Chapter Text
In the morning after they have sex, Adler avoids Ulrich with all the passion and enthusiasm of a rabbit in the face of a lion’s den. The most Ulrich catches of him is a flash of dark clothing swiftly fleeing into the opposite lab. Ulrich follows in hot pursuit, only to find a bemused Hissabeth telling him he had escaped out the fire exit.
This is not ideal. Perhaps he’d been too hasty in his previous approach. Ulrich trudges back to the team, tells them that Adler will not be joining them today, then returns to his abandoned coffee.
“Though, if you see him,” he says, pouring coffee into his energy intake, “Tell him I’d like to speak with him.”
A stir of interest rises among them. Ulrich has been made vaguely aware that his and Adler’s arguments have become a bit of a spectacle. The team, in particular, sometimes takes advantage of this time to slack off. He is particularly disappointed in them for this, and has made sure to express it repeatedly.
“Nothing bad,” Ulrich says, a tad too defensively. “Just… personal matters to catch up on.”
This does not dampen their enthusiasm; in fact, it only further excites it. Ulrich can feel his ferrofluid curdling in displeasure.
“Enough of that,” he barks. “We have a long day ahead of us. Those documents that our field agents brought back won’t decode themselves! Get to work, everyone!”
Ulrich spots neither hide nor hair of Adler for the rest of the day. This is particularly problematic given that they usually head the entire Research Department together. The next morning, Adler again fails to show up at their morning briefing. With him gone, Ulrich instead tracks down his assistant. She looks exhausted.
“He told me to tell you he’s… catching up on paperwork,” she says. “And that he has… two investor meetings this week.”
“Ah,” says Ulrich. “And does he?”
There is a pointed silence. The assistant leans in, lowering her voice.
“Don’t tell anyone, but he’s…” she trails off. “He hasn’t been responding to any requests, or putting in any paperwork… I’ve been doing most of it for him, but if this goes on…”
“I feared as much,” Ulrich sighs. “I’ll see what I can do.”
In the end, Adler seems to have disappeared entirely. Short of breaking into his office, there’s little Ulrich can do. Unfortunately, he’s gotten numerous complaints that this practice is in fact alarming, creepy, and upsetting to his human coworkers. With that in consideration, this particular course of action should be taken as a last resort. He makes this resolution, then finds Adler sulking outside the lab not half a day later, with an expression reminiscent of an aggrieved Teakettler.
“Adler!” Ulrich exclaims. “Where have you been? Please do not disappear on me again. We can talk things out like rational people, I hope.”
Adler’s eyebrows do a strange contortion; Ulrich has been informed that this particular expression indicates scorn. “Rational?” he scoffs. “Us? Really.”
Ulrich chooses to ignore his lack of faith. He’s found that, when dealing with Adler, a solid 60% of his words can be safely dismissed. He seems to find a certain… joy? in being particularly disparaging, which should be disregarded for the sake of team unity. Upon implementing this policy, Ulrich’s personal efficiency improved roughly 15%.
“Listen,” he says instead. Opening with an expression of fault is effective in de-escalating difficult conversations. “I seem to have made a mistake.”
A complicated expression crosses Adler’s face; Ulrich identifies confusion, distress, and panic. In a flash, it shutters closed, leaving only scorn. “So you regret it already,” he laughs. “Figures. Too good for that kind of thing after all, Ulrich?”
Ah, part of the 60%. Ulrich shakes his head. “I only fear I may have overlooked your side of things,” he explains, “I thought agreeing to your proposition might help, given that you’re usually so evasive.” Adler’s expression is gradually turning flatter. Ah—does this support his hypothesis? “Oh, but you don't care about the reasons! What I mean to say is, intimate relationships between colleagues is discouraged in most guides on effective leadership. I can see how I’ve managed to upset you. I’ve put you in an uncomfortable position!”
Ulrich nods, satisfied that he has said his piece. Adler’s brows have furrowed into a straight line on his forehead. His hostility seems to have been successfully reduced, leaving only bewilderment.
“You fear you have… upset me,” Adler repeats slowly.
“Correct!”
His ferrofluid twists into a circle. Adler grimaces, looking away.
“You… don't need to worry about that, Ulrich,” he says, stilted. “It’s fine.”
Ulrich pauses. “Are you sure?” he asks. “You do seem upset.”
Adler shakes his head. “It’s nothing,” he says. “I just… needed some time to collect my thoughts.”
“Hm,” Ulrich says. “In that case, I’m quite relieved. I never intended to make things more difficult for you.”
Adler does not respond. The hollows of his face seem particularly stark, gaze distant, arms slack. More than anything, he just seems… lost.
“Adler,” Ulrich says carefully, then scrambles for the words to say. He’s not accustomed to ‘friendship;’ the closest would be his team, Regulus, or perhaps Lucy. Thus, dealing with interpersonal matters outside the workplace is an area he’s woefully inexperienced in. “Are you… alright?”
Adler looks at him. His expression does not change, his movements wooden.
“I’m,” Ulrich says, and pauses. Back when they were developing the equilibrium umbrella, the thought of hearing something like this was almost enough to send him running. Now, he cannot find the words to say. But isn’t it incredibly simple? Words are only words: a collection of letters, scribbles on a page, sounds in the air, all meaningless until they are decoded. It is everything else that makes this difficult. “I’m concerned.”
Adler recoils. “You?” he snaps, energy snapping back to his listless form. “You, of all people? Concerned?” He laughs, a harsh and discordant noise. “Don't be. There’s nothing to trouble yourself with.”
Ulrich doesn't understand him. Ulrich doesn't understand humans at all.
In the end, everything can be decoded. A seemingly meaningless string of numbers can hold a wealth of information. In the same vein, people say one thing and mean another. That does not mean their words hold no information; even lies can be dissected, and reveal something true. It’s all a matter of knowing the right formula.
What is the decryption key to Adler Hoffman? What does each lie reveal?
“Don’t lie to me,” Ulrich says, crossing his arms. “I know that’s not true.”
And perhaps, if one were to decode what he just said, here is what they’d find:
How can you simply ask me not to worry when you’re clearly not alright? It’s not something I can turn on or off. It’s simply a fact: if you’re unwell, it will weigh on me forever.
Simplified for clarity:
I care about you, and you’re in pain.
What an embarrassing sentiment. Even more embarrassing: it is such a simple sentence, and Ulrich is incapable of saying it. However, Adler is likely also incapable of hearing it.
“...Forget it,” Adler says, turning away. “I’m leaving.” The line of his profile is stark; Ulrich suddenly feels farther than him from ever. Adler is always low to the ground, shoulders tense, mouth taut, and eyebrows flat. Ulrich has never seen him unguarded, never seen an unreserved emotion from him.
Except, of course, for one time. Two days ago, when Adler had been in the midst of orgasm. It is in these moments that Ulrich may begin to decrypt him.
Such an endeavor would usually be useless, invasive, and disturbing. However, a crucial situation has developed which may require its necessity:
Adler Hoffman is not well.
This, of course, is not new. Adler Hoffman has not been well for nearly a decade now, and perhaps further beyond that still. Still, in the past year, Adler has scraped himself together into something Mesmer calls ‘high functioning,’ and his situation is leaps and bounds better than it used to be. Adler Hoffman being ‘not well’ used to include littered bottles and failed suicide attempts, including a hasty collision with the balcony railing and a subsequent trip to the medical department. Ulrich would like to avoid this brand of ‘not well’ at all costs.
In fact, Ulrich is desperate to keep the situation from ever spiraling that far again.
The reasons for this can be easily tied to practicality. Adler is now effectively in charge of Laplace as substitute director, and co-head of the research department along with Ulrich. Any ebb in his condition could have drastic consequences on Laplace as a whole, not to mention Ulrich, who would be saddled with much of the fallout and extra work. However…
It’s safe to say his motivations are more complex than that. More than just a coworker, Adler is… a friend. It is not simply professional concern; it has become a personal matter as well.
“Adler,” Ulrich calls, and Adler pauses. Here is a feeling he cannot identify, an uneasy thrum in his ferrofluid. A feeling that if he doesn't speak, something may be lost forever. “My offer is still open.”
To Ulrich’s immense relief, Adler is there in the morning, lurking in the corner of the room like a slug underneath a log. Ulrich strides up to him and pats his shoulder, a friendly gesture useful for expressing camaraderie. According to most guides on supporting friends, he should make an inquiry into Adler’s well-being and encourage him for his progress today.
“It’s good to see you,” he says. Thanks to his voice modulator, it doesn't even sound strange. “How are you?”
Adler squints at him. “Did something short circuit in your brain?”
“I’m just glad to see you out and about,” Ulrich reassures. Adler crosses his arms, looking deeply uncomfortable.
“Fine,” Adler spits out, then flees to the opposite side of the room. Ulrich watches him go in dismay. He’ll need to re-study that psychology paper.
Throughout the day Adler contributes little, only cutting in to make scathing remarks and pessimistic predictions. Even stranger, he keeps looking at Ulrich. Ulrich has a wider field of view than most humans, letting him catch Adler out of the corner of his vision. Some of them he can identify; suspicion, wariness, annoyance. The others are much more subtle, with smaller tells he has not seen as often. He can’t make sense of them.
Eventually, Adler leaves to attend to his substitute director work, as is typical for them. His ferrofluid gives a thrum of anxiety as he leaves. Irrational, Ulrich decides. His presence is hardly going to help Adler fulfill his duties, and Adler is hardly more likely to break down once he is out of Ulrich’s sight. It will do them no good if Ulrich is hovering like some kind of mother hen.
After another day of this bizarre limbo, Adler finds him after his shift. The shadows under his eyes look darker when lit purely by the artificial overheads, and he stops a few paces away from Ulrich. Hovering.
“Ulrich,” he says, face wavering. The distance between them stretches, and Adler takes a step back instead of closing it. “Can we…”
His eyes are dark and pleading. There is a strange rawness in the line of his face, expression clenched in scorn. Expressions will never be Ulrich’s forte, but they’re still a valuable source of information.
“Alright,” Ulrich says, cautiously hopeful. “Your office again?”
Adler nods with a jerk of his head. The walk there is silent; Ulrich has learned many times that excessive amounts of noise at later hours will end in numerous complaints.
When they get to Adler’s office, Ulrich begins undoing his uniform. He is admittedly fond of one-piece suits for the simplicity that comes with their maintenance. Unfortunately, it does have the side effect of complicating removal.
“Stop,” Adler says. “What are you doing?”
Ulrich pauses. “Undressing?” he says. “My research indicated that it is usually a precursor.”
It was simple to snatch one of the pamphlets given out by the department’s sexual education program. It’s left him feeling remarkably more confident, and has also revealed that their last time was rather irregular. This time Ulrich is well equipped to participate. Adler will not need to do everything himself.
“You did research… of course you did,” Adler grumbles, scrubbing his face with his hands. Eyes shift to the far wall, where the door is. “You—”
“It’s alright, Adler,” Ulrich reassures, peeling off his uniform. Adler does not respond; his eyes flick over to track the movement of Ulrich’s hands. When Ulrich steps out of the uniform, now fully undressed, he balks.
“You—!”
“In the spirit of preparation I requested modifications at Mechanical Research!” Installed between his legs is a reconstruction of female genitalia. It was both impressive and concerning how easily they were able to procure and install it. “Apparently it is a common request among Awakened.”
“That’s…” Adler wavers in place; his throat bobs as he swallows, and his fingers clutch uselessly at the hem of his coat. “Interesting.”
He still does not move. Ulrich is slightly at a loss for how to proceed. Presumably Adler’s clothes will come off next, though Ulrich isn’t inclined to rush him. Everyone takes things at their own pace, the pamphlet had informed him; no one should ever be rushed or pressured about sex. Thus, Ulrich decides to simply wait. He does prefer having clothes, and after so long wearing them it does feel strange to be bare, but many Awakened frequently go without. Perhaps he’ll gain more insight on his brethren this way.
“It’s not right,” Adler bursts out, gaze flying up to Ulrich’s tank. “There’s no way you actually wanted this. A—a cunt, for god’s sake? You’re not—”
“It’s not really my body,” says Ulrich, confused. “It’s just a vessel. I don't have the same kind of attachment to it that humans do, Adler.”
“This is ridiculous,” Adler huffs. He runs a hand through his hair, leaning against the wall. “This was a mistake. I don't—”
“Adler?”
Adler takes one last look at him and flees from his own office. Ulrich is left naked in the middle of the room; the door swings shut behind Adler. A common theme seems to be emerging from all their interactions lately. At this point, he would usually re-evaluate his methods; unfortunately, the primary object of study (Adler) is notably uncooperative and difficult. Perhaps this is simply an occupational hazard of attempting to support Adler. He’ll re-evaluate regardless, he decides.
Thankfully, Adler spares him the necessity of finding a new approach over their lunch break tomorrow. He appears at Ulrich’s elbow as the other employees trickle away to the cafeteria, expression sour.
“Fine. Fine,” Adler hisses at him. “Fine. We can use that ridiculous new organ of yours. Fine.”
Thus, during their allocated ten minutes, Ulrich ends up in Adler’s office getting roughly stripped of his uniform.
“Do you have condoms?”
Adler looks at him with incredulity. “Did they transplant a womb along with the cunt?”
“No,” Ulrich protests, “But it will help prevent chafing. We should also use lubrication—”
Adler thrusts into him.
“Oh.”
Ulrich does not have a proper sensory system outside of his original body, but he has a rudimentary system of nerves spread throughout his vessel to alert him of any issues. It’s enough to register touch and injury, without any corresponding pain or pleasure. The nerves inside his new organ do not extend further than that. Ulrich had specifically requested it that way.
He does not want to be distracted during these moments.
In truth, Ulrich cannot stop thinking about Adler’s face when he had come.
Since being employed by Laplace, he’s dedicated extensive time to decoding human expressions; as such, he can name each tell and what they must mean. Short, harsh breaths; mouth agape; eyebrows pulled together. Pleasure, exertion, surprise. Yet, Ulrich still doesn't understand. He’s turned the moment over in his memory countless times, spinned and replayed it for each new angle. Nothing.
There is something fundamental he is missing. Even for all his study, he will never understand it the way a normal human or arcanist instinctively would.
This time, Adler’s face is tilted towards him, letting him observe it freely. Pupils are blown wide, eclipsing his irises; Ulrich watches his eyes flutter shut and collapse from emotion. As Adler sinks down and bottoms out in his artificial hole, his mouth falls into an open circle, and a single groan escapes him. In sharp, frantic motions, he begins to thrust.
Adler, Ulrich thinks, is particularly compelling like this. He is a Storm, sweeping and overwhelming in his presence.
“I hate this thing,” Adler grits out. His words are punctuated with a thrust that drives Ulrich back into the desk. “I hate it. But it’s still not fucking—”
It must hurt, or at least it will later. Adler’s fingers are digging into the seams along his shoulders. If he presses any harder, he’ll claw his fingernails out. A skinny pale chest heaves above Ulrich, shuddering like a broken engine.
Adler laughs, a garbled and ugly sound. “How disgusting is that?”
Adler twitches, with a ragged whine. He makes an aborted attempt at pulling out; cum shoots out onto Ulrich’s lower half. Adler collapses, chest heaving with breath.
Ulrich has no words. There is something deeply wrong with Adler. Ulrich has no perspective on sexual behavior and thus has no real means of evaluation, but he has a sinking feeling that it is not actually the problem here. Instead, something has always been and still remains deeply wrong with Adler; it is only the sex that draws it to the surface, that displays it in plaintext instead of being hidden with obstructions and deflections.
No, Ulrich is certain now. He should have expected this; Adler has always been prone to self-destructive behavior. With his new position comes new responsibilities, and it is no longer a self-confined problem if he drowns himself in alcohol or attempts to dive off the seventh floor escalator. Thus, he needed to adapt, and found new ways of hurting himself.
Ulrich is his new chosen method of self destruction. Sex with Ulrich, to be exact. The more Ulrich uncovers, the less he understands. Why him? Why sex?
“This is another reason we should have used a condom,” Ulrich says weakly, in the absence of anything else. He stares at the mess dripping down his thighs, thoughts racing. “We still have work, you know.”
The climax has left Adler subdued, sat on a chair with limbs sprawled in a careless pile. “Fuck off.”
Ulrich does not respond. Adler can probably read some sort of distress through the tank; he needs to calm down. One thing is certain; Ulrich is out of his depth. This has never been something he could address on his own.
He needs help.