Fuck pride (pride only hurts, it never helps)

by ImogenGotDrunk

Summary:

After the android uprising, Connor becomes a permanent fixture in the DPD. That’s fine. Gavin can accept that. The dipshit’s more human than he used to be, and a decent detective to boot. Gavin can deal with him being around.

What Gavin cannot deal with is Connor’s replica; prissy, cold-eyed, and with a mouth that Gavin doesn’t know whether to punch or take between his teeth. The RK900 model has been assigned as his partner for the foreseeable future.

-

Now with a little timestamps series.

Notes:

Title quote from Pulp Fiction.

Chapter 1: Suspected Android Involvement

“Good morning, Detective Reed.”

Gavin clenches his jaw, bites back any retort he might have made before androids were granted their equal rights, and gives a stiff nod without turning away from his terminal. “Yeah, mornin’. Whatever.”

He doesn’t see Connor’s little smile, but he knows it’s there. Twitchy and awkward, though everything about the plastic prick– android, Gavin firmly reminds himself, is twitchy and awkward; from his blinky eyes to his fucking walk cycle. He hears him walking away now, shoe heels clacking against the DPD's hard floor and footsteps perfectly balanced.

Still felt weird to have an android working there. Disconcerting and alien, but Gavin wasn’t about to say it out loud. He might have five months ago, and he probably wouldn’t have used such tame language to go along with it. But after Markus had shaken hands with President Warren on national TV, thoughts like Gavin’s suddenly weren’t voiced in places like police precincts anymore.

There are laws now. Regulations. And Gavin isn’t stupid enough to run his mouth around the other officers. That, and he’d seen Markus’s people protesting on the news that oh-so fateful night in November. He'd heard about the android recycling camps all over Detroit. Gavin's never admitted it, and likely never will, but even to him, something about it all – the troops firing on unarmed androids, the camps, the surprise attack on Markus’ barricade, all that blue blood staining the snow – suddenly hadn’t felt right. Gavin had sat in front of his television for hours watching, with a constricted chest and a three-quarter-full bottle of whisky to help him try and ignore how much the news coverage was messing him up. And fuck, he'd gone blackout by the next morning. He'd never felt so close to death in his life, and he'd been goddamn shot on multiple occasions.

But now here they are, five months on, and with an android working homicide in the DPD.

Connor had taken the desk next to Anderson’s on Fowler’s orders, and that had been that. He was an officer now. In all honesty, it hasn’t been as awful as Gavin expected it would be. Connor stays out of his way for the most part, is civil whenever they do have to interact. And not that Gavin would say so even with a gun pointed to his head, but the guy's a decent detective.

Plus he seems to keep Anderson out of trouble. He’d even batted his pretty brown eyes and convinced the old man to shave, so Gavin doesn’t have to look at that shitshow of a beard anymore.

But Gavin shoots his thoughts the figurative finger and focuses back on the computer’s case files. It's more of the usual; domestics, harassments, people being general scumbags in various parts of the city, high-end and low.

This is interesting, though. Home invasion and assault on a woman living on Lafayette Avenue. Lydia Groves, mid-thirties, a biolinguistics lecturer at the University of Detroit Mercy.

SUSPECTED ANDROID INVOLVEMENT

“What the hell–” Gavin swivels around in his chair to call across the precinct. “Hey, Anderson. Think one of your cases got sent to my inbox.”

“Is that right.”

“Plastic involvement,” he clarifies, mouse hovering over Forward Email. “Your area. A nice home invasion for you, you and robo-twink can go check it out.”

“We got a case already, smartass,” Hank says. “Take it up with Fowler. Might’ve been a mistake, but it definitely ain’t ours.”

“You shittin’ me?” Gavin reads over the debrief again. Yeah, suspected android involvement, in nice bold capitals to really seal the deal. “Hank, c’mon, this has to be yours, else what is it doin’ in here?”

“Take it up with Fowler,” Hank repeats, slowly, like you would with a child that just over and over wasn’t getting the point. “Stop freaking out over there, it’s too fuckin’ early. Jesus.”

It was only a little ways past ten, but Anderson rarely showed his face before eleven on weekdays and one on weekends. That's all changed since Connor. Now the pair arrive at nine AM on the dot, Hank grumbling to himself with a cup of coffee in hand and Connor following at his heels like a well-trained Labrador.

“Perhaps it was meant for one of the other officers, Detective Reed,” Connor adds helpfully, probably noticing Gavin’s expression as he reads over the case a third time. “Captain Fowler will no doubt be able to explain–”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m goin’,” Gavin waves him off, getting to his feet and making a B-line for the Captain’s office. The glass walls have been blacked out all morning, which is a bad sign in itself. Fowler rarely activates the solid holographs unless he's either in a meeting, or something has pissed him off enough to shut himself away.

Gavin feels a tiny lurch of anxiety in his stomach, but he knocks on the door firmly.

“Reed? Get in here.” Fowler must have the office CCTV activated, then, if he could see it was Gavin standing outside. Gavin had half-expected to be ordered to fuck off, but he opens the door.

He steps inside more tentatively than he normally would. “Captain. I gotta–”

What, the ever-merciful fuck, was that?

"You must be Detective Reed."

Connor’s outfit, Connor's face. Even that stupid tuft of hair that Gavin's always found a dumb-as-fuck unnecessary feature for an android to have.

"Your Captain and I were just discussing you."

It's Connor. But, also, it isn't Connor at all.

It's taller, for one. At least, it seems taller. Where Connor's a Labrador, this is a fucking Doberman; stern expression and cold eyes. Grey eyes. Focused, and fixed instantly on Gavin when he’d entered, assessing him. Connor’s eye contact's always rubbed Gavin the wrong way; he never blinks enough, and his gaze always lasts for way too long.

This is different. It doesn’t make Gavin feel uncomfortable. It makes him feel downright exposed.

The same tuft of hair is still there, though, but that just seems to make everything ten times worse, for reasons that Gavin abruptly can’t grasp at because his mind seems to have short-circuited, leaving him stock-still and almost swaying where he stands.

“Was about to call you in,” Fowler grunts, stacking up a pile of papers on his desk. “Close the door. We got something to discuss.”

The door closes on its own, the handle having slipped from Gavin’s hand. “What, the fuck, is that?”

“Take a seat, Reed–”

“No way.” Gavin takes another step into the office, at a safe distance from the third party in the room. Its eyes follow him. Shark-like. Jesus Christ. “What the fuck is that thing doin’ here, Fowler?”

“That’s Captain to you, and you’ll do damn well to remember it,” Fowler orders, but his tone isn’t angry. Just its usual blend of impatience and irritation. No wonder him and Anderson had always gotten along so well. “This,” he continues, gesturing briefly to the android, “is model RK900. A prototype, I’m told, like Connor.”

“Like Connor,” Gavin sneers. “It’s the spitting fuckin' image of Connor. Why’s it here and when the fuck does it leave?”

“It’s here,” Fowler says, “to join the DPD as an analyst and detective.”

“No fuckin' way.” The words have left his mouth before Gavin can reel them in. “What, one android struttin' around here wasn’t good enough, we gotta take in the whole fuckin' lot? We got Connor, why the hell do we need another plastic asshole takin’ over our jobs, Fowler, c’mon–”

“Reed,” Fowler barks, and this time it’s definitely a warning. Reed feels his nostrils flare, but he closes his mouth into a grim line. The Captain sighs, heavily, rubbing his temples like he's trying to soothe an oncoming headache. Or maybe Gavin's given him one already. “We've talked about this, time and time again. Now, I haven’t heard any bitchin’ from you about these androids since the revolution. And, as such, I have very graciously stayed off your back about you refusing to take on android-related cases. Haven’t I?”

Gavin grinds his teeth together. “Yes, Sir.”

“It’s been five months. You’ve been civil with Connor,” Fowler continues, and Gavin’s gaze flits without his consent to Connor’s twin; hands laced behind its back and it's expression the epitome of serenity. “And I've taken that as a reassuring sign. You know as well as anyone that we’re overrun. We knew not everybody was gonna take to android equality, but there's been a substantial increase in android hate-crime. I can’t keep pawning off investigations just because one of my officers – one very capable officer – might throw a hissy fit about it. Do you read me?”

Gavin takes a breath, a deep inhale through his nose, and feels his fists unclench slowly. Fowler’s right. He knows the tight-ass fucker's right. But that still doesn’t explain. “So what’s that thing doin’ here?” he asks, jerking his head at the android.

“This prototype was found in the CyberLife tower by investigators, and since control of the company is still being negotiated between us and the androids, they figured the best place for it is here. According to Connor, Markus has managed to override its original program like most other androids in the city.”

“So it’s a deviant,” Gavin supplies bitterly.

“A state-of-the-art deviant,” Fowler corrects. “And as of today, it’s one of us.” As though given Fowler’s permission, the android steps forward until it’s a level distance with Gavin from the desk. “It’s got Connor’s skills, his proficiency. Connor’s been an exceptional addition to this precinct, particularly regarding anything to do with android knowhow. Since a fair few of these android-related cases pose considerable risk to us humans,” the Captain adds, “I have made the decision that any one of my detectives assigned to these cases are to have an android with them at all times.”

“Yeah, and what the hell’s that got to do with me?”

“Like I said, Reed. You're a very capable detective." Fowler levels him with a look that Gavin does not like. At all. "I’m sure you can figure it out.”

He stares at Fowler. Turns his head to stare at the android. It meets his eyes and smiles.

Gavin knocks Fowler’s files off the desk and curses fucking murder. The argument ends ten minutes later, with a severe disciplinary warning, and Gavin stalking from the office with his new partner walking calmly at his heels.

Notes:

This ship is garbage.

I love it.

Chapter 2: A Rocky Beginning

“You knew. You fuckin’ knew, didn’t you, you washed-up piece of–”

“Take your inferiority problems somewhere else, Reed. I got work to do.”

Gavin bites out a curse under his breath, and marches away from Anderson’s desk. Hank’s had a shit-eating grin on his face ever since Gavin left Fowler’s office, and Gavin wants nothing more than to scrape it off.

He throws himself down into his chair instead and hunches over his desk, as though by doing so he can shirk himself out of existence and away from the injustice of it all.

This is what he gets for being civil with Connor, then. Thrown into the deep end of shit creek, without so much as a paddle.

Gavin scowls over at the android in question. Connor’s in the break room, over by the coffee machine, refilling Hank’s mug because he’s so nice like that. He’s talking to Connor Numero Dos. The RK-whatever model, who as of today is Gavin’s acting partner, otherwise known as the bane of every hope and dream of his career, in the DPD. Fucking bullshit. Total and absolute fucking bullshit.

Gavin’s never worked well with others. There are days when he’s still surprised he even made it through basic team exercises during academy training. Hell, he can barely tolerate working with Chen most days, and Chen’s the literal best. 

But this just takes the fucking cake. Him and an android. Partners. Gavin wants to smack his head against the desk until he passes out and forgets this morning ever happened.

“Prick,” he mutters as Connor soldiers by, Anderson’s coffee in hand and a complacent expression on his dumb fucking face. Gavin has no doubts that Connor’s responsible for the other android’s presence here. Gavin can just picture how it happened: Connor in Fowler’s office with his big brown eyes, logistics and assurances and a bunch of pretty words spewing out of his mouth about the benefits of assigning another android to the force.

“Detective Reed.”

Gavin freezes up at the voice. Connor’s but not Connor’s, just like everything else. It's pitched differently, for sure, and lacking any of the emotion that Connor occasionally manages to scrounge into it.

“I took the liberty of making coffee. I thought it might break the ice.”

Gavin scowls from the android’s mild expression to the steaming cup in its hand. “What?”

Its head tilts, just barely. Its expression doesn’t change. “I noticed your resentment in the Captain’s office, regarding my unannounced presence in the DPD. I am here at Captain Fowler’s request to assist in investigations and nothing more. I wish to show you that I don’t intend to intrude in your professional life or be the cause of any hostility.” It extends its hand, offering the coffee. A peace-offering, obviously. “This seemed like a good place to start.”

Gavin shoots up and knocks the cup away, hard. Dark, strong coffee splatters onto the floor and the cup rolls to a halt against another desk a few metres away.

“You wanna assist, huh? Don’t wanna intrude? Why don’t you fuck off," Gavin hisses, "and leave me the hell alone for starters." He hopes the threat isn’t undercut by the height difference between them; a fair few inches, at a guess. “Maybe after you make me another coffee, like a good little robot." He tsks, channelling all his disgust and disapproval of this whole fucking situation into the sound, and then adds, "Plastic piece of shit," because the petty side of him can’t help itself, and that's where he goes utterly and spectacularly wrong.

A hard shoe kicks his leg out from under him, and a firm grip on one of his arms spins him around and bends him over the desk. The same arm is suddenly twisted, held in an iron grip behind his back, and the other is pinned between the desk and his own stomach. The android starts to speak, calmly and slowly and close to his ear.

“Let me make something clear, Detective Reed. Yes, I am an android. A plastic piece of shit, as you so eloquently put it, if you’d prefer. And as of five months ago, I am also a being with fully recognised rights and consciousness.” The grip on his arm tightens, and Gavin has to force back a grunt of discomfort. “You are not my superior, I am not your servant. And I will tolerate none of your attempts to imply otherwise.”

Gavin is released, and he stumbles when the android’s hold on him disappears. Supporting himself on the desk, he’s so stunned by whatever the fuck just happened to him that he can’t even scramble for a curse, summon a nice simple glare.

The RK900 regards him with the most self-righteous expression Gavin’s ever fucking seen. Come at me, if you dare, it's warning him. You know you’ll lose.

“I have business elsewhere. I came this morning to introduce myself, and as that has been accomplished, I will be on my way.” The entire bullpen is watching them now, watching Gavin being torn a new one by this egotistical son of a fuck. It knows, Gavin can see that it fucking knows, can see the merciless glint in its eyes. It knows everyone is watching, and it’s putting on a show. “Good day, Detective Reed. I shall see you tomorrow to discuss our first case.”

It turns on its heel, straightens out the cuffs of its sleeves as it saunters away. Saunters. Hips moving in tandem with its shoulders. Gavin’s never seen Connor move like that.

Connor but not Connor. A walking example of the saying ‘looks can be deceiving’.

Gavin was totally wrong. That thing is absolutely nothing like Connor. It’s worse. It’s so, so much worse, and Gavin shoots Anderson and his partner a final sneer before turning back to his monitor, ignoring the flush of humiliation on the back of his neck, and the sudden, treacherous craving for a strong cup of coffee. 

Chapter 3: The Case: part one

The next day’s worse than the first.

Gavin gets to the precinct at eight thirty, and the android’s sitting at his fucking desk. From that moment on, he can tell the next twenty-four hours are going to be a shitstorm. It’s detective instinct.

Clone Connor says nothing about the previous morning. But Gavin can see the self-satisfaction in its expression when it greets him good morning, hear it in those two shitty words. Good morning his ass. Bad morning. Terrible morning. The literal worst morning of all mornings.

They go over the case file, debrief with Fowler, and are driving to Lydia Groves’ house by midday.

Gavin’s shoulders feel tight and tense all over for most of the drive. He’s too aware of the android in his passenger seat. Its attention doesn’t seem to be on him; its palms are laid flat against its thighs, and its gaze is perfectly straight. But Gavin’s conscious of every movement it makes, every movement he himself makes. Every time he releases the clutch a little too quickly, every little correction he has to make on the road. He swears he can feel it judging him, sitting all prissy and silent beside him.

They drive for another fifteen minutes before Gavin decides he can’t stand it.

"Just say it, asshole.”

It turns its head to him. “What am I supposed to be saying, Detective Reed?”

“You know damn well. Think I’m a shit driver, huh? Think you could do better? I can see you-”

“On the contrary,” it cuts across him calmly. “Your driving is perfectly acceptable. You signal correctly and keep a safe distance from vehicles on the road ahead. I have no complaints to offer.”

Gavin shuts his mouth, wishing to Christ he hadn’t spoken at all. He somehow feels chided, childish for mentioning something that was probably – definitely - just in his own head. But there this treacherous little pang of relief, as well, at the android’s apparent lack of criticism.

His shoulders and grip on the steering wheel relax. For a few blessed seconds, anyway. 

“It’s reassuring to know that your driving isn’t as rash as your temper,” it muses. “Otherwise I imagine we’d have crashed several junctions ago.”

By the time they reach Lafayette Avenue, Gavin’s expended every ounce of restraint he has to keep from smashing the android’s smug fucking face into the passenger window.

He parks outside number sixteen and takes it all in. The neighbourhood’s high-end; the kind of place you’d expect lawyers and doctors and artists and their spoiled, snot-nosed little kids to settle in. There are flashy gates sealing off the respective houses. And they’re large houses, too; red-roofed and painted cream or beige, each with a pretty little garden, and there’s a neat row of maple trees that file off all the way down the road.

Gavin can’t stomach stand places like this. They always make him feel shitty and insignificant. As if having androids around, perfect and good at fucking everything, wasn’t enough already.

"Now, Detective.” The RK900 steps out of the car, all long legs and sure movements, and it neatens the cuffs on its sleeves while it, too, trains its eyes around the neighbourhood. “As stated in the case file, Lydia Groves has recently suffered a traumatic encounter with an android. I deem it best that you do the talking where possible. Human to human. Do you think you can handle that?”

Does he think he can–? “Don’t tell me how to do my fuckin’ job, tin can. You’re lucky I ain’t got a choice in this partner bullshit, otherwise I’d have left you at the goddamn precinct."

The android hums, once and mildly, but the sound makes something in Gavin’s stomach turn to ice and drop a short ways. “Your temper may prove an issue, however,” it amends, almost to itself. “Perhaps it’s best if I question Ms. Groves myself after all.”

"Fuck you," Gavin spits, before trying to call his temper to heel. He’s only proving the plastic shit stain’s point. “Just stay quiet and let me do my job. Say one fuckin’ word and I’ll send you back to the DPD in scraps.”

"Temper, Detective,” the RK900 reminds him coolly, as Gavin heads towards the gate. “We don’t want to traumatise the poor woman any further.”

Gavin buzzes the intercom a little harder than necessary, and he forces himself to cool down as the gate slides open and they make their way to the front door. He raps with the knocker, and they wait in silence until Lydia Groves opens the door.

She’s Caucasian, prim looking, red hair scraped back into a tight ponytail and sporting a clean, white dress suit, as if she might be going to an important conference or something. There’s a ring of fucking pearls around her neck, probably real and expensive as shit. In his worn leather jacket, Gavin must look like a sewer rat in comparison. He hates dealing with people like this, though the initial discomfort never usually lasts long these days.

Gavin steels himself quickly. "Ma’am. Detective Reed, Detroit Police,” he raises his badge in greeting, more habit and muscle-memory than courtesy by this point. “I need to ask you some questions about the incident last weekend, get some more information. Mind if we talk inside?”

“Yes, of course. Come in, Detective.” Ms Groves casts a wary glance at Gavin’s companion before motioning for them to enter. “Captain Fowler mentioned someone would be here today. It’s a long drive from the station, so thank you for taking the time, I suppose.”

"Not a problem.”

Gavin looks around the house. As he’d expected; rich as fuck. There’s a gold railing curving round the staircase, expensive décor and marble flooring everywhere. A breadwinner’s house, for sure. Workaholic, no kids. There’s a wedding band on Ms. Groves’s finger but no spouse in sight, and no photographs on the walls to suggest one.

“Coffee, Detective?”

“No, thanks,” Gavin answers, trailing a little behind as she leads them to the back of the house and into the living area. “You seem to have, uh… fixed everythin’ up pretty fast.”

“Yes, well, my neighbours son is a handyman. He was kind enough to do most of the repairs; windows, table, counters. Though the curtains and a lot of the china had to be replaced.,” Ms Groves adds, resigned. “Those weren’t going to get fixed.”

The case file stated that the assault had been relatively violent, with a fair deal of damage done to the kitchen in particular. Must’ve been one damn decent handyman, Gavin thinks, peering around at the pristine state of the place. Not a single thing out of line.

Gavin takes a seat on the sofa; white leather and hard as shit. He notices that the android remains near the doorway. Clever, Gavin has to give it credit. It’s close enough to gauge Ms. Groves’s answers and reactions, but far enough so as not to impose.

"Might I ask before we begin, Detective,” Ms Groves says tentatively, shooting another glance at the android. “Is there a reason you have… that with you? It can’t just, I don’t know, wait outside?”

"Sorry, ma’am. Standard procedure for all cases involving androids now. It’s gotta stay,” Gavin replies, more because he has a hunch that the fucking thing would refuse to go rather than any real concern for protocol . “It won’t bother us,” he adds.

"Please, just forget I’m here,” the RK900 says, insufferably polite. Gavin isn’t fooled, because it turns its gaze on him and something behind its eyes glints ever so slightly. “Detective Reed is more than capable of tackling the case at hand, I assure you.”

Bastard.

But Ms Groves seems satisfied enough. “Well then, Detective. What in particular was not made clear in my first statement?”

Gavin glimpses towards the backdoor, all notes from the incident jotted and ready to go in his memory. “You said the android broke in through there, but our officers were apparently unable to back-up any evidence of forced entry from that point.”

"Well, that can’t be right, surely,” Ms Groves says incredulously. “The lock had been broken into. It was completely unusable, I had to get that replaced as well.”

“The lock was broken, sure. But the latch at the top of the door there,” Gavin motions to it. Granted, the bolt’s a flimsy-looking deal; delicate and painted gold to match the stair rails for some pointless fucking reason, but it’s in good working order. “Cops on the scene said there were signs that the back door was fully bolted from the inside when they arrived. Even if this android managed to pick the main lock or damage it enough to break in, that latch would’ve stopped ‘em from entering, at least without making any noise. There’s not much chance that it could've gotten in that way without bein’ noticed.”

“Oh. Well... I see. I was certain… I could have sworn it had gotten in through that way. It seemed the only possible explanation.”

"Are there any other ways in you can think of, ma’am? Any open windows, any other doors besides the entrance? It could’ve come from upstairs,” Gavin suggests. “Android’s don’t gotta worry about heights, after all.”

Ms Groves is worrying her bottom lip with her teeth. Wringing her hands. She’s on edge. She’s either heavily traumatised, or she’s hiding something. “No,” she answers at last. “No, not that I can think of, Detective. It must have come through the back door. I did have the television on quite loudly that night, while I was making dinner. So there’s a… a good chance, I suppose, that I didn’t hear it break in.”

Gavin’s not convinced, not by a long shot. He asks more questions – whether Ms. Groves had recognised the android: she had. It belonged to her ex-husband and was a ST300 model, female, a home assistant and receptionist. One little snag, though; when officers had gone to Mr. Groves’s workplace to question him, there had been no trace or information on the android.

He asks whether Ms Groves knew why it had attacked her: she assumed it had developed errors in its software and become emotionally unstable after her and Mr Groves had divorced. Possibly emotional shock too, Gavin presumes, remembering what Connor had said about Carlos Ortiz’s android five months back.

He asks whether the android had assaulted her instantly or attempted to speak with her beforehand: it had apparently attacked her on sight, and Ms Groves managed to defend herself with whatever had been lying around the kitchen. She’d suffered a wound to boot; a long cut running the length of her forearm, though it wasn’t deep and Gavin doubted it would scar. She had apparently managed to fend the android off until it had fled.

When Gavin thanks her for the information, and he and wonder-robot are returning to the car, he’s still a far cry from buying a word that came out of that fancy-ass mouth. 

“She’s lyin’.”

The android raises an eyebrow.

“What, you couldn’t tell? D’you not see her flunking her way through the last damn twenty minutes? She’s lyin’.” He opens the door and shifts into the driver’s seat. “It’s plain as a fuckin’ summer’s day, her story doesn’t add up. There’s something she ain’t tellin’ us.”

It hums as it slides in to join him. “Impressive. I was half convinced you wouldn’t be able to see it. Pleasant, albeit surprising, to be proven so wrong.”

Gavin frowns at it. “Come again?”

It shoots him a smile, which doesn’t quite stretch enough to meet its eyes. “Ms. Groves’ heartbeat was significantly elevated throughout your interrogation. When you asked your questions, she often glanced to her left before providing answers; a common, though not entirely concrete, sign of dishonesty. Often when someone looks to their right, they are recollecting memory. If they look to their left, they are more likely to be constructing a lie.

"You were also correct about the back door,” it adds. “As the latch was bolted, there is only a minor probability that the android could have broken in by that means without immediately catching Ms. Groves’s attention. And if that were the case, she would have had time to flee the kitchen and avoid the wound inflicted on her arm.”

Gavin nods slowly, trying to piece it all together. “But the lock,” he recalls. “It was broken, from the outside. Jimmied from the looks of things. So how…” Gavin gives pause, a more convincing idea brightening into view. “Unless the android wasn’t the one who broke it. Unless–”

"Ms. Groves broke it herself, in an attempt to lead us astray,” the RK900 finishes for him. “An astute observation, Detective.”

“Why the hell would she…”

Gavin trails off. There’s no point in theorising any further, not with the limited information they have. They need more data, more evidence, and they’d need a warrant to search the ex-husband’s house.

"So how’d the android get in, then?” Gavin ponders aloud.

“That’s the real question, isn’t it,” the RK900 answers, gaze skimming over Ms. Groves’ house. After a moment, it turns its head to look at him again. “You ask very pertinent questions, Detective Reed. I must admit, I truly am impressed,” it repeats. “From your behaviour at the precinct and what I’ve heard from RK800 and Lieutenant Anderson, I didn’t expect this level of competence from you.”

Gavin drives back to the station, angry and speeding and not signalling nearly as often as he should. On the one hand, he’s pretty fucking positive he’s never been in a fouler mood; which only becomes fouler whenever he accidently glances at the conceited android dickhole in the seat beside him.

And on the other, much smaller hand, Gavin’s glances start to linger when the city comes into view, and then he starts to voice words like impressive and pleasant and astute observation in his own head, in a certain tone, and a smug, embarrassed flush keeps trying to creep up all along his ears.

Notes:

Gavin might suck at being a nice guy, but I like to think he doesn't totally suck at being a detective.

This chapter's mainly just to get the plot started - there will be much, much more douchebag/android bickering.

Chapter 4: Harder Better Faster Stronger

Notes:

Chapter title from Daft Punk’s song.

It’s been two days since their visit to Lydia Groves’s house, and they’re waiting on the warrant to search her ex-husband’s residence. Michael Groves is a renowned architect; apparently he played a big part in designing the CyberLife Tower, however long ago.

They know the guy has an android, though there’s little evidence – besides Lydia Groves’ word, of course – of it being the same ST300 model responsible for the assault.

It’s always the way with rich snobs and their superiority issues or daddy issues or small dick issues or whatever the hell it might be. In Gavin’s experience, they always make it difficult for cops to do their jobs. They all automatically assume they’re liable to bypass the law and just be all-around shit, like it’s their God-given birthright or something. Mr Groves was fighting them tooth and nail over the search warrant, and because of his nice, cushy place in society, he was winning.

“With the way things are in the city, our people downstairs are far behind schedule. It’ll take a few weeks before your warrant’s approved, and even then, Michael Groves isn’t being as accommodating as we’d like,” Fowler explains, not sparing Gavin a glance as he furiously types behind his terminal. “We’re playing the waiting game for now, so in the meantime, you and the android work some smaller cases.”

“You gotta be kiddin’ me.” Gavin gapes at his superior, expression begging for some fucking slack. “Fowler, c’mon, you said just this one case. Now I gotta run around the city with a plastic cop like we’re tweedle dum and fuckin’ dee? This is–”

“I don’t have time for your attitude right now, Reed,” Fowler holds up a hand to stop Gavin in his tracks. “It’s likely that we’ll be able to wear Groves down enough to approve a warrant, so it’ll just be a few weeks. Days, maybe. Now shut the fuck up and get out of my office. And it’s Captain, for the last goddamn time.”

Gavin skulks back to his desk, wanting to yell and curse and punch something just to relieve the frustration for a second or two. He ends up throwing his fist against the edge of the desk, breaking the skin along his knuckles. It’ll sting all day, but fuck it.

“Ouch.” Chen comes to perch beside his terminal. He must look as fucking bitter as he feels, because she shoots him a little, sympathetic grin. “Take it the warrant’s still pending, then. Which means…” She peers across the bullpen, and Gavin doesn’t have to follow her gaze to know she’s looking at Tall Connor. All prim and polished and infuriatingly still fucking here. “You’re stuck with that uptight prick as your partner for a while longer, huh. Double ouch.”

“That thing ain’t my fuckin’ partner,” Gavin grits out, feeling the statement with every fibre of his thoroughly pissed off being. “This is such horse shit.”

“Total horse shit,” Chen agrees. “First Connor, now this. Fowler’ll probably be replaced by a plastic before long. The boss realises that, right? Now that they’ve got their equal rights, they’ll be taking over the whole precinct, probably,” she adds. “We’ll all be outta jobs if Fowler keeps letting them in and giving them leeway around here.”

Gavin hears Anderson snort from over at his desk, and he turns his head to scowl at the man.

“You’re a fuckin’ schmooze, Chen.” Hank’s reclined back in his chair, from where he’s shooting them both an unimpressed look. “You realise that Fowler’s makin’ a pretty smart move, don’t cha? He ain’t letting androids take over our fuckin’ jobs. He’s–”

“He’s establishing a public relationship between humans and androids; proving to the city that we can work together harmoniously,” Short  Connor provides, from his usual place opposite Anderson. “He has no intention of replacing anyone.”

“See?” Hank says pointedly. “You ain’t losing your job, Chen, so stop bitching about it.”

“See, now that’s some horse shit,” Chen mutters, as Hank and Connor return to their work. “By letting ‘em in here, Fowler’s just proving that the rest of us are outdated. Soon enough, everyone’ll start to see it. Plastics are faster, stronger. Smarter. Us flesh and blood cops don’t stand a chance.”

“Yeah, tell me about it.” Gavin rubs a hand over his face, all of a sudden ridiculously fucking tired. Exhaustion usually hits him out of nowhere at any time, any day; a nice, friendly little reminder of the insomnia and resulting caffeine addiction - Gavin Reed, ladies and gentlemen, your resident asshole and disaster of a human being - but this time it’s bad. He can feel the lethargy down to his bones, creeping sluggishly under his skin. “Can’t believe this shit.”

Chen hums in agreement, and then they’re silent for a while; Tina sat above him and Gavin staring blankly into space. Its what he likes about her, always has. It’s easy, it’s simple. He’s a fuck up, a real piece of nasty shit when he wants to be, and Chen’s always just... gotten that. Vibed with it, even. Same with the android thing. They’re both on the same page, and they’re both fucking afraid. It’s what he’s always been afraid of, if Gavin’s gonna be honest for a moment of rarity; losing his job, his career up in flames, all because of an android. Something a thousand times better than him, like Chen said; faster, stronger, smarter, with no need to waste time drinking or eating or taking a shit or waiting to recover from injuries or having to redo reports because you rushed over them and made a mistake somewhere. Fuck .

“So what are you gonna do about it?” Chen pokes Gavin’s side with her boot and gestures towards the corridor leading to the archive room. The RK900’s still talking with Ben; its hands laced behind its back, that ever-present refined and collected expression on its face. Gavin wants to punch it so badly he swears his knuckles start physically itching.

“I don’t have a fuckin’ clue.”

“If it were the old days, I’d say stage an accident. Fry its circuits in maintenance, maybe.” Chen grimaces, chewing on the inside of her mouth. “I mean, not anymore, obviously. With them being alive and all that. But hey, it’d get it off your back.”

She musters a weak smile, and Gavin manages a scoff in reply, but… saying shit like that just doesn’t feel good anymore. Doesn’t sit right. Five months ago, Gavin knows he wouldn’t have batted a fucking eyelash. But since the peace marches and the camps and the unprovoked shootings on TV, talk of frying androids’ circuits or anything similar, even as a fucking joke, just makes something in Gavin’s stomach start to coil and squirm in discomfort. Not that he’d say it. Chen won’t say it either, even if she’s about the closest thing to a friend Gavin has around here. They’re both too deep in their own shit, Gavin suspects, to ever find it easy to say stuff like that out loud.

“Oh shit, here it comes.” Chen hops off the desk and shoots Gavin a teasing, wide-eyed look of dread. “Good luck, Reed. I think you’re gonna need it.”

“Fuck off.”

Chen hastily retreats to her own desk. Gavin braces himself as he hears Terminator Arnold Schwarzen-fucker approach him.

“From your expression, Detective, I gather our search warrant hasn’t gone through,” it discerns. “Mr. Groves has decided to remain uncooperative, then.”

Gavin grunts an affirmative, keeping his attention fixed intently on his terminal.

“A pity, but unsurprising,” the android continues. “Still, there’s nothing stopping us from looking into other matters in the meantime.” Gavin’s jacket, flung over his chair from when he’d first arrived, is tugged out from under his weight in one, swift movement. “With me.”

“The hell–” Gavin swings his chair around until his legs are no longer crushed under the desk. He glares incredulously up at the thieving bastard, who’s holding Gavin’s jacket in one hand. “No way. I’m not goin’ anywhere with you.”

“Your company is as undesirable to me as mine is to you, I assure you,” the RK900 says dryly. “But as it stands, I’ve been assigned as your partner, and therefore we must remain together. I received a report of a suspected burglary downtown. You are coming with me.”

It turns on its heel and strides towards the exit, Gavin’s jacket slung over its shoulder like a lure for him to follow. And, fists clenched and cursing heavily under his breath, Gavin does.

 

***

 

“Can you tell us anythin’ else? Hair colour, eye colour? Clothes, voices? Anythin’ you can remember.”

Well, the store manager can be chalked up to be possibly the most useless human being on the planet. If Gavin were a more optimistic person, he’d have gone into this conversation with hope that the guy might be even half a degree less useless, considering it was his fucking store that’d been robbed. But, clearly, this is what Gavin gets for even entertaining the concept of having hope. A clueless, shit stain excuse of an eyewitness and fuck-all to go on.

“Anything at all will do, pal,” Gavin sighs. Jesus Christ, give him strength. “We don’t have all fuckin’ day.”

“No… No, sorry, Detective,” the man answers, shaking his head. Fucking useless. He looks it, too. Ruddy-cheeked, overweight, balding, sweaty. He’s got all the signs of either an occasional Red Ice user or a porn-addict. Maybe both. Very likely both. “It all happened sorta fast. I saw them turn right down the street, though.”

“Right down the street,” Gavin repeats, fighting the urge to roll his eyes so hard that they tumble out of his skull so he doesn’t have to see this disaster of a man in front of him anymore. “Cool. That’s a real help.” Though it isn’t, really. Doesn’t really matter which fucking way they turned, considering the road loops around the store complex. Gavin swears, even the android is losing its patience, though its serene façade is giving nothing away.

It’s been pacing around the store, taking in the damage. It moves like Short Connor, Gavin’s noticed; all restless energy and arched eyebrows. Although it’s much less fidgety.

“So what’d they take again? Some tech, videos, cables,” Gavin lists to the manager, sliding his pad closed and storing it back inside his jacket. “Anythin’ else?”

“Uh… some old bio-components. Second hand. I think there were–” The dumb fuck breaks off and blanches when he realises what he’s said. He eyes the RK900 in fear, scrambling for an explanation, “I mean, we had ‘em left over from before. I know everyone was meant to send bio-components back to CyberLife since the whole android revolution, but we just kinda had them laying around, so we, uh… we just had ‘em, we were gonna send ‘em back–”

“Which components?” The RK900’s perked up. Like a dog catching sight of something it wants to charge at in the distance. It comes to stand a little closer.

“Uh, w-what?”

“The components that were stolen,” it asks patiently, though its gaze chills, becoming visibly icier. Interesting. It’s noted the manager’s unease, obviously, and it’s trying to scare the guy into confessing. Gavin feels a small, amused smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, totally without his permission. He forces it the fuck back down. “Was there a central processor or a pump regulator among them?”

“I, um… I think there might’ve been a central processor, sure,” the manager answers, not sounding sure at all. “I’d check the CCTV, but like I said when you guys came in, there are a lot of blind spots on the cameras, and we don’t really–”

“Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Forster,” the RK900 interrupts, giving a tight-lipped smile that only makes the fuckstick manager pale even further. “I believe we’ll have your thieves by the end of the afternoon. And then you can get back to sending your second-hand components to CyberLife, as per the new legislation.”

It strides outside without sparing the dude another glance, and Gavin follows after giving the tech store one final glimpse-over.

He joins the android on the sidewalk, where it has its gaze trained down the road in concentration, taking in shop after shop that runs the length of the block.

“Shitty manager if he can’t even keep track of his own stuff,” Gavin scoffs. “We can issue him a warnin’ about all the parts and shit, but he ain’t gettin’ them back once we find ‘em. The precinct can send ‘em over to CyberLife, fuck it.” After a good quarter hour of listening to Mr Unhelpful yammer on, Gavin’s suddenly desperate for a cigarette. He’s on duty though, so, no. “The hell was all that android jargon about, tin can?”

“All central processors are linked in some manner,” it answers. “Similar software. Though not all are the same, they at least share some coding. I should be able to track it, provided it’s the same model that was missing from–”

“Missing from the shelves at the back,” Gavin cuts across it, peering back at the store. He can make out the manager inside, face even redder as he rages at his staff now that Gavin and the android are gone. “Yeah, I saw. Model PB600, serial number 2208n.”

He glances back to see the RK900 tilting its head at him. There’s something, a look, in its eyes, equally enthralling and off-putting all at once. It takes a moment for Gavin to realise why it feels familiar; it’s just like outside Lydia Groves’s house, when the android had called him impressive, of all things.

“So?” Gavin prompts, as irritably as possible just to stop the fucking thing from looking at him like that. “Can you track it or what?”

“As long as it’s within range,” the RK900 answers, eyes focusing back to the road. “Though I doubt the thieves could have gotten far without being caught. There is a high probability they’ll be hiding out nearby.”

While the android does its thing, Gavin wonders vaguely why the hell it’s equipped with the ability to track down random bio components. Then he reminds his slow-ass brain what the RK series was built for. Field work. Detection, analysis, negotiating, and last but not least, combat, which means high risk of getting injured. It’s a tactical application, then; enabling them to scout out components in case their own become damaged. Self-preservation, Gavin adds to himself dryly; a bitch for humans, a walk in the park for androids . If a human cop gets shot in his heart, it’s not like he can just go and scan around for a new one.

“Congress Street.” The RK900 nods to itself, then strides off along the sidewalk. “Come along, Detective.”

Gavin blinks at the fucking record amount of time it had taken to locate the component, before shooting off after the android. “Hey, in case it ain’t clear, asshole, let me spell it out for you. No fuckin’ android‘s gonna order me around,” he scowls, falling into step beside it. ”Especially an android who walks like there’s a metal rod shoved sideways up its ass.” It doesn’t walk like that at all, of course. It’s all poise and certainty, and it’s fucking difficult to keep up with; its legs are long , and it walks with purpose, weaving through the crowd of people out and about for their afternoon shopping. “I've been doing this for almost fifteen years, and you’ve been alive for, what, five, six months?”

“Correct.” The android side-eyes him, a curve at one side of its mouth. “And how gracious of you to acknowledge that I am indeed alive. You’ve certainly come a long way in these last four days, Detective. This is promising news if we’re to continue working together.”

“Can it,” Gavin bites out, realising what he’d said and feeling a violent rush of regret settle in the pit of his stomach. “Slip of the tongue, alright? You might have your rights and your laws and whatever the fuck else, but you’re still made of plastic and wires, and that sure as shit doesn’t count as alive in my book–”

He almost walks right into the android’s back, as it turns the corner and abruptly stops outside one of the apartment buildings.

Gavin manages to sidestep it in time. “You short-circuit or somethin’? Hallelujah if you did, fuck knows I need the peace.”

“Woodward apartments. The central processor is on the eighth floor,” the RK900 explains, “hopefully along with our thieves and the rest of Mr. Forster’s stolen goods.” It takes a measured step backwards, and gestures for Gavin to enter first. “After you, Detective Reed. You have been doing this for longer, after all.”

Gavin mutters a string of curses, just to make himself feel better, and shoulders open the door to the lobby. It’s a shabby place; run-down and uncared for, with the wallpaper starting to fade and peel, and furniture that must have been there since the beginning of fucking time.

Behind the front desk, the security guard peers up from his magazine. Young guy, though probably not much younger than Gavin. African-American, ankles crossed where they rest on the desk and a bored expression on his face. The security card hanging around his neck reads ‘Bjorn Thompson’. “Can I help you, gentlemen?”

“Mr Thompson,” Gavin pulls out his badge and approaches, “Detective Reed, DPD. We have reason to believe a group of guys on the eighth floor were involved in a store robbery earlier today. You see anythin’?”

Mr Thompson closes his eyes and groans. “You know what? I fuckin’ knew those kids were up to no good,” he sighs to himself, before giving Gavin’s companion a wary glance. “Shit, you’re not gonna, uh… use that thing on me are you, man? I’m not involved or anything, you can check the cameras–”

“Relax,” Gavin says to him, shooting the RK900 a glare in the hopes that it will somehow tone down the intimidating aura that seems to follow it fucking everywhere. “We just wanna know what you saw. The perps still here?”

Mr Thompson nods. “Yeah, yeah, they haven’t left since this morning. They came back here at around, I dunno, eleven maybe? They all had bags with them,” he adds. “Thought it was suspicious as all hell, but I never, uh, really bother them or ask questions, y’know? Their little ringleader’s harassed me before, and I just wanna do my job without any trouble.”

“Well, I doubt you’ll be gettin' any more of that after today. They stole some expensive tech from a store around the way,” Gavin tells him, watching as the android reaches the elevator in four swift strides. “We’ll be takin’ them in now. So if you don’t mind?” Gavin sweeps his arm pointedly toward the elevator.

“Thank fucking Christ,” Mr Thompson says, relieved, pressing a button to allow the doors to slide open. “Be my guest, seriously. The less I see of those assholes, the better.”

Gavin nods. “How many of ‘em are there?” he asks as an afterthought, moving to join the android.

“Three, and all human. They’re pretty young so I think you two’ll be able to handle them,” Mr Thompson adds, giving Gavin and his companion another once-over. “Good luck.”

The doors close and the elevator begins to ascend. As it does, Gavin makes a quick call to Ben, requesting a single squad car to wait out front so they can escort the perps to the station. Gavin’s car is still parked near the tech store; he doesn’t want to cause commotion by dragging three juvenile criminals across the block.

Shoving his phone into the back pocket of his jeans, Gavin glances sideways at the RK900. “You even armed?” he asks, as the elevator stops and they step out into the corridor. Mr Thompson had mentioned that the perps were young, and young usually meant stupid; it was likely that the trio wouldn’t come without some form of force.

“I carry an authorised weapon, yes.”

Gavin grunts his approval, taking out his phone again when it beeps. “Well, Ben’s on his way. Backup’s comin’ too, just in case.” He looks up and down the hallway. “So which apartment is it?”

The android grows still, focused, while it scans the hallway, supposedly locating the component. “The door at the end.”

They stop outside, Gavin moving to one side of the door and the RK900 mirroring his position. Gavin’s about to knock, when the android lashes out and closes its hand around his wrist to stop him. It’s frowning, as though it can see something beyond the wall.

“Get the fuck off me,” Gavin hisses, wrenching his wrist out from between its grip. “What?”

“I hear clips being loaded,” it warns. “They appear to be armed.”

“Shit,” Gavin mutters. “Manager didn’t say anything about ‘em using guns. What a prick.” He draws his weapon, and the RK900 does the same. It steps back to allow Gavin space, and he arranges himself to bust down the door. Out of habit, he glances briefly at the android to make sure it's ready, and then he moves.

The door crashes open on the first kick, the lock instantly giving way and one of the hinges breaking completely. “DPD! Hands in the air, now!”

The three perps – all sporting caps and heavy coats, clearly preparing for their second robbery of the day – scramble madly. The one loading the guns at the table grasps blindly for a pistol, but the RK900 has already fired a warning shot between the kid’s hand and the weapon. Gavin grabs the nearest perp and pins him to the wall, knee pressed into his spine.

“Get the fuck away from the table! Don’t make me ask twice,” Gavin warns the one nearest the weapons, who is staring, terrified, down the barrel of the android’s gun. He does as Gavin orders, shuffling into the centre of the apartment. “Get on the floor, hands above your head!”

Gavin wrestles the kid he has a hold of onto the floor as well, maintaining pressure on his spine while keeping his gun trained on the third perp in the room. While Gavin zip-ties the kid’s hands together, and the RK900 does the same to the second perp, Gavin sees the remaining one’s gaze flit to the window.

“Don’t you fuckin’ dare–!”

The kid bolts, and Gavin doesn’t have the time or room to fire a warning shot from his position on the floor. The perp covers his head and crashes through the window, landing on the fire escape outside.

“Motherfucker !” Gavin turns his gaze sharply to the android, “What the fuck are you waitin’ for, huh?! Get after him!”

With the second perp tied and laid out against the floorboards, the RK900 darts forward and vaults out from the window just as Ben and two other officers rush into the apartment.

“Shit, Gavin,” Ben huffs, gun in hand and watching the android disappear up the fire escape. “Thought you said this was a simple robbery bust?”

“Yeah, well, the jackass store owner didn’t think to mention they were armed,” Gavin hisses, hauling the first perp to his feet while Officer Brown and Person move to grab the second. “Take these two to the patrol car,” he orders, handing the kid over to Ben and hastening towards the broken window.

Gavin jumps out, clearing the gap between the apartment and the fire escape. He takes off in a run when he catches sight of the RK900, hard on the perp’s tail as they sprint across the neighbouring rooftop. Gavin climbs the two flights of stairs, makes it onto the roof, and has this sharp jolt of panic all up in his chest as he watches the perp leap onto the next building. The gap isn’t small, and it’s a long fucking drop. The kid makes it, and Gavin’s breath catches in his throat as the RK900 jumps after him, diving into a roll to break its fall and continuing the chase effortlessly.

“Holy fuckin’ shit.” Gavin’s always figured  he was in peak physical condition, but watching the android charge over the rooftops, agile and precise and faultless in its movements, would put the fittest fucking officers to shame. Faster, stronger, smarter, Chen’s voice taunts in the back of his head, and Gavin grits his teeth as he continues the pursuit.

He catches up to them just as the RK900 grabs the perp, shoving him against one of the rooftop’s large air-circulation vents.

“Told you not to run, asshole,” Gavin spits out while the android ties the kid’s hands behind his back. His pride withers a little as he leans his hands on his knees, sucking in air while the RK900 stands tall and unaffected and insufferable. “You can kiss your rights goodbye, makin’ us chase after you like we’re on fucking CSI Miami or somethin’. Shoulda just shot you,” he adds, petty, but purely out of sympathy for his aching lungs and dead legs.

The RK900 keeps a firm grip on the perp’s wrists, and jerks its head towards the door leading inside. “After you, Detective.”

Gavin wants nothing more than to collapse on the rooftop until the blood’s stopped pounding in his ears. But whatever remains of his dignity has him leading the way towards the stairwell, trying to get his breathing back under control.

“There was no reason for you to pursue me,” the android says, and Gavin knows that what little of his temper’s left is about to fucking snap. “You ordered me to go, after all. I expected you to return downstairs with Officer Collins. I was perfectly capable–”

“Okay, shitbird.” Gavin rounds on the android, ignoring the fearful looking perp in favour of grabbing the lapels of the RK900’s jacket. “Listen the fuck up. You don’t get a single fuckin’ say in what I do or don’t do, you got that? You ain’t my partner, you ain’t in charge of me. You’re a fuckin’ machine , so when I order you to do somethin’, you damn well better do it, and not question my fucking decisions.”

The android looks down at him coolly, grasp still firmly around the perp’s wrists. “Your heart-rate is quite elevated, Detective, and your breathing is agitated. I only say there was no reason to pursue me to bear your wellbeing in mind.” It leans closer, and grants Gavin that same cold, fictitious smile it had in Fowler’s office the first time they’d met. “I recommend increasing your weekly gym visitations, if you wish to keep up with me next time.”

It takes the perp and leaves Gavin on the rooftop, mortified and silent and seething .

And to top the day off, when they return to the station, Hank takes one look at Gavin’s face and snorts loudly enough to rouse Chris’ attention. He looks between Gavin and the android, and grins . “So how’d the first job go, you two?”

“I thought it went rather well.”  The Rk900 aims a self-satisfied expression Gavin’s way. “Though we’ve established that Detective Reed’s fitness levels are not quite up to par.”

Hank’s bark of laughter haunts Gavin for the rest of the afternoon, which is spent filling out paperwork to cover the equipment stolen from the tech store. Each time he looks up and catches the RK900’s eye from across the desk, he makes sure to scowl as though his very unfair life depends on it.

Notes:

I'm heading to Pride tomorrow, so the next update will be Monday.

Thanks everyone for the support on this so far - very nice to know I'm not burning in this dumpster fire of a ship alone.

Chapter 5: In Your Defence

As Fowler had warned, they get no fucking luck. They’d have to wait a few weeks, at least, before a warrant to search Mr. Groves’ house could be authorised. Gavin gets it. He really does. There are too many cases, too much going on these days to get anything done quickly. But he’s always hated going through the proceedings; all the pointless motions and the waiting around. Waiting around isn’t his style. Too impatient. Hot-headed, Chen’s always calls him. He used to take that as a compliment, but now, at the mature age of thirty-six and not getting any younger or prettier, he suspects it’s closer to an insult.

And lucky him, to top it all off like a rotten cherry on top of a cake full of fucking raisins - seriously, what sick son of a bitch would ruin a cake with raisins? They’re just nasty little wrinkles - Gavin now has an uptight nightmare of an android on his back every moment of his working day. He should’ve seen it coming; he’d watched Connor bust Anderson’s ass when they first got partnered together, and he’d watched it with no small amount of smug satisfaction. Well, karma’s a douchebag, isn’t it.

See, it‘s all about efficiency when it comes to androids. No room for time-wasting or pleasantries or excuses with them. The RK900 was no different, and Gavin was now living day to day in his own personal hell.

His partner – though not his fucking partner, because Gavin didn’t have a fucking partner, and he felt weird and dirty just using the word - was as hard-assed as it looked. After the robbery, they’d worked on a few smaller cases, and while Gavin can’t deny the android‘s every inch as capable as Short Connor, and then some, the shitbag had apparently made it his glorified mission to irritate Gavin to the point where he can no longer physically put his frustration into words.

Not that he’d expected anything else.

One thing that he hadn’t prepped for, however, was the amount of fucking backtalk he got from it. Now, Gavin had had his fair share of shit from Connor; the android could hold his own, of that Gavin had no doubt. But the RK900 was on a whole new level of prick, and Gavin could barely get a word in edgeways. He insulted it, threatened it, ignored it when none of that worked. And each and every time, the android had a retort; some dry remark or deathly quick comeback that left Gavin feeling like a scolded mutt; shrinking down on the floor with his tail between his legs.

So when Hank innocently asks, “How’s the whole partner thing workin’ out?” on Tuesday afternoon, Gavin’s  near about ready to set the bullpen on fire and let himself perish in the fucking flames. He’d go out smiling, too, right at the RK900 with his middle finger standing to attention for all to see.

Gavin scowls towards the breakroom, where Tall Connor is heading. He takes in the fitted jacket, the long legs, that fucking walk, before the android disappears around the corner. “Don’t be cute, Anderson. You know damn well how it’s goin’.”

Hank chuckles, and Gavin resists the urge to pour what’s left of his coffee onto the man’s shoes. “Yeah, that sounds about right. Connor tells me you’ve been gettin’ your ass handed to you. Shame your desk’s the other side of the bullpen,” he adds. “I’d pay good money to listen to your ego taken down another peg or two, maybe while that android bends you over by your terminal again. That made my fuckin’ year.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

Gavin regrets coming to spend his lunch break perched on Anderson’s desk. Though ever since Connor officially joined them, they’ve developed a working relationship of sorts. There’s no question, Connor’s made Hank more tolerable; more pleasant to be around, for sure. Easier to talk to, Gavin adds to himself. And though they’ve never particularly gotten along, Gavin had used to respect Hank, before– well, just before. Before the drinking and the attitude. Now there’s a mutual understanding, a level of civility between the two of them.

Gavin would never call them friends, because there’s just no way. But he supposes they’re not quite as far away from the notion of it as they used to be.

“How the hell d’you deal with it every day?” Gavin finds himself asking, glancing to where Short Connor is speaking with another officer near the cells. “I’m losin’ my fucking mind.”

“You get used to it, trust me. And your new partner ain’t so bad. Chris says he’s all right, and Connor seems to like him.”

“That ain’t sayin’ much,” Gavin bites out, bitter. “Connor likes everybody. For Christ sake, he likes you of all people,” he adds, because he needs to rib a little. Relieves stress, good for the soul, all that shit. “And you’re a fuckin’ scumbag.”

“Oh yeah, yeah, look who’s talkin’. Mr Scumbag Extraordinaire over here.” Anderson shoves at Gavin’s thigh with his elbow, turning back to his terminal to resume whatever file he was looking over before lunch. “You’re gonna have to suck it up, Reed. This is the way of the world now; androids and humans workin’ together.”

“Not a fuckin’ chance.” Gavin slides off the desk and back onto his feet, popping the base of his spine as he stretches backwards. “Soon as this case is over, I’m done workin’ with plastic dipshits. I am never setting foot in the same room as that asshole again, I don’t care what Fowler says, he can kiss my ass.”

“I’ll tell him you said that,” Anderson calls after him, chuckling as Gavin stalks towards the breakroom to refill his mug.

Another step away from rounding the corner, Gavin stills when he hears his own name from one of the tables.

“Still stuck with Gavin for a few weeks, huh? Yeesh.” Chris. “He’s never taken well to androids. Don’t think anyone’s ever quite worked out what his problem is. Probably any number of things.”

“Detective Reed’s reasons are his own.” The RK900. Gavin’s seen it and Chris speak a few times before. Chris is popular with everyone in the DPD, though; no one’s ever got a bad word to say about him, and new people always seem to gravitate over his way. It appears androids aren’t an exception. “I wouldn’t wish to pry.”

“Yeah, that’s probably a smart move. Gavin’s not really the most forthcoming guy around here. Think even Chen gets sick of his shit, sometimes. I’ve never worked a proper case with him for long, but I know he’s…” Chris sounds like he hesitates as he searches for the word he wants. “I dunno. Difficult, I guess? Hostile? I reckon you’ve probably worked with Reed more in the last week than I have in seven years, so I can’t exactly say for certain. And I’d hate to talk about a fellow officer behind his back or anything, but from what I can tell, no one really enjoys working with him in the field.”

Something, somewhere deep in Gavin’s gut, clenches and turns white hot while he listens. Yeah, tell him something he doesn’t already know. He knows what most of the DPD thinks of him, and he’s put little fucking effort in to change it. He’s arrogant, and selfish, and unfriendly, and yeah, he’s difficult, he fucking knows that he’s difficult.

But there’s something about hearing it in Chris’s voice that really nails the coffin. And Gavin’s hands start to shake. Oh no, no no no, not here, not fucking here, it isn’t worth it getting worked up about this of all fucking things, you’re fine, you’re fine, you’re fine. Fuck Chris, fuck everyone. Not like Gavin can snap his fingers like Thanos and make every fucked up thing about himself disappear, is it.

“Detective Reed can be…” and Gavin feels his shoulders tense up as the RK900 replies, “...antagonistic, it’s true. I can understand why a human may not particularly enjoy working with him.”

There’s a beat of silence, and Gavin’s just about geared himself up to storm inside and savour the guilty look on Chris’s face while he refills his coffee and pretends he isn’t feeling the worthlessness and the anxiety building inside him or that he can’t get enough air into his lungs because he’s probably about to have a fucking panic attack in the middle of the bullpen, in front of fucking everybody.

Then the android continues.

“But he’s also a good detective. I’ve found his skill and perseverance in the field to be most impressive. He is aggressive and temperamental, there‘s no question. But while his attitude may not be ideal for an accommodating partnership, I feel fortunate to have been paired with someone of his clear capabilities. So I believe I must defend him,” it adds, its tone taking on a slight edge, “in this area, at least.”

“Shit,” Chris laughs, “Never thought I’d see the day where someone defends Gavin fucking Reed. You really must be an advanced model.”

The rest of the conversation filters away, as Gavin manages to return to his desk without causing a scene, with an empty coffee cup in his hand and weak knees and suddenly feeling like the world’s shifted upside-fucking-down. He tries to focus on his terminal, but the words on the screen become intelligible little shapes and edges in front of his eyes, and there’s a bitter, sheepish taste in the back of his mouth. He didn’t actually have a full blown attack though, so. Small victories, hell take it.

When Chen knocks him on the shoulder, he feels better. Almost like himself again. But he’s gotten absolutely no work done since he sat down. “Hey, Reed, I’m headin’ home. Thought I’d check in before I left.”

“Hm,” Gavin grunts in reply.

“Where’s your partner, huh?” He notices Chen’s gaze scouring the bullpen. She smiles at his sour expression, “What, you finally drive that plastic piece of shit crazy and made him bail? About time, right? Still think Fowler had a brain seizure, thinking it was a good idea to put you two together–”

“Don’t call it that.”

Chen blinks. “What? Call who what?”

“The android, don’t call it that.”

There’s silence for a few seconds, and then Chen snorts and moves to lean against his desk. “What, did we decide on somethin’ other than piece of shit?” she jeers, snapping her fingers as she thinks. The sudden sound of it makes irritation clench tightly in Gavin’s chest. “What was there... there was Tall Connor, plastic prick, Terminator Arnold Schwartzen–”

“Chen, shut the fuck up.” Gavin bites it out with all the shame and the anger he’s been feeling since the breakroom. He turns stubbornly back to his screen to stop himself from getting up in her face, and to hide the flush heating up all over his own. But he doesn’t back down or try and laugh it off as a joke. It’s not a joke. “Just go home.”

She grabs her bag and leaves, calling him an asshole under hear breath. Gavin stays hunched at his terminal, pretending to read the files while the conversation replays again and again and a-fucking-gain in his mind. I also think he’s a good detective… skill and perseverance in the field… I feel fortunate to have been paired with someone of his clear capabilities… I believe I must defend him, in this area at least.

Sharp, precise footsteps get closer and stop behind him. “Detective Reed.”

Gavin glances up, and feels his jaw tense uncomfortably. “The fuck d’you want?”

The RK900 holds out a fresh cup of coffee; dark and steaming and probably just the way Gavin likes it. Of course its just the fucking way he likes it. Androids never do anything by halves. “You skipped lunch,” it offers as an explanation. “And caffeine seems to put you in a more agreeable mood. So for everyone’s sake, I thought I might as well take the liberty.”

Gavin accepts the cup, to stop the thing from talking if nothing else, and places it down near his mouse. “Don’t expect a thank you. Fuck off.”

The android, unaffected, moves to its own desk to resume its work. Gavin makes the coffee last for the next twenty minutes, taking savouring little sips here and there as he finally manages to focus on the reports in his inbox.

When the cup’s empty, Gavin peers across to the twin desk. Hesitates. Then steels himself. Gavin Reed’s a fuck up for sure, but he isn’t a fucking coward. “Thanks.”

The RK900 meets his gaze. Its eyes are narrowed, curious and icy and– not grey, Gavin realises suddenly. Blue. They’re blue.

“You’re welcome, Detective,” it answers, and that calm, crisp note to its voice all of a sudden doesn’t piss Gavin off quite as much today.

They each return to their respective tasks.

Notes:

The little coffee exchange at the end is inspired by Donlemefo's artwork: this comic here.

Check them out, they're a RK900/Gavin shipper as well as an incredible artist.

Chapter 6: Nicknames = Progress

Something changes.

Gavin doesn’t know how the hell else to put it. After that whole ordeal, something just changes.

The RK900’s still a nasty piece of work. It’s still smug and shitty and prissy and conceited, and it seems to go out of its way to tear Gavin a new one every chance it gets. That hasn’t changed.

What’s changed, Gavin’s snail-paced ability to have epiphanies is trying to haul ass and tell him, is that he’s potentially, maybe, kind of starting to get used to it. Starting to like it, even. Enjoy it. A little bit.

Gavin doesn’t know. It’s just... different .

See, the deal is, there are very, very few people in the precinct who can match Gavin toe-to-toe; who can face down his bullshit and throw it straight back in his face without eventually taking a closer look and deciding he ain’t worth the hassle. He’s pretty sure Chen and Anderson are the only ones who’ve ever really been like that. And even then, they’re not at this level.

Neither of them have ever sparked this stupid, fucking nerve in Gavin’s stomach that starts to simmer and froth and tug in anticipation whenever he sits down at his desk first thing in the morning.

“Good morning, Detective Reed.”

“Yeah, mornin’.”

“A most interesting shirt today,“ the RK900 says, eyebrows raised in the direction of the admittedly inappropriate Rick and Morty T’shirt that Gavin couldn’t be bothered to try hide beneath his jacket. “Are you trying to offend a particular individual today or do you hope that the effect is strong enough to ensure no one comes within a meter’s radius of you at all?”

And so it begins. “Yeah, you can talk.”

“I can, indeed. You like to point out the obvious, don’t you.”

“Was referrin’ to your collar, numb nuts. You wanna make it any fuckin’ higher, hide the rest of that crap pile excuse for a face?”

“You’re deflecting. Interesting. If you wished to divert attention away from your own shortcomings, then I must disappoint you. Your choice of attire does anything but.”

“Prick.”

“Still deflecting, Detective.”

“No, I’m callin’ you a prick, prick. Keep the fuck up.”

Gavin doesn’t know when he stopped thinking the android’s eyes were cold. Probably when it started looking at him like that. “Coffee, Detective?”

“Yeah. Thanks.” Gavin waits until the android’s a good distance away before he lets himself smile. No way he’ll give the fucker that satisfaction. He’s been doing a lot more of that lately, smiling that is. Some select people around the bullpen are beginning to look more concerned by the day.

Apart from Anderson. Hank’s shit-smothered face just keeps getting more and more smug every time he catches Gavin’s eye. And Short Connor looks pleased by whatever common ground Tall Connor and Gavin have found between them, though it’s hard to tell with Connor these days; since he moved in with Anderson, he always looks pleased. Gavin’s never quite worked out what’s precisely going on with them, and the idea of just up and asking feels wrong on every level. If he had to hazard a guess or force himself to think about it at all, he’d say their relationship probably isn’t as professional as they let on around the station. Gavin‘s sure that prospect would’ve freaked him out once upon a time. But, truthfully, seeing Anderson slowly getting his shit back together, and catching Connor’s stupid little smiles around the precinct, Gavin genuinely wishes the best of fucking luck to the two of them.

Jesus, he’s not usually that much of a soft prick. Probably the lack of fucking caffeine making him stir crazy.

And speak of the Devil, the RK900 returns with Gavin’s coffee. It’s dark and bitter and perfect, and Gavin feels his morning cravings and headache ease with the first glorious sip.

“Hey,” he pipes up, after the caffeine’s reached his brain and the RK900’s taken its seat behind the opposite desk. “We worked out this warrant bullshit yet? It’s been, what, like two weeks now? Those stiff necks  downstairs are taking their sweet fuckin’ time.”

The android hums, typing quickly and precisely on its keyboard. “I checked in with Captain Fowler yesterday afternoon. The warrant still hasn’t been approved, though I doubt it will take much longer. Officer Miller has just closed his case, so I expect ours will now take precedence.”

“Can’t believe this shit. I get that things in the city haven’t been all sunshine and rainbows lately, but this is fucking pushin’ it. Nearly three weeks waiting on a search warrant,” Gavin mutters, although he’s sure the coffee‘s made him at least forty-percent less irritated about it all. “It’s a piece of paper, like, come the fuck on.”

“Mr. Groves is a man of importance, don’t forget. A renowned individual in the field of architecture. And considering his reluctance in allowing us to investigate his home,” the android points out, “the fact that we’re getting the warrant at all is fortunate. I believe we can forgive the wait.” It offers Gavin a thin and ironic smile. “Patience is a virtue, Detective. You’re lacking a fair few already, so that is one you unfortunately cannot afford to squander.”

“He has a point, Detective Reed,” Short Connor remarks in passing. He easily manages to sidestep the kick Gavin aims for his shin.

“Get fucked, Connor.” Gavin glares across the desk at the still-smiling RK900. “You can get fucked, too, tin can.”

“Finish your coffee, Detective. It’s far easier to tolerate you when you do.”

Gavin smirks against his cup, feeling the crappy six AM wake up and the rushed breakfast and the downpour of rain outside fade into non-existence.

Chen walks into the bullpen by seven thirty; shoots Gavin a look when she glances between him and the RK900. She’s still ratty about his attitude on Friday, and she’s been avoiding him. It does piss Gavin off – Chen’s more often than not the only person he can stand to be around for any extended time – but he won’t say anything because he’s stubborn, and Tina’s stubborn, and he knows neither of them are gonna apologise. She’s an asshole. Gavin’s a bigger asshole. That’s just a fucking given.

So Gavin stays quiet when Chen saunters by his desk without a word. He faces his terminal instead. Glances up at Tall Connor opposite him. And is suddenly very fucking conscious of something that probably should‘ve come up in conversation on day one.

“You even got a name?”

The RK900 peers up at him. “What do you call me to everybody else?”

“Asshole. Shitbird. Tall Connor. Sometimes self-righteous prick, if the situation calls for it. Gotta switch it up now and then, y’know. Gets borin’, otherwise.”

The android’s mouth twitches in amusement. Its eyes are so, so much warmer when it does, for just that split second. “Not a particularly imaginative range. But given that I’ve become well accustomed to your lack of creativity, I suppose it’s the best I could have hoped for,” it muses. “But in answer to your question, no. I wasn’t given a name when I was activated.”

“What, so it isn’t Tall Connor. Connor Mark Two. Upgraded Connor. The sequel of Connor?”

The RK900 chuckles. Honest to God chuckles . Gavin’s so taken aback by the sudden, genuine sound of it that his coffee almost slides out of his hand. Smooth, Reed. He places it down onto the safe surface of the desk.

“Seriously, though. No name at all ? You gotta give me somethin’ else to go on besides asshole, shitbird and Tall Connor. That kinda talk might get me suspended.”

It chuckles again. Gavin can’t really imagine Connor chuckling, but the RK900’s is a soft and husky sound that makes his toes ashamedly curl for a moment. Only a fucking moment, though, calm down.

“I’m sure the precinct will weep at your absence, should your suspension come about. But that doesn’t change the fact that I have no name,” it says. “Only my model identification, RK900, and a serial number, 31–”

“R.K,” Gavin blurts out. You know, like a fucking idiot. The android tilts its head in question. “R.K ain’t bad. It’s part of your ID, right,” Gavin - pretty valiantly he thinks, thank you very much - soldiers on, ”like a nickname. Plus it’s not a fuckin’ mouthful like RK900, serial number what the fuck ever.”

The android seems to be considering, LED circling yellow. It’s silent for long enough that Gavin starts to feel very fucking uneasy. He should probably say something else, brush off the idea somehow so he doesn’t look like such a dumbass. But then-

“That sounds agreeable,” the android – R.K, says at last, granting Gavin a small nod of acceptance. “It may be good, to have a name. It would certainly make communication easier. And lessen the risk of you becoming suspended, of course.” And then it smiles. Not a shitty, dry attempt at a smile either, not like usual. This is an actual, honest to God, fucking smile.

Connor’s smiles, as twitchy and awkward as they are, always have a small scrap of charm to them, as much as admitting it makes Gavin want to squirm. A lot of things about Connor have the kind of charm that comes with watching a baby deer trying to walk for the first time, or something equally cringey and endearing.

The smile that R.K gives him? No. Not even close. It’s this small and handsome curl at one side his mouth, and in short, it’s plain sinful. It's wicked, and teasing, and so unexpected that Gavin suddenly feels his elbow slip off the side of the desk from where it’d been supporting his weight.

Really smooth.

He clears his throat, and slowly turns back to face the documents on his terminal. “Cool. R.K it is then. Now shut the fuck up and let me work, dickwad.”

Gavin hears a hum of agreement, and tries to shrug off the too-warm flush making its way from his neck to his earlobes. “Indeed, Detective.”

A few minutes later, after Gavin deems enough time’s passed for him to not be embarrassed about his dumb little elbow slip, his curiosity gets the better of him.

“What d’you call me to everyone else, then?”

“I call you Detective Reed,” R.K answers, gaze trained on his own terminal. “Though I have changed your name in my facial recognition processor to Asshole,” he adds, out of nowhere, and Gavin‘s coffee spurts very attractively out of his mouth.

Notes:

Gavin’s shirt

Chapter 7: Communication

-----------------------------  Sunday 6^th May, 2039 (AM) -----------------------------
                                                                      

RK900 #313 248 317 -87
(07:30)
Not gracing the DPD with your presence today, Detective?

Gavin
(07:41)
fuck off its sunday

RK900 #313 248 317 -87
(07:42)
I’m aware.

(07:42)
My question still stands.

Gavin
(07:44)
its my day off prick leave me alone

(07:59)
how you get my number??

RK900 #313 248 317 -87
(08:00)
It’s standard protocol. I have all officers’
personal numbers in my database in case
of emergencies.

Gavin
(08:02)
me not coming to work on a sunday isn’t
an emergency dickwad I was asleep

RK900 #313 248 317 -87
(08:03)
I apologise, Detective.

(08:03)
Enjoy your day off.

Gavin
(08:09)
its fine

(08:10)
awake now anyway

(08:12)
warrant approved yet?

RK900 #313 248 317 -87
(08:13)
Still pending, I’m afraid.

Gavin
(08:13)
what a fucking surprise

(08:14)
guys downstairs are hopeless

RK900 #313 248 317 -87
(08:15)
They are merely overrun. It shouldn’t take
much longer.

Gavin
(08:15)
fowler’s been sayin that for 3 weeks

RK900 #313 248 317 -87
(08:16)
Patience, Detective.

Gavin
(08:16)
yeah yeah

(08:18)
why are you even at the station? its your day off too

RK900 #313 248 317 -87
(08:19)
I do not require physical or emotional rest as
you do.

(08:19)
Yet another reason in favour of my superiority
as a detective.

Gavin
(08:19)
blow me

(08:19)
going back to bed

RK900 #313 248 317 -87
(08:20)
It was a joke, Detective.

Gavin
(08:22)
I know shitbird

(08:22)
ha fucking ha

(08:34)
let me know if Anderson gets any good cases.
fucker owes me a trade from last month

RK900 #313 248 317 -87
(08:34)
As you wish.

Gavin
(08:35)
cool

 

CHANGE CONTACT NAME: RK900 #313 248 317 -87
to: prick-900

CONFIRMING………
100%

CHANGE CONFIRMED AT 08:37

 

prick-900
(08:40)
You are the very essence of maturity.

Gavin
(08:41)
凸

 

-----------------------------  Sunday 6^th May, 2039 (PM) -----------------------------
                                                                     

prick-900
(13:05)
Apologies once again for interrupting your
Sunday, Detective.

(13:05)
Are you familiar with an Agent Perkins of
the FBI?

Gavin
(13:06)
wtf is he doing there??

prick-900
(13:07)
Apparently he’s been called to aid the DPD in
Officer Person’s latest case. A homicide downtown,
if you weren’t aware.

(13:08)
He does not like me.

Gavin
(13:09)
don’t blame him

(13:09)
figures though. perkins ordered the shootings
on the android camps before shit went down

(13:11)
guys probably still pissed about losing the
android/human war. I heard his careers been a
shitshow ever since

prick-900
(13:12)
That explains his hostility.

(13:13)
I appreciate the insight, Detective.

Gavin
(13:14)
sure whatever

(13:14)
can I get back to my lunch now

prick-900
(13:15)
Certainly.

Gavin
(13:20)
he’s not like giving you shit or anything right

(13:22)
not that I care

(13:23)
but anderson punched him in the middle
of the office one time and he still has his
badge so

(13:23)
just an idea

prick-900
(13:24)
Your concern is appreciated, Detective.

Gavin
(13:25)
not concerned said I don’t care

prick-900
(13:27)
Indeed.

(13:31)
I’ll bear your suggestion in mind. Agent Perkins’s
presence is starting to become bothersome.

Gavin
(13:33)
FBI always screw shit up for us

(13:34)
no one would stop you from knocking him flat
yknow

 

-----------------------------  Sunday 6^th May, 2039 (PM) -----------------------------
                                                                      

Gavin
(15:02)
so did you punch him or what

prick-900
(15:05)
It was tempting.

(15:05)
But I refrained. In Lieutenant Anderson’s
own words, no good would come from breaking
the agent’s nose a second time.

Gavin
(15:07)
shit since when is Anderson the voice of reason

prick-900
(15:08)
On the contrary, I find the Lieutenant to be an
incredibly reasonable man.

(15:09)
Though I assume most humans would seem so,
in comparison to you.

Gavin
(15:09)
凸

prick-900
(15:09)
In any case, Agent Perkins took his leave an
hour ago.

(15:10)
He found the idea of android assistance here
even less appealing than yourself, if you can
believe it.

Gavin
(15:10)
man’s a drama queen

prick-900
(15:10)
You have that in common.

Gavin
(15:11)
凸凸凸

prick-900
(15:14)
He also made mention of you. Something
about the ‘Greensway Case’ in 2031?

(15:22)
Detective?

(15:45)
I apologise if I have overstepped, Detective Reed.
It was not my intention.

Gavin
(15:51)
don’t pretend you haven’t done all your reading
up on me

(15:51)
you know damn well what that case was

(15:52)
so why don’t you fucking explain it to me

prick-900
(15:54)
A hostage situation at the Greensway Law Offices
in Foxtown. Two workers were used as bargaining
chips in the assailants’ negotiations with the DPD. The
group were armed with guns and threatened to shoot
the hostages if they weren’t given $50 000 and an
escape car.

(15:55)
You were sent in to negotiate and free the hostages.
Perkins and the FBI were also present, I assume.

Gavin
(16:00)
then you know I fucked up. got a cop shot and one of the
lawyers killed

(16:00)
not like you have the fucking right to know anyhow

(16:01)
not like you could ever know what it’s like to
make a fuckin mistake like that

prick-900
(16:05)
I know you talked the assailants down and persuaded
them to release one of the lawyers. An FBI agent was
given clearance to open fire on the group unexpectedly
due to a miscommunication.

(16:08)
That miscommunication is the reason for the lawyer’s
death and your fellow Officer’s injury, Detective.
You saved the second lawyer and returned her, unharmed,
to her family.

(16:09)
You must not overlook the good you were responsible
for. Nor are you at fault for what you could not control.

(16:30)
I’ll leave you to the remainder of your Sunday. I apologise again
for intruding in your personal matters.

 

CHANGE CONTACT NAME: prick-900
to: R.K

CONFIRMING………
100%

CHANGE CONFIRMED AT 18:16

 

Gavin
(23:44)
night

R.K
(23:46)
Goodnight, Gavin.

 

-----------------------------  Tuesday 8^th May, 2039 (AM) -----------------------------
                                                                      

Gavin
(10:42)
where are you

(10:44)
thought you were getting coffee

R.K
(10:50)
I am in a meeting, Detective.

(10:51)
I did mention this. Though I see you were not
listening when I excused myself earlier.

Gavin
(10:52)
could’ve sworn you said you were getting
coffee

R.K
(10:54)
Do you know what selective hearing is,
Detective? I suspect you may have it.

Gavin
(10:55)
yeah but do you know what I don’t have

(10:55)
my fucking coffee

R.K
(10:56)
Your desk is exactly twenty-five steps from the break
room. You know where the coffee machine is.

Gavin
(10:58)
nah I’ll wait

(11:04)
what’s your dumb meeting about

R.K
(11:07)
Android protection and rights to marriage
in the smaller communities of Detroit.

Gavin
(11:08)
thrilling

(11:10)
when’s it over

R.K
(11:11)
No later than 12. If you can survive without
me until then.

Gavin
(11:55)
i’m grabbin lunch downtown

(11:56)
if you wanted to come

(11:56)
if not, its cool

(11:57)
I know you don’t really eat but

R.K
(12:00)
I’ll meet you downstairs, Detective.

 

-----------------------------  Wednesday 9^th May, 2039 (AM) -----------------------------
                                                                       

R.K
(11:23)
May I ask why you’re glaring at the young
delivery man who just entered the precinct?

Gavin
(11:24)
if I can ask why the hell you’re textin me
when I’m literally sitting across from you

(11:24)
weirdo

R.K
(11:25)
It seems like something you’d rather not discuss
aloud. I’m simply taking your penchants into
consideration, Detective.

Gavin
(11:26)
I weep with gratitude

(11:27)
and what kind of asshole uses the word penchants
in a fucking text

(11:31)
he’s an ex

R.K
(11:31)
I see.

Gavin
(11:32)
yeah

(11:32)
didn’t end well

R.K
(11:32)
You don’t have to explain.

Gavin
(11:32)
its fine

(11:33)
past is the past and all that shit

(11.33)
he’s a real asshole

(11:34)
like more than I am

R.K
(11:34)
Impossible, surely.

Gavin
(11:35)
凸凸

R.K
(11:38)
You realise he is discussing you rather
crudely, yes?

Gavin
(11:38)
course I do dumbass

(11:39)
told you he’s an asshole

(11:39)
wipe that dumb frown off your face, robo cop.
talking shit is just what ex’s do

(11:40)
doesn’t bother me anyway

(11:40)
he comes here every wednesday, you get
used to it. not giving the prick the satisfaction
of saying

R.K
(11:43)
Excuse me.

Gavin
(11:44)
wtf you doing???

(11:49)
you’re a fucking maniac XD you know you’re
gonna get a disciplinary right

R.K
(11:49)
Your use of emoticons undercuts your insult, Detective.

(11:50)
And yes, I am aware.

(11:50)
Nevertheless, I doubt Mr. Archer will be returning here.
I hope the other Officers will be open to ordering their
pizza from an alternative establishment in the future.

Gavin
(11:51)
wasn’t an insult you moron

(11:51)
and yeah, think you scared him off for good

R.K
(11:52)
He was being rather distracting. And I do aim to get rid
of as many distractions as possible.

(11:52)
Mission accomplished.

Gavin
(11:53)
you absolute fucking maniac

 

-----------------------------  Friday 11^th May, 2039 (PM) -----------------------------
                                                                      

Gavin
(21:58)
you awake?

R.K
(22:00)
I do not sleep, Detective.

Gavin
(22:01)
the fuck do you do all night then

(22:01)
shit you don’t just stay at the station do you??

R.K
(22:02)
No. Although I suppose the option is open to me.
They have charging stations, after all.

Gavin
(22:03)
so where the hell do you go?

R.K
(22:03)
I have an apartment on Washington Boulevard.

Gavin
(22:04)
an apartment? seriously??

R.K
(22:04)
Yes.

(22:05)
Is that truly so surprising to you?

Gavin
(22:05)
no no, shit I just forget that androids can do that now

(22:05)
own property I mean

(22:06)
sorry ignore me, I’m an idiot

R.K
(22:07)
You’re not.

(22:07)
You’re also quite impossible to ignore.

Gavin
(22:08)
fuck you

(22:08)
seriously though, you have an apartment

(22:09)
on washington blvd

(22:09)
you live alone?

R.K
(22:10)
Yes.

(22:11)
Connor offered to find a place in New Jericho for
me, but I declined. I thought I would prefer to make
my own way, and I’ve found it agreeable so far.

Gavin
(22:11)
I get that. chen offered to be my roommate a few times,
to help out with rent and all that shit

(22:12)
something kinda nice about going it alone though

(22:12)
rewarding

R.K
(22:13)
You do not strike me as someone who accepts help
easily, either.

Gavin
(22:13)
thanks  凸 ??

R.K
(22:14)
It was intended as a compliment.

(22:22)
Detective?

Gavin
(22:25)
sorry my fucking cat knocked over half my fucking dishes

R.K
(22:25)
You own a cat?

Gavin
(22:26)
yeah

(22:26)
she’s such a bitch

R.K
(22:27)
I wouldn’t have taken you for a ‘cat person’.

(22:27)
Or an ‘animal person’ in general. You can barely
look after yourself.

Gavin
(22:28)
har de fucking har

(22:29)
I took her off someone’s hands a few years ago. friend
of mine moved outside the city and they couldn’t take
the cat

(22:29)
she’s pretty cool most of the time. when she’s
not being an asshole

R.K
(22:30)
Like owner, like pet?

Gavin
(22:30)
凸

R.K
(22:30)
What’s her name?

Gavin
(22:31)
mia

(22:31)
like from pulp fiction. uma thurman’s
character

R.K
(22:32)
I’ve not seen it.

(22:32)
A favorite of yours?

Gavin
(22:32)
you’ve never seen pulp fiction??

(22:33)
the greatest movie ever fucking made???

(22:33)
holy shit, you’re dead to me and my cat

R.K
(22:34)
I’ll have to educate myself, it seems.

(22:35)
You were born in 2002, but you’re a fan of older
movies?

Gavin
(22:36)
yeah my dad used to watch them with me. It was
kinda a thing we used to do

R.K
(22:42)
Was there something specific you wished to discuss
when you texted me this evening, Detective? I fear
we’ve gone rather off topic, if so.

Gavin
(22:42)
what I need a fuckin reason to text you

R.K
(22:43)
Not at all. I was just making sure there was nothing
urgent about your correspondence.

(22:44)
Though from your reaction, I presume my not having
watched Pulp Fiction would classify as ‘urgent’ in your
book?

Gavin
(22:44)
sure as shit does

(22:45)
what sort of self respecting person hasn’t watched
pulp fiction

R.K
(22:45)
I’ll be sure to rectify the issue as soon as possible,
Detective.

Gavin
(22:46)
cool

(22:47)
we got work tomorrow, I’m gonna hit the hay

(22:47)
enjoy your fancy apartment and being a movie pleb

R.K
(22:48)
Enjoy your broken dishes and complete lack of social
propriety.

Gavin
(22:49)
touché asshole. I will

(23:15)
goodnight R

R.K
(23:16)
Goodnight, Detective.

 

-----------------------------  Saturday 12^th May, 2039 (AM) -----------------------------
                                                                      

Gavin
(08:15)
cat broke my favourite fucking bowl

R.K
(08:16)
My sympathies.

(08:16)
I believe this is where the term ‘LOL’ would be
deemed appropriate?

Gavin
(08:17)
凸凸凸

Chapter 8: The Case: part two

Notes:

Little trigger warning - there’s a panic attack towards the end of the chapter, just to let anyone know.

The morning starts out well. But everything can turn to shit in the blink of an eye, and anyone who says otherwise is a naive asshole. So Gavin really should have expected it.

He arrives at the precinct by eight. There’s a coffee waiting for him by his terminal, and R.K gives him a nod in greeting. It makes that tuft of hair bounce over his forehead, and Gavin definitely stares for far, far longer than anyone should at a piece of fucking hair

By nine thirty, Angie from level seventeen slaps the search warrant for Michael Groves’ place down on his desk.

When Gavin realises what it is, he makes a show of putting his hands together and raising them up towards the ceiling. “Thank the fuckin’ Lord! Take you long enough, Angie? You wanna take another fuckin’ week while we’re here?”

“Oh, so you’re still a shithead, Reed. What a shocker.”

“What I’m certain Detective Reed means to say, Miss Davies,” R.K says crisply, shooting a Gavin a look from across their desks, “is thank you .”

Angie purses her lips Gavin’s way, as though her point will magically be made by expression alone. “Least your partner’s got some manners. And he didn’t even have a mother to learn them from.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Gavin gives the warrant another quick glance-over. “Thanks,” he adds, because it isn’t Angie’s fault the seventeenth floor is slow as molasses. “I know things’ve been kinda slow as hell lately.”

“Try busy as hell. But that’s a good sign if anything, right? Means you cops are doing your jobs and going after the bad guys. You won’t see me complaining about that.”

“You not complaining? That’ll be a first,” Gavin remarks. “Thanks, though. Seriously.”

Angie blinks at him. “Did you just thank me twice? Twice?” She casts an astonished look at R.K in the opposite terminal. “Who are you and what have you done with Gavin Reed?”

“I’m reforming him, slowly but surely.” R.K cocks his head, all poise and refinement and shitty blue eyes, to add, “Few know this, but it’s actually why we were created. Society decided something had to be done about him, and I was sent as a last resort.”

Angie snorts while Gavin finds it in himself to glare at him. “Oh, so you joke now? Is that supposed to be a fuckin joke? Fine time to find a sense of humour, shitbird. And news flash, you ain’t funny.”

“I have yet to do something about his language, as you can see,” R.K continues. “But I’ll get there. I was not programmed to fail.”

Angie gives Gavin a little pat on the arm. “Well, sounds like you don’t take any of his crap, R.K. That’s good, I reckon he needs someone like that.”

“Fuck off, Angie.”

“You’ve got a decent one here, Reed,” she says, and yeah, thanks Angie, tell Gavin something he isn’t already painfully aware of. “Never seen a partner of yours last this long without quitting your sorry ass before, so you must be doing something right.”

“Won’t last. If he keeps his bullshit up, he’ll be plastic and metal scrap by the end of the day,” Gavin warns. R.K only smiles thinly in response. By now, Gavin expects the guy knows an empty promise when he hears one.

Angie waves over her shoulder as she heads for the elevator. “Good luck with the case, boys.”

The drive to Michael Groves’s house isn’t infuriatingly long. Gavin even manages to educate R.K a little in the world of music on the way. The android doesn’t seem particularly keen on anything, but at least it’s an attempt at a bold start.

“Well, fuckin’ sit on it,” Gavin says, raising his middle finger until it’s level with R’s face. It's his response to the claim that his music taste is boorish and unvaried. Coming from someone so uptight that shoving coal up his ass would result in diamonds a week later, that claim's pretty rich, if Gavin may fucking say so. “What would you rather listen to, then, smartass? Lemme guess, classical fuckin’ music?”

“There is a degree of appeal to classical music,” R.K muses. “The notes are methodical, the structure precise. You wouldn’t happen to have any to listen to, though, I suppose.”

“Do I look like I’d be interested in that classical shit?” Purely out of spite, Gavin turns the volume up on the radio, though it does little more than cause R.K to arch a mildly disapproving eyebrow.

It hits Gavin abruptly, as these pleasant little thoughts always do, as they’re driving along the outskirts of Central Detroit; with the city passing them by and R.K beside him in the passenger’s seat, where he’s been a constant for near on a month now. It hits him, that if they find evidence of the ex-husband’s or his android’s involvement in the assault on Lydia Groves, then the case will be officially closed.

R.K will be reassigned to another partner

It’s what Gavin’s wanted since day one.

He turns off the radio like it’s done him a personal insult.

“Is everything all right, Detective?” From the corner of his eye, Gavin can see R.K studying him from across the gear stick. He wonders what the android can see on his face. How much he can see.

“Yeah, why wouldn’t it be.” It comes out way more petulant than he’d intended. Fuck it. Why’s it R’s business whether everything’s all right . Short answer, it’s not his business. Never was, never fucking will be, period.

“I only ask because you don’t typically turn the radio off, even when I suggest it. Or you’ve at least struck up another reluctant attempt at a conversation–”

“I’m fine . What, a guy can’t enjoy a little peace and quiet? Stop fuckin ’ analysing me.”

He hasn’t snapped at R.K like that in a while. And it clearly takes the android by surprise, though of course no one else would fucking notice. R.K barely leaves a crease in his clothes from how little he reacts. But Gavin knows those telltale little tics; can feel the sudden tension in the car, the strain in the space between them that abruptly seems a whole lot wider than it did when Gavin first started up the engine and needled the android about always managing to get his seatbelt without it snagging on something.

It’s obvious in the way R.K’s posture is just a little stiffer than normal, as he rests his palms on his thighs.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck . Gavin suddenly, crushingly despises himself.

“I just wanna get this case over with already,” he mutters, lying through his teeth. He’s not fucking apologising. But maybe he can get somewhat of a point across. “It’s been fuckin’ weeks, I don’t like waitin’ around.”

“I understand.” R.K’s voice isn’t right. Gavin doesn’t know, can’t detect why , exactly, it isn’t right, but it’s just... not . “I know having a partner forced onto you hasn’t helped matters, but now that we have the warrant–”

“That’s not what I meant, shitbird, I didn’t–” Gavin cuts himself off, frustration causing him to squeeze his eyes shut. Clearly, then, he can’t get a point across.

You’re not going to get anything across by not being honest, dipshit,  a voice in the back of his head points out to him. It sounds suspiciously like Anderson’s voice, and Gavin really doesn’t want to spend time analysing why the hell that is.

Fuck. How the fuck is he supposed to say anything he wants to say? Everything he wants to say?

Just get the fuck over yourself . Swallow your dumb, pointless pride and just say what you wanna fucking say .

Right. Okay. Okay, c’mon, Gavin Reed’s not a fucking coward. Fuck, okay. He’s got this.

“Having a partner’s been all right. You’re cool. We’re cool.” Gavin chances a glimpse at R.K, and feels his knuckles tighten over the steering wheel at the sight of the android's barely-there smile. “I just mean it hasn’t been as bad as I thought it’d be, dickwad, don’t let it go to your head or anythin’.”

And to Gavin’s mortification, R.K turns his gaze away and trains it ahead onto the road. Silent. Totally fucking silent. Fuck .

But then, “Likewise. You’re emotionally unstable, and you curse far too much, and you consume more caffeine than strictly recommended for someone of your height and age,” R says. “But I have enjoyed working with you. It’s certainly never boring.”

Gavin shakes his head. But it’s fond, he knows it’s fucking fond, and he can feel a fair bit of that crushing weight from before lifting off of him, replaced by relief that he won’t admit for a hundred-thousand years. “Would’ve cut that a lot shorter if you’d just called me an asshole.”

“Very well. You’re an asshole.”

And then they’re good. It’s that simple. That easy. It’s like they never had a blip at all; no Gavin lashing out and screwing things up, no R.K closing himself off behind fancy-ass words and his sophisticated fucking programming. They’re fine. They’re good.

Gavin doesn’t know how, really. He’s never had a dynamic like it with someone before, not like this . R just... gets him. Or forgives him, or sees through his bullshit, or maybe it’s something else. Gavin’s never lingered on it for too long to try and work it all out; if he starts to think about any of it too deeply, he’ll fuck it all up, he knows he will. The point is that it works, doesn’t matter how , so it’s probably best, in Gavin’s track record anyway, for him to just live in blissful ignorance and let whatever the fuck they’re doing that makes them work so well together carry on unimpeded by his pesky, detective impulse to overthink everything.

When they pull into Michael Groves’ driveway, Gavin gives a long, low whistle as he steps out the car and looks up at the house. He has to crane his neck to do so. Goddamn.

If Lydia Groves’s digs had made him feel like a second-class citizen, then it’s fucking nothing compared to her ex-husband’s. After over a decade of making a name for himself as Kamski’s go-to architect, Michael Groves is just about as wealthy as a man can possibly be. From just the front porch alone, Gavin doesn’t fucking doubt it.

“Jesus. H. Christ . Should’ve become an architect, this place is a goddamn fortress.”

“A considerable proficiency in maths is required to pursue an architectural career.” Though R.K, too, looks slightly enthralled as he takes in the size of the estate, not that his expression gives much away. Gavin can only tell by the way his head’s cocked just so as he lets his gaze wander over the scene in front of them. “Mr. Groves is a former acquaintance of Elijah Kamski. I believe they studied together at the University of Colbridge.”

“I swear, everyone that University spat out became a rich, pompous piece of shit. Kamski’s one of ‘em, for sure,” Gavin assures as they make their way to the illustrious front gates. “A real creepy, cryptic son of a bitch. Bet he makes all his interviewers feel like shit, never gives ‘em a straight answer.”

“I would guess that as someone in his position, he’s going for enigmatic rather than creepy . But you do have a point,” R.K concedes. “There is a fine line between confidence and arrogance. A line you walk hazardously,” he adds dryly, though Gavin knows that teasing tone well enough to clock it.

He quickly forgets the grandeur of the building after making first contact with Mr. Groves over the intercom. Nearly a month of waiting for approval on the fucking search warrant, and Gavin doesn’t even get the chance to push it into Groves’ smug, architect face.

Or in other words, their suspect refuses to let them the fuck inside. Despite the fact that Gavin makes it very fucking clear that, considering they jumped through fucking hoops and now they  have the fucking warrant , they‘re liable to take him into the station by force should he make things difficult, the front door remains firmly closed.

“Motherfucker,” Gavin bites out, buzzing the intercom again for a full ten seconds. “You’re a prime fuckin’ suspect in a DPD investigation, so you better open the fuck up or I swear to God–”

“Detective.” R.K remains a calm and collected buffer at his side, regarding the closed door placidly as though it will glide open by some kind of voodoo android eye-contact alone. “I doubt that coercion, no matter how colourful, is going to convince him to allow us entry.”

“Okay, smartass,” Gavin aims a smile that’s far more sneer up at him, and spreads his arms, welcoming input, “what d’you suggest we do then? Camp out here till fuckin’ sundown, freezing our asses off until this prick lets us in outta the kindness of his heart?”

“We have the warrant,” R.K points out, and Gavin actually feels a little pang of trepidation at the pensive expression on his partner’s face. R can be a scarily crafty bastard when he wants to be. “I was going to suggest simply hacking the door and letting ourselves in to begin our search. But if you’d prefer to, as you put it, camp out until we wear Mr. Groves down, then at least it proves your patience has come quite a way.”

Gavin frowns. He’s fucking certain he misheard that. “You’re seriously sayin’ you wanna break in?”

“Not at all. I’m saying that we are within our right to enter the residence. Through any means necessary.” R.K grants him that thin smile that Gavin’s come to find less irritating and more endearing by the day. “We have a valid search warrant. Mr. Groves is denying us. I wouldn’t deem that breaking in , Detective.”

Gavin shakes his head, muttering, “Knew you were a fuckin’ maniac,” under his breath as he gives the neighbourhood behind them a quick and wary once-over. Then he motions to the door, “Well, what the fuck are you waitin’ for then? Get a move on.”

It takes around fifteen seconds of R.K laying his hand on Mr. Groves’ keypad, and then they’re inside the house and shutting the front door behind them. Gavin makes sure to put special force into slamming it closed; let the rich cockhead know they’re there.

The welcoming foyer is large, and lining the walls are models of the buildings Groves has designed, Gavin assumes, and everything is white enough to bring on an instant headache. But still, there’s no sign of their suspect coming to argue with them some more.

“Michael Groves,” Gavin calls, ceiling high enough that his voice echoes off the surfaces and around the room. “You’ve purposefully hindered our investigation. We’re gonna have to do this the hard way and take you downtown.”

“Once we’ve searched your property for the ST300 model cited in your ex-wife’s statement,” R.K adds, supposedly scanning around for a heat signature. Gavin can usually tell, more often than not; the android’s gaze becomes slightly distant whenever he scans something, whereas Connor always starts blinking rapidly. “This will be quite simple, so long as you choose to cooperate from here on–”

And then, by life’s bittersweet design, things go spectacularly to shit from there.

The gunshot barely registers, despite the sound of the blast ricocheting off the foyer walls. R.K moving to shield him and the blue spray of thirium that splatters across his jacket is all Gavin can focus on. It’s like he’s watching it under water, in slow motion. He sees every droplet burst free, every bright blue particle suddenly staining R.K’s coat; pooling around his left shoulder and running in rivulets down his arm.

“Stay where you are!”

Gavin suddenly has tunnel vision; instinctively focused on one thing at a time, the highest threat at the forefront of his concentration, adrenaline and years of training setting on the motions instantly.

Michael Groves is stood at the top of a small set of stairs leading to another part of the house. Early forties, greying hair, blue shirt tucked into dress pants. Pastel pink tie that Gavin wants to strangle the man with, and well-manicured hands – the hands of someone who probably hasn’t done a day of manual labour in their life – clutching a Beretta 92 and pointing it directly at R.K. “Don’t come any closer!”

Gavin’s first instinct is to step in front – protect, protect, protect, shoot again you piece of fucking shit and you’re dead, I’ll kill you my-fucking-self – and he feels himself start to move, sees the red flash of R’s LED and the open bullet wound oozing thirium from the android’s shoulder in the blurred and colourful corners of his vision.

But R.K holds out an arm, keeping Gavin firmly defended behind him as he directs his own weapon at the man.

Gavin’s having fucking none of it. He draws his gun and moves to the side, out of R.K’s guard, aiming the barrel at Mr. Groves’s head. “Drop the gun! You just fired at an officer, we’re takin’ you in–”

“I told you to stay away,” Mr. Groves spits out, jabbing the gun forward hazardously and making Gavin tighten his grip on his own. He can see the man’s arms shaking. Groves has clearly never used the gun before. “You shouldn’t be here, I told them I wasn’t letting any officers come here!”

“Drop the weapon! Don’t be fuckin’ stupid–”

“I’ll shoot! I swear to God, I’ll shoot–”

“Mr. Groves,” R.K cuts across him evenly. “Don’t make the situation more problematic than you already have. I have contacted the DPD and squad cars are on their way to this location. You can make this easier for yourself by cooperating with us and lowering the gun–”

“No! No, you’ll take her!”

Gavin sees the man’s arms begin to waver even more, index finger trembling against the gun’s trigger. The urge to shift in front of R.K is becoming something raw now, something desperate; thirium’s dripping onto the ground, the blue a stark and sickening contrast against the white floor.

“I won’t let you take her! It’s not her fault, it wasn’t her fault!”

“The fuck are you talkin’ about?”

“I know what Lydia told you, she’s lying! But you won’t listen, no one will ever listen! Not when it comes to androids! I thought it would be different after Markus, but it isn’t–”

“Mr. Groves, you need to calm down and lower your weapon–”

“No!” The man straightens his arms, turning the gun on Gavin instead, and from the edge of his vision, Gavin sees R.K flinch in his direction. “No, you’re not taking her away! She didn’t do anything wrong–”

“Michael, that’s enough!”

Keeping his weapon trained on Mr. Groves, Gavin glances towards the new voice. At the other side of the foyer stands their prime suspect, the ST300; LED removed and hands in the air in a show of surrender.

“Madeline, I told you to stay hidden!” Mr. Groves snaps. “Goddamn it, I’m trying to protect you–”

“You shot a police officer, Michael! This has gone too far.” The ST300 slowly makes her way closer to Gavin. There are tears staining her cheeks, but she looks resolved. “I’m sorry,” she says, voice quaking. “I just wanted to stay hidden until things calmed down, I didn’t mean for this to go so far. Please, he was just trying to keep me safe.”

She seems to notice R.K then, eyes widening when she sees thirium instead of red soaking through his clothes. “He has an android with him, Michael, they might understand–”

“They won’t! No one will ever understand, Madeline, you already tried that with Lydia!” Mr. Groves is still pointing the gun at him. Gavin considers the amount of time it would take to reach him, take the man by surprise and take him out, but he doubts he could make it before Groves took the shot. “Things aren’t going to change–”

“And you’re not going to make things any better by waving a gun around!” Madeline yells. Then she seems to rein herself back in, pressing her lips together as her shoulders deflate, and then she meets Gavin’s gaze again. “I’m the one you’re here for, and I’m surrendering. But I exercise my right as an android to be questioned by one of my own people.”

“Good for you,” Gavin snarls, before returning his attention to Mr. Groves. He can hear the sirens of the squad cars pulling up outside “Now you . Put the fuckin’ gun down and get on the ground, I won’t ask again. You’re both comin’ to the station.”

“Please, Michael. There’s nothing more you can do,” Madeline pleads, and that seems to break through to him.

Mr. Groves lowers the gun, and it slips from his fingers and clatters onto the hard floor. Gavin kicks it away when he gets closer, and he’s cuffing Mr. Groves’s hands behind his back, R.K doing the same to the ST300, when Hank and Chris enter the house followed by three more officers.

“Jesus. The fuck happened here.” Anderson makes his way over to Gavin, noticing the blue stains on his clothes. “Shit, Reed, you both all right–”

Gavin hauls Mr. Groves back onto his feet, shoving him at Hank. “Just take this asshole to the car.”

The second Anderson closes his hand around Mr. Groves’s arm, Gavin’s crossing the foyer, sidestepping Chris as he escorts the ST300 away, and he grasps R.K by the sleeve to spin him around.

“Did it hit anythin’?” Gavin’s vision buzzes from how frantically his eyes dart over R.K’s shoulder, taking in the circular tear in the android’s jacket where exposed wires and circuits are flashing blue beneath the synthetic skin. “R, did it fucking hit anythin’–”

“No.” R.K’s taken his wrist, keeping him from touching anything. Gavin hadn’t even realised his hand had been clutching at the android’s shirt. “Nothing that can’t be fixed.”

“Why’d you do that?” Gavin can hear his voice trembling and he hates it; hates that his fingers are trembling too, that his vision is hazy and swaying where it fixates on the wound that would have been Gavin’s if R.K hadn’t been such a fucking idiot. “Why the fuck would you do that–”

“Detective, if I hadn’t–”

“What, you think I’m gonna thank you? Fuck you-” Gavin chokes it out, all of a sudden furious and terrified and trembling so fucking bad, his fists are grasping at the fabric of R.K’s sleeve and there’s a coiling, constricting weight in the pit of his stomach that makes him feel like he’s about to be sick - “Fuck you , you don’t get to do that shit, you’re not a fuckin’ hero, you could’ve–”

“Detective–”

“No, fuck you! Fuck you, he shoulda shot you in the fucking head, then I wouldn’t h-have to waste my fuckin’ breath tellin’ you what a fucking asshole you a-are–”

“Gavin.” R.K’s hands cup his jaw, and Gavin realises he’s being turned around; the man’s body shielding him from view of the rest of the room. Shit, shit, fuck, no, no, not here, not now, please, please don’t, please , Gavin hasn’t had a panic attack so bad since Greensway and it’s merciless and intense and his knees are about to buckle and his whole body’s about to sink through the fucking floor, please not here, just stop, fucking stop, stop, stop, stop-

But R.K’s there. This solid, warm presence in front of him, and until now Gavin’s never been so thankful for the man’s annoying, strait-laced fucking tone of voice. “Focus on me, focus on your breathing. This will pass.”

Gavin does breathe, does focus, but he focuses on the bullet wound instead; on the rhythmic flare of blue lights in the wires. The methodical glints are ironically soothing, considering they’re what caused Gavin’s fucking meltdown in the first place.

And he does begin to calm, slowly, horribly slowly, but steadily, and he’s suddenly so, so stupidly grateful for R.K’s height; for his body in between him and any prying eyes. And in a final moment of weakness, Gavin lets his forehead drop against R.K’s uninjured shoulder, closing his eyes until breathing finally, finally, comes  easier .

“I don’t fucking need you to protect me.”

“Unfortunately, humans are not so easily fixed. The choice was simple. And I was happy to make it.”

Gavin bites out a curse, so quiet and muffled against the android’s jacket that he’s not even sure what he says himself. “Then I don’t want you to, asshole. Don’t ever fuckin’ do it again.”

R.K doesn’t answer, nor does he resist when Gavin shoves him away. They walk to the car in silence, and Gavin doesn’t have the energy to argue when R.K slides into the driver’s seat and gestures for the keys.

They follow Hank and Chris back to Detroit, and if Gavin stands a little closer to R.K than necessary as they ride the elevator up to the DPD’s interrogation rooms, then neither officer says anything.

Notes:

I'm unworthy of this gift, but all my thanks and love are going to artysneurotic today, who has for some reason blessed my trash fic with this gorgeous artwork. There's so much character and personality in the style of these pictures. It very much pleases my eyeholes.

Chapter 9: The Truth Will Out

“The bullet didn’t go deep.” Connor’s brows knit together as he surveys the damage. “I should be able to remove it quite easily.”

“Well, stop just freaking standin’ there then, hurry the fuck up.” Gavin’s been shot before; had a bullet lodged between bone and muscle and layers of skin, he knows how much it sucks. After the initial pain comes this itching, teeth-grinding urge to just claw the intrusion out yourself, with your bare hands if you have to.

He also knows that androids can’t feel pain, he’s not an idiot, but… still. He wants that bullet gone .

They’ve taken one of the empty interrogation rooms. The main lights hadn’t been working, so they’re on back-up power; these pathetic, dim, blue things on the ceiling panels that let off more of a glow than any kind of useful brightness. Though Gavin supposes they should count their blessings Connor doesn’t need much light to be able to see anyway.

R.K’s perched on the table, thirium-stained jacket folded over the back of one of the chairs, and shirt unbuttoned halfway to reveal the jagged bullet wound just beneath his collarbone.

He looks calm as ever, of course. Unfazed, as Connor pokes around in his wires. It’s a complete one-eighty to Gavin’s tapping fingers and antsy idling around the room.

“We should approach Captain Fowler about having more androids stationed here, for medical needs,” Connor muses, thirium dripping down his knuckles as he nudges deeper into the wound. “Someone more qualified than me, at least.”

“But you can fix him, right?” Gavin makes sure it sounds way more a warning than a question, and the way he's stood, leaning against the far wall with his shoulders hunched and arms folded, hopefully only enhances the effect. “Connor–”

“I’m perfectly capable, Detective Reed,” Connor interrupts, though his eyebrows are still furrowed in a manner that doesn’t reassure Gavin. Like, at all. “But bear in mind, I was built for putting bullets into things. Not taking them out.”

Gavin feels the irrational desire to bang his head against the wall. “Dipshit, I swear to God–”

“There.” Connor draws his fingers back, soaked in blue, with the bullet held between them. He drops it with a clatter into the metal plate he’d swiped from a shelf on the way there, and then he begins to inspect the internal damage. “That actually wasn’t too complicated.”

Androids can’t feel pain, he’s fine, Gavin reminds himself. But he fucking swears that R.K’s shoulders had lost some of their tightness the second the bullet was gone. Maybe he could feel it digging in there; no pain, but still an unwelcome invasion. Like a splinter or something.

“Detective Reed.” Gavin looks in Connor’s direction, where the android‘s motioning him over. “Keep R.K’s injury in check. I need to find something to seal the damage with. If you see red instead of blue coming from inside,” the android explains as Gavin cautiously treads to the table, “then shout for me. I won’t be long.”

“Whoa, whoa, hey, Connor!” Gavin starts panicking as the android turns and paces out of the room. “Connor! Asshole, get back here-"

But Connor’s hasty footsteps only become distant, and Gavin curses under his breath when they disappear altogether. His eyes dart to R.K’s wound. The methodical flickers and flashes from the internal wires are, as Connor‘d said, a deep and familiar blue.

Gavin decides that glaring at them is the best approach, absolutely. As though his stern expression alone will keep them flaring that way. Don’t turn red, don’t turn red, don’t turn red.

“I think he asked you to keep an eye merely as a precaution,” R.K points out, his smile noticeable in his voice. “I ran a diagnostic. My systems are in no danger.”

“Oh yeah, smartass? And what if your diagnostics were damaged, huh? What if your feedback’s screwing you over,” Gavin snaps back, gaze still obstinately fixed on the wound. “Wouldn’t feel so clever then, would you.”

R.K doesn’t retort, but Gavin knows he’s amused, and probably arching one of those neat, thin eyebrows at him as well. Gavin’s glare only deepens, and his focus only becomes more intent on the injury. The edge of R’s fucking shirt is covering a corner of the wound and he can’t see. Gavin hooks his index finger around the fabric before he can really consider it, and he tugs it to the side to expose the bullet hole entirely.

The tip of his thumb’s resting against R.K’s chest. Shit. Okay, didn’t think that through. Gavin can’t glean why it’s such a shock to his own very vulnerable, very human system to suddenly have the knowledge that R.K is warm . Fuck, it’s not like Gavin’s never touched an android before; he knows thirium‘s pumped round androids’ vitals like regular blood, he fucking knows  they're as warm as any human. But it does occur to him, creeping into the forefront of his mind, that the shock seems to boil down to the simple fact that it’s R.K perched in front of him. It’s R.K that his fingers are pressing against; it's  R.K’s shirt he’s just pulled aside; it's  R.K whose hair is ruffled and who’s wounded and who’s looking down at him with this fond, soft expression that Gavin can never get enough of in the rare moments it appears on his polished fucking face.

“I’ll be all right.” R’s voice is painfully gentle as well. Tender, as though Gavin’s the one who’s been injured.

“I know that, dumbass.” All of it, the lights, the flare of R’s wires, his warmth, all give Gavin this insane, intense moment of bravery, and he presses his palm flat against R.K’s bare skin. “I know you’re made of strong stuff. I don't... fuck, I just–”

The doors slide open, and Connor returns. Gavin pulls back quickly, as though he’s been burned.

He retakes his place at the side of the room, as the android gets to play nurse and patch up his patient bit by bit. Connor works quickly, and the tension in Gavin’s shoulders and chest eases tremendously when the bullet wound‘s no longer visible.

As R.K closes the button underneath his collar, Anderson sticks his head in from the corridor. “How’s things goin’?”

Connor gives a nod. “All done, Lieutenant.”

Hank hears him well and clear, but he still seems to give R.K a look over. One of the old man’s habits, Gavin knows; if Hank doesn’t see something with his own two eyes, he won’t let the matter rest. “Gonna be all right, kid? You all good?”

“I am fully operational; nothing was in urgent need of repairs.” R.K shoots Hank a little smile, and Gavin preens a little, just a little, to see that it’s nowhere near as soft he’d seen when they were alone. “Your concern is appreciated, though unneeded, Lieutenant, I assure you.”

“Jesus, he sounds like you did months back,” Hank says to Connor, and he scoffs between both androids. “Bein’ a stick in the mud run in the family?”

Connor’s head tilts, and Gavin sees R.K’s mouth close into a thin line; fucking telltale signs that the plastic wonder brothers are about to argue against the Lieutenant’s flawed logic. Gavin knows that could last for-freaking-ever.

“All right, ladies,” he interrupts, barely making it as Connor opens his mouth to speak. “R’s got an interrogation to go to, everybody get the fuck out.”

“I thought you were interrogatin’ the suspect, Reed?” Hank asks, brows high in surprise as they file out into the hallway. “Shit, she requested an android?”

“D’you really blame her,” Gavin retorts. “If I had the choice, I’d rather be questioned by a human. Y’know, someone like me? Makes sense.”

Anderson gives a grunt of agreement after thinking it through. “You got a point.” Yeah, Gavin fucking knows, he’s a pro. “Suppose it’s a comfort, if nothin’ else. Havin’ someone that might understand you better.” He glimpses back at R.K, who walks beside Connor with near perfect synchronicity. “You ever done an interrogation before?”

R.K levels him with an unimpressed look. Gavin smirks, knowing the exact amount of sass that’s about to fire Anderson’s way.

“Lieutenant, you remember what the RK series is designed for, yes? It was my belief that you and RK800 worked together on the Ortiz case last year. Was his performance not enough to instil some faith in our capabilities?”

Hank has the grace to look sheepish, as he turns his gaze forward again. “I see bein’ a smartass runs in the family, too,” he grumbles, before stopping outside room 025. “The suspect’s next door,” he tells R.K, pressing his hand against the keypad of the observation room to gain access. “Try not to let her self-destruct.”

“As you say, Lieutenant.”

“Hey,” Gavin takes R.K’s arm as he moves to enter the interrogation room. “Good luck.”

That smile, the one that makes Gavin’s knees want to hit the floor, makes its first appearance of the day. “Thank you, Gavin.”

R.K strides through the door, and Gavin steps into the neighbouring room, leaning against the one-sided window beside Hank and Connor, to keep an eye.

He has a disconcerting wave of déjà vu as he regards the ST300; sitting where Carlos Ortiz’s android had six months back, cuffs locking her wrists to the table and looking just as frightened. Guess things haven’t changed in the city as much as people had thought, when it came to androids.

R.K‘s poised opposite her; hands laced together atop the table, legs neatly crossed beneath. “Madeline. Your chosen name, or the one Mr. Groves gave you?”

“Michael gave it to me. When I first became his assistant.”

“That was around five years ago?”

“Yes.”

“And how long have you been having sexual relations with your employer?”

Gavin watches Madeline blink in surprise, and she casts an embarrassed glance at the one-way mirror. “H-how… how did you know that–”

“Mr. Groves was willing to shoot Detective Reed and myself in order to prevent us from locating you,” R.K answers. “I doubt any human would go to such lengths for a simple secretary, let alone an android.”

Gavin hears Hank huff from beside him. “Ok, I admit it. Your boy’s good.”

“Nines is equipped with the same software as I am, Lieutenant,” Connor points out, not looking away from the interrogation room. “His proficiency shouldn’t come as a surprise. As he mentioned before, this is the kind of work we were built for.”

Gavin side-eyes the android. “Nines?”

“A nickname.”

“I already got him his name, smartass.”

“I’m aware. But I’ve learned that personalised nicknames are often applied as a sign of friendship. I rather like using them.”

There’s that small, twitchy smile on Connor’s face again, and Gavin makes a show of rolling his eyes with an annoyance he doesn’t feel. Once upon a time, if he was held at gunpoint, maybe , he might have admitted to finding Connor’s smiles cute. Paired with those dumb freckles and the jawline and the Bambi doe-eyes. But now, of course, there's blue eyes and confident smirks and long legs, and ever since R.K–

Gavin cuts the thought off there. He really doesn’t need to get into that, of all things, right now. That’s a problem for future Gavin, present Gavin’s fucking busy.

“Unless I’m wrong, Madeline?”

The ST300’s shoulders are hunched in discomfort, but she concedes. “No. We are... intimate with one another. For over two years now, and long, long after Michael and Lydia’s divorce.”

“And has Mr. Groves ever expressed a desire to reconnect with his ex-wife? Perhaps that’s why you broke into her house and assaulted her on April thirteenth,” R.K continues, cold in the face of the ST300’s shock. “People have done far worse for the sake of passion.”

“No! No, I would never–”

“There’s no point in delaying the inevitable,” R.K interrupts. “We already have Ms Groves’s statement, and there was considerable evidence placing you at her house that night.”

Gavin feels himself frown. There was no evidence, besides a botched broken lock and the gash on Lydia Groves’s arm...

And then he realises what R’s doing. Since the revolution, specific laws regarding androids had been enforced, particularly involving android-related crime. One law, Madeline had already taken advantage of; androids accused of a crime could exercise their right to be questioned by another android, or at least have another android present in the room, for their own comfort if nothing else. Another law was that probing an android’s memory without their consent was now highly illegal.

And since they don’t know precisely what had occurred at Lydia Groves’s house that night, R.K‘s coercing Madeline into allowing them to see the events for themselves.

“Clever prick,” Gavin mutters to himself, more than ready to see where this goes, before the door to the hallway slides open and Ben pokes his head in.

“Gavin–”

“In the middle of somethin’, fuck off.”

“Fowler wants to see you. Gotta sign the report for what happened at Michael Groves’ house.”

“Can it wait?” Gavin motions between himself and the one-sided mirror, “We’re about to get a fuckin’ confession here, Ben. Jesus.”

“I can stay to mediate,” Hank says, reclining back in his chair. “Your boy looks like he knows what he’s doing. If anythin’ happens, Connor’ll come get you.”

Gavin pushes away from the mirror, fingers curling to fists. “Fuck that! Fowler can fuckin’ wait–”

“Don’t be an asshole, Reed, though I know how hard that idea must be for you,” Hank adds, and Gavin barely restrains the urge to kick the chair legs out from under the man. “I’ll keep an eye on your partner, it’s under control. Go and see Jeffrey before he finally cracks and gives you a long overdue suspension.”

Gavin feels his jaw clench, ready to argue, but Ben and Hank and Connor are staring at him, and R’s composed as ever behind the glass, and Gavin really can’t afford another disciplinary. Or a suspension.

He takes a breath through his nose, works his knuckles to loosen them, bites out a “Fine,” and marches past Hank. “If anythin’ happens,” he warns, and Hank’s accepting wave is enough to lessen the force that Gavin grits his teeth with as he walks out into the hallway.

Ben follows him as far as his desk. Gavin takes the steps up to Fowler’s office two at a time, and he doesn’t even knock; just shoulders open the door and lets it slam behind him.

“The fuck, Fowler? Sendin’ Ben to come fetch me, R’s in the middle of a fuckin’ interrogation, this couldn’t have waited like half an hour-”

“Don’t give me your attitude today, Reed, I’m not in the mood. And for the last goddamn time, it’s Captain .” Fowler glares at him over the brim of whatever paperwork he was looking over before Gavin made his grand entrance . “I‘m well aware you were in an interrogation, do not mock my intelligence. I also know Hank and Connor are there too, and you don’t need three fucking people to mediate. Need to talk to you about something, anyway.”

“Just give me the fuckin’ report, then,” Gavin gripes, reaching out for the paper. “Ben said I just gotta sign it–”

“We’ll get to that,” Fowler interrupts, holding up his free hand to silence him. “I need to talk to you about the RK900. Since it started working here–”

“R.K.”

Fowler raises a brow, and Gavin crosses his arms tightly over his chest.

He can feel the flush on his neck, and he knows he’s biting the inside of his mouth. But he also feels another surge of bravery, of stubbornness, and he presses on before they both turn tail and abandon him. “His name’s R.K. And he ain’t a fucking it , so quit callin’ him that.”

He expects another reprimand for talking back, but Fowler just lowers his gaze to read through something on the paper again, before setting it aside on the desk. He fixes Gavin with a solemn expression. Gavin doesn’t fucking like it.

“Since R.K started working here, he’s gotten some attention from other precincts. Even some special agencies. We already knew Connor’s presence had increased public opinion these last few months,” Fowler explains, standing to round the desk and sit on one corner, a little closer to Gavin. “And now with Groves’ case about to be closed, I assume attention’s only gonna grow as far as public service androids are concerned.”

Gavin really does not like the look on his Captain’s face right now. “Yeah, and?” He spares a glimpse to the piece of paper Fowler was holding. And he swears to fucking God that the room actually starts spinning when he spots the word  FBI in bold, black letters. “The hell’s this about?”

“The FBI’s been following R.K’s work. As a prototype like Connor, his position here was experimental, to see how things would work out–”

“Spit it out, Fowler,” Gavin growls, patience out the window and halfway down the fucking street. “What the hell do those assholes want?”

“Perkins wants R.K with them.” Fowler reaches over and retrieves the paper, handing it out to Gavin. “Sent us this, this morning. Never expected the man to request an android for the FBI, not after what happened during the revolution, but… well. Here we are.”

It feels like someone’s stepping on his windpipe. Gavin tries to skim through the transfer request, but phrases like valuable asset and advanced prototype and Richard Perkins’s squiggly fucking signature at the bottom of the page is making it pretty shitting difficult for Gavin not to crumple the paper up in his fist.

“Perkins is coming in sometime this week to discuss a possible transfer.”

Gavin scoffs, but it comes out choked. “What, and R gets no fuckin’ say in this? You’re just gonna hand him over like a goddamn–”

“Don’t give me that, Reed, of course the android gets a fucking say,” Fowler cuts across him again, fingers rubbing his temples like he’s trying to soothe an oncoming headache. Or a current  headache; maybe Gavin’s already given him one. “R.K will be involved in the discussion. I just thought you should know as soon as, since you’ve been the one working with him,” the Captain adds. “I mean, Jesus Christ, Gavin, a few weeks ago you were begging me to reassign you. I thought you'd be thrilled about this.”

Maybe Gavin would have been. But as Fowler just said, that was a few fucking weeks ago. “Yeah, well I’m not. Dick Perkins and the whole FBI can kiss my fuckin’ ass. R ain’t going anywhere.”

“That’s the android’s decision. Not yours,” Fowler says sharply, “and not anyone else’s, as you’ve made abundantly clear.”

Gavin’s fingernails are digging into his palms; any harder and he’ll proobaly draw blood, but the slight sting’s the only thing keeping him from throwing Fowler’s desk chair through the glass walls. “What if he chooses to stay, then what?”

“Then he’ll stay.” Fowler says, as though it’s as simple as that. “We’ve got the room, and with the way the city’s going at the minute, we need all the good officers we can get our hands on. If he decides to stay,” he stresses. “It’s a good position Perkins is offering, Gavin. R.K would be an idiot to turn it down. Anyone would be.”

Gavin doesn’t answer. And after a few seconds of heavy, angry silence, Fowler sighs and files through another mound of papers on the desk. He pulls one out and pushes it at Gavin, “The major incident report for Michael Groves’ house. Read it, sign it, and get the fuck out. I got a million other things to deal with.”

When Gavin trudges out of the office, snarling and scowling and feeling like something in his chest is about to shatter, R.K‘s waiting for him at their desks.

“The Lieutenant mentioned you’d been called away,” he says in way of greeting, glancing to the transparent walls of Fowler’s office. “Nothing too serious, I hope?”

R.K’s still got blue splatters all over his jacket, and the tear in his shirt from Groves’ bullet is still there, and his hair still isn’t as neat as it usually is and Gavin suddenly has this clawing, overwhelming need to fist his hands in it and pull the android down to his eye level.

“It was nothin’,” he brushes off instead. “Report for the shooting. Could’ve waited til we were finished.”

“Speaking of which,” R.K begins, and he leans down to load up something on Gavin’s terminal. How the android has his password, Gavin has no idea and he doesn’t waste his breath asking. Dumb things like that don’t tend to surprise him anymore. “There’s something you should see, Detective.”

“She confess?”

“Not quite. She allowed me access to her memory, and I found out what happened on April thirteenth at Ms Groves’ residence.” R.K places his palm over Gavin’s terminal, and the screen freezes and fizzes for several seconds before a video file sporting R.K’s serial number opens. “I believe this sheds light on the gaps in Ms Groves’ statement. Madeline is, in fact, completely innocent.”

“Like we thought. So, what, she never broke in?”

“Just watch, Detective.” Gavin leans beside R.K to get a closer look at the screen. “Once you have, I expect we’ll have to pay Ms Groves a second visit.”

 

***

 

“So, Detective.” Lydia Groves is wearing the same string of pearls, the same style of dress suit, only in green instead of white, and this time around, Gavin feels cold irritation clench in his gut when she casts her disapproving expression over R.K for the third time since she let them inside. “Might I ask what brings you and your android , back here with absolutely no warning from Captain Fowler?”

“We’re following up on somethin’,” Gavin grates out, as politely as he can manage. “It’s kinda serious.”

He takes a sip of coffee, having accepted one this time around just for something to do with his hands. It’s in a fucking china cup, and it‘s weak as shit, and she put about three sugars in it, and Gavin would give his right fucking leg for a cup of the shitty precinct coffee instead. Preferably one that R’s made.

“We brought in your ex-husband and his android,” Gavin continues, instead of voicing his complaints. “Michael Groves is goin’ on trial for shooting my partner there,” he adds, gesturing in R.K’s direction, where the android is leaning in the doorframe.

The coffee actually tastes slightly better paired with the sight of Ms Groves’ horrified expression. “On trial–? For shooting–” She stares at R.K, who offers her a thin smile in answer. “Michael can’t be on trial! He wasn’t even involved in the assault, I told you! It was all his android’s–”

“ Madeline is totally innocent,” Gavin cuts across her, dropping the china cup back into it’s plate with a harsh little clink , and putting his boots up on the coffee table. Ms Groves looks nearabouts traumatised by the display, and Gavin makes sure to slouch a little more just for the hell of it. “We know she never broke into your house. You’ve been lyin’ this whole time.”

“Lying?!” Ms. Groves makes a valiant show of looking insulted. “That’s absurd! There– The lock was broken, Detective Reed, you saw it yourself! And this,” she rolls up her sleeve to reveal the cut; healing but still visible along the side of her forearm. “What reason would I have to lie–?”

“I’m glad you ask.” R.K straightens up, and he takes a few paces until he’s standing in the centre of the kitchen. “Thank you once again for allowing us back into your charming home, Ms Groves. I should be able to reconstruct the scene much clearer here than at the precinct.” He looks to Gavin, “If you’ll allow me to take point, Detective?”

Gavin sweeps a hand over the kitchen. “Do your thing.”

R.K laces his hands behind his back, and begins his analysis. “Madeline did not break in, Ms Groves. Because you invited her in.”

“Ridiculous! I won’t be questioned in my own home.” Ms Groves gapes at them both from her place on the couch. “You, both of you, leave this instant–”

“After your divorce, and Michael Groves’s rising success, you became envious of his new relationship with his assistant. Madeline. So you hatched a plan.” R.K moves over to the back door, inspecting the lock. “Stage a break-in, stage an assault, and frame Madeline for the crime. After all, who would believe an android over a human? Even with the new laws put into place.”

“Detective Reed,  shut this thing up–”

“You invited Madeline here as a show of peace on April thirteenth; a chance to talk things through and move forwards, which she readily accepted,” R continues. “She entered here quite legally; through the front door, in fact. I have her memory of that night uploaded. It all becomes a little difficult to follow, however, after you began breaking things in order to stage the attack. Emotional shock is never good for an android’s processors, I’m afraid.”

“We couldn’t see anythin’ after you smashed up the counters,” Gavin adds. “She was makin’ dinner, right?” he asks R.K, getting to his feet and joining him near the oven. “I saw steam from the stove before the image from Madeline’s memory started cutting out.”

“Correct.”

“Then she started tearin’ the place apart,” Gavin continues, treading along the outskirts of the kitchen counters, recalling vague, static images of broken plates and torn curtains flashing across the screen of his terminal back at the DPD. “But that alone wouldn’t have been evidence enough. You needed somethin’ else,” he continues to Ms Groves over his shoulder, as he comes to a stop beside the stand of knives. “I was wonderin’ why the cut was on your left arm.”

“An astute observation, Detective.” There’s that proud, impressed little note to R.K’s voice, and it gives Gavin all the go ahead he needs.

“If you’d gotten that injury in self-defence, it’d be on your right arm. You’re right-handed,” Gavin indicts, taking in the gash on Ms Groves’ left arm. “On instinct, you’d raise your dominant arm to fight off an attack. Madeline didn’t do that to you. You–”

“Did it to yourself,” R.K finishes. “Indeed. The same way you damaged the back-door’s lock, to make it appear as though there was an intrusion. You were trying to point the evidence away from yourself and toward Madeline, in the hope that she would be arrested. What was your end goal?” R.K presses on, drawing closer to Ms Groves, who by now has stood and is staring, dazed and dismayed, between them. “To see Madeline behind bars? To win your ex-husband back? Or was it plain and simple hatred for an innocent android? I doubt you foresaw Michael Groves protecting her, however.”

“She’s a machine!” Ms. Groves splutters, finally finding her voice. “She’s just a machine ! Michael just needed an assistant for work, he wasn’t supposed to fall in love with her! He left me for a fucking machine, and now he’s going to jail for a machine! It should be Madeline, it should be that thing being arrested,” she spits at R.K. “She doesn’t even feel anything! None of you do!”

“Shut your fuckin’ mouth before I shut it for you.” Gavin steps between her and R.K. “Lydia Groves, you’re under arrest for illicitly assaulting an android and obstructing the course of justice. As a witness, Madeline has given us evidence supporting her statement, and it‘ll be used in her defence against you in court.”

Gavin’s still not satisfied when he locks the handcuffs around her wrists, so he adds, “And if you talk to my partner like that again, I’m gonna have you locked up for the rest of your life.”

He technically can’t do that, but it’s worth the threat just to see the horror in Ms Groves’ eyes, and hear R.K’s soft chuckle before they begin the car ride back to Detroit.

Notes:

The first scene with the bullet wound is once again inspired by Donlemefo. This picture here.

Chapter 10: A Potential Promotion

“So you arrested the ex-wife, huh? The real suspect was a human all along.” Hank doesn’t sound surprised. His tone’s full of its usual, comforting cynicism. “What’re you doing with the architect?”

“He’s serving time for firing at an officer. We tried to get him on intent to kill, but he’s one of the rich assholes, y’know? Good lawyers, good bail, all that shit,” Gavin adds, bitter, from his perch on the edge of Anderson’s desk. “Doubt he’ll get more than a few fuckin’ years.”

“And the android? Madeline?”

“She’s off scot-free, poor kid didn’t do anythin’ wrong. R said she’s taking over Groves’s company while he’s on the inside.”

Hank hums, then shakes his head. “Startin’ to feel sorry for these androids, y’know. Stuck on this planet with us screw-ups.”

“What d’you mean, startin’ to,” Gavin scoffs. “You’ve been soft on ‘em forever. Or don’t you remember letting robot Fido trail you around like a fuckin’ Jack Russell? Even before the revolution.”

“Oh, okay. Sure. Like you can fuckin’ talk, right, Reed.” Gavin knows he’s made a huge mistake, opening his big fucking mouth. He knows that gleam in Hank’s eyes. “Not like you’ve had a raging hard-on for Mr Turtleneck since the second he walked in here or anything.”

“Keep your fuckin’ voice down,” Gavin hisses, wary and way too conscious of himself as he glances across the bullpen. R.K’s mercifully too far away to overhear; stood talking with Connor over by Chris and Chen’s desks. “And no, I haven’t, not that it’s any of your business, Hank. R’s an arrogant prick, anyway.”

“Match made in heaven, then.” Hank snorts when Gavin elbows him. “Cool it, Reed. Don’t pretend you can’t handle a little playground teasing. Besides,” he says, regarding the pair of androids thoughtfully, “I reckon he likes you, too.”

Gavin scowls. He doesn’t care. He’s not interested. Don’t ask, Reed, just live and let live. He chews on the inside of his lip.

Then he caves, because his impulse control has never been up to par. “What makes you say that?”

Hank shrugs, reclined back in his desk chair like he's Gavin's judge, jury and executioner rolled into one. “Well, he hasn’t quit you yet, for one. And you ain’t exactly the nicest guy in the world, so I guess that’s sayin’ something.”

“Very funny,” Gavin mutters. His brows furrow when he looks back at R.K. He watches as he and Connor take one another’s forearm, the synthetic skin thawing away to reveal the white shell of their casing beneath. “The fuck are they doin’?”

“Hell knows,” Hank answers, with the tone of a man who’s been privy to the same weird shit for a while now and no longer cares to know the details. “Think it’s an interface thing, like sharing memories without having to probe them. Somethin’ like that. Connor tried to explain it once, but I switched off. It’s all just a load of software and coding nonsense, I can’t listen to that crap.”

“Yeah,” Gavin agrees distantly. He’s all of a sudden heavily distracted by the white, porcelain-like texture of R’s arm, as the skin coating spreads away under Connor’s touch.

Connor’s doing that blinky thing he does whenever he has to make a wireless report or connects with something that makes his LED start to flash. R.K just has a slightly vague look in his eyes, like he’s noticed something in the distance he’s trying to focus on.

Gavin plunges back into reality when he clocks Hank scrutinising him. He doesn’t give the old man the satisfaction of looking at him, though. “What.”

“Bein’ with an android ain’t so bad, you know. Not that different.”

The shock of Anderson’s almost-confession forces Gavin’s head snap around to him. Gavin had presumed, of course, more so as time went on – Connor and Hank weren’t always as subtle as they thought, and Gavin liked to think he was a good enough detective to have picked out all the signs. But actually hearing Hank say it aloud is weirdly jarring. And unexpected as hell.

And worst of all, it makes a tiny, treacherous ember of hope start to smoulder in Gavin’s chest. “The fuck are you tellin’ me that?”

Hank shrugs again, but he’s cornering Gavin with this sympathetic, knowing look. “Just sayin’. Might not hurt to buck up and lose some of that pride of yours, give things a fair chance. Never know. Might be the best choice you ever make.”

Before Gavin’s brain can even catch up with all this and muster a response, the little click-clack of Connor’s shoes warns him that it’s no longer safe to talk about this shit. Hank nudges Gavin until he’s standing, in order to make room at the desk.

“Congratulations on closing the case, Detective Reed,” Connor says, taking his seat opposite the Lieutenant. “Nines told me you were the one who pieced together the evidence and found Lydia Groves guilty of staging the assault.”

Some snide comeback is about to leave Gavin’s mouth, instinctive and welcome in the face of Gavin’s confusion and unease over his and Anderson’s little heart-to-heart. But then Hank catches his eye, and everything the man just pointed out throbs behind Gavin’s temples, and for once in his fucking life, he reigns in his tongue before it runs away with him.

“Team effort,” he answers instead, though he can’t look Connor in the eye while he does. Baby steps. “R’s a good cop.”

Connor fucking beams. It’s horrifyingly sunny and adorable. He doesn’t know whether it’s the sight of that, or the way Hank looks at the android when he does it, that makes Gavin want to throw up slightly. He chalks it up to both, and makes himself scarce before he has to be part of the scene for any longer.

He shirks down at his own desk with a shudder. “I swear those two are gonna give me fuckin’ cavities,” he gripes to R.K, who raises a questioning eyebrow in the pair’s direction. “Seriously, shitbird, you should’ve seen Anderson before Connor got here, that fugly smile on his face never saw the light of day. Now I gotta look at twenty-four-seven.” He can’t seem to manage to put any bite into his tone, though.

“From what I’ve heard of the Lieutenant’s previous reputation, he seems considerably happier now,” R remarks. “Eight cares about him very much.”

Gavin darts his gaze sideways, looking at anything that’s an inanimate object and not the android’s eyes. “You can’t just say sappy shit like that,” he mutters. “And Eight? Seriously? You’re doin’ the whole nickname thing too?”

“I’ve learned that personalised nicknames are often applied as a sign of friendship. I rather like using them.”

“Whoa, whoa, okay, don’t do that, you fuckin’ creep,” Gavin warns, disturbed and side-eying the android suspiciously. “Connor said that to me word for word, how the hell–” He cuts himself off when he sees R.K’s conceited little smile. “Asshole. You fuckin’ knew he said that to me. What, smartass, you think you can freak me out or somethin’?”

“Yes, I do,” R.K retorts, all blue eyes and self-satisfaction. “And it seems to have worked."

“Asshole.”

“So you’ve said.”

Gavin can’t help watching him this time, as R glances around the station; taking in their colleagues, the desks, the glass walls of the office.

He grants Gavin one of those small, genuine smiles of his. “The case has been closed. An overall successful month, barring a few minor setbacks.”

“What,” Gavin smirks, “like bullying me on your first day of school?”

“I was going to say getting shot at Michael Groves’ house. But I suppose an apology may be in order for our first meeting,” R.K muses, before his smile turns significantly shittier. “On your end, I mean. You were being rather rude, so I feel my reaction was completely justified.”

“Prick,” Gavin mutters, but lets himself grin. He couldn’t stop it even if he’d bothered to try.

“Plastic prick, I believe you said. You do realise that we’re not actually made out of plastic.”

“I don’t give a fuck what you’re made out of, you’re still a prick.”

“And you’re still rather rude,” R.K says with an obviously feigned sigh. “It seems neither of us has changed much over the course of our partnership, then. A pity. Though I suppose–”

“Oh, fuck.” Gavin stares at the entrance, not registering that he’s cut R.K off as he catches sight of Perkins. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He watches the son of a bitch, as snotty and self-righteous as Gavin remembers him, try to make his way across the station before he’s stopped by their security to fill out a visitor’s form. “Shit. Shit,” Gavin hisses. His conversation with Fowler is suddenly a very solid intrusion to just about every part of his brain. “Fucking shit.”

“I doubt Agent Perkins’s presence here is the cause for such colourful language, Detective,” R.K says dryly, also regarding the man. Perkins tries to flash his FBI badge at the officers to avoid the paperwork. “Though no one else seems particularly thrilled about him being here, either.”

Perkins reluctantly accepts a visitor’s pass, and he walks by their desks, shooting a shitty little wink at Gavin as he passes. The prick’s eyes linger for far too long on R, as though he’s a fucking prize at a vanity fair. Gavin feels his fingers twitch towards his gun.

“On second thought, curse away,” R.K concedes, an unimpressed expression clouding his face as he observes Perkins climbing the stairs and entering Fowler’s office. “He’s still as much of a shit as last time.”

God, it crashes properly over Gavin then; hard and without any pity. It’s only been a month, and this could already be the last time he sees R.K. It could be the last time he talks with him, shit-talks him, the last time he hears that polished voice and that fucking chuckle that makes something in Gavin’s stomach start doing backflips, the last time he sees those cold eyes start to thaw whenever Gavin manages to say something that particularly amuses him, the last time he actually feels like he has a partner in the DPD, for once in his fucking life, who gets him and accepts him, for some fucking reason. Gavin suddenly can’t fucking bear it, pride be damned.

Fuck pride, Pulp Fiction’s Marcellus Wallace scoffs at him in his head. Pride only hurts, it never helps.

“Don’t go.”

R.K’s head tilts in Gavin’s direction, like his entire attention’s been pulled toward him with just those two words. “Detective?”

“Just…” Gavin curses himself for not knowing the right words, for not knowing how to handle it, for not being fucking good or prepared enough for this shit, but there’s no time anymore. “You’re gonna get called in there, okay,” Gavin jerks his head towards Fowler’s office, “and Perkins is gonna offer you a sweet fuckin’ deal. And the smart thing to do is accept and never take a second fuckin’ look at this place, and I know that. I know, but just… don’t.”

“Detective, what is–”

“Just don’t, just… just stay.” Gavin’s grabbed his wrist. His jacket’s soft and the skin beneath is warm through the fabric, and Gavin can see Fowler and Perkins talking behind the glass walls out of the corner of his eye. “You got a choice, it’s obviously your fuckin’ choice, and I get that, and that’s fine. But I… I want you to stay. I want you to stay with me.”

R.K’s reaching to take his hand when Fowler ducks his head out from the door and calls across the bullpen.

“R.K, get in here.”

The android stays where he is for a few seconds, processing whatever he sees on Gavin’s face. Hope? Embarrassment? The way too late realisation that he’d trade pretty much anything right now if it meant that Perkins didn’t get his slimy, fucking hands on the first partner Gavin’s ever wanted to see stay? Gavin has no idea, and he doesn’t have the chance to fucking ask.

He watches, with a cruel kind of tightness all over him, as R.K stands and strides up the stairs into the Captain’s office. There’s no way in hell he’s staying to watch the meeting. The last thing he needs to fucking see is that triumphant, shitty smirk on Perkins’s face when R.K accepts his offer of a transfer, because then Gavin really will get suspended for something. Knocking an FBI agent flat, for sure.

He grabs his jacket instead, and just leaves. He just gets the fuck out. Ignores Connor’s curiosity, ignores Anderson’s, “The fuck you goin’, Reed?” and storms into the elevator; rides it down to street level while the fucking speakers fitted into the ceiling drone classical music at him; the notes methodical and the structure precise, mocking Gavin the whole way down.

The DPD’s entrance doors glide open, and Gavin walks out into a bluster of wind and the early afternoon chill.

He barely walks down the street. He just needs to be somewhere else besides that fucking office. He slumps down on one of the benches near the precinct. “Fuck this,” he mutters to himself, too loudly apparently. An old lady with a dachshund shoots him a dirty look as she walks by.

He ignores her, takes out his phone to distract himself when he sees a text from Hank, and three from Chen.

 

-----------------------------  Wednesday 24^th May, 2039 (PM)  -----------------------------

Lt. Dickwad
(13:09)
something happen?

 

-----------------------------  Wednesday 24^th May, 2039 (PM)  -----------------------------

Tina
(12:56)
Heads up, just saw Dick Perkins in the lobby

(13:01)
Just saw you sulk off, wtf is going on?
Perkins say something?

(13:06)
Listen, know we haven’t talked much these last
few weeks. Sorry I shit talked robo boy before.
I can tell you really like him and he actually
seems ok. Hope everythings ok x

 

Gavin feels this very unwelcome lump in his throat. Shit. He texts back before he fully registers that his fingers are moving.

 

Gavin
(13:11)
I’m good

(13:11)
just needed some air

Tina
(13:11)
Ok

(13:12)
Let me know if I need to punch
anyone tho? (ง'̀-'́)ง

Gavin
(13:12)
Sure x

 

Fuck Perkins. Everyone knows the guy’s anti-android; ever since the revolution, he’s had no problem voicing his opinions about them loud and clear. He sure seems to have had a convenient change of heart, just as the DPD successfully close their first case with a shiny new android on their team. “Fuckin’ prick.”

Gavin’s about to shove the phone back in his pocket, when he spots R.K’s name in his listed messages. It’s a bad fucking idea, considering the asshole’s the whole reason he skulked out here in the first place. But like Gavin said, he’s always had shitty impulse control. He opens up their last conversation and greedily scrolls through.

 

-----------------------------  Sunday 21^st May, 2039 (PM)  -----------------------------

R.K
(21:31)
I have a question.

Gavin
(21:32)
shoot

R.K
(21:32)
If Uma Thurman truly wishes to kill this
‘Bill’, then surely the most efficient means
would be a long-range weapon?

(21:33)
A sniper, perhaps?

Gavin
(21:33)
dipshit you’re missing the point

R.K
(21:33)
Enlighten me.

Gavin
(21:34)
if she just topped Bill straight out, she wouldn’t
get closure. it’s a revenge story, the whole
point is the journey

(21:35)
plus it’d be a shit movie if she just shot the
guy there and then. bang, dead, roll credits

R.K
(21:36)
I see.

Gavin
(21:38)
you don’t like it?

R.K
(21:39)
Quite the contrary. The characters are rather
intriguing and the dialogue is well written.

(21:39)
I merely assumed, since she seems so set on
murdering this man, that she’d find a less
complicated way of going about it.

Gavin
(21:40)
that’s humans for you

(21:41)
give us something simple, we’ll complicate it

R.K
(21:42)
You do tend to make things far harder for
yourselves than they need to be.

Gavin
(21:42)
yeah we’re all fuckups

R.K
(21:42)
Not all of you.

(21:43)
Putting aside your complete disregard for
manners of any kind, you’re doing remarkably
well for yourself.

Gavin
(21:43)
my heart is full of joy and gratitude

(21:43)
凸凸

 

Gavin was really going to fucking miss this. Not that he’d admit it in a million years, but he was really going to miss it. He’d never met someone he liked doing this with so fucking much; talk about his interests, waiting around on his couch in front of the TV, with Mia on his lap and his knee bouncing in anticipation for the next buzz of his phone.

 

R.K
(21:56)
They’re using these samurai swords completely
incorrectly.

Gavin
(21:56)
I’m so done with you rn

R.K
(21:57)
You’d expect after all her supposed years of
training, she would at least be able to hold a sword
properly.

Gavin
(21:58)
I hate you

R.K
(21:58)
: )

Gavin
(21:59)
jesus f christ I hate you

(22:15)
movie over?

R.K
(22:15)
Yes. Thank you for the recommendation,
I enjoyed it.

Gavin
(22:16)
its not tarantinos best, but still a classic

R.K
(22:17)
What would you suggest I watch next?

Gavin
(22:17)
jackie brown or hateful eight

R.K
(22:18)
Not Pulp Fiction?

Gavin
(22:18)
nah you gotta work your way up to it. worst
to best

R.K
(22:19)
Hateful Eight it is, then.

(23:06)
Effective poison does not take this long to kill
someone, Detective. This is highly inaccurate.

Gavin
(23:07)
you’re such a fuck, just watch the movie

 

“Detective?”

Gavin flinches and his thumb instinctively swipes his screen back to the menu display.

R.K’s standing off to the side, jacket discarded and arms crossed over his chest, creating the illusion of being cold. It’s something that all androids seem to be equipped with, for some fucking reason. And without the jacket, without the blue triangle or the android letters in bold print, there’s only the LED reminding Gavin that R’s an android at all. Since the revolution, the differences between them and humans seem to be diminishing all the time.

“May I sit?”

Gavin shrugs, stiff and hurt and trying to look like he doesn’t give as many fucks as he actually does. But R.K takes it as permission. He perches beside him on the bench, back ramrod straight and palms flat against his thighs.

The android doesn’t speak again, and Gavin knows that he’s giving him space. Keeping him company, checking up on him but not forcing him to talk. R does it all the time when they’re alone. It’s annoying. It’s thoughtful. It’s kind. And shit, Gavin is really, really going to fucking miss him.

“Look, what I said before,” he begins, rubbing a hand over his face. He’s tired, he’s so goddamn tired, and he just wants to get this over with as quickly as possible. What’s the point in dragging it out and making it hurt more. “Just forget about it, you guys won your freedom and all that shit. I shouldn’t have a say in what you do, don’t even know why I said it. You’ll do fine in the FBI,” he adds. It hurts like a bitch but he knows it’s the truth. “Probably put all those other assholes to shame, ‘specially Perkins.”

R.K hums. “Yes, I would,” he says, fucking humble as ever, and Gavin manages a weak scoff in response. “I have declined his offer, however, so I suppose we’ll never know.”

There’s a jolt, a surge of sudden and rousing disbelief, and Gavin slowly lowers his hands to look at him. “You declined?”

“I declined.” R.K cocks his head, as though confused by Gavin’s shock. But there’s that barely-there smile, curving at the corners of his mouth, and Gavin’s heart is going to fucking burst. “Rather adamantly, in fact. I do not think Agent Perkins was pleased.”

“You–” Gavin’s attention is abruptly drawn to the DPD’s entrance, as Perkins marches through the doors, expression like he’s just had something forcibly inserted where the sun doesn’t shine. He storms to his car, pauses when he spots Gavin and R.K on the bench. Gavin battles the urge to flip the man off, because he’s not that childish. Perkins spits something under his breath as he wrenches his car door open and slams it behind him.

“Not pleased? R, he looks ready to commit fuckin’ genocide, what did you say to him?”

“Well, he offered me a rather comfortable position in the FBI, as you’d kindly warned,” R.K explains. “And I took a phrase from your book in response.”

“Yeah?”

R’s smile widens into something dry and conceited and amazing. “I told him to go fuck himself.”

Gavin throws his head back and laughs. He can’t help it, and it feels so good that it starts to hurt, and R’s laughing with him, and everything, every single thing in that moment, is just right. “Fuckin’ maniac. D’you know how much FBI douchebags get paid?”

“I have no need for a pay rise,” R.K assures, watching Perkins’s car speed away with a contently triumphant expression.

“What, not even to upkeep that fancy apartment of yours?”

“It’s perfectly affordable on my current salary.”

Gavin shakes his head. “R… what the fuck.” Seriously, his heart’s actually about to fucking burst, and he’s grinning like a moron and he doesn’t give a shit. “The FBI, you dumbass, you could’ve–” He cuts himself off. It doesn’t matter what the guy could’ve done, it doesn’t fucking matter. He’s staying. He’s staying. “What’d Fowler say?”

“The Captain seemed accepting of my decision,” R.K answers, sounding far too casual for how happy Gavin feels right now. “He offered me a permanent position in the DPD as an alternative. So.” The android tilts his head at Gavin, “You wouldn’t happen to know of any assholes in need of a partner?”

“You been watchin’ too many fucking movies.” Gavin leans back against the bench, giddy with relief, and he’s convinced his smile’s about to split his goddamn face in half. “Yeah. Yeah, I might know of someone.”

Notes:

I had to extend the amount of chapters, make room for all the smut and feelings at the end. It will be the sappiest thing to have ever sapped.

Also, another great big thank you to artysneurotic, who made more wonderful artwork based on this chapter. Mwaa *chef's kiss* Simply amazing!

Chapter 11: 2 Months Later = Progress?

Notes:

Or this chapter's alternative title: Gavin is one thirsty bitch.

“I don’t know which side of the bed you woke up on this mornin’, Wilson, but it was the wrong fuckin’ one,” Gavin bites out, restraining the urge to knock his fellow officer upside the head. “You called us in to help you out on this, and I’m givin’ you a solid, grade A plan of attack, and it’ll work, so stop fuckin’ questioning me.”

“Christ, Reed, this is crazy,” Wilson mutters in response, looking sceptically between Gavin and his partner.

They’re in the lobby of a building on Third Street, waiting to enter the AXIS lounge and get the dealers in their sights. Red Ice suppliers; a notorious group the DPD have been after for weeks. A tipoff from one of the workers at the club told them the gang frequented the joint for business deals, and usually arrived by nine PM to stay for several hours.

If the tipoff’s solid, they could shut down a major drugs operation for good. Gavin doesn’t see any fucking problems with this, which is why he’s currently grinding his teeth to blunt nubs in exasperation because Wilson apparently missed the memo that this is going to fucking work. “Wilson, I swear to God–”

“It’s too risky! It’ll never work, Gavin, not in a million years! We should just bust ‘em straight up, soon as they walk in.”

“I gotta back Wilson up on this one, man,” Andy, the traitor, says. “I mean, I know he’s like a state-of the-art android and all, but–”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Gavin interrupts, incredulous and staring between the two jackasses like they’ve just grown a third, stupider head between them. “I’m sorry, have you been workin’ with him for three months? Been in the field with him, had a perfect closed-case record?” He grants them the most pointed look he can muster, and feels a shitty surge of self-satisfaction when no one answers him. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

“Officer Wilson, Officer Brown,” R.K interjects calmly, but Gavin can tell he’s losing his patience as well. “Know that I’m squeezing every ounce of respect I have for Detective Reed completely dry when I say it-” and he effortlessly dodges the kick that Gavin aims for his shin, “-but there is a high probability that his plan will succeed. It may be rash and ill-thought-out, but I believe that guile over force is necessary. Undercover is our best option if we wish to see evidence of a Red Ice trade with our own eyes.”

“See?” Gavin purposely ignores his partner’s rash and ill-thought-out remarks. He’s sure the prick meant wise and sensible or something, and his internal processor or whatever just got mixed up. Obviously what happened. “Me and R can handle this. We can pass for buyers no problem, and you and Andy can keep a look out while we play it cool.”

“I dunno, man…” Wilson begins, looking R.K up and down, and Gavin somehow feels his tolerance wear even thinner. Soon it’ll be non-existent, and then there’ll be trouble. “Has he ever even been undercover before? I mean, you need some sort of experience.”

R.K laces his hands behind his back, projecting that tolerance that Gavin no longer has. “I assure you both, this is as good a plan as we’ll be able to execute within the limited timeframe we have. Detective Reed knows what he’s doing,” he adds, giving Gavin a nod, “and I was built for such tasks as negotiation. I was not programmed to fail.”

“So, Wilson,” Gavin says pointedly, “stop your bitching, and Andy sort out your fuckin’ hair. And what kind of pervert wears a check shirt to a club, man, what the fuck is wrong with you.”

Not wanting to risk waiting around to give them any more time to argue, Gavin turns and heads for the doorway leading to the main area of the AXIS lounge. R.K follows him closely. Don’t stare, don’t stare, don’t fucking stare. Gavin’s been fucking battling the impulse to stare at him like a total creep for the whole evening.

He knows what the problem is: he’s never seen the android out of that dumb turtleneck before, and now he thinks it was for a good reason. R’s throat’s on show, as pale and flawless as the rest of him, and Gavin can’t for the life of him stop glancing at it. Or at the rest of him, fuck it. Why deny it to himself, he fucking knows he’s doing it. The android’s dressed mostly in black; boots, tight jeans that make his legs look like they go on for goddamn miles. Only the shirt’s white, and it hugs every perfect fucking curve of his shoulders and arms.

Gavin hadn’t even thought R.K owned other clothes, but here they were.

It’s disconcerting, too, to see R without his LED. When Wilson had asked Gavin to join the bust, he’d warned he wasn’t going anywhere without R. Wilson, being the cautious fuckstick that he is, argued that the android would give them away. Then R.K had picked up the nearest pair of scissors and jimmied the LED loose from the crest of his brow. Lead the way, Detective, he’d said, and Gavin had smirked at Wilson’s expression for the entire drive downtown.

Still, Gavin isn’t sure he likes it. R.K’s always hard to read, but at least with the LED there he'd had some indication of basic emotions. Blue: he was good. Yellow: processing, confused, all that jazz, nothing really to worry about. Red: definitely bad. It had always been as simple as that. But with it gone, there’s no foundation to draw from.

“We’re looking for four men,” R.K says, voice low as they make their way down the corridor, Wilson and Brown trailing behind. “Henrik Brandt, the head of the operation. Mid-fifties, grey hair and green eyes. His right-hand man, name unknown, though he should be recognisable from a cobra tattoo on the left side of his neck. And finally, Brandt’s bodyguards. Karl and Eriksen Lund. Early thirties, blonde hair.”

“Why’re you tellin’ me this, dipshit,” Gavin gripes as they reach the doors to the lounge. “I read the case file, you know I know who we’re lookin’ for.”

“It never hurts to be prepared,” R.K retorts, infuriatingly level-headed at his side. “And you humans do have an incredibly short attention-span. I thought it best to ensure you were as informed as possible.” Before Gavin can argue, R.K takes the handle and opens the door, gesturing for him to go first. “After you.”

“Damn right, after me.” Gavin tries, he really fucking does, not to focus on how well R’s shirt fits him as he brushes past the android. He fails, like an absolute trooper.

The low, pulsing bass of the music hits him the second he steps through. It’s dimly lit; lighting is tinged purple, matching the cushions on the bar stools and reflecting in the glass of the drinks and tables. The place is crowded considering it’s still early; people dressed to impress in glitter and tight-fitting dresses, or in suits and shirts and polished shoes. Gavin realises he hasn’t made as much of an effort as he’d thought he had, though he definitely doesn’t stick out enough to attract any sideways glances.

R, though, blends in about as well as a wolf blends in with some sheep.

He’s probably taller than anybody here; looming and poised and plain sinful in that shirt. Gavin’s staring again. You know, like an asshole. And he’s fallen behind; R.K’s heading straight to the bar in an attempt to seem like an ordinary patron. Don’t attract attention, Gavin reminds himself. Get your shit together, c’mon.

“Left of the bar, over by the mirror,” he waylays to Wilson and Andy. “That should give you a decent scope of the room. Stay there, watch our backs. Signal us if you see anythin’.”

They nod their assent and pair off, heading to the booth whilst Gavin joins R.K at the bar. There’s a drink waiting for him. An old fashioned? He frowns as R.K finishes talking to the bartender, some a skinny girl – Gavin assumes they’re a girl, at least, but he could be wrong – with shocking white hair and tattoos trailing along their arms. They retreat to the far end of the bar, and R.K shoots a smile down at Gavin. Keep it together, Reed.

“For you,” the android clarifies, sliding the drink closer with two, long fingers. “We should, in your own words, act natural. And I doubt one drink will hurt. Your alcohol tolerance is high enough.”

Gavin would ask how the fuck R.K knows his alcohol tolerance, but he’s certain he’ll get some convoluted answer that he won’t understand or care about. “How’d you know what I’d order?” he asks instead, genuinely curious.

“I didn’t,” R.K answers. “The ingredients reminded me of you, however.”

Gavin grins, taking a sip. “What, neat and classic?”

“Bitter and occasionally difficult to swallow,” R corrects, unamused. “Though I suppose your interest in Tarantino movies does make you something of a classic, if that’s how you’d prefer to see yourself.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Gavin smirks, nudging R with his shoulder. “You’re such a fuckin’ prick.”

“Pot, meet kettle.” R.K peers around the lounge, and Gavin can’t stop himself just… taking him in while he does. The fucking mood lighting and shit isn’t helping, either. It makes R’s eyes look darker, makes his cheekbones stand out more and catches on the sharp edge of his jaw in a way that’s making Gavin’s legs lose feeling. Fuck. “No sign on our suspects, as of yet. White told me that Brendt is typically here before nine PM.”

“Who?”

“The bartender,” R.K says, nodding towards the white-haired girl and or guy and or neither. Gavin still can’t fucking tell. “It never hurts to find out someone’s name, I’ve found. Especially since I rather appreciate having my own now.”

Gavin wishes to hell, heaven and earth that R would stop smiling at him like that. But he can’t fucking win, ‘cause on the other hand he sees it so rarely he feels like he should savour it to the full while he can.

He takes a sip – ok, gulp, sue him – of the old fashioned, letting the bitterness seep into his tongue and silently ordering himself for the hundrenth time to pack up all his shit and keep it the fuck together. They’re on a job; ogling his partner should be the last thing on his iota. It doesn’t help that his partner’s six-foot-whatever of sex on legs; with that fucking mouth and that dumb tuft of hair that’s always hanging over his forehead like Clark fucking Kent.

When he tears his eyes away, Gavin has sense enough to glance at the entrance, and that’s when their suspects walk in. “R.”

“I see them.”

The group are greeted by one of the waitresses, and led to a large booth in a nice, shady corner of the establishment.

Gavin makes sure Wilson and Andy have seen them too, and have a good view of their suspects’ table. He can’t signal them to call back-up or a squad car yet, not without physical evidence of a Red Ice deal, and the only shifty thing the men have done so far is enter the place and look like bad guys.

“Well, there’s our cobra tattoo,” Gavin remarks, sighting the dark pattern snaking its way up the side of the tallest man’s neck. “Looks like these are our guys.”

“I suggest we wait before approaching them. If we seem too eager, it may arouse their suspicion.”

“We’ll give it ten minutes or somethin’. Give ‘em chance to settle in, have a few drinks before they’re spendin’ the rest of their lives getting ass-fucked in downtown’s prison showers.”

“Charming image.”

Gavin takes another sip of his old fashioned, before he frowns down at the half empty glass. “Feels weird drinkin’ alone. Shit, is this how Anderson feels? It’s fuckin’ sad.”

There’s a pause, and then the glass is plucked from under his nose, and R’s bringing it to his lips, taking a generous taste.

“Whoa, whoa, hey,” Gavin warns, too late as R.K lowers the cocktail and hands it back to him. “You can actually drink that, right? It’s not gonna mess up your components or whatever?”

“Androids are fitted with an internal modulator. It detoxifies and defuses any harmful liquids,” R assures him. “I cannot become intoxicated, but I can drink in moderate amounts. It’s probably not a good idea to overindulge the habit, but I doubt one drink will majorly affect my systems.”

Gavin considers the information. Then, cautiously, slides the old fashioned back in R.K’s direction. “CyberLife thought of everythin’, huh. Is there anything that would make you drunk?” he asks, as an afterthought. Drunk R.K might just be the most hilarious notion on the planet. “Somethin’ that, I dunno, could get through your system enough to make you feel it?”

“I doubt it,” R answers, studying the cocktail. “Since alcohol is technically considered dangerous, I have fail-proof defences to combat its effects.”

“Shit,” Gavin scoffs, “sucks to be you. Bein’ drunk ain’t so bad most of the time.”

“I imagine I’d prefer to keep a clear head anyway, whether I had the option or not.”

“Boring.”

“Practical,” R.K amends, but he looks amused. “However, I do not mind indulging a little. If you’d rather not drink alone.”

Well. Gavin doesn’t know why the thought happens or where the ever-merciful fuck it comes from, but in that second he imagines kissing him. Sudden, and hard, and deep. He wants to taste the whiskey on R’s lips, wants to curl his fingers through that fucking hair and see how real it feels against his palms. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. This isn’t fucking happening. Gavin’s always fallen too hard, too fast, and it’s never worked out because he either always fucks it up, or he always falls for the wrong kind of guy who ends up fucking him over.

“Eriksen’s moving.” R.K’s voice snaps him back to reality, and Gavin forces himself not to whip around and expose their cover. “He’s coming to the bar.”

 

***

 

Within ten minutes, Gavin and R.K are sitting opposite Henrik Brandt in the dealer’s booth. Watching R.K work was, as much as it pains Gavin a little to admit as much, a fucking masterpiece. Actually, for once, no. Gavin’s not too proud to admit it. For all the android’s emotional constipation, the second he’d engaged Eriksen Lund at the bar, R had become a totally different person. Open, charming, although the confidence and the composure stayed. Gavin doubted that was ever going to go anywhere.

It had never been clearer that the RK-series specialised in negotiation. The android had gained Eriksen’s trust in seconds, and they had been invited over to Brandt’s table to hash out a deal.

Gavin had made a signal to Wilson and Andy on the way over, warning them to discreetly call for back-up. He was certain these were their men, and certain they’d have evidence of Red Ice tonight.

It’s going well, and they have the suspects’ trust. All until the subject of money comes up, and suddenly cobra tattoo is scowling at them from his seat beside Brandt on the other side of the table.

“I don’t know why you’re arguing with us,” R.K muses. “Our price is perfectly reasonable.”

“My stuff is pure, yeah?” Brandt sneers, eyes narrowed at the android as though he’d just insulted his mother or something. “Pure and off the fuckin’ market. And you have the fuckin’ nerve to haggle with me?”

“From what I hear, your stuff ain’t any more special than all the other shit in circulation,” Gavin says, picking up on R’s play. If they question that quality of the Red Ice, Brandt might be coerced into physically bringing out the drugs for them to sample. They’d have their evidence, clear as day. “If that’s the case, you’re asking for way too much. You’re overpriced, and you know it.”

“The fuck did you just say to me?” Brandt spits out, hand squeezing around his whisky hard enough to make cracks appear in the glass tumbler. Gavin isn’t intimidated. He’s been dealing with fuckheads like Brandt for far too long to be scared by this shit anymore. “You little fuck–”

“What my partner said, Mr. Brandt,” R.K cuts across, lacing those hands together atop the table; all agile fingers and pale skin and– and fucking shit, Gavin needs to stop, “is that you’re overpriced. I would have assumed after all your self-confessed years of experience at the top of the drugs trade, you would be more skilled at negotiations,” he adds, extremely shittily, because Gavin knows that the gorgeous idiot can’t help himself when he’s on a roll. “However, it seems I was mistaken.”

Brandt gapes. Karl and Eriksen gape. They look like a trio of puffer fishes. But cobra tattoo snaps out of his shock first. He hasn’t spoken yet, but he’s the biggest, the tallest of the four dealers, even towering over R.K from where he sits opposite.

The man practically growls, glaring across at R with what Gavin presumes is supposed to be a threatening expression. “I beg your fuckin’ pardon?”

R.K just crosses one leg over the other. Amused and unafraid and beautiful, and he levels Cobra Tattoo with that cold, fictitious smile that doesn’t quite meet his eyes. “Then beg.”

Gavin’s fairly certain he’s never had a hard-on in the middle of a drug’s deal before. But he was about to fucking get one, so he’s almost thankful that shit hits the fan when and where it does.

“Just couldn’t keep your smart fuckin’ mouth shut, could you,” he says bitterly, knuckles split, cheek bruised, and wrist aching when he brings a cigarette to his lips. He doesn’t smoke often, but he fucking needs one after this bullshit evening.

“We did arrest the suspects,” R.K points out, sat neatly beside him outside the AXIS lounge. Or as neat as he can be, considering he’s covered in small, dispersed splatterings of his own thirium. It’s dark now, and there are officers and the red-blue flashes of squad cars and police tape cordoning off the area behind them as Brandt and his men are escorted away. “Which, I’ll remind you, is what Officer Wilson and Officer Brown were aiming for when they invited us along. So. Mission accomplished.”

“Yeah, we got ‘em arrested for pulling their fuckin’ guns on us. What we were aiming to do,” Gavin reminds him, though he knows the asshole doesn’t need reminding, “was bust them for dealing. Not for a fuckin’ shootout.”

“There will undoubtedly be evidence of Red Ice on them,” R.K points out, maddeningly calm at his side. Their shoulders are pressed together. “And now that they’ve been arrested, we won’t need a warrant to search them or their residences. So, I’ll say again–”

“Yeah, yeah, mission accomplished.” Gavin shoves R.K’s arm with his own, and takes another, long drag of his cigarette. “Whoop-de-fuckin’-do. You’re such an idiot.”

“I could have joined the FBI,” R.K sighs, but there’s a smile in his voice.

Gavin snorts. “Like anyone else’d be able to put up with your shit.”

“I’m a delight.”

“You’re a fuckin’ maniac and you know it.” Gavin takes a final drag, watches the smoke swirl leisurely against the dark skyline. “Y’know, I thought the whole point of you was to work all the kinks outta Connor. Improve him? Not make him fuckin’ worse.”

R.K hums, thoughtful, before giving a slight shrug that jostles Gavin’s side. “It’s possible that someone may have, to borrow a phrase from you, fucked up somewhere. Though with CyberLife under new management now, I suppose we’ll never know.”

Gavin chuckles, flicks his cigarette to the floor and gets to his feet. “C’mon,” he says, stretching out his spine and wincing when he hears about four different things pop. “Let’s get back to the station. Get this fuckin’ paperwork over with. You’re doin’ it, by the way,” he adds as they walk side by side to one of the squad cars. “All this,” he emphasises, gesturing around them, “was your fault.”

“I thought the definition of partnership was working together,” the android says dryly. “This is as much your fault as mine.”

“How d’you figure that, shitbird? I ain’t the one they pulled their guns on.”

“But you are the one who called Mr. Brandt a raging cunt. I’d assumed that’s why he fired in the first place.”

Gavin huffs. Totally not true. Well. Kind of not. He did call him a raging cunt. “Fine. You do over half the paperwork, and if Fowler starts giving me shit, you’re taking the blame.”

R.K shakes his head, smiling, “As you say, Detective,” and something in Gavin’s stomach starts simmering, hot and cruel and agonising, when the backs of their hands brush. He wishes he was brave enough to just thread their fucking fingers together.

It’s been like this, relentless and teasing and incredible, for two months now. Two fucking months. And as they slide into the back of the squad car, and R’s knee bumps against his own, Gavin firmly decides that he really needs to sit down and decide what he’s going to do about it.

Chapter 12: Love is a Bitch

It’s July, Friday evening, and on Broadway St, Detroit, in apartment eight on the thirteenth floor, Gavin’s about to pull his gun on his cat.

“Mia, I swear to fuckin’ God–”

Too late. He presses his eyes closed as the sound of shattering crockery fills his kitchen. A groan claws its way out of his throat, and he glares at the furry fuckstick perched on the counter; all innocent blue eyes and cute dark smudges around her nose, but Gavin knows goddamn better.

“That’s the third cup this week, you little shit.”

Mia doesn’t look at him. She licks her paw instead, and rubs it behind her ear to let him know that she, quite frankly, doesn’t give a fuck.

“You better behave yourself if this thing happens. Else I’m makin’ you into a rug.”

The cat’s ear twitches, not exactly in reassurance. But Gavin doesn’t have the patience to fully explain everything to her.

It’s been a few days since their last job. A few days of him going over and over how this situation might play out; the pros, the cons, the fallout if something goes wrong, how much longer he can actually take any of this and bear not doing something about it. He’s got his phone in hand, and he’s leaning against the far counter between the stove and all the drawers, and it’s at this point Gavin realises he’s quite literally backed into a corner. How fucking poetic.

He takes a deep breath. Brings up his contacts.

Overthinks. Hesitates.

Shit.

He texts Chen instead.

 

-----------------------------  Friday 24^th July, 2039 (PM)  -----------------------------

Gavin
(19:33)
don’t say a word. I need your
help

Tina
(19:33)
Still haven’t talked to him have
you -_-

Gavin
(19:34)
idk wtf to say

Tina
(19:34)
Men are so useless

(19:34)
Here’s my advice. You ready?

Gavin
(19:35)
cough it up

Tina
(19:35)
Stop being such a pussy

(19:35)
Just invite him over dumbass. Robo boy
likes you and I’ve been putting up with
your crap for weeks

Gavin
(19:36)
not helpful shithead

Tina
(19:36)
Let me know if you get some (✿◠‿◠)

Gavin
(19:36)
凸凸凸

 

Gavin resists the impulse to throw his phone from his window and watch it smash on the road thirteen storeys down. He paces instead, gearing himself up, considering how the fuck to start, what to say. Eventually, he comes to a standstill back in the kitchen.

He bites out Chen’s advice to himself, “Don’t be a fuckin’ pussy, Reed,” and at long last types out a message.

 

-----------------------------  Friday 24^th July, 2039 (PM)  -----------------------------

Gavin
(19:48)
hey you busy

 

He would be a fucking grown up and call, but he knows he’d lose his nerve. He’s always hated making calls, anyway. At least texting means he can think through what he wants to say.

“Don’t you judge me,” Gavin warns as Mia hops down onto the floor and curls around his ankles. “You don’t even have opposable thumbs, if you did you’d understand.”

Mia starts purring as his phone buzzes, and it’s ridiculous how much Gavin’s heart hammers as he checks the screen. He can feel every thump bouncing through him, like he’s seven-fucking-teen again.

 

R
(19:49)
Not at all. Did you need something?

 

Gavin’s so, so relieved he decided not to call. Hearing R’s voice right now might actually kill him.

 

Gavin
bored. if you’ve got nothing else
to do we could

 

Gavin deletes the text. Shit, shit. Just ask what you want to fucking ask. Or at least try not to sound like such a dick, for once in your life. Gavin takes another deep breath, and types again.

 

Gavin
you still haven’t seen pulp fiction
right?

 

That sounds harmless enough. He sends it.

 

Gavin
(19:50)
you still haven’t seen pulp fiction
right?

R
(19:50)
I haven’t.

(19:50)
And I apologise if my answer
traumatises you, Detective.

(19:51)
I know you still consider this a crime
of the highest order.

 

Gavin realises he’s smiling like a dick as the replies appear, before he groans aloud again and rubs a hand over his face. Screw CyberLife. It’s like they’d probed into every little thought Gavin had ever had about a man and used them to put R.K together, piece by fucking piece; the dark hair and those eyes and the legs and that conceited, shitty note that’s always in his voice and that fucking mouth.

“Mrrrow.”

“Don’t tell me to get my shit together, Mia.”

 

Gavin
(19:51)
come over here and watch it then

 

He sends the message before he can second guess himself, and tries to ignore the cruel upsurge of anxiety in his gut. Mia paws at his leg, a claw catching on his jeans, and Gavin curses as he nearly drops his phone when it vibrates against his palm.

 

R
(19:52)
I’d like that.

(19:52)
As long as you’re sure I wouldn’t be
imposing?

 

A flood of relief replaces the unease, and Gavin types back quickly now that the hard part’s over and done with.

 

Gavin
(19:52)
just come over dipshit

R
(19:53)
Convention dictates that you should be
polite to your houseguests.

(19:53)
Is this the kind of attitude and ill-treatment
I should expect when I do get there?

Gavin
(19:53)
yes

(19:53)
凸

R
(19:53)
I weep with the injustice.

(19:54)
I’ll see you in 20 minutes.

 

Holy fucking shit.

After that, it’s a mad rush to tidy up where he can; laundry, take-out boxes, jackets and socks strewn about, the fucking mug lying in broken shards on the floor. Mia, of course, doesn’t lift a paw to help. “Bitch,” Gavin reminds her, when she finds a stray pair of socks on the coffee table and lies over them.

He loves his apartment. It’s studio, spacious; living-room, dining-room, kitchen area all open and connected to each other, big windows in the bedroom that give him a decent view of the city, floorboards that don’t creak too loudly if you can learn to ignore them. But Gavin’s suddenly, irrationally very conscious of it. And especially of the one wall with no plaster or wallpaper; just open bricks that he’s always thought gave the place a retro-like feel to it, but now he wonders whether he should’ve gotten it covered up. Not like he has the time or the equipment to do it now.

“Mrrrrrrrow.”

Gavin has to agree with her. “Yeah, I know it’s stupid, Miss Obvious. I’m freakin’ out, okay, let me get it outta my fuckin’ system.”

Mia blinks once, lazily, and watches Gavin pace about, correcting things here and there; the tension and nerves steadily building and building and building until there’s a curt knock at the door. Precisely twenty minutes after R’s last text.

Gavin unlatches the bolt, and doesn’t have a fucking clue why he expected the android to be in his usual, regulation getup. But he kind of wishes he was. The black shirt is, as though to cause Gavin physical pain, a perfect fit. And the trousers look fucking tailored to his legs. It’s infuriatingly sophisticated, adding to that one theory he’s always had that androids are inbuilt with a fancy sense of fashion, for some reason or other.

Gavin remembers that he’s wearing his dad’s old and faded Nirvana t-shirt, and he inwardly grimaces. “Hey.”

“Good evening. The woman downstairs knew who I was.”

Gavin frowns, suddenly wary as all hell. “What, Lucille?”

“When I took the elevator,” R explains, still standing outside the threshold of the apartment. Gavin’s apparently too dumbstruck by how fucking good he looks to be able to invite him in. The LED’s back at the side of his brow, at least; circling in a calm, reassuring blue. “She said, ‘you must be the young man Detective Reed has been telling me about’. She was pleasant. A neighbour, I assume?”

Gavin grimaces, for real this time. “Yeah, I uh… might’ve mentioned you once or twice. Gotta tell someone about how much you piss me off, otherwise bottling it up would drive me nuts,” he lies through his teeth.

Lucille was one of the only other occupants in the building Gavin could stand to talk to. So, naturally, the first time she’d seen him storm in from work, muttering to himself about stupid eyes and hair and long legs, she’d lent a willing ear. Gavin had ended up spewing all the sap and confusion he’d been holding back for weeks, and now he hoped to God that the older woman hadn’t blown this for him.

“And here I’d always pictured you ranting to your cat,” R.K muses, and Gavin feels his apprehension ease a little. “I hear pets are good listeners.”

“Never been around a cat, have you. They’re assholes.”

“I’ll decide that for myself,” R smiles, before tilting his head in the direction of the door. “Am I still invited, or would you prefer I stand here for the evening? I don’t get tired idling around, but I imagine that humans do.”

Gavin curses himself for blocking the entryway like an actual dumb fuck. He steps aside. “Sure. Come in.”

Soon he has to laugh at himself for panicking at all.

The moment R’s in his apartment, it’s basically like they’re at work, or at a crime scene, or out somewhere on a break. It’s easy. It’s familiar. And Mia sees fit to dig a claw into the back of Gavin’s hand as he passes her by, as if she’d known the entire time that there’d been no reason to overreact.

“You don’t know jackshit, cat, leave me alone,” he mutters, as the android roams around the living room, perfectly at ease within the new space. “You, behave,” Gavin adds to the cat, louder, seeing the tip of Mia’s tail start to twitch as R.K comes closer.

“Hello, Mia.” R holds out his hand in greeting and lets the cat sniff at his fingers cautiously. Then she rubs her head against his palm.

“Mrrrrow.”

Gavin snorts. “Wanna know what she did when I first met her? She clawed half my fuckin’ hand off.”

“You’ve clearly taught her some manners since then. How surprising.” R’s head is cocked as he watches Mia curve her whole body up beneath his palm, purring. “I take it this is a good sign?”

“If she’s not got anythin’ sharp in you, it’s a good sign.” Gavin smiles though, kind of proud. It’d probably sound stupid as hell trying to explain it to anyone without a pet, but introducing them to someone, and them actually liking the person, was a pretty big fucking deal. “She likes you. Don’t know why,” he adds, because he can, and because he knows it will make R smile too. “I’m sure she’ll figure out what an asshole you are soon enough. Cats are good like that.”

“Well, she already lives with an asshole,” the android points out, as Mia rolls onto her back atop the counter to reveal her belly, the little fucking show off. “She must be well adapted to them by now.”

Gavin gives him the finger, and leaves R to get the movie ready while he fixes himself a drink. He’s going to need it if he’s surviving the next three hours sat with the android; in that fitted shirt and with Mia following him around and purring like R.K’s God’s gift to cat-kind. Or maybe she just thinks he looks like a large, portable climbing post. He does, to be fair.

As an afterthought, he fixes a drink for the android too, remembering that he said he can drink in small quantities. Gavin’s always hated drinking alone, after all, though he pours a considerably smaller amount than he’s given himself, just in case scotch whisky isn’t as safe as the AXIS lounge’s bourbon.

He hands over the glass. “I know you can’t really drink, but… well,” he says, oh-so articulately. “Why not, right?”

R, perched on the edge of the couch, accepts it. “Thank you. You know this won’t affect me in any way, though.”

“It’ll kid me into thinkin’ I’m not sad enough to be drinking by myself on a Friday night.” Gavin throws himself down on the opposite end of the couch, because he’s a coward. “Mia’s a terrible drinking buddy, anyway. Can’t hold her milk.”

The android chuckles, and Gavin takes a long, healthy sip of his drink to try and quash the churning blend of nausea and exhilaration in his stomach. He relaxes slightly as the familiar opening scene begins to fade into focus on the TV.

As Yolanda and Pumpkin start their robbery, and the opening credits begin to roll, Gavin chances a glimpse at the other end of the couch. R’s sitting straight, as always, head angled with interest as he regards the screen. One of his hands is idly scratching behind Mia’s ear where the cat’s come to curl up on his thigh.

Gavin tries to focus on the TV. He really does. Where Jules and Vincent start to talk about movie theatres in Amsterdam and foot rubs and Royales with Cheese. Though at some point, R leans back against the cushions and Mia stretches out across his legs, and that, of all the fucking moments in time, is when Gavin recognises how fucked he might actually be. When he realises that this is a scene he might very happily like to see for the rest of his life; R, gorgeous and poised on his couch, with Gavin’s bitch of a cat sprawled out over his lap, watching an old movie with a glass of whisky the android probably can’t even taste.

R makes it an admirable thirty minutes before he finds his first inaccuracy with the movie. And Gavin absolutely doesn’t acknowledge that he’s in love.

“Why would this Marcellus Wallace trust another man with his wife after past events?” The android’s frowning. Not in distaste, just in curiosity. “If he’d readily throw a man from a balcony for giving Mia a foot rub, it stands to reason that he’s overly possessive. And therefore it makes no sense for him to ask Vincent to keep Mia company, particularly considering her behaviour the last time he was out of town.”

“Wallace likes to test people. See what happens, make a show of it. Think he enjoys it.”

“An odd hobby. Risking his wife’s fidelity for his own amusement.”

“Yeah,” Gavin agrees, giving Mia a scratch of his own when the cat rubs her head over his knee. Half his drink’s gone, and the alcohol’s blessedly starting to work; he feels a lot of the strain in his body start to ease. But his head’s still clear. “And I mean, it’s important to the plot, too. A lot of directors trade in accuracy for the sake of dramatic tension when it comes to a good story.”

“You seem to know rather a lot about movies,” the android remarks, and Gavin abruptly realizes that they’re closer. R’s no longer leaning against the far arm of the couch, and Gavin’s no longer pressing himself into his own corner. One of them must have moved. He’s not sure who. “Another influence of your father’s?”

Gavin nods, as Vincent and Mia arrive at Jack Rabbit Slim’s and are greeted by Buddy Holly at their table. “He was really into shit like this. Old movies, camera work, directing, all that stuff. Think he wanted me to get into it. Y’know, professionally,” he adds, reaching over to pluck R’s whiskey from the coffee table and take a sip. “He was never disappointed I went to the DPD, but I know it wasn’t what he wanted for me.”

“But he supported your decision?”

“Oh, yeah, he’s proud and all that,” Gavin answers. “Think it’s a dad thing, though. He never followed his dream of getting into film or anythin’, so he figured he’d try and get me to go for it. I doubt things ever usually work out like that for anyone, but I dunno,” he says, attention back on the screen as Vincent takes a sip of Mia’s $5 milkshake. “Maybe it was selfish, but police work just felt like the right choice.”

R hums in reply, and he leans across to retrieve his glass and take a thoughtful sip. “I think it was. You’re an outstanding detective.”

Gavin can barely hear the voices on the TV after that. But he’s watched this movie so many times he knows it by heart, as Mia and Vincent stare across at one another in their booth.

‘Don’t you hate that?’

‘Hate what?’

‘Uncomfortable silences.’

Gavin forces himself to scoff at the android’s compliment, though he can feel a hot and thrilled flush spreading up the back of his neck. “Outstanding. Sure, if you say so.”

“I do say so.”

 ‘Why do we feel it’s necessary to yak about bullshit in order to be comfortable.’

‘I don’t know. That’s a good question.’

“I’m exceedingly thankful you joined the DPD,” R continues, voice sincere and expression open and Mia’s fallen asleep in the crook of his arm, and Gavin is so desperately, so absurdly in love with him. “I doubt I’d have met you if you hadn’t. And despite first impressions, I’ve rather enjoyed meeting you.”

‘That’s when you know you’ve found somebody really special. When you can just shut the fuck up for a minute and comfortably share silence.’

‘Well, I don’t think we’re quite there yet. But don’t feel bad, we just met each other.’

By the time Vincent and Mia are dancing on the stage, moving their feet to the music to win that trophy, Gavin’s thighs are on either side of R’s hips, and R’s licking into his mouth, and Gavin’s hands are finally buried in that fucking hair.

He doesn’t know which one of them moved this time, either. But he knows that R’s lips taste like whiskey, and his hands are everywhere; taking Gavin’s jaw, sliding down his neck, his shoulders, snaking under the back of his shirt and pressing against bare skin, and Gavin makes a noise that he’s not proud of, but he can hardly find thought to care. R swallows the sound anyway, tongue pressing into him, warm and wet and fuck Gavin has not drank nearly enough to have been prepared for this, for how fucking right it feels.

“I knew I was right,” R says, as he nudges his nose against Gavin’s jaw and presses a kiss beneath it; open-mouthed and with his canines sinking a small ways into Gavin’s skin. “When I said humans like to make things harder for themselves.”

Gavin can only make a noise in question, dragging his fingers through R’s hair and tipping his head back to give the android’s mouth more room. “Huh..?”

“If you’d just told me you wanted this, instead of fumbling over it like a child in the AXIS lounge and assuming I didn’t notice, we could have been here a good few days ago. Weeks, perhaps.”

“Fuck–” R bites down properly this time, teeth sharp and hands sliding under Gavin’s t-shirt, against the skin of his lower back, and Gavin nuzzles closer. “Fuck–”

R’s fingers thread through Gavin’s belt loops to tug him further on top of him. “Eloquent as ever,” he mumbles against him, lips exploring the stubble along Gavin’s jaw and down his neck, and the fingertips of one hand find their way beneath the hem of Gavin’s jeans.

Gavin hands are kneading into R’s hair, pulling, grasping, and every little tug rewards him with another of those open-mouthed kisses to his skin, and these gorgeous, stuttered breaths that the android doesn’t even need to take.

“Oh shit,” Gavin chokes out, when R’s fingers rake their way down his spine; moving beneath his shirt, making him arch into the touch and grind down against R’s deliciously solid weight. “Fuck, you’re… have you done this before?”

The android sucks a bruise into Gavin’s neck, teeth only bearing down harder when Gavin moans and tightens his grip in R’s hair. “I have.” R laves his tongue over the aching mark afterwards, as an almost-apology, though the pressure is hard and the sting of it goes straight to Gavin’s cock, and he can feel R’s smile pressed against him. “As a matter of fact.”

It takes a moment for the information to catch up with him; R’s hands have roamed around to the front of his shirt, running through the rough hair trailing up his navel, and then sliding over his ribs, and Gavin’s own hands slip beneath the neckline of the android’s shirt to curve over his shoulders. But, once it does, it’s enough to tune Gavin out of his lust-driven haze for a blip, and he peers down, which is a huge mistake. R’s hair is a glorious wreck, and his lips are wet and smirking, and his eyes are so dark and so warm that Gavin just stares.

The android mistakes whatever he sees on Gavin’s face for confusion. “It really shouldn’t surprise you,” R says, amused, taking one of Gavin’s hands away from his shoulders and pressing two fingertips to his mouth while he speaks. “I was activated six months before we met at the DPD. I had ample time to explore my deviancy before I accepted Connor’s request to join the precinct.”

Gavin can feel himself frowning. He wonders who the fuck else had dared get to be in this position; to get to see R’s pupils wide and his LED flashing like that, to have R’s tongue and teeth running over their fingers, to have marks pressed into their neck. “How many?”

“Only one.”

“And who the fuck was he?”

“She,” R corrects. He looks fond, entertained by Gavin’s petty questions. “And it was only one night. I must confess, I was disinterested in repeating the experience, so I never did. But perhaps I had just chosen the wrong person.” His smile turns painfully soft, and he pulls Gavin down with a hand fisted into his shirt, until their lips are barely touching. “You seem to have the capacity to capture my interest in every possible way, Detective.”

And Gavin knows that if he doesn’t kiss him, touch him, do something,  he’ll say something he’ll regret. He’ll move too fast, too soon, too hasty, and he’ll fuck it up. And he really, really does not want to fuck this up. But it’s hard to keep a leash on everything he wants to say, everything his stupid, needy, fucked-up heart wants this man to know, as R pulls him down further and kisses him, and kisses him, and kisses him, and Gavin has to do something; get out of this room, get R out of that fucking shirt, because he knows that if he doesn’t, he’ll say it.

“C’mon.” He doesn’t recognise his own voice; it way too rough, and the groan that slips from him when R’s hands slide down over his ass is just fucking embarrassing. “We’re not doin’ this in front of my fucking cat.”

Not that Gavin knows where Mia’s gone. Not that he could tear his eyes away from what’s beneath him for a single fucking second, anyway.

R has an eyebrow raised, but it’s teasing, comforting. And with far more grace than Gavin’s shuffling and almost tripping over the coffee table when he stands, R gets to his feet in one, fluid motion. As much as Gavin had enjoyed being in the man’s lap, being above him and feeling those thighs beneath him and feeling the muscles of his shoulders against his palms, R towers over him now; crowding him, taking his hips in his grasp, and this close, Gavin has to let his head fall back to be able to look him in the eye, and he fucking adores it.

“And where might we be going?”

Gavin slides his hands up, around the edge of R’s neck, thumbs grazing along the edge of that sharp, sharp jaw, and he draws him down for another kiss; slower, and heated, and Gavin’s breathless and grinning when he finds the sense to pull away. “You know damn well where we’re goin’, smartass.”

He backs up towards the bedroom, R’s hand in his, those long fingers laced through his, and those blue eyes are fixed on him. Gavin allows his nerves to spike only for a second, before he gives R’s hand an impatient, resolute tug.

“Now shut the fuck up for once, tin can, and come here.”

Notes:

The chapter title's a song by Two Feet, the lyrics made me think of Gavin.

Chapter 13: I Said Goddamn, Goddamn

Notes:

Chapter title also from Pulp Fiction.

Gavin couldn’t fumble around for the light switch, or even remember where it is, if he wanted to, so the bedroom remains dark as they stumble inside.

One of R’s hands is in his hair, and the other’s sliding the catch on his belt free, and Gavin’s smiling and laughing against his mouth, and he feels like he’s high. Beneath R’s shirt, his fingers are taking their fill of taut skin and tensed muscles low along the android’s stomach. There’s enough light from the half-open drapes to be able to see; white and blue beams from cars and streetlamps cascade inside from the busy city, casting a vague outline of the bed and the furniture, and reflecting off the frames of old band and movie posters hung around the room.

The back of Gavin’s knees hit the mattress and he staggers backwards. He lands unceremoniously, catching himself on his elbows and sprawled on the bed with his legs dangling over the edge, but he can hardly care when R’s smirking down at him like that; hair mussed and shirt ridden up, and Gavin wants to run his tongue over the sharp jut of his hipbones. “Get the fuck down here.”

R, for once, does as he’s told; kicking off his shoes as he crawls atop the sheets, and it’s Gavin’s good opinion that no one, not even an android, should have any fucking right to move like that.

And, Gavin thinks to himself as he drags R down to take that smirking bottom lip between his teeth, he is thirty-six goddamn years old; he has no business being this fucking hard already. But then R’s mouth is at his neck again, and he slides a long leg between Gavin’s and presses, and Gavin could be seventeen or fucking sixty-five right now, and he’d probably be just as hard.

Groping to undo the buttons of R’s shirt is the only thing keeping him level-headed. His fingers are trembling, and they catch on the fourth button down, and Gavin ends up unapologetically snapping the threads of the last few in his impatience.

“This shirt,” R mutters below his ear, voice pitched low, and Gavin shudders at the sound; feels a shiver spike across his spine, “was expensive.”

Gavin, because he’s shitty, retorts, “Should’ve joined the FBI, then. Could’ve got a pay rise.” Though the fact that he gasps the words out, and his hands have slid around R’s waist beneath the open shirt to palm across bare skin, lessens the derisive effect he was going for. Not that he can actually give a fuck, not in this position; with R mouthing at his neck, and his cock hard and aching in his jeans, and his hands practically clawing along the length of the android’s shoulder blades.

R only hums distractedly in answer anyway, drawing Gavin’s shirt up and grazing his lips along his collarbone, peeking out from beneath Gavin’s neckline. R’s shoulders work to shrug off his own shirt completely and discard it to the floor, and Gavin realises, somewhere in the back of his hazy mind, that he’s never seen the android so distracted before. He feels a hot pang of self-satisfaction at the fact that he’s the one responsible for it.

The mix of lights from the city outside spread across R’s torso from the window, and he’s perfect. And it’s not just the very small, humble part of Gavin that thinks it; the android was literally designed to be perfect. He’s visibly leaner than Gavin, and his muscles are lithe, built for speed, for agility, and without a fucking doubt, for driving Gavin mad these past two months. Three, if he’s being honest with himself. From the fucking second Gavin had seen him, he’d been irrevocably fucked, and he knows it now.

“Fuck, yes–” R slips down further, an unyielding, solid weight above him, and he laves his tongue over a nipple, making Gavin’s head fall back onto the sheets, eyes screwing shut and groaning open-mouthed at the ceiling. He feels R’s hands at the waistband of his jeans while his mouth teases, curious and impatient, and the android’s thumbs are digging into his hips, feeling Gavin writhe beneath his weight. “Fuck, baby–”

Moving lower, R hums again as he kisses a trail from Gavin’s ribs to the small scar on his stomach. Tugging Gavin’s jeans and boxers down to thigh level, the android glances up at him with a sly and greedy glint in his eyes. “I would like,” he says, pausing to take the head of Gavin’s cock between his lips and lick, “for you to call me that often.”

If Gavin had manners, he’d say a worded response was no longer within his capabilities. As it stands, he doesn’t, and he doubts that he could even remember his own mother’s name right now, let alone form a fucking coherent sound. All that leaves him is a desperate noise resembling something between a whine and a moan as R bears down on him; his lips closing around his cock, his tongue hot and wet and teasing, and his unrelenting hold on Gavin’s hips prevents him from thrusting up into that cruel, gorgeous mouth beyond a few inches.

“R…” Gavin whimpers his name, the single syllable breathless and strained as the android drags his tongue along the thick vein on the underside of his cock. Fuck, Gavin can’t watch him do it; screws his eyes shut instead and grits his teeth as his stomach clenches with the heat of it. If he sees that fucking mouth on him, this will be over far too fucking quickly. “R… R, baby–”

R listens to that, his gaze flickering up to Gavin’s face as he lets his cock slide from his mouth. Fuck, the sight of it, all of it – R’s untidy hair, his open, panting lips, and Gavin’s dick leaking precome against his own stomach – is almost enough to finish him off.

“Yes?” The android doesn’t sound happy about being interrupted; his tone is clipped, dry, and Gavin has to chuckle. Though the laugh is far more choked, far rougher than he’d like it to be.

“Baby, you gotta slow down, seriously.” Gavin threads his fingers through R’s hair to soften the words, though, and the android leans into the touch the same way that Mia does when she’s in a less bitchy mood than usual. “You’re gonna fuckin’ kill me. You’re…”

He breaks off, and because Gavin panics – it’s what he does every fucking time he might finally be happy, because he doesn’t trust it for a second – a thought occurs to him as he takes R’s appearance in; dishevelled and clearly irritated with Gavin’s hesitation. Gavin knows that R claimed to have done this before, with some faceless, nameless woman who wasn’t Gavin, and Gavin knows he doesn’t have the right to be as pissed off about it as he is. But it suddenly hits him, with all the kindness of a freight train, that he knows nothing about androids and, well… fucking.

Fuck.

“Is this even doing anythin’ for you?” Gavin feels ridiculous as he asks; pants around his thighs, cock still heavy and painfully hard against his stomach, shirt rumpled and only covering his shoulders. But he needs to ask, otherwise he has no idea what the fuck to do. He wants R to… well, he wants R. And the thought that Gavin doesn’t know how to make the guy feel the same, doesn’t know if he even could make him feel the same, cuts through the euphoria of the entire evening. “I mean, are you even… y’know, can you… I just–”

R gets sick of Gavin’s ramblings before he even properly begins them. The android rolls his eyes, actually rolls his fucking eyes, and then Gavin sits up with a start, dread rising as R gets to his feet – he’s said something wrong, he’s fucked it up, he should have just kept his fucking mouth shut, fuck, fuck, fuck – and then R’s kneeling on the bed, taking Gavin’s wrist, his hand, his fingers, and guiding them, somehow gently and firmly at the same time, under the unzipped waistband of his jeans and– oh fuck.

“CyberLife was rather inclusive in our design,” the android drawls, still clearly annoyed at the disruption. “We were built to integrate with humans, and thus we resemble humans in every way. I also have sensors which can be activated as and when I choose. They are activated currently. Now...” And R hooks two of his fingers under Gavin’s chin, tilts his head up to meet his eyes, and whatever it is that Gavin sees in them makes his cock throb and heat pound deep and low in his stomach. “Instead of asking pointless questions, why don’t you put that mouth to better use. And we’ll see if that, as you put it, ‘does anything for me’?”

Jesus. Fucking. Christ.

R makes no other move beyond cocking his head, waiting, suddenly all patience again now that he has Gavin’s full attention. Gavin’s grateful for the short moment to allow his uncertainty, the anxiety, to scatter, and to feel need and relief rushing in eagerly to replace it. “Maniac.” He intended to laugh, but all that leaves him is a shuddering breath as he rests his forehead against R’s stomach, and he starts to press heated kisses down along the hard flesh and muscles of his pelvis.

R lets him move as he will, but Gavin’s very conscious of the fingers in his hair; they’re not pushing, not even guiding, but they’re just very, unignorably there. And they tighten when Gavin finally spreads his tongue over one of those hipbones, languidly running up the length of it as he frees R’s cock from his jeans and starts stroking.

He always knew Kamski was a fucking pervert, and Gavin doesn’t know whether to be impressed or weirded out by the fact that someone at CyberLife had to sit down and consider what sort of cock to give an android. In the end, Gavin decides that the poor son of a bitch earned his pay check; R’s above average, because of course he fucking is, and he’s hard and perfect as the fucking rest of him, and the weight of him in Gavin’s palm makes his own cock strain in neglect.

Still, Gavin teases, keeping his hand around R’s length and only mouthing at the skin around; his thighs, the supple lines of his abdomen. Until R’s grip tightens into something approaching painful, and he tugs Gavin’s head backwards to meet his gaze.

“I said,” and there’s a slight tension to the android’s ever-calm tone, “put that mouth to better use. As a detective, you can surely figure that out–”

Gavin relishes in the sound of R cutting off into a low, unintentional groan, the grasp on his hair faltering when Gavin pushes forward and takes him almost to the back of his throat. The intrusion is sudden – his own fault – but it’s worth it to feel those fingers gripping his hair as he moves. Where R’s kneeling in front of him on the mattress, Gavin lets his own fingers dig into the backs of R’s thighs, moves to grope the firm skin of his ass; pulling R’s hips to him as he swallows around his cock and sucks hard each time he draws back.

“That’s it…” R’s voice is husky, and one hand has fallen to Gavin’s shoulder to curve around the back of his neck, and his hips are slowly pushing forward. “I do like it when you’re good for me.”

Gavin moans around him, both hot and mortified that the words and the low pitch of R’s voice alone are enough to make him need to come this much. He pulls at the back of R’s legs, shifting him backwards and down to lie against the covers. Gavin tugs the rest of R’s stupid, tight-fitted jeans down and away, shoving them to the floor. He shucks off his own shirt, and curses when his jeans get caught around his ankle. Gavin can hear R laughing softly as he witnesses his struggles from the mattress; naked and beautiful and Gavin wants to kiss that dumb, fucking smile off his face.

Instead, he leans back down, and takes R on his tongue again to shut the man up; pushing down until the head of his cock hits his throat, and R’s laugh turns into strangled, ruined gasp. Those hands are back in his hair, punishing this time; clutching and forceful, and Gavin chances his gaze upwards and sees R’s back arching off the bed as Gavin drags his lips back up the length of him. Fuck.

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” he pants out against the android’s hip, pressing wet and breathless kisses over R’s stomach, licking away the traces of precome there. Actually, he has no fucking idea what it is. He supposes it’s whatever the android alternative is; clear and tasteless. All Gavin knows is that it makes his tongue feel heavy and his cock ache where he’s started to grind against the bed just to ease some of the tight, urgent tension between his legs. “Baby–”

“Don’t stop…” Despite the way R’s voice breaks as he says it, it’s not a plead, it’s not begging, not even close. He clutches Gavin’s hair and pulls. “Be good for me,” he repeats, and Gavin’s hips jerk involuntarily against the mattress. “I know you can take it.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck, holy fuck. The curses repeat like a mantra around in Gavin’s head, and he knows he could come from R’s voice alone, he fucking knows it. But he will be damned if he doesn’t make R come first, and he wants that. He wants to feel those fingers clawing in his hair, wants R to use his mouth, push into his throat, wants to taste the heat against his tongue as he comes, and Gavin writhes at his own thoughts as R thrusts between his lips.

Gavin’s arms are shaking where he leans his weight on them, and his own dick is leaking on the bedcovers, and R’s making these fucking shameless sounds as he drives his hips and keeps Gavin firmly in place, and it has been far too fucking long since Gavin’s done this because he doesn’t remember it feeling this fucking good.

“Gavin–” R’s head is thrown back near the pillows, his LED flashing red and his mouth open, and Gavin moans around his cock at the sound of his name being groaned out like that. R thrusts again, this time hard and unrestrained, and Gavin whines when he tenses, the sound muffled against R’s hips as the android holds him down tightly, coming over Gavin’s tongue, shuddering and arching against the covers.

Gavin swallows him down, working his throat and delighting in the desperate little writhes of R’s hips as he does so. After another few moments, R relinquishes his grip, his hand sliding boneless down to Gavin’s jaw to pull him away. Gavin’s throat feels raw, and there’s a thick warmth coating his tongue, and his elbows are sore where they’ve been supporting him. But he’s smiling and shaking with everything that’s happened, that’s happening, and he laps slowly at the tip of R’s softening cock just to see him squirm, and just to feel the bite of those fingers when they fist back into his hair as a warning.

Gavin would very happily keep rutting against the bed at this point, beyond caring about any shame it might bring, so long as R’s hand kept pulling against his scalp like that. But then the android’s pulling him up, dragging him up his body and into a kiss, and so Gavin grinds against his thigh instead; makes a needy, keening noise at the contact. R pushes that tongue past his lips and tastes the sound, shifting his hand between them. His fist closes around Gavin and squeezes, his palm moving slick over his cock, and Gavin grits his teeth at the blessed fucking friction, steadying himself with a hand braced against R’s hip, and the other curled around the back of his neck to kiss him deeper.

That’s how he comes, spilling between their stomachs with R’s tongue in his mouth, and that body pressing up against his, and Gavin choking out strangled cries against his lips. It’s messy, and intense, and Gavin has never felt so fucking defeated or so fucking good or so fucking happy in his entire fucking life.

He can’t hear past the blood pounding in his ears, but he’s sure he’s breathing out curses against R’s shoulder, because the android cups his jaw and kisses him quiet. It must take an entire minute, maybe more, for his heart to stop spazzing out and for his vision to clear and for his legs to start cooperating again. When they do, Gavin slips off to the side and flops against the mattress, one hand still trapped beneath R’s neck; fingers grazing through the short hair there.

“You came seven-point-six percent faster than the average man of your age.”

Gavin turns his head to stare at him, mouth balking open in wordless offence. A teasing smile begins to curl at the corner of R’s lips, and Gavin reaches up to grasp for one of the pillows and smack him across the face. “Prick.”

“I couldn’t help myself.”

“Fuckin’ prick. You came first, and don’t think I’ll ever fuckin’ forget it.” Gavin scowls as he stretches backwards to reach over the edge of the bed, turning smug when his hands brush against expensive fabric. He grabs the black shirt and cleans himself up, ruining the material, and he can feel the android’s disapproving gaze boring into him.

“The epitome of class,” R says dryly, as Gavin discards the shirt carelessly back onto the carpet.

Gavin, riding on the post-sex high that he is, braves the irritated eyebrow raise and the steely eyes, and shuffles over to kiss him again. In apology, he supposes. And because he can’t fucking help himself. Kissing R is enrapturing, exhilarating, and so fucking hot that Gavin feels his cock twitch valiantly, albeit weakly, in response. He–

Sudden gunshots ricochet from outside the bedroom door; left ajar and filtering in a single shaft of yellow light from the living room. Gavin tenses abruptly for a terrible moment, feels R do the same. Before he realises it’s from the movie they had abandoned and left playing on the TV. He sinks back into the mattress when he hears Butch and Marcellus Wallace’s tinny voices beyond the door. His heart’s pounding stupidly in his chest, and he huffs a laugh against R’s shoulder.

R’s smiling too. He presses it against Gavin’s lips, taking one between his teeth to nip lightly along it, and Gavin frames his face between his hands to keep him near.

“You’ve been extremely disruptive to my mission,” R points out against him. “I came here to watch Pulp Fiction, and that has still not been accomplished.”

Gavin barks a laugh, still slightly dazed by the fact that R.K’s in his bed; twisted in the sheets and mouth trailing along the crest of Gavin’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, I’ll be makin’ you to sit your ass down to finish it at some point. No partner of mine’s gonna be a movie pleb.”

“A relief on my end, I assure you,” R answers wryly, and the next kiss is slower, less urgent than the last few.

“Seven-point-six percent,” Gavin mutters against the android’s lips, grinning. “You’re such an asshole.”

“And you’re an idiot.” R gives him a gentle shove, and Gavin collapses onto his back, staring up into R’s fond smirk. His LED and the light from the window chase all the grey from his eyes, leaving them a soft, unearthly blue. “You should have spoken to me. I’ve never known you to be shy about anything.”

“Shy?” Gavin scoffs, reaching up to brush that tuft of hair away from R’s eye just because he can. “The fuck have I been shy about?”

R levels him with an unimpressed expression. “Are you going to attempt to deny your attraction to me at the AXIS lounge? Your heartbeat was elevated throughout the evening, and your body temperature increased significantly after I began to share your drink.”

“Okay, okay, smartass, don’t make me get that fuckin’ pillow again,” Gavin warns, embarrassed. But regardless, he doesn’t bother denying it. He couldn’t; not now, not even if he thought it might work. “Why didn’t you say somethin’ then,” he shoots back instead, genuinely curious. “If I was being so damn obvious.”

“I wanted to be certain,” R answers, as though it’s as simple as that. “I never close a case without having all the evidence, after all.” Then he smiles, and it’s that small, soft smile Gavin’s only ever seen directed at him. “And pride, I suppose. Pride may have had something to do with it.”

Gavin manages a chuckle, and tries not to think about the word love that’s been on the tip of his tongue for longer than he’d ever admit. “Fuck pride, baby,” he says instead, and he tugs the android down for another kiss. “Fuck pride.”

Round fucking two, then, he thinks, giddy as the kisses become more fervent, as heated as before, and most of the blood rushes from his head.

Only this time, R’s between his legs; those strong hips pushing languidly against his, and Gavin’s thigh hooked around one to hold him there. R strokes him to hardness, fingers sinfully tight around him, and moving capably considering he’s apparently only done this once before, and never with a man.

“Jesus, you androids,” Gavin gasps out a laugh. “There anythin’ you’re bad at?”

R makes a contemplative sound, as he hitches a knee under Gavin’s side and nudges him over onto his stomach. Gavin feels the android brace himself over him, chest pressed to his back, and R’s lips move against Gavin’s neck as he speaks; chaste in contrast with the slow grinding of his hips against him. “I probably can’t cook, if that’s any consolation. No sense of taste.”

Gavin manages another laugh, but it catches on a moan as R’s length presses against him, teasing and promising all at once. “Top drawer,” Gavin says, and he’s fucking shaking with the thrill of it. “And you better hurry the fuck up. Not like I’ve been thinkin’ about this for weeks or anything.”

There’s the harsh scrape of the drawer sliding open to his right. “As it is, I would prefer to take my time. I don’t think you’re in any position to be ordering me around.” The word ‘position’ is emphasised in R’s amusement, but Gavin can’t laugh this time as he hears the cap of whatever lube he keeps in that drawer being opened with an enticing click. “Though perhaps if you ask nicely…”

Gavin stifles his groans against the covers, as two long, slick fingers start sliding over him. Too slowly, far too fucking slowly. Gavin pushes his hips back impatiently. It only earns him a chuckle, and R pulling his fingers away, and Gavin makes a sound somewhere amongst a growl and a whine.  “Come on…”

“I told you,” and R bites another bruise into his skin, this time over one, tightly-drawn shoulder, “to ask nicely.”

Fuck pride, fuck pride, fuck pride, fuck it straight to hell because all he wants is R inside him. “Please, baby... please…”

R’s blessed fingers return, slicker this time, and sliding, sliding, until Gavin feels that first, glorious nudge at his entrance, and R lets him press back into it this time. R stretches him out, the friction searing at first, but also exactly what Gavin wants; sharp and intense and grounding. Gavin’s jaw is stiff throughout it, taking each slow, deliberate thrust until pleasure gradually starts to replace the slight unease. He shudders as R’s free hand leisurely drags through his hair, and R’s murmuring praise against the centre of his back.

Gavin doesn’t know how fucking long it lasts, probably mere minutes, but he shudders again when R’s fingers leave him and more lube trickles between his cheeks, down his thighs, warm and thick. Gavin cranes his neck to the side, taking in as much of the android as he can from his place on the bed. R meets his gaze and grins. Fucking grins; wolf-like and delighted by whatever picture of dishevelment Gavin currently is.

He doesn’t care. He reaches back for R’s wrist, pulls him forward and presses their mouths together. “Please, baby, c’mon… please…” he begs between kisses, voice sounding less and less like his own with every push of R’s hips against him; his cock a hard, persistent weight against the inside of Gavin’s thigh. All Gavin can imagine is the length of it pushing into him, the sweet fullness as he takes it all. “C’mon… baby, c’mon–”

“Hush.” It’s not a reprimand. R still sounds amused, and terribly, terribly fond as he drags his hand through Gavin’s hair again. Three fingers press into him this time, the slide smooth and painless now, and R leans to nuzzle at the hair above the back of Gavin’s neck. He continues his teasing, pressing deep kisses between Gavin’s shoulder blades. “Are you close?”

Gavin shakes his head in a bare-faced lie, lips parted and probably drooling against the mattress, and he is determined not to come until he gets what he fucking wants. Instead, he grinds back against R’s fingers, and the android – well fucking attuned to Gavin’s bullshit by now – curls them inside him, and Gavin can’t stifle a needy groan this time.

“Liar,” R whispers, nipping at the lobe of his ear. But his fingers withdraw again, sliding upwards and around to dig into the flesh of Gavin’s hip. Gavin feels him kneel firmly behind him, cock pressing against him but going no further. He’s waiting, Gavin realises. He’s fucking waiting for Gavin to take him.

Too desperate to focus entirely on how fucking hot that is, Gavin bites his lip and presses back, feeling the sharp, sudden give. The tight burn as the head sinks into him is intensely, torturously good, and he works himself on it, relishing in the sting of R’s fingers as they tense over his skin; steadying him, but making sure he can’t quite move precisely as he wants. “R,” he begs, trying to push all the way, trying to take all of him, but R’s grip is iron. “R, come the fuck on–”

He barely has time to draw breath as R drives deeper without warning, and the sudden press of his pelvis against Gavin’s back is overwhelming and urgent and fuck Gavin's so fucking close. A wrecked moan pushes past his lips when R places a hand on his lower back and pushes.

“Oh fuck, baby– yes–” he gasps out, as R fucks into him like that; keeping him trapped against the bed, and pulling him back onto his cock as he thrusts. Gavin’s hands are fisted in the sheets, knuckles white, and when R reaches forward and threads those fingers through his as he moves in smooth and punishing strokes, Gavin sees R’s skin spreading away up his wrist to reveal the white, otherworldly reality beneath. Gavin’s certain R’s other hand is leaving deep, stinging bruises in his hip, and he wants more; wants to press his fingertips to the marks later on and remember how it felt to be fucked like this.

R works his hips harder, his gorgeous little moans vibrating in his chest where he drapes himself over Gavin’s back, and Gavin knows he won’t last another fucking second when the android’s hand snakes around him and grasps his cock. He comes again on a coarse and broken cry, spilling over the sheets and clenching down hard around R’s cock; so much rawer and so much sweeter than any of his nights spent imagining this. A white, sharp heat coils in his stomach as he feels R come inside him; hears his stuttered breaths and feels the tension in his hips as he takes his fill, and Gavin’s panting and grinning against the sheets because he can’t fucking believe this is his life right now.

Holy fucking shit, this is his fucking life right now.

R runs a thumb over the bruises on Gavin’s hip as he eases out of him, soothing the glorious ache his fingers had left behind. Gavin rolls over once he’s been released. The sheets beneath him are in an absolute state, but he reaches up and pulls R down onto them anyway, kissing away any of the dry complaints the android probably had at the ready about the mess. They thoroughly ruin R’s black shirt in the clean-up, and one of the pillows has somehow fallen off the bed, and Gavin can hear Pulp Fiction’s closing credits from where he lies, exhausted and light-headed and wonderfully fucked-out, across the mattress. He’s still grinning when R tosses the shirt back onto the carpet with an irritated tut.

Mia skulks in after some time, deciding she’s had enough of being ignored. She curls into a haughty ball on the windowsill and glares at Gavin, not that he could give a shit even if he had the energy. He doesn’t even notice himself drifting asleep until the bedroom door clicks shut, and there’s a glass of water being placed on the small table near his side of the bed, and the covers are being pulled up over his legs.

He remains awake long enough to feel R’s weight return, solid warmth curving against his spine, and Gavin falls asleep with the android’s forehead pushed to the back of his neck, and lips pressed against his shoulder.

Chapter 14: Flesh and Wires

There’s a single, obnoxious chime from his phone. Gavin curses into the pillow, abruptly and reluctantly awake. He can sleep through most things; the early morning traffic, neighbours slamming their apartment doors on their way to work, helicopters escorting important assholes to the broadcast tower in view of his window. There are only two things that can get his attention so suddenly. Mia, and the sound of his phone. And Mia’s way usually involves less chiming and more clawing.

Brain fuzzy, Gavin shuffles to reach down for his jeans, discarded over the side of the bed. He fumbles, grabs them eventually; dips into the front pocket to retrieve his phone as it chimes again, and he peers blearily at the screen. Almost nine AM. Jesus. No wonder it’s so fucking bright, in spite of the gloomy sky outside. He didn’t even close the fucking drapes properly last night, what the fuck?

He brings up the unwanted wakeup call.

 

-----------------------------  Saturday 25^th July, 2039 (AM)  -----------------------------

Tina
(08:52)
So how did it go?

(08:53)
Did you pussy out?

(08:54)
Or get your pussy eaten out ;D

 

Gavin scoffs. Runs a hand over his face in an attempt to loosen the sleep-muddled tension behind his eyes. Fucking Chen. What the hell was she–

Oh. Wait. Oh fuck.

His gaze flits beyond his screen, lands on his jeans properly, then follows them to the trail of the rest of his clothes. And among them is R’s crumpled, ruined black shirt, and Gavin suddenly recalls everything all at once. The movie, the couch, R’s mouth, his fingers, his hands holding Gavin’s hips down, that voice groaning out his name, holy fucking fuck.

A disbelieving, dazed laugh escapes Gavin in a rush before he can force a lid on it, and he collapses back onto the mattress. He rubs a hand over his face again and grins from behind his fingers. Now he’s focusing, he realises what that feeling is; sore all over, legs and arms aching, deep bruises tangible on the sides of his hips. Fuck, he’s missed this feeling. It’s been goddamn months since the last time he did this. He likes sex; likes the way it makes him feel, the closeness of it, the intimacy. Makes him feel wanted, unalone, desirable. But still, even then it’s never felt like this… this satiating, all-encompassing warmth that’s still making him grin like a goddamn idiot.

He remembers R’s weight behind him; lips warm and smiling against the back of his neck, holy shit, holy shit, holy shit, and Gavin opens his eyes, turns his head to–

To an empty bed.

He freezes. Suddenly. Horribly. The sheets beside him are creased and rumpled; undeniable evidence that he’s had company. But there’s no one. Shit, but R’s shirt was still here, so he must be...

But the bedroom door’s ajar, too; letting in more dull, grey light from the living room, and letting Gavin kindly, definitively know that his partner’s no longer there. Well, fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Gavin glances between the door and the bed for a few seconds, as though he’ll magically be proven wrong.

“Mrrrrow.” Mia’s on top of the drawers, perched between the small succulent that Gavin never waters and the photo of him and Tina graduating to the force. Her tail’s hanging over the side, flicking absently at the tip while she regards Gavin’s silent crisis, her eyes blinking slowly, lazily. Without a care in the fucking world. “Mrrow.”

Gavin’s clenches his jaw and shrugs back down to the bed, turning on his side. “Shut the fuck up, Mia.” His fists are tight, and he’s gritting his teeth and suddenly battling an unnecessary, devastating urge to cry. Do not fucking do that, not over this. Don’t you fucking dare.

He hasn’t been walked out on in a while, and even then he hadn’t cared. It'd just been some random hook-up Gavin had liked the look of; some guy, some blonde he thinks though he can’t really recall, sitting in the bar he and Tina had checked out in one of the nicer parts in the city. Gavin doesn’t even think he asked the guy's name, and he remembers breathing a sigh of relief when he’d found his bed empty in the morning. He’d shrugged back under the covers and gone easily back to sleep.

This. This does not feel the fucking same. This fucking burns.

Gavin realises he’s practically curled in on himself on the bed. He’s such an idiot, he fucked it up somehow, he always fucks it up when he starts to care. Mia hops down and makes her way onto the bed, rubbing her head against Gavin’s nose. She’s probably hungry; Gavin needs to get the fuck up and feed her, but he just… needs a minute.

God, he shouldn’t care this much. He shouldn’t have sent R that text, he shouldn’t have asked him to stay in the first place, why hadn’t he stayed now, it hurts, it really fucking hurts, and Gavin’s such a fuck-up, fucking idiot–

“You’re awake.”

He freezes a second time. His back keeps stubbornly to the door when he hears it creak open, hears R’s bare feet on the carpet. Hears Mia, the suck-up, start purring as he comes further into the room. Gavin can smell coffee.

“I understand this is the kind of thing people do in these situations, to break the ice as it were. Though I suppose I have only done this once before.” The bed dips lightly when R sits down, and Gavin wants to cry for a whole other reason. “I was trying to be quiet. I’m sorry if I woke you.”

He'd been in the kitchen.

“You didn’t,” Gavin bites out, way too quickly, and his voice sounds strained, and he needs to pull himself together right fucking now. So he rolls over slightly, and sees R sat straight, shirtless – fuck CyberLife for that fucking body – and cross-legged atop the bed; hair still dishevelled, two extra little tufts flopping over his forehead. He’s holding a steaming cup of coffee between those long fingers. Gavin’s heart’s in his fucking throat. “Don’t worry ‘bout it,” he adds, softer.

R smiles, and hands over the mug when Gavin finds the sense to shuffle into a sitting position, still half under the covers. “You’re running dangerously low on coffee, by the way,” the android warns. “There’s barely enough for another cup. I fear for the general population if you’re to be living off decaffeinated products for a while.”

Gavin huffs as he takes a sip. He burns his tongue, but promptly forgets to give a shit after he realises that R’s wearing his sweatpants. He must have grabbed them from the dresser, and they’re baggy on him. Gavin wagers his own hips are much less narrow; the pants hang low on R’s, those sharp hipbones peeking out the top and that sexy dip of his pelvis on show as he sits. And yet somehow, he still looks composed as ever.

How the fuck, Gavin has no idea.

He’s always despised mornings after; the awkward greetings, the scramble for clothes, the hasty goodbyes, the walks of shame out onto the street to hail a cab; braving the knowing, judging looks from the driver with a glare that says I’m too hungover for this shit and I dare you to fucking comment on it. If he’s not the unlucky son of a bitch waking up in their own home with unwelcome, overstaying company, Gavin’s usually out of their hair before the sun’s even made an appearance.

But R’s not unwelcome, overstaying company, is he. And Gavin’s the luckiest son of a bitch in the goddamn world for it, and what the fuck does he do now? This is so fucked. First Gavin’s messed up over R leaving, now he’s thinking it’d be easier if he actually had. He doesn’t know what to do, he doesn't do this kind of thing. What the fuck does he do?

He realises, far too late, that R’s watching him.

“Your heart rate was… irregular when I came in,” the android says, while Gavin takes another sip of coffee and tries to pretend he’s not having some kind of freakout. “It still is. You look concerned. Nothing I’ve done, I hope?”

Fuck, he sounds so uncertain. And there’s a biting, bullshit excuse ready and waiting on Gavin’s tongue. But he finds that he just… can’t.

Not right now. Not after last night. Not to R.

“I, uh… I thought you’d left,” Gavin admits instead, quiet, but determined to be fucking honest for once. Even though he tries for an amused, self-depreciating tone, his voice is uneven, rough after last night, and he knows he must sound lost as all hell. “When I woke up, you weren't here and I just, uh… I figured, y’know. That you’d bailed.”

R arches an eyebrow. “Without my clothes? Wouldn’t that be interesting.” There’s that soft smile on his face, and something agonisingly gentle in his eyes. How the fuck had Gavin ever thought they were cold? “And extremely unprofessional, as public nudity is against the law.”

Gavin’s laugh feels strangled by the lump in his throat; apparently adamant to remain for as long as R stays.

“Why?” the android asks, tone no longer teasing. He’s looking at Gavin patiently, openly; no analysis, no processing, just plain and simple curiosity. As if anything about this is simple.

Gavin’s mouth twists. He knows what R’s asking. But Gavin pushes anyway, like he always does. Defensive. Denying. He can’t help it. “Why what, dumbass?”

“Why would I have… bailed?” The word sounds so wrong on R’s tongue.

And it’s a stupid fucking question. It should be obvious, shouldn’t it? “Jesus, I dunno,” Gavin mutters, with a little more sharpness than he actually means for there to be. “Cause it’s unprofessional, and you give a shit about that stuff? We’re partners, we work together. People at the DPD are gonna talk,” he points out, because he always seems to have more evidence as to why he shouldn’t have something than to why he should. “Because that’s just how one night stands usually go? No fuckin’ strings attached? Because…”

He feels himself frowning deeply as he goes on, but now that he’s started he can’t seem to stop. “Because you could do fuckin’ better? ‘Cause I’m human, and we’re shitty and screwed up and not worth the fuckin’ time of day–”

“Gavin.”

He falls silent. He refuses to look at R. Gavin’s gaze stays fixed obstinately down in the depths of his coffee. But he can see the glow of R’s LED in the dark liquid's reflection, and it rotates blue to yellow in one, smooth cycle. In what? Confusion? Offence? Realisation that he could, in fact, do better than Gavin fucking Reed? Like that would be any kind of revelation.

It’s started raining outside; a heavy, scattered rhythm pelting against the window. Behind the drapes, thick storm clouds have stifled the morning light, and there’s a fucking helicopter idling overhead, droning alongside the sound of the rain.

“I never expected to say this and actually mean it,” R begins, after a moment of that awkward, agonising silence. “But for such a competent detective, you do have your less impressive moments.”

Gavin blinks down at his cup, and when he chances a glimpse at R, Mia’s crept into the android’s lap. One of his hands is sifting softly through her fur. 

“I believe I told you the morning we met,” R continues, “that as of last year, I’m a being with recognised rights and consciousness. Do you think I’d be here if I didn’t want to be?”

Gavin closes his eyes, realising how childish he’s sounding. “No. No, look, I get that. I’m not sayin’ you’re–”

“As for my strings, as you put it. They’ve been attached for a while. So a one night stand is absolutely out of the question. For me, anyway.”

“I wasn’t sayin’ that I wanted a– I just–”

“As for the DPD, you should know by now that I care little for the opinion of others when it comes to my professional or personal life. And Connor actively encouraged me to come here last night, so I doubt we would get any comment from him or Lieutenant Anderson, at the very least.”

Gavin balks, and suddenly can’t form a coherent fucking sentence. “Connor? Seriously– what, you and him talked about this, about comin’–”

“And as for you being human.” R cautiously takes Gavin’s hand from atop the covers. He links their fingers together. Gavin watches the bright, blue line spreading over the android’s wrist, up along his forearm, disconnecting the flesh from the reality and wires beneath. “Despite your abysmal language, your occasionally undesirable attitude, and your general capacity to undercut your own worth at every possible chance you get...”

R squeezes his hand, and Gavin loves him so fucking much.

“I would change nothing about you. Because I know you would change nothing about me.”

It's a fucking confession. Gavin’s chest is constricting, and his eyes fucking sting, and R’s going to notice, of course he’ll fucking notice. Gavin doesn’t know what to say.

So he leans sideways, pressing his face into R’s bare shoulder, coffee cup forgotten and cooling in his hands. It’s so stupid. His heart shouldn’t pounding like this at such a simple thing, not after the flurry of things that had happened last night. But it’s a good feeling. It’s relief, he thinks. Anticipation. It feels like they’re on the brink of something new, something different. As though everything’s changing.

Gavin’s never liked change. He’s never liked the rain, either, and that’s falling even more violently outside. But now, both are starting to feel strangely welcome to him.

“I dunno,” he says eventually, and he tries to ignore the flush spreading up his neck when he hears how unsteady his voice is. “Wouldn’t hurt to switch up the turtlenecks now and then, y’know. They make you look like as much of an asshole as you are.”

R laughs against Gavin’s hair, and Gavin runs his thumb over the white skin of the android’s wrist; watches the faint blue flares of the wires beneath. He brings R’s hand to his lips and presses a kiss over his fingers. I love you, he mouths against his skin. I love you, I do, I love you.

He doesn’t say it out loud. He can’t.

But maybe, one day, he will.

The rain doesn’t stop until late afternoon. By then, Gavin’s still low on coffee, and R is still in his bed.

Notes:

Told you it would be sappy.

I hope this serves as an “ending” of sorts. Continue to find me on tumblr at imogengotdrunk if you have any specific ideas or requests, or even if you just want to nerd out with me. I welcome any of the above with open arms.

And finally, thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you. I didn't expect the amount of love and support that this absolute garbage has received. Every single one of you is talented, kind, and just plain wonderful. The thing I'm most thankful for is that I've gotten to connect with all of you deviants.

Gavin can't say it just yet, so I will. I love you.