Just swimming along 🪸

For the rest of the week, you had fallen into a routine that didn’t make you want to rip your hair out of boredom. You would go for a walk around your block in the morning and get a coffee from quite a pleasant little cafe you hoped would still be there in the next few years. 

Around noon you would listen to Hank rant on the phone about how Connor had yet to figure out a balance between conversation and interrogation or how Fowler was breathing down his neck. 

For about half of the afternoon you would experiment with biocomponents and mess about with their configuration, taking them apart and putting them back together again. 

The later afternoon you would spend doing physiotherapy and have a dinner that you had never cooked before but had always wanted to. 

Finally you would finish the day with Connor’s arrival, where you answered any questions he asked and engaged in fruitful back-and-forth conversation which often turned existential. Sometimes, when you didn’t feel like talking as much, he would sit with you and watch whatever movie you chose to subject him to. He never complained, instead always asking how you felt about the movie, what it meant to you,  if it was an accurate representation of human experiences, etc. Whilst it was flattering to be interviewed so thoroughly on your opinions, what you most enjoyed was seeing Connor’s reaction to them. He tried to be subtle, yet it had become clear to you when he was fond of a movie and when he didn’t care much for it. The ones that captivated him he asked you the most about, enthusiastically giving a summary as to the movie's themes and message. As for the other ones, he tended to question your opinion on them with more hesitancy, expressing disappointment for not quite “getting it”. 

It had gotten to the point where you had to admit to yourself it was the part of the day you looked forward to the most. The conversations you had were enough to keep your brain entertained and sharp when you otherwise felt understimulated. It made you feel needed, too. Like Connor needed to seek out your thoughts on a subject before he formed a solid opinion. That wasn’t to say anything you said he mindlessly agreed with. There were plenty of times you would offer your stance, and Connor would bring up a counter point that had you reconsidering whatever you had previously stated. In a way, it felt like both of you were learning and growing a lust for life from one another. Never before had you found that any topic could become so invigorating with the right conversation partner. 

However, whilst the excitement you felt would ripple under your skin, along with it came a bite that would follow right after. You needed to remember why Connor was coming to your home every evening and seeking out your company. He had his mission, and his own complex methods of succeeding it. You were one of those methods. As long as you just kept that in the back of your head, you wouldn’t be deluded. But it was getting harder and harder- every time he would remember something you had mentioned in passing about you, or when he would joke and genuinely manage a laugh out of you. You didn’t have many close friendships. Sure, you were friendly with Chris, Tina and Gavin, but there was still that barrier of “colleague” that you had yet to pass. Hank was all you had, and he spent so much of his time drowning in his own grief that you barely felt you could reach him anymore. Spending time with Connor how you were, you felt seen and wanted. Even if it was superficial. 

On your most recent evening together, you were sharing with him some of the books you had in your possession. He had expressed a curiosity in which ones you had read.

“I’ve read all of them, but I gotta say I think Frankenstein’s still my favourite. I come back to it every now and then.” You offered as you crouched to the floor filling Captain’s bowl with food.

“But you didn’t enjoy the movie. Are they that different?”

“Oh, yeah.” With a fork in one hand, you broke up the meat of the cat food, the other hand holding Captain’s eager body back from the bowl. You nodded with your head to the bookshelf. “Take it and read it for yourself. I trust you to not steal it,”

You watched Connor peruse your bookshelf before freezing for a moment. He stared at the bottom of the shelf, and you wondered if he was struggling to find the book before he grabbed it and tucked it into his blazer. 

He left an hour or so later, after you had bid him good-bye at the door. You pushed your back against it and it closed with a quiet click. Captain meowed at you, strutting across the kitchen floor and you watched her with a smile on your face. 

Yet what caught your eye made your heart drop. You realised now why Connor had taken so long to find the book. 

There, at the bottom of the unit, lit up under the ceiling light, was your box of biocomponents. You had clearly forgotten to tuck it behind the bookshelf, and now, as you stared at it in horror, it stared right back. 

Connor had most definitely seen it. That was why he froze. But then why didn’t he say anything? Was this something where he would wait for a more opportune time to confront you? Or was he doing this on purpose, letting you sit with what he’d realised till it ate away at you and you confessed to him? Or maybe he would report you discreetly, and the next time you went into work they’d put you in cuffs and sit you in the cell you’d walked past so many times. Oh, God- you were so fucked.

Taking a deep breath, you paused. Your mind was jumping ahead, rushing with panic. There was a strong chance that Connor didn’t think it to be damning. After all, it was your job. It made sense for you to have android parts back at home too, in case you ever brought it back from work. The box alone was not enough to label you a criminal or a deviant sympathiser. Connor’s behaviour didn’t shift at all after he had seen it, but then again, he was physically built to hide that sort of thing. If you kept thinking of all the ways this would blow up in your face, your heart was going to explode behind your ribs and you would melt into a puddle. To keep yourself calm and sane, you needed to convince yourself that Connor was not suspicious. You needed to trust him to trust you. Otherwise you were going to keel over and die from sheer panic. 

Slamming your palms against your temple, you stood up from your crouch on the floor. You hadn’t even noticed that you had physically crumpled to the ground, and you screwed your eyes shut whilst taking slow and steady breaths. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Things could be worse. Oh, they could be so much worse. You still had two more days off work before you were back in the precinct, and the desperation you had felt to be back at work was now replaced with dread. 

You slept terribly that night, yet barely left your bed in the daytime. Your mind was at war with itself, split into constant panic and attempts to tame said panic. Hank didn’t call you at noon, and you were both thanking and cursing him. Come the afternoon, the frenzy in your brain had settled from a loud blaring alarm into a nagging ticking in the back of your skull. 

At around 7pm, your phone began to ring.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Officer. I’m sorry I haven’t stopped by today, but I’m afraid there’s a problem that could use your help. Are you able to get to the Lieutenant’s house?” Connor’s raspy voice came through your phone’s speaker, his tone giving no indication that a problem actually existed, but you trusted him. 

“Alright, I’ll be over as soon as I can.”

It was around a 30 minute drive from your apartment to Hank’s house. You knew the route well, considering how often you had been over. Parked on the side of the road, you strode up the driveway to the house. Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted a window on the side of the house that had been smashed and you frowned in suspicion. You knocked on the door hurriedly as you called for Hank. Inside you heard mumbling and a bark no doubt from Sumo.

You were about to knock a second time before the door swung open to reveal Connor standing attentively, Sumo trying to push in front of him to get you. Bending at the knees, you ruffled Sumo’s head and patted his back, all the while shooting Connor the most concerned and apprehensive look you could muster. He greeted you by name, and stepped aside to allow you in.

“You gonna tell me what’s going on?” You muttered to him as you walked past. 

“Is that-? For fucks sake, Connor, I told you not to call them!” Hank called out from down the hallway, sounding as frustrated and exhausted as he ever did, his words slow and heavy.  

“I’m sorry Lieutenant, but you gave me no other choice.” Connor called back. Hank mumbled something indistinctly before quieting. Scanning the room, you saw the glass littered on the floor from the broken window. You turned back round to Connor.

“Did you break his fucking window?” He nodded once, making it clear to you he thought it was necessary in the moment. Sumo had lost interest in the two of you by that point and retreated back to his bed, curling up with a loud huff. Your concern led you to the table in the centre of the kitchen, where you found a bottle of whisky, a pistol, and a framed photo. There was no need to turn over the frame, you knew whose face was captured in it and it caused an ache behind your ribs. Looking up from the pitiful array of items, you caught Connor’s gaze, which, to the average person, would have seemed impassive and cold, but you knew him well enough now that you could notice the slight crease in his brow and asymmetrical line his lips formed. You weren’t sure how you looked to him, but it was no doubt troubled to say the least. 

“I came to inform the Lieutenant that there’s been a murder at an Eden’s club nearby for us to check out. He was unconscious on the floor when I arrived.” Connor summarised, voice quiet and respectful. “He also said he was using the gun to play Russian roulette.” 

“Right, okay…” You crossed your arms over your chest as you stared at the broken window. “Could you-is it okay if you clean up the glass, I’ll go talk to him.” 

“Of course.” 

“Oh, there’s a dustpan and brush in that cupboard.” You offered, pointing to the lower kitchen unit. “Not the first time something like this has happened,”

Leaving Connor to clean up, you walked down the hallway as you dragged a hand down your face. Coming up to the doorway of the bathroom, there you found Hank sitting on the floor, head leant back against the tiled wall with his eyes closed. They opened when he heard your movement. Neither of you said anything, instead Hank sighed and looked down at his lap as you lowered yourself to the ground with your legs crossed. There was a distinct smell of both vomit and alcohol that permeated through the whole room, and it took a lot of effort for you not to wrinkle your nose at it. 

You weren’t lying when you said to Connor that this wasn’t the first time this had happened. On multiple occasions, you had been called out to a bar to pick Hank up when he was too drunk to drive himself home, or when he would get into altercations after one too many drinks. It wasn’t often enough to annoy you, but it was enough to have you worrying about him most days. Every time he insisted that you didn’t need to help, that your time was wasted on him, that he wanted to be alone and every time you argued back that he didn’t have a choice if he was going to keep letting himself get to that point. You were acutely aware of how hard everything was for Hank, and that it had never stopped being hard, despite when he told you he was completely fine, just tired and old. 

“Aren’t you supposed to be at home recovering?” Hank asked, looking at you from in between his grey hair that hung in front of his face. 

“Aren’t you not supposed to play with guns?” You retorted, keeping your tone gentle to soften the blow. “And hey, I’m fit as a fiddle. In fact, I feel better now than before I got stabbed. Bet I could scale a building or something…” 

The Lieutenant let out a dry chuckle that turned into an awkward cough. He reached for the bowl of the toilet before throwing up. You patted his back and cringed as he finished emptying the contents of his stomach. Finally, he collapsed back against the wall with a groan and a hand wiping his beard. 

“I, uh-” He began again, clearing his throat loudly and gesturing to the front of the house. “I told him not to call you. Didn’t want to drag you out here,” Hank trailed off, head rolling against the tiles to face you. 

“I came here entirely on my own. It was my choice- you didn’t drag me anywhere.” 

“Bet it’s your least favourite way to spend your Saturday night, huh?” He joked and you shrugged.

“Eh, I’ve had worse.” Hank gave you an incredulous look with his brows raised and you laughed aloud. “Oh, I’m serious. You don’t wanna know!” 

“Yeah, I don’t think I do…” The Lieutenant grumbled as he waved a hand in dismissal. A silence sat between the two of you, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It felt needed, and you were more than content to simply sit with Hank on the floor of his bathroom in silence for as long as he needed. You weren’t ever going to look him in the eyes and tell him “things would be better”, or that he “had so much to live for” because you knew they were hollow comforts when you were in that dark pit you couldn’t claw yourself out of. So you did everything you could to let him know that whatever he decided, whatever he wanted, you could be there by his side for as long as he needed. You weren’t able to offer him an answer, but you could offer your friendship. Every fibre of your being hoped that could be enough.

Outside the bathroom you could hear the clinking of glass and rustling of plastic, it accompanied the silence between you.

As you kept your eyes fixed on the floor of the bathroom, you felt Hank’s hand grip yours and squeeze it. You looked up and were met with such a despondent yet pleading look that it froze you.

“Kid, I don’t want you to ever think that you’re not enough for me to stick around,” A lump in your throat stopped you from interrupting him. “I just…” He sighed again. “It just doesn’t feel like there’s any space in the world for me anymore. I think I’ve overstayed my welcome.” 

You felt like a child before him. Small, weak and scared. You covered his hand that still grasped you with your own as your mouth opened and closed in a desperate attempt to say something. Finally you shook your head, eyes feeling that tell-tale sting. 

“You’re always welcome with me,” Your voice was so feeble and quiet when you finally managed to choke it out. Hank squeezed your hand again and gave you a pitying look.

“I know, Kid.” He muttered. You coughed and scratched at the side of your head.

“You, uh- need to get changed.” Hank hummed in agreement and you both clambered off of the floor. You looked him up and down and paused. “Why are your clothes so wet?”

In a room shut off from the rest of the world, isolated from time and space, you stood idly. You didn’t blink, didn’t twitch, didn’t breathe. Utterly still, in every sense of the word. The walls around you were tiled and dimly lit by a fluttering lightbulb hanging weakly from the ceiling, right above your head. Right in front of you was a mirror, surprisingly clean considering the general dinginess of the rest of the room, reflecting the bulb, the grimy tiles, the shadowy corners swallowed in darkness. Yet not yourself. You knew it was a mirror, but your reflection was absent. In your place, however, was a black mist, like smoke, circling around itself and licking at the air.

 You stared and stared, till the smoke trickled away, slinking back into the corners of the room. And there, finally, you could see yourself, returning your gaze. But something was off. It was you, or at least, someone who looked like you. Your face, but younger- your eyes were brighter, not yet accompanied with dark circles from troubled sleep, and no crease in your brow from how much you frowned. Your cheeks were fuller too, a sure sign of youth. But most notably, above everything else, was your clothes. A trivial thing, maybe, but they didn’t suit you. Clearly this was you, maybe from when you were a teenager? This wasn’t how you remembered yourself as a teen, though. You didn’t remember much, admittedly your memory was incredibly patchy, it wasn’t something you liked to dwell on. But you at least had some sort of memory of yourself as a teen, and you were just like any other. 

This version of yourself, their clothes were eccentric and ill fitting, much too baggy for their frame, with their hair cropped particularly shorter than you’ve ever had it. Your eyes bore into their own, their face dematerialising around them as your focus stayed entirely on those eyes. Youthful, bright, and determined. But that determination, that screaming desperation didn’t come from somewhere good or whole. It was rage laced with spite. 

Their body splintered away, piece by piece till only their face remained. The walls shook around you, and ringing began in your ears. Tiles started to chip away at the walls, cracking and falling to reveal a blinding, suffocating light that pounded in your skull. Altogether; shaking, ringing, blinding. 

Shaking, ringing, blinding. 

Shaking, ringing, blinding. 

You woke up with a start. Your skull was still pounding from that dream. Was it a dream, or some sort of divine message? Nah, fuck that, it was a dream. Which that alone was weird, considering you hadn’t dreamed in at least what felt like forever. Your eyes adjusted to a blue clinical light that lined whatever room you were in. Looking around, dazed, you realised it to be a hospital room. Oh, that’s right. You got stabbed.

Your tongue darted out across your lips, yet your mouth was too dry to wet them. Taking another deep, shuddering breath, you surveyed the room on your left. A monitor, a chair, and a white cabinet with a few stacked files. Everything you’d expect in a hospital room. Your head rolled to the right, and immediately a smile crept on your face at the sight of a familiar head of grey hair.

“Hank,” You croaked, voice dry and weak, and the lieutenant's body whipped quickly round to greet you. A small, meek smile graced his features, eyes twinkling with relief. He grabbed your limp hand and squeezed it gently.

“Hey, kid. How’re you holding up?”

“Shitty.” You sighed. “I got stabbed.”

Hank let out a weak chuckle. “Yeah, I heard.” He rubbed at his temple with his free hand. “Look, I’m tryna be understanding here, but… what the fuck were you thinking, kid?” He kept his voice quiet and calm, yet the weariness hidden told you enough about how much of a scare you’d given him.

“I guess… I wasn’t really thinking about anything other than…” You took another deep breath. “When you’re in the moment, and so close to, you know, calming shit down, you forget you’re not invincible?” Hank hummed in understanding, then sat back, running a hand through his hair.

“Well, now you know. Gave me a fucking heart attack when Connor told me, though.” 

You winced and gave an apologetic flash of your teeth. “What did he say?”

“Just that you’d been stabbed. No ‘hello’, no warning, just that you’d been stabbed in the abdomen and you were on the way to the hospital.” He exclaimed incredulously and you laughed at the clear picture in your head. The shaking of your ribs, however, ignited a dull pain close to where your now sealed wound is, and you quickly stilled yourself. 

“I, uh, really appreciate you being here, by the way. I know it’s probably not… easy,” Hank waved a hand dismissively at your statement, turning his head away from your gaze.

“Ahh, don’t. Didn’t wanna leave you alone here with Connor. Imagined you could do with seeing a friendly face other than his.” 

“Connor’s here? Where is he, then?” You straightened yourself up with as much strength as you could to look out past the door into the ward of the hospital, yet the hallway was empty. 

“He offered to get me a coffee. Should be back soon, though.” 

Your thoughts drifted back to the fateful moment in the stairway, where Connor had shot the deviant. He had a clear shot from where he stood, the deviant was backing away, and yet Connor had shot him right in the centre of his forehead. He could have shot Andrew in his thirium pump, he would’ve shut down more slowly, yet you could have salvaged his memory. It was irrational, then, to shoot him in the head, severing yet another tie they had to learning more about deviancy. You remembered the look on his face, apathetic, stony. Yet you swore you recalled a twitch of his upper lip, curling almost like a snarl. Or maybe you were reading too much into it. 

“Hey, something weird happened with Connor when I got, you know…” You began, and Hank raised an eyebrow in anticipation. 

“When is something weird not happening with him?” He snorted, before letting you continue. 

“Yeah, well… He shot the deviant in the head but…” You paused and lowered your head to Hank’s. “I don’t think he needed to, like at all. He said it was the only shot he had but he could have easily gotten the deviant in-in the pump or the arm to disarm him or something.”

“So…?”

“So, Connor shot a deviant in the head, fucking up the core processing unit for no reason other than…I don’t know. But the deviant knew shit! Said he needed to get to ‘Jericho’ or whatever. If we salvaged the head, I could’ve figured out what that meant!” You let your head fall back on the pillow with a frustrated sigh, and Hank shrugged. 

“He made a mistake. Seems like he’s more and more human every day, huh?” 

You grunted in acknowledgement and stiffly propped yourself up on one elbow, just in time to see the topic of conversation in the doorway with a cup of coffee in either hand. His eyes softened the moment they met yours, and the gentle smile that graced his lips made the apples of his cheeks swell. With only feeling and no thought, you smiled back, your chest feeling a little bit lighter than it did before. 

Behind him, you could see a figure in a white coat holding tightly to a chart. Connor didn’t linger in the doorway, quickly stepping behind Hank’s seat to allow for the figure to come in. She was clearly a doctor, a lanyard tucked into the pocket of her pristine coat. Her greying hair was gathered in a neat bun that had started to fray, and her oval glasses sat far on the end of her nose. Something about her seemed familiar, but you didn’t recall having come to this hospital in recent years, or any for that matter. She called out your name as she walked in and took a seat on the left of your bed.

“So, how are you feeling?” As she asked, she took her lanyard out from her pocket and fiddled with it between her fingers. There you could just make out the title ‘Dr M Sabella’.

“Tired, and my whole body aches. But I would have expected worse, to be honest.” Dr Sabella nodded slowly at your words, keeping the chart face down on her lap. You thought she would have wanted to note this down, but hey, you were a cyber forensic specialist, not a nurse. 

“Well, you’re certainly one of our luckiest patients today, no major organ damage, only minimally invasive procedures necessary. You should be out of here in a week, earlier if we think you’re suitable. That is to say, you won’t be able to work for a couple weeks still- take it easy, no strenuous exercise.” As the doctor listed her orders, the muscles in your forehead dragged deeper and deeper down.

“Really? But there was so much blood- I mean, it was pretty fucking bad.” You said incredulously as Hank awkwardly scratched the side of his head. On instinct, you glanced at Connor as if to quell him to agree with you, yet he remained impassive, having placed both coffee cups on a table near him. 

“Like I said- lucky. There’s really nothing else to it.” Was all Dr Sabella responded with. Her eyes twinkled with an almost youthful mischief that eased your confusion just a little. She abruptly stood, looping her lanyard back over her neck. “We’ll check you periodically every couple of hours. Someone will come by with food for you later.” Then, she strode out, nodding once to Hank who muttered a “thank you, doctor”. 

You laid there in the bed, head still fuzzy around the edges from the painkillers, made even more muddled with the realisation that the only reason you weren’t in deeper shit was pure luck. Unlucky enough to get stabbed, but lucky enough for the stabbing to be light, at least. What a strange, fickle thing.

Above you, Connor leaned forward, mouth parting nervously as if struggling to choose what to say. Your name spilled from his lips first. “I’m glad you’re well,” He finally settled on, and you shot him a silent “thank you”.

You were out of the hospital in four days, each one punctuated with a visit from both Connor and Hank, the latter of which always bringing you food from different fast-food places. You appreciated it, the hospital food was lacking, to say the least, but you were starting to miss the warmth and novelty of a home cooked meal. Every time they visited, Hank would regale you with colourful accounts of whoever made a fool of themselves that day, civilian or officer, and you always winced and groaned in pain when you laughed. Connor rarely chimed in, instead opting to sit on the opposite side of Hank, sometimes with a small smile on his face, other times entirely stoic. It was as if you were a dog that had snapped at him, one that, while he still held affection for, he was scared to get close to for he was reminded you were still a wild animal at the end of the day. You’d be lying if you said it didn’t sting a bit, you thought you had patched up your spat from the other night, but he still held a healthy distance between you that you were simply too tired to breach. Was he mad at you for acting recklessly? That was possible, sure, but he would have reprimanded you by now like Hank had. This was a bit deeper, or perhaps a bit more personal. You decided you would give yourself grace, and not attempt to cross this chasm between you till you were healed.

The night you were discharged, Hank drove you home, telling you about how Captain still wasn’t fond of him despite him being her provider of sustenance whilst you recovered in hospital. Knowing that, whilst the dislike was mutual between the cat and the lieutenant, he had thought to look after her without you even requesting it warmed your heart more than you would ever share with him. When you had entered the apartment, fresh gauze on your stomach and all, Captain had run to greet you with a loud trembling meow, tail held high. You couldn’t quite bend at the waist yet, so you stiffly leaned at the side to scratch her cheek and coo at her. Hank shook his head suspiciously at her, and you laughed, reminding him her distaste was probably due to Sumo’s scent on his clothes. 

The lieutenant proceeded to take out the rubbish in your bins, and point out a ‘get well soon’ basket from the precinct complete with your favourite snacks and drinks. You thanked him sincerely, and collapsed (carefully) onto your sofa, Captain quickly hopping up onto your lap with a rumbling purr. A deep sigh racked your ribs, dull pain blossoming in your stomach. Your fingers thread through Captain’s long fur as she kneaded into your legs, your eyes lazily dragging over your sorry little apartment. They danced from each dark corner, till they landed on the bookcase, precariously hiding your precious box of counterfeit android components. The very thing that made you a traitor to the human race, some would say. Your gaze stayed fixed there till heavy sleep overcame you. 

Hank was gone by the time you woke up, not that you expected him to stay, however. Still stiff at the waist, you lifted your shirt to inspect your scar. Much to your surprise, the injury was clean, with next to no bruising or discolouration on the skin, simply just a now sealed small cut near your navel. It was more akin to a cut in a training dummy, than a stab wound in a person. Regardless, you weren’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth, no matter how much it confused you. With a week off work, you could take this time to clean up your apartment a bit, catch up on books you had yet to read and shows you had yet to watch. There was plenty to occupy your mind, but you dreaded being so isolated and cooped up. It made you lose your grip on yourself and the world. Oh well, that’s what TV was created for. 

The evening came by slowly, and every hour you anticipated a message from the lieutenant saying he was going to stop by, but you never received any such message. You’d eaten already, really you were just desperate for company other than your little fluffy companion. As if to answer your thoughts, a knock at the door echoed through the apartment. 

Eager yet careful, you answered the door, expecting the familiar smell of old leather and faint alcohol, to only be greeted with no smell at all. There was still a presence though, slightly less familiar, yet your mouth twisted in an unexpected grin. You were greeted with a similar smile.

“Connor! What’s up?” Almost embarrassingly, your voice took a high lilt in surprise. The android before you lifted a plastic bag in his hands and raised his eyebrows.

“It’s good to see you again, Officer. I wanted to stop by and see how you are doing,” He responded before adding “if that’s alright?”

“No, yeah, of course it is. I appreciate it actually, seeing as Hank hasn’t come by.” 

You stepped aside, motioning for him to enter. Connor swiftly did so, placing the bag on your kitchen table and scanning the room for something you weren’t sure of. Suddenly, he stopped when his eyes fell on Captain, who had just woken from her nap on the armchair and was stretching ceremoniously. 

“The lieutenant wanted me to tell you that with the amount of work Captain Fowler has given him, it will be hard for him to visit. I hope my presence will make up for his absence,” Connor offered, lips tilting upwards somewhat sheepishly. 

“Oh, yeah. As good of a cuddler Captain is, she’s a terrible conversationalist.” Whilst he didn’t laugh, Connor’s eyes softened and his nose twitched. Maybe that was his way of acknowledging a joke. He bent down smoothly as Captain leapt off the armchair and plodded towards him, keeping his hands on his knees as he watched her sniff him. 

“You can pet her, you know. The fact that she’s not hiding means she likes you.” 

Connor let out a small “ah” in acknowledgement and held out his hand limply for Captain to sniff, to which she did so before rubbing her cheek against his knuckles. Finally, he seemed confident enough to properly pet her and scratch behind her ears, albeit a bit mechanically. You watched curiously before taking a peek into the bag he had brought. Boxes, from your favourite fast food joint, as well as a small cake from a bakery you knew to be on the pricier side. Your chest felt full behind your ribs. 

“So- what happened with the wife of the guy who got killed by their android? I know their android won’t be salvageable to extract evidence from him, but… there should be enough to convict her, right? Like the confession you got from him?” 

“She’s in custody, arrested on suspicion of first degree murder. Considering androids are property, and not their own individuals, their android is not seen as the murder, just the murder weapon.” Connor spoke from the floor, still idly petting the cat before him.

“That’s good, seems like she took advantage of his feelings for her.” 

“His feelings for her? He wasn’t in love with her, Officer, it was merely his deviancy attributing her to the idea of love because of their intimate relationship. Androids can’t feel love, remember?” As he spoke, Connor rose to his feet, flattening out the creases in his trousers with his palms. You frowned at this, yet you were no stranger to this back and forth now.

“Really? Then why would he go so far as to commit murder all in her name? There’s few reasons anyone would do that other than love.” 

“It’s one of the things we have yet to answer in regards to deviancy.” Connor shrugged before staring off intently. “But we’ll find it.” He finally added, with a flash of a reassuring smile, yet you only nodded silently to yourself. 

The couch groaned slightly as you sat down with your full weight, gesturing to the seat next to you. Connor obliged, carefully placing himself upright and oddly stiff on the edge of the couch’s cushion. You gave him a mocking look before taking a moment to steady your thoughts. There was something that you had been desperate to ask him ever since you woke up in the hospital, but how that would go you weren’t sure.

“Connor,” You spoke carefully, and his head swivelled towards you, brown eyes burning into your own. Swallowing thickly, you fiddled with the fabric of the couch. “Can I ask you something?” 

“Of course.” 

“Before I got stabbed, with the deviant.” You took a deep breath. “Why didn’t you shoot him in the body? Why the head?” 

Connor stayed silent for a pause, as his LED ran yellow. He spoke your name with a careful finality.

“I told you. It was the only clear shot.” His answer bristled you. You knew that wasn’t true, it didn’t take a genius to see that from where he had stood in that moment, Connor had a clear view of both you and the deviant. He had lied to you before when you had asked him, but to lie to you a second time only succeeding in frustrating you.

“Do you think I’m stupid?” You scoffed, and Connor flinched. “You couldn’t have had a clearer view of him, and instead of shooting him in his thirium pump or in the hand holding the knife, you shot him in the head,” You jabbed an angry finger at the center of your temple. “Right in the core processing unit. The one part we needed in tact for his memories.”

Connor kept silent. His LED cycled through a panicked blue, yellow and finally red. 

“You’re the latest hot piece of tech Cyberlife has cooked up. The shiny new detective android. Are you trying to tell me a detective android has such shit aim that he can’t shoot a non-fatal shot? You’re just as shit as regular police.” 

“No, I have 97% accuracy.” Connor quickly retorted, and you raised your eyebrows at him expectantly. “The rounds were only big enough to pierce his hand, he still would have been able to hold the knife. And a bullet to the thirium pump would be a slow deactivation, he still could have hurt you.” 

“But I was already hurt! You didn’t save me, you weren’t my hero.” You sat back then, slumping against the back of the couch, running a hand down your face. “Connor, he was…he was scared. He was backing away- I mean, I could see it on his face! He was so scared, and he apologised! He wasn’t going to hurt me any further.” A sigh racked your tired frame. “Fuck, he even said something about this ‘Jericho’, begged me to let him get to it. The way I see it: you unnecessarily shot a deviant with valuable information in the head. You gave up potentially crucial evidence. You acted….irrationally. And for what?” 

You turned then, back to facing Connor fully who simply stared at you, mouth parting and closing. His LED spun a flashing, nagging red, and his brows furrowed deep, forming a crease on his perfect forehead. You waited, chest heaving silently as you tried to calm yourself down and summon patience. 

“I- I don’t know.” Connor finally spoke. His voice was so small, unsure, lacking any confidence you had so quickly come to associate with him. You realised then, with a feeling of pity what he sounded like. He sounded disgustingly human. “I should know. I should be able to give you an answer as to why my core processing unit made such a decision, but-I can’t. And I don’t know why.”

You let out a weak chuckle and rubbed at your brow. At this point, you were only terrorising him. Was he deviating? ‘Without a doubt’ would have been your answer, but since you first met, it seemed like he had always been deviating. And he most definitely wasn’t aware of it. Part of you was worried if he realised he’d breakdown and self-terminate. This wasn’t something to force, you realised. But maybe you could help him, ease him into being human. It would have been nice if someone was there to do that for you. 

“Connor,” His name fell from your lips lightly, and his eyes focused on you, LED settling on a less alarming yellow. “Would you like to stay here tonight?” 

His eyes narrowed for a moment and his lip twitched. 

“Yes.”