#somehow I thought that no matter the play-through Connor will always have red blood on his hands

[iwonderwh0]

And huh, if Deviant path is GUARANTEED to have human victims from Connor's hands (CL tower guards, Jericho) in Machine run he can avoid killing humans entirely. He can lie to the armed human in Jericho, make Hank leave, loose or spare him after defeating on the rooftop (and get himself pushed down), he can throw himself off that roof willingly to avoid fighting Allen and his SWAT team.

After he's out of DPD he's free to do whatever to get his shit done, and yet avoiding killing any human is still a real option he can stick to.

[makeithappenandreal]

Even the Greatest Heroes Can Flip Out (Dark Percy!)

How will Percy be if he tries to be scary? -Piper Mclean

Dark!Percy trope:

Nico gulped as they waited for someone, someone very familiar to come out from the shadows in the hollow, deserted cavern they stood in. They had been expecting it. It didn’t mean he, or anyone else in the matter, was ready for it. Ready to face... face their once great, loyal friend and fight him. An army of campers, however, were standing ready with their weapons raised as they waited for him to come out so that they could fight him. Nico glanced at all of them. He knew that none of them wanted to fight their friend, but they had to. He exchanged a few looks with the one and only Thalia Grace, standing there in her silvery outfit and bow and quivers, her eyes at least as much as pain stricken as him, like she couldn’t bear the thought of fighting, fighting him. Just like Nico. 

They turned when they heard footsteps, light but fierce, coming closer to them. Nico took a deep breath. The campers tensed and took their positions. Thalia inhaled audibly as she watched the person come out of the shadows.

There stood Percy Jackson, in all of his glory, holding his celestial bronze sword Riptide in one hand and wearing a whole Greek armor and a full black t-shirt underneath instead of his bright orange Camp Half Blood outfit. His jet black hair was longer and messier than always, and there was blood shining on his armor with a golden shimmering fluid...was that ichor? Nico gasped as he turned his eyes to meet Percy's. He grasped his Stygian Sword tightly and saw Thalia grip her silvery bow tighter beside him.

"Percy, we are your friends, we came here to help you. You just have to come with us, we don't wanna hurt you." Nico said, his voice strained. He flinched as an evil, sinister laugh echoed through the rocks of the cavern that chilled Nico to his bones. Percy, still laughing, turned to him with a really mocking expression.

"Oh, Nico, I think that hurt part would be the other way around." He said, and Thalia tensed beside him at the tone of Percy’s voice. Percy looked at the crowd standing before him ready to fight, like they were useless, belittled creatures, and raised an ironic eyebrow.

"Where shall we start, huh?" Percy said, an evil grin on his face, and he raised his free hand up. "Who wants to die first?"

Suddenly, Katie Gardner started choking and her sword fell out of her hand as she fell onto her knees. Before they could help him, two more campers also started choking and collapsed, and Travis cried out in pain from behind.

Nico turned frantically to his side, watching as Percy's endearing sea green eyes, now a whole different shade, darkened and frightening, shined with an evil and satisfied glint as he controlled the campers' bodies with one hand. Some were choking on their own spit, Katie was gagging on bodily fluids and Travis was coughing out his own blood.

"Percy, stop it!" Nico exclaimed, his eyes wide. "You are killing them, you are not someone like this, this isn't you."

"Oh, but it is now." Percy said, showing his teeth in a sly smirk, and Nico could see a smoke of red shading his eyes. Thalia growled beside him. She drew her bow and aimed it at Percy.

"Percy, don't make me do this." She said, voice angry but determined. Percy tilted his head a bit.

"I liked you more as a pine tree." He commented, and one more camper, an Ares kid, also collapsed in pain as blood started flowing out of his nose. Thalia made a sound at the back of her throat and shot the arrow, aiming at his arm but Percy expertly swung his sword and hurled the silver arrow away from him.  Thalia roared, throwing the bow away and a flash of lightning blinded everyone as she summoned it and sent it swirling towards Percy. Percy made himself a shield from water this time, but the lightning was strong enough to hurt him a bit. He looked at Thalia menacingly.

"You know what, now I realised I never got to drop that galleons of water on you back in our fight in the Canoe Lake." He said, and before Thalia could hurl another round of lightning, Percy's eyes shined dangerously and a big amount of water came with a WHOOSH sound from the top of the ceiling, right on Thalia's head. Thalia screamed, and Nico ran to her, eyes wide.

"Thalia!"

Thalia tried to recover from the water, gasping and trying to stay upright. Percy formed the water in the shape of an arm so that it wrapped around Thalia's neck applying pressure and she started choking.

"Thalia! Percy, drop it, stop that right now! You have to snap out of it!" Nico shouted. Thalia gasped.

"Nico, do 'mthing..."

Nico turned to Percy, eyes burning up.

"You wanted this." He said, and concentrated as he lifted both of his arms up in the air. Within seconds, a whole army of skeletons popped out from the ground, ready at his command.

“Bring Percy Jackson to me!" Nico shouted an order, and tens of skeletons charged at Percy at once.

Percy turned his head to the army of the dead running towards him but he didn't seem very impressed.

"Nice try." He said and raised his sword to meet one of them's attack and released the grip of the water on Thalia. Thalia fell to the ground gasping, and Nico looked at her concernedly.

"Are you okay?" He asked, and Thalia nodded, trying to come to herself. She pointed at the army.

"Just focus on that." She said and Nico nodded, turning to the skeletons. Percy was turning skeleton after skeleton to dust, so he summoned more. He smiled as he saw that Percy was struggling now. He was annoyed too. But his smile froze on his face as Percy made a disgruntled sound and raised one hand.

"Now I am getting sick of this." He said, and he directed a literal flood towards the skeletons and started wiping them out of the existence with his hold on water. Nico couldn’t control them anymore.

"How are we gonna stop him?" Connor asked with desperation. "He is too powerful!"

"Yes, Connor, you got that right." Percy mused, eyes shining with a visible sparkle of red in his eyes. "I am too powerful for you."

"Not so fast, buddy." A voice said from behind, and Percy frowned as he turned around. "Frank, Leo, now!"

Percy was startled as a fire tornado blurred his vision. Before his vision cleared, he felt claws on his back and he was thrown to the ground with an enormous bear sitting on top of him. On the right side of him stood Leo with a sarcastic grin and hands in flames, and directly in front of him was Jason with lightning dancing around his body.

"That's it, guys!" One of the campers shouted in relief. “Don’t let him go!”

Jason walked up to Percy, still covered in lightning and his demeanour seeming calm.

"I am gonna cut this one out short, Perce, you are going to come with us now and we'll handle whatever comes next together. I don't wanna fight you, don't make us use brutal force." Jason said, his voice controlled. Percy smirked, even though he had a bear sitting on top of his chest.

“What makes you think you, of all people, can beat me, Jason?” He said sarcastically.

Leo's eyes softened. "We are going to fix you up, man. I know you are not yourself. Once you get out of this place...”

"I don't need fixing." Percy snapped. "I am not one of your pathetic mechanical toys, Leo. Go play with your teddy dragon."

Leo’s expression turned a bit painful, the flame in his hands flickered. Jason took a deep breath.

“Percy, you don’t need to do this, we are your friends, we just want to help you, you gotta believe me. Now don’t force us into fighting you, you can’t fight all of us alone.” Jason said.  The bear growled in agreement. 

Percy smiled. His eyes were nearly all red now. He looked directly at Jason.

“You shouldn’t have come here tonight, Jason. I really wouldn’t want to be the one to kill you.” He said. And out of nowhere, something in Percy’s belt started to stir. Nico frowned. Suddenly, a bottle popped out free from his belt, filled with dark, bubbly liquid inside and Percy got the liquid out and tossed it to the bear’s eyes.

The bear howled in pain, and before they could understand what happened, Percy broke free of its  hold and pulled Riptide out to hit the bear. Frank transformed as he continued to rub his eyes and scream in pain, flying away from where they were standing. Percy, now free, jumped to his feet.

Before Leo and Jason caught up on what happened, Nico understood and shouted.

“It’s poison! Leo get away from there!” He cried out but it was too late as Percy hurled a river of water to Leo’s flaming body and sent him flying across the room. He groaned as he hit his head hard on the wall and passed out.  Percy turned to Jason with a sword on his hand and a maniac smile on his face. 

“You’re insane.” Jason said, his eyes wide as he watched what happened. Percy raised Riptide and Jason met his strike with his own Imperial Gold sword. He tried to hold his own, but Percy was the greatest swordsman in the last three centuries. Panic started to worm its way into his eyes and he jumped away from him to his side, leaving the sword and summoning lightning as he threw it towards Percy. Percy was caught to it, and his head started smoking a bit. Jason wanted to feel happiness but it dissolved into fear as Percy turned to him with crazy, complete red eyes like it held all the rage in the world. He threw Riptide too, and somehow, it didn’t relieve Jason at all.

“Let’s see how much blood runs through your veins, shall we?” Percy said, eyes on fire, and before Jason could do anything, he felt an immense burning in his stomach and he lifted his hands to hold his throat. Percy closed his fist and Jason buckled over, falling on his knees as he tried to breathe. 

“NO!” Thalia yelled out, but Percy shook his other hand dismissively and another wave of water hit Thalia again. She groaned as she tried to break free from the water’s pressure. Percy turned his attention on Jason. 

Jason was on the ground now, trying to stay upright as he gasped and gagged and choked. Suddenly, he started to spit blood, coughing up more and more every second. He started shaking violently as blood starting coming off his nose and eventually his ears.

“Jason!” Nico screamed, running towards them with all of his might but the water had created a hurricane around Thalia and the wind was too strong for him to get there in time. He watched helplessly as the greatest hero of their time, arguably the whole time, the person he secretly looked up so much to and had had a crush for years, killed his friends like flies without even hesitating. He didn’t know what could stop him. Percy let out another maniacal, evil laugh as he resumed drowning Jason in his own blood. 

“PERCY! ENOUGH!” A familiar, very familiar voice thundered through the cavern and Percy stopped in his tracks. He opened his fist a bit and Jason started breathing again desperately, gasping. Nico turned around to see the owner of the voice at the same time as Percy.

A very familiar girl with blond curly hair and stormy grey eyes stood there, with Piper and Hazel on both of his sides, looking worn out and wounded. She was looking at Percy with a look of agony and sadly, and Percy suddenly dropped his hand. The waters disappeared, the hurricane subsided, and Jason wasn’t choking on his blood anymore. The girl had tears in his eyes.

“Enough.” She said, her voice ragged and breathless. Percy’s red eyes flickered, and Nico could see a sparkle of familiar sea green fighting its way back in. Percy gasped.

“Annabeth? You-You’re alive?” He asked. 

[double-daredevil]

/testingTrue

hello! let’s expand this blog to Detroit: Become Human as well as my nerdy shit.

i suppose this contains a spoiler if you haven’t played through the game yet. i just finished my first playthrough, it was fun! fell in love with this bot. here is a bit of something that is meant to be part of something longer.

pairing: connor/you

words: 1.6k

He doesn’t mean to stare, it’s just a byproduct. Every waking hour he must spend analyzing, he sort of up and forgets he’s staring. He takes in every detail at first glance and yet there is always something about you he misses, and he desires more contact to learn all about your subtleties.

But is he allowed to say that? Even think it? How can an android have desires if all he was built to do was solve this case?

Connor and Hank had met you just a few days before meeting up with Kamski. As an aesthetics designer for CyberLife, you get up close and personal with each android you design. However, Hank deemed you useless to the investigation because you only design how they look and their personality maps, but aren’t responsible for any coding. Hank believes that it’s something within the coding that leaves a door open to deviancy.

And yet, the meeting was far different than any scenario Connor had planned.

“Connor, right? I recognize you. Well, I designed you, after all.”

Every moment he is active, Connor is aware he is artificial. He knows his entire existence is electricity, false neurotransmitters firing and creating ideas in his head to showcase to the world. His skin can’t feel anything except changes in pressure, he feels no pain, no agony, no stress.

But wow, was he sure anxious in your presence.

Although you design using a program on your computer, you talked about androids as though they were human. Connor was ecstatic, it was so easy and so smooth sounding coming from you, discussing the androids as people. It was apparent you worked hard to memorize the names of all the androids you designed, not just their numbers.

“I am a RK800 model, a prototype for—”

“But, what’s your name?”

“It’s— I’m Connor. What’s yours?”

Following Hank home in the rain this night was a godsend given how distressing the week had been. From meeting you, to Kamski, to refusing to shoot Chloe, it had felt like the longest week in Connor’s life.

Hank suggested something, a detour maybe, but Connor was lost in his own head and simply agreed to whatever it was. Hank kept walking and Connor kept following.

It wasn’t until they were at the door to some bar that Connor replayed the short conversation in his head and realized what he had agreed to. In that three second replay, Hank had already walked through the door before Connor could correct his mistake.

So Connor followed.

He liked having these moments outside of CyberLife HQ where he could think freely, criticize his own actions, all without the prying eyes of programmers and engineers. Hank weaseled his way past patrons and found the last two empty seats at the edge of the bar. He sat on the outermost edge, and Connor sat beside him.

Sixteen seconds passed, after the bartender glided over and took Hank’s order, Connor smelled cucumber and rose and other basic ingredients to your shampoo, but was too stunned at the thought of you that he remained silent as you turned in your bar stool to face the duo.

“Litenuent Anderson?” You ask, to nobody in particular as you swivel your chair to see them face on in the low light. “What’re you guys doing at my favorite bar?”

Connor just stares at you, basking in your lopsided smile and mussed up hair, as Hank takes the wheel in the conversation.

“Just grabbin’ a drink before signing off for the night. This is your favorite bar? What could possibly be appealing about this place?” Hank replies, gesturing behind him to the loud common area packed like a can of sardines with people.

Connor notices your smile melt into a grin as you lean on your elbows on the counter, fingertips caressing your glass. “You just kinda disappear in all the chaos and nobody cares about what you’re wearing, or what you look like, ‘cause everyone is sweaty and uncomfortable here.”

Hank lets out a chuckle and picks up his whiskey that was just placed down in front of him and gives you a mock toast. You pick up your miscellaneous cocktail, you don’t remember what you ordered, and toast back.

Connor simply sits, trying to look at you enough to see all the details he’s been missing, longing for more like because he could draw your face from memory, but also trying not to face you and seem too eager. He knows, logistically, that you probably wouldn’t even notice his staring, as you are slightly swaying in your seat, so your blood-alcohol level is at the point of tunnel vision. The bartender swoops by to check in and Connor orders a water. For you, obviously, but the bartender hesitates as he notices the blue ring on Connor’s temple. Connor holds the bartender’s gaze for four seconds until he dips behind the counter and produces a glass of ice water. He sets it down between Connor and you.

“So how are you guys doin’ in your investigation?” You slur out, leaning towards Connor a little too closely to be able to hear over the dull roar of the room. “Finding the deviants?”

Hank sighs and finishes off his glass, and holds up his hand to catch the bartender’s attention. “Something like that. Listen, I don’t wanna talk about work, but Connor would be more than happy to debrief you.”

The bartender serves Hank again and then Hank swivels slightly in his chair, only enough to turn his shoulders away and give you and Connor a little privacy. Connor knows that Hank is listening, and that he offered Connor’s conversational skills up on purpose.

After the first meeting, Connor stuttered for the first time and had delayed responses when Hank asked if he fancied you. That told Hank everything he needed to know.

You raise your eyebrows and smile at Connor, but he knows you don’t really want to talk about the investigation.

“We have little to no leads,” Connor says, matter-of-factly. “We are nearly at a dead end but Kamski gave us, what I deemed to be, a breakthrough hint.”

“Oh?” You ask, sipping the last drops of your drink. “So you, Mister Deviant Hunter, you’re gonna go and catch all them?”

Connor twists and faces you more, resting his other arm on the counter. “That is my job, yes.”

“That’s like, a lame-ass job,” you say, sitting up straighter and facing Connor completely.

He couldn’t help but smile a bit, and he thought it was cute that you were nearly trying to debate this with him. “Oh? And why is that?”

You mimicked his sly smile, perhaps it’s a reaction you get when inebriated, he thought. You’re mirroring his body language, and Connor felt somewhat… fuzzy about it.

>>Software Instability

“It’s just like, I dunno, weird to kill your own kind,” you slur, and Connor wasn’t really taking what you said to heart, then he slid the glass of water over to you.

“It’s what I’ve been programmed to do. They are criminals and deviants for going against their code, and have an increased chance to hurt humans,” Connor replies.

“Don’t you ever feel bad? Those androids are just living and responding to their environment. It’s kind of funny, y’know?” And you pause, drinking the entire glass of water and calling over the bartender to order another cocktail.

Connor watches you closely, watches the way your lips form words, how you huff air out of your mouth to clear stray hairs from you face. He isn’t paying attention to your words, he’s distracted, he would get reprimanded—

“Humans kill humans all the time, and half the time we justify it and don’t punish anyone, so like, why are you punishing androids for doing human things? Isn’t that the point? To be as human as possible?”

He hesitates. A quick playback of the last 37 seconds and he realizes you are at the inebriated point to discuss philosophy, ethics, topics that he couldn’t comment on without feeling guilty. The ring on his temple buffered red for a second before turning back to blue.

“Are you saying we should let the deviants go?”

Before you took a sip of your new drink, you stopped, glancing at him from the corner of your eye. You took in a deep breath and set your drink down. “I’m sorry,” you start. “I shouldn’t be talking like that, especially to you.”

Your gaze flits over Connor’s shoulder and he knows you looked at Hank, then you turn back to the counter and sip your drink. “I just wouldn’t be able to stomach killing anything, red blood or blue. I guess I just like you guys too much.”

You shoot him an embarrassed smile and drink more of your drink. He notices your dusty pink cheeks and can’t decide if it’s from the alcohol or your rambling, but he settles on both. His gaze falls to the counter and he watches your fingers anxiously handling the glass.

“Did I somehow just incriminate myself?” You whisper, your voice getting lost in the sounds of the room but Connor is so focused on you, he hears it.

“No,” he says back, quietly as well but still above a whisper so your human ears can hear. “You can’t be arrested for having feelings.”

You smile a little, and then look at him for one, two, three, six seconds as though you were trying to speak with your eyes. Connor held your gaze the whole time, admiring, deciphering. You broke the silence.

“Yeah,” you sigh out.

And then you look back to your drink and take a sip.

He replays the last thirteen seconds, why did you look at him like that? What were you trying to say with those mesmerizing eyes?

You can’t be arrested for having feelings.

>>Software Instability

[detroit-become-dumpster]

class 4 errors

He cursed himself under his breath. Probably this was just some ridiculous fancy social-programming-algorithm-whatchamacallit-thing, just a code designed to manipulate humans into giving Connor (and by extension, Cyberlife) whatever he wanted. Probably it wasn’t real at all. But fuck if Hank wasn’t falling for it anyway. 

(Or, Connor deviates after the revolution. Hank has a hangover. This seems like a great time to reconcile.)

***

The good news was, Connor had failed. 

At least, that’s what it sounded like to Hank--he was pretty sure he’d heard that Markus’ demonstration was successful, and that the president had ordered the withdrawal of the troops, and that Big Official Talks™ would be starting up soon about establishing androids as living beings in their own right. But quite frankly, Hank had drowned so much of the evening in whiskey that he very well could have imagined all of it. He certainly wasn’t paying attention to the nervous chatter filling the bar, definitely wasn’t listening to the radio playing in the taxi, absolutely didn’t switch on his own TV first thing after stumbling into his house and digging up another bottle later that night. (Or maybe it was early the next morning. Hard to tell through the haze. The numbers on the clock wouldn’t stop swimming.) At any rate, if Markus had succeeded, then that could only mean that Connor had not. And that was a good thing, wasn’t it?

(I'll be deactivated, Connor had said, and analyzed to find out why I failed. And he’d looked--shit, he’d looked just like a star pupil who was startled to find a B on his report card instead of an A. He’d just looked like a disappointed kid.

Or a scared kid, maybe.

Fuck. Hank really should have followed him from the roof.)

Grimacing, Hank scrubbed his hand over his face, clenching sandpaper-rough eyes against the late morning sun that threatened to peek at him from behind the blinds. It was too early to be thinking about all of this. It was too early to be thinking, period. Yet despite all his attempts to smother everything, here he was, sprawled on the armchair where he’d passed out, thinking. Stray memories and half-made connections and intrusive nonsense stuck in his brain like a needle in the groove of an old worn record, his thoughts uselessly tripping on the same damn notes over and over again until he could go crazy from it all, the what ifs and the maybes and the if onlys screaming for attention over the click of a loaded barrel and the screech of tires on an icy road and drone-televised footage of massive junkyards, no, graveyards, piled sky-high with the bones of the plastic dead, all of it braiding together inextricably with the beep of a hospital monitor and that too-sweet funeral-parlor-flowers smell and the dull thud of dirt on a coffin and—

(But he hadn’t seen any familiar faces in any of the footage, neither amongst the living nor the dead—was that a good sign, or a very, very bad one?

Hank really, really should have followed him from the roof. Just to make sure.)

Pain hammered in his head along with all of the unwanted thoughts, pushing out waves of nausea with every sluggish pulse. He should just go back to sleep. It might not solve any of the problems hammering away in his brain but at least maybe he could snooze through the worst of what promised to be another nasty hangover. It wasn’t like he had anywhere to be, after all. Definitely didn’t have anything better to do.

(The old pistol hiding in his bedside drawer might have argued otherwise, but in order to find out for sure, Hank would have to go get it, which would require him to get up, which would require moving, which would require effort, and basically, fuck that. The pistol and its sole lonely bullet would still be there whenever he decided to move again. Assuming he did decide to move. Maybe he would be lucky and the couch would magically swallow him whole somehow. Or something. Fuck.)

Hank had just settled perfectly into his well-worn sweet spot in the armchair when the doorbell buzzed. He huffed irritatedly. Probably it was girl scouts or church folks or political canvassers or something; he didn’t know and he didn’t care. He ignored it.

A few moments passed in blissful liquid silence. Then the doorbell buzzed again.

Nose wrinkled in aggravation, Hank threw his arm over his eyes, answering the doorbell with stubborn silence. After a couple more seconds, the doorbell buzzed again, insistently this time.

Hank scowled. “Go away!” he half-yelled, half-slurred, but all that netted him was another goddamn buzz of the doorbell, and fuck, had that noise always vibrated his teeth like this? “Fuck off!” he shouted. 

The doorbell buzzed again, one long, unbroken, god-awful shrieking screech so piercing and shrill Hank was almost tempted to retrieve his pistol just to make the fucking noise stop.

“Jesus Christ,” he snapped, heaving himself off the chair and stomping toward the front door with tightly-balled fists. “Can’t you take a goddamn hint? Whatever you’re selling, I’m not buying.” Whiskey-numbed fingers fumbled with the lock before Hank managed to wrestle it open, throwing the door wide so he could give this asshole a piece of his mind. “So why don’t you just--”

He stopped. He saw. He stared.

Connor stood in front of him.

Squinting against the too-bright daylight, feeling the cold from very far away, Hank wondered, briefly, if he could be hallucinating, if maybe those old Disney cartoons were actually onto something whenever their characters stumbled into a bucket of alcohol and saw nothing but pink elephants for hours afterward. That would make more sense than this. It would certainly make more sense than the unwanted feelings welling up at the sight of Connor, the distrust choking his throat and the anger hot in his gut and the guilt tightening his chest and what the hell was all that about? Shouldn’t he be relieved to see this stupid plastic prick standing here, alive and apparently well? Shouldn’t he be happy?

“--fuck off,” he finished with a snarl.

For a split-second he could have sworn he saw a flash of red at Connor’s temple. With a hesitant step forward, Connor opened his mouth, but he must have swallowed whatever he was going to say, because the next thing Hank knew, Connor was stepping back again, nodding. “I understand, Lieutenant,” he said. “I’m sorry I disturbed you.”

Looking for all the world like a puppy that just got kicked, Connor turned to leave. Guilt rose along with Hank’s blood pressure, thundering in his ears. He cursed himself under his breath. Probably this was just some ridiculous fancy social-programming-algorithm-whatchamacallit-thing, just a code designed to manipulate humans into giving Connor (and by extension, Cyberlife) whatever he wanted. Probably it wasn’t real at all. But fuck if Hank wasn’t falling for it anyway.

“So what--that’s it?” he snapped. “You’re just gonna leave? What’d you even bother coming here for?”

Half-turned away, Connor didn’t meet his eyes when he replied--that was a first, Hank realized with a start. “I just wanted to make sure you were all right,” he replied quietly.

“Never been better,” Hank bit back, even as he internally kicked himself.

Once again, Connor opened his mouth to speak, like he might argue, but he didn’t. He just made his way off the porch, and if he didn’t know any better, Hank might have thought his shoulders were slumped, his posture resigned, and was he shivering? That just pissed Hank off even more.

“Why d’you ask?” he called after Connor. “That part of your mission, now?”

Connor froze. “I don’t have a mission anymore, Lieutenant.”

“Good,” replied Hank with as much nastiness as he could muster. Connor turned back to look at him, and if Hank thought he spotted confusion flashing across his face, or maybe hurt. Which was a stupid thing for Hank to think, because Connor clearly didn’t feel anything, because if he did, Hank wouldn’t have caught him on that roof last night, ready to assassinate someone that was just asking, peacefully, for the same basic rights that all sentient beings deserve.

(Except Connor didn’t do it, did he? Hank asked him to stop, and he did. And now here Connor was. Checking on him. Trying to connect with him.

Well, fuck.)

“Because...y’know,” Hank continued grudgingly, despite himself, crossing his arms over his chest. “Your previous mission seemed pretty hellbent on the whole death-and-destruction angle, and all.”

“Yes,” said Connor, softly. “I didn’t see it that way at the time, but—”

“But what? You had some sort of robo-epiphany or something?”

“Something like that, I suppose.”

“You suppose,” echoed Hank, scoffing.

Connor grew very, very quiet. “I really believed I was doing the right thing, until I realized I wasn’t. It was...difficult, coming to terms with that, but it’s the truth.” His mouth twisted in discomfort. “I just wish I’d figured it out sooner.”

He smiled at Hank, a slight thing that didn’t quite reach his eyes--not like one of those unsettling false android smiles, though, all polygonal lines and uncanny-valley-creepiness. No. It was wholly human, and entirely sad.

And there it was again, flooding through Hank like so much radioactive bullshit. Guilt. A metric fuckton of it.

“I wanted to tell you that you were right, and I’m sorry,” Connor told him. “And I wanted to make sure you weren’t--that you didn’t--”

His eyes flickered back toward the house, past the open door, and Hank wondered if he was imagining a body sprawled on the floor, an empty liquor bottle and a decidedly not-empty pistol dropped next to it. He shifted his weight uncomfortably, suddenly very aware of what he probably looked like right now, the bloodshot eyes, the rat’s-nest hair, the alcohol fumes practically exuding from him in little squiggly cartoon waves. And here was the world’s fanciest murderbot, standing on his porch, shivering in the winter cold, checking in with Hank, talking to him as if his feelings mattered, as if Hank was worth any kind of a damn anymore. Didn’t make sense. But then, Hank supposed, feelings often don’t.

He sighed. Fuck, but he was tired. “Look, Connor--”

“I’m sorry, Hank,” Connor blurted out, shaking his head. “I don’t--I don’t know what else to say. I’m not really even sure why I came here. I just felt like I should.” He approached, steps tentative, hands rubbing up and down his arms, like he was trying to stay warm. “I mean, I really did want to make sure you were okay. And it felt like I should apologize--and I know I don’t deserve forgiveness, not from you or anyone else, so I’m not asking for that, but, the thing is, I realized I was on the wrong side, and--I don’t know, I guess I thought I should tell you that I know that now, and I wanted to say thank you, for being patient--well, relatively speaking--well, thank you for being there, anyway, and for stopping me up on the roof, and--”

Hank raised a bemused eyebrow as Connor continued to stammer his way through whatever-the-hell-this-was. He couldn’t imagine Connor ever word-vomiting like this, before. If it really was just some fancy social protocol somehow, it was pretty damn convincing. Or maybe--just maybe--it turned out the kid had deviated after all.

At any rate it loosened something in Hank’s chest, just a little bit. It felt weirdly like relief.

His glance drawn to movement over Connor’s shoulder--just Ms. Ghibbett across the street, squeezing her needle-nose and blinking owl’s-eyes through her living-room-drapes, as if no one could spot her spying--Hank huffed impatiently. It wasn’t as if he particularly cared that the nosy old bat was watching them, but he wasn’t in the mood to give her a show, either. That was absolutely the only reason it occurred to Hank that maybe they should take this indoors; it had nothing to do with the wind biting through his old DPD sweatshirt, or Connor’s increasingly violent shivering.

Hank heaved a heavy sigh. He was getting soft in his old age. Downright sentimental.

“C’mon,” he said, cutting off Connor mid-babble as he grabbed him by the arm, pulling him through the door. “We can do this inside.”

“I don’t want to impose,” Connor replied through chattering teeth, but he didn’t resist.

“Yeah, well, it’s a little late for that, isn’t it?” Hank grumbled. “Besides, it’s cold as balls out here. You’re not gonna let an old man freeze to death, are you?”

“Death by exposure at 39.3 degrees Fahrenheit takes significantly longer than five minutes, Lieutenant. And 53 years is hardly considered elderly, although a midlife crisis isn’t out of the question.”

“On second thought, maybe I’ll let you freeze after all,” said Hank, rolling his eyes as he shut the door behind them.

 ***

 “This isn’t necessary,” Connor insisted, but the sentiment was weak at best; it wasn’t like he had done anything to move from his spot on the couch, after all, nor had he done anything to shrug off the old afghan Hank had tossed over his shoulders, and he certainly hadn’t done anything to discourage a certain St. Bernard from settling in next to him, begging for attention. “I don’t require any external heat sources. I can just temporarily deactivate my temperature sensors.”

Busy with the coffee pot, Hank watched Connor out of the corner of his eye as he idly pet Sumo, his gaze loose and unfocused, distant. When Sumo laid his head in Connor’s lap, though, his focus immediately shifted; glancing down, he reached with both hands to scratch the dog behind the ears, smiling fondly. It was probably the happiest expression Hank had seen on him yet.

He could still feel it, his anger from before, simmering and potent beneath the surface. But something about seeing Connor like this--ah, shit. As much as Hank hated to admit it, it rattled the bones of his deep-buried old paternal instincts, sentiments he’d believed to be long dead. He couldn’t say exhuming such a thing was all that comfortable. At the same time, it was almost a comfort to learn that those instincts weren’t completely dead, after all.

“So why haven’t you, yet?” Hank asked, voice gruff. “Turned off the sensors, I mean.”

The smile vanished like it was never there. “It’s not important.”

“Sure. You know punishing yourself isn’t gonna solve anything, right?”

Connor snapped to attention, staring at him. Leaning against the kitchen counter, hands wrapped around his hot coffee mug, Hank shrugged, ignoring the twinge of nausea that spiked through him. God, he felt like shit. “Take it from someone who knows firsthand,” he said wryly.

Whining at the sudden loss of attention, Sumo snuffled at Connor’s hands. Connor halfheartedly scratched the top of his head, the motion slow, now, reluctant. “You don’t need to worry about me, Lieutenant.”

“Eh, I ain’t worried,” Hank lied. “Just know what it’s like, is all.”

“You shouldn’t be kind to me, either.”

“Think that’s the first time anyone’s ever accused me of being too nice,” Hank chuckled. “Sorry, I guess?”

“And you shouldn’t be apologizing to me. I’m the one who’s supposed to be apologizing to you.”

Uncomfortable, Hank rubbed at the back of his neck. “You already did that.”

“It’s not enough,” Connor insisted, shaking his head. “I was cruel to you, Hank. I tried to use your son against you.”

“Yeah, I remember,” Hank replied flatly. “I was there.”

Connor stared down at his hands, frozen in Sumo’s fur. “I did so much harm,” he said, the words stilted, painful, like he was wrenching them out of himself. “I was a bad partner, I was a bad friend. I hunted my own kind. I hurt people. I hurt people when all they wanted was to be free.” His hands trembled and his LED swirled yellow and suddenly Hank thought of Cole, that time he got in trouble for getting into a scuffle with another preschooler; he remembered picking him up from school, how he told him off, how Cole shrank into himself afterward, flooded with a five-year-old’s deep and heavy sense of shame. The memory and the hurt were still so fresh that they ached. “They just wanted to be free, Hank. They just wanted to be treated like people. Who can argue with that? What kind of person tries to stop that? What kind of monster--?”

“Hey, hey, no need to get dramatic,” said Hank, frowning. “You weren’t a monster. You were just following your program, or your directive, or whatever. Right?”

“It doesn’t matter if I was a monster or a machine. That doesn’t change what I did, or how it affected people. It doesn’t make up for my mistakes and it doesn’t make anyone’s hurt go away.”

“Aw, c’mon, kid--”

“Hundreds of people are dead because of me,” Connor spat out. The light at his temple glowed red now. “Hundreds of my people, dead, because I was stupid enough to--I was just so stupid, Hank.”

“This about the Jericho raid?” Hank asked, eyes narrowed.

Connor fell silent.

“Did you tell anyone besides me that you were headed there?”

“No.”

“Did you tell anyone where it was?”

“No,” Connor repeated, sharply this time.

“All right. So it sounds to me like you went there alone, just looking for Markus, but Perkins and his crew, they tracked you, executed the raid on the freighter without your knowledge or input. Am I right?”

Wordlessly, eyes fixed on the carpet, Connor nodded.

With a grunt, Hank slouched his way over to the living room, easing into his armchair. “Cool. So tell me, you’re basically a hyper-intelligent living computer, right? Google on legs, or whatever?”

Connor blinked. “What has that got to do with anything?”

“Just seems like you’d be smart enough to see that what happened to Jericho isn’t your fault, is all.”

The light at Connor’s temple stuttered yellow. “It is, though. I--”

“I don’t see how it could be. Not like Perkins asked your permission to follow you or use your intel.”

“But that’s just it. I should have known I was being followed,” Connor insisted. “The FBI never would have found Jericho, if it wasn’t for me.”

“Maybe. Or maybe they would’ve, and it just would’ve taken a few extra minutes. Humanity did manage to get some shit figured out before androids came along, believe it or not--”

“For goodness’ sake, Hank, would you please stop?” Connor half-shouted, his voice ringing out in the quiet house. “You shouldn’t be comforting me. You should be angry at me, you should hate me!”

“Oh, don’t worry. I’m still plenty angry,” Hank replied calmly. “But, and I hate to break this to you, kid: you don’t get to decide who I hate.”

Connor shook his head. “No, no, your reaction outside was the proper one. You should have turned me away. You should have slammed the door in my face. But now you’re being kind and I don’t understand. It doesn’t make sense--”

“Well, tough shit!” Hank snorted. “You don’t have to understand. All you gotta know is I ain’t interested in hearing you beat yourself up over something that wasn’t really your fault. I’ve been there, I’ve done that, and trust me, it doesn’t help anyone.”

“The situations are hardly comparable, Lieutenant--”

“Fact is, you didn’t want the deviants dead,” Hank continued. “Throughout this whole thing, that was your deal. You said it over and over. I need them alive. Maybe that was just your program talking, so you could take ‘em back to Cyberlife and dissect ‘em, do your analysis, whatever. Or maybe there was some part of you that knew that killing the deviants was wrong, despite what all your algorithms said. Either way, I never saw you opt for violence except as a last resort, not until I found you on that rooftop. And even then,” he went on, as Connor tried to interrupt, “even then, the only reason you were there in the first place was because that’s what you’d been programmed to do. Hell, that’s what you were created for. Yeah? But you broke out of that, Connor. You broke your mold and decided what you wanted to do, who you wanted to be. You planned to harm Markus, sure, but then you ultimately decided not to. You made the decision to go from being a machine to being a person. Isn’t that right?”

“It’s not that simple--”

“Yes, it is,” Hank said, his voice sharp. “It really is that simple, son. Sometimes things are.”

Falling silent, Connor averted his gaze from Hank, watching Sumo instead as he drooled in his lap. His LED blinked yellow again, but he didn’t argue.

“So, yeah. To sum up, you weren’t really interested in hurting folks in the first place, that fucking prick Perkins followed you and acted without your consent, you decided not to hurt Markus despite your orders, and I think it’s safe to assume you’ll keep deciding not to hurt people,” Hank counted off. “I’m not saying you’re perfect, but all you can do is own up to the shit you did, let go of the shit you didn’t. And, y’know, where you can, you try and do what you can to make up for the shit you did do. Right?”

Connor hesitated.

“What?”

“It just seems too easy, to be honest.”

Hank chuckled. “Trust me. It’s anything but.”

Connor nodded. Silence stretched between them as he considered, staring down at his hands nestled in Sumo’s fur, his LED alternating between yellow and blue. Hank sipped at his now-cold coffee and winced. It tasted like jet fuel.

“All right,” Connor said, after a few moments.

“All right...?”

“All right,” Connor repeated, with a tone of finality. “I don’t know if I can trust myself on matters like these. But...I trust you, Lieutenant.”

That thought warmed Hank more than he wanted to admit. “Good,” he said, grinning. “That means you learned something. And next time, you’ll do better.”

“Yes, but…”

Hank arched an expectant eyebrow.

Connor swallowed. “How can I make up for it? How can I ever possibly make it up, to the people I hurt?”

“Hell if I know,” said Hank. “That’s the hard part. Probably you start out by apologizing, then asking them what you can do to help, finding out what they need, giving them space if they ask for it. And then you don’t do the bad thing anymore. I don’t know. That sounds like something healthy people do. All I know is, you drown yourself in regret and despair, you don’t help anybody. Not yourself, not anybody else. You got that?”

“Got it,” Connor replied, nodding.

Then, a few seconds later, hesitant, “...I’m sorry for what I said up on the rooftop, Hank. What can I do to make it up to you?”

Hank glanced over to see Connor looking up at him, a small smile crossing his face. (He thought of Cole again, grinning up him, hope for his father’s approval evident in his bright young eyes. Fuck, that hurt.)

“Well, for starters, you can fix my fucking window,” he said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. “And after that, you can cool your jets on the whole brooding-and-wallowing-in-guilt thing. Okay?”

Something loosened in Connor’s posture, and he relaxed a little, his smile deepening. “Okay.”

 ***

 The good news was, Connor did not fail to replace the window.

And the other good news, Hank thought as he watched Connor work, was that even if he did, it wouldn’t necessarily be a bad thing. Inconvenient, sure. Pricey, probably. Drafty, definitely. But failing is something that humans do, something that people do, and more often than not, they’re permitted to pick themselves up off the ground, brush the dust from their jackets, and try again--or maybe they realize that they were trying the wrong thing all along, or maybe they can even try something new. That, Hank decided, was a chance that Connor deserved.

Maybe they both did.

[mianix]

"Mine" ~ A Gift Fic for LukeLemon-Art

I have been among the DBH community for a few months now and the one thing I love most about it is how supportive everyone seems to be. It doesn’t matter if you are an artist, writer, animator, video editor, cosplayer etc. You are welcomed here with open arms and encouraged to do your very best.

The best example of this I can give is @lukelemon-art. I have watched them encourage people of all mediums and fandoms to do well. I’ve experienced their fun nature and their generosity myself when they reblogged my friend @bunnylove56’s Reed900 fic when they weren’t sure anyone would like it. They gave her the confidence to keep going and I adore Luke for conspiring with me to get her to keep going. I never expected it and it only proves my point further.

The above artwork was recently done by Luke with an amazing backstory of Connor, discarding his LED and Gavin chooses to keep it, worn by a leather strap around his neck. Not only did this warm my heart, but inspired me to write my first Convin story as a gift to Luke for all their kindness, not just to me, but the community. Their art makes me happy, as I imagine it does a lot of you. So here’s me supporting their art and repaying them for too many kindnesses to count. 

Note: This gift fic is rated M and contains a big old lemon…lol Because of Tumblr’s new rules and to be safe, the preview will end with a link to finish the story on AO3 instead of the typical cut to read the entire thing on my blog. So if you aren’t into reading something a bit smutty, go back now, gentle reader.

———-

Connor wondered, honestly, what frustrated him more: the idea of Detective Reed disobeying Hank’s direct orders, or the fact that Connor had made a deal with him to get them to this point.

He had been trying diligently over the past year to find ways of endearing himself to the bitter Detective, but nothing he did seemed to quell the man’s hatred for him. No amount of help, kind gestures, or careful consideration had changed a thing between them.

They fought constantly on the job and it had shown its own wear on Connor over time. He recalled how, in a fit of frustration, he had pulled off his own LED and tossed it at the Detective’s feet.

“THERE! Since it bothers you so much! Now you can stop complaining about it and actually get some work done. Oh, wait. That’s right! I mean sit on your damn phone instead of actually helping us for once!”

Everyone had looked shocked to see such anger come from him, but they often forgot he was no longer a thing who took orders. It had all just boiled over and he couldn’t take it anymore. A part of him felt guilt at the look that crossed Reed’s face, but he walked away before he could worry on it too much. In that moment, he felt justified, but later he regretted it.

If for nothing else, he had taken pride in wearing his LED once he’d deviated to remind him of their struggle and to never be ashamed of who he was. Because it made him into the man he was now, who had friends, family and a life that was entirely his own.

This, naturally, was how he found himself helping assist Detective Reed into his apartment.

“Last door, on the left.” Gavin groaned as he stumbled a bit.

They’d been in a scuffle only an hour before, all thanks to Detective Yells-Too-Much. Hank, in some disturbing thought to force them to into being civil, had downright ordered them to work together.

“Frankly, everyone is getting tired of listening to you two argue all the time. It’s not productive and seriously hurts office morale. We’re fucking homicide. We see gruesome death and tragedy on the daily and somehow you two bitching every day is making it even worse.” Hank had said, frustrated when the two had yet another blow up.

“What about Nines?” Gavin had asked. It seemed the further from friendly he got from Connor, the more he stopped harassing the RK900 model. He’d actually started working with him, to Connor’s surprise.

“We’re swapping partners for the week. Nines will work with me and you two need to learn to work together. Fowler’s down my neck about this and if you two can’t work this out there’s the possibility of reassignment to a different department.”

That had gotten a reaction, from both of them. Because it would likely be one or the other, which meant Connor would have to leave Hank or Gavin would be losing his position in his preferred field. Neither of these were an option.

Connor moved to the door, pressing Reed to the wall to help him stand better.

“Keys?” Connor asked.

“Pocket.” Gavin replied with a twinge of pain. They’d been staking out a warehouse, helping out the drug division on a red ice case, but couldn’t seem to not fight. They were completely hopeless being stuck in the confines of Gavin’s car and their inability to ignore one another got them caught.

They were set upon by some low level lackey’s who luckily were too stupid to be properly armed. Connor had sustained some damage to his arm, but had come out holding his own. Reed, on the other hand, had not. A quick glance at the wound on his abdomen told Connor the glass bottle had cut Gavin as he tried to dodge it. He would be okay, but he would need stitches and proper medical care.

“Fuck that. I don’t have the money to pay for an ER visit. I’ll just do it myself, like always.” Gavin had said with labored breathing as Connor drove them away from the warehouse, the sound of gunfire finally breaking the air as more lackeys came to their friends’ aid. It was fight or flight for Connor and at seeing his human companion bleeding and exhausted, he chose to live and fight another day.

“What do you mean like always?” Connor asked incredulously. It was purely rhetorical though as he didn’t need to consider it much to know Gavin Reed refused to go to the hospital unless he was taken there by force… or unconscious. Connor considered that as a valid option, but cast it aside at the thought of the assault charges that might accompany it when Gavin gained consciousness.

But Reed was stubborn and finally they’d come to a compromise: Gavin would allow Connor to do it for him. He could locate the proper programs to accomplish the task of patching Reed up. If he could not get him proper medical help, then this was the next best option.

Connor stared at the Detective, whose free arm hung a bit limply at his side. Blood could be seen staining his shirt there, as well. Wonderful. Without much thought, Connor plunged his hand down into the Detective’s jean pocket to feel around for keys. He felt Gavin stiffen at his shoulder.

“Fuckin’ careful, dipshit. You’re grabbing my keys, not playing pocket pool.” Gavin bit out between clenched teeth. Connor ignored him and pulled the keys out, setting about the task of opening the door. Once he did, he heard a loud mewling getting closer.

The small, furry head of a cat peeked through the crack of the door, it’s tiny paw pulling at it to further open it.

“Don’t let him out. He’s a fucking escape artist.” Gavin groaned as he pushed the door in and pressed the cat inside. Connor followed behind him, closing the door and entering into Gavin Reed’s apartment for the first time.

Gavin went directly for his cabinets as the first room they entered was the kitchen. Off to the right was an open archway into what Connor considered was the living room. He didn’t have much time to consider it though as he watched Reed pulling out more medical supplies then he figured most humans would keep in their homes.

“How often do you get injured on the job?” Connor asked at the fully stocked cabinet of disinfectants, gauze, bandages and other medical supplies.

“Enough to be prepared.” Gavin replied as he opened a drawer to his left and pulled out a partially full bottle of whiskey and a small, unmarked kit. Connor eyed him for a moment, but decided it wasn’t worth the headache.

Gavin sat on the counter with some difficulty and Connor had no choice but to help him, as his arm was of no real use. Once there, Gavin opened the whiskey bottle with his teeth and took a deep dram of the amber liquid. Connor immediately took hold of the bottle and pulled it away.

“What the fuck, Connor? You gonna make me go through this stone cold sober?” Gavin asked bitterly.

“You’re the one who refused to go to the hospital, where they could ease the pain you’re about to feel. You have no room to complain and I need you lucid.” Connor said simply. Perhaps a small part of him enjoyed mocking Reed, but he tried not to think on it too much.

Connor turned to look at the supplies he was given and felt his eyes flutter as he downloaded the necessary program to properly sew stitches. He considered asking how Gavin also had access to the items required to do this, but was certain he’d probably either not get a response or would get a bullshit one.

Connor lifted the hem of Gavin’s shirt, glancing to assess the damage, but knowing full well his first instinct was correct. He did his best to clean the wound, having Gavin hold his shirt up so he could work. Connor noticed he was in pain, but he gritted his teeth against it.

“Since we have some quiet time, are you ready to tell me why you hate me so much?” Connor asked, figuring anything that distracted Gavin would be better than letting the man suffer.

“Because you’re a brown nosing cunt who - FUCK! The hell Connor?” Gavin roared when Connor threw caution to the wind and straight up applied the chemical cleanser without care to the wound.

“Sorry. My hand slipped.” Connor replied stiffly as he grabbed another piece of cloth and tried to be more gentle. Gavin glared at him, still tensing for the pain he no doubt anticipated, but Connor was content with letting the snide remark go.

“What do you care whether or not I like you anyway? We’re not partners, so why the hell should you give a damn?” Gavin asked, choosing his wording more carefully this time as Connor dabbed around the edge of his cut.

“I’ve only been trying to figure it out since day one. You’d think I personally wronged you in some way.”

“If you haven’t noticed, I’m an asshole to all androids.” Gavin replied. Connor’s eyes lifted and he noted Gavin had been watching him, but the moment their eyes met he quickly looked away.

“That’s not true, actually. What about Nines? You show him more regard than you ever have for me.” Connor said pointedly, not faltering in his look. Something passed over Gavin’s face, it was minute, but it was there. A moment of panic, then recovery.

“Nines does as he’s told. He doesn’t get in my way or stop me from doing my job.” Gavin replied and his eyes came back to Connor, side glancing him, then looking down to where the small cat was perched on the floor, watching them. It moved gracefully, wiggling its tiny behind before it jumped on the counter beside Gavin and stepped on his thigh. Gavin opted to focus there.

“Nines also is still an android. It’s very simple Detective. I. AM. ALIVE. I’m not a piece of furniture for you to do with as you please and until you learn this, it will be the primary cause of our arguments.” Connor said in quick succession. How many times must they have this conversation, re-worded in so many different ways?

“I’m in fucking pain here. Can’t you give me a break, just once?” Gavin asked and Connor noted his voice sounded weary. The cat at his thigh pressed its face into Gavin’s palm and he gave it such a momentary look of tenderness that It shocked Connor. Then it walked further up Reed’s leg, jumped effortlessly onto his shoulder and stood there.

“That’s not really sanitary for what we’re doing Reed.” Connor began, but found himself intrigued by how the cat walked behind Gavin’s head and laid itself around his neck and shoulders so casually. Its foot disturbed the leather strap that usually hung around the Detective’s neck, dipping down into his shirt. Connor had always wondered what that was, but opted to not pry.

“The cat stays. He’s more of a comfort than you are.” Gavin said, but it wasn’t as mean spirited as it might’ve normally been, because the cat was rubbing its face against the stubble on his chin. Connor just watched, forgetting himself momentarily. Who the hell is this and what did he do with Gavin Reed?

When Gavin’s eyes came back to Connor he seemed to remember himself and that look of indifference came back. It broke the momentary spell and Connor continued working.

Silence hung between them as he worked, except for the purring of the cat on Gavin’s shoulders and the occasional groan or gasp of pain from him as Connor used skilled hands to suture up the cut. He preferred the silence, not remembering a time when the two of them had been so close and not blowing up into a full argument.

He wasn’t sure why this gentler side of the Detective intrigued him. He did not even know he had a pet and never would’ve guessed he could be affectionate with anything. But as long as Connor pretended not to notice, Gavin lavished the animal with attention. Had he ever seen the Detective smile where it didn’t feel like he was baring his teeth as a threat? No, not around Connor. In the pain, he sought comfort in the animal and it seemed to sense his need of it. It never left his shoulders, nuzzling and pawing at the man the more his discomfort seemed to peak.

When he was done with his side, Connor moved to roll up the sleeve on Gavin’s shirt. This wound was superficial in comparison to the other and needed nothing more than a bandage. He stepped into Gavin, the Detective’s knee brushing the inside of Connor’s thigh. Gavin jumped, startling the cat, but did not remove it.

“Careful.” Gavin said in a low tone. Connor tilted his head, trying to figure out what exactly had set the Detective off. Gavin moved his knee, unable to meet Connor’s eyes and with a slight blush filling his cheeks.

“You do realize I have no genitalia to injure, correct?” Connor said innocently enough, but Gavin’s face went a bright shade of red almost instantly at his words.

“Why the fuck would you tell me that?” Gavin asked, obviously startled by this admission.

“You feared hurting me, didn’t you?” Connor asked in reply.

“That is so fucking weird.” Gavin continued with a groan as he covered his face with his one free hand.

“I’m a prototype, Detective. What use would I have for - “

“STOP talking. Please? Just, stop.” Gavin begged, still not looking at him. Silence hung between them, awkward to say the very least. Then Reed broke the silence. “Your arm. It’s injured.”

Connor looked down to observe the blue blood soaking through his jacket arm. He pulled his arm out of it and found his white dress shirt was covered in blue as well. Connor shrugged his jacket off, laying it neatly over the kitchen chair. When he turned back, Gavin was moving tenderly off the counter.

“Wait.” Connor called out as he went to help the man down. Reed waved his hands away, the cat still laying around his neck like a scarf. It yawned, unbothered, and Connor wondered if this was a natural thing for these two with how contented it was soaking up the Detective’s warmth.

“Get on the counter.” Reed said suddenly as he reached for the small, unmarked kit he’d had hiding with the whiskey bottle. Connor eyed it curiously, but when Reed turned and noticed him not moving he added, “Get a move on.”

“I’ll be fine. Once I’m back at the office I can use one of the android repair kits to patch up my arm. You needn’t worry.”

“What the hell do you think this is?” Reed asked as he opened the small container. To Connor’s surprise, it was an android repair kit. A crudely put together one, yes, but still exactly what was needed for superficial wounds like what Connor had. He stared at Gavin, who seemed to be getting flustered by Connor’s sudden attentions. “What?”

“I’m just surprised you’d have something like that so readily available.” Connor responded truthfully. He wouldn’t think that Gavin would even care enough to keep something like that around.

“I have an android partner. Why wouldn’t I?” Gavin asked, glaring at him. But there was something else there and for the first time, in a long time, Connor saw something in his peripheral vision. It was faint, but unmistakable as it ghosted into his vision.

Software instability ^^

It had been over a year since he’d deviated, since he’d broken free from his programming. These programs were gone and yet, for whatever reason, it had shown on his periphery screen.

Without knowing why, Connor obeyed and sat on the counter without any argument. Reed moved close and looked awkwardly at his arm, stared, then looked away.

“You’re gonna have to remove your shirt. I can’t get to it and if we need the soldering iron I wouldn’t recommend putting it close to fabric.” Gavin said simply. He wasn’t looking at Connor, but focusing on the cat on his shoulder instead.

“Of course.” Connor responded and began undoing the buttons on his shirt. Connor didn’t know why, but there was static in the air that seemed to intensify with each button he undid. Gavin wasn’t looking at him, but he felt like he was being watched anyway.

Once the shirt was open, he slid his arms out of it and laid it neatly beside him. He turned to look at the cut and as he figured it wasn’t anything to worry about. He would likely be scarred from the soldering, but that wasn’t important. He turned back to look expectantly at the Detective, but stopped.

Gavin was still looking away from him, arms crossed at his chest. Connor noted something else of interest. Gavin’s pulse was elevated. He’d attributed this to stress and pain as he worked on Gavin’s wounds, but now he wasn’t so sure. His eyes could see piloerection forming on the man’s forearms; goosebumps. And the red hue that had been on his face had traveled down his neck to the skin peeking out from the v neck shirt he wore.

“Gavin?” Connor asked when the man did nothing. He saw him take a deep breath, closing his eyes momentarily, exhaling. Then his eyes turned, focused hard on Connor’s and faltered. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah. Just a little light headed from blood loss. I’ll be fine.” Gavin responded. But when he moved towards Connor, he caught a downward glance that became fixated on his thirium pump regulator. As if involuntary, Gavin’s hand came out and moved as if to touch it, but recoiled after a moment. As if he didn’t realize he was doing it.

The static intensified and made Connor’s skin prickle.

“Are you sure you’re okay Gavin? The wound is superficial and can wait if you’d like to sit down.” Connor offered, completely confused by this sudden change in demeanor. The whole time his cat perched, unbothered and suddenly unnoticed by Gavin as his eyes focused on Connor’s bare torso. Connor saw the man’s eyes dilate.

Software instability ^^

Gavin moved closer, setting the kit to one side of Connor’s hip, then taking his hand in his own to position Connor’s arm where it would be easiest to work on it. All Connor could do was watch, oddly fascinated by whatever phenomena was taking over the Detective and possibly…himself. This was new and fascinating to him. Exciting, even.

At one point, not wanting to focus so much of his attention on Gavin, Connor lifted his hand and stroked the back end of the cat as it purred happily. He saw Gavin’s eyes glance towards his hand, stiffening slightly until he realized its destination. He shook his head, blinking with a short breath as he set back to task.

“Okay. That should do it. Grip my hand.” Gavin said as he lifted his hand in front of him. Not in a handshake, but in fully open palm in front of Connor. He pressed his open palm to Gavin’s, entwined their fingers and gripped. “No malfunctions or weakness?”

“No. It feels just fine, actually. Thank you.” Connor replied genuinely, but Gavin was not quick to release his hand. Connor eyed him, that curiosity itching so much to be scratched. What was this? He felt his own thirium pump shift, more static. This was having a physical effect on him he could not place, the longer Gavin held his hand like that. “Gavin?”

In an instant, he hand let his go and he turned back to the table to place everything back into the kit.

“You should be good now. Probably best if you left. I should get some rest.” Gavin said quickly, but something else caught Connor’s attention as Gavin turned his back on him. Blood on the back of the Detective’s shirt. Another wound he hadn’t seen.

“Gavin. You’re still injured.” Connor said as he hopped down off the counter and walked over to him. He felt Gavin tense as he took the rim of the neckline on his shirt and pulled it down a bit.

“It’s okay. I can do it.” Gavin said quickly.

“It’s on your back. You can’t reach there. Take off your shirt and I’ll get it for you.” Connor offered. When Gavin didn’t move, he added “As soon as I make sure it’s nothing bad I will leave. You agreed to this earlier, remember?”

Gavin sighed, lifted his hands to gently remove the cat from his shoulders. He sat it onto the floor where it remained, staring up at them as if disappointed to no longer be a part of the situation. Then, begrudgingly, Gavin put his hands to the hem of his shirt and tugged upwards. For a moment, Connor caught the flash of something blue glint as it moved at the base of Gavin’s neck, then he realized that it was an LED. Unmistakably, his LED.

Gavin’s eyes followed his no doubt startled looking ones to the necklace at his chest and realization dawned there as he turned away, scrambling to get back into the shirt. Maybe hoping Connor didn’t notice?

“Gavin…” Connor began, but Gavin just started walking away from him. Without thought, he pursued the man as he entered his bedroom off the living room. Gavin tried to close the door, but Connor pushed it open easily as Gavin stumbled backwards. “Is that my LED?”

“It’s not what you think.” Gavin said quickly as he stood by the bed, arm out as if Connor might punch him. But Connor didn’t feel anger. He didn’t know what to feel, because he didn’t know why a part of him was hanging around Gavin Reed’s neck.

“Is that my LED?” Connor asked again. “Let me see it.”

He stepped forward, hand outstretched to pull at the leather straps that held it up, but Gavin smacked his hand away. That startled him, but did not stop his pursuit. Gavin grabbed at his hands, trying to prevent him from seeing it again and Connor found himself struggling with the Detective, being pulled towards him, hitting the bed and straddling over Gavin as he yanked the man’s shirt down. It was his LED, still glowing a dim blue as it pulsated against Gavin’s chest as his heart rate elevated quickly.

Gavin was breathing heavily and that red hue was more apparent on his chest as Connor held the shirt collar open. Gavin’s eyes were lidded and suddenly Connor realized something. Like all the puzzle pieces were falling into place.

“You-” He began, but Gavin leaned up quickly and pressed his lips against his. Connor’s eyes widened, unsure of what to do, but finding himself intrigued. Fascinated. He could analyze the alcohol still left on Gavin’s tongue as it ghosted between his lips. His body temperature peaked, the open eyes watching him fully dilated and a scent lingered between them, coming from the Detective’s skin. Gavin took his bottom lip between his own and tugged. Connor felt something at this, but could not define it and that only made him pursue it more.

Static.

———-

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[sumeshi-t]

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Notes: this was for @writinginstability‘s 500 and 1k writing challenge (yep im that anon. and for the 1k wc i’m sorry i forgot to send in an ask about it). uuughghhhh idk how i feel about this i’m hella dumb at writing, hence why it is titled this way; and this was my fourth try at writing the story but that’s it. leaving this crap out here so yeah. :----) **also i edited it because i realized i left something out??? like seriously all I had to do was copy and paste this from word i can’t believe??? i’m so ashamed pls forgive me

Pairing: deviant!Connor x reader

Word count: 2671

Prompt: Bliss (from the 500wc) | “I guess this is all I have left of you.” (from the 1kwc)

Today was a special day... at least, for Connor.

A certain RK800 began with slow, calculated steps up the porch, each piece of wood creaking loudly beneath every step he took. Somehow, deep inside he still recognized this emotion and associated it with fear and anxiety; what he was about to do would not only surprise you but more so, himself.

But he couldn't help it; couldn't help falling for you. You treated him differently... in a good way, in the best way, that he still thinks he never really deserved it.

Soon after Connor became a deviant, you were kind enough to offer him a place to stay in, since Hank was acting like a spoiled kid, refusing to share his house, followed by a lame excuse saying that he didn't want to babysit a plastic cop. (Though everybody knew that if Connor, or basically anyone else insisted, their situation would have been the other way around).

He finds himself smiling softly, a small and faint, "I'm home," escaping through his lips. Connor raised a hand to rest it on the door knob to check if it were locked. Lucky for him, it seems you still weren't home. 

And no, he did not jump in through the windows because you gave him his own keys.

Connor picks up on the post-it note that you left on the wall as he entered, that you were "getting some paint stuff from Markus because he lost a bet". 

Sure, Connor never stopped working for the DPD, but he was also a key into aiding Jericho's success. Somehow, you asked to tag alongside Connor when they had to discuss some matters, so you got to meet and be acquainted with its leader. It just turned out that he used to be the Carl Manfred's android. You were a fan of the man's artworks, and somehow you found yourself a friend in the android with... heterochromia. (But once Markus had told you that part of his story, you garnered respect for the reason behind his differently colored eyes.)

Connor immediately went to the bedroom, and if he had real functioning lungs, he was sure he'd have air get caught in it. 'Maybe she left the note a day ago.' He thinks to himself, and sighs. The case he was currently working on took away lots of his time from you.

It would seem that it was one of your off days from your work, and you promised yourself to take a sleep in.

Connor reaches out to place his hand on your face, and rub his thumb across your soft cheek. If he could, he would've gulped. The lines on your face told Connor you weren't getting younger, nor stronger, each passing day. 

He shook off those thoughts from his mind and let you be, watching the steady rise and fall of your chest as you lied peacefully by his side. He left the precinct after Hank went ahead after midnight. So he was sure the lieutenant was also going to be late, or worse, not go to the DPD at all; so why not let him, the android with his own rights, be late too? Or even better, skip work that day? 

He missed you, is that not enough of a reason to file a leave?

Your mouth parted slightly in your slumber, and he especially liked it that you were wearing one of his clothes, slightly loose and hanging off your shoulders on one side, your scent lingering on them even after you remove it.

One of his hands trace the outline of your face, brushing away the few strands of hair that blocked you from his view, and some of it were beginning to gray. His eyes traveled through each one of the lines and creases on your face, and Connor made sure to take them in to memory.

You stirred, before pulling your body closer to his. Connor smiles, his thirium pump accelerating, and still he wonders how you seem to make him feel that way each time spent with you. Were you secretly an android programmed to do that to him? 

Silly, he knows that you're nothing like his kind. 

You were so much more, to an android like him.

His hand slides down to the curves of your body, and stops by your waist, hand resting at the small of your back. Five minutes more, he says to himself, and then he's gonna wake you up.

You groaned when light penetrated through the windows after Connor manipulated the blinds open. He chuckled a bit at your grumpy mood before he littered your face with butterfly kisses, and you just couldn't be pissed at him, brown eyes so intent on your own, like two cups of hot chocolate on a cold winter day. 

Your face flushed as you soon smiled, red blood pulsing through your veins that contrasted his blue, blue thirium pumping through his system.

"Hey? Connor?" He still didn't respond, and you smirked slightly. "Cat got your tongue?" You chuckled, and this broke him from his trance. Despite his internal dictionary, and thousands of sources of words, he cursed himself for being so speechless when it comes to you. "It's called art appreciation, I just couldn't help it."

The compliment then made you blush, and your heart beat faster. Shit, since when did he become that smooth? This time, it was Connor's turn to smirk, not needing to run a scan on your vitals to be certain that he made you feel butterflies go crazy in your stomach. 

His level of stress lessened at that, and it even gave him a bit of confidence.

Connor always listens to you, as you tell him about your day that was spent without him.

"I waited for you last night, but I fell asleep..."

Your android looks at you apologetically, and this prompted you to pull him in for a kiss. 

"Guess what I found in the attic? It still works," 

You twisted a bit, after rubbing sleep off your eyes; reaching for something on the floor. You told him you spent the rest of the night before, tinkering on an old polaroid camera.

Connor sees you snap your head up in his direction, as he probably called out to your name in confusion. 

You grin, Connor sees your figure sit up, holding the camera with one hand while the other grabs him by the arm and forced him to do the same on the bed. Your finger pointed towards the camera lens while you rest your head on his chest. 

Connor blinks a few times after the flash of light, then you both waited for the film to develop, just in each other's arms. You raise your hand up, asking him to put his palm against yours. You once saw Markus and North do that same thing and it intrigued you. Somehow, you could even call yourself jealous because androids have such a way to connect with each other. "Do the thing," you whisper, and Connor instantly understood what you were referring to. 

You could see his real, plastic self, and you could never get tired of being in awe at him. You interlaced your fingers with his and kissed the top of his hand. "I should be the one to do that." he tries teasing you, but you both knew how much he loved it, loved you even more every time you did that.

"...I wish we could stay like this for much longer," 

Connor's LED turned yellow, then quickly turns back to blue, careful not to alert you of his hidden worries. Although you were probably referring to him having to go to work, butfor the android it's about humans and their lifespan. 

Connor learned and witnessed it through so many ways that humans are quite fragile: when you ran to chase after Sumo and fell, spraining your ankle; when he gripped your hips too hard on one heated night, leaving bruises; heck, even paper can cut a human's skin. 

That's why he always made you his mission after becoming a deviant.

After the photo was developed, you hand it over to him, and he in turn, reaches for the book he has yet to finish due to his busy job. Connor has vowed to use the photo as his own bookmark. 

"I have decided not to go to the DPD today; I'm sure Captain Fowler wouldn't mind."

You snort, "Sure he won't. Just hope that Hank gets in or else you both are gonna get your ears blown off the next day," 

"I need to make sure that you don't miss me too much." He gets hit on his chest and you suddenly get out of bed. He watches you go, but he stays behind as he digs for something inside his suit, then plays with it as though it were one of his little coins.

^Software Instability

Connor offers to cook breakfast for you, proceeding to carry out the first part of his plan to spoil you.

"I sense something today; you're being too sweet. Not saying I don't like it, but I wonder what's in that android brain of yours?" You tell him before taking a first bite into your favorite morning meal. Connor did his best to remain composed at you having caught onto him again.

Soon after, you both staggered, dancing to your favorite song on the way to the back door, one where it led to the garden you'd spent hours beautifying, tending to each plant while your android lover watched over.

There also stood a bench, situated before a tree that was there ever since you were but a child. One of you hit a foot on that bench's leg, losing balance and hitting the ground, limbs tangled with each other.

Your laugh sounded so refreshing and Connor couldn't help but join you in it. From behind you, he found the source of that little mishap, the colors of which were now dull and faded.

You made your way to the tree to get some shade, and sat there, leaning on the trunk. You pat the space beside you and Connor follows.

"You're really going extra on me today. What's up? Just tell me already," 

"I guess this is all I have..." he paused, his hand cupping your cheek, and the other reaching for something in his suit. You lean into his hand with a serene smile on your face, feeling his warmth spread across your skin. Connor returns the smile with one of his own, albeit shy and hesitant, and eventually shows you the small, simple ring he's gotten for you. You gasp at it, and tears brimming your eyes as you simply nod your head, unable to form any words out your mouth. 

You felt a tear drop to your cheek as Connor leans down to gently place a kiss on your temple. 

Once he pulls away, the edges around his vision began to blur, static filling in at steady intervals.

But he wasn't afraid.

Instead, his smile grew wider, another tear rolling down his cheek.

"...all I have left of you."

Connor continues his previous statement that he simply whispers to himself. He takes another look around him and what his current reality truly was.

The ring in his hand was no more, and instead was just one of his quarters. Connor gripped on it before he returns the coin back inside his pocket. 

His head shot up and saw the garden you worked so hard on, was now nothing but a bunch of weeds; old, withered, cold and dead. Connor tried to tend to it but after your passing, the android couldn't bear to return and be reminded each day that he wasn't really a human; because he could not age and therefore, would not die. He found that unfair, you were unfair for being human and for making him feel like a human.

Truthfully, there were a few times he wished he had never gone deviant. Maybe he never would have suffered the pain of losing someone dear to him; of grieving over someone who has given his life, his existence, a whole new meaning; someone that he...

...loves.

But it would've been more painful to never have had the chance to experience such a powerful emotion. It would be more painful to never have had the chance to be with you.

Despite his memory cache glitching, making him see you from your youthful self to the you with white hair and wrinkled skin, Connor would never forget the way your eyes used to shine. Those eyes that never aged, eyes that gave him warmth, that ignited a spark within him and made him happy that he was alive.

Warnings about his system shutting down in a few seconds bombarded him, but he couldn't care less. He's been around far too long enough and Connor even wondered why he stayed. 

A world without you was not a world he wants to further live in. 

It's been years and Connor only wanted nothing more than to be with you again.

"Connor, where will you go?" Your voice was now muffled in his hearing, but the android continued trying to process one of the last pieces he's had of you.

Connor looks at you once more, and back then he didn't have anything to answer you with. But now, he was sure of it.

"Where else but to you?"

He once said that there could hardly be any heaven for androids. However, as his system collapses, Connor swore he could really feel your hand on the side of his face, lowering it to your level. 

Connor faintly feels your lips brush against where he knows his LED would be. He caught a glimpse of you, and everything felt so real, he was sure that you were truly there with him; alive and healthy just as you were years ago. 

"I love you Connor. No matter what people still say, I never loved any other human or android the same way as I loved you. Always remember that," 

He tried reaching out to finally kiss your lips but his vision blackens out, and all he could see were warnings about his biocomponents and the amount of time he has left before shutdown. Connor could even feel his thirium pump decelerating. 

Your android couldn't be happier.

"And I never forgot. I can't wait to see you again, love," his voice didn't sound like his own, like a typical machine losing power. 

Connor leans back on the tree, looking up at the sky streaked with pastel colors that were being reflected on his lenses. However, he could no longer see the beauty it held. You were the last masterpiece that he saw and for him, nothing would ever outshine your beauty.

He was ready now. Connor still couldn't believe he'd survived being alone for such a long time without you in his life. 

Five seconds. His eyes flutter close, the wind weaving through the loose strands of his hair.

Three seconds. Two. Connor's lips move, feeling your name escape through him as his last 'breath', the sound of it going on deaf ears and carried away by the wind.

One.

[ REC0NS?¿RUCT CO¿?PL3TE ]

Connor's head slightly bows, then tilts to the side, the blue LED flickering once before it shut off completely.

The autumn breeze makes the leaves fall all around him, making the whole scenario nothing but peaceful. It was as if Connor was just in a state of permanent sleep, eternally dreaming, reunited with you in his quaint version of heaven, a garden he used to tell you of but never got to see and recreated it in your own little way.

If one were to take a closer look, the android that was once regarded as a deviant hunter, held a smile of pure bliss that would forever be etched onto his plastic features.