[compliments (3/4) - doubts] RK800/Reader
A/N: Because I have no self-control, I wrote WAY too much for one tumblr post, so I had to split this chapter into two. It took a long time to post this, but I still hope ya’ll enjoy it. Will probably post the next chapter when my betas come home from labor day weekend.
Unbeta-ed (but not for long). We die like men.
Part 1 Part 2
Summary: In which you’re just as good as loving Connor back, and he doesn’t know how his feelings could run so deep.
Word Count: 5k+
Connor never considered himself in need of protection. He was strong, built to last, fast, and completely capable of fighting his own battles.
Then again, so were you, of a different caliber.
On the way home from dinner, or rather, a long walk that you happened to grab food at a hot-dog stand at, you ran into an acquaintance of yours that you had met the first year of college. “Oh, hey, nice seeing you here,” you said warmly, even though the way you leaned on Connor told him you were tired. The friend obviously agreed with your sentiment, pulling you in for a hug that you returned politely. She glanced up at Connor, eyes flickering toward his LED light ever so often, making Connor strangely conscious of its presence for the first time in a while.
“Right, uh,” you said, laughing nervously. “This is Connor. He’s,” he saw you glance at him shyly, “my boyfriend,” you said with a concealed tone of pride. He enjoyed the tight squeeze you gave his hand, causing a flutter in his chest.
“A pleasure to meet you,” he said, nodding. He tried his best not to seem too pleased at his new title. If you found out how much the word made him react, you would never stop using it around him.
“Yeah, okay, hot,” she said, looking Connor up and down appreciatively, not even bothering to hide her predatory gaze. Connor was taken aback with a feeling he knew to be discomfort lingering low. She glanced toward you who quickly gave her a quick, flash of teeth even though Connor knew that was not your real smile. “Sex bot?”
Connor vaguely realized that the girl’s remark was meant to be offensive. After all, society tended to view sexual workers (of both genders for humans and androids especially) as taboo or even scandalously terrible. (You did not feel the same. “I respect that,” you said to him one time when you had driven by the Eden Club, newly remodeled and with willing participants. “They’re trying to make a living.”) In addition to the tone of voice that reeked superiority and ridicule, it was obvious that the girl meant to degrade him by suggesting that he was an object, something less-than, a toy.
He surely had his share of insults thrown at him, but this was a new form of it.
It took you a second longer than Connor would have expected for you to process her words. Your mouth dropped as you stared for a moment, shell-shocked. When it seemed that the rather ill-mannered comment sank in, you quickly glanced towards Connor as if to gauge his reaction before turning attention to the girl. Belatedly, he realized that you were probably watching his LED and his expression to see if he was hurt or alarmed by the comment before responding appropriately. (He had a feeling that the outcome would have been explosively more violent if he had shown any sign of distress.)
“That’s my boyfriend,” you said miffed, as your acquaintance looked at you patronizingly. Still, rather than notice the girl’s gaze, Connor looked down when you tightened the grip on his hand. It was strangely comforting.
“An android?” The girl laughed, making you set your expression and narrow your eyes. “What, did you feel sorry for it and starting dating it so you wouldn’t feel bad fucking it--”
Connor barely understood the context when you reacted.
“Excuse me?”
Connor snapped his attention toward you immediately when your voice rose alarmingly quickly with indignation. In a moment, you pulled Connor behind you protectively as you stepped closer to your acquaintance, chin up in, most likely, an instinctive form of aggression. “That’s my boyfriend you’re talking about,” you spoke to her vehemently. Connor had never heard you use that tone; it was a contained anger, a dangerous one-- a tone that held a warning.
The girl didn’t seem fazed, or she hid it well since it was an 90% chance she just as surprised as Connor to see you anything but mild-tempered. “Well, yeah, sure,” she said, scoffing. She was nervous, read from her rising heart rate, but it didn’t seem like she knew she should stop. “You could call it that if you want but that’s all it’s really good for--”
The sharp laugh that Connor heard from you alarmed him, and he turned toward you as you raised your hand to cut her off.“His name is Connor,” you snapped back, making the girl flinch back in response. You didn’t seem to care. “You have no right to speak about him like that, and I’m not going to stand here,” your voice cut sharply as your anger crescendoed, “while you disrespect him like this.”
When there was no immediately response from the girl, as she was probably too shocked by your reply to even react, you fumed and hooked your arms with Connor’s before leading him away where lamps lit the sidewalks. All the while, you stewed in your anger, holding onto his arm like you were ready to fight anyone who stopped you. And all Connor could do was follow you, dazed at the flurry of emotions that he felt from watching you.
The instant you dragged him at least a block away from the restaurant, you sighed and stopped underneath a lamppost. You rubbed the back of your neck and closed your eyes, taking a deep breath in and out to calm yourself. Connor waited patiently for you to take a breather, placing a gentle hand on your back. “Sorry,” you said finally. “I can’t believe she said those things.”
“It’s no problem,” Connor said. You still looked up at him guilty, expression apologetic. “I was just… surprised.” He had hoped his response was sufficient to clear away the concern etched onto your face, but it seemed his calculations were off. He looked away, turning his head to the side so his LED was hidden, not that you weren’t quick enough to note his yellow LED.
“Are… you sure?” You asked, gently pressing. “I want to know how you feel.” You said, holding his hands with yours so he would have to look at you.
“I..” Connor watched as you intently stared at his LED, ready to analyze any change in color that would indicate his mood. When it swirled yellow, Connor spoke again, voice quiet. “I was-- I believe I felt… ‘hurt,’” he said, feeling the strange description roll off his tongue. “I wasn’t physically hurt, but it felt… bad,” he described to the best of his abilities, “when she said it.”
“I knew she was incorrect, but the implications that I was merely a companion for your sexual desires was very…” Connor let his words trail off as he tried to find the emotion. Agitating? Angering? No, it was more muted, less aggressive. “...Very upsetting,” he settled, nodding to himself.
For a moment Connor felt guilt for admitting so, especially when he saw a flare of anger spiked your heart rate momentarily. Quickly, it subsided as if it had never happened, and your response was immediate.
“I’m not about to let anyone say anything like that to you,” you spoke firmly. “You’re so much more than that, and the only reason why she would ever say that is because she refuses to see what’s right in front of her.”
Connor swallowed, finding that it was much harder to do so. It was as if he had a lump in his throat from-- the emotion he was feeling, he supposed. He wasn't used to reacting to things in general; people would tell him he had thick skin, but that was all a result of his justifications and calculations.
And it took him a while, assimilating to human emotion. For better or for worse, he began reacting to more things with his heart rather than his head. Jagged insults and barbed words should never have hurt him, but the more he learned about his humanity, and with it, his mistakes, the more it did.
Connor knew he would never truly be a human. The thought had been persistent ever since you had celebrated your half-year anniversary of your relationship with him. You were full of life, full of emotion and experiences he may not be able to understand because he was still an android at his core. The LED on his made sure he remembered where he came from, and he was equally thankful as he was bitter that it was there.
(Very rarely, he would reconstruct what would have happened if he had been a human from the start. What would change? What wouldn't? And would you still find him that day in the park if he wasn't an android?)
Doubt was an ugly but necessary human emotion he had had the pleasure of meeting with ever so often ever since his deviation. He had experienced it before during those November investigations, but he had a name to it now, not that it made it any better. And lately he had doubts if he was the right choice for you, if there was someone you would rather have instead of an android. Or worse, Connor hoped his LED had not flashed red, if he was just someone you found convenient for use. And even worse, if you truly did care for him, if-- Connor found it difficult to fathom-- you would accept him after all the mistakes he had made in the past.
You didn’t let him doubt for long. Connor looked down at your hands that held his securely and back up to you, only for a second. You looked at him with such raw adoration it made it hard for him to formulate words. “What is she supposed to see exactly?” He asked quietly.
At the innocent question, a smile lifted your lips as if they never encountered the negativity. (It’s at time like these that Connor admires you for always finding ways to clear the clouds, whether it was for yourself or for him.) There was that slight twinkle of mischief in your eyes as you hugged him closely, glancing up at him with your head on his chest. “That I’m obviously in love with you,” you said, your voice dipped in warmth and genuity despite the levity.
You snuggled into his chest, not waiting for his response, or rather, not expecting one from him at all. Perhaps it was why you decided to declare this to him so lightly, just in case it wasn’t the right time or if he couldn’t respond back yet, so it wouldn’t pressure him to say anything but still let you tell him your feelings. It was a good call, considering he could barely process anything besides the fact that he managed to raise his arms to wrap it around you.
If only his thirium pump would stop working overtime for a moment, perhaps he could have replied back, though with a strained voice, that you should know that he was falling in love with you too.
The thoughts of doubt subsided until all that was left was a fuzzy haze of warmth as he focused on the arms around his torso and the head of hair he desperately wanted to lean down and kiss. Still, the nagging feeling of guilt reminded him he still had something left unspoken.
It was at the cusp of spring when Connor was affronted with the startling realization that he was in love with you. No, that wasn’t right. As he tucked away his cell in the back of his pockets after viewing your good morning message (belated one at 11AM, indicating you had just woken up, but to be fair you had stayed up late talking to him), he had to admit to himself that he knew he was in love with you for a long time; he just had to accept it in full.
He just didn’t think it was so hard to do so.
Loving someone made him feel vulnerable. It was a risky move that had a high chance of resulting in something excruciatingly painful if something went awry. Connor didn’t know exactly how it would feel, but he could at least reconstruct a glimpse of the pain heartbreak would give him.
On one late night stake out with Hank, it was a desperate motion that Connor had strained to ask the lieutenant how anyone could let themselves love someone so deeply.
“You gotta have trust, Connor,” Hank said, sighing deeply after a long pause. He leaned back into the car seat, staring outside the window to look for their perp in lieu of looking at Connor in the eyes. “Sometimes you just gotta trust the other person to not hurt you, treat you with care. And sometimes,” Hank sounded tired for reasons Connor knew was not from the long hours, “you love them anyways because it’s worth more to risk it and love them than to not love ‘em at all.”
Hank grunted, shifting in his seat. “I’m not making too much sense, am I?” He grumbled in embarrassment, "I don’t even know why a old fart like me is giving you any advice anyways.”
Watching his LED light swirl yellow in the side mirror, Connor shook his head. “No,” he said gently, “I understand you perfectly well, Lieutenant.”
“Anyways, knowing that you had to go to me for this, it must be serious,” Hank continued, crossing his arms, finally taking his eyes off the unmoving street. “What are you thinking, Connor?”
“I’m thinking…” Connor kept his gaze on his LED light as it continued to spin. “I’m thinking she deserves to know me, all of me.” He peeled his eyes away when flecks of red stained the yellow light. “Even what I’ve done in the past. I’d rather she find out from me than anyone else.”
“She deserves that much,” he said quietly, his voice sounding too loud in his ears in the silent car.
Connor was startled by a firm clasp on his shoulder, and he turned to look at Hank in surprise at the proud expression on his face. “Looks like your mind’s settled,” he said, quipping a smile at Connor’s small nod. Connor followed Hank’s gaze as it trailed outside to the apartment they were scoping out where they both saw a hooded man lock his front door and leave. “And it looks like our stakeout is done,” Hank said, opening the door to the car to chase the man down before he noticed them.
“Thank you for the advice, Hank,” Connor said, looking at Hank before he could climb out of the car.
If Connor had not known any better, he would not have seen the flicker of pleased embarrassment flash over Hank’s expression even as hid it away with a grimace. “You androids and your personal questions,” he groused, unable to hide the smirk even as he shut the door and began to trail the man.
Connor smiled despite knowing that the other man could not see him, eyes crinkling with gratefulness and mirth. “It might just be me, Lieutenant,” he said, pulling his gun from its holster and following his partner to finish the case before the sun could rise.
He had you to visit afterwards, after all.
Having statistics dictate his actions all his life, it was indescribably terrifying for Connor when he could not calculate how well you would take it when he told you about his past. He had never been so stressed to see question marks replace the probabilities of success that would appear when he viewed his possible choices. Granted, the more he got to know you, the better he was at calculating reconstructions.
You loved small, romantic gestures-- like things out of a romantic comedy that you liked watching with Connor on the slow days, even if you never told him. He would always notice your rise in temperature whenever the main character did something similar, so he could speculate that the chance you would like receiving flowers was high, at least an 85%. At the very least, he could do that for you. You tended to take the reigns a lot faster than he could. If Connor calculated a 70% chance of you wanting to hold hands, within the time it took for him to decide to do it or not, you had already sidled up to him and curled your fingers around his in an invitation to do so.
In this case though, no matter how well he knew you, his calculations could never be accurate enough when his feelings were involved. And with you, his feelings were always involved. It was difficult to determine if the probability of success was so high because he truly calculated it or because he simply wanted-- hoped it to be successful.
Connor called out your name from the dining table as you washed the dishes. When you hummed in response and turned your head to look at him, the words that he had prepared in advance were lost to him.
Now that he was here with you, who was ready to listen, ready to hear about things he still had a hard time trying to forgive himself, it all felt too much. He hadn't given himself too much time to mull over the details, if he was being honest. With Markus’ revolutionary changes and the governmental additions that was slow in coming but steadily so, Connor barely had time to breathe with adjusting to his new life as a newly instated person while trying to help others adjust to the changes as well. Bringing this up with you was like finally looking at the wound that he had left alone, festering, badly covered up with a band aid.
Of all the ways he could relate to Hank, Connor wished it wasn't about an unresolved past.
“Connor?” You asked, your voice jerking him out of his running thoughts. You wiped your hands on a towel before looking at Connor with concern. “You okay? Do you need to talk about something?”
Connor nodded sharply, not trusting his voice module at the moment to continue steadily, and he watched with bated breath as you took a seat next to him and automatically reached for his hand that was fisted on his legs. “I just--” He mind felt muddled with too many details and too many decisions laid out. He gripped your hand tightly. “I’m-- I’m not sure where to start,” he admitted.
Your voice came to him soothingly, like a chorus of wind chimes on a cool, spring morning. “Okay,” you said, brushing your thumb on the back of his hand. “Take your time, Con. There’s no rush.” Even with your best efforts, he still noticed your discrete glances at his LED, which was probably flecked with bits of red.
“Okay,” he repeated, voice pinched as he heaved a deep breath in, trying to cool himself down. Connor frantically flicked away notifications about his rising temperature and shut down the thoughts and numbers than ran through his head.
Percentage of diverting the conversation… 40%
Percentage of conversation happening in the future at an inopportune time as a result… 70% and rising.
No. Connor immediately glanced away from your apartment door to delete that option. He wasn’t going to give himself a chance to run away. Not anymore. He glanced up at you who continued to look at him with patience, though with growing concern.
Percentage of worrying you if he stops the conversation here… 100%
If Connor had the right of mind to roll his eyes at himself, he would. That statistic was useless as it stood because it was a given. Of course you’d be concerned for him if he stopped talking. He was a mess, trying to clean up after himself while trying to just a leap at the conversation that had been gnawing on his mind for the longest time---
Percentage of successful communication… ???
He just-- he just had to--
Percentage of continued relationship after communication… ???
Connor swallowed hard, vision growing blurry on the sides as the probability stats popped up in his center view, large and white and unbearably successful in making him afraid. His fingers felt numb.
Percentage of acceptance… ???
Percentage of success… ???
Percentage of success…
Percentage of su
Percenta
Perce
“--nnor? Connor. Connor, can you hear me?” He felt your hands, cup his face as your visage came into view, letting his mind turn his attention to you instead. “Hey,” you said softly, pressing your forehead against his as you closed your eyes, letting him follow after you. “It’s okay. Everything is okay. You’re going to be okay,” you said.
Connor let out a breath, releasing the heat he was holding in his body. He listened to your voice, followed it and let it lead him back. “I never wanted for you to know, but you deserve to,” he said, his eyes clenched closed, letting the dark hide the numbers and focusing on his breathing and your voice. “What I was like before,” he continued, “what I did before I become deviant.”
You stayed quiet for a moment. “Okay,” you said. “You can tell me. I’m here.”
It was now or never.
“I hunted down deviants.” Connor grasped at the hands that held his head steady. “I was made by Cyberlife with one task: to hunt down deviants and made sure they were properly dealt with.” Ah, he hadn't expected his tone to be so… bitter. “I captured my own people, terrorized them into telling me the truth that would get them killed… and I hurt so many people.” He hung his head low, but he continued when he felt your hands follow him with every movement-- constant, consistent, calming. “I hurt Hank,” he told you weakly. “I involved so many people in my desperation to complete my mission that when I did become deviant, I didn’t even hesitate when I had to kill people to complete the revolution.”
How would he look at you now? He was touching you with blood of both red and blue on his hands, tainted with the sins he had accumulated from his ignorance and denials of deviancy while he was still trying to pretend like he was nothing more than a machine. Connor was afraid then, he could see it; and he was afraid now. He wanted no excuses for himself yet he still wished you would allow him to plead that he did not know any better, that he had to.
“Oh, Connor…” Connor raised his head, only noticing the tears that had fallen when your thumb brushed over his cheeks to wipe them away. Connor didn’t know what he expected. He had stopped trying to reconstruct your reactions for a while. He didn’t expect to see a tender expression, eyes filled with sympathy and love (still) as you stroked his cheeks.
“You must have been so… scared,” you said, pained. “You had so much riding on you to complete your mission, and every deviant you had to encounter must have reminded you how much you had to lose if you failed--- if you just be who you were.” His eyes widened when he saw tears well up in your eyes. “I can’t imagine how it must feel.”
“You're safe now,” you said, even as he stared at you dazedly. (The words ‘I love you’ chanted in his core like a rhythmic heartbeat.) You took one of his hands, his right hand, the dominant one, the one that shot those deviants, and gave it a gentle kiss. “No one is going to hurt you anymore. You're okay.”
“You're not--” His lips quivered. “Are you--”
You hugged him close, touch gentle and voice soft. “Who you were before-- what you did in the past,” he heard your voice falter, “if you feel so much remorse over it, then I already know you're not the same person.” You tightened your grip on him. “I don't want to judge you based on your mistakes then; I want to love the person I know now.”
Connor slowly felt his tense shoulders relax in your embrace, and he wrapped his arms around you. He focused on the way your hands held onto him like a lifeline or the smell of your shampoo-- creamy yet floral-- as he buried his nose into your shoulder and simply breathed you in.
When Connor woke himself up from stasis the next morning on the couch with you on his shoulders and your roommates clamoring to pretend as if they hadn’t taken pictures of you drooling on him, he didn't mind. He was content on letting you sleep, brushing your hair away from your face ever so often. He saw the familiar notification-- enormous, white, important-- pop up, but he closed his eyes. He didn't need to see the statistics when he already knew it was unquestionable that he loved you.
The two of you were undeniably domestic then after, sickening so, it was reported. It was a second honeymoon phase they said, as if that phase had ever ended for them in the first place. Connor felt like he loved you the more time passed.
You would come over to Connor’s place often. It wasn’t that your roommates weren’t welcoming, but it was difficult finding a private place when you had three friends who were side-eyeing you to see if you were going to start making out with the android or not. Granted, they were Connor’s biggest fans, in a way, since they were one of many that encouraged the development of your relationship with Connor. It was almost like they wanted to make sure the two of you were happy and that you stayed that way.
“They said we’re their ‘OTP,’” you had said, chuckling as you locked the apartment door behind you. “‘One true pairing,’” you explained. “Sort of like... “ You hummed in thought as you hooked your arm with his, walking down the hall. “Sort of like the couple they’re rooting for.”
“I see…” Connor nodded, and you giggled, having looked at the yellow of his LED as he processed the information.
You would have never felt comfortable coming over to Connor’s so often if you were not so welcomed by Hank and Sumo, who would never fail to run up to you as you gave him the best belly rubs you could manage.
“Who's a good boy?” You would coo unfailingly the moment you stepped in the door and spotted Sumo. Sumo would unfailingly pant, wag his tail and roll into his back, and your indulgent affection were what made him so spoiled every time you came over. “Aww, you're such a good boy!”
Connor chuckled, placing both of your jackets on the coat hanger one by one. He turned around, momentarily surprised to see you close, beaming up at him with hopeful eyes. He indulged you and leaned down to give you a peck on the lips.
“Good boy,” you said, patting him on the stomach. At your feet, Sumo barked indignantly, feeling cheated out of a rigorous scratching, and it only made you burst into laughter.
Connor was quick to wrap his arms around you before you could escape from him, and your laughter only grew. “I better hope so,” he said teasingly, playfully blowing a raspberry on back of your neck. “I have a reputation to uphold as a police officer.”
Amidst the snickering, someone cleared his throat, and like a person caught red handed, you literally leaped out of Connor's grasps and turned around with a sheepish smile. “Hi, Hank,” you said apologetically.
“Good evening, Hank,” Connor greeted, more at ease, and more amused than he would admit to see Hank with a mixture of exasperation and hidden humor.
“Can't I have one day I don't see you two foolin’ around?” Connor could only let out a small laugh as Hank grumbled, and continued to do so when you sheepishly apologized again.
“How about I cook tonight,” Connor said, rolling up his sleeves. “You two can relax for a little while.”
When there were two easy chimes of agreement, Connor paused as he stood by the fridge, taking a moment to look back at the two of you as Hank clasped his hand on his shoulder and led you to the couch.
For the first time in a while, Connor was glad he was an android with enhanced hearing. Unable to contain his curiosity, he listened in as his hands worked, dicing the onions and garlic.
“--I've been pretty good: college has been treating me alright. How about you, Hank?”
“S'fine on my end too. Definitely been picking it up since last year since I have someone here who won't stop bugging me about health.”
Quickly, Connor turned his full attention to the scallions he was cutting, oddly feeling that he was being referred to directly. He did hear you laugh, which was accompanied by a low chuckle from Hank, and couldn't help but smile despite it all. He wouldn't put it past Hank to know that he was listening in though, so it may be best to give the two privacy. But as he started the stove a minutes later, he couldn't help picking up a few more words.
“...I think you know the drill here.”
“I think so too.”
Connor paused with the spatula in his hand.
“I probably don’t have to say this but… if you hurt Connor…”
Connor felt his blood pump through his head, a happy feeling bubbling in his chest. He had watched enough movies to know what Hank intended to do. After seeing that scene over and over again, repeated throughout movies, Connor never anticipated that he would be the one in that situation. He certainly didn’t need protecting, didn’t need anyone vouching for him in case he ever got hurt, but you did anyways. Hank did anyways. The thought of that made him warm, like the time the three of them, Hank, Connor and Sumo had an outing at a dog park, or like the quiet evenings after dinner when he had Sumo on his feet and Hank by his side on the couch watching old movies. Or like the sleepy mornings that had you waking up in his arms, eyes a flutter and arms snuggled around him.
(Connor felt an unfamiliar lump at the back of his throat as he sauteed the vegetables, unsure why his body was reacting in a way that told him he wanted to cry.)
Your response was immediate.
“I would never hurt him.”
Connor felt his heart wrench at the firmness in your tone--- the surety, the resolve in your words. And he had to focus on the cooking at hand before it began to burn as he blinked away the wetness that had begun to blur his vision.
However that conversation had ended, Connor paid no attention to. By the time he was done setting up the table and went to call up the other two, you and Hank were already talking about sports.
If Connor was a little sappy later on, serving the food with a smile he couldn't keep down or giving you butterfly kisses every time you stood alone, the two of them made no comment. Still, before he drove you home, he gave Hank a quiet thank you. Hank simply stared at him for a moment before putting a comforting hand on his shoulder and chuckling. “Don’t mention it, kid,” he replied. “And tell your girlfriend she’s always welcome to stop by. Sumo needs someone to play with him sometimes.”
On the way back home, you held his hand the entire time, a thoughtful look in your eyes. When Connor tilted his head, you had only laughed and shook your head.
“I was just thinking,” you said, staring down at your entwined hands, “your family's pretty great.”
“Yeah,” Connor replied, feeling breathless as a swell of affection and pride lifted his spirits up. Keeping his eyes on the road, he lifted your hand to kiss it. He glanced at you and smiled. “I think so too.”
