"I don't know either." This is a placeholder, not a verdict. A verbal hand held up to reserve space while he tries to come up with something more substantial, more helpful.
"I know you're not lying, now or then. And I've known for a while you sometimes feel... conflicted. And sometimes not." He can always tell, which is the gift and the curse of the Voight-Kampff modification combined with his intimate knowledge of Jesus specifically.
"And I... ignored. What I knew, because things are different here. Because I can usually see what you're feeling but not why, not the intention. For those I have to trust what's being said, and - I do. And this still happened."
"What would it have looked like if you hadn't ignored it?" But more importantly, "I'm hearing that you feel- fault, maybe, for being hurt by this. There's no fault on your end."
A muscle in K's jaw tenses and releases, his eyes still lowered.
"I don't know. I don't know if what I'm feeling is what anyone else would feel or if it's... Some flaw, some warning spark in me. I'm not made to do this. I'm not made to be this."
He swallows. "Love isn't something you can choose or predict. It just happens. So I don't think there's any way they could make you around those parameters, K."
"What's it like to hold the hand of someone you love?" K quotes, his voice taking on that hollow, mechanical cadence it does when he's referencing the baseline script.
"Do they teach you how to feel finger to finger? Do you long for having your heart interlinked?" Scan said you don't look like you on the inside. Miles off your baseline.
He runs his hand back through his hair, shakes his head and looks away when he says, guiltily, "Interlinked."
"They gave you a baseline because they know you are capable of love," he points out. "If you weren't they wouldn't have needed to watch you so closely."
K can't really blame Jesus for being unsure, for being afraid; K certainly doesn't feel as confident right now as he had at the carnival, after Thanksgiving or Tumenalia. He feels more precarious than ever.
Is this really what they were watching for? Or anger? Righteous, destructive, unstoppable hatred was what K was developed to deal with in other replicants. He was never told what he was meant to deal with in himself.
He doesn't have an answer so he doesn't try to give one.
He watches K. He thinks he should go--part of him thinks K wants him to go--but he doesn't move. "Me saying it to you doesn't mean you have to feel anything back."
This brings K's eyes around again, landing on Jesus, studying features he's studied over and over and over as he slept, talked, laughed, kissed, and any of the dozens of things they've done for sex.
"It doesn't feel bad." That's not entirely an accurate statement right this exact moment, but K is capable of understanding that some things are temporary.
"It hasn't for me either. It's been amazing, K." So why did he run? Because it was overwhelming. A wave crashing over him, something he couldn't just breathe through.
"I can't promise I won't make mistakes again. But it won't be this one. I won't run from you."
What Jesus wasn't prepared for is that he's afraid to touch K now. But he steps forward and tentatively wraps his arms around him, lays his head against him.
It's hard to tell what K is feeling just by looking at him. Easier once someone becomes more familiar with him, but still difficult.
It's much easier once he's being touched, which is not something he had to deal with in Los Angeles for the most part. Maybe he'll get better at it as time goes on, but here, now, his palm is still up and he lives an arm to make room for Jesus coming closer to him, but he's tense. The arm he slips around the other man in turn is cautious.
He learned how to do this here. He was learning how to do this. There's still so much he doesn't know how to do, including be hurt and love at the same time.
"I'm sorry, K." He doesn't know what else to say; the words he usually has just dry up into this one solid truth. "I never wanted to hurt you. I never want to hurt you again, and I know I will."
"I don't mind that, Jesus," he answers, soft, sad. Bit by bit his arm relaxes, rests more readily around Jesus's shoulders.
"It's these fucking contracts. They mess with my head, they make everything... complicated." They make things that he could normally choose to let go keep coming back to twist deeper again and again.
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"I know you're not lying, now or then. And I've known for a while you sometimes feel... conflicted. And sometimes not." He can always tell, which is the gift and the curse of the Voight-Kampff modification combined with his intimate knowledge of Jesus specifically.
"And I... ignored. What I knew, because things are different here. Because I can usually see what you're feeling but not why, not the intention. For those I have to trust what's being said, and - I do. And this still happened."
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"I don't know. I don't know if what I'm feeling is what anyone else would feel or if it's... Some flaw, some warning spark in me. I'm not made to do this. I'm not made to be this."
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Jesus isn't a replicant but oh, the ways he empathizes with that way of thinking.
"Made to be what?"
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"Or to love."
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"Do they teach you how to feel finger to finger? Do you long for having your heart interlinked?" Scan said you don't look like you on the inside. Miles off your baseline.
He runs his hand back through his hair, shakes his head and looks away when he says, guiltily, "Interlinked."
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Is this really what they were watching for? Or anger? Righteous, destructive, unstoppable hatred was what K was developed to deal with in other replicants. He was never told what he was meant to deal with in himself.
He doesn't have an answer so he doesn't try to give one.
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This brings K's eyes around again, landing on Jesus, studying features he's studied over and over and over as he slept, talked, laughed, kissed, and any of the dozens of things they've done for sex.
"I do feel something back."
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Maybe he's asking more for himself than for K, but they both have so many reasons not to trust love or attachment.
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Hopefully. "It hasn't, for me."
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"I can't promise I won't make mistakes again. But it won't be this one. I won't run from you."
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I won't run from you.
"It's okay. We'll be okay."
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"Can I touch you?"
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But he doesn't actually want to push Jesus away either, doesn't want to hurt him, so he nods.
He nods, and he turns his nearest hand palm up.
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"You can say 'no'. I understand. It's okay. I won't be hurt." He understands needing space after pain.
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"Maybe not always, but this time, it's okay."
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It's much easier once he's being touched, which is not something he had to deal with in Los Angeles for the most part. Maybe he'll get better at it as time goes on, but here, now, his palm is still up and he lives an arm to make room for Jesus coming closer to him, but he's tense. The arm he slips around the other man in turn is cautious.
He learned how to do this here. He was learning how to do this. There's still so much he doesn't know how to do, including be hurt and love at the same time.
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"It's these fucking contracts. They mess with my head, they make everything... complicated." They make things that he could normally choose to let go keep coming back to twist deeper again and again.
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