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sherbet-shivers · 8 months ago

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A Minor Malfunction Part 2/3

**Please do not share to non-kink snz blogs — no need to drag vanillas into this! Formatting tips are always welcome <3**

Blurb: Co/nnor is still suffering a little virus (Part 1 here and Part 3 here)

Characters: Co/nnor R/K800 (-centric because he’s babygirl) and H/ank A/nderson

Length: 5k+ words

TW: cursing, human and robot injuries and homicide, fake drugs, some coughing; lightest of spoilers

Since investigations were never quick, Connor really should’ve expected this case to be no exception.

It took roughly half an hour just to reach the crime scene alone, and now that they’d arrived, minutes were accruing like Deviants themselves. The scene wasn’t too unique compared to other similar incidents, but that didn’t mean it was absent surprises either.

For starters, there were multiple human victims — two adult men aged somewhere between thirty and forty years. They were dealers allegedly draining their own androids for their Thirium in order to produce more red ice for local distribution. The Androids were both inactive and found just outside the immediate area given they’d lost a critical amount of blue blood. It was likely they’d shut down since there was no way their bio components could sustain their systems on such minimal fluid. This was the first case in which Connor and Hank had investigated people using their own androids to bolster their personal RI supply, and for some reason, Connor doubted it’d be the last.

The men had been assaulted by the Androids in their kitchen based on the amount of blood smattering the countertops and the overall state of disarray. Chairs were knocked over, the fridge was left open, the stovetops were on when police arrived, and there were broken dishes, toppled pots, and loose silverware scattered everywhere. The men had done a good job remaining inconspicuous in their affairs; even their next door neighbors reported no suspicions of their notorious trade, nor the abuse of their Androids. Connor purported that the tiny apartment was designated for the sole purpose of their operations — not particularly lived in or used for shelter. His theory was based on the fact there was no food in the house, and every single cabinet, cupboard, or similar compartment had been repurposed for RI storage. Not to mention the home was completely battered, obviously lacking much needed maintenance and cleaning. Even the naked human eye could catch the layers of dust and grime coating every flat surface in sight. Hank was the first to say as much after he entered the living quarters and immediately tripped over a bag of old Chinese food containers and syringes.

“Fucking shit!” He had hissed, glaring down at the trash bag like it had personally assaulted him. “I swear if this place is crawling with rats like that damn pigeon house I will shoot those filthy bastards on site!”

Miraculously none of the officers had encountered a single rodent; however less fortunately, Connor’s nose was starting to grow unbearably itchy given all the dust and cobwebs decorating the dry air. Not to mention it was freezing inside — the other investigating officers bundled under several layers and still chattering against the cold. Connor suspected the leaks in the roof and broken windows were to blame for the influx of frigid air, which was starting to really stiffen the cogs in his chest and extremities.

Connor slowly gravitates to Hank’s side, peeking over his shoulder as the senior observes one of the victims.

“More red ice,” he grumbles as he plucks a PVC packet off one of the men’s person. The crystallized drug sparkles like false ruby under the scope of Hank’s flashlight. “Given the toxicology report, it’s a wonder how this guy didn’t overdose before he was murdered.”

Hank passes the packet to Connor, the latter fumbling the substance between his fingers while he examines it more closely.

“The composition isn’t exact to other red ice compounds we’ve seen in the past,” Connor observes. “Perhaps they were developing a hybrid; something inexpensive with a similar effect and appearance.”

Hank scoffs, shaking his head. He pats down the rest of the victim’s body. “A living eye could never catch all that, but I guess that’s why you’re here, right Connor?”

“Correct,” Connor confirms.

“Well,” Hank says, rising from the floor and clapping his hands together to rid them of the dirt caked in the grooves of his skin, “I have my theories, but uh, why don’t you go first while I wash this shit off?”

“Of course,” Connor nods as he watches Hank step over the victim’s body and head for the kitchen sink. He wastes no time pulling up the list of evidence saved to his specs.

“Based on what I’ve gathered and the analysis of my digital reconstruction, Victim A was likely assaulted by Android B first. Victim B was preoccupied with the stovetop while Victim A busied himself with collecting the Androids’ Thirium.”

Hank hums, encouraging Connor to continue while he tries to unstick the sink’s rusty left handle. “Go on.”

“To access the blue blood, the victims would often drain a specific wound afflicting the android’s torso; the area just beneath where a human’s right rib cage would end. The puncture wound was scarcely healed between draining instances, and therefore the most reasonable source of continued drainage. I believe Victim A was attempting to reach Android B’s puncture when the bot suddenly refused his inspection. Thus-“

“SHIT!”

Connor jerks in surprise as Hank yanks his hands from the sink basin to avoid the gush of suspiciously gross water pouring out the faucet.

“Ah that’s just fucking great! Ice cold, filthy fucking water! Matches the house itself, I guess,” Hank curses as he extends his hands away from his body. Even a few of the surrounding officers take steps away from his reach.

“Hang onto that thought. I’m gonna go wash this off in a puddle or something.”

With that, Hank and the remaining officers head outside the home, leaving Connor alone with the still running water. The Android heads over to the sink and promptly halts the flow, which has collected in the basin turning it a muddy, sewage brown. For sanitary reasons, he should really drain the fluid, but something about the discoloration even has him grimacing.

While inspecting the mess, Connor is completely unaware of the steady pool of rainwater collecting just overhead, seeping through the cracks of the ceiling; and just as he’s about to return to his former position, the roof panels give way and unleash their tide. With his reaction time hindered, Connor barely side-steps the planks crashing to his sides. It’s a lucky dodge, but still not quite good enough to avoid the wave of water that crashes him dead on. Within the blink of an eye, he’s become drenched in icy fluid.

He’s thankful he was the brunt of the accident and not Hank or the other human officers, but if he wasn’t already shivering before, he sure was now. That pummeling had put a dent in his defensive barrier, and the large influx of water was starting to sink into his circuits faster than it could be flushed out.

A similar alert blares through his system, only this time it glows red and reads as a warning.

WARNING!!! Functionality: Highly Impaired. Code: C5Y0091-44BC. Result: Bio-Component Defects And Malfunction. Water Intake: Level 4. Risk Of Shut-Down: Moderate. Self-Repairs Update Ongoing. Time Remaining: 53 Hours, 21 Minutes, And 17 Sec-

“IHT’TDSHY’yiiEW!”

Connor sneezes freely towards the ground, his hands pathetically hugging his shoulders and shaking against his sodden sleeves. Water had definitely infiltrated his cavities, only congesting him further. Get a grip, he mentally commands. Don’t-!

“Hh’PTSHH’huh! ssh’hHIEW!”

Come on! Get a-!

“Connor!”

The Android lifts his head, spotting Hank who's just re-entered the house and is already barreling his way.

“Connor! What happened?!” He asks, examining the android’s body then glancing between the fallen debri and the hole in the ceiling.

“N-Nothing, L-Lieutenant,” Connor stammers, his voice as uneven as autotune. “Th-the ceiling…it must’ve fallen under the p-pressure of the s-storm.”

His voice has taken on a robotic vibration, frying it with digital gravel.

“Jesus…,” Hank murmurs absentmindedly, his gaze returning to Connor himself. “Did it fucking fall on you? Why are you soaked?!”

“I-I’m okay,” Connor reassures, though the constant shivering and sniffling probably doesn’t make him any more convincing. Two other, entering officers are starting to look at him. He didn’t need this extra speculation, so he opts for changing the subject, and fast.

He glances at Hank’s hands.

“D-Did you manage t-to w-wash your hands off?”

Hank stares at Connor like he’s asked him to perform the electric slide. Okay, so maybe that wasn’t the smoothest transition out of the spotlight. But even so, he didn’t say something wrong again, did he? Connor smiles through chattering teeth, when suddenly, Hank catches his cheeks in his palms and sternly peers into the Android’s eyes.

“Christ Connor you’re freezing,” he murmurs, an unusual hint of worry seeping through his tone. Connor wasn’t supposed to evoke that tone, so he does his best to console his partner.

“I-I’m okay, Lieutenant,” Connor repeats. “I-I’m just glad n-no one was injured,” he adds, blatantly ignoring the 59% efficiency report blinking in the corner of his sight. “The temperatures m-may slow m-me down, but I assure you I a-am s-still capable of completing my job.”

Hank doesn’t look convinced, far from it actually, but he ultimately chooses to free Connor of his hold, perhaps motivated by the approach of the remaining officers. He clears his throat and nods, averting his eyes to the remainder of the scene. He’d have to clean up the fallen shit, but honestly that was the least of his current concerns. One victim was piled beneath rooftop shambles, and if he knew anything, it was that Fowler would blame him for the tampered scene — whether it was his fault or not.

“Alright,” he grumbles. “But-,” he exclaims, pointing a finger in Connor’s face, “-you’d better tell me if you start bugging out! The last thing we need is you breaking down or glitching or something.”

Connor’s gears tighten. “Of course, Lieutenant. That won’t happen,” he assures.

“Good, ‘cause I’m not filing a broken equipment report after we’re done here,” he mutters, returning to the crime scene. As he does, he huffs under his breath, shaking his head and hiding his expression behind a curtain of loose bangs.

“Fuck, almost actually had me worried there, Con!” He admits. “I seriously almost asked if you wanted a break, or were hurt or feeling okay, but I forgot you don’t really want or feel, well, anything, do you?”

Connor’s hands grip tighter against his arms, leaving scratches across his synthetic skin that are slow to regenerate.

“Correct, Lieutenant,” he murmurs, his LED flashing yellow.

Hank accepts his answer, already having shuffled over to the fallen planks to scoop them out of the way. Connor tries to help him, but Hank intercepts his reach.

“Uh-uh! You keep telling me what you found, then go ahead and re-investigate the bodies, yeah? Or at least, y’know,” he glimpses down at the victim half-buried beneath the rubble, “the ones you can still see.”

…

By the time they’ve managed to clean up the majority of the roof and granted Connor enough leeway to re-inspect the final victim, more than an hour has passed. His metal was freezing cold to the touch, barely above 35 degrees, and his malfunctions were getting worse by the second — only functioning at an even split of 50%.

Still, it looked like their investigation was nearly over. The other cops had long left the area (probably in order to avoid clean-up duty), and Hank was equally ready to go with just the final victim remaining to be studied. For a man who hated his job, he’d rushed to get another look at the body. He was already down on his knees, hovering over Victim A and scouring his wounds with his flashlight.

“So, you’re saying this one attacked the Androids first?”

Connor nods. “Y-Yes. It’s m-most p-probable.”

His stutter was getting worse. So far Hank had been ignoring it, but there was no way he hadn't noticed.

“So run the last part by me again? Y’know, about how the second Android got involved?”

…No response.

That was unusual.

“Connor?” Hank calls.

No response. Again.

What the Hell?

“Connor? Connor??” He repeats, this time glancing back at the Android in question. To his unease, Connor is looking somewhere unseen, as if in a trance. Making a face, Hank claps his hands together, startling the Android out of his daze.

“Goddammit! Connor!!”

Connor blinks twice and immediately looks to his partner.

“Apologies. D-Did you need me?” Connor asks.

“Well I’ve been calling your name four damn times, so yeah,” Hank answers sarcastically. “I thought you said you were fine. The Hell is up with you?”

“N-Nothing, Lieutenant. I’m sorry,” Connor apologizes again. This time though, Hank isn’t letting him slide so easily.

“Don’t give me that bullshit. What’s going on, huh? You’re even loopier than yesterday,” he scoffs. “Y’know I was joking earlier but now I’m not so sure. What is it, huh? You actually malfunctioning or some shit?”

“N-No!” Connor exclaims a bit too hastily, based on the way Hank raises an eyebrow his way. He hadn’t meant to raise his voice so high. It was an impulse he rarely leaned into, but it was difficult given the constant red warning swimming through his ocular piece. “N-No…my operations are functional.”

“Functional?” Hank repeats, placing a hand on his knee. “What happened to optimal?”

For a middle-aged drunkard, Hank was remarkably astute — a quality Connor often admired, just not in this moment.

“I am fine,” Connor breathes, trying to keep his voice as still as possible. “I’ve already ran internal diagnostics. It s-seems that I’ve contracted a small virus that is affecting the r-regulation of my bio-components.”

“What?” Hank exclaims, suddenly up on his feet and fully facing his Android. “Affecting how? For how long??” He asks, bordering concern and curiosity.

“My temperature regulation is h-hindered, resulting in fluctuating internal temps ranging from r-roughly 30 to 120 degrees Fahrenheit.”

“30?!” He knew Connor was cold, just not that cold.

“My ocular c-components are s-similarly impaired, occasionally resulting in low visibility and an inability t-to scan c-certain d-data in the environment. I s-suspect I will not be able to immediately diagnose b-blue blood, as taste receptors are partially numbed.”

Hank honestly didn’t see that as a negative per se, but he wasn’t about to say that aloud.

“And I am experiencing m-mild g-glitching affecting airway c-cavities, though this is, again, a m-mild inconvenience.”

Hank looks Connor up and down, expression unreadable. For the first time, Connor swears he’s sensing something. Something internal outside his usual program, and aside from the errors he’s affected by. This was something new, something strange and unpleasant. Something like…

Anxiety?

He waits for Hank to say something — anything — even if it’s at his own expense, and yet all the detective does is stare at him. Finally, after a few more bated moments, Hank does something unexpected: he laughs. And when he does speak, it’s in the flattest tone Connor’s ever heard out of him — a tone befit an Android.

“So you have a cold.”

Blue rises to Connor’s cheeks. Anxiety was giving way to another unwanted emotion: humiliation.

“…Yes, Lieutenant. The common cold would likely be an equivalent to my condition.”

Hanks laughs again, placing his hands on his hips as he shakes his head in amusement. “Learn something stupid everyday,” he muses. Then, more seriously, he continues: “So what exactly uh, happens when you’re-,” he waves his hands around Connor’s person, gesturing to his entirety,” -like this. Hm? I’m assuming bots don’t get sick leave.”

He was genuinely curious (maybe even a smidge compassionate), and as always, Connor has an answer.

“CyberLife has been notified of my dysfunction, and their report denotes that as a m-model RK800, I am c-capable of both s-self-diagnostics and administering minor self-repairs. A-As such, this inconvenience is nothing I c-cannot h-handle myself. Given approximately-,” his LED hums and glows a faint blue, “-51 hours, 32 minutes and 11 seconds, my s-systems should be rebooted, and myself returned t-to optimal f-functionality. In the meantime, I apologize for any hindrances this may c-cause our investigation, Lieutenant; however, CyberLife has assured that these errors are m-more likely to c-cause self-contained discomfort, and are therefore highly n-negligible to outside company.”

He wiggles in place. “That is why I didn’t tell you sooner. I’m s-sorry for the disturbance, and urge you to ignore my incongruity lest it endanger or c-concern you or others directly.”

“Right…,” Hank nods, still eyeing Connor with skepticism. “But you know it does kind of concern me when you’re all dopey, ignoring my questions and shit.”

“It won’t happen again.”

Hank snorts, rolling his eyes. “I’ll take your word for it, but forgive me if I think you’re full of shit when you say so,” he says, returning to the victim. “So, anything else I should be aware of? Any other surprises?” He chuckles.

Hank awaits an answer, even if it’s meant as a joke, but once again he’s met with silence. He sighs and mutters something unintelligible to himself; something along the lines of “I swear to God kid if you aren’t listening”; but just as he’s about to call Connor again and wake him from whatever tizzy he’s fallen back into, the Android makes a sound he doesn’t recognize.

“H’ih-!”

“Huh?”

Hank waits, but there’s no response again. Was Connor trying to say something and he’d missed it? “Hey! Connor! What did you sa-?”

“Hidt’TZSH’ieEW!”

Hank startles, jerking enough to lose his grip on his flashlight, which tumbles from his hand and rolls across the wood flooring. He swings around fast enough to give someone his age whiplash, still not entirely believing such a human sound was produced by his partner. That is, until he watches him make it again. The android’s shoulders bounce twice, chest inflates with a faux breath, and then-

“Ih’TSHH’Uui! E-Excu’h-! Hhh’idTSHh’iew!”

He somehow catches the final sneeze in an artificial web of fingers. Why he even bothers Hank doesn’t know; after all, it’s not like he could infect anyone. Then again, it was probably just another habit to make him appear more human; though to be honest, Hank almost found it creepy.

When Connor catches his partner staring, he looks utterly embarrassed; the sky-blue blush rushing to his face and discoloring his ski-sloped nose. To regain his composure, he’s quick to readjust his trademark tie and fidget with the cuffs of his sleeve.

“Excuse me, Lieutenant,” Connor offers sheepishly.

“…did you just fucking sneeze?” Hank asks, only the way he says it makes it sound more like an accusation than an inquiry.

Connor nods and rubs his nose. “Forgive me. It’s another side effect of my-,” he pauses, refusing to say malfunction aloud. “-condition. I’ll try not to let it happen again.”

“It’s not that I just, didn’t know you things uh, did that,” Hank replies un-eloquently. “Not that I even knew you got sick for Christ’s sake.”

“It’s not common,” Connor answers, his eyes averting shyly. “It’s to vent out my systems. Usually androids don’t need to resort to these processes since they clean themselves manually, but with my bio-components partially corrupted-“

Connor sniffs and pinches his nose, unaware how he seems to be bewildering Hank further.

“-my systems are relying on automatic reflexes. CyberLife did add that they m-may be on high alert for outside disturbances. S’h-?! So given how duh’hsty this area i’hiH-! is…”

Connor glimpses around the abandoned kitchen, wiggling his nose and sniffing in succession, again.

“-I suppose I’m-…I-hH‘m…-?!”

He’s intent on continuing, he really is, but he just can’t. Therefore, he swivels around out of Hank’s sight, and sneezes as quietly as possible into the bed of his palms.

“pP’SHHIi’Eew! ihH’SCH’yuU! ‘chyiieEW!”

Or not quietly at all, really. It was just so hard; especially when his nose was so relentlessly ticklish! Staving off the fit for hours probably didn’t help, but in his defense, he still wasn’t 100% sure fighting it off actually made it worse. Just…99% sure.

“ahH’Ah-! H’ahH-…! HH’ATSCH’hyieEW!”

The water soaked into his systems must be more agitating than he thought. He sniffles damply and rubs his nose on his sleeve before clearing his throat of the congestion that’s settled there. When he faces Hank again, he isn’t even aware of just how blue he’s turned, or the little curls of hair that've been freed by the exertion of his fit. He coughs into his fist.

“Excuse me. Sorry. I was saying that I’ve become highly sensitive to the changes in the environment. Like the rain and-“, he sniffs, hesitant to even utter the word, “-dust.”

The initial shock of disbelief wearing off, Hank’s expression dissolves into a smirk that teases more at one corner of his mouth than the other. “So first you catch colds and now you get allergies, too?”

Connor swallows.

“Not necessarily,” he defends.

Hank nods, still looking cheeky. “But you are sneezy.”

“A bit…yes,” Connor confirms, scrubbing at his face again. Static is still tickling his nose, and spreading an itch to the rest of his face. Is this how humans felt when they were overreacting?

“I’ll stop it next time. I’m sorry.”

He fears he may have given the wrong answer the way Hank stays silent, but ultimately, his partner must appreciate his courtesy, because his expression softens and he rises to rub Connor’s shoulder in earnest.

“Twenty more minutes and then we get you out of here. I’m starting to freeze my balls off, anyway.”

…

Twenty minutes don’t come fast enough. Thankfully they’ve managed to piece together exactly how the crime went down — from the names of the victims and their Androids, to the means of assault, the murder weapons, and the motives. The cost however was Connor’s comfort, which if not indicated by his breathy sneezing and constant shaking, was evidenced by the 44% efficiency he was operating at. He needed a charge, and maybe just a little time to shut his eyes, which were being swarmed by constant alerts. The walls of text and meaningless numbers were starting to pile up in the corners of his eyes and really impair his sight. He had attempted to blink them away as quickly as they popped up, but at some point he’d given up altogether — doing so was expending crucial battery life he couldn’t afford to spare.

And now even his balance was beginning to suffer, causing him to lean and rock whenever he inched in any direction. To keep himself steady and warm, his hands were permanently grounded to his arms, keeping him enveloped in a hug of his own making.

As he watches Hank wrap up, Connor suddenly remembers that his night was far from over. He still needed to file his case report to CyberLife, and the idea of walking all the way back to the station was no more appealing. As an Android he wasn’t afforded the luxury of catching himself a taxi since it was illegal to spend currency on himself alone. Usually Connor didn’t pay this inequality any real attention, but in his current state, he finds himself fixated on the rule. If he thought on it further, perhaps he would’ve inspired some kind of opinion; ultimately though, he knows there’s nothing he could do but accept it. Thus he turns his attention back to his current priority: Hank, who he needed to return home safely before reporting their findings to CyberLife. He’d made a promise to Sumo, after all.

He may be exhausted, but he still wasn’t ready to deem his performance a total failure just yet.

“Alright, I think we’re just about done here,” Hank sighs, looking and sounding just as relieved as Connor was. “Don’t tell the Chief but uh, based on what we found here-“

Hank peeks at Connor who meets his glance.

“-fuckers probably deserved what they got.”

Connor glimpses at the Android bodies, then that of the human victims. He shrugs, albeit reluctantly. “That is n-not a j-judgment I can m-make,” he answers.

“Sure it isn’t,” Hank sighs. “Anyway, let’s get the fuck out of here. Come on.”

Hank leads the way towards the exit, and as usual, Connor is quick to trail him like a puppy chasing its owner. He’s so close to being done and escaping this fortress of death and dust, but of course, fate can’t let him off so easily. The whole day had been work, and apparently his shift wasn’t quite over yet.

He feels it before he fully realizes what’s happening. That prickling burn in his face had returned with a vengeance, syncing with another alert that blinds his view completely.

WARNING!!! Functionality: Critically Impaired. Code: C5Y0091-53BC. Result: Bio-Component Defects And Malfunction. Risk Of Shut-Down: Imminent. Self-Repairs Update Ongoing. Time Remaining: 54 Hours, 26 Minutes, And 03 Seconds.

Wait, did the time remaining increase?

Connor is too preoccupied with completing his objectives to heed his system’s warnings, and thus dismisses the alarm pounding in his head. With a mighty effort he attempts to trudge forward in Hank’s wake, every step heavy and audibly creaking. His bio components slosh with rainwater, sending chills through every circuit and rendering every movement sluggish and dizzying. The pixels in his view were collecting like a storm and creating clouds of noir fuzz that eat away at his peripheral sight.

And that damn vibration in his chest and nose! It was so fucking distracting! He doesn’t need to alert Hank to his current state any more than he already has, and he definitely doesn’t need to get whisked up in another pathetic fit…but the tactics he’d used so far to abate his reflexes just weren’t providing him any hints of reprieve.

Desperate, he resorts to a new plan of action, quick to secure his nose between the pads of his thumb and forefinger. He’s seen Hank do it before, so maybe if he just…! Connor clamps down hard on the sensitive tip to try and curb the itch that’s nested there, eager to quell the phantom sensation by massaging and kneading strategically. Rain water squeaks against his grip, and the stubborn tickle has him coughing breathily against his control. Please let this work! He can stop this one! He just needs to concentrate. He just needs to try harder! He just…ne’hH’eds…t-t’hHU…!

Abandoning his cause, Connor blindly frees his hand and reaches for Hank’s shoulder. He ends up at his sleeve instead, but honestly that’s close enough given the urgency of his position. He gives the detective’s jacket a little tug, signaling for his attention.

“LieuyY’hH-!…Lieutenant-?!”

Hank peeks at Connor over his shoulder. “Yeah?”

“S-Sir-! I-I’hh am…,” Connor trails off, and catching the Android’s desperate gaze, Hank pays him his full attention. The Android shuffles, blinks side to side, then flusteredly exclaims, “g-going to do ih’hIHT-!…a’hh’gain-!”

Hank blinks, and when he finally catches on, he blinks again.

“Connor,” he grumbles, rolling his eyes and gripping the Android’s hand. “You’re a damn-near indestructible supercomputer worth double my yearly salary. Are you seriously telling me you’re about to sneeze again? Like a preschooler?”

“Y-Yes-!” Connor answers seriously between hitching breaths. Hank isn’t surprised he didn’t catch his attempts at teasing, but he’s also unaware of just how mortified Connor is — how he’s feeling. “I understand I — huh-! — f-frightened-“

“I wasn’t scared.”

“-you la’aast time s’so I th’hah-! I thought I’d try to w-warn you’that’I-!”

“Fuck’s sake just shut up and get it over with!” Hank hisses.

Permission granted. To spare his commanding officer the unsightly scene, Connor twists his body and races to cover his mouth with steepled hands. He hiccups two “breaths” (a pattern Hank was beginning to pick up on) against his palms before succumbing to his nightmare.

“Hh’IPTtsSH’IEW! Aah’-! eH’SCH’hh! Iy’hh-! hah-! H’hiHH-! hHYi’DSHH’uU!”

He coughs so hard afterwards, his chest rattles and mouth leaks stale rainwater. It’s the trigger that melts Hank’s bemused expression into one of utter fear, his eyes wide and unblinking. Up until now he’d found this whole thing funny, maybe a bit quirky and unusual, but now? Now this felt serious. Dangerous, even.

“Connor!”

Hank scrambles to Connor’s side. Without seeking permission, he grabs both Connor’s wrists in his hands and forces them away from his face, revealing a tortured expression he should’ve noticed earlier. Connor looked outright uncomfortable. He looked distressed. He looked…

Really sick.

Guilt anchors Hank’s heart to the bottom of his gut, and out of some sort of paternal instinct, he holds the Android steady by pulling him into a hug.

“Connor!” He calls, but the Android is prisoner to a loop of gasping and sputtering. Pressed close together, Hank can hear the faint whistling emitting from the Android’s chest. Paired with the aggressive huffing and whimpers of sound, Connor didn’t sound too much unlike an asthmatic. Hank’s hands are becoming numb the longer they remain locked around the man’s body, and with every violent shiver, his body shakes in chorus.

Connor clutches greedy fistfuls of Hank’s jacket, relying on him entirely for support to stay upright. It’s like he’s clinging for life support, and the impression makes Hank’s own blood turn to ice.

“Connor?! Connor, son!! Are you okay?!”

To his horror, Connor blindly shakes his head. It’s the last hint to compel Hank to action. Desperate to comfort the Android further, Hank cradles a hand to the back of Connor’s head and pillows his face against his chest. The Android wiggles weakly against his grip, but Hank adamantly refuses to budge.

“Relax, kid. I used to be a dad, remember?”

He closes his eyes and traces soothing circles between Connor’s shoulder blades.

“Getting sneezed and coughed on is part of the job; maybe for detectives too. So quit your fighting and just get it over with — I’m here for you now.”

Either his words resonate convincingly enough, or Connor can’t hold out any further. Either way, the result is the same.

“HAH’DZSCHh’hiuUH! h’DTZSH’HUH! ih’KSCHH!”

Connor groans faintly from the bed of Hank’s breast pocket, barely catching another breath before he’s snapping forth again. First coughing, then flung into another sneezing fit.

“EH’DSHH’CHhui! ‘CHiiEeW! ‘SCHH’yyiuh! hHi’tshiiew!”

The last one is barely a sneeze, more like an exhale of empty, fizzled out air. Hank noticed how Connor, even in all his desperation, had refused to sneeze on him; instead letting loose at the last possible moment by pressing his forehead to his chest and aiming each burst towards the floor. Even while at the end of his rope the damn man was too polite — a wholesome and unreasonable characteristic Hank acted like he abhorred, but silently envied.

Relieved to be finished but feeling infinitely worse, Connor lifts his head slowly, already pulling out of Hank’s touch to crush the back of his wrist against his nose. He wasn’t about to look Hank in the eyes, not that he could see clearly to begin with. Errors were swarming his senses like gnats, declaring him critically defective and dangerously malfunctioning — as if he needed a reminder of the obvious.

Rocking on his heels he clutches his head in his hand and surrenders to the glitches tearing up his bio components.

WARNING!!! Functionality: Critically Impaired. Code: C5Y0091-53BC. Result: Bio-Component Defects And Malfunction. Risk Of Shut-Down: Imminent. WARNING!!! Functionality: Critically Impaired. Code: C5Y0091-53BC. Result: Bio-Component Defects And Malfunction. Risk Of Shut-Down: Imminent. WARNING!!! Malfunction. Malfunction.

Malfunction.

“I-…I’m not…”

Malfunction. Shut-Down Sequence Initiated.

N-No. He wasn’t going to shut down. It was a status he couldn’t afford, especially given his type of work, his mission, his expectations, and his model. A malfunction this spiraling…was unbefitting a rumba, let alone an RX800 Android like himself. If he couldn’t pull it together and send back a satisfying report to his creators, then…what could he expect? He’d be forced apart and aptly replaced by a new Connor model. He would be broken down; he’d be expendable once again. He’d lose his purpose. He’d lose his job! He’d lose Hank!! He didn’t want that!!!

“Connor! CONNOR!!!”

He…he didn’t…

“Hank-…I-I…don’t…f-feel…”

DING!Shut-Down Sequence Complete.

#snz #snzfic #snzblr #snz kink #d/etroit: b/ecome h/uman #co/nnor r/k800 #h/ank a/nderson

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omniblades-and-stars · 5 months ago

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Aumellio/Korak 37 because I am desperate to learn about the vibe between these two

I am repenting for my recent crimes by bringing you this which may be the only piece of anything I've ever written that actually counts as domestic fluff I think.

Aumellio made Korak laugh and brought him out of his shell a little bit. I hope that shows here.

From this ask meme here.

Favorite Song

A folksy tune floated into kitchen from the open bathroom door. It was followed shortly by Aumellio belting the lyrics as though he were onstage giving a world-class performance before an audience of adoring fans, and as though he could hold a tune in a bucket. Aumellio's one adoring fan smiled and adjusted his headlamp before examining the pipes underneath the kitchen sink to find out why there was water pooled on the floor when he woke up that morning.

Korak tapped his feet together as he fiddled with this fastening andthat fitting. He had turned his translator off, as he frequently did when Aumellio didn't realize he had an audience in a different room who was listening to him make a fool of himself, because Korak enjoyed hearing his turian partner's mother tongue in these little moments. It was so different from his own, but comforting in a way. Besides, he already knew all of the words to the song because it was Aumellio's favorite.

Korak heard the sound of the shower turning off as he tapped the u-bend with his pipe wrench, only for it to come clean out of the fastener. After wiping flecks of water from his eyes, he sighed and activated his translator again so he could understand if Aumellio started talking.

The connecting pipe was cut to short, so when there was a but too much water blasting into it all at once, it popped slightly out of the connection, allowing water to spray out of it.

He should have known better than to run the dishwasher and the washing machine at the same time. The runoff all dumped into the outgoingpipes for the sink, which was not up to code, thank you very much.

But such was life when you lived by simple means. Still, this apartment was better than the last one. At least there weren't bugs or holes in the wall from shotgun slugs. And it was far and away better than any place he'd lived on Omega, for the simple fact that it was not Omega.

A box in an alley was an improvement over that.

"You know, it'll get stuck like that if you don't stop making that face," Aumellio teased at just about the time he gently nudged Korak's leg with his two-toed foot.

Korak lifted his head with a smile, "'Fraid this is how I always look."

"Like you're planning to go back in time to kick the ass of whatever poor sod it was who worked on the plumbing here last?" Aumellio teased. His feet soon disappeared from view, and Korak heard a series of cabinets being opened while his boyfriend looked for some food. "Kor, I seem to remember that we agreed you were going to call the property management people and have them come fix it."

"And wait all day to be able to use our kitchen water again?" Korak asked, incensed. He felt around blindly in his canvas tool bag, pulling out a spare piece of PVC pipe he could graft to the pre-existing one. "Besides, I'll d-"

"Do it right. I know. But if they find out we were messing with theguts of their apartment, we might not get our deposit back."

Korak laughed, a deep rumbling sound, "If you were seeing what I am down here, you'd know that they wouldn't notice even if I just slapped it back together with tape." A ridiculous notion, a man had to take pride in his work. And whoever had done this seemed entirely devoid of it. Korak scooched out from under the sink just enough to catch Aumellio leaning against the kitchen table, watching him while eating from an overfilled bowl of cereal. "Do me a favor and get the heat gun from the chest in the closet?"

Aumellio took a big bite of the colorful cereal, a mischievous glint gathered in his eyes that matched the forest green shade of his family tattoos. After taking his dearest sweet time to savor it, he finally answered, "Oh, I would love to, but you forgot the secret turian sleeper agent activation phrase." Aumellio tilted his spoon back and forth like a metronome as though enough time had passed for him to grow impatient.

Korak heaved a great, dramatic sigh, "Mel, do me a favor and get the heat gun from the tool chest in the closet? Please?"

"Ah hah! You do have manners!" Aumellio exclaimed and set his bowl aside on the table. He stretched his arms high above his head, yawning greatly as he did so. "I needed to finish getting ready for work anyways," he said sleepily. "I'll return shortly with your heat gun. Don't get into trouble while I'm gone."

"Only so much trouble I can cause with my head stuck under a sink." Korak shook his head before lining the spare bit of pipe up next to the old one and marking where he needed to cut it. "If you don't hurry, your cereal's going to go soggy!" he hollered playfully from within his miniature little cavern.

"Maybe I like it like that!" came Mel's response from somewhere in the back of the apartment. Korak knew that for a lie. No one liked soggy cereal.

While he waited, Korak cut the pipe down to size. It was an easy enough thing to do with the right tool, which he had. He probably could have gotten the heat gun for himself, he realized about the time he heard Aumellio humming in the hall closet. Eh, worth waiting for the turian to take his sweet time finding it, even though his tools were very well organized. Of course, Aumellio hardly knew a wrench from a hammer, but a heat gun wasn't exactly one of the universe's grand mysteries.

"Your knight in shining business casual returns from his noble quest," Aumellio crowed and crouched to hand the sort-of gun-shaped tool to Korak. He clapped his hands on his knees, "Welp, I'm off to work. Try not to be too imposing at the hardware store ... I assume you’ll be going and I'll return home to a fully functioning kitchen with a lifetime guarantee on it."

"I keep telling you, my face just looks like this. I didn't scare that kid on purpose." Aumellio began to rise before Korak tugged on his hand. "I think you're forgetting something, Mel."

"Oh right, where are my manners?" Aumellio smiled and leaned down awkwardly to plant a kiss on Korak's lips. The headlamp bumped into the hard plates making up his forehead with a muted clink.

Korak chuckled again with a shake of his head. "Not that I'm complaining, but I really meant your breakfast," he said and tilted his head toward the table where Aumellio's bowl sat cold and abandoned.

Aumellio huffed a laugh and managed to pull himself back up to standing with help from the counter tops. "I'll eat and run!"

Before Korak could advise against Aumellio trying to eat a bowl of cereal while commuting to work, the turian was off to the races and out of the door.

Korak was quite convinced he would get a pleading text message in just a few moments, begging him to please bring a clean shirt down to the office.

Ah well. Korak shrugged, in the meantime he might as well finish fixing the sink well enough that they could at least run water through it. He hummed a tune and tapped his toes together while he worked.

It was his favorite song, too, after all.

#daisy screaming into the void #this is my ask game tag now #korak #korak is ron swanson at the hardware store he knows more than you #you'll just get in his way #i hope this makes up for my sins #I'm sure i will commit more #oh an uh #more batarians that aren't assholes and criminals #or whatever i usually tag that #galaxy's okayest dad

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