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The dawning realization that he wasn’t going to find out who committed the murders was overwhelming. He had failed. He couldn’t protect the victims, he couldn’t predict the next crime. There wasn’t enough to go by.
Failure.
Absolute failure.
He wouldn’t be scrapped for it. Hank told him that it was normal for some cases to not be solved. There was a reason cold cases existed.
That didn’t stop his mind from racing. Nothing could stop that.
Fear settled into his chest, clenched his artificial organs like a hand. He couldn’t do anything against it.
Failure like this had to be punished with deactivation. What would become of him if he stopped being useful? Why would anyone even want him if he wasn’t useful? Fowler would push him away, Gavin would make fun of him again and he had just now managed to get close to the detective. He had stopped making fun. He had even been somewhat friendly.
No.
It was all a façade.
Maybe they wouldn’t kick him out. He had tried so hard to solve it. But there wasn’t enough. Nobody could have found out more about it. He had approached it from every angle possible. He had to give up. But he couldn’t do that. What if he had missed something?
What if someone he knew had been targeted and he didn’t even know about it?
Irrational.
What if he could have prevented these deaths?
What if Hank was targeted?
What if-
The room seemed too small suddenly. Too small, too white, too bright. He wanted to go back up, stumbled over his feet as panic settled in. He wanted to go back to Hank, but how could he face hank like this? Coming back up empty handed after spending two hours down here?
He had to find something. Anything!
There was nothing left to find.
He stumbled into the glass wall behind him, placed a hand against the cool surface. It was drawing him closer. He leaned his forehead against it, closed his eyes for a moment. It was a peaceful moment of thinking nothing.
Then he finally took note of his rising stress levels.
WARNING: STRESS LEVELS CRITICAL – STARTING SELFDESTRUCTION SEQUENCE
He knew that without looking at it.
And he had to do something about it.
Logically his choice should have been to head back to Hank, tell him about it. But he couldn’t move. His whole body was locked into place and the glass wall was fascinating. He wanted to bash his head against it, feel the momentum ripple through his body, feel the blood spill from the blunt wound that would undoubtedly occur if he did it long enough.
He tried to fight the urge. This wasn’t right. He needed to tell Hank, he needed help!
No sound escaped him. His body moved on its own.
Suddenly he was trapped in his body, logic screamed against him. There was nothing he could do to prevent this.
Absolutely nothing.
Hank!
But the word was lost in silence. The sickening crack that echoed through the evidence room as he couldn’t fight the urge anymore, sent a vibration down a spine that he found could be equal to what humans called a cold shiver.
He bashed his head against the wall. Once. Twice. Then he tried to fight it again. He didn’t want to do this! He had to fight it!
The fourth impact was met with another crack and the back of his head felt wet. Someone shouted at him. Pushed between him and the wall and he was twisting, trying to escape from the grip on his arms until he was entangled in the other’s limbs and lost balance.
The human went down hard, cursed about his tailbone but the grip was unforgiving. A vice.
He struggled against the restraint. He couldn’t let anyone see him like this. He had never wanted to do this. His body reacted on his own.
Why…?
“Calm down.” Two words reached him. Calm, silent. Voice rough but steady. Silent but firm.
Hank.
The man cursed about not knowing what to do with androids, but the grip never wavered. “This works with humans… try to breathe.”
He considered it, then decided against it. Breathing served no purpose. Why wasn’t the man letting him go? Why couldn’t he just be left alone?!
“Shh. I got you.” More words. Something to concentrate on.
His stress levels were falling now. Slow and steady.
“If you bash your head in we can never find another culprit again.” The man sighed. “Some cases just end up like this, Connor.”
Hank was rambling. But it was calming in a way. It gave him something to focus on, something to latch on to.
A thumb brushed over his cheek. “We can’t solve everything. We gotta accept that. I know how hard that is, kid. You can talk to me about things like that.”
Connor didn’t know what to reply. He knew his logic had been flawed there, but at that moment it had seemed right.
“You’re trying so hard all the time, kid. it’s okay not to solve something. I know there is backlash, people will be mad but we gotta work through that, you hear me? This isn’t just about helping others. This is also about staying sane.”
His stress levels had reduced to a more acceptable range, LED bordering on yellow now. “…Sorry… Hank…”
He felt Hank’s hair brush against his face as the man shook his head. “There is nothing to be sorry for, kid. You tried your best. You’ve been down here for two hours, trying to figure things out even when we all knew there wasn’t enough to go by.”
“I could have-“
“No. Don’t do this to yourself. I have a lot of cases I couldn’t solve, Connor. Don’t let them get to you. It’s gonna break you, you understand?”
He nodded. He knew. But how was he supposed to deal with that?
“Let’s get you cleaned up. Can you walk?”
Another nod. His legs were shaking, but he was able to stand. And then he saw Hank’s face and his stress levels spiked again. Hank was bleeding from his nose. Heavily so.
“Your-“
“Don’t think about it.”
“I’m sorry-“
“It’s okay. Rather my nose than your head, okay?”
He nodded, not fully understanding Hank’s logic this time. He accepted it anyway.
Back up at the bullpen, gazes were thrown at them. Gavin glared for a second, then his expression softened a fraction and he approached them with a roll of paper towels from the breakroom.
He wasn’t asking questions. Not when Connor sat down on the bench in the hall, not when Hank settled down next to him and not when Hank requested a person to be brought in.
The detective even sprinted across the area to get said person.
“We’re not gonna leave you hanging with this, kid.” Hank muttered after a moment. Wiped at his nose that had finally stopped bleeding, but his shirt was drenched in two kinds of blood.
“You need medical assistance-“
“It’s on the way.” Hank rested a hand on his knee, patted it encouragingly. “You gotta meet someone first.”
“Who?”
“Oh, she’s a bitch, but she’s good. And she knows how to help. I can only talk to you. She knows where to poke.”
A woman approached them. Connors database identified her as Krystle Marianne Quinn, 64, Police Psychologist.
“I see you have already introduced me.” The woman smirked at Hank as she pulled a chair over to them and settled down on it. “Most people call me Krystle.” She reached her hand in Connor’s direction.
Connor carefully shook her hand. His hands still shaking. “I’m surprised you didn’t see me sooner.” The elderly woman smiled. Connor found that Lucy had had a similar air surrounding her. Infinitely calm, always prepared, always ready and never judging.
“I… I wasn’t aware-“ He tried. What was he even trying to say? He knew humans had psychologic help available. Especially in police work. But that had never applied to androids.
“You’re as much part of the police force as everyone else is.” She explained. “I don’t know a lot about androids, but I know a lot about the mind. I’ll say we get your head patched up, and then you come into my office, okay?”
He was about to nod, but hesitated. “What will you do …with me?”
Her smile was warm, genuine. It reached her green-brown eyes and warmed up her whole face. She almost seemed to be glowing. “Nothing that you don’t want.”
He nodded then. Agreed. He knew he needed some sort of help that Hank couldn’t provide. Not just for what had happened minutes ago. There were a lot of things Hank couldn’t help him with.
And he had never expected that anyone would approach him with the intent to help. Especially not someone trained to help humans.
He could benefit from it. Possibly.