halitophobia

[halitophobia]

Blind Eye - Four

Parings ⟶ OC x Hank's Daughter! Reader (TEMPORARILY) , RK800! Connor x Hank's Daughter! Reader (EVENTUALLY)

A/N ⟶ Ha...so let’s just pretend that I haven’t been gone since...dude I don’t even know...September? Yeesh...well, I haven’t forgotten about this story that I started and have not lost interest...I’ve just lost motivation. For ten months. Anyways, here’s part 4 and I hope you enjoy it. I appreciate everything and if you’re here, having read the past parts, welcome back! Long time no see...Alright without further ado, please enjoy :)

Much love.

Disclaimer ⟶  over the century I’ve been gone, I have not established ownership over DBH characters

Warnings ⟶ swearing, violence, mentions of death, stubborn reader, stubborn Hank, spoilers...?, slow burn, sLoW bUrN, SLOW BURN, alcohol abuse (Hankster), angst, toxic relationship, eventual....fluff, happiness, cute stuff, flustered Connor, flustered Reader, all the gushy-ness, and ?????smut?????

Word Count ⟶ 3228

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

----

NOV 6th, 2038

AM 10:53:11

    The sweet, comforting sound of middle-aged men arguing about an empty milk carton wakes you from your beautifully sound slumber.

    With one eye open, you tenderly lift your arm to flip over your phone. The blue light screams at you so invasively, you almost forget to check the time. As it renders in your brai-

Shit.

    You hurl the covers over and yank yourself out of bed. You have exactly seven minutes to get out this motel before they charge you another night. You hiss as the unnecessarily freezing floor hits your soles, then drop down beside your suitcase. Toiletries and clothes are strewn somewhat near, quickly finding their way into a miscalculated arrangement. You collapse onto the case flap for strategic compression, swearing as you catch your hair in the zipper. Once the suitcase is successfully shut, you stand triumphantly...and realize you are definitely not wearing pants. Comedically, you stare at the wall ahead of you, truly contemplating whether it's worth scavenging the depths of your now clumpy suitcase to find your sweatpants, or to run out in the bite of winter...

    With legs spread out around your luggage, you dig through, trying to cause the least amount of disturbance. However you forget the whole point of searching gently once you feel the familiar fabric and jerk them out not so gently, creating a volcanic explosion.

No, no thank you. Thank you for giving me this chance to further fuck up my belongings...

    As you seal the case shut with great difficulty, you quite literally launch it toward the door. You check the bathroom to make sure you're not missing anything, then race to your bag. With a cute jig, you shove your shoes on while fumbling with the door handle. As you slam the door behind you, you pause, seeing a completely calm and silent hallway.

Ba-da bing, ba-da boom...

Fixing a few strands of hair, you give your room a lock and sign out of the motel.

----

PM 1:10:45

"I'm home!" you holler, expertly chucking your keys towards a bowl on the kitchen counter. You watch as they collide with it and thrash the contents inside, bringing everything to the tile floor. Nice...

    You move through the kitchen (which functions as a hallway), into the living room - corner as you like to call it. To your left sits an aged leather couch, pillows deformed and flat. Across that is the ancient one; the almighty TV3000, surely made three thousand years ago...A rickety window directly in front of you allows natural light to flood a small area of wall below the completely meaningless picture Ben insisted on hanging. Speaking of, there he lays limbs strewn out, trickling down the couch. His jaw, fallen down, reveals a gaping hole which projects a discomforting grumble and snort. You study his breathing pattern, then let your eyes wander to his hands; one lazily rested atop his stomach, and the other hanging off the couch with the neck of a bottle between his thumb and index. You scoff.

"Ben," you test, with a nudge to the couch. "Ben." you repeat.

You sigh, moving beside him and crouching down to his level. "Wake up."

He grumbles in response, swiping his lips with his tongue.

"Ben, you've got a shift in twenty. Get up, shower, and go."

"Shhhhhhh..." he starts, "too loud."

    You swallow, lowering your gaze to the cracked hardwood floor. "How much did you drink last night?"

    Your eyes narrow as he shakes his head, adjusting his position. You stand, leaving to your shared bedroom. Ignoring the much disturbed bed and clothes dotting the floor. You dig around the closet, clutch a certain bundle, then return. You drop the clothes with a hint of 'you're a shit' energy, then watch as he frustratingly awakes.

"What the fuck?" he snarls.

"Get up, shower, and go." you repeat, accenting select words.

"Fuck you." he mumbles, sitting upright.

    He groans, letting his head still from the commotion, and with his eyes closed, he reaches for your thigh. He rests his head against it and sighs.

"How was the shift?"

"Good. Got a good bite that'll last us a couple days or so." you answer, involuntarily playing with his hair. He doesn't need to know how it really went and how you practically begged to be paid. Let's be honest, what did you contribute last night?

He yawns, "Then I don't have to go in for work."

You frown, pulling away. "Yes you do. Aaron said you're done unless you clean up your act."

"Yeah, yeah. Take a joke, will you?"

    He uses your thigh to stand, draping an arm around your shoulders. He places a lazy kiss to your forehead and grins. It's scratchy and rough due to his ignorance for lip balm.

"You're great, Y/N." he states, wandering to the bedroom.

    Your eyes close as you hear the shower running. Letting yourself fall back on the couch, you run a hand through your hair. It's been like this forever. You can't remember life before simply because you can't imagine this one being nearly as lively. You can't remember having to crunch out bills like this. You can't remember a floor that doesn't wail at you. You can't remember feeling so full that you need to un-button your jeans, or a silent neighbourhood with that one family that invites you over every Friday.

    That life you lived before seems so un-reachable, so beautiful, that it's become imaginary. You love Ben. You do. He makes you smile. He makes you laugh when times are tough. He holds you through bits of the night and tells you he loves you. Though he's changed. When you touched his lips, young and naive, he knew excitement. Hunger. Want. When alcohol touched his lips, plentiful and cool, he knew ease. Numbing. Solitude. You weren't a stranger to this behaviour, you'd seen- you see it with your father. You know how to handle it.

He doesn't mean that.

He's got other things that are worrying him.

He's just stressed.

He's just tired.

He loves you.

He does.

"We need more shampoo."

    Your eyes open, and are met with his, looking much younger and fresh. You nod, "I'll add it to the list."

"When uh, when does my shift end?" he asks, touching up his hair.

"Six-thirty."

    His nose scrunches, and with a sniff, he turns to you. Instantly knowing, you stand, meeting him at the counter. He offers a small smile, acknowledging the tired in your eyes. He looks good; showers always fix the bags. Maybe last night had a lighter mood...

"You get some sleep, yeah? I cleaned the bedroom a bit."

    You nod, returning his smile. He juts out his chin, looking down at you through his lashes. You lift, keeping you arms by your sides as you meet him for a kiss. He places his hand on your crown, pressing his lips on your hairline.

"See ya at nine."

"Nine? You get off at six-thirty."

"Stopping by Jordy's." he states, grabbing his keys that are on the floor with yours and a pack of gum. "Love you."

You frown, the door nearly secure in its frame-

"Pick up dinner, okay? I didn't get anything while you were out."

Now it's secure.

    A scoff leaves your lips as you look to the crack embedded into the doorframe. You've convinced yourself it grows deeper and longer, his eager 'goodbyes' being the cause. Succumbing to yet another pause, your eyelids flutter shut once again; though not for long. Now that Ben's gone, you have duties.

    Number one. Count empty bottles. Six and a half. Number two. Search for anything out of the order. A slightly bloodied rag partnered with a slightly bloodied countertop. Seems like someone was eager to open a bottle... And finally, get rid of his secret stash.

    Thankfully, he didn't stock up much. Maybe just enough for the weekend or a 'stop by Jordy's'. With a small exhale, you clutch two packs of beers, heading for the door three to the right.

"Ben?"

"Huh? Oh, I-what are you doing with those?"

"What are you doing with that?"

    His eyes follow yours, the expedition ending at his first two fingers. Between them burns a cigarette, merely used if not freshly lit. He left ten minutes ago...is this not his first?...Your eyes slender as the layers of thin paper slowly recede. The air is thick; squeezing both of you tight and still. The start of a lecture bubbles from your stomach while a story fabricates in his. The creases buried beneath the stillness of your face emerge, your lips quivering to expel words.

Though, yesterday's events rattled you enough.

"If you leave now, you'll arrive only minutes late."

    A low sigh seeps from your body as you step forward. You gingerly press your palm upon his lower side and your other on his fist. Nimbly, you dance your fingertips along his knuckles and with your eyes on his, you swipe the cigarette from his hand. It falls and you listen for the minuscule bump it'll make as it collides with the concrete.

    He thought that was the end of your show, but the respite was only an intermission. You tighten your hold on his abdomen, then crush the embers beneath you, a quick twist or two becomes music to your ears. His jaw tightens and his throat bobs. If only you knew how many more have touched his lips; blackened his lungs.

"Put those back."

    His voice slices the silence, but your hardened stare adds more. This is the first time he's caught you, but if only he knew how many more bottles have been sold to the neighbours; dropped by their door.

    He's relieved. You have yet another tear in your perfect image. He's usually one to slip up, this moment adding to his endless list of mistakes, but now, he concludes, you've got a growing list of your own.

    A change of emotion from your face doesn't come, and you turn around toward the door. Your fingers curl on its handle and you send him a side glance, entering the apartment. With that, he stares where you once were, swears and threats swelling his tongue; he could storm back in there and he will.

    But he needs this pay check. He needs this money. You don't need to know why.

----

PM 3:08:30

BZZZzzz...BZZZzzz...

    Your eyes snap open, a brief gasp travelling your throat. A quiet curse entangles with an exhale as you reach for your phone. Whoever's on the other end won't be receiving a cutesy 'hello'...you were napping so peacefully.

"Yes?" you offer, rolling onto your back.

    You're on your side of the bed; the clean side of the room, dragging your gaze over the popcorn-styled ceiling. As the caller begins to speak, a headache begins to form. Captain Fowler.

"Detective Anderson..." he pauses and you simply close your eyes, "I'm surprised you actually answered." he chuckles lightly, though you hear a more pressing undertone, indicating he has business to express.

"With all due respect, Captain...get to the point."

    He replies with a grumble, and you hear his chair squeak through the phone. It's a discomforting pause for him, but a moment to rest for you.

"I have a new shift an-" he starts.

"I'll save you the time. No."

"Y/N..."

"No."

"Look, you need to get back out there. Your position here is wavering. I have been easy on you for too fucking long and that desk can be filled quickly..."

    His voice is firm; comforting to you since it's all you've known. You smile softly. He's trying to threaten you.

"Fill it." you jest.

"You're willing to let that go, eh? Even to an android?"

The curve of your lips flatten and suddenly you're upright. That's fucking cold.

"Fowler you-"

"Hank was chatting it up an' everything. They have a common ground for dogs."

"Shut up."

"The thing was wigglin' in your chair, leaning back in it,"

"Shut up."

    This isn't fun anymore. This is getting too close to home. You're seething. The anger in you reaches your ears, pink from your sleep, now red from your wrath. You storm with rage, huff hot, heavy air...though this time, there's more to it. Not only are you raving...you're hurt.  

    It's that easy? That easy for you to be replaced? You never thought your skirmishing would come to this. Androids have taken everything from you. From both of you...and he does this?

"Y/N."

Leashed and choked, you're brought back to your senses.

"If I do this, will you discard of it?"

"Of...what? Th-oh. The android."

    Your jaw clenches, the skin around it bulging while you wait for his answer. You snicker. Hank's traded you for a piece of plastic. A rancid, putrid, self-centered-

"Get out of your head and listen to me,"

    None of those thoughts left your lips; you wouldn't let that spill. He can't know you're hurt. Because you're not. No. You don't care.

"Take the job."

"If you trash it, I will."

You won't budge. It's you or it.

    There's silence. A sigh, nearly a growl. Then a crackle through the line signifying a shift in his position.

"I'll see to it."

    It's an accomplishment. Hank's a downright fuckhead and he'll be the one to apologize. To make amends. In the meantime, you'll climb that tower and set his work ablaze. You'll fight against him. Make him pay for everything he's done. He'll watch, clutching onto his beloved robot as you succeed like he once did.

"Well?"

    Right, Fowler's still on the line. You aren't surprised he's hanging on. He's a soft spot for you ever since the incident; you and Hank, but you're more personable. You take advantage of him though. His calls, offering work. Shifts that you and Ben survive on. You'd be rubble without the cold Captain, surely. You don't deserve any of it, but on the other hand, the pride clouding your head traps the gratitude. Or maybe you can't find the words. The second sounds kinder, but you're not sure if you yourself even believe it.

"I don't have money for the trip." you bite.

'Thank you...'

"Your pay check will cover it."

'You're welcome...’

    To your surprise, a smile finds it way to your lips. He can't see it. You don't want him to. For the first time through this treacherous hike, there's rope for you to hold. It's frayed at the ends and secure to nothing but twigs, but it's presented itself and you take your chances.

"So when do I start?"

"Leave now. A Lieutenant plans to head out to a case and I direct you to join." he takes a moment, "This situation is critical and it requires you to be local."

    You nod. You know what he means. You'll need a place to stay. The first place that comes to mind is the motel you left earlier today...but even after getting this temporary job, it's expensive. Too expensive...

The Captain acknowledges your hesitance, predicting your setback.

"You know there's someone here with a home. And a dog..."

"Where do I meet the Lieutenant?"

    Fowler stops his pushing, but only this time. He speaks as you begin to pack while scribbling the address down. You sit on the suitcase an- oh...I should probably...

'Can't talk now. Leave a message.'

"Ben, I..uh...Fowler's offered me a job," subconsciously, you start to fiddle with the zipper on the case, "Well, temporarily...but it's still good money. So...I'm leaving now and uh...well I have to stay there for a couple days. I don't know how long um," you take a breath, suffocating your bag and the grudge you held, "look I'm sorry for today, I'll put some cash on the counter for dinner and...I'll give you updates. Um...see ya."

     A groan escapes your lips and you head for the door. Leaving this place doesn't tug or heavy your steps. You do this all the time. You're not attached to any places anymore...always sleeping in different rooms, organizing clothes into different compartments, dragging your luggage onto busses. It helps, in a way, knowing you don't have strong ties to one place other than...Ben. He helps too. Lets you know there's a sense of being somewhere. It's with him. You think.

    The doors of the bus slide open and you step in with ease. This is routine. You know this. The bus accelerates pulling you back, but it feels different, like this time, you might regret leaving. This time, you'll come back changed. Or you won't...come back.

----

PM 3:52:10

    The elevator ride is intruding. Clicking, clunking, rattling...hell you can't even think. You can't prepare yourself; put your mind at rest and focus on the case. Then, like bird shit slapping the top of your head, you realize...you have no idea what you're going in to. You don't know who this Lieutenant is, nor what the case is about. Is it in your area of knowledge? It has to be. Fowler wouldn't put you on foreign grounds. He is an ass though...he could do it to make a point.

    Your damned anxiety dances over you like a sugar plum fairy. Can this elevator go any faster? Your right leg starts to shake. It's a habit. Just get it over with. Just get it done. Just let it go. The words you feed yourself are no use. You're just regurgitating them back. It's pathetic, really. You've seen the worst of the worst, yet you shrivel at the thought of working with a stranger on an investigation you have no idea about. Cute.

The ding invades your mind and you bite the inside of your cheek. Hard.

Fuck it. Right? Fuck it!...

    A loud scrape sounds before the doors even budge. They part and you're face-to-face with a poorly papered wall. To the left, you look, is another wall, and to your righ-

"Mmph!"

    Adrenaline crashes over you while a person crashes into you. A heavy person. Before you can process, your chin's scaping the chipped floor and your arms are pinned from behind. Legs tighten around your hips while a hand presses your cheek. There's a halt in movement allowing you to assess the position and its gaps. Your eyes slam shut; you have to think and think quickly. You recognize a space between the legs and yank your top knee through, driving theirs to the wall. After creating an opening, you heave yourself out, bucking your shoes into their chest. Scrambling to stand, your ankle's caught in an excruciating hold and a growl from you is the first verbal sound. The skin on your left cheek burns again as it’s raked on the ground. You're being hauled back. You feel legs return to your torso and hands tearing yours apart to each ear. With your back flush on the floor, you finally look at your attacker.

What. the. fu-

"Connor! Hold them tig-Y/N?"

You glance back and forth at the two.

"Oh for fuck's sake."

----

[halitophobia]

Blind Eye - Three

Parings ⟶ OC x Hank's Daughter! Reader (TEMPORARILY) , RK800! Connor x Hank's Daughter! Reader (EVENTUALLY)

A/N ⟶ You guys...I am so sorry that it has been...two weeks since the last chapter. These past days have been pretty tough on me and I’ve had a bad case of writer’s block. I changed the reader’s age in chapter one so everything fits nicely for timeline (sorry). By the way, something’s really wiggy with my Tumblr and spacing/copy&paste is a pain in the bum. Soooo...enough said, I deeply apologize and will really try to clean up my act. Much love. 

Disclaimer ⟶ I don't own any characters from DBH

Warnings ⟶ swearing, violence, mentions of death, stubborn reader, stubborn Hank, spoilers...?, slow burn, sLoW bUrN, SLOW BURN, alcohol abuse (Hankster), angst, toxic relationship, eventual....fluff, happiness, cute stuff, flustered Connor, flustered Reader, all the gushy-ness, and ?????smut?????

Word Count ⟶ 3060

Part 1  Part 2  Part 3 Part 4  

----

SEPT 23rd, 2029

AM 3:21:53

    You're sat on an old mustard couch, not knowing where to look. You can hear pestering beeps. High sounding with a low undertone. It's as if everything is moving in slow-motion before your eyes. You fiddle with your fingers, looking down as a scream fills your ears once again. You don't know if you can look. You don't know if you should look. You don't know if you want to look. A strained wail erupts from her throat; as well as your name. Your gaze rests upon her sweaty state. Hair sticking to her forehead and her skin glistening like a sparkling river.

"Y/N." she cries again, hastily beckoning you over.

    Involuntarily, you're brought to your feet, and over at her side in seconds. Her frail, elegant hand quivers toward you. Immediately, you hold it to your heart.

"Don't be scared." she smiles weakly.

    You nod, squeezing her hand. She whimpers once more letting her head fall back onto a tower of pillows.

"I need you to push once more, sweetheart."

    The woman in front of you lets another wail pour out from between her swollen lips. The howl only grows louder and your head starts to swirl. For you, this is very overwhelming. Your heart quickens as you watch the lady arch in pain. A larger, warm hand covers both hers and yours. Your eyes move toward the owner. He smiles, sharing the anxiety.

He's happy...very scared, but happy.

    One last set of agonizingly slow seconds stumble by, and finally, another soul is brought into the world.

"Oh darling, your hard work has paid off. You have a beautiful, healthy baby boy."

    A kind, aged lady wears an expression you have never seen before. She's in awe of the sight before her. A younger woman in blue holds scissors in her hand. She bends over the infant and makes a precise snip. You lower your gaze, choosing not watch. Instead of letting your eyes witness the new life, you let your ears. He sure is loud. Very, very loud.

    You look back to the couple before you. A smile dances across your lips as you admire the scene. Damp foreheads pressed together and their laughs are woven with exhaustion.

    Her face lights up with joy as her boy is placed in her arms. Loving tears drown her stressed ones as she takes in the baby's presence. The husband's finger is adorned below four tiny fingers. They laugh in glee as they watch him suck in his lips.

    You stand a foot away, quite awkwardly. They seem so happy and content. Full of love and power. A trio connected through blood and bones.

"I can't believe it. We did it." she whispers, gleaming up at him.

    He nods, letting a tear fall down onto her shoulder. The woman flinches slightly, reality tapping on her front door. Then she looks at you with shiny, doe-eyes.

"I love you, Y/N. We love you."

"I know, Mum." you reply with a small smile.

"D'you wanna meet your baby brother?" your father grins, holding his hand out to you.

    You hesitate for a moment, then take a step toward them. Placing your hand into his, he guides you to the child's head.

"Be very careful," he hums, "his head is very soft and sensitive."

    Your hand barely even floats over his tiny hairs, amazed by the energy from this child. It's as if he holds a magic spell around him. A spell of wanting to protect and love him until earth's end. You blink as you're taken under this effect. Peace and serenity fluttering around the four of you. You just can't stop running your finger under his palm. His fingers, all there, beautifully curled and chubby. His lips cheeky and pouted. With lashes, very wet, and eyes shining brighter than sapphires. His skin is velvet, his sleeping state, a symbol of calm. He is magical.

"Cole." you finally hear, "his name is Cole."

----

JUN 18, 2032

PM 5:54:12

    "Hey, you little shits!-"

"Hank! What did we say about langua-"

    "I have a present!"

"Daddy!"

    A little boy no older than three comes pattering to the door. You're eighteen now, a fresh face from high school, getting ready for university. You smirk, watching your grey old man tackle Cole. Cole's grown nicely. Strong, brave, spry. He's a pain to play hide an' seek with... You stand to stretch your legs, leaving your beloved 'corner spot' on the couch.

"Hey, dad." you smile, giving him a shoulder hug.

    He scrubs your head, shaking it back and forth like a dog.

"How's my little girl?"

"Not little."

"Hey! I have a surprise! Hon, you can stop washing the dishes. Get out here!" he waves his hands around, bouncing like a child.

"I wasn't washing the dishes. I'm not always doing stereotypical wife things." she smiles with a knowing look while wiping her hands with a small rag.

"Were you cooking dinner?" he teases, wiggling his brows.

    You watch her send him a subtle finger while you suppress a snort. You all follow the man outside, three different emotions playing on your faces. Cole, on-the-brink-of-peeing-his-pants happy, you, thrououghly amused and anticipating the argument to come, and your mother, huffing and puffing like the big bad wolf.

    There stands before you a ginormous Saint Bernard. With big saggy ears, excessively large paws, an even larger tongue, and the most happiest, puppy-eyes.

"Hank, I swear to god." your mother starts.

"Hey! Y'know how you always talk about saving the environment? I got him from a shelter!" he beams deffensively.

"That's...that's not-"

"You got a dog!" Cole chirps.

    He runs up to the massive kanine, dropping to his knees and wrapping his arms around its chest. The dog pants excitedly, letting its tail swing all around. It sits patiently; almost respectively. You can't help but grin. Of course Pop would buy a surprise dog. Cole had wanted one for ages. He insisted on getting a dog so bad, he proceeded to act like one for three days straight to prove 'how great it is to have a dog'. The act stopped once your dad told him to poop outside.

"Can we keep him?" Cole pleas, rubbing his face into the dog’s breast.

    You watch your father laugh, loud and loving. "One step ahead of you, kid." he winks.

    Your mom shakes her head in dismay, turning back into the house. The both of you watch her sulk away, trying not to chortle. Looking back at Cole, oblivious of the situation, he's just having a blast. He's on his back while the huge mongrel drops its head onto his stomach.

"So what's its name?" you ask.

    A content silence falls over the both of you. Waiting for his reply, you watch your brother guffaw at this hound. Glancing over at your father, you recognize that look. The 'no worries, untroubled, satisfied' look to be exact.  

"Sumo."

----

FEB 11, 2034

AM 11:46:20

"This place looks bad."

"Come on, it tastes way better than it looks."

    You clutch the boy's hand and bring it against the outside of your thigh. You stare at the menu, reading every meal like you haven't already memorized it. Two older men are just starting to order, giving Cole time to select his poison. Kidding, kidding...

"Whadd'ya want, bud?" you question, still not having taken your eyes off the boards.

    You feel that all-too-familiar tapping against your thigh and the tugging at the hem of your shirt. You lean over, eyes still reading, and lazily listen to his words.

"Do they actually give you chicken feed?" he whispers secretively.

    You explode with one obnoxious laugh and step forward, for the two fellows had walked away with their food. You approach the distastefully tall counter, waiting for someone to help you.

"Hullo, how can I help you?" a thin guy speaks. Seeming to be on his first job...

"Hello, can I please have two burgers, a large coke, and a cup of water?"

    Once again, the tugging of persistence and plead drums on your side. You hear his quiet whining, but chose to admire some trees just beginning to grow back their leaves. The employee disappears within the truck giving Cole his chance to pout.

"I didn't want a burger...and why can't I have fizzy drinks?..." he mewls, pouting up at you.

"You know Mum, she doesn't want you full of sugar."

    He puffs out another complain, aimlessly scuffing lines in gravel with his sneakers.

"Mum's changed..." he mumbles, keeping his head low and avoiding.

    You swallow lightly, hoping the food will come before you have to reply. Luckily, the universe is on your side and it steams, posing deliciously on the ledge. You murmer a polite 'thank you', moving to a quaint picnic table close by. Cole reluctantly sits across you, still upset at having to eat a burger. You also clearly notice him ‘subtly’ eyeing your sweet beverage.

"Look, just take a bite, and then let me know how you feel." you encourage, hungrily pawing the serving in front of you.

    Begrudgingly, the young boy lifts the dressed patty, studying it like an inspector. He grumbles one last time, and nibbles on the edge. Quite honestly, it looks like he could be miming. You internally roll your eyes and watch him closely. You grin as he fights the smile.

"Holy sh-"

"Woah, woah, woah. Holy cow, thank you very much." you turn back to your lunch, "And I told you. These burgers are so bad, they're good."

    Of course, he's not quite sure what you mean, but doesn't hesitate to mow down. His mood has flipped and he's the brother you truly love. He munches happily, sauce decorating everything but his mouth, hands smeared with god know's what. He sips the water greedily, completely forgetting it's not jittering with carbon dioxide and sugar.

    Minutes later, he's burying his face into napkins, resulting with an irritated hue of pink amoung his cheeks. You're only halfway through, wiping the corner of your lips for the fifth time. You notice Cole has entirely slurped his water to the very last drop. With a small move, you nudge your drink in front of him. His eyes go wide and he stares at you.

"I bought a large for a reason." you smirk, filling your mouth with lettuce coated with a variety of sauce and grease.

    He buzzes merrily, sucking up the most content his lungs can bare. His teeth come to show, some crooked, some absent, but still shining with joy.

"How'd you find this place?" he chirps.

    Your thoughts are swarmed with memories, "Dad." you reply, head somewhere far away.

    Cole jumps with excitement and interest, urging you to continue.

"He used to bring me here all the time..before I left for university. Every Friday, no matter what kind of day; good or bad, we would eat here," you press your finger down onto the repolished wooden picnic table, "We would eat and talk until there seemed to be nothing wrong." you pause, losing focus and trailing off, "That everything was okay."

    The energy clinging to your clothes, lifting the bubbles in your drink, fluttering past the wrappers of your food, had utterly changed. One might say it were sad. One might say peaceful. Whatever it be, you feel the weight on your shoulders increase. Just a realization that you're here in this moment. Experiencing these things. Living this life.

"Can we go home?"

    You lift your eyes to his. Beautifully kind and innocent. He's so smart. He's a whiny bitch, but so smart. He's obersvant. He know's when something is wrong. He may not understand every little situation, but he sure finds a way to help. He is small. Frail looking. But strong in his mind. A strong motive.

A strong soul.

    The corners of your mouth turn up politely and you nod.

"Yeah. We can go home."

----

OCT 11, 2035

PM 10:22:38

Was it the call the made you heart drop? Or was it the sound of the name? The silent drive there? The terrifyingly calm ride up the elevator? When you walked in, and smelt urine and chemicals? Hearing the room number, that in, yes, this is real?                                             

Or was it simply the thoughts running through your dizzy head?

    How can one describe the feeling of it. The amount of anxiety and pain. The amount of fear. You hear horrible stories about this all the time. You never thought it would happen to you.

Will he live?

    You had arrived late, your father with his head in his hands. You wonder if the same animal gnaws at his bones too. The ache you are trying to settle. Without any words, you sit beside him. Gently, your hand comes to his back.

"He's in surgery."

    Thin, needle-like spiders creep over the nape of your neck. His voice sounds excruciating. Your throat siezes and you force a swallow. He still hasn't looked at you, but really, you don't mind. You keep your hand situated on his back, applying light pressure and slow circles. To be honest, you don't think you're doing it for him. The contact allows warmth and life, things you feel are slipping away from you.

----

PM 11:49:04

    This waiting. This waiting stings almost as much as the nightmares creeping under your eyelids. Your dad is leant fully against the wall now. You have that in common, but his eyes, unlike yours, are wide open. His nightmares are the only thing he can see. He's off into his own torment. Falling without a landing.

Falling without a sense of falling.

    Your arms are crossed against your chest and you try to keep your mind at rest. It's not working, but the battle distracts you from those agonizing visions.

    Both of you have come to the point where footsteps pattering by don't rouse you anymore. There are a handful of others sitting by you, drowning in their own fears.

    This waiting. Like leaves trickling off a dry tree's branches,                           you are losing hope.

----------3rd POV----------

OCT 26, 2035

PM 12:31:49

  There she stood. Before her anchor keeping her at bay. He had long gone, more than two weeks. But the waves had not hit her until now. For two weeks she had been sailing freely, slowly, surely, senselessly. The water had been too cold to think. She could only sail, further and further away from the shore.  

  This anchor, was like no other. Every once in a while, he would lift off the sand, and let her drift a little farther than usual. There, she could explore, learn, discover. And at the end of the day, he would gradually sink back down, bring her back home, and learn what she had learnt.

  She didn't know this would be his final rise. It was night, dark out. She couldn't see. Couldn't see that she was unfastened from him. He was rising. Sleep was heavy on her eyes when she woke, she knew something was happening. He was rising. She called his name, but only the breeze replied. Rising, rising, rising... He rose past the surface. Broke the water, and kept rising. The metal chain connecting their hearts, splitting in two.

He rose, and never sunk down.                                                                          

  The two weeks, being held not by him, but by the ocean's currents were utterly devastating to say the least. Her whole body numb from the sea's solemn rhythm. She had drifted too far from all sense of returning. She cannot hear their converse, nor see their lighthouse. The horizon had eaten up the mountains surrounding the town. Sea to sky, the only recognition in her brain that she, is lost.

---------- 2nd POV----------

NOV 6, 2038

AM 3:27:52

    Your head pounds once you get through the door to your motel room your knuckles too. That was a long day...

    While nearly falling asleep standing up, you peel off your clothes, letting them embellish the wooden floor in lumps of black, very dark grey, and darker black. Lights aren't negotiable at this time. They are off and will stay that way until late in the afternoon tomorrow.

    Your bed looks so sexy right now. This motel may be a shit hole aged...but the owners made the most important thing beautiful and high quality. The bed. It's puffed and fluffed to the ulimate max. That amazingly cold, white, crinkly duvet holding its breath, just itching for you to dive in. If you insist, my love...

    Ever so carefully, you fold back the corner of the comforter and sheet, both lustfully freezing and crisp. Mmmmmmm... That ‘hum’ was undoubtedly outside of your head.

    After sloppily climbing under the covers every nerve in your body tingles. Mentally and physically, you try to remove yourself from all worries and troubles from today. You’re entirely exhausted. Every once in a while you hear people on the other sides of your room, making you curl up even more to muffle their nonsense. It’s very easy for you to get distracted when there are multiple conversations going on around you. You just can’t help but tune in.

    In frustration, you flip all of the blankets right over your head, slipping into a world of your own. Every movement you make is amplified in sound so you slowly slide your feet back and forth. As if on cue, it starts to rain. Thank the lords... You smile in your little cave, feeling sleep pulling you under its arm. You’re sinking and sinking under the weight of it all when...you hear squeaking, and vigorous rattling?...

“Oh fuck yeah, Daddy! Uh huh, give it to me, baby!”

Oh for fuck’s sake.

----

[halitophobia]

Blind Eye - Two

Parings ⟶  OC x Hank’s Daughter! Reader (TEMPORARILY) , RK800! Connor x Hank’s Daughter! Reader (EVENTUALLY)

A/N ⟶ Thank you so, so much for the notes from the first chapter ! Btw, I’m really sorry this is a little late. I’m hoping for late weekly chapters? Every 10ish days or so...(I’ve gotten super busy, but I’m trying my best!)

Disclaimer ⟶ still don't own any characters from DBH

Warnings ⟶ swearing, violence, mentions of death, stubborn reader, stubborn Hank, spoilers...?, slow burn, sLoW bUrN, SLOW BURN, alcohol abuse (Hankster), angst, toxic relationship, eventual....fluff, happiness, cute stuff, flustered Connor, flustered Reader, all the gushy-ness, and ?????smut?????

Word Count ⟶ 3023

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 

----

NOV 6th, 2038

AM 12:41:04

"Why'd you kill him?"

"What happened before you took that knife?"

     Pursing your lips and narrowing your eyes, you watch the HK400 through the one-way glass. Your arms are crossed, face still as marble except for the bouncing of your right leg.

"Anderson. Are you cold or having a muscle spasm."

     You blink, glancing down at the one and only Gavin Reed's hands leant on the desk, but as quickly as you do, your eyes are glued back to the window.

"Let's make a bet. Like the good ol' days, yeah?" that same sandpaper voice sounds again, making you frown.

"I say," he pauses, "they had a bromance. Carlos and Andy over here." he gestures to the android. "Carlos brings home this smokin' hot 'robette' babe wanting a steamy, squeaky threesome. Attic boy gets mad and," his right arm comes up, and he stabs the air while pulsing to a beat of 'nn-s, nn-s, nn-s...', "...kills'em." So many things I didn't miss about working here...

     That fowl scent of sweat, old leather, and cheese also known as Gavin wafts your way, and you do your best not to gag. I mean, does this hobo shower? Wash his hands after shitting? A loud bang draws your attention to Hank, who's clearly gotten frustrated.

"Fuck it. I'm outta here." he grumbles, entering the observation room seconds later.

     You slowly clap watching him scowl at you.

"I'm impressed, Pops. You really stated your ground in there." you nod, earning a chuckle from Gavin. "My turn." you smile, and scurry out of the room. You hear Hank's voice yelling at you to come back, but you're already halfway through the door to the interrogation room.

     The droid doesn't move an inch as you shut the door behind you. You grin, feeling a wave of déjà vu wash over you. You've done this plenty of times before. How hard can a life-sized moving Barbie doll be?

"Alright, you piece o' shit." you can physically sense your father slapping his face behind the glass.

"I'm gonna jump right into it, okay? Okay." you drop yourself into the chair across from it, leaning back and crossing your arms and legs. "I don't know how it works in your...command center up there, but you gotta tell us what happened."

     You watch it avoid your gaze. A painful silence dances around you, only to make your skin crawl with frustration. You swing your leg back over and let it drop below you. Your arms come onto the table and you lean down, to get into its view.

"Pssst. I'm not leaving until you spill." you whisper, staring into its eyes even though it doesn't return the contact. You push back abruptly and revert to a normal volume, "So we can just skip all this," you motion between the both of you, "and you can obey, like a good little bot."

     Immediately, you see the change of energy from the suspect. Your brows lift, amused at the reaction. "Oh? Not into the whole submissive thing? I can see you got mad there. If that's even possible."

     It shifts again, seeming to get more worked up. This is perfect, you just need to push it around. No better way to let off some steam.

"You wrote 'I AM ALIVE' on the wall, like a jewelled crown atop Ortiz's lifeless head. That's what he said to make you upset, right? You were quoting him? Because, well...I mean, how on earth could you think of that? You aren't capable of...thinking for yourself." you wait, and decide to amp it up. "For all we know, that man was innocent. Just enjoying his life, wanting...a friend? And you come along? To do what? To stab him."

     There's a warning knock from the other side of the glass. You brush it off and examine the android. Chest heaving, hands clenched and jaw rippling. The lips on its face quiver, words just waiting to break the dam. And without looking back, you chimmy-changa your way across the line.

"Twenty. Eight. Times."

     You hear the tapping once again, more urgent, but still, you ignore it. Can you shut up? You're a millisecond away from confession and they choose to cut you know? Your old man probably wants to slip in and take credit.

     You're brought back to your senses as you watch the scene in front of you. The battered automaton is now writhing under the chords which bolt is slowly lifting off the table. "Hey, hey, hey. No need to cause a scene. Suck it up, and tell me wh-" your vision goes black. Well fuck me...

     The second your sight leaves, it's back but doubled. Your forehead throbs, as if a pump were behind your eyes. That motherfucking thing head-butted you. You can't help the weight sloshing around your brain, making your head pound harder. You move to stand, but stumble into the wall behind you. Get. Up.

     You feel arms hook under yours, and start to get dragged towards the door. "Get off of me!" you snap.

     Your view seeps back into HD and you ignore the sting in your head. "I'm fine! Let me finish this!" your voice is a harsh growl, and you lash around in the person's grasp.

Who is this anyway?

     Then you smell it. Oh. Reed tightens his grip, practically lifting you from your waist, and before you know it, your dropped into a computer chair facing the interrogation room. Just as you start to collect yourself, another smack is planted on your skull.

Okay what the fuck.

"Ow."

     An ice pack falls off your shoulder and into your lap. Wow, do I get a massage too?

"Nice going, Y/N." Hank spits.

     You roll your eyes, pressing them into the ice pack. With your voice muffled, you reply with 'thank you'.

"No, I really mean it. You just jeopardized this whole cross-examination. You brought that thing near to self-destruction!"

     Your brain is hoola-hooping within your skull and this ancient dick lecturing you is just hollering encouragement.

"Y/N, take this seriously. You really fucked up." Gavin chimes in.

Oh give me a break.

     You groan loudly, hoping it'll make them stop. You really don't need this. You just need five quiet minutes, and you can go back in and get that confession. Easy-peasy.

"Earth to Y/N. You may have been bumped in there, but I know damn-well you can hear me." Hank aggressively taps your shoulder and the water in the pot just boils away.

"Shut up! Shut up, shut up, shut up!"

     You're fully turned around, eyes ablaze with fire. You're cooking both men alive from your eyes and the pain from your head disappears for a moment. A silent breath escapes your parted lips, and you almost whisper.

"Will you, shut up."

     The air is thick as fog. Your sight clogged with angry-exhaustion, their's with vigilance, for they now tread on very thin ice.

"My name is Conner, what about you. What's your name?"

You're. KIDDING.

     Spinning your chair right around, you're faced with an image of pure disaster. Sir Smiley-Bot is seated across from the HK400.

"You let the fucking android interrogate the fucking android!"

     It hasn't even been twenty minutes and for the second time, you're blood is racing around your body like a jet. Running circuits in and out of your shrinking heart. Does no one have common sense in this fucking facility?

"What do we have to lose, Y/N. You've already ruined a proper examination, what's so different in sending in the thing?"

     Hank's voice destroys every sense of calm in your veins. You're going fucking bonkers now. It's like they worship this brown-haired robot. Prancing around its steel feet, praying to the android gods above. You've come to a conclusion; you are officially the only sane human in this police division. Everyone's brains are being melted by the second and they'll all just become slaves for the androids. Yup, I’ve solved the case.

"Shh, shh, shut up. Listen." Gavin lays his hand on your right shoulder, which you quickly brush off.

"I was fucking breathing."

     He replies with a grimy finger to his lips, staring forward. You sulk in the chair, intertwining your fingers atop the desk. The ice pack is balanced on your head and you stare forward. King-Droid seems to be calming the defendant down. Seriously?

"I could have easily calmed the thing down, this isn't all that fantastic." you scoff, adjusting the cooling pack.

     Hank flicks your head in response. It sure shuts you up. I am getting favoured over a bottle cap. I leave for one year and all of Detroit's been fucked in the ass by Alexa, Google Home, and Cortana at the same time. This is absolute bullshit. Choosing these things? Over trusted humans? This is surely humanity's last stra-

"No!"

...come again?

"No, please don't do that!"

     All three of you are now leant toward the glass, your nose virtually pressed on it. All that stupid popcan had to do was threaten to probe its memory ooooh spooky!

"What..."

     A beautifully awkward sound of leather, wood, and the chair squeal in harmony as your trio incline forward again. If it weren't for the one-way glass, there would be three sources of breath in their own designated spots.

"What are they going to do to me?"

Baby bye, bye, bye, BYE BYE.

"They're going to destroy me, aren't they?" its voice is in a panicked hiss.

Ding ding ding! We have a winner!

"They're going to disassemble you to look for problems in your biocomponents. They have no choice if they want to understand what happened."

     This goes on for a little while, the honoured golem teetering between comfort and warning. You just watch soundlessly, intrigued for the outcome. Cold droplets trickle down your neckline, for the pack on your head had started to melt. You can't resist the urge to shiver, swiftly wiping away the excess water.

     Your attention is slowly dispersing and you're starting to lose interest. You notice your stomach grumble - right, you'd forgotten to eat before all of this. Come to think of it, you're starving. Your gut agrees and wails to you again.

"Shh!" Gavin jeers.

Oh please.

     You start to lift onto your feet, wanting to grab a snack, but are interrupted by a voice that has been heard to the very minimal. Seriously though, vending machine cashews would kill right about now...

"He tortured me everyday..."

     Your ass is stapled back into the chair, holding your tongue as its mouth finally starts to move. You listen intently, watching the emotions.

     You're amazed at how...real these androids look. This...suspect. Its..his eyes were saying something. His face held...pain. The way he says he was scared makes your breath falter. For a moment, you could really believe they're humans...with their own lives...own problems.

     But your eyes move to the annoying one and the funky lighted circle gives it away.

     Connor no, that hurt to say... asks more questions. And that's when you feel shivers crawl up your spine, vertebrae by vertebrae. The dark-skinned bot falls into a trance, speaking of ra9. Claiming it will save them all...that they'll no longer be slaves. You swallow hard, feeling regretful...and alarmed. You blink. You never know what these two could be doing in there.

"What if they're secretly communicating to each other? Through their...biocompo-nents...? you ask under your breath.

"As if. They can't mind...speak." the brunette scoffs behind you.

"Yeah? And how would you know." you bark back.

You're interrupted by Hank, smacking both of you.

The RK800 turns its head toward the mirror; harsh and precise. "I'm done."

     You jolt up. Goosebumps on your skin, hairs on your arms standing tall and attentive. That interrogation gave me the creeps...

     All three of you flood out the main door, heading to the one just a foot away. Officer Chris Miller tags along who you literally hadn’t noticed until he cleared his throat, preparing to move the aberrant. No...that's just weird to say. Suddenly, the room feels a lot smaller. Six of you is six too many.

"Chris, lock it up." Gavin commands gruffly. You notice how he eyes the RK800, the model obviously ignoring his warning.

     Officer Miller detatches it from the table, but it jerks from his grasp. Your eyes narrow and you lean against the door, feeling drowned from the new energy in the space. Like defusing a ticking bomb.

     Gavin interjects aggressively, hassling Chris to move it. You watch awkwardly as they struggle, both of them pulling completely opposite ways. You push off from the wall, starting to get impatient.

"You're making this harder than it has to be." you state, trying to get its attention.

     Gavin yells once again, only to get the same in return. Your childish ass chimes in, telling Reed to back down, and now it's just a trio of toddlers crying for their candy. You're telling the cheese-smelling douche to hold his temper, while he's bitching about being tired. Chris yells at both of you two shut up when you notice the thing across you grab the officer's gun.

Fuck.

      In less than a second, blue...blood has coloured the ceiling. The HK400 is crumpled on the floor, gun laying loosely amoung its fingertips. Nothing stirs in all six of you. Your lungs have paused, muscles and eyes too. Your gaze is cemented on the one now pressed to the ground. The eyes still and wide like any other human lying dead. It stares off into another realm, mouth frozen in time, halfway through an inhale.

     This is what you forgot about. This part of the job. This raw, ferocious beast that gnaws at your gut. Chewing, ripping, tearing your meat agonizingly slow. Always hungry, always eating away at you.

"Holy shit."

     You whip your head at your father, revolted that the same words escaped his mouth...at the same time.

----

AM 1:34:48

     Gulping down two pills of ibuprofen, you stare at Hank talking with his plastic buddy. You're leant against his desk, fiddling around with his pens and sticky notes. You sigh as you feel someone slide up next to you.

"How've you been, fucker. You looked like shit walking into the building cuffed. 'Thought you were the one being arrested."

     The grey-eyed dickwad chuckles at his comment, anticipating your snarky retort.

"Reed, I'm not in the mood." you grumble, wiping your eyes with the underside of your fingers.

     You can sense his frown and disappointment. There's a small pause, but sure enough, he doesn't leave you alone.

"Another fight with Ben?"

Your stomach inverts and you feel the need to throw up. "Excuse me?"

     He raises his hands defensively. "Woah, woah. Just asking. You just always seem to be having problems with that guy."

"Where did you get this from, huh?" you threaten.

"Last time I saw you, you were whinging about him on the phone. You weren't being discrete."

     Sure...you weren't, but that doesn't mean he had the right to listen. He's a nosy, intrusive, grumpy old prick and you have never felt so disgusted in his presence.

"Stay out of my life, Reed. You have no right to ask me that. You have no right to assume things about me, and you have no right to be a...fucking asshole!"

"That last one isn't even-"

You slapped him.

     There's a sliver of regret, but your choler has clouded your mind. Do I have anger issues?

     Next thing you know, Hank is lecturing you about having manners, controlling your actions, thinking before you do, blah blah blah. You've heard this all before, it's like you're thirteen again, getting pestered at for feeding the dog your lasagna. Or cutting off that stupid girl's ponytail. She was a wicked shrew...

     Behind Hank, you catch Gavin start to snicker. Absolutely not. You push past the bearded man and start to pummel the brunette's chest. And I mean pummel. Beat. Punch. Slam. Not one giggle leaves his toxic mouth. Poppa tries to pry you off, but he gets an elbow to the nose. Respect your elders, am I right? All this anger...is barely even from Gavin's stupid words. This is the rage from the past two hours. Tonight has been hell. Trudging through disaster after disaster. It's all too much. Your gums start to ache due to the tightness of your jaw. Your hands begin to shake, each blow somehow impacting you. It's like you're just beating up yourself.

     A pair of arms wrap around your sore body, ripping you from your poor...punching bag. Gavin's face is already swelling. Black and blue covering his skin. Blood as the cherry on top. He's dead quiet now, breathing heavily as he lays on the ground. But then...you notice Hank on the ground too, blood spilling from his nose. If Hank's on the ground...then that means...

     You look down and see grey sleeves, detailed with black and silver. No, no, no, no...

"LET ME GO YOU CLUSTER OF RUSTY NAILS."

"I'm sorry, Detective Anderson, but you need to calm down before I can let you go."

I hate his voice, I hate his voice, I hate his voice...

"I'm calm." your voice like honey flowing over chocolate mousse.

     You drop every emotion in your face. All of your tensed muscles fall and you seep into its chest. Its arms fall from your torso. You wait a beat, then completely turn around.

You punch it square in the face.

     You watch in delight as its face snaps back. It stumbles, just once, which truly is enough for you. There's a burst of relieve and triumph, followed by a sting and numbness between your knuckles

Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow, fuck. Fucking fuck. Okay, so worth it, though...

----

[halitophobia]

Blind Eye - One

Pairings ⟶  OC x Hank's Daughter! Reader (TEMPORARILY) , RK800! Connor x Hank's Daughter! Reader (EVENTUALLY)

A/N ⟶  Hello! I'm a little new to the DBH world, but I'm in complete awe of the story and Connor haha....anyways, I have been thinking about writing a series for him for a while and decided to go for it. This is mainly for testing the water - I'm not new to writing fanfiction or Tumblr (at.all.), but sure am new to putting my own work out to the public. So here goes nothing...(P.S. I'd absolutely love feedback and constructive criticism ! Truly ! TRULY.) Uh.. P.P.S. This is basically chapter one - just want to see how it goes :)

Disclaimer ⟶  I for one, obviously do not own any of the characters from the DBH universe whatsoever

Warnings ⟶  (for this blurb specifically...) quite a handful lots of swearing, violence, mentions of death, stubborn reader, stubborn Hank, spoilers...? (for this series...) slow burn, sLoW bUrN, SLOW BURN, alcohol abuse (Hankster), all warnings from the blurb, angst, toxic relationship, eventual....fluff, happiness, cute stuff, flustered Connor, flustered Reader, all the gushy-ness, and ?????smut?????

Word Count ⟶  3000

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 

----

NOV 5th, 2038 - 11:53:07 PM

         You hang up your phone, eyes covered from your damp palm, and let out a breath you hadn't realized was being withheld. Your hand sloppily drags down your face, and you squint out the car window. The streams of rainwater on the glass blur the scene, resulting in hues of spinning red and blue. You huff, narrowing your eyes at...seemingly nothing. You shouldn't even be here. You shouldn't have given in. If it weren't for the damn situation back at your apartment, you'd probably be enjoying a searing-hot shower; or better yet, shamelessly devouring an excessively large bowl of sugary cereal.

"Miss?"

         You're pulled away from your somewhat pleasant thoughts by the gruff taxi driver sitting in front of you. You sniffle by accident, revealing other unwanted emotions, and swirl your hand in your bag. Silently praying to yourself, you wait for something circular and cold, or thin and crumpled to brush your fingers. 

After a solid minute or two, your hand tightens on a cluster of bills. You yank them out, thrusting them toward the man. Avoiding his gaze, quite obviously, you knit your brows together, really hoping you don't have to say that famous line...

"S'all I have." your voice annoyingly childish.

He scoffs. "You're lucky I don't have enough energy to argue."

         With your eyes still locked on the door cupholder, his hand slaps yours. You feel his chewed fingernails scrape your palm, the money following suit. He grumbles something about getting out of the vehicle, which you gladly act upon.

         Entering the delightful weather, you squint your eyes and do your best to use your hand as a visor. Scurrying past members of the crew whining like toddlers, you stop before a line of familiar yellow tape that keeps you from your destination.  An officer standing on the opposite side warns 'unauthorized persons aren't permitted past'. Tell me something I don't know...

         Your lips part, a snappy remark waiting patiently at the back of your throat, when a short plump man waddles toward you.  

"By God, is that actually you, Y/N?" he awkwardly chuckles, eyes halfway shut from the rain trickling down his forehead.

"Detective Collins," you reply, forming a tight smile.

"Let her in, the big man requested her." he smiles back.

         Reluctantly, the officer lifts the tape, watching you swoop under. You straighten out and wait for the white-haired man to start blabbering about how long it's been.

"It's been a while, huh? Was just starting to get used to not having you around." he teasingly grins, bumping your shoulder.

         Nodding, you follow him onto the porch of a house simply waiting to crumble apart. The detective continues to talk about what it had been like after your absence and you flutter the collar of your heavy coat. Feeling your throat physically invert from the horrid stench, you grimace, shaming yourself for forgetting about this part of the job. Your ears truly tune into his voice as he starts to talk about the case. The dusty clogs in your brain begin to turn, grasping at key facts such as 'presumed murder weapon is a kitchen knife', 'no sign of a break-in', and 'owning an android that is nowhere in sight'. You can't help but pull back your top lip in a hateful snarl. You don't like that word. You don't like that word at all. In fact, you never did. Shaking your head, you glance around, taking in both the chaotic environment you basically grew up in, and the evidence gleaming before you.

         Lowering yourself eye-to-eye with the...late Carlos Ortiz, your gaze wanders over his abdomen. It's grimly decorated with multiple stab wounds which you can't help but study closer. Your eyebrows slightly lift, and one might think you were unimpressed, but you were just amazed at the rage embedded within the victim's gut.

"The victim fled to...the living room." a young voice claims, making your focus falter.

What's an intern doing at a place this brutal?

         As the question floats through your mind, every muscle, pulsing vein, and wavering breath coursing through your body comes to a halt - for that is when you hear it. Or should you say him. No, I really shouldn't...

"And he tried to get away from the andro- what the fuck?" you close your eyes, preparing yourself for the new crime scene to unfold. Here we go...

"Y/N? What the...wh..." his knowing voice somewhat amuses you; you've never heard him this...speechless.

         Steadily, you bring yourself to full height, still not having turned to see the Lieutenant. Feeling that instinctive mode envelope you, you tug a spiteful grin from your lips, finally shifting to see-

"Hi. Hank." his name crawls out of your mouth like a shiny, black beetle.

         You watch his eyes widen, only to shrink into slivers. His mouth recoiling into that signature frown, and his breath creating angry puffs of steam. "What the hell do you think you're doing here?" he spits, crossing his arms over his chest. Same old geezer.

You scoff. "That's no way to greet your little girl."

         He glares harder and makes threatening strides toward you. "You are not my fucking little girl." he shoves a finger at you, "You better get out of my fucking way. This is my case, and you are not going to be involved." You raise your eyebrows, pretending to be shocked by his filthy mouth.

"And that's definitely no way to speak to your little girl."

         His yellow teeth come to show and he growls at your ignorance. "Ben! Get your ass in here!" his words are poison. Within seconds, the round detective makes his way through, a knowing and pained expression pressed into the creases of his face.

"Hank?" a nervous crack in his voice says it all.

"Why on fucking earth would you let this snake onto the crime scene!" Hank fumes. You laugh and shake your head. Naturally, you sense fellow detectives and crew seep their way into the living room. Audience is right on time... "She's villainous, disastrous, manipulative, and downright fucking evil!"

         You nod, shrivelling your nose, "You're one to speak, Hank." letting some loose hairs fall in front of your eyes.

         He tousles his hair in disgust, "You really think they're just going to hand you your job back and everything will be fine and dandy?" Hank shouts, saliva shooting out between his teeth.  

"Captain Fowler has been desperately trying to get me back on the team, calling me constantly like a horny frat boy!" you claim, making sure your voice comes level to his. "So, sorry to break it to you, but it's clearly already happened."

"I can't believe it! I can't believe it's happening again!" he turns away, circling back to you. "You just get to clip clop your fucking way back into my life and career without having to pass one goddamn obstacle!" his fingers tug at his grey locks, sweat collecting at his hairline.

"Oh yeah, life's tough, huh Dad? Not having to pass an obstacle, ever been kicked out of your own home with only thirty-two fucking bucks clutched in your hand and a bottle of beer in the other?" you bark, acknowledging the others in the room is long gone from now.

"How many times are you going to bring that up!? You decided to bring that absolute bag of shit in my house and have the audacity to let him stay!"

"You didn't have to throw us out!" your throat is stinging now. Your blood is scorching hot, and your jaw is nearly if not fully cemented together. "Drunk off your fucking mind, shoving us out the door and throwing glass bottles at our heads, I mean, what kind of father were you?!"

"You don't get to do that." his voice descends two octaves; dangerously steady. "Y/N Anderson, you do not get to fucking do that." your eyes have now burned into his and you find yourself digging crescent moons into your palms.

"Who's to say?" your words also deep and slow. You're leaning in to size him up, warn him, threaten him, whatever you want to call it.

"Lieutenant and Detective Anderson! If you two do not calm yourselves the fuck out, I'll have no choice but to remove both of you from this ca-" Ben's still here? Since when?

"I am not an Anderson." you correct.

         Hank breaks the deathly-still eye contact and moves his head to inspect a crack in the wall. He shakes his head and mutters under his breath.

"You never were."

        Your eyes pop open and that withering fire ignites inside you once again, electricity rippling down do the minuscule hairs on your fingers. "Fucking come again?" you yell, moving to get right into his face.

         Let's just pause, shall we? This is the same pattern you two always fall into. You say something to sting him, he finds a way to bite you back, and you get offended. It's your stubbornness you've never gotten rid of. This mass of steel in the both of you, sitting at the bottom of your stomachs, never ever willing to budge. You've both a tree trunk up your asses and what's happened in the past has done quite the opposite than removing them. Just...come on, listen to this. This argument is a bicycle missing its back tire - going to go absolutely no where. This acid you throw back and forth, a cute duel of 'hot potato', engraves wounds to the both of you; it never ends. Honestly, you don't think it ever will. And what could have ever happened to cause a world war between the two of you? Let's just say these past few years have been utterly devastating and neither of you have taken it well.

         Exactly four minutes and twelve seconds go by, and your hand is latched onto the Lieutenant's throat. His hands are suffocating your biceps, and in return, you decide to start kicking. Detective Collins wraps his arms around your waist, effortlessly pulling you away from your 'opponent'. You see a young man do the same to Hank - a little less effortlessly.

"Get the hell off me!" your father rages, whipping his arms from the brunette's grasp.

         You sharpen your eyes and study Hank's ‘partner’. No. fucking. way. "This your little pet?" you rip your arms from your restrainer and proceed to enter the fighting arena. "After all that's happened, you end up getting a weasel to train. And even better, it's a fucking android?" your words are deadly now. You feel betrayed. Backstabbed. Run over by a damn bulldozer.

         There's a slight hesitance in Hank's response, and to you, it only plasters upon his face, a large sign reading 'WARNING! I'm a loser!' "I wasn't-" he starts, but you're just too quick.

"An android!" you repeat, everyone already knowing the taste of your venom from the first time.

"Y/N dammit, will you let me-" Hank's voice is wavering, ever so slightly. Of course only you notice.

"This thing will corrupt the case! You really want to trust scraps of polished metal and plastic hair? It doesn't understand emotion or motive! How will it ever track down a suspect?" you growl, twisting your wrist within the steel rings holding you back.

"Telling me I had the audacity to invite a guy home," you continue, "yet you have the audacity to work alongside this piece of junk; the cause of-" you can't help it. It still hurts. Your words are discarded due to the contraction of your throat. Pull it together, no time for this shit. You cover it up, in the mere seconds of weakness. "I bet it’s got a name, huh? This your new so-"

"I did not agree to work with this thing!" his rotten finger is thrown at the bot, "I don't even remember the fuckin' name!" he says this as if he's defending himself.

"My name is Connor. I am the android sent by Cyb-"

"SHUT UP!" your voices in-sync, a combined evil no one would ever want to cross.

----

         Satisfied by the first...'warning', Connor pivots away, wandering back toward the kitchen. Both your voices are woven with malice, he considers. Your blood is pumping at immense speed, and if it weren't for your human forms, you'd have already combusted by now. The emphasis on your sentences make it very difficult for him to differentiate swear words from others. Pausing for a beat, he peers over at you, deciding to analyze.

ANDERSON, Y/N

Born : D/M/2014 //  Short Order Cook (currently unemployed) 

Criminal record : Pick-pocketing, shop-lifting

         Moving along small hints about you, Connor shifts his attention to your E/C eyes. Despite the low light, he notices the skin surrounding them is vaguely swollen and pink. Below them, your cheeks are gently stained - from rain? His processors scratch that thought. Probability claims...

Subject has been crying. (approximately 45 minutes ago)

Stress Level : 100%

         Moving his attention directly across from you, Hank's level of stress is no lower. Connor sees Detective Collins making a phone call to Captain Fowler, only to be immediately rejected. It's midnight on the last day of the week, Captain Fowler doesn't give two shits.

         Duty sprinkles itself back onto the android's head, and he turns directly toward various splatters of thirium. Easily, he drowns out your agitated argument, and continues on with solving the case.

----

         You're out of breath. Completely and utterly out of breath. Your chest is heaving, your jaw is sore and your brain is dangerously pulsing in your skull. You've expectorated every single insult and swear your tainted ears had ever taken in. Your shoulders ache, for Detective Collins had restrained both of you a little while ago; either protecting you from each other, or the others daring to stay in the room. From the outside, you and your old man look like feral wolves, battling for the role of Alpha - except this is just family dinner; without the handcuffs of course.

         The other officers have managed to have you on the opposite side of the living room, wraith still oozing from your pores. Hank looks as though he's on the brink of a stroke. He's drunk and probably already engaged for a second round of bickering. Bickering? Yeah..yeah we'll call it that.

         This is why you shouldn't have come. You knew - every atom in your damn body knew something bad was going to happen. During the call before being dropped off, Captain Fowler insisted Hank wasn't going to show up. You'd gotten these calls over and over again. Your father's attendance had been downright awful. From what you've been told, people will find him hunched over bars, head low, and buzzing with alcohol. You laugh bitterly at the thought - nothing's changed. Hank Anderson everyone, yes, also known as the fucking prick of the year and Mr. My-Daughter-Can-Eat-Shit-For-All-I-Fucking-Care.

"Hey! Hey! Hey! Whadd'ya doin' with that chair?" Hank's voice is harsh and dry.

         Everyone's eyes are now drawn to the android that is currently shuffling a fucking chair out of the kitchen. Dumb fuck...

"I'm going to check something."

Wow. Its voice is annoying. Its walk is annoying. Its uniform is ugly. Its snappy remark is really just- I mean, how could he do this to you? You stare at your father and squint your eyes. He barely looks itched by that thing. In fact, he looks amused. By instinct, you're butthurt. In a different reality, happening at the same time, he's just shot you in your back and made out with your fifth grade teacher. At least, that's how you'd imagine it. Painful and disgusting.

         Clearing your littering thoughts, you glance around. Most of the team had moved back outside. You're just leant on your right hip, arms still clipped behind your back and you realize your nose is getting pretty fucking itchy. Ruthlessly, you rub your nose against your shoulder, earning a snort from Detective Collins. Oh, so he finds this funny...

"That asshole got his hands back," chucking your temple toward Hank, "why can't I?" you challenge, prepping for an argument toward Ben.

         You watch his double chin twitch, his lips parting and coming together. He's afraid of you. Weighing in the facts, you don't think it bugs you as much as it should. To keep it that way, you roll your eyes and shift to your other hip.

"Connor, what the fuck is going on up here?"

So the bitch calls it by its name. 'I don't remember its name' my ass...

         A pause indicates its dead. Or gone. Both would be great. "Sounds like your puppy's ran away." you show an exaggerated pout, "Con Con's gone gone." The silver-haired man glares at you, brewing up a comeback.

"It's here, Lieutenant!"

Of course.

         The next 10 minutes consist of crew members hustling in and contemplating what to do with the assailant. You're long forgotten, wrists still enveloped in crisp metal. You watch the scene unfold, seeing a dark-skinned bot sulk past you, its 'hands' in the same situation as yours. You could cut yours off, knowing you have something in common with it.

         As the posse mosey's on by, you burn holes into the side of your dad's head. Thouroughly enjoying the bird he sends your way. Then, due to the flow of movement, you catch...eyes with it. Your face scrunches up and you hold back every nerve sizzling to attack - you know your limits; especially with cuffs.

         It holds eye contact with absolutely no emotion whatsoever. That is, until you see the corners of its mouth lift ever so fucking slightly. And just as you glance down to examine the expression, it's completely gone before your eyes. Was...was that a fucking smile? This collection of plastic and wires has the fucking nerve to fucking smile at you?

Oh, you've just dug your own grave, Siri.

----

I think I’ll definitely start chapter two.