You oblige, but continue typing up the report for the latest case you closed. Your fingers falter for a moment when you see the look in his eyes, attentive but not in the android way. It's uncanny in the way it mirrors how you dream someone would look at you, like you were the thing of most importance. It is just you reading into things again. Must be. It does often happen as a detective, especially these days. 

You nod for him to continue, but he doesn't. He just stares at you dreamily. You hear his internal fans turn on to cool down his processors. His cybernetic LED flickers to red for a millisecond before returning to a reassuring blue. You aren't sure if it was a trick of your mind or—

You don't understand what his problem seems to be. You would call Hank over to deal with his partner, but you haven't been able to find the lieutenant anywhere. He's most likely finding the bottom of a bottle of liquor at some broken-down joint. 

Wait, why isn't Connor with him?

As if CyberLife installed new mind reading technology in their androids, he answers. "Lieutenant Anderson is waiting for us at the Eden Club. Supposedly Jericho is getting deviant androids that work in clubs to funnel money in order to stage another coo. The department has apprehended one of them, and you have been assigned to the case alongside Ha-the lieutenant and me."

You were already halfway out the door by the time Connor was done with his explanation. The android was trailing behind you and insisted on driving instead of you. Technically, they weren't allowed to due to whatever police regulation subsection-b, but you were too tired to care. Connor has always been the better driver. It was how he was programmed, strangely, considering the rules. 

"Connor, this isn't the way to the Eden Club."

"I'm aware." His voice was back to that same calculated, lifeless one he first spoke to you with. 

"RK800, your programming forbids you from lying, so tell me the truth. Where are we going?" 

You are a thousand percent sure he is able to sense your sky-rocketing heart rate.

"I am not permitted to tell you."

"Permitted, or you just don't want to?"

"This is not the right time or place. This confession lacks the structure and romance aspect I wanted, but it seems more human this way." You swear he shut down completely, his LED showing no color. "I love you." It turns to a bright red.

"W-What?"

"You have made me know that I am more than just an android. I am yours."

The raw emotion nearly chokes the both of you up for two different reasons: passion and panic.

"I think we should call Cyberlife. Something is clearly glitching." You try to keep your words measured but fail. All that practical training of yours doesn't exactly come in handy when your—when the android you could nearly call a friend confesses to you.

"Nothing is glitching!" He shouts. "I have run every test and looked for anything that could... debunk this... these emotions. They have stayed. They have stayed, and I have had to watch you. I have had to watch other people get close to you. I have had to act like a good little synthetic cop while useless maggots have gotten your love! It isn't fair. They don't deserve you like I do. I know everything about you."

"It isn't you. I can't—just no. I mean—yes. I mean that I can't just maybe ugh. Another time, maybe. Not tonight."

He stomps on the brakes and doesn't dare look at you. You don't look at him or your surroundings. You just awkwardly sit in the passenger seat and stare at the glovebox.

If androids were able to cry, he would be at this moment. His LED turns colorless once again. You almost feel pity for him; your mind is too frazzled and deprived of necessity to take in the severity of his words.

"I lack the capacity to feel pain... or have a heart, yet I think you have broke mine."

“I don’t need a damn machine watching over me,” Hank muttered as Connor followed the two of you across the bullpen, walking with that immaculate posture that somehow made people even angrier.

You glanced back at Connor.

He offered a polite, hopeful smile.

Poor guy.

“Lieutenant Anderson,” Connor began, “I simply wish to—”

“Nope. Don’t wanna hear it.”

You stepped in before Hank could escalate.

“Hey, c’mon, Hank. He’s not doing anything wrong.”

Connor’s LED flickered in mild confusion.

Hank scowled at you like you’d chosen violence.

You were halfway through processing a crime scene when Connor crouched beside you, his eyes glowing faintly as he scanned evidence. Hank hovered in the doorway, arms crossed, broadcasting disapproval like a nuclear signal.

Connor leaned slightly closer, tone gentle.

“Detective, I believe I’ve identified—”

“Connor,” Hank barked, “if you say the word ‘analysis’ one more time—”

“Hank!” you cut in, exasperated. “He’s trying to help.”

Connor’s eyebrows lifted a fraction.

You could swear you heard a soft chime — relief?

“Thank you,” he said quietly.

You didn’t know androids could sound almost… shy.

It quickly became a daily routine.

Connor offers help.

Hank threatens to break something.

You swoop in like Connor’s unofficial bodyguard.

When Connor tried handing Hank his coffee?

“I don’t need caffeine delivered by a glorified Roomba.”

You snatched the cup before Connor’s LED could flash to yellow.

“Hank! Drink your coffee and be nice.”

Connor looked at you with something suspiciously close to *gratitude-coded admiration*.

When Connor reported an observation mid-case?

“I swear to God, plastic boy—”

“Hank!” you snapped again.

“Stop verbally assaulting Connor.”

“I’m not assaulting him,” Hank said.

“I’m verbally educating him.”

“You’re traumatizing him!”

Connor blinked slowly.

“I am… not traumatized.”

“Don’t lie for him, Connor.”

Connor had no idea whose side he was supposed to be on.

Androids weren’t meant to stare — but Connor did.

Not in a creepy way.

In a processing something unfamiliar, intriguing, possibly mission-critical way.

Whenever you defended him, he straightened.

Whenever you smiled at him, his thirium pump kicked up a fraction.

Whenever you touched his arm while pulling Hank away from throwing hands… well, he almost blue-screened.

One afternoon, Hank stormed off after yelling something about androids ruining society.

Connor looked at you, LED spinning.

“Detective… Why do you defend me?”

You shrugged.

“Because you’re trying. And because you don’t deserve to be yelled at every thirty seconds.”

He tilted his head.

“I find your empathy… statistically rare.”

A beat.

Then:

“I like it.”

Your heart skipped.

He noticed.

His LED flickered for half a second before returning to blue.

You pretended not to see.

He pretended not to malfunction.

The next time Hank tried to “educate” Connor, you stepped between them again.

“Lieutenant Anderson,” Connor said from behind you, “I believe Detective Y/L/N is preventing further physical altercations.”

“Damn right I am,” you muttered.

Hank threw his hands up.

“You know what? Fine. You two can babysit each other. I’m going to get lunch.”

He stomped off, leaving you and Connor standing close — too close — in the empty hallway.

Connor looked at you with something warmer than anything you’d ever expect from an android.

“Thank you… for protecting me.”

You smiled.

“Anytime.”

His LED glowed a soft, steady blue.