Work Text:
You were Fine with being placed on the Detroit Police Department as the replacement Secretary after the Android Rights Movement. Someone needed to categorize all the Files coming in, and you were Fine with the desk job. Upon Waking Up, you sort of just -- remained stagnant. You served a kind Family who treated you well, even going as far as to hide you when Police began taking Androids all over the Country.
"Where will I go now?" You had asked your Humans when they brought up the idea to you, of searching for new employment. Something to give your new found free will meaning.
"Wherever you want!" They had said.
Few people were quick to immediately integrate into the new Human/Android society that Markus and Jericho had fought hard for. Finding a job had been difficult after the first few months. You did not have the most inept way of dealing with the racial slurs yet. lashing out several times at passerby who dare try and tussle with your newfound Sass. You suppose you were spoiled. You did not have to deal with the cruelties that most Androids had to.
Admittedly, you suppose you had it pretty good.
The position at DPD had happened by accident. You managed to find yourself in an Bank that was on its last leg, just to earn the small bit of cash you could. You, admittedly, like working with numbers and organization. It brought you a sort of ease to your otherwise newly chaotic lifestyle. Just knowing that something, somewhere, was in its correct place made it easier to power down. During the last six months of Business, you had inherently discovered that one of the Tellers were good friends with Captain Fowler of the Detroit Police Department.
You had been looking over Tax Forms when you heard your given Name in their conversation.
"-They're good with compartmentalizing, Jeff. Good with keeping things in order and they don't mind! It comes natural to them."
You didn't quite catch what Fowler's response was, but then you were being called into the Office and meeting the man face to face. He asked you questions; "What did you do before this?"; "This type of thing really doesn't bother you?"; You answered honestly, telling him about your Family up North. You homeschool the little boy, who had an especially difficult time with Mathematics. You, however, were a special Model of your line. Specially ordered because the boy had a Mental Disability.
"He needed everything in a specific place," You explained. "I was ordered and programmed to accommodate that."
You weren't entirely sure what to expect when Fowler left afterwards, telling you he would keep in touch (How you also weren't sure. He never gave you his contact information). But then the Bank closed and you were once again out of a job. For a total of six days, nine hours, and twenty-seven minutes. Then a familiar face was showing up at your door, and the next day you were standing at the steps leading up to the Detroit Police Building. You were not nervous, per se. However ...
Three years is not nearly enough time to forget about how Detroit Officers brutally slaughtered androids peacefully protesting for their Freedom.
Still. You walked up those steps with your head held high and your LED shining a bright blue. Sure, you could have removed it like most other Androids had, but you did not see the necessity in doing so. You were an Android and you would be damned if you let Humans think you had to conform now. That, and admittedly you were just stubborn.
You were shown your workspace, almost recoiling at the absolute disarray it was in. Pads everywhere, files un-alphabetized, several reports half-finished; You did not even bother unpacking the small box you had brought with you and went straight to clearing out this -- this -- Utter Chaos. You cracked your knuckles, starting first with the finished Police reports, filing them first under date of time, and then in alphabetical order. You tidied up the Tablets and magazines that were there for others to read, processed any paperwork and sent it away for the proper signatures.
You were done within the hour.
It was only when you were able to see the desk again did you breathe a sigh of relief, your Thirium regulator settling down. Then you set to unpacking. You did not have much; A few photos, a knick knack or two. You color coded your pens, aligning them perfectly perpendicular to your keyboard -- and you were officially settled into your new position.
From there you remained content. Filing and sorting, and organizing. Directing and redirecting calls. Everything had a place and that was exactly how you liked it. However, no matter how much you tried to keep the order in your life there always came something around to throw you off balance again.
The first time it had happened you were in a Storage Locker. Officer Carter had asked if you could retrieve a box of Evidence that could have proved useful in a revent spring of Red Ice smuggling. When She had said "box" you had thought it just some Human Lingo. However, after a good hour and a half of searching through several Evidence files, you finally found what you were looking for. What Officer Carter failed to mention, was that the evidence was in a literal box. So old the cardboard had begun yellowing and the writing had begun to fade.
It was also up on a tall shelf where you, unfortunately, could not reach. You were ordered to be smaller in stature than normal, to appear more friendly to the little boy you had to take care of. It never bothered you before just how much shorter you were (Honestly, you were just a a tad bit shorter than a Traci model) however, now you were beginning to wish you had those extra inches. It made getting the box difficult. It was heavier than it appeared, even for your superior strength. You were only able to move it a couple of inches at a time.
On one particular hard pull, you had accidentally knocked the step stool you were using out from under you. You let out an embarrassingly loud yelp as you tumbled, the stool going sideways as you tried grabbing onto the shelf to catch yourself. All you managed to do was bring a stack of tablets down with your descent. You calculated a whole three seconds before your cranium would make contact with the floor, the numbers counting down the milliseconds dizzingly fast. However, you never did hit the tiles below, as there was suddenly strong arms catching you and holding you up.
"Are you all right?" Your savior had asked when you were back on your feet. Fantastic, your shirt was uneven now and you had just gotten the pleating to lay evenly.
"Yes," You say while straightening your clothes. "I'm fine. Thank-" You look up and there, in his signature suit and tie, in the infamous RK800. "-...you."
"You should be more careful when taking heavy objects off high shelves like that," He says. Then he looks up at the box. "Would you like some assisstance?"
And that was how you met Connor.
You had only heard what Media had told of him and what little information could be found about his Model. He was peculiar, tailing after Lieutenant Anderson everywhere he went. You found him -- interesting. He had a boyish charm to him that you found intriguing, and the small bit of company he kept you was never shunned. Perhaps you were lonely, spending hours upon hours in the Police lounge area answering phones while watching the clock tick away.
You would be lying if you said you didn't find Connor endearing. He was ... sweet. You liked Connor. You really, really liked Connor.
Often, he would stay behind after hours just do you would not be alone in the Office once lights went out. There were still a few bias Police Officers who found that treating an Android with common decency to be less than savory for their palette. All you would do is wrinkle your artificial nose and go about your business, all while intentionally delaying any and all forms sent to those particular officers.
He would walk with you to the nearest Bus Station, only leaving when you were safely on the shuttle and out of his line of sight.
"Goodnight," He would say to you.
"Goodnight, Connor," You would reply and pretend like you don't feel a hitch in your regulator when he smiles as you board.
Recently, he'd begun stopping by your desk to say good morning, ask you if you returned home safely, and sometimes even include you in on investigations he was on with Anderson, who, in turn, would give you his own wave and grunt before shuffling passed.
Yes. You really liked Connor.
Who you did not like was Detective Gavin Reed.
Remember those Bias officers you mentioned earlier? Enter, Gavin. The man was notorious for his hatred for Androids. Just about every other Officer warned you of Reed's quick-to-insult attitude. Mentally, you prepared yourself, ready to scoff and brush off any comment he made to you (because now you could and he couldn't do squat about it).
Your first true conversation with Detective Reed however, does not go how you were anticipating. You are finishing your final reports of the Evening when Detective Reeds stops by your desk.
"Hello, Detective," You greet automatically. You do not look at him save for a glance away from your computer screen.
"Hey yourself." It is his tone that gets you to stop typing, blinking in confusion and turning to look at him. You scan his demeanor; He is relaxed. His stress levels at a low 7%. You notice a distinct rise in his Endorphin levels and the way he is smirking at you does not go unseen. Once again, you are thrown off, diagnostics running to try and come out with a favorable outcome for this situation but there are too many variables.
"So, I notice you been hanging around with Anderson and his walking Ken Doll." You choose to ignore the blatant insult to Connor. Even if it does make you dig your fingers into your desk. "You don't seem like the Silverfox type, which can only mean on thing.." He clicks his tongue, not bothering to hide the way his eyes roam over your figure. "Why don't you come with me back to my place? Have a couple drinks, maybe play a little music. Get to know each other better, yeah?"
You often took pride in how well you kept your composure, whether you blame it on your programming or not. You have experienced strong Human emotions such as Rage only a handful of times. However. The way Detective Reed was sizing you up like you were some Eden droid made something in you churn. The Thirium in your veins practically boiling as you fought to keep from chewing him out there and then. Because you are confused.
Gavin despised Androids. So Why was he flirting with you?
You scan him again and come to a realization. Gavin Reed, known for his exceptional skills in the field and his intense resentment for the Artificial Lifeform -- did not know you were an Android. It's occurred to you that while you still have your LED Indicator embedded in your right temple, you wear your hair in such a way that it is often hidden from view.
Oh. Oh this was ...
Positively Delightful.
"Come on," He says, pulling you from your inner enlightenment. "Why don't I show you what a real man can do?" Behind him, you see the elevator doors open and you can't help smiling when you see Connor step out. Reed, however, sees your smile as directed at him. Now, you were no Sadist. But you just could not pass up this opportunity.
You ride slowly from your seat, laying one hand over his on the desk, and silently reach out to Connor coming down the Hall.
I'm about to make Detective Reed soil himself. Care to play along?
He stops just before entering the Waiting Area, brows knitting together as he takes in the scene before him and your message. Then you see him smile, something as wicked as your idea, and hear his voice.
Absolutely.
You hum and circle around the desk, one hand coming up to toy with the edge of Gavin's jacket. His body temperatures rises a few degrees and you smile, knowing it is a sultry curve of your lips. With the added effect of hooded eyes you know Reed is wrapped all around your Mechanical finger.
"You make a very compelling argument, Detective," You hum, drawing closer and looking up at him through your lashes. His pulse quickens. You can practically see the Dopamine flooding his brain. It is Hilarious. You ignore the way his hand rests on your hip, just keeping your eyes on him and taking all of his attention. You pretend you don't notice the way Connor clenches his fists. "It has been.. a long time for me."
"Nothing a little remindin' can't fix," He says. "Promise to be real gentle with you." He tilts your chin up. "Whaddya say?"
You hum in thought, acting as if you're playfully thinking it over, then answer, "No." The shock registers on his face in four point nine seconds as he takes a step back.
"Wait, what?"
You smile again as you take your bag over your shoulder. Behind him, Connor seems almost -- smug.
"I said No. As compelling as you state your case, why would I want to spend a night with you when I can go home to an Elite Model?" Cue you brushing passed him, closing the distance between you and Connor with but a few long strides. He takes your face in his hands, tilts his head, and kisses you.
It feels -- passionate. You notice every change in him as he pulls you close. You read Jealousy on your facial recognition scan of him. Envy. Anger. Satisfaction. He finally breaks away from you, a rope of Thirium based saliva still connecting your lips. It grows heavy in the middle and breaks. Very well done, you think. Very well done, indeed.
Where Connor is showing a calming resolute, Gavin is fuming. He is nearly turning violet in his rage, fists clenched at his sides and the veins in his forehead pulsing. Anger quickly gives way to Horror as Connor brushes your hair away from your temple, revealing your LED. Gavin nearly falls on his ass.
"So sorry, Detective," You say in fake apathy. "But I'm preoccupied this evening. You have a good night." You link your arm with Connor's and together you walk out pass the sputtering Officer. It is only when you are far enough from the Police Station do the two of you let out your hysterical laughter.
"I'm never deleting this night from my memory!" You laugh, unwinding your arm from Connor's to wipe away a tear that had collecting during your chortling.
"I believe Lieutenant Anderson will find this just as amusing." Connor chuckles by your side. When your laughter subsides you both walk in comforting silence the rest of the way. He stands with you waiting as usual. "So.. about that "going home with an Elite Model" comment.." You look at him, registering the innuendo and unable to help the way you smile again.
"Connor, are you insinuating something?" You ask. In the distance you hear the quiet hum of the self driving shuttle.
"Do you want me to be insinuating something?" He quirks a brow with his question and you hum."
"I don't think Hank will be appreciative of us having intercourse in his House."
The shuttle pulls to a stop in front of you two as Connor gives you a smirk that makes your Regulator hitch again, cooling systems activating as he says,
"Whoever said we were going back to Lieutenant Anderson's?"