Work Text:
"Cease the self-pity already." The Persecutor's voice echoed the empty meeting room inside Elliot's mind, making the space seem even bigger than it really was.
Mr. Robot was sitting in one of the four chairs they had in that room, with his back turned to the door, where he was sure she stood with disapproval in her eyes and a cigarette between her fingers.
He brought his gloved hand to his eyes, squeezing them and interrupting what would be tears to form properly. "I'm not.", he answered in a fail imitation of his casual tone.
No one was meant to see his state, not now, not ever. It wasn't the reason he existed; in fact, it was precisely the opposite: he was The Protector after all, the strong one. Just the idea of the rest of them seeing him as the wrecked mess he felt made him sick.
"Cut the bullshit," She said sharply. "I know you. You feel too much, that's your weakness."
"And you're a sweetheart as always." He retorted sarcastically, even if he didn't feel like it.
He heard steps coming in his direction and turned to her, eyes locking into hers as she blew smoke right over his head.
"You're of no use like that, and you know it."
"Elliot's fine. I'm not going outside anytime soon." He justified with a barely perceptible shrug of shoulders. "You're reading too much into it."
She took her seat on the meeting table, still holding her judging gaze on him. It was fine. They did that many times before; having her fulfilling her nature of making him feel guilty, and in return, him doing the best impression of casualty he could manage. He knew he was good at this, after so many years of using it both at her and on the outside, but he also knew she was not stupid to fall for that when he was almost sure he had red, puffy, eyes to match how he felt.
He put his abandoned glasses back on.
"Not just Elliot, all of us. Mastermind's been looking for you." She said the obvious. He clenched his fingers unconsciously.
"I just... I'll be back on my feet soon, okay? I'm just-"
"Busy with your little pity party?"
"Jesus Christ!" He exclaimed a little too loudly, hitting his hand on the table. "Look! Yes, I'm moping! Leave it! That kid isn't the only one who lost shit."
She had an unimpressed look in her face, that only made him want to roll his eyes. She took another drag.
"Wellick did a number on you." She said eyeing him up and down, and he felt himself hold his breath.
"'s not about that, darling." He lied tiredly, not really expecting it to cut through her.
"Of course it is. Only now you had time to mourn."
The picture of Tyrell walking away into the night flashed in his mind. The way he did nothing to stop the harmed man from going away. The loud knowledge he could've saved Tyrell if he'd only stood out and held him next to them.
He should've held him in place, not let him go wander the forest with a open wound on him.
He should've...
"Held his hand and kissed it better. I get it. You don't need to repass that thought." She cut him in her usual tone, but he could see glints of patience being extended to him.
He really must look like shit to earn her kind side.
"You know we didn't have anything. I wouldn't do that to Elliot." He said defeated, mentally begging her to give him approval on this.
She nodded, and he let out a relieved breath.
"Didn't stop you from having feelings for him." She reminded him.
"As nice as it is, I don't need a therapy session." He said groaning, unable to deny her statement. "I'm fine, I'll be back in a sec."
"Cut it. I'm listening."
He let out a shaky breath and felt silent for a few seconds.
"Alright. But you don't get to judge my prissy feelings." He granted, attempting the humour he couldn't feel at the moment.
"Don't be stupid."
She offered him one of her cigarettes.
"I liked him." He said, for the first time, taking the cigarette from her fingers and lightening it with practice. "In the boyfriend-girlfriend kinda way, I know how that sounds."
There was nothing in her expression that suggested she would add anything, so he kept going.
"Funny thing is he liked me back, but he couldn't tell me apart from the kid, he was pathetic like that." Mr. Robot remarked, and it vaguely registered to him that he wasn't bitter about it how he once was. "He thought we were fucking weirdos, messing with his brain. I mean, the kid couldn't keep a fucking conversation with Wellick without shutting down."
"Opposed to your late nights working all alone."
He nodded even if he knew it wasn't a question, taking a drag and resting his forehead on the heel of his hand. He knew how ridiculous he looked, he felt the Persecutor's eyes burning holes on him, trying her best not to be herself against his pathetic breakdown. But he couldn't avoid.
Elliot had it all under control as for right now. Didn't need him for any protecting or autopilot mode on his days, so his life has been very calm and empty.
So lately all he could do was to think. Think. Think. Think.
Tyrell was his only connection to the world, he figured. Tyrell liked him. His personality, his presence. Him.
Mr. Robot had a good relationship with the people on Elliot's life, he enjoyed being on Darlene's company, and even tolerated Angela, but he knew they would get rid of him in a blink of an eye if it meant having Elliot back full time. It was whatever, he got it. Still, Tyrell missing him made him burn. Not only the kind of schoolgirl burning feeling for her crush, even if sometimes he felt like it. He burned with want to stay in control for longer, to feel appreciated for longer, to listen to Tyrell's pathetic voice for longer.
None of these lasted for long.
They were in the middle of a revolution, and Mr. Robot cared too much about Elliot for even thinking about the things he knew Tyrell thought about. "Maybes" were the safe place he could take his mind to, though.
The night Tyrell died was a rollercoaster from beginning to end. He had moments of bravery where he would try to relieve some of the hatred and disgust the kid felt for Tyrell (trying more than anything to make being stuck with Tyrell Wellick on a freezing Christmas Eve while going on a life or death mission seem more tolerable than it really was for the kid). He had moments of cowardice, that would stick with him for longer than any other night they spent together, where he just let Tyrell go.
He's repassed his last sight of Tyrell a few times in his head: how his last words were directed at the kid, even if earlier that night he addressed his presence (making him burn). He found out later that he didn't mind Tyrell's fondness for the kid, deep down he guessed Tyrell never figured them out completely. And still, Tyrell liked them. Him.
The Persecutor kept her words to herself while he chose the right ones to put out, her silent judgement was an act of sympathy on itself.
"It felt important. Felt like there should've been something more." He finished vaguely.
She nodded still unimpressed, putting out her cigarette.
"A lot to get over." She allowed in a dry way.
Get over.
Funny feeling this thought gave him right there.
Logically, he knew it was the only thing he could do. Logically, he knew Tyrell wasn't coming back. Logically, he knew it wouldn't change much if he did.
He wondered if that's how the kid felt remembering Angela, an infinity of almosts.
(He saw the Persecutor's face contort in disgust at that, and mimicked her slightly after processing his thoughts.)
"Mastermind's licking his wounds somewhere, too. You're avoiding him."
"'m not." He answered quickly, not liking the idea of avoiding him. "Listen, he didn't even like Tyrell. He'll see me all gloomy and shit and he won't get it. I—" He paused, letting out a shaky breath. "I'll talk to him later."
The Persecutor nodded quietly in a what he recognized as a sympathetic gesture, even if her eyes didn't agree with the gesture.
"I'll leave you to it, then." She said finally after what seemed several minutes, putting out her cigarette and getting up.
As she left the meeting room, Mr. Robot took a last drag on his own cigarette before putting it out. He took deep breaths and started to pull himself together, little by little.
She was right. Elliot needed him to be functional and the kid needed him there for him. They needed him.
First, he just needed to get over Tyrell.