Work Text:
He doesn’t mean to eavesdrop.
The weekly briefing has just adjourned and almost everyone has vacated the conference room already. Connor elects to wait right outside the glass door, eager to have a word with the captain privately. He’s discovered a discrepancy in the evidence labeling of a misdemeanor case heading to court the next day and wishes to get the matter taken care of immediately. Naturally, this is his best chance to bring the matter to the man’s attention.
He does not count on someone else being asked to remain behind, though.
"Good work out there yesterday, Reed. Really kept a lid on things and got everyone out safely. Keep it up."
Connor, with his advanced scanners and sensors, is able to hear every word spoken quite clearly and the see-through walls offers him a clean view of what is happening, too. The Captain has pulled Reed aside specifically to praise him, it seems, and uncharacteristically, the normally-confrontational man does not fight Fowler’s words. But his reaction is… odd. A slight stutter of breath. A noticeable uptick in heart rate. The barely-there twitch of lips before his expression settles. "Thanks, Captain," Detective Reed says. And for the rest of the day, he stays focused and driven, a dedicated officer with a passion for his work.
And that makes Connor curious. There is nothing to indicate that this is any sort of pattern. Not yet. A pattern implies repetition. So Connor observes further:
He watches as the man brings Officer Chen an unasked for coffee: "Ah, Gav, you're the best! What would I do without you?"
And when Connor tags along with the younger officers to a bar after work and Reed finds himself the center of attention of one of the patrons: "What's a fine thing like you doing here, huh baby?"
When his and Hank's case intersects with one of Reed's: "Well, I'll be damned. Looks like you were right, Reed. Shit, good thing we had you along."
All of these interactions end the same: hitched breathing and increased pulse and aborted smiles. Connor concludes that being appreciated makes Detective Reed... satisfied? Content? Or perhaps even… happy.
He thinks, perhaps, he would like to try his hand at this approach as well. He needs to test his hypothesis.
"Good morning, Detective! I was very impressed with your work on the Dubberly case yesterday!"
Reed narrows his eyes at the android, suspicion lacing every move. "What the fuck you talking about, plastic? You weren't even there for that shit."
Connor only grins. "Yes, but I was cross-referencing your paperwork against one of our ongoing cases and I very much appreciate how thorough your report was. Your attention to detail is superlative and has been a great help to Lieutenant Anderson and me."
And there it is: the slight flush of his cheeks. The minute widening of his eyes. Twitching lips and stuttered breaths. When he replies, it's low and soft, so unlike his normal tone of voice even if the words are the same. "Yeah, what the fuck ever, tin can. Now beat it, I have work to do."
[Objective Complete: Compliment Detective Reed]
It is such a simple equation. Connor smiles at his success as he walks away.
Connor knows Reed is getting suspicious. It’s been almost two weeks now since he has undertaken this self-assigned mission and every day offers a new challenge as he looks for the positives in his surly co-worker.
“I admire the way you handled Ramirez, Detective. He was quite shaken up after the accident.”
“Thank you for helping us with the interrogation last night. You were very thorough in your questioning.”
“You’re quite funny, Detective, when you’re not being rude… Well, sometimes even then, too.”
And each and every time, Connor is deflected:
“Fuck off, tincan, that shit would’ve bothered anyone. We were all rookies once. Well, except for you.”
“Whatever. I’m fully capable of doing my damn job, asshole.”
“Yeah? How’s this for funny, then: Fuck off!”
And yet… Despite Detective Reed’s outward aggression, there is still a very noticeable uptick in his performance. From what Connor has already archived of previous, compliment-less days, Reed’s efficiency shows increases of up to 36.7% after a favorable remark, even if it is Connor giving them. But even with such conclusive evidence, he cannot say with one hundred percent certainty that these fluctuations in Reed’s behavior are because of this positive feedback. No, he must continue to test his hypothesis.
The equation grows more complex.
It is Sunday morning and Connor sits at his desk observing. Across from him, Hank grumbles incoherently, still disgruntled about being dragged into work on time. It is decidedly amusing, watching the older man battle his disorientation, but that is not where his focus lies. No, as usual these days, Connor is watching Detective Reed.
The same Detective Reed whom he has not said a word to today.
This will prove his theory once and for all, Connor thinks. After sixteen days of greeting the man with a smile and a kind remark, he has limited himself to saying nothing today, to returning to that old indifference that had served him so well in his dealings with the detective prior. If he is correct in his deductions, this lack of flattery will restore him to his baseline and Connor will be able to proceed from there.
Right now it is still early and Reed seems content. He is certainly more alert than Hank is, his fingers steadily moving across his keyboard as he transcribes his notes from the previous day. In the first hour, he does not look Connor’s way.
By nine o’clock he seems to have finished up his report and, giving a long stretch, he rises from his chair to stomp towards the break room with a single-minded determination. He emerges again fifteen minutes later, gray eyes scanning across the bullpen even as he stops to glare at Connor.
The android pretends not to notice.
By ten o’clock, Reed is again typing something up but Connor notes that his gaze strays towards him intermittently. Though the android takes care not to stare back, his peripheral scanners are some of the most advanced ever created so he has no trouble observing the steadily-deepening frown pulling down the other detective’s lips.
By eleven, Detective Reed succumbs to distraction and Connor catches him staring off into space or checking his phone more and more often. He begins a long text conversation at 11:36 (with Officer Chen, apparently, if her own distracted state is anything to go by) and this continues on until noon when he abruptly stands up and heads for the front entrance.
Forty-four minutes later, Reed returns bearing a bag from a local deli and holding a drink carrier emblazoned with the logo of the cafe around the corner. He heads straight for the break room, giving a nod to Chen as he passes her. She scurries after him, too, a bright smile on her face. With no small amount of dismay, Connor hears her thank Reed quite enthusiastically, extolling his virtues in an exaggerated manner.
The man blushes, glares and the two of them round the corner, out of sight.
Connor frowns, knowing this day's experiment has been nullified by Officer Chen’s efforts. His results will be inconclusive, unfortunately.
But… perhaps he can still salvage something.
It is 1:23 pm when the two of them finally return to their desks. Once again, Reed glares at him as he scans the room, though there is less heat in his gaze than before. In fact… Connor doesn’t think it can be classified as a glare at all anymore. He saves a screenshot for further study, unable to determine just what sort of complicated emotion the detective is trying to convey. After a few moments Reed scowls, though, Connor’s mere presence seemingly something that upsets him. He shuffles back over to his desk in a strange huff and Connor blinks, wondering just why the man seems to be in such a horrible mood when he has just been complimented less than an hour ago? According to all of his projections, this should be a time of peak productivity from him.
But it most certainly isn’t. As the afternoon drags further and further on, Connor surreptitiously watches as Reed grows more agitated. Seemingly without thought, the man glances Connor’s way with ever-increasing frequency, the heavy air of assessment in his gaze.
Connor then begins to wonder if the problem might stem from his sudden ambivalence and, like a puzzle piece clicking into place, he realizes that his actions have upset the status quo. Over the course of these past weeks, Reed has come to expect a certain level of praise and enthusiasm and Connor, as the main provider, has played a major role in this development.
Perhaps these weren’t the results he wished to determine from this test but he has managed to learn something worthwhile after all. And so, with a steady determination settling in his eyes, Connor crosses the bullpen to Reed’s desk.
As his shadow comes to settle across the messily-organized papers littering the surface, Reed looks up, a raw, glaring light of surprise springing to his eyes before he can tamp it down. “Something you need, tincan?” he asks, that all-too-familiar scowl occluding any other hints of emotion.
Connor smiles, used to their new routine by now, and picks one of the already-compiled prompts he has amassed for his dealings with his touchy co-worker. “Hello, Detective. I wondered if I might be able to get your help with one of my cases? You know the North End much better than I do and I could use your expertise.”
Reed is still glaring but a gleam of curiosity had entered his eyes, too. “What, you couldn’t ask Anderson about this shit? He used to do gigs up there all the time.”
Connor glances back over to his partner, noticing with some trepidation that Hank is staring at the two of them in stark disbelief. He gives the man what he hopes is a reassuring smile before turning back to Reed. “I’m afraid that both of us have exhausted our leads. And Hank hasn’t actively scouted that area in years.” He makes sure to put on his best pleading expression as he looks down at the still-scowling man. “I would not bother you, Detective Reed, if you were not our very best option here. I trust that your familiarity will be a great help to us in this instance.”
There is much more than curiosity in Reed’s eyes now. Like every other time before, his eyes unfocus, his breath hitches, his internal temperature readings rise the slightest bit. Thus far, commending him on his skills in the workplace has achieved the highest results for Connor. It seems like today will be no exception.
Clearing his throat and glancing off to the left, Reed grudgingly spits out a “Fuckin— Fine! Show me the damn file.”
Connor’s smile widens as he peels back the skin of his hand, holding back a chuckle when Reed jumps as he interfaces with his terminal. But the data flows across his screen freely and quickly and Reed’s eyes snap to it with alacrity. Connor grudgingly admits that perhaps his compliments were more genuine than he intended when, after only a few minutes of rapidly scanning across the information packet, Reed starts frantically digging through his desk drawer, muttering under his breath all the while.
Curious, Connor leans over for a better look only for Reed to slam down an old folder onto his desk with a triumphant “Aha! I fuckin knew I recognized that one asshole!” He flips rapidly through the pages before landing on one towards the back. “Marco Almeida. Ran into this piece of shit a while back. He was a witness during the Alves case but I could never pin anything on him. But I’d fuckin start by questioning this piece of shit, especially since he seems friendly with your Santiago Ramos. I’d bet my damn life that that garage of his is a chop shop. Might be able to find something there.”
Now that he has been pointed out, it is easy for Connor to find the blurry image of Marco Almeida nestled deep in the background of one of Ramos’ photos. The resemblance is spot-on with the printed picture Reed had retrieved from his own folder and Connor is sufficiently impressed now. Reed could not only make out the image with his unenhanced eyes but he also has a handy lead packaged to go right along with him. This far exceeded anything he had expected to come out of this spur-of-the-moment encounter.
Committing the name and address to memory, Connor grins down at Reed with something that feels a lot more genuine than normal. “Detective— Thank you! This has been a tremendous help to us!” He claps the other man on the shoulder in his excitement and, though Reed tenses up immediately, he just as quickly relaxes into the touch. In fact, he almost seems to lean into it. (Connor makes a note of this tactile behavior. It might become useful later.)
Reed just grumbles out a “Yeah, yeah, I’m a fuckin genius, I know. Now get the fuck out of here.”
Connor nods and acquiesces. In truth, he hadn’t actually expected such a quick and easy solution to a problem that had genuinely stumped both him and his partner but Reed is far more capable and canny than he had given him credit for. As he returns to his desk, he casts one more glance back over at the other detective, his scanners already working at full power to give him real-time readouts and assessments. That expected rush of productivity seems to have sparked back up in the man as he jams his messy papers back into a manilla folder and jumps up from his desk. How strange. This is what he had expected after Officer Chen’s intervention and yet… It’s almost as if—
“What the hell was that all about, Connor?”
He finds his attention arrested by a certain Hank Anderson who is watching him with a complicated array of emotions in his gaze. The man narrows his eyes, suspicion winning out for now, and folds his arms across his chest. Raising an eyebrow, he leans back in his chair, expectant.
“I was utilizing all of my resources, Hank. I have a lead for our case now. We should head out immediately while there’s still daylight,” he says proudly, a small smile on his lips.
Hank snorts. “Yeah. Utilizing. Well, you’re doing a great job of that.”
Connor is not quite sure of the implications of Hank’s statement so he dismisses them entirely. “Thank you, Lieutenant,” he says.
Hank snorts again and shuffles to his feet. “‘Thank you,’ he says. For fuck’s sake… Alright, let’s go, kid. But you’ll tell me what’s up on the way, alright?”
Connor nods. “Whatever you say, Hank.”
He does not, in fact, tell Hank what’s up.
Perhaps this is an oversight. Perhaps Hank’s long years of human experience would be beneficial for his study. Perhaps it would be nice to confide in someone during the times he is unsure or caught off guard by his temperamental test subject.Perhaps Hank’s advice could aid him in understanding his own emotional responses to this experiment.
But even weighing all the pros in his mind, Connor cannot bring himself to reveal his plot. Through all of Hank’s questioning, he diverts, distracts, plays clueless, etc. And then… Well, then they have an investigation to conduct and personal curiosity makes way for Hank’s professionalism eventually. It feels rather strange to Connor, the relief that comes with working a homicide case. Inappropriate, perhaps, but it also succeeds in distracting both him and Hank for a time.
But it is even more of a relief when Reed’s lead pays off and the resulting pursuit and capture of their suspect and his many accomplices lasts well into the night. By that point, Hank is far too exhausted to continue his queries and he succumbs to sleep with little fuss as soon as they return home.
This is fine with Connor. While he very much values Hank’s advice, he is acutely aware of the general dislike the man has for Detective Reed. There is a surety in the back of his mind that Hank would not approve of his decisions and would, therefore, advise him to discontinue his mission.
Connor dislikes such a thought. He is an RK800 android, an investigative prototype, a small fortune’s worth of technology contained behind a friendly smile. He always accomplishes his mission.
As the first light of morning begins to lighten the sky, Connor makes a decision. He stands, takes Sumo for a quick walk and then departs, making sure to send Hank a text telling him he would meet up with him later for the no-doubt lengthy interrogations they would be fielding on Fowler’s orders. He hails a cab, makes a quick stop-off at the cafe near the precinct, and then continues on.
This is how Connor finds himself at his current location. i.e. standing outside of Gavin Reed’s apartment door at 7:14 am, a large, disposable coffee cup held in his hand. (Non-fat double shot mocha espresso with raspberry. Detective Reed’s drink of choice.) He spares a singular moment to ponder if this is the correct course of action to take but all of his algorithms have determined that he is following human custom accordingly. Without further ado, he raises his hand and knocks rather vigorously upon the door.
After a few minutes of this, Connor hears muffled cursing coming from the within and the dull thud of impact soon after. Alarmed, he focuses on keeping his LED a stable blue as the door is wrenched open with far too much force, a growled-out “What?!” following in its wake.
Connor blinks down at the man, taking in his disheveled form and casual lounge-wear before slipping on his customary smile. “Hello, Detective Reed!”
“What the fuck?! Connor?! How the fuck do you know where I live?!”
“Your personal files are easily accessible from any departmental terminal, Detective. (“Motherfucker!”) I just wanted to stop by to say thank you for your help yesterday. (“At seven in the fuckin morning?!”) And to inform you that the Lieutenant and I managed to arrest both the suspect we had initially profiled as well as several accomplices, including your Marco Almeida. With the evidence we managed to confiscate, I’m sure he will finally be linked to previous cases, including a few of your own.”
Reed somehow looks… angrier now than he had at first. Connor frowns. Was this not good news? “So what? You show up at my apartment at the ass-crack of dawn just to fuckin rub it in my face how good you are?! What, did you think I’d appreciate that, asshole?!”
Ah. Yes, Connor sees how his actions might be interpreted in such a way. Hastily, he pleads his case. “Detective Reed, that’s not— That’s not why I’m here at all!” With a quick jab, he extends his arm out, proffering the still-hot coffee drink. “During the initial wrap-up last night, I made sure to indicate to Captain Fowler just how instrumental you were in us solving the case. And he’s agreed to assign you as our third going forward. Santiago Ramos, and Marco Almeida were not the only ones captured. We have potentially hundreds of crimes we can now attribute to this gang. It will be a lot of work in the coming days and I will be very pleased to have your help going forward! I know how meticulous you are with your assignments, Detective.”
And just as quickly as Reed’s anger manifests, it is gone. “Why the fuck—?” he breathes out, eyes wide. Connor feels a sudden wave of satisfaction when a bright sheen of red springs across the man’s cheeks. “Does Hank know about this?”
“Of course,” he says, nodding. “Lieutenant Anderson is the lead on this case, his approval was necessary for your inclusion. It did not take much convincing for him to sign off on it.” Certainly not after the two of them had spent a solid ten hours rounding up Ramos and his cohorts. Hank had been so exhausted by the end of it that he most likely would have agreed to anything Connor had suggested at that point. (It remains to be seen what his more cogent viewpoint of this situation would be, but that is neither here nor there.)
For a moment the two of them just stand there, Reed’s face growing more and more flushed even as his scowl sinks lower. Connor can hear the man’s teeth grinding with an unpleasant scrape. Reed opens his mouth once, twice, three times and then— “You said you arrested them all last night?”
Connor nods. “Yes. Technically this morning, as it was between the hours of 2-4 am but—”
“Alright, Jesus! But you have them all in holding?”
He nods again, this time silently.
Reed gives a long sigh and slowly swipes a hand down his face. His gray eyes are sharp when they refocus on Connor, though. “Fuck. Alright, tincan, just… Wait here.” And with that, he steps back and unceremoniously slams the door in Connor’s face.
His LED blinks yellow as he frowns, unsure of what just happened. Within Reed’s domicile, he hears the steady slap of bare feet across tile and wood, the rustle of fabric, the colorful curses the man mutters under his breath. His preconstruction software automatically kicks in as he follows the man’s progress within his mind. Thus, it is no surprise to him when Reed swings his door back open 6 ½ minutes later, now fully dressed in his customary clothing, faux-leather jacket hugging his shoulders and badge clipped to his belt. He’d managed to style his hair back from the edge of disheveled, though he immediately ruins the effect by running a hand through it.
Yes, it is no surprise to Connor that Reed had managed to get himself ready to head out. The only question he has now is… why?
“C’mon, toaster, let’s go.” Reed locks up his door before reaching out to snatch up the drink that Connor had been holding this whole time. He immediately takes one large swig of it and the effect seems to be almost-instantaneous. “Fuck, that hits the spot,” he groans out, an air of decadence infusing his tone.
Without conscious decision, Connor saves the sound file for later review.
Now looking both more awake and also very pleased with his offering, Reed sets a steady pace as he moves toward the stairs. Connor, still confused about his actions, hurriedly follows after. “Detective Reed? Where are we going?”
The man scowls at him again. “Where the fuck do you think, tincan? We got a fuckin job to do, don’t we? You can brief me better on the way over.”
“But it’s your day off?”
The smaller man halts. “So what if it is?” He says, the spark of challenge in his gray eyes as he turns to face Connor. “You think I’m gonna wait til fuckin Wednesday to start working this thing? For all I know, you two bozos will have the whole thing processed by then! No fuckin way, I’m getting some overtime in.”
On the side of his HUD where he monitors Reed’s progress in time with his experiments, a large, vivid [100% INCREASE!] flashes in time with his footsteps as he follows the man down the stairs. Such phenomenal results when he had not even been trying for them… A new variable had been added to the ever-lengthening equation. Connor smiles. Perhaps this mission will not take him nearly as long as his estimates suggested.
...He just wishes he knew why the thought of a decreased timetable made him feel so uneasy.
Things develop quite well between the two of them from then on. Reed still makes rude remarks and calls him names more often than not, but there is a teasing quality to his words these days, not the harsh air of hatred lingering in his tone. Before long, Connor and Reed become inseparable, the plastic detective and the android hater, finally at peace.
(“Hey, Connor! I bet you heard Chris is off today. Another fuckin baby, I can’t believe it.”
“Yes, I was very happy to hear the child was delivered without issue.”
“Shit, yeah. Messy fuckin business, that. But that also leaves me without a partner.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, Detective.”
“Pft, I’m sure you are, tincan! So how about— How about you…”
“...”
“For fuck’s sake! I’m asking you to help me the fuck out today! I need someone to watch my fuckin back, alright?!”
“Of course, Detective! I’d be delighted to work with you, it is always fascinating to watch your processes!”
“Jesus Christ, stop smiling at me, Internet Explorer. Let’s just go.”)
Their co-workers notice, of course, how could they not? This was Connor’s original goal after all, to nourish a better working relationship between all members of the DPD. Reed is friendlier to them all these days. He seems more content with his fellow officers, he argues less, doesn’t provoke them all with the same intent.
(“Hey, Gavin! Hey, Connor! You guys down for drinks tonight?”
“Jesus, don’t fuckin jump me like that, Tina.”
“Aw, is mister grumpypants having a bad day? Well, tough shit. We’re all going to Crooner’s later. We need you there to get us free drinks from the bartender. Oh good, you’re wearing the tight jeans, that should be no problem.”
“Of course it fuckin won’t be, have you seen this ass, Tina? And just who the fuck is ‘all?’ Is Lewis gonna be there?”
“Jesus, of course not. Who the hell do you think I am, dude? Nah, it’s me, you, Chris, Jacoby and Ramirez. Connor, too, if you want in, man.”
“Thank you, Officer Chen, but I really don’t think—”
“Oh, fuck off, Con. Tina doesn’t really ask. And if I have to go, so do you.”
“I don’t see the correlation, Detective—”
“Nuh uh, you’re not calling me that anymore, not if we’re gonna be hanging out. I know you know my fuckin name. You better use it.”
“I… Alright. Gavin.”
“Damn straight.”
“Gav, darlin’, you’ve never been any kind of straight.”
“Shut the fuck up!”)
Gavin smiles much more than he used to and often it is directed Connor’s way. He seems… happy. And, as Connor has already determined, Detective Reed’s happiness is directly tied to his work ethic. There are no longer massive fluctuations in productivity according to his mood. His new baseline is set and it shows phenomenal results. Connor is proud. When Gavin smiles at him, he smiles back.
(“Hey, Connor, hold up.”
“Yes? Can I help you with something, Gavin?”
“I, uh… Fuck. Here!”
“...A cactus?”
“Yeah. It’s an Easter Cactus. Grows flowers and shit. Thought you might like it or whatever.”
“Oh, I do! It will look lovely next to my aloe plant. But is there any particular reason you’re giving me a gift?”
“Urrrgghhh! I just—! I wanted to give it to you! Because I— Because… I’m fuckin sorry, alright?!”
“Sorry? Gavin, please explain. Did something happen?”
“Yes! A fuckin revolution happened! And I had my head shoved too far up my own ass to realize what that meant!”
“Gavin, I don’t—”
“No! I’m fuckin apologizing because I was a shithead to you! Just fuckin take it and we never have to talk about this again!”
“Gavin, wait—”
“I’ll see you tomorrow, tincan!”)
Yes, Gavin is happy, the DPD is running smoothly and Connor is proud of his own part in fostering that. It is only then that he realizes that he has accomplished his goal. The bright [Mission Successful] flashes across his HUD at the thought. He’s done it. He set out to accomplish a goal and he has now achieved that.
The relief he thought he would feel is not there, though. He had thought the satisfaction of a job well done would be enough for him. He’d thought that he could resume his old habits, seek out old friends, get back to the projects he'd put on hold when he had started up his association with Gavin. He thought that he could be happy in the same way he had been before any of this started. But everything seems to lack the luster that it once had and he’s not quite sure why.
Instead of spending evenings at the park playing with Sumo, he finds himself sitting motionless on the benches, the big dog whimpering beside him, seemingly just as disinterested in being there as Connor was.
Instead of returning to Jericho, catching up with Markus and North and Simon and Josh, he replays the night he had gone out with the younger officers from work. He thinks fondly of Chris excitedly showing off pictures of both his two-year-old and his newborn. Of how much he had laughed when Tina and Jacoby drunkenly challenged each other to doing shots which led to Tina standing up on the table halfway through, proclaiming how much she loved everyone there. He recalls the bartender chatting up Gavin, how he kept sending the detective drinks with flirtatious notes attached to them. He remembers how Gavin had knocked back each one as he’d crumpled up the notes. And how he’d tried winking at Connor each time but could never seem to manage it correctly.
Instead of bothering Hank about human customs or his collection of novels or another band he’d discovered he liked, he goes over case files in his head, his thoughts never far from his work. He thinks about how Gavin would go about solving each one or what surprisingly useful anecdote he might have about the location or the perp or both. He thinks about the excuses he makes these days to avoid the man’s company and how he’s finally seemed to catch on. He thinks about the light leaving his lovely gray eyes.
He thinks of the screenshot he’d taken so long ago and just what that expression on Gavin’s face might’ve meant. He thinks of Gavin’s heartfelt apology.
And he thinks about his simple equation, now a sprawling mess of theorems and variables and asymptotic charts. He thinks of the ways he’s learned to make Gavin happy and how he might’ve failed his mission after all.
That is how Hank finds him one evening, sitting motionless on the couch, LED spinning yellow. The older man doesn’t say a word as he settles down beside him, sitting close enough that it’s no strain for him to lift his arm and wrap it around Connor’s shoulders. The android leans into the embrace, desperate to feel something, anything, again. It is only after a long while that Hank finally speaks his mind. “I’m here if you ever wanna talk about it, kid,” he says, the deep rumble of his voice soothing something inside of his chassis. “You’ve always got me, son.”
Something warm sparks within him at the sentiment, something that had been missing from him this last week. There is something wrapped up in the strength of Hank’s arms, in the steady beating of his heart, in the easy devotion he had proclaimed. Something cherished and familiar. Hank’s words stir up old aches within him but he clings to them with all his might. He is finally feeling again.
And just like that, the last piece of his equation lines up. A simple thing that replaces all the mess and madness that had come before. It slots in so easily and he wonders at how he’d never thought to try it before.
With acute gentleness, Connor wraps himself further in Hank’s embrace. “Thank you,” he mutters, soft and quiet.
Hank pats his back. “You’ll get through this, kid. Just give it some time.”
And so he does.
That night after Hank goes to bed, Connor sits with Sumo curled up beside him on the couch and he scans back through all his data logs once more, this time looking for the emotion he had been too naive to understand at the time. He thinks of Gavin there in the beginning, defensive and wary, suspicious of Connor's motivations and trying to see an ulterior motive. He scans further until those guarded expressions begin to open up more, until those gray eyes no longer shutter when he approaches and the man begins to turn towards him instead of away when he speaks. He sees the first time Gavin smiled at him. The first time he made him laugh. The flush of his cheeks as he complimented his appearance, his pets, his motorcycle. He sees their outing only a few days ago when Gavin had taken him out of the city for the first time, far into the countryside where the trees stretched out in endless groves and the world was green like his optical sensors had never before witnessed. Or the night Connor pulled back the skin from his arm, opened up the plating and let Gavin peer inside of him to his innermost workings, the blue glow highlighting the rapt fascination writ large across his features.
Connor's automated video playback cuts out abruptly and he is left in the dark. An error warning flashes in his peripherals: [Thirium Leak Detected!] He reaches up to his face, looking for the source of the damage. His hand comes away wet. He's crying, he realizes too late. He realized far too many things too late.
But maybe... Maybe he can still try.
The clock reads 2:11 am on his HUD display as he stands before the detective's door. He contemplates waiting, leaving things for the morning after he has time to restart his processors, sort out the overwhelming jumble that's led him to the here and now. His fist hovers above the cheap panelling, the whole of him frozen in indecision. But... It has been an entire week. He misses Gavin. He wants so badly to stare into those eyes, watch them crinkle in delight as Connor tells him what a lovely place he has, how wonderfully his shirt highlights his features, that he cannot imagine spending one more day apar—
The door swings open abruptly and Connor is left staring, wide-eyed, at the man he realizes he's grown to love. The man with that familiar hatred souring his expression. "And just what the fuck are you doing here, asshole?"
Several prompts assault him: " I wanted to see you. "
" I was in the neighborhood. "
" I'm here to retrieve the jacket I left with you. "
" You look beautiful tonight. "
But he chooses none of them. He says nothing. And Gavin's face grows fiercer. "Maybe you didn't get the memo in your fuckin high-tech brain, plastic, but this is a residential building. No one wants to come back and see some creepy asshole staking out someone's apartment door. Only reason a patrol hasn't already shown up is cause Tina called to let me know someone called about a 'strange android blocking the hallway.' So I'll ask again. What. The fuck . Are you doing here?"
He can't— He can't— He can't seem to focus, his playback software engages without his permission. The memories are glitched, scattered and pulled back together, tiny snippets of the weeks gone by compressed into seconds. But now, it's all overlayed by the very real glare Gavin is sending him, the past and present blending together seamlessly. He feels his core temperature rising. His stress levels climbing. Connor, for the first time in his short life, panics.
[Speech prompt one selected]: "I wanted to see you." The words tumble forth without his leave. This is not what he wanted to say. But, if nothing else... it is true.
"Yeah? Well, you've seen me. So why don't you just fuck off?" Gavin steps back, his intent clear as he moves to close the door.
Connor reaches out, catches the cheap wood with one hand, the other resting on the door jamb, his grip tight and unyielding. "No, please, Gavin. Allow me to explain myself—”
The brunet growls low in his throat. "Let go, you fuckin prick! You don't have to explain a damn thing to me! Get the fuck outta my building!"
[Speech prompt four selected] "You look beautiful tonight."
And time seems to stall like one of his preconstructions. But there is no helpful outline of what he should do here. Only his overclocked processor and a handful of impulsive ideas. Impulsive ideas... that seem to have worked. Gavin's grip slackens and Connor is able to wedge himself in through the opening, shutting the door tight behind him. That telltale flush suffuses the man's face even as he clenches his fists hard, eyes screwed shut and a grimace twisting his expression. "So that's what this shit is, huh?" he says at last, staring up at Connor with a deadness to his eyes the android had only ever seen in victims of trauma during cases. "Got bored again, did you? Had enough of counting ones and zeros so you thought you'd come crawling back here? Tell the human some nice things, watch him dance for you? Huh?!"
Gavin's breathing is labored but not in the way Connor wishes. Not laced with the adrenaline of a successful chase or the aftermath of a day outside. Not the breathlessness of worry (for him) or the hiccuping guffaws of laughter. Not the quiet, almost imperceptible stutters when a compliment hits home. The emotion percussing Gavin's chest is cloying and rough, an injury imparted to the deepest reaches of him that he's trying to shake away. Connor has hurt him. Has hurt— "No, Gavin, please. There’s been a misunderstanding—"
"I bet you can't wait to spread this shit around the precinct, huh? Or fuck me, maybe you already have! That why people have been being nicer to me lately? Been offering to work cases together? Bringing me coffee? Wanting to get drinks after work? It's all been you, hasn't it?!"
"Gavin, no, that was you! They were seeing a different side of you! The one I've had the privilege to know. They wanted to be frien—”
"I DON'T HAVE FUCKIN FRIENDS, YOU MACHINE ! I ONLY HAVE ME! Only ever have and only ever will!"
"No, I—”
"You've gotten your damn laughs, haha! Old piece of shit Reed, groveling all over for a scrap of kindness, right?! Little bastard looking mighty pathetic, falling over himself for a smile, yeah?!"
"Please, no. It wasn't like that. I only wanted to— to help you. To help foster a better relationship between us. To make you— To make you happy, Gavin!" Connor has had enough of standing here, taking this. He realizes now just how monumentally he had erred in distancing himself from Gavin, but this would not— could not! —be the end of them. They had grown so much in the previous weeks, both together and apart. They could weather this storm, the turbulence Connor had brought about and that Gavin fueled. This was their own doing... and surely they could also fix it.
Connor steps closer, dodging the man's flailing limbs, and wraps his arms around him, keeping his hold tight enough that the man can’t break free but loose enough not to hurt him. He rests his head beside the other's and then—? Then he speaks:
"I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry that I caused this hurt in you. I didn't understand myself just what I was feeling. I wanted us to work better together, Gavin. I wanted you to stop hating me. And when I noticed how you reacted to the small scraps of praise you were given, I thought... I thought to utilize that tactic for myself."
Gavin squirms in his hold. "So I was fuckin right ! This was all just some sort of fucked up experiment for you, huh?! Tame the resident bastard, keep him docile, don't let him cause any more trouble?!"
Connor cringes to hear his original plan laid out so bare. "I... I didn't want to tame you, Gavin. But I wanted us to be able to work together without antagonism. I wanted the precinct to benefit from your increased productivity." He takes a deep breath and exhales, a human gesture that helps him stay calm. "I didn't realize this at the time, but... I suppose what I really wanted was for us to be friends."
Gavin snorts. "Friends, huh? You always experiment on your friends?"
"Well, you might ask Hank about the decaf incident. But no, I don't. And I realize now that I came at you from a place of dishonesty. I was wrong. I should have known better. But please understand, nothing I said was a lie. Not even at the start. Every single thing I said to you, Gavin, was something I truly believed. Still believe."
"Yeah fuckin right, Connor." Oh, using his name. That is a good sign. Connor's stress levels fall a few points at that. "You've already been outed, you don't need to keep up the charade any longer."
Connor unlocks his arms from around the man and takes a step back, keeping his hands on his shoulders. One look at Gavin’s face shows the same guarded expression that had been there in the beginning. Connor recognizes it from before but now he knows what it is. A fortress. A wall. A mask to keep himself from being hurt again. Something he had learned to do early on and has perfected over the course of his life. And Connor, after the luck he’d had in tearing it all down, is responsible for its reappearance. He feels his Thirium pump skip a beat.
There is no room anymore for anything but complete honesty. Connor takes another unnecessary breath and begins:
"That first day, I complimented your skills as a detective. Your attention to detail. The handy way you filed your reports. Hank and I were able to apprehend our perp six hours later due to you marking down the logo of the playing cards left behind. A prominent clue for our case. And one easily overlooked in yours. You allowed us to catch a murderer.
"The second day, I remarked upon the way you style your hair. I still think it looks good. Even if you’ve cut it a bit shorter than normal in the back.
"The third day, I made you a coffee from the breakroom. Cream, three sugars. You had bags under your eyes the size of CyberLife Tower. I told you I admire your dedication to catching your suspects. You are a devoted officer and Detroit is all the better for having you."
And he continues on. And on. And on. Every single day, every single compliment. Connor remarks upon his knowledge of the Detroit streets and the shortcuts he knew. His rather fetching jacket. The way he always knows exactly where every one of his files is kept down in the archives.
Connor notes his physique and his scars, his sense of style, his eye color, the pleasing decibels of his voice and the way his laugh resonates through Connor's chassis.
And now. For the last.
"Day sixty-two. Today: I told you you looked beautiful." Gavin's arms are crossed but he hasn’t looked away the entire time Connor is speaking. He has to believe this is a good sign. "There is so much in that statement. I mean the physical beauty, of course: the proportions of your body. The strength of your arms. Your hair and face and the sound of your voice. You are a beautiful man, Gavin.
"But also—" He closes his eyes, not wanting to look at him and see the rejection. “—your mind, your spirit, your entire personality. I enjoy the way we banter, how quickly you can find a retort, that you never want to let me have the last word. I am entranced by your intelligence, both on and off the field. The measure of experience tied in with your intuition and your surprising breadth of knowledge make you the exceptional detective you are today. The number of random facts you have accrued is truly remarkable. The passionate way you talk about the subjects you've studied. You would've made a fantastic programmer if you'd decided on that career path. I adore your sense of justice, your desire to right the wrongs of the world and bring criminals to justice. Your mission to make a difference in this world, no matter how small. And your ability to admit when you've been wrong, to take the chance of looking like a fool because it's the right thing to do.
"I suppose by now you can see what a simple equation this is, Gavin. The sum of it all is really quite obvious, so... I'm in love with you. I love you, Gavin Reed. And I'm not asking for your forgiveness for the way I acted. I'm not saying this to try and excuse myself. But if ever there was a man more worthy of love, I have not met him. I wanted to let you know, even if this is for the final time, just how good you are."
And then... Nothing. Complete silence. Connor has spent so much of his life in silence, idling away, being observed by his technicians, holding out for the most opportune situation. He knows silence well, though these days he loves it less, more content with interaction and companionship than quiet solitude. He finds his stress levels are reaching dangerous territory now. But he will not retreat. Not until Gavin has passed judgement. Not until he knows if he still has a friend left to him or not. So he stands, eyes closed, head lowered, the journey of a man to the gallows encapsulated in his stillness.
"That's gotta be the worst fuckin love confession I've ever heard in my goddamn life."
Connor's eyes snap open then, his gaze settling in on the shorter man. He blinks, unsure of what to say back to such a statement.
Gavin has uncrossed his arms by that point, looking more relaxed than Connor had expected him to be. And when he steps forward, coming closer to where the android waits, Connor forces himself not to tense. Whatever Gavin will do from here... He will endure it.
Gavin continues on. "Fuckin lucky for you, tin can, that's also the only love confession I've ever heard." And then, wonder of wonders, he holds out his hand, palm up, a sign of peace. Connor notices then just how red his face is. The signs are still readily apparent, the man's insatiable need for praise still his greatest tell.
That treacherous emotion, hope, pounds away through every line of his coding.
When Connor reaches out his hand to clasp the other's tight, Gavin speaks again. "We're both a couple of fuckin disasters here, aren't we?" He sighs, lips quirked in a self-deprecating smirk.
"Gavin, I—"
"Shh, shh," he cuts him off, "it's my turn to talk now." And those cool, gray eyes lock onto Connor's brown and he feels himself enthralled, unable to look away.
"Guess I should just go ahead and start out with the 'I love you, too' part, right?" Connor is sure his audio processor must be glitching because surely such a thing had not issued forth from Gavin's mouth. Surely not. But all playbacks register the same recording. Connor can’t help the grin that spreads over his face even as he bookmarks the audio file and pins it to his HUD for subsequent listening.
"But fuck, Con, that doesn't mean I'm not still pissed off about this situation. Yeah, maybe I believe you. Maybe your little speech did the trick there. And fuck, it's not like I haven't done some terrible shit to you in the past, too, so maybe this makes us even.
"And you love me and I love you and that's all just swell but this ain't a fuckin Hallmark movie, y'know? Jesus, it's the middle of the fuckin night. I know you don't need any sleep but I sure as hell do. So fuck it, here's how this is going down: I'm going to bed. I'm gonna sleep on this whole disaster of a conversation. And in the morning, we're gonna fuckin... talk about feelings and shit. And work this out. Yeah?"
Connor could not nod fast enough. "Yes. Yes, of course, Gavin. I'll just—”
"Okay, where the fuck do you think you're going?"
Connor pauses in making his way back over to the door, turning back to face the other man. "I'm... leaving? For the night?"
And Gavin growls again, that delicious rumble that echoes deep down in the hollow spaces of his chassis. "Like hell you are. You're not fuckin leaving again, you hear me? C’mon." And he takes his hand in his own calloused one and begins dragging him down the hallway.
Connor hesitates only a moment when Gavin kicks open the door to his bedroom, but the strong pull of the other man succeeds in dragging him inside. And from there, Gavin flops straight down on the bed, curling up in the comforter and patting the space beside him. "Fuckin... in already, Con," he says, a tired drawl to his words. And what can the android do but comply?
He lays still, flat on his back, separated from Gavin by the sheer surplus of comforter spilling atop the sheets. He knows his LED would be shining blue right now if it weren't pressed up against the pillow. This is more than he could have ever hoped for when he came here this night. He will be grateful for every bit of it.
And when a tanned hand flops bonelessly backwards, reaching behind to seek out Connor's own and pull him closer, he realizes how lucky he truly is.
He wraps himself around the nearly-sleeping man, relishing in his even breathing and the sound of his soft snores. He holds Gavin close through the early morning and far past sunrise, cherishing every moment they have together.
It’s funny, he thinks. It had never been a matter of constant admiration or indulging a biological response that was the key to making Gavin happy. It wasn’t charts and progress reports and productivity readouts. No, the answer he’d been chasing all along was even more basic than he’d thought. All he had ever needed to add… was love.
A simple equation, indeed.