the words didn't snap connor out of his daze because he wasn't really in one. he couldn't be. he was watching you very purposefully, and he had no real intention of stopping, but he still struggled a little bit with social cues and found himself turning to hank lest he throw up his breakfast all over their desks.

"that seems impractical, and...gross," his lips had a slight downturn to them, a nearly imperceptible tilt to those who didn't know him, but a frown to those who did.

"it's a figure of speech—and i don't want to hear about gross from you. 'ya look like a lovesick puppy over there."

"i just don't quite understand-"

"here we go again," hank scrubbed his hand over his face with all of the exasperation of a father who had heard the same thought fifty times over.

"-why the detective seems to dislike me so much? i don't believe i have done anything to cause any problems between us." connor paused, trying to recall anything that could cause this weird rift between the two of you, but came up short.

"you didn't, connor. that's just...how they act. they dislike everybody."

"hank, you cannot see what i can see," he reminded the lieutenant, and if hank wasn't mistaken, his android companion was...pouting? "their heart rate is always heightened around me. their hands sweat, their cortisol levels skyrocket...it's like i stress them out."

they say ignorance is bliss, but across the bullpen, unaware of the conversation happening between the two, you were fighting your own battles.

it had been six months of this. six whole months of sneaking glances at connor when he wasn't paying attention, of pretending he didn't take up half of your waking brain capacity, of avoiding him so you didn't say something stupid to allude to your unrequited feelings for him.

it had been nearly a year since the android revolution, and six months since you had been put on a case with connor and hank.

the six months prior, you had been watching connor with what you could only begrudgingly describe as admiration. he was a powerhouse of a detective, and a pretty one too. you had watched him come in that first day, asking where to find lieutenant anderson, and you had seen him come back, changed, after he helped secure android rights with markus. feelings weren't quite your stomping ground, so whatever you felt for him before you were partnered with him had been dismissed as a simple case of respect for the hard work of your new coworker; admiration for his role in the revolution (and reluctant, shoved-down attraction that you conveniently blamed on cyberlife's engineers). then, you had been thrown on a case with him and hank by fowler, and you realized you were royally fucking screwed.

connor had done his homework on you and was impressed by your previous cases; he had read them. he held doors for you and hank like he was programmed for the 2020s, not the 2030s. he talked about his pet fish and hank's dog, sumo, like they were his family members. he spoke a little awkwardly, like he was still learning how to be casual, but hellbent on trying. he seemed excited to talk to you, and while you didn't believe in silly tropes like love at first sight and soulmates, getting to finally speak to connor without the fluorescent lights and case files was starting to feel an awful lot like the universe screwing with you after years of being cynical about romance. you didn't do romance and feelings, especially not mixed with work. emotions always felt so irrational, and you had been told you were too cold for relationships by your past flings—whatever the hell that means. not to mention the fact that connor was an android who had a very, very long life ahead of him. you could hardly imagine him wanting to be shackled to a human, forever trapped working at the DPD. he never seemed interested in speaking outside of work anyway, so you did what every rational adult with a silly little crush did, and avoided it.

unfortunately, avoiding it had done a whole load of nothing for you. you just stared at him longingly and sulked about your ridiculous feelings; it was starting to get embarrassing. and that took you exactly to where you sat now: stealing a glance at connor as you reviewed case notes. you couldn't help but be curious about what the two of them were talking about—connor looked so distraught, so concerned. it was only when connor looked over, still pouting, that you snapped your gaze back to your monitor. you wondered if any of his fancy android capabilities included being able to feel your eyes on him, because it felt like he always looked whenever you tried to sneak a glance.

"they were glaring at me."

"connor, that's just their face."

────୨ৎ────

you were halfway through your shift when you heard what might as well be the dinner bell for your doom.

just as your eyes were beginning to burn from looking at your monitor, you heard your name, followed closely by hank and connors. it was rare that the three of you had to work together on anything, because most cases didn't need three detectives from the get-go, but it did happen, and at this point, you were beginning to think fowler had it out for you or something. you knew you should feel honored, being on par enough with a seasoned lieutenant and the goddamned poster boy android of the department to be paired with them, but you just wanted to avoid your ridiculous little crush in peace.

you dragged your feet as much as you could, but eventually found yourself standing next to the two of them in front of fowler's desk. you avoided looking anywhere but directly at your captain, but you could feel connor's gaze flicking over to you every few moments.

"there's something new on the streets; something bad," fowler started, turning his monitor around to face the three of you. there were pictures of a blue crystalline substance, so similar to red ice, but so blue. the only thing you could compare it to was the thirium you knew ran through connor's synthetic veins.

"they're calling it blue ice."

a snort, to your left, "creative," hank mumbled. fowler shot him a look, and he cleared his throat.

"from what we know, it's being created with thirium sourced out of the cyberlife warehouses that were abandoned post-revolution. what we don't know is the who, the what, or the why. you three are going to figure that out for me."

"with all due respect sir," you started, shifting a little on your feet, "i believe lieutenant anderson and connor can handle this without me. connor is...skilled, with his detective work, and anderson is well-versed because of his work on the red ice cases, i don't know what i would add-"

fowler cut you off with the same look he gave hank, sharp and silencing, "we don't know who is creating this. we don't know the dangers of the substance itself. we don't know what to expect, and i prefer to be safe over sorry when it comes to my detectives," he raised his eyebrows as if to say, understand? "you will be going with them. as an extra set of eyes, if nothing else."

it was worth a shot. you gave him a simple nod and let him finish his briefing, silently wondering how easy it would be to switch professions.

fowler waved the three of you out with a warehouse address and a look that said he expected answers, and the next thing you knew, you were in the backseat of hank's old car headed straight towards the unknown—or that's what you thought.

when you pulled up outside of a little food truck—the same one hank had stopped at after your last case together—you shot him an incredulous look through the rearview mirror.

"what? i'm hungry. ain't gonna get any good work done on an empty stomach," he gave connor a pointed look, then glanced back at you, "stay here, i'll be quick."

hank had said that nearly ten minutes ago.

the silence in the car wasn't uncomfortable, really, just...awkward. you couldn't stop fidgeting with the cuffs of your jacket, and connor had been flipping his coin over his fingers and clearing his throat every other minute like he actually had a reason to. he waited until it had officially been ten minutes before speaking up.

"so," he started, eyes flicking up to the rearview just in time to see you glance out the window, "how...has your week been?" he asked, awkward enough that you wondered how badly deviation had messed up his social relations programming.

the fact that he was even asking you was enough to make your pulse jump under your skin—he rarely tried to speak to you about anything that wasn't work-related.

"it's only tuesday," you answered, then realized how clipped it sounded and tried to recover, "but, not bad, i guess?"

connor nodded in a way where you could see the little loose strand of hair over his forehead move in the side mirror. "right, that's good."

watching hank chat up the guy at the food truck like he didn't have somewhere else to be, you swallowed your nerves and looked back towards the rearview, where he was still watching you.

"how about you? good, um, week so far?"

"it has been good, thank you." so stoic, it made you feel like a bumbling mess.

you gave a small hum in response and figured that would be the end of it, looking down at a fraying thread on your sleeve, only to snap your eyes back up when he started speaking again.

"i am glad that you are with us for this case, i find you to be a very competent detective, and i am...happy, you are here." he spoke slowly, a small smile on his face as you looked at him.

competent detective. that's all you were to him, a good coworker.

"thank you," you answered anyway, because hurt feelings never got anyone anywhere on the job, "i don't think you guys need me here; you're both very competent yourselves, but i hope i can be of some help."

just as connor opened his mouth to speak again, hank opened the driver's-side door with a little too much umph and cut him off, grumbling about it being too cold outside, damnit and wishing he'd brought coffee, and just like that, the moment was over.

────୨ৎ────

by the time the three of you had made it to the warehouse, dark clouds had started to settle in the sky. it made the place look a little more decrepit than you had anticipated, and even for a well-seasoned detective, it gave you the heebie-jeebies.

"i'll take the outside; the two of you can take a look at the inside?" hank had suggested when you first arrived, giving connor a look you didn't have the key to decipher.

connor had opened his mouth to respond, only to be cut off by a quick clap on the shoulder, then a great! from a now-retreating hank.

so, the two of you took the inside. it was dark; electricity bills long abandoned by cyberlife, lit only by a flashlight you had been lucky enough to find on a shelf near the door. connor was sticking close to you, and you wondered if cyberlife had made an oversight by not giving him some sort of night vision addition to his ocular units, but you chose not to ask for the sake of your own heart.

as you pushed up the lid to the third container you'd found labeled temperature-regulated thirium storage, you felt connor press a little closer to see the inside and willed your heartbeat to slow its goddamn roll.

shifting away from him, you peered inside and frowned at what you saw. empty, just like the last two had been. whatever batteries they used for these things were still pumping, so all you got was a rush of cold air and disappointment.

without a word, connor started scanning the outside of the container, his LED shining yellow in the dark warehouse. you shined your flashlight around the floor, searching for even a scrap of a clue at this point, and nearly gasped when you saw it:

a bright blue boot print.

"connor, look," you shook your flashlight in the direction of the print, crouching down to get a better look, only to see more leading behind the container.

he crouched beside you as he tracked the boot prints, eyes following the same path as yours, and did exactly what you expected but did not want to see: dipped his finger in the thirium and tasted it.

"i'll never get used to that," you sighed, shaking your head as you waited for whatever analysis he had.

ignoring your quip, his eyebrows furrowed, eyes snapping up and raking the warehouse, "this is...fresh. it is cold. there might still be someone here." his voice was hushed, gaze bordering on predatory as he stood straight.

you followed his lead, the hair on the back of your neck standing up. you hadn't seen him this serious before, and it had something cold snaking it's way through your stomach.

the two of you followed the boot prints, and you could feel something prickling under your skin as the trail thinned out right next to another container. you shot connor a look, setting the flashlight down on a nearby storage cart and retrieving your service weapon from its holster as you neared the container.

watching him position himself on the other side of the container, you waited for his signal, hand hovering above the loose latch on the box. when he nodded, you started to push the box open, only to be beaten to the punch—literally.

somebody sprang out of the box and barreled out towards you, knocking you straight in the nose with their fist. you stumbled back and knocked into the storage cart, a pained gasp slipping out before you could stop it. you found your footing as quick as you could, free hand pressed to your nose as you focused in on the scene in front of you.

connor had stepped in as quick as he could, dodging hands and attempting to detain a fairly burly man who was coming at him full force. you could feel the blood dripping down your lips, but you weren't going to let connor try to handle this dude alone.

"HANK, IN HERE!" you could only pray he heard the echo from the outside, starting towards the two of them as you tracked them through the dim lighting.

the guy looked over his shoulder when you yelled, giving connor the chance to land a good hit in the stomach, while you kicked him in the back of the leg. the guy groaned at the hit but took the chance to throw himself back at you, elbow flying just past your ribs and giving you an opening to grab his wrist. connor took the chance to grab his other wrist, grip iron-clad, and he was sandwiched between the two of you, eyes flicking back and forth wildly as he tried to find an escape route.

when he pivoted to try and make a run for it, connor pivoted with him; he threw his full weight at the man and knocked him into the container he had hopped out of, the thirium on the ground below them choosing not to take mercy on either of them. they unceremoniously fell to the ground together, with connor on top.

you pulled your cuffs off your belt and tossed them towards connor, choosing to ignore the smooth way he caught them midair, and watched him hold the guy down with his knee to his back and his wrists held in one hand.

connor had just gotten the cuffs on when you heard panting behind you, a winded hank bent at the waist as he got to the two of you.

"heard you yellin- oh, you look like hell," hank's eyes zeroed in on you as you brought a hand up to touch your nose with a wince before flicking over to connor, "you got 'im?"

he didn't wait for an answer, moving to help connor restrain the guy. with your weapon re-holstered and your flashlight retrieved, you lead the two of them out of the warehouse, free hand pressed to your nose.

it only took five minutes for backup to arrive, cop car and all, considering you could not transport this guy in hank's beat-up sedan, and the three of you to pack back into hank's car. for now, the warehouse was taped off, you had somebody to interrogate, and that was enough.

the ride back to the department was spent with you holding some old napkins from the glovebox up to your nose, wincing every time hank hit a bump in the road, and connor insisting you get checked out even if you were sure your nose wasn't broken. the look on his face was something you had never seen before, and you itched to know if it was simple concern or something deeper.

it had started to drizzle outside by the time you reached the station; the sky dark, and the air carrying the familiar aroma of the fall rain in detroit. at this point, you just couldn't wait to get back to your apartment to ice your nose and wallow about getting punched in the face in front of the android you had been pining over.

apparently, though, he had other plans. as hank trudged through the door, connor stopped you, a gentle hand on your shoulder so as not to startle you. when you turned around, you could've scowled at what you saw; his hair was just a little damp from the rain, and his eyes had that familiar look from the car. he was so, so pretty. you'd blame the exhausting day and lowered inhibitions from the adrenaline crash for that thought before you'd admit it, though.

"wait," he started, hand dropping from your shoulder but still hovering, "if you're not going to get your nose looked at by a professional, can i offer my assistance?"

your eyebrows furrowed, eyes flicking between his hovering hand and his eyes. "your assistance?"

he offered a simple nod, shifting on his feet like he was nervous. "i am not a replacement for a doctor, but i have a sufficient amount of programming relating to first aid and medical expertise." he gave a little bit of an awkward shrug, a little mechanical, before sheepishly saying, "and i don't enjoy the idea of you going home without a check-up."

your heart was attempting to escape through your ribcage as you considered him, free hand clenching at your side. maybe it was the idea of having him so close to you, or maybe it was the rationality of having an injury looked at, but either way, you gave him a small nod.

"sure- yeah, alright."

────୨ৎ────

connor wasn't sure he'd ever felt nervous before, but from what he'd learned in the last year about emotions, he was pretty sure that's what was wracking its way through his system.

his hands didn't shake as he ducked under the cover the department entryway offered, and he did not sweat as he carefully moved your hand away from your nose, but as he felt the skin of your wrist against his fingertips, your pulse jumping against his own synthetic skin, he worried he just might short-circuit if he didn't get a move-on.

"i am going to touch it, is that alright?"

you didn't verbally respond, only giving a small jerk of your head in affirmation, eyes flicking around his face. your heart was racing more than it typically did around him, and he frowned just slightly at the idea that he was stressing you out by cornering you into this little check-up.

"it may hurt, but i will be gentle. just tell me where it is tender." he tried to offer a disarming smile, moving a fraction closer and bringing his hands up to cup your face.

his thumbs pressed gently along your under-eyes first, searching your face for a reaction, moving closer to the bridge of your nose when he didn't get one. as soon as he pressed against the outside of your nose, your eyebrows screwed together, and you inhaled sharply through your nose, barely audible as the rain started to come down heavier. he noted it, and though he hated causing you pain, pressed gently against your nose from one side while listening for any misalignment. this time, you winced, and he removed his thumbs from your nose, keeping his hands on your face.

truthfully, he didn't need to assess it with his vision; he had already scanned it a dozen times over in the rearview mirror, but he was learning he was selfish, and he liked feeling the warmth in your cheeks against the palms of his hands, so he made a show of squinting a little as he looked at the forming bruise.

your eyes were focused on him with an intensity that had something in him humming; your face devoid of the usual scowl or glare he was so used to seeing around the office. he cleared his throat as he let his hands drop from your face. he didn't step back, though, and you seemed to notice.

"it is not broken, merely bruised. i suggest icing it when you arrive home, but you should still contact a doctor soon," he spoke just as professionally as he always did, even if he was microanalyzing your every move.

"it's an occupational hazard, i'm sure i'll be fine." your tone was dry, but you caught yourself as he noticed you usually did. "but, thank you, connor. i...appreciate it." you gave him a strained smile, wringing your hands together in front of you.

connor tried to dissect why you seemed so stressed around him, fingers curling up as he watched you shift on your feet.

"it is no problem, i'm happy to assist." he paused, bracing himself before he spoke again, a little more playful this time, "i simply can't have my favorite detective walking around with a severe injury." he meant it; he really, really meant it. he just hoped you could tell how much he did, despite the playful tone he was hiding behind.

your eyes shot up to his, your eyes wide and your expression more open than he had ever seen. that weird, buzzing feeling came back, his own internal functions stuttering with nerves. had he messed up? he had learned a lot about human communication, and he was only trying to lighten the mood, but you looked scared. he reached a hand up, ready to apologize, but you were already backing away.

instead of saying anything in response, you cleared your throat and trained your expression back to normal, stepping back as if the proximity had suddenly burned you.

"thank you again for your help," was all you said before you started off towards your car, not looking back at him. you didn't see the way connor deflated, eyebrows furrowing and lips downturned, and you didn't see the way he waited until you had pulled down the street to walk into the department.

────୨ৎ────

somehow, the events of your case from yesterday had not affected you nearly as much as you figured they would.

it was connor who had put a stutter in your usual routine.

even as you iced your nose, digging into whatever leftovers you had and watching some shitty reality show, you thought of his slightly cold hands cupping your face. as you got ready for bed, you felt the ghost of his steady gaze boring into your own eyes as you willed your body to keep calm. when you woke in the morning, you heard the echo of him saying, 'my favorite detective,' and cringed at how you had sped off like he had insulted you.

you were embarrassed, exhausted, and looked a bit like a raccoon from the fully formed bruising now branching off your nose. and now, you had to face him, because work doesn't take days off for trivial injuries and workplace crushes.

you pushed through the front door with your shoulder, scanned your id at the terminal and trudged back to the bullpen. you had zero interest in entertaining anything today, but you especially didn't have the patience for the first person you saw.

"wow, somebody woke up on the wrong side of a fist."

to your left, gavin reed was perched on the edge of his desk, seemingly abandoning whatever conversation he had been holding just to poke at you.

you shot him a lethal glare, hiding your wince when you squinted at him and sighed, "it's too early for this, reed."

he scoffed, pushing off the desk to get closer, "i heard you got hit; didn't think it was bad enough to turn you full gotham knight." he raised his eyebrows in amusement, gesturing vaguely at you. "really matches your cold bitch energy, though; you should get punched more often."

you glared harder, if possible, and shoulder-checked him as you shoved past. you used to be civil with reed, but you had gone to fowler about his interrogation techniques and unfair treatment of connor, months ago, and he decided he was going to make you his worst enemy. that was something you and connor had in common, at least.

"you should probably stop talking, unless you want to match with me." you looked over your shoulder, offered him the fakest smile you could, and moved on.

"good luck with your little wired boy-toy!" you chose to ignore him, knowing you couldn't handle any more reed without some coffee in your system, and kept walking.

when you got to the break room, craving your stale caffeine fix, the last thing you expected was to find connor.

he was leaning against the counter, arms crossed and coffee already brewing as he watched you come in. his eyebrows furrowed as he focused in on your face, tapping his fingers rhythmically along his own arm.

"i don't understand why reed has it out for you," he started, head tilted, "and i do not believe you should get punched more often."

a snort escaped before you could halt it as you stopped on the opposite side of the coffee pot. "he's hated me since i tattled about his unethical interrogation practices and- i don't know, some other stuff. he's just an angry man, he'll always find a punching bag," you shrugged, trying to ignore the weird tension humming in the air. you wanted to forget how yesterday ended, but he didn't seem to agree with that sentiment.

connor only hummed, studying your side profile carefully as his LED spun. he didn't wait long before he spoke again.

"i'm truly sorry if i said something to make you uncomfortable-"

"connor, no it's-"

"i've noticed you seem uncomfortable around me often and i do not want to be the cause of workplace tension-"

"what? connor-"

"so please, tell me what i can do to make you feel more comfortable around me." he stopped finally, something a little puppy-dog-like swimming in his eyes as he angled himself towards you.

your eyebrows were furrowed, bruised muscles trying to disagree with your incredulity, and your mouth was dropped open enough to catch flies.

"what are you talking about, connor?"

his face dropped a little, and you figured if he could flush, he just might. his frown was more present now as he looked you straight on. "yesterday, you seemed...taken aback by what i said, and before that, you've always seemed, put off, by me, i suppose." he shifted his weight, looking down at his perfectly shined shoes before he continued.

"i meant what i said—i think you are a very good detective, and i enjoy when you are with hank and i on cases. i enjoy spending time with you. i don't know what i did to make you uncomfortable, but i want to fix it."

you must have looked like an idiot staring at him, eyes wide and hands raised, almost like you didn't know how to hold yourself at his admission.

you picked his words apart in your head, mouth opening and closing a handful of times as you realized he was being dead honest.

"connor," you started with a sigh, trying to find the words to fix the fracture you had caused, "i don't- you don't make me uncomfortable; you- you haven't done anything wrong." you shook your head, hands clenched as you struggled with words. you avoided confrontation like this for a reason; you didn't know how to tell people how you felt, so you opted for a half-truth. "i don't...dislike you, or anything like that."

his frown only deepened, shaking his own head a little bit, "then, why-" he mulled over your words, LED yellow again. you wondered what was going on inside that fancy little brain of his. "you avoid me, you always have raised cortisol levels-"

your eyes widened again. " wait, you can- you can see that?"

he continued like he hadn't heard you: "your heart rate is just—i mean, concerningly high when we speak—and you rarely sound pleased to speak with me." he was running through information like it was an evidence log, and the coffee maker beeped behind him, long forgotten. "every time i try to speak to you, you avoid me-"

he finally stopped when he saw your expression, somewhere between ten shades of embarrassed and just shocked.

"i apologize." it was his turn to look embarrassed, and this time, you could actually see a little bit of blue rushing to his cheeks. "that was- i don't know where that came from; that was very out of character for me."

finally, your lips tilted upwards a little, an expression he rarely got to see on you:

a smile. you were smiling at him. small, unassuming, but a smile nonetheless. he loved it.

"connor," you started, shaking your head as you looked down at your shoes like they owed you something, "i don't dislike you. you don't make me uncomfortable." you took a deep breath, as though you had to steady yourself before you looked up and met his eyes, "i...like you? a lot, actually. embarrassingly, clearly, if i've been that obvious about it- i don't really- the feelings thing, it's not something i'm good at-"

you took another deep breath, looking at the coffee pot, and the sugar and creamer packets, and anything that wasn't connor so you didn't have to face the consequences of spilling your guts, then you just kept going "i didn't want to corner you, or anything, and you heard reed, i'm a cold bitch," you air quoted, "but i really like you, like in the most ridiculous, sappy, crush kind of way, and i didn't know how to be around you with that, or god forbid, tell you, and i'm sorry you thought i...disliked you-"

"no, please don't apologize," connor cut you off, and you were grateful, because it felt like you had opened a can of worms you just didn't know how to shut.

"i'm not good at the feelings thing either. i'm still learning what it means to feel...but i've known what i felt for you was different," he shook his head, the wryest smile you'd ever seen him wear on his lips, "i have all of this programming, all of these resources, and i still managed to take all of the data, and apply it completely wrong." he shook his head again, this time, laughing just a little bit.

the sound shocked you, and you turned to see his smile a little bigger, his eyes still focused on you as he tried to stifle the small laughter threatening to escape. you couldn't help yourself; you huffed out a laugh of your own, shaking your head alongside him.

the two of you were devolving into laughter, and you thought you could spend forever just listening to connor laughing. you pressed your lips together, pointing at him as you grinned.

"for someone so ridiculously smart, that was a little dumb."

"in my defense, all of the data i collected aligns with you being stressed out by me-"

"stressed out? i mean-"

"you already told me you liked me, i have a perfect memory, don't take it back now."

"liking you is stressful-"

instead of cutting you off with words this time, he leaned forward, hands hesitant as they hovered over your cheeks just like they had yesterday. when you showed no signs of running off this time, he closed the little distance, pressing his lips against yours.

they were slightly cold, and it was obvious in small ways that he had never kissed anyone before, like how he didn't move his lips against yours, but you put your hand on the back of his neck and pulled him closer anyway. you could feel him smiling against you, and for once it felt like whatever part of you so opposed to feeling was cracking open, accepting something warm and happy and real.

connor pulled away first, but didn't let you go, forehead nearly pressed against your own as he smiled, "and reed was wrong—you are not a cold bitch."

you had to bite back your laugh, shaking your head against him, "please, don't talk about reed while we're kissing," and you leaned up, pressing your lips against his once more.

────୨ৎ────

so, it took six months, multiple cases, extensive vital scanning, far too many stolen glances, and a punch to the nose, but the two of you figured it out.

you still struggled with expressing what you were feeling sometimes—old habits die hard—and connor learned that you were the hardest person in the world to read, but he never stopped trying, and you learned to actually communicate with him when he didn't hit the nail on the head.

hank, somehow, knew before either of you did, but still tried to feign surprise when connor told him:

"hank, i will be busy on friday," you had watched connor tell him from your own desk, hiding behind your monitor.

"busy? with what? god, please tell me you're not getting another fish, you're gonna need a bigger tank-"

"i'm going to be accompanying the detective. on a date." he seemed a little proud, and anyone who didn't know him wouldn't realize just how excited he was.

hank's eyes shot open so wide you were surprised they stayed in his head, and he gasped like an old woman clutching her pearls in a drama.

"well, shit," he glanced over at you, stifling a snort as you ducked back down behind your monitor, "good on 'ya, it was a long time comin!" he clapped connor on the shoulder, still peering over at your desk like you were going to willingly involve yourself.

you did speak to hank about it yourself, once again cornered in the break room while you grabbed your coffee, while he squinted at you like you were a puzzle he had mostly figured out.

"you care about him?"

"quite a bit, yes."

"you gonna start tellin' him that so he stops asking me why you don't?"

"wouldn't be goin' on a date if i hadn't, hank."

"okay. you can come to family dinner, next week, then, since you're stealin' him this friday."

and you did. family dinner turned out to be takeout and hockey, and it was just perfectly casual enough for you to not be scared off. you met sumo, you met the fish, and you got the pleasure of seeing connor look embarrassed over hank's dramatic pestering about intentions and the future. connor got the even greater pleasure of seeing you laugh again, your feelings for once worn on your sleeve rather than locked away behind the glares you liked to adorn so easily at work.

by the end of the night, the only thing you could think about was where six more months would lead you. now, you knew wherever you ended up this time, you'd have connor by your side.

────୨ৎ────

bonus ⊹ ࣪ ˖

"connor, did you get lost-" hank turned the corner, half-expecting not to see connor, only to be met with connor and someone else. someone who he was kissing.

if he had his phone on him, he might have taken a picture, but alas. for now, all he did was smirk to himself, give himself a little pat on the back for asking connor to go get coffee for him, and turn back around.

"fuckin' finally."

a/n - this has been sitting in my drafts for a little while, half-made, and it was the easiest thing to finish up for y'all 𐔌՞ ܸ.ˬ.ܸ՞𐦯 the ending was a little rushed but i hope y'all enjoy it!! my surgery went well, and i've had a little downtime to start bein creative again so hopefully i'll have more stuff rollin out for y'all soon <3

as always, thank you for reading! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ reblogs, likes, and comments are always appreciated.

connor taglist ⏻ @adora-but-ginger taglist open! ask to join ♡

𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗲𝗹𝗲𝗰𝘁𝗿𝗶𝗰 𝘀𝗵𝗲𝗲𝗽 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗼𝗿𝘆

𝗗𝗼 𝗮𝗻𝗱𝗿𝗼𝗶𝗱𝘀 𝗱𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗺 𝗼𝗳 𝗲𝗹𝗲𝗰𝘁𝗿𝗶𝗰 𝘀𝗵𝗲𝗲𝗽? 𝗂𝗌 𝖺 𝗇𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗅 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗇 𝖻𝗒 𝖯𝗁𝗂𝗅𝗂𝗉 𝖪. 𝖣𝗂𝖼𝗄. 𝖨𝗍 𝖾𝗑𝗉𝗅𝗈𝗋𝖾𝗌 𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝖽𝖾𝖿𝗂𝗇𝖾𝗌 𝗁𝗎𝗆𝖺𝗇𝗂𝗍𝗒 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗋𝗈𝗂𝖽𝗌 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝗇𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗅𝗒 𝗂𝗇𝖽𝗂𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗎𝗂𝗌𝗁𝖺𝖻𝗅𝖾 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗁𝗎𝗆𝖺𝗇𝗌. 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝗂𝗍𝗅𝖾 𝗉𝗈𝗌𝖾𝗌 𝖺 𝗉𝗁𝗂𝗅𝗈𝗌𝗈𝗉𝗁𝗂𝖼𝖺𝗅 𝗊𝗎𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝖺𝗋𝗍𝗂𝖿𝗂𝖼𝗂𝖺𝗅, 𝗌𝗒𝗇𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗍𝗂𝖼 𝗅𝗂𝖿𝖾𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗆𝗌 𝖼𝖺𝗇 𝗉𝗈𝗌𝗌𝖾𝗌𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗆𝖾 𝖽𝖾𝖾𝗉, 𝗌𝗎𝖻𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗌𝖼𝗂𝗈𝗎𝗌 𝖽𝖾𝗌𝗂𝗋𝖾𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖾𝗆𝗈𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝖺𝗅 𝖾𝗑𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖼𝖾𝗌 𝖺𝗌 𝗁𝗎𝗆𝖺𝗇𝗌.

Night has fallen some time ago. You aren’t quite sure what kind of bond you share with your colleague. Is it due to the nature of your connection? Is it the fact that you are human and he is an android? Regardless, here you both are again in the warmth of the sheets, heated by your bare bodies after yet another night of passion and intimacy.

You lie there in his arms. Though your relationship isn't officially defined, you cherish Connor’s gentleness and the way he cares for you after sex. You’ve grown used to it and you wouldn't trade this for anything. It isn’t just your bodies that are in harmony, but your minds as well.

However, a question burns on your lips. Since Connor recognized his deviancy and officially became a sentient being, it’s a subject you haven't yet had the chance to broach. What future do you have? Is he ready to commit? Are you both ready to take a step forward? These thoughts weigh heavy on your chest.

Connor senses it. His hand, previously still, begins to delicately stroke your shoulder, as if he perceives your worries, your doubts and your internal monologues. He says nothing. He is not in the habit of rushing you, letting you bring up the subjects you wish to discuss. Finally, you break the silence in a soft, calm voice.

— Connor…

— Hm?

— Do androids dream of electric sheep?

In the darkness of the room, Connor’s LED flickers yellow. A quick search through his system is necessary to properly process your question, which catches him slightly off guard. You occasionally have intellectual conversations and animated debates, but you had never really discussed what defines humanity in a machine. After all, Connor is still adapting to his new status.

— Are you referring to the work of Philip K. Dick?

— You know very well what I’m referring to.

A silence hangs in the room, heavy. You continue.

— I need to understand where all of this is leading us. You may be deviant but you’re still an android.

You sit up slightly, pulling the duvet over you to keep the warmth. Now turned toward Connor, you notice his neutral expression falter, momentarily tinged with a slight fear.

— It never seemed to be a problem for you. Why is that the case today?

— The problem isn't what I think. You know I have feelings for you, you’ve always known. I never hid it from you, but I won’t be able to handle another disappointment.

Indeed, your love life has never been easy. Between betrayals and manipulations, you had stayed alone for a long time before meeting Connor. He is the only one who managed to change things, he is the one who gave you hope in love again.

His features now give way to affection. You can easily read in his eyes that he only wants what's best for you and how precious you are to him. This sight lightens the weight on your heart. Slowly, his hand comes to rest on your cheek, tenderly caressing it with his thumb.

— I will never be completely human but I am no longer a machine. I know what I feel, and I am no longer afraid to feel.

You stare at him with melancholic eyes. Your hand find his, surrendering completely to this reassuring contact. Your words come out faster than your thoughts.

— Don’t leave me, you whisper.

— I have no intention of doing so.

A tender smile forms on his lips. It is contagious, so reassuring are his words.

— I love you, he adds.

At this precise moment, you don't care whether electric sheep exist. All that matters are the butterflies taking flight from the pit of your stomach to your heart, carrying your doubts away with them.

≿━━━━༺❀༻━━━━≾

Unsurprisingly, and much to your frustration, Connor had finished the move without you. There might not have been much left to move at that point; but, it was your stuff at a house that you rented, and not Connor's responsibility in the slightest.

But, there was no telling the android that, and you knew that he would have been well equipped with plenty of reasons as to why he could handle the rest of the move alone: you needed rest, he didn't require sleep, etc, etc.

When you stepped off the elevator into the android's - and now your - apartment, Connor had a look on his face, as if you had come home for the first time in years. You had only spent a week at Hank's place, and only a day and some odd hours at the hospital prior to that, and Connor had been nearly inseparable from you the entire time; yet, it felt like ages since you had been here.

It was only then that the weight of your near death experience became apparent. Before, your life, or the loss of it, wouldn't have impacted anyone else. It was just you in that little house, trying to make a living, picking up the pieces of a war and watching humanity change astronomically.

Now, there was a life that would be changed if you were gone. You let yourself imagine how Connor would cope, what would become of him, and struggled to keep the sorrow to yourself.

Perhaps, for the first time in your life, you knew what it was like to be needed.

Your wound healed remarkably in the weeks that followed. The scar left behind was star shaped and your skin was darkened around the sunken surface. But, you didn't find yourself hating it as much as you thought you would.

It wasn't something you looked at with pain or regret, but rather something prideful. Maybe there was something masochistic about it, not that you found yourself bothered by that realization.

Your coworkers thought it looked 'pretty cool' and declared that it made you 'quite the badass'. Now, you could wear the badge of 'I've been shot', with a bizarre story to tell. You didn't care if people thought it was strange, letting yourself get shot for an android.

Connor was much more than 'just' an android. He was the man you loved, who carried an astronomical burden you could barely understand. Sure, you could judge the weight, the pressure; but, you, an ordinary human, couldn't possibly understand what he felt as the target of a revolution that would change humanity forever.

The thoughts became clearer as you and Connor stepped into Haven for the last time, and you took in the emptiness, the quiet, and the cold.

"One moment," Connor advised you, stepping away and into the open space in the center of the room.

RK800, like all androids, had no true sense of temperature. Connor couldn't feel cold the way humans did. His artificial skin wasn't going to prickle with goosebumps and his muscles wouldn't shiver from the discomfort.

His HUD could report the weather if he enabled it and he had various feedback modules to inform him of how the temperature would affect a human, with the rightful assumption one would be in his presence.

Yet, despite this very well known limitation of his being, Connor couldn't explain how he managed to feel so cold as he stood there in the very abandoned Haven.

He was aware that warmth could be metaphorical, symbolic of belonging and comfort. His sense of cold was both literal and figurative in this sense. Without any machines running, all the lights turned off, Haven had become very cold. The halls, once busy with androids, were now empty, and the building was silent if not for the creaking walls.

-until someone walked through the distant corridor, their quiet footsteps rattling in Connor's acute hearing module.

There was an apology on the tip of Connor's tongue when he caught the sight of Markus. However, the RK200's stare wasn't cold or untrusting. There was something undeniably regretful on his face, conveying sympathy to the fellow android.

Markus' mismatched eyes caught the sight of you over Connor's shoulder, and spared a sad expression.

The two androids had agreed to meet here, for the last time in circumstances like this, hopefully. Once the final bill was passed, and androids would be proper citizens, there would be no need for this.

However, Connor had yet to obtain a definitive lead on Reaves' accomplices. This, at the very least, could provide some security for the androids that came before him.

"I know you didn't want me to," Markus began. "But, I will tell them it's from you. They should know."

"It's... your choice," Connor replied quietly, hoping to mask the uncertainty in his tone.

The two androids took each other's wrists, pushing the fabric of their jackets out of the way to touch skin to skin. Connor knew that Markus trusted him. He took the file without even bothering to scan it first. Only once it was already saved on his local system did he bother to analyze it.

The detective android had worked on that during your recovery week, while he laid beside you in low power mode. He reviewed the log files on his internal firewall over a thousand times, and crafted additional security protocols, specifically designed around write protection. Factory defaults, if he could help it, would be near impossible.

Markus could share this new code with other androids. If Connor failed to stop it in time, at the very least, their memory modules would be protected from brute force attacks, cyberlife certified or otherwise.

As their hands parted, Connor seemed to understand why he felt so cold. He had grown accustomed to how your skin felt - how human skin felt. Even when you weren't acutely aware of it, you were always warm.

"You're one of us," Markus declared, his hand dropping to his side. "We couldn't have done this without you. Your sacrifices need to be known."

"Sacrifices," Connor parroted quietly, doubtful.

He thought about Reaves' disbelief, at how he prioritized saving your life over securing the future of his kind. He could have killed you, carried on the mission, secured all of the chips and brought the android protestors to absolute surrender.

But, he didn't.

Before you, what had he gambled, if not his own life? A life that, by the very words of his creators, didn't exist, was meaningless, just programs executed in succession. He had questioned the very existence of his own life, but so had every android before him.

Still, the determined look on Markus' face didn't falter.

"Until we meet again," he offered, nodding at his fellow android. His eyes landed on yours before he turned away, and you offered him a sad, small wave.

As Connor passed, he took his hand in yours and guided you out of the building with careful steps. It was unnecessary to bring you here, but he understood the importance of goodbyes, and didn't want you to believe your efforts here had been in vain.

You expected to be driven home after that; however, as you climbed into the car, Connor asked, "would it be alright if we went to the park for some fresh air?"

"-'course," you replied softly, shifting your gaze from the android's face to look out the window.

Connor was uncharacteristically quiet during the drive, his hands gripping the steering wheel in a death lock. You didn't pay much mind to it, figuring he was stressed after everything that had happened. You had been the one on death's door; yet, Connor was the one seemingly always on the edge of a nervous breakdown.

It was worrying; but, you knew he needed to work through it in his own way.

At the park, Connor had hoped you would head straight for the bridge, to a place you had cherished so much. If his research was accurate, this needed to be done at a special place. As he followed you slowly up the curve, feet tapping against the boards, a wave of doubt washed over him.

You looked stunning, standing upright for the first time in weeks, with pep in your step, the sun soaking up your hair. Could he really have this? Could he even think himself allowed for such a thing? Could an android truly understand the needs of a human?

"You alright?" you called out to him, pausing before you reached the apex of the bridge.

It snapped him out of his stupor, and Connor replied softly, "I'm fine."

You continued and he followed, counting the steps despite how unnecessary it was. The android knew he had never been this scared in his life. This type of sensation was really, really unpleasant. His processors were giving him ridiculous warnings that didn't pertain at all to the situation.

He shut off the alerts and met you at the top of the bridge. His hand slid over the railing, analyzed the material as a strong timber, coated with a lacquer color called 'cedar brown', manufactured by-

Connor quickly closed the analyzed results, realizing how pointless that was. He was distracting himself, busying his processor with his manufactured purpose to avoid something he was definitely not made for.

At the top of the bridge, you turned to the man standing beside you, just in time to see him deactivate his human skin. His gaze met yours, and you smiled at the sight of RK800, as he was made, without the imitation of human-likeness.

For a moment, he stood there and let the heat of the sunlight catch on his sensor processors. The human tone of his factory issued skin flickered back on briefly before shutting back off, as Connor mentally questioned if he should do it like this.

The sudden nervous expression on his face, and his flickering pallet, had you concerned. In the sunlight, you could catch the subtle flaws in the design of his optics: the faint glimmer of a camera lens hidden beneath the almost perfect human appearance.

"Are you sure you're okay?" you asked, suddenly reaching for him. Your hand fell into the curve of his elbow.

"There's-" Connor began, stopping himself when a jogger passed the bridge. He was silent until they were gone.

"There's something important I need to ask you," Connor explained, his voice quiet and hoarse. "I'm sorry for not being more forthcoming. I was afraid."

Despite the obvious implications of what that question was, your head swarmed with the worst possibilities. The detective android, who had stormed a building of armed men to rescue you, who never hesitated to take a bullet for anyone, was afraid of something?

"Connor," you murmured, his name falling from your lips without purpose. The concern, however, was heavy in your tone.

"Before I ask, you need to know that you can refuse. There is no obligation, despite what we have been through. I won't hold any negative feelings towards you. From my research, this is premature, and I apologize for that," Connor babbled.

"What?" you blurted. "Connor, what are you - what's wrong?" you insisted, pitch rising as you started to panic.

"Nothing is wrong," he replied sharply.

He stepped back, just enough to create a few inches between you. You watched him reach into his coat pocket and pull out a small box. Mind hazy with the aftermath of Reaves' attack, you feared Connor was going to present you with evidence, that the case had taken a dangerous turn, or even inform you with the worst possible news.

But, then, Connor, cupping the small box in his palm, knelt down onto one knee. He looked up at you, brown eyes bright in the sunlight, android skin white as freshly fallen slow, failing to conceal the crease in his brow as worry sank in. The box opened, but you were too focused on his face to bother looking inside.

"Will you marry me?"

You could have laughed, at yourself, really, for thinking he was going to talk to you about Reaves, about factory-resetting computer chips, and the potential downfall of androids.

Instead, you let out a choked gasp. It was pathetically wet and embarrassingly loud. It all came pouring out before you could even think to stop it. Connor's nervous expression melted into panic when you started crying hysterically.

He was shifting to stand up, an apology hot on his tongue. He could feel his processors heating up, threatening to lock up at the sight of your tear-soaked face. It had his internal processes soaring, questioning if he had misinterpreted your relationship, your feelings for him.

You flung yourself into him before he could stand up, knocking the jewelry box right out of his hand. It clattered noisily on the bridge. If Connor was human, he would have followed; but, he was sturdy and, even unprepared, managed to stay upright as you crashed into him. His knees hit the bridge and his hands cautiously cupped your back.

"Yes!" you cried out, pressing your cheek into his coat, some odd centimeters from his thirium pump.

Your arms squeezed at his back, hands clawing into the thick fabric of his coat. Connor was unmoving, stiff where you clung to him. The artificial movements he made to appear more human had ceased, and you briefly feared he had powered down.

"Yes," you declared again, softer this time, squeezing him even tighter.

Finally, his systems relented and he properly relayed to his processor what you had just said. His arms wound around your back and, for the first time in weeks, Connor hugged you tightly, as if he wasn't afraid that he might hurt you. You could feel the tightening of his fingers tugging at your blouse, the thirium pump in perfect beats inside his chassis.

"Yes," you said again.

His cheek fell against your hairline and he closed his eyes. He wanted to dig his fingers past the fabric of your clothes, to feel your skin in a hopeless attempt to interface. Even if he could only reach your body, even if your mind was out of reach, that was good enough.

"Yes," again.