*Trigger Warnings* mild violence (Hank’s yelling, not actual harm), workplace tension, android discrimination, light flirting
You didn’t ask for an android partner — but you didn’t mind one either.
Working under Lieutenant Hank Anderson meant you were already used to unpredictable moods, overflowing files, and a partner who claimed to hate androids almost as much as early mornings. So when Captain Fowler informed you that *you* would also be assisting the new RK800 prototype, you didn’t argue.
Hank did enough arguing for the both of you.
“I don’t need a damn machine watching over me,” Hank muttered as Connor followed the two of you across the bullpen, walking with that immaculate posture that somehow made people even angrier.
“Hey, c’mon, Hank. He’s not doing anything wrong.”
Connor’s LED flickered in mild confusion.
Hank scowled at you like you’d chosen violence.
You were halfway through processing a crime scene when Connor crouched beside you, his eyes glowing faintly as he scanned evidence. Hank hovered in the doorway, arms crossed, broadcasting disapproval like a nuclear signal.
Connor leaned slightly closer, tone gentle.
“Detective, I believe I’ve identified—”
“Connor,” Hank barked, “if you say the word ‘analysis’ one more time—”
“Hank!” you cut in, exasperated. “He’s trying to help.”
Connor’s eyebrows lifted a fraction.
You could swear you heard a soft chime — relief?
“Thank you,” he said quietly.
You didn’t know androids could sound almost… shy.
It quickly became a daily routine.
Connor offers help.
Hank threatens to break something.
You swoop in like Connor’s unofficial bodyguard.
When Connor tried handing Hank his coffee?
“I don’t need caffeine delivered by a glorified Roomba.”
You snatched the cup before Connor’s LED could flash to yellow.
“Hank! Drink your coffee and be nice.”
Connor looked at you with something suspiciously close to *gratitude-coded admiration*.
When Connor reported an observation mid-case?
“I swear to God, plastic boy—”
“Hank!” you snapped again.
“Stop verbally assaulting Connor.”
“I’m not assaulting him,” Hank said.
“I’m verbally educating him.”
“You’re traumatizing him!”
Connor blinked slowly.
“I am… not traumatized.”
“Don’t lie for him, Connor.”
Connor had no idea whose side he was supposed to be on.
Androids weren’t meant to stare — but Connor did.
Not in a creepy way.
In a processing something unfamiliar, intriguing, possibly mission-critical way.
Whenever you defended him, he straightened.
Whenever you smiled at him, his thirium pump kicked up a fraction.
Whenever you touched his arm while pulling Hank away from throwing hands… well, he almost blue-screened.
One afternoon, Hank stormed off after yelling something about androids ruining society.
Connor looked at you, LED spinning.
“Detective… Why do you defend me?”
You shrugged.
“Because you’re trying. And because you don’t deserve to be yelled at every thirty seconds.”
He tilted his head.
“I find your empathy… statistically rare.”
A beat.
Then:
“I like it.”
Your heart skipped.
He noticed.
His LED flickered for half a second before returning to blue.
You pretended not to see.
He pretended not to malfunction.
The next time Hank tried to “educate” Connor, you stepped between them again.
“Lieutenant Anderson,” Connor said from behind you, “I believe Detective Y/L/N is preventing further physical altercations.”
“Damn right I am,” you muttered.
Hank threw his hands up.
“You know what? Fine. You two can babysit each other. I’m going to get lunch.”
He stomped off, leaving you and Connor standing close — too close — in the empty hallway.
Connor looked at you with something warmer than anything you’d ever expect from an android.
“Thank you… for protecting me.”
You smiled.
“Anytime.”
His LED glowed a soft, steady blue.
But his eyes — they were doing something entirely human.
