Chapter Text
At nights, Connor sits alone on the couch in the dark of Hank’s living room. He notices himself sometimes, sitting in the same pristine, unwavering way he's always done. There’s a fondness inside of him for this place--one that refuses to fade away, not after the winter ordeal, not after losing many memories of it.
He could still infer through the gaps. There's the television in front of him, where he'd spent countless hours watching shows and movies and fascinating commercials about fascinating products. Hank thought it was for entertainment, but Connor was mostly learning. About humans, pop culture, the world. Somewhere behind him is the dining table, a few memories lying safe and still in his systems, mostly about him telling Hank to eat healthier and to stop drinking. Of course, he only ever had an average success rate of 11.32% in this endeavor based on the memories he has right now.
Sumo would be there too, his head resting on Connor's foot, sleeping with the slightest of snores. Dogs are fascinating animals, Connor thinks, and he wonders if Sumo does this to keep him company in the lonely hours of an android's evening. His remaining memories tell him Sumo does this exact same thing every night Connor stays in the living room.
But what he thinks about the most as he stares around the room are the blank spaces, the gaps, the parts of his life now lost to him. An emotion would spring up out of nowhere every now and then, telling him something used to be there. People from the precinct like Hank, Gavin, and Tina would remind him of these things.
It's the moments when he was alone that beg for answers. What did he used to do in nights like this when he didn't want to go to stasis and wanted to experience the world? On his days off when he wasn't with Gavin or Hank or anyone else?
Where were the most important parts of him no one else knew about?
One night, he experiments, thinking perhaps going to the yard would conjure an emotion and let him know he used to spend time there. He stands up from the couch and walks outside. His hand on the door is gentle, trying to relish each step, each click of the knob, and the rush of cool night's air from outside.
It's spring now. The blades of grass have sprung up again, peeking through the soil and bathing in the moonlight's silvery glow. He chooses a spot then sits down on the yard.
Nothing.
So the blank spaces remain as he goes back inside. Questions unanswered to be left for later days, or perhaps never.
Gavin stays a constant in his life. A permanent fixture Connor could rely on to appear in front of his desk without warning and force him to go somewhere. "Let's go," he'll say, sometimes ignoring Connor's protests as if whatever trip they had was already planned.
One day in the spring, they go to a calm street on the way to a shop Gavin insists they go to.
"I'm a shithead," he says.
“There are many instances where I would agree, detective, but this is not one of them.”
Gavin jabs at his arm. Connor smiles back of course, but Gavin’s already walked further ahead to the shop in front of them, opening the door.
Connor looks up at the shop’s sign, draped in pinks and blues with the sunlight peeking right behind it. Snow Days: Gelato and Cakes. A quick scan shows it was set up about two years ago.
He knows this place, not by memory, but by the fondness he feels. There were memories here.
“Hey, you coming? Don't have all day,” Gavin says, gesturing to the open door.
Connor follows, and as he steps inside with Gavin, he says, “Thank you. Your chivalry is always welcome.”
“Anyone ever tell you what a romantic you are?”
“It’s part of my social programming,” Connor says, sitting down at a table he feels particularly good about.
Gavin doesn’t sit down. Instead, he stares at him with a quizzical look. "Uh..."
“Yes, detective?”
“Why...uh...why’d you choose that table?”
“Oh. It is optimal for ice cream based on the temperature and sunlight levels.”
For the briefest moment, Gavin’s face falters, but he turns away and walks towards the counter the very next second. It takes Connor no more than 10 milliseconds to figure out what just happened. He brushes it off, trying to ignore the pang of guilt in his chest. He won't think about it. Not now.
He looks around the ice cream shop. Nothing too special about it, other than its vintage wooden appearance, as if one were in a cabin. A light hangs above the table, and there's a laminated note attached to it, dangling from a string. It’s always time for ice cream at Snow Days!, it says.
Perhaps he’d agree, if he could actually enjoy ice cream the way humans could.
Gavin arrives with two cups of gelato and he sits down. “Surprise, tin can. Like I was saying, you dated a total shithead who forgot to bring you here for two fuckin’ months.” He holds up one of the cups, the gelato in it colored a striking blue. Of course, Connor knows what it is, but he wouldn’t ruin the absolute joy on Gavin’s face.
“Behold. Fuckin’ thirium-flavored ice cream. How’s that for a treat?”
“That is certainly fascinating. I’m glad they've begun making products directed towards androids.”
And perhaps Connor also fails to hide his lack of surprise, because Gavin immediately says, “You know, tin can, you’re too smart to enjoy surprises. You gotta dumb it down once in a while. Where's your inner child?”
“Detective, not only is it impossible to downgrade my processors, but I was also never a child. Androids don’t-“
“Okay. Thousandth time I'll tell you: It's a joke. Laugh a little.”
Connor takes a second to smile before mustering a low, “Haha.”
Gavin pauses, raising an eyebrow. “O...kay," he says, sighing. "No more laughing. Never again.” He shoves a spoon into the cup and slides it towards Connor, who takes his first bite as Gavin watches while holding his breath.
Connor's not sure what he expected.
It’s thirium. That much is certain. Except it’s...cold.
“You like it?”
“It’s very...interesting."
“Damn it.”
“It is! Regular liquid thirium has a noticeably different texture.” Connor has to stifle a smile. “You shouldn't feel bad, detective. I appreciate the gesture,” Connor says. He smiles, and ice cream drips from his mouth.
Gavin laughs as Connor rushes to wipe his chin with tissue paper. “Yeah, ice cream tends to...you know...melt.”
"Thank you for the warning."
They share a warm glance, and Gavin begins working on his own cup. They talk for a while about nothing in particular. Connor observes Gavin intently as he eats. He takes snapshots of each moment, loading, processing, and storing them into memory.
Clearly, this place was important to them once. He wants it to be important again.
A moment of silence interrupts the tail end of a conversation topic, and Gavin’s just looking around. His spoon’s left in the air, the ice cream melting and dripping into his cup.
“What’s on your mind?” Connor asks.
“Nothing. Just...you know. Nice place.”
“My past observations indicate you are unsuccessful at lying 89% of the time. Have I mentioned that before?”
“Maybe. Like once I guess.”
“I'm guessing that means a few times. You can tell me.”
Connor begins to regret asking when Gavin’s face falls again. “We used to come here all the time,” he says before shoving the spoon in his mouth, pursing his lips against it.
“Oh. Yes, I’ve concluded that.”
“How?”
Connor didn’t want to bring this up. He knows what this is about. “You asked me why I chose this table.”
“And?”
“Every now and then you would ask me similar questions, and I believe it’s because you think my memories have returned. Perhaps I used to choose this table every time we went here. Is that why you asked?”
“Yeah...” Gavin trails off, looking down at his cup and playing with the melted gelato using his spoon.
“I apologize, detective. I can’t remember. I likely never will.”
“Yeah. I know.” Gavin doesn’t look up. “It’s not your fault.”
Silence. Neither of them know what to say. While they've discussed this a few times in the past, no conclusions were ever reached. Thus far, they've both placated themselves with little platitudes, and they're both likely choosing which one to say now.
We'll make new memories.
What matters is we're still here.
It's now and the future that counts.
None of them work anymore. Once the hopefulness faded away and reality set in, making new memories to replace the old ones felt like that metaphor Connor once learned from Hank--about the king pushing a boulder uphill. An endless lifting, never quite getting there. It's like going to this ice cream shop trying to recreate the magic of visiting for the first time. They try and try, but they never quite get there.
Even though Connor doesn't remember, he could tell it's not the same. It never will be.
"Sorry. Didn't mean to be a downer," Gavin says. He takes his cup and Connor's, stacking them at the center of the table and placing the used spoons inside. He stands up, patting the table and saying, "Stay here. I'll get a few puffs in and we can go."
"Okay, detective." Connor watches him exit the store, tracking him through the transparent windows as he walks to the back alley beside the shop.
He sits there in the same pristine, unwavering way he's always done. Gavin's smoking hasn't subsided by any means, no matter how many times Connor tells him to stop. Some things won't change, perhaps, even through two lifetimes.
The cashier walks up to the table to pick up the cups. "Connor! Fancy seeing you here. Where've you been, buddy?"
Connor takes a moment to process who this man might be. He doesn't remember, but thankfully a scan shows his name. "It's nice to see you as well, Richard. I've been on vacation for a while," he says.
"Richard? You going formal on me, Connor?" says Richard with a laugh.
Connor just beams at him. He doesn't remember his nickname, but he seems like someone he'd get along with.
Richard picks up the cups, placing them on the tray he's holding. "Good on your vacation. Wish I could take time off that long. Be nice to go to a beach for a few months, eh?"
"Yes...it would. I hope you get a vacation soon."
"Nah. Wouldn't have anywhere to go either. Beaches are expensive. Hikes tire me out. I'd just sit at home."
"Oh. If it means anything, I like sitting at home."
Richard laughs, a little louder than Connor expected, and he accidentally tips the tray a little too far. The cups fall over, but Connor catches them just in time.
"Shit. Sorry. Must be nice having android reflexes."
"It's useful sometimes," Connor says, handing him the cups.
"Yeah! Not to mention not aging, no getting fuckin' colds, and perfect memory!" Richard says with a laugh.
Connor doesn't laugh with him.
Richard continues, "Guess I'm not sure I'd want that last one though. Lots of things worth forgetting. Anyway, nice talking to you again, Connor."
"You as well," Connor says as Richard walks away, disappearing into the door behind the register.
His last words echo in Connor's mind. Lots of things worth forgetting. And Connor responds in his mind.
Not when you lose the good memories too.
He stands up, perhaps too suddenly since his knees hit the table. Steadying it quickly, he walks outside, finding Gavin in the back alley with two cigarette butts on the ground, and a third stick pressed to his lips.
"Detective..."
"Hey. Thought you were sitting inside. Am I taking too long, princess?"
"Oh."
"I'm kidding, tin can."
"No. I didn't intend it that way. I only wanted to talk," Connor says as he approaches him. He leans on the wall beside Gavin, watching him blow a puff of smoke up to the sky and away from him. Of course, he doesn't have to do that, since Connor doesn't have lungs. He appreciates the gesture nonetheless.
"I've been thinking-"
"That I should stop smoking?" Gavin asks.
Connor looks at him, his words stifled behind a chuckle now. "No. Not today at least. I was thinking about earlier."
"Yeah. Let's just forget about it." Gavin takes another puff, blowing it to the side away from Connor this time. He's more than halfway through the cigarette now, but Connor could tell he's going for another one.
"No. I believe we have been resolving this matter incorrectly."
"What do you mean?"
Connor pauses, thinking of how to explain it. "Why did you bring me here?"
"Uh, I don't know. To get you to try frozen thirium that I guess you don't like?"
"Is that all?"
Gavin throws his finished stick on the ground and kills the flame with his shoe. "Just tell me what's up, tin can," he says, reaching for another one.
As he blows out the first puff, Connor says, "I think you brought me here to relive a memory."
Gavin eyes him from the side. "Not sure what you're talking about."
"I want to remember the past two years as well, detective, but perhaps we both need to accept that those memories are gone."
"They are gone. I know that. I'm just...I don't know. You used to get so excited coming here. Did I ever tell you that?" Gavin takes another puff from the cigarette. Connor sees his heart rate climbing. "It's funny. I didn't used to like fuckin' ice cream, but you really liked the place. You'd bring me here, get a bite of my ice cream, then tell me how bad it is for me."
"Did I really?"
"Yeah. Fuckin' hilarious in retrospect," Gavin says, chuckling a little. Connor joins him too. It is funny when he puts it that way.
They lean on the wall in silence as Gavin finishes his cigarette. Connor will tell him off about it later. For now, this is a memory. A new one. Connor does the same as he's been doing. He looks around, stares at the dumpster, at the line of sky visible from the alley, at Gavin smoking the cigarette, cataloging the memory everywhere he can.
On Gavin's last puff, Connor says, "Memories or not, I care about you, detective."
"I know, dipshit."
"You're welcome to say it back as well."
"Yeah...uh..."
"It's all right. Please don't strain yourself," Connor says, smirking at him.
Gavin throws the cigarette onto the ground and puts it out. "Okay, that's enough sappy shit for today. What do you want to do?"
Connor takes a moment to process everything that happened in the past hour. What should they do? What does he want to do? All he wants of course is to fix the problem, and the issue is how they're both dealing with the loss of his memories.
It's not his fault. He tells himself that once again.
We can make new memories, he told Gavin a few months ago.
"Perhaps we require a new approach. I don't think we should be attempting to recreate memories we've already had."
"Okay?"
"What if we simply...do things we've never done before? We could own up to our promise and make legitimately new memories."
"Uh...okay," says Gavin, starting to think. He reaches inside his pocket for another cigarette. When he takes it out and puts it in front of his mouth to light it, Connor slaps it away and stomps on it with his foot. In turn, Gavin says, "Hey, what the fuck?!" as he watches, horrified.
"I've allowed four cigarettes, detective. A fifth won't do you any good," Connor says, beaming.
"Okay. You know what, dipshit? If you wanna make 'new memories', how about you tell me for once, 'Detective! How about you smoke another cigarette to heighten your mood?' That'd be 'legitimately new.'"
Connor chuckles and walks out of the alley. Gavin follows with heavy footfalls--the kind Connor likens to a child throwing a silent tantrum. They go back inside the car, where Gavin asks him, "So what are you thinking of doing?"
"I have an idea."
Of all the assumptions Connor's made about Gavin, being excited about going to a cat cafe is probably the most incorrect one he's ever had. There's no end to Gavin's rambling the entire car ride, and Connor's had to force him to look at the road at least once.
"Look, you ever actually own a cat? Goddamn hair, noise, jumping, and claws everywhere. Now, you ever have fifteen cats in a single place? You know what that's called?"
"A group of cats?"
"A fucking dumpster fire. Literal hell on earth."
Connor chuckles, partially in disbelief. Gavin loves cats. How could he be against having more cats in his immediate surroundings? "Detective, I'm fairly certain they would have the cats under control and that they're properly socialized."
"Doubt it."
Connor looks straight at him, saying, "Detective..."
It takes no more than a second after Gavin looks back at his face for him to say, "Jesus. Fine, fine."
The first useful fact Connor learned about dealing with Gavin a few months after the accident is how susceptible he is to Connor's expressions. Sometimes he takes advantage of that. Only for good reasons of course.
When they arrive at the cafe, Gavin dons his jacket as they get out of the car. Connor informs him, "It'll be warm inside, detective. You likely won't need that."
"Oh, trust me. I'm gonna need it. Say 'rest in peace' to that suit of yours."
"You are overreacting."
The cafe's entrance makes no secret of what lies inside. It's sign, emblazoned with drawings of cats, also takes the shape of a cat with its back arched. Connor looks inside the glass window, sighting at least five cats of various colors brushing against customer's legs. In the middle of the room stands a giant cat tree, surrounded by various toys and tiny beds on a carpet. Best place to start.
Gavin arrives beside him, taking a look inside the window. "Little devils in their natural habitat," he whispers.
"Detective! Please be kind to the cats. They seem friendly enough."
"That's how they get you. Charming, innocent-looking little shits until suddenly you're jungle prey. I'm telling you. I bet you five bucks you're gonna set them off."
"Like I said earlier, you are overreacting."
"Take the bet then if you're so fuckin' confident."
"Hmm...are you afraid, detective?" Connor asks, trying to confirm his suspicions.
"Wipe that grin off your face, dipshit. You really think I'm scared of a few cats? I love cats! I happen to be a grade-A cat person. I cat-sit for Tina!"
"Your cat care resume is certainly very convincing."
Connor opens the door, gesturing for Gavin to go inside with a smile. Gavin eyes him with suspicion instead. "Taking my job now?"
"If I don't open the door, you might never go in," Connor says. He winks, and in return he gets a roll of eyes. That's two for today. Maybe he can get three in the next hour. It's a toss up right now.
As they step inside, neither Gavin's measured steps nor his hands being securely in his jacket pockets escape Connor's eyes. "Are you still afraid?" he asks.
"What? Fuck no!" Gavin says.
That's all it takes. Every cat--around six by Connor's count--jumps, pounces, or runs from wherever they are towards Gavin's legs. Two of them stand up, clawing at Gavin's pants. He bends down, waving his arms around to get them to stop, and Connor marvels at Gavin's ability to predict cat behavior. Unfortunately, he seems utterly powerless to stop it.
"Ouch! Jesus! Stop it you little goddamn-motherfucking-shitty-ass-devil-furballs-"
"Detective! Language!"
"It fucking hurts! They're using their fucking claws!"
Connor knows he should be doing something about this, and fortunately, he knows exactly what to do. He laughs.
"Okay, dipshit--ouch! Mind helping out, you know, the literal love of your life?" Gavin asks as he gently pushes away one cat clawing at his leg, only to be replaced by two other cats.
"I think you can handle this. As I mentioned earlier, your cat-care resume is highly impressive."
It's mission accomplished when he sees Gavin rolling his eyes once more. Three in an hour is an excellent record.
While Gavin is trying to walk without tripping over the cats, trying to stifle one expletive after another, a waitress comes to his aid by distracting the cats with treats. Connor finds a table at a corner of the shop, hidden away from the view of the cats in the center. Gavin sits down with him.
"I'm gonna give you to the count of three to get rid of that shit-faced grin."
"And what would be the consequences if I refuse?"
"I'm going to make you eat actual shit to go with that grin."
"You always have such a way with words."
Connor gets another eye-roll, which means he's beaten his previous record. Gavin closes his eyes and sighs, palming his forehead as he looks down onto the table to steady himself.
The same waitress who helped Gavin earlier arrives at their table, apologizing profusely before telling Gavin, "On the bright side, that means they like you!"
Gavin doesn't miss a beat. He looks the waitress dead in the eyes and says, "You have three seconds to drop that menu on the table and leave me alone."
"Detective!" Connor says. He looks up at the waitress, saying, "I apologize for his behavior. He's quite stressed out right now." He eyes Gavin expectantly.
And of course, as Connor expects, Gavin sighs and takes a few moments. "Okay, fine, I'm sorry," Gavin finally says to the waitress.
In response, she simply looks at them both, confusion in her face. "Right...here's your menu!" she says. A well-practiced customer service smile plasters itself on her face, but when she leaves, it's more akin to running away. Gavin watches as she leaves. When he looks back at Connor, he's laughing, likely about to comment something Connor doesn't approve of.
So Connor interrupts him. "Detective, you scared her. You're a police officer! You should know better."
"Fine. Okay? Fine. But you owe me ten bucks."
"What? Why?"
"Because what did I tell you about the cats?"
"Specifically, you mentioned they would attack me. That was the bet."
"No. The bet was five bucks they'd attack. The other five bucks is for collateral damage to my pants and this jacket I look amazing in. Now, give it."
Connor almost laughs, but he stops himself and puts on his puppy dog face. One of his hands traces its way to Gavin's hands on the table as he starts. "Detective..."
"Okay, see, I know what you're doing. You're not getting out of this one."
"My alternative strategy is to threaten you into submission."
"Ha! As if you'd actually do something like that, Mr. I-like-dogs-and-the-sun-shines-out-of-my-ass."
"Hmm. Perhaps you're correct, but maybe when you're asleep I can think of a way to get back at you."
"No, no. Give me my ten bucks, you little shit. And no tricks when I'm sleeping! Bedtime is sacred time."
"Of course, detective," says Connor with a smile on his face as he plots what to do when Gavin sleeps that night. He processes for a moment, transferring ten dollars to Gavin's bank account, his eyes fluttering. "It's done."
"Did I ever tell you how weird that shaky eyelid thing you do is?"
Connor takes the menu in his hands. While reading through it, he says, "If I know you well enough, I'm certain you've told me at least fifty times over the past two years."
"Ha. I'll give you that one."
Connor finishes scanning the menu, so he tells Gavin, "My recommendation for this meal is the caesar salad. That should provide sufficiently balanced nutrition."
"Fine, but-"
"No dressing, of course."
Something flashes in Gavin's eyes, and Connor knows it's happened again--him having done something he always used to do before he lost his memories. He also knows what'll happen next: Gavin's face will fall, and he'll appear thoughtful for the briefest of moments, before trying to deny he's actually sad about Connor having lost their past two years together.
The day is full of surprises, however, because Gavin's face stays the same, then he holds the slightest of smiles on his lips.
"Don't ever change, okay?" he says.
The weeks pass by, both of them committed to finding new things to do, new experiences to share, and new memories to treasure.
They find an arcade at some point, where Gavin tells him, "You know, arcades are so stupid. They're for kids who don't fucking have lives and don't know what else to do in their free time."
"That...sounds incredibly mean-spirited, detective."
"It was me. I was that kid."
"Oh."
They play games for a bit, of course, and Gavin's day gets noticeably worse when Connor defeats him at every single one. They exit the arcade, and Gavin huffs, saying they're never coming back there because "playing with a super detective android is against the spirit of equality". However, on another day when they're not together, Connor finds him at the arcade alone with palpable frustration on his face, trying to beat Connor's recorded top score.
On a week where Connor's staying at Gavin's house, they try out paintball at an arena somewhere in Detroit. Connor makes a big deal out of it, insisting they rent the entire arena for three games just between the two of them. When Gavin disagrees, Connor insists on paying for it himself.
They don their gear at the preparation rooms above. Connor sees a window looking down at the arena and surveys it, scanning the entire location to figure out a strategy. Gavin approaches and asks him what he's doing.
"I'm determining the optimal strategy in order to achieve victory," Connor tells him, cocking his gun and shooting it at the wall to test it.
"Okay. I think you're taking this a little too seriously."
"Absolutely not, detective. My mission is simple: achieve victory at all costs...within reason."
"Tin can, it's not about winning. It's called having fun. Ever tried that before?"
"There is no fun when firearms are involved! This competition must be given the respect it deserves," says Connor, aiming the gun straight at the floor, then directly at Gavin's helmet.
Gavin grabs the tip of the gun and lowers it to the side, saying, "Okay dipshit, maybe you need to hakuna your tatas for a moment? It's just paintball."
"You're simply afraid that your arms training is below my own capabilities."
"Whoah. Okay, fucker, is that a challenge? Because all I heard was, 'bla bla bla I'm gonna lose to my dear handsome, lovable Gavin.'"
Connor simply smiles and lowers his gun. "I will allow you to say that last part for now, but perhaps it's my turn to suggest a bet then."
"Oh, you're on, tin can. Easy money for me."
"Yes, and if you lose, which you certainly will, you have to sleep on the floor for a week."
Gavin loses spectacularly.
Connor doesn't drop his smile the whole time on the way home, and Gavin's seething through the whole drive, quiet. Suspiciously quiet. When they arrive at Gavin's apartment, Connor's about to say something, but Gavin raises a finger and says, "Stop. Here's what's gonna happen. I'm gonna sleep on the floor, and we're not gonna talk about it."
"About your embarrassing defeat at the paintball-"
"Dipshit. I said. No. Talking."
"Okay, detective," Connor says with a bright smile.
That night, Gavin accepts his punishment without a single word, tossing and turning on the floor for a good fifteen while Connor lies on the bed. He laughs at it, silently, for a few minutes, before he can't let it go on anymore and asks Gavin to come to bed.
"You think I can't handle the floor? I'm an adult. I can handle it." says Gavin, somewhat playfully.
"Then perhaps I'll attempt an alternative strategy." Putting on a mocking voice, Connor continues, "Detective, I miss you so very much. Please come to bed."
"Fuckin'...don't ever talk like that again."
"Yes. If you would like me to stop, you should come here."
"Fine," says Gavin, as if he were the one doing Connor a favor. He climbs up, and Connor can almost hear his relief, though Gavin would never admit it.
Connor plans on going to stasis tonight, but he stops when Gavin inches closer, putting his arm around Connor's chest and placing his head on top of his shoulder. He falls asleep like that. Connor doesn't go into stasis anymore, deciding this memory is worth keeping.
On the third night in the apartment, Gavin's asleep on the bed, curled up to the side and facing the wall. When his snoring begins in earnest, Connor decides to experiment once more. He knows he doesn't always go into stasis at night, and he knows he's probably snooped around here at some point in the past. There must be something interesting he used to do here.
He goes downstairs and turns on the living room lights. It's not unlike Hank's living room, if he were honest, so it feels familiar. There's fondness for this place inside of him.
As he walks through in front of the couch, he sits down, waiting for an emotion.
Nothing.
So he stands up again, approaches the television cabinet, and sifts through the various items inside. There're some old phones here, a bunch of vintage CDs that can't really be played on a lot of devices anymore, and, surprisingly, cassette tapes. He doesn't care for them.
Then he walks around, thinking of how ridiculous it is to be acting like some sort of emotional metal detector. There's a rug here, a bunch of end tables with cookie-cutter decorations. He imagines they were just gifts from other people in the precinct, such as a cactus that had the a label on it saying, To Prickly Prick, from T.
A display shelf bares itself to him, and he looks through the items. It's a bunch of old photos in frames, some of Gavin from when he was a child, others of his family. All haphazardly placed, like Gavin didn't really know where to put them. At the bottom, there's a row of toy cars. Connor picks up a small red one.
He feels something.
There was something to this car. He can't remember it. He can't place it. He picks up another one. It's yellow this time. He can't remember it. He picks up a blue one. He can't remember it.
He can't remember any of these even as his systems ping rapidly. Emotions, emotions, emotions, and he sifts through them. There's joy, there's sadness, there's frustration.
Why are there so many? Over toy cars?
He sits down on the floor in front of the shelf, staring at them, at a loss about why he's so attached to them. Taking the red one out again, he examines it in his hand before placing it on the floor. There it is. So much joy.
But it's meaningless. He doesn't know why that happiness is there, and soon after it's replaced by an overwhelming frustration. What mistake did he make back at the lake? Why did he fall into the ice?
How could he be so careless?
"You used to love these," a voice says from behind him. He looks back and sees Gavin with heavy eyelids, his hand wiping away the sleep from one of them.
"Oh. They are quite charming," Connor says, looking down at the red car on the floor.
Gavin sits down beside him and takes the car, ever so gently rolling it on the floor in front of them. His voice is weary and dry when he says, "You'd play with them when you thought I was asleep."
"Why?"
Gavin looks at him, his eyes heavier now, though not because of sleep as Connor sees it. "I don't know. Never asked," he says curtly, almost clipping his words. He hands Connor the red car.
Connor does the same thing--rolling it on the floor, and the joy he felt turns into calm. A feeling of safety and comfort.
He doesn't know why. He can't remember. Gavin doesn't know either.
And perhaps he'll never know.
"You okay?" Gavin asks. He puts his arm behind Connor's shoulders, stroking his hair.
"I can't find these in my memories."
"Hey, it's not your fault-"
"No. I feel...sad."
"Who wouldn't be?" says Gavin. He pulls at Connor's head, guiding him to lay it on his shoulder. "You're all right now, Connor. That's what matters, right?"
Connor pauses, examining the toy car in his hand as Gavin leans his head onto his hair. "I simply wish to remember, detective. These are the things no one can remind me of. I have realized I will never be able to recall the moments when I was alone," he says.
"You've still got us for everything else."
"I am aware."
"So what's the problem?"
"I can't identify what my systems were processing during those instances. Was I thinking about the day's events? Was I thinking about you? What if I've realized something important and now I can't remember?" he says. He puts down the car onto the floor, dejected and frustrated. There's a whole part of him missing, whole stories no one can ever tell him again--not even himself.
Gavin guides Connor to sit up, turning his head to face him with hands caressing his cheeks. "Listen. You're still you," he starts.
"But-"
"Who the fuck cares if you don't remember what made you who you are now?" Gavin says, his voice waking up. He brings down his hands onto Connor's shoulders. "The way you think, the way you look at the world, Connor, that's who you are. Doesn't matter if you don't remember the specifics. You think I remember every single thing that happened when I was a kid? No fucking way, but it doesn't matter because I know who the hell I am."
And Connor pauses, observing the lines of Gavin's face, the scar that's scrunching up from frustration. Or sadness. "But who am I then if I can't remember?"
"You're fucking Connor," Gavin starts, grasping him tighter now. "You're the android who's so goddamn smug sometimes it gets on my nerves. Little shit who likes to pull pranks on me. Tin can who's so fucking neat and organized it hurts to see."
"That's not very reassuring, detective."
"You're also the android who never calls me by my fucking name." Gavin's smiling now, but Connor doesn't know why. "But you're also the dipshit who never shuts up about keeping everyone healthy. Suck-up who never stops helping people. Good-hearted prick who just wants the best for the people he cares about even if they're shitheads."
And Connor doesn't know if it's Gavin's words or his smile, but he smiles back. There it is. The joy. The comfort. The safety.
"That's me by the way. I'm the shithead."
"That you are, Gavin."
There's a moment where shock flashes on Gavin's face, but he doesn't say anything about it. All he says is, "You're a good person, Connor. You don't deserve the fucked up shit that happened, but you said it already. We'll keep living our lives. Make new memories."
Connor looks down on the floor for a moment, processing what Gavin said, figuring out what to say to such kind words. Gavin's right, of course. They don't really have a choice in the matter.
Gavin adds, "Who cares if no one remembers one day? It happened. That's what matters."
And suddenly Connor realizes that he's not been the only one thinking about this. That perhaps these are the things Gavin's told himself over the past few months.
Fortunately, he can't disagree with a thought that's nuanced--one that's not the same platitudes they once kept telling each other.
Life is what it was, and it will be what it will be.
When he looks back up, he sees Gavin's face holding a kind expression Connor knows is only meant for him to see. So he stores it, takes a snapshot of it, copies it over to every single storage unit in his body so he'll never forget. Maybe his time with humans has been short, but behind that smile, he knows what Gavin's thinking, even if he won't say it.
Stop being sad, dipshit. It hurts to see.
Gavin pulls him in, and they're locked in an embrace.
A few minutes later, after Gavin tells him, "Can I go back to sleep now? All this lovey-dovey sweet shit is tiring me out," they go back to bed.
Lying there, Gavin snuggles up to him, laying his head in the space between Connor's neck and shoulder and falling asleep soon after. In the quiet, all Connor hears is Gavin's breaths, and all he feels is the warmth of Gavin's body against his own.
It's the same as it's always been, Connor figures. All that's different now is he doesn't see it as a memory. It's a moment. When another unfortunate accident occurs, maybe he'll forget this one day. When Gavin turns old and frail, maybe he'll forget too.
But between Gavin's sleeping breaths, Connor thinks, perhaps, that maybe it's not about remembering.
It's about how one night, in the city of Detroit, in a faceless home amongst the millions of homes in the city, two people shared this moment. It meant the world to them. It changed them even in the smallest of ways.
One day, when time has ticked long enough and they're both gone, no one will remember.
But it happened.
And that's enough.