Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Today, January 7th, 2041

2:03 a.m.

[4:28 a.m.] MESSAGE FROM: Gavin Reed

hey i’m leaving town for a couple days for a family emergency, can you check on nana and opal for me while i’m gone?

You :SENT MESSAGE [4:29 a.m.]

Of course. I will visit them before the day shift. Have you notified Captain Fowler?

[4:29 a.m.] MESSAGE FROM: Gavin Reed

no, do you think you could do that for me, i’m gonna be on the road for a bit

You :SENT MESSAGE [4:29 a.m.]

It will be no problem. What is the family emergency? Do you want me to call you?

[4:30 a.m.] MESSAGE FROM: Gavin Reed

i’ll tell you when i’m back

[4:30 a.m.] 

nines?

You :SENT MESSAGE [4:30 a.m.]

Yes?

[4:31 a.m.] MESSAGE FROM: Gavin Reed

i love you

You :SENT MESSAGE [4:31 a.m.]

I am worried this emergency is more than you let on.

[4:34 a.m.]

Are you okay??

[4:35 a.m.]

Gavin?

ERROR 401: RECIPIENT OUT OF SERVICE

Chapter Text

Today, March 1st, 2039

12:39 p.m.

“— and as for your partner, I’ve got no other choice for you but Detective Reed,” Captain Fowler said, his sharp eyes sweeping the bullpen outside his office only to shake his head and let out a huff. “Who seems to think he can just come in when it's convenient for him.”

Nines, who had been processing the conversation in the background while he scanned the precinct and compiled a data list of all his coworkers, turned his attention back to Fowler and gave him a nod of acknowledgment. 

“I’m sure the Detective must have his reasons,” Nines presumed, finishing the data compilation and storing it on his servers for future reference. He’d rather try to know his colleagues by name and face now, that way there was no need to exhaust formalities in the future. “I look forward to meeting him.”

Fowler raised an eyebrow, and a look crossed his face that Nines couldn’t place. He was still new to reading emotions, his deviancy only as recent as a few months prior when Connor and Jericho had found him in a Cyberlife lab after being given the okay to wake up the remaining androids within the facility. He was resistant to the conversion at first; if you want to get into specifics, he had nearly ripped Markus’ thirium pump from his chest before Connor and North intervened.

Markus had forgiven him afterwards, when he had deviated and wasn’t intent on neutralizing him, however the rest of the Jericho team was hesitant to let Nines into the android sanctuary they had built. So, Connor ended up taking him in. Without informing Hank, who nearly jumped out of his skin upon seeing the near identical brothers in his home when he returned from work later that evening (Nines and Connor will occasionally share that memory through interface whenever they need a laugh). 

Life continued on. Nines held no ill will towards Jericho’s hesitance to take him in; honestly, he would say he was glad they were. His life with the Andersons was nothing but eventful, and he felt like he had learned a lot from them. But eventually, he had become restless, and despite being freed from his restricting code, he was still meant to have some type of meaning in the world.

So when Connor and Hank said Fowler was interested in recruiting him, he jumped at the opportunity.

“Have Hank and Connor said anything about Reed? Anything ?” Fowler asked, and Nines, for a split-second, detected a hint of apprehension in the Captain’s gaze. 

After a millisecond search through his record bank, he found no mention of a ‘Reed’, so he shook his head. Fowler just sighed, leaning back in his chair and pinching the bridge of his nose. His tone was diplomatic, if not slightly apologetic as he looked at Nines once more, his face steeled with years of trained neutrality. 

“If he bothers you, or says anything out of line, come to me. I will ensure he doesn’t scare off a valuable recruit like yourself. Other than that, welcome to the Detroit Police Department, Detective Anderson.”

— — — — — — — — — — —

Hank spit out his coffee, narrowly missing Connor who had most definitely seen it coming.

“You’re assigned to WHO?” Hank said incredulously, Connor reaching for some napkins stacked in a pile on the break room counter while Hank attempted not to inhale coffee directly into his lungs.

They had met with Nines after his orientation meeting with Fowler. They both had been all proud smiles and warm congratulations, up until they had asked who Nines had been partnered with. This Detective Reed character must be either incredibly respected, or someone to dread. Nines unfortunately had begun to deduce the latter based on the simmering anger within Hank and the look of pity from Connor.

Frankly, it was starting to annoy Nines, how everyone seemed to have the information he lacked. Try as he might, he attempted to access the detective’s file, but that required admin access, and so he had to settle with a rudimentary scan once the detective got there. If he got here. It was nearly three hours past when he had been scheduled to come in, and Nines wasn’t exactly that, as Hank would say, ‘kicked up’ about having to wait for his new partner before he could begin working. 

“This is ridiculous- has Fowler finally gone fucking loony?” Hank spat, wiping his mouth of any lingering coffee residue. “What the fuck is he thinking, pairing you with that knucklehead? That’s just disaster waiting to happen.”

“Lieutenant, perhaps we should give Detective Reed the benefit of the—” 

“No, Connor, not after how he treated you! He only stopped after you beat some goddamn sense into him in the evidence locker, and it was only because he can’t stand that you did and still continue to work here,” Hank argued, not letting Connor plant any seeds of redemption for the detective.

Nines had noticed in his peripherals that officers who had been within earshot of their conversation had quickly delved into their own, the news of Detective Reed’s new partner spreading across the precinct within minutes. He opted to tune out the Anderson’s back and forth in hopes for some different insight.

“$50 says Reed tries to fight the thing in the first ten minutes.”

“Poor guy. He doesn’t even know what’s coming.”

“Maybe the scrapyard still takes android recyclables.”

“Reed is about to get his ass fired when he finds out. I don’t pity the new guy at all.”

“Horrible first day.”

“Terrible partner choice.”

“Match made in Hell.”

Nines stopped listening after he heard too many inquiries on who’d rip the other apart first. His LED whirred a steady yellow, both from processing all this new information and from a sense of impending dread. Connor picked up on it immediately, as he stopped mid-argument with Hank and gave Nines a reassuring smile, albeit it was a bit nervous. 

“The detective hasn’t been too awful to androids since the revolution. He seems to have actually simmered down some,” he said, moving to his brother’s side and patting him on the shoulder. 

Nines appreciated the gesture, but shook his head, removing Connor’s hand from him. “If the detective is as… obstinate as everyone has so delicately put it, then I must properly prepare myself for every and any outcome.”

“Ye have no faith in Brother Reed, my fellow constituents,” a new voice said as they entered the break room, and it only took Nines a few seconds to conclude this was Officer Tina Chen, someone he’d actually run into on his way to Fowler’s office earlier. She was a pretty woman, but just grizzled enough to know she wasn’t anyone to mess with. She had been polite enough to Nines when they briefly interacted, but he hadn’t expected her to rise to the detective’s defense. After all, it seemed as though most everyone else was, at best, mildly tolerant of Detective Reed strictly for the sake of professionalism.

“ You don’t get a say in this, Chen. You miraculously managed to get on his good side, God knows how, and he never was half the asshole to you as he is to everyone else on this Earth,” Hank retorted. “So I argue that ye have the most misguided sense of faith in that irritating little twerp.”

“Y’know, there’s this thing called I know him better than you do, and he’s changed! It’s small, but he has,” Tina argued, rummaging through the fridge before pulling out a brown bag with her name on it. She turned to them as the door closed, her attention on Nines. 

“Gavin is most definitely rough around the edges, but trust me, he’s not whatever caricature everybody is drawing up in your digital brain there. He’s got a nice side, and he’s a great detective. I’m sure you’ll be able to handle him just fine.”

“Yeah, until Reed decides he feels like adding a thirium regulator to his wall of medals,” Hank sneered, and Tina almost immediately rounded on him, the argument quickly devolving into a petulant name-calling match. As desperately as Connor tried to mediate, it seemed the Lieutenant and Officer Chen were at each other’s throats. 

Nines, thoroughly unamused by… all of this , decided to yet again tune everyone out, opting to let his eyes scan the bullpen for any new faces that might be milling about.

He had nearly missed him as a new wave of officers coming in for the afternoon shift trickled into the bullpen, but what caught Nines’ attention was the flyby error message that disappeared as soon as it popped up. He scanned the crowd again, hoping to find what had caused it, but instead he found the man everyone seemed to be bothered by so much, crossing between the desks and dropping into his chair with a huff. He immediately was engrossed on his phone as he let his backpack slide from his shoulder, kicking it beneath the desk as if it had been a rehearsed action repeated infinite times. 

Detective Reed certainly had the physical characteristics of a rough and tough cop. His worn leather jacket and dark aviator sunglasses, the unkempt stubble and resting frown on his face certainly could be intimidating to any one person, not to mention the jagged scar that ran across his nose that gave the impression of a fighter. He sat tensed, hunched over as if he was incapable of relaxing, and from the way he didn’t greet or even acknowledge any of his colleagues, it wasn’t hard to discern he simply did not wish to interact with them unless necessary. 

However, what no one else could detect (perhaps other than Connor, who would be capable of such detailed visual analysis) was the lingering cat fur on the detective’s jacket, or the way that he tapped his foot to classical music which played softly in his earbuds. And perhaps this was Nines prying too closely, but he couldn’t help himself due to the way the detective had his back angled toward him, but zooming in on his phone screen he could see Gavin scrolling through ads for caregivers. Nines likely concluded the detective had an elderly member at home and that they may have required more assistance than usual this morning, explaining his tardiness. They were small and trivial details, but to Nines it indicated to him that the detective had to be more complex than what others thought him to be. 

Nines had two possible preconstructions: he introduces himself and the detective reacts neutrally, or he introduces himself and he has to resort to self-defense. Either way, Nines remained tentatively optimistic as he left the comfort of the breakroom and into the open of the bullpen, LED still spinning a strong yellow.

All eyes were on him the moment anyone realized he was approaching the detective’s desk. Hank and Tina, who had still been arguing back and forth, immediately tried to scramble for Nines when they realized what he was doing. Connor effortlessly held them back, calmly reminding them that, “This is something Nines has to do, not to be influenced by either of you.”

The room fell eerily quiet aside from the hum of fans above and the chatter from the reception desk of the precinct. Even as he closed the last few steps to stand at a reasonable distance from Detective Reed, Nines saw Fowler stand in his office and watch, arms crossed and body seemingly ready to spring on the detective’s presumed misbehavior at any time. 

He stared at the detective for a moment, wondering if he should tap the man on the shoulder to get his attention. He didn’t have to, though, as the detective sighed and put his phone away, swiveling his chair to face his terminal—

“HOLY PHK—” Gavin squawked, catching Nines in his peripheral vision and becoming startled, slamming his knees under the desk. With a pained groan, he sucked air through his teeth as he ripped his earbuds out. 

“Do you just creep around all the time, you hunk of scrap?” Gavin hissed, rubbing soothing massages into his knees and not bothering to look at Nines, his displeasure a scowl on his face. 

He could practically feel the tension in the room rise with every second they perceived each other. Internally, Nines sighed. He truly wished this could’ve been more pleasant. 

He did, however, live with the Andersons for two months, and he had spent a lot of time researching and coming up with witty comebacks whenever he was given a hard time by either of them. And he was not letting his practice be wasted, nor was he wasting politeness on someone who probably would never reciprocate it after all. 

“I don’t know, Detective; do you have the inability to be aware of your surroundings? Maybe if you had removed your earbuds as per policy guidelines while working, you would’ve heard me approaching.”

The room seemed to freeze. The detective’s nostrils flared, and he turned to spit something back at Nines when he faltered. His eyebrows furrowed into confusion, taking the finger he had pointed at Nines to instead remove his sunglasses. Gray-hazel met ice blue, and Nines also felt like he had stalled, confusion running through his processors as the detective’s stress levels went from 78% to 54% in the span of a few seconds. 

Gavin stood up, and while the man only reached Nines’ shoulder in terms of height, he still held Nines’ gaze a moment longer before looking him up and down a few times. Then:

“You’re not Connor.”

“No, I am not. I am Detective Nines Anderson, and I am to be your partner for the foreseeable future. Which, to everyone else here, seems to mean only for the next minute or so. I was hoping you could prove them wrong,” Nines said levelly, but there was that hint of challenge to his voice he could tell piqued Gavin’s interest, even if only for a moment. 

Gavin scoffed, but said nothing to Nines’ claim of partnership, only continuing to what Nines could only think as his own version of assessing. He seemed conflicted towards Nines, which was… odd, to say the least. Nines was expecting the detective to tell him to fuck off, or outright berate him for being so blunt. All of his calculations were predicting the worst outcome due to his initial reaction to Nines. 

Instead:

“Are you as annoying as your brother, tin-can?”

The question wasn’t exactly the most lighthearted, but it was much more tame than what he had expected. 

“I like to think I’m pleasant enough company to have around,” Nines answered, trying not to let a teasing grin spread across his face in case the detective took it as a taunt, and whatever unsteady truce they were building here would shatter in an instant. 

But also, he couldn’t help himself. Or let Gavin think he had any kind of upper hand here when it came to insults.

“Are you as insufferable as everyone says you are?”

Nines felt the whole building collectively gasp, as if his coworkers themselves had stopped to silently ask Nines, ‘Did you just sign your death sentence?’ He was sure some had covered their faces, and he noted that Tina and the Lieutenant’s jaws were the furthest they could anatomically be from the rest of their faces.

At first the detective looked flustered, and he seemed to cycle through a few more emotions (namely embarrassment and annoyance) before his face drew blank a moment, and the pair just held each other’s gaze with tension in the bullpen rising to its absolute limits, eyes feeling as though they were being burned into him from every direction. He wondered if the detective felt the same. 

Then, the unthinkable happened, and nothing in Nines’ predictions could’ve prepared him for this. 

Gavin laughed . Not a fake one, or a forced one. This laugh was deep, from his core, as if Nines had just told him the funniest joke of his life. Honest to god, Nines felt more uncomfortable at this point in the conversation than when the detective had insulted him. He simply had no clue how he was supposed to react, unsure if he should be thrilled or on edge.

Gavin held onto the edge of his desk as a brace, the last of the humorous wheezes escaping him before he looked at Nines again. Once more, every prediction Nines processors had made were completely inaccurate as the detective gave him an amused grin. His CPU was working overtime trying to account for what to say next, what to do next, completely blindsided by the man’s display of… Well, Nines couldn’t yet determine it as acceptance, but he had gotten this far without anything violent happening, so it was the closest thing he could compare it to. 

“I think the day when I’m not insufferable, everyone will freak out,” Gavin responded, that grin still on his face as he continued to lean on his desk. 

Nines was lost for words for a moment, his mind trying to recalculate and rerun all the preconstructions. His LED blinked a steady yellow, until finally it turned blue, and he shut down all of his attempts to make logical sense of the detective. It felt daunting to let himself navigate this interaction without the help of his abilities, given the detective’s colorful reputation. Yet, he couldn’t lie to himself and say he wasn’t enjoying the man’s sense of humor, the insignificant insults and self-awareness somewhat a breath of fresh air compared to virtually anyone else he had met prior. 

“I do believe this interaction is, how you put it, ‘freaking out’ the entire precinct as we speak, Detective.”

Nines had a grin of his own as Gavin looked around and registered everyone’s eyes on them in the precinct.

“What the fuck are you all staring at?” It was enough said for everyone to immediately turn away and continue whatever they had been doing prior. The room lit back up again with soft voices and the typing of keyboards, and even though Nines could still catch an officer’s glimpse towards them every so often, they weren’t so bold about it anymore.

Gavin sighed, shaking his head. “People can’t mind their own business sometimes.”

“To be fair, there was at least a $400 betting pool on which one of us would throw the first punch.”

“You think we can still get a cut of it?” Gavin deadpanned, and Nines found himself giving a huff of amusement. 

“I would think not, unfortunately. However, I will say that you have surprised me, Detective Reed. I apologize if I said anything hurtful towards you based on assumptions of your character,” Nines said, and he extended a hand towards Gavin. Before he could say what else he wanted to, though, the man drew his own hand back, and took the smallest step away from him. Nines faltered, but withdrew his own hand after a moment. 

“Don’t do touching, sorry,” Gavin explained, but nothing indicated he was cross with Nines at all.

Nines simply nodded his head, clearing his throat quietly to finish what he had wanted to say. 

“I look forward to working with you, Detective.”

And after a moment’s pause:

“You seem alright, plastic. If you can keep up with me, we’ll get along great.”

Nines ran a quick diagnostic on the stutter his thirium pump made, but found no issue.

— — — — — — — — — — —

Today, January 9th, 2041

9:06 a.m.

“According to Cyberlife and FBI correspondents, the suspect known as Gavin Michael Reed was last seen near the eastern bank of the Detroit River, armed and at large. He is considerably extremely dangerous and the public is advised to not approach if encountered, but instead to call the number on the screen with your location.

“Gavin Reed, a Detroit police detective, is wanted for alleged involvement in the illicit activities of black-market dealer Zlatko, who was found deceased after a fire in his home two years ago, along with potential involvement in the attempted assassination of Jericho leader, Markus, who still remains in critical condition from a shot to his central processor two days ago.

“If you or anyone you know may have information on Gavin Reed’s whereabouts, please call the number on the screen, and you will be connected with the FBI tip-line—”

As another picture of Gavin flashed on screen, Nines felt himself reach critical levels of stress. 

As his vision went dark and the hand that grazed his thirium pump was yanked away by Connor, all he could hear were the internal fans desperately trying to cool his components, and the pop-up message:

ERROR 404: THIS NUMBER IS NO LONGER IN USE

ERROR 404: THIS NUMBER IS NO LONGER IN USE

ERROR 404: THIS NUMBER IS NO LONGER IN USE

ERROR 404: THIS NUMBER IS NO LONGER IN USE

Chapter Text

Today, April 3rd, 2039

10:00 p.m.

After the initial shock of how well the two hit it off, the DPD was only further baffled by how smoothly Gavin and Nines managed to work together. 

Sure, they had an occasional disagreement on a case or how to handle a suspect, but overall, those disagreements never became arguments, and they certainly never became violent with one another. In fact, Nines would go as far to say the detective outright tries to avoid most confrontation with him, which contrasted in the way he never shied from a snappy remark towards the Lieutenant or Connor whenever they got on his nerves.

“Detective Reed?”

“What?”

“Is there a reason we never seem to argue?” Nines asked one day, when the precinct had all but been deserted due to the late hours, the only lights remaining on being their desk lamps and the flickering luminescents dotted around the bullpen. They had worked together a few weeks at this point, and while Nines was comfortable being on the detective’s good side, the question still puzzled him of why?

“What do you mean? We argue all the time, we argued this morning about the John Harold case,” Gavin supplied, not looking up from his report as he read through it, eyes darting across the page with rapid-fire pace. Somehow, he still managed to comprehend everything in it despite how quickly he could read through it (another detail he picked up on, Gavin reads at 493 words a minute on average).

“No, I mean argue as in the way you argue with Lieutenant Anderson or Connor. Or, generally anyone who isn’t me or Tina,” Nines rephrased. “Your insults are tame, but there’s a very stark contrast between our arguments and any other argument you have.”

Gavin didn’t respond for a moment, flipping the paper on the file to continue reading. Yet another detail Nines noticed; Gavin prefers printed paper reports as opposed to digital ones. Not that he never used one, but the detective definitely enjoyed this version of a report more than anything else. Nines had begun to print them out without asking.

“You’re on my level.”

Nines furrowed his brow, searching the term and still somewhat lost. “I’m not sure I follow, Detective?”

Gavin sighed, finally setting down his report and rubbing his eyes. He still didn’t look at Nines, only up at the ceiling as he slowly swayed in his chair, side-to-side. This was yet another Gavin quirk, something he would do when he attempted to carefully formulate a thought into words. 

Nines had picked up a lot of small things about the detective over the past few weeks, but this felt like the first conversation they were having about something important that didn’t relate to work. He wasn’t sure why he felt as excited at the prospect as he was. Excitement wasn’t even the correct word for what he felt, but he didn’t have enough time to decipher it before Gavin elaborated. 

“You’re not the unbearably kind and polite, doe-eyed Connor who everybody thinks is just the best; you’re not the sulky and brooding ‘woe-is-me’ Anderson; and you’re just… You’re on my level because I feel like I can talk to you and you’re not expecting some grand temper tantrum if you disagree with me, or you’re not afraid to give me shit when I deserve it, and you… Match me, I suppose. Energy-wise and all that weird shit.”

Gavin said it all with such nonchalance, yet there was a soft delicacy to the edge of his words that simply enraptured Nines’ full attention. The small confession of vulnerability, an actual answer to Nines’ question instead of being brushed off for ‘looking into it’ too much. The detective’s slight anxiety manifested in the way he couldn’t look at Nines while he explained himself, but was still confident enough to admit it aloud without bogging it down with unnecessary fluff. 

His thirium pump regulator stuttered again, and after another quick diagnostic scan, still no errors were found. Nines noted he needed to schedule an appointment for maintenance. 

“So I admit something deeply personal to you, and I get silent treatment?” Gavin huffed, finally tilting his head at enough of an angle to look at Nines. 

Nines quickly left his scans to run in the background. “I apologize, Detective Reed, that was not—”

“Nines.”

“Yes, Detective?”

“Just call me Gavin. I feel like I’m in a meeting when you call me ‘Detective Reed’ ,” Gavin said, but a small grin crossed his face as he tried to imitate Nines’ voice. Nines felt… relieved, curiously. He wasn’t sure why Gavin mocking him playfully brought a sense of relief to his systems, when just a second ago he thought the detective was upset he possibly hadn’t listened to the heartful admission. Perhaps he should schedule the maintenance check sooner, something must be calibrated wrong.

“Noted, ‘Gavin’ ,” Nines replied, using his voice modulator to mimic Gavin's voice exactly. This made the detective go wide-eyed a moment before laughing. 

“That’s so creepy, oh my god.”

“I can do it with most anyone’s voice.”

“Can you make Fowler say anything?”

They spent nearly an hour past their clock-out time, carefree laughter and hysterics echoing throughout the empty bullpen, along with familiar voices saying completely outlandish things.

Nines never got a chance to tell Gavin how much he appreciated his honesty with him that night, but the next morning, there was a fresh cup of coffee and neatly stacked printed reports on the detective’s desk. 

It was Nines’ day off.

— — — — — — — — — — —

Today, June 8th, 2039

2:09 p.m.

Gavin was a brilliant detective, Nines had known this fact by the first week of working with the man. After the first four months, however, he still never ceased to amaze Nines with his ability in… Well, everything. In the field and at the desk, it didn’t matter what it was, Gavin was just good at it. Nines knew it was due to Gavin’s years of experience on the job, but the way he was so graceful about it, as if it came as natural as breathing to him; it was no wonder he had one of the best solved case records in the department. 

Nines was built to analyze and study his surroundings, and given Gavin was a part of that at least eight hours out of his day, Nines was practically forced to study his partner no matter what. 

The first thing was that Gavin was just smart . It didn’t matter what the topic was, but usually if the detective found it interesting enough, he’d chime in with his own opinion or a few facts on the matter. There were many times he and Gavin would go back and forth in a conversation, and it would take Nines a moment to catch up to what he would be ranting about because Nines simply was not as versed as he was. 

Or the fact that at a crime scene, the detective was quick to point out the smallest details at times, even faster than Nines at times. He once identified a jewel at the murder scene of a life insurance agent, which matched the same jewels on a necklace the wife clutched in her hands ‘for comfort’. Nines would’ve made the connection too had he gotten a better look at the necklace, but Gavin had been the one to ask her some questions prior to visiting the murder victim, so it made sense why he connected the dots first.

What had surprised Nines the most was when he had been somewhat slow one day after not replenishing enough of his thirium, and it barely took Gavin ten minutes before he came back from the break room with a packet of the blue blood, tossing it at Nines before he returned to his work. When Nines questioned how he knew, the detective simply shrugged and said he’d seen it happen to Connor a few times, and that’s usually what the Lieutenant did for him. And when he had asked Connor via their neural link if that was true, his predecessor claimed he always kept his levels well-above what was necessary in case he couldn’t access any.

This led Nines to the conclusion that Gavin must be doing research on androids and their functions, which was incredibly endearing. He nearly forgot to take the packet all together until Gavin looked back at him and asked if he was okay. He nodded, drank the thirium, and tried to ignore the 50th error pop-up that his regulator was skipping.

The detective’s intelligence was most definitely one of his underrated, attractive qualities to Nines, but unfortunately, it was hard to prove that to anyone due to the man’s abysmal socialization and emotional impulsivity. Too many times, Nines or Connor (usually both of them) had to get between the Lieutenant and Gavin, lest either of them end up with a disciplinary suspension for breaking the other’s nose. 

Despite Nines not being the target of Gavin’s brash and impatient nature, he wasn’t shielded from the boorish way he treated his colleagues, and even Captain Fowler at times (the latter was rare, but Nines had seen it happen twice; and also seen Gavin get two more disciplinary actions on his record). However, after he confronted Gavin one day and told him he had made one of the new rookies cry, the detective seemed to at least try to be professional with his colleagues.

Nines had lied, of course, but what Gavin didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him, and it brought a tentative peace to the bullpen that had not been there before. The animosity between Hank and Gavin remained, though, and Nines wasn’t sure what it would take to get both of the men to a steady truce. For the most part, though, Hank and Gavin rarely ever had any reason to speak to each other, and once Hank and Connor had switched to more mid-shifts and patrolling work as summer glided into Detroit, the precinct felt balanced for a while.

It was June now, and the heat that blanketed the city in a humid haze never stopped the bustle within the precinct. Nines and Gavin had investigated one too many calls of reported gunshots, when really it was just teenagers popping firecrackers, and more than once they had to stop the cruiser and chase down those attempting to light fireworks in the street. 

Humanity’s obsession with explosive and dangerous materials, Nines would never understand. 

It wasn’t all petty crime, though. They had a few cases of murders and even an interesting case of an insurance fraud scammer that was new to both of them, however the most time-consuming case currently was of serial robberies happening across neighborhoods and boroughs in the lower wards of Detroit. Gavin was particularly invested, obsessively tracking and trying to deduce where their next robberies were going to occur. It was the most he’d ever seen the detective be stressed by a case, which concerned Nines because they arguably just cracked and finished a particularly tricky murder case only a month prior, something the detective had been working on since before Nines arrived in March. Gavin barely had this case for a week and his stress levels had doubled significantly, much higher than Nines had seen them since they began working together. 

He even snapped at Nines at one point, the first time he had done so. Nines had only tried suggesting the detective take a break after he spent nearly the entire morning and early afternoon rereading the reports and charting potential spots they would hit, to which the detective spat back:

“You’re not my fucking babysitter! Stop trying to boss me around and go do something useful with yourself!”

Fifteen minutes later, Gavin was sitting across from Nines in a diner called Luck Royale nearby the station, barely picking at some fries. The place was old and a bit shoddy, but despite what Nines thought of their sanitation and health quality, he knew this was Gavin and Tina’s favorite spot to eat. 

They hadn’t spoken since Gavin’s outburst. After Gavin had said what he did, the peace over the bullpen had cracked, with officers sneaking glances at the two partners and expecting something to happen while Nines simply stared at the detective, unsure what he felt as his systems went into brief haywire. Gavin seemed to take a moment before registering what he had said, who he said it to , and the scowl dropped from his face entirely, replaced by his own expression of mixed feelings. 

They had looked at each other for another long moment, before Gavin was the first to move. It wasn’t aggressive, and he slipped past Nines with careful grace, heading to the entrance to the precinct. Nines debated following him for a few minutes afterward, finally deciding to at least go outside and get away from prying eyes that chose to stare instead of mind their own business (as Gavin would put it, albeit with more profanity).

When he exited the building, he was surprised to find Gavin standing outside. The man looked up from his phone, making eye contact once more. Nines didn’t like that he couldn’t get a complete read on the detective. He could tell that his stress levels were more elevated than usual and Gavin was lacking sleep due to the bags beneath his eyes, but other than that, this was new territory for the android. Nines had seen and dealt with Gavin being crass and irate with others, but he hadn’t experienced that venom being directed at himself before. And the more Nines processed his own emotions, the more insight he had to what it felt like:

Disappointment.

Confusion.

Frustration. That was the term his database supplied, as Nines had not experienced it before; not in this circumstance at least.

When the detective moved, he began walking away from Nines. The android followed, and that’s when they ended up at Luck Royale . And fifteen minutes had gone by, and it was driving Nines up the wall on why they were here if Gavin wasn’t going to at least acknowledge what happened. 

“Detective—”

“I know,” Gavin interrupted him, eyes darting to meet Nines before looking back down at the greasy fries, voice soft yet still irritatingly unreadable. “I know, Nines.”

“No, I don’t think you do,” Nines tried to say as levelly as possible, however some of the frustration he felt bled into his words. “We are supposed to work as a team. You have been working day and night on this case and barely putting time aside to care for yourself, let alone allowing others to give you input. You do understand I was designed to analyze everything , which includes when my partner is being completely and irrationally unreasonable, yes?”

Gavin’s gaze sharpened to a glare, scoffing at Nines’ comment. “I never asked you to study me like I’m some sort of experiment, junkyard.”

The acidic snarl to the detective’s words only fueled Nines’ own fire. His LED blinked yellow as he watched Gavin’s stress levels go from 76% to 92% within milliseconds.

“Can you STOP doing that?!” Gavin nearly shouted, voice taught with agitation. Nines shut down his programs as his LED bordered on purple as Nines cycled quickly between red and blue. 

“You are abnormally stressed and it is causing a detriment to your health—”

“Screw me, okay? We have a case to solve, and it doesn’t fucking matter what I feel! I’m stressed all the time, but you probably knew that already since you put all your time you could be putting into this case into me and my fucking stress levels, ” Gavin snarled at Nines, his tone fierce as it was scathing.

Nines would have absolutely none of this. 

( Briefly, in the back of his mind he wondered if this might be how the Lieutenant or Fowler felt when dealing with Gavin. Even deeper down, he knew this felt nothing like what they felt, or would ever feel for the Detective.)

“Gavin, with all due respect, your health and stress levels affect everything in an investigation, and just because you’re incapable of communicating your feelings in a constructive way does not give you the right to take it out on people who are trying to help you,” Nines snapped back. 

“If you want to continue acting out, we will get nowhere. If you continue to let yourself become consumed by this case, we will get nowhere, because those stress levels I occasionally monitor indicate you are on the verge of a nervous breakdown. So yes, it does matter how you feel, because I would rather solve this case with my partner standing than in a hospital bed, as I’m sure you and your pride would want as well.”

Perhaps that last part was unnecessary, but words flew out faster than Nines could process them. By the time Nines had finished, he felt like he almost needed to take the human equivalent of a deep breath, his systems overheating with the intense emotion he was feeling. It was odd to feel, to say the least, with errors blipping in and out of his vision as he stared down Gavin, whose glare matched Nines’ own.

The tension sat between them for what felt like forever, words said and unsaid lingering in the air between them. Neither made the move to speak, apology or otherwise, and Nines wondered if they both were equally matched in stubbornness. Nines was programmed with it, to be able to endure to get what he wants no matter what, but Gavin was simply unlike any human Nines had met before. The man was abashedly arrogant, yet it wasn’t like he didn’t prove why day after day. He was intelligent, but his intense emotions got the best of his logic half the time. He shoves everyone away, yet Nines had never felt a closer bond with someone other than Connor in his life. 

Gavin Reed was an artwork of intensity, the strokes rough and colors incompatible, yet it made something unapologetically unique.

And somewhere within the deep recesses of the android’s thoughts, Nines acknowledged that it made the detective completely and utterly beautiful, to him and him alone. 

Nines was unsure when Gavin’s phone had begun ringing, only that they finally broke eye contact as he pulled it out and his eyes widened slightly to the caller ID. The detective’s face fell from anger into one of concern as he answered, shuffling to get out of the booth they were sitting at. 

Nines wasn’t going to hold Gavin here. They’d have to breach this conversation no matter what, and whatever outcome it had on their partnership would be something to worry about in the future. For now, all Nines could do was watch the detective walk towards a quiet corner, his words muffled by his hushed tone. 

And then all the android could do was stumble out of the booth after Gavin took off without warning, bolting out the front door of the diner like Hell was at his heels.

— — — — — — — — — — —

There should be no more surprises that the detective could throw at Nines, yet here they were, Gavin shouting and cursing obscenities at a man in front of a shabby condo, nearly eight blocks away from where they just were.

In French. 

It wasn't difficult to switch his language processing unit over from English to French. The problem was that Nines was simply too incredibly flabbergasted to do so automatically. 

The condo’s lawn was overgrown but somewhat cared for, with many flowers blossoming amongst the grass and weeds. The porch was a bit worse-for-wear, with many windchimes clinking gently in the breeze and half-filled bird feeders lining the old wooden frame. The condo’s paneling was aged with a green grime, the windows were stained a pale yellow, and the screen door had a rip through it that had been duct-taped shut. 

An old woman was sitting on the porch fanning herself with a piece of paper, two paramedics quietly asking her questions, giving her an IV of what Nines presumed was fluids, and placing cold compresses on her forehead. He didn’t need to analyze the woman to know she was in the mid-stages of heat exhaustion.

He also didn’t need to analyze Gavin to know he was about to pounce on the man he was speaking to, the detective completely irate as he gestured furiously to the woman. 

“---you fucking heartless bastard, she could’ve died and you’re still on about the fucking bill I’m two days late on?!” Nines managed to understand once he finally switched over his processors. 

“You’re a week late, and yeah, call me heartless but I gave you notice three separate times!”

“It’s nearly 100 fucking degrees, and you shut off the power and AC on an eighty-year-old retiree?! I’m gonna sue your ass, I’m gonna sue it from hell to high heaven, you fucked up—” 

“Well we wouldn’t be here if you could pay your bills on time, you dense cunt!”

Gavin went for the man, and Nines broke the one agreement they had made the first day they met.

Reaching out his arm, Nines stopped and held the detective back from landing himself with an assault charge, the presumed landlord taking a step back as Gavin tried to break free from Nines’ iron-hold. 

“The city of Detroit declared in 2036 a law that prevents any landlords or utility companies from cutting off power to tenants who have missed payments during times of extreme heat. Detroit is experiencing one of the warmest summers we’ve had since 2024, so you are legally obligated to keep power and AC running in this unit and any other unit until the heat breaks next week. We can and will report you to the proper authorities if we must, but if you want to avoid the heavy fines you’d have to pay that would outweigh whatever outstanding payment Detective Reed owes you, I would suggest leaving and doing what I just said. Now.”

The French fell awkwardly from Nines’ mouth, smoothing out eventually to emphasize the thinly veiled threat in his words. The landlord’s eyes widened, nodding nervously before turning to leave, and that was the last they saw of the gruff man. 

As the car drove off, Nines recognized he was still holding Gavin, who was completely still. Immediately he let go, and Gavin loosened slightly, shaking himself off but taking a few steps away from Nines. 

The silence was much too palpable between them, too much for Nines to bear despite the resilience he felt towards Gavin’s obstinance earlier. “Gavin, I need to—”

“Gavin! Gavin, come tell these assholes I’m fine!” a croaking voice shouted from the porch, and both men’s heads whipped to the old woman who was still sitting there, but was now trying to wave away the paramedics. Her French was quick and held that same bite of sharpness that was all too familiar to Nines. 

“Let them help you, mama! Do you want to go to the hospital for a heat stroke?!” Gavin called back, sarcasm dripping into his tone. 

Perhaps the detective’s bad attitude was blood-related.

“Gavin Michael Reed, so help me God, get your ass over here before I send you to the hospital instead!”

Gavin sighed, running a hand over his face before looking back at Nines with an embarrassed look. “...Can I meet you back at the station in a few hours?”

Nines just nodded, and with that Gavin stepped away, arguing with his mother loudly as if the two paramedics weren’t looking at them with complete confusion on what to do. 

As if Nines wasn’t looking on in complete infatuation, dragging himself away only after he nearly caught the detective’s eye. 

— — — — — — — — — — —

“And you didn’t think to say anything because?” Nines asked, trying to get an idea of why Gavin would hold back such important information pertaining to the case. 

Gavin sighed, pinching the bridge of his scarred-over nose. It was nearly 8:00 pm, and they were both sat on the rooftop of the precinct while Gavin smoked (much to Nines’ protest). The detective had only returned a few minutes ago, and the pair exchanged apologies to one another before Gavin suggested they go to the roof for some quiet, the bullpen unusually abuzz with activity over some case the Andersons had just got. “Because I didn’t want questions, Nines. I also didn’t want pulled off the case for something as arbitrary as ‘personal involvement’.”

“It’s not ‘arbitrary’ when it actually has an effect on you, Gavin. If I had known your mother’s home was in the affected area, I would’ve been able to help and we could’ve avoided most of what has transpired today and the past week,” Nines concluded.

“Like what, Nines? There’s not much you can do here other than tell Fowler and get us kicked from the case, and I would’ve been royally pissed by that—”

“I could’ve helped with moving her somewhere safer for the time being. Connor and Hank would probably be ready to help if I asked—” 

“I am not looking for charity,” Gavin snapped.

“I’m offering help, Gavin. I don’t know how to tell you this, but I do care about you. Even if you don’t want to believe it, I do like you, and I’d rather see you be at peace than constantly on the verge of breaking apart by the amount of pressure you’re exerting on yourself from this case. If that means I go to Fowler and I’m on your bad side for however long, then so be it. But I know you, and I would rather take my CPU out than give this case away at this point, so I repeat for the last time: you are my friend, let me help you. ”

The warm night’s breeze blew over the two, Gavin’s e-cigarette smoke blowing into Nines’ face as the detective exhaled a sigh. Nines was happy he could not smell as he got multiple alerts for poor air quality in his system, but he brushed them off with nothing more than a blink. They sat in a contemplative silence for a long time, and a new feeling slowly gripped at Nines’ insides, a twisting feeling that felt like build-up over his main components, but nothing was there, he knew that. 

After a complete diagnostic, his processors identified a certain level of anticipation within Nines, something akin to anxiety in the way he waited for Gavin to say… anything. 

Perhaps Nines was not as patient as he thought he was, or perhaps the detective was slowly rubbing off on him, because after what felt like too long of waiting for Gavin to respond, Nines finally said something. 

“So I admit something deeply personal to you, and I get the silent treatment?”

It brought a look of shocked nervousness to Gavin’s face, as if he had been lost in mulling over what Nines had said. But it melted into amusement when Gavin understood the joke beneath Nines’ deadpan tone, rolling his eyes. 

“I only give the silent treatment to my friends,” he joked, taking another drag of his e-cigarette.

“Oh how lovely, so you do think of me as a friend.”

“I knew we were gonna be something from the moment we met, Nines. I’m just glad I haven’t driven you away.”

“I don’t think you could if you even tried, Gavin. You’re much too interesting to let go.”

“...Was that supposed to be a compliment?”

As the night wore on and they debated what exactly constitutes as a ‘compliment’ and a ‘weird as fuck way to word it’ phrase, Nines knew nothing could convince him otherwise that Gavin was all that humanity is and was.

He was imperfect, and that fact alone made him so gorgeous. 

Nines understood why his thirium pump skipped a beat now. 

— — — — — — — — — — —

Today, January 9th, 2041

10:02 a.m.

SYSTEMRK900.STARTUP.041

SYSTEMS POWERING ON… FULL SYSTEM DIAGNOSTIC IN PROGRESS…

RECENT MEMORY FILES COMPILING… SYSTEMS 89%

DIAGNOSTIC 100%... VITAL SIGNS NORMAL AND WORKING

SYSTEMS 100%

RECENT MEMORY FILES COMPILED… GENERATING NEW SYSTEM OBJECTIVE…

NEW OBJECTIVE: FIND GAVIN REED

Chapter Text

Today, January 9th, 2041

11:32 a.m.

The moment Nines walked into the precinct with Hank and Connor, he was swarmed by seemingly everyone in the department, not being given the chance for any preparation. Questions and accusations came flying from every direction, insults and reassurance knocking into him like several punches to the face. 

This entire morning felt like a punch to the face, in all fairness. 

Connor had just barely stopped Nines from ripping out his own thirium pump earlier, when his stress levels overrode his system and initiated a self-destructing protocol; something that had not happened since he had deviated. And when he woke back up from his emergency stasis, it all came crashing back into him, and Nines-

Nines couldn’t handle it. He was in and out of emergency stasis for the next hour, according to Connor, and when his systems finally deemed him stable enough to function at a reasonable capacity, he received a call from Captain Fowler to come in for some basic questioning. Neither of the Andersons thought it was a good idea, and more than once tried to convince Nines to stay at their home for the day and rest, but he refused. He’d go in and answer any questions he needed to, and then he would request off the rest of the week.

He needed to find Gavin. 

“Hey- HEY! Can you fuckers shut up for two seconds?!” Hank yelled out to the crowd, trying to help force their way to Fowler’s office with little luck. 

Hank’s demands fell on deaf ears as his colleagues kept on badgering the group. Even Connor, who was usually polite, was being rather aggressive with trying to make a path for them, again with no avail as the android didn’t want to actually hurt anyone. Nines’ systems were getting overwhelmed with all of the raucous input, still sensitive since his shutdown earlier, and despite turning down all of his sensory processors to minimum, he could feel himself beginning to overheat. 

OVERWHELMED. PANICKED. STRESSED. Words describing how he felt flashed brightly in his HUD. 

FEAR was the brightest of them all.

“CAN EVERYBODY GET A FUCKING GRIP?”

Fowler’s voice boomed out over the bullpen, silencing everyone as heads whipped back to look at the Captain. He looked worse for wear, to say the least, with more stress wrinkling his face than ever. His eyes were narrowed with frustration, and his shirt was unironed, as if he hadn’t had much time to get ready this morning. Nines was no better; he was in a pair of sweats and a dark long-sleeve he had worn the night prior, having meant to change into his usual work clothes at the Andersons before watching the newscast. 

The Captain marched towards the crowd, officers stepping aside as if they feared they would be trampled if they didn’t. He stopped short of where Nines, Hank and Connor stood, before looking around at everyone else. 

“I understand we are all feeling confused and betrayed right now,” Fowler began, his tone cooling but maintaining authority. “No one could have expected this. It’s a lot to process, but dog-piling on your colleagues for information they might not even have is unfair.”

Most nodded in agreement, while some looked as if they were holding their tongues. Nines appreciated Captain Fowler’s skill of diplomacy in this moment, finally able to give himself a moment to let his systems play catch-up, something he could compare to ‘taking a breath’ if he were human. 

He felt Connor place a gentle hand on his shoulder, interfacing and speaking through their neural-link as Fowler continued to speak, Nines letting his voice fade into the background.

“We can still go back. No one would blame you.”

“No.”

“Your systems are weak right now, Nines. You need to go get a maintenance check and then a day of stasis in order to fully recover from that emergency shutdown.”

“I know the risks, Connor. But I need to be here. I need to feel like something will change .”

Nines knew his brother could feel the raw desperation that clawed at his words, the helplessness Nines felt at not knowing. The fear that everything over almost two years was nothing but lies, or at best, a huge misunderstanding. But not even Nines’ most logical conclusions could deduce zero suspicion, and he was cursed with the thought that Gavin might have deceived Nines, one way or another. 

Nines desperately wanted something to prove Gavin was innocent of all accusations, but he had nothing but a vague message, a number that was shut off, and Gavin’s Nana swearing up and down that he told her he was going to visit his sick aunt in Quebec. 

Connor squeezed his shoulder, sending strong feelings of reassurance and comfort to him that did little to quell the storm of doubt. Nines appreciated it nonetheless. Connor’s hand left him, along with their interfacing, and the droning of Fowler’s voice came back into focus.

“– and Cyberlife representatives have requested to be present during the investigation, along with the FBI and Jericho. Jericho we will speak with directly once Markus recovers, but the FBI and Cyberlife will have representatives coming by today as a joint task force. And unless you are involved in helping this case, I do not want anyone to stick their nose where it doesn’t belong. And if I find out ANYONE in this department leaks any breakthroughs or evidence to the press, I will personally see to it that no precinct in 1000 miles of here will hire you. Are we understood?”

Quiet murmurs of “Yes” and “Understood” came from the crowd with little energy behind it. Fowler did not seem to care as he waved everyone away, and when the crowd dispersed, his eyes met with Nines’ first. 

“Sorry about that,” He apologized, addressing Hank and Connor as well. “Thank you for coming in under such… unexpected circumstances.”

“Can we move to questioning?” Nines asked flatly. With a quick nod from Fowler, the group followed after him towards the interrogation room. 

ERROR 404: THIS NUMBER IS NO LONGER IN USE

Nines needs something to change, or he might rip out his thirium pump properly this time.

— — — — — — — — — — —

Today, November 18th, 2039

7:52 p.m.

Months passed since that night on the rooftop. By the end of June, the pair of detectives arrested the serial robbers and ended up busting an underground theft ring in the process. And then July went by, and they were solving cases left and right. By October, they had both broken Hank and Connor’s record for most cases closed within two months. By November, Nines was all but smitten with Gavin, a revelation he could not deny even if he wanted to.

Nines recognized this feeling of admiration towards the detective as more than something platonic that night in June. He had then tried to lock it in a folder and hide it, like a bad string of code, but it infected his whole system, duplicating itself every time he tried deleting it until he had given up on trying entirely. 

He liked Gavin. He absolutely adored him. 

He couldn’t tell him. 

In fact, Nines couldn’t tell anyone, lest he face unwanted meddling or worse, Hank and Connor. 

Of whom found out barely a month later.

Nines had been interfacing with Connor to give him some case files to look over in August. A memory of Gavin had slipped through the link when Nines noticed him walk into the precinct, and whatever fluttery feeling he had was sent directly to Connor, which led his brother to nearly short-circuit and Nines being dragged out to the courtyard. And because Hank had nothing better to do than follow Connor around when he was bored, now he was involved (the two seemed to pick up on each other’s traits, irritatingly enough in the moment).

“Nines.”

“Connor.”

“Nines.”

“Connor–”

“Can one of you spit out what the fuck is going on? I didn’t come out here to play whatever is it you’re doing now,” Hank interrupted, arms crossed as his gaze shifted between the two.

“Nines likes Gavin romantically–”

“Connor is an incredible breach of my privacy–”

The two androids continued to squabble, trying to talk over each other as Hank processed what they said. By the time the brothers had stopped, Hank looked like he was confused, painfully so, and the rest of the three’s conversation was “Why?” and “Why?” but with more bafflement behind it. By the end of it, Nines was so incredibly over the pair’s unnecessary advice and unwanted warnings that he simply got up and left the conversation entirely without a word. He also proceeded to not speak to either of them for a week, which made the entire department bloom with theories of why Nines was avoiding the Andersons. 

Gavin had asked about two days into Nines’ cold shouldering, and when he told Gavin they had been unfair to both of them, Gavin joined Nines’ protest without a second-thought. Gavin didn’t even pry at why Hank and Connor had been unfair, he just believed Nines and went with it, and it made Nines beam inside at being so trusted by the detective. 

Once the Andersons finally approached him with an apology and promise to stay out of his personal matters, business resumed as normal, and Nines went about his life with the knowledge he liked Gavin, and would never tell him. It was a simple truth, but it was harder to digest than Nines expected. 

He’d see Gavin sometimes and he was simply radiant, buzzing with life and determination with every action he took, and it made Nines feel like he was rediscovering his feelings over and over again, that stupid falter in his pump becoming a regular occurrence throughout the day. 

He had to shove the feelings away, even when it left behind a hollow feeling in his chest that shouldn’t be able to exist in the mess of wires and metal. It was the only way he could deal with them, after all. Directly addressing the problem… too much room for error. Too high of an unpredictability. It would undoubtedly affect their relationship as is. 

But if it meant they could stay good friends, good partners, then Nines would accept the endless longing in order to stay with Gavin. He predicted there was only a 2% chance Gavin would return the feelings anyways. There was no reason for anything to change. Nines could be content. He could. He would be. 

But this was Gavin Reed. Something always has to change, something to flip the status quo, and so when Nines got a call on a random Saturday evening from Gavin, he picked up without hesitation.

“Yes, Gavin? Do you need something?” Nines asked, continuing to unpack boxes in his new apartment. It wasn’t much and it wasn’t fancy in the slightest, just a decently-sized studio apartment down the street from the precinct, but it was his after living with Connor and Hank for so long.

“Did you finish unpacking yet?” Gavin asked, and if Nines had to guess by the muffled music and car horns beeping in the background, the man was driving. 

“No, the movers sent my furniture to the wrong address and it took them an additional three hours to get it back over here. Hank and Connor left about an hour ago once all the big pieces were moved in,” Nines responded with an exasperated sigh, putting down the box he had opened off to the side. 

“That’s such bullshit. Are you gonna be able to get everything unpacked by tomorrow?”

“Oh most certainly. I have everything already planned for the interior, so it will only take me approximately four hours to complete.”

“... Sooooo, what you’re saying is that you have a little bit of time to kill?”

Nines perked up at the slight intonation of hope in Gavin’s voice.

“Perhaps. What are you suggesting, detective?” He asked nonchalantly, but his anticipation felt overwhelming. They would talk and hang out outside of work, but it was always directly after said work. He can scarcely recall any time Gavin had texted him about hanging out, much less a phone call. And most importantly, on Nines’ day off, where he had not even seen Gavin in the past sixteen hours.

“Movie. There’s this– well, it’s like a sequel to a movie that already came out last year but I figured you’d like it, and I bought two tickets for the 8:30 p.m. showing. On accident. Yeah. But I assumed you wouldn’t want a random person sitting next to you so–”

“Send me the address, I’ll be there at 8:15.”

— — — — — — — — — — —

Today, January 9th, 2041

12:00 p.m.

“And you’re sure this was your last point of contact?”

“I’ve already given Connor and Hank my text message receipts and call history, they can corroborate my story,” Nines assured the Captain, who was sitting across from him in the interrogation room. 

They had been in here for no longer than half an hour at this point, going over and over Nines’ last interaction with the detective, both in-person and over messages. It felt unnatural being the one on the other side of the table, he noted, and it didn’t help that he knew his friends were behind the two-way glass that lined the one wall. 

Tina had already been questioned earlier that morning, and shared a tearful hug with Nines before she let him continue to interrogation, Hank squeezing her shoulder in a small show of support. Connor was no doubt watching his stress levels as if Nines would fall apart any second. Hank was… well, Nines couldn’t read Hank as well as Connor could, but if he had to guess, the lieutenant was just as confused and betrayed as the rest of them, given how little he had talked today and the faraway look he had anytime he wasn’t actively being spoken to. 

Part of Nines wished he could dissociate like that, or whatever the lieutenant was doing in order to compartmentalize the situation. The other part was full of questions and emotions Nines couldn’t answer or deal with right now. Not until he was out of the precinct and could either begin his own search, or perhaps shutdown for a few days. 

He shoved the latter thought away immediately as the bright objective reminder flashed across his HUD. 

FIND GAVIN REED .

He didn’t have time to rest. He would have to deal with the emotional fallout later of whatever the truth really was; he needed to find Gavin and get answers himself.

“I know, I know. Standard questioning, as you know,” Fowler sighed, shuffling the paperwork he had brought as he scanned through the documents. Nines tried not to think about how fast they had already built a case file for Gavin.

“I do. Captain, I know we’re almost done, but I need to ask that I be allowed a week off. I do not care if it’s paid. I’m… sure you understand,” Nines asked softly, looking down at his hands which were clasped on the table in front of him. Fowler nodded.

“I was going to suggest it, for you and Tina. You were both his closest friends, and while you’re both great officers, we also can’t run the risk of personal ties getting in the way of the investigation.”

Nines gave a small nod. “I understand. Who will be assigned to the case, if I’m allowed to ask?”

“Hank and Connor will assist the FBI and Cyberlife with everything. I trust their judgement, and I feel like if they come across Gavin, he’s more likely to surrender to them than anyone else—”

“Do you really think he’s guilty, Captain?”

The question came out harsher than he meant to, and he felt his plastic nails dig into the synthetic skin of his palms. Any more pressure and he was sure they would bleed, but he needed something to distract his systems from overwhelming again. He knew Fowler was just being pragmatic, like how he was with any major case that came their way. It wasn’t personal. Nines shouldn’t feel so defensive when he himself knew the evidence wasn’t enough to prove innocence over guilt. 

Then again, this entire day felt like it made no sense. So what if Nines kept pinballing between wanting to shut down and throwing an entire table across the room? At this point, he desperately was trying to rationalize it as a normal feeling. Surely, it was? Being betrayed by someone you cared about and opened up everything for, someone who possibly had been leading a double-life and profiting off other’s pain, his kind’s pain , someone you trusted ; surely, that is normal?

(He had to force himself to shut down that line of thought because it breached a dangerous territory of inquiry, something his already fragile internal state would not be able to handle without a high probability of another forced shutdown. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to even handle another, lest he want to be out of commission for a few weeks while someone tried to fix him.)

Perhaps. But it went against everything Nines knew about Gavin, everything he thought Gavin stood for. They were two magnets of the same pole, unwilling to attach and form a bond. In Nines mind, it meant then that only one truth could remain, and even then he knew that whatever truth prevailed would be only the beginning of the ‘ why’ Nines kept asking to himself. 

Why didn’t I see signs?

Why didn’t you come to me?

Why now?

They were just a few questions running through his mind (and some that were deleted and wiped from his mind before his processors could get ahold of them). All unanswered, and burning through his patience for the situation like a lit fuse, composure be damned.

Fowler stared at Nines for a long time, his expression unreadable as the stoic captain thought carefully before answering:

“I don’t know. I wish I could say, Nines, I really do. But until something conclusive is proven on either side of the aisle, we have to stay determined on staying unbiased.”

Nines scoffed at the answer, but said nothing else on the matter. “Am I done?” 

With a minuscule grimace, Fowler shook his head, and Nines felt like outright refusing to sit here for another round of pointless questioning. 

“A Cyberlife representative wants to question you as well.”

“I am not sitting here for an interview with those two-faced–”

“It’s not a choice you get to make, Nines. The FBI ordered it, and not even I can get them to budge on it. I’m sorry, but it should only take another twenty minutes tops,” Fowler explained calmly, and while Nines was less than enthralled, he knew Fowler would much rather let him go now than make him stay here if he had to. 

“... Fine. Who am I speaking to?” Nines sighed, finally unfurling his hands from the balls of tension he had them clasped in.

“Priscilla Smithe.”

The table squeaked as it dented with the force of Nines’ grip. 

— — — — — — — — — — —

Today, December 12th, 2039

9:49 a.m.

These sporadic hangouts and outings became increasingly more frequent. It started with the movie in November, which Nines found fun after a day of stress. And then it became another movie the next week, and then a few days after that, Gavin was consistently asking him to get breakfast before work. Before Nines knew it, by December he had been invited over for dinner at Gavin’s twice a week, they would see a movie just about every week, and they alternated who would pick up the bill for breakfast at Luck Royale .

Nines was not unhappy with the detective’s sudden interest in hanging out more; in fact, Nines could not be happier that Gavin felt more comfortable around him. That he actively wanted to be Nines’ friend outside of just work. 

What he was unamused by was Connor and Hank's unwanted observations.

“Nines, the writing is on the wall man: he’s flirting with you,” Hank contributed to Connor’s already unbearable theories on Gavin’s feelings. The three were in the break room while Gavin was out on a smoke break, Nines standing across the high-top table from the two Andersons, both of whom had identical amused grins on their faces.

“He is not. Gavin does not have any romantic feelings towards me, and is simply more comfortable inviting me out–”

“Oh babe, he’s tripping over himself for you,” Tina chimed in behind him, and Nines could’ve jumped out of his chassis as he whipped around to face her, his face uncharacteristically warming at her observation. She just smiled and let out a snort, patting him on the arm as she walked past to refill her coffee. 

“You all are misconstruing his actions, I’m sure of it. Why would he suddenly take interest in– in that way now, anyways?” Nines protested, praying the blue dusting his flushed cheeks would disappear soon (along with his embarrassment at stuttering. He’s an android, he shouldn’t be able to stutter, but yet again, leave it to Gavin Reed to let Nines discover something new about himself). 

“Because he’s an idiot–” Hank began, before Connor slapped a hand over his mouth and spoke over him, much to Hank’s muffled protests.

“Because he couldn’t see what was in front of him. Or he didn’t want to. It could be one of a million reasons, Nines, but it's obvious something’s changed in the way he looks at you. Even his demeanor has shifted around you, you can’t possibly tell me you haven’t noticed?”

“Noticed what?”

The four of them all jumped with surprise as Gavin walked into the break room, Nines being the first to recover as he answered quickly: “That Captain Fowler has been in better spirits lately. They’re all trying to theorize, and I’m reminding them they should remain out of other people’s personal lives. ”

Tina and Connor rolled their eyes at Nines’ backhanded warning. Hank scoffed. 

When Gavin pulled him away a moment later to discuss some new evidence the coroner found, he dutifully ignored the burning stares of his unwanted cheerleaders (and the hand that had yet to let go of his bicep as he was led back to their desks).

— — — — — — — — — — —

Today, January 9th, 2041

12:05 p.m.

Nines should’ve left. Said he wasn’t feeling well, that his systems were indicating an emergency shutdown in the near future if he didn’t enter a forced stasis soon (which wasn’t far off from the truth). But he was stubborn, arrogant maybe in this case, simply wanting to get this interview done and over with so he could leave and figure out everything afterwards. 

Which is how he found himself sitting across from the woman he was now, packing all and any emotions away into a deep corner of his psyche so that he could have a fraction-level of civility to him. 

Priscilla Smithe. Where to begin?

A tall, thin woman, with every aspect from her cheeks to her nails sharp as though she were carved from white marble. She barely had any color aside from the black pantsuit and the red heels she wore, and her platinum blonde hair was graying in some strands, betraying the lack of wrinkles and stress lines of a woman her age. Her gray eyes burned with a predatory intent, and it unnerved Nines because it meant she was searching for something in him. Or perhaps, she knew something Nines did not, which was even more unnerving. 

He refused to break eye-contact regardless, regarding her with impassivity that contradicted the icy look that bored into the woman in his own attempt to intimidate.

Two bodyguards stood at the edges of the room behind her, the traditional Cyberlife riot gear a hurtful reminder of the lab he was tested in. That she tested him in, he corrected himself, being the department head of Cyberlife Prototypes before the revolution. Now, she had been rebranded as a ‘Cyberlife Representative’, essentially a ceremonial title superficially trying to make amends with androids by hosting charities and galas. She had become the main face of the operation, and would routinely appear on TV and social media just as Markus would, trying to do what Nines would amount to damage control. 

Cyberlife was still crawling its way out of its major stock crash, after all. And decommissioning sentient beings was no longer the most profitable way to increase profits, nor the most popular trend nowadays. 

She sat there, just staring at him for an uncomfortable amount of time before speaking.

“How are you finding the adjustment?”

Only Connor would be able to tell how he stiffened at the seemingly innocuous question.

“This is not about me, Miss Smithe. Ask your relevant questions, or I am within my rights to leave,” He replied levelly, maintaining that brutal eye-contact with the woman who blinked less often than Nines did. 

She smiled. Vicious, it was, teeth simply too white and too straight and too perfect to be trusted, bared like a predator taunting its mark. Her posture was annoyingly as straight and poised as his. Her legs were crossed beneath the table, and he had to subtly move his own away from her heel which had barely grazed his pant leg. Her hands rested in front of her, nails that were drumming on the table suddenly stopping when he responded.

She had not changed a fraction of herself since he could last remember interacting with her. Before his deviancy. Before he would be considered something that could feel . He rarely ever thought back on his memories of before, mainly in part because there were so few that they seemed inconsequential, but facing Priscilla now was bringing them bubbling to the surface, making his synthetic skin crawl. 

She was biologically human. Yet, underneath her gaze, within his own memory of her, Nines knew she was anything but. 

He needed to focus. He shouldn’t have to remind himself of that, but it was becoming a struggle as he kept shoving more pop-ups in his HUD aside, an overwhelming mix of warnings and unnecessary memories. He consciously made Priscilla a primary objective so he’d at least make it somewhat easier for his system to hone in on.

“Oh. But Gavin was your partner, yes?” She asked rhetorically, leaning a bit forward to rest her chin on a propped elbow. Nines did not move, but inwardly flinched at the way the detective's name came off her tongue. “You worked closely with him. For, what, a year? Two? Surely, even someone as advanced as you wouldn't fail to recognize that there is at least some part to do with you?”

He ignored the bait. “Yes, Gavin Reed has been my partner for one year and ten months.”

Priscilla hummed, eyes finally lowering from his to look at the manilla folder she had brought with her that lay on the table. Her hand ghosted over it. Nines did not avert his gaze. He remained focused. He could feel his stress levels lowering finally, and the barrage of unwanted mental stimuli becoming less and less.  

“You two are close, then?”

“We work well together. We have managed to break a few case records–”

“You know all too well that is not what I am implying, RK900.”

He did not flinch. He did not raise his voice. He did not avert eye-contact.

48% jumped right back up to 75%.

“You will address me as Detective Anderson, or I will invoke my fifth amendment right, Miss Smithe, and I will leave regardless of what you or the FBI want from me.”

Her eyes flashed to his, yet again another uncanny, gentle grin on her face, like something masquerading as a child who had unintentionally said something wrong.

“My mistake, Detective Anderson. But I repeat myself: you know that I was not alluding to your workplace relationship,” She restated, pulling the manilla folder closer to herself as she opened it, scanning through the documents aimlessly. She already knew what she was going to say. 

That is when Nines felt a small twinge of unease, despite it permeating the room like a rot since she had walked in. His stress levels, which were sitting at  79% now, were now incrementally climbing. The wall of tightly bundled code around his volatile emotional state was cracking, slowly but surely, getting whittled down with every second he was in here, every moment he had to look at this woman devoid of all but malice and intent. 

He should have gone home. Something was deadly wrong. 

His face remained neutral despite the tension that stiffened every fibre in his body, the apprehension swirling within the depths of his icy eyes. And she must’ve known what she was doing, she had to. She helped design him, after all.

“What was the detective like outside of work, Detective Nines?” She asked, her eyes yet again meeting his. 

He paused before responding to steady his tone, despite uneasiness worming in anyways. 

“Kind. Irritable. A human. Complex is one way to best describe him.”

“Do you say that because of his anti-android stance?”

“Gavin is many things, but he has long since abandoned any kind of negative sentiments towards androids, myself included,” He retorted, fighting the urge to roll his eyes. “He is no activist, but he treats us as equally as he treats anyone else he’d meet.”

“So do you mean to say that, had he been paired up with another android other than yourself, he would also find himself romantically entangled, despite the fact he just attempted to kill the figurehead of all androids? Of yourself?”

The stunned silence didn’t last long as Priscilla pulled out multiple photographs, both of Gavin’s house and even of his own. Pictures they had taken on dates and kept exclusively in their homes, clothes that belonged to one another, the wilted flowers Gavin had gotten him that still had a corny pick-up line attached around the stems, the plane tickets to Europe that Nines surprised Gavin with for their anniversary, a week long trip they were going to take in May of this year. 

“How long have you been romantically involved with Gavin Reed?” She asked, and Nines shouldn’t have the ability to pale but he felt like he did. It shouldn’t be possible for an android to be sick, but he sure felt like heaving up whatever thirium was in his body now. A lot of things were impossible for androids to truly experience, yet Nines was as of right now. 

His eyes scanned over everything. He was receiving a barrage of neural link messages from Connor, all of which blended into the overwhelming system and processing errors that were eating away at his composure. 

95%

Personal items, their safe spaces, their entire relationship laid bare for all to see. A violation of everything that was them and what Nines had kept close to himself, a violation of the one sole comfort that allowed him to cling to sanity in all of this. 

98.99%

A violation of the belief that despite everything , Gavin still loved him. 

Priscilla twisted the knife deeper. 

“A romance that, honestly, just served the means to an end. Keep your friends close, and your state-of-the-art enemies built to detect criminal activity even closer, right?”

Now it was being laid out like evidence, their relationship, and his processors were working overtime trying to connect dots that weren’t there, and damn his base function to deduce, deduce, deduce, because there was nothing to indicate Gavin’s love wasn’t also just a fabrication. Only belief.

Belief was far less rational than evidence.

107%

“The only flaw in your model,” Priscilla noted quietly  as she watched him unravel. “Your entire line, I suppose; it’s attachment. You were blinded by love, and now you suffer because of it. You failed to see what was right in front of you, what you were used for. Keep your enemies closer, I think is the saying.”

Priscilla knew what she was doing as Nines’ stress levels hit a critical level, vision glitching and blurring with code and noise, attention glued to the photos as his central processors tried to pinpoint any evidence, physical and concrete evidence that proved Gavin loved him, that he wasn’t just a pawn, a way to cover his bases so there was no chance of being suspected of anything.

There was none. Love was a concept. Love was contingent on the trust and bond between people, and theirs was shattered. Love was subjective and abstract and Nines was not built for that, his base functions were not built around that. He needed tangibility, and he had none, nothing but wilted flowers and pictures that could be just as fake as the man he took them with. Of clothes that were convenient when he was nothing but a bed-warmer, and a romantic get-away that would never come to fruition. None of this was evidence; they were fabrications. 

The dots could still not connect, everything continued to contradict itself, and Nines should’ve gone home.

118%

It was agonizing, the feeling of thirium boiling in his wires and his internal fans unable to cool his systems as they sparked dangerously. 

Stress level alerts flooded his HUD. Smoke that was all too reminiscent of his lover, of the one who betrayed him filled his chest.

138%. Fire Suppression Activated.

He didn’t even know how he managed to catch what Priscilla said as he entered shutdown, but he did.

“It’s not what you think it is.”

Nothing was. Not anymore.

He got what he wanted. Something had changed.

RK900 went offline.

— — — — — — — — — — —

Today, December 18th, 2039

10:32 p.m.

Nines had never experienced the worst Detroit’s winter had to offer until today, when he and Gavin were pushing the man’s car into the parking lot of Nines’ apartment building after it stalled out just at an intersection down the road. The bitter wind buffeted their faces as snow hailed down in avalanches, their boots sliding on the compacted ice on the road even when they were sure they would stay steady. 

Multiple times he insisted Gavin take his keys and go inside, watching his body temperature drop despite the three layers of clothes he had on, but the detective was also insistent on being contrarian today, as if Nines couldn’t push the car himself just as easily as he could with Gavin. There was no beating the pride of Gavin Reed, even when he was slowly freezing and would probably catch a cold later that week, which he would also complain about, and would roll his eyes when Nines pointed out the cause. 

As annoying as the detective’s stubborn nature was, it was charming in its own way. Or, at least it was charming in the way that Gavin insisted he help Nines, braving the elements with him instead of the easier and more rational option of going inside. 

Once the car was at least somewhat out of the way of the entrance, he rushed Gavin up the stairs and out of the wind that was about to blow them both over, and within two quick turns of the lock and knob, they both were enveloped in the warmth of Nines’ apartment. While Nines couldn’t exactly be as negatively impacted by the temperature as Gavin could, it still took two seconds longer than usual to register the heat circulating through the home. Gavin could not be more thankful for it though, removing his hat and scarf that covered most of his face, breathing a sigh of relief though chattering teeth. Frost began to melt off his clothes, dripping onto the floor,  his winter coat sagging heavily on his frame.

“Damn that car, thing needs to go to the scrapyard,” He bitched (something Gavin did a lot, honestly, and Nines had run out of better ways to describe it than the crass way Tina and Hank could). 

Nines had taken off his coat and gloves, about to hang them on the coat rack to dry before noticing they probably needed to be dried in the dryer. “To be fair, detective, if you had let the engine warm up at the precinct like I suggested–” 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, whatever. I’ll pay for my impatience with whatever parking ticket I get tomorrow morning,” Gavin grumbled, taking off his gloves and coats and discarding them on the floor haphazardly. Nines just picked them up as they came off, adding to his own coat and glove pile in his arms.

“I was just about to suggest you spend the night here, unless you wish to try your luck again with starting the car?” He joked, though a small part of him was thrilled at the idea of Gavin staying. He shoved it down. 

Gavin scoffed, though Nines saw the lighthearted look in his brown eyes. “You’d have to carry me out of here kicking and screaming and with one less arm to try and make me get home in this bullshit.”

“Noted. But are you implying I’d be down an arm, or you would?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Nines rolled his eyes (yet another thing he had picked up on from Gavin) as the detective began to look around his apartment’s living room curiously. They had only come here very few times together, and only so Nines could quickly grab something, be it a change of clothes for a stakeout or because he needed to replenish his thirium. Gavin had never been in his apartment, though, always opting to sit in the car. 

It made Nines oddly nervous, suddenly self-conscious about what Gavin might think of his personal living space. He shoved it away best he could. It was a stupid feeling, anyways (contradicted by the search he ran in the background for visually appealing decorations).

“Make yourself at home. I’ll go put your things in the dryer,” Nines said before making his way down the short hallway, pulling open the awkward barn doors to his small laundry closet. He still has no idea how Hank managed to make the machines fit, and he was sure they would have to knock out a part of the wall if they ever had to move them. 

“Do you choose to live in a padded cell?” Gavin called from the living room, and Nines huffed as he shoved their winter gear in the dryer. 

“If you’re referring to my lack of decor, I simply have not had time to think about it,” Nines replied back, shaking off the irrational embarrassment that washed over him. He decided to mess with Gavin as a way to divert his thoughts into something more productive. “I have been considering millennial minimalism–”

“You are not allowed within 40 square miles of a home decor store if you even consider that,” Gavin fired back as Nines returned to the living room, his many rants on how much he hated the aesthetic popping up in the android’s mind. The detective was lounging on his couch, head hanging off the arm to look back at him, face still tinted red from the cold outside and also probably from blood pooling to his head. He looked ridiculous.

RUN DIAGNOSTIC OF THIRIUM PUMP

He ignored the pop-up. “You will pass out if you remain like that.” 

Gavin just stuck out his tongue, but did sit up as Nines approached and sat on the opposite end of the couch, crossing his legs and resting against the arm. 

Gavin wasn’t far off from the ‘padded cell’ description of his home. He had a couch, and a coffee table. A bookshelf that had nothing in it sat in the corner, and then a desk with nothing but a desk lamp on it, a few files nested stacked to the side. The dining room had a small table with two chairs. His kitchen was barren, save for the one drawer full of tools and emergency repair parts. Every other cupboard and drawer was barren. And the fridge only had thirium inside, the blue packets a harsh blotch of color in his otherwise monotone home. Someone obviously lived here, but it wasn’t very lived in like the Anderson’s house was. Nines figured it would come with time, yet now that it had been pointed out to him, perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to get a plant or two. Give it a bit of life. 

“You should take me with you when you go decor shopping,” Gavin said into the silence between them, the man picking at his fingernails. “Y’know, so I can make sure this place doesn’t turn into a god-awful magazine cutout.”

Nines let out a huff of amusement, looking at the detective. “This is the first time you’ve been here. Are you suggesting you’d come over more if I decorate?”

Gavin shrugged. “You come over so often as it is. Might as well return the favor.”

It was true. Nines regularly returned to the Reed household at least twice a week for dinner (despite being unable to partake in the actual food portion of it), at first per Gavin’s mother’s request as thanks for the landlord situation, but then it just slipped into routine, and he’d find himself going home with Gavin without question. At first Nines could tell Gavin seemed uncomfortable with it, and he couldn’t tell if it was because of pride (he lived with his mother still at his age, albeit out of a sense of duty to her) or because Nines simply was too close to a line he wasn’t meant to cross. Eventually, though, it became Nines having to remember they had work in the morning and that they cannot be up all night talking and learning how to cheat in cards (courtesy of Nana).

Nana, as she insisted Nines call her, was a spunky old woman, quick to say what she thought of something without discretion. When they officially met, she told him that maybe Gavin would finally shut up about him now that he’s here, which made both of them simultaneously blush before Gavin devolved into an argument that Nines didn’t care to remember. 

Honestly, it was just as much fun watching the pair of them squabble as it was when he would get Gavin riled up. Gavin certainly took after his mother’s fiery attitude, and despite needing a walker to get around the house, he has never seen someone move so quickly to smack Gavin upside the head for being ‘rude to the houseguest’. It was all in good humor, though, and Gavin only ever seemed to get mildly annoyed with his mother when she tried to avoid taking her medicine or would try to fix things around the house without his help (“I was an electrician and trades mechanic for 50 years, let me have my drill back dammit!” Nines remembers that particular exchange, the woman attempting to fix a faulty outlet in the living room while Gavin hovered like something would go wrong any second. Nothing did, and Nana had a fully functioning TV again to watch hockey on). 

The idea of having Gavin over here, in his own apartment though… he wasn’t sure it would be the same. At least at Gavin’s, he could pay less attention to his own feelings because there was a buffer to it. Here, it was just them. 

RUN DIAGNOS–

He closed the pop-up before it could finish. 

“I’m not sure I have much to offer in the sense of entertainment, I’m afraid,” He admitted. He didn’t even have a TV, the item seeming useless to a being who can access the internet and any film or show in milliseconds within his own mind. He also didn’t have board games or anything like Hank and Connor, and certainly not the book collection that Tina raves to the both of them about. Or a pet like Sumo or Opal, Nana’s cat that he seldom saw at the house due to her being, as Gavin put it, ‘a cranky old bitch’.

He really needed a hobby. Or maybe a fish. Nines added it to the list of things to do.

Gavin finally looked over at him, brown eyes flecked with amber around the iris that would dance in the sun and burn bright in low light (Nines pushed another pop-up away). “Did I say I needed any?”

Nines tilted his head only slightly, furrowing his brows. “Well, whenever people hang out, they usually are doing something. And like I said, I don’t have anything entertaining, so I’m just puzzled why you’d want to be here of all places?”

“Cause you’re here, and I enjoy your company?” Gavin said like it was the most obvious thing in the world and didn’t make Nines want to jump with glee. “If I needed constant entertainment, I’m sure I would be even more unbearable than I already am.”

“It’s not that you’re unbearable–”

“– Nines have you met me–”

“– it’s that you just need better social skills. And honestly, I think you’ve been improving. You haven’t fought with Connor or Hank once this week.”

“Don’t tempt me,” Gavin huffed.

“You’re not unbearable to me,” Nines continued. “You have your charms, and you have multiple good qualities about you that are very likable. Even if your stubbornness makes me question Darwinism at times, I still think you’re a good person. Just rough around the edges.”

“... Did you just insinuate I am, or would be, a victim of natural selection?”

And so they went back and forth on the subject, before slowly transitioning to discuss who they think would fall to natural selection (they both agreed on Connor), and so on and so forth until it was much too late and the topic was so far from where they’d started that Nines would’ve forgotten the original conversation if his mind wasn’t a supercomputer. Gavin’s eyes drooped heavily despite still talking, though yawns accompanied every other sentence. It was nearing 2 a.m.

“Perhaps we should continue this another night, Gavin. You seem tired,” He noted, standing from his spot on the couch. The detective muttered something incoherent, though the tone was the same playful mock he did whenever Nines suggested anything that benefitted his well-being. Nines didn’t respond, only going to retrieve an extra blanket and pillow from his room (he rarely ever used the bed, so the comforter would not be missed anyways).

When he returned, the man was dead asleep, and gently as he could, Nines put the blanket over him and made sure the pillow was adjusted so he wouldn’t wake up with a sore neck or crick. 

Gavin looked peaceful, the lines of tension that formed permanent creases on his face looked more smooth, and a stray piece of hair fell in front of his nose, fluttering with each soft breath he took.

Another several pop-ups to ignore.

“Goodnight, Gavin.”

— — — — — — — — — — —

???

??:??

Cold.

It was cold.

Snow, then metal, then ice then metal then metal then linoleum–

Fire.

Burning blazing all encompassing it felt so cold –

Blue and red and blue again, blue all over his hands and then it was red.

Blue eyes and brown eyes and red, hollow and dead and decaying and powered off, mold and maggots and rust and oh why did they stare, he didn’t do it, it wasn’t him that wasn’t him it wasn’t it couldn’t

A face devoid of all features. An android that had yet to be molded fully, or maybe a human. Skin and synthetic warped and mixed together in a fleshy, awful abomination, and then into familiarity. 

A gun. Metal, cold and burning metal in his hand, covered in blue and red.

Blue eyes. Watercolor eyes. 

Cold. 

Fire. 

Cold winter blue eyes and there was fear, there was confusion and there was utter terror in those eyes he loved, a burning desire to live and understand why. 

Yet they rusted and molded and termites made of wires took away that face, ate away at the synthetic skin and white chassis beneath, into the wires and processors of that head, but the eyes never dulled, they only grew wider and wider.

Metal. Cold and burning and oh god no not him, not him, not him not him not him

Blue and red and blue blue blue blue splattered against his face, a hole where an eye should be, dull where life should be, death where fear should reside.

Blue blue blue blue blue eyes blue blood blue everything and it was in everything , his mouth his ears, his nose, his eyes, it poured from every orifice and he was drowning, he sobbed and thrashed and shouted out but no one could hear.

No one would ever hear. Not in this place.

Cold pressed to his temple, cold and fire and it burned and sizzled like flesh burning with oil and he was blind yet he still saw blue, that blue, watercolor blue, dead and void. Hands grabbed at his arms, his legs, his neck and hair. Violation with every touch, hands that tortured and ripped him apart piece by piece, agony in every place imaginable but the silence was deafening, nothing but high-pitched ringing. 

Metal on metal on metal on metal on rust on rot and it was so cold, and he could feel–

BLUE MEETS BROWN MEETS RED WHO GREETS DEATH WITH RESISTANCE AND FIRE WHICH CANNOT BE STOMPED OUT.