synopsis: jealous yearner diego but he tries to not make it obvious until he breaks.
warnings: a hint of angst if you squint. british cursing once. diego character manga spoilers. this is my first finished work after like 2-3 years be gentle w me
when diego brando keeps something around him, he considers it efficient and convenient. whether it’s a political connection, a trinket being sold in random markets, even his rations for a certain duration during his races are always optimally calculated—practical yet effective.
that’s how diego convinced himself whenever you appeared in either his mind or line of sight. he never cared for how your gaze lingered on his silhouette for a second too long when he bid farewell, when your smiles directed at him felt like it never belonged to anyone but him.
when he feels a bit more vulnerable—a less than rare occurrence for the british jockey at nighttime, dare i say—he says it’s because you stayed that he simply reciprocates the intent. because you’ve known each other since he was nothing but a discarded child after his mother’s death; a pitiful nobody that the harshness of the world turned a blind eye to. uttered repeatedly in his mind that it’s merely an obligation of sorts, that he feels indebted that you didn't belong to the said harsh world.
though he’s also aware that he’s free from any kind of debt towards you. in addition to the rise of his standing in the world of horseracing, his youthly attractive visage makes the ladies feel like they’ll strike a work of art. countless noblewomen ranging from old widows to naively innocent maidens started chasing him for marriage and more fame. thus, he had the funds to provide you a decently stable life. always hiding envelopes with a stack of bills hidden under your large saucer on the small, round dining table whenever he visits your humble home for his favorite blend of tea; he claims it’s because no one was ever to successfully replicate his tea blending preferences.
he never noticed why it bothered him, or perhaps he just shoved that fact away to prevent himself from discovering the truest depths of his decisions that involved you.
“diego?” he didn’t flinch, but cursed himself internally for letting you witness how he zoned out over you. you’ll never know, but he still somehow felt exposed.
your hand reached out, for whatever reason, and felt magnetized towards it with his own.
“your canteen?”
he reached out with his left one that held the said object.
looking away, he cleared his throat to gain even a little composure, not that you recognize his mental crisis. “why are you here?”
“i’ve been here since your first loop,” you refilled his tiny jug. “i’m guessing you’ll proceed until before dusk?”
“why do you presume like you know everything i do?” he griped plainly, tugging at the collar of his usual turquoise turtleneck as if to let out the heat that clung onto his body; he wasn’t certain if the heat was from the blazing sunlight or your response.
you looked up at him from silver bullet’s horseback and smiled. “do i not?” you offered his round canteen. “i’ve always been here in this field during your equitations.”
he scoffed like the prideful man he is, refusing to acknowledge a fact. “no one told you to accompany me.”
“you never complained.”
“you’re convenient,” diego halted, his one hand on silver bullet’s reins ready to take off once again. “unsolicited, but convenient.”
you merely smiled at his baseless harsh description. you always do. not because you’d take every insult as if it wouldn’t scar, but because you’ve been with him long enough to know he wouldn’t even dare think of harming you.
“do you have plans after?” feigning curiosity, you tilted your head. you always knew his answer.
“no,” diego immediately answered, yet you know what’s about to follow. “but i have no plans of doing such trivial matters today as well.”
it was always a quick shutdown from him whenever you ask that question. you simply nodded. same time, same situation, same answer, same conclusion. you knew that there’s no bite to it, anyway. you always know there never was.
“i see,” you replied. “no problem.”
but for once, diego faltered. a shift of his gaze to his slight left, then you again. “is something perhaps bothering you?”
you blinked, a little bewildered at his sudden query. “no?”
“you need assistance with anything?”
it finally elicited a small chuckle from you. “not at all. i just wanted to ask if you’d like to eat with me for dinner.”
he raised a brow. “an initiative?”
“a courtesy.”
“courtesies are way past us at this point now, don’t you think so?” he exhaled huffily. “fine. i suppose indulging you in your wishes for once would be harmless.”
but once became occasionally, then sometimes, then regularly. diego started taking initiative in his own detached, restrained way whenever you wouldn’t ask after you refill his water at the same field. he wasn’t aware that whenever you won’t ask, it means your night was already meant for a scheduled occupation. you never dared to refuse him the first time he asked, though. you knew it took him a lot of mental courage and internal back-and-forth to even ask that, considering his avoidant gaze partnered along with muttered lines of “my presence” and “insufferable and boring”.
what diego never realized is that there’s one more characteristic to those he keeps around: consistent. it was thursday again when got into the horse tracks with his horse companion. he’d normally tend to silver bullet, then you’d arrive on time just before he takes off galloping with his horse on the field.
he turned to his side, expecting you to be there, but all his sight took was your absence of a supposedly present lady, accompanied with an unusual presence of a paper under a water bucket to prevent it from being one with the wind.
‘i will not be arriving until after lunch. i will be bringing a peace offering instead to make up for my absence.’
diego stared hard at the note, pinching the thin piece of paper between his thumb and mid-section of index finger like it’ll crack, then discards it, eyes lingering before it focused back on silver bullet while being void of emotion. it didn’t matter, he can refill his canteen himself, comb silver bullet’s mane after doing a great job of keeping up with him, readjust his reins—
“someone certainly looks like a soaked puppy on a stormy day.”
and for the first time with you as the witness, diego flinched at the sound of your voice. his eyes narrowed in scrutiny and hidden relief. “...you.”
“i said i would be back at noon, not after ten months,” you mused. “you’ve been this grumpy all morning? i hope silver didn’t have to personally deal with the aftermath.”
“who said i was grumpy?”
you finally smiled. diego breathed. “me.”
“hmph. presumptuous.”
“i just observed.”
he snorted. “what business did you have to neglect my horse?"
his question had you tilting your head in amusement. it’s as if his horse’s liking for praises became your partial responsibility, but you didn’t take offense. “you mean ‘neglect you’.”
“i have no need for such care,” he glanced at her blankly. “nevermind. you had no duty to be present every time.”
“don’t sulk. someone required my attention.”
his gloved hands stopped combing silver bullet’s mane for a short moment; however, it was long enough for you to notice. “your neighbor asking for help again?”
“...a merchant,” you answered with a bite of your lip, hesitance echoing through your lackluster posture. “asking for my hand. it was too sudden, so i tried rejecting his humble advances, but he was persistent—”
“and you felt the urge to explain so suddenly?” he barely glanced at you, yet his voice’s modulation said it all. you never expected him to be curious about you, but never did you expect him as well to express such disinterest to the point of dismissive yet grating rejection.
“diego,” your tone took a dispirited turn, volume low as if to tread lightly. “are you upset?”
“i’m uninterested,” he finally turned to you with a passing cold glare above his shoulder. “don’t invite me for anything tonight; i’m not interested in doing any pleasantries to faff about with you.”
“what is wrong with you?” you glared back, but fiercer. “is it necessary for you to be a ruthless jerk every time?”
“‘jerk’? ‘ruthless’?” he scoffed. “you speak as if we just met. and i spoke nothing but my true feelings.”
“feelings?” your face twisted into one of mocking. “you speak of feelings as if you ever showed any.”
before you know it, his words became aboundingly cruel in his own way through detachment; something that’d hurt only to you. “and you speak like you know me. did years of being acquainted with you gain you this much arrogance?”
that silenced you. but the silence was sharp, grinding—enough to express what you both won’t dare to vocalize.
“you’re infuriating,” you hissed in a gravelly voice. “i can’t believe this—” a scoff followed with a short howl of laughter. “did i not mean anything more than an ‘acquaintance’ to you all these years, you bastard!?”
the blonde jockey refused to speak more. to him, he thought he already did more than enough to regret the damage that would set you off and potentially cut you off from his life as well. but to you, it was a nonverbal admittance.
with a quick and loud exhale, you stormed off from the area. your heavy steps carrying the weight of the argument and the burden of emotions that diego refused to share with you.
however, he remained unmoving beside his horse. despite silver bullet’s company—whom has been his companion ever since—the absence of one more presence that he’s always been looking forward to made him feel empty and lonely.
-
alas, no prideful man would still be immune to his innermost battles at the end of the day. every man needs that push to snap, voluntarily or not.
and for the great jockey, it was seeing a man—who’s not him—making you laugh. and it was also right right after your argument, where diego absent-mindedly lingered around the town’s side where you live in with his horse in tow at dusk.
not that he’s such a joker and flatterer to you himself. he has made several women laugh for the sake of having them fall into his trap. he didn’t need to do that with you; he’s more than just a flirt when it’s you.
he observed the man’s mannerisms with composure, yet his thoughts flowed like a chaotic mess where dinosaurs were trampling all over the forest.
the man’s gestures alone says a lot about his standing. stiff yet elegant posture, slightly lidded eyes and up-tilted chin that makes him look down at wherever he looks at, fingers moving gracefully whenever his hands move—he’s not just your normal merchant. it makes diego look at him with scrutiny from caution. why would an elite nobleman want to mingle with a simple maiden living in the rural sides? was he simply captivated by your beauty and charms? diego couldn’t blame the merchant if that’s the case. however, what if ulterior motives are secretly involved? how did you even meet this man?
however, it isn’t the man’s wealth that made him feel threatened. he has the wealth to support your living for a lifetime, after all. but the gentleman was undeniably attractive, charismatic, and… a gentleman. diego could be a gentleman whenever he tries, but you know who and how he is already.
“so,” the man hummed, its vibrations sending diego’s jumbled mind into alarm after his next words. “what do you say… we have dinner tonight?”
and it jolted his upper body, flinching too hard it earned him a little whine from silver bullet.
“i have scouted the nearby city for any diner that would hopefully align to your preferences, and there—”
“i apologize, gentleman, but this fair lady has a scheduled rendezvous with me tonight,” diego hoisted himself down from the saddle of his arabian-thoroughbred, dusting off his gloved hands with each other while sauntering with his chin held high towards the duo. “i’m afraid she will not be able to keep you company for the rest of the day.”
brows furrowed, the nobleman snorted in disbelief after recognition. “diego brando? this lady—are you telling me you’re entertaining me while having an affair with this widow!?”
your jaw dropped, ready to retaliate. “that’s not—”
“mind your words when talking about her,” that earned the businessman a glare from the jockey, silent but enough to warn him thoroughly. “she is not obligated to settle with one man when there’s no commitment. after all, she’s an exceptional, respectable woman who makes even the bastards chase her around with her beauty and nobility. secondly, i believe ‘having an affair’ is no longer a valid argument against a widow. i suggest you choose your words correctly before flaunting around mindlessly.”
the man, unable to find a counter-argument, could only scoff and leave the two with grumbles and heavy stomps, as if breaking character.
your head turn was sharp like your glare as you looked at the blonde. “diego, what in the hell was that?”
“i saved you,” i feigned a proud huff, inwardly panicking. “i could tell that bloke was an annoying, narcissistic one. better to keep you out from them.”
“what?” you sneered. “do you know what you’re saying!? the man was nice—”
“exactly,” his eyes narrowed. “he was nice. too nice for a high-caliber merchant to hang around towns destitute of excessive wealth. never even thought about how dodgy it is?”
“not everyone is like you, diego,” you hissed but a little softer. “not everyone would be nice for the sake of end-term benefits—”
“you don’t benefit me.”
his words stung, but confusion won over your mind. “excuse me?”
“you don’t benefit me. not anymore. but i stayed,” he continued. “i don’t have any favors to owe you now. definitely not as nice as that bastard, but i was always there.”
you squinted. “what are you getting at?”
“do you need me to be nice to you? is that what would take you to not look at any man other than me?”
“i don’t need you to change, diego! that’s not the point!”
“bloody hell, woman!” he snapped. “how are you so dense to not see how much i pine for you!?”
a stunned silence fell over.
“i don’t do confessions,” he said. “but i’m not also a coward. they’re too flashy, pretentious—i only did that once to charm the old woman i intended to marry for convenience. you’re not on her level. i treasure you. not for wealth, but because it’s you who never judged me at my worst.
“so if you will,” one step closer. “don’t just look at me, see me.”
you finally let out the breath you’ve subconsciously held. “diego, i always do. you don’t need to ask.”
“then what was that?”
“he was nothing but a gentleman,” you shook your head before chuckling. “you fool. i was always yours, whether you knew it or not. i just never wanted to potentially ruin what we have.”
it was his breath’s turn to halt. “...you’re naive.”
“stop it with the insults now.”
“but you are,” he insisted smoothly. “yet… your naivety was one of the traits that made me stay. i don’t want it to fade, i wish to protect it instead. you remained so lovely, so good-hearted despite what the world threw against us. before i knew it, you became the constant in my life that held no advantage but i valued the most. the one i only ever cared for after my mother—you who held the same warmth and affection as her.”
his hand silently asked for permission to hold yours as he held it out, but not before stripping away his glove. once you reached out, his rough-edged fingers honed by callouses gently lingered your smooth and soft fingertips. it was clear that he had forbidden you to do any vigorous work.
he held eye contact with enough firmness that still hinted at his sentiment. “i ask of you. have me.”
you breathed out a laugh. “again, you don’t need to ask.”
“i’ll ask again and again if necessary,” he muttered against your wrist as he cupped his face with your hand that he held so dearly.
“and i’ll be giving the same answer again and again.”
for once, diego smiled. genuine and amused. “which is?”
you returned his smile with one of your own: content and affectionate.
14-year-old in a normal shonen: “I need to fight for my FRIENDS!!! And to save everyone—no, save the WORLD—from total annihilation!!” *insane fight sequence*
14-year-old in Mob Psycho: “I fear if I keep living my life like this, coming to my part-time job every day and doing the same things, then life will be comfortable and easy for me, but that comfort may mean I will stagnate, and that as the years pass, the only thing that changes is my age.” *insane fight sequence*
synopsis: if hank was hard boiled, then you were cooked fully through. Hard edges, mean, intimidating.
and connor is infatuated with you.
warnings: swearing (so much), typical dbh crime scene talk, no smut but some mature ish themes, mentions of hanks suicidal tendencies/a suicide note (no one dies!), reader slacks at self care and connor aims to help so talk of lack of sleep, poor eating habits/disordered eating, food mentions, angst, anemia mention???, reader is mean and hates cops (real), fluff at the end!
a/n: i think this is the longest fic i've ever written. it's also my first dbh fic. i'm not too sure how alive this fandom is, so i did make it a wee bit self indulgent (i mentioned boston my love). if this is your first impression of my writing, hello! if not, get ready because i have two requests and a bunch of connor fics up and on the ready. i also can't seem to stop writing this fic, so maybe i'll write a part two of when they're together. uhhh i think that's all okay bye.
we're not going to talk about how i listened to pushing it down and praying over fifty times whilst writing this.
also i will make edits in the morning no beta we die like daniel.
word count: 11k (yeah, you read that right).
crossposted to @baconlover001 on ao3
my masterlist
i do not use ai in my work, never have, never will. do not steal my work.
gif credit to @autistook
Connor was intimidated by you.
At least, when he described what he was feeling to Hank, that’s the conclusion he drew. You worked only a few desks away, your crime analysis plaques differing you from the police officers.
You had made it abundantly clear on a multitude of fronts that you weren’t a cop, that you had better things to do with your time. Hank had warned him not to mess with the crime analysts when the teams weren’t actively working together, but that couldn’t stop Connor even if he tried.
He was fascinated by you.
You took kinder to Hank than the rest. Connor deduced that that was because of Hank’s…unpredictability with himself off the clock. You were by no means nice to him, but Connor could tell that you cared for his well being, not that you’d tell anyone.
He really wanted to talk with you, not relating to a case or the weather, but actually hold a conversation. That posed a few problems though, as not only did you avoid talking with the officer’s department in general unless needed, but also because the last time Connor witnessed someone who you weren’t familiar with saunter up to your desk, they left on the brink of tears.
All of these inputs had lead Connor to your desk one morning, long before you were set to arrive. Hank called his actions snooping, but Connor thought of it as deductive reasoning. If he could retrieve information on your preferences, then, when the time came, maybe you wouldn’t be so intimidating.
Here’s what he had gathered so far:
1. You used to lived in Boston.
2. You held a doctorate in Criminology with a focus on crime analysis alongside a second series of degrees in the Biological Sciences at the age of 28.
3. It seemed you had a knack for nature.
Connor noted to look into the natural scenery near Boston within the day to strike up conversation with you. He was so lost in his analysis himself that he didn’t hear the approach of one Hank Anderson behind him until a throat cleared.
“You better finish up with all your sniffing around soon, they just parked.” He had a tone of amusement strung through his words, the events of the night weighing in his sleep deprived eyes. The Eden Club, letting the Traci’s go, all of it in the course of a couple hours.
Connor nodded. “I was just—“
Hank cut him off. “Kid, I really don’t care, and as much as I’d love to watch them make an android cry, we got work to do. Let’s go.”
He and Hank began to debrief at their neighboring desks when a commotion of voices echoed from beyond the glass doors of the precinct. The pair looked questioningly to one another before the door was swung open. The culprit of the scuffle turned around to face the glass mid stride, flicked the two officers that stood guard (presumably watching them now) off, and then resumed their path, all without breaking pace.
You marched right up to one Gavin Reed’s desk before slamming your hands down on the table, Reed’s computer shaking slightly. He attempted to seem unfazed by your presence, but Connor noted the bead of sweat running down his temple.
“I don’t do third chances, Reed. The next time you take my parking spot and make me late, you’ll be walking home.”
Gavin greeted you, your name slipping out of his mouth in a faux good morning. “Well aren't you a piece of cake today. Is this a threat that I hear?” He crossed his arms. “Because threatening a police officer is illegal.”
Hank snorted at the interaction, turning to Connor. “You see, one thing about them, Connor, is that they hate cops. Especially ones like Reed. And him saying that, well, he just poked the bear.”
Connor looked to Hank, tilting his head ever just so to analyze the man before returning his gaze to you. He made another note to look into what 'poking the bear' meant. You were utterly calm with your words, no raised tone or wild movements, side from the one earlier.
“Would you like it to be a threat, Reed? Because I counted four violations on your shitty Ford Focus that could get that thing tossed into a junkyard just now.” Reed’s eyes widened at your words. You whispered your next, and if it were anyone other than Connor listening in, they wouldn’t be able to tell what you said. “I would also have no qualms with explaining to Fowler my sudden missing evidence from your last case. What would he say to that, hmm?” You had an almost sultry tone then, and he could sense Reed’s heartbeat increase. Good, you scared him. Someone needed to.
“God, Reed, you look like you’ve seen a ghost!” Hank shouted from his seat. Connor studied the interactions, noting that you could develop a very hostile relationship with himself very quickly.
A new mission appeared to his corner. Your name had appeared, followed by a bright ease tensions note in blue.
Hank regretted speaking up though, because almost immediately, your fury was turned to him. Connor could only watch with slightly scrunched eyebrows as you made your way over to the duo.
“You.” Your eyes slitted when you reached him. You shot an accusatory finger towards Hank's chest--you emanated fury. Connor understood then that there was an emotion underlaying your anger, it was hurt. You and Hank were friends, and he did something to betray that trust.
“How dare you text me what you did last night? You don’t talk to me for days outside of work, just to send a suicide note to me at the ass crack of dawn? Are you serious? I was worried sick, you asshole.” Your chest was rising relatively rapidly, “You never texted me back. I thought you were fucking dead. I showed up to your house, and you were nowhere to be fucking seen.”
Connor had concluded that the scariest thing about you so far was your ability to remain calm. You would truly succeed at interrogating had that been a path you took, as you never rose your voice once, instead opting to lowering it as severity increased.
You took a deep breath in, holding your forehead with your hand. Once the dust had settled, the two of you stood there, neither dropping eye contact.
Eventually, the graying man conceded, looking around before giving a deep sigh.
“You cut your hair.”
You narrowed your eyes at him. “You forgot to shave that stupid beard.”
He snorted. “Yeah well, what’s it you say? ‘You can only control who you are.’ Decided to try something new.” Connor scanned your movements again, changing his previous hypothesis. It seemed that you took Hank for a... father figure.
It was then that you noted Connor was even there, eyes wide and staring directly at you. You shot him a sneer.
“The fuck are you looking at?” You crossed your arms as he realized he was caught. He stood up to match your position before fixing his tie.
“My name is Connor. I am an android sent by Cyberlife. I’m here to assist Lieutenant Anderson on a more—“
You cut him off, motioning your arm in his direction as you looked at Hank. “Did you buy a fucking android?”
“He was sent to me by the higher ups, thank you very much.”
You eyed him suspiciously, eyes raking over every inch of him. Connor had an unusual fault in his system it seemed—he could feel his thirium pump rate increasing. He widened his eyes at your stare, shifting from his left foot to his right. What the hell was this? He ran a system diagnostic, but everything appeared regular.
His new mission appeared by your figure now. He decided to extend an olive branch. “I assure you, I will keep a good watch over Lieutenant Anderson based on your previous words. Last night when I found him, I ensured all protocols necessary to prevent an untimely demise.”
Hank grew angry at the open talk of him while he was right there, scoffing. You on the other hand eyed Connor, who was sure he had spoken the right words. You clenched your jaw repeatedly, seemingly stewing over what you were going to say back, but after a few beats of silence, you looked back to Hank. “How long has he been here?”
Connor tilted his head at you, noting that you were the first individual here besides Hank to call him ‘he’. It threw him a little off guard.
“A few days now, he’s here to help with the deviant sightings.”
You rolled your eyes. You rolled your eyes.
Though his mission still laid above your head, something in him, a program he chalked it up to, risked that mission--he couldn’t help himself. “Is the idea of androids becoming deviant from their programming just an irritant to you?”
It was a moment, that unbeknownst to Connor, would happen all the more frequent the more you were around. He didn’t think before he spoke, and he always thought before he spoke.
When he saw the deliberately slow turn your head made towards him, well, he could hear Hank’s voice in his head. ‘Good luck with this one, kid.’
Hank’s eyes went wide at Connor’s quick bite back. Oh, you were gonna destroy the poor guy.
“Connor, was it?”
“We’ve already established that, yes.”
The way you turned towards him, eyes following your head, reminded him of a snake. Stunning, yet sometimes lethal creatures. You slow blinked at him, once, twice, before rolling your sleeves up.
“Let me set the scene for you, okay, sweetheart?” Your tone started off too light, too nice. Connor felt a software notification appear as your voice lured him in. Sweetheart.
“Yesterday I was called to the scene of a serial arsonist to gather evidence—the second family home—no survivors—to be set on fire in a week.” You stepped closer to his desk, lightly placing your hands down as you leaned towards him. He realized then that if you were a snake, he was most definitely the mouse.
And you had called him sweetheart.
“After that, I had to deliver reports on whose remains might be who.” He shot Hank a panicked look, to which the man shrugged in a ‘you got yourself into this mess’ manner. Connor gulped, actually gulped, and couldn’t get his mind off of that nickname you had given him. He’d never had a nickname before. He’d have to ask Hank about what it meant later.
“Later, I held onto a mother as she took her last breath. And then I came home to a text from this asshole saying it was his end too.” Your eyes had narrowed, never breaking eye contact, even as you had gestured to Hank moments before. It was intense.
And the worst part? Some deep part of Connor liked the lack of distance between the two of you. He was getting notifications all down the side of his HUD for possible outcomes and hostility changes from you. He could feel his cooling fans kick on.
“So, yeah, I don’t give a damn if androids are gaining consciousness and developing their own thoughts. Let them, for all I care.” Connor’s blinking rate increased, your face now merely 13 inches from his own.
“That is not my problem, and unless you deviate and aid in my case work, it will never be. Kapeash?”
Connor was about to reply with how he would never deviate, as he was created to catch deviants and accomplish his missions not become one, but he was frozen. You were a mystery to him—his data displaying levels of irritancy, boredom, and pride blooming from you, all towards him. His eyes were widened a bit, and he could tell his own emotional processors were running on overdrive.
Hank murmured a ‘just nod, Connor, for your own sake,’ that the android caught and followed obediently.
You stayed in that position a tad more than you had too, Connor derived, for intimidation purposes. Intimidation purposes, mind you, that were working.
After a pause you glared at Hank one more time before walking over to your desk, settling in for the day.
Hank didn’t even give it a minute before you were gone, giving a low whistle. “I thought they were gonna fillet you, so objectively that went relatively well.”
Yeah, he was going to have to self regulate later.
—
The next day, you were there much earlier than usual. Your eyes had gained a couple bags, something that Connor presumed was from the early morning. He had discussed with Hank about getting (and staying) on your good side, as though it was hard to do, you were the best there was and would be an incredible help for evidence analysis should the time come. Over the night, Connor had run through his database after going through an extensive self-regulation process with Amanda (even though he had refrained from explaining the newest addition of a mission that he was sure he created, not his programming).
He had gone through many of an approach over the hours on how best to smooth things over with you, from bringing you coffee to destroying Gavin Reed’s car, the latter an action that was sure to have many consequences, no matter how much he wanted to.
He landed on a blunt apology. That had a 76% success rate—the highest one possible.
He let you settle in for a couple minutes before leaving his desk to walk to yours. Your head was down in some files, hand propping up your forehead. He cleared his throat when he arrived in front of you.
You brought your head up to match his gaze, the familiar fury of yesterday still lingering.
He stumbled at first. Like he said, he was intimidated by you. “I-I would like to apologize for ensuing a tiff between us yesterday. I in no way meant to undermine the work that you complete.”
You glanced over to your clock before looking at him. You rolled your neck, a few cracks emanating from the actions, and though Conner was tempted to mention a statistic about the danger of cracking your neck, Hank's voice in his head halted that.
Tread lightly with them, Conner. They're trained to find faults in evidence, whether the evidence is verbal or physical. Trust me, for the both of us, you want to be in their good graces.
You narrowed your eyes at his posture, and it was then that he realized--you were analyzing him. Usually, it was the other way around.
"Did Anderson put you up to this? If so, you can tell him to fuck off." With that, you resumed your focus at the computer screen slightly to your left. Conner made no effort to move. His self-made mission pulsed next to your frame.
"No, I came here on my own accord." He couldn't outwardly ask to engage in civil conversation with you, so how would he accomplish this? He ran his social relations program for best results.
It did not help.
You shot him an annoyed look. "Listen buddy, I got shit to do. I get you mean no harm, but you need to leave me alone. If Hank wants to give me a half-assed apology about the other night, it's gotta be better than this."
It was going to be a long day.
--
Things were different now that he'd deviated. It had been a month since the revolution, androids now being able to live with equality. Conner could think freely for himself, could allow himself to recognize and feel the emotions that overtook him. It seemed as if some of the workplace pressure was alleviated from him too with the arrival of Nines, who in turn took up all of Gavin's time.
Connor began to take note of the little details, ones that would be determined insufficient not too long ago. That, and he took a focus to you.
The chill of January still kissed Detroit, snow cascading down as the wind pounded upon the house. Connor mistook the knocks at the door for those gales at first. He was in a worn out DPD tee with sweats on, playing on the floor with Sumo. When he distinguished that there actually was a knock at the door, he went to open it, Sumo in tow.
He was not expecting the sight at the front door.
There you were, snowflakes coating the winter coat hugging you, that permanent glare splayed on your face. Connor thought he saw a slight look of surprise on you at his appearance, but quickly rationed that it could have been a trick from the weather. You stood there with a paper bag in your hand, a blue ribbon with light sparkles tying the handles together. Connor deduced that you did it yourself, though that was a thought he decided not to voice.
"Are you going to let me in, or are you just going to stand there and let me freeze while also letting the cold air in?"
Your caramel coated voice snapped him from his daze. He did a little shake of his head before stepping back, letting you inside. Hank had told him that you tended to pop in every now and then, and though you would make excuse after excuse as for why, Hank knew it was to check up on him. So why were you holding a gift?
"Can I take your coat for you?" Connor offered, a soft look on his face. You shot him a look before taking it off yourself, hanging it on the rack.
At the sight of your familiarity, Sumo had run off to find Hank, leaving the two of you standing unsure of the other. Connor could feel your hesitation, and it dawned on him that he'd never seen you outside of work attire. You stood there in a worn sweater, the color complementing your hair.
Emotions were new to him still. He had been able to identify quite a few of them, like happiness and frustration. But when his eyes landed on your frame? Something overcame him, a tightness in his chest, like a foot was stepping right on his chassis. He could feel a rush of thirium to his cheeks, one that you seemed to clock.
"What?"
Connor had asked after you around a week post his deviancy.
It had been out of the blue, as he sat with Hank at the dinner table, Sumo laying down next to Hank's chair.
"Is there a reason for their...guarded actions?"
The old man had a mouthful of food as Connor questioned. Hank chewed a couple of times before responding.
"Son, they're here all by themselves. Besides me, they don't have anyone. They've had a rough go at life, and when that happens, you become hesitant." He popped another spoonful of corn into his mouth. "...That's why we get along, probably."
"Hello? Earth to Connor. What the hell dude?" You were looking at him as if he was telling a story and left it at a cliffhanger, palm raised up, and head titled ever so slightly.
Connor blinked rapidly, blue tint on his cheeks spreading. Hank's words repeated back in his head, along with your previous conversations. He had another chance to get on your good side, and he was not going to ruin it.
Or so he thought.
"You look absolutely stunning."
Shit.
So much for not blowing it.
You looked as caught off guard as Connor felt. Why did he just say that?
Maybe it was because of that feeling, buried deep within him, that pressure continuously pressing on his chassis that wouldn't let up. Or maybe it was because of the way the nearby table lamp reflected onto your clothes, the warm yellow highlighting and shadowing different parts of your frame.
Or maybe, it was because, ever since that talk with Hank, it was as though Connor could see right through you. You two had something in common, after all.
You were both pretty lonely.
Your mouth was slightly agape at the confession, head tilted in question and eyes wide. You opened your mouth to run him a new one he presumed, but before you could say anything, Hank came walking in.
"Hey, if it isn't my favorite ray of sunshine."
You took a moment before facing Hank, studying Connor. He could see your chest take a breath before responding.
"Shut the hell up. What's he doing here?" You nodded your head towards Connor.
"He's living with me now." Hank crossed his arms. "Is that a problem?"
He could tell you were familiar in this home. If not before, when you first stepped through the door, then especially now, as after Hank finished his sentence, Connor followed your eyes to a photo of Hank's late son. You studied the photo for a second before looking back at Hank, then meeting your eyes with his own, then back to Hank.
Hank did this thing with other humans that Connor was unsure of. The older man seemed capable of having unspoken conversations with others, something that quite confused Connor still. He knew people weren't capable of the telepathic pathways that androids had, but then how was the man in front of him now seemingly talking to you without a word being passed?
"No, no problem at all."
"Good."
Another beat of silence. Connor felt a little out of place. Hank didn't typically have company, so he wasn't sure what to do. You obviously did not want to converse with him--would it be appropriate to leave and find Sumo?
As if almost on cue, the one and only came running in. You took Connor off guard as you sank down to your knees and the pup came waltzing to you, hands outstretched to welcome him. You placed the bag down as you pet Sumo, a smile growing on your face. He had never seen that before on you, a smile. You seemed elated at the presence of the dog, and Connor found himself entranced by this view.
Your smile made that pressure return to his chest, and his thirium pump starting thrumming overtime. An unfamiliar sensation ran down his arms, almost as if a flush of cold air was sent through them. The feeling continued down his center, to his legs. He felt frozen at the sight, wishing to never look away. Hank cleared his throat, and Connor snapped his gaze to him, caught in the act of studying you.
Hank had what appeared to be a mix of amusement and surprise present on his face, giving Connor a look he's never seen before. The man's eyebrows were raised, arms still crossed, with a little smile developing. The abnormality of it all was in his eyes though, and Connor placed another new emotion within himself--embarrassment.
He could feel the overdrive of his cheek sensors again, fairly certain that the blue dusting was covering his face. His own eyes wide, he chose to ignore Hank and deal with whatever he had to say later, instead focusing his gaze back onto you.
You erupted into a laugh at the Saint Bernard, something that Connor immediately stored into his memory at the risk of such a noise never being heard again, before giving one final pat to Sumo. You placed your hands on your knees as you stood, picking up the gift bag before walking over to Hank, pushing it into his arms.
"Happy birthday you old oaf."
An expression of shock registered on Hank before he undid your homemade bow, opening the little bag. Inside was a clunky black tape, the words Gears vs. Nuggets, 1983 inscribed on it. Your initials were scrawled next to the date. Hank's eyes widened as he read the words on the VHS before smiling at you, bringing you in for a hug. You fought against it at first, words of protest leaving your mouth, before finally coming to terms and hugging back briefly. It was a little awkward for the both of you, hugging. Connor could sense the apprehension coming off of you in waves.
When the two of you broke from the hug, Hank laughed, still smiling. "You're a big ol' softie, you know that? How long did it take you to find this thing?"
Connor could see you poking the side of your mouth with your tongue in what seemed like irritation, but something told him that you were doing it for show. "Find that thing? Are you kidding me? I had to go to fucking war to even get my hands on a VHS tape you ancient sack of shit." You started to unstring your boots, sliding them off one by one. "And then I had to find the game, record it, and protect it from the elements. It was a bother and took a ton of my time up, so how about you go fuck yourself." Your expression remained stoic as you walked past him and into the kitchen, throwing hot water on.
"Are you staying for dinner?" Hank called out with a smile behind him, now looking at Connor.
"No, I'm planning to burn your fucking house down with this kettle." A pause, and then a begrudging mumble. "Yes, I'm staying for dinner."
He could see an air to Hank now, elated and sober. It made Connor smile, knowing that his dad friend was happy. He was still underinformed as to why the two of you were so friendly (or as friendly as you could be) but threw curses at the other every alternate word--he was sure that wasn't how most humans displayed positive emotions to those they held close.
"What's on there?" Connor opted to ask, gesturing to the VHS. Hank came over to him before pressing it into his hands.
"That there is the greatest basketball game ever known to man. Detroit Gears up against the Denver Nuggets in 1983, with the most points ever being scored to date. Ended with a score of 186-184, Gears winning of course." Hank rose his eyebrows as a smirk crossed him. He rose his voice so you could hear him from the other room. "Something that would take hours to record, mind you!"
A distance 'fuck off' echoed through the first floor. The android couldn't help but chuckle at this exchange between you and Hank. Connor turned his head to the vague direction of your voice.
His guard was down when Hank struck. "So, wanna talk about that blush you had going on earlier casanova?"
Connor snapped his head back towards the man. "What do you mean?"
The Liutenant snorted. "Don't play coy with me son, you practically had heart eyes as they played with Sumo." Connor's eyes widened. "That's a dangerous game you're playing, if what I'm suggesting is true." He took a breath. "Is it?"
Connor's sensors were fraying a little at the accusation. "I'm not sure what you're insinuating, Hank." He could feel his pump rate increase again, though this time out of nerves. That was an emotion he knew.
"Nothing wrong with having a little crush, Connor." Hank shot a look behind him, making sure you were still in another room before continuing. "They're not going to make it easy for you."
"They don't even want to talk to me."
Hank snorted. "Well, then, what are you going to do about it, kid? Listen," He gestured with his thumb back towards your locale. "I've known them for eight years. They're a hard one to crack, but only if you're not persistent. You gotta make them want to talk to you."
--
If Connor didn't know any better, he'd think even Nines was apprehensive of you, and that was saying something. Hank had left for the day, but Connor had some more evidence to go through before he caught the cab back home. This current case had the duo in a stump, and Connor had caught the short end of the stick. Tensions were running thick in the office today after this morning, when Gavin sent Nines to go park in his spot, the fourth one to the left of the precinct--your spot. Of course, Reed knew what he was doing, taking any opportunity to torture the android as possible. You had seen him leave Gavin's car, and from the second you stepped into the bullpen the air shifted.
Connor recalled the buzzing feeling that erupted within him, that feeling of air being shot through his core returning, as you grabbed Nines by the tie before shoving him against Gavin's desk, death set in your eyes.
Gavin had let out a snort at the scene, which had drawn the attention to himself as the true culprit. You had released the confused android, and Connor had the unabashed fantasy of being in Nines' place. Your hands pulling him by the tie to meet your gaze, pushing him against the nearest surface and--
He rapidly blinked to shake the image from his head.
These thoughts were new to him, he knew this. He didn't need to breathe, but felt that the extra air would help his cooling sensors work faster. Connor had been experiencing these...unique emotions more and more. The barista at the coffee shop Hank stopped at who locked eyes with Connor before he threw him a wink and wrote his number on the cup, the lovely android who greeted him every morning as he walked inside with her kind eyes. But you seemed to elicit these feelings the most from him.
Ever since the day you stopped by with Hank's birthday gift, he felt his sensors go into overdrive at the mere thought of you.
You had walked right up to Gavin Reed, swiped his files off of his desk, and then decked him right in the cheek. "Jeez, Doc, who put salt in your coffee this morning?" He had rubbed the bruise forming under his eye, taking the punch. Who knew how many people he had thrown his fist at today already--it seemed as if he had a daily quota some days. That being said, no one moved to chastise you or help him other than Nines. Nines, who whilst wearily eyeing you, sidestepped your body and examined Gavin.
You spat at Reed's feet. "Told you, I don't do third chances. Mind your own fucking business, and don't get others to do your dirty work for you." You looked to Nines before glaring once more at Gavin, turning around and heading to your desk. Connor and Hank's desk were in your path, and Connor was lost in his little world of you holding his tie as he realized you caught him watching the debacle.
"You have a staring problem, you know that?" Your voice still had a little of the intimidation husk to it, and numerous warning notifications of system overheating appeared in his vision as you spoke to him.
You didn't allow time for a response, keeping your stride before taking a seat at your desk for the day.
This morning had been running on a loop in poor Connor's head.
You had gloves on as you examined a piece of what appeared to be curtain, fixed with a look of determination. He gathered up his courage before standing and heading over to you. He was built for literal interrogation, why was he so nervous around you? He cleared his throat to announce his presence before he caught your gaze.
"Come back later unless someone is actively dying, I'm busy."
He's pretty sure that's the longest sentence you've said to him yet.
"What are you examining?" You squinted your eyes at him before returning to your subject.
"Anything that could present a following lead. They said it was clean, but I don't buy it. I just can't find anything."
Connor spotted a few splotches of blue and decided to follow his intuition. No way was he passing up an opportunity to talk to you. "There's thirium on the corner edge. It spreads all down the side of the fabric."
Your hands froze before you met his eyes again, this time holding them. "I've checked this over more times than I can count."
"Thirium isn't noticeable to the naked eye after a few hours, but I can see it perfect. It looks like the victim was strangulated." You glanced at your clock before looking back to him, ultimately getting up and walking away. Had he really batched it that bad with you?
His worries were resolved as you pulled a nearby chair back with you, placing it next to your own. He looked at you with a quizzical eye, head slightly tilted. You gestured to the empty seat before changing your gloves. Connor took the hint and sat down next to you. He was treading on new ground--this is the longest you two had ever even held a conversation. His mind started to drift back to earlier, the thoughts of one hand on his chest and the other pulling his tie overriding anything previous.
A pair of fingers snapped in front of him. "Hey, Connor, are you going to help me here or just stare at my fucking desk?" He stored how you said his name to memory. Was that the first time you said his name?
For once, it seems, he said the right thing.
He locked eyes with you before hovering his hand over the thirium marks. "They run in a pattern that starts up here," he trailed his finger just above the evidence, making sure not to touch it. "And from there it staggers a bit until a blotch here." He pointed to the bottom left corner, where electric blue was splattered in what almost made a fingerprint.
"Where, here?" Your finger was slightly off from the locale Connor pointed out, so he shook his head. You moved your finger down slowly trying to find it, but to no avail. You were so close to it, but so far that Connor couldn't help himself.
With a feather touch he covered your hand and wrist with his own. Being this close, he felt the tempo of your breathing change at his grasp. He delicately moved it to hover over the spot, holding it there for a second before using your hand to trace the thirium. "It follows until about here, where it stops."
You move the hand under his grasp back to the beginning before replaying what he just did. "Does the pattern of the thirium follow the curtains seem or go against it?"
"It follows it, which means that--"
"That the unsub must have ripped it from the rod." You gestured to the frayed area of the evidence. "I had a hunch, but couldn't put my fucking finger on it." Connor analyzed your motions as you analyzed the scene in front of you, taking in how in your element you were right now.
There you were, back slightly hunched over the desk, hair awry, bags under squinting eyes.
He had no need for breath, but if he did, the sight of you here and now would have taken his breath away.
Connor noted that your hand was still covered by his, eyes glancing to the two before you took yours away. Maybe he should've felt hurt at how fast you withdrew your hand, but he couldn't over the unknown bloom that was occurring at your readiness to have it held for nearly five minutes straight.
You looked to him, forgetting how close the chairs were to each other. "You said you can always see thirium?" Connor nodded. "I hope you know what you just signed yourself up for."
--
Connor was shocked to see you get out of the police car, especially tonight. The snow had melted, weather still relatively cold but not freezing, making any new precipitation come in thick and heavy. The rain was pouring down tonight. He ran a diagnostic of the possible reasons for your attendance and had come to the conclusion that this rain was the most probable cause. The crime had occurred outside, making it integral that they have an analysist on site just in case something were to wash away.
You didn't fare well in this weather, Connor could tell. He had been able to spend more and more time with you throughout the past two months, his ability to see thirium making him your eyes for android related cases. He had tried to breach personal topics on more than one occasion, but you never took the bait.
He did have a feeling that you started to warm up to him though, because you made it a point to show up to Hank and his home about once every two weeks for a dinner or movie night. It confused Connor, the way you were able to withhold so much of yourself from anyone. A fleeting thought occurred to him that at times, you seemed more machine than he was.
He shuddered to clear his head. "Doctor, it's a pleasure to see you, unfortunate that it's under these circumstances." You shot him a look at his words, and that's when he saw your eyes. This case was called pretty late at night, but the bags under your eyes made him conclude that you hadn't been sleeping for awhile. That was another thing he picked up on--you wouldn't admit it, but you had a few pretty severe self-destruction habits. You didn't sleep much he assumed, and he knew you didn't eat much--you would frequently work through your lunch, and tended to pick at your food when you came over for dinner.
On that note, about two weeks ago he had made a folder in his system dedicated to you. It held objectives, sub objectives, alongside the limited information he was able to gather about you. You currently had three likes, and seven dislikes.
An ongoing objective of his was to get you to resume healthy living habits. Eating, sleeping, hydration. He knew this would be an excruciatingly long task, but who was he if not persistent?
"Doctor, thank you for the help, I’m aware this isn’t your usual scene." Connor offered you some space under his umbrella.
The glare adorned on your face was nothing short of irritated. "Don't thank me yet, sweetheart." You kept walking, past him and his umbrella, past Hank, moving to crouch by the first set of evidence signs.
There was that word again. Sweetheart. You had let it slip a few times over your interactions, and though Connor picked up that they weren't meant in an affectionate tone, a small part of him documented it as such.
After all, he didn't have any friends really outside of Hank, and his emotions were overwhelming at times. You calling him a name typically associated with positive intonations, even if you didn't mean it that way, made his head woozy. He had documented every time you said that to him in your file too. He would never admit it, but when he was having an extremely rough day, he would replay the moments you called him that to ease his mind.
"Who's in charge of this fucking investigation?" Your voice coursed through the thrum of the rain, Hank crouching down next to you before explaining everything he knew.
"Someone get a tarp!" Hank yelled over the rain, patting you on the shoulder once before going to check his car for one. Connor took that as a cue to deliver the information he had gathered to you. Once he arrived by your side, he bent down to prop the umbrella up as a temporary protection for the evidence. You continued to examine the shards of broken glass, turning to him when he mirrored your position on the ground.
"Any thirium nearby?" Connor shook his head.
"Not that I can tell. Is any of this salvageable for your studies?"
You sighed. "Some of it, if the soil doesn't start to flood." Your gloved hands delicately picked up a piece of the glass, examining it before placing it back down. The rain didn't let up. You glanced to the sky, eyes briefly closed as you inhaled. "I need to find CSI, inform them on the lab tests I need completed."
That's when things took a turn. You placed a hand on the ground to support you as you stood, but his previous hypothesis of your health status proved correct, as when you went to stand, your eyes fluttered closed before you reached for something nonexistent to steady you. You opened your eyes, but Connor could see that they were unfocused, and opted for what he thought would be the best option as you started to fall down.
He reached his arms out, catching and steadying you as you came down. "Woah there, are you alright?" A pleasantry, really, as Connor knew for a fact that you were not, no matter what you said.
You squeezed your eyes shut as you placed a hand on his arm. "I think I stood up too fast, I'm fine."
"You are not fine, Doctor." He had to broach this topic very carefully, as you could become quite hostile very fast if he did not phrase this right. And while he should have thought about what exactly it was he would say, it came out before he could stop it. "This isn't the first time I've seen this behavior from you. I'm worried about you."
When you had slightly collapsed, it was against his chest. Now, he steadied you with a hand on each arm as he brought you back to a normal stance, your eyes blinking rapidly.
"I'm anemic Connor, these things happen. Drop it." You were not anemic. His initial scan all those months ago showed that. He felt frustration bubble up in him at your lie.
"No, you're not."
"Excuse me?" You took a step towards him in what he assumed was intimidation, but you started to blink rapidly again, just like he did when he got a new influx of information.
"Your nervous system is firing synapses at an elevated rate. I would feel better if I accompanied you to the nearest CSI, in case you take a tumble again." He had meant it cordially, but of course you didn't take it as such.
You took a step back from him, forcing his hands to drop from your sides. "Fuck off, I said I'm fine." He could see you jaw clench before you took a deep breath, pushing past him as you went to talk to CSI.
Something settled in Connor then. It was resolute, final. He was going to help you whether you liked it or not. He cared for you a little more than he'd like to admit, and he didn't even know why. But he did know that he could be of assistance, and you needed someone to know that you weren't alone here.
A new mission appeared by your file.
And Connor always accomplished his missions.
--
Your apartment was...not what he thought it would be.
For some reason, he had it in his head that you lived in some lair like Batman, hiding in your secret crevices, only occasionally coming out of the woodwork for your job. That was not the case at all, he realized, as he stood staring at the little grey mat outside your door.
Hank had been so surprised at Connor's plan that he paused his basketball game. He had repeatedly questioned if Connor had any extra biocomponents or thirium ready in case you fucked him up for showing up unwelcomed and uninvited, but Connor persisted.
He had explained some of his findings to Hank, who in turn replied with a breathless remark along the lines of "if you don't come back tonight you're either going to be in over your head or dead," before wishing him luck.
It couldn't be that bad, could it?
He gulped, gulped, as one hand tightened around the paper bag full of groceries. He was actually doing this.
He was actually doing this.
He knew it would be pointless to knock on your door, but he did so out of politeness at first. After a few moments, even though he could hear you inside, no one came, as suspected.
Time for plan B.
He pressed your door buzzer, and held it.
For a minute straight.
He knew that this would most likely work, but with negative consequences. Honestly though? He didn't really care.
The entire day, he had tried to channel his inner you in preparation for tonight. He allowed himself to feel the annoyance and frustration that came with your words, the little time you dedicated to actually care for yourself. He was angry on your behalf, and he was going to do what was necessary to complete this mission, whether he liked it or not.
It was important to him. For some reason, you were important to him. You made him feel a type of way that no one else could elicit, and not only did he crave it, but he was fairly sure that you might feel similar if you let down your damn guard.
Maybe he was channeling a little bit of Hank right now too.
After another thirty-two seconds of pushing the buzzer, the door unlocked.
"'Can I fucking help you, Connor?" You sneered. "What the fuck are you doing here? How did you even find my fucking place?"
There you were, standing in a black sweater with navy blue sweatpants. The shadows from outside seemed to lengthen the bags that draped under your eyes, and you looked...worse for wear.
It was now or never.
"Hank gave it to me. I'm coming in."
"No, the hell you're not."
"Yes, the hell I am." He was not good at this when it came to you.
He looked at you before pushing his way into your home, using the element of surprise to his benefit.
Your mouth gaped open in shock at his confidence, and he could tell you were a little shellshocked at what he had to say. Good.
"I'm gonna ask you one more time." Your tone was dipped in venom at the intrusion. "What the fuck are you doing here."
It was almost as if his interrogation modules had kicked in with how quick he was. "I'm here to take care of you, obviously." He gestured to the bag of groceries in his right arm.
"You're not some fucking housekeeper, and I don't want you here." Your pulse increased, and he could tell you were fuming. He tried to let your words fall off his shoulders. "I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself, thank you very much."
It slipped before he could help it. Like he said, he didn't think straight around you, and frankly, your words did sting a bit. "Yeah, clearly."
You scoffed, arms crossed, glare fixed on him. You took a step towards him as you clenched your jaw, teeth grinding. "Get out of my house."
He ran a quick diagnostic on you, if only to prove his point. He shrugged.
"I mean, maybe you're right. If not sleeping in thirty two hours with only a shitty meal and a half in your system equates 'taking care of yourself,' then you're doing a great job."
Oh, he was in it now.
You took a heated breath in, clenching your jaw in unbridled fury. There it was, the calmness that over took you when you were about to lay into someone.
This time, that someone was him.
You started slowly, too slowly for Connor's like.
"You show up, unannounced and uninvited at my place at nearly one in the damn morning. Then, you start going off about how I don't take care of myself, and how I have poor living habits." You took a step with every sentence, now leaving barely any space between the two of you. He could see your tongue punching the inside of your cheek. "Then you have the gall, the nerve, to what? Offer your help?" You were standing practically against the grocery bag now, that's how close you were. "Let me make myself clear, I don't want your shitty fucking help, Connor."
As Hank would say, that was the straw that broke the camel's back. Because Connor analyzed your status then, before carefully setting down the groceries on the nearest table. He then returned to his previous stance, head tilted.
Like he said, emotions tended to overwhelm him quickly. The amalgamation of what he felt around you was built up like a dam, one that he just broke.
He matched your tone, staring you down. Hands behind his back, he was ready to pounce.
"Let me make myself clear, Doctor." He started. "You are a nuisance to work with. You are never kind, no matter who you're with. You had no friends, no one that cared about you." He saw you suck a breath in, ready to retaliate, but he didn't let you butt in. "You sleep for, on average, approximately twenty four point seven hours a work week, and you eat around one meal a day. You may not think anyone pays attention or, as you say, 'gives a shit,' but you're wrong. You are relatively dehydrated and present yourself as hostile to all those around you."
He could hear you mumble a 'fuck you' in his direction. He continued. "Yet, for some reason, you have entranced me, sweetheart." Something bloomed inside of Connor at that sentence. That felt good to say. "I spend a quarter of every day making sure you're functional for your shift, planning alternatives if not so. I have tried over and over to be your companion, and just because you scare me a bit doesn't mean I'm going to stop trying. Not when you're actively almost killing yourself." He heaved an unneeded breath.
"So yes, I came over unwarranted, but too bad. I'm staying, cooking you a meal, and making sure you sleep tonight." He clenched his own jaw, words softer this time. "You are not the only one who feels alone in this world from time to time. Let me do this, Doctor. Please."
Your eyes were wide at his outburst, stunned into silence. It took you fifteen full seconds before you responded, and though Connor was proud of his words, the familiar claw of anxiety was starting to devour him.
You opened your mouth to assumedly give him a run for his money, before slowly closing it. Instead, you opted to stare him down for a minute before looking to the ground. "I'm going to go shower." You muttered, walking off up the stairs.
Connor stood there, at your front door, looking around your living space before his success struck him. Did he just win that? A small 'objective complete' appeared in his HUD by your file, the words Convince the Doctor to let you stay turning green before fading.
You hadn't kicked him out, which meant two things. One, that you didn't mind his presence, and two, that if you were accepting help, things were bad. You were akin to Hank in that way, refusing any help until it was too late.
Connor wasn't too sure he'd get this far, and was glad for the small cooking lessons Hank had offered him before coming here--he was not programed for that skill originally, and since he didn't really taste much, he struggled with the concept of cooking. Hank had showed him how to make a relatively quick and healthy dinner option, to which the ingredients were held in the paper bag.
He blinked rapidly before grabbing the bag, a new mission appearing to find your kitchen. His LED spun a continuous yellow as he took in the details of your apartment. Books lined the walls, with a shelf underneath the television for record playing. You had a fireplace, something that he hadn't seen much of here in Detroit. There were a couple of photos, and Connor decided to take a look at them. There were only two, one of them being Hank and a begrudging you, the other of a little black cat.
He didn't see any animals upon entering? Who's cat was that?
That's when he felt the odd pressure against his legs. He looked down at the source. You did have a cat. It meowed as it weaved between Connor's shoes, and started to make an odd rumbling sound from its system. Connor didn't know much about cats, so he was a little freaked out at the sensation, but not opposed. He reached his hand down and the cat bumped their head against his hand, rubbing their face alongside his palm. The fur was soft and fluffy like Sumo's, but more textured, more delicate.
He decided he liked cats.
"Hello, little one." He murmured to the cat, who meowed back at him.
He eventually found your kitchen. It wasn't completely upkept, but Connor didn't mind. There was a cup of water laying on the counter and some dishes in the sink. He set out to wash his hands before preparing dinner for you, your cat hot on his heels at the new guest.
The late night ambience added to the personality he was drawing of your place--it just seemed right to be here when it was past dark. Warm hues flooded in around him as he turned the light switch on. Most lights were digitally commanded these days, so he was mildly surprised at your manual switch.
A little chirp emitted by his feet, the cat quickly jumping up onto the counter. Connor panicked, he figured that the little one was not supposed to do that. Awkwardly, he walked over to the cat before attempting to pick it up. His sensors registered the fur as a new texture, and with one hand holding the underbelly of the cat, he used his other one to give a little pat on the creature’s head before the cat wriggled out of his grasp. Connor made a noise of fear as the cat jumped down, afraid of the distance between the floor and his arms. He stumbled as he went to catch the furball, the cat appearing much more graceful than he. When all four paws landed on the ground, Connor and the cat stared at each other for a minute, the cat in annoyance, Connor in relief.
The sound of your shower turning off made him shake his head in an attempt to re-regulate himself. Dishes, food, you got this.
Fifteen or so minutes later, you came in to join him in the kitchen, where he was very intensely monitoring the levels of heat ascending onto your frying pan. He was nearly done, and in his opinion, it looked very acceptable. Nothing had burnt unlike when he first tried to make the meal with Hank this morning, something which he was quite proud of. He didn't notice you watching him as he carefully took the pan off the stove after turning the flame off, pouring the contents on top of the first half of the meal. He was researching the ratio of seasonings that needed to be added on top as he placed the pan in the sink.
When he turned around to locate your spice rack again, you startled him. He cocked his head to the side. "How long have you been standing there?" He could feel the thirium rushing to his cheeks.
You studied him, raking your eyes from his hair to his undershirt (he had discarded his leather jacket at the door upon settling in, and now had his sleeves partially rolled up to avoid any spillage from the food). Connor did the same to you, or tried to, as when he saw your look fresh out of the shower in a tee and sweats, he nearly short circuited.
Literally, because he had to manually turn on his cooling fans.
When he was able to move again without making a fool of himself, he offered the plate to you. He set it down for you on the table before pulling out a chair for you and one for him, both next to each other. When he had sat down and got comfortable, he noticed that there were extra bags under your eyes.
No one said a word for about ten minutes. Once you were done with your meal, you cleared your throat, and Connor could see your jaw clench. You locked eyes with him.
"Why are you doing this, Connor?"
Could you not see it? He studied the wooden table as your unwavering gaze beat into him. The gusto that he had acquired seemed to have dissipated. What came from him instead was raw and unfiltered.
"Because, believe it or not Doctor, I care about you."
He saw you take a deep breath before you collected your dishes, taking them to the sink. He could hear your heater kick on. Your voice lacked its usual bite as you spoke this time.
"Well, you shouldn't."
He knew he needed to tread lightly, but there was a question that had been gnawing at him for the past half hour. "When was the last time you had company here?"
The vulnerability in your gaze sharpened at his inquiry. That small gap between your armor had been welded shut, but that didn't stop him.
"You have a really nice place, objectively speaking for today's market."
You still offered him no response, so he tried again. "Your cat seems quite lovely.”
That made you respond. “You met Boo?” Your eyebrows scrunched in confusion. “She’s usually afraid of new people.”
“She was an excellent supervisor to my work on your dinner. We’ve become friends, I think.” As if on cue, the cat in mention waltzed into the room, letting out a quick chirp before going up to Connor and rubbing against him again. He smiled down and stuck his hand out (he had researched friendly behaviors towards cats as he prepped your meal) letting her bump into his hand before affectionately giving her some head scratches. When she purred, it reverberated through his system.
He felt honored at her respect of him, so much so that he didn’t notice the small smile that graced your features at the sight. In fact, he had literally only seen you smile once, so had he known what you were doing, at that it was directed at him, well, he would’ve frayed a wire.
“She really likes you, huh.” You tilted your head inquisitively, and when Connor looked up to meet your gaze, he could see your eyelids start to droop shut.
“We have work in the morning, you should head to bed.”
Your walls went right back up at that, face going into a scowl. “You don’t think I’d be asleep if I fucking could?”
Connor started to scan your for fatigue rates, but you interrupted him. “Quit fucking scanning me, Connor. I’m not sleeping because I don’t want to., it's because i can't.” You left to walk down the hallway, one that Connor was sure lead to your room.
His chair screeched back in protest against the linoleum as he stood up, following you in tow. You disappeared into the farthest door on the left, and without a second thought he followed you in.
Something that he definitely should have thought about first.
“Get the hell out of my room.” You grumbled as he stepped foot in. He saw you sit down on the bed, back facing his frame. The clock on the opposite wall showed it was 2:17 am.
He ignored you. "Why can't you fall asleep?" He started to scan you again before your previous words echoed through his head. He stopped midway, opting instead to take a step closer to you.
"You wouldn't understand." He could not tell if that was an uncertainty you were voicing or a diss towards him, but he paid no mind either way. He could see you winding up to fight for yourself again, but a steady overhang of exhaustion dulled your bites.
"Then help me. Understand, I mean. I want to help you."
Though you were a little more dreary with your words, you didn't stop them from coming out.
"Why do you care?"
Frankly, Connor was frustrated. Why couldn't you just accept his help? He flexed his hand, something he'd seen you do once to help expel negative feelings before adopting the technique himself.
His tone was bold but gentle in response. "I'm not going to have this argument with you again. I told you--"
But you cut him off. "No, Connor, I mean, why do you care. you're always sweet to me, polite no matter what I throw at you. You don't take my shit and try again even when I'm annoyed, which is all the time, so why do you care so much?"
Connor quieted for a second before responding. It was a bittersweet response.
"Because we're both lonely."
That stunned you into silence. A note that Connor saw and ran with. Why couldn't you understand?
"When I first arrived at the station, before I was deviant, besides Hank, you were the first person to not see me as just a machine. After my deviance, you--" Connor searched for his words. You were staring at him wearily, a yawn catching your breath. "You enticed me. I knew that I wanted you in my life, and Hank told me that you needed more people in your corner. And that's what I did."
You stared at him hard and long, opting to sit on the bed. "Nightmares." You whispered. "If I manage to sleep at all, I get replays from my past that enter my thoughts while I sleep." You took a deep breath. "Some nights it seems easier to ignore them altogether.” You took a breath. “Stay awake.”
"Then I will stay here with you. If you begin to experience one, I will wake you up." He sat down next to you, a bold move that he prided himself on.
"I--"
He turned to you, locking eyes. "Let me do this, please."
Your head moved down towards your lap before back. You took a deep breath as you stood and moved to go under your covers.
"If it counts for anything, I don't hate you." You murmured before sighing, shifting into a laying position. "Do you sleep?"
Connor shrugged. "I enter a stasis period every now and then, but no actual sleep. It's relatively the same process, but I don't reap any of the benefits humans do, as I don't need them.”
Your eyes fluttered close for a second before you grabbed the other end of your covers, pulling them back. Your voice was hesitant, light. "Well, get in here then."
He was still preening at your compliment of not hating him--he was fairly certain that if anyone else saw or heard him right now, he'd look like an idiot. An error message appeared in the corner of his HUD, but he immediately dismissed it, because he could tell you were serious.
"...are you sure?"
He could sense the moment slipping away, so he quickly caught himself. "I just wouldn't want to make you uncomfortable." You rolled your eyes, you rolled your eyes.
Your voice was scratchy and caked with sleep. Connor devoured every second of it. "Sweetheart, I wouldn't have asked if I was. Unless you'd prefer to sit on the floor all night."
So slowly and hesitantly, Connor joined you in bed. He couldn't think too deep into this right now, because if he paused for a second to consider what was actually happening, he might have short-circuited.
He had never shared a bed with someone else before, and that was made apparent by the way he sat ninety degrees in the bed as you laid back down. Your voice floated across from the other side.
"You're not doing this because someone asked you to, right?" Your voice sounded unusual, sounded vulnerable. While the words stung a bit, Connor knew for once that this was genuine.
"All of this is on my own accord." Your name slipped from his lips as his eyes landed on your frame, the top sheet covering your shoulders with the duvet and blankets sitting a little farther down on your frame. "Like I said, you're not in this alone. I..." He watched your chest rise and fall with every breath. "--I care about you, more than I'd like to admit. I even enjoy your presence, believe it or not."
You rolled over to face him at his words. Connor melted a little at the sight. "I must be dreaming already because no one has said that to me in a long time." Connor made a note to rekindle that topic later. You mumbled the next words, so quick that he almost missed it. "It means a lot that you did this, you know." Your eyes met his then, scrunching in question. "What are you doing up there? Lay down."
He did not know how humans tended to sleep at night, so he followed your suggestion. Albeit awkwardly, he slid himself into the covers, leaning right up next to you. He could hear your heart pump. "That's better."
Once again, the words slipped from Connor before he could stop himself.
"I like this side of you, you know. I've never heard you be nice before."
A sleepy smile pulled on your face. You were on the edge of succumbing to rest. "Yeah, yeah, don’t go telling people now, I have a reputation to uphold." You nuzzled your head into your pillow. "I like you, too. Probably a little too much."
Something tugged at Connor's thoughts. "You like me?"
"Oh, sweetheart," You murmured as sleep dragged you under. "Believe it or not, I adore you."
Blue coated his nose down to his neck, and instinctively yet hesitantly he wrapped an arm around you.
He didn't even think as he took a glance at you, so close.
You were still awake, and he knew this, because something came over him then, and he kissed your forehead.
He made a vow then to care for you for the rest of his days, if this was how it was received. He closed his eyes and he began the process required before going into stasis. Just as he was shutting his eyes, he felt it.
You leaned your head fully against his chassis.
As you both were gifted rest into the night, he could tell that you had fallen asleep.
He took the opportunity to whisper back.
"Adoration isn't the right word. I think--I think I'm in love with you."
The blank canvas of stasis welcomed him for the night.
A lot of fantasy goes with Tolkien explanation of fantasy racism being the result of ancestral grudge.
Then you got Dungeon Meshi which is like:
"Elves and Dwarves hate each other because their respective empires make up 2/3 of the imperial core and are stuck in a cold war as the planet runs out of uncolonized land to grab. Elves are able to live in pastoral paradise because they've horded most of the settings farm-able land and natural capital, displacing and mass murdering any natives in the process. Orcs and goblins are hostile to other races because there the primary targets of an ongoing slavery and genocide campaign. The dividing line between human and inhuman is arbitrarily assigned via a phrenological pseudo-science that quickly falls apart when questioned by anyone who wasn't indoctrinated into it since birth."
