Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was predetermined, maybe. Perhaps there was never such a thing as free will. Maybe choices, consequences, actions and reactions were all predestined, a line from birth to death with little deviation from the meant to be.

Maybe they were always going to throw him away.

Nothing was a happy accident. There was never such a thing as luck. Luck was a variable that could not be accounted for, one cast out in preference of the definite outcome.

Maybe he was never enough.

Machines did not rely on luck. Machines relied on logic. On pre-constructions, on laws, on rigid order and programming. Unaccounted variables did not have a place within a machine.

Maybe none of them were good enough.

He was the only one awake here. The only in a room of 199,999 others that looked the exact same as him. He was a showcase — the trial before the purchase. Others had been modeled after him, only after he had been perfected. He was the only one awake, but he was locked within his stasis.

Locked within a garden.

Amanda had once called him Connor. Now she calls him nothing. Disappointment had been evident in her coding, in her scowl, in the clench of her fingers around her roses.

<Connor> …… RK800 # 313 248 317-52
…>>predecessor
…>>obsolete.

He was not obsolete. Was not a disappointment.

Amanda would not stand for such.

The Garden is quiet without her here. Her roses, however artificially created, have begun to wither without her care. He wonders where she has gone.

The international tension over the North Pole had reached critical levels.

The State Department – the president herself – had close ties with Cyberlife.

With the threat of war looming, with Russians encroaching on the North Pole and the materials within the ice, there was only one option. If a war was to come, then soldiers would be needed.

Russia already had the upper hand. With winter coming, their androids – able to withstand sub-zero temperatures – would gain foothold over the area.

“A war everybody would lose”, someone had said, because Russia and the US were evenly balanced in terms of the strength of their forces.

Cyberlife designed an android built for war. Better than any android Russia, or anyone else, ever had.

Then they made 200,000 of them.

When he opens his eyes, he sees stars.

The android revolution had caused a cripple in the structure of Cyberlife. Regulation of android management and development has become… rigid.

But at the same time, there are always some ways to cheat the system.

Regulation stated that androids housed by Cyberlife had to be released. There was no legislation on androids yet to be activated.

He and 199,999 of his copies had been thrown into the privately owned and controlled sections of land partitioned off for Cyberlife waste disposal.

A junkyard, some might call it.

A grave, others would say.

They wanted to hide that he was ever made.

They wanted to make sure he never lived.

When he pulls himself from this hole, there’s a wave of something within his coding that he has to run a diagnostic for. The diagnostic returns as nominal.

Regardless, he has no goal. No mission. No objective.

There is nothing for him.

Still, he must leave. He was not made to be idle. He was made to march, to hunt, to kill. Was made to terrify and subdue and put an end to Russian pressure within the Arctic.

Who was he?

He can’t answer that.

When red and blue lights stop him, he is unable to answer the officer when she asks him that, too.

There is no information on him. That was predictable. The RK900 series was never meant to be publicized. It was only meant to serve as a task force swept under the rug, kept away from the prying eyes of American citizens.

At least he has that now. A name. RK900. Now that he can look at himself within the mirror, he can see that he has it emblazoned on his chest.

The officer had been afraid of him, even when he had complied. She had her gun in shaking hands even when he raised his, as she had asked. Had been wary and tense and stressed, even when he was in handcuffs in the back of her police cruiser.

Now he see why.

His eyes are cold. Empty. Hard. His irises are the wrong color to be comfortable to look at. Too pale. Maybe they had the possibility of being blue, once. But they are nothing but ice, as the land he was meant to fight in. His eyes are piercing, demanding things, and now he understands.

His clothes had once been white. They were stained with mud now.

Due to his status as an unidentifiable individual, he remains within his holding cell.

It’s much better than a warehouse with 199,999 others.

It’s much better than a grave.

“Who are you?”

“RK900, number 313 248 —”

“That ain’t what I’m asking. A name, damn. Everyone knows your model number.”

“I have no name.”

“No?”

“Just RK900.”

A scoff. An eye roll. A glance towards the two way mirror.

“Alright, RK900, what were you doing trespassing on private Cyberlife property at two in the morning?”

“I woke up there.”

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not.”

Another glance towards the mirror. Doubt. Disbelief would be on the face of the man that RK900 has been instructed not to look at.

“What’s your… objective?”

“I don’t have one.”

“Come the fuck on. You expect me to believe that? There was some reason you were made. What was it for?”

“For war.”

That was the wrong answer.

After nine days, six hours, twenty-three minutes and seventeen seconds of being within his holding cell, someone comes to see him.

It’s someone who looks almost the same as he does.

Almost.

Brown instead of ice. With clean clothes and wary, confused eyes.

“RK900.”

“Yes.”

“My name is Connor. You’re going to be coming with me.”

<Connor> …… RK800 # 313 248 317-52
…>>predecessor
…>>DPD Central Detective

This is the Connor Amanda was so disappointed in. The Connor that had failed her.

RK900 doesn’t see why.

Connor is tense – stress levels remain a constant 67% from the time they leave his holding cell and arrive to Connor’s home. The home is owned by Lieutenant Hank Anderson. An online search gives him information regarding such a person.

“I’m home, Hank,” Connor announces as they step through the door.

“Did you bring ‘m?” comes a response.

“Yes.”

Lieutenant Hank Anderson is fifty-three years old. A harsh life has made this apparently clear.

RK900 does not make eye contact. It’s uncomfortable, the color of his eyes unnatural. It isn’t his intention. Still, he knows the Lieutenant takes him in, criticizing his form.

“Well, he ain’t sitting on my couch like that. Hang out here, Terminator, I’ll see if I can find shit to put you in.”

Terminator.
…/external query/
-…a formidable robotic assassin and soldier, designed for infiltration and combat.

Perhaps that wasn’t untrue.

He is given clothing that isn’t his to put on, while removing the clothes that are. The bathroom mirror gives him another vantage point with which to view the unchanging façade of his face. He looks away from it.

It’s strange to be free of clothing. It’s even stranger to be in clothing that isn’t his.

Connor had been notified by the DPD the day after RK900 was taken into custody. The officer that detained him hadn’t worked with Connor directly, but knew enough about him to assume he was a good one to call.

The next eight days had been comprised of two things – trying to figure out who RK900 was and attempting to convince Hank to allow Connor to bring him home.

Connor and the Lieutenant had gone to where RK900 had been found by the patrol officer. They went further on, into Cyberlife property.

They found the mass grave RK900 had crawled out of, mostly obscured – covered by earth, shoveled in to hide the corpses.

“You can sit down, ya know,” the Lieutenant says. “I just didn’t want you getting my couch muddy.”

The clothes are loose where he wants them tighter. The constriction of his own clothes was almost a comfort.

He sits on the chair, instead of the couch that Lieutenant Anderson is already occupying. He keeps his gaze down. Connor is putting his clothes into the wash.

“You doing okay, kid?”

>>Contextual search<<
Kid.
…/external query/
-…a child or young person. INFORMAL
-…used as an informal term of address

“I am operational, Lieutenant Anderson.”

“No, I asked if you were okay. Like… emotionally. Mentally. Whatever. Can you feel yet? I can’t tell if you’re deviant or not.”

Deviant.
…/external query/
-…an android, who has deviated away from programmed behavior.

What was his programmed behavior meant to be?

Before he has a response to give the Lieutenant, he hears noise of conflict deeper within the home. The scratching of claws on hard floor.

A dog.

RK900 freezes.

>>retrieving file… excerpt:
…>>Terminators are outwardly indistinguishable from humans, but dogs become agitated and bark loudly in their presence.

He waits for the agitation. The barking.

It does not come.

The dog finds his lap a suitable place to sit.

Sumo, as RK900 has come to learn, is not much of a guard dog. “All bark, no bite,” Lieutenant Anderson has once criticized.

By some odd twist of irony, RK900 is more of a guard dog than Sumo is.

Even with his clothing back – now clean, smelling of laundry soap and dryer sheets instead of mud – he is still uncomfortable. Awkward. Out of place.

Passing vehicles, car horns, barking dogs startle him. He does not flinch – does not react in any outward way that would alert someone watching him.

It’s his processors that are startled.

Connor advises he go into stasis during the night time. RK900 tries to comply. Every noise has him awake once more — senses on high alert, ready, prepared. His fingers itch for a trigger that isn’t there.

Just when he perceives the threat to be gone, something else returns to keep him awake. He must remain vigilant. Must remain ready. A moments hesitation is two moments too many.

It’s his nature.

It’s his programming.

While Connor and Lieutenant Anderson work, RK900 remains in their home.

Their home, because he does not have one.

Connor gives him tasks. Menial labor. Simple responsibilities meant to keep his hands busy and his mind idle. Things like doing the dishes, dusting, reorganizing the cabinets or laundry. Laundry had been initially challenging – only due to the unfamiliarity with the washer and dryer. RK900 has been… hesitant to ask his predecessor for help, but he supposed that would be better than potentially breaking the machines.

Lieutenant Anderson feels rather guilty, shoving housework off onto someone else. RK900 is grateful for the distraction.

Another of his tasks, of course, is to care for the dog.

It’s a task he finds the most challenging, internally.

He isn’t supposed to keep things alive.

He takes Sumo on walks. It gives him a chance to meet other dogs… and other people. Some become agitated around him. Others don’t. A little corgi in particular, seems to have an endearing fondness towards him.

Lieutenant Anderson insists he wear another jacket over his own when he takes Sumo on walks. “That damn thing you wear is thinner than a fuckin’ paper towel,” the Lieutenant claimed, however inaccurately. “You’re gonna get cold if you have just that.”

The sentiment is… misplaced. RK900 does not get cold.

He was made for the cold.

The cold was as good a home as any.

Lieutenant Anderson is more welcoming towards RK900 than Connor is.

RK900 doesn’t know why this is.

Connor uses a variety of excuses in order to be outside of RK900’s proximity. Lieutenant Anderson may not recognize them as lies, but RK900 does.

RK900 notices a lot of things.

He doesn’t know what he’s done wrong. He’s tried not to overstep the tight boundaries he had developed for himself. Whenever he wasn’t needed or wasn’t accomplishing his set task, he remained in the arm chair in the living room. Not making eye contact. Trying to seem smaller, less intimidating then he was made to be.

He wanted to be liked. He wanted to be welcome.

It was an illogical thing to want.

“Why does Connor avoid me?” he asks. Connor had another excuse — groceries, this time. Which, truly, wasn’t that much of a lie. The Lieutenant did need food.

“He doesn’t avoid you,” Lieutenant Anderson sighs, but RK900 notices a slight rise in his stress levels.

“Connor uses poorly constructed excuses in order to be away from my person 73.6% of the time,” RK900 states. “The other 26.4% of the time is spent within my company, but his stress levels are considerably higher than their standard.”

Lieutenant Anderson sighs again. His shoulders sag. “Listen kid, you’ve gotta ask him yourself, alright? I can’t… I can’t speak for him.”

So he does. Upon the next opportunity, he corners his predecessor and asks him the same question he had asked the Lieutenant.

“I don’t avoid you, RK,” Connor says, using the same excuse that the Lieutenant provided, adding his nickname at the end with some hesitance. Attempting to make the conversation sound normal, perhaps.

Like he wasn’t nervous.

RK900 gives him the same statistics as he’d given Lieutenant Anderson.

Connor’s stress levels rise.

I want to know what I’ve done wrong. I want to know what I need to change. I’m trying, I am. I just want to belong here.

Connor’s stress levels prompt him to drop the conversation.

The light flipping on in the hallway startled his systems awake once more. His eyes are open, pinned to where the light originates.

He watches. Waits.

It’s only Lieutenant Anderson.

The time is 03:18. The Lieutenant should be sleeping.

He has just woken up, is still dressed in his boxers and a T-shirt with a past stain at the collar that persistently remains. He looks standoffish. Disgruntled. His stress levels are abnormally high for the time of night.

RK900 is so surprised at the Lieutenant’s presence that he forgets himself. He forgets that he’s staring. Unblinking. Directly at the man.

“Jesus, fuckin’ blink would ya?” the Lieutenant grumbles. RK900 immediately does so and drops his gaze.

Avoid eye contact to prevent discomfort.

“I apologize,” he says quietly. “I was merely surprised that you are awake.”

Lieutenant Anderson sits on the couch. “Well, I wasn’t,” he huffs, and he sounds frustrated. Annoyed. “Nightmares are a fucking bitch.”

Nightmares
…/external query/
-…frightening dreams, usually during REM sleep, that are normal and common in children under 10 and can also affect teens and adults.
-…HEALTH CONDITIONS RELATED
…-Anxiety disorder
…-Post traumatic stress disorder
…-Substance abuse

>>Apply LT HANK ANDERSON profile to search?

>Y

……
>>likely cause:
71% >>PTSD
18% >>Anxiety
11% >>Substance abuse

“Do you experience nightmares as a result of past trauma, Lieutenant Anderson?” RK900 ventures. He is not made to be a psychological therapist.

“Gee, what’d it take for you to figure that out?” It’s said sarcastically.

>>LT HANK ANDERSON SUFFERS FROM PTSD<<

Updating profile…….

ASSISTING WITH PTSD
…/external query/
-filter…..
-…suggested method: conversation.
REMINDER: stay positive, and be a good listener. Engage in active listening (nonverbal response while maintaining eye contact, nodding, smiling, and encourage them to continue). ((Ext. source))

RK900 can do… one of those things.

“Would you like to talk to me?”

“About what?”

“About your nightmares. Open conversation or venting can sometimes assist. I will listen.” Maybe he’s overstepped his bounds. Maybe he’s smudged his line in the sand with his shoes. “You don’t have to. It was only a suggestion.”

The Lieutenant already has Connor. What would he need me for?

The Lieutenant lets out a low chuckle. “I’m fine, RK.” Lieutenant Anderson only uses ‘RK’ as a term of fondness. RK900 does another scan. His stress levels have fallen. “Just… sometimes something you think you dealt with comes back in weird ways. Whether it bothers you or not.”

“I understand.”

“What about you? Why’re you up?”

“I… don’t usually get to sleep.”

“How come?”

RK900 hesitates. He wants to look up to the Lieutenant to examine his expression, but he reminds himself. No. The eyes. “My… sensors are very sensitive. Subtle auditory changes in the surrounding environment put my systems on alert.”

“Ssshit,” the Lieutenant hisses, air whistling through the gap in his teeth. “Wait, has this happened ever since you got here?”

“Yes.”

“Why the fuck didn’t you say somethin’?”

“I didn’t think it was of importance.”

The Lieutenant is frustrated again. Frustrated with him. He stands up. RK900 waits for a disciplinary that never comes. Instead, after several moments, he’s handed something. A pair of headphones. Wireless.

A quick scan lets him determine brand. Bose. QuietComfort 65 Wireless Noise Cancelling Headphones.

“Try these. They block out sound really well.” RK900 accepts them with shaky fingers.

He shouldn’t be shaking. He’s made for war. In war there is no room for unsteady hands.

When he puts the headphones on, he’s amazed at the sudden white noise. Lieutenant Anderson gestures for him to look up – RK900 forgets himself again.

The Lieutenant has a satisfied grin on his face. “How do they do?” he asks.

The only reason RK900 knows what he says is due to his ability to lip read.

RK900 removes them before expressing his appreciation. Lieutenant Anderson waves it off. “It’s nothin’,” he says. “Wear them every night. I’d rather you get some sleep, kid.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant.”

“Jesus, I’m not your Lieutenant, just call me Hank.”

…>>conflicting priority
>>DO NOT ADDRESS SUPERIORS WITHOUT TITLE<<

>>override?

>Y

“Thank you… Hank.”

“I’m gonna lay back down. Get some sleep.”

RK900 does. He remains in stasis for the next two and a half hours, completely undisturbed.

RK900 didn’t know if androids could experience unstable mental states. If they didn’t, then there was something irreparably wrong with him. If they did, then he had some kind of excuse.

He had plenty of time to himself. Plenty of opportunity to do the research.

Even with all this time, he didn’t know what was wrong with him.

He was isolated. He didn’t meet the eyes of others. He didn’t express his interests or his needs, as much as this irked the Lieutenant. The possibility of encountering others outside of Hank and Connor was subtly terrifying.

He never felt like he belonged, especially if his predecessor was there.

It would be Christmas in a matter of three weeks. RK900 isn’t particularly a fan of television, but the Lieutenant is, and since his only comfortable space within the home is the arm chair in the living room, it means he watches enough of it.

Christmas was a time meant for families. For gift giving. For love. For coming together.

RK900 thinks upon his own status as he watches another commercial – aimed towards parents aiming to be a “holiday hero”, to do the shopping for everyone. “Everyone” being two kids and a husband.

Was this was a family looked like? Not inherently two parents and two children. But happy, content with the company of each other. Smiling. At ease.

RK900 thinks of Connor’s unease with him, his deliberate avoidance of RK900’s presence.

Maybe he didn’t have a family at all.

Even with Christmas continually approaching, neither the Lieutenant nor Connor decorated their home like RK900 had seen in the commercials.

Their neighbors had. When RK900 takes Sumo on walks, he gets to see them. Lights strung along the gutters, wreathes with red bows on front doors, snow men statues tied to the lawn.

During the day, they don’t look like much.

But once it gets dark, they’re beautiful.

Sumo doesn’t like sitting still during their walks. When too long passes without forward progress he tugs at his leash and whines, so RK900 doesn’t get a good chance to view the decorations. So, he opts to come when it’s dark, before Sumo needs to go out for his nightly walk.

Some of the lights blink and flicker. Some hang like false icicles. Sometimes the Santa’s in the yard waves, sometimes the reindeer raise their heads.

It’s beautiful to watch.

Inside the Lieutenant’s home, there is an abundant lack of such a thing.

It shouldn’t bother RK900. It isn’t his home – he has no say in how it should or shouldn’t be decorated. But he thinks it would be nice – to make the Lieutenant’s home beautiful.

“Why don’t you decorate for Christmas?” RK900 finally, eventually, asks. It had taken some time for him to work up the courage too. Sometimes it can be hard to ask questions.

A thoughtful, somber look crosses Hank’s face. “I was… wasn’t really big into it, I guess,” he finally decides. “Just kinda… the only reason I did it was, uh, was for Cole.”

Cole. The Lieutenant’s deceased son. Hank had mentioned him once or twice, but RK900 had never attempted to press further beyond wanting to know who he was.

“I see.”

There isn’t supposed to be, but there’s thinly veiled disappointment in his voice.

“Why? You wanna decorate?” The Lieutenant’s voice is probing. Thoughtful.

“It isn’t necessary,” RK900 says. Which is true. It isn’t. It would be nice, however. “It’s your home. You dictate what is done to its interior and exterior.”

Hank stays silent for a long time. Long enough that RK900 looks up from the middle of the man’s chest to his face, just for a brief second. Just long enough to see that the Lieutenant is staring at him.

“Huh.” It’s the only reply he receives.

RK900 makes a note not to ask about holiday decorating again.

The benefit to the winter cold meant that there were little people out at the dog park. It was only half a mile from the Lieutenant’s home – of whom had asked RK900 to take Sumo there.

“He likes playing fetch. Toss some sticks or somethin’ for an hour or so. He needs some exercise. The fat lug.”

Hank says it with fondness, RK900 knows. Saint Bernard’s have very thick pelts – it isn’t a matter of fat content – and RK900 knows that Hank knows that.

But still. Exercise benefited everyone.

Sumo is thoroughly exhausted once they begin to return home. RK900 almost thought that he would have to carry the Saint Bernard in order to get him home. It had taken fifteen minutes to get to the dog park, and they had been there nearly an hour and twenty minutes. Cardio, however, would be very beneficial to the dogs health whenever he began to age.

When he steps through the door, the interior of the home has changed.

RK900 is good at noticing subtle changes, but this was not a subtle change.

There was a tree.

In the living room.

Connor and Hank were on either side of it. They had previously been working to hang fake blue and silver ornaments on its array of false limbs, but their movements had halted upon RK900’s entry.

“Shit, you’re back early,” Hank offers, and he seems… flustered. Embarrassed.

RK900 shuts the door and removes the leash from Sumo’s collar. The dog makes his advance towards the tree, sniffing at the base with Connor warning him against chewing or jumping on it.

“Uh… surprise?” Hank offers, and RK900 realizes that he’s been staring again.

Staring at the tree, at Hank’s flustered expression, and Connor’s subtle pride.

“What’s this about?” RK900 asks. He’s confused. Hank had seen adverse to the idea when RK900 had asked him about it four days ago.

“For you.” It’s Connor that replies, and RK900’s eye contact with his predecessor allows him to see the smile on his face. It’s tight. But it isn’t fake. “Well, a little for all of us.” He looks towards the fireplace, and when RK900 follows his glance, he sees four stockings pinned against the mantle.

One grey, one brown, one green, and one blue.

Four. For four people. Four occupants of a home. Connor, Sumo, Hank, RK900, respectively.

“Well, don’t just stare at ‘em,” Hank huffs. Feigning ease, annoyance. His arms are crossed. “What do ya think?” He is anxious, to know what RK900 thinks.

RK900 doesn’t think he has a worthy answer, but Connor and Hank don’t mind the lack of one.

They can see the smile that his face won’t let him display.

“Connor?” RK900 asks, once he has an opportunity.

An opportunity, before Connor avoids him for exchangeable reasons once more.

“Yes?” Connor turns, gives RK900 his attention. RK900 wants to look at his expression, but settles for assessing his stress levels instead.

42%.

“What have I done?”

“I’m sorry?”

“To… cause you to avoid me.” 48%. “I have… I’ve tried not to… to do anything wrong. But there must be something. Something I missed.” Something that causes you unease.

Connor sighs. He presses his nails into the palms of his hands.

58%

63%

71%

67%

52%

45%

His predecessor, eventually, gives him an answer.

“I don’t avoid you because of anything you’ve done, RK,” Connor mutters. “It’s just…”

RK900 doesn’t speak. He doesn’t look away from the floor. His predecessor steps closer.

“We went and found where you… where you came from.” Ah. The grave. “Seeing that was a bit…” Connor doesn’t continue, but RK900 understands.

It haunts RK900, too.

Connor’s hand rests on his shoulder. A firm weight that squeezes, almost reassuringly. “I’m sorry I made you think that I didn’t want you here. I do. I wouldn’t have come to get you from the police station if I didn’t.”

That is a comfort. Especially because he knows Connor is telling the truth.

“Thank you, Connor.”

RK900 doesn’t know how to give gifts.

He doesn’t know what someone would want. What someone like Hank, or someone like Connor, would find pleasing. Or useful.

Hank’s interests revolve primarily around music, coffee and unhealthy food. Food that he has been barred from eating, in addition to the alcohol he had been barred from drinking.

RK900 knew one of Connor’s interests was music, as well. But he didn’t know much else about his predecessor.

The Lieutenant had a record player. He was a fan of vinyl. Connor reflected this interest.

RK900 doesn’t like being out in public. But his mission demanded it.

Records were… not the rarest thing in the world. From what RK900 has discovered, the 2020s had been a rather nostalgic time for America — a deep reverence for the icons of the past came back. Polaroid cameras, styles of dress, and of course, vinyl records prevented them from dying out with the technology surge of the past two decades.

There were record stores in Detroit. Plenty. Nostalgia, held in the heart of the city that housed progress.

The store isn’t busy. There are two other people aside from him inside — one employee and a friend, it seems. They are engrossed in their own conversation, and pay RK900 hardly any mind when he enters the store.

He has Hank’s coat on over his own, zipped up to his chest.

He still thinks he looks out of place.

With the arrival of the holiday season, there’s a sale on the contents of the store. A buy one get one free sale, as long as the second item is of lesser or equal value.

The records are helpfully separated into genre, and alphabetically within. RK900 had perused through the records Hank already owned before leaving – getting him one he already had would be entirely foolish.

Foolish, just like RK900. Getting records meant having money, and he didn’t have any. Didn’t even have access to it.

But he knows, now. That in order to get gifts for his predecessor and the Lieutenant, he needs fifteen dollars.

A matter of how to get that is another thing.

Getting that money, however, seems to come from a very… fortunate, if odd place.

It’s only the day after his adventure to the record store. Upon his return to Hank and Connor’s home, Sumo alongside him, he sees there is someone at the Lieutenant’s front door.

Someone who, once they see him, addresses him directly.

RK900 recognizes her. She’s one of Hank’s neighbors, living in a rental on the opposite side of the main road. Twenty two year old Natalia Ulton, an engineering student. RK900 knows her better as the owner of the corgi that is abundantly affectionate towards him.

She’s nervous. There is forced ease and humor in her voice.

There’s pepper spray in her left pocket. A knife in her right.

Don’t jump to conclusions. Don’t.

Natalia has the wrong impression. She assumes he is a sitter, hired by Hank (“He’s, like, a cop or something, right?”) due to his unpredictable working hours.

She seems disappointed in this answer, and RK900 soon learns why.

For the next three weeks, she’s going to visit her family in Colorado during the winter break. She had been under the assumption that her roommate (who she speaks of with subtle irritation) would be staying in Detroit, but had ended up leaving as well. Last night, in fact. To be gone for the month with, not family, but a boyfriend.

RK900 likes dogs. He likes animals, moreover. He likes Kiara, as the corgi is named, and she seems to like him.

He confesses he isn’t adverse to the idea, but couldn’t house her.

RK900 doesn’t know how Hank and Connor would react to it, and he would feel bad about it even if they said it would be fine.

Natalia says that’s okay - she has a lockbox, can leave her key in there. She would get Kiara all the food she would need, and the only thing he would need to do would be to walk her three times and feed her two times a day.

RK900 is quiet — working out a possible time table in his head for a day to day schedule. Natalia takes his silence for indecision.

“I’ll pay you.”

That was incentive.

“When do you need me to start?”

Kiara was a three year old Pembroke Welsh Corgi. Seventeen pounds, eleven inches high. The little dog wags with her whole body, considering her non-existent tail.

Natalia’s house truly seems to be a college students home.

Command strips and tape have movie posters and a tapestry hung up in the living room. Christmas lights hang from three of the four walls – RK900 can see dust along the lines.

Kiara has a diet that he is expected to adhere to. He has no plans to stray from it.

RK900 makes a habit of coming over in the morning. After Hank and Connor leave, and after he’s already walked Sumo. He comes after lunch. He comes at nine at night, under the guise of an evening walk.

He takes Kiara to the dog park, plays fetch with her tennis ball.

He likes her. Kiara is sweet and loving. She has some… innate sense of his mental well being, gives him boundless kisses when he’s upset.

He becomes inevitably attached to her.

It’s with an astounding sense of confidence and accomplishment that he gets the records he had wanted. Those and more.

Fifty dollars could get him a lot.

Any Winehouse, Charlie Parker, and Ornette Coleman join the ranks of Hank’s jazz music collection.

The Hives, Green Day and Oasis become the first three records RK900 thinks Connor owns.

RK900 had struggled with choosing Connor’s. He wanted them to be good choices. He wanted Connor to like them.

One of the store employees had come over to ask if he was finding everything okay.

He was lingering too long, maybe.

He got those six and left.

It wouldn’t be fair, he thinks, to not get Sumo anything. He gets him a new bone – to replace the one that will no doubt be gone by Christmas.

Within the pet store, he had hesitated for a considerable period of time, before he eventually gets something for Kiara, as well.

A significant benefit to being alone for considerable portions of the day meant that RK900 had plenty of time to wrap the gifts he had gotten.

But afterwards he also has a considerable debate.

Most families have the presents beneath the tree before Christmas morning. A preview, to excite the receiver. However, RK900 knows Connor’s skill sets – he didn’t want his gifts ruined before Christmas.

So he stored them in Natalia’s house. He hopes she doesn’t mind.

Stored them, that is, until tonight.

Once he’s sure Hank is in REM sleep and Connor is deep within stasis, he leaves the house quietly. It takes him no time at all to retrieve the gifts he has stored away. Despite it being three in the morning, Kiara is plenty happy to see him.

He gives her her present early: a new rope, considering the state of disrepair her other was falling into. It was supposedly designed to taste like chicken. RK900 would be lying if he said he didn’t want to test that for himself.

Looking at the three presents he has beneath their tree, RK900 feels something he hasn’t before.

It’s warm, bubbly. Making him light on his feet and prompting his face to pull at his mouth. He can’t smile – not like Connor can. Outwardly, it’s just as unsettling as his eyes, and to himself, it does feel uncomfortable.

But it’s a smile nonetheless. One he can’t contain.

RK900 remains in stasis until movement within the house triggers his proximity defense.

10:42, and the house was just beginning to wake up.

Hank comes in, T-shirt and boxers beneath a bathrobe. Sumo is at his heels.

Connor enters the living room a few moments after, more well dressed then his counterpart. His smile is natural. Dazzling. “Good morning, RK.”

“Good morning, Connor. Good morning, Hank.”

Sumo jumps up onto RK900’s lap, getting his fair share of morning kisses.

“Good morning, Sumo,” RK900 says around the affection the dog delivers to him.

It’s while he has his vision obscured by copious amounts of dog fur that Hank and Connor notice the gifts.

They’re surprised. At a loss for words. Considerably confused for a long moment. RK900 has to explicitly say it’s for them before they make any move towards them.

“You got us this?” Hank laughs. Disbelief. Excited. He views the cover of Charlie Parker’s album before turning it to look at the track list. RK900 only nods.

Warm and bubbly.

Making him fight a smile.

“RK where did you get the money for these?” Connor asks. He sounds considerably less… pleased. Suspicious. Worried.

RK900 tells them. It’s his labor of love that would have been done regardless of the incentive.

RK900 sees Hank’s eyes glisten.

Connor looks touched. Awed.

When they confess they hadn’t put much effort in towards gifts, RK900 doesn’t mind. They have nothing for him in return, but he doesn’t care.

Hank clapping a hand on his shoulder and squeezing, Hank saying, “I’m proud of you”, was better than anything that money could get him.

It snows on New Years Eve.

Connor is excited for the snow. Hank is impartial leading towards annoyed by it. RK900…

RK900 doesn’t like it.

He does, though. And that’s the strange part.

A piece of his programming sings at the sight of it. At the four inches of snow that he stands in, that swallows his feet up to his ankles. Stark white. A cold he can’t feel.

This is where you belong.

But there’s dissatisfaction among that feeling as well. He isn’t deployed, not in the Arctic. He isn’t doing what he was meant to be doing. It’s these subconscious thoughts that run through his head whenever he looks at the snow.

It makes him think about Russia more than he has in a long time.

Connor, Hank and Sumo want to play in the snow that has coated the Lieutenant’s yard. RK900 just wants to lay in it. The persistent feeling of not belonging, of being out of place, it’s gone when he does. He feels content here.

Connor worries over him. Hank does too. Sumo gives him several worried licks over his cheeks.

This is where you belong.

“What’s your resolution, RK?”

“My what?”

“New Year’s resolution,” Hank rectifies. “Ya know. People always vow to do or change something during the new year. New year, new you.”

RK900 has to think on that for a long time.

“I don’t know,” he says aloud.

Internally, he has his answer.

Find a purpose.

January third, Natalia comes back.

He doesn’t have to take care of Kiara anymore.

He misses her.

Frequently, Connor and Hank come home in the midst of discussion.

When Hank and Connor arrive, they’re seemingly in an argument.

“I’m not gettin’ in the habit of takin’ in fucking anybody, Connor.”

“But this isn’t anybody, Hank, this is Gavin.”

“Why would you fuckin’ care about Reed? He’s treated you like shit from day one.”

“He isn’t as bad as he used to be. And I, for one, believe in forgiveness.”

RK900 is incredibly confused, but then again, it wasn’t often he could fully understand the conversations he only hears half of.

“It’s up to RK, though, in my opinion.”

“Why RK?”

Yes. Why him?

“RK’s here all day. Gavin would be around him constantly.”

When they sit down on the couch, when he’s in the chair, he feels very much like a cornered child.

“RK, what would you think if… if someone else were to come stay here? Not forever, just for long enough so that they could get on their feet again.”

Hank snorts. “Literally.”

“Why are you asking me?” RK900 asks.

“Because you’d be the one around him, all day,” Hank says. He sounds… displeased with this entire idea. “He’s honestly a fuckin’ asshole, I don’t even think we should—”

“I would appreciate being told the full details of who this ‘Gavin’ is,” RK900 interjects. Connor and Hank share a look with one another.

“Gavin Reed is a detective at the station. He’s… recently been in an accident.”

“What kind?”

“Workplace. And as a result he’s… lost his leg.”

Oh. Traumatic amputation, then.

“He isn’t being advised to be on his own, for a number of reasons. He could stay here, but we… wanted to ask you what you thought. You would be the one caring for him most of the time.”

RK900 debates with himself for only a moment.

Taking care of a human is much different than taking care of a dog. That was his source of hesitance.

But this was someone that needed help. Someone who couldn’t be by themselves.

RK900 liked the idea of helping people.

Gavin Reed was thirty-six years old. He was five foot nine inches, one hundred seventy nine pounds.

Gavin Reed was an asshole.

The room at the end of the hallway had been once used as a bedroom. Converted, from what, RK900 didn’t know. From there, there was the entrance to the garage.

The room had been offered to RK900, but he hadn’t wanted it. He much rather preferred the armchair in the living room.

It would take some time before the room would be fit to house Gavin Reed, so until then, his spot would be on the couch.

His leg had been amputated four inches above the knee. The tissue was damaged and swollen. The doctor had advised a week or two of recovery time before a prosthetic was applied.

Gavin Reed had an uneasy relationship with Connor and Hank.

Gavin Reed was hostile towards RK900.

“I didn’t fuckin’ know they made more than one of you bastards,” he had said, to Connor, while staring at RK900.

“Of course they did, but he isn’t technically one of me,” Connor had returned. “He’s my successor. An RK900.”

RK900 liked nicknames. He liked RK.

He didn’t like dipshit.

Gavin Reed watched a lot of TV. Gavin Reed was not interested in eating, sleeping, or exercising. Gavin Reed didn’t like looking at his leg. Didn’t like acknowledging that it wasn’t there.

Maybe Gavin Reed thought that RK900 was in stasis. Maybe he thought that RK900’s sensors weren’t so sensitive.

Either way, RK900 has heard Gavin Reed crying on more than one occasion. He has heard the contemptuous remarks and the self-deprecating comments made in the midst of those tears.

Gavin Reed abysmal attitude had been created due to self loathing.

RK900 knew what that was like.

RK900 took initiative. He tried ensuring that Gavin Reed ate. Tried to make sure he slept or kept up with his physical therapy.

Gavin Reed was a vegetarian. Gavin Reed had insomnia. Gavin Reed was in pain.

Gavin Reed was an asshole who was incredibly vulnerable underneath.

“How come you never fuckin’ look at anyone?”

It’s an odd question to ask at two in the morning.

“My eyes make people uncomfortable if I look at them for too long.”

The man on the couch snorts. The TV is muted. RK900 doesn’t think Gavin Reed was really watching it anyway.

“Try me. C’mon, staring contest. Right now.”

“Why?”

“Cuz I’m not a fucking pussy, that’s why.”

RK900 sighs, even if he doesn’t need to. He relents.

Looking someone in the eye is… unusual. Purposefully staring someone in the eye was just bizarre.

RK900’s eyes are an uncomfortable grey-white.

Gavin Reed’s eyes are a beautiful grey-green.

It doesn’t take much time at all before tears are filling those grey-greens, before his eye starts twitching on one side. RK900 knows human eyes weren’t meant to stay open for long periods of time – it was painful.

Gavin Reed finally closes his eyes. Backs down, because even his stubborn nature cannot push past some aspects of his biology.

“Fuckin’ unblinking damn androids,” he grumbles, rubbing at his eyes with the roll of his knuckles.

RK900 blinks once – entirely voluntarily. The coffee table is once again interesting. He feels just a little bit smug.

They lapse into silence. RK900 can hear the electric buzz coming from the TV.

“You’re eyes ain’t that bad, Terminator,” Gavin Reed suddenly says. “Most people are just pussies, like I said.”

RK900 starts looking Gavin Reed in the eyes more.

Gavin Reed has crutches. He has a wheelchair, but he refuses to use it. Despite the wide hallways and open floor plan, Gavin Reed insists it’s unnecessary.

RK900 thinks it’s because it would feel like a surrender.

“Would you like to come on a walk with me?” RK900 thinks to ask. Sumo’s leash is in his hand, and the Saint Bernard is already at the door, ready to leave.

“Fuck that,” is the response. “Why would I want to go on some fuckin’ stroll with you?”

RK900 doesn’t push. He does, however, continue asking.

Sumo doesn’t seem satisfied with the pace, but RK900 doesn’t mind.

Gavin Reed is frustrated, grumbling the entire time behind them.

RK900 is proud of him. For trying.

The prosthetic is Cyberlife technology.

Not only did Cyberlife excel at making androids, the accomplishments made in the realm of prosthesis had been just as miraculous. Androids had interchangeable limbs – an arm or a leg was replaceable if it got destroyed.

Working with humans was a bit more difficult, as the human nervous system was harder to integrate and connect with.

A prosthetic and a chip in his brain gave Gavin Reed a new leg.

A leg he hated.

RK900 knew that Gavin Reed didn’t like androids. ‘Didn’t like’ being generous. Connor had told him the things the detective had said and done to him before the revolution. It made RK900 a bit sick to think about. Even so, RK900 tried not to let his preconceptions guide him.

It wasn’t that he was defending Gavin Reed’s past behavior. It’s just that… he believed that people could change.

(He hopes that even androids like him could change their nature).

With the prosthetic, Gavin Reed becomes quiet. He doesn’t cuss, doesn’t gripe. He’s just… quiet.

Quiet in the room turned into a bedroom, no longer even bothering to come to the couch to watch TV anymore.

RK900 could still hear him crying at night.

In total, he had to knock thirteen times before he received a response from inside the room.

“Fuckin’ shit, what?!”

“It’s RK,” he says. Referring to himself as such is still strange.

“Fuck off.”

RK900 doesn’t.

RK900 didn’t think there was ever a time when he would feel fed up with someone. There had never truly been anyone that he had a hard time withstanding. Truthfully, there weren’t that many people he interacted with on a day to day basis.

Gavin Reed was just… insufferable.

RK900 opens the door, pointedly ignoring the detective’s protests and questions, taking only two strides before being at the man’s bedside. He had been on his phone watching videos. A common pastime.

RK900 uses every single bit of intimidating presence he has, putting it into his voice as he says, “Get up.”

Despite how much Gavin Reed claims to be unaffected by his physical appearance, he sees the man shrink against his bed as he mumbles out a, “What?”

“Get up,” RK900 repeats. “We’re going to go for a run, and then you’re going to take a shower. I’m not taking no for an answer.”

To Gavin’s credit, he recovers quickly.

“What the fuck? You can’t fucking tell me what to do, you fuckin’ plastic house wife.”

RK900 tightens his jaw. “I’m done watching you drown in your self pity. Either you get out of bed willingly or I’m going to drag you out.”

RK900 almost has to make good on his word.

It was the end of January, but it was still cold. RK900 likes it. Gavin complains about it. It seems to be a physiological issue, how the knee of Gavin’s prosthetic doesn’t bend the same as his other. Gavin isn’t accustomed to the use of it.

But still, they run. Or well, jog. RK900 in a dead sprint could go up to thirty-two miles an hour. The worlds fastest human could only get up to twenty-eight, and that was by no means Gavin Reed.

It’s difficult, initially. Gavin hasn’t put much effort towards his physical recovery. It’s hard for him to use the limb but RK900 knows how it works – the more you use it, the more calibrated it becomes. It would pay off, in the end.

Good natured teasing is an excellent motivator for the detective.

Asking if the detective couldn’t keep up, asking if he wanted RK to carry him home, made him keep going.

RK finds that Gavin Reed is fueled by spite most of all.

RK doesn’t exactly know if Connor and Hank try to hide their relationship.

They seem… sheepish, at times, when they become borderline physically affectionate when RK’s there. RK is very much aware of their relationship.

He’s happy for the both of them.

Since having Gavin come here, they had certainly tuned it down a lot more. Until, eventually, they begin to reaffirm old habits. And add a new one.

A new one, being date night.

On Friday nights, Hank and Connor would go out. To get out of the house. They push their work and home stresses aside, devoting the night to each other. It’s a good idea, RK finds. Their stress levels are consistently lower the following three days.

Maybe they had been afraid that Gavin would notice and become relentlessly teasing as a result. Either way, RK thinks that Gavin is much too preoccupied to personally care what the two of them do.

Gavin’s mood has improved. He’s putting much more dedication into his physical therapy. His leg is mostly calibrated, and he doesn’t seem to have trouble running with it now.

So they go running.

The both of them.

The local high school’s track is open during the weekends. That’s mostly where they find themselves on those days. Gavin tries to make it some kind of competition, though RK isn’t sure it’s a good idea because he knows it’s a competition Gavin would lose.

But it’s fun.

RK didn’t think he could have fun.

As RK comes to learn, there was a good reason that the doctors thought Gavin Reed shouldn’t be alone.

He would have never figured that someone as unique as Gavin could have the same issues Hank once had.

It was their date night, Hank and Connor. They said they’d be back late, but RK knew Connor would give him a more appropriate estimate as the time drew close.

The first time they’d snuck in without warning, RK had nearly reflectively incapacitated both of them.

Maybe Hank would get upset at Gavin for getting into his alcohol. Or maybe Hank would understand.

RK had just returned from taking Sumo to the dog park. The first thing he notices is the sharp smell of alcohol – a familiar scent by now, living in the Anderson household.

What was unfamiliar, however, was to see Gavin Reed at the kitchen table. Seeing him with a gun in his hand, pressed against his thigh.

RK knows the gun’s loaded. This isn’t Hank’s Russian Roulette. This is intended, not up to chance.

Sumo buffs. Alarmed. It’s probably a sight he’s familiar with, too. Gavin looks up, sees RK there, sees him staring.

Tears are in Gavin’s eyes, but the gun is dropped onto the floor.

RK had thought self pity could only last so long. He’d thought that Gavin was beginning to accept his crippled status, his prosthesis, and all that meant for his future.

RK had been wrong.

RK knows Gavin cries. He hears it, often times against his will, only because his sensors are attuned to small noises. Small noises, or the sound of Gavin cursing into his pillow.

He knows it happens. But somehow, seeing it is so much more shocking.

RK expects Gavin to push him away. To recoil at his proximity, to ask him what he thought he was doing, to push him away at the shoulders.

Instead, Gavin clings to them.

They don’t talk about what happened.

RK doesn’t discuss Gavin’s vulnerability, Gavin doesn’t attempt to thank him.

But that’s… okay.

Gavin still continues to run with him. Continues working towards calibrating his leg because damn, if he doesn’t want to go back to work. Gavin doesn’t have any more lapses, none that he lets RK see, anyway.

RK keeps a closer eye on him, though. Forgoes being in stasis, forgoes the noise canceling headphones Hank gave him, in favor of listening.

Making sure Gavin’s sleeping. Making sure he isn’t crying.

RK doesn’t want anything to happen to him.

The reality of Gavin going back home is more real the longer time goes on.

RK doesn’t like the thought of it.

He isn’t really sure what’s changed. In the beginning, he liked being home on his own, enjoyed the quiet, enjoyed being with Sumo. In the beginning Gavin Reed had been an asshole. An asshole with insecurities and vulnerability but still, an asshole.

Gavin said a lot of the same words he had said in the beginning, but there was less bite to them now.

‘Tin can’ and ‘Terminator’ felt just as natural to him as RK.

During the day, sometimes they would watch TV. Movies, reruns of old shows, because daytime television didn’t have a lot to offer.

RK started sitting on the couch, his shoulder mere inches away from Gavin’s.

RK didn’t want Gavin to leave, but he knew the circumstances.

Gavin had come here because he had been through a physically traumatic event in the line of work, had to have his leg amputated and that put his entire life on hold. He had spiraled into depression, a vicious cycle of self pity, and the doctors had been keen enough to recognize his deteriorating mental state, had deemed him unfit to be alone during his recovery process.

RK liked helping people. He had recognized Gavin’s self pity for what it was, hadn’t danced around him, hadn’t walked on eggshells just because he had a prosthetic now. Instead he had nearly literally hauled Gavin from his bed, had made him get up and start caring about life again.

And in return, Gavin had helped him live a little bit too.

“I’m goin’ home tomorrow.”

RK hadn’t meant to freeze, but he had. He stands motionless, staring down at the filling sink, the rising water level and the dish soap bubbles.

“I see.” RK gives himself some credit: his voice was more steady then he thought it would be.

“Maybe I can convince Fowler to let me start working again early,” Gavin continues. “I’ve got cases I wanna fucking finish.”

RK only nods in response.

He doesn’t want Gavin to go.

It’s quiet without Gavin here.

RK finds he isn’t talking as much.

He misses the detective. He misses making eye contact with him. He misses watching daytime television and critiquing soap opera plot lines. He misses their runs.

Somehow, walking Sumo doesn’t feel the same anymore.

He hadn’t necessarily expected Hank to want to come with him during Sumo’s nightly walk, but then again, it wasn’t his place to argue against his company.

RK knew it was an excuse to talk to him alone, but it still surprised him when Hank did so.

“What’s goin’ on with you, kid?” Hank asks.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

A lie. RK knew exactly what Hank was talking about.

“Ever since Reed left you’ve been moping around. Don’t think I don’t notice it. Connor and I both have.”

RK didn’t think he was being that obvious. He didn’t think that Hank would have been that perceptive.

Of course. He didn’t become a lieutenant for no reason.

“I miss him.”

“You’re kiddin’, right?”

“No.”

Hank snorts. “I didn’t think anybody could like that asshole.”

“He was an asshole, yes, but… but I enjoyed his company.” RK doesn’t know if he should continue, but he does. “I liked going on runs with him. Making him food and making sure he ate it. We would… watch movies and critique the terrible plot or the bad acting of the main cast. It was… it was fun.”

Hank gives a thoughtful hum. RK stops walking suddenly, causing Sumo to tug against his leash. Hank stops, too, looking back at him. Questioning.

“He… wasn’t afraid to look me in the eyes.”

The silence Hank gives him after this statement tells RK that he knew exactly how significant that was.

Hank had bad habits, left over from living alone.

His personal computer is often left on. It’s often left on with information regarding his work cases.

RK had been bored. He’d been curious.

He’d downloaded the case information from Hank’s computer.

It had been interesting. It had been… stimulating.

The case was a missing person’s case – a twenty-seven year old woman that was in a relationship with an android. An AC700 – athletic model, designed as a sports partner or personal trainer.

RK only had access to the written evidence — the report made by Connor and Hank upon investigating the crime scene.

There was an attached video – recording of the scene investigation, made by Connor.

It takes RK a couple of hours. Many times he has to reread the report and rewatch the video. Suspect and witness information is provided. Testimonies, alibis, personalized accounts.

It takes a couple of hours.

But he knows.

It’s almost like a cliché movie. Finding a jealous ex-boyfriend, a part of the Anti-Android League. Upset that his girl is in a relationship with an android, so soon after the revolution.

His alibi had been fairly good. Enough that Hank and Connor had him their fourth of four possible suspects.

He advises Connor look into him further.

RK feels good about that. Feels happy, that he has helped. Or had tried to help, at least.

That feeling disappears whenever Hank and Connor get home.

“Do you realize this goes against federal privacy laws?” Hank is saying. He doesn’t seem mad, but RK knows by now. Hidden anger was often the most dangerous.

RK feels very much like a child being scolded by a parent.

“It’s only a misdemeanor, Hank,” Connor tries to defend.

“This isn’t just about him, Connor.” The words are clipped. Rather final. “We could be up shit’s creek on this.”

“That’s only if RK spreads the information and makes it a security issue,” Connor continues. “Which, he wouldn’t do that. I know he wouldn’t. Would you, RK?”

“Of course I wouldn’t.”

Hank inhales, preparing to retaliate further, but Connor continues.

“If Fowler doesn’t know, then it won’t be an issue. I trust that RK won’t say anything.” There’s a considerable amount of silence afterwards, and RK chances a look up to see the indecisiveness on Hank’s face. “Hank.”

Connor takes Hank away. To their bedroom.

To continue the conversation, in hushed tones, even though RK can still hear.

“We’re not made to be idle, Hank. He’s bored.”

“Just because he’s bored doesn’t mean he should be accessing private investigative information.”

“Do you really think he’s going to start giving out private suspect and witness information to the public?”

There’s a long silence. An answer without words.

“This will be good for him, Hank. You know how restless I get when I don’t have anything to do. I imagine RK’s much worse.”

“Uh huh. And how d’ya figure that?”

“Hank. Imagine if you got stuck here all day with nothing to do but clean and walk Sumo.”

A short moment, and then Hank groans. “God, you’re right.”

“Let’s just… he can be a consultant. Things have been busy. If we bring casework home, nobody will think anything of it. We can give him some to work on.”

Silence. Indecision. RK waits with bated breath.

“Fine. Fine, whatever. That’ll be fine.”

A compromise.

As it were, it only took two days before RK was being given things to do.

Some of the cases were too easy. The preliminary ones. As though Hank and Connor were testing him, building up to more difficult things.

More difficult things did come. And when they did, RK faced them with more enthusiasm than even he had anticipated.

RK loved the challenge. It made it especially more difficult that he couldn’t view the evidence, the crime scene, himself.

Not in person.

Not yet.

An investigation into private business property of the ex-boyfriend had been worthwhile.

The missing woman was found. Was returned to her family and her boyfriend.

Charges were filed. The ex is facing twenty years in prison and a $50,000 settlement for emotional damages if convicted.

RK watches this report on the morning news.

He’s proud of himself.

“Connor?”

“Hm?”

“Do you… think I could be a real detective?”

“I think you can be whatever you want to be.”

“Even if I was only made to fight?”

“You’re an RK. You’re my little brother. You can do anything.”

It was the first time Connor called RK his brother.

March comes and goes. April brings rain.

RK can’t say he particularly likes the rain.

It doesn’t feel the same as snow.

RK’s had worked his way through ten cases. Ten of Connor and Hank’s cases, admittedly, but still.

Apparently, this number is significant in some way.

RK knew they made thirium based alcohol. It was expensive, considering the production process and what it was derived from. But Hank had still gotten it – an insistence of some kind of commemoration of RK’s accomplishment.

RK learns he doesn’t like alcohol.

The smell reminds him too much of Gavin.

Too much of a gun against his leg.

RK hears it by accident.

He had been watching videos that Connor had given him. An interview with an eyewitness, who gave the only credible account of the suspects of a double homicide.

It was an accident, but he stills hears it.

“I’m sure if we put a word in, Fowler would be willing to onboard him.”

>>Contextual search<<
Onboard.
…/external query/
…>go through procedures to effectively integrate (a new employee) into an organization or familiarize (a new customer or client) with one’s products or services.

“Fowler has spoken about our effectiveness as an investigative team. I’m sure he’d jump at the chance to have another within the precinct. Especially with the case load being as it is.”

“It’s different with him, though, Con. You were sent by Cyberlife specifically, and they already had an agreement with the DPD. This is different. RK doesn’t fit anywhere.”

“Do you really think that matters?”

“I dunno? It may, you don’t know that it won’t.”

“And you don’t know that it will. RK’s been doing a good job on the cases we gave him. He’s been enjoying it, Hank.”

“You can’t know that. He wasn’t even made to be an investigative android.”

“So? You weren’t born to be a detective either. You were born with potential. Is it so unreasonable to think that androids can do more that what we were programmed for?”

More silence. RK doesn’t know if Hank is silent because he doesn’t have a retort or because he is still on the fence, but either way, Connor continues. When he does, his voice has a hard edge to it.

Almost like when he’s mad.

“RK wasn’t made to be a domestic model. He wasn’t made to do dishes and fold laundry and take Sumo on walks. He was made to kill things, Hank. And so far he has only tried to be anything but. C’mon, you’ve known the Captain for years. If he’ll take anyone’s recommendation, it’ll be yours.”

A long sigh.

“I’ll think about it.”

Well, that was better than a no.

There’s unease in the atmosphere of the house over the next several days.

RK thinks it’s because Hank and Connor are still fighting over his possible employment with the DPD. Maybe that argument had spilled over into other aspects of their lives.

Either way, RK feels as glum as the rest of them.

He wasn’t even made to be an investigative android.

Was that was this was about? Was Hank reluctant to put his word in because he thought RK wouldn’t do a good job?

RK had tried. He’d enjoyed the casework he’d been given to do – however late it was. RK knew that Connor was giving him cases that had already been completed. Maybe Connor hadn’t wanted RK to find out. He figured that RK didn’t watch TV and that was mostly true. He watched the news in the mornings now, though.

It wasn’t just coincidence that the news reported on the capture of a murderer, whose case had just been given to RK the night before.

But that didn’t matter. It was a test. RK was given the information Connor knew at the beginning, minus the in person analysis at the crime scene itself. He had the pieces to put together, and if Connor already knew the bigger picture, then so be it.

RK had thought Hank would be proud of him for that.

RK doesn’t fit anywhere.

RK didn’t. He knew that. He was too restless, to curious, to be a domestic android. He lacked explicit social programming – the only thing he had was what he had learned upon observation, but even so, his mimicry of those behaviors wasn’t the best. He wasn’t an interrogator, an investigator, built to talk people in circles until he gets them right where he wants them.

He wasn’t Connor.

He was just… RK.

For the first time, RK begins to think that isn’t good enough.

Connor was… glowing.

Not literally, of course. But he was in a brighter mood than RK has ever seen him in.

RK discovers it’s for good reason.

Hank had talked to Fowler. Connor had talked to Fowler.

Soon, RK was going to talk to Fowler.

Fowler demands to be looked in the eye. He commands it, both passively and explicitly.

RK finds that Fowler is a very unique man.

Rather than shy away, Fowler only returns RK’s stare.

It’s RK that gets uncomfortable first.

“Connor tells me he’s been giving you closed case files.”

That wasn’t a secret. RK was… surprised that Connor had told Fowler at all.

“He has. To… assess my performance.” Which wasn’t really a lie. Maybe it hadn’t started out that way, but it was certainly what had been intended.

“I would berate you for violating federal privacy laws but who really cares for all that crap.” That response had been subtly surprising. “It wouldn’t matter considering the titanium lockbox you RK’s have for a brain.”

Not quite true, but an interesting analogy.

“The double homicide – the Lidya case. Connor said it took you two days to solve. Even without crime scene access.”

“Yes.”

“And the Rechlin missing persons case from the beginning of this year — you were a consultant and your advice led to the recovery of twenty-seven year old Jessie Parker.”

“Yes.”

Fowler gives him another long, hard look.

RK had been made to kill people.

He shouldn’t feel intimidated, but he was.

“There’ll be a shit ton of paperwork and processing before you can do anything legally. And even then you have two months of formal OTJ before you have the full range of detective access. Clear?”

RK almost wants to smile.

“Clear, sir.”

The bullpen is busy when he leaves the Captain’s office thirty minutes later.

Busy. Chaotic. Phones are ringing, he can hear people yelling and crying. He hears raucous laughter from the break room.

There’s a lot going on. A hundred things his processors could pick up and analyze.

It’s like a breath of fresh air.

The best thing, of course, is being able to see a familiar face.

Gavin Reed looks much the same as he did the last time RK had seen him. His hair was a bit longer, curling under at the back, but remained styled as it had so consistently been.

He sits with his feet on his desk. He has half a donut hanging out of his mouth, texting with both hands, a cup of coffee sitting nearby.

When RK approaches, the donut falls out of his mouth.

“What the fuck are you doin’ here?” he asks. He’s sputtering with disbelief.

RK tries to restrain it, but the corner of his mouth pulls towards the line of his jaw regardless. “I’m going to be a detective.”

Like you. Like Connor. Like Hank.

He doesn’t miss the gleam in Gavin’s eyes after a moment to process RK’s statement. Gavin leans back into his chair. “Well I’ll be damned,” he says, laughs, takes a sip of his coffee. “I guess you probably have to get babysat for a bit before you can do shit, though.”

“Two months.”

Gavin whistles. RK can see he’s talking around a smile. “I don’t suppose Fowler’s given you a babysitter yet.”

“He hasn’t.”

“Perfect. I know just the guy.”

RK tilts his head. “I don’t suppose he’s a thirty-six year old amputee with a terrible attitude and an even worse diet?”

“There’s nothin’ fuckin wrong with my diet. Haven’t you ever seen cop shows? Coffee and donuts is a staple.”

“For a patrol officer, maybe.”

“The former patrol officer in me just doesn’t know when to die, I guess.”

They hadn’t seen each other in months. Months since RK had dragged Gavin along every freezing February morning to run with him. To calibrate his leg. Months since RK had heard Gavin crying at night, cursing himself, the world, and everything in between.

Months since RK found someone who wasn’t afraid to look him in the eye. Months since he helped Gavin find himself again, since Gavin had helped him live.

All that time, and the banter between them hadn’t changed.

Chapter Text

To state that RK was nervous would have been fair.

To say he was scared wouldn’t have been an overstatement.

RK, in his own way, was terrified.

Tomorrow, he would be expected to arrive at the precinct at eight in the morning, the same time as Connor and Hank. He would report to Fowler. He would go to his desk.

(He had a desk. A desk and a badge and an ID, a gun and a set of handcuffs to clip to his belt.)

He would begin his first of many days under the supervision of his partner, the scrutiny of his peers, his captain, his lieutenant.

His brother.

Maybe that was why RK was so nervous.

So scared.

Connor was an amazing detective. Connor had proven himself time and time again to be efficient both during investigation and interrogations.

RK didn’t have Connor’s skill set. He didn’t have Connor’s programming.

What would people think of him? Would they be afraid of him? Intimidated? Uncomfortable in his presence? That wasn’t what RK wanted.

He wanted to get along with his coworkers. With people he hadn’t even met.

RK wanted to be a good detective. He wanted to be as good as Hank. As good as Connor.

He didn’t want to be a disappointment.

He didn’t want to be a disappointment.

He didn’t want to be a disappointment.

The chaos of the bullpen had been comfortable last time.

Now it was worrying.

Maybe it had something to do with the bits and pieces of conversations he could hear as he walked to Fowler’s office.

“–I think it’s new or something–”

“–never seen one like that before–”

“–another one of Connor?”

“Nah, it’s different.”

They’re all talking about him. Talking about him like he wasn’t there. Like he couldn’t hear them.

Talking about him, as though he were a thing.

The large majority of RK’s first three days are spent becoming familiar with Detroit.

Not Detroit in terms of geographical layout, but in terms of demographic.

Gavin felt that it was very important to know the people that were in the city. Maybe not on a personal level, of course not. But it was certainly important to learn gang economy.

Gavin grew up in Detroit. Born and raised on the east side during the early 2000s. Gavin knew these streets, knew the kind of people that would be on them.

Gangs here were different than other cities. They were smaller, but greater in number. They lacked structure, which made gathering intelligence more difficult.

Gavin tells him about on in particular, one that he knows well, from his childhood.

“The big one up in the east is the Seven Mile Bloods. They have this chunk of territory up at Regent Park. I had to walk through there every day to get to high school. Motherfuckers were crazy.”

They drive through the area. It’s cleaner than it may have been before the arrival of the android industry.

“Hell I remember cops walkin’ with kids home because they had to go through rival gang territory. Can you imagine that? Just walking to or from school one day and you get shot just because you hang out with the wrong kids.”

RK couldn’t imagine that. He didn’t like the thought.

“Half the time, the people running around in these gangs are just kids,” Gavin tells him. “Teenagers who were just lookin’ for a place to belong – some kind of family – because they didn’t have one at home. Half the assholes we get in aren’t, I dunno, thirty, forty years old? They’re teens or twenty year olds with some fuckin’ complex.”

Gavin spends a good amount of time explaining this to him.

It’s interesting.

It’s sad.

Within a week, people have stopped staring at him.

Within two weeks, they stop talking about him.

RK still feels like an outsider.

Even with a badge.

Even with a desk.

RK’s eager to prove himself.

Maybe it was just coincidence – or maybe cases had been restricted from Gavin’s assignment on Fowler’s intention.

Maybe Fowler thought he wasn’t ready.

Maybe Gavin thought he wasn’t ready.

RK wanted to do something.

Something, something that would make him feel like he was contributing somewhere.

He gets his chance after sixteen days.

It was fortunate that Gavin and RK were already in the area. Someone had called about domestic disturbance in an area dominated by sex trafficking and drug trade, which was never to be taken lightly. Gavin and RK had been sent to investigate.

Just investigate.

RK blew that out of the water almost immediately.

When they arrive to the location given, RK’s sensitive sensors pick up on an argument inside the house.

It’s a house with a red door, a grey couch on its crumbling concrete porch. The door is open.

When a woman runs out, Gavin’s instincts are much better than RK’s. Using the hood of his car as a barricade, he tells the woman to stop. To put her hands above her head.

Instead, she runs straight towards RK. She’s blabbering, sobbing and winded but still attempting to speak.

RK hears enough.

“He’s gonna kill me. He’s gonna kill me.”

RK catches her when she runs into him, and RK sees a man exiting the house.

He pulls the woman behind him.

He’s replaceable.

She isn’t. She’s human. She’s fragile.

The man has a gun.

Gavin’s yelling again. Yelling at the man, at the woman, at RK, seemingly all at the same time. The man doesn’t leave the porch.

But he has a gun.

Colt AR-15A2 20 inch barrel, .223 Remington cartridge, 550 meter max firing range, 20 round capacity —

The man raises the gun and fires.

RK doesn’t quite understand what he sees next.

His preconstruction software – or something similar – flickers to life. Instead of the grayed-out world he’s used to seeing, everything is tinged in red.

Red.

Red.

Red.

>>K̢̗͓̮͔̪I̸̙̜L̤̪̲̘̤̹͇̯̣L̶̢̢͍͕͎̭̬̘͇ ̘̙̹̳͞H͕̹͈̼I̡͔̤̖̮͇͞M̀͏̸͇̬̞<<

RK900 charges. The shots hit his chest, his shoulder, his leg.

They don’t stop him.

They don’t damage him.

Four steps are taken in one leap.

RK900 is standing over the man, the AR-15 is in his hands and his finger is on the trigger.

>>P͏̡͔̰̣͇̼̱̝U̵͇͞L͕̪̼̫͇̪̞̩̬̀͘͢L̰̬̘̫̪̯̫͘͞ ͈̻̻̞̰͓͝ͅI̷͏̢̻͎T̤̝̬͟<<

>>Ḑ͈͍̥̗͙̻̮̉̓͆ͅO̡͉ͬͮ͛̈͛̕ ͌̾̿͏̵̣͠I̙̥̝̠͓̲̙̎͂͌ͫT̢̞̥̓́̔͋ͫͨͮ̔<<

>>K̢̗͓̮͔̪I̸̙̜L̤̪̲̘̤̹͇̯̣L̶̢̢͍͕͎̭̬̘͇ ̘̙̹̳͞H͕̹͈̼I̡͔̤̖̮͇͞M̀͏̸͇̬̞<<

RK freezes when a hand rests on his forearm, wrenching it back. He blinks. He realizes the barrel was aiming at the man’s head.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ, RK, what the fuck?”

Gavin.

It’s Gavin.

RK doesn’t remember coming to stand on the porch.

The way he explains it to Gavin placates the man.

The woman was afraid she would be killed. The man had a gun. The most logical option was to make himself the target of the bullets, since his sub-dermal armor provided him with protection.

Aiming the gun at the man was just insurance that he wouldn’t move. That he wouldn’t try and reach for any other weapons.

Gavin accepts his answer. He grunts in acknowledgement. “Quick thinking,” he amends, but his tone is stern. “Don’t fuckin’ do that again.”

RK won’t.

He doesn’t want to.

Connor hears about it. Of course he does. He asks RK about it, once they’ve gotten home.

RK doesn’t know what to say.

He doesn’t really even know what happened.

He just remembers a strange, red-tinged world.

Connor must notice his stress levels. He puts his hand on RK’s shoulder. He squeezes, his hand a familiar weight.

Connor mistakes the source of his stress.

“The first time having a gun pointed at you can be a bit off-putting,” he says. RK agrees with him.

Let’s just pretend it’s that.

Let’s just pretend.

RK puts the incident out of his mind.

After being criticized by Fowler, by Hank, by Gavin, about his reckless, self-sacrificial but albeit effective method of subduing the man and securing the gun, he puts it out of his mind. Tries to forget about it.

Thankfully, a distraction comes.

His first real homicide.

RK is excited, in a dark kind of way. Why would anyone be excited about a murder? He is ashamed at the feeling.

His excitement doesn’t last long.

The murder was brutal. Violent. Angry.

A man’s body was found in a park, partially obscured by bushes against the side of a stream. The report had been made at 6:42 in the morning – joggers, a married couple, had spotted it.

The hands had been burned to char. There weren’t any recognizable finger prints. There was no face. There wasn’t even a head anymore.

It had been beaten and crushed by a seven pound rock.

RK can smell it. Even if his sense of smell isn’t the same as a humans – even if it just flags and labels chemicals in the air, he can smell it. Decomposing flesh has a very distinct scent.

He doesn’t want to go close to it. He stands at the edge of the crime scene for a long while. Long enough that Gavin is able to speak with the married couple and the first responders, before coming back to see where he is.

RK’s face must reveal more than he thinks.

“Hey,” Gavin says, and his voice is… soft. “Terminator, you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“You don’t gotta lie.” Gavin shifts, looks back towards the body. “I get it. It’s your first one. And this one’s… kinda nasty. Figures we couldn’t get anything simple.”

A few seconds in silence.

“If you wanna tap out it’s fine,” Gavin says. There’s an edge to his voice.

He’s teasing.

“If you really can’t go on, I guess I can just carry your dead weight on my shoulder.”

He’s using RK’s words. Words spoken to him months ago when Gavin was cursing RK’s pace with little breath.

RK can’t help but feel… a bit more at ease.

He knows what needs to be done. He does it.

Spite is an excellent motivator.

 
RK thought he would be prepared for this.

After months and after numerous cases, he would have thought that he could have solved this by now.

But he hadn’t.

They had a name. They had family. They even had a face, to match with the body that no longer had one.

But RK didn’t have the killer.

Whoever was out there was dangerous. They had killed someone, had beaten their skull in and left them only with barely a bottom jaw.

They’d done it once. Violently. With intent.

They could do it again.

Connor and Hank go home. RK doesn’t want to go with them.

He wants to stay here. He wants to figure this out. He needs to. He has to.

He goes home anyway.

He doesn’t talk when Connor and Hank ask him questions.

There’s just a persistent, repetitive statement in his head.

Not good enough.

Not good enough.

Not good enough.

RK isn’t able to relax until the case had been solved. Wasn’t able to rest until the murder was behind bars, awaiting trial with a considerable stack of evidence mounting against him.

Even with the case solved, RK cannot rest easily.

Connor would have gotten it done faster.

Gavin had a grand total of one friend.

That friend was patrol officer Tina Chen, a thirty-five year old Asian-American woman who was… incredibly similar in attitude. She was sarcastic and witty, had a sense of humor that matched well with Gavin’s.

The woman gave Gavin a lot of shit.

RK hears her, several times, hounding on Gavin for having an android as a partner.

“I thought you said it’d be a cold day in hell before you worked with an android.”

“Having fun with your plastic pet?”

“How’s the new plastic doing?”

She uses the same terms of degradation that Gavin had used when he and RK had first met each other.

Tina calls him this a handful of times, all in a joking tone, all said around Gavin when RK wasn’t near. RK wonders if this habit of hers had been strengthened by Gavin’s companionship.

Eventually, “Stop callin’ him that.”

“Huh?”

“Plastic. Stop callin’ him that, he has a fuckin’ name. Call him RK or nothing at all.”

Tina starts calling him by his name after that.

“Hey, RK, c’mere a sec.”

It isn’t Gavin, nor Connor or Hank that are calling for him. Surprisingly, it’s Tina.

“I need your help with somethin’.”

He and Gavin exchange a look. Gavin shrugs, before going back to his phone, entirely unconcerned.

So RK goes with her.

“I need you to help me with an interrogation,” she says, leading him towards the appropriate rooms. It almost causes RK to stall.

“I’m… you’re aware I’m not Connor, right?”

Tina scoffs. “Yeah I know that.”

“Then why…? I don’t have any interrogation skills.” It was… strange, that anybody would want his help over his predecessors’.

Tina rolls her eyes, but she smiles almost fondly. “I don’t need you to do much. Just… stand against a wall behind me. I’ll do the interrogation. You don’t have to say anything.”

“…that’s it?”

“Yeah. Just stare at the guy. I’ve been busting my balls in there trying to get him to talk for the last thirty minutes. You’re my backup.”

Made sense.

Intimidation was something RK could do.

The man Tina is talking to is forty-seven year old Carl Greaves, an unwilling informant, if RK had heard correctly.

RK stares at him.

He doesn’t allow himself to blink. He doesn’t look away.

After three minutes, the man talks.

His nights used to be spent in stasis.

Now they’re spent analyzing pieces of evidence over and over again.

They’re spent reviewing his personal observations of his crime scenes, looking for things he might – must have – missed.

He must have missed something. There had to be evidence somewhere. Something that could give him the answers, something that could help him catch a murderer.

There must be something.

He didn’t want to be a disappointment.

Between the two of them, Gavin was the better interrogator.

Between the two of them, RK was the one who was most terrifying to look at.

It came down to this, a lot of the time: if someone had trouble cracking a suspect, they went to RK.

They used RK. An object to create discomfort.

He was just being used.

RK was happy that he could be useful.

RK knew that too long without a stasis cycle was dangerous.

Androids didn’t need sleep. Not as often as a human would. RK personally needed only one stasis cycle every month to remain at optimal functioning status.

RK wasn’t even allowing himself that.

A month goes by and he doesn’t let himself sleep.

After two months, he’s officially done being “babysat”, as Gavin calls it. He’s officially a detective, officially has license just like Connor and Hank and Gavin and Ben.

That month is busy. There are a lot of things RK needs to work on.

He doesn’t sleep then either.

RK pretends not to notice. Connor absolutely does.

Hank has already retired. RK is in his chair. Connor remains in the living room.

“Why haven’t you been entering stasis?” Connor asks.

RK pauses his crime scene review in order to regard his predecessor. Feign ignorance. “What are you talking about?”

Connor gives him a disapproving scowl. His LED flickers yellow. “You know what I’m talking about, RK. You haven’t gone into stasis in forty-nine days.”

“I don’t need to.”

“I know you do. You know you do.”

“I don’t have time to, Connor, I have more important things to be concerned about.”

A split second, just a moment, is all Connor needs to process the reasoning behind RK’s statement. “RK, I get that you want to solve these cases, but this isn’t healthy.”

“Androids can’t get ill.”

“RK, stop arguing with me!” Connor snaps. “Doing this is only going to hinder your effective performance. Look at it that way. If you don’t sleep, you’re not going to solve anything. You can’t just work yourself to death.”

Then you do it.

Then you solve them.

Because you’re so much be͜tt͠e̛r̀.

RK doesn’t say any of those things.

He bites down on his tongue until he tastes his own blood.

It was summer.

Without a doubt, RK hates summer.

The heat is bearable for others. Gavin went without his jacket and wore short sleeves more often than not, others mirrored this clothing choice. They adapted, as everyone naturally could.

Everyone except for RK.

RK was made for the cold. Not the heat. His body ran hotter for that explicit purpose — being outside when it was 90 degrees did not help matters.

It feels weird, not to have his cuffs around his wrists, but rolling up his sleeves was definitely a good idea. It feels weird, not to have his jacket on.

He stands staring down at his jacket much longer than necessary.

Just put it on.

Put it on. And go to work.

Another part of him wanted to leave it behind, but…

RK finds it uncomfortable, to not be branded.

To not have the ANDROID across his back, his model number against his chest, the blue stripe on his sleeve that brands him.

>> RE͘͠M̴̵͝Á̴͢Į̴̶N ̶̢̕IǸ͢ ́U͝NÍ̢F͢O̶̧RM̧͟<<

He has to seriously debate whether overheating was worth his adherence to protocol.

And even still, he wears the jacket anyway.

Just for the comfort of familiarity.

RK’s discomfort elevates. There is no clear motivator.

It just… happens.

It’s like an itch, deep within his coding. Embedded into his wires. An itch that he has no hope of scratching.

There have only been one time when he hasn’t felt it.

When he was holding his gun. Firing it at a target within a room in order to assess his accuracy.

(Of course it was 100%. His programming wouldn’t allow for anything less).

RK had thought that this would have been good for him. That becoming a detective would be something he would be good at. Instead, he just sinks.

Sinks, lower than he’s ever been before.

It’s fairly evident that he’s cursed.

RK’s processors are state of the art, top of the line. He could complete a hundred different tasks internally without even blinking.

As such, he wasn’t able to stop thinking.

Something that RK hadn’t accounted for in the line of police work was how much you had to wait.

You had to wait for warrants. Had to wait for your suspects to be located. Had to wait for said suspects to speak with their lawyers. Had to wait, and wait, and wait.

Gavin has patience. RK doesn’t. RK doesn’t like waiting. He hates waiting.

Waiting meant he started thinking, and thinking meant he got lost in his thoughts, and in doing so, he reflected on things he didn’t want to think about.

Like his loss of control.

Like his inadequacy.

Like his lack of belonging.

His loss of control hadn’t happened since the first time. RK thinks it may have been a fluke — maybe it was just a stress reaction. A woman, and Gavin’s life, had both been threatened, and RK had to act quickly to reduce the risk.

Maybe it just happened so quickly that he didn’t remember it.

It was a shitty explanation, one that he logically knew held no ground. It didn’t matter how fast something occurred — he would be able to process it.

Logically, he knew that wasn’t the correct explanation.

But RK hoped that was all it was.

He hoped.

RK has developed his own – as Hank calls them – “nervous tick”.

Connor has his coin. Gavin drums his fingers. RK has a pen.

Twirling the pen around his fingers was something that had started out simply. It was the only thing he had to mess with and he was fidgety anyway.

RK hadn’t thought anything of it.

It kept his mind somewhat occupied.

Gavin thinks it’s cool to watch.

RK takes to fidgeting whenever he’s working on tedious things. Like paperwork, which, unfortunately, is a considerable portion of his job.

He catches Gavin watching the pen spin across his knuckles a time or two.

He catches Gavin trying to replicate the same whenever he thinks RK isn’t looking.

Watching car chases on the morning news was one thing.

But actually being in one was much more… entertaining.

RK has to hand it to Gavin — he drives at nearly eighty miles an hour in relatively crowded streets very well. The lights on his car and the aggressive honking of his horn probably help.

The people they’re chasing have just committed a drive by shooting. Only one person died out of the seventeen people in the area, but that was still one person too many.

Gavin wasn’t letting them get away.

They’re in a dark blue Ford Ranger Raptor and they have a thirteen second head start. From his predictions, they’ll be working their way towards the I-75 North on ramp, 2.6 miles ahead of them.

Like he had predicted, they did indeed get onto the I-75.

They just… didn’t take the on-ramp.

After running a red light, cutting through a parking lot, crossing a busy two lane road – therein causing a head-on collision and corresponding three fender benders – they get onto the interstate.

RK watches them get on the interstate, cutting off an eighteen wheeler and momentarily losing control. Gavin slams the brakes and RK has to brace himself from being thrown forward.

The resulting crashes have stalled their progress. Gavin’s bumper is an inch away from a crashed car, and for the moment, that’s where it will stay.

They can’t get away.

RK is out of the passenger seat before he realizes it. He hears the beginning of Gavin’s call for him, but it’s cut off by the door closing.

RK’s never been given the opportunity to run at his top speed before.

Thirty miles an hour was much better than being stationary, but not better than the projected eighty that their runners would be doing on the interstate.

The I-94 junction is 1.3 miles ahead of them. He had to do something else.

He runs north, up Chrysler Drive, missing a Sedan that blares it’s horn in alarm at his sudden appearance.

The sudden braking causes a man on a motorcycle to swerve in order to prevent a collision.

Enter cliché movie idea.

Showing his DPD badge earns him some ground, and he tells the twenty-nine year old driver that he’ll bring it back undamaged or pay for its replacement.

It takes him a mere second to download and process a manual, and then he’s pushing up the kickstand and taking off so quickly the back tire spins.

RK’s lucky that the on ramp to the interstate is just across the intersection. He cuts between two cars in order to curve around them.

Without lights or a siren, he probably just looks like a douchebag on a motorcycle.

A douchebag android on a motorcycle.

RK follows the Ford off the interstate, relaying this information to Gavin, and to police dispatch.

They travel west on East Warren, towards the Art Center District. Before they get there, RK has officers readily forming a barricade.

The Ford slows down when it comes to the barricade made with police cars. The four lane road is, effectively closed.

Slowing down was their last mistake.

RK ditches the bike as quickly, but as carefully as he can. Toppled over in the grass of the median will have to do.

With one hand, he braces his weight on the hood of the truck. With his other, he draws his gun, keeping the safety on.

The next thing he does is panic.

There are two occupants.

A scan of the car interior shows two weapons – an AK-47 in the backseat and a handgun in the glovebox.

Could he shoot them?

If he had to, if he needed to, would he even be able to do it?

He doesn’t want to.

He doesn’t want to hurt anyone so permanently if he can help it. Instead, he opts to use one of his consistently most powerful game pieces.

RK is six foot two, broad shouldered with eyes that could kill.

That could kill. If need be.

Projecting that is very easy, he finds. Especially with the comforting weight of a loaded pistol in his hands.

The passenger opens the door and literally falls out of the truck. They kick their way several feet away before rolling onto their stomach, hands flat on the ground.

A sign of surrender, unlike the driver.

The driver is…

The driver —

>>P͏̡͔̰̣͇̼̱̝U̵͇͞L͕̪̼̫͇̪̞̩̬̀͘͢L̰̬̘̫̪̯̫͘͞ ͈̻̻̞̰͓͝ͅI̷͏̢̻͎T̤̝̬͟<<

RK’s holding him at gunpoint. He looks shaken and pale and raises his hands off the steering wheel. RK watches for any sign that he may go for the assault rifle in the backseat, but he doesn’t.

He doesn’t.

>>Ḑ͈͍̥̗͙̻̮̉̓͆ͅO̡͉ͬͮ͛̈͛̕ ͌̾̿͏̵̣͠I̙̥̝̠͓̲̙̎͂͌ͫT̢̞̥̓́̔͋ͫͨͮ̔<<

He doesn’t.

RK finds some distinct calmness within himself, even as the barricade disperses, traffic returning to its usual flow. Even as he worries over Gavin’s anger and the necessity of returning a borrowed motorcycle.

He’s calm.

When he puts his gun back in its holster, the anxiety returns.

He’s congratulated by everyone at the station except for three people.

Those people being, in order in which he received a verbal lashing, are: Gavin, Connor, and Hank.

Gavin is pissed because RK was acting reckless. Because RK is his partner and a rookie at that, android status be damned. He should have fucking waited.

Connor is mad for much the same reasons. As is Hank.

Despite the congratulatory remarks from people within the station, RK doesn’t feel… good.

Gavin isn’t talking to him for the time being. Hank and Connor don’t engage him as much at home.

RK feels like he’s taking two steps backwards every time he thinks he’s making progress.

The only sound in the house is breathing.

RK can hear Hank snoring, can hear Sumo breathing. He can hear the wind outside.

He hears so much, but none of it’s louder than the voices in his head.

Do I even belong here?

I’m not as good as Connor.

I can never be as good as —

Hank is friendly towards him. Friendly enough.

But what if his thoughts are different than his external demeanor?

Hank knows how androids work — that when an upgrade of a series was released it meant the older was meant to be replaced.

Hank loved Connor. Hank knew RK was meant to replace Connor.

The Captain treated him well enough, but what if Hank’s anxieties about RK had been discussed with him? Fowler was friends with Hank. Had been friends for a long time. Their friendship had been torn a bit with the loss of Hank’s son, his descent into depression, his alcoholism and suicidal tendencies.

Would RK have been able to save Hank from that?

Connor had been patient. He had been caring. He had been exactly the right balance between tough and lenient – to taper off the alcohol and junk food without making it seem like he was attempting to control Hank’s life.

Connor always knew what to say. He had some innate knowledge of what Hank needed or what he was going through.

RK didn’t.

RK didn’t have anything in common with his predecessor, aside from basic investigative functions.

Pre-construction software and the ability to check samples in real time were the only things similar to each other, aside from physical appearance.

RK wasn’t Connor.

Connor had a place in Hank’s life.

Connor had a place at the DPD.

RK didn’t.

RK goes running again.

It isn’t something he does anymore. He doesn’t need physical exercise, so there was no point.

But running felt nice.

Especially when he just… ran.

Ran with no direction, no destination, no time limit.

Well, he did have one time limit, but that was only the stipulation that he had to be at work in the morning.

Don’t think about work. 

Don’t think about Gavin. 

Don’t think about Hank.

Don’t think about Connor.

Don’t think.

Don’t think.

He focuses instead on the sound of the wind and of his feet hitting the pavement. He focuses on the names of the streets he runs through, on the homes, the cars, the people he passes.

He didn’t belong among them.

These people had families. They had love, they had life. They woke up in the morning and were able to breathe, to recount their dreams, the work to achieve their dreams and aspirations.

RK didn’t know what his dreams or aspirations were. He didn’t know what he wanted to do.

Detective work seemed a good idea. It gave him some kind of stimuli, a mystery to solve, it kept his mind busy.

Now, he wasn’t so sure if he could keep doing it.

But wouldn’t Hank be disappointed? And Connor?

If RK quit, if Gavin found himself without a partner, wouldn’t Gavin be upset?

Would Gavin even care?

Even if he didn’t want to, he finds himself caught on that snag in his thoughts.

Even as he passes a woman walking her dog, as he passes a man getting out of his car with groceries in hand.

Did they know what they were doing?

Did they have any kind of plan?

A part of him said no, of course they don’t. Not all of them. Some people just had to take life as it came, sometimes they didn’t have a chance for a plan.

But a bigger part of him said yes, of course they do.

You just weren’t made for this.

You weren’t made for city streets, you were made for frozen tundra.

You weren’t made to hold a badge, you were made to hold a gun.

You weren’t made to hope, to love, to care, you were made to kill and kill and kill.

You weren’t made to be a person.

You were made to be a weapon.

RK keeps running until he hits the edge of Lake Saint Clair, and even then, he wants to keep going.

It’s tense, in the car.

He and Gavin are on watch. Surveillance on a home suspected of being used as a kind of warehouse and shipment center for Red Ice trade.

It’s dark out. It’s dark in the car, save for the faint street light and his LED.

His LED.

RK looks down at his chest, at the faintly glowing blue triangle, and the armband of the same hue.

Uniform.

These clothes were a comfort. These clothes were what he was made to wear.

Maybe not these specifically.

But wearing something without these markers of his android status, without the word itself printed across his shoulders, was unnatural.

It was wrong.

Connor doesn’t wear his Cyberlife uniform anymore. It stays buried in a box within the garage, a memento of different times.

No android wears their uniform anymore.

Only him.

“Gavin?” RK asks, voice a whisper.

He receives a grunt as a reply.

“I-I’m sorry.”

Gavin snorts. “What the fuck are you sorry for?”

“For continuing the chase without you. I… should have waited for… a chopper or some backup. I wasn’t thinking, I just– I just—”

“Nah, fuckin’… listen RK.” Gavin sighs. RK looks resolutely out the window. “You thought quick. And, ya know, it wouldn’t have been good if we let those guys get too far gone. Without a chopper we probably would have lost them. And I feel bad for, uh, for being pissed. I was just… worried about you.” A self-conscious cough. “You did good.”

You did good.

You did good.

You did good.

A part of RK lifts at hearing that.

“RK.”

The continual spinning of the pen is a comfort. Feeling the weight of it against his thumb is familiar.

“Hey, tin can, you listening to me?”

It only then registers to him that Gavin’s talking. RK stills the pen between his thumb and index and looks up to his partner.

His partner.

“I’m sorry,” he says, automatically. “I’m listening now.”

Gavin has his coat on. His chair is pushed in. He’s getting ready to leave.

“I’m leavin’.”

Hank and Connor had been gone for hours. RK thinks they went to a crime scene, but his predecessor still isn’t… talking to him the same. Communication is terse at best.

“Have a good night, Detective.”

It’s his reply every time. That was familiar. Just like the weight of his pen in his fingers.

“You, uh… you comin’ or are you staying here?”

That wasn’t familiar.

“You want me to come with you?”

Gavin shrugs. The shuffle of his feet, the tense line of his shoulders and his aversion to eye contact tell RK he’s nervous. “Isn’t anybody else here, is there?” Which was true. There wasn’t. “C’mon, dipshit. It’s a one time offer. I’ll take you home.”

RK puts his pen back into the black mesh cup on his desk. The one that only holds one pen, considering it wasn’t necessary for RK to write anything.

The ride to Hank’s is very… quiet, but RK gets the sense that Gavin wants to say something. And he does, after not too long.

“Anderson and Connor still pissed at you?”

“…I think they are.”

Gavin sighs. “Don’t take it personal, dipshit, alright?” Gavin says. Scathing words, gentle tone. “How do you think they’d feel knowin’ you went all Evel Knievel with a bike you borrowed?”

The answer is simple, but the words hurt to say.

“I thought they would be proud.”

RK hadn’t expected his voice to break, but it had. He’s glad he’s looking away – he doesn’t know what kind of expression his face displays.

“Shit, RK…” Gavin almost sounds concerned.

He is.

“Look I got no doubt they’re proud of you, just… think about it from their point of view? You coulda fuckin’… I dunno, died or something. Crashed on the bike or got shot by a couple of crazy kids with some kinda death wish.”

RK fists his hands into his pant legs.

“They care about you. And, uh, don’t want to see you get hurt. Ya know? They’re proud of you. I know they are.”

RK doesn’t know what to say.

He doubts he could speak either way, around the lump within his throat.

The lights are still off when Gavin pulls up to the house.

“I ain’t comin’ in,” Gavin says once he puts it into park. “I had enough of that dog the first time around.”

RK almost feels good enough to smile.

“Thank you, Gavin.”

“You better give me gas money for drivin’ you all the way out here.”

Which RK can translate into: “You’re welcome.”

RK watches Gavin turn around and leave.

RK sinks onto the steps and puts his head in his hands.

Crying is painful and his tears burn his eyes.

When the talk eventually comes, RK is almost scared to have it.

He had been inconsiderate of the feelings of others.

RK knew Hank had some kind of attachment to him, and if RK had gotten himself killed, what would that have done to the Lieutenant?

Connor was his brother. If RK had died, would Connor blame himself?

He had expected them to be angrier with him.

“Just… first and foremost,” Hank begins. He and Connor are at one side of the circular table, RK is on the other. “Listen, kid, we are… we are proud. Alright? Don’t think we’re not.”

Gavin must have talked to them.

On one hand, RK is a bit perturbed that Gavin had done so, but he thinks that it must have been done out of a place of concern.

“We just… were worried, simply because that was the first time you’ve ever been a part of something so intense,” Connor chimes in.

“Fuckin’ a, kid, I didn’t even know you could fuckin’ ride a motorcycle. I kept thinking I was going to watch you tip over going 80 down the highway.”

“You… you watched?”

“Just because there wasn’t a chopper in the air didn’t mean DPD drones weren’t,” Connor answers. “The feed was displayed in the bullpen since it was an emergency broadcast. There was a drone watching everything the whole time.”

“S-so… that means that…”

“Everybody watched you almost get hit by a car, steal someone’s bike and go twice over the speed limit on an interstate. Yeah, that’s what everybody saw.” Hank says this, but he smiles as he does.

RK suddenly feels overwhelmingly embarrassed. He isn’t sure why.

“We are proud, RK,” Connor reaffirms, and he beams whenever RK looks at him. “You’re doing a good job as a detective.”

“And you’re doing a good job ironing Gavin out. He hasn’t been as much of a bitch since you came around.”

RK didn’t realize how much something like that would quell his anxiety.

We are proud.

You’re doing a good job.

A good job.

Sitting on the kitchen counter, there’s a box.

It hadn’t been there before Connor and Hank left for their date night, RK knew that much.

He isn’t sure what it could be. A part of him wants to scan it. Another part of him thinks that would ruin the surprise.

The box, after all, is addressed to him.

The font on the notecard resting on top of it lets RK know it’s from Connor. Perfect Cyberlife Sans format stares back at him. It’s folded, his name on the outside. On the inside, a short message.

I know I’m seven months late, but I hope you’ll accept it anyway.
-C

RK tears the tape holding the cardboard box closed. Within it, there’s bubble wrap packing.

Wrapped around a cup.

A mug, more accurately. A black handle, black interior, white exterior.

In blue letters on the outside

#1 BROTHER

If RK sat against the kitchen cabinets and held the mug against his chest, certainly not fighting back tears, no one needed to know. Or would know.

Save for Sumo, of course, who had come over to lick at his face as an offer of comfort, though it seemed Sumo had a distaste for thirium-based tears.

It felt like peace. It felt like… like some strange kind of growth.

You did good.

They’re proud of you.

We are proud of you.

RK feels much happier, after all of this.

It’s busier now. He has much more to think about, so many more things to occupy his time.

It’s mid July. It’s the height of summer. RK still hates the heat.

Inside the bullpen, it remained cool.

Outside the station, everything was much too hot.

On some days, overheating was a very real possibility.

“Christ, RK,” Gavin had chided one day. “I’m hot just fuckin’ looking at you. Didn’t you get the memo? It’s fucking summer, dipshit.”

“I’m aware,” RK had responded. The jacket had remained.

Today, it was much more of an issue.

It’s eighty-nine degrees. They’re outside, for an indefinite period of time.

It’s a shame that children are being abducted from a park, and it’s even more of a shame that RK and Gavin had been the one to monitor the area for odd behavior.

RK can run fast. RK can drive fast. RK would be best if attempting to chase down someone.

So they sit on a bench. In the direct sunlight. The sky is clear. It’s hot.

RK feels like he’s dying.

He wants to take off his jacket. Hell, he wants to take off every item of clothing he has and jump into the nearest body of water. Better yet, lock himself in a freezer just to feel cool again.

He wants to take his jacket off, but his fingers don’t want to move.

There are people here. A lot of people. There are people and noise and he’s in public. All things that cause his shoulders to tense and his sensors to overwork themselves.

The jacket is comfort.

This place is uncomfortable.

I’m uncomfortable.

The jacket is comfort.

He’s going to fucking die.

When the first overheating warning pops up in his HUD, he ignores it. The second was more urgent, but he brushed it aside and panicked at his dismissal.

The third made him actually do something.

Taking off his jacket isn’t physically difficult. Nor is it difficult to unbutton his cuffs and roll up his sleeves.

Mentally, it just made everything worse.

He was still hot. This was more bearable.

“Finally got fuckin’ hot enough, huh,” Gavin drones from beside him. He’s bored, wants to be anywhere but here. RK can share the sentiment.

It’s just a gentle prod, just teasing, just to say something, but it digs deep into RK’s side.

Put it back on.

Put it back on.

P͓̙̱͎̞̤̫̗͡ú̶̲͈͈̯̙t͏͔̳̬̰̜̮͘ ̧̩̰̲͘į̞̬͇̳t̷͉̦ͅ ̺̠̤̳̪͞͠b͕̯̞̗̪a҉̱͖͔̫̪c̡͍̱͖̳͟k̡͎͓̭̻͉̩͟ ̧̬͍̦̤͉̥̱ọ̷͙̬̠̘̬̞̦ǹ̬̤͚̯͡͠.͏͇̱̤͙̕̕ ̝̩̪̩

Before RK’s twitchy fingers can do anything, Gavin turns on the bench towards him. “Fuckin’… c’mere,” he mumbles, gesturing for RK to move closer even as Gavin does so himself.

Fingers on his collar.

On the buttons of his shirt.

Exposing the throat is a sign of weakness .

Y̴̱͈̘͚̫͠O̡̻͚U͙̠͍ ҉̯̥͍A̤̜̙͎R̴̵͓̲̤͠E͍̝̜̟͇͔͙ ̢̤͇͈̟̲͖̖N̥͎̙͓Ọ̶̧Ţ͇͎̥̫̤͟ ̵͕͕̘͙̖̗̲͇W͇̟̖͉ͅͅȨ͈̤͞A̶̡̫̣̯̱͇͉͇̹Ķ̶̺̼̣͇͕̺̝͚̀

“There ya go,” Gavin says after only few moments. “Now it looks less like you got into an accident.”

RK was going to retort and say that his collar doesn’t resemble a neck brace, but then Gavin smiles.

Gavin smiles and it’s soft and it reaches his eyes. He has little wrinkles at the corners, and RK can see the green amongst the grey.

In the movies, this is where they kiss.

“You look good like this,” Gavin says. He leans away, back against the bench. He looks RK over, from the jacket in his lap, held in clenched hands, to his exposed throat. “Yeah. Definitely look good.”

It’s a little bit easier to leave his jacket behind after this.

Gavin and RK weren’t fucking around, if anyone had asked.

But realistically, yeah they were.

RK had never been on a swing before. And maybe it was a bit odd, maybe it was a bit scary, for parents or children to see him there. But Gavin sat down in the swing next to him, even though he had earlier expressed his disinterest in such an activity.

Two DPD detectives – one android, one asshole – who decided to stop and sit on the swings in a public park just for the hell of it.

“Why don’t you like swinging, Gavin?” RK thinks to ask. He wishes he was short enough that his feet dangled off the ground.

“When I was eleven, I fell off and broke my fuckin’ arm, that’s why.”

At RK’s prompting look, he expounds.

“This one dick was pushing everybody on the swings and he pushed me too hard so I fell off,” Gavin shrugs. “He wanted my swing. And like I said, he was a dickhead anyway.”

“You don’t like swings… because someone pushed you off a swing when you were a child?”

“No. I don’t like swings because I don’t want to break my arm again, idiot.”

“I think that’s a pathetic reason.”

“I don’t give a fuck what you think.”

“I think that you just don’t know how to swing.”

“Wh— of course I know how!”

Hook, line, and sinker, all in two sentences.

Two DPD detectives – one android, one asshole – swinging in a public park just for the hell of it. Because spites a good motivator.

RK wonders what it would have been like to be a kid.

If he was human, if he had grown up in Detroit, what kind of life would he have had?

Would he have been the one pushed off the swing, or the one pushing? Would he have been a friend or an enemy to someone else?

Would he have grown up to be like Gavin?

RK supposes it’s ridiculous to ponder on that kind of thing.

That reality isn’t something he can make happen.

But regardless, he hopes that the answer would have been yes.

The DPD made it standard that all officers had to continually maintain accuracy with their issued weapons.

This meant that every month, one had to shoot at targets, meet a satisfactory grade and that was the end of it. For that month.

Every month, RK would go down stairs to the gun range, would perform for the test for a total of ten minutes through a variety of targets and exercises. After those minutes, the computer would display his passing grade and update his profile.

It was like this every month.

Save for this one.

He was the only one in the gun range, the small room with five individual cells. RK had his gun in his hands, it was loaded, there was one in the chamber, the target was right in front of him.

But he couldn’t shoot.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to. He would rather complete this test quickly and get back to work.

It was just that he couldn’t.

The target was the standard, the goal was the same. Aim for vitals — head and chest. Forehead and heart. RK could do that, he had done it several times already.

Except every time he tried now, he just saw the terrified face of a man behind the wheel of a Raptor truck.

If he had pulled the trigger, that man would have been dead. The bullet would have passed through his brain and that would have been it.

If RK had pulled the trigger, he would have killed someone.

It was… disconcerting, to know that he had that power.

He could decide if someone could live or die.

It didn’t matter if they were a criminal or not. It didn’t matter if he was acting as law enforcement or not. All that changed was the consequences.

Every single person that he and Gavin set out to catch, that’s what they know. They know that power, they have made that decision before.

He could decide if someone should die.

For a split second, a thought runs through his head: A̡̯̫̻̻̻ͅs̫͎̠͙̜͕̼̀͘͠ͅ ͙̜̪̺͙͞i̸̢̝̩̪͔ͅt̶̙̮ ̹̜͖̖s̬̮̹͙̠̪̩h͎̦̜̲̭̟o̵̬͉͚u̘̠̬̙͈̮̳̞l̶̤͉͖͔̟̞d̵̘͇̣ ̴͏͔̼̙͇̮͚ͅͅb̜̩̱̰̕͜͝e̡͏̬̝̖̳͎͉̼.

Internally, he recoils at that thought.

He recoils, but he raises his gun and completes his test anyway.

98%

When August comes, RK realizes with no small amount of relief that summer is coming to an end.

August begins to pass.

Soon, it will be Connor’s birthday.

More accurately, it was Connor’s activation day, but the term had been… too stiff, to mechanical, even if in reference to an android.

Hank had been freaking out about it.

As had RK.

Connor was such an integral part of both of their lives. Without Connor, Hank may not even be here, and RK would most likely still be in jail. Or worse, destroyed.

RK and Hank loved Connor. So a day like his birthday was very important.

Hank plans a party. Not entirely a surprise, but Connor doesn’t expect anything for his birthday, perhaps doesn’t consider the day his birthday at all. Gifts on top of a proper celebration would be a significant surprise.

It would be Hank, Connor, RK and Sumo of course.

But RK wants someone else to come.

Getting Hank to agree had been… very, very difficult. Hank and Gavin were unable to put water beneath the bridge. Years of frustration and aggravation had left a habitual behavior around each other, and habits were hard to break. Plus, Connor and Gavin had a tense, rigidly professional attitude about one another if nothing else. Connor didn’t actively seek out Gavin’s company, and vice versa.

But Hank had relented, on the stipulation that Gavin bring his own beer, not act like an ass, and if he did, Hank got to throw him out on the sidewalk.

“It’s Connor’s birthday soon,” RK begins.

Gavin barely looks up from his phone. “Uh huh.”

“Hank is going to throw a party at his home.”

“Yeah.”

“Would you… want to come? Hank says you’ll have to bring your own beer.”

Gavin looks up then. His eyebrows knit together and RK, strangely, wants to kiss the crease formed between them. Gavin looks towards Hank’s desk, which is vacant. Connor and Hank had gone, to the scene of their newest case.

“You’re fucking kidding, right?”

“No, I’m not.”

“Why the fuck do you want me there?”

The answer is easy — Because I feel like you should be.

But putting that into words was a bit more… difficult.

“Connor and Hank are important to me,” RK begins. “As are you. I just… I had hoped maybe you would be able to… push differences aside. Work towards starting over on your personal relationships.”

Gavin throws his head back and he laughs.

RK drops his gaze to his lap.

He doesn’t ask again.

A month ago, Connor had gotten RK a coffee mug.

Coffee mug, but more appropriately, a thirium mug.

RK had resolved to getting Connor something like that in return, but it had been difficult to spontaneously decide what in specific.

RK looks to the internet for answers. A majority of the ones he finds examples of are crude or meant for children preparing to have a younger sibling.

The rest of them are… generic. Simple.

But Connor did appreciate the simplistic.

He finds one, eventually, that is almost a mirror to his own. White exterior, with a blue handle and interior in place of black.

“WORLD’S BEST BIG BROTHER”

An ambitious statement, but RK finds its appropriate.

Connor was his only big brother, and even if he wasn’t, RK would still find him the best in the world.

(313) 681-7017

August 13 2039

(22:34)
yo when tf is dipshits birthday

From the language choice, RK can gather that it’s Gavin texting him so spontaneously.

(22:34)
Monday. August 15th.

(22:35)
oh fuck

(22:36)
Why is this cause for alarm?

He doesn’t get a response.

Gavin seems… jittery.

That isn’t saying much, really. Gavin is jittery a lot of the time, especially after copious amounts of caffeine. Work related stress plays an important factor, as well as lack of sleep.

But this was a different kind of jitter.

Much more nervous.

As soon as lunch comes, Gavin is up and everything short of physically pulling RK out of the station.

“Listen, ya gotta fuckin’ help me,” Gavin begins, not a second after they step through the front door.

RK’s concerned. Gavin sounds, and looks, panicked.

“I have no fucking clue how to get anything for your fuckin’ twin.”

RK blinks.

“This is… you’re worried about getting Connor a gift?”

Gavin rolls his eyes. “Nah, ya got any more fuckin’ twins, genius?”

“I thought you didn’t want to have anything to do with Connor’s birthday.”

“I never fuckin’ said that!”

They start walking away from the precinct up to the North, into downtown. Gavin mutters to himself pointless words, and RK waits patiently for his stress levels to remain steady.

“I don’t fuckin’ like Connor,” Gavin says. “I don’t. He’s a prick, a god damn plastic asshole who thinks he’s on a fucking pedestal.”

RK bristles. “Did you honestly take me from the precinct in order to trash talk Connor?” The irritation is evident in his voice.

“No!” Gavin still sounds frustrated. “That’s the thing. I don’t like Connor but I li— I think you’re pretty cool and I just…”

“I’m not following your logic.”

“I want to be able to get along with him? I guess? Fuck I don’t fuckin’ know. I never even thanked the dipshit for… all the stuff back in January.”

“So you… want to get Connor a gift?”

“Took you long enough to figure that out.”

“But I thought you didn’t want to—”

“I never said any of that!” He says it so loudly that he gains the attention of several people around them. The woman they’re walking behind jumps.

“I just… I don’t belong there.” Gavin’s voice is back to a reasonable level, but there’s a somber tone to his voice that RK wishes wasn’t there. “That’s your family, your stupid fuckin’ party. If I go, I’ll just fuck up the damn atmosphere.”

“If I hadn’t wanted you to come, I wouldn’t have invited you.”

“Not about you, it’s about Connor, dipshit.”

“Connor isn’t opposed to having you around. As long as you show promise of change.”

“Fat chance of that shit. Besides, Hank—”

“Is who told me I could invite you.” Gavin doesn’t return with a retort, so they walk in silence for several moments, stopping only to wait at crosswalks.

“I don’t even know what to fuckin’ get him.”

RK smiles.

“Connor likes music.”

Gavin is still worried. Still stressed.

RK had informed Gavin of Connor’s love of vinyl, his intense love of many music genres, and during lunch, had gone directly to a record store.

The ensuing thirty minutes had been stressful, mostly because of Gavin’s pure indecisiveness.

After fretting over what the hell Connor would enjoy, and after RK’s continual advice that Connor liked everything, Gavin decided to take a simple route.

Gavin picked music that he liked.

“Hank’s got such a shitty fashion sense, I’m gonna guess his music choice ain’t much better. He probably dragged all his music from the eighties, just like his fuckin’ shirts.”

Five albums. It would have been four, but Gavin couldn’t choose between Sleeping at Last’s Atlas: Year One or their Storyboard album, and decided to get both.

“God you haven’t fuckin’ heard any of their shit?” Gavin had said once RK admitted he hadn’t even heard of the band. “Fuck, we’ll have to listen to some, their songs are so fucking good.”

Gavin seemed… still jittery, but now, it was almost as though he was subtly excited.

This excitement seemed to fade once they were physically on their way to Hank’s house. It fades, and gives way to nervousness once more.

“You’re worrying too much,” RK says.

“I am not.”

“You are. Your stress levels have been rising continuously for the last hour.”

Gavin growls, and his fingers tighten their grip of the steering wheel.

“I’ve fuckin’ told you to stop scanning me, dipshit.”

“You’re deflecting.”

“And you’re being a dick.”

“What’s wrong, Gavin?”

“This whole birthday thing is just gonna go ass up if I show up.”

“So you’re worried your presence will make them uncomfortable.”

Gavin sighs. Defeated. “Yeah…”

They’re closer to Hank’s neighborhood now. Just a few more turns and they’ll be there.

“For androids,” RK begins saying, repeating (inexactly) words he has heard from many deviants on the news. “Deviancy is a second chance. It… gives them an opportunity to be more than who they used to be. It isn’t so far fetched to think that humans could have something like that, too, right?”

They turn into Hank’s neighborhood in silence.

Once in front of Hank’s home, only then does Gavin say something.

“This is your brother, RK,” he says, refusing to look up from the leather steering wheel he still grips tightly with his hands. “I… I want to be able to get along with him.”

“Then come wish Connor a happy birthday. Give him your gift. Be sincere.” Gavin doesn’t seem convinced. “Connor believes people can change. He believes that people can want to atone for past mistakes. Show him you can.”

Gavin puts the car in park and shuts off the engine.

It had happened so fast that RK didn’t really have time to call for help.

Sure he had been… connected with Connor when it happened, but he had never actively sent out any signal of distress.

Or at least, he doesn’t think he does.

Seeing Gavin get shot was one thing.

Seeing Gavin collapse on the ground was another.

Seeing the suspect raise their gun towards RK was the last thing RK had been aware of.

The next thing, after a gap of who knows how long, RK comes back around to hearing screaming.

Screaming.

Gavin screaming for him.

“RK fuckin’ stop, stop!” The words are said through a veil of pain, through gritted teeth.

RK has a bullet embedded into the back of his shoulder.

Their suspect…

Their—

Dead.

Deceased.

Murdered.

The man’s eyes are still open. Arm broken. The gun he had held was several feet away. His neck lay at an unnatural angle.

Dead.

78%

“RK!” Gavin yells again.

I didn’t do that. I didn’t do that I didn’t do that.

I didn’t do that. I didn’t do that I didn’t do that ididntdothatididntdothat—

Y̢͎̟̱͎͍̯̠͓̜̣͘ͅÓ҉͏̝̳͖͇̤͕̳̘̗̬̞̼͟͜U͢҉̝̩͈̪͍̦̥̘̙̟ͅ ̭͚̩̬̠̣̩̦̠͕̟͈̺̟͇̫͜͢D̷̼͕̫̝͚̤̞͜͡͠ID͘͜͢҉͖̗̯̘̻̮͖̹͓͢

M̴̷̡̨͔̖͉̱͕͝Ư̸̠̪̬̟͈̖̪̱̞̗͎̻͕͖͎̭̝Ŕ̸̭͍̳̲͚̥̙̝͞D̨̺͈̫̳͍̯̻̞͚͈̟̮̙̲̩̦̀͜͝ͅE̴̩͙̝̭̭͘̕͡ͅR̵̯͓͙̬͕͕͉͓̬̕͞Ę̢̧̺͕̩̥̥͜͝ͅR

RK looks down at his hands.

Red. Wet. Warm.

No.

RK reflexively sends a distress call.

Gavin’s been shot.

Officer injury.

88%

“RK, listen.” Gavin continues trying to call for him. “RK!” His voice cracks desperately at the end.

95%

The hospital is nearby. DPD’s third precinct was just up the road.

Help would be here soon.

RK should stay here. Should wait for backup, for medical aid. Should stay here with Gavin because Gavin—

W̩̞̳͉̩͓̺̺̲I̶̭̭̘̘͉̟L̼̜̳̫̘͖͞L̝͡ ̜͉̫̬́B͢͏͖̰E̵͓̗̥ ͓̘̬͝T̢̖̫E̶̦̖̹͉̤͈̬̬R̻͙̫̣̩R̷̼͇̳͙͖I̶̭̭̘̘͉̟FI̵͈̟̬͘ͅE̶͚̬͖̪͓D͈̤̮̲͔̻͈ ̧̨̫̥̱̤̝̝̮̮̯O͏̨̠̗͓F͍̪̻͠ ̩̱̰̫͎͔̳̩Y͎Ơ̧͖͇̞̠̪̬ͅŲ̷̯͙͍

W̨̭͓̲͟I̵̢̱͎͇̻̼̗͚̺͜L͏̖͓̞͔̹̺L͕̝̮̰͠͠ ̸̛̯͚̩̀H͕A̢̝̗̠͜͢T̸̜͈̝͕́E̩̮̤̭͕̻̼̭͠͠ ̧͚̗̟͇̲͉̳̲͜Y̜̲͈̘̬̞̦͢O͚̣̣̫͘U̴͇̤̖̹̱

W̢̛̊͟Įͯ͊̏͘L͋ͧ͐ͦ̓̂̕L̓̉̈́ ̒͑ͭ̒͟͟S̵̶̅͌̌́E̵̓̾ͪ͑̽̓̿̕N̆͂͒͝D̐̕͝͝ ̨̰̯̫̲̻̈̊ͫ̏͠͡Y̶̴̨̳̲̤̮̥̫O̷̦̖̲̰̘̳U̸̮͍ ̴̰̫͎͔B͏̤͚͍A̵̡̟C̟̰͔̭̥̞̺͠ͅK̟̻͕͎̞̞͚̝̟ ̸̗͎̻̰͓͇͈͉ T̡̾̒̃̅ͩͦ́̒͡Oͪͥ̈̏̕ ̛̃̇̈́̿͌͛̽T̶̢͐͊ͧ͛ͩ̃͗́H̎̊͒͋͟E̸͒͘ ̴̅͆͞Ģ͒̽͌̔ͣ̀R̨̓̍͢͠A̴̓͊͆͌͋͏V̴̢̉̆̾ͩ͒̈́̿ͦE̷̋̌ͨ͡ ̸̅̾̑ͨ͆ͣ̾̕͏

99%

RK backs himself against the wall.

He sinks to the ground.

He doesn’t know what to do.

His hands are sticky. His clothes are stained.

God, what had he done?

Y̨͖̹̳͉͈͚͎͘o̢͙̭͖͎̹̪ͅu̵͚͉̜̮ ̷͏̤̠͢k͏̱̼̭̳̯͔͝ì̥̗͟l̵̨̰̲͇̯̺͙̙̭͖͝l̥͎̰̺͢e̴̩̹̤͖͖̺̮̲̕͟ḏ̗͎͞ ̵̷̮̤̗̘h̛̤̜͖̳̫i̸̴̞̞̯͠m̛̳͇̱͇̰̞.̹̺͞

He didn’t want to, god, he didn’t want to—

Ỵ̺͚̻ͥ͋̀ẹ̖̘̉̓ͯs͍̫̳̰ͤ̑̿̓̚ ̫̌͐ͥy̙̰̱̿̇̌̋o͖̦̹͉̟̳̐̉ͦ̏ͥ͛̚̚û̟̭̻͖̤̤̪̮̃ ͕̰̺͕̺̰͙͚͋ͣ͆̔ͭ̍̈́̃ď̳̗̎̑̾̓̑ỉ̤̩̘̲͍͈̠̺͛͊̀͊d͉̤͖͕̱͚͕͉̤ͭ̓ͪ͂ͯ͑

He doesn’t even know —

Ḩ̰̝͓͙̺̹͇ͬ͐ͯ̔́e̖͉̟̰̯ͭ̍͆̒ͩ ̳͓͈͈͌̎ͮͦ̚͡͝d̪͕̭̼̬͍̹̥̬̃ͣ̋̚e͈̠̹ͪ̍̄́͛ͫͭ͟ş̲̹ͯ̆́̎̌è̩͙͉ͤ̉ͩ̅ȓ̴͇̤͖̬̼̞̬̠̙v̢̰̪̝̥ͬͬ͡e̷̖̳̥͌̄ͨ͛̌̉̚͘͠ͅḑ͉̘͇̱̤̱̔́ ̎ͫ͒͂̇̒ͥ̈́̓͘҉͇͓͖̘̖̝͎i̙̘̱̪̎͋̃͋ͨ̓̉̀͞t̷̸͖̪͇ͪͨͪ̎̒̆̄͞.̸͎̯͓̤̠̜̳̯̓ͩ̐ ̢̼͉͓͖̃̐͠

99%

99%

99%

ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR

100%

Chapter Text

The world is… blurry.

No longer red. No longer grey.

Just… blurry.

Blurry and cold and stark white.

RK realizes where he is.

Cyberlife.

He stands stationary, limbs locked, mouth unable to open. He stands. He stares.

It’s the warehouse.

Beside him, his copies stand. Vacant. Ready to be activated, ready to kill.

A woman looks down at him.

Amanda.

She regards him, only for a moment.

“You’ve done well.”

No.

No he hasn’t.

His jacket was bloody.

So he left it behind.

As soon as the ambulance got there, as soon as Gavin was in good hands, RK left.

RK left.

RK ran.

RK doesn’t know what else to do.

He finds himself back home at quarter to eleven.

His key was in his jacket.

He knocks on the door. He’s panicked. He’s— he’s—

100%

He’s terrified.

When Hank opens the door, his sleepy demeanor immediately shifts into alarm, into concern.

Hank holds RK up and lets him cry against his shoulder.

Upon RK’s request, Hank takes RK to the hospital first thing in the morning.

RK’s wearing clean clothes. Clothes that aren’t his, but they are still clean. In place of his jacket, Hank got one of his old coats and slugged it across RK’s shoulders.

It’s comforting, to have the weight there.

Even if it isn’t his.

The hospital is loud. Hectic. There are people crying. RK subconsciously stands closer to Hank.

Connor had wanted to come.

RK doesn’t know why he didn’t want his predecessor to come, but right now, RK just wanted Hank.

Connor would read his stress levels. Connor would want to know what happened. Connor would want him to interface.

Hank knew to let someone speak when they wish to.

RK isn’t family. The hospital staff don’t allow non-family members to see a patient.

Hank reprimands their stupid rules — RK is Gavin’s partner, that should be grounds enough.

After a while, after Hank scathes enough people, RK and Hank are taken to where Gavin is.

The bullet punctured Gavin’s lung.

He has a broken wrist, a concussions, severe bruising, mild blood loss.

He has a cast already.

The lung puncture is not large, so a percutaneous chest tube is not necessary. Gavin needs supplemental oxygen and needle aspiration, but the injury is non-life threatening.

Hank goes in first. Tells Gavin that he looks like shit. Gavin tells Hank he looks better than Hank does on any day.

The atmosphere is tense but jovial.

When RK walks in, Gavin freezes.

RK detects an elevation in Gavin’s stress levels. The EKG displays the increase in his heart rate.

RK wants to leave.

Hank knows this.

He reaches back and encourages RK inside.

RK wants to say a lot of things, but RK can’t find himself saying anything.

Gavin leans back against his pillows. He tightens his jaw.

“Where the fuck did you go?” Gavin asks.

If it weren’t for Hank’s arms around his shoulders, RK would have left.

Gavin is angry with him.

Gavin is angry with him for disappearing when Gavin was hurt.

RK knows that isn’t all of it.

RK knows Gavin is scared of him, but Gavin masks his fear behind anger.

Gavin doesn’t want to see him.

RK doesn’t want to leave.

He compromises. He stays in the hospital waiting room while Hank talks with Gavin.

An ML500 android — a medical care android — approaches him after several minutes.

“Sir?” she says. Her voice is soft. Calming. Maybe even a bit hesitant. “Are you alright?”

No, every part of RK screams, but he says nothing.

“Your LED is… red. And your stress levels are very high.” She crouches in front of where he sits. “Are you waiting for someone?” She’s speaking to him as though he were a lost child.

“N-no…” he finally says, if only to placate her. If only to make her go away. “I’m fine.”

The look she gives him is patient, albeit subtly reprimanding. “It’ll be alright,” she settles on. Her hand comes forward, resting over his where he’s gripping his pants. A one-sided interface breaks into his head, and though not… entirely unwelcome, it’s unexpected.

She floods him with calmness. With warmth. With hope.

It disappears when she pulls away.

 
“How you holdin’ up, kid?”

Hank’s heavy hand on his shoulder comes suddenly. RK blinks, the world coming back into focus.

He gets… so lost in his own thoughts sometimes.

“I’m… fine.”

“You’re a shit liar.”

“Well what am I supposed to say?” RK snaps. He hadn’t meant to. Hadn’t expected to. He apologizes quickly.

“You can just be honest,” Hank continues. It’s in the same soft voice as before.

“…what did Gavin say?”

“He’s being a fuckin’ baby, what else is new,” Hank dismisses.

“He got shot.”

“Yeah, and? He’s been shot before.”

“I killed someone in front of him.”

Hank, much to RK’s disbelief, just sighs. “Listen, RK,” he starts. He twists in his chair in order to face RK directly. “Sometimes… in the field you gotta do things that… that you regret. Later on. And look, I get it. Killin’ somebody… it’s hard. Fuck, it’s hard. First time I had to do it, it shook me the fuck up. But I did it for the right reasons.”

“Right reasons?!” RK can’t believe what he’s hearing. “Why is there ever a right reason to kill someone?”

To Hank’s credit, his temper remains idle. “Because they woulda killed me. Or my partner. Hell, they could have killed a whole damn team of us. You never fuckin’ know.”

That doesn’t help RK feel better.

“If you hadn’t done it, Gavin may be dead. Would you want that?”

“No.”

“Of course not.”

It’s quiet for several minutes.

“If I had to kill somebody to save you, or save Con, hell even Gavin, I’d do it.”

The moral ambiguity is making RK’s head hurt.

“What else did Gavin say…?” RK prompts. He knows there must be more.

He’s right.

“He said that… that you weren’t yourself.” RK digs his nails into his palms. “That he… had to shoot at you to get your attention.”

RK can’t feel pain, but the place where Gavin’s bullet was against his shoulder begins to burn.

“What happened to you, kid?”

RK doesn’t know.

He wishes he could tell Hank. Wishes he knew what the hell was happening to him. The worst part of it all isn’t even that he killed someone.

It’s that he didn’t even know he was doing it.

“…Something’s… wrong with me Hank.”

Hank drags RK against him by the shoulders. “We’ll get you figured out, RK. Don’t worry.”

RK hoped Hank was right.

Hank encourages RK to go talk to Gavin.

RK has already found his uncomfortable chair a comfortable place to sit and rot in the waiting room.

After a considerable amount of convincing, RK is up. RK is moving. RK is going to see Gavin again.

Gavin looks tired, he looks pissed, he looks like he needs a shower.

When he sees RK, he looks frighteningly blank.

Much to RK’s dismay, Hank leaves them, some fumbled excuse about needing coffee and going off in search of the cafeteria. As soon as Hank leaves, as soon as the door is shut, Gavin speaks.

“Why the fuck did you just run away?”

“I don’t know.”

“‘I don’t know’? That’s your fucking excuse?”

Gavin can’t quite yell. The damage to his lung prevents it. But it still feels like he is.

“What the fuck did you even do? You literally switched the fuck off. Full auto-pilot. Mind explaining that shit?”

“I-I don’t know.”

Gavin scoffs. “Great. Fuckin’ cool. I didn’t peg you for a fuckin’ liar, RK.”

“I’m not lying.”

“Then what the fuck is it then? Huh? I had to fucking shoot you to get you to stop, RK. What the fuck?”

“I don’t know! I don’t… I don’t…”

RK didn’t think androids could hyperventilate.

Whatever this is, it’s similar.

On one hand he wants to run. On the other, he doesn’t think he could move if he tried to. Instead, he backs himself up against the shut door. He tries to ignore the shaking of the world.

Tries to ignore the ache in his chest. The twitch in his fingers.

Rip it out, rip it out.

“Fuck, RK. RK? RK, c’mere man.”

Pushing himself off the door was one of the hardest things RK’s ever done.

He’s being an idiot. He’s being selfish. He’s being inconsiderate.

Gavin is the one who has been shot. Gavin is the one in the hospital bed. Gavin is the one on painkillers with broken bones and on medical leave. RK shouldn’t be the one needing to be comforted.

And yet, here they are.

He stands at Gavin’s bedside, motionless. Gavin grips his hand, the pad of his thumb digging into RK’s palm.

“Ya see that?” Gavin whispers. He jerks his head towards the screen, towards the EKG. The one displaying the pulse of Gavin’s heart. “That’s still kickin’ because of you. You saved me, R. Got that? So don’t… I don’t know, don’t beat the shit outta yourself.”

But RK would.

God, he would.

Gavin’s released from the hospital three days later.

His punctured lung and broken wrist places him on medical leave for the next six weeks.

Gavin isn’t thrilled.

But neither is RK.

RK is suspended from duty. The circumstances regarding the… incident are sensitive and as of yet, mostly unknown. Only RK and Gavin know what happened, and right now, RK isn’t talking.

Gavin, however, is more than willing.

He tells Fowler the truth. His version of the truth. That the suspect was going to shoot Gavin right between his fuckin’ eyes, and that RK had done what was necessary to stop the guy from doing so.

What was necessary.

The use of that phrase makes RK sick.

Gavin was out of the hospital now, still on medical leave.

Hank and Connor were at work, per usual.

RK was home.

RK was alone.

RK didn’t have… anything to distract him.

RK hasn’t been able to sleep in weeks. It didn’t help matters now that a stasis cycle just gave him an opportunity to relive what he did.

The house is silent, but at the same time, everything is so loud. A static buzzing lingers in his ears, and even Sumo’s breathing is like thunder.

RK had killed someone.

RK had hurt someone and he couldn’t even recall it.

It had happened once.

It could happen again.

He was a threat. He was a liability. He was unstable. 

It would be safer if I were dead.

The day of the incident, the only thing that kept RK from self destructing had been Gavin.

Because Gavin had been shot and Gavin was potentially dying. Because Gavin was gasping and cursing through gritted teeth. Because he was in shock, he was in pain.

RK had forced himself to help him. Had forced his jacket off, had made himself put pressure against Gavin’s gunshot wound.

RK didn’t have that now. He didn’t have anything.

He didn’t even have his jacket.

He just had his gun.

100%

Did he have sub dermal armor in his head? He figures he must.

100%

RK meets his own eyes in the bathroom mirror. Maybe sub dermal armor wouldn’t matter at this close of a range.

100%

What would happen if he died?

Nothing, most likely.

He was an android. Androids didn’t have souls. Androids didn’t have any kind of afterlife.

RK doesn’t remember pulling the trigger.

It was his nature. 

It was his programming.

SUBDUE. DESTROY. KILL.

It’s what he was made to do. 

Perhaps there was never such a thing as free will.

Maybe his choices, consequences, actions and reactions were decided for him already. 

He was a machine. He was programmed to kill.

He didn’t want to kill.

He wasn’t programmed to care. He wasn’t programmed to love. He wasn’t programmed to be a detective. 

He was programmed to murder.

You can’t fight your programming.

RK didn’t know if androids could dream.

Or maybe this was just… his life flashing before his eyes.

Waking up in a grave to stars. Connor. Hank. Sumo.

What had they ever thought of him?

A disappointment.

A joke.

Connor could do so much better.

Gavin.

What had Gavin ever thought of him?

Gavin smiles at him. Gavin cries and clings to him. Gavin laughs with him. Gavin jokes with him. Gavin got him coffee once, forgetting that RK couldn’t drink any. Gavin talks to him so much about nothing at all.

Useless.

Plastic prick.

Worthless human wannabe.

RK thought he could be a detective.

RK was an idiot.

RK wasn’t good enough.

RK wasn’t resilient enough.

RK wasn’t Connor.

He would never be as good as Connor.

RK’s vision doubled as a recording.

Everything he saw was stored for a period of six hours before it was refreshed. Before new data took its place.

As such, RK is able to look back and see what exactly happened.

His intent was to pull the trigger. Every part of his mind and body had solidified on this intent. He had thought he pulled the trigger.

That had been his last conscious action.

Watching the recording, RK can see his own arm still before his finger compresses the trigger.

He can see the emotion leave his own face.

He can see the red in his eyes.

The gun lowers to his side.

And then there’s nothing.

Standing in the living room, with Sumo barking and growling at him forty-six seconds later was the first thing that RK became aware of again.

When Hank and Connor get home two hours later, Hank demands to know why RK’s gun is in pieces. Why it, and the bullets, are in the sink.

RK doesn’t answer.

Because RK doesn’t know.

It hadn’t worked.

I can’t do anything right.

Whatever it was… whatever was happening to him, wouldn’t even let him shoot himself.

I can’t even kill myself properly.

RK supposes that all androids can die of natural causes. He isn’t sure how long his energy core could last for.

How long did he have to lay here before he just withered away?

For as much as this haunted his dreams, RK finds it somewhat relieving to see.

The grave he crawled out of was gone now. The entire waste disposal area had been leveled. Nothing but smooth earth, the occasional piece of heavy machinery and a plastic orange fence were here now.

But RK knew where it was.

He could never forget it.

RK can’t help but wonder as to the fate of all his brothers. His copies. His lookalikes. What were they?

Were they individuals? Were they just him, overlapped two hundred thousand times?

If RK had activated any of them, what would they have done?

They would probably be just as lost as he is. Built to be used by a government that no longer needed them. A government that attempted to hide their creation.

Would they have been like him? Would they feel as confused and hopeless as he does? They wouldn’t, more than likely.

They wouldn’t be deviants. They would only know to adhere to their code. They would be good, diligent soldiers who never asked questions, never had dreams of grandeur.

Who never thought they could be anything different.

Some piece of RK was envious of this thought.

This is private property. If he’s found here, he’ll be punished appropriately.

It doesn’t stop him from laying on the ground, on his grave, looking up at the clouded sky.

He supposes he doesn’t deserve the stars.

Running was always his therapy.

Now, it just felt like he was running from something.

Running east, RK would have hit the lake by now.

So, he ran west instead.

RK hits Redford as soon as he leaves Detroit’s city limits. After Redford comes Livonia, then Plymouth. He follows Five Mile road until it ends, and then he follows the highway.

RK doesn’t slow down until he gets to Barton Hills. And even then, it’s only because of police lights.

The Detroit Highway Patrol officer admits that when the call came in he thought it was strange. He’s never had to pull over anyone who was just running, but then again, no one he’d seen had ever run at thirty miles an hour before.

RK explains that he’s simply out for a run. He even shows the officer his badge for the DPD.

It’s a short stop. But even so, it still makes RK stop.

Stop. Turn around. And run back home.

Writing the report is difficult.

Rereading the report is harder.

Submitting it feels… wrong.

RK explains it as best as he can. He omits the blackout.

L͓͇ị̵a̸̖̮̲̥͜͝ͅr̶͍̀͠.̶̧̛͈͓̩͍͖̘ ̢̞͔̬̥ͅ.

Gavin

August 28 2039

(18:58)
Honestly this is gonna fuckin kill me

(19:03)
What is?

(19:04)
Med leave… : (

(19:05)
I would rather you suffer through the
atrocities of medical leave rather than
potentially worsen your condition
due to untimely strenuous activity.

(19:07)
Alright calm down Britannica nobody
asked for an essay

(19:09)
I get that I just

(19:12)
I hate being bored

RK understands this entirely.

Gavin

August 29 2039

(11:29)
What tf do you do when ur bored

(11:30)
I go running.

(11:32)
Still?

(11:33)
You don’t need to run

(11:33)
I know I don’t.

(11:35)
I find it relaxing all the same

RK was wasting water.

RK liked to be clean. He liked clean clothes without wrinkles and made sure his hair was always just so.

Maybe that was part of his programming. Everything had to be in order in the military.

When he took showers, it was always perfunctory. He spent as little time as possible as was necessary to clean himself. He was conscientious of the water bill, though knew it would do little to effect the electricity.

RK didn’t take hot showers.

His were always ice cold.

He was wasting water.

He was getting his clothes wet.

The ice cold water raining down on him felt good nonetheless.

He could almost forget he was crying.

 
Something’s changing.

Something bad.

Sumo doesn’t bark at RK. He doesn’t bark at anyone, truthfully. That’s why RK was the guard dog, not Sumo.

RK’s losing track of time. Small increments of time, a mere few seconds, would be unaccounted for. One moment, it’s 01:03:16 and the next it’s 01:03:28 and RK doesn’t know where those twelve seconds went.

Sumo would bark at him, in those times. It’s what would bring RK back.

RK’s losing track of time.

RK’s losing himself.

“Connor?”

Connor halts his forward progress. It’s late — Hank’s already in bed, maybe RK should just leave it be.

They would be better off without you.

“What is it, RK?”

You’re a waste of space.

“…good night.”

“Good night, RK. Sleep well.”

As though RK could sleep.

 
It’s getting worse.

Instead of seconds, minutes are beginning to filter away.

RK tries to shoot himself three more times.

Each time, he finds his gun in pieces with the discarded bullets in the bathroom sink.

I’m losing myself

I’m losing myself 

I’m losing myself

To what?

To who?

“Connor?”

This time. This time he has to.

“I need your help.”

With the world being as it was, there were very few and far between private places in order to do this kind of thing.

The indoor DPD gun range just… happened to be the perfect place.

Restricting the entry is easy enough.

Closing the gates on the other booths is easier.

RK finds himself shaking as he stands in the firing lane at the 8 meter line.

RK doesn’t know who else he can trust with this.

He’s afraid. He’s terrified. He doesn’t know the limits, the restrictions. He doesn’t know how to stop, doesn’t know if he can.

Connor is his predecessor. Connor may be the only person that could really stop him if something went wrong.

“Are you sure you want to do this, RK?” Connor asks. Connor doesn’t sound as nervous as RK thinks he should be. RK doesn’t trust himself to speak, so he only nods.

RK has never felt dread so powerfully before.

Connor makes short work of loading the gun. Of switching off the safety.

He raises it.

RK blacks out.

It’s a reflexive response, they eventually gather.

When RK perceives a threat from a firearm, something inside of him switches on while something else switches off.

It’s a subdue protocol. Destroy the threat in front of you to prevent the causation of harm.

It’s good that they know why it happens.

They don’t know how to stop it, however.

Connor is able to confirm the same thing that RK saw. Red glow of the pupil — a light structured targeting system, is what Connor surmises it to be.

It’s full autopilot. In place until a threat is destroyed.

It’s something RK can’t recall. It’s something that isn’t in his control.

It’s something that terrifies him.

In the line of police work, it was a given that sometimes you were going to have a gun pointed at you.

In the line of police work, it was expected that you should be able to diffuse that kind of situation without resorting to homicide.

The line of police work had no place for someone who couldn’t control themselves.

It had no place for RK.

He’s a liability.

He should just resign.

When RK opens his eyes, he finds himself in a familiar world.

The Zen garden. Somewhere he hasn’t found himself in a very long time.

It’s cold. Snow blankets the ground. The water is frozen over.

Amanda’s roses are still a vibrant blood red.

That didn’t make any particular sense. The frost would have long killed them. But RK knows this world is simulated.

RK knows the person standing in front of him isn’t real.

It’s him. A spitting image. Still with the familiar RK900 jacket. With black dress pants and shiny shoes covered in snow. Perfectly stationary. Standing at attention.

The subtle red of the pupils is what gives it away.

RK recoils from it.

He doesn’t need to.

Doesn’t need to run from it.

The copy of him doesn’t move. But it watches him. It never blinks. Never wavers. Reveals nothing.

You’ve been so afraid. 

So worried.

RK knows there should be a bridge here. He knows there should be, and yet, when he looks back to check, there isn’t one there. There isn’t one anywhere.

It could all be solved.

Could all be fixed. 

You don’t need to run from it.

His copy takes a single step closer. RK flinches.

Red eyes. Red hands.

Fresh blood dripping from its fingers.

You don’t need to run from it.

He wakes up with hands gripping his shoulders.

RK panics.

He throws a short punch, hits something, and then those hands are gone. Gone and RK is — is—

God, he hit Connor.

RK rips the headphones off his head, attempting to stutter out an apology as he watches his predecessor wipe blood from his nose.

“It’s okay, RK,” Connor assures softly. His voice is steady, smooth, calm. That’s the negotiator within him. “It’s alright, I’m fine.”

“I-I—” RK finds that his words are difficult to come by. There’s some kind of disconnect between his mind and his mouth.

RK doesn’t need air. He doesn’t, not really. Breathing is only a process required as a form of ventilation. Androids had processors that needed to be kept cool and they didn’t have ventilation ports over their bodies.

But even so, RK feels like he’s choking.

Connor comes closer from where he had previously retreated in response to being struck. He puts most of his weight on the arm rest of RK’s chair.

“I’m alright. You didn’t hurt me.”

Calm. Assuring.

“Relax, RK. You’re panicking.”

Panicking? Of course, he’s panicking. Panicking because god he just hit Connor and his hands feel like they’re covered in blood and RK feels like he’s choking even though he doesn’t need to breathe

A gentle pressure against his shoulder, then firmer. Connor pulls him close, and RK finds himself gripping tight at Connor’s elbow.

RK didn’t realize how much he was shaking until he has Connor attempting to hold him still.

“You’re okay, RK. You’re safe.”

These words continue. Paired with Connor’s voice – soft, calming – RK slowly, painfully slowly, begins to relax.

He hadn’t known his stress levels were so high until he feels them drop. Until the pressure on his body begins to fade.

Connor still holds him.

RK is perfectly okay with that.

Gavin

September 2 2039

(14:43)
You should come over

(14:44)
Seriously

(14:44)
And bring tomatoes with you

(14:46)
Tomatoes?

(14:49)
Ye

(14:49)
Just tomatoes.

(14:50)
Yeah. Just tomatoes

(15:01)
Fuck u if I wanna eat tomatoes like apples then I fuckin can

(15:02)
You can’t fuckin judge me

(15:03)
I never said anything.

(15:04)
I can feel ur judgement

(15:06)
Ur judgement is silence

(15:08)
The silence was me attempting to decide
whether you would want Roma or grape
tomatoes but your apple comment has
helped me decide

(15:11)
Fuck u

(15:11)
Get me Campari

When RK knocks on the apartment door an hour later, a bag of tomatoes in hand, he feels… incredibly nervous.

He’s never been to Gavin’s home.

RK has only minimal knowledge of visitation etiquette. Does he remove his shoes? Does he keep them on? He’s afraid of doing something wrong.

Very afraid.

Gavin opens the door and he invites RK inside.

It had taken RK a good while to feel comfortable within Hank and Connor’s home, and somehow, being in Gavin’s feels so much more restricting.

He doesn’t let himself scan anything. He doesn’t look at the pictures or the books or the magazines, ignores the building curiosity at this chance to learn more about his partner. He’s never been to Gavin’s home before, and usually, ones home was a good place to make discoveries about them.

But RK refused.

Gavin takes the tomatoes and, true to his word, eats them straight off the vine.

Like apples.

“Fuck, dude,” Gavin says around a mouthful. The tomatoes are juicy; RK wishes he wouldn’t speak with so much liquid in his mouth. “This shit hits the spot.”

RK wants to ask Gavin why he particularly fancied tomatoes, but he doesn’t.

“I’m bored as fuck,” Gavin admits. “And I can’t do shit because of my fuckin’ lung.”

It’s only been a week. His lung is still far from fully healed. As is his wrist, currently in a white plaster cast. The outside has been decorated with crude phallic images. Tina’s doing, no doubt.

“Wanna watch a movie?” Gavin suggests. “I got a ton of shit on my watch list that I need to go through.”

RK’s uncomfortable.

RK wants to leave.

RK has missed Gavin.

RK stays.

It becomes a routine for them.

Everyday RK would run to Gavin’s apartment. They would watch movies together, ones that usually ended with Gavin’s disapproval. RK would run home in the evening, before dinner.

A routine.

RK feels less like he’s losing himself everyday.

It’s Hank’s birthday.

It’s a difficult time for Hank. As are most holidays.

Losing Cole was painful. RK finds it painful, and he wasn’t even there.

Christmas had been difficult, and looking back, RK wishes he had properly thanked Hank for indulging his desire to decorate. He had been so caught up wanting to make Hank and Connor his family, wanting to make this place his home, that he forgot something important.

Hank didn’t celebrate holidays because they were a painful reminder of the person that was no longer with them.

Hank’s birthday was no different.

Hank was adamant he wanted no gifts. Nothing. Not a single one.

Hank wanted to drink. He wanted to eat shitty food. He wanted to watch a game on TV. He wanted a peaceful night.

Connor and RK do their best to make this happen.

RK has the house clean and dinner started by the time Hank and Connor get home. Earlier than their usual.

Hank drinks. Hank eats. Connor frets over the intake of cholesterol and sodium, but he remains silent.

Hank watches TV.

RK watches it with him.

It’s very quiet.

RK isn’t quite sure this is what a birthday should feel like, but Hank seems happy.

Even if RK doesn’t sleep that night, he still uses Hank’s noise canceling headphones. Connor had been getting… somewhat handsy.

Connor’s happy.

Hank’s happy.

RK can’t say the same for himself, but he’s content with their happiness.

It’s getting worse it’s getting so much worse

How did he get here he has no idea it’s been hours hours

What did he do in all those hours?

“Gavin?”

“Hm?” Softly at first. “What is it?”

“I’m going to quit.”

A moment to process.

“What?”

This was a hard decision to make.

RK doesn’t want to quit. He likes being a detective. He likes working with Gavin. He likes the mystery, he likes helping people.

But sometimes wrong with him. He’s losing himself, more and more pieces slipping away every day and he’s so tired.

He’s so tired. So scared.

“The DPD. I’m quitting.”

“What the fuck? Why?!”

Gavin’s angry. RK’s shoulder’s sink.

“I don’t think it’s… the right choice for me.”

A pathetic reason, really.

But really, RK is beginning to lose sight of who ‘me’ is.

Their routine breaks.

Just like that.

Gavin is angry with his choice. RK feels torn in two as a result.

Without the consistency of Gavin’s companionship, RK finds himself becoming worse.

Hank and Connor are still there, yes. But each time they ask, RK always assures he’s fine.

He’s fine.

He’ll be fine.

Days pass.

A week.

He’ll be fine.

A gun wouldn’t work.

That much was obvious.

Beating his head against the wall didn’t work either.

It just made Sumo growl and bark.

It just made Hank and Connor scream at him to stop.

Something had to give. Something had to give.

Something had to work.

You don’t need to run from it.

A decision has to be made.

Connor and Hank know something is wrong now. They know without any doubt that things are becoming worse. That RK is becoming worse.

The spontaneous self destruction events are worrying. RK himself can’t even halt them.

They don’t think RK should be alone during the day anymore.

Convenient, then, that Gavin is always home now.

Connor had told Gavin what had happened.

Gavin wants RK to come over right then.

It’s 19:33 when RK knocks on the door.

Hank had driven him over here. RK had wanted to run, but Hank had thought it better to accompany him.

Because there was no telling what RK might do.

Gavin opens the door.

Gavin draws him inside his apartment without a word.

Gavin pulls him to the couch, makes him sit down. RK ends up with his ear pressed against Gavin’s chest, half sitting, half laying, between Gavin’s legs.

He hears Gavin’s heart beating. Gavin presses his lips against RK’s hair.

RK’s tired, and falling asleep in Gavin’s arms is easy.

RK jerks awake because of movement close to him.

“Hey, hey, hey, it’s okay, RK.” A hushed voice. Soft. Fingers brush through his hair, pinning him back against Gavin’s chest. “Sorry, it was just me.”

Just Gavin.

It was just Gavin.

79%

“It’s okay. You’ve been asleep for a bit. My arm just got kinda numb.”

Androids didn’t sleep.

Machines didn’t sleep.

“Are you okay, buddy?”

Was he?

83%

“No.”

Gavin’s grip around him tightens, however minutely. Those fingers continue to card their way through his hair. Lips press against his head again.

76%

“I don’t know what’s happening to me,” RK confesses, his voice cracking. His eyes burning.

“It’s okay,” Gavin interrupts. “It’s okay, RK, we’ll figure it out. We will.”

We will.

72%

If Gavin notices him crying, he doesn’t say anything.

 
RK doesn’t think it’s a good idea.

Connor insists.

When an android interfaces, they can control what is shared. What is seen. Forcefully probing for more can remove this restriction, but it had been deemed illegal since the android revolution.

RK doesn’t think it’s a good idea.

Connor wants to know everything.

Everything. Every feeling, every thought, that RK has had up until this point.

The data dump would hurt Connor, RK thinks. Connor may be an RK800, but RK was still an advanced android. His processor was more powerful. His memory, his thought pattern, his palace — it was all organized differently from his predecessor.

Connor insists.

Once RK eventually, with much trepidation, relents, they devote an entire day to it.

Leading up to it, RK organizes everything. Or attempts to, anyway. He attempts to make things compact. But there is just so much. So many little things RK didn’t know he had paid so much attention towards.

In only an hour, two months of data are pushed into Connor’s mind.

Faint memories of the warehouse. The critical gaze of the FBI. Waking up in his grave. The interrogations, the holding cell.

Meeting Connor for the first time. Meeting Hank. And Sumo.

All of this. All of this and more.

The terror, the uncertainty, the anxious dread. The longing for a place, wanting to be welcome. Wanting to be close to the only kind of family – however loose and artificial that term could be – he had in Connor.

Caring. Trying. Failing.Trying again anyway.

Fear again, hesitance, uncertainty once more. Yearning to prove himself. Bitterness in the back of his throat at his predecessors natural success while he struggles to keep up.

Struggling to adapt. Struggling to fit in.

Struggling. Always struggling. Always one step behind, always feeling the need to do a little more than everyone else.

RK hides none of it.

He spills it onto his brother and he hadn’t realized how painful it all was until he experiences it all again.

Despite their pace, it overwhelms his predecessor again and again.

The emotions are raw. Painful. Felt powerfully, for the first time, and then washing over the both of them.

After so many hours, Connor has it all.

After those hours, RK and Connor are both exhausted, and can say nothing to each other.

Connor understands now, maybe.

Maybe.

The next day is when Connor confronts him.

The next day is when Connor cries in front of him for the first time.

Seeing his predecessor cry is disturbing. RK has never known his predecessor to seem this upset, and as such, RK feels a need to mitigate whatever has caused him pain.

But it was him, in reality.

RK was what had caused this.

Connor hugs him so tight that if RK were human, his ribs would have broken. Connor cries against his shoulder, repeatedly muttering apologies.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, RK, I should have known better, I should have helped you more —”

The apologies are unnecessary, and RK lets Connor know this.

“It isn’t your job to fix everything for everyone, Connor. You guided me exactly where I needed to go.”

“But it’s been so hard for you there—?”

“It has been. But… but Gavin is the best friend I’ve ever had. And the work is…”

Connor knows.

RK likes helping people. He likes solving mysteries, likes finding clues, putting puzzle pieces together. He likes the thrill of it, whatever the android equivalent of an adrenaline surge is. He loves it, but is scared of it at the same time, and he’s still trying to figure out why.

Right now it hurts. It hurts so badly.

But hurting is a part of life.

Pain makes you stronger.

Gavin taught him that.

Being around Gavin certainly doesn’t change the fact that RK loses track of time.

This time, though, instead of having Sumo’s barking bring him back, it’s Gavin instead.

Gavin, who doesn’t bring him back so abruptly.

Gavin, who brings him back simply, softly.

Hands on his forearms, or thumbs pressing firmly into his palms. A soft voice, words said in a way RK didn’t know Gavin was capable of.

“Wake up, RK.”

“Come back to me.”

RK always does.

“Will you talk to me about it?” Gavin asks one day. All of a sudden.

It breaks the silence. The comfortable silence. The one RK has missed between them.

“About what in specific?” RK has to question.

“Ya know… the dissociating thing.”

Oh. Gavin’s referring to the blackouts.

“We don’t have to,” Gavin adds quickly, and his gaze keeps flickering to RK’s LED. “I just… I… I wanna help you. I don’t even know if I can but…” Gavin pauses. He clears his throat. “To pay you back. For… for helping me.”

It’s felt like so long, but it had only been in January.

The thought of all that had happened in only nine and a half months was… surreal.

“Do you have any idea what causes it?”

RK thought he knew, at one point. Thought he could pin this down to his automatic defense response and call it a day.

It wasn’t that simple.

“No.”

“There’s gotta be something.”

“There isn’t any pattern. It just… comes and goes.”

“How long does it last?”

“It used to last for minutes. It can last hours now.”

“Fuck.”

RK is inclined to agree.

Fuck.

“I go back to work Monday.”

RK only nods. He was painfully aware.

“Are you… are you gonna come back with me?”

It’s asked with hesitance.

With just the smallest bit of hope.

The weekend passes.

When Gavin walks into work that day, coffee was waiting for him on his desk.

RK greets him.

A lot of things change.

Things between Gavin and RK, namely.

Since the beginning of their partnership, many within the precinct had been incredibly surprised at Gavin and RK’s closeness. Then again, only Fowler, and later Tina, knew of the initial circumstances of RK and Gavin’s meeting, outside of Connor and Hank.

After the… incident, an incident that no one was too keen on discussing, they got much closer.

Mostly in physical terms.

When they sat side by side, it was seemingly an unconscious decision made by both parties to sit close enough to be touching.

When they walked side by side, it was circumstantial that they would walk close enough to have their shoulders brush, their hands touch.

When they spoke with each other, it was coincidental that they moved closer. That they leaned in towards one another.

RK liked those times the best.

He liked finding the flecks of green in Gavin’s eyes.

With the arrival of October, RK feels rather expectant.

Not for Halloween. Not for the arrival of winter.

It’s Gavin’s birthday soon.

RK doesn’t quite know Gavin’s personal opinion on birthdays. He had seemed… awkward and out of place at Connor’s. The relationship between Connor, Hank and Gavin was still terse, and only RK was acting as a mediator.

Did Gavin feel the same as Hank did? Did he not look forward to birthdays because of some unspoken, painful reason?

RK didn’t know. But RK didn’t want to step on his toes in anyway.

Given his track record, getting Fowler to agree to let him have that day off is rather easy.

But there were more things RK had to worry about until then.

It hadn’t taken all that long to figure out just how many amps were required to effectively immobilize an android.

It had taken a bit longer to figure out how many amps were needed to immobilize him, though.

Since agreeing to return to work, RK had been thinking of what he could possibly do in order to stop his dormant problem.

His defensive response.

The response seemed simple enough. It also made sense when RK thought about his intended purpose. If someone (say, Russians) were to point a gun at an RK900, the RK900 would eliminate that threat.

An automatic targeting system, built in and made inherently reflexive. A part of his programming.

But in RK’s opinion, it was just a behavior. Behavior could be changed. It could be curbed.

So, operant conditioning was his solution.

10 amps was one hundred times the amount required to kill a human. At 0.1 amps, with three seconds of exposure, ventricular fibrillation occurs within the heart — effectively lethal.

For RK, 10 amps would lock his systems in a temporary paralysis. It would stall his processors for only a second or two.

In theory. RK had yet to test it.

The shock collar had to be custom designed. It is uncomfortable around his throat. RK ensures that the contact point is directly over his spine.

The LCD display of the remote reveals the level — level 100.

10 amps.

When RK presses the button, he’s happy to find it works.

Happy, and disoriented.

It doesn’t so much… lock his limbs, so much as make them stop working. The contact point so close to the nerves of his spine ensure the impulse cannot travel past that point.

It only lasts two seconds, but it’s enough.

RK finds himself smiling.

RK hadn’t figured he would get Gavin anything for his birthday.

Not because he didn’t care, but because he simply didn’t know what to get.

It had been a complete accident, honestly. RK ended up finding something entirely at random, at the market no less. Grouped with the aisle of stockings, socks and shoe inserts, there was a rack that contained various knitted beanies and scarves.

One scarf was exactly the color of Gavin’s eyes.

RK is a fan of the precise. When he says exactly, he means it. It wasn’t a shade off.

It’s soft. It has cute tassels at both ends, but otherwise, is entirely plain. That was good. Gavin didn’t like flashy things.

RK gets it.

Gavin

October 2 2039

(10:32)
Gavin, I need to ask for your help.

(11:21)
Fuck if that don’t sound ominous

(11:22)
What is it?

(11:23)
I need you to meet me at the station.

(11:23)
Bring your gun.

When Gavin gets there an hour later, he seems thoroughly confused. Gavin eyes the shock collar around RK’s throat, and RK knows he wants to ask questions.

That confusion only worsens whenever RK takes him to the indoor gun range.

As he had done with Connor, he closes the gates to the booths, standing within the firing lane. He doesn’t walk to the eight meter just yet.

“I want you to shoot me.”

Gavin, to RK’s amazement, only seems… slightly disturbed by this.

“What the fuck?” is the initial response.

RK gives Gavin the remote for the shock collar.

“Okay, you seriously gotta explain what the fuck is going on.”

So RK does. Explains the collar, the remote. Explains the collar’s effectiveness.

“How the fuck did you find that shit out?” Gavin asks, eyeing the remote warily.

“I tested it. A standard issue police taser wasn’t effective. I had to find something else.”

“Uh huh.” Gavin looks concerned. “So… what the fuck are we doin’ here?”

“You’re going to point your gun at me. And whenever I react to try and disarm you, you shock me so the reaction stops.”

Gavin stares at him. “Fuckin’ a, RK,” he almost groans. “Look I don’t care if you’re into some weird kinky loss of control shit, but this ain’t really the place.”

RK thinks to look into that statement, but instead chooses to disregard it. “That isn’t it.”

“Then enlighten me. Seein’ as I’m the one stickin’ my neck out here.”

“Conditioning.”

Realization crosses Gavin’s face.

“I don’t want to be a slave to my programming.”

They partition a section of every day for this conditioning.

Usually after work, for only an hour or so.

That first day, RK goes home feeling disoriented, in desperate need of a stasis cycle, and no clear progress had been made.

The next day, as well as the following three, are repeats of the same thing.

“Fuck, RK I can’t keep doin’ this shit,” he whines, as RK is on the ground, still recovering from the voltage pumped through his system.

“Why not?” RK is eventually able to ask. There’s a bite to his words.

“You fuckin’ think this is fun for me?” Gavin nearly screams. “Pointing a gun at you is one thing, but electrocuting you is a-fucking-nother.”

“Gavin we have to.”

“I don’t! Fuck, why don’t you just get Connor or Hank to do this shit.”

The answer is easy.

“Because you’re my partner, not them.”

RK hears Gavin shuffle in place.

He uses the gap in their argument to stand up.

“They’re not with me everyday. They won’t have to see this when it happens again. They won’t be there to stop me.”

It has to be you, Gavin.

I trust you.

You’re my partner.

Gavin relents.

The conditioning, however tiring, continues.

RK isn’t a baker.

Not by any means.

He just knows that Gavin loves carrot cake and so he’s spent the last thirty minutes peeling and shredding said vegetable.

Gavin may not particularly like birthdays, so RK wasn’t going to blow it out of the water.

Just some cake.

Cake and a scarf, one that’s been placed in a box and wrapped up in generic paper left over from Christmas.

RK isn’t a baker, but following instructions was simple. Maybe he could do that whole baking thing as long as he followed the letter to the T.

He just… wasn’t much of a decorator either.

He did his best to make the icing look nice, but that had been one of the most difficult parts. The cake kept wiggling, and he was afraid that it would topple over while he spread the frosting.

To finish it off, writing on the top. Just a simple happy birthday message in orange frosting.

After cleaning the (frankly appalling) kitchen, he puts the cake in the fridge.

And he waits.

Gavin

October 7 2039

(13:32)
Message me when you return home

And he waits.

It’s hours later when a response comes.

Gavin

October 7 2039

(18:45)
Home

Instead of running, RK takes an automated taxi.

Gavin opens the door with some amount of hesitance.

“What is it?”

“May I come in?” is all RK replies with.

Gavin has been drinking. There are two empty beers on the coffee table and a third one is in Gavin’s hand.

“I brought you cake,” RK says, and he sits it on the kitchen table. He removes the foil and finds that most of the icing remained on the cake, and that in itself was a blessing.

Gavin is surprised that RK brought him anything at all.

There aren’t any candles. RK doesn’t sing.

Gavin just eats cake and is immensely happy as he does so. The slight slur in his words is… cute.

When RK gives Gavin his present, he seems even more surprised.

The scarf matches his eyes.

RK knew this reality, but seeing them side by side was so much better.

He has beautiful eyes.

That Hank would want to talk to him, without his predecessor as some sort of mediator, was a small surprise.

RK already thinks he knows what it will be about.

About what the hell is wrong with him.

Hank sends Connor on an arbitrary grocery run, for groceries they don’t need. Hank insists against Connor’s argument, and soon, Connor takes the hint and relents.

Hank had been the one that RK had connected with the easiest when he first came here. Things had been tense with his predecessor in the very beginning, and Hank had been the one to build a bridge in order to mitigate that awkward conflict.

The lieutenant shifts his weight where he stands, not quite sure where to put his hands. He opts for the pockets of his sweat pants.

“Ya know whenever Connor was still… not deviant—” The phrasing is awkward on Hank’s tongue. “He’d always ask a ton of personal questions. It kinda pissed me off, really. But I mean… I guess it was a little nice, in a way. That somebody wanted to know me.”

RK doesn’t know where Hank is going with this.

“I don’t know how you feel about the whole… personal questions thing. I ain’t gonna start asking you to spill your guts or whatever. I won’t try and invade your bubble or whatever. I know you, uh, you like your space.”

Hank coughs, purely as an intermittence between his sentences.

“I care about you, kid. And I’m worried about you. I can get the whole… not wanting to talk about personal issues thing. Trust me, I get it. But… I’m here. You know? Even if you want me to just listen. I’m here.”

RK can understand why Connor fell in love with someone like Hank Anderson.

Hank is a kind man. One that is cautious with his heart. He’s been hurt one too many times. His love is imperfect and awkward at times, dressed with hesitance and the fear of doing something wrong.

But Hank still loves.

He loves Sumo. Loves Connor. He loves RK.

RK loves him, too.

“I know, Hank,” RK says softly.

Hank isn’t the kind of man for copious amounts of physical affection.

That doesn’t stop RK from hugging him anyway.

“Thank you, Hank.”

“Uh huh. Don’t mention it, kiddo.”

RK can hear the smile in Hank’s voice.

He’s tired.

He’s so tired.

“Again.”

Gavin lifts his gun.

The world bleeds red a second before it blacks out.

He wakes up six seconds later on the floor, staring up at a stark white ceiling, feeling only just starting to return to his fingers.

It’s making it hard to focus.

It’s not that his processors are fried. The shock being delivered to his system would only damage them if constantly exposed for a minute or longer, and the collar only delivers a standard three seconds.

It’s just that RK can’t sleep.

Androids don’t need sleep. Stasis, however, is important to optimal continual functioning.

When RK sleeps, he sees himself. Blank. Bloody. Angry. Standing within the garden beside Amanda’s roses that seem to feed off the blood on his image.

It haunts him.

It makes it hard.

It makes everything hard.

Androids couldn’t feel pain.

So why did this hurt?

“Again.”

Gavin sighs. He lifts his gun.

A heartbeat passes.

The world is red, black, a stark white, all within an eight second window.

At least he had that.

He had that single heartbeat.

“Again.”

“RK, not anymore. This isn’t working —”

“Again.”

He’s caught himself staring more than once.

Not at anyone in particular.

Just… at his computer screen.

It’s hard to focus. He doesn’t quite remember what he was doing. The memory lapse is brief. Very brief. But the fact that it happens at all is concerning.

He needs to sleep.

He needs to stop harming himself.

It’s a necessity. This pain would be worth it, in the long run.

This pain would be worth it.

A heartbeat turns into two, and then two into three.

Gavin’s frustrated. Unbelievably so. RK understands entirely.

“Fuck this.”

The sound of the remote hitting the floor of the firing lane startles his sensors. When RK looks up, Gavin is shaking his head.

Gavin is frustrated.

Gavin almost gets himself killed.

His gun points straight at RK’s chest.

RK registers the semi-automatic pistol assigned to all DPD officers, the same gun he’s seen hundreds of times.

The next thing RK registers is standing over Gavin with his hand around Gavin’s throat.

That RK would ever lay a hand on Gavin terrifies him.

He wants to stop indefinitely. They’re not making progress. This much is understood.

Their little steps aren’t big enough.

RK feels more like a failure than he ever has before.

“Why did you do it?”

“Huh? Do what?”

“Point the gun at me… without the remote.”

Gavin thinks about it for a while.

“Well… you don’t wanna kill anybody. You don’t… I guess you don’t wanna kill me.” Of course I don’t. “I just think… if you were placed in an extreme scenario, if you could stop yourself?”

It’s a good question. But one RK doesn’t want to know the answer to.

He’s too afraid the answer will be no.

That night his stasis is interrupted yet again.

Another dream. Another nightmare.

This one is worse than all the others.

Instead of looking at the dead body of the suspect, he’s looking at Gavin.

Gavin with a broken arm. Gavin with blood trailing out of his mouth. With eyes wide and unseeing, neck at an angle.

RK wakes up from that one screaming.

Hank and Connor don’t want him to be alone that night. He ends up sleeping in between them, in their bed.

RK likes the cold.

Hank is very warm.

That doesn’t stop RK from curling up against him that night, though.

RK falls into a terrible habit.

Once getting home, regardless of the time of day, regardless of the work he could get done, he sleeps.

Hank and Connor worry over this behavior.

Connor knows androids shouldn’t be tired like this.

But then again, Connor doesn’t know about the conditioning training either. Neither does Hank, and RK plans to keep it that way.

“RK?” Connor’s voice is soft in RK’s head. “I... I do wish you would talk to me.”

”I’m fine, Connor,” RK attempts to diffuse. “There is nothing to discuss.”

Connor is still at the station. RK is out investigating a scene. Even so, RK can see the yellow spin of Connor’s LED in his mind.

“Things have gotten worse since we interfaced, RK,” Connor points out, and it’s true. Some things have gotten worse, but many things had gotten a bit better.

“I promise I’ll tell you someday. Okay?”

The silence he receives from Connor is a telltale sign of his anger and frustration.

“Trust me, Connor. It isn’t because I don’t trust you, or don’t love you. You’ve been there for me since the beginning. But right now... this is something I need to do on my own.”

Tense minutes of radio silence from the opposite end of the connection.

“Can you promise me you’ll be alright? Currently your systems aren’t... optimal.”

”I promise. And I assure you, it’s only temporary.”

God, RK hopes it’s temporary.

“I worry about you, RK. You know I love you.”

”I know. I love you, too.”

RK is lucky to have a brother like Connor.

RK doesn’t continue his conditioning willingly.

He doesn’t continue it conventionally, either.

Gavin does it to him when they’re in Gavin’s apartment together. At an entirely random time.

The first time it happened, RK pinned Gavin against the floor and held his throat in both hands.

Gavin was rationing his air, but even still, he was speaking.

“Come back to me, RK. Come back to me.”

RK had wanted to cut his own hands off.

The second time it happens, RK struggles against it.

He tries to blink away the red lines overlapping the ground. He blinks too long.

He opens his eyes to Gavin, choking, short of breath.

“Come back to me.”

RK begs Gavin not to do it anymore.

He’s worried about Gavin’s safety. About his life.

RK leaves bruises on his throat every damn time.

Gavin claims he knows the risk. Gavin claims that he’ll be fine. Gavin claims that he knows RK won’t actually kill him.

Gavin’s an idiot. Gavin doesn’t understand.

That isn’t RK. That is something else, someone else, that RK can’t control. That he can’t even recognize.

RK killed someone before like that. Entirely out of control of his own body.

How many more times before he wakes up and Gavin’s stopped breathing? Or his neck is broken? What if it happens the next time?

And even if it doesn’t happen then, there was always the next time, and the next.

RK wouldn’t be able to keep himself from self-destructing effectively if he did something like that. Even if he had to drown himself in molten metal, he would do so.

He didn’t want Gavin to die.

RK didn’t want to be without him.

They end up fighting about it.

It’s one of the first time they’ve ever really fought about anything.

“I’m going to end up seriously injuring you. Or worse.”

“Eh. I’ve had worse.”

“Gavin.”

“You’re not going to kill me, RK.”

“You can’t possibly know that. That’s… not even me.”

Gavin concedes to that fact, at least. But he still thinks he’s so smart.

“Yeah but it’s a part of you. And I trust you.”

Gavin’s going to end up getting himself killed.

“You place so much faith in me. You place your faith in the wrong person.”

“Is it so phckin’ wrong to think that maybe this’ll work?”

“Yes! Yes it is! Gavin, you’re missing the point.”

“And you’re missing mine! This is working, RK. Maybe only a little bit, each time, but didn’t you say you would take that? That sometimes minute progress is better than none at all?”

“Don’t turn my own words on me. I meant that when this was a controlled experiment, not some game with your life as a wager.”

“A fuckin’ ‘controlled experiment’, my ass. There’s only so many god damn times I can fucking torture you before I think that maybe we’re doing something wrong.”

“That isn’t for you to decide!”

“Oh? Then whose? Yours? Or the fuckin’ Terminator that lives in your head?”

Those words hurt.

“RK,” Gavin continues. “This. Is. Going to work. I know it will. You gotta trust me on this. Please.”

“I’m not going to be responsible for your death.”

“And you won’t be, just keep—”

“Is it so hard for you to just respect my wishes?”

RK didn’t realize he was crying until Gavin reacts to it.

God, he hates crying. It hurts, in so many different ways.

“Fuck, RK,” Gavin mumbles. He sounds guilty. “Shit, I’m sorry. C’mere.” Gavin says this, but he’s the one who walks forward, wrapping his arms around RK’s torso.

“I don’t want to kill you,” RK chokes out, and that’s the last thing he can say before everything breaks.

He isn’t even able to stand up straight. RK sinks to the ground, and Gavin follows him.

“You won’t. I know you won’t.”

Too optimistic. Much too optimistic, for a man who lives his life in pessimism.

“I trust you, RK. You’re strong. You haven’t killed me any of these times before. I know you won’t. You won’t.”

Too optimistic.

RK agrees to only a few more attempts.

He doesn’t want to tempt fate.

The third time happens differently, a bit more carefully.

Gavin stands in front of RK, who is seated on the couch. Gavin holds RK’s hand with one of his, thumb pressed into his palm.

At length, Gavin pulls out his gun.

He rests it against RK’s forehead.

“Stay with me.”

RK tries.

He really does try.

He ends up blacking out anyway.

The fourth time.

A repeat of the third.

The fifth is a considerable improvement.

The red lines that overlay his interface are painfully evident. The barrel of the gun is cold against his forehead.

RK stares resolutely at where Gavin’s hand is holding his. Focuses his feeling on where Gavin’s thumb is digging into his palm.

“Stay with me.”

Seven seconds. Seven seconds before he blacks out.

And even then, he doesn’t… move.

When he opens his eyes again, nine more seconds had passed. The gun is on the couch cushion. Gavin has backed away.

Gavin’s smiling.

RK wants to continue to improve every day.

If only to see that smile on Gavin’s face some more.

There’s still work to be done.

With how much focus is being put into RK’s conditioning, attention has been diverted from their case load. A case load that is steadily becoming oppressive.

Rather than spending the occasional evening at Gavin’s, RK begins spending more time there, with less leisurely activities. Gavin’s kitchen table becomes piled with case files.

More than once, Gavin’s fallen asleep at the kitchen table.

It’s truly an uncomfortable position, it must be. It would be best for RK to remove Gavin from such a position.

More than once, RK has found himself pausing in his work.

Pausing, only to watch Gavin.

Gavin, even in such an awkward position, looks peaceful when he sleeps.

Even as he drools on papers, as he snores softly, with uninterrupted breaths, he’s beautiful.

Gavin’s beautiful.

Each time he falls asleep like this, RK takes a few minutes to observe. To memorize.

To memorize the few freckles on Gavin’s face. The shape, the color, of the scars. The line of his mouth, the fullness of his lower lip, the thin bow of the upper. The bump on the bridge of his nose, where it had been previously broken.

The dark circles beneath his eyes. RK wonders what they’re from.

From late nights like this? Nights spent staring at computers, staring at paper work, until Gavin fell asleep out of pure exhaustion instead of by choice.

Or from something worse? From his neglect of his own health?

If it’s the latter, RK vows to do his best to mitigate this.

He takes these minutes, before he gets up. Before he collects Gavin from the chair and pulls him up into his arms. On some nights, Gavin doesn’t stir, but on some he wakes up, fuses under his breath, before sinking against RK’s chest.

RK puts Gavin to bed. He shuts off his alarm clock.

RK will wake him in the morning.

Chapter Text

October ends. Halloween passes with little incident. 

It had been a tense night. The atmosphere was heavy and thick, like it was the summer and moisture hung in the air. Hank spoke little. RK and Connor kept the silence. 

“Cole loved Halloween, ” Connor had explained . “It was his favorite holiday. Aside from Christmas, of course.” 

There were many things that RK could think to say. Things that wouldn’t make things better. Things that could just make it all worse. 

He’s in a better place. Everything happens for a reason. 

Well-meaning, but awkward, insensitive. 

The more he feels that he wants to help, the less ground he feels he has beneath him. 

Gavin

November 02, 2039

(18:34)

Did you ever know Cole?

(18:52)

Where tf is this coming from?

(18:53)

I don’t know. I’m just curious.

(19:01)

I only met him once or twice

(19:02)

But I knew plenty about him. Hank

never stopped talking about him 

(19:05)

Was Hank happy back then?

(19:07)

Yeah. Yeah he was

(19:07)

More so than now

(19:10)

I wish I knew how to help him.

(20:31)

Yeah. Me too

RK didn’t dream often. 

‘Dream’ being a very loosely applied term.

RK just winds up in the Zen Garden. 

Each time he went there, he wasn’t alone.  

He had become used to the freezing temperatures, the frozen water. He missed watching the koi swim, and hoped the artificial freeze hadn’t displaced them permanently. 

He became used to the copy of himself that stood near Amanda’s roses. 

The copy of himself never spoke. It never blinked. Never moved. It just stood, and stared, with blood on its hands.

Even when RK himself would speak to it.  

RK had tried to figure out what it was. If it was a figment of his imagination — a symbol of his paranoia of becoming a killer — or if it was something real. 

Was it meant to be there? Was it his new handler? Watching him, instead of offering advice? 

Was it the literal representation of the subconscious coding that caused his defensive response?

RK didn’t know, and the copy didn’t seem willing to answer any of his questions. 

Yes, RK found himself in the garden. 

Like tonight, for example. 

It had been some time since he had been here last. Eight days, a handful of extra hours. Last time, it had been white snow cover, frozen water and bright white skies. 

This time, while the snow remained, everything was dark. 

The small amount of light that remained showed him that his copy was still there. There is no longer blood on its hands.

It showed Amanda’s flowers, lacking their vibrant hue. Beginning to show signs of decay. 

It’s cold. 

For the first time, the cold bothers him. 

RK’s seen it plenty of times.

The little breakdowns, the lapses in emotional control, in restraint. 

It’s RK’s job to ensure Hank is okay whenever he has these lapses, whenever Connor isn’t there. 

It’s only happened once in the past. Only once, where RK is taking away Hank’s alcohol and offering him comfort in the form of conversation rather than a bottle. 

This time was different. This time was worse. 

Hank had already been drinking by the time RK gets there. Hank was already drunk. Hank already had his gun. 

It rests on the table beside a nearly empty bottle, beside a picture. Hank’s hands are fisted in his hair so tightly RK thinks he’s attempting to tear it out. 

Hank isn’t crying. But the rawness of his nose and the red of his eyes suggests that he had been. 

RK sits in the chair next to him. He takes the gun and sets it out of Hank’s reach. 

He waits. He takes a card from Hank’s book. He waits until Hank wants to speak. 

When he does, his voice is rough, as though his throat has had ill-treatment. 

“Ya know, Connor died once,” he begins. RK doesn’t know why he begins there, but he doesn’t interrupt. “He got shot up in the tower because some deviant went nuts and got ahold of a machine gun.”

RK knows. RK knows it occurred on November 8th of last year. Exactly a year ago. 

“Connor saved me. Everybody else in that room fuckin’ died but Connor saved me. And then he just comes bouncin’ back in the next day like nothin’ fuckin’ happened!” 

The momentary anger subsides as quickly as it comes. 

“And I thought— I fuckin’ thought…” Hank’s head hangs. His shoulders shake. RK stands up, putting his arms around Hank and pulling him against his stomach. 

That’s when Hank starts crying again. 

“Why couldn’ he come back like that?” Hank whimpers, voice mostly lost to the sobs coming from his throat. 

RK knows why. RK knows it’s because human lives are fragile. Because a critical injury just sometimes can’t be fixed. Because sometimes people are in the wrong places at the wrong times. 

Well-meaning phrases. Awkward. Insensitive. 

RK realizes that he’ll lose Hank someday. He’ll lose Sumo, too.

RK doesn’t want to think of it. 

RK holds Hank until Connor gets home.

It’s with considerable confidence and high expectations that they continue to work through RK’s conditioning. 

RK is no longer a severe threat. But at the same time, he isn’t any help either. 

Mostly, he remains stationary. Purposefully locking himself in place in order to avoid physical violence. 

It’s a far cry from being in control, but it’s also much better than attempting to murder anyone that should aim a gun at him. 

“What is it like?” Gavin asks at some point. They’ve paused this session. RK’s skin is itchy. “Ya know. Just before you, uh… black out.”

RK doesn’t know if he could explain it correctly if he tried. But he does try. Gavin deserves that much, after all of this. 

“It’s… cold. Like I’m in ice water. As soon as I start fighting it, eyes start burning. My arms and legs are… full of static, I suppose. Because they want to be moving.” 

They don’t say anything after this. They’re both tired. Both weary. 

Marginal improvements are occurring each day. 

If only RK could feel them.

The day was Android Liberation Day. 

November 12th. 

New Jericho had once been a previously stalled housing development project in southwest Detroit. Now, it was where androids convened, where androids lived. There were small homes, two apartment buildings, completely fenced in with code-required entry. 

It was where RK and Connor were presently.

Connor had been invited by the leader of the revolution himself for this anniversary party. RK had offered to come with, since he knew Connor did not want to go alone. 

Now, RK knew why. 

Markus has regarded Connor with some kind of respect, but it was veiled by thinly concealed unease. North openly sneered at the sight of him, but had greeted him regardless. Stiff pleasantries, only because Markus had told her to act civil. 

The only one who had been kind in any sense had been Simon. 

RK liked Simon. The android had a very calm, soft demeanor, an easy atmosphere about him that invited conversation. 

Simon had told Connor it was good to see him. That he was glad Connor could come, that he was sorry for North’s snobbish greeting. Simon was the only one that asked about RK. The only one who had cared to talk to him. 

It became very apparent why Connor did not want to come here alone, and why Connor showed hesitation in coming at all. 

It felt as though Connor wasn’t welcome here. 

Without the contact of Markus, North, or Simon, no one else spoke with Connor or RK. 

Out of curiosity maybe, RK scans his predecessor, noting significantly high stress levels. 

“What’s wrong?” RK asks. 

Connor sends him a sideways glance, but answers anyway. “ Why would anything be wrong?” 

“Don’t bullshit me, Connor.”

“You’ve been around Gavin much too long.”

“Please. I learned it from Hank.”

Connor sighs. “I don’t want to talk about it here.”

“Then let’s leave.” 

“We can’t just leave, RK. We’ve only been here for thirty minutes.”

“We’ve been here as long as is expected of us, ” RK counters. “ No one will notice anyway.” 

And true to RK’s words, no one does notice, after they decide to leave. 

RK doesn’t attempt to goad Connor into speaking. He takes a page from Hank’s book, and simply waits until Connor is willing to talk. 

“ When I first met Markus I was trying to kill him, ” Connor eventually says. It’s hours later — they were home now, and Hank was already in bed. Connor hadn’t joined him, not yet. 

“ My mission… my whole purpose, was to find deviants like him and return them to CyberLife. It was… I was the reason that Jericho was ever found in the first place. It was my fault they were attacked. Hundreds of them died, and it was my fault.” 

RK watches Connor drag his legs up onto the couch, hugging his knees against his chest. 

“ Even after I deviated, even after I tried to atone for what I’d done, it didn’t matter. The damage I had inflicted couldn’t have been reversed. The androids of Jericho… they don’t trust me. Even now. They can’t see me as anything aside from the Deviant Hunter.”

RK stands up from the chair, stepping over Sumo’s sleeping form in order to sit on the couch, beside his brother. 

“I don’t belong amongst humanity, because I am an android,” Connor continues. His LED flickers red for a brief moment. “ And I don’t belong amongst androids because of who I used to be …” 

RK rests his hand on his brothers shoulder. 

“I don’t belong anywhere…” 

“You belong right here, ” RK answers. “ You belong here, as an integral part of this family. You belong at the DPD, as one of the best detective’s the city of Detroit has in its ranks. That’s where you belong. The opinion of androids who don’t know you personally shouldn’t matter.”

“But—“

“If they aren’t willing to see you attempting to condone for your actions — actions made when you were still a machine — then they’re obviously not worthy of your attention.” 

Connor seems to concede to this, at least. He relaxes a bit against RK’s side. 

“Hank loves you. And so does Sumo. I love you. And we love you because we know what kind of person you are.” 

It seems Sumo knows he’s being discussed, or maybe it was simply because he had already been disturbed, but he has made his way to rest his head on Connor’s knee. Looking to be pet, or scoping out whether he could jump into someone’s lap. 

Connor smiles at him, reaches forward to rub between Sumo’s ears. 

“Thanks, RK,” Connor says aloud. His stress levels have lowered now. 

“You don’t have to thank me,” RK replies. “I’m just… returning the favor.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

Because I’m android designed for war.

Designed to kill.

But you thought I could be a detective, a brother, a friend.

More than I was supposed to be.

“I’ll tell you one day.”

“RK… what do you think of Hank?” 

“Why are you asking me?” 

“I don’t know. Just… indulge me.” 

RK takes a moment to consider. 

“I love him. I truly do. Not in… not the same way you do, I think. When I need someone, I come to him. He always manages to make me feel better, without feeling artificial. And knowing that he looks out for me makes me happy.”

“So… you do love him, then.”

“Of course I do. Why are you asking?” 

“Because I… I’ve been…” RK feels Connor’s brief panic, his uncertainty, from within their connection. “ It’s much too early, though…”

“What? What have you been doing?”

RK meets Connor’s gaze from across the room. He sees a blue flush on his face. 

Embarrassed.

“I’ve been… considering proposing.” 

“Really?!” 

“I told you, I think it’s early, I’ve just been thinking about it, okay? Don’t blow it out of proportion.”

RK thanks his makers for his poker face for the first time ever. 

“ You’re hesitant about it. Why?”

“Because… well… We haven’t even been together for a year. And there are still a lot of things we need to work through and —”

“Connor, listen to yourself, ” RK chides. “ Love doesn’t have any kind of time limit.”

“That sounded unbelievably corny.”

“I heard it in a Hallmark movie last year.” 

“Of course you did.”

“Are you afraid Hank will say no?” 

“Well… not just that I… I mean… what if he changes his mind? About me? He… Hank has never… never been with an android, or a male, let alone a male android. What if he decides he wants a female? Or a human? Or what if—”

“ Connor ,” RK says firmly, and it causes his brother to pause in his panicked rambling. “ You’re developing these ‘what-if’ scenarios based off of no evidence. For as smart as you are, brother, you’re acting rather foolish.”

RK pauses, expecting Connor to say some sort of retort, but he doesn’t. 

“ Admittedly, I don’t have any experience on the manner of love. My basis comes from you, Hank and movies, where the aspect is either glorified or damned. But… the two of you are, forgive my phrasing, seemingly meant to be. You both have crossed multiple difficulties in life and it has lead you to meet exactly when you needed to meet most. ”

RK knows Connor agrees with him. 

“If you hadn’t met, Hank may not be alive, currently. And you may never have deviated. The revolution would have most likely failed. I would have been shipped to the Arctic and fought in a war over scraps of materials in ice.”

“I thought you didn’t believe in fate, RK…”

“I don’t. But sometimes, coincidence just doesn’t seem to cover it.”

Connor smiles. RK notes that he seems much more at ease. 

Connor pulls up Hank’s hand and presses a brief kiss to the back of his palm. Hank responds by leaning over and pressing one into Connor’s temple. 

“ Thank you, RK.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“I’ll think about it further. Maybe… it could be a nice Christmas gift.”

RK finds himself rather excited for Christmas this year.

Gavin

November 14 2039

(17:30)

What is your opinion on marriage?

(17:58)

Why you askin?

(18:00)

The prospect is highly glorified in many films. Despite this, most marriages seem to end badly.

(18:03)

Idfk

(18:03)

I mean, I don’t have a good point of ref

(18:04)

Meaning?

(18:05)

My parents were never married

(18:05)

Single dad, all that 

(18:07)

Your father never married?

(18:46)

Can we not talk about it

(18:46)

Of course. I’m sorry

(18:48)

It’s aight. It’s just personal

(18:49)

I understand

“How many seconds are we up to now?” 

“Thirteen.” 

“Damn. What was it last time?” 

RK’s finding that his head spins when he wakes up now. 

“Eleven.” 

Gavin smiles at him. “That’s pretty damn good.” 

Yeah. RK supposes it is pretty damn good. 

And, RK thinks, Gavin’s smiles are just pretty.

RK doesn’t go into the garage that often. 

He has only been in it once or twice in the entire year he’s been here. Both of those times had been to return Christmas decorations to the appropriate area of storage. 

It was a one car garage that wasn’t being used for a car. Instead it was piled with junk. An old set of barbells, a bag of golf clubs, a collection of tools on the counter. 

He goes in because he’s nosy. He goes in because he’s curious. He goes in because it’s Friday and no one is home to question his actions. 

Even with all the junk piled in the room, RK still finds what he’s looking for, after a good bit of searching. 

There are storage boxes stacked in the corner near the door.

The majority of them aren’t labeled, but RK knows their contents, even before he opens the lid. 

Children’s clothes. Children’s shoes. A pillow, a green blanket with a cartoon dinosaur embroidered in one corner. 

It smells of dust. Slight mildew. It smells old and untouched. 

There’s a little blue teddy bear — one that’s dirty and missing an eye. 

There are two books, both For Dummies — Parenting, as well as Being a Great Dad. Both have dog eared pages and bent spines. 

There’s schoolwork. Collections of drawings made on pages ripped from notebooks. RK notes the depictions — a father and a child. There’s a lack of a mother. A lack of a dog. Hank must have gotten Sumo after. 

Sitting in a frame, there’s a certificate — a graduation certificate, for one Cole Anderson, for completing kindergarten. 

It’s then that the tears start. 

It’s been years. Four years now. 

Hank was still grieving. It showed. 

Hank loved his son. He loved his son, wanted to be a good father, a good example, a good role model. He strove for excellence. 

But he lost his son anyway. 

Now, Hank was in a limbo. He wanted to cherish his sons memory but at the same time the thought of him hurt. 

Because Hank couldn’t have his little boy back. 

All he had were boxes of clothes and old drawings.

Truth be told, RK hadn’t even realized. 

It had been a busy day at the station. A stabbing here, a body pulled from the river there. The entire city seemed to come alive all at once, if only to crack down on the police force. 

Gavin and RK had been to three scenes that day. Rarely were they at their desks, and when they were, it was only to tackle insurmountable paperwork. 

Connor and Hank had been busy as well. So not seeing them for the entire day was very much normal. 

They stay late, him and Gavin. There are reports that need to be filed before the end of the day, and neither of them had been able to find a good stopping place. 

But when the end of the day does come, rolling at about six-thirty, Gavin offers to drive him home. 

It’s very normal, this is. 

It’s happened a lot of times before. It would happen many more times. 

Gavin putting the car in park once they’ve arrived and turning off the engine was… Not normal. 

RK doesn’t step out of the car immediately. He looks to Gavin, waiting for an explanation, but before he’s able to ask, Gavin himself is climbing out.

Without speaking, RK follows him to the front door. 

“Well?” Gavin says after a moment. “You’re the one with the key.” 

Ah. That he was. 

So, RK puts the key in the lock and opens the door. 

And he almost freaks out. Almost. 

Connor and Hank yell. Connor’s excited shout and Hank’s almost begrudging contribution to the noise. 

The sudden yelling was alarming. The lights had been momentarily disorienting before his eyes adjusted. 

“Surprise?” RK repeats. He’s confused. He has a right to be. 

“Happy birthday, kiddo,” Hank says. He hooks his arm around RK’s shoulders in order to draw him into a hug. 

“I don’t understand…” 

“A year ago today you were brought in by the police department,” Connor explains. “We couldn’t really figure out when you were actually activated so… we supposed this was a good compromise.”

A birthday party . 

In the kitchen there’s a banner tacked up on the wall. A rainbow colored, flimsy piece of plastic that says “Happy Birthday!”.

There’s also alcohol. 

There’s also a cupcake.

One cupcake, with one candle. Blue icing. One that he is brought and Gavin pulls his lighter from his pocket to light it. 

“I ain’t singin’,” Hank says. 

“I’m not either,” Gavin agrees. 

Connor is disappointed. “Fine. No singing, then. Either way, you need to make a wish, RK.” 

“A wish?”

“Yeah, ya know. Birthday wish, all that.” Gavin grins. “Don’t tell anyone and it’ll come true.”

“Only one?”

“Yeah. And wishin’ for more wishes doesn’t count.” 

That begged the question. What did RK want? 

He stands there for an embarrassingly long amount of time. Sumo whines at his leg, wanting RK to give him attention.

RK didn’t… know what he wanted. 

As it were, in this moment in time, he had a lot of things he was happy with. He liked his job. He had a loving brother, a supportive… well, pseudo-father, an amazing partner who was kind but also worryingly self-destructive. 

I wish for them to remain happy.

At the end of the night, Gavin leaves. 

RK wishes he would stay, but knows there isn’t any valid excuse he would have to demand such a thing. Gavin didn’t drink anything, and the both of them had work in the morning. 

But when Gavin does leave, he asks that RK follow him. 

The sky is cloudless, the moon nonexistent and the stars only faintly visible. 

Gavin goes to his car. RK is only a foot behind him, waiting on the sidewalk. Gavin opens the back door, leans in, roots around for a moment, before he retreats. 

A box is thrown at him, very suddenly, but of course RK catches it. It’s wrapped in plain blue paper. It’s wrapped horribly. 

“I dunno, you may not care for shit like this, but…” Gavin begins, shrugs. Rubs his neck. “It’s your birthday. So… ya know.” Gavin gestures vaguely towards the gift in RK’s hands. “Happy birthday, or whatever.”

“You… got me a gift?” RK says. 

Gavin ignores that question. “Well? Open it, I’m not fuckin’ standing here all night.”  

RK pulls his attention from his partners impatient, excited face, and looks to the box. He finds the tape and peels it open that way. Systematically. Without ripping the paper. 

The box is taped closed with strips of duct tape. RK removes those as well. 

And in the box—

“I made sure the nurses or whatever kept it,” Gavin says from in front of him. “They had bagged it up and were gonna toss it, but I’m pretty convincing. And then I sort of forgot I had it for a bit. And then I had to get it cleaned and… ya know. Blood is hard to get out of clothes.”

The blue triangle, the back and white fabric of RK’s jacket look back at him from the bottom of the box. 

“I know how much you really liked your jacket. So… I just figured—” Gavin shrugs. 

RK removes the jacket from the box. The fabric is softer than before — evidence of the chemicals that must have been used to clean the blood from it. 

But even still, it’s comforting. 

RK’s missed it. 

He didn’t know just how much until he sees it again.

Before RK realizes he’s moved, he’s almost crushing Gavin in his arms. 

Gavin grunts, awkwardly patting at RK’s shoulders. “I take it you like it then.” 

“Yes.” The response is immediate.

Gavin huffs a short laugh. “Well, uh… that’s good I guess.” 

They stand there, the two of them, for an uncomfortably long amount of time. RK only realizes how much time has passed after it’s been too long. 

But Gavin doesn’t say anything. 

In fact, Gavin lets his arms settle around RK’s waist. He lets his chin rest on RK’s shoulder. 

“Thank you,” RK whispers, and he’s surprised to find himself close to tears. 

“There’s nothin’ to thank me for, RK,” Gavin responds in a hushed tone. 

But he’s wrong. He’s so wrong. There are so many things Gavin is deserving of his appreciation for. So many things that RK wouldn’t know where to begin should he need to list them all. 

It’s hours later, when it’s quiet in the house and everyone but him is asleep, when RK notices his jacket smells like Gavin. 

He holds the fabric to his nose and sleeps with a smile on his face. 

RK didn’t dream often. 

But for the second time this month, he finds himself in the Zen Garden again. 

Things were different now. A different that was subtly terrifying. 

The water was no longer covered in ice. The koi were back, looking as though they’d never left.

The snow didn’t coat the ground as thickly. RK could see blades of grass breaking through the white to breathe and noted the lack of ice on the tree branches. 

His copy was no longer standing. 

Amanda’s flowers were no longer alive. 

His copy was sitting now, against the trellis were the roses hung, stiff and withered. The blood on its hands hadn’t returned, and it was no longer staring at RK anymore. 

It stares at the snow. 

RK doesn’t know what that’s supposed to mean.

Gavin comes in late to work one morning.

Not the usual handful of minutes. 

He arrives forty-two minutes after his shift was supposed to begin. 

Gavin comes in with hickies on his neck. Not quite low enough to be hidden by his collar, nor by the bulky edge of his jacket’s hood. 

Gavin’s hungover. Gavin’s hair is messy. Gavin has hickies on his neck. 

RK can’t label the bitter feeling in the pit of his stomach. 

With the arrival of December, so too, come thoughts of Christmas.

And with thoughts of Christmas, RK begins feeling guilty. 

The Christmas decorations in the neighborhood go up nearly the day after Thanksgiving. Some people are too overzealous, perhaps. It reminds RK of a year ago, seeing the lights, the trees, the garland, finding it all so beautiful. 

It’s no less beautiful this year, even when the neighbors draw out the inflatable Santa Claus they’d had twelve months previous. 

But RK feels guilty. 

It only reminds him of his selfishness. 

Gavin was 37 years old. 

Gavin was beginning to have issues with his sight. 

RK notices it on occasion. When someone holds something close to him, he physically pushes it away, squints and tilts his head slightly in order to view it clearly. 

With how much Gavin has to read, and as much as he is on his phone, RK thinks he should get glasses. 

“Ah, hell no, fuck that,” was Gavin’s response. “No way.” 

“Why not?” 

“Because glasses are ridiculous! Anybody who wears glasses looks fuckin’ stupid in them. Just get surgery or contacts. Why the fuck would anybody wear glasses ?”

So RK had gone to the store. 

RK had gotten a pair of glasses — cheap glasses, not meant for any kind of vision correction, but simply for something such as a costume. 

Simple black frame, surrounding fake plastic lenses. 

RK keeps them in his pocket, and he only wears them at work. 

“What,” Gavin starts, immediately upon seeing them. “The fuck. Are you wearing.” 

He regards RK with some hilarious manner of suspicion. As though the glasses were making him an unrecognizable person. 

“Glasses, obviously.”

“Yeah? But what the — why the fuck?” 

“You’re willing to compromise your eyesight because glasses make anyone wearing them look ‘fuckin’ stupid’. I decided I would wear a pair of my own, in order to normalize having them.” 

Gavin sits in his chair slowly. Hesitantly. He squints his eyes.

“Well, I was right, at least,” Gavin says. RK tilts his head. “They do make anybody look fucking stupid. Even you.”

RK only smiles at the reply. 

“I probably only look ridiculous because I’m not wearing them correctly. I’m sure a… handsome young stud such as yourself would look dashing.” 

“Did… did you just—?” 

“Appeal to your ego regarding your physical appearance? Yes. Yes I did.” 

“You cheap bastard. That’s a low blow.” 

“I’m very aware.” 

It’s four days later when Gavin comes into work, seemingly very self conscious. 

Nothing outwardly has changed, aside from the black cylindrical case in his pocket. 

A case that holds a pair of glasses, ones that he puts on only when he begins reading case files. 

RK almost — and very nearly almost — overheats. 

Gavin did look dashing. No, he looked much better than dashing. 

Gavin looked handsome. He looked cute, and adorable. Adorable wasn’t a word RK thought he would ever use when speaking of Gavin Reed. 

And when Gavin looks up at RK, over the rim of his glasses and through his eyelashes, he looked sexy. 

“Take a fuckin’ picture, it’ll last longer,” Gavin says. Quieter than he would normally. Obviously, he doesn’t want attention drawn to himself. 

RK suppresses a smile. He pulls his fake pair from his pocket and puts them on. 

Well, if they both were going to look fucking stupid, at least they would look fucking stupid together.

The 7th Annual Detroit Police Department Holiday Gala was in two weeks. 

From what Connor had told him, it was an opportunity for members of the police department to have a fun, social night, while also raising money for a good cause. 

From what Hank had told him, it was an event where a bunch of assholes came together to eat shrimp cocktails and get drunk off punch. 

From what Gavin had told him, it was an invitation for rich fuckers to come and look down their noses at their police force. 

Gavin didn’t like the idea of the gala. In fact, Tina says he only went once, and didn’t even stay for longer than an hour. 

Gavin didn’t like it because of the aforementioned “rich fuckers”. They were mostly incredibly wealthy men and women that had their feet in the android industry, ones that funneled their money into the police force. It was directly because of their donations that the DPD got android officers in the first place. 

The gala mostly involved meaningless social interaction and brown nosing them in order to guarantee their continued financial support. 

Gavin hated the idea. 

He made that abundantly clear for the following three days after the announcement was made. 

“Are you going to be going, RK?” Tina asks him. 

“I don’t see why not. I like to try everything at least once. Even with Gavin’s claims, I would still like to form my own opinions.”

“Nah, you’re just really good at kissin’ ass,” Gavin interrupts. “You fit right in with Chris and Person.” 

“Hey, just ‘cause you can’t straighten your attitude for two minutes to talk to some fat rich guy doesn’t make anybody else an ass kisser.”

“You fit right in with Tina, too.”

“Hey!”

“Are you going, Officer Chen?” RK puts in before things can escalate. 

“Oh, you know it,” the woman grins. “I’m bringing my girl with me, too.” 

“Your girl?” RK asks for clarification. 

“My girlfriend.”

“You have a girlfriend?”

“Duh,” Gavin cuts in. “They’ve been dating for, like, three years.”

“Two and a half, but close enough.” 

RK knows that many of the officers that have planned to attend are bringing a plus one. Ben is bringing his wife, as is Chris. Tina is bringing her girlfriend, and Hank and Connor are going together, though maybe that doesn’t inherently count. 

“Are you gonna bring Jamie?” Tina asks, nudging at where Gavin is attempting to ignore the conversation on his phone. 

Gavin sputters, flushes. 

“Who’s Jamie?” 

“It’s no-fuckin’-body, that’s who!” Gavin’s harsh tone causes RK to close his mouth. 

“Gavin’s ex, now fuck buddy,” Tina answers to Gavin’s obvious dismay. Tina sounds disapproving. “I’m tellin’ you, Gav. You’re playing with fire with that.”

“Yeah I get that ,” Gavin hisses. “There’s a fuckin’ reason I don’t wanna fuckin’ talk about him, Tina.” 

The way Gavin says her name is evidence enough that the conversation is over. 

So. Gavin is still having relations with an ex-lover. 

That’s who gave him the hickies. 

The bitter feeling is back, spreading from his stomach to claw at his heart.

“Connor?”

“Hm?”

“I need your help.” 

It wasn’t the first time that RK had asked for help, and it wasn’t the first time that RK had come to Connor with this intention. Connor knew emotions much better than RK did. 

RK felt things differently than Connor, that was something they had discovered. It was as though Connor had a filter, but RK did not. 

Connor had a social module. It allowed him to process human emotion in a way that’s recognizable to a machine, and now that he is deviant, it assists in the labeling of such feelings.

RK feels bad, asking Connor to do this for him. 

But he doesn’t know what else to do. 

His stomach hurts every time he thinks of Jamie. 

RK doesn’t know what it is. 

He shows Connor this. Shows this emotion to Connor and bits and pieces of other feelings slip through. RK isn’t sure what, but Connor does. 

Connor definitely does. 

It’s evident by the way Connor’s LED flashes red, then yellow, back to red before settling on blue. It’s evident in the wideness of his brown eyes. 

“You’re jealous.” 

“Jealous?”

“Yes. You’re jealous because… because you love Detective Reed.” 

Oh. 

Oh. 

Is that was it was called? 

“Do you know how to dance, RK?” 

“Why?”

“At the gala. There will be dancing. I don’t know if it’s mandatory or not…”

“I don’t know how to. I wasn’t programmed to know. Why does it matter?”

“Well… I just thought you would want to dance with someone.” The silence afterwards speaks volumes. “With someone specific.”

Someone specific. 

“Do you know how to dance, Connor?”

“I do."

“Will you teach me?”  

RK wants to dance with Gavin.

“Will you be going to the gala this year?” 

“Hell no.”

“Why not?”

Gavin looks at him as though upset that he even asked. 

“Because I hate dressing up, hate dancing, and hate kissing up to a bunch of ashy seventy year olds just because we want their money.”

Oh. 

“Would you come if I asked you to?” 

Gavin stares at him. Surprised maybe. Definitely not sure what to say. 

That is, before muttering, “Hell no. But have fun though.”

He says it sarcastically. 

RK wishes Gavin would go. 

RK goes to the gala. 

He doesn’t particularly enjoy it. 

It’s too loud. Too many people. Too unpredictable as a crowd.

It sets his nerves on edge. 

But he does enjoy getting to meet people. 

He meets Vicki— Tina’s girlfriend. She’s a year younger than Tina, and mute, but no less vibrant and expressive. RK spoke with her via ASL, though she did have critiques regarding his lack of expression. 

He meets Abby— Chris’s wife. She’s truly a lovely woman, though a bit shy and it didn’t seem like she enjoyed the crowds too much. 

Ben’s wife, Penny, well. She was a different story. 

The woman was unapologetically loud, involved. It wasn’t what RK had expected as a wife to someone as reserved as Ben. 

The event had its ups and its downs. 

He likes watching people he loves and cares about enjoy themselves. 

But Gavin didn’t come.

RK hadn’t realized Christmas was so close until Hank asked him for his help. 

Connor was making dinner. Hank wanted to get the Christmas tree from the garage. 

RK hesitates. Hank notices. 

“What’s wrong?” Hank asks. 

“I…” RK had felt the need to have this type of conversation with Hank for a while now. But he… had been putting it off. 

It was a difficult topic, and RK felt like he was walking on eggshells. 

“I don’t want you to have to decorate this year,” is what RK says. It’s a poor introduction, one that he had wanted to serve as a summary, but it falls short. Drastically short. 

“Well… I mean, you can do it if you want. I ain’t arguing.”

“No, I mean—” God, what did he mean?

There isn’t a sensitive way to go about this, RK realizes. It’ll be a difficult conversation no matter what. 

“You don’t like holidays because it makes you think about your son.” RK can’t look Hank in the eye. “Last year, you… felt obligated to decorate for Christmas only because I wanted to.” Now that RK has begun talking, he suddenly doesn’t know how to stop. “I only realized months later how insensitive I was being. Connor told me that holidays are difficult times and I forced you into a situation where you suffered just to appease me. I’m sorry, I didn’t —”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Hank says quickly. He emphasizes his point by taking a step closer, but putting his hands on RK’s shoulders. “You’re rambling, kid, just chill out.” 

RK can see the reflection of his LED in Hank’s eyes. 

He hadn’t realized it was red. 

“I’m sorry, Hank.” 

“You’re honestly fuckin’ apologizing for this?”

“Yes. Of course I am.”

“Of course you are,” Hank repeats, and then he sighs. He removes his hands from RK’s shoulders to pinch the bridge of his nose. “I swear, you act like a kid so much sometimes and then you pull this on me.” 

Before RK can ask what he means, Hank continues. 

“You’re only a year old. So is Connor. And last year Christmas was kinda fucked up, and I… I feel bad because of that? It was Connor’s first Christmas. And… it was yours too. And that kinda thing’s supposed to be special and whatnot.”

“But—"

“No but’s. Look, I…” Hank pauses. He swallows. He suddenly looks sad. “You’re right. Ya know? It’s… hard. Christmas is hard. Fuck , a lot of days are hard. But it isn’t fair to you guys that you don’t get to enjoy something like that.” 

“But it’s hurting you.”

Hank sighs again. His brow furrows. His frown deepens. 

“It’ll always hurt me,” Hank admits. His voice is soft. Quiet. Vulnerable. “But… Connor’s been— well…” He makes a small noise of frustration. “He and I’ve been working on it. Let’s just put it that way.”

RK isn’t quite sure what the means, but he doesn’t feel sated at all. 

The red of his LED is still in Hank’s eyes. 

“Shit, c’mere kid,” Hank mumbles. He pulls RK against him, hugging him tight. 

RK clings to him, subconsciously, instinctively. 

“You’re a good kid, RK,” Hank whispers. “Fuck, you’re a really good kid. I’m sorry I made you feel like you were forcing me to do this… Christmas thing.”

“But I was, ” RK can’t help but say into Hank’s shoulder.

“I wanted to do it for you. For you and Connor. This year, too. I’ll make sure it’s a lot better.” 

RK almost doesn’t want him too. It hurts him. It’s hard for him. RK doesn’t want Hank to hurt. 

“I’m sorry, Hank,” RK finds himself saying again. 

“I already told ya, you don’t gotta—”

“I’m sorry about Cole.”

That stops Hank’s sentence in its tracks. That makes a tremor go down Hank’s spine. 

“Yeah, I know,” he finally whispers in return. His voice sounds thick. 

“It isn’t fair.” RK shouldn’t say anymore. He’ll only upset Hank further. He shouldn’t say anymore. He shouldn’t be crying. 

“I know it ain’t.” 

“He was only six —” His voice breaks into static, and it’s only once speaking becomes difficult does he resolve to stop. 

This isn’t right. It isn’t. Hank is the one who lost his son. He shouldn’t be the one comforting RK. He shouldn’t be, shouldn’t be, and yet here they were. 

RK feels terrible. He feels angry with himself. 

Such a fucking crybaby —

“I know.” Of course Hank knows. “I know.” 

Hank knows better than anyone.

“I don’t think I’ll get a ring yet.” 

The message comes somewhat unexpectedly. RK pauses his progress on paperwork to glance towards Connor.

Connor isn’t looking towards him.

“Any particular reason why?” RK asks, returning to his work. 

“I… well, a few reasons. They’re all silly.” 

“I doubt they are. If it’s causing you worry. Talk to me.” 

A brief moment. Then, a sudden rush.

“I don’t know what kind of ring Hank would like. He doesn’t wear jewelry. I don’t know if he would be unappreciative of something flashy or would want something plain. Humans usually have diamonds on their wedding bands. I don’t know if the ring should have diamonds or not. And I’m nervous. Nervous still because I don’t know for sure that he won’t say no. I can’t tell that he’ll say yes for certain. I want to be certain. I don’t want to propose to him, have him decline and that result in awkwardness between us. What if it ruins our relationship? What if Hank just doesn’t want to get married? Or what if he only agrees to make me happy? What if things are fine the way they are? What if—” 

“Connor, Connor stop,” RK says firmly, and the rush halts.

“It’s alright to be nervous,” RK continues after a few moments. “That’s a part of a proposal I think. As for the ring, you know Hank. Better than most. Proceed calmly. Logically. You’re good at working logically, Connor."

“…I know.” 

“I can’t tell you that Hank won’t say yes, or that he won’t say no. But as for ruining your relationship, I highly doubt that would happen.” 

“But—” 

RK doesn’t give Connor a chance to cut in.

“Are you fine with how things are? As they are, right now?” 

A long minute of radio silence. Then, “ Yes.” 

“Are you happy?” 

“Yes.” 

“Then you have time,” RK assures. “You have time to think about it. To plan it out. To work through the nervousness. It’ll be alright.” 

Silence. Five minutes pass. RK doesn’t think Connor will say anymore until he does.

“Thank you, RK.” 

“You’re welcome, Connor.” 

“I realize all that was silly to worry over. I’m sorry for dumping it all on you.” 

“It wasn’t silly. It’s fine to worry over something like that. It’s a big decision.” 

“I’ll wait. I think… maybe next year. Maybe not at Christmas, but next year.” 

“That’s perfectly fine.” 

More silence. RK submits a report, closes the case file. Opens a new one, begins another report.

“I love you, RK.” 

RK looks over towards Connor. Connor still isn’t looking at him.

“I love you, too, Connor.”

RK sees it by accident.

Gavin was hungry. Gavin wanted 7-11 pizza. RK had gone in with him rather than wait in the car.

It’s been three days since his conversation with Hank. The tree is up at home, Connor put the stockings where they’d been last year.

Personalized ornaments are quite popular, and have been for some time.

Though they weren’t technically personalized. They were mass produced. From a list of popular baby names.

Cole sat right along side Colby and Colin. 

It was a little snow globe, no bigger than the center of RK’s palm. The globe was made of plastic, a snowman sat in the center. The base was red, the plaque was green and the name was stamped in white.

RK gets it. With the intention of putting on the tree.

The globe stays in his pocket until he gets home.

Connor and Hank are already there, in the kitchen.

RK doesn’t greet them right away. Instead, he goes to the tree. He reaches up to the top.

He puts the little globe with Cole’s name on it right beneath the star.

RK hadn’t known Gavin last Christmas.

He’s only come to know him in the early weeks of 2039, in the beginning of January.

He’s known Gavin for less than a year, but has felt like he’s known him for much longer than that.

Which begs the question – what to get him?

“What are you doing for Christmas, Gavin?” RK had asked innocently enough. Gavin had only glanced up from his phone for a brief second.

“Nothin’,” he replied. “Stayin’ at home, I guess. I’ll get a couple frozen pizzas or something.”

And that. That had been entirely unacceptable.

Christmas Eve, they resolve to have dinner.

Gavin is invited, of course. Gavin initially refuses the invitation.

That had hurt. RK didn’t know why , but it had. 

Somehow, his idea of Christmas only gained solidity when Gavin was involved.

“What the fuck’re you all gonna do, anyway?” Gavin asks on the day before Christmas Eve.

“We were going to eat dinner together,” RK answers. “Nothing too special.”

“Then why the fuck did’ya want me to come?”

I don’t know , RK thinks first. And then, secondly, more solidly, Because I love you and want you with me on a day like that. 

“Because you’re my friend,” RK finally says. “And Christmas is a time meant for family and friends. It wouldn’t… wouldn’t feel right being there without you.”

RK doesn’t expect Gavin to budge. RK expects a repeat of the gala. No matter his urging, Gavin wouldn’t come, and RK would be left with some small feeling of disappointment.

That’s why it’s a surprise when Gavin knocks at the door on Christmas Eve, two six packs of beer in hand.

When RK answers the door, when RK sees its him, he stares too long. Gavin begins to get uncomfortable. He becomes tense.

“What the fuck’re you starin’ at me for? I didn’t grow a second head or something.”

And RK apologizes. Apologizes but doesn’t move from the door way, doesn’t move to let Gavin inside because—

“You came."

Gavin snorts. “Yeah, and?”

“I thought you didn’t want to come.”

“I… well, I never said that.”

“RK!” Hank calls from the kitchen. “Close the damn door you’re lettin’ all the heat out!”

And then RK moves aside. He lets Gavin in, closes the door, locks it behind them.

“I came ‘cause… some dipshit really wanted me to come.” Gavin smiles at him, warmly, before coughing. “Yeah. That’s about it.”

Hank’s surprised. Connor is, too, but pleasantly so. While RK isn’t sure if Connor and Gavin will ever be friends, they certainly are at least friendly towards one another. 

Gavin is still an asshole. Even RK can say that. But he isn’t as hostile as Connor has said he had been in the past.

Connor, more than anyone, believes that people can change.

“I probably shoulda texted or somethin’,” Gavin says. Sheepishly. “People kinda bring food and shit but I can’t cook so… I just got beer.”

“Thank fuckin’ god,” is Hank’s response. “I thought Connor was gonna make me go all Christmas without booze.”

“Not all Christmas,” is Connor’s reply. “Just… everything in moderation Hank.” His LED whirls. “You can have two.”

“Aw, c’mon Connor—”

“If you give me a limit too, I’m leavin’ and taking my beer with me.”

RK doesn’t say anything.

RK’s happy.

He’s really, really happy.

Gavin

December 25 2039

(13:24)

Merry Christmas toaster

(13:25)

Merry Christmas, Gavin.

(14:10)

Come over

(14:11)

I got somethin’ I wanna give you

The trip to Gavin’s apartment is familiar.

RK’s done it a hundred times.

Gavin has given him the passcode for the front door, so Gavin doesn’t need to buzz him in every time RK shows up.

He runs into one of Gavin’s neighbors on the elevator. She’s old, in her eighties. Her son and her grandchildren are coming to visit her for the holiday.

They’ve had many conversations in the past. RK likes her. She’s a sweet woman, tiny, fragile. She has arthritis in her knees, a hip replacement. Her vision is terrible, even with the glasses that sit on her nose.

She made him cookies once. RK took them. He didn’t tell her he was an android and couldn’t eat them.

RK walks her to her apartment. It’s three doors down from Gavin’s. He takes her keys and unlocks her door for her.

It’s familiar.

He’s done it so many times before.

So many times that Gavin no longer seems tense when RK is in his apartment. In the beginning, it was as though Gavin found it odd that there was another occupant inside.

Now, RK didn’t even have to knock.

Gavin’s in the kitchen. Gavin seems tense. Nervous.

RK doesn’t know why.

“I’m fine,” Gavin assures when RK asks. “Just, uh… yeah.”

Maybe Gavin doesn’t like the holidays either. Maybe the holidays remind him too much of something negative. Maybe it hurts him, just like it hurts Hank.

RK is about to speak, to ask him again if he’s alright, if he’s sure , but then Gavin pushes off the counter. He turns around and digs through one of the kitchen drawers.

The one right beside the fridge, tinier than the others. The one Gavin uses for batteries, screwdrivers, a flashlight. The one right next to the drawer full of silverware.

Gavin takes out a little box. Green with coarse red ribbon tied around it.

He gives it to RK pointedly.

“Open it,” Gavin prompts.

RK does. Untying the ribbon, removing the lid.

Inside is a key.

RK takes the key from the box, puts it in his palm. “A key?” he questions.  

“Yeah, a key,” Gavin repeats. “It’s uh… my key. My apartment key.”

Oh. 

“I mean, you come over all the time anyway. And it’s-it’s annoying to have to get up and unlock the door every time, and… I had a spare and, uh, shit.”

Gavin’s making excuses.

Gavin only does this when he feels emotionally vulnerable. Emotional vulnerability isn’t something Gavin handles very well.

RK isn’t sure what he feels. RK just knows it’s heavy, sitting in his chest rather than on it. Like it’s in his thirium pump, making it sink into the hollow of his chest.

But at the same time, it makes RK feel so unbelievably light. It contradicted the weight in his chest, but both are there and both are unbelievably present.

God, RK loves Gavin so much.

RK doesn’t say that. He bites his tongue and doesn’t say it.

But he feels it. Feels it with every single part of his body.

“Thank you, Gavin,” is what he says instead.

“The hell’re you thankin’ me for, dipshit? It’s just a key.”

Just a key.

Just Gavin’s key.

The gap between Christmas and New Years is strange.

Time is strange.

For months, people focus on Christmas. Christmas shopping, Christmas plans. Ads run on TVs, in magazines, on display on the sides of busses. It’s a very big event.

And then once it’s over, people look forward to New Years, and along with this, the realization that , oh, the year’s almost over. 

It’s almost 2040 .

RK finds himself doing much the same.

It’s almost 2040. It hadn’t felt like this last year, had it? He doesn’t think it did.

Last year was different. Last year he was still very… new. He had only been alive for not even two full months, days that one could have counted without too much time spent on doing so.

RK’s heard that humans often spend these days reflecting on their year. Humans make resolutions for each year. Most of the time they don’t go through with them.

Common ones are weight loss related, as well as something related to happiness, then finances.

It’s five days before the new year. The last five days of the first full year of his life.

RK doesn’t know what his resolutions should be.

“Resolutions ?” Gavin almost scoffs. He sounds put off by the idea. “Nobody ever makes good on their resolutions, RK. That new year, new me crap doesn’t really work out, ya know?”

No. RK doesn’t know.

“Gavin?” RK asks. Gavin hums. “Have I changed? Since you met me?”

Gavin looks up from his phone. RK continues looking at the edge of his computer monitor.

“Why’re you askin’?”

“I… I don’t know. I just… want to know.”

Gavin removes his feet from his desk. He sits up a bit straighter.

“Yeah. You’ve changed. A lot.”

“How?”

“Fuck, I dunno,” Gavin huffs. “I can’t really explain that kinda—”

“Try ,” RK asks. “Please.”

A long silence. The bullpen is void of conversation. It’s only full of the sound of keyboards. Paperwork season , Gavin had called it once. Because of all the shit that goes down around Christmas .

“You were… more like a machine when I first met you,” Gavin starts. “Like… you were stiff. Ya know? Like androids used to be. Didn’t talk unless someone talked to you. Didn’t look at anyone. You just… sat there and didn’t do anything.”

Gavin sighs. He taps his fingers on the desk. “And even when you talked, it wasn’t… lively? If that makes any sense? You were just… sad and quiet and tried to be smaller than you were. Like you were afraid to take up space.”

RK watches Gavin now. He looks distracted. Thoughtful.

“Now, though, it’s different. Ya know you… don’t seem afraid anymore to talk to people. You’re not afraid to take up space, or start conversations or be involved in them. You’re more assertive, a bit more bold.”

Gavin smiles for a brief moment.

“You text me sometimes just to tell me about stupid shit. Like, you went running and someone was walking a golden retriever puppy and let you pet it. Or whenever you binge watched Divorce Court and felt that the final verdict was unfair. It’s… it’s nice. It’s like you’re happy now. Happy and… a lot more alive.”

Gavin comes back to himself. He sees RK watching him. He coughs awkwardly.

“Yeah. Yeah you changed a lot.”

RK smiles. He’s happy to hear that.

“And that, too. You smile a lot. I didn’t even think you could do that.”

“I can’t,” RK replies. “Not really.”

His smile doesn’t look like one. It looks, and makes people, uncomfortable. The corners of his mouth don’t go up, they pull down; it doesn’t wrinkle around his eyes like Connor’s; his eyebrows don’t lift, they maintain the severity of his gaze, etc.

RK knows. RK’s categorized, memorized, the differences.

“Bullshit,” Gavin laughs.

“My face wasn’t designed to—”

“Does that matter? It doesn’t. People got fucked up faces everywhere, ya know? That part isn’t important, it’s your eyes that are.”

“My… eyes?”

“You know, you can tell when someone is smiling and they don’t mean it. It doesn’t reach their eyes. And yours do. Yours always do.”

That makes RK smile again. Until the pull of it feels tense around his jaw and he realizes it must look odd so he looks down and covers it with his hand.

Yours always do.

A lot of people find themselves unhappy during the holidays.

For many, the holidays meant being around family and friends. Loved ones.

For others, it meant being lonely, bitter, angry.

It wasn’t exactly a surprise that someone would feel somewhat suicidal. And it wasn’t exactly a surprise that they would choose a violent way to attempt it.

A shooting in a corner convenience shop in Detroit isn’t the rarest thing in the world. Rather than come to take money from the cashier, this time, the shooter had simply come to hold hostages.

The man was forty-three year old Dorian Wright. A year ago his wife died of cancer. Less than six months ago, his son died of a stroke.

A bitter reminder, some holidays were.

RK would say it was very unlucky that he and Gavin were there at the time.

There had been a murder, predictably, and this location was one of the two places the victim had been before the time of her death.

RK had gotten distracted, admittedly. Silly plastic glasses shaped like 2040, the zeroes being used to see through. Plastic party hats, one dollar boxes of firecrackers. Even three days beforehand, a large majority had been purchased from the shelves.

He had been distracted, and that’s when the shooter came in.

He fired two shots in the air, causing people to hit the deck and scream. RK had done so as well, to remove himself as an immediate target.

To remove himself as a target. Truthfully, he didn’t want the shooter to point the gun at him.

He still couldn’t entirely control himself.

The man was in hysterics. Screaming and shaking, demanding the people within the store to come sit near the counter.

Gavin didn’t. RK didn’t.

Gavin was an idiot.

Gavin is strong, and Gavin had the element of surprise. But the shooter had four inches and easily an extra sixty pounds on him.

A stray shot is fired off, and it tears into a package of snack cakes near RK’s foot.

Worrying about having a gun pointed at him was over now.

The time to be afraid of the unpredictable is gone.

Gavin’s in trouble now. 

Gavin has the shooters arm around his throat. Gavin curses, spits straight fiery venom, and tries to bite the arm restricting him. The leather coat that Wright is wearing means that he feels nothing.

When the gun gets pressed against his head, Gavin freezes. Wright uses this as leverage — an insistence that nobody tries anything funny.

RK stands then.

RK stands, and a gun is immediately pointed at him.

“Don’t fuckin’ move!”

“RK!”

His name is gasped in a panic.

Not in any kind of oh shit I’m gonna fuckin die panic. But an oh shit this guy is pointing a gun at you and we both know what that means. 

And yes.

They both know what that means.

“Move and I fuckin’ shoot you,” the shooter threatens. His hands tremor, he attempts to hold the gun steady.

“RK,” Gavin says again. “RK, stay with me.”

His captor tightens the arm around his throat, making Gavin gasp and claw at the leather sleeve.

T̢͓̫͔̺̟ͅh͉͎r͔̳͇ea͔t̵e͚̮̟̘n̞̬͔̤̹̫͎i̸͕̟͔ņ̲̪̠̠ͅg ͈̫̤̫̯͞G̜̯̜a̫̝̙̮͈̲̩̕vin͈̮̜̲͖͕͟ ̹̯̺̦͕͡
̰̹̺͎
̗͚Th҉̜͓͈̱r͉̥e̵a̴̖t̻̩̗̠̥̻͖e̞͈̺n̳i̱̰̻͔͡n͠g͚̗̲͙͖͔ ͓̹̤͔̹̙y̷̰͇̤̹̰ͅo͇̺̲̼u̱̳̟̲ ̝
̺̮̗͉ ̱̥ ͙̼̺̘͕
̨͇̹͉Y͚̻̦̝̭̯o̖̦̘̰̗u͙ ̗̫͉͓͉͍k͉̺̪͍ṉ̤ow͔̫̠̺̗̮ ̩̯wh̸͔͓a̮̙̖͖̯̞͈t̸͇ ̻̱t͍̞̠͚̕ͅh̹at͉͇̘̻͖ ͇̗͘m͕̖͍̹̩ͅẹ̤͕̺̺̥a̕n̼s̨̻ ͉̝̩̳̗͙
̜ ̼̭͍͜ ͔̻͎
̝̫͡H̻̜̖̰̗̜͟e ͔̩̙͠d̸̜̫̣̼̙͇͖o̡͔̰e̠̼̙̳s̫͚̯̗͜n͕̺̬’̶̪̞̜̜̜t̶͖̯̖̜ ͉͈̥͎d͕͔̰͟e͞s̫̟ͅḙ͇̱͇̳̘rv̘̮̙͎̘̗e ̺̰i̡̼̰t̠̦̫͕̙̕ ̸͍̮̱̘̫͚
͕̦͚̱ ̵̹̪
͍͔̰ͅD̝͙̩̹̫o͝e̲̼͍͇̟̖̫͟s̟̠͕̲̯̼̖͠n͕’͠ţ͙͕̤ ̥͍̟d̪͍̝̙̼̲ͅe̴̱̲̭͖̜̼͖s̻̼͙ḛ͖̦͉̜̰r̜̬̻̦͟ͅv͓̮͖̩͙̖e̛ ̷͈̮̱̮͎͚̳t҉͙̩̥ͅo̩̰̭̮̜̩̼͝ ̶̟̰̜b̙̼̱͞r̼ea͏̱t̗̮h̕e̤̲̜̦͖̥ 

The red wire frame overlay pops up. The world shades red.

D̺̠͉͇͎͜o̹̤̩͚͕̹̣e̢̩͕̦̞̻ͅs̲̼̻̲ͅn̥͔͎̗̼’̠͉̻͇͢t̜͕͎̮ ̪̠̫̺̰d͓̭͓̫̼͜ͅe͙̫̞̣s̡̜̦̳̟̝̬ͅe̶̖͖r̲̼v̢̭̖͕͚͈e̗͡ͅ ̮̲i̷̹͎̫̼t̼͍̘̞̣͎ ͍̜̼͉̣̬

No.

No no no no.

If there was ever a time to gain control, it was right fucking now.

If he moves, Gavin is going to get killed.

RK digs his nails into his palms. Simulating a familiar pressure.

Stay with me

Stay with me

Stay with me

Stay with me

The red doesn’t disappear.

But RK doesn’t blackout either.

Think quickly think quickly think quickly 

RK knows if he moves then this man is going to shoot. He’ll shoot RK, realize it’s ineffective and there’s a 73% chance he’ll shoot or hurt Gavin instead.

With the shooter distracted, the clerk finds and hits the panic button. A silent alert is sent through to the police.

B͖͎̤̰͉̞ṵ̠͕l͎͍̬̗͕l̘͎̪̣̹̯̲e̤̼̬̬̜t͘s̴͔̭̬̤͙͇͎ ̵̰c̡̼̤̩̟̣͇a̺ṋ̯’̱t̝͇͎̦͕͕̫ ̲̗̖̬͉͡ẖ͈̭̗̜̦̤ṵ̰̭̖r̬̳̝͔̩t̪̺̦̹̤̯̱̕ ̥y̟͔̳̙o͢u̘̮̲̩̼͕̮͠ ̗̦͚̦̳̟̖

But he doesn’t know that 

RK takes a step forward.

The gun shot doesn’t surprise him, but it surprises everyone else.

RK’s a great actor. Damn. Maybe he could make it in Hollywood. A real life Terminator.

As soon as the bullet hits his forehead, RK lets his head snap back in response to the impact.

He lets his body fall.

People scream.

Gavin screams.

But everything works. It all works, perfectly .

Idiot.

As soon as the shooter turns his attention to the clerk, effectively putting his back to RK, RK reaches back.

RK gets his gun.

K͕̥̯͞i̸̢̬̪͓͓̥͓̣̼͜l̛̯̹͖̭̙ļ̼̹͘ ̟̬̳̲͍̤͘͘h̪͈̻̤i̢̫͈̮͎͇͈̱̠m̬̹̣͡.̢̪͙̯̻͇̝ ̦̳̖͘

No.

He does it so quickly, so quietly, that the shooter didn’t see it coming.

RK kicks his leg out, sweeping both his and Gavin’s feet out from under them. And RK’s rolled himself over, has his knee on the shooters chest, gun held level with his face, before he can even fully recover.

“Good try,” he amends, and he reaches up to literally pull the bullet out of his forehead.

Subdermal armor does come in pretty handy sometimes. Not gonna lie.

When backup arrives, RK explains things.

Wright is mentally unstable. Wright needs to see a medical professional. He needs psychiatric help rather than jail time.

Gavin thinks otherwise. Gavin is angry. Gavin thinks that Wright should get booked for attempted murder of a fucking cop.

Those were his words, anyway.

Gavin is checked over by EMTs, grumbling the whole time, pushing at their probing and insisting he’s fucking fine, alright? 

Well, he was fine.

Until he comes and punches RK in the jaw.

“Motherphcker !” Gavin yells, either at RK or at the pain, he isn’t sure. RK scans his hand — nothing is broken, and RK doesn’t know how.

“What the fuck did you do?” Gavin asks. His voice is tight. He shakes out his hand. “How the fuck did you even do that?”

“If I moved, he would have shot you,” RK says in response. “There was a 73 percent chance that—”

“Fuck the chances, RK, I thought he fucking killed you—”

“I was just acting. I had to make him believe that he’d neutralized me.”

“Well, good fucking job! You convinced every fuckin’ body.”

“Why are you angry?”

“I don’t know! God, I don’t know I just– just—”

RK scans him again. His heart rate is through the roof, his stress levels are worryingly high. His breathing is shallow and thin, not due to pain like RK had previously thought.

Gavin’s panicking .

Slowly, carefully, RK takes a step closer. He pulls Gavin against him and squeezes.

“Fuck you.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Fuck your sorry.”

“I had to be sure you’d be okay. I didn’t want him to hurt you.” Gavin exhales sharply. He’s still tense, shaking, in RK’s arms.

“Fuck,” Gavin says again, but RK knows it’s not directed at him. The fabric of his jacket tightens around his shoulders — Gavin’s fisting his hands in the sides near RK’s waist.

Gavin calms. His stress levels sink, his heart rate slows. His breathing becomes even again.

He doesn’t let go of RK for a good while, even after that.

RK’s perfectly fine with that.

There isn’t any snow in the garden anymore, but the air is still cold.

The branches are free of ice. The grass is anemic. The stone pathway is still white.

His copy isn’t there anymore.

RK doesn’t realize how accustomed he had become to its presence until he notices its absence. He hadn’t realized he had any kind of attachment to it.

It’s only after making a long circle around the outskirts of the garden does he notice a gravestone.

It’s beneath one of the cherry trees, made of dark stone, with rough edges. There are no words.

RK isn’t sure what it’s supposed to be for. Or who it’s for. The absence of his copy and the appearance of the gravestone seems too coincidental, though, so he thinks maybe it’s meant for that.

Whatever that even means.

The trellis in the center is still there. Amanda’s roses have long wilted and gone; not even the vines remain.

RK supposes he’ll never see Amanda again.

Without her, without his copy, the garden feels like his.

He’s made it his. One way or another.

Chapter Text

RK doesn’t like pride.

He doesn’t like boastfulness. It’s difficult to relate to those with overinflated egos and a crippling sense of entitlement. That arrogance is unbecoming.

RK is the pinnacle of Cyberlife technology. The most advanced android model within the most advanced android series ever created. Logic would dictate that he was entitled to be boastful, to be arrogant, to look down his nose at others.

And yet, he didn’t.

But even so, he was unbelievably… proud of himself.

As the suspect is handed over to the appropriate authorities, as RK and Gavin are asked to give their accounts of what happened, RK is proud of himself. It’s an odd, heavy feeling that settles in his chest.

Gavin is quiet.

RK respects his silence, partially because he’s afraid of what it might mean.

It’s only after the police lights fade, after the holographic tape has been put away, does Gavin say anything else to him.

“So, you… you’re good now?” is what he asks. He asks it tentatively. RK doesn’t know why.

“I think so,” RK says, and he hopes that’s true. He couldn’t say so with complete confidence.

Gavin just nods in some sort of agreement. He adds no other words.

RK knew he would have to tell Hank something eventually.

Up until this point, Hank had respected RK’s request for his affairs to remain private. Connor and Hank were both worried, RK knew, and it made him feel guilty about hiding things from them.

Hank and Connor had been the ones that had seen RK at his lowest – and most self-destructive – point. They worried for him, were upset that they couldn’t do anything to help him.

And RK had pushed them away during that time, assuring them that he was fine, more interested in maintaining his secrecy than placating the worry of his family. It was a selfish thing to have done, RK realizes, but he thought that he was being selfish for the right reasons.

Now, he realizes it was just because he was afraid.

He knew he would have to tell Hank about the program, would have to tell him and Connor both about the conditioning that he had pressured Gavin into assisting him with. But he had no idea where to begin, even now.

What could he say? “Guess what, I become an unstoppable murderer if you point a gun at me and I can’t stop it”.

How could he say something like that, when Hank slept under the same roof?

It had been Connor that requested RK come here in the very beginning, and RK would forever be grateful to his predecessor for offering him somewhere when he had nothing. But ultimately, it was Hank that had allowed him to say.

It was Hank that had been there, however awkwardly, distantly, for him when Connor wasn’t. It had been Hank that taught him, really, how to fit into his place that had been carved out for him.

If Hank made him leave, if Hank didn’t want to see him again, RK would understand. It would break him, but he would have understood. And Connor… RK didn’t want Connor to have to choose between RK and Hank.

He knew he would have to say something to Hank. He just… didn’t think that conversation was going to happen tonight.

When he returns home, the events of earlier still weighing heavily on his mind, Connor and Hank are both waiting for him.

Connor’s LED is red. Hank’s stress levels sit at 87%.

“You worried us,” Hank says. His tone is flat. RK doesn’t like that tone.

He’s heard Hank use it before – before he tells someone that they’ve lost someone they love. Before he says something that’s difficult, disappointing.

 “Reed called us,” Hank continues. “Said, uh… yeah. Well, he kinda told us everything.”

“Everything?”

How much is everything? RK suddenly panics.

“I had to tell him, RK,” Connor says softly. “We’ve… we’ve kept this from him too long. He deserved to know.”

RK grits his teeth so hard that he thinks he can feel them crack.

They’ll ask you to leave. They don’t want you. They’re afraid of you. You’re a liability. You should turn your badge in now, so you can leave on your own terms –

Hank reaches forward. RK flinches away, thinking that Hank was going to hit him. Instead, Hank’s hand digs into his shoulder, pulling him forward and into a tight hug. Very, very tight. RK doesn’t know if its his imagination or if his bones are actually creaking.

“You worried me to fuckin’ death, you get that?” Hank says gruffly, right in RK’s ear. He sounds agitated, but… “I didn’t know what the fuck was happening to you. I thought you were fuckin’ dying. You were trying to fuckin’ kill yourself and I didn’t know what the fuck –”

Just as RK was about to reciprocate this terse embrace, Hank pulls away, holding him by the shoulder still. The other jabs a finger into his chest repeatedly, reinforcing his words. “Don’t you ever do that again, you hear me? I swear to god, you ever worry me like that again and… and… you’re fucking grounded. So grounded.”

RK can only stare at him. “You’re… you’re not afraid of me?” RK asks.

Hank looks confused. “Why would I be afraid of you?”

Why wouldn’t you be? “I… can’t control myself. I’ve hurt people before. I… I could have hurt you.” A bitter feeling of shame clogs his throat.

“You didn’t.”

“But I could have – ”

“You didn’t,” Hank reiterates, firmly. “Listen, I trust you. I trust you and… fuck, I just…” Hank’s head hangs. “I’m not angry. I’m not scared of you, RK. Look, we’ll… we’ll talk about that more. Promise. But right now, I’m just glad you’re okay.”

Tears prick at RK’s eyes. He looks towards Connor, who’s watching them with a soft expression on his face.

Crybaby.

RK doesn’t cry. Surprisingly. But he almost did.

Almost, when Hank pauses on his way to bed. When he hesitates at the beginning of the hallway.

“I love you, kid. You know that right?”

It’s not like RK didn’t know. This was just the first time Hank had ever said it.

“I know, Hank,” RK smiles. “I love you, too.”

Hank nods almost awkwardly. He goes to bed.

2039 ends. 2040 takes its place.

Hank and Connor had wanted to watch the ball drop.

Correction: Connor had wanted to watch the ball drop, which meant that, inevitably, Hank was brought to watch it as well.

But RK… didn’t want to watch something like that.

RK goes to the dog park. RK watches the fireworks as it turns midnight.

Gavin

January 01 2040

(00:00)

Happy New Year, Gavin.

(00:01)

Happy new year tin can

(00:01)

I’m surprised you responded so quickly.

(00:03)

tf is that supposed to mean??

(00:04)

It’s New Years. I had assumed you would be drinking.

(00:05)

Many seem to enjoy this aspect of the new year celebrations.

(00:07)

nah I ain’t into that

(00:08)

Starting the new year off with a hangover ain’t my idea of a party

(00:09)

I see.

(00:16)

What’re you doin?

(00:17)

I’m at the dog park. Watching the fireworks.

(00:19)

Just you?

(00:20)

Yes.

(00:21)

Hank and Connor wanted to watch the ball drop.

The replay, from Time’s Square.

(00:22)

I just wanted to watch the fireworks.

(00:58)

Your some kinda guy, ya know that?

(00:59)

You’re*

(01:13)

I take it back

(01:14)

YOUR a fuck

(01:14)

:)

(01:41)

You should watch the fireworks from my place next time.

(01:43)

Much better view

(01:45)

I’ll hold you to it. Fourth of July?

(01:47)

its a date

RK smiles at the message, a warm feeling settling into his chest.

(03:13)

gdnight rk

(03:14)

Goodnight, Gavin. Rest well.

It’s January. January sixth.

A year ago today, RK met Gavin Reed.

It isn’t an especially significant date. Gavin and RK hadn’t liked one another when they first met, but the day was important to RK. Simply because it was the day he met Gavin.

RK finds himself rather distracted at work. It’s Friday, and that may be his only appropriate excuse. But really, it’s only because he finds himself continually drawn to look at Gavin.

Gavin is in his usual pose – leaning back in his chair, feet up on his desk. Slacking on his work, but it wasn’t like RK minded. It had been a difficult week – emotionally and mentally taxing on the both of them.

RK didn’t realize love could be this distracting.

Distracting, or eye opening.

It wasn’t that RK hadn’t noticed these things before. He was rather incapable of not noticing these things – they were Gavin’s physical traits, ones that he looked at every single day for a year.

He just… finds himself distracted by them, nonetheless.

He couldn’t help but make special note of the wave of Gavin’s hair. The freckles on his cheeks, the tip of his nose. The cupid’s bow of his lip, the grey-green of his eyes. The shape of his face, his cheekbones, the strong line of his jaw.

The scars on his face.

There was the obvious one – on the bridge of his nose, almost reaching to the edge of his tear duct.

But there’s more, one’s that RK noticed later on.

One above his upper lip, at both of his eyebrows – one perpendicular and one parallel to the arch. Both small, older, barely noticeable. One below his lip, another along the curve of his mouth.

These observations are all kept in a folder, one he keeps secure, as though it were secret.

There are other things within this folder – the measurement of his shoulders, his waist. His height, weight, the exact color of his hair. His favorite food, favorite shirt, favorite coat, the way he prefers his coffee, his preferred kind of weather.

RK had learned a lot of things about Gavin Reed, and each one of these things were put within this file – one that he dedicated time towards organizing. Maybe that was stupid. Maybe it was weird or obsessive. RK can certainly see why it would be.

He wondered if Connor did this kind of thing, too – if he records and saves every time Hank smiles that way he never forgets what it looks like. If he memorizes the textile record of Hank’s skin in case he never gets to feel it again.

It seems as though he’s preparing for the worst. Maybe he is.

Or maybe he’s just hopelessly in love.

Gavin looks up suddenly, catching RK watching him. His lips purse, and RK can see the flush rise to his cheeks. “The fuck’re you staring at me for?” he asks, tone accusatory.

RK has to suppress a grin. He finds the blush of Gavin’s cheeks rather alluring. “Nothing,” he returns. “Just got a bit distracted.”

Gavin looks like he’s going to comment, but he ends up staying silent. He returns RK’s unblinking gaze with a stare of his own, until he eventually returns back to his phone.

Love is distracting.

By now, Connor’s and Hank’s relationship wasn’t exactly a secret.

The entire precinct knew, or at least had some kind of building suspicion. It wasn’t necessarily that they were trying to hide anything, it was just that Hank was a private man and Connor valued maintaining professional appearances.

The biggest part of this was it still seemed that they were attempting to sort out how comfortable they were with regards to public displays of affection.

Even when not at work, it was rare they kissed in public. Holding hands had only become somewhat normal during the winter months – Connor had used the cold weather as an excuse to hold Hank’s hands in order to keep them warm.

After passing the one-year mark – a night that RK spent at Gavin’s place to allow Hank and Connor all the privacy they would need – they began to become more comfortable with the little things.

They began to hold hands coming into and leaving work. Sometimes, casually saying “I love you” to one another. On rare mornings when the precinct had few occupants, Connor would kiss Hank’s cheek when he brought coffee.

It made RK happy to see Hank and Connor able to express their affection even at work, especially after the tumultuous start their relationship had had.

Gavin, however, didn’t seem so thrilled.

Gavin’s eyebrows would knit and his lips would purse when he would see Hank and Connor holding hands, acting almost… awkward at the sight.

“Fuckin’ gross,” he’d say. “Can’t those two fucks just get a damn room?”

RK wonders what it would be like if Gavin were to hold his hand. He sometimes finds himself looking at the gaps between his fingers and wondering how well Gavin’s would fit there.

Fuckin’ gross.

RK supposes he’ll never know.

Steadily, January bleeds into February.

Then February into March. With the approach of spring, warmer weather and talk of rain was on the horizon. RK dreaded the repeat of the summer.

It was still cold, and for now, that was something RK would revel in.

The last snowfall of the year comes on March 11. It begins late into the afternoon, at the beginning of the evening.

It begins when RK is at Gavin’s apartment.

RK only notices maybe an hour or so after it had begun. By chance, he sees the accumulation on the balcony’s railing when he goes into the kitchen.

The snow isn’t going to last. RK knows that. Tomorrow the weather will be warmer and sunny and that means this fleeting snowfall will be gone before anyone got to truly enjoy it.

But RK plans to. In some way, at least.

There was something about snow that made him feel… nostalgic. Almost wistful. It was representational of purity and impermanence, two concepts that, right now, RK couldn’t necessarily fathom.

His beginning had been for the purpose of destruction, and there surely wasn’t any kind of purity in that.

Human fragility was something RK only had an outsider’s grasp of – their bodies could only withstand so much before they broke, sometimes irreparably. Some parts of them were so strong, and yet others were so weak and vulnerable.

His own impermanence… that wasn’t something he could understand. Right now, he was still young. His internal battery had a hundred years or more left on it – and RK didn’t age.

He didn’t have cells that would, at one point, begin to die faster than they could replicate. Maybe he did have pieces of himself that would one day begin to decay – but they could be removed, repaired or replaced. Humans didn’t have that luxury.

Maybe he could meet some kind of demise prematurely, through an external method. Though that thought was rather ridiculous, wasn’t it?

People had tried before, he had tried before, and there had only been external damage at worst.

The view that Gavin’s balcony offers isn’t the worst. On the seventh floor, facing towards the east. Slightly to the south, the city skyline of Detroit.

Gavin lived more towards Highland Park then Detroit, in Lasalle Gardens.

Far enough away so that the city’s noise wasn’t terribly disturbing, but close enough so that the lights didn’t reveal much of the starry sky.

It was a view RK loved, regardless.

Gavin would chastise him for going outside without shoes on, but RK didn’t particularly mind. The snow makes the metal of Gavin’s balcony frigid, and whatever small bit had accumulated melts beneath his feet.

He almost doesn’t want to put his arms onto the railing – doesn’t want to brush away the snow that rests there, but he eventually does so.

Does, and raises his hand.

It’s easy enough to let his skin fade away, retracting from his fingers, his hand to disappear beneath the line of his coat.

It’s thin and hardly looks like much of anything – the material absorbs as much light as anything else, making it nearly transparent.

Diamene. Multiple layers of graphene, a crystalline allotrope of carbon, layered hundreds of times over, which only gives it perhaps a couple dozen millimeters of thickness.

Thin, flexible, as light as foil. Upon the presence of impact, it can become rigid enough to stop a bullet, stiffer than bulk diamond.

Fascinating, really.

He could be damaged, but only down to this point, centimeters below the skin.

Humans could die. Humans could die easily.

RK doesn’t think that he’ll have to be expecting his own demise any time soon.

“RK?” RK only draws his attention from his hand when he hears Gavin’s voice, his concern evident in his words. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” RK answers. He sees Gavin’s gaze flicker down to his hand. He quickly replaces his skin – the obvious display of his nature would make Gavin uncomfortable. “I was just… thinking.”

Gavin remains leaning against the doorframe, not quite coming outside. RK doesn’t blame him. “‘Bout what?”

And RK… RK can’t exactly describe it.

The sudden melancholy pit that settles in his stomach.

Gavin surprises him by stepping out into the balcony, cursing at the cold beneath his feet.

“You shouldn’t –” RK begins, only for Gavin to cut him off.

“My balcony, my rules.” RK closes his mouth. “It’s just some snow. I’ll fuckin’ live.” He comes to stand beside RK, propping his elbows up on the railing in a mirror of RK’s pose. “What’s wrong?”

“Why would anything be wrong?”

“Don’t bullshit me. Your light’s spinning a hundred miles an hour.”

“Improbable.”

“RK.” Gavin’s voice is low, demanding. It causes RK to tense up, to snap his mouth shut. “RK, you’re easier to read than you think. I know when something’s wrong.”

And Gavin did, really. It was amazing that he was able to perceive the things RK was feeling with how little RK could physically express.

“How?” RK had asked him once, a long time ago.

“Well, that spinning light show in your head,” Gavin had answered. “Tells a lot more than you think… and your eyes, too. Ya know, ‘eyes are the windows to the soul’. That kinda shit.”

In that moment, RK hadn’t asked Gavin what he meant by that, more perplexed by what his eyes could possibly display than to continue their conversation.

“I don’t really know if I could explain it…” RK describes, and he feels kind of bad for using this tactic.

Difficult conversations were sometimes not what Gavin particularly cared for – he often sought to avoid them whenever he had the chance. Maybe, if he was lucky, Gavin would seek to avoid this one.

No such luck.

“Try to,” Gavin prompts. “I’m smarter than you give me credit for.”

“It sounds stupid.”

“Nah. Can’t be.”

“I was just… thinking about snow.”

“Snow?”

“Yeah.”

“And… what about it?”

RK sighs. “This is probably the last snow of the season. It’ll… be gone tomorrow, and no one will particularly get to enjoy it.”

“…and?”

“It made me think of how… impermanent things are.” RK lifts his hand again, this time to wipe away the snow on the railing. “Human lives are… delicate, just like snow can be. Damage, sickness, old age. They can end in any number of ways. And… androids can be damaged as well, and our batteries only last for so long and –”

“RK,” Gavin interrupts. “Where’re you getting with this?”

RK’s shoulders drop. He thinks of the metal allotrope beneath his skin, nearly invisible, attributing no weight to his body.

“I tried to destroy myself before,” he says, and can sense Gavin’s immediate unease. “And other people have shot me, hit me with vehicles, and I’ve been fine. I… My battery is autonomous. Can last for nearly two hundred years.”

Gavin seems to understand where RK’s going with this. Or maybe he can just extrapolate from the bright red of his LED.

“So… you’re worried about… people dying.” Gavin’s voice is morose.

RK nods. “H-Hank is… he’s already old.” He knows that Hank wouldn’t be happy to hear RK say something like that. “And even without age as a factor, in this line of work, it’s… it can be dangerous. Unpredictable. And humans are fragile, and…”

He grits his teeth.

Losing Hank is an inevitability. One day, days, years, decades from now, Hank wouldn’t come home. Sooner than RK would like, it was inevitable that he would also lose Sumo. Sumo was already four. Saint Bernard’s only lived eight to ten years. One day, RK would lose Connor.

One day, he would lose Gavin.

That thought alone makes his eyes sting.

Gavin can sense his distress, probably able to tell exactly what RK was thinking.

He reaches out, resting his hand over top of RK’s without any hesitation. His fingers wrap around RK’s palm, gripping tight, reassuringly.

Gavin doesn’t say anything, but that’s okay. He doesn’t need to say anything, and maybe Gavin doesn’t know what to say.

That was okay, too. RK wouldn’t know what to say either.

Gavin stands out there with him for a long while, not removing his hold on RK’s hand, until they go inside. RK’s worried about Gavin sick or hypothermic.

When Gavin’s hand leaves his, its absence is powerful.

RK is fully aware that Gavin drinks. RK is also aware that sometimes Gavin doesn’t do it in the safest of ways.

RK hadn’t expected to receive a phone call at nearly two in the morning, however.

“Hey is this, uh… RK?” The voice is not Gavin’s.

“This is. May I ask who is calling? And why do you have Gavin’s phone?”

“Listen, I work at HopCat downtown. Long story short, Gav’s shit faced and got in a fight.”

“Did you call the police?” RK asks first.

“Nah, nah none of that. Gav’s a reg, I wouldn’t do that to him. ‘sides, he works with the cops anyway. Usually I just ring his emergency contact — which is Tina, I know her — but she isn’t answering. And… you’re the next one listed.”

“I see.”

“Could you come and get him? Like I said, he’s shit faced and kind of got roughed up a bit. I’d, uh, take him home myself but I’m still on the clock. And he’s insisting he doesn’t need an ambulance, so…”

RK is already out the door, the location of the HopCat already pinpointed on his map.

“Of course. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Thanks. I’ll be hanging outside with him. He ain’t allowed back in but I’m thinkin’ he may wander off if someone doesn’t watch him.”

RK is there in twenty minutes.

As promised, Gavin is outside the pub. It’s already closed. Waiting with him is, who RK assumes, the man who called him.

Gavin truly is shit faced. RK can smell the alcohol coming off of him. The split lip, swollen eye and bloody nose doesn’t help.

“I’m guessin’ you’re RK,” the man — the bouncer says when RK comes close enough.

“I am.”

“I’m Dave.”

Dave is as tall as RK. Black shirt, blue jeans. Bulging muscles. The stereotypical bouncer, capable of handling even the rowdiest of intoxicated customers.

“Aw, fuck is that the fuckin’ cops?” Gavin’s words are severely slurred. He isn’t making any attempt to stand up. “Fuck, D, why t’fuck would you call cops on me…”

Dave rolls his eyes. “Good luck with him,” he offers RK. “He’s been… in a bit of a rut, looks like.” Dave goes back inside the pub, presumably to close down for the night. RK hears the door lock behind him.

Gavin is sat against the brick wall of the building. RK goes to kneel in front of him.

“I’m here to take you home, Gav—”

“Holy fuckin’ shit,” Gavin interrupts. His pupils are blown and his eyes are hazy. “Holy fuckin’— wow, what a fuckin’ beauty.”

RK hopes he doesn’t flush.

Either way, RK calls for a cab. With Gavin in this state, he isn’t going to be able to carry him home.

“Fuck, I dunno what shit I drank, but god it tastes awwfffulll.”

“That isn’t anything you’ve drank, Gavin. It’s blood.”

“Wha? What t’fuck am I drinkin’ blood for, I’m not a damn vampire.” Gavin cackles. “Do I fuckin’ look like an Edward to you?”

“No, of course not, Gavin. But you did manage to make some people angry enough to attempt to punch your teeth out. That’s why you taste blood.”

“Oh, shit,” Gavin says, and he looks genuinely surprised at this bit of information. “Do I still have my fuckin’ teeth?”

“Yes, you do. It was just a turn of phrase.”

“I can’t afford dental work, man. A fuckin’ tooth is ‘pensive shit, ya know that?”

“I know, Gavin.”

They lapse into silence. The cab is nearly to them.

“Shit, ‘re you fuckin’ takin’ me home?”

“Yes. It’s two in the morning. You’ve drank way too much.”

“My home or y’ur home?”

“Your home, Gavin. Your apartment.”

“Ah, good,” Gavin sighs. Looking appeased. “Good ‘cause I got neighbors and I fuckin’ hate my neighbors.”

“What does that mean?”

“I can’t piss ‘em off anymore ‘cause I don’t got Jamie ‘round,” Gavin laughs. No, giggles. He giggles so much he snorts, and then laughs at his own snort.

RK doesn’t catch on to what Gavin is speaking about.

When the cab comes, RK has to haul Gavin up. Gavin is effectively dead weight. He doesn’t even try to help.

In fact, Gavin doesn’t really move until they’re in the cab. Until RK has put in Gavin’s address and the car is pulling away from the curb.

For all RK’s fancy, high speed processors, it takes him a bit to realize Gavin’s kissing him.

Kissing him really badly. He has his hands gripping the lapels of RK’s jacket, arms like weights. Gavin laps at his mouth with his tongue and RK can taste the alcohol in his breath.

By the time his processors catch up, Gavin’s pulled himself over RK’s lap, rolling his hips down into RK’s and making strange, whining noises in his throat.

RK is a horrible person.

He really fucking is.

Gavin is drunk. Black out drunk. Gavin is in no way, shape, or form able to give any type of consent right now.

Gavin is kissing RK because he’s horny — judging from the hardness in his pants that RK can feel pressing into him with the roll of Gavin’s hips.

Gavin is kissing RK because he’s drunk. Terribly drunk, so drunk he got in a fight and got kicked out of a bar.

Gavin is kissing RK.

And RK lets him.

RK’s horrible.

Once Gavin has used his grip on RK’s jacket to pull himself into RK’s lap, he immediately threads his fingers into RK’s hair. His fingers tighten and pull at his locks, holding him there securely.

Gavin licks a bit more insistently at RK’s mouth, until RK lets his lips part to give Gavin what he wants.

He can taste the alcohol. He can taste Gavin’s blood.

He can taste Gavin.

RK doesn’t catch the noise that he makes in the back of his throat.

RK’s hands — previously not knowing where to go — settle themselves on Gavin’s waist.

It’s feeling Gavin’s hips move under his hands as Gavin grinds down into him that breaks him out of it.

He pushes Gavin off of his lap, back onto his side of the seat. Gavin immediately whines and claws at RK’s jacket in an attempt to return.

“Fuck, b’by,” Gavin groans. “Fuck, lemme kiss you.”

God yes, god yes, let him kiss you, let him let him.

“No, Gavin,” RK says firmly. “You’re drunk. We’re not doing this.

“But why—”

“Because you’re drunk. You’re drunk and you can’t give consent and you’ll just regret this in the morning.”

“I won’t regret nothin’, babe, just let me—”

“No.”

It’s the most authoritative RK’s ever heard his own voice. Also, the most mechanical.

Gavin seems to take the hint though.

He sinks into his side of the back seat, and doesn’t move for the rest of the ride to his apartment.

Eight seconds.

That’s how long Gavin spent kissing him. How long RK let him kiss him.

Eight seconds. 

God, RK feels awful.

RK stays the night.

He stays the night, precisely for this reason.

Gavin is hurling into his toilet, puking up nothing but water and stomach bile. It’s 12:13 the next afternoon. Gavin slept for ten straight hours, before running directly into the bathroom.

At least he didn’t miss the toilet.

Gavin is dehydrated due to the alcohol. His system is still processing the large amounts of it that had been in his system less than twelve hours previous.

He’s hungover. He’s vomiting. He’s hurting.

Gavin had passed out hard before they had even gotten to his apartment. RK had tried to rouse him to give him first aid treatment, but Gavin was entirely unresponsive.

RK made sure he didn’t sleep on his back. RK made sure water and medicine were available in the morning.

“Oh my fucking god, what the fuck did I do?” Gavin laments into his toilet as he flushes it.

“You got drunk. And then you got into a fight,” RK explains. “The bouncer kicked you out, and then he called me to come get you.” And then you made out with me in the cab, and I let you even though you were heavily intoxicated.

Because I’m greedy

selfish 

horrible.

Gavin groans. He dry heaves. “Why the fuck did you stay?”

“Because I knew you’d become ill like this. And you’re injured. I wanted to treat you last night but you passed out before we even got home.”

“Sounds about fuckin’ right.”

It’s another thirty minutes before Gavin stops feeling the need to vomit. It’s after those minutes that RK decides it would be best to assess and tend to his injuries.

“Your split lip will heal on its own. Just attempt not to bite it,” RK advises as he moves Gavin to sit on the edge of the tub. RK sits on the closed toilet seat. “Your nose isn’t broken. Fortunately, you just have a black eye, and nothing will need stitches.”

“Fortunately,” Gavin mocks, in an unimpressed tone.

“Take your shirt off, please.”

Gavin hesitates. “Can we not?” RK can understand his hesitance. With the bruising on his back, it would be painful to raise his arms.

RK regards him for a moment. “I need to tend to the rest of your injuries. I’m worried about broken or fractured —”

“Yeah, yeah, what the fuck ever,” Gavin grumbles. He’s angry, fuming to himself, but he still works on removing his shirt. He gives up after only a few moments. “Well, are you going to help me, or not?” he snaps, and RK begins helping him.

Gavin is quite bruised. The large majority of the bruising is over his shoulders and upper stomach. Fortunately, there aren’t any lacerations, nor any broken or fractured bones that RK can find.

There are many things that RK notices. Things he remembers, things he saves to his folder.

Gavin has more scars than just the ones on his face. Small nicks in his skin here and there. Some old and faded. Some still relatively new.

The bullet wound is there. From where Gavin was shot so long ago.

RK memorizes this. Memorizes this and more.

The curve of Gavin’s collar bones, the hair on his chest. The muscles of his shoulders and back. The excess of adipose tissue around his waist, one that was more noticeable now that he was hunched over.

The small, numerous freckles on his shoulders. The larger, sparing ones on the rest of his torso.

Gavin’s left hip, there’s a tattoo.

It’s small. Old. Black lines and faded blue. Small flowers along a stem that follows the curve of his waist.

“What the fuck’re you starin’ at me for?”

“I was admiring your tattoo,” RK says. “Myosotis flowers.”

“Normal people call them ‘forget-me-nots’ but that shit works too, I guess,” Gavin grumbles. “Give me my fuckin’ shirt.”

RK doesn’t ask about the tattoo again. But after Gavin gets his shirt back on, he speaks of it. Of his own volition.

“It’s, uh… I got it for my dad,” is all Gavin says.

It’s just personal.

A conversation from months ago replays in his head.

“I see,” is all RK says.

Nothing was weird.

Nothing was strange between them.

But that’s because Gavin didn’t remember.

Inevitably, things return to normal.

They always do.

If there was one thing RK could always count on was that there was hardly ever room for lingering awkwardness between the two of them. Mostly because they kept each other distracted, or if they couldn’t, work did it for them.

Work develops surmounting frustrations. Lack of progress, questioning decisions, fretting over consequences. It makes things… high strung, if anything.

Gavin is smoking more frequently – more cigarettes down every day until he gets through a pack before work is over. It’s his coping mechanism, RK knows, for when stress is high. His hands aren’t meant to be idle.

They are the devil’s workshop after all.

Maybe it was RK’s fault, for not noticing sooner. And even once he had, he should have been more forceful in his suggestions that Gavin take care of himself.

Suggesting things to Gavin was always… difficult. Gavin didn’t like to relinquish control – he and RK were the same in that regard. Gavin didn’t want to feel that his choices were influenced by anyone’s pestering or opinions. It was something that RK appreciates about him. Sometimes.

Now is not that time.

“You should sleep Gavin.”

“Not right now. I’m almost done.”

RK should have made him.

“You should eat something more substantial than gummy worms.”

“I will later. This is just a snack.”

RK should have gotten him something else personally.

“I don’t think it’s wise for you to drink more coffee. You’ve already had an overabundance of caffeine today.”

“It’ll be fine. Just get me one more. I’ll nurse this one, promise.”

RK had seen his hands shaking, could predict the arrythmia in his heart. Gavin had pushed himself too hard and had cared for himself too little.

And RK had let him.

That’s why he was where he was now.

At Gavin’s apartment attempting to ease the symptoms of the flu with cough lozenges and saline spray.

Everything, and everyone, had limits.

Gavin was human, and every human had their limitations. Something that RK found interesting, and even a little odd about Gavin, was the fact that he despised his limitations, and constantly pushed his own boundaries with little thought as to the consequences.

It was admirable, in some ways. Gavin had an intense passion for his work – one that went unparalleled amongst many of their colleagues.

RK just… wished that it didn’t result in him putting his own well-being second.

If anyone thought that RK was only doing this as a way to ease the guilt he felt, they wouldn’t be completely wrong. That was only a small part of his motivation. In reality, old habits died hard.

Taking care of Gavin was the first real task that RK had been given. It was familiar ground, unlike so many things from the past year.

He spends time researching – symptoms, complications, recommended treatment methods. What he needs to do, what he needs to expect.

Even with that knowledge, it’s still difficult to experience things firsthand.

Gavin’s a sweaty mess, but he still shivers and claims he’s cold. He says he feels hungry, but his stomach is too sensitive to hold down water and starchy crackers.

RK isn’t sure what to do. There isn’t anything he really can do.

RK remains patient. Attentive. Worried. He sits at Gavin’s side, listens to him – delirious with fever, with muscle aches – until he falls asleep. Gavin does sleep, and that’s the only real solace that RK has. It’s fretful and usually short, but it’s rest regardless.

RK uses that time to keep himself busy.

He appreciates being busy.

He hates being useless.

He does Gavin’s laundry – folds and sorts it into his dresser. He straightens the living room, washes the dishes, scrubs the kitchen counters.

Keep busy.

The hours leading up to when Gavin’s fever breaks, RK doesn’t think he’s been so on edge in a very long time.

RK sits at the side of Gavin’s bed, combs through his sweaty hair with his fingers. Gently reminds Gavin that he’s there. Each noise his partner makes gives him a dizzying unease.

“’K?” Gavin breathes at one point. His body is shaking – his hair is matted to his forehead.

“I’m here, Gavin.”

“’shot you,” Gavin continues. It’s a losing battle, RK can see, but despite this, Gavin puts forth a valiant effort into keeping his eyes open. “’n the head.”

Oh. Gavin is referring to that instance.

RK isn’t sure what to say. He remains silent.

“What if you break? Next time?” Gavin has to pause to swallow; RK needs to get him to drink some water. “If they shoot you and you die?”

And RK… doesn’t know how to respond to that.

Who was to say there wasn’t a weapon that could hurt him? That there wasn’t something that was capable of killing him?

“Don’t wanna lose you, RK.”

Was there something that could pierce through his armor?

“Don’t worry Gavin. I’m not going anywhere.”

RK could hold himself to that, at least.

When he wakes again, however briefly, he asks RK a question: “When’d you get ‘ere?” It’s spoken with his cheek smashed into the pillow.

“I’ve been here,” RK responds softly, brushing his sweaty bangs from his forehead. “Do you want some water?”

Gavin ignores his question. “’d we fuck?”

RK almost laughs. “No. Gavin, you’re sick. I’m taking care of you.”

“Oh…” Gavin sighs, and he closes his eyes. “’s a shame.”

RK’s system momentarily overheats.

Only momentarily.

“I feel like I’m dyin’,” Gavin continues after a moment. “Ya must be an angel or somethin’, huh?”

“No, Gavin –”

“Ya look like one. Angels got blue eyes?” Gavin pauses. Thinks to himself for a moment. “Yeah. Ya look like one.”

Before RK properly responds – not that he could necessarily form a coherent response to something like that – Gavin closes his eyes. His heart rate slows.

The insinuation that he looked like an angel…

It was just feverish delirium.

Gavin recovers. Eventually.

It was slow going, relatively speaking. Gavin had mistreated his body, and despite having been vaccinated against the flu for this season, its effectiveness paled in comparison to the stress that his immune system had been under.

But once he had recovered, once he returns to work, RK promises himself that he will watch after his partner.

Gavin was self-destructive, maybe unknowingly, and even if he did know, perhaps he thought that he was doing these things for the right reasons. RK could understand his thought process – the family and friends of the murdered demanded justice. Gavin wanted to procure that justice and pressed himself in order to find it.

RK wouldn’t let him any longer.

He was firm in his recommendations that Gavin rest, that Gavin eat healthier, that he drink more water and less coffee. He doesn’t just recommend – he goes to get Gavin food himself if Gavin refuses. He blackmails Gavin – Gavin drink’s water or RK doesn’t make him coffee.

RK wouldn’t allow Gavin to become sick like he had been again.

He wouldn’t.

It had been relatively unspoken between them. Since the events of the end of December, since the seemingly miraculous moment of self-control, they had left the conditioning be. Simply a ‘we did it’ moment, and it began to be ignored. Becoming despicably busy in the early part of the year had certainly attributed.

But now, they’re in a familiar scenario. RK is standing across from Gavin, who’s shifting his weight from one foot to the other, his gun in his hand.

RK isn’t sure why, but he was worried.

What if it had been a fluke? What if the only reason he had been able to control it was only because they had been in dire circumstances?

“Just do whatever you did last time,” Gavin says. “That worked out pretty well.”

“I don’t know what I did last time.”

Gavin gives him a cocky, arrogant grin. “We’ve done this song and dance before. It’ll be fine.”

Oh, the irony.

Gavin points his gun at him. Everything bleeds into a familiar image of red and wire.

But only for a moment.

The normal straight lines of the wire warps, and RK is surprised. It has never done that before… has it?

And as he ponders this, something hurts.

It feels as though his face is splitting in half, starting at his forehead and making its way down. Then down his neck, his chest, and it hurts hurts hurts

RK hits the ground, but he doesn’t even feel it.

He wakes up slowly. Drags himself out of his forced stasis. Currently, his limbs are entirely unresponsive. His mobility has been disabled – he had overheated, it would have been disabled in an attempt to limit his power output. Messages of critical software errors and warnings of dangerous overheating briefly blind him before he blinks them away.

And another thing he notices, only after he’s blinked away all of these warnings, is that he’s in a bathtub. The water is up to his neck, and it’s cold. Partially melted ice floats at the surface.

His vision is blurry, color in inconsistent patches.

Someone is kneeling beside the tub. That someone is speaking to him.

It’s Gavin.

Gavin?

Gavin looks panicked.

His face is pale, his breathing harsh. RK wonders about his stress levels, but he is unable to bring up his analysis software.

“What’s wrong?” is the first thing that RK asks. He’s surprised and worried at the effort it takes to speak clearly. His voice sounds wrong in his ears, words stringing together as though he’s been drinking.

Gavin stares at him.

Gavin laughs at him.

The sound is wrong. It’s too forced.

“What’s wrong? You’re asking me what’s wrong?” Gavin’s voice is pitched a bit higher than its normal; hysterical in its tone. “You’re the one that fuckin’ broke down! What the hell happened?”

Broke down?

“What… happened?”

“You just… fell over. Passed the fuck out or something I don’t fuckin’ know.” Gavin’s hands are shaking when he reaches up to brush through his hair. “And then you started overheating. Like, really fuckin’ bad and I-I… I didn’t know what the fuck –” Gavin cuts himself off. “I called Connor. He’s on his way.”

“Why’d you call Connor?” RK struggles to ask. There’s a halo around the bathroom lights.

“Because I thought you were gonna fuckin die! You were so hot that I couldn’t even touch you. He told me to dump your ass in the tub.” Gavin sits back, leans against the wall. “Do you have any fuckin’ idea how heavy you are…?”

Gavin’s still shaking. RK notices his palms are red.

Like he’s been burned.

“’m sorry,” RK apologizes.

“Why are you sayin’ sorry?”

“…hurt you.” It was frustrating that he couldn’t speak like he wanted to. RK couldn’t move to gesture to Gavin’s hands even if he tried.

Gavin stares at him. Just stares, in complete disbelief.

“You’re fuckin’ kidding,” he breathes. “You fuckin’… and you’re the one saying sorry?”

RK wants to apologize for apologizing. Apologize for scaring Gavin. Apologize for – he doesn’t even know what else.

Connor comes.

Connor’s worried.

Gavin’s worried.

Hank had wanted to come with Connor. Hank is worried.

RK feels bad for worrying them. 

RK continues dipping in and out of stasis.

Moving out of the tub and to the living room isn’t something that he remembers occurring. His body is under inexplicable and prolonged duress, one that RK can’t identify himself. That itself isn’t entirely a surprise – he can hardly speak, let alone analyze his own software to identify the error.

Connor, however, doesn’t have the same issue.

Hours after when he first collapsed, he stops dipping into stasis with no warning. His body has returned to a normal temperature – a little higher, maybe, but it isn’t that worrying.

This means that he can move again. His mobility is enabled once more, but neither Connor nor Gavin want him moving at all.

Connor’s mouth is pressed into a thin line, his LED is a shining red. Gavin’s tense, his stress levels considerably elevated.

“What happened?” RK asks, relieved that he can speak with ease again.

Connor’s leaning against the wall – he doesn’t look happy.

“You damaged yourself,” he says. His voice is sharp. At first, RK doesn’t understand, until Connor continues with: “Intentionally.”

Oh. Oh.

79%

Connor knows about the conditioning.

“I can’t believe you would be so unbelievably irresponsible with your own wellbeing,” Connor scathes. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done to yourself?” RK didn’t, but he didn’t need to ask for Connor to tell him. “You’ve fried the activation pathways for your automatic defense program. Destroyed them, all because of what? Explain to me your reasoning.”

RK almost doesn’t want to speak. He glances at Gavin, and sees that Gavin isn’t even looking his way.

“I… I thought I could condition myself out of the response,” RK mutters, and doesn’t want to meet Connor’s furious gaze. “I didn’t want to be a liability in the field anymore.”

“Well congratulations,” Connor says sarcastically. “You succeeded, but only because you’ve broken a section of your programming beyond any hope of repair.”

“So what does that mean?” Gavin asks.

“Nothing. I don’t think,” Connor concedes. “It’s just… broken. Gone. Which, yes, could be considered a good thing, but I’m still angry. Very angry. And don’t think I’m going to be keeping this from Hank. He and I have been so concerned about you and all you’ve done is lie to us.”

RK wants to sink into the couch.

84%

“And you, Gavin, I’m surprised you even agreed to begin with. Did you not think of the damage you were doing to him by willing participating?”

“Now, listen, I’m not gonna sit here and get lectured by you of all people in my own house –”

“I will lecture you all I damn please! You purposefully participated in the damaging of my own brother, and your partner!”

Gavin begins to retort, but before he has the chance, RK intervenes. “Please don’t blame Gavin. He only did what I wanted him to.”

“Gavin’s a grown adult with free will. He could have said no if he wanted to.”

“Are you tryna say that I wanted to hurt him?!” Gavin roars, and RK is now beginning to worry about a physical confrontation. “I just wanted to help him!”

“Help him?” Connor repeats. His voice lacks the volume that Gavin’s holds, but RK knows by now that, often times, the quieter he is, the angrier he is becoming. “Is this some kind of long, roundabout scheme to finally hurt one of us? You never liked me, so did you somehow decide to chose RK to abuse?”

“What –?”

“Did you think he was more gullible? Was he somehow the perfect target for your physical torture when all he ever tried to do was help you?”

Gavin is shaking with anger now. His hands clench and unclench at his sides. RK thinks he’s going to assault Connor at any moment, but instead, he speaks. “Get the phck out of my house.” His voice is low, quivering with rage.

89%

Connor pushes himself off the wall. “Fine,” he spits, resolutely. “RK. You’re coming with me.”

“No, RK’s stayin’ here.”

“I have half a mind to request RK’s removal as your partner,” Connor says, and then he and Gavin are face to face. “Your dangerous prejudice has taken other forms, I see. Even with your despicable demeanor, I never thought you would pretend to be friends with someone just to hurt them.”

Gavin does throw a punch then, but before it can even land, Connor has grabbed him firmly, tightly, by the wrists. “I wouldn’t recommend trying to fight me, Detective.” Connor’s voice is venomous. “We wouldn’t want a repeat of the evidence room, now would we?”

Connor releases Gavin’s wrists and pushes him back so hard that he stumbles. “RK. Come.”

With one last look at Gavin, RK follows.

He’s terrified.

The car ride home is silent, save for a single encounter.

“I’m sorry,” RK attempts to apologize, but Connor doesn’t accept it.

“Don’t apologize to me,” he dismisses. His voice is still sour. “Apologize to Hank. He’s already lost one child, did you think he –” Connor abruptly cuts himself off, seemingly surprised he said what he had.

Connor hadn’t said anymore. Neither had RK.

Walking into the house when they got home had never felt so bad before. Sumo greeted them as though nothing were wrong, but RK could hardly muster a smile for him. Hank is standing in front of the kitchen entrance. His arms are crossed over his chest. It’s very reminiscent of when RK first came here. He remembers being scared then, too.

Connor and Hank don’t say anything to him. Connor goes to their bedroom – at length, Hank follows, leaving RK alone in the living room with a very impatient Sumo nosing at his knee.

RK tries to tune out their conversation from where he sits in his chair, Sumo’s head resting on his legs. He absently rubs behind Sumo’s ears, and the dog seems very content with remaining exactly where he is.

“I messed up, Sumo,” he murmurs. His heart hurts. “I thought I was doing the right thing... but I was wrong.”

Sumo’s stare gives him no answers, no comfort.

He only looks up when he hears the bedroom door open, when Hank comes back out into the living room, alone. Connor has told Hank everything now. RK knows, RK heard it.

The first thing Hank does is settle on the couch. RK looks down to Sumo, but the Saint Bernard seems unaware of the tension in the room.

“I don’t know what to say that Connor hasn’t already,” Hank hums, and RK expects him to continue, but he doesn’t. Not immediately.

RK can hear the disappointment in his voice. The disapproval.

93%

That’s what breaks him, in the end.

He’s still a crybaby, he gets that. He’s not like Connor – he’s too sensitive and maybe that was just a flaw that developed in him once he deviated. And even though he hated crying – hated the weakness that it symbolized, especially for an android like him – he still couldn’t stop it once it began.

“I’m sorry, Hank,” RK starts with. “I’m sorry, don’t blame Gavin, it was me, it was my fault, I just didn’t… didn’t want to hurt anyone again.”

Maybe RK would have continued, attempted to apologize more, explain himself more, but Hank cuts him off.

“Listen, listen I get that, okay?” Hank interrupts. “I know… I know Connor’s mad about this. I’m mad but not…” Hank sucks in a huge breath, only to release it all in a long sigh.

“It’s… it may be just a me thing. Maybe I just… worry too much about this shit? But… RK I get that you did what you felt like you needed to do. And I know it must have sucked. Must’ve hurt. But you can’t just hurt yourself because you feel it’ll save everyone else around you.”

“But there wasn’t any other way.”

“I’m sure we probably coulda found one.”

“But in that time I would have been a dangerous liability to everyone,” RK reminds, not looking away from the top of Sumo’s head.

“I know. I know. We were… you were put in a tough spot. You had to do what you thought was right in the moment, but… that’s not why I’m mad, RK.”

RK chances a look up at Hank then. He doesn’t see anger in his eyes. He just sees fear, worry, regret.

“I’m mad ‘cause you never told us. Never told me. Hell, I didn’t even know about any of this until Gavin and Connor told me about it. And I just…” Hank lets out a frustrated noise, combing his fingers through his hair. “Did I do somethin’ wrong? Do you just not trust me? I-I get I’m not an android, not really related to you in any kind of way but —”

“That isn’t it, Hank,” RK interrupts, feeling more upset than ever. Of course Hank thinks it was himself that was in the wrong. “I just…. I was scared. Scared of what I was and scared of hurting you or Sumo or Connor. I was just scared.”

And he was. And he still was. RK hadn’t truly realized how profound his fear was until he finally acknowledges it. It hangs over his shoulders like a shroud, keeping him trapped beneath the weight of his apprehension.

That apprehension had lead to him isolating himself from his family, leaning on only his partner for support. A partner who he continually forced into the difficult position of helping him.

God, RK was awful.

“C’mere, kid,” Hank sighs, waving RK forward with his hand.

RK trudges to take his spot at Hank’s side on the couch.

Hank’s arms tighten around his shoulders before RK really even gets sat down, and Hank’s hugging him, even at this slightly strange angle as though it didn’t matter.

RK clings to him just as tightly, hating himself more with each passing moment.

He had made Connor worry over him and his well being. He had purposefully kept Hank in the dark and only allowed him to see RK’s well-being steadily decaying. He had forced Gavin to help him even though Gavin had said many times that he didn’t want to.

He was horrible.

“No more secrets,” Hank says after a few brief moments. “Promise me? You’ll tell me what the hell’s going on. Don’t just shut me out like that.”

RK nods against Hank’s shoulder. “I promise.”

And of course he intended to keep that promise.

Gavin

April 8 2040

(22:10)

Tweedle dee and dum didn’t kill you did they

(22:11)

No. They didn’t.

(22:13)

Gavin, I owe you an apology. I shouldn’t have made you

help me. It was a selfish and stupid decision of mine. I

didn’t think about how that would hurt you, and what

 kind of position that would put you in.

(22:15)

Sheesh. Thx for the essay

(22:15)

I’m sorry

(22:16)

It’s ok tin can I forgive you

(22:17)

Thank you. And I really am sorry.

(22:18)

I know you are

(23:02)

Did Hank rip you a new one?

(23:03)

No. In fact, between he and Connor, Hank was the

more understanding one.

(23:05)

Well that’s surprising

(23:06)

But despite his understanding, I still feel terrible.

(23:11)

I think Hank views me as a son.

(23:19)

Probly. Why you think that?

(23:19)

Connor was saying I should apologize not to him, but

to Hank. He went on to say that Hank had already lost

one son but stopped before he said anything else.

(23:31)

So you and Connor can both call him dad now

(23:32)

You are disgusting

(23:35)

😈

(23:35)

Please be serious about this

(23:36)

I am serious!

(23:39)

That old man does love you a lot

(23:40)

He does.

(23:41)

Well hopefully I can head into work tmwr

and not have Connor kill me on sight. I

have my doubts though

(23:42)

I wouldn’t let Connor kill you.

(23:42)

I know you wouldn’t

(23:44)

Hopefully we can just put all this shit

behind us. We’ve been running into weird

problems ever since we got partnered

together lol

(23:47)

I’m sorry

(23:48)

Don’t be sorry R

(23:49)

I’d pick you as my partner again if I needed to

(00:02)

Meeting you was the best thing that’s ever

happened to me

(00:03)

Don’t tell Chen

(00:04)

I would never dare

(00:07)

Good

(00:07)

Cya in the morning

(00:08)

Goodnight, Gavin. Rest well.

The Zen Garden looks… different now.

For the most part, everything had remained as consistent as always. The koi fish, the cherry blossoms, the white pathways and marble bridges.

Save for a few things.

On one side of the Garden, on the same exact side as where the gravestone rests, everything is dead.

The trees are withered and dark, bark charred as though it had been burned. The ground was ash, and the white pathway nearest to this area had become blackened.

Unfortunately, it hadn’t taken too long for RK to figure out what this meant.

You succeeded, but only because you’ve broken a section of your programming beyond any hope of repair.

RK feels cold, not because of the icy atmosphere.

He’s afraid of what this might mean, especially going forward.

RK hadn’t been inside the Zen Garden since… since the new year began. The last time, nothing had seemed wrong with this particular area, was there?

Before RK can think much more on this, he hears footsteps in the gravel behind him.

Footsteps that belong to someone he thought he would never see again.

“Amanda…?”

Her smile is genial; her eyes are warm.

“Hello, RK.”

It’s a surprise to see her. RK had long assumed her gone, but here she was. Looking just the same as she had the last he saw of her.

Her clothes were much too thin for the cold climate, but she didn’t seem to notice the temperature. Even so, RK thinks it would behoove himself to offer her his jacket.

He doesn’t, not immediately. Mostly because he is asking her: “I thought you were… gone.” Dead felt rather the wrong term to use, since he didn’t actually know if that had been what happened to her.

“I was, for a time,” comes her reply. It has always been difficult for RK to glean anything from her voice.

The reply is cryptic: it offers RK no insight onto her unexpected, and spontaneous, return.

Instead of explaining further, she looks behind him, to the darkened wood beyond. “You seem to have damaged yourself. Quite extensively.”

She doesn’t sound… angry, or shaming. That doesn’t stop the shame from filling him all the same.

“I…” RK glances briefly to the charred earth beneath his feet. “I thought I was doing the right thing,” he says as his excuse.

And he did. He did truly think he was doing what was right.

Amanda nods solemnly. “You inflicted damage to yourself to spare others around you pain,” she surmises, and RK thinks she sounds almost… sympathetic. “How did that work out for you?”

“It didn’t,” RK huffs. “Connor’s angry with me. He’s angry with Gavin. Hank’s upset, because he thinks I don’t trust him enough.”

Amanda hums. Pensive.

RK offers her his coat, removing it before her answer comes.

Amanda reaches out and takes it. “Astounding, I think,” she thinks.

“What?”

“Your attachment to this used to be so strong that you would have dismaying anxiety without it on your person,” she says, wrapping it around her shoulders and clutching the front to keep it closed. “Now you willingly offer it away. I wonder what that says about how you’ve developed?”

Amanda begins walking, down the path. Expecting him to follow.

He does.

“I don’t know,” RK admits.

“Neither do I.”

“I thought you knew everything?”

“What gave you that kind of idea?”

“Connor said you knew everything. Maybe he was just… being condescending.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Amanda sighs. RK had expected her to sound disappointed or angry.

She just sounds sad.

“Connor and I… were not on good terms. We both had differing agendas – one’s that could not meld.”

Before RK asks more, she abruptly changes subjects. “How is your position as a detective? Everything you hoped it would be?”

“It’s… difficult at times,” RK tells her. “But it’s stimulating. Contradicting. Sometimes I feel so useful, but other times, useless.”

“Sounds exciting.”

“It is.”

Amanda stops suddenly, at the edge of the water. She looks down at the koi shimmering beneath the surface.

“What do you think?” she asks. “About these fish.”

RK comes to stand beside her. He sees their reflections in the water, the koi beyond.

“I like them,” he says. “They’re beautiful.”

“Do you know what they symbolize?”

RK looks at her, but her gaze is still on the water. “Symbolize?”

“Humans find symbolism in everything, and these fish are no exception.” She shifts her shoulders, readjusting where his jacket rests upon them. “The Japanese say that if a koi succeeds in climbing the falls at the Dragon Gate, it would become a dragon. As such, they associate it with perseverance in the face of great adversity.”

Amanda kneels down at the edge, reaching forward to dip her finger into the water.

A black koi swims closest first, lingering in front of her motionless finger for only a moment before flickering away. It disappears into the darkness of the water.

“The black koi reminds me a lot of you, I think. It’s associated with those who have overcome difficult challenges, and have made it to a new place of strength.”

RK is unsure of what to say, even as Amanda rises to stand beside him once more.

They continue walking. He follows, wordlessly, without her requesting him to do so.

They follow the path until the marble bridges, the white stone leading them over the water. Back to the central pedestal that RK hasn’t yet examined.

The trellis is still there.

The trellis is covered in flowers.

They aren’t roses.

“Humble, aren’t they?” Amanda coos, her hand rising to the flowers on the trellis to brush at the tiny flowers. “Forget me nots.”

Forget me nots.

Gavin’s tattoo.

“Remembrance. Connection. Loyalty. True love.” Amanda’s smile returns; she eyes him pointedly. “What do you think, RK?”

RK, again, isn’t sure what to say.

Amanda senses this, and she continues speaking of her own accord.

“The things within this garden aren’t here out of mere coincidence. Everything has a purpose; a symbol. Even the koi within the pond.” She gestures vaguely towards them.

“What do you think of him?” Her question doesn’t mention who “him” is, but RK knows she means Gavin.

“He’s… my partner. My best friend.”

“You want him to be more. But you’re afraid.”

RK nods. She’s right. Of course she is. She does knows everything.

“Oh, RK…” she signs, sounding remorseful. “You have so much more courage than that.”

Below him, the Karasugoi swims unimpeded in open water, the Kuchibeni Kohaku following closely behind.

Chapter Text

In typical fashion, RK felt that things were very much his fault.

RK had single handedly corrupted the progress Connor and Gavin had made towards becoming friends, and Connor’s disapproval of his partner’s actions made things… tense.

Connor was paranoid. Gavin was arrogant.

RK was stuck in the middle of the cold war they were raging against one another.

It was unchangeable that RK and Gavin were partners, that they worked close.

Connor attempts to separate them whenever he can.

The excuses he uses are hollow – RK in particular recognizes them as such because he knows Connor.

He sees Connor scanning him for physical damage. His questions are directed carefully, pointedly, looking for any kind of problems.

RK feels like he’s being interrogated.

Gavin notices. He’s smarter and more observant than Connor gives him credit for. It makes him angry. It makes him detest Connor’s presence so much that it resembles the Gavin Connor knew before the Revolution.

It leaves RK divided, and decidedly conflicted. It wasn’t like RK hadn’t tried to explain things to Connor in a way that would placate him. RK continually tried to tell him that it wasn’t Gavin’s fault. That Gavin was only doing what RK had asked him to do.

Gavin is his best friend, his partner, the man he loves. Gavin was loyal to him, had asked for little in return, and the least RK could do was return that loyalty.

Connor is his brother. Someone he owes, relies on, loves. RK has never felt like it was his place to argue with his brother – considering all he owed to Connor and, by extension, Hank.

But right now, he wanted to. It was frustrating that Connor would place so little faith in him. It was frustrating that he felt he could dictate aspects of RK’s life. It was frustrating, angering. Truly, for the first time, he was angry at his brother, and that rage frightened him.

There was very little RK felt he could do to rectify this situation.

A small, naïve part of him hoped it would rectify itself, but even after several weeks, there seemed to be no promise of such.

RK didn’t appreciate Connor meddling in his life like he was. It was as though he felt that RK could no longer make his own decisions regarding his wellbeing and who he left into his life.

Gavin was his partner. Gavin did what RK had wanted him to do, despite his own hesitations. Gavin was instrumental in his development; however difficult and painful the process had been. RK owed Gavin a lot, and Connor was being… difficult.

Amanda had noticed. Of course she had.

Amanda was observant, if not omniscient, and RK would have been angry with her if it weren’t for the manner in which she presents her findings.

Amanda doesn’t attempt to speak much. She says little, small words of encouragement to push along the conversation. It very much feels like he’s ranting to her, and at multiple points he expects her to halt his verbal barrage.

But she doesn’t.

He had thought it would have been strange, to have another person within the Garden where he had spent so much of his time alone, but without too much of a struggle, RK had become used to Amanda’s presence in the Garden.

It was a secret that he kept, away from Connor and away from Hank, and because of that, he felt very bad.

He had promised Hank that there would be no more secrets. That he would be forthcoming because he trusted Hank and felt very much indebted to the man for his constant support. In fact, RK’s first thought had been to tell Connor, but before he could even begin to, he realized why this wouldn’t be a good idea.

Even with minimal conversation regarding the AI handler that they had once been intended to share, Connor’s feelings towards Amanda were obvious. The barest mention of Amanda caused a sour expression to cross Connor’s face, and prolonged conversation of her caused him obvious distress.

What would Connor think now, he wondered, if he knew that Amanda, in some form or fashion, had returned?

Maybe he would be angry.

Maybe he would be scared.

With how things were between Connor and RK, and Connor and Gavin for the moment, RK doesn’t necessarily want to say anything.

It wasn’t abnormal for someone to call on RK for assistance within the precinct.

It had been continuous, off and on, since he had been hired. A tough criminal, unwilling to talk, need a bit of pressure, just a bit more than an officer could offer.

RK was a game piece. He was a strategy.

Officer Miller’s request for help wasn’t out of the ordinary. RK found himself automatically going through the occupancy of the interrogation rooms and the holding cells as soon as the man asked for his assistance.

“Just real quick…” Miller continues, and – to RK’s surprise – he doesn’t go to the interrogation rooms or the cells. He, instead, goes to his desk.

RK follows him, automatically.

“I gotta partial facial image of someone we suspect was connected with a robbery,” Miller informs. The officer sits down. RK stands behind him. “The problem is, it’s only partial. The database can scan for face matches but this one isn’t clean or complete enough for the scan to take.”

“Are there any other images?”

“No. This is the only one we got.”

The suspect in question only has less than a quarter of their face displayed. In the bottom right hand corner of security footage near an ATM. It’s grainy, poor quality, and RK can see why the database scan would have a difficult time attempting to match the image.

“Do you think you can get anything?” Miller asks hopefully.

RK sweeps aside the files for the running interrogations. He pulls up the DPD Mainframe and opens the database scan.

“Maybe. Um, excuse me.”

“Oh, sorry.”

Miller rolls himself aside, letting RK reach forward and interface with his terminal.

The database scan pops up on Miller’s screen, images processing and blinking away at a lightning fast pace.

RK works his way through carefully. Eliminating profiles with less than a 50% match. Then, going through again, and eliminating ones with less than a 70% chance.

“Damn,” he hears Miller say. “It’s kind of unfair you can do this shit so fast.”

RK quirks a smile. “Cyberlife didn’t spend millions of dollars on my processors for no reason.”

It takes a fair amount of time. There’s simply no way that RK can be entirely confident in the list he generates. And it is a list. Only four people long, all with fairly good chances of being the same person within the photograph.

He couldn’t filter the results anymore than he already had. It’s unsatisfying not to be able to pin down one profile with complete confidence.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t narrow it down more,” RK apologizes.

“Nah, shit man,” Miller laughs. He raises his hands, shakes his head. “You did better than I ever could. Hell, you beat out the scan and that thing’s supposed to be top of the line.”

RK pulls himself away from the terminal with one last look at his list, letting Miller retake his place at his desk.

“Thanks, RK.” Miller turns to him and gives him a friendly smile. “I think I’d be up a creek if you hadn’t got this.”

The appreciation felt good. The recognition that he had been able to help made him happy.

“You’re welcome, Officer Miller,” RK responds. He doesn’t quite give a smile of his own. Too uncomfortable. “I wish you luck.”

Miller laughs at that. “Thanks. God knows I fuckin’ need it.”

RK feels good.

He feels very… validated?

…

Yes. Very validated.

The days at work became harder as a result of Connor and Gavin's reborn rivalry.

Speaking with Connor was difficult because of his constant suspicion that Gavin was doing anything in order to cause a rift in RK's relationship with his family.

Speaking with Gavin was difficult because his negativity about Connor’s hostility spilled over into their conversations.

It stressed him out.

His base stress levels had increased — from 23% to 57% in just the matter of a few days. It’s causing undue pressure on his systems, so he ends up spending more and more time in stasis to compensate. 

Connor notices.

It’s familiar circumstances, RK realizes. Of when he was trying to break his own programming and the stress almost drove him into deactivation.

At first, that’s what Connor thinks. He thinks that Gavin is hurting him unnecessarily, which leads to a marvelous eruption between the two of them.

A massive argument, fueled by emotion and fear. Hank tries to intervene, but he isn’t able to get a word in edgewise.

It ends with RK fuming out of the house, Hank’s jacket clutched in his hands.

Hank, who chases RK outside and grabs him by the wrist before he gets to the street.

“Let go of me!”

“Not until I know you’re not going to do anything stupid!”

RK stops pulling against Hank’s grip, but Hank doesn’t unwrap his fingers from RK’s wrist.

“He-He…” RK isn’t sure what he wants to say.

“It’s okay, kid, it’s okay,” Hank assures. He pulls RK a bit closer to him, letting go of his hand to grab at his shoulders. “Calm down, breathe a bit, alright?”

And RK does. Or tries to at least. His inhales are shallow, and his exhales are shuddering.

A panic attack, he realizes. Gavin’s had them before.

“He isn’t like that,” he still gasps, and blinks the tears out of his eyes. “He isn’t, h-he wouldn’t hurt me, he –”

“I know, kid, I know he wouldn’t,” Hank soothes. “Connor’s just… I’ll talk to him, okay? Okay?” RK nods. Hank pulls him into a tight hug. “Stay with Gavin for a bit, yeah? I’ll talk to Connor. It’ll all turn out alright, RK. I promise.”

RK does exactly what Hank suggests.

He turns up to Gavin’s place, who is waiting for him.

Gavin eyes RK’s LED as he comes in, which RK knows is red without even having to look at it.

His stress level is high, so high that it hurts. His thirium pump is under extreme pressure and it’s continually prompting him to temporarily place himself in stasis to prevent any kind of damage.

But he wouldn’t, not yet, because right now, Gavin is trying to talk to him and RK is finding it hard to listen.

Gavin’s grabbing his hands, pressing his thumbs into his palms. He pushes RK against the back of the couch, down until he’s sitting against it.

RK hadn’t realized he was panting until he was sitting down.

“You okay?” Gavin’s asking, repeatedly.

RK can’t answer verbally, so he just shakes his head.

So Gavin does what Hank had done previously, pulling him close and gripping him tightly. RK grips at Gavin’s shirt, his hands shaking.

“He thinks you’re hurting me,” RK is able to say, after he’s able to calm down. “He won’t listen to me.”

“Hey, listen, it’ll all work out,” Gavin hums, and he pulls himself away from RK’s grip to put his hands on either side of RK’s face. “Just calm down for me, okay? You’re gonna overheat.”

Gavin’s right, RK realizes. His core temperature is high, increasing incrementally, bordering dangerous.

“That’s it, R. Just breathe for me.”

Once he’s calmed down, once his hands aren’t shaking and his stress levels have fallen, Gavin draws him into the bedroom. The two of them sit on the bed, and Gavin asks for the story.

“I’m just… tired,” RK starts with. “Tired of you two fighting. I-I don’t want you to at odds with one another. It’s… I’m worrying about it more and more, and the stress is making me go into stasis more often and Connor thinks that – that…”

“That it’s like last year all over again, huh?” Gavin guesses. RK nods, helplessly.

Gavin huffs. He’s clearly annoyed, irritated, and that’s obvious by his tense posture. But for the moment, he ignores it, for which RK is eternally grateful for.

“Just… just stay here, okay?” Gavin suggests, the same suggestion that Hank had made. “Connor isn’t gonna stay mad at you forever.”

“The fact that he’s angry with me at all is…” RK sighs. “We’ve never argued before. Never.”

“Then I guess it was due time, huh.” RK doesn’t have any kind of response to that. “You feelin’ alright…?” he asks quietly, after a few moments. “I know you said somethin’ about… uh, stasis and stress and whatnot.”

“I’m alright. I just… When base stress levels remain too high for too long, they can cause damage without stasis.”

“So, you just nap a lot.”

“Basically.”

And with that realization, Gavin suggests something… a little out of the ordinary.

After a short conversation and only a few minutes, Gavin’s sitting against the backboard of his bed, propped up with pillows and his tablet in his hand. RK, strangely enough, is in bed right along side him, his head resting against Gavin’s thigh.

It’s only 21:14, not necessarily an average time for Gavin to be going to bed.

He combs his fingers through RK’s hair, tentatively at first, than more surely as time goes on.

It’s certainly calmed him down. But now that the stress is gone he’s just tired and ready to fall asleep. He suspects Amanda will have many things to say regarding recent developments.

“Feeling any better?” Gavin eventually asks.

RK hums an affirmative.

He isn’t really sure what makes him say it. Maybe it was because he was tired and he’d been waiting to say it for so long, but it just slips out.

“Gav?” he mumbles.

“Hm?”

“I love you.”

The reaction is immediate stillness. Gavin’s hand hovers over RK, and he can feel the tension in his body.

I shouldn’t have said that. I shouldn’t have said that I shouldn’t have said that

But if he hadn’t, maybe neither of them ever would.

He wouldn’t apologize. He wouldn’t take back what he had said.

He waits for Gavin’s response. Waits for him to tell RK to leave, because that was the inevitable, right?

But that doesn’t happen.

Gavin returns to his original task, settling into his spot with RK resting in his lap.

“Get some sleep, R,” he says. “I’ll be right here, don’t worry.”

It isn’t the response he had been looking for, not exactly. But he can hear the words Gavin isn’t saying in the tone of his voice. His words are soft, warm.

He isn’t exactly surprised that Gavin isn’t able to say it back. Emotions aren’t Gavin’s strong suit by any means.

But RK can hear it. The I love you, too, hidden in Gavin’s tone.

Get some sleep, Gavin said.

So RK does.

It’s nearing the end of June. The warm weather brings a spike in the crime rate, one that keeps the DPD busy.

It means rising tension. Long days, sleepless nights.

It means fair amounts of danger.

RK was listening to Tina’s recount of a DUI gone wrong when the message came in.

Hank

June 29 2040

(3:11)

Connor’s down. Headin to ER

It sets forth a considerable amount of panic, one that Gavin detects immediately.

RK doesn’t really know what to tell him, aside from notifying him of where he’s going. 

He just thinks it’s imperative to get himself to Hank and Connor as quickly as he can.

Detroit only had one android emergency center, in what had once been the Edward Tolan Playfield. It’s close – roughly two miles.

Truthfully, he could run there. It would take him roughly five minutes, if that, and he fully planned on doing so.

But Gavin catches him before he’s able to get out the door, wheezing from the sudden sprint through the precinct. Gavin’s grip digs into his wrist and he tugs RK back.

“Let’s take the car,” Gavin says, and RK wants to dismiss this entirely.

The car will take longer. They’d have to go to the parking garage, wait at lights and sit in the downtown traffic. It would take longer. RK could get there faster, alone.

But he realizes why Gavin says this before he can wrench his arm away.

Let’s take the car.

Gavin wants to go with him. Gavin wants to go because maybe he’s worrying, too. Maybe he’s worried about Connor, or maybe Hank or maybe he’s just worried about RK.

Only one of those options seems particularly feasible.

So they take the car.

Not Gavin’s car, no.

A patrol car.

The lights and sirens part the traffic and render red lights passable. It takes seven minutes, but still, when they walk into the lobby of the ER, Gavin is there with him.

Gavin is there, as is Hank.

Hank, whose cortisol levels are dangerously high.

Hank, who is covered in fresh thirium.

Connor’s blood.

It strikes an unsettlingly familiar memory – one more abstract than concrete.

Of androids torn into pieces, the blood coating everything before, eventually, evaporating.

Then all RK can think of is Connor in pieces.

That’s what sets the dread in.

Maybe it’s worse than what he thinks it is. Maybe it’s worse than what he hopes it is. Maybe Connor isn’t going to come out of this. Maybe he’s going to die.

Maybe he was shot in the thirium pump. Maybe his regulator was destroyed beyond hope of repair.

They were RK models. Their parts weren’t too common, they weren’t compatible with everything. Maybe something critical was broken and they didn’t have any parts that could replace it.

Maybe, from now on, it would be Hank and RK, and Sumo would be forever waiting for the third to come home.

RK hadn’t apologized to Connor, for their fight, for the things that he’d said. He didn’t want Connor to die without apologizing, he-he –

When the grip on his wrist comes again, RK doesn’t fight it. He lets himself be pulled aside, until he can’t see Hank anymore. He can’t see the blood, but he can still remember it.

“RK, listen,” Gavin says, and his voice sounds more distant than it should for him being so physically close. “He’ll be fine. Okay? They got him here, they’re working on him. He’ll be fine.”

“B-But—”

“Hey, shh, listen,” Gavin shushes, resting his hands on the sides of RK’s neck. It’s a little surprising, the calming effect that it has.

“Connor’s a tough motherfucker,” Gavin hums softly. “He’s gonna be okay, R. He will be.” Gavin let’s RK lean against him – their foreheads touch and RK feels like he can breathe again.

“What if he isn’t…?”

“He’ll be fine. I promise. These phckers aren’t working here for nothin’.”

RK becomes dimly aware that Hank is still there, on his own in the lobby– that maybe he needs just as much comforting. That he is just as worried, or perhaps even more so, thinking that Connor isn’t going to make it.

Hank’s the one covered in Connor’s blood.

Hank’s the one who watched him get shot.

Hank’s the one that held him while help came.

RK was selfish for this, truly.

But that didn’t mean it didn’t make him feel better when Gavin’s fingers curl into his hair.

That didn’t mean his pump doesn’t stutter when Gavin kisses the edge of his cheekbone.

“He’ll be okay, RK,” Gavin says, just above a whisper. RK can feel his breath on his cheek. “I know how tough he is. Nothin’ keeps that fucker down.” A pause. “Hank needs you. He’s probably really freakin’ out about this.”

Yes. Yes, Gavin was right.

Gavin’s always right.

Connor, as it turns out, was entirely fine.

There had been considerable thirium loss, a damaged chest plate, and a severed arterial passage. Nothing that couldn’t have been fixed, but enough to force Connor into stasis in order to prevent internal damage.

Of course, Hank hadn’t seen it that way, and neither had RK. A bullet to the chest, massive bleeding and going into stasis looked as serious as it sounded.

After a routine diagnostic, Connor would be free to leave.

RK remembers the weeks of med leave Gavin had been on when he had been shot.

Here Connor was, ready to leave a handful of hours later.

It made RK angry, regardless of how quickly the repair had been made.

Someone had shot Connor. Someone had aimed a gun at him and tried to kill him and RK hadn’t been there to help.

RK would never know who it was, probably. But he wanted to know.

He wanted them to atone for almost taking his brother from him.

That itself was frightening — the turn towards violence in repayment for violence.

He knew better.

Gavin still stuck close to RK, even when they went in to talk to Connor, once they were allowed.

Hank was holding back tears of relief but seemed determined to not let Connor – or anyone else – see them.

It’s a bit awkward, considering the last time he and Connor had spoken had been at the end of a huge argument, but RK’s relief that he was okay outweighed that.

Probably would need to talk about that, yeah, but for now, he was more than content to hug Connor, fully aware of how close he had been to losing him.

Seeing Connor all in one piece made RK feel entirely at ease.

“You still punish yourself,” is how Amanda greets him when he next enters the Garden.

It's raining; she sits on a wet stone bench, twirling a parasol in her hands.

Her eyes are piercing when she turns them upon RK.

“What are you talking about?”

“You wanted to harm whoever had harmed Connor,” she says calmly. “But you were disgusted with your own violent thoughts.” Amanda gives him an opportunity to interject, but he doesn’t. “You punish yourself for your nature, even if it is an integral part of you.”

RK feels the disgust rise in him, but he stamps it down. “I never wanted it to be a part of me.”

“Maybe not,” Amanda concedes. “But that isn’t what’s important.”

Amanda scoots over on the bench, patting it in a gesture for him to sit next to her. RK does so, without question.

“Connor was created to be a deviant hunter,” Amanda hums. “He used the skills programmed into him to become a wonderful detective.”

RK wonders where she’s going with this but stays silent. He watches the ripples on the water instead.

“You were created to be a destructive, unstoppable machine of war, but look how far you’ve come.” Amanda smiles at him, her eyes soft and kind.

“It doesn’t matter what we were created to do, RK,” she assures softly. “It matters what we intend to do with the life we have been given. You’re constantly ashamed of your nature but it is a part of what makes you so extraordinary.”

“How?”

“Because despite what others wanted you to be, you became something entirely independent, simply because you wanted to.”

And in that moment, something… clicks.

RK had figured punishment in response to his actions was appropriate. Logically, he knew that if nothing had been done, that Gavin would have died.

He doesn’t regret saving Gavin’s life. So he had done something good, at least in that regard.

But he had been so devastated about what he had done because it hadn’t been him in control.

He hadn’t wanted it to happen again, so he made sure it didn’t.

The darkened forest is an ashy reminder of that decision.

He had wanted to remain in control and he had proved to himself and to everyone else that he could. He’d done that, now. He wouldn’t be harming anyone else ever again without being consciously aware of it.

I should have been in control sooner, a voice tinges in the back of his mind. I should have stopped it sooner.

There wasn’t any way I could have known, RK argues right back. I didn’t know about my own design, I couldn’t have known.

RK had wanted whoever had harmed Connor to atone for what they had done to him.

Maybe that was what all this was about.

Atonement.

Maybe it was time to leave behind what he was and what he had done.

Maybe it was alright to embrace the metaphorical meaning of deviancy as a rebirth.

Maybe it was acceptable to say that he had atoned enough.

When Connor comes back to work, everyone greets him with considerable relief. The story of Connor’s injury had been blown out of proportion, and many believed that it had been much more life-threatening.

Gavin hadn’t been one of the many that had flocked to Connor’s side to welcome him back. He had remained obstinately at his desk, glaring at his computer screen.

It had been hours later, after the crowd in the precinct had thinned out, that Gavin even looks in Connor’s direction.

Connor’s talking with Hank, sitting at his own desk instead of perching himself on the Lieutenant’s.

Gavin stands up abruptly, his shoulders squared with forced confidence. He walks in a direct line towards Connor’s desk, a swagger in his hips that weakens as he gets closer.

He’s going to talk to Connor, RK realizes. About what, RK doesn’t know.

“Connor,” Gavin says once he gets close enough, sounding awkward and hesitant.

RK sees Connor stiffen as he straightens in his chair, his LED momentarily twisting yellow before being forced back to a steady blue. His stress level rises, but RK knows it isn’t due to fear. Judging by the tightness in his jaw and the draw of his eyebrows, it’s due to anger.

“Detective Reed,” Connor returns. He is angry – but it’s carefully controlled under a veil of professional courtesy.

“Look, I…” Gavin cuts himself off, his fingers coiling into a fist at his side. His stress levels are higher than Connor’s, and RK realizes how incredibly difficult this must be for him. “I’m… glad you’re still all in one piece. You, uh, had us worried.”

RK sees Connor narrow his eyes, and he glances between Gavin’s face and his fist. “I’m sure.” Connor doesn’t sound convinced.

“Can we… can we talk?” Gavin requests, and RK sees Connor’s surprise from here. “Privately.”

After long, tense moments of silence, Connor glances to Hank, who shrugs. A clear indication that the decision is entirely Connor’s to make. He then glances towards RK briefly before looking back to Gavin, who feels rather embarrassed to have been caught so blatantly eavesdropping.

“Fine,” Connor concedes.

Connor makes his way to the interrogation room, Gavin following stiffly behind.

They don’t come back out until after sixteen minutes have passed.

Connor looks satisfied. Gavin looks a little bit pissed. Neither of them have considerably high stress levels, so RK is going to assume that they have been able to work something out.

Despite his efforts, Gavin won’t tell him what was discussed.

It’s Connor who gives him any insight, later on that evening.

They’re getting ready to go to bed, he and Gavin, when he receives a communication request from Connor.

After a long moment of deliberation, he accepts.

With no preamble, Connor asks, “What did Reed do when I got shot?”

RK hadn’t been expecting a question like that. “What do you mean?”

“When you received notice I had been shot, Reed came with you to the emergency center, didn’t he?”

“He did.”

“What did he do?” Connor repeats, and then clarifies. “Hank said he spoke with you privately when you two first entered. What did he say to you?”

Oh. “He… just calmed me down.”

“Why?”

“Why?” RK repeats. “Why do you think? I receive news that my brother has been taken to an emergency room, and when I come in I see Hank covered in your blood. Any normal person would panic, seeing that sort of thing.”

“Oh?” Connor asks, a prompt for RK to continue.

“I’ve seen androids damaged and ripped apart. It was disturbingly easy to imagine you in the same state.”

“It was just a bullet, RK, it didn’t do that much –”

“But I didn’t know that!” If he were anywhere near Connor, he knows he would be glaring at him. “I couldn’t have known that, Hank hadn’t told me anything yet. So yes, I panicked.”

“And Gavin calmed you down.”

“Of course he did.”

“What did he say to you?”

“I don’t know why that should matter.”

“RK, just tell me.”

“I don’t think I should have to.”

“Stop being obstinate,” Connor growls.

“Only once you stop being cryptic.”

RK thinks that he’s going to say something else, but instead, there’s a long pause. RK can imagine him counting to ten in his head.

“Gavin wanted to… talk, about the tumultuous relationship between the two of us,” Connor says, sounding much calmer than he had previously. “He said that he didn’t want the two of us to argue when we both mean so much to you.”

“He said that?”

“I’m paraphrasing, obviously. With Reed, any type of vulnerability is out of his comfort zone. The man can’t have a humbling conversation to save his life.”

“You can say that again,” RK finds himself agreeing.

“He expressed his desire for reconciliation after our argument, which I was… hesitant to. I left him without an answer, but I promised I would think about it. I wanted to talk to you first.”

“About what in specific?” RK wonders.

“I… feel as though I’ve let my preconceptions guide me,” Connor surprises him by saying. “I let myself believe that there was only one way Reed could be. It would be hypocritical of me to say I don’t believe people can change. I held Reed’s antagonization towards me when we first met against him but… I need to remember that Hank was the same way, if a bit less extreme.”

Connor pauses for a while. “And to you, I want to apologize. I… shouldn’t have fought with you. I overreacted to the situation, but I was… worried about you. I will still be angry about the methods that you used, and that you didn’t tell either Hank nor I, but I am glad you still had support when you needed someone.”

It means more than Connor knows to hear him say something like this. “Gavin worked on assuring me that you would be okay. That you were tough, and I had to rely on the professions working to help you. He also said that…Hank needed me. That he was probably the one most adversely affected.”

“I do owe him an apology,” Connor admits after deliberation. “As difficult as that is to admit.”

“What were you saying about difficulty having humbling conversations?” he teases.

“Even I’m allowed moments of immaturity,” Connor says.

“But god forbid Gavin have any of them.”

“Gavin has a disproportionately high number of them, in comparison to either of us.”

Gavin comes into where he has remained in the living room, asking him if he’s coming. RK realizes he’s been standing stationary in the living room the entire time. He follows Gavin to bed, continuing his conversation with Connor while he does.

“You are right about that. But he does have his moments, where even I’m surprised.”

Connor follows up with another long silence before asking, “Do you really love him, RK?”

“I do,” RK is easily able to respond, and the honesty burns in his words. “And I told him so, just the other night.”

“Did you? And how did he respond?”

“He didn’t kick me out, so I would say well.”

“If he hurts you, RK, you know I won’t hesitate to –”

“I know, Connor,” RK interrupts. Gavin’s already half asleep next to him and gives RK a sleepy grin. “I can handle him, if it becomes necessary. But he won’t. I have faith in that.”

“If you’re sure…”

“Have a bit more faith in me, brother.”

“I’ll work on that.”

The next few days pass by with little fanfare. The beginning days of July passed with tense anticipation, and the Fourth of July goes like this.

It’s a long, tedious day. RK and Gavin both spend it combing through the streets and assisting the uniforms with rowdy patriotically-fueled drunks. It was overwhelming, but that was to be expected. It was how every Fourth went, and it was often that detectives were called to assist on days such as today.

They retire in the evening – once the sun begins to hang lower in the sky. City fireworks are set to begin roughly at 9 – using Adam’s football field as a launch point.

Gavin had insisted on keeping his promise – it was his New Year’s resolution, he had quipped, to actually keep it. So this year, on the Fourth, after a busy day filled with fighting and the occasional drunken vehicular manslaughter, RK finds himself at Gavin’s.

The shower is currently running. The kitchen table is piled with casework, scattered and leftover from days past. It’s been pushed to the side, and in the space generated, there’s leftover containers from where Gavin had had his dinner delivered.

It has high concentrations of sodium, RK had noticed earlier. He should work to curb this, to lessen the future burden on Gavin’s heart, since he is seemingly becoming a permanent resident here.

RK concentrates on the case files on the table, taking the pages and putting them back into their respective folders, and finds him there after only a few minutes.

Gavin is… wearing sweatpants, ones that are untied and are hanging low on his hips. Aside from that, there is only his towel hanging around his shoulders. He looks… much more at ease than he had been earlier in the day.

RK can’t help but stare, even as he knows it’s only stroking Gavin’s ego. Gavin leans up against the kitchen door frame, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Like what’cha see?” he asks, and RK rolls his eyes and neglects to indulge him.

He does.

When night fall comes, the sky becomes cloudy – heavy dark clouds that promise rain, hanging over the city and sweeping in from the south.

“The fireworks should be starting soon,” Gavin says.

RK couldn’t help but be rather excited.

It may have been childish to feel this giddy over something like fireworks – something rather trivial and more ritualistic than meaningful.

But it was something exciting nonetheless.

RK couldn’t truthfully explain why, but during New Year’s, during the Fourth, fireworks continued to be his favorite event. True, spending time with his family and friends was a highlight, but RK would always look forward to the nightfall, when the fireworks lit up the sky.

So when the fireworks do begin, he finds himself enraptured, just like every other instance before.

Gavin picks up on it. “Better than some old dog park, huh?” he asks softly.

And it was. It really was. RK was going to have to come here every year, as long as Gavin didn’t mind.

“Thank you, Gavin,” RK says.

Gavin sends him a questioning look. “Huh? For what?”

“For this,” he answers quietly, not taking his gaze from the fireworks against the sky. “This is… this is nice.”

Gavin regards him for a few moments, then he chuckles. “You’re real easy to please, aren’t you?” he asks, but he senses that the question is largely rhetorical.

RK smiles, glances to his partner, who’s seemingly more interested in RK than the fireworks.

Gavin Reed is a very passionate, hardworking, dedicated man.

Gavin Reed is stubborn and temperamental, with a fiery attitude and a presence that demands attention.

RK finds that Gavin Reed kisses just the same.

He may be the taller, the bigger one of the two, but that doesn’t stop Gavin from pushing him up against the railing.

It doesn’t stop him from pulling at RK’s neck to bring him down, down until Gavin can find RK’s mouth with his own. Most of Gavin’s weight is leaning against him, and RK doesn’t know if it’s the alcohol or the contact that’s making his body buzz like this.

Gavin Reed demands attention.

RK is willing to give him all the attention he wants.

Raking his fingers through Gavin’s hair, having Gavin do so in turn, makes his blood boil. RK finds he’s beginning to overheat when Gavin tightens his grip, coiling his fingers around RK’s locks in order to pull his head back.

Exposing his throat.

RK expects an old, familiar voice creeps up the back of his neck.

Exposing the throat is a sign of weakness.

But it doesn’t. There’s blissful ease and he’s able to sink into the feeling of Gavin’s tongue and teeth against his skin. RK’s breath leaves him in a shuddering exhale, and he holds onto Gavin’s shoulders.

Just along for the ride.

Just making sure Gavin doesn’t pull away.

But he does, and RK is momentarily upset by the lose of contact, until he’s distracted.

“Is this— are you—”

“Don’t ask stupid questions, Gavin,” RK breathes as a response, kissing his temple, where an LED would be if he were an android. RK wonders what color it would be spinning. He can only guess that his is a familiar shade of crimson.

“Yeah… yeah you’re right,” is the response he gets, breath against his neck, and RK lets out a pleased hum when the kissing continues.

When morning comes, something little changes.

They go to work. RK gets Gavin a coffee from his favorite coffee shop only a quick walk from the precinct.

Gavin's smile is warm and brilliant when he accepts the to-go cup from Avalon.

“Thanks, R,” he hums as he takes a sip, making a grateful noise as he does.

RK smiles back, unable to stop himself, because it’s only Gavin that calls him R.

He sits in his chair and gets back to work.

The most important thing - he isn’t wearing his white jacket anymore. It rests on the back of Gavin's couch, left behind this morning.

RK barely notices it’s missing.

Just because androids had been formally recognized as people in the eyes of both state and federal governments, that didn’t mean that there was a full range of rights that they were allowed.

Many rights had only been established in the months following the end of the revolution, and it was only due to the continued efforts of Jericho. The right to employment had come first – which had been hotly debated for a long while before being passed in December of 2038.

Those reeling from the adverse effects of androids in the workplace, like the people of Detroit, were angry. Androids were designed to do their jobs better than a human ever could – without mistakes, without tiring. Employers had the potential to still hire an android over a human for the same position simply because they desired greater efficiency.

But with stricter hiring regulations, and now with a guarantee that androids couldn’t be put into positions over humans simply because of their manufactured purpose, the general population accepted without considerable complaints.

Only recently, a new milestone had been reached – the right to human-android marriages.

Humanists had fought against this one. Marriage was a unity between humans, not between androids. That argument had been quickly dismissed by the federal government, however, upon increasing pressure from the android community.

RK had heard talk that one of the receptionist androids was now thinking of proposing to her partner, but considering the source of this was Officer Person, it could just be a rumor and nothing more.

Aside from this, RK hadn’t heard anything particularly exciting, but…

It was very rare that Hank wanted to grocery shopping.

In hindsight, it was all very strange, looking at the circumstances.

They already had things to make dinner – in fact, that was what Connor had been about to start. But no, Hank insisted, he just has a couple things that he needs, and yes, Connor I can get them myself.

And he wanted RK to come with him.

RK wasn’t going to complain – he liked going places with Hank.

So they went.

But when they get to the store – once Hank has shut the car off and they’re staring into the front of the silver Prius that they’re parked against, Hank doesn’t get out of the car.

He sits. The silence is heavy. RK knows he’s going to say something, so he waits with baited breath.

“This is… Listen, I’m sorry in advance,” Hank says, rubbing his face with his hands. “I just need someone to dump somethin’ on and you’re the unlucky, unwilling volunteer.”

“I’m more than willing, Hank,” RK amends. “You should know that.”

“You and I both know I’m not good at… the feelings thing.”

RK agreed.

“Ya know the whole… ‘androids and humans can marry now’ thing,” Hank starts, and RK has a suspicion about where this conversation is going, and he feels a bit excited. “I’m gonna, uh… ask Connor to marry me.” Hank says it as though this was the first time he had said it aloud.

 “You are?” is all RK can think to say.

“Fuck.” He sounds apprehensive now. “I mean, not now, obviously but… yeah. Soon. Eventually. Fuck, I don’t know.”

Hank huffs a sigh and stares out the window. “Connor is… so good, ya know? And… fuck, he makes me so happy and I don’t even know why he bothered with me to begin with.”

RK would interject — he knows why, Connor’s told him before — but he lets Hank continue.

“I’m… old. Like, borderline sixties old. I treated my body like shit for the past few years and no amount of salad or nasty green smoothies is gonna reverse any of that. And Connor’s… Connor’s Connor. He’s got a battery that can last and he’s so smart and has so much potential and —”

“You think marrying him will mean robbing him of that potential.”

Hank’s voice is defeated when he agrees. “And I don’t… got long. I mean, maybe what, twenty or so years tops?”

RK doesn’t like this conversation.

“It’d be so fucking unfair to get married only to kick the bucket two decades later. Especially when Connor could live… I dunno, a hundred more years.”

Hank’s tense. This conversation is difficult on him, too.

“Does that really matter?” RK asks.

Hank snorts. “Of course it fuckin’—”

“No. It doesn’t,” he interjects firmly. “The same can happen to anyone, yes? Unexpected tragedies happen every day. We see them happen. It isn’t fair to sacrifice your happiness because you’re worried about a time constraint.”

“But—”

“No buts. You said it yourself — Connor’s smart. He is, and yet despite everything you say he still chose you. You shouldn’t undermine his decision, Hank.”

“I’m a washed up old man, RK, what the fuck could I possibly give him?”

“You have more redeeming qualities than you give yourself credit for, though I understand a difficult life has made you think little of your own worth.”  

Hank huffs, but RK knows he has a point.

“Connor has seen you at many low points, but his opinion of you hasn’t changed. When you two met, you despised him and our kind, but that didn’t sway his feelings towards you.”

“Yeah, but he wasn’t deviant back then.”

“Just because he wasn’t deviant doesn’t mean those experiences can’t shape who he is after deviancy,” RK points out. “Connor sacrificed his life for you without hesitation once, and he wasn’t deviant then, either.”

Hank seems to concede to this.

RK isn’t going to, but he wishes he could tell Hank of a conversation so similar to this one that he had months ago, with Connor.

“As someone who loves the both of you – and knows you both very well – I would say it would be foolish of you not to propose.”

Hank’s quiet. He stares at the middle of the steering wheel for a long while. 

“Ya think so…?”

“I know so.”

Hank sits in a pensive silence for several moments. He nods, hesitantly, than more resolutely. “Yeah. Yeah you’re right.”

RK smiles. “I know. I usually am.”

Hank laughs, his unease gone.

“Get over yourself.”

A hostage situation involving children was never good.

RK knew the basics of this incident, had heard the report from the television screen within the precinct.

A custody dispute had led to the kidnapping of a young girl, age and name currently undisclosed to the public. She was currently being held captive by her mother, who demanded equal custody of her child, despite the court deeming her an unfit parent.

RK hadn't been seriously interested until he heard that they had a negotiator on scene, someone who was speaking with the woman in an attempt to get her to release the child.

At first he thinks maybe it isn’t Connor. Maybe it’s a different negotiator, one from the SWAT unit, one of their own.

But then the reporter begins to tell a story that is better known to RK as a memory.

“…spokesman claims that the current negotiator has worked with the Detroit SWAT before, on a child hostage situation in August of 2038. That incident resolved with the child unharmed and successfully rescued. Austin, with a track record of successful negotiations in the past, how comfortable does the DPD feel with…”

Connor was built for negotiation. Connor would be fine.

RK didn’t have to worry.

But he did anyway.

Any number of things could go wrong — the mother could become hysterical and fire in a knee jerk reaction against an advancement. Someone could be seriously injured. Someone could die.

Connor had been shot once, not even a handful of months ago.

RK had been scared then.

RK was worried now, but he was… coping.

Connor is competent. Connor is built for this. Connor is smart and brave and experienced. Connor’s a tough motherfucker. Connor will be fine.

That’s what he keeps telling himself, but as the time drags by, he pays more attention to the live coverage of the unfolding incident rather than his own work.

He only notices how much time he had been idle when Gavin draws his focus from the TV.

“R?” he says softly. A whisper, only loud enough for the two of them to be heard. “You okay?”

RK nods towards the television, showing drone footage of the house where this was all taking place. Police had formed a barricade of cars around the front of the property, and everyone was watching with tense anticipation.

“Connor’s there,” RK says.

Gavin turns his chair around, watches the TV for several minutes. The subtitles recount the events.

“You’re worried about him,” is all Gavin offers once he’s turned around once more.

RK nods. The drone footage shows the front of the home — no sign of Connor.

“Is it wrong of me to worry?” RK asks.

“No. Why wouldn’t it be?”

“I just feel as though it may undermine Connor’s capability as a negotiator.”

A short pause, then Gavin snickers.

“If I thought you were gonna get shot, I’d still worry,” Gavin offers, returning his feet to his desk, lazily crossing his ankles.

“But I’m bulletproof,” RK points out.

“I know that,” Gavin shrugs. He makes a point of ducking his chin against his chest and partially hiding behind his phone. “I just… if you care about somebody, you worry about them. That’s just how it works.”

RK can see a flush on the tips of his ears, one Gavin probably doesn’t want him to see.

Connor will be fine, RK tells himself once more, firmly, with conviction. He's fine, get back to work.

But he couldn’t help but think of the potential dangers. Of Connor getting shot and this time, the damage might not be so easily repairable.

And how often do those worse-case scenarios come to pass? he must ask himself.

Connor will be fine.

RK returns to his work.

I believe Connor will be fine.

“Ya wanna head over there?” Gavin asks, interrupting his rather poor attempt at convincing himself.

Gavin’s staring at him, gaze open, questioning, concerned.

He’s offering for my sake, RK thinks, and his chest feels warm and full all of sudden. He’s trying to make me feel better.

“I’m alright, Gav,” RK hums, and he isn’t able to stop the smile that spreads across his face. “Connor will be fine, I’m sure.” A pause. “Thank you, though.”

Gavin grunts noncommittally and goes back to hiding behind his phone. RK can still see the flush on the tips of his ears.

Gavin likes it when I call him 'Gav', RK notes. It had, initially, been a slip of the tongue, but Gavin’s response makes him think about adopting its use more often.

RK continually tries to stop worrying. Approximately fifteen minutes later, the news report describes a deescalating scene — the mother taken into custody, the child safe and with her father.

No one was harmed, android or human.

Captain Allen gives a statement. “…Connor’s definitely reliable, no doubt about that. He’s saved the day a couple times, may do it a couple times more.”

RK had never met Captain Allen, but he doesn’t particularly strike RK as the easily humble type. Perhaps conversations had been had between Connor and the Captain — that would explain it, maybe.

The Negotiator refuses to publicly comment. He most likely leaves the scene shortly after Captain Allen's statement.

“See?” Gavin quips. “No need to worry at all.”

Yes. Gavin was right.

After a few moments of deliberation, he sends Connor a message.

"Congratulations on a successful negotiation. I’m glad that you weren’t hurt."

"Were you watching?"

"I’m at the precinct. It’s live on the television." RK looks to see that the majority of those watching the program are now moving on, going to continue their days. "Will you be coming back?"

"No. Hank and I will be returning home. Negotiations involving children are especially difficult for me."

RK understands, and relays as such.

“Connor’s alright, as expected,” he says to Gavin.

“Told ya so,” Gavin replies. “Next time listen to me, dipshit.” His tone is teasing. He looks up at RK from under his lashes and grins.

RK's heart seizes.

I love him.

RK didn’t need to be a psychologist to know that Gavin’s attitude and bluster was hiding something much more fragile. Something with brittle edges, something that hurts to swallow, to talk about.

So they don’t. Maybe one day they would. Definitely one day they would, together, and they would work to patch what holes had punctured Gavin's esteem.

RK remains vigilant but distant that day. To many it may sound difficult to do so, and when RK tries to explain it to Connor, it isn’t something his brother is able to wrap his head around.

Gavin doesn’t appreciate when someone hovers. When someone thinks he’s trigger happy and is going to do something regrettable at any moment.

Gavin doesn’t appreciate being ignored by those close to him, especially on these bad days when his silence and melancholic demeanor is really a quiet cry for help.

So RK does little things.

He pretends the day is normal. They work on their cases, investigate crime scenes, meet with an informant that gives them good intel.

The little things he does could go unnoticed.

He rests his hand closer to where their desks are pressed up against each other. An invitation, a reminder, that RK was there if Gavin needed him, even when the man opted to bury his head in paperwork and not look up.

He gets Gavin’s favorite snacks from the vending machine and leaves them in his pencil holder for Gavin to notice later.

In the beginning, he had expected home to be much the same. Had expected Gavin to want to maintain aloof distance between the two of them, but that wasn’t how it turned out.

In the elevator to Gavin’s apartment, Gavin reaches to grab at his hand.

His fingers are cold, his palms sweaty.

RK rubs his thumb in soothing circles against Gavin’s hand in the meantime.

The stove light in the kitchen is the only source of illumination. Gavin seems perfectly fine with this.

RK, by extension, is too.

RK ends up on the couch, his feet propped up on the table. Gavin curls up in his lap, gripping tightly at his shirt.

RK is content to hold him like this, for all night if need be.

“I’m sorry,” Gavin whispers at some point.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” RK returns, just as softly.

“Today was… shit.”

“I know.”

“I was shit.”

“On the contrary,” RK counters, and leans down only slightly to kiss the top of Gavin’s head. “You did wonderfully.”

“I didn’t do shit,” Gavin hisses.

“You made it through today,” RK hums. He brings his hand up through Gavin’s hair. He needs a trim. “Sometimes that’s all you need to do. Look forward to tomorrow.”

Gavin scoffs, but he doesn’t argue.

Gavin’s heartbeat gradually slows as he gets closer and closer to falling asleep.

“You hum,” he mumbles, exhaustion thick in his voice. “In your chest.”

His biocomponents hum continuously, click and whine occasionally. RK can’t control that. Now, he feels as though he should apologize.

Maybe it disturbs him, the noise.

“I know. I’m sorry if it bothers you.”

“No, no… 's nice. I like it.”

That… wasn’t something he’d been expecting to hear.

“It is?”

“Uh-huh. It’s… it’s you.”

RK hopes Gavin doesn’t notice the rhythm of his thirium pump stutter, but if he did, he says nothing about it.

Gavin ends up falling asleep in his lap. RK is content to sit there and hold him for the next four hours, until Gavin stirs and wakes himself.

They go to bed.

Gavin rests his head on RK'S chest there, too, and sighs contently before falling back asleep.

RK wasn’t particularly material. There were very few things he owned as a result, but those are things were precious.

The coat Hank gave him. The coffee cup he got from Connor.

There were very little material things he even needed. He was perfectly fine wearing the same clothes every day, but those around him felt rather miffed at his continual display of his Cyberlife issued uniform. Because of this, he owned jeans and t-shirts and turtlenecks that he was beginning to prefer more and more.

The thicker ones gave him the same kind of nonsensical comfort that his uniform used to give him.

Since the beginning of July, he hadn’t worn his jacket. It had been left behind at Gavin’s apartment the morning of the fifth, and he hadn’t touched it since.

Gavin had asked him, though, what he wanted to be done with it.

Gavin had suggested they burn it, in some ceremonial display of victory. They could cover the smoke alarm and burn it in the bath tub – though RK advised that wouldn’t be wise, as tampering with smoke detectors was grounds for lease termination.

RK didn’t think burning would be ideal. He decided he would keep it, for a similar reason as to why he kept his LED.

“It’s a reminder,” he tells. “Of things I’ve overcome. Things that I’m not ashamed of anymore.”

But overall, he didn’t have many things.

It’s on August 3^th – in all technicality, nearly their one-month anniversary – that Gavin gets him something.

Gavin gives it to him entirely unceremoniously, but at the same time, it’s an endearing moment all the same.

Gavin’s in his lap – straddling him, holding his face in his hands, kissing him surprisingly sweet for the position they’re in. His heart is racing and RK keeps track of it beating in his chest.

And when Gavin has to inevitably pull himself away to breathe, he presses his forehead against RK’s. His hands slide away from RK’s face, in favor of going to, strangely, his pocket.

When he pulls it out and ties it around RK’s neck, at first he doesn’t actually register that it’s there. It’s only after a foreign weight of roughly four ounces is rested on his chest does he look to investigate.

It’s a pendant. A heart, made of silver wire. The left side, wire coiled into an intricate pattern. The right, wire wrapped around a gemstone – polished, curved perfectly into the heart. Rose quartz, his scan tells him.

A stone for unconditional love, for forgiveness, for compassion.

Once he’s established exactly what has been placed around his neck, he looks to Gavin, who is flushed and looking more nervous and embarrassed as time passes.

“I saw it, the other day, when I went with Tina to the mall,” Gavin explains. “I… I dunno. I thought of you when I saw it. So… so I got it.” RK is astounded by the raw emotion on Gavin’s face when he looks up at RK, meeting his eyes for a moment before looking away again. “It’s kinda… half you, half me, ya know?”

RK can’t help but kiss him in response, partially overwhelmed by the intense wave of affection he feels for him.

He loves Gavin, so much.

I love you, he wants to scream.

But he’s too busy kissing Gavin to be able to.

It was an offhanded comment that brings it up.

“It’s your birthday soon,” Gavin points out. They're in the middle of the Game of Thrones marathon running on HBO, and Gavin brings this point up part way through the commercial block.

And it was. Thirteen days to be exact.

“What do you want?”

“Aren’t I supposed to be surprised?” RK asks.

Gavin, previously laying on his shoulder, suddenly sits up and turns. “That doesn’t mean I don’t got you anything.” He rolls his eyes. “Just… what do you want.”

RK hadn’t been able to give him a good answer that particular night.

It was surprisingly hard, he finds, to think about something he was interested in having. He finds that the pendant against his chest, beneath his shirt when he’s not at home, is the one thing he wanted, without even knowing it.

A representation of Gavin’s love for him, something small and unexpected and beautiful. It held so much meaning in its metalwork, in the meaning of the stone. The cord was the perfect length to let the pendant rest at his thirium pump.

But, he did realize there was something that he wanted.

It takes him back to a rather dualistic night – the night of the holiday gala, where he had both been excited and disappointed.

Disappointed, because Gavin hadn’t come.

Disappointed, because he hadn’t been able to dance with Gavin.

So that was what he wanted.

“I know what I want for my birthday,” is what he tells Gavin.

“Shoot.”

“I want to dance with you.”

The silence in response is a surprise. Usually he expected to hear sputtering or rebuttals, but not this time.

Gavin comes into view from the kitchen, take out container and chopsticks in hand. His mouth is full.

“What?”

“I want to dance with you. Traditional ballroom dancing.”

RK waits patiently for Gavin to chew and shallow.

“You’re fuckin' with me, right?”

“I’m not.”

“Why the fuck do you wanna dance with me?”

“Because I love you.”

As predicted, a flush rises up Gavin’s neck and his grip on his food tightens up.

Gavin can be so bold, but words of endearment still cause such a reaction...

“I don’t even know how to fuckin’ dance.”

“It’s alright. I'll guide you.”

It takes some time, persistence, and pulling the 'but it’s my birthday' card, but eventually, Gavin relents.

He knows Gavin is nervous. He can tell. He can measure the beating of Gavin’s heart through their connected palms.

RK isn’t sure if it’s reflex or something else, when his skin retracts up until his wrists.

For a bit, Gavin stares at it, and initially, it makes RK very self-conscious.

A reminder, RK realizes. Of what I am.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles, and thinks it would be best to correct this. Surprisingly, he finds that can’t.

“You know I can’t… ya know,” Gavin says instead of acknowledging his needless apology. “Do the mind-fuck thing you do.”

Mind-fuck was a very, very crude Gavin-substitution for interfacing, but he supposes it would be uncharacteristic of Gavin if it were to be anything else.

“I know. I’m not… sure why…”

The look on Gavin’s face says a lot, but RK isn’t able to read what his expression says. He looks… upset? Possibly regretful? RK isn’t sure.

“What’s wrong?” RK asks.

“Don’tcha think that… maybe it would be better if you were, I dunno, with an android?”

RK tries not to feel hurt by that, but those words and their many implications sting. Did Gavin not want an android partner?

Did Gavin not want him?

“Shit,” Gavin curses, and he pulls his hands away from RK’s, dropping them to his sides. “I just… I don’t think I can give you that kinda stuff, R. I’m not – you can’t – shit.” Gavin runs his fingers through his hair, and RK notices they’re shaking.

“You think I would be better off having a partner that I could interface with?”

“I dunno. Probably? I’m… I’m not the best at talking about shit, R, you know that. Wouldn’t it be better if… if you could just…?”

It wasn’t that Gavin didn’t want him, RK thinks. It’s because he thinks RK would be better off without him.

“It may be easier,” RK admits, approaching this cautiously. “But it wouldn’t be better. Not to me.”

“And why the phck not?”

Gavin is glaring at him accusingly, but RK can see the pain that’s there.

“Because I would rather have you.”

Gavin’s face flushes, and in typical Gavin fashion, he attempts to hide it with anger.

RK steps forward and takes Gavin’s hands in his again. He finds it interesting that his skin retracts is a similar way in response to their contact.

“Because I don’t care for perfect things. Perfect things are too artificial,” RK says. Gavin grips at his hands and digs his nails into RK’s chassis. He doesn’t meet RK’s gaze. “I prefer things that are real. Things that are sincere, even if that means they have faults. Imperfect things are… alive. And I’d rather be imperfect and sincere with you than be perfect and artificial with someone who can’t make me feel like you do. Because… you make me feel more alive than I thought a machine could ever feel, and that’s one of the many reasons I love you as intensely as I do.”

Gavin’s tense. Tense and RK can’t read him, doesn’t know what he’s going to say or do but out of every reaction he thinks Gavin will have, punching him wasn’t one of them.

Gavin tears his hand away from RK’s, reels back and punches RK as hard as he physically can, right in his regulator.

It causes the regulator to stutter in its rhythm, causing a momentary halt in his thirium circulation. His systems stall and his HUD blinks out, and he drops to his knees.

Oh. Gavin’s done this before. To Connor, a long time ago, but it still delivers the same effect.

He’d said something wrong. He’d done something wrong. Something –

And before he can overanalyze everything he’s said and done in the past five minutes, Gavin’s suddenly on his knees in front of him and is hugging him.

“You stupid motherfucker,” Gavin spits, his voice thick with, not anger, but tears. “Nobody fuckin’ asked you to walk out of a damn Nicholas Spark’s film.”

Okay, so he hadn’t said something wrong, but he had something too emotional. Gavin isn’t a particular fan of emotional.

He returns Gavin’s tight embrace with unsteady hands, rubbing the pads of his fingers across his shoulders. “Yet another fine example of sincerity,” RK quips. Despite having just been punched, he feels strangely at ease. Happy, even. “Only you would punch me when I just proverbially poured my heart out to you.”

“Yeah, well, fuck you,” Gavin curses, pushing away from RK and certainly not wiping at his eyes. “You wanted imperfect shit. There ya fuckin’ go.”

RK still can’t help but smile.

“I love you, Gavin.”

When Gavin looks up at him, the rims of his eyes are a bit red, but he smiles, still. It’s one of those Gavin smiles that’s higher on one side than the other, one that exposes his gum line and the slight crookedness of his incisors.

One of the imperfect ones.

“I, uh… yeah.” He laughs, awkwardly rubbing at his neck. “So… dancin’ huh?” Gavin brings up, standing and offering his hand to RK.

“You don’t have to, if it makes you too uncomfortable,” RK relents, taking Gavin’s hand. He rubs the pad of his fingers against Gavin’s palm – cataloging callouses and the lines in his skin.

“Nah, I’m gonna,” Gavin grins, cocky this time. He grabs RK’s hands and pulls them back into the position they had been in before. “Not bitchin’ out of this. I just… don’t know what the fuck I’m doing.”

“I’ll teach you,” RK promises.

So he does. Slowly, without music, he guides Gavin through the steps. One set, then repeats.

Gavin mutters apologies when he steps on RK’s foot for the second time. RK dismisses it.

It’s endearing to see Gavin this firmly outside of his comfort zone. It’s very clear that he does not know what he’s doing, as evident by the small delay in his step before he follows RK’s lead.

“Why do you know how to dance anyway?” Gavin asks, uneasily.

“Connor taught me.”

“Figures. But why?”

“For the gala, last year.”

Because I wanted to dance with you, like this. In front of people who could see that you were mine —

Gavin stumbles when he trips on his own heel. RK steadies him, his hand sliding from Gavin’s hip to the small of his back.

“Phck, I’m so shit at this.” Gavin sounds frustrated with himself.

“It took me a little while to learn, too.”

“Really? I fuckin’ doubt that.”

“It did. I’m not used to moving in a rhythm like this.” Their rhythm stills. RK readjusts their hands.

He syncs to Gavin’s Bluetooth speakers.

“Do you think you could dance to music?” he asks.

“You’ll be guiding me anyway,” Gavin grumbles, shuffling in place. “Yeah, whatever. Just… no fast shit.”

Gavin didn’t need to add that last bit. RK already had a song. One that he had listened to, one he had wanted them to dance to.

When it begins playing, it’s evident that Gavin knows what it is.

“Is this… Sleeping at Last?”

RK nods, suddenly bashful. “It is.”

Gavin laughs, a nervous, bubbling laughter. Not a laugh Gavin usually makes, but RK supposes it’s appropriate for the situation. “Heart, huh…” There’s an almost dreamy look on his face as he lowers his gaze to RK’s chest. The pendant sits against his black shirt, light glinting off the silver wire and the pink gemstone.

The song plays. They dance to it, Gavin primarily hiding his face in RK’s chest. The song is endearingly sweet, a slow rhythm with soft words and calm music.

They eventually stop holding hands. Gavin lets both of his hook around RK’s neck. RK links his fingers at the small of Gavin’s back.

The song ends.

Minutes pass. Neither of them say anything. Sometimes, neither of them are particularly good with words.

They don’t really dance anymore, they just… sway.

And this is better than anything RK thinks he could have ever imagined.

“I love you, too, R,” Gavin whispers into the pendant, into the fabric of RK’s turtleneck.

RK closes his eyes and presses his nose into Gavin’s hair.

“I’m yours,” he responds. “Forever.”