Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The precinct never truly quieted down, not even during night shifts. Phones rang off the hook, detectives cursed under their breath, and someone in the bullpen was making an impressive racket trying to fix the coffee machine. It was just another day in Detroit, but in Captain Fowler’s office, the tension was thick enough to cut with a knife.

“Let me get this straight,” Hank said, leaning forward in his chair with an incredulous glare. “You want me to send Connor—my android partner, who, might I remind you, doesn’t even know how to blink like a normal person—undercover in a goddamn drug cartel?”

Fowler sighed heavily, his hands steepled on the desk. “Yes, Anderson. That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

“Jesus Christ,” Hank muttered, running a hand down his face. “You’re all out of your minds.”

“It’s not up for debate.” Fowler’s tone was sharp, his patience visibly thinning. “This operation has been going on for months, and Doyle’s syndicate keeps slipping through our fingers. We need someone inside to get close to him. A cop isn’t going to cut it—he’d smell a badge a mile away. But Connor…” He gestured toward the android, who sat with his hands clasped neatly on his lap. “Connor’s not a cop.”

“I can do it,” Connor said evenly, his LED blinking yellow.

“Don’t start,” Hank growled, pointing a finger at him. “This isn’t one of your little investigations. These are dangerous people, Connor. They don’t screw around.”

Connor tilted his head slightly, his expression neutral. “I am aware of the risks. However, I am confident that I can adapt my behavior to blend in with the target demographic. It is, after all, what I was designed to do.”

Hank snorted. “You were designed to hunt deviants, not play dress-up with drug dealers.”

“I’ve successfully integrated into human environments on numerous occasions,” Connor countered. “With appropriate modifications to my appearance and behavior, I believe I can perform this task effectively.”

Hank threw his hands in the air. “Sure, let’s just toss you in and hope for the best. What could go wrong?”

Fowler leaned forward, his voice cutting through the argument. “Anderson, enough. This is happening, whether you like it or not. Doyle’s operation is the biggest red ice ring we’ve seen in years, and we can’t afford to let this opportunity slip away.”

“Fine,” Hank snapped, slumping back into his chair. “But when this whole thing blows up in your face, don’t come crying to me.”

The walk back to Hank’s desk was a silent one, with Connor trailing a step behind. Hank dropped into his chair with a groan.

“You’ve got that look on your face again,” Connor observed, folding his hands behind his back.

“What look?” Hank grumbled.

“The one that suggests you’re contemplating retirement,” Connor replied, his tone as dry as ever.

Hank barked out a laugh despite himself. “Kid, I’ve been contemplating retirement since the day I joined the force. This is just another nail in the coffin.”

Connor tilted his head, studying Hank’s expression. “If you truly believe this plan is unwise, perhaps you should consider voicing your concerns again.”

Hank waved the suggestion off with a grunt. “Nah, Fowler’s got his mind made up. Besides, you’re too damn stubborn to back out anyway.”

“I am not stubborn,” Connor said, his tone bordering on defensive.

Hank gave him a pointed look. “Yeah, sure. And I’m the goddamn Tooth Fairy.”

Back at Hank’s house later that evening, the “training” began. Hank slumped onto the couch, a cold beer in hand, while Connor stood at attention like he was about to deliver a report.

“First things first,” Hank began, pointing at Connor with the neck of his beer bottle. “You’re too stiff. Nobody stands like that unless they’re about to get drafted into boot camp.”

Connor glanced down at himself. “I see nothing wrong with my posture.”

“That’s the problem,” Hank muttered. “Alright, relax your shoulders. Drop your arms a little. And for the love of God, stop looking like you’re waiting for orders.”

Connor adjusted his stance, his movements deliberate but awkward.

Hank winced. “Jesus. No, no, that’s worse. Try again.”

After several more attempts—and a lot of grumbling from Hank—Connor finally managed something that resembled a casual slouch.

“There,” Hank said grudgingly. “Now you look like a normal guy who’s slightly pissed off at the world. Perfect.”

Connor frowned. “Is that the impression I should aim to give?”

Hank chuckled. “It’s a good start.”

Next came the speaking lesson. Hank leaned back, arms crossed, as Connor recited a line from the file: “I will proceed to the rendezvous point and establish contact with the target.”

Hank groaned. “Kid, you sound like a GPS. Nobody talks like that.”

Connor blinked. “How should I phrase it instead?”

“Say it like you’re not a goddamn robot,” Hank said. “Try… ‘I’ll head to the spot and meet the guy.’”

Connor paused, then repeated slowly, “I’ll head to the spot and meet the guy.”

Hank smirked. “Not bad. Now lose the hesitation and make it sound natural.”

Connor tried again, this time with a touch more confidence. “I’ll head to the spot and meet the guy.”

“Better,” Hank admitted. “Now, throw in some slang or something. Humans love slang.”

Connor raised an eyebrow. “Slang?”

“Yeah, like, ‘I’ll check out the place and hit him up,’ or something.”

Connor’s LED flickered as he processed the suggestion. “I’ll check out the place and… hit him up?”

Hank laughed, shaking his head. “Alright, maybe don’t go full wannabe gangster, but you get the idea. Loosen up, act like you’ve been around people before, and you might just survive this.”

By the time they called it a night, Hank was sprawled on the couch with Sumo snoring at his feet. Connor stood by the window, staring out at the far away city lights with his usual intensity.

“You nervous?” Hank asked, breaking the silence.

Connor glanced back at him, his expression unreadable. “Androids do not experience nervousness.”

Hank rolled his eyes. “Right. But if you did?”

Connor hesitated, his LED flickering yellow for a brief moment. “I suppose I might be… uncertain. This mission requires me to operate outside my usual parameters.”

Hank snorted. “Welcome to being human, kid. You’ll get the hang of it.”

Chapter Text

Connor stepped into the club, the heavy bassline reverberating through his frame. The air was thick with smoke and the sour tang of spilled liquor, dim lights casting the packed dance floor in flickering shades of red and blue. To any human, the sensory overload might have been disorienting, but Connor’s program quickly adapted, parsing the chaos into manageable data.

He pulled the zipper of his leather jacket slightly higher, mimicking the subtle gestures he’d seen humans make when trying to blend in. His LED was deactivated, but he still couldn’t shake the feeling of eyes on him.

Outside, Hank sat in his unmarked car, glaring at the club’s neon sign as if it had personally insulted him.

“Yeah, send the android into a snake pit. Great idea,” he muttered, crossing his arms.

The radio crackled to life. “Lieutenant Anderson, any updates on your end?”

“No updates,” Hank barked back. “My partner’s inside trying not to get himself scrapped.”

The voice on the other end hesitated. “Understood. Keep us informed.”

Hank didn’t respond, his jaw tightening. He glanced at the dashboard clock, tension coiling tighter in his chest with every passing minute.

Inside, Connor made his way to the bar, weaving through the crowd with deliberate ease. Every step was measured, his movements just loose enough to appear natural. His HUD worked overtime, cataloging faces and cross-referencing them with the department’s database. Most were low-level offenders, but a few were marked as persons of interest in connection to Doyle.

Connor reached the bar and caught the bartender’s eye. “Whiskey, neat,” he said, his voice loud enough to carry over the pounding music.

The bartender gave him a brief once-over before pouring the drink. Connor picked up the glass, letting the amber liquid swirl as he scanned the room. His sensors flagged the booth in the far corner where Marcus Doyle sat surrounded by bodyguards.

“First time here?” a voice asked, pulling Connor’s attention.

He turned to find a woman leaning casually against the bar. Her red lipstick stood out starkly under the club’s dim lighting, and her sharp eyes gleamed with curiosity. Sophia Albrecht.

Connor recognized her instantly from the briefing. Doyle’s right-hand woman—intelligent, ruthless, and utterly loyal.

“Yes,” Connor replied smoothly, his voice adopting an edge of disinterest. “It’s got... a unique vibe.”

Sophia chuckled, tilting her head. “That’s one way to put it. You here for business or pleasure?”

Connor allowed himself a faint smirk, channeling the nonchalance Hank had drilled into him. “Both.”

Her gaze lingered on him, searching for cracks in his facade. “What’s your name?”

“Cal,” Connor said, the alias coming easily

Sophia arched an eyebrow. “Well, Cal, let me give you some advice. Don’t look too interested in anything here, or you’ll draw attention you don’t want.”

Connor nodded, his smirk fading into something more neutral. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Sophia studied him for another moment before a sly smile crossed her lips. “Enjoy your drink, Cal. Maybe I’ll see you around.”

Connor watched her walk away, his HUD tracking her path back to Doyle’s booth.

From the shadows, Doyle observed the interaction, his sharp eyes narrowing. He leaned toward the hulking man sitting beside him.

“Who’s that?” Doyle asked, nodding toward the bar.

The enforcer shrugged. “Don’t know. Doesn’t look like a cop.”

Doyle’s expression darkened. “Find out. And if he is a cop…” He let the sentence hang, his tone making the implication clear.

The enforcer nodded and stood, making his way toward Connor.

Connor’s sensors picked up the man’s approach long before he reached the bar. The enforcer was broad-shouldered, his movements heavy but deliberate. He stopped a foot away, his presence practically radiating hostility.

“You got a light?” the man asked, pulling a cigarette from his pocket.

Connor retrieved a lighter from his jacket, flicking it open with practiced ease. He held it out, letting the flame dance between them.

The enforcer lit his cigarette, exhaling a cloud of smoke directly into Connor’s space. “You new around here?”

Connor met his gaze evenly. “Just passing through.”

The enforcer grunted, his eyes narrowing. “You don’t look like you belong.”

Connor allowed himself a faint smirk. “Neither do you, but I didn’t say anything.”

The enforcer scowled, but before he could reply, Sophia reappeared. She stepped between them, her hand resting lightly on the enforcer’s arm.

“Relax, Tony,” she said, her tone light but commanding. “He’s with me.”

Tony hesitated, his gaze flicking between Connor and Sophia before he finally stepped back.

“Just watch your step,” Tony muttered, turning and disappearing back into the crowd.

Sophia sighed, shaking her head. “Don’t mind him. He’s protective of the boss.”

“Good to know,” Connor replied evenly.

Sophia tilted her head, studying him again. “Stick around, Cal. I have a feeling tonight’s going to get interesting.”

With that, she turned and walked away, leaving Connor alone at the bar.

The night wore on, and Connor stayed in character, mingling just enough to maintain his cover without drawing undue attention. Doyle continued to watch from his booth, his gaze sharp and unrelenting.

When Connor finally slipped out the back door, the cool night air hit him like a welcome reprieve. He made his way down the alley and back to the unmarked car, sliding into the passenger seat without a word.

Hank glanced at him, his sharp eyes searching for any sign of damage. “Well?”

“Made contact,” Connor said simply. “Sophia seems receptive. Doyle remains cautious.”

Hank grunted. “Big surprise. You didn’t blow your cover, did you?”

“No.”

Hank gave him a sideways glance, his tone dry. “Good. I’d hate to explain to Fowler why we had to fish your metal ass out of a dumpster.”

Connor allowed himself a faint smile. “Your concern is noted.”

As they pulled away, Hank rubbed the back of his neck, stealing one last glance at Connor. The kid might be an android, but tonight, he’d walked into the lion’s den and come out unscathed. For now, that would have to be enough.