• • •

Hours have blended into days, seamlessly becoming some indistinguishable slush of time that Mia could barely be expected to keep track of even if she wanted to, which was not the case.

She had come to terms early in their journey that deprived her almost entirely of her sight as a sense with the fact that the dark room was an easier foe to face when she didn't know just how much time of this hell had elapsed and how much more of it she'd have to endure still.

Obviously, any means of forgetting about time altogether became her lifeline, and Connor, quickly learning of the human restlessness, was happy to provide companionship in every single imagination game that she had managed to think of whenever she was not sleeping, no matter how ridiculous or downright delirious it could be described as.

And after all, why shouldn't he indulge her with anything and everything she desired and was within his power to provide?

According to his meticulous tracking of her vitals, a process working hand in hand with their closeness of laying on that old mattress together to keeping his systems working at a relatively stable average temperature for now, indulging her in these games not only kept her mood from fluctuating, but it also helped her find herself falling asleep more often. All that rest she has been clearly lacking lately, she was now getting back and he couldn't be happier playing nonsensical games when that was the result.

Unfair as it was to disregard his inability to experience boredom the way a human does, Connor could even go as far as affirming he'd never have the chance of feeling unpleasant in such a place, especially not while Mia was his company.

She could have slept the whole five days, leaving him in complete silence, but as long as her head used his arm for a pillow, Connor could easily count himself as perfectly entertained, engaged in mapping out her breathing patterns and her sleep habits, losing himself in thought over the way she sometimes mumbled in her sleep incoherent sounds only her subconscious could have ever clued him in on. Her company undeniably made this journey from a thing he would have faced with neutrality, to something he could even find himself enjoying.

Mia may not have been able to tell how much time had elapsed anymore, but Connor had no issue keeping track of it for the both them, albeit without notifying her on it, by her own choice. Someone had to make sure they would be allowed out of the room at the promised time, and he didn't mind that role falling onto him as he had already grown into the habit of listening for footsteps in the hallways, profiling people whose faces he had never seen, simply based on sounds muffled by the thick walls of the room acting as their safe confinement.

Time, boredom, none of those things really bothered him, and until that very night, the cold hadn't either.

The much warmer human clothes did their job in conserving his ideal temperature and with the help of their provided blanket keeping Mia warm while she was alseep, her own emanating body temperature ensured only his extremities would actually require manual temperature adjustments and priority shifts in the Thirium circulation.

However, the temperatures have dropped abruptly overnight, leaving Connor slowly having to engage his manual overriding of temperature displacement over an increased surface — what was once only his hands and his lower leg components needing this extra care, has suddenly turned into his whole legs and a good portion of his neck requiring assistance in keeping warm as well. The most worrisome detail was that he was about to reach the maximum of inner temperature rise he could compat the cold with without damaginf biocomponents in the process, yet the temperature seemed to continue to drop.

This cold creeping up on him was a familiar sensation, and though he would have liked to forget the feeling of hopelessness he had encountered while fighting his way past the lock that kept him in the cloud database, it's echoes were back, resulting in a tightening sensation in his chest. Connor needed only consult the libraries of data at his disposal for a second to identify there was a human counterpart to what he was feeling — fear.

He couldn't help but grimace. Out of all the human emotions, this one had the chance of posing the most threat to his systems, and not because of the unpleasantness of the sensation, but rather because it could make him hesitate in situations where that would be the turning point from a high efficiency to a plummeted one, absolutely annihilating his chances of success.

Weaknesses were natural in humans. To them, they even had a purpose, playing an active role in their instincts of survival. But even alive, Connor knew he was still just a machine, and to him, a weakness was just that — a threat to the mission.

Paradoxically, he found that following this trail of thought only accentuated the very sensation he was looking to stop, and that, to him, was a more concerning occurance tha the cold. With his only means of forcing this feeling to disappear being engaging a combat protocol and thus blocking out his integration directives along with his sensory sensitivity which he currently needed to track the advancing effects of the cold, Connor had to consider finding more humane means of fighting fear.

Just as he was about to settle on logic and remind himself that Mia would never allow him to freeze over the way he had in his mind, especially not while she had parts of his ready to replace anything the cold might deteriorate, an unexpectedly pained sound coming from his right pulled him out of his thoughts and efficiently pushed aside any and all of his concerns regarding sentiments standing in the way of his mission.

Mia takes priority, Connor noted a personal observation to the disappearing sensation, feeling instead rather amused for having underestimated in the moment the actual strength of his own code. Good to know.

He spent no second longer worrying about his 'fears', instead looking down and beginning the unavoidable processing of concern. Everything about Mia's current expression broke the pattern he has studied of her sleep behavior — instead of calm, she looked awfully distressed.

A nightmare, he identified, eyebrows raising in surprise. She's been sleeping next to him quite a lot, oftentimes her soft expression reassembling a lingering sentiment of content making him wish he could see inside her mind and be with her in a dream as well as in reality. This was the first time he read the telltale signs of her having a nightmare, and perhaps he wanted even more than before to be allowed inside her mind and protect her from whatever horrible things her subconscious decided to put on display for her.

However, with no such connection at his disposal to establish, Connor's only remaining option was to wake her up.

In order to do so, he shifted his right arm beneath her head ever so slightly, until he could brace his point of balance on his elbow and, on his side now, raise just about enough to look down on her features. There was no need to touch her wrist and feel for her pulse to tell whatever she was seeing in that nightmare had elevated her blood pressure and increased her heartbeats too, so once his left hand raised, Connor only had to hesitate between grasping her shoulder, as he had so many times before, or lowering his hand instead gently on her face.

He almost lost time scolding himself for allowing that decision to exist, but with his priority system working as intended, he immediately preferred instead to focus on keeping his touch as far away from rough as he possibly could once his fingertips slid across Mia's cheek. Willing the movement along until his palm held the side of her face, Connor ended up brushing away with his thumb the damp proof that her nightmare had made her shed tears too, not just sweat and flinch.

"Mia," he called, keeping his voice somewhere between softness and alert firmness. "Wake up," he brushed his hand up her temple and to her forehead, carefully moving her hair from her face. The sight of her flinching from his touch and turning her head away compelled Connor to hurry the process of waking her up, however without ceasing his soft caresses that maintained a constant level of patience with her. All that changed was the volume of his voice. "It's just a bad dream," he said a little clearer now, urging her to wake up.

Her eyes shot open and the immediate sight of complete darkness seemed to enhance her fright even while transitioning to fully awake. He could tell she could see very little when her right hand came up and touched over his nose, fingertips stopping at the feeling of his eyelashes before sliding to the side, right under the edge of his winter hat. Under her caress, the yellow light of his LED turned blue and that shade of luminescence falling on her face and shining back in her eyes was what finally had Mia sigh the bad dream away and relax the side of her face into the palm of his hand.

"Are you alright?" Connor tilted his head in order to keep track of any changes in her expression. Since she seemed appreciative of knowing he was there, he kept his thumb rubbing ever so gently over her cheek.

"I'm sorry," Mia breathed out and truly, it shouldn't have surprised him nearly as much as it did that the first words to fall off her lips were wording out an apology. Before he could remind her that there was statistically nothing she could do that would prompt him to demand an apology from her, she continued, opening her eyes but making no attempt whatsoever in moving away from his left hand, not even as speaking had her lips drag across the synthetic skin of his palm, her hot breath aiding his component in staying warm. "I couldn't see you."

Her admission reminded Connor rather promptly that darkness was one of the fears which counted as a default for most humans. Humanity's beginnings were, after all, ruled under the sign of the discovery of fire, a first light source that would develop itself to be a stepping stone towards civilization. Humans have been so undeniably kind to make his kind immune to everything that had once posed an issue to their species — androids had no way to ever feel physical pain, hunger or thirst, and darkness was nothing his optical units couldn't find a way past, either adjusting brightness or simply resorting to a rudimentary night vision through which real time reconstruction around black and white outlines of objects returned a high fidelity continuation of sight as a sense.

"I'm here," Connor smiled down at her, hoping she could hear that smile tint his tone. If her own lips twitching weakly to form an expression of fondness was anything to go by, he'd say she could tell the difference. "And I'm not going anywhere," he chose to remind her, albeit secretly speaking then only as a way to have his processing unit focus on anything else other than his own affection and how, like some sort of addict, he was considering using that human custom to express it to her again. Telling himself off this urge with the reminder that he didn't know the boundaries of this custom nor when it would count as improper, was starting to be less effective than it had in the beginning, moments after she had first introduced him to this.

Mia was less prudent than him on the matter, her only reply coming in the form of her own right hand raising up to move his until the inside of his wrist was presented to her for a light kiss.

Talking, Connor decided immediately, notcing that though her grip was superficial and he could at any point pull his hand away from her, he could not will himself to do so. Talking would help keep everything under control.

"May I ask a personal question, Mia?"

"Shoot," she nodded and, much to his relief, released his hand on her own, settling back to look for that faint glimmer of light his LED made from underneat the thickness of his hat. Had that light she sought not been bright yellow again, Connor would have taken the hat off for her sake, damned be the freezing temperatures.

"How does fear feel like to you?"

He took full advantage of his ability to still see in this dark place by following each minute change to her expression as it contorted to a mild confusion. She stared way up now, towards the tall ceiling and its single vent she had no hope in otherwise making out. "Why do you ask?" Mia asked, deciding that her confusion was worth addressing once she discovered explaining a feeling was no easy feat.

"Your nightmare frightened you," Connor noted it as a blunt fact, momentarily distracted by how, without his knowledge, his left hand, no longer holding the side of her face, had begun trailing a slow up and down pattern on Mia's right sleeve. He paused his response in order to stop the movement, but otherwise did not get himself into laying down again, which would have solved half his problems regarding this strange habit of touching her demanding to be recognized as such. "It's the most recent feeling you've experienced, so I thought it would be easier for you to describe it," he justified at first, intentionally avoiding mentioning the personal reason for this curiosity to even exist. "It might also be to your benefit to discuss the nightmare in order to prevent it from becoming a reoccurring one."

His attempt were however futile because he watched as her eyes narrowed right before pressing on the exact question he did not want to have to answer.

"Yes," Mia nodded. "But why do you want me to describe the feeling rather than the dream then?"

At that point, he knew hiding the truth any further would be plain lying, something Connor refused to get himself into. "I believe I could use a more personal array of data regarding how emotions are supposed to feel to better understand and adapt to my own."

"Have you experienced fear before?" Mia's eyebrows shot upwards, her gaze coming down from the ceiling but her eyes remaining unable to find his own.

"I believe I was the one asking the questions."

His deflective answer made her smile which, as far as he was concerned, he could already call a small victory — Connor wanted her to leave that nightmare she had behind, regardless of what it had contained.

"Is this an interrogation now, Mr. Detective?"

"It can be, if you want to," Connor did not fight his own smile at her tease. "It's been a while since you were my scene partner, and I have been lacking practice lately." Though he entertained the direction in which she stirred the conversation, once again, he couldn't help but notice his own unrelenting denial to put some space between them again. Perhaps he quite enjoyed looking down at her while she rested on his right arm, somehow finding it comfortable.

"Sorry to disappoint you, but I am an awfully cooperative suspect."

"What do you mean?" He inquired, feign innocence making it in his tone. "Those are the best kind of suspects."

"And here I thought you still liked playing the bad cop during interrogations," Mia shook her head.

"I do." Just not with you, were the words Connor let echo inside his processing unit alone while he thought of some way to rephrase that sentiment. "It's how suspects are made cooperative most efficiently, but of course I prefer someone who cooperates from the start." He didn't quite understand why Mia's body temperature raised around her face, but he didn't let himself think too much about thay before continuing, "I believe you were going to explain a feeling to me."

"Right," Mia nodded, taking a moment to inhale shapely before allowing her exhale to mark the moment she gave up keeping her eyes open in search of what the darkness didn't let her see. "Since you want to understand fear from a human perspective, I suppose I should skip the biological signs of fear, right?"

"If you can, yes," Connor allowed his voice to gain a nuance of softness, and even have his hand resume the patterns drawn on her arm now that her eyes were closed.

"Alright," Mia continued, either unaware of his hand or so comfortable with his touch that she did not dare point it out and risk giving him a reason to stop. "Well, emotions are pretty subjective experiences. Not everyone would describe 'fear' the same way I do."

Not everyone's opinion is valued by my system either, Connor acknowledged, but otherwise held his tongue, not wishing to interrupt.

With a final sigh, she begun her explanation, "I suppose I would describe it as a form of suffocation."

"You can't breathe when you're scared?" Connor almost sat up, the information stunning him, because though he knew fear to be unpleasant, he never would have imagined it as dangerous to a human as he considered it be to his system efficiency.

"No," Mia opened her eyes back to the darkness. "I can breathe, but fear often feels like I am suffocating nonetheless. Like I've got nowhere to turn to, nothing left to do to save myself. It feels like I'm trapped, which I suppose is very familiar with suffocating, now that I unfortunately got plenty of experience with that."

His eyes dropped to what little he could see of her neck, unable to wipe from his memory the vivid imagery of the bruises he had seen there almost too long ago now. Machines were incapable of many things, amongst which forgiveness and forgetfulness were often considered top of the list — he never frogot Rory did that to her and now, Connor was certain he will never forgive it either.

"You said 'often', not 'always'," he pointed out, thus managing to correct his expression away from an unexpected glare mocking all his previous denial of being capable of wanting to justify any of his actions under the sign of 'revenge'. "Does fear feel different to you sometimes?"

She nodded, her own right hand beginning to absentmindedly play with the bottom margin of his jacket, perhaps out of a need to move her fingers while thinking. "Sometimes it just feels like an absence," Mia explained slowly, allowing herself the time to first think through what she was about to say. "Like I've got nothing left inside my stomach, or like my heart dropped out on me. Lightheaded, with my limbs turned into lead. Fear feels like that sometimes."

"Do all humans describe feelings through comparisons with other sensations?"

"It would be hard not to," Mia defended herself stance. "Emotions are embedded into our existence, the same way axioms are embedded into the foundations of mathematical concepts. You cannot prove an axiom, and you cannot explain away an emotion without evoking other such feelings."

"How do you stop being afraid?"

His question made her contemplate a lot longer than usual a reply, and Connor realized then, perhaps even without admitting to it out loud, she had figured him out already.

"It's difficult to stop being afraid," Mia sighed eventually. "Your fears like to follow you around, to hit you when you are down."

"What is your biggest fear?" Connor asked in the break she took, feeling that any second now, she will ask him that which he was trying to avoid and thus force him to admit to his newfound weakness, as he remained loyally unwilling to lie.

To that question, Mia's right hand blindly made it's way up the side of his arm, following that line to the side of his neck and finally, to the synthetic skin of his cheek. As her palm flattened there, her fingertips brushed underneath the winter hat, applying a comfortable pressure to his temple. Remembering how undeniably good it felt to have her brush his hair, Connor fought the urge of taking off that warm hat by discreetly tightening his jaw.

"Being alone," she finally breathed out. "When I left home, I thought I wanted to be alone with my coding. It got exhausting so fast to love what cannot love me back, and with each second I gave away with nothing to get in return, I grew a little emptier. That emptiness scares me, I suppose. The ear ringing silence. Forgetting my own voice because speaking is no longer needed. If you are not known by someone, loneliness is almost synonymous with death."

"Mia...," Connor worded out her name like one would a prayer. Her own wrist was right there, besides his face and all he had to do to feel her pulse on his lips was turn his head ever so slightly to the side. Yet, even knowing she has done that to him before and she had very little chance of disapproving of him doing the same, Connor abstained from acting on a desire. Even when it was well meant and supposed to express his affection for her, his unmoving presence by her side, he felt selfish even considering it in the first place mere seconds after she opened up so raw and sincere about something which was undeniably personal.

"I never talked about this before, you know," Mia admitted when his stillness and silence continued. Her hand slid down and dropped down to rest over her stomach, rising and falling ever so gently with her breaths. "You're the first one to ever ask me about this."

Speechlessness was not part of Connor's programming, but then again, neither was the longing to have her hand return to his face and her thumbs, much softer than his own, once again brush over his synthetic skin, show him how warmth made flesh was supposed to feel.

"Do you have any fears, Connor?" Mia asked slowly that very question he didn't want to hear. Now that he was faced with it though, he couldn't deny her an honest answer even if he tried.

"I believe I may have developed a fear of the cold," he admitted, adjusting his position by allowing his left hand to trace a ghost pattern mere millimeters above actually touching Mia's own hand resting on her stomach. "Fighting my way out of the cloud where the memory transfer has been stopped required me to walk through a sort of endless blizzard. The sensation of slowly having biocomponents shut off, of frost creeping through my regulator inside my body, was unpleasant. I think I have become weary not have that experience again."

"I'm sorry." Her apology prompted him to seek her eyes again and thus, he became aware of the expression of concern that painted her features. Alas, she started sitting up, so he followed her motion, ended up knelt besides her. "If I had known thay before, I wouldn't have proposed this trip—"

"No," Connor cut her off. "I do not want my fear to stand in our way. You said it yourself, one cannot be alive while destroying that which makes them so, and in my case, acting on fear would undermine everything I was built to accomplish. Fear may be unavoidable, but I can and will fight to subdue it. This is, after all, the only way we can return back to normal."

His last sentence had managed to turn Mia's growing pride and admiration for him into a look of uncertainty that Connor didn't really know what to make of. "What's wrong?" He inquired then, albeit without fighting against her sudden motion of pressing a hand to his chest and guiding him to lay down on his back once more.

They have been close to each other for the past days spent in the dark, sure, however never as close as the contact Mia was initiating just then. With him laid on his back and her hand finding his own to hold, she carefully navigated her induced blindness until she was seated on his lap. Before he could let his panicked deja vu of the dream he had while in the memory transfer make him ask of her intentions, Mia inquired, changing the subject entitely, "How different do you think we feel things?"

Connor's body was slowly forgetting about the cold of the room that the margin of his vision had until then kept track of. His biocomponents were growing more complacent to the self-induced inner warmth, prioritizing it along with the heat transfered by Mia's own body, at the obvious cost of ignoring the environmental conditions. Being able to see through the dark gave him the additional advantage of knowing where she was looking, however, that perk came with its own downside because he had, once again, fallen speechless.

"Am I making you uncomfortable?"

"No," Connor's response was instantaneous, a hardly hidden way of him begging her to continue. He was ready to admit he liked how he felt when she was close to him. Something about her finding his dull plastic worthy of being close to her live flesh made him feel warmer, even through that cold. "And yes," he returned to her previous question with a blink, "data shows my sensors are not quite as receptive as their human inspiration model. My tactile sensors, for example, are capable of distinguishing textures, yet unable to perceived touch as more than a series of numbers regarding pressure applied. That's..." He hesitated, moving his hand to hold hers too, "That's how I keep track of how tight I can hold your hand."

"Interesting," Mia smiled, using however the same tone she would during their tests or debriefs. He mirrored her smile almost immediately, feeling the return of his urge compiling for him a scenario in which he could just reach out his free hand and guide her down with him until her lips met his. "Maybe we should conduct a study on that," she offered an idea, her voice effectively bringing him out of his scenario left only half computed. "For however more time we have left in here."

"What sort of study?"

"Testing how the fidelity of your sensors has changed since you've first started showing signs of being alive, and whether or not they return now different values than those expected by your systems," Mia presented it to him formally, reminding him how work was her second language, one through which she loved. I can follow her there, he thought.

"How about our research method?"

Without much thought, thus giving away that she has been thinking about this for at least a while now, Mia answered, "Engaging different patches of tactile sensors and describing the registered effects."

"Will you also describe how it feels like on your end?" Connor inquired, tilting his head to the side.

"If you want me to, yes," she nodded. "But there is no right answer between the two of us, so however touch makes you feel now doesn't have to be identical to how it makes me feel in order to be real."

As soon as he voiced having understood, Mia picked up his hand and, first feeling her thumb across his knuckles, brought them to her lips for a chaste kiss. "Go on," she urged him, though her lips remained close enough to his knuckles that he felt her breath.

"The pressure data has remained constant," he informed her.

"But?"

"The touch caused an increase in body temperature," he admitted, now slower.

"Good," Mia beamed. "I was hoping this will help you stay warm. Let me know if the temperature gets uncomfortable to any of your biocomponents."

Well, my Thirium pump seems awfully sensitive to whatever you do, Connor thought, however, he was far more eager to instead change the way their hands held each other first. After all, he had an on going theory he wanted to test too. "My turn," he announced, moments before slowing his movements and bringing her knuckles to his lips. He stuck to the example she provided, despite his programming believing this to be an opportunity to sample her, thus leaving only what would count as a peck. Expectedly, he looked up, and though he wws grateful for his vision letting him see her blush, hearing alone would have painted a similar picture because she sighed.

If her having control over the strings to his reactions felt comfortable, then him being given so much control over her own responses was downright qualified to be considered a drug.

"Pleasant," she gave her own description of the feeling. "If a feather had suddenly grown warm and decided to brush against my hand, it would come close to how that just felt."

A feather, Connor made a mental note of her comparison, but otherwise could not even begin to ask himself whether she would have liked his touch to be more pronounced rather than ghostly. Mia had already moved her hand from his grip, beginning to brush her fingetips across the line of his jaw. She was tracing a pattern only known to her, but he imagined she was trying to make out his features while unable to see him.

"Go on," she urged him again, even though her touches seemed merely exploratory. "A live reaction test might give us more data."

"There is no difference," Connor announced, hoping Mia will not be disappointed by this truth.

"Can you close your eyes for me? Sensory deprivation might be an error margin source in our research here."

"Of course," he agreed almost too easily to close his eyes. Once his eyelids shut over his optical components, he could feel the probing light touch of her thumb at the corner of his right eye.

"Keep them closed while you give me the feedback, alright?"

"You were correct," he had no hesitation to give her credit on the idea. "Your touch's effect is processed differently when I cannot see it."

"Because you cannot anticipate it, and thus cannot have any pre-processing alter your immediate and raw perception," Mia explained the thought process behind the idea they were now implementing while she caressed up and down his jaw, over his cheek and then brows. She was everywhere and Connor couldn't contain his smile. "Is your temperature stable enough for me to remove your hat for a moment?"

"Yes," his instantaneous responses should have bothered him far more than they actually did, but Connor couldn't be bothered to actually care about it, not while the lack of sight forced him to pay such close attention to how Mia hooked a finger under the winter hat, pulling it off his head. She shifted in his lap and leant forward, but with her hand brushing through his hair, he couldn't exactly focus on that.

Connor was unaware he had even made any sound at all until Mia chuckled, "Do you like this?"

"You always enjoyed fixing my hair for me, so it does evoke nice memories whenever you do it now," Connor excused himself before giving in to a simple, self-aware nod. "Yes, this is... pleasant."

"How does it feel exactly?" Mia's question had little patience compared to the way her hand continued its ministrations. Now that she had his LED's blue light to guide herself by, she could see the crease of concentration when it formed between his brows, and thus bring her free hand up and massage away thay stress. "Compare it with something," she tried to guide him. "A memory. A thought. Maybe even an object."

"It feels like waking up," Connor decided on his comparison, undeniably proud of himself for finally finding a fitting description for how her touch felt to him just then. "After stand-by, there's a short couple of seconds in which only the processing unit is awake and it exists without needing any other biocomponents. There's no prompts to be ran and no need for any code intake either. It's an interesting static which, albeit short, has some comfort to it. I suppose it reminds me of you because of how you wake me up—!"

Connor had no use for air, nor did he breathe, but when he felt Mia's lips kiss the synthetic skin over his LED, he had gasped for a breath nonetheless.

His hands, which until then have been patiently facing the mattress, raised up to brace against Mia's arms, hesitating in their strength between stopping her or letting her continue. Though he had been instructed not to, when her left hand descended to press against his chest, Connor had to open his eyes and confirm that indeed, Mia knew what she was doing to his Thirium pump. How? he wondered, meeting her eyes while she raised to look at him in the now uncertain yellow light of his LED, denoting his rapid processing of the new information. Are these palpitations really so human?

There was something in the way she looked at him then that parted his lips with want and only once Mia took the initiative to lean forward and tentatively kiss him again did he realize what was gripping his Thirium pump and taking such firm control of his temperature fluctuations — everything about what Mia did to show her affection made him feel desired, love, precious to her.

With the contact between their lips established, Connor's tasks have switched around to prioritize a new prompt. He had to ensure he wasn't to her yet another deja vu of the screens of code she adored in the past. That the passion she poured into him did not leave her empty and alone. His LED cycled to blue when he kissed her back with purpose, with a spark of that urge he's been biting back on for a while: this machine loved her back and she had to know.

Much to his surprise, Mia became pliant once she entertained his analysts curiosity. However, Connor did not allow himself to become distracted with more than a passing thought that her taste was enjoyable — anything more risked to overwhelm his systems which he needed in order to smoothly change their places around and have her lay down as comfortably as possible.

A breathing pause that kept their faces close to each other gave Connor the perfect moment to want to speak the confession he had pnly just then realized he's never worded out loud for her, nor properly at least.

Mia beat him to it though. Before he even finished making his decision, her sigh had claimed the silence, "Why don't we just run away together?"

Much as he would have liked to complete his newest task affiliated to his on-going mission, Connor had to lean back for that question and all the branching inquiries it presented to him. "What?" He tilted his head, unwavering in displaying his full confusion.

To his surprise, Mia seemed to regret saying anything at all. Or so her action of biting her own lip and trying to look anywhere but at him tried to tell him.

Before he could press and figure out what she meant about her question in the first place, a rapid, strong knock on their metal door filled the silence they have gotten so used to.

"We're here?" Mia was the first to express a confused relief at the intruding sound, not because she wished to be anywhere else but beneath Connor in that moment, but rather because she missed the fresh air and the sunlight.

"Ahead of schedule," Connor too looked at the door, his eyes more narrowed and doubtful.

"That doesn't sound good," she shifted around to retrieve his hat and placed it back on his head for him, patting his temple where his LED now laid concealed once more.

"Mia," he had to use all his programming might to push aside his concern about the insistent knocking in order to look at her again while they were working their way to sitting and eventually standing up. "What you said..."

"We'll talk about it," she promised. "Once we're sure we are good here, alright?"

• • •

AUTHOR'S NOTE |
Here we go, another mammoth of a chapter and things for a little heated, right? I mean, that do be a good way to make sure you don't freeze to death in low temperatures. This chapter was low-key self indulgent at times, but nonetheless, such a beautiful way to wrap up certain fine plot threads like them discussing fears or Mia's like for brushing Connor's hair translating into a newfound like of his own.

Speaking of fears, the fact that this Connor is officially scared of blizzards and deviant Connor in the game has to go through a blizzard to resist CyberLife programming? 👀👀 it's hella relevant of a detail, especially for the new RK800 model hunting Connor and Mia rn, a character still important to the next bit of the plot.

Since tomorrow is my birthday and I have a qualifying session for my little sim racing thing, I believe it would be safer to assume the next chapter will be posted around Sunday-Monday. Hope it's alright that I am spacing out my updates a little, now that we are nearing the end of the book and the chapters are getting much longer consistently.