"It's a long... Long-ass story." He tipped his head with Sandy's hand, using that touch, that feeling, to keep himself out of his memories. It was some kind of punishment, he was sure, that he was missing so much memory and the rest was too vivid.
"To make it short, my mom didn't want me. Intentionally raised me poor as dirt. I know why now, but it... doesn't really make up for it. I was bullied as a kid, so I learned to hit back instead of go whining to the teacher, and when I was eight, I was expelled, so Mom sent me to military school. When I was twelve, I stopped coming home for holidays and only came back in the summer because I had to."
His eyes traced Sandy's features while he talked, learning him, committing him to memory. Just in case.
"The only... bright spots, really, through all that, were my friend, and my crush, Sarah Graiman-" who was now his not-fiancee who hounded him "-and her father, Charles. Charles was a genius, and I don't mean just... saying that to be complimentary. He was seriously a genius, like Tony. Had a thousand little robots running around, could build anything anybody wanted. He was awesome. And by the time I graduated military school, he was working with the Army. So I went where he was, and he pulled me into this project. I..."
These were the memories that, in a way, hurt the worst. He slid his fingers into Sandy's hair to distract himself.
"I was still normal then. An angry kid, sure, but... normal. I loved Sarah. I loved Charles like he was my own dad. And I was a damn good soldier. I got into the Black Ops program without anybody so much as batting an eye. I was great at what I did. But then I met him."
His eyes squeezed shut.
"His name was Karr. Looked just like Kitt does now. My Kitt. Built specifically for the job - able to drive over anything, armoured against IEDs, all the tech you can imagine, and I loved him. I still remember that, anyway. I... was meant to merge with him." Mike swallowed. "And merging with him meant him stabbing two sets of three neural spikes into my brain through my skull. Those are the scars - three on each side, in kind of a triangle. I..."
Mike shook his head, now having to fight against the flashbacks, but he could, damn it. He could.
"I don't remember this part. I don't really remember meeting Karr, I don't remember most of the missions I went on with my unit. I don't remember proposing to Sarah, or hooking up with the Hispanic chick. I don't... remember Karr, really, except in flashes and moments and feelings. But I remember merging with him felt right. It felt good. And I remember..."
His voice choked for a moment. One moment. The memory of the emotion was that strong.
"I remember a US Army convoy, ripped to pieces and burning in the sand. Shreds of metal that used to be Hum-Vees and bodies with their blood just... pouring over the ground." Words started coming in a rush. "I remember looking over it and feeling like I'd won something, and Karr standing behind me, telling me that we had done what we'd needed to, and me agreeing, feeling so satisfied. And then... he's not there, and I'm screaming for him and fighting because I'm scared and angry and he's not there and he's supposed to be, he's supposed to protect me, and I'm being held down by six, eight guys, more faces than I know, and there's a needle being shoved into my neck and the syringe is full of this neon green syrupy stuff and then..." Shaking his head, he exhaled, this part of the story... slower. Easier. Less painful. More confusing. "Then I'm in Vegas. Getting off a bus outside the VA hospital. I got a job as a bouncer. Bought a house. Realised I couldn't feel anything... really nice anymore. Nothing made me happy or content. I didn't love anything anymore. I didn't even think about Sarah, or my mom. I just worked. Drank. Exhausted myself with sex and work because it was better than the nightmares I had when I didn't drop into bed worn out or drunk off my ass."
And then... Then his face was him again. That slightly cocky baseline that brushed off everything. Water off a duck's back. "My emotions still don't work right. To me, everything goes to either anger or lust. Or confusion - I'm really good at confusion. But my first reaction to something is always to either kill it or fuck it, and I go to confusion when something doesn't fit in one of those two things. The closest I've felt to happiness is..."
He shrugged. Brushed his fingers along Sandy's cheek. "Is when I'm with you or Kitt. That feels like I remember happiness being like."
no subject
"To make it short, my mom didn't want me. Intentionally raised me poor as dirt. I know why now, but it... doesn't really make up for it. I was bullied as a kid, so I learned to hit back instead of go whining to the teacher, and when I was eight, I was expelled, so Mom sent me to military school. When I was twelve, I stopped coming home for holidays and only came back in the summer because I had to."
His eyes traced Sandy's features while he talked, learning him, committing him to memory. Just in case.
"The only... bright spots, really, through all that, were my friend, and my crush, Sarah Graiman-" who was now his not-fiancee who hounded him "-and her father, Charles. Charles was a genius, and I don't mean just... saying that to be complimentary. He was seriously a genius, like Tony. Had a thousand little robots running around, could build anything anybody wanted. He was awesome. And by the time I graduated military school, he was working with the Army. So I went where he was, and he pulled me into this project. I..."
These were the memories that, in a way, hurt the worst. He slid his fingers into Sandy's hair to distract himself.
"I was still normal then. An angry kid, sure, but... normal. I loved Sarah. I loved Charles like he was my own dad. And I was a damn good soldier. I got into the Black Ops program without anybody so much as batting an eye. I was great at what I did. But then I met him."
His eyes squeezed shut.
"His name was Karr. Looked just like Kitt does now. My Kitt. Built specifically for the job - able to drive over anything, armoured against IEDs, all the tech you can imagine, and I loved him. I still remember that, anyway. I... was meant to merge with him." Mike swallowed. "And merging with him meant him stabbing two sets of three neural spikes into my brain through my skull. Those are the scars - three on each side, in kind of a triangle. I..."
Mike shook his head, now having to fight against the flashbacks, but he could, damn it. He could.
"I don't remember this part. I don't really remember meeting Karr, I don't remember most of the missions I went on with my unit. I don't remember proposing to Sarah, or hooking up with the Hispanic chick. I don't... remember Karr, really, except in flashes and moments and feelings. But I remember merging with him felt right. It felt good. And I remember..."
His voice choked for a moment. One moment. The memory of the emotion was that strong.
"I remember a US Army convoy, ripped to pieces and burning in the sand. Shreds of metal that used to be Hum-Vees and bodies with their blood just... pouring over the ground." Words started coming in a rush. "I remember looking over it and feeling like I'd won something, and Karr standing behind me, telling me that we had done what we'd needed to, and me agreeing, feeling so satisfied. And then... he's not there, and I'm screaming for him and fighting because I'm scared and angry and he's not there and he's supposed to be, he's supposed to protect me, and I'm being held down by six, eight guys, more faces than I know, and there's a needle being shoved into my neck and the syringe is full of this neon green syrupy stuff and then..." Shaking his head, he exhaled, this part of the story... slower. Easier. Less painful. More confusing. "Then I'm in Vegas. Getting off a bus outside the VA hospital. I got a job as a bouncer. Bought a house. Realised I couldn't feel anything... really nice anymore. Nothing made me happy or content. I didn't love anything anymore. I didn't even think about Sarah, or my mom. I just worked. Drank. Exhausted myself with sex and work because it was better than the nightmares I had when I didn't drop into bed worn out or drunk off my ass."
And then... Then his face was him again. That slightly cocky baseline that brushed off everything. Water off a duck's back. "My emotions still don't work right. To me, everything goes to either anger or lust. Or confusion - I'm really good at confusion. But my first reaction to something is always to either kill it or fuck it, and I go to confusion when something doesn't fit in one of those two things. The closest I've felt to happiness is..."
He shrugged. Brushed his fingers along Sandy's cheek. "Is when I'm with you or Kitt. That feels like I remember happiness being like."