Chapter Text
- It’s going to be difficult if you want to hide this from him, because if any of the Marines see you coughing up flowers it will instantly become common knowledge for the whole crew. A rumor takes about two seconds to travel around the entire ship.
- If Bishop hears it through someone else, he’ll approach you out of concern. However, it is more likely that he himself will notice your symptoms first, or you’ll go straight to him and confess.
- He’s heard of the disease before, and has several files on it in his data banks. From a scientific standpoint, he finds it fascinating. Much less so now that someone he cares about is infected.
- He doesn’t think too much about who it is you’re pining after. His advice would be to take whatever actions are necessary to ensure your safety.
- But when you confess that it's him, he’s more than a little shocked.
“You… love me?” Bishop asks.
The lab stands empty around you, a moment you’ve chosen for its quietness. You fiddle with your sleeves. The ache in your throat is coupled with the butterflies swarming in your stomach.
“Yes. I do.”
Bishop shifts once on his feet, an uncommon display of uncertainty.
“I’m not sure what to say.”
Your heart sinks. A spasm seizes your throat. You grip the edge of the table and hurl a whole flower into the lab sink. Tears spring to your eyes with the effort. It’s an Anemone flower, red petals unfurled, the first whole one you’ve hacked up.
Bishop’s hand rests on your shoulder. He rubs soothing circles, gentle as can be, as you catch your breath.
“Do you have time for me to think about it?” he asks.
You don’t think you can speak. You nod instead.
- He knows he’s fond of you, but romantically? It’s more so that he hasn’t considered it, hasn’t let himself want more than he already has with you. He doesn’t think it’s allowed, really. Not for him.
- Additionally, because the weight of your question is life or death, his No Harm programs are fighting for him to answer the way that will save you. That makes discerning his own real feelings murky.
- That, he thinks, is why his love confession has no effect on your state when he does reciprocate. He begins to doubt himself. How would he know what love feels like if he is incapable of experiencing it?
- After thorough research on the matter, he’s only more confused. Not due to a lack of clarity. He is certain that he loves you, so why doesn't that heal you? Is it because he's an artificial person?
- He is the one who suggests that you get the surgery, for your own safety. Since his admission has no effect, it’s not a question on his part of what to do. You must live.
- If you refuse to get the surgery, he will respect that choice, but the guilt of somehow not loving you enough to save you will follow him forever. It cements him as different, lesser than the biological humans. The Marines will support him through it, and won’t let him spiral.
- They hold a memorial for you on your birthday every year. Until, decades later, Bishop finds himself having outlived everyone else who remembered you. He observes the day alone.
- On the other hand, once the flowers are removed, and your feelings with them, he’s a little bit relieved. You’re safe, that’s all that matters. He doesn’t plan on letting go of what you do have, friendship, and what it means to him.
- Only after your behaviors change and you become more distant from him does he realize the full extent of his regret.
- He still loves you, and he has to live with that fact now. He wishes things were different. It’s painful to process imagined scenarios of what could have been. But all of that is better than you dying. He’s right there by your side to help you recover.
- At the end of the day, you’re able to remain friends. He communicates, and so do you. And he won’t fault you if you move on. He'll give you space if you do. Though, he holds out a private, personal hope for you.
Your lungs have recovered bit by bit since the surgery. Everyone’s given you space when you asked for it, done your part of the work when it was too strenuous. All things considered, it has gone as well as you could hope for.
Bishop checks your vitals. You should be discharged by the end of the week, back to full duties the next, or so he claims.
He has insisted on helping you, even when you don’t know how to act around him. The distinct feeling of something missing roots in your chest. You don’t look at him often, because when you do, you don't feel anything. It’s unusual, wrong.
As you slide out of bed, his hands hover near you. Your legs are weak, but you don’t need support. You grab onto his arm anyway. It’s steadying.
“You’re healing well,” he murmurs.
“Thanks to you.”
He offers a small smile.
It doesn’t feel like enough when you slide your fingers down to intertwine with his. But it’s the best you can offer, and he accepts it, makes room for it without demands in that soft way he has.
You can hear his fans whirring as you walk beside him.
- Who knows, maybe against all odds, something will work itself out between you two in the end.