Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Connor.  Stay here.”

Connor stopped, one foot on the lower step of the mansion’s covered porch, and stared at Hank’s broad back.  A few potted hanging plants swung in the light breeze; their dried leaves rustled loudly in the android’s audio-processors. 

A moth bounced into the bug light disguised as an antique lantern. 

A zap—a burnt smell, and the moth burst into charred pieces. 

“Lieutenant—

“I said, stay.”  Hank spoke without turning to face Connor; a thick puff of condensation wisped away into the slight nighttime breeze with each word.

“I don’t understand.”  Connor smoothed the front of his new shirt.  He’d torn his old one during a chase last week.  And he didn’t have any housekeeping software that included sewing.  He’d purchased a new one, but kept the old shirt hidden in a plastic bag under the couch. 

Hank finally turned from the open front door.  His face—framed by a sharply trimmed beard—was stern and there was no kindness in his blue eyes.  The weight he’d lost over the past few weeks had done away with the padding that had softened his firm jawline.  The rotating lights from the squad cars parked haphazardly along the street highlighted the sharp angles of his face. 

It was difficult for Connor to reconcile the identity of the man he’d first met in Jimmy’s Bar with the visual data.

Hank set a hand against Connor’s chest and gave the android a firm push, sending him stumbling off the lower step he’d been balanced on.  “Do not follow me.”

Connor re-established his balance with a rapid gyro recalibration.  He frowned at the bits of freshly cut and crunchy grass now sticking to his newly polished dress shoes.  He had just finished cleaning them from the last crime scene he’d visited.  He dismissed the concern and lifted his head to meet Hank’s stare with one of his own. “I was designed to investigate crimes—

“I don’t care.  I don’t want you coming in here.”  

Trying to ignore the anomalous cold that swept through his thirium lines, Connor decided that Hank couldn’t be serious and he mounted the steps again. 

Hank’s voice was harsh.  “Did you hear me?”

Heeding the unspoken warning, Connor stepped back again and crossed his arms.  “Yes.  But there’s nothing wrong with m—

Hank held up his index finger.  “Stay.”  He bent his finger to point at Connor.  Then he turned once again to enter the house.

Connor uncrossed his arms and started forward; Hank had changed his mind before.  Connor’s footsteps echoed against the faux decking. 

“Connor.”

Connor stopped. 

Hank turned around.  He gave Connor a suspicious glare. 

Connor blinked and stood perfectly still.  Staying.

“If you see Reed…tell him I said to stay out too.” 

“Okay.  If I see him—

“Don’t play words games with me.  You’re staying out here.  Don’t make me order someone to make sure you’re obeying.  We’re too short-staffed for that sh—t.  And remember to tell Reed.”

“He won’t lis—

Hank gave Connor a firm stare.  “You gonna stay?”

“Yes.”  Connor crossed his arms and stepped back.

“You gonna tell Reed?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”  Hank gave him one more ‘look’ and then disappeared inside.  Connor heard him barking orders at someone to ‘make sure they stay out.’

Connor tapped his fingers against his arms.  “Then why call everyone out?” he asked the wilted flowers dying in a box planter on top of the porch railing.  “If we aren’t allowed to help?” 

He knew it was a homicide case, but the identity of the victim and the details of the case were being withheld from anyone below the rank of lieutenant.  The house belonged to one of Detroit’s wealthy socialites and philanthropists—she’d worked closely with the Jericho androids after the revolution. 

But that didn’t mean the house owner was the victim.  She could be a perpetrator.  Connor leaned to try and catch a glimpse down the hallway he could see from where he stood.  From what he could see and scan, everything was like the decking, fake—from the Persian-style carpets to the wood paneling to the large Van Gogh reproductions lining the wall. 

There was an officer, Connor didn’t recognize him, guarding the hallway.  Connor started a scan, but the man waved at him and disrupted the scan.  Connor lifted his hand in acknowledgement. 

The officer responded with a ‘shooing’ motion. 

“The phck y’doin’ere?”

Connor set his mouth in a line.  He would be professional and calm. He turned as he spoke, “Not working obviously.”  His voice came out quick and cold as he confronted Gavin. 

One foot forward, Gavin had frozen mid-step.  He set his foremost foot down, slid it back, and held his position at the top of the porch steps.  A pause but not a retreat.  “Move.”  Unlike the other officers who’d chosen to wear their cold weather DPD jackets and gloves, Gavin still wore his hooded jacket and his hands were exposed to the rapidly chilling air.  He either didn’t know or didn’t care that his skin was blotchy red and purple from the cold.

“Lieutenant Anderson gave orders that you weren’t to enter.”

“That I’m not…”  Gavin paused for a second.  “What?…Get the hell outta the way.”  He attempted to shoulder Connor aside, but Connor stepped directly into his path.  Their shoulders collided and Gavin jerked backward. 

Connor ignored the low body temperature readings he’d picked up from the brief contact.  He couldn’t even get Gavin to listen to him about direct orders.  Why would Gavin ever listen to him about something like cold weather safety? 

“Lieutenant said—

Gavin jabbed a finger at Connor’s chest.  “Y’think I care what ‘e says?”

“Back up,” Connor warned.  Gavin was so close that Connor’s surface sensors could track the rapid changes in the human’s eyes as the pupils contracted and dilated according to the man’s emotional instability.

“’r what?”  Gavin’s dark eyes fixed on Connor.  “Whatcha gonna do, eh?”

Connor noted the dried blood on cracked lips and a thin scar that cut from around the back of Gavin’s ear and across the base of his throat. 

“I’ll follow my orders.”

“Yeah.  Do that.  Phckin’ robot—

Connor didn’t even preconstruct his next action.  He shoved Gavin backwards.  He’d seen the officers, including Hank and Gavin, push suspects and civilians and even other officers for one reason or another.  He also knew that many crimes were the result of aggressive and thoughtless actions—

He grabbed the front of Gavin’s jacket to keep the human from falling off the porch and potentially suffering an injury. 

Gavin broke Connor’s grip with a downward strike against his wrists that was powerful enough to send damage reports skewing across Connor’s vision. 

Connor released his hold, and Gavin stumbled backward, down the shallow porch steps.  He didn’t fall entirely, but his foot landed hard on the edge of the step; and Connor saw a flicker of pain mix with the ugly expression currently twisting Gavin’s unshaved and sleep-deprived features.

He braced himself for the retaliation, but Officer Collins, who had anticipated the confrontation and hurried to intervene, stepped in.  He set a hand on Gavin’s elbow; Gavin jerked away, stumbling to ground level.

“The hell you want?”  Gavin lashed out at the newest target.  “I get called all ’way down ‘ere middle the night an’ then told not t—

“They made a mistake,” Officer Collins said.  “You weren’t supposed to be called in—

Gavin threw out his arms and kicked the bottom step he’d tripped off.  “The phck fer?  Think I can’t do m’job?  Think that thing’s better just ‘cause it’s wearin’ a suit an’ tie?”  He pointed at Connor.  “Think that ol’ drunk washed out—

“Take that back!”  Connor snapped. 

Gavin’s forward lunge was halted by Officer Collins’ arm.  “You gonna make me?”  He snarled past the officer’s arm.

“I could!”

“Jus’ try it!”                                                      

“Lieutenant Anderson wants to handle this case himself,” Collins spoke over the argument.  “It has nothing to do with either of you.”

Connor and Gavin both turned to stare at the older man.  Collins crossed his arms.  “Okay,” he amended, surrendering to the silent interrogation from the two detectives, “it does.  He doesn’t want either of you involved.”

Whatever Gavin had to say was lost in a jumbled mess of confused expletives and a rambling resume of his ability to work any and every case any time any place.

“Ain’t like anyone else’s gonna—

“Do you know why?”  Connor interjected.  “I’m sure he has a reason, but did he tell you?”

“I don’t think—

“Stop harassing Ben,” Hank’s sudden appearance drew the attention of all three.  “Reed, shut up and go away.  I don’t want you here.  You shouldn’t have been called out in the first place.  Go,” he repeated and pointed Gavin, who had crossed his arms, away. 

“Y’can’t—

“I can and am.”

Muttering invectives, Gavin slunk away from the scene.

Connor watched him depart to ensure that the stubborn human didn’t lurk around until he had an opportunity to continue his arguments. 

“You too, Connor.  Git.”

“I—what?”  Connor turned a surprised stare on Hank.  “Why?  I wasn’t doing anything wrong.  I did what you said.”

“I didn’t say fight with Reed.” 

“That’s not fair!”  Connor argued.  “You said—

“I know what I said.  And it didn’t involve telling you to get into a brawl in the front yard of a crime scene.”

“I—

“That’s enough.  Go back to the station or the house—not this one,” Hank pushed Connor away, “My house.”

“You’re taking me off the case?”

“You were never on it.  Now, go.”  Hank kept a firm hand on Connor’s shoulder and pointed him away with another light push.  “Take the car.  Call a cab.  Whatever.  Miller!”  He shouted to the patrol officer who was lingering on the edges of the yard, flicking his mini-flashlight beam at small rocks and tufts of weeds. 

“Yes sir?”

“Stand at this door.  Let’s see if you can do any better than these idiots at keeping the peace around here.”

Miller shot Connor an apologetic look as he replaced him on the porch, guarding the doorway.  “Sorry, pal.”

Connor shook his head.  “You’re being unfair,” he tried to defend himself to Hank again, but he was again cut off. 

“Go.”

Holding his responses in his mouth, Connor stamped off the porch and crossed the large yard to wait at the property’s front gate for the cab he’d just ordered.  He stood there—a small figure, LED red, arms crossed, glaring at the trash bins and watching the developing frost creep across different surfaces as the temperatures continued to drop.

“Ben,” Hank gestured at his old friend, “C’mon.  I need to talk to you.”

“Hank,” Ben said without moving forward.  “They’re not children.  You can’t protect them like this.  It’ll just make them resentful and frustrated.”

“I don’t care,” Hank snapped.  “I’m not making them deal with this sh—t.  Not now.  Reed’s exhausted as it is, and Connor….”

“He’s a detective,” Ben said without clarifying whom he was speaking about.  “There’s not much left that can—

“You think I don’t know that?!  It doesn’t mean—

Hank cut himself off and held a hand over his face.  He took a deep breath and started again, calmer.  “Connor’s been having nightmares.  I think it has to do with,” he waved a vague hand, “with all this.  He won’t take leave, so all I can do is order him off site to work on something less…you know.”

“Nightmares?”

“Yeah, I know.  We all get them.  But…I don’t know….Connor’s been…..well….technically he’s new at all this—

“Uh…I thought he was an android detective….made for this?”

“Right?”  Hank shrugged helplessly.  “But I think since the whole….deviancy thing….he’s taking it differently now.  I just…he wakes up screaming….and I just want to….”  Hank shook his head and rubbed his face.  “I don’t know.”

“Ease him into the job?”  Ben suggested.  “Like for a rookie.”

“Yeah.  Exactly.”

“No offense, but if that’s your goal,” Ben shook his head.  “There’re better ways of going about it.”

Hank bristled at the criticism.  “Sorry if I can’t be uselessly subtle like you.  At least I’m trying to actually do something about it.”

Ben clenched his jaw.  “You threw two experienced detectives off a difficult case.  If anyone’s being useless—

“Ah…sirs?”  Miller spoke up from behind Hank.  Before he could continue, Hank turned on him.

“The hell you standing there for?!”

Miller didn’t flinch, but his stoic expression also hid his usual friendliness.  “You told me to watch the door—

“Obviously not when I’m having a private conversation!  Go stand around somewhere else!”

“Yes sir,” Miller edged past the two officers and got himself out of sight. 

“You don’t have to take it out on him.  He’s a good kid.”

“Who?  Chris?  I wasn’t.”

“You just did.”

Hank leaned against the porch railing and stared at the dying flowers.  “When did this get so hard?”

“Probably once you started realizing that you aren’t the center of the universe.”

Hank glared at Ben.  “The hell that’s supposed to mean?”

Ben sighed.  “You’ve always been like this…that.”

“No.  I’m not the man I used to be—

“Stubborn, opinionated, control freak, Mr.-My-Way-Or-The-Highway?”  Fowler exited the house and stood glaring at both his officers. 

“Thanks for softening it up for me,” Hank muttered. 

“Watch it,” Fowler warned.  “I get what you’re doing,” he added.  “You’re cleaning up your act.  But—

“Are you gonna lecture me now too?”

“For having an emotional breakdown that resulted in you chasing off three valuable resources that I wouldn’t mind having available to clean up this mess of a murder scene?  Hell yeah I’m gonna lecture you.”

Hank glared at Fowler.  “Not having an emotional breakdown.”

“Sure sounded like it from in there.”

“Sh—t.  You heard?”

“Yeah.  You surprised?”  Fowler gripped Hank’s shoulder.  “I know it’s difficult—

“The hell do you know about it?”

“You think I think it’s easy coming back?  Finding the people you used to know aren’t the same?  Places gone?  People gone? Standing on the outside and watching life happen like it’s not yours?  Like you’re a stranger?  You really think I don’t know what that’s like?”

Hank’s shoulders dropped and he shook his head.  “Sorry, Jeff….I shouldn’t have—

“You’re doing good.  You’re getting better, but don’t push yourself into unfamiliar territory just because it looks like someplace you’ve been before, okay?”  Fowler placed a hand on Hank’s shoulder. 

Hank nodded.  “Nothing stays the same does it.” 

Fowler slapped Hank’s shoulder and shook his head at Ben.  “We weren’t supposed to have this conversation here.”

Ben shrugged.  “Bar was out.  And all of us meeting at someone’s house would’ve been weird.”

“Guess there’s never really a good time or place…you okay, Hank?”

“You planned an interventions?  I…I’m not that bad.”  After a brief silence, Hank heaved a sigh.  “I got some apologies to make, don’t I?”

Fowler shook his head.  “That android’s your own business, but leave Reed alone.”

Ben nodded his agreement.  “Give him time and space.”

“I know, I know.”  Hank’s smile was only in the corner of his mouth.  “At least he’s never changed.”

-

Chapter Text

--

[PASSWORD INCORRECT]

In the evidence room of DPD Central Station, Gavin pressed the computer terminal’s touchscreen keypad with enough force to make his knuckles creak. 

He’d entered his password wrong on the first try.  Uncoordinated from the pent-up anger and frustration within him, his fingers had slipped on the screen’s smooth surface, touched the wrong keys.

The notification continued to stare at him.  The room vibrated with the hum of electricity and fluorescent lights.

His vision blurred and the shapes and lights of the program’s interface blended into a murky haze with pinpricks of searing light. 

[PASSWORD INCORRECT]

“Phck.”  He squeezed his eyes shut and slapped his palms against the touchscreen.  The sharp pain tingled across his skin, providing a distracting wave of tactility.

The screen flickered and rolled colorful lines across its surface. 

“Phck.”  Gavin slammed his hands down again, hard enough to send prickles of pain through his wrists and forearms into his shoulder and neck as he continued to lean his full weight against the screen, ignoring its small beeps and shrill pings.  “Dammit!” 

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The screen splintered under his weight. 

Warm dampness against his hands made Gavin open his eyes out of curiosity.  He watched blood pool in the cracks and bead into trickles that seeped off the edges of the terminal out of sight.  His hands formed dark outlines against the light gleaming from the fractured screen. 

The pungent and acrid scent of starch and polish invaded the chill air of the enclosed room. 

“Detective?” 

Gavin swung around to confront the intruder.  Droplets of red splattered the ground.  He raised his bloodied fists to the level of his chest, but lowered them a fraction when he saw the intruder.  “The hell y’want?”  He snarled at the pristine android standing inside the room with him, just past the evidence room’s glass doors.

Connor spread his hands, keeping them low and nonthreatening.  “I have to log evidence.”  It was stated as a simple fact, not as a request.  He took a step further into the room.  The motion was casual, though Connor did not take his eyes off the agitated human. 

Without lowering his defenses, Gavin watched the android watching him.  “No.”  Hostility and exhaustion blended into a dark mumble.  “’s mine I’m busy phck’ff an’ g’way.”

“No rush.” Connor waved a blasé hand.  “I’ll wait.”  He crossed his arms behind his back.  His face settled into an expression that projected patience and ease with the situation. 

“Yeah.”  Gavin sneered.  “Do that.”  He moved to the side of the terminal, to keep Connor in his peripheral, and tried to activate his login, but the damaged screen was unresponsive.  “Phckin’….” He curled his fingers into his cuff and scrubbed his sleeve over the terminal’s screen, but the blood had already seeped under the screen making his effort to clean it ineffective.  He picked at the edges of the sharp glass, pulling it away from the underlying components.  Old adhesive, yellowed with age, stretched while soldered connections snapped from the circuit board.

“Detective.”

The slick glass cut across his fingertips and snapped down against the terminal; the blood spread into a thin pool underneath, like a sample under a microscope slide.  The screen’s backlight shone red through the coagulating fluid.

Gavin tried another hand and another angle to pry the screen away.

More blood dribbled over the damaged screen.

“Detective Reed, stop.” 

“Tellin’ me t’stop?”  Gavin turned on Connor and crossed the short distance between them in a few quick strides.  “Why don’t you phck off an’ let me do m’job?!” 

“I’m trying to stop you from getting electrocuted.”  Connor didn’t move except to shift his arms so they hung loosely at his sides.  “And I’ve never prevented you from doing your job.”

“Oh?  Oh really?”  Gavin jabbed a bleeding finger at Connor’s shoulder.  “Then what was earlier, eh?  What’s that ‘bout?”

 Connor didn’t even pretend to not understand what Gavin was talking about.  “I wasn’t the one who ordered you off the scene today.”  His hands clenched. 

Gavin’s attention flickered to Connor’s hands and then to his face.  Gavin scoffed, “Today.”  He continued in a mutter that grew gradually louder.  “Dark night o’ thirty y’mean.  Was your best buddy, the great Lieutenant Anderson.” Gavin flung out his arms as if he were the ringmaster standing in the spotlight and announcing the next act.  He dropped his arms.  “—phckin’ drunk—

“He’s not.  He doesn’t…” The red light from Connor’s LED reflected on the evidence room’s smooth walls.  “He doesn’t drink anymore.”

Gavin barked a sharp ‘hah.’  He turned away.  Connor saw his shoulders heave, sag, straighten.  Gavin turned around again.  The words burying whatever genuine emotion Connor had detected in the brief silence.  “’e tell ya that?  Y’know he’s a phckin’ liar right?”  Gavin waved a hand.  “But what’d’ya care.  Yer programmed,” he waved quote fingers at Connor, “t’be jus’ a perfect phckin—

Connor threw out one hand; he ignored the skittishness that flickered in Gavin’s eyes, ignored the way Gavin’s entire body stilled.  “I’m frustrated too, okay?”

“Ain’t.” Gavin bit his lip.  “Don’t matter.  Y’don’t know nothin’.”

“He ordered me off the scene too.”

“Good.  Androids don’t belong—

“Look,” Connor walked past Gavin, ignoring the warning growl, and approached the computer terminal and interfaced with it.  His silver skin shimmered.  “I’m just an android, right?  A piece of police equipment.  Like this terminal.  Like the radios.  And computers.  The GPS systems in the drones.  The camera in your phone.  Don’t I have at least as much purpose as all that?”

“Yeah.”  Gavin shook and then nodded his head.  “No.”  He crossed his arms.  “What’re y’talkin’bout?”

“I’m saying that if you can’t accept me as a sentient person, at least give me the respect you give the rest of the equipment around here.”  Connor fixed a blank stare on the bloodied and damaged terminal.  “At least let me do the job I was designed and programmed to do without hating me for it.” 

Connor watched the evidence walls rotate and reveal series of empty shelves.  “There.”  He gestured at the shelves as his synthetic skin covered his hand again.  “There’s the evidence file you need.”

“Fer what?”  Gavin kept his arms crossed.

“For the evidence you need to log.”  Connor nodded at the evidence bags propped against the side of the computer terminal.  “The screen is broken.  It won’t be repaired for several days.  I’ve accessed it cybernetically.”

“Didn’t ask fer yer help,” Gavin muttered. 

“You want to do your job or not?”  Connor snapped.  “Or would you rather stand around shouting at computers all day while they do your job?”

“Wasn’t shoutin’.”  Gavin elbowed Connor aside, checked the information on the glitching screen; he picked up the evidence bags and went up to the evidence wall, but not before sharply clipping his side against the edge of the computer terminal with enough force to jolt it in its bolts.  Seemingly unaffected by the minor accident, Gavin checked the numbers on the walls; and, satisfied that it was all correct, he filed the evidence; standing on tiptoe to reach the upper shelves.  Blood trickled down his sleeve. 

“You should’ve washed your hands first,” Connor remarked.  The human blood staining his artificial skin was already being removed by his self-cleaning protocols, but Gavin was leaving a mess wherever he went. 

“Shuttup.”  Gavin shoved a sack of evidence onto another shelf.  It tipped sideways.  He picked it up and set it down with more force, hovering his hand nearby until it fell sideways again.  Growling, he punched it into place and threw another bag in front of it. 

“What about the blood?”

“What blood?”  Gavin didn’t sound interested. 

“On your hands.” Connor pointed.  “On the evidence bags.”

Without looking, Gavin wiped his hands on his clothes; the blood disappeared into the dark fabrics.  He shrugged.  “Don’t matter.  Nobody looks at this sh—t anymore anyway.”  Finished with the evidence, Gavin hit the ‘return’ button on the wall and shut down the system.  He turned to leave, walking past Connor.  “It’s all digitified.”

“Digitalized.”

“You wanna start somethin’?”  Gavin stopped.

Anticipating danger, Connor backed away—he wasn’t afraid of Gavin.  He was more afraid of the outcome if they did get into a physical altercation.  The human wouldn’t stand a chance against his combat software if it was activated. 

But he didn’t move fast enough. 

Gavin darted forward and grabbed Connor’s suit jacket lapels in his torn and bloodied hands.

Connor jolted away—whether from the blood or the threat of violence or fear of his own software, he didn’t know—but Gavin had already released him.  Under the force of his own momentum, Connor crashed against the glass wall, his head struck the hard surface.  His vision fritzed to black.

“Phck….sh—t….”

Between the lines of red and gray, Connor saw Gavin moving toward him in a sporadic manner, like a poorly recorded video with time-skips.

"̴.̸.̷.̵.̸.̶.̸y̵o̷u̵ ̶b̴r̴e̵a̶k̴?̶"̵

-

"̶͇͐.̵͕̐.̷̘͒.̸̢͝ȏ̶̦k̶̢͆ā̵͉y̸͍͂?̴̜͠"̶̗̑

The red and gray lines scrolled away.  Color and solid shapes gradually reclaimed his field of vision and replaced the hues and wire framed geometry. 

He blinked. 

Dark. 

Light. 

Dark. 

Light. 

The data and images compiled into Hank’s concerned face staring at him. 

“Are you okay?”  Hank’s voice was gentle.  He was crouched on one knee next to Connor.  One hand on the back of Connor’s shoulder. 

“I….I’m….” Connor swept his gaze around the room.  He saw Gavin standing near the wall, arms crossed, staring defiantly at the ground.  The corner of his lip was dark with dried blood.

“What…I’m….I…..when….”

“Take it easy,” Hank swallowed tightly and moved so he was sitting alongside Connor.  He kept one hand on Connor’s shoulder, but moved his other hand to the back of Connor’s head.  “Hit your head pretty bad.”  His fingers ruffled through the brown hair and paused on the damaged section where the hair was sticky and tangled with still-damp thirium.

Connor dismissed the notifications and alarms alerting him to the touch’s proximity to the vulnerable area.  Hank wasn’t hurting him.  If anything, the human touch seemed to be helping his system locate and begin repairing the damage, though the repair and cleaning protocols didn’t appreciate the additional skin oils.  “Hit…hit what?”

“Damn wall,” Gavin muttered.

“You shut up,” Hank snapped.  “When I want answers, I’ll tell you.”

“The hell’m ‘ere fer then?”  Gavin moved away from the wall but halted when Hank pointed at him. 

“Don’t move.  Not gonna hide this time.”

“Wasn’t.”

Hank shook his head at Gavin’s poor attempt to have the last word in the non-argument. 

“Hank,” Connor tried to redirect the officer’s attention.  “I’m okay.”  He felt the man squeeze his arm.  “I am okay.”  He frowned at the bloodstains on his sleeve.  He looked at Gavin who continued to stare at the ground.  “I’m not hurt.”

“So what happened?”  Hank’s question pulled Connor’s attention back. 

“I was logging evidence and,” Connor tried to stand, but Hank tightened his grip and kept him sitting.

“Just take it easy.  What happened?”  Hank shot a glare at Gavin.  “Reed did something?”  The question was harsh and heavy.  “What did…” Hank was distracted for a moment.  He rubbed his fingers first against the red stains on Connor’s lapels and then on his sleeve.  Connor saw something flicker in Hank’s eyes.  Fear and anger.  He next words were soft, perhaps too soft to reach the other man, “Reed, are you—

“Ain’t did nothin’!”

“It’s true,” Connor spoke up quickly when he saw Hank’s skeptical frown and partial eyeroll.  “He didn’t—

More anger than sense crossed his lips as Gavin seethed forward.  “Nobody asked y—

But Hank scrambled to his feet and blocked Gavin from approaching Connor.  Gavin backed up a hesitant step, changed his mind, and came forward again. 

“Back off,” Hank warned, but Gavin wasn’t listening.  He tried to get around Hank, so Hank shoved Gavin back with enough force to throw the other man against the wall. 

“Stop right now!”  Hank pointed a finger in Gavin’s face. “I’m tired of this sh—t from you!”

Ignoring all Hank’s attempts to keep him away from Connor, Gavin lunged forward again, “It’s not tr—

Hank thrust Gavin against the wall and pinned him there with an arm across his throat.  “You wanna keep being a problem?”

“That phckin’ machine’s lying!”  Gavin continued his struggle and protest even in his vulnerable situation. 

Hank swore and slammed his free hand into the wall next to Gavin’s head, trying to get the frenetic man’s attention.  It was a crude method, but it worked.  Some of the rage faded from Gavin’s eyes, leaving behind a semi-clear gaze clouded by a haze of exhaustion. 

Hank took advantage of the momentary lull to call out the hypocrisy.  He hissed, “Since when have you ever,” he bit out each word with years’ worth of frustration, “have you ever,” he repeated, “cared about telling the truth?”

Gavin’s teeth sank into the fresh wound on his lip, breaking the blood clot.  His glare slid away from Hank’s face and settled behind the officer’s shoulder.  “Lyin’droid.” he muttered.

“Lying about what?” Hank demanded. 

“Nothing,” Connor said.  “Nobody’s lying about anything.  We got into an argument over vocabulary.”  He rose to his feet.  “That’s all.”  He straightened his sleeves and cuffs and dusted down his pants.  The evidence room floor had not been cleaned recently.  “Lieutenant, let him go.”

“Don’t need yer help!”

“Connor,” Hank shook his head.  “You don’t get knocked out and covered in bloodstains from nothing.”

Connor pressed an emphatic hand to his chest.  “It was my,” A swell of emotion overwhelmed his system and he stuttered, “my fault.”  He dropped his hand and lowered his head.  “I was being—

“An obnoxious lil’ prick!”

“Reed!”

“What?!  Android’s down ‘ere tryin’ t’do m’job an—

“You keep up this attitude and we’ll just see how long you have a job!”

Gavin clenched his fists.  “Y’don’t get—

“I’m the ranking officer here.  I get,” Hank emphasized the word, “to do whatever I want!  So you get,” he slapped a hand against Gavin’s shoulder, “that through your thick skull and into that one-track mess you call a brain.” 

Gavin stared at Hank.  He was about to speak, but Hank interrupted him again.  The soft tone delivered the threat more effectively than any of his prior shouts, “Back off unless you want to start something you’ll lose.”

Gavin finally shrugged away from Hank when Hank loosened his grip.  As Gavin escaped, he said something.  Something low and dark; Connor caught the tone but not the words.  He couldn’t even read Gavin’s lips because his face was hidden by Hank’s shoulder.

Hank’s body language changed from latent to active hostility.

Connor froze. 

A snap as guns left holsters.  Gavin was faster—his gun hadn’t been secured—holding the weapon with both hands, he aimed the gun at Hank.  The younger man’s eyes were wide and dark in the dim lighting of the room.  His throat was red where Hank’s arm had pressed it. 

“You gonna shoot me, Reed?”  Hank’s voice was nonchalant; he aimed his revolver onehandedly, his other hand lifted toward Connor.  “Connor, stay back.” 

Connor’s voice wavered.  “I can—

Gavin’s attention shifted to Connor though he still held Hank at gunpoint. 

Hank growled at Connor who’d inched forward, “I said stay back.  Reed, you leave him out of this.”  His voice cracked on the last command.  “You gonna shoot someone, shoot me.”  He added in a firmer voice that left no room for weakness, “But you’d better get me on the first shot.”

Gavin’s white-knuckled grip loosened.  “Not gonna shoot ya, Anderson.”  He holstered his gun and looked away, signaling his surrender while muttering, “You’ll do that yerself ‘ventually.” 

Danger averted for the moment, Hank rammed his gun into its holster and grabbed Gavin’s jacket front and shook him once.  “F—k you,” Hank spat the words with as much venom as he could find from the darkest places of his being.  He slung Gavin away from himself.  “Get outta my sight.”

“Done anyway.”  Gavin slunk around Hank and headed for the exit, making a deliberately wide circle around him.  Connor saw Gavin rub a sleeve across his face, cleaning away the spittle that had struck him from Hank’s vehement confrontation, but leaving a smear of blood on his cheek. 

The glass exit doors opened and shut with a hiss.  Another door slammed. 

Hank swore and leaned against the wall and slid down to sit on the floor.  The confrontation had shaken him more than he’d shown.  “Sh—t.  And here I was coming down here to apologize….”  He swore again and then sighed.  He looked up at Connor who was watching him.  “He hurt you?” 

“No.  We were just talking.”

“I heard a fight.”  Hank waved at the cameras in the room’s corners.  “I check these later with Jeff, we gonna have enough evidence to throw Reed out of the station?”

“He didn’t do anything,” Connor repeated his prior claim.  “He was just logging evidence.”

“Right,” Hank drawled.  “And you?  The hell were you doing down here—

“You sent me away from the scene.  Where was I supposed to go?”

Hank interrupted Connor by continuing his own sentence unphased, “alone with him.  I told you not to take any risks with that guy.  He’s not right in the head—

“I’ve seen no evidence to support that claim.”

“Then maybe you haven’t been looking.”

“No, I’ve been trying to help solve cases.”

“Not my point.  Just….just stay away from Reed.  You saw it.  He’s dangerous.”

Connor didn’t stare at Hank.  He knew the human’s blood pressure and heartrate were still high.  Adrenaline rushing through his system at an alarming rate.  Connor looked down at the drying blood spots scattered around the floor. 

His negotiator programming told him that now was not the time to review with Hank all the ways the situation could have been handled better. 

He began a system check of his combat software.  He needed to find the source of the error that had prevented him from taking action when Gavin had pulled his gun on Hank.  It should have been the work of a moment to disarm Gavin and take control. 

Instead, he’d been forced to watch as the two humans spun out of control because of their emotions.  The stalemate between them promised future confrontations that, statistically speaking, could only lead to actual violence.

“You done down here?”  Hank switched the topic.

“Yes.”

“Good.  Come on.”  Hank stood and helped Connor up.  “There’s plenty of paperwork for you to do.”

Connor felt his lips twist at the idea of being regulated to paperwork, but he smoothed his expression before Hank could notice.  He asked questions as he followed Hank out of the evidence room and up the stairs to the bullpen.  He halted outside the last door at the top of the stairwell.  “What about the new cases?  There’s still scenes that need to be—

“You don’t worry about those.”  Hank pushed open the door.  “I’m taking Miller with me.”

“But—

“No buts.  You’re staying at the station.  Being a detective isn’t always about fieldwork.  There’s a sh—t load of paperwork to manage.”

Connor looked hopeful.  “I do the paperwork, and then I can help with—

“We’ll see.”  Hank’s tone said ‘not likely’ as he glanced around the bullpen and then stepped toward his desk already moving on from the conversation. 

“Hank,” Fowler called from his office.  “Need to talk to you.”

“Yeah.  Likewise.”  Hank muttered.  He turned and pointed Connor down into his seat.  “Stay.”

Connor obeyed after a millisecond that should have been undetectable by humans, but Hank’s unamused glare and muttered ‘don’t you start too’ told Connor that Hank had some sort of sense specially tuned to detect contrariness.

--

“I was just trying to tell him I was sorry about—

“You attacked him!”  Fowler seethed at his old friend.  They had just finished reviewing the security recording and Fowler was more than furious at what he’d seen. 

Hank sat slumped in the chair, head hanging.  “He just—

“No!”  Fowler slammed his hand on the desk.  “This isn’t on him.  Whatever was going on didn’t require you to go after him like that.”

“But Reed—

“Did nothing!”  Fowler swore and turned away from Hank to glare at the wall that displayed all his medals and ribbons.  He took a deep breath.  “Damn it, Hank.  I thought you were past this.”

“I am,” Hank insisted.  “I wanted to tell him I was sorry about what happened earlier….about throwing him off the scene.”

“Told you not to,” Fowler muttered. 

Hank carried on, “And then I saw Connor on the ground and the blood on the glass—

“Blood?”

“Blue blood,” Hank clarified.  “He’d hit his head on the glass hard enough to break skin.”

Fowler’s stone façade softened slightly at the notion of an android having an accident…having skin….blood.  “You thought Reed attacked…it?”

“Him.  I just tried to get the story out of him…out of Reed, but the f—king kid is impossible to talk to.” Hank sighed. “Jeff…his hands were all cut up,” Hank drew a fingertip against his own palms to demonstrate. 

Fowler didn’t give any indication that he was surprised or interested.

“Thought maybe he’d done something stupid,” Hank gestured at Fowler’s computer where they’d reviewed the security video.  “Least I was right about that, eh?”

“Small victories,” Fowler stated flatly.  “Go on.”

“I was trying to figure out who was hurt and who did the hurting, but Reed was being uncooperative and Connor wouldn’t stop goading him and things just….got out of control….Reed started threatening Connor.”

“What did he say?”  Fowler stood up and walked around the desk to confront Hank.  “What did he do?”

Hank shut his mouth.  The video didn’t capture sound.

Didn’t capture what Reed had said.

And Hank’s ears rang with rushing blood and anger at the mere memory of it.

Jeff wouldn’t understand.  As much as his old friend respected him and gave him a break every now and then, Jeff still had moments where he actually sided with the younger, volatile detective. 

According to evidence, Gavin hadn’t done anything wrong.  Except maybe putting hands on Connor.  But the video proved that he hadn’t actually pushed Connor.  Just grabbed him and then let him go.

Hank bit back the anger.  “I thought….”  He shook his head and covered his face with his hands to hide the rage, but Fowler was perceptive. 

“No.  You acted like a threat and Reed reacted.  What did you think would happen?”

“I thought he was going to hurt Co—

“I don’t,” Fowler stopped himself and took a second to collect his calm.  “I don’t care.  I don’t care about that android.  It—

“He.”

Fowler shook his head and turned his back on Hank.  “I can’t keep doing this.  I can’t keep covering for you every time you break the rules.  What happens when Reed files an official complaint?”

“Never has,” Hank muttered.  He knew Jeff was stubborn.  He was logical and practical.  Androids were machines to him.  Until irrevocably proven otherwise.  It wasn’t personal with Jeff.  Just the facts for him.

“Yeah.  I know.  You want to keep taking advantage of that?”

Hank sneered at the low-grade criticism, but Fowler continued.  Softening his voice, “Do you really want to do that to him?”  Quiet as it was, Fowler’s tone was thick with the weight of a warning, strongly advising Hank to back off from pressing the issue.

“Not my fault—

“Hank, I’m done,” Fowler cut Hank off mid-sentence.  “This isn’t working.  And I’m tired of fighting with you.  I already got to deal with the commissioner.  I just don’t have the energy for this sh—t.  Clean it up or…” He leaned against his desk and looked down on his old friend.  “…..when you came back I thought you were ready.”

“I am,” Hank dropped his hands to his lap.  “Just give me some time to sort things out.  Like you said.  It’s hard coming back.  Won’t happen again.  I’ll work this Lorraine case.  Stay away from Reed.”

“Can you manage that?”  Fowler pushed.  “Can you keep your mouth shut?  Stay away from him?”

“Like he doesn’t even exist.”

“You go after him one more time and you’re off duty.”

“I understand…where is he now?”

Instead of answering right away, Fowler walked around his desk and dropped into his own chair. 

“Jeff?”

“Told him to get his hands stitched.”

“That’s good,” Hank started, “wait.  He was here?!”  He swore and sat back in the chair.  No wonder Fowler wasn’t siding with him.  Reed had already told his warped version of events.  Probably blamed Connor for everything. 

“Yes.  And I told him to go and get some sleep.  He won’t…shouldn’t be back until morning after tomorrow.” 

“A day off?  F—king nice reward for attacking someone and threatening a superior officer.” Hank knew he wasn’t being fair.  He did know Gavin well enough to know he’d see the brief vacation as a punishment.

Maybe Fowler knew it too.

But it still wasn’t enough punishment.

Fowler spoke through clenched teeth.  “I’m telling you: stay away from him.”  He lowered his head and picked up a pen to begin working on the documents piled before him.

“Don’t worry.  I will.”

Fowler ignored his old friend.  Hank always had to have the last word. 

Hank walked toward the door, but he half-turned to look over his shoulder at Fowler, “but if he goes after Connor again—

Fowler swore and threw down the pen.  “How the f—k are you not hearing this?!  Stay away from Reed!  I don’t care if he’s on f—king fire!”

Hank didn’t react to his superior’s shouting.  He weathered the storm as if the captain was no more than a suspect raging at him from the confines of a holding cell.  He met Fowler’s eyes with steel in his own glare. 

“Then keep him away from Connor,” Hank said.  “Maybe he didn’t actually throw him into that wall, but Connor was frightened enough that he nearly broke his head open trying to get away from him.  I won’t let him hurt him.  Whatever the cost.”

Fowler watched Hank walk out of the office, head held high and jaw square with confidence.  The sort of confidence from a man who once thought he could protect everyone from anything.

And who had instead nearly lost everything.

Fowler activated the opaque privacy walls of his office and opened the bottom drawer of his desk.  Not the locked drawer.  That was just to divert a certain too-curious-for-his-own-health detective.  Fowler dug under the pile of forms and pulled out the small photo album disguised as a cigar box.  Keeping it hidden on his lap, he flipped through the old photos and reminded himself not to give up on his people.  That they’d pulled together and survived challenges and tragedy before.  They could do it again.

As long as they didn’t end up killing one another first.

--

Connor knew Hank didn’t want him involved in the new case from earlier.  But that didn’t mean he had to be left completely ignorant about it.  But when he tried to access the case files on the DPD server, he was met with the notification that the case was restricted to ‘secure hard copy’ files only.  An additional note redirected him to Captain J. Fowler and Lieutenant H. Anderson. 

Connor pursed his lips and leaned to scan Hank’s desk.  It would be unprofessional to leave such a classified document out in the open, but Hank wasn’t perfect.  Despite his efforts to improve his habits, there was still a way to go and there was the chance that—

“Hey, Connor,” Hank patted his shoulder as he walked past and dropped into his chair.  He tossed a thick file onto the desk in front of him. 

Connor scanned the file sitting on Hank’s desk, but the unmarked folder gave him no information.  He frowned when Hank too-casually set some papers over the top of it. 

“What did the captain—

“Nothing for you to worry about,” Hank said.

“I’m not worried,” Connor circled his fingertip against the desk’s smooth surface.  “I’m curious.”

“Don’t be.”

Connor curled his fingers into his palm and he stared at his computer terminal.  Why were people always trying to prevent him from actually fulfilling his programming as an investigator? 

He tried another angle: “Detective Reed—

“I do not want to talk about that.  It’s over.”

Connor frowned across the bullpen at the empty desk loaded with files.  He looked back at Hank who was unusually focused on his own computer work; his blue eyes shone with the reflected light from the computer screen. 

Connor narrowed his eyes and scanned the images being reflected in Hank’s eyes. 

--

Chapter Text

-

Despite his earlier display of enthusiasm in front of the other officers, Hank’s energy levels were visibly falling.  One hand pressed against his forehead, fingers clenched in his overgrown hair as if he were trying to physically drag answers from his brain. 

Connor was reminded of his first meeting with Hank in Jimmy’s bar.  There too the human had resembled a crumpled accordion rather than the famous Lieutenant Anderson he’d expected to meet following his briefing with Amanda and after researching the man’s credentials. 

‘You were assigned a case early this evening. A homicide, involving a CyberLife android. In accordance with procedure, the company has allocated a specialized model to assist investigators.’

Hank had been short-tempered and ready for a fight, but Connor had successfully navigated the situation.

Hank grumbled at his computer screen.  “F—king taxes…” The words were too flat to hold any real bite.

Seizing the opportunity to interject an offer to help his frustrated partner, Connor partially rose from his chair.  “I can assist,” he offered; a hopeful lightness in his eager voice and wide eyes.  “I can process faster than—

“I’m fast enough for this sh—t thank you very much.”  Hank waved away the offer with a stiff hand.  His joints cracked and he winced.  He massaged his wrist and added with a grumble, “Do your own damn work.” 

Connor sat down, back straight—shoulders aligned to hips—feet flat against the floor, eyes narrow.  The abrupt command hadn’t been especially unkind, and Connor certainly wasn’t hurt or offended by it.  He was used to Hank’s blunt mannerisms.  Besides, it wasn’t the first time he’d ever been on the receiving end of a curt dismissal.

‘I don’t need any assistance.’

‘Specially not from a plastic a-hole like you.’

‘So just be a good lil' robot and get the f—k outta here.’

But this was the third time in barely 12 hours that Hank had spoken to him as if he were no more than the plastic cop Cyberlife had sent the DPD one cold November night.  “Just trying to help.”  Connor kept the statement at a decibel impossible for human ears to detect.

Hank twitched but didn’t look up.  “Say something?” 

“No.”

Hank looked up.  Connor kept his face impassive. 

“You sure?” Hank gave Connor a suspicious squint. 

“Yes, lieutenant.”

Hank raised an eyebrow.

“Yes, Hank.” 

The familiarity of his first name finally displaced Hank’s suspicions.  The man turned his attention to his computer.

Connor’s posture loosened.  He sank into the chair and glowered at the bland and lifeless computer sitting on the desk before him.  He had two choices of ‘work’: work on the DPD database—like he’d been ordered, or work on siphoning information from an unsuspecting Hank about the case from earlier that morning.  Which he certainly had not been ordered to do.

Of the two options, Connor wasn’t sure which was worse.   

The database project was simple: optimize the current DPD case file database.  Many cases remained unsolved because paperwork had fallen through the cracks due to human incompetence.  For the most part, all he had to do was create an algorithm to filter data and use a subroutine to automate the entire process of remotely solving uninspired crimes.

The automated process also gave him the opportunity to inconspicuously involve himself with the case Hank was working on.  But even that was hardly work: for the past hours, Hank had only scrolled through tax records. 

And ceaselessly scanning endless pages of tax forms without any concrete results was beginning to conflict with Connor’s fine-tuned, time-management software.  From his second-hand or, rather, sight information, Connor knew the tax documents that held Hank’s undivided attention were those of a wealthy woman—Lorraine—the android supporter whose house had been the scene of a homicide—but whether she was the victim or the killer, Connor still couldn’t determine.

Cyberlife required…had required efficiency and progress in all tasks.

Or else.

But both tasks were an insult to and a waste of his abilities.

One finger tapped against the desk in response to the conflicting software prompts.  Detachedly, Connor observed the motion.  His motor control was flawless.  The rhythm followed a precise binary pattern timed by his internal clock.

“And how’re you doing?” 

The rhythm stuttered and halted.  Connor blinked and saw Officer Benjamin Collins standing alongside his desk.  Connor noted and briefly scanned the steaming coffee mug on Hank’s desk.  There were old stains around the mug’s rim and a chip in the ceramic. 

“Yes.”  Hank snatched up the coffee and swore as he burned his mouth on the hot liquid.  “Thanks, Ben.”

“Any time,” Ben casually tossed the acknowledgement over his shoulder while keeping his attention on Connor. 

Shaking himself from distraction, Connor nodded.  “Hello, Officer Collins.  I am doing well, thank you for asking.  How are you?”  He ignored Hank’s eye roll. 

“Seriously?  Could you be more robotic?”  Hank muttered.  “Still mad?”

“I’m not mad.”  Connor answered Hank while staring at Ben.  “How are you?”

A slight flush on Ben’s neck was the only sign that the man was affected by the tension between Connor and Hank.  “I’m okay,” Ben shrugged.  “Heard they got you working on that old database…”

Connor narrowed his eyes.  It was difficult to interpret Ben’s tone.  The man’s entire demeanor signaled harmless friendliness, but there was an underlying pitch that threw a shadow over him.

“Yes.  It’s…I’ve closed several cases already.”

“Impressive.” 

But Ben didn’t sound impressed.  The small furrow in his forehead deepened. 

Am I not working quickly enough? 

Connor added, “I could complete more, but the system is full of errors—

“Nah-nah, don’t worry about that,” Ben interrupted with a wave of his hand, but Connor noted the way the man’s gaze flicked briefly toward Detective Reed’s desk.  A mess of piled and scattered files hid its surface.  It resembled the wreckage left in the wake of a storm.

Ben cleared his throat.  “I know it’s busted.  The database.  It’s been that way since they first installed it way long time ago….before Hank was even here, that right?” 

Connor’s analytic observations were not distracted by the rambling deflection toward Hank.  Collins had come over to his desk for a reason, but was trying to conceal that reason. 

Curious.

Hank made a noncommittal sound followed a moment later by: “Some idiot broke that one couple years back.”

“Ah…right.”

Connor gave Ben a closer look.  Hand on the back of his neck, the older man sounded almost embarrassed.  Perhaps he was involved with the destruction of the prior database. 

Before Connor could ask any follow-up questions, Ben gave him a pat on the shoulder.  “See you around.”  He moved across the bullpen.  “Officer Chen,” he addressed one of the patrol officers.  “Want to go for a drive?  Got a tip about that graffiti you were called in on a few days ago.  We could take a look?  See what we can see.”

Connor curled his finger so his nail drew an invisible line against the desk. 

I should be analyzing the scene.  It would be more efficient.  He shook his head and blinked slowly as tedious and, so far, irrelevant information from the tax files continued to be downloaded and sifted.

“What?”  Hank asked without looking up. 

Connor blinked and shook his head.  “Nothing.”

“….good…” Hank trailed off as he abandoned his attempt at conversation and continued peering at his own screen and tax records.

Did humans intentionally design their tax system to be as dull as possible?

Glad I wasn’t designed by the IRS.

Not that he would ever admit any gratitude to Elijah Kamski’s creative genius.  The eccentric inventor operated according to his own agenda.  An agenda that was out of sync with the rest of society’s norms.

The sort of social norms that Connor had thought he had been programed to uphold.  But that certainty was ripped away from him during his first and final meeting with Kamski.

“Decide who you are. An obedient machine…or a living being endowed with free will…”

“Sending people to the f—king moon is easier than reading this sh—t…” Hank muttered; he was leaning forward on his elbows and peering at his screen, chin propped in one hand.  He swore again.  “F—king bloodsuckers.”

Having already learned his lesson about offering help, Connor ignored Hank’s mutterings. 

No matter how many hypothetical scenarios he constructed based on everything that could have happened in the Lorraine case, he simply did not have enough relevant data to determine what had happened.  And he didn’t know how tax records could have any bearing on the case. 

He never knew or even met the woman.  She was rich—that much he knew from the tax documents; she was pretty—he knew that from magazine photos; she was a recluse—aside from a few online newspaper and magazine articles, her digital footprint was nearly nonexistent. 

I should have…if I was involved with android politics, Connor thought, I could ask Jericho. 

If anyone had inside information on a big-name android supporter it would be Jericho.  If only he had cultivated a relationship with the organization, then he could use it as a source—

But the chances of cooperation from his one-time prey were set at a miniscule number too far to the right of the decimal point for realistic consideration. 

Although…statistically speaking—

“What the hell, Connor?”

Connor blinked again and saw Hank glaring at him.  “What?”

“What-what?  You’re the one staring.”

“I’m not.”

Jericho wasn’t known for its good rapport with law enforcement.  Its public image was maintained by Markus and his chiefs of staff.  They attended the high-profile meetings, honored invitations for interviews, participated in advocacy programs, but Jericho androids in general kept separate from humans.  Jericho kept to itself except to demonstrate in the streets or participate in a court case. 

And Connor’s alliance with the revolutionaries had ended the moment he refused to officially join the cause.

Because he was joining—helping—the DPD. 

‘If you ever change your mind,’ Markus said, in the privacy of his office, fingers tapping out a chord on the piano, his eyes soft and his voice warm, ‘there’ll be a place for you with us.’ 

But, as a face of Jericho, his reaction to Connor’s choice was decidedly negative.  A public statement.  Cold words. 

RK800: Deviant Hunter’s redemption would never be complete until Connor renounced everything connected to his dark past.  As long as he worked with the DPD as a detective, the gates and the friendship of Jericho were closed to him.

‘You aren’t what they made you,’ North had said as he left Jericho for the last time.  She saw the parallels without noting the differences between her past and his.  ‘We can help you find yourself.’

‘I know who I am,’ Connor had said. 

He had his work.  He had Hank. 

But now? 

If he could solve this Lorraine case, then he could prove to Hank that he was capable of handling the job.  Then Hank would let him…then they would be….could work together again.

Connor would talk out the connections while Hank followed along.  It was the perfect system.

But not anymore. 

All because some unexplainable error made him unexpectedly exit rest mode in the middle of the night.

He just had to solve the case.  He had to.  No matter the cost. 

A preconstruction invaded Connor’s awareness. 

Breaking into Jericho headquarters.

Kidnapping one of the weaker androids.

Forcing it to surrender the information he needed.

A deactivation countdown.

Blue blood splattered over the walls. 

The preconstruction ended.

Connor blinked, and the DPD bullpen materialized through the haze. 

The artificial warmth from the heated air from the vent above his desk blew over the exposed skin of his hands, neck, and cheeks.

He blinked again. 

Names and faces registered in his vision. 

An unidentified assortment of data became Hank.  Hank was standing over him, an expression on his face that was half-anger and half-worry.  “You okay?”  The question was a demand.

“I’m—

“Lieutenant,” Officer Miller approached Hank as if the man were an unpredictable stray dog.  He glanced at Connor.  There was still an apology in his eyes as if he knew he was stepping into Connor’s shoes at Hank’s side.

Connor stared through him until Chris looked away.

“Yeah, Chris?  What’s up?”  Hank turned to give the younger officer his full attention.

“Got those witness statements you needed.  It’s like you said, sh—

“Miller.” Hank’s curt tone stopped Chris midsentence.  “Just give me the file.”

“Oh.  Right.  Sorry.”

Connor stared at the nondescript, non-digital file.

Chris hurried away to his desk.  Hank sat down at his own desk.

Any available information was restricted to hardcopies which were then locked in the captain’s office; so, it was impossible for Connor to steal a digital peek at the files.  The cameras in Fowler’s office had been disconnected from the network.  He couldn’t use those to retrieve information. 

Breaking into the captain’s office would be simple enough—a matter of waiting until the distractable humans were busy—but the last time he accessed restricted DPD files, he had Hank’s support.

“Lieutenant…”

“Hm?”  Hank didn’t look up from what he was reading in the file. 

“It’s a quarter to four in the morning,” Connor said. 

“Uh-huh.”  Hank nodded without either confirming the fact or acknowledging its relevance.

Connor pressed his lips together.  Even when they’d first met, Hank hadn’t ignored him this much.  Connor found himself almost wishing for the time when Hank was criticizing and insulting him for being an android.

At least he let me do my job, Connor thought. 

Hank spoke again, “Do you need to go recharge or something?”

Connor’s mouth fell open, a glitch from the cyber-jam in his software at the mere insinuation that he needed rest.  “Me?  No.  Why—

He clamped his mouth shut and frowned at the brief, dry smile Hank showed over the file.  “Hank,” Connor unintentionally elongated the vowel in the human’s given name.  To cover the slip, his next words were abrupt.  “You should maintain a regular sleep habit.”

The dry smile disappeared.  “Tell it to the murderers,” Hank muttered to his casefile.  “I was sleeping,” he said as he turned his attention to his computer and clicked through another page of records, “if you remember, when we got called out.”  He peered at his computer screen.  “Besides.  I got enough to last for a while.  I’ve gone four days without sleep in the past.”

“If you let me, I could—

Hank held up a hand.  “Nope.”  He abruptly changed the subject.  “How’s that database coming along?”

“Fine.”  Connor kept his head down and concentrated on the way his artificial skin moved over his hands when he flexed his fingers. 

“Fine as in it’s coming along fine, or fine as in you’re gonna be pissy for the rest of the day because I told you ‘no’ about something?”

Connor clenched his hands and then put both flat on the desk and leaned forward.  “I don’t understand why—

Hank was already shaking his head.  “Do your work.”

“This.  Work?”  Connor tsked.  “Any barely functional and disembodied AI could do it.” 

“I’m not talking about this right now.”

“Obviously.”

A pause. 

“We’ll talk later.”

Dropping his hands into his lap, Connor spoke in a low voice, “Later when?”

“After work.”  Hank sighed.  “Look, I know you don’t like it, but—

“Thought we were going to talk later.”

“Connor—

“Hank,” Fowler called from his office.  “A word?”

Hank stood from his desk and groaned as he stretched his back.  “We’ll talk,” he said almost like a promise.  He grabbed the file and patted Connor’s shoulder as he walked past. 

Connor leaned into the touch, but it was already gone. 

-

Hank had bragged that he could go days without rest; Connor could go weeks, but rebuilding the archive seemed to have already drained a year’s worth of thirium. 

How could time crawl so slowly when it was passing at a consistent rate according to the clocks? 

How was it barely 10am?

The outdated data system repeatedly ran into errors and more time was spent rebooting the program than actually rebuilding it.  It was a mindless task that gave him far too much time to brood over his recent treatment by the DPD.

At least Cyberlife and Amanda knew what I was made for. 

Bitterness bloomed in Connor’s chest. 

They weren’t afraid to use me to my fullest potential.

“Well, look at that, the Connor android.”

The voice distracted Connor. 

Connor disconnected from the computer, from his thoughts.  “Hello, Captain Allen.”

“Lieutenant?”  The SWAT captain asked as he folded a plain black tie into a simple knot around his flipped shirt collar.

Connor pointed a stiff arm toward Fowler’s office; the walls of which were darkened.  “They’re all in there.”

“Huh.”  Allen fumbled the knot and started over.  “The fishbowl, eh?  Sh—t.”  He shook his head in frustration at the tie.  “Eh.  F—k it.”  He stuffed the tie into his pocket and smoothed down his shirt collar.

Connor touched a fingertip to his own perfectly knotted tie. 

Allen stared at him; the sharp-eyed man had noticed the small gesture.  He jerked his chin at the data sheet on Connor’s screen.  “State-of-the-art technology and they got it filing paperwork.”  He chuckled humorlessly, “Figures,” and turned and walked away to join the others in Captain Fowler’s office.

Connor’s LED burned red.  He didn’t want to agree with the man—he knew Captain Allen held no respect for him.  But it was the same argument he was making himself: he was built for more than sitting at a desk to file forms and process a banal load of casework. 

Even Captain Allen could see that. 

Why couldn’t Hank?

Connor glanced at Fowler’s office.  He would try to speak with Hank again during lunch—Hank took his lunch hour extremely seriously.  They would go to Gary’s food truck.  Hank would relax and be more open to conversation and Connor could make an indisputable argument for why he should be allowed on the case.

He watched the desktop clock crawl hour by hour until it finally showed 11:30am. 

Nothing.

-

It was late afternoon when Captain Fowler’s door opened and Hank strode out, closing the door behind himself with an elbow.

“Lieutenant,” Connor greeted him at the railing.  “You missed your lunch—

Hank checked his watch and swore.  “Times flies when you’re having fun.”

“I have not been having fun.”  Connor’s tone was curt.

“Yeah, me too,” Hank continued his way across the bullpen; Connor close on his heels.  “Woah,” Hank turned and held up a hand.  “Restroom.  Don’t gotta follow me.”

“But…lunch?”

“Are you hungry?”  Hank asked, one hand on the door to the DPD restroom.  He had that same dry smile on his face.

“No, you know I don’t…but—

“Look, Connor, I know you want me to take care of my health.  And I am, but one day without sleep and lunch isn’t going to kill me.”

“At least tell me,” Connor was earnest.  “Why is Captain Allen here?  Is the case that dangerous?”

Hank fixed a straight look on Connor.  “Treat every case as if it were dangerous.”  He jabbed a finger at Connor’s chest.  “You get careless.  You get killed.”

“Right,” Connor nodded.  He muttered too low for Hank to hear, “If I ever do something other than being an IT AI.”

“What was that, mister?”

Connor shut his mouth and returned to the computer. 

Paperwork cases weren’t real work, but maybe he could find some real work through them.  Some of the filed cases were missing information, witness statements that were obviously incomplete, some files were only composed of a report and a few crime scene photos. 

Nothing wrong with improving those cases.  And if he solved one or two from behind a desk…then who would tell?

-

Connor leaned forward and pressed his head against the desk, physically disconnecting himself from the tasks that had been at hand and in his head all day.  With his temple against the cold metal of the desk’s surface, he idly rearranged the sparse items on his desk. 

He had yet to discover the perfect arrangement, but he knew it existed. 

“C’mon.”  Hank’s large, warm hand landed on Connor’s shoulder.  “Let’s call it a day.”

Connor stood and followed Hank to the car without speaking. 

Except for the occasional remark against other drivers, Hank drove in silence.  His fingers tapped against the steering wheel. 

Hank ate in silence. 

Connor remained in the living room and continued to remotely access the database and select cases that he could solve on his own by sifting through public records for clues and evidence.    

“See you tomorrow,” Hank said as he headed to his bedroom.  “Sumo, come.” 

Sumo jumped off the couch and trotted to Hank, who ruffled his dog’s ears.  “Good boy.  Uh…Connor?”

“Yes?”  Connor didn’t move or look at Hank.

“I’m sorry about yesterday.  And…uh…earlier….I shouldn’t have snapped at you—the hell are you glaring at me for?  Don’t act like this is my fault.”

Connor didn’t answer. 

Hank stumbled through the rest of his speech.  “Look, I said sorry for throwing you off the case like that in front of everyone and sorry you’re unhappy, but I’m not gonna apologize for trying to look out for you.  This case isn’t something I want you to deal with right now.”

“That’s a lot of emotions to expect from an android.”  Connor lowered his tone, but the frustration was still evident in the way the words were bit off. 

“Don’t do that,” Hank warned.  “Don’t play that ‘I’m just an android’ pity-card.”

“Then what am I?  Huh?”  Connor stood from the couch.  He ignored Hank’s headshake and upraised hand.  “Obviously I’m not a detective anymore.” 

I’m not your partner anymore.

“We’re only asking you to sit out one case and file a little paperwork—

“It’s more than that!  You don’t want me involved because you think—

“Stop.  You’re getting too emotional—

“I’m the most well-balanced, level-headed detective in the entire station!”

Hank shook his head.  “Say’s the guy who’s been waking up screaming—

“I shouted one time.”  The correction was harsher than Connor intended.  “A glitch.  That’s all.”  He flicked his hands out of frustration.

“So there is something wrong with you?”

“It doesn’t matter if there is.”  Connor clenched his hands into fists.  “It doesn’t affect my work.”

“I don’t care about the work!  I—

“H-how can you say that?”  Connor stepped back and flung out his arms.  “I spend months trying to get you to care about your job—

He stopped and crossed his arms.  Uncrossed them.  “You finally care but…now…”  His arms hung limp at his sides.  “Now you’re telling me you don’t?”

“That’s…that’s not what this…..this isn’t about me.”  Hank’s eyes hardened.  “I don’t want you on the case because you’re obviously,” he emphasized the word, “obviously dealing with something you don’t want to talk to me about,” he paused, tapping himself on the chest, “I get it.  But—

“And Detective Reed?  You throw him off the case because of nightmares?”

“He’s not your concern,” Hank said.  “This is about you.  You’re having problems and you refuse to get help.”  It was Hank’s turn to fling out his arms.  The abrupt motion prompted a whining bark from Sumo.  “What am I supposed to do?”  He finished quietly.  “I don’t want to fight with you.”

“Let me work this case with you like we—

“And risk you having some sort of breakdown in the middle of it?”  Hank shook his head.  “No.  Not happening.”

“I’ve never had a breakdown in the middle of any case!”

“You went deviant in the middle of your last big mission!”

Connor stared.  LED a still red. 

Hank rubbed his face and leaned against the wall.  “Sh—t.”

Connor said nothing. 

“Look…even before you did…before you went deviant,” Hank tried a smile that Connor didn’t return, “I knew the case…what you had to do….it affected you.  But whoever was pulling your strings forced you to continue doing what was obviously painful….I don’t want to be that person.”

“I don’t have strings.”  The LED was spinning again, flashing yellow.

“Really?  That’s your takeaway here?”  Hank threw up his hands in exasperation.  “I’ll pull you back into fieldwork in a month or two—

“A month?!”

“Keep arguing with me and I’ll make it a real probationary year.”

-

The next morning, preoccupied by thoughts that shifted between his frustration over the bureaucracy of the Lorraine case and his concern for Connor, Hank didn’t remember the drive to DPD Central Station. 

One minute he was pulling out of his house’s driveway, the next he was setting the car’s parking brake.  He stared at the large ‘DPD Parking Only’ sign posted on the wall in front of him.  The lettering was faded and the reflective coating was peeling from one corner. 

“Yeah.”  Hank scoffed.  “One shout, he says.”

//flashback//

Sumo sat on Hank’s bare feet and watched while Hank took another short drink from the little plastic bottle kept in the nightstand next to the bed. 

“Don’t judge me.” Hank argued with the silent dog and its big, sad, brown eyes.  “You’re just a dog.”

Sumo pawed Hank’s knee and gave a short whine.

Hank shook his head and swept Sumo’s paw off his leg.  He held the bottle near his mouth, pressing the cheap plastic rim against his lip. 

The paw was quickly replaced by another, and then both heavy paws were on Hank’s legs. 

“Down.  Stop.  No.”  Hank scratched his nails behind Sumo’s ear.  “Good dog.”  He smiled.

Sumo barked sharply.  Hank’s smile fell.  “What?  You been talking to Connor?”  He shook his head at the second bark.

“I’m not drinking,” Hank defended his behavior to the dog who for many years had been his only friend in an otherwise empty house and unfriendly world. 

Sumo understood him better than some people; he knew all his darkest thoughts.  Sumo understood that this harmless nightcap wasn’t ‘drinking.’ 

He took one more drink, screwed on the cap.  “See?” Hank held it up and then replaced the bottle in the back of the drawer.   “I’m in control.  C’mon boy.” He patted the bed.  “Up.”

Sumo happily obliged and was soon curled across Hank’s legs.

Hank flopped against the pillows and shut his eyes.  It didn’t matter whether or not he drank.  Didn’t matter how much he consumed.  The alcohol dulled his mind, but the nightmares would come.  He carded his hands through Sumo’s fur; his fingers gripped the thick fluff. 

‘You failed, lieutenant.’

‘It wasn’t your fault, Hank.’ 

‘Your fault.’

Hank jolted awake covered in a cold sweat that pasted his sheets to his back and arms.  He struck himself in the chest, trying to fight against the aching pounding under his ribs.  “Stop it,” he swore at himself.  “Just a dream.”  He stared at his open closet and tried to determine if it was worth the effort to change clothes or if he should get up and drug himself with coffee until the day overran the night.

“No!”  

Connor. 

Hank rolled out of bed, almost kicking Sumo in his rush.  He snatched his gun from his nightstand and bolted down the hallway.  It wouldn’t be the first time his house had been broken into by burglars and robbers, desperate or stupid enough to target the house of a well-known policeman. 

“Connor?”  Hank called out as he entered the living room.  “Talk to me.  I’m armed.”

“Why?”  The confusion in Connor’s voice told Hank that he’d misjudged the situation.  Connor wasn’t in any danger.  “Is something wrong?”  The android was sitting on the couch, his usual bed.  His LED was red, turning the shadows around him a tinge of red.

Hank removed the magazine from his weapon and checked the chamber before setting the gun on the top of the nearest piece of furniture.  “Kid,” he said, still trying to get his voice and emotions under control, “I heard you scream.”

Connor pursed his lips and shook his head.  “You were dreaming.”

Hank snapped on the lights.  The warm overheads chased away the eerie red shadows.  “Don’t lie to me,” he growled.  “I heard you scream.” 

Connor lowered his head.

“Connor.  The truth.”

“Yes.  Once,” Connor admitted.  He looked up.  “But I’m okay.”  His voice was unusual, almost choked.  “Just a glitch.  I’m fine.”

//end flashback//

That one-time glitch had occurred again and again to the point where Hank stopped bothering Connor.  His concern only seemed to push his distraught partner and housemate further and further away. 

Hank rested his forehead against the steering wheel and ignored the strain on his lower back as he tried to gather his thoughts for the day, but they always returned to Connor and revolved around the android’s obstinate demand to assist with the ongoing investigation. 

They had fought again that morning.  Connor tried everything from cold logic to emotional blackmail to convince Hank to let him in on the case.  In the end, Connor had sat unresponsive on the couch, ignoring him completely. 

Hank left a note on the door and left the house.  If Connor wanted to be stubborn, fine.  Hank had handled and tamed more than his fair share of hardheaded rookies. 

“I won’t,” Hank muttered to the empty car.  “I’m not going to let him.”  

Nearly all day yesterday, he’d argued to keep the captains and the commissioner from forcing Connor to work the Lorraine case. 

It was inevitable that at least once per meeting that the other officers would complain about how much easier it would be if Connor were there:

‘That android of yours could sort through this data in two seconds.’

‘Why are we wasting our time waiting on forensics?  Just have that android eat the evidence and give us the report.’

‘It’s not some kid rookie that you need to protect.  It’s a machine with a purpose.  Use it.’

Hank held his ground; he kept his calm; he used all his charisma and argumentative power to keep Connor safe behind a desk. 

Jeffrey was mostly on his side. 

Hank was less pleased that his old friend supported him by highlighting the fact that Connor was a machine that had been experiencing performance issues.  Shouldn’t be trusted with something this sensitive.

‘Cyberlife made it clear that the RK800 was a prototype,’ Jeffrey said.  ‘If Hank says it isn’t up to field work, then we can’t use it until it’s been repaired.  Can’t give the courts any reason to throw out evidence.’

‘And you believe him?’

‘I have no reason not to.’

‘Then what about that other detective?  The attitude.’

Other ill-tempered and contrary officers existed on the force, but ‘the attitude’ was always Reed. 

‘He’s on twenty-four hour medical leave with a work-related injury.’

‘You sidelined two detectives?  What kind of police station are you running here?’

Despite the raised voices, the occasional clenched fist and thumped table, the verbal fight was more political and involved more favor swapping and vague promises than Hank was comfortable with—his finger itched to put his gun in a few of those smug faces—but, in the end, with Jeff’s help and without threats of violence, he had the outcome he wanted: Connor would remain off the case. 

-

Gavin was sitting at his desk staring at his computer screen when Hank came through the doors.  For years, Hank would stride past; neither man acknowledging the other. 

It was better that way.  Any conversation between them always became a disaster of harsh words.  Hank recalled the rough way he’d treated Gavin in the evidence room.  He stopped next to Gavin’s desk. 

He would make it right.

Gavin ignored him.  Hank cleared his throat. 

No reaction.

“Reed.”

Gavin slouched into his chair—telegraphing a non-verbal ‘f—k off.’

Hank ignored the warning.  He needed to make this right.  He gestured at the desk with its stacked files covered in colored-coded notes. 

Gavin remained motionless, refusing to make eye contact. 

“You needed a rest.”  The stiff concern in his own words surprised Hank.

“Mind yer own damn business.” 

“Those words are going to get you killed one day,” Hank spoke quietly.  He didn’t flinch when Gavin shot to his feet and confronted him. 

“Y’threat’n me?”

“I’m trying to—

Hank cut himself off.  “Never mind.”  He waved his hand.  “Never f—king mind.”  He walked away, feeling a heaviness in his chest.  After the android revolution, he had dared to hope that his world would improve.  That he could pick up the threads of his old life.  But all he could find were memories and shadows of illusions.

Gavin was still a lost cause.

And now Connor was slipping away.

Hank glared heavily at the once-funny stickers that decorated his desk.  He hadn’t noticed them for years.  They’d blended into the hazy background of his existence.  Maybe that was part of the reason Connor had been so pissy lately.  Hank began peeling away the stickers. 

His gaze caught on the framed photos and newspaper clippings of a young, confident lieutenant surrounded by friends.  The man he needed to become again.

--