lover / fighter

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“That’s probably unlikely,” was Connor’s opinion: “I only know so much about Markus’ tastes but I know that he has some.” The flicker at his temple was bright, a light blue as he moved back to his work - opposite Vin, today. A shake-up while renovation work was happening in the bullpen, and Lt Anderson was out of town.

Connor was running three different cases today, on top of standard intake, and if he did not make progress on these before tomorrow (Thursday) he’d likely not get a chance to do so again before next week.

“You’re right though,” he thought aloud, about Markus’ …. ‘hot passion’. “He’s very attractive.”

" Oof. Shots fired. How will I compare to your righteous humility? "   Vin doesn't even know what righteous humility is. In his defense, now that Connor is at his desk, he's getting back to work, splitting his attention between his computer and Connor, and charming wit has never been his forte.

The next part does make Vin want to roll his eyes a little bit, but it's all in good fun. Romance is always a little exhausting when you aren't the one in it.

Loki hadn’t exactly planned anywhere specifically, wanting to see if Vin was up for the idea before he booked anything. Plus he had wanted to see if the other had any places in mind, that way it could be even more special. 

“Well I wasn’t sure where you would like to go, whether you would like someplace warm or whether you would rather we had somewhere a little colder?” He replied with a soft smile, noticing the other’s smile too. “We could certainly throw darts at a map if you would rather it was something more spontaneous of course. But I wanted to have your say in the matter, since it is your birthday.” 

It wasn’t… what he’d expected, but Connor really hadn’t known what to expect. There’d been glimpses of it in the past, this past week in fact (they’d had to have access to it, in the ER), but – and this wa a strange thing to think – it was different in a supine position to what it was, with Vin standing. More visible, somehow. Connor’s LED span, curious blue as he tilted his head, fingers half-reaching so as to ask permission before he made contact.

It was tangible, pieces of plastic with the same hashed texture he associated with the stylings of Cyberlife technicians. Connor’s elbows had a similar rough quality to them, designed to be more flexible than the standard casing. The ridges that enclosed Vin’s heart weren’t quite the same as those around Connor’s own Thirium pump, and – Connor thought – these points of comparison were not particularly helpful, because he had really never seen anything like this before. He had been aware in theory that it existed; this was a more rudimentary version of the item he knew had been on the market.

A prototype. (His LED flashed, once.)

Detective Tserendorj’s skin was warm. “Could you… interface with it?” Vin asked, and Connor didn’t need to be asked twice: he had in fact wondered the same thing, if only in passing, and whatever was there would have been personally supervised by Vin, in its installation; it wasn’t something he was frightened might hurt him. Connor retracted his skin and reached for the tenuous connection he could make between something embedded beneath human skin, request outbound. The analogy Connor often used for humans, about this sort of thing, was that an outbound request was something like knocking at someone’s front door; the receiving side usually had to open it, to let him in.

He made the request anyway, and the request did go through (no false rebound), but… “You’d have to accept the request.” He could bypass that, technically, but it was his preference not to. “Where were you, when you got it?” Not the US, he assumed – as far as Connor knew, Vin had only moved here in the past few years, after the revolution.​

It's not terribly strange watching Connor touch the device. He's had dozens of people fiddle with the thing since it was installed, making sure it was working properly, making sure he is working properly, in tandem. He can barely feel anything on the device itself, really. It is strange the way Connor is gentle. Any doctors, engineers, have always been efficient, clinical. The hesitance in Connor's touch is unfamiliar, and makes it feel a great deal more intimate, which Vin is trying heartily to ignore. It's making him feel strangely vulnerable. Which is fine, but . . . odd.

It's stranger still to watch Connor's skin peel away - for a brief moment, Vin feels as if he should avert his gaze. Then again, he is trying to interface with a part of Vin, if only an adjacent part.

" I'm giving you my verbal consent. Does that count? "   He wouldn't make Connor do anything he didn't want to, but at the very least, he'd have to go plug himself in and get into the coding of it all to accept it technologically. He is curious - very curious -as to what Connor would find. If only just a list of coding. And a lack of trust certainly isn't a issue. He's already proven through the way this whole thing started that an android - any android, probably - could stop his heart, if they knew of it well enough. Vin is certain that Connor could shut down the entire process, likely without interfacing, and definitely much easier while interfacing. He wouldn't. The thought doesn't even move past Vin's subconscious - you don't serve on the force with someone without learning how to trust them with your life. Not if you're Vin, anyway.

" Singapore. I got the offer while I was in university. I was a - a two for one, "   Vin grins a little, wry as he looks up at Connor.   " They needed someone to experiment on and people willing to keep me under observation. I had enough skill to do both, most of the time. Cut through a lot of costs for them, and in exchange I didn't have to pay an arm and a leg for it. "

It had been the toughest thing he's ever done, but getting out through the other side had been worth it. He makes a point not to forget what it was like, before, barely able to live some days, lucky enough to walk on others. He goes for a run every morning. He can go for a run every morning. Post yet another heart attack, he feels very lucky indeed.

Connor’s LED span, warmed by the insult. ”Happy birthday.” He hadn’t got Vin a gift, because he hadn’t been sure that he celebrated it at all, and even if he had - he was a forty-two year old man. Connor wasn’t sure there really was a meaningful gift for him that came in a tangible form.

“Are you going out tonight?” this was an offer. Would Vin like some company? Connor was free tonight, and that was not by mistake.

" Thank you. "   He sounds genuinely happy, though it may be a strange place for it. But Connor remembered and took time to say happy birthday, and that's not nothing. Vin appreciates it. Moreover, offering to go out tonight.

" Not tonight. Ori's planning a thing on the weekend. Pretty sure she was gonna invite you, anyway. Escape room. Then dinner, for those who want to go. It's on Saturday. "   Furthermore, under his breath, because this is not for Connor, but a realization he'd just had -   " She's going to make me wear the stupid little hat. "   It's a tradition by now, forced on him by his loving daughter. He would burn the thing if he didn't love her so much. Perhaps the idea of a stupid little birthday hat will help convince Connor to go. He's not sure.

Jesus fuck.

The freefall of it was what caught him off-guard, mostly. Beyond anything else, the intense- the - “Um –” he –

Connor lost his balance before anything else. It (his balance) didn’t go offline, he was functioning normally, but he fell half-back, half-sideways into the edge of his desk, hand reaching blindly for a flat surface to steady himself on. This was a safe place. He was in a safe location, which startled him to notice because he had not realised he felt unsafe, except the – her voice played once and then played again, a loop of the audio stuck in his head, only it was an external source now in a tangible way which he – hated. Hated. Connor lost his footing, next, partly into the desk but mostly onto the floor, hand slipping in the loose papers he’d tried to use to support his weight, at his desk. His knees hit the floor.

The LED at his temple was a solid, unerring red, save for the occasional angry flash when he dragged in breath he remembered to take. There was a shaking in his limbs, something tangible and… predatory, in how it claimed space. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. He dragged in a breath. It did not feel like his, it didn’t feel real. His hand pressed, flat, against the solid of the floor beneath him, sharp and hard and weight-bearing but the feeling was not enough to rid the tingling or the empty or the –

Connor felt sick. That feeling, a sickened lurch that… he didn’t…

“I ca-” static, edging his voice. He couldn’t breathe.

How could Vin help? He could… it didn’t… he couldn’t breathe.

Divinity has very, very rarely seen Connor and thought - he's unstable. Not in any medical sense of the term, Connor is just . . . immovable. Calm. Reliable. He rarely falls apart. He is now.

Vin doesn't spend a moment getting caught up in it. Connor slips to the floor and Vin follows as he does, bending at the knee and holding his hands out to his sides in a non-threatening manner.

" Detective, "   Vin speaks in a low voice, purposefully calm, but it's still warm in a way, not absent of emotion. This is a man who spent a good portion of his life raising traumatized children, teaching them how to feel safe and process their emotions - he sounds like a father would, at the moment, stable and safe.   " Listen to me. Pay attention to my voice. You're safe. There's no one here who wants to hurt you. It's just me, and you, and - Emma. "   Emma's over there, too, glancing over because of the commotion of Connor falling to the floor. Vin puts a hand out, mouths 'it's okay' in her direction, but his attention immediately goes back to Connor.

“ You’re safe, Connor, I promise. Catch your breath. I know you can. Slow it down. “   Vin shifts, so he’s not squatting but kneeling, in a way that he can hop back to his feet if necessary. Not that he would have to but - habit, he supposes.

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐍𝐎𝐑   //   @detectiveconnor​

"Do you celebrate your birthday?" Connor knew. It wasn't something he'd yet brought up outright (the fact it was today), but he checked in politely when he had the chance, slipping a severed finger into the waiting evidence bag Vin held open. It belonged to an 83-year-old woman named Petunia. Petunia's finger smelt like a rotten watermelon. Connor went back to lying under the bedframe, happy to pick pieces of her out of the box-spring. If Vin did celebrate, Connor would tell him 'happy birthday'.

" You're a real interesting person sometimes, you know that? "   Timing. Very interesting. They were standing at desks with Vin drinking his morning coffee one hour ago. Two people had stopped to wish him happy birthday then. But no. Now is the time. Still, they way Vin says it is fond, even as Connor drops a - he's not sure what that is. A chunk into the bag. He hopes Petunia would be one of those types who are happy as long as other people are happy. He doesn’t want to be offensive, even if she’s dead.

Spock arched an eyebrow at the bluntness of his subordinate.   but he knows that the other will take his words to heart.    ‘to heart’ being a bit of a stretch.    vulcans by nature were not emotional creatures in the same manner that humans were.    emotions were controlled.    he did not feel any sort of emotion.    his suggestion was simply a logical one.    as dedicated as he was,   he cannot remain in the lab constantly.    humans were social creatures.

but perhaps there was a middle ground here which was logical.

❝    your shift is over and has ended 22.5 minutes ago.    you are to now engage in rest of the mind and body.    a hobby is an extension of that.   I encourage you to take this time to plan your schedule.    there will be time for you to finish this experiment later      -     unless it is something critical and time sensitive.    in that case,    finish the experiment first.    ❞

there was no need for all of his hard work to go to waste.    if it truly needed to be looked after,    Spock would allow him to remain in the lab until its completion.

oh, he's earned an eyebrow raise. He still doesn't know what the hell the eyebrow raise is supposed to express, so he has no clue how to react to it. at the very least, he tries not to let himself become overwhelmed with anxiety. that's probably the wrong reaction. (probably.)

rest of the mind and body. really, it is notable that commander spock of all people, is telling him to rest, so he should . . . yeah, he should probably do exactly as he's being told, actually.

" yes, sir, "   vin agrees. the experiment isn't time sensitive, but he does have a few things he needs to clean up before he can call it a day - petri dishes he needs to seal and put away, and the like.   " five minutes. three. "

he turns back to his experiment, then, and starts cleaning up with efficiency, though his mind is now on hobbies. he might just have to find a new one - if asked, what are your hobbies, he would say chemistry and travel. one of these has been removed and one of them is nigh impossible to do more of, therefore . . . ? maybe he should start reading more books. start a collection like the captain has. probably not. paper is too much trouble. still, he could read.

𝐋𝐎𝐊𝐈   //   @mxrvelouscreations​

"Vin, I was wondering... how would you feel about perhaps going away for a weekend break together?"

" Sounds great, "   Casually offered, but with a warm smile on his face and eyes crinkled just enough, it's pretty clear that Vin's feeling much softer about the idea than he may be presenting.  

“You move fast, Detective.” Connor complimented him one time and already they ‘used’ to just be friends - Connor doubled down on the flirt very easily, with a flash of his LED which beget mischief (and deliberate misinterpretation), “But I’m afraid I’m taken. We’ll have to stay just friends.” What a pity, said his tone of voice, but he only afforded it a the passing shame one might distractedly afford a stranger who had dropped their keys. Flirting for the sake of the flirt.

Now that one makes Vin chuckle a bit.

" That's too bad, "   Vin responds, still smiling a bit, as he finally scrolls away from the picture, seeing as Connor doesn't seem to be interested anymore.   " Let me know if that changes. I'm not at the age where I can just ignore it if hot, passionate men suddenly become single. "

He over-emphasizes the descriptors in his sarcasm as if to underline his fictious attraction, flopping back into his chair and flicking his gaze up to Connor with a sharp grin.

"That's you?" With short hair? Connor looked at the photo for a while longer, because Vin had not scrolled away from it. His LED cycled, blue. Connor leant in to rest on Vin's shoulder (peering at his screen), closer to Detective Tserendorj for the sake of delivering the line, falsely thoughtful:  "You used to be attractive."

" Captain! "   It's half-shouted across the bar - one man throws another straight past Vin and into a table. Vin simply side-steps. They're supposed to weigh anchor in an hour, and captain's having a bar fight. The movement is too quick around him for Vin to see his face and be able to tell whether he's having fun or if he wants out of it.

Vin ends up carefully dodging fighting bodies and overturned furniture to get closer to Blackbeard.

" Hey, we're supposed to - oh shit - "   He gets interrupted by someone coming at him with a knife, spins around him and kicks him in the back of the knee, sending him to the floor, dodges behind a pillar as the guy pulls out a gun to shoot at Vin from the floor. Jesus. Kinda bad form, that.