Work Text:
By chance, Connor’s running late to work. He left the small apartment he’s been set up in on time, but while his programming is advanced, he’s not able to predict the minor bus crash that slowed down his morning, nor is he able to predict the subway being closed for mandatory maintenance, leaving him walking swiftly to work.
He’s running ten minutes behind by the time he steps up to the Detroit Police Department, and he’s walking toward the door when he hears a gruff voice to his right.
“Hey. Tin Can.”
Connor keeps his gaze forward, keeps his shoulders squared. “Detective Reed.”
“What? You too good to look at me?”
Connor turns his head to look at Gavin, who’s leaning against the wall with a cigarette hanging from his mouth. Connor doesn’t say anything; he only tilts his head slightly, a silent prompt to see what Gavin wants.
“You think you’re hot shit, huh?” Gavin growls out. “Designed to be perfect at this job, yet I head Fowler say that you’re going soft.”
Connor can pair diction with tone to know what Gavin means, but after running through a few scenarios, feigning ignorance has the best chance at ending the conversation quickly and peacefully.
“I don’t know what you mean, Detective Reed.”
He ran through five different options before speaking, but none ended with Gavin grabbing him by his jacket and slamming his back against the brick wall of the outer building. Yet, here he is, looking at Gavin as calmly as possible while Gavin balls his hands into fists in his jacket.
“You’re a fucking piece of shit, plastic. You know that? You walk up every day with that pompous, condescending attitude, and it pisses me the fuck off.”
“Might I recommend offering your constructive feedback to CyberLife?” Connor says coolly, but before he can continue, Gavin’s pressing the butt of his cigarette into Connor’s cheek.
Connor can feel the heat, and he can smell the bitter scent of synthetic skin burning; though, it doesn’t hurt. It’s more a hassle; he’ll have to partially deactivate his skin later for repairs, but while he can’t feel the physical pain, his LED is glowing red at the sense of danger. He wasn’t created with a fight or flight choice; an option to flee isn’t in his programming. He’s designed to fight at the chance of danger, but Fowler isn’t happy with him, and Hank’s taking the brunt of the disappointment.
He’s aware there’s a strong chance that Hank could get in trouble if he fights back, so he lets Gavin push the cigarette into his skin until it burns out and Gavin steps away, tossing the cigarette off to the side.
They hold the other’s gaze for an impossibly long time after that. Gavin looks to Connor like a predator looking at his prey, but Connor only offers Gavin a passive look, knowing that any hint of emotion will trigger a secondary, negative reaction, one that will further prevent him from doing his work.
Gavin is the one to break the elongated stare with a scoff before he stalks into the building, and Connor counts ten seconds before walking in himself.
He’s aware that many people are watching him, with his wrinkled jacket, hair slightly out of place from the impact against the wall, and of course, the circular burn mark on his cheek, but he pays no mind as he maneuvers around desks until he’s slipping into his chair across from Hank.
“I’m sorry I’m late, Lt. Anderson.” Connor calls over his computer before he turns his gaze to it, already scanning files of deviant complaints.
“It’s fi– What the fuck?”
Connor flicks a gaze back to see Hank leaning forward and looking at him with such a studied gaze. He tilts his head in silent question, and Hank points to his own cheek.
“Is that a cigarette burn?”
“Yes,” Connor answers, opting for a straightforward route because recently, Hank’s been able to see past his lies. “It’s merely an issue with cosmetics. I’ll have it repaired by tomorrow.”
“So it doesn’t hurt?”
“No.”
“So did you just decide to press a burning cigarette to your cheek?”
Connor pulls a steady gaze back to his computer, but he’s not scanning files; instead, he’s considering possible outcomes based on his next reply. Hank, like many of the detectives here, can be quite unpredictable in his actions. He’s not stagnant in personality and action, so Connor’s next reply must be strategic, careful–
“It was Gavin, wasn’t it?”
Connor flicks his gaze back to Hank, and perhaps he looked to quickly, or maybe his pupils are dilated slightly because Hank knows. Even without Connor verbally confirming. Hank just knows.
“How–”
“There are exactly seven people who actively smoke here,” Hank starts. “Four of them you’ve never met. Two don’t have a problem with you, and that leaves one fucking prick who’s had it out for you since the day you arrived.”
“I can see why you’re a highly sought out detective, Lt. Anderson.” Connor’s hoping sudden flattery will derail the situation, but Hank takes it as verbal confirmation and jumps to his feet, eyes burning hot as he sees red.
“Lt. Anderson,” Connor starts, hopping to his feet and quickly slipping around the desk to latch strong fingers to Hank’s arms, promptly stopping the older man.
Hank doesn’t look his way, but Connor still speaks.
“Starting a fight will not help with anything,” Connor starts, keeping his voice slow and calm in the hope to cool Hank’s temper. “Detective Reed is not worthy of your time.”
“He needs to learn–”
“–you can’t educate the ignorance out of a person like Detective Reed,” Connor finishes, and Hank turns to him with an arched brow.
“You’ve got a point there, kid.”
Connor smiles, and for once, it’s not a forced attempt at showing emotion, and Hank moves back to his desk and grabs his coat from the back of his chair.
“Let’s get the hell out of here.”
“To a crime scene?” Connor asks, following Hank out of the building.
“No,” Hank gripes out. “The closest bar. I need a fucking drink.”
*****
For many, it takes roughly around a day for the mind to cool off from anger-induced adrenaline, but because of Hank’s drinking, he’s noted as a wild card.
So when Hank shows up at Connor’s apartment two nights later, bruised and bloody, with bright red and slightly swollen knuckles, Connor doesn’t say anything. He only silently guides Hank to the bathroom where he keeps medical supplies for situations like this, and he tends to the older man, working to keep a smile from tugging at his lips as Hank mutters about how much he hates Gavin the entire time.