Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“You’re kidding me!”

“No lie, T.”

Even though Gavin had continuously been telling her that all that he was saying was one-hundred percent true, Tina still couldn’t believe her ears. Well, she could, but not to this extreme.

She was sitting across from him in the breakroom as they shared a lunch together. He was taking a few minutes away from some reports and files he had started this morning, and she was on lunch break from patrol around the city. Black Friday was always a hectic day, so instead of going out and braving whatever coffee shops or food places that might be backed with Black Friday shoppers needing to refuel from their shopping sprees, the breakroom of the DPD seemed like a much calmer area. For now.

And where else was she going to hear all the juicy gossip?

So here she was, leaning over the table clutching half of her cheesy panini in one hand and half-drunk coffee in the other like they were a lifeline to her sanity. She was sure that the expression on her face had to be a sight to see, but to be fair, Gavin’s face wasn’t any better. His looked to be a cross between despair and unhinged amusement. It made his face look weird.

She set down her sandwich and drink before she could squeeze the life out of them before steepling her fingers together against her forehead. She locked gazes with Gavin. “So you’re telling me,” she began, “that the entire evening, it was just one dish after another? All ruined?”

He slid his phone to her across the small table. She began flipping through the picture folder and she couldn’t help herself as she busted out laughing. The first pic was a sink half-full of utensils and dishes—she assumed it was the Lieutenant’s as she didn’t recognize it as Gavin’s (since Gavin had cat pattered dish cloths and those were very absent in this photo). The plates and bowls and such looked normal, covered in sudsy water. It was the utensils that really caught her attention. The forks were bent as easily as if they were shiny versions of pipe cleaners that kids liked to use for crafting. Some were at ninety-degree angles while others were folded so that the prongs of the forks were touching against the bottoms.

She swiped to see the next photo of a very crinkled pan of what held the remains of what used to be some kind of dessert. It was a circular aluminum baking pan that one would normally use for cakes or round desserts—or rather, it used to be that. In the photo, it was crunched inward toward the middle, crumpled and bent onto itself like a loose ball of crumpled paper.

Another swipe and the next photo in front of her could only be descried as sad and hilarious, if not a little impressive. Unlike the others that only showed ruined metal, this one was a picture of Nines standing in front of the sink with a drying cloth in his one hand. He was holding one end of the large cutting knife that he had been drying. The knife, however, was not intact. The handle was in his drying cloth hand along with half the blade attached to it. The other half of the blade, broken off at the middle, was sitting on the counter covered in water. A light blue blush was dusted across Nines’ cheeks—Awww, Tina thought to herself since Nines wasn’t normally seen like that—as he stared annoyed and embarrassed at the half blade on the counter.

“The tinman kept thinking of the other tinman the entiiiire evening,” Gavin clacked his coffee cup against the table. “Felt like I was gonna get cavities, ugh. And not that I care, but now the old man needs a bunch of his cutlery replaced.”

“Oh, my God,” she wanted to cry and laugh and give Nines the biggest hug, the poor guy. “He’s so lovestruck.”

Gavin snorted and took a sip of his coffee. “That’s one word for it. Wait until you see the rest.”

“Christ, there’s more?” Even though the part of her that thrived on details and gossip wanted to know, know, know, the other saner part of her wanted it to end. It was like every time Gavin opened his mouth, everything only got worse.

Just as she was about to swipe to look at the continued tale of What the Hell Was Your Thanksgiving, two friendly faces walked through the entrance of the breakroom. Mitchel (1) and Ben looked as if they desperately wanted to never leave the building again. Mitchel was rubbing a headache away, if the circles he was pressing into his temples was anything to go by. Ben, the poor guy, was clutching a bag of chips with such a tight grip that Tina was scared that if she looked at it wrong, he might stash it away like a squirrel. Other than that, and looking tired, the older man didn’t lose his characteristic genial nature.

“Well, isn’t this a mini party?” Ben waved as he walked in. “I thought I could hear you all the way from my desk, Tina!”

She waved back with a grin, “Hey! Thought you two were out around the area. Did you just get back?”

“I never want to leave again,” muttered Mitchel rather miserably as he bounded right for the coffee machine. “We just got back about ten minutes ago.”

Gain winced in heavy sympathy. Tina knew he had patrolled around last Black Friday due to homicide being slow and crazed shoppers being pretty bold. She knew for a fact that he was glad to be doing even mundane paperwork right now if it meant that he didn’t have to go out and deal with the pushing and shoving and Karens foaming at the mouth for the last incredibly low-priced oven set or vacuum cleaner. He still had the scar on his hip from one Karen ramming him with the corner of her shopping cart last year. The sharp and terribly rusty shopping cart.

Tetanus had not been fun.

“Yikes, that bad?”

Ben shook the bag of chips he had in his hand in a pointed manner as he took a seat at the table next to them. “The last bag in the store. The Target was closer to us on the way back, so I stopped in for a few minutes. A few minutes turned into a half hour fight-fest as I tried to get one single bag of chips. I didn’t realize they were on sale and that they were the last ones until a guy nearly tore them out of my hands when I was waiting in line.” He sighed and shook his head. “I’m getting too old for Black Friday.”

“Psssh! Please, if you’re old, then Anderson is ancient,” Gavin rolled his eyes.

Tina was about ninety percent sure Ben and Hank were around the same age, but she kept that thought to herself.

“Speaking of Anderson,” Mitchel spoke from behind his mug, “I thought I heard his name from over here.” He leaned against the counter and gestured to Tina. “What are you gossiping about now, Tina?”

Now, although a part of her thrived on news and office gossip, she normally wouldn’t be so chatty about stuff that had to do with Gavin. But since Gavin was a very small part of this and mostly focused on their two clueless friends, she figured it would be okay. A quick glance to him just to make sure, and he confirmed with a shrug and a what-can-you-do lift his mug. Oh, thank God, because she could not wait to get this out. “It’s literally the greatest thing ever.”

Ben raised an interested eyebrow. “Oh? You don’t say.”

“C’mere, c’mere!” She waved them closer, Ben leaning in more as he was already sitting at the table, and Mitchel walking over. She held Gavin’s phone in the middle so they could all see. “Gavin was telling me about his Thanksgiving, and it is the wildest one yet—it’s not even his fault this time!”

“It was never my fault the other two times!”

“We heard from Tina otherwise, man,” Mitchel said. “Your cats on the ceiling seemed totally your fault.”

“We’re not talking about that.”

Tina shook the phone to grab their attention once more. Honestly, children. “It’s about our two favorite robot boys of the department. Look, look,” she started at the beginning of the pictures Gavin had showed her and she slowly flipped through each of them to show Ben and Mitchel. “Nines did this.” At the same time, she was watching both of their faces get ever increasingly more confused and disbelieving after each one. Mitchel’s cup of coffee was held in the air in front of his open mouth while Ben’s eyes grew wide.

“How mad did he get? That’s so unlike him!” Ben pointed at the phone, but then visibly backed up. “And how’s he doing, by the way? We only got him back two days ago.”

There was a collective grimace as they all remembered the video that was shown and the state of Nines. Tina in particular couldn’t help but shiver when she remembered how terrible he looked when they went to rescue him from the warehouse. He was such a strong (both literal and metaphorical) guy, so it really tore her up to see him like that. If they hadn’t gotten there when they did…Well, it wasn’t something she liked to think about in too much detail.

Gavin rolled his shoulder as if to shake of the discomfort that made his body tense. “He’s almost back to normal, the Terminator. He’s at a consultation appointment with a technician at the hospital with Connor right now, actually. He was on his feet yesterday, which was good. Still down an arm and still recovering, but he’s almost back to normal. Me, Connor, and Anderson are keeping an eye on him though to make sure he isn’t a dumbass and pushes himself too early.” He then glared at them as he threatened them with his coffee mug, “Don’t tell him I said that, though.”

Pot, meet kettle, she thought to herself. She knew better to say it out loud unless she be met with a five-minute tirade about how he could take care of himself just fine, blah, blah, blah.

Mitchel looked into his own coffee mug. “I’m really glad he’s okay, though,” he swirled whatever was left in the mug, “…didn’t know if he was gonna make it when Anderson called us from the hospital.”

Tina rubbed her wrist as she felt the heavy atmosphere press on her. It was never easy seeing a fellow officer—and even more so, a friend—like that. Even with that in mind, she had to remember that Nines survived and that he was doing alright for the most part. (Perhaps better than alright if Gavin’s account from Thanksgiving meant anything.)

“Well,” she heaved a sigh, trying to get rid of the heavy mood. “Back to the photos.”

“Yeah, back to the photos.” Ben aimed his attention towards the resident troublemaker, “Gavin, what did you do?!”

“I didn’t do anything! First of all, that isn’t even my fault,” Gavin defended. “Second of all, he wasn’t mad at all. It’s all Connor’s fault he ruined all that stuff! The tinman has it bad for the other tinman.”

There was silence for exactly ten seconds before Mitchel blurted, “We needs details now.”

It wasn’t a secret that Connor and Nines were quite keen of one another. And by ‘keen’ they all meant terribly and obviously all about one another. Every time Tina saw the two of them together—unless in the middle of arresting somebody or something like that—she could see how well they fit together. From the beginning when Nines was found after the revolution, to them getting comfortable working to one another, to them really gravitating towards each other this summer, to…well, now. She was happy for them, and by the grace of everything that was good, she wanted them to Get Together as soon as possible.

Mitchel jolted when she slapped his arm. “Me the fuck, too, my good friend. And you came just in time!” She jiggled the phone in her hand. “We all saw what Nines did. I was just about to look at what the hell Connor was up to when you two walked in.”

And thus, she shared the beautiful bounty of Thanksgiving Disaster pictures that Gavin had bequeathed her plus some explanations.  

The reactions were instantaneous.

“Oh my God.”

“I know.”

“Oh, my God.”

“I know!”

“Why is there a dent in the wall?!”

“Better question is why is the table snapped cleanly in half?”

The look on Ben’s face was a combination of despair and resigned longsuffering, as if he were asking God how this could have gotten this bad. Fair. Tina would have laughed more if it wasn’t close to what she was feeling as well. “Lord almighty, it’s worse than I thought.” The older man, like the rest of them, had been quite observant of Connor and Nines, especially lately.

Ever since the Halloween party, Tina and the others had taken note as to how their two friends naturally gravitated towards each other. The two RKs weren’t aware they did so, but then again, it was hard to see oneself from the outside. Tina had seen how endeared and awed Connor had looked at Nines after the man demonstrated his mods. In a similar vein, the stolen glances Nines had been shooting Connor ever since the party when the other man wouldn’t be looking had not been lost to Tina.

Though not puppy love, they were like puppies. It was cute. Cute, even though one of them was the resident Terminator and the other was a relentless detective shadow person who was basically a wolf hiding in plain sight.

But hey, Tina wouldn’t want them any other way.

Before any of them could say anything, a voice came from the entrance of the breakroom. “Everything okay, Ben?”

They all turned to see Pamela, the PM700 receptionist. She was peeking from the entrance with half of her body hidden. She had her thick, black hair done in multiple braids which were pulled up in a bun. Her brown eyes were curious, and she was twirling a loose, skinny braid between one of her dark fingers. She didn’t have any files or her tablet in hand, so she must have been on her break right now.

Pam continued, stepping into the breakroom. “You sounded really dejected. Everything okay?” After the revolution and becoming deviant, Pam had quickly decided that being a police officer was not for her, despite it being her original programming. (Tina needed to get better about that line of thinking—there were plenty of androids that no longer wanted to do what they had originally been programmed to do. She shouldn’t be so surprised at it, especially a year later). She had wanted to stay within the DPD as she knew many of the people in there, and with help from a few of the people in the department showing her different roles, she slotted herself perfectly within a receptionist role. She was empathic almost to a fault and constantly had her friends’ best interests in mind.  

Gavin muttered something into the last bit of his coffee while Mitchel laughed. Tina smiled, popping the last bit of her sandwich into her mouth as she let Ben answer. Even though he still sounded tired, there was amusement present in his tone, “Yeah, everything’s okay, Pam, thanks. We’re just talking about the holiday. Gavin and Nines went over to Hank’s place and Gavin was showing us some pictures.”

Her LED went from calm blue to a blipping red at the mention of Nines. She tugged on the braid she had been twirling previously as her brows pinched together. “Nines—is he okay? I, um, I haven’t heard anything about him since he was taken to the hospital. And, and, and Connor, too! What—”

Tina cut her off before she could grow more anxious. The poor woman was already predisposed to anxiety, so working herself into a frantic question barrage would help no one. “Pam, Pam, it’s all good! It’s all good. He and Connor are okay. Connor is with him at a consultation appointment for a replacement arm—that’s why they’re not here today.” She didn’t blame her for her worry, though. Nines had looked abysmal during the video and worse when they had rescued him. Pam, as a receptionist, had not been part of the mission to rescue him, so this was the first time getting updated with the whole thing.

Pam breathed out a long sigh of relief, placing a hand on her chest. Her LED trickled from red to yellow and then back to a relaxed blue. “Oh, thank rA9! Sorry, sorry, I just…it’s been a long couple of days, you know?” she said as he walked to the cabinet to grab a bottle of thirium.

Oh, they sure did. Long was an understatement.

Gavin, who had finished his coffee and had placed it in the sink, shot her a devious grin. She looked wary of it, but Gavin wasn’t deterred, and he jiggled his phone at her. “I got something that’ll cheer you right up, and it has to do with Tinman One and Tinman Two.”

“We gotta be matchmakers now!” Tina flung her arm out to gesture at the phone.

Confusion was clear across Pam’s face as she just blinked at them.

Mitchel sighed, “We should probably take this to one of the meeting rooms.”

Five minutes later, and their quick field trip took them to one of the empty meeting rooms that they rarely used. They mostly used it for storage and the extra chairs stacked on top of each other and boxes of unused equipment shoved in the corners attested to that. Thankfully, there was enough room for the five of them to occupy. It was dusty and the corners were a little dirty, but the room functioned for what they needed just fine.

Pam, Gavin, Ben, and Mitchel were sitting in a semi-circle from the chairs they had unstacked around a large standing display board that Tina was standing in front of. “Thank you all for being here today!”

“You didn’t give us a choice,” Gavin crossed his arms.

“Not the point. Anyway!” She turned to the board and grabbed a digital marker to begin writing. "We have to help our poor, poor friends in their time of need right now!” Once she was done and turned to her coworkers, Operation Helping Hand was scrawled largely at the top. “Gavin, if you would do the honors, please.”

“With pleasure,” he said as he swiped on his phone, transferring pictures from his phone to the display board. With a quick shimmer, the images he had shown her earlier were all on display. Since everyone but Pam had already seen them, most of this was for her sake.

Pam quirked a brow as the images were shown. She drummed her fingers along the side of her thirium bottle. “Aaaaam I supposed to know what a bunch of damaged and bent kitchen stuff is supposed to mean?” A pause. “And why Connor looks like a blueberry?”

“As you know, and I’m sure that you’ve been able to tell, our loveable RK friends have been pining after each other like school children—”

“I never went to school, Tina.”

“—but I know you know the concept, so stay with me here. Connor and Nines have shown signs of mutual attraction. That much is obvious! Soooooo, as the good friends that we are,” she gestured to herself and then the rest of them, it’s within our civic duty to help out these poor, poor idiots.”

Then she whipped out a slender collapsible metal pointer and jabbed to the bent pans in one picture. “See Exhibit A!” The next pic was of the cutting knife that had been broken in the middle, handle from the blade. “Exhibit B!”

Mitchel leaned over to Ben to whisper just loud enough to hear, “When did she get the metal pointer?”

Pam leaned forward in her chair and rested her chin on the top of her thirium bottle. “RA9, who did that?”

Tina, Ben, and Mitchel turned to Gavin—and it was not dissimilar to the whole class all turning to look at the odd student in the class. “Hey hey, stop looking at me like that. I already told you, I had nothing to do with it!” To Pam, he said, “Me and Nines went over to Anderson’s place for the holiday—mostly to keep an eye on Nines and keep Connor from worrying his pretty little head off. Anyway, long story short, Terminator got all flustered over Tinman and ruined a bunch of stuff in Andersons kitchen. Tinman kept running into tables and bumping into shit the entire night, and I’m already over both of them.” 

Pam, who quickly made the connection, looked at the board again and leaned back in her chair. “Oh noooo,” she giggled and covered her mouth, “I didn’t realize it was that bad.”

“And that’s why we have to help!”

Tina set down her pointer, and from behind dusty old metal cabinet, she pulled out a well-used whiteboard. She opened a drawer of the cabinet and used that to prop up the whiteboard. Displayed on it was a list of names written between three columns. The first column was titled ‘Connor Confesses First’, the second one had the title ‘Nines Confesses First’, and the third column squeezed to the side was ‘They Confess at the Same Time’. They had added the third column after getting an anonymous suggestion one day. “Time to update the betting pool, lady and gents! Pam, where’s your money going to go?”

“Wait, wait,” she held up a hand and looked to the others, “this is a thing? Is it…normal to bet on your coworkers?”

Mitchel, ignoring Tina’s cooing of Pam being a ‘sweet summer child’, snorted. “Not at all, but we needed something to do since the bar we used to go to banned us from entering there anymore.”

“Don’t ask,” came Gavin’s pained comment seeing Pam opening her mouth. She closed it.

Tina would tell her later once Gavin was out of earshot.

Ankle crossed over his knee, Ben continued for Mitchel, “Plus we’re kind of tired seeing Connor and Nines crushing on each other so hard and not acting on it. Honestly, they’re like peanut butter and jelly, ya know? They go so well together. The pictures Gavin took pretty much confirm it.”

“Uhhhh, I can’t eat human food, but I think I understand what you mean.”

“And now that we’re here, I think it’s about time we start talking about a few game plans. They need a push in the right direction—a helping hand, if you will. But first, who are you going to bet on, Pam?” Tina tapped the whiteboard, which read:

Connor:

Chris – $45

Mitchel – $45

Nines:

Tina – $50

Gavin – $75

Ben – $35

Both:

Anonymous – $200

“…The hell are you all doing?” A familiar deep voice asked from the door.

Tina held in a shriek as she slapped the bottom of the board in a panic, sending it spinning round and round. Gavin just about jolted out of his chair and Pam almost threw her bottle in surprise. Everyone whipped their heads to the door—which was supposed to have been locked, dammit—to see Hank looking utterly perplexed. Tina fumbled for the switch to darken the screen, but the remote slipped out of her hand.

They watched it clatter to the floor and slide to a corner where the spiders lived. “Uhhhh, nothing muuuuuch.” Nailed it.

Hank gave her a flat look and took a sip from his mug. “Uh-huuh. And you lot are all packed in here like sardines in this dusty old room for funsies, right?”

“Oh, yeah, totally. Team bonding, ya know.”

The man was silent for a moment before looking at Ben, who Tina guessed Hank thought would be the voice of reason for all this. She supposed he wasn’t wrong.

But then again, Ben secretly loved this kind of shit. “Betting pool on Connor and Nines, along with plans to get ‘em together. Wanna join?” He pointed to the digital display screen, which had stopped spinning and returned to the picture side, and the whiteboard with the betting pool on full display.

Hank blinked. “There’s a betting pool?”

“Oh yeah, it started on Halloween.”

“Huh,” Hank muttered. “Then again, I shouldn’t be surprised. Ya know what, why the fuck not?” He took a chair and swung it out, plopping himself on it. He raised his mug, “Yeah, put me in. Tell me about the betting pool.”

“Operation Helping Hand is a go!”

Published: 6/13/21

(1) Mitchel Wilson is the officer that Connor saved over the roof. He’s only referred to by first initial and last name in game and in the DBH wiki, so I made up a name for him.

A/N: Annnnd I’m back! After all the angst from the Part 3, I wanted to start of Part 4 with some goofiness from our favorite DPD people. Shenanigans will ensue, muahaha

A/N 2: And a big thank you to everyone who read the last installment and comment on the last chapter of Part 3: BriWei, your_starless_eyes, liandrin, Fucking hell, and Semains! And a SUPER big thank you to SpookyKiki for writing a whole fic inspired by my AU! You can check out their fic, Denial is My Middle Name, (here). It's really good, so def go check it out!

Chapter Text

Saturday, November 26, 2039

Nines was tired.

Well, beyond tired, if he were to be honest.

Although he had been mostly repaired and had gone to a consultation appointment yesterday for a new arm, he felt like he was functioning at five percent capacity. The operational percent of eighty-five that was displaying on his HUD had to have been a lie, an error. Because his line and model number were rare—the RKs only had three models in existence, Markus being literally one of a kind, and the 900 model number’s schematics being locked up to the public by CyberLife employees that had fleed—his new arm was basically going to have to be made from scratch. (The compatible arm he was using now was a modified AP700 arm that was gutted with some RK800 pieces which was then tweaked to be able to register with Nines’ RK900 body.)

He shook out his hand, feeling phantom pain. Squeezing that cast iron skillet using the fraken-arm had not been the best idea, whether he had done so unconsciously or not. The arm was not meant to be used with his strength in mind.

Nines knew the basics of his makeup, and using that information plus some of Connor’s schematics, the technicians had been able to start on his new proper arms. That was something to look forward to. He hated feeling off balance, in more ways than one.

Downside, however, was that it was going to take at least another two weeks to complete. A whole two weeks. As such, he was going to be out of an arm for that length of time, which meant that he could not work in the field like he used to.

And that meant that he was stuck on desk duty, of all things.

It felt more of a punishment rather than an ease-in back to work. Although he did not mind the clerical side of the job, being stuck doing only that and not being permitted to do field work was incredibly irritating. He was made to be active and in the middle of the action, not cooped up in a building. He thanked Connor all the time for freeing him from CyberLife and was glad that he was not a slave to the military like he had been made to be, but for the love of rA9, he needed to be active.

He could say with ninety-seven percent certainty that he could apprehend a criminal with one arm perfectly fine.

HR did not believe so, though.

So here he was, back at work and working on a backlog of reports that he needed to do (that he knew he was going to complete quickly; thank you android processing). He looked around his desk. There was a black and white monochromatic cluster of “Get Well Soon!” balloons tied to the corner of his desk making their home next to the propped-up cards that welcomed him. He had read through them, some handmade and some store-bought. It didn’t matter the artistic quality, he appreciated them all the same. Connor had not written one, seeing as how he had been with him since they all had rescued him. That was fine with Nines. He would rather be with Connor in person that receive a card from him. He would always want to be with Connor, and at that thought, he hid his face slightly to hide the faintest of blushes coloring his face.

The cards left at his desk were from Gavin (surprisingly not surprising), Tina, Chris, Mitchel, Hank, Pamela (always thoughtful), Ben and Captain Fowler. And, of course, he could not forget the massive bag of his favorite thirium gummies that had been leaning against the corkboard he used for his pictures. Seeing what his coworkers had left on his desk made strings of warm code zip through his systems.

His lips quirked upward. It is nice to be around people that care so much. Something to get used to, but pleasant, nonetheless.

And then of course, the good cheer was diminished by more incidents coming through his terminal. Specifically three new ones that fit the modus operandi of the crucifixion killer. It aggravated him that this case had been going on for months with no end in sight. It was disgusting, how the killer tortured these poor people. Crucifixion was a slow, painful death, meant to cause humiliation and torture the victim. From what they had gathered thus far, the killer enjoyed putting the victims up on such a public display, showing them off either in the process of their last breaths or having already died. Such a public aspect meant that the killer wanted his actions to be seen, wanted the public to know about them. They wanted to send a message. One that the DPD had not figured out yet. The three new incident reports made the victim count rise to fifteen. Ten androids and five humans. He wanted to be out there, investigating the scene, but he was stuck inside the DPD. He could feel his stress levels rising just thinking about it.

It made his jaw clench and the itch to bite through something was getting high.

“You’re gonna melt your gears if you keep thinking that hard.”

Nines turned his attention from his screen to Gavin, whose desk was across from his. The man was leaning back in his chair, flipping through information documents on his tablet. A chirp sounded from the detective’s terminal, indicating he had also received the new incident reports of the crucifixion case. He waited for Gavin to read the new information and watched as he let out a chain of rather colorful swears. (Truly, it impressed him how creative his profanity could get.)

“Do you see now why I am ‘thinking that hard’?” Nines popped four gummies in his mouth, already feeling the itch to stress eat.

Gavin slid the tablet on his desk and rubbed the back of his neck. Nines could feel the sympathetic tension in his own neck right in the thick cables that went from his jaw to his clavicle. “Fucking A, man! It’s like every time we go even one step forward, this bastard kills more people and we’re sent four steps back. The hell are we doing wrong?”

Nines sighed, rubbing the port of his empty shoulder through his white long-sleeve button-up, “I wish that I knew. If we knew, then we would have solved this already. Though, it might be more of a ‘what are they doing right’ than ‘what are we doing wrong.’”

“I hate it either way.”

“I know. I do as well.”

They conversed about the new details that had come up with these new victims. Two new androids and one new human. None of the fifteen victims had anything in common other than that they had all disappeared after the android revolution. The first few androids had been reported missing right after, then a human, then more and more people kept disappearing until the crucifixions began. Then even more people were disappearing. None of them were the usual victim profiles to look at—none were homeless, prostitutes, drug addicts, abuse victims, or the like. They had been average people that had, seemingly, been plucked from their everyday lives. The same was true with these new three victims.

The two androids had been reported missing since the beginning of October. Twins that had their own place of residence that they shared with their human friend. Their human friend had been the other victim. This person had disappeared about a week or so after the twins had gone missing. For them to have all known each other and ended up being killed in the same way indicated that, despite the gap in times of their disappearances, they had all been taken by the same killer.

Which meant that there just had to be some similarity that all three of them shared.

None of the previous twelve victims had known each other, so that discounted having to know the fellow victims to be a prerequisite. The lengths in time between the victims going missing and the time of their deaths did not match either. The earliest time between disappearance and death was, at minimum, a week. Any time after that varied. One victim had been gone three weeks, while another was unaccounted for six months.

Nines’ mental exhaustion was catching up with him. He could feel his shadow at his feet, stretching on the floor like a thin curtain, wanting to take shape into the baseness of his person: his hound. He willed it to go away and return to the normal shadows the lights of the bullpen cast. Perhaps I should have taken up the offer to stay home for a few more days...

“I need a break,” he said as he stood up. He felt that if he kept looking at the victim’s faces and injuries that his optics were going to destroy themselves. There was still so much more to go through as more and more details about it were coming through his terminal. “I am going to the breakroom for fifteen minutes. Do you want me to bring you back anything?”

For some reason, Gavin stood up straight in his chair, glancing to the breakroom with snap-quick eyes. “No!” he nearly shouted. He cleared his throat then said in a more appropriate level, “No, not at all. I don’t need anything, tinman. Why do you think I need anything?”

Nines’ brows furrowed, taking in his partner. Clearly he was bothered by something, having gone from irritated but collected to shifty. Did he want to know the weirdness going on inside Gavin’s brain? Not at the moment, no. He had neither the mental energy nor the processing power to make that into an objective. He let it slide. For now. “Okay,” came the slow response. “If that is what you wish.”

“Yep! Totally fine!” he yelled.

All Nines could do was shake his head, grabbing his empty mug he had drained of thirium earlier. He would refill it with warm, android-grade cocoa from the coffeemaker. (They had a human-safe one and an android-safe one due to one too many near poisonings on either side.)

Before walking off, he told Gavin, “Please forward Connor and the Lieutenant what we have received while I am gone.

“Already doing it!”

“I have such a weird partner,” he muttered, walking away.

They may have been partners, but even an advanced android like himself could not understand the mind of one Gavin Reed.

“No!”

Pamela and Ben startled hearing Gavin’s loud alert. In the designated quiet room attached through the breakroom (1), they had been sharing space as their lunch periods overlapped, talking about this and that. (More like scheming about a certain operation, to be specific.) Both of them pressed themselves against the wall by the opening and peeked around the corner. They saw Nines and Gavin talking for less than thirty seconds before Nines turned away.

Turned away and began walking towards them.

“Oh shit, oh shit!” Pam whisper yelled as she dove back to the table she had been sitting at. Ben had done the same. Over lunch, they had been discussing plans for Operation Helping Hand. She had settled on Team Nines just like Ben, so they were writing ideas of things that Nines liked and places they thought he would enjoy going to. That, however, had grown difficult as they were unsure of what he liked other than thirium gummies, friendly harassing Gavin, Connor (of course), and monster stuff. The guy was private for the most part, and they had only found out tidbits about him either through Connor, Hank, or Gavin, or through him just dropping bombs on them out of the blue.

Like, they hadn’t known the guy liked metalworking art as a hobby! How would they have guessed that?! (2)

Ben had been suggesting date places that both Connor and Nines would enjoy when they heard Gavin earlier. All the evidence of their brainstorming was on the table amidst their lunches. Incredibly incriminating.

“Put some hustle into it, Pam! He’s comin’!” Ben said, trying his best to clear the table.

“I am, I am! Hurry, he’s going to be in—oh, hi, Nines!”

Pam stood up straight with a big grin plastered on her face. In her periphery, she could see that Ben had heavily slumped on the table, resting his head in his propped-up hand. None of the papers were in sight. “Hey there, Nines. What’s going on?”

She watched Nines look at her, to Ben, and then back to her. And then once more to Ben for good measure. He didn’t say anything for ten seconds before closing his eyes, sighing. He opened them once more. “Hello…Is there something wrong? You both are rather…stiff, if I may.”

“Stiff? Us?” she gestured a hand to herself and Ben. “Oh, no way. We’re not stiff. Ben here needed to stretch out something in his back, and I needed to work out the kink in one of the servos in mine.” For added effect, she stretched, leaning back, until she heard and felt a satisfying clink-thunk of something popping back into place.

“If I enter rest mode for fifteen minutes, are you going to be acting strangely? Need I leave?”

Next to her, Ben said, “Not at all, bud. You go ahead and don’t mind us.”

Even though it was probably less than three seconds, it felt like a mini eternity before the android answered. “…Of course.” They watched him lay on the old couch that was in the corner and close his eyes. Pam knew that Nines hadn’t entered stasis—his LED was a bright blue, not the slow blinking of a soft blue—but that didn’t mean they could continue to talk about their plans willie-nillie. There was no doubt that Nines would hear what was said even if they whispered.

Pam looked at Nines as he entered a simple low power mode. As androids, they could enter a state where they could reserve power without entering a deeper state of stasis. And did Nines look like he needed it. She had been worried about him—still was worried—ever since she had received that email late Thursday night. Nines had been one of the first people—the other being Connor—to talk to her like an actual person when she first deviated, taking time to talk with her when he could. He always spoke to her softly, like anything louder would have scared her away, Which, to be honest, probably would have happened what with a combination of her anxiety (deviancy made everything so new and hard!) and his rather intimidating appearance. He had been awkward talking to her at first, which she hadn’t really noticed back then due to her own awkward newness as a deviant. But despite that, he always offered a kind word and a welcomed silence.

Despite the obvious missing arm, she could tell he was not up to his regular speed. Regular thirium intake since being rescued may have helped a lot, but he was still paler than his usual complexion. High stress and inner damage could tax an android’s synthskin. That had only happened to her once post revolution in a situation that she would have rather not talked about. He was slower, now. When he thought no one was looking, she had seen him closing his eyes whenever he could and leaning against walls and doors, trying to act casually. Seeing him like this now, it made her ache inside knowing what he had been through and how they had all almost lost him.

If she were to be very honest, she thought he shouldn’t have even come to work so soon. Androids may have a quicker recovery time than their human friends, but torture was torture and that affected anyone to a high degree.

“Is he…” Ben whispered as low as he could, “you know, asleep?”

She shook her head. “No. We androids can enter a low power mode that isn’t as deep as stasis. If I were to compare it to a human, stasis is a full deep sleep while rest mode is like a doze. From my understanding at least.” She smiled, “Never experienced the human half personally.”

Ben nodded, looking to Nines for another handful of seconds. “Right, right. Let’s…let’s leave him be,” he gestured his head towards the door.

He didn’t have to tell her twice.

Ben pulled himself out of the stretch he had been in that had covered their notes and other papers while Pam packed up the rest of their lunches—easy in that all she had left was half a thirium cream pastry while Ben had just had half a sandwich leftover. Once that was done, in a non-hurried pace as not to alert Nines with the sounds of a speedy clean up, they scurried as normally as they could out of the quiet room, out of the breakroom, and into the hall.

Once they were in the louder, bigger area, they let out sighs of relief.

In the clear, Ben let out a disbelieving laugh. “I can’t believe we didn’t get caught! I thought for sure he was going to keep asking us questions to figure out what was going on.” When the older man—and there would be hell if he caught her thinking of him as old—got nervous or excitable, his voice got a little nasally, which she found endearing. Humans were so strange. But, that was something she liked about her human friends. Friends? Coworkers?

Both.

Still having about twenty minutes left on their lunch breaks, they started walking down one of the hallways that would take them to a windowed balcony; a nice place to take in the city. It would be cold, but that was fine with Pam. She nodded at what Ben said to let him know that she was listening, mouth full of another bite of her pastry. Her fingers would be sticky, but that just meant she could lick them clean of the sweetness when she would be done.

They turned a corner which led them to a hall which had the balcony at its end. The balcony wasn’t all that special. It was mostly used for housing one of the large air conditioning and heating units that hadn’t been updated in rA9 knows how many years. But, many people who worked here used it as a nice place to downsize. Outside, though away from the public. It was just the two of them in this area as most other officers liked to get food while they were out and about. Ben stopped, which made her look at him in question.

He sighed. Crossing his arms and still gripping his lunch bag she had given back to him, he said, “You know, I’m just as happy as everyone else that Nines is back. But…”

The last of her pastry was in her mouth, so she hummed in question.

“Jesus, Pam,” he rubbed his gray mustache down in a nervous motion, “he looks awful. He shouldn’t even be back at work in my opinion! I mean, I wasn’t with the others when they went to get him back, but I got the details from Fowler and what they did to him…that’s not right. I’m a cop. An old one at that. I’ve seen some shit over the years, but outright torture like that, especially to one of our own…It gets to you.”

It was times like these that reminded Pam that Ben had quite a number of years on her, both in physical age and life experiences. He’d been “around the block” as Lieutenant Anderson would say. Life was new to her all things considered, so seeing such a caring man like Ben so weary like this made her sad.

She reached out a hand to lay on his shoulder in solidarity.

He used his free hand to pat that hand before she retracted it. “Thanks. I just…I’ve lost a few good friends on the force over the years. Hank and Jeffrey, too. You all,” here she knew he meant androids, “just started livin’ life to the fullest for the very first time. New existence and all that. I would hate to see that snuffed out because some asshole decided he doesn’t like that you’re metal and wires or wants to help people that want to see you all out of the picture for existing. And I don’t think I’m the only one who works here that thinks that either.”

Her voice box must have been malfunctioning because it became difficult to speak all of a sudden. She cleared it twice before she could actually say something. “Way to get all sappy on me there,” her smile was fragile, yet appreciative. Not mentioned was that she was feeling all of that sappiness, too. “Nines is back—damaged, but back—and that’s something on the positive side. We have to focus on that, yeah?”

“Right. You’re right.”

“Of course I’m right,” she puffed out her chest as she began to walk towards their original destination once more. “Nines is back with us; he just needs time to recover. Connor is here as well, and the two of them back to work means that we have Operation Helping Hands to keep us occupied.”

When they got to the door that opened to the balcony, Ben held open the door for her to enter first. The gust of cold air rushing into the warmed building made him shiver more so than her. The weight and thickness of her braids helped to keep her head warm (versus Ben who was started to wane in the hair department, if she was to be honest). “And that is what’s getting me through this week. Free entertainment and the possibility of a nice sum of money. That, and conspiring has been fun thus far!”

“Ha! Same,” she snorted. “While we’re here, you wanna go throw crumbs on the jerk offs who keep bothering the hotdog guy to make the birds attack them?”

“I got a whole backup bag of crackers. ‘Course I do.”

The last few days had been an utter whirlwind of hecticness to Hank.

Prepping for the holiday then turning into one of his friends being kidnapped, then having to rescue said friend, rush that friend to the hospital, and make sure that friend plus his other friend were okay—well, his blood pressure wasn’t really the definition of low because of all of it. Still not all the way back down if he was to be honest.

He was driving back to the precinct with Connor after investigating a triple homicide. Three more for the crucifixion case.

The sun had set a little under an hour ago, so the only sources of light were the few streetlights and the headlights of his car and the few that were passing him on the other side of the road. They were on a less travelled road which had its infrastructure ignored for a long time. Busted streetlights that were never bothered to be replaced, bumpy road full of potholes, the works. In other words, it was dark.

All but a cycling red light coming from the passenger side.

He stole a glance at his partner who was sitting next to him. The man was slightly turned away from Hank and more towards the window, one arm around his middle in a loose curl while the other held onto his arm. Hank couldn’t see his face, but his disco light was too bright of a red for there anything to be but wrong. And wrong it was. Not to mention how reserved he had been since rescuing Nines.

Connor had been quiet ever since they had arrived on the crime scene. Not that he blamed him. This case was one of the uglier ones Hank had seen in his career, and he was sure this was the ugliest Connor had seen in his shorter one. It had been two androids and one human, all put on for display on crosses for everyone to see. They had been found by a homeless man who had taken a shortcut through the park that led to a secluded hilly area. The poor guy had been nearly scared half to death seeing the victims. The humans had suffocated to death, confirmed by Connor, upon their crosses, while one of the main thirium lines of the android had been severed, leaving her to bleed blue all over the wood of the cross and the white of the snow.

What was even more disturbing was the additional bit of evidence that had been left this time unlike the others. One specifically for the DPD to find.

“Keeping silent ain’t gonna make it go away,” Hank said quietly in the space between them.

He saw Connor’s LED blip yellow but then immediately go back to a solid red. The android said nothing.

They pulled up to a single stoplight, the red glow of the light a match to the red inside the car. The darkness that the broken streetlights failed to illuminate made everything brighter. Not a good kind of brighter, though. He could have attributed some of the darkness to Connor’s shadows, but he was only fifty percent sure they were lining the inside of the car. The light turned green, and he was able to turn and keep going. “I’m not gonna make you talk—Lord knows I’d be the last person preaching about that—but this part of the job, it’s not something that’s going to go away. This case has changed and you know it.”

It was a solid minute before Connor responded. “What do you want me to say, Lieutenant?” his voice was hard, his usual slight rasp more prominent in the lowness of his tone. Dangerous, but not to Hank. Never to Hank. But…dangerous to himself? Not in an immediate physical way.

Back to being called Lieutenant, huh? Can’t fool this old man. Whether you like it or not, I’m not going to let you fester with this.

“I don’t want you to say anything specific. But I know you, Con. Shit like that, it’s bothering you. It’d bother anybody, human or android. Investigative model or not. Hell, it creeped me out to see that spelled right out there in blood like some kind of horror movie scene!”

“And don’t you think I know that!” Connor unexpectedly snapped at him. Next to him, the glass of the window cracked sharp, but Connor didn’t even notice. Hank immediately pulled over the car off the road and parked it on the shoulder. He looked at Connor only to see his friend looking at him with an awful expression on his face. His brown eyes shimmered with unshed, angry tears while his mouth was twisted in a frown. His LED shone the brightest crimson it had for the entire night, even more so than the traffic light they had passed just a bit ago. His face was colored blue with frustration. Connor sucked in a quick, shaky breath. “I’m sorry. H-How…How am I supposed to react when I come to a crime scene…only to find my name and model written in blood from the killer theirself?”

Amongst the red and blue blood that had colored the snow—more red than blue as the blue had just begun to start disappearing—had been a strip of cardboard being weighed down by one of the victims’ shoes. On it, purple with the two kinds of blood, had been written something that chilled Hank upon seeing it.

‘COME FIND ME CONNOR RK800. YOU’VE BEEN TAKING TOO LONG. I WANT TO PLAY WITH YOU.’

Hank didn’t know what to say. What could he say? The quiet between them grated on him, but that could have also been due to a few tendrils of darkness shuddering from the bottoms of the windows on Connor’s side of the car. Connor did not say anything to break the quiet, and this time it was because he physically could not rather than emotion blocking them. His jaw was locking again. Hank watched him wrench it from side to side and up and down as best as he could to try and get it unlocked. In the meantime, he reached out a hand a laid it on his shoulder.

“…You don’t have to react in any expected way. This shit isn’t in some kind of handbook for dummies. A cruel and twisted fuck is going around murdering people for some reason we don’t know—.”

“It’s because of me,” Connor cut in, having finally gotten his jaw working again. “The killer said I have been ‘taking too long,’ implying t-that they have had me on their mind since the beginning.”

Hank used the hand that was on his shoulder to lightly swat him upside the back of his head. Ignoring the ‘ow’ that he knew was only muttered because of one of those automatic social relations thingies, he chided him, “If your next words are along the lines of ‘this is my fault’, I’m going to actually hit you on the head for real. Maybe it’ll knock some sense into that thousand-dollar brain of yours.”

“Million dollars,” came the automatic mumble.

“Same thing, smart ass. My point is that you can’t take responsibility for the actions of someone else, especially someone going around murdering people for shits and giggles. That. Is. Not. Your. Fault.” He punctuated every word with a poke on the chest. “You hear me?”

All the energy seemed to be sucked out of the poor guy. He lightly brushed away Hank’s hand with a limb that looked to be made of lead. “How can it not be when these people are getting killed because the killer wants me?”

“It’s not.”

Connor was quiet once more, having turned to face the window.

Hank knew the conversation wasn’t going to make any progress, so he started the car back up and continued the drive home. More streetlights lit the dark of the evening. Lonely road turned into neighborhood streets as houses greeted them on either side of the road. Finally. They couldn’t have gotten back home sooner.

Connor got out of the car without a word, trudging towards the front door with the key in his hand. (Hank had given him a copy the second week he had moved in with him.) Hank didn’t know what to tell him other than it wasn’t his fault. He was upset that this case suddenly got so personal in a messed-up way, angry that the killer was not only murdering people but targeting his friend and partner, and frustrated with himself that he didn’t know how to help him right now.

“Fuck,” he groaned, wiping a hand down his face. The air against his skin was cold and he couldn’t get to his bed soon enough. As he got out of the car, he got a text alert from his phone.

Saturday, Nov 26

Ben Collins

7:19 PM – Me n Pam came up with a few ideas that I think you’re gonna like

Leaning over the open driver’s side door, he looked at Connor who was already entering the house with the enthusiasm of a zombie. Even Sumo, who he could hear excitedly woofing at the man, did not seem to help. His LED stayed red even going inside the house. Hank rubbed his forehead. He looked back down at his phone.

Me

7:20 PM – I think we’re gonna need those ideas sooner than later

Published: 4/21/22

A/N: I promise I did not mean to make this as angsty as it was. But, hey, it wouldn’t be me if I didn’t lol. Thank you to everyone who has bookmarked this series so far, given kudos, and added comments! Thanks so much to SpookyGhostFlower, BriWei, Conanbean, and notokveranda for leaving comments on the last chapter! If you like my stuff, you can catch me on twitter @ el_rey_ciervo!

Chapter Text

Monday, November 28, 2039

The weekend came and went like a blink of an eye.

Gavin was standing in the breakroom, staring at the coffee machine like it was the Holy Grail that had been volleyball spiked from God down to earth. He felt like he was standing on cotton and that his brain was made of mashed potatoes. His mug was gripped tight in his hand. Sleep had evaded him the entire weekend, hid thought plagued by growing concern, irritation, and frustration with the ongoing crucifixion case. It had been going on too long and was getting worse with each and every murder. And now it was starting to hit closer to home.

“You just gonna stand there and take up space, or are you gonna move so I can get some coffee?”

He was broken out of his zombie state hearing Anderson’s voice rumble near him. He turned to look at his side to the man in a similar state to himself, his own empty mug being held like it was made of a million dollars.

“Shut up,” he said more out of reflex than annoyance. He hadn’t noticed the coffee had finished, but to be fair, he wasn’t here all the way mentally this morning. Sue him. That didn’t mean he wasn’t about to drown himself in the stuff, though. Probably.

Anderson grunted, filling his mug right after Gavin. “I’d say fight me, but we both know it’s too early for that kind of shit right now.”

“Hn.”

They both took a big gulp of the life-restoring liquid.

He took a moment to look at Anderson’s face a little closer. The older man didn’t look like absolute shit like he used to when he was in his downward spiral. Shaggy hair, unkept face, rumpled clothes, and more alcohol than blood in his body—hadn’t been pretty. Ever since Connor had rolled around, Anderson had been returning to his old self kinda (not that Gavin would tell either of them that to their faces). Now though, he just looked like regular shit. Not drunken, depressed shit. Which, hey, improvement.

“Staying up too late watchin’ Thing One go on a cleaning streak?” he said behind a sip of his coffee.

Anderson rolled his eyes then looked at him with all the exhaustion in the world that Gavin felt plus more. Damn, he really did look like shit. “Why? You want to clean that apartment of yours? Would hate for Nines to start going out of his mind because of it.”

“Psshh, don’t insult me, please,” he said as he sat down at one of the tables. “I’m not some dirty, snot-nosed college frat boy who doesn’t know how to clean his room. And Nines is just fine living with me. The cats make more mess than we do.”

Anderson didn’t comment, just turned to the fridge to grab some creamer. “Speaking of Nines,” Gavin started, staring into his mug, “he’s been mind-meld talking with Connor the whole weekend. Distracted enough that I almost, aaaaalmost was able to nail him in the head with a pillow. Almost. He grabbed the thing out of the air like it was nothing, the fucker.” He brought the mug to his mouth to take a sip.

“Huh, ‘s probably why Connor’s been acting all weird. Irritable, cranky.”

Partially, but not one-hundred percent true.

There was silence between them for a few minutes. Through their partners and having to work on many cases together, the tension between Gavin and Hank had lessened through need. They still had their own past issues they had to deal with, but it wasn’t as hostile as before. Gavin had a…loaded history with Anderson, but seeing him getting himself back together helped things. Gavin also checking himself about the whole ‘androids are people’ thing also attributed to the lessening in hostility on Anderson’s side. “We saw the documents and pictures, read your reports,” he said. “Saw what the bastard wrote out for Connor. You two have really had a shit few days, huh?”

It was like all the air had been deflated out of the other man. He sighed and looked like he aged the ten years he had gained back by taking care of himself. And in a way, Gavin felt a little of the same. In a rare moment where they weren’t snarking at each other, Anderson sat across from Gavin at the table and looked him in the eye. “Shit few days feels like an understatement. One thing that a killer is going after innocent people, but it’s been raised a few levels by targeting one specific investigator. It not only reflects on Connor’s safety now, but also the killer’s mental state. You know how that affects the severity of the murders.”

Gavin frowned but nodded. “Yeah, that’s classic obsession. Freaking weird.” Too many cases went downhill into “sound the alarms” territory when extreme obsession was involved.

“I know. Ugh,” the older man leaned in his chair and folded his arms over his chest, looking like he wanted nothing more than to be done with everything. Damn, Gavin felt that. “Connor hasn’t been himself ever since we left the crime scene. Been keeping to himself in his room—which, I mean, he has every right to do. Fully sentient person and all that.”

“To be human is to be emo.”

“Well, he hasn’t reached emo quite yet. Can’t seem to talk any sense into him. He’s dead set on believing this whole case is his fault. For such a smart android with an expensive brain, he’s damn stupid sometimes.” The last part was said with more fondness than anything negative.

Hearing what Connor’s state has been made Gavin grimace. The coffee suddenly tasted sour in his mouth. He may have not been on the force as long as Anderson, but he had a good number of years’ experience. And with that experience came the good old blame game. He, especially when he was first starting out as a detective, dealt a lot of blame on himself when he couldn’t solve a case in time or if his actions had been directly tied to a bad outcome (not getting to a location in time, being just a second too late to save someone from being killed, not being able to be in two places at once). It took a while to learn that what the murderers, thugs, and abusers decided to do did not reflect on him both as a person and as a cop. Hell, he was still trying to keep that in mind even to this day. Difficult was an understatement when trying not to feel personal guilt over the work that they did.

Gavin had only had one case where he had been in a sort of similar situation as Connor was going through right now. It had happened about three years ago, a long-drawn-out murder investigation where the killer had been stalking battered women’s shelters. She had categorized him as the type of guy that she hated, the type of guy that put these women in the shelters like they were. Which, was one-hundred percent incorrect; just because he was an asshole did not mean he ever abused women. In some sick kind of way, she had kidnapped the women she had wanted to ‘protect’, killing them and leaving the bodies for him to find.

He had needed immediately additional therapy after that case ended.

Long story short, it had been sick and disgusting, and it had taken a while for him to come to the grips that literally none of it was his fault. Still bothered him to this day.

Connor and he may have had a…rocky start to say the least, and may still be on getting-there amicable terms, but he wouldn’t wish that kind of fucked up on anyone. He was annoying at times but was otherwise an alright android. Guy. An alright guy. He didn’t deserve whatever the hell this twisted killer had in mind.

And speaking of androids.

“Your tinman is messed up right now, mine is messed up, and yours being like that is making mine even more messed up,” Gavin said. “I don’t think I saw the dude sit down once yesterday the entire time we were working. He was either working nonstop or near constantly slipping off to call with Thing One.”

Anderson snorted, looking out of the breakroom in the direction of their desks. Gavin followed suit. Both Connor and Nines were working today—both detectives needed their partners to investigate the case further—and needless to say, the androids were a mess. Connor was slumped over his desk, hand massaging his forehead as he stared at his screen. Gavin could tell that he was also shooting glances at the other android. Nines, who was doing his best to seem nonchalant but was failing miserably, was hovering around Connor like a worried hen. Bringing him thirium, getting him to sit up, and trying to get him to engage in conversation. Connor was doing his best to gently wave him off, it looked like. There were a few empty paper cups of thirium around Connor, so it looked like the guy couldn’t drink anymore at the moment.

It was getting painful to watch them dance around each other at this point.

“They’re both a mess.” Anderson said, shaking his head. “But, with everything that’s going on, especially with this case getting worse, we’re all sort of a mess. Nines’ kidnapping and injuries, Connor being the killer’s infatuation, those two and their ‘relationship,’” and here he used air quotes, “I swear, 2040 better be a better year.”

“Eh, fair.”

Watching their partners was like being in a zoo looking at a fascinating new exhibit with veteran animals—familiar with the subjects but oddly enthralled with the exhibit. Come one, come all and watch the insane courtship of Thing One and Thing Two. If he didn’t have to put up with their pining directly—being Nines’ roommate and partner meant being up close to Nines as the guy tried to work through what he was feeling—he would have brought popcorn.

Damn, the betting pool was getting increasingly significant each day.

Gavin got up from his seat and stretching out his back. “Well, I don’t know about you, Anderson, but some of us have actual work to do,” he gave the older man a sneering grin, to which he received the bird in turn. He snorted. “Catch you when I catch you. That is unless Thing One keeps you two running around all over Detroit.”

Anderson stood up as well, coffee still in hand. “You say that like Nines won’t be doing the same to you.”

He couldn’t fight that one if he tried.

Once out of the breakroom, he made a beeline towards his and Nines’ desks (which were across from each other and next to Anderson’s and Connor’s). He thought about the ideas they had all been brainstorming to get the two androids together while getting closer towards Nines. “Hey Tinman! We got shit to do today, time to go.”

“Be safe, Detective,” Connor said as Gavin grabbed his leather jacket off the back of his chair.

The man made a noise between a snort and a harrumph. “Don’t worry about me, Thing One. Safety is my middle name, after all.”

Liar, liar, pants on fire.

And almost instantly, Nines chimed in with, “Actually, your middle name is—”

“AH-ah-ah! No one needs to know my business!”

Ignoring Gavin grumbling to himself about ‘robots needing to mind their own business’, Connor tapped on Nines’ hand as his successor walked past him to leave. Nines stopped. With more feeling than he had told Gavin, he said to him, “Please do be careful while you are out there.”

Nines looked him over, and something softened in his expression. Connor was thankful that Gavin and Hank were not looking at him right now—Hank was looking at his screen while Gavin was fishing for his keys somewhere in his jacket—because he was sure that the expression that passed over his own face might have been one that could be teased. Keep looking at me. “Do not worry,” Nines reassured him, reaching out his hand to ghost over his shoulder. Not visible to the human eye due to clever positioning, Nines cast a thin shadow hand to squeeze Connor’s bicep gently before beginning to walk away.

Blue optics met brown. “Too much?” was what Connor could read off the other’s face.

Controlling the darkness between his own clothes and skin, he squeezed Nines’ shadow. “Not at all.” He felt it being drawn away.

Never too much…

Connor watched as they left. He sighed, wishing he could work alongside Nines today; not that he did not want to work with Hank, but ever since Nines had been taken, Connor did not want to let him out of his sight. It made him feel more on edge than he was already. He missed the other android already. His thoughts migrated from the work in front of him on the screen to the tall, handsome form of Nines that had just left and—Wait.

Handsome? Did I just…?

He shook his head as if to shake that thought away. Yes, Nines was handsome, and he was addressing that as a friend appreciating the physical appearance of their friend. That was normal…right? Right, it had to be.

Actually, who was he kidding? He calculated a high probability of him being in love with Nines.

With his thoughts on his successor, Connor thought about the events of the most recent months leading up to now. When he had first met Nines, the RK900 had been stoic, stuck as a machine, and new to everything. With the fall of CyberLife, the RK900 had no objective to do or task in his mind, but deviancy gave him choice, gave him autonomy over his own self. The look of wonder and curiosity Nines had shown in his optics when Connor freed him still would forever be etched into the inner frameworks of his memory slots. An icy blue that he had yet to see on any other android, if he had to think about it.

Nines had been awkward in the beginning—even though held some of that awkwardness still now—having trouble communicating with other and picking up on social cues. After some time, they had discovered that the RK900 had been given next to no social relations programs to help him integrate, and that he had been essentially floundering because of it. Connor took it upon himself to help Nines do his best to get used to others and communicate with them in a way that did not fall flat as the floor beneath their feet. It had taken some time, but Nines eventually got the hang of it and was now eighty-seven percent comfortable managing himself in most social situations.

Since finding him and being around him since December 2038, Connor could say with ease that Nines had carved a place into his life without even being aware of it. Without Connor being aware of it. He hated that it took Nines being almost stolen permanently from his life for Connor to realize that his successor meant so much to his life. Even thinking about Nines being gone forever…

A shudder passed through his frame. He did not want to think about that subject anymore.

Still, though, he was pleased that he could be of service to Nines and to be there to support him in his recovery. The appointment on Friday to discuss Nines’ arms felt like something shouldn’t have to do alone, so that was why Connor had tagged along with him. Nines had looked less stressed not being by himself, which had made something warm in Connor’s chest. The arms would not be ready for another two weeks, on December 12, so Nines was stuck with his one ‘Franken-Arm’, which he knew that the other android hated using.

“This biocomponent is not meant for me,” he had said simply. The glare he had been giving the arm attached to him had been rather impressive.

“Do not misunderstand me. I am grateful to even have an arm to use. It is just that,” and here his face had twitched into something that could have almost been a pout if not for the massive frustration underlying it, “this is not my body. It feels like I am using a thing cobbled together from other people…not something that is me.”

It had hurt Connor to hear Nines upset like that. To someone who may have not been as familiar with him, he would have sounded childish or as if he were complaining greatly. Flat-faced. To someone who knew him, well…Connor understood a thing or two about feeling one’s own body not feeling like their own.

A gust of phantom cold blew over him as the image of Amanda came to mind, displeasure clear in her countenance. He could almost feel snow rapidly collecting on his shoulders.

He shivered.  

“Connor!”

His body jolted in his chair when he heard his name being shouted. He blinked rapidly before turning to Hank. “I am sitting right here, Lieutenant. There is no need to shout.”

He watched as Hank lifted an annoyed brow and reached over to whack him twice on the head with his pen. The ‘ow’ he voiced was more perfunctory than an utterance of actual pain. The older man gave him a once-over before grumbling, “I called you like four times before. The hell has your brain working so hard that you didn’t hear me? Usually, all your fancy construction or whatever programs clock us noisy humans before we even get close.” His audio biocomponents were advanced to the point where he could hear Hank shuffling in the house quite a ways away, which he used to his advantage most of the time.

He did not want to talk about what had happened with his body autonomy and most certainly did not want to talk about how he was thinking of Nines almost nonstop these days. Spare myself some dignity, please. “Simply shuffling through some of the data pertaining to the case,” he lied smoothly.

“Uh-huh,” Hank said. He had his face schooled into an expression where Connor could not glean if he believed him or not. He had been hanging around Connor too long to know when to do that. It annoyed Connor to the utmost because this was not the first time. “Well, that’s great and all, but I’d rather you not blow a sprocket or something this early on. We gotta be even more careful now.” The ‘you have to be more careful now’ was unsaid but implied.

A flash of irritation made his fingers twitch, surprising him as it seemingly came from nowhere. However, just as quickly as it came did it pass. Hm.

Connor rose out of his chair, plucking the pen out of Hank’s hand. He began twirling it between his fingers to have something to casually idle with. Pulling out his coin would have been too obvious a giveaway, given how Hank knew well that he had a habit of doing so when he was nervous or anxious. “I cannot ‘blow a sprocket’ from overthinking as I do not possess any in my cranium. Do you need to take a refresher course in Android Aid 101, Lieutenant?”

“Cheeky little shit,” Hank said.

Connor allowed himself to smirk a little at that. He would need some humor to get him through the day. “Would you have me any other way? But, to continue, tell me about the lead we are following today. Forty-one-year-old homeless woman who saw quote ‘suspicious figures’ unquote. She was at the old, condemned school where the bodies had been found yesterday just the night before. Do you have any thoughts?”

“Just that it’s usually the down and out people like that who see and hear more than we can,” Hank said, pulling out his phone from his pocket. He looked through what had to be his notes app. “Her statement was that there were suspicious people, like you said, and that she thought they seemed dangerous. She scuttled off quick after that so the officer who took her statement didn’t get more from her. ‘S how it is, cops make people nervous like that sometimes. If we find her, we might be able to sit down with her and get some more info.”

“Agreed,” Connor nodded. Before they got too far from their desk, he did another loop around his fingers with the pen before tossing it over his shoulder without looking. Two seconds later and he heard the loud clatter of it landing back in the metal cup it lived in. He smirked at Hank, just to be a ‘little shit’, as the man liked to call him.

“Show off.”

“Jealous?”

“You wish.”

Hank despised getting old.

Like, full-on hated it.

No matter how many times Connor told him that he was ‘of optimal age for his stage in life and that he was only middle aged’ or whatever, his body reminded him he wasn’t a spring chicken anymore. His knees snapped, crackled, and popped whenever he got up from sitting down too long like Rice Krispies cereal, and his back pulled on something funny if he moved in certain directions too quickly. After sitting down at his desk for the past hour finishing up his findings for the case thus far and the work they had done today, he was only reminded that he really needed to look into getting a new office chair soon. And by soon, he meant yesterday. The bottom of his back hated this damn hard piece of plastic. Full on garbage. Only thing that made him feel better was that Jeff and Ben were up there in age, too, so they were in the same club he was.

And speaking of Ben…

Using the bangs of his hair to hide his eyes, he looked around to see if Connor was paying any attention to him. Thankfully, his partner was busy talking to Chris, who was delighted to show Connor recent pictures of his son.  Hank had to admit it, from the photos he had seen of the kid, he was one of the cuter ones. Tight dark curls and light brown eyes, Damien had melted Hank’s ancient heart from the moment he got to see him. Seeing Chris look so joyed in talking about his son reminded Hank of his own son. The ache would never go away, but it was not as bad in this moment. He did his best to think about Cole’s freckled rosy cheeks whenever he smiled that grin that had two teeth missing in the font and focus on the good memory of it.

With Connor distracted—thank you, Chris—he swiped through his phone until he pulled up the group chat he had not wanted to be a part of, but had been forced to join anyway.

Operation Helping Hand

Monday, November 28

 

1:55 PM—Hank: @Ben, share with the class what you told me yesterday. We need to start getting things together. If they don’t get together by Christmas, I’m going to throw myself out the window. I can’t take it with the pining anymore  

 

1:55 PM—Ben: I thought you would never ask

1:55 PM—Ben: Also, that better not be a literal thing, you’ve been doing well

 

1:55 PM—Hank: I’m not chasing the bottle anymore, damn. And thanks, I guess. Having Connor as a roommate keeps my mind off things. Like HIS damn love problems

 

1:56 PM—Mitchel: i’m sitting in my car waiting for the alerts this chat so I can see what we’re going to do. maybe I should keep popcorn in here

 

1:56 PM—Tina: *eye emoji*

1:56 PM—Tina: *eye emoji*

1:56 PM—Tina: *eye emoji*

1:56 PM—Tina: *eye emoji*

 

1:56 PM—Pam: *eye emoji*

 

1:57 PM—Mitchel: why use the eye emoji? don't u see these in ur head?

 

1:57 PM—Pam: Would you rather me send the baseline code that my central processor spits out that translate to letters of the human language?

 

1:58 PM—Ben: Felt that burn even from here *burning Elmo gif*

1:58 PM—Ben: But to get to the point, I have the perfect opportunity to get this plan rolling. I had two in mind. The 1^st can actually happen pretty soon. Have you guys heard about the new police dog puppies that will be coming in two days?

 

1:58 PM—Pam: NO, WHY DIDN’T ANYONE TELL ME????? *crying emoji*

 

1:59 PM—Mitchel: it completely slipped my mind that they would be coming in ahhh

 

1:59 PM—Tina: i think ik where ur going with this, ben

 

2:00 PM—Ben: We all know Connor loves dogs

 

2:00 PM—Hank: Understatement

 

2:01 PM—Ben: Yes, I know

2:01 PM—Ben: And Nines isn’t too far behind him in that respect. So what better way to get them together than with loads of puppies?

 

2:01 PM—Tina: and if a few of us go, we can make it seem like it’s a team thing. u know, so it doesn’t look like we’re trying to get them alone(ish)

“Hey, Con.”

“Yes?”

“Have you ever wanted to help train police dogs before?”

He grinned as he watched Connor blink rapidly—not from processing any documents, but just from surprise—and say, “Come again?”

Hank thumbed a message out of Connor’s field of view to the group chat:

2:02 PM—Hank: Got him

Published: 7/8/22

A/N: Thanks so much to SpookyGhostFlower for leaving a comment last chapter, and thanks to everyone who has left a kudo and Bookmarked so far! I read every comment, thank you so much

A/N 2: If you like me stuff, you can catch me over at Twitter @el_rey_ciervo

Chapter Text

Wednesday, November 30, 2039

Phase One: Puppies was starting today.

The people from the K-9 section of the precinct were glad to get some help with the whole group of puppies that they got. (Two of their usual trainers were out sick with the flu.) Twelve wriggly fur nuggets in total. Tina was so glad that she didn’t have to patrol today because she was about to die of happiness around all these cuties. Plus, she wanted to make sure that everything went according to plan! She was positive that, by the end of the day, Connor and Nines would have bonded so much over their love of animals that they would realize they were meant for each other and get together.

Connor and Nines knew nothing of the puppies today. Everyone made sure that it wasn’t brought up in the bullpen or the breakroom where either would have overheard, so it would be a surprise to the two men. Even the Captain was keeping mum.  And all the better. I swear the universe has it against those two. They need today.

She was in the break room with her morning coffee when she saw Hank turning the corner from the reception area. She was about to call out a greeting to him…

…That is until she saw something in the corner of her eye.

From one of the back entrances that led to the kennel areas, she saw one of the two handlers opening the door and begin to walk in carrying one large cage of puppies. And then she saw that behind Hank, Connor appeared. Shit, crap, shit, why is he early?!

She dove into her pocket in a panic to pull up the group chat.

Operation Helping Hand

Wednesday, November 30

 

9:29 AM—Tina: @Hank WHY THE HELL R U GUYS EARLY????

 

9:29 AM—Hank: Con insisted he come in to get some work done, I couldn’t stop him

 

9:30 AM—Pam: I’m sorry! I tried to act like there was a malfunction that wouldn’t let him in, but I panicked and couldn’t do anything!

 

9:30 AM—Tina: SOMEONE DO SOMETHING

Tina chucked her finished paper cup of coffee into the trash and practically soared out of her chair to stop Connor. Thankfully, the universe seemed to be doing a favor because just before she could even step foot into the bullpen, she saw Mitchel stroll up to Connor all casual and begin speaking to him.

“Hey, man! How are you doing today?”

She could see Connor take a step back in surprise at Mitchel’s suddenness. “Oh! Good morning, Mitchel. I am okay, thank you for asking.” The man looked the other over with question in his eyes. “Are…are you alright?” To his credit, it was a fair question. Mitchel had appeared in front of Connor more like some kind of shiny Pokémon rather than a regular person-pace.

Mitchel stretched an arm and gave him an easy smile. “Oh yeah, oh yeah! Just had too much caffeine this morning, you know? Got me jittery, haha!”

“Ah, yes. Nines often tells me that he has been trying—to no avail—to curb Detective Reed, ah, Gavin’s caffeine intake.”

Hank took the opportunity to slink away since Connor was distracted. Once he was out of Connor’s range of sight, he slid up next to Tina and fell into step next to her. He leaned over slightly to whisper, “I think he forgets that we all work in a police department and Connor’s is a top detective. He ain’t fooling anyone.”

“Not at all.”

“Oh, speaking of Nines,” anything with Nines would get his attention—Mitchel put an arm across Connor’s shoulders and began to steer him towards another part of the precinct, away from the bullpen, “I know there’s some gummies that he likes. Been wanting to do something nice for him since, you know. Can you tell me about them?”

“Of course, I can! That is quite considerate of you. I am sure he will greatly appreciate it.”

Tina was able to breathe out in relief when the two of them disappeared out of sight. With that, she turned her attention to the handler who was about to walk into the bullpen with the puppies. Crisis averted, thank Christ. Once she was in the bullpen, the excited yipping and yapping of young puppies filled the air. She worried for a second that Connor would hear them, but it seemed like Mitchel walked him quick and far enough away not to notice. Several people turned to the noise, and no matter how much of a drag their morning was going, the animals put a smile on their faces.

The handler set down the cage and stretched her back once she wrung out her arms. Her long blonde hair was pulled into a curled ponytail high on her head, trailing down her back. Wow, she’s very pretty—Oh, my God, Tina brain, not the time! “Phew! Love getting to work with these little stinkers, but carrying all of them here is a workout. Name’s Harley, and I was told there were going to be some people here to help me with them today?”

Hank reached out his hand and shook hers. “Lieutenant Hank Anderson, nice to meet you. “

“Same to you, Lieutenant!” Harley took back her hand to rest them on her hips. “You on puppy duty today?”

“Nah,” he nodded over to Tina while giving her a little shove forward—the woman was trying to hide her gay panic to the best of her ability. “This one here will be helping you along with a few others. I’m too old to be running around after puppies. I got one old Saint Bernard and he’s enough for me to handle already. Have fun, Chen.”

And with that, he left her alone with the cute blonde handler like an asshole! What the heck was she supposed to say now? Thank tapdancing Jesus she didn’t have to freak out internally for long because Harley turned her attention from Hank to her. “Chen’s you name?”

“Uh, ah y-yes!” she blurted out louder than she intended. Harley raised an eyebrow but otherwise didn’t comment on the volume. “But, you know, last name. I’m Tina, full name Tina Chen. And wow, that sounded a lot less James Bond-y in my head.”

Harley laughed—it made the light brown eyeshadow on her lids more apparent when her eyes crinkled as she laughed—and Tina tried not to die inside. Oh, how she wished she could be an android and, like, cancel her Embarrassment Program from running or something. “You’re funny, Tina. Glad I’m going to be working with you today. So, can you lead me to where we’re going to be working with these little guys? This bullpen is cool and all, but I don’t think people would appreciate puppies running underfoot, as cute as they are. More for the animals’ safety than the people.”

“That’s true, that’s true. Uhh, we have a large meeting room that we cleared out for today. Pushed all the tables and chairs to the sides for more room. That way with even the other person from K-9 coming, we should have enough room.”

“Lead the way then, Tina Chen.”

If Tina made it to the end of today without making an embarrassment of herself in front of Harley, she would count that as a successful day.

In the large meeting room that had already been cleared out, Tina, Ben, and Chris were at the ready to help Harley—and Rami, the other handler who had come in about five minutes after her—do whatever needed to be done. Mitchel would be arriving later since he was keeping Connor busy, and the only two missing were Gavin and Nines.

“Where do you want the scales, Rami?” Chris asked holding two animal weighing scales under each arm.

Said man’s dark, loose curls of his high ponytail bounced when he turned his head to gesture towards the corner by the window. The sun streaming through the window gave his dark skin a nice glow. “Just over there, thanks. We’re going to be putting those through a lot of work. Trying to get puppies to be still long enough to get an accurate read is a mission.”

Chris let out a sharp laugh, head tilted back. “Oh, I think I know the feeling,” he said as he set the scales down. When he stood back up, he continued, “I have a very young son. Getting him to sit still is like trying to hold flowing water.”

“Or getting Gavin to stop being an asshole,” Ben added.

“You’re so right.”

Tina snorted.

Harley turned to Tina. “Is this Gavin that bad?”

“Eh, he’s been getting better. Best to think of him as a feral cat who’s just starting to play well with other. Sometimes. When he wants to.”

And speaking of Mr. Asshole.

Operation Helping Hand

Wednesday, November 30

 

9:54 AM—Tina: @Gavin Ur late! Are you *trying* to make the plan fail???

9:54 AM—Tina: Also, y r u late? Nines is never late.

 

9:55 AM—Gavin: Shut up

9:55 AM—Gavin: 1 of the cats go sick. B there in 5

 

9:56 AM—Mitchel: Uhh might wanna hurry up. I ran out of questions about candy

 

9:57 AM—Gavin: ???

Tina pocketed her phone. “The other two guys’ll be here in a few.”

The cute puppy noises kept going.

“I did not expect this morning to start off this way,” Nines grumbled from his spot in the passenger seat. (He would have been crossing his arms if he had his other one.)

The two cats that they had usually did not give them too much trouble in terms of care. They were rather easygoing and managed their own selves quite well. Food, water, and play were all that the two men needed to give them. The furred lovelies took care of the rest. Unfortunately, today was the day that the fattest one ended up being sick. All over Nines’ favorite turtleneck.

He loved the cats, but rA9-dammit, his turtleneck.

Gavin tapped his fingers on the steering wheel as he waited to turn left. “Not like it was on purpose.”

“I liked that turtleneck, Gavin.”

“You have five more of the same one, tinman,” the human pointed out.

“That is not the point.”

“Potayto, potahto.”

Nines shook his head, then turned his attention out of the window. Yes, he had duplicates of that article of clothing, but it was his. Even nearly a year as a deviant, the android still had some hang-ups about a few things. He did not own many items—most things he used, he shared with Gavin—and the few that he did call his own, he was a little selfish about. He knew he would get over it, but right now he was…cranky. Was he pouting? There was no one here to say if he was; Gavin was focused on the road and the tilt of Nines’ head would make it hard to see his face.

“That LED of yours isn’t hidden.”

Nines straightened up, his hand shooting to cover his temple. He frowned at his partner.

“Will it make you feel better if I give you some money to buy another one?” They finally pulled into the parking lot of the precinct.

“Hmm. Perhaps.” The both of them got out of the car and headed towards the entrance. Here, Nines turned to Gavin and added, “As long as you also get me two sheets of copper so I can work on a new sculpture.” (1)

Gavin “A new—ugh, fine. Whatever.”

Nines smirked.

They both greeted Pamela when they walked in. She was always pleasant to talk to, but today she seemed…odd, would perhaps be the best way to describe her. Nines did not have to scan Pam to see that she was not acting her usual self. Her pace of talking was quicker, and she sounded nervous for some reason, her optics kept flicking between Gavin and himself and the way to get to their desks, and she her large smile was not one of joy, but rather anxiousness.

Nines might have had difficulties engaging with people—Thank you CyberLife for damning me with an abysmal social relations program—but he knew Pam. She was a friend, and he was better interacting with friends than strangers. “Are you…alright?” He sent a ping of concern-concern-question.

“Oh, me?” She laughed, looking away to check in a civilian. “Good morning. Yes, sir, someone will be here to help you momentarily. Just wait over there, thank you.” She turned back to Nines and Gavin. “Totally fine, totally fine! Just glad to start off a great week!”

He did not receive a ping in return. Hm.

He decided not to think too much about it. She did not seem like she was in danger, that something was wrong with her, or that she was being rude on purpose.  “Have a good morning, Pam.”

“Oh uh, bye, Nines!”

Once he was in the bullpen, he noticed that there was a visible lack of his usual coworker. He had noticed the Lieutenant’s car in the parking lot so neither he nor Connor would have left on business, yet neither were in the immediate vicinity. Officer Collins—Ben, he corrected himself—usually would be doing paperwork at this time of the morning before heading out. A quick scan of the bullpen showed that Tina’s, Chris’, and Mitchel’s personal items were still here, meaning they were still in the building. Perhaps he should not be thinking about it so much. They were humans, after all. Maybe they wanted something to eat or drink.

Additionally, there was no sense of urgency within the bullpen. Fowler was in his office, and if something were to have happened, he would have long since contacted Nines or Gavin already.

Where is Connor? He could not keep his thoughts from drifting to his predecessor.

Nines’ and Gavin’s desks were directly facing one another while also residing next to Connor’s and Hank’s desk. He could see the Lieutenant’s computer already booted up though with the screen locked. Cold coffee was sitting too close to his keyboard and some hastily scribbled notes had been shoved underneath it. On his way to his desk, he nudged the coffee farther away from the keyboard.

Connor’s desk, however, did not look to be touched at all. His terminal was not powered. The chair to his desk did not look to have been moved anytime recently, which was odd considering he was already at work.

He felt something flick the back of his head. He was not surprised who the culprit was when he turned around. “What in the hell has your gears turning so much, tinman? We just got to work,” Gavin said, crossing his arms.  

Connor.

“The day’s tasks,” he lied.

“Uh-huh, sure you are.”

“What purpose would I have in lying?” he asked coolly. He did not want to admit that his predecessor had been on his mind for…a long while now. The last thing he wanted was to deal with Gavin’s pestering this morning (plus the teasing that would follow if he admitted the truth to Gavin).

“I dunno,” Gavin threw his leather jacket on the back of his chair. “I have no idea why you do the shit you do half the time, and it this point, I just pin it to your weirdness.”

Nines rolled his optics. The desire to smack his partner upside the head with a shadow hand was immense. Not right now, Nines, not right now. “Thank you for such a praising statement, Detective.” Abysmal social relations or not, sarcasm was one of the few things he knew how to weaponize—thanks to the very person he was using it on now.

“Don’t mention it,” Gavin flipped him. “Now c’mon. we have shit to do today.”

“We always have ‘shit’ to do.”

“Mitchel,” Connor tried wearily.

Mitchel had been doing his best to distract Connor and keep him out of range from the puppies while the handlers got them into the room they would be using. It was rare that had had the opportunity to talk with Connor one on one (Mitchel was usually out on patrol and Connor had been super busy with that gruesome case), so not only was he distracting him, but he genuinely wanted to talk with the guy. Connor had saved his life after all. Ever since then, Mitchel had wanted to be a (closer) friend to him.

So, he ignored Connor with as much grace as he could without being rude and continued. “I’m just really interested on the stuff you guys can have, you know! Like, I know you guys drink thirium, but Nines has those thirium gummies, yeah?”

“…He does. They are his favorite.”

“Right! I guess my question is—other than how they could possibly make thirium into gummies—is, well, what is your favorite thirium food? I know most of what the other people around here like to eat and stuff, but nothing about you. Gavin likes anything that’s coffee flavored, the Lieutenant likes those bad chicken sandwiches from that one food place—I don’t remember what it’s called, though—while Chris likes the ones from the bar we go to after work sometimes, and Tina is a fiend for candy and for her mom’s shrimp fried rice. But, what do you like, Connor?”

He watched as Connor blinked at him in surprise. Wait…has no one ever asked him what his favorite food is? He’s been here for a little over a year now…Well, they couldn’t have that.

Connor’s LED spun yellow for a moment as he seemed to think about the question. Mitchel didn’t mind waiting, though. “I suppose…I suppose I greatly enjoy the dinner pastries that the restaurant several blocks from here sells.”

“Oh, dinner pastries?” Mitchel asked. That wasn’t what he expected to hear, but then again, there wasn’t much that he could have expected. “Are they sweets?”

Connor smiled. His LED cycled back to a calm blue. “Not like normal pastries are, from my understanding. Most pastries are sweet, which is more to Nines’ liking, but these are,” here he paused, looking to the side for a second, “ah, these are savory, I think would be the accurate word.”

Mitchel lifted an eyebrow, ever curious. “You think? Is tasting different with androids?” As soon as he said that he winced. “Ah! Sorry, sorry, I don’t mean to be rude. Was that offensive?”

The small chuckle that Connor let out relaxed Mitchel. “Not at all. I understand you are curious, and that is a natural way to be when met with someone with different experiences. I cannot speak for all androids, but with me, it is different. I mean, I am just a prototype.” Responding to his dip in emotions, the faint shadow that was naturally coming from his legs darkened and shivered, but it was a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it moment. “I was built with an entire chemical analysis lab in my mouth. Because of that, whatever taste I can have will be different from any other android.”

Mitchel frowned a little seeing Connor’s smile turn sad at the corners. The guy turned his head to look away to hide his LED, but because Connor was standing close to a wall. Mitchel was able to see the rapid gold reflecting off the wall. They way he said it—that he was just a prototype—made him think that there was a lot more to this. The way he said it made it seem that Connor did not think positively about himself as a prototype. He thought. Am I reading into it too much? He wasn’t sure, but, but Connor wasn’t just anything! He was a great guy, so it made Mitchel sad to see him like that.

“Hey,” he made sure he caught Connor’s gaze. “I don’t think you’re just anything. I don’t know much about what being a prototype has to do with anything but being different isn’t bad. Anything that’s different about you, like your oral lab thing like you said, make you, you.” He offered him a friendly smile and pat him on the shoulder.

Connor looked at him like that was the last thing he expected to hear. In a rare display of being completely flustered, he replied, “I..uh, w-well,” he cleared his throat and wrung his hands together, “that is, that is very kind of you to say. I appreciate you saying so, thank you.” His cheeks were colored a powder blue (rare to see when it wasn’t being cause by Nines.)

“Of course. You’re my friend, man. This is what friends do,” he patted him on the back again.

“You are a good one, then,” Connor replied.  “Thank you for being my friend.”

This kind of earnestness would be something that would give Gavin hives. Thankfully, Mitchel was not Gavin, so he took all of this in stride.  

“Thanks for answering my questions. I’m sure a human with a million questions wasn’t how you wanted to spend your morning, haha.”

This time, Connor let out a rather undignified snort. It was nice to see him relax enough to not be so concerned about the way he presented himself. “It was no problem at all. It was interesting to talk about all of this. Now, I think if we do not stop, we are going to continue with a ‘thank you’ cycle,” he giggled.

A quick check of group chat let him know that everything was in place.

“Yeah, let’s get back to work.”

“Right.” A pause. “Though, talking about the dinner pastries made me want some as of right now.”

“I have a free hour for lunch later. I can treat you.”

“…Really. Are you sure?”

“Yeah, man! And don’t thank me because we’ll be here all day.”

Mitchel enjoyed hearing Connor laugh.

“Oh goodness,” they heard Connor’s voice at the door.

They all turned to see him standing wide-eyed in the doorway, eyes flitting from them to the puppies, and then to Nines who had three squirming puppies in his lap. Nines had shown up with Gavin just five minutes prior to Connor showing up, so Tina guessed that it was good timing. She had to bring out her inner ninja skills to take a picture of Nines when he had first been dumped with the puppies into his lap. His blue eyes could have been described as starry and—this is what warmed Tina’s heart—he had a look of child-like wonder. It was precious.

She’d send Connor the photo once they got together.

Or maybe sooner. Maybe that would help them get together sooner.

“Hey, great timing!” Tina waved him over.

“I…I knew that the Lieutenant mentioned we would be aiding in training police canines, but I did not think it would be so soon,” Connor said as he kneeled down. As soon as he did so, a puppy came barreling towards him and landed right on his legs. The puppy’s little legs wiggled along with its butt as it tried to curl up in his lap. It was terribly cute.

“Well, hello, little one,” Connor smiled at the puppy and cupped its head in his hands. He squished its fuzzy cheeks and giggled a little. “Were you waiting for more people to cuddle with?”

Tina was going to get diabetes at this rate. Full on diabetes. She glanced at Nines who was looking at Connor with, again, those same starry eyes as he had the puppies earlier. Only this time, the three puppies in his lap could not pull his attention away from the guy he was clearly crushing on. Nines had better confess to Connor soon. That fifty I put on him better manifest itself into a confession. Not only for the money, but I’m getting tired of them dancing around each other.

“Well, hey there! I take it you’re the last one of the bunch that’s going to be helping us?” Harley asked. She was currently trying to wrangle one of the bigger puppies out of the carrier and onto a scale. A chunky boy. Unfortunately, the good boy wanted to get belly pats instead of sitting still.

Connor turned to her and then to Alphonso, the second handler, who gave him a wave before turning to his own puppy. “Ah yes, my name is Connor. It is a pleasure to meet you…” he trailed off.

“Name’s Harley.”

“I’m Alphonso, nice to meet you, man.”

Once greetings were exchanged, Harley and Alphonso started giving Connor, Nines, Chris, and herself instructions. Ben had left earlier to go out on a call to a domestic residence not too far from here. Chris was to help get the puppies to sit still enough to get their weight and Connor volunteered to get the lengths of them. Originally, Nines and Tina were going to help by taking notes, but it turned out that the puppies were much more difficult to handle than expected. They weren’t misbehaved! They just had so much energy, dear lord. Tina wished she could bottle all that energy—she would never have to drink coffee or energy drinks again.

“Alright guys!” Alphonso clapped to get their attention. “Now that we got all their weights and lengths—and boy did they grow a lot in the past month—it’s time to start the most basic of basic puppy training.”

“If anything happens to Bubby,” Nines said, dead-serious, as he brought the little bundle of wiggly fluff closer to his chest, “I will kill everyone except Connor and then myself.” (Bubby was bapping at his cheeks, making Nines’ glowing blue eyes blink, but it did nothing to mitigate the seriousness of his declaration.)

There was a collective round of ‘hey’ and ‘that’s rude’ and ‘of course Connor would be spared’, but even though most of them thought Nines was being completely serious, they didn’t take real offense.

Connor, sitting on the floor next to Nines, smiled sheepishly. “Thank you for not wanting to kill me, but perhaps we should lay off the murder of our friends, yes?”

Nines looked at him to consider it, then hummed. “Fine. But if I found out anything happens to Bubby—”

“We’ll make sure Bubby gets good care during his training,” Tina took the opportunity to cut in before the threat could escalate to something they wouldn’t be able to control.

“…I am holding you all to that.”

Sighs of relief came from everyone, including Tina herself. Nines was a great guy who cared a lot for the people he worked with, but his intensity was nothing to laugh at. If looks could kill, Tina was sure that a good chunk of Detroit would have been incinerated on the spot already. Global warming would be a joke compared to how hot Detroit would burn. Complete scorch marks on the ground and everything. (Like Kevin the mail guy. One run in with Mr. Terminator over here, and the guy never came back. Well, it had been more Connor than Nines that he had been afraid of, but that wasn’t the point. Kevin had been all weirdly close to Connor, which got to be pretty uncomfortable. The older man who replaced him, Steven, was really nice, though, so it wasn’t a problem. Steve brought them vegan cupcakes and android-safe versions sometimes.)

“Thank you all so much for your help,” Alphonso said. “Even though only a few of the puppies learned one or two commands, having more people gave each puppy more individual time. This saved us like two days!”

“Sure thing,” Chris said. He was currently holding a blond puppy who was sleeping in his arms. “This was also a nice break from the regular, boring ho-hum of our usual days.”

“Boring ho-hum to some people. If you’re not doing anything,” Connor grumbled under his breath, uncharacteristically pessimistic and a little ride. Tina blinked, thinking she heard wrong. But from the look on Chris’ face, who was the nearest to the guy, she heard it right.

It was then that she remembered the current case that the homicide detectives were working on and how the killer was specifically targeting Connor and winced. How Chris or herself could have forgotten about that so quickly made her feel guilty.

“A-Ah, sorry, Connor,” sheepish, Chris bumped his shoulder with his as his hands were occupied with a sleeping furry baby. “Didn’t mean it like that.”

All Connor responded with was a hum. It was unusual for him to be so…distanced? Cold? He just nodded to Chris and that was it.

Tina looked at Nines who made eye contact with her. She twitched her head towards Connor and raised a questioning eyebrow, to which Nines just shrugged his shoulders. He did have a furrow to his brows, which let Tina know that he was not sure what was going on with Connor’s drastic change of mood.

“Well, I guess it’s time to get these little guys home. Harley had to step out early to take care of some business, so I’ll be taking the first crate of the puppies.”

Nines loaded Bubby back into the first crate, reluctance prominent in his motions. “Are you sure you do not want one of us to carry the other crate? The weight of it is not problem for me.”

“That’s nice of you, but nah,” Alphonso chuckled. “It’s not the weight of it that concerns me. Trying to get six energy-laden puppies into the kennels and calmed down is hard enough. Trying to do that with twelve at once is a bit much, haha. They get excited when there are more people around. I’ll come back once I’m done with the first group, but thank you, though.”

Tina stretched, standing up, “Weeeeell, this has been fun and all, but I think we have to get back to work now. Glad we could help.” Once she was up, she pulled up Nines to his feet—who had still been kneeling after loading up Bubby—and helped Chris get the sleepy itty-bitty angel into the crate with its buddies.

“I will stay with the puppies while you take the first group,” Connor said quietly. What was making him seem so down spirited? He was fine just a couple of hours ago when he had first come in here.

“Good man, thanks.”

Gavin hated being the messenger. Did he look like a messenger boy?

He hadn’t been a part of the whole puppy training thing like Tina, Chris, and the two Tinmen had, so why was he about to go tell Connor about the dog handler? Tina would have done it, but as soon as she had gotten up to go talk to Connor, an elderly lady had requested assistance getting up some stairs into the DPD. Why the old lady didn’t take the elevator was beyond him, but it wasn’t his job to understand the minds of old people. (Probably why he didn’t understand Anderson.)

Well, only when he had to interview them, but that wasn’t applicable here.

He was close enough to the room they had cleared out that it would take less than a minute to get to Connor, so there was no point in sending a text. Plus, he needed to stretch his legs. Doing paperwork at his desk for the last few hours made his butt turn into paste and his back cry out for help. Eff aging, honestly.

When he opened the door to the room they had been using, he noticed two things. One, Connor was in an odd position—hands clutching the table, arms straight as they held him up, and shoulders hunched and head titled down as he was standing. Two, even with the lights on, there corners of the room seemed darker and the air heavier.

The hair on the back of Gavin’s neck and arms stood on end. Seeing Connor like that and feeling the atmosphere of the room put him on high alert. His hand hovered over his service weapon at his waist, eyes scanning around to see what was setting Connor on edge. Was there someone here that he couldn’t see from the doorway? Had Connor seen something at the window? After waiting a long two minutes, he decided that there was no immediate threat and loosened his stance. His hand drifted back down to his side. What the hell is making him like this?

“Yo, tinman,” he called out. “Gotta say goodbye to the fur nuggets.”

“Leave me be,” Connor hissed sharply. His shadow on the ground bubbled together before collecting at his feet. It didn’t move off the floor, though.

The puppies that were already in the carrier cage shivered while the one in Connor’s arm whimpered and looked up at him, raising a paw to his chest. The android swore. He gently returned the puppy to its friends in the cage before calming it with a pet to the head.

“Just because you’re mad the puppies are leaving doesn’t mean you get to act like an asshole to me. That’s my job,” Gavin said, giving him a strange look. “I was coming to let you know that Alphonso was going to be here in a few minutes. Tina would have, but she had to help a lady up the stairs.”

Connor turned his head, huffing a breath through his nose. He then took another, deeper one, and he could see him visibly trying to calm down. “You are right, Detective. My apologies. I am upset, though not about the puppies. It is work-related. If…If you will excuse me, I have a few matters to attend to.” And with that, the guy walked away faster than what could be considered normal towards the evidence room out of the room.

He didn’t say anything as he watched Connor depart. It was probably better that he was the only one in here because he knew that Connor, like Nines, hated not being put together in front of people. However, that being said, it was weird for him to be acting all snippy and on-edge like that. Especially around animals. Shitty cases will wear on a person, but the whole puppy thing was supposed to help. Calm to stressed that quick? The hell is wrong with him?

Choosing to focus on something more productive, Gavin brushed the encounter to the back of his head to finish loading the remaining two puppies (who were looking up at him from dozing on one of the chairs) into the large portable cage they had been brought in. He got a few wet licks to his hands as he fastened the door closed.

“Time to bring you back to your handler, little dudes. Sure you’ll be happier with him than in here with whatever the hell is making him act like something crawled up his ass.”

One of the puppies yipped.

“See? Exactly my point.”

Published: 8/1/22

A/N: Mitchel is the best guy. I never even planned to write that scene with him and Connor, but I’m glad my brain went with it. Honestly, one of my few experiences

A/N 2: As always, thank you so much to everyone who has bookmarked this fic and series and have left kudos! A special thanks to SpookyGhostFlower and Connork1000 for commenting on the last chapter. I love hearing what people think, so if you have time, leave a comment!

A/N 3: If you like my stuff, you can catch me over on Twitter @ el_rey_ciervo and on Tumblr @ elreyciervo!

Chapter Text

Friday, December 2, 2039

It was dark.

Connor was not sure why it was so dark in this building. He could see in the dark, but that ability seemed to be absent. Immense concern left a bitter taste in his mouth. There were windows and there was moon light and streetlamp lights filtering through the broken panes, but none seemed to lighten the darkness. He could just barely see ten feet in front of him. As he walked through the building—a warehouse?—he scanned the area as best he could. In the low light, the pitch-black shadows in every corner made the place seem immeasurable deep. Deep like he would sink into pools of ink if he touched them.

He attempted to fan out his shadows to these corners. High emphasis on ‘attempted.’ No matter how hard he tried, he could not manifest his Otherworldly abilities. He could feel his stress levels ticking upward by the second, so he did his best to calm the rapid whirring of his pump by doing a breathing exercise.

In slowly. Hold. Out slowly. Again, repeat.

It took him about three cycles to calm himself enough to become functional once again, but he did it. Once his stress levels were out of the danger zone, he continued throughout the warehouse. Staying in one place, especially an unknown place, could lead to a high-risk situation. He was working on several unknowns right now, and he would have rather push forward and find the exit than stay in one place and possibly have something happen to him. He was an officer of the law and a highly advanced prototype investigator and combat android. He was not stupid, after all.

“Hello?” he called out, cupping his hands around his mouth. “Can anyone hear me?”

He was only met with silence, heavy in its entirety.

Connor tried again, this time louder. “My name is Connor! I am with the Detroit police. If there is anyone here, please respond. I can offer any assistance if there if there is any to be needed.”

Again, silence.

He sighed. He knew his LED was spinning a rapid yellow with bits of red, but the dark of the warehouse seemed to swallow the light it would normally cast. He had to get out of here. Even though I have no idea where here is.

The farther he walked into the warehouse, the colder it got. No matter how hard he tried, he could not get warm. His internal temperature read within the standard range, but nothing felt standard about this chill—it was like it was coming from inside of him. His breaths puffed visibly from his mouth. A frustrated noise reverberated from his chest. “…I hate the cold,” he grumbled.

His chronometer on his HUD told him that he had been walking around for about ten minutes. However, Connor felt like it had been at least an hour. Time seemed to drag. The cold was grating on him, increasing his agitation as he ventured even further into the warehouse. How large is this place? This size of the inside should be physically impossible to be this large. His optics sought out any stimulus they could, and his head was on a swivel. Nothing felt right about this place, and if Connor had developed one thing since becoming a deviant, it was a “gut feeling,” as humans called it. He may have not used it often, but right now it was telling him that everything was wrong, wrong, wrong.

Suddenly, he heard a voice call out to him.

Started, he turned around trying to decipher who or what was calling out to him. It sounded familiar, yet not. “Hello?” He called out yet again.

“Connor.” The voice called out to him again. Why is it so familiar? Why is it so foreign?

“Hello? Please,” desperation starts to work its way through his chest. He could feel the beating of his pump in his audio processors and could feel the whir of his regular deep in his chest. “Please, where are you? Do you know me?”

“Connooooor. Come find me.”

He tried to follow the voice, practically straining his audio processors to pick up any sort of clue where the voice could be coming from. It sounded near but so far away. Whenever it spoke, it sounded like it was coming from everywhere and nowhere. It was disorientating. His speed picked up as he transitioned from a walk to a jog. Where are you, where are you?

It kept calling out to him, saying his name and telling him to come find it.

He began to run.

He needed to catch up to whoever this was. His senses stretched to their limits and his legs pumped under him, propelling him forward like the hunter he was meant to be. His arms cut through the air, his feet beat against the ground. It told him to find it; he needed to find it! Yet no matter how much he pushed himself, he could not find who the voice was. Panic spread through his thirium lines. It chilled him even more, making his thirium feel like liquidized ice.

“Where are you, Connor? Do you not want to find me?” It sounded so upset that it hurt Connor.

“I’m trying!” He heaved as he ran. Despite feeling chilled to his skeletal frame, his systems were beginning to overheat. “I’m trying!”

He ran and he ran until his foot snagged onto something. The air was pushed out of his lung components as he fell into a tumbling roll. His chest was tight. When he pulled himself up, he found himself panting still. He shoved his head in between his knees. He took in large gulps of air, trying to regulate his breathing and calm his fucking stress levels down before they ended up killing him. It took seemingly forever. His chronometer, however, assured him that it had only taken about five minutes for him to…well, calm was not the right word. More like out of the danger zone of self-destructing.

“Fuck…” A deep, exhausted breath rushed past his lips, and he raised his head to sit up properly.

And that was when he came face to face with a pair of glowing red eyes staring at him.

They stared at him, right through him, inside of him.

The voice called out his name again, this time encompassing all of the air around him. Louder, now that the eyes were close. It was a crooning thing, the voice was. “Connor…” It breathed his name, and the intimacy it laced into its voice made him shiver pleasantly, then a rebound of the opposite.

“Come closer, Connor. I missed you.”

It missed him? It knew him?

I’m sorry, he thought as he stood up, still staring. I did not mean to make you miss me so. I don’t want you to be lonely.

“I missed you. Come here, I missed you.”

He had to go closer. He could not leave the voice alone. Connor could not control his body as it tried to get closer to the red eyes, to the voice. The eyes shone like red stars in the dark, the words sounded sweet as honey, and Connor was the little moth who wanted more of each. I’m here, I’m here.

Suddenly, the eyes were right in front of his face, locking his optics with its gaze. It said his name again, and Connor was bewitched. His breath shook. He then felt a coldness unlike anything he had ever felt grasp at something deep inside of him. It clenched, the gentle grasp turning into a possessive grip.

He could not breath.

He could not breath.

“Let me come closer, Connor. Let me in.”

Connor broke stasis in panic.

He shot up from his bed with a hoarse scream ripping through his throat. He was freezing. He chest ached. He couldn’t breathe. Why couldn’t he breathe? Why was it so fucking freezing? His limbs felt bound by something. Was something attacking him? He had to get away, but he couldn’t run, he couldn’t getawayneededtogetaway—

He did not notice his door being wrenched open, nor did he hear the sharp cry of his name.  

He did notice, however, when he felt a presence next to him. They’re going to attack me. Need to defenddefenddefenddefend. He reached for the shadows inside of him to defend himself, but it felt like he was moving through tar. Like his shadows were black syrup struggling to respond.

“Connor! Hey, hey, hey, you gotta breathe.”

He…he knew that voice.

Where…?

“I’m right here. You’re okay, it’s okay. It was just a nightmare. Just focus on me, yeah? Focus on me.”

Who? Where was?

“Don’t tell me ya went and forgot this old man, huh. It’s Hank.” Oh, he had not realized he voiced is questions aloud. “You’re in your room in our house. You know, my formerly dumpster fire of a house that I used to live in before you came along and did your thing. You’re still in this janky place, in your room, in your bed. It’s night and it’s only me and Sumo in the house with you.”

Hank continued to talk to him about whatever came to mind. His voice was deep and rumbly, both from sleep and the deliberate soft tone he was taking. Listening to him talk was comforting because he could focus on the noise rather than the actual words. Same with Sumo, who had at some point jumped on the bed to lay next to Connor; he had not even noticed Sumo come…Eventually he registered Hank guiding him through a breathing exercise, already midway through it. The ache in his chest began to eventually die down. The freezing chill started to slowly melt out of him.

Connor shuddered through an exhale. His old injury was acting up from when he got shot. Even though he had been repaired, it still sometimes snuck up on him at the worst time. His optic kept blinking, a bad tic, and his jaw was clenched shut. All he could verbally express through his teeth was a questioning, muffled, “H-H-H-Hank?” Static filled the word in his clenched mouth. He winced, though, when he heard his own voice. Weak. Not only was his jaw not opening, but his voice box must have been damaged. How loud had he had been?

“Yeah, it’s me, Con,” Hank caught his optics and offered him a reassuring nod. “You with me?”

Physically, yes. Mentally, for the most part. Emotionally, he was in the upper atmosphere trying to ground himself back down to earth. He felt drained. Instead of trying to give another verbal answer, all Connor had the energy to do was to give a shrug and a head tilt.

Hank hummed. “That’s fair.” He blew out a breath of air and leaned back. He had been hunched over the bed, kneeling on the floor next to it. The puff of air moved some of the loose strands of gray hair away from his face. “Fuckin’ hell, you scared the shit out of me.”  

Sumo whined, shuffling his body closer to Connor. The large dog’s body was just a big bundle of warmth, and the weight of him on his side was something Connor did not mind. Broad enough not to set him off.

Taking a moment to study Hank, Connor felt incredibly guilty. The man looked dead tired. His hair was a mess, and his clothes were rumpled. He appeared to be the exact definition of someone who had shot out of bed unexpectedly. Damn, what time was it even? A quick check told him it was two in the morning and finding that out made him groan. Guilt began to way in his chest knowing that he woke up Hank at such a time—Hank needed his rest, especially with the stress of their job.

He brought up his knees close to him and rested his head on top of them. He wrapped his arm loosely around his legs. A few minutes of tense quiet passed, and it was after then that he tried to work his jaw of it the involuntary clench. Thankfully, it unlocked. “‘M, sorry for waking you up. I know you need sleep,” his voice was muffled being so close to the fabric of his blanket on his knees. It still sounded glitchy, pops of static lacing his words.

He heard Hank shift. “Sometimes that fancy expensive brain of yours can be really dumb. There’s nothing to apologize for. Shit happens to all of us.” There was a brief pause before he felt an unexpected touch to his shoulders.

The phantom of a cold, tight grip flashed through his body. He let out a pained noise and jerked his body away from the touch, then immediately felt awful for doing so.

“Aw fuck, sorry did I—?” Hank had immediately withdrawn his hand when Connor jerked back.

Connor turned his head to look at Hank but turned it away just as quickly. He felt a hot flash of shame heat his cheeks. What was wrong with him? Hank was not going to hurt him. “Sorry. Sorry,” he dragged his hand over his face, “I.. I did not mean to do that.” Sumo’s weight against him did not send him reeling like Hank’s touch had. When he felt Hank touch his shoulders, he felt like he was going to be gripped by a vice…from the inside. The feeling had passed now, but he still did not feel right.

“Nah, it’s okay,” Hank said as he moved to sit next to him on the bed. He was careful not to touch him again, and although Connor still felt bad making reacting to Hank like that, he was grateful. He did not think he could handle touch right now. His hands trembled, yet it was so minute that only an android would have been able to pick up the motion. He hid his hands under his blanket.

“Ya wanna talk about it?”

Connor shook his head, running his fingers through his hair. He could not sit still. The panic from when he woke up had not completely dissipated. After a moment, he said, “I…I don’t not even remember what it was about.”

“Damn, really?”

“Mhm. Just feelings. A lot of feelings.”

Hank hummed, sounding pensive. “You know,” Connor could tell that he was choosing his words carefully because there was some delay at the beginning, “you’ve been going through a lot recently—ah ah, lemme finish. This case, the killer targeting you specifically, Nines’ kidnapping and…you know, and the other stuff at work. Son, that’s a lot for anyone to go through. Shit like that…that doesn’t happen and then you never think about it again. It’s barely been a over week.”

Connor took in what Hank said quietly. He…supposed that was true. It had not, in fact, even been more than a week since Nines…since Nines.

[File: Lieutenant Hank Anderson—opened]

[Edit File: Hank is good at comforting after nightmares. Possibly speaks of past experience with Cole.]

[File: Hank Anderson—updated]

The quietness that hung in the room between them was like a blanket, warming what was previously cold. Tiredness made him less inclined to talk, but he still felt like he wanted to talk to Hank. “You know…you’re quite good at this,” his words were soft as they left his lips. Anything louder felt like it would damage whatever calm had been gained. He did not have to specify what ‘this’ was; they both knew.  

Hank made an absentminded sound, nodding his head slowly. “Thanks. I wouldn’t say I’m as great as you think, but…let’s just say I’ve had some practice throughout the years. Cole…Cole had a bad experience with a dentist, so he had nightmares about teeth and dentists for like, three months.”

It was times like this that Connor wished he could have met Cole. Everything he had heard about the little boy since knowing Hank let Connor know just how wonderful of a child he was. Bright, intelligent, curious, Hank had often said that Cole would have liked him. Connor thought words like those were the highest honor he could ever receive. “Although I have never experienced a dentist, I do not blame him. Even adults have a fear of visiting one.” There was some pain between his optics, so he used his fingers to try and rub it away.

Hank picked up on his weariness, so he got up and stretched. He winced, though, when his back popped loudly. “Get some rest, Con. No need staying up gossiping.”

“I will try my best,” he gave the man a grateful smile. For all of his gruffness at times, Hank was a good friend. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it. Night.”

“Good night, Hank. Sleep well.”

He did not renter stasis.  (Sumo did go to sleep, however.)

The morning came quicker than expected despite being awake as he laid in the bed. He watched the sun rise in the sky, slowly filling his room with the warm, golden pink glow of dawn. The birds began chirping around five-seventeen in the morning and the first cars start at five forty-five. He knew that Hank’s alarm would not off until half past six and that Sumo would start puttering around the house when he got up from next to Connor. He sighed. His optics felt heavy in his head. Even with the thick blanket he had wrapped around himself again, he still felt cold.

I might as well just get ready as I am already up. There is no point in wasting time just being in my bed like this.  

He forced himself out of bed, sluggish and tired. Sumo sleepily raised his head, but it seemed like the old boy did not want to start moving around the house and instead chose to fall right back to sleep. Must be a good life. He grabbed his clothes and headed to the bathroom to start getting ready for the day. He did not sweat like human, but that did not mean he could not appreciate a nice shower. It would give him a chance to disengage his synthskin and get into the intricate grooves and nooks between his chassis before Hank got up. He closed the door with a click behind him.

Once he was out of the room, though, he did not notice that a part of his shadow stayed behind, dark like oiled ink for a few moments. Very unlike the main part of his regular shadow. After a bit of time, the inky shadow that stayed followed, returning to Connor under the crack of the door as it slinked away.

No more of Connor’s shadows separated from him.

Not that he had noticed.

Going back to work was…tiring. He felt on edge.

It had been about two days since they helped train the puppies.

And two days since he was snippy with Chris.

Just thinking about it made Connor wince. He hated how he made Chris feel: guilty for saying a simple joke that had just bothered Connor in a way that he did not understand. But just because Connor had been in a certain mood did not mean that he had to make Chris feel uncomfortable. He was an adult android, for rA9’s sake! He knew he had to act like one.

But, hiding behind the vending machine with his back to the metal siding as he hid from Chris walking by, he thought, That is easier said than done. He probably wants nothing to do with me. No, no, no, come on Connor, think rationally. There is a low probability that he does not wish to see me or speak to me. I am an RK800, dammit, use the logic you are known for.

“Connor?”

He did not startle, but it was a close thing. He whipped around to see Nines looking at him in question, brow raised and head tilted. Connor opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out. At least, nothing than a long ‘uh.’

Nines stepped closer. If it were anyone else, Connor would have stepped away, freeing his back from the side of the vending machine and creating more space between them. But this was Nines, and he could never make Connor uncomfortable. Instead. He scooted to make more room for his successor, who in turn moved more into his space. This close, he could hear the slight whirring that would have been inaudible for human to hear coming from Nines’ baseline pace of his regulator. Connor was positive that Nines could hear his own regulator whirring as equally.

“Is everything alright?” Nines asked. His hip was resting against the wall. He made an aborted attempt to cross his arms, but slid his modified AP-700 arm into his pocket.

“Of course, it is,” Connor blinked his optics innocently. “Why would it not be?”

The look that Nines have him made him look anywhere but him for a moment. “Connor.”

Damn, why does he know me so well? “Nines,” he sighed, looking back at him.

Nines’ brows pinched with worry and his mouth dipped into a small frown. “Hey,” he said softly, “What is going on? You may be the one with the better social relations program, but I like to think I am capable enough to see when you are not yourself. And now, you are hiding behind a vending machine. Talk to me?” His blue optics, which people who did not know Nines would tell Connor that they looked so cold, radiated nothing but warm concern.

When he asked like that, how could he not give an answer? Thus, he relented. “I…I honestly do not know. I have just been…,” he paused for a moment, trying to find his words, “on edge? Then with Chris—I-I hate acting like that towards people.”

“If I may,” Nines said. He looked around to see other people walking around the precinct. Thankfully, he and Connor were positioned, it appeared that they were just having a normal conversation. “I was there. I heard what you said. However, even though it may have been…awkward, you did not mean it in malice, I believe.”

“I mean, no,” Connor trailed off, not quite knowing what to say. He shrugged.

Nines looked in the direction that he had seen Chris walk to. An inquisitive noise, a double-clicking sound, came from his voice box. “Then, why are you hiding? More specifically, why are you hiding from Chris? He is not going to hate you.”

You do not know that. “Logically, I know that. But…every time I want to go apologize to him, I feel like he would not want to hear it.”

“I am sure that is not the case.”

Connor did not say anything. He crossed his arms over his chest. How could he express to Nines that it was not just his snippiness with Chris over something small, but also his feelings of being on edge, of being confusedly irritated for the last few days, and being frustrated with everything that was going on with this case? How could—

Oh wait.

He could.

Connor uncrossed his arms. The cold he had been feeling had not gone away, so he had opted for his coziest cardigan in his closet when he had left the house today. A soft, cream-colored thing. His favorite. He outstretched an arm towards Nines, palm upward and fingers inviting.

Nines did not have to ask what he wanted. He knew. He always knew. He met Connor’s hand with his own, laying his palm on top of his. How Connor wanted to slot his fingers between his and grasp the other’s palm in his own. When their synthskins retracted, their chassis were exposed, a slight glow around the edges of the fading synthskin.

[Interface Request: RK800 313-248-317-87_Nines]

[Accept | Deny]

[Accept | Deny]

As soon as he let Nines in, he shared his concerns with the other. Shared recent memories of what he said to Chris, what he had seen while investigating the current case, his stress with the killer targeting him, his worries, and more. In turn, he felt Nines send care-concern-concern-worry-question flow through the interface.

He opened his optics to see Nines opening his own. Blue met brown and for 0.56 seconds, Connor felt nothing in the world other than him. And then the rest of the second passed and the surroundings of the DPD came back into focus. For a moment, he felt more exposed than he wanted to be. He was the first to pull his hand away.

(He filed the sensation of Nines’ larger palm against his own in his permanent memory banks. He wanted to feel it again.)

Connor sighed. “Do you understand?”

“I do,” Nines said gently. “And because I do, I know that Chris will not be upset with you. It will be okay, Eights.”

He felt a flutter in his pump when he heard Nines call him Eights. He always enjoyed hearing him call him that. “You know just what to say when I need it, don’t you?” The smile he gave to Nines was easier than the one he had tried to force himself to do in the mirror earlier.

Nines straightened his posture, looking endearingly pleased, before giving a light shrug. “What can I say? I was made after a great person. How could I not be in tune with what you need?” Although he said this without a stutter or pause, Connor could see shyness peeking through.

He thought back to the Halloween party, how freely and beautifully Nines’ laughter was; Thanksgiving where his kindness for others and joy in the people close to him was verbally stated; and more recently, seeing him covered in a pile of puppies, looking in absolute bliss as the small, cute animals relaxed any stress that he normally carried.

To think, he had almost lost this.

You do not know how special you are, Nines.

(How special you are to me.)

Published: 8/17/22

A/N:  Sorry not sorry? Had to add the angst, it’s what I do. This was originally part of a larger chapter, this part being the first combined with the next chapter, but it was waaaaaaay too long, and I thought it would be best to split it into separate chapter. That way, you guys could also get a sooner update

A/N 2: Thanks to all the kudos and bookmarks so far! And thanks a bunch to ace_of_asphodel for leaving a comment on the last chapter! If you can, guys, leave a comment and let me know your thoughts on this fic :D 
Stay safe, everyone 

Chapter Text

Friday, December 2, 2039

Gavin was sitting in his chair at his desk, legs kicked up at the corner of it. He had been taking a quick break to mess around on his phone when he saw Thing One and Thing two huddle together gossiping like schoolgirls. Weird robo interface and all. He didn’t know what they were talking about, but he knew it had to be something puh-retty important. He may not know everything about androids, but he did know interfaces were an important thing.  

He took a long drag of his coffee.

“Are you taking up coworker-watching, Gavin?”

Gavin turned to see Ben looking at him from his own desk. The older guy pointed to where Nines and Connor were and then back at him. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were getting kinda nosey,” Ben chuckled.

He scoffed. “Puh-lease. Not being nosey if I have money riding on those two. My $75 plus everything everyone else put in. Nines better ask Connor out soon.”

“Really want that money, huh?”

“Fuck yeah. Plus, I’m getting really annoyed watching them dance around each other like gay chickens.”

“Are they both gay?”

“Is that what you really got from that?” Gavin gave him a flat look but shook his head in appeasement. Ben paid his look no mind, just grinning like a mischievous cat. He’s probably been spending too much time with his nieces again. “I mean, maybe not both of them are gay. Like gay-adjacent or something. I dunno, what’s gender and preferences to gender to androids anyway?” This was beginning to feel like a whole philosophical conversation that he did not want to have right now—not because of the subject, but because he just didn’t have the mental brain power to start thinking heavily about sexuality and its relationship to gender and that relationship to people who were manufactured (and isn’t that just a peachy word to associate with a person’s creation) by other people.

Then again, I never really asked Nines what team he bats for…

He took a moment to glance back down at the file he had in hand. He had been scouring through all the photos that had been taken so far in the ongoing Crucifixion case, trying to see if he could find any sort of patterns they could use. The photos were ghastly, ugly to look at each time, but it was necessary. One of the photos did stand out to him after having looked at it for the past two days.

He must have seen this particular photo at least fifteen times, so he wasn’t sure if it was the tiredness or the desperation or a mix of the two, but today he noticed something he hadn’t before. In the photo, there was the most recent victims, hung clustered together on their crosses. The area had been sectioned off and flagged according to protocol, and he knew that the area had been searched and cleared of any evidence that could have been found. But in the corner of photo was an animal, a small dog that looked pretty scruffy. As much as Gavin liked animals, it wasn’t the dog that he was paying attention to, exactly, but what it had in its mouth. He couldn’t tell what it was exactly—it was sort of blurry from the movement—but the dog appeared to be trotting away from the immediate area as if it had been shooed from the crime scene.

“C’mon Thing Two! I got something I want to check out.”

“Yes, I will be right there,” he responded before saying his goodbyes to Thing One.

With a little bit of talking to Fowler, the man had been allowing Nines out in the field despite his injury. Originally, Nines had been on mandatory desk duty. But they had all soon realized that keeping one RK900 cooped up in the precinct was leading to more harm than good. In addition to concluding that Nines’ ‘complaints’ about needing to do something and keep busy weren’t actual complaints but factual statements, well...all Gavin could say was that there was a lot of shadows creeping and stretching around the place. In particular, one tethered shadow hound stretching along the walls that they had to keep batting away with files in order to keep it from going into the breakroom. (The image of them hitting the walls would have been utterly bizarre in any other context.) They didn’t need another trip to the hospital because of stress eating again.

The agreement for Nines being able to go out with Gavin was that he could only do so if there would be no conflict. Now, that was near impossible to guarantee given their line of work, but Nines did his best to adhere to the agreement. They had yet to be involved in any firefights or such, and Gavin would like to keep in that way until his partner was up to snuff again.

Shrugging his jacket on over his hoodie, he turned to Nines. “Ready for another day, you One Armed Wonder?”

Maybe he could say something to Nines in the car when they had a moment today…Say something that could get him to take that step to ask Connor out. Was that technically tampering with the Operation? Eh, not quite, but at this point, all of them just wanted the robo-boys to just get together already.

“You know, I may have one arm, but that does not mean I am incapable of throwing you through a window."

"Ehh, you love me too much for that.”

“Hm. That remains to be seen.”

Gavin snickered. “You’re just a softie.”

As they went down the elevator, Nines let out a deep sigh, looking to the lights above him as if he would get some kind of divine assistance. “Just tell me what you have found out. You are unusually energetic.”

“I’ll tell you on the way.”

“I do not see anything that we have not already taken into account, Detective,” Nines said. His footsteps crunched in the snow.

It had only taken them about fifteen minutes to get to the crime scene. It was in a far-off section in a rundown park. Needless to say, there weren’t any people around. The only differences between when they had found the victims and now were that there were no more crosses with bodies and no more blood and gore in the snow. Disgusting. Being here only further fueled him to find something that could be useful. They needed something solid—this had been going on for too long.

Gavin puffed a hot breath between his cupped hands, trying to warm them. He’d freaking forgotten his gloves in his desk. “Like I said in the car, I think that dog might have taken something from the scene. Could be nothing, could be something, but I wanna figure that out for myself.”

They had to be quick about it, though. The sun would be going down within the hour, the winter season sucking the sunlight away early in the evening.

Nines did not say anything, but he did give him a nod. He saw his LED change to a bright yellow—processing, not distressed—and he figured that his partner was running his preconstruction program thing. While he did that, Gavin stepped through the holographic police tape, careful of his steps lest he accidentally damage anything new that could be found. He neared the area where he knew the crosses had been. The snow had since covered up the deep holes where they had stood, but some quick digging allowed him to see them once more. “The bodies were hung here, so it would make sense that anything on their persons would have fallen here.” Including their blood and parts of their bodies…

“I am finding no new possibilities that could have happened. My preconstructions are the same as before,” Nines sounded as frustrated as Gavin felt.

“Run it again.” He looked up from his crouch to the android.

There was a short pause before Nines spoke again. “I feel like you have an idea because you are not foolish enough to do the same thing when you know the result will be the same.” A small smirk quirked his lips. “At least, I do not think you would be that stupid.”

Gavin rolled his eyes, already well versed into the nature of his ridiculous tinman of a partner. “Yeah, haha, real funny. Dumbass. I know you can factor in people, but what about animals?”

A pensive looked crossed Nines’ face. His blue eyes scanned the area. “It…depends. The patterns of animals are harder to predict. But…”

“But?” he prompted.

This time, Nines looked more driven. “But given the photograph you showed me, I think I may be able to factor in the dog and some natural wildlife. Weather, too, is something I need to factor in. Step away please. This will take me a little longer as I am working with less than what I want.

Gavin nodded and quickly moved to step next to Nines. He watched as Nines’ eyes flitted here and there as he tracked images and other things that only he could see. (Sometimes, Gavin was pretty jealous of that ability. It would make finding shit he’d misplaced so much easier. Like his damn wallet when Count Chocula wanted to use it as a toy and hid it somewhere.)

While Nines was doing that, he kept an eye out for that dog he had seen in the photo. It had been a black scruffy thing, so if appeared in the area, it should be easy to see with its black fur contrasting against the white snow. If an animal picked up something that originally came from people, it would have to have something on it that might make it think it was food. And that thought made Gavin come to a queasy conclusion: the only thing that made animals take something was food…and that food would have been meat.

He swallowed hard through a nauseous moment.  

His attention went back to Nines when he heard him make a weird double-clicking noise before a hum, a whole five minutes after he had started his preconstructions. “Got anything?”

“I think so. It has snowed since we cleared the bodies out of here, as you know. However, the human blood would have soaked through the ground. This would have attracted animals nearby, like the dog you pointed out in the photo. Despite this, people would have been around and would have sent the dog away. If the dog came back, it would have left DNA around the spots it licked.” He stepped closer to where the crosses had been. “If we can find the areas under the snow where there is still blood, I may be able to pick up DNA left by the dog. From the photo, it appeared to be a small beagle, so I can use beagle DNA as a control.”

Gavin held back a comment about Nines putting gross stuff in his mouth. “Huh. Well, we ain’t got nothing else to go off of.”

“You had started digging there,” he pointed to where Gavin had been. “Do you wish to continue there while I move a little farther out?”

“Sounds like a plan. Let’s get to it.”

They spent about thirty minutes swiping snow away trying to get to the ground. Any spots that Gavin found that were a dulled maroon against the deadened grass, he called Nines over to check. He could tell the android was getting irritated after each negative result.

It was just as they were about to call it for the day that Gavin found another spot. His cold, numbed fingers scraped across something hard which led him to try to get a better sight of whatever it was. Once the snow and ice bits were cleared away, he saw a chunk of wood about the width of his palm and the thickness of his pinky finger. It took some tugging to get it loose from the ground, but when he did, he let out a shout of victory. Clods of maroon were smeared into the grass, almost unnoticeable, but what was more noticeable was the same maroon on the underside of the board…along with something squishy and meaty that he didn’t want to think about. The appeared to be claw marks on the side that had first been presented to him. “Hey, c’mere!”

Nines got to his side with one large leaping step. (The man could have been an acrobat if he tried.) “Let me see. What do you have?” Even as he was asking this, he reached to take the wood piece in his own hand.   

“This was stuck in the ice. The claw marks—the dog was probably scratching at it to get to the, ugh, the blood under it. I think—Ew! Stop putting shit into your mouth,” Gavin scrunched up his nose in disgust. “That’s so fucking gross.”

“Would you rather me put it in your mouth?”

“Shut the hell up and tell me what you found.”

If Nines were more childish, he supposed that would have been the moment he would have stuck out his tongue at him with the old blood on it. He wasn’t frowning, so Gavin guessed that meant something good. “I did, in fact, find beagle DNA. An old one, male.” This time, he did have a slight frown when he added, more as an afterthought, “Poor thing. It is sad to think how long he has been out by himself considering his old age.”

Gavin knew Connor was the one who always said he liked dogs, but he sometimes forgot, with how affectionate Nines was with the cats, that he also had a soft spot for many animals. “Hey,” he said as he stood up and dusted off his pants, “think of it this way. When we find him—and when not if—we’ll take him to a shelter to get care? Get it out of the cold and get some warm food in him. Sound good?”

Nines gave him an appreciative look, also using his hand to clean off his pants. “Sounds good.”

“Thank fuck! Alright let’s get going.” And with that, they began searching for an old boy of a beagle. The sun was going down for the day, settling behind the horizon and turning the sky a pinkish orange. Dark purple and blue were rapidly following. He knew that Nines had night-vision, but Gavin did not. They’d have to be quick about it. About ten minutes in, he called out to Nines who was searching near some bushes about fifty feet away from him. “Hey! You think you can search a wider area with your shadows? It’s getting darker.”

The dark meant less light for Gavin but more darkness for Nines. A con and a boon. “Yes, I can, actually.” Even the distance that he was away, Gavin could tell by his body language that he was embarrassed. “I am…a little ashamed to say I did not think about that. I usually try not to use them if I need to be around animals as it may frighten them.”

“Well, we’re just looking. Once you spot him, then you can just withdraw, right?”

“Yes. Unfortunately, I am not adept enough with my shadows to completely disengage them from my body; my hounds must stay connected to me. But,” he smirked, “with the light quickly disappearing, that will bolster me enough to give my hounds a farther reach. It took me much practice the past few months to achieve that. Just let me…” His eyes glowed a strong cyan blue before his eyelids slipped over them, and even then, Gavin could still make out the faint glow.  

As Gavin stepped closer, he could see a look of focus resting on his face. Gavin looked around so see three deep shadows forming over the now blue-tinted snow, flat against the surface. They stretched away from Nines, shifting into hounds that soon bounded into the evening landscape. Come to think of it, as he watched them leave, this had to be the furthest he had ever seen them go still connected to Nines.

Two minutes and he tried to rub some heat into his hands.

Five minutes and all the pink had been sapped from the sky.

Seven minutes and the look of concentration grew even deeper on Nines’ face, brows furrowed and jaw tight. His LED slipped from a calm blue to a burning, cycling yellow. It sent Gavin’s nerves on edge.

Ten minutes, nothing.

Then finally, eleven minutes after searching, Nines’ glowing eyes snapped open. “I found him! Southeast from here, near the evergreen patch towards the other side of the park.”

“Good job, you overgrown tinman. Show me the way!” He clapped him on the back and they both started jogging, Nines leading and Gavin following right next to him. It was purely dark blue out and there were only about two working streetlights, so it was hard to see. He whipped out his phone to use the flashlight. Despite the limited amount of light, he was able to see three pairs of bright cyan quickly nearing Nines—the hounds were returning. Longer to send out than return, then. That, or Nines’ energy had been waning the more he stretched them out.

It did not take them long to get to the evergreen cluster, slowing pace when they got there. The tall evergreens were packed with snow which provided a clear patch of ground in a decent area under them. There were some dingy boxes trashed behind the few bushes that grew under the evergreens and there was a decently large bolder hiding at the back of the trees, still near the boxes and bushes.

Nines pointed to the mess. “One of my hounds sensed the beagle over there. They did not go near as not to scare him away. Gavin, do you have any snacks in your pocket? He might respond better if he smells food."

“Uhhh,” he started digging through all of his pockets. He didn’t think he did, but there was always—ah. “Hell yeah I do.” He had an opened half-eaten Slim Jim that he had started earlier in the day but forgot to finish.

They slowly approached the evergreens, making their way under the area that did not have snow. Gavin gently called out to the dog, holding out the jerky to the wind could bring the scent to him. They did not want to get too close in case they frightened it off. Nines bent down on his knees, making himself smaller. He worked his jaw and cleared his throat before opening his mouth. Gavin was about to ask him what they hell he was doing until he heard puppy noises pour out from his mouth. “What in the…” God, his partner was so freaking weird.

Before he knew it, a black beagle peeked out from the mess of boxes and bushes.

“Hello, little one,” Nines shifted his voice back to human speech. He held out his hand slowly for him to sniff.

At the same time, Gavin made sure the Slim Jim was visible for the dog to see. Once the beagle had licked Nines’ fingers, he turned to Gavin and cautiously sniffed it before gobbling it up quicker than anything. Gavin scratched behind the beagle’s ear. “Hey buddy, looks like you needed that, huh? The beagle trotted closer to Gavin and snuffled his middle. Gavin collected the dog up in his arms and halfway zipped his jacket closed to keep him warm. This was such a friendly, sweet beagle, but the poor thing was thin. “Don’t worry, we’ll make sure you get the care you need. Did you take something from our crime scene?”

The beagle tipped his head up and licked the underside of Gavin’s chin. Not much of a conclusive answer.

Nines made his way closer to where the beagle had been while Gavin had been fixing the dog in his jacket. He stood as close as he could get without having to bend down—he didn’t want to send the dog tumbling out, after all—and watched the blue of Nines’ LED grow fainter as he bent out of sight. “I hope you got something for us, buddy,” he looked down at the dog. “We have to catch the asshole doing this.”

After a minute, Nines called out to him. “I think I have something we can use!”

“Thank fuck!”

With snow and some dirt on his knees, Nines crawled out and came back to him. He had something curled to his chest in his one hand, no doubt to keep them from getting damaged. When he stopped next to Gavin, he opened his hand, resting part of his against his chest to allow them to be seen more easily without them falling. Nines’ LED blipped yellow-blue-yellow-yellow. Processing? “These were amongst some squirrel bones, an old pair of shorts, and some trash. Look at what’s on them.”

What was in his hand were three metal…things that Gavin had no idea what on earth they were. One was covered in dried blood, and the other two still had some flesh attached to them. Gross. They all looked chewed up, no doubt thanks to the little guy that was warming up in Gavin’s jacket. Using the Slim Jim wrapper to pick up the least dirty one, he turned it around to look at. It was hard to see, but Nines was able to angle the hand that was holding the metal things and cast some illumination from below on the one Gavin was holding. It was about the length and width of half a playing card, curved around the edges with a small pin-sized light on one side. The edges had old blood on them. Turning it around, he could see several long wires emerging from it, some of them also having blood on them. He grew sick when he realized these things had been inside people. Blood and other clotted human ick wouldn’t have been stuck to the long wires if they had not been inside a person. Whatever this was, it just felt utterly wrong.

“Nines…what the hell are these?” his voice was thick.

His partner met his gaze, and Gavin could see uneasiness in them perfectly clear in the darkness of the night. The glowing of them only heightened the unease. “I…I don’t know,” he said anxiously, a rare admission for a man who prided himself in planning for all possibilities. “I do not know.”

The ride back to the DPD was supposed to only take fifteen minutes.

What pissed him off was that he had been sitting in traffic for over ten minutes during rush hour; from where they were at, it would normally be another ten minutes, but with the traffic, it was looking to be at least a half hour. He hated other drivers. It was like people decided to forget everything they learned in driving school when the sun went down and the roads were slick with dirty slush. Honestly feels like some people went to SpongeBob driving school.

Since they were pretty much at a standstill, he glanced over at Nines who was sitting in the passenger seat. Although Gavin had been holding on to the beagle in the park, he had to hand him over to Nines so that he could drive. The android was now occupied with petting the good old boy in his lap, using his one hand to gently rub the top of the dog’s head. His LED was blue, but that did not mean everything was peachy with him. Maybe the beagle licking his fingers was helping to ease his nerves.

Or his cables, whatever.

He sighed. Even with their new discovery of those metal monstrosities (for that to go in someone—yeah, that counted as a monstrosity), it wasn’t all bad. Finding those things could finally give them some headway with the Crucifixion case. Any tips they had been investigating before had led them to dead ends and false leads. Now, though, if they could figure out whatever the hell these things were, they could connect them to the murders and the murders to an actual suspect, then further still. Thinking about that, it helped Gavin’s mood. A small, candlelight-sized flame of hope warmed his cold stress about the case.

They could do this; they could do this.

It felt like they got something accomplished after so long! Maybe Gavin would have a good ass celebratory mixed drink tonight when they got home.

And because he was feeling a little better, he decided to do what he does best.

Heckle his partner.

With love, of course.

“Soooo Niiines,” he started, drawing out the word with a little smirk on his face. Nines looked up but raised an eyebrow at his tone.

“What do you want?” he asked, voice as dry as sand. “Nothing good ever comes when you start with that.”

He snorted. He changed into the left lane as that one seemed to be going faster. Probably. “Now what makes you say that?”

Nines sent him a very unimpressed look. “Gavin.”

“Alright, alright,” he raised his hands. There was no point in worrying about having his hands off the wheel since they were going at a snail’s pace. “It ain’t nothing bad, I promise—”

“When you start like that…”

“Shut up, will you let me finish?”

Nines would have given him a motion to continue if his hand wasn’t occupied by the beagle, so instead he just dipped his head.

Taking that as a cue to speak, he said, “Well, I’ve been noticing how close you and Thing One have been, and the way you’ve been looking at him.”

He could tell that as soon as he said that, Nines was taken off guard. His head had snapped to attention from where he had glanced down at the beagle. His eyes were wide and his lips were pressed flat together. Although the dark of the night could hide details, the lights from the cars around them and the streetlights illuminated Nines’ pale face quickly coloring. “I—you—you don’t—”

Gavin wasn’t sure if he’d ever heard his partner stutter like that before. He didn’t want the guy uncomfortable. “Hey, listen,” he said more seriously, making sure he kept eye contact with him. “It’s nothing strange or anything that you have feelings for him. I know I can grate on Connor’s nerves sometimes and how much I rib you, but I’m not blind. I do, even from the blackest, deadest, most coffee-deprived part of my heart, in fact care about you. I’m an asshole, but I ain’t that much of an asshole.”

He wished he could have taken a picture just using his eyes like he knew androids could, because Nines’ face was priceless. He looked positively poleaxed. He was looking at him like he grew another head, which, was kind of insulting that Nines didn’t think he had the emotional capacity for this shit, but. Well. Gavin knew how he himself was. He’d be looking at himself the same way if he were in Nines’ shoes. “I…Thank you. I do not know what to say.”

The traffic was finally letting up, so Gavin was able to press on the gas a little more. “Don’t have to thank me for anything. If you like someone, you like someone. That’s a normal part of life. Isn’t the thing with androids now about experiencing what life has to offer?”

“Hm,” the appraising look that Nines sent him would have made him itch in any other situation if not for the fact that he did not seem upset. “You are surprisingly deep this evening, Detective.”

“What can I say? I’m just a deep kind of guy.”

A snort escaped Nines before he could cover it up. He shook his head a little, but the small upward quirk of his lips that eased his mouth let Gavin know that he was alright.  

For several minutes after that, the only sound between them in the car was the advertisements on the radio station, Gavin’s breathing, and happy snuffles from the beagle. He did not mind; it had been a long day. It was Nines who broke the silence after a while, mumbling something under his breath.  

“Did you say something?” he glanced over, but when he did, he noticed a soft, almost shy little smile softening Nines’ whole face. He blinked. He…he’d never seen the RK900, the Terminator of the DPD, look like that in the entirety of Gavin knowing him. It took him aback.

“I do. Like Connor, I mean,” Nines looked from the beagle to Gavin, that soft, gentle expression on his face never leaving. “I…I like him, a lot.” His confession seemed almost timid. Scared a bit, too. To be fair. Nines wasn’t even a full year old (he would be soon, though), and androids were new to the whole Life Experience shit.

“Yeah?” he asked, voice low and open.  

“Mhm.”

Gavin let a calm smile pass over his own face. “Wanna tell me about it?”

Nines looked surprised for only a moment, before melting to something happier. “Y-yes. Thank you.” He busied his hand in the beagle’s fur as he focused on the old dog. “I just…Connor makes me feel better. Whenever I am with him, he makes me feel…good, at ease. I do not have to worry about proper social interactions or if I am scaring anyone with my presence. With him, I can just be myself.”

Gavin hummed. His partner just hit the thing that the majority of people on the planet wanted to achieve: being able to be themselves freely with someone (or more than one someone). “I get that.”

“Truly?”

“I mean, yeah. Welcome to being a person. You want to be wanted and want to be yourself. Everyone feels like that.”

Nines was quiet for a moment as he took that in. “Some days I feel less human than others,” he admitted. “Like I am too different from everyone. Too frightening or cold. However, with Connor, I just do not worry about that. He makes me happy. He is,” here, he let out a quiet laugh, “he is witty and so kind. Kinder than I believe he should be, but that is something I would not want to change about him. His optics, when he looks at me, just make me feel like he sees me. They make me feel soft. I…I love him.”

When Nines said this, he sounded almost surprised with his admission. Gavin was equally surprised to hear him say it out loud. “I love him,” he said as if he were realizing it for the first time. Then, with an exhilarated voice, he repeated, “I love him!”

Gavin could not help but laugh. “Hell yeah you do!”

The mood was infectious in this shared space between them in the car. They had been going through so much bull over the last few months with the Crucifixion case, trawling through every possible lead and witness they could find. Discouraging would have been an understatement to describe how they had felt dealing with the case. Rising murders, little to go on.

“Hey, man, I’m happy for you.”

“Thank you—for listening and not making fun of me, I mean. I was, ah, worried that you would think I was ridiculous or something.”

That kind of made Gavin feel some type of way. “Like I said before, I’m an asshole but I ain’t that much of an asshole. I may give you shit and everything, but I am happy for you, Nines. If I made you feel like you can’t say who you like to me or would make you feel like a piece of shit just because you like someone, sorry. I’d never want you to feel that way.” His family had made him feel that way growing up for not being straight and the people he crushed on, and since then, he had vowed never to make someone feel that same way. Even his tinman of a partner.

Nines bumped his shoulder with his knuckles before the beagle could complain too much about the ceasing of scritches. “No, No. You have not made me feel as such. It’s just…”

“Your brain being a talkative piece of shit?”

A snort sounded from Nines. “Yes, I suppose that could be one way to put it. One of the downsides of being able to process exabytes of information in a second is that I think of possibilities upon possibilities that can happen.”

Gavin thought that made sense. “I mean, humans aren’t so different in that regard. We can’t process information like that since we don’t have supercomputer brains, but loud, intrusive thoughts aren’t anything new. Wanting to tell your brain to shut up, we’ve all been there.”

Nines made a noise that he was listening.

“Happy for you, Nines. But I’ve met my feelings quota for today, so let’s stuff it for now or I’m gonna throw up on you.”  

“…If you throw up on me, I am going to throw up on you right back. And you won’t like what comes out.”

“Yeah, right, I know you need that thirium stuff.”

“And I am sure you do not want that ‘thirium stuff’ all over your jacket, do you?”

“Tinman.”

“Meatsack.”

Operation Helping Hand

Friday, December 2

7:02 PM—Gavin: guess who confessed to me that he loves the other tinman?

7:02 PM—[several people are typing…]

Published: 9/15/22

A/N: *peeks up from hiding place* Did I make up for the angst with this little confession from Nines to Gavin? Also, did you guys like the beagle? I had trouble figuring out what a good continuation for the case would be, so it actually took some time to figure out the beagle. I don’t have a name yet, but I would love to hear any suggestions! Also, case stuff is not my strength, so thank you for sticking with me.

A/N 2: Thank you so much for all the kudos and bookmarks so far! And a special thanks to ace_of_asphodel and AndyIrisHoffnung for leaving comments last chapter!

A/N 3: If you like my stuff, check me out over on Twitter @ el_rey_ciervo and on Tumblr (trying to be more active there) @ elreyciervo

Chapter Text

Saturday, December 3, 2039

Hank needed a severe pay raise.

He probably should have gotten a pay decrease with how he had pulling himself along last year before he met Connor, but with everything that was going on now? Yeah, he wanted a fat raise.

The murders and shit he could deal with. Well, not deal with, per se—just part of the job he signed up for.

The gossip? He looked at his phone, scrolling through the chat group from last night:

Operation Helping Hand

  Friday, December 2

 

7:02 PM—Gavin: guess who confessed to me that he loves the other tinman?

 

7:03 PM—Ben: I saw you *just* a few hours ago, Gavin. What did you do?

 

7:03 PM—Pam: WHEN, HOW, WHAT

 

7:03 PM—Chris: You guys were only gone for like, half a day. How??

 

7:03 PM—Tina: if u don’t tell us rn, im disowning u @Gavin

7:03 PM—Tina: SPILL THE TEA

 

7:10 PM—Tina: @GAVIN I SWEAR

 

7:10 PM—Hank: Give him some time. He might be in the middle of something

 

7:11 PM—Tina: i don’t believe you

 

7:19 PM—Gavin: christ, T calm ur tits. i was driving

7:19 PM—Gavin: just talking in the car and shit

7:19 PM—Gavin: got stuck in traffic

 

7:20 PM—Pat: [heavybreathingcat.gif]

7:20 PM—Pat: to quote Tina, I don’t believe that’s all that happened!

7:20 PM—Pat: tell us, tell us, tell us, tell us

 

7:23 PM—Gavin: i should just not say anything *just* to annoy u

7:23 PM—Gavin: im not gonna tell all nines’ business

7:23 PM—Gavin: but he told me how he felt, so suck on that team connor

 

7:27 PM—Ben: Not on our watch

7:27 PM—Ben: @Hank get your ass in gear for us

 

7:28 PM—Hank: The hell are you calling me out for?

 

7:30 PM—Ben: He’s YOUR partner

 

7:42 PM—Mitchel: [surprisedpikachuface.gif]

7:42 PM—Mitchel: I just got home n THIS IS WHAT I MISSED???

Not enough for the gossip.

Christ, he was getting old.

He slid his gaze from his phone to look at Connor who was next to him. The guy was leaning over the table in the live evidence room, the light from the table lighting his face from below. It was rather unflattering, if he had to be honest, somehow showing how on edge the android was. His grip on the table was tight. His LED had been a solid yellow for five minutes now.

Neither were supposed to be working this morning, but Reed had texted him this morning to let him know he and Nines found something important last night related to the Crucifixion case. (Nines had done the same to Connor.) As soon as Hank had seen that, a small smidge of hope made itself known. A viable object of importance? Damn, anything that could help them would be happily welcomed at this point. It had been months of the murders happening and the killer being on the loose. So, Hank was curious and eager to see that Reed and Nines had found.

The objects of importance were in the forms of three metal contraptions on the evidence table. They were about the size of half a playing card and there were wires and shit coming from them. He could see a small light on each of them. What was disturbing was that there was old blood and bits of flesh still stuck to the metal things and the wires, which, what the fuck?

Where on earth did they find these things?

He knew that Connor felt the same way: eager and determined to make some headway on the case. But…Connor had not been quite himself for several days. Ever since he had scared Hank—which he doesn’t blame him at all—with that nightmare of his, Hank had been keeping a closer eye on him than usual. Connor would usually wake up from sleep—errr, stasis—earlier than Hank, but Hank noticed the android had been reluctant to enter stasis at night. From all the times that Connor said how important stasis was to androids, he found it odd that Connor didn’t want to get rest. Like he was a university student pulling an all-nighter. For multiple nights. Irritable, stressed, and anxious, the poor guy had been all over the place.

Sheesh, and Hank thought he was a mess on a bad day.

He watched Connor’s LED cycle and blip before turning back to a solid yellow. Connor straightened up and crossed his hands over his chest before turning to Hank. He noticed that the hands of Connor’s crossed arms were clutching onto his black sweater more than resting like they should have. “Nines just contacted me. They will be here within three minutes and fifty-two seconds.” The low rasp in his voice was more prominent today.

“Alright, good.” Hank leaned his back against the wall. “Waiting on those guys for the evidence they found. They should have been here already.”

Connor agreed with a silent nod.

The silence in the room was one that weighed against Hank’s skin like a heavy, wet blanket. Usually, his partner would be spouting facts and ideas about whatever evidence had been found, but he was the exact opposite today. Could Hank just be overthinking this? Possibly. Could Connor just be having a bad day? Maybe. But bad days did not tend to last more than one day, and Hank wasn’t a top detective and the youngest person to make Lieutenant for nothing.

Before Hank could say anything else, he heard footsteps coming down to the evidence room. Then the owner’s voice made itself known before the man. “Why was I just informed about this now?” Jeff groused as he stepped inside. “One would think that, as the Captain, I would get notification on any progress made with the biggest and most pressing case we have going on right now.”

“And good morning to you, too.”

“Don’t fuck with me, Hank.”

Jeff turned to Connor out of habit, expecting him to call out a greeting as he normally would in the morning. When he was met with silence, however, he looked at Hank in question but did not say anything.

All Hank could do was offer him a shrug.

“…Nines and Gavin will be here shortly,” Connor finally said to Jeff.

“Good.” If Jeff was going to question the way Connor was this morning, he didn’t say anything. He walked towards the table and started looking at the funky contraptions that looked like they belonged in a horror movie more than they did here. Upon seeing the blood and gross human bits, his lip curled in disgust as he shook his head. “The hell are these things? You have any info, Connor?”

The android shook his head, arms still crossed over his chest. “No, I do not. I have scanned these more than once and have found nothing that would help us. The only thing that I have learned is that they are handmade, which makes me think a person or specific group has a hand in this. If they were manufactured, I would presume a larger corporation. The reason behind their creation is nonetheless a mystery.”

“Just great.”

Hank made a disgruntled noise. “Yeah.”

A flash of blue-yellow-yellow at the side of Connor’s temple prefaced his announcement that the duo they were waiting on were here.

About twenty seconds later and said duo were present. Reed came walking in like he was two coffees and five hours of sleep short while Nines did not look happy. The former grunted something incomprehensible while Nines inclined his head to them. “Good morning.”

“Oh, it’s a morning alright,” Hank said.

Connor offered a quiet, “Morning,” and left it at that. Nines, similar to Jeff, blinked at that but did not comment.

“About time you two showed up,” Jeff said to Reed and Nines from his spot at the evidence table. Hank knew that the guy was in a high-stress situation. Hell, they all were. Murders going on all over the city, dead ends at every turn, and blood being spilt in both colors by an unknow murderer. He empathized with how he felt; he wanted all this over as soon as possible, too.

Reed walked over to the evidence table where Jeff and Connor were, then tapped a finger near one of the contraptions. “Found these things in the park over by a heap of boxes and bushes. A dog had taken it from the original crime scene, ‘s why some parts of them are gnawed on.”

“I came to the conclusion that these were specialized devices that were uniquely made,” Nines input, looking at the things. “I combed through every possible database that I am connected to and could not find anything like them.”

Connor nodded in agreement.

“Is that all we know?” Jeff asked.

Nines sighed something heavy. From the way he was standing and how familiar Hank was with him, he knew that he would be crossing his arms over his chest if he had his other arm. “Not much,” he admitted, sounding like it was the last thing he wanted to say.

“Other than those used to be attached to people and partially inside then, which, disgusting,” Reed curled his lip, “not much, yeah. The big money question is why these would have been stuck on people. Like, the hell were they even for?”

Million-dollar question for sure. When he turned to the evidence table, Hank took another look, lifting one up. Long wires with blood on them: somehow dug deep into the body. Bits of old human gore on them: the devices were taken off forcefully. Light on one side: status indicator, possibility of being connected to another device, remotely or not. Size of half a playing card: small enough to be hidden, but large enough to handle all that hardware they were connected to. “They look like they went deep inside a person, and flesh still on it makes me think these were forcefully removed. Could have been connected to a remote or something with the little light on the side. I’m not tech-savvy so that one is just a guess. Size makes me think it holds all the junk,” here he shook it a little, making the trailing wires wiggle, “inside.”

Jeff hummed. “Good points. I’ve never seen anything like these, and the thought of them existing makes uneasy. We don’t know the purpose of these, but having these inside people is disturbing.”

The sentiment was shared among all of them.

“I think,” Connor spoke up, turning all of their attention towards him, “that the size might have to do with the possibility of iteration…”

“What do you mean?” Jeff said.

They watched as Connor uncrossed his arms and walked around the evidence table, looking at the devices from all sides. “…The size of these align with how much hardware is attached to them. However, for something as…unique,” the tone as he said that was disgusted, “I hypothesize that these might not be the finished designs. If something is meant to be inside a person, it is supposed to be small, thin. Easy to remove and insert. These are not.”

Not the finished designs? There’s gonna be more of these in the future? These are already terrible to begin with! I can’t think of what the ‘better’ ones are supposed to be.

Given the grim looks on everyone’s faces, he surmised that he was not only one thinking this.

“A prototype, then?” Gavin frowned. He didn’t notice Connor’s flinch at the word ‘prototype,’ but Hank did.

He had thought Connor had gotten over being a prototype. I mean, his successor is standing right there. Something about it looks like it ain’t gonna leave him any time soon.

“Neither Connor nor I can work out the purpose of these. Although there are a few technicians employed with the DPD, I do not believe they would be able to understand it either. If these are mean to interact with humans, then would they not need to be studied by someone in the medical field as well?” Nines said.

Jeff was the one who answered. “I’m sure you RKs have the best systems known to man,” and here he did not sound condescending like some people would have, “but let’s give the technicians a chance. You never know. Though, you do bring up a fair point. We’ll get a med person to come out here to check them out once the techs get a chance.”

There was silence in the evidence room amongst the four men. No one knew quite what to say about this. This was the biggest and best clue they had found thus far pertaining to the Crucifixion case—the literal most important case they had open right now—since the whole thing started. And now they were stuck. No clue as to what the hell the things were, they had to wait to see what the techs thought about the devices. Which would eat up precious time that the killer was out and about, free to kill again and string up those poor people to die a slow death (the ones that hadn’t been killed outright, that is.

A tidal wave of fatigue washed over Hank. Weary, he said to Nines and Reed, “What the hell did you guys find…?”

The two exchanged a look.

“…We don’t know.”

Ben wasn’t stupid. Nor was he lazy.

He may not be as active for field work as some as his coworkers—and did more work in-house than he would have preferred—but stupid and lazy were just not parts of his life.

So, that meant when Hank, Connor, Gavin, Nines, and Jeff walked out of the evidence room like they had the worst party ever down there, Ben knew things weren’t looking good for their case. He wasn’t working that case, but everyone knew how crucial and important solving the Crucifixion case was. (Even the new mail person would comment that he hoped they bust the killer and solve the case soon. No one could give him details as he was a civilian, but the sentiment was appreciated.)

Hank and Gavin returned to their desks—or rather, Hank returned to his desk while Gavin grabbed his empty coffee mug from his desk and made a beeline towards the breakroom like a man on a mission. Looked like a certain someone did not have his coffee this morning. Ben couldn’t make too much fun. He had been in a similar situation two mornings ago when he had blearily made his way from his bedroom, down the stairs, and to his kitchen like a zombie with two left feet (and one of the feet having rotted into a stump).

Although he wasn’t trying to be nosey, he could not help but notice Connor and Nines hanging back near the stairwell to the evidence room. Neither looked happy, but Connor in particular looked like he was just not doing well today. Come to think of it, he’s been kind of off for a few days now. He looks stressed as anything, jeeze. Poor guy looked like he needed an immediate nap.

Seeing the both of them close together made Ben think back to the group chat from last night. The pure chaos. The furious typing from everyone all at once trying to figure out what Gavin had typed in there.

From an outsider’s point of view, it was probably hilarious.

Nines admitted he loved Connor to Gavin, huh? Finally, some progress! That $35 he had put on Nines was starting to look pretty good right about now.

“Morning, Ben.”

He swiveled around in his chair to see Chris walking towards him, a paper bag in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. He was used to seeing him dragging his feet a little bit in the mornings due to dealing with his energizer bunny of a young son, but today he seemed to be pretty upbeat.

“Hey, there!” Ben greeted him with a smile. He set aside the documents he was looking at to the side. “I’m surprised you don’t look like an extra off of The Walking Dead this morning.”

Chris laughed at that as he sat down to one of the shared terminals to do some work. He took a long sip of his drink—probably coffee—before saying, “Very funny, very funny. You saying I look like the dead every day or something?”

“I don’t know, do you?”

Chris took it in stride. That was one of the things that Ben liked about Chris: he was a rather easy-going guy who did not sweat the small stuff if he didn’t have to. That, and he had a good sense of humor to him. “Nah. I was just able to get some actual rest last night. Damien’s been real good about following a routine what with him getting older. Once we can wrangle him into a bath after dinnertime, my little dude knocks right out after story time.” A huge croissant was soon revealed from the paper bag, and he took an equally huge bite of it. “‘M takin’ any mo’ent o’ shleep tha’ I c’n,” he covered his mouth with a hand as he spoke while eating the croissant. (1)

No sense in arguing in that.

Even at his age, Ben liked to catch any extra sleep that he could. Cat naps were blessed. Did he sound old saying that? Probably. Did he care? Not in the slightest. His husband was the same way.

“Got a busy day ahead of you?” Ben asked.

“When isn’t a day busy?”

“Damn right.” Ben went back to the documents he was looking at before Chris walked in. Most of them were domestic complaints—kids having a party too loud after quiet hours, two spouses throwing each other’s stuff out windows, etc.—but even these had to be taken care of promptly. (Though the noise complaint about the kids having the party had been kind of moot. The party ended about twenty minutes after the complaint had been sent out and everything had been cleaned up. They were good kids, just loud.) Although less ‘excited’ compared to the other cases Hank or Gavin picked up, Ben preferred these. Sure, he sometimes helped out with the more violent cases—homicide, break-ins, assaults—but much less frequent these days.

The rhythmic tap-tap-tapping and the scratching of writing were most of what Ben heard for a while. The drone of the bullpen was so commonplace after so many years that it just faded to the background and was something he barely noticed. What he did notice, though, was Chris speaking up in an odd tone.

“Uh, heeey, Ben?”

He looked from his documents to see Chris staring in one direction to another part of the bullpen. Ben followed his gaze to see him looking at Connor, who was interfaced with his terminal with an, admittedly, intimidating look of concentration of his face. “Yeah?”

“Has, um,” Chris bit his lip for a moment before continuing, “has Connor been avoiding you, by any chance?" The hesitation in his voice was odd to hear, especially with Connor involved. From what Ben knew, Chris had a good working relationship with the android.

“No?” He paused to consider. Then, “He has been a little anti-social with everyone for the past two days since the puppies, but I haven’t noticed him outright avoiding me. I just thought the case he’s been working on has been stressing him out. Has…has he been avoiding you?”

Chris made a worried noise. “Every time I walk in, I see him disappearing from the corner of my eye. And when I try to go and talk to him, it’s almost like he disappears in the blink of an eye.” He played with the crunched-up croissant bag in his hands.

“Like,” Ben wriggled his hands like he was trying to scare a toddler, “Otherworldly disappear in the blink of an eye oooor?”

“No, like he just moves fast.”

Hm. Odd.

“I…think I kind of said something that might have made him mad,” Chris winced as he admitted hesitantly.

Ben blinked. Mad? Chris did not have a temper on him (unless protecting someone) and he was friends with Connor. So, what on earth could he have said? The questioning look on his face must have read plain as day, so he didn’t even have to ask.

“I said something like we needed something to make our ho-hum days less boring, which kind of implied he’s not really doing anything…despite him working his ass off on that Crucifixion case. It was when we were training the puppies. I wasn’t really thinking, you know? So I didn’t think that, ugh…you know.”

That…wasn’t as bad as he thought it was going to be. With the way Chris was acting, Ben thought that he told Connor off to his face or something like that. “It doesn’t sound like you really did anything wrong. We say some stuff on the fly that may fall flat, but I don’t think you made him mad like you think you did. Not saying the way he’s acting is normal, but that case he’s been working on is pretty stressful from what I’ve seen and heard. I don’t think it’s you, man.”

Chris slumped in his chair, whether in relief or exhaustion, it was hard to tell. The younger man took the crumpled-up croissant paper he had been playing with and flicked into the small trash can not too far from him. “You think so?” It did not miss his attention that there was a hopeful note in Chris’ voice. “I hate when there might be something that I did that affects the people I work with. Never sits right with me.”

Connor and Nines finished their conversation, but even from where he was sitting, Ben could tell both were still tense. With Connor’s position of his back turned to the desks and computers, he did not see Chris, which was probably best at the moment. The android would probably bolt if he saw Chris. But, oh, that might not be a problem. Nines walked towards the breakroom to go to Gavin, while Connor went back into the evidence room. Ben felt bad for the two of them, plus Hank and Gavin. The Crucifixion case had been stretching on for months now without any end in sight. He wasn’t working on it himself, but with a case like that, everyone starts to know something here and there. Plus, they were all given the order to keep on the lookout for anything that they thought could be useful to the two pairs working the case.  

“If you want my honest opinion, I think the two of you might just need to meet and talk. Even if it’s just for a few minutes. I’m feeling like there’s been a misunderstanding.”

The look on Chris’ face conveyed leagues of discomfort. “And if it’s not?”

“You’re smarter than that, Chris. It’ll be okay.” Ben got up front his chair and made his way over to Chris. Looking at him, he gave him a comforting pat on his shoulder. Before walking away to grab a drink, he said, “Just go talk to him.”

A heavy sigh. “If you say so.”

With his thoughts on Connor, Ben had some ideas in his head.

He’d need to go see Pam sometime today.

“I’m getting a little sick of them, Ben!”

He chuckled when he walked to their usual lunch spot out on the balcony. Ten thirty in the morning was early for lunch, but the spot was still nice. Cold for a human, but Ben didn’t mind it with his thick jacket. “Well, hello to you too, then.”

Pam turned around to look at him, irritation coloring the shadows of her face. Yellow shone at her temple for a moment before returning to a normal blue. Her cheeks were puffed before she blew out a heavy gust of air. “Sorry, sorry. It’s just, when you messaged me to meet you here, I was hoping to get a good news update.”

“Yeah…about that…”

She sighed, visibly calming herself. Her LED was back to yellow. “I shouldn’t be upset. I’m not really sick of them,” she said after a sigh. “I guess I’m just tired of seeing them miss out on time being together. Call me a romantic, but I can’t help it. Nines confessed to Gavin! Also, it bums me out to see how stressed they’ve both been. I mean, have you seen Nines recently?”

Oh, he sure has. Ben glanced at the door as if the android in question would walk in. “I have this morning. Actually, I saw both Connor and Nines.” There was a certain unease trickling through his fingers no matter how hard he tried to ignore the feeling. “I’m gonna be frank with you, Pam. They’re both looking like shit. I messaged you ‘cause I’m worried, you know?”

“Well, damn. Tell me how you really feel.” She tried to make light of the situation to ease the tension, but he could tell that she knew it too. Yellow shone at her temple once again “I mean, you’re not wrong.”

Nines was still off balance without his arm, figuratively more so than literally since he was quick to calibrate whatever the need arose. (Ben wasn’t quite sure what Nines had to do to compensate for that sort of thing physically.) He may have been looking steadier and back to his normal self, but stress affected the android just like it did humans. And it wasn’t only Nines that was feeling the stress recently. If Nines was not back at his ‘optimum’ self, then Connor was tanking through it. Poor guy had been weird the past couple of days.

“I talked to Chris before this.”

“Yeah?” Pam moved to the balcony.

“Mhm. He feels like Connor is mad at him or something. Plus, if you haven’t noticed, Connor’s been avoiding him, and I think he’s worried that Chris feels some type of way about him. Think about it. Have you known Connor to be truly angry at someone?”

There was that one guy he found abusing cats. Ben shuddered at the memory. That poor bastard. He got what was coming to him, though.

Pam was leaning against the wall of the balcony, looking down at the people below on the ground. “…You have a point.” He moved to be beside her and join in on the people-watching. They weren’t so high that people looked like ants like they would if he and Pam were in a skyscraper, but it was nice to be a few floors up. It made things feel calmer and quieter most of the time. He could see the usual vendor pulling up to stock the vending machines with soda once a month, the person who gave them digital magazines walking into the door to the lobby, and of course, the always loved hotdog guy, Joe.

Joe had been at that hotdog stand since, damn, since Ben had started working at this precinct. That must have been at least fifteen years by now. He was a nice guy, Joe, who was humble and hilarious to boot. Ben had struck up many a good conversation while getting snacks and some warm food when he didn’t feel like traveling for his lunch.

There was a strong gust of wind that caused a strong shiver to go through Ben. Maybe his thick jacket wasn’t enough. Pam, however, looked completely unfazed. “Jeeze, don’t you get cold?”

This prompted a laugh from Pam. He was glad to see her LED fade back to blue (and hopefully it would stay that way.) “Not in the way humans get cold. I feel that the temperature is cold, but it does not make me uncomfortable. I’m partial to it—that’s just me. I know a few androids who are partial to heat. It’s when the temperature really starts dropping that androids tend to run into problems.” She flicked a lose piece of stone the size of a penny of the ledge and they both watched it bounce of a car and startle a pigeon.

Problems? He squinted at her. “Problems as in something annoying or problems as in something that I should have known for a while now?”

“Ah, weeeeell. If we’re in prolonged cold below twenty-five degrees Fahrenheit, we start slowing down. Once it gets ten degrees or below, if we don’t get warmed up in time…uhh, we freeeeze to death?” She had the gall to look sheepish.

Ben pinned her with a look that was ten percent admonishing and ninety percent severe concern. “Pam! What the heck?!”

“I’m sorry! It never came up!” She covered her hands with her face. “When was I supposed to say, ‘Oh hey, here’s a fun fact. If I stand outside for too long if it’s ten or under, I’ll freeze to death?’”

“Christ, Pam, c’mere,” Ben shook his head and had her shuffle close to him. He dug into his large inner pocket to pull out an old scarf. The purple thing might have been as old as him, threadbare and worn, but it was plenty warm. “Here. You’re lucky it’s thirty-something out here right now. Keep that, by the way. I have more scarves at home.” He threaded it around her neck, careful of her hair, and made sure it was secure. Call him old-fashioned, but he wasn’t one to allow his friends to freeze while he could help it.

Pam was quiet for a while after he stepped back. When she didn’t say anything, he was afraid that he offended her, but when she buried her lower face into the scarf, he felt relieved. He watched her raise a well-manicured hand to the purple crocheted yarn. She smiled at him, saying in a soft voice, “Would you believe this is the first gift a human has ever given me?”

Wait a minute. “I’m sorry. I think I need to get my ears cleaned. I thought I just heard you say that a human has never given you a gift before.”

“…That…yeah, that’s right.”

“Oh,” the pained sound escaped him without him really noticing. His chest hurt. Pam was such a kind person, so he could not believe that no human had ever been nice or considerate enough to ever give her anything. It’s been over a year since androids had been freed for Pete’s sake! “C’mere,” he repeated, this time gentler than before. He pulled her into a side hug, feeling the coldness radiate from her.

A sniffle and a staticky clear of her throat. “Now, this has been fun and all,” she playfully shoved Ben away from her, who pretended to clutch his nonexistent pearl necklace, “so thanks. But, we’ve got some planning to do.”

Ben shook his head, mood lightening. “Yeah, yeah. Trust me, I know we definitely need to. Those guys are hopeless.”

“And miserable right now.”

“And miserable right now,” he agreed.

Looking back down over the ledge, the hustle of Detroit continued. He saw Joe handing a homeless guy a hotdog when he got an idea.

“Hey, so how well do you know Joe?”

“Joe the hotdog guy?”

“Yeah.”

Pam grinned. “Pretty well, if I do say so myself! When he got in some android-safe stuff, he made sure to call over all us androids in the precinct whenever he saw us for us to try what he had. Can’t say I’m a fan of the thirium-dog—”

“The what-dog?”

“Yes, I know. Not the best thing out there. But like I was saying, he had made sure each of us tried something because he was so excited to share his food with us. I gotta say, thirium cola has got to be my favorite. It’s so fizzy! Makes my sensors pop in weird ways, but I like it.”

That prompted a loud snort out of him.

“Why do you ask?” She crossed her arms on the ledge.

“You think good ol’ Joe will want to play matchmaker with us?”

If Ben were one of Pam’s enemies, he would have been worried about the rather devious—ha—grin that slowly spread across her face. “Oh, friend of mine, I like the way you think.”

Nines was walking with Connor to the food cart outside of the DPD to get something for their lunch. Neither of them wanted to travel far on their break today, so the food cart was rather convenient. The evidence that he and Gavin brought in last night had been reviewed this morning with Connor, Hank, and Captain Fowler. He, at first, had been in a positive mood as they finally had some tangible evidence that could move the case along. However, he then felt frustration because the evidence was making the case stall. They were not exactly sure what the devices were, and they had to wait for the technicians to look at them first then medical personnel afterwards to get close to an answer.

There was frustration that he felt towards himself about it. Whenever he could not solve something that he felt he should as an RK900, he felt like he was failing. Yes, he was a deviant, but it was hard to go against one’s own base programming; what made him himself at his core. He was the most advanced android CyberLife had produced. Top of the line everything: systems, processors, coding, etc. With all the databases he could access and all the programming CyberLife made him with, he felt like he should know what the devices were for! This was not the first time he felt this way, and, to his displeasure, he knew this would most likely not be the last.

He fiddled with a paperclip in his pocket, bending the metal.  

Failure did not sit well with him. Thinking about what would happen if he—if they—could not figure out the function and purpose of the devices, it sent a nauseous feeling through his stomach component. Trying to combat this, he took a deep breath, held in, then let it out. The cold of the winter air was refreshing. It gave him a moment of ease as he felt the cold air in his lung components and as he watched his exhale puff in the air. I must not focus so much on the what-if’s. It is the first day of the devices being looked at by the DPD, and not even a full day at that. I have to be patient. Be patient, Nines.

He looked at Connor who was beside him. Brown hair was tussled by the light wind and the cold triggered a lightest of a blue coloring on his cheeks and nose. It gave color to his otherwise pale face. Correction, it gave color to his face which had been paler than normal. His predecessor had been rather...distant recently. Not himself. Nines knew that he was not the only one to have noticed this, but had been paying close attention to Connor that may or may not have been on this side of ‘weird.’ Connor’s optics always looked tired as of late, the lenses of them repetitively dilating and narrowing like he was constantly tense, awaiting something to happen or something to analyze. The synthskin around them had been thinning, and when Nines would zoom in using the cameras in his optics, he could see some of the build lines creeping through his skin even across the room.

If he had noticed that from across the room, he was sure that their human friends must have noticed it when they spoke to Connor up close. He supposed it was kind of them not to mention it; Connor might be self-conscious about it.

Even his shadows felt different. It was not much of a difference, but it was something that Nines had noticed. Connor and himself had developed their powers at approximately the same time, around December or so of last year. Being Others aligned with shadow abilities, a rarity amongst Others, they felt connected in a way that was difficult to explain. Nines could always sense Connor’s power no matter where in the building he was. A signature of intent, complexity, ability, and emotion that made the power recognizable as Connor’s and no one else’s. Could their proximity to one another have to do with how Nines could sense Connor? Possibly. They spent much of their time with one another, not that Nines would want it any other way.

Recently, Nines sensed heavy unease in Connor’s power signature. An unease that had been growing since Connor had rescued him along with the other members of the DPD. He had not noticed it immediately as he had been undergoing repairs, but once out of repairs and stabilized, it had not escaped his attention that his signature had changed. Like a stone had been dropped in the pools of his shadows that was causing slow but strengthening ripples within. A change in the previous tranquility.

His own dark wanted to reach out and calm Connor, sink into him and pour ease and comfort into his lake.

And then there was the killer who was specifically targeting Connor. The killer who had been watching him and keeping an eye on his movements. It made Nines want to bite and tear the asshole to pieces with his fangs. Slowly. The people who kidnapped him implied they had wanted Connor, not Nines, not primarily. How could he keep Connor safe when he was down a proper arm? Just the thought of Connor being injured and…tortured (he pushed the memory files back, back, back in his processor before they could start to overwhelm him) frightened him. Terrified him, if he were to be truthful.  

Nines just wanted to take him, roll him up in a blanket, and make all his worries go away.

And keep him safe. Always keep him safe.

He thought back to the discussion he had with Gavin last night in his car as they were stuck in traffic, waiting to get the evidence back to the station. It still amazed him that Gavin had accepted him without any animosity, but when he thought about it, perhaps he had been worrying too much. His partner was a good man (no matter how much he liked to think or say otherwise). Like he had told Gavin, being with Connor always made him feel good, better during times where he was just capital-D Done with everything. Kind, witty, a mind sharp as a blade, Connor was…Connor was…

Connor just was. Nines could not find the right words to describe him. Amazing seemed too lackluster, inspiring (although true) sounded too much like the old motivational posters he found in one of the unused offices, and nice was quite subpar.

“You have been quiet the entire time thus far.” Connor’s voice pulled him from his thoughts.

Nines found Connor staring at him when he removed himself from his thoughts. There was a look of curiosity and a shadow of concern lurking beneath. “Just thinking about something.”

“Oh? Something important? It must have been to have you so preoccupied.”

Carefully choosing his words, he replied, “Along those lines. I do believe, though, that you have been in a similar situation the past few days. Something that is keeping you ‘so preoccupied.’”

Connor blanched before looking away. “I’m fine.”

He reached out and grabbed Connor’s hand. He was relieved when Connor did not pull away or snatch his hand back. With a gentleness he found easy only in his predecessor’s presence, he stopped and turned Connor around to face him. “I know that everything that has been going on has been wearing down on you. Please know that you do not have to do it alone, Connor. If,” he swallowed an excess of cleaning solution that had gathered in his mouth, “if you do not want to go to anyone else, please come to me. Please.”

“Nines…” Connor looked up at him, and oh, how it made Nines’ pump ache to see him so wan and weary. His brown optics looked at him with emotions he could not place. One he could, however, was confusion. Why confusion? “I…I’m not doing this on purpose. I have just been…tired recently. I want this case to be over with so people will stop becoming victims to whatever sick person is killing innocents. So sick of it.”

There was a heavy quiet between them for a few moments as they began walking down the sidewalk again, still hand in hand. (Neither paid much attention to the fact they were still holding hands.) They were close to Joe’s food cart as Nines could hear the man shouting what his discounts were for the day. “I know you are. I hear you. I want it to be over as well.” Here it felt natural to squeeze Connor’s hand, and the automatic one he received felt right. “It…it worries me, how this killer is after you specifically.”

Connor sighed. The space between his brows pinched together and Nines just wanted to rub the stress away. He had been looking exhausted more and more as the days went on, and that was not a look he was used to seeing on the man. “That only makes me want to solve this even sooner. I am the reason the killer keeps taking innocent lives—because they want me, for, for, for reasons I don’t know!” Built up frustration was released with a deep growl at the back of his voice box that sounded more like gears grinding together.

If they were inside, Nines would have felt the temperature drop, but it was cold enough outside not to notice. “You cannot blame yourself for this. It will—”

“You two there!”

Nines was cut off when they heard Joe call out. He sounded like he was talking to them, so just to be sure, Nines gestured his head to Connor and himself. (He had not realized that Connor had pointed a finger to himself and Nines, too.)

“Yes, you boys!” He smiled and waved them over. “C’mere, c’mere!”  

Nines shared a look with Connor who only shrugged and started walking towards Joe. When they got to his cart, he greeted him. “You seem very lively today. Did you need us for something?”

“I’m doing random freebies for couples today!” Joe grinned as he pushed little packs of candy into both of their hands. His salt and pepper mustache grew with his grin. “You should have told me you were dating. You two make a lovely couple, if I do say so myself!”

Wait.

What?

Nines felt his face flush. “Ah, I think you may—”

“That’s not, we’re not—” Connor met his attention and they exchanged wide-eyed, startled gazes.

“Don’t worry, I know some people are shy about being together in public, but I’ve been here years!” Joe looked incredibly proud of his tenure with his food cart. His grin was as bright as the silvery tinsel he had wrapped around the umbrella of his cart “I’ve seen people get together, break up, get engaged, and have families. I may be getting on there in years, but don’t count this old dog out, hah. Take the candy, yeah? I will be insulted if you don’t.”

Well, when he put it that way…

Nines cleared his throat and slipped the candy into his jacket pocket. They were not gummies, but jawbreakers were his second favorite type of candy. He liked the way they felt when they crunched against his sharp teeth. “Thank you, for your rather generous ‘freebie.’ I will enjoy mine later today.”

Connor mumbled something in thanks, then pulled Nines’ hand to speed walk away from the food cart.

Watching the scene take place from above in their favorite spot were Pam and Ben. They cheered and high-fived one another, big grins on their faces. Pam quickly snapped a photo of Nines and Connor holding hands walking down the street with her eyes and saved it.

Operation Helping Hand

Saturday, December 

 

1:32 PM—Ben: we’re making progress!

 

1:32 PM—Pam: [attached 120339_Them.jpg]

 

1:33 PM— [several people are typing…]

 

1:35 PM— [several people are typing…]

 

1:36 PM—Pam: oh boy, u all have me worried. Someone say something!

 

1:36 PM— [several people are typing…]

Published: 12/25/22 

A/N: If you like my stuff, check me out over on Twitter @ el_rey_ciervo and on Tumblr (trying to be more active there) @ elreyciervo