Chapter Text
Sitting [sit-ing]
1. The act of a person or thing that sits.
2. A period of remaining seated, as in posing for a portrait or reading a book.
3. The space on or in which one sits, for instance in their home.
Nine never needed to sit, the urge never occurred to him until his Detective became annoyed - even uncomfortable by the looming presence over his shoulder. Nowadays The Deviant can't get enough of it. Couches, chairs, stools, bean bags, pillow piles, beds. It fascinated him. All the positions one could throw once libs only to get “comfortable” was confusing, yet overwhelmingly intriguing.
The best spot to sit would be on Detective Gavin Reed’s living room couch, preferably on the left half. The seat is merely a few feet from the closest television and the open room kitchen. From there The Interrogator has the best view of the whole apartment, even being able to peek into the bathroom or Reed’s bedroom when all doors are open, down the hall. Being the closest seat to the kitchen, Nine could easily stand up and feed the pets whenever they complained the cutest. The Detective himself always managed to be the loudest complainer whenever he craved a beer yet too lazy to retrieve it himself.
The Man had three felines all with different characteristics and personalities, roaming the apartment in their little way. Yoghurt is the noisiest of them, always screaming for food or chirping for attention - there is no in between. Her hobby is to look for trouble and daydream about being five times larger than her actual size. To annoy her siblings or the people feeding her seemed to be on her daily to-do list. Yoghurt was in no doubt a spitting image of her owner. “Louder than a Lion” Reed always chimes in while patching up the chew marks in his socks.
Sun is a curious one and a daredevil at heart. He is the most willing to greet strangers or explore new areas to mark with his ever shedding, thick coat. Beautifully white, black and grey. No piece of clothing was ever safe. No laundry - clean or dirty - went without being rolled in. All faces or necks must be sat on as a welcoming gift, as Nine has experienced ever since he started hanging around the apartment more and more. Gavin seems to be satisfied with the fact that Sun enjoys lying on The Android’s face during the night, rather than his own. Although The Detective misses suffocating in fur every morning before waking up.
And then there is McKitty… Nine must have fallen in love with her. McKitty is an 8 pound, soot-black American Short tail. All three kittens have some battle scars but McKitten was missing half her tail and an eye. As incredibly shy as she was, it never stopped her to stroke against Gavin’s leg in front of others or even receive pets in front of her siblings. She still had problems being shown affection in front of strangers but The Android is slowly warming up to her. He would spot McKitty peeking at him during the night or discreetly smell the clothes he was wearing only to find nothing. No odour to scare her away.
It’s wonderful to have the tiniest fry crawl from the bottom of hell only to sleep in your hoodie. It does something with your biocomponents when the same fry goes from unable to be in the same room as you to one day carefully place their paw on your lap. She made biscuits with Nine’s thigh and he could feel his cooling system stop functioning for a fraction of a second.
Nine liked sitting, he was getting good at it.
“Are you feeding them? You better be feeding my babies or I’ll break your arm.” Gavin threatened with a mean shaking finger. His IV rustled and clinked against the frame of the bed.
“I am feeding them. I've discovered an easier method to stop Yogurt from stealing the others food and McKitty decided to accompany me on the couch the other day.”
“Did she pap you?”
“She pap-ed me real good.” Nine glanced over at the morphine dripping into The Detective’s veins to assure he wouldn't rip it off while giggling and clapping like a drunk teen. He probably received something else earlier as well.
Remembering back to their failed chase scene two days prior has The Machine clenching his fist. If only he was faster, more...superhuman he would have stopped the incoming bullet. And if the bullet had missed its intended target, The Detective wouldn't have toppled down all those stairs. Nine is still unable to figure out where he miscalculated.
If only he had stayed to help The Detective, rather than ran when The Man yelled “GO AFTER HIM” over and over.
“If McKitty paps you one more time it means you're accepted, and boy there's no way you're able to leave from your seat. Luckily-- yooouuuu don't need toilet breaks, so youuuuuu never have to get up! Perfect. Case closed, you're her bed. Yoghurt gets your face, McKitty gets your stomach and Sun stays with me and I never have to buy them a new bed.”
“Sun is sleeping on your side again by the way.”
“That fucker. I’m already up to my neck with his bullshit, now I’ll be up to my neck with his fur!.”
Gavin has a deep and gut-warming chuckle. The chuckle used to bother Nine - the way it was, the length it lasted and the way it shook something deep inside his biocomponents until he grew accustomed to it. A chuckle like no other and The Android has started to miss having it around. Five minutes used to feel like nothing in the morning - but alone in such a spacious apartment at night - five minutes feels like an eternity. Nine is lucky he can enter sleep mode during his downtime or he wouldn't know what he would do.
“I’m sorry.” The Investigator said. “I’m really sorr--”
“Did you file the stuff? Do all the, uuh, paperwork and shit?”
“Yes, all documents have been filled out with updated reports and sent in for review in court. All evidence as well and the aggressor has been sent off. Captain Fowler gave me a Thumbs up as I officially closed the case with Officer Wilson.”
“Then you can fuck right off. Case closed and bottoms up. It's a job well done.”
“Your life was in danger--”
“I got shot and broke a rib, bu-hu, if I can't kick that shithead in the face I can be satisfied with throwing him behind bars for good. Disgusting TrashSucker doesn't deserve to even breath. We. Got. Him. Capiche?!”
“Understood...”
Clearing his mission has always been on The Detective’s agenda. Something Nine really admired from the beginning but grew to dislike as time passed and his programming became more...human. Sometimes The Detroiter didn't seem human as he straddled the fine line between fulfilling his mission and fueling an addiction. There is a thing with addicts, most will do anything to get their dose, to make the pain go away.
Glancing over at the empty desk at the foot of the hospital bed does not please The Android. Even though it only had been two days of The Detective’s absence, upon his release there was no greeting or chat at the station several days later. Even Officer Person received bundles of small gifts on his desk when his wife had gone into labour. But Gavin’s was as clean and empty as always.
“Two months.” Captain Fowler said and dropped his ball-point pen back into its cup. A two-page document was pressed into a neat envelope with the police station’s logo on the front.
“TWO MONTHS!” Gavin shouted, slamming the bottom of his fist onto the desk. “What the fuck am I suppose to do for two months! It was just one bullet, I’m still good to go!”
“Let me read the doctors words, once more so you understand. One bullet-- in your shoulder, two fractured ribs, and a fucking messed up knee. Do you think you can run with that? Huh? Because I know if I leave you hanging around the office you won’t keep your ADD ass still. You’ll soak up every leftover case and get yourself killed while handicapped!”
“False accusation!”
“Oh is it now?! What about that one case from Anderson?! Huh?! What about that?!”
“It was in ‘30! Jesus, are you a fucking Android too? Do you remember every little detail back to when your mom pressed you out?!” Gavin shouted so loud his side gave in and he coughs, stress level already up to 74%. “Fuck you.”
“Reed, listen. You have done enough. I would like to keep you in optimal health for as long as possible and if it means letting you go for two months--”
“--One month--”
“--Two--” The Captain was often angry, but he rarely got to the point of threatening where a three-letter word would send chills down the spine. Fowler slides the envelope across the table and softens his bulldog-like brows. “--months. I don’t haggle, now take it or you can forget the promotion.”
Defeated, Gavin grips his cane, squeaking the aluminium against his palm. He grabs the envelope and angrily shoves it in his pocket.
“The fuck am I supposed to do for two months.”
“Rest--”
“--Oh, why don't you just shoot me here and now--”
“--Am I done talking? No? Then shut the fuck up and open your god damn ears. Rest, get a hobby, get a girl or guy- I don’t care, and you keep out of trouble. Is that understood?”
“...Fuck you.”
“Is that understood, Detective Gavin Reed?”
Gavin kicks his chair back as he rose from his seat, the furniture almost flying back a few feet before The Investigator catches it from tipping over.
“Understood, Captain.”