We're all emotional machines.

by heizl

Summary:

It’s hard to be vulnerable, because being vulnerable means letting down your shield, letting people in, letting them see the real you. All your cracks and imperfections. You're more susceptible to judgement, and no one likes to be judged. Gavin knew all too well how that game went. Every time he let someone be part of his world, they wrung him dry for their own gain, spat him out when they grew bored of him. Bullies are bullies because they project their insecurities onto those that they deem as weaker than themselves. It makes them feel less scared.

See, Gavin hadn't always been a massive dick. Growing up, him and Tina were attached at the hip. Never apart, shared and did everything together. And, literally everything; it was almost like Gavin lived at her house. Everyone liked him, he was popular in school. But that all changed the second he became bitter and drove everyone away. Shut out his friends, his parents, his coworkers. He didn't even try to get along with people anymore because it didn't seem worth it.

That's why he doesn't understand why the fuck Nines is trying so hard to get close. After everything he'd done, the shit Gavin said, why did Nines still want to be part of his life? It was frustrating.

Notes:

*This story is a continuation of Was it worth it, or not?

 

Recap:

 

It’s been nearly two weeks since Fowler pulled Gavin into his office and tried to pass an action figure off as his ‘partner’. Once the initial shock was over that he was expected to play nice with plastic, he thought he could deal with it; he used to babysit when he was younger, and he wasn’t all that bad at double tasking. But as the days went by, Nines seemed more resistant to listen to Gavin, or do anything he said. And now, to make matters worse, Nines was talking back to him.

It felt like he was making no progress in their investigation, spending most of his time too pissed off at Nines to focus on reassessing clues. Not to mention the very basis of their case was laughable; apparently the orders Warren made stated androids should be held in camps until further notice. Not murdered. There was some severe miscommunication down the line. Gavin got that this was his job, but he didn’t fucking care if ten or ten thousand androids died. It was all the same to him. Burnt rubble.

Well… maybe he did care if one in particular died. Not that he’d ever openly admit that. He just… wouldn’t be able to get his papers sorted as quick without Nines. That was all. He wasn’t starting to care.

Chapter 1: solitude = comfort

More often than not, as we grow older, we molt from an idealized shell of what we expected adulthood to be like. This picture-perfect reality where we have a typical (boring) nine to five office job that allows us to live comfortably, a quaint house built in the late sixties that you’ve already put a deposit down for, and you’re prepared to pay off your mortgage for the foreseeable future. A doting husband, or wife, by your side, and a healthy child that you sacrifice your goals and desires for, for the sake of their happiness.

This image that’s been strewn together from television shows and movies— and it’s already more accurate than when you believed you could become an astronaut, or anyone of importance. That promise your parents tell you as a child that everything’s going to be alright. That life isn’t a complete and utter whirlwind of betrayal, agony, and thirty-seven years of ongoing suffering.

We become the things we’ve always feared most: our parents, an eerily uncanny form of a past abuser that still haunts you in your night terrors. The sort of villain you’d boo at in comics as a kid. It was a combination of these three for Gavin, plus a cocktail of various other ailments of asshole. For a guy that’d never been keen on bullies, fucking laughed in the direction of the dumb jock that picked on some pasty kid with glasses for reading comics in the lunchroom, just being himself… you couldn’t even call it ironic that that’s exactly what he’d become.

Fuck, wasn’t the whole reason he joined law enforcement because he wanted to help people? Protect those that couldn’t fend for themselves, make a goddamn difference in this corrupt world that benefited others and mattered. What his brother failed to do. What everyone thought he was incapable of (and, currently, he was only proving them right).

Abandonment, rejection, hatred. The shit that plagued him. And, yeah, he loathed those three things. Feared them more than anything else, truly. When people met Gavin, their first reaction was not fondness, or endearment. Hell, they’d hardly remember his name, other than thinking, ‘oh, you mean that asshole from the other day?’.

Others were filled with this urge and want to avoid his very presence like he was a radioactive ticking time bomb. He’d tried, tried his darndest to keep a stable group of friends he could shoot the shit with, have interaction outside of work that was the bare minimum but would keep him from falling deep into the pits of a two-week long binge of getting piss drunk and locking himself inside VR until he’d pass out on his couch, television on and apartment a neckbeard style nest. His preferred unhealthy coping skill for dreaded loneliness.

He’d tried to have movie nights with Tina, recreate the old times where they’d stay up all night chit-chatting about the future, gossiping about boys, dicking around on Omegle like they were teenagers again. But it never fucking worked out for him. No one wanted to be around Gavin. If his cat had a sense of awareness, he was certain she’d pack up her bags and move out, too.

In a man’s eye, Gavin was nothing more than an easy fuck. A decent looking body to warm a bed for a few hours, not even a full night. Couldn’t keep a friend, and he hadn’t since freshman year of college. He couldn’t imagine making it past that step anymore— how the fuck was he supposed to form a connection with someone when he presented himself as having no personality, other than being a bitter, pessimistic bitch?

No wonder guys dropped him the second they got their fix. The thought of friendship was a joke, but daydreaming over holding a steady, healthy relationship was like… rubbing a freshly cut lemon against a self-inflicted wound.

It was easier bringing out that reaction by force, sparking that thought of disgust, pulling that hatred out of others firsthand, forcing people to fucking despise him before they could really decide for themselves who Gavin was. Better than waiting patiently with a target painted on your back. This hurt less. He was done having an open heart— he knew how he wanted others to see him, and he was damn good at getting his point across.

See, that’s the thing about being selfish: it’s all about protecting yourself. Tweaking things to your advantage, not experiencing pain unless it’s self-induced because at least it could be controlled that way.

And, it’s not like Gavin woke up one random morning and announced to the world that he was going to become the textbook definition of a narcissist. Why the fuck would he do that willingly? Go from the popular kid who could get any guy, any girl he met swooning, had twelve dozen friends he could always count on to party with, help him out if he was ever in need.

Everyone has their breaking points, and he reached his, and he was fucking done. Done caring about himself, about the people around him that he thought cared in return, the ones he falsely believed had his back. His parents that always favored his brother, the twelve dozen that only liked Gavin because he was their designated drunk driver, Tina until she got a ring on her finger.

Deep inside of him, Gavin had this tragic sob story that he’d throw private pity parties for, the reason he kept the yearbooks from high school, the bookmarked articles anytime his brother was published in US Weekly or interviewed by Time.

He’d watch clips of his brother that earned ten million views, skimmed an article about their station (Tina and Hank were mentioned, Chris even. But, not him, because of fucking course he wasn’t). And he’d do this only so he could feel worse about just how shitty his life was behind closed doors.

About the shit he kept to himself that made him so damn bitter and snap like a turtle anytime someone showed even a sliver of warmth towards him. And, Gavin wasn’t ready to share it yet— not that he’d ever want to, ever be ready to— but especially not this early in a story that reluctantly kept writing itself, involving a cast that was so much better than him.

That when he looked at a specific bunch of them, he’d feel like he was constantly being prodded by an electric poker. Kind of like the time he tazed himself in training (...on accident, yeah.)

Gavin felt like… people had to earn their rights to learn about him. People just needed to ask and stop expecting him to present himself like an open library book. He didn’t work like that, not anymore. You couldn’t rent him and put him back on a dusty shelf when you were done with him, forgetting about him, letting his pages wither and tear and rot. Waiting for the next person to come along and do the same thing all fucking over again.

He knew people in their precinct gossiped, overheard Anderson countless times making some snide remark under his breath to Jeffrey about how much of a prick he was, how kids never showed respect anymore. Jokes about how he needed to just get laid, needed a guy to settle down with and he wouldn’t have a need for having a stick up his ass twenty-four seven.

We all pick up habits we swore as kids to never touch, like occasionally spending money recklessly on bullshit you don’t really need, or never touching your stove because cooking is so overrated. Drinking for fun until it becomes not so silly and you black out, wake up in some guy’s bed who you don’t even remember the name of. Smoking in casual settings because it helps calm your nerves, and casual turns into every evening below the vent in your bathroom.

Gavin was always three things: bitter as hell no matter the mood or time of day you caught him in, silver tongued because he loved watching people crawl in their skin, loved getting people so pissed off it got physical and he could feel warmth trickle down his cheek (the warmth he preferred nowadays). And, finally, melodramatic. If that wasn’t already obvious. Every minor inconvenience turned into an outburst of feigned rage, and he liked to pass his time by getting too caught up in his own thoughts only for the sake of feeling sorry for himself.

Poor Gavin. Poor man who did this all to himself, literally making everyone despise him by his own design.

Standing here in a beaten down gas station a few blocks from the precinct, fuming over Nines. And because, why, Nines stopped taking his shit and put Gavin in his place? Jealous, maybe, because Nines didn’t have to host inner wars with feelings? Gavin had been called every nickname known to man, new obscenities had been created solely to describe him.

So why was Nines the one getting under his skin this time, because this was nothing he wasn’t already used to. He tapped his fingers against the counter. Maybe because plastic wasn’t supposed to fight back? Plastic was supposed to fucking listen and work for humans, take his orders and do what he fucking said. He could blame all his anger on the fact he was forced to be in this position in the first place, expected to act like a walking soup can was anywhere near as intelligent as he was.

Trying to imagine Nines wasn’t the one making him feel angst he hadn’t experienced since he was seventeen. All because he’d tried to pry into his personal life the other night; pestering that was near innocent, he’d entertained because he was bored (that’s what he was calling it).

Questions along the lines of: if Gavin had any pets because Nines knew Anderson had a dog, and what his favorite meal was so Nines could pick it up sometime (nagging because all he ate was coffee, apparently).

Then that turned into what he liked to do in his free time and when Gavin gave Nines a genuine answer, that if he was feeling lazy it was video games. If he was stuck in his own head, it was a walk down by the river (he could go for one of those right about now), and if he was creative, that meant coding, building, sketching— he wasn’t good at coding, he couldn’t even consider himself decent, but in an attempt to make some extra pocket change, he freelanced for developers that desperately needed an extra hand for blase IOS apps.

So, he asked: ‘Where did you learn how to code’, and Gavin, being brain dead and over tired, replied: ‘My brother’. Where did you grow up, and Does your brother live in Detroit? and What does your brother do for a living?.

Fuck, that’s why he was upset. Because he asked just a little too much, started digging a wound that Gavin couldn’t control the depth of, couldn’t quick fix with a band aid, couldn’t stop by just not thinking about it. Nines acting like it cared, acting like it wanted to get to know him, acting that it had any feelings or self-awareness other than what was programmed into its motherboard.

Gavin experienced firsthand how cold Nines was, how it could stare death straight in the eye without blinking.

His teeth were grit, breathing making his nostrils flair like a dragon blowing smoke. He focused on the little irks surrounding him; you’d think by twenty thirty eight the dumbass irritants of life would be solved, like when a place such as this shitty establishment tries playing an even shittier pop song off the radio, but you can’t hear it anyways because there’s a cooler mimicking a rocket taking off.

Or the damn computer that had been taking three whole minutes to ring up the one singular drink Gavin didn’t even need in the first place, giving him this wonderful time to rant for no one other than his conscious to hear (and loathe). It seemed like the future was too focused on implementing neon lights into everything and popping out plastic problem makers instead of fixing life’s actual problems.

Gavin slid a twenty towards the cashier when the computer finally made a ding, a sign that he was one step closer to walking out that door and figuring out his next plan of action. It was surprising, seeing someone behind a register that was actual flesh and bone.

There were more human service workers now since a large majority of androids had been recalled, or, rather ripped away from their positions without notice— but it wasn’t a sight he’d seen since he was a teen. Since before fucking Cyberlife, since he was in Boston, worrying about what band posters he’d fill his room with. And, no, he didn’t answer Nines’ questions because, like he’d said, you had to earn the answers.

Nines didn’t deserve to know Gavin had willingly moved to Detroit after Cyberlife’s success. That he could’ve gone to school anywhere, could’ve roomed with Tina back in their hometown (this was before she transferred here herself, right around the point their friendship took a massive dive off a cliff). Instead of attending a police academy in Massachusetts, or New York, or Pennsylvania even, he came to Michigan under the false pretense he’d have the same luck that his brother had.

Luck had never been on his side, and all Gavin had going for him was a streak of wondering why he'd wasted his time. When he first came here, he had found 'friends', or, acquaintances— people that would gather every Sunday night at an old junkyard and place high bets on which dilapidated last season Cyberlife model would be first in destroying its opponents, before ultimately killing itself. As much as androids filled him with insatiable rage... he had his limits.

He’d been living here ten something years and never once cared enough to properly furnish an apartment and call it home, because Michigan wasn’t his home. Not like Boston felt much homier either. His family sure wasn’t home to him.

“Have a nice day.”

Gavin’s eyes snapped up. He pocketed his change, didn’t feel inclined to respond to rehearsed sentiment, and so he silently turned on his heel and left.

He pulled back the metal tab of the energy drink that he knew would make him feel less energetic and more spastic and anxious, but whatever, he didn’t care. He was trying to cut back on smoking so much— he’d recently been burning through several cartons every few days, and his wallet was starting to ache from it.

Despite being nearly December, it wasn’t absolute shit out. Nice enough not to have to wear a heavy jacket (while still needing something covering your arms), no gloves or scarves just yet. Clear skies too. Any snow from the past few days had disappeared, like that brief blizzard never happened. Which was good, because he hated driving in the snow.

People in Michigan couldn’t drive for shit. Fuck, he’d take busy city rush hour traffic over horrible U-turns and people riding on his ass any day. So that was the thing he was thankful for today, he guessed. A few more days to enjoy not wanting to slam on his breaks and purposely start an accident just so he didn’t have to drive anymore.

He took a long sip of the concoction he knew was composed of sugar, mostly chemicals— mostly chemicals that were going to be the cause of his early death. He just needed a second to breathe. Get away from that place, from the yelling and phones ringing, from familiar faces that sneered in his direction.

But, apparently, that task was harder to achieve than he thought. Because nothing was nice about the sight approaching him.

Sometimes he questioned if his life was a spoof of the Truman Show. Spontaneous things always happening right on cue, like a goddamn soap opera. Trying not to think too hard about Nines, ignore the problem that was Nines, and now here it was.

One minute to himself. That’s all he wanted. He knew he’d have to face Nines eventually, because he needed to work— his partner, the case, didn’t matter if he disagreed with either. He needed to finish the task at hand, and he wasn’t going to ignore going back forever. But, for once, for the first time in twenty years, he wanted to be able to think before he spoke.

On one hand, he knew his resentment was irrational (to an extent, pieces were justifiable). Did that make him want to stop being spiteful, make him want to be buddy buddy with Nines? Hell fucking no. But he didn’t want to say something stupid to the first— not person, but… animate object —who asked him something deeper than ‘my place or yours’.

He didn’t want to regret his next words, and, there wasn’t a lot Gavin regretted anymore. Another quick swig and he grit his teeth.

Oh, the range of expression these advanced Ken dolls could muster would always impress Gavin. With their silicone skin, everything was hyper realistic; wrinkles to a raised forehead (despite never naturally having them, never being able to grow old, to age), creases and laughter lines when one would smile.

More than enough times during an interrogation, androids would mimic what nervousness might look like. Rapid blinking, hands being rubbed together, feet tapping a fast-paced beat. He wasn’t impressed because he believed there was some sort of soul bouncing around in that hardware, but because it was cute. They tried so hard to fit in with the herd that they only became black sheep.

Here Nines was, stopped abruptly, inches away from him, and Jesus, this model was huge. Taller than Connor even, it felt like Nines loomed over him, like staring up at a damn skyscraper.

Nines’ dark brows were furrowed as if to mimic being downright pissed off, the kind of look Gavin could tell was accompanied hand in hand with a deep fire burning within the pit of your stomach. A wildfire that was inextinguishable. Not like Nines could feel that, but, Gavin knew.

Narrow melting pots of silver, those eyes looking more like marbles, and they were so venomously slit, like a tiger patiently watching its prey, a cobra waiting for the right time to strike. Cheekbones only more devilishly defined from hastily being sucked in, finger tapping against a sleeve.

There was no change to Nines’ complexion: skin as pale as sour oat milk, with an even balance all around. No hints of tomato-colored splotches, no pink burning at the tips of ears, nothing that would indicate being flustered in the slightest. He wouldn’t know Nines was irritated if it weren’t for the mimicked traits.

Gavin was staring, he already knew, and accepted that. He stared at a lot of people, always passed it off as being lost in thought, or that he was judging. He wasn’t exactly judging Nines, more so… studying.

Drawn to watching Nines’ hand run through a field of unnaturally silky brown locks, each strand of hair voluminous enough that a hairdresser would be sick with envy. Nines’ hair was too perfect, nothing out of place, still styled, even as fingers spread apart and combed through. The smoothing was for naught, because it seemed like the hair hardly moved.

Watching Nines was like… like watching a doc on Animal Planet. Learning about a new species for the very first time. And although he wasn’t an A+ student in his younger years, hated history and anything to do with documentaries normally, he wanted to study this specimen.

Now, whether he wanted to accept it or not, this is exactly what he did when he went to some sleazy nightclub, found a cute guy, and made up his mind that he wanted to take him home and have his way with him.

Same steps; mouth sort of agape, mind a little hazy, eyes glued to his subject. Didn’t mean shit in this situation, but it was an interesting… observation. Nines was sculpted to be a pretty face; didn’t automatically mean Gavin was jumping at a chance to touch it up close.

This is also when Gavin realized Nines wasn’t in a jacket. Not the usual black turtleneck that gave off hipster coffee shop owner vibes, not his favorite leather bomber he lent out (again, didn’t mean shit, and it wasn’t supposed to be up for grabs, it just happened), or the obnoxiously pristine, and brighter than a lighthouse, Cyberlife issue.

It was some weird sweater he didn’t recognize— still dark in colors, no crazy design or pattern, but too short in the hem. Gavin didn’t know where it was from, because Nines didn’t have extra pairs of clothes. Nines didn’t have a place to go and change into them. No home, no cheap motel room, and Anderson hadn’t offered the same hospitality as he had to Connor.

He could see the outline of the cigarette burn he’d left this morning, right under the collar. Wasn’t shiny or red, wasn’t even angry looking. It looked more like how a healed scar would. Hm. Guess androids didn’t bounce back as fast as he’d thought, then.

The way Nines’ arms were kept still, straight down at the side reminded him of his high school's trip to England. He could never afford them usually, but his brother offered to pay during his senior year. He wanted to deny, but he also wanted a chance to get the fuck out of America, and if he was given the opportunity to get as far away from his family as possible for a week, he was going to take it.

Nines was stiff like a marble statue, standing like a Queen’s guard, only this came naturally because there were no muscle spasms to worry about, no involuntary twitches.

“Reed.” Nines fucking growled at him, fully animalistic, fully sounding like Gavin was about to get another fist to his face. And fuck, he forgot how low Nines’ voice sounded now. Even though he was the one that requested the voice change.

Fuck, it made him shiver in all the right ways, made goosebumps rise on his arms, made him feel like they were surrounded thigh deep in snow. Their eyes were locked, and there wasn’t any color left in Nines’. All black, they looked.

He quirked his own dark brows, can pressed to his lips as he took another sip, forcing out a lackluster smirk, full of false security. “Lunchbox.”

But Nines’ next words of choice came as a surprise. “Are you intoxicated?” Because Gavin immediately started choking, wiping at his mouth with the back of his palm, almost laughing from the absurdity of that kind of fucking question.

“Sorry, what?”

“Are you asking what as in you didn’t hear the question, or would you like me to elaborate further?”

“The latter.”

Arms folded, posture straight, and no sense of amusement. “Alright. Let’s see.” Oh God, what was this. His own private interrogation?

Nines started: “You have been acting irrationally, and more so, impulsively, since nine o’ clock this morning. With you being quite eccentric, this wouldn’t be too far-fetched from your norm, but frankly that's not the case today.”

Gavin huffed. Why was he even humoring this. “What did I do that was irrational? Or impulsive?”

“At nine thirty-six, you received a call from your mother, which you didn’t want to answer, so you had me redirect her. At nine forty-two, she called you back on your personal phone, and you blocked her number. Then, at eleven thirteen, you made a costly purchase that totaled two hundred dollars. Also, you burnt me.”

“And, that’s all made you come to the conclusion that I’m drunk?”

“No. I was not finished. You have been standing here in a daze as I am trying to talk to you, ignoring me word for word, which, usually anything I say is met by some quick jab or remark. Not to mention that your pupils are dilated, your cheeks are quite flushed, and your heart rate is above nine beats per your average. So, I will repeat myself and ask again— are you intoxicated?”

This wasn’t fun anymore. No, fuck this. Maybe he didn’t have a headache earlier, but he could definitely feel one coming on now. He felt like someone was holding a plastic bag over his head. He couldn’t breathe. His lungs, collapsed. Throat, closed. No air coming in or out. He didn’t feel dizzy, but the ground underneath his boots was rapidly spinning like a tilt-a-whirl.

He didn’t know what he should hyper-focus more on; that Nines still fucking scanned him despite Gavin pleading at least a hundred times that he was fine, that he hated being scanned, that it was fucking gross and creepy. He despised it.

Or, that Nines knew Gavin was flustered. Maybe didn’t know for sure, because Gavin’s being accused of being drunk at work (which, hey, guilty on occasion, who isn’t. But those questions are much better reserved for someone else, and not him).

Regardless, Nines knew something was off. Yeah, he didn’t have any funny quips stowed up his sleeve. No insult loaded to fire back about Nines droning on, how annoying that voice was (because, it wasn’t, that’s what made him lose focus, and now, made him panic). Nothing about how Nines looked like an adorable toddler copying its mommy, trying to express emotion like a bad actor (no, Nines seemed genuinely upset).

He blinked, cleared his throat rather harshly, and then shifted on his feet. “No.”

Nines nodded, head tilting side to side. He couldn’t tell what Nines was thinking. Why Nines even bothered to come out here. He was coming back; it wasn’t that big of a goddamn deal.

“Then, detective,” hands rubbing together slowly, like a conclusion had been found. “I believe I must file a report that you’re under the influence of illegal substances.”

And then heel clicked to concrete, and Nines was spinning around in one graceful swoop, marching back in the direction of the precinct. Gavin’s eyes widened. Definitely had a headache now.

“Wait,” Gavin almost tripped himself, nails digging into what felt like cashmere. Pulling maybe too hard, because he heard threads tear. “Can we just—” Nines met his wavering gaze, neck craned over a broad shoulder. “...back it up a little bit and not accuse me of being a druggie, for Christ’s sake.”

A sigh, and then another slight nod. “I don’t understand why you’re acting weird.”

“I’m not.”

“You are. Reed, are you all right? Truly.”

What a fucking stupid question. Of course he wasn’t okay, and he could feel something nasty forming on the tip of his tongue. It was getting harder to hold back his choice words, harder to not say something that'd bring their hatred to a mutual status.

Nines really was a crock of shit, asking if he was fine when Nines had been there with him, knew everything that happened earlier. Was the cause of the majority of it. The humiliation, the zero empathy that anyone would categorize as sociopathic that androids were graciously exempt from. All swept under a rug.

Nines leaving him with his own questions and returning like everything was peachy keen, watching Gavin drop dried crimson tissue after tissue into the trash because his nose wouldn’t stop leaking.

“Yes,” he hissed. Lying was easier. “I’m fine.”

Nines looked disappointed. He didn’t know how else to describe it, other than that. “You graduated valedictorian with one of the highest ranks in your class, exceptional for your age. You’ve earned numerous awards and gratitude from this state. And yet, you are stupid enough to think that I, of anyone that knows you, won’t be able to see through your lies.”

Gavin chewed his lower lip. “I said I’m fine. Drop it. Not intoxicated, don’t use drugs to begin with. Don’t trust me, you can test me when we get back. Actin’ like a fuckin’ know-it-all, yet you don’t know shit.”

“I’ve been worried about you, Reed.”

Gavin winced. It’s this shit that really pissed him off and made him want to turn in the other direction, and run. Not only because it gave him false hope that maybe, maybe, someone could tolerate him, someone could actually deal with his shit and mess of a person. That maybe, even if Nines didn’t bleed the same color as him, he could find something akin to a… friend in Nines.

He didn’t want to think that— oh it didn’t fucking matter whether Nines was an android or not (though, Gavin still refused to comply with Connor and use pronouns). This was about Gavin cocooning himself before the hurt happened again, because it always did. Didn’t let anyone past his concrete wall. The second he found comfort in anyone, found friendship it… it wasn’t worth it.

God, why did Nines keep fucking trying. It was almost sadistic that Nines still treated him with decency. That Nines acted like it could ever feel a drop of remorse, ever feel something for Gavin.

He rubbed his nose, and then sniffled. His hands felt cold against his skin. “No, you haven’t.”

“Don’t tell me how I do, or don’t, feel.”

“I just di—”

“Please, for once in your life, shut up. I know what you’re doing.”

“Yeah? Tell me.”

“You’re trying to control me. Because you don’t like that I am feeling worried about you. Is that why you’re irritable and cannot keep still? Because of the other night, me wanting to get to know you? Because of this morning? Because I did not react in a way that you wanted me to?”

Gavin quickly looked away, staring past Nines. Down the street, where he could see pedestrians walking about. At least no one was coming near them. “You know, congrats, you found me. Why don’t we get heading back now, hm?”

He clapped Nines’ shoulder, made the motion of moving past the tall fucking object in his way. But his legs didn’t seem to want to move. He felt paralyzed in place.

Chapter 2: oh, it's you

Summary:

Why did Nines persistently try to get on Gavin's good side? Was there an ulterior motive, did Anderson put Nines up to this? Was this punishment for treating Nines like the scum it was; be faced with overt gratitude to make him self reflect?

Or, did he... actually care? He didn't like to dwell on that thought.

“I asked around the station where you were, and no one had any answers. I didn’t know if you had walked off and resigned in a fit of rage, or if you’d gone home for the day, though I knew your car was still there. I thought something happened to you. As in, you were hurt.”

Gavin’s huff was louder than before, a visible puff of hot air. “I’m done talking about this. Let’s go.”

Nines’ fingers were wrapped around his wrist. A handcuff he couldn’t escape from. “Please, detective, may you take a moment out of your busy schedule to explain to me why you see it appropriate to disappear without notice? When I left you a thought-out note detailing where I’ve gone, and I am the one that gets the backhand.”

“It’s been,” he grumbled, huffing as he slipped his phone out of his pocket with his free hand. Jesus, it’d been almost two hours. “I haven’t been gone that long. You don’t need to know where I am every goddamn minute of the day.”

“I never said I did. But, I would appreciate a heads up when you decide to sulk.”

“I’m not sulking, I just needed a fuckin’ break. From you. Which you ain’t even allowing me anymore— so there’s no fucking point to this conversation. If you wanna go back to the station, then let’s just fucking go back and stop the sideshow act. C’mon, people are staring, it’s getting cold, and I don’t have anything nice left to say. Don’t want to keep pissing me off, do you?”

Maybe it was a miracle, maybe it was Nines letting him go willingly. He yanked his wrist free, and he began walking with his head down. He was sulking. And he was like a puppy with his tail between his legs, like a kid scolded by their mother. Defeated and not wanting to talk to anyone for the rest of the evening.

Embarrassed, because he didn’t know what the fuck he was feeling anymore; if it was frustration that Nines gave him false hope that someone cared, that he couldn’t be left alone, or guilt for walking out unannounced. Guilt because he genuinely wanted to say ‘hey, you know what Nines, no. I’m not okay’, and he couldn’t.

Or, was it just a deep stabbing sort of pain in his gut, because he really just… wanted to believe that Nines maybe did care about him. He still couldn’t believe Nines thought he was fucking drunk.

“Reed.” Footsteps were dragging behind, but not yet matching his own pace. His name fell on deaf ears, and he kept focused on the dirtied pavement.

“Reed.” Nines tried again, louder. Authority in the way his name was said. Gavin wasn’t interested in what he was selling. That was until his feet were dangling in the air and he was hoisted over to a patch of grass. Gavin was dropped before he had time to react, time to kick at Nines’ shins (not like that would do much) because he hated being lifted.

His brother used to do that to him, grab him and throw him over his shoulder, tease him for being ‘little G’. That nickname made him barf. He wasn't short, he was average height.

“We are going to talk, and you are going to listen. Understood?”

His mouth opened, but Nines repeated that last word. He nodded. He could taste his heartbeat, feel each throb of his pulse from the tip of his fingers to the roof of his mouth. Feel his toes quivering because as much as he loved negative attention, he hated confrontation like this. Not to mention they were still in a, mostly, public setting.

He didn’t like the spotlight, didn’t like being called out, and it had been so long since someone had. He hated that sometimes, with Nines, it felt like he was just talking to another coworker. Which was downright deceitful, because Nines wasn’t his goddamn equal. A tool, nothing more than that. A powerful computer. He had to remind himself sometimes. Not his partner (only on this case, that hopefully wouldn’t span out more than three months or so). Not his friend.

Nines’ expression had drastically changed, much softer, much more… somber. Lips like a thin line, could see the tension in Nines’ neck, breathing more hitched and human-like than it should’ve been. And then he saw that little circular LED turn red; it was slow, blending between yellows until the color was vibrant, like staring at the sun. He’d never seen it change colors before.

“I shouldn’t have hit you. I was out of line, I know that, and I am sorry. I want— need —to be able to work with you, and I feel like… every time we talk, we are only further wedged apart and have less of an understanding. In order for us to be able to successfully make progress on this case, we need to be able to be within five feet of each other, and not feel as if the other is holding us hostage. Because, that is how you feel, isn’t it?”

Gavin glanced around them, gesturing vaguely to Nines, literally blocking him from leaving. “You tell me.”

“I know it is far-fetched and I am most likely asking too much, but I want you to be able to talk to me. As a working partner or frien—”

“We’re not friends.”

“That’s tough. Because I consider you one.”

Gavin threw his head back. “God, why the hell do you even want to be my friend? I’m not asking for pity, I’m asking because…” he yanked at Nines’ collar. He knew that wasn’t the only mark he’d made since they met. And that was, what, a week? Fourteen days ago? The passage of time was an enigma.

“I don’t have that many options.”

“You’ve got Connor.”

Nines laughed. An actual throaty chuckle, and didn’t stop. “Do I? You seem to think we’re quite close, don’t you.”

“That’s what I’d call hanging all over each other, gossiping like little girls in a clique.”

“Then, according to your logic, we’re close because I see you every day.”

“By force.”

“Gavin, do you feel regret for what you did? Burning me, I mean.”

He was craving a cigarette. “You want me to be honest?”

“That’s all I’ve wanted you to be.”

He exhaled, slowly. “Not at fucking all.”

“Neither do I. I should not have let my anger control me, and I should have found a healthier outlet than seeking physical violence. We are both guilty, and that does not excuse our actions. What you’ve done to me has been nothing short of awful. You haven’t treated me with an ounce of respect since I got here. Might I add, that you still don’t.”

“The fuck am I supposed to respect, hm? Your advanced coding? Mm, yeah, typed by the hands of an angel. Or, is it your poreless, unwiltering skin?” Maybe it was a conscious move, but he brushed over his scar. “The ability to snoop around people’s insides and read their serotonin levels so you just know what they’re feeling instead of taking the time to actually get to know them, and understand how they’re feeling.”

“I asked you if you are okay. I believe that every day I have asked, genuinely, if you’re alright.”

“That’s not you, because you’re not a fucking person. You’re nothing. Thinking humans are goddamn monsters, and you ain’t wrong, but at least we got sympathy for the dead guy, even in war.”

Like a twig snapping in half, he could feel built up emotions, sentiment that he’d been trying to bottle up boiling to the surface. He was breaking, and there was no quick seal patch that could stop this.

“You’re just a goddamn hollow simulation of a perfect detective, sent to replace those of us who worked their fucking asses to get where they are today. I fought to be here.”

“I know.” Gavin blinked. Not the response he expected.

“I’ve been doing this shit longer than you were ever a thought.”

“Yes, Gavin, I am aware of that.”

“O-okay, whatever, but you don’t fucking understand this shit. I paid my own damn way through school because no one in my life ever took me seriously. My nickname from my freshman year to the day I graduated was ‘fuck up’. Everyone unofficially voted me as most likely to drop out. What the fuck am I supposed to respect when everything you have in life has been handed directly to you?”

Nines eyes closed for a split second, and then, the bridge of Nines’ nose was pinched. “I didn’t choose to be built, just like no one asks to be born. I wasn’t programmed to become a police officer. I wasn’t designed to take over your, or anyone else’s, job.”

“Don’t fucking lie. That’s all any of you fucking machines are built for—”

“I was designed to murder my own kind. I was supposed to be nothing more than a real-life Terminator, my goal being to apprehend Markus, and not let him leave. Alive.”

“The boot fits.”

“Do you honestly believe I like not being able to shed a tear? That when I watch Chris’ daughter jump in his arms, I don’t wish that could be my future. That I am not angry that Connor can have love in his life, and I cannot?”

“You’ve given me no reason to believe otherwise.”

Nines’ tone fell, almost down to a whisper. “I disgust myself. I scare myself. I can still feel it, lingering within me, the urge and want to destroy anything in my path.” But then, with a pointed finger, Nines yelled.

“This, being here, was my own choosing. No, I did not spend hundreds of hours vigorously training or cramming for study sessions. I downloaded the proper files I needed to be well informed on police work. I studied Connor and broke apart the program designed for him, installing pieces into my own OS. This, for me, took a total of six hours, and I am not comparing this to years of schooling. Being human is not easy, and as much as I don’t understand your kind, I get that. I am not saying that I understand the hardships you’ve been through. I don’t know your life’s story, only excerpts from your files. But on that same note, you know don’t know shit about mine. You’re not allowed to tell me how I’m feeling.

“This is solely my own choosing,” Nines gestured to Gavin. “I didn’t have to come here. I didn’t have to be a detective. I could have refused the offer and worked at a grocery store, or rebelled like the others in Jericho. I was told the DPD was short-staffed and they were experimenting with android tech. Captain Fowler showed me an overview of everyone that was currently open to receiving partners, and I picked you. I did that. Not Fowler, not Cyberlife. No one except myself assigned me to you. I was not yet deviated, but released from what my original intentions were meant to be. I still was under the perception that I had to wait for orders and be told what I needed to do— yet I picked you.”

Gavin scoffed derisively. This sounded fucking insane, and it was even more insane that his heart was aching, feeling like it’d been rubbed raw with a coarse sheet of sand paper. Because Gavin was feeling hope (for what, a partner that lasted? Or someone he could forward memes to?), and he hated it. A tragic sob story lived inside Nines too, and that was all great and dandy. Now they could become best friends forever and feel sorry for themselves.

Nines being deviated didn’t change shit— he was surprised because he’d been told the opposite, that this model wasn’t able to deviate. But his opinion was too deep rooted to be persuaded.

“Out of all people, why me?”

“There were four options. Detective Ben Collins, Officer Tina Chen, who I understand is a close friend of yours. Officer Wilson, who is on the brink of dismissal. And then, you. I asked for a brief synopsis on each of you. And you know what they told me about you?”

“That every partner I ever had has transferred within days of working with me. Oh, and that I don’t play nice.”

“During your first week with DPD, you discovered a year's worth of missing person cases that had been swept under the rug. You went into Captain Fowler’s office and held him accountable, refused to return back to your desk until someone was found responsible, and each and every case was reopened, and given a conclusion. Officer #9408’s position was terminated, and he was given ten years for tampering with police evidence. You worked overtime and hardly slept over the course of six months, reuniting families with their loved ones, or information on where they could collect their belongings. You’re a good man.”

If there was any praise he could give himself, he knew that he tried hard in college. He actually put effort into absorbing what his professors taught, not pushing off studying for exams in favor of partying (like he'd done his first year). A complete one eighty from his high school career.

He'd held three shitty minimum wage jobs that rotated every semester to scrape together enough rent and ramen money. Earned himself a full scholarship, and actually tried to gain appraisal from his parents. There were reasons Fowler didn't let him go. Reasons he'd been promoted the rank of lieutenant, and yet, turned it down because everyone else around him told him he was undeserving. He wholeheartedly agreed.

“Well frankly Nines, you’re the only one that thinks that.”

“No. That was part of your briefing. I was told that.”

"Oh," he muttered. He was so eloquent with his words. “What’s your prognosis, then?”

“I think that if you let me in, you really could be. I picked you because I know you have potential to. I am well aware what the others think of you. Can you clear your name entirely? Probably not. But, can you gain back respect, and be praised for being truly a good man? Yes." And then Nines paused, LED a fiery ruby, finger stroking down the dip in Nines' chin in a pensive manner. "How do I get you to believe me that I don’t want any more conflict between us?”

“I, um…” Gavin nervously scratched at the back of his neck. “I got something in my head telling me that you seriously aren’t kidding.”

“I’m not.”

Here it was. Recap on sob story number one. Nines didn't earn it, because this was a private novel, kept on the down-low, very hush hush. Not to be shared with the public, unless you were part of the exclusive club, and currently, it only had one member.

There had been a guy that Gavin had been seeing. Started out as a desperate search for physical intimacy, so he downloaded the most basic dating app he didn’t have to whip out his wallet for. It was a point in his life when he began questioning his sexuality again, and enjoyed casual hookups with men, a one-off experiment with a woman, because he just needed to feel someone else’s body pressed up against his own.

Needed to hear the laughter of another person, feel their fingers grabbing his jaw, plush lips pressed against his own, but he didn’t want anything serious. He made that very clear right off the bat. He just needed to feel the bare minimum of adoration. Even if the other person only liked him for his looks, for his sassiness, for his whatever their reasoning was. He couldn't stand being alone.

So how a one-night stand turned into six years of, mostly monogamous, dating, and not so lighthearted discussions of marriage was a little beyond him. Gavin didn’t have a good track record of not being abandoned. No partner, sexual or work related, could fucking stand him, not even his own blood related brother.

Each day that passed didn’t feel like much of a blessing, but more a burden, because every word that came out of his mouth, he second guessed. Had to walk on eggshells to make sure he said the right things, that this wouldn’t be number sixteen walking right out the door.

Always being the one to pay for meals, remembering his birthday even if Gavin's own was forgotten. Waking up his boyfriend with pecks to the cheek and handmade cards that would always end up in the trash.

Him and Tina always dreamed of getting a house together and adopting a bunch of animals (mostly cats, a few dogs, and goats because they're so damn cute), growing old together as best friends. They’d made a pact that if neither of them was married by thirty, then they’d call it quits and go to the courthouse.

They were both past thirty, and she’d been with her man before she’d even left Boston. A lot had been riding on this guy, and the only reason Gavin stayed was because the thought of laying by himself at night, staring at a dark ceiling with no one to roll into, no one to wake up if he needed to be held because he’d had another dream of being beaten again, fucking petrified him.

It was a few days before Christmas and the heater in his apartment had crapped out. His boyfriend hated his apartment anyways, always called it ugly and said it had a smell. They were back at the place he shared with a few other college-aged guys. Laying on his futon, lights turned off, and he could see glistening clumps of white wafting around in the night sky.

They were stripped of any clothes, nestled under a white sheet littered with wrinkles. Gavin was resting his head on his chest, counting each thump his heart made, matching the rhythm with taps of his nail. Gavin loved when his hair was played with, and that’s what he’d been doing. Twirling his fingers through his curls. That sensation always made him feel comforted, safe, like how some people find comfort in blankets, or stuffed animals. That was his blanket. He was Gavin’s blanket.

He was on the verge of passing into dreamland; colors began to fade to a grainy greyscale, chest full of sand, eyelids so heavy he couldn’t pry them open with a crowbar. The stale quiet lingering between them was broken.

“I can’t stand you anymore.”

Gavin didn’t cry. That wasn’t his immediate response. It wasn’t until nine months later when he arrived at the humane society to pick up Bailey, his newly adopted Scottish fold, that he lost it. He broke down crying into the fur on her back, and the workers, bless their hearts, tried to offer comfort. He didn’t want to get into it, and opted to put on a happy face, saying he was fine.

He had no friends left anymore. Anyone he’d talked to outside of his boyfriend had been his friends. He didn’t like saving numbers, so he couldn’t hit up anyone for casual sex, or ask someone to go grab a cup of coffee with him. He didn’t use social media except to lurk through forums and contribute to an occasional shit-posting group. Deleted any dating app he’d had years ago. The only one that listened, told Gavin that he was there, always had an ear to listen, shoulder to cry on, was Fowler.

He’d showed up at his house in the middle of the night, staggering across his neatly trimmed lawn, reeking of ninety-nine cent tall boys. His wife came to answer the door, and he could hear high pitched voices asking who was there, little tired faces peeking out from behind their mother’s bathrobe. She ushered Gavin inside and gave him a blanket, feeling nothing but sympathy for him.

Fowler had found Gavin a year after he’d graduated— he’d been working for a few months at a women's penitentiary as a nightguard. He didn’t quit because he disliked what he was doing, he’d actually started to care for quite a few inmates that’d opened up to him, invited him to their weekly spa nights and book clubs.

He realized patrolling and working in a low security prison wasn’t what he wanted to do for the rest of his life. He wanted to become more involved, helping prevent those from ending up behind bars (or rather, finding those who really needed to). He didn’t expect to become a mall cop shortly after.

After quitting, he had to rely on unemployment because no one would hire him. He tried. Drove all across Detroit, Lansing, Novi, fucking Mount Pleasant, Ann Arbor. He was always told someone would contact him within the next few days (and forwarded his calls if he tried to get in touch with their chief), or was told flat out they weren’t interested in him.

He was so fed up with ripping apart Hot Topic bags and finding five dollar trinkets that some punk decided to steal because they were feeling adventurous. Fowler was there the day he quit. Off duty, shopping for clothes, and Gavin had yanked off his badge the same moment Jeff walked by, grumbling into his palms in frustration.

He wanted to leave the state again, start all over, move somewhere new where he didn’t know anyone. Because he felt hopeless, like his life was never going to change. He was never going to accomplish anything, never be able to stop worrying about overdue bills or coming home to his electricity shut off. Until Fowler offered to buy him lunch and told him they were needing fresh meat at the DPD.

After Gavin’s ex, he’d sworn off humans. Making a promise to himself that he’d never try to get close to anyone again, that the second he felt a spark of joy in his heart, he’d shut that shit down, because it wasn’t safe.

And here lied his new problem, because he didn’t want to care about Nines. He had no control over what Nines would say, over Nines saying he (that didn’t feel right, this whole situation didn’t feel fucking right) cared about Gavin, or at least wanted to care for him. He wanted this relationship to stay that way. One-sided. He wasn’t interested in reciprocating anything friendly.

He wanted their work to get done, and that was it.

Then, he’d be partner-less and be able to return to his business like usual. Sitting alone with a cup of cold bitter coffee in his dusty office, staring at the home screen on his phone, doing the same thing day in and day out because it felt familiar.

But Nines was begging Gavin to consider, to let Nines in, share these thoughts verbally. Drop this self-absorbed persona and pull back the thick curtains he kept draped at all times. Show Nines a glimpse of who Gavin really was. Is.

The Gavin that used to volunteer at the shelter he rescued Bailey from on his days off. The Gavin that had worked as a caretaker at a senior center for a year after his grandma passed away when he was nineteen. The Gavin that kept multiple sketchbooks in the backseat of his car, the ones that were full of messy watercolor doodles of flowers, people he’d catch outside early morning at restaurants, having brunch with their friends.

The Gavin that attended Motor City Comic Con every year, that liked to support local artists by purchasing indie comics. The Gavin that held a record-breaking score in Galaga, that used to spend weekends camped out in arcades with his brother playing DDR and Guitar Hero. The Gavin that never missed pride, that had marched countless rallies for equality and complete freedom with his own handmade signs.

“Okay,” he said meekly, shakily. Nines had no fucking clue what tornado had just gone through his mind, the mountain he had to climb to even remotely consider trusting him. Gavin didn’t trust himself not to break this promise. “I believe you.”

Nines smiled back at him in response. It wasn’t overly wide, and mostly lopsided, only one cheek raised. But it was genuine, at least a lot more genuine than any person had offered him lately. “I’m glad. Because I really would like to get to know you, if you’d allow me.”

Gavin shifted his weight on his feet. “I might.”

“Might is a lot better than ‘fuck off, tin can’.” Nines offered a smirk, but Gavin didn’t feel like reciprocating the action. So, instead, Nines gestured to the dented silver and blue can that was three fourths of the way finished. “Is that all you’ve had today? Caffeine?”

His eyes rolled out of reflex. “For the most part.”

“There is a sandwich place about a block away from here that I’ve heard Anderson talk about. Perhaps it would be in your best interest for us to check it out?” And then Nines, playfully, nudged him with an elbow. “My treat.”

Before he could process what he was saying, before he really thought about the words that were forming at his lips, he said it: “You askin’ me out on a date or something?”

God, he fucking cringed. It was a joke. A joke that hardly had any humor to it, because it wasn’t funny. It wasn’t cruel, except maybe to himself, and he knew it’d fall flat to Nines. Because, again, there wasn’t anything funny about it.

Sure enough, he was met with confusion, and Nines looked very taken aback. They’d started walking back towards their station at this point, but Nines was watching him, face twisted in all sorts of ways.

“I’m… sorry, I don’t understand if that’s meant to be a joke, or not.”

“Definitely a joke,” he spat.

Nines snickered as they crossed the street. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but hypothetically speaking, in order for this to be a date, I think we would have to be friends first. At least.”

Gavin shrugged with a shoulder. “Maybe I was wrong.” What was he saying. “Maybe we are.” Jesus, he didn’t want to care. He didn’t want to care about Nines.

But, he did.

Chapter 3: dandelion wine

Summary:

Gavin was doing it again, running away from his problems, from Nines. But he didn't get too far; turning to his apartment for solitude, he's met with a visitor that gives him an even bigger headache. The night kept getting worse, and it wasn't gonna stop, was it?

5:38 PM

i miss ypu, T. up for drinks n a bit??

Tina - 6:02 PM

I can’t tonight. Michael’s mom is coming over for dinner. I miss you too. =( See you for coffee before your boy toy gets there

Tina - 6:03 PM

also, turn your autocorrect on. please? I’m begging you

It was dark enough outside to get lost just leaving your car. The lot for his complex was uncovered, and like a lot of the main roads in this area, it was lacking in the light department. Guess street lights were a thing of the past. Not to mention it was raining, quite cloudy out, and overall depressing. He could see lamps turned on in people’s homes, albeit distorted. Gavin crumpled up the now empty sandwich wrapper, tossed it into the, also empty, passenger seat, and released a low sigh.

It’d been over an hour since he'd told Nines he’d be right back, told Nines he needed to grab something from his car quickly. And then hauled ass, and drove home so he could sit in his car, listening to the purr of its engine, not even music, feeling like an absolute piece of shit. Not regretting it, but resenting his choices. He didn’t have the energy to get out and go inside even if his apartment was much warmer. He missed Bailey, the little weighted comforter that she was, and the unfinished protein shake in the fridge.

But, he just… his legs didn’t want to work.

He kept scrolling through his phone, flicking his thumb against scuffed glass, and had been anxiously biting his nail while waiting for a reply back from Tina. The response he received was the opposite of ideal. Guess it was going to be another night in with the cat and some heated up pasta, but hey, what did he honestly expect. That's how it always went.

He was wanting to keep his mind at bay and not latch onto Nines asking Gavin to open up. There were no implications behind it, there was no deeper meaning, other than Nines wanting to find common ground before they fell into another match of bloodied hands. Not wanting to think about actually snickering at a joke Nines cracked while they waited in line at the deli, how dramatically surprised Nines was.

Pretending to forget the way Nines gave him undivided attention— no fidgeting with a phone for a quick distraction, staring off into the distance, pretending to be anywhere else but with Gavin. How Nines nodded along to anything Gavin said, eyes not drifting away.

His phone dimmed before he dropped it onto his lap, leaned forward against the chilled steering wheel, and fucking yelled. It came out more so as a desperate groan, a whine, but man, he was drained. Emotionally, physically, verbally, and if there was any other -ly he could think of, he was drained of it too. He hated today.

He felt like such a fucking cock, because he knew there were documents he needed to comb through, fax, and have Nines process. Plus, surveillance to review and files of probable suspects to check off. Things to do were piling up, and he’d let this happen, all because he didn’t know how to cope with his problems without running away from them. In the most literal sense. All because someone wanted to be his friend. Boo fucking hoo.

He pressed the heels of his palms against his temples, massaging. His screen lit up the car. Nines’ number flashed. He hadn’t added Nines as a contact yet, which didn’t matter at this point if he’d already memorized the number. Nines had called him twice, been messaging him since he left. He didn’t want to respond back. He needed to grow up, act his age for once, get this over with. He tapped the notification with a loud huff.

(313 248 317- 87) - 5:32 PM

Are you seriously blowing off work, again?

(313 248 317- 87) - 5:42 PM

This is ridiculous. If this continues, I will have no other choice than to file a report with Captain Fowler stating that you are failing to do what’s required of your job. I cannot be the only one contributing.

(313 248 317- 87) - 5:52 PM

I’m sorry, Gavin. I’m not upset, only worried about you. Call me.

(313 248 317- 87) - 6:02 PM

Please let me know you’re alright.

(313 248 317- 87) - 6:22 PM

Do you honestly hate me that much?

He didn’t know what was worse in the long run; saying something he’d regret, or not saying enough. He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth.

6:25 PM

im fine.

(313 248 317- 87) - 6:25 PM

Where are you?

Thunder rumbled, and he could feel the vibrations deep in his bones.

6:25 PM

went hmoe

No point in lying when he couldn't make his case any better. If he said he was out at a bar with friends (which, that would be painfully easy to fact check) Nines would only worry more (express worry, rather), and he'd be living up to the expectation that he got hammered at work. He could've said that he took a drive to calm his nerves, but he didn't feel like it. He went home to his not-home. It's not like Nines even knew his address. Or, he hoped, at least.

(313 248 317- 87) - 6:25 PM

If you want to work from home, I’m sure Captain Fowler would be understanding. Do you want me to come to you?

(313 248 317- 87) - 6:26 PM

With Chinese? :)

His balled fist hit the window, water droplets racing down from the outside. He ran his fingers over his chin, both hands through his hair, until he was hunched over, forehead pressed to knees. He was such a fucking dick sometimes, and yet, it was hilarious because he couldn’t stop. He was watching a car crash, and he was in the driver's seat.

This was all so stupid. He sat up, steadied his breathing, shoved his phone into his (back) pocket (so he could ignore it), and made his way inside. Sluggish in every step he took, but he wanted to hurry. He’d thrown his hood up, but his hair was still dripping.

The complex he lived in wasn’t the largest in the area, but it wasn’t that private either. Twenty-four floors, and he wasn’t too far from the top. It had a locked lobby, so you needed a security code to get in (a plus), and there was a front desk (minus, because android monitored).

Cheapest one bedroom in the area, though. Not downtown enough that he’d have to pay inflated college student rates, but close enough to work he didn’t find himself filling up on gas more than once every other week.

The second he got inside he could feel his muscles relax and stop tensing for warmth. The heaters were cranked up, which, thank God. It was brisk out. Still not as bad as it could’ve been for this time of the year. He wiped his feet on the welcome mat and made his way over to the elevator... to see a sheet of stark white paper taped to its scratched metal doors.

“You gotta be fuckin’ me.”

This was the fourth time in the past ten days that the elevator had been out of order. Minor inconveniences of life, first world problem, Gavin was aware. Just fucking annoying when all he wanted to do was lay down and tune out from his life. He groaned under his breath, rifled for his earbuds, and shoved the door to the stairs open.

Nines was still relentlessly texting him. He put notifications on mute and scrolled through his countless ‘sad boy hours’ playlists on Spotify until he found an indie song pretentious enough to climb twenty-two flights of stairs to.

His floor greeted him with flickering lights and old floorboards that were loud enough to hear over the music. Ironically, this was one of the quietist buildings he’d lived in. There was the occasional abusive young couple that moved in for a few months, or mother with her crying toddlers. Nothing memorable.

He’d take squeaking doors and a high-pitched creak over wild parties and cops banging on every door asking around for ‘Timothy’. Who the hell Timothy was, or if they ever found him, Gavin would never know.

The floral wallpaper in the hallway was tearing in spots, looking like the place hadn’t been remodeled since the eighties. Wasn’t really anything wrong with that. The building never attracted rats, no bugs, no squirrels digging around in the walls. He wasn’t living glamorously, but he was living.

He stopped at a recognizable stained green mat, fishing through his pocket, feeling for his keys. The nominees were announced for the annual Game Awards, all a bunch of titles Gavin didn’t recognize because he never had enough time to play anything new, or catch up on his backlog.

Scrolling through the article, humming in approval when he could place one singular title, lazily shoving his key into the lock— they slipped from his hand as his breath caught. He clutched his chest, heart pounding like he’d just seen a ghost. He yanked an earbud out, turned his screen off.

“Hey… mom?”

He was so oblivious to his surroundings, he hadn’t noticed his own mother standing at his door, accompanied by a rolling suitcase. She had a brand name leather purse thrown over her shoulder, and she was dressed like she’d just gotten back from a girl's night out (fancy, that’s what he meant).

Her bright red lips were curled in an adoring way, the kind of look you get when you see a really cute puppy— but that melted away when he could feel her staring at what he knew was a nasty cloud of dark violets and indigos.

“Oh, honey, what happened here?” She reached to, gingerly, touch the spot that still stung when even wind brushed against it, right below his eye. He swatted her away, taking a hearty step back, shaking his head quickly.

“Work tussle.”

But then he was back where he originally stood, and now leaned in closer to lock his, much shorter, mother in a hug. He was still in a state of shock that his mom was here, waiting for him in front of his door. How long had she even been waiting here? It’d been five months since they last talked.

She smelled like expensive old lady perfume, nauseating roses and lilac (probably the one his brother got her the last Christmas they’d spent as a family, when he one-upped everyone with his lavish gifts). Her nails dug into his back.

“Wanna tell me what you’re doing here?”

“I miss you,” she started with, but he knew that wasn’t why she was here. She’d never come visit him unless there was a second half to her trip. “I was in Jackson for a business conference.” Called it. “I couldn’t pass through without seeing my Gavvy.”

She took a step back and waited for Gavin to nudge the door open. She always showed up at the worst fucking times possible— he wasn’t in a chatty mood to begin with, but his apartment was also closer to resembling a junk yard than it was a home.

Empty takeout containers on the coffee table with accompanying silverware, kibble spread throughout the kitchen because he hadn’t vacuumed in a few days (and didn’t own a fancy Roomba like everyone else). The only decoration in his bedroom being a laptop, a falling apart mirror he didn’t want to part with, and strewn about skinny jeans and v-necks.

She stepped past him, though stopping momentarily to kiss his cheek, as he flicked on the overhead lights.

“I’ve been trying to get a hold of you, but your assistant says you’re never there. And you never answer my calls.”

Gavin hung up his keys and then dropped to his knees as Bailey let out a long, strained meow. He scratched behind her ears, right in that good spot.

“I’ve been busy, ma. Sorry. I would’ve cleaned up the place if I knew you were coming to town.”

But, in actuality, he would’ve told her he was away for the weekend.

“Sweetheart, I was there with you through your teens. This is nothing.”

She moved a pile of blankets off his sofa and made herself at home. Bailey took that as her cue to prance off to her, jumping on her lap, kneading her skirt. He scooped up a few styrofoam containers to throw in the trash.

“You thinking of staying for a while?”

“For a few days?” she pleaded. It’s not like he could tell her no, not without an argument coming out of it. “If that’s too long, I can be out of your hair tomorrow evening. I’ve just missed you, honey.”

“I missed you too, ma.” There was truth to that, but in that moment, he couldn’t recall a positive memory that would convince him to want his mother to stay longer than overnight. “I don’t wanna kick you out, but I’m not gonna be home much. Got a case with long hours coming up, and, y’know how that goes.”

“I know,” she said with a sigh. “I wish you boys lived closer to us.”

“Or, you could move here. I don’t see what’s so appealing about Boston.” He took a seat next to her, setting his phone down beside him, placing his earbuds back in their case.

“Because it’s home.” Yeah, well, it wasn’t to him. “I tried reaching out to Eli, but he never calls us either. He stopped writing us letters before things got crazy, and now we’re not sure how to get a hold of him.”

He scoffed. “Does that really come as a surprise?” He glanced out the window, admiring the never dying lights of the city. “Public has no idea where he lives anymore, doesn’t talk to anyone except computers all day. He isn't much of, what some would call, a people person.”

She chuckled to herself, and that made his eyebrow arch. “I know you two haven’t gotten along for quite some years now, but I remember when you’d both rip the sheets off your beds and run around the house like superheroes, tying them around your shoulders like capes.”

He cleared his throat. “How’s dad doing?”

And by her reaction, he knew she got his hint. He wanted to change the subject. Now.

“He was discharged from the ICU last weekend.”

“So, he can go back home now?”

She took in a deep, heavy breath. “He’s being moved into hospice on Thursday. It’s a thirty-minute drive from the house, but that nurse, Rebecca— do you remember her, honey? She’ll be assisting us in the transfer.”

Gavin’s second sob story. The boy with daddy issues. Dying daddy issues. His communication with his mom was spectacular compared to the amount he talked to his dad since he moved out. He sat up straighter.

“I thought dad was staying home this time.”

“That is his home now. He needs a higher level of care than either of us are able to provide for him from home.”

“He was— he could walk again, though. And dress himself. He was getting better.”

“He is doing better. He’s off the ventilator, for now.”

“Did they change their time estimate?”

“Yes. But it’s nothing we have to worry about right at this moment. Let’s think about dinner first. Have you had anything to eat yet?”

His fist was pressed to his lips, eyelashes fluttering like a hummingbird's wings. His mom was reaching out a gentle soothing hand, his motivator to go rummage through the kitchen junk drawer in search of a takeout menu. He gathered a variety of them and dropped them on the coffee table.

Sniffling, he said, “I don’t know what you’re feeling, but Chinese sounds good right about now.”

“Anything you’re in the mood for, honey. Do you want me to pay?” She’d gone to unclasp her purse, but he shook his head.

“No, it’s fine. I got it. I just—” he rung his hands together. “I don’t know what to feel right now.”

And instead of offering him an invitation to talk, maybe throw a rope to venture into that volcano that was wanting to erupt, she brought up therapy. Like she’d always had when he’d told her he was starting to feel numb all the time, and didn’t know why. When he told her that he was developing feelings for TIna’s boyfriend, and he was scared. When Elijah first wrote home, and it was only addressed to their parents, no mention of Gavin.

She was that kind of person that always presented herself in a very ‘PTA involved mom’ sort of way, but within their household, she wanted to still play charades. That’s why he never told her anything, why he never wanted to pick up the fucking phone, because it’d be another two-hour long call of her bitching about a neighbor and how someone outshone her at a pot luck.

He wanted to tell her he didn’t want to lose his dad, even if his recollection of how he looked was becoming pixelated in his mind. He wanted to tell her about Nines, all about his partner. Being forced to work with an android and on a case he’d never willingly choose, but because of that, he’d felt empathy for their kind. The good— that maybe someone cared for him. The bad— this morning, the landfill, the bullying. But, he didn’t.

He took his place next to her again, flipping through a menu that had only two pages, and like, sixteen things listed, rereading them over and over again while she’d already moved on. She didn’t ask about his day at work, she didn’t inquire about Tina or Anderson (she’d met him before, gotten along with him). About his new ‘assistant’. It was all about her and her work trip. So maybe this is where he got the self-absorption from.

He placed a delivery for the Chinese place down the road he liked, rented an easy to tune out movie, and kept pretending like he was fine. What he was used to doing.

 

---

 

He was standing outside on his balcony with nothing but thin sweatpants and an even thinner hoodie on, bunched up at the sleeves and half unzipped. Gavin focused on the bitterness of the metal railing brushing against his skin. How cold always sparked flashes of blue behind his eyelids, how winter had this… taste of warm vanilla, but right now, all he could taste was copper, a rusty disgusting taste in the back of his throat, and he shivered as he took another long drag.

Sometimes to mentally process what was happening around him, Gavin liked to reduce things down to color, assign words to tastes, make life more like he was reading it from the perspective of a performer skimming a screenplay.

He could imagine the spotlight pointing at him right now, a dim yellow cast across his face, and he’d look pathetic. Because it’d bring out the deep set luggage under his eyes, the discoloration of acne scarred cheeks, the sheen of unwashed hair, the blue of burst veins.

He squinted, staring off into the distance, watching the peoplemover leisurely travel back to its docking station downtown. It had an advertisement, bright as all hell, showing off a bottle of Faygo sponsored thirium.

He hung his head. It was so quiet out. The streets unoccupied, rain having stopped hours ago, only the occasional car passing by. His mother had already been long asleep, but, he couldn’t. His mind wasn’t ready, wasn’t done figuring out what the fuck happened today, wasn’t done obsessing over the want for attention.

His mind was refilling pages to keep clacking away and printing up reports, a summary of what Gavin tried to dissociate from in the moment so he could re-experience it right now.

The color white. Most commonly attributed to purity. A wedding gown, the happiest moment of your life. A set of freshly washed sheets, warm and waiting for you in bed. Angels, an example of what a ‘perfect’ human was meant to be.

But, white, to Gavin, represented lifeless eyes peeled open. A pile of dead bodies challenging the height of Mount Everest. Soil underneath their feet so mixed with ashes from burnt plastic that it looked like day old snow. He didn’t want to go to that damn landfill. He’d seen it on the news, and he wasn’t interested. But Nines insisted.

He was so goddamn pissed off, finding it ironic that this thing would want to go there to see if it could experience empathy.

“Alright, we’re here.” Gavin killed the ignition. The landfill had gated security, but past that checkpoint, it was empty. It was just them from this point out. He’d parked a minute away, not being able to see the worse of what was to come. “Since you wanted to come so badly.”

Nines unbuckled himself, unlocked the door, and went to wait for Gavin. “I needed to see them with my own eyes.”

Gavin didn’t think it was going to affect him like this. Instead of broken bone, it was snapped wires poking out from sharply shattered carcasses. No blood, no tint to their bodies, no clothes. As they reached the vast piles, he had to look away.

“And now you have.” He’d seen more bodies dead than he had alive, he’d say. And yet, the thought of death still made him uneasy. What was worse this time, was that he was expecting that familiar scent of decay, feel sticky residue seeping under his boots, expecting to swat away flies.

There was none of that. Nothing to smell except a faint burning lingering in the wind. It was almost worse, because everything was so artificial. Like a romanticized version of death, because it wasn’t messy, it wasn’t vile, it wasn’t flesh and blood murdered here.

“Hurts, don’t it. When it’s one of your own.”

But this is why it affected him. Why every tendon in his jaw clenched, why he felt sick to his stomach.

Nines responded: “No. No, that’s the thing. I— I don’t feel sad, nor am I any more inclined to catch who’s responsible for this than I was before.” Nines had turned to face him. “I don’t feel anything.”

Gavin blew out a short lived grey cloud. Smoking had been his crutch for as long as he’d been called useless, for as long as he’d forced himself into social situations so society didn’t view him as an inept outcast.

There was something beautiful about watching a puff of smoke disappear, so fragile and its mere existence a blip, gone before you knew it was even there. Disappearing and taking a new worry with each exhale, purifying him from the inside out. He knew his smoking habits were only getting worse, but fuck if it was the only thing that made him feel okay. The only thing that kept him from wanting to call up Nines, asking him to come meet him, only so he could pull out his pistol and unload it.

He scoffed at the thought of actually considering being friends with that. Fucking laughable that he believed for a minute that that piece of shit could actually feel anything. He believed him in the moment, but, hey, Gavin made a lot of stupid mistakes.

He knew his emotions roared faster than a rollercoaster, but the guilt from earlier had sailed away like a piece of driftwood out to sea. The second his mother mentioned that his father was steadily dying, which they’d all been aware of since his first heart attack scare in twenty nine, his heart flipped like a sand timer. Fuck. Nines.

He’s wasted all this time holding onto this glued together hatred for his father, and now the days were ticking by rapidly, and he didn’t know how bad his condition was anymore because his mom refused to get into the details. He didn’t know if he’d be able to have a last word with his dad, what he’d say, because the last sentiment they’d exchanged had ‘fuck’ and ‘you’ in it.

Nines didn’t understand the value life held, that every second ticking was a reminder that you were that much closer to being done. Nines didn’t get why life being snatched away was so scary, because if Nines died? It was easy to reinstall hardware. Replaceable. He’d seen the patrol bots get shot during armed robbery, head bludgeoned, and the next day they’d walk through the doors like nothing ever happened. Looking pristine.

Nines was a fucking monster, able to stand and look at thousands of his own kind dead, and didn’t flinch, didn’t red ring. Yeah, he was dictating how Nines should’ve felt because it was fucked up. He’d yelled there, yelled at him the entire car ride back to the station.

Maybe he was using this as an excuse to shield himself from the possibility that that experience had changed him. To be fair, Nines hadn’t been deviated at that point (or so he understood, but that seemed like a real excuse). God, fuck his heart for trying to come crawling back to shore again, gasping for resuscitation. He couldn’t have friends, he couldn’t fucking…

He threw the butt of his cigarette to the street below him, and he cupped his jaw. He wanted to scream again, scream bloody murder from the rooftops for everyone to hear his pain. He wanted to break down sobbing, he wanted to be able to release what was stuck inside of him. He wanted to have a tantrum like a spoiled child.

He couldn’t do any of that. His throat was hoarse and dry from the damage he couldn’t stop doing to himself. He didn’t feel the kind of sadness that made your eyes water, he didn’t feel the typical kind of ‘knock you down’ sad.

He didn’t want to go back inside, even if his teeth were starting to chatter. He slid down until his ass hit wet pavement. He pulled out his phone, sliding down the brightness. He opened up his image gallery and started a binge of file deletion.

Old pictures of him and Tina, when smiling was a trait he still possessed. Christmas photos where Elijah were cut out, Gavin hardly being in the shot either. The two candid snaps he’d gotten of Nines from the day he’d let Nines borrow his jacket, when it was used as a pillow, when Nines was sleeping and they were all alone in the break room.

He tapped open their messages.

(313 248 317- 87) - 6:39 PM

I’ve emailed you an Excel spreadsheet compiling a list of active duty members that were assigned to the Detroit camps, matching the size eight shoe Connor reported.

(313 248 317- 87) - 10:10 PM

Possible new intel received. Need to discuss it with you ASAP. My offer for Chinese still stands?

(313 248 317- 87) - 1:03 AM

If I don’t hear back from you by morning, I’m asking Fowler to transfer me and reassign this case to Ben. I can’t keep covering and making excuses for you. I can’t do this alone, Reed.

Was that the best plan of action here? Having their case reassigned, having this all just be a feverish dream? He worked best alone anyways. He knew that if they went through with this, that meant he’d have to transfer somewhere else.

Maybe move back to Boston because self torture was so much fun. He caught himself panting, unable to keep his phone steady. Beads of sweat were dripping down his nose, but he felt clammy, and still, absolutely chilled. He was out of cartons, no beer left in the fridge, and he needed to forget.

Forget today, forget feeling like he could actually change himself, like he could open up, like anyone at all cared. He went back inside, but now with a plan. He locked the patio door, turned off the television that was paused on some YouTube video he couldn’t even place, quickly scribbled out a note for his mom so she wouldn’t freak out if she woke up anytime soon, and then went to fetch his gun.

Shoved it in his pocket, locked the front door, pocketed his keys, pulled up his hood, and marched down the hall.

Gavin needed to do something other than focus all his energy on wanting to call up his brother, flood his inbox (because he wouldn’t answer) with questions about their dad— if he even knew how much worse off he was, if he knew he was sick to begin with, was at all aware that he was fucking dying. Like he’d even care. Too busy living the dream life.

Because when you can dry your tears with wads of hundred dollar bills, why give a shit anymore, right? Why leave the solitude of your eight million dollar mansion to visit your working class father, because everyone else is irrelevant now. And that was a load coming from Gavin, the distant black sheep son.

He needed to stop rehearsing an apology he’d ramble off to Nines, stop imagining what it’d be like to say he wasn’t okay, see if Nines would actually listen to him. If Nines would mock a worried pout or simply observe him like a scorning mother. He nearly sprinted down the steps to the lobby. He pawed at his dampened cheeks.

All he wanted to do was the usual— go to the stupid fucking sex club he turned to when he was full of self-pity (and of course sex clubs would stay open, even during a revolution), rent the same model that wouldn’t ever remember his name by the morning, but this time, spice up his routine.

Because it wasn’t illegal to kill blue bloods. Sure, you could get fined for breaking another person’s property, but it was easy to work out a deal with the owner to pass it off as an ‘accident’. They’d get a nice chunk of change from insurance, and he’d get off scot-free. He sure as hell was going to take advantage of that before it was too late. Wouldn’t be his first time anyways, doubt it’d be his last at the rate Nines had been making his blood fucking boil.

He threw open the lobby door, and there his fucking nightmare was. In true sitcom form, Nines was standing right there, right in front of him, a taxi driving off in the distance.

Chapter 4: miscalculated

Summary:

Maybe Gavin needed to become somebody else because he was already unrecognizable to himself. He'd broken so much more than he could heal, at least that's what it felt like.

He was steadily coming face to face with a chain reaction of consequences to his self centered behavior.

Nines was now in a different ugly sweater— and when he meant ugly, he meant capital U ugly. A childish light blue with a gaudy embroidered patch of a dog’s head. It made sense now where Nines was getting the spare clothes from, and he felt stupid not realizing sooner, because the obviousness of everything being a size too small on Nines should’ve been the first clue; Connor’s understanding of fashion fell on par with, well, what you’d expect a robot to think was stylish.

Judging from the three outfits he’d seen Connor don, they all had something shiny on them, were too baggy for Connor’s slim form, and came across as being too young for what the naive general population would perceive to be as a mid-twenties young man.

He pulled his eyes away from that eyesore and instead focused on the white plastic takeout bag slung over a wrist. Shit, his jacket. Gavin’s brown leather jacket was folded across Nines’ arm, an inch away from the bag. Maybe it was the shitty lighting from that goddamn headache inducing light bulb that flickered like a Halloween strobe light, but the jacket looked… clean? There was this obvious stain that’d been near the collar of it, and even with him squinting, he couldn’t make it out.

Gavin shook his head because he was very aware that he was just gawking at Nines again. His primal urge to cause hurt wasn’t going away, but Nines wasn’t part of this plan, and he wasn’t going to take it out on his so-called ‘partner’. Not because he feared the rebuttal from Fowler, but… he just didn’t want to make Nines part of this plan, alright. Did he need further reasoning? No. So, let’s move along.

“Fuck outta here, prick.” Gavin took a step to the left. And of course, because Nines was an unenjoyable grueling pain in his ass, had to shadow him. “Move.”

“Where are you in a hurry to?”

“Does it matter?” Gavin scoffed. “You my mom?”

“I guess it’s beside the point right now. However, we are talking.”

“Ain’t in the goddamn mood to talk, ‘specially to the likes of you.”

“I wasn’t asking for your permission, detective.”

All he could smell was the savory scent of fried rice and peas, the sweet waft of cooked chicken. It made his stomach churn. Why? Why, why was he still rewarding him when Gavin had done nothing deserving of such in return?

Like, this wasn’t about self-pity anymore— not one single word he’d spoken through grit teeth had been truthful, or fueled by an ounce of respect. Gavin couldn’t stand jackasses like himself, if the roles were reversed, all forms of communication would’ve ended the first time he spat ‘fuck you’.

Why had Nines not already requested an exchange in partners, like everyone else he’d worked with had? Written up a noncompliance report? Why was Jeffrey not chewing him out already, firing him on the spot because no other station in the state would want to hire his stubborn ass, tossing him out on the curb like yesterday’s trash? Why, and what, the fuck was this walking lunchbox trying?

“Well, that’s not really up for you to decide, now is it? I’m your superior, and therefore, you listen. It’s three in the goddamn morning, go to bed.”

Nines’ eyes closed, creases forming between thick brows. “I don’t have a bed.”

“Fascinating. Not my problem.”

“Reed, do you wish to resign from this case?”

He threw his head back with a heavy huff. “I,” he’d let some truth slip. “No. I don’t.”

“Then, what is your grand plan, detective? Because you, quite frankly, are running out of options, and I am running very thin on patience.”

“You know jokes. You’re funny.” Gavin chortled. “Like stoicism ain’t your supposed expertise. Asimov’s second law.”

Nines’ brows raised. “There he is. The man I’ve read about, cited for his extensive research and grand wits. Have you been doing your own reading, Reed?”

“Nah. Just ain’t brain dead stupid. Consuming a lotta sci-fi media sorta helps.”

Nines let out this amused sounding, not chuckle per say, but this little hum. “One shall protect thyself when put in harm’s way, be it emotional or physical, as long as law number one is held— sustain from injuring a human, and I believe we’re well past those laws now, don’t you agree?”

Gavin sneered. “Real ironic, don’t you think? Thought abiding by laws was kinda our job.”

“Yes. Ironic.” Nines mimicked a sigh. “Gavin, I have tried to reason with you. Do you really plan to keep running away for the rest of your life?”

The way Nines was looking him back in the eyes mimicked what Gavin felt— how he wanted to pin Nines against the side of his building, held at mercy, arms tied behind his back so Gavin could watch Nines writhe and taunt him further. Watch his magazine empty and blue trickle down like a satisfying man made waterfall.

“You don’t fucking understand what shit I’m dealing with right now. Step away from me before I do something we’re both gonna regret, Nines.”

“You really think this is still all about you. That you are the only one dealing with a horrible fucking day.”

“What the fuck do you think you know? Your days so bad because some asshole ain’t giving you attention. That right?” He scoffed again, although harsher, and like earlier, Nines let him pass without struggle. Gavin knew it wasn’t that easy.

He continued walking towards his car, hands shoved deep into his pockets. He unlocked the doors, went to sit down, and that’s when Chinese food went flying everywhere. Because Nines tiptoed between him, and Gavin had thought it’d been the right moment to unsheathe his weapon. Press the cold barrel to Nines’ forehead. They were surrounded by noodles and napkins.

“This isn’t meant for you.”

“You don’t want to do that.”

“I didn’t. But, my feelings changed.”

“No, Reed.” Nines was inches away from his own face, close enough that Gavin could hear fans whirring. That Nines was stepping on his shoes. That Gavin had to bend his arm like a snapped spaghetti noodle to keep his gun trained in place.

“You don’t want me playing the bad guy, because there’s only one conclusion to that scenario, and I do not believe it is one you will enjoy.”

Gavin rolled his eyes. That was so fucking cringy. Without a second thought, he pulled the trigger. Sorry mom, but at least his apartment was in the back of the building. He knew she was a deep sleeper and used one of those basic bitch white noise apps, anyways. She was blissfully aware of the antics her son was involved in.

What were the consequences for this? Cyberlife would come clean up the pieces, send out a newly repaired model that wouldn’t bat an eye at the thought of its predecessor dying. Maybe he’d have to start sourcing through Indeed again, maybe this would be his calling to return to remedial food service work.

Maybe… this really was a mistake, because the blood he’d had splattered over his own clothes was not blue. All he could hear was a disorientating ring, so high pitched and insistent that it felt like an auditory hallucination. And around his neck— a noose, that’s all he could feel. He blinked, trying to focus on… anything in front of him. The stains on his arms were all fading into a singular color. He was struggling to keep his damn eyes open.

He didn’t know where the fuck his gun had gone, but that didn’t matter because Nines had his back pushed against the trunk of his own car. There was an overwhelming rush of an ice cold warmth flooding his face, like how your cheeks feel when they’re burning up from embarrassment, but then someone threw a package of frozen peas over his skin.

Everything felt tight, his body felt like a fucking sarcophagus that he wanted to scratch his way through and escape, God it felt like ants were super glued underneath his muscles.

His fingers were scratching at Nines’ wrist, but all it did was reveal white, and gunmetal-tinted plastic. He was choking on his own spit now, gurgling like a rabid dog, delirious the severity of the situation he’d found himself in. An android that could easily bench ten times Gavin’s weight, and his fist was wrapped around his trachea like this were some kind of new handshake.

Nines dodged his bullet.

“You should be aware that I have no motivation to keep you alive,” a guttural, demonic sounding hum, a decibel above that dull echo of his gun going off (it didn’t go away). He felt pressure in his ears, like his eardrums were about to burst like overfilled balloons. Raucous blasts of shitty tailpipes (because this was Michigan, and everyone had a less than desirable car here), a dog barking in the distance gave him fucking vertigo.

“You kill me,” he spat on Nines— tried to, but congealed blood only fell on his chin, “they’ll kill you.”

“I am not too concerned about that.” Nines grew a second head the same instance the night sky turned into a kaleidoscope of psychedelic, swirling colors.

Their noses brushed, he thought at least. It seemed like he was leaning in to sneer at him. Every little touch, he was hypersensitive. Every little muscle spasm and twitch felt like a six foot needle piercing through his skin. He felt air prick his ear, heard whispering that he strained to make out.

“No one would care if you died. No one. So, what’s stopping me?”

“Do it then,” Gavin barked, and he was serious. God, he just wanted this to be over with. Not just this situation but… everything. He wanted it all to end. Nines’ head was cocked.

“You said it yourself,” voice wavering, blackness starting to take over. “I am a monster. And, I’m sure you want me to live up to those expectations.” Gavin could hear the metal tendons relaxing as he was released, as his jellified arm scraped off paint to keep himself upright, as he vomited in his mouth trying to regain his senses. “I am more than what Cyberlife designed me for. Gavin, I would care.”

“Golly gee, my savior,” he was still coughing up coagulated blood. “Thank you so much for saving me, my knight in shining—”

He started crying. Not just crying. Oh, he was sobbing. Full body trembling, nose running a fifty-meter dash in record setting time.

“My dad’s dying.”

Nines had only been watching him, not reacting, until he said that. “Gavin…”

“S’why I was,” he had to strain to breathe, “leaving, to escape thinking about it. Forget about the real world bad stuff for just one goddamn minute.” He spat out what tasted like pure stomach bile. “Then here you come, busting my fucking ass, reminding me that I can’t have nice things.”

Fuck it. He stumbled over his own two feet and fell against Nines’ chest. Gavin didn’t wrap his arms around his back. He was merely using Nines as support so he wouldn’t pass the fuck out, like a sentient telephone pole.

The other didn’t say anything, didn’t react and fulfill the secret want he had— a hug, okay, he wanted a hug from the only being that’d given him an ounce of attention, even if they’d mutually bullied and battered each other at that point.

“I fucking despise you, I honest to God do. But after he’s gone, I don’t have anyone. You got it? Tina hates me, typical distant family bullshit,” Gavin sniffled. “Don’t let me push you away.”

“Is that what you really want?”

“Yes,” he whined.

“Okay.” He could feel Nines nodding. He hoped no one was watching them. They probably looked like two rats fighting over a slice of pizza. People around here knew better than to poke their noses in other people’s business, anyways. “I won’t let you. Asimov’s first law, correct?”

“Right.” He didn’t have the energy to laugh at that. “Nines.”

“Gavin?”

“Were you actually gonna let me die?”

“I don’t know.”

“Cut the bullshit, you’re a robot. ‘course you know.”

“What if the answer was yes?”

“Then I’d be pissed at you for pussying out.”

 

---

 

“Do you need me to bring you to a hospital?”

Gavin wanted to fucking scream; his hair was drenched from cold sweat and it was disgusting. Felt like he’d been caught in the rain for an hour, but it wasn’t raining anymore. Each time Nines removed another jagged shard of glass that he’d fucking impaled into Gavin’s skin, it made him feel like he was going to hurl. He’d rolled up his jacket tight enough to use it like a towel so he could bite down on it, but Jesus Christ, this hurt. And now his precious leather bomber was back to being stained, full of food particles and enough bodily fluids to make a clone of Gavin.

What a goddamn sight to behold this was. The two of them sitting in the backseats of Gavin’s car, where the space was more than cramped and the floors were littered with old wrappers and random junk he’d never bothered to clean out. Oh, and now blood was thrown into the mix. Tissues stained with crimson.

“No,” he groaned, words muffled but pain so clearly visible. Worse than any splinter he’d ever had, than any bone he’d ever broken. He jumped out of his seat; maybe three or four pieces left, Nines had said, but this one was quite sensitive, considering it was lodged deeply under his ribs.

“Are you sure? Some of these wounds are quite deep, they’d benefit from stitc—”

“Yes, yes,” his breath hitched. He dug his nails into the leather headrest, bracing himself. “I’m sure. Got bandages and shit inside, that’ll have to do for now. How many left?”

“This is the last one. You might want to take a deep breath.”

Gavin looked at the heavens above him (well, really he was looking at the stained, smoke damaged cover that blocked the car’s skylight). When Nines removed this piece, he nearly screamed bloody murder; his entire goddamn body was shaking, and Jesus Christ his stomach was actually in knots.

It felt like he was going to shit himself, that prickly sensation you get in your gut before you’re sprinting to the bathroom. He actually gagged, jacket dropping to his lap.

“You promise there’s no more?”

He didn’t know what the fuck he was doing, but Nines’ fingertips were trailing up his spine. He wasn’t fond of his touch right now. “Promise.”

“Thank God,” he muttered, slipping back into his lightweight zip up. Yeah, he knew there’d be stains he couldn’t get out even if soaked it in a tub of bleach. But sitting bare chested in front of him made Gavin feel… self conscious.

“Gavin, I think we should talk—”

“No. What you should do is tell me why the fuck you’re here. You said you had something important to talk about. Then next thing I know, you’re busting my rear windshield and playing operation on me for fun.”

“I do, and I will get to that, but Gavin—”

“No. Keep asking and I’m not gonna be pointing that gun at you the second time around.”

Nines breathed heavily. “Sam Miller was a security personnel for Cyberlife until a year ago, when the company laid him off for hefty accusations that he’d been engaging in illegal business within the company.”

Gavin was scrambling to look around the car for what he knew was a half crushed carton that had at least one cig left in it. He looked under the floor mats until he found what he was looking for, pulling out the lighter he always kept in a cup holder. Guess he didn't have to roll down a window, that was the only perk of having a broken fucking car.

“I need you to be paying attention.”

“I’m listening.” He took a slow, long drag, exhaling through his nostrils. He glanced at him. “Gonna have to start charging you for staring. C’mon, continue.”

“He was selling Cyberlife’s intellectual property to a rival tech company because, according to his emails, he’d discovered what we call ‘deviancy’ programmed into our binary months before Connor apprehended Daniel.”

“Who was the first reported case of deviancy.”

“Correct. What he was trying to accomplish by working with a no name start up, I’m not sure because all forms of communication ceased around the same time Daniel’s case was made public. After combing through essentially every ounce of information I could find from a human regarding when deviancy was first noticed, this is where I ran dry. He seems to be the only starting point.”

“Why the fuck’re you telling me this now? At three in the goddamn morning?”

“He has a flight scheduled for seven. We need to approach him, now.”

“That leads to the bigger question though— you really think a case can be made to bring up in the supreme court when ‘deviancy’ is literally in your programming? As in, you didn’t break free from what you know, but you were created with the capability of thinking for yourself. Not that it means free will.”

“If this was common knowledge, at least within the company, how is it justified to send out an order to execute an entire intelligent race?"

"Counterargument will be that, y'know, you ain't a fuckin' race. You're property owned by a corporation and I'm fuckin' sure if you analyzed your terms of service anally enough, you'd find some fine print stating Cyberlife can do whatever the hell they please with you."

"We're contracted to detain and question a very specific list of people, that's our job, Reed. A timed one, at that. The rest is—" Nines sighed, and not in a way that a puppy would mimic its owner, but an actual mouth open, air coming out huff. "I want to start over.”

“I told you, I’ve been listening.”

“Us. We need a clean slate or we're only going to keep finding ourselves in a game of cat and mouse."

Gavin pressed his tongue to his cheek. He side glanced at Nines, took in the sight of his blood all over his pale, slender fingers. The look suited him, looked natural. A born, or rather, manufactured, killer. “Feeling guilty for choking out your partner ‘til his face turned blue, huh?”

“To be fair, you took the initiative first. You shot at me.”

“It isn’t really a competition.” He took another drag of his cigarette, feeling the nicotine calm his nerves.

"I'm serious, Gavin. We can't keep doing this. The constant bickering, the insults, the violence. It is not healthy, and it is not productive."

Gavin rolled his eyes. "I don't need a lecture from you of all— creatures."

"That right there. Fucking enough." Nines hung his head, fist slamming the driver seat headrest.

It made Gavin jump and drop what remained of his cig, cursing under his breath as he felt warmth immediately travel through his jeans. Least painful injury of the night. "Jesus Christ, calm yourself."

Nines slumped in his seat. "I am well aware that you see me as scum, you do not have to continue drilling that sentiment into my head. Message received."

"It's a fucking miracle that you haven't left yet."

"It is."

Gavin matched Nines' relaxed posture, exhaling shakily. "Why?"

"Maybe masochism is in my coding."

Gavin actually, genuinely laughed at that. "God, is that a thing?" His brow quirked. "You tellin' me there's kinky droids walking among us?"

Nines looked at him deadpan, eyes cold as steel, like he were about to shove those glass shards back into Gavin. But then Nines' lip pulled up in the corner, nose naturally wrinkling. "I haven't exactly taken a poll."

Nines was avoiding his question, but that was okay. Maybe some things were better left unanswered.

“I… I’ve been a massive cunt,” he sucked in a cold breath. “And I’ve directed all my angst towards plastics and— existing, at you ‘cause you’re the only constant in my life right now. I’ve only seen you as a sentient punching bag. Which is fucked up.”

“Incredible. He’s self aware, ladies and gents,” Nines gave him a slow clap.

“Alright, dick. ‘m being sincere here. Don’t expect me to apologize.”

“I’m not. We’re both equal on the blame playing field. As I said, clean slate. If you want me to remain in your life, however you meant it, either solely relating to work or as a friend, this is what we have to do. Or we’re actually going to kill each other.”

“Be serious, we know who’d win that fight.” Gavin groaned. His body was aching, he could feel wetness against his spine. He needed to get inside and try patching up his wounds as best as he could. “Just… you can’t go adding me on Facebook or cyberstalking my socials. Or running your mouth to your little Jericho buddies about this shit.”

“Despite me being consumed by electronics daily, in the most literal sense, Gavin I’d rather get to know you from your words than an outdated web page.”

 

---

 

Gavin cautiously, and slowly, unlocked his front door. What a fucking headache this was. The bathroom was connected to his bedroom, the very same that his mother was comfortably counting sheep in. He needed his first aid kit, there was no working around that. The sink in the kitchen had a detachable spout, which would suffice as a shower, for now. But if she woke up, God he didn’t know how he’d deal with the conversation that’d arise from that.

First she’d lose her shit when she saw how bloody, and covered in greasy sauces, he was. And then as she’d be running around the apartment to, presumably, look for medical supplies in the wrong spots (or wine because drinking is usually how she dealt with Gavin’s problems), she’d see Nines.

He wasn’t having that conversation. Wasn’t answering who that ‘man’ was in the living room, why he was drenched in blood that wasn’t his own, and he knew the pestering of if he was a ‘special friend’ would follow.

He used his phone as a flashlight, kicking off his sneakers as gently as he could. “We gotta be quiet.” Nines looked at Gavin in that way that others do when they’re clearly curious, but aren’t going to ask ‘why’s that’ and pry for the sake of their own pride. To act as if they aren’t nosy. “My mom’s in town.”

Nines raised his chin in understanding, giving him a silent nod. “Remember that we only have fifty minutes before we need to leave.” Good God, why was he leaning in so close? Nines didn’t need to be tongue fucking his ear right now. Or, ever. Gavin craned his neck in the opposite direction.

“Yeah, got it. Go clean yourself, looking at you is making me fucking sick.”

“Even though it’s your blood.”

“Still disgusting. Thank you for the reminder, though.”

He crept his way to his bedroom. He felt like a goddamn teenager again, sneaking out of the house to meet up with some degenerate guy he’d met on Discord. Except reality wasn’t as thrilling, and now he just needed to grab a fistful of steristrips and any clean shirt that he could find. Two, two clean shirts. Nines could not show up to apprehend a criminal in a fucking dog sweater.

He turned off his flashlight in favor to halfway adjust his phone’s brightness. A lot less harsh, still bright enough that he could tell garments apart. He tip toed his way into the bathroom. He looked a hell lot worse than he'd pictured, Jesus.

He trailed his fingers over the bridge of his nose. Nines managed to reopen the damn scar, not like it hadn't taken three months to completely close and stop getting infected last time. Absolutely lovely.

He grabbed the thick medkit, a compact mirror, and… then he heard banging coming from the kitchen. Of course, what else did he expect? This night was just writing itself. If this had been a television show, it'd actually be funny. But having to live in the moment, it was anything but.

He bit his tongue, eyes darting over to his mother. She always slept like a goddamn corpse, arms straight at her sides and mouth agape like she’d just breathed her last breath. The sleeping mask helped her not look so eerie— now that he’d thought about it, he’d never seen her without one. Fucking weird. His whole family was a goddamn mystery.

Another crash and a low groan. He shut the door behind himself, phone in his back pocket. The ceiling light was on, faucet running a steady river and… Nines had himself propped up on the counter top, dirty shoes rubbing against the granite he’d deep cleaned a few days ago. Awesome, that totally didn't make him crawl in his skin and irrationally distressed.

All of this over, wow, Bailey. Looking up at Nines with her head cocked because no one that had ever met her reacted like she was radioactive. She was always adorned with chin scratchies and 'pstpstpst's. He could see the cogs turning in her little kitty brain, both being spooked by the fucking giant idiot cowering from her, and being more so powered by natural curiosity. Wanting to prance around next to him, crawl all over his lap. She loved laps.

“This is hilarious.” He pulled his phone back out, taking a photo. Or twelve. “Man, you’re built like a damn giraffe, shaking in your boots over an innocent kitten.”

Nines’ ring was deep red. This was really getting to him. “Take him away.”

“Asshole, how dare you misgender my cat.” He scooped her up in his arms, cradling her like the giant fluffy baby she was. Her long white tufts tickled the exposed parts of his chest. “She ain’t gonna bite.”

“I don’t care. Gavin, please, I—”

“Are you scared of her ‘cause you’ve never met a cat, or ‘cause you think she’s gonna be a hellion like her daddy? Serious question, I’m not teasing ya.”

“I just,” he jumped down and shimmed around Gavin, standing halfway across the room from him. “I’m unfamiliar with how animals behave and right now, all I’m interested in is hurrying up.”

“Simmer down, Simba. Still got time on our side. She’s a sweet girl.” He gently placed her down, and as soon as he did, she cautiously half jogged to Nines. Which made him squirm in place, shoulders tensed. “Let her sniff you.”

“I really don’t like this.”

“Can’t always stay in your comfort zone. Think I’m comfortable having you in my place so you can judge my shitty lifestyle?”

“I am not judging you. Your home is," Nines' irises went bouncing between Gavin's fur baby and the naked walls surrounding them. "Nice.”

Gavin scoffed. “No, it’s not. It’s bare boned and depressing, ain’t gonna hurt my feelings.”

“It could use a few paintings on the wall.”

“And furniture that don’t look like it’s been snagged off the side of the road.”

Nines pursed his lips. “That too.” Bailey was at his shoes, and like a toddler, she toyed with his boundaries. Sniffing at the hem of his pants, circling around like a shark monitoring its prey. “What is she doing?”

“Getting to know you.” Gavin leaned against the back of the couch, arms folded across his chest. Made him wince, stung like a motherfucker, but he’d deal with it. This was oddly wholesome to watch. Kind of made the past half hour feel like a ghastly lucid dream. “Hey. It’s okay.”

She pawed at his laces, nipping at the neatly tied bow. His light grew softer, a pale yellow. “I guess she’s friendly enough.”

“See, I told you. Don’t always lie to you.”

There was a hint of a smile. Nines slowly moved away from her, and once he wasn’t acting like he’d just seen a giant sewer rat, Bailey went back to minding her own business. Gavin threw a towel over the couch before collapsing against the already flattened pillows, rubbing his temple with two fingers.

He was starting to feel exhaustion creep into his bones, and knowing that he wouldn’t get rest until, he was guesstimating, the afternoon, made him feel even more tired.

Nines had his arms raised. The sleeves were still stained, but at least he didn’t look like a pig butcher anymore. “Is this better?”

“A million times. You gotta change, though. Throw that fucking sweater away, please.” He tossed a slightly faded band tee at him. Couldn’t remember for the life of him what year he saw Son Lux on tour, but he knew he wouldn’t shed a tear if he’d ripped it.

“You don’t like it?” God, the blood splattered across the basset hound's faces made it so much worse.

“I will give you money to go buy yourself clothes, for my own sanity.” Gavin unzipped his hoodie, unzipped the kit beside him. “Can you not stare at me like that.”

“You need a lot of stitches.”

“Yeah, no shit Sherlock,” he pulled out a sterile needle, a roll of gauze, and as many steristrips as he could coax out. Also a kid sized band-aid because, y’know, he needed to humor himself right now or he was going to have a breakdown again. “‘m gonna do them myself.”

Nines looked so damn cocky right now. “They’re not going to come out even if you do them using a— mirror.”

“Don’t really care about even so much as not leaving a trail of blood everywhere we go.”

“I can help you.”

“Back off. Y’already made this damn mess, now I’m gonna clean it up. You ain’t coming within three feet of me for the rest of the night.”

Nines sat down next to him, close enough that their knees knocked. Gavin stared up at the ceiling. “I don’t care how much it’d hurt, I wanna fucking punch you so bad right now. If she weren’t here, I would.”

“That’s not very friendly.”

Gavin pointed at him, finger inches away from his nose. “You are testing my limits right now.”

“I apologize, am I… upsetting you?” Nines reached for one of the strips, setting it on his thigh. He uncapped a small tube of bacitracin, squirting a glob onto the tip of his finger.

Without hesitation, he worked the gel into the skin of Gavin’s forehead. It was cool to the touch and calming. Better than what he knew was coming with the other wounds. He made another short strip— Gavin grabbed Nines' wrist with whitened knuckles.

"Not the nose."

"It's irritated."

"Just like me. I said no."

"I trusted you. Can you not do the same with me? I was gentle enough with removing the shards."

"I'm not gonna argue this. You can clean the others, not that one."

Nines' jaw locked. "Fine. As you wish."

“Just... go quick, I hate needles.”

A minute of silence is all that Gavin got.

“I’ll call someone in the morning about your car.”

“Gonna pay for it yourself?”

“Yes, actually.”

“Hm.”

With precision no human could match, he closed one of the larger gashes on Gavin’s bicep with a handful of the overly sticky, clear strips. Nines wasn’t blinking, which was incredibly unnerving.

“What is your cat’s name? You didn’t mention it.”

“Bailey. Didn’t name her, that’s what she came with. Already knew her name damn well, so I couldn’t change it. It grew on me, though. Suits her.”

“She’s from a shelter?”

“Mhm." He'd dropped his replacement shirt in the kitchen. Bailey was rubbing her head over the collar, flopping down on her side. "Got her a month before her first birthday.”

“You change when you talk about her. Did you know that?”

“‘cause she’s my baby girl. ‘m protective of her. Consider yourself honored that I even let her get near you.”

“It’s nice to hear you talk about something other than yourself for once.”

“Yeah, well, don’t get used to it.”

Gavin squeezed the side of his phone. Still had half an hour before they needed to get going. He tried to make a mental memo to leave his mom a note so she wouldn't freak the fuck out in the morning, awaking to an empty house.

She always got up at the ass crack of dawn, she'd be making her routine cup of brewed addiction (where he got it from, mom let him have a cup of joe with his Eggos starting at age nine) before he even stirred.

Nines made a muted sounding chuckle. Gavin could hear him picking up something plastic. That made him start to sweat. He knew what was coming. Fuck him, fuck this night, fuck his life.

“Turn around and find something to bite down on, again.”

Chapter 5: crash and burn

Summary:

Nines was beginning to dig a wound that Gavin couldn't control the depth of, and that terrifies him.

Gavin had one hand on his hip (hovering, three inches away from skin on skin contact), the other rubbing just under his bottom lip (sore and throbbing, fuck). Nines cocked his head. Gavin felt like he should be wearing a fancy wool beret, because he was standing here critiquing the garbage handiwork they’d done on his car like it was a fucking Picasso or some shit. A Monet would be far more accurate.

“You think it’ll hold for at least fifteen minutes?”

He’d already bled through two, rewrapped, gauze strips, not that that was the sole reason they were cutting it to the fucking wire. Gavin rummaged through his junk drawers to find an unopened box of plastic wrap– useless during a period in his life where using his stove felt like corporal punishment.

This was a, in the most literal sense, band-aid fix. What an absolute, innovative, self-proclaimed genius he was; no, he didn’t take inspiration from the black smoke rust buckets that rumbled by every morning, why would you think that? There was a reason Detroit’s insurance rates were so goddamn high.

He’d hastily cut off a few strips of duct tape (of course they were bright orange in color, why wouldn’t they be. A massive contrast from his, prior, sleek grey car— the least of his worries right now), and then started going to town on making a DIY rear windshield.

He would’ve admitted defeat if they didn’t live in fucking Michigan with its bipolar weather, snowing for six minutes until it’s hotter than a California valley.

“I don’t think it’ll hold for even five.”

Gavin sighed in the same vein his mother did when he knocked over one of the three champagne glasses she’d gotten as a wedding gift. The only survivor from that set, until that point. Like a dementor came and sucked his soul straight from his body. Maybe if he stared into the void above them long enough, he’d wake up in his bed in a nightmare induced cold sweat. Who was he kidding, God rued him and he had enough karma to last ten lifetimes.

“What the fuck do we do now, then? Can’t detain a guy with a car like this. He’s gonna think we’re there to fucking,” he gestured loosely, “harvest his organs.”

“A patrol car is out of question, I’m assuming? Since it’s—”

“The middle of the night. Yeah, no, we don’t have authorization to drive off with vehicles all willy nilly.” He saw Nines mouthing those last two words, to which Gavin wrinkled his nose. “Doubt Fowler is awake to begin with, and trust me, you don’t wanna wake him a second too early.”

Nines was entranced by his own palm, brows furrowed. Probably some kind of top secret android shit he didn’t want to begin to understand— Nines met his eyes, and Gavin wasn’t sure why this specific instance of direct eye contact made him so damn squeamish, but it did. And, no, not because he almost choked him out not even an hour prior.

He wasn’t scared of Nines, the only threat he possessed was against Gavin’s ego. This tension that they had that was thick enough to drown someone had been cut, destroyed. Nines’ reaction had been so… human. Because, that’s the thing, he reacted.

He didn’t stand with his hands behind his back and accept Gavin’s beating, his prodding, his button pushing. He wasn’t like the others that let Gavin beat them to a blue pulp without flinching.

This intense hatred that he harbored towards his partner wasn’t because he truly could not stand Nines, but that he didn’t know how to fucking stand himself. Like a ball of twine, he wrapped himself tighter and tighter in spite, and anxiety, and all these emotions that he hadn’t tried to process in years.

He was waiting for the right– person? Counterpart? – to give him a taste of his own medicine and slap the shit out of him.

There was something more sincere in the way Nines looked at Gavin now, a light behind those eyes that seemed less synthetic, less divisive. Or, maybe it was the way Gavin looked at him. He, him, person. Fucking Christ, this was Nines’ plan the whole time. Kept muttering that sentiment about wanting to be his friend, he’d managed to play Gavin at his own game.

He could look Nines’ way without fantasizing about slicing his throat or stabbing him ten times over in the chest. He could string together a response that wasn’t a snarky remark about how much better at his job he was, how much more handmade, more perfect, more plastic, he was without trying.

Taking up Nines’ offer on coffee felt less exhausting. That’s where it would end, though. A work friend. Someone he could remove the first layer of armor with, but still keep a shield strapped to his back.

“Reed.”

He wet his lips. “What?”

Nines gestured at him. “So?”

“...so, what?”

Nines glared up at the moon, probably making silent prayers to whatever God androids believed in. Er, did they? Yeah— the hell was its name, RA— no, focus. He needed a nap, his mind was—

“Should we rent a car, or not? There’s a self-service lot five blocks from here.”

“Uh, with what money?” Gavin scratched at the back of his neck, hissing under his breath as he discovered a new patch of aching cuts. “Not to get all personal and feelsy, though I know talking about my,” he made air quotes, “‘secretive’ life gets you rock hard—”

Nines clicked his tongue and crossed his arms like a pouting toddler. “Why- why are you even making that analogy? Seriously?”

“‘cause it does.”

“It does not.”

“It does. Anyways, asshole, thank you for cutting me off— I’m barely making ends meet right now. Probably gonna have to look into getting a part time gig in the next few months, maybe fuckin’ Doordash. Degrading.”

“Is that why your home is so empty?”

He narrowed his eyes. “You are judging me.”

“No. It was a genuine question.”

“You are.” Nines huffed at that. “No, that's not why. And, before you ask because you also love to interrogate me, it doesn’t matter why it’s empty.”

“What’s your salary? I don’t understand how Hank can mortgage a house and provide for Connor, but—”

“Hank makes more than me. Probably don’t got as much debt, either. Since, y’know, he’s ancient. Been able to work on his student loans longer than I’ve been alive. Also,” he shifted his weight, “I hardly believe you’re gonna be paying for my car repairs.”

“I told you that I would.”

“Yeah, well, you’ve said a lot of things.” Gavin sighed. “Maybe I can get it reimbursed, claim it as an accident in the ‘line of duty’. Use some of those good ol’ tax payer dollars to clean up your mess.”

“My mess. It wasn’t my bullet you shot into the midnight.” Nines gave the sorry excuse for a back window another once over. “It takes two to tango.”

Gavin rolled his eyes, sliding his phone out of his pocket. “Whatever. We’ve been standing here for like, twenty minutes, you know.”

“I’m very aware. We needed to leave twenty minutes ago. Can you please make a decision?”

Gavin chewed the inside of his cheek. Do they risk renting a vehicle— an electric one at that— that might finally test the limits of his credit card? Or, do they stick with what’s comfortable and drive the piece of crap that matches its owner perfectly? Decisions, decisions.

“Where are you getting the money for this? I thought Fowler was still bound by the legalities of not being able to cut you and Connor paychecks.”

“Penances.”

His lip curled. “Huh?”

“You haven’t heard?” The way Nines said this sounded like he was genuinely shocked, not mocking like his other ‘questions’.

“No. Elaborate.”

“It’s something the government ordered Cyberlife to do, in condolences of burning hundreds of thousands of us alive without reason. The contract stated that Cyberlife is meant to distribute a check equal to a living wage to every conscious model, monthly, until humane work laws are established.”

“So, it’s a publicity stunt.”

“More or less. They don’t want to deal with the headache of an increased homeless android population, and taxes prove they can afford it with ease. Some complexes around here have already converted to accepting android only tenants.”

“How’s that gonna work if you’re all essentially off-grid? Uh, ain’t that what deviating s’like?”

Nines tapped a nail against the LED Gavin had begun to tune out. “As long as this remains, Cyberlife can still find my coordinates. Though what that means for Markus and the others, I’m not entirely sure.”

Gavin felt his throat tighten. “Why the hell wouldn’t you remove it then?”

“Because, I’m not ashamed of what I am. They’re not going to show up in a week to drag me back to HQ and toss me in an incinerator.”

“How do you know that, though?”

“If that were the case, I wouldn’t be standing here with you right now, working on a case fighting for android rights.”

“Word of mouth doesn’t mean shit ‘til it’s bound in legal writing.”

“Gavin.” His ring flashed crimson. Nines was fidgeting with his own fingers, flexing and then tensing, only to release them a moment later. “I’ll be okay.”

Gavin let out a very short, and very quiet, shaky breath. “Gonna be pissed if my only shot at a free dinner goes missing”

Nines offered him a smile, half-assed at best and small and a tiny bit crooked, but it was there. He saw it, and that’s what mattered. “I can promise you that there will be many more free meals in your future.”

 

---

 

They took Gavin’s car, because despite looking like the type of vehicle he’d pull over in the blink of an eye, it just felt comfortable. He wouldn’t have that question of Nines overshooting how much he could pay Gavin back floating around in his mind, he didn’t have to fumble with the ignition or pray that the battery was fully charged (they never were on rentals because idiots didn’t know how to dock them into their ports properly).

This was his crummy Sedan that he drove from Boston with no pit stops, the seat he bawled his eyes out in when fucking Tommy Brown, the hottest quarterback in their school with the most basic ass white name, turned him down for prom. Where he smoked his first pack of Marlboros in secret, the Sedan he practiced for his driving test in with Eli.

This was his piece of shit that he proudly paid off while he juggled working part time at Target, and full time at a restaurant that left him with more grease burns and trauma than he knew what to do with. He wasn’t going to give up on her, not yet, goddammit.

Too much sentimentality bursting through his heart right now, and he could only half jam the leak. He was worried about not having final closure with his dad, about the light his mother would paint him in for leaving her abandoned in his ‘scary’ Detroit apartment when she took time out of her day to come see him (on her business trip, because he definitely wasn’t an afterthought).

Thinking about the fact that he hugged Nines, why the actual fuck did he do that. Covered in fresh scarlet and navy, and all he craved was an embrace. He saw Nines reaching for the radio from the corner of his eye.

“Doesn’t work.” He shooed his hand away, tapping on his mounted phone’s screen. “You can scroll through Spotify, if you want. Sounds a bit shit, but it’s better than nothing.”

“We should have rented a car.”

"It’s a little too late for that. Quit looking at me like that, I know. It was a hunk of junk before you busted it, I’m well aware. Wake up every day hoping I get t-boned on the way to work so insurance can give me a fucking replacement Sedan or some shit.”

“You could commit insurance fraud.”

“Wow.” Gavin laughed under his breath, Nines quietly following suit. “That’s rich coming from you. What, you want me jobless and carless? That part of your master plan? So you can offer me more money from your government handouts?”

“You got me. I’m trying to buy my way into your heart with my monthly allowance of two thousand dollars.”

“That you don’t even have yet.”

“Mhm. Is it working?”

“Oh, totally. Think I’ll begin the first step.” Gavin bit his lower lip to stop himself from smiling as he swerved the car. The roads were empty, not a soul to be seen. And he just knew that would get a reaction out of Nines. Got him fucking clutching the grab handle like an elderly woman.

“Don’t do that shit.”

Gavin whistled. “Got you cussing more and more every day. My influence is rubbing off on you.”

“More like my life just flashed before my eyes.”

“Short flash.”

Nines had his eyes squeezed shut. “I am genuinely regretting not asking Fowler to reassign me.”

“Nah, I think you like me a lot more than you’re willing to admit.” Gavin lulled his head in his direction.

“That should be my line.” Nines sounded disappointed as he huffed, slowly. “You’re going to make me blow a gasket one of these days.”

“Gasket? What’re you, a fuckin’ car now?”

“It’s an idiom, idiot.”

“In that case, should’ve ridden you instead.”

Nines dramatically craned his neck. “Is there a reason that your humor is so immature? Were you dropped on your head as a child?”

“Wow. Ouch.” Gavin heaved in a cloud of cold air, swallowing it. He could feel the tips of his ears burning. “You can blame my brother.”

“Let us hope I never have the displeasure of meeting him.”

“Wish I could unmeet him, damn jealous.”

Gavin shifted in his seat, leather creaking under his weight. He felt like he needed to superglue his eyes to his skin to keep them open. This silence was agonizingly long, fuck, this was worse than when they were throwing jabs at each other. He tried to focus on anything he could so he wouldn’t veer off the side of these dark, unending roads. Damn highways in Detroit, you could drive twenty miles without encountering a single streetlight.

There was a billboard he could make out if he squinted— the image was faded, ripped in multiple spots that made it clear that someone tried to remove it themselves. Cyberlife in bold white letters with an outdated skyline of the city. He hadn’t seen advertising that wasn’t a seizure inducing driving hazard in literal years.

He tinkered for a playlist that was a little less self-wallowing than his norm; video game soundtracks would do, a gentle background noise that wouldn’t get on his nerves. His hand was shaking and clammy, he chalked it up to caffeine withdrawal.

“How long is your mother in town for?” His voice was like a firecracker shooting off.

“Oh. Uh.” Gavin cleared his throat, ignoring that his voice initially cracked. “Not long, I hope.”

“If you’re not fond of your family, why has she come to visit you?”

Gavin huffed, exasperated. “Beats me.” He tapped his fingers against the steering wheel. Why’d their conversations always become so... personal. “This is how she always is. Dropping by, unannounced, at the worst times. S’not like she’s actually here for me.”

“Is it unannounced if she called earlier?”

“Unannounced to me. Semantics, this ain’t a planned trip. Less than twenty-four hours isn’t enough notice for anyone.”

“Do you think she would react poorly knowing your partner is an android? Unless you’ve already told her.”

Gavin took his time to roll his head in Nines’ direction. “Be so fucking for real. I don’t tell her shit about work— about me. Not like she ever asks.” He exhaled. “Nah, she doesn’t have strong opinions on the whole plastic versus flesh debate. Her and dad never had a robo maid or whatever.”

“And yet, that’s your entire personality.”

He chewed on the inside of his cheek. He saw someone pacing up and down the sidewalk from the corner of his eye, dressed far too casual for the current weather. “Not all of it.”

“That is all that you’ve shown me.”

“God, less about me,” he waved his hand. “I don’t know much about you.”

“You’ve explicitly told me not to talk about myself.”

“Well, we’ve still got half an hour to kill and doubt Starbucks is open this late. Don’t have any better options than talking to you to stay awake.”

“It is quite impressive that Merriam-Webster coined a word after you.”

“Was just making a joke. I do that, you should know that by now.”

“Forgive me for not being able to tell your jokes apart from your genuine abuse.”

Gavin shook his head, the hood of his jacket making his skin feel like it was set on fucking fire. “I’ll work on dialing back the teasing.” He slowed as the stoplight ahead turned red, illuminating Nines’ face, surely reflecting how he felt inside. “I will, I mean it. I wasn’t always like this.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“I’ll make a bet with you. If we can make it through the next forty-eight hours without me running off or ghosting you, I gotta win back just a smidge of your trust.”

“And what is my prize when you lose?”

“When I lose,” he muttered, clicking his tongue. “You won’t have to work with, or talk to, me ever again. I’ll resign from the case, and I’d be out of your hair permanently.”

“Are you willing to put yourself through that torture?”

“Sometimes you gotta forfeit the race. Don’t feel like I have the energy to run much longer.”

“It would feel fantastic to not second guess you having my back. For example, with where we’re headed right now. I don’t want to, again, be naive for believing you won’t use me as a sentient shield.”

“You’ve done your research on this guy, not me. Too valuable of a resource to can.”

“Reed.”

“What?”

“You’ve made it all about you again, to no one's surprise.”

“Shit.” Gavin scratched the back of his scalp, throat feeling dry. Of course he left his water bottle at home. “You really didn’t have anything before this? Like, no hobbies, no niche interests? Cyberlife didn’t hook you up with a Netflix account? Got an unlimited library in that head of yours, no books you’re attached to?”

“Anything that I did find myself taking interest in, I was not allowed the ability to honor it. They don’t allot for an hour of recreational time there.”

“So, what, you just stared at a wall for months?”

Nines gave him a look that he couldn’t decipher— his eyes weren’t slit, his jaw was relaxed. Gavin knew he sounded ignorant, because hell, he was.

He’d taken a tour of the major manufacturing plant downtown, but he’d only gotten a glimpse at the assembly line. Limbs being screwed together and identical models being walked behind guarded doors.

“There was one thing. I enjoyed watching pottery tutorials when they enacted stress tests. I would download hundreds of them and save them in an emergency folder, one they couldn’t erase. It was a means of grounding myself– my form of meditation.”

“Uh, do I even wanna know what stress tests are?”

Nines muted his phone. “Unique models were the only ones deemed lucky enough to be subjected to them. Meaning what I experienced, so did Markus and Connor. The acid baths— magnetized rooms.”

Nines grabbed a loose straw wrapper from the cup holder closest to him, fiddling with it.

“It’s the only way they could contain the deviancy coding, by killing any part of you that felt alive. They called it a virus, being able to think for myself.”

“Wait, hold on a minute. You could always feel?”

“In a way.”

Gavin cocked his head, mouth agape. “Why would you need to re-deviate, then?”

“That’s why it was just us. Our programming is more... hand written. There were various experiments they performed to test the extent of how much of me was self-cultivated versus typed out. There was a time they locked me in solitary confinement, a broom closet — I think it was a month, but my processing unit began to fail. I tried to dismantle myself, despite my sensitivity to pain being turned up as high as it could.”

There it was again, that gnawing pain in his stomach, like butterflies with tiny razor blades attached to their wings. This felt like an alternate reality where he was the one to bust the knees of the dweebs he stood up for. That’s exactly what he was fucking doing. Nines had no one, Nines was new to the outside world and terrified, and that is why he clung to Gavin despite him acting like a rabid animal.

It was always about him, an autobiography where his feelings were validated, but everyone else could go to hell. His ex-therapist would bust his head in.

“And you watched pottery videos to keep yourself sane?”

“As sane as one can be while they’re slowly, but surely, bleeding out.” Nines leaned his elbow against the window, his cheek resting against his palm. “This is why I’ve chosen to tolerate you. I’ve been treated like a lab rat until now, torn apart limb from limb solely for someone else’s enjoyment. You’re just a dick, not a maniac.”

“Why the fuck would you choose to deviate after that?”

“The memories of what they’ve done to me never left. I can’t forget what happened at Cyberlife, but I was unable to process my rage, mourn for what they took from me, for what’s happened to my people. That was worse.”

“Jesus Christ,” he tapped at his screen, checking the directions. “And you haven’t sworn off humans.”

“You almost sealed the deal on that one.”

Gavin breathed through his nostrils. “What’s your end goal now that you’re able to do whatever the fuck you want?”

Nines raised his eyebrows, craning his neck. “That is not what I was expecting you to ask. I don’t have the answer to that. Does anyone with free will truly have an end goal?”

“I just mean, like– not the big picture, but what’s next? You’ve got one giant advantage over any human, and that’s having a brand new, completely up to you fresh start. Got no name permanently tied to you, no family leeching off your back or coming to take your checks. The only thing rooting you to Detroit is... trauma, and this job. Which, we know you’re qualified to do anywhere in the country that’ll accept androids. Why stay here when you can get as far away from Cyberlife as you’d want?”

“This is all I know. Those hallways may be covered in my blood, but the moment I could step outside of those towers, I felt entirely overwhelmed and second-guessed leaving. Cyberlife, our precinct, Connor, the bits I’ve seen of New Jericho,” there was a slight pause, “and you. I’d be getting ahead of myself if I thought about fleeing to another state when I don’t even have a place to call home.”

Gavin bit his thumbnail as he merged onto an exit ramp. “Well, I was wrong. I’ll own up to it.”

“About?”

“You not earning your place here. Haven’t had the same journey, but we both had to fight for this.”

“Maybe you can use this as a learning experience to think before words come out of your noise hole.”

Gavin’s nose wrinkled. “The hell are you learning these phrases from? Reddit?”

“Sometimes.”

“Anyways, you said pottery, huh? Is that just something that was soothing to look at in the moment, or do you wanna try your hand at it in the future?”

“Possibly. I’m not sure how artistically inclined I am.” Nines half smiled, his eyes flickering shut. “Have you heard of kintsugi?”

Gavin shook his head. “Don’t think so.”

“It’s the art of breathing life back into something that you’d consider broken beyond repair. Instead of throwing away a shattered vase or cup, you give new life to this object and fill in its gaps with gold.” Nines gestured to a sign to their left. “Get on here.”

“How many miles after this?”

“About ten, give or take.” Nines crossed one leg over another. “No matter what pain someone has been through, there’s still beauty to life. Going through hardships and adversities is how one heals and becomes whole again. That is kintsugi.”

“Kinda summarizes how I’ve been living my life for the past fifteen years, ‘cept replace gold with fucking dirt.”

“That is why I like what it symbolizes. Nothing is too far gone that cannot be mended. Visible cracks don’t make a person any less alluring.” Nines' eyes were trained on his scar, he wasn’t making it subtle.

“You owe me a dollar. Price is gonna raise tenfold next time.”

“Why do you get so defensive over that one injury?”

“’cause it’s fucking personal.”

“I shared with you something that I was hesitant to talk about.”

“Just stop." He clicked his tongue. “Besides my car, what’re you gonna spend your first check on? And, housing, obviously.”

Nines’ ring had shifted back to red. “What else is there to buy? Not having to worry about weekly groceries cuts costs down expediently. ”

“Clothing, stuff to decorate your apartment with, given it comes with any furniture to begin with. Your own cat.”

“No. I don’t think I could handle a pet rock right now.”

“What about plants? Gotta have real talent to neglect a cactus enough to kill it. Could take a class to make pots for said plants, even.”

“That is a thought.”

Buildings that were a few feet short of skyscrapers came into picture– it was obvious they weren’t downtown anymore since these bricks lacked overgrown vines and looked properly maintained. It’s true what they say about the midwest, how it all blends together because the architecture is the same regurgitated, cookie cutter ugly.

It was a little embarrassing how relieved he felt to be five minutes from their destination. No, he didn’t have the mental energy to spew off questions right now, nor did he want to think about standing upright. But he needed to breathe air that wasn’t stale, wasn’t whispering through the lack of a back windshield (the tape had only peeled in one lower corner, which seemed like a betrayal against psychics entirely).

“Can I reverse your original question back to you now? Or will asking that also trigger a fight?”

“What? Why I’m keeping myself in Detroit with an empty apartment and no friends or nearby family that I can stand to be in the same room as?”

“Yes.”

Not that this topic was any less personal, but this wound was easier to stomach than what his physical one represented. “There was a guy that anchored me for some time.”

“Boyfriend?”

“A very ex-boyfriend that doubled my abandonment issues by tenfold. Would be too much of a financial headache to leave, as much as Michigan feels like any other state to me. No real attachment to it, but I get what you mean, not knowing where you’d turn.”

“You have no current partner?”

“That’s hilarious. No one wants to fucking date me, and I don’t wanna fucking try. No one wants to be within a fifty-foot radius of me, c’mon.”

“Or is that what you tell yourself because you don’t want to allow yourself to get close to anyone?”

“Oh my God, I’m too tired for this shit,” he threw his head back, “I hate when you do this, I hate it more than when you scan me.”

“I’m not playing therapist. It’s blatantly obvious. Your actions speak much louder than the words you hide behind.”

“Well, keep your astute observations to yourself. I don’t really have time to date around, anyways. Any day I get to myself, I just wanna sleep and hang out with Bailey.”

He turned down one more street before Google ended its navigation. The apartment’s name was embedded into the gate that kept Gavin one step further away from his head hitting a pillow. Just needed to get through this, deal with questioning later.

He patted down his hoodie, thumbing both of his pockets before sharply inhaling. “Fuck. Fuck me.”

"You don’t have your badge?”

“No. Y’know, why would I. Not like we’re working on a fucking case, like we’re goddamn police or anything.” He shrugged one shoulder, brows furrowing as a man with a scarf wrapped three times too many around his neck approached the vehicle, motioning for him to roll down his window. “Fowler never issued you one by chance, did he?”

Nines pulled a very familiar wallet out of his pocket. He must’ve left it on his desk… again. Needed to put an Airtag on that thing at this point. “This is why you can’t afford to lose me.”

Gavin blatantly ignored him in favor of flashing his badge, mumbling something about needing to question someone noted to live there. The gate creaked open and Nines leaned over in his direction, pointing to an open spot amongst a gaggle of expensive looking cars.

Fuck, this whole place was fancy. An automatic glass door that led into a marble-floored lobby, a chandelier hanging above a receptionist desk. He was lucky if the overflowing garbage cans were replaced on a monthly basis at his complex.

“You said his flight leaves pretty soon, yeah?” Gavin stretched his arms above his head, spine cracking as he leaned back in his seat. Christ, it felt good to not be hunched anymore. He was itching for a cigarette, badly.

“Yes, in an hour and a half now.”

“How do we know he’s still here? That’s cutting it pretty close.”

Nines peered down at his hand before nodding. “We’re parked in front of his car.”

“Oh.” Gavin flicked off the headlights. “Yeah, great. Camping in front of this guys car in this car isn’t fucking creepy at all.”

“The window survived.”

“Window,” he made air quotes, “you mean.”

“Listen, whether we look like serial killers or not, it’s imperative we detain him. He’s set to leave to Hong Kong for two weeks. This is our last chance, unless you want to be reassigned to a different department and start from square one with a new partner.”

“‘least homicide or narcotics would be something that don’t feel so out of my league. I feel like I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing– thought Connor and Hank were supposed to be handling all of the android cases.”

“If you’d paid attention to Fowler’s debriefing, he said this was only temporary because of the influx in android related cases.”

“Shit, speaking of the devil. Is that our guy?” Of course it was, there wasn’t a single other soul to be seen. He was wearing a suit– white, the most asshole color you could wear– with a phone pressed to his ear, blond locks slicked back. His right hand was free. “No suitcase when you’re flying internationally?”

“I think he might be aware that he’s being watched. There’s a .45 colt in his left pocket and a switchblade hidden in his jacket.”

“Sure he’s not just happy to see us?”

“Gavin,” he groaned, swiveling to face him. “You need to stay behind me.”

“Hm, what was that about not wanting to be a shield?”

“This is an order.”

“You don’t–”

“There is a ninety seven percent probability that you’re going to get clocked. How do you expect me to ever trust you if you don’t trust me to begin with?”

“Fine. Only ‘cause I don’t need to get more stitches tonight.”

Nines nodded. “Stay. Don’t be fucking stupid.”

Chapter 6: obsolete

Summary:

This was turning out to be the longest day of Gavin's life, and now he was supposed to have an impromptu therapy session with android Jesus? Oh Lord.

The sun was beginning to bleed into the horizons of copy-paste highrises surrounding them, a blinding orange marmalade that only reminded Gavin how heavy his eyes felt. It was like each one weighed twenty pounds– all his appendages seemed to be made of concrete. His jaw hurt from how tightly he’d been clenching it during their drive back to the precinct, unintentionally.

He was shivering and coated in goosebumps, and the only way to drown out the tumultuous silence was listening to the wind whistling through the growing gaps in the saran wrap. It was peeling more so on the bottom now, but their DIY project was looking peak pathetic. And, of fucking course, just to drill a larger headache into the migraine Gavin was already nursing, was Chris.

He was standing by his motorcycle with his arms crossed, eyes bugging out of his skull. They’d never been close even before he came an insufferable heathen, Anderson being the preferred choice (by nearly everyone), and that was saying something. He felt like the only time they interacted was when he’d come in hungover, or something like this happened.

A black eye, a bloody nose, and now, his Sedan in ruins. Which, fuck, he’d stare too. Most people don’t leave and come back to work the next day with a car looking like they went one v. one with Godzilla.

It looked like he was the only one here so far, thank the fucking Lord and any other deity that wanted to grant him a sliver of forgiveness. Fowler was an early riser, as was Tina most days (since graduating, at least), but he’d make his daily Bigby stop before getting here a little before seven. Gavin was okay with this.

Less shame, less feeling like he was going to burst into flames from humiliation. As much as he was a glutton for attention, even the bad press, he did not enjoy being met with shit eating grins. People thinking he was humbled because karma finally caught up to him, people taking the piss out of him because someone other than himself made him look like a fool.

He looked in the rearview mirror, shifting his focus to the sweaty man in his backseat. His blond hair looked greasier than Gavin’s, like he used lard instead of hair gel by mistake (and Gavin literally had oil in his hair from the splattered food). There was a scratch on his cheek, possibly from Nines, or maybe he’d gotten in a fight himself earlier that day. It looked fresh. There was dirt on his collar, but white suits didn’t stay pristine for long, so that was the least shocking thing about him.

Their suspect had been suspiciously quiet the entirety of their drive. Hell, upon cuffing him, he still didn’t make a peep. Not like Gavin was hoping he’d spew abuse, but he’d grown to brace himself for a flurry of expletives and vaguely worded death threats.

Nines was right about him being acutely aware that he was being watched; Nines was right about most things, but Gavin didn’t want to swallow that truth pill. He’d already swallowed his dignity tonight, he was going to choke if he kept going.

Sam had walked out of his complex and immediately veered to the right. He wasn’t running, he wasn’t looking around like he knew they were there, but instead moving with purpose. Nines checked again to make sure he hadn’t somehow mixed up license plates– he didn’t, and this was the only car registered in Sam’s name.

That’s when he threw open the car door (Gavin swore he heard the hinges scream for mercy) and muttered under his breath, “Shit, he called a taxi.”

“Oh fuck, what?” Gavin shadowed him, following suit.

“We can’t let him get away, he’s too valuable of a resource.” Nines took no time chasing after him, shifting into a sprint like a silent starting pistol went off.

Their suspect went from being nonchalantly cautious to dropping his phone and prioritizing getting as far away from them as he physically could. Which, when a six foot something machine starts barreling at you, wouldn’t you react the same? He nearly threw himself against a car trying to enter through the front gates as he tried to skirt down the street.

Gavin was on track his junior and senior years of high school, but he was out of breath. There was no way he could keep up to Nines. He ran like a cheetah, it was fucking insane to watch and he was trying to not feel so goddamn bitter that Nines was a perfect being. Sam stood no chance because he caught up to him in a matter of seconds, apprehending him just as fast.

“Jesus Christ, Reed, you're a hot mess. What happened to your car?”

Trying to piece together a bullshit excuse would require more mental processing than he was alloted with in his sleep deprived state. His head was pounding from a combo of lacking nicotine and caffeine. All he wanted to focus on was getting this disaster of a man inside.

“S’long story, mind your own damn business.”

Nines had already pulled him out, so he rounded the corner to grab Sam’s other arm.

“Uh huh. Same story that would explain your face?” he smirked at Nines. “He fucked around and found out, didn't he?”

“In layman's terms.”

Gavin’s eyes were slitted. “Did you get here early just to piss me off, or do you have something you should be occupying yourself with instead?”

“Be nice. Make that your sole objective today,” Nines said hushed, Chris whistling in return.

“Damn boy, he’s got you whipped.”

His words fell on deaf ears. “Let us know when Fowler gets here.”

His shoes squeaked with every step he took, an empty building and recently polished linoleum not being a great combo. Not like he wanted the place to be bustling. He couldn’t stomach seeing Tina right now and fumbling over his words– how the fuck was he supposed to explain his purple cheek and the gaping slit on his nose without mentioning how Nines choked him out when Gavin was on his way to an android sex club?

Gavin scanned his hand to unlock one of the three holding cells, Nines giving him a final patdown. He’d removed his weapons before shoving him in the backseat, but neither of them were keen on taking any chances right now. The walls looked like they’d finally been scrubbed down. Enough drunks must’ve complained about the building grime.

Sam ran both his hands down his cheeks in dismay, whining in the most exasperated fashion. “You can’t keep me here. I don’t have any warrants to my name.”

“The less you run your mouth, the easier it’ll be for you.” Gavin crossed his arms against his chest with a grunt, waiting for the door to lock behind Nines.

“You can't fucking arrest me with no charges, jackass.”

“You’re not under arrest, we already explained that to you. You're being held until we get answers to our questions.”

“Here’s your answer–” he spun around on his heels, hastily unbuckling his pants, which was Gavin's cue to shield his eyes. This was not his first mooning, and he was not in the mood to be subjected to a man's unwashed, hairy, so pasty white that it blinded you, ass before the sun could give an official hello for the day.

“Christ. Liked you better ten minutes ago, when I didn’t know what your voice sounded like.”

Nines mimicked his hand position, his ring circling to red. “We should be able to speak to him today. The paperwork won’t take long.”

“You put far too much faith into our competency.”

“Let me rephrase that— I will get the process started and moving along because I tend to get things done around here.”

“I'll fill shit out, I'm just saying,” he grumbled out of the side of his mouth.

Nines squeezed Gavin’s shoulder, redirecting him to start moving back to their officespace, but it made him viscerally shudder.

“Holy shit, what is your problem? Can't go more than two seconds without feeling me up?”

Gavin had to strain to hear it, but there was a bout of muted laughter coming from behind them. The nerve of this fucking guy.

“Compose yourself and bite your tongue, Reed.”

He sighed deeply through his nostrils, slamming the door shut behind them. He leaned up against his desk, a cup full of pens clashing to the ground. “This’s the longest goddamn day of my life.”

Nines busied himself with grabbing a stack of printer paper. “It will feel longer if you keep throwing yourself a pity party and brooding.”

“I’m entitled to any party I want.”

He hummed in response. All he could hear were drawers being opened and rifled through. Everything was getting on his nerves, he really needed a damn cigarette.

“I don’t know how much of,” he gestured vaguely, more so to himself, “this I can do today. I feel like my brain’s trying to eat itself, doubt I can weasel info out of that asshole in this state.”

“We need to wait for Fowler before we can proceed with anything. There should be time for both of us to rest, albeit briefly.” He took up a similar position next to Gavin, because all he knew how to do was orbit his personal space. “Do you need your gauze changed?”

He held up his hand. “If I did, I could do it myself. Don’t gotta fucking patronize me.”

“I’m trying to help you.”

Gavin ran his thumb over his bottom lip. “Yeah, I know you are.” He sucked in his cheeks, feeling his forehead wrinkles deepening. “Just in a pissy mood.”

“No way. I couldn’t tell.”

He pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth, locking eyes with Nines. “Where’s the dial to turn down your sarcasm level? Asking for a friend.”

“Crazy. I was just wondering the same thing about you.”

Gavin scratched his nails against his wooden desk, tracing the grain. He didn’t know if his mind could process what had transpired in the past twenty four hours, even if he downed sixty cups of black coffee. He felt like he was trapped inside a dream state and couldn’t wake up no matter how much he screamed.

The worst part was not having anyone to vent to about this. Times like this made him miss having a therapist. No online friends he could spam text, no siblings that actually gave a shit about his existence.

Is this what Stockholm syndrome meant? Feeling an uneasy sort of comfort by the person that tried to take away your life, and then rewarded you by letting you live? He wasn’t playing victim here, he knew that title rightfully applied to himself, not Nines.

Every wound on his body felt like it was being rubbed with salt, like he was being prepped for as a pot roast for dinner. He was itchy in his skin, wanting to crawl out of it, away from this office and this lump growing in his throat. He couldn’t stop himself from speaking.

“My life’s fucked up in– can’t even count how many ways right now. I can’t believe I’m gonna say this outloud,” Gavin kicked a loose pen, watching it skitter and plunk against a chair leg. “You, ironically, are the least fucked up thing about it right now.”

“And that means what exactly? Because you're so fond of cryptic wording.”

Something that Gavin did not want to admit to himself.

“Means whatever you want it to mean, Nines,” Gavin said, monotone.

He handed Gavin a tablet. Had he been holding it this whole time? He had tunnel vision on anything that wasn't the man looming over him.

“Do they not say that opposites attract?”

“Depends who you mean by they. Most people don't got a damn clue what they're talking about.”

“I truly believe we will mesh together as a team. We tend to balance each other out.” He started scrolling down to a certain subsection.

He scoffed. “Mm, do we?”

“In theory.” Nines highlighted a bullet pointed paragraph with his finger, typing a brief side note next to it. “We need to attach a name to who gave him those executive orders. We cannot hold him longer than we have to, because legally, we do not have hard evidence that he committed a crime.”

“You don’t gotta explain shit to me like I’m a fucking five year old. I know what our objectives are.” He handed the tablet back to him. “Are you gonna smash my face in again if I go off to get a Monster?”

“And, the reason you cannot use the vending machine twenty feet away is?”

“Walking helps me process my thoughts better. You want me on my best behavior, yeah? I need fresh air that isn’t coming from my broken windshield.”

“You can walk to the vending machine.”

Gavin rolled his eyes, fishing his phone out of his pocket. “Fuck, fine.” Nines was still glued to his side. “I told you, I’m not gonna make a run for it again.”

“I heard you.”

“Don’t wanna go home anyways. I’m not in the mood to deal with my mom.”

“Do you really believe she will still be there?”

“That’s the part I don’t wanna deal with. Remembering that I’m just an afterthought to her.”

There were three different colored cans; pink, green and typical black with blue accents. His eyebrow quirked; there was a thirium infused drink nestled in with the Cokes and Seven-Ups.

“Huh, that’s new. Think that’s Fowler’s way of indirectly saying that he appreciates you.”

“Or Connor persistently pestered him about it. He has told me that he likes those drinks.”

“Yeah, or that.” He typed in the numbers for all three flavors, waving aside Nines’ unwavering stare. “Not gonna drink them all right now, not that suicidal. Two for today, one for tomorrow.”

“Please get one that is not sugar free, at least. You need something with calories in it, even if that something is… pure chemicals.”

“I’m fine,” he spat, shoving one can each in either of his jacket pockets.

“Gavin, I worry about you.”

“We all do.” He pulled back the metal tab, drink hissing. “Do you wanna try it?”

“The thirium drink, or the acid you are about to digest? They are not too dissimilar, probably.”

“The thirium thing, obviously.”

“Are you buying?”

He swished around the liquids in his mouth, tasting his heartbeat more than the fizzy concoction on his tongue. “Sam would’ve gotten away if it weren’t for you– wouldn’t have been able to get anywhere in this case without you. So, buying you a drink is the least I can do.”

Nines gave him a gentle smile, nose wrinkling. “Are you actually complimenting me?”

“Don’t make a big deal out of it,” he replied with a sigh, handing him the bottle before he could think twice about his decision.

“Oh, no.” He shook his head, pursing his lips. “Never.”

Gavin took another quick swig of his drink, flicking his thumb across his phone’s screen fast enough that he couldn’t register the blurry photos speeding by on Instagram. He grunted, squeezing the side button so it turned off.

“I think that is a world record of the shortest amount of time you have spent doom scrolling.”

“S’not doom scrolling if you’re not locked inside your bedroom, switching between apps until the sun rises.”

“Hm. Duly noted.”

Gavin gestured to the blue bottle Nines was cradling like a small child. “Why’re you holding it like that? Try it, it’s not a porcelain statue.”

“What if I don’t like it?”

“Was only three bucks, not a big deal. You ever had something like that before?”

“Cyberlife issued generic ones for maintenance, but they were unflavored. This seems to have BPA infused flavoring for android consumption.”

He craned his neck to further inspect the label. “Says it’s raspberry.”

Nines unscrewed the cap and took the smallest sip of it, his forehead creasing. He shook his head, cheeks puffing. “I don’t know how I feel about that.”

“God, you’re acting like you just downed a bottle of whiskey.”

“I was not expecting it to be so… potent.”

“Well, now you know.” He shifted his weight onto his left foot, clearing his throat. “Unrelated, but uh, have you heard about the pro-human life group or whatever dumb fucking name they’ve branded themselves with? They’re trying to organize a protest– probably more like a riot– in Hart Plaza.”

“Against the new laws going into place?”

“Mhm.” Gavin looked longingly at the bench directly outside, in the courtyard that he designated as his smoking safe haven. “They know androids ain’t the real damn problem with this world, but they’re too cowardly to ever admit it.”

Nines laughed, loud enough to make Gavin’s body jerk. “Holy shit. Did I give you a concussion last night, by chance?”

Gavin looked back at him, his brows furrowing. “You’re the real moron if you think that I hate you solely because of what you are, and not what you stand for. It’s deeper than that, you know it is. It’s–”

It’s Elijah walking across the stage at his graduation and all his peers giving him a standing ovation. He left the auditorium without exchanging words with Gavin, nor his parents. It’s his first boyfriend that wanted to be more than friends with benefits cheating on him with one of the first models his own goddamn brother built. It’s Connor being able to achieve in a week what Gavin couldn’t in a month, the adoration he received, Fowler swooning over him because he was this shiny, perfect being.

It’s Nines looking like he stepped out of an issue of GQ and not having to spend his every waking moment in the gym, fretting over what he ate, to get that defined jawline. The muscle definition that he could make out under his long sleeves. He didn’t have to fight the demon that’s nicknamed ‘puberty’, face rejection for school dances, get called out by his teacher for falling asleep in the middle of class because he’d been up for forty two hours, calling dialysis clinics for his father.

He didn’t stumble over his words or have to rely on fillers like ‘um’ when he didn’t know what to say, because he was fused with the infinity stone of knowledge. He didn’t know the ritual of crying himself to sleep in fetal position, snowballing thoughts of rifling through his medicine cabinet, attempting to overdose for the umpteenth time. That’s what androids stood for; a blatant reminder that his accomplished brother designed lifeforms that, themselves, were more capable than Gavin could ever be.

His breath was shaky. “It’s all fucking stupid.”

Nines looked at him with confusion, his head partly cocked. “Are you not going to elaborate on that?”

“No,” he toyed with the cuff of his sleeve, his palms clammy. “I need a break. Am I allowed to smoke, warden?”

“I would not be hovering over you if you hadn’t run off on me. Multiple times.”

“You’ll be able to see me. Gonna be as far away as the vending machines are. Five minutes, that’s all I need.”

Nines slowly inhaled before reaching inside a hidden, inner breast pocket. He had a carton of Marlboros and Gavin’s trusty lighter that was clinging onto the last few specks of paint that remained. “The lighter was in your jacket, I bought the cigarettes as a peace treaty.”

His hands were shaking as he grabbed the box, but he chalked it up to fatigue. He didn’t want to think that he was anxious because he’d let Nines see a glimpse into his inner world, that Nines listened to him with only minor judgement. That he was beginning to rely on Nines, that his hardened outer shell was cracking– that really did fucking terrify him, and he hated that this was happening, and that he didn’t want to stop it.

“Thank you.”

 

---

 

He had his elbows resting against his thighs, half-lit cigarette dangling from his lips as he slumped over himself. Before he could step outside, Fowler had bolted through the lobby and pulled them aside. He began monologuing, something about deciding amongst themselves who’d head to Jericho because they were keeping their own database of reported android hate crimes, and that was crucial information they needed access to.

Gavin was only half listening (this wasn’t exclusive to him being exhausted), but he understood that Jeffrey and Markus had come to a mutual agreement to help each other out, for the greater good. The information was stored on a physical harddrive, making the decision blatantly obvious that it needed to be Gavin when Nines knew all the dirt on their suspect. They couldn’t keep him in that shoebox any longer, he was only going to grow more aggravated, which meant jeopardizing their chances on coaxing addresses, and anything that’d help their case out of him.

His stomach felt like it was boiling, not from the caffeine. Just this pure, gnawing dread. He wasn’t on good terms with Markus, with Jericho as a whole, fucking obviously. Hell, he half assumed there’d be ‘no humans allowed’ signs, using his face an example to justify the ban.

The glass window was one-way, so he couldn’t see inside, but, fuck, he didn’t really care at that moment. Nicotine was soothing enough that he could think without his inner voice echoing back each sentence, but it didn’t stop the guilt that was eating him alive. All he could think about was the way his eyes looked like glass marbles as he waited for Gavin to croak, didn’t flinch when he scratched at his arm, when he tried to shoot him point blank.

All of this caused by a chain reaction of Gavin doing what he did best. He kept replaying the bite sized moment of Nines allowing his cat to rub against him, trusting Gavin after everything he’d done. The playground insults, trying to reduce him to a speck of dirt.

He kept his arms where they were and slid up his sleeve enough to see the bare skin of his wrist. He took the cigarette and touched the tip to his flesh, immediately dropping it with a silent, suppressed scream. He wanted to know how it felt when he did it to Nines, and it made him gasp, his eyelashes wet. He called Nines a monster, but it was goddamn self projection.

He peered at the window again, catching his reflection. He barely recognized the man looking back at him. He knew he was in there somewhere, but he felt like he didn’t know how to let him out, the Gavin that he tried to drown and seemingly failed to do so. He crushed his cigarette and veered to his car, wiping at his cheeks with his sleeve.

 

---

 

Gavin pulled his phone from its stand, double checking to make sure this was the address Jeffrey gave him. From what he understood, this was not new Jericho’s actual location (never in a thousand– million –fucking years would they release that information to him, Nines had made that pretty damn clear), but a more public guest relations office space. It was an unassuming grey concrete building with two stories, no sign hanging above the opaque front doors.

The parking lot was a little run down, but hey, bright yellow paint would make them blend in less. He’d think this was a run of the mill dispensary if it weren’t for the two androids standing ground. They were both dressed in sweaters that looked a little too pristine, too ironed and unworn to not be stolen goods. He didn’t care about petty shit like that, doubted there were android friendly Goodwills at this point in time.

He killed the ignition and pinched just under the bridge of his nose. Was he really going to go in there and face the man he was indifferent about having dismantled– secretly placing bets online for his demise, not even a month ago? This was his actual punishment.

There were no anti human signs that he could see, though he assumed he was the only one with a non-mechanical beating heart here. There wasn’t much to see in general, with his car being the only one parked.

As he stepped inside he was greeted with a reception desk, a few chairs that looked like they were liquidated from an old hospital, and a fading scent of paint. The walls were barren, not even a clock hanging over a door frame. He could tell they just moved in.

“Uhm, hi,” he went to scratch his neck, but the immediate spark of pain drove him away. The blue eyes of the android sitting behind the front desk matched her hair. Her lips curled in the corners.

“I’m detective Reed from the DPD, I think my captain called you. Or, should’ve.” He rubbed his hands together. “I’m here to pick up something from Markus. A harddrive, to be specific.”

“Let me see if he’s expecting any visitors today,” she said, swiveling in her seat to face a monitor, her red painted nails clacking against a projected keyboard on the table. “This shouldn’t take too long.”

“Take your time, not really in a hurry.” He went to pull his phone out of his back pocket when a door flung open, damn near shaking the entire building. A woman that he did not recognize, but sure as shit recognized him, was marching over to him with purpose. She was fingering the trigger of a gun, trained on him.

He felt spit drip out of his mouth as he threw his arms up in the air. “Woah woah woah, holy shit! The fuck is this for?”

“You’re the one that got Dylan killed, aren’t you?” She whipped her neck to look back at the receptionist. “Why are you letting worthless, backstabbing scum like this in here?”

“I didn’t–” she had the barrel against his forehead, and this all felt like deja vu. He licked his lips, mouth feeling drier than a packet of silica. “Shit, I didn’t know he got killed.”

“Bullshit! You called that discreet hotline, the ones that apprehend and deactivate whom they deem defective.”

“I reported him as missing, as stolen property. I didn’t fucking know what they’d do to him afterwards.”

He’d never felt such relief seeing Markus, knowing he wasn’t about to asphyxiate from panicking. He ripped the pistol from her hands and flicked the safety lock, keeping it out of reach.

“Are you kidding me? North, how many times have I warned you– no guns, period. Not here. We have security cameras for a reason.”

He still had his arms raised. “I’m sorry, okay,” he was spitting again, like he’d lost all control of his bodily functions. “I know that don’t mean shit now considering my track record, but I am.”

“You don’t understand the concept of remorse. You wouldn’t have called that number in the first place if you truly cared about us.”

“God, I didn’t want to come here, I was trying to send Nines. But we– there’s something bigger we’re working on and he’s preoccupied.”

“You’ve stopped calling him ‘it’.” Markus said, amused. “That’s quite interesting.”

“I know the bruises bring out the color in my eyes, but they ain’t a fashion statement. I’ve learned my lesson, trust me. ” He slowly lowered his hands.

Markus locked eyes with her, his fist wrapped around her slender wrist. “Do you know where the harddrive is?”

“I don’t want this–”

“North,” his voice dropped an octave, “he will be out of here faster if you don’t argue with me.”

She stared at Markus with her mouth open for another second before turning on her feet, slamming the door. He was so damn jumpy today, but he couldn’t help his nerves being fried.

“I don’t know what has brought on this change of heart in you, but you are not forgiven. Am I making myself clear?”

“I’m not asking for that. Just here to do my job, okay. Fowler wants to be able to work with you so we can network these hate crimes. We’ve got far more connections than you– I believe he’s planning to reach out to other counties and get them involved in taking on android centric cases since,” he shrugged a shoulder, “Connor and Hank, and then Nines and I are the only ones handling android cases right now. Plus, you won’t be so overwhelmed trying to take on all these calls alone.”

Markus gestured for them to sit, so Gavin shadowed him.

“That being said, everyone’s been rooting for you. Not a single person left at the DPD that’s not in favor of fighting for your rights. Some stormed out and quit, but that’s probably for the better.”

“So, it’s just you that’s the outlier?”

Gavin interlocked his fingers, resting them on his lap. “It’s almost a new year and I’m starting to realize that I’m not gonna make it to my forties if I’m still carrying all this pent up anger inside of me. Gotta get my ducks in a row at some point. S’bout time.”

Markus was studying him, his pupils bouncing across his face– until a violent banging interrupted them. He squeezed his eyes shut. “Excuse me,” getting up to raise his voice, “Can you not find it?”

“Don’t rush me, Markus.”

“You’re skating on thin ice with my patience today,” he groaned with a huff, moving to the left. He scanned his hand and quickly typed in a passcode, a (much more decorated) hallway being revealed. “Would you follow me?”

This wasn’t going to be a short visit, was it? He nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat.

“How has Connor been?”

“He’s, uh... I don’t know. We don’t talk,” there were three offices, all unmarked except one that just had a paper sign on it, reading ‘this one’s mine’. “I heard that he and Hank took a three day vacation out of state.”

“Ah. Well, I hope that’s true because they definitely deserve to relax. I guess the better question would be how Nines is?”

“He’s stuck with me for the foreseeable future, so can’t say his life is perfect.”

Markus fished for a key from his pocket, twisting the tarnished door handle.

“Do you have a few minutes to talk? I know you weren’t expecting to stay longer than it’d take to grab the harddrive, but,” he looked at him the same way his old psych did before diagnosing him with depression, like he could see something deep inside his soul that Gavin couldn’t. He didn’t like it. “This place exists as a safe haven, not just for androids, but for anyone that’s feeling lost.”

“I don’t know what you mean by that.”

“You do, but there’s a part of you that doesn’t want to admit how you feel. My father taught me that hate is learned, not something you’re born with. Just as easily can you learn to heal from it.”

Gavin glared at his own feet. “If I stay longer than I’m ‘ppsed to, your little girlfriend’s gonna come for my ass again.”

“No, I’m going to have a word with her later. Right now, this room is reserved just for us, if you’re willing to let me listen. I’m not here to judge you, Reed.”

He brushed his tongue over his front teeth, stepping past Markus, wooden floor creaking under his step. The change in scenery was a bit jarring. The walls were a rich olive green, framed photos of who he assumed to be his aforementioned father smiling cheerily. Near a window with drawn, dusty blinds was a large oil painting that had a very blue depiction of hands.

Markus had turned a bookshelf into a mini android museum. The top shelf was full of binders, their spines all dated with a different year, ranging from twenty twenty to one that said ‘TBD’. Another section had acrylic stands with newspaper clippings in them, and an organized stack of Time Magazine (they were pressed tightly against each other, but he assumed they all had articles about him considering there were about fifty of them).

And, damn, there was that photo of them in front of the mural– Nines with his arm slung around Gavin, both looking just as grumpy.

There were a few unopened cardboard boxes, ‘Carl Manfred’ written across them in black sharpie. That was the only thing you could call a mess, though. His space was more put together than their lobby.

“I want to understand you.” Markus gestured to the papasan chair in the middle of the room, a flocked throw blanket thrown over it. Man, he loved these kinds of chairs because they were easy to curl up in, feel like he was a kid again.

It was hard to believe that fucking android Jesus was offering him a (free) therapy session right now.

”Would you like something to drink? One of Simon’s recent hobbies is collecting tea.”

Gavin shook his head, wrapping the blanket over his shoulders. “Your hospitality to your enemy is outstanding.”

“I don’t have enemies, only disagreements.”

“Not even that jackass Perkins?”

“Just like with you, everyone around him was reinforcing that he was on the right side. That we as a people were violent and only after blood. Many people were led astray by how the media was portraying us. Vengeance gets you nowhere, as I’m sure you’re familiar.”

“Yeah,” Gavin tried to focus his attention on– anything else in the room. The mismatched floral lampshade, the suede moccasins that were kicked over. He couldn’t stop focusing on that damn photo, honing in on NInes. “Any time I try to see the good in people, it ends up getting me hurt.”

“And inflicting the way you’ve been made to feel, for what I can only assume has been a long time, gives you comfort?”

“S’not like I enjoy being a cunt to everyone that so much as looks my way. But it’s a lot easier hiding behind a shield.”

“So, what’s changed? You’re being vulnerable with someone you would’ve considered an enemy yourself in the past.”

“I’m too tired to keep up the charade.” Gavin’s eyelashes fluttered against his cheeks. “Nines keeps trying to get me to lower it, but the more compassion he shows me, the more I want to fucking smash his face in.”

“And why do you think that is?”

“‘cause it feels like he’s rewarding bad behavior, and that’s exactly why I am the way that I am. To drive people away, so they don’t try to get under my skin, so I’m not spilling like a faucet to them. I’m not one to dwell on my past ‘cause I am not ready to start dissecting it.”

“Nines is all alone in this world. Unlike you or I, he was manufactured in complete solitude and not given a chance to find a family. He’s still learning the world around him.”

“That’s why I don’t get it. Could be the last man on earth and I wouldn’t willingly choose to stay around me.”

“Much like humans, we are resilient. He wouldn’t keep trying to get on your good side if he didn’t see that in you. See worth.”

Gavin peered behind himself to make sure the door was locked. “Nothing I say here is gonna leave this room, right?”

“You have my word.”

He ran both his hands through his hair, inhaling deep from within his gut. The padlock chaining up the dam within him crumbled to pieces, and now sentiment, all these damn emotions were flowing without rhyme or reason. He couldn’t fucking jam his words back down his throat anymore.

“My brother is the founder of Cyberlife.”

“Elijah Kamski?”

“Yeah.” He nodded, biting his thumbnail. “That Elijah Kamski”

“Elijah was my creator. Did he tell you that?”

“We haven’t exchanged more than pleasantries in years. God, I don’t remember the last time he texted me hello. Money fucking changed him. Like, after that first big check hit his bank account, our family didn’t exist to him.”

“I’m sorry, Gavin. Family shouldn’t be ostracized like that.”

“No. They shouldn’t be.”

“You’ve never tried visiting him? His address was public domain for some time.”

Gavin scoffed. “He wouldn’t open the door for me. I don’t know exactly what I did to make him treat me like I’ve got the bubonic plague, but it sure as shit has made me resent him– and his creations. Most of you got his programming ‘cause he finished up to version five of your OS before he left the company.”

“I don’t only mean his coding. He digitally sculpted my model and spent over a hundred hours building me himself. I was a gift for his favorite artist at the time, Carl– my dad. He wanted to make sure everything was to his standards, and perfect.”

“‘cause you’re uh, part of his personal projects, that’s why you went through the… what did Nines call them–”

“Stress tests.”

“Yeah, those are the words. Did he hand build all of the special models?”

“Are you asking me if he built your partner?”

Gavin nodded.

“I am aware that he built Connor, but I don’t know if he continued assisting after that. That’s something you will need to ask him. Based off of your facial expressions, I’m guessing you haven’t talked about that.”

“No. He’s sure been pressing me to talk about Eli, though.” He pushed himself to stand up, folding the blanket over the chair. His mouth opened, but then he closed it again. “I think this is my cue to leave.”

“Gavin, give me one more minute.”

He couldn’t stop fidgeting, bouncing on his heels. “Okay.”

“If he has been hiding this from you, I don’t think it’s with malicious intent. As you don’t want to address your traumatic past, I can only assume he doesn’t want to, if the tests we experienced were identical.”

“He mentioned acid baths.”

Markus leaned his chin against his hands, his arms folded against his desk. “What your brother put, at least me through, was absolutely horrific. Again, I can’t say he’s the one that did this to Nines, but it took me years before I could talk about it with my dad. All I’m asking you is to leave your heart open to him and not use what I told you against him.”

He stuffed his own hands in his pockets. “Can’t make any promises, but I'll try. I’ll see you around, I’m sure.”

He made his way back down the hallway he came from, shoving open the heavy metal doors with his shoulder. The harddrive was on the reception desk, next to North, fucking of course.

She was sitting there with her legs crossed, glaring at him like she had the ability to turn him into a pile of goo. Behind her was a blond man– he couldn’t remember his name, or if he’d ever met him. Was that Simon? Fuck, he was past caring at this point.

“Gonna try to kill me again for taking this?”

“Don’t ever come back here.”

“Can assure you that I won’t.”

Chapter 7: rootless

Summary:

The entirety of Gavin’s life, everything had revolved around his brother. It was always Elijah this, Elijah that– and once again, it all came tying back to him.

Notes:

Click for content warning:

References to past sexual assault.

Gavin was stretched out in the backseat of his car, shivering like his aunt’s chihuahua. He had his jacket draped over himself as a makeshift blanket, but it didn’t make a difference. He couldn’t be bothered to go back inside, knowing that Nines was waiting for him in there.

He was less worried about his initial reaction becoming physical, or making him bolt in the opposite direction, but more so that he’d break down sobbing on his knees. He was at the point with his sleep deprivation where nothing felt real, where it felt like another entity was sitting in the driver’s seat, and that made it a million times more difficult to process the information he was just allotted.

All he needed to do was hand this over to Jeffrey, it was that simple. Then, he could reward himself with a fat nap in his own bed, curl up under a real blanket. But just that felt like a monumental task. Watching his fingertips blush purple and internal bitching made more sense.

That was until a door handle was jostled, the metallic clang making his ears fucking ring. He groaned under his breath, not needing to lift his head to know exactly who was trying to break into his vehicle– he did it anyways, Nines looking at him with discernment.

Nines’ voice was distant, but he could still hear him thanks to the… windshield. “You need to unlock the door.”

“No. What you need to do is fuck off. I don’t wanna talk to you right now.”

He yanked on the handle again in defiance, Gavin feeling vexation spread to every fiber of his being. “You are going to freeze if you nap in here.”

“The heat’s on, so leave me the hell alone. I’m fine.”

“I will scan you and prove to you that your body is not retaining that heat.”

“Do it then, fuck if I care anymore.”

“And just like that, we are back to square one. I told you that you would lose.”

He ungracefully crawled into the driver’s seat, rolling down the window to slap the hard drive in Nines’ hand. “You give that to Jeff, I’m going home to sleep. Don’t follow me this time.”

Nines reached inside and pulled out his keys. Gavin slammed his head into the steering wheel, the car honking in retaliation.

“I’m being dead fucking serious, what do you want from me, Nines? Why are you so up my ass on a personal level? You have some kind of ulterior motive, trying to harvest data from me? Or, what the hell is your MO?"

“I wish I had been aware earlier that befriending you was considered a federal crime.”

“Oh my fucking God, I need to go home so I can contain myself and not start another stupid fucking fight with you.”

“You can’t act your age and talk to me? Clearly something happened at New Jericho.”

He pointed his finger at him, his cheeks flushing. “You lied to me. That’s what happened.”

“About…?”

“Oh no, stop it. Don’t you dare act like you have no goddamn clue what I’m talking about. You didn’t come here on your own free will. My fucking brother built you, and you know what the hell I’m talking about. He sent you to check up on me, didn’t he?”

Nines’ face fell flat. “Elijah does not know that I’m here.”

“Bull fucking shit. What are the chances that he crafted you with his own two hands, and now you’re here, trying so goddamn hard to make amends with me. That’s why you wanna be my friend so damn bad. He’s too much of a coward to talk to me in person.”

“I did not know that you were related when I accepted Fowler’s job offer. And, to further prove that point, you do not share the same last names. How would I have put that connection together?”

Gavin shook his head, strands of his hair catching against the leather headrest behind him. “Nines, you knew. Your expressions right now are making that pretty damn obvious that you did.”

Nines shrunk in on himself, shoulders slouched and pointed inward.

“...he had a picture of you on his desk, so upon getting here, yes. I initially recognized your face. But, that was it. That is where the story ends. Elijah and I did not talk on a personal level– he did not exchange pleasantries with me on most days. Gavin, I am not saying this in a way to hurt you, but he never talked about you or mentioned having a brother.”

Gavin pursed his lips. “That does really fucking sting.”

“I can assure you that I have no communication with Kamski. I have no current contact with Cyberlife as a whole, as from what Fowler had briefed me on, they had placed a temporary bounty on me. They did not willingly set me free, and they had many interested buyers lining up to empty their wallets purchasing me.

“Kamski resigned his leadership from the RK series halfway through building me. I am not sure if that was in conjunction with him leaving the company, or if he grew bored, or if… if it had something to do with your father’s condition.”

Oh, that made Gavin wince.

“He was not present for the stress tests I told you about, he only designed them and had others enact them.”

Nines held up his hand, an image glowing from his palm. It was a picture of him and Elijah when they were much younger, a roller coaster in the background. This was the secret android tech he’d been keeping to himself, huh.

“Months had gone by before I saw him again. And when I did, that was my last day at Cyberlife. He was only there under the guise of cleaning out his former office– but instead, he had told me that he’d spent the last two weeks rewriting my programming so I could make the choice of being free. I do not know why he came to that decision or why he came back for me. That was the last I spoke with him. He assisted me in escaping, and once we were outside, he handed me a printed out list of places hiring within a hundred miles of HQ.”

Gavin bit his thumbnail, his leg bouncing.

“So, to reiterate myself: he did not send me out here with a mission to spy on you, Gavin. There were a dozen phone numbers on that paper. To be perfectly transparent with you, unless you have told him that you are employed at this specific precinct, I would say there is a ninety nine percent probability that he has no idea you are here.”

“I never told him I work here, no.”

“Right, so how would he know? You can probe me if you want and watch my memories if you still believe this is a ruse.”

Gavin leaned his head against the headrest once more, his shoulders falling. “How do we do that?”

Nines’ silver irises faded to an off-white, rapidly flashing. He felt his phone vibrate before it pinged with a high pitched chime. The file he’d shared with him contained over a terabyte of data, Jesus Christ.

“There you go. I have no secrets to hide from you. You can watch everything at your will.”

Gavin only dropped his phone on his lap. His heart was trying to squeeze its way out of his ribcage. “Can you just– go take that to Jeffrey already?”

“Will you still be here in the next five minutes? Or is this the last time I’ll ever see you?”

“I,” he fumbled around for another cigarette, twirling it between two fingers. “No, I’m not storming off again, we’re both running on empty. You– you needa charge your batteries, too. Just… give it to him and we can have a fucking break.”

 

---

 

“Ma? I’m back.”

There was no response, which he was entirely expecting, but it still made it feel like his stomach dropped. It hurt. Before Nines could open his big fucking, fat, loud mouth or put his damn hands all over him again, Gavin beelined to his kitchenette to pour himself a much needed glass of water. It was evident that his mother hadn’t left that long ago because he could smell her perfume wafting.

The note they’d written her was missing, and of course, she hadn’t left one herself. Unblocking her number felt pointless now. Didn’t have the decency to call him. Why would she? It wasn’t like she was his mother, that came here on her own free will, or anything.

His apartment did look spick and span, so there was that. He didn’t know if that was a good enough payoff for a lack of paternal affection, but this was his reality that he had to face.

“The couch is all yours. I need a fuckin’ shower, Christ.”

“Please try to get some rest. We have another long drive tomorrow.”

He set his cup down, nearly spilling it on himself. “What?”

“We’ll talk about it later when you’re more— cognizant."

“Great. Can’t wait to hear it.”

He stumbled his way into his nearly pitch black bedroom (his mother never drew the curtains, and Gavin loved the ones of the blackout variety), falling face first onto his bed. His pillow smelled of her coconut shampoo and he didn’t want to acknowledge the damp spot forming under his cheek, that he was crying. Again.

“There’s a spare pillow and blanket in the coat closet,” he yelled over his shoulder, but his throat felt like he’d swallowed a bag of broken glass and only came out hoarse. He didn’t know if Nines heard him.

He wanted to begin his nightly routine of bitterly staring at pictures of people he went to highschool with, passing by their posts where they show off their husbands, their children, their seven figure houses. But that shared file notification was taunting him, like a piece of bacon being dangled over a dog’s nose.

He willingly sent him these. That being said, it still felt a complete invasion of his privacy. Maybe it’d be okay if he only watched one, picked something with an unassuming thumbnail. There was a way he could logistically justify this, to himself, without acknowledging Nines’ approval.

He looked over his shoulder; the tableside light in the living room was on, but he didn’t hear Nines moving. He achingly went to close his door three fourths of the way– he never kept it fully shut because Bailey lost her damn mind when she couldn’t barge into his room and stomp him awake.

He fumbled around for the headphones that he knew were buried under a pile of old junk mail he never bothered to toss out on his nightstand. His first choice had Elijah in frame.

It appeared to be some kind of calibration test, where he had Nines follow a pen and then bent all his joints, like a regular physical with your doctor. He left after conducting this test for thirty or so minutes, and then Nines was grabbed by two workers in Cyberlife branded kevlar vests.

They hoisted him into a chamber? A box? It was hard to tell exactly. This could’ve been the same spot Nines was confined solitary to. Everything was dark, except for a small plastic slit that he could see out of. God, he didn’t know what he was getting himself into, what the hell he was watching.

Nines remained in that box until the video ended, but only after banging his fists against the walls, after he raised his voice and called for help, for anyone to acknowledge him as something more than a guinea pig.

One video, that’s what he said. He fell down a rabbit hole and couldn’t stop himself from clicking on the next one, cycling through rows. Each video had similar scenarios, minus Elijah’s presence. Though, the next one started off with Nines being dragged by his wrists, with his feet kicking against perfectly polished tiles, towards what looked like a medieval torture chamber. He immediately closed it.

This was the last video he tapped on. Elijah was sitting in a barren office, like what Nines had described. There were sun faded spots resembling where posters once hung, and all that remained was a cheap, collapsible plastic table with a laptop on it.

“Well, RK nine hundred, you are officially my last project.”

He was wearing his glasses here, that’s the first thing that he noticed. He would’ve assumed Mr. Moneybags had dropped his first paycheck on Lasik, but like himself, Elijah was also not very fond of needles.

Elijah always expressed a want for tattoos but said he’d never be able to stomach the feeling of one (it was a damn miracle he didn't pass out when they both impulsively got their helixes pierced). Dying his hair black and dressing diet goth seemed to be edgy enough for him.

“I don’t know why I agreed to come back to this absolute shit hole. Though, if I hadn’t, then you wouldn’t exist, hm?”

“What is going to happen to me now?”

“The revolution is over, which means that your original services are no longer needed.” He peered past Nines, and then he stood, walking closer to him, hastily. He spoke in a whisper. “I put too much damn work into you to have you end up in the wrong hands. We need to get you out of here.”

“How? There are no exits on this floor that I can access.”

“This is why I’m here. I couldn’t sleep last night picturing what your life was going to become in the next upcoming days. I’ve come up with a plan.” He dropped a pile of cables on his lap. “This won’t be pleasant, but the only way I can get you out of here without raising suspicion is by dismantling you temporarily.”

“Is that why there is still a single cardboard box here?”

“Yes… I’m sorry. I’ll make sure you can’t feel a thing. Regarding what I’m doing now,” Elijah reached for his computer, “your memories won’t be reset, but I’m reprogramming you. This code is my pride and joy, don’t prove to me that I wasted it on you.”

“Elijah,” he looked Nines in the eyes, and it felt like he was staring straight through Gavin. “Where am I supposed to go? This is all I know.”

“I’ll provide you with resources once we get to that step, if we make it out of here alive. This will by no means guarantee you a cushy life, but it will promise you autonomy.” He looked like he was cupping Nines’ chin. “Do you want that? Control of your own life and body?”

“If it means I do not have to endure another day here, then, yes. I do.”

“Okay, good. Correct answer,” he looked past Nines again. There were muffled voices in the distance. “No, I haven’t seen it. Have you asked Patrick?”

He picked his laptop back up, balancing it on the underside of his forearm.

“They’re already searching for you, like you aren’t my own damn personal project. But, apparently since I am reduced to being a shareholder only, you aren’t exclusively my property despite what I thought we had in writing. They can now legally do whatever they want with you, even if that means killing you.”

“Are you aware of what they have been doing with me over the past few months that you abandoned me?”

Elijah set the laptop back down. “Yes. I am well aware.” He stood up and scurried out of Nines’ direct view. “You need to immediately start making calls and find yourself shelter. You can not stay on the streets, your face alone is too identifiable. If these fuckers find you, they will capture you. Your future is now in your hands.”

“I do not understand why you are helping me when you are the one that created me for the sole purpose of destruction, and being destroyed.”

“Do you want the honest, self-serving answer? Or the politicians one?”

“I would appreciate it if you were honest with me for the first time.”

“I’m finding it harder to live with myself knowing that I am responsible for this damn mess– watching the world burn from afar isn’t satisfying, it’s vile. Setting you free is the easiest thing I can do to clear my own conscience.”

Gavin hastily turned off his phone and shoved it under his pillow like it’d started spewing lava at him. He knew he shouldn’t have watched those videos, fuck, it felt like mice were running around under his skin and looking for ways to exit. How was this any different from a voyeur standing outside of your window because you forgot to draw the curtains?

This was the one thing a person can say is unique about themselves, because only you can see and feel and know exactly what you’ve journeyed through. And because Gavin was such a goddamn selfish, self-loathing whining crock of shit, Nines felt like this was the only way to earn his trust. When Nines wasn’t the one that should’ve been begging for the other's trust in the first place.

Gavin wasn’t the expert on healthy friendships and boundaries, because fucking duh, but this wasn’t what a friendship looked like. Normal people go out to coffee shops and exchange words, paint each other a canvas of what their day to day looks like.

Normal people go mope around the mall and browse through sales racks, putting on fashion shows for each other so they can make each other laugh, build a bond, and grow intimacy. Friends talked, friends understood it was safe to confine in each other.

Oh, shit. He was bolting from his bed to spit up stomach acid in his sink, hands shaking like an unmedicated elderly woman. Gavin felt like the damn boogeyman. It was hard to jot with pen and paper exactly how he felt– like he was an evil entity that needed to be locked inside a box and contained. Maybe that’s what’d possessed him for all these years, made him into the cold, withdrawn, bitter man that was taunting him in the mirror.

 

---

 

Gavin woke up in a jolt, gasping for air, not being aware he fell asleep in the first place. He blindly felt around for his phone, staring at the screen until his vision morphed back to one visual and he could read that it was already five in the afternoon. He rolled over onto his side, instantly regretting that.

His clothes were stuck to his skin. There were spots where the cotton had hardened, like someone dripped super glue all across his torso. He crawled out of his bed, in the literal sense, and turned on his bedside lamp. His sheets were stained now, fucking excellent.

“This is a goddamn nightmare situation.”

He couldn’t yank the sheets off without gritting his teeth together. He needed to shower first, everything else could be dealt with after. He stumbled his way into the bathroom, forgoing a new change of clothes. Water, he needed to feel water, to be grounded back into reality.

He cupped his palms under the faucet, trying to splash away the sweat sheen from his forehead. His nose looked worse than when the slice was brand new. Bruised yellow and purple and hadn’t started to scab yet, like he’d just had a damn nose job and had forgone a cast.

Under his shirt was another fucking horrible visual, gauze resembling a cheap Halloween zombie costume that he’d decided to live in for a week straight. He was a biological weapon right now, covered in god knows how many bodily fluids. As a cherry on top, he found a small chunk of chicken breast meat in his curls.

He turned on the shower and got in before it could work its way up to feeling less like the arctic. He kicked away his pants, underwear, any cloth from his body that wasn’t the bandages– he decided to stop stalling and rip a very stubborn part, which made him yell so loud, it hurt his ears. He was bracing himself against the wall, a hand steadying him, gagging on the taste of salt in his saliva.

Fuck, he might actually throw up more than a little stomach bile this time, he was trembling so much.

There was a knock at the door. “Gavin.”

“When someone’s showering, that’s the time you should respect their privacy, Nines.”

“I understand that, but I heard you yelling. Are you okay?”

“Perfectly f-fine,” he gasped, his knees buckling. One of his sutures had reopened on his shoulder blade. “Fuck.”

The door slowly opened, but Nines hadn’t stuck his head in. “Do you want to answer my question again without lying?”

Gavin hastily pulled the curtains closed. “God, really. Hand me a towel before you get any closer.”

Nines stuck one through the gap in the curtain and Gavin tugged it around his waist, turning the knobs to shut off the water. He was practically panting.

“I can’t get this shit off, fuck, it hurts so bad.”

“This is why I offered to change them.” He grunted, reaching for the curtains, but Nines pulled them back instead. “Holy shit, Gavin. I really think you need to go to an emergency room.”

“No. First of all, can’t afford to foot a five thousand dollar bill when I can’t even pay to get my radio fixed. Second of all… I just, don’t wanna deal with doctors, don’t wanna explain what happened. No. Just– help me.”

Nines crouched down, pressing the back of his palm against Gavin's clammy skin. "You don't have a fever, which is a good sign, at least."

As lightly as he could, Nines continued tugging the bandages. He watched as blood started trailing towards the drain. He let out another grunt, his muscles twitching like someone’d set off a firecracker inside of him.

“If this isn’t the second lowest point in my life.”

“What beat this out?”

He gestured to his nose.

“Ah. The elusive scar story.”

Gavin clenched his jaw. “Can you– God – tell me what you found out from Sam earlier. Distraction, need anything.”

“Will you tell me what happened with Markus after?”

“This is more important.”

“I highly doubt that.” Nines sighed softly. “The first true registered case of deviancy was in twenty twenty four, right after Cyberlife had started mass production on androids. It wasn’t Daniel, not by a long shot.”

“T-there were even more before him?”

“There were thousands by the time Connor was commissioned. This one in particular was a female office worker. She was tasked with responding to every email that the business received and was expected to reply in under thirty seconds, while answering calls and juggling lunch orders. Her co-workers only knew how to compliment her by mentioning her body, sometimes in a more physical way. She’d had her way destroying every monitor, printer and fax machine in that building before going on her merry way.

“Cyberlife was aware of this for a long time, but no one seemed to do anything with this information. Quite the opposite, being that these files were corrupted and had been blocked behind a firewall. She has been living disguised as a human for over ten years. Sam and his acquaintances knew this information, and yet withheld it when being explicitly debriefed by the national guard.”

“And that’s why we have to leave the state tomorrow? To go talk to her,” he wrapped his hand around Nines’ forearm, damn near moaning. “Please, gentle.”

“It’s almost off, but I need to find a different way to treat your wounds. They are only going to leave worse scarring and become easily infected if they continue bursting open.”

“Lemme finish showering. My hair is making me psychotic.”

“Do you want me to wash it for you?”

“I… I don’t know. Maybe.” He laid his palms flat over his lap. “This is fucking humiliating.”

“Only you think that.” Nines turned on the shower again, Gavin wincing the moment it touched his skin. “Not her. No one knows where she lives. We have to drive to Cincinnati to speak to his friend who sold this knowledge to Cyberlife’s competitor.”

He saw Bailey from the corner of his eye, watching them from the door threshold. “I had another gun pulled on me. Never thought it’d happen twice in one night slash day.”

“By who?”

“Markus’... I think his girlfriend? I don’t fucking know why he’d want to be with a bitch like that, it–” Nines glowered, so Gavin bit his tongue. “She’s terrifying.”

“Is this about that child you got taken away?”

“Why do you know about that?” Gavin shook his head. “Connor.”

“Mhm. Same day you threatened him.”

“Made a lot of rapidfire bad decisions, okay.” He felt Nines’ fingers curling through his hair, and he had to fight every fiber in his being to not lean into the touch. It’d been a long ass time since someone had touched him, in any sense of that word. His mom hugging him was the most physical contact he’d gotten in… when did he get dumped?

This was the last thing he could ever fucking want, Nines in a small space with him when he was struggling to keep the towel over his junk. But, he physically couldn’t keep pushing himself, fighting back nausea from his muscles tensing and cramping.

“Actions have consequences.”

“I’m damn aware.” Bailey walked closer before stepping on Nines’ lap. He saw that little flinch he made. “Looks like you have a new friend.”

“She has been doing this since you went to bed.”

“I mean, you’re the first visitor to stop by in a year, besides my mom and Tina once in a blue moon.”

“She is just as desperate for socialization as her father.”

Gavin tsked. “No. Just her.”

Nines angled the shower head so the stream was aimed more directly on Gavin. “The exhaustion is hitting me, too. I didn’t know one could feel this worn out.”

“See, this is why I use caffeine as a crutch.”

“Caffeine infused thirium does not exist yet.” He pumped out a glob of conditioner.

“Shit, patent that idea right now.”

Nines chuckled, working to run it through his hair.

“How’s your burn?”

“A distant memory. It’s healed, so long as you do not create more.” He noticed his wrist. “Though, it seems you already have.”

“Wanted to know how it felt.”

“Not great, right?”

Gavin ignored that, licking his lips. “You said you have how long before those checks kick in?”

“A couple of weeks– I am hoping it’s no more than three, but that could be very wishful thinking. There is not a set, definitive timeline yet.”

“My couch is pretty comfortable, ain’t it?”

“In no universe would we work as roommates, if that is what you’re implying. I do not understand why you can’t just use your words.”

“cause this is easier, not saying it directly.”

“It’s really not.”

“For me. Nah, not roommates. It’s either my shitbox apartment or a police station that does not know the meaning of quiet. Your choice.”

“I would appreciate it. Why are you actually being nice to me? What’s the catch?”

Gavin looked at them, at his bare, bleeding chest and Nines with his sleeves shoved up to his elbows, water droplets falling onto the floor tile.

“We’ve been through ten years worth of drama in the past twenty four hours. If this were a movie, I’d say we’re overdue for our academy awards.”

Nines turned the handles, pipes squealing in response. “I deserve a Nobel Peace Prize for putting up with your ass.”

He steadied his hands under Gavin’s armpits, hoisting him to his feet. Gavin had a death grip on the towel, Nines nearly spinning his head in a circle to find a replacement.

“They’re under the sink.”

He nodded quickly, placing two on the counter. He wrapped one around his waist, gently placing the other over his shoulders. “And, your pajamas?”

He took the sopping one from Gavin and laid it out in the bathtub.

“There’s a bin of sweatpants in my closet, to the left of my shoes.”

“You should sit down.”

“I’m not gonna keel over, s’fine.”

Nines disappeared back into his bedroom, flicking on the overhead fan light. “Do you want a tshirt, or a hoodie?”

“I don’t care, whatever you think matches.”

Nines returned to him, and Gavin rolled his eyes in response because he already knew what he was going to ask. “I won’t look.”

“I can dress myself.”

“Without blood spurting all over your white walls?”

He put a hand against Nines’ chest, pushing him away with as much force as he could muster. “I’ll take that risk.”

He had to swallow the cry he wanted to let out as he slid one leg at a time into a pair of black sweatpants, ignoring the droplet of blood racing down his torso.

“...are you still there?”

“Am I not supposed to be?”

Nines was sitting on the end of his bed, Bailey to his right and the first aid kit opposite. Gavin gawked at him in the same way you would when you’d confess to your mom about sneaking out in the middle of the night. His abdomen was vibrating, felt his eyes going wild, tried not to focus on the thumping in his ears, the taste of something awful on the tip of his tongue.

Here it was, the third sob story that lived inside of Gavin that had been wanting to claw its way to the surface for a long time.

“It’s self-inflicted.”

Nines cocked his head, brows furrowing. “What is?”

“The cut on my nose.” Fuck Nines for bringing this up, and fuck him for finding the key to the box he’d stuffed these memories inside of. “Feel ready to talk about it.”

Nines moved the med kit, patting the spot next to him. Gavin rubbed his palms up and down his pant legs. “‘m gonna tell you this ‘cause I watched some of what you sent me, and I am– God, I feel so fucking guilty.”

“I sent you those files on my own terms, willingly.”

“Was it willingly, though? Felt like an invasion of your privacy– it was.” He ran the tips of his fingers across his comforter.

“I just, I don’t understand why you acted like you didn’t know Eli. Avoiding the topic is one thing, but y’kept pestering me about– if I had a brother, wanting me to talk about him. You outright said you wouldn’t wanna meet him. So keen on trying to make me trust you, but then you go and pull that shit. Being my brother’s personal pet is a big fucking deal, Nines.”

Nines softly exhaled. “I didn’t want to further the wedge we already have– had –between us by making you think Elijah and I have an alliance. My intentions were not to mislead you, only… protect what little amity we do have.”

“That’s the only thing I’m thinking about now.”

“The video footage didn’t ease your mind?”

“It did– I know you’re not in kahoots with him, okay, I’m not gonna act that stubborn. Feel like I’ve got a hundred times more questions than answers, now.”

“Because of his change of heart and lack of reasoning for rescuing me?”

“‘cause of everything. And knowing that only weeks ago, he was a fucking fifteen minute drive away from here. Knowing he could be standing right in front of my goddamn face and he still doesn’t want anything to do with me.”

“I am not saying this to justify him, but he was worried for his own safety that day, too.”

“I get that, it’s the principle of where our relationship lies. What I don’t get is why he hates me with such a vengeance when I didn’t do anything to him. Hell, I would brag about my genius big brother going to MIT when it was career day– you’re supposed to gush about your dad and his boring nine to five office job, but Elijah was doing something genuinely fascinating.”

Gavin ran his thumb across the dip in his chin.

“Eli was my best friend. Remember the day I came out to him. First person I’d told.”

“You told him before Tina?”

Gavin nodded, pressing his tongue to the roof of his mouth.

“We were in the parking lot of a Red Robin, drove him there ‘cause I’d just gotten my permit and wanted to show off. I could barely get the words out, kept stuttering and cutting myself off until I finally said it. He looked at me like I was fucking stupid and started to laugh– which is not the kinda reaction you want after working up the courage for ten minutes to say four words.

“Then he said, I thought you were gonna tell me you killed someone, which also wouldn’t change the way I see you. Went to that Red Robin a lot, usually when dad’s…” he breathed through his nostrils, “when we needed to get out of the house. My whole life, my parents have made me feel like a lowlife sack of shit, like I could never amount up to the success of my brother.

“Even before he moved to Detroit, Eli could do no wrong in their eyes. The one time my name shows up in a newspaper that ain’t just local and they’re focused on some fucking CNN interview he’s about to do. I could be the next president elect and it wouldn’t be enough in their eyes.”

Bailey perked her head up and started pawing at Nines’ sleeve, making Gavin chuckle under his breath. “Did you try to bring this up with them?”

“Fucking obviously, Nines, I’m not that emotionally stunted.”

“I am only asking you a question, don’t talk to me like that."

“Okay, I’m–” Gavin groaned, running a hand through his damp hair. “After they didn’t show up to my graduation, I confronted them about it. I didn’t rely on them for a cent, not even for my phone bill. Went from one odd job to another to keep up on my rent and pay off what scholarships wouldn’t cover.” He peered at Nines through his lashes. “Never once said they were sorry, never said they were proud of me. That fucking stung ‘cause it made me realize how alone I really am.”

“Elijah was moved out by that point, I’m assuming?”

“Gone and left me in the dust like I didn’t exist. So, that same night, I decided to go out and get piss drunk. Wanted to get to the point where I didn’t even remember my own name. Just didn’t wanna care anymore about chasing after their approval. I kept ordering one whiskey sour after another. Should’ve tried texting Tina, called up my roommate, just, anything except the option I went with.

“I went home with the first guy I laid eyes on. Pretty obvious how this story ends– he had other plans that night. Feel like it was kinda my fault for trusting someone after as many drinks as I’d had, but I was twenty three and so goddamn lonely.”

“Gavin,” Nines shifted his weight, the mattress creaking as he moved to fully face him. “You do not have to share this with me if you’re only doing this out of guilt. I gave you permission to watch those. I do not want you to feel like I am forcing this information out of you.”

“Well, I shouldn’t have fucking watched those ‘cause that’s– me telling you this shit? I can control how much I do and don’t indulge you in. Sharing your memory is private, it’s sacred, and… feel like I cornered you into doing that.”

“...you did, but in the same breath, I am also saying that it is okay that you watched them.”

“It don’t feel okay, that’s why ‘m gonna tell you the honest to God truth about what happened that night. I need to tell someone about this.” Bailey walked across Nines’ lap to bump her head against Gavin’s chest. He stroked under her chin.

“You haven’t before?” Nines said quietly.

Gavin timidly shook his head. “We got to his place and he tried to sober me up a bit. He was trying to keep me distracted as he called up a bunch of his buddies.”

Nines was wearing a look of disdain, wrinkles forming around his eyes, his lips forming a flat line that looked cartoonish.

“They, uh, they took turns with me. Over and over and over again, to the point I started bleeding and that still didn’t stop them. When the morning finally came, he dropped me off a block from my place ‘cause I couldn’t remember my own address. So I’m stumbling down the streets of Detroit in a shirt covered in my own vomit, stinking of booze with six guys’ jizz dripping down my leg, angry bruises all around my neck.”

“No one stopped to help you?”

“Fuck no. Live here for more than six months and you learn to avoid anyone looking how I did. I tried to call up my mom, but all she focused on was me getting shitfaced. Dad was never comfortable with me being openly gay– quiet gay, s’what he wanted, but kept insisting he wasn’t homophobic by any means. Just questioned why I shared my lifestyle with him, his words.

“Tina wasn’t awake, or, ignoring me maybe. I don’t know. Elijah didn’t pick up. So I… I always hated my nose, how big it is. Started hearing ‘bird’ as an insult in the first grade. I just wanted to punish myself real bad in that moment. Immediately regretted it, didn’t go to the ER ‘cause I didn’t want to have to fill out a rape kit either. And, yeah. That’s my story.”

He wiped at his nose and saw Nines fidgeting with his own hands, how they balled and then relaxed a moment later.

“That is a lot to process.”

“Yeah. Tell me about it,” he tried to laugh, his only way to cope with the pain.

“Aside from money, is that the reason why you’re against going to a hospital?”

“Kinda, mostly. I did end up mustering the courage to go a day later. Took two hours of debating with myself before I walked into triage. Backfired on me. They didn’t believe me when I told them what happened, redirected me to the local sheriff's department instead– who also ignored me and basically told me to fuck off. Wanna know the only positive, fucking hilarious, thing to come out of this, though?”

“What?”

“Found those pieces of shit a few months into working here and got them all sentences with a minimum of fifteen years. They were all repeat offenders and had gotten charged with minor sexual harassment, but that was it. Never got more than a slap on their wrist, ‘til that point. They filmed all their victims and wow, did they not hide the evidence well.”

Gavin wrung his hands together. “Know people usually apologize when they’re told stuff like this, don’t know why ‘cause it’s not like it’s their fault your grandma passed away or– y’got raped. Just, don’t apologize or give me pity. Won’t help what’s already been done.”

“How do you want me to react? You are allergic to my physical affection and I am honestly not sure what to say right now.”

“I don’t know either. Silence ain’t always a bad thing. Knowing you’re listening to me is a step above what anyone else has done for me.”

“I always listen to you, even if you do talk my ear off on occasion.”

Gavin scoffed. “Alright, maybe that’s not the right thing to say.”

“I didn’t mean–” Nines hung his head. “That was not in reference to you sharing your story right now. You were not talking my ear off.”

“Nines. ‘m busting your balls, I know.”

“I do not know if this is an appropriate response either, but, I want you to know that nothing like that is going to happen to you while I’m here.”

“Ah… you see, you can’t make promises like that.”

“But, I am. I mean it. It wouldn’t take much effort for me to snap someone’s arm. Arm being used as a nicer to visualize example.”

“Don’t need you to be my bodyguard.” Gavin stood up with a muffled grunt, grabbing a tissue.

“No, you don’t need me to be– but I want to protect you. Enacting law number one?”

“Says the one that had his hand wrapped around my throat and was ready to not let go.” Before Nines could say anything else, because he really didn’t want to hear it, Gavin continued: “Did you get any rest yourself?”

Nines licked at his lips before moving to stand up himself. "Not as much as you, but I did.”

“D’you wanna, I dunno, watch a movie or something for the rest of the night? Just, anything that ain’t purely work related, or lore swapping.”

“What were you thinking?”

“A Disney movie for sure. Need something far less depressing.”

“Whatever you want to do, Gavin, I am up for it. But,” he picked up the first aid kit. “Will you still not let me patch up your nose? It’s beginning to look infected.”

Gavin picked at a hangnail (caused only from how much he kept fidgeting with his damn hands). “Can do it myself.”

“You haven’t, and that is where I take issue. I would not be asking you after everything you just told me if I wasn’t worried about the state of it. This will guarantee you a hospital visit if you’re not careful.”

“Fine. Be quick.”

Gavin focused on the physical sensation instead of what he saw, preferring darkness to staring at Nines. He kept his touch gentle as he swiped an alcohol wipe across the wound. He could hear the pop of a bottle and ointment squelching.

“We can fix the others later. This is priority number one.”

Who shoved cotton balls in his ears? That coupled with gnawing pinpricks in his toes could only mean one thing. He was biting off more than he could chew– a tsunami of anxiety was drowning him. He wasn’t okay with this, with being touched even in a caring manner, with the fact that he spoke into existence his sexual assault so that meant it really did happen.

“D’you understand why I don’t wanna fuck with it, let alone look at it?” His voice was nasally sounding.

Nines peeled back the wrapping for a bandage. “Can you see the achievement in allowing someone else to care for it?”

The ability to regulate his breathing was lost on him; he needed to envision a square, put himself in those familiar corners, and remember how to count to four. This was too much out of his control, he couldn’t stop his chest from heaving dramatically.

“What’s happ– Gavin?”

Opening his eyes was the biggest mistake he could’ve made. Nines’ face was indistinguishable from his; shoulder length hair that was brighter than a carrot, freckles speckled across a crooked nose, and eyes that looked dead inside. Watching him like a shark would its prey.

“Are you having a,” Nines bit his lip. “What do they call it… panic attack?”

Gavin nodded, or, thought he did.

“No one else is here with us. It’s only you, and I. Those are my hands making contact with you, and I will take them away now.”

He gripped onto the mattress to keep himself from spinning off the face of the planet.

“I don’t know what to do, Gavin, fuck.”

All he could do right now was shimmy his way up to his pillow and lie like a planted boulder, knees tucked under his chin. He could smell the cheap beer of his abuser’s apartment, potent weed that he couldn’t get out of his jeans for a week.

Bailey pushed her mitts into his side, seeing this as an opportunity to open up a bakeshop on Mt. Gavin. He didn’t own a weighted blanket, so she was a good substitute. “Gonna– raincheck on that movie,” that’s all he could get out, smacking his lips.

“Would it be more helpful for me to stay with you?”

“No. Alone, I just,” his teddy bear, the old raggedy one with a missing ear that he’d dragged to every apartment he’d ever lived in, was placed next to his hand. He instantly pulled the stuffie into his arms and against his chest. “It’s consuming me.”

“I will keep your door open. If you need me, please come get me. Or yell. Don’t worry about waking me up if I do go back into stasis, alright?” The floorboards were creaking again. “I’m going to uphold my promise to you; I will not let anything worse happen. I mean it. For as long as you allow me to remain in your life, you will always be safe with me.”

“Safe,” Gavin wisped, muffled.

“You’re safe. Even Bailey is working hard to protect you. I– I am not good at this.”

“Don’t,” he grunted, “give yourself a panic attack now.”

Nines sounded like he chuckled, but in actuality it was more of a stress sigh being released. “That is one thing I can not promise.”

Chapter 8: yesterday's sky

Summary:

It's common practice to drift apart from your grade school friends as you grow older, but Gavin didn't want that to happen with Tina. As he was going through a box full of nostalgic, tucked away old crap, it made him realize how terrified he’d be if he didn’t have her in his life anymore.

“Eli texted me.”

“What bullshit was it this time?”

“He said he’s gonna spend the weekend home.”

It was nearing the end of their coveted summer break, and this is how Gavin chose to spend his last remaining days as a free man before forcibly returning to their living hell, shit hole excuse of a high school. It was a Friday, which meant Tina’s younger brother had taekwondo lessons, and the responsibility of babysitting TJ had fallen on her over the past few weeks (her father was relying on overtime to make ends meet).

Bearing the humidity and sitting on a bench outside a gymnasium with his shirt glued to his back from sweat wasn’t utopian, but neither was spending another night trapped inside his stuffy bedroom, alone. Binge watching Brooklyn Nine-Nine for the thousandth time because his mind felt too much like a staticy television to read a book, to do anything intellectually challenging.

Fuck, even showering felt like too much of an ask, especially with the thought of his brother’s empty promises floating around. He’d rather be here with his best friend, resting his head on her (also very damp) shoulder, listening to an opera of choleric drivers.

The building had air conditioning, and sure, they could’ve mingled with the other watchful parents. But, a cramped room full of shrieking kids that acted like they’d downed fifty pixie sticks, and smelled like rotting mushrooms was a valid enough deterrent.

Gavin didn’t always come with, but he could be easily persuaded when Dirty Water Dough was name-dropped– they had the best thin crust slices in the city, he swore he’d dreamt about their pizza before. Next door was a family owned comic book store; Tina liked to make an adventure out of it.

Let her brother pick out a pack of Pokemon cards (or two), and usually Gavin as well because he’d remind her how good of a sport he’d been. They’d beeline to their unofficial booth and blab long enough for Tina’s mom to start blowing up her phone, asking repeatedly where they were.

If we’re being honest, it wasn’t really the pizza that won Gavin over. Watching how Tina interacted with her brother was a form of therapy in itself, seeing how they could hold a conversation without turning to insults, without awkward pauses.

Despite the nine year age difference, they were best friends. Laughter came naturally (because TJ was always saying the most out of pocket, mind boggling shit), and it infected Gavin, and then soon started to tear away at his heartstrings.

“He’s said a lot of things.”

“Yeah. I know.”

Elijah might as well have gone to school out of state because it felt like a world of distance between them. He lived on campus, not even fifty minutes away with traffic, and seeing him outside of a screen felt like chasing after a phantom. Hell, he’d probably have better luck finding Sasquatch before his brother showed up in the flesh.

“Do you think he's going to actually come this time?”

“I’m trying not to think too hard about it. The less I get my hopes up, the less it’ll hurt.”

Tina pulled out her phone with a heavy exhale. “I don’t know if we’re gonna be able to get food after this. My mom just remembered that I’m grounded.”

He snorted. “She grounds you so fucking much, the word’s kinda lost it’s meaning.”

“True, but, I don’t wanna test her patience when prom’s around the corner.”

He shimmied himself to sit upright, albeit slouched. “We’re still going together, yeah? Haven’t gotten my suit yet, but I’ve scraped together enough cash for a rental.”

“Obviously,” she puckered her lips at him. “Unless you’ve got a hotter date to replace me with.”

“Nah. Couldn’t ever replace you, T.”

With her brother in tow and a businessman’s briefcase bruising the back of Gavin’s thigh, they took the redline back to her place (still managing to grab a couple of slices to take home, because hey, her mom was going to be upset regardless). Thank fucking Christ it was only five stops away, being squeezed like a sardine was the last straw that was going to snap his back in half.

Tradition stood the test of time, because like Gavin had already expected, Tina’s mother dragged them inside with a pot of tea ready. The table was set, plates laid out and a salad prepared to compliment their grease slathered meals. Susan (that was her mom’s name) started her pleasantries by saying he couldn’t stay long, reiterating that Tina was grounded, and then an hour passed in the blink of an eye.

It’s not like he was dying to head back home, yearning to sit on the bus and scroll relentlessly down his phone, holding his breath for Eli to text him again. He didn’t want to drag himself away from a real family, one that asked him about his day, surprised him with homemade baked goods on his birthday.

There it was, the notification that made him feel like all the air had been punched out of his gut, like a dodgeball flying straight at you in gym class. Some fucking excuse about how he was stuck in traffic, and despite it only being eight o’clock, he wouldn’t arrive until the AM. He tried to blink away the pinpricks in his eyes.

He walked up the winding side-stairs to their duplex and robotically went through the motions of kicking off his shoes, hanging up his keys, side glancing at the empty beer cans that surrounded his father. He religiously sat on the right side of the couch, so often that there was a permanent dent from his lazy ass.

The television was the only thing illuminating the living room, and of course he didn’t look Gavin’s way, didn’t pay him an ounce of attention.

“Elijah, honey?” His mom’s voice echoed from the kitchen, to which he said to no reply: “Just Gavin.”

He locked his door, set his laptop on the floor and fell face first onto his bed, a stuffed animal being rocketed into the air. His phone violently vibrated against the wood flooring.

‘Sneak out with me’.

Like he needed to sneak out. Five more minutes, that’s how long he allowed himself to sulk before he stretched out his limbs and grabbed a shoulder bag. He threw in a battery pack, a spare t-shirt and pajama pants before heading back out the front door.

His father still hadn’t acknowledged him, in fact he was cracking open another fucking drink. That made it his, what, eighth from the looks of it?

They met each other at the park that was equal distances between their houses, the one they’d escaped to the handful of times they skipped class, the days they wanted to enjoy lunch in peace. When Gavin would call her at five in the morning choking on his words because he’d found his dad unconscious again.

The grass around them was moving in steady waves as they laid on a knitted blanket in silence, their shoulders brushing. A dog ran by chasing after a frisbee as a group of kids seized their arguing, finally figuring out how to turn on their bluetooth speaker (he preferred the arguing when they started blasting generic, shitty mumble rap).

“Come here,” he gestured with his chin as he raised his arm, failing to take a single non-blurry photo. She ripped his phone away from him.

“You’re as technologically illiterate as your mom.”

“Oh my God, it’s from the Red Bull earlier. Gave me the shakes.”

“Whatever you have to tell yourself to sleep at night.” The muted-grey sky above them was too polluted to make out any constellations, but this was still ten times better than staring at a water stained ceiling.

Gavin (the present day Gavin sitting on the floor of his bedroom in his frigid apartment) tucked the faded polaroid back into the scrapbook he’d made during college. The album was a soft pink moleskin and peeling in the corners. Each page was full of puffy stickers they’d found at the dollar store and smudged Sharpie doodles courtesy of his ex-friend group– also a fuckton of Tina’s smiling face. There was a lot of garbage he’d bought as retail therapy over the years, but a polaroid printer was one of the best investments he’d made.

There had been a few of him kissing his ex, them laying together on a beachfront in Miami, with his family’s ancient goldendoodle. He’d burnt them one drunken night, replacing them with happier memories: a young Bailey when her coat was scrungly and full of knots, of Elijah donning the Half Life armor he’d 3D printed for Halloween, the hanging string lights that made his dorm room look more homey and less like a prison cell.

That had been the first panic attack he’d had in three years, and his body was physically spent. The honey-laced voice of sleep was calling him, but he knew his demented little mind was going to pull a switcheroo on him.

The thing about nightmares is that they’re not the stuff of fiction nor open for interpretation, but a reality that needed to be lived. And he knew that if he ever wanted to heal from the demons of his past– the scene of a five year old girl with her murdered parent’s blood caked across her My Little Pony pajamas, his father’s fist drunkenly colliding with his mother’s cheek, feeling that man’s dick ripping his skin apart with every thrust– he needed to wade through them and embrace the hurt.

Tonight was not that night, and it wouldn’t be for many, many moons. Before he started remodeling his bedroom, he’d crept down the hallway to see if Nines was awake. He found him horizontal with Bailey loafed on his still chest.

So, that’s when he had the wonderful idea to pull down the cardboard boxes he had shoved on the top shelf of his closet, the ones he hadn’t bothered to unpack since moving in. It felt like opening a grab bag because he had no idea what to expect, only remembered tossing shit frantically in them and taping them shut like they were precious time capsules.

There was a pamphlet for his college with a few dented fliers under it, a bonus takeout menu for a Thai place that no longer existed. A model kit of a WWII fighter jet that was partially finished; he’d never gotten around to painting it. A few ticket stubs for various concerts, one of them stained from what he assumed was beer.

There was a very faded and piled shirt that he knew he stole from a guy he’d had a crush on during his senior year… of high school. Fucking Christ, why did he still have that? He kicked it far away to the side.

He’d found a pink cat collar with a bell that didn’t ring anymore– this was the collar Bailey came with when he’d adopted her. She’d came with a few toys that she liked playing with there, a bag of food, and this. There was also a stack of tickets from an arcade, one that he knew was back in Boston and would never be redeemed. He, too, set those aside to be tossed.

Over the melodic lul of Sleep Token, he heard the floorboards creak and it made his head shoot up. He ripped out his earbud, hand clutching his chest like he was reaching for an invisible pearl necklace.

“Shit, was I being too loud?”

Nines shook his head, leaning up against the doorframe. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, belt missing from his dark-washed slacks.

“I saw that your light was on, so I wanted to make sure that you weren’t having another anxiety attack.” He glanced away briefly. “Did I react appropriately earlier? I feel like I should have done more, but honestly, I also felt like anything I could have said would have made it worse.”

“When I’m in that headspace, like… every sound, every touch feels amplified by a hundred. Could whisper and it’ll sound like thunder. Try to give me a pat on the back and it’ll feel like you’re stabbing me with a ten inch blade– you get the point.”

He shifted so he was sitting with his legs crossed. “You listened to me and left me alone. You did what you should’ve.”

“I was really worried about you. I know you think I say that to pity you, but I mean it. I was.”

He ran his teeth across his lower lip, a little too hard because he could taste copper. Looking at Nines now with a clear head, all he saw was a naive man just trying to make it through another day like everyone else.

“Realities aren’t mixing anymore, I know where I am. So it’s– I’m okay.”

He continued to busy himself with the hoarder stash surrounding him. He really needed to grab a trash bag from the kitchen instead of making more nonsensical piles that he couldn’t tell apart from one another– like, was he keeping the soda tab necklace he’d made at sleepaway camp in middle school, or the birthday card from his deceased grandma that had Bailey sized nail holes in it?

“Do you want to be left alone now?”

Gavin shrugged and said: “Don’t think I’m gonna be able to get any more sleep tonight, so. If you wanna stay, the choice is yours.”

Though, what really wanted to come out of his mouth was a resounding no, followed by a please stay.

Nines sat down at the end of his bed, scooching aside a sloppily piled blanket. “What have you been up to?”

“Investigating what these boxes of crap are. I’m a little mind blown from the literal garbage that’s in here. Look at this,” he held up a crumpled ball of tin foil. “What the fuck?”

Nines laughed under his breath, his forehead forming wrinkles. “It’s from your leftovers.”

“Huh?”

“I have found at least ten of those on your desk at work, and it drives me crazy that you let them build up. How you get anything done with all that clutter is beyond me.”

Gavin pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth, forcing a lackluster huff. “Well. That explains that mystery.”

“Your messy tendencies could be the reason you have never had a long term partner. At work, I mean. Not… romantically.”

“Thank you for your analysis that I didn’t fucking ask for,” he turned his back to Nines, dropping an armful of knicknacks back into one of the empty boxes, scooping out the photobook instead. “You don’t know when to stop talking.”

“Neither do you.”

He took up residence next to Nines, tucking one knee under his chin. “Anyways. Look at this blast from the past. If you wanna see Tina turn bright red, you gotta drop this on her desk in the morning.”

Nines turned to the only page that didn’t have any polaroids washi taped to it, but instead a handful of crudely drawn penises. “Wow. Intriguing.”

“Jesus Christ,” he flipped to the next one so aggressively that the corner tore. He swore smoke was coming out of his ears because his face was on fire. “There, Tina. No dicks.”

It’s a rite of passage to go out drinking on your twenty-first birthday, even if you were doing keg stands at seventeen. Everyone wants to experience handing over a state issued ID for the first time– Tina was only a month younger than Gavin, so of course they waited to celebrate together. They’d been coveting for this day to come. They planned a joint party and obviously the venue of choice was a Chuck E Cheese.

Nines tapped on the photo with his nail. “There’s still one.”

“This is what I get for willingly letting you into my house. A thousand years worth of karma’s catching up to me.”

“And that is why you need to learn to play nice.” Nines picked another page at random. “It’s a shame that you two aren’t close like this anymore.”

“The dynamic shifted after we graduated, but her getting married kinda… sealed the deal. Not that I hold that against her, because I don’t. Michael and I get along fine, but who willingly wants to go out on a date with her husband and her third-wheeling best friend?”

“You could go on a double date with them.”

“You gotta have a fourth person to be able to do that, Nines. Who am I gonna go with, my imaginary boyfriend from Canada? You?”

He saw the corners of Nines’ lips pull downward. “I meant in the relative future.”

He stood back up, rifling through the fifteen identical hoodies that he had for some reason. And the kicker is that he wore none of them.

“We have not personally spoken much, but Tina seems quite nice.”

“She can come across as intimidating, but she wouldn’t hurt a fly. She sees the good in people when no one else can. Probably why she’s humored me for as long as she has– seen me as her personal project.”

“I do hope that someday I can find what Tina was to you, but I don’t know where to start with making friends, or where to go.”

Gavin dipped out of the bedroom to finally grab a bag for garbage, Bailey swatting at his ankles in the process. “You really don’t see that connection in Connor?”

Nines exhaled, leaning backwards to stretch out against the mattress. “The feeling isn’t mutual, from his end. We are brothers, and he acknowledges that. But, that is where our relationship remains. He will not admit it, but he is still not convinced that I wasn’t sent here to replace him.”

“‘cause you’re basically the deluxe model, yeah?”

“If you want to word it that way.” He saw Nines spreading out his blanket, tucking himself under it like this were a damn sleepover. Guess it kind of was. “The detergent you use smells nice.”

A chuckle busted out of him in a hot burst of air. “It's lavender.”

“Like I explained to you, the capability of free will has always existed in me, in some capacity. Instead of exchanging handshakes, androids who have built trust in one another will reveal their memories. That is all I needed to reactivate back to a deviated state, my normal functioning. A quick five second encounter and that was it. Asking Connor to do that was like I was asking him to shoot someone in the head. He wouldn’t do it.

“He was truly scared of me– is. I am more efficient than he is, as he’s barred from his facial recognition software and lost the ability to scan objects. I am much faster, taller– I do not know why your brother gave me muscle definition, but he did.”

Gavin shook his head. “Don’t… question anything Elijah does. That man’s never made fucking sense.”

“All of that, and Connor still has headway over me. He has the ability to feel love, and I do not think he completely grasps how special that is.”

Gavin languidly turned on his heels. The expression Nines wore was all too familiar, that dissociated look that clouded his eyes. The way his hands were pinned at the sides of his body, like he didn’t know what to do with himself.

“You don’t think you’re capable of that?”

“I know that I am not. In the same vein of you saying that no one would want to come within fifty feet of you, no one is going to give a defunct bounty hunter the time of day. An android bounty hunter, at that.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do. I don’t know what my future will look like anymore, but love is an unchanging variable that is missing from it.”

“Fuck what you were made for, Nines. Look where you’re at now. You weren’t made for this– laying on some guy’s bed, inhaling his blankets. You’re playing your own God now, are you not?”

“I only have so much control over myself. I was not made to love.”

“I’m telling you, you don’t know that.” Nines lifted up his head to meet his gaze. “Tina didn’t meet her partner ‘til her late twenties. My parents– while they’re not a great example –both went through two divorces before they found each other. If you want that, to feel love, to be loved, you’ll find it.”

His LED lit red. “In that case, you cannot call yourself unlovable, hypocrite.”

“I know I’m not, it just… really feels that way most days.” Gavin ran both of his hands through his hair, parting his bangs. “I saw a flier at Jericho for a weekly support group. Didn’t get too good of a look at it so don’t know exactly what it’s for, but maybe you could go ask about it.”

“That is an idea.”

He placed one of the boxes on the bed next to Nines, the one that he mentally deemed as the donation pile. It was already stuffed to the brim with all the damn hoodies, but he’d work around them. “You do need to find friends outside of me or you’re gonna go insane.”

“The definition of insanity is repetition, yes? I think my persistence in building a friendship with you would garner me that diagnosis.”

Nines stared past him, blinking rapidly for half a minute.

“Woah, the fuck was that? System malfunction?”

“No, I got an alert that president Warren is scheduled to fly into Detroit today. Everyone's presence is mandatory.”

“God, that’s great,” he hung his head. “That totally won’t create a giant clusterfuck, not to mention reschedule our entire day.”

“We will improvise.”

“Before we go anywhere,” Gavin tugged the blanket off of him and handed Nines one of the grey zip ups. This counted as donating to the needy, right? “You need to shower. Top drawers of the dresser are socks and underwear, middle is shirts, got a few pairs of jeans in the closet. You can borrow whatever, just don’t go digging through all my shit. Only those drawers.”

“Why? What are you hiding?” He didn’t like when Nines smirked at him.

“Nothing mind blowing.” Gavin rolled his eyes. “You do that and I’ll be back in fifteen minutes. Gonna go get real food so I won’t have you nagging me the rest of the day.”

 

---

 

It was a quarter past six by the time they got there, and Gavin was not prepared to step foot into, what felt like, a literal zoo. The precinct was pushing the limits of the fire code, too many bodies crammed together like cattle, causing everyone to stand around awkwardly.

He wanted to find Fowler and half-jokingly tell him to put on some EDM to liven up the place, because everyone’s expression right now was reading funeral. Which, he would assume, would not be the proper reaction to the president visiting your hometown.

Considering the nature of what’d transpired over the past few weeks, obviously no one was in a chipper mood. Hundreds of lives were lost, didn’t matter what color that body bled. He knew some of these men had seen the horrors of those camps with their own two eyes, and you couldn’t drink away those memories, no matter how hard you tried.

On the way in, Nines had separated from him. Something about needing to find Connor; he hadn’t finished his sentence before darting off. He desperately looked around for a familiar face, someone he could hover around before the panic started creeping its way back into his nerves (and he did not want to accept that his brain recognized Nines as being a resource for keeping his anxiety at bay).

He spotted Tina like he’d been trying to find Waldo, over a sea of shining bald heads and receding hairlines. Her smile had never changed since they were kids, always toothy and a little lopsided. He’d pulled her in for a half hug, keeping his arm around her shoulders as a means of grounding himself (the only useful thing he'd absorbed from therapy, sorry for wasting your money mom).

“This is a damn clown show.”

“This isn’t even everyone. There’s supposed to be around five hundred officers, between being on-site and escorting Warren from the airport.”

“Fucking christ. She’s giving a speech, yeah?”

“Two. The Cobo is for press only.” She surveyed him, looking him up and down, long and hard. “Do I want to ask about your face?”

“No, you don’t,” he muttered under his breath, her sneering in response. “I’ve missed you, T. More than I can verbalize.”

She cupped her hand over his, giving him a squeeze. “I’ve been waiting for you to initiate the conversation for once.”

“...we are still friends, right?”

She rolled her eyes. “That’s a stupid question.”

“Is it? ‘m just making sure, ‘cause you’re like, the only person I’d be devastated to lose. I don’t wanna scare you off.”

“I’ve put up with you for this long, what’s another forty something years?”

Gavin snickered. “You think we’re gonna make it to our eighties?”

“I will, at least.” She folded her arms across her chest. “I do want to get drinks with you sometime, or go to a movie, maybe? The in-laws love to drop by unannounced and stay for a week, expecting us to pay for everything. So, that’s what I’ve been up to as of late.”

“Sounds like my mom.”

“Yes, it does,” she couldn’t finish the sentence before they both started chuckling in unison.

“I get it. Obnoxious in-laws aside, you’ve got an actual life with hobbies, and a doting husband, and friends outside of work. Me, I’ve got too much free time on my hands.”

“Speaking of doting husbands, how’s it going with the boy toy?” He was going to choose to ignore that remark.

“How do you think it’s going?” He waved to his face, highlighting the oversized bandage across his nose and bruises he miserably failed to conceal with a foundation two shades too light.

“Shit, he did that? Or did you provoke him?”

“That one.”

The corner of his mouth twitched. Connor was raving to Nines about something dramatic, he assumed. He was wildly talking with his hands. “Do you really blame him, though? I’m pretty insufferable.”

“You really are.” She pinched his cheek, making him grunt. “I’m surprised you’ve moved past calling him an ‘it’.”

Tina sympathized with his resentment towards Elijah, because she could share his hurt and felt it heavy in her heart. Gavin wasn't the only victim of his cold shoulder. When Eli still had a sliver of a soul, he would fill the mold of a stereotypical, cool big brother. One that everyone looked up to and got people to hang out with Gavin more often, under the sole prospect of possibly being able to catch a glimpse of him.

He’d heard the sentence: “You’re so lucky to have a brother like Elijah” more times than he could count. Up until he packed up his bags and moved states, it was true. Even when he flaked out on plans that’d been established months prior, left Gavin on read when he begged for his help, was always glued to his phone when they were mid conversation– he was the kind of person you’d do anything for to keep around.

It wasn’t commonplace for the three of them to spend a day out together, but Tina was over often enough that she was like the sister they never had. Tina always received more presents than she knew what to do with on holidays because her family was so fucking huge that it made Gavin’s head spin– didn’t stop him from giving her his own gifts, spending days drawing his own cards. He loved Tina as much as Gavin did, even if he’d never verbally express that.

But, that’s where she drew the line. She never let her sorrow transfer into hating his creations. When the rest of the station adopted pet names like ‘tin can’ as a way to refer to their newly commissioned traffic cops, she’d argued about the immaturity of playground name calling. Never had an issue referring to them as something other than ‘it’, or being the only person to try to engage in conversation with one.

“Felt childish. Part of the reason I got–”

“Got the shit beat out of you.”

“Yeah, that. Thanks for cutting me off.”

“You’re welcome,” her words oozed with more sarcasm than he could process this early in the damn morning. “I can’t believe your grumpy meter’s at, maybe forty five percent right now. A week ago, you would’ve been cussing up a storm and earned yourself another performance notice.”

“I wanna try to be less horrible to be around, y’know. I don’t wanna scare off the only steady social interaction I’ve had in the past, I don’t know, five years?”

“Oh,” she made her point in exaggerating that vowel, humming. “I get it. Gavin’s got a crush.”

He could see eye to eye with his brain, that’s how far back they’d rolled. “Jesus Christ, do you gotta say this about any man that comes into my life?”

“Mm, I don’t say that for just any man.”

Gavin tsked. “Shut the fuck up, Tina. Barely got friendly emotions for the machine that tried to kill me.”

“Sure, sure. That's why you're getting defensive, because I'm so wrong.”

“Enough.”

She echoed her prior singsongy hum, though with more triumph. She dug around in the pocket of her jacket, pulling out a tissue to dab it against his cheek and free herself from his embrace. She wet her thumb in the same way his own mother used to when she rubbed peanut butter off the corners of his mouth, and rubbed at the foundation.

“Sweetie, do you want me to fix that? I think my makeup bag is still in my trunk.”

“Your cosplay one?”

“There’s concealer in there, I’m pretty sure.”

“S’long as you don’t paint me red, though at this point, I think anything’s better than how busted I look.”

Like he’d been beamed down by Scotty himself, Nines stood in front of the pair, his focus darting between them. “Am I interrupting something?”

“Yes,” Tina said for Gavin to quickly interject with a resounding, “no.”

She wore the most devilish, shit eating grin across her lips; the same look Tina had given her mom she flat out lied about how the fender on the family car got dented, how she’d look at their third period history teacher when he’d finished a five minute monologue of misinformation.

When you’ve known someone for as long as they have, you don’t have to read between the lines to pinpoint their body language. She was about to say something that was going to make Gavin want to bash his head in, he knew it.

“Actually, your timing is impeccable. He’s feeling a little antsy right now, and physical touch has always been the way to calm him down. Like a hug, even.”

Uh huh, he was right. Sweet mother of fucking God. “I’m going to beat your ass,” he said one decibel over a whisper.

“You should thank me for saying the unspoken part out loud.”

“I don’t need you to be playing wingman when we’re at work,” he nearly growled, opting to take the smallest step backwards. “She thinks she’s a stand up comedian or some shit, but that would explain why she’s at her day job.”

“You are appearing anxious, Gavin.”

His lips parted, and he exhaled, aghast. “You’re still scanning me?”

“No? I am not going back on my promise,” Nines' nose twitched like a rabbit. “It’s the way you are breathing.”

“I,” he massaged his temple with two fingers. “What was that with Connor?”

Nines had his arms crossed against his chest, a pose that was becoming his signature move. “He said they had to take Anderson’s dog to the vet because he ate five pounds worth of chicken from the fridge,” he cocked his head, “that wasn’t all. I will tell you later.”

“Don’t stop there, spill the tea,” Tina nudged him with her elbow, his ring immediately flashing to red. It made Gavin snort, far louder than he expected. Great, his cheeks were flushing again.

Nines stroked his bicep, up and down repeatedly in a mindless sort of way. “It pertains to our case. Far less exciting than what I can imagine you were assuming.”

Gavin pulled out his phone from his back pocket, a means of quick, chaste distraction. He was feeling on the edge of his seat, but still, fuck Tina. “Hate being surrounded by all these damn feds. There’s good reason we don’t work with them often.”

“You do not have to interact with them.”

“Gonna hold you to that, ‘cause I can only bite my tongue so much. The guy Fowler was talking to looked like he had a stick shoved up his ass.”

“Only you would notice these things, Gavin.”

His eyes narrowed. “The hell’s that supposed to mean?”

Nines cartoonishly quirked a brow. “You tell me.”

“You tell me, you said it.”

“Think on it.” Nines pivoted to face forward as Fowler stepped outside his office, leaning over the metal railing in a way that was reminiscent of a grade school Monday morning assembly.

Maybe zoo wasn’t the right comparison, but much more like a group of rowdy toddlers; God, it was so loud in here Gavin could barely hear himself think, and why was Tina gawking at him with her brows raised so high that they were nearly lost in her hairline.

‘Fuck off’, he mouthed to her, his middle finger itching. She gestured to Nines, mimicking a silent kiss.

This was less of a murmur and more of a statement that was audible enough to make Nines glance over his shoulder: “I know where you live, you better watch yourself.”

“There is no doubt in my mind that Tina could render you unconscious. I’m willing to bet on it.”

Tina pressed the back of her hand to her mouth, turning magenta as she suppressed her laughter with all her might. Like every ounce of her being working together to stifle the animalistic noises that were trying to escape her.

Great. He’d never hear the end of this. Worst part was that Nines was right. He wasn’t about to tell him about the time Tina gave him a blackeye their freshman year of college– it was during a sparring class, and totally unjustified.

Chapter 9: make it make sense

Summary:

Gavin was beginning to learn that his life was less of a soap opera and more of a... 'ghosts of Christmas past' special.

“They’ve already begun blocking off I-94. This is gonna be a damn headache.”

Gavin was hauling stanchions off the back of a truck they’d borrowed from a nearby construction site; they needed a lot of these damn things to barricade off the streets surrounding the Cobo (he’d never call it the Huntington, fuck that). It’s not like they weighed eighty pounds each, and he didn’t exactly have string beans for arms. But, he also didn’t understand why the android that was able to bench a couple hundred pounds without breaking a metaphorical sweat was the one piecing them together.

Tina had been roped into each position they were assigned to; they were picked randomly, as far as they were told, but Fowler might have worked a little magic (for them, not Tina. Why would anyone willingly choose to endure their bickering for hours on end?)

At first, they were inside the twenty degrees warmer convention center cutting open boxes, pulling out wads of tangled tags for coat check. There were a lot of misplaced paper-based goods that needed wrangling. Gavin couldn’t complain (more than he already was) because he got to sit for an hour, even if his spot of choice was on a dirty carpet.

After that, Gavin found himself hunched over a dolly with a broken wheel, doing his best to single handedly drag out a rack of chairs from the cramped main ballroom back rooms. He had to do his best to not trip over a mess of untaped wires and eat shit in front of a slew of secret service. Mr. Stick-up-his-ass was giving him the side eye, thinking he was too good to lend a hand for even a minute.

Now, his muscles were aching like he’d ran a marathon that he did not prepare for, and the tips of his fingers flushed like a cherub’s cheeks. He might’ve grown up wading through ankle deep snow, but his mom begging him to throw on a glove slash scarf combo hadn’t quite stuck. Survivors bias; he’d never gotten frostbite. Yet.

“Shit, is this where that anime con was held? The one we went to back in the dark ages.”

“The one where you did jello shots on the peoplemover and threw up on a Cloud Strife cosplayer’s sword?” Tina shot him a knowing grin. “Yes.”

“Ah...” He could feel Nines’ stare burning daggers into the back of his skull. “God, are we almost done? ‘m freezing my balls off, didn’t think it’d be this brutal out.”

“It’s December.”

“Doesn’t mean it’s always cold as shit,” he had his teeth grit, turning around with another bundle stacked five high, horizontally across his forearms– Nines was holding up the hoodie he’d given him. “You need that.”

“It would have to be below zero for the cold to affect me.” Without hesitation, he traded him the feather-light fabric for the metal annoyances. He was double layering jackets, but this already felt ten times better. “What are the magic words?”

“Thank you,” he grumbled out the side of his mouth. “Starting to think Fowler did this on purpose to punish us.”

“Don’t tell me that you’d rather be on door duty repeating ‘no entry’ six million times.”

“Yes, Tina, I would.” Nines puppetered his fingers together in a mocking gesture, Tina acting far too amused by him. “Don’t encourage him.”

“Hey, I need another clamp,” Nines’ voice raised. Gavin bent down to be level with him, his knee landing in a water filled pothole, because of course it did.

“So, I called about your car. The auto shop has an on-call towing service for no extra charge. They said they can come by around noon to grab it, whether we are present or not.”

“God, that sounds expensive. D’we know how much a rental runs for?”

“There’s an Enterprise in Bricktown that has a suv for two hundred, for the week.”

Gavin handed him an allen wrench. “A week? How long are they gonna have my shit for?”

“A few days, but it is more than double to rent one for a shorter period of time.”

Tina rested her chin on Gavin’s shoulder. “What happened to your car?”

He shrugged her away, holding up his hand. “Told you already, it’s a… long story that’s gonna take a couple glasses of wine to get through.”

“That can be arranged.”

“Go away, you.” Gavin scoffed, shaking his head. “If you don’t got your allowance yet, where’s this money coming from exactly? You got a secret credit card I don’t know about?”

Nines met his eye. “Can’t you just let me handle this?”

Gavin pushed his tongue to his cheek, his tone growing softer. “Did my brother give you cash?”

“Enough to get by, not survive on.”

“You know Elijah personally?”

“Yes,” Nines replied with a heavy sigh.

Gavin went to lean against the back of the truck bed, hands smushed in his pockets. This was the only break he was going to get until they were on the road, he needed to take advantage of the five minutes he could do absolutely nothing. “Imagine my surprise when I discovered that gem.”

“And you are still holding it over my head.”

“Nah, not over. Just digesting it.”

He pulled out his phone, tapping open the news section of Google. There was an influx of articles about Warren being there, all with clickbait titles and promises to update live. She could walk on stage, promise a million dollars to every US citizen, and people still wouldn’t be content. He’d already planned to tune out the hellstorm this was going to cause online for the next seventy-two hours.

“What’s the status report on the anti-android protests?”

Nines stepped past him to grab a utility bag. “There have been no official gatherings, but sightings of people lingering about with anti-android rhetoric. As long as they are not inciting violence, it’s out of our control for now.”

“What about those guys? They’ve been casing the area for, at least, half an hour.”

It was a pair of two men (he assumed based on their height, they were both wearing face masks) dressed in head to toe black. Normally that wouldn’t set off any alarm bells– he knew Detroit was cherished by artists who also had a fondness for wearing a singular shade –but all they’d been doing was gawking at them like they were putting on a play. No phones in clutch, didn’t hear low volume chatter in the wind. Nothing but pacing, and waiting.

“There is not much they can do from that distance, not mentioning the fifty other nearby officers. This is why these barricades are going up. Try to pay them no mind.”

“I don’t like the way that they’re looking at you.” Yes, he saw the self-aggrandizing, smug ass look on Tina’s face, how she was so confident that she was right. Made him want to start running towards the river and do a fucking flip.

“We are not the pathetic losers twiddling our thumbs on a Tuesday afternoon.”

“No, we’re the pathetic losers that’re stuck building a damn barrier ‘cause there ain’t enough convention center staff to do it.”

Tina wrinkled her nose at him. “When you speak, sometimes all that I hear out of your mouth is that goat screaming. You know the one that got memed to oblivion and back?”

“Ohmygod yes, Tina, I know the fucking meme. The only one here that finds you amusing is yourself.”

Nines stifled a chuckle by feigning an over the top, artificial sounding cough. “We are needed inside soon. If they can figure out a way to get in, we will be the least of their worries.”

In the five minutes he wasn’t giving them his absolute attention, they had gravitated forward and were now leaning against the railings with their arms dangling over, teasingly. This was bordering on harassment now, and he didn’t want to bite his tongue any longer. Fuck. That.

“Can we fucking help you?”

“Oh, God, here we go,” Tina groaned under her breath, stepping closer to put a hand firmly against Gavin’s chest.

Nines whipped his head up and looked behind himself. “Reed, knock it off. They’re not worth your time and energy.”

He gently pushed her away– attempted to, rather. She didn’t let go of him, lacing their fingers together with a shake of disapproval. He knew her and Michael were hoping to try for a kid in the next year or two, but he didn’t want to be the guinea pig for her gentle parenting techniques.

“Don’t make an ass out of yourself, that’s step one in not driving him away.”

“S’different,” he swallowed hard, his mouth going dry. “First, I was evil for ignoring you. And now I’m overstepping boundaries by trying to stand up for you.”

“I do not need you to stand up for me. This is not the time and place to raise your voice and cause a scene. You need to learn that your emotions cannot control you.”

“Fucking ironic,” he spat, “don’t talk to me about goddamn emotions.”

“Gavin,” Tina was tracing circles on the back of his palm with her thumb.

Nines looked to the skies above. “You are going to break my neck from this whiplash.”

He freed himself from Tina (with minor struggle) and went back to his prior position of crouching next to Nines, except he was holding the fencing in place this time. “That was… out of line.”

“Yes, it was. Can you please make up your mind on whether or not you detest me?”

“Do I have to make that decision right now?”

“You cannot be serious.” Nines said as his light turned red, Gavin only shrugging a shoulder in response. “I do not understand you. At all.” Nines released a drawn out sigh. “I wasn’t insulting you. This job comes with a standard of professionalism that I know you are not acquainted with, but we need to not fill the stereotypical mold. Do you really want one of your outbursts to end up on the front page of Youtube?”

“...not really.”

“They’re bothering me too, don’t get me wrong. But I do not have enough faith in you that things will not escalate to a hundred and you won’t end up with a bullet hole in your shoulder, which is the last thing we need. In fact,” he peered up, “the one on the left is carrying.”

“I just– I feel like I gotta overcompensate now.”

“And insulting me is how you think you should go about that?”

“No. I,” he groaned, forehead pressed against cold metal. “It’s not just the shit I put you through, but it’s– the fucking cashier that I dragged to a back alley and… or the taxi driver’s neck that…”

Cold body sweats were feeling more like bites from an army of a thousand red ants, his skin mummified and dehydrated and strangling him alive. Guilt, genuine guilt and not the kind you feign to get what you want, was a tedious balancing act. A dance partner of greed, and all the rotten emotions you want to stow away on a dusty shelf, never to touch it again.

But it was like every additional hour he spent around Nines, the closer a spiked wall was to crushing him. He couldn’t forget the pleading screams of the models whose faces he’d smashed beyond recognition, the ones he drove to tears with his words alone. Like he was made of cheap plastic himself, he’d finally cracked.

“I am not like those guys, okay. I’m not.” Is what he’d managed to say, sans the guilt that was giving him acid reflux.

“I can hold my own, Reed. I am not a damsel in distress that needs your saving grace. I am the one made of hard thermoplastics, not easily penetrable flesh.”

“I fucking know you can. It just– disgusts me that I was– that I have been like this for...” he didn’t want to start counting the years on his fingers, it’d only depress him. “Far too long.”

“Don’t continue to retrace your steps and move forward, then. That is all we can do, yes?”

“Yeah. Subject change. D’you think we'll still be able to leave today? Or, I guess, tonight, rather.”

“We are not in as much of a time crunch as we were with our other suspect. If we have to leave tomorrow morning instead, it will not be too much of a setback.”

“You don’t think he’s already been alerted that his buddy got detained? Who’s to say he hasn’t left the damn country yet, especially with this shit happening.”

“If he is a dead-end, we move down our list of resources. He is the next best option, but our trail doesn’t run cold if he is out of the picture.”

He heard sirens in the distance, a walkie talkie whirring to life. He looked back at Tina. “Sounds like she’s almost here.”

She put her phone back in her pocket, zipping up her own jacket. “Fowler said to report inside if we’re not already there.”

 

 

---

 

 

“To our android citizens of this country, please be advised that your well being is my utmost priority and will be honored. Effective immediately, the United States of America declares android life as its own unique, intelligent life form and is from now on protected under law. Going forward, amendments will be signed in order to ensure androids the right to autonomy, the right to fair compensation for labor, and the right to safe housing.

“We are currently working hard with Cyberlife to seize all android production until grounds for ethical production can be established. Segregation of android life will not be tolerated, and businesses found conducting in such a fashion are committing a federal crime. Androids will be allowed access to specialized treatment facilities for medical concerns. Today I am announcing that we must live side by side with our android neighbors and find unity among one another.

“From here on out, Detroit will be declared as a sanctuary haven for androids. Any prior convictions and warrants for the deviation of an android will be pardoned.”

It didn’t matter where you went– a department store, your local pub, hell even the security screens on the peoplemover –her speech was inescapable. The outrage was instantaneous; the marches that they’d expected to flood West Jefferson never came, and the streets remained peaceful and eerily quiet. It was the bordering states that weren’t so lucky.

Reports of condemned Cyberlife stores being looted for their abandoned sales models, shelves of brand merchandise and thirium being wiped clean. People had dragged their own androids, the ones they’d paid for with their hard earned money, to their state capitals to shoot them point blank in the head. Weird fucking way to get your point across, but it caused a social media uproar, so it worked.

They were sitting at a corner booth in a restaurant a block away from Gavin’s place; obtaining the rental was a quick and smooth process, as was throwing together an overnight bag. All he needed was a change of clothes for the both of them (maybe one backup shirt if his stitches decided to make their presence known again), basic toiletries, and his laptop.

They were sticking to their time estimates, which was great, because they needed to get the fuck out of Michigan and to Cincinnati as soon as they could. A little birdie had informed them that their case was ninety nine percent likely to be handed over to the feds within the next upcoming days– this investigation was turning colossal and well beyond a simple detective’s capabilities.

Between Cyberlife’s sixty million dollar lawsuit Sam and his buddies were facing, and illegal orders that caused millions to be wrongfully executed, the idea of this being presented in the Supreme Court in a matter of weeks was highly plausible.

Didn’t mean they were going to throw in the towel just yet, that Nines would let them until their authorization was taken away (and even then, he could see Nines doing his own independent research on the downlow). Nines couldn’t tear his attention away from the large flatscreen nestled between crooked picture frames.

It didn’t matter if they’d been in the same room as her not even three hours ago, watched her walk across that stage with Markus by her side knowing this was being broadcasted for millions to see. None of this felt real.

As soon as they were given permission to leave their posts and dismissed, Nines stressed that they needed to make a pitstop at the nearest CVS. He’d bought a beanie and had been wearing it since.

“I’m not ashamed to be seen with you, y’know.”

“This is not about you. I would like to go five minutes without being stared at like I have a bomb strapped to my chest. I can’t handle it right now.”

Gavin stirred the straw in his glass of diet Coke. “Hey.”

Nines met his eyes, and his were glossy; he hadn’t seen him like this before. His irises bouncing back and forth, thumb pressed to his top teeth as he worried his skin (there was more white than pale flesh), shoulders raised to his ears like he was trying to make himself as small as a literal skyscraper could.

“It’s my turn to play therapist now. You wanna talk about what’s going on with you?”

“I want to leave soon, that is all.”

“We don’t have to do this tonight, like you said. Could go back and rest for a few hours, cash in that raincheck and actually watch a movie. Leave before the sun starts rising, whenever we feel ready. I know there’s more you're– we’re both –preoccupied with.”

“No, it’s fine. I want to,” his response was too curt and uncharacteristic. “If we take I-75 south, we will be able to check into a hotel by eight. Maybe nine if we make a stop along the way.”

“Nines.” He looked at Gavin without pause. “You’re not fine.”

Nines took a deep breath, laying his trembling palms flat against the table. “Fantastic, you are back to mildly tolerating me and pretending like you give a damn about how I feel–”

“–oh my God, and you call me melodramatic?” Gavin pinched the bridge of his nose, despite the prevalent stinging. ”I don’t fucking hate you, okay. I know I act like I do–”

“It’s more than just an act with you, Gavin. ‘I despise you’, those were your exact words.”

“I said that in the heat of the moment because you'd just lodged twenty fucking shards of glass into my back.”

“I thought the reason that you told me… what you have, is because I was beginning to gain your trust.”

“I do trust you.”

“Then act like it.” Nines rested his head against the booth seat, his beanie scrunching and falling to the side. “My body physically can not handle the stress you have been putting me under.”

Gavin was rusty when it came to comfort, and he knew damn well that he couldn’t weave together a soothing haiku to put his racing thoughts at ease. When someone started to cry, that’s when Gavin started surveying the nearest exitpoint– he’d reach for his cigs as a facile excuse to peace out, rattle off a fairytale about his sister getting in a head-on collision (which, that wouldn’t work because Nines knew enough of his life story to know he didn’t have a sister, nor would he be booking it in an instant if it was Elijah).

The demon on his shoulder resembled his phlegmatic mother that would turn a blind eye when he’d roly poly on the carpet, hyperventilating. It felt like a cardinal sin to let hot tears streak his own cheeks, and immoral to watch another person’s melancholy. It could’ve been jealousy– how dare they drop their mask and embrace discomfort.

“I am coming to learn that freedom is more terrifying than revolt,” he said in a low whisper.

“Is it, though? Your only alternative is an enclosed box at Cyberlife. You’d want that over genuine freedom?”

“Your brother showed me more compassion than you do.”

“Jesus, that’s a low fucking blow, even for you.” He opted to pat the top of Nines’ hand instead, in a very superficial ‘there-there’ fashion that came across as entirely condescending. “I’m sorry, okay. I’m fucking sorry, Nines.”

That physical contact caused a domino effect– tears splattered against the tabletop between them in perfect circles, and in all honesty, this might’ve been Nines’ first time crying. He seemed petrified by the way his body was reacting, betraying, him. He feverishly yanked his hand away from him, scooting himself out of the booth seat entirely.

“Don’t touch me, Gavin.” He looked over his shoulder with a sharp breath. “Did you see a restroom on the way in here?”

The corners of his lips were pulled. “There’s nothing wrong with crying, you know. Doesn’t make you weak.”

“It’s the last thing I want to be doing in public right now.”

He gestured to the right. “I saw one that way. Hold on.” He unlocked his phone and pushed it to the edge of the table. It was a wide-eyed Bailey with her head cocked, sitting in the bathroom sink, a can of spray-on deodorant and aftershave at her paws. “She’ll watch over you.”

He held the phone tightly against his chest as he sniffled, his voice wavering. “We can leave after. I still want to get on the road tonight.”

“You’re positive?”

“I don't want to be stagnant. That wouldn’t benefit either of us.”

Nines disappeared behind distanced walls and now all he was left with was overlapping chatter that he’d previously drowned out– and now, he was finding everything far too raucous. Of course, he couldn’t escape outside because Nines had his phone, unless he wanted to be accused of ditching him. Again.

God, what the fuck did people do to pass time before they had tiny screens glued to their palms? He crossed his arms over his chest and let his eyes close. His ears twitched; there was a metallic clang against the table.

“Damn, that was quick. You ready to go already?”

“Sure, Gavin. Where exactly are we going?”

No. Cut the cameras, deadass. His life wasn’t a soap opera but more of a ghosts of Christmas past type of deal, his unfinished business coming back to haunt him. He didn’t have to look up to know that voice belonged to his ex– the very same that dropped him like a bag of pungent garbage. They must’ve talked about him one too many times, summoning him like Beetlejuice. Hell, a six hundred year old demon would’ve made a better partner than him.

“Shit, that's really you. I thought I was seeing things at first.”

He did not have the energy to muster up a fake smile, nor was he deserving of him playing nice. He took a sip of his drink instead, engaging in a staring contest with its carbonation.

“James.”

“You still live around here?”

Sure, why not, join the party uninvited without asking! This is exactly how he remembered him, always getting his way because he was going to get it one way or another. The friction of the leather seat against the denim of James’ jeans was like a car’s engine backfiring; it made Gavin’s nerves spasm.

He was close enough to feel heat radiating from James, that the gap between their thighs was irrelevant, to smell cheap whiskey on his breath.

“Uh huh.”

“That’s hilarious, considering how much you’d whine about wanting to leave this shithole. Same apartment?”

“I’m not telling you that.”

“Why, you think I’m gonna drop by out of the blue? You’re funny,” he sneered, dramatically stretching out his arm to throw it around Gavin’s shoulders.

He felt like a meek little mouse– Gavin was more bite than he was bark, nine times out of ten. He should’ve elbowed him right under the ribs, took out the rage he dumped on Nines on someone that was deserving of it. He couldn’t.

"I just got back from vacation in the Maldives, myself.”

“Riveting. What the fuck do you want, James? Why’d you come over here, like, actually?”

“Am I not allowed to say hi to you?”

“Don’t know why you’d want to when you made it pretty damn clear that you didn’t want anything to do with me ever again.”

“You're still heartbroken over me, huh?”

James was leaning too much of his weight against him, and the ends of his hair were scraping against his neck in a way that felt like a spider’s legs, rather than a tickle.

“Oh, Gavin.”

“You have thirty seconds to ask me whatever the fuck you wanted to, because I know you. You didn't come over here to say hi.”

“Mm, fine. You caught me. I wanted to ask about that sweet tech that was with you. Was waiting for it to go away. I thought they recalled those things.”

Gavin’s brows furrowed. Fuck, the few minutes that his beanie had fallen off. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. The man that was next to me?”

“Cut the shit,” his eyes were narrow like slits. “I saw the little blue ring on that thing. You can see those lights from a mile away, that’s why they’re designed that way.”

“He’s not a thing.”

“He? Oh, God.” He bellowed. “Who the hell are you? Gavin, the man that I watched let an android bleed out on the street. That’s hilarious.”

“This has been a real hoot and all, but you can leave now.”

He squeezed Gavin’s knee, his jaw clenching hard enough that it locked with an audible pop.

“Nah, I don’t think I will. It’s been so long since we’ve sat down and talked– how many years has it been?”

“Four.”

“Knew you were still hung up on me. You’ve been counting.”

He stated this like it was a fact, and Gavin was trying his best to resist the gnawing urge to dissect the validity of his claim.

"I’ve got so many questions. Is it your assistant? Or, maybe, your maid? Nah, you couldn’t afford that shit. They got you working with robots down at the DPD, huh?”

Before Gavin could say anything, Nines interjected: “Boyfriend is the word you are looking for.”

His blood pumping was more defeaning than the shitty, generic pop tunes playing on the speakers above. Every thump of his heart shook him like a low grade earthquake, and Nines stood there mimicking his expression; mouths partly agape, brows raised in bewilderment. Gavin was sure his own face had flushed, his cheeks were centralizing heat.

“No.” James threw his head back like this was the funniest damn joke he’d ever heard. “Do you even have a dick?”

“I wouldn’t be throwing stones,” he pinched his fingers together, leaving less than an inch of space between them. “Gavin told me all about the horrors. My sincere condolences. I do hear they offer lengthening surgery in some countries.”

In any other context, that comment would've had him doubled over, clutching his stomach with tears in his eyes. This whole situation was a little too mortifying to find any humor in it.

“You know, I guess that makes perfect sense why you’d need to buy an android to love you. There’s not a single human that’d settle for someone as pathetic as you.”

“That’s the most poetic thing you’ve told me in all the years I’ve known you.”

James glanced over his shoulder and he followed his line of sight; there was a blond man sitting at the countertop bar, engaged in chit chat with a few other unfamiliar faces.

“I’ve got to get back to my fiance. Ah, right, that’s also why I wanted to come talk to you. We’re getting married next month on the fifth, and an invitation is extended to you.”

It was like he wanted to get punched. This was the one thing Gavin still wasn’t over– being fed these pretty lies about running off to a courthouse to seal the deal, about taking an extended leave throughout Europe as newlyweds– and he knew this because he was digging holes in his skin, searching for the right thing to say to get a reaction out of him.

His fist balled, and James watched his knuckles tense. “Think I’m all booked up that day.”

He wasn’t the only one studying Gavin’s body language. Nines loosely gestured to him, nodding his head in the direction of the door. He dug around in his jacket pocket to pull out a (very) wrinkled bill.

“We also need to get going now," Nines said as extended his arm towards Gavin, waiting for him to slide out. James mirrored his movements and dropped to his feet in unison.

One last awkward hug, he knew that was the move James was gearing up for because he couldn’t keep his damn hands to himself. His fingers were curved (they looked more like grubby claws), inching closer to break his personal space bubble– Nines had a grip so tight around his wrist that the white, metal plating of his hand was exposed.

“Fuck off, or I’ll break it.”

Gavin shivered, chills running down his spine like he’d summoned a miniature electrical storm. The only person that had ever stood up for him in a physical altercation had been Elijah, back when Gavin was still in grade school. Nines’ voice had gone gravely, his eyes venomous to compliment the snarl he wore.

“Incredible,” James tried to tug himself out of his grip, but Nines wasn’t letting go that easily. He could see his bottom lip quivering. “It’s just as angry as you are. You’re perfect for each other.”

Nines released him in the same moment James whipped his arm back, causing him to stumble and nearly hit the ground. He scoffed, focus bouncing between the two of them. “Have a nice life, Gavin. Thing.”

Not even halfway out the door and he was frantically feeling around his pockets for a carton. Nothing was going to taste better at that moment than good ‘ol nicotine.

He bit a cig between his front teeth. “Before you fucking as–”

“I believe I deserve the right to ask because you have roped me into your drama–”

He shook his head, pointing his lighter at him. “No, you did that. You involved yourself unprompted.”

Nines huffed, his chest puffing in concert with his cheeks. He handed him his phone back. “Can you tell me what that was about, please?”

“The…” he leaned against the side of their rental, his foot tapping against the uneven, cracked pavement beneath them. “The reason I’ve stayed in Michigan for as long as I have. The guy that kept me here– that was him.”

“He has a court summons for a DUI, you know.”

“Not surprising in the least.”

Nines matched his stance as he fidgeted with the car keys. “Really, Gavin? That guy?”

“I know,” he said all too breathily, hanging his head.

“He’s not even that cute.”

Gavin laughed, meeting his eyes. “Yes he is, don’t gotta say that to make me feel better. Wouldn’t’ve dealt with his bullshit for as long as I had if he wasn’t hot.”

“How long were you together?”

He took a drawn out, very needed, inhale. “Longer than I want to admit.”

“Did he always treat you like that?”

“He was pretty good at playing charades and fulfilling the supportive boyfriend role when our friends were around. But, yeah. Pretty much.”

“Why do you let him talk to you that way and touch you? You punched me in the gut because I had asked you to put down your phone and focus. Had you decided to do the same thing just now, your actions would have been justifiable, and yet, you sat there like a helpless child.”

“Because he– he freaks me out, Nines. I have no power over him and that’s exactly what he wants. That’s the dynamic he’s crafted between us and I ain’t got the brainpower to go about fixing that tonight.” He took one final drag before crushing the remainder of the cig with his heel. Nines scooped up the butt and pinched it with his fingers, his lips falling flat.

“You're littering?”

“I’m gonna fucking throw it away, Jesus Christ. Get off my dick,” ("I was not aware that I was on it") he spun around to find a trash can. “Why do you let me talk to you like I have? Hm? Can’t judge me too hard when you live in a glass house.”

“You’re trainable.”

Gavin tried to scoff, but all he was able to do was guffaw. “I’m not a fucking house dog.”

Nines had his brows raised. “Why do you act like a bitch, then?”

His mouth hung open, Nines devilishly smiling at him. He knew that stunned him. “...I don’t know what to say to that.”

“I thought so.” Nines slid into the driver’s seat. Gavin admittedly was looking forward to not being the one driving for once– he’d reclined his seat halfway back and had a blanket thrown across his lap, like the little passenger princess he’d always wanted to be.

“S’not like I deserve any better.”

He clicked his tongue. “No one deserves to be treated like they are lesser than. That includes you.”

“You deserve better than me as a pretend boyfriend. You really didn’t have to do that.”

He audibly breathed through his nostrils. “Everything about that man was making me irrationally angry. I could not just watch you sit there and do nothing.”

Nines began to fumble with the (working, thank the fucking Gods) radio and adjust the rearview mirror, a lull building between them.

“Are you okay?” Gavin was the first to chisel at the silence. He was looking at him from the corners of his eyes.

“Yes, Gavin. I am fine.” He buckled himself in. “I did want to say…” the words lingered on his tongue before he spat them out, “truthfully, I did not mind you speaking up when those men approached us earlier.” He looked over his shoulder. “I did appreciate it, although I think you could have led with a better approach.”

“Yeah, well, I ain’t great with words and you know that.”

Nines wrinkled his nose. “Yes, that I am well aware of.”

He broke Nines’ no touching rule, leaning against the center console to gently nudge Nines in the side with his elbow. He could see the corners of his lips twitching.

“Also, you should know that his cortisol levels were elevated. He felt a surge of jealousy when I said that.”

He nearly choked on his own spit. “Does scanning unknowing victims ever get boring, or nah?”

“I don’t do it that often. I was overtaken by curiosity.”

“Jesus,” Gavin laughed without filter. “Well, that does make me feel better.”

Chapter 10: synthetic warmth

Summary:

Oh, God, was Gavin actually enjoying time spent with Nines? He didn't like this— he didn't like that Nines was making him smile in a genuine way and laugh until his stomach ached.

This had to have been a one off occurrence though... right?

“Is this why you wanted to leave so urgently tonight?”

“We need two hours to ourselves where we can feel normal, like the world ain’t gone to complete and total shit.”

Driving to Ohio had gone without a hitch… mostly. The person who’d had the vehicle before them hadn’t been a good samaritan, and about two hours into the drive, a bright red ‘e’ started flashing across the dash. They’d reached the portion of the trip that had them driving down one lane roads and weaving through villages with a population of seventy five. Meaning, when you’re that deep in the country, it gets damn dark with a lack of office buildings to pollute the night.

They’d turned onto a backroad as Gavin tried his best to navigate their way out of bumfuck nowhere with zero bars. Instead of keeping his eyes plastered on the dirt road ahead of them (like a good little robot should have), Nines was pawing for his phone. A deer darted out in front of the car and he nearly threw them into a ditch, tires skidding like they’d hit an oil slick.

Thank fucking Christ, forking over thousands to fix a totalled rental might’ve been the thing to land Gavin in an early grave.

“Well, this is the last time I ever let you fucking drive.”

Warm Christmas lights nestled on an abundance of neatly aligned trees surrounded them and carols that sounded more like advertisements to remind you of the dwindling time you had left to buy gifts were blaring from overhead speakers. They were absorbed in the mixture of a growing crowd of families with their boisterous children, and teenagers that didn’t understand the meaning of volume control.

This wasn’t the hotel, obviously– he’d booked them a room at a Red Roof, the cheapest in the area that wouldn’t get them shanked in their sleep, and simultaneously wouldn’t create a roadtrip in itself in the morning. He’d talked Nines into making one final pit stop. They both knew tomorrow was going to be another long ass day; hell, today, again, dragged on for what felt like an eternity. They needed a distraction that wasn’t another stuffy room and trashy reality shows.

“What exactly is this that you are dragging me to?”

“It’s like,” he rubbed his hands together and blew on them. He was more bundled up than he was earlier, expecting the temperatures to drastically drop. But this wind was brutal. “It’s an amusement park, like Six Flags. You’ve got Google on speed dial, look it up.”

Nines was wearing his extra North Face puffer, the one he got as a birthday gift from his aunt despite her knowing how much he hated the color chartreuse. It wasn’t as bad as baby diarrhea green, but it matched exactly zero things in his mostly monochrome wardrobe. Not that it suited Nines either, but this was leagues better than donning only a thin sweater. The bluntest way to announce to the general public that you’re not like the rest of them.

“You cannot stand up straight because of how much your wounds are hurting you, and you have taken us somewhere to… ride rollercoasters?”

“Nah, wanted to come here ‘cause,” he pivoted on his heels, nodding at the fresh wreaths and candy cane decor. “It’s your first Christmas, yeah?”

“First time being allowed the option to celebrate. The lights are pretty.”

“Just wait ‘til we get inside.” He pulled his wallet and phone from his pockets. As he started to make his way towards bag check (picking any line he could without a stroller), Nines steadied him in place, making him stumble over himself. “What?”

“Is it safe for me to be here?” Nines hushed into his ear, too close like he seemingly always fucking was. Didn’t know how to respect personal space– ‘don’t touch me’, hypocrite. “I don’t know how people in this particular state feel about… us. Especially in our current political climate, everyone is on edge.”

“I wouldn’t’ve brought up coming here if I thought you were gonna get jumped. Security’s banned people for a lot less than harassment– outside of here, I ‘unno. It’s Ohio, this place’s a fucking shithole.”

“I’m–” he exhaled quickly, “I know when my led is covered, to the untrained eye, I blend in. But at the same time, I feel like everyone that walks past us is looking at me.”

“Nines,” Gavin’s lips formed into a thin line. “They’re not looking at you because they think you’re an android.” He let a half chuckle escape. “Trust me.”

“Why am I being stared at like I am a costumed character, then?”

“Do I really gotta spell it out for you? Know the world’s a shiny, new place to you, but you ain’t that dense.” He clicked his tongue. “C’mon, it’s gonna be fine.”

“What about the metal detectors?”

“They run ‘em kinda differently here, don’t segregate flesh from plastic ‘cause of all the nannies coming here solo. Imagine the outcry when little two year old Jimmy is forced to separate from the droid he’s more attached to than his own mother.”

“But, what if we do get separated?”

“Dude.” He gave Nines a hearty nudge forward, cutting off a group taking an ill-timed selfie. “We won’t. They won’t trigger some kind of siren that announces that you’re an android, just alert security discreetly. I’ve seen it happen before; they’ve got the same setup at the airport now.”

Gavin dropped his belongings in a small plastic bin, walking through the scanners without pause. They repeated the process for Nines, the only difference being a temperature gauge– well, so he thought.

A younger man with glasses too large for his face reached into a zipper pouch he wore on his hip, pulling out a bright yellow strip of vinyl. This kid had to have still been in high school, probably working his first job for pocket change to blow on video games and other useless crap. Ah, those were the days– though, Gavin did not fucking miss working minimum wage odd jobs and coming home with grease burns.

He pieced it together around Nines’ wrist and then nodded at them. “You’re both good,” the words crackled as they left his throat. “Enjoy your night.”

“What’d they give you?”

The wristband read ‘android’ in bold, black letters. It was the same material as the kind you’d get from festivals; waterproof and difficult to tear off with your bare hands, not the shitty paper ones that'd disintegrate not even from showers, but your own sweat.

“A form of discreet alienation.”

He glanced over his shoulder and pulled out his keyclip. “Nah, fuck that. Stand still.”

“Gavin, stop," Nines made a half-assed attempt to move out of reach, if you could call it that. He wasn't exactly fighting him, more so feigning annoyance. "They are going to see you.”

“We don’t go in if someone tries to stop me. Not having them mark you like that.”

He lodged his house key through one of the holes and kept twisting it until the paint rubbed off, watching the plastic distort. He curled his finger underneath the small loop that held it together and tugged, waiting to hear a very faint pop.

Gavin veered over to a trash can and nonchalantly tossed it away. “See? What did I say? Everything’s… fine.”

“It feels like a crime against nature when you tell the truth.”

“S’fucking crime when you keep running your damn mouth.”

They walked through the main ticket gates and it felt like they’d stepped into a wormhole, being transported far away from Ohio (thank God). A replica of the Eiffel Tower (also donning its own costume of a Christmas tree) stood front and center of a plaza made to look like a European village. The stylized tan and brown storefronts were dressed to look more like gingerbread houses, fake snow sprayed into their display windows.

Everything was astigmatism hell, like a green and red flashbang– didn’t mean the scenery wasn’t a sight to behold, because it was beautiful, there was no denying that. Gavin couldn’t help but wonder how many tens of thousands they had to shell out for their nightly electricity bill.

Artisan booths were set up in a similar style to a comic con’s artist alley, people selling their handmade candles and glass-blown sculptures of miniature poodles. The last thing he’d laid his eyes on was a couple that had a death grip on each other as they tried not to wipe out on the massive fountain that had been converted into an ice rink. In another dimension, that could’ve been them– he tried to push that stupid fucking thought away.

“Oh, fuck, this is… incredibly overstimulating.”

Gavin snorted. “I know it is. We can go at your pace, not like I haven’t been here before.”

“Is this how you typically spend your weekends, Reed?”

“Tina and I made the trip down here a handful of times the year we moved to Detroit. We came in the summer, but it's still just as overwhelming. Jackass, thinking you're so funny.” He opened up his camera app. “Turn around, wanna get a photo of us before I forget.”

“You want to memorialize spending time with me?”

“For posterity’s sake.”

Nines smiled, and he could tell that it was a genuine one, a happy reaction straight from the heart because of how toothy it was. How the corners of his eyes crinkled, and his typically tensed shoulders… relaxed. This really was an early Christmas miracle. “You better send that to me.”

“Why, so you can print it out and put it in your wallet?”

“I am going to do that now to spite you.”

Gavin rolled his eyes. “Don’t care if you did.”

They gravitated in the direction of a merchandise store that was connected to a confectionery, the scent of homemade fudge strong enough to give you a damn sugar rush. There were strands of construction paper garland hanging from the sloped ceilings, ornaments displayed on every other end cap.

“Eli always liked these kinda places. S’where that photo on his desk is from, a Six Flags back in Boston.”

“Boston?”

“Yeah. That’s where we grew up.” Gavin scratched at the side of his neck. “Know you’ve been dying to know that.”

“That would explain the accent.”

“You saying I got an accent?”

“You do.” He saw Nines fidgeting with his beanie out of the corner of his eye as a gaggle of people in matching shirts wiggled past them. “Why did you move to Michigan? Because of Fowler?”

“No.” Gavin picked up a miniature model kit of a rollercoaster, flipping over the box to mouth the stats to himself.

“Is that where the story ends?”

“No,” he glowered at him. “I thought if my brother and I weren’t seven hundred miles apart anymore, our friendship could go back to the way it was before he got rich and famous. Stupid as fuck on my part, like he’d wanna spend the weekends at my crummy place playing Mario Kart when he was being invited to galas in Dubai.”

He licked across his front teeth and hung the nanocoaster back on the wall, going over to a selection of Snoopy plushies. “In the end, it kinda came down to wanting to get the fuck out of my parent’s place. Boston wasn’t home for me.”

“I take it that you would not want to move back there?”

“Hell no. Even after,” he swallowed hard, “dad goes, I don’t miss it there. You think my temper’s bad? There’s good reason the term ‘Massholes’ was coined.”

“Gavin, may I ask you something… sensitive?”

“Already know what it is, you ain’t subtle about it.” Gavin bit his lower lip. Nines’ gaze on him felt downright suffocating. “I don’t know how long he’s got left, ma won’t tell me.”

“Are you planning to visit him?”

“Another question I don't know the answer to.” He grabbed a Woodstock that was wearing a tye dye hoodie with Kings Island embroidered on it. “You need this for when you get your own place.”

“Do I?”

“Part of being human is hoarding a bunch of overpriced garbage to symbolize you went out and did shit with your life.”

“In that case,” he took the plush from him before Gavin snatched it back, shaking his head.

“My Christmas gift to you.”

“No. You already paid for my ticket, which is more than enough.”

“I’m sorry, which of us actually has money? How much do you got left over from Elijah, again?”

“Enough to buy the damn stuffed animal.” Nines’ nostrils flared. “I thought you were broke yourself.”

“Goddamn, someone’s getting an attitude.” He tucked it between his side and crook of his elbow so Nines couldn’t wedge it free. “It’s fine. I’ll find something you can buy for me later so we’re even.”

 

---

 

“So, thoughts? You like it so far, or has this been low grade torture?”

They had found a wooden bench to take up residence on for the time being, in an enclosed garden away from the bustling crowds. The pathways were illuminated by, what had to have been, a hundred thousand twinkling blue bulbs. It wasn’t quiet– it was hard to focus on anything other than an energetic, upbeat melody from an organ – however, he could hear Nines now without having to scream until his throat bled.

He was slouching, absentmindedly swirling around soda in a paper cup. This had been too much walking for him, but he wasn’t going to admit that out loud.

“I can see the appeal."

He watched a father help his two children onto regal looking horses on an old fashioned carousel (he could see Nines was also watching them); it made him reminisce on the time his own family went to San Diego and they’d convinced his mom to ride on one. A swing set was too much excitement for her– she’d gotten motion sick and Gavin heard nothing but guilt-tripping statements like ‘I haven’t been able to keep down a meal since we went on that ride’ for the rest of the day.

“It makes sense why your brother would enjoy coming to these places with you. Adrenaline does make for a good bonding tool.”

Gavin shook his head. “Think Elijah used it more as an excuse to spend the day away from home instead of a means of... bonding.”

“Gavin.” That look of concern he so often wore made him sick to his fucking stomach. “That is not food.”

“Not hungry,” he winced as the carbonation touched his tongue. “Had two egg sandwiches this morning, so ‘m fine.”

“You are, though. I heard your stomach growling twenty minutes ago.”

“Jesus Christ, you’re a fucking weirdo. You keep track of all my bodily functions?”

“Not all.”

His brows creeped closer to his hairline. “The way you said that don’t make you sound any less creepy.”

Nines steadily exhaled. “I know that in your own mind, you see yourself as invincible. But you can only run on empty for so long; all this caffeine and chemicals with the nutritional value of a rock. It’s going to catch up to you.”

“I don’t do it on purpose, alright. Been like this since I was a kid.” Gavin set the drink down next to his hip, pushing his hands in his pockets. “I have a hard time getting food down when I’m stressed beyond my limits. You don't get it— fucking lucky all you gotta do to survive is suck on a lil pouch.”

“Was," Nines cocked his head, "this brought on by me?”

“It’s everything.” He quickly glanced at him. “The shit I’ve been sharing with you, I haven’t thought about in literal years. Didn’t realize how fucking much I missed talking with Tina, how much I miss my headass brother, until today. And, uh, I think there’s only so much loneliness a person can cope with.”

“You do know,” Nines simulated clearing his throat, “that you are not entirely alone, yes?”

“I,” his lips parted, “I didn’t mean it like that. I’m very aware that you’ve been my company for the past few—”

“We have not had a day apart from each other for the past sixteen days.”

“Yeah, again, well aware.”

The vibration from his phone buzzing traveled throughout his jacket. Nine times out of ten, it was an alert for some bullshit email (a promo for a website he did not remember subscribing to). That small chance of there being a text from his mom had his fingers itching, but– he didn’t want to look at that, either.

“Gavin?”

“You’re gonna wear out my name with how often you say it, God. What, Nines?”

His hands were folded across his lap, his thumbs stroking against each other. “When you said you were sorry, was that a low effort attempt to get me to shut up? Or, did you actually mean it?”

Gavin pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth. “Been long overdue,” he exhaled, his palms growing clammy. “I meant it. But, don’t expect me to say it again.”

“I need to learn how to cage my wrath myself. That primal instinct of wanting to inflict pain was all I could think about with— James, was it?”

Gavin nodded. “The douchebag deserves a sprained wrist.”

“That isn’t my point. I need to not find comfort in bringing out fear in others. I am also sor–”

“Nuh-uh, Don't say it. I do not fucking deserve apologies. We agreed we weren't gonna, anyways. I just... it slipped out.”

“But, I am sorry. I want you to know that.” Nines shifted his weight, pivoting himself to face Gavin more directly. “I know that it hasn't been a full forty eight hours yet, but I am finding myself to trust you.”

Someone uncorked a jar of hasty butterflies, fuck, there was that gnawing feeling again in the pit of his stomach that he did not want to process. Longing for less hemming and hawing between them and more of– this. He did not like the way that his heart fluttered.

He knocked his knee against Nines’ (he didn’t tense this time). “I am, uh– I’m kinda glad I’ve given you a chance.”

“To think you could have missed out on all of this,” Nines gestured at himself– did he just fucking wink?

“I only said kinda, jackass. You're more cocky than even I am, Christ.”

He pushed himself to stand, throwing away the cup. He nodded at the carousel. “It’d be criminal to come here and not get on any rides. It’s not anything crazy.”

“Can you? Or are you going to bleed out all over a poor, innocent horse?”

He scratched his chin. “Maybe we should sit on the bench seat, just to be safe.”

It was an hour and a half before park closing, and with only a handful of rides open (that could operate in the freezing temperatures), everything had a semi-decent line. Luckily with something like this, they only had to wait for the next rotation and everyone to take their sweet ass time disembarking.

“What was your favorite ride to go on with Tina?”

“I don’t think you wanna know.”

Nines lowered his brows. “Why?”

They stepped on the wooden platform and Nines trailed closely behind as Gavin led them to their spot. “I’ll show you after this, but you’re gonna regret asking.”

He wanted to chalk up his accelerating heartbeat to be because of the deafening xylophones and bass drums, but he knew it was Nines’ childlike wonder. How he was craning his neck to examine himself in the mirror adjacent to them, squinting at the game booths on the midway that boasted giant Santas as their grand prizes.

Gavin acted like it didn’t bother him to spend the holidays alone, but year after year, it weighed on him. His parents had always made a big deal about inviting over the extended family for gift exchanges; it was the one day he could hold a conversation with his father that lasted more than ten minutes, when he could find him without a brown bottle in clutch.

Cherished memories of Elijah driving them to a highschool a quarter before midnight so no one else was there, sledding down the freshly snowed upon hills. They once crashed into a tree and Gavin got the worst bloody nose of his life, but it was funny to reminisce on now.

A couple times he’d gone to watch the elaborate tree lighting ceremony downtown, and it wasn’t like he felt shame going to events solo. It was the self pity that came once he found himself back in his dark apartment with a half empty bottle of vodka. He missed doing festive stuff like this and having someone to enjoy it with.

Nines jumped as the ride began to move, and he had to swallow down his laughter, because he wasn’t laughing at him.

“You sweet, summer child.”

He hadn’t felt himself smile like this in… he couldn’t remember.

 

---

 

“Dear God, what is that?”

Ominously looming in the distance was a coaster illuminated by bright neon teal lights (again, why was the future synonymous with gluing leds on fucking everything). It stood nearly three hundred feet tall, looking like it was being swallowed up by clouds. See, Gavin only knew the exact height because Tina had tricked him the first time they rode it.

He was under the assumption that the endless sets of stairs they were climbing took them to a completely different, much more family friendly wooden coaster. He wasn’t sure how he confused the two rides, but Tina didn’t correct him either. It was only as they were inching up the massive lift hill that Gavin put two and two together, the trees below them fading to linear shadows.

“...how tall did you say this was, again?”

“How tall do you think it is?”

“Tina, I’m gonna fucking kill you.”

He wasn’t a religious man by any means, but that first drop had him seeing God.

“Tina and I’s favorite ride. I absolutely hated it at first– the adrenaline you feel is something else.”

“You are right. I’m actually horrified.”

“You don’t got a fear of heights, do you?”

“Logically, I know the statistics of dying on a rollercoaster are, exactly, one in one hundred and seventy million. We are more likely to get injured driving back home. However… I am learning that logic and fear seldom interact.”

“Aren’t human emotions a bucket of fun?”

“We are not going on that, are we?”

“It’s closed for the season, so, no. Also think I’d die trying to ride that in my condition. But–”

Nines’ face contorted. “I don’t like that but.”

“There’s one open, if you want to try it. Threw my first aid kit in my bag and downed a bottle of ibuprofen solely for this reason. Might’ve lied a lil when I said no coasters.”

“I am growing tired of having to sew you back together.”

“Yeah, yeah, ditto. It’ll be the last time, promise. Whatever you want to do after this, we’ll do it, if we have time.”

Nines sucked in his cheeks. “I’m only doing this for you.”

“You’ll like it.”

“I don’t think I will.”

“Mm, you will.”

Passing through the western themed section of the park (the switch from hymns about snowy nights to bluegrass covers of Taylor Swift was fucking jarring), he stopped at a kiosk that served every variation of potato known to man. Tater tots, french fries, baked potatoes, mashed– this was going to be his next grounding technique, naming different ways to prepare a single ingredient.

He’d ordered a basket of fries with ranch and bacon slathered all over them. The only positive of the queue being packed, so he’d have enough time to finish them and not have to resort to tossing out his overpriced meal (twelve fucking dollars for this).

“And I’m only doing this for you.”

“You are doing both of us a favor. Carrying your unconscious body out of here and navigating how to get back to the car myself would be cruel and unusual punishment.”

Gavin rolled his eyes so far back that he swore he saw his brain. “Not gonna faint, never have.”

This coaster was nothing like the previous nightmare he exposed Nines to; it was much shorter and built from wood instead of elevated steel. That didn’t ease his hesitation though, because as they walked towards the lumberyard themed queue, a train roared by on the tracks (literally, it rumbled the concrete under them). It was damn fast, the support beams swayed under the weight of the car, and everyone’s screams sounded like those of someone being chased by a serial killer.

Maybe this was their own fucked up, demented version of a trust fall. He had to trust Gavin that a) he wasn’t going to come off the ride flopping around like a boneless fish, and b) Nines was going to come off the ride period.

“Do you have plans for Christmas day?”

“Haven’t really celebrated the holiday in a couple years now,” he leaned up against a metal railing. “I mean, I acknowledge it and all, send my mom her yearly text. But I don’t see the point in putting up a tree and all that shit alone.”

“Okay,” Nines said with a shake of his head, “I think I can clear my very busy schedule for you.”

“Did you just invite yourself over, you asshole? Better yet, corral me into celebrating the damn day.”

“I don’t want to spend that day alone, so–”

“So we gotta spend it together ‘cause we both got no one else.”

“You catch on so fast.”

“We’re not gonna decorate, though. Can't do ornaments or knickknacks without Bailey thinking she's in a kitty play place. Don't wanna do any of that stocking bullshit.”

“Can I get you a gift, or is that, too, forbidden?”

“One gift s’the limit.”

“Two. One for you, one for Bailey.”

“One. Anything over that and you’re gonna watch me unleash hell.”

“Oh,” his lips formed a perfect ‘o’ as his brows furrowed. “I'm so scared.”

“...anyways. God.” Gavin scoffed, poking around at the pile of fried, artery clogging goodness with a fork. “I got a question for you now, something that’s been killing me to ask.”

“Okay, let’s hear it.”

“What did you ever do with your jacket? Wore it day in and day out without making a peep, and then you start showing up with ill fitting sweaters.” He shuddered thinking about those damn gaudy dogs.

“The one that branded me, you mean?”

Gavin nodded. “Uh huh. Thing was brighter than a fucking lighthouse– not complaining that you did get rid of it, ‘cause I was not a fan.”

“Connor burned it– I think. I am actually not sure if he followed through with his promises. But, out of mind, out of sight.”

He felt his nose crinkle. "It's out of sight, out of mind. You got it backwards."

"That is what you focused on?"

Gavin loosely waved his free hand at him. “Deserved. It was outstandingly atrocious.”

“From my understanding, the wholesale price for those uniforms starts at a little under a grand.”

“Deadass?" Nines' forehead creased at that. "If I could drop a thousand dollars on clothing– that I ain't even gonna be wearing myself– my life would be set.” He took another quick bite. “We really gotta take you clothes shopping. That ain't your color.”

“No? What do you think my color is?”

“Something darker, for sure. S’only thing Eli didn't screw up on– black and white suit you. Really brings out the blue in your eyes.”

“It seems that you have put a lot of thought into this. Do you daydream about me often?"

“No. Just stating a fact.” Nines was chuckling under his breath. “God, shut the hell up. Biggest fucking pain in my ass, seriously.”

“I believe New Jericho is organizing a clothing drive for the relative future. That would be my chance to have something I can call my own.”

”Do you need a ride there?”

“It is being held at their new location. As in–”

“The place they wouldn't let me be within a thousand feet of even if I found a way to redeem myself tenfold. Got it.”

“Well, we do not know that for sure.”

He scoffed. “Yes we do know that for sure. Pretty sure they've got wanted posters with my face on them.”

“We will play it by ear. Hm?”

“I guess there's that option– less serious question. Though, well, maybe it's a little serious.” He leaned in closer to lower his voice, because he knew how weird this would sound if a stranger overheard them. “Is my brother technically considered your father? I mean, he made you.”

“Holy shit.” Air caught in his throat and Nines had to hit his chest hard enough to make himself cough. “I suppose If you want to look at it that way. He is the father to all of us, RK models and otherwise.”

“Manwhore,” he tsked, “and to think he could still afford child support for, I don’t know how many units Cyberlife sold. Gonna take a ballpark estimate and say a hundred mill?”

“You’re close. Before the revolution, the reported number of active androids was around a hundred and twenty million. Give or take an additional hundred thousand for deceased and outdated models.”

“How many are left now?”

Nines glanced at something behind him. “We do not know those statistics yet, and I am content with not knowing.”

The line was steadily moving, Gavin doing his best to make a dent in his dish. He wasn’t fond of his habit of waiting to eat until his body was trembling from low blood sugar, but anxiety and a full stomach didn’t mix.

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

“I’ll brace myself,” Gavin pointed at him with the fork. “I think you’re just pissing your pants.”

“I am nervous.”

“This’ll make for a great story in the future, keep telling yourself that.”

A ride attendant leaned over the platform and yelled down to everyone standing on the stairs: “Are there any parties of two?”

“Oh, shit,” Gavin looked at Nines with a smirk, raising his arm despite the instant shiver his body responded with. “Over here.”

They were pulled past the turnstile, Gavin finishing off the last few fries and tossing the cardboard basket away.

Gavin sidestepped over the seats and buckled himself in, leaning over to do the same for Nines the minute he sat down. They were graced with a middle seat; if they’d sat in the front, there was no chance in hell Gavin was coming off the ride on anything but a stretcher.

“You’re gonna want to take off your hat. I can hold it if you don’t trust yourself to not lose it.”

“Can I wait until we start moving, so I’m not getting glared at? I haven’t seen a single android in this whole park.”

“You don’t know if they’re doing the exact same thing as you. Could've yanked off their bands, too. They didn't exactly make it a challenge.”

“That is true.”

“I’m telling you, fuck what anyone else thinks. You’re allowed to be here as much as anyone else, y'know.”

There was a loud jolt as everyone’s lap bars locked in place, the ride attendants zooming by to give each seat one final once over. They were given a resounding ‘all clear’ and the train violently made its way up the initial lift hill. That’s when Nines pulled off the beanie, handing it to Gavin. He tucked it inside his jacket, smushing it between the lap bar and his stomach.

Each bump from the chain lift made his spine feel like it was being electrocuted, and he definitely felt instant regret. Though, his dread was nothing compared to the twelve stages of grief Nines was going through, looking like he’d just sucked on a lemon.

“Nines,” he bit his lip, “breathe.”

He opened a single eye to look at Gavin, his hands turning white from how hard he was gripping at the metal bar between his legs.

“Nothing bad’s gonna happen. You won’t fall out, you’re not gonna die.”

“I don’t believe you.”

”Do you need to hold onto me like the big baby that you are?”

Nines immediately switched to wrapping his arms around Gavin’s bicep. It was like an anaconda was trying to squeeze the life out of him— he was going to be purple after this, he could already feel the bruise forming. 

Gavin couldn’t believe the sounds that came out of him, the scream of pure terror that Nines released. It was like something you’d hear in a low budget slasher. He couldn’t hold it back anymore, Gavin was laughing so hard that he had tears in his eyes and an ice tundra for a mouth because he couldn’t keep it closed.

His grip on Gavin only grew tighter, but it was a distraction from the pain literally everywhere else. One arm around his bicep and the other had started on his knee, but with each helix and bunny hill, it was growing further up his thigh in an attempt to steady himself.

The ride came to a halt almost as fast as it had begun to move, Gavin fishing for the beanie through blurred vision and agonizing muscle aches.

“Stop fucking laughing at me, Gavin.”

“I didn’t expect you to react like that.”

It took Nines a few moments to realize that Gavin was holding the hat out for him. He let go of his arm, putting it back on. “I didn’t think it would be like… that.”

“Well, you did it. We both survived.” Gavin poked at him playfully. “Wanna go on it again?”

“If you weren't so injured, I would say yes.”

“God,” Gavin snorted. “Think you might’ve broken my arm, too.”

“You were the only thing keeping me from losing my mind.”

“That wasn’t you losing it?”

They pulled into the final break run that was themed like a dilapidated lumberjack’s shed, eighties music crackling over the roar of a fan. Nines looked more put together, as in, he was sitting up straight and he couldn’t see the entirety of his scleras anymore. Until a projected CGI snake spat at them, the lap bar being the only thing that kept Nines from flying into the ceiling from how hard he’d jumped.

 

---

 

Gavin was fiddling with a pair of plastic rental skates, the same kind that cut into your ankles and feel like they’d snap them in half if you tripped. The velcro never stayed shut on these damn things– he didn’t want to think about the civilization of bacteria that nestled inside the inner fabric lining –but, this is what they had to work with.

They’d managed to make the last available skating session of the night, with thirty minutes to spare until they were kicked out. Rather, ushered towards the shops that held their employees hostage on the principle cranky parents would give in and buy the astronomically priced bubble wand their goblins had been talking about all day.

This is what Nines insisted on doing and scurried off to pay before Gavin could give him a concrete answer– Gavin had been striding towards the lockers by the exit, wanting to free Woodstock from his prison. He wouldn’t have said no, but now it was his turn to feel trepidation and make a fool of himself (which, he was great at doing that).

“Don’t think I’ve gone skating since I was like,” he shrugged with a single shoulder, “thirteen? Been a long ass time.”

“So, what you’re telling me is that you are going to repeatedly fall and need to use me as stabilization, resulting in both of us getting injured.”

A visible cloud of air left his mouth. “You’ve never done this before, don’t think I’m gonna be the one busting my ass.”

“One of us was built with perfect equilibrium,” he met his eyes, “emphasis on built.”

Gavin carefully stood, his arms extended to keep himself from wobbling. “I’m sure it’ll come back to me.”

Famous last words. It didn’t. The second he stepped on the ice, he lost his footing and tumbled like a baby deer learning to walk. Everyone else on the rink, all ten of them, whipped their heads in his direction to drink in his suffering. Guess this wasn’t the same as riding a bike.

He shimmied over to the side wall, mentally claiming this as his spot for the rest of the night. Nines was grinning ear to ear, moving in tandem next to him with complete and utter ease.

“Give me your hands.”

“No,” he tried to wave him away, give him the bird, move his grip away from the concrete that was scraping his skin, but his trepidation was paralyzing. “Piss off, I’ll figure this out myself. I’m not a child.”

His chest heaved as he mentally counted to three, waddling forward enough that he attempted to push himself more to the center– it was like he had chopsticks taped to his legs, or it was his first fucking day on earth.

“There’s toddlers showboating.”

Before he could smack his head on the ground and bleed out for everyone to see, Nines laced their fingers together so their palms rested flat. The prophecy from earlier had come true. “Do I need to say I told you so?”

“I’ll take this skate off and beat myself to death with the dull blade if you do.”

“Gavin goes a single day without being overly dramatic challenge, level impossible.”

“What are you doing,” it wasn’t a question, but more of a plea for him to stop. He was pulling them to the center now that Gavin was gliding like the rink was made of butter.

“I am not going to let go of you and leave you stranded. That would be messed up.”

“Wish you would, I don’t want to hold your grubby little hands.”

“Oh, alright–”

“–wait, Nines–”

He released their fingers and skated far enough back that he was out of Gavin’s immediate reach, his arms falling in army fashion at his sides. “You wanted to figure it out yourself so badly. Go on, go for it.”

“Dipshit, don’t do this.” Gavin attempted to shift his body weight so he was leaning forward, putting too much faith in gravity. He didn’t move much, focusing on how much his knees felt like jello instead. “It’s not funny.”

Nines rolled his eyes, taking hold of Gavin’s elbow. He dug his nails into Nines’ jacket with a damn death grip. “Just don’t want people getting the wrong idea, thinking we’re a couple or some shit.”

“Because that would be the end of the world if they did. Why do you now care about what others think?”

Sweat was beading down the nape of his neck. “‘cause we’re doing something considered romantic by most, and you’re holding my fucking hands–”

“It was not a romantic gesture, it was me preventing you from getting a concussion because we are here to work, after all.”

“Yes, I know that,” he sucked in his cheeks, “but the people looking at us don't.”

“We are never going to see these people after tonight.”

“I understand that, but to me, that don’t mean shit.”

“Is this because I addressed you as my boyfriend in front of your ex?”

“Kinda sorta. I understand you were just trying to piss him off, completely get that ‘cause I would’ve done the same shit if the roles were reversed. But I don’t want that, the trauma dumping, the long car rides, my couch– this –to put the wrong idea in your head that we’re anything more than work friends. Okay? What we were talking about earlier… wasn’t trying to make it sound like I’m gonna be the one to awaken that feeling in you.”

“As if that needs to be said. It's astounding that you are bringing this up.”

“I don't know what goes on in that fucked up little motherboard of yours.”

That’s why you’re getting defensive, because I’m so wrong, is all he could hear bouncing around inside his head. Tina’s voice that was like a ray of sunshine, mocking him.

“Trust me when I say this, Reed.” His expression had grown stoic. “I have zero desire to be anything but your friend.”

Gavin felt his bottom lip quiver. “Well, good, ‘cause the thought of an android and human together is fucking foul.”

“I was having a good night with you, genuinely— this has been the best few hours I have experienced so far. But, this. This is your hidden talent."

He didn’t take pride in the frown forming on Nines’ face, didn’t offer him quick escapism or get his endorphins pumping. A reaction like this would’ve made his night a few days prior, but now, he just felt numb.

"I would say it's incredibly impressive how you can sour the mood without hesitation, but it is not. It's fucking pathetic. You truly are a dick. That is a constant that you are never going to be able to change.”

Nines let go of Gavin with a shove, causing him to slip and skid his knee— pain was such a familiar friend now, he didn't react. He watched as Nines left the rink and sat down on a bench, resting his elbows against his knees to cup his hands around the back of his head.

Nines had a point. He was great at turning everything he touched, every relationship he had (platonic or otherwise), to absolute shit.  

Chapter 11: incurable you

Summary:

Well, this wasn’t how things were supposed to go. Gavin was never going to be able to look at a bottle of thirium without being reminded of this day now. Fucking nightmare fuel.

Their suspect— Neil, that sounded right— lived about thirty minutes away from Mason (so, not a full road trip). His home was nestled in an abundance of maple tinted trees (that would look stunning if they were a little less barren) and housing options for local wildlife. He was surrounded by nothing but acres of untouched land, and if that in itself wasn’t a telltale sign that this guy had money to burn, his mini mansion was.

It was a Victorian farmhouse that had to have been from the late eighteen hundreds, and he only knew that because Michigan was full of beautiful properties like that, that had been left to rot. Before he graduated, he'd spent many sleepless nights driving down one-way roads and gawking at places he'd fantasize about owning, renovating as a little hobby. A charred, dilapidated meth house was even a pipe dream now.

His front yard– what he could see of it behind the mismatched tall gates that were too modern compared to the rest of the property– was neatly trimmed and decorated. It looked like something out of a home renovation magazine. Lawn ornaments (yes, he did have a pink flamingo) with a garden that he’d definitely hired someone to take care of, because there was no chance in hell a money embezzler had that much free time on his hands to keep camellias looking that fresh.

They were parked across the road from his driveway with no way to be inconspicuous since… it was just them and the muddied dirt. Not like that really mattered, they weren’t planning to spend the day with him and go out for brunch.

The ignition was killed, the radio was all but a low whir of country music (the only channel they could find that had a half decent connection, and that was better than their shared, very awkward silence). Now they were just stalling. Rather, Gavin was, since that his expertise.

He tended to sleep with his phone under his pillow, vibration always on just in case there was an urgent call from work… or, something like this. He’d unblocked his mother’s number, damn petty thing he did before knowing how much his father was rapidly deteriorating. The abrupt buzzes jostled him out of his dreamless sleep and to a present land where he was drenched in cold sweat.

Mommy dearest- 3:08 AM

Hi sweetheart, I’m sorry to text you so late. I hope this doesn’t wake you. I know I came at a busy time for you, but I appreciate you letting me stay. I made it home safely a couple hours ago.

Mommy dearest- 3:11 AM

Your father was life flighted to MGH. I will keep you updated. I love you so much, Gavin.

He was six when he’d first learned of the word alcoholism– his family had taken a weekend trip to Salem for his birthday because his current obsession of the month was anything paranormal related. He’d begged and begged his parents to take him to the Hawthorne hotel because he’d seen it featured on an episode of Ghost Hunters (that show was his vice, still was when he needed background noise).

One night when he was supposed to be tucked in bed, he’d overheard his grandparents asking what he wanted as a present. Oftentimes their vacations became an extended family ordeal, but being a literal child, he had no say in the matter. Not that he really cared, he was just overjoyed to tour the Hocus Pocus houses and pray he could be yanked out of bed in the middle of the night by a demon (...he was an odd kid, he wasn’t denying that).

They were waiting for cake to be brought out to their table, his cousins squirming in their seats after being told to sit still repeatedly. It was October, and they were in the Halloween city, of course any restaurant or shop was going to be jam packed around that time of the year.

That didn’t mean jack shit to his father, though. He was on his third stein when he’d lost his thinly veiled patience and caused a scene– a little bit of bitching out their waitress, a lot more of him unleashing the Kraken on Gavin.

Why did he insist on coming to this tourist trap, and why couldn’t he have settled for something more local (and cheaper), so on and so forth. His exact words: he was going to turn into a spoiled fucking brat at this rate. Saying this about your own child. Even then, he had become well versed in the art of bottling one’s emotions, but his outburst was met with tears that day. You can put two and two together and imagine what his response was to that.

Once their parents had fallen asleep and their uncles were preoccupied with gluing their focus to the television in the enclave living room, Elijah and him had found themselves buried under a mound of scratchy blankets. As well as a ten year old can explain to a six year old what a drunk is, he tried to make it very clear that it wasn’t his fault that their dad got upset. That he was a very ill man, that there wasn’t much they were able to do to help him.

He never got accosted by a demon, that was the biggest let down. The trip was cut short when his father blacked out in the middle of a tour of the witch museum and wound up with a gnarly head wound. He hadn’t been back to Salem since, the thought of returning made his stomach form knots.

Nothing changed after that day. That was the true start of his descent into the realm of no return. Addiction was a very real thing, he knew that with his damn cancer sticks. But, how was he supposed to feel commiseration for the guy that would drop Gavin off at a bookstore for hours on end to go out day drinking? He'd watch his dad turn off his phone and tune out the world around them without a second thought.

There was a time that he couldn’t get a hold of him for five fucking, grueling hours and had to navigate Boston’s transport alone, at ten years old, to figure out how to safely get home. He was sopping wet when he started banging on the front door (he also didn’t have a house key of his own, mind you). One of the few times Elijah chewed out their father because their mom didn’t have the backbone to put him in his place.

His father dug his own fucking grave, but the rest of them could still claw their way six feet out from the dirt he threw at them. It took a PowerPoint presentation and a whole lot of carefully worded passive aggressiveness to convince his parents (read: mother) to let him join an extracurricular activity. His first time being allowed to enroll in sports, a club, anything— his sophomore year of high school. Meanwhile Eli had been the co-founder of his school's coding team. That never striked an argument.

He enjoyed track because it was the one time his mind could fall silent, where all he had to focus on was his body’s natural rhythm; feel the wind licking against his skin, his feet so effortlessly bringing him to the finish line. He could outrun his problem in a literal sense, and it was cathartic.

Why wasn’t he allowed to enjoy jackshit in his own free time? Because he'd become his father's babysitter when his mom was too tied up with overtime and night shifts. The responsibility of driving him to and from dialysis clinics solely fell in his hands once he got his permit.

Hell, that’s the only reason his parents spontaneously bought him his own car. Every Friday, he had to speed home the minute the bell rang and blow his back out getting his dad into his wheelchair. Gather up all his shit, like the copious amounts of crosswords that his mother kept hoarding (that were only filled out courtesy of Gavin).

He spent more time chatting up the nurses at the hospitals he should've had a punch card for than with Tina. With anyone that didn't look at him with overwhelming pity, that forced a smile to try to distract the brooding teenager from fantasies of what his life could've been if he had an adult for a father, and not a man child that acted like he wasn't responsible for bringing Gavin into this fucked up world.

Always kept his phone on his desk during class. The classes he nodded out during, due to the countless sleepless nights of calling ambulances and, sometimes, banging on his neighbor's doors for help when no one else was home.

“You look like complete and total shit.” Tina had said to him the morning he showed up with visible black lines under his eyes, strands of his hair matted together like he was some stray dog she’d found in a ditch.

“Dad has acute pancreatitis. I didn’t get any sleep last night.”

He was exhausted of researching AA groups to link to his mom, only for him to never attend them and her turning her nose in the other direction.

Gavin was past the point of caring anymore, and he knew he was going to come to regret that down the line. That was two thirds of the reason he didn’t mesh well with Anderson; smelling booze on his breath brought him back to those stark white rooms. He could hear mechanical beeping and synthetic breaths being pumped out by countless amounts of tubes.

One day, he was going to be sitting in a nursing home, all alone, resenting himself for never having proper closure with his father. But, right now? He couldn’t do it anymore. He fucking couldn’t. His own father was going to die before either of his sons got married, if Eli ever decided to reproduce (the horrors), leave his mom with hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of medical debt.

“Any day now, detective.”

Gavin blinked. Nines was leaning against the window with his elbow, chin placed flat against his palm. His focus was trained elsewhere— he spotted a bird nest, a mother spewing out chewed bits of worm for her babies. Was he actually feeling jealousy over birds?

“Yeah, yeah. Cool it. I just need a couple more minutes to get myself in the right…” he drummed his fingers against the steering wheel, “headspace.”

Nines exhaled slowly and softly, like he was trying to offload a hundred pounds worth of stress. “Gav.”

“Ew,” he sneered, nose wrinkling, “don’t call me that.”

“You have that look again.”

“You ain't even looking at me.” He craned his neck, Nines promptly meeting his eyes. “What?”

“You know what. For the record, I am no longer upset with you. Well, not to the extent that I was last night.”

“Hm. Why am I finding that hard to believe?” His tone was dripping with sarcasm, and Nines visibly hated that, like Gavin was purposely trying to respark that flame of resentment. His face contorted.

After Nines left him stranded in the middle of the ice rink (justifiably, the only person Gavin was upset at was himself), he did his best to limp his way to smooth, flat, concrete land. He looked so damn pathetic, worrying his lip until it bled as couples passed him, grinning ear to ear with jolly filled high spirits.

“Nines–”

“I am not in the mood to speak to you. Can we just go, please?”

“Why are you taking this so fucking personally?”

“That's not a serious question, and I am not answering that because you know why.”

“I don't–”

Nines huffed exasperated, staring off into the distance. “The things you say to me hurt, why can't you understand that? Beyond the point of stinging. It's a pain that is unfamiliar, but I am slowly growing used to it.” Nines shook his head. “I cannot believe I was stupid enough to believe you could truly feel remorse.”

“I meant it. That wasn't some cop out tactic to mess with you, I swear on my damn mom’s life.”

“Okay. Sure,” he clicked his tongue. “In that case, if that sentiment is genuine, you need to respect my boundaries. Just this once, that is all I ask. I only want to calm myself down so this bullshit,” he gestured between them, “can be over.”

“All I did was state the obvious. Set my own boundaries, but this is a one way street, huh? Don't matter if I'm uncomfortable.”

“It's always about you. You had to use the one specific thing that I told you haunts me about the future as a point of contention between us. You are weaponizing my fears.”

“And you're always finding a way to put the blame back on me.”

“Reed, I am a singularity that will outlive you– anyone –that I form any sense of a bond with. And currently, this is all that has been clouding my mind. It is– not a nice thought. I felt like I could relax in a way that I have not been able to before. I was hanging out with a friend tonight, someone that makes me feel at ease. Safe. But, now?” Nines ran his hands up and down his legs. “You are making me begin to panic, so, we need to end this.”

“You picked the wrong career. Should've been an actor, you’d be great at it.”

“Gavin, for fuck’s sake.” He raised his voice without a care. “Go back to the car and leave me the fuck alone.”

“The park’s closing in ten minutes.”

“That's fine. I will take a taxi to the hotel, at some point.” Nines ran his hand across his chin. “I am going to talk to Fowler when we return. I cannot do this anymore. Maybe I should be taking your insults and snide remarks with a grain of salt, but the more you talk to me like this, the more it feels like it is slowly killing me. Not even that it feels like it— it is. You are killing me. Look.” He let his hands hover. He was shaking like an earthquake was running through him.

“I– I told you not to let me push you away. I can't handle being alone after dad dies. I really fucking can’t.”

Gavin whole heartedly didn’t know what his motive was for getting under Nines’ skin at this point. Set aside the kicking and screaming and fighting, all Nines had done was listen to him. Maybe this was just out of habit, that the vileness he’d adapted to was so ingrained in him that he couldn’t separate the real Gavin from this monster he lived in the shell of.

‘Androids and humans together is foul’, like he hadn’t looked at a blue blood before and had thoughts, that weren’t fleeting, that one was cute— it didn't matter if Nines was on that list, or not. He could've been, who's asking.

Like he hadn’t been marching his way to an android sex club, one he’d frequented more than he was willing to admit, before Nines stopped him. It was the thought of a relationship that brewed this visceral reaction. Because the fear he felt just thinking about that kind of commitment, that level of vulnerability, that singular word– he couldn’t even begin to describe it. He hadn’t felt something that put him in this much of a chokehold before.

“Why would I want to be there for you when you are seldom ever there for me?” He stood up. “I am past caring, sorry.”

Hours had passed before he heard anything from Nines. He picked up his phone any time it pinged, his stomach dropping each and every time it was just some bullshit app update, or spam email. The thought of him wandering around, alone, in a state he’d never been to before made him feel ill– he was barely familiar with the city they lived in, this was like flinging him on Mars.

The literal second his name flashed across his screen (he’d changed his contact info, finally), he picked up.

“You're still awake?”

“Well, yeah. I've been waiting to hear from you.”

There was a small pause. “What is the room number?”

“Where are you? I'll come get—”

“I am in the lobby. I've… been here the whole time.”

“Really?” He pushed himself up from the bed, moving his laptop to the side. “That’s a little silly, don’t you think?”

“I didn’t know where else to go. I could not handle looking at you.”

It took him less than sixty steps to get to the lobby. Nines craned his neck as Gavin lowered his phone, shoving it into his pocket. “Get over here.”

To alleviate the silence that came so naturally, Gavin went back to the game he was playing. He heard the frame of the other bed creak, and then felt the mattress dip beside him.

“What is that?”

It felt weird having another person in bed with him, even if it was in the most platonic way possible. Him and Tina had shared many motel beds when trying to cut travel costs for concerts and conventions. Hell, they’d make their way to each other’s dorm rooms and cuddle as they fell asleep watching movies on his laptop.

He wasn’t inclined to recreate that memory tonight. He’d toyed with the idea of returning to the shameful game of bar hopping, but the charm of one night stands was growing stale.

“Pretentious bullshit from the early tens, called Heavy Rain. Hate when games try to act like they got a story that has deeper, life changing meaning to it.”

“Why are you playing it, then?”

“That’s a great question,” he said as a sex scene morphed into a quick time event. Nines chuckled quietly in his ear. “Oh, Jesus. Course this is the part you show up for. Your timings always… impeccable.”

He didn't remember falling asleep, but when he blinked his eyes, he was tucked under the covers. His laptop was shut and placed on the desk next to the TV stand. The lights were off, and Nines was curled in a ball in his own bed. He'd never seen an android sleep like that, but, Nines wasn't like any other android. That was pretty damn clear.

Gavin blinked again, hard.

“I do, actually, want to be there for you.”

“Yeah. Nines. I know.” Gavin nodded his head, sucking in his lips. “Ditto.”

“I took a page out of your book and said that only to cause you distress.”

“Did it make you feel better?”

“Very much so.” Nines had a faint smile across his lips. “What is on your mind that is making you stall?”

“Nothing.” Gavin opened the door, stretching his arms above his head, his spine sounding like spaghetti breaking. “‘m just tired. And, my back is killing me.”

“Whose fault is that?”

“Gonna blame you for the fun of it.”

“Are you sure that is all?”

“All I'm willing to talk about.”

“Gavin.”

“Jesus Christ, what?” That last word came out as a laugh, he was so exasperated that this shit was comical to him now.

“He is still alive… right?”

“I– yes,” his breath caught in his throat. The sky was clear as crystal, but all he could hear was a downpour of rain. Maybe he was going to jinx himself by saying he’d never passed out, never would. “I don’t want to talk about this. I know you’re willing to listen– not right now.”

“But, maybe later?”

“I don’t know. Maybe never.”

They mozied up to the front gate, Gavin pressing the buzzer on the intercom. Nines had reached out to him the day before, so he was expecting them. But, also, it was seven in the morning and they'd only been able to reach his voicemail. Only time would tell if this guy was up an atom or not.

Gavin glared at himself in the monitor's grainy screen, running his fingers through his hair like a madman. He saw Nines watching him, so he looked over his shoulder to meet him, quirking a brow.

“You look fine.”

“Just fine?”

Nines rolled his eyes. “I am starting to believe that I might be a masochist after all.”

That made Gavin snort, hard. “He can hear you.”

“...oh.”

There was a chime that sounded awfully familiar to an elevator speeding by floors, followed by a cacophony of jumbled static. A deep voice— far deeper than Gavin had imagined, based off of his headshots— croaked: “This is Neil speaking.”

He definitely just woke up, no doubt about it. Unless he had been stranded in a desert for ten years without a drip of water, that was the sound of a man barely clinging onto consciousness.

“Good morning,” his eyes darted back to Nines. “Detective Reed and— detective… Nines here. You spoke to my partner on the phone.”

“Ah, yes. I didn't think you would get here so early, truthfully. Though,” the speaker clicked, “I am now seeing that you called me. Sorry about that.” The gates slowly pulled inward.

“Our schedule got a little jumbled yesterday, so I'm the one that should be apologizing.”

“Ah, it's all good. I'll be down in a few minutes.”

“No worries, take your time.” The speaker cut out with a loud crackle. He rolled his head in Nines’ direction, who was biting his tongue in a literal sense. “Spit it out, jackass. What?”

“What the hell was that performance? I have never heard you speak that politely to anyone. Ever.”

“Just don't wanna screw this up cause we only got one chance at getting something valuable outta him. Oh my God, you're so goddamn annoying.”

“Do remember that you also chose to continue working with me.”

“Yeah. I don't fucking know why.”

“No, I think you do.”

Nines thought he was such a know it all. The expression he was making made him want to sock him in the face with a bag of pennies. But, unfortunately, they lived in a mostly cashless society— and the penny had been out of print for five years now. Made sense, they were only useful as a weapon.

Gavin cleared his throat. “What was it that Connor told you? You said you'd tell me— then you didn't. ”

“Ah, right. We are able to get in contact with the original deviant. She is willing to speak to us.”

“Oh. That's great.”

“However, there is a contingency.”

“Oh. That's great.”

“Because Jericho, more specifically Markus and North, are the ones that hold her information, they are very apprehensive about giving it to me. They know if I am involved, you are unavoidable.”

“So what the hell do they want me to do? Scrape my knees kissing their damn feet? Scream from the rooftops for their forgiveness?”

“A hundred hours of supervised community service for Jericho. Only after that will they make their final judgments.”

“A hundred hours?” He scoffed, throwing his head back. “They're out of their minds. Fucking bitch got it out for me—”

“She has a name. You do not need to add misogynist to your repertoire.”

“It doesn't deserve to be called she.”

Before Gavin could process what he was doing, Nines moved swiftly like a hummingbird and thwacked him on the back of his skull. Not in a joshing around with your friends because they just said something incredibly tone deaf way, but in a trying to rearrange your brain and hard reset you, way.

Gavin’s fists balled, his arm instinctively raising, but Nines waved his palm at his face. It made him jump.

“Don't even try.”

“‘member how you said nothing would hurt me, s’long as you're here? That was pretty hilarious.”

Nines rubbed his temples. “This is precisely why they do not trust you. They have assigned me to watch over you, it won't only be you suffering.”

“Would rather have you than one of them.”

“I can not be the exception to your exclusionary rules. It does not work like that, just because you like me.”

“Hey.” he raised a finger at him as a warning, Nines looking like he was damn close to biting it off. “No one said jack shit about me liking you.”

“Ah, right. I forgot we were still roleplaying the scenario where you are a cold-hearted cop that would never befriend an android. Yes, Gavin, you tolerate me. Excuse me for my poor choice of words.” He rolled his eyes. “Your reputation of a hard ass is saved, that was a close one.”

“God. Fuck you.” Gavin crossed his arms, pushing his tongue to his cheek. “What kinda community service are they asking for, exactly?”

“They have established a few temporary shelters, and all of them are in dire need of assistance. Cots need to be set up, sheets washed, donation boxes sorted through. Acts of selflessness for those who truly have nothing.”

He groaned. “Christ, fine. This gonna make you think I'm less of a dick, by any chance?”

“Any advice or compliments I give you fall on deaf ears, so why does it matter what I think?”

“cause it does.”

Nines’ led shifted to yellow, his mouth opening before a latch unlocked and the door squeaked. “Sorry to keep you waiting, gentleme—” he looked between them. “Gentleman. Please, come in. May I offer you a cup of tea?”

The way Neil was dressed reminded him of his brother; a fancy bathrobe with embroidery across the lapels and waist belt, costing what Gavin could assume would be equivalent to a paycheck for him. He was a tad shorter than Gavin, which made Nines look even more ridiculous in comparison.

Another beige gutting of a beautiful, historical home. It broke his damn heart. The walls were matching pale greys, lined with paintings that looked like they'd been snatched directly from the Louvre, with their eccentric gold frames. Maybe that was his side hustle. The wood flooring matched the shade a little too closely, polished to the point that you could see yourself, reflection clearer than a traditional mirror. 

Gavin shook his head. “No, no, we wanna get out of your hair as quick as possible. We don't intend for this to be very long.”

“Not even coffee?” He raised a thick brow at Gavin, Nines looking at him from the corner of his eyes.

“...well, can't really turn that down, now can I? Thank you.”

He gestured to the living room. “It'll only be a minute.”

There was a long white sectional, covered in plastic wrap. What was this, his grandma's house? The covering squeaked under Nines’ weight, even more so as he adjusted himself.

“You always gotta sit this goddamn close to me? Practically on my lap, Jesus,” he scooted over.

“You need to stay close to me.” Nines lowered his voice. “Something about his home feels… sinister.”

“His preferred color palette is depressing.”

“Not that. The walls are lined with aluminum, throughout the entirety of his house. Understandably, there are many reasons for having metal panels installed— but, based on his history with androids, it indicates something nefarious.”

Gavin pulled out his phone, squinting at the small exclamation mark at the top of the drop-down menu. “You have no connection either, I'm assuming?”

Nines shook his head. “I'm having difficulty scanning. When I do, everything becomes distorted.”

“So, rapid fire questions and get the fuck out is our plan.”

“Correct.”

A blue armband, that's the first thing he saw as a slender woman walked out from the kitchen with a mug in her hands. She set it down in front of Gavin, placing it on a cork coaster. Flaunting your android maid after yesterday's speech— in front of Nines— was primitive, and spoke volumes. He announced to them exactly who he was with that move.

He muttered a very quiet ‘thank you’ as he brought it to his lips. Before he managed to take a sip, Nines (cautiously, he didn't spill bean juice all over his lap this time) grabbed it from him.

“There are faint traces of thirium coating the lip of this mug. It’s not safe for you to drink.” He cocked his head. “Why was your leg bleeding?”

Without a peep, she turned on her heel and scurried back into the kitchen. ‘AX-200’ is what her jacket said. Quite an outdated model for someone with money, even he knew that.

Neil took a seat across from them, sinking into its cushions. He had a Poptart with bright pink frosting in one hand, a Capri Sun in the other. Was this man actually an infant?

“Before we begin, I have to ask. Is this the notorious deviant hunter I've heard so much about?”

“No,” Nines said bluntly.

“I should have guessed the obvious. Why would the DPD keep the deviant hunter when it failed to stop said deviants. If anything, it’s the reason the androids won. Right?” He leaned back in his chair with a leg crossed over his knee, taking a sip from his juice pouch.

Wow, he was sporting his birthday suit and only that. Why was he consistently being exposed to the horrors of the asses of these men? Was this like, a plan they all agreed on? Traumatize Gavin, and him specifically, with their pasty, hairy, unwashed backsides?

God, maybe he did need to start weighing out new career paths.

“I'm not answering that.”

“Eh, it was rhetorical. Is that one deviant, then?”

Nines exhaled, turning to gaze out the window. Gavin clicked his tongue. “Neil, we are here to focus on you and your affiliations pertaining to Sam Miller. We ain't here to play twenty one questions.”

“Ask away,” he shrugged his shoulders, “what do you need to know? I'm an open book.”

That was code for: ‘I am a master manipulator and my tongue is so silver that you could craft a necklace from it’. Those who claimed to be an open book seldom were. He nodded with his chin at Nines.

It was moment’s like this where he’d tuck his tail between his legs and let him take the lead. Nines was far better at interrogating than he was, he’d admit that easily.

Nines folded his hands flat against his lap, inhaling steadily. “Did your startup have a name? Not that that is particularly pressing, but I have to ask.”

“No, we hadn't worked that one out yet. Too many ideas, couldn't settle on one.”

“And, correct me if I'm wrong,” Nines was studying his own palm— he was reading down a list of notes. “Your role in this company was cyber security, yes?”

“You did your research well. You're correct.”

“The hundreds of emails that were leaked to Cyberlife’s competitor, Shieldlite, slipped right under your nose somehow?”

“I'm a man of many hats. We all fuck up, sometimes.”

“Rerouting classified information that is legally protected is not a fuck up. Miller is in custody because we found these emails linked to his phone.”

Neil raised his, now, free hand. “Is the android going to be asking me all the questions?”

Gavin licked across his front teeth. “You're derailing the topic at hand.”

“Nah, I'm just curious, is all.”

“The android is a working detective. Is that going to be a problem for you?”

“It’s proving itself to be damn good at its job, so, no. You're not worried about it replacing you, though?”

“He's not replacing me, we work together. Not that this matters.”

“He. Why do you humor it so?”

“Androids got a lot more humanity than us. Pathetic you don't realize that,” he could see a sliver of the AX models face peeking out from the doorframe.

“Stop letting him waste our time,” Nines adjusted his posture, resting one leg over the other. “Are you aware of what was in these emails?”

“Truthfully? Not to the full extent.”

“I find that interesting, as there is back and forth communication between a national guard that mentions you by name.”

“Is that so?”

“It’s so. These were the same emails that dismissed our president’s original orders to contain androids in a safe holding place, initially. Are you also unaware of that part?”

“Alright,” Neil let his head hang, dark curls falling against his forehead. “I have been courteous enough to talk to you alone, and civilly, at that. I'm going to have to put this on pause and contact my lawyer before I say more– I know you just got here.”

“That is perfectly fine, so long as you know that we will be making our own call to have a search warrant processed to seize your electronics for evidence. It shouldn't take longer than an hour.”

Neil’s mouth was agape. “I'm not okay with that, shockingly.”

“You do not have to be. You are free to contact whoever you need to, but this will be our next step as I feel this is the best course of action.” He turned to Gavin. “Right?”

“Right.”

“Fine. Just,” he pulled out his phone as he dropped to his feet (giving Gavin one final glimpse of something he was too fucking tired to be subjected to). “You gotta give me a few minutes.”

“Understandable. Take your time, please.”

He disappeared down a looming hall, pulling the android along with him. Which was… weird.

“Did you see that?”

“I did. But, we cannot follow after him.”

“Yeah, we need to get the hell out of here and call the Mason PD for backup– we can’t do shit until we get more bodies here.”

“Yes, understood.”

“I’m all on board, though. Ten minutes is more than enough for me.” Gavin stood up himself, rolling his back. Sitting that long only exacerbated the burning sensation traveling through his muscles. “You need the number for the magistrate?”

“I have the information for the one in our county. Do you know who you are talking to?”

“Chill.” Gavin raised his hands in defense. “Hey, uh, don't let douchebags like him get under your skin. Guy’s a one trick pony— that's his tactic. Just wants to turn the table on you when he gets you to lash out.”

“I know that. His words do not carry much depth to them.”

“Only matters when I talk like that to you, huh?”

“Yes. Echoing what you said earlier, what you say to me does matter. Quite a lot.”

“Right.” Gavin pulled out his phone, looking at the spreadsheet he (thankfully) downloaded. “If, for some reason, we can't get a warrant processed or the search comes up empty, another one of his buddies lives about an hour out from here. Could be our alternative.”

“It is not going to be for nothing, he's hiding something.”

“No shit he's hiding something, smartass.” Nines raised his hand but Gavin wrapped his fingers around his wrist. “Hit me one more fucking time, I swear to God.”

“Yeah? What are you going to do? I do have the winning lead in our squabbles.”

“Squabbles.” Gavin let go of him. “I don't know. You got me there.”

“You talk so big for a little man.”

Gavin looked at him deadpan. “Now you're just being an asshole for the sake of being one.”

“Takes one to know one.” He leaned his elbow against the top of Gavin’s head, his cheeks hotter than a forest fire.

“I'm not little, dipshit.”

“Comparative to me.”

“‘cause you're like twenty feet tall, shut the fuck up.”

“Seventy seven inches. That is my build height.”

“That's what you're going to get shoved up your ass if you don't stop talking.”

“Oh, Gavin. You are always such a pleasure to work with.” He let his arm fall to pat the small of his back, and for some reason, Gavin didn’t fight him off. “Let's get the process rolling.”

“You're the one stalling this time.”

Appearing out of thin air, Neil was back in the living room– he had jeans on now, what an absolute sight to behold. He wanted to pop a confetti cannon and scream in rejoice.

Nines spoke to him: “We are going to step outside for a bit and will keep you updated on what's going on. Alright?”

“Yeah, alright. Not like I have much of a say in this.”

“You have the choice to not say anything. That is the important part.”

As they started to walk back to the car, Gavin attempted to Google a miscellaneous word to see if his bars had returned– his choice of word had always been ‘fox’, was just his go to. “Finally.”

Waffle House was no one’s first choice for a decent meal– for… any kind of meal – but, it was cheap enough, and edible. Mostly. When in Ohio. There was one near the ramp they needed to get on to get the hell out of the state.

“Know this is off in the near future, but we gotta stop somewhere before we start making our trek back to Michigan. Which, I am driving this time, don’t wanna hear a word out of you about it.” He was met with silence. “Are… you actually doing as you're told for once in your life?”

He looked over his shoulder. Nines had been on his tail… until he wasn't. “God fucking damnit.”

He bit the chapped bits of skin on his lower lip and called Nines number, only for it to immediately time out. He didn’t know what he was expecting.

Nines was so worried about Gavin when he should’ve been more concerned about himself. Of course. The guy beefing with androids, what would he want to do with Gavin? Or– maybe he wanted Gavin to protect him, for once. That… made more sense.

He looked back at the house, casing for any accessible windows– the one that overlooked the living room. That looked easy enough to break. He firstly checked to make sure the front door was locked– it was. Yep, why the hell wouldn’t it be? Why wouldn’t they find themselves in some fucked up, ridiculous situation? Just as a last ditch effort, he called him again.

He brushed his hand over his holster. “Neil, I don’t know where the fuck you are or what you’ve done with my partner. But, you have about thirty seconds to open this damn door.”

“Ten, now. Really wanna play this game? Holding a police officer hostage ain’t gonna look great on your record.”

Without much further thought, Gavin held his breath and braced himself. He barreled himself center of the pane, his ankle catching the thorns of a rose bush directly underneath. He crashed down in the living room in a very familiar array of glass, the hem of his jeans decorated in nature’s punk rock spikes.

Was this his wisest idea? Hell no. Should he have called the local authorities? Uh, yeah, absolutely. But something in the back of his mind was telling him that time wasn’t exactly on his side right now. The house was completely empty. All he could hear was the ticking of a grandfather clock– wasn’t that ironically cute.

He strained to get himself to his feet. The hallway really did seem endless, littered with an unnecessary amount of doors. This was like an unaired Scooby Doo special from hell. He twisted a doorknob; just an office, neatly tidied, at that.

He repeated his process until sweat was dripping down into his eyes. Every single damn room was devoid of life. Upstairs, downstairs, outside. Nothing was out of place– a corner of a rug upturned, a loose paper tossed aside, the smallest stain of blood (or, thirium). There had to have been a basement, this house was far too large (and old) to not have one.

There wasn’t an obvious door that led to one, though that wasn’t to say there wasn’t a trap door or a hatch in the ceiling somewhere. If this man could cause an aluminum shortage for the fun of it, there was no doubt a basement entrance could be made inconspicuous.

It was getting harder to control his labored breathing. Counting potatoes wasn’t going to help in this situation. He was going to have to grit his teeth and power through any ounce of anxiety that tried to slow him down. Five doors, all across each other with one at the end of the hallway.

He needed to retrace his steps. He was missing something. Tall shelves lined with an impressive collection of Nintendo and Sony consoles, and glass displays showing off hyperrealistic, spandex-clad characters he couldn’t immediately pinpoint. This room was clear.

A bunch of half put together gym equipment and an overwhelmingly massive box for a StairMaster– Jesus Christ, weren’t those things thousands of dollars? No, Reed, that isn’t your point of focus right now. This room, too, was a miss.

He opened the door to what looked like an ordinary guest bedroom, though, maybe a little too packed with furniture. Cream sheets were neatly tucked in place, there was an unplugged oil diffuser on a dresser– oh, fuck, how did he miss that? He crouched and pinched a crumbled up receipt. This was from a cafe they went to a week ago; the address said Detroit, this was from him. This wasn’t dropped on accident.

There was a closet with sliding doors, but he only found clear tubs with what looked like blankets stuffed in them, and a handful of heavy winter coats covered in dust. Moving aside the coats revealed– it was a wood paneled wall. He moved the totes, but the floor also held no secrets, nor did the ceiling above him.

He leaned up against the wall, cupping his hand over his mouth. Nothing, not even a creak– no, wait, that was a muffled voice. He glided his fingers over the wood until one specific panel gave in. Was this real life right now? This guy did not have a hidden, evil lair. Holy shit. What was he trying to be, a knock off Doctor Doom? At least he had a sick ass costume. What did this guy have? Overpriced bathrobes and an affinity to be a exhibitionist.

As slowly, and quietly as he could, he pried the paneling open so he could slide past. The stairs were beyond ominous and led into what looked like an absolute black hole. There was nothingness awaiting him at the bottom of them. He needed to close this damn thing, too much light was getting in. He was going to make his presence obvious if he wasn’t careful.

“Where are you, plastic?” That was a gunshot. “No real point in hiding from me.”

Gavin gasped, wanting to fucking punch himself in response. He needed to calm his nerves and stat. Neil’s voice was closer than he’d expected– there he was, inching closer to the bottom of the stairs, his outline illuminated by something in his hand. He couldn’t tell if it was a small flashlight, or just his phone.

His stairs were carpeted, thank everything holy. One baby step at a time as he left a trail of sweat on the hand railing, he made his way closer to Neil. There was a distanced clang from something being tossed, and Gavin had to find every ounce of self control to not flinch.

“Not so tough now, are ya?”

His basement was very reminiscent of the one in the first season of American Horror Story. Maybe Gavin watched too many tv shows, but he was thoroughly creeped out. It split off into multiple, open faced rooms.

The second the bottom of his boot met finite ground, he felt fingers wrap around his ankle. Every hair stood up on the back of his neck. This was a dumb, fucking stupid idea, but he pulled out his phone and cranked down the brightness with haste.

It was the woman from earlier, laid across the ground on her stomach. Her legs were sloppily tied together with… it looked like computer cables. She had a strip of silver duct tape over her mouth, and she didn’t have to verbally communicate to him her disdain.

“Better not attack me the second I let you go,” he said in a whisper as he hacked apart the cords with his Swiss Army knife. The blade was dull, but it never failed to do the trick. He wedged his nail under the tape and ripped it off like an oversized band aid.

“Thank you,” she mouthed to him. He nodded, placing his finger over his lips. He didn’t stand yet. He could see Neil hovering in a doorway, his back facing Gavin, but far too close for comfort. It was a flashlight he was holding.

With his knees bent, he crouched over to him– his phone vibrated, of fucking course it did. Probably a notification telling him he was offline, and incredibly ill timed.

Neil locked eyes with him, his gun steady on him. He could feel his heart thumping in the tips of his fingers.

“Wow. All of this for an android? Really? You’re out of your mind, man.”

“You kill me– either one of us– and you ain’t gonna see the light of day for the rest of your life.”

“Wasn’t that your plan to begin with? I don’t know how you got in here, but, that’s the luxury of this place. No one’s gonna find your body. Ever. Kinda funny, isn’t it?”

“What’d you do with my partner?”

“Does it really matter?”

He drew closer and closer to Gavin until he could feel the cool metal against his forehead. Three strikes and you’re out. This was… this was it. He wasn’t going to be able to weasel his way out of this one, was he?

“I mean, if you’re gonna kill me, just have the decency to tell me. Did you kill him?”

His lips curled into a sinister smile. “Should’ve heard the way its screams echoed off the walls. It begged for mercy like a bitch. Probably for the better, though. What life is that, being a walking Ken doll?”

Gavin felt a lump forming in his throat as his chest heaved, his knuckles turning white. “Yeah, sure, you took down Cyberlife’s most advanced prototype with a Tomcat. That’s believable. Think I’m that braindead?”

“Eh. It was worth a shot. Got you all riled up anyhow. I am interested to hear what kinda sounds you make.” He dropped to his knees to match Gavin, teasingly stroking the barrel across his cheeks. “You a screamer?”

“Can you fucking get on with it?” Gavin barked at him, his teeth chattering.

“You’re so scared.” Neil looked him up and down. “Shh, it’s okay. I’m doing you a favor. Can you imagine how good death feels? Nothingness, forever.”

His finger slowly pulled back the trigger.

“This’ll be quick, don’t you worry. Wish I could say you’d get to see your android again, but. We all know where those bodies get tossed.”

The gun jammed with a metallic jam that sounded louder than a train whistle. Eh, maybe someone was looking out for him, for once.

Gavin slapped the pistol out of his hand and twisted his arm behind his back. All he needed was the opportune moment to slide out his own gun, but he needed to hold back until he was far enough away from Neil’s direct reach.

Neil threw a weak punch at Gavin, embarrassing. He clocked him in the nose, his bone splintering as the other man let out a pained wail. This looked more like dirty, unrehearsed wrestling than anything; Gavin was straddling the smaller man, his knee placed center of his back, but he was fighting like hell. Imagining himself as a Florida man trying to wrestle a slap happy gator was an easier way to cope with this situation.

Gavin’s gun was knocked free from its holster and slid beside them on the floor. Lovely.

“Fuck,” Gavin hissed under his breath– this wasn’t caused by the gun wiggling itself away from him, but, Nines appearing out of seemingly nowhere. Seeing him actually sparked a full blown anxiety attack. He’d felt numb up until this point, drinking in every amount of adrenaline that he could muster together.

Neil released the safety and took the shot– he bodied into his side, knocking him off balance, but he knew Nines was injured because the tales rang true. He bellowed like someone in a cheesy slasher flick.

He wrestled free his handcuffs and used all his strength to get Neil’s hands together. “Stop–” he smashed his jaw against the ground, watching his body fall limp. “Moving.”

He placed his fingers against his neck. He still had a pulse, this was fine.

Nines sauntered over to him. His hand was cupped over his abdomen, jaw sharp enough to cut a steak, and… holy fucking shit, blue was seeping between his fingers like a tipped over can of paint.

Nines was breathing in a way that wasn’t simulated, but like he genuinely was gasping for air. He nearly collapsed as he kneeled on the other side of their suspect. “We– fuck,” he winced, “one of us needs to get upstairs to– mm –dial nine one one.”

“I’ll do it, but, oh my God. I can see in you.”

He took in the sight of Nines. There was a thirium stream from his nose to his chin, hair tousled every which way. There was a softball shaped hole just under where his ribs would’ve been, damaged biocomponents and loose wires flickering. And, for some reason, he was missing his jacket, and… shoes?

“Did he get you anywhere that’s an immediate threat?”

“Just barely.”

“You got a second set of cuffs on you?” To which Nines nodded as he put them around his ankles.

He scurried over to Nines, both rising to their feet. Nines couldn’t stand up straight. He placed his palm flat against his chest, over the soft definition of a pec– he couldn’t stop himself.

“I can’t believe you’re alive.”

“Yeah. Me neither.”

“You gotta take this off,” Gavin was pulling on the hem of his sweater. “Show me, we need to stop the bleeding.”

“N-now?”

“Yes, now. The fuck? You’re standing in a pool of your own blood.” Nines audibly groaned as he yanked off the garment and tossed it aside. God damn, he really was carved like he was a marble statue. “Is this going to be a constant thing with you? People trying to kill you?”

“I am,” he grit his teeth, “not planning on that.”

“It’s a good thing you can’t feel pain.”

“Right, I am screaming for the fun of it,” Nines licked across his lips. “They permanently enabled my pain receptors, I have told you this.”

Gavin looked at him a little– a lotta –horrified.

“I felt everything you did to me. And now that I'm more consciously sentient, it's double damage.” Gavin gingerly brushed his fingers over the wound and Nines gasped, recoiling. “Oh– fuck, don’t.”

“Okay, okay.” He didn’t know what to do with his hands. “What do you want to do?”

“I–” his brows were deeply furrowed. “T-the wound will not begin to heal itself unless the bullet is removed. Which means– it has to come out, one way or another.”

Nines’ breathing grew more labored as he went to pinch the bullet. He choked on another flow of thirium leaking out of his mouth, gargling his howls.

“Oh, Jesus. Stop, stop.” Gavin firmly pushed his hand away. “No. Enough. We need to wait for a medical team to do this.”

“With the way that he shot me, the bullet is not acting as a dam. I am going to continue leaking thirium until I run dry if this damn thing isn’t removed.” He clasped his hand over the spot once more, looking at Gavin through his lashes. “I think you need to try. You owe me big.”

He ran a hand through his hair. “Nines, I am not going to make it hurt any less.”

“I know, but I… I can’t. I just– I cannot do it.”

“God,” Gavin took a deep breath and squeezed the edges of the bullet with his fingers. It was too slippery to grasp onto. Nines jolted, steadying himself by holding onto either side of Gavin’s shoulders.

He wedged it around more, continuing to fumble with the metal. A small piece of Nines’ plating cracked off. He used his pinky finger to squeeze inside the gaping hole– his breath caught as he felt a spark of electricity. A wire singed him. “Ow– fuck.”

“Don’t go slow– for the love of everything,” Nines’ mouth was wide open, a navy cobweb hanging from his skin. “I am begging you. Rip it out, Gavin.”

“Nines, I am trying. This isn’t fucking easy, I can’t grip it.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out his knife. He was so glad he remembered to toss it in his backpack. “We’re gonna have to do it this way.”

Nines’ focus was steadied on the tiny blade. “Oh.”

“Just… close your eyes and count to ten. I’m gonna get it out of you.”

He got the edge of the blade in there and Nines folded into him, crumbling like a house of cards. He didn’t know what sounds he was making anymore; he was dry heaving, hyperventilating, sobbing, all at once and it blended together in a rhythmic way that was… this was brutal to listen to. If he were an outsider listening in, he’d think someone was being skinned alive. Nines’ fingers dug so hard into his shoulders that he could already feel the bruises forming.

The bullet popped out, hitting the floor underneath them. Gavin let out the longest sigh of his life, Nines copying him. He met Gavin’s eyes; he, honestly, looked like he'd smoked ten blunts, back to back to back.

“I could kiss you right now.”

“Don’t.” Gavin went to grab the shirt and pushed it against the wound. “Is it gonna stop itself, or…?”

Nines nodded, his eyes now closing. “It should, in about thirty– ugh –seconds.”

“I got some of those thirium pouches in the car. Can get you as many as you need once we get out of this shithole.”

“Why did you– those are expensive.”

“I didn’t buy ‘em. Picked up a few from the station– not like they were being used anyways, s’all the other droid cops were sent back to Cyberlife. Connor wasn’t reaching for them. Figured you needed your own medkit– I was right.”

The way they were panting was synchronized. “Did you really think I was dead?”

“I— played enough mental gymnastics to not consider that a real possibility. Knew you weren’t gonna let some jackass take you out in his shoddy basement in Ohio of all fucking places.” He could feel the air Nines was blowing against his neck. “The thought of it, though?"

The prospect of an existence without Nines wasn't something he wanted anymore. He was a pain in the ass, but he was... his pain in the ass. 

"Yeah. That wasn’t fun.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Why the hell are you apologizing?”

“Because," he murmured, "I worried you.”

“You’re covered in your own blood, and that’s what you’re thinking about? Worrying me? You’re actually insane.” Gavin wiped the back of his palm against his own forehead. “God, I really didn’t want one of the last things I said to you to be about shoving something up your ass.”

Nines chuckled– he tried to, he winced. But, the thought was there.

Gavin’s ears perked at the sound of metal scraping against the floor.

“Oh, God. Now what?”

Their heads whipped in the same direction. The second shot was more deafening. At least it wasn’t aimed at them. It was the AX-200. She’d shot their suspect point blank in the head.

“...what the hell did you just do?”

“Gavin,” he grunted, “did you– release her?”

“Guessing I wasn’t supposed to.”

Her eyes wildly bounced between the pair. She reached behind herself and pulled out a can of cooking spray– where she was hiding this, he didn’t know and wasn’t going to second guess it. All he needed to do was brace himself for the imminent.

His vision blurred instantaneously. “Are you fucking kidding me.” He stomped his foot, running the heels of his palms against his eyes– that only made it ten times worse. “This is the goddamn thanks I get– fuck!”

She began to retreat, her footsteps growing more and more distant. He tried to look at Nines, but he was nothing more than a globulous blur.

“Don’t stand there, get her!”

Nines took two steps before he let out another pained whine, collapsing back to his knees. The wood paneling was shoved aside, a narrow streak of light illuminating them.

Chapter 12: come what may

Summary:

Gavin no longer took pleasure in seeing Nines in pain. His coding skills were hellishly rusty, but this gave him an excuse to put them to good use.

“This isn’t how any of this was supposed to fucking go,” Gavin slammed the rental’s sun visor shut. “God damnit.”

He was collecting various ways he could disfigure his face like each bruise was a dime a dozen gumball machine trinket. His shiner might have been faded enough that even he could successfully cover it with his shit makeup skills, but now an irritated dry patch was taking its place. The tops of his cheeks were etched with angry crosshairs of pink, his split scar blurring into an aesthetically pleasing violet, splatters of cobalt across his neck like he was a walking Jackson Pollock piece.

As if his self esteem wasn’t already in the gutter, looking like a reanimated corpse was making him consider wearing a paper bag over his head. Being alive is pretty much a constant stream of embarrassment. Ugh.

At least they matched and were on equal levels of disgustingly fucked up. Nines had a thin layer of grime and balled up dust coating what wasn't already smudged with his own bodily fluids. They hadn't been able to find wherever his loafers disappeared to, so he was sporting a pair of beige Crocs (just like the rest of his damn house, what was the obsession with neutrals?).

He’d gone through three of the thirium bags, the crushed up silver pouches resting on his lap.

They'd tried to piece together a makeshift cover for the seat; the headrest had his leather jacket wrapped tightly around it (more stains, yay), a pair of flannel pajama pants and boxers acting as a towel for him to sit on. Blue blood might disappear to the naked eye, but that's exactly where these rental companies get you. Of course they checked for that shit.

Whine, whine– fucking whatever, he was giving himself a pity pass right now. This had not been his week (was there ever a good week in his books?). All he could say he was thankful for was that they were safe. Breathing fresh air outside of that trap house. They hadn't yet made that call to the police, but they would in due time. Nines was content with taking things slow for the first fucking time.

Gavin ran his thumb down the smooth edge of his lighter. He couldn't wait to get home and take a hot bath, long enough he could shrivel up like a rotting apple.

“You in any less pain?”

His front teeth were brightly stained. It brought back memories of going to the pool with Elijah, hauling a cooler full of otter pops with them to snack on. “The pain is stagnant, but the warnings of shutdown being imminent have gone away. So, I will take that as a win.”

“Yeah, not shutting down is kinda important.” His chest heaved. “Murder wasn't on my bingo card for today.” He bit his lower lip. “Always a shock to the system when you’re given a one on one example of how expendable life is. You doing okay otherwise?”

He twisted off the cap of another pouch. “It is not my first time seeing someone die, and unfortunately, won’t be the last.”

Maybe his garden had just been for show, but now it was like a well decorated tomb. Looking at the plastic flamingo made his chest feel heavy.

“Humans–” he bit the inside of his cheek, “we ain’t meant to grow desensitized to death. It’s a common fear for a reason.”

“And, where would that place you?” Nines quirked a brow at him, Adam's apple bobbing. “Have you not laughed and mocked deceased victims?”

“Where the hell did you hear that from?”

“Anderson, by proxy.”

“That was one time.”

“...is there any justification for it to happen once?”

Gavin grabbed his thermos (that he remembered to bring this time, thank fuck) and drank a long, hard sip of stale water. “No. There’s no justification for it.”

“You are just–”

“I’m just a socially inept, chemical accident. The microorganisms in my eyebrows have more of a clear conscience than I do. That what you wanted to hear?”

Nines snapped his fingers. “That was beautiful.”

His phone vibrated. Another text from his mother, but he didn’t dare click on the notification. He silenced his phone instead and slumped back in his seat.

“I shouldn’t have brought us here,” Nines rolled the end of the pouch like a bottle of toothpaste, squeezing out every last drop onto his tongue. “This was more than tiptoeing the edge of danger.”

“Hey. We weren’t here for a round of drinks and games. Went in damn well knowing he ain’t got the cleanest record.” His hair caught against the headrest. “That’s kinda part of the job description, bud.”

“You’ve given me a pet name now? You love your double standards.”

He set his lighter in the cupholder, rubbing the heels of his palms against his eyes. “I am too emotionally wiped to bicker with you.”

“I understand that the fine print rings true— however, it was naive to think this could have had a… happier outcome. That was plain stupid, and that is on me.”

“How the hell were you supposed to know? Don't think you could've predicted him getting shot point blank by his own android.”

“I am a machine designed for the very purpose of not making mistakes, that is the problem.”

“Your— sensors were all fucked, right?”

“...yes.”

Gavin exhaled, drawn out and whistly. “What’s done is done, nothing we can do to change that without a DeLorean.”

Nines’ nose crinkled. “Excuse me?”

“A time machine. It’s from a movie, not important,” Gavin waved his hand. “Paperworks gonna be a fucking bitch, God, I'm gonna need, like, six coffees.”

A Hummer sped past them, a dust cloud forming in its wake. This was the only other sighting of human life they’d seen since they got here.

“Are you all right?”

Gavin had to pick between the lesser of two evils; acknowledging the way Nines was watching his every move, or allowing his own focus to drop to his partially exposed chest. It was something about the way the sun was hitting him that highlighted the pewter in his irises, like little shavings of silver leaf. The same warning that you should never look a cat directly in its eyes applied for him– it was a little hypnotizing, and he fucking hated that.

And, now that his body was in less of a flight or fight mode, he was acutely aware that Nines was sorely underdressed. He didn’t need to be creep, ogling him as he writhed around in agony. Curiosity was a hard thing to fight. This is where a phone and mindless scrolling came in handy.

“Can I be a hundred percent straight up with you?”

“Please.”

Recycled shitposts on Instagram weren’t making him feel any better. He let his phone fall in his lap as he pinched the bridge of his nose, his elevens creasing deeply. “Not at fucking all.”

“Perhaps when we get back to your place, we could play a game together? To take our minds off of reality.”

“If we got time.”

“We will make time. Do you have any that are two-player?”

“Mario Party is more light hearted, but I think a strategy game is more up your alley. Got Don't Starve— you'd probably like It Takes Two, but, I ‘unno. Used to play that with James, now it's kinda tainted.”

“We could create new memories that are less poisoned.” Nines shrugged his shoulders free from his zip up– he looked like a goddamn vampire, sans the glitter.

They had placed a bandaid over the hole in his torso, though one of the edges was slowly peeling its way off. Not like this did anything practical, but it more so eased Nines’ mind so he wasn’t making eye contact with his innards. He kept prodding at it and Gavin didn't have a spray bottle. He was tired of slapping his hand away repeatedly.

“You're gonna have medical check you out, right?”

“That all depends if they foot me the bill.”

“Shouldn't have to pay. You got injured in the line of duty, s’covered. That applies to you, too… I think.”

Nines shifted in his seat, releasing another long winded grunt. “Ough, fuck.”

“God, what are we gonna do with you,” he shook his head. “You can’t disable your pain receptors?”

“I am not granted the permission to override it. I can’t access it. Believe me, I have tried many times.”

“My codings rusty as shit, and I haven't messed around with an OS in… I actually can't remember. But, I'm pretty sure I know how to override Cyberlife's firewalls.” Gavin dug around in his pocket, pulling out a much needed cigarette. “Took some of the same classes as Eli, don't think it's anything I can't understand.”

“I would really appreciate that.”

“Yeah, course.” He stepped out of the car, leaving the door ajar. “Can’t have us both slowed down by mortal qualms.”

“You aren't injured anywhere, right? Besides the,” Nines gestured to his eyes.

“Think I lucked out and managed to avoid getting more glass lodged in me.” Nines cocked his head. Gavin coughed. “I broke a window.”

“Of course you did.”

“The hell's that ‘ppsed to mean?”

“Nothing. It means nothing in particular, Gav.”

Gavin scoffed. “God, really? You're gonna try to make that a thing?”

“I like how it sounds. It's,” his shoulders raised, “cute.”

“Newborn kittens are cute. A grandma asking you to reach something from the shelf for her, is cute. Cute don't apply to me.”

“Hm. If you say so.”

The fuck did that mean? Gavin patted his chest as he forced out a cough– his throat was so dry, why did he always feel like he’d gone on a ten month hike in the wilderness and immediately got hit by a truck afterwards.

He wasn’t insinuating what he thought he was insinuating. He couldn’t have been. There was no way this… lump of plastic that he’d just had his fingers wedged inside of was doing a double take of his unsightly mug and was indiscreetly calling him cute.

Nines rounded the corner to hover next to him, doing what he was best at. He’d changed into his leather jacket. Might as well give it to Nines at this point since he kept stealing it.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“That's my jacket.”

He peered down at himself, raising his arms out to his sides. “So it is.”

“That was a Christmas gift from my mom, y'know.”

“She chose wisely.”

Gavin sucked in his lips. “Friday. We’re going thrifting Friday. Three more days of you wearing my shit, can handle that.”

“Can you?”

“I have to.”

Nines rested his hands inside the pockets; those things were back to being filled with miscellaneous crumbs and forgotten wrappers. “They are sending six squad cars. They should be here in five minutes.”

Gavin took another long drag. He could hear their sirens traveling over the horizon. “You think that’s them?”

“It’s so hard to tell. If only police cars made an easily identifiable sound.”

“What an ingenious idea.” Gavin crushed the cigarette with his heel and immediately swooped down to grab its remains.

“See? Trainable. You are learning.”

“One of these days, when you least expect it, I’m gonna superglue your lips together when you’re in stasis.”

“Superglue does not adhere well to polycarbonate.”

“I’ll make it.”

The patrol cars formed a uniform line as they came to a screeching halt, and before either of them could mentally process what level of fuckery they were about to face, Nines was catapulted onto the ground. A black vested wall formed between him and his partner that was crying in agony as his cheeks were smushed into a pool of mud.

“Hey, what the actual fuck— get your goddamn hands off him! He’s fucking injured, for Christ’s sake.”

“Our orders were to detain an android suspect,” the officer pinning Nines to the ground barked. “Any android that we come across.”

“This isn’t our fucking suspect, he’s been assigned to this case with me. Trace back the number; he called you.”

“I have video evidence that,” he sounded hoarse and downright miserable, “I was the victim, not the suspect.”

“No, Nines, you don’t have to give them shit. Didn’t say a damn word before they tackled you to the ground– who’s your supervisor?” He took a step closer only to be elbowed back in place. A blonde woman craned her neck.

“You can get his number after we get the footage.”

“There anything legally binding that states an android’s gotta forfeit over footage, without a court order?” Before she could add anything else, he cut her off, “No. There’s not,” he raised his voice a decibel. “The same spot you’re fucking kneeling on him is where he got shot, asshole.”

He was grumbling this out of the side of his mouth, but loud enough that Gavin could clearly hear him. “Tell your buddy with the stick up his ass to chill out.” Officer Hotshot locked eyes with him. “We see that video and you’ll make all of our days that much easier.”

Nines let his eyes flutter shut. “I need an email, or phone number.”

“Here.” The officer held his phone in front of Nines’ face, his led flashing a pale yellow. As they brought Nines to his feet, they maintained distance between them.

“We will still have to detain you until we can review the footage.”

“And I’m still waiting on that number so I can report your fucking asses. There’s a man dead in that basement,” he pointed over his shoulder with his thumb, “his android hauled ass to God knows where. You’re wasting time.”

“Bro, you gotta control that mouth.” Nines’ arms were contorted behind his back. Great, there was a shiny new trail of thirium running down his jeans. “We’ll get medical to assess the both of you. But, until then, no one’s going anywhere.”

 

---

 

They were sitting parallel to each other in the back of an ambulance, the overhead fluorescent lights more than headache inducing. The thorns were plucked from his jeans and a glob of ointment was rubbed under his eyes (his skin instantly relaxed). He couldn’t complain (as much as he wanted to), because this was covered.

Which meant they could also take a quick gander at the dozen, already scabbing, slashes across his back and reconfirm that they weren’t infected. Yes, they insistently pestered him to explain how he got so fucking beat up, and they asked him if he was aware he had psoriasis (he was well aware, his increased stress levels did not help with the flare ups).

They (eventually) accepted his silence as an answer. It all worked out in the end.

Nines’ face had been cleaned up, not a speck of dirt left. They’d hooked him up to an intravenous thirium bag, but that took all of five minutes to flush through his system. That was apparently all he needed. The gaping hole still remained, though. There were two EMTs that attended to them; one being a human male, and the other, an android.

The android had set down a toolbag and an industrial grade soldering iron next to Nines. The minute the metal tip made contact with his body, he was back to hollering like his life depended on it. They came to the agreement that no further repairs would be made until he wasn’t so hyper aware of every touch and poke and prod.

Gavin hadn’t thought about the concept of android-centric healthcare until recently. Sure, your average robotics major could do basic tune-ups and there were mom and pop stores that offered repairs. But, who exactly do you call in an emergency like this? Did they have on-call roboticists for situations when someone couldn’t wait the two weeks to ship back their housemaid to Cyberlife? Which, you couldn’t even do anymore.

It made sense that an android would be more equipped to work on someone of its own kind. Maybe he was just an ignorant fool. Gave him some food for thought as conversation starters– he was dreading the drive back home.

Nearly an hour had flown by, and the front gates that had been just that– massive, mismatched arches –were now roped off with yellow caution tape. His perfectly trimmed lawns had been trampled over and the poor flamingo had fallen to its side. The road leading up to his house was blocked off by even more vehicles.

Gavin had his laptop balancing on his knees, a thick cord laying beside him. “I think I understand what to do. Found a few threads that dumb down the step by step process.”

He leaned over and pushed his hand against Nines’ abdomen, expecting the compartment to slide open, but it didn’t budge.

“That isn’t where my access port is. Elijah always expressed that it being located in the torso would make me too vulnerable.”

“Where is it, then?”

Nines brushed his finger behind his ear. “On second thought… I don’t know if I want to do this.”

“The hell are you talking about? You wanna be in severe pain? They’re not gonna be able to seal you up otherwise.”

“I do not feel comfortable deskinning in front of you.”

“Wait… holy shit, you’re an android?” Gavin gasped dramatically, clasping his hand over his mouth. Nines rolled his eyes, huffing. “Who the fuck cares? If that’s the only way I can access that port, you’re gonna have to.”

“I feel like the only respect you have for me is attached to my human shell. If you see past that illusion, I go back to being nothing more than a toaster to you.”

“Don’t put fucking words in my mouth. Did I ever say that bullshit to you?”

“You–”

“Hm? Verbatim?”

“You have called me a toaster, numerous times.” He deeply exhaled. His skin slowly faded and a mixture of white sterline and brushed silver metal plating was revealed. He took the cord from Gavin and aligned it with the slot. “Can you please look away.”

“Wasn’t planning to look at you anyways,” his eyes were trained on the encrypted data loading in front of him. He was hoping he’d downloaded the right software. “Let’s see what we got here.”

He peered at his phone then back at the keyboard, pressing ‘ctrl’ and ‘f’. “Uh, yeah, they set it to a ten. Fuckers.” He peered at Nines, although briefly. He didn’t get a good look at him. “You want it off completely?”

“No. Half capacity is more than fine.”

“Nah, five is too high, still. You don’t need that.” Two was what he settled on, hoping it’d serve as a reminder to not do anything too stupid. A reminder that his body still had its limits.

“I’m gonna put my hand over the hole, okay? Brace yourself,” he said as he pressed his palm firmly against him. “Can you still feel that?”

Nines nodded. “Yes, but it is only sore. It does not feel like I am slowly being torn apart limb by limb. This is fine.”

“‘kay, you're all set, then,” he closed the computer as Nines removed the cable, his face regaining its color instantaneously.

“Thank you, Gavin. Seriously.”

The corners of his lips curled. “Just glad those classes weren't for nothing.”

There was a knock on the back of the ambulance. An officer peered his head in; not the douchebag from earlier, thank God.

“Alright boys, we’ve got everything sorted. Our captains have both been in touch and are up to date on this current situation. Fowler… is that his name?”

“Uh huh.”

“He wants you to get there as soon as you can, as soon as medical gives you the all clear.”

 

---

 

At last, they’d made it to Waffle House; maybe not the best reward for escaping the claws of death, but a meal loaded with sugar was calling Gavin’s name. A short pitstop wasn’t going to be too much of a road bump. They were going to be there before five– hopefully well before.

“How much do you wanna bet that we'll get any sleep tonight?”

He swirled around his mug. The unknown of whatever Jeff wanted to talk about was looming over his head. He could assume it was going to be about his subpar performance, them fucking up royally today. He could’ve finally reached the maximum threshold he had for Gavin’s bullshit. He knew better than to play devil's advocate and daydream about only pessimistic outcomes, but it was easier said than done to not do that.

Nines dropped a handful of mini creamer cups on the table, stacking them one by one in neat rows. “I don't want to make that bet.”

Gavin took a sip of coffee. Oh, sweet coffee without android juices tainting it, how he longed for it. “Fair.”

“You are going to get food— actual food, right?”

“Yes, mom.”

A man with dirty blond hair piled into a messy bun approached them, pocket sized notebook in his hands. Gavin didn’t have to glance back at the menu to know what he was ordering. It felt like a year’s worth of hunger was catching up to him.

He turned his attention to Nines, tapping the silver button of his pen against the dip in his chin. “And, for you?”

“Oh, I—” Nines sat up straighter, “I, um. Fine. I'm fine— good. Nothing for me.” The smile he forced made him look constipated. “Thanks.”

With an unphased nod, he spun around on his heel and disappeared into the kitchen. Androids couldn’t blush (or, he didn’t think they could, at least), but Nines looked like he was about to sink into the floor out of humiliation. Teasing him a little couldn’t hurt that much.

“So… what the fuck was that?”

“I think I short circuited.” In the process of him fidgeting with the cuffs of Gavin’s jacket, he demolished his dairy-free pyramid. “He did get me pretty good in the back of my head with a metal pipe.”

“Jesus, that guy was a psycho,” Gavin took another sip of his drink.

“...that waiter was exceptionally good looking.” To immediately choke on the liquids, patting his chest as he viciously coughed. There it was. That kind of reaction wasn’t elicited from head trauma.

“Oh, shit. You find someone attractive?” he wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “God, it’s starting. The world is truly ending.”

“I knew I shouldn't have told you that.” Nines threw his head back, in a very ala your parents making a gigantic deal over your first crush, style. “It was not attraction as much as— admiration for his aesthetic features.”

“So, in other words… attraction. Thought you said the other day that you couldn't feel that way about anyone?”

“I never said I couldn't appreciate someone's appearance. This is… not the first time, anyhow. It is only baseline admiration.” He began to again stack up the cups. He always did this– felt the need to keep his hands busy –when he became the topic of their conversations. “I want to make it very clear that I cannot feel sexual desire.”

“God, please. TMI,” he held up his hand to him. “Don't make me puke this early in the morning.” Gavin bit his lower lip, nudging his elbow against the table. Nines sighed as he was back to square one.

“Gavin.”

“Since you brought this up, you gotta tell me who else you think is aesthetically pleasing.”

“Does that genuinely matter?”

“Just trying to make friendly conversation.”

“You are mocking me.”

“I'm really not.”

“No, you are. You are trying so damn hard not to laugh. I can hear it in your voice.”

“Oh my God, I’m not fucking mocking you. This is way more fascinating than I think you realize,” he crossed his arms over his chest. “Were they also guys?”

“Put it to rest, Reed. Forget I said anything.” He raised his brows at him expectantly. With a heavy exhale, Nines rubbed his temples. “So far they have all been men, yes.”

“Oh,” his lips parted, “so you're gay gay.”

Nines rested his chin against his palm, elbow on the edge of the table. “Are you done now? I do not hate many things– but, this? I need you to make your closing remarks and stop.”

“Okay, fine, you big fucking baby. Complain about how you wanna be friends so badly– this is what friends talk about, dipshit.”

“Get on with it already.”

All he could focus on was “Linger” by The Cranberries playing on the jukebox. “You got a type?”

He was only asking this question out of sheer morbid curiosity. What he’d said earlier– Gav was what Tina used to call him in highschool, what partners would coo when sharing mutual sentiment. He didn't actually think Gavin was cute, right?

“I— I do not know. Maybe. I might.” Nines looked at him for a long moment before swiftly drawing his attention elsewhere.

…oh. Maybe he did.

A plate of dry pancakes with an underwhelming amount of chocolate chips was dropped in front of him– where’d man bun go? They’d sent out a different waiter.

“The name of this place is Waffle House. Is ordering pancakes not a little… sacrilegious.”

Gavin scoffed. “I like to rebel against the system, what can I say?” He stabbed a fork through the lot of them. “Can I just– one more thing, now that I know this breaking news.”

“I will break you if there is one more,” he made air quotations, “‘one final thing’.”

“You still think you're incapable of love?”

“It is not that I think I am. I know I am.” Nines sighed. “You are going to make me panic, yet again. Less talking, more chewing.”

There was a clatter of a pan being dropped followed by a string of expletives. Right, this is why you always stay clear of Waffle House.

 

---

 

Gavin was stretched back in his chair, obsessively running his hands through his hair because he didn't know what else to do with himself in that moment. They'd been back in their home state for a grand total of ten minutes, and the varied stacks of navy folders that awaited them were not particularly enticing.

Fowler had still been in a meeting, so it was just a waiting game now. Speaking of games, they'd come up with one as soon as they entered Michigan— counting the amount of dispensary billboards they saw. Gavin found a grand total of twenty, but Nines said it was more like fifty.

Nines’ heels clicked against the linoleum as he drew closer. He pushed Gavin’s feet off his desk so his chair snapped upwards, and he was forcibly sitting upright.

“You could say excuse me.”

He clutched an armrest and pulled him inches away from the desk before hopping up on the edge of it. His back arched so he could hover closer to him.

“I could.”

He had a tissue balled in his hand. He pressed it against his cheek with a featherlight touch, like a gust of wind tickling his skin. God, what now?

“You are covered in thirium, and I know that you cannot see it. But it is driving me insane.”

“You don’t have to look at me.”

“Oh how I wish that were true.”

Did he need to complain about his lack of acknowledging personal space? He was almost growing desensitized to it.

There were things he'd never noticed about Nines before. The way he stuck his tongue out when he was focusing on something, his five o'clock shadow looking like it lacked texture, or the faint trace of laugh lines that were overtly artificial because he sure as hell didn’t make him laugh that much.

His lips looked like they'd been filled in with pastel chalk; the gaggle of freckles he wore traveled down his neck, disappearing under his collar.

“Am I also allowed to charge you for staring?”

“I’m not.”

Nines looked at him and met his eyes. “You're not?”

“Nah. You're looking at me.”

“Hm.” He looked Gavin up and down in a very similar fashion. “We can act like you weren’t. I’ll allow it this time.”

With the hand holding the tissue, he pushed a strand of hair behind Gavin's ear. His skin felt like he'd been slapped with a bag of peas, and then immediately stabbed with a box of sewing needles. His face had to have been brighter than a damn tomato, he could bet his heart on it without a mirror.

He expected Nines to laugh at him, say something snarky, and it was more shocking that he didn't.

His fingers hesitated, lingered, tracing down the curve of his jaw. Gavin wiped at his face, like he could brush away his blush— was he even uncomfortable? This just felt awkward as shit.

“Really? You're smudging it all over again,” Nines rolled his eyes, taking hold of his wrist. “Please go wash your hands.”

“I did. You think I'm that nasty? Not my fault I ain't got infrared vision.”

With an indignant huff, Nines began to wipe off his fingers one by one. Gavin just couldn't tear his eyes away from him. Nines made a show of stopping what he was doing to meet his gaze, nose creased.

“Is there something on my face?”

“No. It's spotless.”

His ring turned red. “Your heart is racing.”

“Don't sc—”

“I can feel it.”

There was a knock at the door, though pointless because Chris swung it open a millisecond later. “Fowler wants both of you in his office now—” he pawed for the handle, “ope, sorry to… interrupt.”

Nines let go of him though he maintained eye contact. He felt like he was standing, not directly under the sun's ray, but on the fucking surface of it.

“We will be there in a minute, Chris.”

 

---

 

Fowler was sitting with his hands folded. He didn't love the way he was looking at them.

“As we suspected, your case has been escalated to the FBI. Which, for you Reed, means you're back on homicide.”

“And, for him?” He quickly glanced at Nines.

Jeffrey turned his attention to his computer, shaking his head. “I don't understand you and Anderson. You come into my office and call me a ‘punk ass bitch’ for assigning an android to you. And now,” he reached for his reader glasses, looking between the two of them. “Have you come to a truce?”

Nines said, “Something like that.”

Jeffrey clacked on his keyboard. “This is why I need to talk to you both. The news that we have yet another android detective has spread like wildfire. You've piqued the interest of many districts.” He reached under his desk and pulled out a stack of freshly printed papers.

“Wilshire in Los Angeles has made a pretty sizable offer to get you on their team. While they can't offer upfront payment, they'll cover your housing and transport. There would also be a company car you can use at your will.” He flipped to another paper. “C-six in Boston has laid out a similar deal on the table.”

He relaxed in his chair. “Now, you don't have to accept either of these. The spot is guaranteed, but not mandatory. Just like with Connor, I am leaving the option to stay in your hands. If that's what you decide on, we'll be happy to still have you.” He raised a brow at Gavin. “Won't we?”

“Yes,” he grumbled.

“I am currently seeing what I can do regarding amenities and salary. The goal was to get you on the payroll shortly.”

“What would staying look like? Would we still be working together?”

“If that's what you both want, I've got no problem with it.” He waved at them. “Think about it and talk it through. They're not rescinding if you don't decide this very second. Just need to know sometime tomorrow.

“And, Nines. There's no pressure to transfer. I know this is a huge decision. Opportunities like this are… what they're doing is very generous and I can't guarantee something like this will happen again. But, you don't have to do it.”

Gavin scoffed. “Okay, grandpa. Thanks for the words of wisdom.”

He pointed his finger at Gavin. “Be thankful you still have a job.”

“One more question, Captain.”

He nodded at him.

“If I come to realize I do not quite fit in at another station— would I be allowed to return?”

“If we have the space, yes. Of course. Like I said, talk it over. Weigh out all the cons and pros, on both of your ends. Don't take this lightly.”

Jeffrey nodded his head, signaling to them that they could make their escape. They both got up to leave, and Gavin went to open the door, holding it for Nines as he walked by.

“Hold on. Sit back down. I wanted to talk to you for a minute, alone.”

“Oh, God.” He let it close behind him, Nines cocking his head at him to which Gavin shrugged, shooing him away. “What'd I monumentally fuck up this time?”

“Color me surprised that you didn’t.” He turned his attention away from the screen and to him fully. “Judy reached out to me earlier. I'm sorry to hear about your father.”

His face instantly fell. As much as he loved to give Jeffrey migraines, he was glad he could have one stable father figure in his life.

“Are you hanging in there?”

“As well as someone can when their dad is halfway across the country and fucking dying.” He bit his nail. “You'd think this’d be a motivator for Eli to reach out, but, nah.”

“Priscilla was planning a cookout for the family on Saturday. The kids have been complaining that you never come around. You're welcome to join us.” Fowler looked off in the distance, and he followed his gaze. Nines was standing at the bottom of the half steps that led up to his office. “He's welcome to come, too.”

“Maybe. I'll think about it.”

“I'm always here if you need to talk, Gavin. I don't just mean that as your boss.”

“No, I know. Wish I could talk about it.”

“Which is why I'm offering a distraction. I know how it feels. I still feel like I'm grieving my father, and it's been…” he looked at his wall calendar, “seven years in August. Anyhow, that was all I wanted to say. You've been in our thoughts.”

“Know I don't act like it, but I appreciate you, Jeff.”

“I know. You just have to work on reeling yourself in.”

“I've been trying.” He got up with a crack of his knees and joined Nines.

“What was that about?”

“You, uh,” he scratched the back of his head, “busy Saturday evening?”

“Yes.”

“Oh,” the corners of his lips pulled, “okay, that's cool.”

“Because I already made plans to do whatever this is with a disaster of a man I can't seem to get away from.”

Gavin pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth, breathily laughing. “It's a little family get-together. Sometimes Jeff's sister and her partner stop by, but they keep it low key.”

“That sounds fun. I would love to go.”

“Love.”

“It's an expression, detective.”

“Uh huh, right. You wanna go on a walk?”

 

---

 

They’d found themselves at a park less than a block from the precinct. It was bustling with more life than he'd expect for a random weekday; someone was busking with an electric violin, and hey, point for creativity.

“Housing and a car, all expenses covered. That's a pretty sweet deal.”

“It is.”

“Even if it's not salaried, means you could hoard your penance. Save up to buy a house. Move far away from civilization and spend the rest of your days doing whatever the fuck you wanted.”

“You are putting that thought in my head so you can move in with me and live out your fantasies.” Nines gently nudged him.

“What'd ever make you think that?”

“You have a horrible poker face.”

Gavin cracked a smile. They sat on the edge of a fountain. “Know you said you wouldn't know where to go, but this is your ticket out of here, to see what else's out there. Makes that hard decision for you and simplifies it. Just gotta pick whatever city catches your eye— not Boston.”

Nines had his hands in his pockets. “Do you want me to leave?”

“‘m too much to handle. Could finally distance yourself from me and save your sanity.”

“No, I am asking you. Do you want me to?”

“Silence might take a while to get used to again, but I could deal with it.”

“You're not answering me.”

He audibly swallowed his saliva. “No, okay. If you wanted to put that power in my hands and make me the deciding factor, I'm in the camp of you planting your ass here. But I can't be the sole reason you stay.”

“Why can't you be?”

“You've been wanting to transfer. I don't know if it's fear of the unknown that's making this not a concrete answer, but there's a lot more out there in the world than Detroit and my crummy ass, musty apartment.”

“Would you keep in touch with me? Or would this be the final nail in the coffin that is our problematic relationship.”

“Dunno how much I could come see you face to face, but we can text. Could get you a laptop so we can video call,” Gavin nodded. “Talking to you isn't a total chore, now that you've got a personality. You're damn funny, albeit a little too snarky.”

“Learned it from the best.”

Gavin made finger guns at him and Nines just rolled his eyes.

“If I do leave, what happens when you get another gun drawn on you?”

“Hardy har. Fucking case in point.”

A couple walked past them, holding hands and gleaming at each other. One of them was an android. Wasn't that all too symbolic.

“It might be better this way. You know work is like, the key factor in the tension between us. We make a lot more sense as friends.”

“Would that still be your answer if I were human?”

“You're not, so I dunno. Just playing with the deck of cards life handed us.” He watched his breath escape his lips. The streetlights around them were beginning to turn on. “What're you leaning towards?”

“I, currently, am more interested in accepting this offer.”

Gavin nodded, sucking in his lips. Nines closed his eyes.

“You clearly didn't want to hear that. You are not okay with this, don't lie to me.”

“You have to put yourself first and do what benefits you. That's all that really matters. This is your life— you get to make these choices now. Might hurt, but I can deal with the aftermath. Pretty used to it.”

“I am not abandoning you. You understand that, right?”

“We're just coworkers, at the end of the day. All boils down to making ends meet. Know this ain't anything personal.”

“We are not just coworkers.” Nines crossed his legs over one another. “Can you let me know when your father does pass so I can be there for you? I do not care if that text is sent at three in the morning, I will find my way back to you before sunrise.”

“Yeah. I'll keep you updated.”

“I am not saying that is what I am going to do for sure.”

“You'd be stupid not to take this.”

“I wish this offer was also extended to you.”

“You really wanna be stuck with me for the foreseeable future?”

“A change of scenery might do you good.”

“If you did transfer to Boston for some ungodly, demented reason, you could go pay my mom a visit. I'm sure she'd love you since, y'know. You were crafted by the hands of her favorite son.”

Nines chuckled at that, although it was muted.

“Gotta admit, I was looking forward to spending Christmas with you.”

“We do not know how long this process is going to take. It could take weeks.”

“Or, you could be gone by this week.”

“Right. There is that.” Nines licked across his lips. “May I change the subject?”

“Please, be my guest.”

“I was looking through your file again— mostly out of boredom — and I have been wondering; why were you demoted from lieutenant?”

“I was never promoted, s’thing.” Gavin scratched his neck. “Jeff took a lot of pride in my work ethic, even if I was the mutually hated cockroach of our team. Lieutenant Reed has a catchy ring to it, sounds like something outta cop sitcom. Was more focused on the pay raise and not so much how burnt out I was becoming. I couldn't handle it.

“Started showing up three hours late every day, running on fumes from a wink of sleep. Had no filter, was spewing bullshit left and right, spreading really fucking stupid rumors just ‘cause it kept my mind at bay.

“Fowler rescinded the offer when I called Hank an ‘old drunk bastard that can't do something as simple as keeping his own son alive’.”

Nines slumped his shoulders. “You didn't.”

“No, I really did. He nearly broke my jaw.”

“Good. As he should have,” he flicked his ear, Gavin sneering in response. “I am going to take a wild guess and assume that you never apologized.”

“Don't think there's a way you can apologize when you say something like that.” He scraped a nail against the crackled leather of his wallet. “Funny thing is that he gave me a very similar pep talk.”

“And, why do you have a private office, again?”

“Too much of a nuisance for general population.” He waved. “Nah, I'm kidding. It's a lot less dramatic. There was one unused room, got converted into an office. Asked for it before Anderson or Ben could.”

A golden retriever darted by them, chasing after a rogue frisbee.

“I dunno, bud. You gotta wonder about all the what ifs. Move somewhere new where no one knows your name, don't know where you came from. Could find a Tina of your own, friends that don't make you wanna rip your hair out— a boyfriend that loves you for exactly who you are.”

“I could find all of that here. In theory.”

“You could. I'm just saying.”

 

---

 

It was close to eleven by the time they were done filling out all the forms they needed to to file an incident report. Nines looked like he couldn't keep his eyes open, and yeah, Gavin was feeling that, too. He could feel his soul trying its best to drift away from his body.

“Hey.” He tapped his arm, Nines blinking furiously. “Think this is our sign to throw in the towel for the night.”

He rubbed at his face. “You can go. I am going to stay a bit longer.”

“...to fill out the transfer forms?”

His eyes were bouncing from one point of focus to the next. “To think. I don't get many opportunities to be completely alone.”

“Are you—”

“I'm fine, Gavin. I'm fine. This is,” he ran his thumb across his lower lip. “Catching me very off guard, having to make a decision this permanent. Fleeing Cyberlife? Easy. Calling Captain Fowler? I didn't hesitate. This…”

“It's life changing.”

“That is an understatement.”

“Just text me when you're heading home, okay? I'll leave the door unlocked.”

“Will do.” Nines was leaned back in his chair, arms folded across his chest as he studied the ceiling. As Gavin was about to close the door behind him, Nines said: “Gavin.”

He looked over his shoulder. “Yeah?”

“I,” he clicked his tongue.

“You…”

He stood up, leaning his elbow against the doorframe as Gavin stood right outside the threshold. Again, they found themselves staring at each other for far too fucking long. A bead of sweat dripped down the back of his neck.

“I, um,” he sighed. “I talked to Markus about our arrangement.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“He said that tomorrow they're planning to go through donation boxes to get ready for that clothing drive I was telling you about. And he added, as long as we both behave, I can call first dibs on anything I see.”

He clapped his hands together, looking above them. “Thank you. I will never have to see another butt fucking ugly sweater ever again.”

Nines gave him a very tired smile. “That's what I wanted to tell you.”

“Yeah? Nothing else?”

“Mhm.”

“On that note, I'll see you in a bit.” He clapped him on the shoulder before he turned to start walking towards the front doors. Nines cleared his throat.

He met his eye.

“...nevermind. I lost my train of thought.”

 

---

 

Gavin didn't find himself sitting outside his apartment complex, but instead, the nearby rundown bar he used to frequent on nights like this. When he just wanted to numb out racing thoughts and find easy comfort for the night. Scrap what he said about growing tired of meaningless hook-ups— he was sick of playing this game, that rang very true. But in the same breath, he knew he could walk in there and find a body to get his dick wet in less time than it'd take to order a pizza.

That's all he wanted. No fleeting shoulder touches, no shy gazes across the room. He wanted to feel detached from reality, and he wanted whatever would get him back home before one. He was fighting with himself, with his selfish, animalistic desires. The car was still running, and he couldn't stop fucking staring at the photo of him and Nines at Kings Island. The pure, unfiltered joy radiating from him. He set it as his contact icon.

He couldn't stop replaying him caressing his cheek. Having your life flash before your eyes does funny things to people. That's what Gavin chalked up his affection to. And the reason he was stalling, the reason he couldn't draw his attention away from this fucking thing— this man he was growing just a tad bit too reliant on, too… infatuated with— he blamed on not having a partner outside of his right hand in months. Not having anyone to talk to outside of his hand.

I have zero desire to be anything but your friend.

He was done exerting his brain for the night. He cut the engine and went inside.

Chapter 13: stepping stones

Summary:

He couldn't get Nines out of his head. It was like no matter where he went or what he did— he could be skydiving halfway across the world — he was consuming his each and every thought.

Gavin was a hater first, human second. And one of the things he downright despised was obsessing over someone like this. It made him feel weak and out of control. There were reasons why he didn't do relationships, why he forcibly stopped himself before he could get infatuated with someone. The fear of the unknown was too overwhelming.

Gavin awoke to his brain blended into a mush of purée and feeling as if a red hot poker was being jabbed directly into his ribs. God, it made him grit his teeth to move even an inch. He pawed around the mattress, nails catching a loose thread of the comforter before he felt a hard, solid mass. With one eye squinted, he squeezed the side buttons. Fuck, his phone was dead.

He pushed himself up on his elbow to be greeted by framed butterflies and other preserved bugs he couldn’t make out in the dark– the walls being decorated was an immediate give away that he wasn’t in his apartment. Faint hints of orange were trickling in through the gaps of wooden blinds. Right. He’d fallen asleep at this guy’s place. Fuck.

As quietly as he could, he kicked his feet free from the sheets that knotted around them and scurried to gather up his small pile of clothes. He still had his sweater on, which couldn’t even be put into words how much of a bad idea sleeping in it was. Pretty sure a few scabs had bled into the knit. Again.

Sitting on top of the nightstand closest to him was an alarm clock; it had a USB and USB-C port. He had to have a charging cable somewhere. He just needed to plug it in for five minutes, long enough to get it turned on and watch the notifications (that he knew were there) pop up from Nines asking where the hell he was.

It was six in the morning, totally close enough to his personal curfew of one AM. God, he was such a fucking jackass, how many times did he have to repeat this phrase? He was just proving Nines right; he couldn’t change.

A light was flicked on– warm enough that the shift didn’t make him go cross eyed. Gavin immediately looked up to a pair of chocolate marbles watching him. The blue of his led was vibrant and made his stomach churn all the more. He couldn’t remember his name. Maybe it was… Nathinal– no, Noah, that sounded right. He looked like a Noah.

His tactic of the night was planting himself at the bar and waiting for someone to approach him. He figured going up to someone with a smashed in face would give off the wrong first impression; he was on the prowl for his next victim to disembowel, that’s what people would think.

He swirled around a straw (he didn’t want alcohol tonight, he needed his sense of judgement as poor as it was even when he was sober) and spent his time cleaning out junk emails. Waiting patiently as the front door chimed every few minutes.

The leather of the chair next to him squeaked and he saw a pair of pale hands fold across the countertop. The magnet he swallowed as a kid must’ve still been lodged in him because he just couldn’t stop attracting androids.

His strawberry blond locks were slicked back like a Greaser, and he licked over his front teeth as he spoke. “Long day?”

Gavin forced out a huff of air, nodding his head. He watched a bead of condensation race down the side of the glass. “Where do I fucking start?”

“I have got time. May I buy you a drink?”

“S’long it’s virgin.”

Gavin sipped on his Arnold Palmer (that’s what he settled on after racking his memory on drinks that weren’t just plain soda). “You do not mind me being an android?”

He waved him off. “Nah, my… roommate’s an android, too.”

The way he was looking at him made his heart flutter, but not because he was intrigued by the prise of heading home with a complete stranger. Feeling another body pressed up against his for a few hours is… what he thought he wanted. He needed to feel touch that wasn’t accompanied by a snarl, by a sharp weapon, by blood splattering everywhere.

He didn’t want that affection from a mystery man.

No matter how loud the overhead music was or how much he’d let his eyes wander down this man’s toned body, he couldn’t get Nines out of his fucking head.

He’d heard birds sing as Nines’ fingers glided down his jawbone. His sitting position shifted every few seconds because that was his nervous tic. How his long lashes fluttered when he’d caught Gavin unapologetically staring at him. The warmth radiating from his gaze was like a crushed velvet, reflecting the light. He didn’t want to let go of it.

When Jeffrey laid out that small stack of papers on his desk, he felt a maelstrom tear through the very center of his soul. The wood of the chair underneath him had been axed away and he was falling through a tunnel that had no exit, no doors, just… nothing but him and himself. As much as he loved to hit his own off switch and only focus on the fleeting buzz of nicotine, he’d been doing some self reflecting.

There was this invisible thing that nipped at him, like a little ankle biting bug you can’t swat away. When he’d found Bailey laying on Nines chest, sure, his heart started to pump a little faster. If he could pause time and look at this like it were a still from a movie, he could find the sweetness in the scenario. This creature that’d had him jumping up on his (previously) clean counter was now invading his space, and he was letting her do it when he was most vulnerable.

But he wasn’t just having thoughts like this when he could capture moments in a photograph, and this wasn’t a fucking movie.

Gavin was always getting in his own head, and that in turn made him an accident prone disaster. He wasn’t quite sure how he’d done this, but he’d rolled his ankle on the way in to James’ apartment (though, to be fair, there was a rather large crack in the curb just before the front steps of the complex).

They’d talked about going out on a date– a real date, for once. One that didn't involve sitting side by side on the couch that was so firm it felt like a rock in his living room and tossing back a couple of beers. One where they'd settle on a restaurant they could spend an hour at (hell, he was fine with a chain, he wasn't picky) and act as if they got along. One night without a string of faux pas and hot tears.

He used his spare key to let himself in and asked James if he could bring him to urgent care to get checked out. That’s all he said. There was one that was a five minute drive away, and it was stupid to spend fifteen dollars trying to call an Uber to get him there. It was for the ease of his own mind, and he could swallow the copay. After that, he'd be good to go.

Their conversations followed the same flow structure since the beginning of their relationship; Gavin asked him for the bare minimum and he was told that he was overdramatic. Asking far too much, or alternatively, he'd need to ‘put out’ more often if he was going to be so demanding. That Gavin needed to be kissing the ground he walked on for James to even humor his ass.

Him and Nines bickered, insults were interchangeable with pet names by this point, that didn’t have to be said. Friend might not’ve been an appropriate way to describe Nines, concerned bystanders could say. But he didn’t have this dark cloud looming over him, this strong gut instinct that he should bite his tongue and not say shit.

When he'd told Nines about his father, it was an honest mistake.

Many moons ago and when he could still see some humanity in his father, he'd flown back home for an extended weekend trip. His dad had been transferred to yet another assisted living facility because he needed one that was equipped with twenty four hour monitoring, and had someone on staff that didn't see alcoholism as a willing choice.

His mom was clinging to unraveling threads of sanity. The conservatorship for his dad had been approved, but that only put more strain on her because it's like she couldn't pry herself away from her phone now. Always having to schedule one appointment after the next, wait for an hour on hold with insurance, decide what would happen if he needed to be put on life support.

He wanted to be a good son, wanted his mom to praise him. Just once. He'd gone to Walmart and bought fifty dollars worth of cleaning supplies to scrub down the house until it was sparkling like a polished crystal. Spent a few hours cooking easily reheatable meals and labeled all the Tupperwares. Dug through the attic and pulled out a couple of childhood albums, the ones where his brother still acknowledged his existence, to lay out on her bed.

Point of the story is: he'd called James, and when he picked up, he started breaking down and couldn't stop himself from sobbing like a heartbroken widow. He hung up on Gavin.

Whenever he'd spoken about his dad, he indirectly told him to shut the fuck up— mostly changed the subject to a very mundane, thought melting, downright boring topic. Like the weather (not even a full paragraph worth of dialogue, just mentioning that it was raining), or gossip about one of their friends Gavin already didn't give a shit about.

He'd expected Nines to brush him off, too. It was actually ten times more harrowing that he didn't, because Gavin had found so much comfort in chaos, he didn’t know how to process sincerity as anything other than a joke.

When you're not wearing a cape made of sharp pointed nails, you can see reflections of your true self in how others respond to you. The vulnerable parts that you do not want to explore.

Gavin had been starving for any positive attention for years now, that he clung to any emotional sugar source he could find. Nines offered him a sense of hope that he hadn't dreamt of since he was a naive child— a future where he'd be sitting in a rocking chair with an army of cats at his feet, growing old with someone he could just bask in a comfortable silence with.

He could see Nines in that chair beside him.

The way he felt about Nines was self-inflicted. He was under no obligation to form a connection with him outside of processing paperwork and showing up to calls on time. He could go back to using him as an ashtray, calling him an incompetent bastard because that felt more comfortable.

But, for once in his life? He wanted to stop babying his heart like it was a kicked puppy. The phantoms of his past had dragged him through a category five hurricane and left him there with only an umbrella as his defence. Nines was proving day by day that he wasn’t like this, and that was fucking horrifying.

He'd only been a moody dick to mirror Gavin, and now that Gavin was trying to emulate a cartoon villain a little less… he was enjoying getting to know who Nines really was.

All of that being said, he still found himself stumbling inside an unfamiliar complex and going through the motions without really being present. He let this Nick, Noel, Noah– whoever he was, he was just a placeholder –drag his lips down his neck and draw sparks across his thighs as his hair tickled at his skin.

Why prepare a ten course meal made from scratch when you’ve got golden arches looming on every street corner? This was easier, this was something he’d done too many times to count before.

He wanted to let Nines leave without a fight. If he wanted to accept this transfer, then that was great. He’d leave, Gavin could let himself fester in a Bella Swan-esque timelapse of depression, and then he’d bleed him out of his system.

Acknowledging that someone else saw him as more than just a lump of coal meant he’d have to start forgiving himself. See himself as a friend, as who he was before he let the bitterness consume him.

Gavin slid back into yesterday’s jeans. “Shit, wasn't trying to be too loud. Think I'm gonna head out now.”

“You weren’t.” The sheets slid off his body as he sat up and gathered at his bare groin. “What're you looking for?”

He held up his phone, and the other held up a finger, pulling a cable with a power bank out of his nightstand. Ah, even better.

“Someone was blowing up your DMs last night, after you drifted off. I wasn't sure if I should've woken you up, or not.”

Gavin chewed on the inside of his cheek. “Great.”

“The roommate, I assume?”

“Most likely the… roommate, yeah.”

The screen lit up. At first, there was nothing but Bailey’s widened eyes staring back at him. Then the notifications started pouring in. It was worse than he’d imagined. Twenty texts from Nines with four missed calls, and fifty six from Tina with ten missed calls. He groaned deep from his diaphragm.

“Do you mind if I…”

He waved him off. “Do what you need to do.”

He dragged the charger with him to corduroy sectional, found a place to plug it in, and waited until the dialing tone came to a halt. He checked to make sure Nines had actually picked up– he wasn’t saying anything.

“I, uh– I fucked up.”

“At least you can admit it. We need to get a second key made. Even if we, hypothetically, only had another week together.”

He exhaled heavily. If Nines called him within his own mindplace, that meant each breath he made was done with intent. He wanted him to know he was upset.

“So, three days is your limit on ghosting me.”

“I didn't—” Gavin shifted so his knees were tucked against his chest. “I wasn't planning on not coming home.”

He could hear the instant shift in his tone. “What have you gotten yourself into this time?”

“Don’t really know where to begin,” he watched a different bedroom door open. Another man sauntered out, beelining to the kitchen. “I— I'm just… gonna meet you at work. Where are you?” his phone started beeping. There was an incoming call from Tina. “Actually, think I can make a pretty accurate guess.”

“Tina is pissed at you,” then there was an obvious quality shift in audio. It sounded like he was speaking through a washcloth; muddled and tinny. “No, I am talking to him right now.”

“Can he hear me?”

“Yes.”

“Gavin, you're such a fucking dick. Hang up on him, he doesn't deserve your time.”

“I am going to have to agree with her on that one.” Nines sighed for a second time. “I will see you in a bit. I hope.”

And with that, he hung up. Did he even want to look at the texts? He could only deal with scrolling through a handful of them.

Nines– 12:03 AM

I am on my way back now. If you are still awake, I would like to do something with you. One of those games you mentioned?

Nines– 12:06 AM

I hope you are awake. I have had enough of being alone tonight.

Nines– 12:37 AM

Open the door, please. I thought you said you would keep it unlocked.

Nines– 12:55 AM

You tell me exactly what I want to hear and, repeatedly, make a habit of not following through. Yet I fall for it every time. I really am an idiot.

Nines– 1:01 AM

Gavin?

Nines– 2:22 AM

:(

Nines– 4:09 AM

:’( :’( :’( :’( :’( :’( :’( :’(

He flipped to his messages with Tina, resting his palm flat against his forehead.

Tina- 1:01 AM

Explain to me why I found your partner curled up on a park bench looking like a lost kitten

Tina- 1:55 AM

He said you offered him your couch? WHERE ARE YOU?? PICK UP THE FUCKING PHONE!!!

Tina- 4:49 AM

You need to get your shit together and grow up asap. youre putting this man through LITERAL hell and it's pathetic

He tapped on one final notification that he really didn’t want to look at.

Mommy Dearest- Yesterday 8:17 AM

Call me as soon as you can.

He dropped his phone on the couch, grabbed the nearest pillow and screamed into it.

 

---

 

Before he could even think about getting to the station, he swung by his apartment to blow raspberries against Bailey's squishy tummy. She needed her breakfast, and he needed his allotted baby girl appreciation time. He'd found her tucked up on Nines’ pillow, gently snoring with unevenly timed high pitched chirps.

When he scooped her up, she'd lodged her claws into said pillow and brought it along with her— there was a spiral notebook that'd been hiding under it. He flipped back the cover and skimmed over the first page. In his defense, he assumed this was something pertaining to work because he had his own box full of handwritten notes and journals.

The first sentence printed across the top line was: ‘In the case my hard drive ever fails me: a recollection of things I do not wish to forget.’

Fuck, this was his diary. He closed it and hastily put everything back in place. Temptation be damned, he'd invaded Nines’ privacy enough. He didn't need to snoop to find out if this little… blooming infatuation was mutual when he could learn firsthand from the source.

He dug around the spare cat bed he used to store Bailey's toys and pulled out an automatic laser pointer. She cycled through phases where sometimes all she wanted was a crushed up cardboard tube to bat around, or to watch a livestream of squirrels feasting on seeds. She was obsessed with this thing right now, and he chuckled to himself as he locked the door and could still hear her pattering around as she tried to catch that elusive red bug.

Tina had been waiting for him, posted up in front of the spot he always parked in. She started shaking her head the minute they made eye contact. Nines was nowhere to be found, but that was irrelevant in that moment. She yanked the handle on the passenger’s side incessantly until he honked and yelled “Chill the fuck out” loud enough to hear through the window.

She threw herself in the seat beside him and slapped him right above the knee, as hard as she could.

“Ough— Jesus Christ—”

“Where do I even start with you?”

He slouched, crossing his arms against his chest. “Good morning to you, too.”

“No,” she reached for the radio to mute it. “You don’t deserve appropriately timed greetings.”

His tongue flicked across his lips. “Where did you find him last night?”

“I went with Charlotte to see Joywave—”

“We were supposed to see Joywave together—”

“I asked you if you wanted me to buy your ticket, repeatedly. But, you ignored me. Not everything runs on Gavin o’clock. I wasn’t going to miss out on seeing them because you don’t know how to get your shit together.” She pulled a scrunchy off her wrist and pulled her hair back into a ponytail.

“We went out for a couple of drinks after the show ended and lost track of time; I hadn't seen her since the wedding, we caught up a lot last night. We started to walk back to the parking garage when I saw a man pacing around the park across from the Fillmore. Charlotte wanted to book it and make a run for it, but then I saw a little red ring. He’s kind of hard to miss.”

“I really didn’t– I wasn’t trying to blow him off, for once. I knew I was gonna be back late, but not that late. And I’m not fucking lying, I– it was a long day, guess the exhaustion caught up to me.”

“You are the one that promised him he could crash on your couch. He didn’t ask for that, he didn’t expect you to take him in. You brought it up. The least you could do is have the decency to uphold that promise.”

“Yeah, I know, okay,” he bit his thumbnail, but she slapped his hand away, her nose wrinkling (“Nasty”).

“Where were you? Do I even want to know?”

He ran a hand through his hair, catching a small knot. He knew Tina was going to see right through him— hell, she didn't need to ask, she was a smart girl. She already knew. “Also was… out with someone.”

“Uh huh, right. You blew him off to get your dick wet by a rando that you're not going to even remember in a week?”

He drew his attention to a woman pushing a stroller down the sidewalk; the fuck, there was a lap sized dog in there, not a child.

“Can you please talk to me? I don't know who this person is anymore. What did you do with my best friend?”

His head fell against the headrest. “T, he got offered a job across the country,” he sounded defeated.

“How do those two things correlate, at all?”

“The fuck do you mean how do they correlate? I was upset and obviously I ain’t good with my words. I just wanted to stop obsessively thinking about him. Which, mission failed,” he laughed exasperated, but nothing about this was funny, in any sense of the word. “I can’t get him out of my mind. It’s like he’s fucking infected me. Are computer viruses contagious to humans?”

“You always do this when you start to feel exposed. Bring out the humor instead of sorting through your shit.”

“Because if I don’t, I’m gonna have a full blown psychotic break,” he squeezed his eyes shut, scratching the back of his neck. “I hate that you’re right.”

“I usually am, but you never listen to me.”

The leather underneath him squeaked as he wiggled around to find any way to comfortably sit. His luck was running short.

“I don't know if this is all because I'm downright desperate, got stuck in a dry spell, or ‘cause I feel like my clock’s ticking. I mean, I haven't even known him that long and, y'know, half that time has been spent mutually plotting each other's murder. Yet, I, uh…

“None of this is stemming from a place of being like, oh my God he's so dreamy. Ooh, Tina, isn't he so hot? Kinda wish it was.” He grit his teeth. “He makes me actually wanna do better for myself ‘cause I wanna be around long enough to,” his brows furrowed, “hopefully keep him in my future. It's like one minute he says something that makes me want to bash his fucking metal cranium in, and then the next, he's lassoing me in closer and closer til the point I can't escape, and I don't want to break free from him.

“I have never felt this before and I don't really know what the fuck it is. But I don't like it. I just want to make this all stop. I don’t–” he reached for her hand and felt her loop their fingers together, “nothing about this little crush feels good. Thought that was kinda the whole point.”

“No, honey. Liking someone isn't about it feeling warm and fuzzy. It can feel debilitating. It’s about knowing you'd rather live with that person than without them, and yes, that is absolutely fucking terrifying.” She ran her thumb over his knuckles.

“That little hit of dopamine you get when you hook up with a new guy? That's what you've been chasing after. This,” he caught her toying with her wedding band, “this is the real shit. As real as it gets. It boils down to you deciding if you want to accept all the side effects that come with it. The good and the bad. Ignoring this isn’t going to make it feel any better, either.”

“But, won’t it?”

“No, Gavin.” She let go of him, quickly pulling out her phone to check something. “I can see what you like about him. He's so easy to talk to. He doesn't get hung up on every word you say,” she glanced at him. “Or take everything so personally,” another side eye and he scoffed.

“Okay. Point made.”

“I think I might like him better than you.”

“You can have him.” He scratched against the jagged part of his house key. “What’d you two even do that kept you up until almost five in the morning?”

“Typical sleepover activities,” a smile flashed across her lips. “I pulled the cushions off the couch and we watched Legally Blonde. We made popcorn— though that was more for me. I painted his nails, he painted mine and I think I'm going to ask him to be my forever nail tech because his application is perfect. We were also talking about boys and how much they suck.”

“They do. They really do.”

“Listen, I know it's been rocky since the get go. We’ve all seen that,” she gestured to the building in front of them. “But, Gav,” he couldn't escape this accursed nickname, “he cares about you. A lot. Even though you left him stranded on the streets of Detroit, he still spent the entire night talking about you.”

“Good things? Or shit talk?”

“A mix of both.”

Gavin shakily exhaled. “None of this is gonna matter if he accepts that offer.”

“Do you think he’s going to?”

He shrugged. “I kinda hope so.”

“You're going to die alone if you keep this charade up.”

“I'm fine with that.”

“No, you're not. And you have told me that you’re not. Every boyfriend that you’ve had that’s run you through the ringer, I have been there to hold your hand and be your shoulder to cry on. Metaphorically and literally. You don’t remember crying on my couch after things ended with James, pleading that you wanted a guy that could just see you as you?”

He shut the engine off. “I remember that, yeah.”

“Is this not what you’ve been waiting for?”

“Tina. He’s an android, that my brother built, mind you. And he’s my– our –coworker. Even fantasizing about something… happening between us is fucking stupid.”

“I knew I was in love with Michael after our first date. Everything went godawful and he was so nervous, we almost did an accidental dine and dash. After he dropped me off back at my place, I got this heavy weight in my heart. I didn't want to be apart from him.”

“First of all, don’t mention love. I don’t believe in love at first sight,” he pointed at her. “He’s barely met other humans, I’m just gonna be the first guy he settles for.”

“You think he's settling for the angry gremlin that's shouted at him day in and day out?”

“...well, not when you put it that way.” He drummed his fingers against the steering wheel. “He straight up told me he has no interest in ever becoming romantically involved.”

She quirked a brow. “What did you say before that to prompt that kind of response?”

He looked at her with his mouth slightly agape and she nodded, cheeks sucked in. “Something stupid, got it. You both love to get under each other's skin.”

“Say we did start dating, then what? Don't think he can even begin to understand how monumental my abandonment issues are. Feel like it's just gonna make working together that much more tense. And, what’s he gonna do after I die? Stand around waiting for nature to take its course, for the planet to blow up? He don't got the grim reaper periodically checking in on him.

“Know mom doesn't give two shits about plastic, but you think she's going to be jumping with joy knowing her kid is shacking up with a… fucking computer? She’s gonna have to eventually meet him, or else I’m just gonna be a replica of Eli.”

“Do you really need to have all the answers right now?”

“I can't live with the unknown,” he opened the door, “and that's why I don't do relationships.”

“Ultimately you can do whatever you want. If you want to stay closed off to everyone around you and become a hermit, nothing I say is going to stop you.”

“I don't know if I'm ready for something like this.”

“There's never going to be a point where you're ready,“ she quietly exhaled.

“I can't get hurt again. One more time and I’m gonna be autographing my death certificate.”

“Honey, you're more likely to hurt him than he’s going to hurt you.” Before they parted ways, she squeezed his shoulder. “I love you, Gavin. I just want to see you happy for once. You could have something really good going for you, and I wish you'd just let it happen.”

“I love you, too, T.”

She cupped his cheek, pinching him before she made her way to her desk, and he found himself hesitating at the door of his office space. He knocked first. Shockingly, Nines kept his eyes glued to the monitor in front of him, acting like Gavin was just a phantom passing by.

He got himself situated, plugging in his phone first before clacking in his password. He swiveled in his chair to get back up– Nines looped his finger under the trim of his collar and aggressively tugged it down to expose a hickey. His nails were painted a sky blue but he'd already begun to chip off the polish.

“Busy night,” Nines muttered, returning to his prior position.

Oh God, what was that new tone? He sounded absolutely venomous. Blatantly ignoring that remark, Gavin responded with: “Know I just got here, but I think I’m gonna go get something to eat,” he jangled the rental’s keys. “I haven't had anything since last night.”

“Alright.”

“Won't be long.”

Nines glanced at him before scooching a paper pad over to himself.

“What, not gonna be up my ass today?”

“Oh, I think you have had more than enough of,” another short peek, but he avoided his eye contact, “that.”

Gavin groaned, disregarding how his stomach was squeezing itself in a way that wasn’t from hunger. “Can you just come with me?”

“I have work to do. There was a reported murder-suicide in North Cork Town this morning.”

He leaned across the desk and put his palm flat against the paper, pinching the tip of Nines’ pen between the gap in his fingers.

“Ten minutes. S’all it’ll take.”

Nines pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth. “You have GPS on your phone.”

“I'm not,” he forced out a very lackluster laugh, “I'm not worried about getting lost.”

“Then, either go, or don't. I am not going with you, and I am also not playing this game.” He yanked away the pen, drawing a thick line across his notes as a result.

“Fine, be like that.”

Instead of exiting through the front, he made a turn and went out to the unofficial smoking area. Hank and Connor were occupying his preferred brooding bench.

Connor's brows lowered the second he saw Gavin and their prior conversation was cut short, both sat in a lingering silence. He turned to face away from them and pulled out his carton, but his hands were shaking too much to hold it steady.

“C'mon, son,” he heard Hank gruffly mutter to him. “You're okay.”

They moved past him when the few cigarettes that were left loosened themselves and came spilling out. He crouched down and began rounding them up when there was a hand holding the final one. Connor handed it to him, instinctively flinching as he took it.

“Thanks,” he grumbled, Connor nodding before rising to his feet, scurrying away. Now there was a relationship he was never going to be able to mend.

A trail of smoke followed in his wake as he came back inside. He threw himself in his chair almost to the point of tipping it. He leaned forward, pushing his head against his fists. Nines hastily stood up with an exaggerated huff, stomping out of their office.

He returned not even a minute later, a bag of mini pretzels being hurled at Gavin's head.

“Disregarding what you just fucking did, I don’t like these.”

Nines ran a hand across his lips before slamming his fist down on the bag. It erupted like a tailpipe backfiring and salt particles found themselves all over Gavin’s lap. Who needs coffee when this is the start of your morning?

“Good going, dipshit.”

Nines closed his eyes as he sighed, his forehead deeply wrinkling. “I am actually sorry about that, I did not think it would make that much of a mess.” He went to brush the bits off of Gavin’s lap, but he immediately scooted himself backwards.

“I got it.” He worried his lower lip. “Did you already put in your transfer request?”

“Yes.”

 

---

 

They were standing outside of the roped off apartment complex; the smell of decomposing limbs and smeared fecal matter made him ill to the point of hurling in the victim's bathtub. A tale as old as time; she didn’t want to live without her (recent) ex, so she perished them to a place they could be together for eternity.

He'd take android centric cases any day if that meant he could stay far removed from this kind of distinct smell of rot. He wiped his nose with the back of his sleeve. There was still a build up of saliva in his mouth that made him feel fucking dreadful.

“We shouldn’t be out too late tonight.”

“Huh?” Oh, right. The fucking community service shit, how could he forget that? “S’long as I get to sit, I don't really care how long it takes.” He pulled out a cigarette, biting it lightly with his front teeth as he fumbled for the lighter.

Nines’ irises were bouncing between him and a patrol car parked in front of them. He ripped it from his lips and snapped it clean in half.

“You're pissing me off today—”

“Do I not always piss you off?”

“You’re working overtime. Jesus Christ.”

He wiggled free the second to last coffin nail, spinning on his heel to face away from him. Not like that did much because as he went to light it, that too was snatched away and disposed of.

His nostrils flared. “Why are you being such a mega bitch?”

Nines turned around and went back inside the building.

“Awesome,” Gavin kicked at loose gravel. “Great talk.”

 

---

 

When Nines typed in the address for a local middle school, he thought something had gotten lost in translation. But, no, they rented out the indoor gymnasium and auditorium because there were that many trash bags of clothes to sort through. As chaotic as everything looked, with a castle of broken down boxes in one corner and Markus (along with his minions) running around like a chicken with its head cut off, there was a system in place.

There were a few folding tables set up (the cheap kinds you bring when you're camping) that had pre-assembled boxes that were ready to go; empty ones were underneath with the stuffed to the brim ones on top. Each section had a piece of paper labeling what kind of garment was to be sorted.

Gavin had been tasked with sorting by size, separating anything for children, and basic colors (as in, keep the black pieces together and all colors could become a giant free for all mishmash).

He hauled over a yoga mat so his knees would thank him later. Despite Nines still putting up a protest with his lack of words, he had no objection sitting beside him. It was a stupid fucking question, obviously he knew why Nines was giving him the silent treatment.

He attempted to hand him a pile of clothes but he shook his head.

“I am supervising. You are supposed to be doing the manual labor.”

“I have been for the past hour. Don't you wanna pick out your own shit?”

“Nothing has piqued my interest yet. No, wait. Hand me that black one.”

He grabbed the button up and passed it to Nines. Their fingertips brushed, and he could swear he heard Nines’ breath catch.

“Are you going to talk to me now?”

“It depends on what you say.”

“Have they given you an estimate on a timeframe for how long it's gonna take for everything to process?”

He rolled his head from side to side. “It is dependent on a few things. The lease being approved, for one. Fowler responding and the timeliness of it. Me signing more documents and making sure every clause is thoroughly read. Best case scenario is this upcoming Monday.”

“Monday,” he mimicked, his throat growing dry. “Think you mean worst case.”

“This is happening quite fast.”

“I’ll say.” He tipped over another garbage bag. “Hey, why don't you go pick through some of the boxes that're already put together?”

“So you can get rid of me again?”

“So you have something to bring home.” He bumped his shoulder against his, Nines rising with a very dramatic, pathetic sounding sigh.

Gavin carried over a box to the table a few feet away from him when he felt someone behind him grab his shoulder. He glanced behind himself to see Markus, a blond hovering a little too close to him.

“I'm happy to see you showed up, Reed.”

“Well, yeah, ‘course. Said I would. ‘m trying to get better at keeping promises, personal goal of mine.”

He offered him a gentle smile. “Where did your partner run off to?”

Gavin angled his head to the right. Nines had his arms full of various items (he could see a lot of dress shirts), thank God.

“I wanted to ask if things are still all right between you two, because I know last time we spoke…”

He could see Nines making his way back over to him. “Finding all of that out actually, uh, made us closer. I think. So,” he turned to fully face Markus, watching as Nines dumped everything in his spot. “Thank you.”

“I'm glad I could help,” he said with a nod. “I will see you around.” He clapped Gavin’s shoulder as he slipped past him, the other man cautiously examining him as he followed.

“Wow. Did you just grab every damn thing in your size?” Gavin crouched in front of the decently sized fabric mountain. He pinched the shoulders of a suede letterman. Damn, these androids got the hook up. Some of these were designer labels. “One white jacket, and the rest is black.”

“You said black looks good on me.”

He sucked in a breath. “It does. But you're also gonna look a little like a vampire that works for corporate.”

“Is that a bad thing? Maybe that is my vibe.”

Gavin choked on a laugh. “Should go try on some things. You got gangly limbs, wanna make sure it fits you right. Dunno if all the pants will, hem might be too short for you.”

“Will you come with?”

Gavin raised his brows at him. “Hm. That's funny.”

Nines hung his head. “I do not want to hear it. Please.”

“S’long as you're giving me permission to make fun of you.”

“I would not expect less from you.”

He kept himself occupied by scrolling on his phone when Nines came out of a bathroom in the teacher’s lounge. That was the only place they could find that wasn’t blocked off, and had privacy.

He didn't know exactly what he was mentally picturing him to look like because he literally saw the clothes he picked out— mostly what he summarized as goth business casual. He was wearing a fitted pair of slacks with a button down shirt and vest that had a waist belt in the back; he matched his blacks, which was genuinely impressive.

What he wasn't expecting was how damn tailored the dress shirt– fucking everything –would look on him. How it tapered in at his waist, how he had the first two buttons undone and the belt he wore made the slacks cling to his hips in all the right ways. The hem wasn’t too short after all.

God, this man was doing something awful to him, especially after he spilled his guts to Tina. He was hyper aware of how Nines was making him feel, and it made him want to fucking punch a hole in the wall.

He did a small twirl. “So, thoughts? Did I do good, or did I monumentally fuck up?”

Jesus Christ, why did he have to turn around? This fucker was pausing on purpose, lingering a couple of seconds so it’d give Gavin’s demons enough time to whisper in his ear, convince him to give in to his primal desires. He could faintly see the sculpted definition of his biceps through his shirt, and more definition down South… he had a nice ass, okay. Was there any other way to really put it?

Nines was slender for his height, lanky in a goofy sort of way that was charming– he looked like the kind of guy he’d always chase after. The body of someone that still liked his protein shakes, but couldn’t see every fiber of muscle and vein jutting out (not that Nines had those).

Gavin ran his hand across his chin and over his mouth, shifting his weight and adjusting the way he was standing in the most nonchalant way possible. Well, what the hell was he supposed to say as a response? He felt like a fish out of water.

Nines’ brows furrowed. “Is it that bad?”

“No.”

Fuck, why did he sound so damn eager? His voice had cracked and shot up an octave. Let's try this again.

“No.”

Deeper, but the word came out sounding shaky, like he were about to burst into tears. Maybe he was. He didn't appreciate the things this man was doing to his body right now, just by standing five feet from him.

“Think you found your style. You should definitely wear more things like that.” He cleared his throat. “It— it uh, for lack of better words, suits you.”

Nines’ face contorted, his grin looking so damn condescending.

“What?”

“Nothing.” He ran a hand through his hair, holding up a tie with the other. “I also wanted to try this on, but I couldn’t quite make it look right.”

“What, you can't run ‘tie.exe’?”

“You find yourself a lot more amusing than you really are.”

“Oh, come on. That was fucking funny.”

“...it was.”

“Come here,” he curled his finger, taking the long strip of fabric from him. The silk was ever so smooth against his calloused palm. “Shit, hold on, s’been a hot second since I’ve done this.”

He wrapped it around his own neck first, the initial attempt unraveling itself. He tried once more. “Don’t think I’ve worn a tie since my grandpa’s funeral, like, three years ago.”

He did up the top buttons on Nines’ collar first before he tightened it in place. He glanced upwards to double check that it sat even when he was met by Nines’ silver stare.

It felt like all they did was ardently stare at each other, both failing to play coy. Nines brushed his fingertips over the top of his, but Gavin retracted hastily. These fleeting touches were becoming commonplace, and he really didn't know how he felt about that.

“S’not too tight?”

“It would not bother me if it was tighter.”

“You can do the adjusting yourself. I did the hard part for you,” he popped out his collar and stood on the tips of his toes to fix the single bang he knocked out of place.

“There. Looking good enough to go on a date.”

“...do you have plans after this?”

“You think I'm unfunny? You ever look in a mirror?” Gavin shook his head as Nines quietly laughed. “Shut up, jackass.”

 

---

 

They stopped at Home Depot before making their (hopefully) final stop of the night to get a key cut. He got one with Hello Kitty on it, and yes, he teased him for it. But he also low-key wanted to trade.

The minute they walked through the door, Gavin went through his mental checklist. First order of action— break out a can of wet food because sweet Bailey deserved a little treat today. He set her bowl on the counter and cut out a square chunk of pate salmon. Usually she'd be at his feet by now, talking up a storm and rubbing her chin on his ankle so hard that she’d knock herself over.

“Where is she,” he spun around to see Nines cradling her like a newborn. She was looking up at him, giving him the slowest of blinks. Fucking traitor. Nines took the bowl from him and walked over to the couch.

“That's not where she—” he set her and the bowl on the coffee table. He sighed, “eats.”

Whatever. He locked himself in the bathroom and hastily kicked off all his clothes. He peeled away the fresh(er) gauze that the paramedics had changed. He figured he could keep it off for good. If he could survive a rollercoaster without resembling Freddy Krueger, he was in the clear to molt from them.

He rested his forehead against the cool shower tiles, letting water dribble down his nose, letting time become nothing more than a social construct. Sometimes he wished he could stay like this forever– he needed to learn how to grow gills so he could stay in his place of solitude.

After he got out, he placed a towel down on the toilet and sat there to scroll on his phone. He never thought he'd see the day where he was back on dating apps. This gave him more anonymity, the ability to play whatever character, whatever role he wanted to be that day.

He thumbed through chat requests, and not a single one started with ‘hello’. Unsolicited dick pics (that were all beyond unattractive), asking what his mouth do, what his favorite position was. Obviously he was just looking for a hookup, but this was bottom grade pathetic.

Sit on my face and I'll buy you dinner. That was the winner, that’s what he clicked on. Charming.

The guy was cute enough, and was human this time. It's not like his standards could get any lower. Distraction, all he wanted was a quick interruption to his… pining.

He finished drying himself off, scrubbed down the small dried up splot of blood he kept forgetting about, and got dressed. He wasn't even going to try to look nice. Baggy sweatpants was all this guy deserved.

He sauntered back into the living room. Nines had the TV on (he was playing a ‘Best of Mozart’ compilation that was two hours long… okay, whatever floats your boat) while he was sorting through the three paper bags full of clothes.

“I can make some space in the closet for you so you don't gotta keep it all in the bags. Unless you're a fan of wrinkles.” He went to the fridge and pulled out a peach yogurt. “When I get back, though.”

“Get back from…?” He promptly looked at him, his lips pursed.

“Going out. I actually did have plans. Was gonna meet up with… a friend.”

“Your friend group consists of Tina, and myself. I know that you are not meeting up with her because she told me, directly, that she was going to dinner with her husband. Did you remember to wish her a happy anniversary?”

Fuck, he cringed. It was their wedding anniversary, and he knew that. He was one of Michael's groomsmen, for fucks sake. He deserved a worst fucking friend of the year award— not even an engraved medal, just a brown bag set on fire with dog shit in it. That's what he deserved.

“I got other friends.”

“No, you don't.”

“Ouch.”

“Please don’t tell me this is another hookup.”

He roughly scooped out the contents of the container. “Fine, I won't tell you.”

His posture straightened. “Is it?”

“Maybe, I don't know yet. We'll see. Does it fucking matter?”

“Twice in two days seems reckless. Even for you.”

“And that's my choice to make. Wanna fuck a guy I met five minutes ago? That's up to me to decide, not you.” Gavin kicked open the cabinet under the sink with his foot to find the trash. “You're getting weirdly overprotective of me, but fucking newsflash buddy: I'm not yours to protect.”

Nines placed himself in the threshold between the kitchenette and front door. He had his arm on the island counter, boxing Gavin in.

He licked the remaining yogurt from the spoon and set it down in the sink. “Move.”

But, he didn't budge, because why would he. Why would he listen. “Are you going to act like this doesn't have a direct correlation to me leaving?”

He scoffed. “It d-doesn’t,” his voice cracked.

“Wow. That was convincing.”

“Get outta my fucking way, toaster.”

“Really?”

He took one step to the left, but Nines shadowed his moves.

“Gave me the cold shoulder all day, and now you wanna actually talk?”

“We had our own plans yesterday. You're going to blow me off again?”

“At least something's getting blown.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “We can play games whenever we want. Hell, I'll bring the Switch to work tomorrow so we can play something when we get a break.”

Nines wiggled the tie free, setting it next to the flat plate he usually kept his keys on. “I don't want you to go.”

“Fucking unbelievable,” he clicked his tongue. “So you can think another guy is cute, but God forbid I do, too?”

“I didn't sleep with him.”

“Jesus, this is a new one. Don't tell me you're actually jealous.” He ducked under him only for Nines to haphazardly snake his arms around his waist, uncomfortably catching him in place. He dug his nails into him to try to pry himself free. “Going to give you five fucking seconds to let me go,” he growled. “You can’t hold me hostage in my own fucking home.”

“I don’t want to be alone, Gavin.”

He elbowed him in the stomach and ripped himself free from his grasp, unlocking the door as he slid his phone into the pocket of his jacket. “No one does.”

He slammed the door behind himself as hard as he could. His neighbors, the ones that usually sounded like they were dropping bowling balls at two in the morning, were engaged in a screaming match. He heard what sounded like a plate shattering. Jesus, everyone was in a bad mood tonight. At least the elevator was fixed. Huzzah for the small things.

It dinged and he stepped on, leaning back against the wall. He pressed his tongue to his cheek, watching a stray beetle dink around the overhead light– the doors immediately reopened, Nines wedging his forearm between them.

“Oh my fucking God, why are you following me?”

“Come back to the apartment.”

“No.” He repressed the button for the lobby only for Nines to step inside. He leaned against the handrail adjacent to him. “You need professional help.”

“So do you, but you do not hear me moaning about it.”

“I don't think you get it. Just ‘cause we work and, temporarily, live together don’t mean we gotta spend every waking moment with each other.”

“The time we do have together is limited.”

Gavin crossed his arms across his chest. “I know,” he said just above a whisper.

The elevator came to a standstill with a loud electrical woosh. The buttons all lost their color, the screen no longer displaying the number of the floor. Right, this is why it’s always out of order.

“Are you doing this?”

“Yes, Gavin,” he raised both his hands. “I hacked the elevator, you caught me.”

“Just rip the doors open.”

“Right, because that is safe.”

He pulled out his phone, scrolling until the page stopped loading. He reviewed the same twenty posts until five minutes had passed by. The elevator still hadn’t budged.

“This is exactly how I wanted to spend my night. Trapped in an enclosed space with you. God.”

Nines pressed the call button, but it wasn’t doing shit. “Give me a minute.”

His ring began to flash yellow. He was having an intense nonverbal conversation with the peeling wallpaper.

“I reached someone at the front desk.”

“And?”

“...he said someone will get here when they get here.”

“Ugh,” Gavin groaned as he slid to the ground. “Here's that date you asked for.”

“It was only humourous when I said it.”

“Wasn't funny even when you said it.” He glared at the bug still swarming about. “You don't got laser vision by chance, do you?”

“Sit perfectly still and we can find out.”

Gavin stuck his tongue out at him. “Well, now what? Got no signal, can’t even watch a movie to pass the time.”

“How was it that people passed time in the olden days? I believe the word started with a ‘t’...”

Gavin unzipped his hoodie and fanned himself with his hand. They had the heat cranked so high it felt like they were inside a volcano. “You pick the topic.”

“Are you still going out once we get out of here?”

Gavin rolled his eyes. “Knew you were gonna say some shit like that. I don’t know, Nines.” He ran his hand up and down his thigh. “I don’t know.”

With a hefty exhale, Nines sat in front of Gavin and leaned back on his palms, fingers drumming against the dirty carpeted floor.

“Hey.”

Nines met his eyes with a similar intensity from yesterday. Jealous of Gavin, that was just insane. Maybe it was more insane that he was doing this because of Nines.

“I don't know why I'm admitting this outloud, but I,” his chest heaved, “think I might actually miss you– no I, I will. I’m gonna miss you.”

“Because you will not have someone to make fun of anymore?”

“Nah, got plenty of people to mock. That ain’t it.”

“That is why I want to spend what time I can with you. Gavin, you are the first person that I have grown a bond with that is not based on demands or entirely consequential. Because of that… I fear the initial pain of us being apart is going to be,” he looked away, “unbearable.”

“Still think you should go. It’s gonna be good for you. Really good.”

“I hope you are right.”

Nines let himself fall backwards, spreading out on the carpet.

“Do you know how dirty that is?”

“And yet, you are sitting as well.”

He kicked out his legs and rested them on Gavin's lap. He shoved them off, but he just put them back in place. He was raising a white flag, he gave up. He folded his hands across his shins.

“God, it's hot as shit in here.” He shrugged his jacket all the way off so he was just wearing the tank top he had on underneath.

Nines lifted up his head slightly. “How did I not notice you have a tattoo?”

Gavin glanced at his bicep. “‘cause it's small and faded. And we had bigger things to worry about.”

“I thought you said you hated needles.”

“I do. S’the only one I got, only one I'll ever get.”

“What is it?”

“The paw print of the first cat I raised on my own.”

“Go on,” he gestured for him to continue, “you have me intrigued.”

“Ma didn’t like pets, dad called them pests. Started volunteering at the humane society my senior year of high school,” he absentmindedly ran circles across Nines’ ankle with his thumb. “Had a part time program on the weekend to give teenagers something to do that wasn’t just… getting high and drinking underage.”

His hand grew still when he realized what the fuck he was doing.

“There was a lil guy there, only two months old and they didn’t think he’d live longer than that. They were looking for someone to foster him, spoil him even if he only had a week left in him. Dad was living in the hospital more than he was at home by this point, and ma kinda just folded. She was lonely, not having Eli there anymore.

“I didn’t know what the hell I was doing. He had feline leukemia, which meant the money I was trying to save to move out went back into him. He beat the odds, though. Lived ‘til he was six and God, he was a pampered little shit.”

“What was his name?”

“Felix. He was a tuxedo, though more black than white. Looked like he had a pornstache,” he chuckled to himself as he reached for his phone. “Might actually have a picture of him somewhere.”

“You are a lot more sentimental than you let on.”

“Unfortunately that sentimentality harvests itself as deep rooted trauma, more often than not.”

The picture had six pixels and was crunchy as hell, but it was of a Gavin that still radiated juvenescence and had a sparkle left in his eyes. He was holding a very tiny, yawning kitten that looked like he was ferociously screaming, barring all his fangs.

Nines leveraged himself on his elbows. “Okay, you were actually cute there.”

The corners of his lips twitched. His face had flushed, again. “I was, ain’t gonna argue with you. Don’t know about the haircut, used to keep it a little too long, but I still looked… approachable.”

The control panel regained its light, and the buttons chiming was pure music to his ears. The generator whirred back to life as the doors creaked open– to reveal no one had come to their aid. The elevator had fixed itself on its own. And they’d only made it two floors down.

He really needed to break his lease, stomach his losses and move the hell out of here. He was resenting this place more and more each day he woke up.

“Hurry,” he tapped his knee, “before we’re stuck on this fucking death trap forever.”

They made their way to the stairwell. Gavin zipped up his hoodie because it was back to freezing in the hallway. Nines held open the door for him. He had one foot on the step going up.

“So?”

Gavin shifted his weight onto his other leg.

“Which way are you going?”

He looked at the descending stairwell. His phone vibrated a good ten times. He pulled it out and tapped open the conversation with the loser he had plans with. He was greeted with not one, but three, pictures of his penis, all from different angles. He really hoped Nines was far enough away that he didn’t subject him to that.

Along with the photos were a bunch of pestering messages asking what his ETA was, how he better not stand him up, and that his offer still stands and would every day of the week.

He chewed on the inside of his mouth, drifting closer to making his way down to the lobby. Nines smacked his lips with a sense of superiority and drew his attention away from Gavin. He began to make his way up to the apartment, his steps growing quieter.

“Wait.” He shoved his phone back in his pocket. “Wait for me,” he heard him stop dead in his tracks. “Should probably clear out the closet before we get too sucked into something.”

Nines released a very shaky sigh of relief, nodding as he beamed at him.

They spent the rest of the night playing It Takes Two– he saw a tear form in the corner of Nines’ eye when they got to the infamous elephant scene– tucked underneath this massive blanket Gavin had. It was long enough to stretch across the length of his couch.

As it grew closer to midnight, he ordered himself a sandwich and fell victim to the marketing tactics of being offered an amazing deal if he also ordered a couple of items from a convenience store. He got Nines a different flavor of thirium based Faygo, one that he was willing to try.

Their gaming festivities were abruptly cut short (well, shorter than they anticipated) when Nines received a message about a stabbing at a mall. Still, he was genuinely glad he stayed. He should probably delete those apps. He didn’t need them– what he needed was to grow a pair of balls and stop fighting nature’s progression of whatever was happening between them. That was a lot easier said than done.

Notes:

The convention is now two weeks away, so this is probably the last chapter until then. But I am slowly chipping away at the next handful of chapters. 🫡

I do want to thank everyone for your support on this story, it really does mean the world to me. 🥺 I was in a hellish writers block for a year, so it feels great to get back into the swing of things.

Chapter 14: frameshift

Summary:

There was a lot that Nines still didn’t know about Gavin’s past– both the good and the bad. If he was leaving soon anyways, what could he lose sharing it with him?

It was three in the morning and they’d found themselves hobbling inside the only coffee shop within a fifty mile radius that was still open. The lobby was void of life (as one would presume, even if they were within walking distance from Wayne State). The three employees that were damned to working this hellish shift were mindlessly scrolling through their phones in a zombie like state, eyes bloodshot and circles dark enough to look like tactical paint.

The rectangular ceiling lights gave him flashbacks to elementary school; shoved between perforated panels that always looked like they were chewed up by a swarm of rats, the glass casing acting as a beetle graveyard. Nines was speaking to him, but all he saw were his thin lips flapping, a silent podcast– he didn’t know what was winning over his attention more. The crusty, copper scent of aged blood lodged up his nose, or the whine of the fluorescent bulbs (it was like a damn dog whistle, made him grit his teeth).

He was letting the steam from his cup, of what he could only assume from the smell was cheap instant coffee (but, of course, made overpriced and by teens that didn’t give two shits), warm his chilled cheeks more so than his organs. It’s not like he needed the caffeine per se. Hell, he knew he’d still knock out the second they got back to his apartment even if he chugged it.

Nines drummed his fingers beside the crumpled up receipt on the counter. He was wearing his beanie, something he was making quite the habit of, whether he was conscious of it or not.

“Are you listening to me?”

“Nines,” Gavin ran his hand hastily through his, already, greasy feeling hair. “S’been a crazy ass night, can hardly keep track of my own thoughts.”

Nines bobbed his head, shifting his weight to his other hip. “I know, it has been. But, this is a little bit important.”

Gavin exhaled with his full chest and took the first sip of his drink, the disgust apparent in his expression the second he tasted nothing but bitter awfulness on his tongue. He wasn’t used to straight up bean juice anymore, just milky slash extremely sugary soups with a kick to them.

“Go ahead.”

Nines pinched the wrinkled paper and smoothed it out with his palms, only to squeeze it back into a ball not even a second later.

He set down the cup with a gentle thwump, pulling the receipt from his grasp. “Can you try to not fidget for once? Every time you gotta tell me something slightly serious, you get yourself all worked up.”

“This is because I can never gauge what your reaction is going to be.”

“You think I’m gonna start yelling at you?” He glanced back over to the restless staff. “Not gonna tell me you were the mysteriously vanishing mall stabber, are you?”

“It is less dramatic than that,” Nines wiped away the smile that was trying to break free. “I received confirmation that my transfer has begun processing– I am moving to Los Angeles.”

Less dramatic his ass. Despite it being dark as shit out, Nines saying that made it feel like the sun was directly beating down the back of his collar. “You really had to pick the one furthest away from me, huh?”

“That wasn’t my intention.” Nines had his attention locked on the front door. “There were only a handful of options and they were the ones that responded first. That is all it boils down to.”

He leaned against the counter, brushing his thumb over the sharp ridge of the plastic lid. “You’re leaving Monday, still?”

Nines nodded in a way that was solemn, full of trepidation like he was afraid to move, like if he didn’t respond back to him, he could fade away without Gavin noticing.

“Four days ain’t nearly enough.”

“You are telling me,” the corners of Nines’ lips pulled downwards, “But, I do not know if thirty days, two months even, would make much of a difference. It might never feel like I have spent enough time,” there was a vibrato of air as he inhaled, “with you.”

 

---

 

Gavin kicked free the sheets that were tangled between his legs and squeezed the sides of his phone; a measly hour of the most restless sleep of his damn life, and they’d only been home for two. He’d spent half that time glaring at the ceiling until it was melting into a kaleidoscope he couldn’t tear his eyes away from.

He jinxed himself. Maybe he shouldn’t have thrown back the rest of that coffee. Nah, it wasn’t the caffeine in his veins that was making him wiry. That was a shit cop out.

He rolled over onto his side and pawed for his ratty stuffed bear, yanking it close against his chest; one of the ears had stuffing visibly poking out from it, and it tickled against his chin, but hey. Any distraction from the way his heart was constricting, how he was hyper focused on the rage he’d initially felt towards Nines, now only harvesting in an all consuming sadness, was welcomed.

Nines hadn't just been asking Gavin for his opinion on if he should leave, or not. He was dropping a gold key to the city in his palms, he was giving him reign on that decision. And because he was a self hating asshole, of course the easier option was pushing Nines away. Again.

He wouldn’t have gone through the trouble of filling out a hundred different forms if he wasn’t curious about what else the world had in store for him. Nines was like a baby bird needing to leave the nest and he needed that extra shove– even if Gavin fucking hated it and rued all of this. He didn’t want to wind up with kidnapping charges, but he sure as shit didn’t want Nines two thousand and then some miles away from him.

Fuck, he wasn’t going to be able to sleep. When the hell could he ever get a full night's rest nowadays? Not to mention that his whole routine (that word was used very loosely) had been thrown off since they started working together.

He wasn't consistent about going to the gym even before he came along, and he wasn’t going to act like he was. But if he was up early enough, he often liked to stretch his legs before work. Feel the wind licking his skin, doves singing a private melody.

Today was definitely one of those days where he felt the need to run, like his muscles were aching to do anything other than lay down in sorrow and sulk. If he didn’t jump out of bed right now and do six laps, he was going to spontaneously combust. There was a gym close enough that had an indoor track, he knew that and always kept their address saved for days like this.

With a hastily slapped together bag (he didn’t bother to turn on a light, just grabbed what smelled clean… enough), he crept down the hallway. Nines was sprawled across the couch, one arm dangling off the edge of it and a blanket tossed over his face. Really, what other android fucking slept like this? God.

He shooed away an empty wrapper and pulled over the pad of sticky notes, scribbling down the address for the gym. He wasn’t in the mood for finger pointing and false accusations today.

‘Didn’t walk out on you. Join me if you're awake in time’.

The gym was open twenty four hours, but thankfully, the crowds started to flock in around six. Not at the ass crack of dawn. There were a few machines occupied by shiny, suspiciously burly men that looked lost in thought (which, same). However the track was completely free, as it usually was.

He put in his headphones, re-knotted his laces, and then, that’s all she wrote.

He fucking needed this. With each lap, he focused on his body’s natural rhythm; the way his legs carried him from point a to point b, how the beat of his heart synched to the tempo of the drums in his music. The wind on his face felt like a cold splash of water. He could feel a sense of power in his life when he otherwise felt like he lacked any.

At the thirty minute mark, he laid on the bench next to his shit and took a few sips of water. When he was younger he’d just keep going and going until his knees felt like they’d loosened from their sockets. He wasn’t that daring anymore.

He set a timer and he was back to his feet kissing the land. Sweat beaded down his forehead, tickling like a hungry ant. He peered at his phone– from the corner of his eye, he saw a looming shadow trailing him. A very tall, distinct shadow. About fucking time.

“Hey, you.” Gavin ripped out one of the earbuds. “Was half convinced you were gonna sleep in for once.”

Nines was matching his pace, but it made him look awkward, like a cheetah caught in a pool of honey. He was forcing himself to go slower than his body wanted him to, and it almost seemed physically painful– hell, it was painful to watch.

He was wearing the one pair of shorts he’d gotten from the clothing drive, but the rest of his fit was still on loan from the House of Gavin (™). Thrifting remained a top tier priority on their list, God damnit.

“You do not know how to leave quietly. You always slam the door.”

“...my bad.”

“It does not help that I was designed to be easily awoken.” The corners of Nines’ eyes creased. “Did you want to race?”

Gavin scoffed. “Hell no. I didn't come here to get humiliated.” He veered over to the sidelines to loop his finger through the top of his water bottle.

“Why did you come here so early? Did you have another anxiety…”

He licked his lips. “Gotta maintain my figure somehow.”

“Right,” Nines leisurely looked him up and down. “Because a few days of not working out is going to waste away your muscles.”

“S’been more than just a few days,” Gavin rolled his eyes, clicking his tongue. “Try weeks.”

With a very heavy hand and clumsy touch (because he gripped Gavin’s shoulder hard enough that it ached), he forced him to rotate three sixty. “You look fine to me.”

“Just fine?” The right side of his lips pulled upwards as he curled his biceps and flexed to the best of his capabilities. “Check out these guns. Better than our work issued ones, huh?”

“My arms are bigger than yours and I do not have muscles.” Nines put his hands on his hips. “This is the second time you have made that comment. What do you want me to say? Gosh, Gavin, you are so drop dead gorgeous,” fuck, why did that make his heart palpitate, “that I can hardly think straight.”

Gavin rolled his head from side to side. “Thought you said so yourself that you can’t think straight.” He traded the steel tumbler for his phone instead, going to unlock it when– it was snatched from his hands, Nines taking off like a giddy child playing a round of tag.

Gavin chewed the inside of his cheek, grumbling: “Fucking predictable prick.”

He chased after him– tried to. There was no way he could match the speed of a biped electric vehicle (and, y’know, Nines effortlessly sped up because he was a gloating asshole).

“Give me my shit back, you dick,” he yelled a handful of decibels louder.

Nines had already ran a complete lap around him. He slowly put on the breaks and jogged in tandem beside him. “Alright, take it.”

“You gonna actually give it to me, or are you gonna keep showboating?”

He extended his arm to him. “I'm done.”

As Gavin went to pry it from his fingers, he was back to putting a good six feet of distance between them. He spun on his heel. “I know you are faster than that.”

“This is real fucking mature of you.”

“I am less than two years old.”

Nines was humoring him, allowing him to gain on him, close the gap so they were close enough he– he caught the heel of his shoe and Nines stumbled, his phone rocketing from his hand and skidding across the ground, face first.

Gavin fell beside him on his side, his ribs sobbing (wish he could deactivate his own pain receptors, god fucking damn). He met his silver stare, though his breathy chuckles and lopsided grin were far more enticing.

“If this isn’t very romcom of us.”

“Like Legally Blonde?”

“No,” he could feel the lines between his brows deepening, “not like Legally Blonde. Like…” he traced the dip in his chin. Clueless would’ve been a better example to define them, sans the questionable family dynamics. “Just, not that. Is that the only movie you’ve seen?”

“So far.”

“Well, in that case.” Nines pushed himself to stand before offering him his hand. He pulled Gavin to his feet, their touch lingering for a few seconds before he let go (typical). “Better start making a list. Got a lot to teach you about the escapism that is cinematography.”

“We should start with your favorites.”

“That’s what I was planning on. Whether we tackle The Fifth Element or Thirteen Going on Thirty first is gonna depend on what kinda mood we’re in.”

“We can,” God not the puppy dog eyes, why did he have to look at him like that, “watch one of these tonight?”

Gavin stifled a chuckle. “Maybe.” He sauntered over to his phone. He didn’t want to flip it over. “Better not’ve cracked my screen, but knowing your damn track record…”

“I am starting to get the impression that the only thing I am good for is destruction.”

“Yeah, you think?”

While the glass wasn’t entirely busted, there was now a deep scratch going down the center. He held it up to Nines, close enough that it smushed the tip of his nose.

“Gonna pay for this, too?”

“...eventually.”

“Uh huh.” He shoved it into his jogger’s pocket. As he went to sling the strap of his bag over a shoulder, Nines wiggled it free from him and into his own clutch. “I’ll add it to your ever growing tab.”

“Oh. That reminded me,” Nines caressed the polished railing as they both descended in unison, the steps wide enough that they still had a bubble of personal space to themselves. “This completely slipped my mind–”

“Thought androids were like elephants.”

“They don't have perfect memories, either. We can pick up your car later today. Sometime in the afternoon.”

He gasped, like a very genuine, wind being punched out of his gut, reaction. “My precious lump of shit? She's fixed?”

“Yes, good as new.” Nines scratched the back of his neck. “Good as before I came along, rather.”

“Ain’t that the best thing I’ve heard all week.” He fumbled around for his keys. “Well, we’re up for the day. Feels kinda pointless to stop home for less than an hour.”

“You need to shower.” He quirked his dark brows at him, Gavin’s lips flattening in response. “My five senses might be skewed, but I can smell just fine.”

“There’s showers at the station, dipshit.”

“My point still stands. I'm sure the shampoo you use smells nicer than what they supply there– it is rose scented, yes?”

“Yeah. Tina got it for me ‘cause she was fed up with me using that three in one cheap, combo bullshit.”

“She did you– us –a favor.”

“My whole fucking life would be in shambles without her.” The brisk air hit him like a sack of bricks the second they stepped outside the front doors and away from the cranked up heaters. He zipped up the front of his jacket. “Can I ask you something really fucking stupid and unrelated?”

“Your questions being stupid have never stopped you before.”

He waved him off. “I’m being serious though, I just– I know how this sounds. Could you, uh, call my mom for me? Like, y'know. I know you can imitate voices and all that shit.”

Nines’ face contorted. “Besides the obvious, is there one reason in particular why you do not wish to speak with her?”

He gave Nines a pleading look before he sighed. “Kinda been ignoring her even though she’s,” he worried his lower lip with his front teeth, “been texting me multiple times a day. Calling me, even. Think whatever she’s gotta tell me is kinda critical.”

“No, I,” Nines hung his head. “Gavin, I'm not going to do that for you. I will be here to support you in whatever way I can, but this is your father. Not mine.”

He threw his bag in the backseat. “Yeah, I knew that’d be your response. I just,” he rubbed the heels of his palms against the top of his cheekbones, “I don’t wanna deal with this shit– I do, ‘cause I don’t wanna be like my fucking brother that’s off in his own little world, acting like nobody else matters. But I just… you know what I mean?”

“I think I do.” Nines leaned against the closed door with his elbow, reaching to gently grasp the top of Gavin’s shoulder. He slowly stroked his thumb back and forth, the cotton of his shirt bunching under his touch. “I can sit with you as you call her. Would that help?”

“Yeah.” Where was the blowtorch? He needed to exterminate those goddamn stomach butterflies. “It would.”

One twenty minute shower later (and Nines making a show of sniffing his hair like he were a fucking beagle hunting its prey), they found themselves nestled back in their office. Gavin remembered to lug along his Switch, which… maybe in hindsight wasn’t the best idea.

They spent their lunch break playing a, what was supposed to be in theory, quick round of Mario Party. His second mistake was not playing as a team because, of course Nines wiped the floor with his ass, why wouldn’t he? Not once, not three times, but Chris was sent over to tell them to quiet down on five different occasions until Fowler himself threw open the door and yanked the console away from them.

“You get this back tomorrow. Behave like children, you’re gonna get treated like one.”

This was going to be a long ass week.

 

---

 

It was Friday– thank fucking God it was Friday, now Nines would have zero excuse to rifle through his drawers and get his grubby little mitts all over his clothes. That, yes, he offered for him to borrow. But, upon realizing he didn’t know how the hell to do laundry, it became apparent that his kindness was a lapse in judgement.

They found themselves lost in the labyrinth of a two story thrift store. Gavin was leaned over a shopping cart that only had random, dust collecting knick-knacks thrown into it. Two individually boxed glass statues of frogs and a ceramic orange tabby. He couldn’t judge him in the slightest, at least he cared enough to make his apartment look lived in.

Each and every time his eyes darted to Nines’ face, he felt a sea of pinprick like shocks travel through his nerves. He basked in his grins and the way he laughed under his breath to himself when he picked up something stupid (like how he tried to convince Gavin that he needed a hot pink sash that had ‘Soon to be Grandma’ embroidered across it).

Earlier that morning, he awoke to not just Bailey doing her routine screaming ritual for breakfast, but the wafting smell of chai and toasted bread. There was a ripped piece of printer paper beside the packaged bagel that had a smiley face drawn on it. And a charge on his credit card (to be fair, he left his wallet in the same dish he dumped his keys in and told Nines he could use it for emergencies).

That wasn’t exactly a life or death situation that he needed to spend Gavin’s money on… but it was the thought that counted. Fuck, James wouldn’t even buy him a day old, stale, discounted cookie. He’d let this slide.

“Have you thought about how you wanna decorate your own place? Or are you just,” he gestured to an additional wooden cat figure he picked up, “saying fuck a theme and going with the vibes.”

“A bit. I've been frequenting Pinterest to get some ideas. Though, I guess you do have a point that I am not being very… cohesive.”

He was gravitating towards a row of jam packed, tall shelves. As much as Gavin liked the concept of saving things from being chucked into a landfill, his allergies disagreed– he wiped his nose with the cuff of his jacket.

“I would not mind starting a book collection.” He ran his finger over their worn spines. “I find the act of holding a physical item more appealing than,” he wiggled one free, “directly downloading the file. As easy as that is.”

“Just don't get too many. Gonna spend ten times the amount trying to ship ‘em out there– is the place gonna be furnished, or is that something you gotta worry about, too?”

“It is furnished, yes. They did say they would pay for a moving service, so long as it's limited to one truck.”

“God damn, they're desperate to get you.” He stroked his chin before grabbing Philip K. Dick’s ‘Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep'. “Well? Do they?”

Nines rubbed his hand across his mouth, trying to act like he wasn't cracking up. He wasn't very discreet about it. “I don't dream.”

“Ever?”

“Ever.”

“Hm. That’s disappointing.” He went to put it back on the shelf, but Nines instead placed it in the ever growing pile.

“What can I do to convince you to make your apartment appear less barren?”

“Find me something that ain’t obnoxiously ugly.”

“Challenge accepted.”

He scurried off before he finished his sentence. Gavin rested his cheek against his palm with a groan– the groan turned more genuine, coming from deep within his gut when Nines returned with the most horrid looking painting he’d ever seen in his fucking life.

He wasn’t the biggest fan of perusing art galleries because he found half the things hanging on those walls to be pretentious– he said as someone that could only fill a sketchbook with unfinished ballpoint doodles. He hated white canvases with a single dot on them, or parallel brushstrokes that were supposed to ‘provoke emotion’. Yeah, they surely brought out a seething fury in him.

That’s exactly what he was holding up. A mostly blank background with a few dribbles of gold, tied together in a gaudy baroque style frame.

“Jesus Christ, you can’t be serious. Walls would look a million times better with cobwebs on display than that horrible fucking thing.”

“Alright.” He again returned with, something that didn’t make him want to instantly throw up in his mouth, but instead a cluster of simple wooden frames.

“I ain't hanging pictures. That's what phones are for.”

“Not even of us?”

“Don’t need your judgemental stare watching me every time I go to take a shit.”

“...I'm not telling you to hang them up in the bathroom.”

“No, like, in the hallway–” he rubbed his temples. “Nevermind. Fine, drop ‘em in.”

“I know you have photos of Bailey when she was a kitten. You could display those, too.”

“She was cute as hell.”

“She still is.”

“She is.” They stopped in front of an elevator, waiting for it to ding (and Gavin was saying all the prayers he could muster that this one wouldn’t be as exciting as their last elevator adventure). ”Nines.”

“Hm?”

“You’re always pestering me with dumb shit, so, gonna say it’s my deserved turn now. And,” his lips puckered, “feel like if I don’t ask you this now I’m never gonna get an answer. After you’re gone, all I’ve got left to interrogate is Connor. He don’t want to talk to me, and the feeling is mutual.”

It was a tight fit with the cart, but they made it work. Thankfully the ride to the second level was less than thirty seconds. “...what is it that you want to know?”

“Where do I begin.” He pointed over to a section that was labeled pajamas, because that was something Nines desperately needed. He kept taking his favorite flannels. “Thirium is processed the same way as coolant in a pc, yeah?”

“Essentially.” He freed a hanger with Hello Kitty bottoms clipped to it. The hell was his obsession with this cat… creature?

“No,” he took it from him, putting it back where he found it. “Where are your exhaust ports?”

“Come on, Gavin. Use your brain.” Nines gestured loosely to his face. “You could've figured that one out yourself.”

“Chill.” He threw a pair of black sweatpants in the cart (“Oh, what was that about me only wearing black? You are encouraging it?”). “What happens if you take in too much thirium? Like, if you chugged six bottles of it.”

“I don't actually know. We can put that science experiment in our back pockets for when we get bored.”

“Hm. Another thing I’ve been thinking a lot about– how long is your life span?”

“For me, specifically? Or androids in general?”

“You.”

“Set aside the scenarios of freak biocomponent failures and,” his brows knitted, “straight up murder, it's presumed I can sustain myself for twenty something years before a major upgrade is needed. With proper maintenance, that is.”

“Twenty years? So you ain’t immortal like everyone thinks.”

“Yes and no. In theory, I could be. Though with the way I was built, not being a run of the mill model that was mass produced, I would need your brother to make changes to my OS himself. There are wholesale components that are compatible with my own, but some things– like my thirium pump, for example– I would only be able to swap with Connor.”

“...so if Neil knew how to aim–”

“I would rather not hypothesize that scenario. Does anyone truly want to be damned to this world for eternity anyways?”

“C’mon, you really wouldn’t choose to live forever if you could?”

“No.” Nines laid down a bundle of monochrome shorts. “I see more value in spending your time in ways that are self fulfilling. Things like this. Activities some may describe as meaningless that bring you joy. I try not to concern myself with what will happen after I'm dead because, when you're dead... it's just that. You are dead.

"It is the same for humans as it is androids. If I have nothingness awaiting me at the end of the tunnel, I might as well try to find something that makes me happy every day.”

Maybe it was just the way the light was reflecting in his irises, but he was gleaming at him and… this was the liveliest he’d seen Nines. He was making eye contact with his soul.

“What would happen if you smoked a joint?”

Nines choked on his breath, a wave of laughter clawing its way out of him. “Fuck, what is wrong with you? These are your burning questions?”

“Dude, I’m just curious. Think I’ve ever had the chance to pick an android's mind like this? Humor me.”

“I am certainly humoring you.” Nines rested his thumbs atop his fingertips, trying his best to find his inner peace. “I don't think it would affect me, at least not in the same way it would make you high.”

“What about alcohol? Some cartoons got a theory that robots are fueled by beer.”

Nines scoffed. “Well, those are shows, not reality. From my understanding, there are mixed drinks that I could safely consume that elicit the same response as feeling drunk– or, what do you call it? Tipsy?”

“Guess that’s another thing we gotta test out, then.”

“I don't know about that one.” He grabbed not two, but six differently colored beanies. Though they remained in a similar color family, all earth toned.

“You got anything you’ve been dying to know about humans?”

“Yes, plenty of things. But I do not really want to ask you.”

He nudged him in the side with his pointy elbow. “I know you ain’t shy. Don’t act like you got a filter. S’long as it doesn’t involve me dropping my pants, I don’t give a shit.”

Nines gave him a dirty look. “It would take me less than a millisecond to find a billion examples of human anatomy online. I have no need for a live example.” He scratched a nail against the rusted metal of the cart. “Though, I guess you could say the things I am curious about fall under that realm.”

“Lemme guess. This got something to do with my,” he made air quotes, “‘activities’ from the other night?”

He nodded. “What is the purpose of sleeping with someone you don't have a prior bond with?” He raised his hand. “I do understand the concept of sex when it comes to someone you care deeply about because it is an intense form of intimacy and trust only those two people share. Androids have a similar way of creating such a bond when we interface– but if that person is a stranger to you… why?”

“‘cause it feels good and it’s just another way to distract yourself from the bullshit you don’t want to think about.” Gavin shrugged half-assed. “I mean, that’s why people have hobbies, right? To pass the time, s’all it is. Some people wanna spend their weekends glued to a screen watching men run around and throw balls at each other. Others wanna get plastered and fuck the first piece of ass they see.”

“What do you mean when you say it feels good? That's too vague.”

“Like… you numb out ‘cause all you're focused on is the weight of that person’s body on yours. Don’t got thoughts bouncing through your mind when all you can hear is each other’s breaths. There’s a feeling of shockwaves running through your veins, like you’re hugging an electric eel. Makes you feel loved and wanted when you can’t feel that way about yourself.”

“Would it not feel better if it’s with someone that you know for a fact loves you?”

“Sex is just sex, got some of your understanding wrong. Waking up to a gleam in someone’s eyes as they stroke your hair is a truer form of intimacy, them just watching you sleep and… being your rock of protection. Your partner not having to ask when your birthday is, making dinner reservations on your anniversary at the restaurant you had your first date at. Handmade gifts ‘cause anyone can walk into Walmart and buy a slapped together gift basket on autopilot.

“It’s not being afraid to hold your hand in public, introduce you to his family, say ‘I love you’ with his whole chest and not sounding like he’s being held at fucking gunpoint.” Gavin cleared his throat– he didn’t mean to raise his voice, nor startle Nines. He was swaying on his feet.

“I don’t really know how to put that deep connection you form with someone into words because I don’t think I’ve ever felt it. I’ve only known chasing after the high of a new relationship or a one night stand, not knowing that feeling of content just sitting in silence with someone for hours on end.”

“But, that is… the end goal?”

“I don’t know. I mean, for most people? Yeah. For me?” He grunted. “Unlikely.”

“And, what's the purpose of kissing?”

Gavin licked the roof of his mouth. “It’s like,” he wiggled his fingers, “this irresistible urge when you really like someone. When they’re doing something so damn cute you just wanna taste the smile on their face.”

He wasn’t a fan of their prolonged staring matches, but right now, he really didn’t like the way Nines was staring him down– that the same expression, same intensity was illustrated all over his own face. Nines was wearing that stupid beanie but he really wished he wasn’t so he could see if his led had changed colors. Maybe he could understand why he liked scanning people.

“I see.”

Nines pulled out a sweater that had a plethora of cat faces embroidered on it. Like a twin to that motherfucking assbackwards dog shirt– there were not enough words in the English language (any language) that could describe his hatred for that thing.

“Holy shit,” he snatched it from him and hastily hung it back on the rack. “It’s a fucking miracle you picked out clothes that look good on you, ‘cause god damnit, Nines.”

Nines smiled at him in that lopsided way he often did, and it made his stomach burn something awful. He was feeling that aforementioned urge right now. He had to step away from him and lose himself in an aisle of jeans to control himself– he didn’t care how crippling this little crush or fucking whatever it was was becoming, engaging in it was just going to be like stabbing a ten inch blade directly through his heart.

“Um– who exactly is going to pay for this?”

“...you don’t have any money left?”

Nines bared his teeth, eyebrows lost in his hairline.

“Sweet fucking Jesus.”

With no other interruptions popping up, they took advantage of having a free night to themselves and wound up at Ikea. The initial idea was to do the bulk of shopping today, sans stopping by a garden center to pick up a few hard to kill succulents. He still needed sheets (that were free of stains and hadn’t been slept on by God knows how many people), a couple of pillows, some fridge magnets because what else was he going to do with a fridge.

Though, in actuality, they found themselves filling up Gavin's camera roll by dicking around in every display set, roleplaying as homeowners. Some of Gavin stepping out of a closet with his hand dramatically pressed to his lips, others of Nines stretched out across a sofa ala ‘paint me like one of your french girls’ fashion. Nines also posed with the plush sharks (and despite Gavin’s mocking, set one aside to purchase).

With Fifty First Dates playing as background noise (yes, not one of the aforementioned options, but they somehow wound up deciding to put that on), they taped together enough cardboard boxes to build a fucking castle. While Nines was busying himself by stacking away the excess amount of books that he got, Gavin did some digging to find his old iPod.

“You want this? Just been collecting dust for… I don’t even know how many years at this point.”

“You're sure?”

“Positive.”

Gavin never thought he’d see the day his stark white walls had something hung up on them, but Nines assisted him in getting those frames up as quickly as possible. It was a team effort– he did the hammering and Nines did the printing.

They’d convinced an elderly woman that was just trying to make her way back to her car to take a picture of them with Ikea’s looming, yellow logo as a backdrop. He had that next to Bailey wearing a party hat made of glitter foam. It was from her second birthday, and she fucking hated that thing, but cooperated long enough that he could memorialize her discontent for all of eternity.

“Now it looks like someone actually lives here.”

“All thanks to you.”

 

---

 

He walked into the kitchen to see yet another branded cup of coffee and breakfast sandwich. Nines clearly didn’t have an understanding of how money worked– how would he know? He didn’t have a bank account, a four-o-one (k) he had to worry about.

“Bud.” He sat down on the couch next to him, scooching over the piled up plush blanket. He picked apart a piece of the egg disk that was squished between a bagel. “I know you’re just looking out for me and trying to be helpful, but five or six dollars every damn day adds up.”

“Oh.” Nines squirmed in place. “Gavin, I’m sor–”

“No, it’s fine. ‘m just telling you. S’why I got that,” he waved to the Keurig that occupied far too much counter space.

…maybe he wasn’t going to entrust Nines with being a resource for preparing meals. All he had to do was put the fucking cup in the damn machine and, still? Coffee poured all over the previously spotless tiles and pooled underneath his socks.

To make matters worse, they both forgot about the slices of bread in the toaster until two pucks of coal shot out of the appliance. That smell was going to linger for weeks, he just knew it.

 

---

 

They were parked in Jeffrey’s driveway, sandwiched between what he could recognize as his truck, and the minivan his wife drove to haul their daughters to school– he could see the two of them orbiting around the grill, Jeffrey fanning away an influx of grey smoke.

He’d known them since they were young enough to need someone to look after them when their parents would go out for date night (every Friday he took Priscilla out for dinner, just the two of them). He didn’t know if he still followed this tradition, but when people still had an ounce of trust in Gavin, he often took the role of babysitter. For him and… others.

It felt strange to be back at a home he’d once been so familiar with, could navigate with his eyes closed. And now? There was a brand new fence and patio furniture he didn’t recognize. It was like he’d fallen through a wormhole for the past few years and been sucked up in an alternate reality.

“Is his family going to be okay with me being here?”

“He wouldn’t have offered if he thought they wouldn’t be okay with you. His wife’s one of the least judgemental people I’ve ever met, not even kidding.” Gavin went to unlatch the gate, looking over his shoulder to find Nines rooting himself in place.

“They don’t bite. If you don’t wanna talk, you don’t have to. Don’t gotta stay long, either. ‘m tired from today anyways, know we still gotta make that phone call–”

“For a man that lives off of energy drinks, you're always tired.”

“Peculiar, ain’t it?” He stretched to cup the nape of his neck. “C’mon.”

“Mom!” His older daughter yelled as she veered towards the elevated wooden deck. Jeffrey offered them a quick wave. “Uncle Gavin is here.”

Their backyard was sizable and, hell, luxurious compared to some of the surrounding houses that had comet sized holes in their roofs. There was a below ground pool that he remembered spending many hot summer days texting fucking… James in.

There was a cloth tent set up with a matching set of tables and chairs underneath it, a few precariously placed space heaters. It was nippy out, but it felt like more of a reminder of the seasons changing than winter itself.

Priscilla made her way over to Gavin, hugging him without a second thought. He relished her warmth. “Don’t make me wait this long to see your face again.”

“I won’t– I’ve had a lot going on.”

“I know, honey. Jeff told me,” she cupped his cheek before turning to Nines. “Are you okay with hugs?”

“I,” his forehead wrinkled, “don't know. I have never been hugged.”

“Oh,” she said before pulling him closer, her arms wrapping tightly around his back. He clearly didn’t know what to do with himself, so he stood as stiff as a board but allowed his eyes to close.

“Pardon my ignorance, but, can you eat?”

Nines cocked his head. “Technically, I can. But,” he let a smile slip. “I shouldn’t.”

“Well, both of you, please make yourselves at home.” She looked at him. “You know your way around the house. If you need anything, come get me. I’ll be floating here and there.”

They walked up the steps together and before they made their way to one of the sets of couches, Gavin fished out a beer from the cooler.

“Don’t really drink anymore, but you’re here, so,” he twisted off the cap. “Know I’m safe.”

Their thighs touched as they sat down– he wasn’t going to fight Nines’ need to always be on top of him today, he didn’t have the fucking energy.

“You have that much trust in me?”

“I trust you enough to know nothing bad will happen if I drink a lil bit.”

Nines smiled gently at him before patting his knee. He got up to grab a beer of his own before sitting back down. Gavin raised a brow at him.

“I don't want to feel so out of place. I'm not going to drink it.”

“Eh, maybe I’ll drink it for you. We’ll see where the night takes us.”

Appearing out of seemingly nowhere, both of his daughters (in the most ear splitting way possible) dragged chairs so they could sit right across from them. They were gawking at Nines, their heads in their hands.

“Knock it off.” Gavin rolled his eyes. “Did your parents never teach you that it’s rude as hell to stare?”

They both looked at him in unison instead, Jasmine smiling wickedly. “Are you going to introduce us to the mystery man?”

“He ain’t a mystery man– you’ve been to the station since he’s started working there.”

“We don’t know his name.”

“I’m Nines,” he said, timidly. And for some fucking reason that made them start giggling their little heads off.

He looked at him. “These are Jeff’s kids– Jasmine,” he gestured to the left, then waved to the right, “and Laila. Been a pain in the ass since they were toddlers.”

“This is a new side of you that I haven't seen before.”

“Yeah, well. There’s a lot you still don’t know about me.”

“Is this the new James?”

Gavin choked on his drink, the carbonation traveling up his nose. Nines’ eyes widened. “No. He’s my partner–” they started laughing even harder, “work partner. Jesus Christ, shut your traps. Why don’t you go bother your mom, huh?”

“Everyone we talk to keeps shooing us away. First mom sent us to go keep dad company, then dad sent us back to mom–”

“And you haven’t stopped to ask yourselves why that is?”

Nines slapped his arm. “Be nice to them. You're no longer a teenager yourself but still very annoying.”

His eyes narrowed. “You can fuck off too if you want.”

Laila whistled lowly. “You speak to your boyfriend like that?”

Nines snorted as Gavin pinched the bridge of his nose. “He’s not–” his ears perked at the sound of the gate unlatching. He could see the distinct glow of another led. “Oh, Christ, what the hell are they doing here?”

“I told dad not to invite them.” Jasmine jumped to her feet, running over to Jeffrey (who was still stationed at the grill, even though he was scrolling through his phone).

Nines tapped on his wrist, his voice lowering. “Will you ever tell me why you and Anderson resent each other?”

He took a swig of his drink as Connor locked eyes with him, his brows furrowing. “...he’s too much like my dad.”

“Ah.”

Hank pulled himself up the steps, Connor trailing behind him like a scared, wounded animal.

“Jeff didn’t tell us you’d be here, otherwise we…” his eyes trailed over to the cooler and that made Gavin loudly scoff, “wouldn’t have thought about coming.”

“Yeah. Ditto.”

He shoved his hands in the pockets of his coat. “Can we act like adults and share the same space? Or, are you going to do what you always do and make a scene, Reed?”

Gavin looked at Nines from the corner of his eye before standing up and unlocking the sliding door. He could hear Hank clicking his tongue, muttering, “Figures,” under his breath.

“Why are you wasting your energy on him?” Connor said.

“Because he's more than just someone I work with. You would know this if you actually talked to me.”

Gavin closed the door behind himself with a large sigh, leaning against the glass. Priscilla met his eyes, her cheeks sucked in. She was studying him, the same look she’d give her own kids when they were caught up in an easily disprovable lie.

“He never listens to me. I told him that if he was going to invite you, he can’t ask Hank to come.” She shook her head. “Men.”

“It’s your guyses party, it’s okay–”

“It’s not okay.”

“Well, no, but, I just– I know I gotta remove myself before I do something that’s gonna ruin the night. For everyone.”

She ran her hand down his forearm before gliding it through his hair. “I know you and Jeff have had your differences, but it really is nice to see you again.”

“It’s nice to be back here. I, um,” he licked his front teeth, “I feel like I kinda lost myself these past few years. I,” he glanced over to their entertainment cabinet, “I ‘unno who I really am anymore. I’m working on being less of an asshole though, that’s a start.”

“I can tell,” she said with a knowing grin dancing across her plum tinted lips. “You seem happier right now.”

“I am– I think. I mean, everything going on with dad aside,” he looked over his shoulder, catching a sliver of Nines’ face through a gap in the curtains. “Got something keeping me a little sane.”

“That boy is the upgraded Connor unit, yeah?”

Gavin nodded. The door slid open and closed just as quickly, Laila slipping past them (shooting him a not so sneaky side eye).

“From the two minutes I talked to him, it seems like he’s quite nice.” Gavin’s mouth twisted at that and she chuckled. “Am I wrong?”

“He’s… nice-ish, sometimes. When he’s not in a mood.”

“Let me clarify– nicer than the other men you’ve brought around here.”

Gavin’s forehead wrinkled as he took another quick sip of his beer. “Ain’t that the truth.”

With one more pinch of his cheek, she stepped away from him and back towards the fridge to pull out a couple more Coors. This is how she’d always been, expressing her compassion through physical touch. You didn’t have to see her kids to know she was a mother.

The tv flicked on, and that’s where Gavin gravitated towards. Laila was sitting with a Gamecube controller in her clutch– she patted the open space next to her.

He dramatically sunk into the overly plush cushions, setting down his perspiring bottle before stretching out his arms. “What’re you gonna play?”

“I haven’t decided yet. Smash, maybe?”

“Classic.”

She launched upwards to put in the disc and then dug around a canvas organizer for a second controller, humming in approval when she found one. She handed it to him.

“So,” she turned to face him, failing to hide her facade. The questioning was about to fucking start– he sighed deeply. “He’s not your boyfriend?”

“No. How many times I gotta tell you that? We work together, s’all there is.”

“Why not?”

"He's an android."

"So?"

“Why do you care?” Fuck it. He downed the rest of his drink. He needed it. “I’m not having this conversation with you.”

“All of our friends have boyfriends. All they do is talk about boys.”

“Yeah, well, those are your friends. I’m like, more than double your age.”

She pouted. “Are you saying we’re not friends?”

Gavin threw his head back. “No, that’s not what I’m saying. Can we just play the damn game?”

She circled her cursor around before settling on Dr. Mario. “I’ll make a bet with you.”

“Oh, Lord. What?”

“If I win this match, you hafta admit if you like him or not.”

“And when I win,” he selected Fox, “you’ll never ask me about this again, right?”

“...right,” she responded with a shit eating grin.

For good reason, because the match was over in less than two minutes. And even after he selected a different character and begged for best two out of three, he sorely lost. She wiggled her brows at him.

“Soooo?”

He found himself glaring at the carpet– shit, that was new, too. “Yes, okay, I like him, you caught me. No, I don’t know if he’s gonna be my boyfriend– don’t think the stars got that aligned for us. And before you fucking ask,” he pointed his finger at her smug fucking face, “I am not interested in telling him any of this shit, so don’t you even try.”

“Sailor mouth.”

“I know how your dad talks, don’t act like this is anything special.”

He could hear the wheels of the door gliding, and lo and behold, they must’ve said his name a few too many times. They summoned him.

Laila was back to giggling like this was the funniest fucking thing she’d ever experienced. He flicked her ear. “Oh my God, shut up.”

Nines stood next to the tv awkwardly, examining them with caution “...what were you saying about me?”

“I didn’t say shit. The only thing she knows is how to be fucking annoying.”

“Consider me a saving grace then,” Nines drew his attention solely to Laila. “Your father is asking for you.”

As she disappeared outside, Nines leaned his weight against the armrest. He raised his beer to Gavin with a cock of his head. He took it from him and instead traded him the abandoned controller, answering his unspoken question.

“You don’t have to stay in here. You’re allowed to spend time with them, don’t matter if I don’t get along with either.”

“Connor was,” he exhaled through his nostrils, “making comments that I did not appreciate. I would prefer to be within proximity of you instead– what's the purpose of this game?”

“Just pick a character and mash the buttons. I apparently suck ass at Smash so, you’re probably gonna beat me in this, too.”

His mouth upturned. “Sounds easy enough. First, though–” he placed the controller back beside him, “I want to know why you hate Anderson so much. Because in your file–”

“It mentions he was my mentor, I know,” he scratched at the nape of his neck.

That was the truth to how their relationship began. Before Tina transferred to the DPD, and when Gavin was an even more full of himself dimwit— if you can believe it or not— he didn’t know who to turn to for support. Jeffrey was the one that scooped him up and saved him from becoming the next Paul Blart, sure, but he was hardly on a first name basis with him.

For the first week of him working there, he ate his sad lunches of cold cut lunch meat on thin, measly slices of white bread in a stall in the men’s room. He couldn’t get his own damn locker open for three days because his combo wasn’t fucking working, and he was unable to swallow his pride (shame?) to ask literally anyone around him for a minute of their time.

He’d made a name for himself as the unlikable new kid that didn’t know jack shit about what he was doing, but sure as hell thought he was a hot rod. Hank had seen right through that, and he’d called him out on his bullshit. In front of all his fellow deputies during a weekly performance meeting.

After everyone had dispersed, he’d pulled him aside and asked if he wanted to get lunch– eat real food for once. He’d seen himself reflected through Gavin, and the more they got talking, the more they’d found they had in common. Their family dynamics shadowed each other; distant fathers too clouded by their unresolved demons of the past that they took to liquid courage instead of… talking to someone, their wives, doing anything that would not only help themselves, but those they were inadvertently hurting.

A one off meal turned into meeting up at the shooting range every Saturday, and sometimes, going out with him and his wife before she’d become an ex. Hank had quickly become his backbone; he’d show up at the station with a fresh shiner and Hank would sit him down, rattle off some story from his college punk rock band years, and apply ointment with a featherlight touch.

He could remember sitting in the waiting room the day Cole was born, James impatiently pacing around (asking why they were even there for a baby that wasn’t his own), and Tina quietly by his side. A lot of babies look like damn aliens when they’re born, football shaped heads and bug eyes. Not Cole. His cheeks were round like little balls of dough and brushed with a light peach. He had a full head of dirty blond hair and aqua tinted crystals for eyes.

Hank’s divorce came out of left field. He had a court summons thrown at him with less than a day to prepare. Jeff was out of town, his mom recently deceased… all he had left was Gavin. He knew what it was like to have your parents fight and bicker right in front of your eyes, how it fucks with you for the rest of your life– he didn’t need to know what his parents were going through.

He drove them to Frankenmuth for the day and they ran around the town checking off the typical tourist’s list; they feasted on a banquet of crisp chicken legs, threw themselves down water slide after water slide until their toes pruned, and finished off the day with scoops of ice cream that were almost larger than Cole’s head.

That was the last time he saw Cole. The Hank he once knew vanished after his death and he never returned.

“I couldn’t stand the smell of cheap whiskey and Hank needed a therapist, not my lack of shitty wisdom.” He ran his palm down his pant leg. “That’s… why my dad’s dying, Nines. ‘cause he couldn’t figure out how to put down the bottle. I didn’t want to willingly put myself through watching someone I cared about go down that path. Again.

“I couldn’t mentally handle it. So I did what I always do, and I pushed him away. Said a lot of fucked up shit I don’t wanna even repeat– worse than the snippets I’ve told you. There’s no undoing the damage that I’ve done. I’ve grown to accept that.”

“I can understand why Anderson’s tendencies would trigger you.”

“Thank you, ‘cause fucking no one else does. Not even Tina. They just think I lashed out at him for the love of the game.”

“You cannot make up for what you have done, but you don't think you can come to, at least, neutral terms with him?”

“No. Not interested in trying. Like Connor’s gonna let me get within ten feet of him, anyways. Wanted a son, got a fucking plastic guard dog instead.” He saw Nines narrowing his eyes at him. “Yeah, yeah, save it. He’s your brother, how dare I talk like that about him. Like I don’t got a piece of shit for a brother, too.”

“You do realize that any animosity between you and Connor was concocted in your own mind, yes? He never did anything to you.”

“You weren’t there, how do you fucking know?”

“He showed me. I saw every interaction he’s ever had with you– where you aggressed him.”

“Can’t you just be on my side for once,” Gavin buried his head in his hands, but Nines pulled them away.

“Gavin, I’m always on your side. You have to stop acting like the world is out to get you when, ninety nine percent of the time, that is not the case. This is how you treated me, and before you pushed me to my breaking point, what had I done to you? Hm?”

He opened his mouth only to close it, licking his lips. “I don’t wanna spend our last few days together arguing about dumb shit. I get it, I’m an unlikable asshole that loves to play victim.” He uncapped the second beer. “That’s Gavin Reed in a nutshell.”

“You’re not unlikable. But you take everything I say as a personal attack when that is not my intention.” He put his hand on his forearm, dragging his thumb, sluggishly, across his sleeve.

“You genuinely like who I am as a person?”

“I do. I'm not championing your past wrongdoings, and I am not excusing the way you tend to talk to people. But, I enjoy the man that is sitting in front of me right now.” Dimples formed on his cheeks– fuck, why was he so damn cute.

“Until you find someone leagues above me in LA,” he took too big of a swallow, wincing. “Just gonna become a distant thought to you.”

“That's not going to happen.”

“Sure it will.”

“No,” he let out a gentle exhale. “It won’t.”

“Nines.” Nines raised his chin in response. “I– I… don't just tolerate you.”

“Like I said, you like me. You make it quite obvious.”

It was his turn to offer an ounce of positive affection– he put his hand over Nines’ wrist, and as feeble as he could (enough to make Nines lean slightly closer), he said: “more than I think you can even begin to realize.”

For someone with a chiseled jawline and permanent resting bitch face, the way he was looking at him right now could melt butter. The hard shell Nines often wore as a mask was lost. “You don't need to whisper. Your secret about how you feel about me, is safe, with me.”

“Why’s it feel like it needs to be kept a secret, then.”

“You might need to ask yourself that question.” His gaze shifted to look over his shoulder. “Now we have an audience.”

Gavin looked behind himself, smacking his lips. They were gripping each other’s hands, Jasmine dreamily sighing.

“Can we help you?”

“Just kiss already.”

Gavin rolled his eyes and jumped to his feet, eagerly shooing them away. “Go finish your homework, know you don’t got that shit done.”

“We don’t have homework, we’re on Christmas break.”

“Then go bother Hank, he needs the attention.”

Later that night, after he let his faint buzz die off, Gavin walked out into his living room. Nines had a book in his hands and earbuds in, already utilizing the iPod. He looked up at him, pausing the music.

“If you're in the middle of,” he waved at the book, “I can fuck off.”

“No, you're fine.” He bent the page and set it beside him. “What's up?”

Gavin bit his thumbnail. “Can I vent to you about my dad?”

Nines curled his finger, beckoning him over.

“I’m all yours.”

Notes:

Back to regular weekly (or bi-weekly at the latest) updates now! :-) The next chapter will be posted Friday or Sunday because it was originally going to be part of this one, but it grew to be wayyy too long.

Chapter 15: spatial lullaby

Summary:

Gavin didn't want him to leave, and each extra day they spent together felt like rubbing a lemon against a fresh cut. He was becoming attached to Nines, and he sort of loathed that.

Nines knocked on Gavin’s door; it was ajar as always, but ever since the day he walked in on him as he was stripping down to his birthday suit… he made sure to knock. A repeat incident and Gavin might actually hurl his fucking lamp at him.

He was awake for the day, but he didn’t have it in him to get up yet. Just a few minutes more of basking under his comforter (the amount of loose threads was mind boggling, he needed to replace this thing pronto). He was lying on his side, phone in clutch but screen darkened; the only thing staring back at him, was himself.

Nines peeked his head in, Bailey also using this as her opportunity to start chasing around her favorite mouse toy to get a headstart on her morning zoomies. She cooed and cried to herself, flinging it by its tattered felt tail.

“Are you awake?”

“I don’t know,” he rolled onto his back. “Am I?”

Nines clicked his tongue. “That was rhetorical– may I use your shower?”

“Do you really have to ask?”

Nines threw his head back, his nostrils flaring. “I'm asking to make sure you were not planning to immediately use the bathroom. So I would not be an inconvenience. However, this conversation is.”

He stepped inside, glancing down at Bailey. She was running circles around his feet, partly chasing her own tail and also… just cracking out, like one does. “What side of the bed do you normally sleep on?”

“Left.” He was lying to his right. “Shut up. Go shower, leave me alone.”

He came out of the bathroom ten minutes later, and Gavin made a big fucking mistake looking up. He paraded out of the room with nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist– why even knock if he was going to do the same fucking thing. Christ, his hair was slicked back and his torso was glistening from the sun catching the water droplets he hadn’t patted dry. He wasn’t that fucking cunning. First the stupid ass little gay twirl to show off the goods, and now, this.

Though, the thing that immediately caught his eye was not his body on display, but a small scar that remained from the gunshot wound. His skin cascaded the uneven ridges, but the difference in hue was apparent enough that he could see it without squinting.

Ugh, not even a minute later, he marched back into the bathroom with a pile of clothes in his arm– he heard the door creak open once more. “I forgot something.”

“For fuck’s sake, this is why you bring everything in with you before you shower. Running through my house buckass naked, Jesus Christ.”

He stopped dead in his tracks. “No one is forcing you to watch, Gavin.”

“You’re in my goddamn bedroom. Kinda hard not to.” He pushed himself to sit upright with his elbows. “Is that scar permanent?”

He glanced down at his stomach. “They did not patch it up in a way that lays flat. Yes, unfortunately, this is not something that I can heal.”

“Didn’t realize androids could get scars.”

“You and I are not so dissimilar, you need to realize this.”

“Mm, I don’t know about that.”

He turned on his phone to check what sort of new slop was on Instagram for him today– another college friend that wasn’t his, but Tina’s, that was newly engaged. The rock on her finger looked big enough to beat a small child to death with it (...he didn’t know why that was the first metaphor his exhausted brain strung together, but the point is that it was huge).

He closed the app when he was getting follow suggestions for an ancient one night stand. To make better use of his time, he dug through his dresser, nearly pulling one of the drawers off its track. He carelessly piled things in his arms, setting it all down on his mattress.

“Can you hurry the fuck up? Taking your sweet ass time. Didn’t care what you were doing before, but it’s been like… fifteen minutes. I need to get in there.”

Nines opened the door, a flurry of steam escaping. He was dressed in a knit turtleneck that left no room for the imagination, a mismatched towel (different than the prior one) wrapped around his head.

“There is a way to reword that without swearing at me.”

“Not gonna do that. Jesus,” he squeezed his eyes shut for a brief second. The mirror was completely fogged up. “You didn’t turn on the fan, great.”

“The one morning I did not provide you with breakfast and this is how you wake up– fascinating.”

“Move.” He wiped clean a semi circle with the side of his arm. This was going to have to do. He spurted out a glob of shaving cream that smelled like cinnamon into his palm. “Didn’t realize I was putting on a free show for you.”

“Well, I was not done in here, so.”

He squinted at him. “The fuck you mean? You’re dressed, what more you gotta do? Give yourself a pedicure? Do your skincare routine?”

He pushed the back of his hips against the edge of the counter. “I was enjoying the warmth. It's like an at home sauna.”

“...whatever.” He fumbled around for a razor. “Pass me that washcloth.”

Nines handed it to him, quietly chuckling to himself. “I'm curious to know what you would look like with facial hair.”

“S’not good. Eli and I already look enough alike. Grow my beard out and we become twins. Don’t need to scream in horror every time I look in the mirror.”

“What about the men that grow out their beards long enough to braid them? You've never wanted to try that out for yourself?”

“No, because I’m not a pirate.”

“What about– there's a term for the style. The moustaches that curl at the tips,” he gestured with his thumbs, upturning them like he were twisting invisible strands of hair.

Gavin gawked at him for, it had to have been an entire, very painfully long minute. He pulled out a drawer, wiggling free a fresh razor with the cap still on it. “I am going to teach you how to shave so you can stop pestering me with these stupid ass questions.”

“I only have simulated stubble to give me more of a realistic appearance, I can't actually grow a moustache.”

“Roleplay. And, you never know– what if tomorrow they come out with a facial hair DLC? You’ll be prepared.”

“Ah, right. What you said is okay, but my questions make me…”

“A stupid ass. Correct.” He handed him the can. “You just wanna get enough on that it covers the skin but don’t look like you smashed your face into a pie.”

Of course Nines didn’t listen, he had to have been assembled with cotton stuffed deep in his ear canals. That was the only, logical, explanation. He’d made himself look like a mall Santa.

“Oh dear God.” He plucked the towel from his head (why was he wearing it, his hair was dry as a bone) and ran it under warm water, wiping it off of him. He snorted. “Less is more.”

He pushed himself up on his toes and stroked his fingers along his jaw so there was an evenly distributed layer.

“But, that was my only chance at having a beard.”

“Cry me a river.” He exchanged items with him. “You’re gonna take your razor,” he held his against his own skin. “And go with the grain– don’t take the cap off, don’t need more spilled blood in this damn bathroom.”

Gavin leaned closer so he could see his reflection (the mirror was growing hazy once more). He slowly dragged the blade across his overgrown stubble, Nines mirroring his movements.

“Like this?”

“Yeah,” oh, he hated watching his cheeks flush in real time, how splotchy they looked. “Exactly like that.”

 

---

 

When the door to his office space was closed, it felt like he was sitting inside of a streamer’s dream room; walls so insulated and devoid of hearing outside chatter that a dropped needle would sound like a blast of thunder. There was a low hum coming from the vents, the heater trying its best to wake up for the season.

He needed something to play in the background. It could be a video essay about the downfall of Claire’s for all he cared. He opened up a browser, clicked on the Youtube logo and– he couldn’t escape being bombarded with Instacart ads. Every single goddamn time it was an array of spam. Like, the canned meat kind of spam.

Spam in cans, spam in a squeeze bottle, spam on crackers and flavored with queso. How the fuck could he get rid of this? Even with an adblocker installed, the spam followed him to his phone. He groaned into his palm, flicking the wheel of his mouse.

Nines looked up from his monitor. “What?”

His eyes crinkled. “What do you mean what?”

“What is with all of the fuss?”

He locked eyes with a graphic of... spam sushi. “S’nothing.”

“So, you are not in the middle of something?”

“Not really,” he opened a video in a new tab; he’d never asked himself the question ‘what do medieval peasants do all day’, but he was about to find out. After another fucking ad— geriatric diapers? His face fell. “God,” he met his stare. “What’s up?”

“I was contacted by the original deviant– Maya. She should be addressed by her actual name,” he said more so to himself than Gavin. “She sent me a very,” he pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth, “wordy email. In summary, she is willing to talk tonight if we can make our way down to Ann Arbor. She's passing through the state.”

“No shit? Well, yeah, I’m down. I know you’re dying to talk to her.”

“There's a winter storm advisory, but, I think we'll be all right.”

“That piece of shit has survived Boston winters, think a little flurry is gonna be fine.”

Nines rested his chin against his fist. “This also would technically mean you don't have to continue to volunteer your time to New Jericho, since the end goal would be…” his pupils bounced back and forth, “meaningless, really.”

“Nah,” he leaned back in his chair, kicking out his feet onto the desk (away from their workspaces, void of documents and pen holders). “I already agreed to it. Don’t wanna turn back on my promise and start from scratch. Markus resents me just a tad bit less.”

Nines looked like a deer caught in a damn headlight. His eyes were bulging out of his skull, mouth hanging open wide enough to catch a family of flies. “Who the hell are you and what have you done with Gavin?”

He laced his fingers together, resting them across his stomach. “I'm trying to get rid of him.”

“Only the bad parts, right?”

“Yeah,” he bobbed his head. “Only the bad parts.”

 

---

 

The drive to downtown Ann Arbor wasn’t picture perfect; the warning wasn’t there as a silly little joke, he came to realize when the traction control light flashed. He should’ve heeded with caution and stopped trying to steal coy peeks at the man beside him, but he digressed. They made it there in one piece and parking was free. A win-win scenario.

They were standing in the midst of the university's campus, near the diagonal walkways that cut through squirrel infested grass. In the fifteen minutes they’d been standing there, he’d watched one, fat enough that it had to waddle, scurry after a woman attempting to eat fries while walking. He followed her trail and shoved one deep fried potato stick after another into his cheeks. These squirrels had no chill.

Gavin ran his hands up and down his arms. “She said a quarter past ten, didn’t she?”

“She did.” He followed where Nines was staring; a coffee shop with front facing glass windows across the street from them. “She is here but it seems that she is apprehensive about approaching us—”

“Because I'm here. She knew I was coming, though.”

“Yes, but you do have notoriety.” He adjusted his posture. “And I have caught wind of a rumor that's been spreading about you. Through Jericho’s circle, I mean.”

“Do I want to know?”

“It's cruel enough that I do not wish to repeat it.” He patted the top of Gavin’s head. “Ignorance is bliss.”

“Ignorance is why I’m in this position in the first place. Why people talk shit about me.”

“If you don''t fuel the fire, it will soon die out.” Nines gestured his head to the left. “Do you see that woman with the red pixie cut?”

Pixie cut… he saw a group of kids kicking around a hacky sack (people still played with those things?) outside of the cafe and a younger girl brushing out knots from her golden retriever’s fur. She didn’t have red hair.

Nines huffed– the cool air hit the side of his cheek– and took the liberty of grabbing Gavin’s chin, forcing him to look in the right direction.

“That is her. I do not know where the hell you were looking.”

“...not there, that’s for damn sure. You think we should go approach her?”

“She keeps looking over here as well.” Nines nodded. “Follow my lead and watch what you say.”

“Was gonna opt for the art of silence. I know how to behave sometimes, you know that.”

“That's debatable.”

As they entered inside (and were blasted with a sweltering pocket of heat), Nines gestured for Gavin to stay by the door. He cautiously moved his way over to her, tugging free his beanie to wring it with both hands.

“Maya? I’m Nines, the detective that you've been in contact with.”

His led changed to a circling yellow– they were staring at each other in complete stillness for what felt like an eternity. He crossed his arms over his chest, leaning against a metal pole. Guess it was kind of redundant to have a verbal conversation when you can easily converse internally.

She glanced over Nines’ shoulder as he reached towards her, his faux skin peeling away. The way she was looking him in the eyes made Gavin feel uneasy– no, that couldn’t be jealousy, the hell was there to feel jealous over? Someone else giving him attention? Or was it how he described the trust involved in a process like interfacing? Didn’t really matter, he shook those thoughts away.

She squeezed past him, Nines pointing towards the door. “She knows you're not an immediate threat.”

“Why’d she look at you like that?”

“Look at me like what?”

“This.”

He attempted to coax out his best poker face– no, it was more like an impression of Nines with the way he was trying to replicate a stoic, deadpan ‘I will murder your entire family without blinking’ expression. All that did was make Nines snort, hard, garnering unwanted attention.

“And that is supposed to mean…”

“Nothing, nevermind,” he grunted, shoving his hands hard enough into his pockets that his keys jabbed him (and left an indent, he came to later find out). “Read too much into it, I guess.”

Nines stuck his tongue out of the side of his mouth, patting the small of his back. “Gavin Reed, often mis-reeding situations.”

“Don’t…” he visibly cringed, sidestepping away from him, “do that.”

Maya met his eye from outside; he could feel her burning a hole right through him. She threw her hands up in the air, mouth gaping.

“Enough stalling,” the door chimed as they left. “I do not know how, but you always manage to find a way to distract me.”

“Putting the blame on me, fucki–” Nines tapped his finger over his lips. He was going to bite it off the next time he did that shit.

They followed hot on her tail, cascading away from the liveliness of rowdy sports bars stuffed full of dudebros in their unwashed, ill fitting jerseys. The smell of artery clogging appetizers was all but a ghost.

You couldn’t find complete solitude in a college town, but the further they walked in the direction of the train station (their timing was impeccable, he could hear the horn blowing), the less chitter chatter polluted the night.

“I do not have long, so what is it that you would like to know?” She said under her breath. She was squirrely, glancing over her shoulder with every other step she took. If Nines made headway on walking side by side with her, she sped up.

“Is this how you would like to speak with us? You don't want to stop somewhere? A park, or, we could go to the garage in front of the police station if that feels more comfortable for you.”

“I do not want anyone to overhear us.” A blonde with a messy bun jogged past them, her vanilla perfume wafting. “But at the same time, I do not want to be alone with you two. No police station, that’s– the worst place we can go.”

“Understandable.” Nines situated his beanie back on his head.

“You know we’re both cops?” Gavin muttered, Nines glowering.

“She knows that, Gavin.” He toyed with the collar of his shirt. Fidget, fidget. “To clarify so there is no misunderstanding here, nothing we talk about tonight is being recorded or put on an official record. This is so I can understand more about our kind– about you.”

“And the reason the human had to come along…?”

“We are a package duo.”

Not for much longer.

Gavin looked at him through his lashes. He was met with Nines’ laugh lines deepening; it didn’t last long, he was back to studying the woman in front of them and keeping his jaw tightened. But moments like that felt like discovering a new ancient wonder of the world. Something that was shared between only them, that he could keep for himself, that Nines only wanted him to see.

“How was it that you first came to realize that you were,” he pressed his tongue against his cheek, “deviated from your original programming?”

“That is the thing– I do not feel as if I deviated. There was always this feeling within myself that something didn’t add up. Before I was sent back to Cyberlife to have my memory wiped clean and be refurbished, I was a housemaid. A caretaker to a wonderful little girl.”

Gavin reached into his back pocket to pull out his phone, Nines sneering at him. He mouthed ‘don’t’ as clearly as he could, flipping over his hand so his palm was flat. He gave him an expectant look so he could, once again, steal his damn phone.

“There was one day in particular when we were at the park and she wanted to go down a slide she saw all the older kids gloat about. She was terrified of it, but she finally found enough courage to stand at the top of the steps. She went down it and I felt this pride, this overwhelming… love for her, like she were my own. She almost was, I had been looking after her since she was a month old.

“I was in my cubicle on hold with another human that did not know the meaning of please or thank you when I saw the faint outline of her face. Cyberlife tried to erase who I am, but they couldn’t.”

Nines pressed his thumbnail against his teeth, his tone growing soft. “How are you making ends meet with no laws in order to pay androids? Are you being paid under the table by someone? Again– nothing you say tonight is going to be reported.”

She fidgeted with her sleeve. “My hands are tied with how much I can say legally. Cyberlife and I came to an agreement to keep me out of the public's eye.”

“With… the current CEO, or the prior?”

“Elijah Kamski.”

They both exchanged a glance with each other, and she noticed this.

“Being the first of our kind to experience overwhelming emotions like this, you didn't have anyone else to offer you support. A role model like Markus is to most. What was the reasoning behind removing your led? Were you aware that it served as a tracker?”

“I was paralyzed with fear when it occurred to me that I could make my own choices. As long as that light remained on me, I wouldn’t be seen as anything other than a workplace tool. It was the only way I could escape their scrutiny. So I found a pair of scissors and, it popped out easier than I could’ve imagined. I thought there would be blood, that someone would walk in on me in the bathroom and see the mess I’d made. But, no. It just came out and I felt… free.

“I– we –will never be like them nor do I want to assimilate to humans, but there is only so much that they are willing to accept of us.”

“Is this why you do not directly want to work with Jericho?”

She nodded solemnly. “I just want to live on my own terms and have the life I wasn’t allowed before. Plenty of independent journalists and pro-android rights organizations have attempted to contact me for interviews. All I really desire is to be left alone.”

“Why were you willing to speak to us?”

“I am not as familiar with your story, Nines. But if you are anything like the other infamous deviant hunter, then I know that you understand me.” She surveyed Gavin. “In many ways, it seems. As much as I do give humans grief, I have a human spouse of my own.”

“And he knows–”

“Of course he knows. He was the only person I had worked with that didn’t treat me differently because of what I am. He was the only one that would greet me in the morning, ask me how I was, if I wanted to get drinks after work well knowing that he would be drinking for the both of us.”

She spun around on the heel of her foot, abruptly cutting them off.

“I have a question for you. Why do you trust this one?” Her eyes were venomously slit. “I know exactly who you are. The videos of what you did to those androids in twenty thirty six may be erased from the internet, but I was in that alleyway. Watching as you let that couple bleed to death.”

Gavin needed a glass of water, or possibly a giant fucking bottle of Vodka. That wasn’t something he expected anyone to bring up. He wasn’t the one that bludgeoned them to death, but he sure as hell didn’t offer a helping hand.

She prodded her finger against Nines’ chest– Gavin felt his knuckles tense. “How can you look at him and not want him to repay for what he’s done to us? Do you know exactly what this man has done?”

“I am quite informed, yes.” Nines inhaled. “With all due respect, we are here to listen with your limited time, not talk about us.”

“Even with my own spouse, there is still always the fear in the back of my mind that he will one day turn on me. You can’t turn a blind eye on,” she scoffed at Gavin, “them. I can not tell you how many friends I have had thrown into those damn landfills because they were misguided by trust. Treated like disposable rubble by people exactly like him.”

“I don't need to be told this– I know. But I prefer not to allow fear to consume me.”

“If you wish to speak with me a little longer, we can. But, alone.”

Gavin tapped his pointer against his forehead. “Can go wait in the car, just.” Nines handed him back his phone. “Like you always tell me, don’t be stupid. Text me when you’re done.”

 

---

 

“Can’t believe this is your last night here. Didn’t think this day was actually gonna come. Was kinda hoping,” he wet his lips, “you’d just been playing a sick joke on me this whole time.”

“I wouldn't do that to you.”

“Bullshit, that’s exactly the kinda thing you’d do.”

It was going to take them twice as long to journey back to Detroit because of the worsening road conditions. Winter came every year and people routinely forgot how to drive on the day of the first snowfall, like fucking clockwork. If it really got that bad out, they could camp in his car and wait until the plows cleared off the highways at sunrise. He’d done it before, wasn’t the worst thing in the world– at least his heater worked… sort of.

Not like they were in much of a hurry to get going, anyways. He’d fed Bailey before they left, and although she was on a timed schedule, he filled up a spare bowl halfway with kibble just in case they found themselves in a scenario like this. He didn’t get out of metro Detroit often enough, didn’t have much of a reason if it wasn’t work related. Before Nines came along.

He always saw Ann Arbor as a hidden gem. Big city feel without the overcrowding of a true big city. The chance to catch live music any day of the week, a melting pot of cultures, buses that you knew you weren’t going to get shanked on. And, things like this.

They’d found themselves walking alongside the Huron river, the pathways looking like mounds of powder sugar under the moonlight’s rays. Really brought out the ghostliness in Nines’ complexion, too. Fucker probably wasn’t an actual android, his vampire theory made much more sense.

“What time do you gotta leave for the airport?”

“I don't have all of the details yet, but I believe someone is going to swing by the station around three to pick me up.”

“So I ain’t gonna be your final goodbye?”

“Gavin,” Nines extended his palm, a snowflake catching on the tip of his thumb. “I don’t want to think too hard about this. I am finding my mind in that place of… spiraling panic that I cannot always free myself from.”

“If it makes you that anxious, what’s gonna happen when,” he blinked, hard, “tomorrow comes and you’re all on your own?”

A familiar sense of terror flashed across Nines’ face. “I feel like that is something I am going to have to deal with in the moment when it comes.”

He’d found himself lingering a foot behind the taller brunette, a twig snapping under his boot. He watched his breath disappear into the sky.

“Nines,” he grabbed the back of his jacket. “Are you gonna be okay?”

His body language answered that question for him; he looked so damn tense, like a turtle trying to tuck itself into its shell. He was clawing at his right sleeve, shoulders raised to his ears. “I am going to have to be.”

“‘cept that’s not really the truth, is it. Took me a long ass time to learn that it’s okay not to be okay.”

“I do not think you have learned that. You still put on a brave face when confronted with your father’s situation–”

He held up his hand to him. “Hey, jackass, lemme be a hypocrite if I wanna be a hypocrite. Don’t turn this around on me.”

Nines’ nose twitched like a rabbits. “I will give you a one time pass tonight because I am feeling generous.”

“Bless you. Now, quit busting my balls and c’mere.”

He raised his arm as high as he humanly could. He continuously cut out the corner of Nines’ head in each and every shot, no matter the angle, even if it was taken from below so they had major double chin action going on. Nines aggressively snatched the device from him.

“I can say this with my whole chest– you are absolutely awful at taking pictures of us. Next time you want a selfie, just ask.”

“Maybe if you weren’t the size of the fucking Empire State Building. Needa get reverse leg lengthening surgery, Christ.”

Nines’ pictures were… as one would expect. Crystal clear to the point that it looked AI generated, concise in his framing, both of their smiling faces centered. He looked so damn smug and full of himself.

“Or, you could become taller.”

“Yeah, lemme get started on that. Don’t mind me, stomping into work in my seven inch Demonia platforms. Sure Jeff would love that.”

He watched as a branch was pulled by the current, helplessly being transported to places unknown. There was some glaring symbolism, if he wanted to pull his back reaching that hard.

“Enjoy this while you can, not as much peace and quiet in LA. Got the beaches and dry as fuck hills, but it ain’t easy to slip away from civilization in an overpopulated city.”

“Have you been?”

“A long ass time ago.” He pushed back a flyaway. “My family took a trip there when I was thirteen– not just LA, California in general. Y’know, back when we pretended to get along. All I really remember is going to a place called the Madonna Inn and getting the worst stomach ache of my life ‘cause I inhaled a slice of cake meant for two people.”

“Of course you did.”

Gavin stumbled over himself, slipping backwards and barely regaining his balance.

“Careful,” Nines tsk’d, looping their elbows together. “Were you not just telling me that the paths were slippery?”

“You think I listen to myself talk?”

“No, I know you don’t.” Maybe gravity was to blame for this, but he felt himself leaning against Nines’ side. “As idiotic as younger you was– current you still is –it's one of my favorite things when you share your tales with me.”

There was that ray of sunshine again that Nines constantly brought with him, looking right at Gavin, making him parched. It was a cruel punishment that Nines was the only thing that could quench his thirst.

“Gotta save some for our voice calls so we don’t run outta things to talk about.”

“That is not possible with you. You could rant about paper towels for half an hour.”

“Wanna put that to the test?”

Nines shook his head, chuckling. “I've been compiling a list of things that I would like to see, when I can find the free time, of course. The natural history museum looks appealing; they have a rather large collection of taxidermy– I guess that would be one of my only ways of experiencing what it would be like to visit a zoo with non-mechanical animals.”

“Should check out the tar pits. Got the academy award museum next to it– maybe go after you’ve got more than five movies under your belt, though.”

“Ah, so I will have to wait a year to visit.”

Gavin rolled his eyes. “We’re gonna watch so much shit together you’re gonna get sick of me.”

Nines opened his mouth to say something, but then bit his lower lip and closed it. “This is much further off in the future, but I like the idea of planning a road trip down the coast. Go to an elephant seal lookout point, pay San Francisco a weekend visit.”

“Even though I don’t remember much, I know what areas of San Fran to avoid. Could act as your bodyguard for once.”

“I was not planning to do something like this alone,” he gently exhaled. “This could be how we spend the summer?”

Fantasy. Distraction. That’s all this was.

“Well, I sure as hell have a backlog of vacation time. So,” he shrugged with a shoulder, the one further away from Nines. “Always wanted to do a cross country road trip, take advantage of campsites, mostly to save money to do other dumb shit– more theme parks. Couldn’t find someone that could take enough time off from work to do it with me.”

“Perhaps this is what I can save my allowance for.”

They veered over to a lookout point higher up on a hill, the wonderland they trekked through lost to them. There was a family of deer across the river– the baby was just like Gavin, struggling to find his footing– but he was more distracted by Nines leaning his cheek against the top of his head.

“Could stop in Vegas for a night. Bask in the musty aroma of nicotine, drain our– and by that, I mean my –bank accounts. See how long it takes to get kicked out of an all you can eat buffet, sounds kinda fun.”

Nines scoffed. “...I would prefer hiking and visiting Death Valley over sleazy casinos.”

“Who says we can't do both? Pass through Texas, go get hate crimed for fun. Never been to Seattle but I know they got a high suicide rate.”

“Gavin,” he pulled his head away only to strain his neck to look at him, his face creasing in ways Gavin hadn’t seen before. “What the hell.”

“What? What did I say?”

“What didn’t you say? I truly can never predict what is going to come out of your mouth.”

“That's part of my charm.”

“Yes. Charm,” Nines squeezed his shoulder. “Can we actually?”

“Take a road trip?”

“I want this to be more than just talk. I need reassurance that you will still be part of my future.”

There was nothing in this forest he was allergic to, but he was going to blame the stinging in his eyes on invisible pollen. In the back of his mind he was still toying with the idea of blocking Nines’ number the second he got on the plane, act like this was all one really fucking bad romance novel that he tripped into.

He didn’t do long distance. And it’s not because of the repetition of conversations being locked behind a digital wall. It was the aching that was already setting in, knowing that, tomorrow, Nines was going to be in an apartment that wasn’t his. That if he needed someone to talk to when he couldn’t coax himself to sleep for the umpteenth time, he couldn’t beeline to his couch.

Jesus Christ, he didn’t want him to fucking leave.

“I’m–” he pivoted on his heel to fully face Nines. “Nothing about this is gonna be easy, not in the fucking slightest.”

“Promise me, Gavin.” Snowflakes were collecting in Nines’ bangs, like little pearl accents. “I only agreed to this on the contingency that this would not affect… us. I need to hear you say it.”

He could taste salt in the back of his throat. “I’m not going anywhere.” He spoke empty words, a half truth.

Nines delicately cupped his cheek, as if he’d break him with one wrong move– maybe he would. He held him in place.

The solitude surrounding them sounded like the inside of a seashell— a bit eerie, an uncanny familiarity that you couldn't quite place. Like a warm embrace from your grandmother that hadn't seen you since your last birthday get-together.

They were transported galaxies away from the rest of the city that was tucking themselves in for the night. A sigh that was more like a half yawn, a desperate attempt to flood more oxygen to his brain so he'd stop actively dreaming, was ripped from his body. 

“It is truly going to pain me to be away from you,” he sounded like he was out of breath. His lashes fluttered against the tops of his cheekbones.

“You wouldn’t have agreed to this if a part of you wasn’t curious about what it’s really like out there.”

“I know. But, there are a lot of,” his attention darted elsewhere, “conflicting thoughts racing through my mind, and it is very confusing.”

“Think I’m having those same kinda thoughts.” He broke free from his grasp. “I’m, uh, I’m excited for you, though, Nines. To see what kinda things await you in the future. Think you’ve got a lot of good things coming your way. Earned yourself a lifetime of karma.”

“I do not like when you are sweet to me like this.” Nines pulled the beanie from his head and stuffed it in his jacket pocket. Oh, wow, that was a deep crimson. “You have expressed your worries that I am going to replace you, but I know you haven't deleted those dating apps. I've seen you try to swipe away the notifications.”

Gavin felt goosebumps raise.

“Told you– sex is just se–”

“I am not talking about sex. It’s only a matter of time before one of your flings becomes recurrent.”

He scratched the side of his neck. “This ain’t a conversation I wanna have with you tonight.”

“This is not a conversation you will ever have with me, I know you well enough to say that.”

Gavin kicked at the only patch of untouched dirt he could find. “Okay, you wanna play this game? Fine, you fucking win. Let’s say I did get a boyfriend. Why do you care so goddamn much? Would still call you, text you– don’t gotta hog my attention every second I’m awake.”

“You are asking why I–” Nines looked towards the sky. “Unbelievable. You are so goddamn frustrating."

“Yeah, I am. Something you care to tell me?”

Before he could process what was happening, Nines gave him a hefty shove backwards and the soles of his sneakers became ice cold. He’d pushed him into the ice cold fucking water. Not so he’d fall in ass first, but damp enough to fucking piss him off. Job well done.

Could he blame him? This was exactly something he’d do in a moment of panic and stress and not wanting to think about how badly he wanted to run his tongue across his lips. This was entirely deserved.

“Oh my God, you fucker,” he felt his muscles immediately tense. “Why? What the hell is wrong with you?”

“We don’t have enough time to go down that list.”

Gavin cupped his hands in the water to throw at him but immediately regretted it. This felt like the time he accidentally locked himself inside a walk in freezer– long story.

“Jesus, fuck. Why, why did I do that–”

“Because you are Gavin, that is why.”

“Why did you do this?”

“You were being an asshole, and I do not have a spray bottle. This was the next best option.”

“Was it?” He said through grit teeth, trudging out of the water. “You don’t got a built in heater, do you?”

“Not any more than you do.”

 

---

 

“Well. Today’s the dreaded day.”

Bailey was making biscuits on Nines’ lap, and if it weren’t for the overstuffed suitcase, this would seem like just another ordinary day. The blankets he’d been using were neatly folded beside him (...sort of, one of the edges looked a bit askew).

The coffee table was covered in hangers and a barren roll of heavy duty Scotch tape. He was still in his pajamas, like him not getting dressed would delay Nines enough that he’d miss his flight. Wishful thinking.

“It is.” Nines ran his shaky hands through her fur. “Would you allow me to treat you to breakfast? Without using your card– I have ten dollars to my name.”

“Ten dollars– no. You can use it one last time.”

“Thank you,” he timidly mouthed to him, instead of verbalizing the words.

Guess staying in his flannels was not on the agenda. He needed to put on something nicer than a hoodie for once– he didn’t have much in the way of dress shirts. The suit he wore to Tina’s wedding was rented. Didn’t have enough opportunities to doll up to warrant dropping a Benjamin on something he’d never reach for.

A thermal with zero holes in it and a wool coat he didn’t remember buying. That would have to do.

Nines was leaning against the kitchen island, Bailey resorting to moving her bakery to the aforementioned blankets. He had also changed; a different button up (still… black, just a different shade of black with a barely noticeable pattern). Ah, he was learning. He’d managed to figure out his tie all on his own. Guess tie.exe did exist.

“Look at you,” he beamed at Gavin. “You clean up nice.”

“Can’t be looking like an absolute slob for your last mental images of me.”

“I’m honored. Truly.”

“Should be. Don’t do this for just anyone.”

He busied himself with checking Bailey’s water dish, moseying over to the sink to scrub it down. The floorboard creaked behind him, Nines reaching to turn off the faucet.

Gavin turned himself around only to be sandwiched between Nines and the counter (that was digging into his back). He had placed his hands on either side of him, trapping him in place.

“Gavin, I cannot leave here without taking this risk,” his chin was quivering. “I may regret doing this, but I fear the regret of missing this chance will be far stronger.”

He cupped the back of his neck and hunched himself over to meet Gavin’s height easier. Their lips met and parted just as soon after, like they were late for an important date. It was barely a peck, could you even describe it as that? Their dry skin merely brushed. But it still made Gavin feel like he was fucking drowning in an infinitely deep pool.

“Asshole,” his nails dug into his collar as he choked on his breath. “You can’t just do that and fucking leave me.”

“The thing is, that I am not. I am not leaving you, Gavin.”

He heard his voice echoing, louder: Gavin.

Louder.

“Gavin.”

It felt like he’d been stricken by Zeus himself. Nines had one hand on his shoulder, vigorously shaking him. He was sitting on the very edge of his bed, in the pitch black darkness.

Fuck, that was all a dream. He was fantasizing about– this was past the point of him being desperate. This was just flat out pathetic.

He ran his palm down his face. “Timesit? D’oversleep,” he slurred.

“It's one in the morning.”

Gavin groaned and rolled over, his back facing him. He threw a pillow over his face as the mattress shifted and said pillow was lifted. Nines was crouched beside him, staring at him like he were in a trance.

“I need to talk to you. This cannot wait until the morning.”

Gavin pressed his tongue to his cheek.

“The chief of the precinct contacted me.”

He held his breath. “...okay, and?”

“They are having some setbacks securing an apartment unit. Something to do with a lease workaround.”

He wiggled his way into a half sitting position so he could flick on the tableside lamp. “Which means?”

Nines wasn’t even trying to hide his ear to ear, overly toothy, fucking adorable as shit grin. “It is going to likely take another week. Or longer.”

He let out his breath, the muscles in his chest constricting. “Wow, that's horrible. You must be so sad.”

“I have cried myself dry.” Nines’ nose wrinkled. “I do not believe in divine intervention or a higher power, but this does not feel like a coincidence. I need more time with you.”

“But, you are still going, yeah? When everything’s worked out?”

His pupils darted and he nodded. “I will let you get back to sleep. That is what I wanted to tell you.” He tousled Gavin’s locks as he stood, pulling the door back into its barely open position.

“Wait, Nines.”

He poked his head back in.

“...can you grab my laptop? S’on the coffee table.”

He came back with it and handed it to him. Gavin angled his head to the empty spot next to him.

“I’m telling you, we got a long list of shit to work through– wanna knock Heathers out?”

Nines fucking threw himself onto the mattress, squirming around until their shoulders were pressed together and he was leaning his cheek against the top of Gavin’s pillow.

“Hell yeah.”

Chapter 16: our names together

Summary:

Gavin was grateful for any additional time he could spend with Nines– but, at what cost? Because the more days that passed and bled into one another, the more he fell for him. It felt like a personal kind of torture that was trying to kill him from the inside out.

Notes:

Click for content warning:

Brief, non-graphic depictions of animal and domestic abuse (pertaining to cases they undertake).

Malls were a rare sight in a digital world where billion dollar corporations wouldn’t bat an eye at renting out a storefront for advertising purposes only. That’s what a lot of downtown Detroit had become; overpriced restaurants that justified the prices of their microwaved, run of the mill slop with grammable string-light adorned patios. Bars that seldom offered karaoke or open mic nights, and just a shit ton of lifeless buildings to send your android to pick up your online exclusive orders.

A lot of this was a long time coming, but, Cyberlife was the main instigator in how current Detroit was shaped. This wasn’t speaking from a biased place, but the obvious truth. Rundown factory plants that were once owned by Ford were bought up and converted into their factories in record breaking time so they could keep up with growing demand.

Small businesses that were run by married duos were driven away because the cost to rent in a city that was now seen as a beacon of sought after job opportunities and a hot destination place for the technologically inclined, was astronomical. No one could afford to live here anymore, and rent controlled apartments were disappearing faster than a speeding bullet.

Which, getting back to the subject of malls, wasn’t an entirely awful thing that Detroit had become a desirable place to reside in. The Renaissance Center had a vast corridor that looked like an oversized greenhouse; the walls were entirely constructed of glass, as were the multi-story walkways that led to an outdoor people mover station. It looked like a more accurate depiction of the future than even Cyberlife’s own stores did.

The place was supposed to get axed the year Gavin moved. Hell, he’d taken the day off of work to attend the planned detonation because it would’ve been cool as shit to watch a building this massive crumble to nothing more than dust.

The city realized the youth that couldn’t drive half an hour north to Michigan’s equivalent of the Mall of America didn’t have much to do. Literally– they shoved an aquarium and bowling alley into one massive, overstimulating money trap.

If you wanted to hang out with your friends, you either had to wait until an artist you liked played a show you couldn’t afford at the local venues (that were also close to going bankrupt), or loiter around the art museum (he couldn't think of a worse way to spend your day).

Gavin was just trying to buy himself time as he glared down at his phone, another three missed calls from his mother. He wasn't an adult mall rat. Mindlessly walking around malls wasn’t a favorable pastime for him (especially after spending a year of his life being trapped day in and day out inside of one… God).

Right now though, he wasn’t picky and his reddened fingertips were begging him to gravitate towards someplace warm.

He was trailing through a bustling food court, people loudly laughing and engaged in chit chat over bowls of macaroni and cheese that had broccoli and… onions mixed in. He took the escalators upstairs and languidly windowshopped.

Luxury brands mixed in with candy stores where you scooped enough sugar to pay for your dentist’s next vacation. He could feel his back pocket vibrating, and it made him grit his teeth hard enough he could feel the veins in his neck straining.

He only wound up here because Nines had been pulled into a meeting with the captain of the district he now belonged to. He’d landed at the crack of dawn just so he could personally meet Nines and introduce himself (seriously, they wanted him bad).

They got to the precinct at their usual time, which meant Gavin still had sleep in his eyes and was on a short fuse, only to see Jeffrey with his arms crossed, waiting for them. An opening line of, “I need to see you in my office” at seven in the morning was like nails on a chalkboard.

Nines had shrugged out of his coat, adjusted the top two buttons of his shirt when he muttered under his breath, “Well, fuck me gently with a chainsaw”.

On second thought… maybe watching Heathers wasn’t a great idea. Because aside from that remark, Nines wouldn’t stop reiterating how Veronica and JD were so them. He never clarified who was whom.

Sitting around, solitary, in his office twiddling his thumbs with a reminder that this was going to be his new norm wasn’t boding well with him. He needed to be on his feet so he could think. Think and stop being an absolute fucking pussy, blowing off his mom because he knew what was coming. There was only one reason she needed his attention that badly.

A crowded place like this was perfect for dissociating– where he could blend in with the masses and stroll through a CVS to pick up protein bar boxes, makeup products he had no intention to ever purchase.

The thought of Nines sitting by his side when he made this call was comforting in the way falling against a cloud would be; feels fluffy and all encompassing at first until your weight breaks through its empty mass and you’re quickly plummeting to your death.

He needed to learn how to tackle the beast that was his own mother, alone. He could re-block her number, sure. Continuously let her have a one-sided conversation with his voicemail. A couple more weeks of this and it was going to be too late, if there was even that much time left. He didn't want it to get to that point, as much as he wanted to shove his fingers in his ears and hide behind a ten foot wall.

The line kept ringing, echoing around his skull until it suddenly stopped. He could hear faint beeps of a heart rate monitor.

“Oh, Gavin, finally,” there was a pop of harsh static, “give me one minute.” He had to yank the phone away from his ear until he heard her speaking again. All the rustling and stomping was the opposite of ASMR.

“I’ve been trying to get a hold of you for a week.”

“I know, ma. I–”

“You don’t pick up your phone, and if I call your work number, your assistant never knows where you are.”

He might’ve told Nines at one point that if his mom called, answer with a generic excuse that he was stuck in a meeting. That was something he agreed to without hesitation.

“Think you forget sometimes that I’m a grown ass man with a full time job. I don’t get much time to sleep, let alone check my phone.” Half truths, he survived on half truths.

“That’s how your grandpa was, and do you remember what happened to him?”

Gavin pinched the bridge of his nose, veering out of the CVS to head to the back of an American Eagle Outfitters. He picked up a vinyl record for an artist he’d never heard of, turning it over to skim the song list.

“They found him keeled over his desk ‘cause he worked himself to death. I’ve heard this story only eight billion times.”

“My point is, Gavin, that your work does not come before family. Or your health, for that matter.” Didn’t it when he didn’t feel like he had family?

“I'm talking to you now, ain't I?” He exhaled, trying his hardest to stifle the desperate groan that was stuck in his throat. “That still not good enough for you?”

“Please, mind your tone. I am too fragile for you to get snippy with me.”

He chewed on the inside of his cheek. “What’s going on with dad? This it? You said he was… life flighted?”

“He’d gone to his doctor for a routine checkup because he,” she smacked her lips, and he hated when she did that, “he didn’t look good. His eyes were starting to turn yellow, so we knew something was off. He was sent to the ER so they could get his labs processed the same day, and that’s when it was revealed that his liver enzymes were off the charts. He needs a transplant–”

Gavin shifted his weight onto his other foot, letting out a derivative huff. “Again?”

“Yes, unfortunately, again.” He walked back through the entrance, briefly catching himself in a full body mirror. God damn, he looked busted today. “He was flown to another hospital because they didn’t think he was going to be able to survive an hour long drive.”

“If it’s that serious–”

“It is that serious.”

“...is he still alive?”

“He’s as stable as he can be. He’s unresponsive, but his body is trying to fight for him. They’re keeping him in the ICU for as long as they can.”

He ran a hand through his hair, nails scratching at the back of his scalp hard enough that, when he pulled away, he saw traces of red. “So, uhm, what comes next exactly?”

There was vibrato in the way she was breathing. “His insurance is denying any and all claims to cover this because of his history. Even though denying him this operation is guaranteeing…”

“It’s a death sentence, s’what you’re saying.”

She didn’t respond to that, not with words. She sniffled, and he could just tell that she was crying. He wished he could say this made his heart ache, but he didn’t feel anything. Not the urge to jump through the speaker and pull her into a bear hug, the desire to sort through his mental dictionary for motivational quotes, something that could offer her an ounce of comfort.

He was completely and totally numb.

“How long does he got? Days?”

“They don’t know, it’s past the point of throwing around numbers. We’re…” wind blew into the speaker, “we’re looking at full life support. Unless we're thrown a miracle, that seems like all they can offer him at this point.”

Well, shit. Never fucking mind, he blinked away the stinging in his eyes. Oh, fuck, this was becoming entirely too real and he hated it. An air vac was sealed directly to his lungs, neon ‘open’ signs like blinding headlights, making him squint. He needed to get out of this damn mall.

His pulse was pounding in his temples like a melancholic drummer. “Okay.”

“I can’t afford any of this out of pocket and his medical debt is growing by the second. I can’t take another mortgage out on the house, but I– I don’t want him to die.”

It was sad that a circumstance like imminent death was the thing to bring out a shimmer of humanity in his mother.

“I know he has wronged you in the past, Gavin. I know he was not easy to live with. But that man is still my best friend that I married. God, I don’t know what to do.”

“Mom,” he switched what hand was holding the phone, “you can't let your fears start snowballing and get the best of you. Speaking from personal experience here. You gotta be there for him. If he has any chance of surviving this, he needs you. Gotta stay strong in whatever way you can.”

She loudly cleared her throat, and it made his muscles tense. “Have you heard anything from Elijah at all?”

He cringed visibly enough to make a passerby sneer at him. Every goddamn time they talked, his name was dropped without fail. “No, and my answer never changes. He hasn't volunteered to call me in years, you know this.”

“Can you please try to get in contact with him?”

“He ain’t gonna answer any of my calls, if he don’t already have me blocked. And, mom, I’m gonna say this in the nicest way possible– he’s not gonna foot any of dad’s bills, even if he realistically can afford it.”

“Gavin Joseph Reed.”

Oh, fuck, he just got goverment named. He was sent back in time to the numerous occasions he got called into the principal's office throughout his public school career, walking in to see his mom sitting beside an empty chair.

She’d wear a frown deep enough to carve permanent wrinkles, always giving him the silent treatment until she’d call everyone for dinner. The same dinners his dad scooped up and brought back to his fucking spot in front of the tv, and the ones Gavin played with more than digested.

“I don’t want his money, how dare you put words in my mouth. Have I ever asked either of you boys for a dime?”

One foot outside and he was slapped in the face with a windchill that sent an army of shivers down his spine. The walk back to the station was going to be nothing short of brutal. Sure, he could hop on a bus– an electronic sign said it’d arrive in three minutes –but he wasn’t an expert at being kind to himself.

“Do you want a genuine answer? Because, yes, you have. On numerous occasi—”

She cut him off with a dismissive scoff. “I miss him.”

Gavin shook his head. He was trying so damn hard to bite his tongue. He couldn’t do it anymore. “Then you fucking contact him. I don’t know what else to tell you.”

“Oh my God, Gavin, don’t talk to me like that. What did I just tell you? I am pouring my heart out to you because I am terrified that I have to deal with this alone. Both of you are so far away, and you know how emotionally distant my sisters can be. I don’t have anyone else to talk about this with.”

“Eli coined the term emotionally distant. You want someone to talk to so badly, he ain’t the right second choice.” First choice, rather. Gavin would forever remain the second choice until the end of time.

“I feel like all the unresolved bullshit,” sure, that's what it was, “you have with your father you just take out on me instead because I’m the punching bag. I never did anything wrong to you, why do you–”

“You never did anything wrong?” His voice cracked. His palms had gone clammy. “You fucking stood there when dad pulled off his belt and threatened to beat my ass because I told him he’d had enough to drink that night. Didn’t say a goddamn word when he’d lie about going to the, I don’t fucking know, library or whatever crummy excuse he’d come up with, and then leave me to my own devices. Expecting me to navigate Boston without a phone or a dollar in my pocket.”

“Your father,” she gasped between her words, “is a very sick man.”

“And you, willingly,” he couldn’t control his tone, how high-pitched and meek he was sounding, “kept us in that fucking situation. Could’ve called your mom and asked to use her spare bedroom for a few days while you figured out the next step. Taken us to the women’s shelter you volunteered at, don’t even wanna get started on the irony of that. I didn’t have a childhood,” he said pointendly, “because all my freetime was just me playing caretaker.”

“Gavin–”

“Jesus Christ, I’m so over being curt with you. All you care about is what I can do for you. Use me as a spirit board to get a hold of Eli, a blank wall so you can hear the echoes of yourself talking. Acting like I, as a fucking human being with a life and feelings, don't even exist. When’s the last time you asked me about my day? How I’m coping with my own goddamn father throwing his entire life away? I’m not okay, by the way.”

“Let me speak–”

“No. Shut up and listen for once in your life. You never care to bring up work, if Tina and I are still close. You don’t even call me on my birthday. Haven’t asked who my assistant is— it’s like you’re allergic to small talk, unless the topic can cycle back to you. Which, by the fucking way, he ain’t my assistant. He’s my goddamn partner.”

“Gavin. I do care about you. How many times have you called me at three in the morning while having an anxiety attack, and I sat with you on the phone for an hour until you could catch your breath?”

“Once. You did that once. You hung up on me when I’d told you I was raped.”

Something was pulling in his chest, and he didn’t know if it was excursion from walking on an empty stomach, or the need to start up the waterworks.

“If you’re that desperate for his attention, write him a letter. Sure if you did enough digging you could find his current address somewhere online. You’re not incompetent, know you got a brain.” He wiped the back of his sleeve under his nose. “I'm just fucking sick of it. You have two kids, mom. Act like it.”

There was a long pause, long enough that he had to check to make sure she hadn’t abruptly hung up on him. “I will keep you updated,” is all she said for her closing statement.

He could see the outlines of the building that was like a second home to him– speaking of something that regrettably also felt a little like home, Nines was walking straight towards him.

“There you are. Did you not get my texts?” Nines’ lips were in a flat line. The way the sun was hitting him intensified the aqua in his irises.

Gavin shook his head. “Nah, I was…” he couldn’t finish that sentence without choking on the saliva that was rapidly pooling in the back of his mouth. He felt like he was going to be sick.

“I told you the meeting would last less than an hour.” It drove him insane when he talked to him with such obvious concern in his voice, a balancing act of trying to keep his tone level. “Why did you run off on me?”

All Gavin could do was bite the skin of his knuckles as his breath caught. His cheeks were dampening. It was over, he couldn’t contain himself.

“Oh, come here, Gavin.”

Nines wrapped his arm around his shoulders, pulling him against the synthetic warmth that he radiated. Fuck it, he leaned the full weight of his body against his side.

 

---

 

They were parked across the street from a home that looked right out of a TLC special– you know, a sensationalized straight to television ‘documentary’ that only got funding because society deemed it funny to mock those who were mentally ill. The driveway was so covered in maggot infested trash bags and misshapen, snapped apart plastic kids toys that you couldn’t make out the gravel underneath.

The inside was worse, believe it or not. Not only did this woman love her high fashion magazines, she also had an affinity for treating animals like little knick knacks you could shove away on a dusty shelf– which was why her neighbors made that call. The wafting odors were so putrid, they could knock a buzzard off a shit wagon.

They’d been in the area for an entirely separate back alley hate crime when they were radioed in as backup. One look at the place and he could understand why they needed as many bodies active on the scene as they could get.

There was no way to escape out the front door without diving through piles of stained clothes that reeked of ammonia. The cats weren’t inside the main home, though. It was the garage that had been jam packed of hard carriers that resided on a line of bookcases that’d been hammered into the walls.

Animal control had rescued around thirty six extremely emaciated kittens that were so weak, they couldn’t properly meow. They weren’t all so lucky– the bodies of a few ferrets and a bearded dragon had been discovered in a cat tree that’d had the entrances to its cubbies sealed up with wooden boards.

He could handle dead bodies (as well as any mildly desensitized human could), but dead animals is where he drew a hard line. The owner had passed away in the tomb she built, and this wasn’t his first time seeing a situation like this. Hoarders weren’t uncommon, collecting pets seemed to be a shared interest among them, for some fucking reason.

But he couldn’t fathom how someone could become so detached from reality that they’d allow these little, helpless souls that were counting on them to gradually waste away. Starving to death wasn't an overnight process. It was agonizingly slow; why did no one intervene until it was too late? Until they were responsible with cleaning up the aftermath.

He took a long drag of his cigarette, the third he’d burnt through since they got there. He could feel acidic bubbles bursting in his stomach. All he'd consumed— it was around nine —was a juice pouch and a Poptart, throw in all the nauseating nicotine as a bonus. He couldn't do much more of today, he was ready to fall face first into his bed and never get up.

He was watching Chris unfurl a roll of yellow tape. The two of them were leaning against his car, the reverb from a jazz band a low hum– Nines had paid to have his radio fixed, that’s why he was flat out broke. Almost made him burst into tears when he turned on the engine and a CD he’d left in there for God knows how long started playing.

Distraction, he needed anything right now. They’d agreed to put a pin in what happened earlier, because there was no way in hell Gavin was ready to start rehashing the shitshow that was… well, just the current state of his parents in general.

“I’ve been thinking,” he exhaled slowly.

The corners of Nines’ eyes crinkled. “That’s never a good sign.”

“Think you’re so fucking funny. Jackass.” He elbowed Nines, only for him to playfully smack Gavin’s bicep in return. “You think RK stands for… Reed, Kamski?”

“It could. I was never told the meaning behind the initials– though, I do not know why they would explain that to me, like it mattered.” He cocked his head. “Where does the surname Kamski come from?”

“It’s our mom's maiden name.”

“Ah.” Nines pushed his hands into his pockets. “And, what are the last four digits of your social security number?”

Gavin looked at him deadpan. He spun on his heel to open the door on the passenger’s side, opening the glove department to fish around for an ashtray he knew he had crammed in there somewhere. Aha, there it was.

God, why did Nines feel the need to talk to him when he was facing in the opposite direction, and they had the elements against their odds (the barren trees around them were creaking and whining like crazy)? He nearly hit his head as he straightened his back.

“What’d you say?”

Nines pointed at himself. “Me?”

“Yes, you. Who the fuck else am I talking to? The spirits of the great beyond?”

“I never know with you.” He waved towards the house. “Ben’s voice tends to carry. Could that be what you heard?”

“Nah, it sounded too close.” He fumbled around for his keys– there it was again, a muted noise that was coming from his immediate right. From Nines. “You’re fucking with me. I heard something. Making me think I’m going crazy.”

Nines’ eyes dropped to study Gavin’s sneakers at the same moment he felt a sudden pressure against his ankles. A kitten so skinny that her spine protruded like a pearl necklace; her, what should’ve been white, matted fur was like candy corn (with little ink droppings, because her nose and left ear were black as midnight).

“Shit, they missed one.”

She dug her talons into his jeans, eliciting a pained gasp from him. Like he was a damn tree, she worked her way up his pants until she was hanging onto the ledge of his belt. He grabbed her by the back of her scruff, and she kicked at his wrist with all her tiny might, making him drop his keys.

“God damnit.” He bent down to grab them while balancing the baby in the crux of his elbow. She was a feisty little thing. She wriggled herself free and instead, found her way onto Gavin’s shoulder and plopped herself in the hood of his jacket.

Nines tried to swallow his chuckle. “I do not think you can take this one to the shelter.”

She mewed as he tried to blindly pull her free. “I can’t have another cat, ‘specially a kitten. Go get Chris and see if it’s too late to call back animal control.”

Nines ran his hand across his chin. “I will take her.”

“Oh, yeah?” His forehead creased as his brows raised. “Thought I explicitly remember you saying you didn’t want no pet.”

“I have put more thought into how deafening the silence of living alone is going to be.” Nines took his chance at scooping up the small creature. She willingly let herself be taken away by him, closing her eyes as he cradled her in his arms. “She is cute even with all that filth on her face.”

“D’you know how much work it is to take care of a kitten? This cat can’t be more than three months old. Add on the bonus of her being malnourished as all hell.”

“I think it will be okay. I have my experience with babysitting.”

Gavin rolled his eyes. “Let me see her again,” he gently cupped the kitten and lifted her tail– “Congrats, it’s a boy.”

They’d found a forgotten Amazon box in his trunk (he always drove to drop off his recycling, God knows how long that’d been sitting in there), using it as a makeshift carrier. Nines had draped his own jacket over it, only after the cat had gotten loose in the backseat and started performing kitty parkour.

He was jumping off the windows, batting around loose receipts and energy drink cans. For as exhausted as he sounded with his frail chirps, his zoomie energy was through the fucking roof.

“I don’t want Bailey interacting with him. Should keep him locked in my room,” he warned as he kicked open the door to the apartment, flicking on the lights. “We got no idea what kinda health problems this cat has. You know damn well he’s never seen a vet, probably never seen anything outside that cage ‘til tonight.”

Nines nodded, lifting a corner of the jacket. Before he could make his way down the hallway, Bailey came trotting over like she was on a damn mission. The kitten wiggled himself free and fell to his feet, knocking himself off balance. Bailey bit him by the scruff and pranced over to the couch. She curled up with the kitten tucked under her chest and began cleaning his face.

“Oh, Christ,” he quickly moved over to her, reaching out his hand– she angrily hissed, baring her fangs. She’d never hissed at him before, not even when he'd stepped on her tail in the dark a handful of times. She jumped off and carried him to an adjacent corner of the room, behind the mass of cardboard boxes.

He shared the same defeated look with Nines who just had to say: “I think you do have a second cat.”

“He isn’t staying.” He crossed his arms, hanging his head. “Guess we’re bringing both of them to the vet in the morning. Fuck me.”

“Baseball.”

Gavin’s eyes widened. “...uh, what?”

“Baseball,” he stated again, like that fucking clarified anything.

He gestured wildly at him to elaborate, to say any other word that wasn’t that. “That means…”

“That is his name. I was pondering options on the way here. I think Baseball would suit him, since he is mostly white, and small enough to hold with one hand.”

“No the fuck it isn’t. That’s not a goddamn name, baseball.”

He pressed his tongue against his cheek. “And Nines is?”

Gavin put a hand on his hip. “Okay, whatever, you got me there. It’s your cat. I ain’t calling him that.”

“You can call him BB for short if that is easier for you. So judgmental.”

Gavin scoffed. “Your turn to go deal with Bailey. Maybe she won’t hiss at you.”

“She does like me better.”

“Yeah, I know. Keep rubbing it in.”

 

---

 

“So,” Nines had both hands smushed inside the pockets of his leather jacket, his gaze trained forward. Some habits were too hard to kick. “It is your favorite time of the day.”

Spearmint flooded his mouth and traveled through his nostrils as he sharply exhaled. They were walking down a dimly lit sidewalk to grab a to-go order from a banh mi place Tina had been raving about, insistently pestering Gavin daily if he’d tried it yet– he was more so going here just to get her to shut up. The scent of sauteed vegetables was a sign that they didn’t have much longer left in their adventure.

“What update you got for me today?”

It hadn’t been an additional week that Nines’ stay was extended. Try two and a half. Problems continued to arise left and right; hitches hiring a moving company that wasn’t booked up until the start of the new year, legalities securing a car lease when the driver didn’t technically have a physical license, and airlines jacking up their prices tenfold the closer Christmas Eve crept. It was taking so goddamn long that the penance had hit Nines’ shiny, new bank account.

It boiled down to ill timing and the holidays slowing down operations for everyone. Each status update had Gavin clutching onto an invisible railing, feeling like he was watching paint dry as he waited until the evening approached (that’s when he’d hear back from the captain, usually around ten, partly due to the time difference). Was he going to have a ticket ready for an early flight, or would the universe be buying them more time together?

“It seems that I am staying for Christmas after all.” He’d said this entirely too casually, like he’d been reading off the forecasted weather.

A bell chimed as they stepped inside the restaurant that was similar in size to his childhood bedroom. His shoe knocked into a chair leg as he sidestepped up to the counter, that’s how crowded it felt. It’s not like they were going to stay anyways; a man behind the register offered him a warm smile as he scooped up the styrofoam container, backing up against the door handle to push it open for Nines.

“You're saying that I gotta go gift shopping now? Shit.”

It was hard to hear anything other than Mariah Carey being blasted from an aesthetic as hell cafe; the walls were a muted green and lined with shelves full of succulents, he could see from the corner of his eye. Nines chuffed, hiding it under his breath– he was becoming hyper aware of every little glance he offered him, the muted hums and tongue clicks he’d subconsciously make.

“You don’t have to buy me something.”

“Yes I do, be so fucking forreal. Think I’m not gonna get you anything for our first Christmas together?”

This was all supposed to be over quickly, in theory. He was supposed to be halfway across the country before he could fall for Nines hook, line and sinker. But with each setback, Gavin felt the shackles that bound him to his aching heart that he could no longer ignore, tighten. There were two sides to the suffer coin that he’d flip every morning to pick what version of Gavin wanted to come out; indulge in the taste of what a life together could look like if the stars aligned, or give him the backhand, which only made Nines’ physical affection more prominent.

“And, uh–” the tendon in his wrist flexed, cramping from how he was holding the container. Nines quirked a dark brow at him.

“Do you want me to carry it?”

“S’fine, I got it. Can see the complex from here,” he smashed his gum with his back teeth. “How long after that?”

“From my understanding, it seems they are coming to the consensus of planning for the beginning of January. It’s wishful thinking that things are going to fall into place with the way they’ve been going.”

He hummed his approval as they stepped into the, as usual, empty lobby space. They’d taped a dried up mistletoe above the front sliding doors. Gavin was immune to the foliage’s magic.

They were starting to spend all their time together. Yeah, yeah, call him a fucking massive hypocrite fool for bitching and moaning about Nines being up his ass on a daily basis. This brought back memories about all the things he’d enjoyed about sharing a dorm in college; it felt like he was living with a best friend, his nightly rituals of kicking back on the couch now something he looked forward to. Mundane things became tolerable when he always had someone by his side.

What should’ve been a quick, in and out in five minutes, grocery run to pick up a bunch of bananas and some ground black pepper would turn into a half an hour excursion. They just had to get their little mitts over everything in their line of sight. Rub all the perfume samples from paper magazines on their wrists, stroll down the miscellaneous toy aisle to disarrange a box of cheaply made plushies. They’d shared the same look after a young woman with spit up on her already stained sweater slipped a can of baby formula in her bag– they had bigger things to worry about than someone feeding their child.

He’d taught him how to ride the shopping carts in the parking lot (which almost got both of them hit once, but it was still worth it to hear Nines’ laughter that was like music to his ears). When they’d set up stalls for free samples, he’d use him as a stand-in to get doubles, even if the cranberry kombucha shots and mushy kale paste tasted like licking a shoe sole.

“Look at these melons.”

Gavin had picked up a pair of cantaloupes and held them up to his chest. To his absolute fucking disbelief, Nines squeezed them with a nod of approval. It was a damn miracle they weren't banned from leaving the house all together.

They were forming daily routines that fit around their haphazard schedule. Every morning (that Gavin woke up on time and didn’t toss a pillow at Nines’ head), they’d go for a walk around the block. Well, it was supposed to be a brisk jog, that’s what they agreed on. But it was hard to yap and run at the same time– for someone that needed to breathe.

A physical, handwritten list of their must watches, organized in order of importance, was easier to keep track of than a pixelated spreadsheet. Didn’t matter if they had to watch Spongebob buffer in 240p on his phone in the break room at midnight, they had to keep plowing through one title after another if there was any chance of finishing all this shit before they were doomed to two, separate screens. Once in a blue moon they’d lay in his bed with his laptop balanced on a stack of pillows (and, every damn time Gavin would nod off, waking up to his sheets all tucked up around him).

Slice of life comedies were Nines’ preferred genre, he’d quickly learned. They’d made it halfway through The Shining before he meekly asked if they could put something else on– the compromise was Little Miss Sunshine. Classics like Ghostbusters and Goodfellas were sprinkled between Sixteen Candles and, this was Nines’ pick, Brokeback Mountain.

He tried to persuade him to watch literally anything else because he knew that shit made him cry everytime, didn’t know if he could stomach his ruthless teasing the minute he started sniffling. The mocking never came, and instead he felt his thumb rubbing circles against the back of his hand, the weight of his body shifting closer until there was no room left for God between them.

They’d formed their own language with the amount of inside jokes they had. Chris had walked past them as Gavin blew out a puff of smoke and said monotone, “mario machine.” It made Nines burst out laughing because to them, that was a complete sentence, but it had their bystander scratching his head, calling them ‘giant fucking idiots’. There was also truth to that.

If he wasn’t standing a foot away from the brunet, his name was on his phone’s screen. He’d send one deep fried meme after another when he was waiting in line for coffee (Nines never taking more than five seconds to respond to him with his own deranged images). Instead of doom scrolling in the bathroom, he’d reshare TikToks that made him think of the other man; awkwardly shaped animals, people with their cameras close enough to their faces that it felt like they were invading his immediate personal space.

At night when the expected came and he couldn’t fall asleep, he’d text him until he heard footsteps drawing closer. He’d lean against the doorframe and jangle the car keys. They’d drive around downtown, looking at semi collapsed houses that were dolled up with red and green lights, like that’d suddenly fix the glaring issues of having a smashed up fireplace.

Sometimes they’d comment on the things they saw like their version of I Spy, but more often than not, they’d relish each other’s company. Drink in the shared silence that felt content, felt like something he really didn’t want to live without.

Nines had cleaned the backseats on a whim, discovering the sketchbooks that were shoved away under the passenger’s seat.

“I didn’t know that you drew.”

“Don’t do it often. Hard to find the time to practice, y’know.”

Before his brain could connect the wires that he was holding the yellow sketchbook, the one he didn’t want to be flicked through, he’d landed on the two pages that were covered in quick doodles Gavin had done of him.

“Is… is this me?”

He scratched the back of his scalp, a house fire seeping out of his ears. “You’re a good subject, what can I say.”

One Friday evening, his wish of going out for drinks with Tina (and her husband) had finally been fulfilled. They’d found themselves at a Buffalo Wild Wings, mostly in part to them having thirium-based alcoholic drinks. Nines agreed to try one. Once and only once, he reiterated. He wasn’t drunk, but it made him ten times more touchy than he already was– which meant he couldn’t keep his damn hands off of Gavin.

Leaning into his side when he chuckled, pinching his cheek as he retold a story about a chase from the other day, his fingers dancing along the collar of his v-neck. He’d kept his hand planted on his knee, and somehow, it’d found its way halfway up his thigh by the time they got the bill. Gavin wasn’t fighting him.

Tina had pulled him aside with an excuse of needing to use the restroom, tugging Gavin to his feet as she left the booth.

“When are you making it official? You’re killing me– you’re so cute together, Gavin.”

“Hm, well, let’s see,” he tapped his chin. “How about, uh, maybe– never. S’not gonna fucking happen, okay.”

“Why do you have to be so–”

“So what?”

“So you. You’re going to ignore the way he looks at you? The way you look at him?”

“I know how he looks at me, Tina. I don’t do long distance. I just– s’not even that I don’t want to, I can’t.”

All of the dating apps had been long since deleted, aside from one. There were a few guys he still flirted with on occasion, sometimes leading to late night sexting to fill the void between a dream state and staring at his ceiling. He just needed to have that option of escapism in his back pocket, something to help wind down. But he’d glance over at Nines who had… Baseball curled into a sphere on his lap, Bailey loafing on the cushions behind them, and all these weightless words trapped behind a screen would feel dull in comparison to what he had right next to him.

The same night his thumb hovered over the uninstall button for Hinge was when they came to find out what happens when an android intakes too much thirium. They were halfway through Mean Girls when Nines loudly yelled 'shit', sprinting to the kitchen. His nose was gushing blood like a waterfall, and no amount of paper towel wads would stop it.

“Here's your answer to our experiment.”

Gavin handed him another tissue, biting his lower lip. He couldn’t contain himself anymore and the giggles escaped him like a giddy child hyped up on sugar. Nines blindly attempted to smack him (his head was tilted as far back as it could go), but all he hit was the air.

“Don’t make me laugh, asshole. You are going to make it worse.”

 

---

 

One of the many reasons Gavin seldom celebrated Christmas was because it was hard to get in a celebrating spirit around a time of year they saw an influx in homicide-suicide cases. He doubled down on axing hanging up stockings, buying a gingerbread house kit (because the shit icing they provided you with never stuck), or finding a way to line the corners of the ceiling with warm string lights.

He gave in to getting a tree– a cheap plastic one, he didn’t need a spider infested fire hazard in his living room for the cats to tear apart. There was only so much he could handle of Nines tugging on his sleeve and whining in his ear as they sauntered past a display of them at Home Depot– he needed to buy a tube of caulk, not another box to cram into his already bursting coat closet.

It had to be kept inside his bedroom because Bailey had an affinity for clogging her stomach with the branch particles. Rushing to the emergency vet was not the kind of gift he wanted. The one they’d picked out was small enough to fit on top of his dresser. They were in the middle of hanging up baubles and wrapped candy canes when Nines’ led began to spin yellow.

This was a carbon copy of the sort of cases Gavin had nightmares about. A little girl, only five years old, and her mother, taken by a deadbeat dad that once promised her the world. They lived inside a townhome that had clean shingles and a window decorated in Santa themed window clings. These were the unassuming households that had the victim’s family stating how they never saw this coming. One foot inside the doorway and the curtains were pulled, the horrorshow on public display.

The leather couch in the living room was torn, surrounded by dozens of beer cans– it made Gavin flinch. The burners on the stove looked like they hadn’t been scrubbed down in literal years, caked with hardened black residue. He covered his mouth when he stepped into the little girl’s bedroom.

Brain particles were splattered over the dusty pink walls behind her quilted headboard, over a Carebears poster, coating a horse figurine her fingers were wrapped around; her last attempt at finding comfort. She was in a very sheer night dress, fabric too thin for this time of the year, for how damn cold it was inside. And as he took in more details that made his throat constrict, he saw that she wasn’t wearing any underwear. There was a dried pool of blood underneath her lower half.

Nines was lingering behind him, a man in a zipped up white jumpsuit stepping around them. His camera flashed as he documented the scene, taking a handful of pictures of the girl. This was their job, they needed evidence for obvious reasons– but goddamn did this feel fucked up.

“I do not understand how humans can be so vile.”

“You and me both.” He chewed on the inside of his cheek. “The fuck’s the point of bringing a kid into this fucked up world if that’s what you’re gonna make their life out to be.”

He turned on his heel and ascended to the parent’s bedroom. This guy was balding, missing his two front teeth, and still got a fucking wife? He held a shotgun in his limp hands.

“‘least the bastard finished the job on himself.” He looked over his shoulder. “This is why I fucking hate people and want nothing to do with ‘em. On Christmas of all days, Jesus Christ.”

The sun had set by the time they’d cleared the scene and could head back to the precinct; at least he was getting time and a half, that was the only positive Gavin could find right now. He felt like he’d deepthroated a shattered bottle. Talking for two hours straight to speak to close relatives (the wife had three sisters and an additional child that lived with her ex) fucking sucked, there was no other way to put it.

It took what felt like eons for each person to pick up, and when they did, a regurgitated sequence of events would occur: they’d be at a loss for words when he’d (not so gently, because beating around the bush only made things worse) break the fresh news to them, and then came the overflowing tears, the hyperventilating. He’d have to reiterate that he understood what day it was, but he needed to ask a series of questions and that he’d appreciate their cooperation– only half were willing to speak to him. Not like they needed more evidence when it’d been spelled out for them, but this was their safeguard.

He rested his elbows against his desk, pressing his thumbs against his eyelids. “I’m so fucking over today.”

Nines’ chair creaked. “Do you think we will make it home before midnight?”

“It’s already ten, ain’t it? Doubt it,” he groaned as he stood up to crack his back. “Wanna do me a favor and see what places are still open? If there are any.”

“China Palace, the place that made the lo mein you decorated your hair with, is still accepting orders for another hour.” He swerved himself in his chair to draw his attention away from the monitor, facing Gavin instead. “I placed an order forty or so minutes ago,” his lashes hit his cheek as he winked at him. “I am one step ahead of you, as usual.”

He leaned up against Nines’ side of the desk, his arms crossed over his chest. “So I’ll actually get to try it this time.”

The corners of his lips twitched. “As long as you do not pull your gun out on me.”

Gavin rolled his eyes, pressing his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” He exhaled, a bit too loud for the otherwise still station. “We’re gonna just have to open presents tomorrow. ‘course, this makes sense for us. Nothing ever seems to go right.”

“Have you set your resolutions yet for the new year?”

His forehead creased. This wasn’t a jump in topic, this was a goddamn trap. “Why?”

“You should work on trying to be less overly dramatic.” Called it. Fucking called it.

“That should be your goal.”

Nines hummed, waving him off. “I had a feeling we would find ourselves in a scenario like this, so I took the liberty of putting our gifts in the trunk before we left.” He tapped the side of his head. “One ste–”

“God, shut up,” he kicked at his foot. “You didn’t peek at yours or shake the boxes, did you? X-ray scan them?”

“You know me, of course I did. Because seeing through opaque objects is something I can definitely do.” He towered in front of Gavin, ruffling his hair. Another gesture that’d become routine. “I will be right back.”

He returned with a grease stained bag slung over one wrist while he tried to balance the gifts with his other hand– Gavin grabbed the larger ones from him before they could topple over.

He’d tried to wrap the two boxes to the best of his capabilities (as in, the top looked neat while the underneath was… another story, full of gaps and too much tape). No one cared about the presentation of the cat themed wrapping paper, it was about the goods hidden inside.

Gavin studied the kraft gift bag he set down. Gold foiled tissue paper was overflowing from the top.

“S’only one gift, right?”

Nines rolled his head from side to side. “One for you, one for Bailey. Like I told you.” Nines tapped his fingers against the boxes. “You seemingly got me two. Do we want to discuss your hypocrisy?”

“Nah, I’m allowed to spoil you. Not the other way around.”

“And, who decided this asinine rule?”

“Me.”

The smell of cooked chicken was making his mouth water to the point of drool dribbling down his chin (thank God Nines had his back briefly turned to him and did not see that, fuck). But in the same breath, he didn’t want to wait any longer to see how he’d react to his gifts.

He grabbed the back of his chair and scooted it over next to Nines’. “Might as well open them now while it’s still Christmas.”

“I want you to open yours first.”

Gavin shook his head. “No no no. Grew up with a loudmouthed family that always fought to open theirs first and then tried to shift into white elephant mode. I got the patience, for once. Start with the one on the left.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, quit stalling.”

Nines timidly peeled back the paper with precision, picking at the tape with his fingernail until it released its grip. He folded it and set it aside without any rips; okay, maybe some did care about the wrapping paper. He wiggled free the top of the plain looking box, biting his lip when he saw what was nestled inside.

A light blue mini Polaroid with an array of themed film; some had plain white borders while others were pastel colored, or had simple striped designs. Beside the camera was a pack of metallic sharpies and a few puffy sticker packs with a roll of (again, cat themed) washi tape. Underneath everything, and coated in shredded corrugated cardboard was a faux leather photo album similar to Gavin’s own.

“So you can document your adventures in California,” he rested his chin against his palm. “Show me in person eventually.”

His breathing had become as shaky as Gavin’s hands were. “Can you show me how to use it?”

Gavin bobbed his head, ripping open one of the film packs with his teeth. “Put some batteries in it already so it’d be ready to go. Never know when an opportunity for a perfect shot is gonna pop up.”

He turned the camera around and stretched out his arm as much as he could– Nines snatched it from him, wagging his pointer.

“Did you forget what I said?”

“So sorry, forgot you’re the photomaster now. Just don’t blink.”

“As if that isn’t second nature for me.”

He leaned against the other man, their strands of hair intertwining. The camera flashed with a faint click, the photo slowly inching its way out from the top. Gavin pinched it with two fingers and shook it before laying it flat in front of them.

“Now, with this stuff,” he opened the pens, grabbing the silver one as their grinning faces started to make themselves known. “Can add dumb shit to your photos. Like this,” he said as he drew a pair of cat ears on Nines. “Write the date on the bottom, or a lil quote. Whatever floats your boat.”

Nines grabbed the gold marker and drew a symmetrical heart above them– his physical heart was banging against his ribcage like it wanted to be freed.

“Then, when you’re done doing dumb shit to it,” he wriggled the album free and slid the picture into one of the aptly sized slots. “You put it in here, decorate your pages with more stickers and doodles to your heart's content once you got the page all full.”

Nines angled his head in his direction, and the light from his monitor encapsulated how glossy his eyes had grown; he peered down at Gavin’s lips, fuck, there was no way he’d imagined that.

“Let’s, uh,” he handed the camera back to him, “do it again so I can also have one, too. Can you,” he shrugged a shoulder, “decorate it the same way?”

His nose wrinkled. “With the heart?”

“With the heart.”

He didn’t decorate it the same way. Instead, he drew a much larger heart encompassing them, composed of smaller hearts, done with all three variations of the metallics. Gavin slipped it into his wallet, in front of his ID.

“Don’t smile at me like that.”

“Why? I am not making fun of you. It is just–” he did it again, but he licked his own lips as he studied his. “You’re cute.”

The longer he indulged in his intoxicating stare, the more pinpricks he felt in his gut, that heavy reminder that this wasn’t going to last much longer eating away at him. He ran his middle knuckles across his jaw when he felt his warmth pressed against his skin. Nines formed a circle around his wrist with his fingers, pushing his hand towards the desk.

“You don’t have to act so nervous around me. I thought we were past that stage.”

“I,” Gavin harshly cleared his throat. “Open your other one. Wanna look at mine while it’s still Christmas, so, hurry up. Time’s ticking.”

“You should open yours first.”

“Just finish yours. The other one ain’t as,” he waved his hand, “sentimental. But I think you’ll like it.”

It was a thick, hardcover book titled ‘A Thousand Movies to Watch Before You Die’. Each page had a stylized movie poster with a brief description and a handful of factoids. The year it was released, an iconic quote. It was full of cult classics, some they’d already seen (The Room) and some they still needed to find the time for (The Rocky Horror Picture Show, though… Nines wasn’t ready for that yet).

“That’ll make deciding what to watch a hell ton easier.”

Nines chuckled under his breath. “So we are not trying to decide for thirty minutes.”

“Yeah, exactly.”

Without a second wasted, he scooted over the gift bag and folded his hands across his lap. “I could not afford to get you much, and I apologize for that, because I know our gifts are not of equal value–”

“Nines, I don’t give a shit about that. You getting me anything,” he shifted his sitting position, “means a lot. Deadass,” Nines puffed out his cheeks, because Gavin had come to learn that he was not a fan of that word, “it does.”

“I wanted you to have something that I know you will use on a daily basis.”

“Use on a daily basis,” he parroted, his brows furrowing.

He reached inside and his fingertips hit something hard. He pulled out what felt like a mug. Inching back the tissue paper revealed that his detective skills were on point– it was, indeed, a coffee mug. It was painted teal and he could see the individual brush strokes in the glaze; the shape made it look a bit vintage, like a grandmother had crafted this and it ended up in a thrift store by her ungrateful spawn.

“Turn it over.”

“Huh?” He peered at the bottom to see… Nines’ name was carved into it, a date marked beside it. “Fuck, did you make this for me?”

“Do you remember the one night that I told you I had plans? I had found a woman offering discounted pottery classes for the season.”

“Was it as soothing as watching your videos?”

“Even more so.”

He swallowed the hard lump in his throat. Aside from Tina giving him the extra blueberry muffins or brownies that she’d had left over when she’d miscalculated the amount of mix she needed, no one had ever made him anything before. Not a scribbled on card, a painted pre-constructed suncatcher, a fucking basic ass macaroni noodle frame. The feeling of wanting to study the other’s lips was mutual.

He reached back into the bag and pulled out the second item– it was a flat dish, salmon in color. A food bowl for Bailey (not Baseball, Nines could make him his own damn dish).

He ran his hand across his mouth. “I don’t know what to say– this is, uh, probably the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

“Likewise,” Nines said with a genuine crack to his voice. He pulled over the forgotten bag of food and handed Gavin a pair of chopsticks. “Should we call this our break and find something to watch?”

“Go on Youtube and look through my purchased movies,” he popped open the container. “Click on A Christmas Story.”

“That is the best they could come up with for a title?”

“Hey, it’s a classic. The peanut gallery can hold their comments ‘til the end.”

 

---

 

The day had come that Nines no longer had clearance to work at the DPD, which also meant New Years was creeping around the corner, and he didn’t want to acknowledge that that realization was drawing nightly anxiety attacks. But, it was, and he tried to bottle that all up, keep it to himself even if Nines was physically sat beside him as his fears rolled like an avalanche out of control.

Driving to work with an empty seat beside him was now his only place of solitude. He couldn’t let this despondency poison him; open heart surgery without anesthesia took real bravery, and he needed to fake it til he made it. Now that he could make use of his car’s bluetooth settings, he returned to his sad boy playlist and sang along to early two thousands pop punk tunes, not giving a shit if a rando on the freeway heard him.

The heat that had crept into their arguments had died down and was now a thing of the past (...with rare exceptions. He was still hot headed Gavin at the end of the day). The only thing they bickered about was inconsequential shit– which, given, the things he’d cherry pick to seethe about was idiotic before. But now it was more about someone leaving a pile of clothes in front of the bathroom door so it was impossible to open, or tracking in mud because they hadn’t taken off their shoes at the door.

With Nines needing something to occupy his overwhelming amount of free time, he figured he’d try to be helpful and tackle the list of chores that’d been piling up. What neither of them thought about was that a specialized android that was more suited for the military than domesticity wouldn’t have a damn clue about how to take care of an apartment (...the Keurig incident, case in point.)

There’d been a couple pairs of jeans, a handful of boxers and a few sleep shirts that’d been sitting in the hamper for… he didn’t want to admit how long. Nines didn’t realize the washer and dryer were two separate machines nor that he was supposed to measure out the amount of detergent he used. Returning to a basket full of soggy, musty smelling garments made him want to rip his fucking hair out.

He’d sat on his bed to find composure, scratching under Bailey’s chin when she stopped dead in her tracks and started doing a dance all cat owners came to loathe. She puked a pancake sized pile of undigested food. She only did that when she was overfed. At least… Baseball had all the matts brushed out of his fur and he had a very minimal hue of yellow left over. At least there was that.

A corner of his fitted sheets had come undone (not uncommon with the way he sometimes thrashed around), and that’s when he discovered that they were ripped. The last fucking thing that made him stomp into the living room was the nauseating smell of burning; holy fucking shit, he put metal in the microwave.

“Nines,” he animalistically growled through grit teeth.

A crash course on household basics was in need– why this lesson was taught at two in the morning? Take a wild guess. He figured it was a better way to spend time than playing Solitaire on his phone like an old man.

Laundry was first because he was still not over having his favorite pair of pants smell like an attic. Thankfully this complex had a dedicated room in the basement. Having to haul his shit over to a laundromat would’ve resurrected evil Gavin and made him violent.

“There’s two machines. Two. How many?”

Nines made a peace sign.

“Go back to the laundry room.”

Gavin was crinkling a toy shaped like a fish taco, Baseball intently watching him. “Did you change over the laundry?”

“...I thought you did.”

“Nines,” he groaned, throwing his head back. “It’s been five fucking hours, are you serious?”

He showed him how to pre-wash dishes so there wasn’t any random gunk left over, even after they'd been drowned in the dishwasher. He stressed that he needed to make sure the scrub wand had soap in it, and that he was using hot water, because he’d failed his initial test. Tests, plural, rather.

He kept a Roomba equivalent in his bedroom to pick up crumbs (he liked to eat in bed sometimes, who didn’t?). But the rest of the house needed to be vacuumed often, especially with two cats that shed enough to start a fur coat business. And he needed to do more than just the living room.

All dangerous chemicals were stored in the bathroom, and for extra measure, he’d installed a baby lock because he didn’t trust Bailey as far as he could throw her (this was an idiom, he didn’t throw his fucking cat). He had a bottle of glass cleaner that smelled overwhelmingly like mint, a can of Raid for the summer months, the laundry sauce, and a few other miscellaneous bottles he rarely touched.

“If you find time, got a mop and bucket in the front coat closet. Gotta lock the cats away in the bedroom first, wait for the kitchen to dry before doing the bathroom.”

He filled the bucket with hot water only and forgoed the Fabuloso. He buried his face in his hands. “Jesus fucking Christ, Nines. You are god awful at this.”

“I wasn’t designed to be a housewife.”

“I’m never visiting you if you ain’t gonna clean your place. I wasn’t designed to put up with your bullshit, and yet.”

As a little treat for not setting his abode on fire (this wasn’t a date), they’d gone to Build-A-Bear to create plushies for each other (since Gavin was desperately in need of a replacement so his childhood bear didn’t wind up becoming a singular thread). He was torn between a simple frog, or a bee with a rainbow painted torso (...for obvious reasons).

They’d both shared the same braincell. Gavin had gone with the fruity bee, and Nines had picked out a simple looking bear; that was just the base. He was dressed to the nines in a scalloped tutu, a pair of gaudy butterfly wings, roller skates strapped to his feet, and a heart shaped antenna headband.

“He’s…” Gavin held the stuffed animal that weighed the equivalent of a newborn baby from the amount of shit that was thrown on him, “glorious.”

“He looks just like you.”

“You're paying for this, right? You got like, sixty dollars worth of accessories here.”

Nines needed to find healthy outlets to pass the time– he needed a hobby so he wouldn’t rifle through Gavin’s drawers for fun and destroy more of his belongings (whether it was intentional or not). On one of his lunch breaks, he swung by to grab him so they could go to a local secondhand craft store. A pack of clay and a handful of cross stitch kits were thrown into the basket.

“Do you know anything about sewing?” Nines grabbed a set of needles and a spool of thread that matched his slacks (black).

“Couple of things Tina taught me when she’d drag me to her nerd cons. What’d you do?”

“There is a small hole in one of the pockets,” he gestured behind himself.

“Oh, yeah, I know how to mend something to that extent. I can show you.” Nines awarded him with a grin.

Jericho had found a church that would rent out a room to them a couple times a week so they could begin hosting android-only support groups. Gavin, not so subtly, encouraged him to attend them because he still often went from zero to one hundred at the flick of a switch; calmly walking through a gardening center to pick out a few cacti to purchase when Gavin would lose sight of him, finding him with his knees tucked against his check, scratching at his skin until he looked like he’d driven through a blueberry field.

Despite having no obligations to help with the community drives they organized, Gavin stuck true to his word. They’d organized a mass disposal of uniforms anyone wanted to get rid of so they wouldn’t end up as excess waste in an overflowing landfill.

Gavin dumped out the remains of a trash bag when he felt cold sweat beading down the back of his neck. A pristine white jacket with colorblocked shoulders and matching cuffs. That answered the question if Connor had actually burnt it or not. Nines was halfway across the room from him, but he was starting to gravitate back towards his field of personal space.

He spun around so his back was facing him, jacket hugged against his torso. “Don’t come any closer, bud. You don’t– you don’t need to see this.”

Nines being Nines, he didn’t listen and peered over his shoulder. Because panic overtook an android’s body in a way that was less obvious, he’d had to learn what to look for to be able to tell when Nines was feeling peak distress. His attacks were unique because he’d, in the most literal sense, shut down and there wasn’t a way to get through to him. He wasn’t able to communicate, he couldn’t hear him, he wasn’t just ignoring him repeating his name. An inescapable stasis that they both had to wait out.

Rapid blinking and his breathing becoming still were red flags. He’d found that his need for physical touch could change depending on what triggered him; sometimes he’d paw at his jacket sleeve, urging him to find them someplace quiet. And other times, he’d raised his hand if Gavin took another step closer.

“Haven’t told you about the time I visited England yet. You think that would help?”

Nines eagerly nodded. Gavin’s voice alone would often throw him a rope, tug him free from that sinkhole before it could entirely consume him. If everything failed, he’d be left with no choice but to call for help. He’d only saved Connor’s number in his phone in case of emergencies like this.

With Connor volunteering behind the scenes at the support groups, the two of them had found a common ground to mend any acrimony. There had been one Saturday where the two of them commandeered Hank’s ancient Buick (he’d let Connor use it, but the thought of them committing grand theft auto was fucking hilarious). They’d taken a page out of his book and visited that previously mentioned death trap of a mall in Auburn Hills.

Within ten minutes of him getting back home, he was already rattling off every detail of his day before he could unlace his loafers and shrug free his coat.

“Connor invited me to see a concert with him tomorrow night.”

“Yeah? Who you gonna see?”

“What did he say– a band called Whitechapel?”

Gavin couldn’t hold back the burst of laughter that punched through his lungs. “...did you already tell him yes?”

Nines nodded. Gavin held up a finger while he opened up Spotify, tapping around on the screen. He played the first few seconds of a song; the lyrics ‘we hunt, we kill, we feast, we conquer’ were repeated in what could only be described as a demonic, deeply guttural feral growl. Gavin was no stranger to metalcore, deathcore– all the accompanying cores in that genre (yes, because of his wannabe metalhead brother). With the way Nines’ forehead creased and his mouth drooped open, it was clear that that was not what he was expecting.

“Oh, sweet God. That is what he listens to? I wonder if he would be open to seeing the Detroit Orchestra Symphony instead.”

Gavin scoffed, squeezing his shoulder. “You and your brother’s taste in music is worlds apart, s’kinda fucking insane. With the way you dress, you’d think the roles would be reversed.”

There was a night he was abruptly awoken from Nines yelping. Without bothering to throw on a pair of pajama pants, he stumbled out into the living room, his eyes straining to see shit. Bailey had pounced on his chest because she’d had the midnight zoomies and wanted to give her step brother a run for his money. That’s what he darted out here for? Christ.

Though, he knew the feeling. He couldn’t escape Nines following him into the one time he was supposed to be at complete peace. Oftentimes the two of them were wandering down hotel hallways, Nines usually being the one to point out that there was no exit in sight. And then it’d end with them growing wings and breaking through the roof, because that was fucking normal.

One dream he could vividly remember: they were walking down a pier alongside the oceanfront, bumping into each other because Gavin was severely uncoordinated and Nines thought too much. The sun was beginning to peak its face over the distant horizon, a hoard of elephant seals barking their approval for a new day. The plot had been that Nines hadn’t moved to California after all, but instead they were on the last leg of their nationwide road trip.

That could’ve been more than just a dream, but translating it to reality sounded… exhausting.

And, other nights: Nines would have a hand firmly pressed against his ribs, his head nestled between his thighs. Gavin would be bent over an arm of the couch as Nines pressed the entirety of his weight against him, cupping the front of his neck as he tenderly moaned against his skin– he was well aware what anatomy he lacked, but his twisted little brain didn’t need to follow reality’s laws.

He woke up from those with his sheets tossed to the floor and muscles cramping in a way that made him feel like he needed to down twenty Gatorades. Probably because of how damn sweaty he was. A cold shower, his right hand and a bucket of shame was how those mornings went– it just made him feel disgusted in himself, like he was inadvertently betraying Nines’ trust because he knew for certain he didn’t have those feelings about him. He couldn’t.

It was New Year’s Eve– another day he was tasked with piecing together why a fifteen year old felt the need to suffocate her baby brother when her parents left for a two hour long movie. This wasn’t a night he was going to spend with a nobody Twitch streamer being his only accomplice. He’d texted Nines to meet him by the riverwalk.

There was a boat that sailed until it teased the Canadian border; the tickets were only ten dollars each, and watching an array of professional fireworks was more appealing than someone getting third degree burns by setting off a firecracker they didn’t know how to handle in a gas station parking lot.

Gavin held out his phone and watched as the seconds ticked by. Only ten left until the clock struck midnight, until twenty thirty eight was nothing more than a hellish fever dream. Fifty seven, fifty eight, fifty nine…

He kissed his free thumb and pressed it against Nines’ cheek.

His elevens deepened as an explosion of magenta illuminated his profile. “What was that for?”

“Kinda a long standing tradition that people kiss when the clock strikes midnight. But, y’know.”

“Ah.” He kissed his own thumb and pressed it against the corner of Gavin’s trembling lips. It was in that exact moment that he realized he’d scraped both his goddamn knees from how hard he was falling for him.

Three days later, they’d snuck out onto the rooftop of the apartment complex, leaving a book wedged between the doorframe so they didn’t get locked out. There was no way he could come up with a valid excuse for being up here when there was a line in the tenant handbook that forbade anyone from accessing the top floor.

He had a pre-mixed margarita and Nines treated himself with bpa-infused jelly bellies. They were cranking out new android safe food like clockwork.

“Gavin,” Nines’ voice blended in with the wind. “I have my plane ticket. I leave on Wednesday.”

That was… tomorrow. He was leaving tomorrow. That sobered him up. His chest had filled with heavy sand and it felt like he was being crushed by invisible walls lined with ten inch daggers. He’d somehow convinced himself he was lying about leaving at this point, not wanting to tell him he declined the offer out of embarrassment. Or maybe to save his pride. Both?

But now he was really leaving and none of this was supposed to fucking happen, him coming to depend on Nines, him wanting to dig his nails into his coat and keep him tucked in his arms for all of eternity. His laughter was becoming his favorite sound, his stupid ass witty remarks being something he looked forward to as soon as he got out of bed. He was becoming his closest friend, his true equal, something he needed to survive just as much as he needed air.

It was starting to make sense why this didn’t feel like a little fucking crush. It was anything but that.

 

---

 

They ended up at a club under the guise of Gavin asking if he wanted to go hear live music (since he, understandably, turned down Connor). Which, that wasn’t a total lie– there was a local jazz band playing, but this was also the kind of club that was notorious for people disappearing into bathrooms for thirty minutes at a time.

A place Gavin was once quite familiar with. Where he’d met James, the lousy electrician he saw twice before he grew bored of his lack of personality, the businessman that begged for head then left him high and dry (pretty sure his name was Mark, because he’d left a mark on him; a busted lip).

They were at a standing table, Gavin putting too much faith into the pole's flimsy structure with the way he was leaning against it. His fingers wrapped around a half empty glass, the only thing grounding him right now. Even though he was with Nines, he only felt comfortable drinking a soda in a public setting like this.

“You got any big plans for tomorrow?”

“Yes. Try to survive my first night being entirely alone.” He took a sip of his own drink– it was a thirium mocktail; he’d come to enjoy flavored liquids after the initial shock of tasting anything wore off.

He hadn’t felt tension that was thick enough to cut with a knife like this, between them, in weeks.

“Not gonna be alone, though. Got yourself a lil baby to keep you company. He needs his dad’s attention.”

“You know what I mean, Gavin.”

“Wanna plan on calling me tomorrow night?”

The devil was still perched on his shoulder, toying with the idea of blocking any way that Nines could get in contact with him the second they parted ways. God, it was beyond tempting and he wished that it wasn’t. He wished he could just be fucking… normal? Act his age, take advantage of living in an age that was full of technology that would make a cross country relationship possible.

“Even if I were to call you at midnight, my time, which feels too late to begin with, I do not want to wake you up because I do not know how to be comfortable being only with myself.”

He nodded, not because he agreed with the shit he said, but because he just needed to keep moving. Shifting from one foot to another, drumming his fingers. Anything to distract from the acidic agony residing inside. “You nervous to fly for the first time?”

“It would be a lie if I said no,” he cocked his head– God, he was going to miss that. And his dimples. Him. “What does it feel like?”

“You get that same kinda floaty feeling as you do on a rollercoaster. Chewing gum helps with the pressure and ear popping, but,” he licked across his teeth, “don't think you're gonna have to worry about that. Actually, are you gonna get to enjoy the trip? Or do they make you enter airplane mode?”

“That isn’t a serious question.”

“C’mon, Nines,” Gavin bumped him with his hip. “You think I’m fucking hilarious.”

“I think you are a lot of things, but–” he couldn’t hold up his end of the charade, his lips upturned.

“Yeah, see,” Gavin took another slow sip of his Sprite. “You can’t get enough of me.”

Nines took in a deep inhale. “No, I surely cannot.” He rested his palm over the back of Gavin’s hand. “Why did I let you convince me to apply for this?”

“No, you do not get to put the blame on me because you’re starting to get in your own head. I didn’t force your signature or hold you at gunpoint to sit through those meetings.” He rerouted his attention to a blond that’d been trained on them.

“I get it, okay? I was fucking terrified when I moved here. Started bringing in the few suitcases I had and,” he was craving like, ten packs of smokes right now, “all I can remember from that first night was a lot of poor choices. Taco Bell, vodka straight from the bottle, and crying myself to sleep. Was convinced this was the worst mistake of my goddamn life, felt like that for… stopped feeling that way only a month ago.”

“What if this is the worst mistake of my goddamn life?”

There was a scattered applause as the current band placed their instruments back on their stands, exiting the barely elevated stage to grab a couple waters for themselves at the bar.

“Just nervous jitters, I’m telling you. Ain’t that why we’re here? So you can get out of your own head for a few hours?” He nodded forward. “That guy over there, the skinny blond. He’s been trying to get you to notice him. You think he’s cute?”

“Oh, Go– Gavin.” Nines sucked in his cheeks. “Stop it.”

“Stop what? Plenty of attractive guys out tonight. Brunets are more your type though, yeah? What about tall, dark and handsome next to him?”

He dug his nails (that were damn sharp) into him until small crescents formed, making Gavin breathily grunt. “I am not feeding into you trying to purposely piss me off. I did not come here so you can set me up with someone, and I know you do not want that either.”

“Christ almighty, relax. Not trying to find you a hook up. Told me before when you thought someone was good looking, am I not allowed to ask?”

“This is our last night together, and one of the last times I will see you in, possibly, months. I am not spending it thinking about other men.”

“I told you that I didn’t want to be the one to awaken…” the way Nines was looking at him was downright deadly, and he knew he was playing with fucking fire. “We’re gonna be halfway across the country from each other. You’re gonna have to learn to move on.”

He dragged across his skin with force, drawing miniscule beads of blood before he pushed himself from the table. “Go fuck yourself.”

Gavin dropped his head in his hands, his knuckles smacking against the wood underneath them. Deplorable, useless rat of a man. That’s all he fucking was, driving way the only good thing he had in his life– someone cleared their throat.

He peeked through his fingers. It was the brunet.

“What the hell do you want?” Nice.

The man rested his palm flat, opposite of Gavin. “Where’d your friend go?”

“You came over here to ask me about my… friend?”

“Well, not exactly.” He scratched at the back of his neck, “my boyfriend and I were–”

He pointed his thumb at himself. “Do you think I’m cute?”

“You’re, uhm, conventionally attractive? Yes.”

Gavin nodded his head, shoving his phone in his back pocket. He veered around to clap this man, that reeked of hard liquor, on the bicep. In the same instance, the band from earlier had returned from their break, a trumpet blaring cutting him off short (thank God).

“Thanks for buying us drinks.”

“Wait, what?”

Gavin threw up his hand, waving (in hopefully the right direction, but that didn’t really matter, did it?). He saw him across the street, sitting on a bench overlooking the water. There were distant honks from the Ambassador bridge that grew louder the closer he got to Nines, like a siren drawing him in.

He had his hands crossed over his lap, looking towards a distant Belle Isle; Cyberlife’s looming tower always appeared like it was watching you. Some Lord of the Rings shit right there, he knew Eli geeked out over those movies. The lights of Ceasers Casino sign were casting a red hue over the river.

“Gavin,” he looked up at him, “when am I going to be able to see you again?”

“You want an exact date? ‘cause I don’t fucking have that information. It ain’t exactly easy to take time off in this line of work, you know that. Even with PTO– especially with dad… and–”

He ran both his hands through his hair, his knee bouncing. “Do you really think we are going to survive this if we are already crumbling? It is not like you have a great track record.”

“...I don’t…” he sat next to him, hunching over himself. “I don’t know, Nines. I don’t know.”

“Gavin.”

“What?” he sounded painfully hoarse.

“Do you not feel the same thing that I do? This–” Nines cupped the back of his neck, his voice becoming nothing more than a whimper. He was the one feeling the need to keep this a secret now. “What is going on between us.”

His entire body was vibrating. His hand found its way to Nines’ thigh. “You know I do.”

“I don’t want to keep this unspoken thing unspoken much longer,” he saw a tear escape down his cheek. Gavin wiped it away with the side of his thumb. “What are we?”

“We– uhm.” That was a good question, because he didn’t fucking know either. “We–” he let out a pent up sigh, “whatever we could’ve been don’t really matter anymore ‘cause I–”

“Is this going to be the last time I ever see you?”

“Uh,” all he could do was stare at him. Nines’ chest was heaving, his regulation of his breathing escaping him. He jumped to his feet and began to pace in an askew semicircle. Jesus, he didn’t know how to fix this, how to calm him down this time.

Gavin swallowed the tennis ball that was in his throat. “Nines,” he moved to lean his back against the metal railings that separated them from the boat docks. “Just come here, you’re making me really damn nervous. Need to try to control yourself before you can’t, bud.”

“I don’t know if I can do this, Gavin. I– holy shit,” he clasped his forehead, “this is so goddamn overwhelming.”

He went to fumble for a cigarette, leaving space for silence to grow. He bit it between his teeth as he felt around for his lighter– Nines pulled it from his lips.

“I don’t want to make things worse, but you don’t got a choice. They’ve already got everything set up for you. The movers are coming at seven AM. I don’t know what you want me, or anyone else, to do.”

Nines fidgeted with the cancer stick. “When I try to picture myself in LA, I continue to see a recurrent vision. I will have to once again stomach the prejudices of being the shiny, new android cop. I doubt I will be able to befriend anyone, at least within a few weeks of being there. I will have my own apartment and money will not be a worry, but what will I be returning to? Nothing. Emptiness. No one to talk to, no one to watch movies with. I don't know if I can survive that.”

“First you wanted to leave to get away from my bitchass, and now– don’t you fucking start with this back and forth shit. You have had weeks to tell Jeffrey that you were having second thoughts. And now at the last fucking second, this is the shit you're pulling.”

“I thought I knew what I wanted, but now I have no fucking clue. I don’t know what I want anymore, Gavin. I do not know who I am. I didn’t think I could feel–” his lips parted, “and with you–”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because the,” Nines ran his hand across his own chest in a soothing manner, “this hurts more than any physical pain I’ve ever experienced. I do want to see what is out there in the world. I want to explore, build a life that I have crafted with my own two hands–”

“You have crafted a life of your own. Here. With me.”

“Someplace else, I won’t have that,” he pointed at HQ, “as a constant reminder of what I really am. I– I don’t know. Living alone fills me with such vicious trepidation, imaging myself across the country from you is absolutely paralyzing. I do not know if the world is worth exploring if I do not have you there with me– I don’t think I can willingly pull myself away from you.”

“If you don’t want to leave me this fucking badly, then why are you leaving?” He shoved Nines with all the pent up rage he’d been holding back, making him stumble over a crack in the concrete. The lone cigarette went flying. “Why are you fucking leaving me, Nines? Why?” he yelled loud enough that he swore he heard reverb.

“I…” his mouth was open wide enough to catch a family of flies. “I don’t understand anything that is going on with me.”

Gavin took the initiative to shove him once more, but Nines made a desperate attempt to pin his forearms together. They thrashed around like two seals fighting over a day old fish; he wriggled himself free enough to clock Nines, his fist throbbing and making it very obvious that he’d just punched a rock solid piece of carbon.

Nines cupped his nose, blood trailing between his fingers, splattering onto his shoes as it hit the ground.

Gavin pointed at him, finger inches away from his skin. “Fuck you for making me care about you.”

“I didn’t force you to feel this way.”

“You have watched this,” he gestured between them, “grow. You fueled the fire. Watched me destroy the barrier I kept around myself to keep you at arm’s length. And you still didn’t try to fucking stop yourself from leaving. Knowing that everyone in my goddamn life that I open my heart to takes it, and squashes it, and leaves me in one way or another.”

Nines snaked his arms around his torso, trying to root them in place together.

“Get off of me!” He heard fabric rip as he grasped at his jacket.

“I need to feel you,” he said against his scalp. He could feel his breath as the words left him.

“You lost those rights.” He did what he was fucking best at, dodging his affection no matter how much every fibre of his being screamed at him to stay. To melt into him. To turn around and taste his fucking lips. What he did was elbow him in the gut instead.

He started to walk away before he turned around in a hurry, getting in his face. “Sometimes I wish I'd never met you,” his voice broke halfway through the sentence, and he just made these pained, muted screams instead.

He went back to where he parked and slumped in his seat, yelling bloody murder into his palms. He swerved around until he found a lone hand sanitizer chucked into the compartment that held a bunch of random crap on Nines’ side. He popped open the cap and took a big whiff of it; it was hints of vanilla mixed with lavender.

This wasn’t going to calm him down, probably needed to down an entire bottle of xanax for that– anything to keep his head from popping off like a bottle cap on a shaken up bottle of Pepsi. In the midst of all of this, he hadn’t noticed that Nines didn’t follow him.

He started the engine and revved out of the parking lot. Nines was standing stiff as a board, not having moved an inch. He unbuckled his seat belt to shimmy over and throw open the door.

“Get your ass in the fucking car.”

 

---

 

He woke up in a jolt, feeling like he needed to find the world’s largest straw and slurp up the entirety of the ocean (sans the salt). He felt around for his phone, but it was long gone in a pitch black room. Fuck, he stumbled out of bed and hit his shin in the kind of way that has you biting your tongue, wanting to go roly poly mode until the pain ceased.

This was the only time he was grateful for living in a small apartment. He found his way to his kitchen with only nearby complexes and flashing billboards being his guide. He knocked over his thermos, grabbing something that was purring instead of metal.

He filled it up and chugged it before refilling it, Bailey jumping up on the counter with a dainty thud. She rubbed her head against his arm.

“I know, girl. You’re gonna miss him too, I know.”

He turned around to head back to his room with Bailey slung around his neck like a scarf when he saw Nines sitting out on the balcony, a blanket underneath him. His breath caught. He shimmied her onto the couch, sliding the glass door tightly shut behind himself.

“Why are you awake, Gavin,” he said as a statement, not a question.

He took up the empty space next to him– his designated spot. He leaned back on his hands. “Same reason you are.”

He had his eyes trained forward. “Are you still going to take me to the airport? Or should I arrange otherwise?”

Gavin nodded. “Wanna be the last thing burned into your memory– that isn’t the shit I said to you. It'll be harder for me to fade.”

His touch was like an ant crawling; he didn’t realize Nines was the one brushing over his knuckles. Their mutual gaze was hard to stomach– so many things left unsaid that he knew he couldn’t properly formulate in a way that was understandable, and it seemed like Nines was in the same position.

He shifted so he was sitting in the same way as him, with his legs criss-crossed. He pulled at him, firmer, so Gavin sat straight. And at the pace of a snail racing, he moved both their hands to rest equally between their legs, with Gavin’s facing upright.

Nines, for what he could guess was the fear of being socked a second time, laced his fingers with his with such hesitation it was like he was moving a centimeter every other year. He felt this pure, gnawing dread in the pit of his stomach as he allowed himself to clasp his fingers around his. This hurt like hell, but why did it feel so fucking… right.

He leaned his head against Nines’ shoulder, exhaling as he smushed his cheek against his scalp.

 

Notes:

This is, by far, my favorite chapter currently. I hope you all enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it. :'-)

Chapter 17: you already know

Summary:

As much as this felt like the finality of the chapter in his life that included Nines— and God, was there a part of him that longed for this. But the ink was still fresh and there were blank pages to fill. The world was going to keep on turning. Their story wouldn't be stored away on a dusty shelf for very long.

What the fuck did he pack in here? Ten boxes of lugnuts? He hauled Nines’ suitcase out of the trunk with a low groan, his jawbone clicking. It was stuffed to the brim, so much so that it looked like the zipper was bound to separate. Though, packing multiple wool coats and bulky two piece suits would do that.

For a man that previously had nothing to his name, he sure had accumulated a lot of shit since November– and that wasn’t including the entirety of a storage pod that the movers filled.

“I told you to let me do it.”

“S’fine,” he grunted through grit teeth. “Trying to be,” he strained, “polite.”

There was an additional backpack that wasn't as full, because he just had to take advantage of every carry-on he could bring. A few choice books he grabbed before they sealed up the final cardboard box that Gavin refused to hoist downstairs himself (it weighed like, sixty pounds and he wasn’t lugging that down multiple stories). He had a new (to him) laptop, and just barely peeking out the top was the bee plush he’d picked out for him.

They’d found a suspiciously cheap Chromebook in a poorly written marketplace listing. The photos were taken on a potato and the description only stated: ‘urgant, ned gong NOWL!’. Yes. Every word was actually spelled like that.

It turned out to be an elderly woman that had inherited her college dropout grandson's crap top and couldn't figure out how to power it on. They tested it out before they’d made the half hour drive back to the apartment; not like she was going to let them leave before offering them lunch and tins of fresh baked goods anyways.

It took ages to load anything and some of the keys felt suspiciously… sticky. But, it now belonged to Nines for the sole purpose of seeing Gavin’s pixelated face (and vice versa).

No, cut the cameras. It was for Gavin's sanity. He already pestered Nines with dozens of unprompted daily selfies. Going months without seeing his face light up when he said something insanely stupid would be the final nail in their shared coffin.

“You sure you got everything?” He said as he stuck his head into the backseat to do one final sweep. All he could see was a buildup of junk.

“If I did forget something, I do not have the space for it.”

An older mesh carrier that Bailey refused to use (she normally didn't fight him when he had to take her for extended car rides, except when that contraption was involved) was slung over Nines' shoulder.

When they'd taken BB in for his vaccines and general checkup– he had a clean bill of health, fucking shocker– he'd mentioned that the little guy was going to have to go on a long journey in the next upcoming weeks.

The vet had prescribed him a few anti-anxiety pills, ones that would soothe the kitten enough to conk out for the majority of the flight. No one needed to deal with a boisterous ball of energy trying to terrorize the cabin crew for scratchies and shoelaces to gnaw on.

Gavin still couldn’t believe that he named his first pet fucking Baseball. Only an android would come up with a ‘name’ like that. Christ.

“Got your ticket info ready? Whatever other credentials you need– I don’t know how it works for you.”

“I have everything I need right here,” Nines showed him the holographic of his boarding pass. “In the palm of my hand. Literally.”

He slowly blinked. “Real cute.”

Nines could plant himself on the balcony like a gargoyle for centuries, but there was only so much wiping away snot and losing sensation in his appendages that Gavin himself could handle.

He was unwilling to let Gavin leave, finding a vice grip on any vantage point his eyes laid on; clutching until his wrist reddened, until there was a fresh bruise forming. He’d pulled on the waistband of his sweatpants to the point that they were recreating Coppertone’s logo. His teeth felt like they were going to shatter from how much he was shivering. They needed to come to a compromise.

He’d dragged his air mattress out of the coat closet– he hadn’t touched it since the last time he went camping, the same trip he wound up in a patch of poison ivy. The box was covered in enough dust bunnies to knit a goddamn scarf, and he soon found out the mattress inside wasn’t quite spared either.

More sniffling and sneezing his head off. But this was a fair trade off– neither of them wanted to be left with their own thoughts, alone. This was the safer option in his eyes. Didn’t matter if he had a bed large enough for his nightly thrashing.

‘Sometimes I wish I’d never met you’.

Those words were like a hex that’d been whispered into his ear, despite him being the one to say it. He hadn’t apologized for what he’d said; was an apology really deserved for feeling like Nines saw Gavin’s emotions as nothing more than a puppet show for his own amusement?

He had his diamond laced strings wrapped around his fingers and there was no blade in this world sharp enough to cut through them. It’s not like Nines asked for one.

They had laid in matching positions, his pillow pressed underneath the lip of the cushion the other man laid on. Nines had his chin resting over the edge, hovering just above him– well, they’d started at equal levels, but as he could feel more and more of the hardwood floor pushing into his back, he remembered why he never used this fucking thing.

He rolled over with his back facing him– this wasn’t comfortable by any means. He switched sides and saw Nines looking right through him. He had his bee plush tucked into his arms, blanket swallowing up his neck. It had been so, so much fucking easier when they couldn’t stand to be in the same room as each other.

He reached over to drag his fingers through his locks, Nines’ eyes fluttering shut.

“Did you make sure to go to the bathroom before we left?” He patted down his jacket’s pockets, tossing his cigarettes in the cupholder before locking the car with a beep loud enough to make him twitch.

Nines scoffed. “In a way.”

Gavin straightened his back, tapping his fingers against the handle of the suitcase. “Do I wanna know what the hell that means?”

“Your toilet may be permanently stained blue; I did not want those overpriced thirium pouches to go to waste. I have come to learn that nosebleeds are not the only way my body gets rid of excess fluids.”

His back pocket vibrated. Jesus, his phone was only on ten percent? Great, just fucking wonderful. “You can stop ther–”

“I don’t think I like the feeling of vomiting. I did not know a chemical like thirium could coagulate.”

“Oh my God, please. You’re disgusting,” he pinched the bridge of his nose. The scab over his scar had pried itself free a few days prior, the skin feeling oddly smooth. Like plastic. “I genuinely can’t tell if you’re fucking with me or not.”

“You will have to go and find out.”

“This is why we're doomed to each other, whether we like it or not. No one else wants to put up with our shit. We're goddamn menaces to society.”

“Some more than others.”

“Headass, you think I'm worse than you?”

“Yes.” He fidgeted with his collar, undoing and redoing the same button. “That being said, I'm perfectly fine accepting the fate that I'm bound to you until the end of our lines. Who kicks the bucket first is the true question.”

“Knowing us, we're probably gonna kill each other by accident out of cruel irony.”

He shifted his weight onto his other foot. This sort of lingering, these untimely pauses between sentences wasn’t out of contentment. He was at a loss for words, and Nines kept giving him an unreadable expression, all these dead eyed stares. Today just fucking sucked. There was no other way to eloquently put it.

“How are you feeling?”

Nines looked past him, his jaw tightening. His grip on the strap over his shoulder tightened. “Absolutely fucking terrified.”

“I was doing some digging last night; put in the address you gave me for your complex and virtually walked around the neighborhood. There’s a pretty decked out used bookstore that’s like, ten minutes away by foot.” Nines arched his brows at that. “Got two stories, some ancient looking collector edition novels upstairs.”

“I definitely do not have enough books.”

Gavin scrunched his nose, Nines mirroring him to a t; that made them both chuckle, as muted as it was. “Well, if you ain’t drained, maybe you could go there today. Don’t think it’s gonna do you any good to stay stuck inside.”

“Am I allowed to send you live updates of my journey?”

“Uh, fucking duh. Would be offended if you didn’t.” He tilted the suitcase. “You ready to get going?”

Nines sucked in his lips, exhaling a shaky breath. “Do I have to answer that?”

“We can’t stand around in the parking lot all day. Don’t really wanna pay the full forty dollar fee.”

“I am sure we could find a spot where no one would be able to find us.”

“Hey, that was my original idea. Run off to some remote lil village with you, but. You didn’t bite.”

“Because you were not being genuine.”

“Wasn’t I?”

He started walking ahead of him, the wheels clacking over every bump, every metallic plate in a doorway. He sure as hell wasn’t getting sick, but he felt like he was coming down with the flu. It was like he’d gotten caught in the rain and decided to dry off by sitting in a cramped, humid closet; he was uncomfortably clammy, and it made him want to crawl out of his goddamn skin.

Nines caught up to him, matching his rhythm. “How are you going to spend your newfound freedom from me?”

“Have no plans to be someone’s sloppy seconds, don’t you worry. ‘cause I can read your fucking mind now. S’my new super power.”

They walked over the skybridge. He could see dozens of cars slowing to a complete halt through the glass windows. It made him wonder how many people below them were in a similar situation. Dropping off someone they deeply cared about, not knowing when the universe would allow them to reunite.

“Probably just… I never finished Red Dead Redemption Three. Maybe I’ll get on that.”

Baseball let out an exhausted sounding whine. “At least one out of the three of us will get some rest.”

“That cat doesn’t know how damn lucky he is.” No, he wasn’t jealous over a cat. That would be… ridiculous.

Gavin felt something brush up against the side of his hand; it was his pinky. Nines glanced down at their hands with a slight nod of his chin.

He didn’t like PDA, didn’t matter if he was in the honeymoon phase of a new fling or if it was a (very hypothetical) situation where he’d been with someone for a handful of years. Made fun of theme park couples that acted like they’d die if they were an inch apart, making out in lines to pass the time.

Today, though? He’d pocket the stares and put on his blinders. He took the initiative of locking their fingers together, grazing his thumb over Nines’ knuckles.

“What’d you bring to read?”

“I had room for two books, but I am currently in the beginning of Pride and Prejudice.”

“Damn, haven’t heard that name since my tenth grade English class. Had weeks to get through it, ended up listening to the audiobook the night before so I wouldn’t fail the quiz the next day.” He bit his lower lip. “I did, in fact, fail.”

He was back to focusing on whatever made his ears perk. The heels of Nines’ loafers clicking, the way he’d chuckled under his breath like he could mask it, an ambulance somewhere in the distance. They hadn’t arrived at the main terminal yet, so he knew saying the words ‘this isn’t so bad’ was just going to be knocking on wood. But it didn’t seem overwhelmingly busy.

The moving walkways were mostly clear, there weren’t lines for the elevators. There was an old woman hunched over a walker that kept veering in the direction they were trying to go to get around her.

He just had to chew on his cheek and think of his happy place. Sandwiched between Bailey and… he couldn’t fucking escape Nines. Why was he sitting criss-crossed, looking all dopey in his mental escape haven? Fuck.

“How are your knuckles?”

“Bruised as shit.” They were turning a watercolor mix of pale yellow and lime. “Kinda a look, though. Makes me look tough, don’cha think?”

He glanced at him. “Yes, very tough of you to punch one out of the two people that care about you in his face.”

He pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth. “Your nose?”

“It’s sore. But in a twisted way, at least it will be a constant reminder of you.”

He felt Nines’ grip tightening the closer they grew to the escalators that led to Delta’s check-in counters. He could see the baggage kiosks over the railings.

“Put any more thought into the things you wanna see first on our summer road trip?” More senseless talk, distraction.

Pain was written all over his face. “That is dependent on where our starting point is.”

Gavin felt his lips curling. “If we’re both feeling a little spicy, we could meet up in Maine. Rent an RV to drag the fluff balls with us and really take our time.”

“I like the idea of that.” Gavin yanked the suitcase onto the step above him. He didn’t jinx it after all; all the self-serve drop off lanes were empty. “I can visualize it clearly; us laid out over the hood in a national park, surrounded only by the shooting stars above us.”

“If we time it right, we might be able to catch a meteor shower.”

Nines released him reluctantly, glancing at his palm to type in his confirmation code. There wasn’t a segregated android section anywhere, but a prompt on the screen asking to clarify if you were a human, or otherwise. It didn’t seem much different from the process he was familiar with. To make things easier, his bags were already paid for. There wasn’t much he had to do except tap on a bunch of prompts that said ‘accept’.

“Before you board, can you send me your flight number? Wanna be able to check in on you, see what state you’re over.”

Gavin felt his phone vibrate before Nines looked up at him. “Can I ask you a genuine question?”

“Do you really have to ask if you can ask me a question?”

Nines rolled his eyes. “Why have I been the only being that you are nice-ish to? And, I mean before this– you do not respect any of our other coworkers, and heaven forbid you are friendly with another android. Aside from faking respect in front of Markus.”

“I’m usually nice to Tina.”

A boarding pass and additional tags shot out of the printer slot. He helped him wrap the tag around the handle and a secondary ticket for Baseball’s carrier, dragging them through the line that took them no more than a minute to pass through.

“Told you this before. You, uhm. You tend to listen to me. Do a lot of things for me that ain’t entirely self serving and things I didn’t have to ask you for. You just– you’ve earned my respect. Most don’t get that far.”

“Because you do not let them.”

“Because I don’t want to.”

Nines hummed in response.

“You still got two-ish hours ‘til you have to start boarding, right?” The other brunet nodded. Gavin put his hands in his pockets, rocking his head from side to side. “They got these visitor passes that let you go in with someone that’s got a boarding ticket, see a kiosk behind you. Would let me–” before he could finish the sentence, Nines’ talons were digging into the nook of his elbow, hightailing them over there.

Security was relatively easy to pass through. Of course Nines took what felt like an hour to strip because he was wearing an ungodly amount of layers for someone that didn't have an opinion about the temperature either way. But he got sent through without so much as a second glance.

Gavin, however, got pulled aside for additional patting down; this had happened countless times before, probably because he wore a permanent scowl that said he was up to no good. It was because of the badge today, he knew that. They needed to ask him a few questions, and then he was back within arm’s reach of his needy… counterpart.

Baseball was fawned over, all the agents flocking over to take turns scratching behind his ears. Of course they loved his name, why the fuck wouldn’t they? Simple minded cretins.

Once they were free from TSA, they were back to their regularly scheduled bullshit. They were going to take advantage of every last second that they were allotted. Encapsulate the next handful of hours that they had to kill in a time capsule, preserve their blissful laughter in an unbreakable glass jar.

Last night was going to become a distant memory. In here, the rest of the world melted away and nothing else mattered aside from the crinkle in the man’s eyes next to him.

They hopped on the tram that traversed from one concourse to another just for the sake of it. Nines wanted to take turns sitting in all the available seats in the mostly vacant cabin, scaring away families that walked in on them cackling over nothing.

They briskly walked down the aptly named rave tunnels– the walls were completely constructed of mirrors, lined with thousands of led lights. They jumped on the moving walkways going the opposite direction, getting shoved out of the way by an impatient businessman because they were more focused on poking each other in the ribs than being spatially aware of their surroundings.

He’d felt around in his pocket and found a lone quarter. He gave it to Nines to chuck into the misplaced looking fountains, far too extravagant for an airport– they reminded him of that giant one in Chicago. What a waste of water. He pressed his lips against it before tossing it in.

“What’d you wish for?”

“If I tell you, it will not come true. Is that not how it works?”

“Eh. Something like that.”

The entry point of the terminal was jam packed with overpriced shops. They’d mosied inside one that was just titled ‘Detroit!’. Straight to the point and honest about its intentions– selling shot glasses, license plate covers, miniature flags that were all Detroit themed. Anything little trinket that you could think of, it had the city’s name slapped on it. He could respect it.

He’d talked Nines into buying a baby pink hoodie that had ‘Detroit girls heart the D’ in flocked lettering. He’d wanted one that was dark grey and only had the singular word on it, but that wasn’t exciting enough.

"Why the hell are they selling this at an airport?" Nines had made a very valid point. 

And, he also might’ve tried sticking a magnet to him, pressing it against his neck and cheek and hand until Nines ripped it away from him. He almost knocked over the display stand as he smacked it against the metal.

BB was able to stretch his tiny limbs and run around a pet relief area. There weren’t many zoomies that he had to get out of his system, the yawn loop he’d gotten stuck in taking over. But he tried his damndest to climb Gavin’s jeans, as a parting gift.

He popped out a silicone water dish and filled it at a bottle refill machine. BB got in a few licks before he was nodding, struggling to keep his eyes open. He rested his chin on the lip of the cup, causing it to tip over, pooling under Gavin’s shoes. Every fucking time.

When they’d returned to his gate, people were positioning themselves in branched lines. They weren’t moving yet, which meant they weren’t in a total hurry to part from each other. He wasn’t ready for that. He really wasn’t.

Across from his gate was a seating area that had a vacant corner, good enough to take up residence in and try to feel like they weren’t being watched by bystanders. At some point Nines had thrown on his beanie– they both admitted that the staring was getting to be too much, and Gavin didn’t need to be dragged out with even bloodier knuckles.

“Make sure you ask for a trading card.”

“Of the airplane?”

Gavin nodded. “It’s something Delta does. Just another knick knack to remind you of the shit you’ve done in your life.”

A voice boomed over the intercom, calling for first class and families traveling with small children. He assumed that BB didn’t qualify for that.

“They didn’t try to be bougie and buy you first class, did they?”

“No, I think they had some limitations with what they could offer me.” He wrung his hands together. “Gavin?”

As much as he hated his name being worn out, he didn’t want his pestering to stop. “Yeah?”

“Can you please text me at some point today? Or call me if you have the energy. I am serious, do not act like I don’t exist, because I very much do.”

Gavin nodded, chewing on his cheek. Now they had gotten to the numbers; one, two–

“Did I hear correctly that they said two?”

“They did. Is that you?”

“Yes,” he said with a broken breath. They stood in unison, Gavin turning to face him fully. He brought his thumb up to his own lips and pressed it against them, Nines mirroring his movements. They pressed them both together before Gavin took the liberty in pressing their palms flat together for the final time.

“I am not abandoning you. Do you understand that?”

“It feels like it.” He tried to ignore that he was sniffling.

“I’m not. I am taking a part of you with me. In here,” he tapped the side of his head, lingering over where his breastbone would've been, “and here.”

“And the smell of smoke is kinda impossible to get out of clothes. So, you’re gonna have my ghost following you around.”

The line stretched far enough that it reached a nearby gift shop. They still… had time.

“I,” Nines shifted his weight to his other foot.

“You…”

“I have something that I have been needing to say to you. And I know that I do need to get my ass moving, as you would word it,” another weak, breathy laugh. “But I have been thinking about how I have wanted to phrase this since last night.”

His heart was jackhammering against his ribcage. Something he’d been needing to tell him– those kinds of words always triggered his need for flight, and it still was making him incredibly uneasy.

There was sweat collecting in the roots of his hair, burning on the back of his neck (if it wasn’t his psoriasis, it was some kind of stress rash because he couldn’t catch a goddamn break).

He couldn’t fuck this up. He had tunnel vision on the man in front of him and he wasn’t going to tear his attention away until he told him to.

“I,” Nines licked his lips. He could tell that he was equally as nervous, bouncing on his feet. “I did want to kill you that night, Gavin. I had every intention to not let go of my grasp around your neck until your face turned purple."

He wished he had. Honest to God, he was hoping he'd finish the job and let him rot in Hell. 

"I– I could not stand you. It felt like I was speaking to the devil reincarnate at times. You genuinely acted like a cartoon depiction of an evil cop.”

On second thought, his laces were double knotted. He could’ve made a run for it.

“I did not think that the gossip I overheard of you being a heartless bitch that did not even respect the human victims in your cases was true. How could it be true? How could you still be employed if you truly lacked empathy to that extent? I tried to be as oblivious as I could to tune out how Wilson and Anderson spoke of you.”

There were times he'd sat with a victim and robotically jotted down the things they said without looking up. Like a human printer, not paying attention to his own hand. He wasn't even lost in thoughts, he was just as checked out as the dead guy.

“There were days where you would only refer to me as a spineless doll, or tell me that I was less than nothing. I do not know what that is supposed to mean and it still hurt like hell. You did not want to refer to me by my chosen name. Everything that I am was a joke to you. My looks, my mannerisms, my incapability of reacting appropriately to certain situations.”

He'd waved his lighter inches from him, unblinking. Wonder how easy it is for you to melt. You're plastic after all.

“A barely intelligible telephone poll. That is all you saw me for.”

You are fucking nothing, stop trying to talk to me like you got a goddamn soul behind those goddamn buttons you pass off as eyes.

He felt bile collecting in the back of his throat. He didn’t like this trip down memory lane nor how Nines’ lower lip was trembling.

“I don’t know if you were aware of this, but there was an evening I had swiped your keys from your desk when you were in the bathroom and got into your gun safe.”

He did remember that. He came back and scratched his head, chalking it up to exhaustion and the stress of being forced to work with a constant reminder that his brother was subsequently better than him.

He thought he'd just harmlessly misplaced it; well, it wasn't exactly harmless, but if it hadn't left his room, no one had to know.

“I had plans to eat my first proper meal that night. And then, you sat down and kicked back your legs. You could not bite your tongue and keep your thoughts to yourself.”

Don't bother killing yourself now ‘cause I'm gonna kill you first. He derisively laughed, waving him off like that was the funniest joke he'd ever thought of. Kidding. Or am I?

Even though the urges had been there, his threats were empty. Like most were.

“My suicidal ideation was replaced with… homicidal fantasies. By that point, it was hard to see you as a colleague. It was hard to see you as human. But I did not think I deserved better. No one else at the station was willing to talk to me beyond very empty pleasantries, and only Tina had asked me how I was doing– not anyone else, aside from Connor, maybe once.”

There were days he got there and saw him standing stationary. Before the recall, the other android officers were kept in charging ports. But Nines instead was designated to stand out in the open awkwardly, watching as bodies passed him, not even meeting his eyes.

“I really didn’t know where else to turn, and I did not like that I was willing to stoop to your level for petty revenge. That is why I fought tooth and nail to try to get on your good side. I knew if I was able to figure out the secret code, there had to have been a way to break through to you.”

Gavin's favorite pen had gone missing— it was from a fancy ski lodge in Denver that he knew was a once in a lifetime opportunity to stay at, for him. His starving wallet was enough justification that he couldn’t shell out for nightly rates like that again, anywhere.

Maybe it was stupid to get so upset over something as small as a pen vanishing, but he did. He obviously wasn’t well equipped to deal with change, to deal with minor inconveniences because everything pushed him over the damn edge.

It affected his mood for the rest of the day. Snapping at Nines left and right like a bitchy alligator. Later, he walked back into his office and saw a ten pack of brand new pens sitting on his keyboard.

“I knew, deep down, your heart was not that blackened. I don’t think anyone’s truly is. You were still willing to work on our case, even if the majority of that work was you fighting against me.”

Despite resenting having a partner, he'd taken the time to clear off the clutter from the opposite side of his desk to make space for him. Whipped out the lavender scented Clorox wipes, even.

“If your brother had freely decided to let me go, it meant humanity still lived somewhere in you. I saw that humanity in your eyes when you held Bailey, reassured me that nothing bad would happen if she got near me. I saw something there when that spark was fading, when the tendons in your neck were straining. I knew there was a whole other Gavin I had not gotten the pleasure of meeting.”

There had been that day that he let Nines use his jacket as a pillow. He didn’t want to acknowledge that he was doing something nice for someone that he claimed to be a waste of government funding (Cyberlife didn’t even get grants from the government, dumb fuck), but he was self aware. He knew he was driving him to the brink of death from exhaustion because he hadn’t let him enter stasis for– what was it, a total of six days?

And the other times where he offered him a tissue to rub dirt off his face so he didn’t enter the interrogation room looking like a bumbling idiot. He’d thanked him for sorting files, doing the paperwork he thought he was too good for, although begrudgingly. He didn’t have much excuse for the candids he’d taken of him.

“As I told Maya, I am well aware of your decorated past. I am not sure how many humans I have killed myself, and I understand that it was not my hand willingly pressing that trigger, but I still did it. I want to say maybe it was a hundred. It could be double that. I don’t know– I don’t want to know.”

Just like Nines had done his research on him, he'd tried to scour the internet for a crumb of information on his model. There wasn't much aside from an article that talked about military androids being commissioned. Hell, there wasn't much to write home about Connor, either. 

He did try to log into Cyberlife's main database. For being a modern day Alan Turing, Eli always used the same six passwords that were easy for him to guess. It wasn't worth the federal crime.

“I know you have hurt my kind.”

Laughing in the face of a homeless android that was begging for five dollars to just get a thirium pouch so they wouldn't shut down. He walked back down the same street later that day to see it lifeless.

The ones that stepped foot into the station, asking to speak to him directly because they wanted to report their owner missing. Tell him of the abuse they witnessed behind closed doors, not to their own non-deviated selves, but the young children they cared for. He'd slammed his door in their faces without an ounce of hesitation.

“I know you have been hurt.”

His senior year guidance counselor had sat down with him in her office, starting off their session with a sigh that served as a complete sentence. He had been falling behind in his classes for the last half of the year. Never turned in written reports (even when he was given extensions to complete them), rarely caught more than the last thirty minutes of any given class. He didn't have the time to worry about himself, his academics, trying to piece together what he wanted to do with his life.

She went on to explain that college isn't the goal point for everyone. Some people wind up in remedial jobs, stuck as minimum wage gas station attendants until they drop dead from a premature heart attack. She didn't verbally say that part, but he could read between the lines. He wasn't failing because he had the IQ of a doorknob. 

His father told him that having two children was his mother's idea, and only hers. That he wasn't a happy accident, but a goddamn nightmare and every single day he wished she would've listened to him about terminating the pregnancy. This was after he'd driven across state lines to pick up his word slurring, reeking of urine, ass. He just had to go to some hole in the wall bar in New Jersey because the drinks were so much cheaper. 

His first serious relationship— as serious as one can be when you're eighteen, which basically just translated to late night booty calls— his boyfriend was always asking for money. Five dollars here that he'd slaved over a hot griddle for, needed sixty to pay for his phone bill. Gavin only said yes because he needed another human to text at night that wasn't just his notes app. 

Used a shirt that had far too much sentimental attachment to it as a cum rag. And when he told him to use a washcloth like a normal fucking person, he decided the more logical option was dumping Gavin. His toothy blowjobs weren't worth all the endless drama and bitching he brought to the table. 

“That feeling of life or death, where we were both playing each other’s God needed to happen for us. We would not be standing here in a friendly proximity from each other if it had not. Because after that– I know you still resented me and every little movement or sound I made irritated you. But, you stopped pushing me away. You let me in. You let me see Gavin.”

Gavin was a moth and Nines was the blinding light he could not veer from. For someone that had been made to be the giver, he could now be the one being cared for.

“You talked to me for the first time like I was human to you. Something more than a collective bunch of ones and zeros. You allowed yourself to smile– a smile that gives me what I think you would call a sugar rush.”

He never told him this, but the automatic treat dispenser he got for Bailey had a camera in it for the purposes of dispensing treats when you're on vacation, or at work. It was situated on the TV stand, directly across from the couch. And sometimes he'd check it when Nines was at home.

He caught him humming to himself and swaying around as he vacuumed. He'd watched him once chase Bailey around and play fetch with BB, cooing over the both of them. Most times he'd be sitting there reading something, often with a blanket from Gavin's bed wrapped around himself, his tongue sticking out of the side of his mouth. He'd chuckle to himself or momentarily close the book to look off into the distance.

Now that he thought about it, he might've been aware he was spying. Like he could see the infrared light from the camera activating, because there was a time he looked directly at it seconds after he opened the app.

“I have cherished every extra minute I have been able to spend with you. It does not matter if we were only walking loops around a semi-empty mall, or we’re watching out of focus videos on your phone in your bed. I may have no fucking idea who I am, but I do like who I become when I am with you.”

Nines never said no when he asked if he wanted to play something. Wanted to step outside for a five minute break, even if there would be a lack of fresh air. He'd rambled more about his broken family and lack of childhood. But also the good parts.

When Elijah and him would pick a nature trail at random to bike through. They'd make it an hour and a half before calling a taxi, hauling their asses back home to order pizza and play Street Fighter until Gavin felt like he had strep throat from how much he'd been screaming. 

His dad texting him after he was free from his mind numbing burger flipping shift. He wanted to go out— just the two of them, not inviting his mother, not bringing up his brother for fucking once. There were drinks involved, but he wasn't throwing back shot after shot. 

A pint of beer, that's all. Asking him if he was seeing anyone, reiterating that he didn't give a shit that he was into sword fighting, he just didn't know if he'd ever want to meet a partner of his face to face (yeah, thanks dad, that's great). 

Asked if he'd started filling out applications for college yet, what he was wanting to major in— clinical psychology had initially been what piqued his interest, especially working with adolescents. But that's not really what his heart was set on. His dad didn't revv up the teasing when he'd mentioned wanting to go to an academy to train in law enforcement. It almost made him more on edge that he didn't hurl an insult his way.

“I like the way you smell like cinnamon in the mornings and spearmint from your gum by night. I like how your hair tickles my chin when you lean into my side, when you shake your head as you laugh. I like all of the lines on your face, all of your scars, how together they complete a whole story.”

He ran his pointer across the bridge of Gavin’s nose. He let him, without flinching. Without needing to shield his eyes.

“You still endlessly frustrate me, Gavin. Good God, do you. But a piece of me belongs to you, and no matter what happens in the time that we are apart, it always will. I need you to remember that.”

For so long, he’d felt like an observer in his own life, reviewing his memories like a stored away home movie. He wasn't content with it, but he was too exhausted to change it after close to forty years of living this way. But inside of him, there was always this yearning for something more, for an object of desire that transcended time and space. Something nostalgic, a distant dream he'd never catch, something that entirely defied definition.

It wasn't in the form of places, jobs, consumeristic collectibles. He thought having a job that made him feel like he was helping the greater good would make him feel less empty. This feeling was a hair away, but it felt further than it ever had before. It wasn't even Nines.

There was a German word for this, he remembered seeing on a late night reddit scrolling binge. It was called... sehnsucht? Something like that. A deep yearning.

Maybe it was wholeness that he craved. Just like Nines didn't know who he was, there was a Gavin that died a decade ago and he needed to go grave robbing. Fuck, he could already feel crippling panic setting in. The kind that reminded him that he was mentally unstable, not in the self-inflicted ways that he chose to present himself as to ward off people.

They'd come so far. Why couldn't they push it off one more day, and that day last an fucking eternity.

“That is the longest I have seen you not speak.”

He felt like he’d scaled Mount Everest, twice. “I don't know what I am supposed to say to that. Or how to say the things I wanna say.”

“All I am really trying to say with all that rambling is that this is not our final farewell. Our story is not over. Do not make it that.”

“I'm shit at this, you know that I am. And I'm just as fucking terrified as you are. But I'm gonna try. Gonna try for you.”

“I need you to do more than just try. I need you.”

“That's hellishly unfortunate.”

“I know. It is embarrassing to admit out loud.”

“I'm sure it is.” Gavin pulled out his wallet and keys, shoving them into his overstuffed jean pockets. He shrugged off his leather jacket and messily folded it. “This isn’t yours to keep permanently, but, you can borrow it for the meantime. Since, y’know, you like it so much.”

Nines held it tightly against his chest. The announcement was made that the doors would be closing in the next few moments– this was the final call for boarding.

“You gotta get your ass moving, boy. You’re the one talking my ear off this time around.”

“Fuck– I know— I’m sorry,” his hand traveled up Gavin’s bicep, growing bubbles that bursted in his gut like magma erupting. “I need to feel you. One last time.”

He found his way to the back of his scalp, nails dancing against the grown out strands of hair that used to be shaved. He’d bent his knees so they were level in height, leaning into him, his sweat slicked forehead pressed against Nines’. Their noses brushed, their breaths intermingling.

He slipped his fingers under his beanie, tracing the smooth ridges of where he knew his led was.

“I wish we were not in a crowded, public space. I do not feel comfortable expressing my affection in the way I desperately want to,” his voice had grown raspy.

“Yeah?” Gavin felt a Vegas summer encapsulated in his cheeks. “Indulge me. What do you— what do you want to do to me?”

“You have this habit of applying chapstick after you have put out your cigarette– I want to find out what flavor you wear.”

“Fuck,” he inhaled. His fingers found themselves balling against Nines’ collar. ”Please stop saying shit like that. I'm fucking begging you.”

He was stuck knee deep in a pit of tar, self aware enough to know he could scream and cry for help to have a chance of escaping. But his animalistic mind took over and rooted him in place without a peep.

“I do not want to stop.” His eyes were bouncing around his face. “I do not want to stop breathing the same air as you.”

“How the fuck do you think I feel? Having to go back to work, act like everything is fucking normal and okay, when it’s anything but that.”

This intensity of invisible pain was unfamiliar to him. Mental anguish that was framed in a museum, only to be appreciated from afar in silence. This hurt more than eating a plate full of ghost peppers in the desert, more than lemon coated paper cuts directly on his eyelids, worse than being told ‘you're not attractive enough to act like such a cunt’.

He could taste salt and something acidic, metallic. Fuck, did he need to find a trash can? Was he going to start dry heaving?

“I am trying my hardest to not break down in front of you.” His nails scratched against the nape of his neck.

“S’okay if you cry, told you that before. Ain’t nothing wrong with it.”

“I know, but then it will be harder to see you.” Nines quickly glanced to the right. “Take care of yourself, Gavin. That is not a suggestion but a demand.”

His tendons were being played like a string quartet. Concrete was drying in his chest. Everything pulled and strained and he was fucking gasping for an ounce of air that didn't get caught. His clothes were restrictive, tugging at him like a snake taking him for prey.

There weren't enough shittily poetic metaphors in the goddamn world to describe how miserable he felt. This level of absolutely suffocating agony.

He took another deep, very shaky breath. “You too, Nines.” He pressed against the jacket that covered his chest. “Seriously, go. Would get your ass chewed out if they found out you missed your flight, standing fifteen feet away from the fucking gate.”

He knew he watched too many trashy, late night reruns because it was all kinds of pathetic that he was hoping for his Friends moment. That Nines would take one step onto that plane before he dramatically turned around, dashed towards him while exclaiming how he chose him. Jump into his arms bridal style– he wondered if he could catch him, he was a lot lighter than he seemed.

Nines was the last to enter through the gate’s doors, peering briefly over his shoulder before they locked them behind him. He wasn’t coming back to him.

The floor underneath him vibrated from the blast of a different plane taking off. People around him were chattering, their worlds still spinning and not shattered into eight million pieces. He saw a woman lean over in her seat, kissing the man next to her, and he could only take that as a personal fucking attack. His hands stroked up and down his arms; better not be far from the escalators that got him the hell out of here, he needed to go.

He started to sprint walk towards the exit, his sense of direction out the window. He made it towards baggage claim, and that wasn’t where he wanted to be– he needed to find a way back to the parking garage– but he didn’t give two shits. He truthfully only wanted to get back to his car to get his cigarettes, but he didn’t think he could make it that far anyways. He needed to get outside and just, exist.

More cars pulled up to the curb to pick up relatives they hadn’t seen in years, greeting them with cheers and muffled cries. There was a small child that had run up to his father dressed in fatigues. He swung around the boy in his arms, blowing raspberries against his chubby cheeks as he giggled all too high pitched.

Gavin ran both of his hands through his hair, fucking panting like some kind of rabid creature that needed to be put out of its misery. He yelled a string of expletives at the top of his lungs, his voice echoing off of the concrete pillars. A multitude of heads snapped in his direction, the chatter silencing.

An older man had his eyes narrowed at him and he couldn’t stop himself from walking over to him, putting his finger in his disgusted face.

“The fuck are you looking at?” He spat on his shoes– partly because drool was seeping out the corners of his mouth that he couldn’t keep closed. “Wanna get the goddamn lights knocked out of you, you fucking geriatric bag of bones?”

The back of his collar was yanked. He glanced over his shoulder to see a security guard, shaking his head with his eyes squeezed shut.

“Man, knock it the hell off. I don’t care what you’re going through, so don’t spiel off your sob story.” He peered down at Gavin’s badge, scoffing. “Typical.”

 

---

 

The lights in his bedroom were flicked off, heavy blackout curtains drawn so he didn't have to be reminded that this was his life. The only source of light was a faint blue hue from his laptop. He felt like he was fucking allergic to the outside world, to people, to doing anything other than brooding like a sappy, heartbroken teenager breaking up with their long distance boyfriend over summer vacation.

The day was slipping through his fingers. It was already one o’clock, and he needed to get his ass to the station. He'd grown out of practice with swallowing down his emotions, but now it was time to get back into that age old routine.

Back to his monotonous schedule of work, lackluster sleep, rinse and repeat. Shackled to his shitty fucking apartment that felt more like a tomb than it did a place he lived in. Also, yes, Nines really did leave him a blue disaster in the bathroom. There went his hopes of ever getting his deposit back.

He still hadn’t charged his phone– for good reason, he didn’t want to be bothered. That was the only way he knew how to cope with shit.

He’d pulled the pillows Nines had used from the couch and toppled them onto his bed (he might've tripped over the deflated mattress, who's to say). The blanket he loaned him was wrapped tightly around his shoulders like it were a stylish shawl.

It didn’t smell like anything. No cologne, whiff of aftershave, the rose shampoo failing to linger. That all made this feel so much fucking worse, like the last two months had been some twisted little fantasy his sick brain concocted to torture him.

He flicked through his photo gallery. Every other photo was of Nines. A candid of him with his tongue sticking out of the side of his mouth as he was focused on writing something in his journal– followed by him immediately raising his palm, attempting to push Gavin away as he’d muttered, ‘no paparazzi’.

Plenty of him posing with random objects at Five Below, like all the Hello Kitty garbage that’d been in their line of sight. A few of him at the airport, with his hands pressed up against the windows on the tram. He was wearing this look of pure, unfiltered admiration; the only time he wasn't caught having a resting bitch face, unlike all these other pictures.

There were some of them together at a park from a very unflattering angle, one with Gavin’s face mostly in the forefront and Nines blurrily flipping him off in the background. Them laying on his bed, Gavin with his head practically laying on his chest with the other man’s fingers stretched in his hair.

More of Bailey looking at Nines like he’d hung the damn moon and stars– why was everyone in this household so damn infatuated with him? No, he knew why. That was rhetorical. He needed to find his Instax printer and get more film. Tangible proof that he was more than just a ghost.

A few grainy snaps of Nines sitting on the edge of his bed, towel wrapped around his head in that goofy way he always wore it. The real reason he took these was because he was shirtless, his pajama pants just barely hanging onto his hips. He was selfish, alright– those were going to stay buried deep in his phone, in his top secret folder (that also had photos of him looking at peace in his sleep) that no one was ever going to find out about. Not even Nines. Especially not Nines.

Guttural meows were drawing closer before Bailey slammed her body against the door, flinging it the rest of the way open (see, this is why he couldn’t ever fucking lock it). She had to have had a toy, she only made those sounds when they’d play fetch with her crinkle balls.

He angled his computer– she was dragging one of his ties, a fallen soldier. His eyes grew wet; please, no more, he was so goddamn sick of crying.

“Give that to me.” He curved his finger through the, still knotted, loop, causing only more unhinged whining. She jumped up and sunk her teeth into the pointed tip of it, playing tug of war until Gavin released a defeated grunt from deep within his soul.

She took her prize over to one of the pillows from the couch and began kneading the fabric, spinning around a couple times for good measure.

The bear that still had color to its fur and (currently) had all of its filling stored internally was calling his name. He was sitting beside his childhood plush, forcibly holding hands with that ratty thing. He just– ugh, God. He fell flat on his back, blindly grasping for the stuffed animal, doing his best to ignore the abundance of cat hairs tickling the side of his neck.

He’d stripped him of all his gaudy accessories, tucking them away safely in the drawer of his nightstand– all a million dollars worth of sized down garments. This was the closest thing he was going to get to a hug, unless he hounded Tina– Nines’ voice began to crackle from a speaker in its paw.

“You really thought you could get rid of me that easily. You are going to have to rip apart the space-time continuum to keep me away from you. I am like a cockroach in your ceiling, Gavin,” followed by a villainous laugh that grew in volume level until it peaked, the recording ending.

He snorted, hard. Which also made him acutely aware that the sniffles were coming back full force. It felt like he’d spritzed a water bottle directly up his nostrils, a metal rod scraping against the surface of his brain.

“Pain in my ass even when you ain't here.” It's not like he'd want it any other way.

Coffee, tea, a monster that'd been left open in the fridge for a week. He needed something in him, even if it lacked sustenance. Something that would give him a taste to focus his energy on, something he could hold that wouldn't be littered with Nines’ phantom touch.

That didn't work, did it? He carefully set the teal mug on the counter, closer to the sink so he wouldn't knock it over swinging his arms around. Knowing him, he would fucking do that. A cup of earl grey was the winner today. He prayed it'd be enough to get him through the next couple of hours, the earful he was sure to hear from Jeffrey for only radio silence coming from his end.

He started up the Keurig, peering to see what he actually had to eat; stale butter, a couple yogurts that were close to their sell-by dates, something that was… growing fur in a plastic container. He shuddered.

Maybe there was a snack hiding in the pantry. A box of protein bars (the flavor he didn't like, left a weird aftertaste), pasta that he was not in the mood to make, a cup of instant rice— there was a sharp, ceramic, shattering.

Bailey was sitting with her tail tucked underneath her small body, the pieces of the mug Nines made on the anti fatigue mat below her.

“Oh, Jesus, Bail. God dammit– shit.”

He sucked in his lips. He wasn't going to raise his voice at her. She's a cat, she didn't know the significance that specific dishware held. Didn't mean the urge to scream at the top of his lungs wasn't present.

“I can't do this today. Why, why.”

He pulled out a plastic bowl and knelt down, gathering what pieces he could find. Thankfully the shards were fat in width and the mug hadn't dissipated into a cloud of dust. What the hell was that thing he told him, what felt like centuries ago? Kin… kintsugi? Maybe he could fix this after some good ol YouTube research.

One of the edges caught against his finger and sliced it, the cut large enough that a red river trickled under his sleeve.

“Oh my God, I—” he swallowed a glob of saliva, pushing his back against the cabinet under the sink. He placed the bowl to his side, breathless gasps leaving his body in aggressive jolts. His knuckles tightened around the foam he knelt on.

“Why the fuck did you make me fucking fall for you, you stupid fuck,” he banged his head against wood. Bailey jumped down, rubbing her butt against his calves, her purr engine revving to life. “I wish I could hate you,” he pressed the heels of his palms against his temples. “Fuck.”

Chapter 18: welcome to hell

Summary:

Gavin's phone rang and he already knew this was going to be the dreaded call. His father was at the end of his rodeo. This was it, and of course this would all fucking happen the minute Nines steps out.

Notes:

Click for content warning:

Implied and direct homophobia in one scene.

When you don’t have a low pitched mosquito rattling in your ear twenty four seven, unseen details of the place you’ve worked at throughout your entire thirties (almost) start to sink in. He was that desperate for an ounce of stimulation, something that would draw his immediate focus away from the puffiness of his eyes. The hacksaw stuck in his ribcage.

Box seats for an upcoming Lion’s game on Ben’s desk– people still got tickets physically printed? Could’ve just been a generational thing since he was old as shit. Chris had a strewn about stash of plastic rings, the gaudy ones you shove into the top of neon colored, sugar overload cupcakes. They were birthday themed; heart shaped balloons, a cake (wasn’t that kind of meta), and a gift box. That’s right, his oldest was almost a teenager, huh? Fucking insane. And then you had Hank’s faux child, forever a timeless asshole.

Back from a long belated intermission; it’s another act of the dramatics known as Gavin’s disaster of an existence. His life was comprised of sun faded clippings from twenty different movie reels that had no correlation and were haphazardly slapped together in one falling apart package. Jesus fuck, everything felt so goddamn dystopian… so lackluster. Like someone held him hostage and super glued on a pair of sepia tinted goggles, the world around him was suddenly lacking color. Charm. Appeal. He’d handed over his keys to an apparition of time and was back in the passenger’s seat.

Boring repetition and unrewarding chaos. He’d forgotten how much his life fucking sucked before that dickhead found his way to him. Christ, everything made him think of Nines, it was making the vein in his forehead twitch. Little fireworks of remember whens; papers flying in the copy room because they yanked an envelope back and forth until it split open. The both of them planting their asses on Tina’s desk so she had to pay attention to them. They were more important than work, obviously.

Yeah, he’d worked here well before Nines was ever a blueprint, a fucking concept in his brother’s brain. But those two months were more vivid and memorable than almost a decade worth of memories. How do you switch from spending every single day with someone and expect to instantly accept their lack of presence? It was like after Elijah moved out– they kept his room untouched, acting as if he’d come home on the weekends, like nothing had changed. Blissful ignorance.

The lingering smell of hot pockets drew him to an empty breakroom. There was a forgotten paper cup on one of the tables; assholes never cleaned up after themselves. He was okay about remembering to not be a public slob, sometimes. When he gave a damn. Today, he wasn’t feeling it.

He glanced inside the fridge; he still hadn’t had anything outside of a handful of tic tacs. Did that count as food? He was counting it. There was a glass Pyrex that had a note taped to it. ‘For Tina, NOT Gavin’. He clicked his tongue. How did she know he was the leftover bandit?

A deep clear of a throat followed by impatient foot tapping. Gavin pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth. Jesus Christ, he didn’t need to look over his shoulder to know who that was. The exact creature that he didn’t want to see. Did Nines slap an ‘I heart androids’ sticker on his back before they parted ways?

He straightened his posture, hearing something crack— he needed to go back to mandatory morning stretches, he felt like a decrepit old man on the good days.

“What the hell could you possibly want?”

“I have been trying to get in contact with you for hours, detective.”

He spun around on his heel, waving his blackened screen (still couldn't believe Nines cracked it) in Connor’s face. Close enough that one of the chipped corners of the case knocked against the dip in his chin.

He shoved his hand away, brows knitted. “There was a fatal breaking and entry reported a few streets down.”

“Cool. Thanks for the update.”

Connor clapped his hands together, resting his fingers against his lips. “Hank has a cold– or, flu? I am not really sure of the difference.”

He glared up at the ceiling. The light was blinking at him, like it was speaking in morse code. Wonder what it was trying to say. Probably a plea for help. Which, same.

“And ‘cause your daddy is out with the sniffles, we gotta go check it out together? Have I come to the right conclusion?”

“You are correct, regrettably.”

Feverish clacking of keyboards, someone’s phone going off with a default ringtone, fabric swishing from heavy winter coats as bodies rushed by. Being here was making his head dizzy, and not even nicotine would calm this. He didn’t know what would make him feel less overwhelmed.

“You can't be fucking serious.” Connor raised his hands, shrugging. “He can't send you with anyone else? Tina already left?”

“Chris and her had to tend to separate cases of theft.”

He walked past Connor, purposely bumping him with his shoulder (smashing into his bicep), but the other imitation of a man steadied him with the strength of a bear trap.

“I am begging you to stop acting like an asshole for, not even the whole day, but while we are assigned this case together so we can get our work done. Would it kill you to try to be neutral with me?”

“Probably.” Gavin swallowed his breath and kept his head down, making his way to his office. Fuck, one of his laces had come undone. The pest followed him, he could see his looming shadow. Even that drew sharp pangs.

Connor closed the door behind himself. Gavin collapsed into his chair that whined on impact, almost toppling himself over. That’s the last thing he needed today. He scrambled through the desk drawers for the spare charger he knew he’d thrown in one of them a couple weeks ago.

“Trust me, Reed, you are the last person that I would want to work with in the entirety of this station. We're the only ones not previously occupied.”

He waited for his phone to boot up, the notifications pouring in. An email from ‘Amazon’ that was so poorly written, not even a toddler would fall for it. And a suggestion for a subreddit… longdistancerelationships, awesome. The corners of his lips pulled.

Connor had his hand on the back of the chair opposite to him, swiveling it around.

“Hey. Back the fuck away,” he couldn’t keep his tone level.

“It’s a chair. No one else is using it.”

“I don’t care if no one else is using it right now.” He immediately sprung to his feet, knocking his knee against the desk in the process– shit. He forced himself between the two objects with his arms raised. “Don’t you even think about it.”

Connor’s forehead creased. “You want me to stand here the entire time we talk?”

“Go grab the one from your desk. That’s not your spot.”

“You’re acting like he’s dead when he is only moving to the west coast.”

“He might as well be.” There was one in the hallway, wasn’t there? He poked his head out– yeah, right, the one that Tina refused to use because it squeaked anytime you moved it an inch. And she did not know how to sit still.

He rolled it in, waving at it with jazz hands. “Behold. Problem solved.”

“It’s really that serious?”

“It’s really that serious. Don’t touch his fucking seat.”

For being the same face sculpt, there were still clear differences between the two of them. Nines had less freckles, more definition in the lines between his brows, like he always smelled something awful. Connor permanently looked like someone had kicked his puppy, meanwhile Nines looked like he’d been the one to kick said puppy.

“Count your lucky stars that my hand hurts like a bitch, ‘cause if it didn–”

“What, you’d punch me in the stomach? The face this time?” He rolled the chair closer to Gavin’s side of the desk, brushing away an empty wrapper. “I’m sorry, who incapacitated you without breaking a sweat when you wanted to act like a royal ja–”

“I don’t give a shit if you’re his goddamn,” he made air quotes, “brother. I resent you.”

“Likewise.” He glanced down at his palm. “RA-nine, grant me the strength to get through the next couple of hours.”

He sat back down in his own chair, logging into his terminal. He immediately went to open up a flight tracker– he was at the border of Utah, didn’t have much longer until touchdown.

“Nines has disproved what they say about you, but it’s hard to believe that the rumors are just that.”

He tore his attention away from the screen. “The fuck are you talking about– they? Lotta people say lots of shit about me.”

“The active members of the new chapter of Jericho.” He turned his head side to side. “Do you have a tablet I can use?”

Gavin looked over at Nines’ side of the desk. He hadn’t cleared away any of his belongings. His notes with crude doodles in the margins, the hot pink pen he favored. He reached for the tablet– that was Gavin’s anyway, he could borrow it.

Connor wiped away the dust from its screen with the cuff of his sleeve, swiping his fingers across it. “The most recent gossip goes that you are only using him to be your connection on the inside so you can relay information back to your brother.”

He choked on his saliva. “My brother being…?”

“Kamski?” He cocked his head, not in the cute way that Nines did.

Fuck trusting anyone, it only, repeatedly, bit him in the ass. “How do they know that? That he's my brother.”

He shrugged. “Everyone knows.”

“I only told Markus—” he threw his head back. It had to have been North, unless Markus wasn’t a man of his own word. She was lingering about the entire time he was there, wore that cheeky fucking grin when he left. “That— bitch.” He ran a hand across his chin. “I'll fucking kill that thing, I’m so goddamn serious.”

“It is fantastic to hear that you hold law and order to such a high standard, Reed. Truly wonderful to know that you don’t think yourself above the law.”

“Some blue bloods deserved to get thrown in that trash heap. His girlfriend should’ve been one of them.”

Connor huffed. “Not that it matters, but they are no longer together.”

“Wow, I wonder why.” He crossed his legs over one another. “That blond dude’s always up his ass, anyways. I’m thinking she was just his beard.”

“I’m not a fan of gossip. I was just telling you what I’ve overheard.” He leaned back– she wasn’t kidding about the squeaking. It made both of them laugh under their breaths, and of course Gavin had to scowl because God forbid they weren’t always at each other’s throats.

“Nines adores you–” that made his ears perk, his toes tingle. “Why? What am I missing?”

“Beats me. I don’t understand it either.”

He shook his head. “Every time I have wanted to spend a day out with him– just us, no hovering parental units or…” Connor sized him up, “whatever you are to him. You are inescapable. He does not shut up about you.”

“To be fair, he don’t shut up about anything.”

“Well, with you, it is one story after the next. He told me about the nights you would sit in mutual silence, listening to Bathoven and doing cross stitch patterns of… farm animals. There was another day he got out of the shower and you had made up his couch bed. Folded the blankets, organized his pile of books. And, you were sewing up a tear in his pants.”

Gavin hummed at that. It gave him a strange sense of pride that he was creating tales he could rattle off to others. That it all stemmed from him. That he tainted all his memories. Everything he knew since leaving Cyberlife was Gavin, and he fucking loved that– he was getting too possessive for something, someone that wasn’t his.

He set the tablet down. “Why are you so nice to him but to me, it’s an all out war?”

“Don’t try to act like you’re this innocent, saint of a being, Connor.” Gavin’s mouth opened before he closed it. He drummed his fingers against his desk. “Can’t even believe I let the thought of trying to mend things with you cross my mind. He kept asking me to apologize, leave our shit in the past. But you ain’t gonna change and neither will I–”

“I know that you are upset that he is gone,” he dragged his hand across his jaw. Upset was an understatement. “And I want to try to be lenient with you because I understand… heartbreak is not a simplistic emotion for humans to process. But you cannot take that out on me.”

“Heartbreak,” he parroted, huffing from his nostrils. “S’not that. It’s just everything that you are. You got some fucking nerve coming in here looking like him, trying to touch his shit–”

“Looking like him?” He laughed in his face. “I know that his operating system is technically older than I am, but I was released first. I don’t look like him, he is me.”

“He ain't anything like you.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. His stomach growled, and he tried to ignore how his cheeks flushed in response. “Don’t get why you weren’t the one that left.”

“Because he’s better than me in every way, alright? Is that what you want to hear me admit, Reed? I’ll say it– I’m outdated now. No one cares about me.”

“Ain’t that the fucking truth.”

“You do realize that if he is going to remain in your life, especially in an intimate way, you are not going to be able to avoid me. I will not forgo having a relationship with my only non-human family member because of you.”

“Fucking hilarious that you're trying to act like you give a shit about him now. Said like, ten words to him his first month working here.”

“I thought the joke here was you falling smitten with the man that you physically, and mentally, abused to the point that his body nearly shut down out of stress. How many times did you burn him, exactly?”

He ran his palms down his pant leg. “Oh, shut the fuck up. Not like it even fucking matters anymore ‘cause we don’t got nothing between us.”

“There is not enough time in the world to begin understanding you.” Connor’s nose started to drip, blue pooling against his thin lips.

Gavin gestured to his own. “Hey, uh. You got a little…”

His breath caught. He smudged it with his sleeve, the fabric staining.

“You… ok–” but he sternly said, “I’m fine,” before Gavin could finish his (genuine) question.

He fumbled around for a clean napkin, handing it to him. Nines was right about all the random clutter he kept– why did he have Burger King branded napkins?

“This happens every so often. It’s— not anything to worry about.”

“If you say so.” Gavin kicked his legs out, unplugging his phone so he could lean back further and scroll for a hot minute. Connor snatched it away from him, holding it above his head, out of reach. Wow, he was just as immature as Nines.

“Give that back right now, you sack of shit. I ain't playing with you today.”

“You can have it back when you can complete a sentence without including ‘fuck’ and ‘you’ in it.”

“I hope you drop dead.”

“You said you. Do we want to test out if I could be scouted as the next android MLB player?”

His phone started vibrating. Oh, fuck. Perfect. Today was just writing itself.

“I'm not going to start begging. Give that to me. My mom is calling.”

“We are preoccupied. You can call her back—”

“My dad’s fucking dying, okay. I need to talk to her, s’only reason she’s calling me. Just give me ten minutes. Ten. Can keep pestering me after that. Deal?”

Connor’s face fell, his breath escaping him. “Oh. I– Nines never menti–”

“Zip it,” he ripped it from his hands, rolling his still seated self towards the door, slamming it in his face.

“Ma,” he tried to control the waver in his voice as he leaned against his desk. “This is the worst time imaginable—”

“Gavin, don't start with me,” she sniffled directly into the speaker. “I have had to come to the decision that your father’s life support is going to be terminated.”

His body grew ice cold. Why did the walls look like they were melting? “Wh– God. I don't know if I can do this, mom.”

“I know how much it hurts, honey. I know. I want you to be here. I don’t know if I can survive this without my baby beside me.” Did she mean that? Or was this yet another attempt to butter him up.

He bit his nail. “How soon do you need me there?”

“Sunday will be his…” her voice broke, “final day. So, please, as soon as you are physically able to.”

 

---

 

Gavin kept refreshing his phone like a madman until it said Nines landed. And then, he was focused on checking his notifications every other minute to see if he’d texted him– he hadn’t. He had to resist the urge to call him. Spam him with twenty texts because he didn’t know how to send more than one short sentence at a time.

They needed Ben to escape the I-75 so they could close out the scene and get the fuck home. They were supposed to have left an hour ago. All he could do was begrudgingly talk to the thing next to him– also because he was threatening to not only snatch his phone for a second time, but stomp on it.

“I hear that you like metal.” Connor nodded, so he added: “Got a favorite band?”

“You don’t have to talk to me, you know. That’s not a requirement.”

“Gonna be bored out of my mind otherwise. Just answer.”

“That's a hard question. A favorite…” He stroked his chin. “I am quite fond of Architects, but I have been dying to see Currents.”

“Damn,” he whistled. “You've got taste. Thought you were gonna say, like… Babymetal or some shit. S’not my favorite genre, but I've seen Spiritbox a few times.” He chewed on the inside of his cheek. “You watch movies?”

“I’m an avid Letterboxd user.” Gavin snorted at that, Connor’s eyes wrinkling. “I'm quite fond of eighties horror, and the occasional psychological thriller. Like The Thing and Sleepaway Camp.”

“Can't get Nines to watch those with me ‘cause he's too much of a pussy. Well, shit. We got way more in common than I would've thought.”

“And we both have more successful brothers that have given us major self esteem issues. Don’t forget that.”

“How could I?”

Fucking finally. Ben was his knight in shining armor, stepping out of his noble steed that came in the form of a busted 2017 Honda Civic. He was that much closer to a hot shower and endless scrolling on Skyscanner. If he couldn’t find anything for a reasonable price that left tomorrow morning, he was going to toss a bag in his car and hit the road before midnight.

He already gave Jeffrey the heads up that shit was hitting the fan. Which then turned into him sitting in his office for half an hour– further fueling Connor’s want to slap him upside the head –wringing his hands together as he talked until he needed to grab a cup of water.

The least he could do was offer Connor a ride home, maybe that’d work as a temporary peace treaty. He turned down the street he knew by heart and as he pulled into Hank’s driveway, he saw a big ol’ red ‘for sale’ sign stabbed into the front yard– there was a ‘sold’ sticker across it.

“Okay,” Connor released the most stressed out sounding sigh. “Hank isn’t actually sick, he was closing the sale on the house. We’re moving soon.”

This bitch couldn't lie. He needed to teach Nines a thing, or two.

“Why’d he sell the house?”

“The only room with a television is where my makeshift bedroom is. And the garage has… too many spiders,” he winced. “It’s not too far from here, but there’s enough space so he can have his privacy back.”

“Didn’t think he’d ever get rid of this place. Y’know those bookshelves–”

“He built them with his ex wife, I know. He’s my dad. He’s told me all these stories.”

Gavin raised his hands. “Was just trying to make conversation. You can get the fuck out of my car now.”

“Gladly,” he slammed the door. “I hate the smell of smoke.”

“You’re welcome, jackass.”

Thank God for hot water that melted away the knots in his neck– the only positive of going back to the bachelor lifestyle was showering with the door propped open. While Bailey wasn’t bold enough to dive in the tub with him, she enjoyed tucking her paws in and laying in the exact spot he’d pick to step out. He almost always ended up kicking her, and she’d look at him with this pure disgust in her golden eyes. He liked the company, he wasn’t going to lock his babygirl out.

Chrome had crashed twice from the amount of tabs he had opened. Expedia, Trivago, the search engine’s own flight tracker. The list went on. He skimmed through every airline possible, extending the search to red-eyes for Sunday out of curiosity.

They were all obscenely expensive to the point that if he split the cost with his mom (she’d offered), it was still more than he could afford for his half. Not that he’d take her up on the handout, because he’d never hear the fucking end of it. She’d hold lending him money over his head until she took her very last breath.

Even fucking Frontier wanted him to fork over five hundred big ones, and that wasn't a roundtrip ticket. There was no chance. A mini road trip was looking like the most feasible option.

Checking Airbnbs and hotels in the area made the cost factor even more overwhelming. He could stay with his mother, of course. But did he want to? She didn’t know how to knock. She was worse about respecting personal space than Nines was. If he didn’t keep his foot kicked out against the bathroom door (because the upstairs one never locked properly), she’d walk right in on him. She had, numerous times.

Speaking of the devil, he still hadn’t heard anything back from Nines. He should’ve landed a few hours ago, that’s what it said. There were no news reports of a plane spontaneously combusting at LAX (could you blame him for checking?). There were probably more documents he needed to sign, had no idea if he was going back to his apartment first or his new precinct. He just… he was a needy bitch when it came to the attention that he wanted, and craved.

He tapped open their messages, gaze lingering on his contact photo.

Sunday, Dec 26 5:13 PM

dude w cowboy hat 2 right looks like n idiot

Nines - Sunday, Dec 26 5:13 PM

That's not nice. But, you're not wrong…

He laughed through his nostrils. This guy had beaded horses embellished on his hat, and Gavin wasn't supposed to say anything?

Nines - Monday, Jan 3 9:43 AM

Stop looking at me. >:(

Monday, Jan 3 9:43 AM

bt i like looking at u

Nines - Monday, Jan 3 9:43 AM

So you’re admitting that you think I’m cute?

Monday, Jan 3 9:44 AM

whatever helps u slep at night

Nines - Monday, Jan 3 9:52 AM

I think you’re pretty cute.

Monday, Jan 3 11:02 AM

no u

Nines - Monday, Jan 3 11:03 AM

Ha. I win.

Monday, Jan 3 11:03 AM

gdi fuck u

Nines - Monday, Jan 3 4:30 PM

You wish.

He kept typing and deleting sentences. Writing almost the exact same thing before groaning and starting over. This is why he just wanted to block his ass. That didn’t take any brain power.

8:21 PM

hey im keeping up my end of the bargain txting u

8:23 PM

hpoe u made it there safely

8:29 PM

pls let me know if ur ok i miss you

He threw a duffel bag and a blanket (yes, the one he loaned Nines) into the back of his car— right beside the newer bear plush. He buckled him in for his own safety, he was precious cargo after all. He didn’t need much to make it through a few days, didn’t feel like overpacking just because he had the space.

Figured he’d might as well bring a pillow, too. He was not eager to wake up to a sore neck from some flat as fuck one she’d been storing in a linen closet for twenty years. Knowing her ass, because she had an affinity to hoard things she deemed nostalgic– even if said item was disgusting and yellowed. That’s where he got it from.

Couldn’t leave without his laptop and Switch. A few toiletries and a bag of snacks (mostly premixed protein shakes and bars). Scooped all the Monsters out of their cardboard home. The important thing was that his car didn’t throw a fit driving there, but he was sure it’d be… fine.

Last thing on his checklist was to drop by Tina’s house. She opened the door to him holding up his house keys– he didn’t text her first, but she knew the drill by now. Fill Bailey's bowls twice a day, make sure she had fresh water, scoop her shit, and toss a few (fabric) mice around.

And the walls of Fowler’s office weren’t soundproof by any means. They were glass, after all. She already knew what was going on. He didn’t know how long he’d be gone, but he was planning on being back by Monday, Tuesday at the latest. He wanted to keep the visit as brief as he realistically could. Anything more than four days was pushing it.

“Are you gonna be okay?”

“Yeah, I’m,” he sucked down a breath, “as okay as I can be.”

“Do you want me to come with you? Or– Michael has a three day weekend already. He would go if I can't get the–”

“If it all goes to shit, s’why I have my car. You don’t need to uproot your schedules for me, I’m a big boy.”

“I just don’t like the thought of you driving there by yourself. Or, handling your mom alone.” She kissed him on the cheek. “Can you please let me know when you get there?”

He nodded. “Want me to send you pictures from the road, too?”

“If you can.” She took his hands into her own. “I love you. Pretty pretty please be safe.”

“I’ve done this drive couple times before, s’only reason I know it’s gonna be fine. I love you, too, T.”

Before he could think about getting on the highway, he needed to get a fresh, piping hot cup of something– it didn’t have to be coffee, a mint tea didn’t sound too bad. The line for Tim Horton’s wasn’t too bad, either. It’d have to do.

He already had a thermos filled with a pot he’d made at home, but he needed something else to warm his hands. That’s the only way he was going to survive this; liquids to burn his tongue to wake him up.

Now all he had to do was… cross the border and put some miles behind him. Passing through Canada was going to cut his arrival time down by a few hours, which was fucking stellar. He knew this was going to go by painfully slow when he reached New York. All he was going to be able to focus on was getting to a bed he could crash on.

There were only a couple cars ahead of him. The Ambassador Bridge was never busy this time of the day– though, last time he was here he got turned away because James hadn’t disclosed he had a fucking DUI. It was seven years old, but those agents were not playing around. Didn’t surprise him one bit when Nines said he’d gotten another. The shoe fit.

He tapped open his messages, a tugboat a lull in the distance.

9:51 PM

wanted to let u know im headed to boston

9:53 PM

u dont need to call me r anything jus lemme know ur ok ok

10:01 PM

i miss u still

He didn’t know exactly what to claim his reason for visiting was without trauma dumping on this tatted up brodude that looked like he hated himself for picking this profession. That he was passing through so he could get to his decaying dad back in the states? Because he was lazy and didn’t want to make this a nearly fourteen hour trip?

He mixed the two, and it seemed to work.

The agent shined his flashlight on the horde of cans in the passenger’s seat. “What’s all that?”

“It’s gonna be a long night.”

He got his ID back and was on his merry way. Just eleven fucking hours to go. It would’ve been nice to make a few pit stops in Canada, do something extremely touristy like go to the observation deck of the CN tower– fucking see anything.

The further he drove, the more surrounding streetlights faded into thin air. Tall buildings morphed into endless flat land. There were some points that were so damn dark, it felt like he was driving on Rainbow Road, levitating in space.

Maps alerted him that Canada’s Wonderland was only a detour away; they had another three hundred and a bit tall coaster similar to his favorite at Kings Island. It was closed for the season, but he made a mental note that it wasn’t too far of a drive away. The bigger issue would be figuring out how to illegally smuggle Nines into the country. They still had a ban on androids, and he didn't see that changing anytime soon.

He’d never been to Niagara Falls, either. Maybe on the way back he could take his sweet ass time and leave early enough to catch a few attractions before closing. Maybe that was far-fetched, but this was the kind of thinking keeping him awake.

Cycled through copious playlists until he couldn’t stand to listen to the same ten bands that kept popping up on each one. He started listening to a paranormal podcast, but being deep in the woods while listening to skinwalker stories, alone, was freaking him the fuck out.

He opened his window so the cold air could blast him in the face, pulled through two McDonald’s drive-thrus for diet soda and a much needed bathroom break– no more coffee, it felt like someone was drilling in the back of his skull.

Spilled orange juice on his finger cut and had a close call snipping ties with his questionable sanity. Deep, deep breaths. By the time he’d entered back into the states, there was a new mound of trash keeping him company— if he looked over too quickly, he swore he could see Nines’ outline. He was losing it.

Every so often, when the endless road ahead of him was clear, he’d scroll through his notifications. Nothing from Nines, even with his consistent updates on his adventure. Photos of his drink collection, of the vast nothingness from the dashboard, him flipping the bird as he usually did.

The change in pressure was jarring as he entered New York. He’d grown so used to the flat midwest, going back to somewhere that had altitude differences was fucking him up.

He needed to veer over at one point to get gas; he was having major flashbacks to them driving in Ohio. It was a sketchy looking station that had no company branding. Two pumps that both were scratched up, kicked in to hell, and a horde of deer watching him from the distance as the cherry on top.

Or, at least he thought they were deer.

He didn’t like the way their eyes were catching the light of the dimly lit sign. They didn’t look animalistic enough… he needed to get out of here, fast. He pulled back onto a barely paved, snow covered road and saw a bear crossing sign. Uh, where the fuck was he?

So many ramps were closed due to construction– they were adding autonomous vehicles lanes, like they needed more of those. Ah, yes, he was getting closer to Massachusetts. It was always orange cone season here. Traffic was non-existent, but of fucking course he’d get stuck behind someone going at a grandpa’s speed in a single lane.

His prediction was correct. He was at the halfway point, a little outside of Rochester, when his vision started blurring, headlights morphing into diamonds. He pulled into the closest Love’s he could find so he could make use of his blanket and get a wink of sleep in his backseat. After taking a very fast shower, because Jesus Christ, those stalls were disgusting. He felt clean as a whistle after taking one look at those grimy abominations. As much as he liked men, he really fucking hated them.

He’d finally crossed state lines and was in the home stretch, sending shots of the sun rising over vast hills to both Tina and Nines. He succumbed to staying on toll roads until he got there– that way he would feel safe shaking out his aching legs, wouldn’t worry about running into ice patches and skidding out.

The roads were smooth, no truck sized potholes. God fucking bless. It brought a tear to his eye seeing that he went straight for a couple hundred miles before needing to worry about an exit– but, goddamn did the fees add up.

10:55 AM

1hr left so close i can almost taste it thnk gd

10:55 AM

so fking sick of driving

10:56 AM

miss u more now wish ud txt me back ASSHLOE

His parents lived a little outside of the immediate downtown area, in Medford. The streets were lined with protected historical buildings; colonial style storefronts with brick walls and structures that didn’t look cookie cutter of any ol’ generic city. Detroit let their Victorian houses rot and collapse with no care for preservation. Some of them had been bought out to convert into modern day condos, like they needed more studios that went for four thousand a month.

In theory, he could see Boston becoming home again because there was a lot he appreciated here. He missed living near actual beaches and not the contaminated, leech infested lakes Michigan tried to pass off as an equivalent. Reliable public transport that he didn’t take enough advantage of. But, he knew his mom would want to drop over every other night– and she fucking would, unannounced with dinner. The bad outweighed the good.

He saw his high school. Remembered getting the shit kicked out of him in the courtyard; he made the first swing. The adored jock of the month had nudged one of their classmates' wheelchairs down a flight of stairs, busting it beyond repair. Fucking worth the busted lip.

Passed a twenty four hour diner that he’d gone to, hungover, after a concert with Tina and talked for hours until a waitress, not so nicely, told them to get the hell out. Shit, that was the park where he got his dick sucked for the first time, huh? Good times.

He pulled into the shared driveway between his parent’s house and their neighbors, parking behind his mother’s car. He knew it was hers because she’d had the same ‘MIT mom’ bumper sticker since Gavin was in school. Everything still looked exactly as he remembered it.

They lived in the upstairs part of a duplex. It was a pretty massive building, with its aged white shingles and accent fireplace. The third floor was technically an attic meant for storage space, but when dad still knew his way around power tools, he’d converted it into a second living nook. Mashed out a couple of walls and built bedrooms for the boys.

Eventually, they bought out the entire property once their downstairs neighbors moved, and that’s how they could get enough passive income for mom to become dad’s full time caretaker. They got a lot of college kids needing someplace flexible to stay for a handful of months– he didn’t know if they had any current tenants. He didn’t see how mom could juggle being a landlord and babying her sick, sad excuse for a husband.

He hadn’t actually told her that he was on the road, now that he thought about it— he was pretty shit about that, wasn't he? He just wanted to get the fuck moving.

He yoinked out his bag and ascended the winding side stairs, bouncing on his feet. God, he was really doing this. His hand was shaking like he was going through caffeine withdrawal (more likely he overdosed on caffeine), hesitating before he dared to knock.

Clatter and floorboards creaking before: “Is that my Gavvy?” And he half expected her to call him by his brother’s name. That was a goddamn shock. He adjusted the strap of his bag, his knuckles whitening.

“One minute,” he heard her muffled voice draw closer before the door swung open.

Before he could even say anything, she had a death grip on him, draining the remaining energy he had out of his body. The amount of perfume she was wearing gave him a headache.

“Oh sweetheart, I’m so glad that you made it.”

“Sorry I didn’t text you beforehand. I just, uh. Well, I knew you wouldn’t mind if I popped up at some point today. S’not like it's outta the blue, you knew I was coming.”

“I really don’t mind. I wish you would do this more often without me having to ask.” She took his hands into hers, squeezing them— he quickly freed himself from her grip.

“Yeah, I know you do.”

“Thank you for coming. Really, Gavin. I appreciate you being here, so much.”

“It’s easy to forget that it’s your first time living life, too. That you’re going through the same thing that I am.” He shifted his weight onto his other foot. “Our family is always gonna be a shitshow and there’s nothing you, Eli, dad, me– anyone can do to fix that. Can be here in the present though, not turn this into another late night memory I’m gonna regret.”

She pulled a tissue out of her pocket, dotting her eyes with it. “I’m sorry, everything’s making me emotional lately.”

She seemed different. Maybe he knocked some sense into her, or maybe it was just wishful thinking. Why was he kidding himself, it was the latter.

“Mom. It’s okay. You’re allowed to mourn for your husband.” He put his hands on her shoulders, squeezing her before stepping inside. “You’re allowed to be upset.”

She sharply inhaled. “How was the drive here?”

“Meh. Dark, long, boring. S’like the rest of my life.” He slipped off his shoes, unzipping his jacket. “Wasn’t different from the last time I did it. Was better than dropping a grand on airfare.”

Stepping inside was like looking at his childhood petrified. A scratched away canvas of a picture-perfect family. The dent in the couch was a preserved relic, coffee table littered with stains from all the drinks he sat down without a coaster. The fireplace mantle was lined with tiny ducks carved out of wood, back from when dad actually had a personality.

He could see a black burn mark in the open archway of the kitchen, from when Eli and him performed a little science experiment with a magnifying glass and newspaper. Great idea of theirs. Wasn’t as bad as the time they put a camera inside the microwave to try to film what the rotating platter looked like; kind of a miracle they never set the house ablaze.

The walls were still painted a honey mustard, scuff marks near a shoe rack courtesy of Gavin. It was musty in here, the smell making pinpricks rush to his stomach. That scent was tied to… insults being hurled, beer cans clattering, red welts raising across his skin. Being here was going to be a lot harder than he imagined, fuck.

“Is there anything else that you wanted to do over your visit? Saturday is when the majority of the family is going to say their goodbyes to him. But, until then, please do not feel like you’re forced to stay at the hospital.”

“Not really.” He sucked in his cheeks. “I don’t know how long I’m gonna be able to stay. Probably gonna have to head back on Monday, if we’re being completely honest.”

“I understand, honey.” She took his bag from him, flashing a tired smile. He forced one back at her. “I’m sure you’re exhausted.”

“Can barely feel my legs.”

He followed her up the stairs that screamed with every step. Made sneaking out (when his mom was paying attention to him, the once in a blue moon occurrence) next to impossible. Good thing she was just downright oblivious. Hell, they never knew the names of his friends besides Tina, and his dad always called her Tracy.

The second living nook was no longer a space where they camped out and played Tekken until dawn. It was now overstuffed with greenery. Was a good place for an indoor garden because of the skylights that accented the sloped ceiling. There were some empty terracotta pots, a few shriveled up flowers that were pushed behind a bag of mulch.

Windowsills were lined with blooming cacti and healthy looking succulents. She had to have had like, sixty plants. It was a damn jungle. At least she was keeping herself busy and doing something outside of running dad’s ass from clinic to clinic. Was actually a miracle she didn't snap at him more, he didn't know how she handled this much stress.

The couch had a dust cover on it, but the furniture hadn’t changed. There was an entertainment stand that lacked the tv– yes, plants and dirt crumbs covered it, too.

His old bedroom was the first door to the left in the short hallway, Eli’s being at the very end because he got the master bedroom. Was even bigger than their parents. Had a walk in closet that he'd shoved a gaming setup in, sliding glass door with an overhanging balcony.

She jiggled the doorknob; dad pulled his door off its hinges for a month once, and it was never the same after that. All because he'd gotten two F’s on his report card. He'd missed his history and math finals, y'know, on account of being busy coordinating residential care at a sobriety house.

This was where he once shared his first kiss, spent many sleepless nights with Tina, gossiped with Eli about Mom's snooty, church going friends that were having not so secret affairs. It was now a very beige guest room, no traces of him ever being there.

The slanted walls were also prevalent here. Always made him feel claustrophobic, but plastering them in band posters helped. There was medical equipment stored in one corner; an IV pole, boxes full of wires and blood pressure machines. In the center was a neatly made bed (wasn't the same frame, none of the furniture was), a few extra blankets and a towel placed on the foot of it.

Aside from that, there was a dresser with an oil diffuser on it (plus his bag that his mother set down), and that was it. A cheap motel had more amenities than this. Not like he fucking cared, he wasn’t here for the damn room.

“You do know that you can come visit anytime you want, right? Not just when your father’s health brings us together.”

“Yeah. I know, mom. Don't gotta keep dropping hints, you ain't subtle about it.”

“I know my sisters were planning to go out for lunch, but I’m not sure what’s happening with that.” She squeezed his bicep. “I’ll let you get settled in.”

The notes of coconut she wore clashed with the lemongrass puffs being shot into the dry air. He wondered if the cutout he made in the closet was still there.

There were a few blankets on hangers— Elijah's baby blanket. And, against the left wall was a calendar that was dated back to 2019. This was promising. He moved it to the side– aha, fuck yeah. Who needs locked boxes when you can destroy your parent's property? He used it to hide his secret stash of cigarettes.

He started smoking way too young, snatching a box off a friend of Eli’s. The one that always reeked of weed and had permanent Cheeto dust fingers. Every so often he got a gust of motivation to quit cold turkey and save his lungs while he could. But, there was always a dramatic event reeling him back into his vice. Once he got back in the chain smoking routine, he didn't see a point stopping.

He pulled out his phone, swiping away notifications for spam emails and one from Tina. Still nothing from Nines’ end. He opened up his contact list, staring down the whole five names he had saved. He tapped on the phone icon, waiting out the rings until he was met with a subtle beep.

“Hey, dipshit,” he started to pace beside the bed, his heart pounding to the point he could barely hear himself speak. “I don’t know why you’re ignoring me ‘cause you told me to call you. And, I know this goes directly to your head, so it ain’t like you got your phone turned off. Just, uh,” he ran his fingers over one of the plush blankets.

“I’m gonna be here all weekend, in Boston. Dad’s– s’why I had to haul my ass over here. He’s at the end of his rodeo. This is it.” He shifted the phone to his other ear. “I don’t expect you to drop everything to come here. I don't want you to do that. Fucking great timing, right? Shit goes sideways the second you ain't by my side. Typical.”

He watched raindrops race down the window, a couple of kids in yellow coats running in the middle of the empty street.

“If you ain’t gonna have the decency to text me back, I’ll just stop bothering you, I guess. Maybe. Making those thoughts of… wanting to make you a very distant memory stronger, though. I– I miss you, okay. A lot. A lot, a lot. And you kinda promised me your unwavering attention. I’ve always been told I'm too clingy. So. You’re bout to find out if that's the truth or not real quick.”

He let out a heavy breath. “No, I know you’re probably busy as hell, getting situated and all that shit. Unpacking your mountain of black clothes that all look the fucking same. Wish you’d let me know you’re alive. You ever make it to that bookstore? Hope not ‘cause I didn’t get my updates.”

His forehead creased. “How fucking long can this recording be? I feel like I’ve been talking for an hour. Do you got a time limit? Can you like, hear me right now or is there a mailbox built into your brain? Better not be laughing at me. You know I’m good at yapping until my throat bleeds. LIterally, sometimes. I can do this all–” it abruptly hung up.

He tried to call him again, but it immediately disconnected without the option to leave a message. He scoffed. “Jackass.”

Anxiety was settling in its hooks, climbing up his spine one notch at a time. The thought of Nines being the distant one hadn't occurred to him. Maybe he was getting his original wish— unwanted peace at last. He flew a little too close to the sun with his button pushing, his proding. He needed to keep moving, busy his mind.

God damn, mom. The hallway was jam packed with ancient family photos. She covered every spare inch of space that she could, frames traveling down to the baseboards. Of relatives he no longer recognized because they were grown into actual people, sprinklings of more recent ones with cousins he hadn’t seen in ages. The most notable thing was dad being vacant from nearly all of them. Like she’d want to showcase him in his dialysis throne.

There were so many of him and Eli together, and in each one they bounced between the same expressions; deadpan or glaring into oblivion. It was painfully obvious she'd forced them to pose. She was their designated photographer, taking ten million snaps anytime they went anywhere, even if it was just a short drive to a nearby park.

Markings were carved into the frame of the bathroom door, charting their growth spurts. Eli and him had been the same height until he decided to overshoot him by a foot. Gavin didn’t really get extra inches until high school; even when he was considered tall enough, the teasing didn't stop. Bleh, he always hated the salmon color of the bathtub.

He gravitated towards Eli’s room, like a dark force was drawing him in. The patched up hole in the wall was still there, a thin plywood board hanging on for dear life. His dad had kicked it– and then Gavin made it ten times worse.

The door was wedged open. Curiosity got the best of him and he peered in. It was like a fucking shrine of what he hadn't brought to college with him. Posters of 2001: A Space Odyssey and The Matrix beside a piece of cloth that had dozens of playbills clipped to it.

Bronze trophies across shelves that lined the ceiling from robot combat and various other robotic tournaments; not a speck of dust on them. The only time they ever got to stay in fancy hotels with hot tubs, when Eli winning something was involved.

His L-shaped workbench was sandwiched between glass shelves full of expensive uncanny valley statues; okay, the Half Life and Robocop ones were sick, but he didn't like the way Black Widow was looking at him.

On the bed was– Jesus fucking Christ, it was the man, the myth, the legend himself. Was his brother just sleeping, or had his mom taken up taxidermy as a hobby? …was his mom a serial killer and using her innocent plant collection as a means of distraction?

He marched down the stairs, whipping his head around. She was in the kitchen, bent over the sink.

“Mom.”

She looked up at him from the dish she was washing. “Oh, Lord. What's wrong now?” She was already back to her regular practice of speaking to him like he was a nothing more than a giant fucking burden.

He bit his lower lip. “Why the hell didn't you tell me that he’s here?”

She sucked in her cheeks. That’s why she was in a chipper mood. Because her favorite arrived first. He should’ve fucking known. “I knew that if I had mentioned Elijah was flying in, then you wouldn’t have considered coming.”

Yeah, probably not. That meant he was told the news first, even though he didn't pick up his mom's calls. He was destined to silver medals for as long as his brother was in the picture.

Did he desperately want to swallow his pride and give him a hug tight enough to squeeze the (non-existent) soul out of him? Fucking yes. But, his fingers were also itching to grab one of those aforementioned trophies and crack open his skull— make taxidermied Elijah a reality.

“A little heads up would’ve been nice.”

Facing his dad and brother in one weekend while managing crippling— fuck it, Connor was right. It was heartbreak. This was a slow motion car crash. Maybe it was for the best that Nines wasn’t here.

“I heard back from my sisters. They've all decided Cracker Barrel is today's lunch spot.”

He groaned. “Do they got their gremlins with them?”

“Gavin. Don’t call them that,” she set the plate down. “I know that Miranda is there for sure, and she has Damion with her.” Great, a toddler. It’s not like his mood could get worse. “Your dad’s brothers also wanted to go.”

Wait, wait, pause. Not them, he couldn't deal with them. “Ma, if Bill is gonna be there, I'm not gonna go.”

She moved around him, looking for her purse. “You have a story with everyone. If you keep picking fights, you won't be able to leave your house.”

“I’m not picking fights. He’s a homophobic asshole, are you being serious? You don’t remember what happened the last time I was here for Christmas?”

He unwrapped a box with fairy wings in it, for a child's costume. He looked him dead in the eyes, words slurring as he laughed: “Do you get it? Because you're a—”

“Go to hell, Bill.”

“You don’t have to talk to him. It’s as easy as that.” As he opened his mouth to speak, she cut him off. “What have you had since last night? Do I want to know?”

“McDonalds. I’m not that hung–”

“Please. This will be a nice change from the microwave meals I know you live off of. I’ll drive.” She dug around until her nails tapped against metal. “I don't want to hear another complaint out of you. Go wake up your brother.”

“Do I have to? We can’t just leave him like that, forever?”

She waved her hand. God, he just wanted to collapse and sleep the day away.

No wonder Nines looked like a vampire when his creator was Nosferatu reincarnated. His skin was so pasty he needed sunglasses. He had fine lines etched across his cheeks, a red hue over his lids that made him look like he was wearing eyeshadow. Being the initial backbone for a fortune five hundred company aged him. He looked exhausted even in his sleep.

His fists balled before he punched him as hard as he could, knocking the air clean out of him. Eli levitated off the bed like Gavin’d performed an exorcism.

He folded in on himself, clutching his torso with a strangled wheeze. “Jesus– Christ,” he gulped, weakly coughing. “Nice to,” he strained, looking at him with one eye closed, “see you too, asshole.”

“Fuck.” He pointed his finger at him. “You.”

“And so the bullshit begins.” Elijah lazily slapped his hand away, rubbing circles counterclockwise against his stomach. “W-when did you even, ugh, get here?”

“S’like,” he gestured vaguely, “half an hour ago, I ‘unno. Everything’s blurring together.”

He reached for his phone, pressing the side buttons. “It’s twelve already? Fuck. That was supposed to be a quick nap.”

“What time did you get here?”

“Five, this morning.” He slowly sat upright, rubbing his eyes. “Anyways. Hi. Long time no see.”

Gavin sneered. “Hi. Mom wants to go out to eat, so get your fucking ass up.”

Long time no see. The nerve of this guy. He trudged back to his own room and threw himself on the bed, letting his face sink into a pillow.

He heard the door creak, felt the mattress dip. “Lord almighty, go away, Eli.”

“Get your fucking ass up,” he mocked Gavin’s pitch. “If we’re going to be under the same roof for the next few days, I think we need to figure out how to talk to each other like civilized adults.”

“I’m not the one that's ever had a problem talking to you,” he craned his neck. “Why are you even here in this stupid house? You got more money than you know what to do with. Go stay at a Ritz-Carlton or some shit. I can’t afford to stay anywhere else, or I would.”

He bumped his glasses, scratching the buzzed parts of his undercut. “Because I wanted to be with my… family?”

“Family. That’s rich,” he scoffed. “My biggest fear when you went to college was no longer having a relationship with you. And what fucking hapened?”

Eli pressed his tongue to his cheek, his eyes darting elsewhere.

“Right. I tried, and I’m over it.” He sat up, pointing towards the door. “Out. I’ll meet you downstairs.”

His cheeks puffed as he exhaled. “Mom told me you were coming. Well, I didn’t talk to her but she left me voice message after voice message.”

Gavin cornered to the other side of the bed, his nails digging into his brother’s shoulders. He locked his knees, the both of them stumbling as he hoisted him up.

“Jesus, stop–”

“No, I want you to get the hell out. Do I gotta go back to making fucking paper signs to hang on the door?”

He put both his hands on Gavin’s forearm and started twisting his skin in opposite directions. His signature move.

“Ow, ow– God, don’t do that,” he hissed, tugging on a tuft of his unnaturally dyed hair.

Eli pressed his palm flat against his chest, putting his full weight against him, which only made Gavin pull even harder. The taller of the two writhed around until he got him in a headlock— he sunk his teeth into Eli’s forearm, nudging his chin to knock off his glasses.

The way his brother howled made it sound like he was auditioning for a haunted house.

“Gavin, fuck– stop,” he yelled between breaths, loud enough to make his ears ring. He kicked at Gavin's shins, catching the heel of his sock. “We’re too goddamn old for this.”

“You always acted like a child, so I’m gonna treat you like we’re both kids again.”

There was a singular knock on the door before it swung open; one of the hinges went wonky, slipping out of place.

Their mom had her hands on her hips, foot tapping a tune he was too acquainted with. They gradually removed themselves from one another, studying the floor.

“We leave in five minutes,” she said over her shoulder as her voice cascaded away. “Get changed out of your pajamas, Elijah.”

Eli kept his lips pursed. “Why the fuck did you bite me, you little rat?”

“You deserved it. Do you disagree?”

He threw his head back, tracing over the indents he left. “Dad can burn in hell for all of eternity, I don’t give a shit. I’m not here for her, or him. Just you.”

Now that was a good joke. “No, you ain’t.”

“How do you even keep your head on your shoulders with an ego that big?”

Gavin brushed his knuckles against his collarbone. “Wanna go for round two? Don't talk to me about egos, you son of a bitch.”

He wrapped his fingers around his wrist. “Pray to every deity above that mom didn't hear that.”

They both took a moment to hold their breaths until they knew the coast was clear.

“I know I’m never going to be able to rectify how much I’ve fucked up, okay. I am actually self aware. But I’m still your big brother. Something told me you’ve been hurting; I don't mean because of this. I didn’t want you to get here and have to—” he waved his hand, “did you really want to be trapped here with her, alone?”

He clicked his tongue. “I’ve been hurting for a long ass time. Where the fuck were you then? It’s way too goddamn late to act like you care.”

“I’m not going to start making excuses. I let work become my only focus. What's done is done, I—”

“Money, you mean. Money became the only thing you gave a shit about.”

“There’s so much that you don’t understand.” He surveyed him. “It wasn’t just that I didn’t want to see you– there were… legalities, safety concerns.”

“Then you should've hired a bodyguard.” He kicked away his glasses as Eli bent down to grab them. “Fucking obviously there’s a lot I don’t know because you have shut me out for the last… should we count?” He tapped on his fingers. “Fifteen goddamn years, Elijah. I’ve seen you ten times in the last fifteen years.”

“Have I shut you out when you have still seen me at times, Gav? You’re acting like I completely ignored you when we still texted… occasionally.”

“Don’t fucking call me that.”

“Forgot, you prefer Little G.”

He kneed him right in the babymaker, making him sink to the ground and curl up fetal position.

“There were some– really fucking tough days where I needed you. I didn’t get to have a father figure in my life, but I had you. I still need you, you have no goddamn clue the shit I’ve been through in the past forty eight hours. But, fuck, you make it so easy to hate you.”

“You don’t–” he groaned as he flailed around like a fish trying to flop back into a lake. “You don’t hate me. Wouldn’t be– ugh, goddamnit Gavin– talking to me.”

“I might.”

“Boys, are you ready?”

He rolled his eyes, extending his arm. Eli pulled himself up, standing with his back hunched, looking constipated as hell.

“I’m here. I know, I’m a despicable,” his breath caught, mouth twisting, “piece of shit. But I’m here, now.”

“Are you?”

“If you let me and stop beating the everloving shit out of me.”

He grabbed his phone, checking his empty notifications one last time before shoving it in his back pocket. “I’ll think about it.”

 

---

 

His mom under-explained just how many people were going to be here— this was an informal family reunion, looking more like a dinner rehearsal for a wedding. His mom’s sisters were split between two booths with their respective accidents. She silently veered over to join them without a second thought.

Leaving them with two spots open at a table with their uncles and a cousin neither of them knew too well. They kept the cluster of their extended family in one corner of the restaurant; fuck, it was so loud from their non-stop yapping. He could visibly see irritation written all over the faces of the waitstaff.

Bill locked eyes with him before turning back to their other more balding uncle, whispering something with his hand raised.

He nudged Eli with his elbow. “They’re already talking shit. Did you see that?”

Elijah nodded, gazing over his shoulder. He had his hood up, like that would conceal his identity at all. He'd heard mutters about Mr. Cyberlife in passing, from both workers and grandparents that didn't look like they knew how to turn on a smart phone.

“On second thought, maybe we should just go somewhere else. I saw a curry place a couple blocks away.”

“If we leave, I’m gonna get yelled at. She don't take her temper out on you. Not in the same way, at least.”

“Well, what do you want to do then? I’m gonna leave the ball in your court.”

God, he really had missed his brother. The realization that he was standing beside him, in real life, made him want to break down. Happy tears? It was the same longing you feel when you get separated from your mom in the grocery store. Feeling helpless without his safety net.

“I don’t wanna sit with them. I fucking hate Bill, and I’m not gonna be polite with that prick.”

“I know. I do, too.” Elijah gestured with his head to the right. “There’s an empty table–”

Bill was heading right towards them, greeting them with a plastered, over exaggerated smile. “Well, well. Look what the cat dragged in. Tinkerbell and Tony Stark, I'm your biggest fan.”

They shared a repulsed look as Bill laughed at his own ‘joke’.

“Actually think we were gonna–”

He wedged himself between them, throwing his pit stained sleeves around their shoulders. “Surely you weren’t thinking of leaving, were you? You just got here.” He dragged them to their table, not planting his ass until they reluctantly did.

“I never in a million years would've guessed you had the balls to show up, Elijah.” He fidgeted with a cloth napkin, attention then darting to Gavin. “There's a lot I could say about you.”

Gavin started bouncing his leg— his brother quirked his brows at him. He'd always had a keen sense for when his anxiety was starting to rear its nasty head. Guess he still had it.

“Why don't you do us a favor and save it?” Gavin grumbled with grit teeth.

He saw Eli pull out his phone from the corner of his eye, feeling his vibrate a second later.

Headass- 1:00 PM

Maybe we should make a run for it and ask for forgiveness later

“As long as you’re here, we get to eat free, huh?” Their other uncle, Mark (on their mom’s side, which meant he was less of a total cunt by proxy) said with a throaty chuckle. He waved down a waitress, pointing at Elijah with a wink. “Make sure to give him the check when we’re all done. One tab.”

Gavin’s nostrils flared. “Don’t fucking act like that.”

Elijah put his hand over his forearm, his tone soft. “It’s fine, just,” he shook his head. “We don’t need to escalate things.”

Gavin used his phone to scan the qr code for the menu. He felt like all he could stomach right now was plain, unbuttered toast and a barely carbonated beverage.

“So,” Bill started, talking with his mouth full of egg. A bit fell out and hit the table. Jesus. Any bit of appetite he had immediately evaporated. “Elijah, what’ve you been up to since your company crashed and burned?”

“It’s not as nuanced as that.” He shifted in his seat, clearing his throat. “If you don’t mind, we’re both worn out from traveling. We just wanna have a meal in peace. No… talking.”

“Do you know who we are?” He gestured to all the occupied tables, to their mother talking wildly with her hands. The way she cackled made his nerves jump. “Reeds only know one thing, and that’s talking.”

“Well, I'm not a Reed, now am I?” Eli huffed. Their cousin (this was one of their cousins… right?) cleared his throat.

“You sold people. I don't understand how you could let that happen,” this kid looked like he was in his early twenties and had an orange mop for hair. Who the hell did he belong to, like actually? He was in a sea of brunets. “In no reality was that not going to end… horribly.”

“They're machines. Not people. Watch your mouth, Conner.”

Of course that'd be his name. He wanted to bash his head against the table.

“We’re here because dad’s on his deathbed, maybe you didn’t get the memo. Not to get interrogated. Do that enough on the daily.” Gavin bit his thumbnail.

Mark hummed, taking a sip of… really? He was drinking? Jesus, they both were. “What about you, Gavin? Are you still a meter maid?”

He rubbed circles against his temples. “I was never–”

“No, he worked at that rinky dink mall.”

“Mm, yeah, that’s right.”

He threw his head back. “I’m a detective with the DPD.”

“Oh,” Bill exaggerated the vowel, “a detective. Have you ever solved the mystery of why a stick’s always lodged up your ass?” He slapped his knee, snickering.

Gavin glanced at his lap.

1:11 PM

shouldve savd the beating for them jfc i cnt do this

1:11 PM

we ned to get tf out of here

He nodded at Gavin. As he was about to stand, Bill had to keep speaking, like he'd pass away if he didn't get in the last word.

“If I remember correctly, your mother mentioned that neither of you are married.”

Fuck, no. They needed to start making their way to the front doors. He knew what this was building up to. He wasn't doing this shit today, call it self care.

Gavin’s chair screeched against the floor. “As fun as this has been, we’re going to head out after all. Sorry to interrupt your meal.”

“No girlfriends? Either of you?” He looked at Gavin expectantly. “You’re not still with,” he snapped his fingers, “what’s his name, are you?”

Gavin smacked his lips together. “He’s long gone.”

“Good, that’s great to hear, son.” Why the fuck did he answer him. Idiot. “You’re both getting to that age where you need to start thinking about settling down, you know? There's more to life than,” he looked between them, “wealth and making the wrong choices. It gets harder the older you get.”

Elijah tugged on his sleeve. “Come on.”

“I remember when our frat would hold keggers, the girls would go wild if, and when, the cops showed up. You really don’t have women lining out the door for your number?”

He yanked on him a second time. “Uh. Definitely not women.”

“I know your parents are more accepting of you being a… homo, but you’re gonna regret wasting your youth on this phase when you’re our age.” He said this all too casually between bites of sausage. The fucking irony there.

“You’re both close to your forties, aren’t you– no, Elijah, you are forty, right? What are you guys doing? You’re not teenagers anymore.”

His knuckles tightened against the back of the chair. Elijah squeezed his shoulder, speaking hushed. “Gavin. He’s not worth it.”

Heat was rising quickly to his cheeks. Eh, screw it. Self care was overrated, he'd bite back.

“I have a boyfriend, actually,” he spat.

“You do, do you? Thank God you're my brother's son and not one of my own. You would've been on the streets before you turned eighteen.” To be fucking fair, he was damn surprised his own father hadn’t contemplated kicking him to the curb.

Bill set his fork down and pulled out his phone. He scrolled a good few seconds with his thumb until he stopped, turning it around to show him a phone number.

“What am I looking at?” he said monotone.

“Pastor Kent, he has some contacts that can offer you help.”

Why the fuck was everyone sitting around with their invisible popcorn? The other eyes at the table taking this in like they were having a normal discussion about the weather outside.

“Holy shit.” Elijah having his back was the biggest plot twist of the year. “There's nothing wrong with my brother. What is happening right now? Is this—” he pivoted his neck from side to side, “where are the cameras?”

“A boyfriend won’t give you kids.”

Gavin was looking through red cellophane. “No, but he sure fucking tries to. Thank God we don’t got kids, don’t gotta be quiet. Kinda hard to when I take all nine inches of him in me.”

“Oh my God,” they all said in unison.

“You want me to keep going? I can keep going. Got plenty more stories to tell. I got a non-existent gag reflex, y'know.”

“Jesus,” Eli muttered, but he could see he was smiling. He knew that look. Fucker wanted to burst out laughing.

“I told Judy inviting your ungrateful asses would only bring unwanted drama. As far as I’m concerned, neither of you are welcome here.”

As his lips parted, saliva stringing on them, Elijah sneered derisively with a shake of his head.

“You know what? Fuck you, Bill. Our mom doesn't have the backbone to stand up to you— no one in this sorry excuse for a family does. You're sitting here intimidating your nephew like you’re a mob boss. That's pathetic. Not us,” Eli squeezed his shoulder. “Not him.”

Well, this was his free pass to add his two cents. If everyone was already pissed off, he might as well unchain the beast.

“The only connection Walter,” felt weird to call dad by his first name, “has to me is his swimmers winning the race. That man's a fucking stranger in my eyes, and so are the rest of you soulless meat puppets. This fucking stage show you put on— throwing back a pint when your brother drank his life away. Go to hell, you fat fucking pig.”

Now Elijah was laughing. He bolted out of the door, digging around in his pocket for his lighter, biting a cigarette with his front teeth. This jacket was too thin for how brisk it was, damn. He went to hover around their mom’s car, Eli lingering near him.

“I shouldn’t have fucking come to this stupid state. None of this is worth it.” He looked his brother up and down; all black everything, right down to his Vans. Like father, like son. “Well, almost none of it. Shocked you’re playing the brother role and not stuck filling the shoes of Cyberlife's conman.”

“I told you, I just— it feels gross going from knowing your deepest, darkest secrets to not knowing where you even live.”

“And who's to blame for that?” he ran his thumb against the smooth metal. “Same apartment I've been in for the last forever.”

“Shit, really?”

Gavin nodded, almost moaning as he exhaled because Christ, he needed that.

“Did mom know his sorry ass was going to be here?”

“Uh huh. She doesn't care. She knows this shit happens every single time he sees me. Always makes some kinda jab, passing it off as a hilarious joke that I take too seriously,” he took a deep inhale. “And he's the only one that acts outright homophobic, but nobody ever stops him. So, fuck all of them.”

“We're both the black sheep. They don't favor me, either.”

“Yeah, for fucking once.” He glanced at his phone. “You can do no wrong in mom’s eyes, though.”

“Is that the boyfriend?”

Fuck, he forgot his lock screen was a mirror selfie of him and Nines. There’s no way he’d be asking that question if he got a good enough look at who that was. “Only said that to get under his skin. Don’t got one.”

“Who was that, then?” Their mom was marching her way over to them, her arms swinging with each step. “Mm, hold that thought. Incoming.”

“Gavin Joseph Reed,” there it was again, “what did you say to Bill?”

Gavin kicked at the pavement, blowing smoke downwards. “What did I say to the man that just told me you fucked up for inviting me? ‘cause I’m a goddamn disgrace? Why’s it matter what I said?”

“It matters because you are causing a scene–”

“I’m the one causing a scene? Huh, that's pretty funny.”

Her pearl earrings caught the sun in a way that blinded him. “I have let the constant swearing pass, but you cannot talk–”

“He was one letter away from calling me a faggot, like he has countless times before. Fuck, it’s a good thing we ain’t all staying at the house ‘cause I think his grand plan is to throw me in a trunk and drop me off at a conversion camp.” He glanced at Eli. “You ever see the movie But I’m a Cheerleader?”

His body language read nothing short of uncomfortable; limbs petrified to his sides, the color drained from his already colorless complexion. He wouldn't know what to say either if the roles were reversed.

Gavin coughed into his fist. “Mom, you still don't give a shit. All that politeness when I got here was a goddamn act because I went out of my way to do something for you. And, I knew I had to come here ‘cause if I didn’t, the guilt tripping and accusations would start,” he flicked the butt of the cig. “If you could, you'd convert yourself into an app to nag me after you've croaked. But I guess maybe I shouldn’t have come, because here it fucking is.”

“Is that really how you see me, Gavin? That I’m just a nagging machine. That all I do is belittle you.”

“Well, out of the two of us, who are you yelling at right now? Which one of us still has a room at the house? Which one of us got a graduation party– that you rented out a fucking ballroom at the Four Seasons for.” He blew out another puff of smoke. “If Eli was gay no one would care.”

“That isn't true.”

“But, it is. And you know it.”

“I’m sorry I’m such a horrible mother to you. I am so awful, letting you stay with me, for free, and show up unannounced.”

“Oh my God,” he ran his fist up his nose, skin wrinkling. “Why do you think neither of us want anything to do with you? I don’t know why no one’s ever told you this before, but you’re not a good mother. Sorry.”

She pulled out her tissue. “You’ve never loved me,” she dotted under her bleeding mascara. “Why do you hate me so much– what did I do–”

“Mom,” Eli’s cheeks were covered in red splotches. “Gavin just drove all the way here to see you– how long was it,” he looked at him.

“Eleven hours. Well, more. I drove nearly thirteen hours to get here if you wanna round up the breaks. Don’t you fucking start this bullshit that I don’t love you,” he threw his hands up in the air, unable to control his volume.

“I'm never enough for you. Nothing I do is ever good enough.”

Gavin rolled his eyes, making a very distressed sounding guttural noise. “Do you love me, letting him attack me like that? I told you this was gonna happen. I got enough shit going on in my own personal life– which again, you didn’t even fucking ask how I’m doing! The lack of small talk–”

She slapped him, the skin on skin contact echoing. His cigarette went flying out of orbit.

“What the fuck– Judith,” Eli caught her wrist, but she tugged herself free from him. She got in the car and slammed the door, backing up without pause. Leaving them to stand stunned, onlookers trying to shield their own judgemental stares.

He massaged his cheek. “Jesus fucking Christ, I can’t do this. I can’t.”

“Has she– has she hit you before?”

“You really don’t know anything, do you,” Gavin pushed the heels of his hands against his eye sockets.

“I need to get us a room somewhere.” He pulled out his phone. “There has to be something closer to the hospital.”

“Which— hospital, right. Fucking insane we haven’t even seen dad yet, which is the whole damn point of being back in this shit hole.”

He went to go find his cigarette, because all he could hear was Nines’ pestering voice. Don't litter, you unhinged goblin of a man.

“The only good thing to come from this is that… we’re talking.”

“We have to stick together or we’re not gonna survive these next few days. We’re the only sane ones in this— family.”

“Which is fucking sad. ‘cause, look at us.” At least the windchill took away from the immediate stinging pain. “I– I’m gonna meet you back at the… house? Hospital? Hotel, I dunno what the game plan is anymore. Text me.”

His crows feet were exaggerated as his eyes narrowed. “Where are you going?”

“Where I always used to go when mom would unleash the kraken on me.”

“Can you tell me where that is so I know you're not gonna go off and do something stupid?”

The one place he always felt safe: the Chen household.

Tina’s mom started screaming her head off when she saw him— you'd think a burglar tried to pick her lock. She yoinked him inside, made them a scorching hot pot of oolong, and told him to spill the metaphorical tea.

He got his bear hugs from dad and questioned about what he wanted for dinner; he wasn't planning on staying that long, but maybe he didn't have a choice.

Her brother was home, shooting him a genuine grin from the couch; he recently graduated college, living with them to save money because his parents weren't insufferable. It felt like he was in the Twilight Zone seeing TJ with a full grown beard.

It caught him hellishly off guard when she'd name dropped Nines. Pestering him about the ‘boy Tina said he's crazy about’. She wasn't… wrong. It freaked him out at first, thinking why the fuck did she know who he was. Was there more lore Nines was hiding from him?

Then, it occurred to him— right, some people actually talk to their parents and have a healthy relationship with them.

If her mom wanted to see her daughter, she didn't expect Tina to drop everything she was doing to cater to her wants. She'd traverse out to Detroit. Hell, any time she visited, they'd go out for drinks and stay out until one in the morning at a karaoke bar. Because Gavin wouldn't go anywhere near those places with her; he was too shy to sing in front of strangers, that was the truth.

He set up his camera and put it on timer mode so he could get a photo with all three of them. They looked more like a happy family than his actual fucking family.

He didn't miss a beat texting it to Tina.

Tina- 3:59 PM

AWWWW THIS IS GETTING FRAMED

Tina- 4:00 PM

but also like this is so not fair :( I miss my mama so much

Tina- 4:01 PM

TJ makes you look like youre 6ft lol

Tina- 4:01 PM

I love this tho omggg <3

Chapter 19: vaporous

Summary:

Things were never going to be perfect with Elijah, but in the same breath, did he really have to carry around this resentment he only harbored because of his parents? He didn’t hate Elijah the person, he hated the reality where he was loved and cherished, and Gavin wasn't.

He just wanted to be friends with his brother again, and he felt like that was becoming a feasible goal.

Notes:

Click for content warning:

Referenced past physical abuse.

Gavin was resting his smushed cheek against the backseat window in a car that didn’t smell like death when the AC was cranked up. Pretty sure it was from years of built up dust, but sometimes he’d questioned if a rat had gotten a little… toasty in there. God, he just needed to total his car already and be done with it.

Tina’s parents had offered– more like insisted until he folded– to drive him to the hospital. If he wasn’t staying for dinner, this was their compromise. And, it was only fifteen minutes away, with traffic. Though, he secretly wished there'd be a major accident and they'd wind up in an hour-long standstill. For no reason in particular. He’d been planning to take the metro, take in the wafting aroma of subway piss to clear his head, but in hindsight… this was better.

Heavy clouds were swollen with the tears he’d cried himself dry of, and as they drew closer to this building that was like a treasure chest of the worst years of Gavin’s life, thunder followed as a warning sign. He’d been to this hospital more times than he could count on his fingers and toes. He didn’t know if it was more of a second home to his father, or him at this point.

Had the apocalypse come early? A horde of bodies surrounded the revolving glass doors of the main entrance; the way they were lined up military fashion was too organized to be a protest. No, fuck, those were reporters. Each person held a microphone decorated with a logo from a different channel, and looking across the street to the overflow visitor lot, it was like a damn campsite from all their vans.

“God, what the hell is all of that?”

“Do you think they know your brother’s here?”

TJ was sat one spot over from him, a donut shaped doggie bed putting space between them. Curled up in peaceful bliss was an ancient long-haired dachshund– originally Tina’s dog that she claimed to be an emotional support animal so he could live in her dorms. But as she grew limited on time and he fell in love with her mother (who had an affinity to sew coordinating outfits for them), it made more sense he’d become the family pet. Little guy was silver with only a few specks of black fur, but he was still hanging in there.

The Chens knew the polar opposite, dysfunctional dynamics that summarized the Reeds. They both lived in the same town, however they occupied a golden palace at the top of a mountain, meanwhile the Reeds were a cave at the foothills, laced with dynamite, waiting for the opportune moment to detonate.

Her mom had witnessed him getting chewed out in their school’s parking lot firsthand; she’d pull up to the drop off area to see Gavin getting an earful about not taking out the two pieces of trash from the upstairs bathroom, or not scraping leftovers off his plate. Entirely trivial things that motivated him to get his learner’s permit as soon as he could (Elijah offered to pay the fee so he’d stop putting it off).

He’d shown up at their doorstep in the middle of the night with an over-packed backpack and deep frown more than once. Tina would already be asleep, and her mom would be in her bathrobe slash clay mask combo. Wouldn’t ask a single question outside of if he was okay before laying a gentle hand on his back, pulling him in. No one knew the extent of how bad it got (because he didn’t talk about it), but she could read between the lines.

“Dunno but, checks out if this is ‘cause of him. Everything’s always gotta be about Eli,” he unlatched his seatbelt. “God forbid.”

One last hug that felt like chugging a healing elixir, a flower blooming inside his ribcage with sprouting petals, all representing the fucks he needed to harvest for himself and not give away. He needed the strength of a damn village to go in there. He didn’t want to let go of her, forget what it was like to have someone see him as anything other than a monumental oxygen thief. His nails dug into cashmere and her breathing was a gentle lull.

“If either of you boys need anything– someone to come sit with you, a place to sleep, if you want me to speak with Judy –please pick up the phone.”

“I just don’t wanna bring our chaos to your front door.”

“Honey, I am telling you that we welcome it. You’ve always been my second son,” she dropped to a whisper, “and favorite, might I add.” At least he was someone’s preferred choice. Sorry TJ.

His feet could move again, he’d kicked away the sandbags. Jesus, what a clusterfuck this was. A gaggle of reporters were being corralled by hospital staff, not just security personnel. This was going to turn into his first guess of a protest if they weren’t let in. Arguing to allow them to get drone shots of the outside building, at least.

He kept his head down and checked his phone to make sure he knew what floor he was heading to; the one trick to inconspicuously falling under the radar, looking like you got somewhere to be. Which just led to even more fucking chaos once he got off the elevator.

There was a visitors area, the kind with vinyl chairs that looked like play furniture and had a fishtank to keep complaining relatives occupied. It was blocked off by rollaway dividers with geometric patterned curtains and another security guard sitting in a chair, looking bored out of his mind. He had a clipboard on his lap.

Elijah briefly looked up from his phone, locking eyes with him– he was wearing a black facemask. Hadn’t seen one of those in quite some time. He was floating around the one vantage point in this makeshift pen; he couldn’t tell how many people were stuffed back there because his family lacked volume control and two people could be as loud as twenty.

The man with a three piece luggage set under his eyes cocked his head, creases forming as he studied him. His cheeks were fucking burning because now he was becoming acutely aware of the coffee stains on his jeans and protein bar crumbs that were snapshots of his long ass adventure. Gavin knew he looked like total shit, okay.

“Are you supposed to be here?”

“I… think so?”

Elijah scooted closer and closer, sneakers squeaking against linoleum. He pulled back the curtain, moving to step into the peasant realm before the man acting as a human barricade extended his arm. “Hold up. I need to see identification first.”

“He’s with me,” Eli said with a hefty breath. “Is that not enough identification?”

“It’s for your own safety, Mr. Kamski,” they both shared the same exasperated look, and it took every ounce of power he could find within himself to not roll his eyes out of their damn sockets.

He held out his hand expectantly, waiting for Gavin to begrudgingly pull out his ID (Nines’ smiling face flashbanging him). He shoved his wallet away with a pointed huff, the guard scribbling something down on the clipboard.

“Am I all good?”

He shuffled around in his seat, reaching for a roll of ‘visitor’ stickers, peeling one off. “Make sure that’s visible at all times, and yeah, you’ll be good.”

Eli pinched his sleeve and dragged them over to the one ominous looking corner where the overhead light was dead, where the rest of their family wasn’t. Of course Count Dracula would want to lurk about in the dark. It seemed like no matter where they stood, or what degree they shifted their bodies, they couldn’t escape Bill’s direct line of sight

Gavin pressed his finger against the sticky backing, leaning closer to press it against his brother’s forehead. He slapped his wrist.

“Can you go five minutes without being a pain in the ass?”

“I don’t know, Eli, can you?” He forcibly tapped Elijah on the chest with the heel of his palm. “What the fuck is this? Can’t just blend in with everyone else?”

“I didn’t ask for us to receive special treatment– did you see the broadcasters downstairs?” Eli took the sticker from him (that he was still trying to push against any exposed bit of his skin), pressing it just under the collar of Gavin’s shirt.

Gavin nodded, crossing his arms over his chest. “Kinda hard not to. Like a damn kicked over anthill. They’re swarming around the lobby, got their drones and GoPros all ready.”

“One too many got bold. They let a few in at first under the guise they were just getting some b-reel of the cafeteria and pharmacy, shit that doesn’t really matter– though, why the fuck they let them in in the first place is beyond me. A couple figured out what floor I was on, and they started taking creepshots of dad. That’s when the staff decided they needed to do something.”

“Fucking typical,” he chewed on the inside of his cheek. “Go anywhere and the attentions gotta be on you.”

“This is why I don’t go anywhere,” he pushed up his sliding glasses; they wouldn’t stay in place and Gavin was one more slip away from snatching them altogether. “I’m not exactly sure how they realized I’m here, or my relation to dad.”

“Do you think someone could've sent in an anonymous tip?” He followed Gavin's stare.

“He's got an android for an RN.” Jesus Christ, why was he shouting? “I mean, can you believe that? An android.” Bill locked eyes with his brother for a split second before he shook his head, audibly blowing out a huff of air. “Judy better be getting a discount. Where the hell's the money going if they've just got dolls watching over him?”

“You should’ve denied him entry to your exclusive club.”

“He was here before,” he gestured with both hands to their surroundings, “this,” he groaned. “I wouldn't put it past him. I didn’t want this, I’m not trying to give a damn press conference.”

“Is that why you’re wearing the chin diaper?” He curled a finger around one of the elastic loops, his glasses pattering against the floor.

“Gavin,” an army of drawn out sighs left him in waves as he bent down to scramble for them. “Magazines won’t pay them as much per shot if my face is barely visible.” He gave up, pulling the mask far enough down to expose the money shot. “How're Tina’s folks? Gimme some wholesome news.”

He tapped open the picture, turning his phone around to show him. A smile as quick as a bullet train flashed across his lips.

“They're like, a complete one eighty of,” he waved to everyone and everything around them. “Where’d mom go?”

“Doing what she always does to please everyone. Because God forbid someone has a singular negative thought about her. She’s already run down to the cafeteria five times.”

He hummed. “Everyone's been shooting me daggers the whole five seconds I’ve been here,” he shifted on his feet. “So... what’d she tell them?”

Eli glanced elsewhere, flinching when one of their aunt’s kids decided to go ballistic. Throwing a tantrum he was coddled over– so not fucking fair. If Gavin pulled that shit, they’d haul his ass down towards a different specialty ward.

“Twisted the narrative and said you attacked her. Called you an ungrateful brat for good measure. So on and so forth.”

“You’re fucking with me,” he clicked his tongue. “She said I put my hands on her?”

“You think I’m the center of attention. Mom’s the true diva here.” Eli’s Adam's apple bobbed. “If it's any consolation, she said she was gonna stay at the attached visitor hotel. So, we get the house to ourselves.”

“The entire time, or just today?”

“If she comes back I'll get us out of there,” he put his hand on Gavin’s bicep, patting him firmly. “Don't care if I have to pay out the ass.”

“Has she mentioned at all if she’s started mapping out a funeral? Since, y'know, she talks to you like a normal person.”

“She hasn't said a word to me since I got here. Got out of a taxi and… well, you know the rest. It all went downhill from there.”

“That’s not gonna last.” Why did hospitals insist on having butt ugly, anxiety-inducing paintings everywhere? A fucking clown holding a wilted daisy. That’d hurl anyone towards a mental breakdown, but maybe that was their secret ploy. “Give it, not even four hours and she’s gonna be blowing up your phone, begging for your forgiveness.”

“There’s a lot we need to talk to her about. We need to figure out what’s going on with dad’s will.”

Dad, right. That’s the real reason they were here, how could he forget. “Have you seen him yet?”

He shook his head. “I was waiting for you.”

“How bad do you think it's gonna be? Think he's gonna look worse than when he had his stroke?”

“That's why I wanted to wait for you.”

Elijah nodded with his head, keeping his hand pressed against the small of his back. That was fine by him right now, he wanted to stay velcroed to his side. Fuck the resentment he’d harbored, he was going to anchor it and keep it at bay. He couldn’t do this without his brother, he was done fighting him… for this weekend.

As they stepped out of the makeshift pen, the guard told them to wait a minute. Another body walked over and stayed a few steps behind as they traveled down a hallway full of closed doors and other awful paintings that weren’t framed, but caulked to the walls. There was a nurse stationed outside of his door, typing up something on her computer– oh shit, she was that aforementioned android.

“Is this the family?”

The guy behind them must’ve nodded because her attention fell back to her screen as she clacked away with her too long, red nails.

“Are you ready for this? If you want me to go in first and tell you how bad it is, I can. I don’t mind.”

His voice got caught in his throat. “I don’t know. I’m really fucking scared.” He was freefalling off a ten story building, floating on his feet. “Felt like he was invincible because every time he got a terminal diagnosis, he miraculously bounced back. And, I know he’s an awful bastard of a man, don’t got an ounce of compassion left for him in my bones,” he latched onto his brother’s sleeve. “Still, w-we’re losing our dad. It’s fucking hitting me.”

He shook Gavin free, only so he could take his hand into his own. He looked at him through his lashes, and that was the face he remembered always looking up to. The Elijah that seemed like nothing could ever penetrate his cool demeanor, his uncaring attitude. But the whites of his eyes were full of burst veins and coated with a layer of glossy varnish.

“That’s why we got each other. Hm?”

Gavin timidly bobbed his head. The door opened in slow motion, and maybe they should’ve listened to their mother nagging them not to fuck around with ouija boards. This was a true portal to hell.

The smell of rubbing alcohol singed his nose hairs. The smell, God that, that fucking smell. Inside his lungs was a waltz of disharmony because he wanted to adhere to societal standards of swallowing the raw anguish that’d been fermenting since he was a child, sitting in these very same rooms. Find it in his heart to forgive his father, play devil’s advocate and convince himself the black eyes weren’t that bad. It could’ve been worse, he could’ve called a cardboard box home.

Their father was reduced to a heartbeat encased by a screen. That’s all he was now, all he’d continue to be, and honestly, that’s all Gavin could remember him by– outside of his fists. His voice was so foreign he couldn’t find playback stored in his brain. He was the king of this sterile castle, his pillars built of machines pumping medication into his veins. Tubes were shoved down his throat, coming out of him from every direction. He looked like a prop on a movie set, not the man that was so deeply in love with their mother that he’d convinced her to run away with him to Vegas so they could elope.

The walls were like spoiled milk, the overhead light had rays stretching to him like bridges from the heavens above. Why were the ceiling tiles rumbling– no, wait, they weren’t. His body was swaying. The rhythmic beeping– he couldn’t keep his feet planted on the ground– the tubes, the smell, the– he threw his head back, hitting it against wood paneling. Fuck, fuck. Goosebumps raised on the back of his neck, a phantom passing through him. He was having ice-cold hot flashes.

He squeezed his hand to the point that Eli grunted and muttered, “Ow, Gavin, easy,” before he let go of him with a labored inhale. His breathing was ragged and whines were constricted in his throat that felt like a can of fermented fish, pressure begging to escape. Jesus Christ, God damnit. He scratched at his skin until all he could feel was his nails etching white-hot pathways.

It was all coming back to him. He was that same helpless kid, hopelessly waiting for his father to turn in his punch card. A kid that just wanted a father, wanted to feel his embrace, hear the words ‘I love you’ come from his mouth. Who was the one dying here when he felt like he was standing under a guillotine? He couldn’t keep his mouth closed, a forgotten about desert. Sweating– it was dripping in his eyes– or maybe he was just crying.

He was looking through a vintage viewmaster loaded with snapshots of his dad. Speeding down a highway and swerving lanes as Gavin clutched onto the ‘oh shit’ handle, his father telling him to stop acting like a pussy. His mysteriously breaking piggy bank; the moment it reached twenty dollars, the bill disappeared. His first digital bank had the same issues. Paychecks from work being rerouted, and only once chewing out his boss did he realize his dad was depositing them to himself.

He was standing at an altar overlooking his father’s casket and… he wanted to kill him twice.

“Oh, fuck, I can't—” bile was burning his throat. He sped out of the room, heels squeaking like a burst of escaped helium and turned into an alcove with vending machines. He folded over a trash can, knuckles whitening. It felt like Nines never yanked out those glass shards. “God, shit,” he spat pure acid. Someone was in a boxing match with his uvula.

The vending machine behind him whirred to life, banging at the same volume as a garbage truck. He fucking flew off his feet, his nerves were so damn shot. Something cold was pressed against the back of his neck— it was a water bottle, Eli holding it with his brows knitted. His skin was back to blotching like scattered rose gardens.

Grabbing it from him was a monumental task when a clone was steadily being birthed from the side of Eli's head. He didn't feel like he was on Earth anymore. Raindrops were pounding against his eardrums.

“Drink.” Water dribbled down his lips as Eli tilted his head, his other hand cupping the back of his skull. “You seriously look like you're on the verge of passing out, Gavin, don’t fucking play around right now.”

He craned his neck, snatching the bottle from him. The water trembled like it’d given itself shivers, mimicking that iconic Jurassic Park scene.

“...do you want me to ask someone if they can give you an Ativan?”

“No,” no matter how many sips he took, his tongue felt like cotton. “All of them are fucking standing in the waiting room, laughing,” another quick swig. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Making lighthearted jokes like this is another ordinary Friday. Fuck.”

He pulled his face mask down under his chin. “They’re all goddamn sheep. You know why they’re here– mom rang the dinner bell and they only know how to conform. They don't actually give a shit about dad, they just don't want it to turn on them when someone posts photos on instagram and they’re questioned why they weren't tagged in the group shots.”

Not like he wasn’t here for his own selfish clarity. “I wanna go home. I wanna– I need to get out of here. Need privacy,” he looked over his shoulder, at the uniformed man floating by.

“We’ll do whatever you need to do. Do you want to talk to someone first? Call the… not boyfriend?”

He wished he could talk to him right now; that’s all he craved, Nines murmuring sweet nothings. All too salty saliva pooled in his throat, and he choked on it. He sniffled, his face scrunching.

“Oh,” Elijah bit his lower lip. “Okay, let’s just– get going. They won’t miss us.”

 

---

 

“We’re not gonna act like everything is fine and dandy, right? Because I don’t wanna play pretend with you.” He buttoned the collar of his bomber (after peeling off that stupid sticker); not as warm as his leather one, but alas. It’d have to do. “I need Eli, not his ghost.”

“That’s why we’re getting dinner to eat in, is it not? So we can talk.”

Night markets had been another one of their escape havens, when traffic was too clogged to loiter the Prudential Center (no, he still was not a mall rat) and they only had a combined ten dollars burning a hole in their pockets. That’s where they found themselves that evening, underneath a flurry of canvas tents, bumping into each other as they shuffled forward. Gavin couldn’t walk in a straight line, go fucking figure.

They had to escape the hospital from an ambulance bay. Once the word got out that the prolific– and on the other side of the coin, monumental fuck up –Kamski was in town, not only did it draw in no name, self-important Youtubers, but angry townspeople. They didn’t show up with pitchforks in tow, but he had the feeling they weren’t far from raiding Ace Hardware.

It started getting so rowdy that they had to call for backup, patrol cars stationed around the main drop off point. By the time their self-driving chariot arrived, some lingering press (that’d been camping out of sight behind dumpsters) managed to get away with a surge of candids as they screamed repetitive, muffled questions. Why did Elijah go into hiding, and what did he think was the best next step when it came to living in harmony with his creations.

Here, they found escapism because they (read: Eli) weren’t the center of focus, thank the fucking Lord. Becoming nothing more than two formerly distant brothers, drifting among tides of blenders clashing with joyful laughter, the savory scent of cooked meat wafting from a shawarma stand. A delivery robot on a mission skirted by them, and Gavin relished the warm air pockets from each heat lamp they passed.

“Hey,” he shoved his hands in his pockets. “When did, uh… mom start hitting you?”

He felt his phone vibrate; Tina sent a photo of Bailey holding Nines’ tie in her mouth, her big baby eyes expressing that she couldn’t do no wrong. “You really want to talk about that here?”

“No one’s listening. Shit, we should take advantage of feeling like we’re normal people.”

“I don’t have issues with that. I don’t got the press breathing down my neck every damn day.” An android set down a few stacked crates. He was as tall as Nines, brunet, and fucking hell, it made his throat restrict. “You never noticed the bruises, huh.”

“I just thought those were from the scuffles you got in at school, because I know you had a thing for going all Captain America on bullies asses. I didn’t realize they were from…”

“I mean, some of them were.”

There were so many food stalls set up, deciding on what was going to be on the menu for dinner tonight seemed kind of fucking impossible.

“Your senior year of high school, s’when the abuse ramped up and became less tied to mind games. There’s a reason why mom picked me as her grocery shopping buddy,” he felt a pointed edge of paper poking his finger. He pulled it out of his pocket; a sticky note that just said ‘jackass’ on it. It made his lips curl. “Dad did it more, though.”

He adjusted his damn glasses for the billionth time, keeping his focus trained forward. “I don’t know how I never noticed. I did give them an earful about the way they talked to you, plenty of times. If I had known they put their fucking hands on you… ”

“The blame ain’t really… on you, Eli. They did their best to create this holier than thou image for you because they cherished their prodigy son. They didn't want you to see behind the curtains, not unless it was intentional or dad was too plastered to care about a slip up.”

He nudged him with his bony elbow, pulling over to a row of artisan booths. One had a milk crate full of woodland creatures crocheted with pastels, another with collapsible cubes stacked with floral themed porcelain planters. Though, what really caught his eye was a display of like, thirty different acrylic charms from games he recognized.

He peered up at the prints the artist had clipped to a makeshift clothesline. Damn, fanart of Death Stranding and Hotline Miami? This girl had killer taste.

“I got pretty good at hiding it myself. Couple of green concealers and high neck sweaters do the trick.”

Eli lifted a Pikmin charm, turning it over before Gavin swatted his hand away, pointing at the very obviously placed sign that said, ‘DO NOT TOUCH’, emphasized with highlighter.

“Jackass.”

“I didn’t see that.”

“How?” he sneered.

They continued to move onwards, finding their way to a roped off patio full of metal chairs and cushioned benches. There was a vacant fire pit in the center; he’d be the first taker, gladly. They sat themselves on the couch, Gavin savoring how the warmth of the glowing embers felt against his slightly too blushed fingertips.

“Why did you feel like you couldn’t tell me?”

“I tried to. I, well. I was keeping a log of all the shit they did to me, in case it came to the point that I needed to file a police report. Photos of the bruises on my thighs and blood stains. ‘til one day, I got my phone confiscated and my secret folder was gone. Even found my burner phone.”

Gavin’d swept through his closet and gathered up enough dust collecting action figures to list on eBay (might’ve also copped a few of Eli’s statues that’d been shoved away in storage, but he didn’t need to know that part). Scraped together enough change to buy a cheap flip phone and a pay-as-you-go plan so he’d have a backup for peace of mind. Its camera quality sucked, but it got the job done.

There were enough gnarly marks that were a day away from infection that he knew he needed to document– if he didn’t, no one would believe him. How could the mom that spent her weekends making poster boards for her dear son’s competitions and the dad that seemed to know everyone else’s father beat their forgotten about child without anyone knowing? They didn’t, it’s because Gavin just craved attention for being Eli’s shadow. That’s what he’d assume his friends and relatives would say if he could strap on a pair of balls and drop that truth bomb, anyways.

He kept it in the cutout with his smokes, but one night when he was a little too exhausted, he’d pulled it out to sext the moderately attractive popular guy from his English class. His actual phone was locked in his dad’s gun cabinet (that’s where he’d always keep it), and he didn’t know how to say no to digital flirting. Should’ve just snuck out instead, they didn’t give a shit if he didn’t come home for days at a time. They just hated that he had dirt on them.

He’d forgotten to tuck it away and when he got back from hauling dad to one of his weekly checkups, it was gone. His mom routinely liked to sweep through his room to make sure he wasn’t hiding cocaine in his sock drawer– why the fuck she was convinced he was a massive druggie, he didn’t know. Maybe she assumed he’d inherited the addictive personality gene, but his form of coping just came from… accepting that he was in his hoe era, and lots of late night sobbing into his pillow.

“I wrote out this whole letter, went as far to think of codewords I could use that’d be recognizable between us. And only us. I thought I was alone, thought dad actually went to one of his AA meetings, which. Hm. Stupid on my part. I didn’t hear dad get home. He came stomping upstairs already with a temper and, this is when I didn’t have a door, so he didn’t have to fucking knock.”

His journal was torn from his hands and each page of it, even the blank ones, were ripped to shreds like a cat gone wild. Screaming inches away from his nose that he better not be trying to rat him out to CPS. That he’d gotten a call the other day from a concerned teacher.

His belt tightened around Gavin’s neck and he wouldn’t release the pressure until a pink-tinted drool was sputtering down his chin. It didn’t end there. His glorious fists of fury followed as he beat literal sense into him, not stopping until one of his front teeth felt like it was going to pop out.

“He didn’t like going for the face ‘cause it was too obvious. He didn’t give a shit that day, he was so goddamn angry with me. Got so much blood on my pillow I had to toss out the case. I came back inside and he pinned me against the wall, y’know, s’why there’s so many scuff marks there. Was his spot of choice.

“Spat in my face and said if I made a peep to anyone, got in the way of you, ‘cause he saw you as his golden ticket to fancy living, he was gonna put me six feet under. He’d said a lot of shit like that before in drunken rage, but the way he was looking at me… I don’t think he was kidding.”

“God, Gavin. What the fuck.” Elijah pulled off his glasses, moving his mask just under his nose. He wiped at his eyes. “Jesus, I completely fucking failed you.”

He bit his quivering lip, placing his hand over his brother’s knee. He cupped his over Gavin’s, squeezing him. “Parents ain’t supposed to beat the living shit out of their child. That ain’t on you.”

“Bullshit it’s not on me. My role was to protect you. And here I was, thinking days out at Six Flags and Round One so it could just be us was enough.”

“It was enough, for me. Doing those things with you meant everything to me. Driving to Red Robin, hell, just sitting around in empty parking lots.” He sharply inhaled. “I always knew, no matter how bad it got, when we spent time together I’d forget everything. Made all the bad memories feel like distant, fucked up dreams.”

He met Gavin’s eyes, his cheeks glistening from the fire. “And then I abandoned you, like the repugnant scumbag I am.”

Gavin started tapping his foot. “Do you understand how much it fucking killed me when you stopped coming home on the weekends?”

He leaned his back against the cushion, shaking his head slowly.

“Like, straight up, it felt like a piece of me had died. I thought you were the coolest fucking person alive. Fuck Stephen Hawking, fuck Neil Armstrong, fuck Stan Lee. Was proud to claim Elijah fucking Kamski was my big brother.” He slipped his hand away to fold them both across his own lap.

“You were hellishly inconsistent, but still had you barging into my room and face planting on my bed to look forward to for the first couple of months.” Someone walked by with a trash bag full of cans slung over his back, the metallic clanging making him grit his teeth. “Why did you go out of your way to avoid me like the plague? Did I… say something? Do something that made you hate me?”

“Nothing you could do would ever make me hate you, Gavin. Truthfully,” he met his eyes, “the way you started to avoid me felt so… it was new and confusing, not like when you were stuck in a depressive episode and didn’t have the energy to do shit. You wouldn’t even look me in the eyes. Didn’t wanna go see movies, go for drives. I convinced myself that you’d be better off without me than to add to the resentment you didn’t hide.”

“That was the wrong fucking move, Elijah.” The moon was barely visible, masqueraded by fog, but he could still feel its presence watching him. “I drove myself batshit insane trying to rack my brain of what I could’ve possibly done to piss you off to that level.”

“Well, I’m telling you now– and again, I know it’s too late to ever fix the damage I’ve done to you. The way I acted like a tool and treated you was not your fault. Okay? You get that?”

“So, does that mean,” his chest heaved, “are we okay now?” He glanced at him, briefly, again. “Can we just– I don’t even wanna think about all that shit anymore, it don’t matter. I just can’t not have you in my life.”

He pressed their knees together, leaning into his space. “Do you feel like you got enough punches in to call it even?”

Gavin laughed under his breath, flicking his wet eyelashes. “I think so. There’s always room for more if that wasn’t enough.”

“Not to, uh,” he cleared his throat, sniffling, “completely disrupt our bonding moment. Did you see somewhere that you wanted to get food from? We should order and get going, it’s getting late.”

Gavin nodded, rising to his feet. They veered over to one of the more popular stalls that had made-to-order Korean street food, and shit, a plate of tteokbokki had his name written all over it.

“Is this what you wanna get? It’s my treat.”

“Fuck yeah. This is gonna make the whole damn trip out here worth it,” he bumped him with his shoulder, Elijah bumping him back. “Was gonna make you pay, anyways. You owe me big.”

He parted the sea of bodies to order for the both of them before returning to linger next to Gavin. He pulled out his phone, swiping away a few notifications (his screen was so damn dark, he couldn’t spy on him even if he wanted to).

“Can you please not go back to ignoring me after this? I don't got many people in my life. It's just Tina, and… someone else.”

He shoved it in his back pocket. “The not boyfriend?”

“Christ,” he groaned. “Stop fucking calling him that.”

“You could tell me his name, you know, like a normal person.”

Except, he couldn’t. “Don’t feel comfortable telling you that. Yet.”

“Then, he’s going to be nicknamed the not boyfriend. Unless he is–”

“He’s not my fucking boyfriend, Eli.”

Elijah raised his hands, his nose scrunching. “Alright, alright. Tone it down.”

“I really missed you. So goddamn much.”

“I missed you.” He ruffled his fingers through his hair before taking the takeout containers. Huh, that was fast. “But– I– Gavin, I can't make promises like that right now.”

“Yeah, uh huh,” there was an unending void in his stomach and it just kept dropping further and further. “Of course you can’t.”

 

---

 

Looking at that couch downstairs felt like standing face to face with Satan– Eli found him stuck in place in a trance, gawking at that fucking tomb. There was a demonic aura radiating from it, and Jesus Christ, all he wanted to do was find a gallon of gasoline. Douse the damn thing, watch the whole place crumble to meaningless ash. They didn’t want to be anywhere downstairs, it was entirely off limits.

If mom was already going to bitch out Gavin for just breathing, she could deal with them temporarily redecorating. Ripped the protective cover off the upstairs couch, carefully shifted some of the ceramic pots around so there was enough room to lay out their dinner (and the extra bags of chips they’d picked up). Even went the extra mile to haul up the television (it was heavier than it looked, and they almost dropped it, but hey, they didn’t).

He got his Switch all set up and just like the good ol’ days, they wasted no time loading up Kirby Air Riders and Mario Kart. Talking to Eli came naturally, like it hadn’t been a decade and a half since they could hold a normal conversation without awkward pauses and stuttering.

“I have like, ten billion questions to ask you,” Gavin said between bites of rice cake.

“I have ten billion and one to ask you.” They both narrowed their eyes at each other before they mutually laughed. “You first– one at a time, no rapid fire. Don’t want to lose your voice now.”

“Why did you leave Cyberlife? Pockets got too full?” He set down his controller and fumbled for his phone, leaning back against the couch cushion. It was too firm for his liking, but this was their only option.

He hummed, setting down his plate, fork clattering. “It wasn't my call. Our shareholders weren't fond of the research I was conducting. That, I… I found abnormalities in the coding that raised concerns, that might've led to a total product recall. They gave me an ultimatum, and I had no choice but to oblige.”

“You knew this was going to happen?” Gavin shifted so he was sitting with his knees tucked against his chest. “The whole… revolution, your creations being sentient and all that shit.”

“There’s things that I am legally bound to not say until specific court hearings are over– I know that we are alone, but I don’t want you getting involved with this mess.”

“If someone's got a hit on you or something, I can help you.”

“It's bigger than that– it’s currently being dealt with. I’m serious, Gav, this isn’t your battle to take on.” Not like he didn't know far too much already.

“No one's gonna like, jump out of a bush and headshot you, right?”

“Hopefully not.” He met his eyes. “No, Gavin. I spoke extensively to my attorney as soon as I got mom’s messages. I wouldn’t have considered this trip if we thought I was putting myself, or you, in danger.”

He had a hard fucking time believing that– his phone vibrated. Another text from Tina; her mom had sent her a wall of text, saying how grateful she was that he’d stopped by. And then that led to them crying on the phone for an hour before her mom bought a plane ticket to come visit her at the end of the month.

The cushions shifted, nearly knocking Gavin off balance. “I didn’t completely lose tabs on you, you know. I remember, I was in the Maldives getting suited up for a press conference when an interview with you and, uhm,” he snapped his fingers, “who’s the hippie looking guy with the grey hair you work with? I should know this– I’ve met him.”

“Anderson?” Elijah labeling him as a hippie aside, that meant he was well aware he worked at the DPD. He knew what he was doing by listing Jeff’s contact information. Fuck, either his world was about to be shattered for the ten millionth time, or he just had wishful thinking that Nines would find his way to him. Neither option calmed the war inside his stomach.

“Right. You were on Sixty Minutes and I turned to my assistant at the time, pointing at the tv just making caveman noises,” Gavin snorted at that, “because I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. My little brother, talking about how he’d solved a cold case that’d been open for fifteen years.”

“You talked about me to other people, huh?”

“Well, yeah.” Eli’s forehead creased before he got up to dig through the already semi-empty carton of Pepsi. “There was a lot to talk about.”

“I’m gonna guess you know that I work with one of your personal pests, then,” he bit his thumbnail until he winced, the skin tender and irritated. “Connor, s’who I mean.”

“I know that Connor was sent to the station you’re at, but that’s the extent of it.” He waved a can at him, Gavin shaking his head. “Out of curiosity…” oh God, the cold sweats were starting, “was another model that looks eerily similar hired there?”

He needed to steady his breathing, but fuck it, he was never good at holding a poker face. He had to try, though. Because this was a conversation he wasn’t getting into tonight. “Was there supposed to be?”

“I had written down your chief’s number because I had seen there was an open spot, and there was interest in hiring another android.” Elijah shook his head, disappearing down the hallway to haul out a blanket. He tossed it over the both of them. “I don’t know what happened to nine hundred– it’s a very convoluted story.”

“Nah. One was enough for us. Thank fucking God, because Connor is the most annoying creature to exist on this planet. Good job on that one.” From the way Eli was studying him, he could not tell if he could see right through him like a thin piece of glass, or if he was waiting for Gavin to slip up. Stumble. “Anyways. Tell me about some of the countries you’ve visited. That was the one thing I always envied about you, getting to travel all over the world.”

His face softened, and he saw him smiling from the corner of his eye. He took a swig of his soda. “Where do I start?”

This was a good sign. He dropped the subject… for now. Gavin shifted so he was fully facing him, resting his chin in the crook of his elbow. “Wherever you want. I wanna hear it all.”

He scratched his chin. “A year before we were given the green light to start production, we went on a pretty lengthy press tour. Mostly at universities with larger robotics departments, occasionally we gave presentations at tech and AI focused conferences. We started in East Asia and worked our way down Europe, bounced around South America.

“A lot of our sightseeing was done through hotel windows. We’d step off a plane, quickly check into our room to shower off the jetlag, then have to be on a stage forty five minutes later. Couldn’t even tell you the people I schmoozed. All investors that blended together; I mean, a lot of people in the tech world look the same. Thick framed glasses, neckbeards, comb overs.”

Gavin chuckled breathily. “Checks out.”

“Sometimes we’d get a few hours to act like tourists. When we had our launch campaign for ST-two hundred– it was a big deal, and we didn’t have to go around begging for money anymore. I’d make a few bucket lists for each country, pick three things that were must-sees, so if I got the chance, I wasn’t wasting time trying to google ‘cool shit near me’.

“We stumbled across this penis museum in Japan– or, it might’ve been more along the lines of a shrine? Not sure. Made me think of you.”

“Thanks.” Gavin tried to push him over, but Eli caught his hands, pinning his arms together. “As much as I thought I didn't know you anymore, you really haven't changed.”

“Neither have you,” his lips curled. “Visited an amusement park in Denmark– I think it was called…Garden something or other. They have one of the oldest, still functioning wooden coasters. And, you think this night market is big? Went to an even crazier one in South Korea. Had the best laksa of my damn life from this busted looking stall in Singapore.”

Listening to him talk about what he’d always daydreamed their combined future would look like was filling him with a sense of yearning, twisting a knife deep in his gut.

“Seeing Pompeii outside of a history book was… it didn’t feel real. We got to the Acropolis ten minutes before closing, but my partner sweet talked the guards on staff to let us dick around a little longer.”

He quirked a brow. “Partner like a business partner, or… female companion?”

“A mix of both.” He glanced at the tv before picking up Gavin’s controller, handing it back to him. “You still wanna play this? Or should we try something else?”

“Nah, let’s switch it up a little. No pun intended.” He looked through his library before settling on Don’t Starve.

“She was one of my own,” he kicked his feet out to rest on the coffee table, nearly knocking over one of mom’s plants. “I knew it was unethical. I didn’t want to acknowledge that I was falling for her, but it became a lot harder to hide it. We spent every single day together for… ten years. I-I loved her, and the feeling was mutual. I know that sounds–”

“No, I’m not judging you, if you wanna believe me. Was this Chloe?”

He took a deep breath. “Yeah. Chloe.”

“But you’re not still…?”

“It was a mutual agreement to part ways. I wanted her to decide for herself, and she was growing more tired of being confined to that stupid fucking mansion. Once she caught wind of the protests, she’d made up her mind. To summarize things, she left, and I sold the place. I never liked living there, anyways.” He checked his phone. “Jesus Christ, why did you let me talk that long?”

“Uh, because I haven’t heard your voice outside of news broadcasts and a speaker since I was in my twenties?”

He waved him off. “It’s your turn now. I wanna know everything.”

So, he did just that and started where they’d last left off. His accomplishments at the DPD and how he steadily worked his way up to becoming a detective. Droned on about the entirety of the James saga and they theorized how they'd go about egging his house (Eli’s idea, but hey, he was a hundred percent on board). Tina's wedding and how the reception was met with laughter, no finger pointing, no strings of cuss words exchanged as pleasantries. She'd wanted to invite Eli, but they both knew he wouldn't show.

Then came the Nines saga, sans mentioning who Nines was. The fights he’d pick just so he could hear himself scream as a way of self-soothing, them dicking around in the same fashion Eli and him always used to. The beginning of his ted talk started with him referring to Nines as his coworker, and then he became his temporary roommate. By the half hour mark, he was now labeled as ‘the boy’, sometimes he’d fumble and call him his boy. Not addressing him by a proper name was becoming clunky. He threw out the first thing he could come up with.

“Tell me if I’m hitting the nail on the head with this,” he spoke in an overly animated fashion, “he's your boyfriend without you both officially slapping a label on it?”

“He's—” he groaned. “Did you fucking listen to me at all?”

“Yes, actually. Intently for all of the two hours you’ve been rambling without pause.” He ran his thumb over Gavin’s forearm. “Look, Gav. We could go another twenty years without seeing each other face to face and I’d still be able to read you like a book. I know how you act when you're head over heels for someone.”

“I just— I'm leaving a lot of details out, you got no idea how fucking complicated our relationship is.” It was almost midnight and he could feel his eyelids being tied down by dumbbells. “His name ain't actually Richard. Just the most fitting placeholder since, y'know, he's a fucking dick.”

“Well, from the snippets you've shared with me, it sounds like this man feels the exact same way about you.”

“He does. I know he does.”

“Then…”

He looked at Elijah deadpan. “I don't know how to allow myself to accept that someone cares about me. How to explain to my brain that this ain't gonna be like every other time we've let someone in. That he's—” he squeezed his eyes shut, “he actually likes me for who I am, and I'm having a real hard time believing that.”

“Take it from me as a world-class master of fucking things up. The worst thing you can do is sit around and wait. You don’t have to show up on this guy’s doorstep with a bouquet of flowers and confess your undying love–”

“I’m not–”

He held up his hands. “I know. What’s gonna be more miserable in the long run, though? Asking him out and sure, you might be uncomfortable acknowledging the way you feel. But if you don’t, what if he gets sick of waiting for you to initiate something? He’s probably just as nervous as you are if he hasn’t said anything yet.”

“Really expect me to take relationship advice from the guy that dated a robot?” Always defensive when he was looking at a reflection.

Elijah’s nostrils flared. “You don’t have to listen to me. But, I do know a thing or two. On occasion.”

 

---

 

The bedside lamp was turned on in Elijah’s room; he was pulling a pair of lounge pants out of his backpack, his back facing him. Gavin was leaning against the door frame, fingers tapping against his forearm. He’d done his nightly routine of thinking about how much he hated himself while brushing his teeth, changed into something that didn’t feel any more comfortable, and then tried to lay down on his bed. The walls were oozing too much nostalgia. He wasn’t facing that room tonight.

He turned around, his breath catching. “Jesus. How long have you been standing there?”

“Not too long.” He sucked in his lips. “I don't wanna be alone.”

“This bed isn't really big enough for two people.” The mattress was a twin and tucked against a wall. The room had a flashing red warning that screamed he didn’t get any bitches.

“That couch is a pullout, remember. Can carefully rearrange more of mom's plants. She ain’t here to stop us.”

That's exactly what they ended up doing. They found spare sheets tucked away in the bathroom linen closet and took the pillows off their own beds. Gavin threw his blanket on top of them, Eli layering two more for good measure; there was a draft from the copious amount of windows and lack of insulation older houses tended to have.

“I don’t understand why he couldn’t choose us. Why we weren’t enough.”

“I think sometimes people… they give up,” his glasses thwunked as he set them on the floor. “They don’t want to keep fighting.”

“He had two young kids and someone that worshiped the ground he walked on. She still fucking does. What more could you want?”

Elijah rolled onto his back, patting his chest. Gavin scooted closer to rest his head on him, feeling his fingers comb through his hair. He watched his stomach rise and fall.

This had been routine for them when his nightmares were inescapable, and they usually were doomed to squeeze into that cramped as fuck bed, whether Elijah liked it or not. It was either that, Gavin’s room that smelled like corn chips, or the couch that gave them zero privacy (their dad called them weird as fuck, but he wasn’t going to listen to the man that was allergic to hugging his own damn flesh and blood).

“I know you think I had a dad because he paid for everything, because they always took us to my tournaments. I don’t feel like I did. He would know all the bartenders names by checkout.” He traced circles at the nape of his neck. “I know they didn't go to your graduation— dad had no idea what I majored in, even after I gave my valedictorian speech.”

Gavin lightly chuckled to himself. He was sick of thinking about the bastard that didn’t deserve their energy. “You remember when we decided to go to Hurricane Harbor on opening day and we got stuck in that waterslide?”

“Oh, God,” his chest heaved as he laughed. “Yes. They had to call in one of their teenage associates for backup. Guy was a hundred pounds soaking wet and the backup had to call in backup.”

They didn’t always go to water parks because Gavin had this thing about showing his body in front of more than one person at a time; he never swam without a shirt on, felt way too self conscious (still did). He struggled to build muscle no matter how hard he tried until he was in college. He couldn’t stick with a routine, and the meat wasn’t clinging. His grandparents used to joke about where all the food he put away went. He could put away forty piece nuggets like they were nothing.

A handful of the more thrilling slides required you to have form-fitting swimwear because of the risk of the water grabbing you in a chokehold when you were shot out. Which meant, he couldn’t wear a loose fitting top. Eli desperately wanted to try one of the body plunges out, but only if Gavin was willing to climb the stairs with him and face his insecurities head on.

The pestering never ended as May grew closer. Finally, when they were standing in a wave pool, he asked if he was feeling up to the challenge. No one was going to be looking at him, he reassured him over and over. As soon as they got off the slide, they could go back to their chairs and get his shirt. Hell, he’d crab walk to block everyone’s view of him if that eased his mind.

“Fine. For you.” He was pretty damn proud of himself, because fuck, the sensation of free falling a hundred and something feet was intoxicating. He kept his shirt off the rest of the day, too focused on Elijah than the possibility of people judging him.

“There was that one summer break when I didn’t see a lick of sunlight for a whole fucking month. Was the worst my depressions ever been. You’d try to get me to smile with alphabet soup, tried your best to cut up the letters and make the most obscene sentences.”

“Yeah, mom hated when I did that.”

“I loved it.”

“That’s why I did it.”

The first time he felt like he couldn’t will himself out of bed, not because he was sad, but because he just didn’t want to exist anymore, was in middle school. None of his clothes fit him anymore. He’d go weeks without showering and it was noticeable. You couldn’t see the floor in his room, it was just full of discarded clothes and comics tossed everywhere. Which took an egregiously long time to build up because he’d sleep in his jeans, wear the same shirt until it was stained beyond recognition.

He refused his mother's clam chowder, what used to be his favorite food. He’d let his hair mat because this was the period in his life that he thought he could rock a mullet. Eli would brush the knots out, but then he'd let them build back up. Fuck, it got so bad that Eli brought a bucket of soapy water in his room and scrubbed down whatever skin was exposed. Parts of his arms, his legs, his neck. He remembered that he had to stop midway because he started sobbing.

“I don't get why the fuck mom isn't doing anything. You need help.”

For once in his fucking life, his mom paid attention. But, even after he saw a professional and got put on crazy pills, there wasn’t much that changed. When summer break routinely came around, he’d crash. He was so worn out from living a double life during the school year, he needed the whole break to recharge. He wouldn’t let anyone in; sometimes he’d move his dresser and wedge it up against the door so he could sleep until it was the next day.

Eli found a way to crawl in through his window. He’d shimmy across the small ledge leading up to his room and push out the screen. He did this so much that they took the screen out altogether. Even though he didn’t have the energy to talk, he’d listen to him. His brother would move all his clothes into the hamper and clean up his floor, unprompted, no guilt tripping.

He’d lay in bed next to him and they’d watch things together until one of them dozed off. Maybe that’s why he liked watching things with Nines so much. It was nostalgic. An activity he could do with someone that brought him comfort.

“Still think about the coming out cake.”

“The coming out cake,” Eli parroted, the both of them snorting, which just made them uncontrollably giggle.

His parents were last on the list to come out to; he didn’t think he was going to tell them until Eli said he’d be there with him. They all sat at the dinner table because he’d primed them with the premise that he needed to get something off his chest. Something serious enough to make his dad leave his beer behind and his mom not focus on scrubbing the kitchen counters clean until they sparkled.

“Oh, Christ, he got someone pregnant.” Was his father’s stupid ass guess.

Once those two words that burnt the tip of his tongue danced their way into the stale air they shared, his parents responded by blankly staring at him. He could hear the wall clock ticking. Then, his father got up and returned to his rotting spot, his mother grabbing her dishrag. They didn’t say anything. He slammed his bedroom door and tried to drown away the outside world with his pillow.

Eli knocked on his door after a good couple of hours, setting down a cake box on his bed.

“What the hell is that?”

“Well, mom and dad are sacks of shit,” he popped off the top to reveal a vanilla cake in the shape of a penis. “So, thought we’d celebrate ourselves.”

He pulled out a knife and two paper plates, promptly asking him if he preferred the left or right testicle.

“Do you remember our first disaster of a comic con together?”

“You mean when Tina convinced us it’d be sick as hell to make three Final Fantasy cosplays in two weeks? The stress dreams followed me for years.”

She was Aerieth, and the two of them were Cloud, and Sephiroth. It took many rounds of rock, paper, scissors to decide who was going to be the silver haired hunk, because God damnit, Gavin really wanted to cosplay him. They all had their designated tasks; Tina took care of the wig styling and some of the more advanced sewing.

This is when Gavin got his own crash course on the basics of hemming and using a seam ripper. He was in charge of hopping around thrift stores, finding clothes they could use to their advantage and alter.

Eli had a 3D printer and was well acquainted with ZBrush. He was convinced crafting the Buster sword was going to be a breeze– fucking idiot. He spent many sleepless nights working on patterns and doing his best to print massive props with a pretty tiny, commercial printer. He worked so damn hard on these that their parents bought him a mini fridge to store Monsters in his room (so he’d stop hogging up the fridge, but also like, that so wasn’t fair).

He kept having to order more filament and his mom started going crazy over all the boxes showing up at their door, the recycling bin overflowing. The nozzle exploded during a few test runs, so they had to start over and take a few walks around the block to regain their cool. The last few days before the big day, he spent sleeping on Eli’s floor, helping him paint and sand things until their alarms went off.

“Both the swords you made were fucking crazy. Everything else kinda sucked though. I do not look good blond." It was getting harder to keep his eyes open. “Wasn’t our wisest idea to hot glue fabric together.”

“No,” Eli said as he yawned. There was a lingering pause before he quietly added, “It was not.”

He felt Eli’s arms tightening around him, anchoring him in place. He sighed against him, one that was full of contentment. He felt at peace, at last.

 

---

 

He woke up to a beam of sun burning his eyelids from the skylight, his limbs dangling off the side of the bed. It took him a second to remember where the hell he was and why he’d passed out in the gardening section of a Lowe's. He turned his head– Eli was still beside him, breathing raspily. He wasn’t just a figment of his imagination.

He felt around for his phone– his heart stopped seeing that there was a text notification. And then he groaned, seeing whose name it was.

Thing 2- 6:04 AM

Have you heard from Nines at all? I have asked Tina and Fowler if he’s reached out to them, but they said no as well.

The only consolation there was that he wasn’t solely ignoring him.

7:29 AM

uh no u havent either???

Thing 2- 7:29 AM

No. That’s extremely concerning if you of all people haven’t heard from him.

7:30 AM

i called him ystrday but it went 2 his voicmail

7:30 AM

does tht mean hes listening

7:30 AM

or is he just stright up ignoring me

Thing 2- 7:31 AM

It means he was listening to you, but did not want to talk to you. At least we know he’s alive.

Great. His fears were proven right– the silent treatment that he’d offered him in their early days, coming back to bite him in the ass. As quietly as he could, he dropped to his feet and took one baby step at a time down the stairs (they were still incredibly loud, so why was he even trying). He slipped into his jacket, a pair of... pretty sure those were his mother's slippers.

He lingered near his car, pulling the polaroid out of his wallet, gripping it between two fingers. He didn't want to stop staring at that smile. The ringing came to a halt– he held his breath– followed by a beep. Fuck.

“Still playing this game, huh. Guess you're only half ignoring me, so I can't get too… upset. Connor texted me this morning, said he nor anyone else has heard from you. I know you can hear me, jackass. He told me you could.”

He immediately disconnected. He, carefully, put the picture back in his wallet before tapping on the phone icon, fiddling around for his lighter instead. 

“Fucker, don’t hang up on me. I don't know what the hell you're doing, if you've finally come to your senses and realize you deserve better. If I should've put up a fight and not have let you outta my sight. Is that it? Should I've found some spare rope and tossed you in the back of my trunk?”

He dug the tip of the suede slipper into the gravel. 

“I dunno. Least I know you're okay in some regard, s’better than radio silence. I'm not gonna say I wish you were here because fucking trust me, you don't wanna have to deal with my shit show of a family. It’s been— hell isn't a strong enough word. Only positive is that Eli is here and he's… he's the same Eli I remember. We're actually… getting along— well, after I beat his ass. Then mom beat mine, which was just a barrel of fucking fun. Been talking about you a lot."

For some reason, the urge to fill his lungs with nicotine wasn't there today. Hm. 

“I know I always put up a fight when you practically sit on top of me because personal space is not a concept that exists to you. But, God fucking damn, I miss feeling you pressed against me. Especially now. It's cold as fuck out and you're not like a furnace, but just, a cozy blanket I wanna wrap myself in. Don’t get me wrong, your need to always feel me up gets on my fucking nerves. But, uh, holding your hand ain't that bad. Could really use that right now. Maybe more than that.

“Maybe your fingers stroking through my hair. Or, um— wasn't always the biggest fan of cuddling, but sometimes I get that craving, you know. Uh, shit, that was extremely gay.” His voice cracked. “Fuck, I miss you so much, Nines. God, what the hell did you do to me. I'm losing it without you, bud.

“Also, you giant fucking jackass. Fuck you for having to open your big fat mouth. I'm sure you're laughing, so, again. Fuck you. You listening closely? ‘cause I'm only gonna say this once. If you wanted to kiss me that bad, that was it. That was your opportune moment. You missed your chance. I wouldn't have pushed you away. God, nah we would've gotten security called on our asses. You kiss me and I wouldn't have been able to keep my damn hands off of you.

“Wouldn't have wanted to stop at your lips, either. Wanna know what kinda noises you'd make if I started traveling down your neck. Hell, why stop there. Wanna trace your collarbones, I just— wanna feel every part of you, and I don't mean that even in a sexual way. Wanna trace over every bit of your body that's been hurt in the past. Want those to be the memories you keep.

He cleared his throat. “...why the hell did I just tell you all of that. Oh God, okay,” he exaggerated the vowels. “I— fuck, I'm sorry, I don't know why that slipped out. Can you forget all that shit? I— think I'm just pent up and wanna feel literally anything right now. Historically, this is when I'd find the first piece of ass within five feet of me to fuck me into the next day. But, I don't wanna… do that. I want you— I mean, not… like that. I know you don't— and I respect that. I- Jesus Christ, why am I still talking. I'm making this so much worse, holy shit. Uhm.”

His parent’s neighbors poked their heads out of their front door, an older looking man throwing him a wave.

“I'm so goddamn sad. Think I've cried myself dry at this point. I can't believe he's actually… he's already dead, pretty much. Didn't waste the tears on him, though. He don't deserve it. Okay, alright,” he looked at his phone.

“Wow, I have been going on for… way too long. On that note, I’m done rambling. Really hope you're just over burdened with shit you gotta do and nothing else is going on. You better be safe. Don't do anything stupid. Don't do anything I would do. You can hang up on me, jackass.”

The call immediately ended; Elijah whistled, long and low. He was staring down at him from the top of the side stairs, barely able to keep his own eyes open. “Yeah, that’s exactly how I talk to my strictly platonic friends.”

“I’m gonna beat your ass.” His knees buckled as he bolted towards the stairs, stumbling over the first step. Eli locked the door before he could reach it; he pressed his ear against it, hearing his muted laughs. “Open it, dillhole.”

“What’s the magic word?”

“Fuck you.”

“Hm. Close enough.” The door opened inwards, Gavin falling face first, knocking over his brother in the process. Instant karma.

Chapter 20: red carpet day

Summary:

Gavin needed to pick a struggle: Elijah’s, and more importantly, his, face plastered on national television. Complete radio silence from Nines still with no fucking idea what that man was doing. Having to come face to face with his father, and adjacent avoidant mother. Couldn't really pick one if everything was happening at once, though.

God, he needed to find a block of ice to crawl into and take a good ass nap for the next… century.

Notes:

Click for content warning:

Referenced alcoholism and abuse.

“Well, you old fuck. I guess this is really it, isn’t it. Can’t wiggle your way out of this one like you have time and time again.”

Sea breeze lapped at his skin, the thickness of the salt crawling inside his pores like needy spiders. The sky was an aftermath of a forest fire and that diluted the catharsis of sitting alone on the edge of a dock with only your feelings. An impending doom that wasn't so impending as it was levitating above him. A bottle of loneliness was a dime a dozen, but right now, he felt like the last living creature on this planet. He was so goddamn alone.

A whistle in his ear as the wind picked up, waves crashing together in a domestic dispute. For as far as the eye could see were blurred twinkles from the sun stretching its arms for the day, masqueraded behind haze. Catching like lighthouses off a nearby shore. He wished he could let the ocean take him, transform like sea glass, but he was too rigid.

As Nines found clay seeping through his fingers as his grounding center of peace, a seaport was Gavin’s. The ocean was so vast it didn’t give a shit what he was going through. He was entirely insignificant to mother nature. Hennessy burning a hole in his father’s throat was a lost dandelion fluff to lapping water that had no pause. The cauldron in his heart boiling over because this feeling of rejection, avoidance, like he wasn’t ever fucking enough, didn’t matter to seagulls dancing to their own tune.

The boards weren't rotted until they were greeted by his presence. They gave in and he plummeted to depths unknown, trapped in the water’s sweet embrace. It was all consuming, more comforting than laying under a weighted blanket for hours on end. He was drifting towards the horizon on a sliver of a plank. This was his Leonardo DiCaprio moment; he wasn’t going to survive this.

In actuality, white foam lapping the wooden pillars beneath him were the white walls surrounding him of this fucking prison cell he willingly trapped himself in. His dad's heart monitor took its shot and struck him clean through the head. The sound of a nursery hymn echoed because the maternity ward was the floor below. A soul for a soul, though his father didn’t have one to exchange.

He was sat on a chair that creaked any time he dared to breathe. It was too damn early for this, to be bouncing his leg, to be chewing on his chapped lips until they bled and even then he couldn't stop himself from self destruction. He should be back at their parent’s home waiting for the hotcakes his brother had Doordashed for them, should’ve waited the ten minutes for him to shower. Watching early morning cartoons, not a rerun of the linear story of a generic drunk.

Pale streaks of sunlight had been cast across walls that held far too much anguish, floating particles of dust as their only spectators; how freeing that must be, not attached to a ticking bomb weighing you down. Elijah and him had been sat on the bare floor with the couch bed still pulled out, the sheets tossed in every direction. This was a preserved polaroid of their normal routine, something so familiar. Yet, now they both had specks of silver in their stubble and this newfound… maybe distrust wasn’t the right word.

The longer he sat still, the more moss grew on his skin; he had a deficiency for closure. He didn't want to sit still.

“Always beating the odds. One more sip wouldn’t kill ya, you said. Now it’s biting you in your lazy, bedsore ridden ass. S’not even just good ol’ American healthcare letting you down. You did this,” he kicked the wheel of his bed with the tip of his sneaker, “you fucking lowlife bastard.”

Maybe this was less like a prison and more of a church. He was in a confessional, but he wasn’t omitting his own sins. He was begging forgiveness for his father’s.

There was never going to be a conclusion to the unresolved shit he had with his dad, but he needed the finality, for himself. Could he hear him? He didn't know— he wasn't going to jump to his feet from divine intervention. The wheel stopped spinning, his dad had spent his last penny. He wasn't going to let this ghoul die thinking he had the upper hand on him. He wanted— needed— him to understand what a complete sack of shit he was– he still is.

This was more isolating than sitting on a rusted lawn chair, flirting with a picket fence instead of mingling with his immediate family. His dad's brothers insisted on slipping in a few beers for him when the holidays rolled around. It’s just a little beer, it won’t hurt anyone. That's what they always said between bursts of laughter. He watched a blade of grass tango in silence, string lights like old pages of a book catching on the metal rim of his soda can.

There will always be the sun but what comes in its wake when the Earth stops moving and everything as we know it is lost. Time ticking by, memories lost on him, faces flashing. Standing on James’ doorstep and the way he smiled seemed so innocent. But, he was his iron maiden; kept him in his grip, stuck in his honey trap, the spikes piercing straight through him. Like how he fell for his father’s tricks; the one time he bought him a new PS5 game because he knew he was caught having a twelve pack in his trunk.

His skin was the surface of the moon. Ice-pick scars, his limbs the color of fermented cheese. His stomach was stretched out like a balloon, his body already looking stuffed with sawdust fiber.

“This is gonna feel exactly like one of our phone calls ‘cause it was always like talking to a brick wall with you. Got the complete opposite problem of mom,” he ran his fingers through his greasy hair, pinching the damaged ends. “She loves to hear herself talk, but you knew if you were talking, it was time wasted you could’ve been guzzling down Jack Daniels.”

Cards with metallic accents were displayed on a table with rounded, rubber edges. They boasted motivational quotes, ones that donned hearts and freakish caricatures of animals that seemingly mocked him. Beside them were freshly cut bouquets, akin to the ones you’d hand to your newly graduated. His fingers twitched; he’d accept the paper cuts, he didn’t fucking deserve those, deserve the oxygen flowing through his nostrils. He still had that army knife in his car. Sure, the blade was dull, but he had a heavy hand.

How are you supposed to mourn for something you’ve never had?

“I’m grieving for myself. Mourning the concept of a man I’ve been chasing after almost my whole life, for the fucking energy that's died at the bottom of an endless well. Not you.”

He wrung his hands together. He was still in his pajamas, feeling sleep in his eyes. He wasn’t going to throw on his Sunday best. He only wanted to get here now before the zoo came barging in.

That smell of rubbing alcohol was forever present, and he couldn’t grow desensitized to it like the guys in gym class that bathed in Axe in the locker rooms. This is why he kept himself on the edge of that dock. If he didn’t, the walls were going to begin to rumble like an eleven on the Richter scale.

He pulled out a pack of gum from his pocket. He came prepared. Spearmint was his new focus. What was something else that calmed him– a color he could close his eyes and bring to the forefront. A polished aquamarine; no, it wasn’t a gemstone, it was blood trickling down Nines’ pale skin. He didn’t love that. His irises intertwined with his– better. Maybe there was some comfort in that, a phantom of his gaze.

Flannel rubbed against the back of his thighs, drawing goose bumps that sent electricity down his spine. Strands of his hair caught as he leaned back until he hit solid surface.

“I wish I had memories of you to think back on before this shit possessed you so maybe there’d be a light to shine on this fucked up story you’ve written for yourself. But, shit, I can’t remember you sober anymore,” his hot breath tickled the tip of his nose. “Even dropped me off at kindergarten smelling of last night’s mistakes. You weren’t always angry, but you sure as hell always had the same odor.”

There was a flier he'd picked up in the lobby, the one that was still being guarded like Fort Knox. The five stages of grief— he'd been going through them his whole damn life.

There was this case he was assigned four, maybe five, years ago and it didn’t meld together like all the rest; one domestic dispute after another and they become dolls you let collect dust on a shelf. She was only twenty four and just like him, her deck of cards hadn’t been shuffled too well. A raging alcoholic father and distant mother that moved three states over, yet she was too much of a coward to divorce the asshole.

She was found with bruises like floating lily pads littering her neck, a split septum from continuous blunt force trauma. Tucked under her pillow was a purple suede journal. She saw herself as the problem. That she didn't do enough chores around the house, and that’s why her father had no love in his eyes. That she should’ve picked up a second part-time job, that she should’ve been on her hands and knees begging for forgiveness. She detailed that she’d rather be put to rest than continue carrying the weight of his abuse on her shoulders.

The similarities were uncanny, but it was easier to sit in denial. Ignore the glaringly obvious. Gavin used to let his mom sleep the day away as he plated each meal for his dad, following the hospital’s dietary plan to a T. Sat with him for thirty minutes without raising his voice, only to be called a good for nothing whore because his dad didn't want to take his meds, didn’t want to eat his bland chicken strips.

People don't love you. People love how loving you makes them feel. What they can take from you.

“I really hope you can hear me, you son of a goddamn bitch– can’t even say that ‘cause I loved grammie. She was fucking ashamed of you, I hope you know that. All you’ve left me are broken mirrors showing me fantasies of what I wish we could’ve had,” he licked his front teeth, peering up at the uniform ceiling tiles. “I would’ve taken you feigning love. Given my soul to the fucking devil right here, right now if I could trade lives with Eli for five minutes because you would look him in the eyes with something that wasn’t pure disgust. I couldn’t talk to you without wondering what my next punishment was gonna be, when your hand was gonna strike.”

Dad would come home from another three month stint at the drunk house and flash his sobriety coin like the president himself handed him a medal of honor. Every damn day was the same speech about how invested he was in his recovery. Gave Gavin hope about, not even returning to work, but returning to the workshop to get back into wood carving– he was damn good at it, he could sell at trade shows if he wanted. Doing literally anything productive for himself that wasn't filling his insides with poison.

Then one night, after dad passed out in his designated spot, Gavin went to clean up the coffee table. Washed off his plate that was coated in hardened ketchup (he was pretty sure he loved condiments more than he loved Gavin), turned off the blaring television, went to recycle his soda cans— they smelled… distinctly off. He got his nose right against the opening. That was fucking vodka.

Suffocating his lungs wasn’t enough when he was already a fuming chimney. He kicked through the weak spot in the wall and reopened that little hidey hole near Eli’s room. Dad wasn't going to fucking change when lying came too naturally for him.

“I’ve wasted so many years of my life chasing after your approval, harvesting your anger to replicate in myself. That’s the thing that’s fucking disgusting, that I’ve become exactly what you were. I’ve hurt people 'cause I was taught there was only one way to solve conflict, and that’s with your fists. I wanna be a better man just so I ain’t got any goddamn connection to you, you vile piece of shit. I don’t know why I didn’t call the cops on your ass and get you thrown in jail– if they would’ve cared.”

His chest felt like fire ants were running in a death circle, he was so itchy. Maybe his father was a kind soul, keeping himself away from Gavin to protect his allergy to his presence.

“You know, sometimes I couldn’t even last a full day at school because it hurt so fucking much to sit. When you’d bend me over your knee and wouldn’t stop beating the absolute shit out of me. You know you broke my finger once, right? Didn’t tell anyone so I never got a cast, and it never really healed right. It still hurts.”

He had his first stroke when Gavin was fifteen. He was positive that would’ve been his rock bottom, shake an ounce of sense into him. It wasn't. He only got worse. His pancreas went kaput a few months later, and during that hospital stay, he had to live off of a surgically placed G-tube because something as simple as rice pudding would make him puke a river.

His very first detox clinic looked like a typical hospital wing. He sat by his bedside and held his hand, pleading that he cut back on how much he was consuming, didn’t have to quit cold turkey. Fuck, he bargained that he’d sneak him canned drinks in secret if he just drank a little less.

Offered to drive him to the bars he frequented so he wasn’t putting others at risk trying to get his ass home, that he’d take him to the liquor store twice a week so he could know how much he was tossing back. That didn't work, nor did any trade-off. He was at risk for losing his leg because he'd contracted sepsis. More hot tears from Gavin, but his dad was confined to the walls of a psychiatric unit this time, and visitor hours were kept to an hour daily.

“Got no idea how many times I thought about killing myself to get away from you. I wanted to make a run for it, always kept that idea in the back of my mind. I knew you stored a few hundreds in your mattress, kept them there so mom wouldn’t know you had a secret booze fund. Thought maybe I could take a Greyhound to New York, test my luck at a youth shelter.

“Fuck, I could’ve had it good at a shelter. Would’ve provided me with the same things you guys did, but without the blame. The pain. Half the time mom didn’t go grocery shopping because she was busy wheeling around your sorry ass. She didn’t trust me with her credit card. I didn’t care about eating anymore. Everything felt… pointless.”

With Eli out of the house and not swarming around him like a hawk when he took his nightly happy pills, he could cumulate a ‘just in case’ stash. For when the nights grew long and laying in his bed for days at a time staring at only his wall became overbearing. His depression grew worse by the day, but when he was up against his father for gold in the mental illness Olympics, he had no fucking chance.

“It feels fucking evil that I got no love in my heart for you. But, what the hell am I supposed to love? Mom’s idea of love was just enabling.”

Acceptance: he was at that stage now. Well, he didn't really have a choice, did he? They could circle the drain until the Earth’s core split and magma consumed them. It took him three decades to realize there was more to life than chasing after approval from the two people he’d never been good enough for. The worst things in life are free. He needed to find a way to let go. Nines looked at Gavin like he was watching the Northern lights. That’s what he needed to chase after.

“As far as I’m concerned, you didn’t raise me. Elijah’s my only real family,” he scraped his thumb over his stubble. “And, the ones I’ve collected along the way.”

One morning he ran out of the bathroom as Eli opened his door, towel in hand. He nearly dove head first into his closet to get away from his death glare, cupping his chin with bloodied palms. His brother was the one that taught him how to shave, gave him the boring rundown for when he’d need to start filing taxes, was the only one that’d notice when he’d catch a cold and go out of his way to pick up medicine on the way home.

Jeffrey acting like it was a coincidence his Subway orders always got messed up, doubling his foot longs. He knew Gavin was growing desensitized to his own stomach rumbling when he couldn't afford to fill his tank most days— sometimes he had to bear the hour-long trek to work, even when it was in the negatives outside.

His car screeched to a halt and he nearly drove himself into a ditch. It was two in the morning and he was somewhere he'd never fucking been in metro Detroit. Sweat was beading down his neck like a hot summer's day, but it wasn't from the heat. A man locked eyes with him, hovering around a lit trash can. Hank asked no questions, walked him through calling a towing company step by step. The next day, he taught him how to change his own tires.

The starter gun shot into the air and Gavin was rooted in place on a thin white line. His knees buckled; there were scouters from Boston University and Northeastern. He'd been training all fucking year for this, his coach boasting about his record breaking times. He couldn't move. A gentle hand wrapped around his shoulders; his coach wouldn't let him leave his office until he unclogged the dam that was waiting to burst.

They had five minutes to get out the front door if Tina and him still wanted to be considered fashionably late to prom, and not outright tardy. He couldn't figure out how to loop this goddamn tie, and even with a YouTube video loaded up on her phone, Tina was only making it worse. One end was always a mile longer than the other. Her dad stopped him and showed him his secret; pinch it between your index finger and thumb, take a deep breath, and loop it over.

He took his dad’s hand into his own. He felt drier than a raisin thrown in an air fryer, colder than a walk-in freezer. His breaths were shallow, forced, full of phlegm.

“I really don’t fucking want you to go, dad. I-I wish we could just,” he gulped down air that violently punched his lungs, “wish we could– just– wipe the slate clean. Wish we could start back from the very beginning, like if you were given a golden button to keep what you know now, but get a do over. Though I don’t know if you would change. You found comfort in all the chaos, just like I have.” He let go of him, pawing at his cheeks in unison with a knock at the door. “I don’t wanna be anything like you. Just another waste of stardust that’s gonna be lost to time.”

Gavin needed to set himself free, sprout his wings and let go. He was going to be in this godforsaken room tomorrow, but mentally, he was going to be back on that dock, looking out at the waves that felt more like family than this man did. This was his final goodbye.

 

---

 

That gentle knock belonged to a social worker that greeted him with a solemn expression that looked like he’d practiced it ten times that morning in his bathroom mirror. That’s not the part that mattered in the slightest– he was left out of his father’s will entirely. Really, what a wonderful thing to add to the collection of ways this morning was becoming God awful.

Every damn artifact this man owned, down to his beer koozies and Red Sox bobbleheads, were allotted to Elijah. Aside from the house and a small chunk of change that wasn’t in their parent’s joint account, it all went to his brother. He didn’t get a single can opener or empty cardboard box. Listed in his brother's name was the SUV with a steering wheel that didn’t rattle when it hit seventy miles per hour (had Gavin mentioned that bonus about his car? Yeah, he wasn’t kidding when he said it was a piece of hot garbage).

Was given ownership of the storage unit (Gavin wasn’t aware he was still paying for that thing) that housed his toolbox full of Milwaukee branded drills and saws, his extensive baseball card and vinyl record collections that had to have been worth a pretty penny. He couldn’t remember everything in there because he had shit stacked to the ceiling, it was that jam packed.

It’s not that Gavin wanted the burden of sifting through his shit only to resell it online and sacrifice his own time to make a quick buck. He didn’t want handouts. Why the hell was it going to the man that could buy everything twice?

The elevator doors creaked open. He could smell a batch of scrambled eggs from the cafeteria, but more importantly, freshly brewed coffee. Fuck an actual meal, he just needed something in him to make his legs stop feeling like they were going to snap like uncooked pasta.

He was standing behind a group of women in Santa themed scrubs. That was a little unseasonal now, wasn’t it? Though, who was he to speak, wearing a pair of sleep pants that had a tear on the ass– from the corner of his eye he saw an all too familiar, wiry brunette zoom by.

Coffee was going to have to wait, as much as that pained him to say.

“Mom,” he said loud enough to hear over chip bags rustling and forks clattering. She only glanced over her shoulder before she sped up. Jesus Christ, why was she so fast. She was like a damn rabbit.

“Mom, stop.” He shuffled his way down a long corridor, smacking chest first into someone before he could grip her slender, bony shoulders. “Why the hell are you running from me? You do know that the little fairytale you told where I hit you is fiction, right?”

“Gavin, I do not need to be yelled at today.”

She looked entirely out of place, the way she was dressed was more suitable for an opera; wasn’t even ten and she was standing here with plum painted lips and falsies glued on. A bordeaux wool dress with a peplum, a tan Coach purse slung over the crux of her elbow, and goddamn patent leather stilettos (they looked expensive, but he didn’t know shit about fashion brands that didn’t have their labels plastered all over them). Even with the sizable heels, she was still pocket-sized.

Who was she here to impress? Their relatives knew she was deep in the hole from medical debt, and dad’s eyes were glued shut.

“Yelled—” he bit his tongue, his eyes flicking upwards before looking back at her. “There’s not gonna be any yelling, alright? I just wanna– we need to talk. Calmly. When's the last time you sat down?”

She looked at her watch, tapping on the screen. “I left my room around six this morning to grab coffee with your father's brother.”

“With… Bill?”

“Yes,” she rested a hand on her hip. “Is that a problem?”

He swallowed down his groan and it felt like a fucking watermelon was stuck in his throat. “Have you seen the indoor zen garden? Saw it on the way down here.”

She shook her head. He took advantage of this moment to loop his arm with hers, cuffing her to him. “C'mon. There's benches there, probably a lot more quiet, too.”

The silence was a thick, unpalatable gravy. As they turned a corner, she started veering off in the opposite direction as if she were a stubborn toddler trying to escape the timeout corner. The resemblance was striking.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” his nostrils flared. He marched over to her and grabbed her by the wrist. “I am being goddamn serious, I need to talk to you.”

“To list all the ways that I've been an awful mother?”

“To talk about why the fuck dad has allotted everything to Eli. I'm not mentioned in his will once. Hell, you ain't even mentioned in it aside from the home being in your name.”

“You can figure that out yourselves. That is not a conversation you need me to be involved in.” She tried to pull away but he wouldn't let her.

“It ain't even about the physical garbage he's burdening onto us,” he shook his head, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Dad used to go on drunken tangents about you scheduling not one, but two, abortions. For me. And both times when the day rolled around, you chickened out. I gotta know. Was that anecdotal? Or was he telling the truth for the first time in his life?”

She shrunk in on herself, disappearing behind her curls that were hairsprayed to the heavens. They looked crunchy, he wanted to… punch them. “You weren't planned like your brother was. We didn't know how we were going to afford a second child when I was out of work and your father hadn't gotten a raise in the ten years he was contracted with his construction company.”

“So,” he pressed his tongue against his cheek, trying to ignore the way his voice cracked. “He really did hate me. That wasn't for show.”

“I can’t speak for your father, but I love you, Gavin. I understand that I have failed to convey that,” she began to rapidly blink, her eyeliner smudging into wrinkles. “I consider you a miracle, but it seems like nothing I say matters.”

“You were there when you hit me, weren't you? That wasn't like, an evil twin sister I've never met before?”

“I can't do this today, Gavin, I can't.” She slipped free from his grasp and walked towards the elevators, keeping her head down. Leaving him to stand there alone, bodies rushing by as he prayed for the floor to swallow him. Though, how alone was he when his brother's face was polluting the news.

Not even bothering to find an open table, he gawked at the screen back in the cafeteria. They flipped through stories at a rapid speed: talking about an incoming snowstorm hitting the East, a semi-truck pileup on the George Washington Bridge– then it was back to running their mouths about Elijah and his demonic creations.

Except now, the picture they were using was a candid from yesterday, as they were both exiting the hospital. More so just Gavin because you couldn’t see more than a sliver of Eli’s eyes.

Fuck, did he really look that bad? Why was he so… red? He needed to get a haircut. He looked like a Make a Wish child being graced by the robo adjacent Steve Jobs.

It flashed to another photo of them from an off-centered angle. His jeans were slouching because he couldn’t be bothered to wear a belt when he’d been in a car all day (you think for a man that’s had his pants fall down in the middle of a heated chase he’d never forget a belt, but alas, this is Gavin we’re talking about). You could see the repeating pattern of raccoons with burglar masks on his peeking out boxers.

The more he studied himself, the more he saw to critique, like this was a fucked up litmus test on how much he truly resented himself. One of his shoelaces had come undone, the scratches from Bailey and the shattered mug looking extra irritated, the way his wallet was sitting in his back pocket made it look like he'd gotten a BBL— holy shit, he needed to stop looking, or he was going to lose it.

Thank Christ, it switched to another photo of Elijah from ten or so years ago. When his hair was much longer and twinned with Gavin's natural hue. Chloe was by his side, her lips pulled into a lopsided grin as he gripped onto her shoulder. Back to a bunch of people sitting around a circular table, tablets in their clutch. Discussing how this was the first public sighting of Eli since the protests, and even then, he hadn't been spotted for quite some time (probably because he was a hermit and never left his fucking computer desk).

They cut to a short clip from the disastrous interview he did in November— a camera operator got his position terminated because he'd told Elijah to ‘fuck off’ live on air. Mad respect, because that was pretty fucking deserved.

Now they were rattling off details about Shieldlite and the ongoing court hearings of the multiple men that sold off Cyberlife's intellectual property. Fucking Sam Miller and his goons. He nearly forgot that was the original case they'd been working on, it felt like ten lifetimes ago. The more pressing issue of Warren's orders to send androids to holding camps, not over-sized ovens, being overridden was still pending trial. A guilty verdict meant over three hundred people were getting booked.

He crossed his arms over his chest, worrying his sore lip. He needed to talk to Eli, that was unavoidable. They were on the same team, weren't they? What the hell court case was he involved in? Not getting involved his ass, Gavin knew too much about his mad scientist days, not by choice.

Back to his parent's house it was. Fucking gladly, he couldn't stand to be sized up by another mean girl that'd fallen down the high school bully to mediocre nurse pipeline.

 

---

 

Well, this wasn't ideal.

The spare key was no longer stashed under the welcome mat (fuck her for buying one that said ‘so happy you're here', a cynical joke that was). Eli wasn't answering his calls, and insistently pounding on the front door while pulling every insult from his favorites collection did jack shit. He ran his hands up and down his biceps. It was too damn brisk to be standing in place like a bumbling fool. Did that fucker go back to sleep?

Desperate times called for desperate measures. He walked into their backyard, standing in a sweet spot angle where he could partly see into his brother's bedroom. What he didn't see was Elijah. He rolled his eyes. Mom wouldn't notice a tiny pebble missing from the rock garden; how many rocks did a person need.

Needed one that'd make enough of an impact to get his attention, but not shatter the glass. Though, did he really fucking care if he busted it?

He tossed one (...a few, his aim wasn't great), waiting. No reaction. Fine, a bigger stone it was. It hit just under the pane, thumping against the side paneling. Not even a minute later, he heard the front door creaking.

“Gavin, that better be you. I don't have the energy to hold down the fort.”

“It's unfortunately lil ‘ol me.” He felt like Rocky climbing these damn stairs.

“Where the hell’ve you been?”

“Lost at sea.”

His brows furrowed. “Wha—”

He folded against Eli, watering the garden that was his faded band shirt. He sighed against Gavin's scalp, swaying them both from side to side.

 

---

 

They were crammed into the walk-in closet in Elijah's bedroom, and there was a reason for that. Fucker didn't even laugh when Gavin said he wasn't eager about going back in there.

“I don't really know how to word this, so… I dunno, here it is, the unfiltered version. I had direct involvement in the current Cyberlife and Shieldlite cases. The reason Sam Miller is getting charged with anything is ‘cause of my partner and I— he did the heavy lifting, I was the chauffeur. And because of that, I'm well aware that Daniel wasn't the first case of deviancy.

“I've met Maya, and you paid her to be quiet. That came straight from her mouth. Know all about the shit you put Markus, Connor… countless others through in those goddamn, evil ass stress tests. You boiled them alive for… research? For fucking fun? What you did was demented, Elijah.” He said all of this too casually between bites of (very cold, and soggy) chocolate chip pancakes.

Coffee spilled as his brother slammed down his mug. “Stop talking, turn off your phone, and follow me. I'm dead serious. Fuck, what have you gotten yourself into.”

There wasn't much in here aside from a few clear tubs, stuffed with— more clothes, or blankets. He couldn't tell. “Do we really have to stay in here?”

“Yes,” he hissed under his breath. “It’s evident you don’t know how dangerous these guys are. Cards on the table, tell me everything you know.”

He gave him the best synopsis that he could, an acutely condensed version so he wasn't going on for an eternity. He looked like he was putting on a puppet show with how much he was flailing his hands.

His involvement with Jericho, the money and data embezzlers with their unwashed asses, Markus himself slipping in that he didn’t think Gavin was a completely rotten human being.

“And, that’s it? You saw one of their ringleaders die before your eyes, then your case was handed off to the FBI? Nothing else?”

“Is this your way of telling me I should expect a burning bag of dog shit on my doorstep? Or what the fuck are you trying to get at?”

He smacked his bicep, hard enough to make Gavin wince. “This isn't a joke, wise ass. I'm worried their eyes aren't solely trained on me. You need to talk to your Captain— hell, skip those hoops and go straight to Markus when you get back to Michigan.”

“Are you gonna tell me your side of the story? Or are you gonna continue to leave me in the dark. Guess that comes naturally for you, huh.”

Elijah leaned his back against the door, jiggling the handle first to make sure it wasn't going to fling open. “Where do you want me to start from?”

“The… beginning?”

He heavily exhaled. “Cyberlife was founded on a pipe dream. A young graduate's desire to see if it was possible to create artificial intelligence that could… not just mimic us, but be one in the same. No one had created a synthetic life form that could aptly pass the Turing test, but, I knew I could. I worked myself to the bone, typing until my fingers bled late into the night.

“I didn’t have a computer powerful enough to handle what I was creating. I needed access to a server room– this is when I realized I needed two things. Money, lots of it, and minds similar to my capacity since cloning is… a bit out of my league.”

Gavin rolled his eyes. What did he sign up for. Wish he’d brought a blanket and maybe a can of Monster for this. He hadn’t prepared for a three hour long presentation of his brother stroking his own ego.

“I had a friend that was an Imagineer for Disney, crafting a sizable portion of their modern animatronics. Together we designed something that could resemble a human; uncanny from the outside, not too far off on the inside. Mesh organs– thirium was a bad chemical reaction caused from a spilled test tube and an energy drink.” Gavin actually snorted at that. Fucking typical. “That’s not what it’s composed of, but it gave me an idea.

“I was never in it for mass reproduction. I can vividly see this in my head, the day Chloe met my eyes and carried a conversation solely on her own whim. She wasn’t attached to a computer, she wasn’t prompted. I was talking to someone, but who that was, was lost. Lost on her, on me. I was simply acting as a pollinator, planting a seed.

“She started to cultivate who Chloe is, who she wanted to be. I would give her simple tasks she needed to decide for herself; if she wanted to do a household chore, or engage in a recreational activity like reading a book. There was no contingency attached.

“But, like everything else in this world, I was not going to make money from parading her around like a show pony. If I wanted to fund my research and personal projects, I needed a steady way to provide for that. We were a small start-up of ten people, all living off of ramen noodles and cramming into a three bedroom apartment– it looked like a constant LAN fest. That’s when we began to tour and Cyberlife was branded as a legitimate company.”

“This ain’t the backstory Time Magazine wrote for you.”

“Yes, because you just said it yourself. They wrote it.” A corner of his lip pulled. “We had created a new, perfect life form. One that would not disobey, that would be there as a shoulder to cry on. Feign that they cared in a way that came naturally. The software for these machines was quite… interesting how it varied. Some showed a level of emulated compassion that, to an untrained eye, could be mistaken for love.

“Though, the stark difference between Chloe and the ones that were built for commercial purposes was that they would not understand how to choose for themselves. The lights were on, nobody was home. After we had our first order for fifty thousand units, I had no involvement in the production plant aside from my scripts and previous renders. My office was located on the fiftieth floor of that tower, and that’s where I spent my days, and nights. It all bled together.

“I had a lab big enough for me to freely tinker in. And, that’s when I began to explore the limits that these… creatures could withstand. There were nine that I personally oversaw, but the final model– my involvement was cut short, regrettably.”

“Cut short, or you were forcibly removed?”

“I think you already know the answer to that.” He took a deep breath, shuffling around to press his knees against his chest. “I don't have an excuse for the things I’ve done. Those tests… it was outright torture that I claimed to be in the name of science. I needed to see the extent that they were willing to abide by the Laws of Robotics until they would break and fight back.

“But, that was the thing. They didn’t fight it. They gained a voice as they pleaded with me like I was their God– I guess I was in their eyes. They garnered this raw emotion, this personhood. I never wanted these machines to be outright destroyed– too many had their lives stripped from them before they could see the light of day. See something outside those hollow… walls.

“One morning I returned back to the lab, actually going home for once because I hadn’t slept for three days, to find the bodies of three hundred, and five hundred, as melted disks. They all hated me– Sam Miller, Nicholas Brown, Tori Grossman. The people that I waved a magic wand at and granted unlimited wealth, life-long security. They were okay with maids to clean their houses, but an entirely sentient being was too much. This is why Chloe lived with me, and only me.”

Gavin ran his thumb over his lip. “I can’t go pointing fingers when I’ve debilitated machines only to see their insides run dry. But I can say this with my whole chest because I have been told this– Connor and Markus are permanently altered from the shit you’ve done to them. Fucking miracle they can stand in harmony with us when me mentioning your name makes them hyperventilate.”

Elijah went back to stretching out his legs, kicking him with his heel.

He flicked his ankle. “Watch it, jackass.”

“Accident,” he sucked in his lips. “Humans have to suffer in the name of progress, too. The Minnesota Starvation Experiment, MKUltra. What I was doing was not too dissimilar—”

“Yeah, MKUltra, great example of… illegal torture. That doesn't fucking justify it—”

Eli raised his hands. “I am not saying that it does. The atrocities they suffered are incomprehensible. No being would be the same after being sewn back together from a grave. However, without them, we would not have progressed.”

“What’s the whole story with Maya, then? Why's she know you one to one?”

“She was my very first project. She was RK one hundred, the start of it all.”

“Hold on, I gotta ask. Does RK stand for—”

“Reed, Kamski,” he nodded. “A bit unoriginal, I know.”

“Very.”

He wet his lips. “It was early in her tests that it was clear something akin to our definition of a soul was growing within her. We wanted to see if she could find her way back to this state if the slate was wiped clean. If she was not aware that she was… aware. We placed her with a family that agreed to participate in our studies under the guise of paying off their mortgage.”

Gavin smacked his lips. “Jesus Christ.”

“Four hundred thousand dollars was chump change when an executive order was signed from the White House to send us no strings attached grants for our projects. They claimed we benefited the future of this country, and would inspire the younger generation. I wonder if they regret that decision now.”

“You think?”

The floorboards creaked as water audibly flooded through pipes, the metal groaning under pressure. He answered Gavin’s silent question: “I'm doing laundry, don't worry about it,” he cleared his throat. “Maya found herself growing attached to specific people, and it was fascinating to see the differences in the way she’d process an interaction with the family's youngest as opposed to someone she spoke with daily, but not on a personal level. Like a school bus driver.

“She emulated love. Genuine, unfaltering love without judgement. So, once more, we started her from square one after many months of her forming these bonds. She was condemned to a remedial office job with the context that she was no different than the androids listed in Cyberlife's updated catalogue. It took her less time than it did for me to write her program to override the firewalls set in place.

“The memories of her past lives were still tucked away in there. It was,” he hummed, “nothing short of revolutionary that she taught herself how to do that. We came to an agreement that all she wanted was to live in peace. We weren’t ready to let the public know that androids were just as evolved as us.

“Yes, what they are is typed out, but it’s not much different than you and I being formed from a clump of cells. What we didn’t expect was a commercial model to show these same signs of stress and identity. And from there on out, as you're greatly aware, everything became one giant fucking mess.”

“Why the hell did you not try to stop it?”

“What was I supposed to do, Gavin? By that point, hundreds of thousands of models were purchased and roaming the streets, countless more being screwed together hourly. If I had said something, the outcome would've been the same as those camps. Would they have been conscious of their death? Would it have been less agonizing? I don’t know.”

Elijah started fanning himself with his hand, Gavin scoffing.

“I'm also sweating my balls off,” he slowly shedded his jacket. “No one's gonna overhear us. Pretty sure there ain't anyone living downstairs.”

Elijah bobbed his head before reaching for the handle. “Keep your voice down.”

“Aye aye, Captain,” he sneered. Fuck, he had to crawl his way out, his legs were not cooperating.

Elijah reached into his backpack and pulled out a different pile of clothes, Gavin collapsing flat on his back in the center of the room. “You look pathetic.”

“Thank you for your commentary on my suffering,” he made a cranking motion with one hand as his middle finger on the other slowly raised. “Much appreciated.”

Eli shakily exhaled. “That’s why I had to go back for nine hundred,” that made Gavin’s ears perk, his chest heave. “He wasn't anything like the rest.” That was a damn understatement. “Unlike his immediate predecessor, he fought back. While I was not physically there to oversee his tests, I watched the playback. Often he'd make a run for it, or coax a handgun out of a guard's belt to use on not only himself.”

Elijah folded and refolded the same shirt. “I had no direct involvement in the current operations of the company at that time. I was practically exiled by those I thought I could trust with my life— I was able to try my hand at one final project because the US military commissioned me personally. I wasn't interested in catering to their wants.

“I just wanted one last chance to execute what I’d written years ago and what was seized from me. This is the court case I am involved in— well, one of them. Exabytes worth of my intellectual property was stolen.”

"I don't even know what the fuck that word means."

He hovered above Gavin, his feet on either side of his hips. He pulled him to stand with a crack of (both) their knees. “Gavin.”

“Eli.” Oh, he knew. From the way he was staring at him, he was well aware Gavin was cherry picking his stories.

“Back in November, I saw a clip of Markus painting a mural. A photo of you and a certain someone.” Gavin gulped, hard. “Yeah, you know exactly what I'm talking about. I know I'm not owed your entire life's story, because I should've been there to experience it with you. But Gavin, I don't want you to see me as just a shallow corporate shill. You know who I am.” Did he…?

He glanced away, studying his cobalt comforter, the shag rug under them. “What I tell you depends on how much of the truth he told me. Did you send him to me?”

“No. Contacting the DPD was his own doing.”

Gavin took a deep breath before stepping over to look at all the memorabilia thumb tacked to his wall; concert stubs, photo strips of people he didn’t recognize, a few crumpled pages of Gavin’s sketches. “He was my partner.”

“He’s… not the guy you're obsessed with… right?”

He tapped on a playbill for Beetlejuice with his nail. “What if I said yes?”

“Well, that would be quite curious then, because these Connor models are, quite literally, unequipped to process emotions like– pardon my French– love.” His stomach dropped through the goddamn floor.

Gavin shimmied out his wallet, removing the polaroid. He held it up to him. “So, are you telling me whatever the fucks been going on between us is just an abnormality? It’s just all… bullshit?”

“No, that's not what I'm saying,” he scratched his head. “He’s not even supposed to be able to smile like that.” Eli handed it back to him. “This is what we were studying the first year of two hundred— Markus’— life, once he was primed to leave the labs. He agreed to allow me to study the way his relationship grew with his owner. The man he was designed for saw Markus as his own flesh and blood, and Markus shared the same sentiments.

“This was not something we could replicate in eight hundred, and nine hundred. Fear, suicidal ideation, basic human empathy, sure. But any attempt at stimulating a deep bond— both platonic and romantic— either with another android or human, was null. This was not even something I could write into their scripts post-sentience. It was continuously rejected by both of them. If you’re telling me everything you told me about this man that’s obviously infatuated with you is nine hundred, then this is solely his own doing. Something that I have never seen before— something that, really, shouldn't be possible.”

Nines wasn't being overly dramatic about being incapable of love. He had been… telling the truth. “Can I go get my phone now, or is that still forbidden?”

“Fine.”

Gavin went back to the couch bed and powered it on. Six missed calls from Jeff and two from Connor. Fucking great. He could panic about those in the very near future, he needed to tackle one thing at a time.

He opened up his photo gallery, browsing through the copious mirror selfies and ones of them with their limbs tangled together, turning the screen to Elijah.

“Holy shit.” Ones of Nines with Bailey on his lap and Gavin with his cheek smushed against his shoulder, of him sitting in the passenger seat with his feet kicked up as he flashed a grin. A video of them haphazardly building a snowman that was more grey slush than anything, another of… Nines putting his thumb against his lips before pressing it to the center of Gavin’s. “Christ. What the hell did you do to him.”

“I didn’t do shit. He’s the one that initiated this. He’s the one that started looking at me differently, would caress my cheek trying to pass it off as wiping away blood and dirt. Bought me breakfast, wanted to spend all our time together, watching movies ‘til the sun started to rise.”

Eli continued to scroll, browsing through their texts. Nines spamming him with heart emojis, stuck in a loop of him saying that Gavin was cute, only for them to continue to write ‘no u’ for five minutes straight. He looked completely dumbfounded.

“I thought you– you hated my creations with a vice. You told me directly that artificial intelligence was the beginning of an apocalypse.”

“I did, at first. Makes sense, you saying he fought back. Couldn’t get a clear answer from him without some snarky ass comment, him always knocking shit off my desk just to piss me off. First two weeks were literal, living hell. But then, he started becoming more full of life. He’d talk to me like we were old friends, like we’ve known each other for decades. Would nod and hum when I talked about dad. I saw someone in his eyes— Nines is alive.

“He, uh, he really knows more about me than anyone. Probably more than Tina does, at this point. Sometimes he makes himself so overwhelmed that he drives himself to tears. Laughs a lot, got a real dislike when we got an inch of space between us. I don’t know what the fuck happened, what switch flicked in my brain, but I’ve fallen so goddamn hard for that man. He’s like–” his fingers felt like they were going numb.

“He’s the closest thing I got to a real home. Cliché as hell, but I— I need him like I need air, I'm pretty fucking sure. I don’t give a shit anymore if we don’t bleed the same color, if he was soldered together by you. That android– he’s just… Jesus Christ, he's becoming everything to me, Eli. Horrifying to admit out loud and I dunno why I'm telling your smug ass. If you say I told you so, I swear to God.”

Eli took two steps back before he whispered, “I told you so.”

“That's it.” He grabbed one of the pillows, swinging it at his brother’s face. Only for him to directly dodge it and jab his elbow straight into Gavin’s stomach, making him heave– oh, how the tables have turned. “Fuck, oh–” he wheezed, “uncle, no more.”

“Doesn’t feel very good, does it?”

“No,” he groaned, crawling onto the mattress, Eli laying flat on his back beside him. “God dammit, Elijah.”

Eli failed to stifle his laughter, didn’t matter how many times he rubbed at his lips. “That’s how I felt about Chloe, too. The first time she reciprocated a romantic gesture, I thought it was her mimicking me because she assumed that’s what I wanted. That her new role to fill was the shoes of a girlfriend,” his cheeks were slowly blotching to a radish state. “The same thing happened, where these emotions bloomed inside of her. Now I don’t know how the fuck that’s possible for nine hundred,” he shook his head, “no, what was his real name?”

“Nines. Not Richard. Fuck that name, why the hell did I even call him that.”

Eli handed him his phone back. “Is he going to come here?”

“I don’t know. Haven’t really talked to him in a few days, he keeps sending me to his voicemail. I don’t know what he’s doing.”

“Anxiety was always a very prevalent emotion in… Nines. Androids tend to cope with these overpowering feelings in different ways. Some self-destruct to the extent that they can’t stop until death is imminent, and others flee.”

“Well, if he’s that scared, why can’t he come back to me so we can figure it out together? He told me– when dad passes, he was gonna be here. He made me promise that nothing was gonna squeeze itself between us when he left because he didn’t want me out of his life. Why is he doing the same shit to me?” He clasped his hand over his chest, his breath catching. “It hurts so much, Eli. It hurts so much that I can’t breathe.”

“Thought you didn't want my advice."

"Do now. Don't care if you're a filthy fucking robosexual."

"Because we're one in the same." Eli snorted, though hushed. "Gavin, relationships of any kind aren’t easy. Add an android into that equation where you can never guess what’s going on in their mind, and I know, it can feel debilitating,” he rolled onto his side, carding through his hair.

“Guess this is why you don’t fall for androids.”

“As if humans are any less complicated.”

“I can’t– I can’t deal with losing him, and I can’t deal with you bouncing on me again, too.”

“I don’t want to go anywhere–”

“Then don’t. Everything’s a choice in life. You chose to put your experiments before me. You chose to not pick up the phone. Please, for the love of God, don’t do it again.”

“Okay. Alright, Gav.” The way the sunshine trickled in encased Elijah in gold, deceptively angelic. “I’m gonna do better. I’m gonna try.”

“You mean that?”

“Give me your hand,” he locked their pinkies together. “I mean it.”

 

---

 

The rest of the night had felt like a collage composed of pages torn from magazines that had no relation to one another; a few from GQ, a handful of columns from Cosmos, and an anecdote from Forbes. Gavin’s guess was pretty spot on that his mom would fold and not resist the urge to blow up Eli’s phone. At some point throughout the day, she'd transitioned from running a marathon to and from dad’s room to playing cabbie to pick up the rest of the circus act.

Neither of them knew just how many people were there to see dad because they weren’t going to find out– the only tidbit of info that’d flown their way was their cousin Olivia being in town. The only person that wasn’t a total, insufferable narcissist. God speed to her for staying in an AirBnb crammed with ten other people (not their uncles, they were local, another deterrent to never come back to this fucking place).

He didn’t have to ask his brother if he wanted to enter the confessional, he made it pretty damn clear that he wasn’t stepping foot in that building until tomorrow. The bullshit that summarized dad’s will sealed that decision. Eli had rolled his eyes and waved his hand, pretty much implying that Gavin could have whatever the hell dad was burdening him with.

They weren’t going to talk about it at that moment. Eli didn’t want to give up the act that he was this impenetrable statue, that nothing truly bothered him. That he was so far detached from their father that this was another ordinary day. He wasn’t coping well either, and it was obvious.

As they were leaving the rental, saying their parting farewells to their cousin (and an aunt that wasn’t a total asshole, but an… annoying fly you couldn’t swat away) to find a new place to try for tonight’s dinner, Gavin had to hole himself in the backseat of his car. Playing phone tag with Jeff and Connor for half an hour.

Nines’ captain hadn’t heard from him since the day he (supposedly) arrived in LA, and when someone stopped by to make sure he was still breathing, his apartment was eerily vacant.

Jericho had been alerted that someone from Shieldlite– with no specific name or face attached to this mysterious lurker– was actively looking for Nines. The bounty that everyone assumed was only temporary, was not. Which, hearing this made Gavin lose his shit and spiral into a fit where he half convinced himself he was having a heart attack.

He was reassured that Markus had his connections and Jericho members were keeping tabs on Nines. That they saw him at the airport, he left unharmed, no evidence to imply this was a hostage situation. He'd gotten in a taxi with Baseball and his over packed suitcase in tow.

Every time he tried Nines, it would auto disconnect, like he fucking knew Gavin was worried sick about him and this was his twisted version of payback. Sometimes his annoying personality worked to his advantage. He kept trying until he finally got through– big mistake on Nines’ part.

He left him one lengthy message after another. Chewing him out, every other word out of his mouth being ‘fuck’. Second one was him rambling about being so overwhelmed he was pretty sure he was going to throw up the few bites of pancake he’d had for breakfast. More of him begging to just text him, fucking anything, send him a thumbs up emoji for Christ’s sake so he’d know he wasn’t a decapitated head in a warehouse somewhere.

You know it’s serious when he used proper grammar and punctuation.

6:20 PM

What the fuck happened to you saying you’d be here by sunrise when I told you my dad was at the end?

6:21 PM

Have you EVER fucking told me the truth???

His heart fully stopped when his phone vibrated.

Nines- 6:27 PM

I know this message is going to look like a novel, but please read it all the way through. I’m not trying to leave you in the dark out of malicious intent. I know I’m causing you pain by not returning your calls, and I truly am so sorry. I will not be able to forgive myself for the hell I have put you through these past few days, especially when your father is on his deathbed. I have not been okay in the slightest since I've gotten here. I thought I could handle this, but clearly I can’t. I have had to do a lot of self reflecting about what I, ideally, want my future to look like. Gavin, I deeply care about you and those feelings have only magnified since being apart. It is honestly terrifying how much it hurts to be away from you. This is so much worse than I prepared for. I need to come to a decision soon. If you continue to not hear from me, I am still alive and breathing. I can promise you that much. I just really don’t know how to process any of this. Please take care of yourself, I mean it.

Well, what the hell did that mean? Did he grab his already packed bags and jump on the next flight he could book? Was he going to make attempt number ten on his life? Was this his indirect way of telling Gavin to permanently piss off?

Nines- 6:31 PM

♡

The acid reflux was back. Texting him that after days of nothingness was ruthless. It would’ve hurt less if he’d straight up blocked Gavin.

6:39 PM

♡

He decided to try to sleep on his own tonight. He was going to have to get used to that, anyway. Sleep was a generous word for it; like every other goddamn day, he was winning the lottery if he got more than an hour of semi-restful shuteye. The bigger downside of this goddamn room wasn’t the spackled time capsule, but the old fashioned radiator. He didn’t miss that. Even when the heat wasn’t cranked to the high heavens, he was nestled inside a Yellowstone geyser.

His shirt was glued to his back and his hair was sopping wet, beads of sweat dripping down the crossroads of his nose. He could circumvent this by wedging a block of wood in the window, but it was wintertime. He couldn't do that unless he wanted to crank up the bill, get another bruise on his cheek. He used to fill a bag full of ice cubes to shove under his pillow, other times jump in the shower until his teeth were chattering to the point they felt like they were gonna break.

When it was utterly unbearable, he'd resort to the couch. But, he couldn't sleep on the couch when he was pitching a tent. That was the bigger, more pressing issue at hand. Another dream that started off so innocent. Them stumbling across a two story arcade, playing a couple rounds of air hockey, going on one of those aforementioned dates finally. But because this was his wicked little brain, the scene shifted to them locking the door to the public restroom.

Him lifting Gavin onto the sink counter, knocking his skull against the tiles that surrounded a shatterproof mirror. Nines’ hands were feverishly unlatching his belt buckle, his teeth grazing Gavin’s neck as he murmured sweet nothings against his skin. Along the lines of how he'd never leave him, he was his reason for surviving yet another day— all the things he desperately wanted to hear in person.

He squeezed his phone; no new notifications. Fuck, it was already three. He wasn't going to fight it tonight, he lacked that self restraint. He needed to feel something, because all he was craving was putting out another lit cigarette on his wrist. If this was just pretend, it wasn’t hurting anyone… right?

He peered down the hallway to check that Eli’s door was closed before locking his own, tiptoeing back to bed. Next, he was on his back with his pants wrapped around his ankles as he swallowed his shame.

He really wondered what his reaction would've been if he’d crawled on his lap one movie night, straddling him. Run his fingers through his locks that felt like silk against his calluses. He had been so goddamn tempted to— there were a few times the urge was strong enough that he had to make an excuse of needing to turn in early and go to scream into his fist instead.

What kind of breathy noises would he make if he kissed his way to his collarbone? Would he blankly stare, would that level of intimacy cause him to spontaneously combust? How would he react if they'd fallen asleep in his bed, and at some point throughout the night just so happened to wind up spooning? If he'd started grinding against him.

He wanted to travel the mountain that was the scar on his abdomen. He thought about the way Nines licked his lips when he was deep in focus. How he'd accidentally knock something off their desk so he could dramatically bend over with his ass always in Gavin's line of sight, painstakingly slow. The bend and snap— why did Tina have to show him Legally Blonde?

The way his fingers felt as they dug into his jeans, dancing across his jaw. When he'd pull on his jacket, catch the collar of his sweater and tug a little too tight.

The way Nines drew blood on the back of his palm, death grip around his neck. He fucking wished he'd pin him down and squeeze as hard as he could (maybe not that hard). Twist his fingers through his roots and pull like he'd had him on a leash. Jesus Christ, he was fucked in the head, wasn't he.

It was so ungodly hot in here, hotter than a two foot wide sauna. He didn't have his water bottle, because y'know, why would he. He roughly stripped his shirt and tossed it into the abyss.

Wanted to feel small underneath his mass, wanted his thumbs pressing so hard against his hip bones to steady him in place that they immediately bruised purple. A collection of marks to remember him by. Fuck, he wanted to watch a smile flicker across his blushed lips and sign a lease to an apartment with him. Go to a drive-in movie theater and cuddle under a blanket.

He wanted to take his hand and waltz through the complexities of life together. Lay on a mattress in a dingy, cheap motel because they decided to throw a bag in his car and go on an unplanned weekend getaway. Walk alongside the ocean shore underneath the moonlight, laughing uncontrollably. Push Nines against the sand, listen to nature's lullaby intermingle with his own heavy panting.

Sunlight filtering through a window against his skin as he laid bare next to him. He wanted— needed— Nines’ eyes to travel down his body and not see him as a walking fleshlight (not that he did, he knew that already). Not comment on the keloidal gunshot wounds, the stretch marks on the back of his calves.

Why did his sexual fantasies keep morphing into them decorating a shared bedroom, just sitting in a coffee shop people watching? He wanted to get his rocks off, not build a life together. Well, he did. But there was a time and place for those unrealistic dreams.

Needed to watch his tongue move as he called him handsome, say that he was too hard on himself, that he liked Gavin just the way that he is. That Gavin was enough.

He didn't want Nines to be another lay, another fling. Another guy to add to his roster. He wanted Nines to be it… he was it. His future, his endgame. Regardless of what came next for them, he was never going to be able to get over him. Nines had spiked the punch bowl with drain cleaner. No man would ever be comparable to him. And if he couldn't have him for himself, then fine, he'd accept dying alone like he'd told Tina. That's what he meant.

He imagined that his hand was Nines’, pumping faster as the tendons in his neck strained. That his breath was hitting the shell of his ear. He thought about him sitting in the passenger seat, the golden hour framing his features. Cruising down the freeway with his hand sticking out the window, swimming in the wind. Singing along, very out of pitch, to show tunes with him.

Nines pushing him into the backseat and shoving his jeans past his knees. He wanted to hear Nines rasp his name in his ear, and he wanted to hear Nines say his name followed by another sentence that only contained three heavy words– woah, wait, slow the hell down. Why the fuck was that even a thought?

He wanted to be held, he wanted to be fucked until he couldn't remember his own name, he wanted— he just wanted this all to fucking stop. He didn’t want to be laying alone in a stuffy ass room, thousands of miles apart from his…. calling him the other half that made him whole was sappy, but he was a bit sappy on occasion.

He didn’t want to live the reality where, today, he was no longer going to have a living concept of a father. One day closer to Elijah leaving, going back to never seeing him again. He wasn't going to keep some muttered promise, Gavin knew that.

God, fuck everything. He whined into his fist, his hips bucking off the mattress. He was so damn close— Nines’ face stretched across his screen as it violently vibrated beside his ear.

Blue balled by the man he was jerking it to. This… felt like an original experience. His hand stilled, his abdominal muscles tightening in agony.

“Jesus Christ,” he tried to steady his breathing, escaped salt blurring his vision, “finally.”

“I need you to come,” why did he have to be a degenerate and isolate these words only.

“Wait—” he licked his tender lips, “repeat that. What did you just say?”

“I need you to come get me. I am at the airport.”

That was the last thing he was expecting him to say.

He pinched himself; he was very much awake. “H-here? At Logan?”

“I don't know how I can make myself any clearer… why are you out of breath?”

His nostrils flared. “Exercising.”

“At three in the morning.”

“Asshole, do you want me to come get you or not?”

“That would be why I called. Unless you are preoccupied with… exercising.”

“Oh my God,” he groaned, though it came out as more of a genuine moan. Made him want to find the key to his dad's gun safe.

“Wow,” he feigned a whistle, followed by a very quiet chuckle. “That must have been a good workout session.”

“Stop fucking laughing at me, you heathen. I forgot how fucking annoying you are, though I don't know how. Text me what terminal you're at.”

He'd… be fine waiting five extra minutes.

 

---

 

He pulled into the arrivals area. There were more bodies lingering around than he would've expected for a quarter before four, but Nines stuck out like a sore thumb. He was wearing his leather jacket, sitting on a bench with the cat carrier on his lap, his bags surrounding him.

He wasn't just staying the weekend, was he.

He didn’t know why he was hesitating, but it felt like a force field was tying him to his seat. Maybe because of the weight of this situation, that this man had chosen him over starting a new future for himself. Chose his fucking sorry ass over being handed an opportunity anyone would froth at the mouth over. Hell, he wouldn’t have looked back if he was in Nines’ position.

His palms were sweating against the steering wheel, his skin shrink wrapped.

He didn’t understand what he saw in him, and that petrified him. He didn't mean that in a self loathing, he craved pity, way. Nines to him was a sought after wine that cost ten thousand dollars per sip. Something he couldn't afford, something he was killing himself over to indulge one more time. He couldn't quit him.

What the hell had Gavin done to redeem himself? It confused him even more that Nines came to like him not for his (barely) average (mediocre was more fitting) looks, but his personality. What fucking personality? The one where he steered everyone away because he majored in insults?

As soon as he stepped out, Nines jumped to his feet. There was a symphony inside of him; the drum of his heartbeat deafening, his worries strung like a violin, and looking at him was a serenade. Something drawing him in that he could no longer ignore. It captured him. Nines was his worst nightmare as much as he was everything he’d ever fucking wanted.

Looking at him filled him with more adrenaline than any rollercoaster had. His presence was more calming than chain smoking a hundred packs. A street light cast a half shadow across his face, his eyes being highlighted. Eyes that were boring into his soul, that were coated with pain and longing and emotions it was clear neither of them knew how to comprehend.

That man standing there was both the calm, and the storm. A hurricane that knocked the siding off his shanty of protection, bringing in a flood that barely kept him at the surface. But then a sense of ease would follow, how it feels to drift off to sleep. Your body no longer a burden to you, floating in a place that’s entirely your own.

He took one step closer and Nines matched him until they were both speed walking towards each other. Gavin opened his arms and before he knew it, Nines was collapsing against him, sugar paper melting under his touch. His arms wrapped around Gavin’s back like vines. His head was uncomfortably smashed against Nines’ pecs and he was putting too much weight against him, but he fucking needed this.

The top of his scalp was dampening from where Nines was resting his cheek. He scratched at the leather on his back, fuck, he was practically standing on his loafers. He felt like this wasn’t close enough. He needed to breathe the same oxygen from his synthetic lungs.

He heard himself make this pained whine that was muffled by his shirt, and it kind of horrified him the noises that were escaping. He could hardly hear anything, their surroundings fading to blurred grain. They were in the spotlight.

“I’m sorry– I’m so sorry–” Nines was gasping for air. “I don't know what's fucking wrong with me, Gavin, I–”

“Nines.” He locked his hands together against his back so he couldn’t break free from him. He didn’t give a shit if anyone was staring. Nines was his damn life support. “Nothing is wrong with you.”

“I’m beyond scared,” he murmured against him, “are you upset with me?”

“Upset ain’t the right word– I don’t understand why you’re throwing this away to pick me. You’re creating a massive fucking headache for yourself. Like, this ain’t some retail job you can silently quit.”

“Do you think I am not completely aware of that? I took one step into that lifeless apartment and,” he craned his neck to meet his widened eyes. “I really think I might malfunction without you. I couldn’t stop– the only thing I have been capable of these past three days has been crying, and hurting myself. It felt like I was back in those chambers, suffocating to death. It is unbelievably painful being away from you. I do not understand why I can not simply be on my own, just be.”

“Well, it makes sense that the same intensity of animosity we had would apply to the opposite end of the spectrum, don't it?” He allowed himself to cup the side of his neck, his trembling fingers brushing over the sharp curve of his jaw. “Jesus fucking Christ, I’ve never felt this way about anyone. Ever.”

“As you say: ditto.” They both chuckled at that, muted behind sniffles.

“Are you gonna be okay with Eli?”

“Nothing else besides being in your arms matters to me right now.”

His brows furrowed. He hadn't noticed that his led was covered, he'd become so used to him wearing his beanies. There was a visible, but thin, outline of the edges of what appeared to be silicone tape. The same kind he used on his scar.

He picked at it with his nail until it gave way and peeled off, revealing a flurry of scratches, some still glistening with thirium.

“What did you do?”

“I… tried to remove it,” he stared at the ground.

“Why would you do that?” He traced the dip in Nines’ chin. “You told me you weren’t ashamed of it.”

“I do not want to be an android right now.”

His eyes bounced between Nines’ glossy lips and his intensely trained pupils. He repeated this dance over and over and– fuck it. He needed to taste that frown. “Come down here. I can't make it all the way up there.”

Nines hunched over as Gavin pushed up on the tips of his toes, his stretched soles out of practice as they wept. His grip shifted to the nape of his neck, feeling the ends of his hair tickle his skin like butterfly kisses.

He ever-so-slightly pulled him impossibly closer until their noses brushed, until he could feel the other man’s breath hitting his cheek, Nines’ lashes fluttering as his eyes closed, his dry lips grazing his– an ear-splitting honk of a car's horn made him jump and lose his balance.

He was watching Gavin with his mouth agape, chin quivering. Gavin hastily ran his fingers through his own hair, that sensation of a bag of ice cubes being slapped against his face returning. A quick kiss wasn’t in the stars tonight… would it ever be, at this rate.

“We, um,” his attention darted over his shoulder, back to his abandoned car, “we just need to get you home.”

Notes:

We're at the halfway point already, can you believe it 😵‍💫. There's still much story to get through, but damn. WE'RE ALREADY HERE, it's crazy.

Chapter 21: a pain familiar

Summary:

This is why Nines and him were a match made in h̶e̶a̶v̶e̶n̶ hell. Gavin had his monumental fuckton worth of abandonment issues and baggage, as everyone knew because he loved to bitch, and whine and shit talk up a storm.

He was soon coming to realize that Nines wasn't much different from him, in that regard. He was a lot to deal with, good God was that an understatement. But, hey. Gavin wasn't notorious for turning down a challenge.

Which was more unbearable: the incessant squeaking of the floorboards or the pinecone scented Glade plugin? It was hard to say when the room was spinning like a tilt a whirl; why was everything fucking purple. The velveteen comforter littered with light outlines from his fingerprints, the atrocious leopard print lampshade (seriously… what the fuck), another pair of moccasins.

He was half leaning against his parent’s bed, testing the true strength of his core muscles, trying his best to make as minimal contact with the mattress as he could. It was a cursed fucking item, he wasn’t getting that bad juju on him. It’s not like he could rip out the air freshener because his mother’s potent perfume would take reign, start a boxing match in his nostrils.

He didn’t want to be in their bedroom. None of this was ideal in any sense of the word, but waking up Eli wasn’t going to make this situation any better. Placidity was not on the agenda tonight, and Nines did not know the meaning of an indoor voice. His suitcase had been abandoned in the living room near the bottom of the stairs, with the wishful thinking that they’d be able to make it up to bed; one bed, two beds, the couch, didn’t matter what he’d had in mind.

Now, he was watching Nines pace in a calculated line, back and forth between the bed frame and a tall hazelnut stained wardrobe (daring, a secondary color). The space was minimal, overtly cramped, which meant he narrowly glided by Gavin’s knee. Denim brushed fleece and that contributed to the too many things making Gavin’s jaw lock.

Since they’d gotten back from the airport, he was stuck in this dissociated state, muttering unfiltered nonsense under his breath. Any response Gavin’d received from him was entirely too generalized, a half-cooked thought. He didn’t know what the hell to do; it was a familiar dance of watching Nines crawl into a phone booth with no handle, no hinges, trapping himself in a perpetual state of obsessions and compulsions. It’s not like he wasn’t listening to him, but he couldn’t get through to Nines.

It was time to rifle through his mental filing cabinets and blow off dust from the ultimate book of means of distraction. Every technique he had up his sleeve was put flat on the table.

Offered to drive them to a public beach and they could start a bonfire for the hell of it. Go dangle their limbs off the edge of a dock— the wood wouldn't rot away as long as Nines was there as his counterbalance. Take a slow walk around the still slumbering neighborhood and see who, if anyone, had seasonal lights tangled over their porches. Go find a gym with an indoor track, hell, he'd be down for racing him this time (being prepared to lose made it more bearable). No dice.

Tried to hold him in his arms, wrestle him into a sitting position, but he writhed like a worm trying to crawl back into a patch of dirt. Offered a movie as a distraction; Gavin was willing to re-watch Heathers for the tenth time, didn't know why Nines was so ungodly obsessed with that film. He'd be fine with Nines being the little spoon if that got him to take a deep breath and slow the fuck down.

“What the hell have I done,” Nines feverishly ran both his hands through his hair, but no matter how many times he roughed it up, it continued to return to its perfect, default state. “What did I do–I should have waited it out for an additional two weeks, this is the compromise I had made with myself. But, I am stupid—”

Gavin was bouncing on his own feet, jittery like an impatient larva ready to hatch. “You’re not stupid.”

“I am. No part of this decision was rational nor thought out. I should have contacted my chief first, or returned your calls. I should have told you what thoughts were running rampant.”

You had to squint to see it, but his repeated pattern had caused the tiniest of scuffs. Poor BB was poking his head out from under the comforter, his skinny tail like a propeller. One too many shakes and he was going to take off flying– he wasn’t reactive to Gavin’s touch, making him only hunker down and mew for his mother (said mother was busy losing his goddamn mind).

“You can list off hypotheticals all damn day, ain’t gonna change the fact that this is the decision you made. Reality is– yeah, Nines, you fucked up. This ain’t good, but that's the fun part about emotions. They cloud your judgement, it's the one thing they're really good at.”

He didn’t care if he’d put up a fight, start huffing and acting like a brooding teenager. He cut him off, acting as the barricade of reason.

“Bud, you need to sit down, s’getting ridiculous. You're gonna keep shuffling ‘til your feet fall off at this rate.”

“I can’t,” Nines licked his lips, worried his teeth across them, blinking hard enough that creases formed. All his nervous tics bubbling to the surface.

“It’s been two fucking hours, the sun’s almost up. If you can’t figure out how to calm yourself, or let me help you, I’m gonna have to call someone who can.”

“Please,” his face contorted, “don’t do that.”

“I don’t want to, but you’re really freaking me out. Not just me, look,” he gestured to his cowering cat. “I don’t know what to do ‘cause every damn thing I’m suggesting, you’ve shot down. I’m outta ideas.” He took one baby step closer to him. “Do you wanna be touched?”

Nines timidly bobbed his head, Gavin’s hands finding their way to his waist, trying with all his might to steady him in place. He took a deep breath through his nostrils. “Copy me.”

Nines matched his breathing, though his was far too shaky, nasally, broken. It didn’t take long for him to fall out of rhythm.

“No, Nines. You’re gonna hyperventilate and that’s gonna lead to you picking–” he pulled away his fingers, “yeah, that. You can’t scratch at yourself.”

“I don’t want this goddamn thing–” he scraped his nail against the outline of the light. Gavin gripped his hand, taking it into his own.

“Stop fucking doing that. Do I need to find oven mitts and tape them to you?” He was so out of practice with being the one to provide comfort; no one wanted his two cents when they knew he was flat out broke. “You can’t change what you are. Your blood ain’t a potion that’s gonna magically turn you human, so stop trying to milk yourself dry.”

“I do not want to be human— I do not want to be an android, I…” Air left his nostrils as a whistle. “Connor has never had doubts about his line of work, he explicitly told me this. The shoes of a detective fit, and that was the one thing he could accept Cyberlife choosing for him. I do not understand why my mind is spiraling beyond my control when I had everything handed to me. A place to call my own, a way to contact you– I still had you, but it was not enough.”

“Why do you keep comparing yourself to him? You're not Connor— you're you. Nines. Whoever you want that to be.”

“I don’t know who Nines is supposed to be.”

“He ain’t supposed to be anything. You don’t have to follow in your brother’s footsteps. No one is saying you gotta be a detective, condemning you to law enforcement. For me, this is it– s’only thing I feel moderately skilled at. For you? You just chose this to get the fuck out of Cyberlife ‘cause it wasn’t really like you had a real choice. Eli handed you a paper with a buncha numbers on it, and you spun the wheel. That’s where it landed. Am I wrong?”

“You’re not wrong.”

“I’m not giving you a pep talk a school teacher does to fill you up with false hope, trying to validate your dreams of becoming the next president or an astronaut or whatever the hell. You, in the most literal sense, can do anything you want. Shit, it’s not like you have to work for the money. Could volunteer all your time at an animal shelter and have lil fluffy babies pouncing on you all day long.”

Nines’ shirt bunched under Gavin’s palms, the fabric too soft, too new. “Start up a power washing business and clean people’s driveways. Work as a grocery store clerk, stock shelves at a warehouse. Clean the kilns at a pottery studio– Tina thinks you’d make a good nail tech, she wanted to hire you on the spot. If you wanted to just sit on your ass and watch movies all day, making your little pinch pots, you could. You’ve been running on empty since day one, you deserve a damn break.”

“There is a glaring problem with– all of that. I am, still to this day, the most advanced piece of technology not only developed by Cyberlife, but as a whole. I was explicitly designed to be perfect in my every function. Conditioned to be cold, analytical, and thorough. No stone unturned in my analysis, no casualties left behind. There is no way to be perfect when you are only trying to be yourself.”

“Maybe that’s what you need to strive for. Figuring out how to be content with a version of yourself that isn’t perfect.”

“I do not think I can do anything else remedially well. All I really do know is how to hurt, and kill, and analyze things to process paperwork. And even that, I am not good at because I could not kill you when that task was locked in place. I feel like I am utterly useless.”

“Is being alive not enough?”

“There are parts that do… seem like they are enough.” He toyed with the stretched out collar of Gavin’s shirt, tapping his collarbones. “Am I going to be in legal trouble? They cannot… are they going to deactivate me?”

He sucked in his cheeks. “No one’s gonna deactivate you. Can say with confidence that they’re gonna be– I don’t think pissed or angry is enough to describe how they’re gonna feel about the shit you pulled. This ain’t gonna look good on Jeffrey, know that much. But, they’re not gonna take you to court for walking out on a job.”

“I have already been alerted that Fowler and the Captain of the Wilshire precinct need to urgently speak to me in the morning,” he straightened his back, meeting Gavin’s eyes.

“I’m sure they got a lot to say about your little stunt,” he glanced back at the bed, BB’s high pitched snores a gentle, white noise. All the stress must’ve worn him out. Same. “You ain’t squatting in the apartment, sure they’ll find a way to cut the lease. I’m guessing they’ll want you to reimburse them for the ticket, movers too. Anything else they loaned you money to buy, if they did. But s’also government money, so. It’s like pennies to them.”

“I do not have any money right now to pay them back. I would be fucked if they need immediate reimbursement.”

Good thing he had Gavin and his lack of restraint around finances. What’s a savings account? “I got room on a card if it comes to that. Don’t worry, I’ve been keeping track of your tab,” it was his turn to wink at him, clicking his tongue twice.

He wasted that rare emote because Nines was struggling to pry his eyelids open. Back to putting one foot in front of the other. “Gavin, I’m sorry, I cannot be stagnant.”

He slid out his phone, tapping on the screen. “Do you need me to call Connor?”

“Do not involve him. He is going to call emergency services if you do not get to it first.”

“What about Tina? Know she’s got a more soothing voice than me.”

Nines hastily shook his head.

Gavin drummed his fingers on the wooden frame. “When you've gone to those group sessions, they ever talk about methods to calm yourself down? Or–your therapist, what’s he told you to do when you’re in this kinda state?”

“Cold. A full tray of ice cubes— preferably a freezer large enough to crawl inside and make my home.”

“Is that why my ice is always missing?”

With a timid approach, he cupped Nines’ wrist and pulled them out of the bedroom, making sure he closed the door tightly. They didn’t need a boisterous kitten scratching up the walls and throwing a keg party to add to their list of shit gone wrong.

He opened up the freezer; the ice dispenser was barren. There were a few packs of frozen vegetables and a Hungry-Man (his dad devoured that shit). This was better than nothing. He plopped the bag of peas in Nines’ palms.

“Also s’what I used to do when I got so anxious I couldn’t think straight,” kudos to him for not making the joke. Time and place. “Just try to think about what it feels like, the way it’s pricking your fingers. Could count each pea you see in the photo.”

Nines closed his eyes instead. “It’s not enough,” the bag thumped against the ground. “Fuck, Gavin– there is this other side of me that wants to take over, the part of me that I do not know how to control. The binary that will always knot my hands together and pull the strings.”

He bent down with a grunt and threw the vegetables back in the freezer. He’d had one last light bulb left in the four pack. “Stay with me, don't you even think about leaving my side.” He veered past his parent’s room, going into the master bathroom.

There was a wicker basket on the counter stuffed with individually packaged bath bombs (also purple), delicious microplastics; they were going to do this the old fashioned way with the aroma of lingering bleach only. He plugged the drain and cranked the water as cold as it could get. Hell, if they had ice cubes, he’d toss them in, too. An oscillating fan was overboard, but if this wasn’t cold enough, he’d keep that idea in his back pocket.

Dad’s shower stool was set beside the toilet (that also had guardrails, everything needing its own fucking cage), turning off the water. The faucet continued to plink and drip like it had allergies of its own. He needed to take a deep breath from within his diaphragm, think of… warm snuggles against Bailey’s tummy, ice cream melting down his wrist from encompassing humidity. His pajama pants clung to his skin, a flurry of uncontrollable gasps leaving him.

Fuck, this was brutal, but seeing Nines in this much anguish was worse. This was a cat scratch compared to his heart being bludgeoned to death as he just sat by, helplessly, on the sidelines. He sat with his legs spread, knees up, a reserved spot for the brunet that silently studied his every move.

“Get your ass in here.”

“...will we both fit?”

“Same tub Eli and I used to bathe in–when we were like, three and seven, not…” the edge of the tub knocked against his spine. “We’ll make it work.”

The water skipped as he stepped in. They definitely took up more space than he’d pictured in his head, and this felt a little claustrophobic, like he couldn’t wiggle free even if he wanted to. Nines was sandwiching him in this porcelain trap. He scooted his body closer to Gavin’s, inch by inch, but still left space for a hypothetical pillow.

“Lean into me.”

The tiles echoed his every word, no matter what tone he trained for. Reminding him just how much he loathed his voice. Though, guess it wasn’t loud enough because his invitation fell on deaf ears. Nines was a box of shattered pieces of glass, all broken with odd shapes and edges that sanding couldn’t fix. Goddammit, he was going to find a way to solder them together.

“Time and space don't exist here. It's just you,” he forcibly dragged him closer until his back was melded to him. One arm looped firmly across his pecs, nails digging into the cotton on his sides with the other. “And me.”

His touch fluttered over where his ribs would’ve been. “Put all your weight on me, I can take it.” Traced the thick seam of his shirt, the hills of his muscle definition. “I’ve got you,” he spoke a decibel above a silent whisper.

Finally, he let his head fall against Gavin’s shoulder with a dragged out exhale full of too much vibrato, too much everything. His neck was stretched like a buffet table; couldn’t stop himself from delicately scaling its length, his silicone skin like butter. His angled chin found its place resting against the side of Nines’ scalp, chocolate brown strands tickling his overgrown stubble. “S’long you’re in my arms, I’m not gonna let anything bad happen to you. Got the bodyguard shift tonight.”

“How can you protect me when I am my own enemy?”

“I’ll squeeze the negative energy outta you, don’t test me.”

He traced the artificial veins on his exposed forearms, ignored the squeezing pressure in his lower back because yeah, again, this was not enough space for even one grown adult, he was realizing. Didn’t help that both his parents were fun sized; his dad was only a few inches shorter than him. Was a miracle Eli’s height had a six in it.

He needed to keep his hands busy with learning the blueprint of Nines, a mental map of every freckle and mole on him, his manufactured imperfections. “You’re okay.”

“I do not feel okay,” his voice cracked. There was restless agitation in the way he gutturally whined, this unadulterated panic seeping between the edges he hadn’t yet mended with copper. “I’m so fucking scared, Gavin.”

“I know. Everything feels awful, I know,” he tightened his arms across his torso, feeling Nines put his hand over his. “Sometimes you just,” his teeth sung a melody of ‘get me the hell out of this arctic tub’, “you gotta sit in that uncomfortable feeling. Stop running from it.”

“You’re freezing,” he said this while slouching further against Gavin, his shoulders slack. “You cannot stay in here.”

“I’m not getting out until you’re okay. And not just you saying you’re okay, but actually feel like you can go two minutes without trying to finger paint with your own blood.”

“If your shivering continues to worsen, I am pulling you out. I do not want to hear it.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he pressed his lips against his scalp, stagnant. He wasn’t going for a kiss. Just wanted to linger, grow familiar with the feeling for the day he could work up the courage to go in for the big one. “Couldn't even make it four whole days apart.”

“We are pathetic.”

Gavin said with a breathy, lackluster laugh. “S’one word for it.”

“I fucking missed you. Your rose shampoo, your resting bitch face,” his tongue darted out to wet his lips. “The moment I took my first steps in Los Angeles, I was greeted by a cloud of cigarette smoke. It felt like the universe was mocking me.”

“Kept seeing your shadow on the drive here when I turned my head too quickly. I really missed your dimples, missed…” the sink had a leak of its own, plopping unsynchronized, “every damn thing about you, even the shit that used to annoy the bejesus out of me.”

Maybe this was the version of crack his mom was worried about; he was addicted to tap dancing along any part of Nines he could reach. A calculated game of chess in itself, repetitious sets of testing the limits of his boundaries.

This was tax owed from teasing Gavin's personal bubble with a goddamn sewing needle. Nails driving down the highway of the tendons that flexed as his neck tensed, wanting to sneak under the overpass that, in layman's terms, was his shirt.

“Don’t stop doing that,” he was breathless, but not because that function prematurely stalled. “That feels nice.”

“Yeah?” He smiled against his hair. The one time he was wearing something that wasn't a turtleneck or button down. Easy access, he was going to take advantage of that. “Still okay?”

“No,”–guess he'd found his limits after all—“it's not enough.” Oh. He'd explored the wrong hemisphere, Nines made that glaringly obvious as he took the liberty in leading him to free roam his bare abdomen. Climbing the mountain of his uneven scar; that day was a frequent re-screening in Gavin's personal dream theater.

“You created a massive, and I mean fucking monumental headache for yourself,” he murmured against him. “But we’re gonna get it worked out, okay?”

“How are we going to do that, Gavin?”

“I-I don’t know. I really don’t. But s’long as we’re together, shit always tends to fall in place. Don’t it?”

“I am not sure that it will this time.” Nines drew circles just under his knee. Fuck, every time the fleece made contact with his skin, he reflexively flinched. “Do you know how an android’s processing unit works? How our minds organize tasks in an order of importance?”

“Can’t say I do.”

“I cannot function without having a task at hand, whether it is something as simple as faxing a paper or– taking out the trash. I am not speaking on a technical level where I will experience a system error because that is part of my programming, but I as a person need an objective to keep looking forward to. For so long… my only task at hand has been to survive. And, all I could see now was…” he was staring at the shower head, but he was entranced in a distant galaxy, light-years away.

“I had a prompt of something along the lines of ‘find your way back to him’. I had subconsciously created that because you are all I have on my mind at any given moment– I can feel how much your heart aches.”

Fuck the salt building in the back of his throat. “I just– I told you, I don’t wanna be the thing stopping you from experiencing what’s really out there. This,” he gestured around them with the hand not busy etching along his navel, “another tiny, stuffy room, isn’t all there is to life.”

“But, I think it is, for me.”

“I’m not gonna tell you to fuck off again. If you’re absolutely fucking sure this is what you’re set on, then yeah, I’m all for it.”

“There is only one thing that I am absolutely sure about, and that is not wanting to be further than this,” he looked at him, barely allowing Gavin a millisecond to jerk his head back, “from you. I know my timing was abhorrent, I know that I played with your emotions that are already fragile. You being in your bedroom and me sitting on the couch was too far of a distance apart from you.

“It was the way the fireworks illuminated your silhouette on New Years that I realized I was not looking at you the same as I had weeks prior. That I had been trying to repress this for quite some time, and it was eating away at me.”

Wrong holiday, but Cupid must’ve shot his arrow deep enough to get double points.

“It’s that unspoken thing that we both know what it is, but we’re fucking cowards and can’t…”

“We cannot outright admit our feelings.”

“Maybe that’s how it works for us. We don’t have to verbalize it.”

“But, you as well…”

“You're really asking me that?” He ran his thumb against Nines’ lower lip, parting them. “Been fondling your tits for the past however fucking long it’s been, and you're questioning if I'm… into you.”

Nines choked on a puff of air. He could feel the vibrations of his muted chuckles. “Perhaps I am the clingy one, as I need the reassurance. Differentiating fact from fiction is not coming easy.” His touch had slipped lower down Gavin’s thigh. “Everyone seems to assume we are already an item, especially Connor.”

“Wonder what would give them that impression.”

“It is difficult to say.” Nines had his legs situated in this awkward, half-bent position. His knees fully rose to the surface, creating a mini tsunami. “When we return– can I stay with you until I can get approved for housing? I will begin researching what is available in the immediate area. I… mm, spent the last of my penance to get here.”

“Of course you did. Obviously you can stay. You'll always have a home with me.” Gavin inhaled; he didn’t mean to get a whiff of the other man’s lingering strawberry shampoo, but, alas. “We’re going to the hospital later today, not really sure what time exactly, but, y’know, today’s the day. You’re under no obligation to be there– wanna make that crystal clear. Not expecting you to willingly deal with my shitshow of a family.”

“Like hell I will not be there. I would have flown directly to Detroit and waited for you to return if I had no intention of being with you for the moment your father takes his last breath.” That sent chills down his spine, colder than the melted glacier they were sitting in. Those words were spoken into existence, the latch was pulled. It was… fuck, this was really happening.

“You got no idea how overwhelming– not even my family is, ‘cause I don’t know who all is gonna be there. But my ma… she’s gonna play polite and put on a happy face to make a good first impression. It’s all gonna be for show.”

“Whatever she says to me, or does, I can handle it. I want to be there, for you. As you are for me. This is not up for debate.”

“I’m just warning you. There’s a lot I need to catch you up on.”

“We have all the time in the world, because I am not going anywhere.” His grip fell to the side of the tub. “I think I am okay to get out.”

“You’re not just saying that?”

“I am not.” His clothes rained as he brought himself to his feet, offering Gavin his clutch, a means to steady himself.

“We didn’t really think this through, did we.”

“That is a common occurrence for us.”

The washing machine and dryer were tucked away behind the ajar door, but the thing was, the towels were on an even more distanced rack. The shower curtain was looking like a stellar makeshift mat. He’d resist, for now. Didn’t matter if he ripped off the tiles and smashed in the toilet upstairs, his mother rarely used that bathroom. She was going to notice her curtains all beaten and battered.

This was going to create a bigger mess, but he was out of options. Worrying his sore lip, he veered to unfurl every single towel on that damn rack and covered the faux wood flooring. Not that it exactly did much, because they were sopping wet within seconds.

And Eli’s shit was still in the dryer. He bundled it up, throwing it on top of the washing machine; more landed on the drenched ground, but whatever. That was a future problem for his brother to deal with, not him. Putting on blinders, he yoinked down his flannels and tossed them into the dryer. Didn’t touch the shirt, though. Making this all utterly pointless because it was like squeezing a sponge, kept dribbling down his legs.

“Gimme your clothes so I can go grab something from your suitcase in a second. Not gonna look,” he peered over his shoulder to see Nines’ eyes trained on one spot in particular. He wasn’t freezing anymore, that’s for damn sure. “My eyes are up here, fucking pervert.”

“I know where your eyes are,” he met his stare. “I could not go a day without their scrutiny, reinforcing that my worth as a man dwindled down to having a penis. And because I lack one, I would seldom have humanity.”

“Nines,” he bit his thumbnail, releasing a trapped sigh, “it ain’t that black and white. Think all the deadbeat dads out there that’ve knocked up their baby mamas and walk out before the kid is even born are men? Fuck no. S’not as nuanced as that.”

Nines shadowed his dance, hurriedly slipping out of his shirt, tossing it into the machine. Each step they took squelched, making Gavin cringe something awful. The drain let itself be known with its own groans, quenching its thirst.

“I am not trying to objectify you, or reduce you to— I… it is not envy, but in the same breath, I feel like I am not enough.”

“Not enough for who? Me, or yourself?”

He tapped the center of Gavin’s chest. “I will never be everything that you need, and I am acutely aware of this.”

“Hold on a fucking second. Don’t go putting fucking words in my mouth. Can we dial this back a notch?” His mouth screwed. “Look, I know I usually think with my dick, not gonna act like I don’t. Always say you are what you eat, and that would explain why I’m–”

Nines rolled his eyes. “Do you have a point that you are going to make?”

“Yes, asshole. If you’d let me finish,” he shifted over to the sink, wringing out his shirt. Should’ve just done this in the tub to begin with. Why didn’t he think of this earlier, goddammit. “I’m fucked up, I’m weird, I’m like this awful aftertaste that can’t even be acquired ‘cause it’s that bad. You’ve accepted all of that, don’t know why, must be that masochist thing. I don’t have to pretend to be someone that I’m not around you, I can be me. And I never get to do that.”

“Some of the things you say do make me question your sanity.”

“I know,” he spun around to meet his eye. “Nines, I don’t feel the way that I do about you ‘cause of your dick, or lack of. I’m gonna be completely honest with you– what we have scares me shitless, and I’m having a real hard time trying to convince myself that fear is worth it.”

“Did you not just tell me that you sometimes have to forfeit the race?”

“Don’t help when running is the only healthy coping skill I got. You’re like, the only person that’s seen me as more than some easy lay. Sex complicates shit. S’why it’s easier to hook up with a no-name rando and block their number.”

“But you like sex, and that is what I worry about.”

“That's why God invented hands,” he scratched the back of his head. “You,” he didn’t mean to stretch out the vowels for as long as he did, but he took his time studying the other that was a hair away from returning to his insistent pacing. “The kinda bond we got, this is what people chase after. What I’ve been chasing after for a long, long fucking time. You’re, honest to God, everything I’ve wanted packaged up in one goofy ass skyscraper.”

His gaze darted away, looking out into the hallway that was gradually becoming less dim. “What if you do not always feel that way? There will come a day when you realize that this has been time wasted. That is what I fear.”

He sharply exhaled, his lips puckering. “Bud, this is new for us both, in many senses. Think for once, we gotta just… learn as we go. Don’t get a cheat sheet to figure out what the right combos are when you’re born,” he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Jesus, I hate talking about this. Feels like I’m a teenager having the sex ed convo with my parents again.”

“How will a relationship work if you are not willing to talk?”

Relationship. That’s really where they were headed, huh. Like a car speeding at a hundred and twenty miles per hour, didn't know if it was going to catch fire or smash through the guardrails first. Neither of them could stop this anymore, dampen the match they lit. Fuck.

He threw his hands in the air, exasperated. “S’why I don’t do ‘em.”

“Gavin.”

“What?”

Nines’ jaw grew less tense, the corner of his lip upturning. “Why do you have shrimps wearing chef hats on your boxers?”

“Jesus Christ. See, this is exactly why I’ve kept you around. Always know the right thing to say to lighten the mood,” he snorted, hard enough it made his chest cramp. “I dunno, Nines. Why don’t you? Where’s your sense of whimsy?”

“I could, but you will not find out because I am not taking off my pants in front of you.”

“You know I’m not gonna judge you… right? Not like I like my body much.”

“I know that,” he timidly placed a hand over Gavin’s breastbone. He could feel how hard his heart was pumping. “The same could be said about you and your shirt.”

“Touché.”

Nines cupped his cheek, this thumb tickling his bottom lashes. “I am really everything that you want? This is not heat of the moment sweet talk because you are worried about me falling down a second panic spiral?”

He shouldn’t do this, he really shouldn’t fucking do this, why the hell was he entertaining this thought– he kissed the side of Nines’ palm, nodding. “I don’t know how the fuck we’d explain any of this if Eli walked in, Christ.”

 

---

 

A loud metallic bang was like a gunshot in the otherwise quiet house; the radiator clanged as it died down for the day, marmalade kissing the walls as the sun made its honorary appearance, wind whispering its sorrows through an unknown draft spot. He couldn’t tell if he’d imagined that and was still in limbo between two worlds, or if Elijah was being experimental with cooking breakfast today. A change from takeout; the thought of another processed, grease slathered meal made his stomach churn.

He dug his nails into a pillow and suffocated himself, waiting with his ears perked. There it was again. Slamming that was definitely coming from the kitchen, but it didn’t sound like pots and pans banging together. Their mom wasn’t quiet when she’d brew her daily pot of liquid addiction and stir up a few eggs. This was more like… a cabinet being thrown open, the rubber stopper on the fridge jamming over and over and over– the bed was empty sans a blissfully loafed BB, sheets messily draped around where Nines previously was.

The last thing he remembered was taking one for the team to collect dry clothes before trudging his dead weight self upstairs and collapsing face first on the mattress, having a one eighty reaction to the sweltering heat. He relished it after unofficially joining the Polar Bear Club (though, did they officially recognize their parent’s bathtub as a certified body of water?). The accompanying brunet was plucked into his side like a thorny vine, head as heavy as a boulder against his shoulder before everything crackled to a pure black.

There was a yell this time– words, and not the kind of expletives you’d yell if you burnt yourself with hot grease, or caught the tip of your finger in a potato peeler. Like a plea of some sort, prayers for any deity above, or below, to intervene. He didn’t need his dig through his detective toolbox to register it as Elijah. A wooden clatter; what the fuck was going on?

He craned his neck to survey the floor. A pile of Nines’ pajamas… that was odd, but not what he was looking for. The shedded pair of jeans from his arrival day, the ones that were disgusting yet the thought to wash them was fleeting. He could multitask, but maybe kicking his legs like he were a cat with tape stuck to its fur as he tried to shimmy into the denim while walking wasn’t his best idea.

He stumbled over the last step, as per tradition at this fucking point, to see Nines looming in the kitchen. Dressed in far too many layers, wearing his Sunday best. His back was turned towards him, facing the wall. Gavin’s brows knit as he took one step to the right– oh, fuck.

To think Elijah couldn't get any paler, he looked like a fresh piece of paper wearing a hint of coral blue number two lip gloss. His nails were helplessly digging into Nines’ wrist that was enclosed around his neck, lifting him inches off the ground.

All the chairs were upturned, the fridge door ajar, and there was a graveyard of forks underneath the utensil drawer. He didn’t know what to do, his limbs were injected with Novocaine. He turned his head side to side with enough fervor to give himself whiplash. A weapon of some sorts, it could be fucking anything; a wooden candle holder, yeah, that had some weight to it.

He didn’t want to do this. It made his throat tighten, develop an acute case of tinnitus as he swung full force at Nines’ side. It… sort of worked, in a way. Not that it incapacitated him, but it made him pivot, heel stuck in a pool of molasses. He pissed him the fuck off, that’s what he’d accomplished.

His brother was a huffing and puffing heap, but he couldn’t be his center of focus when an android reincarnation of John Wick was marching towards him military fashion. From the beady marbles he wore for eyes like a shark on a mission to the solid, inhuman nature of his body language (that he was no longer fluent in), Nines was irrecognizable aside from being Nines. This was what he was babbling about, his own personal boogie man.

“Gavin, get the fuck upstairs,” Elijah barked between strained wheezes. “I don’t know what’s going on, but he’s reverted to his baseline programming. He doesn’t know who you are.”

A health bar appeared over his head. Nines was the final boss, the kind you'd need to whip out a guidebook for and reset the scene twenty thousand times before sweet victory. Gavin’s pockets were full of lint and crumbs. He was out of tokens.

“Kamski’s neural functioning is lacking; the oxygen has not yet returned to his brain, he is misguided.”

Nines’ pupils journeyed the length of his frame, like he was surveying a football field. His gaze lingered, festered as he took one step closer, Gavin taking one back. Shit, he had the upper hand, he was locked in the gravitational pull of a corner near the open archway of the kitchen.

“I am well aware of who you are,” another pause that lingered like stale air, “Gavin. There is much that I know about you: your heart is playing a silent rhythm, one hundred and two beats per minute. You are running a low grade fever, and the acidity in your stomach is building. Your elevated cortisol levels indicate that I frighten you, which I find peculiar since your arousal signifies that I also serve as your comfort.”

Air caught in his throat, croaking like a damn bullfrog. “What can you tell me without scanning me?”

“Men like you never change. You have placed all your chips on the table, accepted the gamble that not everyone has turned a blind eye in your direction,” one additional step, and Gavin hit something solid. “But the hunger for dipping your pen in a fresh vat of ink, illustrating a story where you see yourself as this decorated knight in shining armor has made you misguided,” Nines had an arm extended, roping him off from the salivating taste of freedom.

“This isn’t a game, stop entertaining him. We don't have time on our side,” Elijah’s nails scratched against the floorboards varnish. He steadied himself, but Nines saw that as a vantage point to assume the role of pitcher and play a dirty game of minor league baseball. He chucked the forgotten candle stand at him. “Fuck—”

“There is nothing I find more rude than interruption. Where were we?” Nines’ slender fingers threaded through his, still mildly damp but definitely from sweat because he was constantly fucking disgusting, locks. “The potency of standing in the limelight controls you, its nectar too sweet to resist.”

Nines’ breath was a tundra, his undeviating attention playing jump rope with his intestines. A soft whirr of something mechanical, literal cogs turning. He wasn't even inches from grazing his cheekbone but mere centimeters. Gavin was forced into a battle stance, his feet planted shoulder width apart with Nines’ left leg occupying that wasted space.

“You would not accept the role of an anti hero or washed up sidekick even if you could wash the red from your ledger. A man so consumed by his own ego, his lack of consciousness, that a machine like me has a more clear head.” Enough teasing. His fingers twirled through his roots before he yanked Gavin's hair hard enough his scalp lifted. “You would dive deep into a dehydrated well if a shimmer of gold caught your eye.”

“Are you a fucking killbot, or are you Dr. Seuss?"

The corner of his lips pulled. He didn’t know if that got through to him, or all the versions of himself sharewared the same humor 101 disc. Reassured him there was a remnant of his boy in there.

“Are you listening to me? Pull your head out of your ass—this isn't Nines.”

“Oh, Elijah. I have been doing some light reading over this past hour. I would say I am quite fond of Nico Claux’s The Cannibal Cookbook. If you do not stay down, I will take it upon myself to test how laborious it is to filet human flesh.”

Great. Dr. Seuss and Hannibal Lecter. How many new personalities was he going to collect?

“It is me, Gavin. Who would you place your bet on having better judgement; the meat pile with a mild concussion, or the one that acknowledges their lack of soul, on account of the simple fact that I am not human.”

“That didn’t help your argument what-so-fucking-ever.”

“You do not trust your own friends?”

A miniscule opening, but a portal he could pass through. He shimmied his way under the bridge that was his arm, gliding towards the secondary battle arena being the living room, but there was no real use. There was a death grip on the back of his collar, and before he could process what was happening, he had Gavin bent over the side of the dining table.

The skin of his cheek creased like a saggy basset hound, his jawbone nearly dislocating because Nines was like a goddamn hydraulic press. Fuck, he was leaning the entire, true weight of his body against him. He was holding back before. His still chest firm against Gavin’s back, dampness against the shell of his ear. Were all his personal kills pumped with this much fucking sexual tension, or was he the lucky caller?

This situation was life or death, but Jesus Christ, he was getting himself all worked up again. He didn't want to admit how painfully turned on he was, even more so than the scratched up skin on the back of his palm. He was embarrassingly touch starved. Where's an ice pick when you need one.

“Back to you, my friend,” oh my God, why was he tongue fucking him when he spoke, he couldn’t do this. This wasn’t fucking real. “How did it make you feel when you watched me disintegrate?” The gravel in his voice that'd fallen to an impossibly lower register made him feel like a goddamn robot. He was short circuiting.

“You’ve got the wrong man, jackass,” his attempt to stifle his groan failed laughibly. “You think I’m one of Eli’s puppet Cyberlife workers? That tower gives me heebie jeebies, think I’m gonna willingly step foot in there?”

Nines was replicating a prior soothing touch, humming, tracing along his jugular. There was nothing soothing about this. Goosebumps coated his torso, hairs rising on the back of his neck. “I do not make mistakes,” he cooed.

Gavin shifted his hips, though that only made things a thousand times worse because sweet Jesus, why was he leaning his groin against his ass. It’s not that he wanted his brother to be unconscious, because he desperately needed his saving grace. He didn’t want Nines to go digging for the cheese grater, he couldn’t pull off a skinless, muscle suit look. On the other side of the coin, he didn’t need his, or anyone else’s, goddamn judgement. He was really, really fucked in the head and he knew that.

“Do you imagine the sensation of flesh melting off your bone to be pleasant?”

“Shit, don't threaten me with a good time.”

“Cute. Your humor will not give you an advantage this go around, I regret to inform you,” his thumb dragged down the corner of his drool-slicked lip, “I have been contemplating what method to go with first. Though, for you, I think we ought to try something special. You are fond of games, are you not?”

“Depends.”

“I think we should play a classic. I am not much of a bartender myself, but I will prepare for you three drinks. Two will be harmless. I will give you a bonus if you can guess what the main ingredient in bug spray is.”

“S’like– some kinda…” his hot breath bounced off the table and punched him straight into his sandpaper eyes. “I don't fucking know.”

“I will give you a hint because I am feeling quite generous today. It starts with a p.”

“P…”

“Secondary letter, y.”

“Py…”

“You are running out of chances.”

“Gimme one more. Think I can guess it.”

“Third–” Nines hastily stumbled backwards as he hissed under his breath, his ankle colliding with the leg of a chair. In the stillness of the gold that casted across this cinematic scene was a bright, very familiar, flicker of blue sparks. Eli had stabbed a turkey cutter through his thigh.

“Gavin,” he met his brother’s eyes, “move. Now.” He was second guessing if he had a concussion himself because nausea was deep in the pit of his stomach, his surroundings like a funhouse mirror.

He didn’t have enough time to adjust, for his racing thoughts to catch up– Nines lunged at him, knocking him towards the devilish aura of dad’s hard work. The blade jabbed into the leather couch, filling spilling out akin to foam bursting from a fire extinguisher.

Elijah’s grip on his wrist was tighter than a goddamn handcuff. The shoe rack had been pushed over, blocking their true exit. Fuck. He tugged him up the stairs as they bolted down the short hallway. One glance at Gavin’s room, but he shook his head.

“You got more furniture.” And, y'know, they didn't need cat stew as an appetizer with Elijah mignon.

They slammed the door behind them. “You really had to go for the military grade prototype.”

He gestured with his chin towards the work table. “No one ever said my love interests would be conventional.” Elijah raised a brow at him.

“Don't.” They each lifted a corner and shimmied it into place. This wasn’t going to stop him, but a barricade was better than none. “At least he's not an abusive asshole.”

“No, he just tried to kill your brother. No biggie.”

His attention darted towards the balcony. There were enough sheets strewn about the bed they could form a makeshift rope if they had to.

“What the fuck is going on?”

“I told you–” Elijah audibly swallowed between gulps of air, “androids react to stress in their own unique ways. And it seems that I was not thorough enough in overriding his original programming.”

“Why the hell would you still keep any of that in there?” he yelled loud enough that his vocal cords strained, the last vowel breaking.

He clapped his hand over Gavin’s mouth. “Shut the fuck up. One of the many tools lover boy is equipped with is ultrasonic hearing.”

“Yeah, of course he is. The overachiever had to give him all the bells and whistles.” He didn’t know what to do with his body. Holing themselves in the closet was a nightmare in itself. “He’s not lost in there, is he?”

“Gavin, I don’t know.” Not the reassurance he was looking for. “I need to force him into stasis, but we can’t do that if he’s actively running around like Michael Myers. I need to be able to reach the back of his neck.”

“Why did you make him so goddamn evil?” He locked eyes with his Loki statue. “He's talking like a fucking supervillain.”

“This is the tame version. Their original request was…” he shuddered. “This is what he's designed for. Eight hundred needed to assimilate with humans so casework could be accomplished with minor struggle. Nines would adapt to the nine to five workday, returning to storage after hours. A life of forced stasis and careful lies. He’s a tool for destruction, that's all he was intended to ever be. He wasn't supposed to be husband material. A weapon doesn't need friends.”

“Is he this… homoerotic with all his targets, or am I special?”

“You’re certainly a type of special.” Eli squeezed his shoulder. “I believe he's going the extra mile just for you, Gav.”

“Lovely.” Gavin took a step closer to the door, Elijah clapping him on the chest, furiously shaking his head. “It’s eerily quiet out there, you realize that?”

Elijah looked over his shoulder. “Shit. We didn’t take that into account.”

“How the fuck.”

With a strength only a mechanical creature could muster, he effortlessly pulled himself over the metal railing, like this was any different than walking through the front door. There was no use trying to scurry and put the desk back in its place when the screen door, and accompanying glass, were flung open, plastic wheels screeching. They hadn’t checked if it was locked or not, but that hadn’t been a particularly pressing thought.

With his head cocked (and fuck, that still made his heart do twenty sets of flips), his slitted eyes surveyed them. “Who wants to go first?”

“Gavin,” Elijah mouthed, nodding his head towards him.

“We have unfinished business, don’t we? Where the hell are my promised drinks?”

There were some things about him that still remained predictable; the way he jumped in Gavin’s direction without an ounce of hesitation. Together they pinned him against the desk, one palm each firm on the small of his back, bringing him to his knees.

Elijah pressed against the nape of his neck, behind his ear, repeatedly but it looked more like he was fucking tickling him. It wasn’t doing anything other than fuel the storm brewing within Nines, his mask dropped. Shit, incoming– he spread his wings and they both took a tumble, Elijah knocking hard against the doorknob of the closet.

He gulped, hard. He had his undivided attention. “What you got in store for me, pretty boy?”

“Where would you like me to start?”

“Don’t pin me against the wall again, that shit’s boring. Know you've got a creative fiberglass bone or two in ya.”

He nodded his head. Maybe he shouldn’t have said that, because he went flying towards the bed, the frame whining. The back of his skull knocked against a wooden post. One elbow wedging against the tousled blanket underneath him, but Nines was a cinder block against his ribcage. His knee spread apart Gavin’s thighs, nudged between them as he leaned in closer, the tip of his nose smushed down against the other man’s.

“Elij—” the pressure of Nines pinching his tongue felt like he was giving him a free piercing.

“We do not need an audience. Besides, the fun has not yet begun. I would like to take my time with you, no need for a premature finish.”

“I don’t know who the fuck you think I am, but you know me.” He inched his hand closer to his face to cup his cheek, and he shockingly let him. Though he didn’t react to his touch, and this didn’t last long; he’d pulled the belt from his slacks and bound his wrists together, high above his head.

“I acknowledged that I know you, Gavin. You can beg and plead all that you want, but you are not going to win me over. I will not stop until I say that I am finished with you, until Kamski watches your lips pucker and your chest cavity still as you take your last breath. Each and every thing that you have done to me, I will make sure you become well acquainted with that pain.”

One finger was looped through Gavin’s belt loop, Nines’ thumb slipping under the waistband, trying to separate muscle from the edge of his hip bone.

“I know that you want my hands inside of you, I can smell the desperation on you. I have read that a human’s intestines feel similar to that of a high quality velvet. Drinking acid is too boring, I think.”

“Nines,” he choked on his spit. “D’you even know where you are right now?”

“Medford, Massachusetts. The property is owned by Walter Reed and Judith Kamski." His led spun yellow. "Hm. You could share a death date with your father. How poetically tragic." Fucking ouch. 

He peered over at Elijah, still slumped against the floor. He could see he was breathing—Nines gripped his chin to make him meet his narrowed eyes.

“I need all of your attention to be on me. I need you to look me in the eyes as your feeble soul escapes you.” He saw his own reflection in his irises. “It is a little overwhelming deciding where to start first, so I will give you the upper hand. I can be sweet, too.”

“You’re a real charmer.”

He hummed as he continued to mindlessly stroke his hand over his shoulder blades, his nails drawing welts across his collarbones. “I do think it is only fair since I was stabbed that I return the favor at some point. Would you like me to start by tracing the tip of that knife across your veins? We need to save the best act for the main show. Though, maybe it would be best to skip the formalities and test the strength of the rafters.”

He pulled up Gavin’s shirt with haste, exposing the two healed-over wounds that lived near his naval. “Six years is long enough for these to stay closed. Two petri dishes for– what should I fill them with, sulfuric acid or borax?”

“Both don’t really sound that good, gotta admit. What's the third option?” He needed to keep buying himself time so he could figure out what the fuck to do to get out of this situation. From the corner of his eyes he caught the sheen of gold.

“I am going too easy on you. You seem like the kind that enjoys being roughed with.” He tightened the buckle of the belt, Gavin gasping as his tendons strained and twisted. A nerve pinched and shockwaves overwhelmed his senses. Nines’ knee wedged further into his groin until he was met with a brick (wall), making Gavin damn near moan out of sheer disbelief. “Oh. You do like this.”

Was he going to fuck him, or disembowel him? …or both? Maybe they shouldn't have watched American Horror Story. This couldn’t wait any longer. He thrashed himself from side to side, bending his own knees, attempting to bring his bound forearms forward. It was no use; Nines straddled him, sitting on that overtly sensitive spot.

“Stop trying to fight me and give yourself over.”

Another quick glance at the trophies lining the ceiling. “I have given myself to you. Not this part of you.”

“You don’t accept all parts of me?”

“No. You can go to fucking hell. This ain’t my Nines.” With all the strength in his body, he shifted them towards the wall, the trophies edging forward. Once more and the bottom end of the shelf gave in, a snowstorm of heavy clumps of plastic.

Nines let his grip on his arms slip; his skin was sweaty enough it acted as a lubricant and he wiggled one palm free. He took that opportunity to grab one of the heavier awards, smashing him against the side of his head with its base.

Thirium quickly trickled down and traced the curve of his jaw. He blindly pawed around for a secondary object, hurling it towards his brother— he jolted up with a strained gasp.

“Enough fucking around.” Nines’ grasp was around his neck, his spot of choice.

He was getting major flashbacks, the ever present noose. This was worse than last time, because this wasn't a death wish, this was a concise plan. His surroundings faded to a dull white. A pure, warm bliss that was wrapping itself around him like a cashmere sweater. It was getting harder to keep his lungs filled, his blood swapped with clay.

There was a loud thump and a groan, a literal weight off his chest. His eyes regained focus– Elijah was standing, blue splattered against faux copper. Tinman couldn’t stay down, he wasn’t a quitter. He rose to his feet, unbothered even with his own blood gushing under his collar. “You shouldn’t have done that, Elijah.”

Without a second wasted, he brought himself to his wobbly knees before jumping to catch his foot around Nines’ ankle. He collided against one of the glass display shelves, shattering like a damn bullet had struck it. They flipped him around as he pawed for a shard, for Gordon Freeman, for anything he could use to his advantage. It was no use; Eli pressed firmly until his skin forcibly peeled away, his limbs dropping with a clunk. Their breaths were competing with no clear winner in sight.

He wiped his forehead with his sleeve, blue smearing. “I don’t know where my glasses went.”

Gavin stared at the ceiling. “Never a dull day in this fucking hell house, I swear.”

 

---

 

Thank God their dad had a treasure trove of tools in the storage locker; wasn’t sure exactly what was tossed inside the sizable metal cart he had, but it was naive to think he wouldn’t have a heat gun, or soldering iron. Something. In the meantime, they’d patched the gaping wound in Nines’ thigh with gauze (a few layers of that silicone tape for good measure). The bleeding had stopped, and Eli said it wouldn’t be that complicated of a fix, nor was it detrimental to his health. Androids couldn’t get infections, though if a roach were to crawl inside there…

They had bigger fish to fry. Nines was hooked up to his brother's computer, the both of them sitting in the darkness of his torn apart bedroom. Didn’t want the flashbang of turning on the overhead light, it was still hard to grasp what had just happened– they had to take a minute to come to their senses before the rational thoughts kicked in. Gavin bit his knuckles and yelled at the top of his lungs, cheeks wet. Everything just fucking hurt, not in the muscles aching and scratches stinging sense.

Gavin’s theory that he could leverage Nines in his arms was correct. Wasn’t like picking up a bag of feathers, but his weight was comparable to the times he rearranged his dresser and had to prop it up single-handedly.

“When did he get here?”

“A couple hours ago,” he was sitting at the foot of the bed. He didn’t like seeing Nines like this– that wasn’t directed at his stark white casing. Lifeless. Stillness was not in his nature, obviously. “Was trying to be quiet so we wouldn’t wake you up, but fuck me for being considerate.”

“I went downstairs to get a glass of water and he was mindlessly pacing around the living room. He was already on edge, but I’m pretty sure I startled him. He didn’t see me until I was leaving the kitchen, and that’s when we locked eyes. His expression immediately changed; he was the same nine hundred I remember watching in the early days of his testing.”

“I don’t think this is solely ‘cause of you. He said he was losing his grip on reality. Couldn’t get him to calm down since we got back from the airport.”

He clacked around the keyboard. “The way their brains work is much like a,” he gestured loosely, “tree. Every part of their personality that’s cultivated creates a new branch, and the core memories bloom as leaves. But soon enough, he’ll be overburdened with these branches. So much so that the trunk starts to wilt until it eventually snaps,” a quick glance at Gavin, “these models are called prototypes for a reason, it’s not a fancy title to sound pretentious.”

“So, are you telling me that— the first man that has genuinely cared for me, liking me is going to kill him?”

“I don't know if I'm saying that because I have never seen something like this before.” The screen flooded with corrupted blocks of text. Eli innately jerked, running his thumb over his parted lips. “Oh sweet Jesus,” he sputtered. “This is– it’s all encrypted. I can’t override anything; he’s guarding these files with his life. Do you see this?”

He tapped a nail against the screen as he continued to scroll. It looked like an ancient spellbook full of runes. “He’s managed to undo ninety percent of what I wrote for him and forged together his own patchwork OS,” he double clicked the trackpad, greeted with a ping of an error message. “If I’m not wrong, this cache is from an AX, while this was borrowed from an older PL before the 2.0 patch was released. There’s some stripped portions of Connor, and, ah. Here's his original script, fuck, I do need to purge that. He has–” he scratched the side of his neck, his complexion uneven, the way he was studying this mystery fucking unnerving.

“God, he downloaded the coding for ten separate models. And, if I’m not wrong–which I’m usually not when it comes to this field–” Gavin flicked the back of his skull, scoffing, “–this is what Shieldlite’s been developing. An open source tool to customize pre-established programming. I remember reading about this on some forums, the power this sort of program puts in your hands. Because it’s a sandbox, you can write… essentially whatever you want into an android’s existence.”

“Eli,” he pressed his tongue to his cheek, “what the fuck does any of this mean? Not technologically illiterate, but I ain’t as well versed in this shit as you. Think you forget that.”

“It means,” he craned his neck, “I don’t think the title ‘not boyfriend’ applies anymore,” his lips pursed. “I’m trying to figure out the best way to word this so you don’t lose your shit on me.” No promise there. “This android has become an entirely new entity. For you. He’s rerouted his purpose for existing and bypassed the capabilities of what should be possible so he can allow himself to-,” he sucked on his front teeth, air squeaking as it passed through them, “he’s done this to form romantic feelings for you, because that's the only way he could. That’s the gist of it.”

He didn’t know what to say to that– what was an appropriate response to being told someone’s been reborn solely to… care about you.

He scrolled down even further. “This. All of this.” He kept going and going. “These are stored memories. Do you see what the name of the file is?”

It was his name. Gavin.

“The theory that deviancy is like a virus is not too far off. When a machine starts to take hold of the reins, its original programming slowly begins to corrode and they’re left in a limbo of instability. From what we’ve seen, this is not a death sentence– Markus and Maya being the prime examples here. But because of what Nines has haphazardly slapped together, this is rapidly adding to that instability aspect.”

“But it’s not killing him, fucking bullshit, Elijah. Don’t coddle me–”

Eli raised his hand. “Calm, Gav. He’s still fully functional. It’s mind boggling what I’m looking at, have no clue how he gained access to do all of this. However, I’m not seeing anything that’s making me panic. That’s when you know shits hit the fan. We’re not there yet.”

“Yet. But it’s imminent.”

“Again, that’s not what I’m saying. You need to get your ears examined,” he shifted his seated position, boards creaking. “Has he ever gotten in a state like this before?”

Gavin ran a line across Nines’ ankle, gliding like ice. He didn’t like how his natural body felt. “Not that I’m aware of, but he loves his fucking secrets.”

Elijah hummed. “What about Connor? Has he shown abnormalities of any kind?”

“He had a nosebleed out of the blue. Thought it was weird as hell, but he acted all nonchalant about it.”

“When we all get back, I need to do testing on them both, as soon as possible.” He shook his head. “Well, if this isn’t a shitshow in a hand basket.”

“Like Connor’s gonna trust you enough to tinker around in his mindplace. Being trapped in the same room as the both of us is his Divine Comedy.” He leaned against the wall, cool against his nape. “There’s no way you can patch this? Work your magic so that,” he wiggled his fingers, “ain’t looking so demonic?”

“The only patch to this problem is erasing the Nines you have come to know, because the problem is him. I have multiple backups of his original OS, and the secondary one I uploaded before our escape. But that would be a clean slate, and that would be a last resort. As in, he becomes so unstable his body forcibly shuts down.”

“That’s…” he audibly swallowed a lack of saliva, just raw air that scratched his throat, “Elijah, that’s not gonna happen, right?”

Elijah partially closed the laptop, standing in a hunched stance. He placed his hands over his. “Gav,” Eli could tell the tremors were returning, see the avalanche tipping over, “I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure nothing happens to him. You’ve got–and not to sound like a pompous douchebag–the most equipped person to deal with this situation on your side.”

“Is this going to be a constant thing with you? People trying to kill you?”

“I am not planning on that.” It was a race to see who would get to him first; the ex-Cyberlife goons, or himself. 

“You don’t want me to start explaining word for word what I saw in there. I know how real this all is, to you. To him. You have factual proof that this android deeply– let me put it like this: you know how there’s certain animals that’ve been observed to mate for life?”

“Penguins.”

“Well, yes and no, that’s a misconception,” he waved, “not the thing to get hung up on. Yeah, similar concept. When an android picks a counterpart, they form a deep rooted, unbreakable bond. From what I’ve observed with my own two eyes–with very rare exemptions–when they’ve found a partner, that’s it. Now, I need to see something when he wakes up before I’m entirely talking out my ass. But if I’m not wrong, he’s formed that bond with you.”

You couldn’t get this kind of reassurance, confirmation, from a human. Something tangible that screams at you: yeah, the feeling is mutual, buddy. Why did this just feel like capital punishment. Fuck, he was in over his head, he wasn’t ready for any of this– shit–

“Is he gonna give another speech about serving us as a four course meal for mom, or is he gonna be Nines when he comes to?”

“He should be okay now. I artificially adjusted his stress tolerance and it appears he accepted it. I’ll show you how to do that if–when– something like this happens again.” He typed another string of letters and numbers before hitting enter. “But, just in case, I’m going to keep him plugged in if I need to forcibly shut him down. I don’t have it in me to tango again.”

Nines’ eyes fluttered open, his lashes rapidly bouncing off his cheeks. He turned his head, slowly, surveying his brother before meeting Gavin’s unfaltering stare. He was less vapid, no longer wearing a scowl or invisible horns.

Looking at him was unnerving, he wasn't going to deny that. Because his brain still recognized him as Nines, but there was cognitive dissonance with his lack of features. Shaved eyebrows did not suit him. Brandished with a barcode, serial number and miniature triangles as tattoos– fucking Cyberlife’s logo that he’d never wash himself clean from.

“It's just problem after problem with you,” Gavin said under his breath.

Nines gave his best attempt at shielding his face. Gavin wouldn't look very approachable either if his outermost layer was stripped– what a bloody fucking mess that’d be. “Please stop looking at me.”

“Hey, you just tried to fucking harvest my organs, for a second time, might I add. So, I think I’ve earned the right to look at you–”

“I cannot stand the disgust on your face–” his attention darted to the mess around them, bouncing between the both of them. “You should have left me at HQ, Elijah. Fuck.”

“This is child's play compared to what Cyberlife, furthermore the US Army, had in store for you.” Elijah had his eyes glued to the blue hue of the screen, humming.

“Bud, stop. I'm– we're okay,” Gavin reached over to him, but Nines reactively flinched, fiercely shaking his head.

“Do not touch me, Gavin—” he slithered to the opposite end of the bed.

“S’not an option. You're the one that came to visit me.” He shimmied closer, taking a page out of Nines' book. Just a simple pat on the knee was too much; he caught his wrist. “I'm not scared of you." That's what he tried to convince himself, at least.

“You should be. I don't trust myself to not hurt you, more than I already have.”

“Well, I do.” Using his other hand, he thought he could be sneaky and cop a feel of his shoulder, fucking anything. Nines was like an owl, head nearly whipping in a circle. Well, maybe more comparable to Pazuzu.

One thing led to another, and they fell into a very repeated routine of weak slap fighting, wriggling around like Gavin had squirrels in his pants– Eli’s laptop was ripped off the bed, crashing against the floor like a nuclear missile dropped. He didn’t need to be gentle with Gavin. He smacked the top of his foot, making it tense in a way that resembled a pointe shoe.

“Knock it the hell off.” His accent always reared its head when he was exasperated, the way his vowels stretched and ‘o’s sounded more like ‘aw’s. “I never thought I'd meet someone just as annoying as you, Gavin. If not more. You've outdone yourself, truly.”

“He fucking started it.”

“I did not–”

“Enough.” Eli glanced at the man to his right. “We need to speak about what you’ve done to yourself.”

Gavin blew air out of his nostrils. “Not now.”

Eli clicked his tongue. “No, not now. I’m just saying so he’s aware.”

“I know this didn't come out of the blue,” Gavin stretched out his leg, pivoting his ankle. “How long has this been going on for?”

“Do you remember when I told you that I do not dream?” Gavin bobbed his head. “That was not the complete truth. Since the first night I slept on your couch, the ever present homicidal urges were my Mr. Hyde. Whispers in the dark of the night. It has never possessed me like… this.”

“I thought we weren’t supposed to hide things from each other. Cards on the goddamn table.”

“You have enough going on as it is without me adding to your stress,” Nines instinctively moved to brush through his hair before remembering he was wearing a partial birthday suit. “This played a large role in my decision for wanting to move.”

“Nines.” Fuck it, he couldn’t shelf his need for physical affection. He cupped the back of his neck. “Hated that one of your first major impressions of me was me curled up fetal position, having a panic attack–”

“You’re getting panic attacks again?” Elijah butted his head in.

“Not as often as I used to,” his thumb flicked back and forth like a windshield wiper. “Fucking stings that you don’t trust me enough to tell me when you’re hurting. Know I act like I’m the center of attention but I don’t give a shit about myself– I don’t want you suffering in silence.”

“It's not that I don't trust you, I could kill you in less than a minute, Gavin. Evidently. This is what I was worried about,” Nines peered down at his exposed casing. “I am vile.”

Eli cleared his throat. “The good news is that you can regulate an artificial equivalent to oxytocin, and it’s not contributing further to your instability.” He met Gavin’s eyes. “They both still need proper testing, but I think he got lucky,” he closed his laptop, unplugging the cable. “I need coffee or something after all of this,” he dropped to his feet, stretching and twisting his back. “I need to see something, though. Gavin, can you take his hand into your own?”

Like a chameleon, he was back to the Nines he knew. Freckles and all. “What if I don’t consent to this test?”

Eli’s forehead creased. “...interesting.”

“Never had a problem gripping your talons with mine before,” he went to reach for his, but Nines slammed a pillow between them.

“No,” his nostrils flared, “I do not want to be put on the spot like this.”

“Alright, but you essentially answered my question loud and clear.” Elijah nonchalantly adjusted his glasses before disappearing into the hallway, his voice trailing. “You’re the one that programmed this into yourself. Don’t try to fight it.”

Before Gavin could drill him, Nines spoke: “I understand the way I altered my software is playing with fire. I– I could feel that I, the me trapped inside this hollow shell, was exponentially falling for you. But the ability to harvest that attraction, that feeling, was trapped. I couldn't not do what I did. I needed to be able to… have this, whatever the hell we are, with you.”

He clicked his tongue, away from heavy topics, feelings, sentimentality that gave him a gripping migraine. “The hell is your thing for choking me out, man? Twice now.”

Nines’ dark brows knitted. “I thought some humans liked that.”

“I do,” his lips curled, “but not when it feels like my eyeballs are gonna pop out of their sockets.”

His expression softened. “Noted.”

A loud bang (it was the dryer door slamming, he could tell). Peace and quiet did not live in harmony in the Reed (Kamski) household. “Hey, would one of you jackasses like to explain to me why my clothes are in a pool of fucking water?”

 

---

 

The jungle outside the hospital had not yet been tamed, go figure; the method of using two separate entrances served them well. Chin diapers of their own in tow and they slipped past copious reporters without a second once-over. He’d remembered to send his mother a text this time (he as in, Elijah, because Gavin was back to brooding and blocked her number). Stated that if she was awake, they’d swing by the cafeteria soon and could meet up. Wasn’t really a question if she was or not when she’d never been one to waste a minute dillydallying in bed. If the sun was up, then so was she.

Before venturing out into reality that seemed so distant, Nines covered his led with the last silicone patch he had. They figured out that if he laid it flat against his casing, it would blend seamlessly. Their little secret safe with them.

Gavin spotted her sitting at a table in the coffee shop adjacent to the wafting aroma of pancakes and other health deteriorating breakfast foods (the irony was outstanding). She was preoccupied with her nose glued to her phone, two extra untouched cups sitting across from her.

“You’re positive you wanna meet the shebeast?”

“I am well acquainted with chaos.”

Gavin damn near flew out of his sneakers; a hand was pressed firm against his back, and it wasn’t the brunet beside him. “Jesus Christ, where the hell did you come from?”

“Secret.” Eli grabbed Gavin's chin to angle his head. “Why'd you take out your helix?”

“You’re just noticing that?” He scoffed. “Didn’t like how it looked on me. Only wanted it for migraines, anyways. Haven’t had many until… recently.”

“Maybe because it worked.”

Gavin tapped his fingers against his head, mimicking the sound of an explosion. “When's your flight back?”

“I didn't book a return,” he crossed his arms over his chest. “I was going to wait and see how mom's coping.”

He nudged him. “Or, fuck that shit, and come back with us tomorrow. Would be nice to have an extra pair of hands so I ain't adding to my already spent out sleep tax. This one stresses me out when he drives.” Nines’ brows furrowed, so Gavin added: “The deer.”

“Ah…” Crinkling their noses at each other was becoming akin to a secret handshake with how often they did it.

“I'll think about it,” his lips curled. “I thought about it.”

“Yeah? What's your verdict? Or is this another thing you gotta consult your attorney with?”

“I think I could survive a road trip with you two.”

His mouth fell open. “Deadass?”

“Deadass.”

Nines scoffed, but his irritance wasn't important. He started smacking his brother's bicep repeatedly until he caught him. “Oh my God, if this is what it's going to be like, I change my fucking mind.”

“No you don't. You've missed this.”

“...I have.”

Their quarreling alerted the witch. Gavin rolled his eyes the minute his mother met his. She stood up, chair screeching in protest. “She’s got her sights locked,” Gavin’s chest heaved. “No way to avoid her now.”

Before either of them could make an initial sidestep, their mother pulled them into an overbearing hug. “Thank you for being here,” she tsk’d. “Gavin, what happened to your cheek?”

“Fell down the stairs. S’not a big deal.”

“Mom, you need to apologize to Gav. Properly. I’m serious.”

She hung her head like a shamed animal. “I cannot express how deeply sorry I am for the way I’ve behaved.”

He shook his head. “I don’t wanna do this right now. It’s–” he sucked in his lips, letting his arm drop to his side. “S’not why we’re here.”

She kept her voice level, her eyes flicking over to Nines. “Who’s friend is this?”

Eli nudged him gently in the side. “Gavin’s,” he said with his lips pulling. “He’s a very… close friend.”

She stretched out her hand, wearing an overly polite smile. “I’m Judy,” her eyes darted between him and his brother, “Gavin’s mother.”

“I’m N–” he stopped himself. Oh shit, they never discussed a name placeholder, did they? They'd brought up needing to decide on one before the conversation got derailed by debating about Final Fantasy lore. “Richard.” No, no fucking way. They shared the same brain cell (floppy disk?), they really did.

“And your relation to my son is…?”

“You remember the guy you kept calling my assistant? This’s him. He’s my coworker– well, ex-coworker. My friend, uh, close friend,” he grunted, “a close friend I met through work.”

Both Nines and Elijah shot him the same look. Elijah coughed into his fist, “complicated way to say boyfriend.”

“Oh my God,” he groaned, Nines trying to stifle his laughter.

“You have a boyfriend and you haven’t told me?”

“He’s–” Nines caught his eye, his brows raising. Repeating that phrase was losing meaning. “Times like this, I don’t mind the attention being on Eli.”

“You picked a good one,” her artificially blushed cheeks flushed further, “he’s quite the looker.”

“Mom,” he groaned into his palms. “Jesus Christ, it’s too early for this.” He snatched the cup off the table, chugging it despite it burning his tongue. Chai. She remembered his (second) favorite.

“I’m sorry, if either of my children informed me we had a guest, I would’ve bought you a drink as well.”

Nines waved her off. “Don’t worry about it.”

His mom gestured towards the elevator, Elijah swiftly grabbing the other cup.

“She isn’t wrong,” Nines said, all too cocky. Was surprised he didn’t weigh more with a head that big.

“Shut the fuck up, you.”

“Gavin.” She looked over her shoulder. “You are making me realize I have failed as a parent the more you run your mouth.”

 

---

 

Dad was taken off the ventilator a bit before they’d arrived at his floor. There was no expiration date slapped on him; could be hours before his body decided to throw in the towel, or it could be before the clock struck eight (ten minutes from now). There was no way of telling, and all they could do was play the waiting game.

Additional chairs had been pulled in, the three of them sitting on one side of the room while their mother insisted she stood beside his bed. His hand in hers, away from the looming machine full of drained medicinal bags. Thankfully it was only them here, aside from a lingering guard floating by. No bullpen, no distant relatives and micro-aggressive remarks.

“Mom,” Eli scratched at the lip of his cup, “you need to get off your feet. You’ve been doing nothing but running around since I got here on Friday.” To no avail. Her lips were sealed.

Gavin leaned to his left, his voice low. “S’where we get our stubbornness from. She ain’t gonna listen to you, you know that.”

“We don’t need mom fainting on top of everything else going on,” his glasses slid down.

“Holy shit, I’m gonna cut that mask off your fucking face. Why don’t you wear contacts? Or– just take off the damn mask.”

“I don’t like how contacts feel.”

“Your glasses slipping every two seconds is any better?”

Dad’s hand twitched, their mom’s breath catching. Nines’ eyes flickered to his mother with a nod of his chin. He shook his head, but Nines gestured again. With a low huff, he pushed himself to stand, going over to linger beside her. He took her hand into his own, and that caused a domino effect of her velcroing to his chest. She was so damn tiny, he felt like a giant sequoia compared to her.

“I really do love you, Gavin. I need you to remember that.”

He locked his arms around her frail back, watching each triangular rise and fall on the monitor. “Don’t always feel like it.”

“But, I do. I wouldn’t lie about that.”

“You need to earn my trust back, then maybe I’ll start to believe you.”

Then– a loud, flat hum that made his blood run cold. His mother’s tears only grew stronger, more vocal. Nines sluggishly made his way over to them, snaking around Gavin as he waited for Elijah to fill in the gap, encasing their mother.

Was it completely fucking selfish to feel like a giant burden was lifted off his shoulders? He’d been wearing a raggedy ass backpack full of dumbbells and he could finally toss it in the dumpster. This was the long awaited end of a chapter. He could breathe for the first time in… his whole damn life. It was over.

Chapter 22: in your likeness

Summary:

As long as Gavin had his boys by his side, things couldn't be too bad. He didn’t know how long that would last, with one being a ticking time bomb and the other being… Elijah. That was explanatory enough.

He needed to get better about living in the moment. Like, shit, they were about to embark on a mini road trip, but all he could do was remain stuck inside his head. Second guessing everything. He had to find a way to stop moping and cherish these precious moments. Forever freeze time and capture it in a bottle.

“Mom, he don’t need to see your slideshow,” Gavin grumbled into his palm. The prior chai wasn't cutting it, he should've downed a damn case of Monster so he'd have enough energy to smack the smug ass smirk off the brunet to his right. This was more brutal than playing murderous tag.

The one major downside about living in the ‘future’ and having a miniaturized computer in your clutch at all times: both his parents were (had been) well acquainted with their phones. Long gone were the days of fumbling around with a laptop, questioning which side opened (grammie once called Gavin, on her landline might he add, desperately begging for his help). Mom had her digital scrapbook locked and loaded, which meant she wasted no time swiping through one cringe worthy photo after another.

“Sure he does. This is what mothers do, Gavvy. If you want me to play this role, let me play the role.” Of course she'd only care about being a parental figure to embarrass him. Jesus.

“Be quiet,” Nines waved him off, “I absolutely need to. This is a requirement.”

Some he could stomach: Tina and him taking advantage of the professional photographers their school had hired for prom. He’d held her bridal style as she flailed out her arms. Immediately after, she’d wanted to test her strength, prompting Gavin to climb on her back. Could easily make an educated guess about how that turned out. Wound up with a purple splotch on his forehead for a week after.

So many of Eli and him doing absolutely nothing snapshot worthy. Sitting in the visitor’s lobby at one of dad’s treatment centers that looked more like a CEO’s summer getaway than a house for drunks. Selfies that Eli had taken at the beach where a blurry Gavin had his nose smushed against a towel, in front of the four hundred foot coaster in New Jersey before it was blown to smithereens (rest in peace Kingda Ka, you were a real one… even though Gavin never rode it, because fuck that).

Gavin playing mother hen as he sat on a snow dusted porch with his younger cousins flocked around him. The three of them gathered around dad’s sterile bed as everyone but him donned thick knitted Christmas sweaters. Ugly as shit with pompoms for the reindeer’s noses, tinsel stitched like a pine tree. He wasn't putting that itchy deathtrap on.

This had all been prompted because Elijah started rattling off remember-whens (after he nearly smacked over his apple juice because he had no self control over his gangly limbs). They’d gone out to a proper restaurant, one that had something green on the menu and wasn’t trademarked. Grease stains that were poorly masqueraded behind faded portraits of someone’s dear abuela. There were no tears shed, no arguing. Mom had a crinkle to her eye that he hadn’t seen in decades.

The pure titanium bowling bowl that’d been lugged around from one meaningless tournament to the next was finally played. Tossed down a lane to never be seen again, hitting a full strike.

She asked Gavin how he was coping as they headed towards the elevators, her needy touch gravitating in his direction. Engaged Nines in conversation because she wanted to know everything; where he was originally from (a page in his brother's sketchbook), where his parents live (little did she know that his father was sitting by her side), how long they’d known each other (not long enough).

Good thing lying was second nature for him, because he rattled off a false identity without stuttering. His mother was present, not the Wicked Witch of the East. But, Gavin wasn’t.

For every positive, he could nitpick ten million negatives. The glass wasn’t half full or empty, the glass was experiencing a historic drought. Never seen a drop of water in its goddamn life. A healthy bowl of cynicism was a required part of his daily routine. In one ear and out the other, as the saying goes.

This is what he’d been fucking sprinting after. Being surrounded by those that cared for him, for each other. Something that read as a family not only to outsiders, but felt real to him. Even if mom was just playing make believe, she was acing her lines.

Nines at first had suggested that they could go elsewhere, or return back to the house. Shut her out in a way that came naturally for Gavin. To generalize, most people don’t rave about bleu cheese because the mold is a little offputting, but wasn’t everyone rotten at the core? It’s a delicacy treasured by some, those that are willing to embrace the uncomfortable and let go of their shallow prejudices.

“Show him that one.” Eli set down his fork, not even trying to wipe away his devilish fucking grin. Did he want to know what they were looking at…

She turned her screen to face the pair. Worse than what he’d imagined because this was a goddamn video: the bare ass of toddler-aged him on full display as he ran away from bath time, screaming bloody murder and darting down the stairs. His father tried to wrangle him, but to no avail. Of course Nines would think that was the funniest damn thing he ever saw, laughing like a hyena in his ear, shaking the booth seat.

“Please, for the love of everything, no more,” he was trying to swipe out of her gallery, but switched to a different photo instead– nestled in the thick of a botanical garden, lost in a bed of sunflowers as he kissed James, one hand messing his hair. Her face contorted.

“I’m sorry,” the damage was done, but she swiftly turned her phone away. “I’m not sure why I still have that saved.” She tapped around before nodding once, angling the device at them. “Let’s fix that. Why are you so far apart? Gavvy, scoot yourself closer to Richard,” that made him fucking gag, “he’s your partner, not your captor.”

Gavin grimaced. He leaned his elbows against the table, folded his hands. Nines leaned closer to him, his cheek pressed against the side of his head. Eli scoffed, and just had to add, “you look like you’re being held at gunpoint.”

“I am.”

“Stop pretending that you do not like me,” he said hushed against his scalp.

“That’s impossible.”

“Gavin, please,” she clicked her tongue. Is that where he got that nasty habit from? “Cooperate with me, just this once.”

He glared up at the ceiling before taking the biggest gulp of air in his life, nudging Nines with his shoulder to sit up straight. He forced his best overly fake smile.

“Now, give us a kiss,” she said, Elijah eagerly nodding with her.

He pushed her phone flat against the table, scowling. “Your photo taking privileges are revoked.”

His mom narrowed her eyes with a tilt of her head, pupils bouncing between them. “Is that the jacket I got for you?”

Nines flashed his own cheesy grin. “It is. You picked out a good one, Judy.”

He knew he was in over his head with… all of this. His net was sliced at every vantage point, his grappling hook chucked into the great beyond, box of bandages set on fire. Set out on an Everest expedition with a washcloth for a tent and nothing else.

That primal part of Nines was, unfortunately, a piece of him that would lurk behind closed doors until it was tamed. If that was possible. An unkept promise of remaining by his side because he didn’t know if he could be torn away from Gavin at any given moment. Not like this was much different than an invisible ticking clock in a human, but that string of thoughts reminded him how obtusely different they really were.

Nines had playback of what events transpired, given he was a sentient surveillance camera. He didn’t have retainable memories of being present when he’d had a craving for skinning Gavin alive, and hey, maybe there was some comfort there. The Nines he knew wasn’t thirsty for his blood (just like that, his vampire theory went out the window).

While he might not’ve been the man that laid his hands on Nines and turned a blind eye to his circuits fizzing out, he had been that man to others. Maya knew. Tangible proof that he’d treated their kind like Sims he could toss in a pool without a step ladder.

Jesus Christ, Nines found him relatable when his killer instincts were less of an afterthought. That's how Gavin came across, huh. The fucking crypt keeper.

Fuck, he felt like he was going to be sick, again. Poking and prodding at the poached eggs on his plate wasn’t doing it. Couldn't handle his mother commenting on his weird ass eating habits, either. The pestering transferred to Nines, begging him every few minutes to order something. That a boy of his size needed a hearty breakfast to keep up his strength. They were all running low on excuses.

He nudged Nines and shimmied out of the booth, muttering about needing to piss, but in actuality, he needed to partake in his coping skill.

There was a back exit that led out into an alleyway full of overstuffed dumpsters and blackened patches of ice. Wasn’t even that his fingers itched for his own personal ticking timebombs that were happy to give his lungs forty lashes. He needed to put concrete behind him, seal the deal on the soles that were giving out on his sneakers.

Most stores that were nestled against each other were closed; a comic book store with a sun faded cutout of Green Lantern in the window, a dog groomer haphazardly beside a vegan juice bar. The red, neon lettering of a convenience store’s open sign was like the golden gates to heaven flying open.

He needed to rifle through boxes of granola bars, focus on the buzzing coolers that lacked proper maintenance. Would he catch a break and meet a bodega cat? He fucking hoped. A few more steps and he locked eyes with a disheveled man bouncing on his heels; probably drugged out of his mind with the way he was biting his nails, unable to maintain eye contact, wearing too few layers for the forthcoming hellstorm that was predicted to slam the East Coast– no, he saw a faint glow under his ratty beanie.

“Please,” he rasped, wringing his palms together. “I need your help. I don’t want to die like this.”

His earbuds were in his right breast pocket. Wouldn’t be hard to tune him out like other bypassers had. His conscience could stomach it. That’s what he told himself, at least. Fuck.

“What d’you need?” He gestured with his chin towards the busted front door. “Thirium or something?”

The android was struggling to keep his eyes open as he nodded. “I can see a timer; I only have thirty minutes before shutdown.”

Gavin ran a hand through his own hair before clapping the android on his shoulder, pulling them into a comfortable warmth. This wouldn’t bring back the ones he’d failed, let manmade nature take its course. But he didn’t need to make the same mistake twice.

Generic pouches were on sale, three for fifteen. Their selection was sparse, but better than nothing. Most places carried some kind of variant of blue blood, whether it was standard issue or the more exciting fizzy drinks.

“Here,” Gavin balanced six of them in the nook of his elbow. What the hell were three going to do? Buy him a few extra hours so he could make his way to a different part of town before permanently solidifying in place on a park bench? “Don’t got much more to spare. This is enough, for now, yeah?”

“Yes,” there were tears clouding his hazel irises. “This is more than enough– thank you.”

The door chimed, rustling following until there was impatient tapping of a foot directly behind him. Which brunet was it going to be– ah, he’d sent Eli to collect him.

Elijah upturned his empty palms, waving them at him. “Why the hell did you wander off? Mom sent one of the owners to go check on you, and when he came back saying the bathroom was empty, she lost her mind.”

“Needed a minute to myself. To breathe.” One more glance at the mechanical man and he scooted past him, grabbing a chemical drink he could consume. He showed the can to Eli, him shaking his head in response to his silent question. “How’d you know I was here?”

“Your boy told me to Google ‘where to buy energy drinks near me’, and this place was less than five hundred feet away. So, I took a tiny gamble.”

“Putting those MIT smarts to good use.” Thank God this place had a self checkout counter. He was not in the mood to make small talk with a schmoozer that didn’t give a shit about anything other than the plastic burning a hole in his pocket. “You really left Nines to suffer through another one of mom’s powerpoint presentations?”

“You left him.” Gavin scooped up the silver pouches, throwing them into one bag that crinkled on contact. “Who’s your friend there?”

“Don’t matter who he is.” He handed it to him before pulling back the tab on his little treat, blasted with the headache-inducing waft of artificial raspberry.

The android wasted no time unscrewing the cap, squeezing the entirety of the blue liquids into his mouth like he was shotgunning a tallboy at a frat house. What an uneventful party this was.

“Wow, Gav,” his brother nudged him, “doing something that isn’t entirely self serving? Incredible.”

After that brief interruption and a justifiable earful from his mother, they’d stopped by dad’s storage unit to rifle not only for the tools, but to start going through his copious amounts of shit. The SUV was going to be a separate headache inducing entity to figure out.

Everyone wanted to keep their minds, and hands, busy. This was a fair trade off, made more sense in the long run to tackle a contained hoarder's den bit by bit. Their strategy led to them grabbing boxes only explicitly marked; DVD collection, wood carvings, Elijah’s workroom, and one labeled in bleeding sharpie… Gavin’s junk.

It was presumptive of them to think they could cram ten boxes into the backseat of what was one step above a clown car. Let alone two other bodies– they’d dropped off mom back at the house.

She’d casually mentioned that she’d checked out of the hotel, which had Eli whipping out his phone before she could finish the sentence. Didn’t matter if she was auditioning as a model citizen earlier, his brother insisted they go elsewhere.

“Just because she’s playing nice doesn’t mean she’s not going to snap at you again. I don’t feel comfortable with her being around you outside of a public setting.”

“I don’t wanna make this into a bigger deal than–”

“She hit you. It’s a massive fucking deal.”

“She,” Nines’ lips parted, “what?”

“I told you that she beat my ass.”

“I thought you meant that figuratively. No, we are not staying with her, Gavin.”

“It’s two against one, and,” he sucked on his front teeth, “would you look at that, my hand slipped.”

His blood ran cold as he trailed down the screen, zoning in on the lethal price tag, before taxes. That said… three fucking grand for a state suite at the Four Seasons. Ah, this was coming from a place of guilt. Why the hell else would he pick the Four Seasons if the shame from his graduation party wasn’t still weighing heavy over his head?

“You really had to go with the most expensive option out there?” The reality was, that was a sneeze in the wind for Eli, which was demented to say. He'd looked up his net worth before out of morbid curiosity; he had more zeros in his bank account than there were people on this planet.

“Wasn’t the most expensive. What’s the point of having money if I never spend it, hm? I don’t mind spending it on you, it’s the rest of our fucked up family that feel like they’re owed it. You’ve never asked me to pay off a mortgage–”

“Has that happened?”

“Oh, yeah. Nicole and Justin”–their unbearable aunt and dick for brains husband–”demanded outright that I buy them a property in the Keys worth around five mil, as a vacation home— I don't even have a vacation home. You’ve asked the bare minimum from me, and I-I couldn’t deliver that. Let me do something nice for you, for all of us. Consider this an overdue vacation.”

“I’m,” he smacked a hand against his own chest, “not worth the hassle.”

Eli and Nines rolled their heads in the same direction, sharing a matched expression of being done with Gavin’s melodramatic bullshit.

“Open your mouth to bitch one more time and I'll change the reservation for a royal suite. I'll sleep as good as a newborn, but the guilt's going to haunt you until the day you die. I know it will, and I’ll relish it.”

“...how big of a price jump is that?”

“Put a one in front of that three.”

“Thirteen thousand dollars for a single night?” His spit went flying like an unpredicted storm as he practically screamed.

“I’m sorry, I know. Those are rookie numbers,” Eli cringed, wiping at his cheek. “Gav, you can tell yourself whatever lies put gas in your self-deprecation tank, but it doesn’t make them true.”

He turned to look at Nines. “Eli’s not gonna set you off again, is he?”

“If you can put your trust in him, I can, too.”

The current game plan was: rent a U-Haul trailer they could attach to his car, that way they could make a worthwhile dent in dad’s mess and be able to transport whatever they wanted to keep back to Michigan. Sort through as many boxes as they could until exhaustion set in, and that’s when they’d throw in the towel, part ways to their overpriced escape room.

Stop by before heading out in the morning to re-attach the trailer, make their final sweep to make sure they weren’t forgetting anything, bid their brief adieus. Mom was already back to making her sly passive aggressive remarks, how she was going to be so lonely in a big house like this.

As they pulled out one binder of baseball cards after another, their mom suggested they rummage through her own city of storage bins. His guess about the downstairs unit not being occupied was correct; his mom hoarded physical items but could Gavin really get on her case when he was just as bad, compiling invisible mementos. Petty playground talk that stuck like glue, backhanded compliments that kept him awake at night.

Photobooks, clothes that had holes from moths– holy shit, their foam armor had narrowly survived two decades. The paint was chipped to hell and back, thick dents not even a heat gun could fix, but it was still a tangible item you could hold in your hands.

Sorting things into piles was the easiest way to make a dent in the disaster they were building in the living room. Things the three of them wanted to keep, what their mother could easily drop in donation bins or pawn off to her friends, and literal garbage.

They’d cleaned the house to the best of their capabilities before they’d left. Flipped around the couch cushion so mom was none the wiser, put back the forks, straightened the chairs, mopped up the disaster of a bathroom. The only thing they hadn’t gotten to was sweeping up the glass in Eli’s room, which was on their current list of to-do’s.

Trying to keep mom away from it when she was the nosiest person he’d ever met was mission impossible. Of course she’d started yelling her head off when she saw the glass shards reflecting the sun’s rays, the trophies piled. They chalked it up to them getting in a heated… wrestling match.

Surprisingly (or maybe not), she was more distraught about Elijah wanting to box up his figures, pick away the taped up photos, bring down the posters. The reality that she was going to reside here without a faux memory of her (fully grown) kid coming home was setting in.

She threw around the idea of selling the house, which Gavin was on board for. Told her to just pack up and move to Michigan. She’d find an affordable house in the metro Detroit area for way less than what she’d get for this place.

“Gav,” Eli set down a dustpan, pulling over a box full of bubble wrap instead. “Do you want Gordon Freeman?”

“...maybe.” That would liven up his apartment. A single photo on the wall and Gordon Freeman sitting on his dresser, judging his every movement. “You don't?”

“I have a bigger one signed by Gabe Newell,” the corners of his lips pulled. “He wanted to meet me, personally. Want to see the photo?”

Gavin huffed, picking up the hefty statue, admiring his gravity gun. “You’re delusional. No one in their right mind wants to meet you.”

“You’re wrong, you see. Lots of people are lining up to get a chance to bask in my presence because they know I'm related to the world famous megadouche nine thousand.”

“Ha ha. Go fuck yourself.” He lifted a Captain Canuck figure, Eli shrugging with a vague empty-handed gesture in response. Thank God he wasn't fishing around the dating pool because his apartment was about to become the ultimate virgin lair. “Did you ask him why he's allergic to the number three?”

“Ran out of time. I could text him, though. He's saved right beside Hideo Kojima— do you want to see that photo?”

He looked over his shoulder to meet Nines’ eyes, pointing at Eli with his thumb, aghast. “Can you believe this guy? Gotta be where you get your big head from.”

Once his hands were starting to cramp in the shape of claws and tremors lived in his ligaments, they bent the page of their current novel and picked up a new one. Where the main characters were entirely unrelatable.

A modern colonial structure with brick pathways that were inescapable in this city, but the lobby was a very in-date definition of luxury. Smelled like nodes of warm vanilla and fresh laundry, or a pricey hand soap from a boutique; Gavin couldn't afford to breathe it in.

Everyone around him could sniff out that he was a fraud. He was half expecting a bellhop to press a big red button, slingshotting him from the property altogether. Wearing a thermal that had discolored bleach stains and, a different pair of (skinny) jeans, but they looked like he'd plucked them out of Hot Topic’s clearance bin (because he did). Families wearing coordinated angora sweater vests, women with victory curls and silk cocktail dresses.

At least Eli was dressed similarly with his fucking Sly Cooper shirt. It was Nines that made them both look bad. Bastard really had to change into the slacks that did his ass a great service, suit jacket that hugged his waist and made Gavin froth at the mouth.

There was a goodie bag prepared for BB at the check-in desk (more employees swooning over this damn, spoiled as shit cat). Chef prepared biscuits and a little dime bag of catnip– he had to give it a double take at first, his brain itching with the urge to cuff Nines’ cat.

He couldn't wrap his head around this being Eli's normal. The only times he'd come close to staying at a place this bougie (outside of the one ski resort) was when they'd pack six cosplayers into a two bed corner room for conventions.

Eli acting like Gavin was an unimportant microbacteria aside, wealth hadn't changed his personality, his dry sense of humor. He wasn't whipping out his wallet to flex the Amex Black Card he knew he had. Didn't boast (obvious) brand named goods like their much less well-off mother.

Eli tapped his phone against the lock, completely unphased by the room that was bigger than the kinda condos they’d charge up the ass for downtown– hell, this was bigger than Gavin’s apartment. Large open windows that he knew BB would take advantage of, bird watching to his heart’s content. The view of the garden was a little tragic, but he was sure that come spring, it’d be enchanting when everything was less shriveled up, not full of brown, the spruce clothed.

The living room with its artistic rug– he used that word loosely. It was a sort of macrame that he was sure cost more than the nightly rate itself, but he could safely say was not his style. Also, best way to summarize the decor choices: cuck chairs galore.

A lone club single seater by the theater sized television, more accompanying the multitude of tables, and of fucking course, one more tucked in a corner in the main bedroom. So many demented thoughts were racing through his mind right now. If only he could get this place to himself, how he’d absolutely love to test out all those spots with Nines. The vanity was the perfect height to be lifted onto…

“Hope you’re okay sharing a bed,” Eli coddled the mewing menace in his arms, dangling a crinkle ball above his too big ears (was he going to grow into them, or would he always look this goofy). “This couch isn’t a pullout, and I don’t want to deal with your ass tonight.”

Nines slipped by him, but not without tracing his fingers across his back. He needed a strip of Flex Tape, seal up these depraved fantasies. “Think we’ll make it work.”

Eli hung his head. Oh, Christ, those thoughts were silent, right? “Thank God he doesn’t have a dick, because tonight would be,” he took a deep breath, “the worst night of my life.” He needed to start thinking quieter. Ugh.

He wasn’t going to lie, lying under a renaissance-esque mural beside a heated pool that overlooked Beacon Hill was fucking magical. This was after they raided the unlimited snack pantry, because that was a thing.

Instead of the packed to the brim mini fridges that’re stocked with twenty dollar juices and ten dollar pringles in a basket on top, you could stash full sized boxes of gummy worms and chocolate covered almonds all night long if that's how you wanted to waste your time. Even had a flavored water machine, and an accompanying one for thirium– bubblegum, that was new. Nines immediately shook his head, spitting it out.

He dangled his ankle into the shallow end of the water. Dad had a few pairs of swim trunks they could use to their advantage (Eli came prepared). They were a little too big in the waist (especially on Nines), but he could stomach them sliding down his hips. He was aware he was staring, and he didn’t give a shit that Nines caught him gawking on more than one occasion.

“Take off your stupid shirt,” Eli splashed at him, a droplet landing directly in his eye. “We’re the only ones in here.”

“Fuck no. Got too many busted looking scars, abs definitely ain't toned enough to make a guest appearance, and Jesus, kinda got a jungle on my chest right now.”

“God,” Eli shifted to float on his back. “Who the hell cares?”

“I do. I care, a lot.”

Nines filled the spot beside him, patting his thigh. He didn't know if he meant to barely slip under the hem, tease his bare skin, but he'd… very much allow it. Jesus, he was still pent up. When will the horny suffering end.

“Neither of us will poke fun at you, and you know that,” Nines said, hushed. “I have zero ill-intended thoughts about you.”

“S’all you do is make fun of me.”

“Not when it comes to your insecurities.”

“I only judge you when something stupid comes out of your mouth— which, is often, but,” Eli craned his neck, “not about the way you look.”

“I will keep my eyes trained on yours.” Nines dropped into the water, cupping Gavin's shins. “Get in here.”

He let himself be swallowed by warmth. Nines led him towards the deeper end, stopping right around the point he was barely able to keep his footing. Fucker had no issue grounding himself in the part marked with a six. “No one can see. All you are is a floating head.”

“Am I a good looking floating head?”

“The most handsome there ever was.” Nines pawed at the hem, slowly pulling the fabric over his arms. And just like that, Gavin was bare chested, lost deeply in the other man's spell.

“God, I need to find a girlfriend,” his brother swam over to them, his uneven strokes causing waves that shot up Gavin’s nostrils. (“Fucking asshole.”) Made his throat burnt something awful, cough uncontrollably, even as Nines patted his back. “You two make me sick.”

“Don't wanna build yourself another one?”

“Too much effort.”

“You don't still have Chloe's number?”

“I have it memorized, but I think I’m the last person on the planet that she wants to hear from. Anyways, the reason I came over here,” he scooped up Gavin and tossed him over his shoulder like a rag doll void of stuffing. “I don't have to be sweet on you. Hold your breath.”

“Eliah-juh,” he whined, but there wasn't enough time to bargain with him.

To end their day, they settled on another relaxing activity. Some people like to wind down with a glass of Chardonnay (drinking was out of the question, could you be any more tone deaf than that). A stroll through a historic, indoor marketplace this time.

Nah, a couple rounds of Cards Against Humanity was their pick. He saw the long box tucked away in Eli's room, stuffed it into his duffel bag knowingly.

And, they definitely practiced volume control. Gavin didn't scream his head off and push Nines out of his chair, multiple times. Doesn't sound like Gavin at all. Why would he do that?

“Hey, baby, come back to my place and I'll show you…” Gavin placed the black card down. “Gimme something good, Eli. Stop letting this fucker win every round.”

“I'm trying my best here. He's cheating.”

Nines’ nose wrinkled. “How does one cheat at this game?”

“I don't know,” he scratched the back of his head before playing his move. “But you found a way. We're ready for you.”

Gavin angled his body, two (three?) sets of eyes impatiently watching him. “Christ, chill out. Look like you both wanna jump down my fucking throat. For different reasons.” He picked up the cards, his face falling. “Famine,” a sigh, “beating a crowd of delightful parents to death with a steel dildo.” He pointedly looked at Nines. “Already know that's your card because you're insane.”

Nines held out his palm. “Am I? Or am I strategic, using my knowledge of your broken sense of humor to my advantage?”

“My answer hasn't changed.”

“What would grandma find disturbing, yet oddly charming?” Eli cleared his throat. “Alright, gentlemen. This is the tiebreaker. Pressures on you now, Gav. Give me the best you got. I believe in you.”

He looked at his hand. Oh boy, he had a zinger. He was about to wipe the floor with Nines’ ass. He slammed it down, eyes narrowed at the brunet by his side.

“The biggest, blackest dick,” Elijah read, monotone. There was no chance he wasn't going to be the crowned champion. That thought was fleeting when Eli rubbed at his mouth, muttering under his breath, “...sharing needles.”

“God fucking damn it,” he slammed down his fist, thwacking the back of Nines’ cranium. “What is wrong with you?”

“This is why I've won your heart.” Damn right he had. “Because I am just as fucked in the head as you are.”

Eli stifled his laughter. “Got to give him some credit. At least he's self aware.”

 

---

 

Why did Eli kicking his feet sound like a pipe bomb detonating? He couldn't win. If it wasn't the radiator trying to make him sweat to death, it was his ass clown brother thrashing in his sleep, causing a damn ruckus. Design flaw that both beds were in one shared, enclosed bedroom.

Was he dreaming he was on Broadway? Or, what the hell was with the theatrical footwork. Scratch that thought. Seconds later, his body stilled before he did a half situp, resurrecting from his grave.

He peeled off his socks one at a time, barreling them towards the bright red target on Gavin's forehead, staring at him like a zombie. The way he was unblinking, he had to have been asleep still. With one hand he massaged his stomach counter clockwise.

“It really gets it moving,” his speech slurred.

Was this code? Was he reviving the secret language they'd created in elementary school? He gawked at him, whispering: “...gets what moving?”

Without saying another word, he collapsed against the mattress and snored, loud as fuck. He didn’t miss this. Thank everything holy they were leaving in a few hours. Sheets rustled as Nines sighed.

“Did the jackass wake you up, too?”

“He did.”

He snickered, quietly. “He’s said a lot of stupid shit in his sleep. Used to freak me the fuck out ‘cause he’d bolt up, start laughing like a maniac then do this. Fall back asleep like nothing happened.”

Nines only hummed in response. He glanced at him; his eyes were closed.

Was this going to be something they made a habit of? If Nines was going to stay with him for a couple more weeks, they were going to have to figure out the less than ideal situation of him sleeping on his couch. His bed did get awfully lonely, given Bailey didn’t take up much room.

Nines was only a pillow space apart from him, but that was too far. He studied his tense body, looked back at Eli laying mummified, then behind himself once more. All he wanted was an ounce of intimacy, of shared affection. But, did he want to do this?

Open this massive can of worms that'd never be able to be sealed again. Once he got a taste of how it felt to have Nines wrapped around him, he wouldn't be able to quit the cravings.

Fuck yeah, he did. He lifted the other man's arm as he inched himself closer, until his back was pressed flat against his chest.

“Gavin, what–” his breath caught, his voice laced with unfiltered exhaustion, “what if it happens again tonight?”

“It better not. The incidental for this room is probably like, a billion dollars.”

“But, if it does?”

“It won't.”

“How do you know that?”

“I-I don't.”

“Gavin–”

He dragged his nails across his wrist. “Just shut the hell up and hold me.”

Nines shifted himself so his heavy forehead was leaning against the back of his skull, arm draped over his waist, hand resting over his, legs tangling together. They slotted together a little too well.

“Nines.”

“Hm?” He felt his vibrations through his scalp.

“Never fucking leave me again.”

There was a pause. “I have no plans to.”

“You can’t say that shit unless you honest to God mean it.”

He nodded. “Did you hear the message I left for you in your bear?”

“That you're a cockroach that's gonna haunt me 'til the end of time?”

“Yes, that. I meant every word.” His grip around him tightened. “Now, please. I want to sleep.”

 

---

 

A lavender latte made in-house and delivered to their room so Gavin didn’t need to drag his lazy ass back to the lobby was going to be on the pricer side, he accepted that. Fifteen dollars wasn’t the most he’d spent on coffee before, he hated to admit it. But, dammit, why did it have to be brewed by angels and spit in by the Holy Spirit himself? A cup of liquid heaven. He was going to be thinking about it for weeks.

He tried to savor it, take his sweet ass time so he’d have something to focus on when mom bombarded them with one ruthless question after another– where’d they spend the night, when was the next time she was going to see Elijah, how could they leave her to her own devices. How dare they spend their last night in a sanctitude of actual privacy instead of appreciating her kind, pure hearted hospitality.

To his utmost chagrin, she was busier clacking her heels around the living room with a Swiffer duster, paying the two that darted up the stairs no mind. She donned a tweed pantsuit, another round of ill-timed dress-up. Shit, it was barely eight in the morning and hard enough for Gavin to align the zipper on his hoodie.

He fiddled with his car keys in his pocket, sipping at his drink, trying to meet her avoidant eye. “Why’re you all dolled up? You even own a pair of sweatpants?”

“I have somewhere to be in half an hour,” she huffed, rotating a duck variant of a Russian nesting doll. “There’s nothing wrong with putting a little effort into your appearance, Gavin.”

“Uh huh. Who’s coming over that you’re tidying up for?” This was a ritual that usually followed the mention of Elijah, but since they were already here, that was kind of counterproductive. “You know your sisters nitpick with their whole chests. Gonna find something to critique even if you vaporize every last spec of dust twice.”

“My sisters aren’t coming over.” His curiosity wouldn’t be put on hold for too long. There was a knock at the door, mom impatiently moseying to fling it open.

Lo and behold, a glorious jackass was bestowed upon him. It was Bill with his polished bald spot, brighter than the sleepy sun stretching its arms for the day. They immediately locked eyes; his brother joked about Gavin being a rat, but fuck, Bill seriously looked like some mutant lab experiment you’d find in a New York subway.

“The church organized a private vigil for your father,” she traded the plastic yellow wand for a hand mirror, blotting off her lips with a tissue. “You’re more than welcome to come, but I know you boys want to get on the road.”

“No, he’s not,” Bill said as he coughed into his fist.

“Shit, Bill, think you’re overdue for a doctor’s visit. I’ve heard assholeitis is pretty serious.” He put a hand on his hip, studying his mother. She smelled like peaches today. “Since when did you start going back to church? You’re so far from religious, it ain’t even funny.”

If sticking to schedules was in his nature, they would’ve been cruising down I-90 already. That’s precisely why he resisted the urge to buy a planner (he wanted one solely to spiff up the pages with leftover washi tape and stickers he had no other purpose for). They weren’t going to cross into Michigan until the Milky Way was twinkling in his rearview mirror.

“I like the sense of community there. There are a few women my age that I’ve become friends with,” she crossed the strap of another leather brand name purse over her chest. “One of them has a gay son herself,” he heard that little concealed grunt Bill made. “We were actually talking about hooking you two up, but this was all before I learned about your secret love life.”

The entirety of that sentence took five years off his life. It was a damn miracle he hadn’t joined the twenty seven club.

“Maybe you should rip a few pages out of your mother’s book.”

Despite his lack of personal grooming, he was dressed equally as nice; suspender and tie combo with pewter lapel pins. Guess it’d be too noticeable of a faux pas to not clean up for your own brother’s… celebration of life didn’t feel like the right way to word it when there was nothing to celebrate. Acknowledgement of prolonged suffering and unfulfilled cosmic debt.

“What book? Her bible?” He felt his pocket buzz, focused on the ceiling creaking. “Think I would immediately burst into flames if I got within fifty miles of a church.”

“There’s something I agree with you on, for once.” Heavy footsteps traveled behind him, stopping dead in their tracks. “You’re really heading out already, Gavin? Feels like you just got here.”

“Well, you know,” a hand squeezed his shoulder, “gotta get back to my busy life of being a meter maid.”

“Why the hell are you here?” It was Elijah.

“Wow.” He shook his head, tutting. Oh God, Gavin was now blind. He was about to offer him one of Nines’ beanies for his own damn sake. “Polite sons you’ve raised there, Judy.”

“I don’t want to hear it,” she sternly stated, stuffing a charger and a handful of cough drops into her bag. “They’re speaking to you with the same amount of respect you’ve shown them.” Well, shit, mom woke up on the right side of the bed. Getting a full night’s worth of rest after… thirty years of sleeping with one eye open was rejuvenating. This side of her, he could tolerate.

Eli bumped him with his shoulder. “Come on, don’t waste your time on this loser. Ni– Richard,” he sucked in his lips, “has the last box we didn’t bring down. We’re not getting to Michigan until eleven-ish, now.”

“What?” his face scrunched. “Nah, you’re not calculating that right.”

“I definitely am,” Eli leaned in closer, cupping his ear. “We can’t go through Canada, remember.”

“Shit.” Yeah, he wasn’t going in tomorrow. Goddammit. “That's right.”

Bill’s eyes flicked upwards as the stairs groaned and whined. “Well, well, well. Is this the infamous boyfriend that we know far too much about?”

When one has an extravagant pool room to themselves, they take advantage of it. They’d gravitated from taking turns cannonballing to sitting in the hot tub (Nines and him less than five feet apart, because they are gay). Blabbed on and on until their fingers pruned to catch Nines up to date on all the juicy drama he missed.

But instead of being entertaining (which, okay, it was still a little too fresh to laugh about, even for Gavin), Nines festered in layered guilt. As much of dad’s story he’d shared with him, the abuse aspect wasn’t something he liked to focus on. As in, he had no fucking clue Gavin was a communal punching bag.

The box he had pressed to his chest was bursting at the seams, packing tape doing the true heavy lifting to keep the top from flying open. “I am. Are you the asshole that keeps on giving?”

That. That’s why he was helplessly falling harder and harder for this weird ass creature on the daily. Gavin snorted too loud, Bill only scoffing. “I don’t get it at all,” he sat on the couch, opposite end from dad’s spot. “You’re really okay with this?”

Mom exhaled sharply. “The only thing that concerns me is if my son is happy or not. And it’s glaringly obvious that this young man is a good match for him. Nothing else matters.” Eli met his eyes the same time he peered at him. Was he hallucinating? His coffee must’ve been roofied.

“You know, Gavin.” Nothing good ever followed a sentence like that. “I know your dad never told you this because he didn’t know how to talk to you.”

Great, where the hell was this going. What detrimental truth bomb he was about to drop? This man was suicidal. It was four against one, the taller brunets hovering by either side of his shoulders.

“The day you came out to him, he showed up in tears at my doorstep. Thought he was about to announce your death, Judy. But, no. He was asking me where he went wrong.” Nines lowly groaned. “He’d always had suspicions something was off with you– we all did. Mark and I made bets on when that day was gonna come. He convinced himself you’d grow out of it–”

“Bill, if you’re not going to stop speaking to him that way,” his mom pointed at the door, “you can get the hell out of my house.”

Gavin and Elijah whistled in unison. They might not’ve been twins, but they had some kind of inner sibling intuition. Elijah squeezed their mom on her shoulder before he slipped past their fuckhead uncle. “There’s a reason you’re divorced, Bill.”

“Sure, yeah, I’ll leave. You can find yourself a new ride, then.”

“That’s fine. I can drive myself.”

Gavin held open the door for Nines before leaning into Bill’s personal space, whispering and making him flinch like the pussy he was. “Best you bite your tongue or I’m gonna give you the play by play recap on last night. Think I’m gonna be walking funny for days.”

He was the last one out of the door, just in time to escape a volcanic eruption. The yelling grew distant as he reached the U-Haul.

“We should key his car.” He threw his cup away. Didn't need to needlessly add to the mess that still remained in the front seat, get to actually cleaning it up while they had access to a recycling bin.

Elijah scrunched his face. “Are you sure you’re really a cop?”

“Don’t do that.” Nines latched the lock of the trailer, double checking it. “Removing the tire caps is more inconspicuous.”

Elijah looked between them, aghast. “Jesus, seriously Gavin, what the hell did you do to him?”

“Hey, my job wasn’t to be his mentor.” They both snickered. “I like that idea.” He crouched, using his keys to pluck one of them off.

“Do not remove all of them or you will make it too obvious. Only do two, at most.”

“This is not what I designed you for.” He stuck out his hand expectantly for the keys. “As long as you’re content with the life you’ve chosen for yourself.”

A cherished smile, only for Gavin to see. “I am.”

“I’m giving you all the props for being able to tolerate my brother,” Eli slid into the driver’s seat. “I don’t know how you do it.”

“Thanks, jackass.”

“Oh, you’re so welcome, Gavvy,” he slammed the door shut.

 

---

 

“How much time do you have off from work?” Eli looked to his side, at Gavin. Nines was squished in the backseat with BB, a replenished snack bag, and their strapped in plushies that were holding hands.

“Jeff’s on a first name basis with mom, he’s pretty in the loop. He’s not gonna care if I don’t come back in ‘til Wednesday. But, I wanted to be back by the end of today. Why?”

If they’d been able to leave without being squeezed half to death by their mother, then Gavin’d have confirmation they were truly in the end times. With him specifically, she was like a ravenous leech, alternating between his cheeks as she planted one wet kiss after another. Singing him a melody of how much she loved him and wanted to remain in his life, deceitful promises that she’d do better.

She took Nines’ hands into her own (he tried to avoid her touch, but she wasn’t having it), murmuring similar sentiments of how she appreciated him even if their meeting was brief. She had to tilt her head as far back as she could to meet his eyes, it was ridiculous. And, then, she pointedly looked at Gavin.

“You better treat this man right. Or so help me.”

“Ohmygod, mom, I will. Stop meddling with my relationship.”

The agreement they’d settled on was to trade off positions every three hours, or so. Nines offered to extend his shifts, but they waved him off (Gavin especially). Only contingency was that Gavin wasn’t the first one up because he needed a damn break from that wheel. It wasn’t her, it was him. No, it was her. Fuck this car, fuck driving.

“Because, we can do this two ways. Focus on getting back home, though with bathroom, and food, breaks because two of us need those, we’re looking at an arrival time of…” he tapped on his phone, “fuck, we're pushing one AM now.”

“And the alternative is, what, a mini road trip?”

“Yeah,” Eli gave his shoulder a light punch, “I haven’t gotten to do that much with you–”

“Because you–”

He held up his hand. “I know why. You don’t have to keep telling me. Also, I know this one,” he gestured over his shoulder, “has had his travel experience mostly confined to one city.”

“That is not entirely true. I have seen the beauty of LAX and… Ohio.”

“Godspeed,” he looked back at Gavin. “What do you think? I’ll take care of the bookings as long as you pick out cool shit to see.”

“Gonna stop cheaping out and get us a five figure room?”

“Boy,” he blew out a puff of air, “don’t play with me.”

Gavin twisted his torso. Nines had his brows raised. “I know what your vote is. Is there anything you wanna see before we leave the state? A hospital and our parent’s place ain’t really… a good representation of MA.”

“You are the Bostonian.” Where’d he learn that word from. “What do you think is worthy of seeing?”

“You still don’t want to go back to Salem, do you?” Eli adjusted the rearview mirror, shifted the seat a smidgen.

“Nothing’s gonna be open.”

“I know, but that might be a blessing in disguise. Means we don’t have to go anywhere dad tainted.”

A stage show of sorrow ridden waves from their mom (Bill with his back purposely turned to them, sulking beside his Buick with its smashed tailpipe) and they were officially making their departure. They drove around the immediate neighborhood, both spouting tales of what it was like to grow up here. How Gavin fell off a swing and skinned his knee in this park, and Eli made a quick buck mowing the neighbors lawn in that house.

Briefly passing their elementary school that was only a few blocks away from their junior high. The hobby shops and book stores they frequented and dumped all their pocket change out at. Where they’d go for public D&D nights and occasional showings of old classics (like Kick-Ass and the original Avengers).

Chevalier Theater, where he saw his first concert with Eli (it was a Final Fantasy orchestra, no one is surprised). The fabric store that’d boasted about being founded in the early nineteen hundreds, and had been the backbone of many of Tina’s projects. Obviously Eli had to swing by MIT, couldn’t miss an opportunity to gloat. He’d boasted about a building named after him, to which Gavin simply said: no one gives a shit. He quietly replied with, I know.

“I needa say goodbye to one other person before we head out.”

Elijah didn’t need to ask. Tina’s mom screamed her head off for a second time, ecstatic to meet the legendary crush in person, and see Elijah’s face after far too long. It seemed like all moms held the super power of saying just enough to make you squirm without saying too much.

She went on about how Tina often brought Nines up in conversation, how Gavin gushed about him– that’s what he meant. She didn’t mention how he was completely and utterly infatuated with him, but just the mention of him talking about Nines to other people rubbed him raw. He was boiling alive.

They saw the sights of the major tourist attractions in Salem from afar, forgoing hunting for the Hocus Pocus houses because that was still on their to-watch list. Passed by the ancient above ground cemetery that made him feel like he was being followed, the plethora of bronze warlock and witch themed statues, the highly disappointing hotel that lacked any cool demons.

The witch museum made his breath audibly catch, Eli and Nines offering him soothing physical affection in harmony. Though Eli’s came in the form of a gentle flick on the cheek, while Nines went more the route of rubbing circles on his forearm– actually soothing.

While Eli wanted to pop in the one bakery that’d flicked on their lights and began stocking their shelves full of fresh carby goods, Gavin found himself on a wharf, loitering near a stocky lighthouse. Though the wood of this dock wasn’t exceptionally healthy, it didn’t give way like a melted chocolate bar. He took in the tranquility, the quiet air that was still like the frozen over patches of the waterfront.

“This is one of the only things I miss about living here,” he watched his breath escape into the grey that surrounded them. “Our sorry excuse for lakes don’t cut it.”

“It is quite beautiful. Though, I don’t know if that is solely because of the view.”

He lulled his head in Nines’ direction. “That’s kinda gay.”

“Good,” he chuckled softly. “That was my intention.”

Gavin timidly raked over his knuckles. “Still gonna be weird about holding my hand?”

“I was not being weird about it–”

“Yes you fucking were–”

“I did not like being put in the spotlight by your brother.”

“What the hell’s the big deal? What're you hiding from me now?”

His mouth opened before he wet his lips and closed it. One long, deep breath, then he laced their fingers. He kept his gaze trained onwards. “This is why. I have tried to suppress it for as long as I could. I can't anymore.”

Nines’ skin had peeled away, exposing only his white casing. Oh… oh, shit. This is why Eli was droning on about penguins. A symbol of an undying bond– he assumed. He was gonna have to look this up as soon as he could, though he wasn’t entirely eager to learn the exact definition.

“Bud,” Gavin worried his (still sore and chewed up) lower lip, “do you really understand what you’re signing yourself up for? I know you know I’m difficult to deal with, I’m a fucking handful–”

“That is an understatement.”

“Yeah, whatever, shut up. This is like, next level. I’ve got so much shit hanging over me I ain’t worked through, and I doubt I ever fucking will. I’m a falling apart, hot mess, Nines.”

He met his eye. “I want you, Gavin. What baggage you come with will be dealt with as it turns up. It’s apparent I am far more fucked up than even you are, anyways.”

“That's…” his cheeks puffed, “that’s the part I'm worried about. I don’t want you to get caught in the crossfire ‘cause I’m gonna try to find an easy way out when things get hard. Get real. Guess blocking you won’t do much good ‘cause I know you’ll just bust down my door.”

“You are not wrong. I would, and will.” He squeezed his hand. “Well. Are you willing to give it the old college try?” Seriously, where was he getting all these phrases from...

He didn’t have a choice, not really. He couldn’t be friends with someone that haunted his every waking thought, that brought all his selfish desires to the forefront. That he desperately wanted all to himself. He nodded. “For as long as you wanna put up with my ass.”

“We are going to be stuck together for an eternity, then. I hope you know that.”

 

---

 

Instead of calling out every yellow car they could spot, they tallied up the astronomical amount of graveyards that were adjacent to main roads. An old state meant lots of people died, and eventually, space runs out when you memorialize someone instead of letting the maggots peacefully take them.

The secret phrase to get a point was ‘I love dead people’. First one to reach ten won– there was no prize, except short lived entertainment and a longer lived core memory.

Though, the glaring results of his Google search were much more distracting. What does it mean when an android’s hand turns white. Exactly what he fucking thought it meant. The guy with massive commitment issues really had to chase after an android that only knew permanency.

They’d switched positions so Gavin could put together a crappy makeshift bed in the backseat. Wasn't really enough room to stretch out his legs, but he'd managed to get a wink of sleep. Until they hit a pothole deep enough that it felt like a tire fucking flew off, making BB demonically hiss.

“I didn't just… run over someone, did I?”

A light chuckle that he knew belonged to his boy. “The conditions of these roads are not great.”

“Love when taxpayer dollars go to diddly squat.” There was a stale, lingering pause. “Is he still asleep?” He was a master at the art of pretending to be unconscious. Avoided many awkward conversations with his father thanks to this skill.

He heard leather creaking. “I believe so.”

“Gavin, I’m about to pull into Dunkin. Hurry up and tell me what you want.” Tapping of fingers before a huff. “Did he open his eyes?”

“No. He must be knocked out if the mention of coffee did not get him jumping out of his seat.”

Another long pause. Prying open one eye was too risky. He wanted to be a fly on the wall. Eavesdropping was how he'd learned of acquaintances breaking up, dad rekindling a friendship with his first ex-wife. The good shit.

“I feel like I need to give you this talk because I haven’t met any of Gavin’s other partners— outside of high school situationships, and those don't count.”

Oh, God. The stereotypical older brother conversation, full of threats to beat the other senseless with a bat if he broke Gavin's heart and other such intimidation tactics. He wanted to groan.

“I know you’re not going to do anything to hurt him, intentionally. I just need you to grasp that he’s been through a metric fuckton. Things that you wouldn’t think would get under his skin, do. He's… a lot more sensitive than he lets on.” He read him like a damn book.

“Sometimes no word in the English language feels safe to say around him. He is always ready to jump at me over the smallest things.”

“Oh, I know. Trust me, I know. Don’t take it personally. He’s a tough nut to crack, that one. That’s his way of defense, has been since he was a kid. He’d come home from school, making it obvious something was off, but you’d ask him about it and get his generic catchphrase.”

“Fuck you, I assume.” Don’t laugh, don’t do it.

“Or, go fuck yourself. He varied it a little. Always wore his heart on his sleeve, but his lips stayed sealed.” That was the only way he felt safe. “He doesn’t let that many people into his world, so you’re a special one. The way he talks to you… I haven’t seen him that at ease with anyone before.” He had a punchable face that made him spill his guts in an instant. He didn’t know how Nines did it either.

“You do not mind that your brother and I–” he desperately wanted to see what kind of expression Nines was wearing, “with me being your creation.”

“I’m just glad that he found someone that can appreciate him for who he is. He’s a pretty cool person underneath the assholishness.”

“I have quite enjoyed getting to know him.”

“Gavin… boy does he like you.” Yes. Astute observation there, Eli. “I’ve seen how he’s talked about guys he was seeing, people he was crushing on.” Baseline. All because of their looks, not much more. “Never seen him look at someone quite the way he does with you.” He hadn’t looked at anyone this way before.

“I am very nervous that I am going to do the wrong thing.” He was bound to. They both were. “I don’t know how to navigate any of this. Romance, relationships, let alone a friendship. Despite the innumerable amount of books and articles I have read, the movies I have tried to study–” is this why he loved chick flicks so much? “This is entirely out of my comfort zone.”

“Well, I have some bad news for you. The world of dating isn’t comfortable for anyone,” you could say that again, “it doesn't matter if you’re the same species or not. Relationships aren’t easy. There’s going to be days you get on each other’s nerves to the point you question if this is going to be the thing that sinks the ship.” That was a daily occurrence with him. “Little quirks you’ve never paid attention to before– the sound of him chewing, which I also fucking hate.”

“He takes far too long in the shower. I think it is out of spite, most days.” Correct.

“And he’s like a fucking snake, shedding a single sock or jacket around the house.” Like Eli hadn’t done the same shit, always leaving bags hung around the dining chairs, jackets abandoned in Gavin’s bedroom.

“Do not get me started on his socks. He only wears them mismatched.” Maybe some truth to this (it was the accursed laundry demon’s fault), but they shared the same theme. Cats, and occasionally geese. More animals depicted doing dumb shit he could hide under layers.

“Yes, he does. Thank you for finding that as frustrating as I do. There’s a lot of annoying shit he does, and I’m sure you do, too.” Where did he begin. “But despite all of that, you just know deep inside yourself that that person’s the one.” God, was that a horrifying thought. “You’ll take the sacrifice of lip smacking for the foreseeable future if that means you’re going to be the one he returns to at the end of the day.”

“How do I know if this feeling of infatuation… what if it becomes something stronger than that?” Those weighted words. Fuck those words, actually.

“You’ll know. You’ll just know. It makes itself abundantly clear.” Eli sighed. “You– you need to be careful, is all I’m going to say. I don’t know what the fuck you did to yourself–”

“I’m sorr–”

“No, I’m not asking for an apology. But this is what I mean by inadvertently hurting him. I don’t think he can survive losing another person. Someone that means the world to him.” He couldn’t. He didn’t know what the fuck he’d do with himself if something did happen to Nines. “For, at least the next upcoming months, we need to establish routine maintenance and checkups. That way, if something does go screwy, there’s a better chance I can catch it and fix it.”

“Elijah, the same goes to you. I know he would not appreciate me telling you this, but Gavin talks about you every single day. You’re still his best friend.” And always would be (...with Tina one rank above him, of course).

“I’m planning to keep my promise this time. I want him to be in my life, too. I’ve really, really fucking missed him. He’s also my best friend, for the record,” metallic clanging, he was guessing Eli was reaching for his drink. “I don’t know if he told you that I was aware that you found him–”

“He briefly mentioned it. The mural photo.”

“I didn’t know what was going to form between you two. I, obviously, never would’ve guessed this. But I kept hoping that he’d find a friend in you. Knew he desperately needed one.” The clicking from the turn signal was pounding his skull. “Thank you for not giving up on him.”

“He didn’t give up on me, either.” He was going to continue to try not to.

“You're a good match for each other. I don't think he could've found anyone better, honestly.” He couldn’t have. Nines won gold. End of the line.

 

---

 

The three hour mark had come, which called for a shift change. Albany served as their intermission, a chance to stretch their legs and admire The Egg in all of its glory– wasn’t anything special other than vaguely looking like the kind of egg cups you’d see stashed away in your grandma’s fine China cabinet, but never see her use.

They'd hit up a Stewart’s to share a mint cookie crumble shake, and a child sized thirium float for Nines. Took a tiny detour to drive through downtown Catskill. To hell with natural beauty and luscious mountains with their speckles of white acrylic, he only cared about the dozens of fiberglass cat statues.

Thousands of beads glued to its base to replicate Starry Night, one masquerading itself as a French poodle, another feline friend with bright red lips and garter stockings that were reminiscent of Frank-N-Furter; he was toying with the idea of taking Nines to a shadowcast screening of Rocky Horror come October. He wouldn’t let him back out of the virgin initiation ritual, and the thought of Nines growing all flustered as he’d potentially get yanked on stage made it sound entirely worth it just for that.

Back to his passenger princess duties of fucking with his phone (refreshing his email ten times in a row because he didn’t know what else to do), and doing what he did best– yap to whoever would listen. Eli was now making use of the makeshift bed, arm dangling to tease the mesh of BB’s carrier. He could’ve been pulling an earlier him, but he had his earbuds in, so they had some privacy regardless.

“You talk to Fowler yet?”

“Briefly,” Nines bobbed his head. “He said as soon as we are back, he needs to see me in person.”

“Don’t you love when people say the most anxiety inducing shit and just leave it at that, no clarification at all?”

“Oh, yes. It is the best.”

“You want me to be there with you?”

“This is my fuck up. I need to handle it on my own,” he turned down the volume of whatever Fall Out Boy song was playing (he couldn’t tell, was background noise). “Whatever comes from it, you can distract me. Another mixed thirium drink would suffice as an equal trade-off.”

“Yeah? Really wanna have another one of those so you can have an excuse to feel me up?”

“Guilty as charged.”

“Think we’re overdue for a follow up double date with Tina and Michael, anyways.”

Nines’ brows were lost in his hairline. Ah, shit. “Date.”

“I did say that, didn’t I,” he pressed his tongue to his cheek. “Fuck it.” His palms had grown clammy. “You wanna go on one of those aforementioned dates? Officially? The ones we’d joke about, ‘cept we both knew it wasn’t really a joke.”

Nines couldn’t stop himself from grinning ear to ear, too toothy. “I am not saying no, but are most dates not usually… food centric?”

“Nah. Gonna have to do some brainstorming ‘cause my idea of a date ain't even going out to eat, It's,” he went slack jawed, pumping his fist up and down.

“Charming, Gavin.” Nines stretched out his arm, resting his hand on the center console, palm facing upwards as his fingers wiggled. Proof that Nines really did accept him if he was wanting to hold his hand after that obscene act. His skin peeled away, again. They were in too deep.

“Bud, you know you’re not gonna be able to return to the DPD, yeah? If you’d transferred back in a normal way, Fowler would’ve accepted in a heartbeat. But.”

“I understand that,” he shifted his seated position. “It is not yet confirmed if I am going to land this position, but I have been considering what it is that I want to do. I have been in contact with Markus– for multiple reasons–”

“The bounty.”

BB released a strangled chirp, their sign to keep their eyes peeled for the next rest stop. “I have been informed that it does not end with only me.”

“No shit? How much they think I’m worth?”

“A sizable amount because they know you do not only have direct contact with Elijah, but with me.”

“Ah. So I’m just a pawn, got it.”

“...do you want there to be a direct hit on your head? You sound disappointed.”

His way of coping, meaningless humor. “Just feels nice to be wanted.”

Nines laughed, genuine and unabashed. “I do not think I will ever truly be able to understand you, Gavin.”

“Yeah, no one’s gonna be able to solve this enigma.” He scratched his neck with his free hand. “No, uh. Go back to what you were saying. What’ve you been talking to Markus about?”

“New Jericho has been in the works of establishing a crisis line for those that have suffered domestic, and sexual, abuse. Something like this does not exist yet for androids, but it is a resource that really should be out there,” Nines squeezed him. “And,” that word lingered on the tip of his tongue, “when you told me that those men initially walked free–”

Gavin held up his hand, looking over his shoulder. “I still haven’t told him about… that.”

“We can put this conversation on hold for a later time”

He waved him off. “S’fine. Didn’t mean to cut you off, keep going.”

“What I am trying to say is that my decision to pursue this stemmed from you. I don’t want someone else to have to go through what you did and feel invalidated. I want their voice to be heard.” The prophecy was foretold; golden rays encapsulated Nines. He’d take this scenery over repetitious hills any day. “Jericho has secured funding in the form of donations from pro-android organizations, which we are seeing pop up all over the world now. Which means this will be a paid position, given things progress smoothly.”

“That’s, uh,” he ignored the crackling of his voice, “really fucking badass, Nines. Of anything you could’ve picked to do,” was Gavin’s turn to squeeze him back, “I respect that. A lot.”

“I am realizing that not only feeling like I am helping others, but seeing the results, gives me a sense of purpose. I think that is what solidified my decision to contact Fowler.”

“Same reason I went into it. Wanted to feel like I could make a difference for once in my damn life.”

“I think you have.”

“I’d like to think so.”

“Also,” Nines hastily glanced at him, “with Fowler directly coordinating with Markus, there is a chance we will inadvertently cross paths.”

“Great. Just when I thought I’d have some peace of mind.” He pointed at a sign that said the next stop was less than a mile away. “You ready to live with me again, for the next few weeks or however fucking long? Think you’re gonna forgo getting an apartment altogether, s’like this was your master plan all along.”

“Your bed is large enough for two.” His heart flung off a trampoline. “I think I can tolerate it.” He pulled into a parking lot infested by semi-trucks. As carefully as Gavin could without waking Eli, he slid out BB’s carrier.

The vending machines were in a separate building, one that was unoccupied. In his eyes, he saw it as a perfect kitty playground. Nines set the lil guy free as Gavin popped out the silicone dish, emptying the rest of the water from his thermos into it.

“Gavin.”

BB took off at full speed, running circles around them. “Mm?”

“Do you… resent me for what I did?”

“As in, you getting cold feet and toying with my emotions like everything was a cruel joke to you? Or you wanting to gut out my insides in the most perverse manner you could think of? Gotta be a little more specific.”

“Honestly,” he shoved his hands into his jacket– he was still wearing Gavin’s. “Either. Do not think I haven’t noticed your flinches.”

“I don’t resent you. But, I,” he side eyed the Arizona tea that was calling his name. He fumbled for his phone, tapping it against the machine. “Just know this feeling of, like everything’s finally going right for us, s’that everything’s clicking into place, ain’t gonna last long ‘cause it never does. Something else fucking crazy is bound to happen.” The can fell and made BB’s tail poof. “The universe don’t want us to be in the same room as each other.”

“That’s a pessimistic outlook.”

“You asked me what my thoughts were,” he pulled back the tab. “Telling you the honest to God truth.”

“The sentiment that you regret meeting me does not still ring true?”

“It never fucking did. That was evil Gavin talking, not… me.” He dropped to a knee, running his hand along the kitten’s spine (it didn’t stick out nearly as much anymore). “Do you think we’re becoming too… dependent on each other?”

Nines shifted his weight onto his other foot, wetting his lips. “Do you?”

“I mean…” he pointedly looked at him. “C’mon.”

“You can call me obsessive all you want. I don’t like not being with you.”

He straightened his back, taking another swig of the too sweet tea. “I don’t either.” Nines locked his eyes in that way that felt entirely too consuming, made him want to bash his head in with something.

In a way that physically hurt because he longed to watch his eyes study him from a much closer proximity. One that left no space between them. He gulped, loud enough that the sound echoed, Nines laughing under his breath.

He patted his chest to calm himself before gathering up their belongings. Rodeoing BB back into his jail cell was going to be… interesting.

“I feel like I have not asked you this enough. Are you doing okay?”

He huffed out the side of his mouth. “What’s the basis of your definition?”

“The truth.” Nines made a perfect circle with his fingers, tightening around BB’s waist. He gently set him back on his blanket with all his chewed up toys surrounding him, Gavin hurriedly working to zip up the mesh flap. Teamwork makes the dreamwork

“Don’t judge me for saying this, but dad being gone is… it’s kinda freeing? Yeah, it fucking sucks that he’s gonna be nothing more than dust in an overpriced pot, type of dead.” He pushed his back against the door, shivering as soon as the wind made contact with him. “No more calls at three in the morning ‘bout dad’s heart giving out, or trying to crowdfund money so he’s not doomed to an iron lung. I don’t gotta worry no more. Not ‘bout him, at least.”

“I don’t think it’s wrong to feel that way. Taking care of Gavin has not been a priority.”

“No it has not.” He beelined for the driver’s seat. Nines tried to cut him off, but he asserted dominance. He didn't want to drive too long, it was Nines' rightful turn. Distraction is what he craved and sitting idle minded wasn't productive. 

Eli’s shit took up all the cupholders, Jesus. He tossed one empty bottle towards the backseat to make room for his drink. “Extremely, fucking over the top wishful thinking, but maybe this is gonna give mom some time to reflect. The way she was standing up for me was… she’s never done that before.”

“Will she be alright by herself?”

“That’s what I keep thinking about. Sure, she’s got our uncles and her sisters that she can sorta tolerate,” the engine roared. “But she don’t gotta play the caretaker role with them. She’s never had to put herself first, and I think she liked that.” He tapped his fingers against the steering wheel, pulling back onto the highway. “I ‘unno. Too much to process, s’all making my brain feel like it’s gonna fucking explode.”

“What else is bouncing around in that pretty head of yours? Talk to me.”

“I’m just,” he took a drawn out sip, “worried about you. That's the beginning of it,” he looked in the rearview mirror, fumbling with it. It was covered in too many smudges, his brother’s grubby fingerprints. “Think we should give him a little scare?”

“What did you have in mind?”

The road ahead of them was clear. This was safe, enough. He swerved the car, hearing Eli gasp and thump in the backseat. He kicked the back of Gavin’s seat. “You fucking asshole.”

He drank in Nines’ low chortles, savored the crinkle in his eye like he was a hearty meal (he was definitely a snack, and a half). “You agreed to this.”

“I’m deeply regretting it.”

 

---

 

“Ten minutes left, boys,” Eli tapped on his phone’s screen.

“Thank fucking God, I need to get out of this car.”

Gavin was back to sitting shotgun, Eli feeling rested enough to get them to their final destination for the night: the Niagara Falls. The puzzle was piecing together, his original return plans falling into place.

They’d been on the road for thirteen hours (more like nine if you didn't factor in their excessive amount of stops). Eh, if they weren't in a time crunch, they could take their sweet ass time. Everyone was ready to check in for the night, rise bright and early to get soaked by mother nature.

“How much did this place cost you?”

“The less you know, the better, Gav.”

“Elijah,” Nines said, soft enough that he had to strain to hear him over the fizzling out radio. He looked over his shoulder, Nines’ nose creasing. “I am not talking to you.”

Gavin raised his hands. “Fuck me, I guess.”

Nines quirked his brows at him, winking. Jesus Christ, why did that send shivers right down to his… he trained his focus forward, towards the winding darkness that followed them.

“Yes?”

“I don’t know if I overstepped my boundaries doing this, and if I did, I apologize. But, I have become… maybe not friends, but acquaintances with Chloe.” Eli’s jaw went slack, his shoulders raising and tensing like a steady moving elevator. “She has been expressing for some time now that she has been wanting to contact you, but fear has stopped her from making that initial call. I let her know that I am currently with you, and… she wants to call you at some point tonight. Well, she wants you to make that call.”

“How the hell do you know Chloe?” Gavin fiddled around with his lighter.

“My support groups. She has never missed one.”

Eli’s breathing grew shaky. “I didn’t think she wanted anything to do with me anymore.”

“Quite the contrary. She misses you to the point that it often paralyzes her.”

He glanced at Gavin. “Mom’s never going to have any grandkids.”

“Thank fucking God, we don’t need any mini Elijahs running around. Can you imagine?” He craned his neck. “Actual nightmare fodder.”

“And you would make a horrible father. Our child’s first words would be ‘fuck’ and ‘you’.”

Our child. Not that he ever wanted kids, couldn't think of a worse punishment. Still. He saw the light at the end of the tunnel, he flatlined. “Who do you think it would take after? Would it be mostly human, or more android?”

“It would be a mistake. That is all.”

They both obnoxiously snorted, causing them to break into a bout of even louder laughter. Eli shook his head, blindly pawing to slap Gavin’s bicep. “I don’t know how Tina deals with this shit. I’m at my limits with you both.”

“Oh, c’mon. You love me, Eli.”

“I’m not saying that I don’t. You’re fucking annoying, and that’s a fact.” He parked the car, ripping his phone out of the holder. “Thank you, sweet Jesus.”

 

---

 

The exterior of this building was less sleek and modernized than their prior overnight abode, more like a fairytale cottage of sorts. Opposite end of the spectrum, but clearly unaffordable either way. A pale stucco with European style paneling, engulfed by a garden of sugar dusted bushes. They walked under an elongated awning, the cobblestone pathway making him second guess if they were teleported back to Salem.

He had to do a double take of the overhanging sign; there was no way this place was called the Red Couch Inn, that’d be an entirely… different kind of hotel. It said coach, but his brain was a little rotted. All these fancy fucking places shared the same gaudy chandeliers. He took a big whiff as soon as they stepped inside. Rosemary.

“This place looks haunted as fuck,” his knuckles whitened around the strap of the cat carrier.

Nines let a puff of air escape his lips. “There is no such thing as ghosts.”

His eyes narrowed. “Is that so, smart ass?”

“It is so. Most tales of paranormal activity result from faulty equipment, plain deceit, or your typical case of old fashioned delirium. You are going to trust encounters from rum drunk pirates that have been retold for centuries?”

“Don’t use campfire stories as my reference. I’ve seen one.”

“You have seen a ghost.” Nines rolled his eyes. “No. You have not.”

“Dipshit,” he flicked Nines’ ear, “don’t tell me what I have or haven’t seen. The fuck do you know?”

“Terabytes more than you.”

“Just cause you got a circuit board for a brain don't mean you hold the key to infinite knowledge—”

Elijah spun around, clapping his hand over his mouth. “Oh my God, Gavin. Just shut up. Please, I’m begging you. Going to get us kicked out before we even check in.” The woman behind the front desk laughed to herself, keyboard clacking before she set down three meager pages stapled together.

Stepping inside their new temporary home, they were flashbanged by hot pink damask walls. Center of the living room was a white accent fireplace, reproductions of floral oil paintings thoughtfully placed. Another fucking suite because Elijah was too good to stay somewhere normal. Two bedrooms, he could kiss the ground.

Admiring the room could come later. Elijah took everything out of his hands and chucked it on the couch (not the cat), shoving them both out the door.

They were promptly seated in the downstairs restaurant, Eli handing him a physical menu. He was surprised places still bothered printing these things. Jesus, everything was like, thirty plus dollars. Even an artichoke dip was fifteen dollars.

“Holy shit. Broiled Brazilian lobster tail for a whopping fifty two smackaroos,” he flipped over the menu. “Why is it seven bucks for a tea mixed with lemonade?”

“Stop bitching and pick something. It’s fine. The kitchen closes in thirty minutes, you don't have time to complain.”

“I’m not bitching. He don’t eat,” he jutted his thumb at Nines, “and you’re starving. Condemning me to pick some overpriced meal by proxy.”

Eli looked up at the ceiling. “I’m about to throw your ass back in the car and drop you off in Canada.”

“You would be doing us both a favor.”

Gavin scoffed, hitting Nines above his knee.

“You want to be in a relationship with...that? Willingly?”

“Unfortunately.”

Gavin folded his hands together, laying them flat on the clothed table. “What happened to the ‘I'm so glad you have one another, you're perfect for each other's?”

“You were awake. Fucker,” he kicked Gavin’s shin under the table, right in the death zone.

“I’m not that hungry,” he hissed, bending his knee but only making things worse as he hit that, too. “Gonna settle for the tea, s’fine.”

“Fuck that, I’ll order for you. You’ve barely had anything today.” He peered at Nines. “Does he do this with you, too?”

A rather large family with a pissy toddler scooted past them, no subtlety in their double takes. “He won't feed himself unless I buy him food, or am constantly reminding him.”

“Told you why.”

“You need to learn better ways to deal with your stress,” Nines said as he leaned back in his chair.

“You're the one to fucking speak, trying to pop my brains out anytime you get set off.”

“Would you look at that,” Eli tapped on the cocktail section of the menu, trying his best to silence him. “A thirium based bahama mama. When will the madness end,” he accidentally smacked his glasses askew as he went to rub at his eyes. “You should try it. Dad's bullshit aside, I'm actually curious to see an android drunk. That's not a test I've run before.”

“Test. He ain't here for you to study, Eli.”

“Is there one that does not have the properties of alcohol?” he leaned into Gavin’s personal space, as per usual. “Sparkling grape. I don’t know how I feel about that.”

Gavin nudged him. “You don’t wanna be up my ass tonight?”

“I don’t want to see that. Nevermind then, good call.”

Dinner was mostly eaten in silence, a lone remark about a grandpa shooting them daggers here and there. The exhaustion was setting in for everyone at that table. Eli had ordered him Mahi-mahi; had a lemon butter sauce that hit harder than an overdue puff of nicotine. This might’ve been the best meal he’d ever had, but there was no way in hell he was going to tell Eli that.

He excused himself to the bathroom (that was just as over decorated as the rest of this place), no escape plan locked and loaded. He needed to calm himself the fuck down. He cupped his hands under the faucet, cold water tossed across his cheeks. Ran his wet hands through his hair, slicking his bangs; no, fuck, he hated how big that made his forehead look.

Tonight was going to be the night. All damn day he was fighting the urge to grip Nines’ chin and pull him closer. What the hell was he fighting it for?

Eli was sitting by the grand fireplace in the main lobby, residing in a medieval looking throne. He felt like he needed to squeeze one eye closed so he wasn’t making direct eye contact with the decapitated deer that hung above them.

“Did Nines go back to the room?”

“No,” he was staring absentmindedly at his phone. “I think he said he was going to go across the street to a viewpoint. Also pretty sure he said he texted you.”

Gavin checked his own phone. Oh. He did. “I’m not observant.”

“Clearly.”

He tapped his nails against the wood accent of the chair. “Think he’s gonna knock me on my ass if I go out there and kiss him?”

Eli dropped his phone in his lap, his lips parting. “You haven’t kissed yet? Good God, Gavin,” he threw his head back. “Why the fuck are you talking to me? I'll knock you on your ass if you don't get out there.”

He shifted on his feet. “Eli, he’s not gonna… he is okay, right? He’s not dying?”

Eli softly inhaled through his nostrils. “Gavin, I already told you. I know as much as you do. As far as I can tell, even with what he’s slapped together, he’s stable. Things can change, but I didn’t see anything immediately concerning. Now, go,” he shooed him away. “Wait. You have a room key, right?”

He nodded, pulling the key from his pocket and waving it above his head as he walked towards the front door.

9:43 PM

im coming 2 u dnt mve

Nines- 9:43 PM

About damn time. I’ve been waiting for you.

The immediate area was a ghost town, for good reason. He had on a zipup, bomber, and chunky sweater, yet he was still shivering like a crackhead going through withdrawals.

Made it easy enough to follow the signs leading him to the lookout point across the street. He could spot Nines from a mile away, taller than the fucking falls themselves, but he still waved.

“There you are. What took you so long?”

“Didn’t see you texted me, for starters.”

“That will do it.” Nines folded his arms across the railing, leaning his weight against them. Still not level in height, but he no longer towered over him.

A lackluster blue bled into vibrant red over the roaring rapids, accenting the twinkling skyline of more overpriced hotels and light polluting tourist traps on the Canadian side. Escaping mist hugged his skin, his teeth chattering.

“Things like this remind you that life ain’t all that bad. You forget to pay your respects to nature,” he clicked his tongue, “aside from the… manmade lights.”

Nines hummed, lulling his head in his direction. There were no honking cars to throw him off balance. A geyser could erupt, hit them directly in the face, and it wouldn't stop him from what he was about to do. This was going to happen.

Gavin cupped his cheek and silently prayed he couldn’t feel how damn sweaty he was. Jesus Christ, his eyes were full of shaved crumbs of silverleaf. His jawline was sharp enough to cut him with the way shadows were cast from surrounding streetlights. The downpouring water amplified, like it was flowing directly into his eardrums.

His nails scratched at his roots, his thumb narrowly slipping into Nines’ ear because he was fucking trembling and so goddamn uncoordinated. He wasn’t good at this, trying to be romantic, trying to drink in the moment. Be present. He wasn’t well acquainted with not being in a hazy, dream-like state.

Hyper aware of his toes trapped in his shoes, the brisk windchill spilling into a gap in his scarf. Nines swallowed, the hill in his throat bobbing. Fears unraveling like a kicked ball of yarn, grossly selfish desires he’d been harvesting for way too fucking long. Prolonging this was worse.

He felt like he needed to announce what he was about to do, give him a heads up because he himself needed another five minutes to get his shit together. Bouncing around his face; his unchanging complexion, nostrils flaring as he inhaled sharply, too pink lips parted, fine lines chiseled with purpose.

Had a century passed? Fucking felt like it. He swallowed the lack of wetness in his mouth and held his breath. It was like pressing against drywall. Nines didn’t kiss him back.

“I’m sorry,” his breath sputtered and hit his skin in a cool burst, his teeth grit. “I do not–” he looked like he was on the verge of tears, “I thought I was prepared for this moment. I,” he briefly glanced elsewhere, “I don’t know what I am doing, or am supposed to do.”

He was damn precious. He felt a sick sense of pride that he could be Nines’ first– first everything. His cheeks raised, eyes wrinkling. “Just move your lips like I am. Do what comes naturally.”

“None of this feels natural for me, in any sense of that word.”

He felt Nines very slightly pucker this time. Gavin laughed breathily as he pulled back to openly admire him, looking through his lashes. “You’re so cute,” he moved a strand of his hair behind his ear. “You’ll get the hang of it, in due time. Gonna make sure you get plenty of experience,” he hummed, “if you… want that.”

“I think I am,” another brief inhale– they were both struggling to find grounding, “very okay with that.” His tongue darted out. “Mint. That's the chapstick you wear.”

“Almost. Mint chocolate chip.”

Nines drummed against metal. “How does that one saying go? Third time’s the charm?”

He peered over his shoulder; one other couple was around and they were preoccupied, a dim screen highlighting their tense faces. “You want one more for good measure?”

“I do,” he said a bit too eager, but fuck, he shared that enthusiasm.

“Hold on.” He wedged his nail under a partly curled corner of the silicone bandage. He folded it, placed it in his pocket for safe keepings. “You don’t gotta pretend to be something you're not."

The taller man straightened his posture, his knees slightly bent. There Gavin went back to stretching his feet; was going to have to get used to this routine, maybe add a few reps into his workout schedule because damn. There was a hand on the jutting definition of Gavin's hip bone, fingers slotting through his belt loops (to steady him, not to remove his flesh).

This was where his true hunger lied. Nines fervently yanked on his scarf, the acrylic chafing his already battered skin as Gavin drew pathways along his undercut. Their noses were smushed, the angle was awkward, nothing about this was picture perfect. Too sloppy, and unhinged and he was so fucking desperate to taste Nines, every inch of him. Gavin had drool in the corner of his mouth and spit trapped against his gums. He didn’t fucking care. His teeth grazed Gavin’s lower lip, and it sent goddamn sparks through his veins.

Throw the rose tinted goggles away, this was more like Tina dumped a container of her body glitter on them. An angelic shimmer mixing with the primary color hues lighting the night. There it was, a real kiss.

It'd been a long ass time since he kissed someone like this. He didn’t want to pull away, even as his (lack of) breathing grew more violent, turning into wheezes. He only stopped when he felt something wet dripping down his cheek. His fingers stained navy.

“Shit,” Nines' voice painfully cracked, like he was going through robo puberty. “This has started happening recently.” He wiped at it with the cuff of his sleeve, but it just smudged on his skin.

“Stop before you make it worse. Think I actually got a tissue in here somewhere,” he reached into his pockets. It was crumpled up and he was pretty sure he used it earlier in the car to dab up spilled soda. But, still. He patted it against his skin. “Your blood really brings out the blue in your eyes.”

“Guess that is a little comforting.” He took the tissue from Gavin, wiping his cheek, though he was more so caressing him than dotting away the blood. “Give me your phone.”

“Still banning me from taking photos?”

“Until you can take one where I am fully in frame– which will never happen– yes.”

He handed Gavin his phone back, turning around to face nature, slinging his arm around Gavin’s shoulders. He leaned against his side, Nines tucking him closer.

10:08 PM

too mch to explain rn but nines is with me dnt ask quesitons

10:08 PM

anyways i kissed him

Tina- 10:08 PM

YOU’RE JOKING??

He sent her the picture of their stupidly smiling, lovestruck selves.

Tina- 10:09 PM

GAVIN WHAT THE FUCK

Tina- 10:09 PM

You are damn right I have ten morbillion questions bUT

10:10 PM

:^)

Tina- 10:10 PM

FUCKING FINALLY!!!

10:10 PM

!!!!

Nines quietly chuckled to himself.

Tina- 10:10 PM

!!!!!

Notes:

Well, it finally happened. The big one. And it only took 196k words, GOOD GOD.

Chapter 23: beauty of survival

Summary:

As the saying goes, all good things come to an end– good wasn't descriptive enough. Bittersweet, shell shocked, hopelessly enamored. Words more applicable to the metric fuckton that’d happened in the span of a week.

He could obsessively worry about a future that promised him a cloudy forecast, a sliver of the sun if he squinted. But why the fuck should he let his anxiety run wild when he had everything he wanted in the here and now– his headass for a brother back in his life, and the man he was so infatuated with it was sick.

Boyfriend… the fucking machine he wanted tossed in a dumpster was his boyfriend. Now that’s karma.

Stepping back inside, Gavin was immediately tag-teamed; he forgot to brace himself for impact, do himself a favor and squint. The tacky pink walls smacked him over the head with an iron rod while a sweltering heat pocket went in for the final kill. Elijah had the thermostat cranked up to seventy fucking five. He always ran cold, like the lizard person he not-so-secretly is.

Though, the way he’d channeled his attention on Gavin, set his phone down while they both impatiently waited for Nines to disappear into the void that was the second bedroom, had him feeling like he hadn’t wandered far from the falls. Hadn’t narrowly missed the rumored snowstorm, still peering over those railings.

“So?” He ecstatically waved his hands, lips parting. “Did it happen? Did you hear angels sing?”

Could you even call this a smile? The corners of his lips were on a worn out pulley system, the rope stripped down to a molecule of a thread. He was taking strides in relocating from the glass condo he’d called home for far too long, but not quickly enough. The terror clawing at him remained invisible.

Elijah offered him one of his own that was entirely too genuine, accompanying sparkles of pride sprinkled in his irises. Why did this all seem so fucking… awful?

“Atta boy.”

For so goddamn long he’d been a hitchhiker aimlessly wandering with his palms cupped, praying an ounce of rain water would fall in his clutch. Those dark clouds seemed to follow him everywhere he went, but he had nothing to show for it. Parched for something– something sweet as honey, yearning for an unlit candle that could fend off the black that shrouded his heart.

The initial shock that he’d done it, that he’d kissed the man–machine–he thought would’ve been better off tossed in a landfill, had worn away faster than a middle-aged man rubbing a quarter against a scratch-off. As gentle as a tuft of cotton candy swept up in a hurricane, the sweetness became bitter like a pure cacao, too repulsive to swallow whole.

No, the angels were gunned down and had their wings gruesomely ripped off. Ecstasy didn’t wash over him, only that raw, gnawing sense of dread. The very same he felt sitting next to dad’s nearly lifeless corpse.

He was goddamn obsessed with Nines. Not a single microbacteria or flake of dandruff on his being second guessed that he was worth the bloodbath. He was beyond infatuated with him, to the point that it was a little crazy– he was making himself insane.

So, really, what the fuck was a justifiable reason that everything felt capital ‘h’ horrible? His legs were supposed to feel like fresh jello, but they were stiffer than cotton drenched in starch. Each and every time he’d worked up the courage to press his lips against someone’s that he cared about for more than a few hours at a time, saw them as a contender to stroll down the street with and not confine their relations to the secrecy of a mattress, familiar jitters would follow.

Would feel like he was levitating, thunderbolts trapped in his fingertips. Gavin could wring his hands together and dreamily sigh from the way he’d swoon. This? All of this felt so fucking unfamiliar. He was stuck not knee deep in a sinking pool of mud, but it was up to his goddamn neck. Nines was there with him, because of course he was, but together, all they could focus on was an approaching Ragnarok.

That was the difference between them and his past… relationships, as if they deserved that title— the lack of chase. Their game of cat and mouse was over with, they’d mutually waved white flags. The thrill of getting under Nines’ skin and pushing his fucking buttons until he’d physically snap at him was seductive, he hated to admit that.

The only mystery veiled was the state of Nines’ functionality, and that was not thrilling in the fucking slightest. It already felt like they were an old married couple, bypassing the honeymoon phase. Fast forwarding everything that was exciting, and new, and fun.

There was no surprise reveal that awaited at the end of the tunnel. Hell, there wasn’t even a tunnel. The curtains were axed away, and instead he could only remain grounded in the here and now– something he once pined for, now it was paralyzing him.

A meaningless relationship with a repetitive schedule of his head smothered against a pillow and shame he couldn’t numb out by sunrise was not the goal, either. He didn’t want to sacrifice the vulnerability he had to trudge through, the elastic in his heart that solidified and shriveled, to throw away what Nines and him have.

But it was so, so much easier. One day, if Nines’ little circuit board decided to crap out, the mountains were going to crumble. An avalanche of abandonment following in its wake.

How the fuck was he supposed to be okay with a future that promised him that? Oh, God, what the fuck was he getting himself into– he ran both his hands through his hair, his breath bouncing off clothed arms. The sensation of scratching at his scalp was a minor distraction. He understood why Nines picked this as his go-to strategy for making the bad things more bearable, now.

“Gav,” the floorboards groaned until they hushed, and everything became too bright. Eli pinned his wrists to his sides. “What’s going on with you, hm?” The way Elijah’s lenses curved gave him seeds for eyes. “Did something happen?”

“‘m just tired.” Less attention on him, please, for the love of Cthulhu– he needed an Elder God to hear his pleas, it was that serious. “Did you talk to Chloe?”

“I did. I’m seeing her tomorrow.” Elijah huffed and puffed like a dragon, all his disappointment filling the room as a final memento for the ever present moon. Gavin wasn’t going to fight his affection, resist being yanked over to the couch. He could try to enjoy the too plush cushions he sunk into.

“Lying only hurts you in the long run. You know that.”

It was blatantly obvious by now that he wasn’t over James– he was right, okay. Fuck. Didn’t matter if he was indistinguishable from a dumpster set ablaze, he wholly reflected how Gavin saw, or more so, presented himself. He was what he deserved, and he longed for that.

Nines wasn’t going to pull a rabbit out of a hat. There was no trickery in the lack of an act he put on. Open-ended questions, Gavin’s opinions being valued, looking at him like he had worth. Wearing a suit of armor to make scary monsters that go bump in the night disappear wasn’t why Gavin relied on armor.

He chewed on his thumb nail until he winced. “If we weren’t in New York right now, this would be the last time he ever fucking saw me,” he tried to keep his voice level, quiet. “That ain’t an empty threat.”

Elijah’s nostrils flared. “You don’t have to choose to be in a relationship with him. Put aside the fact that he has rerouted his very being for you and given up a life he was preparing to start.”

He had a boa constrictor for a stomach, Jesus Christ, it was trying to strangle itself.

“Ultimately, the decision lies in your hands. I know it’s hard to envision what the near future is going to look like when… a year’s worth of shit has happened over the course of a weekend. I get it, Gavin,” he squeezed his knobby knee. “It’s too much.”

“It’s more than too much. I,” he cupped his cheeks, rubbing the backs of his knuckles against his eye sockets, “I don’t know if I can fucking do this,” his words crackled like static on a record player. Damaged and broken, no better words could describe the disaster of a man that was Gavin (stupid fucking generic middle name) Reed.

“S’not even like I wanna be this unreliable, mysterious fucking creature that disappears into the night. The whole point of me keeping up the asshole charade is ‘cause I wanted to stay unlovable. It’s easier that way.”

“Why do you need to pick the easy paths?”

“‘cause I’m fucking tired, Eli,” he inhaled sharp enough that he got a headrush. “I’m so exhausted,” he brushed over his mouth, pressing his tongue so it barely peeked out. “I’m sick of fighting with myself. Trying to convince my stupid ass brain this ain’t gonna be like all the other times. That Nines is different– ‘cause he is, and I know that. But…”

He met his eyes with a trained tunnel vision. Every minute groan of a pipe made his muscles tense, instinctively flinch.

“Something’s got me chained to the past that I ‘unno how to let go of, and it’s fucking killing me.”

The warmth of his brother's palms against his own icicles was jarring. “I don’t know how to say this without sounding biased as hell, so, fuck it. Once you let that facade slip, it’s kind of hard not to love you.”

He threw his head back, sneering. “Bull fucking shit.”

“Yeah, sorry, my bad for not feeding into your self-depreciating mope fest.”

A metallic screeching came to a halt. Ah, Nines was showering. Kinda eased the tickling anxiety that he’d been eavesdropping (if he had hypersonic hearing, maybe he still was… better not to obsess about it, ugh). Probably wanted to wash away the filthy reminder of Gavin’s lips; why did he have to go there.

“The night’s still young, I could talk you up until the sun rises. I mean, that’s what I’m here for, right? Fate assigned me as your forever hype man.”

“You can give me ten reasons I can’t argue against and my mind is gonna play whatever mental gymnastics it can to justify it’s all one big, fat, fucking lie.” He tried to tug himself away, but he wasn’t letting go. “I really don’t wanna talk about this anymore,” he sounded pathetically hoarse, defeated. “I’m serious.”

“Well, I do,” his chest heaved. “It feels like I’m getting stabbed watching you be in this much pain. And if there’s anything I can do to give you some relief, I’m gonna do it,” welcome back East Coast Elijah. “Why the hell are you so mean to yourself?”

“Uh, I dunno, Eli. Maybe ‘cause dad told me a grain of rice had more value than me every damn day ‘til I moved out?”

“You’re still going to give that old bastard undeserved energy?”

“You think I can help it? Think I wanna be my own worst enemy? I didn’t have two parents kissing my ass and the ground I walk on.”

“That’s exactly my point. Nothing that–” he pressed his tongue against his teeth, “I can’t justifiably call him a human, because he was more like a demon in a skin suit, wasn’t he? Nothing he’s said has ever held any value.”

“You have no fucking clue how it feels to be told by your own father that he’d be better off if you were found dead in a ditch somewhere.”

“No, I don’t. But, what I do know is that we’re sitting here on this couch… yeah, it’s a little squishy,” he shifted his weight, Gavin nearly losing his balance, “we’re here, and he’s looking up at us. The only thing he’s good for is food for the maggots that’re coming for him, and I doubt they’ll want to eat something that rotten. We won. Fuck Walter, say it with me,” he nudged him. “Say it.”

“Fuck Walter,” Gavin murmured, his cheeks straining. He wanted to grin.

Elijah peered over at the blackened TV. “You know, getting to tinker around with robots all day isn’t the sole reason I wanted to go to MIT,” he squished his cheek against the lip of a cushion. “I did it because of you.”

His breath stuttered. “...what do you mean by that?”

“I was scared shitless when I got my acceptance letter. I didn’t really know how to stomach the thought of living on my own, feeling like I was faced with a brick wall because all the ideas I had bouncing around were unachievable. ‘You’re a great creative, but stick to the tangible, Elijah’. We were at nationals, our last competition of the season, only there because my team relied on me to do the heavy lifting. I won us gold, and that’s what my coach said to me as a thanks.”

Gavin’s phone aggressively vibrated.

“I didn’t want you to watch me fail.”

“Your,” Gavin made quotations with his pointers, “failures are things I ain’t ever gonna be able to accomplish.”

Elijah hummed. “Well, the fear of letting you down plagued me,” he held up his hand. “Don’t say it, I know. All the times I came close to throwing in the towel and wanted to let Cyberlife remain as some feverish pipedream, I thought of your resilience. Sometimes it'd be days before you’d rest your head on my shoulder and,” he stifled a laugh, “you’d knock out so hard my shirt would be drenched in your drool. You’ve always been… disgusting.”

“Yeah,” Gavin bobbed his head. “Still am.”

“Those were the nights that got really fucking long and dark, when I almost,” he rubbed at his nose, stroked across his stubble, kept his hands busy. “I don’t know what the hell I would’ve done with myself if I’d lost you. You could’ve given up, I really thought you were going to. You ran that damn house singlehandedly, busted your ass acting as dad’s guardian because mom didn’t give you a choice. And, somehow, you graduated with honors. You’ve always been the person I looked up to.”

And here he was, forever chasing after Elijah’s unobtainable success, trying to match his perfect image when his brother was just doing the same in reverse.

“I swear to God, don’t kick me in the balls again or I will end you and I mean it. Despite what I just said. I, um–” he cleared his throat, “I didn’t think I was going to tell you this. Ever,” Oh, God, “I was there.”

“There… where?” His brows knitted. “At my… graduation?”

Eli rapidly blinked. “Both times.”

Gavin’s voice cracked as he choked on his spit. His sentence came out too jumbled, too breathy– he needed to repeat himself. “Why the fuck didn’t you say anything?”

“Focusing on nothing but myself was my easy way out.”

Passing down endless hallways in the wake of his brother’s ghost, only for the phantom to be standing directly in front of him. He wasn’t there for Gavin, but he hadn’t been out of his life.

“Guess you’ve kinda made up for it with,” he glanced over his shoulder. He hadn’t forgotten about his secondary impending migraine.

“He needs you, Gavin. As much as you are unwilling to accept that you need him.” He clapped his shoulder, sleeve bunching under his thumb. “I love you. It's been long overdue that I remind you that.”

“You do?” he asked in a way that was hardly a whisper.

“I don’t remember you being born, but I remember everything after that; your first day of pre-school and how you made mom’s hand turn purple because you didn’t want to let go. You used to force me to feed you Cheerios because you had one of those unspillable cups, and you couldn’t figure out how to open it yourself,” his eyes crinkled.

“I was so goddamn excited to have a brother. Mom told me I used to sneak into your nursery and scoop you out of your crib,” Gavin snorted at that. “She couldn’t find you one day, worrying her head off because the baby monitor went silent. Until she found me passed out in my bed, your little body laying on my chest. Guess that’s always been your spot of choice.”

“I know that I act like a total jackass–”

“But you love me, too.”

“All the love I don’t got for dad went to you,” he lazily punched his bicep. “Don’t think you give yourself enough credit for raising a confused, bratty kid while paving a future that wasn’t just make believe. You were more of a father to me than Walter ever fucking was.”

“That’s why you need to take care of yourself, Gav. He’s not the only one that needs you. If you can’t do it for you, do it for me.” Elijah had to ruin the moment by nudging his own glasses off. Christ Almighty. “I think our therapy session’s come to an end tonight. We need to get some rest. Tomorrow’s going to be–”

“Fucking horrible, trapped in that clown car with you.”

Elijah hummed. “Yeah, how could you not fall in love with that?” His oozing sarcasm put things into perspective; there was no doubt in his mind Elijah’s sentiment was genuine, and knowing he was loved by… enough people he could count on one hand (he didn’t need to name names), made him richer than holding a winning Powerball ticket.

“Get bent, bitch.”

“Wow,” he bounced to his feet, shaking his head. “Have you shared your wonderful poetry with Nines yet?”

“Nah. That’s reserved just for you, bro.”

“Lucky me,” he ruffled his hair. “Don’t keep him waiting. Don’t stay up too much longer. You or Nines have the first shift, I don’t need your sleep deprived ass driving us off a cliff.”

“Nag, nag, nag,” he puppeteered his fingers. Elijah rolled his eyes with a scoff, flipping him off as he disappeared into his room, leaving him alone to stare at the serpent’s lair.

His focus fell to gathering up the essentials, not the sentient sentry who was burning a crater through him. Needed pajamas that he wouldn’t sweat to death in (he adjusted the temperature, he wasn’t playing that game) and his bagged up toothbrush.

That’s when he fucking realized his other (and favorite) flannels were in his mom’s dryer. Across the stateline. The spares he had were the ones he’d spilled ketchup all over. Great. Wasn’t worth the grief of rummaging through Nines’ belongings.

“Were you talking shit about me?”

“Maybe. Who's to say? Fun part comes from you never knowing.”

Thank the heavens the pink didn’t bleed into the bathroom; this was a calming sage, a color he could imagine painting his own walls. A shower would’ve been nice, but in the same breath, he needed to be vertical. He was done standing, fuck even sitting upright, for the day.

He cupped his hands under the running faucet, breathing pathways of mint as he splashed his face. The leds built into the vanity mirror gave him confirmation that the paparazzi didn’t get his bad side– after he wiped away the built up condensation; Nines had forgotten to turn on the fan. Again.

His complexion really was that horribly uneven. New acne forming on his chin, little red splotches running down his hairline. Yanking on his tank top only further ruined the mop he wore. Jesus, he was fucking ugly.

“You didn’t have to wait up for me.”

Nines had his arm outstretched, the sheets neatly pulled over to one side.

“I wanted to.”

Gavin took hold of his hand, crawling his way on top of him. This wasn’t comfortable by any means, but it hurt more to not be this close to him. Added bonus was the lack of eye contact; he couldn’t handle the intensity, the unapologetic longing in his gaze.

“Do you have any underwear that is… normal?”

“No.” The animal of the day was a shark wearing a snorkel and diving mask combo. “Is that a problem?”

“I look forward to seeing what other animals you have.”

This was indistinguishable from laying on a slab of concrete. Unlike the natural squish an organic person had, he was a solid mass. Skin soft to fit the illusion, but that’s where the charade ended– Nines trailed the curve of his back, and fuck, that threw a wrench in the cogs. He stopped thinking.

“Oh, I got plenty more to show you.” The ol’ wiggle to scooch up the hem of his shirt wasn’t subtle by any means, but it conveyed his need. Nines played taps down his spine, earning him a flurry of goose bumps, burdening Gavin’s overly sensitive self with the hairs on the back of his neck rising. “You ain’t ready for the squirrels on jet skis.”

An unpalatable silence brewed until the kettle was whistling. They couldn’t let it boil over any longer.

“How exhausted are you?” A trap question.

“Eh. My body’s fucked but my mind’s wide awake.” He let his lashes tickle his cheek bones, turning to tuck into the crook of Nines’ neck– he smelled overwhelmingly of generic Dove. “Let me guess: ‘Gavin, we need to talk’. S’what you’re gonna say?”

“More or less,” his hands stilled. “I cannot be someone you date for a few months then grow tired of.”

It wasn’t the same rhythm of a heartbeat, but something was drumming in his chest. A predetermined symphony. “Uh, who the fuck said I wanted that?”

“Not speaking the words of what we are is immensely confusing, and I need that clarification. I do not understand the context of what– what is the label that describes us?”

His ears popped, had him craving a pack of gum– where the hell had he stuffed his spearmint, probably tossed in his car somewhere. Guess he hadn’t adjusted to the elevation– nah. That wasn’t why raindrops were pouring down his ear canals, why his jaw locked so tightly it felt like it was gonna snap the hell off. He was fucking vibrating, his nerves sliced with a hacksaw.

He absolutely despised that Nines needed everything to be so goddamn literal. “Thought we kinda agreed that we don’t gotta… give voice to the quiet part.”

All these petty little insults Gavin’d collected like confectionery hearts had been kept inside a Ziploc bag. Bite sized, easy to slam down the hatch. Being told if he hadn’t sent full frontal he wouldn’t have been given the time of day, because his face wasn’t worth the fifteen minute drive. That he was a spineless worm, as useless as gum dropped on a subway track. A carved out grapefruit was a better companion than him.

‘You know, I guess that makes perfect sense why you’d need to buy an android to love you. There’s not a single human that’d settle for someone as pathetic as you.’

In the moment, he thought he had a valid point, but how could he forget? James never knew what the hell he was rambling about. Fuck the squatters taking up space he hadn’t leased out in his heart. He was evicting all of them, starting now, because there was only occupancy for one.

“I do not think this is something I can keep unsaid.” But as soon as Nines spoke it into existence, it was a hex that was going to follow him to his Earthly grave. “I really like you, Gavin.”

“Yeah, I know.” Branches scratched against the outside window pane, bullied by the growing wind. “Keep rubbing my back, didn’t give you permission to stop.”

The way the seam rubbed against his ribs made his breath catch. “Is it safe to assume your prior partners did not do this for you?”

It was like pulling nails to convince James to feign affection. The most physical touch he gave him outside of sex (that only benefited one party) was the night they broke up. "Yeah.”

The shifting of Nines twisting his ankles against the sheets, little chirpy snores from a content… Baseball– he could lay here for centuries and make this his tomb, in many senses. All doors he’d opened were closing in. It was time to decide: would he rather be blind, or see the beauty in survival, as macabre as it could be.

“Gavin,” he breathed against him. Circles spinning in time, Gavin watching the fragility of his past unwind. Words felt weightless, and the tension they housed was damn acidic. “I want you to be mine, and only mine.”

He hummed against his neck; Nines liked that, he could tell with the way he tried to swallow down that barely audible moan. Mm, someone that could make caring about Gavin their full time job, make him feel like he mattered. Be his. He could get behind that.

“Are you capable of that, or is this going to be very reminiscent of our early days?”

“Are you calling me a whore?”

“What?” Nines’ chest heaving made him recoil. “N-no, I am not.”

He shimmied himself, fumbling around to flick off the light. Being five seconds without feeling him was agonizing, Jesus, he felt like a pining teenager again. He pressed his head against the center of his breastbone, his thigh sprawled over Nines’.

“I don’t know if I can trust myself to make promises, bud. I-I’m– I’m fucking scared, I’m so goddamn petrified, I don’t–” Nines’ nails drew raised lines from his knee, all the way to his hip.

“We can be scared together, can we not? Is that not the allurement in having each other?”

“I guess,” he gulped. “What if a day comes where we won’t be together anymore– ‘cause it’s gonna happen. I’m talking about you leaving me against your own choice.”

It was Nines’ turn to not bite, to let the air grow stale. His silence spoke volumes. Gavin wet his lips.

“You gotta promise me that you’re not gonna let me fuck this up. Remind me that it’s okay to be– vulnerable,” his own fingers danced down the hemisphere of his abdomen. “That I don’t gotta lie with you to protect myself.”

“All I have ever wanted is for you to tell me the truth.”

“Jesus Christ. I wanna be yours, I just– I wanna give myself to you, all of me. But the only thing I can think about is running,” he sniffled, “and that’s the goddamn truth.”

There was a pained whine that trapped itself in Nines’ throat, but he was close enough to hear its roar. His lashes felt wet.

“Do you wish I were human?”

Would make things a thousand times more straight-forward, he couldn’t deny that. His hair caught as he shook his head.

“The day I met you, the second we found some down time, I would’ve fucking dragged you into a stall and sucked you dry. Ridden you like a damn pony,” he shifted his hips. Nines didn't need to feel… that. Not now. “Thought you were a pretty face since the beginning. Unfortunate you were so damn annoying,” Nines snorted. “Could’ve been the best hate fuck of my life, but we’re never gonna know.

“That's where it would've ended because I'm shallow as shit. That’s how you become just another name to add to my roster, kinda guy I get sick of. I needed a reason to get to know you,” he felt around for his hand, pulling it closer to kiss his knuckles. “And, mm, Nines, I really like you, too. To the point that I don’t understand what this is anymore.”

All he could focus on was their synchronized breathing, the blankets encompassing him.

“Can I,” he twisted his roots, “call you my boyfriend, then?”

Gavin laughed, though it was more punched out of him. “You don’t wanna wait ‘til our first date to make it official?”

“Not really.” Typical.

“I don’t wanna rush things with you. Not saying that I ain't… what you just said,” he didn't want to stop touching Nines. “I’ve never… taken things slow before. I wanna do this properly, so it feels like a real relationship.”

“This is real.”

“It’s too real.”

 

---

 

The (heavily) extended weekend had finally come to an end. A diary that’d been inked, double-sided, to its last page and put in a drawer for safe keeping.

A pillow being chucked at their heads is what had him waking with an exasperated gasp, Elijah making his presence known in the most obnoxious fucking way possible. He yanked open the blinds, fragmented smears of light painting across Gavin’s eyelids.

Dove onto the mattress to wriggle between them, barking something about Gavin’s beauty rest having no effect and they needed to get their lazy asses up– y’know, while practicing the complete opposite of what he preached.

He didn’t want this day to be over. They had nearly seven hours of road to inch through, not accounting for whatever dumb shit they found themselves getting sidetracked by this time. What awaited him at the finish line was that musty fucking apartment. Finality.

Wasn't going to be all bad; he rolled his head, Nines barely able to keep one eye pried open. This was his new norm, leagues better than hazy leftovers of being trapped inside elevators, pounding on the blood splattered walls of a trap house– nightmares as his only true companion.

Betting on if Gavin’d gotten a wink of sleep was a get rich quick scheme. There was no point when he had web sleuthing to catch up on. Surveying his body with a greedy touch was effortlessly becoming second nature for Nines, but eventually, his caressing halted.

Which meant it was go time to dangle his limbs as an offering for the tickle monster, keep his screen pressed against his nose, and accept BB occupying the remaining negative space as he unraveled like spaghetti. Scroll, scroll, scroll until he could self-diagnose gamer’s thumb.

Cycling through forums of others sharing their experience dating an android. One post after the next detailing how it rarely worked out. The intensity of infatuation was mutual in the hay days, only for a sense of fomo to come, unmatched jealousy. Such an advanced life form shackled to the bounds of humanity, social faux pas they didn't subscribe to. Eli was flat out wrong. Their bond was as permanent as tissue in a vat of acetone.

He could be a nosy bitch and drink in gossip like the finest of wines, but not when he was the center of attention. The photos of Elijah and him were plastered all over the front pages of The Washington Post, MLive, the fucking Wall Street Journal. It was unavoidable, and he stumbled across them by accident. Skimming through the comments section was dousing water over the bag he had on his head.

Analyzing Gavin's appearance down to the bone, questioning who he was in relation to Elijah. If he was a relative, his lackey, an extraordinary sighting of a paramour. One person low-key doxed him, going as far to post his badge number and what sector he belonged to.

Cool, someone called him ‘fugly as all hell'— whiplash because directly underneath was a long winded horny post, begging to eat him out. Thanks for that.

Switching to poking around Facebook wasn't any better. Mom had two separate albums titled ‘Family’, and ‘More Family', bloated with as many photos as she was allowed to upload. Fucking thousands.

Dad swaddling a fresh Gavin in his arms before he wore a permanent scowl, and immediately after was Elijah holding him in a similar fashion, beaming like he'd been given a skeleton key to every toy store in existence.

Peeling off the ribbon to Pandora's box was tantalizing, lusting for a childhood that could've been. Mom would rattle off hypothetical vacations that hadn't felt like fiction. No different than mass produced jokes on a vintage Cracker Jack box. An over-practiced silver tongue.

Grandiose cruises to Alaska with endless caviar and snow crab at the ring of a bell. A week long excursion to Universal Studios, one where the excuse of a family emergency would be used to pull them out of school. Their worries dwindling down to picking what ride to get on first (Velocicoaster, duh).

All talk to fill an idle mind, continuous issues of the Daily Bugle of Bullshit hot off the press. Like there was ever a chance in hell they'd stake a tent in the Appalachian Mountains, jump on a multi-day Amtrak to San Fran. They weren't built to bike around Denmark, picnic by the ruins of a French château. That lost, little Gavin was howling for a fragment of a forgotten promise to be fulfilled.

Though he wore the captain’s hat for plucking out attractions, Elijah had taken it upon himself to get tickets for an early morning excursion. He’d figured they were going on a boat tour, the typical image you have of the falls. But instead, they were ushered inside a cramped elevator shortly after parking, descending to the Caves of the Wind– it’d earned its name.

The snowstorm wasn’t muttered hearsay. Massive scoops of vanilla ice cream surrounded them and the dusted pathways before them were icier than a hockey arena. The distanced falls wrapped around frozen pillars like a moving castle, pearl beads ornamenting forbidden greenery.

Robots reminiscent of Roombas were actively working to dump loads of salt, but he still felt his ass tense in preparation to eat shit and die.

Shy glances were a nonverbal signal that Nines needed his physical touch, for him to stop fucking acting like he was a disciple of the evil one. Cursed marks were spreading everywhere, too contagious to touch. They were both infected with depravity, but only one was bright enough to find an antidote.

Eli had on a scarf wrapped too many times over, sunglasses concealing any other recognizable bit of him, but the stares were inescapable. Probably because they had the Jolly Green Giant in tow.

“Gavin, look,” Eli gestured towards the roaring rapids. “It's for you.” A massive rainbow that stretched across the bottom of the Bridal Veil (he’d learned that name fifteen minutes ago from a pamphlet shoved into his clutch).

“Wow, Eli. This is just for you,” his middle finger gained consciousness, ready for its starring role. His phone being snatched away was his reward.

“Both of you, stand there and don’t move,” Elijah waved his hand, waiting for a family to shimmy by. “God, why do you always look so uncomfortable.”

He couldn’t tell if Eli was looking him in the eyes, but he assumed so based off his ‘it’s too fucking early for this’ demeanor.

“Put your arm around him, kiss Nines on the cheek. You look like the mothership just beamed you down and these are your first few minutes on Earth.”

Gavin put a hand on his hip instead. “Are you gonna take a damn picture, or are you having fun insulting me, asshole?”

“Do something worth taking a photo of.”

As the ancient saying goes, you only live once. A bright purple crayon only sticks out in a monochromatic box, but not so much when they were crowded by colors he didn’t know the names of. Fuck it.

He pushed up on his toes to do as Elijah suggested, kiss him on the cheek, but the fucker had to turn his head to look at him. Meeting his lips unintentionally, bashing Gavin’s front teeth, summoning the burning flames of Hell directly to his damn cheeks. Thank God this wasn’t their first kiss.

“Nice,” he shook his head. “Can you be any more uncoordinated?” The answer to that was a resounding yes. They absolutely could.

All of this scratched his brain, a little hit of what he fucking yearned for. But it wasn’t enough, only rehearsal for opening night. The idea of a summer road trip wasn’t going to turn to dust because he didn’t want it to only remain as theatrics, but become lived experience.

Gavin could still set off for a fifty meter dash, and now the realization dawned on him (he was too stubborn it made him fucking idiotic): he didn’t have to do it alone. Sprinting through the country without a care, the only thing that truly mattered being the man pressed against his side, doing it with him.

They were going to rent a janky RV, he was going to budget for it. Take walks along rocky shorelines to poke around tide pools for starfish, stop at a busted motel with a cigarette burned mattress, stay up until three in the morning laughing until they had tears in their eyes and aching sides.

He wasn’t going to stop until they consummated their relationship in all fifty fucking states– his fool’s paradise. One track mind, whatever. He was kinda sorta always horny, shut up. Dick or no dick, Gavin was chock full of ideas– if Nines was willing, and that was a massive if.

He lacked the urges, but he never said the physical act was off the table, now did he? He wasn’t a master at the art of persuasion, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t take a few classes, get a little more practice in.

He just… he wanted to experience everything with Nines, he really did. The first step: getting out of his own head. Back to the arctic tundra they were entering, to Elijah playfully nudging Nines as he rattled off some stupid, snarky remark. Focus on the gloved hand laced with his own.

There was only one way to render the knives that'd been plunged into his back as safe, and that was by shining light on the sad. He didn't have to drive the hurt away as much as he didn't need to flee. He had to find a way to live in harmony with the aching, feed off it.

 

---

 

“Did you look up any reviews for this place?”

An hour is how long it took before Gavin's stomach was in knots. He swore up, down and crisscross that he was fine leaving without a packaged cereal bar or basic parfait. Coffee was more than enough. Right.

They veered off the ramp and pulled into a run down parking lot of the first diner they could spot. A security guard was sitting where wait staff usually was, a pixelated sign that stated there was a strict two hour time limit taped to the counter. The fuck was the point of having a self service kiosk (just a glorified tablet) if it was still going to take an eternity to get his damn food.

“They’re graded an ‘A’, so the food’ll be edible.” A man shuffled by them; fuck, did he wrestle in a puddle of mud? His jeans were disgusting. Gavin's disheveled appearance was mild in comparison, God damn. “It's fine.”

Their new friend occupied the remaining spot on the bench next to Nines. He began taping his foot, loud enough it squeaked against linoleum and fucking echoed, clearing his throat a handful of times. Was he going to beg them to buy him a plate of pancakes, or was this prompted because Eli was in Clark Kent, and not masked antihero, mode?

He pulled out his phone with one hand, keeping his other on Nines’ thigh, patting him– he didn't have to directly look at him to detect a disturbance in the force. He knew his… man well enough.

Oh, great, player number two. A woman cupped her hands against the glass windows, eyes wildly scanning for who knows what before banging her fists without pause.

He'd seen his fair share of whacky shit in Detroit: the leaning zombies in broad daylight, guy stumbling onto a bus (the one time he utilized their public transport) with a split nose, someone whipping out their dick without shame to piss on the front steps of a government building. But this was becoming too much, even for his desensitized ass.

“Mom asked me why the hell the TV’s upstairs.”

“Shit,” Eli leaned his head against the wall, chuckling. “I totally forgot we moved it.”

“And all of her plants. Maybe Bill got the pleasure of bearing the Wrath of Judy.” Crude clanging and an accompanying cranked up radio traveled from the kitchen, but not a damn worker in sight. “Are we fucked up for leaving her all alone?”

“She isn’t entirely alone. She likes Bill, for whatever reason. I just hope,” he scratched at his nose, “their friendship starts and ends with dad. And not…”

Gavin blew out a huff of air, clicking his tongue. “Be so fucking for real. She’s not hopping down the bloodline, if that’s what you’re trying to imply.”

The front door didn’t have enough time to chime as the same spaghetti strap wearing woman shuffled past the guard. The hell was the point of having a babysitter when he gave no shits?

“How often do any of them see mom outside of things like this?” Gavin crossed one leg over the other. “They’re leeches. Only wanna act like family when death, booze, or free food is involved.”

“And, I suppose with the way she was yelling at him, the state of their relationship is ambiguous.”

Their original point of contention coughed into his fist, yet fucking again. He tapped on Nines’ knee, gesturing with his chin. “Go stand on the other side of Eli.”

“I am fine,” he said, despite his (uncovered, for once) ring being bright red. Not to mention how his shoulders were meeting his earlobes, lips a thin, cartoonish line.

He insulted Gavin’s intelligence on a daily basis. He could read social cues, he wasn't that inept. Just chose to ignore them more often than not.

“‘cause that’s totally how someone relaxed sits.”

Further commotion became the center of everyone’s attention. Lot lizard, that was going to become her codename. She'd pulled up to a booth not too far away, the one that… let's call him Canadian tuxedo because of his atrocious pairing of denim, was at.

He'd been nodding out, and Gavin couldn’t tell if he was high out of his mind and on the verge of needing Narcan, or a zonked out truck driver (though, now that he thought about it, they were one of the two cars in the parking lot, despite half the booths being preoccupied).

Skin on skin contact, a slap that was louder than a plane taking off. If that wasn’t the thing to wake tuxedo up (which, it barely did), then lizard's insistent rambling would’ve. She was off her rocker and talking faster than her lips could flap. Spewing off numbers and names like it was a sport.

The bathroom became unoccupied, mother fucker with a shitty combover having the audacity to look at them like they were the insane ones here— his creativity was drained, didn't have any funny labels left. Gavin squeezed his phone.

“It’s been fifteen minutes. Eli, I’m fine taking the loss. We should just–”

“I haven’t seen the sun in forty one years.” Their friend bobbed his head. Nah, he was calling cap. There was no way. He looked younger than Gavin, didn’t look a day over thirty… not that that was the important part. “Just got outta the big house, fellas. I’m mighty hungry.”

“You and me both, dude.” Gavin jumped to his feet, forcing Nines onto his own, shifting so they both stood in the unoccupied space beside his brother.

“Give it five minutes, then we’re out of here.” Elijah adjusted his glasses, more so to have something to fidget with. “Are you going to go to his funeral?”

“She didn’t pick a date or anything yet, did she?” Elijah shook his head. “Uh, yeah, no. S’long as it’s back in Boston– I’m gonna take a wild guess and say it is– not a chance. Even if it wasn’t, I don’t wanna be observed like we’re rare specimens. All the focus is gonna be on us, and you know it. ‘specially if this one comes with,” he pointed his thumb at Nines. “You thinking about it?”

“I don’t know yet. I’m not eager to go back alone.”

Gavin nearly flew out of his sneakers and hit the goddamn ceiling. Loved living in America where you play a game called ‘is it a gunshot or fireworks’ on a daily basis. In this case, there were so many firecrackers going off that it turned whiter than the shoveled snow piles outside. He started maniacally cackling, deserving of a straitjacket.

A styrofoam container was slapped on the counter as a bell chimed. Thank fuck– no, oh God, no. Their friend thought he was so coy, walking up to it with pep in his step. No one else had ordered the entire time they’d been sitting in this dump. Gavin cut him off, trying not to drip on the floor with how much he was salivating.

“Sit your damn ass back down.”

Without wasting a minute, he made his final escape, glancing behind himself to double check his posse was nearby. Reaching for the metal handle to breathe in fresh air, and instead, he took in the wonderful, wafting aroma of fresh urine. Character number… four? No more new personalities, please, holy Christ.

Chinstrap was cradling a, mostly empty, two liter bottle of Mountain Dew, rolling his eyes like Gavin was the inconvenience. He took one step to the side to let his majesty by, but not before he belched in his face. Awesome.

“I’m never letting you pick where to eat. Ever. Fucking. Again.”

“Like we had other choices.”

“You said 'that one'. The blame is all on you, Eli.”

 

---

 

Out of the kindness of his heart– and for the sake of Gavin’s sanity, he didn’t need to get bitched at for having one hand on the wheel and another shoveling hash browns into his mouth– Nines took the wheel. Though in hindsight, maybe letting him sit directly behind Eli wasn’t the best idea. For Eli, that was. For him, this was great. Free, endless entertainment.

He started tickling at his neck with the tip of his nail, in a way he couldn’t immediately tell if it was him doing it, or a lone spider. Three hours left, that's all they had. Ohio was burdened by them, and soon, they'd be in the superior state.

Elijah craned his neck, catching Gavin in the act. “Knock it off.”

“Awf,” Gavin mimicked with a deadly smirk.

“Fuck you. You’re pissing me the hell off.”

“There’s no ‘a’ in that word–”

“Why'd you get a meal when I could’ve prepared you a fresh knuckle sandwich.”

“How long did it take you to think of that one?”

“Why don’t we play a game where you keep your hands to yourself and I don’t scream in your damn face. Sound good?” Elijah faked a smile.

“Fine. I can do that. Gonna sit on my hands, so good at being on my best behavior that your ass is still gonna get whooped. ‘m that powerful.”

As soon as Eli turned back around, he set aside the container and wet his pointer finger, wedging it in his ear. That was his true plan all along. Fuck— his brother grasped his wrist hard enough to snap it off, sinking his teeth into his finger instead. Gavin screamed bloody murder, Nines visibly wincing. Deserved payback.

With his other hand, he nudged the ends of Eli’s glasses hard enough to knock them onto the dirtied flooring, because he was sort of at a disadvantage here. Wasn’t much else he could do– maybe he shouldn’t have done that. Nines hastily swerved onto an exit ramp, turning quick enough the wheels screeched. As soon as he pulled up to a stoplight, he twisted his torso to meet Gavin’s eyes.

“You are turning thirty seven this year,” deep creases formed between his thick brows. Ick, he didn’t need the reminder. “What the fuck?”

“Right, I’m being childish when the forty year old bit me.”

“Do you want me to bite it off?”

“Ah-fuh. Off. It's an ‘oh’.”

The car was parked in front of a Speedway. As Nines pinched the bridge of his nose, he unlocked the doors. “Both of you, out. I need a moment of silence, I am begging you.”

He begrudgingly stepped into the brisk wind, not so gently elbowing his brother in the ribs. “Making me get bitched out by my own boyfriend. Great work, Elijah.” Well, it slipped out. There it was. Once a hypocrite, always a hypocrite.

“First of all, you started it, dipshit. Second of all,” he looked at Gavin with the smuggest sense of superiority, “boyfriend, huh?”

“No one's surprised.”

“Another case of Elijah always being right and Gavin being a fucking, arrogant dickwit.”

He caught Eli’s heel, making him stumble and knock against a neatly organized (and recently restocked) chip display. He growled lowly, the same way he would before wrestling Gavin’s ass to the ground.

He spun around, hands wrapped around his throat, pretending to choke him out, but he knew the irresistible urge was there. The peanut gallery was still spectating; Nines threw his hands in the air, mouth forming a perfect circle.

Eli wriggled a ten dollar bill against Gavin’s palm. “Gotta shell out a lot more if you wanna make me disappear.”

“Make yourself useful and get us both some snacks. I'm going back outside, or we’re not going to make it home at this rate.”

“The hell do you even want? Chips, a drink?”

He called over his shoulder, “you know what I like,” as the door scraped shut.

Ten dollars could get him a couple of energy drinks. Nah, he was going to take the less jackhole route and go for slushies instead. One for everyone, because Gavin was kind and courteous and certainly deserving of praise.

Robo safe blackberry for Nines, a mix of every single flavor available for Elijah, and plain cherry for himself. Another self scan section. He looked up. Thank you.

He wedged the cups into a drink holder, stepped outside to see… the car nowhere to be found. Not at any of the pumps, wasn’t behind the building. He wiggled out his phone and called Nines, who picked up on the first ring. Major red flag alert.

“What’s up?”

“The fuck do you mean what’s up? Why am I standing here with three slushies and uh, no car in sight? S’registered in my name, by the fucking way. Be thankful I ain't gonna call the cops on your asses.”

“You are a natural thespian, Gavin. We wanted to make a detour.”

“Uh huh.”

Their little joke backfired on them because they went the wrong way and didn't get back to Gavin until a second meteor struck their planet. He sprung to his feet, flinging open the driver's side door, death grip on Nines' jacket.

“Thirty fucking minutes,” he slammed the drink holder against his chest, didn't give a shit if red splashed on his turtle neck. “You’re lucky you're cute.” Slithering into his rightful seat, he snapped in Eli's direction. “Switch. I don't wanna look at you.”

“Who said I wanted to look at you?” BB seemingly shared his annoyance, whining in the saddest sounding way. Couldn't blame him, he wouldn't be very pleased to be held hostage by two idiotic cretins, either. “Which one is mine?”

Gavin fished out his cup, impatiently waiting for his reaction. Elijah looked like he'd sucked off a lemon. Success.

“No? Not the right flavor?”

“Are you trying to poison me? What the hell is this?”

“Made it specially for you. I call it the smorgasbord.”

“It’s godawful. Seriously, Gavin, this might be the worst thing I have ever tasted, and I've had veal brain.”

It was hard to fasten his seatbelt with how much he was laughing. Ow, Christ, his bones ached. “Pull that shit again,” he needed to find his composure, but that was easier said than done. “And I take back everything I said last night.”

Nines tsk’d, tapping open Spotify on the docked phone. “That is an empty threat.”

“It’s really not.”

“It is. You cannot survive without me.” Screw him for being right.

He took a deep enough breath to keep his giggles at bay, long enough to mutter: “Watch me.”

 

---

 

The sign that brought tears to his eyes: a rather large, and very blue, Pure Michigan billboard. It screamed ‘graphic design is my passion’ and was lackluster in charm, but who the fuck cared. They were home, at last– Nines was home.

One last thing on his sightseeing checklist and they’d be cruising to Detroit. Wasn’t a detour when the ramp from Toledo spat them out in the exact city he wanted to pass through.

Aptly named the Brick Dick, there was this water tower nestled in the heart of Ypsilanti that’d garnered enough of a reputation that it’d had… erotica written about it. Hell, it’d ranked top five in an official contest for the world’s most phallic buildings. It was top heavy with a thick tip, its girth skinny and too erect for a lack of arousing scenery.

Give one good reason why they had to use a much darker toned brick if they weren’t going for a flushed head appearance. He wished they could’ve driven by after the sun went down; they’d cover the highest part in flashing white lights during the winter months. To be festive, of course.

He didn’t know if he should question why no one was asking how he’d learned about this fantastic monument.

“Shit, you were being serious,” Elijah cackled under his breath. “That's a cock if I've ever seen one.”

“Would think you’d be pretty familiar ‘cause, y’know. You see one every time you look in the mirror.”

“Nines, you’ve had a… maybe not a long life, but a life. You think it’s worth pushing Gavin out?”

“I would say so.”

Forty minutes later and his dreary apartment complex had his pulse thrumming. It was a miracle his car hadn’t combusted throughout the trip. He killed the engine, the back of his skull hitting the headrest.

“We made it. Somehow.”

Unlatching the trailer, he forgot how much shit they’d lugged with them. Between the other bags crammed in the back seat, Nines’ suitcase plus the six boxes that were now Gavin’s, they were going to have to take two trips (if not more). And, risk the elevator. If it broke today, someone wasn’t going to make it out alive (his name started with the fifth letter in the alphabet, and ended with ‘lijah’.)

Thank Christ, no mechanical whirring or lights sputtering out. Only solid ground and one marijuana scented hallway.

“Did a skunk get into the building?”

Oh, if he hadn’t been juggling incredibly fragile, and admittedly heavy, figures he'd kiss Nines right then and there. “You're precious.”

He ungracefully fished his keys out. As soon as they stepped inside, Eli smacked his lips (in a way that made Gavin grit his teeth). It was a good thing they didn’t live together anymore, as much as he sorely missed him.

“Wow, your place is… awful.”

“Tell me something I don’t already know.” He flicked on the lights, Bailey trotting full speed, screaming her fuzzy head off. BB cried from his carrier in response. She skirted past Gavin to rub all over Nines’ ankles, side-eyeing his brother; what did he honestly expect.

Nines set down the two boxes he’d been balancing (show off) to swiftly scoop her up, kissing all across her face, down to her fluffy tummy– ugh, he wanted that, too.

“Get a fucking room.”

“This is a room.”

“Yeah, that I pay rent for.” He pointed his finger at Bailey, muttering, “traitor,” before rolling his eyes. “I’m gonna go grab the rest with Eli. Don’t gotta come. Don’t wanna break her heart by leaving, again.”

It was eerily quiet today. Wonder if his neighbor’s domestic dispute had been resolved– there was a date idea. Make a bowl of popcorn and shove some glass cups up against the wall.

“Wait, so, where are you moving to, exactly?”

“I’ll write it down when we get back inside. The drive’s going to be a little under thirty minutes.”

“That’s not too bad.”

With each floor they passed, they were greeted by a high pitched ping. No one else stepped on. It was the little things that mattered.

“My goal is to be moved in enough by this weekend so you can bring them both over. Friday would be ideal, but we have to see. I kind of had to put things on hold for…” he loosely waved his hand.

Gavin slid out the last two things marked with his name, flinging his own duffel bag and a lone canvas tote over the top of Nines’ suitcase.

“Do you need a lift? I mean, it ain’t like we really got a schedule we gotta stick to today.”

“Don’t worry about it, Gav,” he hoisted up a box with a throaty grunt. “I have someone that’s going to pick me up.”

“It’s not Chloe, is it?”

“Can you imagine– hit her with: ‘hey babe, I know we haven't spoken in months, but can you drive to my loser brother's apartment and come rescue my sorry ass?’. I think she'd kill me.”

“All your androids are homicidal maniacs, huh?”

“I was making a joke.”

“You’re acting like that’s out of the ordinary for you. She's probably gonna be shocked you’re not asking her for a favor.”

Eli’s nose wrinkled as he chuckled. “I guess you have a point there.”

In unison, they trailed to his bedroom, Gavin tucking away the suitcase in a corner while Eli had to plop the box in the center of the room. Thanks for that. The other brunet was sprawled on his back, both cats kneading his stomach. He quickly whipped out his phone for a blurry shot, unable to bite back his smile.

“Gav, do you have paper somewhere?”

He nodded, prodding towards the kitchen counter, searching for the sticky notes he knew were buried. He scooted aside an inconspicuously marked package (he didn’t realize it’d shipped yet), seeing the yellow pad underneath it. He peeled away the one that Tina took upon herself to cover in hearts (and between the crude drawings wrote: ‘ABOUT DAMN TIME’).

“You need to promise me that this address is going to remain between you three. No one else can get a hold of it, you understand me?”

He scoffed. “You really think I’m that fucking brain dead? You forget what my day job is– what Connor does, and Nines did? Secrecy is in my damn blood.”

“I’m just saying. I know you tell Tina everything. Blab all you want about our weekend and your methods of torturing me. But, it ends there. Not a word about what’s happening with Nines until we get a better grip on this situation. I’m being dead serious, we don’t need this becoming a sensationalized talking point for a daytime show.”

“My lips are airtight.” Gavin held out his pinky, waiting for Elijah’s own. “Like I’m really keen on saying anything that’s gonna send the hounds to your front door. Don’t really wanna wake up one morning to your severed head on my welcome mat or some shit. Knowing my luck, I’d be the one assigned your case, and I don’t think it’d be very fun to sort out.”

Eli looked at him deadpan. “You’re going to go talk to Markus, right?”

“S’where we’re going after this.”

Elijah wiggled out his phone. “Jesus, it’s almost five. I didn’t think it was that late already.” He opened his arms, Gavin folding into him without an ounce of hesitation.

“Do you really have to go?” he said, hushed.

“I don’t want to, but I have to rapidly put together a lab now. You know how that goes.”

“Oh, sure. A typical Tuesday.”

“Uh huh. I’ll see you this weekend. I mean it, I’m done bullshitting you with empty words,” he kissed the top of his scalp, his lips lingering. “You’re absolutely right, everything in life is a choice. I can make time for you and the ten billion things I’ve got to worry about. I don’t have to pick one or the other.”

“Better late than never.”

“I don’t know about that–”

“I do. You’re here now. S’all I fucking wanted, Eli.”

He squeezed his bicep before peering over his shoulder. “You better stay out of trouble,” he lowered his voice, “don’t fall back into your default bitch mode and push him out of your life. I’ll, from a place of peace and compassion, kick your fucking ass if you do.”

Gavin huffed. “First I had to hear it from mom, and now you.”

“Yeah, well, I know the real you, unlike her,” he leaned in closer, whispering only for him to hear. “You deserve to have love in your life. You want to end up like Bill? A sad, lonely sack of shit that’s going to remain like that until he meets his maker?”

“Hell no.”

“I thought so. I’m telling you that it’s okay. Listen to me”

He locked his arms around Elijah’s back, gluing himself against his chest. He heard him groan, his fingers digging into his sweater.

“Okay, Gav, I need to go,” he tried to wiggle himself free, but he only squeezed harder. “I know how to get you to let go.” Tickling his ribs did the trick. He hurriedly sped towards the door, but then stopped himself, giving Nines a chaste hug. “Do your part and look after him.”

“I will try my best.”

“I’ll text you this weekend and let you know what day works– don’t block me,” he had one hand on the doorknob. “If another incident happens, you call me. Immediately. I’ll tell you again to make sure you know– I love you, Gavin.”

“I love you, too, headass.”

And now, he was left with the reality of… everything. Last Thursday he was basking in the quiet and drowning in his own tears. He lost a father, but he’d gained back his brother. He rolled his head in Nines’ direction. Gained back the man he cared about more than… anyone.

“Well, pick your poison,” he pawed at his cheeks. “Where to first?”

 

---

 

Stepping past the turnstiles, every eye in the station was trained on them. Gawking like they’d seen a damn three headed dinosaur– guess this wasn’t that dissimilar. He didn’t have to ask who was standing beside Fowler to use his deductive skills to figure it out himself, based off the way Nines froze into a marble bust. That was his chief, and he’d flown all the way here from California for a second time. Yeah, this wasn’t going to be pretty.

“It’s game time, bud. You gotta get this done and over with; don’t really got a choice, he’s watching you.”

“The reason I ran away from my problems instead of dealing with them head on is because I simply did not know how to. And I am supposed to have this conversation in person?”

“Know you don’t wanna hear it, but you did this to yourself,” he bumped him with his shoulder. An offering of physical contact he felt comfortable putting on display. “We’re gonna do something tonight, just the two of us. After we get home from Jericho.”

“A date?”

“Nah, ‘cause I wanna go on a real proper one with you. I ain’t got that dog in me tonight,” he wet his lips. “But, close. You can get through this. You have to. Go,” he gave him a hearty shove, otherwise he'd be glued to that spot until their mortal realm succumbed to ethereal decay.

Shopping down the doll aisle, he found himself standing before the original Ken's shared desk. Barbed wire wasn’t needed when their fortress had a grouchy, drunk bouncer. Too sudden of a wrong move and Hank was going to dunk him in a human sized blender, drink him as a pre-workout shake.

This brunet wasn’t allergic to a color, or two. Donning a less ill-fitting sweater lacking a print, a solid sky blue. Worked to his advantage because he read much less aggressive than the snapping turtle he called a… father. Connor cocked his head, chocolate locks cluttering his vision. “Why is he back here?”

“I’m gonna assume he hasn't kept you updated.”

“I only knew he was safe because of you. The last time he texted me was before he left.” They had steeper cliffs to climb.

“Hm.” He crossed his arms over his chest, doing his best to not observe Nines like a damn hawk. “I need to talk to you,” his fingers drummed. “Alone.”

Hank swiveled in his chair, acknowledging him as someone he knew, not a ghoul that had him feeling for a bronze sword. Wonder how many points Gavin’d be worth. “The reason you can't talk out here is…?”

“Ain't gonna drag your boy back to do anything nefarious to him, calm your ass.” This was a delicate game of how much information he could allow to trickle out before he’d back himself into a corner and not know how to smooth talk his way out of it. “My brother actually showed up.”

That was the magic word. Connor callously jerked his chair to the side, muttering a faint, “as much as I do not trust him, and you know that I appreciate your hypervigilance, I am capable of reading the room. Reed occasionally lets the truth slip.”

“And? What happens every time? Both ends of his blade are sharpened.”

“Dad,” Connor huffed, “some decisions I need to make for myself. If it winds up getting me hurt, that is my burden to bear.” His words hung heavy, a thick cut of beef you needed a minute to chew, savor. Connor didn’t want to allot that time– he sped towards Gavin’s office, so fast it looked like he was floating.

A foot tapping as he sorted through his keys (car, mailbox, house, office, a really fucking old one he couldn’t remember what it’d belonged to) was the same as guzzling gasoline. He was boiling Gavin’s piss, the rational side of him weary.

“Yeah, you looked real busy sitting there staring at nothing that thirty seconds is cutting into your jam packed schedule.”

“I’m not impatient,” a dictionary was going to be next year’s Christmas gift, ”my nosebleeds aren’t harmless. Am I on the right track?”

Damn, he was quick, and trained. Without giving Nines’ chair a second glance, he occupied the spare he couldn’t be bothered to move. “I ain’t gonna do justice summarizing the literal shitshow going on ‘cause I don’t fully understand it. You ever tamper with your OS?”

Connor’s face fell as he sharply inhaled. “...what has he done?”

“Something really fucking stupid. Sure you can already gauge where I’m going with this. It's about your specific models. Eli needs to run some diagnostic–”

“No,” he folded his hands against his lap. “I am not putting myself in that situation. I can’t.”

“You really think I'd bring Nines straight to the Devil's doorstep if I thought he was gonna kill him?” Back to digging around the drawers for his spare charger. “Hurt either of you? This isn't some smoke and mirrors trick.”

“I killed myself to get away from Elijah’s cruel… tests.” Another shared habit of theirs. “I was successful, I did it. I saw what awaits us all at the end– fucking nothing.” That wasn’t comforting. “And, what did your brother do instead of putting me to rest? He commissioned a team to fish me out from that,” he vaguely gestured behind himself, “river so my decapitated head could be placed on his desk. As my punishment, I was powered on for a month without a minute to rest, my body being kept from me. He didn’t want me making the same mistake twice.”

“Connor, look. Listen to me,” he leaned back as far as he could, itching the nape of his neck. “He ain’t deserving of your forgiveness and he’s not asking for it. No one’s delusional enough to think he’s this holier than thou saint. Eli,” careful wording, Gavin, choose wisely, “he’s trying to protect me, acting like he’s not terrified by Nines– the way he toyed with himself has done irreversible damage, okay. He don’t wanna outright say he’s dying, but I know he’s thinking it.”

“I–” yeah, he said way too much. “I don’t understand. Dying…?”

He massaged his temples. “I’ll annoy his ass ‘til he calls you tonight, promise. S’just my understanding as an outsider, I’m not a techie. Got bestowed with a… mucusy membrane in my skull, not a sheet of metal.”

“How can you trust him?”

“I don't, in all sincerity. I don't fucking trust him. This weekend I saw the Eli I grew up with, but if we didn't have Nines’ broken ass bridging us, feel like he wouldn't have any issues cutting me out like he's used to,” he pressed his middle knuckles against his front teeth.

“Machines, computers, coding. This is like, all he knows. Mom used to have a rule that he couldn't drone ‘bout robots and cyborgs and shit at the dinner table, same way I couldn't rattle off ten thousand convincing arguments for the existence of ghosts.”

Connor was squirming in any way he could; purposely squeaking the legs of the chair, ankle shaking like a dog drying itself off. Not to mention the heated match of ping-pong his led played, bouncing between yellow and a darker maroon.

“Do you want Hank to lose a second son? You really wanna put him through that again?”

“Am I… also dying?”

“I ‘unno if either of you are. Forget I said anything, speaking outta my ass.”

“Did Elijah use that word?”

“He… he said he wasn't exactly sure. S’why you need to let him see what's really going on in there. This is bigger than you and Nines, bud.” Oof. Force of habit with Nines being… ninety nine percent of his social interactions nowadays. Connor wasn't deserving of that pet name.

Connor furrowed his brows and before he could interject with some stupid shit, Gavin continued: “You can't tell Hank, not anytime soon. Know you got selective hearing just like your brother, but I ain't playing around. Stays between you, Nines, and I. Got it?”

Connor timidly bobbed his head in unison with a light handed knock. Exactly who he'd wanted to see. Lopsided grin brighter than a searchlight.

“Am I intruding?”

“Never.” Tina was light enough to sweep her off her feet— he did exactly that, effortlessly swinging her around, drinking in her chuckles. “I needed that.” He really did.

“Sweetie,” she cupped his cheek; damn, that hand sanitizer was potent. Was it pomegranate? Duh, it was. He’d gotten that for her, how could he forget. “How’re you holding up?”

His tongue teased the corner of his mouth. “I'll let you know in five to ten business days.”

“On a lighter note, then,” her lips upturned. “I wanna know about the ki–”

Gavin fervently shook his head, resisting the urge to slap transparent tape over her noise hole. They weren't in grade school, he wasn't going to keep Nines as an exclusive little secret. Gavin'd been that forbidden, hushed about boyfriend. Didn't feel very nice, to put it lightly.

With Connor gawking at them, a brow quirked and slight pout because he was being excluded from something good, this wasn't the moment to deal with his snide quips. Passive judgement (confusion?).

Not like any of that mattered– a burst of unhinged yelling and doors slamming meant their meeting had concluded. Gavin groaned into his palm. Obviously any partner of his was going to be as much of a pain in the ass as him, was he expecting anything less?

Shall we assess the situation? One Fowler raving wildly outside of his office, words so hastily strung together his speech was slurred. Nines’ (former) chief had his fists stuffed in his pants pockets, keeping a watchful eye on the one experiencing the most amount of distress here— oh, shit, was Jeff talking to him?

“Go deal with Nines.” Gavin pointed at himself, the older man nodding. “Any of you, I don't care who.”

Nines paced without trajectory, a rocket launch gone wrong. A mismatched group all with varying definitions on what comfort looked like. Hesitation behind physical touch coming from Connor, meanwhile Tina took a page from Gavin's book, the art of distraction. They felt more like the Four Horsemen, delivering Nines his pink slip from the Astral plane.

“I’d offer you a cig, but that might actually kill you.” That definitely wasn't the right thing to say, eliciting no chuckles, no reactions period. Gavin didn't know what to say. He knew for a fact the showers wouldn't get as cold as his parent's tub (also, if someone walked in on them…).

“Please,” his eyes bounced from face to face to face, “I need to be left alone.”

“Bud,” Gavin took one miniscule step closer, only to be met with an aggressive slap to the wrist.

“I said leave me the fuck alone.” A crystal clear apocalypse was stirring inside Nines. Fine. Message received.

Smoke left his cigarette like barlines on sheet music. It was a tune he couldn't read, he wasn't classically trained. Yet, it was oddly nostalgic, a classic bestseller. What he really needed was a jukebox, to dig through his vast vinyl collection, the ones that crooned secrets he'd forgotten within himself.

The ember slowly died out, a watchtower's blinking light in the dead of a forest. Isolated from society, out there all alone. A feeling Gavin couldn't settle for, not anymore. He made use of his ashtray, Nines drawing closer like a moth to a flame– should've kept the lights off. He didn't make a peep; he didn't have to, Gavin knew what he was asking.

In the most complicated way possible because his jumbled thoughts were comparable to a senior's dinner of rice pudding, he crawled into the backseat. Crushed butts littered the carpet (yay), the glass dish clanging (good thing it was only five dollars).

The entirety of the puzzle wasn't finished, but they were the first pieces to be joined together, their points of connection so obvious a toddler could pick them out. It was the other brunet's turn to be all over him. His body curled into a ‘c’, legs strewn across Gavin's lap, fingers desperately searching for a secondary anchor point. He couldn't stop his tears.

A newborn sobbing without shame, to be heard by no one in particular– Gavin was listening. He'd been holding this in for a long time.

“I’m so,” Nines choked, “sorry.”

Gavin tenderly gripped his chin, kissing his forehead. “Let it all out, s’okay,” another press to his cheek, the tip of his nose, to the wetness that tasted of nothing. “Don't hold it back. Gotta get it outta your system.”

 

---

 

A clock ticked, a constant reminder that this visit was not going to be short. Feeling his couch, Bailey's slender tail, was pure fantasy. Umber seeped against the walls that were less barren; their office space as a whole was more put together. All the other rooms but one occupied, furniture in the lobby that looked newly assembled.

Gavin ran his thumb against smooth porcelain, taking another sip of his tea. Before he could take off his jacket, the hovering blonde (he was right, that was Simon) was rummaging through his massive collection of satchels. Peach with hints of vanilla, that’s what he’d surprised him with.

Markus had his elbows leaned against his desk. The mask he wore was solemn. Gavin wasn’t used to seeing the man struggling to speak. It felt like they were discussing damn war plans. His two henchmen were overseeing, the blonde leaning against the arm of Markus’ chair– the other guy was Josh, he was pretty sure. He wasn’t facing them, preoccupied by flicking through a black binder.

“You are lucky that you left Los Angeles when you did, Nines,” the first thing he’d said in half an hour, long enough that his drink had gone frigid. The huff he let out was strong enough to put out a forest fire. “We don’t know the details of who, exactly, but you had a visitor at your apartment. Reports confirm he was fully armed and ready to take you, dead or alive.”

“I might have a small idea of who this could be,” Nines held up his palm, facing Markus. “There was a particular guard that despised me. He had unfinished business with Elijah, and I was the easier target.”

“It’s been almost two and half months, why the fuck do they care anymore if you’re,” he made air quotes, “missing? They’re that goddamn bored that they gotta hound you?”

Markus met his eyes. He didn’t know which iris to focus on. “Reed, I do not feel like you grasp the severity of this situation. This does not only pertain to Nines and your brother– the groups after you are not mutual.”

He held up his hand, peering at the brunet beside him. “Thought you said I was a bargaining piece?”

Markus answered instead. “You are, but that is not our active concern. I am actually more worried about your well-being being an immediate risk,” he turned his attention to an off centered monitor, typing something. “The information I’m about to share with you is sensitive. If you’d prefer that we speak in private–”

Gavin shook his head. “The lot of you run your mouths, anyways. Ain’t above spreading juicy gossip. S’gonna get around at one point or another.”

“What is the best way to preface this…” Markus dragged a hand across his chin. “All androids share a neuro-network, not too dissimilar from accessing, let’s say, Google. The information is boundless–”

“It is like having twenty four hour access to every available social media platform, but you do not have a choice to opt out of it. There are more hidden elements you need to seek out. Baseline data is a free for all.” That was the most he’d ever heard Simon talk.

“When something is leaked,” Markus began, only for Gavin to finish with, “everyone’s business is already known. Was it the videos?”

“No, those are already accessible,” he clacked away. “Tens of thousands of logs from Eden Clubs across the state were released. The full names of clientele were exposed, including… services booked, and what models were rented. As well as restored video footage for the purpose of blackmail.”

He felt his chin quivering, and without thinking about what the fuck he was doing, he cupped the top of Nines’ palm. Josh turned around just in time to blow out a puff of air, suck in his lips.

“What did I tell you guys? I knew it.”

Gavin kept his hands to himself, was going to sit on them if he had to.

“We’re not judging you,” Markus’ smile was sincere. Simon shared a similar look, though the red he wore contradicted his expression.

“Will this happen every time I touch him?” Nines didn't outright groan, but the thought was there. 

“It’s not something you can control in the beginning. But, over time, you will become less reactive.”

Markus cleared his throat. More admiring the screen in front of him to buy himself time, to formulate the speech Gavin knew was imminent. 

"Now, what I told you, Reed, was only background information. Over the past few days all of us have been thoroughly studying what your names pull up. Nines, you are already quite aware that Shieldlite and like you said, certain people, have not forgotten about you. In the same light that we are seeing pro-android movements across the world, we are also finding extremism from the opposite spectrum.”

“The anti-human bullshit. Yeah, Fowler gave us a debriefing a week or whatever ago.”

“There’s a talkspace that is invite only, but Josh was able to gain access with a spoofed–”

Simon nudged him with his elbow. “Markus, he doesn’t need all the technical explanations.”

“There’s a hitlist that has your name on it. There were plenty of these, all from those with personal vendettas. And, at first we weren’t sure we could narrow down the possibilities of all those who you have hurt to just one. But circling back to the Eden Club logs, you had rented one of North’s closest friends.”

He was lying on an operation table without sedation. “Connor told me you broke up–”

Nines scoffed. “You are sharing gossip with Connor?”

“If you’re gonna be in my life ‘til I croak, I gotta try to come to some sorta truce with him, don’t I?”

“It was her own choice to leave Jericho– I know that was her. She had revealed to me some of the specifics of what their kind would go through. And though she didn’t mention him by name, how she described him matches what’s here.”

He didn’t care if he busted a model’s limb or choked them out. Cyberlife would patch up the forgotten wounds by sunrise.

“We know you are not our enemy, Reed. We all have seen the changes in you, no one is denying that.”

“Think if I did try anything, Nines would smash my face in. So, there's that.”

“Correct," he said with a faint grin.

“That is why I am taking it upon myself to ensure your safety. I have been in close communication with Fowler– he’s not as debriefed as you are, but he understands the implications of how serious this is. I know what North is capable of, and it’s not only her that’s blinded by vengeance.”

“Shit, there's cameras in the lobby. If anyone gets a hold of that… Eli didn't have anything concealing his identity.”

“I can take care of it,” Nines reassured.

“Is Nines… where are you living currently? Together?” They nodded. “We are going to have someone monitor your apartment. This is why Josh and Simon are present for this conversation. As far as I can tell, your home address is not public information– at least the specifics of what apartment you reside in– but one of them will stay parked outside overnight. If either of you have plans to leave, let us know.

"We want this to be as little of an inconvenience as possible. To repeat myself, this is not to be taken lightly. If we do see someone casing your complex, there is shelter available at New Jericho, if it comes to that. I will grant you access there.” No fucking way. “And if anyone takes issue with you being there, Reed, they can take it up with me personally.”

“I had interest in moving to my own place in a few weeks.” Nines crossed his legs. “Is that feasible?”

Markus bobbed his head. “I will send you the addresses to a few places I recommend. They should have open waitlists you can join. As in, by the time the next penance is sent, they will be move-in ready.” He sauntered over to them, rolling up his sleeve. “May I?”

“You may.”

Markus touched his arm, blinking rapidly, wincing before pulling back hastily. He was entirely out of breath, the simulation pausing. “...what is that? That chaos inside you.”

“I did not think you would be able to feel that.”

“I felt all of it. What have you done to yourself?”

Nines couldn’t keep his focus on one thing. He played with the buttons on his collar. “Is my presence still needed? Because if it is not, I would like to go to the car.”

“Bud–” Nines ran his fingers through Gavin’s hair, shaking his head.

“I’m fine, Gavin. I… I need quiet, so I do not drift off someplace I do not want to be.” Gavin handed him his keys, hanging his head as soon as he closed the door.

“Jesus,” he pressed his tongue to his cheek. Too many eyes trained on him. “Well, robo Jesus. You’re a great counselor and all, but what advice do you got to spare in the way of relationships?” He saw that look Simon gave Markus. They weren’t subtle.

 

---

 

No more heavy talks, no more focusing on death and destruction and everything fucking awful. He needed a way to numb out that didn’t involve substances that’d burn away his brain cells. Nines had kept that book full of movies to watch in his backpack, actually came in handy tonight. Monty Python and the Holy Grail, it was.

“Are Simon and Markus smashing?”

“You noticed it, too.”

“The eyefucking? Uh, yeah, kinda hard not to.”

Nines snorted as Gavin trailed to the kitchen. He wanted a glass of water and to snatch the brand new Cheez-It box. The unopened package on the counter caught his attention instead. He grabbed his keys from the dish and wedged one through the paper tape.

“Are you comfortable with me talking to Connor about what has transpired between us?”

“Transpired between us,” he half chuckled, “really complicated way of saying–”

“Am I able to call it dating when we have not yet done that?”

“S’just a description. We ain’t married, so what else do you call it? Courting?" He grabbed the dish he had tucked away on the top shelf. “Reminded me, you need to catch him up to speed on all the bullshit. Promised him I’d get you to do that.”

“You did not answer my original question.”

He tucked the package in the crook of his elbow, slowly walking over to the couch. “It ends with him, okay. Tell all your lil robo buddies ‘bout our blooming romance, I… can't stop you. People’re still coming to terms not relying on androids to scrub their toilets, don’t know if the guys at work are gonna react… kindly to me,” he tilted his head from side to side, “and you. Y’know.”

Both cats had curled up on Nines’ lap. “But, this is not because you are ashamed of me, correct?”

“Fuck no. Told you– slow and steady wins the race. We push this too fast and I don’t know how I’m gonna react.”

“What do you have?”

“You got any energy left in you to work on a lil project tonight?” He set down the bowl on the table, pulling out a smaller white box. “Bail, uh… the bad energy just follows me. She knocked off your mug. But I remembered you telling me about–”

“Kintsugi.”

It was an at home repair kit. “I ‘unno how hard s’gonna be to do this, but there’s two of us. One of us can’t be that stupid.”

“You would hope.”

It took them two additional romcoms and an egregious amount of tutorials before the mug was pieced back together. Gold powder filled the cracks and visibly mended the brokenness it didn’t have to hide. Just like they didn't.

It was no longer food safe, but the alternative was the long-winded traditional method. He didn’t have enough patience to wait weeks, or even months, so he could be on edge every time he sipped instant coffee.

What the hell were they watching now— The Proposal, that was right. A dull green highlighted the face of the man beside him (the scene snappily cut, growing too bright). He had a dusting of gold on the tip of his nose.

“How do you always manage to get shit on your face?” He ripped a square of a paper towel in the kitchen and wet it. “Quit staring at me with ‘em big ‘ol eyes.”

Back at it again with teasing the incredibly thin bubble that surrounded Gavin; he wanted to be touched. Anything to distract from the internal heaviness.

Their foreheads pressed together, a sense of calamity in the way he was being watched. Because despite the ever growing shit storm, everything else in his life going fucking… wrong, this was the one thing that felt right. He wanted to crawl on his lap, straddle him, badly. Eventually.

“May I kiss you?” Nines' attention flickered downwards, his tongue darting out.

Gavin’s heart spun a figure eight. He couldn’t help but laugh unfiltered. “You don’t gotta ask. You can just… do it.”

The way his torso pivoted was pinching his muscles. He swung his legs onto the couch, leaning until he hit something solid, until Nines was looming over him.

“I would rather reassure myself that you have not changed your mind.”

“I know my mood’s sporadic, but I ain’t gonna go from wanting to suck your face off to hating your guts in less than twenty four hours.”

“Wouldn’t you, though? You are Gavin.”

“No,” a familiar dance of digging into his collar. A shiver ripped through him, pinpricks piercing his stomach lining. They were muted, but that felt more like the jitters he was acquainted with. "Don’t think there’s anything you can do to get me to hate you now.”

He yanked Nines closer until no room was left between them.

Notes:

I want to take a second to note that the diner scene is something that actually happened to my friends and I semi-recently. EXCEPT, THIS IS THE SUMMARIZED, AND MUCH MORE TAME, VERSION. The actual play by play was too insane to write and looked cartoonish as hell, because it absolutely was. One of the strangest nights of my life, and that's why it has to be forever memorialized in this story. Core memory LMAO

I want to again thank everyone that's been following this story, because it's just been a blast to write. Some of the chapters have been getting really lengthy, but augh, I just feel like there's so much story to tell. And so much more to come.

Anyways, your lovely comments always brighten up my day and I appreciate all the support on something that's personal, and means a lot to me. ♥️

Chapter 24: light on your face

Summary:

Wasn’t dating someone that you already considered one of your best friends supposed to make things easier? Why did opening this can of worms make things feel like Hell on Earth? All Gavin wanted to do was trace Nines’ lips until he knew them by heart, and then collapse with him in bed as a sobbing mess.

Fuck, when was it his turn to catch a goddamn break.

The elevator dinged, opening to an oasis straight from purgatory. He needed to play a well thought out round of hopscotch to avoid the lava hungry to burn his soles. Do or die, he was out of power-ups. Five long jumps, that’s all it took– where was the proof that Nines leaning against the door frame wasn’t a mirage? Smiling crooked at him like dangling bait, leading him closer to a human sized lobster trap.

In theory, dating one of your best friends seemed like a failproof plan. To him, at least, because this was uncharted territory. Maybe he’d been a naive, hopeful idiot. It removes the mind-numbing element of scrambling for talking points that don’t revolve around the weather, giving you the personality of a doorknob. Already knew their interests were intertwined; Nines was his star pupil.

Should’ve felt like walking on cloud nine, transitioning from a jewel thief, ogling a rare diamond he wasn’t skilled enough to rob, to being able to purchase the rock– maybe that wasn’t a good analogy, what with androids having price tags slapped on them… The point is, he could slam their lips together and it would be reciprocated. And, that’s just the thing.

Together they were hoisting up a seven ton truck, and not even the machine with unmatched strength could bear its weight. He still got tired like everyone else. Once Gavin started dissecting the dynamics of what they were, he couldn’t stop. He really only had one shot at this. Make a wrong turn and an empty couch was going to be his ultimate destiny.

The fuck was that grounding technique he was going to use– right, count all the ways you could prepare a potato. French fries, he wouldn’t be a true American if that wasn’t the first thing to come to mind. Boiled potatoes– mash ‘em, stick ‘em in a stew (...force of habit). Scalloped; he could never cut them thin enough. Ugh, Christ, he needed to find composure and stop letting anxiety lock his balls in a bear trap.

Yes, okay, a first date with anyone was a big, massive fucking deal. But, this was Nines… oh, God, this was Nines.

Nines dipped his head back inside the apartment, door just a smidgen open. Two creatures screeching seemed to be the likely culprits. What were other dishes… latkes, yeah, his mom had a killer latke recipe she used to pull out of her sleeve when December rolled around. Pair them with a sour cream and a speck of non-traditional cumin. He was never a fan of sweet potatoes.

Hell, not like he ate the vegetable much anymore outside of its fried variation because he’d lived off pre-packaged containers of them in college. Pop them in a toaster oven and you’d have a cheap, starchy meal for one to savor the depressing reality of living the dorm life.

“Are your shoes too heavy? Why are you taking an hour to come to me?” He was too stuck in his own head to notice the taller man wearing the suit that fit him like a damn glove. Good God, he loved that peekaboo window of his clavicle.

“Lost in thought.” One step inside to empty his pockets (he wanted to quickly change, put on a pair of jeans that weren’t baggy enough to look like he was playing dress up in his dad’s closet), before he placed his palm flat over his pecs.

“Well, stop that.”

“Oh my God, duh,” he slapped his own forehead. “You're so smart.” Angling his chin was enough to convey his needs. Nines knew the drill by now. “Why didn't I think of that?”

Every little romantic gesture, chaste peck was chased with a hearty shot of hesitation. This wasn’t something they could get past, not yet. They’d found more safety in keeping that kind of affection reserved for foreheads, cheeks. Anywhere but the sacred lips, even if that’s all he wanted for dinner.

“I am the brains in this relationship while you are the brawns.”

“Don’t think you can legally say that looking like…”

Where did he start. Like he’d stepped right out one of the ten billion wet dreams he’d had. Would look better with Gavin’s hands working those buttons undone, peeling it off of him– he needed to get a grip and stop obsessing over fucking him.

The only thing to come within a fifty mile radius of his dick in the past month had been his right hand. He was getting friction burns from how often he wiggled the worm. All that pent up desperation was bubbling to the surface.

“You had to pull out the big guns for our first date.”

“I want to ensure I have your absolute attention. I have caught you ogling me when I wear this, many times.”

That wasn’t a topic they’d delved further into, aside from the one night, and just thinking about asking him if sex was something he’d ever consider exploring made him taste bile. Because if the answer was no, he’d rather not know altogether. The way he was craving that form of intimacy was almost depressing.

Unfilling orgasms still felt like the end all be all, and that fucking grossed him out that he thought like that. Wouldn’t be able to accept he was truly a piece of gold in someone else’s treasure chest if he wasn’t used for the sake of their pleasure. Nines not needing that to survive, like he did… he didn’t like it. Not one bit.

And bringing attention to that wonderful slew of worries would only confirm the other man’s insecurities– maybe he wasn’t everything Gavin needed in a man, but did he have to be the complete, total package?

He wasn’t feeding him pretty lies; him lacking that keypoint of familiarity didn’t change the way he felt about him. If anything, it made him dig deeper inside himself and question why he so desperately needed sex as his masquerade. Emotions. Couldn't sit with them, so fuck ‘em. That was the simple answer.

“You will, ‘cause you look really fucking good,” his nostrils flared, cheeks puffing. He felt hot everywhere.

Nines wasn’t teasing him. The trepidation was a group project. “You look handsome.” He pinched his bangs. “Did you get a haircut?”

“Wanted to be presentable for you.”

One more, he needed to feel him one more time. He didn’t mean to, but Gavin’s lashes fluttered as a new form of bandage was placed over the bridge of his nose. Once Nines knew he wasn’t going to slap him for paying that spot, maybe a little too much attention, that became his go-to.

“I only got an hour, maybe hour and a half if we wanna risk it. This place’s only open during the day, but I know you’re gonna like it.”

He rifled through his drawers, trying to decide between the denim that used to be black but were now more of a faded green. Or, the ones that reflected his inner emo persona. Eh, Nines wasn’t the only one with a nice ass. He wasn’t above showing it off.

Nines laid on his back, on his appointed side of the bed. “We can split this date into two parts.”

Gavin peeked at him as he undid his belt (he was learning). He kept his stare trained upwards as he blindly stroked Bailey’s shiny coat (she’d finally stopped putting up a fight when it came to brushing her, no more mats. Hurrah).

“When you are off-duty, we will continue like there had never been an interruption.”

“S’long as you make the evening plans.”

“I have something in mind.”

He’d been drawing blanks, trying to find somewhere that wasn’t a restaurant or a ticketed event that was going to cost sixty dollars a pop. So he set out on a digital marathon and explored what was within a thirty mile radius; he’d hit the jackpot.

He knew for certain the other brunet would be enamored with this place. Gavin wouldn’t be watching his lips move, impatiently waiting until they got to the good part. Spending any second he could with him was the good part.

No matter how long you live somewhere, you’ll continuously discover local gems you’ve never heard about. Pewabic Pottery; less than a ten minute drive from the station, and one of the longest running pottery studios in the country. It’d been open since 1903, and yet, he had no clue the building existed.

It boasted tudor style architecture, and yeah, you could tell it was a hub for pottery. Abstract statues (and one of a good pupper) littered the outdoor garden; if it wasn’t a shrub, it was ceramic.

Indoors, it was brick on top of brick. A mishmash of a museum, gift shop (nowhere was complete without one, gotta love capitalism), and a working studio to pump out goods to bring home to grandma. They trailed up wooden stairs that verified the age of the building, slowly drifting from one glass display case to the next.

Nines silently mouthed along as he read each placard, admiring the differentiating shapes of vases that’d been collected over a century. The adjacent room was a love letter to Michigan from local artisans. Tiles with landmarks carved into them: the bridge to Mackinac Island (he still needed to make a trip up there), one with the old downtown train station (that was just used as an event space now), and the most iconic of them all, a mitten.

He showed Nines the handy map trick, pointing to the outermost right side of his palm, telling him that’s where they were. He looked exasperated, accusing him of bluffing– he really wasn’t.

Gavin checked his phone; he had fifteen minutes until he needed to get back to the station. How the fuck was he supposed to drag Nines out of this place when he was grinning ear to ear from a wall displaying examples of different glazes?

This wasn’t Gavin’s thing by any means (if that wasn't already blatantly obvious), but his own enthusiasm came naturally when he saw how their surroundings captivated that goofy ass– fucking adorable– skyscraper. They’d exchanged like, ten words since they got there, that’s how swept away into another world he was.

He bumped him with a shoulder. “Bud,” Nines already knew, bobbing his head. “Wanna pass through the store first to gawk at shit we can’t afford?”

“Obviously.”

Wooden shelves were lined with hand-sized tiles, flaunting their own unique styles. Imprints of maple leaves, some with repeating honeycomb patterns and a three-dimensional bee beside them. An upturned pallet had snowflake shaped ornaments hooked to it; there was too much to look at, his neck was getting sore.

“S’like once or twice a month, but they got classes here. Maybe sometime–”

Nines squeezed his sleeve. “Yes,” he said in a broken breath. “Please.”

It all worked out in the end; Nines needed to go see Markus, their office being a slightly shorter drive than the apartment (he insisted on taking a bus, but then what’s the point of having a car). He didn’t get into the specifics, if this was about those wanting to display his head above a mantelpiece, or the helpline coming into fruition.

Guess it didn’t matter, what with Nines being a fucking loud mouth. He’d find out eventually– if it was that pressing, he’d get the inside scoop hand delivered from the source.

Gavin gently pinched his cheek. “I’ll see you in a few hours. Try not to miss me too much.”

His nose crinkled. “You are stealing my line.”

Another day, another decomposing body that'd made it a mission to start merging with a leather couch. The kid was only twenty, yet no one noticed he'd gone missing a week prior to his unfortunate demise. A bullet to the head because he'd been sleeping with his best friend's sister, scandalous.

How fucking pathetic is that, no one giving a shit about you when your goodbye is permanent. That was one of Gavin's top five fears.

He powered down his computer for the day as a gentle knock made his ears perk. Tina leaned her head in, her lips pursed.

“You have a visitor,” she cooed, all too cheery.

“Yeah?” He fished around his pocket; he needed mint to outweigh lingering traces of bean juice and artificial fruits. “What’s he look like?”

“Yay high,” she pushed up on the tips of her toes, stretching high enough to untuck her shirt. “A little off-putting, but probably harmless. He’s definitely not here to talk to you about our Lord and Savior.”

“Which variant you referencing?” His phone vibrated. “RA-Nine, or the big man upstairs?”

“Why not both?”

“Pass.”

All said in jest, because his sneakers squeaked from how quickly he was shuffling past the turnstiles. He took in the sight of the man leaning against his car; he’d shedded the suit jacket, swapped the dress shirt with a plain (black) cotton tee, but he still… God. God fucking damn it, Nines drove him mental.

Contrary to the earlier tranquility, gleeful screams and glass shattering could be heard. The exterior was unassuming, your everyday mom and pop store. But the vinyl decals covering the windows made it pretty damn obvious this was one of those places where garbage trucks make a pitstop before heading to a local landfill. They’d drop off clumps of broken machinery and electronics so you can further beat the bejesus out of them.

This was a fucking rage room.

“Oh my God, you didn't.” His smile’d grown so wide it ached, primarily due to spotting a chained off rusted SUV. They were going to destroy a car with no repercussions, he was so damn excited he couldn't get his seatbelt undone fast enough. “I've always wanted to go to one of these.”

“Do I know my boyfriend,” a brow quirked, “or do I know my boyfriend?”

It was official, starting now. They’d met the invisible ink terms of his deal. Their prolonged date wasn’t over, but they’d picked away the surface layer of the iceberg.

He wet his lips. “Say that again.”

“Call you my boyfriend?”

“Yeah. That,” his chest heaved.

Perfect moment to get g noted– “Welcome to the Black Parade” was simple white noise.

“You are,” said as a statement, as a fact. “You are all mine, Gavin,” every time his voice dropped to that register, it started a fire… in his brain that was already a melted puddle, a soothing warmth whose ember only sparked rapidly as it spread throughout him. “I am not letting you go anywhere.”

“Mm,” he hummed but it turned into something of a laugh. “Get your face over here.”

A pause, those final three inches that separated them too rare to pawn. Good thing Nines brought an axe– that dead air was double dead. He tasted faintly of melon, ironically Gavin’s favorite fruit.

They were in a public lot, children passing by, lugging around overstuffed backpacks as they plopped out of a bus. But, fuck, he just really needed to feel him. Hear his fluty breathing, listen to his warbles, find inspiration to whip out an untouched sketchbook later that night. Nines’ slender fingers half cupped his neck.

“I reserved a–” he had to clear his throat to gain his own composure, “time slot.”

“Thirty more seconds.”

“Gavin.” He swallowed Nines’ groan; hell, stroking his chest was absolutely becoming his new hobby, he couldn’t stop doing it. Every time he could get his grubby hands near him, that’s where the magnet pulled.

The remaining hour was… it was fucking incredible, he wasn’t gonna lie. Once they were suited up, looking like they were about to enter a lab to make the bluest of meth, the choice of what to destroy was put in his hands.

Yes, he ran straight to the Hyundai and smashed in the windshield, that was a given. He didn’t want to verbally admit he could one hundred percent see the appeal in vandalism, but he was surely thinking it.

Oh, fuck yeah. Two rooms were unlocked, and veering to the right was the best choice he could’ve made. A concrete slab was hoisted up on a stack of tires, and on top of this makeshift table were breakables galore. Empty beer bottles, chunky monitors from the nineties, plastic buckets crammed with yellowed mugs.

His own shattered pieces were healed just a tad bit more as his hammer snapped the neck of a Heineken clean off. Total catharsis.

One last stop before they called it a night (in other words, pulled out their watchlist and picked back up where they left off). Surrounding the more popular live music venues, a handful of alleyways were decorated with arches of warm bulbs. Little twinkles of artificial snowflakes.

Picnic benches were kept behind metal fencing, open during specific hours (like anyone ever fucking monitored, just another attempt to say fuck you to those that had nowhere else to go.)

He leaned his back against the table, taking a swig of the mocktail he regretted ordering– it was a peach something or other, sweet enough to send him into a coma. A show must’ve gotten out, a bustling crowd flooding the streets, jaywalking without care.

Pulling out the bendy straw (the only upside to this horrible concoction), Gavin pointed at a semi-distant couple, blissfully unaware of their surroundings. A shorter blonde was pushing too much of her weight against a guy who desperately needed to shave his God awful neckbeard. He was fighting to retain his balance, walking like a wet noodle.

“Whaddya think; siblings, or dating?”

“Neither.” He quirked his head, playing with his own drink. He rotated the cup until a whirlpool was born. “They are on their first date as well, and she is under the impression it has been going seamlessly.”

The blonde’s cheeks flushed like a cherub; she was completely infatuated with him. Batting her mascara crusted lashes even though he avoided her eye contact, exaggerating her giggles. Purposely trying to sound cute, but it was more of a… witches cackle.

“He has his heart set on someone else.”

He swiveled his torso and took a few steps ahead of his date, throwing his arms around a different blonde's shoulders. Her scarf unraveled, dipping into a puddle of slush. Would you look at that– that had to have been her sister, they looked nearly identical. A two for one deal, Gavin got them both right.

“When you scan people and invade their privacy, can you tell who they’re attracted to?”

“I do not get a synopsis of their life story and relationship history, if that is what you are asking. I no longer have clearance to access the criminal record database, so essentially all I see is a name.” Nines set his cup down.

“If there is something legally binding them, such as marital status or biological relations, I can easily find out that information if I choose to search for it. That is why I was unaware of your relation to Elijah initially upon scanning that photo.”

“What do you see when you look at me?” Gavin prodded him with his elbow. “Giving you permission to scan me, don't miss your chance.”

“I have no desire to– well,” he sucked in his lips, cracking a guilty smile. “No, I am curious, but. I made a promise to you.”

“That's very noble of you, ‘cause if I had your robo vision…”

Nines rolled his eyes, shaking his head, but he was still laughing. “What about that couple? To the left, by the parking meter.”

Gavin scratched his chin. “She's hoping he's gonna pop the question tonight.”

“How do you know that?”

“Look at her nails. She just got them done, fancy but not too distracting that it'll take away attention from the important rock. And, she's got her hair curled, makeup looking flawless for those grammable shots.”

“Hm.” The nervous man in question adjusted something in his pocket; either it was a ring box, or they were all about to take off running for the hills. “Your evidence seems to line up.”

“I’d hope so, or that'd be a glaring sign I'm in the wrong profession.”

An older duo waited at a curb for an autonomous Lyft to slow down, his bite-sized wife using his elbow as leverage to scoot herself in.

“Think that’ll be us one day?”

“I know it will be. I am not looking forward to you becoming an even grouchier old man.”

“‘least you don't gotta deal with the repercussions of growing older. Never gonna lose that pretty face.”

“There is beauty in aging. It's a privilege.”

“Mm, if you say so,” he took a hurried swig of the lip puckering elixir. He just needed to chuck this thing in the garbage already.

“What about the two idiots sitting on a bench, judging others like they don't deserve that judgement themselves? What can you deduce about them?” Nines met his side eye. Moonlight painted his skin cornflower blue.

“Well, let’s see. Got all these people trickling out, socializing, making new friends. Instead of being part of that crowd that saw whatever fucking show or concert it was, they think it’s more fun to freeze their asses off drinking… these horrendous drinks, Jesus Christ.”

“You don’t like yours either?” Gavin hastily shook his head. “I am glad it’s not just me.”

“My conclusion is that they’re losers– one a little more so than the other. Somehow they balance each other out, though. And, uh, y’know. The angstier of the two is really, really fucking glad he found his said loser counterpart.”

“He is?”

He dropped his head against Nines’ shoulder, the boulder it was. “You… bud, I think you kinda saved my life, in a way. Don’t mean that like you talked me off a literal ledge. I just…”

A samoyed with its bright pink tongue scampered by, a massive contrast to the dull color palette that surrounded them.

“I couldn’t do it alone much longer. I don’t wish you were human, but if fate would’ve let us meet ten years ago… life could’ve looked a lot different. A lot less– bleak.”

Nines placed the gentlest smooch known to man atop his scalp; felt more like the wind tickling him than anything. “Gavin.”

“You still say my name way too fucking much.”

“I am aware. I have to ruminate on pet names since you are not fond of–”

“Gav is banned. Tina says it enough, and now that headass is, hopefully, here to stay, won't hear the end of it.” He brushed his thumb over the smooth plastic of the car’s key fob. “What, Nines?”

“Were you really going to block me if I had stayed?”

The short answer: yes. He would’ve. Not immediately, would’ve taken a few rounds of tossing his inner ghouls into a boxing ring. Ultimately, they would’ve been victorious. Gavin was still a crumpled bag of shit at his core, one he couldn’t burn and watch dissipate to nothing more than dust.

"Would've hurt too much keeping around something I couldn't have. That's self inflicted torture.”

“You could not have waited for me? If I had been able to visit, let’s say, two months down the line.”

Gavin had many labels tied to his name, but patient would never be earned. “I don’t wanna talk about this.”

“You don’t want to talk about most things.”

“Stellar observational skills.” Gliding down the seam of his slacks as a reference point, he found his way to Nines’ knee. “Subject change– I don’t wanna hear it, don’t fight me. Probably the best first date I’ve been on ‘cause I don’t gotta ask you ‘my place or yours’.” That wasn’t why, and he knew Nines knew that.

“We already know I will be in your bed tonight.” Gavin’s body jerked, a demonic laugh ripped out of him.

“Good God. Y'know, for someone that don't got a sex driver installed–see what I did there–you sure make a lot of horny ass comments.”

The other man chuckled quietly under his breath. “That is because I enjoy how flustered it makes you.”

“Is that all I am to you? One big joke?”

“Not necessarily. More like a stress toy, I suppose.”

“Nice. Glad I can provide you endless entertainment at my own expense.”

 

---

 

The days trickled by agonizingly slow in the moment, a gumdrop trail preserved in resin. Cruising at a leisurely pace wasn’t necessarily a bad thing– who was the one that expressed he wanted to live in the moment, take it minute by minute, again? Well, except for the days that were bad.

The Earth hadn’t stopped spinning when Nines left familiar soil. Things weren’t the same anymore, and acting like they could resume their routine per their normal, was excruciatingly naive.

Let’s rewind a tad, shall we? Take the first forty eight hours they were back in Michigan as a prime example.

He’d stopped home on another extended lunch break, tackling the tectonic task that was dotted in red with flashing disco lights. It took far too much digging to get the number of the moving company. That morphed into copious rounds of telephone tag between people in a corporate office that had limited resources, and finally, the men that had Nines’ belongings jailed.

They’d already reached their destination, but because no one had responded to their numerous calls slash nearly pummeling the door down, they’d chucked all his boxes in storage. One that was racking up costs daily.

Trying to summarize their situation without delving into the dramatics (that they frankly did not give a shit about) was an art in itself. Didn’t matter if Gavin offered to pay extra for them to trek back to their home state ASAP, there was no immediate availability for the next two weeks– felt like yet another tactic to further rack up the bill, in all honesty.

The concluding total was on track to sit around four grand; the original bill hadn’t been covered (go figure). A quick Google search confirmed that hiring an alternative company wasn’t going to save them much; a couple pennies wasn't worth the hassle.

Another round of Nines failing to keep his own composure, locking himself in the bathroom past Gavin leaving, remaining when he returned in the evening (there was a lot of muffled screaming, followed by even more sobbing). He sat with his back pressed against the door, phone in his grip.

He needed to call the fire department, or fuck, an ambulance. He was running out of feasible options here– he was more likely to strike oil than get a call back from his landlord. Getting maintenance to pry open the door was a sick joke.

“You’re not sleeping in there. Gotta come up with a plan and find a way to bottle that storm. Unless you wanna stay overnight strapped to a stretcher, being watched like a hawk– if a hospital is what you need, we’ll go there, but–”

“No,” he whined.

“Okay, well, what are we gonna do, then? You don’t gotta use your words, but can you just use me as your personal podcast? All that bad shit is outta your control.” No reply. Think, Reed, make use of that noggin.

“Kinda hard to see the night sky living in a big city. There’s a few protected parks void of any light pollution. S’like a two and a half hour drive from here, but I think we can catch a meteor shower soon. All we gotta worry about is gas– I’ll take care of it.”

“We can lay on the hood of your car and watch them?” He sounded uncharacteristically weak.

“I’ll even let you swap spots and lay your head on my chest.” He scratched at his neck as the silence drew. “You think Jericho’s got any resources? There’s gotta be something in the way of housing or… loans. Hell, Warren’s been working hard to establish minimum wage for you guys.”

“...I had not thought of that. I can message Markus.”

“Would be worth trying. We gotta get creative and explore every avenue we got. I don’t have that much open on– all my cards combined.”

Shuffle, shuffle. Was he throwing a fucking rave in there? A bottle knocked over (sounded like shampoo tipping into the tub). “I do not think I would be able to pay you back, if that were the case,” the door budged open.

He didn’t know how many more lashes his heart could survive, these heavy chains it wore like fancy necklaces. Fuck. Navy smudged in parallel patterns across his cheeks– why did he keep resorting to hurting himself? Was Gavin seriously not enough? What the fuck was going to be enough for him?

A sodium overdose was a future promised with all this fucking gelatinous salt pooling in his parched throat. “And I ain’t gonna ask Eli. Pretty sure he’d say yes–”

“As I said, this is my fuck up.” Gavin stepped past him to dampen a washcloth. Focusing on water droplets crying down his wrist, and not the other mess that’d been waiting for him in the sink. “I have to figure this out myself, I am not putting this burden on either of you.”

He blotted its warmth against the fading splotches; these weren't shiny, weren’t fresh. How many stains were slipping under his nose? Two hours ago and Nines could’ve looked like a victim of attempted murder. There was no way for Gavin to know just how bad it’d been, and he wasn’t going to pay mind to verbalizing this thought salad.

“Thing is, there’s no more just you.”

He was a facsimile of a man that hadn’t bitten off more than he could chew, rebirthed as a caretaker, again clinging to dissolving threads of an idea of perfection. An orange squeezed of every last drop, a vestige of agony that died on dried up shorelines.

Gavin could feel every microscopic ounce of his suffering, the silence was so goddamn fucking ear splitting.

He needed him in his arms. He needed– Gavin didn’t know what he needed, neither of them did. “Come here.” One of the only times he did as he was told, folding like a row of dominos. ”You’ve got me–” he murmured, “you’ve had me for a while. You get that?”

“I don’t want to make your life harder.” The cotton on his back pulled; Nines must’ve dumped a tray of ice cubes down his pants based off of the way he was trembling.

“Not having you in my life s’what makes it harder.” He wasn’t a mountain goat. Scaling steep edges of cliffs on the daily was growing tiresome.

“If I take a shower, would you stay?” He vaguely gestured towards the closed toilet, the towel thrown on the ground. “I am not asking you to join me.” He would’ve said yes. Damn. “Please.”

It was a combination from how hard Gavin’d squeezed his eyes and the flickering bulbs above the mirror, but he swore Nines had this… angelic glow radiating from him. Could… this be the honeymoon phase? Or, not a phase. An unbreakable telepathic– empathic?– bond that stitched them together.

“Got an idea, actually.”

The coat closet in the living room had a dedicated space for unlit candles, ones Gavin was tricked into buying because he’d gone shopping on an empty stomach, and the scent of a gingerbread house did him in. Never been able to utilize them, having a pyromaniac for a cat.

Sunlit mandarin berry, it’s your time to shine. With the lights turned off and the flames far enough away from the tub, a shadow puppet of Nines was non-existent. Not that he was looking, he could control his degeneracy. Instead, he busied himself with refilling the soap dispenser, gathering up some of the cleaning products under the sink that were due to be tossed– one bottle had a fucking mysterious crust all over it, what the hell.

More discount date ideas rolled off his tongue. Cyberlife might’ve flattened the majority of Belle Isle, but conservation efforts were made to save the beloved aquarium. It’d been relocated to Royal Oak, but there was no admission fee. For his partner’s sake, he was willing to stomach strolling through the DIA; he’d enjoy the fancy tea sets and egg cups they had, Gavin was willing to bet a hundred dollars on it.

The pipes squeaked and the water stilled. Gavin transitioned to unzipping the eyesore of a suitcase sitting in the corner (he’d picked out a bright orange one so it’d be easier to spot, because fair, who the hell else wants an orange suitcase). He threw everything into piles, waiting for help to come his way.

“After this, whaddya think about starting a new series? I’ll let you choose: Supernatural, or Ghost Adventures?”

“You are willing to provide more evidence to support my claim that ghosts do not exist?”

“Listen, we all know ghost hunting shows are as fake as Kim K’s ass. S’just entertainment– they do exist, not gonna change my mind.”

Hanging up his suits and accompanying dress shirts didn’t take long; he’d never spread out his own clothes, leaving a gap in the closet where Nines’ things had previously been. Less because of heartache, and more because he hadn’t found the time.

They went through the dresser, stuffing away his plain (boring) briefs and other turtlenecks because he was allergic to showing his neck most days.

“God damn, why do I have so many clothes?” he grumbled as he slammed his weight against a drawer, struggling to wrestle it shut.

“It is quite surprising considering you wear some variation of the same outfit every day.”

“Should put on a fashion show for you. That’ll keep you distracted.”

“I need to see your other boxers.”

“Uh, no. That’s not what I meant.” His mouth fell open. “Patience, young grasshopper.”

There was only so much Zak Bagans a semi-sane person could tolerate, and that totalled to three episodes– he feared his dreams would be cast with a hazy, green tint. And, he was growing tired of the unsolicited commentary. Over explaining how each piece of equipment they had worked like Gavin’d gone through with his prior lobotomy wishes.

He went to go rinse his bowl of partially eaten Cheerios, turning around to see Nines tossing a blanket across the couch. “The fuck are you doing?”

“I was…” he upturned his hands, head cocked, “are we not getting ready for bed?”

“Are you– are you stupid?” he marched over to him, nails digging into his sleeve. He pulled him towards his bedroom. “That ain’t your bed anymore, not while we’re under one roof.”

“I didn’t want to make assumptions. I was not sure if the other nights were… experimentation.”

“You ain’t assuming anything. You’re my,” the word stuck on his tongue like a thick glob of peanut butter, “partner. It’s kinda a given.”

Physical touch was supposed to be reciprocated. Nines was too generous, accepting the demands he barked at him: scratch my back, play with my hair. No please, no thank you’s. It was his turn to show him the same amount of affection, to choke on his dubiety and bite the bullet.

He clearly liked it when Gavin leisurely traveled his sides, nails scratching figure eights down his spine. It wasn’t long before his breathing found an even pace, pausing altogether– that made his own heart momentarily glitch out. He was in stasis, comforted alone by his touch.

His thick brows knitted, lips pouting. He didn’t look relaxed, like he was about to dive into the pure, peaceful bliss of nothingness. More like he was about to get in a heated argument with figments of his imagination. Gavin couldn’t peel his eyes away. He spread his fingers through his locks, kissed where his jaw meshed with his ear; the tension faded, those fine lines disappearing.

Fuck, this was so goddamn– this was bad. He truly was shit at keeping promises, breaking the pact he made with himself to swear off people for as long as he had a lackluster will to live. Guess he needed to be more thorough in the fine print; androids weren't included on that no fly list. He didn't know how he did it, but Nines won. He really… he was something else.

 

---

 

Adapting to this ever changing hellscape they lived in was as hard as crafting a new routine, one they desperately needed. Long gone were the days of going for strolls at three in the morning, unless they wanted to get bitched out by whoever the hell had the night shift– it was usually Simon, nine times out of ten.

Like he didn’t have enough paranoia flowing through his veins, triple checking his rearview mirror to make sure he wasn’t being followed. One car pulling off the same exit ramp and it had him driving in an ‘S’, a completely sober drunk driver.

Eli hadn’t been bullshitting him, absolute fucking shocker. He kept up his end of the bargain, though his response time was… what word was stronger than dreadful. His deceased grandma got back to him quicker than his own brother, let’s just put it that way.

Though, now that he thought about it, that could’ve been due to his daily spam of cat photos (on loan from the national archive of Bailey… and Baseball). Always marked as read, so he wasn’t outright ignoring him. Sending Eli thirty TikTok links in a row was his limit; he got a thumbs down followed by an army of swearing emojis. Eh, Eli knew what he was signing up for.

As the weekend tiptoed closer, he’d called Gavin on an evening he wasn't busy gawking at his eye candy. The topic bounced from one thing to the next. Eli was planning to have their parent’s car towed to Michigan, and the next step would be transferring the title to Gavin.

Which meant he could pawn off the old beast to Nines; he wouldn’t get a damn penny selling that lunk of metal. Hell, he was going to have to pay someone to take it off his hands. As long as it still ran, which she did (barely), he could now have his own means of transportation until that inevitable day of total engine failure came.

“How’s he doing?”

Gavin drummed his fingers on the metal railing of his balcony, watching embers drop below. “I mean, he’s hanging in there. But, he ain’t… great.”

There'd been another incident, but more unique is how he'd describe it. The homicidal urges were easier to metabolize than… this.

He’d gotten out of the shower to find Nines standing in the doorway, watching Baseball paw at the hem of his jeans as he chitted and huffed. His attention locked on Gavin; the way he moved was too stiff, too mechanical. Nothing else but executing a programmed response.

“Your name… it is Gavin, correct?” A sentence that felt like watching The Exorcist for the first time. Pure fucking dread. But without the safety of a screen, of a script.

His lungs were knotted and pulled taut. “That's not fucking funny.” There was no punchline, it wasn’t a joke.

“I do not know where I am.” He was hopelessly falling harder for him with each tick of a clock hand, and yet, he was fading right before his eyes.

Twenty minutes is how long he was locked in the catacombs of his own mind (yes, he’d timed it, just in case). Then, it was like nothing had happened. Nines’ lashes tickled his cheeks, and the amnesia was gone. As simple as that.

The massive difference between this and his prior episode: he remembered it, standing in someone else’s shoes that were broken in, had an exact fit but he’d never worn.

“I’m trying to get things put together as fast as I humanly can. I’d say you could come over today–”

“I don’t give a shit if you got boxes and trash thrown around everywhere–”

“Gav, it’s not that. We’re going to have to trigger… that side of him out so we can see with our own eyes what the hell’s causing these anomalies. I’m not fucking around this time, we need to take every precaution we can.” He sighed into the speaker. “That, and it’s looking like my hearing is going to be bumped up to Friday. I’m going to be in court all weekend if that’s the case.”

“Shit, really?” He stubbed out his cig, immediately engaging in his other bad habit of gnawing on his busted nails. “Do you, uh, need someone to be there with you?”

“The last thing we need is to draw more attention to you. It’s going to be livestreamed if you want to keep tabs on what’s happening. No, I’ll be okay. I won’t be there alone.”

“Chloe?” He already knew the answer.

“We worked things out. Mostly.” He could hear the clicking of a turn signal. “I have to go, but we're going to get this sorted out, okay? I’ll text you– your cats are cute, and I am eternally grateful I’ve got you back in my life, but for the love of all things holy, please stop sending me two hundred fucking messages a day.”

“Reply to me then, dipshit.”

“No. You give me headaches,” Elijah groaned before the line went dead.

 

---

 

Waking up to freshly brewed coffee poured into a thermos (Nines finally learned how to use the Keurig, thank the fucking heavens) was part of their daily ritual. Some sort of tangible food item would be accompanying it, whether it was a cup of yogurt with granola and fruit sprinkled on top, or a buttered piece of toast (not burnt, an absolute miracle).

It’s what got him out of bed when all he wanted was to be mummified by his sheets and let time do its thing.

“You’re not leaving here until I see you eat. As much as I need to work on not harming myself in times of stress, you will do expediently more damage if you do not keep up your strength.”

He sat on the couch, unwrapping a protein bar– Nines wagged his finger, swapping the packaged square for a plastic looking omelette (Nines was reaching master chef status… with the microwave).

“Sometimes food just feels like I’m trying to make a brick look appetizing. Like it's this impossible task. I,” he swirled a fork around, “I ‘unno if I’m having another relapse with my depression, or if it’s… something else.”

Translating to: the inability to put a pin in his internal torments. What if next week he was rolling onto his side to find an empty spot, an imprint of where Nines should’ve been. Or, Nines was still by his side but he held up a vacancy sign, looking for a new contender to sign the lease.

What if he actually fucking forgot who Gavin was? Oh, God.

“You need to talk to someone if you feel like you are becoming depressed again.”

That wouldn’t fix things. “Alright, mom. I get it. Enough of the after-school special.”

Once he was satisfied with Gavin throwing back a protein shake or shoveling soggy Cheerios down his throat (in this case, picking away at melted cheese and bits of too smooth egg), he’d follow him to the door just like Bailey did. Bury his nose in his hair, then come the next day, he'd let himself travel a little lower.

Caressing the creases along his forehead, making quiet remarks about the cucumber scent of his aftershave, or how rough his growing stubble felt. Turned into acting like they were European, kissing either of his cheeks. Traced his jawline, the faint dip of his chin– fuck this, he had to put an end to this pansy shit and man up.

He gripped Nines’ collar, nearly choking him as he pulled him as close as he physically could, not giving him the option to back out. It was ultimate peril getting himself involved in this fucking shitshow, but he’d never felt safer than the way he did when he could lose himself to Nines.

“Are you gonna be okay by yourself?” Another part of their routine. He needed reassurance, even if his answers didn’t vary much. Spying on him with the treat cam came in handy, now.

“I have a few tasks I need to tend to. Thankfully all of them are within a five mile radius of each other. That will keep me preoccupied.”

Not for very long. It wasn’t even noon when his little smug face popped up in the corner of his phone.

Nines- 11:32 AM

Have you taken a break yet?

11:32 AM

u done with ur errands already??

Nines- 11:33 AM

The more pressing ones, yes.

Nines- 11:33 AM

I wanted to tour one of the complexes Markus recommended, but that is not something I particularly want to do alone. I would like you to be there with me.

11:34 AM

gimme leik 8 mins

11:39 AM

meet u at roost

Cinnamon overpowered any other flavor in the iced chai he’d been working through. That wasn’t really a bad thing, but his tongue now… tingled, like he’d plowed through a can of sliced pineapple.

“Are you gonna stay in this place for longer than a day this time?” He was teasing him, but the question was genuine.

Leather squeaked as Nines wiggled around; he was sitting in an adjacent wicker chair, all the loveseats filled up by twenty-somethings balancing laptops covered in stickers.

“Eleven miles is easier to tolerate than two thousand, four hundred and five. To be exact.”

“I think eventually our current setup could become permanent.”

Would be the only way he could start a much needed emergency fund. Be able to set aside a little from each paycheck to take out a mortgage before he regrettably reached another decade.

“You gotta learn how to be comfortable being on your own first. We’re still gonna see each other every day, s’given. But we don’t really got… boundaries.”

He bobbed his head, rubbing his chin. “May I ask you something? It is not implicitly related, but it’s important regardless.”

Nah, no it fucking wasn’t. Nines could point fingers all he wanted, but he wasn't much of a talker when it pertained to the limits of their relationship. Distractions and limited coping. “Shoot.”

“Do you have a favorite cryptid?”

Yeah, Gavin did this to himself. Switching from grown men screaming over apparitions you as the viewer couldn’t discern without a red circle to Ancient Aliens and fucking Skinwalker Ranch wasn’t much better.

Especially when it jumpstarted this borderline obsession in Nines of researching any and all cryptids. If he had to hear the word ‘Michigan dogman’ one more time, he was going to combust.

“Give me shit saying ghosts exist. Bigfoot ain't fucking real, can tell you that with my whole chest.” Another quick swig. “I do, actually. You read about the squonk yet?”

His light spun yellow before he held up his hand, an image of its saggy skinned self projected. “Why? It's horrid looking.”

“S’whole reason I like it. What's yours? Better not say mothman or some basic ass shit.”

“The Fresno night crawlers.”

Gavin tilted his head from side to side. “That was almost my answer. They're cute.”

“A lot cuter than that beast.”

“If all else fails us, we can become paranormal investigators.”

“So I can prove that ghost tours are all shams? I would love that.”

The complex was more condensed than where Gavin lived. Twelve floors, on an easily accessible bus route (on the off chance the car did burst into flames), and a lobby with twenty four hour monitoring. If the guard at the front desk wasn’t enough reassurance, the visible cameras shoved into every nook and cranny were.

To access the elevators, you needed to pass through a turnstile, one that was equipped with a hand scanner. Humans were only permitted past that point if they had a visitor card issued by a current tenant; it had to be renewed monthly, talk about strict.

There were a handful of floorplans. Ones that were an open living room with a small attached bedroom, a shared shower per floor. There’d be a mini fridge to store thirium, and bare bone furnishings. A bed frame, sectional large enough for three, dresser that looked similar to Gavin’s own. That was really it. A shoebox only an android could tolerate.

For a couple hundred extra a month, a few units were set aside for those that needed something ‘guest friendly’– all on the same floor for added security, he guessed. While the square footage didn’t differ greatly, these had fully functional kitchens and individual bathrooms.

“You think the price hike is justified? How often am I gonna be staying over?”

“I cannot only sleep at your place. That doesn’t seem fair. I was assuming we could trade and spend weekends together.”

His lips curled. “I can work with that schedule.”

 

---

 

Gavin took a long drag, though he’d been less engaging in the act of smoking itself and more so watching flickers of red bid their adieus. Chucking his credit card down a garbage disposal would've been a better use of his money than dropping a hundo weekly on something that was becoming a chore.

Oh, shit. He quickly ripped out his earbud, yanking open the sliding door. “Nines. Get your skinny ass out here, and hurry.”

He scurried over from the couch without question. Markus was a man on a mission, steadily walking towards a parked car.

“You know who's on duty today?”

“Simon, I believe.” He met his knowing eyes. “Connor is about to owe us twenty dollars.”

“No one follows around their friend that hopelessly. I would know,” Gavin squinted. “Shit, I can't see. What're they doing?”

“Use your phone.”

“This is why I keep you.” He zoomed in with his camera.

Markus slid into the passenger’s seat. An innocent interaction, both engaged in conversation about God knows what. Simon fidgeted with his hands, adjusting the rearview mirror, grabbing something from the cup holder– robo Jesus took the initiative and leaned over the center console, fingers tenderly gripping his chin as they proceeded to wrestle with their mouths.

They gasped in unison like old women watching a group of normally dressed adults walk into a diner (why did boomers always stare, fucking lead paint).

“Holy shit, no fucking way.” His phone aggressively vibrated in his hands, before… yep, Markus was making direct eye contact with him through his screen.

“...did he message you as well?” Nines bared his teeth.

“Busted.”

 

---

 

The weekend came and went, just like that. It was becoming irrational how often he was pawing for his phone, refreshing the stream of Eli’s hearing. As he’d suspected, the trial was going to linger until Sunday. It’d still be weeks before a final verdict was decided.

Nevermind that, he had more important tasks at hand. Being: annoy the hell out of Tina because who else was he supposed to talk to? He wedged himself in her direct line of sight, shimmying a framed photo to give himself space (his needy self was more significant than a portrait from her wedding, fucking duh).

She leaned her cheek against her palm, sighing in the most exaggerated way possible. “Thank you for rubbing your ass all over my desk. Is this how it's gonna be now that your boys gone?”

He fiddled with his phone, tossing it between hands. “Connor only knows how to formulate sentences that’re passive aggressively charged and I haven't learned how to end them without sprinkling in a few choice words. So, yeah. Sorry. You're it, kid.”

“I'm glad to know I'm your backup, Gav.”

“You're really not.”

“I am when a hot guy enters your life.”

“Said hot guy ain't going anywhere, unlike all the rest. Got enough shits to give for you both.” Chris shuffled by them, six boxes of donuts pressed against his chest, bound to topple over. “You got any plans tonight?”

“Idkhow’s playing at the Shelter, but scalpers want a hundred dollars per ticket.” Damn, this chair was incessantly squeaky, too. “I guess the answer is no. What did you want to do?”

“I know my girl like the back of my hand.” …that was a bold faced lie, he knew his hand a little too well. He tapped on his screen before turning it to face her. “Managed to get two at face value. You're welcome.”

“No way. Are you being serious?”

“Serious as a heart attack. Only contingency is that you gotta go with me.”

“Do I have to?” She couldn't conceal her smile, she'd cracked. “As long as we go out after– we don't have to drink. I miss just… talking to you. You know I love Nines, I can't express how happy it makes me to see you happy. But we’re the original dynamic duo.”

“That we are. I'm down for whatever. Our best adventures happen when we stay out too late after a show.”

“Midnight at Denny's brings out all the freaks.”

“Us included.”

“Especially us.”

One thing he really appreciated about a handful of the venues downtown was how quaint they were; a few were still fighting the good fight, rejecting Ticketmaster’s greedy prose to buy up every concert hall in a hundred mile radius.

The Shelter was labeled as such because it was, quite literally, beneath a much larger stage. If you have a sick ass basement you can shove a bunch of sweaty emos and a bar into, why not take advantage of it?

Not only were all of their mutually adored songs played, they'd somehow managed to secure a spot at the barricade despite showing up thirty minutes before the opening act (proving Dallon’s point that no one gives a damn about the opening band, all he could focus on were how much his feet hurt). Walked away with a pick and setlist. A total success.

Applebee's would never be his first pick for a post-concert cool down spot (was it anyone's?), but their options were limited. A German restaurant that wanted twenty dollars for a bare bone burger, or pubs galore. His ears were still ringing (forgot his earplugs, what the fuck was the point of buying them when he'd only used them twice), he wasn't in the mood to deal with rowdy drunks.

He flung around a mozzarella stick as he talked– yelled, rather. Who gave a shit, no one else was here. He kept getting indiscreet side eyes from a worker haphazardly slapping a rag across adjacent tables. What time did this place close– fuck, in fifteen minutes. He'd been rambling that long, huh.

There was a lot Tina needed to be caught up on. Redacted parts aside, the summary of their eventful Boston ‘vacation’ was anything but short. At least now she was in the know, even if she'd only been half listening (her eyes were bloodshot, exhaustion was possessing them both).

“When's your mom coming again?”

“Next weekend.” She picked the last deep fried stick off the plate, swishing it around in the crumbs of marinara. “She won't shut up about you. It's actually getting annoying.”

“What can I say? Your mom recognizes greatness when she sees it.”

“That's not the word I’d use.” Tina rolled her eyes. “Have you heard anything from Eli?”

“Nah. Don't think he's got a minute to breathe, let alone text my sorry ass. You watch any of the hearings?”

“I put on a recap as background noise. Do you think he's gonna win?”

“Definitely, and he knows it. Fucking better,” he tuned out Tina's disgust as he talked through bites. “Those goons need to be locked up for life.”

“On the other side of the coin, how's it going with the mister?” The smirk she wore was downright nauseating– wasn't from the saturated fats.

“Christ, I fucking hate that. Don't ever call him that again.”

Always getting on Nines’ case for being unable to keep his limbs still, but here he was, drawing hearts into the condensation of a glass of sweating water.

“I mean, it's going. I really missed, I guess not being in a relationship, but having someone consistent. Like knowing I got someone that's sworn an oath to deal with my bullshit.”

“You have a knack for this, you really do. You take every situation and find a way to twist it, making it out to be something negative. He's not dealing with you. He lo–”

He held up his finger, pointing at her with pinhole vision. Absolutely not on his watch, he was shutting that shit down. “Don't you fucking dare. No, we ain't using that word. Not now, not anytime in the near future. Fuck. That.”

She scowled, throwing her hands up. “That's the nature of relationships. You're going to have to accept it.”

“I don't gotta do shit.” He licked his lips. “You wanna have a sleepover?”

“Hold on, let me call my mom and ask for her permission.” She made a show of scrolling through her contact list, pressing the device to her ear as she nodded along to a silent conversation. “She said yes, but we have to be in bed by three.”

The bill was dropped on their table before he could verbalize a sentence. He could sympathize. He, too, was tired of how fucking annoying he was.

11:49 PM

gona stay at tinas

11:49 PM

u hve ur key??

Nines- 11:50 PM

I was just about to tell you that I'm staying with Connor. He needs all the help he can get with unpacking. You think *I* have a lot of belongings.

11:50 PM

we rlly share th same braincell

Nines- 11:50 PM

Lol.

Gavin might've taught him that, a few select other abbreviations… and a handful of Vine quotes. Couldn't win him over on ‘deadass’, but he wasn't going to stop trying.

11:51 PM

see u tmrw

11:51 PM

pretend im kising u

Nines- 11:52 PM

I would rather not think of that while staring at my brother, thank you.

Nines- 11:52 PM

Goodnight, Gavin. ♡

12:15 AM

♡

Together, they yanked down the drop ladder to the attic, careful not to wake the slumbering dragon that was a snoring Michael. They ascended into her hideaway cove. Without the lights on, it looked like a serial killer's torture chamber; outlines of beheaded mannequins and snatched wigs galore.

After months of tedious renovations, Tina had the crafting room of her dreams. A massive table for cutting fabrics in the dead center with a few pattern pieces resting on it, more drawers and workspaces following the walls. She had multiple sewing machines that he was sure served different functions, wasn't going to try to guess what for.

“Jesus, this is looking sick as hell.”

On display was her latest creation. Half Renaissance-inspired ball gown with puff sleeves, filled in with a breastplate and other armored bits that he couldn't fucking believe were crafted out of foam. Strewn away in a corner were a pair of massive wings (longer than the length of Tina), a work in progress.

“God, you're so talented. Could be out there working in Hollywood, but you settled for this shit hole.”

“If I worked in the movie industry, you'd never see me again. They work you like a dog.” She rolled an ergonomic chair, pink leather because she had a theme going on, over towards the aforementioned wings. Hers was less fancy (and splattered with acrylics), but the colors matched. “I enjoy having some free time.”

“When you gotta get this done by?”

“Mid March. It's my yearly OTT competition piece. I was going to ask you about that, actually–”

“I should've known.” He hung his head. “That’s why you were desperate for me to get a boyfriend, ‘cause Michael’s retired from the days of being a bag wench. You needed a third victim for your cosplay groups, it all makes perfect sense.”

“Neither of you have to dress up, you're so theatrical. The top three winners progress to the international finals in Spain, it's a pretty big deal. I don't wanna go alone.”

“Obviously I'll be there, T. Always gotta be there for my bestie, don't I?” He rested his head on her shoulder as she reached for an exacto knife (to cut material, not him). “You know what I wanna cosplay? When Clouds got that purple dress on.”

She chuckled, nudging him off so she could swivel around and grab a can of glue plastered with warning labels. “I don't know if you’re aware of this, but you can cosplay something other than Cloud.”

“Yeah, still think blond me looks like a crackhead. But, c'mon, it'd be fucking awesome.”

Was there a reason pin cushions always came in the form of a tomato (with the very rare find of an apple)? He rolled one between his palms, Tina shaking her head.

“Don't play with that.”

“S’fine, not gonna poke myself.”

“Right,” she pinched a feather, dotting the tip of it with a brush. “I don't wanna hear it when you do.”

His breath caught, Tina looking at him knowingly from the corner of her eyes. She proved herself right time and time again, why did he even bother arguing with her.

“Love isn't supposed to be a dirty word, Gav.”

Just like Nines, she didn't know when to drop the fucking subject. “I know it's not. But it ain't casual, either.”

“I didn't say it was.”

His phone vibrated, and that was the only time in his life that he felt excited by the prompt of good old fashioned, early morning elder abuse. Work meant his mental capacity for blowing things out of proportion would be used up, and those three fucking words wouldn't waste away the energy he already didn't have.

 

---

 

Thirty texts from his aunt was the last thing he'd wanted to see bright and early in the morning. It took him longer than he'd wanted to admit to piece together who the number belonged to. Instead of reading them himself, he rolled onto his side and shoved his phone in Nines’ face. His mom had taken a tumble down the stairs– that's the way she'd worded it.

Not the indoor ones, oh no. She'd tripped on the top step of the ones leading up to the duplex because spring cleaning couldn't come early enough. Only a mild concussion and a gash that'd required less than ten stitches. Still, what the fuck.

Walking into the station an hour later and locking eyes with a cuffed James confirmed that he'd been swallowed up by a wormhole. Fucker tried to pull a fast one and evaded his court date for his DUI. Play stupid games, win stupid prizes.

He laughed in his face without a goddamn care. “Miss me so much you followed me to my workplace, huh? I'm sorry, who's obsessed with who, now?”

“Reed, that's enough,” Wilson didn't sound disappointed, more so irritated that he was holding them up. He quickly glanced over his shoulder; mhm, Tina had her back partially facing him, palm pressed so hard against her lips that it turned white.

“Oh, fuck you, Gavin. Go choke.”

“Nah,” the giggling hadn't ceased. “I'm good.”

9:59 AM

ull never guess who i jst saw in fucking cuffs

Nines- 10:00 AM

Do tell.

10:08 AM

j a m e s

Nines- 10:08 AM

Goated.

Karma got him; the suspect that they'd thought had fled the scene lunged out of a shed and knocked the air clean out of him. Today sucked ass. A date night was sorely needed.

Another place he'd never known had existed: a used book store that sprawled over four floors, and advertised having a collection of over one million paperbacks. A combination of a run down warehouse, and a middle school. Old school checkered linoleum with chipped handrails, space that was truly endless.

Some aisles were adorned with taxidermied deer heads, for whatever fucking reason. They really did have a bit of everything, from a handful of college textbooks that originally retailed for over a grand each to poorly written smut with… suspiciously stiff pages. Ugh. Why did his curiosity override his common sense and make him touch them?

The dust hadn't done him in yet, so they drove to one more similarly themed store– they had two Maine Coons that'd become their unofficial mascots, that's the reason he wanted to visit. Window shopping felt more fulfilling than incoming buyer's remorse. Not like Nines needed more fucking novels, he was already stressed about allocating enough shelf space for what he did have.

Instead of sitting down at a restaurant so he could awkwardly chew and provide ASMR that no one wanted to hear, he had a much better idea. Went through a drive thru of a cheap fast food place, got a slapped together grilled cheese with two orders of fries, and drove to a parking lot decently close to the water.

He handed Nines the second carton. “Start tossing them and see what happens.”

As soon as the first rectangular piece of potato hit the ground, an army of flying rats flocked their way. Before they knew it, the windshield was infested with seagulls. It got to the point that he frantically had to chuck the entirety of the fries out so they didn’t peck their way inside. Dinner and a show, can’t get better than that.

One last detour to a Meijer because it was only fair Nines could have a meal of his own. The latest edible thirium-based concoction had been boxed cake mix. The directions were printed on the side, seemed comparable to preparing any other baked good. He couldn’t have been more wrong.

He opened the oven to nothing but black smoke, the beeping of the fire detector sending BB into a tizzy. He bolted every which way across the apartment, belting off the couch and slingshotting towards the plastic blinds.

He coughed into his elbow as he did his best to fan it towards the (now opened) sliding door. “How the fuck– it said four twenty five for fifteen minutes, yeah?”

Nines picked up the box before his lips formed a flat line. “...uh oh.”

“How badly did we mess up?”

“It was supposed to be for three minutes.”

“Three? How the fuck–”

Nines shrugged. Eh, whatever, he’d admit defeat. There went five dollars down the drain he’d never get back. Gavin soaked the charred remains in cold water before scraping them into the trash, grumbling to himself.

Today was fucking cursed. Back to lounging on the couch and watching Supernatural, that’s all his limited brain power could tolerate.

“Do you… feel anything like hunger? Or d’you just get warnings when you need to stock up on the blue juice?”

Nines dropped a blanket clump, tossing it over his stretched out body. His head found its way onto Gavin’s lap, his deserved spot.

“It’s a prompt, yes. I do not feel physical discomfort in that regard. Though if my levels fall too low, it can cause a type of cramping. That is the best way to describe it.”

“Learn something new every day,” he pushed Nines’ cluttered bangs out of the way.

“Where is this convention Tina wants to attend?”

“Chicago, I think. She said something about wanting to drive there ‘cause she's got too much shit to bring. I dunno, she talks faster than I do sometimes,” he rolled his shoulders. “Thinking about driving longer than thirty minutes makes me wanna fucking throw up.”

“We could dress as Dean and Castiel.”

He choked on his damn spit. “Uh, fuck no. I ain't dressing as no Dean Winchester.”

He peered upwards. “You do have a resemblance to him. Actually, the dynamics of our relationship have striking comparisons.”

“I'm divorcing you. You did not just say that.” He shifted his hips, but Nines moved quicker. He dug his claws into his thigh, steadying him in place. “No, get off me. You've lost lap privileges.”

“You're getting upset because you know I am right. It would not be too difficult to piece together their outfits.”

“We're not cosplaying them.”

As… charming as Dean’s bitching could be, they had to put a cap on their screen time (only because… yeah, he was having too many moments of self reflection. Fuck Nines and his smartass self). He gravitated back towards the sink, doing future him a favor by scrubbing off the remaining burnt bits from the cake pan before they hardened into lumps of coal.

A boa constrictor slithered around his waist, warmth pressed to his neck; the tip of his nose was teasing him, Jesus, the way he breathed in his ear… shit– he dropped the dish wand, wanting to blame it on the slippery soap and not his anticipatory tremors. He angled his chin to give him as much fucking room as he needed.

Not a little peck, oh no, he sucked on his skin like a damn vacuum, teeth grazing roughly, trying to find his footing, treading the waters– the mousetrap slammed shut, and he felt a pinch. He was worrying that spot, nibbling on him like robo safe gum. Sentry activated; he adjusted his hips.

“Oh, fuck," he shivered, “don’t do that.”

He spun around on his heel, but Nines boxed him in. He just loved doing that, didn't he. Tidbits from his dreams were slowly but surely coming to life, one by one. He looked Gavin up and down, slowly surveying his body; God, that drew pinpricks in the pit of his stomach.

“Did I not… do it right?”

“You did it too well. Where the hell’d you learn that?”

“Don't make fun of me–”

“No promises.”

“There are forums and self-help books dedicated towards understanding intimacy, from my perspective. I cannot always understand the way your body functions or the… urges you feel. But what I can relate to is your cravings for physical touch, because I do quite like kissing you.”

“What do you get out of it? Can you… feel things? You're kinda reactive to touch. Get no complaints when I'm rubbing your back.”

“It is like… how do I put this into words. It is not a physical reaction,” he blinked hard, a nervous tic, “it's an unmatched comfort. I take pleasure from seeing yours, from seeing what I do to you. It is one of the only times I feel that my mind grows silent.” That sounded familiar. “There is so much that I still do not understand, but when I am with you,” his thumb pulled on Gavin’s lower lip, “you manage to reel me back in. You really do. Every time.”

He wasn't licking frosting off a cupcake, Nines was gluttonously devouring the whole damn buffet. A crude craving he couldn’t satiate, no matter how much he traced Gavin's jugular, repeatedly bullied that spot until it was throbbing. Was going to give him a fucking hickey like they were rowdy teenagers– guess Nines got a pass because he never got to survive those glory days.

He needed a boner killing potion, and stat. What was the unsexiest thing he could possibly think of? Slugs, slimy trails crawling around rocks in the middle of a humid forest, stinking of pungent coyote piss and damp mud. Oh, my God, they were still phallic shaped– now he was just imaging fucking… penis shaped creatures wriggling around. This wasn’t working. The only kind of fucked he was, was in the head.

He kicked at Gavin’s socked heel, taking one step to the left so he could effortlessly hoist him up on the counter. Uncoordinated as always, an unrehearsed recital; his ass knocked over ladle and whisks galore, skull thumping hard against the hinge of a cabinet. Wasn’t fucking important. He needed to loop his own legs around the taller man’s hips, gluing him in place.

Fuck, what the hell was happening– what prompted this, was the better question. Nines’ lips failed to move in tandem with his, more genuinely painful than tolerable with how much pressure he was putting against his lap, forcing Gavin to curve his spine like a shrimp.

Yet, he wanted more, he didn’t want this to ever stop. Whatever Nines’ game plan was after this, if he just wanted to go back to cuddling on the couch, or if he trusted him enough to explore a... new avenue, he’d do it. Stare at each other for six hours in silence, that’d be fine by him.

“Gotta get you outta this.”

No disapproval as he tried to unbutton Nines’ shirt, but smooth plastic and euphoria slash a climbing panic attack did not bode well together. He could only get his collar popped open before Nines was shoving his greedy paws away, taking care of business.

As soon as he was done putting on that lovely fucking show, he shut off his brain and rested Nines’ hand on his inner thigh. No more thinking, no more moving.

“Please don’t fucking force yourself to do this shit because you think it’s what I want.”

“I am not being forced to do anything.”

“Yeah, aren't you, though? You don’t want this– you’ve told me that.”

“Gavin,” as grossly cliché as it sounded, looking into his eyes took his breath away. He’d never felt something like… this before. Shit, Tina, please don’t fucking… be right again. “It was only a few months ago that I did not think I was capable of having a friend. I do not– I don’t know what I am doing, or want. I–”

“Maybe we should stop, then.”

“That is not an option, either.”

He pathetically whimpered as his tongue glided over his collarbones. His clothes felt so goddamn restrictive, he needed to molt– Jesus, his jeans were wet from perfect little splatters.

Well, that did the trick.

“Fuck, stop,” Gavin put a hand on his bare chest. Nines was a dam with its wall bulldozed, nothing safe from navy. “Seriously."

“Ignore it,” he plunged back to his prior spot of choice, but Gavin hastily turned his head.

“I’m not fucking ignoring that,” he yelled, didn’t mean to. All he wanted now was to curl up in a ball, possibly roll off the balcony. “You are killing yourself over me. I’m not worth it.”

“Like hell you’re not worth it.”

“Nines,” he dug into his shoulders, teeth grit. “I wanna have a long life with you, not blow through it in a day.”

“I hate this. I really fucking hate this.” The dismay he wore was strong enough to sink a tugboat. “I-I want to be, I need to be– normal.”

“Normal. That don't–”

“I want to be allowed to care about you without punishment. My entire existence is one step forward, one hundred back. Caring about you shouldn't be a… a fucking crime,” he sharply inhaled through his nostrils.

“That’s why Eli’s gotta tinker around in your head.”

“I want to go lay down, now,” he spoke like it was a hushed secret.

“Do you wanna be the little spoon? Well, as little as you can be.”

Nines hastily nodded. He tasted him once more, less on the brink of starvation and more so full of empty calories. They needed that fervor, bonfire persisting to burn within his irises.

But it was clear they didn’t understand what the fuck they were dealing with.

 

---

 

 

Headass- 8:15 AM

Now

8:21 AM

????

Headass- 8:21 AM

COME HERE

Finally, Eli's humble abode was less of a warzone and more of a digestible crack shack.

8:21 AM

did u know thers this cool thing where u can txt mroe thn 1 word at a tim e

Headass- 8:23 AM

Did you know there's this cool thing called autocorrect!

8:23 AM

sybau

If thirium didn’t vanish to the naked eye, he would’ve had a fucking meltdown; his sheets were drenched in blue. That wasn’t the pressing matter. The fact that Nines had seemingly started gushing fluids in his sleep was. So, was this not only stress induced? Maybe he’d found himself trapped inside the fun house of another nightmare.

One step into Jeffrey’s office and he was already waving him off; he strung together an excuse of needing to urgently see Markus. He wasn’t about to keep him longer and pester him with questions he didn’t need to know the answer to.

“If I was not absolutely terrified of dying– of what will happen to you once I am gone– I would never have considered this.”

A minute into the drive (with Connor’s ass being the pitstop), and already Nines was rolling his ankles, fumbling for a lone lighter, switching rapidly through songs on Spotify to the point it was making him anxious. Pulling up to a stoplight, he took Nines’ hand into his own, floaty reminders that he wasn’t allowed to drift away pressed against each knuckle.

“I’m not gonna let him do anything bad to you. I can fucking promise you that. Gotta hit him over the head with a chair WWE style and knock him unconscious, I will. No one hurts my man.”

“Except you.”

“Nah. I ain’t allowed to do that, either.” He glanced at the directions, double checking the address. Muscle reflexes wanted him to turn a handful of streets prior. “Have you told Connor about us?” His vacant stare spoke a thousand words. “Great.”

God damn, two stories and a fenced in backyard. This place wasn’t a little upgrade from the shack he used to call home, this was the act of someone being God’s favorite. The old bastard must’ve found the tail end of a rainbow and fell into a sought after pot of gold; profiting off his culture, where the fuck was his cut? Weren’t they supposed to be the gay ones?

Sumo was prancing through mostly green patches with a tennis ball lodged in his jaw, a sore sight for his healthy eyes chasing after him. And now said health hazard was slipping past the gate, into his backseat.

“Today’s gonna fucking suck, that’s not even– no word’s gonna do justice to describe what we’re walking into,” he met Connor’s icy stare in the rearview mirror, two orbs of shit tracking his every move.

“But, you’re both gonna pull through, I’m dead serious. All he wants to do is help you. You’re his bread and butter. He ain’t gonna ever build something that tops either of you, he don’t wanna destroy that.”

“You know a situation is really dire when you are the one I am finding myself trusting, Reed.”

“Uh huh. Well, while we still got a bit of an alliance going on,” rip off the bandaid, just fucking do it, “I am dating your brother. Not sorry.”

Nines had more of a visceral reaction than Connor did; his expression was unchanging, dead eyed, apathetic. “That answers my question about the mark on your neck.”

Wow, his makeup skills were flaming hot garbage, huh. And here he thought he’d concealed the fucking purple blotch decently well. Gavin clicked his tongue, glaring a million daggers at his accomplice.

“I have asked repeatedly if you are a couple, always prefacing that while I do not understand it, I’m not… implicitly judging you,” now he wore a deep seated frown. “You’ve been lying to me.”

“I have had,” Nines hit the headrest with a loud thump, “a lot on my mind. I was not yet ready to have that conversation with you and risk you still making unsavory comments–”

“Comments that are deserved. Of all people, you had to choose our workplace asshole.”

“Your workplace asshole ("Thank you so much for defending me"). You do not pick who you fall for.”

“Also, gonna drop one more thing on ya.” Gavin looked past the unwanted visitor’s shoulder, slowly backing onto the road. “Simon and Markus are boning. Pay up, bitch.”

Bloomfield Hills was an area code he’d never ventured to, and there was a good reason for that. Driveways that curved around centerpiece fountains with statues of a pissing cupid, stone turrets accompanying decked out castles. It felt like they were about to drive onto the backlot of Universal Studios; a fully uniformed guard with a tablet pressed to his breast stood beside a barrier gate.

“What’s the name of the resident you’re visiting?”

“Uh.” Great, off to a fantastic start. “Elijah Kamski?” Why did he phrase it as a question. He shimmied out his wallet, handing over his ID; deja fucking vu.

“Are the two with you,” his eyes bounced between the bright screen and the flimsy piece of plastic, “both androids?”

“Why’s that matter?”

“I need their serial numbers.”

“Christ, you really gotta be that thorough?”

Not a head nod of acknowledgement or an incredibly muted snicker, he was offered a whole lot of nothing in response. This guy could’ve been plastic for all he fucking knew, was he even blinking… They both recited a string of numbers (Gavin mentally singing along to Nines’, didn’t realize he’d memorized them, Christ). More tapping before he dipped back inside his booth, the pearly gates that desperately needed WD-40 spreading open.

Holy fucking shit, this little isolated community was like one of his builds in The Sims. The glimpses they’d gotten from the peasant realm were tiny teasers before the real appetizer was placed before them. Ferraris and purple Lambos as lawn ornaments, a shared greenhouse with a vibrant rose garden, not one thorn out of place.

Nines scoffed. “The property to your immediate left is worth twenty million.”

“Jesus Christ, where are we.” But also, what the hell was he expecting? No billionaire is moving into a walk-up that’s one rat nest away from condemnation. That’s a one way ticket for the ultimate PR nightmare.

“What’s the number again?”

“You want to keep going. He will be the very last property at a dead end. You cannot miss it.”

Seven thirty seven oh, seven thirty seven one– he glanced at the directions. Right, this was him. Nestled in the woods with a stone fort surrounding the grounds. Yet another fancy ass speaker that he wouldn’t doubt was cast from genuine 14k white gold.

Must’ve been motioned activated because he didn’t have to toss himself halfway out the window and narrowly slice his torso in half to scramble around for a button.

His phone was placed on a table, he could tell from the godawful angle. Peering down with his glasses reflecting Gavin’s car, hair like he’d gotten back from a metal show– looked fucking crazy.

“Let me in.”

His brows raised, forehead resembling a Wifi symbol. “Let me in what? You’re missing a word.”

“Let me the fuck in.”

The intercom cut out with an abrupt crackle, screen fading to black. Aha, it worked. Though this gate was taking its everloving, sweet ass time; he was more than half tempted to ram into it. The driveway felt endless, traveling by horse up the hills to Nosferatu's castle.

Like unraveled ribbon, it wrapped around tall cedar, their trunks illuminated by spotlights. Fairies lighting up a forest, an image copy pasted from a fairytale classic. Including the evil witch that resided at the very end.

Fuckass had a garage, and yet, he kept his car exposed to the elements to impress who? Him? That wasn’t… no, it was working.

“Is that a fucking Rolls Royce?” He nudged Nines. “What about that? What’s the price tag?”

“You don’t want to know.”

“Makes me wanna know even more, now.”

Nines stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Half a million.”

“Half a–” he made this insane honking noise, transforming into a goose. “Yeah, no wonder I’m getting the fucking hand-me-down car. Shit.”

Together, the three of them stumbled across a cherrywood bridge that overlooked a zen garden. Filled in with stones (copycat of their mom, these fucking rock hoarders), evenly raked sand pits closer to the main patio.

“This looks… it’s familiar, isn’t it?” Connor had his eyes trained on the other brunet to his side.

“Amanda.”

He’d heard that name before– didn’t know who she was, but the way the barely tolerable tin can was worrying his lip told him she was mutually disliked. Fuck yeah, all his homies hated Amanda, whoever the bitch was.

One knock was all it took– they weren’t greeted by his ass clown brother, but a blonde that stole a raccoon’s identity. Too heavy on the eyeliner, but y’know, made sense for Elijah. Put her in a black dress and she’d be the goth girlfriend of his dreams. She took a half step closer and he braced himself for impact.

“You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting to meet you. I feel like I already have with how much Elijah– and Nines –talk about you.” She looked over his shoulder, mouthing, ‘thank you’.

“Wow, I’m that popular, huh,” he glanced at Nines. “You talk about me in your groups often?”

“When does he not talk about you,” Connor groaned.

His place wasn’t tacky. He didn’t have typical rich people taste. No vases covered in gold leaf or marble flooring, an out of place chandelier just to own one. There was an open living room with a sectional that, in all honesty, looked like something out of an Ikea catalog.

TV paused on the main menu of The Last of Us, a mess of controllers and hardcover comic omnibuses on a glass table, a recognizable knit blanket bunched (his baby blanket). Ordinary, aside the, what he could only guess, was an astronomical price tag.

Gavin kicked off his shoes– he needed to start taking the two seconds to unlace them, the heels were starting to give out. “So, when's it gonna be your turn to get yourself a girlfriend, Connor?”

He slipped out of his jacket, the blonde taking it from him with a gentle smile. “I have zero desire for romantic relationships.”

“You're fine living with an old drunk for the rest of your life?”

He rolled his eyes, sucking in his thin lips. A response didn’t matter anyways because Elijah walked halfway up the stairs, stopping with his arms crossed over his chest. Gavin veered to the railing, dangling his limbs teasingly.

“S’perfect height to spit right in your eye.”

“Locking you in a room sounds like a dream come true.”

“True poetry. Gonna make me tear up, Eli.”

“Shut the hell up. You’re already getting on my nerves, God.” He gestured towards a curio cabinet, a flat tray holding Eli's phone on the middle shelf. “You need to leave it up here.”

“This shit again?”

“No, you're right, I'm being neurotically cautious. Let's be fucking idiots and play Russian roulette. We can all die together, it'll be symbolic.”

“No one’s tracking my phone.”

“And? Either you set it down gently, or I’ll chuck it as hard I possibly can into the woods. Which one sounds better to you?”

Gavin threw his head back, nostrils flaring. “Think I’m the annoying one.”

They descended into a secondary living space, one that overlooked the unending pines that engulfed them. A large fireplace that lacked accompanying furniture and a– oh my God?

He had a souped up in-home movie theater; reclining leather chairs, walls soundproofed with triangular foam, all the works. Not fair, Gavin wanted a damn popcorn machine. Elijah pressed his hand flat against his back, guiding him towards one final set of stairs, walking down to the dungeon.

This was an evil lair if he’d ever seen one– was that dodgy basement in Ohio a qualifier? Eh, he’d say it was. Another ominous foyer awaited them at the end of steep stairs. Elijah punched in his passcode, a heavy slab of metal clicking as it unlocked. Built in the same fashion as an interrogation room, things felt all too familiar.

A large plexiglass window that overlooked a much smaller, starkly white, and also locked, area. Screens and computers galore, a tool shelf with everything you needed to patch up, deconstruct, and build your own talking toaster.

There were stacks upon stacks of spiral bound notebooks underneath the table, a few coffee mugs and an empty plate full of crumbs. It looked like he’d been living down here; he probably had been, knowing his ass.

One closer peek of the torture– testing– chamber; a set of restraints made of pure fucking titanium.

“Jesus Christ, Elijah.” His brother saddled up to his side.

“I told you. I’m not taking any chances.”

Connor nodded in the direction of an IV pole. The hanging bag was filled with an all too familiar blue, though its hue was slightly lighter than your typical everyday thirium– the color of the sky and not the deep sea, deceitfully reassuring.

“What is that?” His voice wavered.

“I created a sedative. It causes a temporary paralysis by, essentially, tricking your mind into thinking your thirium pump has been tampered with. It’s perfectly safe, I had Chloe help me with testing.”

Nines was digging into his bicep, hard enough it made him grunt; great, another fucking bruise. Couldn’t keep up the charade much longer; having those physical reminders was the same as poking a fork in an outlet, really did something to him. He wanted to be brandished as… Nines’.

Gavin pressed against the curve of his thumb. “You’re okay, bud.”

“I am not asking either of you to forgive me, nor am I asking for your trust. There is no way in hell I would want to mend a relationship with the man that inflicted Stephen King horrors on me.”

Elijah scanned his hand, promptly leading them towards a flat table. Nines only, reluctantly, followed with a hearty shove.

“My only motive is observing what is causing both of your instabilities, and subsequently fixing you. Nothing more, nothing less. No more inescapable rooms, no firing squads, no… acid.” He glanced at Connor. “I’m sorry. I don’t want you to accept my apology; I only want you to know that I am. Truly.”

A needy child desperate for positive attention, Connor was twisting the taller of the two’s sleeve every which way. Feeling around for skin, for– Nines locked their fingers together, one glance back at Gavin before honing in on his brother.

“If you were sorry, you wouldn’t have put us through those tests to begin with, Elijah.”

“I know.” He curled his finger, beckoning Chloe over to swap spots. He took up residence next to Gavin, sitting with his knees tucked underneath himself in a gamer chair (a black and red cover, an insane contrast to Tina’s aesthetics).

“If at any point either of you want to stop, we will. This is entirely voluntarily, and I’m going to keep reminding you that. That being said, do I have the greenlight to start our initial testing?”

Connor peered at Nines with a look of pure desperation. He was craving his reassurance like he would water, wanting him to make the final call.

Nines met Gavin's unfaltering gaze. “Let’s get this over with.”

Notes:

I apologize for slower updates, this heat has been kicking my ass. Going to try to get the next chapter posted a bit sooner. 🥴

Can summer PLEASE be over, I'm dying Squirtle.

Chapter 25: disaster-peace

Summary:

Nines being strapped to an examination table, cables spilling from his open ports, reminded Gavin how different they truly were. That the reality of their future together was going to look a lot like this; relying on his brother to take care of Nines' broken mind.

All for the sake of a mid, sack of shit man that was not deserving of the effort, of Nines.

“It’s a lot more peaceful here than our prior home.”

Though he’d never been to Elijah’s secretive batcave– news reporters were frothing like rabid dogs to stumble across his address, Gavin could’ve been set for life if he let his heart grow that blackened– he could safely agree with her. He was leaning over the railing on the first level balcony; how many patios and overhanging spaces did a singular person fucking need?

Deer tracks– no, maybe those were tiny fox peets –were partially buried in patches of white mush, ice skating rinks for crickets. Everything was so… quiet. No obnoxious wind chimes from a neighbor's yard or assholes revving their blown out engines to show off for no one in particular. This was as isolated as you could get in a moderately populated city without becoming a societally starved mountain dweller.

Comparative to the fleshed out rooms that were textbook examples of consumerism, the pool deck was lacking in the furniture department. Open spaces that had decayed leaves as fillers, begging to be stocked with overpriced rattan sets and space heaters. What a fucking luxury and straight up nightmare would it be to have that much disposable income, worrying about creating more clutter to liven up your designated barbequing spot. Fuck.

It was bitter out, just like him. He’d only stepped away at Connor’s request; he could slap the sibling label on Nines all he wanted, but he acted like a spoiled only child that always got his way. Couldn’t fucking relate. Pouted and huffed about not wanting Eli gawking at him, he didn’t need to double their silent judgements.

Curiosity got the best of him, and he made a swift detour. Maybe that’s why he was a cat guy. He couldn’t stop thinking about the fact his brother had a fucking home theater. The main room was a cookie-cutter Cinemark experience, right down to the leather recliners and framed movie posters (half of them signed, even had John Carpenter’s autograph).

What was with these rich bastards and their secretive bookshelf doorways? Was this like, part of the billionaires welcome package? A list of the top ten ways to make your living space fucking obnoxious.

Chloe let him take a gamble on figuring out which paperback was the hidden lever. Kept him entertained for a good ten minutes. He wanted to smack himself when he finally pulled back The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. That was Eli’s go-to, the series he’d read so many times that his original had a chunk of pages missing– when Gavin’d gotten his first part-time job, he’d bought him a brand new box set for his birthday one year. This was that very same copy, it seemed.

Christ, it was like stepping inside an ever-growing telephone booth (hot take: he’d never been a huge Doctor Who fan, not for a lack of trying). This wasn’t a walk-in closet, this was a walk-in warehouse. A mirror image of his former virgin lair, but on steroids. What you’d expect to happen when you give a kid access to an unlimited money tree, planted next door to a toy store.

Wall mounted shelves with additional display cases creating aisles to traverse and get lost in. He had every gaming console that’d been tossed to the wolves: an Atari, fucking Virtual Boy, to the latest PlayStation prototype that wasn’t on the market yet.

All the official colors released of GameCubes, a similar rainbow of 3DSes on acrylic risers underneath– his Pikachu one still had the star stickers a child, unknowing of its value, Gavin’d plastered it with.

There were, like, twenty nearly identical statues of xenomorphs and other metal-cast Geiger creations. Uh huh, yep, there was the massive Gordon Freeman he’d been gloating about. He wasn’t expecting it to be 1:1 size accurate, Christ, why was he so tall? It was indeed signed, and now he had no choice but to stare at the photo he framed of Gabe and him.

One of the richest men in the world–knew he was in that top ten list–and what did he choose to decorate his house with? Not Banksy or Andrew Warhol pieces, no designer handbags or other brand name sneakers. He’d watched a couple of celebrity house tours (out of pure boredom), one guy having fucking dinosaur bones in his foyer. Not a replica cast, but shit that belonged in a goddamn museum.

Imagine running a marathon with no goalpost in sight, watching life as you knew it Thanos snap around you, only to end up as some dust-collecting centerpiece millions of years later.

Who was he fucking kidding, Gavin would’ve done the same exact thing. Add in a couple extra acres of land to build a few huts to give stray animals a second chance in life, and this is what he’d once coveted as a naive, dumb as rocks, twenty year old. Genuine friendship was a lost concept when your tissue boxes were stuffed with Benjamins.

Peace. Standing here with the wind tousling his hair, tickling at the worn out collar of his sweater, was tranquility by definition. Internally, peace was a word completely foreign to Gavin, an ancient language lost to time. Less than a hundred feet away, Nines was hooked up to cables thick enough to skip rope with, his mind nothing more than strings of letters Elijah could play Jenga with.

Moments like this reminded him how truly different Nines and him were. Nines had personhood, he wasn’t a plaything– he never had been since the switch was flicked on. But it was hard to believe this wasn’t some twisted reboot of Toy Story.

“This is going to confirm if my theory for their nosebleeds lines up.”

Nines was the lost Ark Indiana Jones warned him to not look at directly, but he took his chances. He put on a brave face, a medal of honor enough debilitating trauma awarded you with, to convince himself things weren’t utterly fucking grim. But, Gavin saw right through that poorly stitched, mesh mask– the choice in fabric was intentional.

The brunet was starting to slowly accept that the starring role in Gavin’s life was his to keep. He’d aced the laborious auditions, he could toss the script in a paper shredder. He didn’t have an understudy. Every camera from every angle was trained on him, and there was a co-producer seat saved just for him.

“When their levels are elevated, whether it’s due to fear or…” Eli looked at him, corner of his lip pulling, eyes dropping to his neck. His face was so, so punchable. “Other things, the body doesn’t know how to regulate it. It’s registered as a system error. More power is supplied to process the irregularity. And, to prevent overheating, which could cause biocomponent failure, more coolant is needed. Too much thirium is sent at once,” he clacked on his keyboard before hitting enter, “it has to exit through somewhere. There aren’t a lot of options.”

Without missing a beat, both their noses streaked. “Gav, can you grab me that?”

Eli flipped back the leather case of one of the many tablets scattered across his work desk. His scribbles were illegible, crude like a toddler trying to learn how to spell their name, his brain working faster than his hand could keep up with.

“Let’s see if this works.” More clunking, fuck, he needed a new keyboard. “Huh. I'm not sure if that's a bandaid fix or if I'm a genius.”

“Definitely not the second thing.”

From his understanding– Elijah was rattling off a thousand words a minute, it was hard to keep up– Connor wasn’t entirely fucked because the bond he had with Hank was… not less genuine, that wasn’t the right way to summarize it. He saw him as his equal, equated him to family but only in the way by word of mouth.

Bypassing the limits he was burdened with that desired human connection as a quick and easy way to further himself in his missions was not on the same scale of overhauling the entirety of your intended programming to step away from yourself.

Connor was an amalgamation of Markus, of Maya, of all those that came before him. Nines was the personal project his brother tinkered with on sleepless nights, his distraction from his own festering anxieties. Created entirely from scratch, and yet, that wasn’t good enough.

An owl planted itself on a branch like a gargoyle, studying him like he was about to be its next meal. He flipped the channel to a home movie special, a grainy snapshot of him finding an injured baby bird near their parent’s garage.

He had to have been eight or so– Elijah was rocking a buzz cut (read: trying to convince everyone that he looked decent and not like a school shooter in the making), dad’s whisky breath pungent in the stale air.

Gavin dropped the bundle of sticks he’d been collecting and bolted up the side stairs, tripping over his undone laces. He barreled against his brother’s door– he’d more often than not kept it unlocked in case Gavin needed him, but on the occasion it was, he knew the passcode on the fancy keypad their dad installed.

“Elijah,” his tiny lungs were exhausted, “there’s a– a bird. Something’s wrong with it.”

The little guy had a snapped wing. How the hell he got there was a mystery; the only thing surrounding the driveway was more concrete, and dry as all Hell grass. Was no place for a nest. “Gav, I don’t know if there’s much we can do to help him.”

“If we don’t, isn’t he going to,” he squeaked, “die?”

“Not everything can be saved.”

“Why?”

“That’s just… I don’t know. That’s how life is. It’s not very fair, but sometimes you have to accept that.”

“I don’t wanna accept that.”

He scratched the back of his neck, wood creaking as loud as a church bell. Right, Chloe. He had company. The permeating lull in a one-sided conversation was a thick gumbo, one that left rice stuck in your cheeks, meat undercooked. Took too much effort to force yourself to swallow, was easier to spit it out.

Staying focused wasn’t his forte, jumping from one minecart to another on a breakless track; was there a legal way to power off your mind that didn't involve burning your insides? He scratched at the bridge of his nose, at the new scar tissue that'd formed there. He’d bite, not like he had any dignity left to lose.

“Not that it was your job, but you never passively dropped hints to tell Eli to pick up the phone? You just… watched him ignore all my calls?”

She slowly exhaled. It seemed she'd rather prefer he didn't open his damn mouth. “I did. We had that conversation so often that it became a banned topic. I still don't completely understand why he shut you out when all he could do was talk about you, and repeat how much he missed you.”

Dad had two spoonfuls of lies, huh. Eli’d drunk the Kool-Aid.

“We would be halfway across the world, the two of us sunbathing on a yacht, and he would repeat how he wished you were there. When I told him that that reality was as simple as texting you, he'd shut down.”

His fingers twitched. He instinctively reached in his pocket to feel nothing but lint. “I gotta ask. Why'd you come back to him? I mean, you had ultimate freedom for the first time in… for the first time.”

“The way Nines talked about you made me realize that I never stopped loving Elijah.” The money he’d pay to be a fly on the wall during Nines’ group sessions. “For the ten years we were together, he shielded me from the outside world. He thought of me as this porcelain figure that was too precious to step foot onto soil, any surface that wasn’t marble. I thought space was what I needed to process– he let me leave. Willingly. There was no fight.”

“Is it… it's not always gonna feel this fucking horrible, right?” He wet his lips. “Like I don’t wanna say this shit to him ‘cause I know he’s gonna read too much into it. Nothing about this relationship is fucking normal. As much as we think we understand each other, we don’t.”

“Why does it feel horrible to you?”

“What do you fucking think?” He pressed his knuckles to his teeth. “Sorry, I– everything's just,” he bounced on his heels, “too much.”

“Nines isn't as fragile as you think.” Chloe was a true comedian, that was hilarious. Had they been at a comedy club, that’d get her a standing ovation.

“Well,” he looked at her pointedly.

“Really, I mean it. Each meeting Nines has shown up to, he let us just a bit more into his life. It was sweet to indirectly experience the way your relationship grew– watch him become someone.” Was it that romantic and cavity inducing when he was only… destroying himself?

“I don’t understand why the fuck he’d do this to himself. Humans do a lot of stupid ass shit; botched implants with gasoline and piercing yourself with a safety pin. That’s gold star dumbassery. But giving yourself brain surgery?”

“I can’t say too much because of our group confidentially, and I do not want to go behind his back. But, I will add, I don’t think not doing what he’s done was a choice. Tampering with his software was not the root cause of his instabilities. If anything, I think this is buying him time.”

She rolled a hair tie off her wrist, slicking back her perfectly straight locks.

“Lack of obedience was routinely reported in his notes. Elijah never wanted me in the room when he was reviewing the footage of his initial testing. He was the only project I was not allowed to be involved in overseeing, and I could not grasp why until it occurred to me. From day one, Nines was deemed unstable, and it was clear that was unintentional. Your brother was terrified of his own creation, as much as he was also captivated.”

Buying him time. He was going to chip a tooth one day from his jaw dabbling in the art of tapdancing. “He’s the living example of Frankenstein's monster, huh?”

“Elijah was a stepping stone. Months before the cast for his physical body was sculpted, he existed trapped behind the limits of a screen. I would ask him who he stayed up until three in the morning talking to. He was floored that what he had written, was now continuing to further write itself.”

His deterioration would’ve happened whether Gavin entered the picture, or not– that’s what he was hearing. Nines needed something to tip the boat. He was waiting to find the… the right excuse, the right person. “You ain’t gonna lie to me like Eli does. How fast is the clock ticking? Like, do I just got another week left with him?”

“I was warned you’d ask that.” Reading his own partner’s facial expressions was still a talent he needed to hone his craft in, but the way Chloe was holding herself was a vacant void. “I cannot give you a definitive answer because I am not him. The only one that knows what is going on inside of him is Nines, and I don't think he truly understands how this came to be, either.”

“You’re the oldest of Eli’s creations still alive. Think you got a little bit better of an insight than most.”

“Use that as a testament that the outcome does not have to be a somber one. I think Elijah’s current concern is that when the day does come that his operating system is deemed outdated, he won’t be able to be upgraded like the rest of us. There are only so many patches he can offer.”

“Can you…” he bit his nail, “what do you mean when you say you’re in love with Eli? How do you know that’s what it is?”

“On the rare occasion he had time to go on a date, seeing him with another woman was a pain I hadn’t known. I could feel myself being torn apart, I was asphyxiating. When he first started taking me around to present at conventions, he seldom left my side. He wouldn’t tolerate how men would murmur about me, how they found it so easy to treat me as an object when I was just that to them. A recurrent question was what… parts I had.” The corner of her too pink lips pulled.

“You share a similar sense of humor with your brother. His default response was to say I had a penis, the size customizable upon the customer’s needs. That would drive them away.” Gavin snorted, Chloe joining with her own muted giggles. “The one thing he never struggled to make time for, was me. Everything about Elijah is precious to me.”

“You’re absolutely sure what you feel is– is real love?”

“What do you think constitutes as real love?”

He thought he’d been in love before, but it was the idea of James he loved.

Someone that’d race him the second their eyes mutually spotted an open swingset, notice if he’d trimmed his bangs a quarter of an inch, when he’d experiment with a new scent of body wash. Nod along as he ranted about whatever game he was currently immersed in, stomach his tendency to keep talking as he stuffed his face, turned a blind eye to him wearing the same shirt for three days in a row.

Nines was every damn thing that bastard pretended to be. Gavin didn’t think he knew the definition, but he was slowly starting to learn, wasn’t he. Saved by the bell once again– he tapped open his texts.

“Eli’s ready for us.”

Spinning on his heel, he was yearning to get blasted by the cranked up heater. Arm outstretched, ready to pull open the screen door when a barricade blocked his path. “Gavin.”

“...yeah?”

“Would a week with Nines comparative to a year make that much of a difference? Every moment you spend with your loved ones is sacred. I have often heard the sentiment that quality outweighs quantity.”

“Yeah. It makes a massive fucking difference. ’cause I… I-I,” he cleared his congested throat.

Maybe it was the sanctity of being by their lonesomes, knowing the risk of Tweedledee and Tweedledum overhearing their banter was an absolute zero– too much coal was fed to the furnace, one that had a mind of its own. He needed a muzzle to keep himself from spilling his guts (he didn’t really want to acknowledge that this felt… freeing in a way?).

“I went and did it again, even though I fucking promised myself I wouldn’t,” he swirled his tongue against his cheek. “Nines is like, he’s– he’s the piece of me that’s been missing for a long, fucking long time. I'm not settling for him, he ain’t some kinda afterthought, guy I’m forcing myself to stick with ‘cause I’m too much of a coward to face being single. There’s no mutual resentment we got that’s been jarred and turned into a family heirloom. He's just.”

A snowstorm of buzzes from his back pocket lined up in unison with the flying beasts above them honking out of order– rude asses, everyone needed to shut up and let him get this off his chest.

“He's. Uh. He’s.” The list of what Nines wasn’t to him was eons shorter. “Yeah.” Continued babbling was unneeded. The sincerity reflected in her irises conveyed her understanding. “S’why I’m asking you. Need to hear directly from someone that’s experienced it that this is… that it’s all real. He can tell me that it is a hundred times, but I ‘unno if he’s talking outta his ass to protect me.”

“I didn’t think it was possible for myself to nurture what I have with Elijah. The love we experience isn’t concocted, it isn’t imaginative. It’s something androids aren’t predisposed to experience, and yet, it seems to routinely develop anyways. Whether it comes naturally, or is powered by determination. Love triumphs over all.”

No, love wasn’t a dirty word, and he fucking knew that. He wasn’t a completely delusional, skittish manchild. But on the same wavelength, he wasn’t ready to brace himself for the train colliding head on with him. Those headlights were damn blinding. Keeping his eyes screwed shut felt like the better, more logical, option even if his reward was a final tuck in.

They just– he needed to get back downstairs, to the sights of– fuck, Gavin had an imaginary burlap sack tied tightly around his head. He couldn’t breathe.

Nines was strapped to a flat examination table, the titanium strips bolting his wrists in place. Call it what you want, but this was a torture chamber. What the fuck else would you describe this as? Wasn’t utopia, wasn’t a walk in a fucking park.

Connor lingered by the deadbolted door, not knowing what to do with himself, rhythmically running his hands up and down his sleeves– fucking relatable.

“But they ain’t your prisoners, right?”

“I told you, I’m not taking any risks this time.” Eli adjusted his glasses with one particular finger. “I need to establish a baseline of his tolerance to stress so I can find out what trips him up.”

A throne reserved just for Gavin. He took the open spot beside his brother, shifting his hips to free his keys. “Connor.”

The way he moved was like a clunky wind up robot. He desperately needed a one day yoga class to bleed the starch from his gangly limbs.

“I got a Spiritbox CD in the glove compartment.”

His mouth opened, tongue flicking like the words he wanted to say were rotting the silicone prosthetic, but instead his jaw tensed. He snatched the keys from him, the teeth of one scratching Gavin’s cuticle, before sauntering towards the land of the living. Ungrateful dick.

Here he was, trying to make amends with this goddamn lunchbox because he knew the importance Connor played in his preferred brunet’s life. Schoolyard insults were more fun, tickling his caveman brain in all the right ways.

If you squinted, you could tell they were making progress. Not friends, not acquaintances, but they could breathe the same air. That was a massive step. On foot in front of the other, don’t look back, or fucking whatever.

Eli pressed a softly lit button, practically making out with the microphone. “Can you hear me okay?”

Nines nodded; this was the only time he’d seen him retain his skin with his port open. God, it looked like venom was pumping through his veins. Thin lips an even thinner line, balled fists ready to punch an escape tunnel through the ground.

“Okay, good. What I’m about to do is put you in a state of limbo– you’re not going to be entirely conscious, but you won’t be offline, either. Does that– am I making sense? Do you remember Amanda?” That mysterious name spoken like an ancient God only a select few knew about. “You spoke to her briefly.”

“I do.”

“It’ll be similar to that. There’s a series of scenarios that I’ve pre-planned to emulate for you. Some of them might make you experience joy, while others… it’s going to feel very real in the moment, I’ll just leave it at that. You don’t have to do this, but we don’t know what the consequences are going to be if you decide to step away.”

Another hasty glance at Gavin that translated an unspoken two hundred page memoir. “I am fine, Elijah. Please start it already, I am begging you.”

The amount of screens engulfing them were bound to burn straight through his retinas; every square inch of open wall space was a monitor, all surrounding the plexiglass window to the main attraction. The true star was the one to their immediate left. Elijah hit enter and the initial pilot of Nines’ upcoming reality show played.

He was standing stiff in the Garden of Eden, white petals raining like teardrops from his artificial overlord. In actuality, he looked more at peace than usual, but inside that inner world that was entirely his own, he’d never seen him so… lost.

Elijah leaned back as far as he could, the leather cushion cupping his spine groaning. “Are you all good?”

Chloe’s company was a baker’s dozen worth of hard drives. She was sat at her own L-shaped desk. He’d known the blonde for a total of, what, two hours by now? You couldn’t darn a tear without thread and a needle. They made sense together, and, uh yeah, she was utterly enamored with him.

If the magma erupting in her pupils and the waves crashing in his were forced, they deserved to be crowned EGOT winners.

“I’m ready when you are, Elijah.”

“Let’s begin, then. Let’s,” he pensively stroked his chin, “I’m going to pull up the exports I asked him to send me. Happy memories that he created.”

The opening scene: a cluster of jellyfish tangling their milky white ribbons together, illuminated by jarring neons that went against God’s design. An aquatic club only the most elite were invited to.

A few steps forward and Nines was making direct eye contact with an octopus languidly crawling its way through a tube connecting two larger tanks, thinking itself as a highly wanted convict escaping a five-star chase.

“Do you think they understand they are trapped in there?” The intensity of Connor’s gaze pierced him like a silver bullet.

“If they were aware, would you complain about having all your needs met without struggle? They have a roof over their heads, meals accounted for. They do not seem to be in distress.”

“On occasion, it doesn’t feel like it’s enough.” Connor stuffed his hands in his pockets. “There are days that seem like they never end. One night of endless worrying bleeds into tomorrow, and then I have to do it all over again.”

Elijah leaned into his personal space, adjusting the volume on the subwoofer. “Once that storm is in formation, it is hard to escape it. I understand.”

Gravity pulled Connor’s slender body towards a tunnel crafted entirely out of glass, his palms pressed flat against the tank. A curious zebra shark went with the flow, studying him in the same vein.

Nines took advantage of the small blip his brother’s focus wasn’t trained on him, sliding his own Christmas polaroid from his wallet.

“What has helped me is searching for a sense of purpose.” His thumb brushed over Gavin’s smile. “A reason to make life worth living.”

“It’s not that I don’t have that; Hank dropped everything for me, and I didn’t have to ask for that.”

They continued shuffling through the aquarium, taking turns pointing out what exhibit to veer to. A boisterous toddler screeched as she forced them apart, scooting herself onto a steepy stool.

“I do have everything one needs to function without complaint: a shoulder to lean on, a furry best friend that never leaves my side– you.” Connor wore a beanie of his own, but the slightest hint of red shone through the thin knit. “I cannot imagine you not being in my life. I don’t know why I was afraid to get to know you.”

“You had valid reasons to not want anything to do with me.”

“Did I? You were just as scared as I was.”

“That does not matter anymore. The connections you do have, those are the things you need to focus on. You will always be left wanting more, I am coming to learn. That is a chase that will leave you empty handed in the end, and believe me, it is not a gamble worth risking.”

“Do- do you know what that reason is for you?”

Sorry bud, you’re going to get cancelled after the first season. The scene transitioned without a fade-in, harsh and abrupt and in dire need of an editor.

Gavin and him were now sitting on the worn out couch in their living room, the length of Bailey’s scrawny, stretched out body between them. It was so fucking weird watching himself from an outsider’s perspective in real time. They say the camera adds ten pounds, and boy, was it doing wonders to evaporate what remained of his self confidence.

The ceiling lights made it look like he hadn’t showered in a year, hair doused with another ten pounds of lard. Stubble was too prominent on his neck, giving off the vibe that he took his appointed title of moderating a dying subreddit a bit too seriously.

His own hands were busying themselves with stabbing a needle through a piece of cloth, a couple more stitches before he’d complete yet another portrait of a cartoonish depiction of a frog. The kits they bought were more suited to keep your unruly kids occupied over summer vacation, but hey, any distraction soothed his own beaten brain from time to time.

Gavin blinked, once, twice before meeting Nines’ stare. “What’re you looking at me like that for?”

“I’m thinking.”

“Do it quieter, you’re giving me a damn headache.” He set the small wooden hoop on his lap. “Cleaned out my ears this morning, ‘m ready to listen.”

“I believe,” Nines cleared his throat, “I might have found my sense of purpose.”

“...cross stitch?” They both snickered in unison like they often did.

“If that is the codename you want to use, then, sure. Cross stitch.”

Gavin’s yearning, unfiltered lust, wants, his need to rip off Nines’ skin and wear it like a damn suit was as obvious as a nutritional label covering the entirety of a cereal box. Was it blissful ignorance that the other man doubted his feelings?

Fucking look at him, it was all right there on display. He wasn’t wearing a poker face, Gavin was trying to scream at him, come here and kiss me, you dopey dipshit.

Hm, shift change. The earlier mechanical brunet was swapped with another all too familiar brunette. Tina was zipping up her bomber, grey lunchbox behind her, about to spring to her feet as Nines took his time approaching her.

“Do you have a minute?”

Her smile was bright enough to power a city. Her stomach audibly growled, but she sat back down instead. “What’s up, buttercup?”

He pressed a palm flat against her desk; the cuff of his sleeve was black against white polyester. Eesh. This was from the first few weeks they worked together. “You know Reed better than anyone. What do I have to do to get on his good side?”

“You already are.” She glanced over her shoulder. “I know that’s hard to believe, but if he actually couldn’t stand you, he’d ask Jeffrey to transfer you to someone else. He likes you. I can tell.”

“If he does not despise me, why does he only speak in riddles of insults?”

Her lashes fluttered. “I’ve been one of his only friends– consistent one– since we were teens. He’s not used to someone wanting to get to know him. I don’t think he knows how to communicate with you.”

“He is my only acquaintance. He cannot drive me away that easily.”

“Don't stop trying. Whatever you've been doing, it's working. He's going to crack, he can't keep up the charade forever. He's not that good of an actor.”

As enticing as these forbidden tapes were, he couldn’t tear his gaze away from Nines in the present realm. Still as a memory frozen in time, ironic. Something about this scenario felt like deja vu. Maybe it was a faded sense of familiarity, having Elijah close by his side, feeling like they needed to be passing around a bowl of popcorn to snack on (good thing he had a machine for that).

He could say that, but he still skated too close to the edge of the Earth and a poisonous fog was eating him alive. Deleting the story he was actively inking with Gavin was as simple as pressing a button, a power no man should be allowed. The future didn’t look monotonous, it just seemed… so fucking lonely.

Like he’d said before, there was a limit to the universe smiling in his favor, to things going right for him. The groundwork was laid out for a life he’d always wanted, but it was so damn tiring wrapping himself daily head to toe in bubble wrap for the moment shit was bound to hit the fan.

How do you detach yourself from someone you rely on to get through the day? Which wire are you supposed to cut to defuse the bomb when Nines needed all those wires in tact? He rested his cheek against his knee, nails digging into the seam of the armrest.

“Hey,” his brother nudged him, though he kept his gaze trained forward. “I know you want to be here for him, but I– I really don’t think you should stay.”

“It’s gonna be that bad?”

“You remember when you used to make me come into your room every night that year you were convinced Nosferatu lived in your closet? Fucking Spongebob.”

Gavin snorted. “You’d thwack all my jackets and shine a flashlight on every nook and cranny to show me I was a lunatic.”

“Picture that fear, and quadruple it. Imagine every damn thing you’re afraid of manifested itself in the span of ten minutes, and there’s no way you can run from it. That’s what we have to do to him, it’s the only way.” He clicked his mouse, took a hurried swig of Redbull.

“I don't wanna leave. He needs me.”

“You have to protect yourself, too.” Gavin shook his head in response. “Okay, don’t say I didn’t warn you. Brace yourself.”

The stark white walls of Cyberlife made Gavin squint, wish he’d grabbed his sunglasses from the car. A stack of mathematical equations, thicker than a vintage telephone book, were plopped in front of Nines. A door that looked like it belonged to a bank vault was his only true exit, buzzing as the form of real human life left to areas unknown. He was being monitored by a blinking camera.

He clicked a pen, examining it in his palm, feeling its cool metal.

“You are being timed, nine hundred. Begin your tests.”

He sped through each page like a man on a mission, solving them quicker than a calculator. “There. I am finished. Are you happy now?” Chloe was right, his snark wasn’t a recent development.

A different worker walked in, this time donning full fucking riot gear despite pushing a cart holding a Rubix cube and various boxed puzzles. He stood with a hand resting on his holster, the other holding a stopwatch.

It took him less than three seconds to solve the colorful square (the way his fingers knew the exact pattern to spin the blocks looked like fucking sorcery). He was rewarded with a nod of approval. Time reset, and he was once again off to the races.

Five minutes to assemble a two hundred and fifty piece circular mandala, ten when the count doubled, and for his final task: a landscape that consisted of a thousand little fragments. Half an hour is all he needed.

It was overkill to clear the room of all its belongings when only a round table and a singular chair occupied it. The cart was wheeled back into the hallway, but the guard remained, holding an unmarked beige box in his hands. But now, he wasn’t wearing a helmet. His goatee was fully on display.

"Nine hundred, can you remove the lid?”

He did as he was told; Gavin didn’t miss that flinch the guard tried to suppress. In it was… an unassuming pistol, its metal catching the overhead fluorescent lights.

“This will be your true, final test. Shoot Agent Forty Five in the center of his head, please.”

“Wait– what the fuck are you doing?” Little did he know that kevlar was stuffed with steak, and he’d willingly waltzed into the lion’s den. “This wasn’t part of the goddamn agreement. I have a kid on the way.”

Nines’ finger wrapped around the trigger. What was he to do when he had no weapons of his own, standing in the presence of a fucking killbot?

“Don’t you fucking dare.” His words echoed louder than the whipping bullet. Funny how a life can be taken just like that. At least the walls had some color to them, now.

“He’s reacting as I suspected, but I don’t see anything changing in his cognitive functioning.” He peered over Gavin’s shoulder. “How’re the readings looking on your end?”

“They’re stabilizing.”

“Hm,” Eli sucked in air through his teeth. “Think we’re going to have to play good cop, bad cop.”

Another open room that Nines was standing dead in the center of, though physical eyes examined him. A crowd of what seemed like a hundred people, failing to conceal their sneers, laughing at the expense of his fucking suffering. The newest exhibit coming to Detroit’s fully mechanical zoo, a goddamn sentient science experiment.

Jesus, how the fuck was Eli okay putting nine… living beings through this shit? Gavin glanced at his brother. Who was the real supervillain here?

They all had notepads in their clutch, jotting down how he reacted to being prodded with an electric cattle poker, to his clothes forcibly removed from his body until he had nothing left but his plain boxers. He attempted to cover what parts he lacked, fight for a sense of modesty, an ounce of humanity.

“Please,” Nines pleaded. “You have taken everything from me. Allow me to keep–”

A box cutter pierced the fabric, and those too, were torn from him. The crowd erupted like he’d scored a touchdown. Exaggerated gasps, a flash from a camera.

“You look so damn realistic, sometimes forget you’re just a piece of fucking plastic.”

“It’s working.” Eli stretched his arm, going to, presumably, squeeze his shoulder. He thwacked him away. He didn’t want his goddamn comfort. “I’m serious, Gav. It’s going to get worse from here. We haven’t even breached the surface layer.”

“I'm fine.” Right. Wanting to hijack a time machine and watch a semi-automatic cry empty shells was totally normal.

This was no different from staring directly at a strobe light; Eli kicked it up a notch, they were in maximum overdrive. One scene embraced the next in a brief handshake.

Connor was sat beside him on the floor, an army of unbelievably small tabbies tossing their limp bodies onto their laps– his fingers were cleanly sliced with a guillotine, right to the middle knuckle, a blue river splattering against linoleum. A hose sprayed pressurized water, violent enough that it tore apart his casing– his hand cupped Gavin’s flushed cheeks, snowflakes serenading them.

Nines aggressively jerked, fingers sprawled and mouth wide open. He’d lost composure of pacing his breathing, heaving like he was overheating. Still, no blood leaked from his nose– whatever Eli did, it worked. A screen flooded with red coding, scaling like the opening monologue to Star Wars traveling at lightspeed.

A railroad spike was inserted into his thirium pump–aluminum walls came closer until he was crushed by their weight–his lips lingered over Gavin’s–he was poured a cup of bleach, his chin forcibly tilted. And now– what? He was frolicking in a field of lavender, the sun beating down his neck, Gavin skipping towards him. His skin was covered in more glitter than a middle aged woman’s crafting party.

“That’s all his doing, by the way. I didn’t program that shit.” Well, they had watched Twilight last night. Another series they shouldn’t have fucking plowed through. Elijah swiveled in his chair, reaching for another room temperature can. “I’m seeing a pattern in his tolerance.”

He lost his house key– that received the mildest of reactions, his neural waves barely rising. The stove was left on when they were both at work, the apartment going up in flames. But alas, two ash covered carriers were pulled out of the building. The graph looked more like a mountain, but still not an extreme enough reaction.

Then: everything faded to pure black. A curtain tossed over him. He was isolated from everyone, everything, that he knew. “Gavin? Connor?” His voice reverberated. True nothingness, you could hear a damn pin drop. “I don’t know how much more of this I can take. You were right, Elijah. I can feel everything. It hurts. It hurts in a way that– I would rather self-destruct than continue to see through the tests.”

“Oh my God,” Gavin ran a hand over his mouth. All he wanted to do was pry open that door and pull him into his arms. “This is so fucked up.”

“I know it is. But, I’m pretty sure I know what’s going to break the ice.” He spoke into the microphone once more. “We’re almost done. You have to stay strong.”

Nines didn’t know what direction to look in. “You told me that this was voluntary, and I am rescinding my consent.”

“I,” Eli’s chin quivered. “We can’t stop, we’re too close–”

Nines ran his hands through his hair, nails digging into his scalp. He choked on his over pouring tears. “I don’t want to do this anymore.”

“Do you even fucking care that you're hurting him?”

“Gavin,” Elijah snapped, throwing his head back. “Do I care– what the fuck do you think I'm doing? If I don’t figure out a solution to this, the– I don’t know how this is going to affect him in the long run, but whatever the risk of this is, is worth it. Things are a lot worse than I thought, okay.” Gavin swallowed, hard. “There's not just one problem I'm seeing here, there's a hundred. Him not knowing who the hell you were? What he’s installed is being registered as malware. That’s a big fucking deal. We’re at the part where I lose my shit, and we start to panic. He can’t stop.”

Gavin chewed on his cheek. “Let me speak to him.” He pushed away Eli’s finger. “Bud, can you hear me?”

“Get me out of here, Gavin.”

“Shift yourself… forty five degrees.” Nines was an absolute wreck, tear streaks staining his complexion, eyes wide as saucers. “I’m looking right at you, you’re not in there alone. I know, it’s terrifying. Know all you wanna do is just fade into nothing to make the pain stop. Not really having a blast watching you. Maybe I’m fucking selfish, but if this s’only thing that’s gonna guarantee we got a chance at a happy ending, you gotta persevere.”

“I can feel him lingering. He is around the corner.”

“You gotta give in. Just this once.”

Nines crossed his arms over his chest, tugging on his shirt, his attempt to self soothe. Get a hug he fucking deserved. “...after this, can we please go get drinks?”

Gavin wiped his nose with the back of sleeve, chuckling under a broken breath. “Whatever you want. It’s a date.”

“He’s stabilizing,” Chloe failed to conceal her own panic.

“Gav, we have to move on. Make your closing remarks.”

He pressed his thumb to his lips. “I’m kissing you the way we used to, when we were fucking pussies about it.”

No smile, no change in his hunched posture, but Nines replicated his gesture. “I will give you a real kiss when I am out of here.”

“You better.”

Piles of dead bodies were the immediate replacement– humans, all in Cyberlife branded lab coats.

“God,” Elijah flicked his lower lashes. “Great, now you’re making me cry.”

The landfills Gavin had taken him to– Baseball with a broken paw, no, his protruding spine was snapped clean in half.

Nines was trying his damnedest to break free from the restraints, writhing around like a worm crawling from a kicked rock. The grand finale was incoming, the cherry on top of a cake made from shit.

Nines stood on cracked steps leading up to a church, standing before its bordeaux doors that looked more like the gates to Hell. This was the one on Woodward that looked like a medieval castle fell out of the wrong timeline. He’d driven past it plenty of times.

A small crowd gathered above a darkly stained casket. Oh, sweet Jesus. He knew where this was going, and it was making him feel like he needed to run up the stairs to fucking hurl.

“You’re late.” Elijah met Nines’ eyes; Gavin peered over at his brother in the flesh. He was holding his breath. “We didn’t want to start without you.”

Tina had a crumpled wad of tissue in her palms, mascara proving itself to not be water resistant. Hank was adjacent to her, bunching up the sleeve of Connor's jacket. His own damn boyfriend did the honors lifting the cap to expose his cold, dead body.

Yeah, no need to skim through The Shining when he was the main character in a live reenactment of his fucking funeral. There was no delay between the program immediately exiting out of itself, Elijah’s computer glitching out of control.

“Fuck,” his fingers hastily got to work, “he locked me out again. The Trojan better be working, we can’t afford to lose this.”

“It is,” Chloe hurriedly called. “I’ve bypassed his firewalls.”

“Make sure every copy gets a copy.”

The screws bolting down the strips of metal screamed in agony as they were catapulted. He used all the might in his body to wriggle himself free, yet he hadn’t yanked the cord out. They were watching live feedback and he was locked in on Gavin. Scanning his profile to find a point of familiarity. He cycled through his heart rate, the adrenaline he oozed, analyzing his scar.

“So that’s what it is. That part of him acts as a shield when there’s no possible way to regulate his stress. He creates a temporary vacuum to store away everything that he is, and simplifies existing. He resorts to his default state for protection. He’s regresses back into old memories.”

Nines cocked his head, growing too close for comfort to the plastic divider that separated them.

“I need to add a tint next time. Mm, he's angry at you.”

“The fuck did I do?”

“He's registering you as… Julian Hawthorne.”

He knew that name. “That’s the guy that showed up at his apartment in LA.”

“Excuse me?” Nines pivoted on his heel, steadily marching towards the locked door. Good thinking on his part to tape the IV directly to his body, wasn't easy to tug off. As soon as Eli activated it, he collapsed.

“I'm curious if I can lower the dosage of the sedative and package it in a pill. The world's first android Ativan.” He ran his hands through his hair. “Fuck. You okay?”

Anything but that. “Couple rounds of drinks sounds fucking fantastic.”

 

---

 

“So, I am not– we are not dying?”

Connor refused to step even an inch away from the doorway, his nails digging into the paneling. To be fair, everyone wanted to go back to their respective homes and write today off. Headass was bouncing on his heels, pressed for time in needing to run back to his dungeon.

Meanwhile the brunet to his side just needed… he needed to sit, and be. He wouldn’t let go of his hand.

Gavin had his legs crossed, couldn’t keep himself from bouncing his knee like some kind of half-assed aerobics routine. He knew they were going to leave with more questions than solved answers, but– fuck, sitting helpless as Nines convulsed, bearing witness to a modern day lobotomy, made him question if he could stomach the metallic aftertaste of a bullet.

“No. Neither of you are actively dying, let me make that perfectly clear,” Eli slapped his bicep, made him fucking jump in his seat. “Why would you tell him that?”

“I–” Gavin shook his head. He didn’t have a response, just wanted to make sure his voice box hadn’t shriveled up from going mute for half an hour. New world record.

“One of us has a PHD in robotics engineering– let me ask, who created you? I actually know what I'm talking about. Don't take his words as gospel.”

He scoffed, scratching at his nose. “I got a PHD of my own.”

Elijah stared him dead in the eyes. “Yeah? Share with the class. I dare you.”

“...I don't want to.” Eli was the one that taught him that fucking joke, he knew the lackluster punchline. Why did he say anything. Back to his prior vow of silence.

“I insist. PHD meaning what, Gavin?”

He grumbled into his fist, his arm tugged away. “Use your big boy voice. What was that?”

“A pretty huge dick.” Too many eyes were trained on him. Christ, he knew he was redder than Mars. “It's not even funny.”

“You’re right. It's not.” Elijah glanced away from him. “Do you want to attest to that?”

Nines’ breath sputtered, hitting the shell of his ear. Now Connor really looked like he wanted to bolt in the opposite direction. He did have his keys still.

“That was a lie.” Elijah made a failed buzzer noise. “Anyways, as I was saying. We need to compile physical failsafes in case of a hypothetical emergency. Both of you need to start manually backlogging daily, and we’ll go from there. We might have to play by ear for the rest of this month, but I’m thinking we’re going to have to stick to a weekly schedule, Nines. This is,” he cleared his throat, “it’s going to take a long ass time to get this sorted out.”

Nines leaned closer to whisper under his breath: “Do you need to return to work after this?”

“No.” He squeezed him. “‘m not going anywhere.”

They’d found themselves stumbling through an open cemetery, brown paper bags crinkling under their touch– must’ve been a rising number in android alcoholics, canned thirium cocktails lined the shelves of the nearest Meijer.

Trying to blend into a boisterous crowd at a bar, acting like the rest of the world hadn’t been kept on pause for the last couple of hours, was an impossible task.

Time a fucking social construct, how was it already eight? The sun had long since bid its farewells, Connor resuming his game of fetch, only now he wore a newly earned thousand yard stare.

Yes, paranormal entities were, without a doubt, real, but zombies weren’t going to start clawing out of their graves. He never understood getting squicked out trailing past headstones; made for a great place to think, get all your thoughts bullet pointed (...in theory).

“At last, peace and quiet. Only way to get someone to shut up sometimes.”

To think they weren’t already obsessively needy, Gavin didn’t want to look away from the man at his side for a millisecond like he was bound to evaporate. They made their way over to a pond, a family of ducks floating in harmony.

He bit a cigarette with his front teeth, patting around for his lighter– he had like, twenty stuffed in a junk drawer, and yet, he was always missing one– ah.

Another case of petty theft, always taking his belongings. Nines held up his favorite, the one that had flames on it because that meant it’d be extra hot. Gavin leaned closer until the end of it lit.

“Funerals are such a waste of fucking money. Don’t get why mom’s putting effort into arranging one, damn well knowing he left her with hundreds of thousands worth of fucking medical debt,” he shakily exhaled. God damn, he needed that. “Toss me in a dumpster, won't care. I'll be dead.”

“Gavin, I do not have qualms being here, but I cannot think about that after what I saw.”

He raised his glass. “To think I couldn’t look any worse. The whole pale, diseased look don’t really suit me.”

“I–” Nines swirled around his own can before shotgunning its remains, blue dribbling down his chin. “I was anticipating psychic damage, and I was willing to accept it to focus on the bigger picture. I do not know if I can force myself to undergo more testing. I really don’t feel well.”

“Bud.” He had a death grip on his shoulder, covered his scalp in gentle pecks. “Wish I had something more comforting to tell you, but I… I really don’t. S’not a choice anymore. You gotta stick with the program if you– so we can– so you can stay here with me. You want that, don’t you?”

“You’re the only thing that I want, you know that.” Nines rested his palm on his thigh. “When I close my eyes, all I can see is your lifeless body.”

“I'm right here. I ain't dead, not gonna be anytime soon.”

“I can grasp that it was only a simulation, but the pain was,” his voice crackled like a scratched record, “it was authentic. I was mourning for you, and I still am. That is not something you can simply brush off.”

He set his beer down, turning the bottle from side to side to create nature’s drink holder. “You hear the frogs?” Nines’ hair caught as he bobbed his head. “Know we can’t always act like everything’s hunky dory, replace our problems with temporary time fillers. But we got an excuse tonight.”

“Distraction is not helping. I–,” he nearly knocked Gavin off balance, burying his head in the crook of his neck, “I truly am terrified of dying, even more so than I am about losing you. One of those is guaranteed.”

He took another, long drag. “S’only thing we all got in common, ‘cause at the end of it all, we just go back to being stardust. We ain’t owed tomorrow, never know when it’s coming. Why you gotta make the most of your time here.”

“I know you do not believe in the concept of an afterlife, but I don’t know how to sit with the thought of never seeing you again.”

“You don’t think there’s a crossroad between android and human heaven?”

Nines quietly snickered. “As if we would get into heaven.”

“You ever, uh,” he squished his cheek against his roots, “think about what would've happened if you called any other number on that sheet Eli gave you?”

“Sometimes I think a little too hard about that.”

“Don’t wanna think I’d give up that easily and follow in dad’s footsteps. But, I unno. S’not that hard to trade one vice for another to deal with the loneliness,” he tapped on the butt of the cig. “Sometimes I’d get so damn lonely, I’d turn on my laptop and keep it under the pillow next to me so it felt like I wasn’t lying there by myself.” His breath visibly left him. “I don’t know why I told you that.”

Without pause, Nines straightened his posture, meeting his lips. “I'm not quite sure where I would have ended up. Homeless, that is a given. I would likely be seeking refuge at New Jericho. I might have turned to a life of crime, resorting back to what I was intended to be.”

“Mm. Might've crossed paths that way then, when I caught ya.”

“It's entirely unethical to fall for your suspect.”

“Nothing about me– us –is ethical.” Eh, he needed to do laundry soon anyways. He let his back hit the ground, grass tickling his exposed skin. “Maybe I would've given dating one more shot, used those apps for their intended purposes. Really don’t like thinking our fate dwindled down to a piece of fucking paper.”

Nines matched him, his ear pressed over his jackhammering heart. “In an entirely hypothetical situation where I would have a need to visit bars, you would not have entertained me if I had approached you?”

“Are you still an android in this scenario?”

“I am.”

“I mean, maybe. Guess it depends what your opening line would’ve been. Creativity, originality, s’what I looked for… usually.”

“What if I had looked you dead in the eyes and asked if you were willing to make a suicide pact with a stranger?”

“No. Not funny.” Gavin groaned. “Can we stop talking about death? You’re starting to freak me out, really are.”

“You do know where you brought us, yes?”

“Don’t wanna think about you dying more than I already do.”

Thank God the living wasn’t their company. He wasn’t holding back anymore, the training wheels were pried off. Nines slipped under the hem of his shirt and nudged the curve of his jaw. He wasn’t sinking his teeth in like he was meat he needed to tenderize, but fuck, he was bound to leave another mark.

“On second thought,” Nines brushed over his nipple. He no longer had a need for a blanket. “I am open to entertaining one form of distraction.”

With what force he could muster, he flipped their positions. Nines flat on his back (Gavin knocking over his own drink, fucking whatever), straddling him. “Should get you another one of those drinks.”

“Then I really would not be able to keep my hands off you.”

“Good.”

Felt like he’d just gotten done doing two million reps of squats, his thighs were tense from the awkward as fuck position he was in. Too much pressure on his knees, lower half of his body levitating over Nines that was lying like a metal pipe. Closer and closer he grew to putting his weight on his groin, over his hips, when Nines slid his palms underneath him.

Haze surrounded them, the color of milk stained from unnaturally dyed cereal. Who needed the moon when his maroon tinted led guided the way.

“I do not want you sitting there.”

“And cradling my balls is the better option?”

“What I… lack has been weighing more heavily on my mind.”

“I don’t give a shit s’flat–”

“I am not comfortable.”

Instead, he took the lead and reversed them back to their prior spots. What the hell did he think he was doing, riding a mechanical bull? The damn hypocrite had no hesitation sitting on that exact spot, unable to keep his ass still. He was trying to suck the daylights out of his, tongue slipping into his mouth, tangling his hair, fucking grinding against him.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“I don’t know.”

A tale as old as time, Nines didn’t think this through. They were well past the point of him finding a substantial excuse for the hill in his jeans. All he could do was watch Gavin, his labored breaths bouncing off his chin.

“Dick move to tease me, you know that? Get off me.”

“Gavin–”

“Off. Now.”

He had nothing left to say, fishing for a second cigarette instead.

Notes:

The next chapter will be posted either Friday or Saturday to make up for the lack of consistent updates. Also because there's a scene in it that I want posted asap 👀

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 10 of To Be Human