Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

For whatever reason, it had been a slow week for Richard.

It wasn’t a bad thing to have a slow week in his line of work. That meant the city was relatively at peace, and the crimes that did occur were petty and easily dealt with by any patrolling MXs in the area. At the very least, Kennex and his DRN were out of the station, doing god knows what. Richard didn’t think he could handle the lull in casework if they were hanging about being incredibly irritating.

Richard sighed deeply, twirling a stylus in circles on his desk to occupy his restless hands. His MX partner, 176, sat still as a statue nearby with the typical thousand-yard stare that all of its kind seemed to have when not engaged in any particular task. He was sorely tempted to fling the stylus at the synthetic to see what reaction it would garner.

So he did.

The MX turned to face its human partner, red lines of light dancing up the side of its cheek briefly as it assessed the state of the detectives vitals. Finding nothing amiss, it blinked.

“Sir?"

Boring. Richard sighed and slumped down into his chair.

“There has got to be something illegal happening in the city that we can stop. Please tell me that something illegal is happening, because I am bored out of my mind.”

The red lines of light appeared again, “There is a high probability of a domestic disturbance call originating from District 14.”

Richard perked up at that, sitting up in his chair, “That . . . is weirdly specific? How do you know?”

The MX turned in its seat to face the detective fully before it continued on, “I have been monitoring the sandwich shop that you frequent for lunch so that I may suggest the best time for you to arrive there for the most efficient service. There are two citizens that are currently engaging in what appears to be a rapidly escalating argument outside of the shop. Subjects are two males, Alec and Devlin Porter.”

Richard was already up and grabbing his jacket, “Well, it’s no bank robbery, but at this point I’ll take anything. Let’s go.”

--

On the drive to District 14, MX 176 informed him of the history of the suspects.

“Alec and Devlin Porter are currently separated and in the process of getting a divorce which was initiated by Devlin. There is a history of domestic disturbance calls from numerous neighbors, and Devlin is currently living in a home for domestic abuse survivors with his daughter, Amelia.” The MX paused in relaying the history of the two, “It appears that Devlin Porter is attempting to run from his ex-partner, who is showing signs of increasing aggression. Judging from the man’s past, it is highly probable that Alec Porter will assault his spouse.”

Richard clenched his teeth in anxiety. Of course, they were married. A few of the more terrible memories during the final stages of his divorce that suddenly floated to the surface of his mind - so many words shouted in anger, things were thrown, tears were shed, it was horrible - were forcefully shoved away.

Focus, Paul.

After a few calming breaths, he spoke again, his voice steady and calm, “Alright, we need to get there quickly, before that happens. What’s our ETA?”

“Five minutes and forty-seven seconds, sir.”

“A lot can happen in five minutes. Get us there faster, MX.”

“Recalculating route . . . New estimated time of arrival, 3 minutes, and 39 seconds.”

“Better.” Richard clenched his fists, anxious. “Call in an ambulance too, just in case.”

“Yes, sir.”

--

Whatever happened in those three minutes, it ended with Alec Porter fleeing the scene before the detective and synthetic arrived in front of a large brick building. The ambulance that was called in arrived just before they did (and Richard wondered how the hell they managed that) and was patching up the Good Samaritan that had intervened.

Devlin Porter was standing close by the ambulance amongst a crowd of people that stood protectively around him, out of the way of the medics, openly weeping and shaking underneath the orange shock blankets that one of the medics must have wrapped around him, with a little girl in his arms. Richard ordered his MX to put out an APB on Porter before he sent his MX to gather info on the condition of the Samaritan while he went to Devlin. The men and women that stood around the man parted reluctantly.

“Devlin Porter? I’m Detective Richard Paul. Are you hurt?” He asked, keeping his voice soft as he approached the distraught man.

He shook his head, “N-no. My name is King. Devlin King. Haven’t been able to change it back. . .” Devlin managed before he began sobbing loudly, hugging his daughter tightly to his chest.

Richard’s heart clenched at the sight. Questions could be asked later. He placed his hand on Devlin’s shoulder, giving it a comforting squeeze. When the man shuffled closer for the offered comfort, Richard smoothed his hand over his shoulder.

“I will have to ask you a few questions whenever you are ready. Do you have somewhere safe to stay in the meantime?”

Devlin could only nod, so an older, brunette woman from the crowd of onlookers stepped forward to speak for him, “There is no place safer than inside Mister Torres’s home,” she said, gesturing to the brick building that they all stood in front of, “we’ll take them inside, if that is alright with you Detective?”

He nodded, “Of course.”

Richard stepped back as the woman ushered the father and daughter back into the building. It was then that Richard noticed two androids amongst them, herding everyone else back inside the building - Richard only spotted them when the familiar blue lines of light trailed up their cheekbones. One was a DRN, same model as Dorian, which made him cringe internally. The other one, Richard wasn’t sure. It was a female model, and judging by the emotion on its face – maybe a repurposed sexbot? He was drawn from his observations by 176 returning to his side.

“Detective Paul, the medics have finished with Mister Torres. His injuries are primarily superficial with the only major wound being a four point four seven-inch laceration caused by a bullet grazing his left shoulder. Judging from the security footage, Mister Torres has had extensive training in self-defense and was able to disarm the suspect of his gun and fend Alec Porter off after he fired the first shot. I have confiscated Mister Porter’s gun for evidence.”

Richard looked over to the ambulance where the man sat, really taking him in for the first time. Mister Torres was young, probably younger than Richard himself. He had a mess of curly golden hair that fell over his eyes. The blond locks contrasted quite attractively with his sun-kissed skin.

The man looks like he should be on a fashion billboard, not the back of an ambulance, Richard thought to himself.

Most civilians would look a little shaken up, whether it was from fear or the rush of adrenaline. Arel Torres however, was calm and looked strangely sad underneath the bright orange shock blanket that was draped around his shoulders. His face held a few bruises and several small bandages covering some minor lacerations. He looked up at his partner.

“Good work 173. Wait here while I go speak to Torres.”

--

After having a brief word with one of the medics, who offered him two cups of coffee from their portable coffee maker, Richard finally approached Torres. The man was staring off into space, his eyes (amber in colour) held a deep sadness. Richard cleared his throat to gain his attention.

“Coffee, Mister Torres?”

The sound of his name broke the daze he was in, and Torres looked up at Richard. He gave the detective a soft smile before whispering his thanks. Richard passed him one of the coffees before taking a sip of his own.

“Can you tell me what happened?”

The man nodded, gaze falling to the coffee in his hands, “Of course, Detective. I’ll answer any questions you have to the best of my ability.”

When he looked back up, Richard could see that Torres had slipped into a mask of pure professionalism. Richard felt a wave of admiration for the man, and moved right into questioning him about the attack, the victim and the suspect, as well as his relationship with Devlin King (“I am his friend, sometimes his therapist, and today I suppose I am his bodyguard.”)

Torres was clear and concise, giving up all the information he could possibly need to issue an arrest on Alec Porter. Not that it wasn’t already easy enough with the clear security footage from the store across the street showing the attack on King, as well as the gun that was registered to Porter safely secured in his cruiser.

Richard had all he needed, save for King’s statement. But that could wait, for now.

“So, you run a home for survivors of domestic abuse by yourself?” Richard found himself making small talk to fill the sudden silence.

“Don’t forget the after-school program-” Torres shook his head, letting out a dry chuckle, “-and heavens no, not by myself. There are a few volunteers that help out with the children and I have Dante and Dahlia - my DRN friends - to help me as well. You may have seen them earlier with the others. We have an understanding that they worry about the others safety before they worry about mine.”

A female DRN model? Huh.

“That’s a very admirable occupation." Richard said, and he meant it. "Though, I have to say you seem almost calm about all this.”

Torres gave a short, mirthless laugh. It sounded wrong, coming from him. Richard frowned.

“I can assure you, detective, that my calm is an illusion.” Torres said, taking a sip of his coffee, and Richard saw that his hand holding the cup trembled slightly. “This is not the first time one of my charges was attacked after leaving the shelter, and it will not be the last. I hope, at least for Devlin and his daughter, that this will be the last they will hear of that bastard.”

Richard hoped the same, “Mister Torres, I will do everything that I can to make sure he stays in the cubes.”

Torres hummed, shaking off the shock blanket from his shoulders revealing a blood-stained vest and tie that he wore (an expensive looking one too). Richard took the opportunity to examine the injury for the first time. The left sleeve of his shirt had been cut away by the medics to get access to the gunshot wound on his shoulder. From the looks of it, they did a good job patching it up.

Richard stepped back when Torres went to stand up. The amber-eyed man rolled his shoulder with a wince and a soft grunt. Now that he was on his feet, Richard saw that the man was tall - maybe even taller than his MX. The detective surprisingly didn’t feel any shorter standing next to him, though; especially when Torres smiled brightly at him because, wow.

The way his face lit up? That was something else.

“I’m sure you will, Detective Paul. Thank you.”

--

It was several hours later that a patrolling MX caught Porter trying to flee the city. Richard felt the wonderful surge of satisfaction that he usually got when the bad guy got what was coming to them. When they met up with the MX that had detained Porter, 176 read him off his rights.

When Richard ended his day with a phone call to Devlin King to put his mind at ease, the soft thank you before the call disconnected made him remember all the reasons he became a detective.

Richard slept well that night, knowing that Devlin and Amelia King would be safe.

--

Chapter Text

When Richard woke up the next morning to his quiet bachelor apartment, he felt hopeful for the day. The drive into work was pleasant enough, even though he hit more stop signs than he would normally have the patience for. In spite of this, several of his favorite songs playing on the radio made up for the extra time spent in traffic. When he arrived at the station, he picked up 176 from its charging station and made his way to his desk. He stopped suddenly when he noticed a package on his desk.

“A courier delivered it just before you came in. Got a secret admirer, Richard?”

Richard turned and glared at the mischievous smirk on Valerie Stahl’s face, “Funny, Stahl.  I have no idea who that’s from. 176, scan that package.”

The MX gave a short nod and picked up the package, “Scanning . . . no explosives or hazardous materials detected. It appears to contain food and beverage products. Shall I list them for you, Detective?”

“No need.” Richard laughed, feeling a little embarrassed, “It must be a care package from my mother. I told her to stop sending stuff to the precinct.” Richard shook his head as he moved to open it.

“Actually sir, the package is from Arel Torres.”

Torres? Really?

He grabbed the package out of 176's hands and looked at the return address label. Sure enough, it was from him. The detective was now overwhelmingly curious and even more embarrassed. He began opening the package with his pocket knife.

“Arel Torres? Who is that?” Valerie asked as she sidled up closer, curiously eyeing the parcel in his hands.

“He was involved with a case I worked yesterday, domestic disturbance. The man runs an afterschool program for underprivileged children and a home for survivors of domestic abuse out in District 14.” As he continued to open the parcel, Richard didn’t notice that his admiration of the man was clear in his distraction, “One of his tenants was attacked by their ex-husband outside of the home. Arrested the bastard yesterday evening, so I guess he’s just grateful for that.”

“Ah, I see. Was he cute?”

“Valerie.”

“Richard.”

“I’m not answering that.”

Richard wasn’t sure what to expect when he finally opened the box. There was a thermos, and three dishes filled with food. One contained a nice little breakfast (bacon, eggs, and hashbrowns). The other two containers contained chocolate chip cookies. Many, many chocolate chip cookies.

“Wow, those look delicious,” Valerie said, envious, “Looks like he sent a message, too.”

There, nestled between two of the containers was a small cello sheet. Richard picked it up and waited for the message to show.

-

Detective Paul,

On behalf of Devlin and Amelia, I am sending you this to express their gratitude and mine for dealing with Mister Porter so quickly. I could offer them safety, but never true peace of mind with that man still on the streets.   Thank you for your assistance in freeing them from Porter’s dark presence and handling them with care, as they both have been through so much.

I hope that our paths cross again, Detective Paul - under happier circumstances, perhaps?

-Arel Torres

PS: I do hope you like the cookies.

-

Valerie cooed when she finished reading the message, “This is too adorable!”

Richard could feel his ears burning in embarrassment, “Shut up, Val.”

She rolled her eyes at him, “Are you going to at least write him back?” She asked, “I haven’t even met this man, but I can tell that he’s interested in seeing you again. And so are you.”

Richard scoffed.  Well, I wouldn’t mind talking to him again, but I’m certainly not giving you the satisfaction of that knowledge.

He looked back to the letter and read it over again. Nothing from the encounter yesterday indicated what Valerie was gathering (and implying) from the letter. Torres expressed that he wouldn’t mind if he came across the detective again, and that was that.

Nah, couldn’t be.

Richard placed the cello on his desk, opened the container with his breakfast and shoved a piece of bacon in his mouth, chewing thoughtfully. He grabbed the thermos next and unscrewed the cap; the smell of gourmet coffee wafted out. Arel Torres was a man with good taste in coffee.

He swallowed, and replied, “I’ll think about it.”

--

It was later in the morning when he brought up the case file on Porter and King in preparation for Devlin coming in to give his statement, that he thought about the note from Torres again. He looked around the office, making sure Valerie wasn’t anywhere nearby - she had a sense for dropping in when Richard least expected it - before opening up his personal email.

He stared blankly at the screen, then abruptly drummed his fingers across the keyboard, creating a long line of gibberish.

Very eloquent, Detective Paul. He deleted the gibberish and went back to staring at the blank screen.

Richard didn’t know what to say, glaring at the cursor as if it would start writing the letter for him if he glared long enough. Going the casual route felt weird and awkward, and trying to sound professional and distant just left a bad taste in his mouth. How do you talk to people again? Like a normal person? Richard sighed.

Maybe he’d try again when he got home.

“Detective Paul, Devlin King has arrived for his scheduled interview and is waiting in the lobby,” 176 announced suddenly, making Richard jump slightly.

“Ah, good. Great. Go escort him to room 4. I’ll be there shortly.”

--

Richard wasn’t normally one for dealing with the more emotional interviews. He knew that he often came off as rude and abrasive sometimes (Well, more like frequently, he admitted to himself) but it wouldn’t have felt right pawning King off onto Valerie or one of the other guys. So here he was, tissues at the ready, his MX waiting by the entrance private interview room.

Devlin King reminded him overwhelmingly of a very sad looking puppy. He shuffled into the room, shoulders drooping, dark hair a hopeless mess and brown eyes wide, watery and staring at him nervously.

King shifted his gaze to his hands resting on top of the table before mumbling, “Arel said I should start from the beginning.”

Richard nodded and offered him a what he hoped was a comforting smile, “That’s usually the best place to start. Take your time and whenever you’re ready I’ll begin the recording for the case file.”

King nodded, voice shaky when he replied moments later, “Gotta rip off that bandage. I - I’m ready now.”

Richard nodded to 176, who initiated the recording software that was built in the table and activated the privacy screen of the room, “State your name, for the record.”

“My name is Devlin Antonio King . . .”

--

Two hours later, Richard was exhausted and his heart felt heavy. After the emotionally charged interview, he sat with King until he was able to compose himself, then escorted him out to a waiting taxi. Captain Maldonado found him in the cafeteria much later, with his head in his hands and a lukewarm cup of coffee on the table in front of him, long forgotten.

“Hey,” she greeted as she took a seat beside him, her voice soft and full of empathy, “Rough interview, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Want to talk about it?”

“Nope.”

Maldonado placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, “Alright. I want you to take the rest of the day, Richard. It’s still pretty quiet around here.”

Part of him didn’t want to accept the offer, but he knew that he would be no use to anyone for the rest of the day. The small reminders of his own unhappy marriage and messy divorce, drained him like nothing else could.

“Yeah, okay.” Richard lifted his head to smile gratefully at her, “Thanks, Sandra.”

--

When Richard walked into his apartment, he threw off his jacket and flopped onto the couch in his living room. He felt no desire whatsoever to be in the cold and lifeless apartment; it was too quiet, too much room for his thoughts to spiral down into what-if’s. His hand creeped up to the necklace that he wore every day since the divorce papers were signed. He tried to clamp down on the thoughts that trailed off to ponder what his ex-wife was doing now, failing miserably. Where was she now? Was she still alive? Did she find someone else?

“Get a grip, Richard.” He growled at himself.

He rolled off the couch and wandered into his small kitchenette to find his bottle of ‘emergency’ alcohol to drown out his thoughts. Upon finding the empty bottle, the detective let loose a frustrated sigh.

“Of course it’s empty.”

Richard knew without a doubt that he wouldn’t be able to sleep tonight. It was always the same after cases like this, the reminder hitting too close to home, forcing the anxious thoughts that he usually managed to keep contained to the surface.

Wonder how Torres deals with it? Hearing and seeing stories like Devlin King every day?

“Oh. Right.”

He was supposed to send him a message.

“What are you gonna say Richard, ‘Hi, yes, thanks for the food? Just doing my job?’” He scoffed at himself.

He hated sending personal emails. Conversations were so much easier to navigate in person, and - wait, there’s an idea. Just go talk to him in person.

Before he chickened out and decided to write a terrible email anyway, Richard was out the door again and in his cruiser.

--

The drive to District 14 from his apartment was relatively short, but his typical luck with traffic lengthened the duration of the drive. Luckily though, the music on the radio was decent enough that he was able to relax and let some of the anxiety that had built up seep out of his body, like poison drawn from a wound.

When he finally pulled up in front of the huge brick building, Richard felt a little ridiculous. He wasn’t about to retreat back to his apartment, however, so he got out of his car, paid for his parking spot, walked over to the front door and pressed the buzzer.  Almost immediately, someone answered the door via a holo display. It was the female DRN - Dahlia.

“Detective Paul? Are you here to speak to Devlin again?” She asked.

Richard shook his head, “No, I’m actually here to speak to Mister Torres.”

The android’s face shifted into a sly grin as blue lights raced down her cheek, “The Boss sent you food, didn’t he?”

“Yeah, he did. Wanted to thank him in person, I guess.”

The holo-display flickered off and followed by a series of clicks, the door swung open. Dahlia stood there, grin still on her face and waved him inside. Richard was surprised that she didn’t inform her owner first, though he suspected that it was her intention to surprise the man.

“Follow me. The Boss is in the rec room supervising playtime with Dante.” the DRN said as she walked into the house.

Richard stepped into the house, shutting the door behind him and walking quickly to catch up to her. Glancing around, he took in the layout of the building. The walls of the short narrow hallway that led to the front entrance was covered in childrens drawings, both on paper and drawn onto the wall itself. It was a comforting and heartwarming sight. Most, if not all, of the drawings depicted a lovingly rendered version of ‘Mr. Torres’ and the DRNs. Richard paused several times on their journey to the rec room to take in even more drawings that were plastered along the walls.

The android waited for him patiently, an indulgent smile on her face. She led him through a large sitting room, full of plush chairs and book bags scattered haphazardly across the room and several overflowing bookshelves.

“How many kids come here?” Richard found himself asking suddenly. “What does the program do, exactly?”

Dahlia hummed, “It varies, depending on what they need. We have 14 children living here with their individual parents as they get back on their feet. Including those 14, there are 37 children that are currently participating in the afterschool program. There are also numerous homeless youth that drop in from time to time for a safe place to sleep, medical help or real food. Sometimes all three.”

She paused, turning to the detective, expression serious, “Arel tries to help whoever he can, however he can. The kids that come here, they come here to learn, to keep off the streets and find a way to do better than what their circumstances offer them.”

Richard was feeling a little awestruck. “That’s . . . pretty amazing. Where does he get the money for all this? It can’t be cheap housing all these people.”

“Well I could answer that, or you can wait to hear the answer from him yourself. They’re just through here.”

They had stopped in front of a large sliding door. The muffled shrieks of laughter from within, followed by an endless stream of chatter marked this as the rec room. Arel Torres was somewhere in there.

“Hope you don’t mind getting paint on your suit.”

“What?”

Dahlia slid the doors open, and Richard blinked as he was assaulted with an explosion of color and sound.  The ‘rec room’ was filled to the brim with children of varying ages, most of them absolutely covered in paint.  Dahlia strolled in, careless as rogue paint splattered on her white shirt.  Richard looked down at his clean suit and back into the chaotic room.

If I avoid the paint I’ll end up getting covered in it anyways.  Richard shrugged and stepped into the room, eyes darting around to take it all in.

“Detective Paul?  Hello!”

Out of the chaos, emerged Torres.  The bright smile on his bruised and paint covered face as he navigated around the children and their art projects surprised him, and he couldn’t help but stare.  The man was held up a few times by giggling children throwing paint at him (to which he replied with a warm chuckle) and a few of them wanting to show off their colorful creations.  When the man came to a stop in front of him, finally Richard returned the smile.

“Hello again, Mister Torres.”

The man glanced around to see if any of the children were close by, listening to their conversation.  Satisfied that there were no eavesdroppers, Torres looked back at the detective, leaning in close.  “Everything is going well with the case against Porter?”  Torres asked quietly, smile shifting to a worried frown.

“Everything’s fine.” Richard assured him, keeping his voice low, “Nothing short of a miracle will get that man out of a sentence.  Attempted murder, evading police capture, and Devlin’s confession will keep him in the cubes for a long time.”

“Ah, good.  Good.”  And the smile was back again - what, no don't smile like that - amber eyes wide and bright and stupidly pretty, “Did you get the package I had delivered to you?”

Oh my god.  Richard rubbed the back of his neck, burning in embarrassment, “Yeah, I did.  The cookies were delicious, thank you.”

Richard was pretty sure he was calm and collected on the outside, but his head was a tangled mess of embarrassment and anxiety.  This feels awkward.  Oh god, can he tell that this awkward?   Crap.

Torres damn near giggled and - oh my god, no, don’t do that - “I’m glad you liked them!  My mother taught me to always remember to be gracious to people that help you out.  I wasn’t sure what you would like, but chocolate chip cookies is usually a pretty safe bet.  The kids love them, too.”

Valerie, I swear to god you are never finding out about this.

“Yeah I bet they do.” Richard looked at the children, who were completely oblivious of their conversation now.  The two DRNs had gathered their attention to a large canvas and were encouraging them all to leave their mark on it.  The sight made Richard smile.  Torres followed his gaze and a fond smile made its way onto his face as well.

“Well, I’m sure Dante and Dahlia can handle the children for a while.  Would you like a cup of coffee Detective Paul?” Torres asked.

“That’d be great,” Richard replied.

The taller man gestured over at the DRNs.  Dante, catching whatever signal Torres sent him, nodded.  "Great!  Follow me, Detective."

In for a penny . . . "Please, call me Richard.  I am off duty, after all."

Torres paused mid-stride and turned back to the detective.  The next smile that he gave the detective was radiant, underneath the paint and bruises.  God, you are in so much trouble, Paul.  Torres held out his hand for a handshake, and Richard reached out to grasp it.

"Alright, Richard then.  Call me Arel."

--

Chapter Text

“Alright, so that all happened.”

Arel Torres was an interesting man (attractive too, but Richard wasn’t going to go there, even if he could at least admit it to himself).  Richard couldn’t help but be endlessly curious about him.  As he lay down on his bed after arriving back at his apartment an hour later, Richard went over their brief conversation that had been unfortunately interrupted by a squabble breaking out amongst the children.  Arel had offered his apologies, and Richard decided it would be best (for his sanity) to leave.  Arel had rushed off to resolve the situation and Dahlia had shown him to the door.

Even though the conversation was short, Richard had discovered much about the man.  One big factor being that he was wealthy, which the man had admitted with embarrassment.  Every single expense that the shelter incurred was paid by Torres.  He had explained it to the detective over a cup of the delicious coffee he had sent to him earlier in the day.

“My parents are the reason I am able to do all of this.  My wealth was never something that I earned, so I rarely spend it frivolously.” He said, fiddling with his mug of coffee.  “Unless it’s on clothes, haha.  I can’t seem to help myself when it comes to a well-tailored suit.”

The next thing that he learned was that Arel employed several people at the shelter.  The detective imagined that it would be impossible for one man to monitor all the in’s and out’s of an operation like this.  There was a small team of cooks to feed all of the residents, three different psychiatrists (two females and a male) that offered sessions to the adults and the children.   He even had a few lawyers that offered legal counsel to those that couldn’t afford a lawyer themselves.

Richard smiled and closed his eyes.  He was glad that there was still people like Arel Torres doing good work in this crime-ridden city.  He fell asleep with memories of the man’s laugh echoing in his mind.

--

After a few days things were back to normal, Richard had pushed all thoughts of Torres out of his mind (since it was unlikely that they would cross paths again anytime soon.  He arrived at the precinct early to pick up his MX for the day, intent on getting a head start on paperwork and the like before he was assigned to a case.  

176 was scheduled for some routine maintenance with Rudy, so he was assigned 302 for the morning shift.  There was no time to settle in at the office, as not long after that he was called out to investigate a shooting at a train station.  He took in the scene and what the other officers on the scene had already gathered from eyewitnesses. He then ordered 302 to do an analysis, and not long after that, Kennex and Dorian arrived.

Just great.

“Victim is Anton Cross.  Lived in Lakeshore heights, a single gunshot to the upper torso, large caliber round,” the DRN read off to his partner as they walked side by side to where Richard stood by the victim with 302.

Kennex glanced up at Richard, giving him a brief nod before glancing down to the body and around the scene.

“Whaddya got?”

--

He shot it.  

In the face.

Kennex shot 302 in the fucking face.  All because it wouldn’t shut up?

Un-fucking-believable!

Richard felt his blood boil.  He had just been ordered away by Captain Maldonado to go pick up another MX, with the promise that she would handle Kennex.  He knew what that meant, though; absolutely nothing.  Kennex would get nothing more than a scolding at (MAYBE a slap on the wrist if Maldonado was really pissed) from his long time friend.  If it were any other cop, they'd be suspended.  But no, not the special snowflake by the name of John Kennex.

Dickhead.

He took a deep breath, stamped down on the anger and frustration that burned in his chest, and walked into Lom’s workshop. Forcing himself to calm down so that he didn’t scare the skittish genius with some breathing exercises, he picked his way through the cluttered entrance to Rudy's work area.

“Rudy?” He called out when he heard the distracted mumbling of the man.

The detective found Rudy at his computer, completely oblivious to Richard’s approach.  He was going through code - 176’s code to be precise, as Richard noted his partner hooked up to the diagnostics machine - at such an alarming pace that it made the detective’s head spin.  When Lom still didn’t notice him standing there, he tapped him on the shoulder to grab his attention.

Rudy started slightly and spun around to face him.  “Detective Paul!  Hello!  What brings you by here so early?  176 isn’t quite done with his upgrade yet.”

Richard crossed his arms and let out a sigh, “Kennex shot 302 in the head.  Gonna need a replacement in the meantime.”

Rudy spluttered, indignant, and began a rant about how - MX’s aren’t exactly in infinite supply, what is that man thinking? - that was guaranteed to go on for quite some time.  Richard expertly redirected his attention back to his MX.

“How’s the upgrade going for 176?  He doing alright?”

The change in topic managed to distract him enough to calm the genius down, “Ah, uh, yes it’s going well.  He’s in better shape than most of the others that have been scheduled for upgrades.  So thank you for that.  Make my job easier!”

Yeah, because, for the most part, 176 hasn’t been around Kennex.  And I actually give a damn about the bot.

“176 is my partner,” Richard said.

And he meant it, too.  176 was the third MX assigned to him since it had become mandatory to have synthetic partners.  Even without emotions, this MX seemed to have a deeper understanding of Richard than the others of it's kind that he had worked with.  It was nothing like the connection one could experience with a human partner (or a DRN, for that matter) but it was something.  Richard always tried to appreciate the little things in life.

Speaking of DRN’s, though . . . he would probably know.

“Rudy,” Richard started, pausing in an attempt to sound casual, “You ever hear of there being a female line of DRNs?”

Rudy tilted his head to the side, confusion apparent.  “To my knowledge no, there was only ever a male line of DRNs created.  Why do you ask?”

“No reason.  Could you send 176 up when he’s finished?  Thanks!” Richard fled the room to ponder over that little revelation.

--

Sitting at his desk later, it was all Richard could think about as he munched away on one of the cookies that Arel had made for him.  It seemed strange.  He could only guess that the DRN Dahlia was modified from her original factory appearance.  The real question was why?  Was Torres trying to hide Dahlia in plain sight?  Richard couldn’t think of what possible ulterior motive the man would have for changing the DRN’s body.

“Uh . . . sir?”

Richard was brought out of his ponderings by a nervous looking, baby-faced rookie, shuffling by his desk.

“Yeah?”

“You have a visitor waiting in the lobby, uh, a Mister Torres?”

What.

“What?”

The rookie cleared his throat and repeated himself, “You have a visitor in the lobby. A, um, a Mister Torres.”

Richard’s mind went blank.

What.

--

Sure enough, there he was.

The man stood in the lobby, easily spotted on account of his height and the familiar golden brown, curly locks.  He was dressed up in a crisp, black three-piece suit and looked incredibly out of place in the bustle of the precinct; but Arel had a soft smile on his face as he took in the sights of the lobby.  A little girl stood placidly by his side, occasionally pointing things of interest that piqued her curiosity.

“Ah!  Good afternoon, Detective Paul!” he encouraged the suddenly shy little girl at his side, hiding behind her beautiful head of dark brown curls. “Say hello, Amelia.”

Right, Devlin’s daughter.

“Hello Mister Detective . . .” the shy mumble was almost lost in the noise of the precinct, but Richard caught it with a smile.

He crouched down to get more on her level and offered his hand out to her. “Hello there Amelia.”

She certainly shared her father’s looks.  Amelia swept her mane of hair away from her round face, revealing big brown eyes that seemed to stare right into Richard’s soul.  She offered a shy smile and reached out with her tiny little hand to grasp at Richard’s, only succeeding in grabbing his index and middle finger; her attempt was way too cute.

“Amelia wanted to meet the police officer that helped her father, and heard that I had errands to run in the area.” Richard looked up to Arel as he offered his explanation with an overly dramatic sigh, “ . . . long story short, what Miss Amelia wants, Miss Amelia gets.  She can be very persuasive.”

Richard had to laugh at the faux-pained expression on Torres’ face, “My cousin in Mexico has twin girls, about the same age I think, so I definitely understand that.”

Richard rose up out of his crouch, still looking up at the taller man.  The smile that Arel was sending his way was doing all sorts of ridiculous and unwanted things in his chest, and the very fact that he was here when Richard was just thinking that they would never cross paths again was making his heart race.  Some paranoid part of Richard wondered what exactly it was that Arel wanted from him.  And as they continued to stare thoughtfully at each other, there was some hopeful part of him . . .

“Do you like ice cream, Richard?” the amber eyed man asked, playful grin on his face.

Some hopeful part of him wanted exactly that.  Before Richard could answer, Amelia let out a squeal of delight.

"Ice cream?" the manic glee on her face was adorable, "Mister Torres knows the best place for ice cream, Mister Detective!  I want peanut butter and chocolate! Pleeeease!”

Torres let out a peal of laughter, and Richard let out a few chuckles himself before he could answer, “Well, I’d have to check with the Captain-”

The familiar sound of a throat clearing behind him, startled Richard.  Of course, there stood Sandra behind him, eyebrow raised and a ghost of a smile that promised an interrogation later.  Dread creeped down his spine at the thought of that conversation.

“I think the captain could spare you for a bit, Detective Paul.  Go take some time while you’re waiting for your MX to finish with Rudy.”

Was that an apology?  I think that was an apology.

“Alright.  Thanks, Captain.” He replied, feeling bewildered at his circumstances.

After she walked off with uncharacteristic smirk on her face that made that feeling of dread that much more apparent, Richard turned back to his two visitors.  Amelia was staring at a nearby MX as it discussed something with it’s human partner, and Arel was watching him with a curious look in his eyes that morphed into a smile.

“That sounded suspiciously like an apology to me.”

“It did, didn’t it?” Richard laughed, “Well, it’s been one of those days I guess.”

The man chuckled, “You should tell me about it over ice cream.  My treat!

"How can I say no to that?  Lead the way, Mister Torres."

--