Work Text:
"You're nervous," Trev said softly, as if it wasn’t obvious now that they've been sitting in her car for twenty minutes, taking it in turns to stake out the innocuous red door, its color deepened by the light above the front door.
He wondered if she was disappointed by the normality of it all—the well-kept suburban lawn, the now-defunct mailbox with REED stenciled along the side in proud, strong letters. There were only two cars parked in the driveway, but when almost everyone used self-driving cars these days, there was no telling how many people were already inside.
His leg ached, the one that was gone, and he rubbed absently at his thigh. There was no give there, or not as much as there should be. He can feel the touch, but it doesn't soothe away the cramp. There was no muscle to unclench, no blood to circulate. "I'm fine," he said. "Are you? If you don't want to do this—"
They both know he was asking her for rescue him. She said nothing, just looked at him, and he knew this was something he had to decide himself. If he bailed now, she'd come with him. It’s his choice.
"We can have a codeword or phrase, if you like," she offered. "And if you use it, I can make an excuse for us to leave."
“Could you…” he hesitated, feeling a flush up his neck.
He took a deep breath.
“Could you not be… so… perfect?” he asked her.
She smiled in the darkness. “I’ll try,” she said.
He glanced sideways at her. She was so fucking beautiful. "Okay."
"If you want to leave just… ask me something about Babbage. We can pretend he's sick."
Her cat. They had just left him only an hour ago, his accusing meows following them down the hallway of Trev's building. "Okay," he said.
She reached out and pressed into his shoulder. He leaned into the touch and closed his eyes. He felt sick.
"Okay," he repeated. He was doing this. They’d driven a whole goddamn hour to be out here. He’d told his mother they were coming, and she’d told his sisters, who hadn't believed her, so they had called him, and he had to tell all five of them separately, over call, text, and email that he was coming today.
With a fancy new prosthetic leg and Doctor Eliza Trevago.
Everyone made such a goddamn fuss over that little detail, that he was bringing Trev home. Fuck. This was way too heavy for their fourth date. They’d only known each other a short while. A little over a month really.
She was going to leave him after this.
That should feel like a relief. He should welcome it, as he had every past relationship that had devolved into domestic expectations like 'meet the family'.
But he didn't want to get out of the car.
"Okay," he said.
And opened the door.
He got out, grinding his foot against the tarmac. It was early evening, just dark enough to turn the air hazy. He dragged in a deep breath and reached for the pack of cigarettes inside his jacket where the crumpled packet was usually secured.
But his fingers found a smaller box, crumpled and warm. Gum. Made pliable by his body heat. A warm cigarette would have been comforting, homey, like a load of fresh laundry. A warm piece of gum was like… like a warm toilet seat. Unsanitary at a purely sensory level.
What the fuck was gum supposed to do in this situation? He closed his eyes and inhaled slowly, trying to recall the taste of real smoke. It worked sometimes.
But not this time.
He barely heard Trevago's door close before her hand was in the crook of his elbow. She carried two bottles of wine under her arm. Tributes for dinner. "I'm ready," she said firmly.
They walked together across the road, along the paving stones to the front door. He was clumsy, almost tripping over the ledge of the sidewalk. Weeks with the damn prosthetic and it still didn't feel right. Time, that's what the doctors had said, what Trev said. All it would take was time.
This wasn't the house he had grown up in. The moment his youngest sister had left for college, his mother had sold that home, moved somewhere smaller, easier to maintain.
But insisted on hosting huge family gatherings for every season. Easter wasn't particularly special to them, only Morgan and Hayden were really religious. But the moment he had told them he'd be coming for Sunday dinner, it had been made an Occasion.
So he shouldn't have been surprised when the door opened almost the instant his knuckles touched the wood.
His mother stood in the doorway, blocking the entrance. She wasn't a tall woman, but she gave the impression of towering, imposing strength.
"Took you long enough," she said. “We saw you arrive, you know.”
"Babbage?" he blurted out at her, the word strangely paced out of his mouth. He hadn't really meant to say it. He'd meant to smile at her, move in for a careless hug the way he had greeted her before.
She frowned. "What?"
Eliza laid a cold hand on his shoulder, moving smoothly past the strange moment, introducing herself to conversation while he froze under his mother's gaze. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Reed."
"Is this her?" his mother asked him, her eyes raking over Trevago's perfect features, her honey-blonde hair and blue eyes, and the neat black blouse and jeans that Trevago had spent easily two hours picking out of the closet. "Ma," he said. "Yeah, this is… this is Eliza."
"Eliza Trevago," Trev said, holding out a hand.
His mother looked over the offered hand with the same clinical inspection as she’d spent on Trev's face. Then she stepped out of the way, opening the entrance to her house, with the ceremony of a gatekeeper.
"Come in," she said.
He had never seen his mother move so formally. He walked inside, his toe catching on the doorframe. It sent an odd pulse up his leg, and he hissed out his frustration.
"Olivia and Hayden couldn't make it," she said, leaning at the entrance to the kitchen while Gavin took his shoes off. "But we're all going to do a video call later tonight. It should pick up early morning for Hayden."
"Great," he said. "Where is she now, anyway?"
"Shanghai!" a voice called from his left. He turned in time to see Emily in the doorway.
"China?" he asked, smiling through the question. Emily was the closest to him in age, though they were only half-siblings.
"No, the other Shanghai. Of course China," she said, and as he stood, she barreled into him for a hug. He over-balanced for a second, his flesh-and-bone leg buckling, and she backed out of the embrace quickly. "Fuck," she said. "I forgot!"
He shook his head. "No," he said hastily. "It's fine—"
But her eyes had caught on Trevago. "And you must be Eliza! Let me take that," Emily said, quickly relieving Trev of the wine.
"I was told they were good," Trevago said quickly as she let them go.
Emily nodded, blinking down at the labels. She whistled slowly, her eyes rising to Gavin's for a brief moment. She was a chef, she knew what was good and how much it cost, and suddenly he had an inkling that Trev might have spent a lot of fucking money trying to impress his family.
"It's a pleasure to meet you," Trev said, steadily ignoring the look that passed between brother and sister, "Are you… Riley?"
"Emily," his sister corrected, dragging her eyes away from Gavin's frozen features. "Riley's the youngest. And she's hard to miss right now, she's about to pop. Anyway, come on, come on in. Everyone's been dying to meet you."
Trev barely had time to answer before Emily rushed to clarify herself. "Not because you're an android."
Trev's mouth closed and Gavin wondered if he could just close his eyes, sink to the floor, and pretend none of this was actually happening. Emily instantly turned bright red. "I mean… it's just because Gavin doesn't bring girls home. I mean, not that you're a girl. Or I mean you're obviously a girl, but like—"
Emily’s mouth worked helplessly until Ma saved her, cutting through her increasingly nonsensical babbling. "Gavin's here!" she called, her voice ringing through the house echoing through the rooms. He shivered, he had answered that call in that tone all of his life. There was expectation, a command that was immediately understood. Come.
And from all directions, movement answered. From the kitchen came Riley and her wife Lauren. He hadn't seen either of them since their wedding, almost a year ago. Riley was quick to hug him, carefully, because Emily was right: she was huge. His tiny baby sister’s stomach protruding stiffly.
"Good to see you, Gav," she said once they had parted awkwardly.
"Did he bring it?" he heard Morgan call just before, his eldest sister appeared at the top of the stairs.
"Bring what?" he called back to her, grinning. It had been years, but they had gotten in so much trouble together, it was impossible not to feel the old spark of mischief and adventure at the sight of her.
"Morgan!" Emily said sharply, almost shrilly, before continuing in the same rushed tone, as if to disguise the scolding. "Come meet Eliza!"
"Bring your android," Morgan said, uncowed by Emily's reaction, or the presence of Trevago. She descended the stairs slowly, one hand light on the bannister. "And you did. I can't believe you actually did."
Gavin’s smile faded.
###
Somehow he got separated from Trev. They had been in the middle of a house tour when the group had fallen apart. Lauren had been bombarding Trevago with questions about her work at Jericho. Their mother had to return to the kitchen to pull dinner together, Emily managed to shuffle Morgan away from the group with talk about their restaurant, and Gavin had quickly grown bored of listening to Riley talk about the color scheme for the nursery and the schools she and Lauren were already looking into.
He excused himself to retreat to a bathroom, halfway composing a text to Trevago to help him make some excuses to leave. But as he turned the corner around the stairs, he was faced with a small group of children.
Four kids, their ages ranging from six to eight. Morgan's kids. Three boys and one girl. He hadn't seen them since the birth of her youngest.
"Hey," he said.
They stared up at him.
It was the oldest one that said brazenly, with less curiosity and more demand in his voice: "Where's your android?"
"She's not my—"
"Gavin, there you are—" Trev peered through the bannister to see why he was standing in the middle of the hallway. "Oh, who are these fine young gentlemen and lady?" Trevago asked.
Not a single one answered her, just looking up at her with wide, fascinated eyes as she descended the stairs.
Gavin shuffled awkwardly. "Uh, well, that's Lucas and Liam, and the twins. Leah and Logan."
"That's a lot of names beginning with 'L'," Trevago said to the kids, drawing closer and bending down.
"Morgan," Gavin muttered. No doubt Trev would come to see that was explanation enough. Morgan was… Morgan.
The children stared back at Trev's friendly face as if mesmerized, like they were sitting in front of a television screen. "Where's your dad, Lucas?" Gavin asked the oldest boy.
He shrugged.
"Hey, Ma?" Gavin called into the kitchen, where he could see his mother sticking a thermometer into an enormous ham roast. A smaller table had been set there for the kids to sit for the meal. "Where's Andrew?"
She turned, whipping a towel over her shoulder. "Dinner's ready," she replied, but by her blank expression he knew she had heard him, but wasn't going to answer. He frowned, but the kids rushed past him, eager, no doubt, to escape Trevago.
###
The table had been beautifully set. The silverware and matching glasses and plates looked too rich next to the weathered furniture that edged the room. It added an air of formality to the proceedings that made Gavin nervous. An air of sacrifice filled the room.
Each place was set perfectly, the sheer amount of dishes nested at each place indicated how much food had been made for the occasion. But there was one place empty, barren. A clearing among the gleaming city of glass and silver.
A place for Trev.
He draped his jacket over the chair beside hers, claiming his seat. His whole body ached with tension. Every conversation seemed to be balanced on a knifepoint, threatening to tip into unknown territory. At least once everyone had food, everyone had an excuse not to talk.
But the silence was hardly comfortable, and the sporadic excuses to lessen it only added emphasis to how little anyone knew how to handle this.
Why the fuck had he done this? What had he expected to happen?
"So, Eliza," his mother said, fixing her gaze on Trev, drawing herself up with a breath. "Tell us about yourself."
Morgan barked out a laugh, half-choked by the mouthful of wine she had just swallowed. Only Gavin and Trev reacted to this at all, looking to her. The rest of the family froze, smiles on their face clearly desperate not to acknowledge Morgan.
In the momentary silence, Morgan did speak. "I'm sorry," she said. "It's just… I suppose the script had to change too."
"Script?" Eliza asked, looking from face to face along the table in front of her, and finally to Gavin, who was just as lost as her.
Morgan leaned forward, planting her glass onto the table, and picking up the bottle to top it up. "The script, you know, the one everyone gets. Here, let's do a run."
She settled back in her chair, leveling her gaze at Trevago. "Eliza, honey, do you have any siblings?" she asked, mocking their mother's lilting voice.
He felt Trev stiffen beside him, and his own anger started to boil over.
"Morgan," he growled.
But Trev leaned an elbow on the table. "None," she said. "Or just over twelve thousand, though I never did learn their names."
Morgan didn’t back down, her smile grew colder, her voice less flippant. "And where did you grow up, Eliza?"
"I’ve spent most of my life downtown Detroit, riverside, though I do want to do some travelling, eventually."
"What about your parents? They must be proud of a doctor in the family," she cast a glance at Gavin. "I don’t think you've ever heard that one before. Last girl we caught with you, what was she again? A meter-maid?"
"Shut the fuck up, Morgan."
"I am proud of my certification," Trev said pleasantly, as if that had been the question. She put a hand on Gavin's thigh, a reassurance that she could handle this. "But 1 think everyone can find pride in what they do."
But he boiled inside. He was going to fucking break something.
His eldest sister's smile faded. "You could have just as easily have been a whore," she said. "Just one delivery address away."
"Morgan." Their mother, at the other end of the table set down her knife and fork. "That's enough."
"Is it?" Morgan said softly. She didn't look down the table, her gaze was still fixed on Trev. "You fuck all of your patients, Doctor Trevago?"
Gavin slammed a hand down on the table, rattling the dishes, overturning his own glass of wine. Lauren and Emily yelped, Emily immediately was on her feet, throwing a bundle of colorful paper napkins on the dark stain spreading over the table.
Morgan laughed, a high-pitched giggle he’d never heard her utter before. "You’re excused," their mother said softy.
Morgan shrugged, standing up, her wineglass dangling from her fingers. "I didn't have an appetite anyway," she said.
Gavin's hand remained flat on the table. It ached.
Stunned silence filled the room, the conversation that followed as soft and brittle, utterly devoid of meaning, and the food had turned to ash in his mouth.
###
He helped Emily clean the dishes. They worked in companionable silence, and they rhythm of their youth came back almost too easily. They were the closest in age—only sixteen months apart.
"Well that was fucking great," he said softly. "Really makes me think I should have come home more often."
"Olivia really wanted to come up to see you," Emily answered, ignoring his recap of the dinner they had just suffered through. "She just couldn't get the time to travel."
He nodded scrubbing a stubborn chunk of mashed potato from one of the kid's plates.
"I'm surprised Saint Morgan gave you time off," he muttered, glancing up through the kitchen window to make sure their eldest sister was still standing there, smoking unrepentantly. She had never been shy about it. Their mom had done everything when they were teenagers to get them to stop. She’d gone full Ludoviko, making them smoke a while pack in front of her and then showing them a hundred images of cancerous organs and people dying of lung diseases.
"Cut her some slack," Emily muttered, almost too low to hear over the running water and clatter of dished. "Andrew left her. Two months ago."
He paused, his mind going blank as he processed this new information.
But it couldn't really sink in. "What?" he asked.
"Yeah. Twelve years of marriage and he cuts it off from a runway in Russia. Fell in love mid-flight with an air stewardess."
"You're fucking kidding me."
"I'm dead serious. We're not supposed to talk about it. She flips out every time we mention the whole fiasco and then we don't hear from her for a few days. When we do, she picks back up like nothing ever happened."
There was a flash of grief, devastation for his sister, but it was overtaken quickly by a dep and solid fury. "I'm going to fucking kill him," he said. He's stopped washing dishes and is just staring out Morgan smoking calmly on the porch.
Emily snorted, but he heard the anger behind it, and the offer. She'd help him chop up and melt whatever was left of Andrew when Gavin was finished with him. "What about the kids?" he asked instead. Because they have four kids. Four fucking kids.
"He says he's going to come back to see them, but there aren’t any plans. He keeps saying Morgan's freaking him out, chasing him off. That he'll come back when 'everyone's ready'. Whatever the fuck that means. Coward."
"That's still no excuse to take it out of me and Trev," he said. "Just because other people are trying to be happy—"
"It was an android," Emily broke in quickly. "The stewardess. I know that's not… still not an excuse. But… but it's there. You know, she told ma he was frequenting the android sex clubs, and Ma said it was fine, that it wasn't cheating if it was with an android. They were just toys. She said…"
Emily glanced sideways at him, then her gaze flickered down. He had stopped cleaning the dishes, was trying to fathom this. He couldn't imagine those words coming from their mother. "It doesn't matter," she said softly.
"Of course it fucking matters," he said hoarsely.
But Emily shook her head. "I won't repeat it. But it messed with her head. She'll barely talk to Mom now. We were all surprised she even came for Easter."
His phone buzzed on the table. He dried his hands quickly, still stuck on the implications of this. His phone vibrated again as he picked it up.
It was Trev. Her messages flashed up onto the screen.
Babbage.
Code Babbage.
He frowned and dried his hands. He can still hear her and his mother talking outside, though he can't make out their words, the tone sounds friendly. But the messages were desperate, it wasn't like her to send out an SOS like this.
He never should have brought her here. "I gotta go," he said. "Work."
Emily turned to him, the plate in her hands dripping suds and water onto the floor. "Okay," she said. Her voice was tight with misery.
Gavin frowned at her, already backing away. He paused. "But I'll come back," he said. "I promise, Em. I'm… I'll keep in touch."
She waved him away. She clearly didn’t believe it.
###
"I'm just saying," Lauren posited, leaning against the bookcase. She had drunk too much of Trev’s wine. She blinked lazily, and her speech, while passionate, was slurred. "Warren should have taken a stand earlier. You know how many androids died because she was listening to Cyberlife investors instead of public opinion?"
"Hey Trev," he said, breaking into the conversation, grimacing an apology at Lauren and Riley. "Can I talk to you for a second?"
Trevago’s acting skills were impeccable. She blinked in innocent surprise and followed him to the other side of the room, the bank of windows looking out onto the street. She leaned in before he could speak.
"Can we go, please?" she whispered. "You were right. This was a mistake."
"I can't go right now," he said softly. "I really need to talk to Morgan."
She leaned her head against his chest. "Okay," she said. "But do I have to talk to your family?"
He pulled his arms around her and squeezed. "No," he said. "I'm sorry. Do you want to go? I can get a ride back to the city."
She sighed and straightened, he let her slip away, but held her shoulders until she me his gaze. "I'm sorry," he repeated. "I'm really fucking… sorry."
Her smile was brittle, her eyes glittering with tears. He had never seen her like this. He never should have left her alone with any single one of them. But he felt helpless now, unable to protect anyone in this situation.
"Go," she said. "I'm going to go find the kids. They were cute."
He nodded, but lingered, cupping her neck in his hand. "It'll just be a second, and then I'll come get you, and we'll go home. Fuck them, okay? Just… fuck them."
She shook her head, but patted his chest reassuringly as she left.
###
He found Morgan outside, watching the dogs explore the yard. She was the oldest, the one that was supposed to have everything figured out by now. She turned to see who had come through the back door, her eyes glittering in the half darkness.
"Did I misbehave?" she asked, a lilt of that manic laugh still in her voice.
"Can I have a pull on that?" he asked.
She raised an eyebrow at him. "Thought you were a purist. Where's your pack, tar-breath?"
He bent onto the railing at her side, dangling his hands over the edge. "I'm trying to quit."
She rolled back her head and laughed before calming down, chuckling as she shook her head. "Oh man, fuck that noise."
She pulled a fresh packet from her purse and tossed it to him. "You can keep it," she said. "I got more juice today. That's just my backup. For emergencies."
He turned the little box around in his hand. They had tripled in price since he had first started smoking, but that was only right. Addictions were never supposed to be easy.
"Eliza, huh?" Morgan said.
He nodded.
"Can you even—" she made a vague, vulgar gesture in midair. "Has she got—?"
He tilted his head at her, halfway to pretending that he didn't know what she was asking. She smirked at him, raising an eyebrow suggestively, but there was no humor in her eyes. "What? You're the one who got a robot girlfriend. We're all just… wondering how involved we are in your new kink."
He took a deep breath, letting his fingertips drag along the plastic under his fingers. "I know this doesn't mean shit to you, Morgan, but… I trust her."
"Yeah, I trust my calculator too, but I don't fuck it and then bring it home to show Mom. On Easter. The first time we see you in a fucking year."
He shook his head, leaning forward until he was looking down into the grass, pressing his weight down in his forearms and the old wooden railing. "Why didn't you tell me about Andrew?"
She took her focus off of him and dragged deeply on her e-cig. The whistle of air through the mouthpiece sounded like Darth fucking Vader. A mechanical whir. Like a respirator.
"Fucking asshole," she said.
"Me or Andrew?" he asked.
She didn't answer, but let a cloud of quick-fading vapor spill into the yard. "It kills me," she said finally. "That he's happier with it than the mother of his four fucking kids. You know what four kids does to your body? My spine is fucked. My head is fucked. I wrecked myself for him. I wasted twelve fucking years of my life. But he's off touring the world with something that won't ever complain about how tired it is after a long day of taking care of his children, something that won't have to meet a medical deductible so that it can have the fucking headspace to be up to a day at the zoo."
She was crying, tears trembling on her lips as she considered the dogs out in the yard, their noses pressed up against the fence, snuffling blindly at the neighbor's mysterious territory.
"I get it," she said, her voice cracking. "I get why, Gavin. I wish I could get a robot to love me. And I knew this was how it was going to happen—the whole human race wiped out by our own fucking perversions."
She smiled at him. The e-cig was trembling in her hand and her knuckles were white. "Here we are, going softly." she smiled, her eyes dark and mindless.
"Maybe you need a break," he said softly, standing. He didn't get any closer to her. He had a feeling she might hit him. Suddenly he was very aware of the training days, of hostage situations, dangerous people who thought they had nothing left to lose, and how he was supposed to form a connection, try to reach them. "Mom can take the kids for a few weeks. You can come stay with me, or Emily? Maybe even Riley?"
"Leave me the fuck alone," she said coldly out of the side of her mouth, barely pausing before taking another long draw on her e-cig.
He drew up, patting the railing as he turned away, leaving the pack sitting there, unopened. "Whenever you're ready to talk," he said. "We can talk."
He was only a few steps to the back door when she let go of another cloud of vapor. "What the fuck happened to you?" she asked, the words blowing out of her lips fast and hoarse.
He paused, his hand on the screen door. "A lot," he said.
"Yeah. You've changed.”
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
"Good," he said, and wrenched the door open.
###
Riley found him standing in the doorway, watching Trevago play with the kids. The baby of the family, his youngest sister, but it doesn't feel that way while she's started to glow with motherhood, her face filling out with love and expectation. He's never seen her look so happy.
"I'm sorry about Lauren," she whispered. "She means well, she's just… she doesn't know when to switch off the soap-box you know."
Gavin nodded absently. "It's fine," he said. "I think you two were the least of it, really."
"I like her," Riley said softly, peeking in on Trevago and the gaggle of children helping her construct an enormous Lego spaceship. "I think you're really good for each other."
He rested his head on the doorframe, welcoming the ache of the ledge against his skull. "Really?" he asked just as quietly. "Because I think this was a big fuckin mistake."
"Dating Eliza, or bringing her here?"
"Both."
Riley wrapped a hand over her stomach, considering the scene in front of her with a seriousness and concentration that he had only ever seen her spend on her coding. "You know, I don't know if it's because I'm the gayest woman on the planet and your girlfriend is straight up fucking gorgeous, or if it's because I'm the youngest and I grew up with android teachers and role models the same as you, but… she's really real, Gavin. I've met some of your other girlfriends and honestly I was starting to think you were aromantic because fuck, Gavin. They were... horrific."
He couldn't help but wheeze out a laugh, because the language seemed to warrant it, but it didn't feel funny. "Riley—"
But she held up a hand. "You haven't made a mistake. Not with her, or bringing her here. Even if it doesn't work out, I'm glad I met her. She's… she really sees the best of you and… I'm happy that you're happy. You were a pretty shit brother growing up, but I think…"
Her hand pressed firmly into her belly, and he knew, somehow, that she was feeling a kick. Her smile grew wider, her eyes sparkling. "We think," she said. "That you might just turn out to be a good uncle after all."
He tipped his head against the doorway and looked in on the kids. Leah and Logan stood on each side of Trevago, braiding her hair and giggling as the strands changed color under their fingers. As Logan pulled his handiwork to Trevago's face for inspection, she looked up, her eyes catching on Riley and him in the doorway.
He knew she had heard every word.
"We should go check on Babbage," he said to her.
She nodded, carefully standing in the midst of the children's chaos. Logan and Leah shouted out their protest, but Lucas and Liam were far too absorbed in their architecture to notice.
"We can wait for the conference call with your other two sisters, if you want?" she offered. "I feel… better."
He shook his head. "I'll call them some other time. I'm tired," he said. "I just want to drive back with you, okay? Let's go home."
She raised an eyebrow. "Home?" she asked, her voice light. "Which one of our apartments is home?"
He rolled his eyes, but the prospect of getting the fuck out of this house and away from the people he loved and trusted the most in the world was a dizzying relief.
"Home is where Babbage is," he said.
###