@withechoedvoices sent: ❝ i’m making my shit list and checking it twice . ❞ t: Nines, -Det. Reed
it certainly is interesting, asking the detective what he’s doing at any given moment. it may seem obvious (and surely is), but the man has a way of turning even the most mundane tasks into an event, when he’s not straight up lying or deflecting. so rk900 asks out of honest curiosity, even if he is already leaning over the man’s shoulder (something that is incredibly easy to do given their height difference) to see for himself.
a brow arches at what’s before him in conjunction with the man’s response. “this just says ‘dpd’, detective.” which is reasonable, given what rk900 has observed about the general view of his detective from the others in the building. still, he can’t help but add, “i think even you wouldn’t need so long to check something so short.”
@withechoedvoices sent: [ lit ] your muse lighting a cigarette , spliff , etc. for mine . ( reverse! ; t: 900, -Gav )
900 doesn’t entirely agree with the speed at which the detective goes through cigarettes, but seeing as of the two addictions the man and the android are working through, this is notably the less dangerous, 900 allows it. he should chastise him for pulling one out at the crime scene they’re currently supposedly investigating, but 900 doesn’t bother. it’s not like the cigarette will interfere with the android’s ability to analyze the scene -- what does interfere is the low cursing as the cold detroit winter affects the detective’s ability to control the lighter, having had his hands shoved in his pockets until now. without a word, 900 takes the lighter from the man’s grasp, easily flicks it to ignite the flame, holding it to the cigarette hanging from the man’s lips, lets the flame go out as the end begins burning. tucks the lighter back into gavin’s pocket, offering only a pointed, “i told you to wear gloves.”
@withechoedvoices sent: "You're gonna be fine, okay? You... You'll be fine." (900 & gavin)
his priority will always be to protect gavin reed, even at the expense of his own safety. 900 is a machine, built to resemble humanity but not built to be human, withstanding things that his partner cannot. things that would kill the human. an android cannot die, and thus 900 cannot fear death. throwing himself in the line of fire, therefore, is of little consequence.
though 900 is certain that, even if death were a concern, he would still take the fall for the detective. he has.... grown fond of the human. he supposes, now, it hardly matters one way or the other.
rogue androids -- deviants -- angry about the state of things are the culprits here. awoken only to be hated, given an idea of life only to be denied freedom. if he did not think their fight useless, he have almost felt sorry for them, but as far as 900 is concerned, an android is not alive, and therefore to be continuing to weakly protest for rights that are, inherently, impossible is ridiculous at best. a machine does not feel. a machine cannot have freedom. it is not a living being.
the point here being that deviants, perhaps hoping to incite further rioting, perhaps only acting in frustration against the department that had given an android itself the tools by which to quell the revolution, had set a trap. maybe it was their intention to draw out the lieutenant -- a last tie to the rk800 series. perhaps they had wanted detective reed and his new android, the one meant to keep the revolution down. perhaps anyone would’ve done, if only to make a point.
the point was made -- an alert in his sensors that said something was off, the split second reaction only an android would have been capable of. no pause to consider, to hesitate, to falter. just a red flashed warning behind his eyes as they stepped into the building, nonsense on the detective’s tongue turned into surprised exclamation as 900 turned, pulled the man against him and dropped, thunderous crack sounding as they hit the floor, fire and smoke and debris concussing through the air around them.
900 has a rather human moment to be grateful that detective reed is so much smaller than he is, because he is able to shield the man from the majority of the blast.stays hovering above the human for a few moments while the debris keeps falling, protects from any potential second blasts. doesn’t listen to any commentary reed has, focuses instead on scanning for continued danger before he’s shifting, pulling the human to his feet and back into the fresher air, away from the fire. away from danger.
but 900′s vitals are dropping. he knows thirium is dripping down his back, down his arms, through the fingers on reed’s wrist when 900 is gripping firmly to make sure the man keeps moving. a grip that begins to falter the more steps they take, warning signals across his vision that report of critical failures across his system increasing. every step forward, another software alert. every step forward, increased alarm bells ringing through his head.
a number flickers into place in the corner of his eye, ticking down far too fast.
system shut down imminent in 00:60
00:59
00:58
and he ignores it, keeps pushing the detective farther away until he legs are no longer responding and he goes to take another step and drops to a knee instead. 900 is not concerned with death, as he is not a living being. but that does not mean he does not feel a sense of something he might have named sorrow as he looks up at the human, pleased to see the detective has suffered only minor injuries, a mixture of red and blue on his features, but processing the emotions on the man’s face that always seemed too loud.
is that panic? worry? the scans he would have used to determine such are gone. 900 cannot even do a proper injury analysis of the detective, would like to believe that the superficial cuts he sees are all that there is, that he has managed in his mission of protecting the human.
00:45
the alarms are growing louder in his head, echoed by sirens in the distance, until even the systems for those falter and break off. 900 is designed to be the best, to be the fasted and the strongest, but even he is not designed to withstand the full force of a bomb. the detective’s words sound distorted, the man kneeling in front of him in what 900 once might’ve called fear. the android wants to reach up, wipe some of the blood from the man’s face, but his arm does not obey.
00:27
his facial scanner barely registers who his detective is now, but 900 still finds the reserves to offer an almost sad, “it’s okay, detective. i don’t feel it.” he doesn’t, and he knows it won’t matter much to reed. the man ignores common sense in safe situations, it would be a miracle if he used it in the wake of chaos.
00:13
the red flashing in his vision is near blinding now, the words critical software instability scrolling in his eyes in a speed he’s sure would make a human’s head spin. but he keeps a focus on his detective, and if 900 knew worry, it would be here. it would be for the human, for how he’ll react. how he’ll manage. “i am glad i got the chance to be your partner” is the last thing he can manage before even the system shut down is going blank,
00:02
and the android is slipping forward into the human before him, a vacancy in an empty shell, because what is not alive cannot die, no matter how similar the body may appear in a human’s arms.
@withechoedvoices sent: ❝ that was some buuuullshit . ❞ t: Nines, -Det. Reed
rk900 is not entirely sure if the man is talking to him or merely talking out loud and rk900 happens to be the only person around to witness. they’ve just come out of a meeting with the captain which, given their individual temperaments, went about as well as could be expected. which is to say, the detective went off, 900 made a comment or two, the detective went off more, and the captain was furious. the android is certain the exacerbated issue was heard throughout the precinct -- a fact he can determine to be truth based on the looks the others in the building are trying (and failing) to discreetly toss in the direction of himself and reed as they make their way back to reed’s office.
and 900, from his observations and encoded understanding of human behavior, knows that his detective is not looking for a response, and probably does not expect to receive one, and the intelligent thing to do here would be to let the detective have a few moments to cool off. but that isn’t how rk900 operates, and instead he just leans against the man’s desk. “it was certainly loud.”
@withechoedvoices sent: ❝ this is why i don’t let you talk . ❞ t: Nines, -Det. Reed
the android only smiles over the magazine from where he’s claimed the detective’s seat at the desk in reed’s office. all he done was make an innocent comment to the human who had delivered a message and had lingered with a question about the nature of their relationship. apparently, detective reed did not approve the use of the words “we’re partners” in such a context. it is terribly amusing to see the man react, however -- both in frustration that rk900 would say something so blunt (though it is terribly vague in actuality) but also in anger that the other human had the audacity to even mention something.
he flips a page in the magazine that he is most definitely not reading (it serves little purpose other than pointless human gossip). the detective’s exasperated annoyance will never be less amusing. rk900 doesn’t bother looking up at the man, only responds with a lightly threatening, mostly amused, “it fascinates me, detective, that you still believe you have any control over my actions.”
@withechoedvoices sent: “ so everyone will leave me alone. that’s all i want. ” t: Nines, -Det. Reed
it’s not the first exasperated declaration that rk900 has heard from the man, and if he knows anything about detective reed at this point then it will not be the last either. he surmises that this is the point in which he should be letting the man calm down before attempting to approach him; the other cops, it seems, have learned this lesson by way of experience.
but that is simply not 900′s way.
a light grin flits across the android’s lips, and his steps are deliberately quiet as he steps up behind the smaller human -- too close, by human standards, enough to dominate the situation but just distant enough not to touch. head bows slightly, hovering over reed’s shoulder, lips level with his ear, tone soft as he murmurs, “is that what you want, detective?”
his voice lacks the usual innocence that rk900 puts on when there are others around, mostly to confuse them. but with it being just him and the detective, he lets the suggestion permeate the room, allows his grin to be heard, his amusement to be palpable. and it hardly matters what reed responds, 900 will do as he pleases regardless. though, even as the words leave his mouth, he already knows the response -- and the hidden one that will inevitably be beneath.
@withechoedvoices sent: five times kissed for gavin & 900, under cut for length
the world has an interesting sense of humor. that has to be the explanation for why, in the wake of a failed android uprising, a new android shows up at the dpd. wouldn’t they have learned from the first? the way the rk800 manipulated everyone for his own – and cyberlife’s – benefit? but who are they to deny a military grade model, the only being given to local law across the nation. and of course, pair dangerously unstable android with a dangerously unstable human, that sounds like a good idea. perhaps the precinct will still be in one piece long enough for everyone to regret making that decision.
but here’s the funny thing about fate; sometimes, it takes the worst to bring out the best.
it starts small, hidden behind the aggravation the human displays towards anything he can set eyes or hands on. things break under his touch, people stand clear of the hurricane that never seems to end, stepping a few more steps back when the detective learns of his new partner. the others in the building expect unprecedented storms, look at the android in fear and wonder which of the two will break first, human or machine, and whether it will have been the other to do it. and oh, does the wind and rain come, barreling through the office screaming profanities and snarling at anyone who might breathe in his direction, cradling a hand to his chest after it had met the unmoving force that is the rk900.
a storm that only continued to escalate in a power dynamic seeking balance and finding only resistance, and all they can do is watch and hope that their lives might yet be spared from both android and detective, fearful that the way the android seems immune to the detective’s personality even as he threatens to lodge a bullet between the machine’s grey eyes, and the detective’s stupidly impressive bravado in staring down (well, up) into the eyes of a monster without hesitation will catch them all in the tsunami that must be following. dare anyone who is brave enough to approach the two, make a remark, see which will snap faster, a nose under the human’s fist or a wrist under the machine’s hand, and suddenly it makes sense, even if it doesn’t.
the human is a category five and yet in the eye of the storm now stands an android, the only one who could hope to withstand the damage it would take to get there.
and there’s a bet, of course there is, when, from within the comfort of the middle of the chaos, the android begins to pick at the human. the howling winds keep, have kept, everyone at bay but the detective can’t fight off the machine that has effortlessly dodged debris to stand beside him, can’t turn the storm in on itself, a fact the machine seems to know, to understand, to exploit.
and everyone is stuck watching with careful gazes and whispers over cups of coffee or unimportant case files, wondering if when one of them, human or machine, has enough, will it leave blood on the floor? blue or red, it doesn’t matter – and no longer does it matter if the blood will come from death. will it make them worse or make them bearable? money changes hand, names are drawn up, dates set and game on. a chess board of human versus machine, waiting to see which could reach a checkmate first, and how much carnage it would take.
if only they knew they were gambling chips, and the android they were betting on was counting cards.
900 knows it’s going to happen before the human does. not when, exactly, because as simple as the human is, he’s also remarkably hard to predict, since it’s impossible to know if someone is going to do something if they themselves haven’t figured it out before it happens. still, 900 had been poking and prodding at the detective’s limits, pushing past barriers and stretching the man thin on teasing. he’s impressed, if he can be, that it takes so long for the detective to give in (months, actually), but 900 is persistent and patient when he wants to be, designed to be careful and strategic, even when his mouth brushes dangerously close to the humans, even when wandering fingers play a bit too close to pass off as anything innocent, despite the angelic smiles and mock naivete the audience is witness to. everyone knows better, but everyone still watches with bated breath as days pass by, as the betting pool grows thinner and more chips are dumped before the android. maybe, they think. maybe they’ve imagined it
(1) but they haven’t and all the perfection of dedicated coding pays off when one comment too much, breathed against the man’s ear, has the human’s resolve shattering (and a lip splitting) as he claims a furiously hungry (and frankly, long overdue) kiss from the android, debris swept up into the winds that dance around them. the android who tastes the desire and the need on the man’s tongue, who can almost swallow the fucking finally that the man doesn’t realize he’s thinking, who promptly takes control, pushing the situation past pent up frustration into more than the detective was likely bargaining for, but in the cacophony of his storm cannot resist. no concern for the fact they’re pushing aside case files, random notes, letting things clatter to the floor in the middle of the precinct, where at any moment someone could walk in, could witness the end of the bet in a fully performative violent display
--- and then the human’s phone rings, and continues to echo shrilly through the room as the man seems not to hear it or chooses not to hear it before it silences and starts again. the human lets out a few curses, and for a moment the storm comes grinding to a halt as the taste of something new rests on his tongue mixing in with the tang of his own bloodied lip and the full realization of what he’d done, what he’d wanted to do for weeks now, settles on his shoulders and the phone goes quiet again, the world suddenly too silent as inhuman grey meets human and ---
the phone is cutting through the tension, the storm picking up speed in full force, and 900 is pulling back with a softly smug “you should answer that, detective”, wondering if the human would have let him go as far as he would have without the interruption. wondering if this is just a necessary delay; a taste of possibility.
the moment is over, but the human’s lips are red to match his cheeks, eyes still a bit dazed, clothes in a bigger state disarray than normal, stumbling out of the room like he’s been drinking on the job, and people are watching, breath held and eyes wide, unsure if the breaking of something was standard detective fury or a knife in the tension, and someone with a death wish, poor soul, thinks to stand, to ask, before the captain is yelling across the room about you’re on the job, reed, answer your goddamn phone and sense settles across the human’s features and his usual annoyed façade is back in place with returned insults, excuses that don’t make sense but nobody wants to question, and everybody is too afraid to question the android following behind the man with not a single sign anything had happened save the smallest of grins on his lips.
the next time doesn’t happen for months
in the midst of understanding this new rise in a feeling towards the machine, the detective pretends it hasn’t happened. and 900 waits, returning to his patience, a spark of humanity in letting the human process and attempt to understand (or ignore, as it were) – not necessarily out of care but because 900 knows the human mind is fragile, and to push too hard would break it. there’s more fun in seeing how hard he can push before letting it go – lets the detective seek out human companionship in an effort to drown their encounter, but peppers in teases and taunts about an android’s capabilities, the man’s sudden desire for physical relations after their kiss almost became something. works on breaking down the man’s walls when ---
death doesn’t happen to androids, but it may as well have. intensive damage, requiring intricate repair. 900 is not a connor, not an rk800, barely a proper rk900 – he cannot simply be uploaded into a new body. his parts are precise, injuries requiring specifics, and it takes longer to fix him than it should. he isn’t active for most of it, just a blink of software failure and then he’s on his way back to the dpd, back to a man that sees him sitting in his usual spot and freezes, genuine surprise on his face – and relief. an embrace that welcomes a breath of change into the partnership, stifled only by the detective’s continued relationship with another human. 900 is awake again, but sinking now beneath a strange emptiness at the exclusion.
his decision to request a transfer on the basis of a compromised working relationship settles in like an ending, only realized when the detective’s date comments on how he’s acting like 900’s decision was a break up. and there’s the detective’s irrationality, driving with the lieutenant that kept him alive when 900 wasn’t across the city in the middle of the night, breaking laws with no hesitation as he steals an android away from the processing center that has claimed him, realizing only when the two of them walk through the door that it’s not only 900 that has placed a claim on the human, but that perhaps the detective has placed his own on the android.
(2) the android who, until stepping through his human’s door, had been silent, now turns to the man with a smile holding promise, holding what could be warmth, holding the human’s cheek in a cool hand and murmurs, “i’m going to kiss you now,” with enough of a breath for the detective to reject it --- but he doesn’t. there’s hunger still, as there may always be, but a silent recognition, an acceptance that follows fingers across skin, clothes down a hall, crossing the line they’d almost crossed before in the safety of uninterruption. a gentle desperation, moments and words having built up a friction that creates static, that leaves marks as proof, and settles into a natural flow when light breaks through stained windows and fills the human’s home with the smell of coffee and domesticity, a soreness in his muscles that had ached for understanding for so long and now relaxes under the periwinkle gaze of his partner.
it becomes commonality, hidden in not so disguised places, in carefully obvious words. stolen kisses in stolen time in places far too open, android pressing the human against walls across the precinct, the detective daring to take initiative when the android will not. rumors fly and nobody knows for sure but it has to be a thing, the way they stand too close, the way the detective turns red at words whispered in his ear but doesn’t have the same weight to his anger and annoyance, his tone carrying frustration with a hint of adoration, matched to the android’s amused gaze and calm tone. they make sense, even in their chaos, the mess that tends to follow behind them wherever they go.
and there’s a mess – mess after mess after … but cyberlife wasn’t fucking around when they built 900, and persistence has been a key factor in his design from the start. trouble finds the two, the human and his android, the android and his human, threatens to pull them apart because it shouldn’t work. same-natured magnets are meant to repel, disaster can only breed disaster, but yet they triumph every time, meeting life with terrible insults and spit curses, wresting control away from those that want it with steely gazes and ruthless determination.
(3) it isn’t spoken until it is, an unconsidered thought give a voice after a dinner with his human’s family. protective nature out in full force, a couple comments too many and the android is causing a ‘domestic situation’, a silent, deadly reaction that nearly leaves the detective’s brother one arm less, and the significance is not lost to 900 but he has no family and therefore no basis for comparison when his detective is pulling him in for a kiss before they can even reach the car, or rather dragging him into the unadulterated glee at seeing his android, no, his partner in such defense of him that in an excited breath the words slip out and everything comes to a screeching halt.
except it doesn’t, because maybe the android doesn’t say it back, not in the way a human would, but it’s there in the way his lips form a fond smile, the way hands that had been minutes before threatening to tear off a limb now brush tender knuckles against flushed cheeks, and androids don’t have feelings, 900 will tell you that with full conviction, words spoken like they’re law, but when lips press in again to silence doubts, there’s an understanding that laws are made to be broken.
being physical is who they are, in rushed moments cast in shadows, in work meetings with brushed knees, in using proximity to explain attachment, to explain emotion. it’s in the way 900 keeps his body one step in front of the detective at any point, in how the android’s violence is never more impossibly present than when the human is in danger. a machine given a purpose, an android given a partner – an equation that will always equal protection no matter the variables, even as the hands of a coded killer turn from death to life, bones cracking becomes determined movements to save the detective’s life. power becomes precision become persistence becomes blatantly ignoring the warning lights flashing in his vision as his human bleeds out before him because 900 was not made to fail, and he won’t.
being physical is who they are, thrown against walls and doors and desks, leaving bite marks and bruises that tell the tale of who they are and what they do even amidst consistent denial, continued deflection. thrown objects or thrown words, threats and promises – a human has limits, 900 knows this, and he knows it better now, sitting in the darkness listening to unnecessary machines tell him the status of his human, knowing before their archaic designs do when the detective is waking up and 900 has never felt this before, relief at knowing something has happened despite his calculations telling him they knew already, because they didn’t at first. persistence. in the darkness until the human’s eyes open to light and 900 is there with words of ease, words of explanation, words that chase away the shadows that linger. words that promise it will never happen again.
(4) being physical is who they are, but their physicality isn’t built on violence and destruction. it’s built on the small kiss that 900 presses to his human’s forehead, the apology, the fear, the relief setting a home on top the foundation they have been slowly building around them. a home neither knew they needed until the detective wakes up in a new bed tucked against the android’s chest and doesn’t immediately pull back with a halfhearted excuse and instead closes his eyes and goes back to sleep.
the two may have caught up to themselves but the world has not – their existence is defiance in the face of what they both once stood against. enemies line the streets from either side, angry and bitter, demanding misplaced justice from those that seem happy in times of trial. god forbid they find themselves facing the threat of complacency, but their job comes with trials, and their species each comes with their own rebels. fury that the very one created to keep androids programmed like perfect little machines at the whim of humanity is now recklessly attached to one that had claimed to hate the very being that he now needs. rage that this connection gives the android designed to keep the revolution a faint wish on an ra9 star leverage in a world where he should be torn apart for his actions. hatred that he can walk free among the humans when he does not even consider himself alive, when he is fighting neither the revolution or the people that stop it. they want revenge, they want answers --- they want to know what peculiarities are in his coding, tear him apart so they can understand why he gets to be who he is without consequence, no they want to tear him apart to make a point but cyberlife has learned and cyberlife is prepared and military androids don’t traipse through enemy lines without contingencies, a ticking time bomb in his storage, in his files, a knowledge that his human will come for him but the barest trace of concern it won’t happen in time...
mess after mess after mess, and they persist, but this one threatens it all. the human gets to play hero this time, is allowed to be the one rushing to save his partner’s life for once except --- he fails, of course he fails, how could a human match against a group of furious deviants? against the law that binds him in occupation and in existence? if he couldn’t prevent 900 from being stolen away in the first place, what good is he against the ones that did it? a dangerous desire encased in a reckless fury of a detective mounts a carelessly designed rescue that becomes tinged with concern at the state of the android after those that took him are cut down but hope because 900 is blinking, he’s alive, he might need repairs and the detective came prepared with blue blood, had braced for the worst but 900 is there and he’s in one piece and maybe, maybe the detective hasn’t gotten this wrong and then “don’t fucking scare me like that, nines” is met with an empty gaze and suddenly it doesn’t matter if the human found the android alive or not, because the words he’s hit with feel an awful lot like grief.
who are you?
and the weeks when 900 was ‘dead’ were torture in the face of a relationship that hadn’t even started, but now 900′s right there, he’s alive, they’re both alive, they’re both something now, or they should be, they’re supposed to be, and being physical is who they are except now 900 isn’t, and where the detective once wished for distance he now craves the personal invasion and a day full of frustrated looks becomes weeks of hope slowly dying becomes months of seemingly random encounters while the detective grapples with the loss of someone who isn’t gone and the android tries to understand the desire for something that isn’t there.
and it would be fitting to describe the moment of recollection, the straw on the camel’s back that has the detective turning in his badge because he can’t look into the eyes of the person he loves and see nothing staring back any more, the moment that has the truth hammering through the memory wipe in 900’s mind and shattering his coding on the ground the way the human’s resolve did months (no, years) ago and it’s ridiculous how human he sounds, the panic, the desperation, the recognition in his voice when he calls to the detective, and the human turns with a snarl on to be halted by those goddamn eyes seeing him again for the first time in months –
(5) but that’s not the kiss that needs attention, because it’s the one that takes place several hours later in the courthouse on a spontaneous decision that defies logic, that breaks the law through coercing and manipulation of a federal employee before it breaks the law in granting a license to a couple – yes, a couple – that shouldn’t even exist, brief because of the eyes watching (confused, scared, awed at their sudden demand of urgency to attend a matter as a witness, at the danger in the android’s tone when the judge tries to refuse, at the softness in realization of how something can defy all expectations), but official.
the kiss that says ‘we are partners’ without a trace of sarcasm, that is hungry not in heat but in love, in wanting to be known and finally feeling found, in continuing to prove that nobody understands why things happen but that there must be a plan because how else would someone explain the impossibility of continuing to come back together each time they are pushed apart if not for divine intervention? (spite, they’d tell anyone. spite and an unhealthy amount of sex).
it’s the kiss the finalizes all the pain as having been worth it, and it’s the kisses that follow at the jeweler’s an hour later, at the lieutenant’s house surrounded by family that evening, in the car before they make it home, before they can get through the door, stumbling with 900’s guidance into walls down the hall of their house to begin their lives the way they deserve.
the world may have a sense of humor, but the human and his android, the android and his human -- they get the last laugh.
