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The words have been written for forever, just above Gavin’s collarbone where the edge of a scar peeks out from under his shirt collar.
“Gavin.”
When people asked, he could say yeah, yeah, it’s just a tattoo he got for himself, because he’s a narcissistic asshole, yeah, his real soulmate tattoo is somewhere else-- “Like on my dick,” he’d said to the last person who asked, and they scoffed and walked away when he waggled his eyebrows.
“Gavin.”
His name. His own fucking name, is what he’d hear before he-- or the person supposed to be the love of his life-- died. Gavin can lie to himself that he doesn’t care, that it doesn’t affect him, but the quotation marks that stare back at him in the mirror say otherwise. He’s grown used to Reed, Detective, anything but Gavin. Only Tina calls him Gavin, Gav, but she has “goodnight” written across her arm and a girlfriend whose wrist spells out the same.
“It’s pointless,” Gavin had said once. “We’ll never know until one of us is dead, anyways, so what’s the fucking point?”
Tina’s eyebrows had creased together into a concerned frown and her voice was quiet as she said, “Gavin.”
He held his breath until she’d continued her sentence.
There had been one time, Gavin had gone down swinging, cursing around the bruises on his face and the knife tip digging into his abdomen. When the world went black, he’d heard, “Gavin,” at the side of his ear. He’d woken up screaming, his wrists bound behind the back of a chair and the metallic stench of blood heavy in the air and he’d-- he’d panicked, breaths coming fast and short and too little oxygen going into his lungs, his mind screaming what if what if what if what if until the ropes were cut from his wrists and Nines, perfect, beautiful Nines was in front of him and holding him and telling him to breathe.
“He said,” rasped Gavin, blood rushing in his ears. “He said--”
“You’re having a panic attack, Detective,” Nines had informed him, and pressed Gavin’s head against his chest. “We have a team after the suspect right now, you’re okay, just breathe.”
Nines was warm. Nines, who made Gavin’s chest tight with unspoken feelings, Nines, who called him “Detective Reed” and nothing else. Nines, who Gavin wasn’t even sure could have a soul.
“He said my name,” Gavin said against Nines’ chest, when his heart didn’t feel like it would burst.
“You were targeted. We don’t know why, but once we get a confession--”
“No,” Gavin said, pulling Nines closer to him. Pathetic. “My name.” And he’d pulled back the collar of his stained T-shirt, revealing the letters on his collarbone and Nines’ LED had flashed yellow.
“That’s highly unlikely,” Nines said after a long moment of silence and, hearing the words in his brain echoed from the android’s mouth, Gavin finally relaxed.
It’s not until the Cyberlife tower that Gavin really knows. Nines had been off, his movements stiffer and his eyes colder and he’d dismissed it as just urgency for the case, but now--
The barrel of the gun is cold against his temple, Nines-- the real Nines’ gray eyes widened in disbelief, in-- fear? It’s the most vulnerable Gavin’s ever seen him, hands raised as he steps away from the sleeping androids. Two months ago, Nines would have continued, would have done what he had to do but now, now he calls out, “Okay. Okay, let go of the detective.”
“Look at how pathetic you are,” Fake Nines-- the one with a gun to Gavin’s head-- sneers and Gavin sees Nines tense. He looks lost, indecisive, and before Gavin can think fuck it, he’s twisting out of the RK900’s grip and grappling for the gun. He’s sparred with Nines before, and every match had ended up in him on his back but maybe, maybe-- And suddenly Nines is intervening, pushing Gavin out of the way-- or is that the other Nines-- uppercutting his clone in the chest and everything is happening so fast. There’s a gunshot, and then one of them stumbles backwards, clutching at a hole bleeding blue in his chest. Gavin sees the fear in his eyes, the straight-backed posture of the RK900 with the gun, and Gavin knows. He knows, and he tackles the RK900-- whether to protect Nines or buy him time, Gavin doesn’t know.
There’s a millisecond, a moment of victory when the RK900 goes down, but Gavin had forgotten he has a gun, and his vision goes dark when the metal is thrust against the back of his head.
When he opens his eyes, Nines-- beautiful, feeling Nines, is on the ground, the RK900 looming over him.
“Nines!” Gavin shouts, because his ears are ringing and his limbs won’t move and it’s the only thing he can do. “Don’t fucking touch him, asshole!”
And then-- And then Nines’ eyes go wide and the RK900 turns its head towards Gavin and Nines is pulling on the edge of his own turtleneck, saying, “Gavin--”
And then the RK900 fires into Nines’ head, cold gaze fixed directly on Gavin. Nines’ eyes. Nines’ face. Nines’ hands. Nines’ words-- word, echoing in Gavin’s head, reverberating in his skull, Gavin. Gavin. Gavin.
“Surprised, Gavin?” the RK900 says. Not Nines. Not Nines. Not Nines.
“Androids with soulmates,” it muses. Walks over to Gavin, whose world is tunnel visioning into the limp figure of his Nines. The android shrugs off its jacket. Not Nines’ jacket. Pulls down on the black turtleneck-- Not Nines-- covering its neck and there, on the edge of its synthetic collarbone; Don’t fucking touch him, asshole. Gavin doesn’t realize his hands are shaking until the RK900 laughs. “He loved you, you know.” A cruel, cold smile. “That’s what killed him.”
“ You’re what killed him, you-- I’ll fucking kill you-- ” Gavin’s voice cracks on the last word. RK900 bends down and places cold metal in Gavin’s hand. “Shoot me if you want, it doesn’t matter. I’ve already completed my mission.” It smiles when it says, “Gavin,” and Gavin lets the gun clatter to the floor.
“Nines,” he says, a broken sob, RK900’s retreating footsteps the only audible sound in the room.