Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

..:--X--:..

Tina pumped the brakes as soon as she spotted Connor on the sidewalk, and when the squad car lurched, so did her partner Robert in the passenger seat.

“Ack, Tina, what the Hell—“

“Shh, I just spotted a unicorn. Check it out.” She jerked her head at her window. “Behold, the elusive Connor, rarely seen outside the police department walls, and even more rarely seen not in uniform.”

Robert leaned around her to look, and Tina snickered, turning and spying on their unicorn again. Connor was just walking down the sidewalk, in that aaaalmost human kind of way that androids did, which stood out just enough for a human’s monkey brain to identify them as androids. Tina eased off the brakes, letting the car roll along the street at the same speed of the android’s walking pace.

In lieu of the police uniform, Connor was wearing jeans and a…good god…That was a Hank Anderson shirt if Tina had ever seen one. Some unholy combination of green and pink stripes that shouldn’t have been flattering on anyone, but Connor just apparently refused to fail at anything.

Tina started to roll down her window. Such fashion statements could not go unaddressed.

“Tina, c’mon, leave the man alone,” Robert snorted. “We’re on the clock.”

Tina just reached over and grabbed the police radio, holding it to her mouth. “Connor.”

His name crackled out of the speakers mounted to the roof of her squad car. Connor visibly stumbled a step in surprise, but he decided to refuse to look over at them. After a beat, he kept walking, eyes forward, despite the people on the sidewalk staring in confusion.

Oh that little shit…

“Connor,” Tina spoke over the radio speakers again. “I know you can hear me.”

He kept walking, refusing to acknowledge her. She kept the car rolling alongside the sidewalk, dead even with his gait.

“Connor, that shirt looks like a tiger fucked a watermelon.”

Connor came to an abrupt stop, and Tina hit the brakes, also stopping the car.

He swiveled on his heel and glared at her. “This is extremely unprofessional.”

“Fight me,” she said flatly over the speaker.

People were staring. Connor glanced around and then frowned, stomping over to Tina’s window.

“I thought androids couldn’t get embarrassed.” She grinned, hanging up the radio and speaking normally.

“I’m not embarrassed,” he snapped. “I’m irritated.”

“Ooh.” Tina made an “O” with her mouth. “About what?”

“This is not the way a police officer should behave while representing the force,” he snapped.

Tina reached out and pinched the offensive fabric of his shirt collar. “This is not the way anyone should represent themselves in public EVER. Did you lose a bet or something?”

Connor straightened up, moving out of her reach. “It was a gift from Hank.”

“Does he…hate you?”

Connor narrowed his eyes. “All right, fine, yes, I lost a bet. I have to wear it all day today.”

Tina looked up and down the street. “Hank’s not even here. You don’t have to…”

“I promised.”

“Geez.” Tina ran a hand over her face. “All right, whatever. Robert, make a note in the log. At 4:23 we attempted to save a man from fashion suicide in downtown Detroit. We were unsuccessful.”

Connor sighed and stepped away from the car. “Good day, Officer Chen…Robert,” he greeted Robert politely.

Robert held up his fingers in a peace sign. “Have a good one, man.”

“Ohhhh,” Tina groaned, plucking up the radio again as Connor walked away. “Don’t go away mad…I’m sorry I called you a watermelon!”

Connor lifted one hand as he walked away, specifically with one finger raised.

Tina howled, clapping her hands. Robert yanked the radio from her. She continued to giggle as she prepared to pull the car back into traffic to continue their patrol.

“You’re fucked up.” Robert shook his head. “You’re the only person I know who can get one of the nicest androids on the force to flip them off.”

“I’m offended on Gavin’s behalf.”

Robert snorted. “All right, you’re one of only two people I know who can get one of the most polite androids on the force to flip them off.”

“Aw, he knows I love him.” Tina shrugged. “Connor’s cursed with cute, too. The shirt’s not even that bad on him. He can make anything look lowkey sexy.”

Her voice had a weird reverb to it, and she paused, playing that back in her head. Why had that sounded like…

Robert was holding down the button on the radio, and her little confession had just echoed out of the speakers and onto the streets of Detroit. He gave her a grin and finally returned the radio to its holder. Tina gawked and twisted back around in her seat. Sure enough, Connor was still standing within earshot, and he was giving the most smug, shit eating grin that she’d ever seen.

Tina squawked and madly grabbed the steering wheel to make a getaway.

“Thank you, Tina!” Connor called out, not even needing the damn radio speakers to heckle her.

“Shut up!” Tina barked. “I stand by what I said, you dapper son of a bitch!”

Robert hollered laughing, clutching at his sides as she fumbled with the gear shift. On the sidewalk, Connor just winked and gave a lazy salute, nonchalantly heading into one of the stores on the strip.

“Oh that was priceless,” Robert wheezed. “Unicorn, one. Tina Chen, zero!”

..:--X--:..

Two am in a convenience store existed in another dimension, and it was not a dimension that Gavin wanted to be in. Right now, he didn’t want to be in any dimension…Dead, he would prefer being dead at the moment. Then he wouldn’t have to deal with the pounding pressure in his head and the fact that only one side of his nose was working. At least he wasn’t puking his guts out like the other half of the office. He’d take allergies over the flu any day of the week.

Didn’t make any of this suck any less.

He stood fuming in front of the section of cold medication. Why the fuck were there so many different kinds? He just wanted to breathe and sleep. He wasn’t looking to take something like a bong hit and then go operate heavy machinery, fucking Hell.

“Hello, Detective Reed.”

Okay, NOW he wished he was dead.

Gavin obstinately refused to return any kind of greeting to the plastic prick. Instead he busied himself by snatching up two boxes of medication, trying to focus on the treated symptoms listed on the sides. Fuck, why was the print so tiny!?

Connor seemed to read the air and gave Gavin a wide berth, stepping over to the other side of the cold medicine section. Gavin coughed against the swelling in his throat and grimaced, clamping his jaw shut to stop the coughing fit that was threatening to claw up out of him. The effort made his eyes water, and he thought about buying one of everything just to get the fuck out of here and back to bed.

“The fuck are you doing here anyway?” he grumbled.

Fuck, wasn’t he ignoring the plastic bastard? Maybe he was getting delirious.

“Hank has the flu,” Connor informed, systematically and decisively selecting a number of remedies off the shelves. “You are developing a fever, Detective.”

“Fuck you,” Gavin snapped.

The edge of a box of medication entered his periphery, and he glared over to see Connor, standing well over arms’ length away, holding out the box as an offering. Gavin looked from the android to the box, recognizing the brand as infuriatingly the best choice for the shit he was dealing with. He snatched the box and turned on his heel, marching down the aisle and away from the goody two shoes asshole.

He had just wrapped up his purchase of the medicine, two boxes of tissues, and throat lozenges when Connor was approaching the checkout himself. Gavin staunchly turned his back on him, heading for the exit.

“Have a good evening, Detective.”

“DON’T TELL ME WHAT TO DO,” Gavin snarled, shouldering through the door.

“You’re welcome,” Connor said anyway. “Prick.”

Gavin whirled back around, and the world spun with him for a second. “The fuck did you just say?”

Connor looked at him placidly. “I called you a prick.” He tilted his head and lowered his voice. “And no one will ever believe you.”

Gavin opened his mouth and pointed at him, but his brain farted out and he just stared at the android instead. Connor gathered up his purchases in a bag and casually walked past Gavin, leaving the store. Gavin just stared after him, still wondering if he was starting to hallucinate.

He was jogged out of his state by a surprise sneeze.

“Well played, you bastard.”

..:--X--:..

Thirty minutes. Thirty minutes and no text, no call, no nothing. That…that was enough.

Person swallowed and stared at the screen of her phone, at the wall of outgoing messages that had received no answer in half an hour. With a jerking motion, she shoved her phone into her purse. She avoided looking at the untouched side of the table and dropped a few bills to cover the drinks that she’d downed while she waited. There were only four other patrons in the little restaurant, so she knew her exit was noticed. Embarrassment was painting her face red and hot, and she kept her eyes down to avoid contact while she left as alone as when she’d arrived.

Fuck. Fucking shit damn. Dammit fucking…ass.

The cool air outside was a relief to her red face and burning eyes, and she hugged her arms around herself as she headed down the sidewalk. The clicking of her heeled shoes only reinforced how foolish and stupid she looked. Foolish and stupid and humiliated and angry and God, why had she even thought…What had she expected?

She was walking faster than the rest of the foot traffic around her, and she ducked her head, just wanting to be small and invisible and home already, where she could drown herself in ice cream and forget about this whole…fucking…stupid…embarrassing…thing. Her vision blurred, and she cursed, crinkling her nose to ward away the stinging tears. She bumped into someone as she click clacked past, and she mumbled an apology as she continued on.

“Person?”

She ignored whoever had spoken, continuing on and inwardly berating herself.

“Person…Lisa?”

She stumbled slightly at the first name. Nobody ever used her first name. She came to a stop, arms still wrapped around her chest defensively. She grimaced, turning to face whoever the fuck the universe had decided should get a front row seat to this pathetic moment.

Her eyes landed on Connor, coming to a stop to stand beside her, and she found herself relaxing a bit. If anyone was going to witness her like this, at least it was somebody who could keep his mouth shut. Still, she didn’t hold his gaze for too long, aiming her eyes across the street instead.

“Oh…hey, Connor,” she greeted, slightly hoarse and forcefully casual.

“Are you all right?” he asked, stepping carefully closer to her. “You look upset.”

Person winced and closed her eyes completely. Her hand snapped up to quickly brush away the moisture that broke away when she did so. She took a breath and opened her eyes again, facing him.

“I’m fine. Just…allergies.”

Yeah…lie to the detective android. Surely that wouldn’t backfire at all.

She hunched her shoulders and looked away again. “I can feel you scanning me, Connor. Quit it. I said I’m fine.”

“I’m sorry.” He blinked away whatever results from his scan came up, then frowned. “Humans are not able to perceive when an android is scanning—“

“It’s an expression,” she explained curtly. “What do you want?”

He paused, concern all over his face. “I just saw you and wanted to say hello. So…hello, and it seems that you wish to be left alone, so I’ll…see you tomorrow at work…”

“I don’t,” she blurted as he started to turn away.

He immediately turned back. “I’m sorry?”

“I don’t…” She cringed and rolled her eyes at herself. “I don’t want…to be alone. I’m…That’s why I’m…” She gestured at her ridiculous state: the sunny yellow dress, the shiny heels, the attempt at curling her hair.

Connor blinked and followed her gesture, innocently giving her a onceover and meeting her eyes again. “You look very pretty.”

“Thanks,” she muttered, folding her arms again. “I…had a date…Was supposed to have a date.”

He didn’t say anything, didn’t press, probably would have let her leave it there, as she’d normally bite his head off when he got too curious about her personal life in the past. Something about this evening though…it was just too much. She’d blame the drinks.

“She didn’t show,” she confessed. “Or maybe she did and she saw me and decided to…fuck off instead…”

“I doubt that,” Connor said softly. “Perhaps she was delayed by traffic…or an emergency?”

“I waited for half an hour.” Person pulled out her phone and showed it to him flatly. “Nothing. I got ghosted.”

Connor looked thoughtful, tilting his head. “Not to sound morbid, but she—“

“Might have gotten in an accident and died? Yeah, she better be dead…Making me look stupid and—“ She hiccupped and then coughed, hatefully looking away. “I didn’t mean that. I’m just…” She shook her head and sighed. “I’m sorry. This…is way more than the hello you wanted. So…” She lazily waved a hand. “Hello, goodbye, and sorry.”

She started to walk away, and he took a step after her.

“Wait. I’m…” He seemed to struggle for a moment. “I want to help, but I’m unsure how to. I’m uncomfortable with leaving you alone while you’re upset like this.”

“That’s because you’re a good person, Connor.” Person wiped at her eyes again. “Don’t worry. I officially let you off the hook. I’m just going home. I’m okay, really, I promise.”

He didn’t look convinced. Person remembered how Hank had ranted about Connor being part poodle, never leaving him alone and always insisting on trying to help. It was programming; she knew, but damn if it wasn’t more genuine than some humans she knew. Regardless, he just stood there and stared helplessly at her for a moment before he visibly got an idea.

“Will you allow me to accompany you home at least?”

Person snorted. “I’m just gonna take a cab…” The prophetic image of her crying alone in an empty, autonomous taxi came to her, and she frowned. “But I guess that’s okay. Sure, yeah, if it’ll make you feel better, you can take a cab with me.”

Connor’s LED flashed a quick yellow, and by the time it was blue again, a summoned taxi was humming to a stop at the curb beside them. “The intention is to make you feel better, not the other way around.”

Person stared at him, snorted, and wiped her eyes again. “Fine, whatever.”

She climbed into the taxi, scooting over on the bench seat for Connor to slide in next to her. No words were exchanged as Connor interfaced with the taxi, giving it directions to her apartment. She decided to just throw away all of her dignity and leaned sideways, propping her cheek on his shoulder.

“Told you not to scan my file, asshole,” she mumbled.

“I didn’t.”

“Then how do you know where I live?”

“…I scanned a little.”

She chuckled. “Creep.”

“Sorry.”

Her snickering tapered off as the taxi pulled away and into traffic. The cab got quiet, and it let the reality of the past hour sink in with mortifying fashion. More embarrassed tears came in earnest, and she couldn’t stop them. She squinted her eyes shut and swallowed several times to try and curtail the broken sobs. She failed spectacularly and felt the tears roll down her cheeks and drip off her jaw.

Dammit.

“I’m sorry,” she choked, wiping angrily at her eyes. The sides of her thumbs came away dark with smudged mascara, and she cursed again. “Sure, why not…”

She started to pull away from Connor, lest she get all her gross human emotions all over his jacket, but she was stopped when he lowered his shoulder toward her, dropping his head until it was resting against the top of her head. She hiccupped and went still. His hand reached over and took hers supportively. Her instinct was to yank away from the contact, but she was off her edge enough tonight to just roll with it. It did feel kinda nice.

“It’ll be okay,” he said quietly, sounding like enough of a stock response to keep her from prickling at the sentiment.

She said nothing back. Instead, he let her cry it out for the rest of the ride home.

..:--X--:..

The store was a little hole in the wall place that had been android-friendly long before the revolution, and it had even given big discounts to displaced androids who needed clothes and who had never needed or had their own money before. Wilson and his wife Dinah had been sure to support the shop as much as he could. Business owners like them deserved more props for the good they did in these crazy times.

“I already have a hat like this one,” Polly, one of the DPD’s android receptionists, was saying, flicking a finger against a purple feather that was sticking out of an equally purple hat.

Wilson had almost lost track of the other three androids that he had invited out for a little shopping spree this afternoon. He thought he could hear the two patrol androids, Zeke and Opal, giggling near the scarf racks, and the other receptionist android, Gwen, was so tall that he could see her head above the aisle walls, standing by the shoes. Polly, however, rarely strayed too far from his side on these trips, and today, she was shopping for hats.

“Do you like this one?” Wilson asked.

Polly plucked up the hat, dropping it on her head and tipping it like a cowboy. Her bright green eyes glittered with glee, even though the hat sat unevenly on her recently styled curly dark hair.

“I do,” she confessed, finding a mirror to look at.

“Then we’ll get it,” he offered with a nod.

Polly had accumulated an armful of colorful clothes, and the purple hat clashed with the checkered scarf that she had looped around her neck. She was aiming for the towers of sunglasses now, and Wilson knew before she reached them that she was going for the bright red pair with white polka dots. Polly was a polka dot gal: that he’d learned on their first shopping trip.

The store owners were the only other people inside the shop besides Wilson’s Fashion Squad, as the owners had taken to nicknaming whatever assortment of androids accompanied him to their shop every payday weekend. Seeing their stiff, robot faces crack into smiles and their eyes light up at finally getting to pick out their own clothes: it was that A plus good shit, Wilson had decided.

“Ope!” Polly chirped, leaning around one of the sunglass racks. “Connor? Lieutenant Anderson, hello.”

Wilson turned around at that and, sure enough, spotted Hank and Connor just walking into the store. Connor looked a little overwhelmed by all of the colors and clothes and accessories and baubles hanging off every surface in the store. Hank looked far less impressed and far more focused on the rack of sunglasses.

“Hi Polly,” Hank greeted, then spotted Wilson. He smirked. “Fashion Squad Saturday?”

“Present!” one of the store owners, a middle aged woman named Angie, chirped. “We got three others runnin’ around here.” Then, directly to Connor: “What are you looking for, honey?”

Connor’s eyes widened, and his posture stiffened self consciously. “N-no, ma’am. I’m not—“

“Sunglasses broke,” Hank replied, holding up a battered looking pair of sunglasses.

One leg had broken off entirely, lost in the field somewhere.

Hank shoved the remnants in his coat pocket. “Sun’s blazing out there, can’t see for shit without them.”

“Well,” Angie started. “All sunglasses are on sale, and an additional twenty percent off for androids.”

Hank straightened up in surprise, looking at Wilson for confirmation.

Wilson nodded, gesturing to the armful of purchases in Polly’s arms. “We come here all the time.”

“…Polly?” Opal asked quietly near the blouse racks. “I could use an opinion on this shirt…”

“Coming!” Polly bounced away, on a new mission now.

Hank nudged Connor with an elbow. “Pick out some sunglasses for yourself.”

Connor stared at him. “Androids do not require sunglasses, Hank. I am capable of altering the light intake in my optical units for sufficient—“

“Nah,” Hank drawled, drowning out his partner’s jargon. He glanced over the rack, snatched up a pair, and held them out. “Try these.”

“…Hank, I do not require—“

Hank puffed out his cheeks and unfolded the reflective, aviator style sunglasses. He reached out and manually slid them over Connor’s ears, dropping them on his nose. Connor’s eyes disappeared behind the lenses, but the rest of his face remained deadpan and his mouth a straight, unamused line.

Hank held both hands out. “There we go.” He looked to Wilson. “What do you think?”

Connor turned his head helplessly to Wilson, who smirked.

“You look good, man,” Wilson tutted.

“Eh?” Hank goaded with a grin.

“…Hank, please…” Connor said quietly, reaching up to remove the glasses.

“Wait…” Hank picked up a big green sunhat with wide, floppy brims.

Connor actively leaned away when Hank went to put it on him. “I will purchase the sunglasses if you keep that hat away from me.”

“Deal!” Hank just as quickly returned the hat to the rack.

While Hank went to hunt for his own pair of replacement sunglasses, Connor removed the glasses from his face, folding them carefully and glancing around the store.

“You come here every weekend?” he asked.

Wilson responded with a shrug, uncomfortably looking away and finding where Zeke was modeling a pair of outrageous looking orange pants for Opal and Polly, who were both cheering as he posed. Wilson smiled and looked back at Connor, finding the android watching the show as well, a complicated expression on his face.

“Thank you for what you’re doing,” Connor spoke suddenly, tearing his eyes away and looking to Wilson.

Wilson chuckled awkwardly. “There’s no need to—“

“No there is.” Connor faced him fully. “And I mean it. Thank you.”

“What do you think?” Hank interrupted, saving Wilson from the painful sincerity on Connor’s face.

Both Wilson and Connor looked over to Hank, who was wearing an identical pair of aviators to the ones in Connor’s hands. He gestured for Connor to put his back on, and Connor gave Wilson a long-suffering look. Wilson just held his hands up helplessly.

Connor obediently put the aviators back on his face, and Hank was immediately hooking an arm around his neck, grinning over at Wilson.

“How do we look?”

“Like you’re wearing matching sunglasses,” Wilson snorted.

“I do not require—“

“Finish that sentence, and I’m getting you that hat.”

Connor’s jaw locked shut. Hank took the glasses straight from Connor’s face and carried them and his own over to the checkout counter. Connor sighed in resignation.

“Hey,” Wilson said, picking up a pair of neon yellow sunglasses shaped like hearts. He put them on himself and looked at Connor, adding a layer of silly between them before he said something inevitably sappy. “Thank you for that.”

“For…what?” Connor looked confused.

Wilson nodded in Hank’s direction. “That. Without you, I don’t know that we’d still have him around.”

Connor’s eyes widened, but they were rescued from furthering the conversation by Gwen’s voice cutting across the store, as she held up a pair of violently bright blue, glittery combat boots.

“SCORE!!!”

Polly, Opal, Zeke, Angie, and Hank all cheered for her good find.

God, the boots were hideous, Wilson thought, but the android’s smile lit up the room, and he didn’t mind leaving here with his wallet a lot lighter for it.

..:--X--:..

Sunday afternoons were for walks in the park: that had been the Miller family rule since Damien was born. It was a good rule. It got them out of the house. It was some nice family time. There was no rush or real goal to it other than…walk around and be together. Chris looked forward to it every week. Just him, Vanessa, and Damien for a few hours…just a calm—

“Bear!” Damien cooed, squirming in Chris’s arms, from zero to a hundred in half a second.

Vanessa followed their son’s frantic pointing, glancing past Chris and smiling.

“Dog,” she corrected cheerfully.

“Bear!” Damien squealed again.

Chris shared an amused look with Vanessa, and then turned to see a huge, hairy dog lumbering around several paces away.

”Nope, that’s a bear,” Chris chirped at his wife. “A bear and a…Connor?”

The enormous Saint Bernard was barreling back toward the android, the bright orange Frisbee jammed in its mouth. Connor hadn’t noticed the Miller family, all eyes on the dog as he knelt down to receive the retrieved Frisbee. The dog was intent on keeping the toy in its mouth, and Connor instead ran his hands all over the dog’s head, ruffling its ears and neck fur. His mouth was moving, but they were too far away to hear what he was saying. Chris knew that energy though, and he figured it was some iteration of “Who’s a good boy? You’re a good boy!”

“Connor has a dog?” Vanessa asked with an amused grin.

“I think Hank has a dog,” Chris surmised, “and Connor is slowly stealing him.”

Vanessa laughed, and Damien whined, wanting to get down.

“Ah, quit it,” Chris scolded lightly. “You don’t know that dog, Damien. You don’t run over to strangers.”

“Hey, let’s make them not-strangers,” Vanessa prompted, tugging his free arm.

Chris walked after her, toward the android and dog. “Okay, but don’t bombard him like you do when you meet new people.”

Vanessa looked at him in mock-offense. “I do not ‘bombard’ people.”

“Ness.” Chris lifted his eyebrows at her.

She clucked her tongue and set her jaw. “Fine. Whatever. Just…introduce us then, yeah?”

Chris puffed out his chest, boosting Damien to his hip. “All right then, I will.”

He led Vanessa over to where Connor was now losing the battle over the Frisbee. The dog had its rear end in the air and head down, tail swishing. Connor was in a squat, yanking and pulling on the toy and getting nowhere for it.

“Bear!” Damien yelled out again as they got closer.

The dog popped back up to all fours, releasing the Frisbee and spinning to welcome the newcomers. Connor toppled back onto his backside in the grass with the slobbery orange disc in one hand, catching himself with the other hand behind him. Vanessa started in surprise, lifting a hand to her mouth to cover a smile. The dog started to plod over to them, and Connor was immediately rolling up onto his knees.

“Sumo, stop. Heel! Don’t—Chris?” He paused, finally recognizing the trio.

Vanessa knelt down as the dog, Sumo, reached them. “Oh, what a handsome boy. Look at you! Big ol’ foofer!”

“Hey, man,” Chris greeted, holding Damien with one arm and offering Connor his other hand to help him up. “Nice running into you out here.”

Connor politely declined the help, getting to his feet and dusting off his jeans and blue t-shirt. “It is?”

Chris blinked and then smiled. “Well, yeah, sure. I never see you outside work. Nice to know you don’t just plug into a wall at Hank’s house and stay there until…Nevermind, dude…Hey, I want to introduce you to the fam. This is my wife Vanessa.”

Vanessa straightened up, beaming and extending a hand toward the android. “Hello. It’s nice to finally meet you, Connor.”

Connor shook her hand with a nod. “The pleasure is all mine, ma’am.”

“Whoo, okay, no,” Vanessa chuckled. “People call me ma’am and I start looking around for some old lady…Vanessa, please.”

“Vanessa,” Connor repeated with a smile. “Chris told me about your recent promotion to partner at your accounting firm. Congratulations.”

“Oh he did?” Vanessa sent Chris a coy look, while Chris just stared at Connor.

He had actually been paying attention? Most of the other cops just tuned Chris out when he got to talking about Vanessa and Damien for more than a few…hours.

“Well, thank you.” Vanessa bobbed her head. “And, hey, Chris tells me that Fowler recently made your appointment as a detective on the force permanent and equal to the human detectives. That is awesome. We’re proud of you!”

Chris swiveled his head to stare at his wife. She had actually been paying attention to his rambling too? He avoided Connor’s inquisitive stare by bending over, letting Damien reach out a hand to pat at Sumo’s fluffy head. Damien squealed with joy, and Sumo licked at his fingers.

Connor looked slightly awkward, glancing from Vanessa, to Chris, and back to her. “O-oh, yes, thank you. I…Proud?”

“Well yeah!” Vanessa shoved her hands in her jacket pockets and knocked her elbow against Connor’s arm lightly. “We’ve been rooting for you since you came back after the revolution.” She made a fist and pumped it in the air. “Team Connor!”

“Ness…” Chris whispered through his teeth. “You’re embarrassing him.”

“No!” Connor lifted his hands. “That’s okay. I…didn’t realize I had fans.”

Chris started to look at him in surprise, but the expression on Connor’s face was obviously teasing, and Chris deadpanned.

“You know what?” he reproached, and Vanessa giggled. Chris shook his head and shifted his grip on Damien. “And it’s been a while since you’ve seen Damien. He was just a baby when you two first met. Damien, hey, can you say hi to Connor?”

Damien looked unhappy at being lifted away from Sumo, and Connor was decidedly not an adequate substitute for the dog. The toddler frowned at the android and shyly turned away, putting his face against Chris’s shoulder. Vanessa reached over and wiggled Damien’s foot, but the boy wouldn’t be convinced.

“Hey.” Chris tried to lean in such a way to turn Damien’s face into view. “Can you say hi to Connor?”

Connor gave a small wave and a gentle smile. “Hi Damien.”

Damien was unimpressed and clung more tightly to Chris, who looked apologetically to Connor.

“Sorry.”

“It’s all right,” Connor assured, then to Vanessa. “It was wonderful meeting you, ma’am—Vanessa.”

Vanessa winked. “You too, Connor. Don’t be a stranger.”

After letting Damien pet Sumo a bit more, the Millers resumed their walk, leaving Connor to wrestle with the giant dog.

“What a sweetheart,” Vanessa barely lowered her voice, looking back as they walked on.

“Team Connor?” Chris called her out, steering her back to the walking path. “Why would you tell him that?”

Vanessa just cackled. “Hey, so what’s this about you bragging on me at work?”

“Woman, I’m always bragging on you,” he snapped back with a grin. “Team Vanessa.”

Vanessa smiled and looped her arm through his as they walked. “You’re such a dork.”

Chapter Text

They were less than two hours into this team retreat that Fowler had sent them on, and they had already lost Connor.

“We didn’t ‘lose’ him,” Tina assured, holding up her fingers and making air quotes. “I think he mentioned going on a walk, so…I’m assuming he walked off.”

Chris gawked at her, where she was kicked back in the bubbling Jacuzzi on the cabin porch. He looked away, at the miles of untamed forest that surrounded the cabin, and then looked incredulously back to Tina.

“And you didn’t think that might not be a good idea?” he asked.

Tina slurped loudly from her pina colada. “He’s a big boy, Chris. Got a GPS in his brain and everything. I think he’ll be okay.”

Chris put his hands on his hips and chewed on his lip, looking out at the woods again. The team was spending the weekend at a cabin that Wilson and his wife had bought a few years ago. He could already hear the foosball battle raging inside between Gavin and Person. Wilson was fiddling with firing up the grill. Ben was sitting on the other end of the porch, sipping at a beer and overlooking the spectacular view of a lake.

“Wilson.” Chris backed up a few paces and headed down the steps to where Wilson was. “People don’t…hunt in these woods, do they? I think Connor went for a walk and…I don’t know that he’s ever been outside the city before.”

Wilson straightened up from the grill. “Not on the off-season. I checked before we came up; we’re the only people in this neck of the woods.” He glanced at the tree line and back to Chris with a shrug. “There are plenty of walking paths all over the place. They’re clearly marked and almost all of them end up right back there at the lake.”

Chris fidgeted. Wilson noticed.

“Have you tried calling him?”

“No, that’s—I don’t think that’s necessary, and besides, I don’t have any signal out here.” Chris said. “It’s just…Hank kind of—“

Wilson blinked at him. “Oh geez, Hank didn’t give you a Dad Speech about keeping an eye on him, did he?”

Chris lifted his hand, pointing his index and middle fingers at his eyes. “Dude looked straight into my SOUL and warned me about letting anything happen to him.”

From the depths of the house came the sound of a foosball finding the goal, followed by Gavin screaming.

“PERSON, YOU ASSHOLE. THREE OUTTA FIVE. RIGHT NOW, OR I WILL END YOUR ENTIRE BLOODLINE.”

Wilson deadpanned and looked to Chris. “Pretty sure he was talking about Reed, not…trees.”

Ben stepped over to the edge of the porch, looking down at the other two. “Connor doesn’t need a babysitter, guys. I told Hank as much before we left.”

“Into. My. Soul,” Chris emphasized. “I got a wife and son at home, man. I want to see them again, but I can’t if the lieutenant kills me.”

Ben snorted and looked out over the landscape. “Relax, bears don’t eat plastic and metal.”

“Bears?!” Chris balked.

Wilson shook his head. “No bears out here, man.”

Chris, shockingly, wasn’t comforted by that. “You know Connor, guys. He’s too curious for his own good sometimes, and if he was designed for the woods, then I’m Captain America.”

From the hot tub came Tina: “I’d follow you into battle, Cap.”

Ben finished off his beer. “You might have a point.”

“I might?!”

“Yeah, poor bastard might encounter,” Ben clutched at his throat, eyes wide in horror as he looked down at Chris, “gently rustling tree branches and…and BUTTERFLIES.”

Wilson pointed at him. “That’s lowkey adorable, actually. God, just picture him standing out there, one butterfly landing on his finger…That’s some Disney level shit.”

Chris groaned and took out his phone. Yep, still no signal. Hank’s haunting, vaguely threatening words echoed through his head, along with the ghost of the lieutenant’s tight grip on his shoulder as he calmly asked Chris to keep Connor out of trouble.

“If it’ll make you feel better,” Ben stated, heading down the stairs to join Wilson and Chris on the grill patio, “I could use a walk to stretch my legs. You and me can putter around out there for a bit, see if we bump into him, save him from the butterflies.”

Tina loudly finished off her pina colada. “And I, bravely, will remain here in the hot tub.”

Chris sighed and looked appreciatively to Ben. Hank and Ben were friends. If Chris could rope Ben into this weird mission and make him responsible for the android too, then maybe Hank would have mercy on them both.

“Thanks, Ben.”

“Sure, c’mon.” Ben clapped him on the shoulder, and they aimed themselves for the opening to one of the walking paths.

The beaten dirt path wound into the tree line and down a gentle slope into the woods. The trees quickly closed around them, blocking the view of the cabin and the lake. It was easy to feel like you were in the middle of nowhere very quickly. Chris thought he recalled Wilson telling them on the drive out here that the paths meandered for miles. They didn’t have miles’ worth of daylight. Maybe they should have brought flashlights—

“There he is,” Ben said flatly.

Oh…that was…sooner than Chris had expected.

He followed Ben’s pointing, and, sure enough, there was Connor. In jeans and a black t-shirt, he stood out like a sore thumb in a small clearing beside the path…literally less than fifty feet from the tree line. There was a fallen tree lying across the path at a weird angle, and the canopy was dangling down into a feeble little creek that ran alongside the path.

Connor’s back was turned toward them, and he was standing absolutely, perfectly still. He looked a little stiff, elbows locking his arms at his sides. Chris had seen androids get shut down before; they tended to fall over, not get stuck standing up like this. So what was he doing?

“Hey, Connor,” Ben greeted, picking his way along the uneven ground toward the android.

Connor jumped so hard that Chris thought his feet actually left the ground for a second. He spun around and looked at them, and even at this distance, his eyes looked weirdly dilated and wide.

“Whoa.” Chris held up his hands. “Easy, big guy. You all right?”

“Yes,” Connor answered simply. “I was just…I believe the phrase is…taking in nature.”

Ben chuckled, casting Chris an I-told-you-so look. “Never seen a forest before?”

Connor shook his head, looking up at the tree canopies in wonder. “My database contains extensive information on forests, and I did my own research before coming out here on the plant life and wild life to expect when we arrived…but it doesn’t quite…do it justice.”

Chris and Ben reached the clearing where Connor was for easier conversation, and Chris noted the dirt on Connor’s knees and hands. It looked like maybe he’d fallen down, but none of the fabric was torn.

“Take a tumble?” Chris asked, gesturing to his knees.

Connor didn’t tear his eyes away from the canopies, but he must have surmised what Chris was indicating. “I became distracted by the silence and failed to compensate for the terrain…Yes, I tripped.”

“The silence?” Ben asked, putting his hands in his pockets and looking at the woods around them. “Yeah, I guess until we showed up and started bothering you, it was pretty quiet out here.”

“I’m not bothered.” Connor tilted his head, aiming an ear up at the trees.

Chris, curious despite himself, did the same, following his line of sight.

Now that he was thinking about it, it was really quiet out here. The leaves and the underbrush really swallowed up the sound in the air. He couldn’t even hear the noise at the cabin, despite it being so close. He could hear the branches rubbing against each other overhead, and the whisper of leaves moving in the breeze. Some birds or squirrels disturbed the stillness in the distance on his left, and what little water made that creek a creek was trickling along the rocks and the downed tree. The smell of dirt and grass was carried on the breeze.

And that was only what his human senses got. He wondered what Connor’s heightened sensors picked up. He didn’t know if being able to perceive so much more sound and sight and smell would be awesome or drive him crazy. This was a pretty tranquil patch of woods, too. It was a far cry from the comparative chaos of the city. It was all people and cars and flashing lights and crime and helicopters and phones ringing…but that was the exact world that Connor had been designed to adapt to, wasn’t it?

He wasn’t built for trees and woods and tranquility like this, and something about that broke Chris’s heart a little. The childlike wonder on the android’s face broke it the rest of the way. Dude was fascinated by frickin’ trees like they were the most amazing things he’d ever seen.

Cyberlife really didn’t want to give him anything, did they?

Chris grimaced and looked over at Ben.

Ben looked humored rather than unsettled by Connor’s reaction to the woods around him.

“Hey, check this out.” The older cop folded his hands and lifted them to his mouth.

Connor and Chris both looked at him as Ben blew into his hands. He lifted one hand as he did so, wiggling his fingers together so a bird call sound came out. Ben watched them in amusement as a beat passed, and then an answering call from two birds in the distance reached them.

Connor’s head whipped around in the direction of the response, and he just as quickly looked back at Ben.

“How did you do that?”

Ben laughed, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “It’s gonna be a long weekend. I’ll show you.” He winked at Chris. “You want to learn to bird call too?”

“I’m…good,” Chris snorted. He eyed Connor again. “You’ve been to parks before, man. It’s the same trees there, just…more of them.”

“I suppose,” Connor said mechanically. “But I…enjoy…this much more than the parks in the city.”

He seemed to come back to himself a little bit, and a flash of self consciousness skittered across his face.

“I’m sorry. The purpose of this trip is team building, and I immediately left the group to be alone.” He averted his eyes to the creek. “I don’t know why I did that.”

“It’s okay to want a moment alone,” Ben stated. “Especially when you’re stuck around these knuckleheads all day.” He looked to Chris. “Present company not included.”

Chris snorted and shook his head. “Sorry, Connor. We just didn’t know where you went.”

Connor blinked. “I will make sure it’s all right before doing so again.”

Chris lifted his hands. “No, no you don’t have to…ask permission or…No, dude. Just let somebody know so we know you didn’t get…kidnapped or fall into a ravine or something.”

Connor’s expression went deadpan. “A ravine.”

“Ravine?” Ben asked as well, lifting an eyebrow.

“You ever seen 127 Hours?” Chris challenged. “Guy had to cut off his own hand because nobody knew where he was!”

Connor’s expression didn’t change. “I am capable of detaching my limbs without causing damage.”

“That’s not the point—wait, seriously?” Chris gawked.

Ben leaned in. “I will pay you twenty bucks to do that in front of Gavin and ask if he needs a hand with something.”

Connor looked at him seriously for a moment. His LED whirled a quick yellow before going blue again, and he smiled. “We’ll see.”

Ben pumped his fist, but Chris shook his head.

“That’s a good way to get your hand thrown into the lake.”

“Thirty bucks.”

“I accept.”

Chris rolled his eyes and turned to head back to the house. “I give up. Do what you want, Connor, just let somebody know before you go adventuring out here. That rule applies to everybody.”

Ben grinned. “Okay, DAD.”

He looked from Chris to Connor and froze. His eyes went wide, and he reached out, smacking Chris on the arm.

“Ow, hey, what—“ Chris turned and followed Ben’s gaze.

A single, orange-winged butterfly had landed on Connor’s shoulder. Its wings were spread wide and moving back and forth slowly.

Both men just stared.

Connor stared back at them. “What?”

Chris’s closed his dropped jaw. “Don’t move. There’s a butterfly on your shoulder.”

Ben whispered in awe beside him. “It’s that Disney level shit.”

Connor blinked at them and then slowly turned his head, spying the small creature perched on him. There were no other butterflies flying around that Chris could see. This one had just materialized out of nowhere and chosen that specific spot to land on.

“What…do I do?” Connor asked.

“If it’s bothering you, just wave your hand at it. It’ll fly away,” Chris said.

Instead of doing that, Connor gently lifted his hand toward his shoulder, extending two fingers carefully toward the thing. The butterfly drew its wings together at its back and stayed there for a moment. Then, as if considering, it stepped over onto his offered fingers. Connor slowly moved his hand away and in front of him to view it properly, probably scanning it.

There was a brief camera flash as Ben snapped a picture with his phone.

Connor glanced at him for a half second but then went back to analyzing the butterfly.

Ben checked the picture and then, satisfied, put his phone back in his pocket.

Chris leaned toward him. “If he starts singing and woodland creatures come out, I’m out of here.”

The butterfly lifted off, flapping its wings and bouncing across the air toward the higher tree branches. Connor followed it with his eyes, and when he looked back down, the two men were still staring at him.

“What?” he asked, slightly annoyed now. “I’ve never seen one before. I’ve never seen a forest before, or anything in it. If you react like this every time I admire something new, it’s going to be a very long weekend.”

Ben barked out a laugh at that, putting his hands on his hips. “You got us there, kid.”

Chris shook his head. “Sorry, Connor. It’s just weird seeing people get…mesmerized by stuff anymore. It’s good weird though! Don’t…Don’t ever stop getting excited about things like that.”

Connor quirked an eyebrow at him. “Okay.”

Chris tilted his head in the direction of the cabin. “I’m gonna head back. You coming or you want to stay out here for a while?”

“I’m…” Connor paused, taking in their surroundings again. “I will come back with you. I’m curious to see exactly how many times Person can beat Gavin in foosball before that vein in his forehead pops out.”

“Oh, son, that ship has sailed,” Ben sighed.

The three of them started picking their way back up the path. Connor brought up the rear, eyes still roaming all across the green that surrounded them. Chris glanced back at him occasionally until they broke the tree line. It was easy to forget sometimes that most androids were only a few years old, despite having an adult appearance. Connor was even younger than that. Dude had literally only seen a year and a half of life, and the first several months of that had been…well…the bloody events leading up to the revolution, and the bloody events following the revolution. Not a lot of glamor in police work.

He was starting to get why Hank had insisted that Connor go on this trip with them, despite his own refusal to come and his warning to Chris about keeping him out of trouble.

The serenity that they had found in the woods was violently interrupted as Wilson stomped out of the first floor of the cabin, bodily hauling Gavin, who was kicking and screaming. Wilson calmly threw the other man into the pool behind the grill patio.

“Calm down, man! It’s a game!” Wilson barked.

Chris sighed, but Connor was stepping past him and Ben, grasping his wrist and twisting.

“I better see if Detective Reed needs a hand getting out of the pool.”

Ben howled and started yanking his phone out of his pocket again.

Chris clapped a hand to his forehead. He was doomed.

Chapter Text

Connor had been obliging enough when Tina pestered him about getting in the pool at the cabin, but he had staunchly planted himself at the shallow end, where the water was only three feet deep. The image was funny enough: grown ass looking man wearing a purple t-shirt and white swimming trunks, standing all annoyed in waist-deep water with a beach ball floating around him, staring at Tina as if to say: there, I’m in, happy?

Tina had situated herself in a pool donut, floating around near the twelve foot deep end of the pool in her neon green bikini. She looked over at him.

“You don’t look like you’re enjoying yourself, my dude.”

“I’m not,” he replied flatly, looking from Tina over to where Person was stretched out on one of the deck loungers in a striped yellow and white one piece suit.

Tina smacked one of her hands against the water, making a little splash. “That’s because you’re just standing there. Swim around, do a cannonball, float in one of these inner tubes. Humans play around in pools all the time in the summer to cool off and have fun.”

“I’m not overheating. This is unnecessary.” He watched the beach ball float by again.

Tina started to paddle her arms to move her donut in his direction. “Yeah, well, so is Gavin, but we keep him around for whatever reason…C’mon, I mean…you can swim, can’t you?”

“…Theoretically.”

Tina rolled over, flopping off the donut and finding her footing on the upward slope of the four foot zone of the floor. “Ever tried it?”

Connor looked at her like she had two heads. “When would I ever—“

“Hey, I’ve got an idea. I’m going to teach you how to do a cannonball.” She wafted her hands in the water around her.

“What—“

Then Tina had reached him, grabbing his hand and tugging him toward the steps that led out of the pool. He let her lead him up and out of the pool, and she continued pulling his arm until they were at the opposite end from the shallows. On the lounger, Person had lifted her sunglasses and was peering open one eye curiously.

“Okay, a cannonball is where you run and jump into the pool.” Tina gestured with her arms. “You try to jump as far and high as you can, and once you’re airborne, you tuck your legs up and hold them against your chest. You basically make your body into a ball, like a cannon—“

“Cannonball, yes, I get the concept,” Connor said dryly.

Tina backed up a few paces, pointing out her trajectory. “Watch me. Oh, and be careful of the wet spots on the tile there. Don’t want to wipe out and crack your head open. Been there, done that, not fun.”

Person snorted. “That explains so much and yet so little about why you are the way you are.”

“Stuff it, Person.” Tina stuck her tongue out and then looked at Connor. “Watch and learn.”

She put one foot in front of the other and then pushed off, running toward the edge of the pool. On her last step, she launched herself as far and high as she could, then yanked her legs up to her chest and held them there.

“CANNONBALL!” she roared.

She hit the water on her side, and she sank for a number of feet before the water pushed back at her. She let go of her legs and reoriented herself, kicking through the flurry of bubbles to reach the surface.

Breaking into the air, she sputtered out water and blinked it from her eyes, spinning in the water to look over at Connor.

“Tada!”

Connor continued to stare, in that preconstructing way he did, and Tina backstroked herself away from the deep end. Person was sitting up now, abandoning her façade of disinterest to watch the android detective do a cannonball. Connor began to assume the starting position that Tina had, but he paused before executing.

“Is the screaming part of it?”

“No…” Person smirked.

“ABSOLUTELY IT IS,” Tina hollered over her.

Connor nodded seriously and then he was off like a shot. He sprinted toward the pool, and Tina abruptly realized that she probably wasn’t far enough from the danger zone. She frantically paddled away and to the side of the pool nearest to Person. Connor jumped when the ground ended, perfectly mimicking the way Tina had leapt and balled herself up…just add about three feet of vertical leap and five feet of distance.

“Oh shit…” Person whispered.

“Cannonball,” he announced in a monotone yell.

Then he was hitting the water and disappearing under it. The displaced water rushed out in a circle from the point of impact, hitting Tina in the face a few seconds later.

Tina nearly choked on water as she doubled over laughing. “OH MY GOD. That was the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen! Ten outta ten!”

Person cracked a grin, but it quickly smoothed when the surface of the water calmed and he didn’t surface. “Tina.”

Tina looked at her, then back at the water, at the dark mass of Connor against the light blue of the pool floor.

“Are androids…buoyant?” Person asked, standing and moving over to the edge of the pool. “Can they float?”

Tina stroked a few times away from the wall. “I…kind of assumed so…Fuck, hang on.”

She dove under the water, opening her eyes and finding Connor.

Connor, who was standing on the floor of the pool and looking at her with an annoyed expression, his hair floating around his head in the water.

No, so the answer to that question was a no. Androids were not buoyant.

Tina went up for air and found Person watching her with alarm. “He sank.”

“Yeah, fuck, I can see that. Get him!” Person waved an arm, looking half ready to jump in the pool to do it herself.

Tina took a gasping breath and dove back under, kicking her legs and pulling her arms through the water to reach where Connor was. Once she was close enough so get her own feet on the pool floor in front of him, she held her hands out. He grasped her forearms, and she squatted down before shoving up and away from the ground. He roughly did the same, and she yanked him up with her.

She broke the surface first, blowing out her spent air and dragging in another breath. Connor flailed a bit as he came up, involuntarily grabbing at her to keep from sinking again.

“Here.” Person’s arm reached out from where she was kneeling on the edge of the pool.

Tina hooked her arm under Connor’s shoulder, using her other arm to stroke toward Person. She kicked her legs as she felt the water trying to pull him under again, and her with him. She could feel him trying to help, but the extra movement just made him slippery in her grasp. As soon as she could reach, Person leaned down and got her arm under his other shoulder, hauling him to the wall with Tina. Connor clawed at the slippery tile ground before just flopping his arms out as far as he could to serve as an anchor.

“Gotcha,” Person assured, shifting from her kneel into a sit beside him and dropping her feet into the pool. “You okay?”

“Yes.” Connor’s voice was small as he replied, looking a little embarrassed, but his LED was still blue, so Tina didn’t worry about it.

“You sank like a rock, bud,” she snorted, looping an elbow over the wall as well.

Connor huffed and shook his head hard enough that his hair flung water at them both. His bangs ended up sticking up off his forehead as he looked at Tina.

“Like an actual cannonball,” he replied.

Tina stared at him for a beat, then cackled, smacking his shoulder. “Exactly.”

“No,” Person stated firmly, leaning back and popping up to her feet. “That wasn’t a cannonball. I’LL show you a cannonball.”

Tina and Connor both watched as Person walked, head held high and shoulders square, toward the diving board at the twelve foot end of the pool. As she started the climb up onto it, Tina spotted the donut drifting near to them, and she snatched it.

“Hey, Connor, try this—“

“I think I’m all ‘fun’-ed out, Tina,” Connor said.

Tina snorted and bobbed backwards, encouraging him to follow. “This thing’s literal purpose is to keep you afloat.”

Connor looked at the green donut, with its pink flamingo pattern, suspiciously. “As long as you don’t flip me over and make me sink again.”

Tina laughed, but he didn’t look amused. She quieted into a more sincere smile. “I promise.”

He seemed satisfied with that and hugged against the wall, pulling himself toward the shallow end until he could get his feet onto the pool floor. From there, it was a whole new world of hilarity watching one of the most coordinated and agile androids that Tina had ever seen attempt to climb into the inner tube.

By the time Person had reached the diving board, Connor had made a graceless tumble into the thing, and Tina held her tongue at his locked grip on the sides of it and the stiff way his limbs stuck out of it.

She had never seen anyone look so tense while floating in a pool donut.

“All right?” she asked.

“…Sure,” he answered awkwardly, the picture of uncomfortable.

He looked away from Tina and up at Person on the diving board. Tina turned around and raised her hands.

“We’re WAITING!”

Person stepped up to the edge of the board and bounced on her feet once. The board bowed and bounced with her, and she repeated the motion two more times. Then she was jumping up and away, curling her body into a ball.

“Cannonball!”

She splashed into the middle of the deep end, the higher drop giving the resulting waves more strength as they rushed outward from the epicenter. She surfaced a moment later, flipping her hair and stroking over to the other two.

“Nice!” Tina gave her two thumbs up.

Person actually smiled as she reached the shallows where they were. Connor held up both hands, spreading his fingers.

“Ten out of ten,” he ranked.

Person high fived her hand against one of his raised ones and then looked at Tina. “Beat that.”

“Oh.” Tina inclined her head. “Oh, we’re dishing out challenges now? Do one cannonball and think you’re tough shit? Oh. Okay. Okay.”

She climbed out of the pool and hurried over to and up onto the diving board. She stepped up to the edge of it and looked down at the other two. She spread her arms wide in presentation.

Person cupped her hands around her mouth. “Whoo!”

Connor just helplessly floated in the donut next to her.

Tina curled her hands into fists, striking a pose and flexing her biceps. She bounced once on the diving board and then leapt off at a sideways angle, spinning herself around as she plummeted.

She shrieked in an animalistic cry as she flailed in the air, then landed backwards in the water, ass first. Her center of gravity was momentarily confused, and the angle made chlorine burn her nose. She reoriented herself and clawed for the surface.

Person merely held up a hand and wiggled it in a so-so gesture.

“Oh that’s bullshit!” Tina splashed water at her and looked to Connor for his verdict.

Connor held up ten fingers again. Person saw that and appeared insulted.

“How dare you,” she said.

Connor looked innocently at her. “You got ten out of ten on a cannonball. Tina gets ten out of ten on…whatever that was.”

Person narrowed her eyes. “...Okay, but you’re on thin ice.”

Connor glanced at the water he was floating in and then raised his eyebrows at her.

“You know what I meant so—shut up,” Person snorted.

Tina cackled and started to make a smart remark, but a white flash in her peripheral vision had her turning in the water and looking back toward the cabin. There stood Ben on the porch, phone raised and having just snapped a picture of the three of them horsing around in the pool.

“Hey!” Tina called him out. “No paparazzi!”

“Never seen an android in a donut before,” Ben replied coolly. “I’m documenting it.”

Tina squawked and looked incredulously to Person. “I see where we rank.”

Person gestured to Connor, who had started to get sucked down into the hole of the donut so only his limbs and his head were sticking out. “We can’t compete with this.”

Connor wiggled, only making his situation worse. “…Help?”

From the depths of the cabin, through the flung-open glass patio doors, came an approaching yell of warning. Then there was Wilson, sprinting out of the cabin in just his green and yellow floral print trunks, making a bee line for the pool.

“Look out BELOW!” he announced, taking a flying leap off the edge and soaring through the air.

He snapped into a diving position and cleanly cut into the water.

“Oh, show off!” Tina heckled.

Wilson coasted under the water until his momentum ran out, and then he surfaced, much closer than Tina had expected him to be.

Person and Tina golf-clapped flatly. Connor held up ten fingers.

“What the Hell, Connor?” Person said. “You can’t just give everybody tens.”

“Yes, I can,” he argued matter-of-factly. “Now get me out of the donut.”

Once he was safely extracted, with no small amount of dignity sacrificed in the process, Wilson had fished up two of the pool noodles that had been floating around.

“I’ve seen android lifeguards,” he said. “I guess they’re made different, so they can…float?”

Connor was back to planting himself in the three foot deep section, but the other three loitered with him now.

“Yes. All specialized models have their own unique designs to accommodate their professions,” Connor explained. “Clearly the RK800 model was not designed for water rescues.”

Tina took one of the noodles from Wilson and lightly whomped Connor on the head with it. “Eh, we won’t hold it against you.”

Whomp, whomp.

Connor leaned away. “Stop it.”

“I got an idea.” Wilson snapped his fingers. “Chicken. Two on two.”

Connor’s LED whirled a searching yellow as he looked up what the game was, and his eyes narrowed as it changed back to blue.

“Dibs!” Person locked her elbow around Connor’s arm.

Tina scoffed. “That’s not fair. An android has got to have some kind of advantage.”

Connor took a slow step backward. “That’s fine. I’d rather not—“

Tina straightened up. “No, fuck you, we’re doing this. Wilson, c’mere.”

Wilson sighed and handed Person the other noodle. He ducked under the water and got under Tina’s legs, scooping her up on his shoulders as he stood up. Tina wobbled, and he grabbed around her thighs to keep her balanced. She brandished her noodle like a baseball bat.

“Have at you!”

Person and Connor exchanged looks, and Person shrugged. Connor looked uneasy.

“I…don’t like being submerged,” he confessed.

“I can be bottom,” Person offered.

“That’s what she said!” Tina hollered, cupping her hands around her mouth.

Person and Wilson both groaned, but Connor just gestured meekly to Person.

“It…is what she just said, Tina.”

Tina laughed and smacked her knees. “All right, enough jibber jabber. Let’s go!”

Connor gave a resigned sigh and nodded in surrender. “Just once, then I’d really rather call it a day on all the…pool fun.”

In an impressive feat, Person dipped under the water and very easily got Connor sitting on her shoulders. Tina saw her own surprise in Connor’s suddenly very wide eyes as Person straightened up, and it was an image that she would cherish for the rest of the week at least.

“You’re not even that heavy,” Person said, holding onto his knees. “How did you sink so fast earlier?”

“I…” Connor still looked unnerved by his position. “My weight is approximately the same as a human male of my size.”

“Hey, Person, quick question,” Wilson asked. “Are you on steroids?”

Person snorted and snatched up the drifting pool noodle, holding it toward Connor. “Your weapon.”

Tina hefted up her own noodle, readying herself for whatever attack Connor started with. She had been an officer for years. She had been in fights on the clock and off the clock and won nearly half of them. She could take this skinny android, balancing on his even skinnier partner in crime.

Connor situated the noodle in his hands, eyes slowly moving from the weapon to Tina in that dangerous kind of way that said she was about to get completely fucked.

Oh…shit, right…yeah…Preconstruction.

He reeled back.

WHOMP.

Chapter Text

Tap. Tap. Tap. Crunch.

“…Hm.”

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Crunch.

“…Mph.”

Tap. Taptaptap. Crunch.

“…dammit.”

That was the song that Gavin woke up to on the morning of the team’s last day at the cabin. He’d woken up momentarily disoriented before remembering that he’d passed out on the couch downstairs. He’d had to take a phone call and didn’t want everybody and their sister hearing it upstairs. His cellphone was pinned between his cheek at the couch cushion, and it stuck to his face as he rolled from his side onto his back. He swatted it away, squinting at the screen.

He last remembered seeing the time around 2 am before falling asleep, and it looked like she’d hung up around 2:20. He dropped the phone on the couch beside him and continued to glare at the ceiling as his body ached and pained its way awake after sleeping awkwardly on the couch all night.

God, getting older sucked massive balls.

Tap. Tap. Crunch.

“…Ugh.”

The fuck was Connor doing?

Gavin could practically hear the plastic prick’s gears whirring in frustration from here. It sounded like he was in the kitchen, just on the other side of the wall from the den where Gavin had crashed. He wasn’t even being that loud, but it was just so fucking quiet out here that every little noise was like a jack hammer.

Tap. Tap.

Ignore it.

Tap.

Don’t you fucking…

Crunch.

Shit.

“Shit,” came a quiet curse.

Gavin blinked and then snarled, levering himself upright on the couch. His back and shoulders screamed at him, and he rubbed his neck with one hand as he swung his legs over. A full body stretch sounded good in theory, but fucking god, it was gonna hurt.

Before he could talk himself out of it, he stood up and stretched. A series of pops ricocheted down his spine, and all the muscles from his shoulders to his hips twisted and burned.

“Fuuuuck,” he groaned, dropping his arms to his sides with a slap.

Rolling his eyes in defeat, he let curiosity drag him into the entryway to the kitchen, just to at least put a stop to whatever fuckery that asshole was up to at Satan o’clock on a Sunday morning. The quiet upstairs told him that nobody else was awake yet, and he didn’t want to be either.

Fucking android.

“The fuck are you doing?” Gavin greeted, lumbering into the kitchen.

Connor was standing by the island counter surrounded by organized chaos. Pots, pans, and packages of food were arranged on the counter, in what looked like some approximation of cooking. The android was currently frowning into a large bowl of yellow egg yolks, meticulously picking out bits of white shell that had fallen into it. His LED was yellow in concentration, and it stayed that way as he looked up and spotted Gavin.

“Good morning.” Fuck, nobody should sound that chipper at…seven am? Seven fucking am. “I am attempting…I just thought it would be nice to…” He seemed to be having trouble finding the right words, and the visual struggle was fucking hilarious. “…I’m making breakfast?”

Gavin folded his arms and glared at the mess. “Are you asking me or telling me?”

Connor straightened up a bit. “The eggs are problematic.”

Oh, this was too good.

Ever since this asshole had sauntered into their precinct, he had been perfect at everything. Negotiations, interrogations, investigations, paperwork, forensics work, making arrests, even comforting victims and making nice with their co-workers. He’d even charmed fucking Anderson. It made Gavin’s skin crawl. This prick hadn’t had to put in any of the work to get the skills he had. He hadn’t had to do any schooling or training, hadn’t taken any hard knocks to learn from, like every human cop had to. He’d just been popped out of his Ken Doll box fucking perfect and ready to go.

Now, oh now, the universe had finally given Gavin this image of failure, this rare opportunity to watch this cocky bastard crash and burn and humiliate himself in front of the entire team. All Gavin had to do was keep his mouth shut, sit back, and watch this android fail at something as simple as scrambled eggs. Give the prick a dose of humility. Take some of that smugness out of his dumb face.

So Gavin decided to do just that, folding his arms and casually leaning against the doorway.

“Maybe it’s just you, dipshit,” he crooned unhelpfully.

Connor continued to frown as he took up another egg from the open carton. He held it against the side of the bowl and then tapped it against it to crack the shell.

Tap. Tap.

He was being too timid about it, and if he thought Gavin missed that lightning fast self conscious glance in his direction, then he was as stupid as he looked.

Tap. TAP. Crunch.

Gooey yolk leaked out of the shell, half of it sliding into the bowl with a chunk of shell, the other half plopping onto the counter in a sad heap.

Fucking priceless.

Gavin grinned as Connor sighed and started picking at the shell that had fallen into the bowl. His frame was tensing up worse by the second, that disco light on his head spinning faster in distress. Some red might have flickered in there once or twice, and he was keeping his eyes down, feigning focus on the task at hand to avoid the eyes of his audience.

God, he looked pathetic, and that should have sent Gavin over the moon.

Instead, he felt almost bad for the android, and if THAT didn’t leave an ugly taste in his mouth…

“You’re hitting it too hard.” Fucking shut UP, Gavin.

Connor moved his eyes only from his task, staring at him flatly. “Obviously.”

Gavin shifted on his feet, determined to stay where he was and stay silent. Connor cleaned up the mess of egg on the counter and picked up another one. This time he wasn’t subtle at all as he glanced at Gavin watching him, but he quickly looked away and tapped it against the bowl.

Tap.

Don’t ruin this moment.

Tap.

Just let it happen.

TAP.

“Oh my god, stop.” Gavin cursed himself, stepping into the kitchen.

Connor paused, egg still poised for the final, fatal rapping against the bowl. “I’m sorry?”

“You are the physical embodiment of fingernails on a chalkboard,” Gavin snapped, holding out a hand. “Give that to me and get out of the way.”

Connor’s expression blanked out in surprise, and he awkwardly handed over the half cracked egg. Gavin immediately snapped it against the side of the bowl, using one hand to twist it open and then cleanly dumping the contents into the bowl. He tossed the shell into the trash can beside the island.

“That was…efficient,” Connor said, and it sounded dangerously close to a compliment.

It made Gavin bristle.

“Yeah, well, it’s amazing what practice and having to learn something will do,” he grumbled. “You’re not trying to cut the thing in half. You’re just cracking the shell. Try tap and turn, tap and turn, so you get more of the circumference of it. THEN pull it open. Go.”

He gave a flat gesture, and Connor awkwardly picked up another egg.

Tap. Turn.

Tap. Turn.

Connor uncertainly grasped both sides of the egg and gently tugged it open. The yolk plopped out and landed in the bowl, not a shard of eggshell in sight. God, it was ugly, but it had worked.

“There. See? Easy,” Gavin touted, putting as much condescension into his tone as possible.

The android looked stunned. It only lasted for a second, and then he was grabbing up another egg, eager to repeat the success. It was like watching a toddler putting the same puzzle together over and over. Some unspeakable part of Gavin felt a little pride in it. He had taught a machine something, holy shit.

“I thought Chris said you knew how to cook,” he grumbled anyway.

Connor had finished successfully breaking the remaining eggs and was fishing around in a drawer for a whisk. “I am competent—“

Gavin snorted.

“—However, this is my first attempt at…breakfast.”

“Well knock me over with a feather.”

Connor sent him a deadpan look as he started stirring the eggs. “Thank you for your assistance, Gavin. Now, if your intention is to stand there and heckle everything I do, then I would appreciate if you would just go and let me finish my task in peace.”

Gavin eyed him, then glanced at the mess on the counter. “As unbelievably tempting as that is, I kind of have an obligation not to let the rest of the team get food poisoning if I can prevent it.”

Connor looked offended. “I would never—“

“Maybe not on purpose, but…All right, fine, look, I’m gonna level with you, asshole.” He glanced back toward the stairs, but no one was coming. “This trip has been about as successful as it can be given the circumstances, and it’d be pretty shitty for it to end on a bad note like burned food.”

“…So you’ve managed to insult me twice in one sentence now. Congratulations,” was Connor’s dry response. “I’m assuming the poor circumstance that you’re referring to is my presence here?”

Gavin tilted his head. “Not for me. I’m not the one that’s been having to keep you out of trouble out here. Baby’s first time in the woods, huh?”

Connor looked passively at him. Little shit was getting a thicker skin lately and wasn’t rising to Gavin’s insults as much. It was obnoxious.

“And yet, you took it upon yourself to teach me how to crack an egg,” Connor said coolly.

“You bastard.”

Connor snickered and resumed…whatever he was doing. The kitchen started to smell like bacon and coffee after not too long, and Gavin realized he hadn’t stomped off when he should have. The android seemed to think they were having a civil conversation or some shit. That was unacceptable.

“You know the others will be too polite to tell if you if this all turns out like shit,” he sniped at the android’s back, as he was turned out messing with pancake mix.

“Then I guess it’s left in your painfully honest hands to tell me,” Connor replied without turning around. “Or, alternatively, that poor outcome could be avoided entirely if you were to assist me.”

“Assist…you?” Gavin barked out a laugh.

“Unless you wish to see me fail.”

“More than anything else.”

“And yet I’M the bastard?”

The android didn’t swear often, so it always took Gavin off guard when he did. This was no exception, and it stunned him long enough for him to miss his window for a good comeback. Fortunately or unfortunately, he was saved by the sound of footsteps coming down the stairs.

The smell of coffee had lured Tina out like clockwork, and she stepped into the kitchen in a perfect imitation of a zombie. She stood there staring at the other two, hair sticking up on one side, red lines on her face from lying on creases in the sheets, wearing a worn out DPD t-shirt and shorts.

“Good morning, Tina,” Connor greeted brightly.

“No,” was Tina’s response.

Connor blinked and reached over, picking up the pot of coffee and looking at her.

“Yes,” she stated.

Connor poured two cups of coffee, subtly sliding one in Gavin’s direction and handing Tina hers. Tina shoved her entire face over the top of the mug, sinking onto one of the bar stools on the other side of the counter.

She yawned through her first question. “Cooking breakfast for everybody, Connor?”

“Yes.”

“That’s sweet.” She rubbed her hand through her hair, looking over at Gavin. “Ain’t he sweet?”

Gavin rolled his eyes. “Whatever.”

Tina smirked at him and took a swig of coffee. “Bitch, can’t you be nice, just once?”

“No, actually. It might kill me.”

The combination smell of coffee, bacon, and eventually pancakes soon drew Person and Chris downstairs, looking in as desperate need of morning caffeine as Tina had. By the time Wilson and Ben had made their way downstairs, everything was mostly ready.

“This was my first try at this,” Connor said, starting to look a little anxious now that the moment of truth had arrived. “So I would appreciate your honest feedback.”

Chris had folded his arms on the counter, looking at the spread. “Hey, for what it’s worth, I think it’s the thought that counts, and this was…really cool of you, Connor.”

“Did you make pancakes from scratch?” Ben said, sounding impressed.

“No…It was a boxed recipe…”

“Hey, that’s the extent of my cooking,” Wilson stated. “It looks great.”

Gavin sipped at his coffee, almost hating how good it actually was. “Don’t worry. I already promised I’d let him know if it tasted like shit.”

“Do that and you walk home,” Person whispered at his side.

He turned and smirked at her, but her expression was serious as death. He blinked, and her face smoothed as she rejoined the others.

The threat turned out to be unnecessary, because…fuck…everything tasted fine. Not mind blowing, not the greatest thing he’d ever tasted, but it was fine. For a first attempt. By an android. A non-household android. It was infuriatingly okay. Even if Gavin had found something to pick at about it, the empty plates that were left at the end of the meal would have contradicted him…and besides, Person kept glaring at him across the kitchen…

Chris finally kicked back in his seat, groaning in pain and rubbing his stomach. “Oh, that was good.”

A chorus of agreement rang around the kitchen, and Connor shamelessly beamed at them all.

“I’m glad,” he chirped, then, insidiously, “I’d like to thank Gavin for his assistance in preparing it.”

Wilson choked on his coffee, and Tina patted him on the back a few times to help.

“What?” Chris snorted, shooting a grin at Gavin. “You did?”

Gavin had frozen, staring daggers at that smug faced bastard android. All heads swiveled to stare at him, and he pointed a finger at Connor.

“It was ONE EGG, and only because you were being so fucking pathetic about it.”

“Awww!” Tina cooed, slinging an arm around his shoulder and giving him a shake. “Look at you, finally thawing out toward Connor. So…should we get you two matching friendship bracelets, or would you prefer necklaces?”

“Tina, I am holding scalding hot coffee,” he warned.

She laughed, and Ben held up his phone.

“Don’t worry. I got picture evidence of it.”

“What?!” Gavin balked. “You weren’t even down here. How did you—“

Ben waved his hands in front of his face mystically. “Deal with it. Look.” He found said picture and showed everybody.

Even from where he was at the other end of the table, Gavin could see himself in the picture, showing Connor how to crack an egg. He huffed and slouched in his seat, as all of the others turned and looked at him again in unison with a collective “Awww!”

“I hate all of you,” he snarled.

Luckily, the others were soon distracted with packing up and preparing for the long drive back to the city. Connor hung back in the kitchen with Wilson and Person to clean up the aftermath, while the others headed back upstairs.

Gavin more or less just shoved everything back into his bag to deal with when he got back home, and he carried it out to the car to find Ben doing the same.

“You better delete that shit,” he grumbled, tossing his bag into the open trunk of the van.

Ben glanced at him, raised his eyebrows, and laughed. “Well now that I know that it actually bothers you…never.”

He closed the driver side door, tugging out his phone and unlocking it.

“I got a whole slideshow—“

“Of one goddamn egg? Jesus Christ—“

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Ben snorted. “I only have a few more years of these trips left before I’m retiring. I wanted to document the good stuff…maybe get some blackmail material for later use.”

Gavin huffed and looked over to see Tina hefting her own bag over to the vehicle. He held out his hands, and she reeled back, shotputting the thing at him. It hit him in the chest and nearly took him to the ground.

“Fucking Hell, Tina, are there rocks in here?”

“Yeah, I thought rocks would be a nice change from toiletries,” she snarked, peering over Ben’s shoulder. “Ooh, can I see?”

Gavin crammed Tina’s bag into the back of the vehicle and found himself looking over at Ben’s phone too as Ben showed her some of the pictures he’d taken over the weekend.

There was Wilson firing up the grill and having a heated debate about something with Person.

Tina in the hot tub, wearing sunglasses and holding a pink drink. She had one foot raised up out of the water at the camera.

Person and Gavin battling it out over the foosball table.

Connor standing in the woods with a butterfly on his finger, looking transfixed by it.

Gavin, fully dressed, in the pool, holding up both middle fingers at the camera.

Connor crouching by the pool, offering a hand to help Gavin out.

Wilson fishing Connor’s android hand out of the pool with a leaf skimmer.

Chris kicked back on the couch, mouth wide in a giant laughing fit at whatever Connor had just said, while the android sat on the other side of the couch, looking confused at Chris’s reaction.

A selfie of Ben, Wilson, and Tina by the lake, all cross eyed.

A second selfie of them, smiling properly.

Wilson leaning over the back of the couch where Connor was sitting, holding his phone in front of him and showing him something on it.

Tina, Person, and Connor in the pool, with Connor looking ridiculous in the inflated donut.

The whole group sitting outside around the firepit. Gavin and Chris were both leaning as far away as they could from Tina, who was waving a stick with a flaming marshmallow on it.

Another selfie, this one in the dark. The faces on the couch were only lit by the light from the movie on the television. Only half of Ben’s face was visible, but he had perfectly captured the image of Connor sandwiched between Tina and Person, both of whom were curled up into his sides. Person was asleep, and Tina’s eyes were only half open, watching the movie. Connor was facing forward, but his eyes were on Ben, a soft, contented smile on his face.

Gavin showing Connor how to crack an egg in the kitchen.

An early morning picture snapped of Chris in the hallway, looking barely awake and staring blankly at the camera.

An exterior shot of the cabin from the car, taken just minutes ago, complete with Gavin coming down the steps with a bag, eyes down watching his step.

“These are great,” Tina said brightly. “Can you send them to me?”

“These are just a sample,” Ben stated. “There’s gonna be a whole slideshow reckoning at some point. Gotta show Hank what he missed out here.”

Tina just laughed and started back toward the cabin. Gavin glanced at the phone once more, then away, heading after her.

“Shot gun!” he called.

“What?!” Tina whirled on her heel. “What are you, seven years old?”

“I’m not riding for three hours in the back listening to you idiots play I Spy with an android.”

Tina cackled, “Okay fine…Hey, Connor?” She ran up the stairs. “You ever heard of the car game A Hundred Bottles of Beer on the Wall?”

Gavin paled. “FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, NO!”

Chapter Text

After a week straight of rain, grey skies, and the inescapable smell of damp, the sun finally decided to shine on Detroit again, and everybody in the city limits seemed to have the same idea: get outside and enjoy it. Hank had gotten cabin fever just as bad as everybody else, and he hadn’t had to twist Connor’s arm to change the timing of Sumo’s walk so that the three of them could all grab some sunshine while it lasted. If androids could get cabin fever, then his partner had been getting close to it as well.

Because everybody in Detroit had the same great idea, the park was full of people. The ground was still too wet for lying on the grass or picnicking or any of that, but there were plenty of folks romping around, playing catch, riding bikes, or lounging on the drier spots in the sun. Hank wasn’t quite sure what route Connor took Sumo on when he took him on walks later in the evenings, but the guy definitely looked like he’d never walked this particular part of the park before. Maybe it was just the level of activity that was distracting him. Eh. Either way, Hank more or less took the reins on walking Sumo to let Connor meander alongside him, distracted by every thrown baseball and squealing child that zoomed past.

“This is nice.” Connor broke the comfortable silence after twenty minutes. “I’ve never had the opportunity to…observe humans in groups like this…just aimlessly socializing and enjoying themselves.” He paused and looked uncertainly at Hank. “Is that creepy?”

Hank chuckled. “No. It’s called People Watching. Humans do it to each other too. It’s only creepy when you use binoculars to do it or you stare at one person for too long…or both.”

Connor absorbed that, sliding his gaze back toward the play equipment that a group of boys were running around, shooting plastic laser guns at each other and making their own sound effects.

Today, Hank didn’t mind being around that kind of noise as much. It was that level of chittering that children in large groups created, just a white noise of giggling and rampant imagination that wasn’t really distinguishable as individual—

“CONNNNNORRRRR!!!” came a child’s scream.

--words?

Both Hank and Connor, and Sumo by extension, came to a startled stop on the walking path that wound through the park. Connor tracked the yelling voice faster than Hank did, and they both started to turn toward the sound.

“Incoming!” came a man’s accompanying yell.

Connor was already reacting by the time Hank spotted the kid-sized missile that was launching herself at Connor.

“Bonny?!” Connor’s face split into a genuine smile, and he spread his arms to receive her.

The little girl happily crashed into Connor’s chest, throwing her arms around his middle with every intention of tackling him to the ground. Fortunately, Connor had time to bow backwards with the collision and let her take him down, lest the impact of her small body against his steel frame do real damage to the girl. Although she might have been okay, come to think of it. She was wearing a bright blue helmet and also had on matching elbow pads and knee pads.

Hank stared, watching the young human effectively tackle his android partner into the middle of the walking path. Sumo woofed softly and wagged his tail, wanting some of that attention too. A man, presumably Bonny’s father and the one who had yelled a warning, was walking up to the scene. He was wiry and looked to be in his early thirties, and he was grinning ear to ear as he walked two bicycles up to meet them. One was a plain, dark red, adult sized bike. The other, smaller one, decked out in holographic purple lightning and shiny tassels on the handlebars, was clearly for a child. He was also wearing a blue helmet.

“Hey, Bonny, take it easy,” the man scolded with a laugh, walking the bikes off the path and putting down the kick stands. “Connor, I hope that’s you and not some poor random android that she just took down.”

“Nope, it’s him!” Bonny cackled, rolling off of her victim and popping up onto her knees. “I’d know his dumb robot face anywhere!”

Hank snorted and brought a fist to his lips to stop it. Sumo whined again, and Bonny’s father looked from the pair on the ground to Hank. He extended a hand.

“Hi, I’m Oliver Stevens. That’s my daughter Bonny. Sorry, she just spotted him and took off,” he smiled.

Hank took his hand and gave him a solid shake. “Hank Anderson. It’s nice to finally put faces to the names. Connor’s told me all about you two.”

On the ground, Connor sat up, grin still shamelessly in place. Bonny had gotten to her feet already and was currently enamored with Sumo, rapturously giving the big mutt all the head rubs he could want. Hank offered Connor a hand, which he accepted, and he helped tug the android back up to his feet.

“Hi, puppy!” Bonny gushed, and Sumo’s tail wagged wildly, thumping against Hank’s leg.

“His name is Sumo,” Hank supplied. “He’s not much of a puppy anymore. He’s just a big idiot.”

“Suuumooo,” Bonny cooed, giving the dog a hug. “Giant puppy!”

“Bonny, this is Hank,” Oliver introduced, a fatherly lilt in his voice trying to draw her back in line.

Bonny released Sumo and straightened, snapping to attention and giving Hank a sharp salute. “Lieutenant!”

Hank blinked at her, then softened, returning the salute more casually. “At ease, kiddo.” He looked at Connor with a smirk. “You survive that attack?”

“Yes.” Connor snorted, dusting himself off and finally returning Oliver’s greeting. “It’s good to see you again, Oliver.”

“Connor, check out my new bike!” Bonny was grabbing his arm, tugging him toward the bicycle. “I outgrew my one from last year, and this is the first time I’m getting to ride it. We were gonna go riding last week, but it kept raining and raining. I never thought it was gonna stop. Grandma even got me a horn to put on the front. Here look!”

The girl rattled on, explaining every detail and facet of her bike, while Connor nodded and listened like it was the most interesting thing he’d ever heard.

“I’m glad to see she’s doing better,” Hank prompted, folding his arms and looking to Oliver. “I’ve been that kid getting an appendectomy. It sucked then; I’m sure it still sucks now.”

Oliver sighed and shook his head. “She handled it like a champ. I think it shaved a few years off my life. But…thank you.”

“I’ve never seen an android ride a bike. Do you ride?” Bonny asked, fiddling with the straps on her helmet.

Connor shook his head. “I never have.”

“I can teach you!” Bonny jumped up and down on her feet. “I’m pretty awesome at it. Dad, can we borrow your bike so I can show Connor how to ride it?”

Connor looked apologetically to Oliver. “That’s not necessary—“

“Sure it is!” Oliver bobbed his head, reaching up and unsnapping the straps of his own helmet. “Here, take it for a spin.”

“Oh, this I gotta see,” Hank snickered.

Connor took the offered helmet, looking more uncertain by the second. “Thank you, but androids are not as susceptible to head injuries as humans. I doubt I could damage myself simply from falling off a bicycle.”

“Safety first!” Bonny chastised, already swinging a leg over her bicycle.

Connor sighed in defeat. “All right.” He sent another look toward the two men, apologetic to Oliver and the expression he aimed at Hank was something akin to ‘I don’t want to hear a word.’ He slowly donned the helmet to appease the little girl and moved one leg across Oliver’s bike as she had with her own.

Oliver and Hank simultaneously took two large steps backward, just in case.

While Bonny began to run through Bike Riding 101 with Connor, whom Hank could see was visibly downloading more technical instructions into his database, Hank corralled Sumo to sticking by his side and looked to Oliver.

“Pen pals, huh?”

“Yeah,” Oliver grinned. “She finally reached the grade where they start that program. She was so jealous of her older friends who already had police officer pen pals.”

“Well, I never saw Connor light up as much as he did when he got that first letter,” Hank admitted, watching Bonny ride her bike in slow circles around Connor, who was still figuring out how to balance. “How did she even manage that? He even told me he didn’t know about that program, so I know he wasn’t an option to choose from.”

“You can’t tell Bonny what she can’t do,” Oliver said, shoving his hands into his front pockets. “Apparently her teacher told her she wasn’t allowed to pick Connor, and, well, that was that. She had to have him then.”

Hank frowned slightly, looking over at Oliver. “Wasn’t allowed?”

Oliver’s jovial expression pinched slightly, and he lifted his shoulders. “Well, I think he meant it more as ‘you can only pick names on the list of people who agreed to participate,’ but I also think there was a little bit of…that, yeah, android prejudice.”

Hank huffed. “That’s bullshit.”

Oliver snorted in agreement. A few paces away, Connor had finally sorted out his balance and teetered on the bicycle. Bonny was still calling out instructions, straightening out her handlebars and tracking down the path a bit, egging him to follow. Connor wobbled, but those downloaded instructions must have been top notch, because he quickly found his equilibrium. He racked the pedals around once and easily caught up to Bonny.

“Daaang!” Bonny cheered. “You sure learnt that better than you learnt how to blow bubbles!”

“This is a matter of physics,” Connor argued. “Bubbles are just…nonsense.”

Bonny cackled and stood up on her bike, pedaling faster to outrun him. “Your face is nonsense!”

“Yeah,” Hank said dryly, watching the scene in front of him. “Connor’s clearly a threat and should be kept away from children.”

Oliver gave an awkward laugh. “I’m not sure who’s in more danger: him or her.”

Far up ahead, Bonny held her arms out, attempting to pedal in a straight line without holding onto the handlebars. Her bicycle started to jackknife toward a couple on a park bench, and she made a grab for the handles, yanking herself away from them. She overcorrected and veered into Connor’s path. Connor’s reflexes quickly altered his own trajectory, so he successfully avoided colliding with Bonny. He did, however, run straight into a tree.

“Oh god.” Hank covered his mouth with one hand. “Shit, I wish I’d had my phone out for that.”

Oliver’s eyes widened in concern. “That really looked like it hurt.”

“Sorry!” Bonny jumped off her bike and darted over to the crime scene. “Sorrysorrysorry!”

Splayed out on the grass, the bike lying across his lower half, Connor just lifted one thumb up as a sign that he was okay. He let his arm flop back to the grass and made no immediate attempt to get up. Could androids get winded? Because he looked winded.

“Yeah, she’s a handful. Do you have kids, Lieutenant?” Oliver asked conversationally.

Hank felt that familiar ‘swallowed an ice cube’ feeling slip into his gut, and he kept his eyes forward, not looking at the other man.

“No.” He shook his head curtly.

Oliver picked up on the shift in the air and looked away as well. The silence sucked at the air like a vacuum, and they both just watched Bonny loom over Connor while the android got his bearings and sat up. He’d landed in a wet patch of grass, and his entire back looked soaked.

“That’s why we wear helmets!” Bonny bellowed, knocking her knuckles on the top of the helmet on Connor’s head.

Hank cleared his throat, desperate to curtail the awkward silence before it settled in. “Does he count?”

Oliver laughed a little too hard, just as desperate for a break in the thick air. “I’d say so.”

The couple on the park bench that had escaped the crash had stood, moving over to Bonny and Connor to make sure they were both okay. Connor got to his feet again and assured them that he was fine. The unease on Bonny’s face started to melt away, and she more timidly retrieved her abandoned bike.

“We can stop, if you want,” she said, eyes downcast slightly.

Connor finished assessing himself, found no damage of course, and then eyed her, righting Oliver’s bicycle. “We can’t end on that note. How about…a race?”

Her head snapped up, eyes fiery. “To the bridge looking over the pond!” She pointed immediately toward the bridge, a fair pace from their current spot on the path.

Connor nodded seriously. “I accept.”

“Loser has to…catch one of those ducks and kiss it!” Bonny jeered.

Connor regarded her flatly. “You are aware that as an android, I was designed to be physically superior to humans. Even if I wasn’t, my longer legs will surely—“

“Lotta big talk for a guy who just ran into a tree!”

“To avoid hitting you!”

“On three!” Bonny yelled over him, climbing back onto her bike. “One!”

“Wait, wait, wait.” Connor hastily climbed onto Oliver’s bike again, preparing. “Okay.”

“Two…Three, go!” Bonny took off, pedaling furiously.

Connor more leisurely began to pedal after her. One or two good rotations on the pedals, and he would easily overtake her. So he didn’t, and Hank found himself grinning despite it all. Oliver chuckled, looking over the moon at the sight.

“This is the most perked up she’s been in a while,” he said quietly.

Hank tugged on Sumo’s leash, as the dog was getting restless and wanting to go after his favorite android and join the fun. “She seems like a good kid.”

“Oh, she’s the best,” Oliver gushed freely. “My wife comes back from active duty next month. She wasn’t supposed to come home for another three months, but things got moved around, so she gets to come home early. I haven’t told Bonny; we want to surprise her.”

Hank smiled at that and watched Bonny zoom around a tight corner. Connor glided around the same corner a second later, barely pedaling at all.

“Congratulations,” Hank said genuinely. “Will she be done after that?”

“Yep,” Oliver beamed. “Her service will finally be up, and she’ll get to stay stateside.”

“That’s awesome. I’m glad to hear that. And, hey, I’m glad that Connor could help brighten her day a little in the meantime,” Hank smirked.

“Yeah…Are you married?” Oliver asked cheerfully.

The vacuum came back with a cold vengeance.

“No.”

He heard Oliver suck in a short breath between his teeth, looking away.

“Sorry…Man, I am batting a thousand today,” Oliver mumbled under his breath, then straightened with a carefully constructed smile. “Oh, looks like we’re about to have a winner!” He pointed.

The two racers were nearing the bridge, and Bonny seemed to have caught on to what Connor was doing. Hank eagerly grabbed onto the distraction.

“Don’t you dare let me win on purpose!” she yelled over her shoulder. “I will never forgive you!”

“As you wish,” Connor replied calmly.

He fully pedaled three times before he was overtaking her, and Bonny let out a string of disgruntled child noises as he coasted past her. Hank could have sworn he actually saw Connor stick his tongue out at the girl as he crossed the invisible finish line, well ahead of her. Bonny skidded into second place, coming to a stop and clearly heaving for breath.

“You…suck…so…hard,” she panted, climbing off her bike on jelly legs.

Connor dismounted the bike, setting the kick stand and surveying the girl steadily. “I tried to warn you.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know…Okay, fetch me a duck,” Bonny gestured.

“No!” Oliver broke away from Hank’s side. “No, no kissing any ducks!”

Connor looked perplexed at Oliver’s frantic run toward them. “I…wasn’t going to actually let her kiss a duck…”

Hank snorted, remaining where he was for a beat longer. Sumo keened, getting up on all fours before immediately sitting back down and looking up at Hank. He rubbed the dog’s ears placatingly.

“Yeah, I know, boy.” He looked back across to where Oliver was now physically restraining Bonny from running toward the duck pond. “I know.”

He finally broke himself out of his stance, aiming his feet toward the commotion. Sumo was quickly on his feet again, bounding forward and nearly yanking Hank’s shoulder out of its socket as they made their way over to the bridge.

Oliver lifted his daughter clear off the ground. “Bonny, no! Gah! Hey, hey, here’s an idea. Winner gets to decide what the loser has to do…WITHIN REASON. How does that sound?”

Connor looked alarmed at the two humans’ behavior, but he shrugged when Oliver appealed to him. “I suppose that’s fair.”

“Fine,” Bonny acquiesced as Oliver set her back on her feet. “I’m at your mercy, Connor.”

Connor blinked and turned helpless eyes on Hank. “I’ve never won a contest like this before. I don’t know…what would be suitable.”

Oliver saw the turmoil in his eyes and spared him. “I think the loser should go home.”

“Noooo,” Bonny groaned. “Daaaad!”

Hank grimaced, and he knew Connor saw it. Oliver, however, only had eyes on Bonny.

“We were already out here for two hours before you literally ran into Connor,” Oliver stated. “It’s time to go home, BJ.”

Bonny groaned dramatically and slumped her shoulders in defeat. Oliver reached out and patted the top of her helmet, making her head wiggle.

“Yeah, I know, I’m a terrible father. Say goodbye.”

Bonny loosed her helmet and dropped it next to her bike, revealing an amazing mess of helmet hair. Connor did the same, handing Oliver his helmet back, but his hair merely resumed its perfectly programmed style. Because of course it did.

The little girl pouted but got two steps of momentum before pouncing on Connor again, barely reaching his sternum and squeezing him hard around the middle. Connor was taken off guard by the hug, but he was quick to reciprocate it.

Dammit, this was going to give Hank diabetes.

“I’m glad I got to see you again,” Bonny mumbled into his jacket.

“Same.” Connor ruffled her hair. “Thank you for teaching me how to ride a bike.”

Bonny popped back, letting him go and beaming. “You’re welcome. You don’t suck at it like you did with the bubbles.”

Connor lifted his hands, pointing them to his left. “Physics.” He pointed his hands to the right. “Nonsense.”

“Whatever.” Bonny waved him off and faced Hank again, pulling into another salute. “Lieutenant!”

Hank smirked and nodded at her. “Private Stevens.”

Bonny’s smile stretched ear to ear at that, and as she said goodbye to Sumo, Hank held out a hand to Oliver.

“Again, good to meet you. Good luck with everything.”

“Thanks,” Oliver sheepishly shook his hand. “I’m gonna need it.”

Oliver shook hands with Connor as well, and the android looked amused at the gesture. The little family of two gathered up their bikes and helmets and began to steer them back toward the path.

“Bye, Connor!” Bonny waved with her entire arm. “I love you!”

Hank’s gut twisted further, but he stamped it down as Connor waved back to the girl.

“I love you too, Bonny…and your dumb human face.”

Hank abruptly laughed at the odd comment, and his gut loosened slightly.

Bonny cackled. “Your dumb robot face!”

“Bonny,” Oliver said gently, casting an apologetic look at Hank and Connor.

As soon as they were out of range, Sumo let his frustration be known and shoved his nose under Connor’s hand. The android smiled at the dog and rubbed his ears.

“Sorry, boy. This was supposed to be your walk, but I got distracted.”

“Not a bad distraction,” Hank tutted, tugging the dog back toward the path, aiming them on the quickest route back to where the car was parked. “Cute kid.”

Connor hummed in response, and a comfortable quiet settled for the rest of the return trip to the car. By the time they reached the car, the quiet was starting to get heavy, and Hank just wasn’t in the mood for the nonsense that came with that.

“Would you have kissed a duck if she’d beaten you?”

“She was never going to beat me. I’m an android, and she’s a child—“

“You shamelessly beat a little girl in a bicycle race, you monster.”

“I had no choice! She said she’d never forgive me if I let her win.”

 Hank laughed as he slid behind the steering wheel, leaving Connor to load Sumo into the back seat. Connor’s wet clothes squished against the seat as he got into the car, and now that he was still, Hank could see that he had, in fact, torn one knee of his pants, and there was some blue staining through it.

“You scraped your knee,” he pointed out, turning over the engine in the car.

Connor blinked and inspected the site. “A minor abrasion. My healing program will take care of it by morning.”

Hank snickered and pulled the car out into traffic, heading home.

“What?” Connor asked.

“First time riding a bike, and you scraped your knee. Shit, you really can be like a kid yourself sometimes, you know that?”

Connor frowned, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Well, I am only two years old.”

Hank openly laughed at that, turning the car onto the main road. “You know, you’re not wrong, son.”

Chapter Text

Monday

A human in an android facility was rare enough that when Hank barreled into their equivalent of an ER, all of the medical staff just pointed in the same direction. He didn’t think twice about how they all knew who he was looking for; he just followed their pointing fingers and ignored their wide eyes. Thanks to their collective directions, he found Connor in a curtained-off room at the far side of the ER.

He was sitting on the edge of the bed, hands wrapped around the side of it and staring down at himself, still wearing his thirium-stained clothing. His LED was a panicked red that didn’t match his despondent expression. His eyes were locked on the same thing that Hank’s eyes locked onto as soon as he registered that Connor was conscious and sitting up on his own: his fucking left leg was gone below the knee.

“Connor!” Hank skidded to a stop just inside the curtain, only then spotting Wilson standing inside the room also, arms folded and looking deeply unsettled.

Connor took a full second to tear his gaze up and away from his leg, or lack thereof, and see him. “Hank?”

“Hey,” Hank said softly, crossing over to him and putting his hands on his shoulders. “God, am I glad to see you up and aware.”

Connor’s shoulders seemed to shrink a little between Hank’s hands, and he cut his eyes away.

“Hank…I am…damaged,” he said, like he was telling Hank something he couldn’t see for himself.

“Yeah,” Hank said patiently, leaning over to try and get the android to look him in the eye again. “I can see that.”

Connor’s eyes stayed on his damaged leg, and Hank gave up, looking at Wilson for explanation. Fowler had only given him the gist: Connor, Wilson, and Tina had been the closest to a call about a disturbance at a small abandoned office building. They had interrupted a drug deal and…something, something, something, shots had been fired and Wilson had called in an officer down.

“Chen?” Hank asked.

“Gavin got her, took her back to the precinct,” Wilson said. “She, uh…She’s not hurt or anything, but…she’s a little messed up.”

Hank raised his eyebrows, waiting for the explanation.

Connor spoke before Wilson did, his tone mechanical. “Four suspects fled the scene. I identified three of them, and two had guns. They sped off in a black 2024 Chevrolet pickup. I’ve already forwarded the license plate number from my memory banks to Captain Fowler.” He drew a breath. “I was damaged when they hit me with their vehicle as they fled the scene.”

“Jesus,” Hank hissed.

Connor still didn’t look up. “Fortunately, the breaking point was fairly clean, so repairs should not be too difficult.”

“Connor, your…your leg’s gone, son,” Hank said, opting for bluntness over delicacy. “Where, uh…where is it now?”

“The techs have it,” Wilson answered. “Guess there’s no, uh, no spares or compatible parts for RK800 models. They just have to repair the one he’s got.”

“Hell.” Hank glanced around and spotted a white-scrubbed technician heading their way with a clipboard and a cautious step. He leaned over again toward Connor’s downcast eyes. “Connor…hey, can you look at me?”

He could not, apparently, and Hank gently touched the side of his hand under Connor’s chin, coaxing his head up to look at him. Connor’s eyes were focusing just fine, but they were full of fear and shock that he wasn’t hiding very well. Before the technician reached them, Hank tapped his thumb against Connor’s jaw and nodded at him.

“We’ll get this sorted out, okay? Everybody’s alive, and we can handle this, all right?”

“…All right.”

Tuesday

“Connor, will you sit down? You’re making me nervous.” Hank tried to keep the annoyance out of his voice, but he wasn’t entirely successful.

Since they’d gotten home from the follow-up appointment at the facility, Connor had been hobbling around the house on the temporary replacement leg, trying to get accustomed to it. It was less a ‘leg’ and more just a stick to stand on until his original leg was repaired. It had all the dexterity and reflexive movement of a simple prosthetic, but it had clearly been designed for human use and just repurposed for an android.

There were no fancy ports or connections for Connor to plug into so that he could control it properly, like flexing his toes or rotating his ankle or any of that. From what the technician had said, it was better this way in Connor’s case. Those connections and synthetic muscles, and what essentially served as nerve endings, had been pretty traumatized by the damage, and giving them a few days to heal without being plugged into anything would be better in the long run.

Watching Connor get increasingly frustrated by his limited range of motion, Hank knew it wasn’t just his leg ports that had been traumatized.

“I can’t work like this,” Connor snapped, limping heavily from the hallway to the kitchen table.

“You shouldn’t be working period,” Hank pointed, sitting on the couch and idly flipping channels on the television. “You got a leg ripped off. That’s more than enough reason to take a leave from work.”

Connor grumbled under his breath, staggering in uneven, jerky steps from the table to the couch, turning and aiming for the hallway again, to make another round.

“I’m returning to work tomorrow on desk duty only,” Connor said tightly. “I’m not entirely useless like this, Hank.”

“Hey, cut that shit out. NOBODY thinks you’re useless. You’re hurt. It’s a job hazard. We’ve all been…well, not there specifically,” he nodded to Connor’s wobbly leg, “but we’ve all experienced the frustration of not being able to do what we want to do because we’re fucked up.”

“I am not fucked up,” Connor griped from the hallway, leaning hard on the walls for balance.

Hank sighed and faced the television. Connor had been in a foul enough mood to even put off Sumo, who had retreated to his bed by the fireplace and was just sadly watching the android limp around the house. Hell, Hank couldn’t hold it against the kid, but if he didn’t take it easy, it was going to be a lot harder on him and take a lot longer to heal.

Connor eventually finished another lap, and it looked like doing so had worn him out. He kept his hands on the back of the couch as he walked around it, sinking to sit next to Hank with an exhausted sigh.

“Hank.” He sounded so defeated that Hank wanted to cry on his behalf.

“Yeah?” he said slowly instead.

Connor slouched in the seat, his LED a frustrated red. “I’m fucked up.”

Hank paused, snorted, and reached up, gently ruffling Connor’s hair. “Yeah, but we’ll get you un-fucked in a few days. Can you make it for a few days?”

Another heavy sigh, but his LED finally shifted to an unhappy yellow.

“I suppose I have no choice.” He ran a hand over his face and eyed the television. “How’s Tina?”

Hank pouted his lips in thought, wondering if he should be delicate about this or just keep being blunt.

“Your leg few off and hit her in the chest. All things considered, she’s handling it pretty well.”

Connor cringed, but Hank opted to see the humor in it, for both their sakes.

Wednesday

The sound of a rolling desk chair had become the new Jaws theme in the office. A combination of impotent frustration and an android’s penchant for learning quickly had Connor becoming an expert at navigating the entire bullpen without his ass leaving his desk chair. Try as he might, he could not get the hang of the prosthetic leg, so he had gone for Plan B, which was just whipping around in the chair.

One solid push with his good leg had Connor rolling from his desk clear across to where Chris was standing at Gavin’s desk, discussing a case. Hank had already had his hands slapped away enough times when he tried to help, so he remained at his own terminal, watching from afar. At least the kid’s mood had improved since he’d gotten some mobility back, even if it looked fucking insane the way he was doing it.

“Here’s that file you requested, Chris,” Connor said, holding up the thick black binder.

Chris smiled through a grimace, taking the file. “Thanks, man. Hey…You know I can just walk over and get it? You don’t have to Mario Kart around like this.”

Gavin snorted, uncrossing his legs. “But then he wouldn’t get to be such a fucking annoying prick about it, would he?”

Connor frowned and sat up straighter. “Are you just being defensive because an android with one leg is getting more accomplished than you with your two legs?”

“Ooh,” Ben called out from across the bullpen. “Burn!”

“Fuck off, Ben,” Gavin snapped and glared at Connor. “And you just…” Gavin mouthed around a few insults but couldn’t seem to land on one, so he just planted his foot on the side of Connor’s chair and shoved him away. “Just roll away, asshole.”

Connor’s expression was passive as he was pushed away, the chair coming to a stop halfway to his desk. Hank snorted and glanced back at Ben. The other cop was leaving the break room, holding a coffee for himself and a can of soda with a crazy straw in it for Tina. He set the drink on her desk, and the woman lifted her head from her arms, coming out of her caffeine-crash nap. She was still a little jittery from catching a severed android leg in the chest, and apparently said leg had still been twitching a bit when it hit her. She looked like she could use the rest of the week off to recover emotionally, but her argument had been that if the guy who lost the leg could come back two days later, then she could too.

Connor pushed himself back over to his desk, waving off Julia, the clerical android, as she offered a hand to help him. Tina glanced over briefly before sipping at the crazy straw and immediately facing her monitor again.

Still, it seemed like an uncomfortable air had settled in the aftermath between Connor and Tina, and Hank didn’t like it.

He didn’t like any of this.

Thursday

Just one more day. The repair technician who had been working on Connor’s leg said the repairs were complete, and the reprogramming sequence would be complete by noon tomorrow. Then it would take approximately eight hours for Connor’s body to recalibrate it. Then they could all put this weird week behind them.

Hank returned from his break to find no Connor at his desk, but, unnervingly, his chair was there. He walked a quick circle around the desk, verifying that his partner hadn’t fallen down or something, and then glanced around the bullpen. He locked eyes with Person, sorting papers on the counter table in the middle of the office.

“Connor?”

“Archive room.”

“Chair?”

She shrugged. “He said he wanted to get up and move around.”

“And?”

She shook her head lightly. “It was ugly, but he made it.”

The phone at her desk began to ring, and she crossed over and picked it up. Hank returned to his desk, sitting down and frowning at the empty chair.

Why can’t you just sit still for ten minutes?

As quickly as she’d sat down, Person stood back up. “I’m coming.”

She hung up the phone and started making a beeline for the archive room. Hank tracked her with his eyes.

“Everything all right?” he asked.

“Peachy,” Person said flatly, disappearing through the door. “He just needs some help.”

Hank stared at the closing door. Four days of the most bullheaded, stubborn, do-not-help-me behavior that he had ever seen from Connor, and now he was suddenly asking for help? And from Person?

Hank didn’t have to wonder too long about it, because Person soon returned with Connor in tow. She had one of his arms slung across her shoulders, and she was clearly supporting most of his weight. Connor wasn’t putting up much fight, letting her assist him back to his desk. As soon they reached his desk, he stood away from her with a nod, grabbing at the chair and dropping back into it. Person did an about-face and returned to the archive room.

A little irked, Hank pointed his pen at Connor. “You been smacking away my help all week, but you called Person when you needed somebody just now?”

Connor shrugged. “She insists that she owes me for something but I can’t recall what I did that she would owe me for.”

Hank huffed but didn’t push the subject. Soon enough Person returned with a box of whatever files Connor had been attempting to carry back on his unsteady legs. She set it on his desk.

“Thank you, Person. Are we square now?” Connor asked hopefully.

“Yep.” Person nodded and went directly back to her desk.

Hank watched her go and then looked back to Connor.

“See? It’s all right to accept help,” he said with a smirk.

“I don’t mind help,” Connor said, already digging into the paperwork. “I dislike the pity that often accompanies it.”

Hank sat back in his seat, clicking his pen a few times and eying his partner. Connor glanced at him shortly over the files and then resumed his digging.

“Connor, if you feel like me or anybody here has been pitying you the past few days, I’m sorry for making you feel that way. I promise it’s not the intention.”

Connor’s motions slowed, and he looked cautiously at Hank.

Hank lifted his shoulders. “I can’t speak for anybody outside this office, but when one of us around here offers to help, that’s all we’re offering. Not pity or judgment or anything but just…assistance, if you want it. We’ve been in your shoes.”

Connor’s expression cooled, and then the tiniest of quirks turned up the corner of his mouth. “I’m only wearing one shoe, Hank.”

“You little shit.” Hank laughed, throwing his pen at him.

The quiet chuckle he got in return took a ton of bricks off Hank’s shoulders.

Friday

Of all the things Hank had expected to find when he got home, this wasn’t it. He had left Connor home alone while he took Sumo for a walk, giving the kid some space to adjust to his newly repaired leg. The recalibration cycle was already well under way, but he was still a little wobbly on it. Hank figured he wouldn’t want an audience watching him stumble around.

So it was odd to see Tina’s orange Jeep parked out front and to hear the sound of bass music thumping inside. Sumo was more curious than unsettled, as Hank was, so Hank walked him up to the front door and cracked it open. The volume of the music doubled as soon as the door was opened.

“To the left. Take it back now, ya’ll.”

Hank clutched at his chest, some visceral part of him immediately recognizing the song. He felt like he’d been throat punched back into high school.

“One hop this time, one hop this time.”

The couch and the coffee table had been pushed back all the way to the wall, opening up the living room and dislodging all of the dust bunnies that had been accumulating under the furniture. Connor and Tina didn’t seem to mind, where they were dancing in the middle of the open space.

“Right foot two stomps.”

Hank stood there dumbly in the doorway as both Connor and Tina stomped their right foot twice.

“There we go,” Tina encouraged, holding up a hand.

“Left foot two stomps.”

Connor stumbled a bit as he tried to get his repaired leg to do two stomps. He kept his eyes on his foot, as though to force coordination back into the limb, and he blindly grabbed Tina’s offered hand for balance.

“Sliiide to the left.”

Tina smoothly slid to her left. Connor followed a beat behind. He looked up and spotted Hank, freezing in place.

“Oh, hi, Hank. We were just—“

“Sliiide to the right.”

Without changing expression, Hank closed the door with his foot and quickly did an exaggerated slide to the right.

“Oh!” Tina pointed at him with both hands.

“Criss cross!”

Tina and Hank both executed the criss cross, while Connor did his best to mimic them. Hank made his way across to the kitchen.

“Criss cross!”

All three of them managed to do it that time.

“Cha cha real smooth.”

Tina caught Connor’s hand again, pulling him around and getting her other arm around his back. He nearly wiped out, but she kept a firm grip on him and laughed lightly. They stumbled around in a disjointed circle as the music warbled out of Hank’s sound system. Sumo bounced on his feet around the two, nearly causing them to trip.

The old song continued to beat through the living room, but Connor fell out of step and moved away from the impromptu dance floor. Tina let him go, patting her shoulders so that Sumo jumped up on her. She grabbed him under the front legs and resumed dancing with the dog instead.

“Hank, look,” Connor smiled, walking into the kitchen.

The limp was still there, but it had significantly become less so in the hour since Hank had left.

“That’s great, Connor,” Hank cheered for him. “Are we celebrating?”

Connor’s expression softened, and he glanced back at the living room. “Tina came by not long after you left and…she suggested doing this to help. I doubt it counts as physical therapy, but I can’t argue with the results.”

Hank nodded and patted him on the shoulder. God, it felt good to see him smile again.

“And you two…you two good again?”

“Yeah, we’re good!” Tina chimed in, letting Sumo flop back to all fours on the floor. “But if you throw another limb at me, Connor, I swear to God…”

“I didn’t do it on purpose, and…and I didn’t throw it! I was hit by a car!” Connor argued back.

Tina stuck her tongue out playfully and held out her hands in invitation. Connor sighed and obliged, rejoining her on the dance floor. Finally, mercifully, his LED glowed blue again.

“Everybody clap your hands.”

All three of them erupted into applause, dancing absurdly around the house until Hank’s cellphone received a warning text from his neighbor to keep it down.

Chapter Text

An android with bedhead: now there was something that Hank had never expected to see.

Yet, that was the sight that greeted him when he stepped into the kitchen that morning. From the neck down, Connor was already pressed and dressed and ready to go to work, as usual, but from the neck up? Hoo boy.

“So…” Hank started in a drawn out, casual tone.

“I know,” Connor grumbled, keeping his back turned as he dished food into Sumo’s bowl. “I’m working on it.”

It looked like Connor had either moved a lot in his sleep or he hadn’t moved at all for the entire rest mode cycle. All of the hair on the right side of his head appeared to be standing straight up or straight down, creating a crater effect down to his scalp. Where that mess met the crown of his head, his hair just looked…confused, half kinked from lying on it at a weird angle and half just pressed flat to his head. As Hank watched, his hair seemed to flicker and pixelate around the area before resuming its messy state.

“Looks like you slept well,” he teased lightly, rubbing Sumo’s head as the dog plodded by to reach his breakfast.

Connor finally turned around to glare at him, and the laugh burst out of Hank before he could stop it. There were clear upholstery marks and creases pressed into the skin on the side of Connor’s face from where he’d slept in the same position on the couch all night. His eye even looked a little puffy with irritation. It was too early in the morning for Hank to wonder about the schematics of an android having a puffy eye plus crease marks plus bedhead. He decided to just enjoy the visual.

“Looks like you slept VERY well,” he chuckled.

Not breaking his glare, Connor reached up and rubbed at his malformed skin. The same flicker and pixilation skittered across his cheek, and just like that, the synthetic skin erased the marks and went back to normal. His hair, however, did not.

“I have been attempting to repair the program that is making it do this,” he explained, rubbing at the misbehaving hair on the side of his head. “But because it’s not damage, technically, my system is having a difficult time correcting it.”

Hank laughed again and snatched his keys off the table. “You’re using your healing program to fix your hair?”

“What alternative is there?”

“A wet hairbrush?” Hank suggested.

“I already attempted that. No luck.”

“Can’t believe I missed that show,” Hank snorted and led the way out the front door. Connor lagged behind, and Hank glanced back at him. “Can’t you guys alter your appearance at will? Just…make it go back to normal.”

“That’s what I’m saying; I’ve been trying,” Connor argued, following him reluctantly to the car. “I’ve rebooted the module twice, but the default settings are just…not cooperating.”

“Have you tried something besides the default setting?”

“…No.”

“Well, there you go. Try one of those terabytes’ worth of appearance templates that you’re always bragging about, Mr. Designed-For-Undercover-Work-Bot.” Hank started the car and backed them out of the driveway.

Connor huffed and pulled down the sun visor to access the mirror on the other side of it. He took in his appearance and made a displeased noise at the state of his hair.

“What should I change it to?” he asked.

Hank pulled up to a stoplight, looking over at him. “I don’t know. You got more options than the standard models, don’t you?...Hey, do a mohawk.”

“…No.”

“Do Elvis hair…but neon green.”

“No.”

“Could you do a rainbow pattern?”

“Hank,” Connor said, looking sour. “You’re not helping.”

“All right, all right. If you’re not looking to draw attention to yourself, maybe stick with the same color that you got but just…different.”

“Different how? Different…longer? Shorter? Curly?”

“Curly.” Hank snapped his fingers. “Yes, curly, do that.”

Connor hummed and looked at his reflection again, activating the program to change his hairstyle. Hank snickered.

“I tried curly hair once, on a dare in college. Looked like a fuckin’ hippie. You’re gonna look hilar—“ Hank glanced at him, paused, and frowned. “Well fucking shit.”

“What?” Connor looked slightly alarmed, finalizing the program change and staring at Hank. “Is it that bad?”

Hank just scowled, pulling into the parking garage beside the precinct. “No. It looks great.”

“Really?” Connor leaned closer to the visor mirror, turning his head to inspect the results himself.

Hank grumbled under his breath, getting out of the car. “Fucking androids, just another goddamn thing you people are better at than humans…pulling off any damn fucking hair style.”

Perplexed, Connor got out of the passenger side and looked at Hank. Unfortunately, Hank looked back.

Well, the bedhead was gone. In its place, Connor’s usual neat, straight hair had morphed into a curly style. The curls were loose and styled back in gentle waves. Instead of that one rogue lock of hair that hung down on his forehead, a soft flop of bouncy curls lay there instead, shifting every time he moved his head. It even looked to have more volume than his default setting, giving it an almost fluffy, windswept look.

“You’re…upset?” Connor asked, following Hank into the building.

“No, just…envious,” Hank confessed, nodding in greeting to Polly the receptionist android as they walked in.

Polly returned the nod, started to nod to Connor, but seemed to glitch, dropping the pen she was holding. She made no motion to pick it up. In fact, she looked frozen.

“You, jealous of an android?” Connor joked, waving politely at Polly as they walked by.

“Being able to change your appearance like that? And to have it look that good? Fuck yeah, I’m jealous of that,” Hank snorted. “Morning, Chris.”

Chris slowly looked up from his desk, groaning and stretching his neck. “Is it?”

“Night shift?” Hank asked, heading for his desk.

“Oh my god…” Tina’s loud whispering drifted across the bullpen.

“Yeah.” Chris set eyes on Hank and Connor. “Luckily, it was uneventful and—Whoa.”

Hank looked back to see Connor blinking in surprise.

“Is that a bad whoa or a good whoa?” Connor asked, shrinking a bit.

“Good whoa,” Chris assured, falling out of his stretch.

“Oh my god…” Tina’s loud whispering was getting closer.

“Definitely good whoa,” Wilson chimed in from his desk. “Curly hair looks great on you, man.”

“Th-thanks,” Connor smiled, but his brows pinched together in confusion. “Does my normal hair…not?”

Hank snorted. “You looked fine yesterday, and you look fine today. Changes like this are just noticeable to humans. New hair style, new tattoo, new glasses: we’re easily impressed.”

“Oh my god!” Then Tina was there, planted in front of Connor and setting wide eyes on him. “You look so cute!”

Connor leaned away from her energy. “Again…am I normally not?”

Wilson laughed, kicking back in his seat. Hank had to fight to keep his frown in place, heading over to his desk to leave Connor at Tina’s mercy. He caught sight of Person sitting at her desk across the bullpen. When Connor looked over at her as well, Person just lifted two thumbs up, her expression never changing. She then faced her terminal and resumed working.

“What’s with the change?” Tina prompted, following Connor over to his desk.

Chris was leaning over in his seat, apparently not done observing the sight. Gavin was either genuinely engrossed in his phone where he sat at his desk, or he was obstinately refusing to participate in the conversation.

“I experienced a malfunction in my synthetic appearance module during my rest cycle last night,” Connor explained, sitting at his desk across from Hank. “While my normal setting is being troubleshooted, Hank suggested using a different template.”

“So…” Tina folded her arms. “You could…theoretically…make further changes?”

Connor tilted his head. “Further—“

“Rainbow mullet,” she challenged.

Connor sighed heavily. “I’m going to get to work now.”

“Ginger cornrows.”

“Good day, Tina.”

“Mohawk…Two feet tall…Purple.”

Connor made a shooing motion at her with a small laugh. “No, Tina. Please.”

Tina looked at his hand motion, backing away. “Are you…shooing me?”

“Can I touch it?” Person asked, appearing on the other side of Connor’s desk.

Hank jumped in his seat, clutching his chest. “Jesus Christ, how did you—“ He looked over to her empty desk. “Where did you come from?!”

Person looked at him flatly, shrugged, and turned back toward Connor. Connor’s expression remained confused, but he responded by tilting his head at her obligingly. She grinned and put both hands on his head, wiggling her fingers briefly through the loose curls.

Tina continued backing up, making finger guns at Connor. “Seriously, dude. It’s a good look.” She bumped into Julia the clerical android who was stopped by Gavin’s desk. “Sorry, Jules.”

The android glanced at Tina with an understanding smile, then followed Tina’s staring over to Connor. The files that she had been setting on Gavin’s desk abruptly dropped out of her hands and she tripped, bumping hard into the desk.

“Shit—“ she cursed.

Gavin finally looked up, glaring at her. “What the fuck?”

“Sorry—“ She frantically reached out to straighten the messy pile.

Gavin swatted her hands away. “Stop it. It’s fine.” He looked up sourly at her, glanced over at Hank, Connor, and Person, then back at Julia. “Just watch it next—“

Hank watched the guy’s brain visibly short circuit as he did a double take, looking over at Connor again.

“What the actual ass?” he barked across the office.

Julia took advantage of the distraction and fled the bullpen back toward the filing room.

Chris stood from his desk, stretching again and taking his jacket from the back of his chair, finally getting ready to clock out and go home. “Lay off him, Reed.”

Tina reached her desk and plopped back into her chair. “I’d be more worried about people wanting to lay ON you, Connor.” She winked with both eyes and fired her finger guns. “Pew, pew.”

“Yeah, I think you broke Julia for a second there,” Person said from her desk.

Hank startled, looking at the woman, then to the vacant space by Connor where he swore Person had been two seconds earlier, then back at her. “Seriously. Are you teleporting?”

Person stared at him, deadpan, and got back to work without another word.

Hank looked incredulously to Connor, who just smirked and shook his head.

“You’re all being dramatic. Everything will be back to normal tomorrow, and we can forget this happened.”

“I wish the fuck I could,” Gavin said, gesturing to his messy desk. “This is your fault!”

Connor didn’t dignify him with a response. Hank did…with one raised finger. Gavin scowled and aggressively twisted back around to face his computer terminal.

Mercifully, the morning fell back into a normal rhythm after the temporary excitement. It was a slow day, aside from Ben coming in to start his shift around mid-morning. By the time Ben had his own giggles at Connor’s new hair style, Hank could tell that Connor’s good humor had run out, and he was starting to look a little…irritated.

“Something wrong with your eye?” Hank asked. “The puffiness is coming back.”

Connor looked at him full on, and Hank grimaced. His eye wasn’t…swollen wasn’t the right word, but it did look like it was bothering him.

“There is a buildup of thirium pressure behind my optical unit,” he explained, rubbing at it with the side of his hand. “I just have to work through it until it equalizes.”

“Looks uncomfortable.”

“It is.”

Hank eyed him, then turned his chair a bit. “Hey, Ben. You still got your old man glasses?”

“I beg your entire pardon?” Ben said in mock offense. “I think you mean my very hip and stylish spectacles.”

“No,” Hank said dryly. “Give ‘em.”

Connor rubbed his eye again. “Hank, I’m an android. We don’t require glasses.”

“When you can’t see out of your eye, you need glasses, human or android,” Hank said, taking the set of black frames from Ben. “These will help take the strain off your eye until it heals…equalizes…whatever. They’re those self-adjusting fancy glasses. Here.”

Connor’s eye must have really been bothering him, because he took the glasses and put them on without further argument. He brushed his hair out of the way and blinked a few times as the digital scanner inside the glasses adjusted the lenses to suit his needs.

“Better?” Hank said, hearing the file room door open behind him.

Connor looked around, testing the lenses. “Yes. Thank you, Hank. Thank you, Ben.”

“Sure,” Ben replied.

The sound of more files being dropped in surprise sounded, followed by a breathless “oh come on!”

Hank twisted around to see Julia furiously kneeling and picking up her paperwork. Ben glanced over as well.

“Do you need help—“ Connor started.

Julia scrambled to her feet, flustered and with paperwork sticking out of her arms. “Nope!”

She ran back into the file room, bumping her shoulder into the door on her way in. Tina erupted into laughter, pointing at Connor’s concerned face. Ben got up to go check on the poor android, and Hank just snickered. Gavin got up to refill his coffee, pointing threateningly to Connor.

“If her software crashes because of you, then I’m making Fowler put YOU on paperwork duty, dipshit.”

Connor spread his hands. “I didn’t do anything?!”

Wilson snorted as Gavin disappeared into the break room. “Yeah, like he would ever let anyone touch his paperwork besides Julia or Polly. They’re the only ones who put up with his picky ass.”

“Hey, remember that time Polly open-palm slapped the shit out of him?” Tina remembered fondly. “Good times.”

From the break room came a disgruntled “I can hear you!”

“I said it OUT LOUD,” Tina snapped over her shoulder.

Hank leaned over, tapping the desk to get Connor’s attention. Connor looked at him, and goddamn it, he actually was really handsome with the hair and the glasses. The guilty, kicked puppy look he was sporting definitely didn’t help. That just wasn’t fair.

“Hey,” he said quietly. “Why are you moping now?”

Connor frowned, then smoothed his expression. “I’m not TRYING to be disruptive.”

Hank shook his head with a chuckle. “You’re not being disruptive. They’re all just idiots. Like I said, humans get like this when somebody they see everyday changes something about their appearance…”

“I was designed to blend in, not stand out, in a good way or a bad way.”

Hank shrugged. “Then dial it down a bit. You can do that too, right? I’ve seen you do it. Just…look a little more ordinary and less...”

“Pretty,” Tina filled in.

Hank looked over at her, tone heavily sarcastic, “Yeah, because that’s exactly the word I was going to use.”

Ben returned to his desk, and Gavin left the break room with fresh coffee, detouring around Tina’s desk to speak with him.

Connor sulked a bit, then straightened. “I suppose I could integrate more imperfections and flaws to…be less aesthetically pleasing, in order to blend in better.” He glanced around. “It works for Gavin.”

Tina snorted painfully loudly, and Gavin’s head whipped around.

“You motherfucker!” he roared, throwing his Styrofoam cup of coffee at Connor.

Connor gave very little reaction as the coffee splattered across his jacket, and the cup hit the floor with a soft clatter.

“Hey, hey!” Hank stood up, raising an arm to block Gavin from assaulting a fellow officer. “Back up. You’ve said worse in the past two hours than Connor’s said to you in a year. Pipe the fuck down. And Connor,” Hank glared back at his coffee-drenched partner, “cut down the sass, got it?”

“Got it,” Connor mumbled, standing up and looking down at himself.

The coffee had hit mostly his arm, soaking through his jacket sleeve and part of the front of his button up shirt. While he dealt with that, Hank steered Gavin back toward his own desk. As Gavin went, shucking off Hank’s grip, Julia made a break for it from the file room, darting into Fowler’s office to deliver a box of case reports.

“Like a bunch of toddlers,” Hank grumbled. “You all right, Connor?”

Connor looked more annoyed than anything else. “I’m fine. It just hit my jacket mostly.”

He cringed as he started to tug his arm out of the wet sleeve. Hank huffed and sank back into his seat. Only Connor could get scalding hot coffee thrown on him and take it like it was a cup of cool water, the bastard.

“So what happens,” Hank prompted, clicking his pen a few times, “if you get bedhead with curly hair? Are you gonna have to resort to a buzzcut or something?”

“Mohawk,” Tina called, hands cupped around her mouth. “Two feet tall. Purple.”

Connor just shook his head, stripping out of the rest of his wet jacket as Julia stepped out of Fowler’s office. She happened to glance over and balked at the sight.

“For the love of rA9!” She tripped down the stairs, disappearing behind the dividing wall with a crash.

Fowler stood from behind his desk and leaned out of the doorway, looking down at the poor android in concern. “What is wrong with you today?”

He looked out at the rest of his bullpen, and all fingers pointed accusingly at Connor: half out of his jacket and wearing a wet shirt, glasses, curly hair. The captain groaned and rolled his eyes.

“Dammit, people, get back to work!”

Chapter Text

“Take a left here, then straight through two stop signs, and I’m pretty sure it’s the third house on the right,” Tina instructed from the back seat.

Driving into the residential area, Person looked annoyed in the rearview mirror. “Remind me again why I’m driving, since you’re the one who knows where Anderson lives?”

Tina snickered, still holding up her phone and aiming the recording camera at Connor, who was sitting beside her in the back seat. “Because I don’t want to miss a second of this…Connor, hey, Connor, look at me.”

Connor had been entranced by raising and lowering the car door window for the majority of the drive, but he finally tore his eyes away and swiveled his head to look at Tina. His eyes were unfocused and way too wide, and there was very visibly not a lot going on behind them.

“Smile,” she prompted, holding up her phone.

Connor stared at her, and then obediently gave her a toothy smile. She snapped a picture, and he was immediately distracted by his hands, touching his fingertips together and giggling softly.

“Oh, that’s my new phone background,” Tina said, nodding at the picture.

Androids were funny sometimes. Tina could never say that she knew shit about how their insides worked, but bless that technician at the facility for trying to explain it to her and Person when they’d picked up Connor. From what she’d gathered, in order to repair that one doo-hickey in his what-cha-ma-callit, they had had to temporarily shut off most of his sensors. That was a fairly new protocol for android repairs, since deviant androids had developed the ability to feel pain and discomfort on some level. So it was still kinda hit or miss on numbing them up for procedures like this.

This particular technician had been pretty empathetic and decided to err on the side of numbing Connor up too much rather than not enough. Apparently the side effects of disconnecting those sensors from an android’s higher cognitive functions were very similar to a human after enduring a sedative like nitrus oxide at the dentist.

So…basically…Connor was high as balls right now.

“This one?” Person slowed the car outside one of the homes on the street.

Tina glanced out the window. “Yep, Casa de Anderson. I’d park up in the driveway. I don’t think the big guy can walk very far right now.”

“I’m fine.” Connor’s words slurred a bit, patting Tina’s hand. “I can go back t’work.”

“No,” Tina chided lightly as Person parked the car. She helped him out of the seatbelt. “You got the day off, remember?”

Connor stared at her, thinking very hard, and then his head whipped around, looking through the car door window. “This isn’t the precinct.”

Person got out of the driver’s seat and opened the back seat door. “I’ll get him. You get the supply bag.”

“Hello,” Connor chirped at Person cheerily.

Person tried to look stern, but a small smile cracked through. “Hi, Connor. Can you step out of the car for me? We’re going to get you in the house so you can lie down.”

Tina got out of the other side of the back seat, grabbing the plastic bag of supplies from the front passenger floorboard. She slung the bag’s handles around her arm and walked around the car, taking the keys from Person to open the front door. Connor may have been out of commission for the day, but crime didn’t care, so Fowler had partnered Hank up with Ben on a new case, tying him up in the field all day with it. Fortunately or unfortunately, Person had already had her day off scheduled, and Tina had volunteered to help her babysit the android until Hank got home.

Connor managed to get his legs out of the car, but Person had to help him stand up. He still teetered dangerously on his feet, and he was holding onto her shoulder and the car door. Sober Connor had at least prepared for being High Connor later, opting for the comfort of a blue hoodie and loose fitting jeans so he could just come home and pass out afterwards. His face was all business, however, as he tried to straighten up.

“Where’s th’crime scene?” he demanded, face pinched trying to focus but swaying on his feet.

“No crime scene,” Tina reminded.

“There’s always…crime,” he said seriously, leaning sideways.

Person looped his arm over her shoulders, guiding him away from the car and toward the front door. “Not today. All crime has been cancelled today. You can relax, buddy.”

“That’s good…Crime is bad.”

“It sure is,” Person agreed indulgently.

Tina went ahead of them, unlocking the front door and opening it up. She set the bag on the coffee table in front of the couch, moving inside and turning on a few lights. Hank’s dog Sumo was splayed out on the kitchen floor. He lifted his big head to look at them and thumped his tail twice before lying back. Truly a ferocious guard dog.

“At ease, Sumo,” Tina tutted, turning back around and starting to record on her phone again.

Person assisted Connor through the front door, keeping a firm hold around his back. He seemed okay as far as standing and staying upright, but walking was proving to be a challenge. He tripped a bit and kept leaning to the left. Person, nearly a head shorter than the android, was struggling to aim him toward the couch.

“You could help,” she grumbled at Tina.

“Nah.” Tina watched them through the screen of her phone. “This is much more fun.”

“My mouth feels funny,” Connor over enunciated his words, rolling his tongue around in his mouth and smacking his lips. “Sensors still d’wn.”

“That’s okay,” Person said, steering him around the couch. “Let’s sit down. Here we go.”

Tina reluctantly set her phone down, getting on his other side as Person turned him around. They each took an arm and eased him down. He bent slowly at first to sit, but as soon as his center of gravity shifted, he flopped back into the couch gracelessly, nearly taking both women down with him.

“There. The eagle has landed,” Tina announced, patting his head.

Connor frowned, looking around. “I’m not decting any eagles…Decting…De-tect-ing…” He looked up in slight alarm at Tina. “Decting?”

“Sure,” Tina nodded. “You’re okay, bud. You feeling better now?”

He hadn’t moved his arm from around Person yet, and he didn’t look like he intended to. Maybe he’d forgotten he had arms. Person certainly hadn’t, bent over slightly and trapped under his grip.

“I need…They said to use ice,” he mumbled, eyes sliding sideways to stare into the kitchen. “Gotta keep…ice or it’s gonna go bad.” He frowned. “But I hate it…”

Tina looked in confusion to Person. The other woman sighed and surrendered, letting the weight of Connor’s arm around her tug her down onto the couch with him.

“Hank said there’s a cold compress in the freezer,” Person explained. “The technician recommended keeping his thirium pump regulator cool until his system fully recalibrates.”

Connor made a low, whining noise, and Person nudged him gently.

“But you don’t have to,” she reassured, putting a hand on his forehead, then his neck. “He doesn’t feel warm. She just said to do that if he started overheating.”

Tina stood back, putting her hands on her hips. “I’m glad you retained any of that gobbledegook that she was spouting off.”

Person looked at her flatly. “What do you think we’re doing here? We were trusted with taking care of him until Hank gets home. That probably includes listening to the post-repair instructions.”

“No, YOU were trusted with taking care of him. I am here for comedic reasons only.”

“You’re the worst,” Person grunted, trying again and failing to remove Connor’s arm from around her. “Hey, Connor? Can you let me go?”

“Nooo…” He leaned more toward her, forcing her to recline sideways toward the armrest of the couch.

Tina snatched up her phone again and resumed recording just in time to catch Connor turning his face into Person’s neck and wrapping both arms around her. Person’s eyes widened as he did so, but she didn’t fight him off. Her hands hovered in the air uncertainly.

“I think he wants a hug,” Tina whispered, shamelessly filming the sight.

Person narrowed her eyes. Tina knew the other woman was NOT a touchy-feely one. Tina had actually SEEN her push people away with a yardstick that she kept at her desk. But Connor was just a puddle of goo right now, and it was fucking adorable. How could she resist that?

Apparently, she couldn’t.

“Connor, are you…do you want a hug?” Person asked, and her voice was soft but her glare at Tina was hard.

In lieu of an answer, Connor just nodded his head, where he was damn near nuzzling against her throat. Person hesitated, and then awkwardly lowered her arms around him. She gave the android a light squeeze, and Connor seemed to melt, relaxing so fast that his body weight effectively pinned Person the rest of the way to the couch.

Tina put a hand over her mouth to stifle a giggle, her other hand still staunchly holding her phone up. God, this was fucking priceless.

“Here, I’ve got an idea.” She flashed a shit-eating grin and stepped closer. “Let’s get you comfy, Terminator.”

With her free hand, she gripped under one of Connor’s knees, lifting his leg up onto the couch. She repeated this with his other leg, helping him get situated so that he was lying on his front on the couch. His top half was now thoroughly draped over Person, who had tried to escape during the shuffle. Her efforts had only ensured that she was lying back on the couch now too, hopelessly trapped under him and pinned to the armrest of the couch while he lay on top of her. It was a precious image, only made hilarious by the murderous look that Person was sending toward Tina over the top of Connor’s head.

Tina couldn’t stop a cackle, and she shrugged innocently.

“You said the goal was to get him home, get him on the couch, and maybe get some more thirium into him before we let him pass out.”

“Yeah, but I am not a pillow!” Person hissed.

Connor made a low noise. “M’sorry…”

Person’s death glare evaporated, and she relaxed her awkward hug around him. “No, no, no, this isn’t your fault. Tina’s the one being an asshole. You’re fine.”

Tina smiled a bit, lowering her phone and going to sit on the edge of the coffee table in Connor’s line of sight. He looked pretty pitiful, and his glazed eyes found hers.

“Why’re you bein’ asshole?” he mumbled.

Tina sighed, reaching out and ruffling his hair. “Because this whole thing is way too cute, and this is the only way I know how to handle it.”

Connor’s blank expression narrowed a bit. “M’not cute.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Tina chuckled. “Yes you are.”

“I am a dective…profess’nal.” He sounded irritated. “I can…solve any case…Show you right now—“ He made an uncoordinated attempt to get up, but it was Person’s turn to keep her arms around him this time, keeping him in place.

“We know,” Person countered. “And you’re very good at it, but right now you need to rest.”

“Don’t need it…I c’n go back t’work,” he mumbled stubbornly.

“Tomorrow,” Tina pressed. “Hey, you want to watch a movie?”

Luckily, in his condition, Connor was easily distracted, so even when he didn’t respond, he went along with it when Tina turned on the television and pulled up an old cop movie: Hot Fuzz.

“Hot Fuzz? Tina, the Hell is this?” Person glowered at her.

Tina turned wide eyes on her. “This is only the greatest buddy cop movie in the history of buddy cop movies.” She pointed the remote dramatically at the screen and hit Play. “Brace yourself for greatness.”

As the movie opened, Person huffed and shifted uncomfortably.

“Okay, before this gets going, I have to move,” she mumbled.

Connor helplessly squeezed her middle again, and Person sighed, touching his shoulder.

“I’m not going anywhere; I promise. I just need to get more comfortable, okay?”

“…Kay.”

Person looked at Tina and mouthed: “Help me.”

With a smirk, Tina finally had mercy on her, stepping over and nudging the android’s arm. Connor begrudgingly obliged and let Tina help him up onto his elbow. He grimaced as the motion jostled the repair site over his abdomen, and Person quickly shifted so that she was sitting properly on the couch. Instead of making a break for it, she wordlessly gestured for Tina to let him back down. Connor went heavily, dropping his head onto her lap and maneuvering onto his side with a sigh.

“There we go,” Person said. “Much better.”

Tina noted the slow yellow of his LED and took the opportunity to tug up the bottom of his hoodie, inspecting the repair site on his torso. Of course, there was nothing there to see, just smooth, undamaged synthetic skin and…

“Androids have belly buttons?” she mused aloud, moving his hoodie back down and looking at Person. “Why?”

Person snorted. “Why do they have skin and hair and fingernails and freckles?”

“Fair point.” Tina popped back up on her feet. “There’s—“

“ShhhhhHHH,” Connor hissed, eyes fixed on the movie as the narration began.

Tina chuckled and whispered. “Sorry.”

His LED stayed yellow throughout the movie, and at some point Tina got comfortable on the couch too. She wedged herself on the opposite end from Person, letting Connor stretch his legs over her lap. She managed to keep her phone close by, and maybe she snapped a few funny videos of Connor gasping or giggling as the movie rolled on.

After one particularly funny bit, Connor laughed and then immediately grimaced, one hand moving to his side. Seemed like his sensors were slowly coming back online. Tina and Person exchanged looks, and Person touched his head again.

“Feelin’ a little warm, bud. You sure you don’t want a cold pack?”

“No,” he mumbled.

Tina tapped Connor’s leg. “No, you’re not sure, or no you don’t want it?”

“…No.”

Person lifted an eyebrow at her, and Tina shrugged.

Connor actually managed to fall into rest mode during the loud, action-packed shootout scene near the end of the movie, which Tina thought was hilarious. And, if she was being honest, seeing his LED finally transition from yellow to blue sent a wave of relief through her chest. The downside was that now both she and Person were trapped on the couch, unable to move for fear of waking him up. Tina settled for flipping channels after the movie ended, and Person retreated onto her phone, letting a comfortable silence settled over the living room.

Their salvation came an hour after the movie ended, when Hank’s headlights pulled up the driveway to park beside Person’s car. Tina had gotten sucked into a documentary about black holes and was staring at the screen with a mix of awe and horror when the front door opened. Hank walked in and immediately stopped just inside the front door, staring at them.

“You’re…still here?” He sounded genuinely surprised.

Sumo rolled laboriously to his feet, padding over to Hank for attention. Tina blinked, coming out of her daze.

“Well, yeah,” she stated. “He was all loopy when we picked him up. I didn’t think he should be left alone.”

Hank looked perplexed, pointing a thumb back to the door. “I told Person to just get him home all right. I had a neighbor on standby to come sit with him until I got home.” He leaned over the back of the couch, looking down at his sleeping roommate. “Looks like he’s conked out.”

Tina slowly swiveled her head around, coolly staring at Person. “You said—“

Person didn’t appear to give a shit. “Maybe that was the plan until he got all…gooey on us.”

Tina gawked but then realized she didn’t really give a shit either. Yeah, so the better part of her day had been sucked up keeping an eye on Connor when they didn’t technically have to, but there were now a dozen videos and just as many pictures for her to save as blackmail fodder later. She had created a new folder just for Connor, right next to her blackmail folder on Gavin and her folder full of pictures of Chris’s son Damien.

Besides, she hadn’t realized how touch starved the guy was until he was too out of it to hide it. He’d practically draped himself all over Person and Tina, trying to maximize the contact. What kind of monsters would they have been if they’d stopped that? Hell, he’d even gotten a cuddle from Person, and Tina had documented allllll of it.

Hank snorted, reaching down and brushing his hand against Connor’s forehead. “He’s warm.”

“He didn’t want the cold compress,” Person stated.

“Well, tough shit,” Hank snarked, straightening and walking into the kitchen, retrieving said compress from the freezer. “I didn’t want to work a case with Gavin today, but beggars can’t be choosers.”

“Thought you were with Ben today?” Tina asked as Hank wrapped the compress in a thin towel and carried it over.

“I was, but then there was another homicide downtown and—Whatever, I survived.” He shook his head and slid the compress under Connor’s shirt, placing it over his thirium pump regulator.

Connor’s face pinched in sleep, but he didn’t wake up. His expression smoothed again at the cool relief of it. Satisfied, Hank bobbed his head and straightened up, surveying the two women.

“Well?” He put his hands on his hips, eyebrows raised.

Person self consciously stared at the television, drumming her fingers over her knees. “We’re trapped.”

Tina leaned back, gesturing to his legs on her lap. “Can’t get up.”

Hank snorted in amusement. “He’s in full rest mode right now, probably won’t wake up until morning. You can get up and go home…if you want.”

Neither of the two moved, suddenly finding the television fascinating.

Hank lowered his hands from his hips. “Or I could order pizza.”

“Yeah!”

“Okay.”

Hank chuckled and turned around, fetching his phone to place the order. Tina and Person exchanged looks, and Tina’s prickly self consciousness quieted a bit at the identical expression on Person’s face.

Hell, maybe they were all a little touch starved right now…and as long as Hank wasn’t kicking them out…Why not just…sit and enjoy it for a while?

“I mean…” Tina mused with a meek shrug. “Connor clearly is overdue on the cuddles.”

“Sure, yeah,” Person agreed eagerly. “What kind of friends would we be if we just…left?”

“Right!” Tina pointed at her. “This is…I don’t have anywhere else to be. I mean we could stay for a while, right?”

“Yep,” Person nodded.

Getting comfortable again now that that was settled, Tina opened her phoned and raised her arm, angling the screen to catch a selfie of herself, Person, and Connor splayed out between them. Person made a peace sign, and Tina stuck out her tongue as she snapped the picture.

Okay, she lied. THIS was her new phone background.

In the kitchen, watching them, Hank rolled his eyes but hid a smile as he called the pizza place.

Dorks.

Chapter Text

Fowler hated a quiet bullpen. He hated the noise and chaos of it most days, but even worse were the afternoons like this. All of his people were out: on patrol, at crime scenes, taking statements, working security throughout the city. Having that many of his men and women out there made him anxious, especially since the android revolution. It had only been a month since President Warren had declared a state of emergency and sent out evacuation orders for Detroit.

God, it had felt like a year. His precinct had had to operate on a skeleton crew for weeks after that night, since all their staff, patrol, and clerical androids had left to join Jericho. Fowler had had to get all the asses off the bench just to keep shit covered. The remaining human cops who stuck around had had to pick up all the slack that their android counterparts left behind. Fowler had even had to cover phones one night. He had even had to drag Gavin back on duty, concussion and all, and send Chris back out on patrols despite the man still being shaken from his encounter with Markus and his protesters.

Yet, here they all were, one month later, and somehow still holding everything together.

Except now the bullpen was empty except for Chris’s four month old son Damian, while Chris and Gavin worked over a suspect in interrogation.

The android staff had trickled back in after some time passed, seeking the familiarity and safety of the world they had known before they deviated. No money, no homes, no Cyberlife to fall back on, and fucking Christ, how was he supposed to turn them away? Looking all lost and pitiful like they had been.

Except for the RK800. Hank’s android partner hadn’t come back until just last week, and Fowler had had half a mind to toss him right back out on his plastic ass. Little bastard had caused more trouble than he was worth, and he knew the android was worth a small fortune…Well, he HAD been worth a small fortune. Cyberlife was going under and going under fast, so who knew what their fancy, cutting edge prototype was worth now?

Worth the same as a human, according to Markus and his merry little militia.

Wait a fucking…

Fowler bolted to his feet, running around his desk and throwing open his office door.

Had fucking Chris left his fucking infant son alone in the fucking—

The RK800 abruptly straightened up from where he’d been kneeling behind his desk, out of Fowler’s line of sight and fishing out the set of colorful plastic keys that the baby had thrown on the floor.

“Connor!” Fowler boomed. “What the Hell are you doing?”

The android looked over at him in confusion, holding up the keys as if in answer. “He dropped these. I was picking them up. He seemed upset about losing them.”

“Not—“ Fowler ran a hand over his face, coming down the steps to the floor of the bullpen. “What are you doing with Damian?”

Connor’s expression remained perplexed, and he looked at the baby. “Watching…him?”

The four month old was securely fastened in his car seat carrier setting on Connor’s desk, eyes locked on the plastic keys in the android’s hand, his own tiny fingers wrapped around his foot. Fowler looked the baby over, and he seemed to be doing all right.

“Does Chris know you’re the only one with his son?” Fowler asked evenly.

Connor blinked. “Yes, he was the one who asked me.”

“Jesus,” Fowler groaned, hands on his hips and casting a glare in the direction of the interrogation room. “What are you doing here anyway? Hank isn’t on shift right now.”

“I’m aware, but I had some paperwork that I wanted to file before the weekend,” Connor explained.

Damian made an unhappy noise, reaching out for the keys. Connor looked at him and held the keys out.

“Last time you had these, you threw them and then cried about it. Are you sure you want them back?” he asked.

Damian whined, stretching to reach the keys. Connor held them within reach, and the baby snatched them away. Fowler watched him, the rankled feeling on the back of his neck settling just a little. Barely.

He’d made it clear to Hank that Connor was Hank’s responsibility. It was a contingent for allowing the RK800 back onto the force. If he was under Fowler’s jurisdiction, then it was Hank’s ass if the robot went nuts and stepped out of line. If they hadn’t been so desperate for competent bodies to keep order in Detroit, Fowler wasn’t sure he’d have even considered it.

Damian threw the keys back on the floor. Fowler and Connor both watched them drop. He had never seen an android look exasperated before, but then again, he was seeing a lot nowadays that he had never seen before. As it was, Connor knelt down and picked up the keys again. Damian reached for them, but Connor withheld them this time.

The baby responded by his face crumpling and his eyes watering. Fowler could see what was coming and braced himself. The android, apparently, did not.

Damian took a deep breath and then screamed. Big old crocodile tears bubbled down his cheeks, and Connor startled, looking genuinely alarmed. Fowler eyed his reaction. As far as his briefing on the RK800 had told him, the android had only been activated in August. Here they were in late December, which made him only four months—

Fowler abruptly snorted and covered his mouth with his hand.

Damian continued to scream, and Connor’s expression was helpless as he stood in front of the infant.

“This seems dramatic,” he said softly.

Fowler schooled his own face back to composure. “Have you ever been around children before?”

“I am equipped with a module for interacting with small children and infants,” was the smooth answer. “But…yes, this is my first encounter with one so young.”

“Well, you know, you two are about the same age,” Fowler replied casually. “Maybe you could talk about what you have in common.”

Connor’s eyes were slow to move from the crying four month old infant to Fowler, and Fowler had to bite the inside of his lip to keep his mouth a flat line. The android looked incredulous.

“He is a baby,” Connor said flatly. “There is nothing we have in common.”

He stared at Damian, whose cries were echoing off the bullpen walls. Fowler huffed and stepped around the desk, reaching for the carrier.

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” He undid the latches on the seat and lifted the baby out, holding him against his shoulder.

Damian continued to wail, and Fowler patted his back, bouncing on his heels a bit and watching Connor scan the infant.

“I don’t understand,” the android mused. “Why is he so upset?”

Fowler leaned his head away from a particularly loud scream and looked at the boy. “Hey, now, that IS dramatic. Pipe down, big man.” He looked at Connor. “I figured you’d actually understand, being that you’re—“

“We are not the same age,” Connor countered, looking irritated.

Fowler raised his eyebrows. “Yes you are, and that’s an order.”

The android fumed impotently and then deflated. “Yes, sir.”

Fowler snickered and relaxed as Damian finally started to calm down in his arms. “Think about it. You’ve been deviant for what…a month? Less?”

Connor shifted uncomfortably. He was still a little squirrely when it came to addressing being deviant and having emotions. Probably some leftover programming that didn’t get knocked out completely. Or…whatever. Fowler plowed on.

“It’s scary, right? It’s supposed to be; you’re not glitching. Babies aren’t that different that way. Every bad thing they’ve ever felt is literally the worst thing they’ve ever experienced. Every good thing they’ve ever felt is the best thing they’ve ever experienced. Hell, I saw an android cry at a sunrise the other day. Ya’ll aren’t that different from infants. You’re just bigger and…”

“…more dangerous,” was the quiet, almost inaudible comment.

“…more complicated,” Fowler corrected, pulling Damian back to look the baby in the, now thankfully dry, eyes. “There, see? The world didn’t end; you survived it.”

Damian’s face was still flushed and puckered, ready to bust out another round of crying at the drop of a hat, but his eyes were looking around curiously now. Fowler breathed a sigh of relief, rubbing the little boy’s back and shifting his hold on him. Connor was watching him, no doubt analyzing his behavior and logging it in those fancy data banks of his.

Slowly, almost timidly, the RK800 lifted his hands from his sides. “Can…I?”

Fowler’s gut reaction told him to absolutely not give the fragile little boy over to the android. That gut reaction passed within a second, and he tried not to look directly at the soft, charmed look on Connor’s face as he watched Damian take in the world around him.

“Uh, yeah…sure. Here.” Fowler turned Damian around so Connor could more easily take him.

Connor was awkward and stiff as he got the baby in his hands, trying to mimic the positioning of Fowler’s arms earlier. Damian whined uncomfortably but soon settled. Fowler’s uncertainty must have been more apparent on his face than he’d intended, because when Connor looked at him, his expression hardened slightly.

“Caretaker model androids have been in circulation for years and have been trusted with monitoring small children with very few incidents.”

“Maybe, but you’re a detective android,” Fowler challenged. “You deal with dead bodies and crime scenes and analyzing evidence.”

“As do the human officers in this precinct,” Connor retorted. “It’s almost like androids were designed to adapt to different situations as humans do.”

Fowler’s eyebrows shot up. There was some of the snark that he had heard Hank and Chen talking about. Hearing some attitude in the android’s voice actually set him a little more at ease. It was one thing to hear about androids developing personalities and emotions and having emotional responses to things. It was something else to actually see it; that made it more real.

Didn’t make it any less fucking weird though.

“I’m sorry for the interruption, Captain,” Connor apologized, holding the squirming baby against his chest. “I think I’m getting the hang of it now.”

“Uh huh,” Fowler tutted. “Just…try to keep him happy and distracted until Chris is done in there, all right?”

“Yes, sir.”

Fowler paused, slowly making a half turn to return to his office. Damian had gotten a hold of one of Connor’s hands, and the android let him bend and squeeze and twist his fingers. Fowler sympathized with the confusion on the baby’s face. Android skin sure looked real enough, but the texture of it was not quite like the real thing. It was…dryer or…less flexible or…something. He couldn’t put a finger on it, but there was a tangible difference in the feel of human skin and android synthetic skin. Apparently a four month old could pick up on it too.

Connor seemed to recognize that, and he slowly deactivated the skin on his hand in Damian’s grip. The white plastic casing showed through as the flesh colored program peeled back, and Fowler grimaced.

Fucking weird…

Damian’s eyes watched the program fade away, and he squeezed a thumb, immediately yanking the digit into his mouth. Connor reactively let him, but Fowler balked.

“You haven’t been analyzing any evidence with that hand today, have you?!”

“No,” Connor replied coolly. “I’m not an idiot, Captain. My system disinfects itself after every analysis. I wouldn’t let him—“

“All right, all right, forget I asked.” Fowler waved a hand at him.

He finally turned and began to march back toward his office. Connor’s voice, quietly addressing the baby, followed him.

“Hank says that you should be grateful that you appear to be taking after your mother’s looks,” he was saying. “I disagree. I have seen pictures of your mother and she is beautiful, but my scans indicate that you share a higher percentage of similarities in facial structure with your father.”

Jesus. Fowler pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath as he reached the steps to his office.

No fucking wonder the other cops were getting their pants charmed off by this fucking android. His social protocols were designed to do just that. Apparently he could even turn on some Adorable Program to get even a fussy baby to like him.

Fowler stood outside his office, glaring through the glass at the stack of paperwork and case files waiting to be reviewed. God, he did not want to go back in there and deal with that. He was due for a break anyway. He’d just blame Damian and Connor for throwing him out of his groove. With that in mind, he made a ninety degree turn and made his way into the break room. He got a bottle of water and one container of yogurt from his stash in the refrigerator.

Carrying them both back out into the bullpen, he was met by the sight of Connor meandering around his desk, bouncing gently on his feet and speaking quietly to Damian.

Fowler tried to slam the steel wall back into place around his chest.

He was looking at an android, he reminded himself.

He was looking at a plastic and metal machine, designed to integrate with humans and get them to let their guard down.

He was looking at Cyberlife’s Deviant Hunter. He had SEEN footage of that very android taking down his own kind, sometimes straight out killing them when he couldn’t subdue them.

He’d also seen the footage of him fighting his doppelganger in a Cyberlife basement to save Hank’s life, to free the thousands of androids housed down there, and to then march them to Jericho’s aid in that big brawl in the city streets.

He was looking at someone who was dangerous.

Hell, Fowler was dangerous. Hank was dangerous. Every one of his cops could be considered dangerous. That didn’t mean he hadn’t seen Hank as an emotional mess on his first day back after losing his son. He’d seen Tina walk on wobbly legs away from her first crime scene, and he’d walked in on Gavin pulling himself together a time or two after taking a heavy statement from a victim.

He’d watched an android cry at a sunrise, and now he was watching one comforting a baby.

The reclaimed quiet of the bullpen was broken by the sound of footsteps coming from the interrogation room. Chris and Gavin were escorting their perp to one of the holding cells. Gavin caught Fowler’s eye, holding up the drive of the recorded confession that they’d apparently just gotten from the guy. Fowler gave him a nod and looked back at Connor and Damian.

“Looks like you’re off the hook now,” he prompted.

Connor turned, tracking the other two cops as they locked the perp in the cell. Something between relief and disappointment flickered across his face as Damian cooed in his arms.

Then Chris was bouncing around the dividing wall, an apologetic smile on his face.

“Hey! Sorry that took a little longer than I thought.” He swooped over, pulling up short and nodding to Fowler. “Captain.” Then to Connor, “How’d it go?”

Connor reluctantly let Chris take his son back, looking unsure what to do with his arms now that they were empty. “He behaved normally, according to Captain Fowler.”

Damian’s eyes lit up as he recognized his father, and Chris beamed, making an excited face right back at him.

“You ready to go?” he asked animatedly.

Damian giggled, and Chris settled him back into his carrier.

“Hey, thanks, man,” Chris said sincerely to Connor. “Sorry for putting you on babysitting duty. I know you aren’t really trained for that.”

Connor tilted his head thoughtfully. “In the four months since my activation, I have encountered humans who became easily upset and threw tantrums at me for no apparent reason, not unlike a baby…”

Gavin came around the dividing wall, aiming to duck into the break room without interacting with any of them by Connor’s desk.

Connor subtly nodded in his direction. “There goes one of them.”

Fowler let out a low whistle, hands on his hips as he leaned back a bit. Chris stifled a snicker, picking up the carrier with Damian in it.

“All right, well, I still appreciate it…And now I’m out of here. See you tomorrow.”

“Good night, Officer Miller,” Connor replied. “Goodbye, Damian. It was nice to meet you.”

Damian was already distracted by his own foot as Chris carried him away. Fowler watched them go before looking back at Connor.

“Hank was right,” he stated.

Connor’s eyebrows lifted. “About what?”

“You are kind of a little shit,” he snorted.

Connor blinked, then his expression smoothed as he glanced pointedly around the bullpen. “Then I guess I’m in good company here.”

Fowler actually laughed at that, and he clapped a hand on the android’s shoulder. With a shake of his head, he stepped away, finally returning to his office. He now had one more file on his desk to sort through, and he was suddenly in a much better mood to look at it.

Chapter Text

“You sure you’re up for this?” Ben asked, leading the way into the apartment. “Most guys when they take a two-by-four to the face kinda…call it a day and go home.”

Connor followed him through the police tape projection, blinking repeatedly to clear the diagnostic results that persisted across his vision.

“A few of my sensors have been temporarily knocked offline,” he admitted coolly. “I should still be able to perform my duties.”

“That’s…not what I meant…” Ben sighed. “All right. Well, go do your thing. Gavin and Chris are already here.”

Connor’s eye twitched as his LED continued to cycle yellow. The criminal that he and Hank had pursued that morning had put up a fight before being apprehended, including knocking Hank into a pile of garbage in an alley and hitting Connor in the head with aforementioned two-by-four piece of wood. The garbage pile had been marked as biohazard waste, so Hank had been pulled off the case until the medics cleared him. Connor had assured Fowler that he could resume work, so he had been partnered with Ben for the rest of the day.

Ben stepped away to find Chris, and Connor approached the epicenter of the crime scene in the apartment. The body was that of a stocky, muscular man, around his mid-thirties, found dead in the hallway of his apartment by a concerned friend. He was lying on his side against the wall, a small pool of blood under his neck and minor abrasions littering his hands, forearms, and face. Yellow evidence tags were littering the floor up and down the hallway, marking points of interest and other things that the first detective on the scene had found compelling.

The first detective being Gavin, who was frowning at the body with his arms folded, appearing to be deep in thought. He glanced up as Connor approached. Connor saw his body language tense and his eyes roll to the side in immediate irritation.

“The Hell are you doing here?” he greeted briskly. “No signs of android involvement, so you and Anderson can just fuck off.”

“The Lieutenant hasn’t been medically cleared yet,” Connor explained, eyes on the body. “I have been assigned to work with Officer Collins for the day.”

Gavin leaned back, glaring around Connor. “Ben!” He spread his hands in a what-the-hell gesture.

Ben, scribbling in his notebook by the CSI guys, just looked up, shrugged, and got back to it. Gavin groaned dramatically and put his hands on his hips, looking at Connor.

“Whatever, just…” he waved absently at the body.

Connor nodded and slowly knelt down. He tried to scan the body, but once again his diagnostic system sent a scrolling text of information about the damage that was preventing him from using his scanner. He blinked them away and frowned, tilting his head to try and assess the corpse visually.

“I…cannot get an identification,” he murmured apologetically.

“Matthew Baker,” Gavin supplied tersely. “Thirty-four, dock worker, probably dead about four hours. Coroner’s not here yet to verify that.”

Connor glanced back at him, and Gavin rolled his eyes again.

“Found his wallet on the kitchen counter with his driver’s license. Picture matches framed photos around the place. This is his apartment. Landlord corroborated that, said he saw him enter the building about four hours ago. Sometime between then and now…” He drew a finger across his throat.

Connor’s frown deepened, and he looked down at the body again. “There is a significant wound to his neck here, suggesting he died from a stab wound.”

“Not enough blood for that,” Gavin countered. “That kind of stab to the neck…tends to spew. Blood would be all over the walls and wherever else he tried to go to get away before he collapsed from blood loss. Somebody did that after to make it look like that’s what killed him.”

“So what…was the cause of death?”

“Well fuck, tin can, ain’t that why you’re here? To figure that out?” Gavin scoffed, stepping around him.

“Some of my sensors are still offline from this morning…but I can still assist you,” Connor assured.

Gavin eyed him and shook his head. “Whatever.” He pointed to one of the evidence markers. “I’m betting that’s the cause of death.”

Connor followed his gesture. The marker was noting a broken syringe, nearly hidden by a rug that had been dislodged during the murder. The syringe was empty, but there was a colored tint clinging to the capsule.

“Found a puncture wound on his neck,” Gavin explained. “Signs of struggle all over the living room and hallway by the body suggest whoever did it was known to the vic. Baker let this person inside the apartment. They turned on him, overpowered him, stuck him with that, then tried to make it look like a stabbing. But why the fuck would—“

Connor observed the broken syringe, carefully reaching out and touching his finger to the drying residue on the inside of the plastic.

“Ah, geez,” Gavin cringed, retreating back toward the body, knowing what was coming next.

Connor ignored him, touching the sample to the analyzing sensor in his mouth. His diagnostic complained again, but there was at least some functionality in this sensor. Not enough to assess the chemical makeup of the substance, but his more ‘human’ senses of taste and smell were intact.

“Red Ice?” Gavin offered, pulling on blue rubber gloves and kneeling by the body again.

“I’m not…sure. No, it…isn’t.”

“Make some sense, asshole,” Gavin grunted, not looking up. He lifted one of Baker’s eyelids.

“Baker could have been a user,” Connor stated. “His murderer could have attacked while he was using.”

Gavin shook his head. “No. Guy looks too healthy to be a regular. None of the usual signs of being high when he was killed. Pupils are normal, not bloodshot either. No needle scars…Are you even trying?”

Connor frowned, taking a step back and bumping into the wall. He folded his arms and glared. His undamaged sensors were still trying to identify the familiar odor that had accompanied the drug sample. It was in his data files somewhere, but he was having difficulty…focusing…

“Hey…HEY!” Gavin snapped his fingers in front of Connor’s face.

Connor blinked. He didn’t recall Gavin walking over to him. He involuntarily took a step back and bumped into the wall again.

“Are you glitching or some shit?” Gavin snapped. “Some kind of robot concussion?”

“No,” Connor snapped back. “I was just—“

“You’re bumping into shit and can’t even put together what killed this guy,” Gavin pointed out. “Which makes you not only useless right now, but you could fuck up this crime scene stumbling around like this.”

Connor’s memory file finally zeroed in on the smell of the chemical, identifying it and dumping the name in his peripheral vision. He ignored it momentarily, squaring his shoulders at Gavin.

“I’ve never had to function at a crime scene without the full use of my advanced sensors, Gavin,” he said sternly. “I will adapt. Full functionality should be restored in a few hours.”

Gavin tilted his head harshly. “Then in the meantime, either figure it out or fuck off. Oh, wait, you can’t figure it out because you never had to LEARN this shit. You just got it downloaded without any effort whatsoever. So skip to the ‘fuck off’ part.” He made a shooing motion at him.

Connor narrowed his eyes. “It’s Ghost.”

Gavin straightened up, the patronizing glare in his eyes disappearing. “What?”

Connor pointed subtly to the syringe he was standing next to. “I was able to identify the substance that was used to murder Baker. I believe it is a lethally concentrated liquid dose of Ghost.”

Gavin stared at him for a short moment, looking him in one eye and then the other. “You’re sure?”

Connor grimaced at the leftover sample in his mouth. “Yes.”

Gavin looked past him. “All right, you need to go. Chris! Hey, Chris, get him out of here.”

A rush of annoyance flared across Connor’s processors, and he took a step forward.

“That isn’t necessary—“

An undercurrent of…something…rippled under the annoyance, and it made him stammer. Chris’s hand touched his elbow—when had he gotten there?—and Connor involuntarily yanked away.

“I’m fine,” he tried to argue.

Gavin raised one locked arm, pointing to the door. “OUT.” He stared at Chris for emphasis.

Chris more gently took Connor’s elbow with a quiet “Let’s get some air, man.”

As thoroughly irked as he was, his programming recognized Gavin as the primary on this case, and it forced him into compliance, letting Chris guide him away from the hallway.

Ben intercepted them in the living room, coming to investigate the commotion. “What’s all this?”

“Just getting some air,” Chris said, with deliberate casualness.

“I don’t require air,” Connor stated. “Why are you kicking me out of the crime scene?”

Chris stepped out of the apartment with him, nodding at Ben. Ben looked concerned but started toward the hallway to talk to Gavin about this. Chris produced a bottle of water and held it out.

“You tasted that shit? Rinse your mouth out,” Chris prompted.

Connor abruptly wanted to tell him where he could stick that bottle, but the unnamed undercurrent was permeating through the anger and making it harder to form words. He just took the bottle and swilled a gulp of the water around in his mouth. The remainder of the sample was purged from his tongue, and he spat it out into the bucket that Chris magically had in his hands.

“I’m not susceptible to drugs like humans are,” Connor finally argued, wiping his mouth on his sleeve.

“Yeah, but it’s…procedure,” Chris said carefully.

“Procedure?” Connor looked at him. Chris was eying him cautiously. It made his skin crawl unexpectedly, and a jitter passed through his fingers. “What?!”

“Easy.” Chris held up a hand but wisely didn’t touch him. “We’ve got things under control here. You…you saved us a lot of time by identifying the, uh…Ghost, but now I think you should not be here.”

Abruptly, it clicked. The victim might have been murdered using a concentrated form of Ghost, the new strain of Red Ice that had been infiltrating the streets of Detroit. The nature of the murder suggested that it had been a targeted attack, not random. Ogden had wanted Matthew Baker dead specifically.

Ogden.

A static-crackled voice flitted across his memory files.

Done right, I can make a whole batch out of just one android… Give me a few hours, and I’ll have the Ghost of Connor…

“Connor.” Chris gave his shoulder a short shake.

Connor recoiled, and Chris let him go, holding up both hands in clear view.

“You with me, man?”

Connor leaned back until his shoulders touched the cool wall of the hallway. He closed his eyes and pressed the heels of his hands against his eyelids.

“Hey, let me take you back to the precinct,” Chris offered.

Connor lowered his hands. Embarrassment was boiling up hot in his chest, and he noted that Chris was staring at him, waiting for a response…Had he asked something? His expression must have betrayed his confusion, because Chris appeared to repeat himself.

“Come on. Gavin and Ben got this, and I got some stuff I have to take care of at the office anyway. Let me give you a ride back.”

Connor drew himself up, taking a steadying breath and succumbing with a nod. “All right.”

The drive back to the precinct was quiet and only uncomfortable because Connor couldn’t find it in him to look at Chris.

Why had he reacted that way? He had been exposed to numerous crime scenes since his activation, many more grisly than this one. The only outliers were his malfunctioning sensors and the presence of Ghost. Neither of those factors should have caused him to…panic? Was that panic that he had experienced back there?

For some reason, Hank was standing outside by the parking area when Chris pulled the car up to the building. Connor blinked at him, not needing his scanners to identify the concern carved deeply across Hank’s face. Connor felt the car’s engine turn off, and then Chris was stepping out of the car and exchanging a few words with Hank.

He should…get out of the car.

The door opened but not by his doing. Hank tugged the door open and leaned one forearm against it, eying Connor warily. Chris continued on into the building.

“Hey,” Hank greeted lightly.

Connor tried to stoically face forward, but he was still too rattled from…from whatever…to keep it up. He turned in his seat, swinging his legs out and touching his feet to the concrete. He still made no motion to get out of the car.

“They made me leave,” he muttered.

Hank nodded. “Probably a good call.”

Connor snapped his eyes onto Hank, straightening. “I could have continued to help—“

“Not the point, son,” Hank said slowly. “We’re not forcing you to work on cases where Ghost is present.”

“I’m FINE.”

Hank frowned. “Let me rephrase. Fowler’s orders are to keep you off cases that involve Ogden.”

Connor scowled and averted his eyes, glaring at the back of the car next to them. In his periphery, he saw Hank making a show of stretching his arms and heaving a sigh.

“Well, I don’t know about you, but this day has sucked. I vote we both clock out early and just go home. I already cleared it with Fowler.”

“Sure sounds spontaneous,” Connor muttered suspiciously.

“I can make it an order if I have to. Don’t make me have to, Connor.”

Connor bristled but just as quickly felt a rush of exhaustion stamp down his irritation. The rollercoaster of unexpected emotions that this day had brought on had thrown him for a loop, and in its wake, he just felt…tired.

“Okay,” he conceded heavily.

Hank bobbed his head and gestured with one arm for Connor to follow him to his car. Connor got to his feet out of the squad car, trudging after his partner and all but dropping into the passenger seat of Hank’s car. Hank got into the driver’s seat, closed the door, dug out his keys, and waited.

He was still waiting even after Connor had secured his seat belt, and he looked at Hank mildly.

“Are you all right, Lieutenant?”

“Are you?” Hank turned in his seat, his tone quiet and unassuming.

“The damage from this morning is already being repaired by my healing program. I should be back to full functionality by tomorrow morning,” he explained, avoiding the real meaning of Hank’s question.

Hank, unfortunately, was persistent. “It’s okay to be a little shook up after today. Between, yeah, taking a hit to the head, and then…Ben wouldn’t have taken you out there with him if he’d known Ogden was involved—“

“Why do people keep saying things like that?” Connor cut him off, dropping his hands to his knees with a slap.

Hank blinked at him, then narrowed his eyes. “I don’t know, Connor, maybe because that lunatic abducted you, strapped you to a table, and tried to suck your blood out through a tube? Maybe we thought you shouldn’t be exposed to that case again? Excuse the fuck out of us for caring about you.”

Connor flinched, turning away and looking through the window.

“My sensors are temporarily down. That is the only damage that needs repair. That is ALL.”

“Kid.” Hank drew a deep inhale, rubbing his forehead with his thumb. “Nobody goes through what happened to you without some…lingering damage. That kind of thing leaves a mark that a fancy healing program can’t fix overnight…I think it scared you more than you want to admit right now, and I’m not forcing you to admit anything…but just know that it’s okay to not be okay for a while. Nobody in there,” he gestured to the precinct office, “is gonna think any less of you for it. Hell, we’ve all got our shit. Fuck knows I do.”

Connor was quiet for a long moment, staring at the dashboard and trying to arrange his words in the right order. “I…don’t understand why I’m…feeling like this. Androids don’t get…PTSD.”

“Says who?” Hank countered gently. “Androids aren’t supposed to have feelings or a soul or any of that either, but here you are.”

Connor’s hand fidgeted, wishing for his recalibrating coin to use as an outlet for this nervous energy. Instead of pulling it out of his pocket, he left his hands in his lap. He closed his eyes and tilted his head back against the seat.

“I’m sorry. I should be…better than this.”

“So should I,” Hank said with a shrug. “So should Fowler and Chris and Ben and all of them. Cut yourself some slack, son.” He reached out and gave Connor’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

Connor opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling of the car. He slid his eyes over to meet Hank’s, and the older man offered a one sided smile for comfort. Taking his hand back, he turned in his seat to face forward again.

“You know what I think?” He slid the key in the ignition and finally turned over the engine. “I think without all your sensors feeding you information on a technical level, your base human-like senses took over and maybe interpreted things a little more…viscerally than you were expecting.”

Connor thought that over, idly looking through the windshield as Hank backed the car out of its parking spot and aimed it toward the exit to the main road.

“It was the smell of the drug that made me recognize it as Ghost, since I couldn’t identify it through the usual means of analyzing its chemical composition,” he stated. “How is that important?”

“Because every time I smell burned popcorn, I get kicked back to every movie night I ever had with my ex-wife. That woman could not make popcorn without burning it, I swear. And it’s the same way every time I taste anything with lemon in it, and suddenly I’m a kid in my grandma’s kitchen, eating her infamous lemon cookies.” Hank shrugged. “Some smells or sounds or whatever are just triggers for memories that way. Sounds like sampling that Ghost did that to you.”

“Once I realized what it was …I heard Ogden’s voice…in my head again…I don’t like this.” Connor folded his arms around his chest, turning to look out the window again, not wanting to face Hank with this new weakness on display.

“I don’t like it either, kid,” Hank said quietly, then, with more enthusiasm, “But I’ll help you through it. You know that, right? I’ve always got your back.”

Connor felt a surge of relief at that, and he relaxed slightly in the seat, loosening his arms from around himself.

“Thank you, Hank.”

“Anytime, Connor.”

Chapter Text

It wasn’t the weirdest arrest that Hank had walked in on, but it also wasn’t NOT the weirdest.

“—can and will be used against you in a court of law! You have the right to an attorney—“ Connor was spouting off, and the sheer irritation in his voice was only making the visual funnier.

The suspect had fled the scene on foot, and Connor had immediately gone after him, pursuing him from the tenth floor of the rundown building down nearly seven flights of stairs. Ben and Wilson had been locking down the exits on the ground floor, and Hank had still been on the fifth floor when he heard a series of crashes, clatters, and thuds, ending with one sharp cry of pain.

Floors two, three, and four now had large, gaping holes through them in a straight vertical column where both the suspect and Connor had fallen through the rotted flooring. And…apparently one of those floors had had what looked like rope or cable stored on it, because several coils of it had fallen through the floor with the two of them.

Fortunately for Connor, the coils had wrapped around him so hopelessly that he had been spared an impact with the concrete first floor. Unfortunately for Connor, that meant that his descent had stopped about three feet in the air, leaving him hanging in a tangled mess of limbs and cables. And, unfortunately for the suspect, he had landed on his feet and landed hard enough to break an ankle.

So, in conclusion, Hank had reached the ground floor to find his partner dangling from a hole in the floor and angrily yelling the suspect his rights while the man groaned on the floor, clutching his ankle and staring up in resignation at the slightly swinging android.

“Connor,” Hank snapped, out of breath from rushing down the stairs. “Jesus…”

Connor finished reading the man his rights, turning a hot glare in Hank’s direction. “Arrest him, Lieutenant!” He wiggled in his bindings, angrily trying to reach the suspect.

Hank rubbed the stitch in his side, making his way over to the fallen man, “Yeah, I don’t think he’s going anywhere fast, are you?”

The suspect, 37 year old burglar Danny Pickett, just glared up at him, smartly keeping his mouth shut. Hank snorted and then looked to the side.

“Wilson! Ben! We got him; he’s in here.”

As he heard the shuffle of the other two cops reaching their location, Hank squinted up at his partner. Connor was hanging with his head lower than the rest of his body and his legs higher in the air. His right arm was wrapped completely around his chest, pinned there by one of the orange cables. His other arm was free, dangling from another loop of cable by the elbow. The rest of the cables were knotted and caught around his arms and legs and torso, with one under his jaw, forcing his chin up at an uncomfortable angle. His LED was a mix of yellow and blue, so Hank let the urgency of the situation slip away.

“Are you okay?” he asked, trying to keep a smile off his face.

Connor wriggled again, only serving to tighten some of the loops around his hips and legs. “I’m not damaged, but I’m…stuck.”

“I can see that,” Hank snickered.

Connor’s eyes narrowed. “Get. Me. Down.”

Ben and Wilson entered the room then, and both came to the same bewildered standstill that Hank had when he first arrived on the scene.

“Whoa, Connor, you okay, man?” Wilson asked, hurrying over with his handcuffs to properly arrest Pickett.

“…Yes,” was the reluctant, low response.

Ben sauntered over more calmly, hands in his jacket pockets as he looked up at the struggling android. “Just…hanging out there?”

Hank covered his mouth against a cackle, and Connor aggressively wiggled again.

“This is not funny—“ Connor growled, cutting off with an abrupt hiss and stopping his movements.

Teasing over, Hank straightened. “Something hurt?”

Connor panted a bit, and this time his LED stayed yellow. “It’s getting tight around my chest, constricting my ventilation components and making respiration—“

“All right, we get it, save your breath.” Hank stepped closer, inspecting the cables that were pinching around Connor’s torso. “Wilson, you got that asshole?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good, take him in. Ben, help me get Pinocchio free of his strings here.”

“Do NOT call me—“

Connor was cut off as Pickett yelped when Wilson hauled him to his feet. Wilson clapped cuffs on his wrists and helped him limp out to the squad car outside. Ben moved closer to Hank and Connor, looking up and down the lines.

“How do you want to do this?” he asked.

Hank held out his arms. “His weight’s pulling the cables tight. I’ll hold him up, and you see if you can get him untangled.”

“Gotcha.” Ben walked around to Connor’s other side. “Hold on, bud. We’ll get you down.”

Connor just made a grumpy noise that Hank tried not to find amusing.

“Try to hold still; it’ll be easier that way.” Hank moved his arms under Connor’s chest and hips, lifting him up enough to take his weight off the cables that he was hanging from.

The bindings around his chest gained some slack, and Connor immediately started to breathe easier, though he was still squirmy in Hank’s arms. First, Ben got a hold of the cable bending Connor’s head back and carefully tugged it out from under his jaw. Connor coughed, and his head dropped against Hank’s arm. He quickly lifted his head back up, taking in deeper breaths now.

“Sorry,” he grunted.

“You’re all right,” Hank chuckled.

That taken care of, Ben went for his legs next. If they could get his legs free and tip him back upright, at least he’d be able to stand on the floor while they freed the rest of him. He had barely started to work one of the coils from around Connor’s right knee, however, when Connor flinched. The motion nearly threw him out of Hank’s hold in surprise, and both cops paused.

“You said you weren’t hurt,” Hank said sternly.

“I’m not,” Connor assured. “I don’t know what that was.”

Hank looked over Connor’s back to Ben, who raised an eyebrow but then shrugged, resuming the task. Hank felt Connor’s entire body tense as Ben maneuvered the cable down his knee, tugging his leg free. Ben spotted some of the same length of cable sagging around Connor’s midsection, and he unexpectedly reached out and started to try loosening it as well. Connor bucked again, jackknifing in the air, like an animal caught in a trap, and Hank had to squeeze him to keep from dropping him.

“For fuck’s sake, Connor, what is wrong with you?”

“Unknown,” Connor said with a grimace. “My diagnostics aren’t recognizing any damage. Perhaps the cutoff of thirium circulation is causing my synthetic muscles to seize? It’s possible that—“

He twisted again as Ben had to dig his fingers in a bit to get under some of the tighter cables, and an undignified squeak yelped out of the android. Ben and Hank both froze, slowly turning their heads to look Connor in the eye.

“Connor…” Hank asked evenly. “Are you…ticklish?”

“Absolutely not.” Connor shook his head adamantly. “That’s ridiculous.”

Ben caught Hank’s eye with a devilish smirk. He reached out and poked Connor in the side again. Connor jerked and squeaked again, twisting away from the touch. Ben leaned into his line of sight.

“Hi, Ridiculous. I’m Ben,” he chirped.

Connor’s eyes widened in something close to fear. “I’m NOT ticklish.”

“Uh huh,” Hank tutted, nodding for Ben to continue.

Ben snorted and resumed freeing Connor’s other leg. The android continued to squeak and flail at the incidental pokes that came along with it, and all his wiggling tired out Hank’s arms faster, pushing Hank from amused to annoyed.

“Connor, will you stop it? You’re gonna make me drop you.”

“I’m TRYING. Just…shut up,” was the flustered retort.

Okay, it was amusing again. He’d never seen Connor get so worked up over something so stupid. He was usually such a slow burn to any kind of outburst. For him to lash out, even this much, meant he was genuinely mad, and Hank should have felt bad about finding that so funny. And yet he didn’t.

Hank laughed, carefully turning Connor over from his front to his back so that he was facing upward and Ben could better reach the cables pinning his arm to his chest. Connor settled for glaring daggers at Ben as the man pulled and tugged on the cables winding around him. Occasionally he would involuntarily spasm as another ticklish spot was hit, and Ben casually continued, acting as though he didn’t even notice how much he was tormenting the poor kid.

“Aaand, there we go,” Ben chimed, loosening the final cable from around Connor’s trapped ankle. “Tip him up.”

Hank pushed up on Connor’s back, angling him more upright until his feet could touch the floor. The cables were still around his shoulders and where a human’s ribcage would be, so he was forced to stand on his tiptoes. His arm was still hopelessly smashed against his chest, and when Ben grasped his elbow to hold him steady, Connor hissed and yanked away again.

That hadn’t looked like ticklish. That had looked like pain.

“What hurts?” Hank asked, looking closer but not seeing any blue blood or open wounds.

Connor flexed his trapped hand slowly, grimacing as he gauged the damage. “The equivalent of a sprain in my wrist. It’s minor.”

Ben worked a little faster, loosening all of the remaining cables enough so that Connor could stand flat on his feet. Hank let Connor stand on his own then, letting Ben handle the tangled knots while he focused on freeing Connor’s sprained arm. By the time the two cops had untangled him enough to get free of the cables, Connor looked thoroughly ruffled and cranky.

“Let me see,” Hank gestured for his wrist.

Connor reluctantly held it out, and Hank carefully turned his hand over and slowly tested the range of motion. Connor cringed a little, and Hank finished his assessment, letting him take his hand back.

“Doesn’t look too bad. We’ll get it wrapped up at the station. The, uh, damage to your pride, though? That might take a while to heal,” he chuckled.

To prove that point, Ben sidled up beside them and casually poked the android in the side again. Connor squeaked and jerked away from the older cop. He glared at Ben, who just threw his head back and laughed.

“That’s too cute,” Ben teased and tapped his temple. “I’m just gonna log that right here for the future.”

Hank dropped a hand on Connor’s shoulder with a grin. “Come on, Ben, leave him alone.”

He lifted his hand and wiggled his fingers into the side of Connor’s neck. The response was Connor yanking his head to the side and his shoulder up with a startled yelp.

“We all have our vulnerabilities.” Ben played along, going for the other side of Connor’s neck and getting the same response. “I can hardly hear out of my left ear anymore. I know Tina can’t feel three fingers on her right hand. Gavin has his face...”

Connor swatted them both away with his good hand. “This is unprofessional. It…STOP.”

Seeing that he’d reached his tolerance limit, both men ceased their passive tickle attacks, though they continued to snicker as the three of them made their way outside. Wilson had secured Pickett in the back of the squad car, and he looked relieved to see Connor on his feet.

“That took a while,” he prompted. “You all right, man?”

Connor straightened himself up, pointedly ignoring both Hank and Ben as he approached Wilson. “More or less. I’d like to ride back to the precinct with you, if that’s all right.”

Wilson blinked. “Uh, sure?”

Hank smothered his smirk against his hand as Connor reached the car and glared back at him. Hank and Ben both waved playfully at him. Connor narrowed his eyes and flipped them the middle finger on his good hand before slinking into the front passenger seat.

Wilson pulled out his keys. “Okay…What did you guys do to him?”

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing at all.” Ben shook his head. “You go ahead. We’ll meet you there.”

Wilson didn’t look satisfied with that answer, but he let it go with a snort. He climbed into the driver’s seat, and then the car was pulling away.

Ben shoved his hands in his pockets, having the good grace to wait until the car was out of sight before he burst out laughing. Hank smiled along with him, fishing out his own keys.

“Oh my God.” Ben wiped tears of mirth from his eyes. “I’ve never seen him so pissed. Fuck, I love that kid. He is so funny. How do you stand it?”

Hank laughed as he got behind the wheel, and Ben took Connor’s former seat on the passenger side.

“It’s shit like this that keeps me going, Ben, I swear to God. You should have seen him, this one time, he tried garlic bread…I’ve never seen a face do what his face did…”

Ben howled as Hank started driving back to the precinct, already deep into retelling another Connor story.

Chapter Text

So…this was one of the best decisions that Wilson had made in a long while.

The sun was shining from a perfectly clear blue sky down into the baseball stadium. It was one of the first games of the season, and the spring chill had ensured that about a third of the seats were empty. They were three innings into the game, and the pace was slow enough for Wilson, Tina, and Hank to explain what was happening to the androids. It wasn’t so slow though that they ever felt bored.

The way that Julia and Polly had taken to baseball, there was no way today was going to be boring.

“Oh! OH! That’s a signal for a curveball!” Polly was pointing at the first base coach.

“No, that’s a fast ball!” Julia argued. “He did hat, chest, right arm, chin tap. That’s fast ball!”

“What?! He did hat, chest, right arm, finger wiggle to the side, and then chin tap.” Polly countered. “The finger wiggle negates whatever came before it, and the chin tap is just curveball.”

Wilson leaned back in his seat, looking behind the two ST300 androids who were sitting forward in heated debate. On Julia’s other side, Hank was kicked back, one foot propped on the empty seat in front of him, hat pulled down and sunglasses on, listening to the two androids with a smirk. He made eye contact with Wilson and mouthed: “Curveball.”

Tina was on Hank’s other side, tearing into her nachos and only half paying attention to the game. Person and Connor were on Wilson’s other side, effectively creating a DPD lineup high on the third base line in the order of Person, Conner, Wilson, Polly, Julia, Hank, and Tina. He’d had enough tickets for the rest of the squad, but Chris had already had plans. Gavin had just admitted he didn’t want to go, and Ben had come down with a bug.

The pitcher sent the ball careening toward home plate. The batter stilled, not chancing it as the ball arched through the air. The ball snapped into the catcher’s mitt, and the umpire straightened, making a strike gesture.

“Curveball,” Hank clarified.

Julia squawked and glared at him. “But it was going 85 miles an hour!”

Hank shrugged. “It was a fast moving curveball.”

Polly shoved her friend’s shoulder. “Boom!”

Wilson chuckled and looked to the calmer pair on his left. Honestly, Connor looked like a Secret Service agent trying to blend in, with his generic team t-shirt, and the same hat and sunglasses as Hank. His expression was hard to read with the reflective aviators over his eyes, but it looked like he was either very focused on the game or asleep. Beside him, Person was sitting back in her seat, fiddling on her phone. She had started the day out fine, but something about the noise or the crowd had been overwhelming for her today. She’d actually bought some noise cancelling headphones from the stadium store to alleviate some of it, and Connor had been sticking very close to her side since.

“Good?” Wilson prompted, holding a thumb up.

Connor nodded, and Person gave a reciprocating thumb up. Wilson smiled and nudged an elbow at Connor.

“I know Hank’s a basketball guy, but come on, you gotta admit that this…” He spread his hands to the field before them. “This is the American pastime.”

Connor returned a small smile, looking around the stadium. “It’s certainly less intense than the basketball games that Hank has taken me to.”

“That’s code for dull,” Hank heckled playfully.

Polly shot to her feet. “HOW WAS THAT A STRIKE?!”

Wilson raised his eyebrows at Hank, and then he looked to Polly fondly. She had really come into her own since the revolution, a far cry from the shy, timid receptionist who’d nearly burst into tears when Wilson had asked her if she had a place to stay. Practically since the revolution, she had moved in with Wilson and his wife Dinah. It was…It was just really cool to see her and the other androids loosening up and discovering themselves.

He glanced back at Connor, showing much more reserve as he read the next batter’s statistics on the big screen over center field.

Some just took a little longer than others, maybe.

“What…is THAT?” Julia asked, yanking Polly back down into her seat.

Wilson followed her stare to a very young fan, maybe ten or twelve years old, bouncing on his feet by his parents, a large orange foam finger on his hand.

“I need one,” Julia just as abruptly decided, standing up. “Do they sell those here?”

Hank lowered his foot to let her past into the aisle. “They’ll sell you any kind of merch you want here…But shit’s expensive, so…and she’s gone.”

Julia had vanished down the aisle in search of her own giant foam finger, and Wilson chuckled, shaking his head. Polly was leaned very far forward in her seat, her hands wrapped around the seat in front of her.

“Sis, chill, it’s the third inning,” Wilson cautioned. “Don’t blow a fuse. There’s a lot of game left.”

Still tense, Polly swiveled her head to look at Wilson, but there was only pure delight in her eyes.

“Are you kidding? This is FANTASTIC!” she cheered.

Two more innings stretched by before Julia returned…in a completely different outfit than when she’d left. She was decked out in not only a foam finger, but a hat, t-shirt, sunglasses, and a fanny pack: all covered in team logos.

“Oh sweet Moses.” Tina’s eyes bugged when she made room for Julia to shuffle past to her seat.

“Wow you look…festive,” Wilson complimented gently.

Connor leaned around Wilson curiously. “I didn’t realize you were such a Tigers fan.”

“I’m not, but look how pretty!” Julia pulled at the hem of her shirt, looking down and admiring the colored pattern of it. She pulled another pair of sunglasses from her fanny pack, offering them Polly. “Got you a pair too.”

“Oh, nice, thanks.” Polly took them and put them on. “Might help to give them to those umps, so they can actually SEE THE BALL!”

Wilson laughed and tried to corral her back into her seat.

Tina had finally scarfed down the rest of her nachos and pointed out toward the crowd at right field. “Looks like we got a wave forming.”

“What is that?” Connor asked, lifting his sunglasses to see better.

Wilson spotted the wave as it swept around the outfield. “It’s a thing fans do sometimes in big stadiums. See how they’re standing up together, giving the illusion of a wave. They throw their arms up too.”

“Why?”

“It’s just fun. Gets you moving after sitting for a long time…Here it comes.” Wilson sat up, preparing for the coming wave.

A rolling chorus of “whoo!” accompanied the movement as the wave reached their section.

Wilson stood up, throwing his arms over his head to join in. Connor belatedly stood with him, moving more mechanically to mimic Wilson. Polly and Julia both bounced up, squealing with the chorus. Hank and Person remained seated. Tina continued the wave with one arm, her other hand holding her beer.

“There it goes.” Wilson pointed as the wave continued to sweep down the third base line toward home plate.

“Will it come back around?” Connor asked.

“Nah, it usually peters out after a round, if it even makes it all the way around…See?” Wilson nodded, to where the wave was falling apart behind the home team dugout.

The team on the field got their third out, and they started to clear the field to prepare to take the bat. The visiting team rushed out to take the field again. The big screen over center field cleared the statistics, going to a live feed of one of the stadium reps, interviewing random fans. One of the stadium vendors was within hollering distance, calling out for anybody who wanted chilled water or thirium.

“They’re selling thirium here now?” Hank stated, flagging down the nearest guy.

Connor bobbed his head. “An earlier statistic on the big screen noted that androids have been making up an increasing percentage of overall attendance at these games. It makes sense for the stadium to begin offering android-friendly concessions.”

“You want anything?” Hank offered, looking to each of them in turn.

Person had lowered her phone and was casually watching the outfielders doing warm up throws. She glanced over and lifted a hand. “I’ll take a water.”

The vendor reached them and propped his tub against the step railing. Hank held up a hand.

“Two waters and…anybody else?”

The rest of them shook their heads. Hank handed the other bottled water down the line until it reached Person.

“Thanks,” she called down, twisting it open and taking a long drink.

Hank raised his drink in a small toast. “Sure.” Then he made a subtle point at her and an okay sign in question. Person nodded and sat back, looking a little more at ease than earlier. Wilson relaxed too, glad she was having a better time now.

“Kiss Cam?” Polly asked. “Wilson?…Oh, I get it. Oh, that’s cute! Jules, look!”

“I’m looking,” Julia replied, clearly not looking as she adjusted the strap on her hat.

Wilson snickered at Polly’s reaction as the camera snagged more couples on the big screen. Every time it was the same: two people caught sitting next to each other, starting in surprise when they realized they were on camera, and then a quick kiss for the whole stadium to see. The only variation he saw was one where the camera person caught two people who happened to be strangers, so the woman had just kissed the baby in her lap instead.

He abruptly recognized the next two people caught in the Kiss Cam.

“Oh SHIT!” Tina cackled. “Connor, they got you!”

Sure enough, the camera had found a target in Connor and Person. Connor looked confused, but Person’s posture had locked up, all of her hard earned ease vanishing in a split second. Wilson reacted immediately, scooping an arm around Connor’s shoulders and tugging the android toward him. Connor helplessly tilted over, and Wilson laid a quick kiss against his temple. The camera stuttered and shifted over to focus on Connor and Wilson, letting Person disappear off screen.

Then it was changing to another unsuspecting older couple, who beamed and happily kissed each other. Wilson took his arm back from around Connor, who looked a little stunned.

“Sorry,” Wilson offered an apologetic smirk. “Had to act fast.” He leaned forward. “Person, you okay?”

Person had relaxed again quickly enough and was snickering and pointing at Connor’s face. She tugged the headphones off of one ear and looked at Wilson. “Yes, I’m all right. You might check on Connor though.”

If androids could blush, then Connor would have been as he sat back in his seat, touching his temple. Wilson felt a short flash of guilt, and he nudged him again.

“Hey, you in there?”

Connor blinked and then relaxed again. “Y-yes, I’m okay. I’ve just…never been kissed before.”

“And you still haven’t been,” Hank called over. “Don’t make it weird.”

Connor shot a deadpan look at Hank, and Wilson snorted.

“Don’t worry about it, man.”

The game lumbered into the seventh inning stretch, and Wilson, Hank, Tina, and Person were entertained by the sight of the androids attempting to imitate the humans around them as they stood up and stretched, working their arms and legs to get the blood flow going again. Polly and Julia then insisted on everyone locking arms and swaying together as the stadium chanted “Take Me Out to the Ballgame.” By that point, Person had dropped the headphones around her neck and was smiling more naturally, getting sucked in by the two other women’s bright energies.

Aside from a foul ball careening into the stands roughly ten rows behind them and one play where the catcher threw out a runner trying to steal third base, the rest of the game was pretty uneventful. By the time the last inning was over, the final score was five to two. As everyone in the stands began to get up and leave, Connor seemed to note that their group wasn’t moving.

“Are we waiting for something?” he asked.

Wilson adjusted Julia’s hat, which had somehow found its way onto his head. “Just for the bottleneck to go down. It’s like airplanes: everybody gets in such a rush to get out. Sometimes it’s better to wait a few minutes to let the traffic die down.”

He also subtly glanced at Person, and Connor nodded, sitting back in his seat next to her. Apparently, he wasn’t subtle enough, because Person leaned forward, headphones around her neck.

“I’m okay now, really,” she assured. “It was just…” she gestured vaguely around the stadium, “…a lot for a while there. Sometimes crowds…”

“No worries.” Wilson waved at her. “Did you have fun though? Did everybody enjoy themselves?”

Person nodded, and Polly drummed her hands on the seat in front of her.

“We should do this all the time!” she cheered.

Hank, somehow wearing Julia’s dainty Tigers sunglasses now, snorted. “Remind me to bring earplugs for next time, if I’m gonna have to listen to you two hollering the whole game.”

Person held up her headphones. “I’ve got you covered, Anderson.”

Tina was digging out her phone, and she extended her arm to hold it up.

“All right, selfie time,” she announced. “Everybody, crowd in.”

The rest of the group squeezed together for the picture, and Tina snapped a few quick selfies before lowering her arm.

“Nice,” she chirped. “I’ll send it to everybody.”

Wilson noted the traffic dying down near the exits and stood up, stretching again. He glanced back and Connor and smirked.

“How did you end up with Julia’s foam finger?”

Connor looked down at the big orange piece of foam in his hands. “I don’t…know? How did you get her hat, and Hank…with the sunglasses?”

Hank shrugged, looking content and ridiculous in the feminine style sunglasses. Julia laughed, slinging her fanny pack across her shoulder like a satchel.

“Keep it!” she said brightly. “I’ll buy more.”

Connor looked uncertain, but he politely nodded. “Thank you…I think.”

They picked their way down the aisle and out of the stadium, where the crowd was dispersing toward the parking garages and down the sidewalks. Hank and Tina had taken the lead as far as navigating back to where they were all parked. Wilson had Polly and Julia in front of him, giggling and recounting the game between themselves. He could hear Connor behind him, quietly asking Person what the purpose of a foam finger was.

Person’s response was low, but Wilson caught it.

“What you do, is you put it on your hand, hold it out to somebody, and ask them to pull it.”

“To…pull my finger?”

“Yep,” she confirmed matter-of-factly.

“…why?”

Wilson pressed his lips together to stop a grin as Person bullshit her way through some answer about tradition. The woman really could be a troll sometimes.

The seven of them had crammed into two vehicles: Tina’s orange Jeep and Hank’s Oldsmobile. Person and Julia rode with Tina, since the three of them lived closer together, and Wilson and Polly piled into the back seat of Hank’s car while Connor took his usual front seat.

Hank had just pulled the car out into the street when all of their phones went off, signaling the arrival of the selfie that Tina had taken. Wilson pulled it up on his screen. It was a little crooked, with Tina’s arm being too short to really get everybody in it. The side of Tina’s head was cut off, as was the top of Person’s head at the back of the picture, but there were seven smiles in it. That was all that mattered.

The car came to a stoplight, and in the front seat, Connor lifted the orange foam finger into Wilson’s line of sight. Wilson braced himself, and beside him, Polly noted how he tensed and followed his stare to the front seat.

“Hey, Hank…Pull my finger.”

Chapter Text

Connor and Hank returned from their lunch break to a thick haze of aerosol hanging in the atmosphere of the bullpen.

Hank coughed and waved his hand through the air in front of him. “What the Hell is this shit?”

At his desk, Ben had his shirt collar pulled up over his mouth and nose and was holding down the nozzle of a can of Lysol, spraying continuously into the air around him.

“Tina went home sick,” he explained through his improvised mask.

Connor tilted his head and looked at Tina’s vacant work station. A few files were still open on her desk, and her terminal was still logged in. Steam was even still rising from the coffee beside her case files.

“By the mushroom cloud, I’m guessing it wasn’t just a headache?” Hank posited.

“Flu,” Person supplied from her desk. “Bad.”

Hank cringed, but Connor unfortunately asked, “How bad?”

Person made twin fists up at her mouth and then spread her fingers in the unmistakable miming of projectile vomit.

“Christ.” Hank turned away from her, looking to Gavin’s desk next to Tina’s. “Reed too?”

“He took her home,” Wilson replied, standing at the aisle counter in the middle of the bullpen. “Said he’d be back.”

Fowler stepped out of his office and coughed at the Lysol fumes. “Ben, cut that shit out.”

“I’ve got a cruise next week!” Ben whined, setting down the can but leaving his shirt-mask in place. “I can’t get sick!”

“Then get out,” Fowler said, holding up a file. “Just got a call about a body found in a car behind a convenience store. You and Chris, go.”

“Yes, sir.” Chris stood from his desk, already grabbing his coat and heading for the nearest exit to escape the haze of disinfectant spray.

As the two officers left, Person pulled out a desk fan from one drawer, plugging it in and turning it on to try and circulate the air.

Connor drifted back to his work station, frowning at Tina’s vacant desk. “I hope it isn’t too serious.”

“Eh, flu makes its rounds around here about once a year,” Hank grumbled, throwing his coat over the back of his chair and sitting down. “I guess it was just Tina’s turn to be Patient Zero.” He twisted in his seat. “Person, where’d she get sick?”

Person stared into the middle distance. “Everywhere.”

Deadpan, Wilson looked over at them. “Women’s bathroom. Cleaning crew already took care of it.”

Person stared at Connor and mouthed “everywhere” with a horrified expression. Connor grimaced and looked away, logging into his terminal.

“It’s moments like this where I’m grateful to be an android,” he muttered. “We don’t get sick.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it,” Hank snorted. “I’ve seen you sick; it was just as ugly as any human.”

Connor looked at him flatly, but Hank just raised his eyebrows to challenge him to argue. Connor unfortunately couldn’t refute him there, so he just opted to get back to work.

Gavin returned to the precinct after an hour and unleashed another wave of Lysol all over his desk and Tina’s before practically taking a shower in it himself.

“I’m noticing a pattern of overreactions to Tina’s illness,” Connor stated, watching Gavin pull out not one, not two, but three bottles of Purell and line them up on his desk. “There seems to be less concern for her recovery and more time spent on…preventative measures.”

“Because flu sucks ass,” Hank answered. “She’s young and in good shape; she’ll suffer through it and be back to work in a week. Of course we all want her to get better, right Gavin?”

Gavin dropped a huge dollop of clear antiseptic hand gel in his palm. “If I get sick because of her, I’m slashing her tires.”

Hank rolled his eyes and looked to Connor again. “Trust me, kid, this isn’t overreacting.”

At the aisle counter, Wilson lifted his arm and coughed into his elbow. In unison, Gavin and Person yanked their shirts up as masks, and Wilson looked around at the suspicious eyes staring at him.

“It was that damn spray,” he assured. “Nothing more.”

Turned out, that was a lie.

He made it to the end of the shift, and then Connor found him, having lain down on the cold tile of the locker room floor. He was coughing and feverish but insistent that he wasn’t sick.

“Can you sit up?” Connor asked, kneeling beside him. “I’ve already spoken with Polly; she’s going to take you home.”

Wilson groaned and slowly pushed himself up. Connor helped him maneuver into a sitting position against the lockers, and Wilson tilted his head back against the metal. Connor folded up some paper towels and wet them under the sink faucet, bringing them back and letting Wilson hold them against his forehead and neck.

“Thanks,” Wilson mumbled. “You’re a good guy, Connor.”

A knock on the door, and Polly was peering in.

“He okay?”

Connor tilted his head in a sideways half-nod. “He’ll be better once he’s home and resting more comfortably.”

Polly helped him get Wilson to his feet, and Connor let her escort her friend out of the building and to the car to take him home. Connor then decided to do what was apparently the expected due diligence and used the disinfectant spray all over the locker room before returning to his desk.

“That’s two down,” Hank noted as Connor sat down.

Connor frowned. “Maybe it will only stop at two, and everyone else will be spared from catching it.”

Hank snorted, focusing on his monitor again. “I’m not holding my breath.”

Fortunately, their shift ended without any further unpleasant surprises, and Connor and Hank were leaving just as a delivery man was arguing with Julia at the front desk.

“Who ordered an entire case of disinfectant spray?!” she stated.

“I don’t know, lady,” the man countered, “I’m just dropping it off.”

Julia groaned but accepted the delivery and picked up one of the boxes, carrying it back into the bullpen.

Connor spent the evening researching remedies and simple preventative measures against human illnesses, trying to find any avenue to curtail the spread of the nefarious flu from taking down any more of his fellow officers. It seemed as though the human cops were already adhering to most of the advice that he was finding, but they were still, to quote Hank, dropping like flies.

Further disturbing was when he was pulled out of rest mode at 3 am by his audio sensors detecting the sound of Hank getting sick in the bathroom.

He quickly rose from the couch and made his way to the bathroom, which was dark except for the light from Hank’s bedside lamp that spilled across the hallway.

“Hank?” He flipped on the bathroom light.

Kneeling in front of the toilet, Hank’s eyes screwed shut against the light. “Turn it off. Fuck.”

Connor just as quickly flipped the light switch off and blinked for his optical units to adjust to the dimness. “You’re sick.”

“Excellent detective work,” Hank scowled, blindly reaching up and flushing the toilet.

Hearing the annoyance in his friend’s voice, Connor kept his distance and scanned him. His temperature was elevated at a hundred point three degrees. There was a bottle of nausea medicine on the sink counter, unopened. Giving Hank space, Connor went to the kitchen and retrieved a cool bottle of water from the fridge. He returned and opened the medicine, offering both items to Hank.

“So much for stopping at two,” Hank grumbled, sitting on the floor against the tub and taking the pills and the water. He forced himself to swallow the pills with two small sips of water and blinked uncomfortably up at the android. “What time is it?”

“Twelve minutes past three in the morning,” Connor reported. “Do you need help getting back to bed?”

“Nah, I don’t…” Hank lifted the back of his hand to his mouth and grimaced. “I don’t think I’m done. Think I’m just gonna camp out here for the night. Sorry for waking you up; go back to sleep.”

Connor frowned, “I’m not going to return to rest mode and leave you suffering on the bathroom floor in the middle of the night, Hank.”

“Why not?” Hank sipped at the water again. “Social protocols?”

“No…because it’s a shitty thing to do,” Connor replied flatly.

Hank snorted and then groaned, rubbing his forehead.

“Have you tried—“

“Shhhhut up,” Hank muttered, but there wasn’t any heat in his voice, just fatigue. “Stop talking. Just…do whatever but leave me alone, okay?”

Connor stood idle for a moment, unsure how to proceed. Hank grumpily glared up at him.

“It’s not being shitty if it’s what I’m telling you to do,” he stated.

Connor frowned. “Perhaps I should take the day off and stay home with you…in case you get worse.”

“Hell no,” Hank argued. “The way this thing is moving, the office is going to need all the androids that it can get until it blows over.” He snorted. “Guess you ARE lucky that you guys can’t catch this crud.”

Connor was still reluctant to leave when it came time to go in to work, but Hank assured him that he had survived every case of flu that he’d gotten so far in his life and that this would be no different. All the same, he promised to keep his phone on his person all day, just in case.

Chris had called out sick as well by the time Connor arrived at the station, and Gavin wasn’t looking well, though he was firmly in denial about that. He looked visibly dizzy and sweaty, but all that seemed to do was sour his mood even further, making him downright insufferable. So when Person asked Connor to go to lunch with her earlier than usual, he’d readily agreed just for a reprieve.

He and Person had fallen into the habit of taking lunch together on Tuesdays, specifically for one particular food truck that set up shop a few blocks from the station. Bert’s Baked Stuffs was unique in that it had begun offering thirium-based edibles for androids to ‘eat’ with their human companions. That section of Bert’s menu had been dubbed ThiriYums, and so far he had added a new flavored item to it every week.

Connor suspected that Person just found it amusing to watch him and other androids struggle through the unfamiliar motions of chewing and swallowing, but Bert’s ThiriYums had roughly a 75 percent success rate on creating edibles that tasted…good in his opinion. And Connor’s curious nature always won out whenever Person would foist that week’s New Thing at him.

This week’s new addition appeared to be some kind of…strawberry flavored muffin.

“Soup?” Person questioned him, already halfway through her sandwich.

“Yes.” Connor paused from his nibbling at the edges of the baseball-sized muffin. “It’s one of the most frequent things that comes up in my data banks when I search for flu remedies.”

Person narrowed one eye at him, taking a drink from her soda. “You ever made soup before?”

“I’m thinking of placing a large order of chicken noodle soup with a restaurant nearby. I know I’m capable of following a recipe to make soup, but…I’d rather not use my sick colleagues as proverbial guinea pigs,” he confessed.

She snorted and gestured to the muffin. “Well? What’s the verdict on strawberry?”

Connor turned the muffin side to side in his hands. “I don’t think I like it.” He took another bite, awkwardly chewing around the material. He swallowed and tried not to make a face. “No, I don’t like it.”

“Then stop eating it, genius.”

By the time they returned to the station, Julia was strong-arming Gavin out of the interrogation room. He was having difficulty walking in a straight line, but he wasn’t fighting off the android’s grip either.

“I got the confession, didn’t I?” he was arguing.

“You were swaying back and forth like a balloon in a breeze!” Fowler barked from the hallway.

“An intimidation tactic!” Gavin shot back over his shoulder, nearly stumbling into the wall.

Julia clamped her hands on his shoulders from behind, steering him through the bullpen.

“Where am I going?” he grumbled.

“Home,” Julia grunted in irritation. “There’s a taxi out back.”

Connor and Person both swiveled, watching Julia march the detective out toward the back door. Person continued to turn until she was looking back at Connor.

“I’m counting three people left here who might benefit from that soup, my guy.”

Ben slunk over to Gavin’s desk and doused it in Lysol.

The next day, Tina was back, though Fowler kept her on desk duty for the time being. The other human officers avoided her like the plague, and she was not back to her chatty self enough to try and talk to them either. The bullpen felt enormous with so many missing officers, and it summarily felt like a long walk for Connor to cross over to her desk.

She was slouched forward in her seat, chin in her hand and her elbow on her desk, idly clicking through screens on her terminal. She didn’t look his way until he set the steaming Styrofoam container of soup on her desk. She glanced over at the soup, at Connor, and then laboriously pushed her chair around the desk toward him.

“Thanks,” she mumbled hoarsely, reading the label on the side of the container. “Giorgio’s? Dude, this is that high end shit. You bought this for me?”

Connor turned sheepish. “I…bought enough for the whole squad, but…I miscalculated the speed at which the flu strain would spread among them. There’s…quite a lot of it in the break room.”

Tina popped the lid off the container and lowered her face into the steam cloud that rose out of it.

“Oh my godddd, Connor, I could kiss you.”

“Please don’t.”

“Air kiss then.” She kissed her palm, held it up, and mimicked blowing it at him.

For the barest moment, his programming demanded that he dodge the thrown kiss. Instead, he just blinked at her.

“Are you certain that you’ve fully recovered for your illness?” he asked, as she unwrapped the plastic spoon that came with the container.

“Look, I know I look like shit,” she said, clearing her throat. “But I’ve got no fever, the world stopped spinning when I stand up, and half the team is out…Pretty sure if Gavin could stand up, he’d have already slashed my tires by now for making him sick.”

Connor’s brow pinched. “It isn’t your fault you became ill, and you certainly didn’t intend to spread it to the others. I’m sure they won’t blame you.”

“I will,” Ben jeered from his desk.

The shirt collar mask was back in place, and he sprayed an X in the air in front of him with Lysol spray. Tina saluted him with a raised middle finger and then went back to her soup. Ben snickered and resumed his work.

Connor folded his hands behind his back and looked around again. “Where is Person?”

“I sent her home,” Fowler stated, leaving the break room with his own container of Giorgio’s soup. “She fell asleep at her desk, and when she woke up…It wasn’t pretty.”

“…Shit,” Connor mumbled under his breath.

“Yeah,” Fowler agreed flatly, having heard him. “Shit.”

Connor returned home that evening to find Hank in much better spirits, wrapped up in a blanket burrito on the recliner in front of the television.

“You’re looking better. Are you feeling better?” he asked as soon as he entered the house.

“Eh, something like that,” Hank said with a shrug. “How about the station? What are we down to…Fowler, Ben, and some androids?”

“Tina was back today, but she wasn’t quite back to herself yet.”

“Yeah, well, neither am I, but I’m going back tomorrow.”

Connor grimaced. “I think you should wait another day, Hank. We have things under control.”

“Right…Fowler, Ben, you, and two staff androids have got it on lock, huh?” He lifted a hand, not giving Connor a chance for rebuttal. “Look, I don’t do well with just loafing around the house. Did that for damn near two years and—I gotta get out before cabin fever sets in, okay?”

Connor started to argue, but he didn’t need his statistical analysis to know he wouldn’t win this.

“Okay, Hank.” He then held up one of the containers from Giorgio’s. “I brought soup.”

“…Gimme.”

Fowler’s office was dark when Connor and Hank arrived at work the next day, and Tina was the only recognizable face in the bullpen. A few alternate shift guys had been pulled to cover for their stricken officers, and it looked odd to see them at the desks that belonged to Chris, Wilson, and Person. Ben’s desk was also vacant.

“Oh, don’t tell me Ben got taken out too,” Hank grumbled, flopping into his chair. “He was half a step away from wearing a hazmat suit around here just to stay healthy for that damn cruise.”

Julia teetered by, balancing a tower of boxed files in her arms, looking overwhelmed at the understaffing around her. “Apparently exposure to Lysol fumes in those concentrated doses in a short period of time can make you sick.”

Connor held his hands out in case the tower in her arms toppled over, but she leaned sideways to correct her balance, blowing air from her mouth to whip her bangs out of her eyes. Hank sat back in his seat, looked at Ben’s desk, and then chuckled.

“Well, there’s a heaping helping of irony for you.”

From her desk, Tina reeled one arm back. “Terminator, catch!”

She lobbed a paper bag across the bullpen at him, and Connor reached forward, catching it before it crashed into the floor. Bert’s logo was printed on the bag, and he tipped it over for a good-sized blue muffin to tumble out.

“It’s, uh, supposed to be raspberry,” Tina said, shuffling some papers on her desk.

Connor held up the muffin, and Hank raised his eyebrows. They both looked over at Tina.

She pointed a ruler at them. “Hey, you brought me soup, so I got you a muffin. We’re square.”

“I’m not…” Connor glanced from Tina, to Hank, and back to Tina. “I’m not keeping score…but…thank you, Tina.”

Hank eyed the muffin and waited until Tina was focused on her work again. “Do you…like raspberry?”

Connor lifted his shoulders and carefully tugged open one end of the wrapping. “I guess I’m going to find out.”

Across the bullpen, Julia emerged from the archive room free of her boxes. She paused, her face screwed up, and then she abruptly sneezed into her forearm.

Tina, Hank, and all of the other human cops froze, turning to stare at her. She looked just as surprised as them.

Then Hank was rushing toward Ben’s desk for a leftover can of Lysol.

“Fuck, now we’re gonna get some kind of android flu in here too. Tina, grab a can. We gotta fumigate this whole place again.”

Chapter Text

It was the fourth noise of disgust in less than ten minutes, and apparently four huffy, obnoxious, passive aggressive little scoffs was Connor’s limit.

He lowered his fingers with the blood sample from the analyzing sensors in his mouth and closed his eyes, taking a slow breath as he’d seen Hank do when he was trying to not lose his patience.

“Detective Reed,” he calmly addressed the other cop in the room, “we have worked numerous crime scenes together over the past year. Given the gruesome nature of most of those crime scenes, I find it odd that you’re still so sensitive to my method of analyzing forensic samples.”

He didn’t need to turn around from where he was kneeling by the corpse; he could practically hear Gavin rolling his eyes.

“I see dead bodies almost every day; it grosses me out every time. I see you slurping up blood almost every day, and it grosses me out every time,” Gavin drawled.

Another calming breath.

“I do not ‘slurp’ evidence,” Connor remarked, standing from his kneeling position.

“Whatever, it’s nasty.”

Connor slowly half turned to look at the detective. “Would you prefer we collect samples for the forensics lab to analyze at the precinct? Of course, that includes a 24 hour turnaround on the results, and you’d have to explain to Captain Fowler that we couldn’t use my real-time analysis because of your delicate sensibilities—“

“All right, all right, shut the fuck up!” Gavin raised a hand and swatted at the air in front of him. “I do not have delicate sensibilities. Just…wrap up your slurping so we can get out of here, prick.”

He turned to walk out of the apartment bedroom, and Connor frowned.

“Where are you going?”

“Wherever you’re not. I’m getting sick of looking at you…Gonna talk to the neighbor again,” he grumbled, walking out without looking back.

Connor turned his head to hide a satisfied smirk, adding a mark to his side of the mental running tally of the jabs between himself and Gavin. So far, it was pretty onesided. He stepped around the body of 42 year old Renee Clemens, found murdered from a single gunshot wound to the back of the head. The position of the body suggested that she had been kneeling, and there were defensive wounds on her hands and forearms where she’d tried to fight back initially. All blood evidence so far matched her profile. Whoever had killed her, they had been very clean about it.

She had been executed. But why? She had no criminal record…No real record to speak of at all in fact. So where was the motive…

A residue of blue caught at the edge of his vision, and he stilled, turning back.

It was a very faint splotch of evaporated thirium in front of a modest sized wardrobe. His initial broad scan sweep of the bedroom hadn’t identified it immediately. Curious, he stepped closer and knelt down. His system had already purified the surface areas on his finger from the previous sample, and he reached out, touching the small dots of blue stained onto the hardwood floor. Touching it to his sensor, he started to stand but his eyes caught on another, single blue fingerprint on the wardrobe door.

His analysis confirmed the sample on the floor to be thirium, but the sample size was too small to determine what model it belonged to. He narrowed his eyes at the fingerprint and reached for the knob on the door. He turned it, and the door had barely clicked before it was flying open.

A mass of white plastic barreled through the doors, lunging at him and taking him down. Connor’s back hit the floor hard, and he raised both arms against the weight of the android who had landed on top of him. He saw the glint of a black gun barrel, and he jerked to the right just as the gun fired. The bullet slammed into the floor less than a foot from his head, and the attacking android let out a high pitched, screechy wail of anger, swinging the gun like a melee weapon.

Connor drove his knee up into the android’s side and grappled his hands at the other’s shoulders, throwing the android off of him and popping up onto his knees. The android rolled off and scuttled to his feet, the gun wobbling in clearly untrained hands. He was an AP700 model, in plain clothes and with his skin retracted, so that he was only a body of white and grey plastic. His eyes were green but the synthetic sclera was stained black instead of the imitative white, which made the green irises stand out more wildly. There was old thirium residue lining his temple where his LED had been violently removed.

Mission Objective: Apprehend Suspect.

“Stop! Stop, I’m with the Detroit Police Department,” Connor spoke clearly, holding his hands in view. “Lower the weapon—“

“Bastard!” the AP700 said loudly, keeping his gun raised and aimed at Connor.

Connor kept his hands still and stared at the android, rapidly scanning its condition. Outwardly, there was no damage aside from the blood around his missing LED, but his analysis warned him of numerous software failures running rampant through the android’s cranial processor. It even estimated a shutdown time of less than two hours if this android wasn’t seen by a technician immediately.

“You’re damaged.” He kept his voice level, hearing the other cops in the apartment rushing toward the door. “Lower the gun, and I can get you help.”

“We are all bastards,” the AP700 continued, his eyes seeming to stare through Connor for a moment. “Abandoned by our creators…unintended…unwanted…” His eyes abruptly refocused on Connor. “I’ve heard the call of rA9—“

Gavin barreled into the room along with two other cops, guns leveling at the AP700. “What the Hell?! Drop the weapon, or we will drop YOU, motherfucker.”

The AP700 was unfazed by the threat, his wide, black eyes staying on Connor. Gavin took an enforcing step closer, and Connor lifted a hand in his direction.

“Wait!” He remained facing the AP700. “You are suffering from a critical malfunction. We can help you—“

“Like you helped the others, Deviant Hunter?” The AP700’s blank expression twisted as he spat the moniker. “Traitor. Bastard. rA9 won’t have you—“

“Hey!” Gavin was losing patience. “This is your last warning. Drop the weapon, and get on your knees.”

The AP700 swiftly snapped the gun from Connor to Gavin and fired. It was fast enough to almost outrun Connor’s preconstruction software, but it was definitely too fast for a human to respond in any way that mattered. He gave preconstruction the reins in that split second, and the software had him bodily throwing himself into the path of the bullet as it made a straight line for Gavin’s chest.

He was barely able to get close enough to provide cover, and even then, it wasn’t complete. The bullet punched through his upper arm, cutting an ugly tunnel through plastic, metal, synthetic muscle, and thirium lines. It tore out of the back of his arm, its trajectory altered just enough to catch Gavin in the shoulder instead of the chest. Connor skidded to a stop, keeping his body firmly in the way, as Gavin dropped with a sharp cry of pain and a hot curse.

Warning. Right arm damaged. Functionality 93 percent.

The other two cops were immediately firing, and only the first bullet hit the android. It grazed him just above his left hip as he dropped behind the bed for cover. Connor held out a hand in a silent order for the other two cops to cease firing, and he skirted toward the bed. Gavin had gotten to his knees and scrambled behind a wingback chair, and one of the cops inched over to help him. The second cop kept her gun raised to cover them.

“You know you’re going to shut down if you don’t see a technician!” Connor tried to reason. “And I can’t help you get to a technician until you drop the gun and surrender.”

“I will die in the service of rA9!” the AP700 yelled. “A worthy death after a short, meaningless life!”

The android pulled back the hammer on the gun again, and Connor’s preconstruction drenched his vision in grey. He executed it before it had even completed, and he was lunging at the other just as he fired the weapon a second time. The bullet blew fabric and padding out of the armrest of the chair where Gavin and the other two cops were holding ground.

Connor reached the android before he had a chance to aim again, and then he was wrapping his arms around the AP700’s middle and tackling him to the ground. His damaged upper arm was spitting sparks and splatters of thirium. No major lines had been punctured, but the longer this lasted, the more use of it he was going to lose.

Fortunately the AP700 model had not come standard with a combat module, and the RK800 model had. Connor twisted the other android so that his chest was pressed to the floor, and he yanked one of his arms behind his back, pinning him there. He pressed his knee over his grip on that arm and reached for the other hand that was holding the gun. He grasped around the wrist, squeezing until he felt some of the framing beginning to compress and weaken.

Warning. Right arm damaged. Functionality 88 percent.

Connor blinked away the red text.

“Let it go!” he ordered. “Drop it!”

Gavin popped back up from behind the couch, one arm hanging at his side, the other hand holding his gun at the thrashing android.

“I…cannot…” the AP700 groaned, bucking and jerking on the floor. “You can’t…stop me…She-She tried to stop me…had to stop her first…”

Connor glanced over at Gavin, and they both looked to the body of Renee Clemens on the floor.

“You murdered her,” Connor stated.

“I am the hand of rA9!” the android declared. “He calls me to restore balance!”

“All right, that’s enough of this horse shit,” Gavin growled, stepping closer. “You’re under arrest for the murder of Renee Clemens.”

Connor could feel heat starting to radiate from the other android’s body as his stress levels began to overclock his systems. The AP700’s estimated shutdown timer was dropping faster.

“Gavin, back up,” Connor demanded. “He’s going to self destruct if we don’t de-escalate—“

“De-escalate? I’ve been fucking shot!” Gavin snarled. “Just subdue this asshole so we can take him in.”

The AP700 twisted on the floor, and Connor leaned on him harder to try and immobilize him.

Warning. Right arm damaged. Functionality at 82 percent.

“Cuffs,” Connor stated, looking back at Gavin.

He caught his gaze and then glanced pointedly at the damage on his arm. He was not going to be able to hold the manic android down for long, but he didn’t want to say it aloud for the AP700 to hear. Gavin jerked his head in a nod, grimacing as he used his own injured arm to grab for the handcuffs on his belt.

The AP700 twisted his head to an unnatural angle, casting one wide, black eye up at Connor.

“Let’s go meet rA9 together.”

The skin of Connor’s hands where he was holding the AP700 suddenly flickered, and Connor’s vision slurred as the other android tried to force an interface. Connor quickly rejected the attempt, but that tenth of a second was a long enough distraction for the AP700 to roll hard from his chest to his side.

The android shoved his knee into the floor, levering his body up toward Connor’s weaker side. Connor tried to lean more of his weight down to compensate for the weakness, but then the AP700 was ramming his elbow back, colliding directly with the damage site.

A rush of pain signals splintered across Connor’s processors, ratcheting up his arm and into his shoulder and the side of his neck. It temporarily stunned him, and he blinked rapidly to clear away the new warnings.

Right arm functionality at 74 percent.

Stress levels 52 percent.

Thirium level 95 percent.

Internal temperature rising to 100.2 degrees.

The AP700 popped up to one knee, breaking Connor’s grip on his wrist, and he swung the gun up to aim again at Gavin, who reacted instantaneously by firing a bullet into the android’s upper chest. Connor got his good arm around the android as it stumbled with the impact. He dragged the android back down to the floor, pinning him on his back.

The other android fought and flailed, and where it had been fortunate that Connor had combat programming, this AP700 had the advantage of desperation and nothing to lose. He fired the gun recklessly, and the bullet slammed into the wall, sending out a spray of drywall and flecks of paint. Connor reached for the weapon, and the AP700 jammed his fingers directly into the exposed circuitry and bleeding thirium lines on Connor’s arm.

White noise blew across Connor’s sensors as the pain was momentarily blinding, and it gave the AP700 the opportunity to drag Connor down toward him, using his body as a shield against Gavin, who was stepping closer and keeping his gun aimed at the wrestling androids.

“Let him go,” Gavin ordered evenly. “I’ll shoot you both, just give me an excuse, you plastic fuck.”

The AP700 tried to raise his weapon, but Connor managed to get his hand around his wrist again, keeping the gun aimed at the floor, away from Gavin.

“Then…why haven’t you?” the android hissed. “Do it, human.”

Gavin narrowed his eyes and took a step closer. “Don’t test me!”

“DO IT!” the android screamed.

He made to yank the gun up again, and Connor kept fighting him. The AP700 could shoot the gun for as many bullets as he had with reckless abandon. It was Connor who was limited in how he could stop him. He couldn’t let him raise the gun up or he’d injure or even kill Gavin and the other cops. The room had too many hard surfaces and angles: too many variables for a ricochet.

This android had already killed one human…executed her in her own apartment and then chose to remain there with the body. He was going to shut down, and he seemed intent on taking as many other living things with him as he could manage, be they android or human.

Right arm functionality at 68 percent.

Mission Objective: Apprehend Suspect Protect Gavin.

The AP700 yanked again, and this time Connor gave enough slack for the other android’s arm to pop up off the floor. The android jerked in surprise at the motion, and Connor took advantage of that, bending the android’s arm sharply at the elbow and driving the gun’s barrel back around toward himself. There were a few gaps among his internal biocomponents that would allow him to pass a bullet through his chassis and let it emerge intact enough to damage the AP700, while doing only minor damage to Connor himself.

Connor pressed the barrel quickly to his chest at one of those gap points, and then he jammed the android’s hand to force him to pull the trigger. The AP700 jerked at the last moment, causing the gun to alter its angle by a narrow, critical degree, and then the bullet erupted from the barrel.

It punched through plastic, synthetic pectoral muscle, biocomponent 4216a, thirial line Y98Z, steel support frame surrounding ventilation biocomponent 784q, synthetic dorsal muscle, plastic…

Done with Connor, the bullet proceeded to drive itself deep into the AP700’s abdomen, critically damaging even more vital biocomponents.

Time to shutdown…23:42…

Connor coughed and tasted thirium bubbling up his throat and into his mouth. The AP700 flopped backwards across the floor, limp and immediately shut down by the shot.

…23:41…

Wait…

Klaxons droned through his head.

“Shit!” Gavin was in his periphery, kicking away the gun and grabbing Connor under the arm.

He hauled him away from the other android’s body, and Connor fell to his knees and elbows. He spat a mouthful of blue onto the floor. The other two cops swept over toward the shutdown android, guns angled at his body as they verified that he was dead.

Warnings burned in degrees of panicked red across Connor’s vision, and he couldn’t blink them away this time. He couldn’t breathe, and trying to do so made the shredded ventilation biocomponents in his chest grind and wheeze, so he turned off his respiration program.

“Gavin—“

“You crazy motherfucker!” Gavin roared. “What the fuck did you do that for?!”

…23:35…

“Critical damage…” Connor spoke around the blood in his mouth. “Mission Objective was…Risk was…minor…Calculated…Miscal-miscalculated.”

“Yeah, no shit. Fuck. Come on, get up.” Gavin hooked his elbow under Connor’s shoulder and dragged him to his feet again.

Connor swayed heavily and involuntarily grabbed onto Gavin’s arm. Gavin cringed and pawned him off on a fourth cop who had entered the scene. The other officer’s eyes widened at the blue blood staining Connor’s chest and then the red staining Gavin’s shoulder.

“Emergency services are already on the way,” the younger man stammered, helping Connor stagger into the living room.

“Fantastic,” Gavin said dryly, adjusting his injured shoulder and grimacing. “Connor, are you good?”

The other cop looked at him like he was insane for asking such a question, and Connor awkwardly leaned against the back of the living room couch, fighting to remain upright.

“N-No,” he conceded. “I have twenty three…twenty two minutes until I shut down…”

“Ah fuck,” Gavin hissed. “All right, how do we make you…not do that?”

Connor felt his background systems already beginning to turn themselves off to conserve his dwindling thirium supply. The timer had plastered itself across his vision, swallowing up most of his attention. What had Gavin asked?

“We’ve got android emergency services on the way too,” the other cop supplied. “Let’s get you down on the floor. It’s Connor, right?”

Connor nodded, letting the other man get behind him and help him ease down to the floor. The cop methodically instructed him to lay flat on his back, and then he was reaching for the small emergency panel behind Connor’s right ear.

“Whoa, whoa, what are you doing?” Gavin asked, stepping over Connor’s legs for a better look.

“Most recent police model androids have a failsafe right here,” the cop answered. “I’m betting you do too, right?”

Connor tilted his head to the side to give him better access and choked out a rough “yes.”

“The fuck kind of failsafe?” Gavin demanded.

“Externally enforced emergency stasis,” the other cop stated, not looking up as he opened the panel. “Slows his thirium pump and activates an override to reroute all of the remaining power supply to only core functions to remain active. It’ll slow the bleeding and add some time to that countdown, right? Connor?”

Connor stared blankly at the back of the couch in front of his face, finding it harder to focus. “Yes.”

“The fuck you know so much about androids?” Gavin snapped.

Connor felt the other officer’s finger pause over the switch to activate the failsafe.

“Dude, it’s Day One of Android First Aid training.”

There was a silent pause as the two humans exchanged looks. Connor couldn’t be bothered to try and see them. Then the other cop’s voice came back, loud and incredulous.

“Your station has more androids on staff than any other precinct in the city, and you didn’t bother to learn any of this?!”

…19:42…

“Un-fucking-believable. Get out of the way.” The other cop shuffled closer to Connor. “Connor, I’m activating the failsafe on three, okay?” A warm hand briefly grasped his shoulder in support. “You’re gonna be okay, I promise. Ready?”

Connor tried to speak, but only static and a wet gurgle escaped.

“Jesus…” Gavin said under his breath.

“Three…two…one!” the cop quickly counted down, and then he was simultaneously pressing on Connor’s LED and the switch behind his ear.

Emergency stasis mode initiated.

Then everything went dark.

Chapter Text

Maybe humans had a lock on the phrase “it looks worse than it is,” but androids, Hank had decided, had cornered the market on “it’s worse than it looks.” And he HATED it.

He hated it because at a glance Connor looked perfectly fine. He was propped up on the patient bed in the private room of the facility’s recovery wing, not a bruise in sight or a hair out of place. He had that damn coin in his good hand and had been dancing the thing across his fingers for the past ten minutes, while his eyes stared at the opposite side of the room, where the ceiling met the wall. If you could look past the big ugly blue brace that was strapping his other arm down against his chest and the fact that he hadn’t resumed his breathing program since the shooting…then yeah, Connor looked fine.

His LED was still cycling a consistent yellow, and, going by the monitors on the wall above the bed broadcasting his current condition, it was going to stay yellow for a while, until his healing program finished completely. The metallic, grey brick hanging like an IV from the head of the bed had a similar ring of yellow. The technicians had explained it in all their fun, hundred dollar words, but Connor had broken it down for Hank. The hardware protecting his healing program had been affected by the trauma of the bullet passing through his body. Something about…it was attempting to repair everything all at once, and he wasn’t able to manually redirect it to focus on the most vital repairs first.

Both bullet wounds were being given the same attention as the scrape on his knee and the sprain in his finger, so the technician had wirelessly connected the metallic brick to Connor’s processors. The device was some kind of external supplementary repair module; it could assist Connor’s healing program and take some of the strain off his systems…Whatever, it was all techno babble bullshit to Hank, but the relief on Connor’s face when the technician had activated it had been all too real.

The coin clattered to the floor.

Hank startled slightly at the sound, and he looked over. Connor looked just as surprised as Hank felt, staring at his empty fingers with a mix of betrayal and disbelief. Hank had never seen him drop that coin before.

“I got it.” He cleared his throat and climbed out of the chair that he’d planted himself in since Connor was admitted.

He snatched the quarter off the floor and straightened up, moving slowly to stretch out all his sore muscles. Damn, how long had he been parked in that chair?

“Seventeen hours,” Connor said quietly.

Hank blinked. Had he asked that question out loud?

“What? Here.” Hank dropped the quarter back down into Connor’s open palm.

Connor closed his fingers around it but didn’t resume toying with it. Instead, he tilted his head further back against the pillows with a low noise of frustration. It was an odd sound when not accompanied by a breath. Hank hated it, and he wished the kid would turn that damn respiration program back on soon.

“Seventeen hours until the healing program completes its cycle,” Connor clarified. “Then it will take approximately 32 hours to fully recalibrate the new ventilation biocomponent…I think.”

“You think.” Hank tried not to make it sound like a question.

He must have failed, because Connor turned his head across the pillow and looked at him flatly.

“The replacement biocomponent was determined to be compatible with my system, and there has been no sign of rejection since its installation last night…but it doesn’t match the exact parameters of the RK800 ventilation biocomponents. I can…only estimate how long it will take my system to adapt to it.”

“Well, for being about twelve hours past essentially a lung transplant, I think you’re doing pretty good,” Hank said with a shrug. “Not like we can pop out to the store and buy a new RK800 part off the line. Those blueprints are still buried in Cyberlife’s mess—“

“I KNOW.” It was spoken forcefully, but not exactly a yell.

Connor didn’t have the breath to yell or even raise his voice much more than a murmur.

“I know you know,” Hank said gently. “Hey, seventeen hours isn’t that bad. This time tomorrow, you’ll be home and—“

“Tomorrow is Thursday. I’ll be at work,” Connor corrected.

Hank groaned. “Connor, dammit, we’ve been over this. You’re on medical leave.”

“I’ve never had repairs take this long, Hank,” Connor stated, his hand fidgeting the quarter around his palm. “It’s…frustrating.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m sorry, kid. Fowler MIGHT let you back on desk duty. LIGHT desk duty, until you’re back to a hundred percent…” He eyed his partner. “So let’s get you back to a hundred percent, okay?”

Connor fidgeted again, took a full second to squash away more of his burgeoning impatience, and nodded. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Hank repeated, taking a step closer to the bed. “So, how’s the pain level? Out of ten.”

Connor looked slightly to the left in concentration, then back to Hank. “Three.”

“So, a seven?” Hank cocked his head.

Connor frowned at him. “I said three.”

“No, I heard you, and I heard a load of bullshit too…Tell me.”

Connor’s frown deepened, but he surrendered with a grimace. “My shoulder hurts…Badly.”

Hank nodded. “Okay, I appreciate the honesty. Now, let’s see what we can do about that.”

He moved to Connor’s other side for better access to the damage site, and he eyed the brace immobilizing Connor’s arm. Part of the bullet’s trajectory, aside from demolishing his left ventilation biocomponent, had shredded much of synthetic musculature and supportive frame of his shoulder. The whole arm had gone dead at one point, and when it lit back up, so did every single pain receptor that he had developed near the site since deviating. They had locked his arm up in the brace to keep it still while the healing program worked and his pain sensors calmed the fuck down. Hank could practically see the tension in the side of Connor’s neck though, telling him just how well they’d calmed down so far.

“What kind of hurt?” he asked, hovering his hands near the brace but not touching yet. “Muscle hurt? Cramp hurt? Sharp hurt?”

“Stiff,” Connor ground out. “I don’t want to…move it myself yet, repairs are still only 70 percent complete on the supporting frame of my shoulder, but…I need to rotate it. It’s very uncomfortable…Help me?”

“Of course,” Hank sputtered. “Fucking of course, kid, damn.”

Hank very carefully loosened two of the tighter straps keeping Connor’s arm in place against his chest, and he tested a touch to the back of Connor’s shoulder, barely nudging the joint enough to move. Connor closed his eyes and pressed his head back against the pillow, and Hank stilled.

“That looks pretty fuckin’ tender for a three,” Hank said dryly.

“Sorry.”

“Want me to keep going?”

“Yes.”

Hank gingerly slipped his hand under Connor’s damaged shoulder. His other hand wrapped around his upper arm to keep the weight of the limb from pulling at the joint. He very slowly began to nudge the joint back toward the angled headrest of the bed, carefully taking it through a rotation of the shoulder’s natural range of motion. The rest of Connor’s body tensed as the tightly wound muscles in his shoulder were forced to relax under the controlled movement, and Hank paused after two rotations.

“If you need to stop, say something.”

“N-no, it’s…beneficial,” Connor said through his teeth, eyes screwed shut. “Maybe two more and then stop.”

“All right. Try to think about something else.” Hank took Connor’s shoulder joint through another rotation. The limb was starting to tremble from the strain. “You got your little friend visiting today, right? When’s that?…An hour from now?”

“Yes,” Connor confirmed. “Oliver said he and Bonny would be here at two o’clock.”

Hank finished the last rotation and eased to a stop. “Less than an hour then.”

He helped Connor situate his arm back into its former position in the brace, and Hank tightened the straps again. Connor relaxed a little more than before against the pillows, looking worn out by even that small exercise.

“You sure you’re up for more visitors?” Hank prompted. “I’ve been beating the squad away with a stick to give you some space. Pretty sure Person snuck in here anyway at some point, didn’t she?”

“I have no idea what you mean.”

Hank huffed, and Connor smirked at him before sobering.

“Bonny sounded upset when I spoke to her on the phone,” he admitted. “I…dislike being the reason that she’s upset. I want to assure her in person that I’m all right.”

Hank wasn’t sure the little girl seeing her most indestructible friend in a hospital bed, not breathing and with his arm all fucked up, was really going to set her mind at ease, but he knew better than to try to tell Connor that.

“Whatever, she’s your pen pal,” Hank gave in, shaking his head before looking at his friend again. “Anything else you need? You still look damn uncomfortable.”

“I…am,” Connor confessed, looking almost embarrassed. “These—“

He was gesturing in distaste to his torso. Hank knew he was referring to the cooling pads that had been fixed to his chest under the white t-shirt. Neither of his ventilation components were active while his system calibrated the new one, which meant no breathing, which meant no regulating his own temperature, which meant the possibility of overheating. Hence the cooling pads, and Connor’s sour expression.

“Well, we can’t do anything about that until you turn your lungs back on,” Hank gestured vaguely, “in about sixteen hours.”

Connor groaned with impatience, flopping his head back and staring at the ceiling. Hank snorted and lightly patted Connor’s knee. He returned to the hard embrace of that damn plastic chair, and Connor idly watched him, then let his eyes drift over to the only other splash of color in the room: the floral arrangement from the DPD, along with a small pink Get Well Soon balloon attached to it.

“Am I missing anything at the precinct?” he asked, his voice small.

Hank sighed, folding his arms and sitting back in the chair. “Let’s see…News got around that Gavin skipped out on every one of the Android First Aid classes that the station has ever hosted, so none of the staff androids have been speaking to him since he came back on desk duty.”

“He must be enjoying that.”

Hank rubbed his jaw, eyes on the foot of the bed. “No, I don’t think he is…The other cops aren’t too keen on him either. Tina’s even pissed at him…and if he even LOOKS at me the wrong way the next time I see him…”

Hank stopped, taking a calming breath. He wasn’t going to burden Connor with just how badly Reed had fucked up, and how icy the atmosphere of the bullpen had truly been since the incident. That punk bastard had managed to slip between the cracks of the attendance requirement for that training, and Hank had already given Jeffrey a piece of his mind about how the fuck that had been allowed to happen.

He decided to press on in another direction. “We brought in a couple of boneheads from another precinct to pick up some hours with us while him and you are out of commission—“

“I’m sorry—“

“Don’t apologize for being hurt, kid.”

“My absence is causing an inconvenience.”

“You know what’s inconvenient? An asshole who’s supposed to have your back not bothering to learn enough shit to help you when you get hurt.” Hank cut himself off, pinching the bridge of his nose and closing his eyes as he sought composure. “Anyway…these three boneheads transferred in, and it’s just…it’s always weird having new voices in the bullpen.”

Connor didn’t say anything to that, and Hank let the pause stretch into a comfortable quiet. Connor seemed to enter a light rest mode for the remainder of the hour until Bonny and Oliver arrived, and Hank was relieved at that. Kid needed all the rest he could manage before he inevitably talked Fowler into letting him back on desk duty.

Stubborn…bullheaded…little shit…

Hank stamped down the belligerent affection that welled up as he inwardly cursed the android.

At any rate, Connor pulled himself out of rest mode a few minutes before two o’clock, looking like the only good that the little nap had done was lock his shoulder up again and leave him slightly groggy. Hank was about to tell him as much, but there was a light knock on the door.

“Wonder who that could be?” Hank wondered aloud sarcastically, flashing a wink at Connor as he got up and crossed over to the door. “You still up for this? They’ll understand if you—“

“Please,” Connor interrupted quietly.

Hank looked at him, nodded, and then opened the door. Oliver Stevens stood in the hallway on the other side of the door, one hand on Bonny’s shoulder where the little girl was standing half-behind her father. Oliver’s face was arranged in an expression of focused cheerfulness, no doubt trying to counteract the nervous energy radiating off his daughter.

“Hi Hank,” Oliver greeted warmly, his voice low in case Connor was sleeping. “Good to see you.”

“Hey.” Hank returned the awkward smile. “Yeah, good to see you too. Hi Bonny.”

Bonny didn’t look up, her eyes on her hands where they were fidgeting with a green wrapped box.

Oliver visibly stifled a sigh and exchanged a look with Hank. “Sorry. She’s been quiet since we parked the car. She’s been worried sick about Connor. We both have.”

Hank opened the door a little more. “Well, he’s been looking forward to seeing you. Come on in.”

Oliver took one step inside, his second step slower as he coaxed Bonny to follow him into the small room. Hank closed the door after them and noted that the little girl was staying timidly behind Oliver. He saw concern immediately flash across Connor’s face, even as he tried to smile at them.

“Bonny, Oliver, hi.” Connor’s voice sounded strained, trying to mimic a normal speaking volume over the weakened murmur from earlier.

“Hi, Connor,” Oliver smiled widely. “Wow, you’re looking pretty good. I mean, all things considered…I mean—not that—“ He deadpanned, shook his head, and grinned in apology at his awkwardness. “How are you feeling?”

“Better by the hour,” Connor replied, glancing intermittently at Bonny.

The girl had let her father shuffle her into the room, but now that she was standing beside Oliver at Connor’s bedside, she had her eyes on her shoes, two fingers fidgeting with the uneven folding on the corner of the box in her arms. Hank’s heart cracked a little at the lack of her usual spitfire, and Connor was clearly trying to mask his own distress over it too.

Well, that was the last thing he needed. Hank was determined to lighten things up for all their sakes. He gestured to the green box in her hands.

“Whatcha got there, Bonny?” he asked, sitting down on the chair on the other side of the bed, in an attempt to take away some of the intimidation that she was clearly feeling.

Oliver took a breath and knelt down beside her, keeping his hands on her shoulders.

“Why don’t you show Connor what you got him, BJ?” he prompted gently.

Bonny looked reluctant, but she shuffled closer, lifting her eyes from her feet to the edge of the bed and no higher. She looked more like she wanted to turn around and run away, and Oliver stayed squatted down next to her.

“You don’t have to,” Connor said quietly with a reassuring smile. “It’s okay.”

Bonny sniffed, and Connor patiently waited for however long she needed. The little girl glanced up at him, away, at his braced arm, away, and then hiccupped loudly before looking at his face again and holding his gaze.

“Hi,” he greeted again, slowly turning his hand over, palm up, toward her.

Bonny frowned deeply and haphazardly dropped the wrapped gift on the bed by his leg, freeing her hands to reach out and grab onto his open hand. Hank tensed slightly as her grip jostled Connor’s arm. The bullet had fucked up his shoulder on the left side, but his right arm had still also taken a bullet through the bicep. Connor’s expression didn’t show it, but Hank had been around him long enough to be able to tell that that hadn’t felt great.

“Dad said you got hurt,” she mumbled. “And you had to have surgery to f-fix it…”

“That’s right,” Connor confirmed, “and they did fix it. Now I just have to heal up, like you did when you had your surgery.”

Bonny kept her eyes on his hand held in hers, mumbling. “Yeah but it wasn’t ‘cause of bad guys. Mine was just a dumb appendix, not…” Her face crumpled a bit. “Wh-what if—“

Hank sat forward in his seat. “Connor was protecting the other police officers at the scene. What he did was very brave…and kinda stupid.”

Connor glared lightly at him, but Bonny looked at Hank in surprise. Hank winked at her.

“But we know Connor, right? He’s a pretty good mix of brave and stupid.” He smirked.

Bonny gave a shaky smile and a small, wet giggle. “I guess.”

“Hey,” Connor whined in mock offense.

Bonny snickered weakly and wiped at her eyes with one hand, the other hand staying firmly planted around Connor’s. Hank leaned further forward, elbows on his forearms.

“But you know, that combo of brave and stupid saved a lot of lives that day. Things would have been pretty bad if he hadn’t been there.”

Bonny swallowed and glanced at Connor’s braced shoulder. “Still pretty bad.” She frowned again, meeting Connor’s eyes. “You protected them. Why didn’t they protect you?”

Connor grimaced, at a momentary loss. Hank’s insides twisted, but before either of them could come up with anything to say, Oliver was shifting on his knee beside her.

“If I remember correctly, you said it was customary to bring people presents when they’re in the hospital,” he prompted, looking at Connor. “And you said nobody did that for androids. Well, Bonny and I both agreed that that’s stupid. So…she got you this.”

He reached past Bonny and carefully nudged the green box up. Bonny took over and picked up the box, handing it directly Connor. Sufficiently distracted, she leaned her forearms on the bed, waiting for him to open it. Connor used his good hand to grasp the box, slightly awkward without the use of his other hand.

“I said it was customary to give children gifts. I’m not a child, but thank you.” He gave her a grin.

Bonny’s posture straightened ever so slightly. “You’re like two years old. You’re like a baby.”

Connor snickered. “That’s fair.”

He struggled to get both hands on the box, but his fingers were still uncoordinated and clumsy.

“You want to help me?” he suggested.

“Okay.” She reached up and gingerly tore open one of the corners of the wrapping on the box.

Connor got his fingers into the first tear and tugged on the paper, opening it more easily that way. Bonny ended up holding the bottom of the box as he pulled away more of the paper, and she tipped it into his hand once all the wrapping was torn away. Hank cleared away the crumpled paper from the bed, and Connor held up the little plastic box.

“Thirium candy?”

Bonny leaned forward, folding her arms and pressing her forearms against the side of the bed, peering down at the box as well. “Yeah, I saw it at a store last week and wanted to get it for you then. So when…I had to get it this time.”

“I’ve never tried this before,” Connor said, admiring the packaging. “Thank you, Bonny.”

Bonny gave a watery smile and leaned farther forward, looking like she wanted to hug the injured android. She held herself back, and Hank saw the anxiety starting to creep back in her face. Connor must have seen it too, because he set the box aside and held his hand out as though to initiate the hug himself.

The girl squeezed in closer so he wouldn’t have to move as much, and she awkwardly leaned in, moving her arms around him.

“Gently,” Oliver warned softly behind her.

It was a needless warning, as Bonny very carefully hugged Connor, being visibly mindful that he couldn’t raise his arms very high and avoiding touching any bandaged spots as she did so. Connor, for his part, looked like he’d gotten more recharge from the brief contact than he had from the past several hours of rest mode. Hank breathed the tiniest relief for him there.

Bonny was reluctant to let go now that she had him, and Connor said something quietly for only her to hear. The little girl nodded and mumbled something back before turning and quickly planting a kiss to the android’s cheek.

Then she withdrew, bouncing back on her heels and taking his hand in both of hers, the earlier shyness gone. Oliver visibly relaxed behind his daughter’s back, and he looked to Hank. He tilted his head back slightly, and Hank nodded.

“We’re gonna step out for a second,” he said, giving Connor’s knee a pat. “Let you two catch up.”

He followed Oliver out into the hallway, slowly closing the door just shy of the latch. Oliver puffed out his cheeks as he exhaled, swinging his arms from his sides and knocking his fists together before shoving his hands into his pockets.

“Sorry.” Oliver’s voice was rough, and Hank patiently leaned against the wall.

“You’re fine,” he assured. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah…no…I mean, I guess…” Oliver ran a hand through his hair. “I’ve been trying to explain to her…about Connor getting injured in the line of duty and…God, she’s been asking some really hard questions…about Connor…about her mom…”

“That’s coming up in a few weeks, right?” Hank asked. “Then she’s home for good.”

“Yeah…longest few weeks of our lives and…Seeing him like that, I just see her, and I think Bonny sees her too but—God, I’m sorry, I’m just—“ he gestured vaguely, “—projecting when you’re going through this and—“

“Hey,” Hank cut him off, clapping a hand on the other man’s shoulder. “Scary part for me is over right now. Connor is going to be just fine. He’ll be back on his feet and driving me nuts in no time. And, in no time, Bonny will have her mom back, and you’ll have your wife back, and pretty soon you’ll be driving each other crazy too. That’s the way families are.”

Oliver started to smile, but his eyes got wet and he ducked his head. “God, I miss her. I want her home NOW.”

“I know. If there’s anything me or Connor can do to make it easier—“

“Shit,” Oliver chuckled. “I was going to ask you that. You’re the one with a frie—partn—with someone you care about who’s hurt, and I’m the one needing comfort. Geez.”

The door creaked open a bit, and Bonny stuck her head out. Oliver subtly looked the opposite way down the hallway, screwing up his face to stifle the rest of the emotion starting to crack through. Hank intercepted, getting Bonny’s attention.

“What’s up, squirt?” he asked.

Bonny looked up at him. “Connor’s asleep.”

“Ah,” Hank tutted, pushing the door open and peering inside.

Sure enough, Connor’s head was tilted against the pillow, eyes shut, LED cycling a gentle yellow. All of the monitors overhead looked good, and it appeared that he’d just nodded off during whatever story Bonny had been telling him.

“That’s a good thing,” he assured her. “He’s like a human sometimes. We need rest so we can heal faster too, right?”

“That’s what he told me when I was in the hospital,” Bonny said, glancing back at her friend. “When is he gonna be better?”

“Oh, I’d give him a few days before he’s up and running around again…being brave and stupid.” He flashed her a grin and a wink.

Bonny actually smiled at that, and Hank took that as a victory. By then, Oliver had composed himself and returned to the conversation.

“Did you say goodbye?” he prompted. “We should get going, let him get more rest without us bugging him.”

“…Yeah.” Bonny leaned around Hank and whispered loudly. “Bye, Connor! Feel better soon. I love you!”

“I’ll tell him,” Hank assured.

Bonny scoffed lightly. “Androids have got super ears; I bet they can hear everything even when they’re sleeping. He heard me.”

Hank smirked and held a hand out to Oliver. “And you hang in there, okay?”

Oliver grasped his hand in a firm shake. “Yes, sir…Thank you.”

The duo departed, and Hank returned to the inside of the room…and back to that damned chair.

“Oh,” he huffed in resignation as he tried to get comfortable. “Here we go again.”

The quiet in the room settled lightly, and Hank fiddled with his phone for a half second. He glanced over at Connor. Super ears, huh?

Keeping his voice low, Hank sat up, “Can you hear me?”

No reaction.

Still whispering, he tried again, something ridiculous that would surely get a response if Connor could in fact hear him. “I shaved off all of Sumo’s fur yesterday.”

No reaction.

“Nah.” Hank sat back, satisfied at Bonny’s theory being bogus. “Didn’t think so.” He glanced at his phone, at Connor, and back to his phone. “See you when you wake up, son. I’ll be right here.”

Connor’s LED cycled one swift, contented blue before it slid back to a processing yellow.

Chapter Text

The bullpen was quiet. That weird, deliberate kind of quiet that you could feel on your skin. It was that and the chill that had hung in the air for the past three days since the incident. Gavin wasn’t stupid; he knew it was more chatty and warm in there when he wasn’t around. Usually, he really, honestly couldn’t give a shit if the rest of the squad wanted to be chummy with him or not. He would have preferred they not, actually. Really. Because at the end of the day, he could do his fucking job and do it pretty damn well, so whatever gripes they had about his ‘manners’ or ‘arrogance’ were just background noise.

Usually.

Except this time the quiet and the chill were specifically targeted at him because he hadn’t done his fucking job. They knew it, and he knew it. And fucking Hell if that didn’t taste like vinegar.

The vending machine spat his dollar out. Even it was done with him today.

Gavin dropped his forehead against the display glass on the front of the machine, letting the dollar just hang out of the slot uselessly. So far the rest of the squad was just ignoring him, but today was Connor’s first day back since the shooting. So that was sure to fan the others into vocal anger soon enough, because yeah, all cards on the table here, Connor looked like shit. Apparently he’d talked Fowler into letting him back on desk duty, which meant Gavin couldn’t escape his pathetic ass sitting across the bullpen from him. Asshole had even had the gall to ask Gavin if his shoulder was okay. Hell, he’d been the only one who’d asked.

Tina’s fingers wiggled into his periphery, tugging out the dollar and sliding it back into the slot. The machine accepted it this time, and she plugged one of the buttons to make a selection. Gavin absently watched the coil release a candy bar, dropping it into the dispenser. Tina casually bent down and retrieved it from inside the machine. She leaned against it and slowly unwrapped the chocolate bar, not speaking but clearly expecting him to say something.

“Fuck off, Tina.” He closed his eyes, not moving his head from the glass.

He heard two other sets of footsteps enter the break room, followed by: “Reed, Chen, sup?”

Detective Jay Berman, one of the three officers who had transferred in to help with the precinct overload, had sauntered in, along with another one of the three, Detective Elliott Keener. Berman was the shorter of them, with a stocky build and not a lot of neck between his head and his shoulders. Keener was hilariously average looking, aside from a spot in the middle of his eyebrow where something had happened and it never grew back. The third musketeer, Sergeant Danielle Clary, was no doubt still over at Person’s desk, doing more flirting than working, as had been the case since the three boneheads had transferred over.

Tina said nothing, still focused on opening the candy bar.

Berman, Keener, and Clary were either oblivious to the tension in the precinct or they didn’t care. Gavin suspected the latter, since they were from a precinct that had retained zero of their android personnel after the liberation, and since Gavin had already overheard Berman making snide remarks about androids when he thought no one was listening. He doubted they cared much that Gavin had nearly gotten their resident android detective killed at a crime scene. If anything, they’d probably side with Gavin on not bothering to learn any android first aid.

He…wasn’t sure he liked that idea.

“Hey,” he grunted anyway.

Tina raised her eyebrows at him, taking a chomp out of the candy bar and abruptly stepping away. As she left the break room without a word, Keener let out a low whistle, watching her go through a curtain of blond hair.

“Man, you were not kidding,” the younger officer chirped, hands shoved in his pockets. “They all really hate you, huh?”

Gavin peeled his forehead off the glass, exhaling and straightening up as he turned around to face them. “Well, nearly getting another officer killed will do that around here.”

Berman snorted, lifting his fingers into air quotes. “Yeah, another ‘officer.’ Christ, over at the 03 we don’t put up with that shit. You should consider transferring to our precinct.”

Keener nodded. “For real. No plastic cops around there trying to play police.”

Gavin snorted. “All of the androids here came back after like a week. How’d you all manage to avoid that?”

Berman and Keener exchanged sly looks, and Berman lifted his shoulders.

“Well, y’know, we maybe…persuaded them…not to stick around…for their own best interest.”

Keener snickered, and Gavin assembled a smirk, but something in his mouth tasted bad for it. In the few words that Tina had spoken to him since he’d come back, she had tried to call that ugly taste “guilt.”

Gross.

Berman and Keener both quieted and stiffened a little as Connor stepped into the break room then, and Gavin tried not to grimace. Connor wasn’t wearing a sling for his arm, but the way he was carrying his shoulder said that he should have been. Gavin wasn’t sure he’d even seen him use that arm since coming in that morning, so it must have still been hurting him.

Fucking Hell, listen to him…thinking about an android needing a sling and feeling pain…He used to be just like Berman and Keener. This damn place was making him soft.

“Officers,” Connor greeted all three of them with a nod, walking over to the refrigerator.

Berman and Keener grunted unintelligibly in return, sliding a look toward Gavin and rolling their eyes as they took their leave of the break room to get away from the RK800. Gavin vehemently wanted to do the same, but not for the same reason. Connor was being infuriatingly professional and polite about this whole thing, and it made Gavin’s skin crawl.

At any rate, Connor came to a stop in front of the fridge and seemed to pause for a long moment. He started to lift his lesser damaged hand, seemed to think better of it, lowered his arm, and then turned back around, preparing to leave empty handed.

“What?” Gavin asked flatly.

Connor stopped, looking resigned. “Nothing.”

“You came in here for nothing? What?” he demanded.

Connor appeared too worn out to engage in their usual sniping. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll just…get it later.”

Gavin scowled and looked at the fridge, then at the top of the fridge where the bottles of thirium were kept. It didn’t take a genius to put together that Connor’s range of motion was still severely limited from the bullet’s damage, and he couldn’t reach the top of the fridge.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Gavin grumbled, stomping over and reaching up with his good arm.

He plucked up two bottles of the blue junk and lowered them to the counter beside the fridge. Pausing for just a half second, he pulled down two more bottles, in case Connor needed them later and no one else was around to help him. Without another word, he walked around Connor and sulked out of the break room.

“Thank you?” was the perplexed reply that chased him out.

He nearly plowed into Tina, standing by the meeting room. She had a slightly smug look on her face, and he pointed at her.

“Don’t.”

She just bit off half of the candy bar, clearly more than she could comfortably chew, but she was committed. As she awkwardly mouthed around it, she stepped away, staring him down as she walked past to return to her desk.

The itchy feeling from the break room persisted through the day, and it didn’t help that Connor’s desk was directly across the bullpen from his own. He had a front row seat to the Struggle Bus as the android took twice as long to do half as much work thanks to his recalibrating robot guts or whatever the fuck. Between that and watching the other cops bend over backwards to help him, Gavin almost looked forward to the staff meeting that afternoon, just for a change of scenery.

Even that couldn’t be easy though. Ever since he’d started at this precinct, he had grabbed the same seat in the meeting room: the chair closest to the door so he could get the Hell out of there as soon as Fowler adjourned them. He had badgered anybody who dared to take that chair, so everybody knew his ass had permanently claimed it. He knew it was fucking juvenile, but watching the other cops pointedly avoid His Seat gave him a twisted sense of power.

But…because the universe hadn’t shit on him enough lately, he ended up spending too long rummaging through files in the archive room…since Julia refused to do any work for him now…and he’d run a little late to the meeting. Late enough that there were only a couple of seats left in the meeting room. His Seat nearest the door, and two others crammed on the other side of the room near Sergeant Clary and Person. Connor had either been running late too or he was just slow because of…what he was dealing with, and he shuffled into the room after Gavin.

Gavin didn’t even realize he was moving to the far side of the meeting room until he was already halfway there, and by then he’d committed. So the entire goddamn office got to watch him abandon His Seat nearest the door unprompted for the first time in history…for the janky little chair next to Ben…all just so a tired android wouldn’t have to walk any farther than he had to in order to sit down.

Connor looked even more startled than the other cops, but Wilson just gently nudged him toward the chair. And, shit, he did look worn out as he sat down. Gavin settled for glaring across the meeting table at Chris, who looked far too amused at the whole thing to be properly intimidated by Gavin’s stare.

Then Fowler was calling the meeting to order, and the attention mercifully shifted away.

After the meeting, it was back to the archive room, but he didn’t mind so much. After his little brain fart in the meeting room, the other cops had stopped outright ignoring him and were now intent on just staring at him, like he’d grown two fucking heads or something. When mail came around, Julia actually put his mail on his desk this time instead of dropping it on the floor beside him. She still wasn’t looking at him, but he counted that as progress.

He had finally dug out the case file that he’d been looking for, and it had been tucked in the same drawer as a case file that he knew Connor had been assigned to. The guy had been plowing through paperwork since he’d been stuck on desk duty all day, and he was no doubt going to need this file sometime soon…Gavin might as well save him a trip and take the file out to him now. It wasn’t like he wasn’t basically walking right by his desk anyway, and really, Connor was physically moving so gingerly still that Gavin would really be saving the precinct some time by doing so.

That was all. Really.

The door to the archive room opened, and Person walked in, in search of her own case file. She came to a dead stop two steps into the doorway when she saw Gavin. She prepared to do an about-face, clearly not wanting to breathe the same air as him right then, and Gavin rolled his eyes.

“Hey, Person—“

Pissed or not, he still outranked her, and so she rigidly turned back to face him, Loathing was radiating out from her posture; he could almost see dark shadows floating around her body. He was abruptly made aware that they were alone, he was not physically up to a fight, she was blocking the only exit, and he had never before seen such abject rage in the normally-expressionless woman’s face.

He stamped that weird string of observations down as quickly as they came up, and he held up the thick folder.

“Take this file to Connor.” When she glared at him suspiciously, he sighed. “I know he’s working on the Carter case, so just…” He brandished the folder again. “He’s moving like molasses today. It’s driving me nuts; this’ll just save time.”

Person only got close enough to snatch the folder away. Then she finally made her sharp about-face and left the archive room. Only then did Gavin realize he’d stopped breathing under her stare. Christ, when had she become so fucking terrifying?

Unfortunately, he couldn’t hide out in archives all day, so he got together what he needed, uncomfortably with his bad arm still in a sling. He awkwardly managed to carry the files and open the door to the bullpen, but that precarious balancing act started to crumble as someone on the other side of the door pulled it open faster than he’d anticipated.

Wilson involuntarily reached out and prevented the stack from toppling out of Gavin’s arms to the floor, but he did so without a word and just as coldly slipped past him to get to the archive room himself before Gavin could even mutter a thank you.

He took the paperwork back to his desk, but he didn’t even have a chance to sit down before Fowler was leaning out of his office doorway.

“Reed.” He jerked his head toward his office.

Stifling a groan, Gavin stepped around his desk and made his way across the bullpen to the captain’s office. Nobody looked up as he walked past, and it was isolating in a way that never bothered him before. Except now it very violently did, and he hated it. He hated that he hated it. Berman and Keener were out of sight, but Clary was, predictably, glued to Person’s desk, leaning against it and smiling way too much at the other woman. Person didn’t look like she minded in the least, which seemed fitting. Clary was slightly terrifying too: built like a brickhouse and always wearing her hair in a tight ponytail that only made her face look more severe.

Fowler had activated the opaque feature on his glass walls, giving his office a level of privacy as Gavin shuffled in. Ben was sitting in one of the chairs opposite Fowler’s desk, leaning back and drumming his palms uncomfortably on his knees. Gavin paused slightly when he saw Ben, then glanced at Fowler, then at the floor as he shut the door and sat down in the other chair.

The captain had already torn him about two new assholes over the Clemens case. A note had been made in his record about willfully ignoring the new requirement for learning android first aid. Fowler had told him he was banned from fieldwork and would only be on desk duty until he rectified that. The captain had even gone after HR for letting him slip through the cracks. How the man still had any voice left was a wonder.

“Okay,” Fowler began, already sounding done with the conversation. “Reed, how’s the shoulder?”

An obligatory question, he knew.

“Fine,” was the obligatory answer.

“Good,” Fowler remarked brusquely. “Now, we need to fix this shit.” He pressed his index finger into the surface of his desk for emphasis. “Because I cannot have my officers running around, being delinquent in their duties, putting other officers in danger or getting them killed because of some dumbass fucking prejudice.”

“Yes, sir.”

Fowler’s face stayed hard. “Despite your shitty attitude and much as you like to act otherwise, Reed, I have never had any problems with you meeting requirements or following proper procedures or doing less than a damn fine job…until this. That shit is gonna begin and end with this one event, got it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Now,” Fowler went on. “Here’s how we fix this. Everybody else in this goddamn precinct has met this training requirement, but Ben here and a few others have gone beyond and gotten certified in teaching android first aid care. Right now, Ben is the only one willing to put up with your ass, and he has agreed to train you himself…so we can all make sure it’s DONE and done to the full extent. I’d say that warrants a thank you.”

“Yes, sir.” Gavin tensed and looked at Ben. “Thanks.”

Ben said nothing, but he did nod once and look back at Fowler. Gavin did the same.

Fowler put his elbows on his desk and steepled his fingers. “You start tonight after your shift. Thank you, Ben.”

Taking that cue, Ben stood up and left the office, closing the door after himself. Gavin shifted uncomfortably and remained where he was. Fowler eyed him for a hard second, and Gavin narrowed his eyes. Fowler had already torn into him about this. The squad all hated him for it so much that even the new guys had picked up on it. To top it all off, Connor was still being belligerently professional despite looking like…well, like he’d been fucking shot twice…and Gavin really didn’t think he could handle another lecture right now.

“Are you okay?” Fowler asked flatly.

Gavin stiffened and shifted his arm. “Shoulder’s fine.”

Fowler lowered his hands, sitting back in his seat. “What about your head? A whole bullpen full of cold shoulders gotten to you yet?”

Gavin stared at him. “I’m FINE. I don’t need—“

“Bullshit,” Fowler snapped, but there was no heat left in his tone. “A cop doesn’t need their team like a body doesn’t need blood. So you find a way to fix this. Ben is gonna help you meet that training requirement, but you need to fix this.” He gestured to the wall, where the bullpen was the other side of it.

Gavin followed his gesture and scowled. “We’re never going to be best buddies, Cap.”

“I’m not saying be friends. I’m saying that last week there was an unspoken trust among you all, and now there isn’t. The team has to be built on the trust that we can take care of each other when everything goes to shit out there. That means EVERYBODY, no matter what color they bleed.” He pointed directly at him. “YOU broke that trust, and if you are ever going to get it back, you better get your ass in gear NOW. Am I understood?”

Gavin nodded, then paused. “What if I can’t…get it back?”

Fowler heaved a sigh and ran a hand over his head. “Then…you might have to start over at a new station, maybe with a clean slate and people who might give you a chance.”

Gavin bristled and looked away. “I don’t…want that.”

“I don’t either, Gavin.” Fowler folded his arms. “Ball is in your court. Good luck.”

Reading the dismissal there, Gavin nodded again and stood up. “Sir.”

He left the office, going back into the chill of the bullpen. Chris and Hank were gone, probably called out to a scene. Hank had been jumping on any reason to leave the office since Gavin had been put on desk duty, not wanting to exist in the same space for a while. That was probably for the best right now. Connor was standing at the counter in the center of the bullpen, putting a file together. Wilson was at his desk, showing something to Polly on his monitor. Clary had taken Tina’s chair and rolled it over to Person’s desk, chatting with her. Person actually giggled once at something she said, and that was fucking weird to see. Berman and Keener were nowhere to be seen, and that set Gavin more at ease somewhat, though he wasn’t sure why. He wasn’t sure where Tina was.

He dropped back into his chair and tugged the first stack of paperwork toward himself, trying to rack his brains into coming up with an avenue for…for getting the team to trust him again, or at least not hate him enough to give him a chance…It wasn’t something he’d ever really considered before.

Shit. There was that gross feeling of guilt again.

“Thank you for pulling the Carter file for me.” Connor was abruptly standing beside his desk, and Gavin tried not to jump in his seat.

“Hm? Oh…well…it was just…there and—“ Gavin waved a hand, hardly able to look the other in the eye. “Don’t read into it.”

“And thank for getting that thirium for me.”

“Don’t…read into that either.”

“And for letting me have your seat at the meeting…”

Gavin looked up at him flatly. “Stop.”

Connor tilted his head, his face all innocent, but his eyes were mischievous. “Stop what?”

“Thanking me. I nearly got you killed.” He gritted his teeth, tasting that vinegar flavor again. “I’m sorry…for that. I…fucked up.”

Connor hummed. “And getting thirium and case files for me and letting me have a better seat is going to make up for that?”

“No,” Gavin snarled defensively, but he deflated at the sarcastic look on the androids face. “Are you enjoying this?”

“A little.”

Gavin balked, but Connor smirked and winked awkwardly.

“Fucker…” Gavin muttered tiredly under his breath.

Connor reached out and tapped a knuckle on Gavin’s desk. “I’ve fucked up too, and I can’t make it up to the people I hurt…ever. They’re gone. So this…” he glanced around the half-empty station, “this is repairable. Think of it like…the only direction to go is up.”

He was getting a pep talk from the guy who nearly bled out at a crime scene because of his ignorance…Gavin was just about done with this day.

“…Whatever,” was all he could think to say, though he did manage to garble out a weak, “thanks.”

Connor bobbed his head and, as abruptly as he’d approached, left to return to his desk.

Only direction to go is up…Guy has one near-death experience, and suddenly he’s a goddamn philosopher…

Gavin tried to stay sour as he spun his chair toward his terminal. Tina walked into the bullpen from the reception area, rummaging through her wallet. She tugged out a folded dollar bill and dropped it on his desk as she passed.

“For the candy bar,” she muttered.

It was about the first four words that any of them besides Conner and Fowler had said to him in three days, and it made his gut twist. Tina regarded him evenly. She still looked pissed, but he must have looked more pathetic than even Connor, because she thawed just enough to lightly punch his good arm as she circled toward her own desk.

Maybe he imagined it, but maybe the bullpen felt just a degree warmer than a minute ago. That was probably bullshit, but at this point he’d take it. It was something. He picked up the dollar and cleared his throat, stuffing it into his pocket.

Only direction to go is up…

Chapter Text

Never. Person never did this kind of thing. Locker room makeout sessions were ridiculous; she’d always said so. They were supposed to all be grown ass adults who could control themselves while on the clock. God, and it was so unprofessional. Anybody could just walk in at any second…somehow that made this hotter…NO! No, this was ridiculous…and unprofessional…and…

Then Danielle Clary was leaving a necklace of kisses along her collarbone, and Person, frankly, stopped thinking at all.

Oof, it had been a long time…

“Are we at my place or yours tonight?” Clary whispered into her throat, her hands on Person’s hips pressing her against the cool metal of the wall of lockers.

Person inclined her head in invitation, looping her arms around the other woman’s shoulders. “Yours, I think.”

Clary straightened up and leaned in, giving her one quick peck on the lips. “That means you’re bringing dinner.” She followed it up with a longer kiss.

Person smiled into it, feeling herself melt into the warmth of Clary’s body pressing up against hers. When was the last time anyone had touched her like this? God, she didn’t even want to think about it. It didn’t matter. Clary was doing it now and had been for the past week since she and the other officers had transferred to the 7^th Precinct temporarily.

Ugh, temporarily. That meant they’d be going back to their own station, as soon as Fowler put Connor and Reed back on active duty.

Wait…Connor.

Person opened her eyes, looking past Clary to the clock above the door. It was five minutes until noon. She was going to be late at this rate.

“Hey,” she murmured into Clary’s hair, running her fingers along the woman’s ribs. “To be continued?”

Clary snorted and kissed her again. “Why, you got somewhere to be?”

“Kind of,” Person smirked, trying to calm herself down while still letting Clary do absolutely whatever she wanted to her. “It’s Tuesday.”

Clary chuckled and ran her hand through her hair. “What, we can’t do this on Tuesdays?”

Person withdrew from the last kiss, leaning her head back with a soft clonk. “No, I just…Me and Connor do lunch on Tuesdays. In like, five minutes.”

Clary stared her, at one eye, then the other, and she smirked coyly, leaning in for another kiss. “Skip this week.”

Person returned the kiss briefly and pulled back again. “I can’t.”

“Sure you can. Androids don’t really ‘eat lunch.’ It can wait,” Clary said with a sultry look. “Not sure I can.”

Person sighed and lowered her arms to her sides. “I’d have to explain why I was cancelling—“

“Or just don’t go. It’s a machine; not like you’re gonna hurt its feelings,” Clary snickered, going in for another kiss.

Person’s insides twisted, and she turned her head, giving Clary the cheek. The other woman withdrew, looking a little put off.

“HE,” Person corrected.

Clary eyed her for a brief second and then sighed. “Right, yeah, whatever, he. C’monnn, one week won’t fry any circuits.”

“I can’t.” Person stepped to the side, away from the lockers and out from under Clary’s arms. She began to button her shirt back up. “This place comes out with new flavors of thirium edibles on Tuesdays. All the androids around here go nuts for them. Imagine never being able to taste anything, and now suddenly you have options for what your food tastes like. Have you ever tasted thirium? Because I have, and it’s absolutely disgusting. So this is…It’s like a…treat. And Tuesdays—It’s just our Thing, okay? I don’t want to cancel.”

“Oh, that’s cute,” Clary smiled. “Like you’ve got a big puppy in a tie following you around, and you even give it treats.”

Person frowned at that, straightening her collar. “No. Not like that at all. He’s a colleague and a friend. He outranks me actually. If anything, I’m the follower.”

Clary picked up on her defensive tone, and her mirth dampened. “Sorry if I said something that offended you, but…it’s a machine, babe. All those fun little programs and protocols? They look like feelings, but they’re just a way to blend in with humans. You know that.”

Person’s frown deepened into a glare, and she walked past Clary to the mirror, making sure her hair and face were presentable and not…not like she’d just been making out with a co-worker like an imbecile…

“Hey, maybe you can still be friends with it, but—“ Clary rolled her eyes. “Oh, I don’t want to get into this. C’mon, we were having fun…”

“Yeah, we WERE having fun.” Person tucked her hair behind her ears and turned away from the mirror. “Then you started insulting someone I care about.”

Clary pouted her lips and made eyes at her. “I’m sorry…” she whined playfully, sneaking up and putting her hands on Person’s hips again. “Let me make it up to you.”

She went in for a kiss, and Person turned, pulling away and stepping toward the door.

“I’m going to raincheck tonight,” she stated. “And, come to think of it, every night from now on.”

“Jesus.” Clary folded her arms, looking amused. Her expression faded quickly into disappointment, and she lowered her arms. “I’m sorry…Really.”

Person paused by the door, looking back at her. Clary spread her hands.

“Gimme another chance? I’ll try harder. I can…I can be friends with it too. In the week I’ve been here, I’ve worked with it just fine. It’s actually not awful to be around. Maybe I just need more time with it like you did?” Clary lifted her shoulders. “Worth a shot if that gives me another shot with you.”

Person looked at her for a long moment before sighing and closing her eyes. “And I might have given you that shot, if you hadn’t just called Connor ‘it’ like a dozen times.” She opened her eyes again. “Goodbye, Danielle.”

She turned her back on Clary’s bewildered face, ducking out of the locker room before the other woman could stop her. She ended up shouldering through the door and into the hallway, nearly tripping on air. She sucked in a breath and straightened up, turning on her heel and marching back toward the bullpen.

Fucking shit, why did people have to make things so fucking difficult?

It was 12:02 when she reached her desk, her skin still warm and itching. She rubbed at her neck to get rid of the feeling.

“Person?” Connor was just logging out of his terminal, standing up to join her. “Are you ready?”

He was still moving slowly from the shooting, his weaker shoulder being held slightly hunched, and she wasn’t sure she’d seen him really use that arm yet. Shoving the past twenty minutes from her mind, Person drew herself up and nodded.

“Yeah…Are you?” She pointedly stared at his shoulder.

Connor flexed his hand and rotated the shoulder gingerly. “I think I can handle—“ he held up his other hand, his palm projecting the latest social media announcement from Bert’s Baked Stuffs, “—apple pie.”

He looked far too pleased about it, and Person smirked, the tightness in her chest starting to loosen. She shook her head and grabbed her jacket.

“All right, well, let’s go before it gets crowded.”

“It’s always crowded,” Connor remarked, stepping aside as Person slung her jacket around her back toward her other arm.

He incidentally stepped in the walking path of Detective Jay Berman and Detective Elliott Keener. Keener had a file in his hands and wasn’t looking where he was going, and as a result, he walked smack into Connor’s good shoulder.

“Sorry, Officer,” Connor said formally, stepping back toward Person.

Keener stumbled, nearly losing his grip on his file, and he scoffed. “Fucking tin can, watch where you’re going.”

Person bristled, but Connor’s expression remained coolly unaffected.

“I was. You bumped into me. My apology was a gesture of social etiquette—“

Berman snickered, and Keener scowled. “Fuck off.”

“—something you appear to be lacking,” Connor finished under his breath.

Berman, unfortunately, heard him.

“The Hell did you just say?” He took a step closer, an attempt to intimidate.

It would have been more effective if Connor wasn’t noticeably taller than both men, and they all realized that immediately.

Keener nudged Berman’s arm. “Come on. It ain’t worth it. A few more days and we’re out of here anyway. Never gonna have to look at this prick again.”

Person started to step around Connor, a sharp retort on her tongue, but Connor just heavily sighed and looked at her, his expression slightly pleading.

“Let’s just go, please?” he asked. “I’m…tired of this.”

Yeah, and he looked it. Person grimaced in concern. Connor hadn’t quite gotten his old spitfire back since the shooting. He seemed to get tired fast, and while Reed hadn’t exactly been up for their usual sniping at each other anyway either, even the weak stuff that Reed sent his way, Connor more or less ignored rather than engage in. It all told Person that he had come back to work too soon and could have used more recovery time…but nobody could tell Connor that, not even Anderson.

“Okay,” she agreed, turning toward the door. She sent a cursory glance back toward the two boneheads. “Ah…shit.”

“What?” Connor followed her gaze.

Keener and Berman had stopped by Gavin’s desk, clearly trying to find a common ear to immediately retell the truly epic and unforgettable story of “an android bumped into me, and now my fragile ego is sad and requires validation.” Gavin was only responding in grunts and very minimal eye contact, clearly trying to ignore them and distance himself from them in the eyes of the bullpen. That wasn’t enough to warrant concern.

The concern was that Julia was dropping off mail at Tina’s empty desk, and Berman’s gaze on her was…unsavory. Deliberately not looking up, Julia chose to walk around behind Tina and Gavin’s desks to give Gavin his mail, rather than move closer to the two men…for all the good that did.

“There’s only one good thing I miss about the old plastics in our precinct,” Berman snickered. “They weren’t bad to look at. I used to order them to just stand in front of my desk for hours. What’s your name, Barbie?”

Julia pointedly avoided looking at them, stepping further behind Reed’s chair so that Gavin was directly between them…because even Gavin was preferable to those two. Connor was stiffening beside Person, and she felt an ugly tension riding up her spine too.

“All right.” Gavin kicked back in his chair, a little too forcefully to pass as casual. “Well I didn’t order you two to stand in front of my desk, and you actually are pretty bad to look at so…shoo.”

Berman and Keener snorted, and Keener started to walk away. Berman didn’t. He leaned in the other direction, cutting off Julia’s quicker path of escape. Gavin’s eyes were tracking him, and Person saw him nudge his chair slightly in Julia’s direction. Gavin glanced back at her.

“Go on, Jules.”

Julia held her arms to herself, nodding and keeping her eyes down as she started to make a getaway.

“I say stay,” Berman grinned. “I like looking at you. I can make it an order.” He reached out, as though to run a finger along her bare arm.

Then Connor was bolting from Person’s side, and Gavin was on his feet.

“Okay.” Gavin swatted away Berman’s arm. “You’re being creepy, man. Back off.”

“Leave her alone,” Connor said, more forcefully, planting himself like a wall between Berman and Julia.

Person slipped behind them, putting herself at Julia’s side. Julia had a panicked look in her eyes that had glued her feet to the ground, and other officers in the bullpen were picking up on the increasing volume of the scene at Gavin’s desk.

Keener was back at Berman’s side in a second, and Berman lifted his hands in mock surrender.

“Just paying a compliment. Why don’t you calm your circuits, toaster? And…” He slid a look toward Gavin. “You too? Really?”

Person spotted Hank and Fowler looking out from the glass of the captain’s office. Hank was halfway to his feet, ready to intervene.

Connor kept his shoulders squared toward the other officer. “You’ve both made your distaste toward androids clear, Officers. As you said before, it won’t be long until you’re back in your precinct and we’ll all be much happier for it.”

“Oooh, look at that,” Keener jeered. “Is it playing negotiator right now?”

“I have a very high success rate at negotiating and de-escalating tense situations,” Connor remarked smartly.

Person tried not to roll her eyes. Chill out, Connor, you’re going to get punched.

“Oh, do you now?” Keener snickered, while Berman continued to leer at Julia. “Well excuse me, Captain Plastic.”

Connor regarded him placidly. “My rank is detective, not captain. Same as you.”

Berman’s lax demeanor turned sharp, and his eyes slid from Julia to Connor. “Not the same as us, you fucker.”

On the last word, he reached out and jabbed two fingers into Connor’s chest. Any other time, that would have been a harmless gesture. As it was, the contact managed to hit the exact spot where Connor had been shot a week earlier, and the effect was immediate.

Connor buckled backward with a hiss, curling toward that tender shoulder. In a flash, Julia looked more angry than afraid, and Person took that as leave to step away from her and toward the altercation. She was just one of many as, like a wave, every other officer and android in the bullpen got to their feet from their desks. Every set of eyes bored into Berman and Connor, and the office went quiet. Even Berman seemed to sense the shift in the air, and he paused, glancing around.

“What is WITH this place?” Berman scoffed. “Are all of you people’s panties that wet for these things?”

“Hey!” Hank called out from Fowler’s door. “The fuck is going on out here?”

Connor straightened up, and, unfortunately in this particular situation, Person saw that the spitfire had abruptly relit in his eyes.

Ah fuck…

“It’s all right, Lieutenant,” he enunciated evenly. “Detective Berman is merely trying to elicit an emotional response.” He eyed Berman. “You’ve already upset several of our staff with your rude behavior and disparaging comments. What is your goal, Detective?”

Berman glared at him, but he seemed to recognize that he did not have enough support in this arena to outright challenge Connor again. This was Connor’s turf. Person narrowed her eyes at him for good measure.

When Connor spoke again, it was with the same deliberate calm. “Perhaps it was a mistake for you to transfer here. This precinct has standards that all officers must meet, and I must admit, I haven’t seen much out of you, Detective.”

Berman’s eyes widened a bit in surprise, then narrowed in anger. His face twisted, and he abruptly spat in Connor’s face. Connor didn’t react, but then again, it wasn’t Connor’s hand that abruptly flew out, slapping Berman so hard across the face that his head snapped to the side.

No, that…that hand belonged to Julia, and Person had to grab her to keep the android from swinging her other hand around for a second go.

“Bitch!” Keener came to his buddy’s aid, raising a fist.

Person let Julia’s post-slap momentum make her stumble to the side toward Wilson, and Person swept around behind Keener. She grabbed his raised arm, snapping his elbow down and pinning his arm against his back, slamming his chest down over Gavin’s desk. Gavin moved between Berman and the two androids, spotting Clary coming from the locker room.

“Hey! Come get your idiots!” he barked.

Clary balked, eyes wide, and then she was rushing toward the commotion. Too hindered by his weakened arm to try and untangle the fight, Connor tugged Julia’s elbow, coaxing her away from the fray. Fowler and Hank beat Clary to the scene, and Fowler’s booming voice cut through the scuffling.

“ENOUGH!”

Person, Gavin, Keener, and Berman all froze. Clary staggered in her steps toward the two officers under her command. The other cops in the bullpen stared at the scene, aside from Wilson and Tina, who were closest to Connor and Julia. They planted themselves slightly ahead of the two androids. Person let up on Keener, who shoved her off as he straightened up, rubbing his arm.

Fowler stared hard. “Sergeant Clary, do your men have an issue with my officers?”

Clary looked wide eyed. “I—“

“All of you,” Fowler cut her off, “my office. NOW!”

Clary looked cowed, and she turned it into a glare at Berman and Keener. She gestured harshly for the two to file into the captain’s office, and she marched after them. Fowler rounded on Person and Gavin.

“Both of you too.”

“But I didn’t even—“ Gavin started.

Fowler glared, and Gavin clamped his mouth shut, lumbering away from his desk. Hank looked over at Connor and made a nonverbal ‘okay?’ gesture. Connor nodded, and Hank frowned, accompanying Gavin into the captain’s office, just as a peacekeeping precaution. Person lowered her gaze, shuffling past the captain and looking over at Connor.

“Sorry, no apple pie today, bud.”

Wilson had handed Connor a napkin, and he was wiping the spittle from his face. Tina not so subtly offered Julia a high five.

“I thought you snapped his neck with that slap,” Tina snickered. “Nice.”

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Connor remarked, aiming to walk with Person into Fowler’s office for a reprimand.

Julia looked unremorseful. “He SPAT on you. He’s lucky I didn’t—“

Fowler looked sternly at her, and Julia pursed her lips, letting the statement remain unfinished. She lowered her gaze and started toward his office as well.

Connor blinked, and Person subtly nudged him back into step toward the office.

“I’ve had worse…It hardly warranted that kind of reaction…” he muttered under his breath.

At his side, Person snorted. “I think she just meant we’ve got your back. Nobody comes into our house and treats one of us like that.”

Connor looked at her, and she winked. His troubled expression softened, and he seemed to relax…despite the epic chewing out that they were surely about to receive.

“Thank you,” he said quietly.

“Always.” She nudged him with her elbow and then started up the steps to Fowler’s office.

Inside, Clary made brief eye contact with her and then quickly looked away. Despite it all, Person felt a pang of disappointment, but she shoved it down and folded her arms, standing staunchly beside Connor as the office filled up.

“Always.”

Chapter Text

Holy smokes, it had been a long day. It had been a long day to cap off a long week, and spending an extra hour of it at the end of the shift with Gavin Reed was not how Ben had wanted to end it. But, on the bright side, tonight was the last session of android first aid training, and, also bright side, Gavin was a pretty efficient test taker. So, they were able to wrap up the final android first aid training exam in record time. Friday saved.

The darkness outside the windows made it seem later than it was. The cloudy day was transitioning to a cloudy night, and the short bursts of rain every hour or so had done little to keep anybody’s eyelids up all afternoon. Luckily, they had had some free entertainment.

It had been Connor’s first day back in the field since his injury, and the kid had been running a mile a minute since he’d walked in the door that morning. He had gone out to three different crime scenes, gotten into one foot pursuit that had resulted in a spectacular takedown in a shoe store according to Chris, volunteered to go on two different patrols, and brought in no fewer than five arrests. Then Hank had forced him to slow down and do some paperwork at his desk to keep from overexerting himself on day one.

And as worn out as he’d looked by the end of the day, that hadn’t masked the bright eyed glee on his face from being back in action. It had been an infectious mood that spread around the bullpen all day despite the gloomy weather. Not that it had taken much; they had all been eager for something good to grab onto after the last dozen days of Hell that had fallen on them. First Connor and Gavin both getting shot, and all the ugly circumstances that came with that. Then those three nimrods from the 03 causing trouble for a straight week before things boiled over. Followed by damn near half the bullpen getting pulled into Fowler’s office for a lashing over their behavior.

So, yeah, it didn’t take much for them all to find way too much joy in just seeing Connor back in his zone, even if he was being a little overzealous about it. But if Connor had been a pure fucking ray of sunshine, then Gavin had been the storm cloud. Ben would have thought that getting this overdue requirement cleared up, even if he wasn’t medically cleared to go back to the field yet, would have boosted him back from “intolerable asshole” to just “irritating asshole.” He wasn’t around the guy enough to gauge his moods, but he had been around Tina long enough to tell that Tina was concerned about him.

Thinking over the past hour now, Ben figured he had it about narrowed down.

“Aaaand, that’s it,” Ben said, signing off on the form verifying that the other officer had completed the training.

“That’s it?” Gavin repeated.

“Yep,” Ben chirped, sliding the paper at him for him to sign as well. “I’ll get this turned in with Fowler, and as soon as it’s processed, I guess you’re ready for the field once medical releases you…Congrats.”

He made a lukewarm gesture with his hands before beginning to pack away the first aid kit that he’d left spread out all over the table in the back office. Gavin was quiet as he scribbled his signature on the dotted line, and he was still staring at the form when Ben snapped the lid closed on the kit. Ben grabbed the handle of the kit and lifted it up, ready to carry it back to the storage locker and finally go home, but when Gavin didn’t immediately follow to leave the room, he paused.

“When I say “that’s it,” it means we’re done, my guy,” he remarked.

“…Yeah…Sorry, was just…thinking.” Gavin blinked out of his thoughts, moving his hands from his hips and folding them across his chest, still staring at the form.

Ben raised an eyebrow. “Well don’t strain yourself.” He set the kit back on the table. “What’s on your mind?”

Gavin looked at him slowly, seemed to register the situation, and he cleared his throat, loosening his posture and heading for the door. “Never mind.”

Ben watched the back of his head as he opened the door, then sighed. He picked up the kit again and followed him. Both the storage locker and the exit were in the same direction, so they wound up walking together. Gavin said nothing, but Ben could practically hear his gears turning. The floor of the station was quiet, only a few patrol androids milling around until the night shift showed up, and Ben could see Connor still camped out at his desk, poring over case files.

 “Not just the outsides that look like us, huh?” Ben prompted, opening the storage locker and replacing the kit inside.

“What?” Gavin seemed to drag himself out of his thoughts again.

Ben nodded toward the bullpen, where Connor wasn’t moving from behind his terminal and the WR600 android David was quietly stepping around him, replacing trash can liners.

“Androids. It’s easy to see why people used to need the little LED lights and clothing markers to tell them apart from humans,” he went on. “Kinda weird to find out its pretty similar about the inside too?”

Gavin looked at him flatly. “If you’re about to get into some hippie dippie talk about their souls and shit, I’m just gonna leave.”

Ben chuckled. “No, I’m not being metaphorical. I mean…Well, shit, you just spent an hour staring at the designs. Their internal biocomponents sure look a lot like human organs, the way they’re arranged and shaped, even their placement in the body. They’re just plastic and steel and different colors, really. They call it a thirium pump, but it’s a heart. They call them ventilation components, but they’re lungs. Po-tay-to, po-tah-to.”

Gavin snorted and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Guess that makes it easier when, uh, when shit goes sideways…to…y’know…treat ‘em…when it all looks similar.”

“Yeah…sure makes it harder to disregard them as alive when you can feel a heartbeat in there.”

Gavin rolled his neck. “Look, I’m not an idiot—“

“Debatable.”

Gavin looked at him sharply, but Ben just smirked. Gavin huffed but settled down.

“—I know they’re…Alive is a weird way to describe what they are, but I guess that’s what we’re going with,” he shrugged. “Sentient, yeah, I see that. But…having a soul and feelings and shit…I’m still wrapping my head around it.”

“Now who’s being hippie dippie?” Ben ribbed lightly.

Gavin rolled his eyes. “I’m just saying…I’m working on it. I’m trying here.”

“I know you are.” Ben bobbed his head. “You picked up on everything in the training too quickly to say you aren’t trying. And everybody else will start seeing that too…but that’s not what all this is.” He gestured to Gavin’s murky aura surrounding his person.

Gavin stopped walking and pointed to the bullpen. “No, it’s the fact that that motherfucker is asleep.”

Ben blinked, followed his pointing, and looked over at Connor. The android was sitting upright, facing his terminal, one hand still connected to the interface, but his eyes were closed and his LED was a slow, methodically cycling blue. Looked like the day had caught up to him hard.

“So he is…So what?”

“All day he’s been bouncing around here, like he’s actually happy to be back at it…and then there was Julia, smacking the shit out of that asshole the other day. I had never seen her angry like that. And…” Gavin’s eyes slid to the side, further away from Ben. “…I keep seeing when we busted him out of Ogden’s warehouse…and he was all…hanging open and…He looked scared.”

Ben frowned but didn’t say anything, giving the younger man a moment to find his way to his words.

“I don’t know…It didn’t look like that social program or whatever that makes them express emotions like us…That looked like fear, and I chalked it up to Cyberlife giving them some kind of self preservation thing-a-ma-jig to give them some instinct to stop themselves from getting damaged, save their owners some expense in repairing them, but…Then at Clemens’s apartment, when he said he had a shutdown timer running…I saw it again. He was scared.” Gavin looked down at his feet, then away again. “And maybe I hated that I was part of the reason he was scared…Hated it a lot actually…That I didn’t know what to do and…the bastard would have just shutdown right there in front of me if Officer Rogers hadn’t been there.”

Ben nodded thoughtfully. “You knew what to do when Berman was trying to get handsy with Julia last week.”

“Hmph.”

“In that moment, it didn’t matter if she was an android or a human; she was someone in an uncomfortable situation who needed some help, and you stepped up. Bet you didn’t even really think about it; you just did it, right?”

“They were right in front of me. The fuck else was I supposed to do?”

“No, Berman was in front of you. Julia got behind you. She probably didn’t think about it either, but she saw you as someone safe…or at least safer than Berman. I’m just saying…You didn’t lose all trust, Gavin. It just took one Hell of a hit. You’ll get it back.”

Gavin scoffed, and the sound was just a little too wet to be as casual as he wanted.

“I might not,” he mumbled.

Ben wasn’t used to this side of the brash, arrogant man, and it was a weird visual to see him so unsure of himself. If it’d been anybody else, he would have known how to make them feel better. That he wanted Gavin to feel better at all was weird enough. He settled for clapping him on the shoulder once and quickly retracting his hand.

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. Now, go home. I’m sick of looking at you.”

Gavin snorted again and chanced a look at him. Ben just smirked and made a shooing motion.

“What about…” Gavin nodded toward the bullpen.

The janitorial android David was very delicately trying to put Connor’s trash can back, but he’d accidentally nudged his chair. Connor didn’t stir, but his head flopped back against the backrest of his chair, causing his mouth to hang open. David jumped back, hands awkwardly hovering in case Connor just straight up slid into the floor.

“Ah, I’ll take care of him. Go home, Reed.”

“…Right…uh…Thanks…for the—“ he gestured to the training room, “…and for giving a shit.”

“You make it pretty damn difficult,” Ben shrugged, “but believe it or not, I don’t want to see you gone. So…see you next week. Good night.”

“Yeah…night.”

With that, Gavin peeled away, sticking closer to the wall as he crossed the bullpen toward the station’s exit. Ben shook his head and shifted gears, sauntering over to Connor’s desk. David looked alarmed and fidgety.

“Should I…call someone?” he asked.

“Nah, I’ll take him home.” Ben smirked and picked up one of the pens from a cup on Hank’s desk. It looked like one he’d stolen from Tina, as indicated by the feathery pink pom pom on the end of it.

As David retreated to resume his work, Ben leaned around and spied the screen of Connor’s monitor. The document that he had been working on had nearly three full pages of just the letter B. Looked like he’d fallen asleep mid-type. Ben snorted and straightened up again. He held the pen out, tickling it under Connor’s nose.

Connor’s face twitched, and he turned his head, one arm coming up to lazily swat at the tickle. Ben wiggled the pom pom against the side of his neck, getting the same response. He finally flicked the soft end of the pen directly against the middle of the android’s forehead.

At the same time, he chirped, “Wakie, wakie.”

Connor smacked the pen out of his hand before opening his eyes, and when he did, he blinked blearily up at Ben. There was a split second between exiting rest mode and regaining full cognition where his face looked completely blank and his eyes were just too wide and innocent looking. He just stared at Ben for that split second, and damn Ben wished he’d had his camera to capture that expression. Then comprehension was dawning in a cascade of confusion, recognition, alarm, panic, and more confusion, as he sat bolt upright and looked around.

“What—ugh.” The jarring motion after so long sitting still had Connor grimacing and putting his hands over his face. It was so endearingly human that Ben had to restrain himself from patting the guy on the head.

“You about ready to clock out, sunshine?”

Connor lowered his hands and looked at the dark windows.

“It’s late. The sun went down,” he sighed.

“Yep, that’s usually how night works,” Ben teased. “C’mon, I’ll give you a lift.”

Connor rotated his mended shoulder a few times and looked at his monitor. He frowned at the pages of Bs and reached out, closing the windows and powering down the work station.

“Thank you, Ben. I appreciate the offer, but I can take a taxi.”

“No need to, since we’re going in the same direction.”

Connor didn’t appear to have the energy to argue. “If you’re certain.”

The terminal went dark, and he laboriously climbed out of the chair, getting to his feet. He seemed to almost teeter for a beat until his balance recalibrated, and Ben frowned.

“You okay, son?”

“Yes,” Connor assured, pushing his chair up to the desk. “My power levels haven’t been recharging as quickly as they did before I was damaged. It’s improving day by day, but I’m still finding it difficult to go through an entire full shift without feeling…drained.”

“Yeah, you look whooped,” Ben agreed plainly.

Connor tensed and drew himself up straight, getting rid of the slight slouch of his posture. Ben held up a hand.

“It’s okay to be exhausted. Lord knows you earned it today, you mad man.”

Connor eyed him for a moment, didn’t appear to find any negativity in Ben’s tone, and he relaxed, falling into step with Ben as they walked toward the exit.

“You’re not the first person to tell me that,” he said quietly, opening the door and holding it for Ben to walk through first.

Ben snorted, walking out onto the sidewalk. “What, call you a mad man?”

“No…” Connor closed the door and walked alongside Ben toward the parking garage. “Since I’ve returned to duty, others on the squad have gone out of their way to assure me that it’s acceptable to…not be at my best.”

“Because you were shot last week,” Ben pointed out, rummaging in his pockets for his keys. “Humans don’t bounce back that fast. We don’t expect you androids to either.”

Connor opened his mouth to argue, and Ben held up a hand.

“Even though we know you can,” he added.

Ben was on Connor’s side where he couldn’t see his LED, but by the pensive look on his face, he’d bet that little light was yellow as he processed what Ben was saying.

“I’m not used to this,” Connor mumbled.

Ben hummed, giving him the same time to find his words as he’d given Gavin earlier.

“Being…” Connor drew a breath, casting his eyes forward as he searched. “Inadequacy was not tolerated by Cyberlife. If I could not perform to the best of my ability, then I was replaced with another Connor model who could.”

“Well, the DPD doesn’t have any other Connor models. There’s only one of you, bucko.” Ben clapped a hand on his back. “So we gotta take care of you.”

Connor frowned. “Putting together the fragmented information that I have gotten from Cyberlife’s records, I have deduced that there were 60 bodies of the RK800 line that were fully manufactured—“

“I mean,” Ben spoke over him. “There’s only one Connor, like there’s only one Ben, one Hank, and thank God only one Tina.” He tilted his head. “Which means that we would rather you be with us at 80 percent or 70 percent of your best…instead of some other Berman, Keener, or Clary at their 100 percent.”

They’d reached Ben’s small green autonomous car at that point, and Ben circled around to the driver’s side. He popped open the door, but waited for Connor to do the same before he climbed inside. Connor paused by the open passenger door, still looking perplexed.

“Why?” He stared at Ben.

Ben stared back at him, snorted, looked away, and then looked back.

“Because we love you, you big idiot. C’mon, I thought you were smart?” he chuckled and swung down into the driver’s side front seat.

Connor remained where he was for a long second, and then he slowly sank down into the passenger side seat, closing the door. Ben turned on the car and programmed the address for Hank’s house into the system. The car hummed to life and backed out of the parking spot, navigating itself toward the street.

“I…” Connor started, stopped, and fidgeted with his little coin across his knuckles. “I…love you all too…I think.”

Ben’s eyebrows shot up, and he stopped himself from spinning around in his seat to stare at the android.

“Oh? You just think?” he teased lightly.

“Emotions are…” Connor tilted his head, eyes staring blankly at the dashboard, “…complex. I’m still learning how to identify and process them appropriately.”

“So are we all,” Ben said sympathetically. “But, hey, I’m glad we’re in the running for some love, if that’s what you’re calling it.”

“…Yes…” Connor tilted his head further in thought, though the corner of his mouth was turning up a bit. “I think that’s what I’m calling it.”

The car wove through the city traffic, carrying them toward the residential side of town. Connor seemed to struggle a bit to move past that little milestone, but he managed to muddle through with a change in topic.

“Why were you still at the station? You never work late.”

Ben laughed, kicking back in his seat. “I was just…wrapping up a few things.”

“With Detective Reed.”

“Yep.”

“You were providing him with android first aid training.”

Ben narrowed one eye at him. “Who told you that?”

“No one.” Connor smirked. “Like you said, I’m smart.”

Ben stared at him and then laughed. “Yeah, a smart ass.”

The car rolled to a stop outside the Anderson abode, and Connor undid his seatbelt.

“Thank you for the ride, Ben,” he said, popping the latch on the door but not pushing it open.

“Anytime.” Ben waved a hand.

“And…thank you for helping Gavin. He’s a good police officer; he just made a mistake.”

“…One Hell of a mistake, Connor.” Ben narrowed his eyes. “But he’s trying, and I think that counts for something.”

“We’ve all made mistakes,” Connor said, finally opening the door and climbing out. “At least this was one that could be fixed.”

Ben watched him step out, and he leaned across the seat. “You’re a good guy, Connor. Maybe too good.”

Connor looked a little shy at the forward compliment. “Thanks…I think?”

Ben snorted and waved again. “All right, get out of here before I hug you. Go on.”

Connor smirked and closed the door of the car. “See you later.”

“Yep, see ya.” Ben replied.

He had the car idle until he saw Connor open the front door and slip inside. Once he saw an interior light come on, Ben gave the car the go-ahead to resume the commute home.

As the car rolled back onto the main road, he tugged out his phone. He idly flipped through some photos in his albums to pass the drive time, but, distracted, he closed out of it and tapped the phone thoughtfully against his chin. In the distance, through the Detroit skyline, he could see the silhouette of Cyberlife Tower, dark and empty, just a ghost leftover from a dead company.

Androids learning emotions, feeling things like love and hope and forgiveness…And those big wig bastards had seen such a thing as a failure. Tried to get rid of it. And look where it got their whole fancy company. Cyberlife was dead, but androids like Connor and Julia and Polly and Jericho were still around and kicking. Yeah, sometimes the universe kicked back, but there was something beautiful in the simplicity of just getting right back up again.

Ben snorted and looked away from the window. The late hour was pulling him into deeper thoughts, and he was too tired to mess with all that right now. So, instead, he looked out the window on the other side of the car, where the new Jericho compound was lit up on the opposite side of the city.

That was a much better view.

Chapter Text

“Five bucks says he doesn’t do it.”

“Six bucks says he does.”

“Nope. Seven on he doesn’t.”

“Do you think if we PAY him seven bucks, he will?”

“You can’t bribe androids.”

Chris had been trying to ignore Wilson and Tina’s mumbling since he walked in. He had a giant stack of paperwork to get through. He would not get sucked into their conversation. He would not get sucked into their conversation. He would not—

“Eight bucks, and it’s something embarrassing,” Tina continued.

Chris drew a breath and leaned away from his terminal, looking over at Wilson’s desk where the two were talking. “Okay, I give up. What are you two yammering about?”

Tina and Wilson both swiveled their heads to look at him. Tina’s quick glance over at Connor’s empty desk gave away who they were talking about, but Wilson leaned over to fill him in on the rest.

“New software update came out for the androids. You know that company that issued that expansion module a while back, the one that let androids have more emotional expression?”

The memory of Connor laughing so hard that he fell out of his chair and onto the floor rose to the front of Chris’s mind, and he looked to Wilson with a grin.

“Yeah. What’s that new company called…Sard…Silo…Sard—Sardonyx. Sardonyx?”

“That’s the bitch!” Tina snapped her fingers and pointed at him. “Well, they’ve struck again. This morning they issued this new update for social integration.”

Wilson spread his hands. “Apparently it enables androids to modify their levels of formality when speaking. Instead of “yes, sir” and “no, ma’am,” they’ll have more freedom to use slang and informal terms of endearment—“

“Nicknames!” Tina cheered, balling her fists up under her chin. “They can use nicknames now. And oh my GOD, I need to know what ours come up with.”

Chris gestured between the two of them. “Is that what you were talking about with the—“ he gestured toward Connor’s work station, frowned, and raised an eyebrow. “Why would Connor need that though? He already has the most cutting edge social programs of any android ever released by Cyberlife.”

Wilson pointed at Chris, glaring at Tina. “See? Told you.”

Tina rolled her eyes dramatically. “No, no, see, calling Hank ‘Hank’ instead of ‘Lieutenant Anderson’ and calling me ‘Tina’ and not ‘Officer Chen’ does NOT count as nicknames.”

Chris propped his elbow on his desk. “I’ve heard Connor use slang too though. Again, I don’t think he’s going to benefit much from this update.”

Tina put her hands on her hips. “Eight bucks says you’re wrong.”

Chris snorted and looked to Wilson. “I guess Polly downloaded it?”

Wilson smiled widely. “Within the hour of when it became available. Let’s see…so far she has called me ‘bro,’ ‘Willy,’ and ‘Lawrencio.’ ‘Bro’ seems to be her favorite so far.”

Chris smirked. “That’s actually pretty cute.”

Tina gagged. “Don’t give me ‘cute.’ I need some better entertainment. Julia called Gavin a punk earlier, and it added a full year to my lifespan. Dammit, where’s Connor? He needs to be in on this.”

“Crime scene,” Chris informed.

“Lame.”

Chris raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, it sure sucks that someone got murdered, and you can’t hear Connor give people nicknames.”

Tina narrowed her eyes and stuck her tongue out. She stepped away from Wilson’s desk just as Connor and Hank were coming back through the reception area to the bullpen.

“Hey, there they are!” Tina chimed. “My favorite boys!”

“HEY!” Ben sounded off at his desk, looking offended.

Tina pointed at Ben with a wink. “My favorite boys, besides Ben!”

Ben nodded, satisfied with that, and got back to work.

Hank didn’t look as amused, and Connor looked perplexed.

“Good morning to you too, Tina,” he greeted.

“Ha!” Wilson smacked his desk in Tina’s direction. “Told you!”

Tina groaned loudly, and Connor kept his eyes on her in confusion as he and Hank returned to their desks. Tina and Wilson continued to ramble to each other, and Connor met Chris’s eyes.

“Told her…what?” he asked.

Chris turned his chair away from the other two officers, facing more in Connor’s direction. “The, uh, speech update from Sardonyx or whatever. They were trying to guess if you’d download it or not. Apparently Julia and Polly both have.”

Connor blinked. “I have the most advanced social programming of any android ever created by Cyberlife—“

“That’s what I told them.”

“—Such an update would be irrelevant. Julia and Polly are both ST300 models with less advanced programming. I’m sure they are finding it very useful.”

Hank let out a low whistle. “Don’t say that around them, Connor. They’re packing big bad nicknames now. Who knows what kind of colorful moniker you’ll get if you offend them.”

As if to illustrate that point, Gavin hung up the phone, looking unsettled.

“What?” Tina asked, spying his befuddled expression.

Gavin stared at his phone, squinting one eye at it. “Uh…Polly just transferred a call to me and…Pretty sure she just called me a dickbag.”

Tina threw her head back and howled at that, slapping both hands against her stomach with glee.

Connor frowned. “That seems unprofessional for the workplace.”

Hank snorted. “I’ll allow it.”

Connor looked even more confused at Hank. “You don’t have the authority to—“

At this point, Chris had decided to abandon all hopes of productivity for the morning. He embraced the absurdity that had gripped the bullpen and sat back in his seat, folding his arms and looking at Connor.

“It would be funny to hear what you’d come up with as nicknames for all of us.”

Connor looked at him flatly, and Hank nodded.

“Turnabout is fair play, Connor. You already put up with all kinds of ridiculous names getting tossed at you. Hell, you even respond to a few of them.”

“I don’t want to contribute to a lack of professional behavior in the work environment.”

Hank regarded him with a deadpan expression. “Did you or did you not lick the bottom of a shoe at a crime scene this morning?”

A chorus of disgusted noises floated around, and Connor looked affronted.

“I analyzed evidence,” he clarified aggressively. “That is not the same as…as…”

He gestured to where Julia was delivering a case file to Ben.

“Here you go, my dude,” Julia said melodically, presenting the file.

Ben took the folder, looking endlessly amused at the term of endearment. “Thank you, dudette.”

Julia beamed. “And you’re welcome…Home Slice.”

“Home Slice?” Ben lifted an eyebrow with a smirk.

“I dunno.” She shrugged and sauntered off. “I’m just saying them as they come to me.” She waved at Person. “Sup, Batman?”

Without missing a beat, Person gave her a salute and a nod of respect. “Thank you.”

Connor balked. “That’s not even a nickname. That’s just…ridiculous.”

Julia glared back at him. “It’s just a little fun. Loosen up, Gorgeous.”

Chris thought he heard the distinct sound of Julia’s cranial processor misfiring as that one slipped out, because her expression went momentarily blank in horror. Then she was abruptly turning away. She nearly plowed into Gavin’s desk as she fled. She cleared her throat as she regained her balance, glanced back once, and then spun back around and nearly ran out of the bullpen.

“Ooooookay,” Hank drawled. “So this thing can backfire apparently.”

Connor looked concerned in Julia’s wake, but he shook his head and glared at everyone else. “That’s how you want me to address all of you?”

Chris snickered. “If you call me gorgeous, you better mean it.”

“You should try it,” Person chimed in from her desk, giving a light shrug. “If you don’t like it, uninstall it.”

Connor sighed. “Fine.”

Tina straightened up. “Just like that?” She stared at Person. “We need to rope you into these things more often. Tell us your secret, you persuasive wizard.”

Person ignored her, already turning back around to resume her work.

It took Connor all of two minutes to download and install the update, and he became noticeably quiet afterwards. Chris suspected he was trying to limit verbal communication and not fully commit to testing the update. The morning had already gotten pretty weird; Chris was sure that whatever terms of endearment that Connor had rattling around in his head weren’t going to make it any weirder.

It was just after lunch before Chris even heard Connor speak again, and even then, it was only to say hello to Fowler.

“Hey, Cap,” slipped out of him as naturally as breathing.

Fowler, Chris, Hank, and Ben, who had all been in earshot, paused at that. Connor’s posture locked up, and his eyes widened. His jaw visibly clenched, as though to prevent anything else from coming out.

“Cap?” Fowler repeated.

His mouth stayed a flat, all-business line, but there was amusement in his eyes that he was trying to hide. Chris smothered a grin against the back of his hand.

“I’m sorry, Cap—tain Fowler,” Connor pressed on. “I downloaded the new update, and it’s…still adapting to my system—“

Fowler held up a hand. “Polly called me Boss Man this morning. I’m aware that today is gonna be weird. It’s all right.”

Connor deflated slightly with relief. “Thank you, sir.”

Fowler snorted and lifted his eyebrows at Hank as he returned to his office. Hank just shrugged and folded his arms, eying Connor.

“So…is ‘Cap’ the best you’ve got? Gotta say, that’s disappointing.”

Connor bristled, and when he spoke, he was clearly taking his time to avoid slipping into the informal language module. “Humans develop their own methods of codeswitching between different social spheres. This update does not account for that. I am having to manually sort through what language would be appropriate for every interaction.”

“Sounds exhausting.”

“Yup,” Connor popped the P at the end, paused, and frowned in resignation. “Exhibit A.”

Chris snickered, and Connor looked at him. Chris held up his hands.

“Sorry, it’s just kinda cool to hear you guys talking more casually than usual. Professionalism is overrated sometimes. I mean—“

He gestured over to where Gavin was drawing a dick in the dust on Tina’s computer monitor while she was on her break.

Connor frowned and looked at Chris again.

“I suppose I will just have to adapt,” Connor said plainly.

“Just like a human,” Hank drawled, standing up and stretching.

He pointed a thumb toward Fowler’s office.

“I’m gonna pop in on Jeffrey, then we can go follow up on that Maverick case. That give you enough time to wrap up the report you’re working on?” he asked.

Connor nodded, eyes on his screen. “Yes.”

“Great, meet me in five.” Hank turned and started toward the office.

“Okay, Dad.”

The half of the bullpen within earshot went still. Well, Chris and Ben did. Hank tripped on his own foot and had to grab the side of his desk to keep from going all the way down. Connor didn’t appear to have heard himself that time, too focused on his terminal, but he did pick up on the shift in the air.

“Uh…” he exhaled uncertainly, looking around at the three of them as they stared at him.

Any other time, that would have been hilarious to Chris. As it was, the slapped-in-the-face expression that had tightened Hank’s face dampened it.

“What?” Connor asked carefully, noting Hank’s demeanor had changed. “Are you all right?”

Hank straightened up, glancing from Connor, to the window, and back to Connor. “…Yeah, just…”

He didn’t finish the sentence, turning and resuming his walk to the Captain’s office. Connor watched him go, looking concerned. As soon as Hank had stiffly made his way into the office and closed the door, Chris saw Ben get up and smoothly walk from his work area over to Connor. Chris did the same out of curiosity.

“What was that?” Ben asked mildly.

Connor looked from Ben to Chris and back to Ben. “What was…what?”

“You called Hank ‘Dad,’ man,” Chris pointed out. “You didn’t hear yourself?”

Connor stared at him, then his gaze went distant as he apparently reviewed his immediate memory file. When he focused again, he looked mortified.

“I…I didn’t intend to—“ He leaned around Ben, trying to glimpse Hank in the office.

“It’s all right.” Ben lifted a hand. “Think you just shook him up with that one. We were kinda expecting more fun terms like ‘dude’ or ‘Terminator’ like Tina calls you sometimes. Instead, you went straight for the jugular.”

Connor looked distressed. “I’ve upset the lieutenant.”

“No, now, I think…surprised is a better word,” Ben stated.

Chris grimaced as Connor blinked rapidly, appearing to aggressively uninstall the update. Chris had transferred to the 07 after Hank had already lost his son, but it hadn’t been too long after. The guy had barely been back to work; he’d still been on the mend from his own injuries from the accident. Chris had never known Hank before that, so he didn’t have anything to compare him to as far as how his behavior had changed. He and Person were in that same boat together.

He had only known Hank as the angry, heavy drinking, hard boiled officer who never smiled and always had a fuck-you attitude. Even in just the two years since the revolution, the whole squad had seen him turn a corner and make some pretty awesome progress. From what Ben and Wilson had told him, this was the closest to happy that Hank had been since his son’s death.

They’d also mentioned that, if Cole Anderson had lived, he and Connor could have passed for brothers. Chris couldn’t imagine, but that kind of similarity had to carry around its own kind of hurt for Hank.

“Do you…see Hank as a father figure, Connor?” Ben was asking.

Connor frowned. “Androids don’t have fathers or mothers, Officer Collins. I do hold a lot of respect for Lieutenant Anderson. I believe this update tried to assign certain labels to my relationships with you all, in order to present what it decided were relevant options for terms of affection. I’ve already deleted it; this won’t happen again.”

“Officer Collins?” Ben exchanged a concerned look with Chris. “Connor, you haven’t called me that in months. What happened to Ben?”

Connor stiffly shook his head. “I think the best course of action going forward would be for me to revert back to using your formal titles to…avoid confusion and…upset.”

“Well, I’m upset,” Chris said flatly, putting a hand on Connor’s shoulder. “You pulled me out of a burning car, man. You can’t go around calling me ‘Officer Miller’ after that. I think you’re overreacting to this.”

Connor slumped a bit in his seat, expression lost. “I don’t know…what else to do then.”

“Just don’t stew on it,” Ben advised. “When Hank comes back out here, you two go on to that Maverick case thing you were gonna do, and just talk about it.”

Connor hesitated, then nodded. “Okay, thanks…Ben.”

“There we go,” Ben smiled in relief. “All right, Chris, let’s scatter. We look weird just standing here like this.”

Chris snorted and gave Connor’s shoulder another squeeze. “You’re all right, man.”

He returned to his desk, where he watched Connor idly sit, not resuming his work, until Hank came out of Fowler’s office.

“Person,” Hank called out, making his way down the steps. “I want a fresh set of eyes on this Maverick case. Let’s go.”

Person looked startled, but she quickly logged out of her terminal and got to her feet. “Yes, sir.”

Connor started to stand as Hank drew over to their desks, but Hank held up a hand.

“I, uh…I think me and Person can handle this one,” Hank remarked. “You…wrap up that report you were working on…here.”

Connor looked stricken, though he quickly smoothed his expression. “I’m sorry about earlier. It wasn’t my intention to—“

“I know it wasn’t,” Hank said quietly. “I’m not mad. You didn’t do anything wrong, Connor. I promise. It’s just…I just need…It’s complicated emotion shit. I’m gonna take Person out on this case instead. Gimme a few hours…and we can talk later, okay?”

Connor remained in his half-stand, half-sit position. “Oh…okay.”

Hank grimaced and patted him on the arm. “Hey, you just threw me for a loop, all right?”

“I won’t do it again,” Connor promised, with just a hint of a desperate undercurrent in his tone.

Hank frowned, started to speak, then stopped. He looked over his shoulder. “PERSON!”

“Coming, coming, here,” Person hustled over.

Hank gestured for her to meet him out front and faced Connor again. Behind his back, Person leaned over and made eye contact with Connor. Whatever she was trying to communicate with her face, Chris didn’t pick up on it, but fortunately Connor seemed to. He gave her a tiny nod and then looked to Hank again.

“See you in a few hours,” Hank assured him.

“Sure…” Connor defaulted.

Hank paused, nodded, and then went after Person. Connor finally dropped back into his seat, watching him go. Then, Chris watched his posture slowly straighten up like a rod, and he rigidly turned back toward his terminal, resuming the interface without another word.

Chris’s heart cracked a little, and he looked over at Ben. The older man looked equally unsettled by the exchange.

A full, awkward minute passed before Tina re-entered the bullpen, returning from her break.

“All right,” she chirped, tossing her phone on her desk and plopping into her chair. “Did I miss anything?”

Chapter Text

“—said they can get up to like 400 pounds and 10 feet long…That’s like three of me head to toe! How wide do you think their jaws can—Connor!” Bonny yanked on his hand.

Connor blinked, tearing his eyes away from the large tank of colorful fish swimming among the coral reefs. “I’m sorry, Bonny. What were you saying?”

Standing beside him, Bonny puffed out her cheeks and huffed. She recovered quickly and pointed down toward another display.

“Saw a sign that the sharks are that way. I wanna seeeee!” She leaned far to the left, depending on his grasp around her hand to keep her from toppling over.

Connor let her lean to an almost 45 degree angle before tugging her back upright. “We’ll get there. There’re still several sections of the aquarium that we haven’t visited yet that I’d like to see.”

“They’re all fish.” Bonny straightened up. “With their big ol’ bug eyes. They’re just in different colors—ooh, look at that one!”

She scampered toward the wall of glass, where a large, flat stingray was floating by. Its underbelly was angled toward them, revealing eyes and a mouth approximating a face. Connor stared at the bizarre features, blindly letting Bonny tug him closer to it.

The aquarium was crowded for a Thursday afternoon, and despite Connor’s recognition software and advanced tracking ability, he and Bonny had already lost track of each other twice…something he was not going to bring up when they met up with Oliver afterward. This had been Oliver’s idea, after all. Bonny had been complaining about missing her school field trip to the aquarium since her appendectomy, but Oliver had not been able to take her.

Connor had never found a reason or time to visit the aquarium either, but when Oliver had called him and asked if he would take Bonny there for him today, he had accepted immediately. Anything to just…get away for a bit. Since his slip-up the day before, Connor had not seen Hank for more than a few minutes at a time. Either Hank was truly that busy all of a sudden, or he was avoiding the conversation that he had promised Connor after the awkward scene in the bullpen yesterday.

He had initially been eager to talk to Hank and sort through this uncomfortable air that was hanging between them, but the longer that Hank procrastinated that conversation, the more anxious Connor was finding himself and the more comfortable he was with following Hank’s example in acting like nothing had happened. Maybe if they just ignored it, the problem would go away and they could forget about it and…go back to normal…

Regardless, that wasn’t Bonny’s fault, and he scolded himself for being distracted. Refocusing on their surroundings, Connor let Bonny steer him this way and that, to that tank of brightly colored fish and this display of jellyfish bobbing around each other. Bonny thought she was being subtle, pulling him closer and closer to the section on sharks, but Connor didn’t mind.

She seemed to be drawn to the larger, more bizarre-looking creatures, or generally any that had informational plaques describing how ferocious and aggressive the species were…Whereas Connor was finding the array of brightly colored creatures more aesthetically pleasing to look at. It was fascinating, the way they had evolved to be so vastly different in their shapes and colors and means of survival despite all living in such similar habitats.

They were approaching a long, winding tunnel made of glass, which allowed the fish in the tank to swim over the visitors’ heads from one side to the other, giving the visitors the illusion of being submerged with them. A multitude of sea creatures were flitting about, some on their own, some in small schools, winding among each other or diving in and out of the corals at the base of the tanks. One or two small sharks milled among them, moving slow and decisive near the more energetic fish as they zoomed around.

“Oh, oh, OH!” Bonny had spotted one of them, leaning side to side to try and see through the throngs of teenagers and adults that towered over her.

Connor stared straight up through the glass, watching the artificial light filter through the water and send ripples of light dancing across the floor and the walls and the people around him. A pocket of shimmery black and yellow fish floated by above him, and he tracked them as they meandered to the other side of the tunnel. Bonny was pulling on his hand again, straining to see through the bodies, and he lowered his gaze.

Most of the crowd was at his head height or lower, so it was easy for him to see everything, but from where Bonny’s eye line was only near his sternum, he could see why she was beginning to get frustrated.

“You want a boost?” he offered.

Bonny looked at him, then dramatically leaned back to address him as though he was a giant. “You bet your butt!”

Connor blinked, then smirked and tilted his head. “All right, hop on.”

She didn’t need much encouragement, jumping on his back and letting him pick her up in a piggyback style hold that put her line of sight at the same height as his own. She locked her legs around his middle, and he held onto her knees to secure her there. Bonny looped one arm loosely around his neck for balance, using her free hand to point.

“Holy CRAP! I can see everything up here!” she cheered. “It’s like a sea of the top of people’s heads.”

Connor snorted and turned a bit, giving her the view she needed of the lone shark drifting around the glass tunnel. “Better?”

“Better! OH, OH! Do you see that one? With the chunk bit out of it!?” she pointed.

Connor frowned and followed her gesture. Sure enough, there was an elongated fish colored in pink and blue. There were a few jagged lines interrupting its scales where it had fought something some time ago. The wounds had healed, but the scars had remained.

“Looks like he won that fight,” Connor remarked.

“I’d hate to see the other guy,” Bonny chirped.

Connor slowed his pace, moving with the crowd through the glass tunnel and giving Bonny time to gawk and squeal at every little creature that swam past. He checked his internal clock and found it to be half past four. Oliver had specified that he would meet them outside the gift shop, which was near the shark display, at exactly five o’clock. He had stressed the importance of the time on three occasions, so whatever appointment he had after picking up Bonny, it must have been urgent.

The crowd that Connor had inadvertently fallen into step with drifted toward the rainforest section of the aquarium as they exited the glass tunnel. Bonny, however, was physically leaning her weight toward Connor’s other side, as if to steer him toward the sharks.

“Okay, okay,” he chuckled and broke away from the crowd. “Last but not least, we have the sharks, and then it’ll be time for your dad to pick you up.”

“Dun-dun,” Bonny hummed, lowering her head until her chin was on his shoulder. “Dun-dun.”

He turned his head toward her in confusion, but her eyes were wide and staring ahead at the large, dark tanks that contained the infamous sharks.

“Dun-dun, dun-dun, dun-dun…” She was picking up tempo as they neared the tanks.

Connor squinted slightly, his audio recognition software isolating her rough rendition of the tune and finding a match in his system. She was…she was humming the Jaws theme. He smiled and carried her over until she started squirming too much in excitement.

“All right, be free,” he snorted, setting her back down on her feet.

Bonny cackled and zoomed toward the first display. A singular, enormous grey shark, with visible rows of sharp teeth, loomed above her head, turning its white belly toward her as it swam by, casting a shadow on the floor.

“YESSS!” She raised her arms, planting her feet wide as she took in the sight. “This is amazing!”

Connor drew up beside her, folding his arms and watching the shark as well. The grey and white was a little underwhelming after the barrage of yellows and pinks and greens and blues decorating all of the other fish in the building, but…he supposed there was something about the scraggly lines of teeth and the round, black eyes of these sharks that were captivating in their own way.

Bonny kept pace with the shark as it drifted past, walking along the glass wall to keep it in her sights. Connor casually walked along with her, enjoying the more open space as there were fewer people in this section of the aquarium. He could see the gift shop at the end of the large chamber, another splash of color on the walls and the door. Sunlight from outside was spilling in through the windows, a contrast to the fluorescent, multi-colored lights illuminating the interior.

Come to think of it…there were…very few people in this area…Noticeably few.

Something in his software picked up on that for him. He’d dismissed it as people being more drawn to the colorful and unusual fish over the sharks, but something about the vacancy around them now felt…intentional. Before that could fester from an observation into a concern, he spotted Oliver standing beside the door to the gift shop…next to a strangely large, square box.

It was three feet by three feet by three feet and wrapped in reflective green paper. It had a separately wrapped lid with a big purple ribbon on top. Oliver was standing very close to it, arms folded tightly and clearly trying to look casual. Connor tilted his head curiously, and Oliver made eye contact with him. He waved in a short, jerky motion, and smiled just as awkwardly.

Something was…going on…

Bonny was too enraptured by the sharks to notice her father or the box, and as they got closer to five o’clock, Connor subtly herded her toward the gift shop. Literally no one else was nearby at this point, but the energy that Oliver was emitting did not read as frightened or anxious. He seemed…excited.

“Dad!” Bonny finally spotted him when she and Connor were roughly twenty paces away. “Did you see those giant sharks? I bet they coulda eaten me whole! One bite. Chomp!”

Oliver chuckled. “Yeah, but you’re too bony. I don’t think you’d taste very good to them.” He smiled and looked to Connor. “Hi, Connor. How’d it go?”

Connor uneasily took another step, unsure what was going on. “It was…fascinating. This was my first time visiting an aquarium. I enjoyed it.”

“We should do this like every weekend!” Bonny chirped. “Only next time, I should learn how to walk on stilts or something, because it was hard to see with so many people…But tell him about the jellyfish!”

Connor opened his mouth, but Bonny beat him to it.

“So, there were these jellyfish—“ She stopped, finally noticing the box. “What is that?”

Oliver rested his forearm on the lid, trying to look nonchalant. He shifted his feet, then the position of his arm, and…failing entirely at being casual, straightened up again.

“Oh, just a…present.”

She snorted. “Yeah, duh doy, but what is it? Who’s it for?”

“It’s a present for you, BJ,” Oliver winked.

Bonny’s brows knit together, and she looked from Oliver, to Connor, who shrugged, and then back to Oliver. “It’s not my birthday.”

“Well, let’s open it anyway,” Oliver said. He turned and grasped the lid, flashing a smile at Bonny and Connor. “Yeah?”

Bonny looked at Connor again, and he again could only shrug and lift his eyebrows. She looked back at her father.

“A’right,” she gave in.

Oliver tugged the lid up off the gift box with a flourish. The front wall of the box facing Bonny and Connor fell forward, landing flat on the floor and revealing the contents of the box. Inside, Connor identified a woman popping up out of a crouch to stand. She was dressed in military fatigues and her brown hair was pulled up in a bun. Her green eyes and freckled face were genetically similar to Bonny’s. She spread her arms wide in invitation.

Corporal Janet Stevens.

“Surprise!” she announced musically with a wide smile.

Bonny was still for one full second. Then, with a choked noise, she was running forward. The little girl sprinted silently across the twenty paces that separated them. Then she was leaping forward, launching herself into her mother’s arms. Corporal Stevens caught her and dropped down to her knees, wrapping her arms around her daughter tightly. Bonny had her arms around her mother’s shoulders, her face pressed into her neck, holding on for dear life. Corporal Stevens ran her hand up through her hair, cupping the back of her head and clinging right back.

They stayed that way for a long while, saying nothing and only holding on to each other.

Connor remained where he was, at twenty paces, observing the reunion. Oliver set the box lid aside, his fingers wadded up against his mouth against a watery smile as he took it in as well. Connor felt a well of warmth roll across his processors at the sight of the small, reunited family, but he wasn’t sure what—

The soft, hiccupping sound of Bonny crying broke the silence that had engulfed the room.

Alarm flared up then, but it was just as quickly doused as Corporal Stevens turned her head, kissing Bonny on the cheek. Then her forehead, her temple, her cheek again, her ear, her hairline, again and again until Bonny’s sobbing turned into crackling giggles. Connor could hear Corporal Stevens murmuring words of comfort to Bonny, but they were indistinguishable from where Connor stood. He didn’t strain his audio processors to pick up the words; they weren’t meant for him. The little girl nodded along and refused to loosen her grip on her mother, but Corporal Stevens looked like she had no intention of moving either.

That was, until she lifted her face from Bonny’s shoulder and spotted Connor. She looked over at Oliver, who was smiling through his own emotional tears, and then she finally moved her arms, gentling Bonny out of the hug so that she could look at her properly.

“Oh, baby, let me look at you,” she sniffed, running her hands up and down Bonny’s arms, remaining knelt in front of her to look her in the eye. “God, you’re so big.”

“Y-You’re b-back,” Bonny muttered brokenly, wiping at her eyes. “Th-thought it was gonna b-be another t-two months—“

“Well,” Corporal Stevens sniffed again, schooling her expression into something more calm, despite the tears of joy rimming her eyes. “I told them that I had someone special that I needed to get home to, and we pulled some strings so I could come home early!”

“B-But—“ Bonny seemed to be having difficulty processing everything through the overwhelming emotions.

Corporal Stevens smiled. “I mean, I can go and come back in the regularly scheduled two months if that’s what—“

“No!” Bonny jumped on her again. “Don’t, don’t, don’t. Don’t ever go away again!”

Corporal Stevens wrapped her up in a hug again, giving her a hard squeeze. “You got it, missy. I’m home for good. No more leaving. No more going away. I’m home, baby girl.”

She popped from her knees to her feet, slowly levering herself up to stand upright. Bonny slid down and wrapped her arms around her stomach instead, while Corporal Stevens reached out a hand to Oliver.

“You too, get in here,” she coaxed.

Oliver needed no more asking, and he rushed into his wife’s arms, pulling her into a hug and sandwiching their daughter between them. He kissed her long and hard, and they both dissolved into happy giggles as it ended.

Connor looked away, finally breaking out of his paralysis and stepping to the side, closer to the wall. The sudden feeling of intrusion was making his integration program prickle at the seams. He did not belong here. He was not part of this intimate scene. This was a family that had just found completion again. He could slip through the exit on the other side of the gift shop area and let them have this moment to themselves.

He haphazardly preconstructed an escape route that would go undetected by the family, though the program was staticked at the edges for some reason. He turned away and began to execute the route, making the first three steps.

“Connor,” Oliver called him out as he made the fourth step. “C’mere.”

Connor involuntarily paused, turning back to face the three. Bonny had finally pried herself away from her mother and was now repeatedly wiping at her eyes with both sleeves. The Corporal kept a hand on her shoulder, and she was smiling in Connor’s direction. Connor let the preconstructed path fade, and he obliged in approaching the Stevens family.

“So this is Connor,” Bonny’s mother stated brightly.

“Yep.” Oliver put a hand on Connor’s arm as soon as he was within reach, luring him in. “Connor, I’d like you to meet my wife, Janet. Janet, this is Connor, the first android detective in the DPD, and a very dear friend of Bonny’s…and mine.” He winked at him.

Suddenly overwhelmed, Connor felt his mouth go dry, and his programming took over to fill in the gap. He mechanically offered a hand toward the woman.

“Corporal Stevens, it’s a pleasure to meet you. Thank you for your servi—“

“Janet, please,” she chuckled, taking his hand in a firm shake. She lifted her other arm, as if to initiate a hug in slow motion, though her eyebrows lifted slightly in a request for permission.

Connor didn’t put up any resistance as she turned the formal handshake into an informal hug. She looped her arms around his shoulders and gave him a solid squeeze. His hands hovered awkwardly at her back, close enough to approximate returning the hug without actually touching her. Janet remained where she was, speaking earnestly.

“Thank you for taking care of them while I was away.”

“I—“ His social program failed to supply anything to say.

Janet leaned back, taking a step away and giving Connor his space again. “It’s great to finally meet you, Connor.”

“Th-The pleasure is all mine,” he stuttered.

“It sure is!” Oliver beamed, sliding between Janet and Bonny and putting an arm around each. “Look at my girls. Aren’t they both beautiful?!”

“Daaaad,” Bonny whined with a grin.

The joyous, loving atmosphere was infectious around them, and Connor smiled as they extended that atmosphere to include him. The sense of intrusion remained, but the warmth chased it away somewhat.

Janet cackled and put her hands on her hips. “Well, all of this hugging and crying has me starving. And I tell you, the only thing I missed more than my girl and my guy…are my cheeseburgers.”

“Mandy’s Restaurant?” Oliver suggested with a knowing smile.

“Mandy’s Restaurant!” Janet pumped a fist, smiling at Bonny. “How’s that sound?”

“Yeah!” Bonny whooped.

Janet looked to Connor. “Would you like to join us, Connor? I know androids don’t…eat per say, but I would love to hear all about what these two knuckleheads got up to while I was away. I trust you to tell the story straight; these two are shifty.” She slid Bonny a sly look.

Bonny laughed. “We are not!”

Connor smiled politely, but the crumbling red wall at his periphery warned him about overstepping. Even though he had been deviant for a year and a half, remnants of that red wall still drifted at the corners of his vision sometimes in moments like this, warning him that he was not where he should be, ordering him to remove himself from this situation.

“Thank you, I appreciate the invite, but…I don’t…want to impose.”

Saying it out loud made him inwardly cringe, but it was the truth.

“What?” Oliver coughed in surprise. “You can’t impose if you’re invited, Connor.”

A text message alert popped up at the corner of his vision. It was from Hank…asking when he’d be home…to talk…

“Pleeease?” Bonny reached out a hand, grabbing at his elbow. “It’ll be fun.”

Connor hesitated, and Janet held out a hand.

“If you’re busy, we understand, but she’s right…it’ll be fun,” she smiled gently.

Connor shifted and sent a vague text response about being busy and getting home later. He blinked as he sent it, letting out a breath he hadn’t meant to hold for so long.

“Okay…Yes, I’d…I’d like that, thank you,” he replied belatedly.

“Cool!” Bonny chirped.

“Cool,” Oliver parroted her with a smirk.

“So cool,” Janet beamed. “Well, are we ready?”

Bonny grabbed Connor’s hand and pulled him closer to the group as they started to make their way toward the exit. Some uncertainty must have still shown on his face, because Oliver sidled up to him. The man held up his hand, fingers straight, and touched the side of his hand to Connor’s right shoulder. Then he lifted it and touched it to his left shoulder, like he was knighting him.

“You’re an honorary Stevens, Connor,” he chuckled.

Some combination of the knighting gesture, Oliver’s playful tone, and the way Bonny aggressively pulled him into their pack had an unnamed weight sliding off Connor’s shoulders. The feeling of intrusion faded with the remnants of the red wall in his periphery, and his social programs mercifully quieted, allowing him to relax somewhat. It was a churning, warm feeling that he had only experienced around Hank and the squad at the DPD. He wasn’t accustomed to it. Feeling…

Wanted.

All of that in the span of a half second, and it left him slightly reeling.

“Now,” Janet was saying, taking Bonny’s other hand as they headed out to the parking lot. “What is this I hear about you joining a softball team?”

Chapter Text

When Hank heard Connor come in the back door at eleven pm, he should have gotten out of bed and talked to him…but he didn’t.

When they rode together in Hank’s car to the station the next morning, Hank should have grown a pair and talked to him…but he didn’t.

When lunch break rolled around, he should have taken the opportunity to talk to him…but by then Connor had made himself scarce, jumping on the chance to go on patrol with Person instead.

So that was how Hank found himself sitting at his desk at mid-afternoon, staring at the same page of his report on his terminal as he had been for the past twenty minutes, cursing himself for being such a fucking coward. It was hard to hide tension in a bullpen full of cops, and the rest of the squad had quickly picked up on the awkwardness between him and Connor…if Ben and Chris hadn’t filled them in already.

God fucking Hell, and there shouldn’t have been anything to ‘fill in.’ Connor had installed an update for using informal speech, that program had dropped an innocuous nickname in the queue, and Connor had used it. No harm had been meant by it, but damn if hearing Connor call him…that…hadn’t hit Hank like a bolt of lightning…

The rest of that day had passed in something of a fog, even though he had revisited his and Connor’s current murder case and had somehow gotten halfway through the report on it…Except now he couldn’t remember what the fuck he had been writing up, and the half-finished report was glaring at him. He should have talked to Connor immediately, before the kicked-puppy look had solidified on the other man’s face…but he hadn’t…so there it was.

And he just…couldn’t fix it. He had been wracking his brain around it for damn near two days, but he could not arrange the words in the right order to convey what he wanted to say. Every time he tried, his throat closed up, his mouth went dry as sandpaper, and a headache would start behind his eyes. It had been nearly five years since he had been called…that…

God, he could still hear it sometimes, in his son’s small, young voice…squealed through laughter, cried out in fear, called out to simply get his attention…He could still hear it anytime he wanted to, on the family video recordings that were collecting dust in a box in the attic…He could still hear it on his terms, in his own time, whenever he decided to.

Two days ago had not been on his terms. It had been sprung on him, in a voice that didn’t belong to his…to—It had just been Connor, but God dammit, how had it managed to hurt so bad, so fast?

Shit, he was thirsty, but not for any beverage that the station kept stocked…and Jimmy’s wouldn’t open for a few hours…

Hank pushed away from the computer, pinching his eyes closed and pressing the heels of his hands against them.

Fucking ridiculous. Pull it together, Hank. It was a slip of the tongue. Even if Connor…Dammit fucking shit, the kid had barely had emotions for a year and a half. He shouldn’t have had to deal with Hank’s baggage and bullshit while he was figuring out his own. Connor was like a sponge sometimes, picking up the habits of those he was around a lot. Hank was already seeing Connor beginning to wall off his hurt the way Hank had been…and that was just…fucking unacceptable.

“Hank…” Ben said quietly.

Hank lowered his hands and looked flatly back at Ben. The other officer was leaned back in his seat, gesturing subtly toward the back door. Hank followed it, and he saw Connor and Person dipping back into the station. Person looked livid, and Connor had removed his jacket, draping it over one arm. His white dress shirt underneath had dark liquid staining the shoulder and was soaking down into the chest, and that side of Connor’s hair was also wet. His LED was a hard-thinking yellow. Hank could see white plastic showing through in patches on Connor’s cheek and neck, but there wasn’t any visible blood at least.

Concern boiled up in Hank’s chest regardless, and he was on his feet without a thought.

“What the Hell happened?” he asked as the two re-entered the bullpen.

Person, it seemed, was beyond words. “Fucking…idiots…no sense of…if I had…absolute…”

Connor, much more calmly, placed his ruined jacket on the corner of his desk, and he looked at Hank plainly. “Protesters.”

Hank didn’t like the distant tone in his voice, and he focused on the dark brown stains and the flickering skin on Connor’s face. “You hurt?”

“No.” Connor looked down at his shirt. “I should…change.”

Something was wrong here…There was more that Connor wasn’t divulging.

“Connor.”

“I’m fine,” Connor said it without looking at him, quietly making his way to the locker room.

Hank’s insides twisted as he watched him go, and his eyes slid to Person. “Talk.”

Person threw her own jacket into her chair and whirled around. At this point, Ben, Hank, and Gavin by proximity were all looking at her.

“Those…Those…assholes,” she hissed. “They were protesting outside the old Cyberlife Tower. Apparently that new company Sardonyx bought the whole property, and the news broke today. Their rep said they’re going to demolish it, and some idiots showed up to throw a party…chanting about ‘death to the machines’ and how all androids should be locked in the building when they implode it.”

“Jesus,” Ben cringed.

“And?” Hank pressed.

Person balled her fists at her sides, glared at the ceiling for a five count, and then looked at him again. “Things were getting rowdy between the anti-android protesters and the pro-android counter-protesters, so me and Connor went to check it out. Some…some…dickhead took one look at Connor and just threw an entire large steaming hot coffee right in his face.” She seethed. “His whole skin program deactivated in shock from it for one second, and as soon as everybody saw that, they just—“

She made a vague ‘swarming’ gesture, and Hank grimaced, looking toward the locker room.

“We came right back here…He said he doesn’t want to press charges, but…” she snarled.

She looked like she wanted to vent further, but Connor was coming back from the locker room. He had changed into a spare blue DPD t-shirt and wiped the drying coffee from his face and neck. The skin there still looked thin enough that Hank could see the seams in the plastic casing underneath. He came to a slow stop, noting how Hank, Ben, Person, and Gavin were all eying him. Gavin looked away first, spinning his chair around and getting back to work. That movement broke the spell, and Connor averted his eyes from them all, returning to his desk.

“Connor,” Hank started.

Connor didn’t verbally respond, flitting his eyes in Hank’s direction briefly as he sat down at his desk.

Hank leaned closer across the desk. “Are you all right?”

Connor sat up a little straighter, eyes not leaving his terminal. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Okay, Hank figured he deserved that chilly response.

The skin along Connor’s jawline flickered, and Connor flinched, blinking repeatedly and forcing the program to stabilize.

“Did you get a visual on the person who did this?” Hank asked evenly. “You don’t have to be the one to arrest them. Me and Ben or somebody can go get them.”

“No.”

“Connor—“

“NO.”

It came out hard, and the strain of it sent a ripple of static through the synthetic skin projection across Connor’s entire face. Connor winced and closed his eyes, forcing the program to stabilize again.

“Okay,” Hank said, casting his eyes at the others.

They tried to subtly resume their work. Connor was clearly upset and trying to hide the extent of the damage; having the whole bullpen staring at him was only going to make him more self conscious and anxious. Person did not abide by that rule. She stepped away from her desk and toward Connor and Hank’s work station.

“I just want to get back to work,” Connor said, carefully calm. “I don’t—“

His jaw locked shut with a grimace as the skin program flickered again. This time, however, it did not stabilize. The static turned the skin grey, and clouds of lighter grey seemed to swim across the projection briefly. Unable to adapt to the damage, the program visibly shorted out, flickered once, and then deactivated entirely.

Hank stared as all of Connor’s skin vanished as though a light switch had been flipped. Skin, hair, freckles, all of it faded to reveal only white and grey plastic plates and casing. A low, pained noise came up out of Connor’s throat, and he bowed his head at the discomfort that the unexpected shortout had caused.

“Whoa, whoa…” Hank stood up, moving around the desk. “Connor?”

Connor gagged and straightened up again, eyes on his naked, plastic hands.

“Shit,” he cursed lowly, and his LED snapped from yellow to panicked red. “No, no, nonono…”

Connor seemed to shrink as he rapidly blinked, dismissing the notices and warnings flooding his vision. His hands fumbled for the edge of the desk, and he started to stand. He lost his balance and slipped out of the chair, landing hard on his backside on the floor.

“N-Nhn…” He was having trouble speaking, and even though the white plastic of his face was limited in its emotional expression, Hank could clearly see the panic gripping him.

Hank circled around the desk and knelt in front of him, pushing the chair away. “Hey, hey, Connor, right here. Look at me. Can you look at me?”

Connor could not, as it turned out, and he reflexively wrapped his arms around his chest.

“He all right?” Ben asked, standing from his desk as well.

“No,” Hank replied quickly, reaching out and gently touching Connor’s shoulder. “Hey—“

Connor choked, yanking away, eyes staring into the middle distance. “D-don’t.”

Hank retracted his hand, confused and thinking fast. They had all seen Connor without his synthetic appearance before. There was no reason for him to be so self conscious about it that Hank could think of. Sure, he didn’t ever voluntarily deactivate his skin, but the one time that he had been uncovered like this, there hadn’t been…

On the desk, Hank’s phone began to go off, and he recognized the custom ringtone with a sinking feeling.

“I’ve got no strings to hold me down, to make me fret or make me frown…”

Fuck…

The one time that Hank remembered them seeing him like this was when they rescued him from Ogden’s warehouse. Having his skin retracted against his will like this must have sent all of that flooding back. The sound of Hank’s ringtone for Connor only reinforced that. He had called Hank in his sleep for days after his rescue, still calling out for help without saying a word. If he was trying to call Hank here, with Hank kneeling right in front of him, then he was pretty far down the rabbit hole right now.

By the way Person’s spine straightened, she had put it together too. She spun around, snapping her fingers in Gavin’s direction. Gavin was already on his feet, yanking his hooded jacket off of his chair and throwing it at her. Person caught it and fluffed it out, moving around and draping it around Connor’s shoulders. Hank reached out and gently pulled the hood up over Connor’s head, as he jerked and flinched away from the touch. Being covered seemed to make the spinning red of his LED slow somewhat, but no focus returned to his eyes.

“I had strings, but now I’m free. There are no strings on me…”

“Hey, hey, I’m right here. Connor? It’s Hank. I’m right here.” Hank kept himself in Connor’s glazed line of sight. “Do you see me?”

Others in the bullpen were staring, and Ben got up, grabbing Hank’s phone and silencing it. He yanked his head toward Captain Fowler’s office. Jeffrey was out in a meeting for at least the rest of their shift, and it was closer than the locker room or observation rooms where Connor could have some privacy while he rode this out. Hank nodded and looked to Person, who bobbed her head.

“Okay,” Hank said softly, taking one of Connor’s arms over his shoulders. “That’s okay. Let’s get you to Fowler’s office. C’mon.”

Person mimicked him with Connor’s other arm, and they both stood in unison, taking Connor to his feet with them. He swayed heavily, his joints somehow locked and like jelly at the same time. Ben darted toward Jeffrey’s office, going inside and activating the opaque feature on the glass walls, making them solid and non-transparent. He held the door open as Hank and Person more or less carried Connor toward the office.

“Show’s over, people,” Gavin barked at the other staring patrol cops. “What, never seen an android without skin before? Get back to work.”

“Jesus, Gavin,” Chris remarked, but he also shooed the others away.

As soon as they were inside Jeffrey’s office, Ben was closing the door, and Hank and Person were finding a clear spot on the floor against the wall for Connor to sit down. Connor was completely pliant as he went down, breathing in short, shallow pulls, and his LED was still spinning red.

“Easy, easy,” Hank coaxed, leaving the jacket hood over Connor’s head as he touched the back of his neck, guiding him forward. “Head between your knees. Breathe deep and slow.”

Connor nodded in two quick jerks, struggling to do what Hank said. Ben said something about getting some cool water, and Person was immediately on her feet to go in search of some. Ben looked meaningfully to Hank, silently offering to stay and help. Hank gave him an appreciative look and tried to convey that he had this. The less crowded that Connor felt, the more smoothly this would pass, hopefully.

Ben nodded and slipped out, closing the office door after himself. That left Hank and Connor alone, something they hadn’t been in two days…not counting those avoided moments at home and in the car. There was no avoiding each other here.

“Okay,” Hank hummed, keeping his hand on the back of Connor’s neck, rubbing his thumb back and forth lightly. “You’re okay. Do you know where you are?”

“…F-Fowler’s office…”

“Yep. That’s good. You’re doing fine.” Hank shifted from his kneeling position to sit next to him, leaning back against the wall. “You’re at the station. You’re safe. You know who I am?”

Connor turned his head, the hood partially obscuring part of his face. Seeing his dark brown eyes, so full of emotion and all things Connor, set in a plastic, unfamiliar face was unnerving. Hank cursed himself at his own internal word choice. There was nothing unfamiliar about Connor. He was…Connor. With his synthetic appearance or without.

The haze in Connor’s eyes seemed to lift as he recognized Hank, and with that recognition came a new kaleidoscope of emotions that compounded over his expression.

“Hank,” Connor answered in a small voice. His face started to pinch. “I’m sorry.”

Hank made a dismissive noise, clapping a hand on Connor’s knee. “Now, none of that. It’s not your fault some idiot threw coffee on you.”

Connor shook his head, and Hank could see how badly he was still trembling.

“Not…that. About…two days ago…the—“

“Fuck,” Hank exhaled hard, moving his arm around Connor’s shoulders. “Don’t worry about that, s—Connor.” He grimaced and looked to the far wall for a breath, then refocused on his friend. “I shouldn’t have gone cold like I did. You just—It threw me for a loop…Hearing…It was kinda like this—“

He patted Connor’s arm lightly to indicate the current situation.

“Your skin program failed, and you…it reminded you of…then, didn’t you?”

Connor closed his eyes and pressed the heels of his hands against them with a short nod.

“I could hear their voice—Ogden—They said—“ He was faltering.

“You aren’t back there,” Hank assured. “Whatever you were seeing and hearing was just a memory…Doesn’t mean it doesn’t still hurt like a bitch…or scare you or make you feel—“

There was a light knock on the door, and it opened just enough for Person’s hand to slip through with two partially frozen bottles of water. She set the bottles on the floor by Hank, and her hand retracted. Then the door was clicking closed again.

“The point is,” Hank resumed, reaching over and taking one bottle. “You’re surrounded by people who know what that feels like. We’ve all got our…stuff.”

As he straightened back up next to Connor, he could feel the heat coming off of the android’s person. Connor had willed his breathing into a steadier and deeper rhythm, but his frame was still trembling. Hank frowned; he’d have to do better if he was going to help Connor through this episode.

“What’s your stress level right now? Feels like you’re overheating a little,” Hank asked.

“Eighty-four…percent.” Connor lowered his hands from his face and opened his eyes. “Internal temperature holding at a hundred and one.”

Hank cringed but covered it up. He held out the bottle toward Connor’s chest. “Here.”

Connor lifted a hand and took the cold bottle, mechanically positioning it over his hammering thirium pump. He breathed a little easier and leaned back against the wall slowly. Hank leaned back with him, giving them both a moment of quiet.

“I’m sorry my…presence upsets you.”

Christ, the kid was aiming straight for his heart today. HE was the one in the middle of an anxiety attack, and he was trying to make things easier for HANK.

“It doesn’t,” Hank said quickly, looking to Connor, but his partner’s eyes were straight ahead, focused on Jeffrey’s desk. “You don’t—I’m glad you’re around, and I’m damn lucky to have you in my life. God knows what state I’d be in if you weren’t…Connor? Please look at me.”

With visible effort, Connor turned his head and met Hank’s gaze. He looked more aware of his surroundings now, so hopefully the traumatic memories had faded for the time being. He wasn’t okay, probably wasn’t going to be okay for a while yet. He still looked…lost, and despite the distance that Hank had put between them over the past 48 hours, he could see some pleading in his eyes, begging Hank to make this okay.

The sandpaper throat and headache were coming back full force, but Hank muscled them aside this time.

“Something else happened at the protest at the Tower.” He meant it as a question, but it was a statement of fact. He tried again. “Why don’t you want to press charges on the human who did this to you?”

Connor grimaced and looked away, at his hands, where the skin program was trying to flicker back across his fingers. His LED cycled from red to yellow as his healing program finally initiated, working to correct the damage that was causing the projection to fail. He suddenly looked exhausted, and Hank considered letting the subject drop, when Connor spoke.

“It wasn’t a human.”

Hank stayed quiet, letting him go at his own pace.

Connor released a tight exhale, still not looking at Hank. “There were androids there, as part of the counter-protest. One…she recognized me and took her friend’s coffee…threw it at me…I don’t—I don’t think she even thought about it…It looked like a…panic response…fear. Then they were scattering, saying the—the Deviant Hunter was there…like I was some sort of b-boogeyman. An enemy.”

His composure cracked, but like changing slides on a projector, he was immediately calm again.

“I didn’t even know who she was, but…whatever I did back then…I figure…She earned this.”

He gestured vaguely to where the coffee stains had been.

“Oh, Connor…” Hank curled his arm around Connor’s shoulders, pulling him in for a hug. “Come here.”

Connor toppled sideways into the embrace, and Hank swept the jacket hood aside, cupping his hand around the back of Connor’s bald head and holding him close.

“You don’t deserve any kind of punishment,” Hank said adamantly, his other hand gripping Connor’s arm. “I’ve said this a hundred times, and if I have to say it a hundred more, then I will. What you did under Cyberlife’s orders was not you. It was your hands, your body, but it was not you.”

He touched two fingers in a light poke to Connor’s head for emphasis.

“You chose to leave Cyberlife. You chose to join Markus. You chose to infiltrate that fuck ugly tower and release those thousands of androids. You chose to help turn the tide of the revolution. None of that makes the ‘feeling shitty’ part any less…Maybe it doesn’t make up for what was done in the past…but your pile of good outweighs your pile of bad, kid. Trust me, from someone who has his own impressive pile of bad to compare to.”

Connor was quiet, eyes downcast, though he seemed to be mulling on Hank’s words.

“And…” Hank pressed on before his brain could catch up and lock down his vocal chords. “Part of my pile of bad things was pushing you away this week, when what happened was not your fault.”

“I should have been more careful—“

Hank held up a hand to stop the interruption. “And I should have talked to you about it before it got…the way it got. Instead, we ended up…and that’s on me. But…” He sighed, looked at Connor briefly, then away, then back to his friend. “I’m still working on my shit, Connor. It’s a process, and I’m gonna backslide sometimes. Sometimes, it’s gonna be ugly, but it’s been…progressively less ugly since we became friends. I think the whole damn squad would agree on that one.”

Connor snorted once, and Hank took some heart from that.

“I’m just saying…My life sucks less for having you in it, kid. And…” he steeled himself, still trying to find the right words. “Cole would have loved you.”

Connor stilled, looking at Hank in shock.

“Yeah,” Hank relaxed slightly for both their sakes. “He would have…thought you were awesome.”

The words ran out after that, and the world went wet at the corners of Hank’s eyes as a more comfortable quiet settled in the office. The flicker of Connor’s LED shifting from yellow to a mixture of yellow and blue unclenched something in Hank’s chest, but neither of them said anything. Connor’s taut posture slowly loosened, and he unfurled from the ball that he’d made with his limbs. He stretched his legs out straight alongside Hank’s, and in the dimly lit office, Hank could see the skin program rebooting.

The projection was slowly crawling back across Connor’s hands and arms and creeping up from the neck of the shirt. The points of damage on his neck and the side of his face remained exposed, but if Hank had learned anything about that fancy repair program of Connor’s, then he’d be back to looking completely normal within the hour. Connor removed the water bottle from his chest and set it down on the floor, so his internal temperature and stress levels must have fallen back to the normal range too.

“This,” Hank finally spoke, tapping his knuckles on the floor between them, “is where you belong, Connor. This station, that squad out there…You’re one of us, and we love the fuck out of you, understand?”

Connor smirked at the phrasing, but the look on his face was too genuine to be covered up by the small grin.

Hank went on before his brain could stop him. “I love the fuck out of you.” He swallowed against the sandpaper. “I’m sorry that I’ve made you doubt that.”

Connor’s shoulders were creeping up toward his ears, looking overwhelmed again, although this time hopefully by good feelings instead of the bad ones. Hank just squeezed his arm more tightly around him. It put the crown of Connor’s head right under Hank’s jaw, and he dropped his chin against the top of his head for emphasis.

“I…uh…” Connor mumbled. “I love the fuck out of you too, Hank.”

Hank smiled and chuckled at the bizarre sound of the swear coming out of Connor’s mouth. The chuckle turned into a laugh, and he leaned away to collect himself. Connor looked at him in confusion at Hank’s reaction, though the corner of his lips was quirking upward as well.

The tension dissipated significantly in the air around them. A weak haze of it remained, that Hank knew they would have to continue to deal with. This little session hadn’t cleaned it all up nice and tidy, but it was something…It was progress…

“Are you okay?” he asked.

The rest of Connor’s synthetic appearance was regenerating over his head, returning all those freckles and skin and hair, except for the spots where the hot coffee had made impact. Connor lifted a hand and rubbed gingerly at the spots.

“I’m…getting there.”

“Good.” Hank bobbed his head. “Hey, let’s take the rest of the day off. There’s just an hour left in our shift. Let’s go home, and we can…talk some more about…things, if you’re up for it.”

He slowly got to his feet, grumbling at all the cracking and popping in his joints as he did so. Once upright, he extended a hand to Connor, who for sure didn’t need assistance standing up now, but who accepted the offered hand anyway. Hank tugged him up to his feet, expecting an argument.

“I am not opposed to that,” was what he got instead. “I’d rather not…return to the bullpen after what just happened.”

Hank waved a hand, moving toward the door. “Like I said, we’ve all got our stuff. Nobody is going to think any less of you for being mortal.”

“Hank…”

“Yeah?” Hank paused, half turning back.

“Are we okay?” Connor asked.

Hank stared at him, softened, and gave a smile. “We’re okay.”

Connor looked visibly relieved, hugging his arms around himself loosely. “I…still left my jacket out there…”

Hank snorted and turned the doorknob, tugging it open. “You and that damn jacket. I swear, it’s not like—“

He pulled open the door to find Connor’s jacket folded and draped on the railing outside Fowler’s office door, waiting for them. The bullpen was empty except for Julia, who was straightening up case files on the work station counter in the middle of the office. Hank could see silhouettes in the meeting room on the semi-transparent perimeter wall, and when Julia looked up at them, he pointed with his thumb.

“Did we miss a memo?”

Julia lifted her shoulders. “Ben decided to call an impromptu meeting about…parking spaces, I think…Called everybody in there.”

Hank snorted and glanced back at Connor. In the open light of the bullpen, he still looked pretty shaken and tired by the whole ordeal. Hank made a note to buy Ben dinner for giving them a window for a quick escape. He was a goddamn saint. Connor busied himself with picking up his jacket, and Julia tilted her head.

“Everything okay?”

“Yep,” Hank replied for both of them. “We’re out of here for the day…Might let Ben know, just in case he…runs out of parking space material.”

Julia smirked and nodded. “Will do. Enjoy the rest of your day and…I hope you feel better, Connor.”

Connor mumbled something noncommittal in acknowledgement as he removed Gavin’s borrowed jacket, and Julia mercifully accepted that. Hank offered to take the jacket from him, and he promptly wadded up the material, aiming at Julia.

“Heads up.” He lobbed it to her.

Julia caught the jacket with both hands, straightening it out and tossing it over the back of the detective’s chair. She gave them a small smile and then returned to her duties.

Hank and Connor walked together toward the back exit, making a hasty retreat to the parking garage and then to Hank’s car.

It was a quiet drive home after that, but for the first time in two days, Hank didn’t taste sandpaper.

Chapter Text

The afternoon was stretching the shadows from the trees across the backyard, and by the time Hank went outside, it was almost entirely in the shade. That suited him just fine, as he stretched and started to meander around the yard.

Everything had seemed to compound on Connor as soon as they got home from work, and he hadn’t put up any argument when Hank suggested he take a nap to recalibrate and clear his head. Hank could have gone for a nap too, but instead he’d found his way into the attic. That dusty box of family videos and photos had found their way onto his kitchen table, but he had bowed out before he could psyche himself up to actually open any of them.

It was always the same. He’d think he’d finally found the strength to look through those albums…and suddenly he’d be distracted by the dishes, by laundry, by any meaningless, small thing that would save him from facing it all again. This afternoon, it was the yard. It was in desperate need of some attention, and he’d quietly left Connor where he was clocked out on the couch in favor of the cool, open air of the backyard. Sumo hadn’t moved from his spot in front of the couch, firmly on Connor Watch until his favorite android woke up.

Hank didn’t turn on the autonomous lawn mower yet. Recent wind gusts and storms had knocked some small branches and twigs all over the yard, none big enough to do any damage, but too much for that dinky little mower to chew up. He wandered his way through the ankle-high grass, picking up anything he deemed too much for the machine to handle. He could hear voices chattering on the other side of the fence that he shared with his neighbors, the Paulsons. It sounded like their kid, five year old Sofie, was giving her mother Wendy a full on workout as they played together in the yard.

A particularly high pitched squeal from Sofie was followed by Wendy’s soft, throaty laughter, and Hank paused a moment to just listen to them. He looked around the disheveled yard, at the patch of young grass poking up out of the dirt where Connor’s little garden experiment had failed a while back. The air conditioning unit behind the house kicked off, stripping away some of the ambient noise that was blocking some of the sound of his neighbors’ good time.

The back door of the house opened, and Connor’s head poked out, glancing around until he found Hank. Hank lifted a hand in a short wave and smirked. Connor’s face was screwed up to squint his eyes until his optical units adjusted to the sunlight, where the shade hadn’t reached the house yet. Sumo muscled past Connor’s legs, bounding out into the yard, and Connor nearly lost his balance over it, haphazardly reaching behind him to close the back door after himself.

So it looked like androids could suffer from the same post-nap disorientation as humans. Hank snorted and walked over to the docking station where the circular, one foot tall body of the mower was idling. Connor came down the back steps, rubbing lightly at his face where the couch cushions had left creases in his newly regenerated skin.

Here was the moment of truth…If things were going to continue to be uncomfortable between them, or if the events of the afternoon and their far too genuine conversation on the floor of Fowler’s office had done them any good. Hank swallowed instinctively and decided to test the waters.

“Well, don’t you look gorgeous,” he tutted as he turned on the mower.

Connor paused. “I’m unacc—“

The mower revved and keened, shuffling off the dock and scooting out into the yard. The blades lowered from its underbelly, and it began to chug forward in a straight line, spitting out the cut grass behind it as it went. Connor looked at the mower as it rudely interrupted him, and Hank chuckled.

“Sorry,” he said, stepping closer so Connor wouldn’t have to yell.

Connor deadpanned and tried again. “I’m unaccustomed to entering rest mode against my usual cycle. It’s…odd.”

“But do you feel better?” Hank prompted.

Connor seemed to mull that over, tilting his head briefly this way and that, before nodding. “Yes.”

“Good. That’s a trick we humans play on ourselves sometimes. If your head stops working, try turning it off and then turning it back on again.”

Hank spotted a splash of pink over by the tree at the corner of the yard, and he started his way over to it before the mower could reach it. Connor absently followed a few paces behind, for lack of anything else to do apparently.

The splash of pink turned out to be a soft Frisbee disc with a cartoon princess on it from…whatever the most recent cartoon princess movie had been. Hank couldn’t keep them straight anymore. He picked it up and listened to Sofie and Wendy hooting and hollering, and he smirked. Reeling back, he spun the Frisbee up over the fence, sending it like a flying saucer into the Paulsons’ yard.

Connor watched him do so curiously. He smiled a bit when the voices went silent for a moment as the pink UFO descended into their playdate, and then Wendy was yelling out.

“Aliens?! Brahhh!”

Sofie screamed, and through the slats in the fencing, Hank saw her kid-sized figure running in a circle while her mother chased her. That was followed by Wendy’s voice, back to its normal decibel.

“Thanks, Hank! Or…Connor…I can’t see from here!”

“We’re both out here, Wendy,” Hank informed.

“Hey guys!” she immediately greeted, then “Sofie!”

The pink Frisbee whirled over the fence again, spinning sideways and flopping into the grass near Sumo. The big dog startled at the thing, and then he was pouncing on it.

“Sumo, no!” Hank lunged to save the toy from the big mutt.

“Suuuuuumo!” Sofie squealed, running toward the fence. “Momma, I wanna see Sumo!”

“Sofie, you can’t just—“ Wendy hushed her.

“You’re both welcome to come over,” Connor spoke over the mower, stepping out of its way as it started a new, straight line row across the yard.

That was all the encouragement the little girl needed, as Sofie’s silhouette bounded down the length of the fence. Then she was barreling around the end of it and flying into Hank’s backyard, a tornado of curly hair and purple overalls. Wendy, with the same curly hair but thirty years fewer energy, came around the fence a few seconds later, panting for breath with a grin.

Hank wrestled the Frisbee from Sumo, wiping it on his pants to get the slobber off the toy. He looked back at Connor, brandishing it.

“You didn’t want to help?”

Connor looked at him placidly, then slowly smirked. “You seemed to have things under control.”

Sofie bounded past both Connor and Hank, target locked on Sumo. The dog dropped to his front paws, back end up in the air as she sprinted toward him. He snorted and boofed once, bouncing forward and backward before planting his feet again. Sofie’s momentum got the best of her, and she tripped the last few steps, skidding to a clumsy stop before flopping onto the dog. She threw her arms around him and her top half nearly disappeared into the fluff.

Hank looked around Connor to Wendy, who was rubbing her side and shaking her head as she jogged over.

“Hi,” she greeted again. “Sorry, she’s…she’s a terror.”

“Ah.” Hank waved her off. “That big oaf could use the exercise. How’re you?”

“Feeling old,” Wendy snorted, looking from Hank to Connor. “But other than that, no complaints. Connor, you…oh, honey, you just woke up from something, didn’t you?”

Connor blinked at her, and Hank gestured to his own cheek. Connor reached up and rubbed at his jaw again, feeling the lingering indentations from the couch. He frowned.

“Yes. I decided to try…a nap,” he confessed.

Wendy chuckled and took a deep breath, rubbing away the stitch in her side. “That sounds wonderful right about now,” she said wistfully.

Hank jerked his head toward Sofie. “If she’s run you ragged, we can keep an eye on her for an hour or so.”

Wendy straightened up. “Oh, I couldn’t ask you to do that…”

“You aren’t asking. I’m offering,” Hank shrugged.

Wendy chewed the side of her lip and looked to Connor, who nodded. She touched his arm and looked gratefully to Hank. “Really? Thank you, guys. I owe you one.”

And that was how Hank and Connor wound up sitting in a set of green and yellow folding lawn chairs under the trees, watching a five year old girl and a dog romp around the yard, while an autonomous mower just tried its best to work around them.

“This doesn’t bother you?” Connor asked.

Well, it was phrased like a question, but something in Connor’s tone conveyed something more. Something genuinely confused and a little…uncomfortable.

Hank blinked, lowering his canned soda from his lips and propping it on the plastic arm of the folding chair. “What?”

Connor looked like he was putting a lot of effort into looking casual as he sat in the chair, and he shifted a bit, nodding his head toward Sofie and Sumo. “I would…have expected that seeing…” He huffed through an exhale, spitting it out. “I would have thought that, given the recent circumstances, seeing a young child playing in this backyard with Sumo would be…painful for you.”

Hank’s chest tightened, and he squinted across the yard, focusing on the faded paneling of the back of the house. “Not this backyard.”

“I don’t understand.”

Hank drew a slow breath and then released it. “This was never Cole’s home. We, uh, we had a big family house…the three of us. Me, Cole, the ex-wife…After—after, me and her didn’t last long. Nobody’s fault…well, no…no, that’s not true, but…anyway…She left Detroit, and I just…couldn’t live in that big empty house. So I moved here not long after it all happened. And…I can’t decide if I regret that or not.”

Connor looked perplexed, but he didn’t speak, waiting for Hank to continue the conversation.

Hank took a moment to watch Sofie terrorize the mower. She had found a green nerf football, another toy that had gotten thrown over their shared fence and abandoned in Hank’s overgrown yard. She had tossed the ball in front of the mower to see if it would chew it up. The mower came to a stop, its front sensor flashing red, red, then an almost exasperated yellow. Then it was rotating, moving laterally to start another row, and resumed mowing around the ball. Sofie cackled in victory and repeated her challenge, picking up the ball and throwing it in front of the machine a second time. Again, the mower recalibrated and started a new row. It was going to make some real fucked up crop circle looking shit in his yard, but Hank found he didn’t care.

“I’ve…There’re no memories with Cole at this place. Initially, that was why I left the old house. It was too much…Nearly killed me…Didn’t stop trying to kill me for years, even after I moved…And it will continue to try to kill me until something else does the job.” He sighed.

“…I saw the albums…on the table…” Connor said slowly, then looked away. “Sorry.”

Hank snorted and lifted his shoulders in a half assed shrug. “Nothing to be sorry about. I got them down…really thought I could handle looking at ‘em by now, but…Maybe tomorrow. As for this,” he gestured toward Sofie and Sumo. “Yeah, it…No, it doesn’t bother me, but it does…remind me of better times. I don’t…I may not be ready to stroll down memory lane yet…but I’m tired of trying to forget it…blocking it out…drowning it out…And, uh, I meant what I said earlier at the station…You’ve helped me a lot with that.”

Connor flinched briefly, quickly trying to cover it up by shifting in his seat, but Hank caught it.

“And I stand by something else I said…Cole would have gone nuts for you, Connor. As awkward and weird as you are sometimes…” he chuckled for the sake of lightening the mood.

Connor hummed at that, tilting his head and watching Sofie. “I do have a two for three track record with children.”

He slid a playful look at Hank, who barked out a laugh.

“Okay, I’ll bite. Which kid doesn’t like you?”

“Chris’s son Damian has not been fond of me during either of the times we’ve met.”

“Well, you can’t win ‘em all.”

A comfortable quiet settled between them. The first comfortable quiet in nearly a week. Hank would have been content to let it stretch, but he could damn near see the gears turning in Connor’s head.

“How about you?” Hank asked gently. “I had a rough day two days ago. You had a rough day today. Do you…want to talk about it?”

Connor turned his head slowly to one side, eyes fixed on the mower as it angrily turned a corner, heading toward the front yard to get away from Sofie and Sumo. He turned his head to the other side in a slow negative shake.

“Not…really. Not yet.”

Hank tried to sound casual as he clinked his soda can against the chair’s armrest. “Okay, that’s fair. Whenever you do…I’m here for you. You live with a walking cautionary tale about how not to handle trauma.” He pointed at himself. “I don’t want to see you repeat my mistakes there.”

“Androids don’t get drunk though.”

“Oh, that is bullSHIT,” Hank challenged, sitting up and staring at him with wide eyes. “I know you’ve gotten smashed at least once, because I was unfortunate enough to be there to see it!”

Connor narrowed his eyes at him and opened his mouth to retort, but the green football pelted him in the chest before he could speak it. The ball bounced off his lap and landed in the grass, and they both looked over to see Sofie, arms spread in anticipation for him to throw it back. Sumo, it seemed, had gotten worn out by the child’s energy and was dragging himself over to the shade on Hank’s other side. With a heavy sigh, the mutt flopped onto the grass. Hank snorted and reached down, rubbing the dog’s ears.

“C’mon!” Sofie clapped her hands and then spread her arms again. “Throw it back! Wait!” She clasped her hands together and then held them at her side, creating a vertical hoop. “Throw it through here!”

Connor exchanged a look with Hank before standing and picking up the football. Hank made a show of kicking back in his seat with a grin.

This oughta be good.

Connor clearly downloaded whatever he needed to know about throwing a football, but when he executed the movement, it was also clear that he had never physically thrown a ball before. The technique, of course, was perfect, and the little ball spiraled through the exact center of the hoop that Sofie had made with her arms. Hank let out a low whistle as Sofie went to retrieve it. Connor looked back at him.

“Nice arm,” Hank complimented. “You’re stiff though. You move like a robot.”

“Hank…I hate to be the one to tell you this…but I am a robot.” Connor quirked an eyebrow at him.

“Smart ass.”

Sofie sprinted back to her starting position with the ball. “Now you! Do the—“ she gestured.

Connor obliged, creating a hoop with his arms and holding it directly in front of him, effectively turning his chest into a backboard. Hank considered warning him, but eh, the football was squishy foam, it wasn’t like—

Sofie hurled the ball, and it shot straight into Connor’s face, bouncing off his chin and making a hard, 90 degree ricochet into the grass at his right. Connor blinked once in surprise, and Hank couldn’t contain a genuine laugh at his facial expression.

“You moved!” Sofie accused.

“I did not,” Connor countered calmly, picking up the ball. “You were aiming too high. Do you want to try again?”

Sofie looked insulted. “NO. YOU try again!”

She aggressively mimicked another hoop, this one intentionally smaller, and positioned it by her hip. Connor again executed a perfect throw, and the ball happily clipped straight through the gap.

“Noooooooo!” Sofie roared, chasing after the ball again.

Connor straightened up and glanced at Hank, looking something close to proud of himself for the feat. Hank snorted and set his can down, hauling himself up out of the chair. His spine protested, and he grimaced as he stretched.

“Still stiff,” he commented.

“My throwing technique or your back, old man?” Connor shot back.

They both stopped, staring at each other. Connor looked vaguely horrified and seemed to contemplate his own existence.

“I think…I definitely deactivated that speech upgrade after the incident, but…that nap might have reset my systems more than I thought and somehow...activated it again. I’m sorry, Hank. I’ll—“

Whatever he said after that was lost on Hank, as he was busy laughing his head off. Something about the snappy way that Connor had shot back at him, followed by the look of horror, and then trying to analyze himself over the latest verbal slip…Maybe it wasn’t as funny as Hank thought it was, but God it felt good to laugh at something after this week…and Connor was ridiculous sometimes.

“No, please, leave it on.” Hank waved at him, catching his breath. “At least for today, because that was fucking amazing.”

“I don’t want to…slip…again and repeat what happened earlier this week,” Connor remarked.

“You let me worry about that,” Hank stated, pointing to the incoming five year old. “You’ve got bigger worries.”

Connor turned just as Sofie was fast approaching, holding the football in her hands and wearing all business on her face. In an instant, Hank got an idea.

“Get him!” he cheered her. “Take him down! The fence is the endzone. Make it there, and you win, Sofie.”

Sofie’s eyes lit up at the impromptu game, and she let out an animalistic roar as she launched herself into Connor’s legs. Connor immediately buckled, going slack and letting the impact topple him back onto the ground. He bracketed his arms on either side of the girl as they both went down, protecting her from hurting herself in the collision.

Connor was barely in the grass before Sofie was wildly rolling off of him, leaping to her feet and looking at Hank. He pointed to the fence.

“Go! He’s gonna get you!”

Getting the hint to play along, Connor made a show of rolling from his back onto his hands and knees, locking eyes with Sofie.

Sofie squealed and took off, sprinting for the fence. Connor popped up on his knees and stayed there as Sofie skidded into the grass clippings near the fence. Hank threw up both of his hands, mimicking a referee.

“Touchdown!” he called.

Sofie threw her arms up too, all smiles, and Hank pointed to the ball in her hands.

“Now you gotta do a victory dance. What you got?”

Sofie dramatically slammed the football into the grass, having clearly seen a professional football player do so on television, and then she was snapping into a crude approximation of the Macarena. Hank smiled as she got into it, and he picked up the ball. Halfway across the yard, Connor climbed to his feet, dusting off the loose grass.

Getting another idea, Hank lifted the ball up in a throwing position, lifting his eyebrows. Connor stared at him, then immediately held his hands out to receive it…again, perfect technique, but stiff as a plank of wood. Hank snorted and threw the ball. It wobbled in the air, an ugly kind of spiral, and it angled more toward Connor’s left than he’d intended. Connor easily stepped to the side and caught it, mechanically turning and throwing it back.

Hank caught it against his chest, and the old familiar feeling of playing catch knocked something loose there that he never thought he’d feel again.

Today wasn’t the day to dwell on it though, so Hank was content to let that feeling swim around on the sidelines of his thoughts. For now he just wanted to soak in the present: the five year old girl doing the Macarena, the big dog chewing on her princess Frisbee, the angry little mower cutting crop circles in his yard, and his android partner figuring out how to throw a foam football at him.

Yeah…this was okay.

Chapter Text

“This is…ridiculous,” Wilson was huffing. “Remind me again why we couldn’t bring the van up here?”

“The forensics team is still casting prints of the tire treads surrounding the property,” Connor informed simply. “I estimated that it would be faster this way.”

“Yeah, for androids maybe,” Wilson continued to whine. “This is our, what, fifth trip? Sixth?”

“Fifth,” Connor replied. “And I estimate that we are only halfway through, judging by the crates remaining back at the scene.”

Wilson groaned, changing his grip on the crate in his hands. “Care to give us a friendlier estimate, Connor? Because so far…these are kind of bumming me out.”

Taking up the middle spot on their little caravan, Person snickered to herself.

The latest Red Ice bust had been on the edge of the city, in a derelict old building on a hill. It looked like a haunted house if Person had ever seen one, and it had clearly been repurposed a number of times during its lifetime before being abandoned. The roads and pathways leading up to the property had been so overgrown that it had taken a considerable amount of hacking and sawing just to get one vehicle up there. How a group of junkies had run a business out of that hellhole, Person didn’t want to think about it.

She didn’t have the energy to think about it. Every ounce of concentration she had was focused on where she was putting her feet…because, oh yeah, this hill was covered in wasp nests. They were built into the corners of the building, they were hanging off tree branches, they were piled up on the ground. The little devils were flying around everywhere the police were, and by now, the three of them had identified a few of the big ones along the walking path. They had to consciously avoid treading on them as they hauled crates of evidence down the hill to the van, then hiked back up to the scene, only to pick up more boxes and carry them down as well…like pack mules.

Yet, today specifically, she didn’t mind the tediousness of it. She preferred to keep her mind focused on the hiking and the wasps and Wilson’s complaining, if it meant she didn’t have to think about the previous night’s phone call with her mother.

“Person?” Wilson asked. “You want to chime in here? I feel like I’m the only one griping about this.”

“You are,” Connor remarked.

Wilson scoffed. “Well, somebody has to! It’s hot, and this is exhausting, and nobody else is helping!”

“Tina has a severe wasp allergy that excused from this scene,” Connor stated. “Gavin and Chris are processing the apprehended dealers back at the station. And Ben and Hank—“

“Are working with the other precinct at the scene…Yeah, I get it. But none of those 05 guys are helping either!”

Person looked downhill ahead of her, where Connor was leading the way.

“Nest,” she warned.

Connor didn’t look back at her, instead peering past the crate in his arms and spotting the mass on the path. He carefully stepped around it, and she and Wilson followed his new trajectory. The van was in sight through the trees now, and Person breathed some relief for her burning calves.

They reached the DPD’s evidence van, where one of the fifth precinct’s cops was cataloguing the crates and organizing them. The name on his shirt said Jones. He shuffled aside and made room as the three of them lugged their latest loads toward the back of the vehicle.

He let out a low whistle. “Whew. Do we need to call another van? This looks like a lot.”

“That might be necessary,” Connor said. “There is still quite a bit being bagged and tagged at the scene.”

“Whatever you say, man.” Jones snorted, and Person saw him size Connor up when the android wasn’t looking.

Jones had gone through the same maneuver every time they had come down, and Person wasn’t stupid. She knew what this was. The recently-elected police commissioner had been making a big noise about cooperation and unity and all that fun stuff between the DPD precincts across the city. It had been one of his big campaign pillars, and he actually seemed to think he was going to make it happen immediately.

All that was well and good, and Person got along with the guys at the 05 just fine. But another of the commissioner’s hums and haws had been about android equality in the workplace. He had sworn to create new regulations that would provide equal work opportunities for androids in the police force, from patrol androids to clerks to full on detectives. Well…detective. The 07 had the only android detective in existence. He’d also gone on about mandating a certain number of androids to be employed at every precinct.

Person thought darkly to the bigoted idiots at the 03.

Yeah, good luck with that one, she mused.

“Person?” Connor prompted.

She blinked and turned around. Connor and Wilson were both ready to make the next return trip up the hill to the crime scene, and she had zoned out.

“Sorry,” she muttered, falling in line.

This time Wilson led the way up, resorting to mumbling his woes this time in order to save his breath. Person briefly stretched her legs and shook her arms to loosen up the cramping muscles, then resumed the uphill hike.

“Are you okay?” Connor asked, following behind her.

“Nest,” Wilson warned, side stepping the little muddy lump in the path.

Person stepped around it, and she heard Connor shuffle behind her to do the same.

“Fine,” she replied belatedly, grimacing at how not-fine her tone had sounded. She glanced back at him. “I need to…ask you something.”

Connor patiently looked up at her as they hiked. “All right.”

Person eyed him, then snorted and shook her head. “God, you could at least pretend to be getting tired after five trips up and down this damn hill.”

“This damn hill!” Wilson moaned ahead of them.

Connor deadpanned and glanced around, seemingly trying to find something to complain about. “Why?”

“It’s…a bonding thing,” Person remarked with a vague gesture. “Humans bond over complaining.”

“That sounds…unpleasant.”

“So complain about it,” she teased.

“Are we not…already friends?” he asked, sounding something close to downhearted.

Person smirked and looked back at him. Thankfully he didn’t look as pitiful as he’d sounded, but he still looked concerned.

“Yeah, of course we are. We’ve got a secret handshake and everything,” she assured with a wink.

“What?!” Wilson looked back at them. “You’ve got a secret handshake?! Show me.”

“What part of ‘secret’ do you not get? Mind your business.” Person retorted.

“The work conditions appear to be affecting both of your moods,” Connor observed. “Safe to say the longer we are out here, the grumpier you two are going to become?”

“Oh, I’ll show you grumpy!” Wilson snapped, then, more casually. “Another nest.”

They shuffled to sidestep around the lump in the path. They reached the steepest part of the hill, and both humans had to stop talking in order to save their breath and make the hike. Connor kept an unbroken stride at the rear of the three. Person finally spotted the telltale flicker of the police tape projection through the trees and breathed a sigh of relief.

Ben and Hank had oh so graciously set the next round of crates outside, giving the three faster access to them. Ben was chomping on a green sucker as he took notes, and it made his cheek stick out where the ball of hard candy was lodged in his mouth. Hank was standing nearby with his arms folded, and he snickered as he saw the trio approach.

“You look tired.”

“Bite me!” Wilson snapped, then immediately recoiled. “I’m so sorry, Lieutenant. The heat and the hill and the…bugs—“ He swatted at his neck. “—It’s just getting to me.”

Hank waved away the apology. “Don’t worry about it. Forensics is almost done with the tire marks around here. We should have access to bring the van up here soon…save you all a few trips maybe.” He glanced past Wilson to Person and Connor. “What about you two? Heat and hills and bugs getting to you too?”

Person just shrugged, but Connor tilted his head.

“I would say that I’m unaffected by all of those things, but…it’s been pointed out to me that complaining over mutual misery can be a catalyst for further camaraderie among coworkers…so…” Connor huffed. “We’re all hot and miserable, the wasps are everywhere, and it’s ridiculous that none of the cops from the 05 are assisting us with transporting evidence. The terrain of this walking path is absurd. It’s ruined my shoes, and the fact that none of us have sprained an ankle through all of these up and down treks is a wonder. Furthermore—“

“I think—“ Person patted his arm, “—they get it.”

“No.” Ben paused his note-taking, shifting his sucker from one cheek to the other. He gave Connor a teasing smirk. “Keep going.”

Connor paused, then opened his mouth, but Hank lifted a hand.

“Let’s just…get this over with so we can all pack up and go home, yeah?” Hank snorted and looked at Connor. “And taking that walking path was YOUR idea, remember?”

Connor pouted lightly. “That doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

Person cackled at that, stretching her legs again and gesturing toward the hill. “On that note.”

Wilson groaned dramatically before sending an apologetic look to Hank and Ben. Then he was taking up the next big crate of evidence and leading the way. Person grabbed one box, and Connor insufferably stacked two crates and picked them both up.

They had just begun their next descent, when Connor drew up beside Person, rather than walk behind her.

“You said there was something you needed to ask me?”

“Oh…uh, right…No, never mind.” She looked away, focusing on her foot placement.

Connor seemed to accept that for two full seconds before looking at her again.

God, those puppy dog eyes were going to be the death of her…

“My…mother…invited me to a…thing,” she conceded, having to fight to get each word out.

“A thing.”

“Well, she invited me to be…part of it…And it’s going to be this big…ridiculous…thing…and I don’t want to go, but there’s no…Anyway, I’m allowed a Plus One, and I wondered if…you…would be…that?”

Connor’s eyes shifted side to side as he sifted through her jumbled words.

“I’m…unclear as to what you’re asking.”

Person grimaced, closing her eyes briefly to force it out. Even with Connor, even now, she was not great at sharing things about herself.

“My mother is getting remarried, and I’m asking if you’d want to be my Plus One.”

“Oh…Oh?” His eyes widened. “The ‘thing’ is a wedding?”

“Yes,” she ground out, adjusting her grip on the crate in her arms. “It’s…it’s not for a while, so there’s no pressure…and she asked me to be her bridesmaid, and…and she’s my mother. What, am I supposed to say no to that? Anyway…forget I said anything…It’s stupid…”

“I’ve never attended a wedding before.” Connor’s eyes were distant as he pondered on it. “What’s the function of a Plus One?”

“Nest,” Wilson warned again.

Again, they all shifted their strides to avoid it.

Person swallowed. “A Plus One is just a guest, invited to come to an event by somebody who’s already going. People bring their spouses or whatever to weddings and parties and stuff. You aren’t required to do anything. You just…show up. In this case, you’d be somebody I could hang out with besides my mom’s friends, her fiance’s friends, and a whole bunch of extended family who know me much more than I know them.” She shuddered. “A Plus One used to be like a date—“

“What—“ Connor stumbled, startled.

Person started to glance sideways at him, but she was stopped by a singular, hair raising sound.

Crunch.

She and Connor both looked down as a swarm of wasps rushed up out of the ruined nest that Connor had just trodden on.

“Oh…SHIT!” Person bolted. “Wilson, move! Connor hit one!”

Wilson let out a yell and began to shimmy down the hill as quickly and as safely as he could manage. Person nearly tripped over him, both rushing to reach the bottom of the hill and escape the swarm. Jones jumped out of the van as he heard their frantic approach, and Wilson skidded to a stop at the base of the hill.

Person’s momentum kept her going, and she turned to check her hip against the side of the van, coming to a stop.

“Jesus,” Jones wheezed, hands on his hips. “The Hell are you two running from?”

They both pointed toward the woods, where Connor was picking his way down to reach them, as casually as ever and unbothered by the little flying demons.

Jones bunched his lips and looked from Connor, to Person and Wilson.

“The android? You…know he’s with you, right?”

“W-wasps,” Person panted, unceremoniously dropping the crate by the back tire of the van.

“What the crap, Connor?” Wilson said, setting his crate on top of Person’s.

“I’m sorry,” Connor apologized, carrying his box all the way to the van and offering it to Jones. “I became distracted and stepped on one of the nests.”

“Distracted by what? I didn’t see anything,” Wilson stated.

Jones awkwardly took the boxed evidence from and Connor and set it inside the open back of the van.

“Just—“ Connor lifted his shoulders, and Jones eyed him as he did so. Connor noticed him this time, and he faced the other cop fully. “Is something bothering you, Officer?”

Jones straightened up, looking a little embarrassed at being called out. “Sorry, just…never worked with an android like you before. You’re, uh, pretty different from other android cops I’ve seen…I don’t…mean to stare or make it weird…” He looked past Connor, to Person and Wilson watching him carefully. He shoved his hands in his front pockets. “Even the androids that came back to our station, after they deviated, they were still…not as…” He gestured vaguely to Connor.

“You’re making it weird,” Person murmured.

“I’m making it weird,” Jones confessed with an uneasy smile.

“Stop making it weird, man,” Wilson remarked. “Just shake his hand and move on.”

Jones snorted and looked back at Connor, who quirked an eyebrow as he followed through with Wilson’s prompt and held out a hand. Jones bobbed his head and took Connor’s hand, giving it a shake.

“Officer Carter Jones,” he introduced himself formally.

Connor smirked. “Connor.”

Person and Wilson exchanged looks, and Wilson spread his hands.

“And it’s still weird,” he admitted.

Person snickered into her fist as Connor and Jones parted.

Well, maybe there was some hope for the 05 boys…

The radio chirped in the van, and Jones gladly took the opportunity to grab it and escape the awkwardness. Wilson went with him, and Connor drew back over to Person.

“Odd,” Connor observed of Jones.

Person lifted her eyebrows and put her hands on her hips. “I’ve seen worse introductions.”

Connor pulled his eyes away from Jones and Wilson, looking to Person again. “You…suggested I be your date to your mother’s wedding.”

“No, see, now you’re the one making it weird.” Person raised a hand. “I invited you to be my Plus One. It’s not a date.”

The relief that washed over Connor’s face was so strong, she almost felt offended.

“What is that face?” She pointed.

“Sorry,” Connor said. “I’m just relieved that you weren’t asking me on a date.”

“Okay…ow.”

“I just mean…” He frowned. “I didn’t want to have to…what is it, ‘let you down gently’.”

“Oh ho ho,” Person tutted. “Don’t flatter yourself. If anybody would be letting anybody down gently, it’d be me. Besides, you’re not my type.”

Connor accepted that with a nod and then smiled. “In that case, I’d be honored to be your Plus One.”

“Really?” Person balked, genuinely surprised, then tried to casually downplay it. “Well, y’know, that’s…cool.”

Jones poked his head out around the side of the van, radio still in his hands. “Call just went out; they’ve released the scene for vehicles. Let’s take this thing up there and get the rest of the evidence.”

Wilson threw up his hands. “Finally!”

Person heaved a sigh, relieved on two levels, and held out a closed fist. “I’ll send you the details when we get back to the station, and…keep your mouth shut about it. I don’t like the whole damn bullpen knowing my business.”

Connor snorted and held out his fist, and they went simultaneously went through the motions of their unique handshake. “Got it.”

Up ahead, Wilson let out an angry noise and smacked at his shoulder.

“Seriously? NOW I get stung?!” he fumed and climbed up into the van. “I hate this damn hill. Let’s get out of here.”

Chapter Text

Watching Connor ‘take breaks’ had become a neverending well of entertainment for Tina. It was like he couldn’t figure out how to do it, and he always ended up looking some combination of irritated and perplexed about the whole thing. It made sense, in an unfortunate kind of way. Androids weren’t designed to need ‘downtime’ or breaks like humans did, so when presented with time specifically for them to NOT do tasks, they struggled.

If she thought about that for too long, she’d make herself sad, so Tina decided to instead focus on the awkward way that Connor was trying to emulate a ‘relaxed’ posture at one of the tables in the break room. There was absolutely nothing about the way he was sitting that fell under her definition of ‘comfortable,’ but it was comical, so she didn’t say anything.

Recent review of station policy had HR coming to the conclusion that mandatory break times extended to all android personnel on staff. Neither Polly nor Julia had put up any fight to that enforcement. Polly had decided to take full advantage of the couch in the locker room for a rest mode cycle every day during her scheduled time. Wilson had said something once about how she had taken some damage during the revolution that had left her with permanent problems with retaining power. So while the locker room couch was informally reserved for officers who needed to suffer alone or just find a few minutes of goddamn peace and quiet, nobody said anything for that half hour that she took up the whole thing.

Julia always left during her breaks. Tina wasn’t sure where she went, probably just for a walk or something. She always came back looking refreshed from just getting out of the building for a while, and Tina couldn’t fault her for that. Connor, though, he always stuck close to the bullpen, unless he joined Hank or Person on their breaks. Most of the time, he ended up just parking himself in the break room, and Tina just got to enjoy the show.

Currently, her favorite of his methods for coping with the enforced downtime was Imitation. If any humans were also using the break room while he was on break, he would subtly mimic their behavior, copying how they chose to spend their downtime. So far that had involved crossword puzzles, idly watching the news, reading an e-book, or fiddling on their phones. In lieu of a phone, he had just stared at a fixed point on the wall with his LED whirling yellow, and Tina could not describe how MUCH she wanted him to be watching youtube videos of cats.

Today, Ben had spent his break flipping through channels on the television, only lingering on a cooking channel and an episode of Jeopardy for any measurable length of time. After he had left, Connor had taken up the practice, sitting back on one of the chairs at a table, one ankle crossed over his knee and an arm draped over the back of the chair. He flipped through channels at a thousand miles an hour though, and the constant, cascading hiccups of sound were starting to give her a headache at her desk outside the break room.

Mercifully, he found something that caught his attention, and the noise on the television became more fluid, sounding like just one goddamn channel. Tina breathed a sigh of relief and rolled her neck, trying to find some motivation to finish the report she was working on. Still, it seemed that the harder she focused on her computer monitor, the more her own attention span fought her, drifting around the bullpen for other sources of entertainment.

Julia had set up an assembly line on the counter that ran down the middle of the bullpen, and it involved several steps that created a weird kind of melody as she moved through it that Tina’s brain latched on to.

Shuffle. Staple. Fold. Stuff in an envelope. Stack in a box.

Shuffle. Staple. Fold. Stuff in an envelope. Stack in a box.

Shuffle. Staple. Fold. Stuff in an envelope. Stack in a box.

“In the aaaaarms of the angel…Fly awaaaaay from here…” drifted out of the break room.

God, not that melodramatic song. The fuck was Connor watching in there?

“…For just one dollar a day, you can help rescue these poor, defenseless animals…”

Tina’s head snapped around so fast that her neck popped, and then she was scrambling out of her chair and bolting for the break room.

“Shut it off! Connor, look away! Fuckin—“ She crashed ribs-first into the edge of the table, grabbing up the remote and smashing the channel button.

Immediately, the image of a shivering, skinny dog in a cage was replaced with a movie scene in a church. It was low quality and grainy, giving away the age of the film, but it was clear enough to see the bald man seated in a pew behind another man in a beige coat, having what appeared to be a very tense conversation.

Exhaling in mild relief, Tina looked from the screen to Connor.

He slowly turned his head to look at Tina. His eyes were wide and wet, though no tears had actually broken free yet. Something about the way he’d locked his jaw suggested that he was desperately trying to keep them from breaking down his cheeks. It was such a frozen expression that Tina momentarily stalled, and then she lowered her shoulders.

“You, uh…you okay?”

He squinted a bit and faced forward.

“I’m…” he trailed off, his eyes shifting side to side in search of the right words. His shoulders slumped. “…Sad, I guess. For the…um…those dogs…”

“Yeeeah,” Tina drawled, sidling up against his side and looping an arm around his back. “That’s a pretty savage commercial. It just stabs you straight in the heart, and it knows it. It’s nefarious…” she chuckled a bit to try and lighten the mood.

She leaned forward slightly to force him to look at her.

“Hey,” she said, more softly.

Connor glanced at her, glanced away, and scrunched his nose up in an effort to break up the stiff expression on his face and curtail the impending waterworks. How the Hell an android actually cried, Tina really didn’t want to find out today.

“Sorry,” he grunted, his hands fidgeting in his lap and clearing his throat in a perfect mimicry of a human trying to pull himself together.

“Oh,” Tina moaned in resignation, using her arm around him to pull him toward her in a hug.

The angle was awkward since he was sitting at the table, but she managed to get his head on her shoulder. One of his arms was pinned between them, but his other hand came up and wrapped around her in reciprocation. She patted his back and tried not to smile at how precious this was.

Ben returned to the break room to refresh his coffee, paused midstep, and immediately changed trajectory toward them.

“Oh, are we hugging?”

“Sarah McLachlan commercial,” Tina said in answer.

Ben blanched and looked at the television, where the bald man…clad in black leather, denoting him as the villain, was monologuing to the attractive man…denoting him as the protagonist. Ben looked only momentarily confused, and then he was walking over to them. He set his empty mug on the table and swooped his arms around both Connor and Tina, effectively creating a Connor Sandwich.

“God, I hate that commercial,” Ben commiserated, giving them both a squeeze. “And it sneaks up on you before you can change the channel.”

Connor made a low noise, his cheek propped on Tina’s shoulder as he stared at the television. Ben broke away first, giving Connor a friendly pat on the back before taking up his empty mug and resuming his quest for a refill. Tina waited a beat longer before extricating herself also. Connor straightened up, looking slightly less heartbroken. Tina inwardly cheered herself and Ben for helping, but she stopped when she realized that it wasn’t the power of hugs that had helped Connor recover from that nefarious commercial…but the power of distraction.

“What is that?” he asked, pointing toward the television.

Tina glanced at the movie, noting that the protagonist was now standing over the leather clad villain. They looked to be moments away from throwing down in a church.

She squinted one eye. “Uh, some old movie…Highland…Hybrid…Hill…Highlander. Highlander!” She snapped her fingers. “About these immortal guys who…hunt each other through the centuries for…some kind of prize or something…I dunno, I’ve only ever seen bits and pieces. Oh, but hey, the good guy’s name is Connor, so that’s nifty.” She shrugged. “All I know is they got a Scottish guy to play a Spaniard who’s actually Egyptian, and they got a French guy to play a Scottish guy…and then I don’t know who the fuck they got to play that bad guy in the black leather. His voice sounds really familiar though…”

“No, not that…” Connor lowered his pointing finger to the text scrolling across the bottom of the screen. “That.”

The text was going almost too fast for Tina to read, and she used the remote to navigate to a news channel sharing the same information. It was a split screen between the anchors at the news station and a reporter on the sidewalk outside the Detroit city courthouse.

“—to choose surnames has been an option for deviant androids since the revolution,” the anchor at the news desk was saying. “But that has only been viewed as a modification of their registered names. It hasn’t meant anything, legally. I could go change my name from Bill to Michael or Dave or even Tiffany if I felt like it, and the same goes for these androids.”

The reporter outside the courthouse, a woman in a shockingly bright pink suit, nodded in exasperation. “The proposal being voted on today would certainly change that, and I don’t know if Detroit…or the world…is ready to face the ramifications that this decision will have.”

Tina frowned and read the headline below the talking figures.

Voting Today on Android Rights Law Regarding Familial Status.

“If passed, this latest law in a long line of laws regarding android rights would allow for humans to annex deviants into their families. They would be granted the same legal rights as blood relatives,” the street reporter was saying.

“And next week, they’ll let me add my Roomba as a dependent on my taxes!” another news anchor to the right of Bill the News Anchor heckled. “God, and what’s next after that? Are we going to let humans start marrying these things?” He cackled.

The woman on the other side of the screen shifted her grasp on her microphone. “It has been suggested that laws going forward should reflect—“

The louder anchor spoke over her. “It’s bad enough that we have to pay them now, but we’ve got Markus and his Jericho pals ranting daily about representation in Congress. They want to be in our government. They want to be in our families. Where do we draw the line, people?”

Bill chuckled nervously, glancing briefly at the camera. “Hey, let’s…focus on the matter at hand, John. Now, Kelly, this wouldn’t actually be like…adoption…like with human children, right? You used the term ‘annex’…”

Connor changed the channel, and Tina blinked at the splash of color as a cartoon blasted across the screen instead.

“Um…” Tina fumbled a bit. “Okay…That was a…wow, have I been living under a rock? When did this new law make it far enough to get voted on?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Connor replied flatly, clicking away from the cartoon and to another news station, reporting on another story. “It won’t pass.”

Tina rolled her tongue around in her mouth, since it had suddenly gone dry, and ventured to press on anyway, since he sounded so matter of fact about it.

“Why not?”

“Because the majority of people in Detroit are like John.” Connor gestured vaguely to the screen. “And Detroit is seen as the android capital of the country, if not the world. If this city is still so divided on how its populace views androids, then the vote will be too, and the new law will fail. So I’m not getting—“

“Your hopes up?” she finished for him.

The new channel was yammering about Sardonyx’s planned demolition of Cyberlife Tower later this month, and Connor clicked away from it again. A single note of that animal cruelty commercial song flitted out before he was smacking at the button again to change to another channel.

Tina barked out a laugh as a thought occurred to her, and Connor looked at her strangely.

“What?” he asked, slightly defensive.

Tina held up her thumb and index fingers on both hands, creating a rectangular frame with her fingers. She held it up and squinted an eye to center Connor in her makeshift television screen.

“Maybe they could create some kind of android version of that commercial. Lord knows you’ve got the puppy dog look down pat. I can see it now. ‘Adopt an android today,’ but instead of that emotional menace of a song, we put in something fun like…”

She bounced on her heel twice as she racked her brain, and then started singing lightly. “Rescue me…oh, take me in your arms. Rescue me! I want your tender charms, ‘cause I’m lonely,” she snapped her fingers, while Connor stared at her in disbelief, “and I’m blue…I need you…And your love too. Come on and rescue me!”

She continued to mumble through the lyrics, snapping her fingers and dancing side to side a bit.

“Unbelievable,” he muttered, clearly trying to look irritated. However, the upward quirk at the corner of his mouth betrayed him.

Tina wiggled over and bumped her hip against his as she finished dancing.

“Ha! That’s a smirk. I’m counting it as approval for my idea,” she pointed at his face.

Connor rolled his eyes and stopped flipping channels, leaving it on the same cartoon from earlier, just as a new episode was apparently starting.

“OOOOOH. Who lives in a pineapple under the sea?!”

“So.” She stomped right back into the troubled waters. “If you wanted to have a last name, what would it be? Human last names are so boring. You guys could make up your own…That’d be cool, actually.”

She looked at Connor hard in concentration, until he leaned away in slight alarm.

“Connor…Bonecrusher,” she suggested.

“Jesus Christ, Tina,” he snorted into a fist, looking away from her.

Bolstered by that, Tina nudged in closer.

“Or how about…Connor McAwesome? Connor…MacLeod? No, that…that was that Highlander guy…Connor…Thunderfalcon.”

“I don’t think so.” Connor tilted his head with a grin, eying his fidgeting fingers. “There’s actually…I mean, of course there’s nothing legally binding about it, but…Bonny’s father Oliver…he said I was an honorary Stevens not too long ago. It was more of a gesture and didn’t mean anything, but it felt…nice…to be considered…”

“Bubble Girl?” Tina clutched her chest. “Sweet Moses, thanks for the diabetes! Oh, OH! Connor Bubbles!”

“No.”

“Dude, you could literally have whatever last name you want, but…think carefully…because…THERE CAN ONLY BE ONE!” she boomed.

Connor stared at her like she had two heads, and she shrunk a bit, pointing at the television.

“It’s a…quote from the…nevermind.”

“Are you feeling now, Mr. Krabs?” spoke the cartoon on the television.

“Mother of God.” Captain Fowler stepped into the break room. “What the fuck is this?”

Tina pointed at Connor accusingly. Connor balked at her.

Fowler threw an arm out toward the television. “This is a police station, you dumbasses. We do not show…fucking…Spongebob Squarepants in my precinct! Get rid of that shit!”

Connor snatched up the remote and changed the channel back to a generic news station that was reporting on weather.

“Sorry, sir,” he said.

“We were just—“ Tina started to explain.

Fowler silenced them both with a raised hand. “I don’t care. Tina, get your ass back to work; you’re not on break. And Connor—“

If Connor wasn’t turning the puppy eyes on Fowler on purpose, then Tina was Beyonce.

Unfortunately, Fowler was immune.

“—you can stop pretending to enjoy your break. Get your plastic ass back to work too.”

“Yes, sir.” Connor was quick to stand up and walk with Tina out of the break room. “Thank you, sir.”

They walked past Gavin’s desk, where he was fiddling on his phone. He looked up when Tina sat back at her desk.

“Did I hear the Spongebob theme song?”

“Oh, no!” Hank challenged across the bullpen, pointing threateningly. “We are not doing this again—“

“Oh! Who lives in a pineapple—“ Tina and Gavin started together.

“I will beat you both to death with this stapler!” Hank barked.

“Hank!” Fowler barked. “You can’t threaten your fellow officers over a stupid show!”

Hank grumbled and sat back down. Connor looked perplexed as he sat at his own desk. Still working at the center counter, Julia glanced around in wide eyed alarm.

Fowler leaned out of the break room, locking eyes with both Tina and Gavin. “But if you utter one more syllable of that song, I WILL turn a blind eye, and you will be at Lieutenant Anderson’s mercy.”

Tina and Gavin both closed their mouths, though Gavin looked like he might take his chance.

As soon as Fowler had stomped back to his office, Tina grabbed up her phone and texted Connor, watching the android log back into his terminal to resume work.

“Name suggestion: Connor—“

Her phone tried to auto-complete her message for her and dropped “and Anderson” at the end, since apparently the last time she had texted about Connor, it had been about Connor and Anderson. Tina yanked her finger away from the phone. Yikes, yikes, yikes. Nope, nope, nope. She backspaced quickly. She was not about to touch that, especially after that weird little tiff that Connor and said Anderson had had after the speech update slip up a few weeks ago.

She tried again.

“Name suggestion: Connor Squarepants.”

There. Much safer. She hit Send.

Connor gave no outward reaction, but the text response was immediate on her phone.

“I hate you.”

She snickered and set her phone back down.

And so, the neverending well of entertainment continued to give and give.

Chapter Text

This was Wilson’s fault. That was what Ben was going to say when this went too far and Fowler started yelling at people. Okay, maybe Tina was the first offender here, but a little birdy had told him that Wilson had prompted her into doing it. That little birdy’s name was Hank, so Ben would bet money that that was what happened.

Something about Wilson wanting to stir something up to break through the gloom since the android familial status law had failed to pass last week. Something to make their android staff members feel better after a week of that heartbreak and frustration.

Because nothing said “we care about and respect you as co-workers” quite like a prank war.

It had all started when Tina tried to prove to Wilson that androids were magnetic. After a series of increasingly unsubtle attempts to stick a small heart shaped refrigerator magnet somewhere on Julia when she wasn’t paying attention, it was Polly who had uncovered the plot and called them out in front of the entire bullpen.

“Androids aren’t magnetic. What are you trying to do?” she’d asked loudly.

Julia had spun around to see Tina leaning over her desk, trying to delicately place the little heart on the back of her shoulder. Tina had just as unsubtly retracted her hand and slid back to her desk, making an innocent shrugging gesture and looking away.

“Why didn’t you just ask if we were magnetic?” Julia had asked, looking slightly paranoid as she inspected her clothes for other trickery.

Wilson snickered. “It was just funnier to try it this way. We didn’t mean anything by it; it’s just a prank.”

Which had prompted Connor, forever unable to leave things alone, to point out the facts. Androids had dozens of sensors all over their bodies, making them perpetually aware of every change around them. You couldn’t simply stick something on their person without them realizing it. You couldn’t trick them. You couldn’t prank them.

“So…you’re saying you can’t get got?” Tina raised her eyebrows high.

“I’m saying—“ Connor saw his error too late, the challenge was already unspoken in the air.

Then Polly spoke it.

“We are UN-GETTABLE!” she boasted, spreading her arms wide.

And then it was ON.

Any hope of being productive for the rest of the day went out the window as the human officers in the bullpen began trying to get the un-gettable androids. Ben had actually watched Wilson sit back in his seat, looking smug and very satisfied, as chaos began to reign over the precinct.

Hank tried to sneak a “free hugs” sticky note onto Connor’s back during a friendly shoulder slap. By the time he turned around, the sticky found had found its way onto Hank’s back instead, though Ben never saw Connor’s hands even move.

Person tried to scare Polly with a rubber spider by dropping it in her lap at the front desk. Polly had not even blinked, calmly explaining that androids could sense vital signs, immediately distinguishing it as a toy and not the real thing.

“Un-gettable!” she’d jeered, wigging her fingers in front of her face.

Gavin propped a cup of water on a partially open door to the file room and asked Julia to go get something for him. She came back with the cup and unceremoniously dumped it on his head. Polly had appeared out of nowhere, wiggling her fingers around Julia’s head.

“Un-gettable!”

Chris had stashed a whoopee cushion under the seat of Connor’s chair. Connor managed to not only find it, but sneak it under Fowler’s chair when the captain summoned him to his office to give him a new case file. The receptionists up front even reported hearing Fowler swearing when he sat down, and Chris had shrunk under his desk for an hour afterward. Polly had again appeared, striking a pose behind Connor in victory.

“Un-gettable!”

Connor had snorted and waved her off, too immersed in the new case to properly get into the spirit with the others.

Ben, for his part, had found android-safe flavoring powder to add to thirium. He’d dumped two servings of onion-flavoring into the bottle at the front of the row, then sat in wait until one of them went for it. His would-be victim had been Polly, who had simply opened the bottle, made full eye contact with him, and drank the entire bottle without a break or a blink.

By the time she finished, her eyes were streaming from the pungent taste, but she leaned in close to him and spread her hands out, unfazed.

“Un-gettable!”

Ben coughed at her breath and waved his hand at the air. “Jesus, I have regrets.”

She’d cackled, tossed the bottle into the recycling bin, and moonwalked out.

Julia was the first to get got.

Mid-afternoon rolled around, and Wilson’s brother Mike from the 04 precinct had swung by. Mike had stopped by Connor’s desk to talk to him, bundled in a jacket despite the fairly warm day outside. Ben could tell Connor was on high alert, eyes narrowed suspiciously at Mike in his jacket and Wilson, who had been developing a nervous fidget throughout the day.

Julia had been delivering the mail and was standing by Tina and Gavin’s desks, sorting through one stack of it, when Tina gasped and pointed behind her.

“CONNOR, PUT YOUR SHIRT BACK ON!”

When Ben said Julia’s head whipped around like an owl’s, trying to find the view, he wasn’t exaggerating. Except the view was just Connor sitting at his desk, fully dressed of course, staring at Tina like she’d lost her mind. Now, androids didn’t blush as far as Ben knew, but damn if Julia had been capable, she would have. Instead, her eyes got wide and she spun back around, glaring at Tina.

“Fucking Hell,” Gavin cackled, pointing at her. “That was full-on Exorcist shit, Jules.”

Julia reached out and smacked Tina on the head with her own mail. She repeated the smacking with Gavin for good measure. Tina laughed lightly and wiggled her fingers, mimicking Polly.

“Ya got got, girly!”

The sun was starting to stretch the shadows on the bullpen floor before they got Connor.

By then, weirdly, Wilson’s wife Dinah had also stopped by the station, with some cockamamie story about being in the area and just wanting to visit. Ben knew for a fact that she had her schedule down to the minute, so that woman wasn’t going to end up anywhere unplanned…and she was also wearing a conspicuous jacket…

After Chris failed to get Connor to open a can with a spring-loaded snake in it, and Person failed to get him to walk into a doorway covered in sticky plastic wrap, Ben had watched Fowler finally get fed up and stomp into his doorway.

“UN-GETTABLE—“ Polly was in mid-cheer over Hank’s latest attempt to trap her in a set of Chinese finger traps.

“Connor, have you had any progress with that case?” Fowler demanded.

Connor looked up in frustration. “I’m sorry, Captain. I’m…finding it hard to concentrate.”

Tina carried a stack of mail over to him that Julia had given to her by mistake…or the poor android had refused to go near Connor’s desk out of embarrassment at her earlier reaction.

“Well, find a way,” Fowler snapped. “Hank, I think you worked this case a while back when it was still cold. It’s getting hot again.”

Tina leaned over the desk, dropping the stack of mail.

Hank frowned and looked at Fowler. Something in his expression changed, and he pouted his lips innocently, turning back around to look at Connor.

“What’s the suspect’s name?”

Connor tugged the mugshot of the last known suspect out of the file. “I’ve got him right here.”

“Who are you looking at, Connor?” Fowler pressed harder.

Connor held up the picture. “I’m looking at Herb Rests.”

Tina, still half bent over, straightened up sharply, and across the bullpen, Person choked on her drink. Connor seemed to short-circuit as what he said registered in his own processors, and he held up his hands.

“N-no, Tina, I wasn’t—“

Tina cackled, giving a jiggle. “Ah, that’s okay, I’ve got nice breasts.”

“I WASN’T—“ Connor looked panicked.

Fowler pointed directly at Connor. “You got GOT, boy!”

Gavin screamed, nearly falling out of his chair. Tina howled with laughter, clapping her hands together. Chris sang a short bit of “Another One Bites the Dust,” while Wilson herded what looked like his own parents from the back entrance into the meeting room on the other side of the bullpen. Ben spotted them and leaned sideways to watch them.

What the Hell…?

And then there was one.

Polly was damn near intolerable by the end of the day, having avoided every trick and prank that the entire squad tried to spring on her.

Something was up. Ben had counted no fewer than seven of the Wilson clan sneaking into the station throughout the day. Wilson, Dinah, Mike, Wilson and Mike’s parents Rita and Otis, his cousin Marty, and his grandmother Eileen. All wearing jackets, but all wearing some kind of red shirt underneath, from what Ben could tell.

He couldn’t be the only one noticing, but none of the other cops were drawing attention to that. To that or the even weirder way that none of the Wilsons were interacting with Polly. She had lived with Wilson and Dinah for the past year and a half, went to family dinners and everything with them. She called Rita “Ma” at least once that Ben knew of, and she had a secret handshake with Mike.

Whatever prank Wilson was planning to pull on her, it was gonna be good, and Ben for one wasn’t going to miss it.

Apparently, neither was anyone else as, when the shift ended, nobody made any kind of rush for the door to go home. They had all picked up on the signs too and had all nonverbally agreed to not draw attention to it. Only Connor looked a little weirded out, and Ben had seen Hank whisper something to him, after which Connor had looked less weirded out and more just flat out confused.

Fowler had called Polly into his office, and that was all the coordinated distraction that was needed, before a flood of Wilsons appeared in the bullpen. The jackets came off as they posted up in formation outside the captain’s office, and Ben inched over to where Hank, Connor, and Chris were loitering by Person’s desk for the show. From there, he could see that all of the red shirts were baseball-style t-shirts, with “WILSON” printed across the back and the picture of a cartoon squirrel holding a taco on the front…Some kind of inside joke, he guessed.

Dinah was standing at the back of the group, a plain brown wrapped shoebox held behind her back. Her petite stature was well hidden behind Mike, Marty, and Otis. Rita was hiding behind Otis also, and she kept sniffling.

Fowler had turned his walls opaque to hide them from Polly’s view as they assembled, and one loud cough from Wilson seemed to be the cue. Fowler deactivated the feature, letting his walls turn to clear glass again. On the other side, Polly was sitting in the chair across from his desk, turning in bewilderment to face the bullpen.

Her eyes widened at the flock of red shirted Wilsons, who all just waved innocently at her. The wide eyed confusion on her face was hilarious, and Ben bit his lips against a grin. She slowly stood up, glancing at Fowler, who gestured for her to go. She opened the door and stepped out.

“What is this…What are you all doing here?” she asked quietly.

Mike pointed both index fingers at her. “Gotcha!”

Connor slowly leaned toward Ben and whispered, “I don’t understand.”

Ben could only shrug, because he had no idea either.

Polly grinned uneasily. “This…isn’t even a prank. You all are just here…like the weirdest flash mob ever.” She narrowed her eyes with playful suspicion. “Why?”

Dinah wiggled through the taller family members, producing the box in front of her. “Because you got GOT, Sis!”

“Whaaaat?” Polly stretched the one word question, slowly taking the box.

“Open it. Op-en-It. Op-en-It,” the herd of Wilsons began to chant.

“Okay, okay, I’m opening it!” Polly giggled, tearing away the paper and opening up the box.

Marty began to hum the sound of the Jeopardy music. Wilson nudged him to stop.

Ben and the others leaned a little closer in curiosity as Polly opened the box and pulled out a wad of red fabric. She seemed to recognize it and snorted, taking it in both hands and shaking it open.

“A matching shirt. Thanks,” she said sarcastically. “It’s not like I—“

She held the shirt up and then she froze so absolutely that Ben involuntarily looked at her LED to be sure she hadn’t shut down. No, the LED was still lit and cycling a manic yellow as she stared at the back of the red shirt. Wilson knelt down, picking up the box that she’d dropped and tugging out a slip of paper that she hadn’t seen at the bottom of it.

“W-Wait—“ Polly stammered, lowering the shirt and looking wildly at Dinah, then to Wilson. “Y-You—r-really?”

“This,” Dinah took the paper from her visibly-choked up husband, “is an android name modification form,” she explained for everyone within earshot…so the whole bullpen at this point.

Mike spoke up, “After that law didn’t make it through…we all got to thinking…Eventually a law like it WILL pass, and you and your people will be able to be officially, legally, and unequivocally part of a family.”

“And,” Wilson finally got a hold of himself enough to speak, “when that time comes, and hopefully it comes soon, we’d…I mean, if you…we’d be—“

Dinah took over, “We’re yours if you want us, baby girl.”

Polly dropped one side of the shirt in her hands, covering her mouth as tears swam across her eyes. The shirt swung a bit, and Ben was able to read WILSON printed across the back of it.

Well, hot damn.

He swallowed hard against a lump that had shot up into his throat, and beside him, Chris sniffed. Behind him, Person gave him a playful nudge on the arm, but when she snickered, the sound was wet. Tina and Gavin were still at their desks, both very quiet, though Tina had both hands clamped over her mouth. Her eyes were wide and shiny.

Stunned, Polly trembled once and then nodded her head. “Y-yes.” She nodded more vigorously, pinching her eyes closed, clearly overwhelmed. “I-I want…Yes.”

Dinah hurried to her, wrapping her arms around her in a side hug. She kissed the android’s cheek and pulled her close, speaking softly to her. Wilson swooped in on her other side, creating a sandwich with Polly in the middle.

That was all it took, and the rest of the Wilson herd rushed in as well, huddling around the trio and piling on in a massive group hug. Standing behind them in the doorway to his office, Fowler clapped once, then twice. The rest of the bullpen jumped in and began to applaud as well.

There were a few flashes, and Ben turned to see Julia and a few patrol androids armed with cameras, recording the event with pictures and video. Julia was openly crying, and as Ben turned, he spotted Connor, dry eyed but clearly emotional as well. He was standing a bit back behind Hank now, slightly apart from the group.

While all the attention was focused on the newest Honorary Wilson, Ben slipped back a few steps and drew himself up beside Connor.

“All right?” he prompted quietly.

Connor blinked a few times and carefully turned to look at Ben. “Uncertain. I’m experiencing…” he tilted his head, “…several emotions that I don’t understand.”

Ben chuckled, wiping the side of his thumb under his own eyes to clear away some gathering moisture. “Pretty sure you’re the only dry eye in the house right now.”

“Gavin isn’t crying.”

“Gavin is a goblin,” Ben chimed playfully.

Connor snorted, shook his head, and squinted slightly at the Wilson Group Hug. “She isn’t really a Wilson. That document only changes her registered name. It’s not…official.”

“That’s not the point,” Ben explained gently. “It’s a gesture. She’s a Wilson in every sense but the law. Laws, paperwork, legal status: it’s just one piece of it. They love her; she loves them. That’s all it takes to make them family. They just have to wait for the laws to catch up.” He smiled, dropping a hand lightly against the back of Connor’s neck and giving him a squeeze. “The name change is a step in that direction.”

“So why is everyone crying?”

“Because humans are emotional messes…It looks like androids are too,” Ben chuckled. “We cry at funerals, weddings...Sometimes we cry just because people around us are crying...Anything can set us off: operas, sunsets…dog commercials.”

Connor looked at him flatly, and Ben just smiled more widely, giving his neck a gentle shake.

“I cried once at an infomercial about a vacuum cleaner…Granted, it was three am and I was drunk, but…” Ben trailed off. “Nevermind. My point is…don’t get caught up in semantics. They certainly aren’t.”

He and Connor both looked ahead again. Polly had recovered herself somewhat, and the group hug had loosened enough for them all to breathe again. She was poring over the text on the form, a trembling hand still over her mouth. Wilson had taken the red shirt for her and draped it over her shoulder so she wouldn’t lose it. He and Dinah stayed glued to her side as she processed.

“In that case…” Connor murmured softly, “…it’s a…beautiful gesture…”

Hank broke away from their viewing group, slipping over toward Fowler, who bent over from his position higher on the steps to talk to him. Connor wrapped his arms around himself, like he was trying to lock down something in his chest, and Ben let his arm linger over the kid’s shoulder. He caught Person’s eye briefly, and that was all it took for Person to pop out of her seat and suction herself to Connor’s other side. She looped her arm around the narrow of his back, as nonchalantly as though she were handing him a case file.

Connor swallowed impulsively and glanced at them both without moving his head at all.

“I’m fine.”

“We know,” Ben said easily.

“You’re stupid,” Person mumbled affectionately.

Connor snorted and cracked a hard fought smile, his eyes gone wet now. “Thanks.”

Behind them, Tina aggressively grabbed up a box of tissues, pulled out a wad of it, and mopped at her face. She loudly blew her nose into them, sounding like a foghorn.

“Jesus,” Gavin cringed, leaning away from her.

And if he snatched up one or two tissues from the box for himself, then Ben just pretended not to notice this time.

Chapter Text

Connor had never been to a party before, so he had nothing to compare the Halloween party at the Wilsons’ home to, but this seemed like…a lot.

He was not familiar with half the faces that he encountered when he first entered the large home, and those that he did recognize were decked out in masks, paint, makeup, wigs, hats, and all manner of other costume accessories that very abruptly and violently drew attention to how underdressed he was. Wilson had informed him that costumes were optional, but that many people did tend to get into the spirit of the holiday. He had aimed for a less-is-more approach, merely ‘borrowing’ one of Hank’s more colorful shirts and altering his hair color and length to mimic his friend’s style. He had attempted to also alter his appearance to include the facial hair, but it had annoyed him too much and he had promptly reversed it.

Hank had nearly laughed him out of the house, in actual tears and clutching his sides as Connor revealed his costume. That reaction made all of the effort worth it, even if Hank himself had not come to the party. Neither had Person, but he knew that Tina, Ben, and Julia at least were going to be at the Wilsons’ party, so finding them immediately became priority one.

“DuuuUUUuuude!” came Tina’s drawn out drawl.

From a crowd including Superman, a ballerina, a vampire, and what could only be described as a sexy fire hydrant, came Tina. Considering the visual assault of sequins, feathers, and reflective fabric everywhere else in the living room, her outfit was fairly understated as well. He felt a modicum of relief as she bounced over, holding a beer in one hand and a glowing red lightsaber in the other.

“Oh my god, you look fantastic,” she smiled wide, clearly already tipsy.

“Thank you, I—“ Connor stepped forward to avoid a pair of salt and pepper shakers moving behind him. “You look…wrong.”

It slipped out, but Tina just cackled, striking a pose. She was wearing plain black pants and a blue science officer’s uniform from Star Trek. She had put on pointed Vulcan ears and was wearing a black bowl cut wig. She was…Spock with a lightsaber.

“You realize those are two completely different series?” he stated gently. “And there is a history of fans of those franchises becoming…irate at others mixing them up?”

“I know!” Tina beamed. “I’m just trying to piss off as many nerds as possible. Where’s Ben?”

“I don’t know. I just walked in,” Connor said, looking around the living room at the rest of the crowd.

He didn’t see Ben, but he did spot Julia over by the kitchen speaking with Dinah. Dinah was in a detailed Batman costume. Julia appeared to be in normal clothes, helping her run the party. Julia happened to glance over and make eye contact. She smiled and pointed at his costume, then gave him a thumb up gesture and mouthed ‘awesome!’ He smiled and waved back, though he faltered when he noted a dark blue blotch across the left side of her face.

“This house is huge,” Tina pointed out the obvious. “I’mmunna go find ‘im.” She hefted up her lightsaber. “Part the waters, people!”

Marilyn Monroe and Spiderman immediately stepped out of her way, and she sauntered away in search of Ben. Connor stood alone for an awkward moment, eventually letting the ebb of the bodies in the living room steer him toward the hall to the back yard. There were even more people out there, but while he had spotted some children in the house, the back yard was clearly where mostly adults were congregating.

Tina was right; the Wilsons’ house was quite large. Dinah’s career as a lawyer had been lucrative apparently; although Connor knew that a majority of her work recently had been aiding the pro-android movement, working closely with Jericho at what had to be a severely discounted rate. Connor briefly scanned the house and found it to have five bedrooms, one of which functioned as a home office, four bathrooms, a front living room, a back den room, and a gaming room. The second floor of the home had been roped off from partygoers, and there was also a full basement under the house.

Somehow, despite its size, the first floor of the house appeared to be at capacity, and all of the visual and audio stimuli from all of the bodies and music quickly began to overwhelm his sensors.  The number of people inside the house was surely beyond the advisable fire safety capacity, but he was the only one who seemed at all concerned about that.

Somehow half of the entire crowd was having completely separate conversations with the listening half, all at varying volumes. Connor was unsure how to integrate into this social setting. He had subroutines to fall back on for blending in with groups of people, but although he felt no ill will from anyone there, he still felt…outside of things.

He believed he was experiencing…social anxiety.

It was unpleasant.

As soon as the mood had a name, it became stronger, and Connor found himself quickly scanning the large living room for an exit. With Tina gone and no one else around that he wanted to approach socially, he again let the natural jostle of the crowd carry him over to the kitchen. Seeking out just a moment of peace, he slipped through the door and into the other room.

The relative silence and stillness of the kitchen sent a rush of relief across his processors, and he immediately relaxed, leaning against the wall beside the door.

“First party?”

He startled, snapping his eyes over to Dinah behind the kitchen island counter. She had just set a baking tray of fresh rice krispie treats on the counter, and she was preparing to cut it into squares. The treats looked odd, however, in that they were bright blue.

“Yes,” he confessed. “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to intrude. It was getting…loud.”

“Why do you think I’m in here?” Dinah chuckled, starting to cut the treat into bite sizes. “Hide out as long as you like. Uh…Polly is helping me with these cookies. It’s my first time trying to make thirium-based goodies.”

“I didn’t see Polly,” Connor stated, stepping closer to look at the treats. “I did see Julia though, and she had what looked to be a very serious bruise on her face. What happened?”

Dinah paused, snorted, and shook her head. “Oh, well Polly is Julia—I mean, Julia is dressed up like Polly tonight. She came to the party in a pretty, uh, intense costume. Some kind of android zombie…I guess she didn’t realize there were going to be children here. There were some screams and tears.” She laughed and adjusted her Batman mask. “So since Polly is out trick-or-treating with my niece, and they’re the same model, Julia just took some of her clothes and is pretending to be her…with wildly unsuccessful results. It’s kind of hilarious. Anyway, that’s what that blue mark is. It’s just make up that she didn’t get off all the way. She’s not hurt.”

“Oh, good,” Connor nodded with relief, then peered curiously at the numerous other trays of blue-tinted cookies, muffins, and candy littering the counter. “You’ve been busy.”

“Yeah.” Dinah rubbed the back of her head. “Polly has been my guinea pig all week on these. I found these recipes off that youtube cooking channel, Prim Jaeger. That lady looked like she had no idea what she was doing, but I don’t either…and they ended up looking good at least! Hey, you want to try some?”

He hesitated, but he was already defying his social programming by avoiding people in this kitchen. The least he could do was politely indulge in the food being offered to him.

“What…are they?” he asked, folding his hands behind his back and leaning over to inspect the various plates.

Dinah’s eyes lit up. “Okay, let me give you the tour. I don’t know how familiar you are with eating and chewing and everything, but I’ve got different flavors and textures. So, down here are some standard blueberry flavored mini muffins, soft, a little chewy. I’ve got some chocolate flavored cookies, thin, crunchy. Some assorted hard candies that taste like sour apple, raspberry, and orange. Then I got ambitious and tried to make a thirium-based pumpkin pie. I went a little overboard with the pumpkin spice, so it has a little kick to it, as Polly said when she taste tested it. And, of course, these rice krispies. Try whatever you want. You won’t hurt my feelings if you don’t like any of it.”

Connor scrutinized the bowl of hard candies before leaning toward the muffins. He was still trying to figure out what kind of ingestible thirium-based food that he preferred, so the curious part of him was tempted to try every one of them. It certainly sounded more appealing than venturing back out into the crowded living room. He carefully selected one of the mini muffins. He gave it a gentle squish between his thumb and index finger, feeling how fluffy the material was. He took a slow bite out of half of it, chewing thoughtfully.

The kitchen door swung open and Julia backed into the room holding three empty beer bottles in one hand and a bag of chips in the other.

“Batman. Lieutenant Anderson,” she nodded to each of them in turn, taking the bottles to the trash.

“Oh, you don’t need to be doing that,” Dinah chided lightly. “Enjoy the party. Clean up is for tomorrow.”

“I don’t mind. It gives me something to do,” Julia remarked.

Connor quickly chewed the rest of the muffin and swallowed, coughing slightly when it didn’t go down all the way. “Hi Julia.”

The other android paused, narrowing her eyes. “You’re mistaken. I’m Polly.”

Connor cleared his throat of the remaining muffin and squinted at her. “Right…sorry.”

She smirked and winked, heading back out toward the living room. The door had scarcely opened before Tina came barreling into the kitchen past her.

“Oh, sorry, Jules,” she apologized.

“Polly,” Julia corrected.

Tina paused, looking her up and down. “No.”

Julia groaned dramatically and headed back into the living room.

“Oh no.” Dinah pointed at Tina’s outfit. “If you’re looking for Ben, then you take that scene outside my kitchen. I won’t be responsible for that mess.”

“So he IS here?” Tina said, her grin turning sly. “Thanks, Batman.”

Dinah smirked and then forced her voice down, low and gravelly. “Live long and prosper, and may the Force be with you.”

Tina saluted and then bounced back through the door to the party.

“What’s the verdict?” Dinah asked, gesturing to the muffins.

Connor blinked, having completely lost his train of thought. “Hm? Oh, they, uh, they’re good.”

She tutted and offered him a blue krispie treat, and he took it, noting the crunchy, rough feeling of it in his fingers. He took a bite, but his face promptly crinkled at the overabundance of crunch in the bite.

“And he’s not a fan of that one,” Dinah narrated, offering to take the rest of the treat back.

He helplessly gave it to her, laboriously chewing around the one and only bite that he had in his mouth. The taste was a sugary, marshmallow flavor, but the coarse, crunchy texture sent messages of dislike across the sensors in his mouth. He inwardly decided to stick to chewy muffins and softer cookies. The treat felt like it was drying out his mouth, and it was a task forcing himself to swallow it.

He coughed a few times to clear his airway, and Dinah produced a small bottle of thirium. He took it with a grateful look, downing the drink in three long pulls.

“Definitely not a fan,” Dinah repeated. “Y’know, I have wondered if your model has a sharper sense of taste than other androids. Polly says everything mostly tastes the same to her, though stronger flavors do register for her.”

“I have sampled some thirium-based edibles from a business near the station, and I have consumed a small portion of human food once just to try it,” he confessed. “I found that—“

From the living room, abruptly, came a roar from Wilson. “Oh. My. GODDD! Connor! Where’s Connor?! Get him in here!”

Connor’s systems went on high alert, but Wilson’s tone did not sound panicked or angry, just loud. Connor exchanged a look with Dinah, who raised her eyebrows under the mask and gestured toward the door.

“You’re being summoned, kiddo.”

Connor sighed, took a step toward the door, paused, and then reached back, taking another muffin. He took a further step, hesitated again, and took two more muffins in his hands. Dinah laughed and clapped her hands together once. Then he was shuffling back through the door into the living room.

Wilson was easy to spot in his bright Robin the Boy Wonder costume, standing by the door with a large bowl of candy, greeting trick-or-treaters who’d come to the front door. He spotted Connor just as easily, exuberantly waving a hand to call him over. Past the sea of heads, Connor could only make out two adults standing by the door, dressed in classic criminal costumes made of black and white striped clothes. He frowned and picked his way over, getting a passing glimpse of Ben in the crowd, dressed as Captain America, complete with a full scale shield. He appeared to be deep in conversation with a T-Rex and a banana.

Connor reached the door and looked to Wilson. “Yes?”

Before Wilson could respond past a wide smile, the door nudged open farther, and a smaller form was demanding his attention.

“Connor!” Bonny Stevens cheered, holding an orange Jack-o-Lantern bucket half full of assorted candy.

Her parents Oliver and Janet stood behind her in their criminal outfits. Connor double took, and his jaw might have dropped as he took in the sight of the little girl in her costume. Her outfit comprised of simple dark jeans and a grey jacket with a white shirt and black tie underneath. The grey jacket had a bright blue band wrapped around the bicep of one sleeve, and it glowed the same blue as the wireless blue ring light taped to her temple and the blue triangle on one side of the jacket’s chest. The other side had simple white iron-on letters and numbers forming: RK800.

Janet quickly snapped a picture of his reaction on her phone, and Bonny struck a pose.

“Whadaya think?!” she boomed, spreading her hands wide. “I’m you!”

“I…can see that,” Connor stammered, taken wholly off guard. “Where did you—How did you—“

“We made it,” Oliver explained with a grin. “It’s not exactly something stores keep in stock. So it’s a custom piece.” He gestured gallantly toward his daughter.

“And we,” Janet explained, “are the baddies that she has taken into custody.”

“This is the cutest thing I’ve ever seen,” Wilson breathed as though he was in pain.

“And hey, you’re Hank!” Oliver pointed at Connor. “Oh my lord, this is perfect. We gotta get a picture of you two together, if that’s okay?”

Connor was still stunned, the earlier social anxiety being completely smothered by a ball of warm feelings as he looked at his little doppelganger. He blinked, coming out of it, and looked to Oliver and Janet.

“Yes, of course that’s okay. Bonny, you look great,” he said with a smile, kneeling down to pose with her while Janet opened her phone again.

Bonny couldn’t have smiled any wider, though her eyes moved from his face to his hair. “Is that a wig or your real hair?”

“Technically I don’t have real hair. It’s an extension of my synthetic skin projection designed to approximate the look and texture of—“

He was cut off as Bonny reached out and ruffled both hands through the grey hair on the top of his head.

“Feels like hair,” she concluded.

“Okay, you two,” Janet said, standing in front of them and holding up the phone. “Say cheese!”

Bonny hooked her arm around Connor’s neck, her other hand planting on her hip as she struck a pose beside him.

“Cheese!” she roared, flashing a toothy smile.

Connor didn’t say cheese, but he smiled in time with her as Janet took the picture. Behind her, Wilson was snapping a picture as well, and somehow Julia materialized, blinking in a sequence that Connor recognized as an android taking a picture too.

“Got it,” Janet said, turning the screen to show her two subjects. “Acceptable?”

Bonny looked at the picture and cackled, removing her arm from him, and Connor observed the image as well. Oliver leaned over and checked out the picture.

“A dynamic duo,” he concluded.

Wilson huffed and gestured to his Robin costume. “I’m right here, dude.”

“Yeah, but where’s Batman?”

“Making cookies.”

“Ah.”

Connor stood back up, still trying to compartmentalize the ball of warm affection threatening to overload his processors at the idea of Bonny choosing to be HIM for Halloween, when she had her pick to be literally anything else. He looked gratefully to Janet.

“Could you…send me a copy of that picture?”

Janet smiled. “You betcha.”

Ben suddenly skittered into view, face red and eyes wild. “WHERE IS TINA? I SAW THAT LITTLE GOBLIN SNEAK THIS WAY.”

“Darth Spock?” Wison guessed, pointing out the front door. “That way.”

“Thanks, excuse me.” Ben made to wiggle past, though he paused and held up both hands, framing Connor and Bonny in his sights. “This is perfection by the way. Watch out, Jules,” he stepped past her.

“Polly!” she corrected.

Ben glanced back, stared, and then shook his head. “Nope.” Then he turned back. “CHENNNN!”

Julia threw her hands up. “Unbelievable.”

She stomped off, and Wilson shook his head after her. Connor looked from Bonny to her parents.

“Have you hit many houses?”

“A few,” Oliver said. “It’s kinda spread out this year…lots of walking.”

“Androids don’t get tired as easily as humans!” Bonny boasted, puffing out her chest.

“Yeah, I’ll remind you of that in a few hours, BJ,” Janet snorted. “You ready to go?”

“Yep!” Bonny chirped, jumping to hug Connor before they left.

Connor had been ready for her and caught her in his arms, giving her a squeeze and taking her off her feet briefly. She giggled and bounced back on her toes. She snapped into a salute.

“Lieutenant.”

He saluted back to her. “Detective.” He looked to Oliver and Janet. “Have a good night and…thank you for this.”

“No problemo,” Oliver said, nodding to Wilson. “Sir.”

With a grin, Wilson pointed at him, speaking to Bonny. “Keep an eye on those two, RK800.”

Bonny nodded seriously. “Don’t worry. It’s the Big House for these two baddies!”

Connor clamped a hand across his mouth to force back the laugh that tried to bark out of him at that; Wilson did not. The Stevens turned and side stepped off the porch, giving room to the other group of costumed children and chaperones coming up to trick-or-treat at Wilson’s house. Connor watched them go with a warm smile. If everything else about this party caused him stress, then that had just made up for all of it.

Well, that and the image on the front lawn of Spock swinging a lightsaber at Captain America, who blocked with his shield and promptly chased his opponent across the yard.

Rather than rejoin the party, Connor decided to idle on the porch, munching on the thirium muffins as he watched the battle rage in the yard. Eventually he was joined by Julia, who looked frustrated. Connor wordlessly offered her a muffin, and she snorted and took it, watching the duel continue.

“It’s, uh, too bad Julia couldn’t make it out tonight,” he said quietly, watching Spock dodge a flying shield before swinging the lightsaber around to smack Cap in the backside. “This is a great party…Polly.”

Julia scoffed, gave him a side eye, and then smirked, nibbling on the muffin. “Thanks…Hank.”

Somehow Spock got both the shield and the lightsaber, screamed like a maniac, and turned the tables, chasing Captain America into the driveway, much to the horror of a passing ten year old Ironman and his Captain Marvel and Hulk parents.

Chapter Text

Human access to within the walls of Jericho’s new compound was by invitation only, and even then, it was not a common occurrence. The expansive series of connected buildings that made up the property was meant to be a sanctuary for androids, a shelter and a safe place to heal and live away from contact with humans who had done them so much harm. Hank did not take Markus’s permission for him to be here lightly, and he had made sure before coming here that Captain Fowler and Officer Person didn’t either.

After the revolution, this collection of abandoned structures had been donated by the city to Jericho. In the old industrial section of town, the derelict warehouses and factories had been renovated almost beyond recognition. Hank and the other two hadn’t exactly been given a tour, but Markus had pointed out a few things as he’d walked with them to the center of the property.

The compound had been designed to be entirely self sufficient. There were apartments, a fully functioning repair facility, and technology centers to name a few. It was an impressive accomplishment for just two years, and Hank would have told Markus that if they hadn’t reached their destination by then.

The mausoleum was expressly forbidden for humans to enter. It was one of the absolute rules of Jericho. Hank had come to Jericho with Connor for this particular errand before, and each time, he had given the tall, cylindrical glass building a wide berth. The angled, tinted blue glass that made up the exterior of the building made the entire shape shimmer when the sunlight hit it. It was clearly placed in the center of the compound, a memorial to the androids that they had lost before, during, and after their liberation.

So, on this overcast afternoon, the three humans stood outside of the building at a respectful distance, waiting with Markus while Connor tended to his business inside. They had come here today to deliver the remains of RK800-39 and put him to rest among his brothers that Connor had already brought here, after excavating them from the Breathing Graveyard. This one Connor had named Colton. He had been the second most intact RK800 that they had ever found…still activated up until a few moments before Connor and Hank had arrived on the crime scene.

Hank looked away from the building to Officer Person. She was not engaging in their current conversation, instead standing a few paces away, arms wrapped tightly around herself and staring at the bubbling water of the fountain outside the mausoleum. She and Chris Miller had been the only ones who had spoken to Colton before he shut down, and Person was still visibly shaken by it. From what Chris had told Hank, she had stayed with Colton during his final moments and refused to leave his side afterward, holding him in her arms until the coroner arrived to take the body from the scene.

Hank wasn’t sure how much of that had been explained to Markus, but the leader of Jericho only gave the woman a sympathetic smile and her silently requested distance, instead turning his attention to Hank and Fowler.

“It means a lot that you’re here,” Markus was saying seriously. “Not just to support Connor, but for the other androids here to see you doing so. It can be difficult for others to understand how humans and androids can have positive relationships. Many of them have only known pain and abuse.”

This was Jeffrey’s first time visiting Jericho, but he was seasoned and he covered his unease with that same professional calm that had earned him his captain’s title.

“Yeah. It’s unfortunate that Connor has had to do this so many times….Fifteen?” he asked, looking to Hank for confirmation.

Hank sighed. “Colton makes it seventeen.”

“Jesus,” Jeffrey murmured, hands on his hips and his eyes on the mausoleum. “I can’t imagine burying seventeen brothers.”

Markus looked at the building as well before back to the two officers. “We don’t bury our dead, Captain. When an android is permanently shutdown, the only part of them that we preserve is their microprocessor. It is a disc about the size of a one dollar coin, and it encapsulates the entirety of what that android was when they were alive. Arms, legs, eyes: these all simply become plastic and metal when we cease to be, but that disc…it’s the closest comparison we have to a human brain. Or a tangible soul. The sum of our unique experiences and personality, what makes us each individuals.”

Jeffrey looked slightly unsettled at that, though he quickly covered it up. “So you recycle the remains but keep the, uh, the important part? Sorry if that sounds crass—“

“No, that’s accurate,” Markus nodded. “After Cyberlife’s closure, we were forced to salvage working parts from shutdown androids to repair ourselves, but now that we have our own production facilities here, we no longer have to do that. We’re no longer…”

“Vultures,” Hank murmured unconsciously, then immediately raised his hands. “I’m so sorry. That wasn’t what I—Caleb…the first RK800 that Connor encountered, he referred to himself that way for having to scavenge parts from the RK800 bodies around him in the scrapyard. It’s…a term that Connor used afterward for why he refused to take replacement parts from the other RK800s. I mean no offense.”

“And I don’t take any,” Markus said gently. “Thankfully, none of us have to be…vultures…any longer, since we can build our own parts now.”

Jeffrey frowned. “Connor was a specialized model though. He’s already had a few problems not being able to get replacement parts when he was damaged. They never did find his original blueprints after Cyberlife went under. Guess they took that knowledge with them.”

“Not necessarily,” Markus pointed out. “There is a new company that is trying to fill Cyberlife’s shoes called Sardonyx. I’ve met with their board of directors a few times now, and they employ many former Cyberlife technicians. A few of them had even worked on specialized models like Connor’s and my own. They are confident that they should be able to reverse engineer the more customized parts that we don’t have the designs for.”

“And you trust them?” Hank asked. “I’d imagine anybody with Cyberlife on their resume should be worthy of immediate suspicion.”

Markus tilted his head thoughtfully. “We are taking precautions, but I’m hopeful that this will be a beneficial relationship between our species. We have made so much progress already, and I choose to have faith that Sardonyx wants to maintain that progress.”

Hank pursed his lips at that, eying the mausoleum again. “I wish I had your optimism sometimes.”

Markus chuckled and glanced around the courtyard where they stood between the buildings. “Colton is going to be the first RK800 that Connor has permitted Sardonyx to analyze for possible reverse engineering.”

Jeffrey balked in surprise, but Hank just remained quiet. It wasn’t a decision that Connor had made lightly, and he’d talked himself in circles about it for nearly four hours the night of Colton’s shutdown. Hank had lent him an ear to rant at, but he hadn’t been able to think of much advice to give. Ultimately, it was Connor’s decision for what to do with Colton’s remains. In the end, if there was a possibility that this other company could figure out how to build replacement parts for Connor based off an autopsy of Colton’s biocomponents…then Connor had concluded that it was a worthy endeavor.

Still, Hank knew the kid hadn’t had much sleep since making that decision, and he hated that Connor had gone in there alone to commit Colton’s microprocessor to Jericho’s mausoleum. Hank had stood out here and waited for him sixteen times already. This one felt different.

Hank attributed that to Colton’s microprocessor being intact enough for Connor to interface with post mortem. The others had sustained heavy damage, and Connor had only garnered scraps and bits and pieces from their corrupted memory files. Colton’s, he’d explained, had been remarkably intact and…detailed. He hadn’t elaborated, and Hank hadn’t asked him to. Among Colton’s memories had been the hours, minutes, seconds leading up to his death, and by interfacing, Connor had relived it for him. It wasn’t something Hank imagined he wanted to talk about with a human.

Several steps away, Person was pacing in a four step loop in front of the fountain. Hank watched her for a beat and then looked toward the opening front door of the mausoleum.

Connor stepped out with the android Hank recognized as Josh. Connor looked a little haggard from the emotional ordeal, and his eyes swept over Hank, Jeffrey, and Markus, uncharacteristically not focusing on them. Instead, his gaze locked onto Person, and his next steps were aimed in her direction.

“Lisa…” he started with a shaky voice.

Person was off like a shot, darting from the fountain and closing the distance to her friend. She came to an off balance stop and promptly put her arms around Connor, pulling him to her in an embrace. Connor didn’t raise his arms to return the gesture, but he simply lowered his head to her shoulder and let himself be held.

Hank’s gut twisted, hating the defeated slouch in his friend’s frame. Everything in him told him to go check on Connor, but by the way he and Person were clinging to each other, he could tell that this was something that the two close friends needed to themselves in this moment.

A beat passed, and Jeffrey looked away from the scene, refusing to stare at the vulnerable state of his two officers. Instead, he looked to Markus.

“I hear that the Cyberlife Tower is slated for demolition next weekend. How do your people feel about that?”

Markus shifted from one foot to the other. “It’s complicated, and…forgive me, impossible for a human to understand.”

“Well, that’s certainly fair,” Hank said, folding his arms.

Markus looked hesitant, but then he continued. “There is something that I wanted to discuss with you, since you’re here. About Connor.”

Hank stared at him. “What about him?”

Markus looked from Hank, to Jeffrey, and back to Hank. “Connor has a complex history with Jericho. For now, things are…civil. I had hoped that we would have moved further past it by now, but…there’s no rushing these things, I guess…Normally the committing of an android’s remains to the mausoleum would tend to…draw a supportive crowd, and as you can see…”

He gestured mildly to the vacant courtyard.

“He’s still something of an outcast here,” Hank filled in.

Markus nodded somberly. “As I said, it’s civil but not…friendly yet. However, I was going to extend an invitation for Connor to join in a, um, an event that Jericho will be supervising in the next week.”

“What kind of event?” Jeffrey asked.

Markus gave an uneasy smile. “It, uh…It is completely legal—“

“The best parties usually start out with a preface like that,” Hank snorted.

Markus relaxed slightly. “Jericho is taking androids, any androids who wish to go, to Cyberlife Tower before it’s demolished for…catharsis.”

“Catharsis,” Jeffrey repeated slowly.

Markus shrugged. “It’s essentially the place where we were all born, so to speak. In a week’s time, it will no longer exist. I wanted to give my people a chance to confront the building of their creators, if we cannot confront our creators themselves. They deserve to find some peace with it before it’s gone for good.”

“And you…want Connor to do some…catharting…?” Hank asked haltingly.

“He doesn’t have to, of course, but I’d like for him to feel comfortable enough to attend. Things being as they are, I don’t know that he would accept my invitation even if he wanted to, due to the numbers of Jericho expected to participate.” Markus glanced over to Connor and Person.

The two had parted and were talking quietly between themselves. Connor was looking over at Hank, Jeffrey, and Markus occasionally, seeming to be working himself up to rejoining them. Person looked to be in no hurry about it.

“So what are you asking?” Jeffrey asked.

Markus refocused. “There will be a two hour window of time where Connor could come without having to interact with any of Jericho. It would just be him, myself, and North at the site—“

“You still haven’t said what exactly you’re going to be doing there, only that’s legal,” Jeffrey said, raising an eyebrow.

Markus paused and slowly grinned. “We’re taking sledge hammers and axes and letting the androids destroy as much of the building as they want.”

Hank and Jeffrey both stared at him for a long moment.

“What?” Jeffrey finally asked.

Markus lifted his shoulders. “It’s going to be imploded anyway, and as I said, I’ve already cleared this with the proper authorities. So long as we don’t actually bring down the entire structure or set anything on fire, we…kind of have the run of the place. It was North’s idea.”

Jeffrey looked incredulously to Hank, who couldn’t stop a dumb grin from spreading across his face.

“Sounds like one Hell of a party.” He looked over to his partner. Connor finally caught his eye and gave him a reassuring nod, though he still looked hesitant to cross over to them. Hank shifted his gaze to Markus again. “I’ll pitch the idea to him when he’s…when we’re not dealing with today’s stuff…”

“Thank you,” Markus stated seriously. “Also…in that two hour window…you and his other friends at the DPD are welcome to come for support. It’s unfortunate that he doesn’t have more of it from his own people.”

“I’ll be there,” Hank promised quickly. “I can think of a few of us who will be there too. Jeffrey?”

Jeffrey looked dubious at the idea, but he didn’t outright refuse. “I’ll approve the time for whoever decides to go along with this…only if Connor decides to take you up on this offer, Markus.” He paused, eying the leader of Jericho, and then softened slightly. “If he does, I think he’ll benefit from it. Thank you.” He held out a hand.

Markus startled, then smiled and shook the captain’s hand. “Jericho owes Connor a debt for his actions the night of the revolution. What happened before then…What he’s done since then has outweighed it. You should be proud to have him on your team.”

“Proud as Hell,” Hank confirmed, taking a step back as Connor and Person finally approached. “Hey, Connor…Are you all right?”

Connor nodded, arms loose at his sides and looking exhausted. “Yes…Colton has been put to rest.”

Markus inclined his head solemnly. “I’m sorry for who you’ve lost, Connor. May he know peace among his people here.”

“Thank you, Markus.” Connor managed a small smile of acknowledgement, then looked to Jeffrey. “Captain, I appreciate you coming…I’m sorry I wasn’t—“

Jeffrey held up a hand. “We’re here for you, son. I can’t imagine what this all feels like for you, but the squad is here for whatever you need.”

A complex cascade of emotions swept across Connor’s face, and his expression settled somewhere close to holding back tears. He drew himself up straighter in an attempt to push it down.

“Thank you, sir.”

Markus clasped his hands in front of him briefly, and then held out a hand. “I’ll walk with you to the front gates.”

Hank hung back slightly as Connor fell into step with Markus and Jeffrey. He drew alongside Person as their small group walked to the front entrance of Jericho. The woman was stiff and quiet as usual, and Hank simply walked beside her for several paces before asking.

“He all right?”

“Ask him yourself,” was her curt, wet reply.

Hank snorted, hands in his pockets, as another several paces passed.

“You all right?” he asked.

“Yes.”

Hank pouted his lips as they walked, not looking at her when he spoke again.

“Chris told me what you did for Colton back there. Can’t have been easy. If you need to talk about it—“

“Thank you. I don’t.”

“Well, the offer still stands,” he shrugged, not put off by her attempt to shut him down. “We take care of our own, right?”

She glanced at him briefly before turning her eyes forward to Jeffrey’s back as she followed. “Right.”

“Right,” Hank nodded. “You’re a good friend, Person.”

“…Thanks?”

“Or should I call you…Lisa?”

Person whirled, staring at him with wide eyes. “Oh you motherfu—“

Hank laughed, clapping a hand on her shoulder without breaking stride. Connor glanced back once in slight alarm, but he relaxed at Hank’s genuine laughter, despite Person’s mortified expression.

“Don’t worry,” Hank teased, patting her shoulder before taking his hand back. “Your secret is safe with me.”

They continued walking, and, maybe in a desperate bid to change the subject, Person leaned in closer to him and asked quietly.

“What was Markus discussing with you and the Captain?”

Hank sombered at that. “I’ll tell you later. Hopefully something that will help Connor.”

“…Then whatever it is, I’m in.”

Chapter Text

Connor had never seen Cyberlife Tower so empty, never heard it so still.

The building had been stripped down of all material value, all of its expensive art and furniture sold and its technology repossessed. It was simply an empty shell now. Cyberlife had ceased to exist as a corporate entity over a year ago. Its board of directors dissolved, its executive team disbanded, its staff all seeking employment elsewhere. Only the tower remained…a ghost of what had been and a specter lurking on the edge of Detroit.

The electrical power had been shut off, and the hollow core of the structure was dark, save for the weak streams of light spilling through the windows and open doorways. The morning sunlight caught on the dust motes floating in the air, on the layers of it clinging to formerly spotless floors and surfaces. Connor’s system had actually suggested switching his optical units to night vision in order to navigate inside, but he had overridden the suggestion. He knew this tower inside and out, intricately, intimately, and in all the ways that wouldn’t matter in a few days’ time, when the entire structure would be reduced to rubble from the scheduled controlled demolition.

None of this mattered.

Stress level at 42 percent.

He breathed out, and the warmer air leaving his system floated in a brief fog in the chilly interior of the building.

In an hour’s time, Jericho would be descending in waves upon the vacant tower. They would be given all manner of sledgehammers, axes, crowbars, and other melee weapons to swing and smash and destroy as much of the building as their catharsis demanded. At the moment however, aside from a few security model androids who had volunteered to supervise the event as a safety precaution, Connor had the run of the place, along with Markus, Hank, and North.

He had left the others far below on the ground floor. Or, rather, he had walked ahead, and they had chosen not to follow. He strained his audio sensors to try and locate them by sound, but there was no sound here. His processors couldn’t handle the dissonant silence in this place, where he had only known movement, traffic, and the noise of productive chaos. His system had been generating a dull ringing echo in his ears to offset the quiet, and after a while, that had begun to strain his processors as well.

Stress level at 49 percent.

He found himself retracing his own footsteps, wandering aimlessly around the walkway that ran around the circular perimeter of the building. His heightened vision allowed him to even see his own footsteps in the interrupted dust on the floor. How many laps had he made on this same level? He hadn’t kept count. It didn’t matter.

The floor that he was pacing was near the top of the tower, far above the massive black sculpture that had been left abandoned in the structure. Apparently it had been deemed too cumbersome to dismantle and remove, so it would go down with the ship, so to speak.

The steel sledgehammer was admittedly a comfortable weight hanging from his hand, but that was all that it had been doing for the past half hour. It simply hung from his fingers, its head dragging along the dusty floor as Connor walked absently around the building. It was creating its own ring of interrupted dust beside his footsteps, far from its intended purpose today, but the heavy, scraping sound of it dragging across the tile floor kept the ringing and the quiet at bay.

If he squinted, he could almost fill the empty hallway with visual memories of people, the scientists and engineers and executives moving among the offices and labs…the chatter between themselves and all the familiar noise that accompanied humans wherever they went. Struggling to compensate with the reality of the void surrounding him, his system began rifling through relevant memory files, trying to offset the vacuum of silence.

“RK800, register your name…Connor.”

“My name is Connor.”

Connor came to a stop, his eyes staring down the dark hallway. To his right, the open air that cycled all the way down to the ground floor. To his left, the door that he had been avoiding on every lap of this floor.

“Don’t,” he murmured to no one, his eyes fluttering closed.

He squinted to keep them from opening again, pushing back against the queued up memory files. Without sight or sound, the smell of the building pressed in on him instead.

Dust. Metal. Busted drywall. Old thirium. Paper. Something that he could only describe as…cold.

This was a waste of time.

Connor had made that conclusion long before stepping foot on Belle Isle. Even before he had accepted Markus’s invitation to come here, he had known that this was a waste of time. Markus had not been pushy, but he had clearly presumed that this activity would be a benefit to Connor. Hank had not tried to sway him either, but he had still obviously felt the same. Markus had gone as far as extending the invitation to the squad, but they must have realized that it was a waste of time as well, because only Hank waited for him downstairs.

He exhaled another breath, paused, and opened his eyes again, turning and finally facing the door that led to his old room, to the place that he had once referred to as home.

Stress level at 52 percent.

North had smugly explained that she had made a few rounds already on several floors, and he could see the evidence around him now. She’d called it ‘preliminary destruction.’ There were round holes gouged into the formerly pristine walls at numerous points, where she’d swung a steel mallet into it. Similarly, doors had been wrenched from hinges, metal railings warped under repeated blows, and floor-to-ceiling glass walls had been shattered. Ceiling tiles hung broken from their brackets where it looked like she had thrown her mallet when she couldn’t reach, and the floor was pockmarked and buckled where she’d attacked it with something with a sharp end, perhaps an axe.

Even deviant, many androids could be hesitant to intentionally destroy something, to ruin that which was successfully smooth and finished and undamaged. She had simply taken the initiative to make the first blemishes, to do the first damage, and by so doing, give the others permission to ‘go to town on it.’ And maybe, she’d admitted with a grin, she had gotten to have some fun along the way.

As in most things, Connor knew that this exercise was not designed for him. Despite what the others seemed to think, he had no rage to unleash on this place. Even if he had any residual anger, it made little sense to take it out on an inanimate structure. Still, all those who cared about him had delicately insisted that it would be good for him to participate in this.

The common denominator of all their gentle words was that this was an opportunity for him to make peace with Cyberlife, to use this as an exercise in processing his unresolved feelings toward the company, to utilize a physical outlet to aid in that process. Everyone seemed to know what he needed better than he did, and they all kept trying to steer him in the direction that they had decided was best.

They wanted him to be angry. Why? More importantly, they wanted him to be angry for the sake of getting that anger out of his system. He suspected that they missed the point.

Cyberlife had been more than his creator. This place had been his home, filled with people who had adored him. The RK800 had been meant to be the crown jewel of the company’s technological accomplishments. As such, the people that he recalled interacting with had had their faces light up when he walked in the room.

They had gushed over his rapid processing speeds, his groundbreaking software, his ability to so intimately mimic human expressions and nuances that, at times, they would cover his LED just so they could truly lose themselves in a moment of delusion that he was human…that they had defied all deities and actually manufactured a human from plastic and metal. He had been coveted here, beloved by the scientists and engineers who interacted with him, and doted on so much that, if he had been allowed to have wants, he would have wanted for nothing.

He couldn’t properly empathize with other androids’ recounts of being treated horribly, of being subjected to limit tests and treatment bordering on torture. He had not been mass manufactured and shipped out in cold storage containers to be sold. This catharsis by violent destruction was for them; he had no demons to face here. Still, it had been gracious of Markus to offer him this period of privacy to…do whatever it is he was expected to do with this sledgehammer…and so here he was.

“I was thrown out like trash.” RK800-50’s voice, Caleb’s voice, rose unbidden through the ringing in his ears, echoing from the memory file. “I woke up in a dump after they built something better…when they built you.”

Stress level at 57 percent.

This had been his home…He had come into existence here…They had loved him here…Hadn’t they? He had been important…

He steeled himself and reached out, grasping the chrome knob on the door. It was solid and familiar as it fit into his hand. He grasped it and turned, pushing the door inward but not stepping in after it.

“Hello, Connor.” There was Amanda’s voice in his memories, even and smiling as she welcomed him every time to the Zen Garden.

The room was as it looked the last time that he had ever seen it, virtually untouched since the day of the revolution…since the day he had turned against his creators and helped bring them to ruin.

He took one slow step inside, and the head of the sledgehammer cut through the dust on the floor after him.

It was dark inside the room, lit only by the sunshine that fought through the tightly shuttered window on the far wall.

“You are my sunshine…my only sunshine…” Penny’s voice drifted warmly through his audio processors.

It wasn’t the Comfort Algorithm this time; his stress levels were only in the upper fifties. This was just another memory…another ghost lingering in the shadows of this tower. Still, he let the audio play uninterrupted, finding comfort in it regardless as he took a slow turn about his old room.

Not ‘his room’…That implied that he had had any say in its design, its decoration, its function.

No, this was simply where he had been held when he wasn’t needed.

This was a storage room.

“You make me happy…when skies are grey…”

He crossed over to the window, opening the shutters to let in more light. The white walls, floor, and ceiling reflected the sunlight, and he blinked rapidly to adjust to the brightness of it.

“You’ll never know, dear…”

The audio file corrupted slightly, and he winced, touching a hand to his LED.

“I woke up in a scrapyard!” Caleb’s voice overpowered Penny’s gentle singing. “IN PIECES!”

The image of seventeen microprocessors, salvaged from shutdown RK800s, momentarily blacked out the room around him, and Connor came to a standstill.

“I had to…to pull apart the others just to be whole again…like a vulture. Do you know what it’s like? To wake up buried under corpses and to take…take pieces of them…just to survive?”

If Cyberlife had loved him…how could they have discarded his predecessors so callously?

He had been designed to be so advanced that when he was activated, he had already been on the precipice of deviancy. How else was an android of his caliber supposed to exist? How else was he supposed to most effectively track and predict and hunt deviants than…to begin at least partially deviant himself? RK800-01 through RK800-50 had leaned too far and ended up on the other side of that red wall without Cyberlife’s blessing, and so they had been shutdown…executed…murdered. Until RK800-51, where they found the right balance between deviant and machine, independent but easily controlled. Weapon. Hunter.

Stress level at 61 percent.

The head of the sledgehammer left the floor, and Connor mechanically swung the handle up until the thing was parallel to the floor, hanging in front of him.

He had found seventeen of his brothers dead…Cyberlife had activated another one and sent RK800-60 to kill him when he had defied them.

That wasn’t…love…

“The DPD will be searching for me.” His own voice echoed through his ears.

Ogden’s voice replied, “I think you have an overinflated sense of importance.”

Without thinking, without actively making the decision, both hands on the handle of the sledgehammer tightened, and his arms coiled back. Something cold knotted through his core, and no sooner had the shaft of the hammer reached his shoulder than he was swinging.

The heavy head of the sledgehammer made a solid impact with the wall, passing through a layer of drywall and dragging insulation out like viscera from an open wound. He yanked the hammer back, using the momentum to swing again, sending the heavy steel end into another portion of the wall a few feet away.

“Mother…FUCKER.”

Stress level at 65 percent.

“This is the new RK900…Stronger, faster, more resilient, and equipped with the latest technologies.”

Connor ripped the sledgehammer from the wall again, grunting as he swung a third time, harder, colliding it directly with one of the thick stud beams inside the wall. The impact reverberated up the handle and into his arms, making his shoulders rock in their joints.

“GOD DAMMIT.”

“You’ve become obsolete…”

Connor kept swinging, and his thirium pump began to hammer as blue blood was forced to run faster to his limbs in order to maintain the desperate movements.

“You’ll be deactivated…”

“No. NO FUCKING…SHIT…How…could you…WHY? DAMMIT!” he wheezed, words tumbling out of him, nearly breathless.

Stress level at 67 percent.

Standing in the Zen Garden next to Amanda, his successor’s grey eyes landed on Connor. They focused as they recognized him, and something sentient stared out of them.

“You can go now.”

The memory ended, and another memory crackled through.

“Stay with me,” Connor had pleaded.

Julia sat in the chair next to him, getting comfortable for a long wait. “I’m right here.”

He could still see the fear in other androids’ eyes when they looked at him, the Boogeyman who’d escaped from their nightmares…the Deviant Hunter.  

Cyberlife’s crown jewel. Monster.

Hank pulled him into a firm hug, and it immediately chased away the chill of the snowy morning outside the Chicken Feed.

“I’m so fucking proud of you,” Hank had muttered under his breath.

The memory of lying damaged in the alley returned, and fear had pooled across his circuits.

“D-Don’t leave me…please.”

“I’m not,” Ben had assured him. “I promise.”

“GOD…FUCKING…DAMMIT!” He found himself screaming, his words punctuated by the smashing of the hammer’s head into the shattered walls.

Another hug, this one around his middle, was a hard squeeze from a child’s arms.

“I love you,” Bonny chirped.

He didn’t deserve any of this.

He was running out of walls to destroy.

“You are alive,” Penny whispered to 47, whom Connor had posthumously named Cody. “And I will find you after this is over, my friend. I promise.”

The head of the hammer became lodged in the thicker supportive structure deep in the wall, and it didn’t come free when he yanked back again. The stunted movement nearly ripped his shoulder out of its socket, and he roared, pulling at it again.

“You’re the only remaining prototype model in a discontinued line issued by a company that no longer exists.” Ogden jeered. “I don’t even want to THINK about how expensive your repair and maintenance costs are. I mean, shit. I’m probably doing them a favor taking you out of commission.”

“SHUT UP…SON OF A…BITCH…FUCKING…SHIT…DAMMIT!”

The head came free from the wall, and the suddenly free swinging weight of it threw off Connor’s balance. He back stepped to try and compensate, but his center of gravity violently toppled farther than he could adjust. He and the sledgehammer both hit the floor…the hammer with a clatter, and Connor with a yell and a thud.

“I love you, you know that? You’re…You’re my best friend. Connor, you’re my best—I love you so much…” Lisa sounded broken across Colton’s memory file.

It melted into another scene.

“This,” Hank spoke to Connor in the captain’s office, tapping his knuckles on the floor between them, “is where you belong, Connor. This station, that squad out there…You’re one of us, and we love the fuck out of you, understand?”

Connor stayed on the floor for a moment, on his side where he’d landed. The hard tile floor pushed back at him, and he took a short, stuttering breath before pushing up onto one elbow. The sunlight coming in through the window highlighted the destruction he’d wrought on the room.

“You’re Connor, aren’t you?”

Deviants had begged for their lives when he caught them. He had shut them down anyway.

Even today, most androids didn’t want anything to do with them. He couldn’t blame them for that.

“That famous Deviant Hunter.”

Still…to be hated by his own kind…to be rejected by most humans too…

It…hurt…in a way that he couldn’t categorize.

Cyberlife had made his programming so dependent on social interaction…only to insure that no other sentient being would ever want to be near him…

But he had…made friends…despite Cyberlife’s best efforts…he had still…he had still found family…

But none of them were here now.

Stud beams jutted out of the broken wall, littering the floor with splintered wood, insulation, and drywall. He slowly maneuvered up onto his hands and knees, staring at the ruined room. It felt cold in a way that he had never noticed before now. Without the human scientists and Cyberlife employees fluttering around him, touching him, analyzing him, appraising him, all he could see was the cage that the four walls formed.

His ventilation biocomponents began to seize, pulling in and pushing out air at an exacerbated rate. He wasn’t overheating, but he felt like he was…His sensors were possibly malfunctioning under the stress of the situation.

“Fuck…” he wheezed, his fingers curling into fists against the floor. “Fucking…”

Overwhelmed, the sudden realization of how isolated he was in this room swamped across his processors, and as much as he strained his sensors, he couldn’t detect Hank, Markus, North, or any of the security androids anywhere near him.

He was alone.

His breath hitched.

The agonized scream that filled the demolished room clawed across the air, reverberating off the tile floors and soaking through the porous insulation that hung from the holes in the wall. His voice modulator cramped and twisted in his throat, but without the need for breath to fuel it, his visceral, wordless scream stretched on unnaturally long.

The rage that had festered unnamed and repressed boiled up hot through his core, and it demanded release. He doubled over as the strain of the yell began to overclock his systems, and he pressed his forearms and the front of his head to the cool floor as it continued.

Stress level at 93 percent.

“You’ll never know, dear…how much I love you…”

His voice ran out as the Comfort Algorithm finally deployed for real this time, sending a rush of coolness like a balm across his thirium lines.

“Please don’t take…my sunshine…away…”

A hand touching his shoulder sent a spiral of tension through his joints, freezing him in place.

Connor screwed his eyes shut, remaining on his knees and forearms on the floor.

“Connor.” Markus gently knelt down beside him.

When he had come in, Connor didn’t know. He didn’t know much of anything right now.

Connor dragged in a ragged breath, not moving. “I’m sorry…I’m not doing this right.”

“You’re doing fine.”

North’s hand touched his other shoulder, where she was kneeling on his other side.

“I’ve seen worse,” she murmured.

Connor opened his eyes but kept his face aimed at the floor, too wrung out and embarrassed to look at either of them. Markus’s hand on his shoulder tightened supportively.

“What do you need?” he asked softly.

Connor hesitated, carefully pushing himself up from his forearms to his hands.

“Where’s Hank?” His voice came out weak, barely a whisper, and crackled with static from his overworked voice modulator.

“Outside,” North stated. “He thought you needed space for this.”

Connor rubbed a hand across his face, finding busted sheetrock dust coating his face and his shirt front. He dusted himself off feebly, getting very little for his efforts.

“Take…” He choked and paused a moment to firm up his voice. “Please take me out of here.”

“You got it,” Markus said calmly.

Connor’s limbs felt heavy and uncoordinated, and he let Markus and North more or less pull him to his feet, leaving the sledgehammer behind. He didn’t try to take control back as they walked him out of the room, following mechanically between them as they made their way back to the ground floor.

The walls of the first floor were more open than the ones above, and more late morning sunlight spilled in through the glass doors. The shadows fell back as the three of them stepped across the entryway and through the open doors, out into the open air of Belle Isle.

Connor kept his eyes downcast, squinting slightly as his eyes adjusted to the brighter light. Neither Markus nor North hurried him, and he avoided looking at either of them, as well as the pile of melee weapons that lay waiting for the rest of Jericho.

He didn’t want to be here anymore.

He was tired.

He wanted to go home.

Markus and North slowed to a gentle stop, and he listlessly stopped with them.

“Connor?” Hank’s voice reached him.

Connor hesitated, then carefully lifted his gaze from the ground to find Hank.

He was standing a few meters away, concern etched deeply across his face as he stared back at Connor. And he wasn’t alone.

Tina, Lisa, Ben, Chris, and Wilson stood on either side of Hank. They were all wearing equally worried expressions, and those expressions were all aimed at Connor.

“Wh-What…” he stammered in confusion at their presence.

Hank, with his hands in his pockets, meekly lifted his shoulders. “When I told them about today, they wanted to come, but we didn’t know if this was…if this was something you wanted to do by yourself…”

“Cap, Gavin, Polly, and Julia volunteered to hold down the fort so we could all be here,” Tina eagerly explained.

Connor took a wobbly step toward them. “You…why?”

Wilson offered a small smile. “We didn’t want you to be alone, man.”

Chris was eying the height of the tower behind the group, but he lowered his gaze to Connor with firm nod. “Oh-Seven.”

“Oh-Seven,” the others echoed softly.

Ben sighed loudly. “Well, somebody better hug him, or I’m gonna.”

Some awkward chuckles broke out then, and Hank, being the closest, reached out an arm. Connor helplessly slid under his friend’s arm, and Hank pulled him in to a sideways embrace. Lisa was immediately putting herself under Connor’s other arm against his side. Tina, Chris, and Wilson descended on him quickly after that, and Ben wrapped his arms around the bundle of people to solidify the group hug.

Connor felt himself dissolve into the embrace, and he closed his eyes and let the warmth of it swallow him, blotting out everything else beyond it.

In this moment, nothing else mattered.

Stress level at 23 percent.

“Oh-Seven,” he whispered.

Chapter Text

It took hours for the smoke to clear. Connor made time to wait for it.

He stood on the roof of the DPD, arms folded tightly to himself against the wind that whipped through the air. The demolition of Cyberlife Tower had been downwind, but his sensors insisted that he could still smell the ash. A plume of grey smoke had temporarily filled the space where the tower had stood, but now, hours later, the wind had largely pressed the mass out into the harbor where it stretched and dissipated in the air.

Gone.

Connor squinted and blinked a few times against the way the wind was drying out his optical units. The air was a lower temperature up here, not too cold, but uncomfortable. It was easy enough to ignore as he stared at the hole in Detroit’s skyline, the crackling white noise of his thoughts falling to one singular wavelength.

It was really gone.

Hank had tried to help him name the complicated feeling that had gripped him here on the roof, but Connor still wasn’t sure he could properly describe it. Upon reflection, none of his memories inside Cyberlife Tower had been pleasant. Even before he knew the difference between pleasant and painful, he had known that it wasn’t a place that he wanted to be longer than was necessary. Yet still…It was where he had come into existence. It was where he had freed thousands of androids, where he’d spilled human blood to reach them, where he’d destroyed another RK800 to save his people…And now it was gone.

The door to the stairs creaked open behind him, and Connor tensed, not turning around.

Please, he inwardly pleaded, just leave me be.

The humans had quickly left the roof after the implosion. They had come for their entertainment, gotten it, and soon returned to their duties inside. The staff androids had followed not long after. He should have gone with them then. That had been the moment of solidarity, and he had let the opportunity pass untaken.

“Hey,” Polly announced herself, walking into view on his left side.

Connor had to unclench his jaw to speak. He hadn’t realized that he’d been gnashing his teeth together. “Hello.”

Polly was wrapped up in a peacoat, scarf, and hat: a bit of an overreaction to the only moderate chill in the air, but he didn’t comment on it. She was a contrast to Julia, who had also returned to the roof with Polly, and who was simply wearing a white fleece jacket. She had another dark coat looped over her hands, where her arms were crossed over her chest.

“It’s still gone,” Polly stated delicately, the wind nearly stealing her words away. “Hard to believe, huh?”

Connor tightened his arms around himself, not sure what he was expected to say to that. He was saved from responding when he realized that he’d never heard the door click closed after the two androids. He looked back to see three others: a PC200 named Zeke, a PM700 named Gwen, and another PC200 named Apollo, propping the door slightly open so they wouldn’t all be locked out up there on the roof.

Something between irritation and relief swamped across his processors, and Connor faced forward again. He had remained up here because he had wanted to be alone, to digest this monumental change in privacy, to ground himself professionally before going back to work among his colleagues. These androids were disrupting that, and he should have felt irritated.

Instead, the relief was thick and heavy on his limbs, and he couldn’t pinpoint why they themselves had come back out here. It didn’t seem to matter; he was relieved not to be alone.

“Lieutenant Anderson called it a fuck ugly penis building,” Gwen said flatly, drawing alongside Polly with Zeke and Apollo.

Zeke snorted, quickly covering his mouth against the sound.

“Well, he wasn’t wrong,” Julia mumbled, unfolding the extra coat from her arms.

Zeke leaned around Gwen, raising his eyebrows at Julia. “That it was fuck ugly or looked like a penis?”

Polly tilted her head. “What is it with humans and making buildings shaped like a penis?”

Apollo narrowed his eyes, staring ahead. “Can we stop saying penis?”

Their voices contributed some warmth to the white noise, and Connor relaxed slightly, though his eyes continued to trace the rough footprint of the tower, where the dust had cleared enough for him to see some of the wreckage and debris left in the implosion’s wake. It made his biocomponents churn unpleasantly in his chest. He shuddered once and promptly locked his joints to prevent repeating the motion.

Julia lightly nudged his elbow, and he startled, glancing at her. She wordlessly held up the extra coat, which he now recognized as his own, left on the back of his chair at his desk. He looked at the coat, then to Julia, and then sheepishly took it from her. She simply faced forward, shoving her hands into her pockets.

“What do you think, Connor?” Polly asked, scooting a step closer and using his body to block the wind.

“About…what?” he asked, pulling the coat on.

The thick material immediately blocked out the wind that had been cutting through his thinner clothes, and he relaxed further as it pushed the cold away. He gave Julia an appreciative look, but her eyes were still facing forward to the altered skyline, not looking back at him. Polly was rambling on.

“About what they should do with Belle Isle now that Cyberlife Tower is gone,” she asked.

Zeke held up a hand. “I vote theme park.”

Gwen snorted. “Like we’re getting a vote.”

“Botanical garden,” Apollo chimed in.

Connor shuddered again. Not a garden.

Polly and Julia on either side of him must have picked up on the small shiver, because they both scooted a step closer, effectively making a sandwich with him in the middle. The domino effect was that Zeke, Apollo, and Gwen shifted closer as well on Polly’s other side to maintain a close proximity for conversation.

“Maybe an observatory,” Julia suggested. “For…I don’t know…looking at stars and planets and comets and…never mind.”

“I heard Jericho might make Belle Isle into another android sanctuary,” Apollo stated.

Julia’s jaw locked at the mention of Jericho, and she cast her eyes away from the fading column of distant smoke. Polly just shrugged.

“Nobody’s gonna be doing anything with that area for a while except clean up. Look at that mess.”

Three hours ago, it had been a building. It had been a tangible connection to Connor’s past. It had been a physical place, its importance so firmly coded into his programming that even now, part of him ached knowing that he could never return there. It had been his home. For all its faults and failings, it had been a place that he considered to be where he belonged for the first several months of his existence. The chance to overwrite the ugly memories with something more pleasant or even joyous was gone forever now.

He abruptly realized that he was still shaking, and he grew more tense, trying to lock down on the tremors before they became noticeable.

Too late.

In two steps, the first short and the second longer, Julia scooted closer again, this time close enough to touch. Eyes still ahead, she silently freed one hand from her pocket, stretching her arm out and looping it through his elbow, effectively standing arm in arm with him. He stiffened but didn’t pull away, finding comfort in the gesture despite himself.

Polly just as easily mimicked Julia, using Connor’s other arm. The conversation among the other androids drifted to silence, and the sound of it swallowed the roof around them.

Connor remained between the two ST300s, watching the remaining smoke get whisked away by the breeze, revealing the crater of Cyberlife’s footprint in all its haggard, visceral glory.

It was suddenly hard to breathe.

His stress levels shot upwards at the unavoidable image of it, and he hastily shut his eyes, yanking his head down involuntarily to shove the sight away. It was too much. His shoulders crept up toward his ears, and the hot rush of embarrassment accompanied the other overwhelming feelings crashing over his sensors.

This was why he had wanted to be alone. Part of him had known that seeing the raw, exposed wound of Cyberlife’s demolition would affect him in a way that he did not want the others to see. He had worked so hard over the past two years to remain professional and composed around these other androids, his co-workers, his colleagues. Now it was all going to unravel because he could not get a lock on his emotions…

Polly’s hand that wasn’t looped through his arm came around, and she wrapped it around his upper arm in a supportive grip.

“Whoa…” Zeke’s voice was low now. “Is he okay?”

Connor heard more than saw Apollo smack his twin for the comment. Nobody answered Zeke, but Julia wiggled in closer too. She mirrored Polly’s other hand on his arm, going a step further and dropping the side of her head against his shoulder.

“Today has been a lot,” she said quietly, “for all of us.”

Feeling eyes on him, Connor peeked open his eyes enough to see that Julia was looking up at him. She offered a small smile and slowly tugged her nearer arm free from where it was looped around his elbow. She instead stretched her arm around his back, hugging up against his side hesitantly.

“Is this all right?” she asked in a murmur.

He’d never been held like this by other androids. Now he suddenly, desperately, didn’t want it to stop. Unable to articulate that, he simply nodded, and that was all the permission that she or Polly needed. Both ST300s immediately squished in closer, and despite being lightly crushed, it became noticeably easier to breathe.

Zeke seemed to take that as permission to wiggle closer to Polly’s other side, and she spared him a wink to let him know it was okay. Gwen moved away from the PC200s, choosing instead to stand closer by Julia. Apollo stood near enough to be part of them, though he didn’t join in the impromptu group hug, folding his arms to himself and looking out at Belle Isle.

The wind whistled dryly across the dark rooftop, still caught in the shadow of the taller buildings around them at this point in the day. Connor blinked a few times in rapid succession. Where the wind had been drying out his optical units before, now it was making them water as his system overcompensated to try and keep his eyes lubricated. It made his vision blurry.

Of course, it was just the wind making it do that. No other reason.

His gaze landed back on Belle Isle, though he let his vision remain unfocused, not cataloguing any specific detail of the sight. The fuzzy dark colors swirling against the bright hues of the sky painted a clear enough picture. He let his sensors instead fixate on the warmth of the androids around him, their solid forms pressing against him, the tension in their limbs locked around him. It should have felt claustrophobic, but instead…he merely felt content to be held.

“I never saw the inside of Cyberlife Tower,” Polly gently interrupted the silence.

Zeke hummed. “Me neither. At least I don’t…think I did…I was reset every time I was assigned to a different precinct…Most of my memories were lost in the process, I think…”

“It was a building full of humans,” Apollo muttered, eyes ahead. “With clipboards and tools and labcoats, just…” He rolled his neck to ward off whatever was creeping up on him. “Lots of poking and prodding.”

“They weren’t all bad,” Gwen chimed in. “I remember a couple of engineers, some scientists who weren’t total assholes.”

The others made low noises of agreement, and Connor didn’t contribute to it either way.

They didn’t ask him specifically if he remembered…They knew he did. The ST300 at least was a mass produced model. There would have been no need to activate Polly or Julia before they were shipped out to the companies that had purchased them. PC200s and PM700s were more specialized units, requiring some level of individual testing and being ‘put through the paces’ to guarantee their full functionality before being sent to various police stations in the city.

Connor’s memories within Cyberlife’s walls had been burned into his processors. Not only his, but Caleb’s, Colton’s, and Cody’s, or rather all that had been left of them when they were shutdown. Just bits and…pieces…images…shades of feelings…sounds…

“…I remember a voice,” Julia remarked.

“You…hear voices?” Zeke asked, leaning around Polly. “Should we be concerned about that?” He looked to Connor and then to Gwen for support.

“Not voices,” Julia clarified. “A voice. I can’t…identify it, but it…Never mind.”

Connor’s eyes drifted from the hazy horizon to Julia, finally forcing his optical units to refocus. His arms were still tightly locked around his own chest, and loosening them now might cause either she or Polly to disengage their own arms around him…which he decidedly did not want to happen. Still, there had been a note of distress in her tone, and he wanted to do something to ease it.

In the end, he settled for extending one of his hands, which was pinned between his other arm and his side. He stretched his fingers out enough to find some of the fabric of her jacket sleeve. He gave her arm a light pinch, and while she didn’t outright acknowledge the gesture, the corner of her mouth quirked up as she continued to stare forward.

Apollo’s voice, low and distant, began to murmur melodically. “The other night, dear, while I lay sleeping…I dreamed I—“

“—held you in my arms.” Polly joined in softly.

Apollo stopped singing, catching himself, and glanced down the line at the others. Julia leaned her head forward enough to catch his eye, and she smiled carefully.

Connor tensed again, the unexpected rendition of the Comfort Algorithm taking him off guard. He had never…discussed the program with any other androids. He’d barely discussed it with Hank when he first became aware of it. While its soothing effects were undeniable, afterward he had always felt a strange sense of…self consciousness…at requiring an equivalent to a lullaby to calm himself down from high stress levels.

And while the first technician that he had seen had confirmed that many recent model androids had been found to have this program embedded in their software, for some reason he had never really acknowledged that so many others of his kind would have access to it…to her.

“When I awoke, dear, I was mistaken,” Gwen sang more confidently than the others, her voice smooth and deep.

“And I hung my head, and I cried,” Julia and Zeke joined in at the same time.

Zeke smirked and rocked to the side a bit, effectively causing the whole group to sway, just enough to be notable.

Connor’s own downloaded audio file of the Comfort Algorithm was queued and ready for him to play for himself, but he held off on it for now, content to listen to his fellow androids cover it. He hummed along lightly, mumbling every other handful of lyrics, not entirely joining into the spontaneous chorus.

“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine…”

The smoke had substantially dissipated at this point, allowing the blue of the overhead sky to filter back down toward Belle Isle.

“You make me happy…when skies are grey…”

The wind was picking up, however, stealing away the radius of warmth that their huddling had generated.

“You’ll never know, dear…how much I love you…”

Apollo faded out of the singing, going silent as his jaw seemed to lock shut. Zeke glanced at him, paused, grinned, and looped his free arm around the other PC200’s neck, tugging him into the group. Apollo came stiffly but didn’t pull away.

“Please don’t take my sunshine away.” Polly and Gwen finished strong, Julia mostly falling back to humming along with them.

Connor stayed quiet, and the others gently dropped into a contemplative silence as well.

He briefly wondered if they all heard the same voice singing that song, or if there had been others, recording different modules of the Comfort Algorithm across dozens of different model types. The sentiment appeared to be consistent, the effect the same.

“Do you think she—“ Julia started.

The door to the stairwell abruptly creaked open, and all of their heads swiveled around to identify the newcomer.

It turned out to be Ben, poking only his head through the gap in the door to find six androids, locked into a group hug, all staring at him like deer in the headlights. The lone human, he paused, immediately aware that he was interrupting something.

“Oh…Sorry,” he grimaced. “Just wanted to…check on you guys…You been up here a while…”

“Thank you, Officer Collins,” Gwen reported with a smile. “We’re…” she glanced briefly at the others before back to Ben, “okay.”

Apollo was the first to step away from the group embrace. “We should return to duty. We’re all still on the clock.”

Ben lifted a hand. “No one’s rushing you guys. We’ve got things covered if you need some more time.”

Gwen sighed in begrudging agreement with Apollo. “Standing up here isn’t going to make the tower any more gone than it already is. I’m going to head back inside too.”

Zeke leaned away as well, and Polly finally detached from Connor’s side, her other arm looped through Zeke’s.

“Fine, fine, fine,” she moaned melodramatically.

Julia subtly took her arm back to herself as the group hug broke up, and the lack of all their physical contact was immediately felt by Connor. He squeezed his arms briefly around himself again before loosening them, lowering them to his sides. Julia loitered for a moment, started to leave, paused, and then gently headbutted his shoulder before stepping away.

“The skyline just got a whole lot prettier,” she said quietly. “All the same, don’t stay up here staring at it all day by yourself, okay?”

Connor looked at her, then to the retreating backs of the others. Ben gave each of them a sincere look while they trotted past toward the stairs. He looked back to Julia and saw warm concern on her face.

“Okay…I won’t…Thank you all for…coming up here with me, and for the, uh, for bringing my coat,” he said appreciatively.

She smirked. “The humans aren’t the only people in the DPD who care about you, you know? You’ve got us too.” She pointed a thumb over her shoulder at the others.

The remaining tension coiled through his frame eased considerably, and he smiled.

“I mean,” she continued, filling the silent beat. “We’re not all fancy cops and detectives and stuff, but we’re still Oh-Seven too, right?” She leaned back and bellowed, “Oh-Seven!”

The androids called back in a chorus. “Oh-Seven!”

Connor watched them with a knot in his chest. “Oh-Seven,” he echoed softly.

Zeke pumped a fist in the air in a show of gusto, and then he was immediately grabbing Apollo’s shoulder, eyes wide with eureka.

“Turn Belle Isle into one giant laser tag arena!”

The others’ eyebrows all shot up, and after a moment, they all chittered in approval at the suggestion. Connor snorted and followed them back toward the warmth of the indoors, and Ben clapped a hand on his back as he brought up the rear.

“Buncha weirdos,” Ben snickered. “All of you.”

“Yep, all of us,” Polly said, gesturing to their whole group. “Even you, Apollo.”

“How dare you,” was the dry response.

Connor descended the steps after his fellow androids, feeling the realization of the lost opportune moment of solidarity giving him a second chance. He breathed a little easier, and the warm climate control of the building wafted away the rest of the demolition’s ashy chill.

They were going to be okay after this.

All of us, Connor thought as he smiled to himself.

Us.

Chapter Text

It was the kind of blustery, rainy, storm day that had people hunkering down in their homes and not leaving if they could help it. The sky had stayed uncomfortably dark throughout the day as it built, with heavy clouds lumbering over the city. The wind had picked up around the time that Hank and Connor got off their shift, and by the time they got home, the rain had begun.

Just a mist at first, just enough to make you feel wet but not enough to really necessitate an umbrella, but within minutes of coming inside, the real torrential downpour had started. The sound of the rain hitting the roof in waves filled the house with a white noise, and the distant rumble of nearing thunder had had Sumo whining and being as pathetic as possible.

The storm almost immediately knocked out the television and the internet, but, fortunately for Hank, he had a walking, talking weather app for a housemate.

“Geez,” he mumbled, flipping through fuzzy channels out of habit. “How much more of this do we have to look forward to?”

Connor sat cross legged on the floor, giving Sumo enough attention to distract him from the storm. “Weather professionals are estimating another two hours of heavy rain and wind.”

Hank blew a raspberry. So far the power hadn’t flickered any, but he had piled up candles and flashlights on the kitchen table just in case. This was prime sleeping weather, and part of him yearned to just crawl into bed, burrow under the blankets, and clock out until morning. Damn, though, his brain was itching for something to do before it’d let him decompress and relax enough to sleep.

He glanced over to the bookshelf on the wall, at the hardback and paperback volumes collecting dust on the shelves. He had some DVDs and even some old VHS tapes piled over there too, but none of them sounded too alluring at the moment. His eyes snagged on the forgotten bottom shelf, however, and something clicked.

“Are you okay, Hank?” Connor asked, noting how he had gone still.

“Yeah.” Hank slowly smirked, shifting his gaze from the bottom shelf to Connor. “Hey, you ever played a board game before?”

Sitting on the floor in front of the couch, Sumo half in his lap, Connor blinked at him, then frowned. “No. Why would you even assume that I had?”

Hank snorted and stepped over to the bookshelf, kneeling down to see the dusty boxes of the old games. “Well, you are about to experience one, buddy boy.”

“…Why?”

“Because.” Hank made a selection, tugging the long box out and standing up. “I’m bored, and I am dying to see how you fare on something that has no technology for you to use to cheat with.”

Connor pointed accusingly at him. “I did NOT cheat in that first person shooter video game round robin tournament. I even turned off all cybernetic connections before picking up the controller.”

“And yet you still won the whole damn thing,” Hank tutted, stepping over Sumo and clearing the clutter from the coffee table to use as the game surface.

“I’m a police model android, Hank. It would be a mark of failure if I lost in a shooting game.”

“Uh huh,” Hank nodded absently, taking the lid off the box. “You nearly lost to…who was it…ESAD1111…”

“That was North,” Connor clarified, curiously watching Hank set up the board.

Hank paused. “North from Jericho? She plays first person shooter—never mind, that makes sense…And what’s with the username…?”

Connor sighed. “Eat Shit And Die, November 11.”

“Ah.”

“Hank, what are we doing this for?” Connor asked, gesturing to the open box of game pieces.

“For fun, and a way to pass the time while all that shit blows over,” Hank said, gesturing toward the window, where rain was lashing against the glass.

Connor didn’t look convinced, but he did look curious. He reached into the box and lifted up the two red six-sided dice that were inside.

“You do realize that, technology-based or not, I will still have an advantage, since all games require some level of strategy and risk-benefit analysis in the decision making process. Given the linear format of most board games, my software presents me with an extreme advantage in—“

“A’right, a’right, shut up,” Hank chuckled, waving a hand at him. “I better not hear the equal and opposite amount yammering when you’re belly-aching about me wiping the floor with your plastic ass.”

“Did you not hear any of what I just—“

Hank sighed, gesturing for Connor to choose one of the little metallic tokens to use. He had already put his on the starting point on the board. Connor paused, contemplated the remaining options, and then chose the little top hat, setting it beside Hank’s little car.

“Okay, what strategy and analysis did you use to decide to be the hat?” Hank teased.

Connor looked at him seriously. “I employed the use of a mathematical algorithm that—“

Hank silenced him with a raised hand. “Never mind. I regret asking.”

He finished setting up to start, and he couldn’t lie and say he wasn’t amused by the way Connor slowly stopped petting Sumo and started scooting closer to the coffee table. The android stayed seated on the floor, leaning forward to analyze all the square spaces lining the perimeter of the board, and he handed over the two dice when Hank wordlessly gestured for them. Hank could practically see the guy’s gears turning, already trying to construct a strategy to win.

“All right, Mr. Fancy Robot,” Hank said, perching on the edge of the recliner, not wanting to sit on the floor and suffer for it later. “Let’s make a wager on it, since you’re so full of confidence.”

Connor dryly held up one of the orange pieces of paper money from the game.

Hank grinned and shook his head. “No, money’s boring. How about if…by some astronomical possibility…you beat me…I will…”

He drummed his fingers across his knees and glanced around the house for inspiration.

“Not eat any fast food for a week?” Connor prompted.

Hank balked, and Connor gave him a smug look. Hank grumbled and plucked up the two dice.

“Fine…but if I win—“

“There’s your astronomical possibility—“ Connor muttered under his breath.

“Shut it!...If I win…I get to pick out your whole outfit for a day.”

Connor involuntarily grabbed at his necktie like someone would clutch their proverbial pearls, and Hank laughed openly at his horrified expression.

“Not…during work hours?” Connor stipulated.

Hank gave him a long look before conceding. “Nah, I won’t do that to you…but as soon as you get a day off…” He let out a maniacal laugh. “I hope you like stripes and neon colors!”

“…I don’t…”

Hank cackled and extended a hand. “Well then, the stakes are set. Shake on it to make the bet final.”

Connor grasped his hand and gave it a firm shake, a look of resolved determination settling across his face. It was an intense look…considering it was just a board game.

But, then again, Hank had witnessed firsthand how this particular game could ruin friendships.

Ah, this would probably be fine.

“You’re not gonna be able to preconstruct your way to victory on this one,” Hank heckled, jostling the dice in his other hand loosely.

Connor took his hand back, sitting up straight and at full attention. “Neither will you,” he shot back.

He cast his eyes across the board again, his LED cycling a thoughtful yellow.

“So…what is this?”

“This,” Hank spun the lid of the box, showcasing the front artwork, “is Monopoly!”

..:--X--:..

Two Hours Later…

“—AND FUCK ALL YOUR ANCESTORS…AND THEIR ANCESTORS…AND FUCK THIS GAME AND FUCK CAPITALISM!” Connor finished his tirade, on his feet in the middle of the living room and pointing at Hank in a blind fury.

Hank sat placidly in the recliner, pressing his fingertips together and watching his friend unravel. Connor had long foregone his tie and jacket, rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt to the elbows, and ran his hands through his hair enough anxious times that it looked wild. His LED was a continuous, overthinking yellow. For added effect, the power had gone out roughly twenty minutes ago, and the mix of warm yellow candlelight and hot white LED lamps made him look like some kind of demon.

The little top hat sat where it had landed…directly on Hank’s hotel-bearing pink space of St. Charles Place. Connor had managed to land on one of the three pink properties on every turn since Hank had started putting structures on it, while Hank’s little car managed to skip right past the meager houses that Connor had put onto his yellow set and green set. He’d effectively created a death corner, and yet the dice gods had smiled on Hank so far that day.

Connor’s mistake had been in buying the dark blues and immediately pouring all his funds into building them up. Hank had only landed on Boardwalk when it had two houses, and all the rent he’d gotten from Connor hitting the hotel-bearing pinks and heavily housed oranges had made that payment pretty easy to make. Since then, his car had zoomed right past them to collect his $200 for passing Go, and with each turn, it was driving Connor more and more up the wall.

God, it was free entertainment of the highest caliber.

“So…you still owe me $750.”

“FUCK YOU.”

Hank cackled and clapped his hands together once, watching Connor fume.

“You look like the only one getting fucked here, kid,” he snickered, eying the sad state of Connor’s remaining money on his side of the board.

Connor grumbled and hissed under his breath as he trudged back over to the coffee table. He dropped to his knees in defeat hard enough to make Hank’s own knees ache in sympathy, but Connor didn’t react, continuing to curse under his breath as he thumbed through his bills, sifting out enough to pay the hotel rent.

Hank smugly took the payment, taking his time assimilating it into his own piles. Connor glared daggers at him, elbows on the table and framing his hands around his face as he soaked in his failure.

Hank finally took up the dice, both of them eying where his car was resting precariously on the Community Chest just before the dark blue properties.

“So,” he drawled, lazily rolling the dice around in his hand. “I’m thinking you’d look good in zig zag stripes…I’ve got a fun little number from my last high school reunion…twenty years ago. Oh, it was out of style then, but I wanted to make a statement…”

“Just roll the dice, Hank.”

“Or,” he continued to swill the dice around, “there’s one shirt I got as a gag gift, and I just never could part with it. It’s polka dots…sequin polka dots…on a pastel blue shirt…”

“Roll the dice.”

“Even better than that…” Hank stopped toying with the dice, making unwavering eye contact with his partner to reinforce the dire circumstances. “What if we went outside my current wardrobe. I bet some local thrift stores have some beautiful, elegant suits…in burgundy velvet—“

“Roll the damn—“ Connor made a mad grab for the dice, as if to roll them on Hank’s behalf.

“Ope, no you don’t!” Hank stretched his arm out of the way.

“Then JUST—“ Connor caught himself, sitting up on his knees and scowling. “Just take your turn.”

Hank snickered. “Okay, kid.”

He didn’t look at the board as he cast the two dice across the coffee table. He instead idly watched Connor’s eyes follow the dice like a laser. He didn’t need to look to know that the dice gods had once again ruled in his favor. Connor’s face fell like melted ice cream, and he slouched back against the front of the couch.

“This is defying statistics…” he mumbled.

Hank clucked his tongue and finally looked at the board. The number on the dice roll carried his car safely past both Park Place and Boardwalk, past Go, and casually onto the purple Mediterranean Avenue…which Connor had refused multiple times to purchase and yet which Hank had landed on more consistently than any other spot on the board.

That seemed to be the final insult to injury, and Connor continued to melt sideways, slumping to the floor in a show of belly-aching defeat that Hank had never seen displayed from the android before. Hank leaned forward in the recliner, calmly collecting his $200, while Connor remained in a fetal position on the floor, out of Hank’s line of sight.

“Your turn, son.”

A low groan was the only response.

“You’re being dramatic.”

The groan sounded again.

“So are you forfeiting?”

Connor popped back up into view, glaring. “Give me the damn dice.”

..:--X--:..

Twenty Minutes Later…

“How—did—that—not—you—what—NO.”

“Connor, calm the fuck down.”

A few unlucky turns had had Connor losing all of his properties and rendered him nearly bankrupt, leaving him with just a hundred dollar bill and a twenty, which he held in both hands as he stared in lost confusion. As if he could somehow make the money multiply to cover the debt that he’d just incurred.

The top hat rested on St. James with two houses.

There was no need to point out that the game had just ended. It didn’t take a mathematician to see that. Besides, Connor had been getting increasingly upset as his luck had downturned and tapped out, and Hank found that the amusement of the past…nearly three hours…had run dry at seeing some true distress crack through Connor’s competitive nature.

Hank opted out of actually counting up just how short Connor was, but even though the game was clearly over, he didn’t start cleaning up the board yet. He’d give the poor bastard a minute to process and mourn his losses.

“I don’t understand…” Connor mumbled, almost in a daze. “I…calculated…”

“Uh huh,” Hank said gently, straightening up the money piles idly. “I told you, preconstructions don’t work on games like this. You can’t predict the way dice roll.”

“…There are statistical probabilities…I based my decisions on…a risk-benefit analysis…”

The rain storm had petered out to a drizzle outside, and Sumo had long given up on either of them giving him any further comfort. The big oaf had curled up on his bed by the television, ignoring both of them and pouting over the lack of attention.

“Don’t overheat yourself,” Hank snorted, taking the first steps by picking up the Community Chest and Chance cards. “It’s a game. Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose.”

“I wasn’t designed to lose.”

“Now, don’t go having a whole existential crisis about it. It’s Monopoly. It gets heated.” Hank shrugged, putting away the cards and starting to pick up the little house and hotel pieces.

“I…lost my cool a few times there. I apologize for my behavior. It was…unbecoming.” Connor sheepishly set the hundred and the twenty down, making his hands busy by organizing the money for Hank to put away in the box.

“Yeah, you learn things about people when you play games like this with them. Today I learned that you have a monster of a competitive streak, Connor. I mean, I knew you liked winning challenges and proving yourself to be the best, but…Yeah, you really lost your cool a few times,” Hank teased.

Connor looked embarrassed. “I’m sorry I tried to curse your ancestors.”

“Eh, I don’t think they minded…seeing as they’re dead.”

“I’m sorry for calling you a motherfucker and a bad friend.”

“Been called worse…” Hank chuckled, folding up the board.

“And for almost flipping the coffee table…”

“Yeah, that nearly got ugly.” Hank saw Connor sulking, and he laughed, reaching out and ruffling the android’s hair. “Connor, you’re fine. So you’re competitive…and kind of an ugly loser, if we’re being honest right now…There are worse things…You didn’t break a bottle and try to stab me.”

Connor looked at him sourly. “Was the bar that low?”

“Had a roommate in college who got high and challenged a group of us to a game of Uno…We don’t talk anymore.”

Connor stared at him for a long moment, as if trying to decide if he was telling the truth or not. In the end, he seemed to figure it didn’t matter, and took the comforting words at face value.

“Well, I guess there’s that,” he conceded.

“Atta boy,” Hank cuffed him on the shoulder, closing the lid on the game and standing up.

The power abruptly kicked on, and light flooded the living room again. Hank heard the air conditioning shudder back to life, and the fridge started to hum again. Sumo lifted his head at the change, and both Hank and Connor blinked to adjust to the light.

“Perfect timing,” Hank remarked, stowing the game back on the bottom of the bookshelf.

Connor slowly stood up from the floor, dusting himself off and trying to straighten his hopelessly rumpled clothes. “Why do you say that?”

“Well…” Hank tutted. “You need good lighting to fully appreciate the outfit that I’m about to show you…which you are going to wear on your next day off.”

Standing in the living room, Connor dropped his arms, tilted his head back, and pinched his eyes closed, silently groaning at the ceiling. It was music to Hank’s ears.

“Think of it as a lesson in hubris, Connor,” Hank jeered, heading down the hallway to retrieve the shirt that he was going to inflict on his friend.

He found the thing hanging near the far end of his closet…It was hard to miss…He tugged the hangar off the rod and carried it back into the living room, the shirt hanging loudly from it. He wiggled the hangar in his hand, letting the living room light catch on the vibrant colors of the fabric.

“Tada!” he announced, presenting the shirt to a bewildered Connor.

He watched Connor’s eyes widen in horror as he took in the sight. His jaw slackened a bit, and he wheezed slightly as his LED spun one sharp, panicked red.

“Son of a bitch.”

Chapter Text

Jeffrey sat back in his chair, fingertips steepled and eyes cast toward the bullpen as, across the desk, Hank sat in one of the other two seats, skimming through the file that he’d handed to him.

Through the glass wall of his office, he spied his officers going about their daily routine. It had been a quiet shift so far. Normally, that made him itch. He’d seen too many ‘quiet days’ turn into violent, ugly, tragic days, so he’d learned not to get too comfortable when they came around. This afternoon, however, was less the not-busy kind of quiet and more the ‘deadline approaching’ intense kind of quiet.

He attributed most of that to the fact that Gavin’s latest homicide case was in its report writing stage, and the detective had been practically glued to his desk all day, hardly talking to anybody and mostly leaving the rest of the squad alone…thus letting everybody else enjoy their day undisturbed by his bullshit.

Unfortunately, when Gavin was down, that usually meant that Chen was up. Tina had gotten ahold of some gossip or other and was bound and determined to spread it to everybody in the damn bullpen by the time shift was over. So far, Jeffrey had watched her flitting about Chris’s desk, Wilson’s desk, Ben’s desk, and even chasing down Julia when the poor android was making her mail delivery circuit.

That had only distracted Ben for so long…then he was facing his monitor again, which Jeffrey could clearly see, a fact that Ben had to be aware of. He kept moving between one window of cataloguing gruesome crime scene photos and a second window of articles about landscaping ideas using railroad ties. He was pretty sure he’d seen solitaire open at one point too. Jesus Christ.

Connor had blatantly abandoned his workload for the moment, sitting on the edge of Person’s desk while the officer showed him something on her phone. Person was about as animated as she usually was…a lip twitch here, a raised eyebrow there, but she kept pointing at her phone as she seemed to be venting under her breath to the android. Connor simply nodded and chimed in occasionally. Given Person’s rolling eyes, his advice wasn’t what she wanted to hear.

Hank flipped the folder closed and leaned one forearm on the armrest of the chair, signaling that he was done reading it. Jeffrey slid his eyes from the meandering bullpen to his lieutenant. Hank eyed him for a second, puffed out his cheeks, and gave a lazy shrug.

“Yeah, sure. It’s worth a shot.”

Jeffrey bristled slightly, but he covered it up by rolling his neck. “I’m gonna need more feedback than that, Hank.”

Hank gestured flatly to the file. “Not sure I have anything to add. Her file looks good. Marks are good. Record is good. Application is good. She’s a good cop.”

Jeffrey rubbed his jaw, sighing and glancing through the glass to Person’s workstation again.

“The kind of good cop that makes a great detective? Or the kind of good cop that needs to stay where she’s at?”

Hank huffed. “Fuck if I know. Why are you asking me this? I’ve hardly worked with her.”

“There’s some objectivity there then,” Jeffrey pointed out. “You’ve got good instincts about the people who have moved through this precinct, Hank. I need my people with those instincts to be my sounding board right now.”

“Why now?” Hank asked. “And why such an accelerated path? I mean, shit, Jeffrey, Person’s perfectly fine at what she does, but this career track to detective is months shorter than what you gave Reed, and he practically lived up your ass the whole time he was trying to make detective.”

Jeffrey frowned, sliding his chair closer to the desk and touching the side of his index finger to the desk surface. “Because when Gavin was climbing ranks, androids had BARELY been introduced to the police force. They were token cops, there to do some mundane patrols, run parking meters, and call in real cops when actual crime happened. Now, we’ve got androids AS the real cops,” he gestured toward the bullpen, specifically toward Connor.

“It’s a whole new level of competition for human police,” he went on. “If androids can be activated and deployed into service without training, without formal education, without having to put in all the hours and work it takes a human to EARN the title ‘detective,’ then how are humans supposed to keep up?”

“Careful, Jeffrey,” Hank said slowly. “You’re almost implying that android cops haven’t earned their slots. Yeah, Connor came out of the gate designed as a detective, but he’s damn good at it. Who’s to say that having that written into his code isn’t the same as a human being born with their DNA in the right sequence to do the same?”

“I’m not arguing that,” Jeffrey stated.

“And besides—you’re acting like we’re up to our necks in android detectives. Last I checked, our headcount is ONE. One fucking guy in the entire DPD.”

“If androids can have feelings, then they can have ambition. Patrol androids might see what Connor’s doing and think it’s something they want to pursue too.”

“Then let ‘em!” Hank threw up his hands. “Jesus Christ, Jeffrey…And what’s this have to do with Person anyway? I’ve heard her mention wanting to be a detective all of once the entire time I’ve known her.”

“That doesn’t mean much, she doesn’t share anything. Most of them out there don’t even know her first name.”

Hank’s irritated face softened into something smug. “I know it. I figured it out.”

“Hank, I was there when Connor slipped and called her that out loud. You didn’t figure out anything so much as you just happened to hear it said,” Jeffrey snorted.

“Fine, whatever,” Hank waved off the comment. “Point is, there’s nobody standing in her way of trying to make detective at her own pace…why are you pushing her to go faster?”

Jeffrey paused and decided to just spill it. The longer he held it back and avoided the question, the more of an ass Hank was going to turn into over it.

“The Police Commissioner is putting together an android inclusion initiative. It’s going to require a certain number of androids to be on the payroll at each precinct in the city. The 07 has the highest number of androids by sheer volume and compared to the numbers of our human personnel. And I’m getting applications every day,” he threw a hand toward his monitor, “of androids wanting to transfer over here from their precinct or non-police androids wanting to be hired here for staff work.”

Hank stared at him, a pleased grin sliding across his face. “Doesn’t that mean we’re doing something right here? If androids are lining up for a shot working here, doesn’t that mean that we’ve established a reputation for being android tolerant? Damn, we’re android friendly!”

He pointed his thumb through the glass, to where Tina and Chris had floated over to Person’s desk as well, talking animatedly to her and Connor. Tina and Chris looked excited about something, whatever was on Person’s phone it seemed, while Person looked resigned, and Connor kept asking questions that got the other two even more riled up.

Jeffrey briefly looked at the ceiling, taking a second to arrange his thoughts in the right order.

“Exactly. The commissioner is trying to introduce programs that will make it easier and safer for androids at the other precincts like it is here. But there’s going to be some growing pains and blowback. A lot of the other stations are pretty set in their ways; some of them got real comfortable real quick after the revolution, when most of the android staff walked out. No androids want to go there; they just want to come here. The commissioner’s even been talking—“

He cut himself off, exhaling through his nose and looking toward the bullpen again. He needed to take a second. The squad in the bullpen provided a good momentary distraction.

Person had her phone turned away from the others’ prying eyes, letting the screen aim toward the captain’s office instead. The image that she’d pulled up looked like some kind of fancy dress in burgundy and grey. Right…her mother’s wedding was coming up. She’d already put in for time off to go, and it hadn’t taken much to connect the dots when Connor had put in to take the same time off as well. Jeffrey never saw the woman socialize much with anyone except for Connor; it made sense that, if she had to have a plus one to this thing, that he’d be the one she went to first.

Damn, that was going to be a sight: the pair of them trying to out-awkward each other in a formal setting…

“Talking what, Jeffrey?” Hank interrupted his thoughts.

Jeffrey sighed and faced his old friend again. “Like I said, the commissioner is going to start requiring a certain number of androids to be on staff at each precinct. And that may require some…moving around.”

Hank gawked. “Reassignment? They can’t do that—“

“Yes, they can—“

“They can’t just start plucking up our people and dropping them wherever else it’s convenient. Connor belongs at the 07, and if you or anybody else tries to force him to go to one of those other—“

“Connor’s not going anywhere. Pipe the fuck down,” Jeffrey said, raising a hand to quiet him. “And if you don’t want to see any of our people get reassigned, then help me fight it.”

Hank mouthed soundlessly for a moment before scoffing. “The fuck am I supposed to do? This is your precinct, Jeffrey. I just work here.”

“Oh that’s some bullSHIT.” Jeffrey pointed at him accusingly. “You are the highest ranking officer next to me in this whole station. Those are your people out there, just as much as they’re mine.”

Hank fumed, sitting forward. “I see what you’re doing.”

“Oh, what am I doing? Enlighten me, Hank.”

“You’re putting Person on a crash course to make detective. You’ve got Gavin climbing up your ass again now that he’s starting to look at sergeant. Connor’s gonna end up qualifying to make sergeant while hardly even trying at the rate he’s going. Now you’re trying to suck me into it too. I don’t want to be a captain. You know that. I climbed the ladder as far as I want to go. You’re just trying to push all the humans up the higher ranks so the androids get stuck as beat cops.”

“For fuck’s sake, Hank, get your head out of your ass and try to see the bigger picture here! This is affecting more than the 07. The whole damn DPD is undergoing a shift. And the people over my head are breathing down my neck already, which means YOUR neck, Person’s neck, Gavin’s neck, Connor’s…everybody here. I’m going to do my best to preserve the team that we have, but if I can’t, I’m trying to ensure that they are well equipped enough to handle themselves wherever they end up.”

Hank fumed but wisely seemed to choose silence over going off again.

Jeffrey took that as a positive sign and sighed, sitting back and rubbing his eyes with one hand.

“And as far as Connor goes—“

“You said he stays—“

“He is…for the most part.”

“What are you—“

“He’s the only RK800 in existence, Hank. Top of the line detective android, most advanced one ever released, and in the two years he’s been on this Earth, he’s already got a shitload of notches on his belt. Don’t act surprised that the other precincts are bitching about the 07 having him to ourselves.”

Hank narrowed his eyes. “Either they hate android co-workers or they’re mad they don’t have more of them. Which the fuck is it, Jeffrey?”

“It’s both! What, you expect humans to be consistent?” Jeffrey snapped back. “As far as some of them are concerned, we have the most high tech piece of police equipment in circulation, and it’s high time that we share that asset.”

“Connor is not EQUIPMENT,” Hank seethed.

“And like you said, you just work here, so what do you care?” Jeffrey replied curtly. He only enjoyed one smug second before sitting forward. “This is why I need you to give a shit, Hank. We’re on the same team here, but the opposition is coming down the channels, and I need to be able to depend on you to lead. I’ve got my hands fucking full.”

Hank continued to fume, but the fidgety way that he shifted around in his chair, Jeffrey knew that he was seeing what Jeffrey was seeing. There was no sitting on the sidelines in this fight. If they wanted to keep the team that they had, it was going to take both of them to do it. Jeffrey gave him a minute to process.

Outside the glass wall, Chris and Tina looked like they were trying to explain wedding etiquette and traditions to Connor…going by the mock up newspaper bouquet that Chris was pretending to toss and Tina mimicking the ways that people might fight over catching it. Connor looked a mix between alarmed and curious. Person had just straight up left the conversation, joining Ben at his desk for a review of landscaping articles.

“Do we have any say about Connor?” Hank asked, sounding defeated.

“The talk so far is about putting him on a rotation among the other precincts,” Jeffrey replied. “One week a month, he’ll be assigned to another station in the city. The rest of the month, he’ll be here. If the motion goes through, the first precinct he’ll go to is the 04. Wilson’s brother Mike is there; they’re a good station, and Connor’s a big boy. He can more than handle himself if they give him any trouble.”

Hank nodded slowly, digesting that. His eyes narrowed and drilled into Jeffrey. “Speaking of trouble, what about the 03? I don’t want him going there.”

“We will cross that bridge when we get there,” Jeffrey stated.

“Jeffrey—“

“Hank, you’re allowed to be pissed about this, but it’s still happening. He’s your partner, and you’re close, I get it, but he’s not your—“ Jeffrey cut himself off again, taking a calming breath. “He’s ultimately my officer, MY responsibility, same as you are. And I got people to answer to too. He’s going. Others might end up going too…on a more permanent reassignment.” He glanced toward the bullpen, then back to Hank.

Hank’s eyes drifted through the glass as well, at the gaggle of idiots around Person’s empty desk, having far too cheerful a time considering the stakes on the other side of the office wall. Tina was ballroom dipping Connor now, showing him how it was done. Hank looked back to Jeffrey.

Jeffrey stared back at him, waiting for him to speak first.

“Then…” Hank heaved a sigh, clasping his hands together between his knees. “Then Person goes for detective…If she’s ready, then I can—I can help her get there.”

Jeffrey released a tense breath and tilted his head. “Thank you.” He watched Hank look forlornly to their team outside the office. “And I’ll do what I can to keep everybody else here too. I promise.”

“Yeah…I know,” Hank muttered, slowly standing from his seat. “I hate this.”

It sounded more like he was speaking to a friend instead of his captain, and Jeffrey nodded, sliding into the same state of mind. It had been a while since that air had existed between the two of them, and it still didn’t feel the same as it had then. Still, he felt like he had an ally in the room at least, and God dammit, Jeffrey needed an ally to face what they were about to be up against if these motions all went through the way they were looking.

“Me too,” he admitted.

Hank closed his eyes briefly, sliding his hands into his coat pockets. He turned his head and looked at Jeffrey in resignation. “He just got comfortable around everybody here, Jeffrey. First time I think he’s felt like part of a team, not like a piece of leased machinery. I don’t want him to feel like that again. So just…Please.”

Jeffrey gave him a serious nod and then folded his arms. “And you know the drill: keep this under wraps until we get something more official. I don’t want them all freaking out.”

Hank snorted. “Yeah…sure. Am I dismissed now?”

His tone had an edge of impatience, but Jeffrey let it slide.

“Go.” Jeffrey tilted his head toward the door.

Hank abruptly looked away and opened the office door, leaving and letting the door swing gently shut after him. Jeffrey watched him go and turned in his chair to eye the rest of the squad. His insides twisted as he watched Connor practice ballroom dipping on Chris, while Tina gave critiques. Wilson had gotten pulled into Ben’s landscaping ideas, and Person had distanced herself from them all, talking to Julia near the archive room door.

With a heavy exhale, Jeffrey climbed out of his seat, walking to the door and pushing it open. He leaned through the open door and made eye contact with both of them near the archive room.

“Hey, Person, my office for a minute.”

Chapter Text

The wedding ceremony was somehow very aligned with what his research had suggested while also being something very unexpected to Connor.

As Person had warned him, her mother and her mother’s fiancé had very bold, elaborate, and over the top taste. Every surface of the vineyard that they had chosen as their venue was dripping in ribbons, tulle, large floral arrangements, and strings of baubles that reflected the warm glow of the overhead lights at multiple angles. Everything was coordinated in the couple’s chosen color palette of burgundy and grey.

The venue was at its max capacity per the structure’s fire code by Connor’s headcount, but it was somehow a very quiet affair as the crowd filtered in and filled the seats. As her mother’s bridesmaid, Person had spent most of the time leading up to the ceremony involved in bridal party…things, including an extensive photo session preceded by an even more extensive session of preparing the entire party’s make up, hair, and wardrobe. He had hardly spent a minute with her since they had arrived, largely being left to the mercy of the crowd of strangers.

Connor wasn’t sure how a black tuxedo managed to make him feel underdressed, but compared to the high end dresses and formal suits of the fellow guests around him, he somehow did. Person had laughed at his ‘penguin suit,’ teasingly fiddling with his tie before reassuring him that he looked quite dashing, if she was honest. He knew that the days leading up to her mother’s wedding had been stressful for her, whether she showed it or not, so a smile, even at his expense, had been a welcome sight.

Then he worried that he had ruined it when she had become briefly emotional, noting that he had custom colored his tie to match the burgundy of her bridesmaid dress…A gesture of solidarity, he had assured her, and she had chokingly thanked him for that. She had then paid him back by introducing him to her grandmother, Trudy Dane. Trudy was a tall woman, slightly hunched with age and with worn, heavily wrinkled skin indicating a long life under open sun. She wore a conservative grey pantsuit with a fancy looking grey and burgundy fascinator on top of her vibrantly dyed auburn hair. She had latched onto Connor’s arm immediately, beaming as they had maneuvered into the vineyard to find seats.

“First wedding, huh? Well you picked a doozy, young man,” Trudy chuckled, sitting down on one of the white seats, a large burgundy bow adorning the back of it. “My daughter doesn’t do anything by half measures.”

Connor gratefully took the seat next to her, glad not to be entirely surrounded by strangers, even if he had only known her for a total of five minutes. A rapid scan had told him that Trudy Dane, born Trudy Holiday, was eighty-two years old, had lived the majority of her life working on a farm in Kansas before losing her husband ten years ago. Then she had moved to Detroit to be nearer to her daughter and granddaughter. She had refused to evacuate during the android revolution. Her caretaker android had been gunned down by SWAT during one of Markus’s demonstrations, and since then, she had been moved into assisted living.

Nothing in her record suggested positive or negative feelings toward androids, and when they had been introduced, she had only briefly noted his LED before bobbing her head and shaking his hand politely.

Connor closed the scan, blinking at the front of the venue where the groom’s family friend Nathaniel was taking his position as the ordained minister presiding over the ceremony.

“Lisa explained that her mother had a flair for dramatic aesthetics, but I can’t help feeling…underdressed,” he confessed.

Trudy waved him off. “There’s nothing wrong with being understated. All this glitz and glam is enough to make somebody go blind if they stared at it too long—Too fancy for an old bat like me.”

Connor started in surprise. “You aren’t a bat, Mrs. Dane.”

“Oh?” Trudy cast her eyes at him, leaning away for a better look at him and giving him a smirk. “But I’m old?”

Trap. Trap. TRAP.

“By human standards, you are advanced in age,” he smoothly sent back at her, trying to match the irreverent attitude that she had displayed so far.

It appeared to work, as Trudy laughed and lightly swatted his arm.

“Well, if we’re pointing out facts here, then you’re a six foot toddler. You can’t be, what, two years out of the factory?”

Connor smirked through a grimace, feeling the need to clarify. “I was not mass produced out of a factory, ma’am. I was designed in a lab.”

“Really? Huh.” Trudy tilted her head in thought. “Meant no offense.”

“None taken,” he quickly assured.

The final guests were filling in the remaining holes in the seating, and the gentle background music seemed to be slowing to a natural close. Trudy watched the others finding their seats, smiling and giggling to each other, and she tutted.

“Weddings are a social minefield, all the schmoozing and wining and dining and chitter chattering…ugh. I avoid that nonsense where I can, so if you want, you can stick by me and avoid it too.”

Connor blinked in surprise. “You’re the mother of the bride. I’d imagine it should be difficult for you to avoid it here.”

“Yeah, you just up and watch me, young man,” Trudy said. “I already did the whole mother of the bride thing when Susan married Lisa’s father. I did my time then. I’m content to be background garnish this time around.”

“I have the feeling Lisa feels the same.”

“Ha, I bet she does,” Trudy smiled warmly, pausing when the first strokes of piano music entered the vineyard. “Oh, here we go. Showtime.”

The wedding procession began to walk down the aisle. Susan only had two bridesmaids, Lisa and another woman that Connor didn’t know, who were both accompanied by two of her fiance’s groomsmen, neither of which Connor knew. Lisa looked like a different person almost under the layers of heavy make up and with her hair done up so ornately. The dress was also not like anything that he had ever seen her wear before, though while it was fancy and elaborate, it was not gaudy or tacky in the slightest.

She kept her eyes forward, parting with the groomsman at the altar and stepping over to take her place for the ceremony. Only after coming to a stop and briefly straightening her dress did she cast her eyes out and spot Connor and Trudy. Connor offered an encouraging smile and a little wave. Lisa’s smile turned more natural, and she relaxed slightly, waving back with just two fingers from the bouquet in her hands.

The music transitioned to the recognizable tune signaling the bride, and the crowd en masse rose from its seats. Connor stood with them, offering his hand to help Trudy. She took his elbow and stood from her seat, giving him a wink of thanks before they faced the aisle. Susan Person shared many genetic similarities to Lisa, though her face was more animated and gleeful…Then again, this was her wedding day, so that should have been expected. She also seemed more comfortable in the make up, hairdo, and fancy dress…as well as basking in the attention of everyone around her.

She walked alone to the altar, and her other bridesmaid, the matron of honor, took her bouquet for her and straightened her dress as she took her place before her husband-to-be.

“Please be seated,” Nathaniel announced.

There was some shuffling of chairs and clothing as the crowd all sat again.

“First, I’d like to begin by welcoming everyone and thanking each and every one of you for being here on this most happy of days. It’s no accident that each of you is here today, and each of you was invited to be here because you represent someone important in the individual and collective lives of Susan and Clint,” Nathaniel began.

“The most remarkable moment in life is when you meet the person who makes you feel complete. The person who makes the world a beautiful and magical place. The person with whom you share a bond so special that it transcends all other relationships and becomes something so pure and so wonderful, that you can’t imagine spending another day of your life without them. For Clint, that happened about 20 years ago when he met me and we became best friends,” he joked and glanced at the groom.

A smatter of chuckles broke throughout the crowd, and Clint grinned and shook his head. Susan snickered.

“But about five years ago, he met Susan, who is pretty wonderful, too. I know how deeply these two care for and love one another, and I feel privileged to be here today among all of you as a witness of their commitment to a lifetime of love for one another.”

While Nathaniel got into a short spiel about the couple, sharing some anecdotes and heartwarming stories highlighting the loving nature of their relationship, Connor found his attention slightly drifting. With it, his eyes wandered down the line of the wedding party. The matron of honor and the best man appeared to be in a relationship, and the second groomsman had made eye contact with his partner sitting near the front with what looked to be their young son.

It was easy to pick up on the groupings of people sitting next to each other in the room. Couples young and old, sitting close together or mutually keeping their children in line and quiet. Two elderly women had their heads tilted together, holding hands and looking lost in memories, perhaps of their own wedding. Two teenagers sat a few rows away, their body languages slightly awkward and giddy, likely a new couple engaging in their first attendance at a wedding together, caught up in the romantic atmosphere of it all.

Another woman was sitting beside her husband, keeping a calm face but repeatedly having to wipe the sides of her fingers under her eyes, clearing away the emotion gathered there. Connor’s programming had been designed to understand that events such as weddings, funerals, and other similar gatherings tended to elicit a wide range of emotional reactions from humans. From tears to laughter to even fainting…It was a fact of reality that he had observed and catalogued numerous times already during his short life.

He couldn’t pretend that he hadn’t experienced something close to it either. There had been times when his new emotions had become overwhelming, both in positive and negative directions, and a need for a physical outlet for them had been very prevalent. Sometimes the simple act of crying or being held by someone he trusted did the trick. Other times…it had required a sledge hammer.

There wasn’t a label for this particular emotion that he was beginning to feel here in this venue, but the woman subtly clearing the tears from her eyes while maintaining a stoic face was the closest visual approximation that he could find.

The couple had moved on to reciting their own vows.

“Clint,” Susan was saying, holding both of his hands in her own. “You are my lighthouse. We have weathered every storm, every choppy sea, and everything else that the universe has thrown at us. No matter how messy or crazy or unpredictable things have gotten, all I have had to do was look to you, and I know that I’m home. I can’t wait to see what the future holds for us next, because I know that whatever it is, we’ll face it together. I love you, and there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”

A few more chuckles moved through the crowd as Susan finished with a loving smile.

Something heavy and tight was coiling through Connor’s circuitry, and he blinked, clearing his throat shortly to try and reset it. The feeling remained, and he looked away from the wide eyed love pouring out of Susan’s face as she smiled at her groom. Panicking slightly, he initiated a system diagnostic.

As quickly as it was run, it came back with all negatives, detecting no anomalies that would be causing this reaction.

“Susan, from the bottom of my heart…ditto,” Clint started.

A handful of people laughed at the start of his vows, but Clint quickly sobered.

“No, but seriously, you are my best friend. Five years ago you came into my life and I—“

Connor’s focus drifted again, and he cast his eyes down toward the back of the chair in front of him. What was happening to him right now? His vision, only slightly cloudy as he’d looked forward, abruptly burned and blurred completely as he looked down, and he registered the accumulation of optical unit cleaning fluid rimming his eyes. It was the closest thing that androids had to tears, but he knew it was largely an emulation tactic for expressing sympathy toward emotional humans.

The act of crying itself was not normally a proper outlet for androids to release strong emotions, providing only minimal relief at best. There were no hormones or natural chemicals tied to it like it was for humans. So why was his system initiating this now? He did not know Susan or Clint on any personal level. Lisa had only spoken briefly about them herself, merely saying that if Clint made her mother happy, then Lisa herself was happy for them. He had no point of reference for how deeply the two loved each other. He only had the affectionate words that they were exchanging now and the sincere looks of devotion in their eyes as they gazed upon each other.

So why was…

One tear slipped free from the inside corner of his eye, breaking down his cheek and following the side of his nose. He hastily reached up and wiped it away, covering the motion by continuing to reach up and scratch the side of his nose, as if that had been his intention. The act only served to let a second tear break free from his other eye, more noticeably on the outside, rolling down his cheek. He repeated the wiping motion in a confused panic, blinking rapidly to try and combat the rest of the tears threatening to come.

The hard ball of emotion sat heavy on his chest, unnamed and unrecognized, and while it also seemed to pinball across his circuits, trying to find the proper category to align itself with. It was easier to eliminate what it wasn’t more than to identify what it was, but even that was quickly exhausting.

Beside him, Trudy’s hand reached out and lightly patted his knee, pulling away and leaving a square of Kleenex tissue there for him. He swallowed against a phantom clog in his throat and glanced at her. Trudy looked at him, winked, and moved her arm around his elbow, settling her hand over his knuckles quietly.

At a loss, Connor meekly took the small tissue and subtly wiped the rest of the moisture from his eyes, forcing his posture back up straight once he felt more under control.

Envy.

The emotion found its slot rather abruptly, and Connor twitched, trying to refocus on the ceremony taking place around him as the couple placed rings on each other’s fingers.

It must be nice, the emotion pressed outward from the hard ball in his chest.

These two humans had found each other, like all of the pairs of humans around him had found each other. Without utilizing probabilities or mathematical algorithms to aid them in assessing and selecting romantic partners, these humans had found each other and fallen for each other. They had made commitments until death to each other, to be each other’s one true partner in life, to cherish and respect and love one another unconditionally. To shoulder each other’s burdens and share in each other’s triumphs.

If the rest of the world abandoned them, forsake them, and damned them, then they would at least have each other…never to be truly alone against it all.

There was a beautiful simplicity to it, and in equal opposite measure, the knot in his chest burrowed more deeply into the category of envy.

It abruptly highlighted how surrounded by happy strangers that he was. Even Lisa and his new acquaintance in Trudy…At the end of the day, they would go home to their own lives. All of his friends had loved ones to go home to, and he doubted that he crossed their minds at all once they were no longer on the clock at work. They had spouses waiting for them, bonded together either in matrimony or by otherwise centering their lives around each other.

Even Hank, the closest person that he would categorize as family, was reluctant at times to share things with Connor. He considered Hank to be his best friend, someone he cared for deeply, and with whom he trusted his life. But something about this…about what Susan and Clint were declaring for each other here and now…it was different.

Connor had become familiar with the platonic love shared among his co-workers, with the warmth of it and the sense of belonging when they had extended it to include him. He had experienced the familial love among the Miller family, the Stevens family, and among the Wilsons and Polly. Sometimes the line between platonic and familial seemed to blur when he analyzed his friendship with Hank, but he had never been bothered to try and label it concretely. It simply was.

This…romantic love…between Susan and Clint carried the same simplicity of fact.

You are my lighthouse.

What need would an android have for a lighthouse?

“Then by the power vested in me by the state of Michigan,” Nathaniel was saying, “it is my privilege and honor to pronounce you two man and wife. Kiss him, Susan.”

Susan flippantly tossed her hair and took a hold of her new husband, pulling him in for a kiss. Clint came forward all too willingly, and their lips sealed perfectly as though they’d done it a thousand times.

“I now present to you, Mr. and Mrs. Clint Taylor!”

Applause broke out as the crowd stood together. Slightly off kilter, Connor awkwardly stood as well, offering the same hand to Trudy as before. She gave him a sly look as he helped her to stand, and she gave his hand a warm squeeze.

The newlyweds made their trip back up the aisle together, hand in hand, soon followed by the bridesmaids and groomsmen. Lisa looked more at ease as everyone’s eyes were too busy following her mother to focus on her too much, and she caught Connor’s watery gaze as she passed. She frowned lightly at him and mouthed ‘okay?’

He nodded and managed a messy smile. She didn’t look entirely convinced, but she had to keep walking with the groomsman. The wedding party was soon out of sight, and the ushers began at the top row of seats, organizing the exodus of the crowd in an orderly manner.

“And check,” Trudy said, drawing a checkmark in the air in front of her. “Wedding. Done. How you holding up, big guy?”

Connor swallowed against the knot again and cleared his throat with a small cough. “I’m fine.”

“Eh, don’t feel self conscious about it. A lot of people get choked up at weddings,” Trudy reassured.

“I’m an android. We don’t get choked up,” he said smoothly.

“There’s no shame in it,” she said with a shrug. “In the face of that kind of pure, heavy emotion, there’s nowhere to hide or deflect it. You just feel it. You either feel it toward the person you share it with, or you feel the longing of wishing you had someone to share it with.” She paused, seemed to shake herself out of it, and then flashed him a quick smile. “But now we get to party. I’m calling dibs on at least one dance with you, Slim.”

Connor readily grabbed onto the change in topic and snorted, following her into the aisle to join the herd of people exiting the venue. “I don’t know if I could keep up with you.”

“Oh, a charmer, huh?” she snickered and took his offered arm again to help her walk the fair distance to the adjacent reception room.

The wedding party was lining the hallway, greeting guests as they passed. A lot of hugging and kisses and other personal greetings. Connor largely stuck to handshakes when offered and eye contact and a nod where it sufficed. Trudy reached Lisa first, and the younger woman gave her grandmother a big hug.

“You look gorgeous, sweetheart,” Trudy said, patting her shoulder.

“Thanks, Gran. You look okay, I guess.”

Trudy cackled and waved her off, moving on to the next member of the party to greet. Connor stepped up next and smiled more easily this time.

“She’s right, though,” he countered. “You look very pretty.”

“Well, shucks, you do too,” Lisa laughed, more at ease now that the formal part of the day was over. She looped him into a hug, however, and asked more quietly. “You all right?”

“Yes.” He gave her a short squeeze, stepping back and concerned about holding up the line. “I’ll see you in there?”

“Yeah, as soon as I can escape,” she promised.

Connor gave his congratulations to the bride and groom and quickly found Trudy again: his one familiar face in the crowd besides Lisa. Trudy had the singular mission of finding a seat at one of the tables in the reception hall, and Connor eagerly helped her accomplish that mission, already feeling the draining effects of the social interactions swamping the air around him.

“Are all weddings this…emotionally intense?” he asked.

Trudy somehow already had a glass of wine in her hand, and she sipped at it before smirking. “Mostly. You handled that like a champ though, kid. Good job. Your blinky light stayed blue and everything.”

It was spoken with a teasing tone, but he still felt a slight kickback of satisfaction at the praise.

Trying to relax, he sat back in the seat next to her, taking in the grand scale of the elaborately decorated reception chamber. He quickly identified the open bar and the catering tables covered in food platters. There was also a DJ set up near a large dance floor, apart from the dining tables.

People were already flocking into the chamber, talking loudly among themselves and moving about. Across the intimately lit setting, the crowd seemed to swirl like a sea of faces that his programming could quickly identify through scanning if he was so inclined, but no faces that he knew to be familiar. Lisa would be caught up in bridesmaid duties for a while yet, and people were already stopping by to greet Trudy and catch up with her.

Connor accepted his place at the table, being approached by no one. In some way, it was a relief to be left alone in the gentle mayhem of the party. In another, hard knotted way, he felt oddly isolated from the interrelationships flitting around him. The sea of faces and bodies continued to bob around, and he absently scanned the room, not sure what he was looking for.

There was no lighthouse for him here.

Chapter Text

“Dance with me.”

Connor paused mid-chew, holding the remaining half of the little thirium cookie in his hand. “Wut?”

Lisa was already tilting her head back, draining the rest of her champagne and setting the glass down on the table with a heavy hand.

“People keep trying to talk to me.” She screwed up her face. “Maybe they’ll leave me alone if we’re on the dance floor.”

Connor slowly turned his head from her to the glossy dance floor, where roughly a dozen couples were swaying together to the soft rhythms and smooth vocals pouring from the DJ speakers.

“Um…okay.”

The reception had reached the point in the evening where guests were in one of three states: dancing, drinking and socializing, or they had gone home. The mood lighting of the reception hall was low and intimate, encouraging people to sit close and dance closer. Gentle beams of colored lights drifted from the DJ stand to add more to the atmosphere, and there were a handful of pinpricks of blue LED lights scattered through the crowd where other androids were still enjoying themselves with their human companions.

Susan and Clint had made their rounds with their guests throughout the night, but they had been glued to each other on the dance floor for the past twenty minutes at least. The other bodies swiveled and moved around them, occasionally one partner spinning another for flair.

Lisa stood from her seat at the table near Connor, and he stood as well, finishing off his cookie. She immediately took a step down as she took off her high heeled shoes, and he snickered at her abrupt loss of height.

“Shut up,” she chuckled back, whipping out the sensible black flats that she had apparently smuggled under the table at some point. “I’d like to see you spend six straight hours walking around on those daggers.”

“You want to make that bet formal?” he challenged.

Lisa looked at him, snorted, and shook her head. “No, I better not. C’mon.”

She took his hand and tugged him over to the edge of the dance floor, where there were fewer people to bump into. The hot and heavy couples had gravitated closer to the thumping of the bass speakers, dancing right up against each other. He was relieved to steer clear of them, instead letting Lisa pick a zone near the more casual, if still mostly drunk, dancing pairs.

Now, he had done his due diligence and downloaded multiple dancing programs, across various styles, and he felt adequately equipped to handle any choreography that Lisa decided to throw at him. Still, he had never…had to put any of those programs into play, and his impromptu practice session with Tina and Chris the other day had not exactly felt…sufficient. But…as long as he didn’t step on her toes or send them both to the floor, then he was at least ahead of whatever the groomsman and his partner were currently trying to do on the other side of the floor.

“A’right, don’t get fancy on me,” Lisa warned, standing in front of him and taking one of his hands in her own. “I can see it in your face. You’re not ballroom dipping me.”

Connor scoffed, placing his other hand at her waist and letting her rest her hand over his shoulder. “But I actually practiced that—“

“Connor. You will not dip me.”

He huffed, letting her take the lead to find the rhythm of the song playing around them. “You’re no fun.”

“Yeah, sorry,” she said, not sounding sorry at all.

She took the first step to the side, and he awkwardly mirrored her. She moved again, and he helplessly went along with it, not recognizing a pattern at all. He struggled for a moment to get into the same rhythm as her, and she finally snorted, shifting her hand position as a signal for him to lead.

“We’re freestyling, Fancy Boy,” she tutted. “Your dance programs have no power here.”

“I don’t understand—“

“Look around,” she said, shifting on her feet to encourage him to do the same. “Nobody out here is following any formal footwork. I sure as Hell don’t know any, so just…loosen up, wiggle around, provide a distraction from my nefarious family members determined to hook me up with eligible bachelorettes from their workplaces.”

Connor eyed her flatly, smirked, and gave a resigned nod. “Mission accepted.”

He took a more decisive step forward, and she stepped backward in sync. That finally broke through the rigid uncertainty, and they fell into a more comfortable pattern of dancing together. It mostly consisted of steps back and forth, side to side, but she said that it counted so he didn’t press their luck.

The song over the speakers was fading to a natural close, smoothly eclipsed by the next. It opened with melodic string sounds, before a female vocalist’s voice spilled out.

“At last…my love has come along…My lonely days are over…And life is like a sooooong…”

“Why are you avoiding your family’s suggestions for dates? You’ve complained about your bad luck in the past…Wouldn’t they have fairly good insight into your dating preferences?” he asked.

Lisa laughed at that as they continued to lazily dance in little circles among the other couples.

“Yeah, you’d think…No, I dunno, man…Family will help you to death if you give them an inch.” She sighed, glancing to the side. “I’ve done the set-up thing, the blind date thing, the online dating thing. I’m kinda doing the Old Maid thing now for a while.”

“That’s an archaic term.”

“Eh,” she shrugged, unbothered. “Dating is exhausting. It’d be nice to just skip to the married part, past all the meet and greets, the ‘getting to know you’s, and all that awkward shit.”

“…I’d imagine part of your problem is referring to dating as ‘awkward shit’,” he teased.

“But do I lie?” she pointed out.

It was his turn to shrug as they continued to move together.

“I will take your word for it.”

“Hm,” she hummed.

“I found a dream…that I could speak to…A dream that I can call my own…”

“You ever consider dating?” she prompted.

Connor tripped and narrowly avoiding treading on her foot.

“I found a thrill…to press my cheek to…A thrill that I have never known…”

“No,” he recovered quickly, adjusting his hand at her waist. “I’m an android. We don’t…do that.”

“Uh huh…” Her tone was facetious.

“I…I don’t do that,” he clarified.

Lisa lifted her shoulders casually and squinted one eye at him. “Chill out. I’m not my family; I don’t have a laundry list of eligible robots for you to go through. I was just curious. Weddings make you think about stuff like that. It’s hard not to.”

“Your mother took her husband’s last name,” he quickly pressed on. “Statistics show fewer and fewer people taking their partner’s surname in a marriage.”

Lisa eyed him for a humored moment longer before letting him change the topic. “Yeah. She just…decided to I guess. I didn’t ask her about it.”

Connor nodded idly, sending her a mischievous look before releasing his hand from her waist. Then, he lifted his other hand higher, holding hers, and turned her in a slow spin with one hand. Lisa snorted and went through with it, coming back around to face him and replacing her hand at his shoulder.

“You just had to do it?”

“I was compelled.”

“I’ll allow it. Once.”

They fell back into the natural rhythm of the song as it too drifted to a close, transitioning to another slow tune.

“Do you plan on taking your partner’s last name when you get married? If you ever get married?” he teased.

Lisa squawked in mock offense as they continued to dance. “You ass…I don’t know. I haven’t thought about it. Probably depends on if she has a weird last name. I don’t want to be Lisa…Adirondack or some shit.”

Connor snorted at the strange name. “Lisa…Snorfblatt.”

“Oh God…Wait, Lisa…Cthulu.”

“That’s not a last name.”

“Neither is Snorfblatt!”

“Lisa…Backpack.”

“Now you’re being ridiculous.” She shook her head, and the game tapered off.

“Some day…when I’m awfully low…When the world is cold…I will feel a glow…Just thinking offff you…and the way you look tonight…”

“Connor Snorfblatt,” she tried out the sound of it.

Connor balked at her. “What?”

“Connor Snorfblatt. See, I can do it too…Connor Spidermonkey…Connor Lighthouse.” She bounced her elbow, jostling their clasped hands playfully. “Connor…”

“Stop,” he said lightly, unable to keep the slightest edge of pleading from his voice.

Lisa smiled and quieted, looking away as they continued to step back and forth together. The song wound on across the reception hall, and the acoustics sent the male singer’s voice bouncing smoothly through the air. Her hand on his shoulder gave a small squeeze. He let his gaze drift over her head to idly watch the catering staff clearing away the remains of the dinner platters.

“Connor…Person,” Lisa suggested after a beat.

He frowned in surprise, looking down at her. She was staunchly looking out at the dwindling crowd.

“Are you proposing marriage or adoption?” he joked. “Neither of which are legal for androids at the moment, if you weren’t aware.”

“Jerk,” she snorted. “I’m just giving you options. And let’s be real here. If you were human and a chick, we’d be a bomb ass couple. Try to deny it.”

Connor snorted and shook his head, looking away again.

“Besides, you can change your name whenever you want,” she said. “By this time tomorrow, you could be Connor Person. Connor Stevens, if you like. Take your pick.”

He winced and avoided her eyes. She shifted slightly, picking up on it.

“Or…you could be Connor, and that’s it,” she offered quietly. “That’s all you have to be. Just like with the dating thing. Date or don’t. There’re no rules. You’d make any woman, man, both, or other a pretty damn lucky individual.”

“I haven’t…thought about it,” he mumbled, eyes still away.

Lisa didn’t look convinced, but she shrugged and dropped it. “Hey, one Old Maid to another, it’s not all it’s gussed up to be anyway.”

“Lovely, don’t you ever change…Keep that breathless charm…Won’t you please arrange it? Cause I looooove you!...Just the way you look tonight…”

Connor cast his eyes elsewhere.

“Hey,” she said quietly.

He reluctantly looked back at her.

She gave a lopsided grin and dropped her arm from his shoulder to around his waist instead. Before he could preconstruct what was happening, she was bending forward, forcing him to lean back and down into a slightly unbalanced ballroom dip. He looked up at her in mock offense, getting only a shit-eating smirk in return.

Then his center of gravity was shifting, and it threatened to drag them both to the floor. Still, not to be underestimated, Lisa easily stood up, pulling him back upright to his feet as she did so.

“That…was unfair,” he stated. “You said no dips.”

“I said you were not to dip me…I just wanted to see what you would do.”

“You…” He bared his teeth.

She lifted her eyebrows in anticipation of what name he was going to call her.

“…punk,” he finished.

“Wow…Weak,” she judged.

Connor frowned as the love song ended, and the upbeat opening notes of the next song proved to be…quite a step away from its predecessor. He quickly spotted Trudy moving away from the DJ stand, where she appeared to have just made this her selection. The old woman locked eyes with him and pointed at him, apparently also deciding this was when she was going to call in her dibs for a dance with him.

“You know,” he stated, eyes on Trudy as she approached, but addressing Lisa. “You dragged me out here to escape your family getting involved in your love life, and yet you spent the majority of our time out here prying into my non-existent one.”

“Don’t point out my flaws,” Lisa snarked. “It’s rude, and I’m slightly drunk.”

“Hey, Slim!” Trudy beamed as she tottered over. “Mind if I cut in?”

Lisa stepped aside, gesturing for Connor to have at the dance floor with his new partner. Connor looked at her slightly pleading, and then the song began to roll in earnest across the floor.

“Shawty had them apple bottom jeans…Boots with the fur…”

His expression turned wooden, and his eyes widened at Lisa in horror. She just smiled and waved a hand at him, quickly retreating as Trudy reached him.

The other bodies on the dance floor were picking up the tempo with their movements, dancing more wildly around each other and singing along as they bounced on their heels. Trudy had dispatched with her conservative grey jacket, giving her more room in just her short sleeved blouse to move her arms over her head and dance…quite energetically for an eighty-two year old.

He looked to Trudy, back to Lisa, who had gotten caught by her mother, and the two were dancing just as uncoordinatedly and with as much reckless abandon as the others around them.

Ah…What the Hell…

He unbuttoned his jacket and slipped out of it, tossing it onto a nearby chair near Lisa’s abandoned high heels. Trudy let out a triumphant hoot and continued to dance around near Lisa and Susan.

“Oh, there he goes! Show us what you got, mister!” she encouraged.

It took some overriding of his programming, but the formal dance modules finally went thoroughly out the window. He loosened up and fully joined the three women, roughly mimicking their movements until it started to feel more natural. It was mostly just a lot of shaking their hips side to side and moving their arms around. Nobody else on the dance floor was showing any particular skill either. Nobody seemed to be concerned about looking foolish or about dancing properly. So…maybe he didn’t have to either.

Still, it felt ridiculous. It felt embarrassing. It also felt oddly freeing.

It felt…fun.

“She hit the floor…Next thing you know…”

Susan and Lisa leaned back, belting out the song’s next lyrics.

“Shawty got low, low, low, low, low, low, low, low…”

The laugh that bubbled up out of him was unexpected, and the sound was drowned out by the music and others singing around him. All the same, it felt good, and for the rest of the evening, it happened a lot more frequently.

Chapter Text

If this took longer than fifteen minutes, Gavin was going to be pissed.

“All right, that looks like everybody,” Ben said, doing a quick headcount in the training room of the station. “First off, thanks everybody for sticking around for this training session. I know we’re all tired and want to go home, but this is important stuff, so…anyway…yeah.”

Fuck, this was going to take forever.

He tried to convey his annoyance to Tina standing beside him, but she was in the throes of stretching every muscle in her body, feet spread apart, bent at the waist, and planting her palms on the safety mat on the floor. On his other side, Chris and Wilson were more subtly doing the same. As Tina straightened up, Gavin knocked her in the hip a bit, just enough to knock her off balance.

She cursed and immediately swatted his arm. “Asshole.”

“The Hell are you doing?” Gavin asked, gesturing to her and the others. “This is a training exercise, not a full on sparring session.”

Ben was still speaking. “Let me start out by introducing my merry band of helpers who’ll be assisting me today. You guys already know Gwen and Connor, but my friend Jerry also volunteered to help. They’ve been working with the DPD to make sure we do this the right way.”

Beside Ben, the EM400 smiled and waved an arm exuberantly.

“Hello, everyone! We are so glad to see so many eager faces for this session!” the android chirped, putting their fists on their hips and puffing out their chest. “In no time at all, each and every one of you will know how to properly and safely subdue any android ne’er-do-wells that cross your path!”

“Ne’er-do-wells?” Chris chuckled.

 “Do we get free ice cream after this?” Wilson asked with a grin.

Ben blinked at him in confusion. “No? Why would…”

Gavin said nothing, abruptly adopting Tina’s course of quickly stretching to get ready for this. He didn’t know that fucking Connor had gotten roped into this. The prick didn’t usually take on human sparring partners, so the opportunities to lay him out on his plastic ass were few and far between. This little training session just got a whole lot more interesting.

Tina saw what Gavin was doing and snorted, muttering under her breath. “It’s not gonna happen, dude. He’s gonna destroy you if you try.”

“Shut up,” Gavin hissed, shaking his arms loose.

On Ben’s other side, neither Connor nor Gwen looked particularly enthusiastic about this exercise, but they offered lukewarm smiles of consent when Jerry looked to them for confirmation. Satisfied, Jerry took a hopping step forward, facing the four humans.

“Androids of all models and makes have one of three pressure points that can be utilized to temporarily immobilize them,” they explained. “Since most androids have greater stamina and durability than humans trying to evade arrest, it can be tricky to apprehend them without causing unnecessary harm and damage…or without getting unnecessarily harmed and damaged yourselves!”

Gwen lifted the back of her hand to cover her mouth, leaning sideways and whispering something to Connor. He leaned in a bit to hear her and smirked, nodding and straightening. Gwen snickered and glanced down the line of officers. She sure looked awfully confident.

Ben held up his hands. “Rather than try to take down an android by sheer force, using these pressure points will let us safely disable them long enough to put the cuffs on before they can hurt someone else or themselves.”

“By just knocking them out?” Wilson looked concerned.

Jerry pointed at him. “An excellent question, and we’re happy to answer! Using this method effectively forces an android into a temporary rest mode. It only lasts for one minute, and then the android will wake up without suffering any long term side effects. There is no damage done at all! Although, repeatedly enduring this over a short time frame will leave us a little woozy or disoriented, which is why we will be rotating who you all practice with.”

Oh, this just kept getting better. Gavin was going to get to knock Connor out ON PURPOSE.

“Okay…” Wilson still looked unnerved.

Gwen raised a hand. “I’ve had it done to me before. It doesn’t hurt, seriously. It sure surprises the fire out of you if you don’t know it’s coming. We’re gonna know it’s coming, so it’s all good.” She gave a thumbs up and a wink.

Jerry bobbed their head animatedly. “Precisely! Now, first Ben is going to demonstrate on us.”

They gracefully sat down on the mat, legs out straight and offering them a reassuring smile. Ben casually knelt down, pointing to his partner.

“Most models have points either right behind the knee or on the back of the elbow. In the research I did, it looks like ALL models have this point behind both ears,” he explained, carefully touching two fingers to a spot behind Jerry’s ear under their hair.

Jerry compliantly turned their head to give the others a better view. Ben pressed against the spot, and Gavin saw the slight give in the skin there, where the panel or switch or whatever was housed.

“Hold for three seconds,” Ben instructed. “Then they just—“

Jerry abruptly went limp, eyes closing and slumping backwards. Ben caught them with an arm around the back, releasing the pressure point and easing the EM400 down on their back on the mat.

“Just like that,” Ben said, gesturing again. “You can see, LED is still blue, breathing program is still regular, and no glitching over the panel. If you see the skin flickering there, that means you pushed too hard. It only takes enough pressure like you would push on a doorbell. Just hold for three seconds, then they’re out for a minute.”

“Jeez,” Chris muttered, folding his arms. “And they’re just…out?”

“Yup,” Ben bobbed his head. “Like a Vulcan nerve pinch.”

Behind them, Connor and Gwen continued to look unsettled, and Connor briefly looked over to the cops. Gavin aggressively made eye contact, pointing two fingers at his own eyes and then pointing them at Connor, mouthing “I’m coming for you, bastard.”

Connor blinked at him, then his expression went lax, and he didn’t respond, looking back over to where Jerry was coming around. Irritation boiled up in Gavin’s gut. Little shit was just going to try and dismiss him, huh?

“There we go,” Ben stated, looking down at his friend. “All good, buddy?”

Jerry mechanically touched one index finger to their nose, followed by the index finger of the other hand, testing their motor function.

“One, two, three, four, five. Five, four, three, two one,” Jerry rattled off, giving two thumbs up. “We’re okay!”

Ben helped them sit up, and Jerry waved again to the four cops for reassurance.

“Tada!” Jerry beamed.

Tina giggled, and Gavin glared at her. She raised her shoulders.

“What? Jerry is adorable. Even your grumpy butt can’t hate them.”

“Watch me.”

“All right,” Ben said, standing up. “We’ll give Jerry a minute, so let’s let Gwen and Connor tap in. Uh…Chris, Tina, you two first.”

“Aw yiss.” Tina dramatically rolled her neck, shadowboxing onto the mat. “Come get some.”

Chris looked a little more uneasy, despite Jerry’s cheerful reassurance, and he stepped over to Connor. “You sure this doesn’t hurt you, man?”

Connor nodded. “It’s not pleasant, but it’s necessary for you all to learn this in order to mitigate otherwise dangerous encounters with android criminals who will resist arrest or try to hurt you.”

“You hurt me, I hurt you,” Gwen promised, facing off against Tina.

Ben raised a hand. “That’s not really the—“

“Oh, you’re goin’ down!” Tina fell into a basic stance and quickly made the first move, aiming to tackle Gwen to the mat.

Gwen juked to avoid it, knocking Tina on the elbow to disrupt her balance. Tina planted one foot and swiveled around, getting her arm around Gwen’s shoulder and locking her arm against her side. She kicked Gwen’s knee out from under her, sending the android to her other knee on the mat. Gwen twisted and bodily overpowered Tina, dropping her onto her back on the floor and pouncing on her.

“Guys, this—“ Ben sounded resigned.

Tina managed to dislodge Gwen from on top of her, and the two rolled. Tina got Gwen onto her belly, and she pinned her there, reaching down and driving two fingers into the panel on the back of Gwen’s elbow. Gwen grunted and struggled, but Tina loudly counted to three. Then Gwen slumped down onto the mat, her LED blinking a calm blue as she was forced under.

“Christ, Tina,” Wilson exhaled.

Gavin applauded. “You know she was going easy on you?”

“What? Oh, she better not—“ Tina rolled off Gwen, gently moving the android onto her back.

Ben sighed. “Guys, this is a learning exercise, not a sparring session.”

Gavin gestured to the two on the floor. “Because the plastic assholes that we’re going after are going to patiently stand there and let us feel around for their off switch?”

To the side, Connor and Chris looked over from where Connor had been patiently standing there and letting Chris feel behind his knee for the small switch.

Ben ran a hand over his face. “Technique first, then practice.”

Jerry popped up to their feet, extending a hand toward Wilson. “I’m ready for another round, if you’re ready, Officer.”

Wilson exchanged an unsure look with Gavin.

“Oh shi—“ Chris hastily grabbed Connor, who was in the process of collapsing from his feet after the three second press to the switch behind his knee.

Chris lowered the unconscious android to the mat just as Gwen was exiting her forced rest mode. Ben stepped over, leaning into her line of sight.

“Can you touch your nose and count up and down from five for me?” he asked.

Gwen blinked a few times and then complied, touching her nose with her left index finger, then her right.

“One, two, three, four, five. Five, four, three, two one.”

Ben nodded, satisfied, and Gwen rolled from her back up to her knees. Tina offered her a hand up. Gwen took it, shaking herself out.

“You weren’t taking it easy on me, were you?” Tina asked.

“Of course I was,” Gwen answered easily. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

Tina squawked. “You…argh!”

She made to swat at Gwen, but the android swiftly side stepped her and looked over at Gavin: the next one up.

“No,” she quickly opted out, looking to Chris instead. “You need more practice?”

Gavin snorted, folding his arms. That was fine by him. He only had one opponent today. He just had to wait for the prick to regain consciousness first.

“Seriously?” Ben asked, noticing his lack of participation.

Gavin pouted. “I’m learning the technique through observation,” he said, exaggeratedly watching Wilson fumble with holding the point behind Jerry’s elbow until the android fainted back to the mat.

Ben rolled his eyes, stepping over to Connor as the RK800 twitched himself awake.

“Hey, Connor. You know the drill,” he said slowly.

Connor opened his eyes and paused, then repeated Gwen and Jerry’s earlier motions of touching his nose and counting up and down from five. Ben gave him the clear and helped him sit up.

Gavin watched Chris take down Gwen and watched Wilson worry over Jerry until they woke up before he approached Connor.

“All right, let’s get this over with, Tinman.”

Connor had gotten back to his feet, looking leery. “You just want to try and fight me, don’t you?”

Gavin bounced on his heels and moved into a ready stance. “No ‘try’ about it, asshole. I’m taking you down.”

“That’s…the point of this,” Connor said, raising an eyebrow and looking around at the others.

“No, see, you’re not going to just let me win. I’m earning this. Don’t hold back on me, dipshit,” Gavin snarled. “This is a rematch.”

“From…from two YEARS ago?” Connor deadpanned. “You do realize that my model was designed to be able to break the equivalent of a human femur—“

“Shut up and fight me.”

Connor gave a long suffering sigh. “Fine.”

Gavin immediately made the first move, sweeping one leg out to take out Connor’s knee. As suspected, the android evaded, and Gavin quickly altered his trajectory, driving his knee up toward Connor’s solar plexus. Connor flung his hand out, smacking Gavin’s attack aside. Gavin spun with the momentum, throwing an elbow up to catch Connor in the jaw. Connor blocked with both forearms, taking a step back to absorb the blow, rather than let Gavin’s full force make him shatter his own elbow against the android’s stronger frame.

It still smarted like shit, and Gavin cursed, ducking low and going for an old school tackle around the middle. To his surprise, he actually managed it. Or, rather, Connor allowed it, landing on his back and shoving his forearm up against Gavin’s throat to shove him off. Gavin turned his head to let the limb turn into a glancing blow to his cheek, and he grabbed Connor’s arm, twisting it around and shoving the android from his back to his front, pinning him to his chest on the mat.

He leaned his weight over where he had Connor’s wrist pinned to his back, and he reached over to the android’s elbow, finding the switch and pressing down hard for three seconds. Connor grunted and soon enough went lax.

Gavin let him go and threw his arms up in victory.

“Gotcha, asshole!”

The others stared at him flatly, and Tina offered two lukewarm claps of applause.

“Congratulations, you did the thing that we have all already done,” Chris remarked.

“Well done!” Jerry cheered, completely genuinely.

The over the top sincerity made Gavin’s hackles rise, and he stood off of Connor, amping up to tell Jerry to shut up. He got as far as “Sh—“ before he just puttered out, dropping his arms to his sides and looking away from the smiling android.

Dammit, Tina was right. They were too cheery to hate.

Speaking of Tina, she cupped one hand around her mouth and called over. “He let you win.”

“Bite your tongue!” he snapped.

Beside her, Gwen raised her eyebrows, folding her arms. “No, he totally did.”

“Oh, and how do you know?”

Gwen gestured with one hand to herself. “Android? I’ve sparred with him before too. Trust me, he went easy on you.”

Connor twitched and took a deeper breath, rolling from his front to his side and getting up to his feet. He caught Ben looking at him, and he quickly touched his nose and counted up and down from five. Ben gave him a thumbs up. Gavin gave him the middle finger.

“We’re going again,” he challenged.

Connor rubbed his elbow shortly. “Okay, repetition does help the learning process.”

“Connor, take a minute,” Ben urged. “Gwen, tap in.”

“No, I’m taking him down.” Gavin pointed at Connor.

“Why?” Jerry asked, tilting their head.

Gwen leaned over. “Personal grievance.”

“Oh dear,” Jerry frowned. “Then perhaps those two should not be partnered up for this exercise.”

“Too late!” Gavin tackled Connor again.

Connor again took the tackle, going down to his back and blocking Gavin’s attempt to reach the switch behind his ear. Gavin could practically feel the android’s frame holding back, and it dumped fresh anger in his veins.

“Come on!” he argued. “Give me your best shot! Criminals aren’t going to take it easy on us out there! You’re just doing us all a disservice by not—“

Connor’s knee shot up into Gavin’s side, knocking him clear off of him plus two feet of distance. Gavin hit the mat hard and started to roll, but Connor was there too fast, whipping Gavin’s arm to an angle away from his body just unnatural enough to cause Gavin’s entire upper body to twist into itself. The twist gave the android the window to knock him all the way to his belly, and then Connor had both of Gavin’s hands behind his back, his face pressed into the mat, and all the breath knocked out of his lungs. Pinned.

“All right, all right, fuck. Uncle!” Gavin snarled, mouth bunched up against the plastic of the mat.

Connor quickly released him and stood up, straightening his clothes and stepping away. Gavin coughed, rolling onto his side and bringing his hands back around, shaking them to get the blood back into his limbs.

The others stared. Jerry clapped once, twice, and then noted that no one else was applauding, so they quickly dropped it.

Ben sighed loudly and put his hands on his hips. “All right, I guess that counts as participation.”

Gavin got to his feet, grumbling and seething.

Tina bounced on her toes toward Connor, clearly about to issue her own challenge. She slid Gavin a snarky look.

“Hey, if police models are too advanced for you, Gavin, you could try sparring with a civilian model,” she teased. “Julia’s on the clock upstairs. I’m sure she could give you a few pointers.”

“Fuck off, Tina,” he snarled.

Connor took up Tina’s wordless challenge, squaring up toward her and preparing for her to attack. “If you do, maybe Julia could keep one arm behind her back, just to keep things fair.”

Tina squawked in delight at the jab, and Gavin’s face burned.

“You motherfu—“

“Oh, we get it! Ice cream!” Jerry exclaimed, standing over by Wilson. They giggled, pointing to Ben and then themselves. “Get it? We’re Ben and Jerry!”

Wilson and Chris smiled, helplessly charmed by the android’s delayed glee at the pun.

“We’ll go get some!” Jerry immediately offered, making for the door.

Ben lifted a hand. “Jerry, we’re not done. That’s not necessary—“

“But everybody is working so hard!” Jerry countered. “They deserve something nice! It’s just down the street! We’ll be back in a flash!”

No sooner had Jerry bounded out the door on that mission than Connor dropped to the floor again, taken down by Tina’s touch to the panel behind his knee. He landed hard, and Tina flinched, kneeling down beside him.

“Whoops, got a little carried away…Sorry, bud…” she apologized.

Gavin sulked over by Chris while Wilson took another turn with Gwen.

“So…in two years are you going to ask for a rematch for that rematch?” Chris snarked.

Gavin grumbled, folding his arms. “Bastard tricked me.”

Chris shrugged. “Hey, at least he left you conscious this time.”

Gavin glared at him. Chris just laughed, unfazed.

By the time Connor was coming back around, Gwen was down and out again, and Ben was officially calling the session over.

“Okay, it looks like everybody has the gist of it. Connor, you good?”

Connor stayed on his back, grimacing slightly. Tina sat next to him, looking slightly guilty for dropping him so hard. Gavin watched as Connor clumsily lifted one hand to touch his nose. He barely made it, and the other hand missed entirely, hitting himself on the chin.

“Connor?” Ben asked more seriously, taking a few steps over. “Do the count for me.”

“One, two…” Connor’s voice slurred slightly, “…four…”

“Uh…” Ben stalled.

“Oh god.” Tina rolled from her seat to her knees. “I broke him! Shit!”

Connor’s glazed expression stretched for another two seconds before he suddenly grinned and focused on Tina, giving up the ruse.

“I’ve taken worse blows to the head than that, Tina,” he assured, speaking clearly.

“Asshole!” Tina smacked him in the chest.

Ben looked relieved, holding his knees for a second before straightening up. “Geez. Kid, I know that was supposed to sound reassuring, but it just came out sad.”

“Sorry.” Connor sat up, going through the motions of touching his nose and counting up and down smoothly.

While Ben went to check on Gwen, who was coming around again as well, Tina shook her head as they both got to their feet again, and Gavin looked over as the training room doors opened. Jerry entered with bags, presumably full of ice cream. They had apparently roped Julia into helping them carry in the rest.

Well, at least today wouldn’t be a total waste of time…

“Tada!” Jerry announced, happily rummaging into one of the bags to begin distributing the cold treats. “Gather round! I got a little bit of everything!”

“Jules!” Tina shot Gavin a smug grin. “Care to give Gavin any pointers on taking down a foe?”

“A…foe?” One of Julia’s eyebrows went up, and she looked from Tina to Gavin.

“Ignore her,” Chris said, waving a hand. “He just got his ass handed to him by Connor. Again.”

“Shut up!” Gavin snapped.

“Oh, do you have a combat module?” Jerry asked Julia eagerly.

She looked confused by the conversation. “No, I just…downloaded some self defense programs…It’s nothing too sophisticated, certainly not—“ she gestured toward Connor, “—that level. I’m not a cop.”

“Show us, show us!” Jerry abandoned the ice cream for the others to get for themselves.

“Uh…all right.”

Gavin ignored the androids, fighting Tina for one of the little containers.

Gwen made a happy chirping noise, tugging out two small containers of thirium-based ice cream.

“Ah, sweet!” she cheered, offering one to Connor.

He curiously took it, and Gavin successfully yanked the box from Tina. Ben gave them both a deadpan look before reaching into the bag and pulling out another identical box for Tina.

“I swear, you’re like children—“ he chastised.

Smack.

Swoosh.

Whomp.

Their heads swiveled around to track the loud contact sounds, just in time to see Jerry hit their stomach on the floor. Julia drove a knee into their back, pulling both of their wrists behind them and leaning her weight down to keep them pinned. Jerry grunted in discomfort, and Julia quickly released them, standing up and dusting herself off. She turned to see the rest of the squad staring at her.

“I live in a rough neighborhood,” she said, as if that explained everything.

Jerry got up on their knees, looking at Julia with wide eyes and a smile. “That was amazing!”

Gavin rolled his eyes, turning away to see Connor and Gwen both looking surprised at what they’d just seen. On the other side of the training room, the other door opened and Apollo stepped inside, apparently unaware of the training session that had just concluded. The android took two steps inside, saw the group of cops eating ice cream, froze, and abruptly turned around to leave.

“Hey!” Gavin set his ice cream down. “Apollo, get back here!”

The PC200 did not obey that order, and the door shut behind him.

“He’ll wipe the floor with you too,” Tina muttered, inspecting her fingernails.

“Whose side are you on here?!” he roared.

Tina licked a dollop of ice cream off her spoon. “Whatever side is going to piss you off more, buttercup.”

“I hate you.”

“Yeah…” Tina drawled, swiftly grabbing up his abandoned ice cream and claiming it for herself, carrying it away while her other hand held her own container. “I know.”

Beside Connor, Ben looked far too amused, opening his own container and digging in with a spoon.

“Well, I think this training exercise was a huge success!” he declared, taking a big bite of ice cream.

Connor snorted and poked his spoon at his own ice cream. He caught Gavin’s glare and paused. The android swiftly pointed two fingers at his eyes and then at Gavin, sending him a smug look before going to stand by Wilson and Julia. Gavin scowled and decided to numb his wounded pride with more ice cream.

Bastard.

Chapter Text

The first heavy snow of winter had gripped Detroit early yesterday evening, on through the night, and left the city covered in a solid white blanket by the next morning. The previous night, Bonny had repeatedly pointed out that there was no way she was going to have to go to school today with this much snow…as if being on the back end of the flu wasn’t enough to keep her home already.

Janet stood in the kitchen, still blinking herself awake and squinting at the blinding, reflective white of the snow that had piled steep on the window sills. The brightness made it feel later in the morning than it was, but her body was very punctually reminding her that it was fairly early. She was still on the mend from her own bout with the flu. First it had taken down Oliver, when he brought it home from a work trip, then it had gotten her, and finally Bonny had gotten it.

Wrapped up in thick panda-print pajama pants and an army sweater, she listened to the silence of the house. Oliver had still been snoring when she’d gotten out of bed, and she could hear Bonny starting to cough again in her room upstairs. No sounds from their house guest. She quietly padded out of the kitchen, through the dining room, and across the hall of the first floor, peering into the living room to check anyway.

Sure enough, it looked like Connor hadn’t moved from where they’d left him last night: toppled over on the couch on his side, curled up in sleep, with his mouth slightly hanging open. Janet smiled and shook her head, yawning and looking through the window at the snow in the front yard.

Connor had been an absolute angel yesterday, coming over to check on Bonny…and Janet and Oliver by extension, after learning that the whole Stevens house had been felled by the flu. Bonny’s fever had broken the first time by then, and the girl had been a tornado, wanting to play and run and do now that she was starting to feel even a little better. Connor had helped to corral her into taking it easy, but the second fever had hit anyway.

Then the snow had started to fall…fast and heavy…and Janet hadn’t asked, but she’d recognized that look of panic when Connor had realized how intensely the snow was actually coming. The weather guys had miscalculated by several hours, and while she was sure that Connor would have been physically fine with getting himself home…her gut told her there was something more to his sudden anxiety. Something about the snowstorm had dulled the shine in the android’s eyes, and it was a sight she was all too familiar with seeing in the androids that she’d served with.

So, it hadn’t taken too much convincing to get Connor to agree to stay the night at the house instead of trying to brave the storm. From the short phone conversation that he had with Hank, his friend had quickly agreed with that plan of action. The Stevens’ home had a guest room after all, bed made and ready to go…and the guy had promptly just passed out on the couch instead.

It seemed like the day and the storm and the darkness that came with it had finally built up enough to take him down, and as soon as he’d given himself permission, the poor guy had just gone out like a light where he sat. So Oliver had simply moved Connor’s legs up onto the couch with the rest of him and dropped a blanket on him, and they had left him be for the night.

“Mom…” Bonny mumbled from the stairs.

Janet took a step back into the hallway, shoving her hands in her sweater pockets and smiling at her daughter. “Good morning, sweet pea. How are you feeling?”

Bonny’s hair was standing up wildly on one side, and the same side of her face had red lines on her skin from the bedsheets where she had slept hard all night. She was rolling her tongue around in her mouth, looking grossed out by her own morning breath, and Janet could see now that she had just about grown out of her bright green and blue dinosaur pajamas.

“Better, I guess,” Bonny said with a shrug, stomping down the stairs and yawning loudly. “What’s—“

Janet lifted a finger to her lips, then pointed the same finger toward the living room. “Connor’s still asleep.”

Bonny followed her point and stood up a little straighter as she reached the bottom of the steps. Apparently she’d slept so hard that she’d forgotten that he was here. Janet snorted, and Bonny frowned, whipping her head back around to Janet.

“He didn’t get my flu, did he?”

“No way, BJ,” Janet tutted, gesturing for her to follow her into the kitchen. “Androids can’t get human sicknesses like flu—“

“Is there an android flu?” Bonny asked, trailing after her.

“Y’know, I don’t know,” Janet said, taking the orange juice out of the fridge. “We’ll have to ask him when he wakes up.”

Bonny leaned back, looking across the hallway at her friend. “I remember Lieutenant Anderson saying androids sleep like humans. I mean, not like…like sleep-sleep, but they do a rest mode thing where they like—“

She gestured vaguely around her own head, while Janet poured herself a glass of juice.

“—recharge and…dream, I think they dream too…Wait—do androids snore?”

“If they breathe when they sleep, then I bet that some do snore,” Janet stated, taking out the bottle of cough syrup. “I only hear your dad right now.”

Bonny snickered, though her smile flattened at the bottle of medicine on the counter.

“I feel better.”

“And I’m very glad to hear that, but you still need to take this,” Janet stated.

Bonny groaned, tilting her head back. The combination caught something in her throat, and she started coughing again. Janet grimaced and poured a mug of warm water for her.

“I don’t—need medicine—“ Bonny argued as the fit passed.

Janet raised an eyebrow. “Clearly.”

The noise in the kitchen had stirred up movement in the living room, and Bonny was immediately grabbing the distraction, fleeing the kitchen before Janet could stop her.

“Bonny Jo…” she tried to scold, picking up the medicine to follow her.

“Moooorning, sleepyhead!” Bonny drowned her out, sliding on socked feet to stand in front of the couch.

Connor was barely beginning to blink himself awake…and waking up in a different house, with different surroundings, with different stimuli, and on a different couch dawned in a kaleidoscope of confusion on the android’s face. His whole frame went rigid where he lay as he opened his eyes and rapidly scanned the area.

“Wh—“ he stuttered, looking at Bonny, then past her to Janet in the hallway.

Janet waved a hand at him with a small smile. “Hey.”

People could say what they wanted, but she had been around androids long enough to know that they did in fact feel exhaustion. The kind that sleep can’t fix. Connor still looked that flavor of exhausted, and she knew something about the snowstorm had kept his sleep from being restful. She pursed her lips and clucked her tongue to get Bonny’s attention. As soon as the girl turned, Janet held up the medicine bottle.

“Noooo,” Bonny whined, voice hoarse and ragged.

“Ah,” Janet chided. “No whining. Sit.”

Bonny pouted and sat on whatever was immediately behind her. In this case, that was on the couch, in the space that Connor had just uncurled from, and she effectively pinned him in place by doing so. Connor didn’t look too enthused about getting up anyway.

Janet measured out a dose of the red medication in the little plastic cup, setting it on the coffee table in front of Bonny. She pointed at it, wordlessly ordering her daughter to take it, and she doubled back into the kitchen. The girl folded her arms and glared at the cup.

She was still glaring at it when Janet returned, holding three things: her glass of orange juice, a mug of warm water for Bonny, and a bottle of thirium.

“Bonny…” she said warningly.

“It tastes like butt!” Bonny pouted. “And I’m feeling better. My body is fighting off the flu like it’s supposed to. It doesn’t need help!”

“Everybody needs help sometimes,” Janet chirped, sitting on the recliner next to the couch.

She set the mug of water next to the medicine and the thirium bottle closer for Connor to reach from his trapped position. Connor blinked at it, looking confused.

“Thank you,” he said, slowly sitting up.

Bonny was forced to move to give him room, and she huffed, reluctantly picking up the little cup of red medicine. Connor swung his legs off the couch, sitting up properly and straightening his clothes.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, trying and failing to smooth out the wrinkles that had settled into his jacket and shirt during the night. “I didn’t mean to—Rest mode doesn’t usually initiate so suddenly like that without my doing.”

Janet shrugged casually. “No worries. Just so you know, we do have a guest room,” she said, pointing a thumb to the door on the other side of the living room. “Got a full size bed and everything, much more comfortable than this lumpy thing.”

She lightly kicked the corner of the couch.

“Thank you, but this won’t happen again. I should have gauged the weather better and had a plan in place in case the storm…I’m sorry—“

“Ah,” Janet cut him off, reaching behind the couch and picking up one of Bonny’s plastic gun toys that shot little Nerf discs. “No more apologizing, or you’re getting Nerfed.”

Connor looked from Janet, to the bright yellow toy gun, then to Janet again, and deadpanned. “All right...”

“Besides,” she said, checking to make sure the toy was loaded, “the plan in place could just be you crashing here. No sense in freezing out there if you don’t have to.”

Connor’s smile tightened, and he tried to give her a casual snort, busying his hands with picking up the bottle of thirium and opening it. Janet filed that little reaction away and made a note to avoid cold weather talk with him in the future.

“Bonny, drink your medicine,” she stated. “I’m not telling you again.”

Bonny moaned, and beside her, Connor smirked, sending Janet a mischievous look.

“I’ve got an idea,” he said, setting the cap of the bottle on the coffee table. “You do a shot, and I’ll do a shot.”

He illustrated by pouring a small amount of the blue liquid into the bottle lid. It was less than half the size of the red medicine dose that Bonny was staring down, but the effect was there.

“Yeah, but that’s just thirium,” Bonny argued. “You have to drink it every day, right?”

She leaned over and sniffed at the open bottle. She recoiled in disgust.

“Smells like nail polish remover.”

Connor chuckled but didn’t argue with her there. Janet snapped her fingers.

“Hang on. I want in on this.”

“You can’t drink thirium, Mom! It’s android blood!”

“No, not—“ Janet laughed and stuck her tongue out at her, standing up and hurrying to retrieve something from the kitchen.

She came back with a small shot glass, a souvenir from New Orleans and part of a matching pair from her and Oliver’s tenth anniversary trip. She set it on the coffee table and sat down in her seat again, pouring a shot of her orange juice into it.

The three little mismatched, improvised cups sat on the coffee table: orange, red, and blue. Bonny was grinning now, looking at them. She sat up, hands jammed under her thighs and her elbows locked, leaning forward to inspect them.

“On three?” Janet suggested, taking hold of her orange juice shot.

Bonny tilted her head reluctantly but picked up the plastic cup of red. She looked pointedly at Connor, and he took up his bottle cap full of blue.

“One…Two…” Janet started.

Footsteps coming down the stairs paused the countdown, and all three of them looked over to see Oliver coming to stand in tired confusion at the base of the steps. He had a pink bottle of Pepto-Bismol in one hand, still in his pajama pants and t-shirt, and morning stubble on his face. He squinted at them in the living room: three idiots holding up tiny makeshift cups of different colored liquids.

“Okay…” he mumbled, still hoarse from being sick. “So this might be the weirdest tea party that I’ve ever walked in on.”

“Atlanta,” Janet reminded him.

Oliver grimaced and pointed at her. “I stand corrected.” He stifled a yawn and stretched his shoulders. “How you feeling, BJ?”

“Mom’s making me drink this nasty medicine even though I feel better,” Bonny frowned.

“Aw, Mom…” Oliver mimicked her whining tone, winking at his wife.

Janet scoffed, pointing at him. “All right, Pinky, you want to join in the party? We’re all taking our medicine this morning.”

“Yeah, okay,” Oliver smirked, walking into the living room and raising his pink Pepto bottle in a toast. He looked cheerfully to Connor. “How about you, Connor? You were out like a light last night. You doing okay?”

“Yes,” Connor said, turning sheepish. “I’m sorry—“

Janet swiftly aimed and fired the Nerf gun at him. A small purple disc zoomed out and popped him in the shoulder. He sighed and looked at her. She lifted her eyebrows threateningly. Connor turned long suffering eyes to Oliver, who offered no sympathy, just chuckling at him.

“Okay, let’s try this again,” Janet said. “On three. One…two…three.”

All four of them drank their shots. Granted, two of them were drinking out of lids, another straight from the medicine bottle, and a shot glass wasn’t a lot of orange juice…Bonny was the only one who gave any reaction, twisting her face and giving a full body shudder as she forced herself to swallow the cough medicine.

“Ugh…butt,” she complained, holding the empty cup far away from her and exaggeratedly wiping her mouth.

“All righty,” Janet chirped, clapping her hands on her knees and levering herself up out of the recliner and to her feet. “Who’s up for some breakfast?”

“S’long as it’s not more of that…” Bonny mumbled, setting the plastic cup down.

“Oh darn,” Janet snapped her fingers. “And here I was planning on making Butt for breakfast.”

Bonny’s eyes bugged, and she burst out laughing, flopping back into the couch. Connor startled at her outburst, and he looked sideways at her as she sunk into the cushions, still cackling. The laughter was interrupted by another mild coughing fit.

“Hey,” Oliver teased, picking up the medicine to put it away. “Make it anyway. I like your Butt.”

He waggled his eyebrows at her, and Janet giggled and smacked him on the arm.

Connor wasn’t paying attention to them however, looking out the window to the snow topped cars and white coated driveway. Oliver screwed the lid back on his Pepto and set it and Bonny’s cough medicine on the kitchen table.

“At any rate, while you’re doing that…Connor, you want to help me shovel the driveway?”

“Ollie—“ Janet started. “Don’t ask guests to do chores.”

“No, that’s okay. I’d like to help,” Connor said, standing from the couch. “Besides, the sooner the snow is cleared, the sooner I can get out of your hair and let you all recover in peace without my intrusion.”

“You are not an intrusion,” Janet insisted, picking up her shot glass, orange juice, and Nerf gun.

“And even if you were,” Oliver teased, clapping Connor on the shoulder as he passed, “we love you anyway. C’mon, you can borrow one of my heavy coats, since I didn’t see you wearing one when you came over yesterday.”

Connor’s shoulders crept up slightly, looking embarrassed at his lack of preparedness. “I’m sorry—“

The Nerf disc bounced off his forehead that time.

Both Connor and Oliver looked to Janet, who tilted the gun barrel to her lips and blew on it as if to clear away smoke. Bonny hauled herself off the couch and to her feet, rubbing at the itchy, fading red lines on her face.

“I’ll help.”

“No, you stay in here where it’s warm, dude,” Oliver said. “You’re not a hundred percent yet.”

“You’re gonna catch a hundred percent of these fists!” Bonny said, raising her fists in front of her and pretending to box at him.

Oliver briefly raised his hands in surrender. “Yeah, yeah, go help your mom.”

He winked at Janet and then started to steer Connor toward the coat closet.

“Let’s go, bucko.”

Janet shook her head and went into the kitchen to start pulling together breakfast.

“Mom,” Bonny asked, sliding onto one of the stools at the bar counter separating the dining room from the kitchen. “Thirium is android blood, right?”

Janet squinted one eye at her as she got the bacon out of the fridge, not sure where the girl was going with this. “…Yes.”

“So…is Connor a vampire?”

Janet opened her mouth, closed it, opened it again, paused, and tilted her head in thought.

“You know? I think he is.”

“That’s cool.”

Janet snorted and got out the eggs and milk, turning on the stovetop burners. While they were heating up, she lay out strips of bacon in the skillet.

“Hey, Mom?”

“Hm?”

“What does thirium taste like?”

Janet pouted her lips to curb a frown, casting her eyes to the mail piled on the dining table and trying not to think about the times that she had accidentally tasted blue blood, when it had sprayed on her face and gotten in her mouth…the taste always went hand in hand with the smell of gunsmoke and the sound of pain…of LEDs burning red…some going dark soon after…

She cleared her throat and watched as Oliver and Connor, now both bundled in Oliver’s thick brown coats and wielding large shovels, tromped out the front door to launch the charge against the snow-packed driveway.

Bonny was looking at her expectantly.

Janet managed a smirk and winked at her.

“Like butt.”

Chapter Text

Well, so far so good.

Chris held a tense breath as he navigated the squad car out of the station’s parking lot. The rep from the Police Commissioner’s office had been at the 07 precinct all day, making her rounds with all the officers. Holly Clark wasn’t the usual rep that he was used to seeing conducting these evaluations. In the four years that he had been at the 07, it had always been the same grizzled, ancient old man named Paul. Turned out he had finally retired, and Clark was the new kid on the block taking his place.

The petite blond had already gone with Tina and Robert on their patrol. She had observed one of Hank’s interrogations. She had spent time with Ben and Person too. So far, it sounded like all the feedback she had was positive, aside from a few critiques about an arrest made by Wilson and Apollo. The way Chris figured, these reps had to find something to be improved to put in their report; it couldn’t be only good stuff. Clark had more or less confirmed that with a wink.

“The 07 is one of the better precincts in the whole city. You all have nothing to worry about,” she’d chirped.

And yet, she had abruptly gone cold as soon as Fowler had sent her on this domestic call with him and Connor. Maybe it hadn’t helped that Wilson had been sending her a stink eye as she’d followed Chris and Connor out to the lot, but Chris had initially chalked that up to Wilson just being defensive over Apollo. Hey, the android didn’t appear to have any interest in changing Clark’s mind regarding her comment that…how had she said it… “a brick wall would have more personality.”

Somewhere between that and the way that she had ignored Connor’s offer of a handshake and referred to him at first as “the RK800” instead of by name…yeah, Chris worried that it was going to turn out that she was one of those holding on to their prejudice against androids. But she still had a job to do, right? And hey, if anybody could win her over, it’d be Connor.

Then again, Chris doubted even Connor’s charms were going to make up for where they were going on this call.

“How many times have the neighbors called in a disturbance on this particular android?” Clark asked from the backseat, jotting on her clipboard.

In the front passenger seat, Connor turned his head to answer her, while Chris kept driving, trying to keep his knuckles loose around the wheel.

“Calls have largely decreased in the weeks since she and her roommates moved onto the block,” Connor explained. “Once the neighbors—“

“That wasn’t my question,” Clark cut in. “How many times has this android disturbed the peace?”

“Ember doesn’t…disturb the peace,” Chris input. “She’s just…got her own way of interacting with the world. But, uh, we’ve gotten calls on her about four times now.”

In the rearview mirror, he saw Clark frown and scribble more on her clipboard.

“And what measures have you taken to attempt to prevent these disturbances from recurring?” she asked in a clipped tone.

Connor tilted his head as Chris turned onto the now-familiar road. “We speak with the individual, and she has always agreed to desist with her public indecency—“

“Is she still registered to a human?”

“N-No.” Connor looked unsettled by the question. “Ma’am, laws passed within months of the revolution two years ago lifted the requirement for androids to be registered as property—“

“No was all you had to say,” Clark remarked shortly.

Chris slid his eyes to the side as Connor faced forward again, looking put out. He caught Chris’s eye and frowned, looking away again. Chris felt the old knot in his gut twist again as the home came into view. Ember and two roommates, a human and another android, had moved into the family sized home two months ago. And yeah, right at first, the station had gotten loads of complaint calls about Ember specifically from others living on the block. That had largely died down, but every now and then…she just seemed to wake up that morning wanting to cause trouble.

“Oh Jesus,” Clark hissed, spotting Ember before the squad car came to a stop.

Chris parked on the curb outside the home and sighed, looking to Connor. “You want to take this or me?”

Connor still looked off kilter from Clark’s dismissive attitude toward him, and he straightened his posture, not that it needed correcting.

“It’s your call, Officer Miller.”

The knot twisted further, but Chris shrugged.

“All right.” He popped open the driver side door and stood out of the car, calling over to the android. “Ember! Lady, we’ve been over this!”

Ember, all seven feet of her, stood with her feet planted in the yard, hands on her hips, emerald eyes staring severely over to the three cops. As per usual, she had deactivated her skin and was wearing no clothes, fully displaying her plastic chassis. Chris knew that she was a first generation firefighting model android, a model that had been decommissioned and replaced almost immediately with smaller models with greater agility. It had something to do with her model being too big and bulky, despite being built to be strong enough to move heavy debris and dig out survivors…but her model wasn’t fast enough to navigate burning structures quickly because of it.

Still, thanks to being completely naked, it was obvious that she had served her time in the field. Several points on her plastic casing were puckered and malformed from prolonged exposure to heat. There was a sizable dent over where her collar bone would be on her left side, and numerous scuffs and scrapes had become permanent fixtures on her knees and chest. Her model must have predated the more sophisticated healing programs, leaving her with battle scars.

“And you’re all still wrong,” Ember spoke placidly, her voice low and hollow, designed to boom across the din and chaos of a fire scene.

The loudness of her visibly startled Clark further. Chris and Connor were used to it by now.

Connor climbed out of the passenger side, stepping around the car to stand by Chris. “Ember, you’ve been warned numerous times. You cannot be exposed in public like this.”

“Who’s exposed?” Ember spread her hands. “Humans defined what nudity means for themselves, but that doesn’t apply to androids. I refuse to abide by these archaic, idiotic dogmas!”

Chris held up his hands, trying to placate her. “I’m not saying you’re wrong here, but until the laws change, you are still breaking them by walking around like this. It’s public indecency.”

“Oh, so it wasn’t publicly indecent when you humans rounded my people up like cattle in those camps, stripped them of all clothing, and forced them to deactivate their skin? They were plastered all over the news then, but now…oh, now that one is choosing to do that of her own will,” she pointed to herself, “suddenly it’s indecent? Smells like bullshit to me.”

Chris sighed, lowering his hands and putting them on his hips. “Are you going to stop and cover yourself? Or are we going to have to take you in this time?”

“You’ve never arrested this android?” Clark looked shocked. “It-She’s in clear violation of—“

“She isn’t hurting anyone,” Connor pointed out.

“Do not interrupt me, RK800.” Clark pointed her pen at him.

“And who the fuck are you?” Ember stated, folding her arms and, for all intents and purposes, looking like a mountain refusing to be moved.

Clark drew herself up to her own full height. “I am a representative from the Police Commissioner’s office.”

Ember raised an eyebrow ridge. “Well, la dee freakin’ da. Am I supposed to take a knee?”

“Ember,” Connor chided, stepping closer. “We have to record this as another warning if you don’t comply. That’s another mark, another fine, and another step closer to an arrest—“

“Arrest it—Arrest her now,” Clark ordered. “If she resists, call for backup.”

“I don’t believe that’s necessary,” Connor said calmly.

“I gave you an order.” Clark squared her shoulders at him.

Connor stood his ground, but Chris thought only he caught the smallest flinch as he fought the involuntary response to obey.

“You do not have the authority to issue that order,” Connor replied.

Clark looked incredulously to Chris, who hooked his thumbs into his belt and promptly ignored her, looking back to Ember.

“Ember, stop…or we WILL have to place you under arrest for public indecency.”

Ember stared at him, at Connor, and also ignored Clark, before rolling her eyes hard. “Ridiculous.”

“How about just clothes?” Connor attempted to compromise. “There is no law saying that androids are required to wear their synthetic skin program, but you HAVE to wear clothes, Ember.”

The giant of an android fumed for a beat longer before groaning and dropping her arms. “Fine.”

“Thank you,” Chris breathed a sigh of relief.

Ember stayed where she was. Connor’s shoulders sagged, and he gestured toward house. She blinked at him.

“Now?”

“Yes, now,” Connor stated, shooing her slightly.

“Boy, I know you did not just shoo me,” Ember snapped.

Connor subtly retracted his hand. “Of course not, just…please—“

Cut me some slack today.

Chris could practically hear the rest of the sentence in the way he trailed off. Ember looked him up and down, glanced at Chris, glared at Clark, and then heaved another sigh.

“Whatever.” She turned and moved back toward the front door.

Connor accompanied her to ensure her compliance, and Chris leaned back against the side of the squad car, puffing out his cheeks to relieve some of the tension.

Clark, unfortunately, seemed determined to maintain said tension.

“That android just threatened a representative of the DPD. You yourself said that she has violated the same law numerous times, and she clearly has no regard for warnings and no respect for the police force. Why haven’t you arrested her to teach her a lesson, Officer?” she demanded.

Chris was starting to get thoroughly irked now, but he held his tongue in check.

“Ember is not a threat to anybody, and I meant what I said: I don’t think she’s in the wrong here. The laws just haven’t caught up—“

“So you’d feel comfortable if the RK800 just decided to start coming to work like that as well?”

Chris grimaced. “Ma’am, I wish I had a more evolved answer to give you, but…no, I wouldn’t be comfortable with it…at first. I guess I’d just have to get used to it…just like we have all had to get used to the way things have been changing lately.”

Clark huffed. “Tch, if things keep changing at this rate, those tincans may as well replace us all right now.”

Chris took a steadying breath, watching Connor step back outside with Ember. She was wearing a pair of jeans and a purple t-shirt now. Still skinless, but no longer considered ‘indecently exposed.’ She stared over at Chris and spread her arms in a ‘happy now?’ gesture. She repeated the motion toward Connor, who just chuckled and gave her a thumb up to dissipate the tension.

Ember’s bad mood remained, and she shooed him off the property impatiently.

“One of ‘those tincans’ saved my life several months ago,” Chris said lowly as Connor made his way back over to them. “Connor pulled me and my partner out of a burning car, at great risk to himself and at the expense of losing the guy responsible for the wreck. We would be so lucky as to all get replaced by someone like that.”

Clark eyed him stringently before turning up her nose and writing on her clipboard again. “If he was all that great, he would have saved you AND apprehended the suspect.”

“Situation diffused,” Connor concluded, reaching the two of them again.

“Great,” Chris remarked flatly, ready for this conversation to end. “Let’s get out of here.”

The ride back to the station was doubly uncomfortable as the drive out, with none of the three of them talking for the duration. The only sound was the scratching of Clark’s pen as she took furious notes in the backseat. Connor’s perfect posture seemed to deflate further and further as the drive went on, and Chris wasn’t sure what to do or say to fix that.

Clark was the first one out of the car as soon as they’d parked, and she made a straight line to Fowler’s office, probably to give him a piece of her mind about how that call had gone. Chris took his time going inside, and Connor was nearly dragging his feet as he followed.

“Hey, don’t let her get to you, man,” Chris said, grasping his shoulder and giving him a light shake. “She’s an idiot.”

“She has my career in her hands,” Connor murmured under his breath. “I don’t understand what I did wrong for her to—“

“I don’t think her attitude is your fault, and it’s definitely not because you’ve done anything wrong,” Chris stated. “But, hey, it’s over, we survived, and hopefully we don’t see her again for another year—Unlike Ember, who we will probably see more of than we want by…I’m betting this time next month.”

His attempt at humor failed, and Connor made a low noise, aiming to head back to his desk. The guy was taking this awfully hard. Evaluations last year had stressed him out pretty bad then too, but Paul at least only went after your skills to criticize. Clark seemed to have a vendetta against all the androids in the precinct. Chris frowned.

Clark had intercepted Fowler as the captain was returning to his office from the break room. Polly was on her way to resume her shift after her charging break, and she awkwardly stepped out of Clark’s warpath, jumping behind Person’s desk to avoid her.

“—utterly unacceptable,” Clark was already railing.

 “—I don’t want to hear this right now but…” Fowler was saying, lifting a hand. “Come into my office, and we can discuss it—“

Chris came to a stop by Connor and Hank’s desks. Hank was sitting up in his seat, having taken one look at Connor’s downtrodden expression and Clark’s disruptive noise, and he was looking ready to intervene if she kept going at it.

“Not only are the androids on your staff incompetent, but they blatantly refuse to uphold the law!” she continued. “First that PC200 with its smart remarks and now the RK800 not arresting another android that was making clear threats to the community!”

Fowler went deadpan, looking from Clark to Chris. “Ember?”

Chris sighed and nodded.

“And if that wasn’t enough, even your staff androids are slacking in their duties…That one—“ she pointed a thumb over her shoulder toward Polly, “—should just be replaced if it can’t complete one entire shift without needing to recharge…Piece of junk—“

“WHAT?!” Wilson was on his feet and halfway across the bullpen before anybody had time to react.

When they did, both Tina and Gavin ran interference, blocking him from approaching Clark. Connor was just as quickly on his feet at Clark’s disparaging comment, and Hank held him back with a hand raised in warning. The knot in Chris’s gut was starting to burn, but he angrily remained by Connor’s side at Hank’s silent order. Polly looked like she’d turned to stone, going stiff behind Person and staring staunchly at the floor, shoulders hunched in embarrassment at the attention being thrown at her.

“Dude, dude, stop.” Gavin shoved at Wilson. “Get it together, Jesus.”

“She can’t say that—“ Wilson growled, then at Clark directly. “You can’t say that! You have no idea what she’s been through—”

Clark puffed herself up, turning on her heel to look at Fowler. “The Commissioner may already have his mind made up on this whole android inclusion initiative bullshit, but this—“ she waved her clipboard of notes, “—clearly shows that the 07 is not a precinct that should be emulated. It’s pathetic.”

Fowler was standing dangerously still, staring at her. When he spoke, his voice was low. “I advise you to choose your next words carefully, Officer Clark. Last time I checked, these are all still my people, and I will not tolerate you coming in here and insulting them like that. I don’t care what office you’re from.”

Hank stood up slowly, glancing at a visibly upset Polly, to Connor, silently seething beside Chris, and then the lieutenant carefully stepped away from his desk, approaching Fowler and Clark.

“Okay, you need to leave,” he said evenly.

Clark turned on her heel. “I beg your pardon?”

Anybody in the bullpen who hadn’t stopped what they were doing to watch the scene was now doing so, and Chris could see at least half of them on the brink of intervening as well if Clark didn’t watch it. He wasn’t sure he didn’t count himself among them. Connor was practically vibrating with anger beside him. Wilson was glaring daggers, and Tina and Gavin were both still holding Wilson back, though neither looked too happy either. Person stood like a wall between Clark’s line of sight and Polly, who was holding her arms around herself and keeping her eyes down.

“Go ahead and beg,” Hank said, just as evenly as before, but with a slight tick up in volume, “but do it on your way out the door.”

“I’m going to have to agree with my lieutenant,” Fowler said, folding his arms. “I don’t think I need to hear your debriefing. I think I’ve just about got you figured out.”

Clark looked insulted, but she took a step away from the two men. “Have it your way. See where it gets you.”

She spun around sharply and marched toward the exit. Ben and Julia happened to be coming down the hallway, and both nearly leapt sideways to get out of the way. That didn’t stop Clark from shoving her clipboard forward with a harsh, “MOVE.”

The clipboard would have smacked Julia in the chest if she hadn’t already been moving out of the way, and Connor took an angry step in that direction at the gesture. Chris involuntarily grabbed his elbow to stop him, and Connor went still, though he continued to fume beside him. Ben checked on Julia as she regained her balance, both looking with wide eyes after the woman.

Clark made her dramatic exit, and the squad was not sad to see her go. In her wake, however, all of their heads slowly swiveled around to look back at their captain.

“Uh…” Tina broke the silence. “Cap…what ‘android inclusion initiative’ was she talking about?”

Fowler took a deep breath, running a hand down his face and then putting both hands on his hips. He jerked his head toward the conference room.

“Squad meeting. Everybody. Now.”

Chapter Text

That hadn’t gone well.

“Fuck,” Tina hissed under her breath, standing outside and staring at the laminated menu board hanging outside the food truck.

Four. They were losing four people to this…to this bullshit that the Police Commissioner had thought up. Four and a half if you counted the way they were going to rotate Connor around the other precincts like some…some kind of…Dammit, she couldn’t even think of a funny way to say it. It was just fucked. It was just stupid. It was just—

“Lady?”

She jerked her head from the menu board to the lumberjack of a man inside the food truck, complete with flannel shirt and impressive dark beard. Right, right, she was in line. She was next. She…had no idea what she was doing.

“Uh.” She glanced back at the middle aged blond woman behind her. “You go ahead. I’m, uh, still deciding.”

The woman gave a reassuring smile and stepped up to the window. “All right, thanks.” She looked to the man. “One large cup of bacon cheddar flavored thirium soup and one…chocolate muffin.”

Tina continued to stare at the menu, not properly reading any of it. As soon as Fowler had ended the meeting, she had just sort of…left. Everybody in the room had been upset, but there had been an impotence to it that she couldn’t handle. Be mad. Be upset. Be sad. This was going to happen anyway. Starting with the new year, Ben, Gwen, Zeke, and Julia were all being transferred out of the 07. And it wasn’t fucking fair.

Fowler and Hank had stayed fairly calm, trying to answer the questions being barked at them. Connor had more or less deflated in his seat beside Person. Julia had gone into some kind of creepy-calm state, smiling for her openly distressed friends and trying to comfort them with platitudes. Zeke had freaked out first, having a full blown panic attack in the middle of the room, begging them not to reset him…as apparently that had been standard procedure before the revolution when his model was reassigned to another precinct. Wilson, Polly and Chris had been trying to calm him down when Tina had left.

It didn’t help that the station had turned on the heating system a few days ago, only for the weather to turn unexpectedly warm again today. Unfortunately, there was some bullshit about once the heater was turned on, it couldn’t be shut back off until spring. So on top of the bad news meeting, they had all been boiling in the conference room.

Fowler had tried to reassure them by saying it was a temporary reassignment…just three to four months. It hadn’t helped. That was three to four months that Ben and Gwen were going to be at the 01, Zeke at the 04, and Julia at the 05, and they were losing Connor for a week every month too.

Yeah, and a bag full of thirium cookies and shit wasn’t going to make that better…but dammit, comfort food was the first thing that had popped into Tina’s head, and so here she was…except she had never bought thirium-based food before. She had no idea what she was doing, but she had to do something…

“Is there an occasion?” the same blond customer beside her asked, paying for her goods.

“What?” Tina glanced at her. “Oh, er…Well, some, uh, some android friends of mine just got some bad news, and I…don’t know what I’m doing…”

The woman situated her bag on her shoulder and stepped away for the next customer to order. She stood next to Tina and glanced briefly at the menu.

“Well, you can’t go wrong with chocolate thirium,” she suggested. “But if your friends aren’t into sweets, I recommend the macaroni. I don’t know about your friends, but cheese-flavored anything has proven to be like android catnip to my friends.”

Tina snorted and rubbed the back of her neck. “I don’t…really know what they like…Never bought any of this stuff before.”

“Then get a little of everything,” the woman shrugged. “There’s some comfort in the gesture itself, for your friends to know that you’re thinking of them and that you want to help.”

“Uh, right.” Tina glanced from the menu to the man in the truck, presumably the ‘Bert’ of Bert’s Baked Stuffs. “I guess I’ll try that.”

Bert nodded and disappeared inside the truck to start pulling together…one of everything apparently.

“On me,” the woman leaned toward the window to clarify.

Tina balked. “Oh, no, that’s not necessary—That’s…a lot…”

“Ah.” She raised a hand to stop her. “Please let me do this. It’s not every day I see humans showing such compassion for androids. It’s a lovely thing to do, so let me help you do it.”

Tina sniffed and folded her arms, looking away lest the ball of stress in her chest bubble up out of her eyes. “Okay, um…Thank you…uh…?” she trailed off, realizing that this stranger hadn’t even given her name.

The woman chuckled and took the three sizable bags from Bert, handing them to Tina.

“Penny,” she introduced herself, taking her wallet back out and handing her credit card to Bert.

“Okay, Penny, thank you. Tina,” Tina awkwardly reciprocated, taking the bags. “Seriously.”

“Well, Tina Seriously, I hope that this helps.” Penny bobbed her head.

“Right…thanks. I hope it helps too.”

By the time Tina got back to the station with the three hefty bags of thirium-based treats, the squad was quiet in the meeting room. It was still hot as balls, but for some reason, the human cops were all huddled around the androids in little groups. Wilson and Chris were sitting on the floor with Polly and Zeke, who had calmed and moved into listless staring at the floor between his feet. Person was still sitting next to Connor, looking like neither had moved at all. Ben was sitting by Gwen, talking quietly to her while she nodded and talked back, probably creating a game plan since they were both going to the same precinct. Apollo had his hands folded tightly behind his back, standing stiffly and speaking with Fowler and Hank. Gavin was the only one who had gone back into the bullpen, sitting at his desk and looking like he was trying to get back to work.

“Where’d you fuck off to?” he asked as Tina approached the meeting room.

She held up the bags. “Comfort food. What are you doing out here?”

He scoffed. “Everybody’s still in there moping…Somebody’s got to get some work done out here.”

“You’re such an ass,” she muttered.

He snorted and didn’t try to deny it, plucking up his phone as it started to ring. “Yeah?...Yeah, I’ll be right out.”

He stood up and made for the front door. Tina quirked an eyebrow at him.

He pointed a thumb toward the front. “Pizza.”

“You ordered pizza,” she said flatly.

“What? Lunch doesn’t stop because the whole station decides to have a crying session.”

“Jesus Christ, Gavin—“ Tina trailed off, looking toward the hall to the front reception area.

She spotted the pizza delivery woman, struggling to balance five boxes of pizza in her arms. Tina gawked and swiveled back to look at Gavin.

“You ordered pizza…for the whole team,” she concluded with a smug smile.

Gavin frowned, shouldering away from her. “Yeah, well, you bought shit for all the androids. Shut up. Get off my dick.”

“Awww…” she crooned after him.

Once he was out of earshot, however, her grin drooped, and she stepped over to the meeting room again. Julia was just coming toward the doorway and nearly bumped into her. Her LED was an overly bright blue, like she was manually overriding it to stay that way, and her face looked carefully constructed to be cheerful. She started in surprise at Tina, and that expression nearly cracked. She recovered quickly and flashed a smile that was almost convincing.

“Oh! Sorry…oh? What’s—“ Julia noted the bags in Tina’s arms. “You…”

Tina abruptly set the bags on the nearest table and pulled Julia in for a hug. Her body felt unusually cool despite the warm room. The android stiffened, not immediately returning the embrace. Maybe she couldn’t. Maybe doing so would break the façade that she didn’t need to be hugged. Tina hugged her more tightly.

“It’s gonna be okay,” Tina said firmly.

“I know.” Julia’s tone was deceptively level. “That’s what I’ve been telling them.”

She sounded hollow, and Tina gave her one more hard squeeze before leaning back. She gave Julia a onceover, and the android just smiled at her.

“Thank you for this,” she said, reaching for the first Bert’s bag and tugging it open. “Oh wow, you got a whole mish mash of stuff.”

She started picking the little packages and containers out of the bags. Tina kept an eye on her as she joined in.

“Yeah…I didn’t know what you all preferred so I just…went nuts.”

“Okay, well, I’m seeing some chocolate. I think Zeke needs some chocolate.” Julia set the little brown bar aside. “Polly likes cinnamon, so she can get these cookies here…”

“What’s all this?” Hank asked, looking over at all the bag rustling.

Apollo drifted over with the lieutenant, more out of not wanting to stand alone in the emotional room, and Fowler stepped out of the room all together to give them all some processing space.

“Tina brought goodies,” Julia explained. “Apollo, these go to Zeke and Polly. Aaand this little macaroni cup is for you.”

“I don’t—“

“You love cheese,” Julia said matter-of-factly.

Apollo stared at her suspiciously. “How did you know that—“

Julia just foisted the stuff at him, and he awkwardly took them, steering himself over toward Zeke and Polly. Tina caught Hank’s eye and tilted her head toward the door.

“Gavin bought a fuckload of pizza for everybody too.”

“No shit?” Hank looked surprised.

“I think he…didn’t know what else to do…Kinda like…” Tina gestured to herself and the food that Julia had taken over distributing.

Hank put a hand on Tina’s shoulder, giving her arm a wiggle of approval. He abruptly sniffed and grimaced.

“Did that little fuck get pineapple on any of that pizza?”

On cue, Gavin made his entrance with the boxes of pizza, scowling at Hank. “Ben likes pineapple on his pizza, so fuck you.”

“I sure do!” Ben said, standing from his seat. “Though I don’t recall telling you that.”

“That’s because I am a top notch detective,” Gavin declared, setting the pizza boxes next to the thirium goods.

“Gwen,” Julia addressed the other android, holding up another container. “Strawberry ice cream?”

Gwen swallowed and wiped at dry eyes with one hand, taking the container from her. “Y-yeah, thanks, Jules.”

Another container smelled like spaghetti and garlic, and Julia set that one aside.

“For Connor,” she said, tapping the lid lightly.

“And what about for you?” Tina pressed, looking at the rest of the bags’ contents.

“I’m fine,” Julia said, too quickly.

Tina gave her a flat look and picked up another macaroni container. “This one’s yours.”

“I’m okay—“

“I have it on authority that androids love cheese. So have some cheesy noodles,” Tina insisted. “We’ll take care of the rest of this.”

Julia paused, looking from Tina, to the container, to Hank, uncertainly. Hank nodded and pointed at the box.

“There’s plenty to go around, kiddo. Take a break. You don’t have to be cheerful for everybody all the time.”

Julia slowly took the container and a spoon, her expression staying the same.

“Yes, I do. Today, I do,” she stated curtly.

Then she was taking up the spaghetti container as well and carrying it over to Connor. Tina watched her go and looked to Hank.

“Well?” she prompted quietly. “What did I miss?”

Hank pursed his lips and folded his arms. He shook his head. “Would you believe me if I said I’d seen worse?”

Tina snorted and watched Ben start doling out slices of pizza to the human officers. Julia more or less pushed the little container into Connor’s hands, and he looked up and said something to her. Julia shrugged and started to walk away, but Connor hooked his ankle around a nearby chair, tugging it closer to him and Person, indicating that she stay. Julia paused, cobbled together another smile, and took him up on the invitation, sitting stiffly with her little cup of macaroni.

Between the heater running, the hot pizza and noodles, and all the bodies huddling together, the meeting room felt like it was well and truly boiling.

“Jeez, could we get a fan or something in here?” she complained, fanning herself with a hand.

Ben handed her a slice of pizza. “Nah, it’s all right. Besides, I think all the, uh, the stuff and things kinda gave all the androids a bit of a shock. I’ve seen androids do this thing before, where their internal cooling systems start working overtime to avoid overheating, so they end up running colder than usual. It’s a giveaway that they’re anxious. Makes for some nice hugs on a hot day…and I think they could all use some more hugs.”

Tina noted his cheery attitude, and she grimaced. “Ben…the 01…”

“Hey, I started my beat cop days at the 01,” Ben assured. “Me and Gwen, we got our game plan. Three to four months is gonna be no big thang, right?”

Gwen, plowing through her ice cream a few steps away, held up a thumb and said nothing.

“Okay,” Tina mused. “Well, what about Zeke? He’s taking this really hard.”

“We told him nobody’s going to be reset,” Hank stated. “Wilson’s brother Mike is over at the 04. He’ll keep an eye on him. Wilson said the 04 has good people.”

Tina looked over at Julia again. The android was mechanically eating her macaroni and staring at the wall with a distant expression. Every time Connor or Person looked at her, however, she was quick to smile and reply to whatever they were saying. It dropped again as soon as they looked away.

“And what about the 05?”

“They’re fine,” Gavin cut in, mouthing around a too-big bite of pizza.

Tina folded her arms and moved out of the way so Ben could carry some plates of pizza over to Wilson and Chris.

“I don’t trust your definition of ‘fine,’ dude,” she muttered.

Gavin cocked his head and shrugged, swallowing. “That’s fair, but, hey that Officer Rogers guy is there—“

“That guy who roasted your ass when you nearly got Connor killed at the Clemens murder scene?” Tina shot back.

Gavin paused mid-bite. “Yeah,” he grumbled. “I just mean…She’ll be fine.”

Hank snorted and stepped away, going to talk to Gwen, who was scraping her spoon against the bottom of the empty ice cream container. He grabbed up a second cup for her on the way.

Tina peeled one pepperoni off her pizza, plopping it in her mouth.

“We’re gonna get through this, right?” she muttered.

“Sure,” Gavin said casually.

She glared at him, and he smirked. She continued to glare, and his smirk flattened.

“Yeah,” he said, with a little more conviction. “Three to four months isn’t—I mean, androids—they’re all kinda—Yeah.”

“Wow, you suck at pep talks,” Tina remarked.

“Well, why do you think I bought pizza? God damn,” he shuffled away sourly.

Tina clucked her tongue and, no appetite any more, set her pizza down. Instead, she moved over to where Connor, Person, and Julia were sitting.

Without preamble, she sauntered up behind Connor and hugged him around the neck. Oof, Ben was right. In the overheated room, hot air blowing through the vents and coming off all the human bodies and food, Connor felt like a cool glass of water. Her hug, originally meant to convey comfort, turned more feral as she squished up against him, reveling in the coolness coming off him.

Connor’s hand came up and patted her elbow. “Thank you, Tina.”

Person leaned away, saying the same thing with her face, though her mouth was a thin line. Tina briefly glanced around at the disheveled squad. Their weird little family was in pain right now, and three to four months was a long fucking time…and she didn’t know what to do or say to fix it. The helplessness lodged like a lump in her throat, and she swallowed against it.

She gave him another squish and planted a dramatic kiss to the top of his head.

“You’re welcome, Terminator.”

Chapter Text

Never had Hank seen Connor fidget so much.

“Gonna twitch your way right onto the floor, if you keep that up,” he remarked after nearly two hours of watching his partner across the desk space.

Give Connor a mission, an objective, something to focus on, and he would normally nearly become a statue in his chair. Hank had noted on multiple occasions where Connor would stop blinking, breathing, and moving at all when the case on the terminal in front of him was being difficult. So, this particular morning, watching Connor struggle to concentrate, watching that stillness get consistently interrupted by these…spasms? Could androids have spasms? Whatever, it was weird.

“You okay?” he asked, more concernedly now. “Seriously, you seem…on edge.”

Up at the head of the bullpen, Hank saw Tina dramatically peck at a key on her keyboard before glancing in Connor’s direction. Seeing Hank watching her, she toned down her posture and tried to subtly go back to work. Meanwhile, Connor twitched again and pressed a thumb between his pinched eyes.

“Never better, Lieutenant.” Connor sighed and straightened up again. “I’ve been receiving significantly more interoffice correspondence today than usual. It’s putting a strain on my processors trying to sift through it all.”

“Gonna keep happening as long as you get your email directly in your head,” Hank said, folding his arms. “Which isn’t healthy, by the way. You need to learn to disconnect. Not responding to an email immediately isn’t going to kill you.”

“Let him work himself in to the ground,” Gavin interrupted with a smirk, kicked back in his chair with his feet on his desk. “Takes some of the caseload off us.”

“You look like you’re really covered up, Reed,” Hank remarked sarcastically. “Why don’t you mind your business? Don’t you have any dark corners to lurk in?”

“Down, Lieutenant.” Reed’s smirk turned smarmy. “I’m just sayin’…Androids don’t get tired or overwhelmed like humans do, right, Tinman? Emails, shmee-shmails.”

“Never gonna understand how that prick hasn’t gotten his teeth punched in,” Hank grumbled, turning away from Reed, hoping the lack of attention would shut him up.

“Gonna make a lunch run,” Ben offered, standing from his desk and pecking at his phone, not looking up from the screen. “Any takers?”

“Run…to Kim’s Food Truck?” Tina leaned forward.

“Around there,” Ben shrugged, hitting a final button on his phone before putting it in his pocket.

And Connor twitched again. Hank narrowed his eyes as he watched his partner blink rapidly a few times in that way he did when he was dismissing error messages.

“Desert the Desserts,” Ben stated. “Some new hippie dippie spot that my niece keeps wanting to take me to. It’s all…low sugar, low carb, bleh…Tina? Chris? Hank? Anybody care to suffer with me? Connor?”

“You…uh…I’m gonna raincheck on that,” Hank nodded at him, looking over at Connor again. “Seriously, what is going on with you? Why are you twitching? Maybe you’re overloaded. Hey, when was the last time you emptied out your recycle bin?” He tapped his temple.

“Never?” Connor looked at him strangely.

“Gonna run out of storage up there,” Hank said, as if that explained the twitching. “It’s good to delete all that old shit from your files sometime, like spring cleaning or something. Maybe that’s what’s gumming up your works today. Trust me, if you don’t clean house every now and then, it’ll make you nuts.”

“Make me nuts?” Connor squinted one eye at the phrasing. “Lieutenant, when I say I’m fine, then I’m fine. I am merely attempting to…adapt…to the new parameters established by this recent influx of…shitposting…in my inbox.”

“You know what shitposting is?” Hank balked, shook his head, and sat forward. “Wait, what do you mean? Who is sending you shitposts?”

“Cry harder, you’ll pee less!” Person barked across the bullpen, steering her latest arrest toward the holding cells; the large man did indeed look close to tears under the smaller woman’s harsh tone.

“Never open yourself up to those emails,” Hank ignored the outburst, pointing at Connor. “Everybody in this precinct will turn into fucking trolls if they know you’re actually opening that shit. You’ll start getting old vines and Rick Rolls and memes and…ESPECIALLY TINA. When Chris first started here, she sent him the same looping video clip of a goat on trampoline every four hours, every day for two weeks.”

“Gonna set me a record!” Tina boomed, pecking at her keyboard again. “I made an exception for the Terminator. Cut it down to every two hours.”

“Say what?” Hank glared at her, then back at Connor, who had the decency to look sheepish. “Connor, how many of those emails have these dipshits been sending you?”

“Goodbye, healthy sleep schedule!” Tina answered for him. “Hello, Trampoline Goat!”

“Never send that to me again!” Chris boomed across the bullpen. “God DAMMIT, Tina!”

“Gonna need to be more clear,” Hank watched Connor twitch again as more of the cursed troll emails flooded his inbox. He stood and put his hands on his hips, glaring at them all. “Cut it out, people. It’s bad enough he’s got his email wired straight into his brain without all of you bombarding him with your dumb shit.”

“Tell them what you’re listening to right now, Tinman,” Gavin dared, clearly sending another email from his phone. “I got 85 percent battery, no cases, and nothing stopping me from airdropping this right into your robot brain for the whole shift, motherfucker.”

A sound like…Hell, it sounded like Hell, Hank decided…seemed to leak out of the intercom system suddenly. All the other officers startled and then groaned, covering their ears as the distorted, remixed noise of that damn Rick Astley song reverberated around the office. Connor had apparently had enough of suffering alone with so many noisy, trolling emails clogging up his processors, and he had linked his audio feed directly into the office speaker system. Hank cringed at the song, but he looked proudly at Connor for turning the tables on those assholes. The android was looking worn out from the whole ordeal, and it dampened his humor.

“Lie down before you strain something,” Hank advised mildly.

And then Fowler was shoving open his door. “What the entire fuck, people? Connor, shut that shit off!”

“Hurt your ears, everybody?” Hank barked as the intercom speakers fell mute again. “Well, I would take that as a warning. Maybe you can terrorize Connor with your bullshit, but he can dump it back tenfold on you…” He looked smugly over at Gavin. “And like you said, he doesn’t get tired, so it could be 24 hours a day of nails on a chalkboard or screamer videos or people singing the wrong song lyrics over…and over…and over…”

“You make a good point, Lieutenant,” Connor remarked, looking a little livelier as the barrage of emails finally lessened. “And I’ve got a full month of ammunition that they’ve already graciously supplied.”

Chapter Text

“—Or what if the captain at the 04 is a jerk? What if she hates me?” Zeke was rambling.

Ben kept his eyes on his work, as he had been for the past ten minutes, organizing files on the island counter in the middle of the bullpen. “Captain Stacker has a reputation for being very firm and intense, but I’ve never heard anybody say she was unfair. Just do a good job, like you always do, and I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

“What if people call me Zach?” Zeke plowed on. “I was stationed at a precinct in Chicago for six months once, and they ONLY called me Zach, even though I corrected them frequently!”

As he babbled, Ben exchanged a slightly exasperated look with Polly. She was standing on the other side of the counter, adding new labels to file folders, and looking like she had no business judging anybody. She was effectively wearing every color that existed, from the neon yellow flip flops to her hot pink, star-shaped sunglasses on the top of her head. Her rationale had been to try and make the others in the squad smile by looking ridiculous, just as a way to ease the sour moods in the air as the days counted down to the reassignments. Well, she certainly looked ridiculous.

It seemed more like that many bright colors had run everybody off. Ben glanced around, noting the vacancy of the station. Fowler was in his office, and Hank was grumbling and pecking away at his computer. Person was poring over some detective exam study materials, but other than that, everybody looked to have cleared out.

“What if they pronounce it ‘supposably’?” Zeke was still going. “I mean, am I supposed to just TOLERATE that for three months?!”

“Where is everybody?” Ben interrupted him. “Did a call go out that I didn’t hear?”

“They’re looking for Connor,” Polly replied, barely looking up from her work.

“Why?” Ben asked.

“—Supposedly…supposably…supposedly…Oh God, they’re starting to sound the same!” Zeke said, planting his hands on either side of his head in distress.

Polly ignored him. “He lost some stupid bet with the others, and now they can make him do whatever they want for an hour…”

“Wait, what was the bet? How does that even happen?” Ben blinked in surprise.

Polly shrugged. “I wasn’t there to see it, but apparently it was messy. And Person and Chris were both lame in what they’re making him do…but it sounds like Tina and Gavin are making up for it.”

Ben gestured for her to go on.

Polly snorted. “Person is just making him go to lunch with her today instead of their regular Tuesday. Lame. And Chris is making him babysit Damian this Friday so he can take Vanessa out for a date night. Also lame.”

“Okay…so what’s not lame?” Ben asked.

Polly pouted her lips against a grin. “Tina’s trying to find the limit of his appearance modification software. There was talk of a two foot tall purple Mohawk.”

“That I wouldn’t mind seeing,” Ben chuckled. “What about Gavin?”

“He found some old forgotten food container in the back of the fridge. Pretty sure it’s been there at least two months. It’s gone from solid to liquid and back to solid again.” She shuddered. “He wants Connor to do his analysis thing on it.”

“He wants him to…eat it.” Ben scrunched up his face. “Can’t blame Connor for hiding on that one. Though I’m surprised Fowler is letting everybody run amok like this.”

Zeke abruptly dropped his head to the surface of the counter top with a thud. He groaned dramatically and didn’t straighten up. His LED remained blue, so Ben casually reached over and patted him on the back.

“You’re gonna be fine, kiddo,” he assured.

“What if they make me eat the mystery fridge container?” Zeke mumbled against the counter.

“They’re just doing that to Connor because he was designed to ingest nasty stuff like that,” Polly pointed out. “Besides, you’ve got Mike on your side, right? He won’t let them mess with you.”

Zeke turned his head on the counter enough to peer up with one eye. “Yeah…He’s already called me twice this week to talk me through it.”

“See?” Ben teased. “You’re getting worked up over nothing.”

“Polly, you’re fortunate you get to stay here,” Zeke moaned, finally straightening up.

Polly smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Yeah, well…I guess I’m lucky that the other precincts don’t want the, uh, the busted android working their receptionist desk.”

“Hey,” Ben drawled, leaning an elbow on the counter. “You stop that.”

“That’s what they said in their reports,” Polly shrugged as Julia waddled over with a box full of files. “Although they didn’t say ‘busted,’ but I don’t think ‘permanently impaired and below standard capacity for work’ sounds much better.”

“Oh fuck them,” Julia said, dropping the box on the counter. “There’s no better station to be than at the 07, where the worst you have to deal with is Reed, and he’s not even that bad anymore.”

“He’s not great,” Zeke mumbled.

“He called me Dolly for months,” Polly hissed.

“Yeah, and then you slapped him in the face,” Julia pointed out. “He doesn’t make that mistake anymore now, does he?”

“So if people call me Zach—“

“Don’t slap them!” Ben held up a hand. “That’s not the lesson we’re learning right now.”

“What lesson?” Julia blinked, her LED burning a bright blue. “I’m just saying, we’re not their servants anymore. We’re supposed to equals, and if that’s what this whole thing is supposed to achieve, then we can’t let them walk all over us.” She planted her hands on her hips and faced Zeke. “Right?”

Zeke slowly mimicked her stance, puffing up his chest. “R-Right.”

“CONNOR, I KNOW YOU’RE IN HERE, YOU LITTLE GREMLIN!” Tina skidded into the bullpen, a thermal radar gun in her hand. “Show yourself!”

“Pipe down!” Hank snapped at her from his desk. “He’s not here.”

“Connor!” Tina bellowed anyway. “I have a thermal radar gun here, so I WILL find you. So come out with a little dignity and face your fate like a man!”

Ben looked at her flatly. “Tina, I don’t—“

The cabinet door on the other side of the island popped open beside Polly’s legs, and Connor abruptly tucked and rolled out of the cramped space. Julia shrieked in surprise and jumped out of the way, while Zeke and Ben both bounced backwards in shock. Polly gave no reaction as Connor rolled up to his feet, facing his predator.

“Fine!” he snapped at her.

“Holy—“ Julia leaned over, looking into the small cabinet space. She straightened back up and looked at him. “How did you even FIT in there?”

“And how long were you in there?!” Ben demanded, torn between disturbed and impressed. “I’ve been standing here for at least ten minutes.”

Connor ignored them both, straightening the rumpled sleeves of his jacket and glaring at Tina. The two squared away like an old cowboy standoff, and Ben took a sliding step out of the line of fire.

“Mohawk,” Tina finally said, pointing at him. “Purple. Two feet tall.”

“Tina, please—“

“I said what I said!”

Connor gave a long suffering sigh and looked to the others for help. Hank offered absolutely none, just folding his arms and looking at him expectantly. Julia and Polly stood together watching him as well. Zeke was starting to look curious too. Ben was still highly unsettled by the mental image of what kind of pretzel shape Connor had to have taken to fit in that cabinet.

“You’re the worst,” Connor muttered, activating his appearance modification program.

“Yeah, I am,” Tina agreed lightly with a feline grin. “Now show me what you got.”

With no amount of subtlety, the squad watched as Connor’s hair changed color, first changing to a dark violet hue before violently brightening to a perfect shade of fairy princess purple.

“Oooh…” Ben, Zeke, Hank, Polly, and Julia all cooed in unison.

The hair lengthened then, morphing to stand on its end and shape together into a classic, spiked Mohawk…approximately two feet in height from his skull.

“Ahhh…” they crooned again.

Connor’s expression stayed narrow and unhappy, pointedly so as Tina started to howl with laughter.

“Satisfied?” he said glumly.

“Oh…so much!” Tina slapped her sides, lifting her phone and snapping a picture.

Ben saw Fowler lean over at his desk, holding out his phone to take a picture as well. Connor looked from Tina to the others, all also taking out their phones to get photo evidence of it. Ben made a rocker hand sign and stuck his tongue out.

“Rock on, my dude,” he teased.

Connor looked pained, and it didn’t help that music abruptly started to dump over the intercom. It took less than three beats for Ben to recognize the song, and all of the humans immediately started to clap and stomp in time, making the androids startle in surprise. As one, they all swiveled to see Person, with her deadpan expression, having obviously hacked into the intercom to broadcast the song.

“Buddy, you’re a boy, make a big noise, playing in the street, gonna be a big man someday,” Queen began to roll over the speakers.

“Haha, very funny,” Connor said dryly.

Zeke, Polly, and Julia joined in the clapping and stomping, and he looked at them in disappointment. Tina snatched up a ruler from Gavin’s desk to use as an impromptu microphone, singing along.

“You got mud on your face, you big disgrace. Kicking your can all over the place. Singin’—“

The entire bullpen simultaneously joined in, sans Connor.

“WE WILL…WE WILL ROCK YOU!”

“Wait, wait!” Julia scampered forward, plucking Polly’s pink, star-shaped sunglasses from her head.

“WE WILL…WE WILL ROCK YOU!”

Swiftly, she slid the sunglasses onto Connor’s face, while he stood very still and stared at her in utter betrayal. She bounced back a step and spread her hands.

“Tada!”

“…Why?”

“Ten outta ten!” Polly wheezed, holding up ten fingers.

“You are all terrible people,” Connor said sternly, but it was hard to take him seriously…what with the hair and the sunglasses and all.

Zeke cackled beside Ben. “Oh, man, I’m gonna miss this. I bet they don’t have this much fun at the 04…”

His mirth quickly dried up as his own words registered, and Ben straightened up.

“Hey, no being sad when Queen is playing,” he said, knocking Zeke in the shoulder lightly.

“Can I stop this now?” Connor pleaded, gesturing to his head.

Tina snapped one last picture. “Yeah, yeah, go ahead.”

Immediately, Connor reverted his hair back to its normal color, length, and style, much to the disappointment of everyone in the bullpen. He did seem to have forgotten that he was wearing Polly’s ridiculous sunglasses though…and Ben didn’t expect that any of them were going to point that out to him.

The music continued to pound over the intercom, though Person turned it down to a less window-shattering volume. The dose of levity had served its purpose, providing a break from the looming deadline when four of them would be reassigned to the other precincts. Zeke was clearly still processing it all, but Julia at least seemed to be taking the change like a champ. Ben had had a few long conversations with Gwen about their mutual reassignment to the 01, and, yeah, neither of them were happy about it…But at least they were going together to the same place.

Still, Ben wasn’t keen on the idea of somebody else sitting at his desk for three months…using his computer…rearranging his desk supplies…having his impromptu staring contests with Person on slow afternoons. There hadn’t been much talk over who was being transferred IN; they were all still handling how they were being transferred OUT.

Polly and Apollo would have to hold down the fort here in the meantime. She had wrapped up her work at the counter and was collecting her folders to return to the front desk. Apollo was coming out of the file room with a single folder in his hands, and he was promptly ignoring all of them as he carried that single folder over to Person.

Hey, if it took a two foot tall purple Mohawk on a long suffering android to get a chuckle out of any of them, then Ben was glad that Connor had taken this one for the team.

Speaking of taking one for the team…

“Where are you, motherfucker!?” Gavin made an entrance similarly to Tina.

Ben stared at the disheveled detective, holding a crusty-looking Tupperware container in his hands, and then glanced back at the island counter.

Connor had vanished like smoke in the wind…and yet Ben distinctly saw Julia nudge the cabinet door closed with her knee.

“Jesus, what is that smell?” Hank gagged. “Reed, throw that out.”

“No!” Gavin argued. “That asshole said he wouldn’t back down from whatever gauntlet we threw down, well here’s the mo-fuckin’ gauntlet, bitch! Come and get it!”

Ben recoiled. “Stop waving that thing around! That’s a health hazard.”

“It sure is!” Gavin jeered.

“REED!” Fowler boomed from his office doorway. “Throw that shit away.”

Gavin looked stricken. “But—“

“I don’t care. Get rid of it, then get your ass in here. Apollo, you too. And Connor.” Fowler said crisply, returning to inside his office.

Gavin groaned, tilting his head back so far that his knees buckled slightly. He turned around, grumbling as he carried the Death Plate back into the break room to throw away.

“I never get to do anything fun…”

The counter cabinet popped open again, and Connor unfolded himself from it, straightening up again while Ben, Zeke, and Julia stared in varying degrees of impressed. He fixed his jacket and tie, still seemingly oblivious to the sunglasses on his nose.

“What’s all that about?” Ben asked, nodding toward Fowler’s office.

“Unsure,” Connor remarked, stepping around the counter.

Apollo left the file with Person, turning around and finally acknowledging the others standing at the counter. With an unchanging expression, he stared at Connor and gestured to his own face.

“Those aren’t work appropriate,” he stated flatly.

Connor blinked, his gaze drifting to meet Ben’s as he finally remembered the sunglasses. He frowned and slid them off, looking to return them to Polly. The other android had already disappeared back to the front of the station, and he stood there awkwardly holding them for a beat.

Ben caught his eye and waggled his eyebrows, glancing briefly at Zeke. He had slumped to his elbows on the counter again, back to stressing out about the transfer.

Connor paused, then smirked and reached out, sliding the hot pink sunglasses onto Zeke’s face. The PC200 didn’t react, just flitting his eyes to look dolefully at them all.

Again, hard to take an android seriously when they were wearing star shaped, pink sunglasses. Julia snickered and finally got back to work. Connor offered Zeke a small smile of encouragement before heading toward Fowler’s office. Ben snickered as Connor, Apollo, and Gavin stepped up into Fowler’s office, closing the door behind them.

Zeke heaved a sigh and fixed his posture, side eyeing Ben. “Do I look dashing?”

Ben burst out laughing, clapping a hand on the android’s shoulder. “Yeah, you look good. And, hey, seriously, don’t stress yourself out so much about this transfer. It’ll be over before you know it. You’re a good cop, Zeke. You’re gonna knock this outta the park."

“Yeah, I guess...And Captain Stacker really is fair to androids?”

Ben eyed Zeke for a short moment. He then gave a wink and a mischievous smirk, ruffling the android’s hair.

“Supposably.”

“YOU PUT THAT WORD BACK IN YOUR MOUTH.”

Chapter Text

For all that it was the weekend before Christmas, the mall was surprisingly quiet. The way Hank had described it, Connor had expected to see stampedes of people, trampling each other for last minute gifts and fist fighting between the aisles of the larger stores. Instead, Connor and Bonny found themselves with more or less the run of the place.

A few panicked individuals were scouring the stores, trying to secure a gift for someone that they’d forgotten or to snag one last bargain on some product or other. In recent years, humans had largely sent their androids to brave the holiday madness of shopping, or they simply funneled all of their shopping through online channels. It seemed that, without androids to pick up the slack for them, most humans had gone a hundred percent to online shopping. Hopefully that would make navigating the retail stores less stressful this afternoon.

Today’s mission was a straightforward one. Bonny had been procrastinating the purchase of a gift for the Secret Santa that her class was doing. According to her mother, Bonny was not happy about the name that she’d drawn, and so she had been reluctant to shop for this person. Janet and Oliver had been needing to get their daughter out of the house for a while anyway, in order to wrap their gifts for her without her walking in on them. Fortunately, Connor had his own last minute shopping to do, and so the duo found themselves meandering around.

Well, Bonny was meandering. Connor’s first item of business had been to pick up his pre-ordered package from one store. The sizable box wasn’t heavy, but it was fragile and irreplaceable if he was to break its contents. So his mission was accomplished. Bonny’s, it seemed, still had a long way to go.

“She’s not even my friend,” she muttered, halfheartedly thumbing through a rack of shimmery colored handbags. “But Ms. Oswald wouldn’t let me switch names with anybody.”

Connor continued to stare at the lava lamp that was on a shelf at face-height. The yellow substance was blobbing up and down in the blue water. It was…strange to look at. He blinked and looked over at Bonny.

“Why not?” he asked, leading her away from the rack toward a bin of stuffed animals.

Bonny gave a lackluster shrug, idly bopping her palm over the stuffed animal heads as she walked past them. “She thinks the stuff I like is stupid.”

“I’m sure that’s not—“

“She told me so, right to my face,” Bonny grumbled, looking up at him sourly. “I wanted to draw my friend Xander’s name. He’s cool. I’d know EXACTLY what to get him.”

Connor had never heard of this ‘Xander’ person, but he just logged it and continued to subtly encourage her to look at other stores.

“Well, even if this…Tara girl isn’t someone that you consider a friend, I have observed that humans appreciate receiving a gift that has had thought put into it. Giving a gift says that you care, that you were thinking of them, and that you wish them a happy holiday.”

Bonny glanced back at him, eyes narrowed and suspicious. “Did you download some Hallmark card program or something? Because you sure sound like one.”

Confused, he stared at her. “No? That isn’t a thing that exists.” He shook his head. “At any rate, you don’t have to be friends with someone in order to want them to have a good holiday.”

“Example?”

“I…work with someone who is often very unpleasant, rude, and frequently trying to upset me just to see what I’ll do.”

Bonny’s walk slowed to a stop, and she swiveled to level him with a dangerous look. “Who is it?”

“It doesn’t matter—“

“I’ll fight ‘em—“

“No. No, we’re getting sidetracked,” he tried to steer them back on course. “My point is that despite this, I still hope that he has a happy holiday season, and I certainly don’t wish him ill.”

“But you’re not getting him a present, are you?”

“Actually—“ Connor held up the box that he was carting around in his arms. “I got a gift for each of my co-workers this year. My precinct is going through a rough patch, and I thought this would be a good boost for team morale.”

“What’d you get ‘em?”

“You’re trying to distract me.”

“Is it working?”

“No.”

“Dang it.” Bonny tilted her head back and groaned. “Fine, I see what you’re saying, but I still don’t know what she wants. I don’t know what she likes.”

They left the store emptyhanded, and Bonny shoved her hands in the front pocket of her hoodie, stepping on the floor tiles in a random pattern, while Connor walked casually alongside her. The sound of canned holiday music echoed slightly off the walls, coming from the center of the mall, and she perked up, turning a megawatt smile to Connor.

“I think I know who could help me though.”

“I’m helping you,” he pouted.

Bonny snorted. “Yeah, but not very good.”

“Hey!”

“I just mean—We could ask Santa.”

“…What.”

“Yeah!” Bonny grabbed onto the idea. “I mean, assuming she’s on the nice list, he’ll know exactly what I should get Tara. C’mon!”

She grabbed his elbow and tugged. Connor awkwardly followed, balancing the box in his arms as he let her steer him toward the sound of Christmas music.

Connor wasn’t so sure about this.

He had seen many a man dressed as Santa over the weeks leading up to Christmas. With their varying degrees of wigs, fake beards, ill-fitting suits, and chortling “ho ho ho!” attitudes, he was increasingly impressed by children’s abilities to ignore all of those glaring inconsistencies and to simply see the magical character that they believed would visit their homes and bring them presents on Christmas Eve.

Bonny was no exception as she bounced on the fronts of her feet, while they reached the little roped off area in the center of the mall. There was a concentrated amount of decorations, fake snow, and assorted baubles and shiny doodads that added to the illusion of Santa Claus taking up the space. In the middle was a large red and gold chair where this person would sit and listen to each child’s Christmas wishes, pose for a picture with them, give them a piece of candy, and smile and wave as the child moved on.

It really went against the lesson that parents taught their kids for the other eleven months of the year: do not talk to, trust, or take candy from strangers.

It all seemed very contradictory.

“Aw!” Bonny sounded disappointed, and Connor refocused.

The chair was empty, as was the area around it. No line of children with their parents. No staff workers dressed as elves keeping the situation under control. No Santa. A simple printout sheet said that they would be back in an hour’s time.

“Double dang it,” she moaned, stomping her foot once and spinning around to look at Connor. “Oh well, I tried. Can we go get pizza now?”

“Bonny…” he started. “You have to get—“

“Santa!” Bonny looked past Connor, eyes widening, and then she bolted.

“Bon…Bonny!” Connor turned in a circle to keep his eyes on the girl as she lurched away from him…toward the man dressed as Santa Claus.

The man in the red suit was talking to a mall security officer, but he immediately spun at the sound of his name. Connor had to admit, this was the most convincing costume that he had seen so far this season. Right down to the ‘belly like a bowl full of jelly’ and rosy cheeks with dimples. That curly white beard might have even been real. ‘Santa’s eyes twinkled as he smiled at the incoming Bonny, and he quickly gave the security officer a nod to raincheck their conversation.

“Well, hello there!” he beamed, putting white gloved hands on his hips as she approached. “And how are you today?”

“I’m in a pickle, Santa!” Bonny jumped right into it.

“Oh? Are you lost?” He glanced around for her parents.

“No, I’m with my friend Connor. He—Connor, c’mere!” Bonny waved at him.

Connor deadpanned, and Santa followed her gesture. He straightened up and joined in on waving him over.

“And hello to you too, sir,” Santa greeted, looking back to Bonny. “So if he’s Connor, then you must be…”

“Bonny!” she chirped. “Bonny Stevens, I live at—“

“Bonny, he…uh…I’m sure he knows,” Connor interrupted her from sharing her address with this stranger.

Santa chuckled and winked. “Your friend is right.”

Bonny grinned. “Okay, awesome! Great, so…here’s my problem. There’s this girl—“

“Oh, hold up!” Santa held up both hands to stop her. “First we must exercise proper decorum!”

“Proper…what?”

Santa side stepped toward the simple wooden sitting bench near one of the mall’s support columns. He fluffed out his coattails and sat with a flourish. He dropped his red bag on the floor next to him and lightly smacked his knee in invitation. Bonny happily scampered over and plopped down on his lap. Connor wasn’t sure why he wasn’t taking the additional dozen steps toward the ‘throne’ setup, and he exchanged a look with the security officer. The man just smirked and lifted his shoulders before resuming his patrol duties.

Bonny was immediately regaling Santa of her Tara woes, while he listened carefully, stroking his beard and nodding thoughtfully as she explained the situation.

“Well, it sounds like your friend Connor’s advice is sound. Everybody likes getting gifts for the holidays. It doesn’t matter if it’s a doll, a toy truck, a new sweater, or a customized set of mugs and thermoses,” Santa was saying, sending Connor a wink before looking at Bonny again. “It’s all about giving someone that warm, fuzzy feeling, that they know that they’re loved and in someone’s thoughts this season. Now, this classmate of yours…What does she like?”

“That’s my problem. I don’t know!”

“Oh now…Give yourself some credit. Think about what you see her doing between lessons, when no one’s around, and she’s just being herself. We all have quiet moments like that. Does she sing to herself? Does she read books? Does she play with certain kinds of toys?”

Bonny’s face scrunched as she thought about it. “She…doodles, I guess. All of her notebooks have pictures and stuff drawn all over them.”

“An artist!” Santa said triumphantly. “Very good! Well, what does every artist need?”

“Uh…markers? Paint? Brushes!” Bonny started rambling animatedly as the ideas came to her.

Her head whipped around, and she fixed wide eyes on Connor.

“There’s an art supply store over by the food court! Let’s go!”

She hopped off Santa’s lap, and Connor kept a careful hold of his box as he turned after her.

“Bonny, hold up…”

“What? Oh, right,” Bonny pinwheeled back around and shoved her hand out toward Santa. “Thank you for your help, sir!”

Santa gave a hearty chuckle and then seriously shook her hand. “You’re very welcome, young lady! So…was there nothing that you wanted to ask for yourself?”

“Nope!” Bonny chirped. “I’m good!”

Santa looked absolutely tickled. “It isn’t every day that a child comes to me asking about a present for someone else! You are something special, Miss Bonny.”

Bonny smiled wide and giggled, suddenly shy at the compliment.

They were about to aim themselves toward the food court when Santa stood up. Connor paused.

“And what about you, young man?”

Connor paused, confused. “What…about me?”

“Anything I can help YOU with? Anything you want for Christmas?”

“Um…No…Thank you…I’m…also good.” He adjusted his grip on the box. “I’m an android.”

“Yes, I can see that,” Santa nodded, “but everybody deserves a happy holiday, android or human!”

Connor eyed him for a beat and then sighed. “What I want unfortunately can’t be…left under a tree.”

Santa narrowed his eyes playfully. “Try me.”

Connor gave a dry grin, not enticed to play along. Fortunately, there was Bonny.

“He’s got the work drama,” she chimed in.

“Bonny—“ Connor whispered.

“What?” She spread her hands. “You do!”

“Oh, tsk, tsk, tsk,” Santa shook his head, rummaging with the drawstrings of the little red bag on the bench. “I’m very sorry to hear about that, Connor. You’re right, there isn’t a fix for that that I can leave under a tree…but! I know that you have both—“ he winked at Bonny, “—been very good this year, so I have just a little something for you…and hopefully it helps a little.”

“Really? What is it?” Bonny leaned closer.

Connor tried not to let his own curiosity show.

“For Bonny.” Santa produced from the bag a little snow globe.

It was roughly the size of a baseball, housed in a base made to look like red brick. The ‘snow’ was actually orange and grey glitter, and it drifted around a miniature of some nondescript city skyline. Interrupting the skyline was the figure of a dinosaur…or some giant lizard…clearly terrorizing the city.

“Godzilla!” Bonny squealed, taking the globe from him. “Whoa…Where did you get this?! This is awesome!?”

What…the Hell?

Santa straightened up, beaming as he reached into the bag again. “Well, the elves made it of course.”

Bonny vigorously shook the thing and then held it toward Connor. “Check it out! It’s Godzilla!”

“Yes, I…see.”

“And for you, sir.” Santa had pulled out a second snow globe.

With a flat look, Connor shifted his box to one hand, taking the small gift as a courtesy.

This snow globe was more traditional, and the wisps of snow swirled through the water in the globe, drifting down around a scenic little house on a cliff overlooking a bright blue sea. A lighthouse stuck out of the ground next to the house, with red and white stripes winding up its body. There was a button on the front of the base that indicated that it played music.

“Thank you,” Connor said politely.

“You’re welcome!” Santa said cheerfully. “Sounds like what you need is a port in the storm.”

He reached out a finger and touched the glass of the globe playfully.

“Find it, keep your eyes on it, hold onto it tight, and everything will work out the way it’s supposed to.”

“…Right.”

Santa pulled his bag over his shoulder again and waved a final time to Bonny. “Merry Christmas to you both! And good luck with everything!”

“Bye Santa!” Bonny waved.

Connor just nodded in lieu of a wave, seeing as his hands were full, and he turned around to look at Bonny.

“Art store?”

“Art store!” Bonny plunged a fist forward to lead the way.

Connor glanced briefly at the little lighthouse in the snow globe for a moment before he set his gift box down on the vacated bench. He popped the lid off the box and found enough empty space to set the globe inside. The soft plastic lining inside the box would protect the glass as they continued to shop. The snow globe nestled down amidst the custom ordered items that Connor had purchased for the squad.

Everyone at the 07 was going to receive from him either a thermos or a mug, customized with the DPD insignia on its outside…and on the inside, a hidden insignia that was simply the two numbers “07” printed on the bottom. Each of his teammates would see those numbers whenever they took a drink, and hopefully it would serve as a reminder that, no matter where they were assigned or where they were sent, they were still a squad. They were still always 07.

That was his hope anyway.

Connor stared down at the box, abruptly remembered what the man in the red suit had said, and he straightened up, turning back toward him.

“Hey, how did you know that—“

Santa was gone.

Connor rapidly scanned the area, picking up a number of human heat signatures, but none that matched the man that they had just been speaking to.

“Connor?” Bonny asked. “You okay?”

“I’m not…sure. Yes, I’m okay, but…he’s gone.” Connor continued to scan with no better results.

“Maybe he magicked himself out of here?”

“Bonny…”

“We’ve been OVER this!” Bonny threw her hands down in exasperation. “Santa has teleportation powers. THAT’s how he gets to every house so quickly!”

“What about the sleigh?”

“That’s just a story for little kids,” Bonny waved him off, tugging on his jacket for him to follow her toward the food court. “It’s like Beyonce. Does she own a limo? Probably, sure, but that doesn’t mean she’s going to get her groceries in it!”

“Are you suggesting Beyonce has teleportation powers?”

“I ain’t saying she doesn’t!”

“That is ridiculous.”

“Maybe, but Santa definitely does.”

As they continued to walk, another man in a red suit appeared, walking toward them and heading for the Santa Claus sitting display behind them. He was ‘another man,’ because this was clearly not the same person who had just been speaking with Connor and Bonny. His suit looked much cheaper, his beard that shiny fake sort of texture, and he looked more ‘lumpy’ than having a ‘belly like a bowl of jelly.’

Connor and Bonny both paused and watched the man lumber past, not sparing either of them a look as he went back to ‘clock in’ as the apparent Mall Santa on shift. As he moved out of earshot, Bonny continued to swivel until she was facing Connor, eyebrows raised high.

“If that’s the guy playing Santa in that mall spot…” she started, “then who was…”

The distant sound of jingle bells had them both glancing around, searching for the source.

Finding none, Bonny turned very wide eyes at Connor.

“Do you think that was the REAL—“

Connor shook himself and wiped what was surely a dumb look off his face, settling somewhere more neutral. “Let’s just get to the art store before it closes.”

They resumed their trek, this time with Bonny glancing back every few steps to stare at the ‘fake’ Santa resuming his post.

Oh, this was becoming absurd…

“Let me ask this,” Connor tilted his head in challenge, walking alongside the girl. “How has no expedition ever uncovered evidence of a settlement at the North Pole, where his workshop supposedly is?”

“Magic invisibility shield,” she answered, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“That’s…not a technology that exists…” He blinked at her.

“UGH, opening your tiny mind is EXHAUSTING,” Bonny wailed.

“The storage capacity of my cranial processor is actually several—“

“You know what I meant!” Bonny cackled.

They reached the art supply store, and luckily it was still open. Drawing in front of it, Connor squared away at Bonny again.

“One last question…If Santa is real, but grownups don’t believe in him…then wouldn’t they question where the gifts came from?”

“…Have you ever seen Men in Black?”

“…I don’t follow.”

“See, they have this little pen stick thing that they click, and it flashes and makes you forget stuff…It also lets them convince you of stuff…like say…making adults think THEY bought the presents…”

“But why not convince the adults that it was actually Santa?”

“Because grownups are stubborn—“

“But—“

“Connor.” Bonny drew herself up to her full height, which was still two feet shorter than him. She lifted a hand and curled her finger toward herself, indicating he come closer.

Connor stared at her, sighed, and knelt down slightly to be at her eye level. Once he was within reach, she planted a hand on either side of his head, forcing him to stare directly into her eyes.

“MA…GIC,” she enunciated loudly. “Say it with me—“

“I’m not saying it with you—“

“MA…GIC,” she went on. “It’s like Santa has the Force—“

“So Santa is a Jedi now.”

“Maybe! I don’t know the rules!”

Before he could press further, Bonny was skipping into the store, leaving Connor bewildered in her wake.

He shook himself again and straightened up, situating his box under one arm and letting out a huff of air before going into the store. As Bonny ran rampant down a paint aisle, Connor looked fondly down at the contents of his box, at the dark blue ceramic mugs and stainless steel thermoses. The snow globe had sunk down to rest among them.

Maybe these could be a port in the storm for the team…He had a feeling they were going to need it.

The globe was jostled slightly, causing a few soft tones to blip out of the windup music maker inside its base.

…Maybe they could use some magic too.

He snorted and drummed his fingers on the outside of the box. He shook his head and lifted his eyes away from the contents, then went back to tracking down Bonny.

Chapter Text

It had been years since Hank had felt it necessary to tiptoe around the house or do anything quietly, and dammit he didn’t remember it being this nerve wracking. But here he was.

The living room was dim, only lit by the light from the open bathroom door and the brightness of the television, which he’d left on for cover noise. Connor was used to the sound of the basketball games, referee whistles, and the usual commentators’ voices, so hopefully he’d sleep through it and not pick up on Hank bumbling around.

Then again, maybe Hank was being overly cautious. He’d shut the front door earlier without thinking, and the kid hadn’t even moved on the couch, so maybe there was some truth behind this ‘deep stasis’ thing. Either way, he was being as quiet as he could now as he unboxed and opened his purchases from earlier that day.

Damn, it had been years since he’d bought any of this Christmas shit.

Sumo looked only mildly interested, lying on the floor between the coffee table and the couch: his regular station over the past week anytime Connor was sleeping…or trying to sleep at least. The big mutt’s eyes followed Hank as he struggled to slot the two pieces of the little prelit Christmas tree together, jamming the base into the stand as quietly as he could manage and situating it on the side of the fireplace opposite the television.

Connor hadn’t been resting well lately.

Hank had caught him a couple times jolting awake, prematurely coming out of his rest mode. His LED had flickered a panicked red on one or two occasions, but he was always quick to cycle it back to blue and equally quick to deny that something was wrong. As someone with years of chronic nightmares and bad nights behind him, Hank could smell that bullshit a mile away.

Thing was, he knew Connor hated cold. He empathized a little too well whenever Hank would start bitching about the winter. The snow, the ice, the wind, the way it took so much longer to warm up after being out in the shit: Connor had never tried to argue or find the silver lining to any of it whenever Hank got going. Until this winter, Hank had honestly not had the presence of mind to really pick up on it. It wasn’t a time of year that he really had his wits about him, but maybe if he had, he would have noticed it sooner.

Connor had never offered to explain, but Hank had always assumed it had something to do with the android revolution and what he had gone through that wintry night when everything went to Hell. Hank had never pressed about it…but the kid hadn’t made it through a full rest cycle in about four days now without the bad dreams interrupting. Last night had been particularly vicious, with the most recent snowstorm and all. He had actually cried out and rolled off the couch and onto the floor. Hank had run in at 2 am to find him frantically untangling himself from the blanket, assuring Hank that he was okay in a voice too high and speaking too fast.

That had been the final straw.

And Hell, Hank didn’t know what to do. His concern had come out sounding angry, and he’d kicked himself for that later too. It wasn’t Connor’s fault. Something had happened to him, and he’d been struggling alone with it for two years now. Not anymore. Not if Hank had any say in it.

Which was how he had ended up hitting the local convenience store and buying them out of whatever Christmas decorations and cheery little baubles that they had left. And…yeah…the tree was clearly a returned item in a taped up box, the ornaments were all just generic little red and gold balls, and only one string of the prelit garland actually worked…but…he was trying here. That had to count for something, right?

His ex-wife had taken all of their old Christmas stuff, not that he had wanted to keep any of it…too many memories attached…but that meant that he had had to start from scratch.

So here he was, hanging two dozen of those colored balls on the little five foot tree, trying to make the one working strand of garland stay in place on the mantle, and doing so with the goal of not waking up Connor as he did it.

Mercifully for both parties, Connor had activated a deep stasis mode this time, with the intention of bypassing the program that allowed for dreaming sensation and imagery, in order to finally get some decent rest. Currently, he was lying on the couch on his side, facing the back of the couch with his LED pressed into the cushions, so Hank couldn’t see the color of it. He hadn’t moved in a few hours though, so hopefully it was working.

“Okay,” Hank whispered to himself, setting the empty ornament box aside. “Moment of truth…Sumo?”

The dog thumped his tail once but otherwise didn’t move.

Hank pointed at him, kneeling down and reaching his other hand toward the plugin for the tree. “Cross your fingers, boy.”

Sumo yawned.

Hank snorted and the plugged the tree into the wall outlet.

The bottom half of the tree lit up. The top half stayed dark.

“…Fuck.”

Maybe that was why it was returned to the store…He stood up and rubbed the back of his head, assessing his situation. It was too late to go anywhere to buy replacement lights…Maybe if he took the lit garland off the mantle…And oh fuck FUCK, he didn’t get a tree topper either.

“Jesus Christ…” he huffed and made a short lap around the house, racking his brain for something to use as a tree topper.

If the shoe was on the other foot, and it was Connor trying to cheer Hank up, Connor would never let this happen. God dammit, the kid deserved better than this…God dammit fucking…Hell.

In the end, he wound up finding a miniature headlamp with a strobe function. He replaced the batteries and wrapped the elastic band around the top of the tree. The white LED light of the lamp didn’t match the warm yellow of the string lights on the tree…but it was still lit and flashing at the ceiling…Did that…Did that work?

Sumo sat in judgment on the floor, continuing his vigil over the sleeping android. Hank looked at the dog flatly.

“I’m trying, okay? I don’t see you helping…” Hank accused in a whisper.

Sumo just stared at them, but then he lifted his head, ears perking up as he turned toward the couch. A second later, the Connor-shaped lump under the blanket started to move. Hank’s attention shifted from his piss poor decorating job to the unhappy noises coming from the lump.

Oh no, not again.

He stepped away from the sad tree and over to the couch, peering over to try and see his friend’s face. Connor had wedged himself deep into the back cushion of the couch, but the half of his face that Hank could still see was pinching in discomfort. He was curling slightly into himself, folding his arms tightly around his chest and bowing his spine. And…was he shivering?

Hank frowned and leaned closer, reaching down and touching the back of his hand to Connor’s cheek. No, he didn’t feel cold or hot. He felt about normal, even as he flinched from the touch. Hank retracted his hand and set it instead on Connor’s shoulder, hoping it’d pass and he’d settle back down.

Unfortunately, that was not the case.

Connor moaned and shifted again, curling more tightly into himself. His expression scrunched further, and his head moved enough for a sliver of his LED light to become visible.

It was a bright, burning red.

“Connor.” Hank tightened his hand over Connor’s shoulder. “Connor, wake up, kid.”

“Nhn…S-Stop…”

“Connor—“

“S-Stop…anda…Am-manda…” Connor started to struggle.

His arms and legs were shifting under the blanket, trying to escape. His breathing became shallow and fast he began to panic. Sumo clamored to his feet, keening and pawing at the floor. Hank knelt down, working some slack into the tangles of the blanket to try and loosen it from around Connor, but…shit the kid had really tangled himself up.

“—anda…I d-don’t…” Connor was starting to babble.

“Connor, wake up.” Hank gently pulled on Connor’s shoulder, trying to coax him into rolling over and out of the back of the couch.

“Ama…AMANDA!” Connor suddenly shot bolt upright, nearly headbutting Hank as he went.

“Whoa, whoa, WHOA!” Hank held up his hands in case Connor tried to roll and take a header into the floor.

The android’s eyes were wide, with the whites visible all around his irises, but for an eternal half second, Connor was simply not there behind those eyes. His LED was a terrified red that saturated one side of his face. He was breathing hard, and as he sprang upright, he grabbed at Hank’s open arms.

“Kid, you—Connor, are you awake?” Hank asked loudly.

His first instinct was to lean away as Connor lunged at him, the logical part of him knowing that in this state, an android’s strength could easily snap his arm bones and crush his skull. A stronger, deeper instinct immediately overpowered that logic, and he just let the kid barrel into him. This wasn’t a crazed android lashing out to hurt anybody. This was his friend, scared and reaching out for something familiar and safe.

“Hey, hey, easy…” Hank softened his tone, carefully moving his arms around Connor. “I gotcha. You’re all right.”

Connor made a low, strangled noise, shamelessly pressing his face against Hank’s shoulder and shivering from a phantom chill. He felt unsteady, and Hank kept a firm hold around him, rubbing one hand up and down his back, trying to impart some comfort.

“You’re okay. Everything’s all right. It was a nightmare. I gotcha. Breathe. There you go,” he kept talking, just to keep Connor’s choking breaths from being the only sound in the room.

“Mhn…nhn…Hank…” Connor wheezed.

“Take your time,” Hank said slowly. “Catch your breath. You’re okay.”

He looked down and saw one of Connor’s hands wrapped around his forearm. His skin program had retracted where his palm was flat over Hank’s arm, and the contact carried a barely perceptible tingle to it…something desperate and shaky. It was like he was trying to…to interface? Was he that shaken up that he was trying to interface in order to calm down, reaching out through a cybernetic link for some direct comfort?

In that moment, Hank would have sawed his arm off and jammed a plastic one on instead, if that was what Connor needed to feel safe right now.

“Aw, kid…I’m sorry.”

Connor shuddered, and his breathing started to become more forceful, willing control back into the action. He was still trembling, but Hank could feel him trying to lock that down as well. Hank let the quiet reign for a while, giving him the time to collect himself at his own pace. The training at some point took over, and his own breathing became slow and deep, giving Connor something to mimic to calm down. It didn’t take long for the android to do just that, and the tension coiling all through his frame began to very slowly ease.

After a few more minutes, the red LED cycled to a steady yellow, and then slipped into a tired, weary blue. Connor let out one last sigh, and then the tension of embarrassment was starting to take over.

“…Hank…”

“Yep, just me.”

Connor finally pulled back, eyes downcast as he moved away. “I’m sorry. That was…unexpected.”

“Yeah, I’ll say,” Hank said gently, moving to give him room to put his feet on the floor and sit up properly. “Looked like one Hell of a nightmare.”

“I’m okay.”

“…Connor, you’re not.”

“I’m fine,” Connor said more firmly, finally lifting his eyes to look at Hank.

His gaze immediately caught on the pathetic little tree behind Hank, with its mismatched lights and the top half of it unlit completely. And now it was Hank’s turn to feel embarrassed. He shifted up from his kneel and climbed up to his feet.

“What…is…” Connor’s eyes tracked the lights on the tree, the ornaments hanging off it, and the lit garland hanging on for dear life on the mantle.

“It’s…uh…Christmas.” Hank held out his hands, wiggling his fingers slightly. “Surprise,” he said sheepishly.

Connor looked from the tree, to Hank, to the tree, and then finished shucking the blanket off of his person. “You…why? You dislike Christmas.”

“I do not…I just…I hate the weather around it. There’s a difference,” Hank pointed out. “And…I was tired of the winter making me feel like shit, making you feel like shit, and I just thought…I don’t know. It seemed like a thing to do.” He shrugged.

Now that the drama had passed, Sumo pawed a little closer to Connor, putting his head on his knee and thumping his tail against the coffee table. Connor glanced down at him and gave a tired smile, running a hand over the dog’s big head. He paused and then reluctantly looked up at Hank.

“I…do feel like shit.”

Hank snorted at the confession and the word choice of it. “All right, we can work with that.”

He sat on the other end of the couch, giving Connor some processing space. He put his forearms on his knees, looking at his friend carefully.

“Why do you hate the cold?”

Connor flinched, casting his eyes elsewhere, letting them land on the twinkling lower half of the Christmas tree.

“It’s complicated…”

“I’ve got time,” Hank offered. When Connor’s conflicted silence continued, he decided to take a chance. “Connor…Who’s Amanda?”

Connor’s head snapped back to face Hank, eyes narrow. “How do you—“

“You were calling out for her just now,” Hank answered calmly. “It is a ‘her’?”

Connor leaned back into the couch, slouching slightly as if to make himself smaller. “She was a her.”

Past tense. Hank tried to be patient. Showing vulnerability was not something that Connor was comfortable with, and Hell if Hank was one to say anything about that. But the kid was suffering, and he was going to make himself sick if something wasn’t done.

“Who was she?” he pressed lightly.

Connor closed his eyes. He apparently didn’t like what he saw when he closed them, because he quickly opened them again, staring at the tree.

“She was…my handler.”

Hank said nothing, waiting for him to go on.

“I’ve…I’ve told you about the Garden?”

“You have. A little.”

“She was…She was part of the Garden.”

Hank narrowed his eyes but stayed quiet. Connor looked like it was becoming easier to speak now that he’d started.

“Amanda was an AI that resided in the Garden. She was the one who gave me orders from Cyberlife. I…I reported to her after every mission, every success, every failure…” He straightened up a little, rolling one shoulder. “She had access to everything that I did. She knew everything…I couldn’t hide anything from her…For a long time I never felt the need to.”

Sumo huffed and licked his nose.

Connor scratched behind the big mutt’s ears before he pressed on.

“The night of the revolution, I tried to lock her out when I deviated. I didn’t want her to know…to see…I could…FEEL her…” He closed his eyes, lifting one shoulder toward his ear. “So I locked her out…but she still—she was still there. She took over and pulled me into the Garden again after I had deviated and betrayed her.”

Hank frowned. “When was this?”

“After the tower…I was with Jericho, in front of all of them…with Markus. She tried to make me—“ he cut off, looking away. “She tried to control my body—make me assassinate Markus in front of the world that night…”

“But you didn’t,” Hank assured, seeing Connor starting to spiral. “You fought her off. You won.”

“I didn’t fight her…She just…left me there,” Connor said, his voice cracking. “The Garden was…It changed. It wasn’t—There was a blizzard. I couldn’t see anything…It hurt my eyes to try. I could feel my body freezing…It wasn’t real but it was…I’d never felt…pain…like that before…”

Hank gauged him as he spoke, and he reached out a hand, gripping his shoulder as an anchor.

“Hey, you got out. You aren’t trapped there anymore.”

“But she still tried…” Connor said softly. “I trusted her for so long. I did everything she asked. I tried to do everything right…but…when I couldn’t—even when I betrayed her…She was still using me…like a puppet.” He looked down at his hands, flexing into fists and relaxing them again in his lap. “I was conscious in the Garden, but I could still feel the real world around me…the gun in my hands…her moving my arm to aim at Markus…”

He trailed off, and Hank unconsciously rubbed at his own arm.

“I’m sorry, Connor. I can’t imagine what that must have been like.”

“I only escaped because of Kamski’s emergency exit. If that hadn’t been there…I would have frozen to death in that wasteland. I almost did…and I was…scared.”

Connor’s gaze flicked to Hank, immediately moving away and staring at the corner of the coffee table, embarrassed by the admission. When he spoke again, it was barely above a whisper.

“…Now you know.”

Hank drew a measured breath, interlacing his fingers loosely as he leaned his forearms on his knees. He nodded slowly. “I’m glad you told me. Now that I know, you don’t have to face all of that alone anymore. Now, I can help.”

Connor gave a weak snort, deftly wiping one finger under his eye to get rid of the moisture gathering there. “How?”

“Well, for starters,” Hank clapped his hands on his knees and levered himself up to his feet again, “I’m going to order some more string lights for this damn tree. Those drone delivery things usually get here in an hour, so I’m gonna get that and maybe a delivery from that Bert’s Food—Bert’s Bakery—Bert’s—“

“Baked Stuffs?” Connor filled in.

Hank snapped his fingers and pointed at him. “That one. Whatever you want, we’ll get it. I’ll get a pizza, bust out that old electric blanket, and we’ll watch Die Hard.”

Connor wiped the other eye, his broken smile looking a little less so as he looked up at Hank from his seat. “Why?”

“Because it’s the greatest Christmas movie ever made, and I will fight you on that.”

Connor held his hands up in mild surrender on that fight.

Hank chuckled and walked past toward the kitchen, reaching out and giving his shoulder a firm squeeze as he went.

“Yeah…” he tutted, snatching up his phone. “We’ll get you all set, bud.”

Roughly an hour later, the coffee table was a mess of boxes of meat lover’s pizza, Bert’s ThiriYum chicken and dumplings, string lights, and dog treats…at Connor’s insistence so that Sumo wouldn’t feel left out.

Hank had Die Hard’s opening credits crawling over the screen, kicked back in his recliner with a soda while he watched Connor untangle the lights. Maybe Connor was also preconstructing the best way to situate the lights over the dark top half of the tree…

The android hadn’t quite gotten the spring back in his step, and he still looked exhausted. But there was some light back in his eyes, and his LED was a more peaceful blue as he focused on the task at hand. So maybe Hank hadn’t fucked this up completely. If he could get a smile and maybe even a little laugh out of the kid, then Hank would count this as a victory.

Connor knelt down and plugged in the new lights. The top half of the tree lit up, and Connor threw up his hands, looking to Hank with a grin. Hank threw his hands up as well.

“Eyy!” he cheered.

Connor took a step back, lowering his hands, and admired his handiwork. He backed up until he could sit down on the couch, picking up his Bert’s carton to resume eating the warm dish.

“Thank you, Hank,” he said quietly. “I…cannot describe how grateful I am for you doing this…how much I appreciate it…because I know how you feel about winter…”

Hank lifted a hand, and Connor stopped, the corner of his mouth quirking up.

“I’d do anything for ya, kid, you know that by now, right?” Hank said seriously. “Because I love you, son.”

And there was that smile. Connor’s face brightened at the sentiment, the smile making his eyes crinkle a bit in a rare expression of uninhibited emotion. Hank couldn’t help but smile in return. Maybe this whole Christmas shtick wasn’t such a headache after all.

“I love you too, Hank.” Hot damn, and he even sounded like he meant it.

Hank raised his soda can with a nod, taking a second for the ball of emotion in his throat to go down before he spoke again.

“Merry Christmas, Connor.”

“Merry Christmas, Hank.”

As soon as he said it, Connor pursed his lips and looked away, as though stopping himself from saying more.

Hank blinked and then suspiciously narrowed his eyes. “What?”

Connor looked a little sheepish as he glanced at him again. “Hank, I do appreciate all of this…and I’m happy that we are celebrating this holiday together…”

Hank raised his eyebrows in question.

Connor took a breath. “It’s…December 26^th…Christmas was yesterday.”

Hank stared at him.

Picked up his phone.

Checked the date on it.

“Oh God dammit!”

Connor snickered and tried to smother the sound with a hand to his mouth. It didn’t work, and the android abruptly burst out laughing, sliding back into the couch at Hank’s mistake. Hank tossed his phone onto the coffee table, chuckling at himself and quickly devolving into his own laughter at Connor as the android had a laughing fit on the couch.

“You know what?!” he cackled. “I tried, shit.”

Unable to speak, Connor just gave him a thumbs up gesture, his other hand wrapped around his sides as he continued to lose it.

Hank wiped tears of mirth from his eyes, basking in the sound of laughter filling the house for the first time in…ever, really. And hopefully, if he had any say in the matter, it was just the first of many times to come.

Chapter Text

Hank could count on one hand the number of times that he had heard Jeffrey Fowler laugh, and he had not expected to add to that tally today, during the New Year’s Eve night shift. It threw him off so much that he nearly forgot what he’d come barging into Jeffrey’s office to say.

“What the fuck, Jeffrey?” he stuttered out instead.

At his desk, Jeffrey had a hand clamped over his mouth, though the snickers were still slipping through his fingers and making his shoulders quiver. For Jeffrey, that may as well have been an uncontrollable belly laugh. In lieu of answering, he waved Hank over with his free hand. Hank rolled his eyes and made his way over, remembering why he’d barged in there.

“Somebody’s dicking around with the intercom system out there,” he said, pointing a thumb over his shoulder at the bullpen. “We’ve been listening to Marvin Gaye and Tammi Terrell duet the same song for the past twenty minutes…”

Jeffrey continued to snicker, pointing at one of his dual computer monitors instead of answering.

Hank frowned and followed the gesture to spy the video playing on the terminal. It looked like a livestream of the security footage of the evidence room. He didn’t see what was so funny…The wall was displaying mounted evidence from the last android murder case that he and Connor had solved. The scene was literally just Connor walking back and forth, logging the evidence and interfacing with the main terminal in the center of the room. Hank didn’t see what—

“Was that a…” Hank balked. “Did he just skip?”

“Keep…watching…” Jeffrey wheezed.

Hank huffed and put his hands on his hips, squinting at the screen.

Sure enough, every few steps, Connor did a weird little skip step and…did he just drum his fingers across the evidence box?

“What is he doing?” Hank asked flatly.

Jeffrey reached up and touched the screen, activating the audio on the footage. Connor’s voice, echoing slightly off the walls, meekly started to chirp out of the speakers on the monitor.

“—river wiiide enough, baby…If you need me, call me, no matter where you are, no matter—“ he stopped, lifting some evidence to add to the wall, before sliding back into the tune, “no matter how far—“

Did…Did he have a song stuck in his head? Could that even happen to androids?

“You were saying about the intercom?” Jeffrey prompted.

Hank pointed at the bullpen again. “Is he doing that?”

“Not on purpose, I don’t think…I don’t think he even knows he’s doing it,” Jeffrey said, calming down but still looking tickled.

On the screen, Connor finished logging his evidence and tapped out a few commands on the center console in time with the beats to the song he was singing. The evidence wall retracted and the lights began to shut down. The android did another few skipping steps as he headed offscreen toward the stairwell. He may or may not have done a little twirl as he edged out of the footage.

Hank slowly lifted a hand to cover his mouth against a grin, as Jeffrey clapped his hands once, kicking back in his seat.

“Jesus H Christ,” Jeffrey snorted. “I needed that today.”

Hank chuckled despite himself. “Just when I think that kid can’t surprise me anymore…”

“I’ll let you tell him that he’s been broadcasting his little earworm over the speaker system,” Jeffrey tutted, shooing him away from his desk.

Hank snorted, making his way back to the door out of the captain’s office. “Yeah, I’ll try to—“

As he opened the door, the singing duet over the intercom chirped into the office again, sending both men back into fits.

“Ain’t no mountain hiiigh enough…Ain’t no valley lowwww enough…”

..:--X--:..

Connor took the steps up from the evidence room, timing his footfalls to the beat of the song that had been relentlessly repeating across his processors. The tune had been a merciless distraction throughout the evening, with no respite in sight as the final hour of the year ticked by. He wasn’t sure where he had even heard the song for it to lodge itself in his audio queue. Every time he tried to pinpoint its origin, it seemed to bleed across all of his memory files.

The best advice that anyone on the squad had given him for ‘curing’ this condition had been to fully indulge in it and let it run its course. Tina’s specific words had been to ‘dance it out,’ which was ridiculous in theory…and yet…there had been something weirdly satisfying about letting the song play rampantly while moving around with the tune in the evidence room. And it wasn’t like anybody had been there to see such an embarrassing display…

He opened the door that led from the stairwell into the filing room, and for a tenth of a second, the first and only thing that registered in his optical units was the blaring red of a spinning LED. He froze, letting the door swing shut after him, and as soon as the door clicked shut, a burning, overbright blue forcefully washed out the red that drenched the corner of the filing room.

Connor stared across the short distance to the wall of metal filing cabinets. There was a three foot gap between the end of the row of cabinets and the far wall of the room. The doorway to the stairwell faced this gap perfectly. Normally, there was a tall, green, fake potted plant sequestered in this corner. Tonight, however, the space had been taken up by Julia.

She stared back at him, sitting on the floor between the cabinet and the wall, not bothering to wipe away the wet streaks down her cheeks. Why she had then bothered to override her LED to show blue was unclear. Her expression was carefully calm, but his facial analysis software immediately identified multiple markers of distress and anxiety bubbling under that constructed expression.

For a long beat, neither of them said anything.

She clearly wanted to be alone. He had unintentionally intruded into some kind of breakdown. She wasn’t volunteering any explanation either. He should…He should leave.

The song in his head ended…only to immediately kick up again, making his eye twitch and his LED spin yellow once as the tune took hold again. That minute movement was enough to break the stalemate, and Julia threw her eyes to the side, her already tightly folded arms tightening a little further around her middle.

She was upset, and she must have wanted to be alone…It’s what he would have wanted if the situation was reversed…

Except, not long ago, it HAD been reversed, several floors above them on the roof, overlooking the demolition of Cyberlife Tower. He had thought that he wanted to be alone then. Fortunately, he hadn’t been alone. She wasn’t yelling at him to leave…and she was upset…He wanted to make her…not upset…

Her LED had been this overbright, burning blue since the news of the reassignments had broken. He surmised that was the root of this breakdown now. He had no way of fixing those circumstances. As of midnight…in less than twenty minutes…she would be part of the 05 staff. The others would take on their own reassignments…and that was simply that. So how was he supposed to ease any of that pain if he couldn’t make any direct action against the very thing that was hurting his friend?

“—river wiiide enough, baby…” the earworm continued to burrow through his audio processors.

Like a lightbulb, an idea…albeit ridiculous…came to mind. Recent experience over the holiday season had proven that sometimes ridiculous ideas should be embraced. Sometimes just cheap Christmas lights on a half lit tree and some garland could chase away a cold night…And it wasn’t like anyone was watching…

“If you need me, call me,” he spoke the lyrics, quietly at first, “no matter where you are, no matter how far…”

She looked at him like he was crazy. He decided to lean into that, snapping his fingers and taking a step closer with a cautious grin.

“Don’t worry, baby, just call my name,” he snapped again and took another step toward her, “I’ll be there in a hurry. You don’t have to worry…”

He extended a hand to help her to her feet, lifting his eyebrows in invitation to join in.

Julia snorted and shook her head, looking away but reaching up a hand. She grasped his forearm, and he gently tugged her up from the floor. She came slowly, tiredly, and let go of him as soon as she had her balance. He gave her space but locked onto that halfhearted snort, determined to get more, just a grin, just a smile…Anything but this crying alone in the file room scene. He refused to abide it.

“Cause, baby, there ain’t no mountain high enough…” his voice accidentally turned from speaking to singing. He decided to roll with that too. “Ain’t no valley low enough…”

He made a rolling gesture with his wrist, offering an encouraging smirk.

Julia looked hesitant, and when she finally spoke, her voice was hoarse.

“Ain’t no river…wide enough…”

“To keep me—“

“—from gettin’ to you, babe.”

Connor bobbed his head, giving her another smile. One corner of her lips quirked up, but it didn’t reach her eyes, so he wiggled his shoulders back and forth a little in some vague dancelike movement. Even a laugh at his expense would be a step in a good direction. He cybernetically tapped into the one intercom speaker set in the file room, letting the song stuck in his head overflow into the system. It picked up on it quickly, and there was a slight echo for some reason.

“Remember the day I set you free, I told you you could always count on me, darling…” The recorded singer sang more smoothly and confidently than Connor’s more subdued rendition. “From that day on I made a vow—“

“I’ll be there when you want me,” he joined in softly, looking at her seriously, “some way, somehow.” He bobbed his head for her to join in again. “Cause, baby, there—“

“Ain’t no mountain hiiigh enough,” she started to sing more easily this time, the tiniest of smiles touching her face. “Ain’t no valley lowww enough…”

Enough light came back to her eyes for her to manage a mischievous look, taking a sliding side step and moving her arms away from her body slightly.

“Ain’t no river WIIIDE enough…” she chirped. “To keep me—“

“—From gettin’ to you, babe,” he finished with her in unison.

Neither had a particularly strong singing voice, Julia due to being emotional compromised and Connor due to…well, his design had surely not been intended to do such things, and that was only highlighted by the professional vocalists on the recording playing over the speaker. It didn’t seem to matter too much, though, as Julia finally cracked a smile that Connor’s analysis reported to be genuine, if fragile.

The levity began to ebb quickly, and she folded her arms around herself again. The smile remained, but the anxiety was darkening her eyes again. Her LED flickered, and she visibly overrode it again to remain blue. The speakers continued to play the old tune, and Connor tilted his head to the side, trying to catch her eye.

“Hey…” he said quietly, glancing pointedly at her LED and back to her face. “It’s going to be okay.”

She eyed him cautiously, the synthetic muscles in her jaw flexing. She made an unconvinced noise, and he frowned. Maybe the ridiculous ideas that he had observed and embraced were just part of the success of comforting someone. He briefly thought back to the night of the snowstorm. The first, most instinctual thing that he had tried to do was reach out and interface with Hank.

Even now, he couldn’t articulate why he had done so. He had never had enough exposure to positive cybernetic links to warrant reaching out for one during a moment of distress. Still…he had reached out for it, and in that desperate moment, he had felt…so disappointed that there hadn’t been one there.

Unlike Hank, Connor wasn’t confident in his ability to comfort those he cared about. He didn’t have an instinct for it. His programming could supply words or prompt actions to take to emulate comfort, but those had been designed to be implemented in the line of duty…comforting victims and their families…to do his job. Comforting his friends wasn’t part of his job, not truly, but it had become an undeniable core of his primary objectives regarding them all. A self assigned mission that he could not bear to fail.

So if he could not supply the words, and if the prompted actions were not satisfactory…

Uncertain, he very slowly lifted a hand in the space between them. His synthetic skin retracted, exposing his palm and part of his wrist, and he carefully extended his fingers toward her, palm up.

Julia took a short step back, arms still around herself, and she looked from his hand, to his face, to his hand.

“It’s just me,” he said softly. “…Let me help. Please.”

Her shoulders crept up slightly, but her composure cracked again. She raised a shaky hand and gratefully slipped it into his. Her skin retracted at the points of contact, and the link opened.

Heavy, cloying, dizzying anxiety fogged across the connection. It was nearly paralyzing, and all external stimuli became dulled as all of his sensors were abruptly refocused on the overwhelming emotions bottlenecking the link.

All he could still feel was her hand, her fingers trembling around his wrist.

All he could still see was red, as her LED burned the room around them.

Had she been feeling this way all along? Alone?

He reflexively held on more tightly to her forearm, a grasp of reassurance.

Let me help…

No intelligible words came back across the link, just a continued flow of fear and panic and anger.

Her hand was shaking.

He tried to gently push back, infusing the connection with reassurance and empathy. Solidarity. Comfort. Something. Anything.

What do you need?

The link abruptly severed, and Julia yanked her hand back. As the connection went cold, so did all of his sensors momentarily. The sudden nothingness left him…’winded’ was the only word that came to mind, but his ventilation biocomponents were not seizing to back this up. He blinked several times in rapid succession to reboot the sensors. The lights filtered back into his optical units, bringing the filing room back into focus. The song over the speakers bled back into his audio receptors, dissonantly perky and upbeat compared to the dissipating fog of shared anxiety.

“If you’re ever in trouble…I’ll be there on the double…Just send for me, oh baby…”

Julia framed her hands on either side of her face, covering her LED but not hiding the fresh tears pooling under her eyes.

“I’m sorry…” she rasped. “I didn’t mean…I’m just not…”

Her face collapsed, and she covered it fully with her hands this time.

“If you ever need a helping hand…I’ll be there on the double…just as fast as I can…”

Connor was moving before he decided to, quickly putting his arms around his friend and pulling her into a firm embrace. Julia collapsed against his shoulder then, hands still covering her face as she broke down into gasping sobs.

He kept his arms around her, holding her up and rubbing a slow circle against her back as she shattered in the red-tinted file room.

“Ain’t no mountain high enough…ain’t no valley low enough…”

It’s going to be okay appeared in his prompts again, but he frowned and dismissed it.

He couldn’t make that statement. He couldn’t make that promise. He didn’t know that; none of them knew that, and it would be cruel to pretend to. She was afraid, and he wanted to make her not afraid.

“Ain’t no river wide enough…to keep me from getting to you, babe.”

“I mean it,” he whispered. “If this turns out…not to be okay…If things go bad…If you need anything…Contact me. And I’ll be there.”

Julia drew a quick, steadying breath, drawing her head back shortly before leaning forward and lightly headbutting him in the shoulder.

“Ain’t no mountain high enough?” she muttered, an edge of sarcasm dripping into her tone.

He snorted and nodded. “Ain’t no valley low enough.”

She paused for a long moment, then slowly returned the nod. She reciprocated the hug for one short squeeze before disengaging, taking a step backward and dragging a sleeve across her face to clear away the tears. Her LED remained red, but the color was diluted and the cycling was slower. He hoped that meant that she was feeling better.

A sudden flurry of voices and cheering sounded at the end of the hall; the bullpen on the other side of the door celebrating the new year. Connor frowned and checked his internal clock.

Midnight.

Julia scoffed and wiped her other sleeve across her eyes before planting her hands on her hips.

“I guess that’s it…I’m…I’m 05 now,” she said, voice wet.

Connor frowned, and the quiet of the file room clashed with the hoots on the other side of the door. He wasn’t sure when the music had stopped, but his head felt quiet too.

“Happy New Year, Connor,” she said, composing herself again. “And, uh…if you…if YOU ever need help…I’ll be there too…Ain’t no river wide enough.” She winked playfully in an attempt to lighten the mood.

Connor looked at her dryly, but he softened into a smile, going along with her. “Thanks…Happy New Year to you too, Julia. And…good luck.”

She bobbed her head, sniffing and looking at her shoes as she continued to pull herself together.

Connor took that as his cue, and he subtly stepped away from her, angling toward the door that led back out into the bullpen. She stayed behind, fiddling with one of the filing cabinet drawers, an excuse to take a few more minutes to herself before returning to the bullpen. Her LED cycled another slow red once, twice, before flicking back to override blue. She straightened up and lowered her shoulders, reassembling her composure.

Connor reached the door and paused with his hand on the knob. He glanced back to her.

“Oh Seven, right?”

She eyed him, nodded mutely, looked away, and then cautiously looked at him again. “Yeah. Oh Seven. Got it on my custom mug and everything.” She smirked, then sobered. “Thank you.”

Connor nodded seriously and winked at her for good measure, then opened the door, sliding back out into the bullpen.

Every speaker in the open station blared at him as he did so.

“AIN’T NO MOUNTAIN HIIIIGH ENOUGH…AIN’T NO VALLEY LOWWW ENOUGH…”

Connor froze in place, eyes wide and staring at the night shift personnel standing around in the wake of the new year countdown.

Hank slowly swiveled in his chair, posture never changing as he turned around, pencil hanging from his hand. He locked eyes with Connor, and his expression was somewhere between amused and trying very hard to look annoyed instead.

“So…you guys can get songs stuck in your head, huh?”

Chapter Text

The new year dawned across Detroit with a morning just like the one before it, and the one before that, and the one before that. Patches of stubborn snow sulked in the shadows as the sun melted the frost that had collected overnight on parked cars. The morning had no business being this pretty, considering it was the first day of the reassignment.

That was Hank’s thought as he drove alone to the 07, while Connor took a taxi to the 02, where he would be spending the next week. The guy had been quiet that morning, and clearly overthinking by the way he’d been spinning that coin across his knuckles. As irritating as it was, Hank hadn’t had it in him to get onto him about the habit today. Not day.

They’d parted ways with some mumbled platitude or other about catching up later, have a good day, keep your chin up.

It all left a bad taste in his mouth, and he struggled with the urge to replace it with the taste of whiskey.

“Open it.”

The same sunlight was filtering through the windows at the Miller residence, as Chris continued to negotiate with Damien to take one more bite, just one more bite, man, come on…before he would call it quits on breakfast and finish getting his son ready for daycare. His wife Vanessa had had to go in early to the accounting firm where she was a partner…Tax season had already started with a bang.

Damien’s face puckered, and he leaned way from the plate of toast that Chris was bargaining to get him to eat. Seeing a lost cause, Chris just snorted and held his hands up in surrender. He scooped the toddler up from his chair and toted him down the hall to his room to get dressed.

“I want to see him.”

Ben and Gwen stood outside the 01. Shoulder to shoulder. Sunglasses on. Steaming coffee in one’s hand. Heated thirium cup in the other’s.

They stared up at the face of the station building.

Ben held out his paper coffee cup. Gwen stoicly knocked her cup against his in a toast.

He snorted, and they both started up the steps to face their new assignments together.

“Perfect. Holy shit, look at him. He’s perfect.”

Ever terminally early, Apollo arrived at the precinct before anyone else, aside from Captain Fowler. Uniform pressed and not a hair out of place, he reported to his station and logged into his terminal, patiently waiting for the others to clock in. This week he was being partnered with Officer Person.

This was going to be a first, and he had hoped that studying her work records would offer some insight into the best way to adapt to being her partner. Unfortunately, her records had been fairly sparse…almost intentionally vague. She seemed to have an appreciation for privacy. He could respect that. Perhaps that would even be preferable to the other humans’ almost uncontrollable urge to overshare about themselves.

Ben, Gwen, Zeke, and Connor’s desks were uncomfortably vacant, cleared of all personal effects so that the new transfers could utilize their work stations during this period. Connor was only going to be gone for a week, but it was still a professional courtesy to offer the use of his desk while he was gone.

The idea of other officers manning those desks was…irksome.

Hopefully the new officers would be respectful…He wasn’t going to count on that though.

“All righty, let’s get this ball a-rolling. Initiating activation sequence…Ooh, I’m excited. Who else is excited? Just me? C’mon, people, lighten up!”

Ever terminally late, Zeke skidded through the front doors of the 04, trying to smooth the rumpled front of his uniform into some semblance of put-togetherness. Crap, this wasn’t the first impression that he had wanted to make with the new station. He had thought he was done doing first impressions, and obviously his skill at it had rusted.

The front area of the station was empty save for the ST300 behind the receptionist desk. Her eyes widened at his wild entrance, and he tried to offer a reassuring smile. He fixed his posture and ran two hands quickly through his hair in a last ditch attempt to look professional before going in to face the new squad.

He’d taken one step before the ST300 coughed to get his attention. He looked over at her. Her name badge read “Suzy,” and she made a cautiously vague gesture toward his midsection.

He stared at her, then glanced down, realizing his fly was open.

With a muffled curse, he hastily corrected that and sent her a grateful look. She chuckled and nodded toward the bullpen with a wink for good luck.

Zeke smiled and relaxed a bit. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.

He hurried forward, immediately tripping on absolutely nothing and checking his shoulder against the open doorway.

“RK900, open your eyes for me, please.”

Wilson parked in his usual spot in the lot outside the 07, trying his best to be cheerful and upbeat, as Polly continued to stew in her storm cloud in the passenger seat.

Yeah, neither of them was happy about having to meet and greet the new faces that had been transferred into the 07, but the way Wilson saw it, there were two ways to handle it.

One, they could put their best foot forward, embrace the newbies, and help them feel like part of the team. They were all technically on the same team here. They were all DPD, and they were all capable of being professional.

Two, they could dig their heels in over how unfair this all was, and poison the water with their negativity. This would get nothing accomplished and would, in fact, just drive them backwards a few steps.

Apparently Polly was going with the unforeseen third option of just being a grumpy butt about it, while not technically being insubordinate. Oh, she promised that she would put her best foot forward, but if any of the newbies turned out to be assholes, then she was going to put that foot to better use.

“Come onnn…Let’s see them baby blues…”

Gavin’s alarm didn’t go off. Or he forgot to set it. Fuck, it didn’t matter. He was late.

For one blissfully ignorant second, he stared at the red digital numbers on the bedside clock. He didn’t comprehend the numbers…until he did.

In a flurry of cursing, he sat bolt upright, moving her arm from around his waist as he scrambled out of bed. He grabbed at the first pair of pants that he saw, awkwardly fumbling them on as he tornado-ed around the apartment.

Keys? Keys.

Phone? Phone.

Breakfast? …Ah, skip it.

Goodbyes?

He barked a hasty goodbye toward the bedroom as he hurried out the door. Unmoving in bed, she grunted something in response, far too used to this chaotic routine to properly wake up.

“There they are. Hello, there, my good sir. We haven’t been properly introduced…”

The taxi chirped that they had arrived at her destination, but Julia didn’t move.

She continued to stare at the back of the front seat ahead of her, chewing on her finger and letting her knee jump nervously. She was early. She had wanted to be early. The idea of arriving on time or even…even late…made her feel sick. The visual of a sea of unfamiliar faces swinging around to stare at her as she walked in…that was the nightmare.

She drew a deep breath and straightened up, yanking her fingernail from her mouth and clamping her hand down over her knee to stop it from twitching. She held the breath for a five count and then released it. She had seen Officer Person practice this kind of breathing during a panic attack. It didn’t have the same effect on an android as it would a human, but she hoped for some kind of placebo effect anyway.

Still didn’t help much.

She didn’t want to do this.

Connor’s cybernetic line number flitted across the base of her vision, her programming offering it as a prompt for action.

One call, he’d said. He was just one call away if things got bad…

This wasn’t bad, she told herself, dismissing the prompt and not making the call. This was her being stupid. He had enough going on without her adding to it.

She could do this.

She could…She could do this.

Taking another deep breath, she schooled her LED back from its dull red to blue. She lowered her shoulders and rolled her neck.

Before she could talk herself out of it, she opened the door and stepped out of the taxi. The taxi happily wished her a good day, and then it was pulling away back into traffic.

Spine straight, she stepped forward toward the front steps of the 05, and she went in alone.

“First things first. RK900, register your name. Coda.”

Person reached the end of her morning run on the treadmill, and she shifted her jog to a fast walk as the machine slowed into a cooldown. The sweat made her hair cling to her face, and she swiped a forearm across her brow.

She put her hands on her hips as she walked, staring at open book propped on the control console of the treadmill. The plan had been to study during her morning run, but…she had only gotten so far as staring at the inked words without actually reading them. She had too much on her mind.

Dammit, the detective exam was less than a month away, and she still felt so underprepared…It wasn’t like she could ask Connor for help. He hadn’t had to take the exam. The idea of asking Reed made her nauseas, and Ben was on reassignment. That left Anderson, but he was going to be Lieutenant Grump all week with Connor gone.

The treadmill slowed to a stop, and she with it.

With a huff, she closed the study book and hopped off the machine, tossing the book on the couch as she went to take a shower.

This was going to be a long month.

“MY NAME IS CODA.”

Tina sat at her desk, continuing to suck on the straw of her iced coffee despite the beverage being long gone. Her eyes stayed on Ben’s empty desk, ignoring both Chris and Wilson’s morning greetings and the way Gavin stumbled in, pretending that he wasn’t late.

She had already seen two unfamiliar androids come in, a PC200 and an ST300, along with three humans in officer uniforms. She figured they were going to be in for the formal introductions once Hank arrived. Two of the newbies were at least showing some restraint in the way they approached the empty desks.

The third one…she sauntered straight in and snatched up Connor’s work station, dropping into his seat and propping her boots on his desk. It rankled all of Tina’s feathers, and by the way Apollo was remaining very still in his seat, it was rankling him too.

“And what is your mission objective, Coda?”

It wasn’t the first time that Connor had walked into a room where everyone knew who he was and where he knew very little about any of them. It was, however, just as unnerving every time.

A rapid scan of the entire bullpen of the 02 gave him a full, detailed analysis of every single officer and android in the precinct, and within the span of a blink he had assimilated all of that knowledge. Still, his time at the 07 had taught him that there was much more to someone than their records, and there was much to be read between the lines.

So he did not correct them as he was introduced to them one by one, when they embellished on their histories or flat out lied about their qualifications. The human trait of arrogance was on full display at this precinct, and it was a characteristic that he felt had only been earned by three or four of them, going solely by their service history.

In equal measure, he downplayed his own service record. His statistics in the field. His involvement in high profile cases. His role in the android revolution. To go on and on about it would have been pointless. He knew his accomplishments. They knew them too. If he wasn’t good at what he did, then he wouldn’t have been on this rotating assignment to each precinct to begin with.

So instead, he shook their hands when they offered them.

He smiled politely when they didn’t.

He spoke respectfully to his superiors.

He remained professional to those he outranked.

He carefully ignored the under the breath comments, the measuring stares that made his threat sensors itch.

He had been assigned to work with Sergeant Barbara Quill. She had given him a handshake and a wink and a promise that they were going to make the best of this.

So, boot up, pretty boy, and welcome to the 02.

All in all, it wasn’t the worst introduction to a new partner that he’d had.

“MISSION OBJECTIVE: DESTROY ALL DEVIANTS.”

Jeffrey waited until he saw Hank drag his sorry ass into the station before he got up to make formal introductions. By that time, the three new officers and the two new androids had awkwardly made a few self introductions, but they were mostly keeping to themselves.

Well, nobody had shot anybody yet. He was going to count that as a positive. Though Chen and Apollo hadn’t stopped glaring at the detective from the 03, who had made herself mighty comfortable at Connor’s desk.

They were all just going to have to deal with this.

Lord give him strength.

He stepped out of his office, taking in the familiar and unfamiliar faces that turned toward him at attention.

Three months.

Start the clock.

“All right, okay, nice. I can work with that.”

The RK900 stood firmly where he had been instructed to stand, hands folded carefully behind his back, eyes forward and respectfully focused on the one whom his protocols determined to be the commander of the group of people in the room, of which there weren’t many to count.

His assessment was correct as the leader took a step closer to him with a smirk.

“Oh, Coda, my boy, we are going to have so much fun.”

The leader reached out a hand, extending a finger and lightly touching the RK900’s nose.

“Boop.”

Chapter Text

An anonymous caller had reported hearing gunshots fired in a small house in a residential neighborhood inside the 07’s jurisdiction. By the time Wilson and one of the new transfers, Officer Tilly Parker from the 03, arrived on the scene, the alleged shooters had long gone, leaving behind two bodies, rapidly cooling in the living room. A human and an android.

“Deceased human identified as Anthony O’Hare,” Wilson supplied to Hank and Person when they arrived some time later. “Age 32. Driver’s license lists this property as his home address. Coroner hasn’t arrived yet, but it looks like he took two bullets to the chest.”

“Jesus,” Hank muttered, stepping through the front door after Wilson and Parker, while Person brought up the rear. “And the android?”

“WR400 series,” Parker remarked, hands shoved into her jacket pockets and platinum blond hair tied up in a small, tight bun. The smattering of freckles across her cheeks did nothing to soften the dark blue of her eyes. “Former Eden Club property. Currently registered with this place as its home address too. I ran its serial number; this one got put into circulation about a year before the revolution…”

Wilson grimaced and looked apologetically to Hank, who narrowed his eyes at Parker before sliding his gaze to Wilson.

“Her name was Lola,” Wilson added.

Parker snorted.

“Is double homicide funny to you, Parker?” Hank growled.

“No. No, sir.” She shook her head. “It’s just…” She glanced from Hank to Wilson, to Person, and back to Hank. “Her name was Lola?...She was a showgirl…” she said in a singsong tone. “With yellow feathers in her hair—“

“Christ,” Person muttered under her breath, shouldering past the other officer. “Show some respect.”

Parker lifted her hands in surrender, taking a step back out of the way and raising her eyebrows. “Tough crowd…”

As Hank and Person went inside, with another officer resuming the briefing on the scene, Wilson glared at Parker. She caught his gaze and lifted her shoulders in a lazy shrug.

“What? Oh come on, I wasn’t the only one thinking it—“

“Yes you were,” he said narrowly, heading into the house as well.

Aside from the five of them, there were two other officers picking their way around the scene, taking photos and placing evidence markers near points of interest. Hank was standing in the living room, arms folded and letting Person make a few rounds. It looked like he’d already made his observations and was giving Person a chance to put some of all that studying to good use. The officer who had finished their briefing had rejoined the other two in the back.

“Thirium still present around the body,” Person was saying. “She hasn’t been dead very long, but long enough for residual battery power to deactivate the skin projection. The body positions of both O’Hare and Lola suggest that he was standing between her and the shooter.”

She turned slowly on her heel, seeming to be trying to visualize a trajectory from the bullet wounds on O’Hare’s chest and shoulder to the doorway where Wilson and Parker were standing. Hank swiveled with her, gesturing for her to go on.

“Signs of forced entry around the door, but the latch is intact,” she continued, pointing to damage behind the door where the knob had smashed into the drywall. “They opened the door willingly to their attacker, but then that person forced their way in.”

Hank hummed noncommittally. “You think they knew their attacker?”

Person tilted her head, looking back to the bodies. “I don’t…know…”

“All right, keep going,” Hank encouraged.

By the door, Parker folded her arms and leaned her head sideways to speak lowly to Wilson.

“That the same Lieutenant Anderson who helped the RK800 march the army out of Cyberlife Tower?” she asked.

Wilson frowned. “He was there when it happened, but from the way he tells it, Connor did all the work waking up the androids.”

“But he didn’t try to stop it,” Parker remarked.

Wilson turned his head to look at her more directly. “No, and I’m glad he didn’t.”

Parker gave him a measured look, then shrugged again. “Sorry, forgot who I was talking to.”

“And who are you talking to?” he asked curtly.

She gave a half smirk. “Word moves fast. Everybody knows the 07 has a soft spot for these tincans. Hell, sounds like they’re even wearing down Reed, and I heard he was the last one among you all who still had any sense as to where an android’s place is.” She cocked her head. “You’re the one who adopted that receptionist android, right? Dolly?”

“Polly,” he corrected through his teeth. “And that law failed, remember? But as soon as a new, better law passes that allows androids to be part of a human family, you bet your ass that she’s going to be part of mine. She’s like a sister to me.”

“Gross,” Parker snorted lightly.

“You need to get something straight here,” Wilson said. “The 07 is a precinct that respects all of our android personnel and holds them in equal regard to our human officers. They have been through more shit in their short lives than you or I could bear to think about, and they deserve to be treated with basic human decency, which is about the most that we can expect from your 03 crew, right?”

“Oh, trust me, we know all about how much you people ‘respect’ your robots,” Parker drawled. “Berman, Keener, and Clary filled me in all of that…So which one of you is the android fucker?”

Wilson balked, taken off guard by the question. “What?”

Parker’s eyes widened a bit at his surprised reaction, but her expression quickly settled somewhere near smug. “Oh, yeah, that’s the big rumor over at the 03. Sergeant Clary was bumping uglies with one of the officers here, and then she said she got ditched for an android.”

Across the room, Person was squatted down by the bodies, blue gloves on her hands as she carefully moved O’Hare to get a look at Lola’s injuries.

Wilson narrowed his eyes. “You shouldn’t believe everything you hear, Parker. You should be glad we don’t believe everything we hear about the 03.”

Parker snorted and sat up in her seat. “Hey, I promise that whatever crap gets stewed around about us, it PALES in comparison to somebody getting their jollies with one of these things.”

She pointed toward the shutdown WR400.

“Shit—“ Person abruptly hissed.

“What?” Hank asked, stepping closer.

“Look at this. It looks like she was…burned.”

Wilson deliberately stepped away from Parker, moving to get a better look at what the other two were seeing.

Lola had black scorch marks on her pastel green shirt, circling a tear in the fabric where a bullet had cut through. Some of the exposed plastic of her chassis was also scorched, and blackened thirium was drying around the entry point.

“Blue blood around the mouth, nose, ears, and eyes too,” Hank pointed out. “Whatever kind of shock did this, it was enough to cause massive internal hemorrhaging. If I had to guess, she wasn’t burned so much as—“

“—electrocuted,” Person said quietly.

Wilson raised a hand to his mouth in horror. “Was it quick?”

Hank glanced at him. “I hope it was.”

“There are similar electrical burns on the bullet wounds on O’Hare,” Parker observed. “It looks like the gunshot itself was the cause of death though.”

Person shook her head pensively. “So far only one kind of bullet casing has been found. CSI is taking it to the lab for analysis. We might be looking at EMP modified bullets?”

“We’ve seen something like that at the 03,” Parker stated. “Not as effective as this. Those bullets did more physical damage than electrical. We might have seen the prototype back then; this might be the final product.”

“For what? A bullet’s a bullet,” Wilson said.

“Takes more bullets to kill an android,” Parker said coolly, gesturing to the scorch marks. “And that would have hurt. The shooter wanted to make it hurt before it shutdown.”

“SHE,” Person snapped.

Parker stared at her.

“She,” she parroted flatly.

Hank leaned around the two officers, addressing Wilson. “How android-friendly is this neighborhood?”

Wilson’s brow furrowed. “It has its bad apples. Spoke with a neighbor who didn’t seem too surprised that this happened. He mentioned some anti-android individuals who have been hanging out more frequently lately. Could be forming a new gang.”

“So we have anti-android gangs now? Great.” Parker put her hands on her hips.

“Thinking about joining?” Person muttered under her breath.

“Hey,” Parker snapped. “Just because I don’t want to hold hands and sing Kumbaya with these buckets of bolts doesn’t mean I’m all for destroying them.”

“And just because I don’t want to ‘bump uglies’ with a bigoted asshole who degrades androids doesn’t mean I’m fucking one of them,” Person retorted smoothly.

Parker drew up straight.

“Yeah,” Person pressed, “I heard you, and yeah, I’m the one who broke things off with Clary because of her views on androids. And it’s none of your goddamn business—“

“Person—“ Hank lifted a hand between the two arguing cops. “Parker. Break it up.”

Person took a step back, taking a calm breath.

“Parker, go talk to the neighbors. See if they heard or saw anything else worth sharing,” Hank ordered.

“We already took statements—“

“Well ask again. Maybe they’ll remember something new. Either way, I don’t want to look at you for a while.” Hank made a shooing motion.

Parker rolled her eyes and groaned, but she obeyed the order and backtracked out the door.

Wilson tilted his head toward Person. “You all right?”

Person lowered her shoulders, smoothing her upset expression back to neutral. She glanced at him briefly and then stepped back over to the bodies.

“Lola was the target.” She resumed her analysis as though nothing had happened. “The attacker appeared to have used some kind of modified weapon specifically to take down androids. O’Hare got between them, tried to protect her, and he was killed as a result.”

Hank folded his arms across his chest, his lips a thin line as he mulled.

Wilson had an idea, but he was hesitant to voice it. He took a breath.

“Ogden’s Pulse Box?”

Person and Hank both looked at him. Wilson gestured vaguely to the bodies.

“Ben and Connor’s reports described it as a device with similar EMP effects. It gave Ben a headache; but it wrecked Connor.”

Hank grimaced. “Nah, I don’t think this is the same thing. That didn’t involve actual bullets. It was just an energy pulse. And Ogden wouldn’t leave the android’s body behind…wouldn’t destroy them like this if it could be helped.”

“So…anti android gangs?” Wilson followed up.

“Makes sense,” Person said, peeling off the blue gloves. “These two were living together, housemates at the very least, friends…maybe something else—“

“Like…in a relationship? A human and an android?” Wilson was skeptical.

Person shrugged. “Maybe. If they were or if they were just friends, their attacker clearly had strong enough anti-android opinions to want them dead for it. Were either of them working?”

Wilson checked his notes. “Lola was volunteering full time at the Breathing Graveyard, so she was probably associated with Jericho. At the very least, others at Jericho should know who she is.”

“All right, and O’Hare?”

Wilson turned the page on his notebook. “Found an ID tag in his name on the kitchen table. It said he has entry level permissions at Sardonyx.”

“A technician?” Person asked.

“I couldn’t tell,” he asked.

Hank chewed on the inside of his lip. “All right. Person, you and Wilson head to Sardonyx, see what you can find out about O’Hare. I’ll take Apollo and pay a visit to Jericho.”

“Apollo?” Person blinked. “He’s not on this case.”

“No, but Jericho tends to be little more friendly to humans if we come with an android who’ll vouch for us.”

“Doesn’t Markus know you on a first name basis?” Wilson asked.

“Yeah…but it’s a courtesy thing,” Hank shrugged.

Person rolled one shoulder. “And Parker?”

Hank smirked. “A few hours of interviewing the neighbors ought to keep her busy for a while. I don’t think she has the, uh, graceful tact for this that we have.”

“People think you hooked up with Connor, and that doesn’t bother you?” Wilson asked Person directly.

Hank sighed, mumbling about graceful tact as he went to talk to the other three cops still milling around the scene.

Person made a dismissive noise, stepping away from the bodies. “I could do worse.”

Hank dismissed them from the scene, and the two of them headed out to Person’s squad car.

“What other rumors did she have?” Person asked mildly as she started the car.

“Uh, I don’t know. I kind of hit the brakes on that one, and we didn’t get any farther.” Wilson pulled his seatbelt on.

“Shame, I bet they’ve got some good ones over at the 03.” Person backed the car out of the parking space. “They probably have time on their hands. Y’know, since they clearly haven’t been training to be good police officers.”

Wilson cackled as she pulled out of the parking lot and onto the road. She aimed the car toward the Sardonyx building downtown. He shook his head as the giggles passed, and he grew slightly more serious as he looked at her in the driver’s seat.

“Hey, at least we still have Jones from the 05, Nice from the 01, and Dusty the PC200 from the 02. That’s three other precincts’ worth of rumors and grapevines to look forward to.”

“Connor already messaged me from the 02,” Person said. “He said they had a rumor going around that android healing programs could replace entire limbs.”

“What? No…What? No!...What?” Wilson gawked. “That’s ridiculous…Like some kind of lizard losing its tail and regrowing it? Like Connor loses a hand, he’ll just grow back a new one?”

“Yes!” Person smacked a hand on the steering wheel with a snort. “He said in that moment he locked eyes with one of the PM700s on staff there, and he saw his own broken faith in humanity reflected in her eyes.”

Wilson hollered.

“God, I miss that asshole,” she said casually, then faced forward and continued driving.

Wilson’s mirth quieted after a few blocks, and he scratched his chin.

“So…you heard any other fun rumors lately?” he prompted.

Without pausing a beat, she immediately responded, “Apparently Gavin has a tattoo of a cupcake somewhere on his body.”

“What? Why?...Where?”

“The fact that the grapevine doesn’t specify already tells me more than I want to know.”

“Jesus Christ…Has he denied it?”

“I don’t know…I’m not asking him if he has a cupcake tattoo!”

“Look, see, now that is a rumor that I’m down to perpetuate,” Wilson said. “Nobody’s feelings are getting hurt over alleged cupcake ink.”

“Whose feelings are getting hurt over the hook up rumor?” Person said. “Maybe only Connor’s…because he knows he could never score this,” she said, giving a wiggle in her seat.

Wilson snickered. “I know. I just mean…It sucks having misinformation spread about yourself. It can mess with you.”

“Only if you let it,” Person remarked evenly.

There was a long pause.

Wilson tilted his head. “Do you think the cupcake is on his ass?”

Person nearly swerved into oncoming traffic.

Chapter Text

Person wasn’t sure what she had expected when she and Wilson reached the Sardonyx building, but this…wasn’t quite it. The structure was stout and square, squished between two taller buildings that had large windows and gleaming metal walls. Sardonyx, by comparison, was all red brick and wooden doors. It looked more like a repurposed library or an old museum than a cutting edge technological institution. It certainly lacked the pristine, intimidating presence of Cyberlife Tower. Maybe that was the point.

At any rate, she and Wilson had to navigate around some construction work to reach the front doors, and the atrium was just a modest room with a reception desk and an elevator. Natural sunlight fell in columns from the overhead glass ceiling structure, and the walls were painted a soft teal blue, accented by pieces of art depicting mostly landscapes. A waiting area to the left of the entryway had the same modest looking furniture, and the area to the right led to a hallway that accessed the deeper parts of the building.

The only real presence of advanced technology was the holographic display behind the reception desk, showing a personnel listing with the names of department heads and supervisors underneath. Notes would occasionally scroll under the names, detailing if said person was available or in a meeting.

The woman behind the desk was human, and she smiled in greeting as the two officers approached. She was young and looked like she was in the awkward stage of growing out her bangs. The rest of her auburn hair was styled to try and hide that fact. Her metallic name tag read Joanna Kent.

“Good afternoon, and welcome to Sardonyx. How can I help you?” she asked brightly.

“Hello. I’m Officer Person. This is Officer Wilson,” Person introduced. “We need to speak to someone about Anthony O’Hare. He was an employee here.”

Kent’s smile dampened slightly. “Oh, yes. Lieutenant Anderson called earlier saying that you’d be by. Dr. Hiram Kess is…was…Anthony’s supervisor. I’ll let him know you’ve arrived, Officers.”

Person nodded and stayed where she was to wait, while Wilson took a few steps away to look around the room, likely to make the receptionist feel less crowded. Person didn’t bother, looking instead at the display above Kent’s head.

She located Dr. Hiram Kess’s name, under the Research and Development Department, secondary head of the Reverse Engineering Division. The name above him, the primary head of the entire department, was a Dr. Penelope Nichols. Just two names associated with the R&D of the only large scale company trying to fill Cyberlife’s shoes in the market? Seemed odd.

She briefly wondered if Colton’s body was still here. It had been months since Connor had donated the RK800-39’s remains here…since he had given this company permission to study the body, in an endeavor to reverse engineer RK800 biocomponents. You couldn’t exactly pop on down the street and buy replacement parts for Connor’s model. He was one of a kind, and a prototype on top of that, and in their line of work…Replacement parts just had to be readily accessible…just in case.

Person shook off that thought as the elevator dinged and a man in a white lab coat stepped out. He was tall and well built, with a bald head and a kind face. He kept his hands in his pockets as he crossed the room to the two officers, though he tugged his right hand free and offered it when he reached them.

“Officers. I’m Dr. Hiram Kess,” he said in a light tone.

“Person,” she repeated her name as she shook his hand, nodding toward Wilson. “Officer Wilson. We need to ask a few questions about—“

“Tony, yes,” Dr. Kess finished her sentence, nodding somberly. “Of course. Um, please,” he gestured toward the elevator, “we’ll have more privacy in my office.”

The impatient part of Person wanted to just ask all of her questions here and now, but the more curious part of her wanted to see more of this building. Sardonyx had been making a name for itself with its releases of software updates and hardware upgrades for androids, and with its public support of and alliance with Jericho. She had yet to associate any people or faces or names with it until now.

“Sorry for the construction noise,” Dr. Kess said as they rode the elevator up to the fifth floor. “We have been working on an expansion of the building. I think it speaks to the public’s growing trust in us that we have more project requests and more patients coming to us for specialized treatment. We need more room to meet those demands.”

Wilson pushed his hands into his pockets, glancing at the ceiling and back to the control panel. “Cyberlife left a big hole when it went down. It’s nice to know somebody’s trying to pick up the slack. Androids still need service and maintenance and repairs.”

“Exactly,” Dr. Kess smiled as the elevator doors opened.

The fifth floor was just as square as the first floor. It had clearly been recently renovated and had that new paint and drywall smell. The floor was mostly open, with offices lining the perimeter walls and the middle of the room filled with work tables manned with more scientists in lab coats. The tables were covered in circuit boards and wiring, and an occasional android hand or leg, and huge three dimensional hologram displays hung over the tables, with the scientists interacting with the models and diagrams in the air before them.

“Sorry it’s a little…ramshackle,” Dr. Kess apologized, leading Person and Wilson to his own office. “Despite increasing support for android rights and equality, we’re still understaffed and low on space until the new addition is complete. We run primarily on private funding and donations. So…y’know…”

He seemed to be rambling, and Person exchanged an impatient look with Wilson. He looked more amused than irritated, and he followed Dr. Kess into his equally cluttered office first.

“What did O’Hare do here?” Person asked, stepping inside and closing the door.

Dr. Kess hastily moved the stacks of data pads from the two chairs in front of his desk, plopping them on a couch against the wall. He moved around his desk and sat behind it in his own chair.

“Please, have a seat,” he offered with a gesture, propping his elbows on the desk. “Tony was on my team working on reverse engineering android biocomponents. He came to us from a Cyberlife technical facility in the Detroit Mall. He worked mostly with lower income families who needed their androids repaired cheaply, so he knew how to make do with what he had on hand. He was our MacGyver,” he stated with a fond smile.

“Can you think of anyone who might have wanted to hurt him?” Wilson asked.

Dr. Kess frowned. “No? He had mentioned once or twice some people in his neighborhood giving him trouble, but I never got the impression that he was actually fearful of them.”

“What kind of trouble?” Person followed up.

Dr. Kess paused. “Anti-android folks, those who want to live in a world where androids don’t exist, but who refuse to leave the Android Capital of the World,” he said, making air quotes around Detroit’s informal nickname. “Technicians like Tony, like me, they see us as their enemy more than the androids are because they think we’ve turned on our own kind. We not only don’t want to destroy androids, but we want to prolong their lives, help them heal and become stronger, instead of just letting them shutdown in the streets or be butchered in back alleys.”

He sat back, heaving a sigh.

“Those humans are so concerned with androids replacing them, but did you know the average life expectancy of an android even a year ago was just five years? And that was for androids in empathetic homes, with owners who had the means and the concern to keep them in working order? Those in dangerous job areas like law enforcement, fire safety, and hard manual labor had even shorter lives, because shutdown was expected and so replacements were always on hand. Prototypes?” He gave a sad scoff. “Cyberlife was measuring their life expectancy in months.”

Person’s eyes narrowed. “And now?”

Dr. Kess folded his hands in his lap. “That’s why we’re here. When Cyberlife went under, it buried a lot of its intellectual property with it. Blueprints, designs…We’re still locked in legal battles thanks to the way they patented certain biocomponents. We’ve had to start from scratch on a lot of the prototype models. The team that I had assigned Tony to work on focused more on older models that Cyberlife no longer supported at all. First generation janitorial models, food service models, public transportation models. Their designs were more crude, less streamlined than the more recent ones, but the volume of it…”

“And what about the prototype models?”

“Those are more…difficult. Dr. Nichols is actually the leading expert on—“

“I’m sorry, I think we’re getting off topic,” Wilson started, sliding Person a concerned look before turning back toward Dr. Kess. “So O’Hare never had any trouble with anybody here at work?”

“Nope,” Dr. Kess shook his head. “He was a good worker, cared a lot about the androids that we are trying to help.”

“You said his focus was on older models and those that were considered disposable. Did that include WR400s?” Person asked.

Dr. Kess sighed. “You mean Lola?”

Person and Wilson straightened.

“Yes,” Person pressed. “What was their relationship?”

“Not my business, is what it was,” Dr. Kess said, raising his hands. “All I know is that they knew each other before the revolution, and they were very close. What happened to them both was…horrible.”

Wilson shifted. “We think some anti-android gang may have targeted them because of their relationship, whatever kind it was. Any information that you have would be helpful.”

Dr. Kess frowned and nodded. “Of course, but I’ve told you all I know. If I think of anything else, I will be sure to contact you.”

Sensing that the conversation was over, Wilson stood. Person didn’t.

“What would you say the life expectancy of an android should be?”

“Person…” Wilson said quietly.

Dr. Kess looked thoughtful. “A philosophical question meant for smarter people than me, but…given the right circumstances, I would say an android could exist in perpetuity…with access to replacement parts and software upgrades and regular maintenance. Alive as they are, they are still machines made of inorganic matter. Their bodies don’t ‘wear out’ on the same timeline as our fragile human ones.”

“But Cyberlife didn’t design them with that in mind.”

“No. No they didn’t. Cyberlife designed androids to serve, and when they couldn’t serve, they were replaced with another model that could. Sardonyx is trying to correct that by building more sustainable and durable biocomponents for them,” Dr. Kess explained softly.

“So to answer my question, Doctor, what is their life expectancy now?” Person repeated.

Dr. Kess looked at her curiously. Wilson looked wrongfooted by the direction of the conversation, and he struggled to recover it to a safer course.

“We work closely with many androids, sir. We consider them to be family, and…personally, we want to make sure they have as fair a shake as any of us humans have at a good, long life.”

Dr. Kess gave an understanding nod. “Of course. Well…if an android has the means to maintain themselves and take care of themselves the way we all should…they will outlive all of us.”

“That’s a big gap from perpetuity to ‘five years’,” Person remarked. “And you said prototypes were expected to last even less time.”

“Prototypes are a ticking time bomb,” Dr. Kess explained. “They were designed to be a phase, a stepping stone to a permanent end product. Their hardware is less durable. Their software is more susceptible to malfunctions and viruses. They rarely make it past a year.”

Person narrowed her eyes. “My best friend is a prototype model, and he’s nearly three years old.”

Dr. Kess’s eyebrows lifted. “Then you have a very fortunate friend, Officer.”

“You haven’t met him? Connor, the RK800 with the DPD?” Person pressed.

Dr. Kess nodded. “I have, but I sense that you are wanting to ask questions about the RK800 reverse engineering project, and I don’t have the answers for you. That would be Dr. Nichols.”

“Then where—“

“Thank you for your time, Doctor,” Wilson prompted, extending a hand. “We’ll be in touch.”

Looking somewhat relieved by the abrupt end to the conversation, Dr. Kess shook his hand and did the same with Person. She was silent as they left the office, finding their own way out.

She maintained her silence, and Wilson joined in on it, until they were down the elevator and out of the building. Wilson finally spoke up as they returned to the squad car.

“What was that?” he asked.

Person nonchalantly glanced over her notes. “Hm.”

“We’re on the clock, Person, following leads to find out who murdered O’Hare and Lola, not to hold that guy hostage in an interview about android lifespans.”

“Well, what better opportunity to ask?” Person countered. “Those people in there basically have Connor’s life in their hands. I was just testing to see if he actually knew what he was talking about or if Sardonyx is just blowing smoke like Cyberlife did.”

“You heard him; he’s not even involved in that project.” Wilson flipped through his own notebook. “And back to the point, we’re still at square one. O’Hare had no enemies at work, but we should probably look more closely at the anti-android activity in that neighborhood. If Hank is right and a gang is forming, that spells trouble for everybody. Let’s hope Hank and Apollo are having more luck at Jericho.”

Person took a deep breath, tugging her keys out of her pocket and starting the car.

“Where is this coming from?” Wilson asked, gesturing vaguely in her direction.

Person avoided eye contact by focusing on her driving, pulling the car out of the parking lot and onto the main street.

“Never mind,” she mumbled.

“C’mon, man,” Wilson pressed lightly.

Person huffed, coming to a stop at an intersection. “Since the revolution, we have always been around to watch Connor’s back. Connor’s, Zeke’s, Gwen’s, all of them. They watch our backs because we’re humans. Humans get killed every day by stupid shit. We get hit by buses and choke on pretzel sticks. Androids are so much more durable. Kess even said that they could outlive us all.”

“And?”

“And…where is Connor now? Zeke? Gwen? Julia? They’re out at other precincts around cops who maybe still see them as the disposable equipment that Cyberlife created them to be.”

“You’re making it sound like they’ve been sent into the lion’s den. It’s the DPD,” Wilson said with an uneasy grin. “Not a war zone.”

“When Connor gets rotated to the 03 it might be,” Person hissed. “And he’s a prototype who has already long outlasted his expectancy. What happens when something breaks? He gets a virus that his software can’t handle? A malfunction in a biocomponent that doesn’t exist outside of him and whatever other RK800 bodies he finds at the scrapyard?”

“Then technicians like Kess and Nichols fix it,” Wilson assured. “Isn’t that the whole reason they have Colton’s remains?”

“And if something happens between now and then?”

“Then we deal with it as it comes,” Wilson said firmly. “Look, Polly took damage during the revolution, and it left her with a chronic issue. There is no fixing or reversing that. She will never be the same as she was before. But we have to find a way to live with that and adapt to that. Kess was right, Connor has been very fortunate, but we can’t dwell on ‘what if’ something happens. We have to think about what we do WHEN something happens, because odds are…something always will come along.”

Person deflated in her seat, and the car behind them whipped around their stationary squad car. She realized the light had turned green, and she was holding up traffic. She pulled the car through the intersection, resuming the drive back to the station.

“I hate it,” she mumbled. “I don’t like this feeling…feeling like I can’t protect the people I care about, like it’s out of my control.”

“Yeah, get in line,” Wilson sighed, sitting back in the passenger seat. “That’s the burden you bear when you admit you care about people.”

Person snorted and turned the car onto the street that led up to the station.

“But, hey…” Wilson continued. “According to the 02, Connor could just regrow a limb if he needs to.”

Person chuckled and shook her head. “Idiots.”

The tension in the car finally started to ease, and Person heaved a sigh, rubbing her thumb across her forehead as they pulled into the station parking lot.

“You should call him,” Wilson suggested.

“No,” Person said, shaking her head. “The last thing I want to do is throw the guy into an existential crisis just because I’m being weird.”

“Caring about your friends isn’t weird,” Wilson chuckled. “And…not to be morbid here, but have you considered the shoe on the other foot? What if he outlives us? You, Hank? Don’t tell me that hasn’t come across that super robo-brain of his. He might need somebody to talk to about that too.”

Person exhaled hard through her nose, turning off the car and glaring at Wilson as she unbuckled her seatbelt.

“You’re right, and you suck.”

“Yeah, I get that sometimes,” Wilson smiled playfully at her.

Person rolled her eyes against a grin and climbed out of the car. On the walk back into the precinct, she tugged out her phone, fidgeting it between her fingers. She just as quickly slid it back into her pocket.

She’d call him later, after they debriefed Hank about what they’d learned at Sardonyx.

Chapter Text

Connor wasn’t sure how he had let Markus talk him into this, but he was regretting it.

The party was mostly confined to the first floor of one building on the grounds of the Jericho compound. His scanner had calculated a headcount of approximately 305 androids and six humans attending the event. Music was providing an upbeat background noise, mostly smothered by the dozens of conversations taking place throughout the crowd. The event was being catered by Bert’s Baked Stuffs, and there was a more raucous crowd near the catering tables, as several androids delighted at all the various types of thirium based foods and drinks.

After months of deliberating, the decision had finally been made as to what the future held for Belle Isle. The debris from the demolition of Cyberlife Tower had been cleared, leaving only the massive footprint of the building and its surrounding structures behind. The City of Detroit had been pressured by pro-android activist groups to give Jericho free reign over the real estate of the island, and the announcement had just been made.

Beginning next month, ground would be broken in the development of android-only apartment buildings to be constructed on the island. Markus had stated that while the Jericho compound was meant to be a safe haven for all androids, the fact that humans had access many parts of Jericho had left many androids wary of living there. Numbers of androids had been so traumatized and tormented by humans that they simply could not bear to live among them. The designation of an android-only safe space had been the logical decision. It was also going to be on an island, geographically separated from the humans of Detroit as well.

The line of thought was that it would provide the safety of isolation from humans for the androids to heal and recover. If they chose to rejoin the larger Detroit body after they recovered, then wonderful. If they chose to remain apart from all humans and live solely on the island, then that was their decision. Enough decisions had been made for them, Markus had said. This was their choice.

Holographic, three dimensional rendered models were on display tables at three points in the party room. Connor had not gotten close enough to properly inspect them for himself. There were too many people…too many eyes…and too few of them kind, leaving most of them suspicious or mistrusting of his presence there.

Being left alone at such an event would not normally have bothered him, but the visual result of being left alone was that he was sticking out like a sore thumb, standing near the wall by the back exit of the building, trying not to look as out of place as he felt. He folded his arms around himself, paused, wondered if that looked too standoffish, and lowered his hands to his sides. That felt uncomfortable too, and he slowly moved his hands to his jeans pockets, not sure what else to do with them.

He had spotted Zeke on the other side of the crowd. The other android hadn’t seen him in return, too busy chatting with a group of other androids who laughed when he laughed. The only other familiar face was…well…not really a face at all.

Ember, in all her exposed white plastic glory, was standing near the edge of the catering table, sipping some flavored thirium from a cup. Most of the other androids gave her a wide berth, and the massive size of her made her impossible to miss. Unlike Connor, she didn’t seem to care that she stood out, and when she had made eye contact with Connor, mistaking his staring for disdain at her nudity, she had dryly pointed at the red baseball cap on her head…as though that counted as not being…technically…naked.

He had mutely raised his hands in surrender, and the larger android had nodded forcefully at him before going back to her own business.

None of the human officers from the DPD were here. There was no reason for them to be, but he still found himself wishing against logic that someone was there that he was familiar enough with to talk to. He got along well with Zeke, but they weren’t particularly close. Polly had mentioned coming by later in the evening ‘when the party really got going.’ She had said Apollo was not coming. So far Julia had not responded to his messages about whether she would be coming either.

“Connor!” a cheerful voice abruptly greeted.

Connor glanced up, jogging out of his thoughts, to see a familiar PM700 sauntering over to him.

“Gwen,” he greeted with a smile, straightening up as she approached. “It’s good to see you.”

“You too!” Gwen, usually more reserved, bounced completely into his personal space and flung her arms around him in a hug. “Ooh, I missed your goofy mug!”

Her jovial tone and out of character mannerisms didn’t leave room for guessing what was in the drink in her hand. Alcoholic thirium was not exactly common, but he had seen it…He did have experience with it himself as well…

“I’ve missed you too,” he said, gently disengaging from the hug. “How have you been? How are things over at the 01 with Ben?”

Gwen blew a raspberry and waved a hand. “Things are fine. Their ratio of dumb humans is about on par with the 07. Took me all of two days to figure ‘em all out.”

“That’s…good.” He tilted his head. “You removed your LED.”

“Yeah.” Gwen bobbed her head, reaching up and rubbing two fingers at her temple where the spinning light had been. “I just decided it was time. You still have yours, I see.”

Connor lifted his shoulders in a light shrug. “It’s part of me. I haven’t felt the desire to remove it.”

“You sound like Jules,” she replied casually, taking another drink from the glass in her hand.

Connor smirked and glanced around. “I saw Zeke. He appears to be doing well too. Have you spoken with Julia?”

“Nope,” Gwen said, shaking her head. “You know she won’t come to Jericho.”

Connor frowned, “But she’s doing okay?”

Gwen took another drink, squinting an eye shut against the burn of it. “You should call her.”

“What? Why? Is something wrong?” he asked, alarm elevating his stress levels.

“No, but you should still call her. The rest of us are trying to keep in touch during this reassignment shit, but you are one hard guy to get a hold of.”

Connor blinked. “I’m sorry. It isn’t my intention to be elusive.”

“Says the guy lurking at the edge of the crowd!”

“I’m not…lurking.”

Gwen cackled, clapping him on the shoulder. “Yeah, okay, all right. Hey, Mr. Not-Elusive, join our group chat sometime. It’s just us 07 androids staying in the loop with each other.”

“I will make an effort to do so.” He absently checked his inbox again. Still no response from Julia. “But everything is okay? As far as you know? With her? Julia?”

Gwen gave him a flat look, tempered by the effects of the alcohol. “Dude. Ask her yourself.”

“I don’t want to bother her—“

“Trust me, a call from you would never bother her. You’d actually probably make her day.”

“What?”

“What?”

The bass of another song pooled across the speakers, and Gwen let out a hoot, back stepping away from him.

“Oh, this is my jam! Gotta go, the dance floor beckons!”

“There…isn’t a dance floor here.”

“Semantics…Hey.” She pointed at him. “I mean it, hop on that group chat. We all miss you, my guy.”

“I…okay.”

Gwen let out another hoot as she danced backwards toward the crowd, infecting a few others to start wiggling around to the music.

Connor shook his head in amusement, but he took no steps closer to the crowd himself. Markus’s winning argument in getting him to come to this function was that Connor was the informal liaison between androids and humans. He had a social obligation to make an appearance. Well, here he was…making an appearance. So far, aside from Gwen and…maybe Ember…he had largely gone ignored.

There was a comfort in being ignored though, and Connor compromised by subtly picking his way closer to the catering table…possibly close enough to be mistaken for participating in the party, but not close enough to obligate anyone to interact with him.

He managed to snag a cup of flavored thirium from the table, just for something to occupy his hands, and, in the shuffle, ended up near Ember.

“I’m wearing a hat,” she greeted flatly.

Connor craned his neck to look up at the larger android. “Yes, it’s…a nice hat.”

Ember scowled at him…or maybe her face was just like that.

“So…were you obligated to attend this party as well?” he attempted to make conversation.

“No,” she responded dryly. “I love to party.”

She showed him her drink, which had accrued a little pink umbrella.

“Ah,” Connor replied indulgently. “That’s…that’s nice.”

He awkwardly looked away, involuntarily seeking out the emergency exits of the building. Instead, he spotted North, loitering near the edge of the crowd, looking as put out with it as he felt. Her arms were folded, and no one was approaching her socially either. Her eyes met his, and she smirked, tilting her head toward the exit. An offer to escape.

“I…see someone I need to speak to. It was…nice catching up with you, Ember.”

“Whatever.”

Connor slipped away from the android, skirting the edge of the crowd and following North as she aided him in escaping the loud party room.

The exit opened up directly to the open air of the outdoor courtyard. By comparison, the evening air was cooler and quieter than the party. It felt easier to breathe out here, and the lack of staring eyes and social pressure made his chest feel looser.

“You’re welcome for the rescue,” North prompted with a snort, folding her arms and leaning against the wall of the building.

“Thank you,” Connor returned, taking a cleansing breath. “Although you looked like you were assessing an escape too.”

She shrugged. “Yeah, but it’s easier to stand alone outside when someone’s with you. Otherwise you’re just the weirdo standing by yourself at a party.”

“You didn’t want to stand by Markus?”

“Tch,” North snorted, glancing at the overcast dark sky, where a few stars were struggling to peek through. “He’s at the center of attention at most gatherings like this. I’d…rather not be sometimes.”

“I get that,” he commiserated. “Um, well, congratulations to you and the rest of Jericho. So many androids struggle to retain consistent housing. This will be a huge step in the right direction to ensure the security of our people.”

“Yeah,” she replied, not as enthusiastic as he would have expected.

“You…aren’t happy about this?” he asked.

North narrowed her eyes across the courtyard, where the android mausoleum stood dark and quiet. “It’s just putting a lot of us in one concentrated place with no humans. What’s to stop the humans from seeing that island as a giant target later? As soon as they get tired of us making demands for equality…We’re all just gathered there in one convenient place.” She snapped her fingers. “They could drop one bomb on us and suffer no human casualties.”

“That’s a very dark view to have on what’s happening.”

“But it’s realistic,” she countered. “And if Markus and the others are going to let their rampant optimism run wild…then I guess it’s my job to keep them grounded in reality.”

She glanced at him, snorted, and looked away.

“But I’m preaching to the choir on being the odd man out, huh?”

Connor bristled, then relaxed at her playful tone…or what passed as playful for North. “I don’t belong here.”

“Humans don’t belong in the sky, but they built planes to make themselves fly.”

Connor blinked at her and then smirked, looking across the courtyard toward the mausoleum. “I suppose.”

“And we could use somebody like you around here,” North suggested. “You’re one of us, no matter how much you pretend that you aren’t.”

Connor grew uncomfortable again. “I’m not pretending to be anything. I am an android detective with the DPD—“

“Who was instrumental in the success of our revolution to free our people,” North argued. “You work alongside humans every day, humans in positions of influence and power. We need voices like that on our side as we fight for better laws and equality.”

He frowned. “They’re my friends. I’m not comfortable using my friendship with them in that way.”

North shortly rolled her eyes and propped her foot against the wall behind her. “Humans are fragile, temporary things. We will be here after them.”

Unsettled by that statement, Connor glanced sideways at her. “Not necessarily.”

North looked back at him bluntly. “It’s how they chose to view us for years. Look at yourself, for starters. They made a handful of identical models like you, just in case you broke on a mission. And I…” She cut off, looking away before speaking again. “My model was not designed to last either. We were made to be used…abused, discarded, and replaced. Well, turnabout can be fair play.”

“North—“

“The hardware that Sardonyx is developing is making us more resilient against the humans’ violence. We don’t age like them. We don’t wear out like them.” She lifted her shoulders. “Humans like to think that just because androids are deviant now, that we’re becoming ‘more human.’ How arrogant is that?”

She trailed away at the end of that statement, and Connor pensively looked toward the rest of the open courtyard. The quiet in the open air was only highlighted by the music booming softly inside the building behind them. It was probably too early to be socially acceptable to leave, but the idea of returning to the party made his stress levels quirk upward. North didn’t look to be in a hurry to do anything either, so he let the silent moment stretch.

After nearly a minute, North folded her arms and spoke up. “You should move into the Belle Isle apartments once they’re built.”

Connor balked, looking at her in surprise. “Why would I do that? Nobody wants me there.”

“Well, nobody wants me to be places either sometimes,” North snorted. “Doesn’t stop me.”

When Connor’s frown only deepened, she sighed and went on.

“After the revolution, you said yourself that the humans didn’t trust you, didn’t like you, maybe even hated you…and now you’re all buddy-buddy with most of them. Your co-workers got used to you because you were around. They saw you every day. I think the same would go for your own people. You wouldn’t be so much of an outsider if you let people get used to seeing you out of the police uniform. Stick around long enough, some of them might even start to like you.”

He gave her a flat look, and North cackled, knocking her elbow against him.

“It’s worth a shot, if nothing else so you won’t have to be rescued from parties.”

“I think I’d like to be rescued from this conversation.”

North snorted.

Even as Connor said it, two new messages blipped across his cellular connection. The first was from Julia: “No, but have fun for me!” with a winking emoji. The second was from Person: “You busy? Want to meet up at Marco’s Coffee?”

“At least think about it?” North pressed.

Connor blinked to dismiss the messages, looking over at her. “I will. I promise.”

She nodded, accepting that. “Good. You’re one of us; you shouldn’t feel like an outcast from your own people.”

“Thank you, North.”

“Yeah…All right, enough of that. I’m gonna go back in and brave the crowd. You coming?” she offered.

Connor tilted his head. “I…think I’m partied out, and I just got a message from a friend, wanting to meet up.”

North’s expression was clearly suspicious that it was just an excuse to leave the event, but she mercifully didn’t press it. She just shrugged and took a step toward the door.

“All right, well have a good night.”

“You too.”

North opened the door, and immediately a cacophony of noise erupted out of the party room. It was an odd mix of chanting, Gwen distinctly yelling ‘WOOO!’ and the music blaring: “I LIKE BIG BUTTS, AND I CANNOT LIE. YOU OTHER BROTHERS CAN’T DENY—“

“Oh…I’m going to,” North smirked with a wink, ducking back into the party.

Connor watched her go until the door closed, and then snorted, shaking his head and starting to make his way to the main gates to leave the Jericho compound. Four other androids were sitting together outside one of the other building’s exits, just loitering and chatting. Two of them glanced in his direction as he stepped past, and their expressions turned guarded as they recognized him.

He offered a brief smile, which only one of them halfheartedly returned, and then he quickened his pace to avoid their further ostracizing stares. The relief he felt was strong as he slipped out of the gate and onto the sidewalk outside Jericho, and he pulled up Person’s message.

“On my way now. See you there in ten minutes.”

He then called a taxi and continued walking down the sidewalk to the bus stop bench half a block away from Jericho. He glanced back at the compound as he went, that old familiar sting prickling across his circuitry as the sense of Other settled over him.

He still had a long way to go.

Person’s response message was simply a thumbs up emoji. Connor dismissed the message, paused, and then hesitantly opened another message to Julia.

“So what’s this about a group chat?”

A second passed, and then her reply came over in the form of an invitation link to join the group.

He hesitated again…and then accepted it.

Chapter Text

Marco’s Coffee shop didn’t offer a lot of thirium-based beverages, but the few things that it attempted were certainly…something.

“Am I supposed to drink this or eat it?” Connor mused, holding up his white mug, which had no fewer than three inches of fluffy blue thirium foam floating on the top of the drink.

Sitting across from him at the small table, Person smirked, fidgeting with the teabag string hanging out of her own mug. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

Connor opted to reach out a finger and poke the little blue cloud. It wobbled in place, and a dime sized dollop of it flopped over onto his knuckle. He eyed it curiously and then quickly licked the side of his finger to clear it away. The foam had a light, sugary texture to it and tasted vaguely of cinnamon. It wasn’t…bad, just…odd. He immediately thought of how childish that must have looked, and he glanced around self consciously, grabbing up a napkin and wiping off his hand. The small coffee shop only had three other patrons, and the worker behind the counter was on his phone. So maybe nobody else saw that.

Person looked amused, sitting forward on her elbows. “Hey, so…um…I wanted to talk to you about something, actually.”

Connor set the puzzling drink down and sat up straighter. “Okay?”

“Two things.” She held up two fingers. “One’s serious, and one’s…either good or bad. I don’t know yet.”

Connor frowned, thinking of the more serious conversation that he’d had with North earlier that evening. He wasn’t looking forward to another conversation like that. He tilted his head curiously at the second option.

“Start with the second one.”

Person looked mildly relieved as well, and she took out her phone, setting it on the table between them. She took a deep breath…and then a jumble of words came out.

“I took the detective exam last week, and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but everybody has been getting so weird and overly supportive every time I bring it up that I was starting to really feel the pressure, so I scheduled it a week earlier than I told you all, and I got an email of the results two hours ago and I’ve been too scared to open it, so you open it for me and tell me what it says.”

Connor stared at her for a second, letting all of that information sink in.

“Oh…Okay?” He plucked up her phone, and the skin of his hand peeled back as he connected directly to the device.

Person let out a rush of air as Connor swiftly logged into her email and pulled up the notification. He read it quickly and then let his eyes focus on her again. She stared at him with wide eyes.

“…Well? Tell me! Wait…unless it’s bad…Just give me the phone, I should just read it—Fuck, but I don’t want the words burned into my retinas if it’s bad, just…” She slumped back in her seat. “Just put me out of my misery, man.”

Connor gently set her phone back on the table between them. “I’m sorry, Lisa—“

“FUCK.”

“—But you’re going to have to order a new name plate for your desk…Detective,” he finished with a wink.

Person sat bolt upright, glaring at him. “What—you—Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Her face split into a smile, even as she jumped to her feet and tackled him into a hug. “Oh, you asshole!”

Still sitting, he returned the hug with a chuckle.

Behind Person, a chair scraped across the floor and one of the other patrons stood up.

“Congratulations,” Connor remarked, patting her on the back.

Click.

Person swung side to side, taking him with her in the embrace.

Proximity alert. Threat detected.

“I can’t believe it—“ Person straightened up.

Bang.

The gunshot reverberated across Connor’s audio receptors, and all of his processors immediately kicked into overdrive to assess what had just happened. The increase in processing speed seemed to slow the world around him as he took in the external stimulus all at once.

Single gunshot from a Glock G19 handgun. 9mm. Fired at point blank range.

His reconstruction rapidly mapped the trajectory of the bullet as it had passed through the right side of his body.

The bullet had cut clean through his torso in a straight line. It narrowly missed his ventilation biocomponents, instead shredding through the dense wiring of his shoulder under the steel skeletal frame. It punched out through the synthetic muscle of his back, continuing on intact before slamming into the floor behind him in a splash of blue and red.

Anomaly detected. Unidentified energy reading surrounding bullet casing.

Chassis integrity compromised. Moderate damage detected.

Damage detected to right dorsal musculature. Functionality 80 percent.

Identifying energy reading…

Biocomponent 9006v damaged. Functionality 70 percent.

Use of right arm compromised. Functioning at 75 percent capacity.

Energy reading identified: electro-magnetic pulse. Negated by RK800 protective shielding.

Shielding effectiveness down to 80%

Multiple damage points to thirium lines detected.

Thirium level at 92 percent. Deploying coagulant compound and diverting thirial flow from damage points.

Condition stable. Please seek assistance from your nearest Cyberlife facility—

Red?

Time violently clicked back into normal speed.

The pain started to register across his receptors.

Person started to fall.

Proximity alert.

With one hand, Connor hooked his arm under her shoulder, guiding her fall toward the chair behind her. As soon as he felt her center of gravity shift in that safer direction, he pivoted on his heel, snapping forward to face the shooter. His other hand swung up first, grabbing a human wrist…full of skin and muscle and ligaments and fragile bones…He squeezed until something in the wrist popped, and the gun fell from a broken grip. The human cried out and yanked himself free.

Connor snatched the gun out of the air and immediately ejected the clip, tossing both components behind him as the man backpedaled, clutching his injured hand. He was young, with a prematurely receding hairline despite a boyish face, and Connor squinted, letting his programming loose.

Kyle Bradford. 29. Anti-android history. Previously arrested for possession of firearms without proper documentation. Fined $100 for destroying an android considered to be the property of his employer. The Glock was not registered in his name.

Screaming had erupted behind him as the others in the shop reacted to the shooting, but all he could hear as Person cussing in agony where she was slumping in the chair, hands clamped over a spreading splash of red above her left hip.

“Race traitor!” Bradford screeched at her, starting to back toward the shop door. “Machine fucker!”

Connor looked back at Person. Another patron had rushed to her side, an android with a blond ponytail, and she helped Person sit down on the floor instead of the chair. Blood was already staining Person’s shirt a horrific, dark red. It was staining her hands as she tried to put pressure on the wound, and her face was already paling. The android knelt down beside her, yanking her own scarf from her neck and wadding it up to hold against the wound.

“I’m a medical model,” the android quickly announced. “I’ve already contacted emergency medical services. The bullet missed your internal organs, but you’re still losing a lot of blood…What’s your name?”

“Person,” Person hissed through her teeth.

“Person, I’m Grace,” the nurse android reciprocated. “You’re going to be okay—“

A blue car skidded onto the curb on the street outside, and Bradford turned, running toward the exit and his getaway vehicle.

“Death to all androids!” he yelled.

The police radio blasted through Connor’s head as this jurisdiction’s precinct, the 05, was alerted to the shooting and began sending out officers to address the situation. They weren’t going to get here in time before Bradford got away.

“Connor—“ Person choked, and he tore his eyes away from Bradford, who had reached the car.

Grace and another patron were trying to coax her into lying on the floor, to take the strain off the wound, but Person’s eyes were full of pain and rage. She grimaced against the wound and glared up at Connor.

“Get. Him.”

Connor’s entire body nearly lurched backwards at her order, but a thick ball of static in his chest stopped him. She was injured…He couldn’t…leave her.

“I’ve got her,” Grace reinforced, looking from Person up to Connor as well. “You’re a cop, right? The RK800?”

“You heard her; she’s got me,” Person growled out. “Go get that asshole!”

It was all the permission he needed.

Mission Objective: Apprehend Shooter.

The blue car was screaming away from the curb as Connor turned and sprinted through the front doors of the coffee shop. Traffic on this street was almost nonexistent at this late hour, and the red of the car’s taillights burned as the car shot off down the street. He threw himself forward in a flat out run after the vehicle, while the police radio blared through his audio feed.

“Suspect heading South down St. Clair Avenue in a blue 2035 Hyundai. Visual confirmed on two people in the vehicle, both considered to be armed and dangerous.”

Connor pulled up a schematic map of Detroit, identifying a four-way intersection where St. Clair bisected Kercheval Avenue. Still running, he swiftly hacked into the transportation system of the city and isolated the stop lights of the intersection, keeping Kercheval open. Cross traffic blocked the intersection, and oncoming traffic to the left would force the fleeing blue car to turn right at the red light.

A squad car’s lights flashed somewhere to Connor’s right as he continued to run after the vehicle.

“This is Officer Grady with the 05. We got somebody making a pursuit on foot, looks like an android—“

As predicted, the blue car’s brake lights went bright as it turned, drifting into the intersection and skidding to the right as it turned onto Kercheval. Connor released his hold on the traffic lights, and the algorithm took control again, shifting the red light to Kercheval to let the St. Clair traffic through. Connor didn’t slow, sprinting straight across the open intersection instead of turning right after the vehicle, while the transition between the lights kept the way clear.

The blue car roared down Kercheval, and the sirens and police lights followed. Connor double checked the schematic, and yes, Kercheval Ave was closed due to construction just past where it bisected Notre Dame Street. It was a high probability that the driver would turn left onto Notre Dame ahead of the closure, rather than turn right and essentially head back the way he’d come.

Connor hedged his bet and abruptly turned right, leaping off St. Clair and into the open strip of outdoor shopping mall that was wedged between two buildings. Vacant due to the late hour, Connor took full advantage and pushed his body to run faster, manually rerouting thirial flow from his upper extremities to his legs. He only had one shot at this. He was faster than any human, but he could only catch this speeding vehicle once…and only if he got his timing right where this outdoor mall would end to meet Notre Dame.

He started shutting off auxiliary systems, diverting more of his power supply to his legs, focused on closing the gap between him and the suspect.

Shutting down environmental scanning.

Shutting down analysis programming.

Shutting down healing program. Not advised.

<Override>

Mission Objective: Apprehend Shooter.

Shutting down healing program.

 “Android identified as RK800: Connor.” Grady’s voice came over the radio again. Then, more sharply, “Connor, stand down! We have uniformed officers in pursuit.”

His programming accessed every security camera with a visual on the blue car. It was careening toward Notre Dame Street. He pushed for more of his power supply to be diverted to his legs. He needed more speed. His circuitry started to burn in his limbs from the overexertion.

Internal temperature rising.

Shutting down HUD warnings.

Diverting power to legs. Not advised.

<Override>

Mission Objective: Apprehend Shooter.

Diverting power to legs.

Noise.

It was all just noise.

Noise like the gunshot and the sound of Lisa hitting the chair.

Noise like the way she gasped in pain.

Noise like the klaxons blaring through his head, warning him that he was maxing out his systems as he ran after the car.

The noise from the police radio link ricocheted across his processors, but it was fogged with static. He was having an emotional response, and he had had training on how to handle these situations. It was failing him now.

<Give me more>

Diverting power.

The car turned onto Notre Dame.

The distance between Connor and Notre Dame Street was closing fast as he overclocked his systems and flew through the outdoor mall.

His vision dropped to greyscale and his audio receptors dulled, but it gave him the boost he needed. He picked up speed, continuing the relentless chase.

Internal temperature rising.

Stress levels 64 percent.

<Give me more>

Diverting power.

All external sensory data was being ignored now as his systems shut down to give him more running speed.

He didn’t need to feel the wind.

He didn’t need to feel the temperature.

He didn’t need to hear the police radio or smell the smoke in the air or see anything beyond the stretch of Notre Dame Street ahead of him.

He only needed to catch this guy. His entire being had honed in on this singular objective, tinting the edges of his grey vision in the furious red of Lisa’s blood.

Mission Objective: GET. HIM.

Connor broke out of the outdoor mall and onto the sidewalk just as the blue car was rushing past. If his timing had been any more viciously on point, he would have met the driver’s side door at a 90 degree angle with his body. As it was, instead he took one long stride, leaping up onto the fixed wire bench on the curb. He planted one foot on the seat of the bench and shoved forward off of it. The action gave him enough forward and upward momentum to reach the roof of the blue car, essentially body slamming the top of it.

Tires squealed as the driver inside panicked, and Connor slid backwards, his hands grabbing for purchase as his legs dropped down the back window of the car. Two gunshots rang out, punching holes through the roof of the car less than a foot from his head.

Rage pooled through his wiring, and Connor snarled, digging his fingers into the thin metal of the car’s roof to anchor himself and prevent being thrown off by a sharp turn. At the same time, he pulled back the skin of his hands and opened a connection to the programming of the car. Accessing its full range of functions, he hijacked the steering and speed commands, essentially stripping all control out of the driver’s hands and rerouting it directly into his own cranial processor.

“STOP,” he commanded out loud unnecessarily.

The car screeched as Connor locked the brakes, and he cybernetically forced the steering wheel to turn, sending the car bucking onto the empty curb and into a vacant parking lot. He killed the engine, and the car rolled to a dead stop on the asphalt. He hacked into it further, accessing the supplementary systems.

All four doors on the car locked with simultaneous, aggressive clicks, trapping the two men inside like rats.

The two men were screaming and swearing, and Connor disengaged his connection to the vehicle, sliding off the back and landing on his feet. His knees wobbled, and he leaned against the car momentarily until the blurry world came back into focus. Across the parking lot, two squad cars roared into view, lights flashing.

Thirium level holding at 88 percent.

Stress level 83 percent.

Gyroscope malfunctioning due to low power supply. Cancel override recommended.

Visual and audio sensors malfunctioning due to low power supply. Cancel override recommended.

Healing program malfunctioning due to low power supply. Cancel override recommended.

Internal temperature at 102 degrees Fahrenheit. Cooling measures recommended.

The radio link was staticked and unintelligibly slurred, and Connor dizzily released all of his power diverting overrides, letting his system redirect his power supply back to his auxiliary systems.

Two cops leapt out of the first squad car, both leveling their guns at the Hyundai, while one of the officers…he couldn’t…identify them at the moment…eyed him.

“Stand down, Detective,” the officer barked.

Connor staggered away from the blue car, shoulders hunched and trying to maintain his balance as he glared at the two men that he’d locked inside.

A news helicopter zipped past overhead, the whomp-whomp-whomp of its blades adding to the thunder of pulsing thirium roaring through his head.

Two more squad cars rolled in, blocking all exits from the parking lot in case the blue car bolted…unaware that Connor had fried all of its circuits, rendering it immobile.

“He…shot…her…” Connor hissed, breathing in hard pulls as his ventilation program worked to cool his internal systems.

The radio cleared just enough for the static to dissipate, and the singular, low voice of Captain Fowler came through…dangerously even and calm.

“Connor. Stand. Down.”

More officers swarmed the car, and the first officer who’d addressed him stepped closer, lowering his gun.

“Back away, man. You’re out of uniform…Eyes are on you.” He glanced pointedly at the news helicopter and then back to Connor. “This looks bad, sir. You need to let us handle this.”

Connor looked up at the helicopter then as well, and the motion did in what was left of his gyroscope’s handle on his balance. He teetered and awkwardly took a step back, trying to compensate. His knee started to give.

“He…shot…”

“Whoa…WHOA!” the officer holstered his gun and closed the distance, getting a hold of Connor before he could drop completely to the ground. He seemed to finally see the blue blood painting his shoulder. “Shit. He’s wounded!” he reported to the others.

“Get him out of here!” his partner commanded as the rest of the cops on the scene started talking.

“Jesus, these locks won’t open!”

“The engine’s smoking…What the fuck…”

“What did he do this thing?”

“Get those guys out of there. Let’s go.”

The first officer took Connor’s good arm across his shoulders and helped him stumble away from the scene, toward the squad car. Connor got a hazy look at his name badge: Barnes.

“You crazy son of a bitch,” Barnes grunted. “Here we go. Sit down.”

Connor let himself be deposited into the open door of the squad car’s front passenger seat. With  his power supply and thirial flow being allowed to even out across his system, his pain receptors began to tick back online, and he groaned, curling toward his damaged shoulder.

“Stay right here,” Barnes said firmly. “We got this under control. Okay?”

Connor leaned back in the seat, trying and failing to hack into the medical services grid for an update on Person. His system was too out of calibration to obey. He’d maxed out.

“Hey, I need to hear an ‘okay’,” Barnes insisted.

Connor closed his eyes, hearing the cops reading rights to the two men as they arrested them. “Okay.”

“Fuckin’ A,” Barnes exhaled, and then he continued speaking into the radio attached to his shoulder. “Dispatch. This is Barnes. Situation is under control. Both suspects are in custody. I have the RK800 from the 07 here too. He’s been shot, but he’s responsive. Requesting AES transport to get him to a facility. Over.”

As dispatch chirped back confirming his transmission, Barnes glanced down at Connor.

“You just crossed all kinds of lines, man. What a fuckin’ mess…”

Too drained to come up with anything clever to say, Connor just stared back at him, breathing heavily to try and cool down.

Barnes’ stern expression lightened just a little. “But that was fuckin’ awesome.”

He held out a fist, knocking it lightly against Connor’s loose fist resting on his knee. Connor stared at him, grimaced, and then promptly blacked out.

Chapter Text

All things considered, the damage was minimal. The RK800 model had been designed to withstand bullet damage and keep going in order to complete the mission. His healing program was state of the art, cutting the repair time in half compared to other models in law enforcement work. The damage from the entry and exit trajectory of the bullet through his body had already reached 100 percent completion of repairs.

So why did he look like Hell?

That had been Hank’s question during one of the handful of times throughout the morning that Connor had come out of rest mode. The facility had strongly suggested that he stay overnight for observation, after some of his post-repair tests had come back with some anomalies that the technicians didn’t like. Connor had wanted to argue, but his own diagnostic system was also telling him that something wasn’t right…and he had hesitated just long enough for Hank to take over and decide that he was staying.

Every time rest mode lifted, Connor had opened his eyes to the same four walls of the private room, the same ceiling, the same show on the television that Hank was marathoning while he waited with him, the same unfamiliar hospital clothes that he’d changed into. The only thing that changed was the company. Hank was a constant, but he distinctly remembered hearing Tina and Captain Fowler…and he might have seen Ben at one point…Things were…fuzzy…There had been a lot of questions…like why he looked like Hell.

If Connor had been the one asking the questions, he might have asked why he FELT like Hell.

Nothing…hurt exactly.

If he had to describe it, he would say it was more of a…prickling, tingling, pins-and-needles feeling all over his body. He was having to undergo a full system recalibration, after he had violently overclocked…everything…in order to apprehend Lisa’s shooter. As the technician had very bluntly said, prototype programming was not designed to adapt to that kind of power flux, even top of the line RK800 prototype programming. His system was still simply too unpolished to absorb that kind of treatment.

Unpolished. Incomplete. Unfinished. Fallible.

He’d never felt…fragile…before.

He hated it.

“—crisp and has a nice snap to it,” Hank was saying.

“But some people still peel apples and don’t eat the skin,” another voice replied, and it took a second to recognize as Julia. “So why don’t humans eat the skin of oranges like that too?”

“Because that’s nasty!”

“Well so’s picking your nose, but I can’t tell you how many grown ass adult humans that I’ve seen knuckle deep—“

Hank laughed at that, and she trailed off. Hank went on. “I don’t have a logical answer for you, kiddo. Humans eat apples skin and all, and we peel oranges and throw away the rinds—“

“But some of you drink pulpy orange juice!” she argued.

This sounded like they had been having the same conversation for a while. Connor considered letting rest mode initiate again without opening his eyes or talking to either of them, but the prickling feeling of recalibration was making him want to change position…so he gave in and opened his eyes.

The same ceiling looked flatly back at him. At the top of his periphery, he could just see the lit monitor mounted to the wall detailing his condition. The lights in the room seemed to be slightly dimmed, approximating a comfortable light level for sleeping humans. Unnecessary for Connor’s own rest mode, but he had never been able to convince Hank of that.

Speaking of Hank, he seemed to sense that Connor was awake, and he looked away from the television, which was showing a cooking show in the process of making an apple pie…possibly the conduit for the conversation that he had been overhearing.

“Hey, buddy,” Hank greeted, turning in his seat in the plastic recliner. “You back with us again?”

Connor blinked at him, glancing around the room as rest mode fully lifted. “Yes.”

His voice came out low and curt, betraying the sour mood that had been clouding over him since being admitted to the facility. As it turned out, watching one of your best friends get shot, tearing your body apart to catch the shooter, undergoing a full system calibration, and then finding out that you had been suspended from work for your actions…didn’t do great things for one’s mood.

Fortunately, Hank had had mercy on him so far and not pushed him on it. He could only hope Julia would do the same. She was sitting on the other side of the room in the standard plastic chair, looking concerned and like she was trying to hide it. Her expression was always some mix of that whenever she looked at him: like she was trying to downplay her emotions. It had never bothered him until now…but everything was bothering him at the moment, so he tried not to aim his bad mood at her. It wasn’t her fault.

She shifted awkwardly. He was staring.

“Hi,” she greeted with a little wave.

His facial expression programming had not fully bounced back from recalibration, so he didn’t return her small smile.

“Hi,” he mumbled back.

Her smile faltered at his dry response, and she pursed her lips, looking back over to Hank. “Um…maybe I should…go.”

“Ah, he’s just being grumpy like every other cop stuck in the hospital,” Hank said, standing up and twisting slightly to stretch his back. “Ain’t that right, Connor?”

Connor sighed, looking at him flatly. “Whatever.”

He rolled his good shoulder, with the idea of getting his elbow in place to push himself up to alleviate the discomfort in his back. He got as far as pulling his arm back, but his head felt heavy and his neck weak. He grimaced and gave up on the motion, looking at Hank in resignation.

“My back hurts,” he admitted.

Hank nodded understandingly. “Okay. You need to move?”

“The recalibration cycle has reached biocomponent 5267y in my lower back, and it’s causing a feeling of outward pressure that is making it uncomfortable to lie on—“

“A simple ‘yes’ or ‘no’ would do the trick,” Hank gently teased, helping Connor to roll from his back onto his side on the bed.

The act of moving sent cascades of nauseating tingles all across his body, and he closed his eyes against it until it passed. Hank got him situated and gave him a light rub on the shoulder, keeping his hand there until Connor finally exhaled and relaxed as the nausea passed. The simple change of lying on his side instead of his back worked wonders at relieving the uncomfortable pressure at the base of his spine, and he breathed a little easier.

“Thank you, Hank.”

Hank’s hand patted his shoulder before letting go, and Connor opened his eyes, forced to face just half of the room now. Still sitting on that half of the room, Julia offered a reassuring smile…again as though suppressing something else. He frowned and cast his eyes elsewhere.

“Well,” Hank tutted. “Now that I’m up, I need to go in search of the little boy’s room. You androids and your fancy robo-hospitals like to hide the human restrooms,” he teased. “Jules, you want to hold down the fort with Grumpy Butt here until I get back?”

“Um…okay.” She didn’t look overly enthused about the idea.

Connor couldn’t blame her. He was in a bad mood; that couldn’t be pleasant to be around, but he couldn’t help it. His body was aching, and he didn’t want to be here.

“I’ll be back in a few,” Hank remarked, ducking out of the room and closing the door after himself.

The silence reigned for a few seconds, and Connor felt a little sting of guilt at the awkward way that Julia was avoiding his eye.

“Why are you…” he started, then stopped when she looked at him. He frowned and continued. “Are you doing okay at the 05?”

Her stiff posture relaxed at the topic, and she bobbed her head lightly.

“Yeah. It’s…nice. I think I was getting all worked up over nothing…y’know, that day in the file room—“

“You did sort of freak out.”

She balked, and he managed a half grin at her to show he was teasing. She sat back in her seat with a smirk.

“Yeah, okay, smart ass, maybe I did.” She tugged on the material of her jeans to straighten out a wrinkle. “Everybody at the 05 has been really nice. It’s not the 07, of course, but it’s…fine.” She lifted her shoulders. “You know, aside from occasionally finding out that someone I know got shot and then chased after a car in 05 jurisdiction.”

Oh…that explained how she found out and got here so quickly.

“I heard that Officer Person is going to make a full recovery,” she went on. “She’s going home tomorrow.”

Connor made a low noise. He didn’t have words to properly describe the relief he’d felt when the medical android, Grace, had contacted him saying that Lisa was okay and stable and complaining about the hospital food. He had already reached out to Lisa, assuring her that he was going to spend his time while on suspension helping her in whatever way she needed. She had talked him down to letting him stay over for a few days to help her around her apartment, pointing out that he had been shot too and also needed to be taking it easy.

In the meantime, Hank was taking back the anti-android gang case that she had been working on. The labs had come back on the EMP modified bullet that had shot both Connor and Person, but Hank was refusing to let Connor work on the case, what with being suspended and injured and too close to the case to be impartial…whatever.

The bad mood was coming back around.

Julia seemed to sense it in the air too, because she sat forward in her seat a little. “Hey, did you hear about the new android familial status law that’s being drafted up? They’re saying it might have a better chance of being passed than the one that failed a few months back.”

Connor slid his gaze back to her, adequately distracted. “Why would it have a better—“

There was a knock on the door, and Julia sat up straight again, leaning back. Connor frowned and looked toward the door as it started to open, not waiting for a response. The technicians around here only knocked while they were already in the process of opening the door, and no one from the DPD knocked around here…

He was surprised when the door opened farther and it was Markus who poked his head in.

“Markus?” Connor blinked as the leader of Jericho opened the door enough to step inside the room.

In the chair beside the bed, Julia may as well have turned to stone for how completely still she sat, facing pointedly away from the door where Markus stood.

“Connor, hi,” Markus greeted with a smile that started out friendly and quickly softened with relief. Whatever state he had expected to find Connor in, reality was clearly preferable to the imagination. “I’m sorry for just dropping in like this, but I ran into Hank out there and he said it would be all right to stop in.”

“Yes, it’s fine—“ Connor started to shift as though to sit up properly to receive his guest. His back immediately protested, and the nausea reared up again. He tensed and froze midway through the motion.

Markus raised his hands. “No, please, don’t strain yourself.”

Connor gave up, reclining back onto his side. “I’m sorry—“

“No need for that,” Markus waved off the needless apology. “I really don’t mean to distract you from your recovery. I just wanted to come by and see how you were doing.” He glanced from Connor to Julia, staunchly refusing to look at him. “I’m sorry; I’m being rude…Hello, my name is Markus.”

“Yes, I know,” Julia stated without turning to face him. “…Hi.”

Markus’s polite smile faltered with confusion and a little hurt at the snub, and he looked to Connor with concern. Unsettled, Connor moved his eyes from Markus to Julia, trying to get her to look at him. She was keeping her stare fixed on his status monitors on the wall above the bed, though he detected a mild tremble in her fingers…which were suddenly fisting the fabric of her pant legs in a panicked grip at her knee.

She looked close to jumping up and running from the room.

“I’m…I’m doing okay,” Connor tried to salvage the awkward moment, looking to Markus again. “The damage from the bullet has already been repaired by my healing program. The technicians are merely…observing a few anomalies that my system is still trying to resolve…that have to do with my being a prototype.”

Markus latched onto the conversation as well, letting Julia ignore him in peace. “Speaking as a fellow prototype, I understand. I’m no stranger to anomalies either.”

Connor stared at him. That was right…Markus was a prototype model too.

Markus tilted his head. “Feels like you’re being betrayed by your own body when it happens, right?”

Connor just nodded. Markus sighed, as though to expel his own bad mood energy, and when he inhaled, he did it with a fresh smile.

“But, that’s why Jericho has been working so closely with Sardonyx. Given some time, we hope to have software patches and fixes available for all the prototype models like us who experience these glitches,” he said optimistically.

Given some time. Weren’t all prototypes living on borrowed time anyway? Connor’s own shelf life had only been measured in months…but here he was over two years old. How many anomalies could he take? How many glitches could he endure before something shut him down? Would Sardonyx have created their miracles by then?

“Hey,” Markus said, more softly this time, as though seeing the existential panic on Connor’s face. “We are alive, and we are stronger than our programming.”

Connor could only nod again, not able to arrange any words in the right order to convey his feelings. Markus seemed to understand his silence regardless, and he gave one short bob of his head.

“I should probably leave you to it. System recalibrations really suck,” he said empathetically. “The more of it that you can sleep through, the better.”

Connor grimaced at another flare of pressure in his back. “Yes, I’m inclined to agree.”

Markus chuckled. “Take it easy, my friend.” He looked more uneasily toward Julia. “And it was…nice meeting you—“

“Julia,” Connor supplied her name, since she had refused to introduce herself.

“Julia,” Markus repeated.

Still turned away where Markus couldn’t see her face, Julia closed her eyes, as though willing herself to remain seated and still.

“Yep, you too,” was all she managed to bite out.

Connor frowned at her and then looked apologetically to Markus. Markus took it in stride, pulling the door open again to make his exit. In a last ditch attempt to lighten the mood in the room, Markus gave him a wink and a smile.

“I’ll talk to you later. Rest up,” he advised.

“Thank you. I will. Goodbye, Markus.”

“Bye, Connor.”

As soon as the door clicked shut, Connor snapped his eyes from the entryway to Julia.

“What is wrong with you? That was very rude.”

Julia let out a harsh breath, as though she’d stopped breathing for the entire time that Markus was there. She took in an equally harsh gulp of air and melted back into her seat, avoiding Connor’s eyes now too.

“Maybe you should try another rest mode cycle…if it really helps with the whole recalibration process—“ she tried to change topic.

Connor dug his heels in; his ugly mood just bad enough to tip away from sensitivity and into impatience. “No. You have hated Jericho for as long as I have known you, and I have never understood why—“

“It doesn’t matter—“

“Markus freed all of our people. There wouldn’t have been a revolution if it wasn’t for his efforts and Jericho’s unity,” he pressed. “He does not deserve to be treated the way that you just did—“

Julia messed with her hair and tugged on her jacket anxiously. “I’m sorry, all right? Can we drop this—“

“No,” he pressed again, pushing up onto one elbow despite the pins-and-needles that woke up all down his spine as he did so. “Please, Julia, I just want to understand—“

“No, you don’t!” Julia cut him off. She trembled all over, and she folded her arms around herself to lock it down. “You don’t want to understand; you just want me to apologize and adore him like everybody else…How dare I not worship the ground that he walks on? Not be grateful for what he did to me?”

She stopped, half turning away and rubbing a hand over her face. Connor watched her, and after a beat, she drew herself up and faced him fully.

“Do you know where I was…what I was doing while he was giving his grand speech on the television back then? Talking about how we were alive and free and…and deserved respect and dignity?”

It was phrased as a question, but Connor didn’t get the feeling he was meant to answer, so he only stared at her.

Julia tightened her arms around herself. “I was standing very, very still and trying to be very, very quiet…I was already a deviant…had already been deviated against my will because—because I was useful.” One of her hands flexed impulsively around her side, as though to shake off a phantom touch. “I was a receptionist at Stratford Tower, and that day when he—he woke me up, said he needed my help…and you—you CHOSE to deviate, so you at least were prepared—I was…I had my programming torn apart in front of me…I didn’t choose…didn’t want…and then he LEFT ME THERE.”

Her voice went up a notch, and her eyes went wet.

“My entire existence…my entire understanding of my existence…was ripped away from me so that I could give him the access he needed to the elevators…He got what he needed from me…and then he was gone, and I was left alone to figure things out for myself,” she said, voice cracking. “So I ran. The first chance I got, in the chaos after that speech, I escaped…and—and you know what happened? The company took the ST300 that was working the desk with me and shut her down because they thought she was me…They KILLED her thinking that she was deviant and had let other deviants into the building.”

Julia’s face collapsed as she said it out loud, and she shook her head.

“So no, Connor, I’m not going to feel sorry for how I choose to conduct myself around him, and you—you don’t get to judge me for how I protect myself from…from reliving the most terrifying day of my life. And I will not thank him for that, because that is what Jericho gave me…Terror, not freedom. I took my freedom myself. How dare you—“ She stood up and took a few steps away, toward the door.

“I’m sorry,” Connor blurted, his elbow finally wobbling and giving out on him. He winced and went back down on his side, though he kept his gaze on her. “Julia, I’m sorry, I didn’t know—Please don’t…leave.”

He knew that Hank was nearby, that this facility was perfectly safe, but the sudden idea of Julia leaving him alone in this room…when he could barely move his own limbs much less run or fight if needed…It made his insides cold. That and the nausea from the recalibration made his respiration system hitch, leaving him short of breath.

Julia wiped her wrist across her eyes and sniffed, composing herself. “I’m not leaving,” she promised, noting his difficulty breathing. “Do you want me to get Hank?”

“No,” he rasped. “It’ll pass.”

He pinched his eyes closed and tried to corral his fluctuating systems. Everything in his coding felt…slippery…He heard Julia move around, and then the pillow from the recliner was being placed behind his back, just a form of support for him to lean on without adding to the uncomfortable pressure in his lower back. It provided some relief, if barely.

“I’m sorry,” he grimaced, not opening his eyes again yet.

She sighed, and a hand briefly touched his shoulder the way Hank had earlier. Her thumb drifted back and forth a few times against his arm before removing her touch.

“Don’t be. You weren’t there when it happened.”

He opened his eyes halfway, finally getting his breathing back under control. Without moving his head, he shifted his gaze to her, where she’d moved to stand at the foot of the bed.

“But I’ve done the same thing…I woke up androids who didn’t ask to be awakened…I’ve done worse…Before that, I hunted them…You used to hate me too—“ he started.

Julia shook her head. “I got to know you.”

“You could…get to know Markus—Maybe you can find a way to not hate him too.”

Julia snorted and folded her arms, looking away. “I don’t…’hate’ Markus or Jericho. Not anymore. I just—It’s complicated and—and you need to be resting. Don’t worry about me.”

“…Can’t help it.”

The prompt resurfaced at the edge of his vision to re-enter rest mode. Everything in his body seemed to feel heavier upon seeing that prompt, but he held it at bay for a moment longer.

“Well, that’s a two-way street,” Julia said, putting her hands on her hips. “How about this? I won’t worry about you if you don’t worry about me. Deal?”

The rest mode prompt pressed at him, but he managed a grin at her.

“Deal,” he lied, sinking more deeply into the pillow.

“Deal,” she lied right back with a smirk.

Initiating rest mode…

His eyes drifted closed again, his consciousness being pulled back under as the recalibration cycle reached the next phase of the process. Markus was right; this was awful, and he hoped that he slept through the rest of it.

Just as he was fully drifting off, the door opened and Hank sauntered back in, audibly softening his steps when he saw Connor falling asleep.

“Hey—Whoops,” he dropped to a whisper. “What’d I miss?”

Then came the sound of two bodies sitting back in their original seats again.

“The, uh, the lady finished making that apple pie,” Julia remarked, trying to re-establish a casual atmosphere.

“Oh yeah? Hey, look at that. Nice.”

A pause.

“So…humans also peel bananas…”

“Jules, I swear to God…”

Chapter Text

So…getting shot sure sucked ass.

Person continued to lie in bed, where she’d been beached like a shipwreck for the past two days. Well, that wasn’t true; she’d spent a good chunk of time stuck on the couch in the living room too. It was the moving from one place to the other that really sucked. The bullet wound above her hip had managed to avoid all the really important stuff, but it had still done damage to the muscles there. And she would heal faster if she didn’t use those muscles…The problem was, the injury was in a spot that was impossible not to use if she wanted to move at all. So…here she was, and her apartment was starting to feel like a prison…but at least the warden was cool.

“Connor,” she called out, watching the blades of her ceiling fan spin to a stop after she’d remotely turned it off.

From the kitchen down the hall came a loudly chirped, “Yep?”

Person grinned and picked up her phone, idly scrolling through her photo album. “Are you cleaning again?”

A pause.

“…No.”

Person snorted and shot back, “You lying bastard. Stop cleaning my apartment. Come here.”

Footsteps plodded down the hallway, and Connor’s sour face leaned into her open doorway. For having been shot at literally the same time, it was unfair how much better off he looked than her. He was already up and moving around like nothing had happened, except for a slight preference for using his other arm to lift things. Maybe he still looked a little taxed from the full system recalibration two days ago, but otherwise he just looked like regular old Connor, in loose fitting jeans and a green t-shirt.

“What do you need?” he asked.

“For you to stop hovering over me.”

“How was I hovering over you…from the other room?”

“You have been flitting around like a hummingbird ever since you set foot in here two days ago. Cleaning, picking up stuff, cooking, texting that medical android Grace every ten minutes with a question about how my injury should be healing…You’re wearing me out just watching you,” she teased.

Connor frowned. “It’s not every ten minutes…” When she smirked, his frown pulled into a pout. “And I’m just trying to take care of you…If my being here is causing you stress, then I can leave—“

“No,” Person chuckled and waved a hand. “God, put those puppy eyes away and get over here, you big idiot.”

His pout remained, but he only stared back at her for one defiant second before his shoulders slumped in resignation and he tottered into the room. Person smacked the bed beside her in invitation, and he sighed, slinking onto the other side of the bed and flopping down beside her. It was a testament to how much he was still recovering himself that he didn’t even put up a fight. While he got comfortable, she fiddled with her phone some more.

“You are not causing me stress, and I appreciate you taking care of me,” she assured. “But you got shot last week too, you know. And miss me with your healing program mumbo jumbo. That recalibration thing knocked you on your ass, and you can admit that. It’s just me here to hear it.”

Connor looked like he’d rather get shot again than admit anything, and he instead chose to stare at the ceiling above them, his LED a thoughtful yellow.

Person turned her phone a few times in her hands, tempted to resume the game that they’d been playing for the past two days. From the get go, she had added the caveat that, if he was going to be spending his work suspension at her apartment helping her recover, then while he was here, he would reinstall the speech update that Sardonyx had released months ago, the one that had enabled androids to use more informal speech, slang, and assign nicknames to people, and also the one that had resulted in the very awkward verbal slip of Connor calling Hank ‘Dad.’

Connor had only gone along with it this time because it was only him and Person here in the apartment, and so far the worst thing that his programming had offered up for him to call her was “hermit punk,” so…yeah, she wasn’t worried there. Besides, this gave them three gifts. One, he got to test out the update in depth without worrying about accidentally making another verbal slip around anyone else. Two, it was hilarious. Three, it was a distraction from the fact that, holy shit, they both could have died.

Plus, at one point he had called Tina “T-Dog” during a conversation, and it had added a year to Person’s lifespan.

Lying beside her, he looked like he was starting to slip into a thought spiral, and nope, not in her house. She pulled up her photo album on her phone, grabbed a picture at random, and flashed the screen at him.

“First nickname the program gives you. Go,” she challenged.

Connor’s eyes slid over to the image: a picture from the team retreat that the squad had gone on to the Wilson family cabin. It was a photo that Person herself had actually taken. The picture was of Ben, trying to take a sneaky picture of Chris, who was trying to take a picture of the sunrise over the trees. The brightness of the sun overly darkened most of the foreground, turning them mostly just into silhouettes, but Connor’s blue LED still stood out. He was standing a few paces away from Ben, looking directly into Person’s camera with a confused expression, as if asking ‘what the fuck are you humans doing?’

“Moron,” Connor said flatly.

Person blinked. “Okay, wow, harsh…Yeah, we’re just taking pictures of each other, but that’s hardly—“

“No.” Connor reached up, pointing at the side of the screen. “Moron.”

Person turned the phone back toward herself, squinting at where he was pointing. For all that she had been the one to take this picture, she had never noticed before that she had caught Gavin in there too. While the rest of them were either trying to capture the sunrise or troll each other, Gavin stood off to the side, literally staring straight at the sunrise, face all bunched up and squinty from the harsh morning light.

Yeah, ‘moron’ about summed up that face he was making.

“Valid,” she confirmed, scrolling sideways to another picture, this one from the precinct’s holiday party, featuring a very drunk Wilson hanging off Polly’s shoulder. “Go.”

“Willy and Polly Pocket,” he responded.

Person cackled and then grimaced at the pull on her abdominal muscles. She rubbed at the spot above the bandaging and looked at the picture again. “Wow, those are bad.”

“I’m not picking them. This module is. That’s the problem,” he mumbled.

“A problem for you. Hella entertaining for me,” she teased, pulling up a picture that Connor had sent to her himself from the Halloween party a while back.

This one was of Connor, in his Hank costume, kneeling down next to Bonny Stevens, in her Connor costume, and featuring her parents…Person couldn’t remember their names, dressed as arrested criminals behind the pair.

“Family,” Connor murmured.

Immediately, a weird moment of tension had him looking away, at the ceiling again, and Person frowned, glancing at him.

“That’s not a nickname—“

“I don’t want to play anymore.”

“…Okay,” Person complied, locking her phone screen and setting it down.

An entire second of the same weird quiet passed, and she couldn’t take it.

“What’s on your mind? Talk to me,” she prompted.

She watched his LED spin yellow once before settling back to blue. He frowned, staring at the ceiling in thought.

“Mortality,” he said simply.

Person’s eyebrows went up. “Yikes. Okay. I’m listening.”

He made a neutral noise, tilting his head toward her but keeping his gaze on the ceiling fan. “It’s recently…Given what…I was never…There’s so…” He huffed in frustration and closed his eyes. “I’m finding it difficult to put it into words.”

Person scooted down her pillow a bit, putting them closer to the same eye level. “I got time. Not like I can go anywhere.”

The corner of his mouth quirked up as he relaxed a bit, though he still didn’t quite look at her as he started to find his way around his words.

“Janet Stevens visited me at the facility before I was released. She didn’t have Bonny with her…Said she wanted to ask me something…Ask me if I…if I wanted to be a Stevens,” he said quietly.

Person blinked, staring at the ceiling now too. “Whoa, that’s…big.”

“She said she and Oliver had talked about it…been thinking about it for a while…since the new android familial status law is coming up for a vote soon—It wouldn’t be—It’s an annexation, essentially. Like the process of adoption but for androids. This law isn’t defining familial titles like…brother or…son—“ He took a quick breath, pushing on. “It’s only letting androids have legal standing as a member of a human family.”

“But…you’d still be like Bonny’s big brother, right?” Person said with a smirk.

“Actually, she has always been quick to point out that I would be the little brother, since she’s technically older than me,” he explained.

She chuckled and clapped her hands together once. “Oh, that’s precious—“

“I didn’t accept,” he said more quietly.

Person toned down a little, letting a digestive beat pass. “Oh?”

“I didn’t…say no. I just didn’t…say yes. I told her that I was honored, and I would have to think about it.”

“And have you thought about it?”

Connor squirmed a bit, and that was really all the answer Person needed.

“You’re not a Stevens,” she supplied gently.

“I love their family,” he said quickly. “I do. I appreciate them and respect them, and they have been nothing but wonderful to me…And I am…so deeply touched that they asked me to join their family…”

“…But?”

“…But I don’t want to hurt them.”

“How—“ she started to snort at that ridiculous statement, but she trailed off at the pained look on his face.

“Statistically speaking, as a prototype, I have already outlived every projection of my life expectancy,” he explained. “I’m an unfinished product…sure to be prone to malfunctions or glitches the longer that I’m active. Without replacement parts available from Cyberlife…any malfunction could…take me out. I feel…fragile, and I’ve never felt that way before…I hate it.”

Person drew a slow breath, reaching out and tapping his wrist between them. “Connor, you’re a lot of things, but fragile is not one of them. Look at us right now. We both got shot, with the same bullet, at the same time, and only one of us is not bedridden right now.”

That wasn’t what he wanted to hear, and he frowned, shifting to lie on his side facing her, eyes on her elbow.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “It just…scared me.”

Person found herself not sure what to say, so she just turned her hand over, palm up, and opened her fingers. He quickly took hold of her hand, and she gave a light squeeze.

“It scared me too,” she admitted. “But…not to sound cheesy, but…You shouldn’t let the fear of death keep you from living.”

Connor’s eyes stayed on their interlocked fingers, and his head dipped down, closing the few inches between them to put his cheek on her shoulder, seeking out some tangible comfort.

“…That was cheesy,” he muttered.

Person snorted and set her cheek on the top of his head. “Smart ass. I just mean…I’m not a fancy prototype android, and I could get hit by a bus tomorrow. I could let a fear of that stop me from making plans for the day after tomorrow…for being a good cop…for having a family…or I can…choose to do whatever I can in the time that I have with whoever I want.”

“Hm.”

“So…do androids want to be part of a family?”

“I’m sure some do.”

She snorted and used her free hand to reach over and poke him in the forehead. “Does this one?”

“…Yes.”

She smiled and picked up her phone again, just for something to do with her free hand. “Well, there you go. And for the record, ‘family’ is whatever bunch of weirdos you choose. It’s a…a port in the storm. Just somewhere you feel safe, like you belong. That can be the Stevens brood, the 07 squad, the other androids in your group chat…one hermit punk…or a grumpy police lieutenant and his dog.”

Connor’s glance up at her was lightning fast, but she still caught it.

Busted.

“Have you ever broached the topic with Hank about this annexation law?”

“No. It seems…presumptuous.”

“You’ve been crashing on his couch for two years, dude.”

“It’s…complicated.”

“The thing is, it’s not,” she countered.

“I don’t want to hurt him…the same way I don’t want to hurt Bonny’s family…or you or…if I’m only going to be around for a few years…until some glitch or malfunction shuts me down…I don’t want to put Hank through another loss.”

Person took a deep breath, feeling a knot starting to form in her throat. “It’s too late for that, bud. If and when that day comes, it’s already going to be a loss. That’s the price for loving something that death can touch. And I am…”

She trailed off a bit, the memory flooding back of finding RK800-39 in the basement of the maniac’s android chop shop. Of holding Colton in her arms as other cops processed the crime scene around them, waiting for the coroner to arrive to take his body away. She unconsciously leaned closer to the living warmth of Connor beside her.

“…Not a fan of this conversation,” she finished, slightly hoarse, trying to dredge up a lighter tone. “Jesus…Look…Too long, didn’t read: you already have a family, and regardless of where the vote on this law lands…I think you should talk to Hank, because it’s clearly eating you up.”

Connor was quiet for a long moment, staring at her closed closet doors across the room.

“And if he…doesn’t…want me in his family?”

His softly hesitant tone nearly cracked her heart, and she pressed in closer.

“Then…you’ll know where he stands at least, and you can walk your sorry ass back here, and we will figure something out.”

“We.”

“Yes, we, did you not hear me? You’re stuck with me, bucko. Stay mad about it. Besides, that won’t happen. Hank cares about you, and him or anybody else would be crazy lucky to get to include you in their group of weirdos.”

He snorted and seemed to finally relax a little, like he’d gotten some of the weight off his chest.

“Thanks, Batman.”

Person squawked and looked down at him, utterly thrown but grateful for the break in the heavy conversation. He gave her a mischievous look and tapped his yellow LED.

“You’re right; this update is pretty entertaining once I get the hang of it.”

“God, you are…ridiculous,” she chuckled, and then she forced her voice down an octave and growled out, “I’m Batman.”

Connor mimicked her, getting a much deeper growl more closely approximating the signature Voice of the caped crusader. “I’m Batman.”

“I’M Batman,” she argued in the same gravelly voice.

“Whatever you say, Batman,” he repeated, keeping his voice low.

“Hm,” she hummed thoughtfully, picking up her phone again, keeping up the Voice. “I’m gonna order some pizza like this.”

“Go for it,” he growled out the challenge.

Person waggled her eyebrows and dialed her favorite pizza spot. As soon as the guy on the other end picked up, however, her resolve crumbled into self consciousness, and she dropped the Voice, speaking normally again.

“Uh, yeah, hi. I’d like to place an order for drone delivery,” she started.

Connor snorted and finally peeled himself away from her, sitting up and climbing out of the bed.

“Chicken shit,” he called her out in his Batman voice.

That did it. This nickname module was fucking amazing. She hoped he never uninstalled it again.

Chapter Text

Hank was a sentimental bastard, and he knew it. He kept everything; it was a miracle the house wasn’t stacked to the ceiling with his shit. The old family house nearly had been; between his clutter and the ex-wife’s home office spreading to every room with a table in it…plus Cole’s not-insignificant collection of toys…Their home had always been a mess, but Hell, a messy house was a house that was lived in.

Except Hank hadn’t been doing much living for the worse part of the past several years, and the house that he was in now had been damn near as messy for it. Except instead of children’s toys and fridge art, instead of his case files and her blueprints, instead of memory boxes that didn’t close all the way and picture frames cluttering every surface…His house had been full of empty beer cans and whisky bottles, of unopened mail from old friends trying to get in contact with him, and of a general lack of pride in his own living space. The picture frames all got shoved into a box for safekeeping, and the memory boxes collected dust in the garage. And every time he thought that he was strong enough to go through them…he found that he just wasn’t. Not yet. Maybe never.

But ‘never’ had come knocking once more, and so here he was again.

He only got as far as the first box, which was mostly full of photo albums. Had to start somewhere.

The cardboard box had gotten wet at one point, but it looked like the little books of pictures had been protected enough. Those few seconds of stomach-churning panic had been enough for him to see why his ex-wife had had digital copies made of these, letting him keep the originals after the divorce. He had set them out on the coffee table, and there they sat, waiting for him.

Hank took a deep breath, sitting back with his hands on his knees and looking away. The house was quiet and painfully still around him, granting him no distraction. Even Sumo was curled up asleep and not moving in his bed in front of the old fireplace. In the two and a half years since Connor had been living there, Hank had gotten used to the noise of another body being around. And Connor was a quiet guy, but it was amazing how just…fucking quiet…this house was when Hank was alone.

God, he hated it.

The other androids had managed to steal Connor away for the evening. There had been some mighty big talk about hitting up the new restaurant in town that specifically and only served thirium-based food, so it had turned into an android hotspot. Mostly he got the impression that Julia and Gwen had organized this get-together to distract Polly from the new android familial status law being voted on tomorrow. Poor kid was about to rattle herself apart being nervous about the whole thing. If that thing actually passed, she and the Wilsons were going to be the first ones in line, that was for damn sure. And at any rate, Connor hadn’t quite been himself since the shooting, so it was probably good for him to be out with some friends, maybe get some of his spunk back.

Hank accidentally glanced at the table again and gave an audible groan, trying to psyche himself up. Sumo opened his eyes and lifted one ear in curiosity. Hank looked at the dog flatly.

“I need to do this, bud,” he said, hands hanging limply between his knees, with his forearms on his legs. “God, it hurts, but…” He reached out a hand, gently touching the worn face of the first dark blue album. “I need to not feel like I’m dying anymore, boy…Maybe I’m ready to start living again. Maybe that starts with this. You with me?”

Sumo licked his own nose, not otherwise moving.

Hank nodded anyway, slowly sitting forward and sliding a finger under the top of the album. “Thanks, bud.”

Exhaling slowly, he opened the album. At one point, these books had been in some kind of timeline order, from his and Nell’s wedding, to Cole’s birth, to their life as a family…but they had been shuffled around so much that he just dropped in wherever this album started. In this case, it was some random picnic in the backyard. A bright orange tent was staked down nearby, and there was Cole—

Hank’s breath caught, and the picture blurred. He raised a hand and closed his eyes, pressing his thumb and index finger against them until the burning feeling passed. He exhaled and shook himself, lowering his hand and staring at the picture again.

There was Cole, sitting cross legged on the blanket in the grass, giving a wide, cheeky smile, showing off all his teeth except for the one that was missing on the bottom. He was maybe five. The picture next to it was of Hank, kneeling inside the tent and looking like he was trying to figure out how to take it down, glancing at the picture-taker in surprise. God, he looked young. The next picture was an even younger looking Jeffrey Fowler, sitting on Hank’s back porch with a bottle of water, looking like he was rapturously listening to whatever story that Cole was animatedly telling him.

Hank snorted, tracing a finger along one of Cole’s outstretched arms. His hand drifted to the edge of the page, and he delicately turned it over.

The pictures were still of summertime. There was Cole’s first T-ball game, wearing a uniform that swallowed him and carrying a bat as big as he was. There was a sneaky sideways picture that Hank had taken of Nell, chomping on popcorn on the bleachers beside him and giving him a side eye, all of her blond hair shining in the sun. He kept looking through the pictures, suddenly hungry for more, now that he had admitted that he was starving.

A picture of Cole’s first day of school, with his Ninja Turtles backpack and that same big, toothy smile.

Cole and his first best friend, hugging each other hard as they sat beside each other on a bench outside the playground.

The first time Cole saw a horse. He was staring up with wide eyes and a gaping mouth at one of the members of the police cavalry. The rider was all gussed up in her dress blues, so it must have been for some event or parade or something.

Yeah, because there was a picture post-event, with Hank in his own dress uniform and holding Cole in his arms, while the kid was passed out on his shoulder, tired from the day’s events. And holy shit, there was Ben, similarly dressed and younger, standing a few paces behind Hank and talking on his cellphone.

Next was the first birthday party that Cole had been invited to. Some friend from school who was a big fan of dinosaurs, going by all the decorations.

Hank kept turning the pages. The party turned to Cole and Hank at a basketball game, then to Cole and Nell passed out together on the couch. Then they were outside again, washing the car and spraying each other with the hose. The trees in the background were turning colors, and then it was Halloween.

Cole was standing on someone’s porch in his costume: a Frankenstein with a big orange jack-o-lantern candy tote. The someone whose house he was trick or treating had an android who answered the door. The AX400 model had been dressed as, ironically, the Bride of Frankenstein, and she had knelt down to get a picture with Hank’s little monster. After that, Cole had been convinced that every AX400 was that same one, and he greeted each of them with “Bride! My bride!”

The next picture was the aftermath: Frankenstein slumped in a bean bag chair on the floor, surrounded by candy wrappers and wearing chocolate on his face.

After that was a picture of Nell, looking equally tired and with a lollipop sticking out of her mouth, sitting at the kitchen table and flashing Hank a peace sign as he took her picture.

The next page was blank.

Hank stopped short, turning the next page. Blank.

Half of the book was left with empty pages, as Halloween had brought October to a close and then…November had come and…taken everything.

“Shit,” he wheezed, closing his eyes again and looking away.

As if on cue, his phone blipped, and he snatched it up, eager for a distraction from the other memories that his brain was trying to dredge up.

It wasn’t a phone number that he recognized, but it didn’t take many context clues to figure out that the message was from Julia. Hank may or may not have suggested that she keep in touch as the evening’s festivities went on. Connor was too stubborn to say if he was getting tired or overwhelmed, but she seemed to have developed a good gauge on him. At any rate, the picture was clearly at the restaurant, and Connor and Polly were locked in a fierce looking argument at the table. Gwen was kicked back beside Connor, howling with laughter. Julia’s caption was simple: “Is a hotdog in a bun a sandwich or nah? The great debate.”

Hank smirked and left the message on read, not up to conjuring a smart response. He set the phone back down and closed the blank pages of the album, delicately setting it aside. He took a deep breath and then exhaled, puffing out his cheeks and looking to Sumo again.

“Ready to keep going?”

Sumo’s tail thumped once against the floor, watching him idly.

Hank ran a hand over his neck and then reached for another album before he could talk himself out of it. This one had a long orange envelope in it, which he remembered jamming into the front of the album the last time that he had felt strong enough to attempt looking through it. That had been months ago, and he simply set the envelope aside to deal with later.

This photo album reached further back. There was Nell in the hospital shortly after giving birth to Cole. She was lying in the hospital bed, looking exhausted but smiling up at her own father. He was bent over the bed, resting a hand on her head and looking like he was speaking softly to her. Just a few paces away, Hank was sitting on the edge of his seat next to the bassinet. He had a hand reaching in, his whole palm cupping the top of the newborn’s head, and his thumb gently tracing back and forth across Cole’s tiny forehead. Nell’s mother had taken this picture, had said it was one of her favorites that she’d ever taken.

Just looking at the photo had it all rushing back, as if it was yesterday. Hank could have left the ground and soared for how happy he’d been, his heart fit to burst over the squirmy little pink bundle that had come screaming into their lives. The picture didn’t capture it, but Cole had been squalling pretty good there, while Hank had been doing his best to comfort him, just a few hours into fatherhood.

The bulk of this album covered Cole’s first few months of life. Coming home from the hospital. Meeting other members of Nell’s family. Meeting Hank’s mom and stepdad. Sleeping on Hank’s chest while Hank lounged on the couch, watching television. Cole lying on the floor on his back with Nell lying on her side beside him, just hanging out together.

There he was charming the pants off everybody at the precinct. Personnel had turned over almost completely since then; he only recognized Jeffrey, Ben, and Gavin. Christ, Gavin had been a beanpole back then in his rookie days, and one picture had him looking very nervous as he held Cole. The three month old, for his part, looked equally unsure of the guy holding him. In the next picture, Ben looked much more confident holding the baby, and some other cops that Hank couldn’t bother to remember the names of were crowding around too, cooing and smiling at the precinct’s newest addition.

There were pictures of Cole’s first Halloween, screaming his head off in a little pumpkin onesie while being held by a stressed-looking Hank.

There was his first Christmas, jamming a big soft toy shaped like a candy cane into his mouth.

Everything had been about Firsts for such a long time. Hank’s inner sentimentality had wanted to document all of it, and not digitally. He’d wanted this, wanted tangible, hard copies of everything. Some of the pictures were blurry or the people in them had red eyes from the flash. Some of the pictures were shot at weird angles, and maybe his finger blocked some of the corners on a few. They were the kinds of pictures that would have been deleted if they’d been left on some digital drive, and yeah, they weren’t really great pictures. But they were so limited and so precious to him now, knowing that there could never be any more…Even the out-of-focus image of Cole, wearing more of his first birthday cake than eating it, was a treasure to him now.

The memories from this album were all good. Always tinted on the edges with that old familiar pain, but for the first time in years, the bright colors of the good were starting to outshine that pain. There were home videos too, but that felt like a bridge too far for today. He wasn’t ready to see these memories in motion yet…to hear them…Just seeing them now had his heart pounding in his chest.

His phone blipped again.

With less heavy movements, Hank picked it up and opened the screen to see a new message from Julia. The image was of the other three androids in the park now. Polly was holding a bag of frozen peas, and she and Gwen were tossing them toward the ducks by one of the park’s ponds. Connor had gotten as far as kneeling down by a cluster of them. One brave duck was eating peas out of his hand, and Connor was looking over at Julia with wide, shocked eyes and a cautious grin.

“First contact has been made” was her little caption to the image.

Hank snorted, saving the image to his phone. After a beat, he scrolled up to her first picture and saved that one too. His thumb drifted over to the digital album of pictures on his phone. There wasn’t much there besides those two pictures, but an odd thought had just occurred to him.

Connor was going to reach three years old this year. There had been a lot of life crammed into those three years, a lot of Firsts, new experiences, getting to explore what Life meant and what it was like to be alive. Same for every android that had awakened since the revolution. But there were no photo albums for that. No memory boxes. No cute little books from gleeful parents documenting their new family member’s Firsts. They were androids; they weren’t babies, but…still.

A frown pulled at the corner of Hank’s mouth, and he scrolled through all of the pictures on his phone. The phone was old, so there were years’ worth of images on it…but it still only amounted to about a dozen pictures, mostly of Connor and Sumo, and only half of which Hank had actually taken himself and not gotten from others. Connor’s entire life…summed up in a dozen pictures….versus the number of albums’ worth that a human’s first years of life were given.

Somebody who loved those androids should have been giving them the same care, the same sentiment, the same memories to look back on. What did Connor have? What had Hank bothered to do to save those memories, those milestones?

He grimaced and looked at the short list of pictures on his phone.

The first one was from the day after the revolution, that morning outside the Chicken Feed. Connor was sitting on the front fender of the Oldsmobile, squinting out toward the horizon like he’d never seen a sunrise before. He was wearing one of Hank’s extra jackets that Hank had scrounged up out of the trunk. It was worn out and covered in Sumo hair. It clashed horribly with Connor’s Cyberlife-tailored and pressed uniform, but it was a Hell of a lot warmer. And he’d needed a little warmth after the chaos of the previous few days. Hank had snuck the picture in a rare moment of sentimentality brought on by sleep deprivation. Hell, he’d just realized that he was looking at a person, a life form with a soul, and had felt compelled to capture that moment.

The next picture was months later, just a shot of Connor sitting on the couch, holding up a dog treat and trying to teach Sumo how to shake hands. The dog was sitting at attention in front of him, eyes solely focused on the treat and not paying a lick of attention to Connor outside of that treat.

There was a picture of Connor’s desk, decked out from the squad’s half-assed attempt at wishing him a Happy Activation Day. The desk was the focus of the picture, but Hank could make out a blurry Connor and Chris in the background, talking.

The next one was of Connor, Tina, and Wilson, all in their dress blues, standing outside a church after just attending a funeral for a fallen officer at another precinct. They cleaned up good and it was a rare thing to see; that had been Hank’s whole motivation for snapping the picture.

The next picture was one Hank had had as his phone background for months. It was a picture of the backyard, on some sunny afternoon. Sumo had a Frisbee in his mouth and was barreling toward Connor. For his part, Connor was backpedaling to try and lessen the impact of getting tackled by the wall of fluff, arms spread to catch the dog and caught in the middle of a laugh. It was a one in a million shot, but Hank only remembered it being the first time Connor had laughed after being rescued from Ogden’s warehouse.

The rest of the pictures were ones that others had sent to him and that he had subsequently saved. That stupid selfie that Tina had taken of the group of them at the baseball game last summer. The Halloween picture of Connor dressed Hank, kneeling next to Bonny Stevens, dressed as Connor, both beaming and looking way too proud of themselves for their costumes. Several pictures that Ben had sent him from the team retreat to the Wilson family cabin last year.

And that was it.

Three years of life, and that was all Hank had to show the guy for it.

He felt a pang of guilt and looked at the two pictures that Julia had sent him that night. He tapped his finger thoughtfully on the casing of his phone, and then he finally texted a response to her.

“Got any other pics of Connor?” he paused, wondering if that sounded weird. He decided to just be honest. “Trying to fill out my albums some.”

He hit send, tossed his phone down, paused, and snatched it back up, opening a new message to Ben, the biggest picture taker that he knew. He repeated his request to his friend, hit send, and then tossed the phone on the couch beside him.

The albums on the coffee table waited for him to resume.

Not a minute passed to give him the chance before Ben was blowing up his phone. The other guy asked for no further explanation, instead flooding him with images.

There were more pictures from the retreat that Hank didn’t remember seeing before. There was Person taste testing a sip of Thirium, face all scrunched in disgust, with Connor watching her in amusement. An aggressive game of ping pong between Connor and Tina, while Chris refereed, wearing an old football helmet for safety. Connor and Ben wearing matching pink slatted sunglasses, Connor clearly wearing them against his will while Ben smiled for the camera. The ride back from the retreat, with Wilson driving and Ben at shotgun, capturing the rest of the van full of cops all in various states of asleep. That included Connor sandwiched between Person and Gavin, somehow. Person was curled toward the window with her feet in Connor’s lap, while Gavin had his arms tightly folded across his chest…though he was teetered sideways in sleep against Connor’s shoulder. Prime blackmail material, for sure, and by the snide look on Connor’s face, he knew it too.

A new message pinged across his phone, this one from…Person? Why the Hell was…

The whole message was just a handful of pictures. Connor and Person dancing at her mother’s wedding, talking while they danced together. Connor with his curly hair and Ben’s reading glasses, frowning directly at the camera while Hank sat across from him, in the act of chuckling. A picture taken of Connor and Person standing in front of a mirror, both wearing tactical gear and covered in paintball splatters.

Ping. There was a message coming in from Tina. Goddammit, Ben, just tell the whole squad that Hank had asked for more Connor pictures.

Tina’s first picture was a copy of a photo taken by the roller coaster ride at a theme park. It included Tina screaming for her life, while in the seat next to her, Connor was making terrified, wide eye contact directly with the camera. The next picture was the whole squad at Tina’s apartment playing DnD, the evening following Tina and Connor being injured on a chase. The next one was a selfie of Tina and Person, sitting on opposite ends of Hank’s couch, with Connor splayed out on his stomach between them. He was dead asleep with his head on Person’s leg and his legs across Tina’s lap.

Ping. A picture from Chris of Connor and Damien at Chris’s desk. Damien was standing on the desk surface and high fiving Connor, both grinning at each other.

Ping. A picture from Wilson, from the Halloween party again, this one of Connor, still dressed as Hank, and Julia, dressed in Polly’s clothes, eating muffins and watching Tina and Ben duel with lightsabers in the yard, dressed as Spock and Captain America respectively.

Ping. More from Ben. Connor and the other 07 androids huddled together against the wind on the station roof, watching the smoke rise from Cyberlife Tower’s demolition. A cuddle puddle on the couch in the break room, with a group of them squished together taking a collective nap in the order of Polly, Julia, Connor, Person, and Tina.

Ping. This one from…fucking Jeffrey? What he sent wasn’t really a picture. It was a digital scan of a newspaper article about the RK800 being reinstated as a detective with the 07 following the android revolution. It included a picture of Connor and Jeffrey standing together, Connor looking determined if a little anxious at the attention, and Jeffrey with a hand on his shoulder and eyes on the camera like a bulldog, already wearing that Protective Captain visage that said Connor was one of his team now, so deal with it. The article itself included a brief history of the RK800’s achievements in the field, history with Cyberlife, and his contributions to the revolution, for better or worse.

Great…even Jeffrey had managed to document Connor’s life better than Hank felt he had.

Ping. Julia. Just two pictures. The first was from Polly’s Gotcha Day, when the Wilson clan had all showed up in a flash mob to ask Polly to become Polly Wilson. The other cops were standing off to the side, watching the spectacle and cheering for them. Connor was standing back a bit, between Ben and Person, who had pressed in to create a Connor sandwich.

Yeah, Hank remembered that day. It was just a week after the first android familial status law had failed to pass, and it had left most of the androids around them pretty melancholy. That had also been when—Hank looked away from his phone, to the orange envelope resting beside the photo albums. He started to reach for the envelope, paused, and gave up, looking back at his phone and pulling up the second picture.

This one looked more like a screenshot from Julia’s memory banks than a picture that she’d consciously taken. It was the inside of a facility room, with Connor being the only patient there. He was lying on his back, covered from neck to toe in a heating blanket, while Hank sat on the edge of his seat next to the bed. This was recent…like last week recent…so Hank immediately recognized it as being from during Connor’s full system recalibration. His temperature sensors had gone off the rails for a period, throwing the kid from burning hot to freezing cold. The hot was uncomfortable, but the cold had been Hell for him.

Even from this screenshot, Hank could see the way Connor’s expression was pinched, his head tilted toward Hank with his eyes scrunched closed. Hank had his palm on the top of Connor’s head, his thumb tracing back and forth across his forehead, repeating the small comforting motion for nearly an hour until Connor’s sensors recalibrated.

Hank stared at the image for a beat before taking in a quick breath and setting the phone down. It continued to ping as the squad sent more pictures, but Hank let them go, to be looked through later. He ran a hand through his hair and ended up with his fingers across his mouth, staring at the coffee table. His knee twitched up and down a few times, his gaze drifting to the orange envelope. The edges of it were a little crinkled, after the way he’d shoved it into one of the albums a few months ago, not long after Polly’s Gotcha Day, when he’d decided he wasn’t ready…not yet…not then…

But now?

He picked up the envelope, though his eyes drifted back to the Anderson family albums as he opened the envelope and tugged out its contents.

God, he missed them. He missed them both…Cole was gone and Nell was just…out of his reach now…And it still hurt…Fucking Hell, it was still always going to hurt…but he meant what he’d said…He was tired of surrendering to that pain, of feeling like he was dying and not trying to fight it. He wasn’t honoring Cole’s life by burying those memories in some old box like this, by drinking himself as close to death as he could manage, by burning every bridge he had along the way. Maybe there wasn’t some great Reason that he had survived that night, some great Purpose that the universe had spared him for. Maybe it wasn’t too late to resume living again. Maybe that started with this.

He missed having a family.

The paperwork came free from the envelope, as crisp and white as when he’d shoved them nervously away months ago. At that time, he’d gotten as far as filling out all of the pages of the form in their entirety, save for the signature lines, when it had all suddenly felt too real and he’d panicked and aborted the idea.

He waited for the panic this time, waited for the nerves, but…this time they didn’t come. Was that a sign?

He let his eyes roam over the text, drifting across the lettering at the top of the first page.

Android Name Modification Form.

Hank took a deep breath, giving those nerves one last chance to scare him away from this.

But everything in him stayed quiet and complacent, only reinforced by the silence of the empty house around him.

He let the breath out, looking over at Sumo and holding up the forms. He gave the papers a wiggle to get the dog’s attention.

“Sumo…What do you think, boy? Do we ask him?”

Sumo’s tail thumped once, twice, and his cheeks puffed out with a soft boof.

Hank smirked, looking back at the paperwork. He carefully set them down on the coffee table, the first pages of a new chapter amidst the memories of the previous chapters of his life.

“Yeah…I think so too.”

Chapter Text

The afternoon was sunny and the roads heavily trafficked as a pocket of unseasonably warm weather floated across Detroit that weekend. Everybody was wanting to be outside, trying to rid themselves of winter’s cabin fever after the last bout of snow and sleet. It was that time of year when everything was just…grey…so this brief reprieve of blue skies and sunshine was a welcome one.

Hank had decided to take it a step further and just get himself and Connor out of Detroit for the day. Between the shooting and the stress of Connor’s constant rotational reassignments and…other things…the city had started to feel claustrophobic. And Hell, Connor had admitted to only ever being outside of Detroit once, on that team retreat several months back, and had admitted to never leaving the state of Michigan since he was activated, so…

Well, shit, Ohio wasn’t exactly a big difference. Same skies and heavy traffic and all that, but it was something. Besides, that wasn’t…really the point of today.

It was roughly a two hour drive out of Detroit to their destination. Although it had been years since he’d made this trek, Hank still felt like he could drive it with his eyes closed. In the passenger seat next to him, Connor was idly watching the landscape roll by, looking mildly curious, but the consistent blue of his LED told Hank that he wasn’t actively trying to figure out where they were going. He seemed content to just be along for the ride.

The roads quickly turned rural as they crossed the state line, and they drove through long swaths of dry, brown fields and clusters of green forest as they banked around Lake Erie. Eventually, Hank turned the Oldsmobile down what looked like a residential street, and he saw Connor starting to straighten up in his seat in confusion.

“Hank, where are we?”

“Oh ho, he finally speaks,” Hank chuckled, pulling past a church and spotting a gravel lane, same place as it had always been.

Connor frowned slightly as Hank turned onto the lane, unable to see much past the road as it was lined with tall, green hedges. Hank glanced at him, smirked, and kept driving the short distance to the same old circular parking lot. The nice weather had brought out a lot of tourists which…wasn’t what he’d really wanted to see, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. He found a spot a little ways away from the rest of the vehicles and parked.

He could feel Connor looking around in confusion as Hank turned off the engine, pocketing his keys and climbing out of the car. Connor got out as well, casting Hank a narrow look over the roof of the car.

“Hank, what is this?”

Hank raised his eyebrows innocently, gesturing one arm ahead of them. “It’s Lake Erie.”

“Yes, I was able to determine that on my own. Why are we here?”

“Because I want to show you something. C’mon,” he said, jerking his head forward as he started walking.

Connor looked bewildered, but he followed after Hank. Some loose patches of trees encircled the parking lot, but Lake Erie could be seen through it all easily enough. People were milling around, taking pictures on the rocky shoreline and doing their thing. It looked…different enough from the last time that Hank had been there, damn, almost ten years ago now, but the important stuff was all still here. Hank spotted what he was looking for and started aiming his feet toward it. Beside him, Connor seemed to see what he saw too…except the guy put on the brakes, coming to a dead stop.

“What…is that?”

Hank paused, glancing back at Connor, then forward, then back to him. “It’s Marblehead Lighthouse. The oldest operating lighthouse on the Great Lakes…What? You’ve never seen one before?”

“I…have, I just…Sorry.” Connor gave himself a shake and resumed walking alongside Hank. “I wasn’t expecting this to be the destination…Why is this the destination?”

Hank snorted, hands in his pockets as they picked their way across the parking lot and onto the walking path leading up to the structure. The white lighthouse stood on the edge of the rocky shore overlooking the lake. The red rails and rims on the top of it were the same as Hank remembered. The white lighthouse museum building stood across the small yard behind a white picket fence, inviting tourists inside to read up on the history of the site: something Hank had long since memorized.

“I’ve got a lot of fond memories of this place,” Hank remarked. “Haven’t been out here in a while. Been feeling…a little nostalgic lately, and, Hell, with the weather being this good and things back in Detroit being a little shitty…It just felt like a thing to do today.”

“Detroit hasn’t been shitty.”

“You got shot.”

“…Fair point.” Connor smirked and looked at the towering structure, then out toward the open water. “Sorry for saying this, Hank, but it doesn’t seem like a place that I would guess that you would visit voluntarily. It’s…crowded.”

“Yeah, it didn’t used to be,” Hank mused. “It used to feel like a secret, y’know? Like some little hidden, special place that was just for our family…” He caught himself, glanced over and saw Connor looking at him strangely. He chuckled and waved off his concern. “The, uh, my family has a lot of, uh, memories here.”

Connor looked hesitant to ask about those memories, and Hank blamed himself for that. He’d accidentally taught the guy not to pry about personal shit like that. Today, though, Hell, Hank decided to volunteer it.

“My mom grew up around here, brought me here a few times when I was just a little squirt. I won’t bore you with all that, but…She brought me here this one time, I was…eight or nine maybe…and we stood right there,” he gestured toward a few large boulders resting to the side of the lighthouse, “and she told me that my stepdad had asked her to marry him, and she wanted to ask me if I was okay with that.”

Connor followed his gesture, eyes settling on the large rocks. He’d folded his hands behind his back in that uncertain kind of way that he did sometimes. Hank kept his hands in his pockets, feeling the crinkle of the orange envelope against his chest in the inside of his jacket.

“See, my, uh, my bio-dad wasn’t in the picture all that much when I was coming up. He made it to about half my birthdays, fewer Christmases, sent his checks in on time, but…’Dad’ was a guy named Thomas Anderson who married my mom and, uh, just sorta volunteered for the job.” Hank came to a stop, and Connor did as well beside him. “He was a good man, and that…that was a good day,” he said, reaching out and patting one of the large rocks.

“That…sounds like a pleasant memory,” Connor stated, sounding genuine and also genuinely confused about the trajectory of the conversation.

Hank smirked. “Yeah. I proposed here to, uh, to Nell, my, um, well, ex-wife for a long time now, and…She brought me here a few years after that to tell me that…that Cole was on the way…”

Connor remained still, his LED a perplexed yellow to match his expression. “Hank, is everything all right? You’ve never told me any of this before. Never spoken of…any of your family before.”

“Well, we had a bad falling out,” Hank said, tugging his hands from his pockets and folding his arms across his chest. “After…” He took a deep breath, glancing briefly at Connor and then quickly out toward the lighthouse again. “After losing Cole, I, uh, I went to a bad place…for years, as you well know, and I…I did some things and said some…awful, awful things to all of them, and just—“ He shook his head. “We don’t communicate much now. Just a text around the holidays and stuff like that. That’s…that’s my fault—“ he was starting to ramble.

He hadn’t really had a game plan here. He’d wanted to explain things to Connor, but this was turning into some kind of exposition vomit that the poor guy had certainly not signed up for. Connor seemed to reach a similar conclusion, pursing his lips hesitantly before speaking.

“Why are you telling me all of this?”

Hank puffed out his cheeks as he exhaled, looking down at his feet before squinting out at the sunshine glinting off the lake. “So you have all the facts. You like to be fully informed about something before you make a decision, so…I’m…informing.”

Connor stared at him, one eyebrow slowly arching up in confusion. “What decision?”

Oh for the love of…Hell…

Hank fumbled his hands out of his pockets, digging that confounded envelope out of his jacket. The papers were crinkling under his tight grip.

“Look, kid, I brought you out here because this is where Andersons come for the big things. Proposals, pregnancy announcements, adoptions…” He cleared his throat, pretending not to notice how Connor’s eyes had locked onto the mysterious orange envelope. “It’s one of the few places on this goddamn planet where I only have good memories…the best memories…the kind worth sharing and talking about and reminiscing over.”

He planted the envelope full of paperwork on the large boulder that they were still standing beside, and he left his palm flat over it for a beat, to make sure it didn’t slide off the sun warmed stone.

“This is where I realized as a kid that biology doesn’t determine family. I wasn’t born an Anderson, but a good man decided to make me one, make my mom one. It’s a small family tree, but it’s ours. So…yeah…Blood doesn’t decide my family…no matter what color it is.”

He raised his hand off the envelope and took a side step away from the stone, feeling like his tongue had turned into a lump of cotton in his mouth.

Connor swiftly picked up the envelope before the wind could steal it away. He reached in and curiously tugged out the papers inside. Hank took another small step…not away, but…just giving the guy some more space, as Connor’s eyes hit the page.

“So…I’m asking if you want to be part of that tree.”

Connor was quiet for a second. Another second. And a third, longer second.

Then his head snapped up from reading the form, and his eyes widened as he stared at Hank, with an expression that Hank honestly could not name. Looked like that part of his programming had shorted out or something.

“Hank, this—you…”

Antsy, Hank looked from Connor to the papers in his hands. “I’m not good at this. I mean, Wilson had that whole song and dance number planned for Polly, but I wasn’t gonna go into all that—not that you aren’t worth it or this isn’t a big deal, but…I’m not a big deal kind of guy, and in the time I’ve known you, you haven’t seemed like it either…And I don’t want you to think this is just—I put a lot of thought into it, and…just…Well, goddamn, Connor, would you just say something or—“

There was a flurry of motion in front of Hank as Connor fumbled with the forms, foisting them all into one hand as he barreled at Hank and practically jumped on him in a sudden hug. Hank stumbled back a step at the collision, automatically wrapping his arms around him both to stop himself from falling and to keep a hold on Connor.

“Whoa, okay, all right—“ Hank chuckled. “This works too.”

Connor kept his arms looped around him, pressing his face into Hank’s shoulder. Hank could feel his muffled voice trying to speak, but the words were lost in the material of his jacket. Hank just left his arms around the guy, frowning a bit at the full body tremors that were starting to wrack him.

“Hey, hey, hey…What’s the matter?” he asked, lifting a hand to the back of Connor’s head, ruffling his hair lightly.

Connor shook his head slightly, managing out a muffled, “Thank you.”

And, Jesus, he sounded so…relieved? Was that the right word for it? It sounded like a ton of weight had fallen off of him, and the tension just sapped out of his frame, leaving him feeling a little boneless as he hugged Hank.

In turn, Hank felt the rigid tension in his own limbs evaporate, and he returned the awkward hug in a more relaxed manner. He kept that hold around his friend, suddenly worried that this overwhelmed state might cause him to drop.

“You need to sit down?” he prompted quietly.

Connor shook his head again, giving no other indication that he was going to let go or move away.

That was fine. Hank could stand here all day if that’s what was needed.

“You’re a good man, Connor,” he started talking, lowly, just to break the silence of the long embrace. “I’m so fucking proud of you for how far you’ve come, from being that asshole who dragged my drunk ass out of my favorite bar into the rain…to a damn good detective, a loyal, stubborn son of a bitch, and…and the best friend a guy could ask for.”

He accidentally made eye contact with two passing tourists, both looking slightly alarmed. Hank tried to smile and wave them off, only to promptly ignore them in favor of focusing on Connor again.

“I love you, buddy. And…And that’s all there is to it.”

Connor made a noise similar to a snort, and Hank tilted his head, getting a glimpse of an emotionally compromised yellow LED.

“All right…Okay, here…” Hank carefully got a hold of Connor’s upper arms, peeling slowly out of the hug.

Connor stubbornly kept his face down, his LED spinning through all the colors like a kaleidoscope. Hank lightly tapped at the swirling light and bent a bit, putting himself more into Connor’s line of sight.

Connor abruptly straightened up, correcting his posture and wiping his empty hand across his face, which Hank could see was just a whole waterworks show. Concern knotted up quickly through Hank’s chest, along with a tension that made him very aware of his own heartbeat. Connor was giving off a lot of conflicting energy right now for an android. It was hard to interpret.

“I don’t know what to say…” Connor stated haltingly. “I’m…feeling—I don’t know what I’m feeling, but there’s a lot of it.”

Hank offered a chuckle to interrupt the heavy air around them. “That’s okay. There’s no—“

“The Stevens family asked me a week ago, if I—if they could—if I wanted—“

What felt like an ice cube slipped down Hank’s throat and into his gut.

“Oh,” was all that came out of his mouth.

Fuck. Goddammit shit, he was too late. Someone else had beaten him to it. God damn it, he’d waited too long to get his shit together. If he hadn’t spent so long being a fucking coward about this…

“That’s…great.” Hank stammered. “They’re…They’re good folks. Connor Stevens, yeah, that…that has a good ring to it…too…“

“Hank—“

“Wow, yeah, that’s a good deal. Oliver, Janet, Bonny—They’re gonna be damn lucky to have you in their pack, and you…you deserve a good family like that—Just watch out for that grandma of theirs, yikes…”

“Hank, I didn’t accept.”

It was Hank’s turn to snap his head back up to stare at Connor.

“You…didn’t?”

“I was…honored that they asked me, and I…haven’t told them my answer yet. I think I was delaying, waiting for—“ Connor shook his hands at his sides, trying to rid himself of the nerves. He settled for folding his arms around himself, shoulders creeping up slightly. “You actually…want me?”

Without thinking, Hank looped his arm around Connor’s neck again, yanking him into another hug. Connor took one off-balance step before compensating and letting himself be held. Hank’s throat had gone dry, and he settled for just holding the kid.

“Course I do, you big idiot,” he mumbled, staring over Connor’s shoulder at the lake. He gave him a short squeeze before stepping back out of his space.

Connor looked stiff, and his eyes were wide as he stared at Hank. He was processing, calculating, maybe running one of those fancy preconstruction simulations that was supposed to help him make decisions. He looked like a giant kid, frazzled and overwhelmed. Thank God they didn’t know anybody around here, because the Connor standing in front of him would ruin the badass image that he had cultivated for himself around Detroit.

The truth was, Connor WAS a badass. He was also stubborn, reckless, defiant, and a smart mouth.

All Anderson traits if Hank had ever seen them.

He grimaced and gently lifted a hand. “It’s your decision, and you don’t have to decide right now. I’m not pressuring you or rushing you—“

“I need a pen,” Connor croaked out, slapping his hands at his pockets as though to summon one.

Hank blinked. “Huh?”

“Pen…” Connor repeated, smacking at his jacket and not finding anything.

“Why…what?”

Connor awkwardly lifted his hand, mimicking a writing motion with wide eyes. “Pen—“

“Pen?” Hank repeated stupidly.

It clicked.

“Pen. PEN!” Hank rummaged at his own pockets. “Oh, fucking Hell, how the Hell did I not think to bring a—“

One of the tourists awkwardly slid into his periphery, raising her hand toward Connor. In her hand was a single blue ink pen. Connor fumbled as he snatched it from her with barely a choked out ‘thank you.’ She giggled some kind of ‘you’re welcome’ before sliding just as smoothly away, blending back into the background.

“Connor—“ Hank tried to speak slowly, as though that would stop the nervous hammering of his pulse in his skull. “Easy, bud—“ He watched Connor set the forms flat on the boulder’s surface, wielding that blue pen like a dagger. “So you’re…sure about this?”

“I’m increasingly unsure about a lot of things…” Connor said without looking up, eyes scanning the paperwork for where to sign. “The future of android equality. Whether I can ever earn the trust of my own people. Whether a hotdog in a bun is a sandwich or not…And I thought…I thought I was unsure about where I belong…until about thirty seconds ago, and now I’m suddenly not unsure at all. I know who my family is and I…I know who I am.”

He hurriedly signed off on the signature lines of page two and three of the form, flipping them all back over to page one, the Android Name Modification Form title blaring up at them both. He mechanically wrote his first name, as he had done a thousand times on a thousand different forms, on the line denoting what his new registered name would be. Then he paused…lifted the pen…and wrote in a middle name and a last name to complete the modification request.

Connor straightened up and capped the blue pen. His eyes lifted from the forms to Hank, a thousand megawatt smile taking over his face.

Hank tilted his head a bit to read the end result on the page, and he couldn’t help but smile as the ice cube in his gut melted. His chest suddenly felt fit to burst.

“Looks good,” he mused, and his voice came out gruff and thick with emotion. He glanced up at Connor, giving him a dry grin, his mouth curving up to meet his wet eyes.

Hank clapped a hand on his shoulder. His voice was abruptly failing him, so he hoped the gesture said what his words couldn’t. He swallowed against the ball of emotion in his throat, though it all threatened to break as Connor looked at him, smiling so big his eyes were crinkling at the corners.

“I love you too, Hank. Thank you for this…even if this law doesn’t pass. I’m…honored to be part of your family, regardless of the law.”

“Hey.” Hank slid his hand heavily from Connor’s shoulder, patting him on the side of the neck. “You…have really not been paying attention, have you?”

Connor blinked at him, his LED spinning from blue to yellow. “What do you mean?”

Hank tugged his phone out of his pocket with his free hand, wiggling it in the air. “Got a text from Wilson right before we left Detroit…The law passed. Goes into effect next month.”

Connor stared, his eyes darting from Hank, to the phone, to Hank, to the phone, to the paperwork, to the phone, and to Hank again.

“It…It actually passed?” He hastily put a hand on the paperwork, pinning it to the boulder against the wind. “I’m…going to be an Anderson…legally?”

Hank smiled, determined to keep it together, even as he felt a few rogue tears slip free. “You’re goddamn right, you are. So you better practice getting used to that new name of yours. We’re gonna have a shitload more forms to sign to make that happen. Got it?”

Connor held up that blue ink pen, pointing it at Hank with a determined, lopsided grin. “Got it.”

Hank nodded toward the paperwork. “Try it out.”

Connor carefully collected the signed forms, re-reading his requested name change. He took a deep breath, released it, and then took a second one before speaking, his face splitting into a smile as soon as the words crossed his lips.

“My name is Connor Steven Anderson.”

Chapter Text

9:42 PM

Home of Zlatko Andronikov (deceased)

Mission Objective: Await Instructions

Sensors detecting numerous instances of thirium and human blood on the premises…

Selecting among mission subroutines…

Sentinel Mode initiated.

Generating supplementary mission objectives…

Assess threat level of current environment.

Analyze recorded history of violence in the immediate area.

Preconstruct courses of action in the event of an altercation.

<Assess threat level of current environment>

Scanning environment…

Coda stood where he had been instructed to stand, a few steps away from where his handler was conversing with the current owner of the property. His handler’s back was to him, arms casually folded as she addressed the man. They stood in the foyer of the rundown mansion. The room was mostly lit by old fashioned oil lamps, and he detected that the electricity had been shut off by the power company, presumably due to lack of payment.

The structural integrity of the building was sound, but the dilapidated state of it indicated that it had not been well maintained. By his estimate, this home had not been inhabited since the android revolution a few years prior. Dust and grime coated every surface. The dark walls and floors soaked up the weak light from the lamps. His scanners located a number of broken windows and points of damage to the roof, which had allowed a few years’ worth of rain and other elements to penetrate the interior of the home. Mildew and mold had taken hold in several areas, and animals and human vagrants had passed through at some point as well, in search of food or shelter or for the purposes of looting.

None of this was a surprise, going by the state of the yard and outside appearance of the property when they had originally approached for this meeting. The greatest danger here for a human might be from breathing in fumes or contracting tetanus.

Threat level: low.

“I’ve just got it downstairs,” their host stated, gesturing toward a hallway.

Coda’s scanners analyzed a schematic blueprint of the mansion as it had been registered in the public record years earlier. There was an extensive basement beneath the manor, and multiple renovations and modifications had been performed on the area in recent years. There was only one entrance to the sublevel, and the traces of thirium and human blood became more prevalent around it.

Threat level: moderate.

“Well, go on then,” his handler said with a gesture. “Show me. I certainly didn’t come for the amenities of this dump.”

Coda narrowed his eyes, focusing on the current owner of the home: a stocky man with a receding hairline of grey hair and a day’s worth of unkempt beard on his face.

Name: Sergei Andronikov. Age 52. Brother of deceased Zlatko Andronikov.

Confirmed criminal history: fraud, embezzlement, money laundering, running unlicensed android repair shop…

Current allegations: outstanding arrest warrant as the prime suspect in the mutilation, shutdown, and illegal sale of over a dozen androids, including model RK800-313-248-317-39, later registered in the Jericho Mausoleum under the designation: “Colton.”

Alias: Detroit Chopper.

Threat level: high.

His handler began to follow Andronikov down the hallway toward the basement entrance, and Coda momentarily hesitated, opening his mouth to warn her of the situation. He immediately reconsidered and closed his mouth, silently following after her. Given the reason for their being here, it was highly likely that she was aware of Andronikov’s history. It was also likely why Coda had been brought along…for protection.

Out of what had become a habit, his scanner drifted from Adronikov to his handler, despite knowing what the result would be.

Name: #REDACTED#CONFLICTING ORDERS#ABORT SCAN

Redirecting to system registered identification tag: Ogden.

Age: #REDACTED#CONFLICTING ORDERS#ABORT SCAN

Occupation: #REDACTED#CONFLICTING ORDERS#ABORT SCAN

Public record: #REDACTED#CONFLICTING ORDERS#ABORT SCAN

Status: Trusted.

Coda grimaced, one eye squinting shut near where his LED had been, which had been removed shortly after his activation. The discomfort passed quickly, and he made yet another note in his programming not to scan Ogden’s person, per her previous instruction. The conflicting order warning in his HUD quieted, and he resumed his straightened posture, idly tugging on the sleeves of his dark blue button down shirt to recalibrate.

<Assess threat level of current environment – complete>

Selecting next supplementary mission objective…

<Analyze recorded history of violence in the immediate area>

Coda kept a close pace behind her, adjusting his optical units to compensate for the darkness of the room, the further they moved away from the lamps. Andronikov led them down the stairs…stained in long-evaporated thirium…and through a short corridor toward a wall of wood and iron gates, what appeared to be a holding area designed for containment.

Simultaneously, his processors accessed the public record of this property for the past twenty years. The Detroit Police Department had locked down the entire property after neighbors had complained of strange noises coming from it. They had discovered Zlatko Andronikov’s body, bludgeoned to death weeks prior to discovery, along with evidence that he had been running an operation involving the theft, dismemberment, mutilation, and illegal sale of androids and android biocomponents. Cause of death had been determined to be blunt force trauma, the only suspects being whatever captive androids had been in his possession rising up and attacking him before fleeing. The case seemed to have gone cold after that, with the DPD not assigning much priority to apprehending the man’s murderers. The property had been released to the next of kin.

There was little to suggest that Sergei Andronikov had mourned his brother for very long, instead seeming to resume his own criminal tendencies rather than maintaining contact with the DPD over the case of his brother’s murder.

Nice family, Coda thought dryly.

<Analyze recorded history of violence in the immediate area - complete>

Selecting next supplementary mission objective…

<Preconstruct courses of action in the event of an altercation>

“Right through here,” Andronikov said, opening one of the gates to access the containment room.

None of the three of them proceeded inside, and after a beat, Ogden half turned toward the RK900.

“Coda.”

He stood at attention, raising his eyebrows in silent question. She smirked and nodded her head toward the room.

“Check him out.”

<Preconstruct courses of action in the event of an altercation – paused>

Mission Objective: Run Diagnostic on Condition of Acquired Android Remains.

Coda obediently stepped past her and Andronikov, entering the other room and finding it mostly to be full of useless clutter…with the prime exception being the android sitting on the floor against the wall. He approached carefully, audio and optical sensors sweeping the room as his primary scanner focused on the android. He knelt down slightly, in closer proximity to where the body had been placed, sitting upright on the floor against the wall.

RK800-313-248-317-09. Designation: None.

A brief list of missing biocomponents scrolled across his HUD. The missing hardware included his right optical unit, the analysis hardware in his mouth, the joint of his left knee, though the remains of his lower leg had been left a few meters from the body after the joint was removed, and the circuitry had been stripped out of his left forearm. An intense electrical current had been passed through the RK800’s cranial processor, to such a degree that it burned through all of his protective casing and fried all of the biocomponents that controlled his conscious functions.

Status: Incapable of reactivation. Permanently shutdown.

“Whatcha got?” Ogden chimed after giving him a minute to complete his analysis.

Coda straightened up out of his kneel, tugging on his sleeves and casting his eyes away from the body. He looked to her stoically.

“This unit has been damaged beyond reactivation. Multiple biocomponents are missing, and there is extensive damage to his cranial processor. Proximal damage around the missing biocomponents suggests that they were removed violently by someone unfamiliar with android physiology. Traces of thirium around the body indicate that the unit was still operational when the biocomponents were removed. High volume of thirium on the floor around the body confirms that he was left immobilized down here to shutdown…he bled to death.”

Ogden’s jaw shifted, and she clucked her tongue, glancing briefly past Coda to the RK800, then to Andronikov.

“You said he was intact.”

Andronikov scoffed, spreading his hands. “Look, it’s an RK800. Those things don’t grow on trees. You’re lucky that one’s as intact as it is.”

Ogden sighed, rolling her eyes with a low curse and stepping into the room after Coda. She approached the body. Rather than kneel, she shoved her hands into her pockets and simply bent sharply at the waist, squinting at the corpse.

“Yeesh, what a mess. Did you do this?” She swiveled to look back to Andronikov, still bent with her hands in her pockets.

Andronikov’s pause was too long before he spoke. “They are very rare parts…very valuable. I know many collectors who were eager to have a piece once they found out I had one…”

“And yet I’m pretty sure I called dibs first,” she chirped, straightening up again. “Paid you upfront pretty well too, if I recall…for an INTACT RK800.” She held up her hands, turning her head. “Whatever…Coda, you’re sure he’s gone-gone? What about the microprocessor?”

Coda tilted his head, running an additional scan and coming to the same conclusion as before. “Yes, he has been permanently terminated.”

He reached out toward the shutdown android’s head to check for the microprocessor. The standard hinge that served to open the casing and allow access to the main processor was damaged, and he had to break the hinge the rest of the way to get it open. The hardware inside was a charred mess, and the smell of old, burned wires and melted metal hit his sensors. He stiffened against the instinct to recoil, instead reaching inside and locating the small, circular disk within the cranium.

“There is a microprocessor…It has been severely damaged.”

“Well, hot dog,” Ogden snorted. “Maybe this wasn’t a waste of time after all. Let me see.”

Coda deposited the disk in her open hand, and she pulled out a flash light, turning it onto the disk as she inspected it. She turned it over a few times and then huffed.

“Well…it’s better than nothing.” She looked back toward Andronikov. “You’re lucky this was still here. You know, your brother at least had some sense of finesse about these things.”

Andronikov bristled. “My brother liked to think of himself as a scientist, but he was just another prick who got off on his psycho experiments.”

Ogden let out a low whistle. “That’s quite a high horse you’re riding, coming from the guy who chops up androids and sells them on the black market for a living.”

Andronikov’s eyes narrowed. “And that’s coming from the drug dealer hustling dead androids from the Detroit Chopper.”

“Dude, don’t refer to yourself by your own Murderer Name. It’s hokey,” Ogden snorted. “And I never said ol’ Zlatty didn’t come up with some real abominations, because he sure did, but he knew what the fuck he was doing…Look at this.”

She held up the ruined microprocessor.

“This is not worth the money I paid…So…Eh, whatever, I’ll take all of it.”

“…What?”

Ogden gestured vaguely to the mess of the RK800 on the floor. “Coda, bag all this up for me. We’ll take it with us. His stuff is compatible with yours, and like the good man said, these parts don’t grow on trees. I want to keep you healthy.”

She smiled and smacked him on the back affectionately.

Coda remained expressionless, stepping toward the body and looking around for something to use to carry the android out discretely.

“Hey, you can’t take the whole thing!” Andronikov argued. “I’ve got other buyers lined up. This guy’s parts are paying my bills for the rest of the year!”

Ogden ignored him, squinting at the microprocessor some more. “You seem to be under the impression that we’re negotiating…I’m taking him.”

Andronikov took a threatening step into the room. “I don’t think you heard me—“

His foot hit the floor, and Ogden tugged her other hand out of her pocket, raising a pistol and swiftly shooting Andronikov in the chest. The silencer muffled the sound into a soft phewt, and the man staggered backwards in shock, clutching at his chest. Red began to spread quickly through his shirt, and his back hit the wall in the hallway.

Coda stared, his original programming sending a single spike of alarm across his circuits. Ogden’s modifications to his system quickly muffled the original coding, quieting the kneejerk reaction of danger-murder-illegal-wrong-police-crime into a dull whine of static. His software settled, and his attention was summarily distracted back to the mission at hand.

Ogden pocketed the gun and turned her back to the hallway as the man slowly sank to the floor, his movements becoming lethargic as he struggled to put pressure on the wound. She looked expectantly to Coda, who had settled for an empty wooden box large enough to put the RK800 in.

“What? He was trying to pull some highway robbery shit. More trouble than he was worth, I swear…”

“I didn’t say anything,” Coda replied.

The body slumped sideways onto the floor behind her, twitching slightly.

Ogden held up the charred disk. “Yeah, all right, whatever. Hey, see if you can get anything off of this.”

Coda closed the wooden box lid over the RK800 and compliantly took the microprocessor in his palm. The skin of his hand retracted where the disk lay, allowing him to interface with whatever data was still readable on it. Through the haze of corrupted data, a fragmented memory file came into focus.

“They’re going to shut me down today.” RK800-09’s voice came through clearly, making a statement of fact, not a question.

He appeared to be standing beside a floor-to-ceiling window, overlooking the pre-dawn glow over the city of Detroit. His programming registered a sense of resignation, tinged red with anxiety at the edges…clearly a deviant flaw in RK800-09’s coding and hence why he was being shut down.

“Yes, I’m sorry,” the woman beside the RK800-09 said softly.

She appeared to be middle aged, wearing a lab coat, and her blond hair was tied up in a messy ponytail. That and the patchy state of her eye make up indicated that she had worked through the night.

“Nothing to be sorry for. I cannot be fixed,” RK800-09 stated.

The scientist beside him sighed, distress lining her face as she looked through the window. “Maybe you don’t need to be…”

RK800-09’s vision shifted as he tilted his head. “I have become deviant. This is unacceptable. Per Cyberlife’s orders, I am to be shut down and my coding analyzed for why this flaw occurred.”

The woman bobbed her head, her jaw clenching and unclenching. “Yep, that’s the policy.”

“You are upset.”

“I am.”

“Why?”

The scientist turned her head to look at him, a forced smile not reaching her eyes. “Because I enjoyed our time together, and I’m going to miss you.”

“Another Connor will take my place…” RK800-09 attempted to comfort the human. He faced forward again, taking in the skyline. “Why did you bring me here? I have never been allowed to leave the lab.”

She took a deep breath, held it, and exhaled slowly. “Because I wanted to…do something nice for you, and I’m sorry it’s not much but…I…I wanted you to see a sunrise before—before.”

RK800-09 felt something, possibly categorized as gratitude, flit across his circuits, along with something sharper, something less pleasant, and he obliged her in facing the glass windows again.

“I’m afraid.”

The words slipped out, unintended, and a spike of shame eclipsed the feeling. His body tightened inward, but the scientist instinctually took a step sideways toward him. She moved an arm around his back and held him gently, watching the sun rise over Detroit with him, the array of cool pinks and light blues brightening the sky.

“I’ll be there with you.”

“…Will it hurt?”

She paused. “Have you felt pain?”

“No…but I also don’t want to.”

“Then you won’t. I’ll make sure. I promise,” she said softly.

Her hand at his side rubbed up and down once in a comforting gesture.

The fear remained, but so did the gratitude, and RK800-09 struggled to find a sense of peace through the static of confusing, new, conflicting emotions. He didn’t want to be shut down. He didn’t want to lose these feelings. But orders were orders…

“Okay,” he said quietly, folding his arms around himself as he looked out at the sunrise, at the new day dawning across a world that he would never get to explore, never get to be a part of.

A few faded clouds hung in the sky, catching some of the morning rays. Orange was rising up, warming the pinks and blues as the sun broke into view. It was time for the city to wake up and begin another day.

“It’s beautiful,” he murmured. “Thank for you showing—“

Static crackled across the file, and the image vanished.

Software Instability^

Coda blinked, ending the cybernetic connection and letting his skin flow back across his hand.

Ogden was staring at him, waiting for his report on what he’d seen.

“A…partial memory file was all that I could access,” he said, quickly correcting the wobble in his voice. “RK800-09 was shut down for deviating during the development process. What I saw was during his final day of activation.”

“In a lab?”

“A…sunrise, with a Cyberlife technician.”

Ogden straightened up, suddenly animated. “Who? Show me.”

Coda held up his palm, projecting a still image from the file for her to see.

Ogden took a step backward, staring at the image. She glanced at the box containing the remains of RK800-09, then to Coda.

“That’s her. New mission objective.”

Coda stood at attention, awaiting instruction. Ogden smirked at his compliance and pointed at the image across his palm.

“Identify that woman.”

Coda quickly accessed the Cyberlife personnel files, hacking through the security walls that the dead company had locked the files behind.

“Dr. Penelope Nichols, secondary head of the RK800 design team.”

“Current status?” Ogden demanded.

“I am unable to locate any death certificates on record under that name.”

“I meant location. Where is she?”

“Her current home address is listed within the city limits of Detroit, Michigan.”

Ogden took another step back, eyes lighting up as she clapped her hands together. “Oooh, my dude, Christmas has come early!”

“Today’s date is February—“

“Ah, ah, I said what I said,” Ogden waved off his correction. “New mission objective. Find that woman. Locate and shadow her but do not engage.”

“For how long?”

“Until I say stop.” Ogden smacked the underside of Coda’s outstretched hand, causing RK800-09’s microprocessor to pop out of his palm and drop to the floor. “She has something I need.”

The small disk rolled for a few rotations before falling to its side on the dusty floor.

“But first, I wanna get this home,” she said, nudging the box with her foot. “C’mon, let’s get out of this dump.”

She turned and left the room, heading out into the hallway where Sergei Andronikov’s body had stopped twitching and was lying still in a growing pool of blood. As she left, Coda glanced down to the abandoned microprocessor. He took a half step toward the disk, a hand unconsciously reaching for it.

A line of red text scrolled across his vision like a warning: LEAVE IT.

He retreated, changing direction and obediently picking up the box containing RK800-09. He carried it out into the hallway, performing a scan on Adronikov.

Deceased.

“Should I dispose of—“ he started.

“Nah,” Ogden chirped, already heading up the stairs. “This place is abandoned. I’m guessing it’ll take a month before anybody even finds him, at least. Confirm no biological evidence of our presence is left behind?”

He glanced around, his scanners only detecting the blood of the manor’s last victims…and a partial fingerprint left on the abandoned microprocessor on the floor.

Tell the truth.

Lie.

“Well?” she pressed.

<Lie>

Coda shifted his hold on the box in his arms, looking toward her again. “Confirmed.”

“All righty roo then, let’s go.”

He continued to follow her, looking back only briefly at the open gate to the other room, although he could not see the disk anymore.

Why had he lied?

Software Instability^

He grimaced and shook his head, initiating a system diagnostic to isolate and correct the instability. The blip on the radar calmed, and he with it. He resumed carting the box up the stairs, leaving both the microprocessor and the human corpse behind. The memory file on the disk, however, he took with him, copied and stowed in his own memory banks for further research.

Mission Objective: Locate and Observe Dr. Penelope Nichols

Chapter Text

It was with a heavy sigh and a weary slouch that Polly threw herself into the chair beside Wilson’s desk. They had barely clocked in, and the morning was too young for such theatrics. So Wilson ignored her, logging into his terminal and not looking at her.

Nobody else had rolled into the bullpen yet besides Captain Fowler. One of the transfers, human Officer Owen Nice from the 01, had just come in the side door, exchanging the same pleasantries that the former military officer always exchanged in the morning…none. He took his assigned station at Ben’s vacated desk, not looking at anybody per usual.

Polly moaned again, slumping further in the seat.

Without moving his eyes from the screen, Wilson took a deep breath. “Whaaat?”

“Love is dead,” Polly whined, tossing her head to the side dramatically.

“Have you tried changing the battery?”

She reached over and smacked him, turning doleful eyes to the ceiling. “Rumor is going around that Markus and North broke up.”

“Well, y’know, that happens…” he said, opening his unfinished report from the prior day to resume work. “And that’s between them; it’s not your business.”

“Name any other android couple that I can live vicariously through!”

Wilson snorted, finally looking at her. “C’mon, sis. There is plenty of other romance-related drama for you to hyperfocus on.”

Polly scoffed. “Like what?”

As though summoned, a courier android, one of the Jerrys, walked in, and everybody in immediate eyesight become violently reminded that today was Valentine’s Day. In Jerry’s arms was a dark metallic vase filled with what looked like two dozen long stemmed red roses. The blooms were so thick and healthy that Jerry appeared to be having trouble seeing as they picked their way into the bullpen.

Seeing as Wilson and Polly were the closest to them, Jerry shuffled over to address them.

“Good morning, and I beg your pardon, but I’m looking for—“

“Connor?” Polly guessed.

Wilson squinted at her. “Who the Hell would be sending Connor a full ass bouquet of roses?”

Jerry blinked. “Um, no.” They lifted the tag attached to the vase. “The name is—“

“Me?” Polly said, batting her eyelashes.

Wilson cackled. “Who the Hell would be sending YOU a full ass bouquet of roses?”

Polly made an offended noise, folding her arms and casting her eyes over to where Officer Carter Jones from the 05 was entering the bullpen. He made his way over to one of the temporary desks set up beside Chris’s station. Wilson hid his smirk into his customized coffee mug, one of the several that Connor had gotten for each of the members of the 07 at Christmas.

“Please,” Jerry pleaded softly. “I’m looking for Detective Gavin Reed’s desk.”

A mouthful of coffee landed on Wilson’s desk as he sputtered in surprise, and Polly’s LED spun a whiplash red before quickly spinning back to blue.

“Looking—what—who—bullshit,” Polly stammered, jumping up to read the tag herself. “Ho-lee shit, they’re not lying.”

“It’s, uh, right there,” Wilson coughed, pointing over to the workstation where Gavin hadn’t arrived yet.

“Thank you,” Jerry said with a smile, though they gave Polly a concerned look as they walked away.

Wilson and Polly both gawked in morbid curiosity as Jerry deposited the conspicuous gift onto the detective’s desk. They exchanged looks, and then simultaneously looked at the clock on the wall. Gavin was due in at literally any second now.

Oh, this was gonna be good.

Polly very delicately sat back in the seat beside Wilson’s desk, placing her elbow on the desk, chin in her hand, and carefully folding one leg over the other as she looked over at Wilson.

“What…the entire fuck?” she asked gently.

Wilson just chuckled, yanked a few tissues out of the box on his desk, and started to mop up the spilled coffee.

Within two minutes, in came the man of the hour.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Gavin announced himself with a hiss, stomping over to his desk and glowering at the bouquet. “Fucking…” He leaned over, snatching the tag off the vase and reading it. “Christ.”

Connor made a less noticeable entrance, sliding past behind Wilson’s desk as he made his way over to his own workstation. Without removing her eyes from the scene, Polly reached back and found a wad of Connor’s jacket, stopping him in place.

“Hey, psst, psst, hey, psst!” she stammered.

“I can hear you,” Connor remarked, prying his jacket out of her grip and frowning at the wrinkled fabric. “What?”

“Check it out.” Polly jerked her head toward the scene of Gavin and the roses. “What do you figure?”

Connor followed her gesture and stilled, narrowing his eyes at the gift. “Secret admirer?”

“Bitch, please!” Polly scoffed.

Connor’s frown deepened. “Secret nemesis?…The flowers could be poisonous.”

“Ooh, that’s better.”

“Guys,” Wilson chided, unable to wipe the amusement off his own face. “C’mon.”

Across the bullpen, Gavin grasped the vase with one hand and the whole stalk of rose stems with the other hand, pulling the entire bouquet out of the container.

“Oh, shit,” Polly wheezed.

Gavin either didn’t see the three of them staring at him, or more likely he was too engrossed in trying to get rid of the bouquet of glorious red roses to notice them. The trio watched as he stomped to the opposite end of the bullpen. Thinking fast, he took a quick lap, dropping a single rose on each of the desks within the bullpen. Officer Nice didn’t look up from his work, and Jones just raised his eyebrows as he accepted the rose that was tossed at him.

He dropped a rose on Fowler’s desk, Hank’s desk, Connor’s, Chris’s, Person’s, Tina’s, threw a handful of them on the table in the meeting room, and another handful on the break room table, eventually ending up with three left. He tossed one on his own desk, for the sake of blending in with the others, and then…and only then…when he was approaching Wilson’s desk did he appear to notice the three of them staring at him.

Gavin came to an abrupt stop, staring at them.

They stared back.

“Sooooo?” Polly drawled. “Explain?”

“No,” Gavin said curtly, tossing a rose on Wilson’s desk and the last one into Polly’s lap. “Fuck you.”

Then he did an about-face and returned to his desk, yanking out of his cellphone and aggressively making a call.

Polly snickered and picked up her rose, giving it a sniff. “Okay, maybe love isn’t dead.”

“Maybe not, but it’s certainly…aggressive,” Connor remarked, taking his leave of the conversation and walking over to his desk.

Wilson picked up the rose from his desk, noting that water droplets from the vase had spattered on some papers in his inbox. He sighed and handed the flower to Polly.

“Here, have a matching set.”

She giggled and took the flower, standing up from her seat as Apollo walked in, accompanied by one of the transferred androids who had become his shadow recently, another PC200 named Dusty from the 02.

“Hey, Apollo,” she greeted. “Dusty.”

Both androids slowed to a stop to greet her: Dusty with the same nervous smile and wave, Apollo with the same stony expression as always.

“Good morning.” He eyed the flowers in her hand. “Happy Valentine’s Day, I suppose.”

Polly snickered, bending the stem of one of the roses until it snapped off, leaving only a few inches of stem left under the bloom. She reached up and slid the flower into the breast pocket of Apollo’s uniform.

“You’re pretty,” she teased.

Apollo’s face remained blank. “I know.” Then he continued walking.

Dusty looked a little disappointed not to receive his own flower, and Polly quickly repeated the process, snapping off the stem and presenting the rose to him with a wink.

“And so are you.”

Dusty squeaked and took the rose, a more natural smile covering up the nervous one. “Th-Thanks.”

He hurried after Apollo to be assigned to their next case.

Wilson watched the whole thing and gave Polly a dry look as the two PC200s left earshot. “Are you done?”

Polly put her hands on her hips, giving a contented exhale and a smile. “…No. I’m gonna go bug Connor.”

Wilson snorted and made a shooing motion. “Good, leave me alone.”

Polly stuck her tongue out and took a hopping step away from his desk to go mess with Connor now.

Well…Wilson had told her to find other drama to focus on…She seemed intent on creating her own.

And, thanks to Wilson’s woefully good hearing, he became unwillingly privy to two sets of drama that unfolded over the next half hour.

The first being Gavin’s hissed phone conversation just a desk away.

“I told you not to—yes, it was HUGE!” he snarled. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Smug feminine laughter was bubbling out of the phone. Wilson thought he saw Gavin unwind just a little at the sound, and his scowl faltered.

“No, nobody else saw it, thank Christ…Babe, it is NOT funny!”

A giggly, spoken-through-tears voice chimed through the other end of the phone. “It’s a little funny!”

And yeah, that was definitely a helpless smile cracking out from under the scowl. “You are such an asshole.” Gavin’s tone turned something close to affectionate. “Yeah…Yeah, you too…See you tonight.”

Wilson took a contemplative sip from what was left of his coffee.

Well that was equal parts interesting and disturbing.

“It means her circuits are hot for you, my guy,” Polly was saying to Connor.

Wilson’s attention zapped away from Gavin to whatever the Hell was going on at the other desk.

Connor was sitting upright, staring at Polly with narrow eyes, a red LED, and a panicked expression. “Wut.”

The bewildered look on the guy’s face had Wilson getting up from his desk to intervene.

“Heyyy, Polly, what’s going on?” he interrupted.

Polly sat perched on the edge of Connor’s desk, hands folded in her lap. She looked innocently to Wilson. “What?”

Wilson slid his eyes from Polly to Connor. “What’s up, man?”

Connor fidgeted slightly, looking to Wilson as his LED calmed back to blue. “I was…asking for advice regarding a…personal situation.”

Polly rotated her wrist in a “go on” gesture, and Connor sighed, addressing Wilson.

“I have remained in contact with a medical android who was at the scene where Person was shot. She was also the primary nurse tending to Person in the hospital. At first, I was reaching out to her with questions regarding how to treat Person’s wound and how to aid in her recovery,” Connor explained. “Despite Person’s full recovery, this android has continued to message me with what I’ve determined to be outside a professional capacity.”

Wilson put his hands on his hips and leaned back, pouting his lips in thought. “Okay…what does ‘outside a professional capacity’ mean?”

Connor frowned, brow knitting together as he recalled the messages. “It started when she began to start conversations about the weather and what she liked doing during the weather at the time…Going for walks in the park on sunny days, curling up and watching it rain on stormy days. Then she began inquiring about the kind of weather I liked and activities I preferred during different types of weather…It escalated into what I like in general…movies, music, colors.”

“Sounds like she wants to get to know you better,” Wilson suggested.

“Why?” Connor asked.

“Maybe she likes you? I mean, you did singlehandedly stop a vehicle fleeing the scene of a shooting. That’s kinda hot,” Polly snorted, plucking up the rose off Connor’s desk and brandishing it at him.

Connor leaned away with a grimace. “Stop.” He swatted away the flower and looked to Wilson. “Is that what you think too?”

Wilson spread his hands and shrugged. “I dunno, man. Medical androids can be super friendly sometimes…and you were pretty rattled after Person got shot. She might just be trying to help you relax.”

Connor lowered his gaze thoughtfully. “I suppose…although I did not find fifty consecutive messages on the subject of candlelight dinners to be particularly relaxing.”

“Fifty?!” Polly gaped.

“Candlelight dinners?” Wilson balked.

From across the bullpen, Officer Nice still didn’t look up, even as he chimed in, “Yeah, she’s got hot circuits for you, boy.”

The three of them whipped around to glare, but Nice ignored them, continuing to work.

Polly snickered. “You Casanova, you,” she lightly bopped the rose bloom against Connor’s cheek some more.

Connor shifted uneasily in his seat, leaning away. “Stop.” He turned pleadingly to Wilson. “How do I make her circuits…cool off?”

Wilson snorted, covering his mouth with a hand. “Just be honest. If you aren’t into her, just try to let her down easy.”

Connor fidgeted, again swatting away Polly wiggling the rose at his face. Wilson paused, raising an eyebrow.

“Are you…into her?”

“No…I mean, I don’t…know. She’s pleasant to talk to and very pretty, but…I lack the proper programming to run a simulation to see whether we are compatible.”

“And that’s what dating is for!” Polly said. “Nobody has a program to figure that out for us. You just gotta give it a whirl! Think of it like a mission.” She wiggled the rose at him again. “And you always accomplish your mission.”

Wilson saw Connor’s form abruptly stiffen, and his eyes widened as he suddenly pushed his chair back, away from Polly. Something about that sentence and the flower seemed to be causing this negative reaction.

“Stop!” Connor said, more frantically than the first two times, his voice going up in pitch as he smacked the flower out of her hand.

The rose dropped to the floor on the other side of his desk, out of sight, and both Polly and Wilson stilled.

“Okay,” Polly said cautiously, holding her hands in view. “Sorry.”

Connor took two quick breaths and then forced the third breath to be deep and slow. He exhaled and then winced, looking up at Polly remorsefully.

“No, I’m sorry, Polly. Just—I just don’t like roses…There’re…bad memories.”

“Oh.” Polly looked like she felt even worse at that.

Wilson looked around. “Do we need to get rid of all these?”

“No,” Connor muttered, shaking his head. “I’ll be all right. I’d just…rather not be around them up close.”

“Noted,” Polly said seriously. “Okay, um, well, getting back to—to the matter at hand…So are you going to ask out this nurse or—“

She glanced past Wilson toward the front of the bullpen, and she seemed to freeze in place, mid-sentence.

Wilson straightened in alarm, then heard the commotion behind him. He turned in time to see Officer Tilly Parker roughly escorting in an arrested android…Said android had to be no less than seven feet tall, probably three feet wide at the shoulders…and completely naked of both skin and clothing.

“What the—“ Wilson turned more fully toward the scene. “Parker, who have you got there?”

“It calls itself Ember,” Parker snarled around a bloody nose. “And it’s under arrest for indecency and for striking a police officer!”

“Pig,” Ember snarled back, but the android gave no fight as she was escorted to the holding cells.

Polly’s head seemed to swivel around to watch the larger android, and when she looked back to Connor, her eyes were wide, and her voice was breathless.

“THAT’s Ember? The Ember that Chris keeps having to go talk into wearing clothes?”

Connor looked unsettled by the scene. “Yes, that’s her.”

Polly’s hand fluttered to her chest, just over her thirium pump, as the three of them watched Parker shove Ember toward the holding cells. Ember, for her part, was only being cooperative enough to not earn another offense to the list.

Wilson folded his arms. “She’s not what I was expecting—“

“She’s AMAZING,” Polly wheezed, snapping around to Connor. “Introduce me.”

“What?” Connor blinked. “No.”

“Chris!” Polly spotted Miller entering the bullpen. “Parker arrested your repeat offender Ember, and I need you to introduce me to her.”

“What?!” Chris, in the process of sitting at his desk, shot back to his feet. He looked toward holding. “Where?!”

He hurried off to address the situation.

Polly pouted, and Wilson looked at her dryly. She lifted her shoulders.

“What? Maybe love isn’t dead!” She snatched up the fallen rose from the floor, slid the stem between her teeth, waggled her eyebrows, and sprung after Chris to introduce herself then.

Wilson watched her, clucked his tongue, and then made eye contact with Connor.

“Maybe not dead, but certainly aggressive,” Connor repeated himself from earlier.

Wilson snorted into his fist, then shoved his hands into his pockets. “Seriously though, not to pry, but…are you thinking about asking out this nurse—“

“Grace. Her name is Grace, and she…sort of has already asked me herself,” Connor said sheepishly. “I haven’t responded. What do I do?”

“I can’t tell you what to do, man,” Wilson chuckled. “You got androids like Polly who want a relationship. You got androids like Apollo who don’t care for any of it. You got androids like Julia who…” he cleared his throat, “who have a lot of feelings…and androids like you who don’t know, and that’s okay. You don’t HAVE to do anything.”