The final chapter picks up right after this chapter : )

Decryption_Error: All Chapters

Word Count: 6022

One week and four days.

That’s how close we came to our one-year anniversary.

As it turned out, we actually did spend Memorial Day weekend together, but instead of being cozied up while basking in the success of our love, I had watched as Elliot was escorted out of my parents’ house in handcuffs.

I had always considered myself to be an intelligent, well-rounded person who practiced introspection enough to identify and work on accepting my shortcomings. I could be quite critical of myself at times, but when I had gone through counseling, my therapist helped me understand that people judge themselves through an almost cruel critical lens: once I could accept I was my own harshest critic, I could move forward instead of getting sucked back into a cycle of persecution.

Elliot and I had often talked about self-persecution, but I now understood that it wasn’t just his voice that criticized him. He literally had other selves within that were passing judgement and carrying out their own agendas.

And one of those selves was about to end my relationship with Elliot, all thanks to one of my shortcomings.

Another thing I considered myself to be was more than just my father’s daughter; I had worked all through my 20s to become an individual, to become someone more than just a last name. Nepotism was normal in my world, but something about it always sat uneasy with me. Hemingway wrote about that feeling; he said immorality was anything that “made you disgusted afterwards.”

The more advantages I saw being dished out to people like myself from parents with means made me think about Hemingway’s definition of immorality. I didn’t want to walk through life with a stomach full of disgust, so I set goals with the intent of making a good life for myself and helping those I could.

My father encouraged his children to live with integrity, to practice selflessness, and most importantly, he taught us to be hungry. He encouraged us to fight against complacency because he remembered what it was to be hungry; he remembered what it was to want something, to work for it, and he remembered how meaningful it was to find a purpose.

I knew that was why Kathleen became a doctor. I knew that was why Erin became a lawyer. And I knew that was why Charlie became a teacher.

And I knew that was why I worked at a cybersecurity firm, a business that had the sole intent of providing protection. I had my purpose.

But in that way of upbringing, my father inadvertently bred naivety. I thought more people were like us, especially those of us with financial excess. I knew about nepotism, about greed, about entitlement, but I didn’t really understand those things until Elliot was fired from CIStech.

Ali Olayan.

He was not like me. He was not like my family.

I had read Corey as the greatest threat to Elliot’s well-being, but I had read wrong.

Beneath Ali’s nonchalant exterior lived the kind of antagonist I had thought only existed in the movies; Ali lived and breathed his privilege, believing that he could craft whatever narrative he wanted for any person he chose. This was Ali’s world, and we were all just living in it.

Ali was never taught to know hunger, never taught to be selfless or encouraged to become something other than what he was. In his mind, he was already something.

It was entirely too late when I finally figured out that the resolution of the incident in the server room sat inside of Ali’s mind like a tick. And the more he thought, the bigger that parasite grew, the more unsettled Ali became that a nobody like Elliot Alderson had caused a disruption in his worldview.

To Ali, it had been a joke, not unlike one his own friends may have inflicted on countless of their schoolmates. Ali knew things like that were a joke because he had never been punished. And if there had never been a consequence for his actions, then he had never been wrong.

Until I told him he was wrong.

Until I gave him a consequence.

I had assumed that because Ali’s family was strict and that because Ali was respectful during his discipline hearing that he understood right and wrong. Instead, being reprimanded attacked his ego by opening up his mind to a barrage of things he had never cared to think about before, including morality.

The tick fattened inside of him, fostering Ali’s need for revenge.

* * * * *

Pursing my lips as I proofread my email one more time, I threw a nasty glance at my phone as it interrupted me.

By the third ring, I couldn’t ignore the compulsion to answer it, so I abandoned my email and picked up the phone.

“Yes?” I said, not bothering to glance at the ID as I saved my email as a draft.

“You need to get down here.”

“JaLeah? What is it?”

“Now, Y/N! Get down here now,” she pleaded.

“I’m on my way,” I said as I stood and hung up the phone, my mind working to process the bizarre demand of a woman I had never known to be frazzled by anything. Even the hacks hadn’t gotten her to break her calm.

“Hold my calls and cancel my 4:00,” I said with a single breath as I rushed past my secretary’s desk and to the elevator. My heel caught in the gap, and I almost stumbled face first into the glass. As I pushed for CIStech’s floor, I realized my fingers were shaking.

Elliot.

No. He would’ve at least texted me if something was up. This can’t be about him.

It’s not about him.

I tried to logic out my anxiety, reminding myself that if I let those thoughts rush forward, I wouldn’t be able to think critically.

The office collectively turned to watch my arrival, and I didn’t need time to wonder why. I could hear the muffled shouting coming from within Tim’s office.

“Don’t,” I commanded Jayne as she reached for the intercom to announce my arrival.

Jayne sank back in her chair, her hand still hovering over the intercom as I pushed into what used to be my office—the one where I interviewed Elliot with Colin and JaLeah, where Colin, goddamn him, said that getting too close to Elliot Alderson probably never ended well for anyone.

Even as he stood with his back to the door, I could feel Elliot’s anger the second I walked in. Dread danced down my spine as I took a deep breath and wondered if this was the same Elliot-yet-not-Elliot I had met a month ago.

Tim looked up from his position at the table, his lips pressed into a thin line as he looked at me then back to his irate employee. Next to Tim sat Ali, with a smug look of satisfaction on his face.

“You—are firing me?” Elliot raged, and just by the tone of his voice, I knew my instinct was right; this wasn’t him.

“What’s going on?” I interrupted, causing this version of Elliot to whirl around and Ali’s smugness to turn from quietly distasteful to outrightly repulsive.

As not-Elliot looked at me, I was shocked at how the anger seemed to morph his features. His jaw was tight its angularity more pronounced; his mouth was much smaller as his lips were pressed against his teeth; his eyes were big and unnerving, but the thing that nearly made me falter was that this Elliot seemed to take up so much more space. It was intimidating.

I had thought I was afraid of the side of Elliot who protected him, but I was even more afraid to realize how little I knew about this side of him.

“You can’t save him this time,” Ali said, drawing both my attention and not-Elliot’s again as his tone reflected that repulsive smirk I wanted to knock off his face.

To Ali Olayan, this was a game of revenge.

“Tim—explain.”

“Don’t listen to them,” not-Elliot growled out, his lips barely moving as I brushed past him to take the open seat on the other side of Tim.

“Sit down,” I bit back, our eyes locking for a moment before he dropped his gaze. Not-Elliot yanked out the chair and sat, a huff of breath escaping when he crossed his arms, his anger occupying a fifth seat at the table.

“Last week, Ali suggested I take a look at the data on the employee performances he ran,” Tim began. “And the results were concerning—"

“Fucking bullshit,” not-Elliot muttered, as he sullenly slumped in his chair like a teenager being disciplined.

I ignored his comment and told Tim to continue.

“The results were concerning because Alderson’s performance didn’t exactly decline so much as nosedive. It made me wonder how someone could go from 100 to 10 in the course of a few weeks.”

“Perhaps a mitigating personal circumstance, Tim. Did you consider that?” I said, trying to both avoid and use the lie about Elliot’s mother.

Tim angled his laptop toward me and clicked on the open tab beside the performance eval.

“Whatever Mr. Alderson has been doing at work, hasn’t been our work.”

Elliot moved quickly, uncrossing his arms and reaching out to slam the lid of Tim’s laptop shut.

“Your work? Your work?! This is just the sort of shit that some data jockey would pull out of their fucking asshole,” not-Elliot said, his speech slurred with irritation as he jerked back and stood, his chair wobbling from the force of his movement.

“And that’s not even the worst part of coming in to this fuckhole every day. No. It’s seeing people like you in positions of power,” he said as he whirled on Ali.

“You reek of nepotism, of never having to work for any fucking thing in your life. A script kiddie! You’ve never written an exploit from scratch in your fucking life. Relying on pulling code from Metasploit or some shit. And what’s the real fuckall of it is that you can’t code and yet you are sitting here, shitting on me, because of something YOU did! I didn’t lock myself in that server room. I didn’t think it was a fucking joke and neither did anyone but you and the other self-centered cunts you call your friends. So fuck you!”

The one who raged for Elliot stopped then, teeth bared, chest rising and falling as his hands ran once, twice through his hair before they dropped to his sides, his fingers flexing before balling into fists.

I didn’t take my eyes off of not-Elliot as I asked, “And no one thought to ask for my input? In case you forgot, I am the General Manager and am in charge of CIStech—not either of you.”

I pulled my eyes away from not-Elliot’s and looked at Ali and at Tim. Ali had lost his smirk and Tim’s hairline was beaded with sweat.

“Well?” I prompted, my own voice rising.

“The--the data doesn’t lie,” Tim finally said quietly. “Mr. Alderson has been using company time to execute his own projects. It’s outlined as one of the most clear grounds for dismissal in the contract every employee signs when they’re hired.”

“I’m aware,” I said with a sigh, knowing he was right. If Elliot, or whoever he was, actually was using company time to work on another project, there was nothing I could do to protect him.

“What have you been working on, Elliot?”

Elliot was so angry that he actually shivered as he turned to me, his body going absolutely rigid.

I waited.

And he silently seethed.

I stood up, not-Elliot’s eyes watching my movement, not my face. I got as close to him as I dared, but when I reached out, my fingertips barely ghosting the cuff of his shirt, he snapped.

“Fuck you,” he growled out, closing the distance between us so he was inches from my face. When our eyes met, the rage that burned in this Elliot’s eyes broke something deep inside of me. “You’ve always just been one of them.”

And with those words, that broken thing shattered.

Not-Elliot ripped off his ID badge and tossed it onto the table. He didn’t look back as he yanked open Tim’s door, the doorknob slamming into the wall. I watched as muted grey chunks of painted plaster fell onto the floor.

I wanted to run after him.

I wanted to beg not-Elliot to let go of his anger.

I wanted to tell him, all of him, that I still loved him.

But I couldn’t.

I had to set the tone for the company.

I had to swallow the acid that burned in my throat as I looked at Ali.

Ali.

I tilted my chin up as I walked forward and calmly shut the door to Tim’s office.

“You targeted him,” I said slowly and clearly without turning around.

“That’s a wild accusation, Ms. Y/L/N,” Ali replied, not bothering to hide the triumph in his voice.

“You targeted him,” I repeated as I coolly turned on my heel and walked back to the table. “You orchestrated this.”

“How the hell was I supposed to know Alderson would lose his mind—”

“Show me the data on the rest of the white hats.”

“What?” Ali asked, his eyes narrowing.

“Show me the exact same reports and their time stamps for all of the white hats on your team.”

The palpable rage that had lingered in the room morphed into an uncomfortable, equally palpable silence as Tim and I both waited for Ali to answer.

“Ali,” Tim prompted.

We waited again, the silence condemning Ali’s actions as it dug his grave.

“That’s what I thought,” I said in a low, dangerous tone. “I don’t give a damn who your parents are. You’re fired.”

“You can’t—”

“Watch me.”

I turned from their eyes and walked out of Tim’s office, my chin still raised as I stared directly ahead and made my way up to HR.

Not exactly the office to take kindly to intrusions, I did finally relax my posture into a more humble stance as I approached Alison Shaye.

She and I had been through quite a lot thanks to the hack on Colin and with one look at my face, she ushered me in and shut the door.

After two hours, thirteen phone calls, a visit from Miles and from three members of the board, CIStech officially ended its relationship with Ali Olayan.

I shook Alison’s hand, then made my way back to Tim’s office, the stragglers who hadn’t left at 5:00 taking a wide berth to avoid me as they finally cleared out for the evening.

“Ali will need replaced, effective Monday. I think it’s time to switch JaLeah from application security to network security so she can oversee the white hats.”

Tim’s eyes were unwilling to meet mine as I talked; he nodded and made a note, finally finding his voice as I reached the door to his office.

“I—I had no idea he was going to … that he would’ve reacted like—”

“You could’ve told me,” I said without turning around.

“Ali convinced me you’d only go over my head to make it all disappear. I … wanted to be fair. I thought I was doing the right thing.”

I raised my head and looked up at the ceiling, completely drained. I turned to face Tim, knowing my face reflected the defeat I felt.

“I’m not sure when I lost my reputation of being a person of integrity. Maybe it was when I started dating my employee. Maybe I never really had it to begin with because Dad’s face is hanging in the lobby. Whoever I thought I was, I’m clearly not. If my SM was unable or unwilling to come to me, I failed. It’s not your fault, Tim. It’s mine.”

I bit my lip as I stepped into the empty elevator, redirecting the pain in my heart so I wouldn’t start crying.

When I finally reached my desk, I picked up my phone and stared at it.

There was no point in calling Elliot because he wasn’t Elliot right now.

Darlene.

I was numb when I pushed her name, almost forgetting to raise the phone to my ear as I walked over to the window in my office, the sky slightly overcast as yet another late spring sky played the will I or won’t I rain game. It felt like an eternity had passed since I had met with Miles in his office and looked out of his near-top floor view and wondered what it would be like to leave this world, to leave Wall Street and to never look back.

“Helloooo?” Darlene’s voice trilled with its characteristic hint of annoyance at being disturbed even though she probably wasn’t doing much of anything.

“Hey, Dar. It’s Y/N.”

“Um, duh,” she said slowly, a slight trill of laughter accompanying her words.

I wanted to laugh with her at my own obviousness, but there was nothing left inside of me except the dead weight of dismay.

“Elliot got fired today.”

Silence—how much tense silence could a person endure in one day?

“You fired him?” Darlene finally said, her voice full of trepidation.

“I had nothing to do with it.”

“What the fuck?!”

“Elliot’s been … multitasking. His job performance over the last two months has tanked, and whatever he’s been doing for the last month hasn’t been what we’ve been paying him to do.”

I waited.

“I’m sorry, Darlene. This was out of my hands.”

“You know what, fuck you,” she said, her tone shifting from concern for her brother to anger at me. “You pushed him because YOU wanted him to be normal. You wanted him to fit into your fucking high-class, black tie, ‘I’m having a social because I’m so rich and so fucking bored’ lifestyle. Elliot never wanted to be a part of that. You knew it and you pushed him into it.”

I listened as Darlene ranted. I owed her that. I owed Elliot that.

All of this was my fault.

“What? Nothing to say because you can’t talk your way through this one with your cool, calm, logic prevails because I’m rich and never have had to worry about any goddamn thing in my life bullshit?”

“I’m sorry. I know this is my fault, and I know I can never understand what the two of you have been through but I do love him,” I paused. “And you too, Darlene.”

“I need to talk to Elliot,” she mumbled as she hung up.

I wiped at the tear that had escaped and was leaking down the side of my nose. I had too much to do to cry now, and I’d be damned if I was going to break down in my office.

Before gathering up my tote, I checked my email to make sure Ali was officially let go. I made a few notes for Monday as I continued to fight back tears, and when I clicked the lights off in my office, it felt like I had also turned off something within myself, something that was not going to be as easy as flicking a switch to turn back on.

I stopped at my apartment to change into sneakers, jeans, and an oversized sweater. Despite it being late May, the overcast weather made it chilly and I didn’t know how late I would be out. I threw my wallet, my keys, and my phone into my mini-backpack.

I checked my phone during the train ride and frowned as I saw a missed call from my dad. One thing that you could always count on in the cooperate world was that gossip traveled faster than the speed of light.

A part of me had filled with the ridiculous hope that Elliot would be at his place, waiting for me, but when I opened the door and stopped in the entry to listen for any sound to indicate he was there, I was struck by a resounding quiet … until I heard a series of quick sniffles.

I stepped far enough into Elliot’s to see Darlene sitting on the edge of his bed, rubbing at the traces of tears on her face.

“It’s not him,” she said, pressing the back of her hand to her mouth.

“I know. Where did he go?”

She looked up at me, her eyes wide and teary, her anxiety as palpable now as her brother’s rage was a few hours ago.

“I can’t do this anymore,” she said reaching for her backpack that had been flung beside the bed. She scrambled to her feet and started stuffing some of Elliot’s clothes into her bag along with a few things from his bookshelf, including a few old polaroids.

“Don’t give up on him,” I pleaded, repeating what she’d more than once asked of me.

Darlene let out a frustrated growl as she flung off the papers, books, and CDs that had been sitting on the edge of Elliot’s bookshelf. They crashed to the ground and she brought her boot down on them in a stomp.

“I’m done, Y/N! I’m not his fucking keeper. I’m not going to sit here and watch him fuck his stupid life up again!”

The mess on Elliot’s floor crunched as she walked over to reach high up into his closet; she pulled down a worn game of Sorry! and wrenched off the lid, exposing a wad of cash. She took a little over half of it, then put the box back.

“I’m doing what he told me to do and getting the fuck out of his life.”

“You’re the one who told me it wasn’t him. You told me not to listen to him when he’s like this!”

“I was wrong.”

“Darlene,” I said, grabbing her upper arms and forcing her to stop moving. “I know what’s wrong with him. He has—"

“I know, Y/N! And I know something happened to him but I can’t help him because he won’t tell me what it was. I can’t fix it. YOU can’t fix it. No one can fucking fix it!”

Darlene brushed past me as my mouth fell open. I always suspected she knew more than she ever said out loud, but maybe that was what kept her sane. Elliot’s truth wasn’t something Darlene was ready to face.

“Where are you going?” I quietly asked.

“The fuck out of this city,” she murmured before turning around to look at me.

We were standing face to face, both of us with tracks of tears on our faces. I didn’t know what to say to her as she looked at me, so vulnerable and so young.

“I’m s-sorry,” I said, choking on the emotion of my apology.

“I didn’t mean what I said on the phone,” she answered, a fresh tear falling from the corner of her eye.

“You’re pissed,” I shrugged. “And hurting.”

“You didn’t deserve—”

“It’s okay,” I said with a small smile. “You and I are good. We will always be good. Will you remember that for me? Please?”

Darlene took a deep breath and nodded, her lips quirking into an awkward smile. I moved forward and pulled her into a fierce hug.

“Take care of yourself,” I whispered into her hair as she clung to me.

She nodded again, pulling away and quickly moving to the door. She pulled it open and stepped into the hall, but before Darlene could close the door, I asked, “Is there anywhere he would go?”

“Coney Island,” she said after a long pause. “There … or that museum in Queens, the one with the layout of the city.”

“I remember. Thank you.”

Darlene bit the back half of her bottom lip, looking unnervingly like her brother as she nodded.

“I’ll see you. Soon,” I added with emphasis.

Her eyes flicked to my face as she shut the door, and I was left alone to just stare at the off-white of Elliot’s front door, unable to imagine the pain she carried from having to grow up much too fast.

With a shiver a turned away from the door as a flash of Elliot, looking just as vulnerable as Darlene, flitted through my mind. He had stood right there, and I had crossed the line when I kissed him, pulling him into my life, whether he was ready for it or not.

When I broke my gaze, I turned around to look at Elliot’s computer. I was struck with that same strong pull as I was on the night I had first met the angry version of Elliot. From my research, I knew a person’s psyche developed personalities that had specific jobs to do within their system. I knew who Elliot’s protector was—that was obvious. And now I knew that there was this other, this Elliot, but not Elliot. He was angry and hurting, curious and almost more alive at times than Elliot. He was so raw, almost like he was much newer to the world than his grizzled protector.

I was now certain it was him I had slept with a month ago. My mind was whirring with the idea of going to bed with one person and waking up with another, but again, I had to force myself to focus. None of these questions and feelings would matter if I never saw Elliot again, but maybe I could use my connection with his angry persona to get him back again.

I was struck with a sense of urgency, like the walls were closing in and I knew, knew I had to talk to him.

Instead of stepping back this time, I slid out of Elliot’s chair and sat down. When I turned on the monitor, Elliot was still logged in. I couldn’t believe my good luck, and as I got to work, I couldn’t help but wonder if maybe my Elliot wanted me to find him, to bring him back again.

It didn’t take long to triangulate his data transmissions to Coney Island, and again, it felt too easy.

I transferred the location to my phone and hurried to the subway.

I kept watching for Elliot’s location to change, but it really didn’t move for the 45 minutes it took the train to get out to the beach.

Daylight was fading fast and as I walked along the boardwalk, a few of the lamps flickered on. I wove my way through the light foot traffic and kept an eye out for Elliot’s dark hair and the light green dress shirt he had been wearing—

That I saw on his bedroom floor, next to the pile of stuff Darlene had stomped.

I finally spotted him sitting in the sand, the black of his hoodie a perfect contrast to the beige of the beach. His eyes were trained on the water as the wind ruffled his hair. His arms encircled his knees and he was twirling what looked like a small stick of driftwood between his fingers.

“How did you find me?” he asked without turning to look at me.

I sat down, my body stiff and aching from an exhaustion I was sure to feel for days. I pulled my sweater tight around my body as I felt the cool air from the water drift up along the beach.

“I don’t know what to do this time,” I said, wondering which Elliot I was talking to. I didn’t feel a radiating anger or an icy coolness, but without looking into his eyes, I just wasn’t sure.

“Walk away.”

“I don’t want to walk away. We knew this would be hard—I knew this would be hard. The answer can’t be to just quit.”

“I’m tired, Y/N.”

I waited, watching his face and silently praying he’d turn to look at me so I’d know.

“I’m tired of fighting with …”

“Just say it,” I pressed softly. “Holding back at this point is almost laughable.”

“With him,” he finished, his eyes still staring forward.

“He hates me,” I stated, thinking that whether it was his protector or the angry one, I couldn’t go wrong since they had both told me to fuck off and Elliot had let it happen. Maybe he really felt those things, too.

I leaned back and let my hands sink into the cool sand as I waited for him to answer.

“He doesn’t hate you. He’s scared of you.”

“Scared of me?”

“Of what you might force Elliot to remember.”

So this is still the angry one.

“You really do love him, don’t you?” he questioned, finally turning to look at me.

And as sure as the sun was about to set, I could tell that the person looking at me was not the Elliot I had fallen in love with. I looked into not-Elliot’s eyes for as long as he allowed. They were the same eyes from this afternoon that had told me to fuck off and the same eyes that had burned with longing that night in Elliot’s apartment.

“We’ve met—I mean, before you told me to fuck off today.”

His cheeks colored and he suddenly became very interested in the small piece of driftwood that was still twirling through his fingers.

“Are you serious right now? After the things we did, you’re going to play shy?”

He turned to me, a fraction of a smile on his lips.

“If it helps, I do like you. And I’m sorry for what I said today. I can’t … control myself very well.”

As I watched him twirl that piece of driftwood back and forth through the same fingers as my Elliot, the same fingers that had caressed my face, that had held my hand, that had reached for me in the dark, I felt like I aged a thousand years.

Those fingers now belonged to a stranger.

When he spoke up, my eyes returned to his face.

“Mr. Robot would rather Elliot focus on Angela. He prefers her because she can’t love him like you do—he thinks she’s safe for him … for us.”

“Mr. Robot is the name of Elliot’s protector?”

“Yes, although he doesn’t like me,” not-Elliot said as he flashed me a crooked grin.

“Why?”

“He doesn’t trust me.”

“Will you tell me who you are?”

His face scrunched up as he thought, his mouth opening, then closing.

“I—I’m not sure. I’ve always just thought of myself as Elliot. Well, as a part of him. This control … it’s new for me.”

I wondered if people who were close to those with DID felt like talking to an alter was surreal. I knew, from the top of my head to the tip of my toes that this was not my Elliot, yet it was him—a part of him he needed.

“All of that uncertainty, the lost time, the conflict … that’s what Elliot has to carry within himself. Isn’t that worse than … what happened to him?”

“He forgets. Or …” Not-Elliot trailed off.

“Or?”

“I think of myself as Elliot, but I’m better than him at a lot of things. It’s always been my job to keep him occupied when Mr. Robot needs to take over, so I create places for him to go.”

“Occupied? So Elliot is … where is he now?”

“He’s in an emergency session with Dr. Horton.”

“Oh,” I said in a low voice, my chest feeling tight. “All this time … he hasn’t really been going to therapy.”

“In a manner of speaking, he has been. Things have gotten better, haven’t they?”

Not-Elliot’s voice was like a buzz in my ear as my mind sped through the last month and a half.

“He must have hacked someone and gotten those anxiety meds.”

“I did that.”

“You hack, too?” I said, the buzzing in my ears subsiding as I clutched the sand painfully beneath my hands to remind myself that now wasn’t the time to get lost in my thoughts.

“I am the hacker,” Not-Elliot said with a perfect three-point grin, the very same one Elliot made.

“Don’t do that—please don’t look like him,” I begged as tears formed in my eyes.

He looked away, a deep frown settling in the place of his smile.

“When is Elliot coming back?”

“He can’t come back while you’re here.”

“Why?”

“It confuses him. Creates more work for us.”

“I don’t fucking care!”

Not-Elliot huffed, a quiet half-laugh that was nearly carried away by the breeze.

“Can you … communicate with him?”

“I don’t have as much control as Mr. Robot. My thoughts … can get mixed up with Elliot’s. That’s how he knew he got fired. Sometimes—”

“What?”

“Sometimes, it feels like I am more him than he is.”

“I know, without a doubt, you are not him. Elliot isn’t angry; he isn’t mean.”

He looked at me, his eyes filled with sadness.

“When can I see Elliot again?” I pressed.

“Do you really want to see him again? After everything he’s done?”

“I love him.”

Not-Elliot shook his head.

“You have to let him go. This isn’t over until Mr. Robot says it is.”

“What isn’t over? What does Mr. Robot want? What if I can help?”

Not-Elliot bit his lip, and he looked just like Elliot again, a conflict clearly going on beneath his exterior.

“You forget even more quickly than Elliot does—you are the bug in our system.”

My hands were shaking as I brought them together to brush off the sand. I stood up, feeling sick.

“Even you know enough about computers to know the steps for removing a bug.”

Enter safe mode to remove the bug, delete temporary files, reinstall damaged software or files, increase defense.

“If you’re Elliot’s safe mode, Mr. Robot is going to delete me.”

My legs felt like they were going to give away, and I knew I needed to leave before I lost my mind. Elliot was right here, right in front of me, and a piece of him was going to destroy the last year of his life—of my life.

I took a step back as Not-Elliot watched me. I turned away from him, but I was suddenly seized by a wild desperation.

I rushed back and dropped to my knees on the sand in front of him, almost throwing him off balance as he braced his feet and turned toward me.

Not-Elliot’s mouth was shaped in an oh of surprise as I leaned in to kiss him.

I clutched the front of his hoodie and I kissed him with all the love I felt for Elliot. I kissed him as the last bit of daylight faded to black, as the waves crashed on to the beach, and as the insistent spring wind swirled around us, grains of sand dancing against our exposed skin.

“I—I’m—I’m not him,” he stammered as soon as he his opened eyes to look into mine.

“I know. But … why can’t I love you, too? Why can’t we work together to help Elliot?”

Not-Elliot and I looked at each other for a long, long time, the lamps on the boardwalk popping on to bathe us in a ghostly light.

“All I want is to be happy with Elliot. I’ve never been in love like this before—I don’t care how many parts of Elliot there are … I’ll love them all. Just please, please don’t let Mr. Robot get rid of all the happiness I know Elliot has felt this year.”

“I have to go,” he said, his head moving back and forth, his eyes large and confused. “Let him go, Y/N. Do us all a favor and just let him go.”

Not-Elliot pushed my hands off of him and walked away quickly, his lithe frame dipping into the small throng of people who were headed toward the arcades as the boardwalk lit up for the night.

He never looked back.

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