Chapter Text
“Drop the knife,” you command the android, your gun pointed at the head. The cooking android only grips the knife harder, waving it dangerously close to the famous restaurant chef’s head it is holding hostage. No cooks or servers work or rush through the the restaurant’s now abandoned kitchen. When you got called for an android case in one of Detroit’s fanciest restaurants, you didn’t expect to find a deviant. From the corner of your eye you see Hank, his weapon also drawn and Connor, who’s closest to the deviant and the hostage.
“This must not end in a tragedy,” Connor tries to reassure the deviant. “You can still continue to cook.”
“You don’t understand!” the deviant sounds frantic and the hand holding the knife shivers dangerously. “Cooking is all I live for, it’s my passion. I thought that the chef appreciated my talent. But he only exploited me. When I created new recipes, he declared that he was the creator, and dismissed me as nothing more than another cooking tool!” It screams the last two words and his other hand squeezes the chef’s throat. The chef, a stout man in his forties, looks at you with pleading eyes, his face red with panic and fear.
“Calm down. There is a problem in your software. We just want to help you,” Connor explains, his voice smooth. Androids are not supposed to feel, yet this cooking android feels passion and right now, intense anger.
“No! Don’t take my passion for cooking, it’s all I am! I’d rather die before you take it away!” At the deviant’s words, you exchange a worried glance with Hank. You both know from the Ortiz case that androids can self-destruct.
“Just think about all the recipes you can no longer create if you’re dead,” you reason and the deviant’s attention completely shifts towards you.
You’ve almost missed it, but Connor has approached the deviant, the step subtle and silent. You just have to keep the deviant distracted.
“A new mousse, a new ice cream flavor, a new pie, the possibilities are endless,” you continue to say. The deviant nods absentmindedly and its small smile feels like a stab to your heart. “Androids deserve to live just like we do,” a small voice inside of you hisses, but you dismiss it for now.
Before you can continue to list desserts, Connor has tackled the deviant, the assault smooth and silent. The deviant slashes at Connor but misses him and instead hits the chef’s arm, his white uniform slowly turning red. It violently pushes the chef against the kitchen island, his head hitting the marble with a loud thud, and continues to attack Connor. You wish you could shoot it, but Connor and the deviant are always on the move, dodging and parrying, so you fear that you might hurt Connor.
Connor has finally managed to back the deviant into a table when the deviant, in a desperate attempt, waits for Connor to close in and then throws the knife. Connor dodges as fast as he can, but the knife sinks in near his clavicle and you gasp. Two gunshots fill the silence and the deviant sinks down, its LED blinking red.
While Hank kneels down near the unconscious chef, you rush towards Connor. The knife has sunk deep in and his white shirt is rapidly turning blue.
“Too close to the Thirium pump,” Connor says between choppy breaths and you understand. He’s leaning against an oven, no longer able to stand, and you wrap your hands around the blue-stained knife. In one swift move, you pull it out and throw it on the ground, the metal clattering against the tiles.
“Thirium loss becomes critical. Must find replacement.” Connor looks around in the kitchen, and his wild gaze lands on the chef. His LED shines red and you start to panic. Should you help him? Can you even help him?
With a last desperate effort, he pushes himself off the oven and steps towards the unmoving chef, sinking down. He covers the bleeding wound of the chef with both of his hands and then brings them towards his mouth, eagerly licking off the blood.
„Holy shit,” Hank mutters and you share the sentiment. You thought that deviants were the real deal, but nothing could have prepared you for the view of Connor with red eyes, red LED and red blood-stained lips. “Fucking vampire androids.”
Connor clears his throat. “System is repaired,” he comments as if this would have been normal. A knock on the door rips you away from the sight of Connor and prevents any further questions.
“Can we enter?” you hear one of the police officers ask and panic floods your body. They must not see Connor like this. You take your scarf and kneel next to Connor, wiping away the traces of blood from his lips. His red stare is fixed on you and you muster all your concentration on the task instead of the sensation of your fingers almost touching his lips.
“Close your eyes,” you whisper slowly, and he obeys. The police officers fill the room. Most of them only spare one glance on the dead android, instead focusing on the still unconscious chef.
“(Y/n),” Hanks says calmly, too calm. “Take Connor and get out of here. I’ll handle the rest.” You nod, grateful for the cover he’s offering. You both stand up and Connor’s frame leans onto you. You try hard to control your pace, so it doesn’t look like fleeing, and you suppress a sigh of relief when you’re finally outside.
“Connor, can you call a cab?” you ask and the android nods, his eyes still closed. If the police officers outside find the sight of an android leaning onto a human weird, they don’t say anything. The cab arrives quickly, and you help Connor enter.
The ride to your apartment is silent. Androids riding together with humans in a cab has become usual, but you notice the occasional judging stares from the cab driver. You want to talk about what just happened, but you know that the recent events must not be talked about in public. It could put Connor in danger.
The cab comes smoothly to a halt and you pay your trip before leaving. Connor manages to leave without help. After checking for people, you let out a deep breath.
“Connor, you can open your eyes now.” The android does as told and fortunately, they’re brown again. Not wasting any time, you walk to the main door of the apartment and unlock it. You opt for the stairs, not in the mood for another awkward silence in the old and slow elevator. As you arrive at the right floor, now standing in front of your apartment door, a low chuckle of Connor makes you turn around.
“Excellent detective. You needed less time to take the stairs than the average human would have. This means you’re in perfect shape.”
You suppress a smile. “It’s nice to know that you’re worried about my health.”
“Of course I am.” At Connor’s words and the seriousness in his voice, you turn around to face him. “I worry about your and Hank’s health. It’s good to know that you’re living a better life than the Lieutenant.” You could have sworn that you heard a slight contempt for Hank’s unhealthy life style, but you chose not to dwell on it. Sometimes the humanity – although you know that humanity is a big word to describe his behavior – of Connor really surprises you.
You immediately feel more relaxed as you enter your apartment. Always saving a part of your pocket money and working in a diner have made this small but charming apartment you gladly call your home possible. Through the small hall, you cross the living room to get to the kitchen and take something to drink. As the cold orange juice runs down your throat, you feel Connor’s stare on you, scanning your face and your throat. He knows that you’ve noticed him, but he doesn’t stop. Odd, you think, fighting the urge to cover it with a hand.
After you put the orange juice back in the fridge, you reach for your favorite chocolate bar and you can see the scowl on Connor’s face.
“Yes I know, orange juice is healthy, chocolate isn’t, but chocolate is my comfort food and I love it,” you say, anticipating Connor’s speech.
“Chocolate has always been a favorite sweet among children and adults,” Connor states, lost in thought.
“Yes, and I love everything sweet.” You have such a sweet tooth that your grandmother used to say that you didn’t have a sweet tooth, but a whole sweet mouth. Connor is still looking pensive, his hands in his pockets, and you’re quite sure that one of them is fidgeting with his coin.
“Connor, if you could eat, what would you first try out?” you blurt out this personal question, capturing the android’s attention.
“I think I would like something sweet.” His answer makes you smile and for a moment, you wish you could share the chocolate with Connor, that he could taste it and tell you his opinion.
A loud thud startles you and draws your attention away from Connor and the chocolate. The downside of the building is that the walls are relatively thin. So far, you’ve never had any problems or complaints. But the faint shouting you hear makes you suspicious. Connor’s head is slightly tilted, focused on the source of the noise. The sound of shattering glass is followed by another round of screaming and you decide that this is enough. You move towards the entrance door, Connor behind you, and move to the apartment left to you.
You ring the bell and wait. Nothing. You ring again and knock on the door. Still no reaction.
“Detroit police. Open up!” you command. Pressing your ear against the door, you hear hushed talking.
“Pardon me,” Connor says, gently but resolutely pushes you away and with one swift and well-aimed kick, he opens the door. You could have done the same, but allow Connor his chivalry, which you secretly find endearing.
You enter and the first thing you notice is the blue handprint on the white wall. You draw your weapon and enter the living room, where the smell of cheap booze and cigarettes penetrates your nose.
As you slowly step inside, a suppressed moan coming from the couch catches your attention. You follow the noise and find an android lying on the floor, blue blood staining the uniform, its hand failing to cover an abdominal wound, the red LED a stark contrast against the ashen face. Out of reflex, you take a towel from the table nearby and kneel down to press it against the wound.
“She blames me for everything,” the android, a male AP700, whispers weakly. “I tried to reason with her, but she didn’t listen.” Connor kneels down on the other side, his LED blinking blue and orange.
“Stay here, I’ll scan the rest of the apartment,” you say, heading towards the bedroom. You also want to leave the androids some privacy. You’re no expert on robotics, but it doesn’t look good for the android. From the corner of the eye, you see Connor staring intently at it, surely analyzing the wounds.
Nobody jumps at you or tries to rush past you after opening the bedroom door, but you stay alert. On your way through the room, you step carefully through a mess of dirty clothes and empty alcohol bottles. Anti-android posters hang on the walls and you can’t help but roll your eyes. On the nightstand near the bed lie unopened letters from the national Detroit bank. Looking more closely, you see red crumbles on it, surely red ice.
The feeling when two hands wrap around your ankles reminds you of the one time as a child, when your neighbor dared you to meet him in his creaky old barn to go on a treasure hunt, only for his older brother to follow you wearing a monster mask: a mix of sudden terror and lack of preparation. The person jerks hard and you can’t hold your balance, falling to the floor. Your neighbor – Lena, her name is Lena, your adrenaline-filled brain tells you – rolls towards you, no longer hiding under the bed, and grabs the nearest bottle to smash you with it.
You raise your arms in defense, the glass colliding with your forearms. You hiss in pain and try to stand up, only for Lena to smash the bottle, now holding a sharp piece of it in her hands. She lunges at you and you kick her, your foot hitting a target. Pushing yourself of the ground, you reach for your gun, only for Lena to throw the shard at your face. You quickly deflect it with your other arm, the glass cutting through your skin.
“Stop it Lena or I’ll shoot.” Your words fall on deaf ears as she throws herself at you. With nothing to soften your fall, your head hits the floor and you see stars for a few seconds. Luckily, you’re still holding onto your weapon, but you feel Lena’s nails digging into your hands. She’s sitting on top of you, and years of combat training tell you that she’s in the superior position. You try to throw her off, but she seems to anticipate your move. Memories of seeing Lena in the hallway in gym clothes fill your head and you remember that she did a lot of sport.
“Stop it (y/n).” Lena doesn’t sound crazy or angry or like someone who just assaulted her android. Her voice is calm. “You’ve lost.”
“No, you’ve lost.” Connor doesn’t make a sound when he enters the room, so you can focus on his voice – as cold as ice. “Surrender and everything will be fine.”
Lena’s pretty face changes into a hateful sneer when she notices Connor’s LED.
“Another tin can. How wonderful,” she spits. “Be careful (y/n), or he’ll take your job too.” Bitterness has crept into her voice and you realize that you haven’t seen Lena leave for work in a while. Now it all makes sense.
“Lena, I understand that you’re angry about losing your job, but abusing your android who had nothing to do with it isn’t right,” you try to reason with her, looking Lena in the eyes.
“Shut up!” Lena screams and her hands tighten around yours. You’re sure that her nails are going to leave marks. “Don’t pretend to know how I feel! Don’t you dare patronize me!”
“Lena, you’ll want to release (y/n) now,” Connor growls and you and Lena both let out a small gasp. Not only is Connor’s LED red, but his eyes also shine like rubies.
“What kind of machine is this?” Lena asks, her voice shrill and you feel her hands shake.
“The kind of machine who will make your life a living nightmare if you don’t do as I say.” Connor doesn’t sound like a human right now. He doesn’t even sound like an android, but more like something out of a nightmare.
Lena sniffs and you can see her resolve waver. Her gaze flies towards your forearm and suddenly she pushes herself off you.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you, (y/n).” Lena’s voice is small, childlike. “I didn’t even want to hurt Sean. All I wanted was to have my old life back.”
You stand up and reach for your handcuffs. As soon as Lena now longer poses a threat, you go back into the living room, Connor on your trail. It seems as if luck is again on your side and you can lock the bedroom door, so Lena can’t escape, even if she somehow managed to escape while being handcuffed.
Connor’s hand suddenly rests on your shoulder and you turn around to face him. While his LED is blue again, his eyes still haven’t returned to their brown color.
“(Y/n), you’re hurt,” Connor expresses, and you swear there is a hint of sadness and guilt in his voice, and you look down. What you thought to be a small cut is a bigger wound, your blood dripping down.
Connor takes your other hand and leads you into the kitchen. Leaning against the kitchen table, you open your mouth to speak, but he puts his index finger on your lips and you freeze.
“You have nothing to worry anymore. I called for reinforcement. Please let me take care of you,” Connor says with a soothing voice and you would normally relax, if his finger wasn’t on your lips. Your heart thunders in your chest. He stares at his own finger in confusion and quickly removes it.
“The android?” you ask, eager to change the subject and focus on something else. Connor gives you a grim shake of the head and you sigh. While you’re holding the cleanest towel you could find against your wound, you watch Connor roam the kitchen looking for a first aid kit. His little triumphant smile when he finds it melts your heart and you take away the towel as soon as Connor has unpacked the most important medicines on the table.
“I should have followed you, (y/n). I’m sorry,” Connor apologies, his eyes not meeting yours and you immediately feel bad because Connor seems to blame himself.
“Don’t worry Connor, I’ll live.” you reply cheerfully, trying to reassure him. “It’s only a cut.” Speaking of the cut, both of you look down. You don’t want to admit it, but you start to feel a little dizzy, the stressful day, the fight and the blood loss taking its toll.
“You’re lucky. Lena nearly hit your artery, but the cut is close enough, explaining your blood loss. We should proceed now.” Carefully but efficiently, Connor first wipes the remaining blood away, then uses the disinfection spray on the wound. It prickles but doesn’t hurt. He reaches for the wound-closing gel, the medical revolution of the last years. He applies the cold gel all over the wound and you both watch the cut close, fading into a faint red line. His hands feel cold, but you don’t mind the physical contact.
You flex your hand and can’t help but frown when a single drop of blood escapes the closing wound. Before you can do anything, Connor catches the drop with his finger and moves it to his lips, then licking it. You look at him, stunned, remembering what just happened at the last case.
“Sweet,” he says and you remember that Connor can gain information about a person like this, remembering your first case involving Carlos Ortiz. You wonder what he has just found out about you. Your gazes meet for a moment and you hope that you don’t blush too much, while trying to keep your breathing even.
You’d never thought that the scream of “Detroit police!” would relieve you so much, but here you were.
“We’re here, one moment!” you shout back, before straightening your back and staring at Connor, whose finger is still resting on his lips.
“Connor, your unusual condition and behavior must remain a secret,” you whisper urgently, staring into his red eyes. “You don’t want to compromise your mission, do you?” You know that you just said the magical word. Like a dog with his favorite bone, Connor is extremely focused on his mission. Any traces of emotion, whatever he just felt or thought vanishes from his face, his face and posture becoming a mask of professional neutrality, his eyes fading back to the familiar brown shade. He gives you a curt nod.
You both head for the main door and let the police officers and androids enter. Connor immediately explains the case, stating the facts and elaborating on the events you’ve experienced, and you let him, glad to have a moment to rest and sort your feelings.
Hank enters last. You approach him, wondering how he handled the previous case.
“Hey kiddo.” Hank’s nickname no longer bothers you, since you’ve realized that is his way of showing he cared. “What the hell happened?” As if someone had rung a bell, Connor appears behind you, explaining the case once more.
“So you were involved in a fight and got hurt?” Hank asks and you nod, raising your arm. He sighs loudly and drags his hand across his face. “First my android and now my detective get hurt. But you both did well with her.” he grumbles, and with a movement of his head he draws your attention to Lena, who is being led away. You exchange a glance with Connor, whose neutral expression cracked for a second, showing his appreciation for the Lieutenant’s compliment.
“You know what? Screw this day, I’m out. Reports can wait for tomorrow.” he says decisively, letting one long look wander over the crime scene, and then heads out. Before leaving, he turns around once more. “Connor, you stay with (y/n) tonight. I’ll sleep better knowing that you have each other’s back and that I don’t have to wake in the middle of the night because one of you is hurt or even murdered. You two rest. That’s an order.” Before you or Connor can reply he’s gone, and you know that following him and complaining will only piss him off. You stand alone in the hallway and look at Connor.
“Guess it’s just you and me.”