#once he's done emptying his entire damn gun into poor connor

[ltcolonelcarter]

He really liked you, Lieutenant. That's what killed him. ↳ Sixty shoots Connor - the androids stay dormant

[deviant-hunter-rk800]

Break — [O] CHASE SUSPECT

IF YOU HAVE NOT READ BREAK, DO SO BEFORE READING THIS!

The call ends.

Taking off in a sprint, Connor follows the suspect’s trail, squeezing himself through a hole in the warehouse wall. Though the distribution complex is large, there’s only so many routes to the subway entrance which Walsh is making a break for.

Desperately trying to slow the android down, he pulls open doors, knocking over trash cans, and throwing whatever he could get his hands on behind him. But it does no good; Connor vaults over a dumpster, avoiding the mess completely. Chris swears, taking a harsh right and ducking into the first alleyway. Skidding to a brief stop art the semi-trailer blocking the exit, his eyes dart about, finding a piece of metal siding curling towards the sky. Connor is quick to follow.

Shelves crash to the ground like thunder striking the earth, rattling the already brittle walls. With every obstacle easily avoided by Connor, Walsh loses hope of making it. He’s too far gone now but like hell if he’s going to just surrender.

Outside once more, Chris forces his legs to move faster, head ducked down as he sprints. The subway entrance was right there. Just on the other side of the fence surrounding the parking lot. His shoes slap against the concrete.  Maybe he could do it.

But the abandoned pavement which has buckled and broken is not in his favor, and Walsh trips, his skin broken by the harsh impact. Hands, knees, and chin stinging, he tries pushing himself to his feet, but the adrenaline has subsided, leaving him weak and shaking.

Mission Successful.

“Chris Walsh,” Connor says lowly, hauling the man to his feet effortlessly. “You’re under arrest.”

When the RK800 had finally drug Walsh back to the squad car, the original four vehicles had been reduced to three.

Fuckfuckfuck!

It was a mantra in Gavin’s head. The car had barely come to a stop when he’d jumped out, already drawing his weapon. He makes his way into the house, cautious of every creaky board he might step on.

“Y/L/N?” He calls out, eyes taking in the trashed living room. Picture frames had been smashed, the furniture upturned, and blood splattered on the floor. Gavin’s stomach churns. “Y/N?”

From behind one of the doors down the hall, a faint scratching at the wood can be heard, and Gavin slowly makes his way across the abandoned chaos, feet carefully crossing over one another. Muscles wound tight, his hand reaches for the bathroom door handle. He curses to himself, pushing the door open and quickly aiming his gun at the being inside.

Poor Sumo whines, inching away from the detective and his weapon. The tension drains from Gavin’s features, putting away the gun and crouching down, offering an empty hand to the pup.

“Hey buddy,” he says, voice coming out much louder than he’d anticipated. Or maybe it was because the whole house seemed to be holding its breath. Sumo cocks his head. “It’s okay. I’m not gonna hurt ya.”

The large dog sniffs his outstretched hand, nuzzling into Reed’s palm. The man smiled faintly, scratching Sumo’s ears before standing up. Sumo stands as well, legs trembling for a moment, and pads to the closed door just down the hall, nails clicking on the hard floor. Gavin follows, opening the door.

“Y/N?”

Your head slowly lifts. Arm propped up on bent knees, you sit beneath the window, the blanket stolen from the bed covering the broken panes. The fabric bends with the wind. You take a strained breath, eyes fluttering for a moment. The sight of you is like a punch to the gut, the air leaving his lungs in a wicked rush.

“Evenin’ Reed,” you croak lightly, trying to smile but wincing at the splintering pain in your face.

He shakes his head, blinking quickly. Glass crunching underfoot, Gavin moves forward, falling to his knees next to you. His brows are pinched low, nose twitching upwards.

“What the hell happened?” His voice is sharp but the spitfire isn’t aimed at you. “Who did this?”

You sigh, letting your head fall again. Sumo paces anxiously as you retell the break in, your eyes avoiding Gavin’s and choosing to follow the lines of his shirt, the laces of his boots, anything else. When you finish, there’s a long silence that takes hold of you both.

Calloused hands cupping your face, Gavin checks over your wounds. He’s careful to not press too hard on the darkening bruises.  You sink into his hands, tears springing into your eyes at the warmth radiating from his skin, shoulders slumping. The fight had slipped away, leaving you exhausted and hurt.

“C’mon,” he mutters. His hands move to your biceps, supporting your weight as he helps you stand. Breath hitching in your throat, you grit your teeth. Gavin purses his lips. The strain on your legs forces your knees to buckle, your head dropping to Reed’s chest, hands holding on desperately to his jacket.

“We gotta get you to a hospital.” He shifts his weight, throwing your arm over both his shoulders. “Dog too.”

Limping towards the door, you shake your head, a heavy guilt pressing down on your chest at the sight of Hank’s trashed house. “I’ll be fine-“

“Don’t give me that shit,” Gavin snaps only half as fiercely as you expected. “We’re getting you some help.”

“The precinct will be just fine, Reed.”

He shakes his head. “Y/N-“

“Dammit Gavin!” He stops midstep, craning his head to look at you properly. Shaking him off, you nearly tumble to the floor, but catch yourself on the shelves. “I’m not gonna be some helpless victim! I said I’m fine. Let’s just go to the fuckin station, do our goddamn jobs, and report this!”

His eyes go wide at your outburst. The tears welling up on your lash line are rare to your partner, despite the fact you’ve worked together for years now. He’s seen you pissed as hell, sleep deprived and running on coffee (whoever thought a 38 hour stakeout was a good idea could go fuck themselves), he’s even seen you drunk off your ass, but this was new. To see your hurt lying bare before him was insufferable.

He realizes he’s been staring too long, his mouth hanging open. “Okay,” he finally says. You deflate, wincing at the sudden movement. Gavin takes a cautious step forward, extending his hands in the same way he did with Sumo.

“We’ll go to the station,” he agrees softly.

Sinking into his hands, you let him help you to the patrol car, it’s lights still flashing. Sitting in the passenger seat, your head lolls to the side. Gavin helps Sumo in as well.

Dropping into the driver’s seat, he glances at you, making sure you’re breathing. He quickly backs out of the driveways and with a squeal from the tires, pushes through the thickening snowfall into the night.

The doors to the precinct open. Gavin nearly flinches at the sound but you continue to stare into your stale coffee, lips pressed together in a tight line. The quiet chatter filters through the previously empty room. A few people fall silent at the sight of you, a couple straying from their paths toward you and Gavin, but your partner gives a curt shake of his head, and they back away. The glow of the RK800’s armband comes into your peripheral vision.

“Connor.”

If hatred had a sound, it’d be the low growl of your voice through clenched teeth, his name clipped short. Gavin’s lip curls into a snarl. To say you were pissed was an understatement, and with every smooth tap of Connor’s heel against the floor, your muscles wind up, ready to pounce.

He stops in front of you, but doesn’t dare sit. He just stands at attention, brows furrowed at your barely contained fury. Then he does the very stupid:

“I’m sorry, Y/N.”

Gavin shakes his head, focusing on a blemish on his shoes, bracing himself for your explosion. A short puff of air pushes out your nose, a poor excuse of a humorless laugh. Looking up, you grit your teeth at his unfazed stature.

“You’re pathetic,” you seethe. Connor’s eyes drop to the floor, but quickly recover, returning to you with a hollowness behind his irises. “You could’ve helped. You could’ve been there.”

You stand, willing your knees not to shake with the effort. Gavin’s hostile expression faulters for a moment. Connor’s brows twist slightly, his scanners assessing the severity of your wounds.

Critical injuries: two broken ribs, left side, one .87 inches away from puncturing lung; fractured arm, right; concussion

Minor injuries: bruising, abrasions, open wounds (no stitches needed)

“You need a hospital, Detective,” he says solemnly.

You roll your eyes, moving to cross your arms over your chest, but a spike of pain tosses that idea out. Your wince, though repressed, doesn’t go unnoticed.

“I’m fine.”

“Y/N, your injuries-“

“Damn my injuries!” The sharp tone of your voice cuts through the air, punctuated by the slamming of your hands on the desk. The riot of a stinging ache ignites, sparking and frying your nerves.

A heavy silence weighs down on the three of you. No one moves. Your labored breathing sounds like a threat; a bull ready to charge. Hot, angry tears well up in your eyes.

A broken laugh pushes past your lips. “And to think,” you mutter, straightening you back, “that I would’ve done it again.”

The words aren’t surprising, but Connor can’t help but flinch at the flicker of hurt. “Why?”

“Because I was it,” you hiss, something sad tinting the words. You turn, facing him head on, not backing down just yet. “And if they got through me?” You throw your hands out, letting the tension tie itself around your necks. “They would’ve come for you.”

“Y/N-“

You hold up a finger, hushing Gavin. His jaw tightens. Connor’s eyes quickly dart to the interaction before returning to your face, his systems running overtime.

Your stare flicks between two points on the floor. “I didn’t think I could’ve stomached that.”

Your anger infects Connor’s programming, overiding the guilt that was previously sweltering beneath his skin, a newfound fire dripping off his tongue like magma. He steps forward, taking up your entire line of sight; a demand for your attention.

“You could’ve died.”

“Annoying isn’t it?” Lips curled back, you bare your teeth with a vicious laugh. “How easy it is?”

A quick flash of his tightened fist meeting your already bruised face flickers across his mind. He doesn’t move though. The heavy tears rolling down your cheeks was enough to keep him in his place.

Your voice is hoarse when you utter, “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

You take a half step back, knee threatening to give out with the movement. Shaking your head, you take in a long, controlled breath through your nose.

“I lost my head,” you nearly cry, not quite letting yourself do so, “and it nearly cost me. I guess it’s-“ you wave your hand, dismissing the urge to break down. You stand tall once more. “I guess it’s good to know who’s got my back.”

Gavin purses his lips, silently debating with himself for a moment. “Of course,” he says finally. “That’s what partners are for.”

Your eyes meet Connor’s, and for the first time that night, there was no hatred. There’s was only an unadulterated wave of desperation threatening to drown the android.

“Yeah,” you murmur hoarsely, “I guess it is.”