Chapter Text
You leaned into the bathtub, sleeves rolled up and safely tucked away from the spraying water. You aimed the nozzle against the wall, pressing fingers in front of the spray to test the temperature. You knew it wouldn’t affect him, but you made sure it was comfortable anyways.
“Okay, I’m gonna wash your back first, is that alright with you?” You asked with a low voice. You didn’t want to startle Connor, especially in the state he was in.
“That’s okay.” He quietly replied. His LED still flashed yellow.
Connor was bare in your bathtub. His blue stained clothes were tossed on the linoleum, ripped and torn beyond repair. Hank had dropped him off at your house, asking to take care of him while he was at the station. He needed to file a report, there was a deviant android killed at their investigation. Something about Stratford Tower, the reason why channel 16 had such a chilling message on display earlier.
From what Hank told you, it was this same android that Connor was connected to at the time of death. He felt every emotion, before and after the deviant pulled the trigger. Connor hadn’t spoken about it since, but Hank told you what little he knew.
So he left Connor with you, Hank’s neighbor, to try and calm the android back down. He has been unresponsive and even at some points hostile with other officers. He couldn’t go back to the station like this, so you were trying your best to help him out.
And to do that, you decided to rid him of the other androids blood, perhaps that would be a good start.
He was shot in the shoulder, so you took a washcloth to that wound first. Connor didn’t flinch, didn’t even acknowledge that you were wiping away the remnants of his wound. Maybe Cyberlife can repair the damage, you took mental note to take him to an engineer later.
You carefully wiped away at his freckled skin, minding the clean hole straight through his shoulder. With a gentle spray of water, you rinsed the soapy suds and watched as they trailed down his back. For the most part, the blue blood was easily rinsed off. But grime mixed with the substance created a more thick gunk of a liquid, sticking to his skin and hair. He was practically covered in it, needing a gentle scrub to remove it all.
“Can I wash your hair now?” You asked, pointing the detachable shower head away from him.
“Yes.”
His voice was still a low rumble, barely audible next to the sound of rushing water through rusty pipes.
With a gentle tug and reassuring words, you tilted his head back. His eyes were closed, face still stained with dirt and blood. You would get to that in a moment.
You rinsed his hair, combing gently with your fingers to remove what you can.
Connor’s eyes were still closed, but with each passing of your hands through his hair made the harsh furrow in his brow slowly disappear. The worry lines in his face melted at your touch and his LED quickly flashed a welcoming blue before dropping back to yellow. He was starting to feel better.
You popped open the shampoo, giving a few quick smacks against your palm to try and squeeze out what ever was left of the emptying bottle. You soon had enough and began to work the cucumber scented soap into his synthetic hair.
You let Connor straighten out his poster while working the shampoo in. He soon began to roll his head, allowing you to reach better behind his ears or at the back of his head. You focused on the ways his muscles contracted and loosened. How each fiber worked to support his body much like any other human. It was interesting, amazing, even.
“Can you put your head back again? I’m gonna rinse of the soap.” You asked him, a little more confidence in your voice.
He did as you asked, awaiting the warm spray of water to his hair. And so you did, gently combing through his strands once more, watching the tinted water run down his back and into the drain.
You kept rinsing until the water ran clear. Luckily, it didn’t take long. So you shifted on your knees, positioning yourself to better reach his front.
Connor opened his eyes, watching as you struggled outside the tub to find a comfortable position. Before he could say anything, you brought the nozzle forward, giving him a gentle smile.
“Can I wash your face?” You asked, warm eyes looking at him in a way he’s never seen before. No one ever looked at him like this, no one even wanted to look at him. He was an android, and yet you looked at him like a human. Why?
“Yes.” He answered, voice wavering for just a moment. Your eyebrows twitched in worry, but he leaned in, helping you to better reach him.
You struggled to reach across him for another bottle, face wash. You used it to remove your makeup, but you assumed it would work well against the grime stuck to his face.
Squeezing a generous amount onto your hand, you lathered the product into his cheeks, taking note of the way his face feels. It stretches like human skin with each swipe of your hands, his freckled cheeks feel poreless, though. Not a single flaw or imperfection could be felt. It was strange, though, that they took the time to add moles and freckles to his skin. All the while keeping any other impurities away.
The dirt and blue blood gave way, floating above soap suds and removing their hold on Connor’s skin.
“Okay, hold your breath and keep your eyes closed for me.” You asked of him.
“I can actively hold my breath for hours, should the need arise.” Connor commented. You let out a laugh.
“Well, we don’t need that now. Just for a few seconds, okay?” You clarified.
“Okay.” He answered.
You aimed the nozzle at his hairline, letting the running water rise away the soap and debris.
You rubbed against his cheeks again, scrubbing away any stubborn pieces. It was a little difficult, however, because certain spots you were actually rubbing against his darker freckles.
But soon his face was free of blue blood and dirt, and so you aimed the water away again, letting him breathe and open his eyes.
“How’s that feel?” You asked, watching him blink away the water.
“Clean.” He replied. A standard answer. But little did you know, he wasn’t talking about his body.
His LED was a more steady blue, but every now and then would flash back to yellow.
“Can you tell me what happened?” You asked cautiously, worried that the question would throw him back into the quiet abyss of his mind.
You grabbed the wash cloth again, bringing it under his neck and down to his collar bones. Connor kept his eyes on your face, watching the gentle furrow between your brows as you wiped away the dirt.
“The deviant,” Connor started. “…He shot himself.”
You paused your work, looking up at him with a worried glance. He was staring forward this time, no longer focusing on you. You chose to continue wiping at his skin, allowing him the comfort to tell his story without your scrutinizing glare.
“I was—he had information. So I probed his memory.” Connor explained. You wiped away at more blue blood, this time on the front end of his wound. You could see right through him, and yet he seemed unbothered. “I was… I…”
He struggled to answer, you watched his LED go from blue back down to yellow, flashing quickly to red a few blinks. He was falling back into that place again.
“Hey, it’s okay, you don’t have to explain.” You whispered to him, brushing away wet locks from his forehead. The feathered touches made him lean in, trying to catch more pressure. He liked the feeling of your hands he realized, the way they dragged so gently over his freckles. Unusual, he thought, pleasure wasn’t written in his original program. Must be an adaptation.
Connor looked up at you, his face trapped between your palms. “I think… I have to.”
You ran a thumb over his cheeks, giving a smile as a silent approval to continue.
“He died…while I was still connected.” He stared into your eyes as he spoke, gentle brown hues flaked with gold. He had wonderful eyes, you realized. “I felt it. It was like… I died.”
He grasped your hand, still over his cheek. You felt him press against you even further, desperately.
“I felt… fear.” He admitted. It was as if he was opening his heart to you, letting you in to view his deepest and darkest feelings. But that was the scariest part, he wasn’t supposed to have feelings. “Am I deviant?”
You held his gaze. Absorbed the very way he desperately asked for an answer though his eyes, the tightening grip on your hand with fear. He was scared to even know what you’d say. That, in itself, should have answered his question.
“I don’t know, Connor.” You tried to assure, leave this issue for another day. For now, you wanted him to be rid of these thoughts, rid of the evidence on his body. “I think… only you know the answer to that.”
You pulled your hand from his grasp, running your fingers through wet locks once more. His eyes slowly shut, allowing the gentle massage to calm him. The red turned back to yellow, eventually blinking into a steady blue.
You aimed the nozzle back to his chest, rinsing away the work you had left. If only his problems washed away as easily.