#❝ & * visage ─ ‹ gavin reed. ›

[starsechoes]

tag dump ;; GAVIN REED

[peskellence]

Shot In The Dark

Pairing: RK900/Gavin Reed

Tags: M/M, New Years Party, Mutual Pining, Workplace Romance, Humour, Fluff, First Kiss

AO3 Link

Summary: Exhausted from watching her best friend continually torture himself, Tina reminds Gavin that you miss 100% of the shots you don’t take—and that three years of hopeless pining is long enough. The question is: will Gavin finally do something about the unspoken tension between himself and his partner? And just what, if anything, could possibly go wrong in the process?

[NYE fic taking place post pacifist ending]

Word Count: 5.6K

Tag List: @sweeteatercat @wedonthaveawhile @gho-stychan @tentoriumcerebelli @negative-citadel @faxaway @moriahadi424 @unicorn4genocide @cptjh-arts

"This is getting sad now." 

Gavin shuffled on the balls of his feet, grip tight on the half-drained glass he was absently swilling. 

Laughter and chatter swirled around the crowded hall, the buzz of voices merging into a single, deafening drone. Flashing lights from the dance floor caught against streamers above, casting dizzying reflections onto the drink Tina had provided.  

It was obnoxious, disorienting—and did absolutely nothing to ease his foul mood.

In addition to the strobes, his own expression was reflected in the liquor—a downtrodden visage defined by a scowling mouth and tired eyes. The warm amber liquid was brought to his lips, and the image drained away.

"It's not sad," he challenged, wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve. "I'm just waiting for the right moment."

"You've been waiting for the right moment since Hank's retirement." Tina scoffed, taking a more conservative sip from her glass. With lips still poised on the rim, her brows raised before she added in a mumbled, sing-song lilt, "And then there was the Christmas party…"

The mere mention of the function inspired a visceral response. Gavin tensed, stomach flipping like someone was playing jump rope with his intestines.

A flood of unwelcome memories charged him. 

The echoes of bad karaoke. Streaks of red spilt across the front of a pristine white button-down.

The long, angry yelp—followed by hellish silence—as he clumsily tried to orient the mistletoe between himself and his partner. Only to discover it was holly and that he had managed to poke Officer Person in the eye with it.

He dismissed the nightmarish blooper reel with a firm shake of his head, choosing happiness over further analysis. "Let's not talk about the Christmas party."

Tina snorted. "Look, all I'm saying is that our ‘Single at 40’ pact is dangerously close to expiring. At least for you, my geriatric friend."

"Respect your elders, wench."

"As enchanting as our lavender marriage might have been," she began in a low, mocking simper, "there's a very good chance that I’m getting hitched for real..."

The woman gestured to the nearby bar, specifically at an ST300 standing by the register. It was impossible to hear her over the persistent noise humming through the room, but she appeared to be engaged in a conversation with the bartender. Judging by his exuberant nods and smarmy grin, he was deeply satisfied with the arrangement.

"My stunning future bride," Tina wistfully announced, her airy voice trailing into a sigh.

"You've been dating for six weeks," Gavin reminded.

"True love doesn’t run on a schedule. Your heart is cold and black; I wouldn’t expect you to understand."

"I think I'm going to be sick." Gavin clutched his stomach in pantomimed nausea, although this didn't dismiss the more tangible unease present. His own attention had wandered, locking squarely onto his partner.

He had his back turned to him, facing Connor. The two androids existed as mirror images, wearing matching versions of the same hand-knit sweater. These items had undoubtedly been produced as part of some misguided Christmas crafts project—with their plus one, who was currently skulking his way around the buffet table, crammed into the same garish red.

The woollen fibres looked itchy and lumpy, mis-stitched in several places. Gavin would have deemed the whole display sickening if Nines hadn't still managed to look mind-bendingly fantastic.

As though feeling the weight of his stare, the android glanced over his shoulder. Their eyes met briefly—a fleeting moment charged with something unspoken. His lips twitched upward, almost imperceptibly, before he turned back to his conversation.

"—For God's sake." Gavin's hopeless pining was interrupted by a firm jab to the ribcage. "At this rate, you’ll be spending the rest of your days writing poems about his jawline. Just shoot your shot. Seriously, what have you got to lose?"

"Everything," he hissed sharply, rubbing at the dull ache now pulsing in his sternum. "I have everything to lose. He's my partner—and best friend."

"You wound me, Gav."

"Fine. One of my best friends," he begrudgingly corrected. A lingering droplet still remained at the bottom of his glass, which he dutifully swept onto his tongue.

"I just don't want to make things weird. If he's—you know—not into it."

Tina made a long, heaving noise, pressing a hand to her mouth—an act of vengeance for his mockery of her own display of sentiment.

"You sound like a teenager—

Come on, the guy is disgustingly into you. You can see the longing stares from space. It's like the Great Wall Of China but with gay pining."

"You can't see the Great Wall Of China from space. It's a myth."

"Go. Now." Tina clapped him on the back, firmly pushing forward. "Shoot your shot before Janey the Intern beats you to it. I can smell her loins burning from here."

A rush of panic hit the detective. 

He thought of Janey, her dimpled smile and impossibly long, shapely legs. She was a lovely girl. Every time she propped herself against Nines' desk and fluttered her thick, dark eyelashes, Gavin wanted to throw her out of a window.

"Okay, okay, fine, I will, just—" His gaze dropped back to his thoroughly drained glass, a flimsy excuse beginning to form. "Need a refill."

He scurried his way through the jabbering masses, pressed between swaying bodies as he narrowly avoided spilt drinks. Half-hearted apologies were muttered, completely inaudible over the harsh din of laughter.

If he was going to consider fronting the plastic underwear model he called his partner, he needed another drink. Badly. A whiskey to steel his gut, settle frayed nerves, and preemptively dull the sting of rejection—should it come to that.

When he approached the bar, he was met with a much frostier reception than the previous customer. The bartender was a short, bulky man with sagging jowls and a prominent gut scarcely concealed beneath a stained apron. His beady eyes narrowed, looking the younger man up and down before he spoke in a sharp, gravelly tone that reeked of impatience:

"Yeah? What can I getcha?"

As the question was asked, Gavin was struck with two simultaneous revelations. The first was that a single whiskey wasn't going to cut it. At all. The second was that he’d left his wallet at home—meaning he had 25¢ and a breath mint to his name.

This limited his drink options.

His mind attempted to churn out a solution to the current dilemma. Gaze flitting across the bar, he scanned for anything useful before settling on a lipstick-stained tumbler.

He recalled a trick his dad favoured, passed down as a sagely nugget of wisdom: Chris Reed's foolproof strategy for securing a drink after draining your bank account.

"Hey, buddy. Rough night?" The process began as he propped an elbow on the bar, tutting in feigned sympathy. "You sound pretty beat."

The bartender ignored him, grabbing a beer stein from the counter in order to wipe it ‘clean.’ It broke its tacky seal on the wood with an unpleasant squelch. 

Gavin swiped the tumbler before it could also be removed. He then reached into his pocket, palming the coin briefly before slipping it under the dimpled base.

"I have an idea to spice things up." He spoke with a grin, exuding as much charm as was feasibly possible. "If I can get this coin out from under this glass without touching either, the next drink is on the house."

The barman arched an eyebrow. There was a flash of something indecipherable behind his contemptuous gaze, like a faint glimmer of amusement, before it was promptly snubbed.

"Oh yeah? What's in it for me?"

"The phone number of the girl you were just talking to."

Gavin paused for a beat, choosing his next words carefully. Of course, he had no intention of giving away anyone’s phone number—especially not to a man who looked like his big toe—but that was on a need-to-know basis.

"I have a connection," he concluded, shrewdly omitting the detail that the ‘connection’ was her lesbian lover.

The older man let his attention wander to the ST300, who was now talking with Tina at the edge of the dancefloor. Gavin grew worried that an overt display of PDA might jeopardise his plan. Fortunately, the ladies succeeded in the unlikely feat of keeping their hands to themselves.

Suspicions remained low and the bartender crossed his arms, accepting the terms of Gavin's wager with a curt shrug. "Sure thing, Houdini. Show me what ya got."

Gavin licked his lips, rolled his shoulders and prepared his opening move. He hovered a hand over the glass, fingers sprawled, ready to wow his cantankerous audience.

This did not happen, as the motion stalled, and he realised he had zero recollection of what he was supposed to do.

Something about a napkin? No, that was later. Was I supposed to blow on the glass? That didn’t feel right, either...

His younger self had never bothered to pay much attention to the intricacies, too busy savouring the taste explosion of salted peanuts and warm Capri Sun.

Panic settled, all the more pronounced as the ‘crowd’ grew agitated. Fingers drummed on his meaty forearm, a phlegm-filled snort informing that his sparse engagement was slipping fast.

Gavin decided to improvise. Grabbing a cocktail stick, he slid it into the gap between the glass and the counter, attempting to flick the quarter. It clung stubbornly to the wood, held by sticky residue that had formed a makeshift cement.

After loudly declaring the conditions unfair, he requested the surface be wiped, to which the barman begrudgingly complied. He placed the glass into position a second time before crouching down to inspect it, as though observing it from a different angle might trigger some grand epiphany.

He concluded the issue was that the glass was empty.

After a small deposit of whiskey was added, he once again failed to shift the coin—and a line was beginning to form behind him. He could feel his face burn in exasperation as he frantically combed his memories for something other than the flavour of tropical fruits and artificial sweetener.

His trick was attempted several times, each ending in miserable failure. A verdict was made that the glass itself was the issue, to which he was offered a champagne flute.

The coin still didn’t budge, so he blamed the carbonation for uneven weight distribution. Still, wine fared no better. Neither did cider.

By the time Gavin announced that the camber of the bar was skewed—and had snatched a serving tray from over the counter to create a flat surface—his reluctant spectator had completely lost interest.

"I got other people to serve, buddy."

The younger man was too stubborn to admit defeat. He rearranged his hodgepodge selection on the tray and attempted a bizarre ping-pong ricochet with a wadded tissue ball.

This ended with the paper submerged in red wine. 

There were too many drinks. 

He had already forgotten which one the coin was under—if it was still present at all. In one final, desperate gambit, the detective opted to shift tactics.

"Alright, you know what?" He threw up his hands, punctuating the action with a long, theatrical sigh of defeat. "Forget it, you win. I’ll just—Oh my God—!"

He pointed wildly toward a patron at the far end of the bar, his voice rising with falsified urgency. Heads swivelled in unison as the bartender and half the room turned to look.

"Is that guy choking?"

A DPD mailroom clerk, who paused mid-sip of his beer, froze in confusion as a concerned bystander started to whip him frantically across the back.

"Not choking—! Not—" He wheezed, pained, as a particularly exuberant slap propelled him from his stool.

Gavin seized his opportunity. Using the cover of the ensuing chaos, he snatched the tray of drinks. A shifty raccoon stealing scraps from the garbage, he turned from the bar, scampering into the night with his ill-earned spoils.

The scenario struck him with an uncanny sense of déjà vu. This might have been the outcome of at least a few of his father’s ‘skilled’ bar hustles.

His victory was nearly usurped as he stumbled into a sign mounted to the side of the bar. It pinged back, narrowly missing his face, as glasses teetered precariously. A couple tipped over, and in an effort not to lose any more precious cargo, he firmly kicked his assailant.

The metal pole clattered to the floor, its cheap black frame lying flat, revealing a hastily scrawled notice:

PRIVATE EVENT (DETROIT POLICE DEPARTMENT)

OPEN BAR — GUESTS ONLY.

Channelling his inner octopus, he carried what remained of his winnings further into the venue. Glugging from multiple drinks simultaneously, with only a few more ending up on the ground. This was deemed a successful venture. 

The tray was eventually abandoned on a fold-out table as he scanned the nearby dance floor. Through a blur of flailing arms and strobes, he somehow managed to spot Nines—tucked into a less blindingly lit nook beside the DJ booth.

Radiating his usual effortless poise, he swayed gracefully to the music. Connor, in contrast, clung with enthusiasm to his forearms, presumably encouraging him to liven his pace.

A plan of attack formed. After a final bracing gulp from one of the straggling glasses, Gavin waded into the throng. He intended to cut between the brothers, stealing his desired target away for a private dance.

Okay, here we go. Moment of truth. No turning back—

In his travels, the detective encountered a group of coworkers. While not dancing, their collective mass occupied an egregious amount of space. They stood huddled together, one member extending his phone, ready to take a picture.

His outstretched limb posed a prominent hazard, as several inebriated partygoers ducked and veered to avoid it. The man himself was blissfully unaware, showing a complete detachment from the concepts of personal space and social courtesy.

Gavin redirected his movements, doing his civic duty to ensure this sin would not go unpunished. He pulled his own phone out of his pocket and forcibly inserted himself into the frame. 

Disrupting the composition of heights and dazzling his newest, unwitting friends with the blinding white of his flash. Having left the group to gather themselves following the sweeping assault, Gavin stared down at the photo. The gaudy flash had caught the curve of a solo cup—one that was planted squarely over his face.

He lowered the screen, only to find the same cup now seated in his hand. He had no recollection of how it had gotten there and briefly attempted to retrace his steps before concluding the details didn’t matter.

It was still half full, beads of condensation wetting his palm. Taking a swig from the concoction, his mouth was accosted by a horrifying mix of raspberry liqueur and grenadine.

It was something a weaker man might have dubbed a ‘cocktail,’ but what could more aptly be described as a vicious affront to alcohol.

Trying his best to distract from the taste, Gavin turned his focus back to the corner of the DJ stand. It was now empty, save one extremely drunk forensic officer, loudly and persistently requesting tequila shots from the figure manning the booth.

Shit.

Gavin swivelled clumsily, the room spinning in tandem with an eclectic fog of lights and booze. He squinted through the haze, zeroing in on two shifts of maroon heading for the cloakroom. 

The twin flashes of LEDs confirmed their identities.

Shit, the silent profanity repeated, but somehow with greater conviction.

It was time to move on, and he did just that—fighting valiantly against the sweaty tide rising before him. He didn’t make it far before he was knocked by one of the bodies, stumbling back from the force of Collins’ ample weight.

The older man was writhing around in a frantic gyration that Gavin initially mistook for a seizure. Opposite him, Brown was engaged in equally bizarre flailing.

It was only then that the detective realised what he’d stumbled into. A ring of onlookers had gathered, hooting and hollering as the two officers tore up the floor in distinctly uncoordinated ways. 

Gavin stood in the centre, his inactivity drawing its own breed of attention.

Naturally, there was only one option.

Limbs moving independently from any conscious thought, he allowed the rhythms to guide him. Before he knew it, he was kicking, spinning, inventing shapes never before seen by mortal eyes.

Was it a daring fusion of jazz and shadowboxing? Some intrepid reinvention of breakdancing? Even Gavin wasn’t sure.

A sprawling pirouette ended with an inexplicable karate chop. He dropped into a squat, employing a quick shoulder shimmy that looked like he was trying to shake off a spider. The performance concluded with a finger-gun salute directed at no one in particular.

Jeers and claps died down as the audience stared. Heads tilted, eyes unblinking, struggling to process the masterful spectacle they had just witnessed.

They weren’t ready for his artistic genius. The man was a noble pioneer, decades ahead of his time.

Making history turned out to be thirsty work. He wobbled his way through a dispersing audience and back towards the tables.

His legs felt shaky, making it hard for him to move in a straight line. Stars were beginning to multiply in his vision, the combined influence of lights, fatigue, and deepening intoxication.

He picked up a drink that had been carelessly abandoned by one of his colleagues and took a lengthy sip. This one was another cocktail, albeit a much more palatable one.

The search for his partner recommenced, as was becoming the theme of the evening. He was investing considerable energy into this task—and was definitely not contemplating giving up and returning home to vent frustrations to his cat.

As though sensing the impending retreat, Nines re-materialised. Gavin had no idea where he had come from, his lagging mind and blurred vision omitting the finer details.

God, he looked incredible. It was about the only thing that he could still see in startling clarity. Stunning 4K resolution, standing against the backdrop of a grainy VHS tape—

Stop staring and move, you fucking idiot.

He had just about mustered the energy to stand, pulled up from his slumped position, when a party hat also appeared out of nowhere. It plopped clumsily onto his partner’s head as Nines smiled, politely accepting his ‘gift’ whilst readjusting the elastic.

The result was a soft curl of hair escaping the brim, cascading down his forehead. Slender fingers brushed it back, as pale cheeks tinged powder blue. 

Gavin forgot how to breathe. Something that persisted until, in desperation, he arched towards a passerby, claiming the shot glass that had been pinched in their grasp. The acrid liquid burned his throat and shocked his lungs back into activity.

Then, he charged forward.

Enough was enough. The grips of cowardice had dug their claws deeply, a hold which had endured for far too long.

He couldn't bear another three years of pretending to be content with friendship. It was an educated risk—mingled with wishfulness—that he would simply have to take.

Nines spotted him quickly, leading Gavin to conclude the android had been looking for him as well. This, in turn, inspired an anxiety he couldn't quite pinpoint, the burden of imagined expectations weighing heavily on his shoulders.

This was worsened by his partner's expression, which proved entirely unreadable. An enigmatic blend of concern and surprise—mingled with vulnerability.

Chin jutted and chest puffed in manufactured assurance, Gavin confidently entered his path. He then swooped around him in a wide arch, slamming through the doors of the nearby men's room.

The swinging doors propelled him forward, whacking his back and adding insult to the already pathetic display.

He didn't need to piss—but he was overdue a long, hard stare in the mirror.

Following this ritual of self-loathing, he filled one of the basins and proceeded to splash himself. The frigid blow of water stung immensely against burning skin as he muttered disparaging obscenities under his breath.

It wasn't long until his internal dialogue chimed in, levying the man with more targeted scorn, masquerading as advice:

Get it together, Reed. Ti’s right; you're acting like a lovesick schoolboy.

This is Nines. You know Nines. Even if he's not into it, you can laugh it off.

I mean, you gotta kiss someone at midnight, right?

Revelation hit like a truck as Gavin realised he had been presented with the perfect ‘Get Out Of Jail Free’ card. Should the worst possible outcome arise—and he threatened to implode their partnership through virtue of an unchecked boner.

Right. Midnight. We'll do it then. That gives me—

He checked his phone and scowled at the number displayed mockingly on the lock screen.

10 minutes of extra time. 

A final hit of liquid confidence was secured upon his departure. The victim in question was almost knocked flying by the violent propulsion of the bathroom door.

The drink had lined his oesophagus before he had even processed swallowing it. His head was flung back with such zeal that it left him incredibly dizzy.

Then came the taste—and smell—as they finally struck his delayed senses. Distinctly chemical, like battery acid.

Even in his dazed state, Gavin understood he had made a terrible mistake. He attempted to spit the fluid out, but discovered it was too late.

Bubbling heat rose in his gut, threatening to push back up through his throat, wreaking havoc on delicate insides. Apprehensively, he glanced at the cup, noting dregs of iridescent cobalt clinging to the bottom.

This had to be some form of cosmic punishment—atonement for all the chaotic undertakings he had perpetrated.

Glossing over the very real possibility that he had poisoned himself, Gavin stayed focused. The clock was ticking fast, and as the lights in the room began to dim, this was illustrated in foreboding clarity. 

Fuck. Where’s Nines?

Buzzing crowds grew hushed as the projected visage of a countdown clock was displayed on a nearby wall. The blasting resonance of the music also tapered until the room was silent. 

WHERE IS HE?

In another act of divine intervention—this time, less scornful of his insides—the big man upstairs did him a favour. Partygoers dispersed, and Nines appeared in the centre of the floor. Subtly illuminated by the rays of the overhead projector.

Then the countdown began, a ritualistic grunt that rose through the crowds, offering him unknowing encouragement.

10…9…8…

He wiped the lingering Thirium from his chin, having no time to check if it remained trapped in his stubble. 

Every step closer only seemed to highlight the android’s near-ethereal quality. Porcelain skin that effortlessly trapped every ray of light. Delicate freckles that he wanted to map with his lips–

7…6…5…

A body that could send him into a coma.

Those legs were already maddening enough to look at; he could only imagine how good they would feel wrapped around his neck—

No. Stop. Focus.

This was it. The single, decisive action that had the power to shift the tide of their relationship irrevocably. He desperately pushed this to the back of his mind, instead permitting himself to become lost in the moment.

4…3…2…

Gavin grabbed his shoulder, spinning him around before he had any chance to hesitate. Their bodies were close, with only the tiniest sliver of space between them.

After all this time, he was finally ready to shoot his shot.

1.

Happy New Year!

Lips met, pressed together with exuberant force. It was clumsy. Teeth clashed, noses bumped, and Gavin was fairly sure he had trodden on one—or both—of his partner’s feet.

Fireworks filled the sky behind them, flashing through his tightly closed lids as he felt equally zealous pops in his gut. He tried to convince himself these were butterflies and not of impending vomit.

He was too drunk to care, swimming haplessly through a potent mist of alcohol—as well as the enchanting sensations of the mouth pressed firmly to his.

The lips were soft, deliciously warm, with weight and form that seemed measured to absolute perfection.

He loved Cyberlife—loved them. Head Office would be receiving a handwritten letter of gratitude at some point during the year.

An orchestral score had begun to blast through nearby speakers, swelling in time with the climactic fireworks propelled into the sky.

He caught the end of their downpour as he slowly pulled back, tentatively opening his eyes…

Only to be met with a set of brown ones staring back in awestruck horror.

The warmth and satisfaction that had been coursing through his body vanished instantly, replaced by a creeping dread.

Oh, shit.

SHIT. SHIT. SHIT. SHIT.

The two were left to gawk at each other, frozen, silent, suspended in a matched state of shock—like they were the lone survivors of a cataclysmic multi-car pile-up.

Connor was the first to speak, breaking the tension with a curt rejection:

"I'm not attracted to you."

"I’M NOT ATTRACTED TO YOU EITHER," Gavin shot back, much louder—and with far more defensiveness—than was required. "Where the fuck did you come from?"

"I've been standing here the whole time."

"Well, I—"

Gavin began to swivel haplessly as though searching for anyone—or anything—that could save him from his dire situation. He knew it was hopeless, so instead, he settled for a series of weak, half-formed excuses:

"I've been drinking…and the sweaters…and, shit, it’s dark in here..."

He caught a glimpse of Tina, who was staring at him from the fringes of the dancefloor. She looked completely dumbfounded, entirely dismayed before her bulging eyes and slack jaw were buried in her hands.

"It's an easy mistake to make," Gavin concluded, his jaw locked in a tense snap. "I'm sure it has happened plenty of times."

"This has never happened to me." Connor's eyes brimmed with accusation, simultaneously mournful and furious at Gavin for stealing such a significant moment.

The man stepped back, forced to acknowledge the audience that had amassed around them. It wasn't just Tina who had been looking; several other spectators had joined to watch the disaster.

Sweeping their faces, they sought to cover a staggering breadth of emotions, ranging from the faintly amused to frantic hysterics. One or two people had pulled out their phones, including the instigator of the group photo he had usurped earlier.

Then, there was Nines—the only spectator who seemed to match Tina in genuine dismay. His shoulders were slumped, and his grip tightened on the trench coat draped over his arm. He said something to the PC200 beside him, nodding a courteous farewell before turning on his heel and heading for the exit.

Gavin stumbled in his frantic attempt to pursue, gripping Connor’s face and shoving him callously out of the way. The force sent the android crashing into a group of onlookers, who scrambled together in their efforts to catch him. 

Then Gavin ran, weaving between furniture as fast as his shaking legs could carry him. Slamming through the doors of the event hall, he quickly became lost in the staggering maze of sweeping stairwells and winding corridors leading out of the venue.

He couldn't remember it being this complicated on the way in—although, truthfully, he couldn't remember much of anything.

Yet somehow, through sheer dumb luck, he stumbled his way onto the street. There, he spotted Nines, having already covered significant ground. 

He was halfway up the block, a small dot of movement tracked under the dim glow of street lamps—persisting at a brisk pace.

Damn him for being so fast.

Knowing his burning lungs could not withstand the additional strain required to catch up, Gavin instead cried out:

"Nines—!"

His partner didn't respond, although he knew damn well that he had heard him. He called out again. A fervent pitch that attracted the attention of more than a few curious onlookers.

"—Fuck, wait a second—"

He didn't care.

He had already spent a large portion of the night humiliating himself. At this point, it was a drop in the ocean—a meagre ripple in a deluge of terrible life choices:

"Just turn around, dipshit!"

The added assertion garnered the desired effect. Nines snapped around, and while his face was blurry from their current position, Gavin could tell the outburst had embarrassed him—a small flare of red visible on the side of his temple.

Slowly, he began retracing his steps, and the detective stood frozen, waiting, ready, hopeful he would be granted enough time to say his piece. His heart pounded in a frenzied rhythm through his ribs, growing more pronounced the closer he got.

He had resigned himself to whatever the android might have to say in return. All he wanted was some semblance of closure so they could both move on—

"Yes, Gavin?"

The man flinched, realising that Nines had already reached him. He stood a few paces away, hands casually tucked into his pockets, expression coldly apathetic. The only indication of anything unusual was the apprehensive yellow of his LED.

All the things he had wished to say promptly vacated his brain. Gavin stood, dazed and confused, desperately willing his slackened jaw to coordinate some semblance of speech.

"You forgot your coat. Inside."

Nines said nothing, just stared at him blankly before his focus shifted down the expanse of his chest. The stuttering light show on his temple was reflected in plastic buttons before he looked back up, neutrality replaced by bewilderment.

"I'm wearing my coat."

"Yeah, same."

Gavin had never wished for the physical capacity to kick himself more than he did at that moment. 

With a hissed breath, he started again. This time, hoping—albeit doubtful—that his drunken mind might conjure something less idiotic.

"Look, what happened back there." He concluded it would be best to get to the point rather than drag out the already excruciating process. "With Connor, that was a mistake. I fucked up."

"Indeed," came a frosty response, matched by the intensity of his steely gaze. "I imagine my brother would have appreciated his first kiss amounting to more than a drunken ‘mistake’. I would surmise you certainly did ‘fuck up.’"

The words pierced cleanly through his chest. Nonetheless, he pressed on, determined to address any misconceptions. Offence or resentment be damned. "That's not what I meant." Fuck, here we go, "I mean, there might have been two RKs at the party tonight, both dressed in the same ugly-ass sweater, and I might have… picked the wrong one." The narrowed slits levelling him with a ruthless glower promptly snapped wide. Nines was stunned, reeling from a realisation that threatened to knock him back.

Several emotions passed his face, each mirrored by the cyclical shifts of his LED. First came shock, then elation, before finally settling into a far less desirable disappointment. His eyebrows raised, and his head tilted in a look that spoke to the impressive idiocy his partner had displayed.

Gavin would have much, much preferred that the android be angry. This was vastly worse—something that took significant determination to power through.

"Hey, I'm not the only one who messed up tonight." He folded his arms, chuckling lightly. A casualness that in no way reflected the emotional turmoil plaguing him. 

"Some countdown, huh? I sure hope someone gets fired for that one."

"...What exactly are you referring to?" the RK900 questioned sceptically.

Having missed every attempt with spectacular ineptitude, Gavin acknowledged that this was it. One final, lingering opportunity to take his shot. The window for which was rapidly shrinking.

"I mean that the countdown was off. Can't get much worse than that, right?"

"No, I don't think—" Then, Nines paused. Brow furrowed contemplatively before the sunny casts trapped in its folds faded to cool blue. The deep-set frown that had marred his features finally relaxed as he understood the man’s meaning.

"...I see." His lips twitched and gradually pulled upwards—until they formed into a small, fond smile. "And this error in timing, was it delay or acceleration we experienced?"

Nines had begun to step closer, to which Gavin mirrored the action; their bodies moved as if compelled by a strong magnetic pull. This continued until there was only a tiny sliver of space remaining.

"Acceleration," Gavin declared as focus shifted from sharp grey, drifting to the gentle curve of distractingly tempting lips. "Big one—blew their load way too early."

"Alright then," the android hummed, his own attention drifting lower. "So when does the countdown start?"

"It just finished."

He should have realised sooner that the man at the party had not been Nines.

Because there had been none of the same intense, dizzying ignition he felt charging between them. An energy that spoke to the depths of their connection, each clawing grip and desperate sound a declaration of just how long they’d waited.

He clung to the back of his partner's coat, nails burrowed in coarse wool, as though worried he might vanish from beneath it.

Nines was the first to pull away, breaking the detective from his dreamlike euphoria as he spoke:

"Gavin?"

"Yeah, Nines?"

"Why does your mouth taste like biofluid?"

[replicantdeviancy]

@vexeddetective || Morbid Curiosity || Accepting

"what are you insinuating?" -Gavin, for Xander

It had been such a passive statement, something almost dismissive that had fallen from the advanced androids defined lips. But as it was aimed towards his (rather infamous) partner, & had happened to come from him, the faint veil of tire sarcasm hadn’t been so easily brushed aside. Reed rarely went without his own commentary in regards to others opinions of him, never quite able to take criticism, constructive or otherwise. Xander had long suspected that his less than ideal mannerisms were a product of personal issues involving self-worth which had been programmed into him by something in the past. Something the android was as of yet unaware of, but the consequences of the event - or series of events - were real.

A soft puff of pseudo-breath left his nose in the form of a sigh. An almost tired sound - androids didn’t experience physical fatigue but both he & his predecessor had come to understand the nature of psychological & emotional exhaustion since becoming deviant. Sometimes the drawbacks of self-awareness far outweighed the benefits, but now having known both sides of the same coin, Xander knew that he could never go back. He liked the mental strain humanity often put on his processor, how he felt at times that he needed a moment to stay still & defragment the clutter it all imposed upon his CPU. Strange to think that even Reeds passive aggressiveness was a thing to be enjoyed, but the android couldn’t hide the faint upturn at one corner of his lips as his partner demanded of him further explanation, of which he likely knew the answer.

Reed was a certified pain in the ass, & that was just fine with him.

“I make no insinuations,”  he responded in kind, his bright gaze drifting towards the frowning human. It was a calm look, passive in contrast with the strong, almost authoritative aesthetic quirks they had made to the RK800’s visage to produce Xanders own twinned face. Even mildly exasperated, it was strange how such a cool color as grey could appear so warm.  “The manner in which you conducted yourself posed a detriment to our investigation. He would have been more cooperative if you hadn’t been so abrasive.”  He, meaning their person of interest in their newest case, one which already had little to go on. It didn’t help that Xander’s model hadn’t been granted all of the previous model’s investigative tools. Psychological profiling really wasn’t the RK900’s thing - he’d been built as an enforcer, after all. Not a detective. He expected Reed often begrudged him that, even as he did his best to pull his own weight. If nothing else, he excelled in keeping the often combative detective calm.

[bluelividity]

*SLAMS MY HAND AGGRESSIVELY ONTO THE TABLE*                     OKAY!!!!   GAVIN REED IS GAY!!!     LET’S GO!!!!

to: @foxymuses​ ; this is what happens when you leave me alone with my computer for too long.

[an-unlikely-duo]

[A new tablet pen arrived one day early and I was so happy that I needed to use it right away. So expensive TvT I really need to use it more to make it worth it]

[rebellier]

tag drop !!

[syntheticblood]

tag dump. ( 4 / 6 )

[intxlligxntdxsign]

new tag drop!

[enkisstories]

October 2044, Senbamachi university town, Japan

Kara: “Are you done with the wedding arc?”

Gavin: “Good as done! I’m putting the finishing touches on!” *flaps wings* “No need for a ladder...”

Kara: “The buffet...?”

Connor: “Ready!”

Kara: “And I’m keeping the cake out of reach of the guests.”

The guests start arriving...

Gavin: “I’ll just hang here for a bit, outside the sun, if it’s all the same to you?”

Kara: “Just be off when we exchange vows or that would make for a pretty weird wedding photo!”

This may come as a surprise, but Connor and Kara were really only soulmates living together until now. Unlike the Reeds, Connor was unwilling to enter into a “fake” marriage as long as android marriages were a legal grey zone.

But now that these unions are fully recognized, Kara proposed right at the cauldron, when Connor woke up after the failed experiment that gave him the revilsive visage curse.

Hank and Oumaima with their fat pacheques payed for a destination wedding in Senbamachi (and also for a potion that will suppress Connor’s curse for the ceremony’s duration).

[peskellence]

Pairing: RK900/Gavin Reed

Tags: Post Pacifist Ending, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Smut, Angst, Hurt/Comfort

Masterlist

Read on AO3 here:

Summary: A lot has changed since the revolution. Crimes against androids are now being treated with greater severity, with many being subject to the same penalties as crimes against humans. While anti-android attitudes are on the decline, transforming the mindset of an entire city is no simple task.

A reluctant Gavin Reed and his new partner RK900 have been assigned to investigate a string of disturbing murders. Despite the shift in Detroit's social climate, Gavin still holds reservations about whether or not androids are truly alive. Will his developing feelings for 'Nines' prompt a shift in perspective?

Warnings: Graphic Violence, Depression/Self Destructive Behaviour, Smut

Word Count: 7K

Gavin woke up to a wave of white filling his vision, exacerbated by a harsh glow of light. It blinded him temporarily and left his gaze to trail aimlessly through the vacuous surroundings. He couldn't remember everything that happened, but there were small, disordered snippets. Intense pain, the roar of a gunshot, Connor grappling with Alex. Then Nines, holding him in his arms, as he began to fade away.

A voice was calling out, soft and soothing, filled with warmth. Delicate hands held his shoulders, gently caressing them.

"Gavin, can you hear me?"

Any fears he might have had about the nature of his afterlife were quickly dispelled. The figure above him was blurred, but their features seemed willing to mould themselves to his desires. He let out a gentle hum of contentment as an enticing visage began to take shape.

"Guess the big man upstairs can't be too pissed, got me an angel."

The figure was silent momentarily, as though absorbing what the man had just said before they let out a short, disbelieving snort. The illusion was abruptly shattered as Gavin noted an unsteady mix of colours emanating from their temple. Seeming to sync with the sounds coming from a nearby monitor.

"As flattering as that comparison might be, I feel it forthcoming to inform you that you are alive."

Then he felt the cannula—tubes of plastic lodged uncomfortably in his nostrils—and the needle embedded in his hand attached to a nearby drip. He blinked up at the ‘angel’, whose features were beginning to sharpen. Familiar eyes peered down at him, accompanied by a gentle smile.

"Nines?" Realising his mistake, he concluded that the liquid in his drip must be some form of painkillers. Strong ones.

Mercifully, the android did not indulge in any further teasing, instead offering a small nod of acknowledgement. "It's good to hear your voice."

As Gavin tried to lean forward, a sudden rush of delirium halted him. His head felt light and airy, as though he were coasting in a dream.

"How the fuck did I get here? I remember getting hit in the head…and my nose being broken…and fuck, then I was shot." He touched a point on his chest, which he last recalled being soaked in blood. "Would have thought I was a goner for sure..."

"The bullet punctured one of your lungs, resulting in a traumatic hemopneumothorax. Connor and I were able to keep you stable until medical assistance arrived."

Gavin's attention flitted to a wall-mounted television at the far end of the room. As he noted a time stamp in the corner of the news channel that was playing, his head swelled with confusion. The time that had elapsed seemed suspiciously short, leaving him to wonder if he had misread it.

"How long was I out for?"

Nines' soft smile had disappeared, replaced with a perturbed scowl. "A few days...it was touch and go for a while. Your heart stopped beating several times."

The man stalled at the revelation.

Well. Shit.

Then, as the initial shock waned, he was struck by something else—an overwhelming sense of luck, as well as a newfound appreciation for his own tangibility. He held his hands in front of his face, chuckling unsteadily as he did. "Would you look at me? The undead asshole." 

Nines flinched at the crass words, his head bowed forlornly. "This should have never been permitted to happen, wouldn't have happened, had I gone with you. I was too preoccupied with my own self-interests, and because of that, you almost—" 

The sentence was aborted, undercut by a harsh, metallic sound. It took Gavin's drug-addled mind a minute to catch up with what was happening, and then he heard the sobs.

"I was the intended target, and you were the one caught in the crossfire." Despair was etched into the android's features, pale skin streaked with tears. "It should have been me." 

Gavin felt a twinge of sorrow at the implication, worsened by the anguished sounds that Nines was making. He tried to sit up again, but his weakened body refused to comply. "Come on, I don't think you getting shot would have been ideal either."

"After I attacked you, I felt lost—scared of losing control." He was babbling, clipped laments just barely coherent. Glimpses of red bled through his fingers as he clutched the sides of his head. "I thought in distancing myself I could seek to protect us both." 

"You don't have to explain."

"It was a cowardly thing to do. Had I lost you, it would have been my fault, a consequence of my own selfishness—"

"Will you shut up for a minute?" It had not been intended for the request to come across so harshly, and the regret he felt was instantaneous.

Nines flinched, his body jerking before he sunk into his chair with a resigned nod of compliance. It hurt to see him this way, so profoundly distraught and broken. A deep, sinking ache in his chest that could not be ignored.

While too weak to initiate the action fully, the detective extended his arms, beckoning him forward with a twitch of his fingers. "Come here."

After a fleeting hesitation, the offer was accepted. The android slumped against his body, and Gavin felt the tension stored in his synthetic muscles begin to dissipate. He reached a hand behind his head and gently pulled it towards his shoulder.

"You weren't being selfish; you were trying to do what was best", he assured, carding his fingers slowly through strands of soft brown hair.

Everything about his demeanour measured and calm, a conscious departure from his usual abrasive attitude. This newly-adopted resolve proved challenging to maintain, however, as the pressure of their embrace intensified. A twinge of pain broke through his numbness, triggering an involuntary hiss.

"Even if you fucked up a bit."

Nines emitted a small huff as he readjusted his weight, carefully nestling his head against his ribcage. "When Connor explained what was happening, when I saw you in the warehouse, I realised what a terrible mistake I had made—

There will always be dangers in the world. I am far from the only one. For as long as I am in control, I wish to protect you."

Gavin hoped, albeit vainly, that the android would fail to detect the embarrassing flutter in his chest as he said this. "I’m not some fairytale princess, jackass. I don't need a knight in plastic armour to come and save me." 

"I know you don't, but I would appreciate it if you would humour me for just a moment."

They stayed that way for quite some time, savouring the warmth of each other's bodies. After what felt like an eternity of prolonged physical and psychological torment, Gavin was profoundly appreciative of the simple moment of peace.

A part of him wished to stay there forever, refusing to allow anything to breach the walls of contentment. Then, he sealed his own undoing with a single, thoughtless musing:

"So, you're definitely real, right? This isn't some weird doped-up fantasy?"

The android's head tilted upwards. The stormy intensity of his eyes was absent, replaced with a look of serene tranquility. "It isn't." 

"Meaning you are the Nines that I spilt my guts to." 

"That would also be correct."

The floodgates were opened as the man was accosted by a wave of uncomfortable memories. He sunk further into his bed, wishing he could vanish entirely within the folds of the sheets.

"Well, shit. Now I kind of wish I was dead."

The peaceful expression dropped instantaneously as Nines shot up, his LED flaring like a warning beacon. "Why on Earth would you wish for that?" 

"Come on, I haven't exactly been great with how I've handled all this...I can't believe I said I’d wait for you. That’s fucking pathetic."

"Perhaps the message was delivered abrasively, but the sentiment was there. I thought it was sweet." Amidst the comforting sincerity, there appeared to be something Nines was holding back. His focus darted to the side as his lips pulled into a taut line. "You have no idea how hard it was. Walking away from you."

"Just don't do it again," Gavin grumbled back, halfway between a chide and a plea. He reached out across the bed, fingers brushing the side of his companion’s hand. "No more running. For either of us."

Nines stilled at the touch before his own fingers twitched to life. Moving along the sheets, he blanketed the man's calloused skin with his palm. 

"No more running", he agreed softly. "With any luck, that will mean future sentiment can be expressed more opportunely."

There was something about this statement that inspired a moment of introspection. Sorting through his fractured recollections of the distribution centre, there were certain memories Gavin wished to solidify more than others. Namely, the last exchange the two of them shared.

"Back in the warehouse, you said something to me, right before I passed out." 

It hadn't been a question, but the weighty pause that followed confirmed his desire for elaboration. The android appeared flustered at this, a fine dusting of blue powdering his cheeks.

"You know what I said."

"I’d been hit in the head with a steel pipe, and I was bleeding out. Didn't know if I was imagining it." The man stared at him intently, scrutinising his torn expression. "I wanna hear you say it again."

Nines made a quiet, shuddering sound, charged with electricity. There was a soulful vulnerability in his gaze as he leant forward, closing the gap between them.The kiss was slow and tender, culminating with a heartfelt proclamation whispered against his lips. "I love you." 

An apprehensive breath that had lodged in his throat finally released. It left Gavin temporarily speechless, wondering when those words had last incited such a reaction. Of course, he didn't express this, settling for a more 'restrained' response.

"Fucking knew it."

Rolling his eyes with a playful flourish, Nines steadily pulled away. "Yes, well, you are a detective. I would have hoped you could deduce something so transparent." 

"God, this is so cheesy," he said back, mingled with a deep groan. "Straight out of a rom-com, bet Connor would love it."

His companion failed to regard the sentiment with the same degree of enthusiasm. A faint furrow creased his brow as he fiddled with the trim of his jacket. "I’m not sure ‘love’ would be the most apt descriptor, but I imagine he'd make an effort to be supportive."

Oh.

In retrospect, a less than stellar reception to his and Nines’ relationship could have been anticipated—given the extensive emotional and physical antagonism he had shown his brother. Gavin slipped his hand away, picking at one of his weathered knuckles. "How's he holding up, anyway? Him and the old bastard."

"The Reaper roused a few minutes after you lost consciousness. I believe Hank pulled a tendon whilst keeping him restrained. Aside from that, they are both fine."

The temptation to poke fun at the older man’s physical durability, or lack thereof, was staggering. Despite this, he resisted.

"Got time to work on them, then. Wear ‘em down like I did with you."

"I would hardly call it wearing me down," the android contended, reaching forward and brushing a hand across his cheek. "Connor told me about what you did, piecing together the final riddle in my absence. Your intelligence and courage are more than deserving of my adoration. I am confident that the others will be just as appreciative, given time."

Gavin scoffed at the words of reassurance, his brow raised incredulously. "Whatever happened to you not having an advanced social protocol? Smooth-talking bastard."

"I've been practising," Nines admitted, planting affectionate kisses along the length of his jaw. "I also recall telling you that I learn from experience. Perhaps you are more adept with words than you think."

"Bullshit. Feel free to carry on, though. If the aim is to charm my pants off, it's working."

"Gavin." The name sounded low and needy as it rolled off his tongue, movements trailing intently towards his mouth. 

The kiss that followed was harsh and feverish, filled with shared desperation. Gavin panted eagerly as he felt a tongue slip past his lips, skillfully coaxing out a series of moans. With each movement, he pulled Nines closer—until he was draped across the bed, practically crawling inside.

"Whooaaa there. Sorry, fellas, are we interrupting something?"

They shot apart instantly, startled by the address. The detective initially assumed it had come from some ill-fated nurse—receiving an unexpected show on their afternoon drug round. His embarrassment escalated to mortification as he discovered the reality to be much worse.

Hank and Connor stood in the doorway, sharing mirrored looks of confusion. The latter sported a large plastic bag, as well as a length of ribbon attached to his wrist. At the end of the ribbon was a foil balloon reading ‘Get Well Soon’ in a blocky font. 

The cheerful sentiment was juxtaposed comically by an increasingly sour expression. His LED blinked in yellow pulses as he glanced wearily at his brother.

"I did say we were coming."

"Yes, I received your message", Nines clipped back as his cool-toned blush deepened significantly. "I was...distracted."

"Is that what the kids are calling it these days?" 

Gavin glowered at Hank, who was shamelessly tittering at his own joke. "You dipshits ever heard of knocking?" 

"This is a public hospital, and the door was open—" It was evident Connor wished to continue but was dissuaded by a pleading look from his brother. He inhaled deeply before starting again, addressing the man with a more composed neutrality. "Nines asked if we could stop at your home. I fed your cats and brought you some clothes."

"Is everyone just letting themselves into my fucking apartment now?" 

"I’ll be sure to foot the bill for your window."

The dry response had clearly been been intended as a joke, but the mystified silence that followed informed of its failure to land. Connor’s jaw hardened in tenuously repressed frustration. "I was advised on the location of your key. If you don't want your home to be easily accessed, I suggest you find somewhere more secure to keep it."

"Not the only reason we came down." Hank interrupted, despite the visible amusement he was garnering from the exchange. Striding towards the bed, he settled himself down on one of the hard plastic chairs. "We wanted to fill you in with what is happening at the station."

As the detective attempted to sit up, Nines sought to support him, placing a hand under his arm. "Has he talked yet? Alex, Gideon, or whatever the fuck his name is."

"Seems like the prick has changed it a few times." Hank reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out a small photograph and presenting it to him. "He was born Dimitar Petrov in Varna, Bulgaria. Worked as an engineer at CyberLife for three months until he was made redundant."

Gavin stared down at the picture, to which Dimitar glared back. His darkened eyes exuded a disquieting rage, hands clenched on the sides of an arrest board. The longer he looked, the more the visage churned his stomach, skin crawling with phantom touches. 

"He isn't even Russian. Lying motherfucker…"

His disgruntled murmuring elicited an immediate reaction from Nines, whose grip tightened, head tilted curiously. Before he had a chance to speak, Connor had interjected:

"We found several IDs in his possession. The Gideon pseudonym seems to coincide with his move to Detroit." He removed the balloon from his wrist, anchoring it to the bed's footboard. "At the time of his redundancy, he had received several warnings for what was believed espionage."

"He was trying to take them down from the inside." A sneer accompanied the deduction as Gavin set the photo on a nearby table. "Before the revolution fucked up his plans. Demented and deluded—a real fucking winner."

"On the bright side, the ego worked to our advantage," Hank chimed in. "As soon as Connor got him talking about his ‘holy mission’, he sang like a fucking canary."

"The case will have to go to trial", the RK800 clarified. "While he confessed to attacking and dismantling the androids, he maintains his only murder was that of the human woman."

"It won't make a difference," his partner added. "Even if the law agreed with him, which it doesn't, one count of First Degree murder is more than enough to send him down. Plus, we got the fuckers 'trophy collection'. No talking his way around that."

"He’ll need a damn good lawyer, that's for sure." Having exhausted the remainder of his energy, Gavin allowed his head to lull back, eyelids drooping. "Guy couldn't even talk me into bed; he doesn't stand a chance against a jury."

The silence that followed was legendary. Hank and Connor exchanged troubled glances before their attention slowly drifted to Nines. The android in question had seized in place, his stoic expression unreadable. 

"What are you talking about?"

Gavin's fluttering lids suddenly snapped open. While admitting culpability for his more egregious crimes, Dimitar had clearly maintained silence on his more 'ethically grey' practices.

They were all looking at him expectantly, as it occurred to the detective just how effectively he had sought to corner himself. Nines seemed particularly anticipative. While his face remained indecipherable, it was clear that they would not be moving on from the topic without some form of elaboration. 

He chewed the inside of his mouth, unsure how best to broach the subject. "...Do you remember that date I went on? With the guy I was texting in the Storage Locker?"

A spark of yellow ignited the RK900's forehead, spinning in disordered flashes for a number of seconds. "Yes."

"Well, turns out the Reaper really wanted some insider information—but don't worry, he was a shit kisser. Wasn't about to tempt me to the dark side with a tongue like a fucking spin cycle." 

There was silence for a disconcerting length of time, but the fractious tremble of the android's shoulders and steady careen of his jaw spoke volumes. It ignited a spark of concern in Gavin as he attempted to place a hand on his forearm.

"It's fine."

Nines had stood before he made contact, face contorted with disgust. "It is not fine. You were taken advantage of. In a hideous, unforgivable way."

"Where the Hell are you going?" 

"To the station. I would like to request five minutes alone in this man's holding cell."

As he charged towards the exit, Connor smoothly intercepted, the red flicker on his temple betraying his rising alarm. "Your energy output is extremely low. I’m not sure that's a good idea. How about we take a walk instead?" 

"I don't need a walk."

"Then we can find somewhere to sit. You've had a long couple of days. The fresh air may do you some good!" 

"If you don't allow me to go to the station, then I will not be leaving this hospital."

Connor's forced optimism was beginning to wane as his approach proved ill-effective. "What if we…get some coffee for Hank and Gavin?" he suggested, making a vague gesture out of the doorway. "There is a machine down the hall. It would only take a few minutes."

Shooting his predecessor a withering look, the RK900 finally relented. "Fine."

The two androids disappeared around the corner, leaving their human companions behind. After a stretch of awkward silence, Hank started to make a series of popping noises under his breath, accompanied by drumming on his lap.

"So, when's the wedding?"

"Fuck off, Anderson."

"l want you to make an honest android of him. Can lend you Sumo if you need a flower pooch."

"I hope that you die and your dog fucking eats you."

"You really are a charmer, aintcha? It’s easy to see how you won Nines over." Hank batted his eyelashes teasingly before the playful demeanour quickly dropped. "...Seriously, the kid's been a wreck, Reed. Refused to leave your side for even a second, had to be dragged out of the room during your operation."

Gavin's eyes widened at this, as a complex swell of emotions washed over him. "He's been here the entire time?"  

The other man nodded in confirmation. "I know it might go without saying, but you m

[princebugs]

stolen dance. (reed900)

small note before this begins--- this oneshot is based off of some art made by @jude-shotto !!! pls go follow them theyre amazing

-------------------

"Fucking--- shit," Squinted eyes gaze into his dust-ridden reflection before him, his phalanges evidently not nimble enough for this simple task he had to complete; tying a tie. Perhaps he was skilled in this in another life of his, but ever since he was a young kid, he was never able to finish any sort of tie. Whether it be a regular ass tie, or a bowtie--- tying that shit? Not Gavin's thing; he would just force his father to tie it, when his dad was still in the house, that is.

Cue another long-winded groan, and he gives up. The tie had gotten all sorts of messed up during the actual wedding, due to him having to lift it up to wipe away the tears dripping down his cheeks. Weddings were emotional, alright? Tina could barely get through her vows to North, and Gavin felt too many emotions at once--- anger at her for leaving Gavin so easily (not in the romantic way, he didn't like her like that), sadness for seeing her go away into her new life, and happiness for seeing his best friend finally finding someone that cared about her so dearly.

Nonetheless, it left a bitter taste in his mouth. Jealousy.

When the fuck was it gonna be Gavin's turn, huh?!

He threw the abandoned, wrinkled tie behind him, not really caring to see where it landed, and he points to himself in the mirror. "You, Gavin Reed, are a fuckin' delight to be around. You will find someone eventually. And, your ass looks GREAT in these pants, so don't go in there and look all depressed. You're gonna walk into that stupid dance-floor, immediately sit the fuck down at the bar, drink champagne, and hope for the best--- because Gavin Reed isn't a desperate man!"

A proud grin stretches across his visage, confidence washing over all of his insecurities as he turns around to leave the bathroom--- of course, taking a quick look at his ass along the way.

You're damn right it looks good.

He straightens out his suit jacket on the way out, before noticing that someone was in the bathroom stall directly behind where he did his little pep talk. Freezing in his tracks, the air is silent in the room for several moments.

"...I'll give you twenty bucks after this if you don't tell everyone about me talking about my ass."

"Deal."

Done and done with that, he walks out of the bathroom.

A brief exhalation, and still meandering with a new surge of confidence, his hues breeze over the area, searching for a very specific lady of the hour--- he wasn't letting her go on that honeymoon without stealing a dance from her, duh. That's just how they rolled, ever since highschool prom.

His train of thought is broken by someone speaking to him, and he inclines his cranium to the side to catch a glance of who wished to partake in a conversation with him--- oh. Connor, and Hank.

Connor was wearing suspenders along with his bowtie (stupid phckin' neat android who could tie a tie--), and his jacket was placed on a chair just a few feet away from them. His hair was done as it usually was; slicked back except for a few baby hairs. His smile was as bright as ever. "Gavin! We were wondering when you would come out of there. I queried to Hank that you might have had a bad lunch, and were possibly disposing of i--"

"Connor, stop that shit," Hank interrupts before Gavin gets the chance to, and Gavin almost laughs at his appearance. Listen, it's not everyday that you see Hank Motherfuckin' Anderson dressed up nicely, and Gavin actually has to cover his mouth to stifle his laughter. He didn't catch sight of him beforehand, so he was just seeing this--- this monkey suit of his.

He couldn't deny that it did look good on the Lieutenant, but nonetheless, it was fuckin' hilarious. "So, Hank, did you borrow that suit from your grandpa, because it looks just a lil' dusty riiiight--"

"Don't even touch me, Reed. Don't even think about it," Hank's coarse voice states, causing Gavin to retract his palm from almost wiping off the other male's shoulder. Gavin snickers anyways.

"Sorry, sorry. I'll bug you about that shit later, after the wedding," He actually has a tone of genuine joy, his childish smirk turning into a bright grin.

Connor beams at that. "Wow, Detective! You actually... don't look pissed off for once. I'm quite impressed."

His cerulean irises roll in slight irritation, but he keeps smiling. "Listen, today's a good day for me, alright? My best friend got married, for fuck's sake--- speaking of Tina, where is the secondary bride? I need to get my dance from her real quick before I dash outta this place. It smells like my nana in here."

"Don't tell North that," Markus joins in on the conversation, looking as pristine as ever with his tuxedo (suit jacket abandoned), and his sapphire-and-emerald optics practically sparkling in the light. Gavin almost blushes. Almost.

There may have been a possibility that Gavin used to have a minor, MINOR, crush on Markus. Who could blame him? Look at the guy--- he was too pretty. If Gavin was the president during the revolution, he would've let the androids live free just because he would have gotten entranced in everything that is... Markus.

He gave up on that MINOR crush soon enough, and now they were just mutual friends.

"Oh, shit--- she isn't around here, is she? North'll kill me if she heard that," Gavin glances around himself, emitting a sigh of relief. North was the one who planned the majority of the wedding occasion, and if she heard any complaint about it, she wouldn't hesitate to snap a certain-coffee-infused-relatively-short-detective's neck. Phew. "Coast is clear, y'all."

"Tina and North are actually sitting down right over there," Markus turned around to point over towards the newly-wedded couple before continuing, "be careful what you say, of course. North could still commit a murder tonight." Markus chuckles, but Gavin gulps.

"Alright, see ya, losers," The human begins his sauntering over towards Tina, ignoring any possible looks that were given his way (he was hoping it was merely because he put just a little extra sway in his step to catch people's attention), and then tapping Tina's shoulder once he made it there.

"North? Mind if I snatch away your wife for a dance?" Gavin bit down on the inside of his right cheek, extremely nervous about merely asking her that. He had met North beforehand, of course--- he was just very afraid of her. She didn't generally like humans, besides her partner, and he didn't generally like androids; it was a match made in HELL.

Surprisingly, North smiled softly, gesturing for Tina to go ahead and stand up. "Go ahead, I'm sure she needs as much time with her best friend as she can get."

"Sweet. C'mon, Tina," Finally taking off his jacket and placing it around an empty chair near his current area, as well as pushing up his sleeves, he then holds a palm out for her to take, and Tina laughs.

"Dude, are you taking me for a waltz, or something? Don't be so fancy," Tina, that beautiful bitch, giggled before giving her wife a kiss on the cheek, then taking Gavin's hand. "This doesn't make me any less gay, you know that, right?"

Gavin stuck his tongue out in disgust, a little 'bleugh' sound emitting from him, "Gross, man. Plus, you're totally not my type," he says as he leads her to the dancefloor. People are already dancing there, but once they see the grey-black vest of Gavin, and the sleek black dress of Tina, they move out of the way. Perks of being the best man and one of the brides, eh?

"Yeah," Tina began, peeking behind Gavin's shoulder as they swayed around to the rhythm, their hips shaking at a leisurely pace, "in fact, didn't your type just walk right through that door?"

His eyebrows furrow momentarily, his head turning to look behind him, and---

Yowza.

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keep reading on ao3!!!

[bluelividity]

Unlike Connor with Bryan Dechart, Markus with Jesse Williams and Kara with Valorie Curry, Gavin Reed isn’t modeled closely after his in-game voice actor or motion capture actor. There’s been some fanmade films about Gavin that have some underground actors playing him, but! 

I present to you, my own personal fancast: 

                                         CHRIS WOODS AS DET. GAVIN REED. 

[connywrites]

of flesh and blood 33

start - part [32]

-

“Hey, Connor,” Gavin greeted, prompting the android to stop in place, turning his head before he shifted the rest of his body to face Gavin’s direction in the motion of walking past him.

“Hello, detective Reed,” RK800 responded, a slight puzzled expression crossing his facial features with the usual inquisitive swivel of his eyebrows.

“Is there something I can help you with?”

Gavin stood still in place, despite the restlessness crawling beneath his skin. Part of him felt frustrated with the idea of who he used to be, even if that person existed only weeks ago – the worst piece about the ultimately short time spent under RK900’s discipline was the fact that a majority of what it was trying to do worked so effectively, even Gavin didn’t always catch it – understanding now that it ultimately was reckless and unnecessary for him to have acted the way he had before the fact, always expecting the world to fall into his lap by his demand simply because he commanded it to be so. Nines was an ‘experimental’ android; not a prototype but something beyond it, a mimicry machine designed to adapt and integrate in a less personal, yet much more direct manner than the RK800s he had come across, with their generally stoic-but-polite demeanor – at least, if you were on their side. Another reason he’d shot androids from a safe distance was the fact that after he’d seen what they were capable of, he wasn’t exactly thrilled to get his limbs shredded by a metal computer that decided he was a threat. The acknowledgement that he was the threat in the first place only surfaced recently, whirring in his mind and thus leading up to the situation he’d put himself into now.

RK900 was built to reflect him from the start, but he was too distracted and negligent to see it. Too busy treating a sentient machine as if it were an object and reacting with surprise when it started fighting back and demanding some sort of – as his new colleague had said, ‘respect’, or at least some over-the-top version of it – he continued to feel closed in from his vivid memories of its actions. Every bunching of its eyebrows and shift of its pupils, each motion in its wrist when it lifted or placed his drinks, held him down or flicked the belt across his flesh, and the way it learned to deflect his aggression with a version of its own. The snide remarks, the insults, the ugly glares. The heavy, lengthy strides in its step when it crossed the room with its eyes stalking down his own. When his anger had somehow resonated within it until he was on the ground, beaten and bloody. Reminders of his own sadistic behaviors in the past followed him left and right, alongside the RK900 that still hid in the shadows as a phantom of his own paranoia, always watching with judgement while whispering sweet nothings in one ear and vicious demands in the other.

Gavin was well aware Connor was not RK900, and despite their similar external appearance and parallel internal algorithms, they were, ultimately, quite different. Unfortunately, Gavin didn’t know Connor well; he’d simply apologized because Nines asked him to. This time, he wanted to do it himself, for himself, and not because an android had beaten him into submission over the fact.

“I, uh,” he stammered, pausing in place while he considered the question.

“Yeah. Actually,” he began, and Connor looked a bit surprised, unable to imagine anything he could help the detective with at any point in time, let alone right then.

“Well, I don’t need you to do anything, but…I do.” Standing awkwardly in the hallway wasn’t exactly his ideal place for confessions, but he wasn’t sure when or where he’d get the chance otherwise.

“I don’t think I understand,” Connor responded, and Gavin shook his head, unable to help a smug smirk tugging at the corners of his lips as he’d almost forgotten how naive this android was, especially in comparison to RK900.

“Haven’t got that far yet,” he pressed, trying to configure a way to put words together so they would make sense to both of them. He sighed, and Connor remained as still as ever, patiently listening.

“I just wanted to see…” Giving into the urge to fold his arms, he paused, forcing the reluctant part of his mind to spit out the sentiment.

“How you were doing.” Once Connor acknowledged that the phrase was easily recognized within his database, figuring out the emotions behind it and putting them together into a logical response was a more difficult process. He cast Gavin a sympathetic stare once he’d understood what he was getting at.

“Oh.“ They hesitantly stared at each other as a few seconds ticked by.

“Well enough, I suppose,” he responded halfheartedly, glancing to the side with a barely-noticeable shrug of mechanical shoulders.

“I mean…you can tell me the truth,” Gavin offered, although with the awareness that a sudden expectancy of honesty from someone like him wasn’t exactly a notion that would seem sincere.

“Is this…about…” Connor’s voice was stiff as he attempted to bury his internal poignance of the situation; from the RK900’s personal damage to Gavin, to Hank’s now rapidly-declining health and his own difficulty trying to convince his superiors he wanted to stay alive when he was the one set up to take care of the rest, as it were. His own deviancy had become apparent to those close to him, but trying to join Jericho now would put him in even more danger, and the heartbreak clutching his chest made it impossible to even consider the idea of leaving Hank’s side. At work, there was no way of acting or speaking outside of his originally programmed behaviors, an intricate process he had to step in line with or he was as good as decommissioned.

“Yes,” Gavin hissed swiftly under his breath, dipping his head forward in indication that they shouldn’t be so loud over the matter, particularly in a place such as the DPD. Connor looked somewhat surprised, but mostly startled by the anxiety that Gavin could recognize by one glance alone; the way brown eyes dilated and stared into the distance, trying to digest his surroundings for what they were with the seemingly disorganized programming he had at his disposal. Wary, Connor turned his head away from Gavin’s direction as the man shifted his weight and lowered his hands to his sides as he made his best attempt at presenting politely despite the glower threatening to tear him down from the visage alone.

Remaining stiff, Connor stared at Gavin with the typical vacant gaze that he personally hated – but this time he dug deeper into the visual connection, pondering just what it meant for an android to replicate human behavior down to eye contact and the intricate movements of speech, even only for show. Over time, Connor had responded differently to the verbal and physical behavior of humanity around ‘it’self, leaving Gavin always wondering if he would stick around, what he might do next, how long the deviant-hunting-deviant might get away with his own antics for the pure sake of Cyberlife dismissing his existence entirely – for better or worse.

“I don’t think I can do anything to help you,” Connor offered with a burst of uncertainty beneath his breath, which Gavin quickly waved off with a nonchalant sway of his hand. It was effective nonetheless, Connor admired, realizing no one had interrupted them despite the strange subject matter of their discussion.

“No, it’s not…” Biting his tongue, Gavin remembered not to talk in such a way that might deter the android he was trying to initiate with.

“Look,” he insisted, catching the RK800’s brunette replicate eyes with his own and holding the android’s attention long enough to listen. The way RK800 responded so specifically, similar to how RK900 had in its early days – replicating human behavior with their own touch of personalized, polite and prim demeanor while they’d watch courteously, hands folded across their front or behind their back – an idea that always left his head spinning while he struggled to understand the exact differences between the recent RK models. At times like this, it was difficult not to pinpoint every similarity of their facial structures down to the same freckle. Textures, he thought to himself, like in video games. They just slapped the same thing onto a different doll.

Anderson had spent much more time with Connor than he personally had with Nines, and the difference was more apparent by the day, yet mostly within his head when his mind blanked at the idea of sentience within a computation device, an event that continued to baffle him with more cognizance than he was generally willing to offer. In his short time with the RK900, he’d learned little in favor of what the robot had discovered from himself, despite the android’s incessant need to monologue and monitor his behavior until he fell asleep, as it sometimes seemed.

“I just… I know a few words won’t make up for it. I already, er, sorta apologized, but…it didn’t mean anything,” he said with a small huff of acknowledgement, frustrated at himself for getting stuck in these sorts of situations and taking a few seconds to think of what to say lest he shove his foot in his mouth. Connor watched him, expression seeming to soften with patience as he digested the sincerity in Gavin’s voice. Waiting his turn, he dipped his chin politely to show that he was listening without verbal response; unfortunately it left Gavin all the more uncomfortable being put beneath the metaphorical spotlight.

“There’s no way I can take back what I did. I know that.” Uttering such words was ultimately some sort of painful, but it was the strange guilt stirring within him that continued driving him forth. Connor stared attentively, digesting his words for what they were as well as he could.

“Sorry for trying to take you down. I thought you were getting in the way of my success, but…after what I went through, I can tell you’re really just here to help. I shouldn’t have been a dick to you. You’re Anderson’s partner, anyways. I didn’t have much to do with it.” This time, Connor’s eyebrows lifted slightly in surprise, showing he didn’t expect more than another sorry, let alone an explanation, alongside the fact Gavin realized what he’d done wrong and admitted so out loud. Perhaps he really has changed.

“I appreciate that,” Connor offered in response, but his puzzled expression showed he was still a bit perplexed.

“And the insults, and the threats,” Gavin continued in a quieter voice, feeling the blush creep across his cheeks from the embarrassment of confessing his own faults. Taking the blame for something that he’d directly caused wasn’t something he was practiced at, and Connor could tell, leading him to eventually accept the apology for the entirety of what it was once he could tell it was sincere.

“Thank you,” Connor responded with a halfhearted smile.

“It doesn’t matter now, and I understand why you had acted the way that you did.” It was Gavin’s turn to look confused, dimming his gaze with narrowed eyes and a tilt of his head, silently prompting Connor to elaborate.

“Androids are a threat to humanity and their civilization. That’s why I exist, after all. As to why I’m still here…” his opticals grew distant as he shrugged lightly, and a pang of something rang in Gavin’s chest that he did his best to ignore. As time went on and his interactions with other people expanded, he’d started to see why Nines shoved down every affrontive emotion it had come across, as he did exactly the same thing; and he was the one it learned from, after all.

“Right,” Gavin rang with acknowledgement, side-eyeing the android as he nodded once.

“So what’s the verdict? They gonna toss you in the scrap bin?” Connor acknowledged his callous phrasing, as it always was with Gavin, before offering one of his single-sided smirks. The subject was difficult, but he wasn’t sure exactly how much sympathy was offered over the matter, whether they made amends or not.

“I suppose I’ve only been delaying the inevitable,” he said with a small sigh that followed, a behavior Gavin noted he’d never seen from the android before. Then again, he hadn’t paid much attention, not really knowing Connor too well in the first place – or whatever personality was integrated into him. Every once in a while, he still saw Nines’ face, constantly reminding himself that while Connor could be just as callous, the androids and their intentions were significantly different. A bold fear rang in the back of his mind and tugged at the memories, making him somewhat afraid the same thing might happen to RK800, before canceling out the thought with the fact it was Lieutenant Hank Anderson’s android, and while Connor would likely pick up a lot of that older man’s bitter attitude, he knew he was one of the safest, best people on the team to work with, and likely why Connor hadn’t been thrown out yet at all. The situation of RK900 already being gone, so swiftly after constantly being at his side for those couple of months still resonated in him with an unfamiliar feeling. It showed he hadn’t quite adapted to the concept yet as he’d still glanced over his shoulder, always expecting it to be hovering beside him.

“I’m still a prototype, and the new model is already here. I think if the lieutenant’s…accident, hadn’t taken place,” he continued with the typical lack of tact he always seemed to carry, “they might not have been so sympathetic. We’re starting to have politics now…if I’m lucky, maybe I won’t get thrown out after all.” The word lucky was weighted, heavy in his throat as he felt the vibration of his own speaker with the depth of the word, one of those more human inflections to his character post-deviancy.

“Huh. And here I thought he didn’t like you,” Gavin stated with his usual boldness, shifting back to one heel and digging the nails of his fingers into his palms without much thought as the tension of his old and worn fight-or-flight instincts tried to kick up. At what, he wasn’t sure, as the anxiety was a majority of what he dimmed down with the alcohol in-between taking his prescribed medications designated for him and his brain alone, a thought that still thoroughly disturbed him. The fact they seemed to actually work if he was consistent with them for a few weeks straight was predominantly haunting, but the ritual was rare. His mind wasn’t so organized, no matter how hard RK900 tried to change and repair it.

“He didn’t,” Connor responded immediately, tipping his head slightly to the side in another subtle matter that made Gavin’s fingers curl.

“Not at first, and I’m sure I’m still not his favorite person to be around, but I know there’s been worse.” Blinking, he noticed the accidental enunciation of an otherwise general phrase, averting his gaze with a meek expression while he quickly thought of what to say next to counteract the awkwardness. Gavin’s glared pointedly, and Connor felt like he should take a step back, but lifted his head to face him as he’d already learned avoidance only tended to worsen moments like this.

“…My turn to apologize, I suppose. Cyberlife limits the information they share, and as it’s usually me reporting to them, I see why the situation was challenging. I’m sorry it went on as long as it did.”

Gavin didn’t know what to do with the sympathetic statement, struck with a blank expression as his hands uncurled by his sides, tension easing. That was nice to hear. It was better than anything he’d heard from anyone, and he paused in a moment to try and appreciate the gesture, but it wasn’t such an easy pill to swallow.

“I realize the intention was that no one was to know, but I’m glad that we do. Maybe now we can do something about it.” With his head turning away, Connor less-than-subtly glanced in the direction of Fowler’s office, a directive of opinion wrapped up in a minuscule communication that he was well aware Gavin would nonetheless understand. After a moment, he moved to face him again, lifting his chin in a moment of self-recollection while he tightened the knot of his tie out of what might as well be ingrained habit.

“Thank you for communicating with me, Detective Reed. I know it isn’t your greatest asset, and I’m not exactly your best friend, either – but I appreciate not being shot on a regular basis, more than I already am on the job.” Gavin nearly looked baffled by the bold, nigh on wittiness of the phrase, and the wink flashed his way was something he’d never personally seen between either of the RK models; meaning Connor had learned it or was pre-programmed to come off as charming as much as he did inquisitive, determined, and sometimes nearly adolescent in nature. Childish. Was that part of the attraction

With the dismissal of the supposedly superior model, it was easier to see and better understand Connor’s differences down to the smaller quirks. With a pained attempt at a smile, Gavin squinted as it reoccurred to him how long he’d been on the force without his precious pistol. The memory of having it shoved into his mouth while gleaming, cold silver eyes targeted him sent an uncomfortable shudder through his body.

Connor gestured Gavin to follow him. Confused, but interested, he stepped behind him as Connor made way to the break room. Avoiding the coffee machine, the android stepped over to the water dispenser, pouring some fresh, cold filtered liquid into one of the Styrofoam cups before holding it out to Gavin, predetermining another smack to the arm as he assumed the drink would be knocked from his hold, a prediction based off the fact he’d done it before rather than the assumption he may not this time.

“I know it annoys you, but even I am designed to keep my teammate’s best interest in mind. Coffee and alcohol will dehydrate you worse, and you’re in bad shape already.”

“Thanks, doctor,” was all Gavin quietly countered with as he took the cup and gulped down the contents, surprised to find how energizing it was to hydrate with something cold and refreshing. Connor offered a more genuine smile, snagging the cup before Gavin had the chance to toss it so he could refill it and offer it back; Gavin already agreed, it was annoying, but said nothing of it.

“Whatever. At least I don’t have to deal with the new android on the team this time. You, er, seen that weasel yet? Don’t remember his name, don’t really care.” Connor acknowledged the lack of transition words in his sentences, a habit he hadn’t seen come from Gavin in long enough he had to track back on his internal calendar to recall the last incident, which appeared to be five and a half weeks ago, minus a few hours. A sense of depression weighed him down at the realization, noticeable by the slouch of his shoulders and the weary gaze in his eyes as he handed Gavin the refilled cup of water. Gavin took it, but held onto it meanwhile as he listened to Connor speak.

“Peter Maximillian Schwarz. He’s an FBI agent that’s been on the international operations since he was twenty-two, an unusual occurrence as most people have to pass through numerous study courses first, as you know,” Connor continued with a look of confusion at himself for over-explaining.

“The German police force was impressed enough by his wit they took him on as soon as he could, as he’d easily passed the college tests that most aged professors wouldn’t be able to finish. He’d be a contestant even to our chief and lieutenant, so frankly, I’m glad he’s on our team,” he elaborated, gaining a miffed, but interested quirk of Gavin’s eyebrows, cheeks puffing in thought and crinkling the lines around his nose and narrowed eyes.

“Nothing should change for you and me aside from the fact we have extra help with our most difficult investigations. On the bright side, once you and Anderson graduate, then you’ll be the next highest-up on the team,” he said with a nigh on chipper tone. With an involuntary smirk tugging at his features, Gavin quickly hid it behind his cup as he took a slower, smaller sip from it.

“What about Collins?” Connor shook his head, a subtle twitch flickering in the corners of his eyelids, that infamous blue LED rotating a few times as he relayed information about the co-worker in the usual motion of relisting the data from his archive, ensuring it was correct.

“Well,” he began, and the way he seemed to grimace was another response Gavin hadn’t seen before.

“He hasn’t been too eager to work here since he started, from what I do know. With people like you, Anderson and androids like myself and others on the team, his work has been, well…” Connor let out a gust of air he didn’t mean to retain.

“He’s going to file for early retirement, and I don’t exactly blame him.” Gavin didn’t seem shocked.

“He’s still got six years before they’ll even consider him,” Gavin noted. Connor acknowledged the statement with subtle agreement by blinking in his general direction and another slight nod that wouldn’t be noticeable if he wasn’t paying attention. While 900 was subtle, he appreciated that Connor was a bit more animated in aspect of personality – predesigned or otherwise – as his previous ‘partner’ wouldn’t extend more movement than it deemed necessary, hence its consistent statue-esque, stoic gaze no matter the situation, thus resonating its characteristic soullessness. Connor was polite and interactive, and this wasn’t the first time he’d considered the differences between them, as the similarities might otherwise send his mind crumbling once more.

“Without providing too much personal information, let’s say he has negative mental health in his favor. While there is not much lenience, as times change, so do laws and regulations. Let’s hope he gets lucky.”

This was the second in one conversation time he’d heard Connor mention lucky, as if it were up to an interpretive roll of some divine dice that would make the circumstances change, even though a supercomputer would know every detail of the algorithms between law and government that he could never comprehend. Did Connor believe in fate, or was it a phrase for lack of not knowing the future, specifically?

“And if he’s not?” Connor pursed his lips into a fine line, worrying his teeth against the internal ‘skin’.

“Then he continues working as a detective until then, unless he can prove his hard work otherwise.”

Lost in a moment of thought, Gavin contemplated the rank of everyone in the DPD in a mental chart he’d memorized, half makeshift from their positions in a visual chart listed top to bottom, from Chief Fowler to officers Chen and Miller.

“Right,” Gavin responded, and while empathy resonated in his chest, he didn’t have the words to label it for what it was. Something ached, something strange, something like caring. The way he’d become closer to his coworkers, and even his new neighbors through his suffering was an odd concept in itself, and the involuntary responses throughout his mind and body weren’t generally enjoyable, let alone easy to adjust to. While he worked so hard to achieve his means, he’d forgotten that many people could do their best and more, yet still fall short – of all things, he should know. The idea of his upcoming court date floated through his mind, immediately dismissed with a sigh.

“What about you, Gavin?” There was a sense of innocence in Connor’s voice that he caught onto, as well as the use of his first name, an unusual moniker among peers in a professional setting.

“What are you going to do now?” Leering, Gavin drank down the rest of his water, catching Connor’s eye with a half-smirk as he quickly tossed the empty cup to the trash and even making it into the bin this time with enough speed to intercept any more of Connor’s courteous gestures.

“Same as always,” he said gruffly, darkened by a lack of confidence.

“Work the daily grind ‘til I go home and finish my routine for the night. Rinse, repeat.” Connor wasn’t sure what that meant, and was also unsure whether he should ask, so he didn’t.

[deviated-detective]

@ratman-gavin  cont from ask

Connor expected to be met with similar hostility. That is one trait he understands Gavin Reed consistently develops. He stood aside from the detective in break room. Another familiar place when the detective ordered him to bring the man a coffee. He refused. At the time the android had no idea why. He simply mentioned taking orders only from Hank. It was a lie. Cyberlife is who he took orders from then.

He clenches his jaw. An edge in his aesthetically crafted visage made to integrate on friendly appearance. Again another lie in a way but Connor does not care to remember his former handlers. It only aggravates his stress. 

"We do have one thing in common, Det. Reed.” Cocking his head, arching dark eyebrows, Connor’s lips twitched. “Our penchant to dislike something and continue to despise long after. Though I’m certainly looking forward to continuing our bromance. Aren’t you detective?” 

The RK800′s question is full of malice. Only a machine would cater to such a cold, clinical way of speech. Even in deviancy he falls back to it when pushed. 

[finding-jericho-blog]

Same Difference (Part Two)

characters: RK900(dbh) x human fem!reader, Gavin Reed

warning(s): Graphic language

word count: 2,287 words

A/N: I am SO sorry this took so long, I know this update is kind of out of nowhere! A lot of things have been happening in my life and trust me, you don’t want to know. But ANYWAY, I hope you enjoy part two! Hopefully I’ll be more active and getting back into the swing of things. Thank you guys so much for your patience. <3

Part One 

Time seemed to pass far too slowly as the hours dragged on; Hank reminded you for the third time that you didn’t have to be here, but there was no way in hell that you were leaving him to deal with this on his own. You knew Hank was more than capable of taking care of himself, but the thought of him going out on a case with no one to watch his back that he could really, truly trust? You couldn’t do that, even if being here was dredging up things you wish you could just forget. Although you dared not sneak another glance in the RK900’s direction, you were hyper aware of his cool eyes trained on you with laser focus; he was analyzing you. Studying you. Observing your every movement. After all, neither you nor Hank had said a word to him or given him any task to perform, it was the perfect opportunity to familiarize himself with you both. This was the fourteenth time you’d threaded your fingers through your hair, the eleventh time Lieutenant Anderson had heaved out a heavy sigh. It would not have taken a highly advanced prototype to see that the both of you were on edge, and while the RK900 only knew what information was necessary concerning what had occurred with his predecessor, he had already worked out that it had been a particularly traumatic experience. Neither of you could bear to look him in the eye, and the rest of the department stole sideways glances and shared hushed whispers that they didn’t think he could hear. He could. “I can’t believe the captain assigned that thing to Hank again.” “Especially after what it did to [Y/N].” The RK900’s gaze darted back towards you. What had the previous Connor model done to you that he had not done to Lieutenant Anderson? For only the briefest of moments, he considered asking, but his social relations program warned him that doing so may result in the damaging of an already tense relationship, and so he refrained. All that he had been told was that the RK800 had attempted to neutralize his human associates when he perceived that they were interfering with his mission. His commitment to completing his mission had not been faulty, he recalled Amanda explaining this to him just before his deployment. In the grand scheme of things, the lives of two humans mattered very little when compared to the importance of putting an end to the deviancy crisis. But CyberLife did not wish to risk damaging their affiliation with the Detroit Police Department; their cooperation was imperative in helping stop the deviancy crisis once and for all, and their resources were a true asset. Therefore, decommissioning the RK800 series was a necessary, yet temporary, setback. It took very little time for CyberLife to presumably fix the errors the RK800 series had exhibited, creating the RK900 series using resources that they already had as well as newly acquired technology. He was better than the RK800 series in every conceivable way, and yet.. A sudden shift in your weight drew him out of his thoughts, and he watched as you slipped off the edge of Lieutenant Anderson’s desk, raising your arms above your head to stretch out your aching muscles; his LED swirled a diligent yellow as he watched. “I’m getting a coffee,” you announced, though he knew you were addressing your uncle, and not the RK900 himself. “want one?” “Sure,” came the gruff response, though he didn’t bother to glance up from his work, perhaps not wanting to risk accidentally making eye contact with the android across from him. “I could get it for you.” Both of pairs of human eyes snapped over towards the RK900 as if surprised, though he could not imagine why; his own pale eyes shifted between the both of you as you turned to glance at one another. As if neither one of you heard his offer, Hank’s gaze darted back down to the scattered papers, and you stiffly turned on your heel, retreating to the break room without another word. The android’s eyebrows furrowed as he watched you go. Yes.. he was better than the RK800 series in every conceivable way, and yet.. it was clear to him that you could only see his predecessor when you looked at him. Although you were far from out of the RK900’s line of sight, you were relieved to be out from under his scrutinizing gaze, if only for a short while. Your hands pressed into the counter as you leaned against it, allowing your tired eyes to slip shut momentarily as the coffee brewed. The way he looked at you reminded you of Connor for what you were sure would not be the last time; he was trying to learn you, to figure you out as though you were some complicated equation that desperately needed solving. That’s all that you’d been to Connor, and once he’d figured you out, he used you to get to Hank, to ensure that his mission went smoothly. You had gotten too comfortable with who you had thought Connor was-- you could have never known that by admitting that you thought destroying the deviants was morally wrong, he would consider you a possible interference. You should have kept him at arm's length; you should have known that he wasn’t like other androids. You should have- “You alright?” Your eyes snapped open and your head shot upwards, turning to meet the pale blue eyes of a familiar detective, and not one you liked all too well. “I don’t really care, but you’re in front of the coffee machine and I’m just wondering how long your breakdown is going to last.” “Shut the fuck up, Gavin.” His lips twisted upwards into a smug, mocking smile as he took a step nearer to you, prompting you to step back in disgust, not wishing to have him anywhere near you. Nonchalantly, he stopped the coffee you had been brewing half-way, pouring it into a cheap styrofoam cup, and speaking all the while he did so. “I saw that Fowler assigned that bucket of bolts back to your uncle. It’s kind of fucked up when you think about it.” You watched in silence as he lifted the cup to his haggard face, pausing to smell the dark roast before taking a tentative sip. “I mean, we all know how you felt about the first one.” Your hands balled into fists as he seemed to appraise the coffee, before carelessly dumping it out into the nearby sink with a shrug; if looks could kill, Gavin would absolutely be six feet under. “I don’t like this kind.” “What do you want?” You muttered under your breath, your voice dangerously low. You were in no mood to deal with Gavin’s little mind games, and the way he turned to smirk at you made it clear that he hadn’t come here for coffee; he came to gloat. “What’s the matter, did I strike a nerve?” When you only clenched your jaw and glared daggers at him, he shrugged easily, holding his hands up, palms facing you. “I’m just saying it’s messed up is all. Do you think he still remembers everything? Maybe he’s just biding his time and will actually finish the job this time around.” His voice sounded mockingly optimistic as he said this. Although you shouldn’t have been shocked by this, you felt a sting of disbelief when you realized that he meant that he hoped the RK900 would actually kill you and your uncle this time. Part of you wondered if he actually meant that, or if he was just trying to get under your skin; regardless, you were seething.

As you opened your mouth, perhaps to say something you might have regretted (then again, perhaps not), a third voice interrupted you, cutting you off. “Is there a situation here?” Every muscle in your body seized, ice running through your veins at the unprecedented closeness of Connor’s replacement; you could scarcely breathe. The RK900 stood at your side and narrowed his pale eyes on Gavin, overlooking you momentarily in favor of staring the detective down. The man arched his eyebrows, wholly unconcerned by the android’s sudden appearance; in fact, he seemed to find it amusing as he looked between you and prototype. “Not at all.” he replied smoothly, his eyes drifting across across the android; sizing him up. The RK900 only watched him curiously, canting his head to one side. “And even if there was, it’d be none of your fucking business, tin man.” “I would have to disagree, Detective. Hank Anderson is my business, and by extension, so is Miss [Y/L/N]. I would be appreciative if you did not antagonize her.”

Gavin laughed; it was a bitter, hollow sound that put you on edge, and the android at your side seemed to notice your sudden apprehension. He peered over at you, momentarily forgetting Gavin; instead, he observed your uncertain visage, your barely parted lips and wide eyes. “You’d be appreciative, huh?” The detective repeated mockingly, and before you could even think to warn the android that he shouldn’t have taken his eyes off Gavin, the man’s hands shot forwards. He gathered up the fabric of the RK900’s coat into tight fists, jerking him downwards to meet his gaze; the LED on his temple circled red despite his unimpressed countenance.

“That’s enough, Gavin, let him go!” You hissed, the words shooting past your lips before you could stop them; you reached out to grab the one of the man’s sleeves in some feeble attempt to pull him off of the android. Perhaps the part of you that still cared for Connor, despite what he had done, drove you to defend his replacement. Some small, weak part that you hated, that you wished had died when Connor had. As much as you could barely stand to look at the RK900, you were still helpless against him.

It disgusted you.

“Listen here, you plastic fuck.” He spat, completely ignoring your demands to let the RK900 go. “No android is going to tell me what I can and cannot do, do you understand me? Or do I have to beat it into that thick fucking skull of yours?”

“For God’s sake Gavin, just let him go.”

The RK900 only watched Gavin with total disinterest, his eyes half-lidded in an almost condescendingly unconcerned expression. For one long, tense moment, the detective glared up at the prototype, and you thought for a moment that perhaps he was going to attack him, but without warning, Gavin’s hands were finally releasing his black and white jacket, wrenching his own sleeve out of your grasp; he chuckled breathily, as though it had all been some kind of elaborate prank, before shaking his head and taking few steps backwards. “They didn’t change a goddamn thing about you, did they? You can polish a turd, but it’s still a piece of shit.” Turning away swiftly, Gavin’s footfalls carried him just a bit outside the break room, but then he paused, glancing over his shoulder briefly. “[Y/N], I’d watch my back if I were you.” Then, he continued on until he was out of sight.

You knew it wasn’t that Gavin cared; he didn’t care about anything other than himself and his career, you really didn’t think he was capable of caring about anyone else. He just wanted you to be afraid, and despite knowing that… you were. The truth was, you were afraid of the RK900; it didn’t matter if CyberLife said they fixed the errors and fitted him with the newest technology. At the end of the day, he was still a deviant hunter, and you still thought the deviants should be left alone. He was still dangerous… maybe even more so than Connor ever had been.

“Are you alright?” Your eyes snapped upwards to the android in question; his almost silvery irises watched you cautiously, his LED having shifted back to a preoccupied gold; he was scanning you, checking your vitals you were sure. You had thought it was sweet when Connor had done it, because you thought his concern for your well-being had come from a place of genuine care. Really, though, it had been out of necessity and convenience; if you had been unwell, it would have slowed him down. Knowing Connor’s replacement was doing the same left a bad taste in your mouth, to say the least.

“Just leave me alone.” You retorted harshly, eyes narrowing in disdain. “I don’t need your help.” With that, you left the replacement and returned to your uncle empty-handed, but he didn’t seem to mind or even ask why you hadn’t gotten the coffee you had left for to begin with.

The RK900 remained where you had left him, canting his head ever so slightly to the side with a thoughtfully knitted brow. Despite your apparent abhorrence to his presence here, you had attempted to defend him from Detective Reed, and he was beginning to create theories as to why, exactly. From all the information he had gathered, it seemed to the newest prototype that you and Lieutenant Anderson had been quite fond of the RK800, but that he had betrayed that fondness by attempting to take the both of you out. You, the RK900 hypothesised, had been closest to Connor, and perhaps you had just as much as trouble separating your anger and hurt from the RK900 as you did your previous admiration. Curious, he thought, watching you plant yourself up on Lieutenant Anderson’s desk once more, threading your fingers through your hair for the fifteenth time.

Very curious.

Taglist;

@akemiikeda, @deviantramblings, @deviantsupporter, @connorshero, @shadows-echoes, @treehousemagicblog

[ao3feed-reed900]

by Sam_Seven

L’unique RK900, Conrad, se sent prêt à découvrir ses origines et pourquoi il a été créé, mais la trahison de Mark Spencer, qui l’avait pourtant soutenu avec Gavin, rend sa situation dangereuse. Pourtant, Gavin n’est peut-être pas son seul allié pour assurer un destin plus clément pour les androïdes…

Moodboard sur Tumblr [à venir]

English version here [coming soon!]

Words: 1978, Chapters: 1/9, Language: Français

Series: Part 3 of Visage Familier

Fandoms: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Categories: M/M

Characters: Gavin Reed, Upgraded Connor | RK900, Markus (Detroit: Become Human), Josh (Detroit: Become Human), North (Detroit: Become Human), Simon (Detroit: Become Human), Chris Miller (Detroit: Become Human), Tina Chen, Original Chloe | RT600, Original Characters, Elijah Kamski

Relationships: Upgraded Connor | RK900/Gavin Reed, Josh/Markus/North/Simon (Detroit: Become Human)