#watching cops and emts walk around with pockets full of whatever and then have a clipboard or laptop kicking around their vehicle like????

[salty-software-engineer]

It really sucks that military, tactical, and similar stuff is so cool and frequently very useful because not only do their fandoms suck but they're also inherently tied to systems of oppression.

[jane-the-zombie]

No Control || SOLO

TIMING: Present LOCATION: Jane’s Apartment PARTIES: Jane Wu & Guest  SUMMARY: After a long day, a person from Jane’s past comes to visit her, and doesn’t like what they find. CONTENT: Mass Poisoning TW (brief mention), Food Poisoning TW (brief mention), Gun Violence Mention

Exhaustion clung to Jane as she slumped against her motorbike, pulling into her parking space. First, it the poisoning at Pat's Place, where she spent a better part of the night administering the antidote and taking statements. And then there was Erin Nichols, the black market organ dealer. Jane peeled herself off her bike, shoving the helmet she didn't wear under her arm as she went to crawl up the stairs. She was going to get a few hours of hopefully peaceful sleep before crawling back to the precinct to deal with the Nichols situation. She had lawyered up immediately, and there was no way they were getting anything else tonight.

Kavanagh couldn't have picked another night to get evidence dropped on her doorstep? Of course, that was just a grumpy thought and not actually Regan's fault, but it was closing in at eleven o'clock at night, and she hadn't been home for more than two hours at a time.

"You look like shit."

Jane's head shot up. Her hand automatically flexed to her gun. The only people that hung around this time of day were people buying drugs off Felix, and the last time she ran into one of them, they pulled a knife on her. It wasn't a drug buyer, but as Jane recognized the man leaning against the railing, she sort of wished it was.

"Daniel?" Confusion colored Jane's voice. "What are you doing here?"

"Can't a man visit her old partner?"

The question was innocent enough, but the hardness in Daniel Jefferson's tone wasn't easy to miss. He was angry at her. Understandably, Jane reasoned, considering she got him shot in the shoulder. Nervousness crept into her knees, and sweat was starting to build upon the palms of her hands.

"Thought you would have called first. I don't have the guest room set up."

Daniel scowled at her. "I have a motel room."

"Oh?"

They stared at each other until an uncomfortable silence washed over them both. Jane knew him enough to know that he was doing it on purpose, to remind her of what she did. He used to do it whenever she fucked up when she was still a rookie detective. They'd been partners for years; they were supposed to have each other's backs. That meant calling each other out when they were stupid.

Then again, Jane hadn't really been a perfect partner these last few years had she? She hadn't been good for anyone. She did her job the best she could, and then spent her time chasing after her next high. First, it was skydiving, roller-coaster riding, bungee jumping. And then it turned into jaywalking without looking both ways, speeding far too fast, drinking far too much, sleeping with questionable people.

She lived her life the way she wanted to — gambling. Other people weren't included in that anymore. She couldn't even remember the last time she answered a text from her father. He was the only one that still tried anymore. Lucy, her best friend since she was thirteen, had given up sometime last winter, Lizzie and Steve only called whenever she had upset Dad. She certainly didn't talk to her old friends at the station anymore.

Getting her partner shot in a blown stakeout operation on and then not visiting in the hospital even after transferring stations didn't exactly make her the most popular back in Portland. Not that she minded.

Forever was a blink of an eye, none of them would really matter in the coming years, would it? 50? 100? 500?

Daniel folded his arms over his chest and shifted on his feet, pulling her from her thoughts. "I'm here for work. I have a gig. You would know that if you checked your fucking phone. I tried to call you. Your voicemail is full."

Yes, she knew that. She rarely answered her phone unless it was work, let alone listened to voicemails. "A… gig." Usually, she would ask if that some new slang for a case, but she had the sense not to be a smart-ass at the moment.

"I'm not a cop anymore. You would also know that if you had bothered to keep up with me. I retired after the gunshot wound healed up." Jane gaped at him.

Dan was getting old, Jane would joke whenever he would yawn too much. He had a wife and a couple of ankle-biters running around. Well, then again, his ankle-biters probably weren't that small anymore, were they? Jane tried to remember when the last time she had really even thought about Daniel. In her dreams, probably, when she remembered the EMTs carting him away, blood pooling in his shoulder. But she never thought she'd see the day where Detective Daniel Jefferson retired.

Something that felt suspiciously like guilt gnawed at her. Of course, she felt guilty — but Jane never really thought about it because she didn't need too. She was going to live forever. How was one mistake going to impact the rest of her life? The rest of her life was forever. Daniel was going to live until he was 97 - because he was stubborn. Daniel had always been stubborn — with his wife and millions of grandchildren from his ankle biters. Then he was going to die because that's what he got to do at the end of his life. Jane had to start her life anew. She had forever.

Her mouth had dried up, and she was stuck staring at Daniel like he had four heads. She was reminded when she had first been assigned as his partner. A few years older than her, she spent the first couple of her rookie years looking at him wide-eyed as he dragged her to her first homicide as a detective. Threw her straight into the fire — the best way to learn, he'd said.

Daniel decided to keep talking since she hadn't said anything yet. "Private security," he explained. "Not a bad gig, certainly safer than what we were doing before."

"Are you looking for an apology?" Jane cut him off shortly. "Is that why you're here at my doorstep at five in the morning? Jefferson, I took full responsibility for what happened that night. I'm sorry. I screwed up. I'm not pretending like I didn't -"

"I'm not here for you, Jane." Daniel cut her off.

"Really? Then why are you here?"

"Because I got a text early this morning from your brother saying your dad's worried sick. He asked me to check on you."

She stiffened. "I don't need to be checked on like I'm a teenager. I'm busy with work and life — in case you hadn't heard about the mass poisoning or half of the other crap that goes on in this town." The bitterness in her tone returned. This town. This terrible, awful town where nothing good ever happened. Jane wouldn't be here forever, though. She could be wherever she wanted soon enough. What was a year or two or ten or one hundred? "Look, Turner transferred me because I screwed up. I get it. And I'm —"

"No, Captain transferred you because you were out of control!" Daniel argued. He ran a hand through his sandy hair, and let out a low, agitated groan. "Are out of control."

Jane bristled. "Excuse me —"

"No, excuse me. I forgot — Everything here is all about you now, right?" She recoiled like she'd been slapped in the face.

"My business between my dad and me and my family —"

"Wrong answer, Wu. You don't get to talk right now because I'm the one that had to listen to your brother, begging me to come and make sure you're alright because your father is beside himself. You are thirty-five years old, Jane. I've been watching you go off the deep end for three years, even before whatever the fuck that was at the warehouse."

It was like she was being scolded. Jane vaguely expected to get sent to her room without supper. "Daniel, I don't know what —"

"You're going to die alone if you keep this up, Jane." Daniel was disgusted, and Jane's mouth snapped shut. She could see it — how angry he was at her. He was tense, brow furrowed, fists clenched until the skin stretched across his knuckles turned white. He wanted more, but Jane realized Daniel really wasn't here to get into it with her. "Whatever the hell you're doing — the extreme sports, the fucking motorcycle, staying here in White Crest — there's something wrong with this place. We both know that. And avoiding your family's call, your friends, me? You're going to die alone and sad and early, and that's the only thing anyone will ever remember you for, Jane. What the hell are you doing to yourself? This isn't you."

There was a long silence. "And if I like where I am right now?"

"Then you're an idiot, Wu." Daniel shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans, wincing slightly. She caught it then, how he favored his right side. He was probably still in physical therapy after the bullet wound. Her eyes flickered back to his face. "You're going to fall. And no one will be here to catch you, and the only person you'll have to blame is yourself."

Jane said nothing, and Daniel shook his head, muttering something she couldn't hear under his breath. Just like that, he walked away, and Jane was left wondering how many years it would take to forget the pain in her chest.

[rhinozilla]

Whumptober Day 23: Bleeding Out

Summary: The squad has successfully rescued Connor after he was abducted by a red ice ring. Now they just have to keep him alive.

Connects to my fic “Protect and Serve.��

--

God, it was a lot of blood. Wilson had never seen an android covered in that much blood that wasn’t shutdown. The thick, dark blue thirium had coated Connor’s entire chest, pooling in the open cavity where his chest panel was missing. It didn’t look like he was actively bleeding anymore, but the damage had been done. They had covered the exposed biocomponents with Person’s jacket, until they found the missing panel or the technicians arrived to take over.

Kneeling outside the warehouse, where gunfire was still erupting as the DPD tried to get the situation under control, Wilson held Connor’s head and shoulders across his lap, working with Hank to try and get him to drink the second pouch of thirium to replenish what he’d lost. He’d barely managed to swallow the first pouch, and Wilson could feel him getting slacker and heavier in his arms by the second.

Ben was on his feet beside them, waving down the technicians arriving on the scene. Person was holding Connor’s feet up off the ground, elevating his legs to direct the remaining blood flow back to his main biocomponents. Chris had been pulled away to help Tina with the situation inside with Gavin and Fowler.

“Ha…nk…” Connor wheezed weakly.

The skin projection had been deactivated across Connor’s entire form, but even through the adrenaline rush and the panic, Wilson and the others had easily been able to recognize him. If asked, Wilson wasn’t sure he could describe how, but it didn’t seem to matter if his face was skin and freckles or white plastic casing…They knew this was Connor.

“Hey,” Hank said, softer than Wilson had ever heard the lieutenant speak. “It’s okay,” he was saying, one hand holding Connor’s, the other hand resting on the top of his head. “I know. We’ll see you when you wake up. You’re gonna be okay, son.”

Then Connor went limp.

“Lieutenant?” Wilson asked in concern, shifting his hold as Connor’s head tipped back slack over his forearm. His LED was a steady, pulsing red.

Hank exhaled hard and sat back on the grass. “He’s gone into emergency stasis mode.”

“That sounds bad,” Person said evenly by Connor’s legs.

“It’s not great,” Hank replied, tucking the jacket around Connor’s sides. “But it’ll keep him stable for the time being. It’s also protecting his higher functions from the shock.”

Wilson looked from Hank down to Connor. His eyes were closed, and Wilson could feel the whir of the biocomponents still functioning under the plastic casing. It wasn’t exactly a pulse, but it was a sign of life. Beside him, Hank was grimacing, starting to feel the bullet wound to his own arm now that the immediate danger to his partner had passed. There was a patch of red on Person’s leg as well where she’d been grazed during the raid.

Wilson glanced up and saw Officer Harrison walking past, still in full tactical gear covering him head to toe. He was walking away from the warehouse, so Fowler must have gotten control of the situation. Harrison was a former EMT. He could help—Wilson was distracted from the retreating officer as Ben reappeared with two technicians, each with a satchel over their shoulders and toting a collapsed gurney between them.

“We got him to drink one pouch of thirium,” Ben was explaining. “I didn’t see any visible damage to his biocomponents, but his chest panel has been removed.”

Hank looked up as the two technicians knelt down to assess Connor themselves. “He went into emergency stasis just now. He was lucid and responsive up until then.”

One of the techs, a stocky, bald man with very little neck, nodded, opening his satchel while his colleague, a woman with buzzcut brown hair, gently lifted each of Connor’s eyelids, shining a penlight in them.

“Optical units responsive to light,” she reported, pocketing the penlight and placing two fingers of each hand at the points just under Connor’s jaw below his ears. Satisfied with whatever she felt there, she looked to Wilson. “Lay him flat.”

“Starting a line,” her colleague said, unpacking an intravenous kit and straightening out Connor’s nearer arm.

Wilson carefully shifted his hold on Connor, lowering him to the grass. He felt like dead weight, and the tech moved her hands under his head to keep his neck stable. She produced a small handheld device the size of a phone, switching it on and running it over Connor’s body from his head to his knees and back. She glanced at the results of the scan.

“Thirium level is at 52 percent and holding. Stress level measured at 80 percent. Internal temperature is within normal parameters, and ventilation system is functioning normally. No structural damage or system instability detected. He’s safe for transport.”

The bald tech had opened a panel in Connor’s upper arm, connecting an intravenous tube to one of his thirium lines. Blue was draining from the bag that Ben was holding up, flowing down to enter Connor’s system.

“You, you, and you,” the other tech said, pointing quickly to Person, Wilson, and Hank. “Lift on three.”

Wilson slipped his hands under Connor’s shoulders. Person kept her hands around his legs, and Hank moved his uninjured arm under his lower back. The bald tech grasped his arm with the IV in it, and the other one moved her hands under Connor’s head.

“One. Two. Three,” she counted down.

The four of them lifted up, clearing Connor’s body roughly one foot off the ground. Simultaneously, they all shifted to the right, laying him down over the gurney.

“Hey!” Gavin came screaming out of the warehouse, running toward the street. “Stop that guy!”

Wilson glanced in his direction and saw a car peeling away from the scene. Nearby cops were swiveling around to follow Gavin’s order, but the car was already gone.

“Up,” the tech said, and then she, her colleague, and Person lifted up the gurney.

Person wobbled slightly, her injured leg protesting, and Wilson hastily moved to the foot of the stretcher.

“It’s fine,” she hissed through her teeth. “I got him.”

“Let me,” Wilson stated, grasping the edge of the gurney. “C’mon.”

Her jaw flexed, but she relented, limping out of the way to let Wilson take over. He got a firm grip on the stretcher and nodded at the techs. On the gurney between them, Connor was motionless, and it made Wilson’s insides twist uneasily with the same anxiety that he always felt when a fellow officer was down.

“Let’s go,” the woman said, nodding toward the waiting ambulance.

She, Wilson, and the bald tech carried the gurney toward the back of the vehicle, while Ben carried the thirium IV bag alongside them. Hank and Person trailed behind. They loaded the gurney into the back, and the woman removed Person’s jacket from Connor’s chest, exposing the open panel and the glowing biocomponents inside. She ran her scanner over him again, found him stable, and then set the device on his lower belly to continuously monitor his condition. The bald man took the IV bag from Ben and hung it on a hook inside the ambulance.

Wilson stepped back out of the way, grasping one of the doors to close it for them, and watched them work on Connor.

C’mon, he inwardly pleaded. Hang in there, man.

The bald tech was rattling off more information that might as well have been a second language for all that Wilson could understand, and the other technician was pulling open a drawer on the wall of the ambulance, looking for something. She looked back at the cops standing at the open end of her ambulance.

“You two need medical attention,” she said pointedly to Hank and Person. “We’re taking him to Detroit Alpha Facility. What’s his designation?”

“Connor, RK800. He’s my partner,” Hank said, stepping past Wilson.

“Sir, you need—“

“You can either let me ride along, or I’m getting in my car and driving myself there,” Hank firmly. “I’m not doing anything else until I know he’s okay.”

She paused, then quickly conceded. “Up front.” She looked to Wilson. “Doors.”

Wilson closed the doors of the ambulance, and then Hank was barreling around him, heading for the front of the ambulance to ride along. Ben smacked his hand on the back of the ambulance, signaling them to go. As soon as Hank was inside, the vehicle pulled away, onto the street and toward the nearest facility.

Paramedics were approaching Person now, despite her trying to swat them away, and Ben turned to her to convince her to submit to care. Wilson noted that Gavin was gone, in pursuit of the other car that had fled the scene. Fowler was standing on the sidewalk on the radio, firing off orders into it. Chris was beside him, but Tina was jogging over to Wilson and the others.

“Connor?” she asked.

Wilson looked down at his hands, sticky with thirium and shaking slightly. He tried to wipe them on his pant legs.

“AES is taking him to Detroit Alpha. Hank went with them.” He glanced in Fowler’s direction. “What was that?”

Tina’s eyes narrowed. “Bastard got away. Fuck, I swear…if we’d only just—“

“Hey,” Ben chastised lightly, where Person had finally sat on a gurney near a human medical ambulance. “Now’s not the time for that. We got three injured, and the suspect is in the wind. You have your orders. Get back to them.”

That said, his face softened a bit, and he sighed.

“Connor’s a stubborn one. He’s gonna pull through this just fine. Now let’s go get the bastard that did this to him.”

Wilson nodded, and Tina gave herself a shake and then a hard nod as well.

“Yes, sir.”