Work Text:
1.
Gavin hasn't had a wink of sleep in about twenty-seven hours. He feels like shit, looks like shit and probably smells like shit. Rotating shifts are probably the only thing he hates about being a cop. Office workers don't have this kind of problem, they arrive at 9 AM and leave at 6 PM sharp, five days in a row, then rest for two. Nice and clean.
At least this time he isn't the only one suffering: Tina is lurking somewhere, manning the telephones, Person is fighting with cataloguing the evidence downstairs (she better not be asleep down there, that would be just unfair), Hank and Connor are here too, the former shamelessly trying to fall asleep right behind his table each twenty or so minutes just to receive an insistent shake from the latter. What a fucking team effort. Rich is here too. Wait, shit, Richard. Rich-a-a-ard. RK. Gavin repeats his full name a couple of times more, fighting the damn habit of shortening the android's name. Gavin is yet to use something other than the impersonal RK out loud. He doesn't want everyone to know he's gone soft on the idiot in a course of measly three months.
Another half an hour passes. Tina groans in frustration after receiving a prank call. Person emerges from the Archives looking half-dead, gets her stuff, gives everyone a weak wave of her hand and leaves. Connor threatens to slap Hank next time the man falls asleep, Hank says something sarcastic about Connor loving to wake him up by slapping then receives a paper ball right into his nose. Gavin wishes he had some energy to call them out on their weird foreplay, but as it is, he just huffs a quiet laugh and reaches for his coffee, which must be cold and disgusting right now. It's not. Simply because there's nothing left. Gavin sighs. He has just thirty or forty minutes of work left, he can surely do without.
“Detective?” says a voice above him after half a page of the report later. And then there's a smell of coffee washing over him. He blindly reaches for the cup. There's a soft chuckle above him, and then the cup is carefully pushed into his hand. Gavin immediately wraps his fingers around it, takes another whiff and takes a sip. It's perfect.
Gavin looks at RK over the rim of the cup, the android standing near with a polite smile on his face.
“Not that long anymore, Detective. I believe you will finish at approximately twenty-six minutes.”
Gavin's brain completely blurs out the words that are longer than two syllables.
“Mm-hm. Thanks for the coffee, Rich,” he says, puts the half-empty cup on the table and gets back to work.
Someone coughs. Loudly. Gavin lifts his head and his gaze meets Connor's. Who looks beyond amused.
“Did you just call him Rich?” he asks, sounding like he is trying to hold back laughter.
Uh, what? What. Wait. What? Fuck. Quick. He needs to fix this somehow.
“Like hell I did,” he says, purposefully not looking at Richard who went back to sit at his terminal like nothing happened. “I said thanks, bitch. Get your ears checked.”
Connor hums an unimpressed mm-hm sound, going more high-pitched at the end, but doesn't say anything more. Neither does anyone else.
Nailed it.
2.
Okay, so he didn't nail it. Connor kept giving Gavin amused glances throughout the next day when Gavin came into his shift. Connor's eyes seemed to sparkle with mischief, with barely concealed l see right through you. Fucking androids, fucking detectives, fucking android detectives.
But. The stupid slip of a tongue, made due to Gavin's sleepy state, has resulted not only in Connor having an opportunity to be a little shit but also in Gavin finally calling Richard by his name. It rolls off his tongue easily, much more easily than the stupid RK. No one comments on it, so that's fine. Richard still only addresses him by his title, though. He is infuriatingly polite, and Gavin still hasn't come up with a smooth way to say, 'Hey, you can call me by my name'. In his mind, it sounds like a cheesy come-on no matter what intonation he uses.
God, how come this android is making Gavin so stupid just by his presence?
Or even his absence, Gavin muses, downing the last of his beer. He and the guys from the precinct decided to watch the big Detroit Gears game in the sports bar together, and even though Gavin is not a big fan of basketball, he went too, just because he thought it would be nice to engage in some camaraderie. Especially now that there're more people in the precinct tolerating him and some even liking him. Richard, presumably, being one of the latter. But he isn't here, so Gavin is indulging in some drinking.
Their team scores, and all the tables, including theirs, roar with excitement. Gavin doesn't join in just because his mouth is full of dark bitter beer that he enjoys very much. He isn't a heavy drinker, but when the mood strikes — it strikes. That's why he successfully goes through a couple more pints through the course of the game, and when it ends with the win for the Detroit Gears — making everyone stand up and whoop and also making Hank leave a sloppy quick mwah kiss on Connor's lips — he can't even hit the numbers on his phone to call a taxi. After a third attempt to dial Gavin gives up and uses his new-found trust in Connor's desire to mother-hen to snuggle deeper into the cushions of the sofa they all occupy and take a nap.
He wakes up to a strong hand wrapping around his waist and lifting him up.
“Are you a kidnapper?” Gavin mumbles, trying to move his legs. “You can't kidnap me. I'm a Detective.” He stumbles over something, but the arm keeps him upright without any problem. “If you kidnap me, I'll run away and then I’ll find you and bring you to justice.”
“Wow,” comes a gruff voice from somewhere on his left. “I get now why he never drinks with us. Is he always like this?”
“Saying dumb but adorable things?” some woman says. “Yep. Gav is horrible like that.”
“I'm a Detective,” Gavin repeats, blinking his eyes open properly, taking in the blurry view of the street.
“That you are,” a deep voice says right into his ear. And oh. Oh. Gavin knows that voice. He looks down at the hand lying on his waist. A white sleeve of a knitted jumper, three grey circles around the wrist. Yep. His Nemesis' favourite item of clothing.
“I'm a Detective,” Gavin says again when he is being put on the seat of a taxi car. Richard puts a seat belt around him, then sits near him.
“I know,” the android says as the car starts. His words sound soft.
The light of the street lamps falls on Gavin's face at regular intervals, making him close his eyes. He mumbles the word detective again and again until it starts to sound like some gibberish. What a stupid word, he thinks, and an idea suddenly occurs to him, so brilliant and important he has an immediate urge to share it.
“Gavin,” he says. "Use Gavin." That's much better, he decides, than the stupid detective. It's not even a word, and he doesn't want to be referred to with a not-a-word. Who would, honestly?
The ride to his flat is supposed to be around twenty minutes. Plenty of time to nap. Feeling really good, warm and relaxed, the seat belt a perfect fit around his lower half and chest, Gavin falls into a light sleep.
When he wakes up in his bed in the morning, everything from after the second half of the game to arriving home comes to him in a blur. He somewhat remembers the game being won, then Hank and Tina talking shit about him, then a ride home, someone chaperoning him from the car to his apartment. Ugh. That's why he never drinks. So not worth it.
Gavin drinks some water, sleeps some more, wakes up for the second time, takes a good long shower, eats — and by the 7 PM he feels human again and at least sixty to seventy percent ready to work.
It's not Tina's shift, neither it's Hank or Connor's, which means Gavin will have to wait to chew them out for making stupid jokes behind his very inebriated back, but Richard is here, waiting for him by the desk with a stack of tablets in his hands. Gavin reaches for them—
“Good evening, Gavin.”
—and his hand stops mid-way, the memory of the taxi ride hitting his brain like a train. His thought process freezes for a second and then starts working really fast, because A) holy shit, that is how he got home, and B) the LED is flashing bright yellow, and D) damn, Rich's body felt really strong against his yesterday.
But the loudest thought is about how fucking amazing his name sounds on Richard's lips.
Gavin takes the tablets. “Thanks,” he says, flashing a quick smile.
Richard's LED blinks yellow one last time and then turns calm steady blue. He smiles back.
So fucking worth it.
3.
Gavin has never been good at expressing sentiments, okay? Somehow, the urge to hug someone manifests in hitting them in the shoulder, which is a show of support people don't usually understand. When he wants to say Good job back there, what leaves his mouth usually is You haven't fucked it up, which at the core is the same, but... well, is actually not same at all.
The thing is, Gavin cares. But he sucks at showing it.
Hank is very much like him, he wouldn't be able to find the right words even if the fate of the whole world depended on it. But he can show a lot just with his facial expressions, with his smiles and nods, with putting his hand on a shoulder or hugging. The legendary hugs of Hank Anderson, they helped a lot of rookies to survive and adapt after being thrust into the world of dealing with the lowest of the lowest, big bear hugs that filled you with confidence, with the sense of I'm not alone in this. Gavin knows this from personal experience.
The biggest asshole Gavin Reed has ever met is himself. Emotionally constipated idiot.
It hasn't bothered him much in the years before. It's not like he has a lot of people he cares about. His mom lives in another state, and he doesn't visit or call her that often (for the sake of his own sanity), but when he does, she doesn't demand any grand gestures of affection. There's Tina, but they're buddies enough for her to know that sudden bumps at her shoulder are made from excitement, not to actually hurt her. There're some colleagues, some drinking buddies, some guys he used to call to spend a night with — all of those are not the sort of people you actually care about.
But now Gavin has Richard. And Connor. And Hank, again. And they deserve to know that he cares about them.
The worst thing is — the damn androids are the best in expressing themselves.
Connor is generous with kind words and compliments. He is attentive to everyone's needs, he is eager to help, always polite and unobtrusive about it. Being kind and giving love just comes naturally to him. He has no problems talking a person from a panic attack. Children come back to him to say thanks for saving their mothers and fathers and gift him drawings, squeaking in delight when he thanks them. He handles date offers like a pro, declining so gently that it's impossible to be angry at him (and there are a lot of people having hots for him). And it's better not to get started about all the lovey-dovey stuff he does with and for Hank, it will end up an endless list. Connor said once he is not a politician, but he sure as hell knows his way with words. An echo of his negotiator skills, most likely.
Richard is quieter about his feelings but just as confident and honest. He has no need to say a lot, just to smile and drop some precise words that, somehow, always hit the target. When he sees someone or something worth a compliment — he gives it. When he thinks you need some cheering up — he would go around it based on your personal needs, not just give or say generic stuff. Richard has a stash of strawberry candy for Tina, some peanuts for Chris, small bottles with coffee-flavored milk for Ben, and many, many other things. For Gavin, he has some fish-shaped salt crackers and also a medicine for a headache, the one that he spent weeks choosing until he managed to find the one that works best.
Why Gavin can't be like them? It's not like he hasn't tried. Because he has.
Sometimes he impulse-buys things that he thinks his friends (and that word still sits weird on his tongue) would like. A little dog figurine for Connor, very nicely done, with dark sad eyes and lovingly crafted fur coat. A winter scarf for Hank, bright and colorful but not too thick, because even if the man always runs hot and forgoes scarves and gloves, he loves to make a small fashion statement. A ticket with an open date for Richard to visit the local Modern Art Museum. They all lie right now in one of Gavin’s desk's drawers.
Gavin buys all of these and more — and then the panic hits. How should he give it? He can't give it without an explanation, right? Like, it's not a birthday gift or a get-well gift or even a prank gift. It's an I saw this and thought of you and I hope you will like it and it will bring you joy gift. And there's no fucking way Gavin will give those. He would combust right on the spot from embarrassment. Or throw it in their faces and run away. Some insult would surely leave Gavin's mouth because it's second nature to him. He is all about conceal, don't feel, put on a show even if the show is starting to tire him out.
Sometimes there're kind words on the tip of his tongue. Little you look good today or one hell of a chase you did back there or you handled the interrogation really well. Little things that he can't bring himself to say, not even in a fake mocking manner, because there's always truth in jest, and relationships are the only thing Gavin doesn't take risks with. And Richard tests his resolve every goddamn day.
He tests Gavin's resolve right fucking now, actually, prancing around in that new sweater of his, greyish white fading into pale-blue at the hems, sleeves long enough to go past his wrists. He looks like his place is on the couch in front of a fireplace, a mug of hot choco— uh, thirium in his hands and a cat on his lap. Preferably with Gavin by his side. It surely would be an upgrade from that time when Richard sat on the couch in the coldness of Gavin's living room, stone-faced and his LED flashing between yellow and red because Gavin kept shouting about how he had no need for an android or a partner. Well. The tables have turned. Gavin needs him very much now.
But anyway. Doesn't Rich feel too warm in this sweater of his? Them guys have those temperature regulator thingies, sure, but do they not feel uncomfortable at all? Can't they overheat? They are very fancy computers, after all, processors and fans and stuff inside, and there's a heat limit for every computer. Maybe Rich is actually overheated but acts like he is not because he knows he looks really good right now, and also—
“Is something the matter, Gavin?” Richard suddenly says, meeting Gavin's eyes.
“Uh, no? No. It's just that...” Gavin makes a vague gesture with his hand, pointing at all of the android's body. “You are hot.” Wait. Fuck. Fuck! Not that, abort, abort! “I meant!” he adds hastily, watching as Richard's eyes widen. “You must be hot. Feeling hot. Aren't you hot? In the sweater.” Jesus fucking Christ. “Don't you feel too hot in your sweater?” There. What he wanted to ask from the very fucking beginning.
Holy fucking shit, Gavin's heart is beating so fast right now anyone could easily read his heart rate without any fancy scanners. Stupid brain and stupid brain-to-mouth filter and stupid androids—
“I feel perfectly fine, thank you,” comes a polite and composed response.
Gavin exhales. “Good.”
What a fucking disaster.
Curiosity winning over self-preservation, Gavin darts a quick look at Rich to check his LED.
And it's blue.
And so are Richard's cheeks.
Holy fucking shit.
Gavin's is certainly fucked and he has known it for a long time.
But maybe Richard is too.
4.
The only thing weirder than dating is the period of we are obviously attracted to each other but are still trying to test the boundaries that predates it. And considering Gavin hasn't properly dated anyone since his early twenties, he feels like he is treading the twilight-iest twilight zone of his life.
There's clearly a lot more casual touching between him and Richard now, which means the android touches him more often and Gavin is just starting to do it. Helping Gavin to put on his jacket is an old thing, even if it's started as a joke and is usually for when his hands are full, but spending some extra seconds to straighten the collar and smooth hands down his chest is new. And Gavin finally does what he's been dying to do for a long time — ruffles Richard's hair, which, as it turns out, feels as real and nice as any human's. Their fingers meet when Rich hands him a cup of coffee. Gavin leads the android away from the crime scene with tugs on his wrist instead of jerking him unkindly by the tie.
Sometimes Richard looks at Gavin like he hung up the moon and the stars using nothing more than a chisel and a pack of expired glue (which Gavin doesn't think he deserves). Sometimes he looks at Gavin like he wants to throw him down the stairs (which Gavin knows he deserves very much for being too bitchy or doing extremely stupid things). It all balances out, so Gavin doesn't feel like he is lured into a sense of false security. And he doesn't know what things the damn android reads on his face, but, apparently, he likes what he sees.
At some point, Gavin invites Richard back to his place. Not, like, outright. It's just that they happen to be in the vicinity and the sun is acting up and Gavin is a walking thirsty-hungry-sweaty combo, so they end up in his apartment. And that's how Richard meets Harley for the first time. The cat melts under android's hands, rolling onto her back and purring like crazy, and Gavin's pretty sure that those two times the LED flashes yellow for a second are Richard taking photos.
Next week they fight something awful. Gavin is distraught because they (meaning he) fucked up the case, and when he sees Rich being all cool and collected, he lashes out, ruining the movie night they're having on his couch. Mean words are exchanged, and then Gavin says that it must be nice to be programmed not to feel. The sense that he has just done something awful comes instantly, a heavy weight inside his chest that becomes even heavier when he sees a flash of hurt on Richard's face. Gavin hasn't said or done things so fucked up in a very long time, at least not towards people he cares about. So he tells his sense of shame to shut the hell up for this one time and apologizes. And then talks about how he is wrong, and that he knows Richard cares, and that they both have done their very best and he is happy they have each other. To Gavin's ears it sounds like something straight from Hallmark cards, and he has never in his life said anything even remotely reaching these levels of sincerity, and his cheeks and ears are burning with embarrassment, but it works. Things are fine once again, maybe even better than before, sans for the fact that they're still dancing around each other, even after the speech Gavin's poured his whole heart into. Well.
Richard takes a liking to his house. Harley takes a liking to him but still refuses to play with any toys he brings. She's never played with a toy in her not-that-long cat life, only deigning from time to time to jump after a simple piece of a rope. Richard is deeply offended to see her refuse the numerous and various cat toys he brings. He vows to find a toy she would play with. Gavin laughs for two minutes straight at his inappropriately serious face.
But when one absolutely ordinary Sunday the android calls him to the living room, says Watch this and lets a cheap rubber band of ugly blue color fall to the floor right in front of Harley's face only for her to start beating it with her paw and madly jump and run circles around it, Gavin isn't surprised at all. And when he sees the absurdly proud expression on the android's face, he thinks, I'm fucking in love with him.
Connor’s birthday comes, and he invites Gavin and Richard for a small celebration at home. Gavin still doesn’t feel entirely comfortable being included in such… family-oriented activities, even after almost a year of being buddy-buddy with Hank and two damned androids, and he briefly considers not going at all, but Chris lectures him for fifteen minutes straight about the importance of friendship and birthdays. Stop being a dick to everyone including yourself, Chris tells him. Hah. Easy for him to say. But at least Gavin can finally gift Connor that dog figurine without it being suspicious.
The dinner starts a little bit stiff, the conversation stilted, until Connor brings up the topic of Richard’s birthday. Turns out, his first activation happened somewhere at the end of summer, but he was awake for only a minute to complete some sort of a test. Gavin proposes to have his birthday set on that day at the end of November when he was truly woken up. Then he adds that this way they would have birthdays four months in a row between them all. Hank calls him a five-year-old thus starting the bickering between all four of them. It ends up being the most fun Gavin has had in years.
The best-worst thing is that the evening feels like a dinner between two pairs of... well... partners-partners. Like him and Rich are the same deal as Hank and Connor. Which is not true. Yet.
It's still not true on a chilly October morning. The train station is almost empty, no more than ten or so people waiting for the train, Gavin and Richard being among them. It's not even 6 AM, the wind is so sharp that Gavin wishes for nothing more than the embrace of a warm bed.
“Is the train late?” he says, rubbing his palms against each other.
The LED blinks yellow. "It left the last station on dot. So, no, I don't think so. You can go, if you want," the android adds. "It's really cold."
“Wow, aren't you eager to get me out of your sight?”
“You are the one to talk, being so adamant on making sure I leave the city.”
Gavin scoffs. Right. He woke up at half-past four in the middle of October just to make sure his android partner gets on the train that would take him three states over to be stationed at the local police precinct for a month. Sounds legit.
There's a really loud honk, and the train swooshes past the platform, gradually losing its speed. Richard puts the strap of his bag over his shoulder but doesn't hurry to stand up from the bench. Gavin watches his face, so excited and eager, that loose strand of hair brushing against his forehead, and the words—
“I'm gonna miss you.”
—leave his mouth before he can stop himself. And oh the gods, fuck his stupid running mouth sideways, and not in a fun way.
Richard pauses in his movements. “I'm sorry?”
Gavin pushes himself up, gestures towards the almost stopped train. “I said you're going to miss your train. Hurry the fuck up.”
They walk side by side to the head of the train, the wind almost deafening in Gavin's ears, and stop near the doors when they slide open.
“Thanks for accompanying me, Gavin,” Richard says, turning to face him. Gavin just shrugs his shoulders. What more is there to add?
The doors beep, prompting to hurry up. Gavin's quite ready to leave when Richard's hand comes closer to his neck and tightens the scarf. And then he says: “I'm going to miss you too.”
And kisses him.
And the kiss is awfully cold, and barely there, and Gavin's lips are chapped, but his eyes still flutter shut for those three short seconds it lasts.
And just like that, Rich is gone, whisked away by the train, without Gavin having a proper last look at him. He sighs, blows hot air on his hands and leaves the station, a smile playing on his lips, giddy warmth in his chest and throat.
This month is going to suck, he thinks.
And yet.
The smile persists.
5.
They transition from being something more than friends but nothing specific to we're so totally together so seamlessly that Gavin is nothing but surprised. He was sure it would be awkward. That there would be unnecessary pauses in their dialogues, uncertainty in the way they would act around each other. But no. When he meets Rich at the train station five weeks later (damn fuckers held him for an extra week), they greet each other with a kiss on the lips like it's the most natural thing in the world and just go on with their business. And that’s that.
To add to Gavin’s surprise, Connor abruptly stops with his mysterious smiles. Gavin thought he would go from one kind of insufferable to another, but he just… seems very happy with the development. Which is… nice. Yes.
Richard initiates most of their physical contact. Not just kisses, but simpler things like hugs and hand-holding. The last one is his favorite. It’s more of a hand studying than holding, though, Richard tracing the lines inside Gavin’s palm over and over, tickling his wrist, brushing his thumb over the short bristly hairs running over the top outward side, intertwining their fingers, letting go and starting everything all over again. And doing it very, very slowly. At first Gavin found this fascination weird, but quickly got used to it. It was nice. Made him feel special.
And the kisses are… something else. In all his years of one-night stands, Gavin got used to quick sloppy kisses, the ones you give each other while trying to undress without moving apart, to hard kisses with biting, to guys simply thrusting their tongues into his mouth to the rhythm of their cock sliding into Gavin’s ass. It’s all nice and good, but god, has Gavin missed proper kisses, slow make-out sessions that last for tens of minutes, with no need to hurry, no need to get off. Richard gives him everything in spades. The android is as insatiable as he is thorough and gentle. The way his lips move against Gavin’s always sends the thrill down his spine that has nothing to do with sexual arousal, just the sense of being warm and safe and cared for.
Not that they don’t have sex. Because they do. At first it's just awkward and weird because both of them have no idea what to do with the other. No Sex Ed class has ever told Gavin about handling androids that have calibrated sensory panels instead of a cock, and Richard, of course, has zero experience whatsoever. But they slowly learn each other, learn what feels good and what doesn’t and what boundaries are there, and it’s still a bit weird, but it’s a good weird. What they have… Gavin has never felt like that before with any of his partners. No one was ever that patient and attentive with him, and it’s still baffling, but very nice.
Gavin still hasn’t told his mom about all of this even though he and Richard have been together for a couple of months (approximately, because they don’t do stupid shit like monthly anniversaries). It’s not that he’s ashamed or anything, all of his friends know by now, everyone in the precinct knows, his neighbors know, a countless random strangers on the streets and in cafes know (Gavin isn’t big on PDA, but he has no problem with giving a hello/goodbye kiss with people present around). It’s just that… Mom is a really hard person to talk to, and Gavin doesn’t remember having a conversation with her in the last five or so years which hasn’t ended in him feeling like trash afterwards.
Otherwise, things are good. For the first time in about ten years, Gavin's looking forward to Christmas. He's used to spending it alone and getting obligatory gifts (except Tina's, her gifts are real and spot-on), but being used to doesn't mean liking something. So this year he starts feeling excited and jittery on the Christmas' Eve's Eve, which speaks volumes. Tina is elated about this, Chris is pleasantly surprised, Hank is fake-exasperated and Twiddledee and Twiddledum share Gavin's excitement, albeit in their quieter android-y way. And when the 25th comes, gifts and hugs are exchanged, kisses are given, tears are hidden and smiles refuse to fade. Gavin feels so good he might as well barf from the happiness welling in his chest.
2040 comes, and Gavin expects a lot of good from the new decade. January passes by slowly with nothing out of ordinary happening, and Gavin feels too relaxed, like a big fat cat that got a good share of treats and lazes somewhere warm, to be suspicious and call this calm a calm before the storm.
The realization strikes Gavin when he is in the process of doing one of the most mundane things in the world — sorting clean laundry.
Despite the heater working at the maximum setting, the temperature in the apartment still isn't comfortable enough, so Gavin sits on the bed instead of his usual place on the floor and his feet are clad in socks. He likes winter, but he hates being cold. He whistles a melody that popped up in his head out of nowhere, some almost forgotten tune he's heard years ago on the Internet, and sorts the clean shirts, boxers, socks and other stuff, pulling one item out of the laundry basket at the time and mentally putting them on the shelves. Tee-s go on the third one from the top, the socks to the box under it, and this thing is Rich's, his drawer is the—
Gavin's hand stills. He sits completely frozen for the whole ten seconds before jumping up and rushing to the bureau. He tugs out the second drawer from the top and stares at the neatly arranged socks, tank tops, loops of ties and pressed shirts.
Fucking. Hell.
Richard has his own drawer in Gavin' home.
And his precious sweaters and one disgustingly expensive tailored suit are hanging in the wardrobe. And there's a shelf in the fridge holding thirium packs. And there's an android first med kit nesting next to a human one in the bathroom. And—
Gavin checks each and every room, finding new and new stuff that screams an android lives here.
Except that he fucking doesn't.
That sneaky son of a bitch. Gavin fucking hates him. Damn fucking android thinking he is so smart, smuggling his stuff into the apartment and hoping Gavin wouldn't notice. Yes, he hasn't noticed until now, so fucking what?
“This is fucking ridiculous,” Gavin mutters. He passes by the sink and sees the stupid Power over 9000 mug with the last zero scratched out. Rich's mug. “So. Fucking. Ridiculous.” Harley brushes her tail against his feet. He looks into her big honest eyes. “Why are you looking at me like that? Are you taking his side?” She meows. “Little traitor.”
This is ridiculous.
Gavin is going to show him.
He goes back to the bedroom, his breathing irregular and short, anger bubbling in his chest, finds his phone amongst the sheets and dials Richard's number. The android, of course, picks up instantly.
“HeIIo, Ga—”
“You're dead meat the second I see you.”
The line goes silent. One second, two, three... The first second Gavin feels proud for making the top-of- the-state android shut up, the next one he feels stupid for using the word 'meat' in regards to an android, and then the anger rushes back in threefold.
“You thought I wouldn't notice, huh? You think you're so smart?” Gavin says in a low husky whisper and then adds a ton of mockery to his voice. “You thought, oh Gavin, that idiot, his detective skills are so nonexistent he would never found out! I'm RK900, I'm so awesome, I can do whatever I want!”
“Ga—”
“How could you pull that shit on me?” Gavin continues, his voice rising, not even giving a chance for Richard to say anything. “I know we didn't have a proper talk about all that, but for fucks' sake, how could you be so assholishly obtuse?”
“Wai—”
“No,” Gavin says shortly. “You fucking listen to me now, and the second you're home, I'm going to—”
All of a sudden Gavin just chokes on his own words. He experiences the weird feeling of not being able to move a muscle for the second time this day. He moves the phone away from his ear and looks at it like it might bite him. He almost drops it when Harley suddenly brushes her tail against his calf.
Gavin deflates like a damaged balloon.
He has just used the word 'home'.
No one made him. He just did it, naturally. He thought of his apartment as Richard's home and apparently has been doing so for some time, and his detective skills are actually nonexistent because he couldn't even keep track of his own thoughts.
Gavin slowly puts his phone back to his ear.
“—vin! For fuck's sake, what did I do?”
The situation is both scary and hilarious. And Gavin probably has just fallen a little bit more In love with Richard after hearing the panic in his voice. But also Gavin still feels a bit shaken from all of the waves of realization that have just washed over him, from his emotions going highway, changing from anger to confusion to some equivalent of a white noise and finally stopping in the I'm mostly okay with the situation but I still need some time and beer to adjust to it zone. So he looks at Harley and answers with the first thing that comes to his mind.
“You forgot to buy milk,” Gavin says in an absolutely calm voice.
This time the silence on the other end lasts for whole five seconds.
“I... what?”
“Yeah. I just went to make some coffee and there wasn't any milk. So you better be a good robot and buy some, 'kay?”
A two-second pause. “I... will stop by to buy some. Gavin—”
Nope. No heavy-loaded questions. “When do you finish?”
“In about two hours. Listen, do you—”
And also no offers to visit a mental hospital, thanks but no thanks, Gavin is perfectly aware of how crazy his hundred-and-eighty turn in the conversation sounded. “Good luck at work! Don't forget the milk!” And then, before Gavin can change his mind and start doubting the intellectual abilities of his partner: “I'll see you home.”
Gavin stills his breath. Please, he prays, please pick up on it and make it so we would never have to speak about it like emotionally stable adults.
“Very well. See you in about two hours.”
The line goes silent. Gavin lets out a breath. A huge grin stretches his lips. That grin turns into a devious smirk when his gaze lands on the pile of dirty dishes.
Gavin picks Harley up and gives her a quick kiss on her forehead. “Let's go, Har. We have some domestic chores to assign to the newest member of our household.”
Harley meows.
“Yes, of course I'm giving him the worst ones. Who do you take me for?”
6
Gavin looks at the piles of cheap paper folders and can't bring himself to believe that the department still has that much non-digitalised information. First of all, it means that their databases — which everyone uses every day and depends on — may lack a lot of crucial files. Second — it's a waste of space, and the specialists in the forensics have been complaining about the shortage of space for the tablets that are meant for long-term keeping.
And third, Gavin's nose is starting to itch from all the dust.
He has nothing against paper journals and books. He comes from the generation that was born to a world in which paper and books were still a big deal and not having at least one tablet wasn't. But he isn't some weirdo who has a hard-on for antique books and thinks that the dust between the pages is some sacred historical substance. He isn't even working with books right now, just some crap like autopsy results from years before. And dust sucks.
Gavin could've let someone else do it. Someone whose nose isn't capable of being itchy, for example, and whose amazing eyes with a built-in zoom mechanism (Gavin still doesn't know if that was a joke or not) wouldn't suffer in this poor light.
But it's so freaking peaceful down there. Quiet, perfect temperature, surprisingly comfortable chair. Zero human and/or android traffic. And Gavin needs some peace and quiet after talking to his mom and explaining to her how the hell did he land himself an android boyfriend. Not that she didn't approve, no. But the way she couldn't decide whether to be more surprised at the fact that her son was in a stable relationship ('Gavin, sweetie, I was always so worried about your unsafe sexual practices!') or the fact that he was in a relationship with an android ('Gavin, sweetie, but you used to hate them so much!')? It hurt. Quite a bit. She was very happy, of course. But her talent to say really mean things without realising it has only grown. Basically what she said was, 'I'm glad you stopped hopping on and off dicks of random strangers and settled for a plastic one that won't give you any STDs'. Great.
Gavin picks a folder from the box and sneezes when the small cloud of dust hits his face. Disgusting. Both the dirty dust (and it is dirty, it's not like the dust on the shelves in his apartment) and the process of sneezing. Poor Chris who suffers from allergies every spring and happens to live just beyond the line of Detroit in the only place that has trees in abundance. The March is yet a week away, and he's already stocking up on tissue paper and meds.
So anyway... yeah. Here he is, working in the old dusty archive on the down level, hiding from everything and everyone. He doesn't even want to talk to Richard. There's just... not enough energy in Gavin to talk. Only to be angry. And he really, really doesn't want to accidentally direct that anger at people who don't deserve it.
Besides, he doesn't think Richard would really understand this too-mentally-tired-to-talk thing. No, he might get it on some theoretical level, but he wouldn't understand-understand it. And there's nothing more embarrassing than trying to explain someone the way your brain works (or doesn't work, in this case). Even Tina, his awesome Tina, still doesn’t know how to deal with Gavin when he is like this. It’s been years, and she still keeps trying to just… shake him out of this mood. And he has actually tried to explain to her that her attempts have the opposite effect. All for nothing. He adores her, but for fuck’s sake, sometimes her skull is too thick.
Gavin keeps slowly working through the box of documents. The process is simple and mind-numbing. Take a folder, place it on the table, scan all the pages with the fancy-schmancy scanner, put the folder in the ‘Done’ box, rinse-repeat.
The phone beeps shortly, breaking the flow. Gavin sighs. Dammit. It’s totally Rich. And he’s totally going to tell him off for skipping lunch and starving himself (which is not even true because Gavin isn't hungry at all despite not eating anything since early breakfast).
Gavin so doesn’t need such a lecture.
But also he doesn’t need an extra lecture on top of it about ignoring the messages, so he puts the scanner down, wipes his hands with a wet wipe (the last one, which is an absolute catastrophe) and takes the phone, unlocking the screen with his thumb. He winces when he sees the sheer number of messages.
[Richard] Since you’ve been sitting down there for five and a half hours and since our shift ends in an hour, I thought to inform you of some things.
Gavin rolls his eyes harder than ever and lets out a half-sigh, half-groan. Here it comes. He counts down from ten to one, his eyes closed, and then returns to the messages.
[Richard] First of all, I’ve changed your Friday night shift to this night. You can work on the documents for as long as you wish.
The air seems to stiffen in Gavin’s lungs. What?
[Richard] I left a couple of sandwiches for you in the fridge if you get hungry. On your desk you can find the painkillers for your headache that you will probably develop by the start of the night.
[Richard] Also I left a paper bag near the Archives door (I believe you didn’t hear me). There’re some salt crackers and wet wipes in it.
[Richard] We don’t have to talk about anything if you don’t want to, but I promise I’m always here to listen.
[Richard] Take your time.
The heat that spreads in Gavin’s chest and throat and reaches his ears is from the lack of proper ventilation in the room, totally. And his eyes are wet because the damn dust finally got to him.
Who would’ve thought being proven wrong could feel so fucking good?
Gavin’s fingers type out the I love you so fucking much in the message box so fast it’s a wonder there’re no typos. His thumb hovers over the Send button, but just a moment before he hits it the phone beeps again and the screen fills with another message.
[Richard] P.S.: I’ve sneaked a pack of multicolored rubber bands from the storeroom. I’m going to shower Harley with them as soon as I get home. I’ll send you a photo.
[Richard] :)
Gavin stares at the messages. Then he smiles, deletes his own message and locks the phone. He puts it on the edge of the table, grabs the scanner and gets back to work.
Cowardly, half-assed, blurted out love confessions?
Fuck those.
Telling his android who absolutely deserves the best and the finest that he loves him over a phone? No.
Marching right up to his android and saying the damn words to his face even if it means burning to ashes from embarrassment? Yes.