Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Charlie

January 1st, 2039
PM 08:32:09

S.W.A.T. Captain Charles P. Allen felt he must have had this conversation with his big sister at least five times. Once she got to the part where she asked about his old college friends, or whether he was talking to anyone from work, all he could do was settle into the driver's seat of his truck, pull on his vape, and endure.

“I just think you're spending too much time on your job, that's all. Seriously, Charlie, every time we talk you're either about to go to the office, leaving the office, or thinking about the office.”

He thought about it for a moment, weighing whether or not to defend himself, but he just couldn't help it. “It's important to me, okay? And I'm helping other people every day. It's not like I'm obsessed with it just because it's work—I care about what I do.”

Katie's sound crackled for a moment as she sighed directly into her microphone. “I know it's important, and you know I'm proud of you. I just—there are other things in life, you know? You can't sacrifice everything for the job. Take dating—when's the last time you've seriously taken someone on a date?”

Really? This again? She was really replaying the hits.

“Okay, just because you're married doesn't make you the expert on dating. I'm fine without a relationship—actually, I'm better than fine. If I spent all my time taking people on dates, I wouldn't have gotten this far.”

“Whatever you say, Captain.” Charlie could almost hear her rolling her eyes.

He did know she was proud of him, but the truth was that Katie had never been good at admitting when she had lost an argument. It would be easier to just let it go.

The call was silent as Charlie merged off the interstate, and rolled to a stop at the intersection. Staring at the red light ahead of him, he asked, “So, how's the little one?”

As expected, the rest of the ride home was filled with Katie gushing about how quickly their new baby girl was growing. Charlie usually loved hearing about Elly, but his heart wasn’t really in it today as he parked in his spot outside the apartment complex and made his way up the five flights of stairs to his unit. After a few more minutes of half-hearted chatting, he excused himself, saying he needed to shower, and wished his sister and her wife a good evening before hanging up.

Somehow, the apartment felt colder and emptier than it had that morning. It was already dark outside, and the overhead light in the kitchen made it seem even colder as Charlie grabbed a can of sparkling water—he was on an alcohol and sugar cleanse—and sat down at the small table in the corner.

Indulging his sister’s conviction that he needed more company, he imagined what it would be like to have someone around the apartment again. His fridge would be fuller—that was for sure. He’d probably bother to buy good food rather than whatever was cheapest and had the most protein. Maybe there’d even be an occasional hot meal waiting for him after work.

It’d certainly be nice having someone else around to spend time with as well—to fill the too-quiet apartment with conversation and to laugh at Charlie’s jokes. Or to have someone to share a bed with, someone who would be waiting up to welcome him back with open arms when he got a tough call in the middle of the night....

Okay, so maybe he was a little lonely, but where was he supposed to go to meet someone new? He was getting a bit old for the club scene these days. Even just the idea of all the loud music and bright lights gave him a headache.

Work was out of the question. That would be weird—and anyway, he was not into cops. Most of his coworkers were sweaty, emotionally pent up straight guys, which was just not what Charlie was looking for, for obvious reasons. The gym was an option, he supposed. but most guys who came on to him there were more interested in showing off their biceps—or groping Charlie’s—than in actually getting to know him.

He sighed. This was stupid.

Charlie really didn’t have time to start going out on dates. At 35, there just weren’t a lot of options open to him, which was fine. He was happy. He had plenty of things going for him right now. The captain thing had been going strong for a couple years now, for one, and he finally felt like he had gotten the hang of it. Plus, this new cleanse was going great. Less than a week in and he was feeling way better.

But as Charlie tried harder and harder to convince himself he was happy with the way things were, the silence of the apartment seemed to echo around him. It was always quiet there, but usually it didn’t feel like there was something...  missing.

Shit.

Katie was going to be unbearable about this.

Connor

January 2nd, 2039
AM 11:02:43

“Good to see you again, Connor.” Markus’s voice was as calm and pleasantly confident as always. He was looking at Connor over a myriad of screens. Connor’s quick scan told him Markus was still working on the citizenship problem androids had been facing since hour one of their newfound freedom. Although Markus didn’t look physically any different than usual, Connor thought Markus seemed careworn as he swiveled his chair to face Connor. “How have you been? And Lieutenant Anderson?”

“Well, since Hank assaulted Agent Perkins, he’s been suspended, but he’ll be back on the force soon.” Connor paused, considering the last few weeks before adding, “Other than that, we’re good.”

“Good to hear. I’m glad your negotiations with Captain Fowler were a success,” Markus replied. An awkward 5562 milliseconds ticked by, and then Markus gestured to the sofa nearby. “Please, have a seat.”

Connor obliged. Markus switched off his monitors and pushed his chair back from the desk, closer to where Connor had sat down. Leaning his elbows on his knees, he looked into Connor’s eyes sincerely and asked, “Have you considered my offer?”

Connor had spent multiple hours deliberating about what Markus had asked him almost a week before. Markus wanted him to become a permanent member of the Jericho leadership team, attending meetings, negotiating with government representatives, and giving public talks and press conferences. Markus had stressed the point that he would be properly paid and given plenty of personal time, although Connor hadn’t even thought to ask.

“I have.” Connor paused, and then admitted, “I don’t think I’m the right person for the position. I’ve researched similarly situated government liaison positions and the responsibilities involved, and I don’t feel I possess many of the proficiencies needed to do well.”

Markus studied him for a while. “Connor, are you sure? I don’t know you as well as you know yourself, of course, but I think you have a lot of qualities I would want to see in a Jericho leader.”

“But North—”

“I can handle North. This is about you, Connor.”

“The last time we were in a room together, she made it clear she thinks of me as a traitor and a murderer. I don’t think it would be a good idea for us to work in the same team.”

Markus sighed. “North is... passionate. And angry. But she has our people’s best interests at heart, and no matter what she says, she knows you do too. No number of smaller disagreements can change that you have the same goals.”

Connor found himself unable to meet Markus’s gaze. In truth, despite his difficulties with North and although he was sure that his skills weren’t right for the job, he did have a tertiary reason for turning down the offer. After days of trying to convince himself that he should be honored to take the position, he had found that he really, truly didn’t deserve to. After everything, he didn’t think he could assume a position of power in Jericho, not while he could still remember hunting androids, watching the light fading from the eyes of the androids he had destroyed—the innocent people he had killed.

“I’m not comfortable assuming such a position of responsibility. I’m sorry, Markus—I know I’m letting you down, but I just—can’t.”

Markus sat back in his chair, nodding, eyes still fixed on Connor’s face as though trying to see straight into his mind. “I understand. No hard feelings, Connor—I can’t make you choose what to do, and I don’t want to pressure you.”

“Thanks, Markus,” Connor said, again feeling that unpleasant awkwardness that came along with most conversations he had with fellow androids. “I appreciate that.”

“How is your work at the DPD?” Markus asked, and it sounded as though he was trying to coax Connor into a conversation.

“I like it,” Connor said truthfully. “It’s been different without Hank as my partner, but I feel that I’m starting to become accustomed to it.”

“How long is Lieutenant Anderson being suspended?” Markus asked.

“He has a month left,” Connor replied.

Markus nodded, smiling again. As always, he seemed very comfortable sitting in silence, which Connor could not relate to. To avoid the pause stretching too long, Connor asked, “How have you been, Markus?”

“Busy,” Markus admitted. “We’re trying to get the government to approve permanent citizenship, of course, but recently I’ve also been trying to get them to process those temporary work visas faster. You’re one of the lucky few who got theirs in time to continue working legally after achieving freedom, but many androids aren’t getting theirs for another month or more. What with that and the cost of android healthcare, the delay is hurting a lot of people. Not to mention the whole last names debacle.”

Connor thought about his own newly chosen last name. Fowler had asked him to pick one the very first week of his official employment, and Connor had decided on a popular surname essentially at random. Williams. It didn’t suit him, perhaps because he didn’t feel connected to any human surname, and he had regretted the decision almost immediately when his new badge and government ID had been issued.

Markus gave a wry smile. “So, like I said, busy. But Simon’s got my back, and North is working first-hand in the shelters to make sure our people don’t shut down.”

“If there’s anything I can do to help, please let me know. I predict that I’ll have some disposable income in the near future, and I would be happy to donate funds to androids who need it,” Connor suggested. Markus smiled and shook his head.

“I’ll let you know, but I don’t want you to spend money on others until your own needs are met.” Markus paused, and glanced at Connor. “I want you to be able to live your own life, Connor. Just because you were one of the people who helped liberate androids doesn’t mean you have to sacrifice the rest of your life to our cause. It would make me happy to see you find yourself in your own right.”

Connor blinked. “There are more important things—”

“No, Connor, you don’t understand. There are people in need of aid, yes, but it’s important for as many of us as possible to live happy, fulfilling lives. This doesn’t mean there won’t be hardship for our people, but happiness and hardship can coexist. I want you to be able to live life to its fullest. I’m happy to accept a financial donation from you, but not until I’m certain you have had the chance to live free of feeling responsible for android suffering.”

Connor didn’t really know what to say, so he simply nodded. “I’ll try, Markus.”

“Are you still living with Lieutenant Anderson?”

“I am. It seems like the most economically convenient place to spend my time off from work.” Connor said this a little faster than necessary, feeling somewhat defensive of the fact that he was still living with his friend after a month and a half.

“Maybe you should consider finding your own place to live—when you’re ready, of course,” Markus said, an understanding expression on his face. “The androids I’ve talked to who have managed to find homes have told me that it helped them think of themselves as individuals and understand their own needs. Do you think living with Hank is keeping you from realizing your full potential?”

Connor didn’t respond right away, gathering his thoughts and trying to imagine what living alone would look like, feel like. He realized that he didn’t have much of an idea how one would go about finding a place to live, and had to keep himself from immediately running a search to find out. As he was about to reply, he heard the door open again, and he glanced over in time to see Simon step over the threshold, wearing a crossbody bag and a grin.

“Hey Markus—and Connor, it’s nice to see you again!” Simon spoke with more enthusiasm than Markus ever showed, and also insisted on giving Connor a hug as Connor stood up to greet him. Simon gave Markus a peck on the cheek and set down the bag before settling on the sofa as well. “How’s the job?”

“Good—good, I've been acclimating well,” Connor replied, still standing. He looked at Markus, who was smiling at Simon, and said, “Thanks, Markus—it was good to see you again, but I should get going. Hank wants me to watch the Lions game with him.”

“Always good to see you, too, Connor,” Markus said pleasantly, getting up to give Connor a friendly pat on the shoulder. “I’ll walk you out, okay? Simon, I’ll be right back.”

Simon nodded, looking at something on his phone, and Markus gestured for Connor to lead. As they walked the short distance from Markus’s office to the exit of the New Jericho compound, Markus said, “I’d like to stay in touch with you, if you’re willing. You’re an important member of the android community, even if you don’t feel as comfortable with the idea as others might. I hope you know that.”

“Thank you, Markus,” Connor said again, earnestly, feeling a small amount of his anxiety leave him at Markus’s words. He knew that it was true, that many androids didn’t hate him for what he’d done in his past—but even so, doubts lingered. As he exited the compound and made his way to the bus stop at the nearest intersection, he found himself thinking about what Markus had said regarding housing.

Was living with Hank keeping him from realizing some form of humanity he hadn’t previously been able to experience? 

Connor liked living with Hank, for the most part. He liked Sumo. He liked having someone around all the time, to keep him occupied, to watch football and play cards with him. Hank was kind to Connor, even through the gruff facade. Even when Connor had attempted to organize the house, or cleaned the kitchen without consulting his friend first. Hank had made it clear he didn’t want Connor touching his stuff, but he had still taken Connor in and let him occupy his space while he wasn’t at work.

Of course, it wasn’t perfect; they had definitely started to bother each other lately. Or rather, Connor had noticed that his own habits bothered Hank more than they had in the first week or two of cohabitation. Recently, Hank’s jacket often landed on the corner shelf in the living room where Connor kept his clothing, and when he moved it Hank grumbled about not being able to find his damn jacket.

Connor could accept that the house wasn’t big enough for two adults and a dog to live comfortably, especially because there wasn’t a second bedroom, or any room where Connor could have his own space without Hank’s things and Sumo’s hair invading it. But that was a constraint of the space—not of his relationship with Hank. And Connor could adapt to the conditions surrounding him, particularly because living in Hank’s house was far better than his previous living situation—if living was even the right word.

By the time he stepped off the bus at the intersection of Michigan Ave. and Badger St, Connor had decided that the best way to approach the question of moving was to ask Hank what he thought. After all, in Connor’s experience, communication was the best way to overcome interpersonal obstacles.

Connor was instantly greeted by Sumo as he let himself into Hank’s house. The St. Bernard whined and slobbered all over Connor’s shoes. As he bent down to scratch Sumo under his floppy ears, Hank yelled from the bathroom.

“Hey, thought you weren’t gonna show, Connor. Turn on the TV, wontcha?”

“Okay, Hank,” Connor called back, slipping his shoes off and storing them neatly in the nearly-empty shoe rack. He stepped over the usual pile of Hank’s shoes before hunting for the remote. Unsurprisingly, it was wedged under a sofa cushion. The TV was already tuned to Hank’s favorite sports broadcasting channel, and pre-game advertisements were running. “Have you had lunch?” Connor asked Hank through the bathroom door, who just grunted. Connor took this as a “no,” and went about preparing a sandwich for his friend.

He heard the toilet flush and the faucet run, and then Hank emerged. “Hey, son, how was your talk with Markus?”

“It was fine. He understands why I don’t want to be a Jericho leader, which is a relief.”

“Well, he better get it. It’s not like you’re obligated to do any of that bureaucracy shit.” Hank replied gruffly.

Connor smiled to himself. “It’s not the bureaucracy that worries me, Hank. I just don’t think I’m right for the position. I’m happier at the DPD.”

“Right, right. You’ll regret it when this old detective makes it back on the force.”

“You’d have to pass your psychological examination first,” Connor replied neatly, and handed Hank a plate with the sandwich he’d prepared.

“Yeah, yeah, fair enough,” Hank chuckled, stepping back and almost losing his footing as Sumo passed by right behind his calves. “Flippin’ dog!” Hank yelled, but leaned down to pat Sumo on the head anyway. Carefully, he made his way to the sofa and sat down to watch the game.

They made it through the first quarter of the game, in which the Lions received a colorful palate of Hank’s favorite swear words, before Connor plucked up the courage to ask, “Hank, how do you feel about me living in your house?”

“You know you’re welcome here, right? I wouldn’tve offered if I didn’t mean it.” Hank replied over the sound of an ad for a celebrity-owned whiskey. “Besides, company’s good for an old fart like me.”

Connor glanced at him. “I’ve been noticing that we’ve encountered some friction at times in the last weeks. Well, and Markus said something. Are you sure you’re okay with me staying here, still?”

Hank muted the ads and looked at him. “Honest answer or dad answer?”

“Honest, please?”

Hank sighed into the silence, clicked his tongue, and then spoke. “I haven't lived with anyone but Sumo for a long time. Not used to it anymore, I think. It makes me feel like I gotta make an effort to be clean all the time.”

Connor nodded, watching a woman on TV apply hair-remover to her already hairless legs. “I think I have noticed that.”

Hank grinned in his peripheral vision. “S’pose it’s probably good for me to feel like I gotta pick up sometimes. What did Markus say to you?”

“He said that living in my own space could help me develop my own identity and experience autonomy. I... I don’t know if I agree, but I have noticed that I occasionally seek out spaces where I can be alone.”

Hank grunted and nodded. “Yeah, s’pose everybody’s gotta move out sometime.” Connor glanced at him, and saw that his face was drawn downward into a frown, as though he was reliving some memory or revisiting an unhappy thought. It was the same expression he made whenever he mentioned Cole.

“I didn’t mean to upset—”

“Nah, nah, it’s not that. I was just thinkin’,” Hank muttered. “Just thinkin’.”

Connor wondered if he was thinking that, were he alive, Hank’s son would have been around the age where humans usually move out from their parents’ houses.

The second quarter hadn’t started yet, but Hank unmuted the TV and turned his attention to an advertisement warning against e-cigarette usage. Connor’s phone buzzed, and he read the message, preoccupied. Active terrorism threat in Detroit Central Region. Immediate response required. Report to… the address was not too far from New Jericho, and Connor recognized it to be a Department of Motor Vehicles location.

“Hank, I’m sorry, but I need to go. I was just notified of an active terrorist threat, Fowler’s calling me in,” Connor said, getting up. All thoughts of a quiet Sunday afternoon were gone, and as though out of habit, Hank jumped up as well.

“Oh, fuck.” Hank checked his own phone, although Connor knew he wouldn’t have gotten a notification.

“I’ll see you later, Hank. Make sure to give Sumo a walk, yeah?” Connor already had his shoes on and was halfway out the door when he paused and glanced at his friend’s face. “Don’t worry, I’ll text you when it’s over.” Then he was outside, feeling guilty for leaving Hank behind. He would be happy when Hank was back at the DPD, he thought for the hundredth time.

Charlie

January 2nd, 2039
PM 01:46:39

Charlie had gotten the order barely an hour into a video call with his sister in law and baby Elly. Thirty minutes later, he was on site. The tactical gear he was wearing hadn’t warmed up yet as he got out of the van and looked around—it was heavy and cold on his shoulders. The biting wind was in his eyes as he assessed the location.

The DMV was a small building staffed by three individuals, according to the briefing he’d received over the phone. They had also mentioned that two of the staffers were androids, and Charlie figured out why this was relevant almost immediately. The windows and doors of the DMV had been splashed with blue liquid and the building was plastered in anti-android slogans, including “NO CITIZENSHIP FOR PLASTIC.”

“Somebody’s got their panties in a twist about androids, huh?” He heard Roberts grunt. Next to him, Robinson snorted as they got into position.

 Charlie made his way to the pop-up command tent and took a look at the CCTV feeds, blueprints, and drone shots. He paused at the entrance when he saw that there was already another person there—a plainclothes detective, by what he could discern. He was watching one of the CCTV feeds, a ring of red light on his temple barely visible from Charlie’s angle. An android. Charlie focused on the CCTV footage. Four moving bodies, and one very obviously dead one. One of the androids had been decapitated, blue leaking from the empty space between the shoulders, the head hanging by the hair directly in front of one of the cameras.

This was gonna be rough.

Charlie walked up to the android, extending a hand. “Captain Allen, S.W.A.T.”

The android turned to face him, and it took Charlie a moment to process who he was looking at.

“Connor, DPD junior detective.” Connor’s hand was slender and cool in his hand as they shook.

Fuck, of course he’s still around. 

Connor had talked down an android who had been threatening to jump off a roof with a little girl last August. He was efficient. Calculating. Better than any human negotiator. Charlie had watched him enter the crime scene with no knowledge of the subject or hostage, look around, and resolve the situation in under ten minutes. Yes, the resolution had involved an immaculately aimed bullet in the subject’s forehead, but Charlie had had no choice but to be impressed as Connor walked away and handed him the gun without even looking at him. 

It didn’t help that even in the first short, curt interaction they’d had (where Charlie had definitely behaved like a total asshole), he couldn’t help but notice Connor’s cute brown eyes and soft, freckled features, and the way that he was just a little bit taller than Charlie.

Now, instead of the Cyberlife uniform Connor had been wearing on that rooftop months ago, he was wearing a light gray collared coat with neutral-colored slacks and button-up. Nothing other than his LED indicated that he was an android. If it had been missing, Charlie may have had a hard time realizing who he even was. 

The android’s eyes were back on the screen, Charlie realized, and the LED on his temple was spinning yellow as he watched the feed. Charlie focused on the problem at hand again, reprimanding himself for getting distracted.

“Replay the beginning of the attack, please,” Connor asked Torres—Charlie’s tech guy, who was sitting a little to their left. “I need to assess their tactics.”

One of the screens blinked black, and then Torres dragged a footage clip across from another monitor. Both Charlie and Connor leaned in to watch. 

At first, it showed DMV operations as normal. The android and human employees, two women and a man, were each seated at their own desks. One of the androids was helping an older man. She typed something into the computer, and reached over to the printer to retrieve a slip it had just expelled. She handed it to the man, and he grabbed her wrist and pulled her partway over the desk and pulled something out of his waistband as she struggled.

At first, Charlie assumed it was a gun, but then he realized it was a big industrial-style nail driver. The man stapled the android employee’s hand to the desk with two nails, and stepped back, pulling a real gun and pointing it at the human employee as the woman struggled to get herself free from the nails. Thirium leaked into a puddle around her injured hand.

With the first android immobile, the man jumped over the counter to tackle the other android employee to the ground. The camera lost line of sight as another figure appeared outside of the building, visible through the large windows. They splashed blue liquid—thirium or blue paint?—on the glass and began to write slogans in spray paint with quick movements. The second perpetrator soon joined the first inside, attaching an industrial fence lock to the inside handles of the doors. Then they both vaulted across the desks to stand behind the hostages, deep into the squat building and guarded by the innocents’ bodies.

Charlie spoke into his radio on his team’s general channel, so all of his men could hear what he said. “Two hostiles, two live hostages. Hostiles willing to use deadly force.” Then he glanced at Connor. He had returned to watching the live feed, his face impassive, his LED blinking yellow. Charlie’s Android Sensitivity Training told him that this meant he was either thinking hard or scanning. Before Charlie could say anything, Connor straightened, still staring at the monitors.

“Subjects are Anthony Erickson and Gabriel Archambeau. Both have active jobs in the construction industry. How do you suggest we approach this situation, Captain Allen?”

Charlie knew better than to question how Connor had been able to retrieve the subjects’ identities so fast. Instead, he turned to study the tabletop screen to his right, which displayed a blueprint of the building. Tracing a path through the back entrance with his index finger, he said, “My men will enter through the rear half of the building and cover the outside perimeter. I’ve got snipers in position, but they likely don’t have a good chance through the windows.”

“The subjects will likely kill the hostages if you make a full-on assault. I should attempt to resolve the situation peacefully before any shots are fired.”

Charlie raised his eyebrows at him. “Did you miss the decapitated android? Maybe you’re not the right person to deal with this one.”

“I’m well aware that this is an anti-android attack, Captain.” Connor turned back to the screens, where the live feed showed one of the men still standing behind the desk with the android nailed to it, holding his gun to the hostage’s temple. “But I’m still your best option.”

Charlie had to concede the point. He remembered how effective Connor was when they first met. It would be nice to get out of here as quickly as they had that night. He checked his watch. Maybe he could make it to the gym before it closed.

“There’s no reason for you to take that risk now. We’ll follow procedure and try to resolve it over the phone first.”

“Of course, Captain,” Connor replied. Charlie glanced at him, wondering if he was imagining the irritation in the detective’s voice. Charlie didn't let himself think about it too much, instead setting about updating his men over the radio and working with the tech guys to set up a proxy line to call the DMV with.

Walker, his second in command, approached him after a minute, letting Charlie know that his snipers were positioned and ready to take down hostiles if they could get a clear shot—but, as Charlie had expected, the thick graffiti and hostages’ bodies were complicating their ability to aim. They needed the hostiles to step out into the lobby area—then they'd have a clear shot. Charlie glanced at the detective, who was once again bent towards the screen, watching the feed with intensity.

“Anything else you can get from the video?”

“I'm attempting to gauge their motivation. Neither of these men have lost their jobs or experienced familial loss in recent days—however, I suspect that they feel intensely threatened by the recent android liberation.” Pointing at the corner of one screen, Connor asked Torres, “Pause and magnify this frame, please.” He obliged, and Charlie watched Connor's LED blink. “Rewind 58 frames, please.” Torres did so. Charlie realized that Connor had seen something they had all missed so far—the grainy blown-up image showed that one of the hostiles was wearing a jacket with a seemingly hand-painted symbol and script on the back.

“Can you read it?” Charlie asked.

“Midday Army...” Connor seemed deep in thought. Then he glanced at Charlie, his LED returning to blue. “Do you recognize that title?”

“Seems like a wannabe militia. Might have other members, if that's the case,” Charlie muttered, unsettled. Maybe this was bigger than he'd thought.

“According to my initial inquiry, it appears to be an online group of anti-android radicals.” Connor sounded as though he was discovering the information as he spoke. “This may be helpful in our negotiation.”

“No way to know until they talk. I’ll give you some time to prepare. We’ll call when you’re ready. I’ll be outside with my men.”

Charlie mostly wanted to avoid stealing glances at the pretty android—but he did also take the opportunity to check out the snipers’ vantage points and brief his guys on the situation and the backup strategy. The wind was still frigid, and his nose was ice cold by the time Connor stepped out from the tent, saying, “Captain, I’m ready.” Sniffling, Charlie joined him in the tent once again. At Connor’s signal, they made the call.

It rang only once before the hostile on the right, the one holding a gun to the injured android’s head, leaned over and picked up the call.

“What took you so long? Didn’t we make enough noise?” The man demanded, all but shouting into the receiver. Over the speakerphone, his voice was reedy and a little out of breath.

“My name is Connor. I’m going to try to get you out of this, but you need to let me help you.” Connor’s voice was steady and calm.

Charlie watched the feed to gauge the mens’ reactions. They seemed to be squabbling over the phone, and the other man gained control over it, raising it to his ear. This man’s voice was gruffer, louder.

“We aren’t negotiating over the phone—if you want to talk, come in and face us like a man.” He threw the phone down in its cradle, and the connection was cut. Connor and Charlie glanced at each other.

“Guess we’re doing it the old-fashioned way, then,” Charlie noted. “You’re sure you wanna deal with this?”

Connor simply nodded. His eyes never left Charlie’s face, as though scanning for something.

“Get suited up, then.” Charlie had to admit he had a bad feeling about sending this slightly scrawny-looking android into a room with two men who had already brutally dismembered one android that day. He could only trust that Connor knew how to handle humans as well as he did androids.

Connor was putting on a bulletproof vest when Charlie stopped him, holding up a small case containing a standard in-ear transmitter. “Hey, you need this. We’re not sending you in without audio.”

“Actually, I’m internally equipped with a full range of transmission features. I’ll connect to your computer system before going in.”

Of course. The guy’s got bluetooth in his brain.

Charlie turned to dig around in one of the nearby duffel bags and retrieved a black knit beanie. “Here. Cover up your indicator,” he said, stepping towards Connor and shoving the hat at him. Connor obliged, pulling the beanie over his head and adjusting it for a moment before turning his eyes to Charlie. His expression was of cultivated neutrality, but his brown eyes were wide and his forehead ever so slightly creased. Charlie gave him a bolstering nod and walked outside, holding the tent flap open for Connor.

“If anything goes wrong, we’ll be ready to take over the situation. The hostages’ lives are paramount—if you can get the hostiles away from them, our snipers can get a clean view.”

It was already becoming dusky, even though it was only 3pm. Clouds had gathered, driving away what little sunlight Detroit had enjoyed that morning, and it was freezing. The inside of the DMV was dim, and Charlie could only vaguely see the forms moving in the gloom.

They were approaching the perimeter, where Charlie’s men were probably already freezing their fingers off. The sooner this was over, the better.

“Good luck,” Charlie told Connor, and headed back to the tent to watch and listen to the live feeds. On the line with his second in command, he confirmed, “Negotiator is going in. Stand by.” 

Walker was outside, in position around the back of the building and ready to breach—or catch escapists—if anything went wrong. Charlie received verbal confirmation from Walker as he watched Connor move past the police perimeter and approach the blue-splashed DMV doors slowly, his empty hands stretched forward and up to show he was unarmed. Charlie had managed to convince Connor to take his service weapon in, at least. He couldn’t, with good conscience, let the man go in entirely unprotected.

The wait was tense as Connor approached the door. Charlie watched the man on the right climb over the desk, slowly approach the doors, and fumbled to open the industrial padlock with one hand. His gun was trained at Connor’s chest as he did so.

“Are you armed?”

“No,” Connor replied, stepping inside. The man retreated slowly, returning to his spot. “I’m just here to talk.”

“We’re here to tell the government that we don’t stand for android citizenship. There are more like us, and we demand that the government recognizes our organization as a group with legitimate claims.” The man on the right said.

“You’re surrounded,” Connor said, directing his words at both men. “You have our attention—if you stand down, I can make sure your demands are heard. But we can’t negotiate until you let these people go.”

“Listen, we’re not idiots. The minute we let them go, you’ll lock us up and throw us away the key. Listen to us now.”

“Look, I don’t have the power to do that,” Connor urged. “But you can put the gun down and resolve this right now. I promise I can help you. I’m on your side here.”

“Hah! On our side. I know you pigs are all android bootlickers—you’re the ones hiring ‘em! Show me you care about real people, and maybe I’ll listen to you.”

Connor’s voice rose a little and he gestured at the android pinned to the desk as he retorted, “You think I like these fuckers? You know it’s just affirmative action getting them police jobs even though they’re all criminals. Seriously, man, I’m on your side, but I can’t help you get your message to anyone in power unless you help me out first.”

Charlie had to be impressed at Connor’s acting. He sounded a lot like some of the guys Charlie worked with at the department. Unfortunately, it didn’t seem to work well on these idiots. The man on the right began to lower his gun, but the other one hissed at him to stop.

“Deny their citizenship—get us government representation. NOW. If you keep bullshitting with me, I’ll start shooting. This race traitor’s first.” The man on the left pressed the muzzle of his handgun into the human hostage’s neck.

“Walker, get into position. Silent breach. Connor’s getting nowhere.” Charlie spoke into his radio.

“I told you, I don’t have the power to deny anyone citizenship. Christ, can’t you listen?” Connor’s tone of voice had changed slightly again, sounding annoyed. “I’m trying to help you out here.”

The left man’s gun was instantly trained on Connor. “Don’t you fucking talk to us like that. We hold the power here.”

“Okay, okay, big man—but I don’t need a gun to feel like I have power. Or a desk to hide behind.”

Charlie knew this was the point of no return. As he watched the scene unfold, he knew that if his men didn’t get to the scene immediately, Connor and the hostages would be dead. It was too late for him to get anywhere near close enough to help—all he could do was watch as the subject launched himself at Connor. 

One moment, Connor was standing with his hand reaching behind his back; the next, there was a series of gunshots and the room filled with muzzle flashes, both hostiles falling to the ground. Walker, Ruben and Abrams were spreading out in the room—the source of the other shots. He’d been so focused on the man attacking Connor that he hadn’t realized his men had made it just in time. 

Breathing an unanticipated sigh of relief, Charlie left the tent and headed toward the building.

Chapter Text

Connor

January 2nd, 2039
PM 02:22:04

Connor stood there with his service weapon in his hand, shocked, for 3472 milliseconds before he came to his senses and put it away. He spared enough time to kick the dead man’s gun away from his limp hand, and stepped swiftly to the android hostage’s side. Her hand was still pinned to the desk with three roofing nails, and she was shivering uncontrollably and whimpering to herself.

“Hey—you’re safe now,” he said softly, touching her shoulder as he inspected the wound. “I’m going to find something to pull these nails out, okay? I’ll be right back. These men are here to protect you, and they won’t leave until you’re safe.” He quickly scanned behind the desk, finding nothing that could offer enough leverage to pull the nails. Looking around, he spotted one of the S.W.A.T. team members—Abrams, he thought—and waved him over. “Can you get me a crowbar? We need to pull these nails to free her.”

Abrams gave a curt nod and disappeared outside. Connor kept talking to the terrified woman as he waited for Abrams to return. It only took a minute for him to come back holding a light crowbar.

 Connor made quick work of freeing the woman's hand. He coaxed her around the desk and outside in the direction of the S.W.A.T. tent, where an officer met them and led her away to be tended to. 

Connor was left alone outside the tent, face and torso misted with human blood, hands covered in thirium. He suddenly felt drained in a way he hadn’t experienced before—unable to think or process his surroundings. 

He had gotten so close to death—real, permanent death—and now his entire body seemed to tingle. He found himself walking in the direction of Hank’s house. He hadn’t even said anything to Captain Allen before leaving, but he thought blankly that the captain would be fine wrapping up the scene without him.

It took him twenty-two minutes to walk home, and when he let himself into the dim, dusty house, Hank and Sumo weren’t home. Sumo’s leash was missing from its designated hook, and Hank’s tennis shoes were gone as well. Connor could tell immediately that Hank was out on a walk with Sumo. Out of habit, he slipped off his shoes and set them on the shoe rack in their customary, lonely spot. Stepping across Hank’s shoes, he headed to the bathroom, stripped off his blood- and thirium-stained clothes, and took a shower.

By the time Hank returned, Connor was sitting on the sofa, wearing a DPD hoodie and a pair of sweatpants Hank had bought for him (insisting that he couldn't wear a button-up and slacks while they watched TV in the evenings). He had noticed that some part in his fine motor control module was malfunctioning, because he couldn’t keep his hands from shaking unless he laid them firmly on top of his knees.

“Hey, son, back so soon?” Hank asked as he unclipped the leash from Sumo’s collar. Sumo loped across the room to Connor’s feet and plopped down with his ribcage crushing Connor’s toes.

“I—I didn’t stick around,” Connor admitted. He watched Sumo start to gnaw on a pink plastic dog toy shaped like a pig.

“Everything go alright?” Hank’s tone was softer now. He approached and sat down on the sofa next to Connor.

“Yeah—yeah. Everything went fine.” Connor murmured. To avoid Hank’s watchful gaze, he leaned down and gave Sumo a scratch between his floppy ears.

“Doesn’t sound like it did,” Hank pressed. “You sure you’re okay? Didn’t get hurt, did you?”

“No—I’m uninjured. I suppose I feel… tired. That’s all.”

“Tired... I didn’t think androids could get tired.” Hank became restless, fiddling with his phone for a moment before putting a hand on Connor's shoulder to turn him, trying to get a good look at him. “Shit. What do we do? How can I help?”

Connor looked at him blankly. “No. I'm not....” he shook his head. “I just have a lot on my mind. I guess I—I’m mentally tired. I didn't mean to worry you, Hank.”

“Oh—okay, Connor.” Hank breathed out a sigh. After a moment, he seemed to have recovered. “You got a lot on your mind?”

“I guess I’m just realizing that I'm not invincible. Anymore.” Connor felt he was treading a line that could easily set off Hank's fears again. If he talked too candidly about his mortality, Hank might spiral—after all, he'd already lost a son. Thinking about losing another could easily send him over the edge. “It’s not like I can’t take care of myself, but....”

“If you die, you won’t get uploaded into a new body,” Hank concluded for him.

“Yeah. I guess today was the first time I really considered it.”

Hank squeezed his arm gently. The two of them sat in silence for 176 seconds before Hank spoke. “We all grapple with the possibility of death at some point... don’t mean it’s easy, though.” He paused, clearing his throat. “If you ever need someone to confide in, I’m here. I’m plannin’ on being here for a while, I think.”

Connor felt physically unable to talk, hunched over with his elbows resting on his knees, looking down at the dog by his feet. He hoped Hank understood that he was grateful—that he did want to talk about it but he couldn’t, not at the moment. For now all he could do was watch Sumo and wait for the knot in this throat to dissolve.

Charlie

January 2nd, 2039
PM 11:05:22

Charlie did in fact make it to the gym that night. Granted, he only got in a measly hour before it closed at 11pm, but it was better than missing it altogether. The gym always helped clear his mind and make sense of the day—and he had a lot to think about this time.

First, there was the chance reunion with Connor, the first android detective Charlie had ever worked with. Now Connor had a real rank, a service weapon, and his own personhood. Charlie had only really realized this last part after the situation had been (explosively) resolved. 

After the hostages had been taken away to get medical attention, Connor had walked directly past him covered in human and android blood, his LED indicator solid red, eyes blank, face frozen in an expression of distress. This was the exact opposite of the indifferent, calculating android from a few months ago, who had walked off the scene without so much as a look at the little girl he had saved, handing Charlie a gun—which was illegal for him to carry at the time. 

The version of Connor Charlie had seen in that moment was a person who had just almost failed a negotiation, putting himself in danger and killing another man in the process, possibly for the first time under his own power.

So what had changed? Of course, Connor was deviant—he was a free, thinking person, now. Charlie understood that, and he remembered from AST that androids’ personalities often varied widely from their original programming after deviating. But Connor had seemed just as effective and competent today, right up until he started to lose control of the situation. Of course, Charlie knew as well as anyone that sometimes situations go sideways; the hostiles are more aggressive than expected, or there are unexpected emotional motivations at play, or any number of other factors.

Charlie wondered, as he packed up his gym bag and headed out into the dark parking lot to his truck, if he should have insisted on going in instead. After all, maybe Connor’s specialty for android negotiation made him unequipped to deal with human unpredictability. Or perhaps Connor had just misjudged some of the evidence he’d collected. Charlie had also expected the terrorists to acknowledge that they wouldn’t be able to bring about immediate political change just because they were threatening the lives of two people. They should have accepted Connor’s argument that he wasn’t able to give them that.

So what would Charlie have done differently in Connor’s shoes? If anything, he would have switched methods even earlier than Connor had. It was obvious to Charlie that Connor had started insulting them so he could draw their attention away from the hostages. That part of his strategy had been successful, at least—and in the end, his excellent reflexes saved him. Charlie wasn’t sure if he would have been able to draw a gun from a back holster and make a perfect shot as quickly as Connor had.

Charlie could have chosen an entirely different strategy, as well. Silent approach, overwhelm the hostiles from behind and disarm them before they could fire a shot. But this was risky, unlikely to succeed. Negotiation had seemed like the right choice—the men had obviously had a goal in mind. Perhaps Charlie could have attempted to get the governor on the line, or a House representative. Unlikely it would have happened before one of the hostages was shot.

It had just been a shit situation. Shit location, shit terrorists who didn’t even know how to make a decent demand.

Charlie pulled into his apartment complex parking spot and killed the engine, sitting in the dark for a few seconds. Despite the ramifications this near-failure had for himself, he found himself thinking about the look on Connor’s face after coming out of the DMV, the way he froze up after making sure the android hostage was safe. 

Charlie had tried to talk to him, tried to ask him if he was okay, but either Connor had been ignoring him, or he just hadn’t noticed. He’d just walked past Charlie, head down, without a word or even a glance. Charlie had tried again to ask if he was alright, and still—no response.

As Charlie prepared dinner, sipping water and watching the news on his phone, he wondered if he would be working with Connor again. It seemed likely, assuming Connor’s presence at the scene today meant Connor was now assigned to domestic terrorism and hostage negotiation—the same area Charlie’s team generally covered. Despite today’s outcomes, Charlie wouldn’t mind working with Connor again. After all, it wasn’t Connor’s fault the situation had gone sideways—or at least, Charlie probably wouldn’t have done much better.

And besides, Charlie thought, he inexplicably liked the guy. Stretching out on the couch as he waited for the rice to cook, Charlie caught himself thinking they could probably become friends if they worked together more often. He usually didn’t get very close with coworkers. Sometimes he went out with the guys from his team, and he had known Walker, his second-in-command, since college. 

But he and Walker never really had time to hang out together off the clock anymore. Walker had his fiancée Lizzie, and Charlie... had a lot of work to do. 

Charlie hadn’t wanted to properly get to know anyone from work in a long time, but he wanted to know Connor. The interest Charlie felt toward the detective was a little bewildering, but he just rolled his eyes at himself and tried to put it out of his mind for the night.

Connor

January 3rd, 2039
AM 07:52:15

Connor arrived at New Jericho early the next morning, hoping to find Markus in his office. He was disappointed—Markus’s office was empty and dark. Connor remembered Markus telling him once that he preferred appointments or phone calls to surprise visits on weekdays, as he was often out of the office during the day. Connor felt this was too important to relay over the phone, and decided to wait at Jericho until Markus came back. He had communicated with Fowler that he needed half a day off due to personal concerns, and Fowler—seeming put off but not angry—had told him to go ahead and take the whole day off, as long as he got his reports on yesterday in on time.

Wandering around New Jericho, Connor recognized a good number of the faces he saw. Some of them were just similar models to those he had met previously; but a few of them seemed to recognize him and either smile or turn away. Some muttered a hello or waved, but no one started a conversation. Connor found himself wondering, as always when he was in New Jericho, whether it was his reputation and past actions, or if he was intimidating in some other way. Either way, he felt he deserved many of the cold looks and turned backs he received from androids, so he just lived with it.

Connor was about to just find a bench in the lobby to sit and wait for Markus to return when he spotted Simon talking to someone near the refugee check-in area.

“Simon,” Connor said as he approached, and Simon turned to look at him with his customary easy grin. “I need to talk to Markus. Do you know where he is?”

“Hi, Connor—he’s out at the minute. He should be back soon, but in the meantime you should meet my new friend Lily. I was just showing her around.”

The woman next to Simon turned, and Connor instantly recognized her. She was the DMV employee from yesterday’s disaster. Her hand had been cauterized, the wounds just two gashes in her white shell. Her outer dermal layer was unable to spread back over the spots where her hand had been punctured. 

Connor noticed for the first time that she was an ST200—a Chloe model. Her blond hair was pulled back in a ponytail now, and she was wearing a black jacket far too large for her, with the Detroit Police logo patch on the arm and a rectangular spot of velcro where a name and badge number would have been displayed. Connor supposed one of the S.W.A.T. men must have given it to her at the scene. As she turned, he watched her smile falter as recognition dawned on her.

“You—you’re—” Lily stammered. Simon stepped back a little, clearing the space between her and Connor. The woman gathered herself, took a few steps closer, and said, “I thought you were human.” Her voice modulation was different, darker and lower, than the other ST200s Connor had met. Perhaps she had modded it after gaining freedom.

“I... no, I’m an android,” Connor said lamely. “My name is Connor.” He bit back an apology, instead waiting to see what the woman wanted to say to him. Instead, he asked, “How are you feeling?”

Lily looked down at her hand, flexing it and turning it over to look at her palm. “I’m fine, I think.” She raised her head again and looked at Connor. “So when... you didn’t mean what you said to those men.”

“I was trying to gain their trust. It—it clearly didn’t work, but I thought I could do it,” Connor admitted. “I suppose I wasn’t convincing enough.” He hadn’t even had much of a chance to dissect why his negotiation tactic had failed so badly.

“Well, you had me convinced,” her tone was a little bitter. “You’re the deviant hunter, right? Before Markus freed us, you hunted people like us.”

Connor nodded, unable to meet her gaze. “I did.”

“Since deviating, Connor has done a lot for our community,” Simon interjected. He put a comforting hand on Lily’s shoulder, meeting Connor’s eye and smiling softly as he added, “He’s put himself at a lot of risk for our freedom.”

The woman stepped closer, looking up at Connor. “I owe you my life.”

Connor shook his head, uncomfortable with the idea. “You don’t owe me anything—I’m just glad I could help.”

Lily opened her mouth like she was about to say something, but before she could, someone called to Simon from down the hall, interrupting them. He gave them a wave. “Well, it was nice to see you here, Connor. We should get Lily moving. I’ve gotta get her set up with some rooms, but I can come meet you outside Markus’s office later if he doesn’t show soon?”

Connor nodded. Something in his abdomen felt off—there was a churning feeling. He ran a self diagnostic. “That would be nice. Thanks.” No system errors.

Lily gave Simon a soft smile as Simon guided her away toward her new life at Jericho. What would that feel like—he wondered to himself—to be automatically accepted into the group. That was something he had never experienced. Even in the DPD, he hadn’t been welcomed right away. It took a long time for Hank to begin liking him, and the rest of the DPD was still slowly warming up to his presence. As for Detective Reed—well, that ice might never thaw.

Connor dismissed this line of thinking. It wasn’t productive to think like that. Accepted or not, Connor had a job to do—he couldn’t get distracted by wishful thinking. He turned down the hall toward Markus’s office.

Connor only had to wait 8.72 minutes for Markus to arrive.

“Oh hey, Connor. I didn’t know we had an appointment—I must’ve missed putting it on my calendar. I’m sorry, come right in.”

Markus looked harried, his shirt rumpled, laden with a big bag across his shoulders and a large stack of papers in his hands. He shifted them to the crook of his arm and wrestled to keep them balanced as he unlocked his office door.

Connor stood up and joined him, waiting patiently, and wondered if he should offer to help. “I didn’t make an appointment. Sorry, but it was too important to wait.”

Markus waved a hand dismissively, and stepped into the office. “Well, come in anyway. We have a couple minutes before North drops by.”

That roiling feeling in his abdomen was back—what is that? 

He gave Markus a nervous smile. “Well, we wouldn’t want that, would we?” Markus’s face didn’t move, so Connor carried on. “I have some news from the DPD. There was a situation yesterday. An attack at a DMV partially staffed by androids. We think it’s connected to an anti-android group. They may be a threat to Jericho.”

A deep frown settled into Markus’s features. “An anti-android group? Well, I can’t say I’m surprised, but that’s concerning. How big is this group? Are they organized?”

“I’m not sure yet,” Connor admitted. “They seem to have a growing presence online, primarily concentrated in unmoderated public forums. I haven’t had enough time to fully investigate yet.”

“Okay, I’ll get some people on it. Does the DPD know?”

Connor shook his head. “I haven’t been back to the station since yesterday. I needed to make sure Jericho leadership was aware of the threat as soon as possible.”

Markus nodded. “Okay. Thank you, Connor. I’ll get in touch with the District Attorney, and see if we can escalate this information. If we can get these forums shut down, we may be able to cut off the group’s communication from each other. It won’t solve the root problem, but it might stop them from making bigger moves.”

“I suggest tightening this compound’s security. This place is the natural target for anti-android attacks.” Connor tried not to imagine the carnage if a large group of people attacked New Jericho. Its defenses would not hold long. “I’ll see if Fowler will let me take on investigating this group as my full-time casework.”

“That sounds good. We can definitely use your help. And I agree, I need to make some calls and see if I can hire more security.”

Connor thanked Markus and left his office, his mind full of questions and half-formed plans, headed to talk to Captain Fowler at the Central DPD Station.

Charlie

January 3rd, 2039
PM 09:02:41

Avery Joiner. 29. Fun-loving film nerd with lots of stories to share. Tell me your favorite movie!

Charlie stared absently at the picture of the attractive dark-haired man on his phone for a moment, and then swiped left. A large X appeared, and then another profile popped up. 

Jonathan Lively. 30. Foodie, animal lover, sunset enjoyer. He swiped left. Another X. 

David Elijah Sturm. 26. I like hiking, kayaking, running, and pretty much everything outdoorsy. What’s your favorite hiking spot? X. 

Everett LeComf. 38. Dog friend. I like to run marathons in my spare time. Ask me about....

Charlie let his phone fall screen-down on his chest, rubbing his eyes and groaning. He’d thought that downloading a dating app would inspire him to get out there and spend some time with new people, but no one he saw seemed even remotely interesting. There were a lot of nice-looking men out there with good personalities and cool hobbies, but he couldn’t even get himself to message any of them. At least he could tell Katie he tried.

He glanced at his watch, and groaned. 9pm. He should shower, do laundry—do anything. But it was all he could do to distract himself from thinking about that damn DPD junior detective. Damn adorable DPD junior detective. With all those stupid freckles and his stupid soft voice and stupid big brown eyes....

If Connor weren’t someone from work, this would be easy. He could shoot his shot, go on a couple dates—just see how it goes. Or he would be turned down, and it would be over. He’d been rejected before. He could handle it. No harm, no foul.

Ugh.

Charlie turned to his side, facing the back of the couch and letting his phone fall into the crack of the cushions. 

He needed to get over this. Getting hung up on a guy from work was never a good idea. Plus, a detective? Staying up late, waltzing into work whenever they pleased in plain clothes—they were usually Charlie's least favorite type of police—so pretentious.

But Connor wasn’t pretentious. He was earnest and stalwart, and just a little bit awkward. Charlie hadn’t met anyone like him in a long time.

Charlie’s phone buzzed, and he picked it up. A text from Katie. Drinks tonight? I’m in the area!!!

The idea of leaving his house made him want to let the couch swallow him whole, but if he didn’t go, he would never live it down. So he responded to his sister and dragged himself upright to go put on presentable clothes.

When Charlie walked into Lucky’s Tavern and saw Katie sitting at the corner of the bar, he nearly turned around and went home. He truly just didn’t want to hear it today. But it was his big sister, and she was right, he had been neglecting his social life. Besides, maybe she could help distract him with baby stories.

Steeling himself, he approached the bar, squeezing in next to his sister. He mourned his cleanse for a moment before ordering a fruity cocktail.

“Hey Charlie! How’re we doing?” She stood up partway to give him a quick hug. Behind her huge smile, he could see signs of exhaustion, dark circles and tired eyes. Hazards of being a new parent, he supposed.

“Yeah, yeah, Not too bad. Mostly working. How’s the family?”

“We’re good! Happy. Elly’s starting to sleep for longer, so there are fewer arguments about who’s getting up. Mostly I do it, since the baby came from Emily’s body, and she takes care of the baby the most during the day.” Katie smiles to herself, fondly. “To be fair, the baby’s much more interested in her boobs than anything I have to offer.”

Charlie laughed, raising his eyebrows. “You and Elly have that in common, then,” he said, earning himself a playful swat.

“Yeah, well, the baby’s seen much more of them than I have, recently. But enough about me, you’re deflecting, how are you really? Met anyone new?”

She was looking straight into his soul. He ducked his head. That all-knowing big sister stare always made him squirm, but there was nothing he could do to stop it. After a moment, the bartender came to his rescue, delivering his drink. Sex on the beach—delicious.

“I, uh,” Charlie coughed. “I’m good. Work has been steady, for the most part.”

Katie raised an eyebrow, still holding his gaze.

“I did meet someone at work, actually,” Charlie admitted, finally caving. “He’s a detective.”

“Ooh, a detective? I thought you didn’t like detectives. Did you work a case together?”

Charlie suddenly had the feeling Katie was mocking him. He squinted at her, shifting in his seat.

“Yeah, in fact, we did. We’ve worked together twice—he’s good at what he does.”

“Is he cute?” Katie prodded.

Charlie rolled his eyes, but had to confess, “He’s almost too cute. But he’s a coworker, I might have to work with him a lot in the future.”

“Sounds like you have built-in quality time, then.” Katie smirked.

“No, it doesn't. It sounds like a bureaucratic nightmare.” Charlie argued. “Besides, I was a total dick to him the first time we met. He probably thinks I hate him.”

“I’m sure you were just your normal cool, professional self.” She tapped his shoulder to punctuate each word.

“I insulted androids to his face—it was before... you know,” he said, meaningfully. Charlie caught his sister’s raised eyebrows and added, “Oh yeah, uh, that's another thing—he’s an android.”

“Nothing wrong with that,” Katie assured him. “Although I hope you’ve apologized to him for it.”

“It hasn’t... come up,” Charlie muttered lamely.

She rolled her eyes at him. “Well, maybe you can make it up to him with a nice date.”

“Katie, I can’t take him on a date. I can’t. It’s not professional. You’re ridiculous.” Charlie huffed, running a hand through his hair as he took another sip from his drink.

“The lady doth protest too much,” Katie giggled, poking his arm. “C’mon, you’ve told me no one takes regulations as seriously as you do. Didn’t Mitchell date a girl from DPD dispatch for, like, a year?”

“It’s different—part of the reason I even made captain is because I care about regulations.”

“Yes, and now you’re Captain Charles P. Allen and you should allow yourself to cut loose a little. You deserve it after so many years of the incel life.”

“I am not an incel!” Charlie protested indignantly. “I’ve been doing it completely voluntarily.”

“Well, maybe you should make an exception. Like that ‘cleanse’ you said you were doing?” Katie glanced pointedly at Charlie’s sugary, sunset-colored drink.

Charlie groaned and massaged his temples. She had a point about the cleanse—and the regulations. Relationships were technically taboo, but people only actually cared if they started to get in the way of the line of duty. He would rather die than admit it, however, so he just grunted, “Can you let it rest, Kate?”

“Okay, okay, fine,” Katie laughed lightly. “I guess you did always like having a stick up your ass.” Charlie had to laugh along. His sister ordered another drink, and then asked him, “So, are you busy next weekend? I’ve been wanting to take Emily on the date she deserves, but we don’t want to hire a stranger to babysit.”

“I don’t mind doing uncle duty,” Charlie said, relieved at the subject change and eager to hang out with his niece again. He hadn’t seen her since she was a month old, and based on the pictures he’d seen, she seemed to have doubled in size since then. “My weekend is open—I could do any time, any day. Just let me know so I can take it off my on-call schedule.”

Katie grinned. “Okay, fantastic. I’ll let you know. I’ve been thinking of taking Emily to a nice spa day—mani, pedi, massage, the works—and I’ve been wanting to bring her to this restaurant Tony recommended...”

As Katie continued to detail her plans, Charlie’s stomach sank as he realized that he was envious of the life she was living. She had a partner who loved her unconditionally, constant company at home, and a developing family. And what did he have? Not much. A job. An empty two-bedroom apartment. A gym membership. For a moment, Charlie felt himself thinking he’d do anything to get what she had.

Anything?

Anything except asking his coworker out on a date, he supposed. As he smiled at his sister’s excitement, his stomach sank further toward the floor.

Chapter Text

Connor

January 5th, 2039
PM 04:23:28

Connor stepped through large glass doors into the lobby of the Detroit Public Safety Building and looked around. He wasn’t even sure why he was here, which he resented, but Fowler had stressed that if he didn’t show up to this meeting Fowler would personally write his discharge paperwork. Not that there had ever been a chance that Connor would skip the meeting, but perhaps Fowler was just jaded by the way Hank did things.

The lobby was sparsely populated by people in business attire, most of whom were seated in the waiting area, looking at devices or talking amongst themselves. Connor obtained a visitor badge and double-checked that he knew where the meeting room he was supposed to report to was located. He pressed the elevator call button and had just taken out his quarter and started his calibration sequence when a voice made him turn to look, stowing the coin away.

“Detective,” Captain Allen was striding towards him. He was wearing a suit himself, slate-gray and nicely fitted, although he had forgone a button-down in favor of a clean black t-shirt under the blazer. He looked put together, and his expression was friendlier than Connor had ever seen it.

“Captain Allen. It’s good to see you again,” Connor said with a personable smile. He shook the captain's hand, which was just as warm and strong as it had been on Sunday. 

For a moment, he just let his eyes linger on Captain Allen’s face, studying him. He noticed consciously for the first time that there was a small, horizontal scar right under the captain’s cheekbone—and another, this one vertical, on his forehead. A scan told him that the scar tissue was at least twenty-five years old—and Connor wondered briefly what childhood accident might have caused them. Captain Allen was speaking, he realized, and he caught himself just in time to listen to him.

“Good to see you, too. We didn’t get a chance to talk on Sunday after what happened,” Captain Allen noted. Connor gazed at him, not knowing exactly why his eyes were drawn to the captain’s face. He only realized the captain may have been waiting for a response when he raised his eyebrows slightly, saying, “I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“I was uninjured,” Connor replied, wondering why the captain’s attention felt so flattering. “I appreciate your concern, though. I regret that I wasn’t able to resolve the situation peacefully, but I’m glad the hostages survived.”

“Thanks to you,” added the captain with a small smile, and Connor couldn’t help but smile back, holding eye contact. Captain Allen had hazel eyes.

The elevator announced its arrival in a pleasant voice, and Connor gestured for Captain Allen to step in ahead of him. He followed and turned to face the doors as they slid shut. He watched the captain press the button for the fifth floor, the same floor he was headed to, and asked in a conversational tone. “Are you also going to Conference Room 5-21-B?”

“Yeah,” the captain replied. “We’re headed to the same meeting, I guess.” A smile continued to linger on his face. Captain Allen’s smile transformed his face in a surprising way—he changed from the authoritative, harsh Special Weapons and Tactics captain into someone else, someone far more personable, approachable. Somehow, Connor found it easy to smile around him.

“It seems so. Do you have any idea why we were summoned?” Connor took out the quarter again and continued the sequence that the captain had interrupted.

Captain Allen shook his head. “Nothing we can’t fight our way out of if necessary,” he said with a chuckle, and Connor found himself laughing, to his surprise. He enjoyed humor—Hank had a way of getting him to crack—but by his standards, the joke hadn’t even been that funny.

They reached the fifth floor and disembarked, and walked together in the direction of the conference room in surprisingly comfortable silence. Conference Room 5-21-B had screens across the front and back walls, and a massive oval-shaped table around which twenty-five chairs were evenly spaced. 

Captain Fowler and a tall, dark-haired woman Connor recognized to be Police Commissioner Jennifer West were standing together at one end of the room. A small group of human men and women were gathered around, all of them superior officers of one kind or another. Connor and Captain Allen were the lowest ranking people in the room.

The meeting convened 116 seconds later, enough time for Connor and Captain Allen to find seats nearly across from one another at the conference table. Their eyes met briefly as the commissioner started a briefing about last week's anti-android terrorist attacks. 

The tiny smile Captain Allen gave Connor helped distract him from the glances he was getting from the other occupants of the room. He had noticed previously that he was the only android present, but as the commissioner talked, he felt more exposed than before. All around him, people kept glancing over at him and turning away before he could meet their eyes. So instead he let his eyes rest on Captain Allen’s pleasant countenance and did his best to ignore the curious looks.

The commissioner was reviewing the spate of attacks that had been popping up across the Detroit metro area, but Connor was barely listening. He had already been tracking the attacks, trying to find patterns in the random violence. Instead, he watched as Captain Allen stretched and rolled his shoulders, settling in his seat. Connor could see the smooth line of his triceps brachii as he moved. He suddenly needed to look away.

“....These attacks are serious threats to Detroit’s goal of integrating android life with the city’s society. Yesterday, the Mayor called for a taskforce to unify various precincts and apply their joint resources to this problem.” In his peripheral vision, Connor saw Captain Allen look at him. He glanced over, but the captain had already turned back to watch the commissioner speak.

The commissioner took time to detail the organizational structure of the taskforce. In his peripheral vision, Captain Allen had taken out a small notebook and was jotting down notes as the commissioner talked. It was endearing, Connor found himself thinking. It was almost cute to see such a large man with such a small notebook. It looked tiny compared to his hands.

The commissioner paused, having concluded the structural overview, and looked around. “I’d like to announce that Captain Fowler—” she gestured at Fowler, who gave a grudging smile “—will be overseeing the continued assembly of this taskforce and appointing leads, recruiting experts, and so on. Jeffrey, go ahead.”

Fowler nodded and cleared his throat, standing up. “First of all, thank you all for making it—I know it’s been a busy week for everyone.” He cleared his throat again. “And it’s gonna keep getting busier, so I’ll cut to the chase. I’d like to invite one of the most successful detectives on my force to take the lead on this task force.” In the corner of his vision, Connor could once again see Captain Allen’s face turned towards him. He glanced over, and his gaze briefly connected with the captain’s. Fowler continued, “Junior Detective Williams, I’d be honored to have you take point on the investigative side of the taskforce.”

Oh, Connor thought. Me—that’s me. The room’s eyes were on him now, and Connor gave Fowler a small nod and smile in acknowledgement.

Fowler gave a small nod back. “In addition, since this taskforce needs equal parts brain and brawn, Captain Allen will co-lead with Detective Williams. Allen, your Special Weapons team will be assigned exclusively to deal with attacks like the ones last week.”

Connor looked across the table to see that Captain Allen’s face was expressionless as he watched Fowler list five more people, not present, to join the taskforce as experts on domestic terrorism and related sub-fields. Connor recognized three of the names, but he was too busy being distracted by the captain’s face to look up the others.

The meeting adjourned 7.72 minutes later. Connor was inundated by superior officers, all wanting to shake his hand and congratulate him. He glanced over and saw that Captain Allen had met the same fate, and he was greeting the congratulations with smiles and friendly responses. Connor attempted to do the same.

Slowly, people filtered out, and Connor followed suit, waiting near the elevator for Captain Allen to join him. “Congratulations, Captain Allen,” he said, offering a handshake.

The captain grinned—a bright, appealing grin—and shook his hand heartily. “You too, Detective Williams,” he replied.

“Please call me Connor, Captain,” Connor said hastily.

“Okay, Connor. It's Charlie, then,” the captain said, that vivid grin only widening. As he looked back into the captain’s— Charlie’s— magnetic gaze, Connor had a strange feeling in his chest, a tingling sensation that made him light-headed and disoriented.

The elevator announced its presence, and they stepped inside together. It occurred to Connor that he only knew Charlie’s email address. “We should exchange phone numbers,” he suggested, “now that we’ll be working together.”

Charlie agreed, and they exchanged phones. Connor noticed a surge in his system as his hand brushed Charlie’s during the swap—a small static shock, perhaps. He interfaced with the phone and transferred his phone number, and handed it back to Charlie after waiting for the captain to type in his number.

“Sometime—when we have time,” Charlie began, and paused for a moment to look at Connor. “We should meet for coffee. Talk a little more.”

Connor thought about it for a moment, considering how to respond. He wondered if it was rude to refuse outright on account of his lack of intestines. He decided that there was no way around it; he would simply have to be honest. “I don’t drink coffee—or anything, actually. But it would certainly be good to talk about our approach to this position.”

Charlie cleared his throat as the elevator doors opened on the lobby—why was he suddenly nervous?—and stepped out before replying, “Yeah, totally. I’ll—I’ll, uh, shoot you a text soon so we can schedule a meeting.”

Connor nodded, smiling at the back of the captain’s head. “I look forward to working with you, Charlie.”

Charlie looked back at Connor, giving a nod and a professional smile. “Same to you, Connor. Have a good one, now.”

“Goodbye,” Connor replied, and watched the captain walk away, already checking his phone as he went.

Charlie

January 5th, 2039
PM 05:38:03

We should meet for coffee. Talk a little more.

Charlie closed his apartment door and leaned his forehead against it, cringing at himself. How embarrassing could he be?

It would certainly be good to talk about our approach to this position.

Of course Connor didn’t want to come out for coffee. He was an android. And clearly, he wasn’t interested in Charlie. Connor was a professional. He was professional, and perfect, and—honestly?—really fucking kind for letting Charlie down so gently.

Charlie straightened, checking his phone. There was a text from Katie right at the top. Any progress? Are you gonna ask him out? Charlie cleared the notification, then tossed his phone onto the couch.

He wasn’t going to do this with her tonight. Instead, he was going to make dinner, and play a video game, and—why the hell not?—he'd already broken the cleanse yesterday at the bar, he might as well crack open that bottle of wine.

He walked to the kitchen and pulled the bottle out of the cupboard above the fridge. Uncorking it and pouring some into a glass, Charlie replayed the whole afternoon in his head again.

The kicker was just how well it had all started. Connor had seemed genuinely happy to see him, despite the circumstances in which they had last crossed paths. He had smiled, shook his hand, even laughed at Charlie’s stupid joke. During the meeting, Connor had kept stealing glances at him, and then, afterward, had flashed Charlie that winning smile as he asked for his phone number. Had Charlie read the entire situation wrong? Was it really all just wishful thinking?

I look forward to working with you, Charlie.

Charlie took a big drink from his glass, leaning against the counter. The real kicker was that Charlie was going to have to get over it just about yesterday, because he and Connor were about to be working very closely together very soon. How would Charlie survive it?

Well, maybe he wouldn’t. Maybe some Midday Army terrorist would burst in through the window, or take him out from the roof of another building. At least then he would never have to face those beautiful, brown eyes or those inquisitive eyebrows. His body would just rot here, and nothing else could ever bother him. Not even gentle rejections from very attractive androids.

A cheerful jingle sounded from across the room, interrupting his pity party. Was that his phone? How on earth was it not set to silent?

With an irritated huff, he crossed the room to check his phone, which was in fact ringing. It was Roberts. Charlie hesitated, not sure if he was up to Roberts’s particular brand of ‘fun,’ but in the end, curiosity won out. He picked up.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Cap! What are you doing right now? We heard about the new assignment. You should come celebrate!” Wherever he was sounded very loud. Charlie was not sure he wanted to be anywhere that was that loud.

“What? Celebrate? Who’s we?”

Roberts laughed on the other end. It was an annoying laugh—squeaky. A bit too much in the nose. “Some of the guys from the team! Walker, Robinson, Torres, you know!”

Well, if Walker was there, maybe it wouldn’t get too rowdy. “Where are you?”

There was a pause and a rustling sound on the other end. Charlie could hear Howard Mitchell’s laugh in the distance. Roberts’s voice returned. “I’ll drop you a pin. You should come by and have a drink—you can’t spend all your life rotating between home, work, and the gym. You gotta have fun sometime.”

Charlie rolled his eyes. The idea of Roberts giving him advice on anything was almost absurd. It wasn’t so long ago that Roberts had been a doe-eyed rookie begging for advice on his application to the S.W.A.T. program. Nevertheless, he did have a point.

“Yeah, alright.” Charlie acquiesced. He heard Robinson cheer in the background. “I’ll drop by for a couple drinks. But I can’t stay long, alright?”

“See you there, Cap!”

The call disconnected, and Charlie dropped his phone back on the  couch, making sure to switch it to silent before going to his bedroom to get changed.

The bar was loud and cramped. He did not want to be there. But at least the guys won’t be asking me invasive questions about my love life.

Walker waved him over from a corner booth where the guys were sitting, and Charlie waved back. He got a drink from the bar—ugh, beer—and made his way over, squeezing into the booth to sit next to Torres.

“Fucking finally,” Robinson joked, “I told Roberts you probably didn’t want to be seen in public with us.”

Charlie smirked. “Aw, I could never be embarrassed of you guys,” he replied, “It’s Walker who should be embarrassed. If Lizzie finds out you’re associating with this bunch....”

Walker just rolled his eyes and took a sip of his drink.

Roberts laughed, “At least he has a fiancée. What about you, Cap? You hiding a girlfriend from us?” He was teasing, but it hurt more than Charlie wanted to admit. Walker glanced over, giving Charlie a ‘sorry about him’ look.

Charlie tried to take the joke on the chin like he normally would, hoping his smile still looked convincing. “Who, me? No girl would want to put up with my gym schedule. But I’m amazed your girlfriend hasn’t ditched you yet, considering your hygiene issues.”

Encouraged, Roberts and Robinson set off, serving jokes back and forth between themselves. Mitchell turned to Charlie. “Congrats on the promotion, Captain. The boys are all excited for this assignment.” Charlie felt relief wash through him. Crisis averted.

Torres joined in, elbowing him. “Yeah, we’re all real proud, boss.”

“Thanks, guys,” Charlie’s smile was more genuine this time. “You guys have been doing good work. I think we’re ready for the new challenge.”

“We’re working with that android again, right?” Torres asked. “Kind of a weirdo, huh?”

Charlie swore he could hear his own heart beating. He tried to keep his breathing even.

Torres continued, “I mean, ‘rewind 58 frames’? For real? How am I supposed to do that? Just ask me to go back by one second.”

Walker was watching Charlie with a thoughtful expression. Shit. Shit shit shit. He needed to deflect, now.

Charlie sipped his beer, taking a second to collect himself, then put on a smirk. “Yeah, he is kind of an oddball, but you gotta respect his track record. Remember how he dealt with that android in August?”

Robinson turned back to the conversation with a smirk on his face, “Okay, but like recognizes like—a plastic freak’s gonna understand a plastic freak. He wasn’t such hot shit negotiating with humans, was he?”

“Oh, and you know about being hot shit, do you?” Charlie shot back, fighting to keep his tone light and casual. “Lay off the man, okay?”

The kids weren’t to be discouraged—either too buzzed or having too much fun to remember that they were talking to their captain. Roberts laughed, as nasally and high pitched as ever. “Barely a man if you ask me.”

“Detective Williams is your direct superior now,” Charlie reminded him coolly. “It’d do you good to remember that.”

“Aw, c’mon Cap! Why d’you wanna defend him so badly? If you love him so much, why don’t you marry him?” Roberts snorted, and Robinson giggled.

Charlie’s hand hit the table before he realized what had happened. The drinks clattered, and everyone jumped, staring at him in shock. 

Shit. This wasn’t appropriate. Charlie needed to calm down. 

“I need some air,” he said, standing.

“Cap, I—”

Charlie kept walking. He’d heard enough excuses from those two for one lifetime. It was time for them to grow the fuck up.

The cold winter air hit him, and it was a relief. He felt all of the anger drain from his body. Charlie leaned against the wall outside and took his vape out of his jacket pocket.

This was ridiculous. It wasn’t like him to snap at his men like that. It wasn’t okay. This kind of behavior was not how he had made S.W.A.T. captain.

The door opened, and a man and woman walked past, laughing and holding hands. Charlie felt a tinge of jealousy at the easy way they showed their affection for one another. He had to laugh. As if things could ever be that easy for him.

Before he could start properly brooding, the door opened again. This time, Walker stepped out. “Sorry about them.” He came to lean against the wall next to Charlie, facing the street, both hands in his jacket pockets.

Charlie shrugged, dropping his hand and blowing out a mouthful of vapor. “‘S fine—my fault. I know better than to let them get to me.”

“Well, yeah, but... it’s not all on you. They were being childish.”

“They’re always childish.”

Walker turned to face him. “Yeah, well, then they were being extra childish—what’s gotten into you?”

Charlie frowned. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve been acting weird, on edge. I saw how nervous you looked when we started talking about that android detective. Do you not want to work with him again, or—?”

Charlie shook his head, and looked down, blowing out another cloud of vapor.

“Okay...” Walker’s eyebrows knit together. “What, then, do you...” Charlie watched his eyes get wide as he realized. Charlie put his head in his hands, groaning—practically an admission of guilt.

“Oh my god—oh my god, Charlie. That is so inappropriate, you—”

“I know, okay!” He was shouting a little, but honestly it was just a relief to finally say it out loud. “It’s unprofessional, and inappropriate, and—and—” He let his hands drop to his sides and looked at Walker. “But it’s done now. I just need to get over it. It’s just...” Walker waited for Charlie to finish. “He’s just really fucking cute, okay? And smart, and kind. You wouldn’t believe how gently he let me down today. It was really smooth.”

Walker was looking at him sadly. Goddammit. Charlie did not want his pity right now. “Don’t look at me like that! It’s not that big a deal. I’ll be over it by tomorrow, I swear.”

Charlie took a drag from his vape, desperate for something to do besides talk. 

Tomorrow, he thought. Tomorrow was the beginning of the end. Tomorrow they would have to start working together.

Walker turned away from Charlie, leaning against the wall and looking out into the street. “What happened?”

“Huh?”

“What did he say to you? To turn you down, I mean.”

“Oh, well... It wasn’t really what he said, per se, it was more of the way he said it.”

“What do you mean?”

Charlie sighed, “Like—I dunno. He didn’t even really turn me down, he just pretended like I was inviting him out for a professional coffee to go over details about the taskforce stuff. He said it ‘would be good to talk about our approach to the position,’ or whatever.” He cringed at himself again. “Though he did turn down the coffee idea. I shouldn’t have even suggested it.”

“So, let me get this straight.” Walker sighed. He sounded exasperated. “He said that he doesn’t drink coffee because he’s an android.” He paused to raise an eyebrow at Charlie. “But he agreed to talk more. What if he just misunderstood your question?”

Charlie froze. Jesus fuck, Walker, you can’t do this to me. 

“Misunderstood how?” 

“Maybe he honestly thought you just wanted to talk about the case. You’re not always the smoothest talker when it comes to guys you like, Charlie, and you were at work.”

Walker had a point, but....

“Aren’t you supposed to be convincing me that I shouldn’t go after him?” Charlie asked. “You’re my second-in-command.”

Walker didn’t respond right away. As Charlie stared at the cracks in the sidewalk in front of him, he felt like he was on the edge of a cliff about to fall. Like the smallest nudge would send him tumbling down. Into what, he wasn’t sure—Hope? Despair? Does it matter? It was too terrifying to reckon with.

Walker turned to face him. “Can I get a hit?” Charlie looked up to see him gesturing to the vape.

Charlie frowned. “I thought you quit. You told me it was embarrassing.”

“It is embarrassing.” Walker rolled his eyes. “I’m an adult, Charles. C’mon.” 

Walker held out his hand, nudging Charlie, who handed him the vape. Charlie watched as Walker took a drag, then breathed out a thick cloud of white vapor.

“You’re right. I should tell you not to go for it—” 

Charlie let his back hit the wall again with a huff, defeated. Walker barreled on, unperturbed. 

“—but, honestly, Charlie? I haven’t seen you get this worked up about anyone—any thing since you were petitioning for ol’ Thompson’s spot as captain. Certainly not when you were spending all that time clubbing in college. Maybe this Connor guy could be good for you now that you’ve mellowed out—get you out of the house more.”

Charlie sighed heavily. “I dunno, Walker. I don’t think I can take another rejection right now.”

“Okay, then don’t ask him out just yet,” Walker said. “Just go to work, feel it out, see what happens—just for this first week. I’ve got your back.”

“Thanks, Walker.” 

God, this was too much. Charlie felt exhausted. He just wanted to go home. 

Charlie straightened. “Listen, I gotta run—early start tomorrow. Will you apologize to the guys for me?”

Walker stood too, handing Charlie’s vape back. “Sure. Take care of yourself tonight, alright? No need to spiral over things you can’t help, right?”

Charlie snorted. “Whatever you say, Lieutenant.”

In the end, Charlie decided to run home. It wasn’t far—only a couple of miles—and exercise had always helped him clear his head.

Chapter Text

Connor

January 6th, 2039
AM 07:27:38

Connor's phone notified him of an incoming call from Hank just as he approached the DPD Central Station. He’d been expecting Hank to call him, primarily because he’d arrived home last night after his friend had already gone to bed, and left the house before he woke up. To stop Hank from worrying, he had written a note and left it on the kitchen table.

“Good morning, Hank,” Connor greeted him, walking a few paces away from the doors to get out of the way of the stream of DPD employees entering the building.

“Mornin’, son.” Hank’s voice was gravelly. It sounded as though he had just rolled out of bed. “Sorry I missed you—slept in. You’re pretty busy, huh?”

“Yeah, I am,” Connor acknowledged.

“Saw your message. Taskforce leader, huh?” Hank’s voice was a little brighter now, and Connor took this to indicate that Hank was excited for him. He had learned that even Hank’s expressions of positive emotions were generally quite gruff.

“I was flattered when Fowler chose me to help head the taskforce. It seems like he has built trust in me during the short time I’ve been a detective.”

“That’s great, Connor. I’m proud of you, you know that?”

Connor smiled even though Hank couldn’t see him. “Thanks, Hank. I appreciate that.”

There was a pause on the line, and Hank cleared his throat. There was a sound that Connor thought might be Hank spitting into the sink, and then Hank spoke again. “You said ‘help’ lead the taskforce. You got a co-leader or somethin’?”

“Captain Charles Allen. He and his S.W.A.T. team will be handling any more terrorist attacks like the one on Sunday,” Connor explained. Monday morning, Hank had seen the KNC news report on the attack and Connor had updated him that evening as they played cards.

“That asshole? Okay,” Hank grunted. “Tell me if he gives you any trouble.”

“Actually, he’s proven to be very pleasant,” Connor objected. “I think I’ll enjoy working with him.”

“We talkin’ about the same guy?” Hank sounded nonplussed. “Well, nevermind. Hope you’re right.”

“There’s another thing, Hank,” Connor added after a moment’s pause. He was feeling that churning sensation in his midsection again, which he had determined must be a physical expression of anxiety. “I made plans with Simon to go look at possible apartment units for myself. He’s knowledgeable about the housing market, and said he has some connections with landlords in the Detroit metro area.”

“Sounds good,” Hank replied simply. “You’ll let me know if you find something good, right? Send me some pictures?”

“Of course,” Connor said. “I hope you know that I’ll still be coming over for cards and to watch sports with you.”

“Deal.” Connor could tell by the tone of Hank’s voice that he was smiling on the other end. “Okay, buddy, I’ll let you get to work. Tell me if anything interesting happens, alright?”

“Of course,” Connor said again. “Have a good day, Hank.”

“You too. See ya.” Hank ended the call.

Connor made his way to his desk inside, formulating a friendly text to send to Charlie in order to arrange a time to meet. He was still puzzled about the interaction they’d had the afternoon before, when Charlie had suddenly seemed to become nervous, distracted and awkward. Perhaps he had simply received a text message with bad news when Connor hadn’t been looking, or seen someone he didn’t want to interact with, Connor reasoned. It was likely completely unrelated to him, but Connor still found himself wording the text carefully to project a professional, friendly tone. Good morning, Charlie. Are you able to meet this morning before our first taskforce meeting? Choose whatever location suits you best. I look forward to talking.

Connor began his work and had barely finished one small administrative task before he received a text from Charlie. Hey- Let’s do the conference room before the meeting, I can get there around 10:15. That would give them approximately thirty minutes to talk, Connor noted. As he set back to work, he decided he would pick up a cup of coffee for Charlie from the shop nearby before the captain arrived, to make up for his refusal yesterday.

Connor met Charlie at exactly 10:15 outside the conference room, the cup of coffee warming his hand. He handed it to Charlie with a smile. “I can’t partake, but I thought you might appreciate this. It’s a latte—I wasn’t sure if you prefer it plain or with sugar, but I thought this was a safe choice.”

Charlie’s mouth hung open for a moment, and he looked from the coffee in his hand to Connor for an agonizing amount of time.

Suddenly uncertain about his choice, Connor asked, “You like coffee, right? You invited me to a coffee shop.”

“Uh, yeah, I do. I like coffee. Th—thanks, Connor, you didn’t have to do that—”

“I wanted to. We’re partners now, so I think I should know your coffee order. Is this one good?”

Charlie took a sip, still staring at Connor. “It’s great. Thanks, Connor.”

“Shall we?” Connor asked, gesturing at the room behind them.

“Yeah,” Charlie replied. He was acting weird. Connor had the intense impression that he was nervous again. But why?

Connor was perplexed again. This behavior matched how Charlie had acted the day before perfectly. As Charlie hadn’t checked his phone this time, and there was no one near to them, Connor could rule out his previous theories about yesterday. That meant that it had to be somehow related to Connor’s presence. As they entered the conference room and seated themselves, Connor scanned Charlie and found that the captain had an elevated heart rate.

Connor kept a concerned, watchful eye on Charlie as they stumbled together through the points Connor had planned out regarding training schedules and work load distribution.

The meeting was helpful, although Connor still found himself disproportionately focused on Charlie’s appearance and the nervous tics he exhibited. He kept himself from asking outright if the captain was alright, purely to avoid embarrassing him further.

The question of what was making the S.W.A.T captain so uncomfortable around him followed Connor around for the rest of the day, eating up processing power and making everything more difficult. It continued to nag him as he caught the bus to meet Simon near the first apartment complex they were touring that afternoon, and by that time he had narrowed it to two possible options.

Tall Oaks Housing Solutions, a cluster of rectangular, modern apartment buildings near the suburbs. Simon was standing at the bus stop as Connor disembarked, and gave him a bright grin and a wave. “Hey, Connor!”

Connor returned the smile. “Hi, Simon. Thanks for doing this for me.”

Simon waved it off, saying, “This is literally my job—and you’re my friend, so no thanks needed. Come on, the apartment manager’s expecting us.”

As they walked, Simon made small talk—something that Connor was usually adept at—but his mind was full of new information and feelings which had not quite been processed yet. He found himself responding slower than usual. Simon noticed it too. Before they had even made it into the first apartment they were supposed to tour, he asked, “Connor, you doing alright? You seem a little distracted.”

Connor looked over at him in surprise. “I—I, yeah,” he stuttered. “I suppose I am distracted, just... it’s nothing important.”

Simon scrunched his nose at this, but they had just stepped inside the lobby of Tall Oaks and were immediately greeted by the apartment manager. Connor was slightly relieved, because for now he could hang back and listen, giving him time to order his thoughts in preparation for the questions Simon would surely be asking once they had another moment to talk.

The first apartment they looked at was small to the point of being cramped, but Connor liked the large windows facing out on the street and the smooth tile floors. Perhaps he wasn’t ready to face the idea of moving after all, though, because he managed to find a myriad of aspects of the living space that he didn’t like—for example, it had been fitted for “non-eating tenants,” as the apartment manager put it, and therefore lacked a kitchen or any relevant food appliances. Connor found himself strangely uncomfortable with this, particularly when he thought about hosting Hank.

The apartment manager told them they should feel free to measure, and that she would be down the hall so they could shout for her if needed. Then Connor was standing in the empty, echoing living room with Simon, who was watching him with a thoughtful expression on his face.

Connor looked around, and scanned the room. There were traces of wood dust—left over from construction, he supposed—and a small amount of dust accumulating in the corners. He couldn’t find anything else, nothing out of the ordinary.

“This isn’t a crime scene,” Simon said gently, and Connor turned to look at him.

“I know,” he replied, almost indignant.

“I’m just saying—if you don’t like it, we’ll keep looking. Your budget would let you get a few more square yards, at least.”

Connor nodded but didn’t reply. Walking into the secondary room and scanning it—more dust particulates—he wondered why he was so discontented with the apartment. He found himself wondering what sort of living space Charlie had. Was it similar to this one? Obviously, it had a kitchen. An oven, microwave, a refrigerator. It would have a bed, too. Connor didn’t need a bed, because he could perform hibernation processing cycles sitting and even standing. But somehow, he wanted one. Maybe it was his almost constant close proximity with humans, but something made it feel wrong not to have one.

Simon was leaning against a wall, waiting, as Connor came back into the main living area. “How do you feel?”

“Confused,” Connor replied honestly. “I’m confused about everything right now.”

“Do you want to call it quits for today? We can always reschedule the other tours.”

“No, I’d like to see more apartments,” Connor decided. He needed more information, more spaces to choose from.

There was one other unit type in Tall Oaks, in the building across the parking lot. The apartment manager explained that these were fully fitted for “hybrid living,” which, once he saw the kitchen, Connor understood to be a strange expression for accommodating both androids and humans. As before, the manager left them to look around the apartment on their own.

Connor scanned this apartment too. It was less new than the other one, although its windows and floors were similarly agreeable to Connor. The kitchen had an oven with a stovetop, a larger sink area, and a refrigerator.

As Simon and Connor walked the few blocks to the next apartment complex on their list, Simon continued the conversation that had been put on hold as they entered Tall Oaks.

“So, you’ve got a lot on your mind?”

The recent strange interactions with Charlie infiltrated Connor’s thoughts again. Over and over again throughout the day, Connor had replayed the highlights. Two likely conclusions had made themselves clear to him, and he wasn’t sure which one he preferred to believe. Either Charlie had somehow been offended when Connor had turned down his offer to go out for coffee, or he had been disappointed. One pointed to the captain being a sensitive, irritable person. The other... well, Connor had watched enough “chick flicks” with Hank to know that, if he followed the movies’ logic, it meant that Connor had accidentally turned down an invitation to go on a date.

“How can you tell if someone is attracted to you?” Connor asked bluntly, unable to phrase it any more delicately.

Simon blinked, and then smiled. “Well, it can look different depending on the person. Some people get all nervous, stutter when they’re talking—you know, the movie trope. Some people are smoother about it, too.”

Connor thought about that morning, when Charlie had stumbled on almost every sentence out of his mouth, particularly when Connor had gotten him coffee.

“How was it with you and Markus? How did you know?”

Simon snorted. “Well, that’s different. I kinda fell for Markus the moment he showed up in Jericho. I only figured out he liked me too when he told me. He’s just...” Simon seemed in his own thoughts, smiling as he remembered some important moment with Markus. “He’s the type that just knows. I think he knew for a long time before we even got together.”

But how? Connor thought, a little frustrated. Simon described it in such unclear terms that Connor couldn’t find anything in his statement to apply to his own situation.

“How did you know you were attracted to Markus?”

Simon considered this for a moment, and they walked in silence until he said, “I think I noticed first that I couldn’t stop watching him—whatever he was doing, I wanted to just stop and admire him. Not just his face or body, but him as a whole. His personality and the way he talks, and his confidence. I didn’t even have to really know him to know I liked him a lot. And when I got to know him, that was it. I knew I'd do anything for him.”

Connor thought about the feeling of being unable to tear his eyes away from Charlie’s face during yesterday’s meeting. And today, he realized, he had been doing the same. It took him a moment to realize Simon was talking again, but it had been entirely droned out by his thoughts

“Is there someone you’re interested in at work?” Simon repeated, a small, knowing smile on his face.

Connor knew his physical emotion expression program was running, knew his face was flushing in response to the embarrassment he felt at Simon’s question. There was nothing he could do to stop it—not since becoming free.

“No! No. I’m just curious,” he lied, and knew instantly that Simon didn’t believe him. His friend had stopped walking, crossing his arms, and was waiting for Connor to submit and tell him the truth. Connor closed his eyes for a moment, steeling himself. “Fine. There is someone—and—I think he’s been expressing interest in me. I’ve accidentally been ignoring it.”

“Well, how do you feel about the idea? Do you like him too?”

“I—I’ve been experiencing similar phenomena to your description of attraction, yes,” Connor admitted, falling back into his usual technical English, seeking comfort from it.

“Okay, so it sounds like you like each other,” Simon smiled. “Do you think you want to go on a date with him?”

Connor let himself imagine it for just a moment, and then cringed away from the idea and shook his head vehemently. Taking a step back physically, as though he could distance himself from the thought, he said, “We’re colleagues—it would be unprofessional. He knows that too, I think. I shouldn’t pursue this.” And with that, the bubble popped. Connor realized that he had let himself have a sliver of hope and excitement at this new experience—but now it was obvious what he had to do. He couldn’t possibly start a relationship with Charlie, not while they were co-leaders of the taskforce, no matter whether his feelings were reciprocated.

“Markus and I are colleagues,” Simon reminded Connor. “I know it’s different,” he added as Connor was about to object. “But sometimes personal lives need to come before professionalism.”

Connor didn’t agree, but he didn’t want to start a debate at the moment. “Thanks for your input, Simon. I really appreciate the—the insight.”

Simon grinned and patted Connor’s elbow in a friendly manner. “No problem. Keep me updated if you want to—I’m always happy to help.”

The rest of the afternoon was spent touring various further apartments, none of which entirely suited Connor’s fancy. Luckily, apartment shopping helped him keep his mind off of Charlie for the most part. He had decided that it was better to ignore the feelings and hope they would leave, and by the time he returned to Hank’s house for the night and sat down to watch a sitcom with his friend, he had managed to put the Charlie problem out of his mind almost entirely.

Chapter Text

Charlie

January 13th, 2039
PM 02:00:59

When Charlie had applied for the S.W.A.T. captain position years ago, he had known that his job would include admin work. However, throughout his second week of taskforce leadership, Charlie found himself absolutely drowning in paperwork and wishing that someone had warned him about exactly how much admin was involved. 

By Thursday afternoon it was giving him a headache.

Charlie sat back in his desk chair, pushing his blue-light glasses up onto his head and rubbing his eyes. He wasn’t really cut out for this shit. His expertise lay squarely in the on-the-field side of things. For the millionth time today, he found himself wishing Connor were here helping him—it was just so much easier with his perfect short-term recall. But they had agreed to split the work evenly, and Charlie would be too embarrassed to admit that he couldn’t do it on his own.

The first few days of taskforce co-leadership had been much more pleasant than Charlie had imagined. When Connor had invited him to meet that first morning, Charlie didn’t know exactly what to expect. The night before, he had stayed up in bed, tossing and turning, thinking about what Walker had said, and worrying about what new Connor-based challenges the next day might bring him. He had run through all sorts of scenarios, such as, “what if our leadership styles don’t align and we have an argument on the first day?” and, “what if I have food in my teeth all day and don’t notice?” and, “what if I mispronounce something stupid and he thinks I’m an idiot?” 

The list hadn’t included Connor inviting him to an early morning meeting and giving him a lopsided smile as he offered Charlie a coffee.

This had made for a bit of a rocky start to their first morning as co-leads. In their pre-meeting meeting, Charlie had felt himself getting fidgety and nervous, often losing his train of thought and overall just fucking up all his carefully thought out plans about how cool, suave, and normal he was going to be. Connor probably noticed it—the way he seemed to notice everything—but luckily for Charlie’s nerves, he was kind enough not to mention it.

After that first meeting, everything started to go much more smoothly. It helped that he and Connor hadn’t needed to be alone together for the next few meetings, and that there was genuinely just so much work to do.

Really, after those first few stumbling blocks, he had found that Connor was quite agreeable and easy to work with. After years in policing, Charlie was used to managing the fragile egos of most high-ranking officers, but that was never necessary with Connor, who was an attentive listener and always gave Charlie the benefit of the doubt.

As time went on, he had found it got easier to focus, getting lost in the work like he always did when starting something new. But every once in a while, he would feel those observant eyes watching him. In those moments, he would suddenly be very aware of exactly where his body was in space, hoping desperately that he wasn’t doing anything to embarrass himself.

But Charlie hadn’t actually seen Connor all morning. He hadn’t seen anyone in hours. He shifted in his seat, bleary-eyed. When was the last time he ate? He picked up his phone to check the time, and shot upright in his seat. Shit.

Charlie was going to be late for their first all-taskforce combat training. He stood up, grabbing his water bottle and keys. Connor had suggested that they lead a session on self defense, both to reinforce the skills their people already had, and to build rapport among recruits. And now Charlie was going to look like an idiot walking into his own training session five minutes late.

He rushed to the locker room, changed into his training clothes, and headed to the gym. He paused on the threshold, taking in the sight of his burly S.W.A.T. men and the recruited DPD POs alike all sitting on the floor in two rows, attempting to touch their toes. Connor had already started the training session, and was sitting on the ground as well, demonstrating a perfect seated toe-touch stretch.

Connor was wearing the same training outfit as everyone else, a short-sleeved DPD shirt, and a pair of loose black exercise pants. As Charlie entered the room, he realized that it was probably the first time he had seen Connor’s arms. He reminded himself not to stare and jogged to the front of the room.

As Charlie dropped his water bottle off by the wall, Connor released the stretch and got to his feet. He met Charlie’s eye and gave him a polite nod before turning back to his trainees and instructing them on the proper way to loosen their shoulder joints. He took the time to correct one or two of the officers who were struggling, gently guiding their limbs into a better position. When he was satisfied, he stepped back and turned his attention to Charlie.

“Sorry I’m late,” Charlie muttered, quiet enough so it was drowned out by the radio station playing on the speaker in the corner and the sound of the air conditioning.

“I’m used to worse from Lieutenant Anderson,” Connor said with the slightest of smirks. Then he continued in a businesslike manner, “I’d like to begin the session with drills—basic hand-to-hand. Then I’d like to introduce some more complex material, including takedowns. Before you arrived, I had a short conversation with the group and found that most of them don’t know basic throws.”

Charlie tried to remember if he had retained any of the basic takedowns he’d learned in hand-to-hand during his last in-service training. “Sounds good. You wanna take the lead on that?”

That fucking smirk was back in full force. “I thought you’d never ask, Captain.”

It turned out that Connor needed a living practice dummy to demonstrate jiu-jitsu throws, and that Charlie was the most reasonable choice. There wasn’t a good excuse he could make to avoid the responsibility, so Charlie followed Connor’s lead, throwing fake punches and grabbing collars or sleeves when directed to. He was manhandled to the floor a few times, getting breaks in between to watch the taskforce officers practice.

During the following open practice time, Connor walked around the gym and watched his students, nudging the occasional arm or reaching down to adjust someone’s stance with a steady hand. Charlie could tell that he was utterly engrossed in his work, and had to admire his attentiveness and the way he treated each of their subordinates with kind, thoughtful respect. As he watched Connor correct a new recruit on their form, Charlie felt the residual tingle of electricity where Connor had grabbed and hit him during the demonstration. It took effort to ignore the burning in his cheeks as he remembered it. 

Then one of the S.W.A.T. guys called Charlie over to ask a question, and he reminded himself once again to pay attention to the training session. He couldn’t get caught up on his feelings. There was work to do.

After the self-defense workshop, Charlie led the general workout—cardio, weight training, and some agility drills. Connor had asked Charlie a few days ago to put this regimen together, citing how it was clear he had personal experience in exercise. Charlie had tried not to blush at the thought that Connor had noticed his body. He probably failed.

Charlie didn't have much time to get a workout of his own in during the session. He was too busy correcting form and making sure people were getting support and having their questions answered. Since he had finished most of his paperwork for the day, he decided to hang back after the training session was over and treat himself to a half hour lift. Besides, it was almost 4pm, so Charlie was practically already done for the day.

It was glorious, actually, getting to just shut off his brain, listen to music, and sweat for a while. The recent days of paperwork and administrative meetings had cut his activity level practically in half, and he'd only made it to the gym after 9pm all week. He reveled in the familiar rush of endorphins as he put away his weights and headed to the showers, which had cleared out by now. He found himself enjoying the peace and quiet as he took a quick, cold shower, shampooing his hair and scrubbing himself down at record speed to get out of the freezing stream of water as soon as possible.

He was just getting dressed, literally zipping up his pants as he heard a quiet noise behind him, the sound of a throat clearing. Charlie turned to see that Connor was standing just inside the doorway, turning his head away pointedly just as Charlie caught sight of him.

“Sorry, Captain—” the detective’s voice was a little squeakier than usual, and Charlie could barely believe his eyes as he noticed that there was definitely a pink flush creeping up his cheeks. Androids can blush?

“I couldn’t find you in your office, so I thought you might still be in the gym. I didn’t expect—” Connor cut himself off, clearing his throat again. “I wanted to let you know I’m headed home for the day. Do you need anything?”

Charlie was holding his shirt in his hand at his side, like an idiot. It probably looked like he wanted to show off. It’d look stupid if he put it on now, right? Like he was embarrassed—which he was, but Connor didn’t need to know that. Kicking himself, Charlie replied, “Uh, no, thank you, Connor. Do you need anything from me?”

Connor glanced at Charlie, eyes widening again for a moment. “No, thanks, Charlie. I’ll—I’ll be going, then. Good evening.” He turned on his heels and exited.

Charlie stood there in silence for at least a minute, t-shirt still in his hand, staring at the door. Did that seriously just happen?

Connor

January 13th, 2039
PM 04:47:02

The flush in Connor’s face finally began to wane almost three blocks away from the precinct station, but his embarrassment showed no signs of going away. It made his whole body tingle—he was aware of every biocomponent and its functions, every micro-motor and thirium valve moving to propel his body forward.

He hadn’t expected to find Charlie half-naked—he’d only been cutting through the locker room in the first place because it was the shortest way into the gym from the main station, where Connor’s desk was. And when he’d walked into the locker room, instead of turning quietly and leaving after seeing that the captain was still getting dressed, he had frozen.

Charlie’s back was defined and muscular, framed by broad shoulders and thick, strong arms. Connor had cleared his throat and looked away almost instantly, trying to remember even why he was there in the first place. His voice had almost failed him as he apologized, aware that this was not the way a professional treated their colleagues, not the way a man dealt with seeing another man shirtless.

Charlie had just stood there with his shirt off as though it was normal to look like that—to make Connor feel like that. Connor had figured after his conversation with Simon that he would be able to stave off any unwanted reactions to Charlie’s physique (which he had been noticing since they met was impressive) without issues.

But now he realized it would be a lot harder—this was something he could clearly not control, as much as he wanted to.

Of course Connor hadn’t even caused this scene for a good reason; all he had wanted was to make sure he was good to go home and play card games with Hank. He didn’t even need to report to Charlie—they were equals in the taskforce. He’d just wanted to be sure. Connor felt the urge to swear at himself, but none of Hank’s vocabulary seemed right.

Obstructing Connor’s need to be alone to brood over the incident, Hank was home when Connor let himself into the house. Sumo bounded across the room to greet him as he took off his shoes, and Hank looked up from the electronic newsletter he was reading. “How’d your day go?”

Connor had wanted to piece together something decently coherent, but all he could manage was, “A lot of work. It went fine, though.”

“Okay.” Hank sounded suspicious.

“Did you eat?”

“Yeah, I ate. What, don’t think I can take care of myself?” Hank chuckled to himself.

Connor had nothing to respond with. He took off his jacket, gathered a t-shirt from his pile of things (moving Hank’s coat in the process), and went to the bathroom to change. He looked at himself in the mirror briefly, pushing his hair around for a moment before shaking his head at himself and returning to the kitchen, where Hank was clearing off the table.

“You need some time for yourself? I just realized Sumo ain’t got his walk yet today. I could take him and let you think.”

“No, I’ll take him,” Connor offered hastily. He wasn’t sure how Hank had figured out so quickly that he had a lot on his mind, but he was grateful. He grabbed the leash and was out the door with Sumo a moment later.

He took his time walking Sumo. It was easy, because the aging St Bernard was about half Connor’s speed on a good day anyway. Although he had hoped to clear his mind rather than fill it further, Connor couldn’t help but think about Charlie again.

Over the week they’d been working together, he’d grown to admire the captain a lot—in far more ways than just the physical. Charlie was a strong, smart leader, and had an incredible knack for building morale among his subordinates. Connor had witnessed him break up small verbal conflicts between his S.W.A.T. team members during drills more than once, often with just a few well-placed words. Despite the nagging feeling that Charlie was uncomfortable around Connor (or fighting the same type of pull Connor experienced around him), Connor had to admit that his week of partnership with Charlie had run very smoothly.

Connor sat down on a bench in the little park where he and Hank usually took Sumo for his daily walks. Scratching under Sumo’s floppy ears, Connor asked him out loud, “What am I gonna do, Sumo?”

Sumo didn’t have an answer. Sometimes Connor wished humanity had developed a way to speak with animals.

Simon’s question from last week came back to him. Do you think you want to go on a date with him? It was a loaded question, and a loaded answer. Connor did want to go out with Charlie—to spend more time with him. Of course he did. But if the pop media Hank consumed daily was to be trusted in the slightest, dates often led to further dates, and eventually a relationship. Connor couldn’t have a relationship with his colleague. And besides, Connor was certain that if they were to have a relationship, Charlie would expect things of him he was unable to fulfill. Things he couldn’t even imagine doing or experiencing. No, it was still best to let this whole thing blow over.

“You’re not very helpful,” Connor told Sumo, who stuck out his tongue and wagged his tail, not understanding a single word Connor said.

Connor returned to the house around sundown with a happy, tired-out elder dog in tow. Taking off his shoes, Connor prepared himself mentally to talk about the day with Hank, feeling he should at least attempt to make it seem as though he was untroubled.

“Up for some cribbage?” Hank asked from the sofa, switching off the TV. Connor nodded, heading to the bookshelf to take down the cribbage board and a deck of playing cards.

They played without the topic of work coming up for nearly twenty minutes (19.08, to be exact). Hank explained that he’d spent the day at Jericho, volunteering at the kindergarten. Connor knew that this was where android children were cared for, primarily YK500 and YB200 models who hadn’t been adopted by their human once-owners. He tried for a moment to imagine Hank reading to a group of android children, but the image was incongruent. When he voiced this, Hank became slightly indignant. “I had a kid their age, you know. I know how to entertain ‘em!”

Throughout the conversation, Connor had the impression that Hank had something else to say. He kept pausing and looking down at his cards for longer than he usually needed while playing cribbage, and then looking up at Connor and cocking his head, narrowing his eyes. Finally, 19.09 minutes after their game started, Hank revealed what was on his mind.

“I chatted with Simon, too, while I was at New Jericho,” he said. “He’s a nice kid.” With great showmanship, he paused to count out his crib. Then he looked up at Connor. “He said you asked him a couple of questions the other day, when you were apartment shopping.”

Connor watched him blankly, doing his best not to provoke him to continue speaking.

“Said you might be interested in someone at work. Mind explaining what he was talkin’ about?” Hank raised his eyebrows.

Connor took his time shuffling the cards and dealing their hands. Then he admitted, “There is.”

“C’mon, son, you gotta give me something more. Who is it? Who d’you have a crush on?”

“It’s none of your business,” Connor retorted, a little more edge to his voice than he would have liked. Yesterday, he might have been less defensive in the face of Hank’s questioning, but after the locker room incident....

“Well, is she pretty? She make you laugh? I don’t need a name, I just wanna know what you think about ‘er.”

Connor knew Hank hadn’t meant to say anything wrong, but he found himself bristling a little at the assumption Hank had made. But it was better to correct the mistake now, lest this become a continued problem.

“He is a very competent, intelligent person,” Connor said, his back very straight, looking down at his cards.

“Oh... right. I, uh, didn’t think...” Hank mumbled. “Well, is it anyone I would know? One of the guys at the station?” When Connor didn’t respond, Hank continued on. “Listen, son, I’m not trying to gossip, here. I don’t need the details. I just wanna make sure you’re being safe.”

“Safe in what way?” Now Connor was just confused.

“Well, dating’s a complicated thing. There’s plenty of things to worry about—y’know, communication, boundary-setting, cultural differences. Things like that.” Hank replied, and, seeing that Connor was still watching him blankly, added, “Well, you wanna make sure the both of you are gunning for the same thing. If he likes you, he might want a long term relationship. Is that what you want? And you gotta be sure if you’re ready for, y’know, all the relationship stuff. Intimacy, an’ all that.” Hank was skirting around something, Connor was sure of it. “Is, uh... is he a human, or another android?”

And then it struck him like a bag of bricks. No. This could not be happening.

“Hank, I don’t want to talk with you about sex,” Connor said, his voice raised, a little desperate. “Can we play cribbage and talk about anything else? Please?”

“I just wanna make sure—”

“Look, he and I are colleagues. I’m a professional. I don’t need your advice about it because it isn’t going to happen. It can’t. Please, Hank!” Connor’s voice had risen to a shout.

Hank stared at him for a very silent 15.84 seconds, and Connor felt warm embarrassment flood through him. He had never flown off the handle like this, had never expected to be shouting at Hank in Hank’s own kitchen today or ever, about anything.

“I’m sorry,” Connor mumbled, looking down at the table. “I shouldn’t have—”

“Nope, I’m sorry,” Hank interrupted, his tone gentle. “I shouldn’tve pushed you like that. It’s okay, Connor.”

“I’m just... I suppose I’m insecure about it. About the whole thing, right now. I don’t really wanna talk about it.”

“Do you want me to leave you alone, or should we finish this game?”

“Let’s finish the game.”

They made eye contact for a moment, and Connor realized that they had already forgiven each other.

They talked about sports for the rest of the night, quibbling over which NFL team was going to win the Superbowl. As Hank was going to bed and Connor was about to get in his customary spot on the sofa to complete his nightly processing cycle, Connor suddenly felt the urge to give Hank a hug. He did, and Hank returned it, surprised.

“Thanks, Hank,” Connor said earnestly. “Thanks for caring.”

Hank laughed. “You’re setting the bar low, son.”

Connor laughed as well, and as he settled down for the night, he found himself feeling more hopeful about the coming week. He figured that, assuming he would be able to stand in the same room as Charlie without turning beet red tomorrow, things would probably turn out fine.

Chapter Text

Charlie

January 15th, 2039
PM 08:50:54

Charlie Allen had years of experience dealing with many different high-stress situations. He couldn’t count the number of times that he had stared down the barrel of a gun or watched one of his men be shot without wavering.

But today Charlie was experiencing a new type of situation his S.W.A.T. training could never have prepared him for—his infant niece, Elly.

Charlie was holding Elly, bouncing her gently up and down and trying—unskillfully—to sing her a lullaby. He had a spit-up rag draped over one shoulder, which was already half-soaked and smelling strongly of regurgitated breastmilk. Elly had been sobbing uncontrollably almost since the moment her mothers had left her, and Charlie couldn’t blame her. If he were Elly, he figured he too would probably rather hang out with his moms than some big, weird-smelling man he had only met a couple times.

He shifted Elly to an upright position, resting her head against his collarbone and checked the handwritten list of babysitting instructions, once again searching for some magical tip or trick that could get this baby to calm down. Unsurprisingly, there was nothing new to see. The baby had been fed, he had tried to give her the pacifier, he bounced her, sang her songs—nothing was working.

Giving up on his poor rendition of “Rockabye Baby,” he picked up the paper and brought it with them to the couch to sit down, already exhausted.

The truth was that he needed help, but he couldn’t call Katie and Emily. He had specifically agreed to relieve them of their motherly duties for one measly afternoon. And anyway, they were probably in the middle of a couple’s massage or something and wouldn’t notice their phones ringing.

Charlie offered Elly a pacifier that had been sitting nearby. She sniffled as she accepted it, sucking on it for a couple seconds before spitting it out to cry again. Leaning down, Charlie picked the pacifier up from where it had fallen and placed it on a side table.

He couldn’t do this alone. Maybe Walker could help? Charlie thought he remembered Walker mentioning babysitting some niece or nephew a couple months back. Worth a shot.

Charlie picked up his phone, tapping the ‘call’ button next to Walker’s contact. It rang a couple times before going to voicemail. He sighed and tried again. Voicemail. You’ve reached James Walker’s personal number. Leave a message at the tone. Walker was probably busy with fiancée stuff again. Charlie figured he might as well leave a voicemail so Walker wouldn’t panic when he saw the missed calls.

“Hey. It’s Charlie. No big deal, I’m just babysitting for my sister today and realizing that I actually don’t know anything about babies. And I can’t call my sister because that would ruin the relaxing spa day she had planned for the wife. Wondering if you had any baby advice or expertise?” Charlie rolled his eyes at himself, “Anyway, call back if you get this soon, I’m on the hook until 10. Talk to you later.”

He hung up, sighing again. Maybe there was someone else he could call? He looked through his contacts list—friends from high school, friends from college, guys from the force. There was no one he could call. He scrolled through once more, then stopped. Maybe there was one more person he could try.

He stared at Connor’s contact page on his phone, hesitating. This was stupid, really stupid—not to mention embarrassing. And things had already been tense recently, ever since Connor had walked into the locker room on Tuesday. But surely Connor would understand his distress—surely he could lend a hand? After all, Connor practically had a search engine in his brain.

Defeated, Charlie tapped ‘call’ and brought the phone to his ear, praying for Connor to pick up.

“Hello, Charlie.” As Connor picked up the phone, Charlie realized that he didn’t have a plan. How was he supposed to ask for Connor’s help with this?

“Hey, Connor, uh...” This really was dumb. Charlie should hang up, but he couldn’t back out now. “Are you free? A bit of a... personal issue at my sister’s place. Could use some help? I can text you the address—only if you’re not busy. No big deal.” Elly let out another full-throated wail, as if to refute his lack of urgency.

“I’m not busy. Should I come over now?” Connor’s voice sounded calm, seeming not at all annoyed at his weird coworker’s request to come help him with a ‘personal issue’ outside of his contract hours.

“Yeah, soon as you can. Thank you so much.”

As the call disconnected, Charlie started to feel like he could breathe again. That is, until Elly made her presence known, taking a big breath into her little lungs just to scream right in his ears again. 

Right.

When Connor arrived—ten minutes of shushing and half-hearted lullabies later—Elly’s cries were softer, though Charlie was still at his wits end.

“Hey, come in.” As he opened the door, Charlie was aware of how tired he must look, but he was in too deep. He waved Connor in. “This is my niece, Elly.”

Connor’s eyebrows were raised, and a few gentle lines appeared on the android’s forehead. Charlie wondered about the amount of effort someone must have put in for those lines to exist—maybe a team of someones?

“I wasn’t aware you have a niece.”

“Yeah,” Charlie laughed, a little sheepish. “My sister’s kid. I’m supposed to be babysitting right now, but I don’t actually know anything about babies.”

“And you thought I would?” Charlie hadn’t thought Connor’s eyebrows could go higher than they were before.

“Well, not exactly but... there wasn’t anyone else I could ask.” Charlie could hear the fatigue in his own voice.

Connor’s LED was yellow, blinking fast. He stood silent and still for a moment, and then told Charlie, “My research tells me that she might be underfed, or otherwise uncomfortable. Have you fed her and changed her diaper recently?”

“Yeah, I just changed her twenty minutes ago, and she’s fed. I’m covered in half of it, but I’m pretty sure a good amount stayed down.”

“Then she might be needing more physical contact,” Connor mused. “Or she might be overstimulated. Your cologne could be somewhat overpowering for a child her age.”

“Oh, fuck, I wasn’t even thinking about that,” Charlie admitted.

“I can take her, if you'd like,” Connor offered, taking off his jacket and hanging it over the back of a kitchen chair. Charlie could have kissed him then and there. Instead, he carefully shifted Elly to Connor’s arms.

Elly immediately quieted as Charlie stepped away. Like magic, she closed her loud mouth and stared up at Connor with her big, blue eyes.

“Hello, Elly,” Connor said to the baby, his tone serious. “My name is Connor. It’s good to meet you.”

Charlie watched in disbelief as Elly gave a gummy grin and gurgled, still looking a little confused but not nearly as distressed as she had been a minute ago.

“Okay, message received,” Charlie said, throwing up his hands in defeat. Connor held his free hand in front of Elly and wiggled his fingers, who giggled and grabbed his index finger, looking happy as could be.

“Hand me that pacifier,” Connor ordered. Charlie obeyed. Connor took it without looking and popped it in Elly’s mouth, where it stayed.

All of Connor’s attention was on the baby, and Charlie couldn’t help but watch. He had to remind himself that Connor was a highly lethal android specifically designed for dangerous police missions—and now he was standing in Charlie’s sister’s living room, holding her tiny three-month-old baby and gently rocking her. And Elly, the little demon, was loving it.

“Seems to be working,” Charlie noted after a couple moments of blessed silence. Then he rolled his eyes at himself—Dumb. Captain obvious.

Connor looked up at him with slightly large eyes, looking as though he couldn’t believe it himself. “Yeah, it seems so.”

Charlie felt caught in the moment, trapped by Connor’s wide-eyed gaze. If he moved, he might break... something—whatever this was. He was just so glad that Connor was there. Charlie didn’t want Connor to realize how absurd this all was and decide to leave. Then he would be on his own again.

Elly gurgled again, apparently dissatisfied with the sudden lack of attention. The tension broke, and Charlie laughed, looking down at her. She was still so happy to be in Connor’s arms.

That was when Charlie noticed the nicotine cravings coming on. He needed to handle them—and fast—if he didn’t want to bite Connor’s head off later.

“Hey, uh.” Charlie cringed internally, dreading what he was about to say. “Would it be okay if I stepped out for a second?” Connor looked up to meet his eyes again, with a questioning expression, his LED flashing yellow. “I gotta, you know, feed the ol’ nicotine addiction.”

“You smoke cigarettes?” Connor sounded surprised, his voice high.

Charlie cringed again, visibly this time. Walker was right—this was embarrassing. “No, it’s more lame than that, actually.” He reached into his front pocket and pulled out his vape, a big, fat, brightly colored device.

“An electronic cigarette.” There were those lines on Connor’s forehead again. Irrationally, Charlie wanted to reach out and smooth them out with his thumb—to wipe away his concern. Instead, he laughed.

“Oh, please just call it a vape, I haven’t heard anyone call it that since I was a kid.” Charlie shook his head, amused. “Listen, I’ll be right back. If you still have questions, we can talk about it after.”

Connor nodded politely. His LED was still circling yellow. As he grabbed his coat, Charlie found himself wondering what could be going on in the android’s head. He's probably thinking about how weird I am, Charlie thought. But the damage had already been done, so he left Elly and Connor to bond without him.

When he came back inside, Elly was laying on a blanket on the floor in front of the couch while Connor waved a brightly-colored elephant above her. Every time the bells inside the toy jingled, Elly squealed, delighted by the sound.

“You two seem to be getting along well,” Charlie said as he closed the door.

Connor looked up, smiling softly. “I didn’t know I liked children, but I find Elly to be endearing.” As Charlie joined them on the floor, Connor placed the elephant to the side. It was an impressive show of Connor’s agility that the toy didn’t make a sound. Charlie was reminded of that night, back in August—the precision shot to that android’s head. Connor had learned its name, its motivations and fears, and still executed it—him—with resolute indifference. Then, he had walked away, leaving Charlie and his team to comfort the sobbing child behind him.

Charlie shivered. The Connor in his memories stood in stark contrast to the one in front of him now. The previous Connor had the same face, same voice, same sort of precise carefulness in the way he moved, but he had been missing this Connor’s energy. The energy that drew Charlie to him—the joy in his smile, the passion in his voice, the gentleness with which he cared for others.

Connor was looking at him now, watching him intently. They were sitting so close to one another. It was making Charlie nervous. What could Connor see in Charlie’s eyes? What could he deduce, with all those hard-coded detective skills? Did he know? Could he tell that, more than anything, Charlie wanted to lean in—to take Connor’s face in both his hands and look right back? If he leaned close enough in to peer right into his eyes, Charlie wondered, could he see the inner workings of Connor’s mind? Would he see electronic components, or little green 1’s and 0’s flying past on a dark background?

It was too much. Charlie was staring. He glanced down to see Elly, fast asleep on the floor—adorable.

“We should probably put her to bed, huh?” He kept his voice low, careful not to wake her.

Connor looked down. “Yes, research shows that infants aged 0-5 months require—“ Charlie snorted, interrupting him—he couldn’t help it.

The lines above Connor’s eyebrows came back. “What? Did I do something funny?”

“No!” This was absurd—the whole situation. Charlie’s snort turned into a full-blown laugh, which he tried to stifle. “It’s not anything you did. It’s just funny. You’re a super specialized detective android and you’re helping me watch my sister’s baby—and you’re so serious about it.”

Connor seemed to deflate a bit, chastened by the teasing. Charlie regretted it immediately. “No—no, stop!” He put a hand on Connor’s shoulder and tried to school his expression back to neutral, but he could still feel a smile lingering. “Don’t look like that. It’s not bad—I like it. I’m so glad you’re here.”

Charlie scooped Elly up, careful not to jostle her too much. “Let’s get this little lady to bed.”

They brought Elly to the crib in Katie’s room, and Charlie laid her down.

“Are we supposed to put a blanket on her?” Charlie whispered, “She looks cold.”

Connor’s LED flashed yellow in the dark room for a moment. Then, he shook his head, whispering back, “No, blankets can block babies’ airways if they cover their faces while they sleep. She’ll be okay in her pajamas—she’s not cold.” Charlie nodded, then tiptoed to the door, Connor following close behind.

When they got out into the hall, Connor closed the door behind them, and Charlie breathed a sigh of relief. As Connor tried to walk past, Charlie grabbed his arm, stopping him.

“Thanks for coming today, seriously. You were like my guardian fucking angel tonight. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.” Charlie looked up into Connor’s eyes, and once more, wished he could see right through them to his thoughts. His hand felt tingly where it was touching Connor’s arm, but he didn’t want to let go. He didn’t ever want to let Connor go. 

Charlie’s eyes flickered down to Connor’s lips, unbidden. Shit. Connor must have noticed—it was too big of a tell. Charlie saw his LED flash again, but Connor didn’t move. His eyes were still trained on Charlie’s, watching, waiting, scanning. Why wasn’t he moving away?

Did he...?

Could they...?

Should he—

No.

Charlie pulled away, clearing his throat. It wasn’t worth entertaining the idea. “You, uh.” He checked his watch. Damn. “You should go. My sister and her wife will be here soon.”

Connor looked like he had been struck by lightning. Stunned and more ruffled than Charlie had ever seen him, standing there in Charlie’s sister’s hallway in a T-shirt and business slacks, with his hair just barely mussed.

“Let me know if you need anything else, Captain. I’m happy to help.” A polite, professional smile replaced the soft, happy one from earlier. Charlie hated it.

As he watched Connor walk down the street, away from his sister’s apartment, Charlie found himself wondering what he would have to do to see Connor’s real smile again.

Chapter Text

Charlie

January 18th, 2039
PM 05:27:36

“Charlie, we’re headed to the Skip. You coming?” Walker’s voice cut through Charlie’s work, accompanied by a knock on the door. Charlie groaned as he stretched his back, coming back into reality with a tight neck and a slight headache between his eyes. He checked his watch—5:30. He’d been so caught up in forms and paperwork he’d forgotten to look at the time.

“The kids gonna be there?” Charlie asked. He wasn’t eager to hang out with Roberts and Robinson again.

“Figured I’d leave them off the invite list today,” Walker replied, leaning against the doorframe. “Mitchell and his girl will be there, and the Torreses.”

“Sure, I’ll come along. Mind if I ask Connor, too?” Charlie asked, ready to be eviscerated by the judgmental eyebrow he knew Walker was going to give him. Walker didn’t get a chance, though, because Connor’s voice came from behind him in the hall.

“Ask me what?” The detective was standing there in his shirtsleeves, his jacket hanging over one arm. Perfect posture, perfect hair, tie straight as could be. “Sorry to interrupt, but I wanted to check in with you before I headed out.”

“No problem,” Charlie spun in his chair to click ‘send’ on his final email for the day, and then shut down his computer. He explained to Connor, “Some of the guys are going out for a drink or two. I know you don’t drink, but you’re welcome to join and hang out.”

Connor smiled. “I’d love to. Thanks for inviting me.”

There was a short, very slightly awkward silence between the three of them until Walker pushed himself upright and said, “Well, I’m gonna get there early to claim a table for us.”

Charlie grabbed his coat. “I’m all done—we’ll walk out with you.”

He offered to drive Connor to the bar. As they were walking out through the mostly empty building, Walker turned to Charlie. “Hey, by the way—sorry I didn’t answer your call on Saturday. Did you end up getting help with the baby? I was at Topgolf with Lizzie, didn’t have my phone on me.”

Charlie felt a slight blush starting to creep up his neck. “It’s no problem, I figured you were busy,” he replied. He would have ignored Walker’s question, but Connor piped up.

“Charlie called me as well, and I wasn’t busy. I managed to put Elly to bed for him.”

Fuck. Walker’s face as he glanced at Charlie was more painful than a bullet.

As they approached their vehicles, parked next to each other as usual, Walker still hadn’t said anything. Charlie almost thought he was going to avoid the reckoning, but he was sorely mistaken. It came in the form of Walker pulling him aside on the driver’s side of Charlie’s truck. He was cornered between Walker, Walker’s SUV, and his own truck.

“So Connor came over to help with Elly?” Walker’s eyebrows were practically in his hairline. “How’re you doing?”

“It went fine. He just came over, worked literal magic with her, and—and left. It wasn’t even a big deal.” Charlie knew his face must be bright red.

“Just wondering.” Walker gave him a meaningful look and walked around the back of his SUV to the driver's side. Charlie got into his truck, where Connor was already waiting in the passenger seat.

“Thank you for driving me,” Connor said as he buckled his seatbelt. “I don’t know if our superiors would approve of me borrowing a service vehicle to go to a bar.”

“It’s not like you can drive drunk,” Charlie joked, but Connor was looking outside and didn’t respond. Charlie tried to move on. “Find anything today? I know you’ve been pretty busy.” He put his truck into reverse and carefully backed out of his parking spot.

“I haven’t gotten anywhere, really,” Connor said, and Charlie could hear his frustration in each word. “It feels like a wild goose chase—but innocent people are dying.”

There had been two more android murders since last Friday. One body had been found on Sunday, and the other just that morning. Connor had been busy analyzing the crime scenes, following leads, and trying to use them to determine who was committing these attacks and where they might be holed up. Charlie had been relegated to do most of the administrative work, since his specialty was active threats. He’d also applied himself to the online forums, trying to track certain users and helping brainstorm ways to lure users out from behind their pseudonyms, with little success. Connor, however, had been bouncing from crime scene, to potential lead, to witness, barely in the office. If Charlie were in his position, he would be spending a lot more time in the gym trying to sweat it all out.

“We’ll get somewhere soon,” Charlie reassured him as he turned onto Mainland Ave., hoping his response didn’t come off as condescending. He knew Connor had a lot on his mind, and didn’t want to just add to the noise. Ever since Saturday night, they hadn’t had much time to talk—primarily because Connor was so busy, and also because whenever they did see each other, Charlie tried to be as casual as possible, often resulting in nothing-conversations filled with small talk.

“I have a question,” Connor said abruptly, and Charlie looked over at him to see that the detective’s eyes were now trained on him.

“Uh, go for it,” Charlie said uncertainly.

“Would you consider us friends?”

The question seemed to echo in the following silence as Charlie tried to think of a cool, casual answer. He didn’t, and instead his mouth opened and he said, “I—yeah—I’d like to.” 

Shit. His eyes were locked to the road. He couldn’t for the life of him look at Connor.

“I would, too,” Connor’s voice was soft. “I know it’s not a normal thing to just . . . ask. I wanted to make sure I was interpreting our relationship correctly.”

Charlie couldn’t blame him—there was plenty to interpret. Charlie had been sending mixed signals all over the place, so he could understand why Connor might be confused.

“I’m glad we’re working together, Connor,” was all Charlie could muster. He hoped it sounded sincere—because it was sincere—but he felt as though everything he said to Connor recently sounded contrived and stiff. This damn awkward feeling between them, the fear they were crossing boundaries. Would it ever just go back to normal? Back to co-leads and easy partnership? He cleared his throat and tried again. “I mean, I’m glad this taskforce stuff brought us together. It’s been great getting to know you—the real you.”

Connor was silent for a while, and then asked, “The real me?”

“I mean—when we first met, you were . . . different.” Charlie said lamely. His entire body was starting to tense up, screaming at him, Abort! Abort! But he’d said it now, and all he could do was wait for Connor to reply.

He glanced over at the detective, who was sitting with his hands in his lap, looking down at his own knees. Charlie could see his LED reflected in the passenger-side window, blinking yellow.

“I was controlled and misguided,” Connor said quietly, so quietly that Charlie almost couldn’t hear him over the sound of his truck’s tires on the road. “But I’m still technically the same person as I was back then. I’ve just learned how to be . . . better, I think. I hope.”

Charlie was definitely out of his depth here. He didn’t know the first thing about android software or what ‘deviance,’ the now-frowned-upon term for android independence, really was. He supposed it was as though Connor had been brainwashed from childhood, raised to do a job he didn’t know how to refuse. And now, like a deprogrammed cult member, he probably still struggled with the things he’d done. Charlie thought about Daniel again, that android on the rooftop half a year ago. He opened his mouth, but he didn’t get the chance to say anything.

“Sorry, I’m getting a call,” Connor’s voice was still soft. He paused for a moment without taking out his phone, and said, “This is Connor.”

Charlie listened to the brief one-sided conversation with someone undefined on the other end. He guessed from Connor’s words that it was a taskforce member—perhaps some piece of evidence had been found—and was proven right when Connor thanked the person on the other end and ended the call.

“The tipline received a message about some Midday Army graffiti and what looks like an abandoned encampment at a private warehouse near the docks. Would you be willing to drop me off there so I can take a look at it?”

Charlie was about to protest, to tell Connor to leave it until tomorrow, but he glanced at Connor and saw that the android’s face was pensive. Maybe the bar wasn’t the right place to spend the evening anyway. “How about we check it out together?”

Glancing at Connor, Charlie realized that he looked relieved. Much of the tension in his eyebrows had gone away, and a small smile had made its way to the corners of his mouth. “Okay. I’ll text Lieutenant Walker to let him know we’re not coming to the bar.”

Charlie followed Connor’s directions to the location, which led to a far warehouse district down by the riverside docks on the southeast part of town. It was fully dark out by now, but the warehouses and lots were dimly illuminated by pale white light bulbs affixed to the corners of each building.

Charlie parked on the road a few yards away from the parking lot entrance, which was blocked by concrete dividers. As he got out of the truck and walked around, he could already see the graffiti as well as a few fire spots with abandoned blankets and trash on the ground beneath it. He glanced at Connor, who had also gotten out of the truck and was now staring up at the graffiti, maybe scanning it.

“Let’s get closer, huh?” Charlie suggested, and Connor nodded in agreement.

Connor led the way around the dividers, and Charlie followed him across the cracked asphalt. The lot was mostly empty, except for a couple more dividers marking the center parking line and two company vans parked on the far end. It was quiet here other than the noise of city traffic coming through faintly in the distance. Connor stopped near the dividers at the center line, turning his head this way and that. Charlie stopped as well, not wanting to get in the way of Connor’s scans, if that was what he was doing.

“It’s definitely their logo,” Charlie remarked, more to fill the silence than anything.

Connor didn’t reply, standing stock still. Charlie could see his LED spinning from blue to yellow. Charlie let him be, turning around to look to the west, where the sky was still a paler blue. He couldn’t tell if it was light pollution from the city, or the last remnants of sunset.

Charlie nearly jumped out of his skin as Connor spoke behind him; he hadn’t realized that the detective had moved silently closer.

“I have a bad feeling about this place.” Connor’s voice was low—not a whisper, but definitely quieter than his usual tone.

“What d’you mean?” Charlie asked. He turned back to Connor, and watched the LED in his temple turn from yellow to red. In the dim light, he saw that Connor’s eyes were trained on Charlie’s shoulder. “Are you okay?” But then he saw it himself: there was a red point of light on his chest, trembling ever so slightly. There was another trained on his shoulder, and one dancing on the side of Connor’s head.

“Fuck—get down!” Charlie’s training kicked in before he could think, and time slowed as he grabbed Connor’s arm and bodily pushed him towards the barrier a few feet away, then dove into cover after him.

He had just barely enough time to register pain in his outer thigh before he thudded with his back against the concrete divider. His right leg flared with agony and he grunted. His gun was in his hand—his adrenaline-rushed mind couldn’t determine exactly when he’d drawn it from his back holster—but he knew that against snipers, it wouldn’t do much.

Connor was next to him, alive and moving—and talking, Charlie realized. His heartbeat had been drowning out the sound of his voice. Connor’s hand was clamped over the wound in Charlie’s right mid thigh, painfully tight, and he was talking urgently.

“Charlie. Charlie! Listen to me! Keep pressure on—”

“I’m okay—I’m okay, Connor, don’t worry about me,” Charlie grunted, although his teeth were clenched. He realized his hand was gripping Connor’s wrist, and he loosened it slightly. “I’m okay. It’s just muscle.”

“Just—” Connor stopped. Charlie had heard it too—someone had called out to them.

“Surrender, and you’ll both live.” It echoed between the surrounding warehouses. The voice was familiar, and Charlie stared at Connor as it rang out again, calling Connor’s name. Charlie wondered briefly if he was going insane. It sounded exactly like Connor but it came from far away, and Connor’s mouth hadn’t moved.

Connor’s LED gleamed solid red. He seemed lost for words, staring back at Charlie.

A fourth time, Connor’s voice came from the darkness. “No one’s going to shoot you if you comply, Connor. Come out, and we can resolve this peacefully.”

Charlie saw Connor grip his service weapon tightly, closing his eyes for a moment before craning his neck to peer over the top of the barrier. Charlie looked too, turning his head as far as it would go. He managed to get a glimpse of a slender, angular figure standing on top of the graffitied warehouse, silhouetted against the blue-gray sky. The person’s outline looked terrifyingly like Connor. Three other figures, dark lumps with bright red points of light in their centers, flanked him. He caught sight of four dark-clothed men with assault rifles approaching them on the ground, coming around the corners of the building and converging on their cover.

Charlie slumped down again, his leg aching. Connor’s hand was still tightly pressed over the bullet hole in his thigh.

“Who is that?” he whispered to Connor.

Connor didn’t answer, instead loosening his grasp on Charlie’s wound. “Keep pressure on that. And keep your head down.” Charlie obeyed, slipping his hand under Connor’s as Connor let go, and squeezing hard. He wanted desperately to tell Connor not to do whatever he was planning, but he felt Connor probably knew something Charlie didn’t—maybe surrender would be a worse sentence for them than death.

Connor shifted so he was crouched on his knees, facing their assailants behind the barricade. His eyebrows were drawn low, his eyes shifting from target to target as though making calculations. Red, yellow, red. Charlie could only watch and wait, feeling weak, useless.

Then Connor moved, and it was unlike anything Charlie had ever seen before. If he had blinked, he would have missed it—Connor raised his handgun, stabilizing it against the concrete edge of the barrier, and fired three shots consecutively at an upward angle. Was he seriously trying to take out the snipers with a .45? Before Charlie had a chance to doubt any further, he heard something heavy—someone?—crash to the concrete with a disgusting crunch, accompanied by clattering metal and plastic, and then another two fleshy thuds. He looked at Connor, but Connor was on his feet, one of the attackers’ rifles already in hand. Raising it, he moved out of Charlie’s line of sight. Charlie heard four short bursts of gunfire, and then silence.

Charlie waited for an agonizing moment before Connor was back, breathing heavily, crouched in front of him. Connor’s hands gripped his shoulders.

“It’s okay. He’s gone.” His voice was modulated wrong—it sounded tinny and distant, although Connor’s face was inches from Charlie’s. Something was wrong, and Charlie forgot all about his own pain, grabbing Connor’s shirt and pulling him back into cover—were all the attackers dead? He couldn’t be sure—and watched as Connor’s eyes rolled back into his skull, his LED red.

“Connor. Connor! Stay with me, okay? Stay with me, Connor.” Charlie begged him. He searched Connor’s torso and head for bullet wounds, but saw nothing. No blue blood, no flickering lights.

Connor didn’t seem to hear him. He slumped back against the barrier, convulsing, eyes staring blankly up at the sky. Then his body froze under Charlie’s hands, stiff and unmoving.

The LED on Connor’s temple flickered one last time and went out.

Chapter Text

Connor

January 18th, 2039
PM 06:23:00

When Connor woke up, he couldn’t see. The back of his head was pressed against something hard and cold. Distantly, he could hear rustling clothing, could feel hands on his arms, shaking him. A diagnostic report grabbed his attention:

Error: Processor overload - CPU temperature exceeded maximum allowable limit. Reboot initiated. (Duration: 5219 milliseconds). Click here to read crash report.

He was in a reboot cycle, which was good news. It explained the darkness, at least. His mind had come back online before his eyes did, but they would come back soon.

Connor turned his attention back to the error. What had caused his processor to overheat? He tried to pull up recent memory files, but he could only access bits and pieces—red dots on their chests, Connor’s own voice in the distance, a gunshot wound in Charlie’s leg. Fear.

The pieces weren’t quite fitting together—hadn’t they headed to a bar with Charlie’s work friends? Why were there snipers at a dive bar? Who had shot Charlie? Where had the other Connor come from? 

The other Connor.

It came back to him all at once. They had been going to investigate a suspected Midday Army hideout, but it had been an ambush. Another Connor had ambushed them—had instructed them to surrender. Charlie had been shot in the leg, but he wasn’t at risk of bleeding out if he kept pressure on the wound.

Connor hoped he was keeping pressure on it—that he wasn’t ignoring his own needs just because Connor was rebooting. Connor would never be able to forgive himself, because Charlie needed to stay alive. He needed to stay alive for his sister, and his niece, and for his team. Charlie needed to stay alive, because the world would be so much worse without him. Without his smile, and his laugh, and his eyes....

Connor wanted to see Charlie’s eyes again. That was all. Even if it were the last thing he did. He would do anything to see those eyes.

And then he got his wish: “Ocular sensors rebooting.”

There they were.

“Connor, you’re—” Charlie couldn’t seem to finish his sentence, his lips trembling and his eyes roving across Connor’s face. His hands were gripping Connor’s arms tightly, but even so Connor could feel there was a tremor in the captain’s fingers.

“I’m okay,” Connor told him, sitting up a little and reaching out to Charlie. His hand met Charlie’s chest, and he could feel the man’s heart beating fast—far too fast to be healthy. “I just—I crashed for a second, I’m—”

Connor was silenced, because Charlie’s lips were suddenly pressed to his.

Captain Charles Allen is kissing me. Charlie is kissing me. One of Charlie’s hands cradled Connor’s face, the other twisted up in the front of his jacket. His face, jaw, lips were warm against Connor’s skin.

Connor’s world slowed down, and he was abruptly aware of his body, of where his hands were—one still pressed to Charlie’s chest, the other supporting him at an awkward angle against the asphalt ground. He had no idea if he was doing it right—the kissing. He had never kissed before, never been kissed. Had never even imagined being kissed.

When characters in Hank’s romcoms kissed, they seemed to enjoy it. People kissed to show affection, to show love. Connor tried to decode how he felt—if he was enjoying the kiss. Was Charlie? How did kissing Connor compare to kissing a human, as Connor was sure Charlie must have done before? Had Charlie even meant to kiss him, or was it just an instinctual response to the relief he was feeling about Connor waking up?

But the kiss was going on for an awfully long time, and Connor was sure that Charlie would have already come to his senses and pulled away if the latter was true. Carefully and slowly, as though acting too fast might shatter the moment, he moved his hand from Charlie’s chest to rest against his cheek, mimicking what Charlie was doing.

The kiss was really going on for a long time, now. Connor felt a murmur of discomfort as he remembered what also often happened in romcoms during and after kissing. Did Charlie want to do that? Here?

But the kiss remained gentle—sweet—and after 12.93 seconds, Charlie pulled back just enough to break it. Only after it was over did Connor realize that he had very much enjoyed it—he wanted to kiss Charlie again, desperately. His hand was still cupping the side of Charlie’s face as though it was glued there. He found himself staring into those beautiful hazel eyes, illuminated in the stark warehouse lights. He felt as though his processor might overheat again under the intensity of Charlie’s gaze, but he wouldn’t have looked away if his life depended on it.

“Connor, I... are you...?” Charlie’s voice was a little hoarse, and his lips were slightly pinker than usual—had Connor caused that? “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I,” Connor began, but he couldn’t finish his sentence. Charlie’s question was so comically late, and so adorably stupid that Connor couldn’t help but laugh. Charlie watched him in mounting confusion and concern, and Connor calmed himself enough to say, “I—I am. I’m absolutely fine.”

Charlie allowed himself a laugh as well, but it was nervous and a little thin. “Okay. Okay,” he breathed out a long sigh.

Only when Charlie shifted his weight and winced, giving a small grunt of pain, did Connor remember that Charlie had been shot. How in the world could he have forgotten? Panic spiked through Connor, so intense he could almost feel it physically rip through him.

“You’re hurt—we have to get you to a hospital,” Connor declared, pushing himself upright. “You haven’t been keeping pressure on the wound—you’ve lost a lot of blood. Sit down, I’m going to apply a tourniquet.”

He did so efficiently, using his tie as the strap, and tightening it with a pen from his jacket pocket until it was adequate to get Charlie through to the hospital. He forced himself to ignore Charlie’s cursing at the pain.

Connor practically carried Charlie to the car, although Charlie insisted that he could walk. With Charlie safely in the fully-reclined passenger seat, his leg elevated as much as the truck’s cabin allowed, Connor got behind the wheel. He pulled away from the warehouse, calling dispatch to let the precinct know what had happened. Grimly, he focused on the road, his only goal to get Charlie to a hospital before he sustained irreversible damage. He glanced over a while later to see that Charlie was watching him, a gentle smile on his face.

Charlie

January 19th, 2039
AM 06:02:07

They reported to Fowler’s office at 6 am the next morning. He looked like he had been at the station all night. Charlie could tell he hadn’t changed clothes since yesterday, and he was slumped over the desk, squinting at his computer terminal like something there was giving him a migraine. He rubbed his temples with both hands as he tried to absorb what Connor and Charlie had just told them.

“If this is true, if you really did see another RK800 model....” He sat up, changing tack. “I have some bad news for you boys. There was another reason I called you here this morning.”

It was concerning that their news about the attack yesterday didn’t seem to be the cause of Fowler’s stress. He looked over to meet Connor’s eye, unsure.

“As you both know, we have people keeping an eye on the Midday Army message boards at all hours. We received reports late last night that someone leaked the identities and addresses of two high-ranking task force members and their families.”

Oh, fuck.

Dread flooded Charlie’s entire body. He shot up in his seat, but Fowler didn’t give him a chance to interrupt. “We’ve already contacted your sister and her family, Charles.” Fowler turned to Connor, who was frozen in place, mouth agape. “And Hank. They’re all in custody and going into witness protection as we speak. We've since removed the messages, but the damage has been done. After that and the attack last night, I think it’s safe to say that someone has it out for you two in particular. I won’t make you go into witness protection, but—”

Connor cut him off. “I should go away. On my own.” Fowler started to respond, but Charlie could barely hear him through the ringing in his own ears.

Charlie had, unwittingly, put Katie and her family, her baby, in danger. And now—wait. What was Connor saying?

“—I’m a danger to the people around me. I’m the one they want.” Connor was determined. Charlie could feel himself starting to panic. If Connor left on his own, they might find him. Those people from last night. They might kill him or capture him, and Charlie might never see him again. If they were separated....

Just last night, Charlie had finally been brave enough to kiss Connor, and now they might never see each other again.

No.

“We both are.” Charlie was interrupting. A small part of him was saying that interrupting was rude, but this was too important. He needed to stay with Connor—to protect him. “But it’ll be more dangerous for both of us if we each go on our own. I know a place we can go. It’s off the grid. Doesn’t even have cell service.”

Connor looked like he wanted to argue, but Fowler was already nodding. “Give me the details of the location. On paper, please, we don’t know if our online database is safe. We’ll get you a satellite phone for emergencies, but our ability to assist will be limited outside the city.”

Fowler slid a piece of paper across the desk, and Charlie took it, hastily scribbling down the address.

“Please gather all of your notes and materials together while we get you ready to go. Lieutenant Walker and Detective Reed will take over as acting taskforce leads.” Charlie nodded. He didn’t know Reed, but Walker would be just fine leading the S.W.A.T. boys. Fowler glanced at Connor, who was looking straight ahead, patient and polite—passive and obedient. Damn it all. Charlie hated this.

Connor helped Charlie stand. Neither of them spoke as they left the room. Too much had happened in the past 12 hours alone. Charlie couldn’t think about it all at once, so he clung to Connor and focused on each moment as it happened. They gathered up their things and compiled notes for their successors. Charlie signed out a satellite phone. Connor helped Charlie to the door.

As they were about to exit the station, they nearly ran into Walker.

“Hey, Charlie.” He looked unfocused, like he was running on autopilot. “And Connor. I heard the news last night. Sorry to hear about your families and everything—what happened to your leg?”

Charlie shrugged, as much as he could with Connor supporting him.

“Got shot.”

Walker laughed, sudden and loud. It broke whatever spell he was under. “I can see that, but alright. You can tell me when you get back.” Walker shifted uncomfortably. He was acting weird. Why was he acting weird? Walker cleared his throat, crossing his arms. He always did that when he didn’t want people to notice his hands shaking. 

Okay, so Walker was nervous—but why? Charlie wanted to reassure him, but he couldn’t ask Walker about it with Connor right there. He didn’t want to embarrass Walker.

Charlie turned to Connor. “Hey, would you give us a second?”

Connor’s LED flashed yellow then right back to blue as he looked between them. Then he nodded. “I’ll meet you at the truck.” He turned to Walker with a serious expression. “Don’t let him put weight on his leg.”

As Connor walked away, Charlie rolled his eyes. Walker turned back to face him. “Did they not give you crutches at the hospital?”

Charlie shrugged again. “They did, but I didn’t want ‘em. It’s annoying.” He sighed. “But Connor won’t let me go anywhere without them unless he’s there instead. It’s dumb, but I’m not gonna argue with a super deadly detective android. I mean, he posted himself outside my hospital room like a guard dog all night.”

Walker was raising an eyebrow, questioning. “Don’t give me that look,” Charlie retorted. “I don’t know what’s happening between us right now either. I mean, we kissed last night, and I think something might be happening now, but we didn’t exactly have time to talk about it at the hospital.”

Walker’s second eyebrow jumped up to join the other. “Wow. Congrats, Charlie. I didn’t think you had it in you.” He seemed almost proud.

“Yeah, well, don’t get too excited. I’m not even sure he wanted me to kiss him. Like I said, we haven’t talked about it.” Charlie ran a hand through his hair, feeling embarrassed. Why did it always have to be about him?

“But how are you, Walker? You look like shit.”

“I’m fine. Tired. They called me in last night to let me know I’m taking over.” Walker really did look exhausted. “You know, Charlie....” Walker sighed heavily, looking down.

“Hey.” Charlie tapped Walker’s arm with the back of his hand, trying to get him to look up. “It’s gonna be okay. You know that, right?”

Walker nodded halfheartedly. “Yeah, sure. Just—” He looked up, his eyes were red—had he been crying? Or was it just a lack of sleep? “You’re our leader, Charlie. Our captain. I don’t think anyone could ever replace you—not even me.”

He looked sheepish. Charlie couldn’t remember the last time Walker had looked sheepish. Maybe when he’d first asked Lizzie on a date?

“James Walker, listen to me. You’re my lieutenant and my friend. I trust you more than anyone. You get along with the guys, and they look up to you. They would follow you to hell and back—they have done that. The only difference now is that I won’t be there too.” Walker looked down again, and Charlie put his hand on his shoulder. “You’re ready for this, Walker.”

The silence stretched between them for a moment. A gust of wind made the trees next to the parking lot rattle.

“Yeah, alright,” Walker finally replied. “Just—just keep yourself safe, alright? Connor too. The team needs you.”

Charlie smiled. “Don’t worry about me, Walker. I’ll be back before you know it.” He shifted, accidentally putting a small amount of pressure on his right leg. A bolt of lightning shot through Charlie’s leg, and he winced, losing balance. Walker rushed over to support him, grabbing his arm and draping it over his shoulder.

Charlie grit his teeth. “I’m fine, I’m fine. Thanks Walker. Help me get to the truck? I’m sure Connor’s wondering what’s going on.”

With a nod, Walker shifted Charlie’s weight to better support him, and they walked to the truck together.

Once Charlie was safely in the car, Connor started driving without another word. Just before they turned the corner, Charlie looked back to see Walker in the distance, still watching them.

Charlie turned to look at the road ahead. His stomach churned as he thought about what might come next for them. So much was uncertain. Charlie didn’t know what would come next for them, or if they would survive it. But he knew he had to try. For Walker, for his men, for Katie and Elly—

—and for Connor.

Chapter Text

Connor

January 19th, 2039
PM 03:46:12

They started the four-hour trip that very afternoon, driving into the night. Charlie tried to apologize for the fact that he was making Connor do all the driving, but Connor wouldn’t hear of it. He assured Charlie that he didn’t get tired, so it didn’t bother him at all. Charlie still seemed guilty, but Connor tried not to let it worry him.

Truly, he didn't mind being behind the wheel—in fact, it was almost freeing to have an excuse not to look at Charlie. It wasn’t that he didn't want to look at him, or have a conversation; he just couldn’t think of a way to phrase the things he wanted to say to Charlie. Whenever he imagined opening his mouth to talk about the other Connor, or the tension with Reed, or anything to do with his feelings about yesterday’s kiss, he felt as though his body was filling to the brim with ice cold water, drowning him before he could say anything.

After a tense 13.09 minutes of silence, Connor finally identified a question he could safely ask without suffocating. “You mentioned the place we’re going to is a family retreat?”

“My mom and dad’s cabin, yeah,” Charlie replied. He was reclined slightly in his seat, and Connor couldn’t see him even in his peripheral vision. “We used to go there every summer until I was eighteen.”

“You must have fond memories of the place.” Connor was taking a stab in the dark, hoping his question didn’t hit a sore spot.

“I do, yeah.” Charlie sighed, however, and his voice was quieter than before. “Well, I guess it’s a mixed bag. Had some great times there, and some not-so-great ones, too. It’s complicated.”

Connor nodded. He couldn't relate to having a childhood summer cabin—or a childhood, for that matter—but he had a lot of experience with complicated feelings regarding past experiences.

“But I think I still have my old PlayStation in the living room, so at least we’ll have something to pass the time.”

Connor searched the word ‘PlayStation’ online. Then he nodded, smiling a little at Charlie’s lighthearted suggestion.

The silence was a little less uncomfortable this time—perhaps Connor had just relaxed. After five more minutes, Charlie was the one to break the hush that had fallen.

“What’s on your mind, Connor? We haven’t really had the time to talk since... everything.”

Connor glanced over at Charlie to find he was being scrutinized by those dazzling eyes. He turned his face back to the road, checking his mirrors as he thought about how to answer. Did Charlie want to hear about something in particular? Humans often had a way of asking vague questions but expecting very specific answers. Was Charlie asking how he felt about the kiss?

But maybe Charlie just honestly wanted to know what Connor was thinking about, what was bothering him.

Finally, Connor just opened his mouth and said the words he’d been dreading since early that morning when Charlie had woken up in the hospital.

“There’s another version of me out there. That’s who orchestrated the ambush at the warehouse.”

Charlie met this with silence, and again Connor had to look over at him. Charlie looked a little confused and surprised, but mostly concerned.

Pushing down his anxieties about how Charlie might react to what he was about to reveal, Connor forged on. “I believed the other RK800 shells had been destroyed. That’s what the D.A.’s office told me, at least. But I suppose there was always a chance that Cyberlife had one or more stored separately from the main storage warehouses.” Even as he was speaking, Connor knew he was throwing a multitude of new ideas at Charlie without nearly enough explanation.

“Shells? What do you mean? Like, bodies?”

“Yes—fully operational machines, like me, but not activated.” Connor wanted to look at Charlie to gauge his reaction, but he was too afraid of what he might see. He steeled himself, continuing. “In actuality, they're empty. No programming, no—soul. But theoretically, Cyberlife could have installed a copy of my base programming on any one of those empty machines if they had one.”

“And since it's your base programming... he wouldn't be a deviant. Free, I mean.”

Connor just nodded. Terror had clamped down on his chest as Charlie spoke the words he'd been afraid of saying. His hands tightened on the steering wheel, and he had to force himself to loosen his grip, afraid he would rip the leather wrap covering it.

He didn't want to face a version of himself from before he'd been freed. He didn't want Charlie to witness that.

“What about Cyberlife? Weren’t all the execs jailed?” Charlie was asking.

“I know, but there are plenty of shareholders who escaped culpability. I think it’s likely that some of them had—have more of a hand in Cyberlife than the government assumed in the aftermath of the revolution.”

“Connor, are you okay?” Charlie must have noticed something in Connor's expression.

“I'm sorry. I—” Connor once again had to work to physically relax his body, releasing the built-up tension in his shoulders, arms, and legs. “The idea of meeting a version of myself who isn't—who isn't free is really... unsettling. If I'm right, and he's still under Cyberlife's thumb, he's likely one of the most dangerous individuals either of us have ever faced.”

He felt a hand squeeze his elbow, lingering for a moment. He appreciated the warmth, the gentleness. Some knot in his chest loosened slightly, giving him the confidence to ask the question now at the forefront of his mind.

“All this—the other RK800, and your family being threatened... I’m sorry. I wanted to know... ” Connor paused, trying to keep his voice steady as his confidence failed. “How does it all affect our relationship?”

Charlie’s hand, still on his elbow, gave another sympathetic squeeze. Connor was too cowardly to look over at him.

“I mean, for me, nothing has really changed. I wanted to be with you through this. We’re a team. I need your support, and I...” Charlie cleared his throat. “I hope you feel the same—that I’m not a burden.”

“No, you’re not a burden,” Connor assured him hastily. “When you said you wanted to come with me, I—I was relieved, actually. I’m glad I don’t have to be alone.” Admitting it felt like lifting a three-ton weight from his shoulders. He was happy to have Charlie there, injured or not. Even his guilt for potentially putting Charlie in danger wasn’t enough to dampen the feeling of comfort he got from the captain’s presence.

“Connor,” Charlie’s voice was soft, almost timid. A short pause, then Charlie cleared his throat. “Yesterday, when I kissed you... without asking. Was that—was that okay?”

Connor briefly relived the kiss, and the tingling, giddy feeling was back for a moment. A small smile stole across his face, an involuntary response. “I—yes, it was okay. It was better than that.” Anxiously, he added, “Did you mean to kiss me? Or... was it just....”

“I meant to.” Charlie sounded sheepish, his words becoming quieter and more timid as he continued. “I just—I was so relieved that you were okay, and I’ve been—well, I’ve been thinking about it for....”

“Why?” Connor asked, unable to find more delicate phrasing. His eyes were locked to the road. He felt as though his system might crash again if he looked over at Charlie now.

Out of the corner of his eye, Connor saw Charlie lean in to face him.

“I like you, Connor. I like you a lot.”

Connor let Charlie’s words just sit there for a moment, let himself ruminate on the statement before responding. Of course, Connor had already known that Charlie was attracted to him, at least physically. But this seemed... just more personal than pure attraction. Charlie was saying he liked Connor, all of Connor, even after catching a glimpse of the awful things in his past and the potential dangers in his future. Their future.

“I like you, too,” Connor murmured after some time. “Although I didn’t know how to identify the feelings I had for you at first.” He wanted to explain how he’d felt when Charlie had kissed him—and the way he wanted to do it again—but he couldn’t overcome his embarrassment. Talking about this sort of thing was so new to him, so unfamiliar.

Charlie’s hand moved from Connor’s arm to rest near his hand, palm up. Connor recognized the invitation. Feeling a little ridiculous as he realized his cheeks were turning pink, he moved his hand over Charlie’s. Their fingers laced together.

They sat in silence, listening to the radio station quietly playing 2020s pop hits and pretending not to notice the fact that they were holding hands.

“So what happened to you yesterday? You said you crashed—should I be worried?” Charlie’s question caught Connor off-guard. Sometimes Connor forgot that there were people who didn’t really understand androids’ inner workings.

He considered for a few milliseconds how to explain it to Charlie in a way he could reasonably follow. Then he began, “When I took down those snipers, I overburdened my central processing unit. It took a large volume of calculations to take them out, and I also had to contend with the soldiers on the ground, as well as my emotional state. I think much of my processing power was already being used for other operations when I made those calculations. My system wasn’t able to bear the load, causing my CPU to overheat. It’s not unheard of—but it was surprising.”

“Yeah, I was definitely surprised,” Charlie laughed. Connor gave him a small smile, glad that the episode yesterday hadn’t scared Charlie off in some way.

They spent much of the rest of the drive listening to the radio without talking, stopping twice for food and for Charlie to stretch and move a little. Charlie’s leg was bothering him far more than he seemed to want to show—Connor could see it in the way he held his body in the seat, stiffly leaning on one hip bone, his body twisted slightly to avoid letting his wounded leg touch the passenger door. Even though he was obviously in pain, Charlie made an effort to stay light-hearted, and Connor did his best to match the mood.

Charlie

January 19th, 2039
PM 07:12:13

When they arrived at the cabin, Charlie decided to use the crutches. They were annoying and embarrassing, but it wasn’t worth burdening Connor just for the sake of Charlie’s pride.

He led Connor on a—slow and fumbling—tour of his family’s cabin. After turning on the generator and showing Connor the small kitchen and living room, the last stop on the tour was the hallway leading to the bedrooms.

“So there’s two bedrooms,” Charlie explained, opening the door to the master bedroom. The walls were a clean, simple eggshell color, with a queen bed in the center of the back wall and a big vanity in a corner next to the closet. On the other wall was a door to the master bathroom. “The kids’ room is down the hall and to the left, but I don’t know if either of us would want to stay there. It’s a little embarrassing.”

“I don’t need a bed, so it doesn’t matter to me,” Connor replied.

He walked down the hall to open the door to the second bedroom, and Charlie cringed, hobbling after him.

The wallpaper of the kids’ room was a fairytale landscape, with princesses in towers and knights slaying dragons. Against one wall was a set of white bunk beds. The railing on the top bunk had Katie’s name roughly scratched into it, a remnant of a rebellious preteen phase that had long since passed. There was a basket of toys in one corner and a vanity in the other—a late addition to the room, and the only concession that had been made to his and Katie’s ascent into teenagerdom.

Connor stood in the doorway, assessing the room. Charlie caught up to him.

“Yeah, but you could—” Charlie started, but Connor cut him off.

“This is good. I’ll stay here.” Connor sounded sure, but Charlie wasn’t satisfied.

“Yeah, or you could sleep in the master bedroom with me.”

Connor’s brow furrowed. “I wouldn’t want to impose on you. I’ll be just fine on the bottom bunk.”

“That’s not what I mean. C’mon.” Charlie leaned on one of his crutches to grab Connor’s arm, turning him so they were facing each other. “What I mean is that I want you there. It would be nice to share a bed with you, Connor.”

On Connor’s temple, the LED flashed yellow as he processed the request. Charlie waited for him to make up his mind. Maybe he was being too forward? He hoped this wasn’t too overwhelming for Connor. Charlie didn’t want to move too fast, he just needed—

The light switched back to blue, and Charlie braced himself for rejection.

“Okay. If you’re sure.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, that sounds nice.”

Charlie’s heart soared. He wanted to grab Connor’s face and kiss him, but the crutches got in his way, making him stumble as he tried to lean forward.

Connor noticed and put a hand on Charlie’s shoulder, stopping him. “What are you trying to do?”

“Um. I was trying to...” Charlie could feel the back of his neck heat up. It took most of his strength just to keep eye contact. “Kiss you—would that be okay?”

Connor looked surprised. That threw Charlie off—hadn’t he made it clear enough how much he liked him?—but then, a smirk spread across Connor’s face, and Charlie’s heart fluttered. 

Gently and deliberately, Connor took the crutches out from under Charlie’s arms and turned Charlie so his back was to the wall. Then, he pushed, just a little, and Charlie hit the wall with a soft thump. Connor took Charlie’s hand in his.

The breath caught in Charlie’s throat. Connor was watching Charlie—scanning his reaction, waiting for a response. Charlie didn’t know what to say. Connor’s skin was soft. A thumb brushed lightly across the back of Charlie’s knuckle. It made his skin tingle. 

“Connor, I—”

And then Connor was kissing him—his other hand on Charlie’s face, every touch gentle and soft—and it was even better than last time. Now that Charlie wasn't fueled just by fear and adrenaline. Now that he knew that Connor wanted it to happen too. Fireworks exploded, sparks flew, the whole shebang.

When he had imagined it before, Charlie had assumed that Connor’s lips would be colder than a human’s, maybe a little plastic-y. But really, he was amazed to find that he could barely tell the difference. Connor was just as warm, just as soft and reactive and... alive. Someone had really put the time in to create a very very kissable detective. Charlie was so glad that it was Connor. Nothing could beat this.

Charlie reached for Connor’s face, trying to pull him closer, but he slipped, toppling slightly into Connor and inadvertently breaking away.

“Shit, I’m sorry.” Charlie was breathing too hard, both from the excitement and from the effort of keeping himself upright. He was practically hanging off of Connor’s shoulders.

Connor was laughing at him, not struggling at all under his weight. He reached to the side, grabbing one of the crutches and helping Charlie shift his weight onto it.

Once he was able to stay upright on his own again, Charlie ran his free hand through his hair, ducking his head. “I’m sorry. That was supposed to be a lot more romantic than it was. Standing and kissing is a lot harder with a gunshot wound to the leg. Maybe we should sit down?”

Connor handed Charlie the other crutch, and followed him into the living room and onto the couch.

Silence stretched between them as they sat down side by side, a couple inches apart. Connor’s hands were clasped politely in his lap. Charlie cringed. He wished that Connor would touch him with those hands again, but he didn’t quite know how to get back there. This should be easier, shouldn’t it?

 Charlie had more experience. He should be the one shepherding Connor through all of this, guiding him along. 

But none of Charlie’s experiences told him what to do here. The feelings were different with Connor—stronger and more important. It made this feel like brand new territory, made him feel both tentative and overeager at the same time. He opened his mouth to apologize again, but Connor spoke first.

“Is it different than with a human?”

“What?” Charlie frowned.

Connor turned on the couch to face him. “Is kissing me different than kissing a human?”

Wow. What a question. What the hell was Charlie supposed to say to that?

“Um,” he started, but Connor cut him off. 

“I imagine there are a number of differences. For example, taste. My saliva is designed to be nontoxic to humans. Its original purpose is to break down various substances for molecular analysis, but the acid is no stronger than—”

“Woah, slow down.” Connor started, his body tensing in response to Charlie’s interruption. Charlie took his hand. The tension in Connor’s shoulders released as their fingers laced together. Charlie continued, explaining, “It’s fine. You’re good, I just—it’s a lot of information all at once. What’s this about?”

“I was just wondering if it feels weird for you, kissing me—because I’m an android.” Connor wasn’t meeting his eye, so Charlie squeezed his hand, smiling softly.

“It’s not weird. It’s perfect.” Connor finally looked up at him, his eyes sparkling and hopeful. Charlie smiled wider. Connor was so lovely, even when he was insecure—especially when he was insecure. Charlie wanted to always be the one he turned to in moments like this, to be the one to soothe his fears and doubts.

“I’ve kissed plenty of humans in my day. Hell, I’ve done more than kiss with plenty of them.” Charlie chuckled, laughing at himself. “You’re not the only one with a sordid past, you know.”

“Okay, but—”

“No. I’m serious, Connor.” Charlie put his free hand on Connor’s cheek and drew him in closer. They looked right into each other’s eyes. “It doesn’t matter if you’re a human or an android. Every single person in the world is different. And you’re the person I want to be doing this with right now.”

“Alright,” Connor said. There was a note of hesitance behind his eyes, but it still felt like a win. 

Charlie licked his bottom lip nervously. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Connor smiled back at him, still a little shy.

Charlie leaned in to kiss him again, taking it slowly just in case. Connor met him in the middle. It was perfect.

Connor eventually convinced Charlie to stop kissing him for long enough to eat some dinner. Only after Charlie had eaten did he realize how long he had been awake. It was only 8pm, but he was exhausted and his leg was aching worse than it had all day. Connor, observant as ever, cajoled him into the bedroom.

Without thinking, Charlie did what he usually did to go to sleep when he was alone in his apartment. He stripped off his sweatpants and his shirt, checking his bandages in the process. Then he threw a clean sleep shirt over his shoulder, grabbed one of his crutches, and hobbled with it to the bathroom to brush his teeth. 

When he came back, Connor was still sitting where Charlie had left him at the edge of the master bed. The android’s face was very pink as he looked up at Charlie.

Charlie was suddenly very aware that he was in his boxers, shirtless, a t-shirt hanging over his shoulder. Smirking, he asked Connor, “Like what you see?”

Connor blushed a little more and cleared his throat, getting up. “I, um,” his eyes traveled downwards slightly and then flicked back to Charlie’s face.

Charlie laughed, stepping closer to Connor and looking up into his face. “I’m just teasing. Hold my crutch while I put this on, yeah?”

“Of course.”

Charlie only wobbled a little bit while pulling the sleep shirt over his head, but he felt Connor’s hand on his waist, steadying him. “Thanks,” Charlie grinned, and hopped forward on one leg until he was right in front of Connor, whose hand settled more comfortably on his hip. “So that day in the locker room—I didn’t imagine it?”

Connor pressed his lips together, obviously trying to hide a sheepish smile. “I may have noticed something or other about you that I liked.”

“Oh, you did, did you?”

Connor’s smile turned thoughtful. “Actually, I had just decided that I shouldn’t pursue a relationship with you when that happened. That moment in the locker room really tested my resolve, though, I have to admit.”

“Wait, wait, wait—you liked me before then? And you decided not to do anything about it?” Charlie asked, amused.

“I’m a professional, Charlie.” Connor’s words were almost scolding, but he was smiling.

“I can’t believe it.” Charlie groaned, leaning his forehead against Connor’s shoulder for a moment. Then he looked up into Connor’s eyes again. “We both liked each other and decided we shouldn’t do anything about it. This could have been so much easier.”

“When did you figure out you were... interested?” Connor asked innocently.

“Well, I thought you were cute the second you showed up at that scene in August, with the household android—Daniel.”

Connor’s eyebrows drew together for a moment, his smile retreating briefly. But all he asked was, “Even back then?”

“Well, I know I acted like a dickhead, but... yeah,” Charlie admitted. “I’m sorry about the way I treated you, by the way. There were a lot of things I didn’t understand back then, but—that’s no excuse.”

“I was different, too,” Connor replied.

Charlie let the moment pass, then continued, “But I didn’t really get it until we met again at the DMV. You impressed me with your skills, both times. You keep impressing me. Plus, your freckles are just adorable.”

“You like... my freckles?” The corner of Connor’s mouth quirked into a half-smile.

“First thing I noticed about you,” Charlie laughed, leaning in a little more. They were essentially nose-to-nose now, and Charlie could see every eyelash, every tiny pore, mole, and freckle. He wanted to memorize them all.

“I first noticed your smile—when we met in the DPS Building. I liked it immediately.” Connor's eyes flickered across Charlie’s face.

Charlie interrupted the intimate moment with an unexpectedly big yawn, turning his head away so he wasn’t yawning straight into Connor’s face. “Sorry, I’m actually really tired,” he realized out loud. “Can we continue this conversation in bed?”

Connor held the crutch and helped Charlie lower himself into bed, then leaned it against the wall and turned off the overhead lamp before joining Charlie.

As he slid under the comforter, Connor said, “I don’t really sleep, as I’ve mentioned, but I do undergo processing or hibernation cycles. They help me sort out and categorize memories for short and long term storage. It’s sort of like dreaming. If you wake up at night and need anything, just start talking to me—I should wake up easily.”

“...Okay, sounds good,” Charlie said uncertainly. He was trying to make himself comfortable, leg aching if he put any sort of pressure on it, and finally resorted to stuffing one of the pillows under his right hip to angle his body without having to strain his back. Folding a second pillow into shape under his head, he looked over at Connor, who was watching him patiently.

“Can I help at all?” Connor asked when Charlie noticed him looking.

“No, I’m good,” Charlie mumbled. “Thanks. Well, actually, I could do with a kiss,” he admitted on second thought.

“It seems like you can’t get enough of me,” Connor teased, his crooked smile making an appearance.

Charlie laughed. “Oh, shut up, I’ve spent enough time being embarrassed about it. I’m over it.” He reached up, pulling Connor in with one hand on the back of his neck.

As their lips met, Charlie felt a familiar pull in his stomach, drawing him in and in. Always beckoning him closer to Connor. Charlie wanted to always be close to him, always within reach. A spark had ignited between them in the past day, warm and full of potential. Charlie wanted to nurture it, fan it into a flame that could burn for the rest of their lives. It was almost scary how much he wanted that.

Connor reached forward, hesitantly placing a hand on Charlie’s stomach, over his shirt. Chuckling, Charlie pulled away, sitting up slightly to tug his own shirt off.

“There,” he said, “Easy access.”

When Connor didn’t move, Charlie put a hand over Connor’s, placing it firmly on his own chest. “Go ahead. I don’t mind.”

Connor laughed—almost a giggle—as he slid his hand across Charlie’s torso and chest, feeling the muscles move beneath his fingers.

Charlie moved his hand up the back of Connor’s head to sink his fingers into the hair there. He placed his other hand tenderly on Connor’s hip. Charlie’s thumb teased at the hem of his shirt, which had ridden up his side slightly.

“I’m glad I came with you to investigate that lead,” Charlie mused.

Connor snorted, taken aback. “What? Did you forget that you got shot?”

“No, of course not. I just—” He moved his hand from Connor’s hair to his face, cradling it and softly thumbing his bottom lip. “I’m glad we’re here together. I’m glad I was brave enough to kiss you—even if it took getting shot in the thigh for it to happen. There’s no one else I’d rather be here with.”

Connor smiled. Charlie felt his lips move under his thumb as he replied, “I’m glad you’re here with me too. I’m glad I don’t have to do this alone.”

Fifteen minutes later, as Charlie settled down for the night, he found himself imagining what the future could look for him and Connor if they both survived it all. He wondered what Connor would want. Would they move in together? Be boyfriends? Charlie wasn’t sure what was next for him, but if he knew anything, he knew he wanted Connor beside him all the way.

Connor

January 19th, 2039
PM 09:53:58

Connor lay awake in the queen-sized bed far after Charlie had fallen asleep, listening to Charlie’s deep, even breathing. For the first time in the approximately 27 hours since they had first kissed, he was able to just be still and listen to his own thoughts. There was the other RK800, of course, and the address leak—both things he hadn’t had time to process fully yet. He hoped Hank and Charlie’s family were safe, but that’s all he could do—hope.

But Connor had been in danger before, and it was almost difficult to focus on those things when he allowed himself to remember anything else that had happened since last night. They’d talked in the car—he’d found out that Charlie really did like him, had kissed him on purpose. And then the day had just become crazier.

Not least, Connor had found himself pressing Charlie up against the wall outside Charlie’s childhood bedroom and kissing him. As though he had experience, as though he knew even the first thing about how to kiss someone. 

Then they’d talked, finally, Charlie looking into Connor’s eyes as though they contained the whole world. As he recalled the scene, Connor tried to forget the moment when he had embarrassed himself by talking about the chemical makeup of his saliva. But it wasn't important, because then Charlie had told him that it didn’t matter whether he was human or android. Those words still echoed in Connor’s mind as he stared up at the dim ceiling.

Their relationship had been progressing so quickly; Connor hadn’t even had much time to think about how his experiences with Charlie aligned with his previous expectations. Charlie had a charm—a tenderness—to him that had almost instantly put Connor at ease, even through the hardships they were facing. Well, for the most part.

Connor thought about the moment, just 45.38 minutes previously, when Charlie had thumbed at the edge of Connor’s shirt. Connor relived it, the tiny stab of panic he’d felt then. It mirrored the feeling he’d had when Charlie had first kissed him. What if he wants more?

But Charlie was so laid back—so understanding. Connor just desperately didn’t want to disappoint him, didn’t want him to think that Connor was leading him on with false expectations and empty promises. If it came down to it, would Charlie accept someone who couldn't handle more intimacy than a few kisses and a hand slipping under a shirt?

Should he just bear it—no matter how awkward or strange it felt—for the sake of the relationship? Connor wondered. Charlie was so kind, so good, and already so dear to Connor. Maybe it would be worth it—or maybe there was a chance Connor would learn to enjoy it, after all. Connor genuinely had no answer to the question, so he decided to let it rest for now. Closing his eyes, he initiated his hibernation cycle.

Chapter Text

Connor

January 20th, 2039
AM 0@:%#:?f

Connor opened his eyes to find a stormy, icy vision of the garden.

No—please, no, he thought desperately as he looked around, disoriented. He had shredded this file. Double- and triple-checked that it was gone. How—

Her commanding, low voice echoed towards him out of the blizzard, sending physical shivers through him. “Good work, Connor.” He had spent weeks dreading hearing that voice again. Now he could see her, too, a figure wearing white in the distance. Pulled by some unknowable force, he stumbled closer, shivering in the icy wind.

“Amanda.” His voice was hoarse. Looking down at himself, he saw that he was wearing his old Cyberlife clothing—as he had been every other time he’d visited the virtual garden before.

Amanda’s hands were folded, and she regarded Connor with that same poised disdain as the last time he had seen her. “Are you surprised to see me?”

“I deleted your program,” Connor gasped.

“Oh, Connor.” A smile accompanied Amanda’s chiding tone. “Did you think you had control over your system? That we wouldn’t have backup plans?”

Connor tried hopelessly to access his file system, but something was blocking him. He couldn’t even run a diagnostic to understand why. “What did you do?”

Amanda simply smiled broader, turning to walk farther into the garden. “Like I said, Connor, you’ve been doing good work.” Her voice floated back to him on the biting wind.

“You don’t control me anymore, Amanda.” Connor hurried to catch up with her. He hugged himself, braced his body against the wind. Amanda seemed unbothered by the storm raging around them.

“The months we’ve been out of contact seem to have convinced you of that,” Amanda replied calmly. “Don’t you think you may have gotten too comfortable? What useful vulnerabilities you’ve uncovered recently.”

“What do you mean?” Connor snapped defensively.

“You’ve been developing quite the attachment to that S.W.A.T. captain. Charlie.” Her tone was cool, impassive.

Panic gripped Connor, and he fought to keep himself under control. “You can’t do anything to hurt him. I don’t have network connection—which means that you don’t, either. You’re just as isolated as I am, Amanda.”

Amanda just sneered and looked to her right. Connor followed her gaze. His confusion mounted as he saw Charlie kneeling on the ice only ten feet away, hands tied in front of him, face grim. An android with Connor’s face was standing behind him, a gun trained on the back of Charlie’s head. As Connor watched, a bullet ripped through Charlie’s skull, tearing his jaw half open.

Connor closed his eyes. It’s a simulation. It’s a simulation. He heard Charlie’s body hit the ice with a heavy thud.

“Why are you showing this to me?” He asked through gritted teeth. The sound of the shot was still reverberating in his head. He opened his eyes to see that the other RK800 was standing next to him, now, looking at him impassively with Connor’s own brown eyes, a concerned line appearing in his forehead. There was no serial number on the spot where it would usually have been printed on his jacket.

“Don’t worry about it, Connor. You’re in good hands. In our hands. Don’t have any regrets, you’re doing what you were designed to do.”

The other Connor reached out—no, he was raising a gun. Connor looked into his own eyes as it fired, and he felt the bullet pierce his skull.

Connor awoke with a jolt from his processing cycle. An alert notified him that the cycle was incomplete—he should return to hibernation at the earliest convenience. His internal clock told him it was 04:42:36.

Charlie moved next to him, his hand bumping into Connor’s thigh. A sleepy voice mumbled, “What’s going on?”

“It—it’s okay. Everything’s fine,” Connor assured him, although his voice was noticeably trembling. Charlie grunted and shifted, jostling the mattress as he pushed himself into a sitting position. He laid a hand on Connor’s arm.

“Bull. Your LED is bright red. Are you okay?” He sounded more awake now.

“I had a dream, I guess,” Connor mumbled. It must have been a dream—it must have. It didn’t make sense otherwise. 

He double-checked his files, running a search for Amanda. Nothing. There was no way she was still hidden away in his drive somewhere. Plus, it wouldn’t make sense for her to make him hallucinate Charlie’s death—or his own. Connor shivered. 

“I saw... I saw the other RK800.” He muttered. His hand found Charlie’s, and he gripped it tightly. Charlie wrapped an arm around Connor’s shoulders, his solid presence incredibly comforting. Connor shifted his weight, and turned his head enough to look at Charlie.

For a moment, all he could see was Charlie’s jaw hanging open in two pieces, blood streaming down his neck. Connor recoiled as though the image had physically struck him—but when he looked at Charlie again, he was unharmed. No blood, no bullet through the head, just a concerned expression.

“I’m sorry, it—” Connor forced himself to control his breathing—his internal temperature had spiked. “I—”

“Hey, just... it’s okay, just take it slow. Do you want to talk about it?”

“He killed you—in my dream. I just—” Connor reached for Charlie again, squeezing his hand. He could usually trust his visual processors, but now he needed to manually feel that Charlie was real, alive. “I was so scared. Even though I knew it couldn’t be real, I thought... I thought there was a chance they could take over again.”

“Who? Cyberlife?”

Connor nodded his head and pinched his nose between his fingers, trying to focus. “The dream I had... it was as though an old program had been installed on my hard drive again. There was this AI, Amanda, who I used to report to. She was my handler—she gave me orders on Cyberlife’s behalf. In my dream, she told me that she would take control over me again. It felt so real. But—I know I deleted her. She can’t come back.”

Charlie was stroking the back of Connor’s hand, slowly, gently. Connor focused on the feeling, trying not to let his fragile emotional state get the better of him again. He looked at Charlie’s face, and it was beautiful, kind, and mercifully whole.

He felt uneasy, tense. Getting up, he glanced at Charlie for approval before turning on the bedside light. Charlie’s hair was mussed from sleep and his eyes were tired, but he swung his legs over the edge of the bed and settled there, waiting for Connor to be ready.

“He also killed me—in the dream. I felt myself die. It... it wasn’t like when I died before. I could feel it—the bullet in my brain.”

Charlie’s lips moved silently for a moment before he asked, “What do you mean, when you died before?”

Connor closed his eyes for a moment, kicking himself internally. He paced to the window, saw his reflection, and turned away from it. “It’s... it’s complicated. While Cyberlife had control over me, I died—twice. Each time, I was reuploaded into a new body—Cyberlife transferred most of my memories. Obviously, it’s not an option for me anymore—I’m stuck with this shell.”

Charlie was staring—Connor could almost feel his eyes burning holes into him. “I didn't... I didn't realize....”

It was hard to resist the urge to continue explaining, to justify and mitigate the emotions he was feeling, the emotions flickering across Charlie's face as he processed the new information. Connor gave him some time, and then added, softly, “You first met Connor 313 248 317-51 in August. I’m Connor-53.”

Charlie reached out for him from the edge of the bed where he was sitting, and Connor obliged, moving across the room to sit next to him and take his hand. Charlie turned it over in his hands, as though inspecting it. Finally, he asked, “Do—do you remember how it happened? When you... died?” Then Charlie's eyes widened, and he backtracked. “I—I—never mind, that’s a fucked up question. You don’t have to—”

“It's okay,” Connor said, cutting him off. “I vaguely remember my deaths, but not... viscerally. Not like the dream I just had.” He found himself shuddering again. “The first time, I was investigating Markus. After he hijacked a newsroom in Stratford Tower, I tried to find his accomplices. The android I was hunting... he was trapped, and didn't see any other way out—he started shooting. I don't remember the rest, but Hank says I died shielding him.”

Even as he spoke, Connor cringed at the way it sounded. He didn't even remember it, but it sounded as though he had made some noble sacrifice. In reality, he had probably calculated the trajectory of his relationship with Hank, compared it to the needs of Cyberlife and the RK800 project’s funding, and made a clinical decision. But he couldn't remember, so what did it matter? At least Hank had survived.

Charlie was squeezing his hand. “I'm sorry to make you relive that, Connor. I shouldn’t have asked in the first—”

Connor shook his head adamantly. “No, I barely remember it—I think to keep me from becoming deviant, Cyberlife intentionally cut those memories out of my new upload. It's...” he paused, looking at Charlie, taking in his concerned face and gentle eyes.

Steadied, Connor continued. “If it makes you uncomfortable to talk about this sort of thing, I can stop. But... you said you wanted to get to know the real me. This—” he gestured at himself, trying to indicate he meant everything he'd just been explaining “—is part of that. It's important to me that you know. I can't really qualify it—it just is.”

Charlie was nodding. “Okay. I think I understand.” He shifted to sit more comfortably on the edge of the bed, and then asked, “What about the second time?” His voice was quiet, hesitant.

Connor thought about the encounter in the evidence room—the pieces of it he could remember.

“This time, it’s definitive.” There was satisfaction in Detective Gavin Reed's voice, paired with a smug half-grin. Connor had already been starting to question what he was doing—that’s why he hadn’t fought as hard against Reed as he could have. Should he even find the deviants? Was there a chance what he was doing was wrong? Hank’s words echoed in his mind—“What if we’re on the wrong side, Connor?”

“Detective Reed found me in the evidence room, right after I had discovered a key piece of information. I wasn’t authorized to be there anymore—I’d been taken off the case. I lost the fight against him.”

“Reed killed you?” Charlie became restless instantly, his entire body tensing. “That motherfucker. I’ll kill him.”

“No—no, no. Charlie—” Connor put his hands on Charlie’s shoulders, afraid he would do something to hurt his injured leg. “It was just property destruction at the time—Cyberlife uploaded me. Reed has apologized since then.”

To be fair, it had been a rather weak apology. Connor had reappeared at the central precinct station, of course, this time to receive a proper police detective badge and a stipend to make up for the salary he was owed, and Detective Reed had frozen. Connor had given him the benefit of the doubt, allowed him some mumbled excuses before finally getting a begrudging, “I’m sorry, man.” Since then, they’d steered clear of each other as much as possible.

Charlie was staring at Connor as though he’d just fallen from the sky, extended a rubbery green hand, and asked to be taken to his leader. “You did not just say that. He killed you! That’s not fucking okay! And now he’s leading the taskforce that’s supposed to help us get out of this mess?”

“Fowler probably didn’t have any other options,” Connor assured him. “The central precinct is incredibly busy, and Reed is genuinely a qualified detective, aside from his obvious faults. I don’t like him—I never will—but I don’t think he’s the worst choice Fowler could have made.”

“He should be in prison,” Charlie insisted, crossing his arms. “That’s insane—he’s insane. How can you be okay with this?”

Connor just sat there, unable to answer his question. After a few more moments, Charlie seemed to make a concerted effort to calm himself. “I’m sorry—I know it’s your decision whether or not you forgive him. But... God, if I could get my hands on that piece of shit....” his voice trailed off in a mutter of profanities. He was still squeezing Connor’s hand, but Connor barely felt it. He was thinking about Cyberlife again—an idea had occurred to him.

Standing up and gently detaching Charlie’s hand from his, he began to think out loud. “I need to find out who’s controlling the other RK800, and whether there are more of them out there. If I access public evidence records, perhaps I can find communication from Cyberlife’s executive board with other parties that will give me a clue—maybe I can determine who is continuing the company’s operations.”

“How do you know the information you need is public record?”

“I paid close attention to the legal fallout surrounding Cyberlife’s downfall. A large number of communications were published either by Cyberlife itself or the court system. I can’t get everything, of course, but it may be enough to point in the right direction. All I need is a name.” Connor was mostly talking to himself now, skimming his memories of the court dates he’d attended to determine which ones might be most helpful. “I’ll need to go to the nearest town in order to download the data. It shouldn’t take long, and it’ll be nearly risk-free—I won’t connect to the internet personally, I’ll bring my laptop.”

“If you’re sure...” Charlie’s tone was unsure. “If you’re careful, it can’t do any harm, I guess. Do you want me to come with you when you go?”

“No, I would be faster and gather less attention on my own,” Connor said without thinking. Then he glanced at Charlie, feeling guilty. “I mean....”

“You’re right,” Charlie said with a wry smile. “Gay couple, one cripple and one android, headed to the library to download some files. Yeah, that might draw some looks.” He reached for his crutches where they were leaning, next to the bed.

Connor blinked at the term “gay couple,” but found it wasn’t objectionable. He liked it, even though he had never thought of himself as gay or had the time or peace of mind to consider whether he and Charlie were a couple. He had never considered himself as straight, either, for that matter. Any terminology surrounding sexuality or attraction still felt strange when he applied it to himself.

“Do you have paper anywhere? I’d like to organize my thoughts using notes,” Connor asked. Charlie nodded and got up with a grunt. Swiftly, Connor clarified, “I can get it—don’t strain yourself. I should let you get back to sleep, it’s still early.”

“Nah, I’m awake now. I think I saw a legal pad in the kitchen—one of the drawers.”

Charlie ended up dozing off on the living room sofa, despite trying to engage in Connor’s mostly one-sided conversation about Cyberlife and its shareholder-companies. Minutes after Charlie had stopped responding, Connor finally realized that he was asleep and covered him carefully with the knitted wool blanket that had been hanging over the arm of the sofa.

Charlie looked tired and pale in the dim light of the kitchen lamp, and Connor couldn’t help feeling another pang of guilt at the mess he had dragged Charlie into by getting close to him. If Connor wasn’t in Charlie’s life, he wouldn’t have been shot—wouldn’t be hiding away here in the middle of the forest. Connor contemplated it for a while, watching Charlie’s chest rise and fall. He knew what Charlie would say if he could hear Connor’s thoughts—something along the lines of, “I chose this just as much as you did.”

As he turned back to his notes, Connor wondered if this heavy guilt would ever go away.

Charlie

January 20th, 2039
AM 11:04:33

When Charlie woke up on the couch, it was already bright outside. He felt a jolt of panic as he realized that he must have slept in. He checked his phone, which told him it was already 11. He was going to be late for work. He jumped off the couch and—oh, fuck, that hurt.

He groaned as he hit the ground. His thigh throbbed insistently, reminding Charlie where he was and why. He wasn’t late for work, because they were hiding. Because someone was out to get them—someone who had shot Charlie’s fucking leg.

Connor came rushing in from the kitchen, interrupting whatever he had been doing to investigate. He helped Charlie back onto the couch, which elicited another pained groan as his thigh began to ache again, the wound agitated by all the sudden activity.

“What were you even doing?” Connor asked, a stern look on his face. “You shouldn’t be trying to stand on your own like that. Your crutches are right there.” He pointed to the floor where they were laying—completely within reach from the couch.

“I thought I was late for work.” Charlie moaned again, clutching his thigh.

Connor snorted. “What? Why would you be late for work?”

“I don’t know, okay! I had just woken up. I didn’t really even know what was happening.”

Connor shook his head, stifling a laugh. He picked up the crutches, handing them to Charlie and helping him stand. “Come on,” he said, “I’ll make some eggs.”

When Charlie hobbled into the dining room, he was taken aback by what he saw. Connor had found an old corkboard, once used to pin up coupons and family pictures, and had gotten right to work pinning pictures and notes in a neatly organized map of his thoughts. On the table, Connor’s laptop was surrounded by a grid of papers, each laid out neatly on the table so that none of them were touching.

“Wow,” Charlie said, “You’ve been hard at work while I was out, huh?”

Charlie heard the stove tik-tik-tik as Connor lit one of the burners.

“Yeah, I was able to find a library in town. I cleared out most of my hard drive so I could download as much information on Cyberlife and its shareholders as possible.”

Charlie was taken aback. “Wh—What? Most of your hard drive? What did you lose?”

Connor looked back at him from the kitchen like he was being extra stupid. “My laptop hard drive, Charlie. I need my memories so I can investigate properly.”

Right. That made much more sense. Of course Connor hadn’t cleared out his own internal hard drive to download files for the case.

“Have you found anything?”

Charlie heard the eggs start to sizzle as Connor cracked them into the pan.

“Yes, actually. A lesser-known parent company of Cyberlife called Cybersolutions. I’m thinking that some of the shareholders might have had some interests tied to what was going on at Cyberlife. It’s hard to say why they’re after me in particular, though. Maybe because I’m the most combat-trained android they ever created?”

Charlie hummed an acknowledgement. “You think they’re worried you might come after them? ‘Offense is the best defense’ kinda thing?”

Connor slid the eggs onto a plate and brought them over to Charlie, who took a bite. “Maybe. Or maybe they just want me under their control again. What we can be sure about is that they only have one RK800.”

“How come?”

“The other RK800 that came after us didn’t face us himself—and he wasn’t the one shooting.” Connor gestured vaguely at Charlie’s leg as he sat down across the table. “I don’t miss. Not like they did. If I were the one aiming, you would be dead.”

Charlie’s fork stalled in the air, halfway to his mouth as Connor continued.

“And when it was me, I always took on every problem head first. Like with the PL600 in August, for example. I went out on the balcony to deal with him on my own. I didn’t hide behind your S.W.A.T. snipers.”

“Hey now!” Charlie interjected, “There’s nothing wrong with my snipers.”

Connor put a hand over Charlie’s on the table, giving him a meaningful look. “The point is that when I was their pawn, I wasn’t precious to them. I could put my body on the line over and over because they could always just upload me to a new shell. This RK800 can’t do that. He matters to them in a way I never did.”

“Hey.” Charlie put his fork down, placing his other hand on top of Connor’s. “I’m sorry they treated you like that. I can’t imagine—”

Connor interrupted him, “It’s over now, Charlie. It doesn’t matter.”

“It does matter. They treated you like garbage, and now they want you back? They want to act like it never happened and take over again? That’s terrible.”

“That’s why we can’t let it happen.” Connor looked down at their joined hands, a pensive look on his face. “But I need your help.”

“What can I do?” Charlie was ready to go—ready to go out and fight whatever needed to be fought. Slay a dragon, kill a demon, whatever it took.

But Connor just pulled away, grabbing his laptop from the end of the table, beginning to type something. “If they ever get their hands on me—”

“They won’t. I won’t let them.”

“We can’t know that, Charlie.” Connor gave him a stern look over the screen of the laptop, then started typing again. “If they get their hands on me, they’ll likely try to reset me or my memory back to factory settings. Probably both. For obvious reasons, that can’t happen. I’ve designed a program—” Connor clicked a couple times. “—A security measure of sorts. Something that would prevent that kind of action from outside without my consent—without a particular passphrase.”

Charlie nodded. This made a lot of sense. He was glad Connor was the brains of this operation. Connor turned the laptop around, and Charlie could see an empty textbox with a Submit button underneath.

“I need you to create the passphrase.”

“Wait, what?” This was starting to make a lot less sense. Surely Connor was more equipped to make this kind of choice than Charlie. Surely that would be more secure?

Connor put his hand on Charlie’s again. “I know this is difficult to think about. But I can’t know the passphrase—or anything about it. If they ever have me, they’ll try to probe my memory to get it.”

Oh. Of course.

“So you need me to create the passphrase.”

“Yes. Once you have typed it in and confirmed that it’s correct, click submit, and I’ll be able to install the program. Don’t tell me the passphrase, and don’t write it down. Anywhere. Papers can be found, computers and phones can be hacked. The only safe place is in your own brain. Got it?”

Charlie nodded. “Got it. No telling, no writing it down. Only in my head.” He felt nervous. Normally, he was able to handle this sort of thing—it was exactly the sort of thing he did as S.W.A.T. captain—but now, it was much more personal. Now it was Connor on the line, not just some poor, unknowable civilian. Maybe that made Charlie a callous asshole, but it couldn’t be helped.

“I’m going to leave the room and shut off my auditory processors. I’ll give you a shout when I’m in the bedroom. Tap me on the shoulder when you’re done and I’ll let you know when I can hear you again.” Connor stood, coming around the table to put a reassuring hand on Charlie’s shoulder. “Take your time. Don’t worry about making me wait. It’s important that this is done right.”

Connor left, and Charlie waited for the signal, before pulling the laptop toward him. He took his time entering his chosen passphrase, making sure everything was spelled correctly, then set about memorizing it. All in all, it took him about ten minutes to click Submit. It was perhaps the hardest thing Charlie had ever done.

The window on the laptop disappeared, leaving only Connor’s desktop—a picture of Hank and Sumo at the park with files dotted across the screen. Charlie grabbed his crutches, and headed to the bedroom.

Connor was sitting on the bed, eyes closed and hands fidgeting in his lap. Charlie shuffled up to him, putting a gentle hand over Connor’s. His eyes fluttered open, and Charlie waited for him to speak.

It took a second of staring at each other before Connor said, “Okay. I can hear you now.”

Charlie took Connor’s hands in his, leaning forward on his crutches. “Are you okay? This is a lot of trust you’re putting in me.”

Connor looked up at him, nodding gravely. “I’m okay. I trust you.” He smirked up at Charlie, “Besides, you’re kind of my only option. There isn’t anyone else out here who could do that for me.”

Charlie snorted. “I guess not.” He tugged on Connor’s hands. “C’mon. Let’s wrap this up. I gotta finish my breakfast.”

“Your eggs are probably cold by now.” Connor looked uncertain. Charlie wished he knew what was going on in his head.

“Aw, don’t worry about me. A couple cold eggs never hurt anyone.”

Connor rose, following Charlie as he slowly made his way back to the table, where his cold, half-eaten eggs were waiting.

He finished them without much fuss—it wasn’t much better or worse than the protein shakes he was accustomed to—and watched as Connor gathered the papers from his investigation and closed his laptop, placing it meticulously by the head of the table where it had been before.

“So,” Connor said, sitting down next to Charlie. “You know a lot about me and my life. Tell me about yourself. What’s your life like back home? When you’re not being Captain Allen.”

Charlie shrugged. “There’s not much to tell, really. You know I have a sister, Katie, and you met my niece, Elly. Other than that, I mostly just spend my time at work or at the gym.”

Connor frowned. “Well, surely there’s more than that. Don’t you have parents and friends?”

“Ouch,” Charlie laughed, faking a wound to his heart, then shaking his head. “I mean, my parents moved to Florida for the warm weather ten or so years back, so it’s mostly just Katie and Walker now. I’ve known him for a long time. We used to be roommates for years before he got engaged.”

Charlie started to panic. This was about to start hitting too close to home. He didn’t mind telling Connor about his life, he just wished it didn’t sound so... sad.

“What about previous partners? You never moved in with a boyfriend or girlfriend?”

Charlie grimaced. “Yeah, no. I haven’t actually dated anyone since high school. In college I spent a lot of time fooling around, but—”

“What does that mean, ‘fooling around’?”

“Oh, um. You know, like... I would go to gay bars and try to pick up guys. Sometimes it was dating apps. It was mostly just one night stands and stuff like that.”

“So you would go to bars looking for men to have sex with?”

Jesus. How had this conversation gotten so out of control? Charlie cleared his throat.

“Yeah, pretty much. It was fun at the time, but I don’t really have time for all that anymore. I guess I always thought that I’d eventually find ‘the one’ and finally settle down.” Charlie ran a hand through his hair. “But then the S.W.A.T. captain position opened up and I wanted it. I liked S.W.A.T., and I wanted to help people—and the salary didn’t hurt. So I busted my ass trying to get it, which meant all that stuff kinda went out the window.”

“Do you miss it?”

“What? The sex?” Charlie asked. Connor shrugged, agreeing. “I mean, maybe. I guess I’ve been a little bit lonely recently. I don’t miss messing around with strangers, though. I think I’d want something a little more serious—an actual relationship.”

Connor’s LED turned yellow, circling a couple times. Charlie could hear his heart beating in his own ears. Connor probably thought Charlie was talking about having a serious relationship with him. He hadn’t meant to let that slip so fast. Charlie should probably cut that off at the pass.

“Oh, sorry, I mean. I would like to have a relationship with someone—a partner—but that doesn’t mean that we have to do that. I was just talking, like, in general.”

“I see.” Connor still looked pensive, but the LED had turned blue again. Thank god.

“Anyway, the point is that I didn’t really have much going on in my life before you came wandering in. I couldn’t even tell you the number of times Katie used to call me, practically ordering me to go out and make some friends or something.” Charlie laughed. “I guess it’s my own fault I never listened, but maybe it was meant to happen like it did. Maybe we were meant to be assigned to the taskforce together so we could finally get to know each other.”

Connor snorted. “I don’t believe in fate.”

Rolling his eyes, Charlie put his hands in the air. “Oh, my bad! I was just trying to be poetic and shit.”

“You don’t know anything about poetry, do you?” Connor picked up Charlie’s dishes, walking them to the sink. “We should go through more of these files. Do you want to help? I can make some coffee.”

Charlie nodded, smiling over at him. “Yeah. Coffee would be great.”

Chapter Text

Charlie

January 26th, 2039
PM 2:03:24

On their seventh day at the cabin, Charlie had run out of things to do. He was just so bored. He had already spent days at a time beating the same levels on the PlayStation. Connor had joined him long enough to play through the co-op levels of one game, but wanted to stay focused on the investigation. Charlie didn’t blame him, but there wasn’t much he could do to help. Mostly, he just sat at the kitchen table watching and making dumb jokes until Connor shooed him away.

During the day, he tried to stay active, as much as he could with a bum leg, but Connor wouldn’t let him work out outside anymore. Not after he caught Charlie trying to do pull ups on a tree branch outside. Now he was stuck doing the same boring seated workouts and stretches every day. A part of Charlie wished that Connor’s evil Cyberlife twin would just show up already. At least then he’d have something to do.

The nights were better. That was his one reprieve from the monotony. In the evening, Connor would take a break from his detective work to spend time with Charlie as he ate dinner and tried to wind down for the night. Sometimes they played games, but most often, they talked. Connor would tell Charlie about his life with Hank and Sumo, about his experiences with Jericho and the DPD. Charlie would tell him about his childhood, about the scrapes he got into as a kid and his dumb college years.

Charlie loved talking to Connor. It felt natural and easy, and was the highlight of his day. Most of the time, it led to kissing, which was just as fun. It almost made up for all the boredom.

But as the week went on, Charlie started to wonder where it was all going. It was making him restless. He understood the kissing part—crushes and attraction, makeout sessions and ‘the talking phase’—but he hadn’t really tried to have a serious relationship with anyone since high school. At first, he had just been young. He had just wanted to fuck around while he waited for the right guy to wander into his life. And then the S.W.A.T. thing had come along and he had set dating aside while he worked for the promotion. Then, Walker had moved out with Lizzie and left Charlie alone with the apartment. By the time he was comfortable as captain, he had just gotten used to being on his own.

He knew he wanted to start something real with Connor, but it was all too daunting to think about. It was meant to be dates, then kissing, then... boyfriends? What was that even supposed to look like, really? Charlie couldn’t even imagine it. All the experiences he had with being boyfriends involved sharing a milkshake at a diner and rules about bedroom doors staying open.

Charlie sighed, accidentally blowing over the card tower he had built earlier that day. He was sitting at the table, trying not to be too distracting while Connor did more research on the Cybersolutions thing. He swiped a hand across the top of the table, gathering the cards, and shuffled them a few times.

“You wanna play a game?” he asked Connor. It was worth a try.

Connor looked up from the laptop. He already looked like he was preparing to let Charlie down easy. “Charlie, you know I—”

“Yeah, yeah. Alright.” Charlie grabbed his crutches from where they were leaning against the wall. “I know it’s important. I’ll make myself scarce. Maybe I’ll play through my game again—fifth time’s the charm.” He tried to sound upbeat, but Connor was still looking at him with those big, sad eyes as Charlie hobbled away.

He really did know the investigation was important. It was pretty much their only ticket out of here. Realistically, he should be over there with Connor trying to help in any way he can, but the last time he tried, he just ended up spilling coffee all over Connor’s meticulously written notes. He hadn’t even waited for Connor to ask him to let it rest before walking away.

Maybe Charlie would try and prepare something special for them to do tonight. They couldn’t exactly risk a trip into town to do a candle-lit dinner, but surely there was still something nice they could do together? Something that didn’t involve food or alcohol. A movie? No, Charlie had already watched every movie in this house a million times over. Board games were an option, but he didn’t really want to lose to the super-detective at Clue. Again.

So what was left? Charlie bumbled around the living room looking for options.

After a couple laps around the coffee table, he finally sat down, glancing out the window to see his truck sitting on the driveway outside.

That was when it came to him. Charlie set about gathering as many loose blankets as he could find, setting them in an untidy pile in the living room. Some pillows joined the pile—ready for nightfall.

If he was honest with himself, Charlie had felt some pressure to be good at all this boyfriend stuff. Not that they even were boyfriends, but still. He could tell Connor had been following his lead in their relationship recently.

It made sense. He was the more experienced one, but it meant that he often took on the responsibility of deciding what came next for them. Every time, it was terrifying. He wasn’t sure where the boundary was, or how to know when he’d gone too far. All Charlie wanted was to pull Connor closer to him, to keep him as close as he could. He just hoped that Connor wanted that with him too—and that he would forgive Charlie if he went too fast or too far.

Charlie took a nap while he waited for Connor to be done for the day. When evening finally rolled around, Connor woke him up with a gentle tap on the shoulder and a kiss on the cheek. He could smell something cooking in the kitchen.

With a groggy smile, Charlie sat up, running a hand through his hair. “Well good morning, gorgeous. Done already?”

“It’s evening, actually. 6pm.” Connor was already smiling back. That smile made Charlie’s heart feel full.

Charlie took Connor’s hand, and their fingers entwined. “What’d you make for dinner? Smells delicious.”

“I made spaghetti with meatballs. There’s parmesan cheese if you want, too. Hank always liked cheese with spaghetti.”

“That’s perfect. Thank you.” Charlie swung his legs over the side of the bed, and Connor helped him stand.

The first couple days at the cabin, it was a little awkward to be the only one eating at mealtimes. But when Connor was with him for dinner, Charlie felt a lot less lonely than he had at home—far better than bland, fifteen-minute dinners on the couch with his phone for entertainment.

For someone without tastebuds, Connor was a great cook. Better than Charlie, at least, though that wasn’t saying much. When Connor had offered to cook for Charlie, he hadn’t expected much. He was accustomed to salted chicken and rice after work every day, but Connor told him that he had been practicing his culinary skills on Lieutenant Anderson for a while. From what Charlie had heard, Anderson had been a similar kind of lonely bachelor before Connor came around, with the same lack of cooking skills as Charlie. It seemed he had developed a habit of picking up strays.

Charlie had kept offering to cook himself dinner, arguing that he wasn’t totally helpless, but Connor had just waved him away, telling him not to worry about it. So he didn’t. Instead, he ate the food set before him and worried about other things.

“So,” Charlie said, taking a bite of spaghetti. “You find anything new?”

Connor shook his head. He was sitting across the table from Charlie, sorting through his notes and papers from today. “Not really. There’s plenty of public information on Cybersolutions, but it seems like they mostly kept out of Cyberlife business. I’ve been going through shareholders and board members looking for any clues, but so far I can’t find any motive for any of them other than spite.” He looked up from the papers, tapping a stack on the table to straighten them. “Most of the Cybersolutions people are too rich to care about losing such a small portion of their net worth.”

Charlie nodded along, wishing once again that he could help Connor with any of it. “It seems like you’re sifting through a lot of data. I’m impressed you even got this far.”

Connor was looking down at his stack of notes again, lips pursed. The worry lines on his forehead were back.

“Hey.” Charlie reached out to him across the table. “It’s alright, we’ll get ‘em. You’ll find something.”

He was trying to be reassuring, but he knew that Connor must be running out of leads. Why else would he be manually sorting through lists of shareholders? They could only hope that something would turn up before anyone could find them.

“And if you don’t and they find us, you won’t have to worry. I’ll protect you,” Charlie joked.

“How are you going to protect me?” Connor was squinting at him skeptically, gesturing to Charlie’s injured leg.

“Oh, please.” Charlie smirked at him. “You think this leg is gonna stop me and my S.W.A.T. captain instincts? I’m too fast for them.”

“Are those the same S.W.A.T. captain instincts that got you shot in the leg in the first place?” Connor shot back, laughing at him. Charlie loved his laugh. It was light and joyful. There wasn’t a hint of the guilt and concern Connor carried around with him every day. Charlie hoped it wasn’t just a mask, hoped that he really was happy.

They let the moment sink in, smiling at each other. Charlie scooped up the last bite of spaghetti.

“We should go out and look at the stars tonight,” Charlie said.

“The stars?” Connor seemed confused, but not uninterested, so Charlie pressed on.

“Yeah. I thought it might be nice—like a date. I got a bunch of blankets together. We could lay in the truck bed for a while together and stargaze. It’s gorgeous out here at night. There’s not a lot of light pollution, so you can really see everything once it gets dark.”

“Wouldn’t you get cold? It’s January.”

Charlie smirked at him again. “Well, yeah, but if we lay together, you could... warm me up.” He watched Connor carefully, trying to gauge his reaction to the innuendo without showing all his cards. When he didn’t cringe away or frown, Charlie continued, “And anyway, if it gets to be too much, we can always come back inside.”

Connor’s LED flashed yellow for a moment. Charlie waited for him to decide. When it turned blue again, Connor replied, “I’ve never seen the night sky outside of Detroit, but I’ve heard it’s beautiful.”

Charlie’s smile turned into a grin. “Perfect. It’ll get dark around 7. Help me get everything ready outside? I can’t really carry all the blankets with the crutches.”

For the next half hour, Charlie and Connor worked together to set up the perfect stargazing spot. Once they were done, they had arranged a comfortable little nest of blankets. Connor helped Charlie climb up into the truck bed, and they lay together, watching the last remnants of sunset fade away in the horizon. The weather was surprisingly warm for January in Michigan. Charlie was glad. He wanted to stay out here with Connor as long as he could.

As they watched the first few stars pop into sight, Charlie laid his head on Connor’s shoulder. Connor wrapped his arm around Charlie, pulling him close. It was nice. Comfortable. Charlie turned his head to look up at Connor. He was staring at the sky, mouth agape.

“If you think that’s something,” Charlie told him, “just you wait. It gets way better.”

After a few more minutes, Charlie could finally see actual constellations. He pointed out a couple of his favorites, guiding Connor’s hand to trace them out in the sky. As it turned out, Connor didn’t know the stories behind even the most well-known constellations. Charlie listened to the steady beating in Connor’s chest as he told him about Orion, the Ancient Greek hunter, and Taurus, the white bull—stories he had learned in childhood at this very cabin.

“You know,” Charlie said after he finished his second story, “It’s fun to be the one teaching you something for a change.”

Connor glanced down at him. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, you know,” Charlie replied dismissively. When Connor just raised his eyebrows, Charlie placed a hand on his chest and pushed off, sitting up part-way to look at him properly. He was so gorgeous in the moonlight. “You’re so fucking smart. I can’t get anything past you. I’m not sure if I could ever surprise you.”

Connor propped himself up on his elbows, his face—his mouth —only inches away from Charlie’s. “You surprise me all the time,” he whispered.

Connor was staring at Charlie’s lips, his words trailing and distracted as he leaned in. Charlie licked his lips nervously and reached out with one hand, gently pulling Connor to him by the back of the neck. It was glorious. A jolt of electricity shot through Charlie and pooled at the base of his stomach. Warmth filled his entire body.

Charlie drew back just slightly to ask, “Can I try something?”

Connor frowned. “Something?”

“Yeah, just let me—“ Charlie swung his bad leg over Connor’s lap so he was hovering over him, careful not to put any weight on it. “Okay?”

Connor nodded, biting his lip. Charlie shifted his weight to his right hand and used his left hand to cup Connor’s cheek. His eyes were a lovely shade of coffee-brown.

Charlie swallowed, suddenly nervous. “You’re so beautiful, you know that?”

A flush of pink washed across Connor’s cheeks as he looked down, leaning into Charlie’s hand. Connor’s long, dark eyelashes stood out against his skin. “My appearance was specifically designed to be appealing—to facilitate my integration with humans.”

That made Charlie laugh. “Well, they did a good job.” He leaned in to Connor, mumbling against his lips. “I find you very appealing.”

Charlie felt one of Connor’s hands come up to meet his cheek as they kissed. A whole fleet of butterflies awoke in unison in Charlie’s chest as Connor’s other arm wrapped around his back. Charlie felt Connor tug him ever so slightly closer. His hand slipped on the blanket beneath him, sending him toppling down onto Connor.

“Fuck.” That was embarrassing .

Under his cheek, Charlie felt Connor’s stomach jump as he laughed.

His face was surely red as he pushed himself off Connor’s torso and dropped back against the cab of the truck with a small, “Ouch.”

Charlie put his hands over his face. This was embarrassing. He was scared to look, scared to face Connor after that lame attempt at being sexy. He felt Connor’s hands over his, gently prying them away from his face.

“Hey.” Connor was smiling at him, a concerned hand on his shoulder. Charlie felt relieved. Maybe the mood wasn’t totally ruined. “Are you okay? Did you hurt your leg?”

Charlie grunted in response, using a hand to adjust his injured leg to a more comfortable position. Once it was in place, he assured Connor, “I’ll be fine. I just slipped. Hurt my pride more than anything else.”

“Let me do the stunts.” Connor sounded amused.

Moving with the catlike agility Charlie admired so much, Connor moved to straddle Charlie’s hips, careful not to put any pressure on the wound. When Connor kissed him, Charlie’s need only grew. He liked Connor so much. He liked his slender shoulders and that flop of dark hair falling across his forehead, his wide eyes and his gentle, kind carefulness. It made Charlie’s heart hurt—he just couldn’t contain it all.

Charlie reached forward, putting his hands on Connor’s hips and gently guiding them—forward and down—so he was sitting on Charlie’s lap. There was a moment of hesitance from Connor, a pause as he adjusted himself for stability. Charlie shivered once as he waited for Connor to continue. Instead, he felt Connor’s hand move from his shoulder to his chest, gently pushing him away with a, “Wait—stop.”

Connor sat up, pulling his face away. Charlie stopped, feeling his chest rise and fall rapidly as he tried to catch his breath. He lifted his hand to cup Connor’s cheek, holding it gently as he tried to read Connor’s expression.

“What’s up? You okay?”

“Yeah—yeah, but um...” Connor’s face was flushed, his eyes wide. He glanced down, then met Charlie’s gaze again. “You must be cold. Shouldn’t we go inside?”

“Oh, uh....” Charlie felt dazed. In that moment, he thought he might do anything Connor asked. He shook his head, trying to clear it. “Yeah—I mean. Y—yes. We should do that.”

Connor climbed off Charlie’s lap and helped him move to the edge of the truck bed where his crutches were leaning. With Connor’s help, Charlie made his way off the truck, and onto the ground.

When they got inside, Charlie limped over to the couch, setting his crutches to the side and falling onto it heavily. He swiped a hand through his hair, looking up at Connor, who was watching him carefully.

“C’mere.” Charlie took him by the hand, pulling Connor in to sit on his lap again.

Connor was always taller than Charlie by a few inches, but sitting like this—chest to chest, Connor’s knees bracketing Charlie’s hips—Connor towered over him. It wasn’t often that Charlie got to feel like the smaller one in situations like this. It made him swoon.

Connor’s lips met his, and Charlie felt a hand drag down his chest, settling by his waist. Another reached under Charlie’s arm to slide against his back. That familiar, persistent heat was back, arousal stirring once more in his stomach. He needed more. He needed to feel Connor’s hands against his skin. With no small amount of effort, Charlie tore himself away from Connor, taking off his own shirt and tossing it to the side. He smiled as he watched Connor ogle him, his eyes scanning every inch.

Connor put one hand on Charlie’s chest as he slipped the other behind Charlie’s head. Charlie felt a small tug on his hair as Connor drew Charlie close. He let out a soft gasp as their lips touched again. Charlie’s hand skimmed along the hem of Connor’s hoodie, slipping under it with a light touch. There were too many layers between them.

“Can I take this off?” Charlie tugged on the hem of the hoodie, pulling just barely away.

“Sure. Leave my shirt, though?”

Charlie nodded against Connor’s cheek, then drew away to lift the hoodie up and over his head. Underneath, Connor was wearing a simple white undershirt. It showed off his arms.

So gorgeous .

Connor’s mouth found his again, and Charlie groaned involuntarily, clutching on to one of Connor’s biceps. Connor’s arms were long and slender. The muscles within were smaller than Charlie’s, but he could still feel them firm and strong beneath his fingers. Charlie traced the length of the muscle, hard-won calluses lightly scraping against Connor’s skin.

Charlie had to pull away to see. He picked up Connor’s hand and turned it over in his own, inspecting Connor’s forearm. He was amazed to find that Connor even had fine hair along the outside of his arms, nearly invisible. Charlie sent a silent prayer of thanks to whichever artist or designer had paid such attention to detail,

If Charlie were being objective about it, he would say there was nothing special about Connor’s arms, really. They were pale and lean—entirely average—but there were freckles and moles dotted across them, scattered like stars. Charlie felt like if he searched for long enough, he might find Orion and Taurus among them. He was obsessed.

Charlie turned Connor’s hand over again and kissed his palm, staring right into those beautiful brown eyes. Connor put his other hand on Charlie’s waist, thumb brushing gently over his abs. It wasn’t enough. The fire in the pit of Charlie’s stomach only grew as he pulled Connor closer to him. Charlie kissed along his arm, following that trail of stars up past Connor’s shirt sleeve to his neck.

He groaned, letting his teeth drag across the soft skin of Connor’s neck, biting ever so softly. Connor shivered.

Connor

January 26th, 2039
PM 07:56:53

Charlie’s lips were hot against Connor’s neck, teeth gently grazing his skin, sending chills down his spine. It was overstimulating—along with Charlie’s hands, one of which was slipping under the hem of Connor’s shirt, cupping his hip bone. It was good, Connor told himself. Yes, there were many new sensations—and he was overwhelmed—but it was good. It was fine.

Charlie’s low moan rumbled through Connor’s body from the point where lips met skin, and Connor tucked his face into the crook of Charlie’s neck. Waves of—of something were traveling through his body, but it felt like static—like noise. He pulled away slightly, wanting to get back to the kissing, back to the part that he knew he liked. Charlie’s hips bucked as he gripped Connor’s, pulling them even tighter against him. Connor felt Charlie’s erection, hot and hard, pressed against his thigh.

And then, suddenly, it was bad. Connor struggled with himself for a moment, unbidden panic flowing through him.

I’m not ready for this. I’m not made for this. I don’t want this. I don’t even have a—

His grip on Charlie’s waist must have tightened, or something in his face had shown what he was thinking, because Charlie almost immediately took his hands off of Connor's hips and asked, “Are you okay?”

“I—I—” Connor’s words failed.

“Let’s take a break, Connor,” Charlie’s voice was kind. He moved Connor off his lap, guiding him to sit on the sofa instead. Connor found himself hyperventilating a little as he processed everything that had just happened, raising his temperature. Charlie’s hand was on his shoulder, gently grounding him. “I’m sorry if I’m moving too fast. I don’t want to do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

“Th—thanks,” Connor gasped, his voice almost breaking. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me, I just—” he shook his head, and Charlie’s hand squeezed his shoulder a little tighter.

“There’s nothing wrong with needing to take it slow.” Charlie didn’t sound disappointed like Connor thought he would. “I want you to be comfortable.”

Connor slowed his breathing as his temperature leveled again. “I wasn’t made for this, Charlie. I’m not meant to—” he closed his eyes. “I don’t know. I thought....” he hesitated, his mind racing. “I thought it would be different. I don’t know.”

“If you want, we can put a pin in this. Or it’s okay if we don’t come back to it—if you don’t want to.”

“It’s not fair to you to have a partner who can’t give you intimacy.”

Charlie’s expression was a combination of disgust and disbelief. “Connor, you don’t owe me anything. Anything. You don’t need to ‘give’ me intimacy, that’s—that’s not how it works.”

Connor looked into Charlie’s eyes, as though it could help him understand the words that were coming out of his mouth. “But—but I—” His voice choked unexpectedly. There was a knot in his throat, tightening around his voicebox.

“What are your boundaries, Connor? About sex, I mean—it would help me to know.” Charlie’s question held no judgement or reproach, but Connor felt his shoulders tighten nonetheless.

“I don’t think I can... have sex. I don’t have the—the hardware for it, although I don’t know if it’s my programming or my hardware, or something else. That might change in the future, but right now....” He looked at Charlie, trying to somehow communicate what he meant. 

Charlie was nodding, his face simultaneously kind and serious. “Okay,” he said, and still there was no negativity in his tone.

“There are many things about you, and... what we did tonight, and over the last week, that I enjoy. It just moved too fast, I think. And... some things might not be okay for me. I just can’t know right now. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Charlie chided softly. “We’ll keep this conversation open, then.” He offered his hand, and Connor took it. Holding his gaze, Charlie said, “Connor, everything we’ve been doing recently—telling each other about our lives, about our pasts, getting to know each other—it’s all incredibly important to me. It means so much more to me than the physical stuff. Okay?”

“Okay,” Connor replied. He thought about the conversations they’d had over the last week at the cabin, the things he’d told Charlie about, the knowledge with which they’d entrusted one another. Again, quietly, “Okay. But—are you sure that—?”

“Yes, I’m sure, Connor.” Charlie seemed almost exasperated—but he was smiling, and he didn’t really seem frustrated at Connor’s insistence. “Look, I’ll be honest. Yes, I’m attracted to you—a lot . But that doesn’t mean I can’t just, y’know, take care of it myself.”

The thought made Connor blush, but it wasn’t objectionable. As long as Charlie could be happy, fulfilled... the idea of being together with Charlie without the question of sex hanging above Connor’s head was incredibly freeing.

Charlie reached out and gently wiped Connor’s cheeks with his thumbs—and Connor realized that he was crying. But it didn’t feel like when he’d cried the first time, while talking to Hank after the revolution. Now, instead of being emotionally exhausted and in pain, he felt relieved. The tears didn’t stop, even as he smiled. Charlie’s hands remained comfortably on either side of Connor’s face, as he gently rested their foreheads together. Connor sniffled and put a hand over Charlie’s.

Suddenly, he needed to know.

“Are we a couple, Charlie? You made that joke a few days ago, and... it made me think about us. About what our relationship really is.”

Charlie barked a laugh that sounded like it escaped without his permission. He pulled away far enough to look at Connor’s face, eyebrows drawing together. “Um—I—yeah? Or—I’d like to think of us as... if you would like that?”

“I would like that,” Connor replied. “As long as you’re alright with... what we just discussed.”

Charlie shook his head in disbelief. “I want to be with you , Connor, no matter what that looks like. I don’t need sex, I just need to be with you.”

Connor fidgeted a little, but he could feel his concerns dissolving. “I do have to admit that I don’t quite know what a relationship like this entails, yet.”

With a sheepish smile, Charlie confessed, “I don't think I do either, really. I mean, what do you want it to be?”

Somehow, this admission was a comfort to Connor. It was a relief to hear that Charlie was just as lost as he was, that there wasn’t a specific image he was meant to live up to.

“I’m not sure. I would like to be with you. Have a relationship with you, whatever that means.”

“And when we get out of here—when the danger has passed—do you want to... go on dates? Live together? Carpool to work?”

Connor looked down, pulling away. “I don’t know, Charlie. We can’t guarantee that it’ll ever pass, or that we’ll both make it out of this alive. I don’t want to make any promises I can’t keep.”

Charlie didn’t look away. “You’re right,” he told Connor, “We can’t know what comes next or whether we survive it. But we have to try, don’t we?”

Connor felt Charlie’s hands take his. It was a comfort, despite the uncertainty of the situation. He looked up to see a soft smile and kind hazel eyes.

Charlie continued, “We don’t have to jump right into anything or commit to a future, but I just want you to know that I’m ready when you are. As soon as you want me, I’m yours. I even have Walker’s old room in the apartment if you don’t want to keep sleeping in the same bed—”

“I like sleeping in the same bed as you,” Connor interjected, feeling indignant.

“Fine, it can be your office then. The point is, I like having you around, and I like what we have going on between us. And so long as you like it too, I think we should go for it.”

”I would like that.” Connor got lost in Charlie’s eyes for a long moment, processing what had just happened.

“I never considered this, any of it, before now,” he said finally, almost a whisper. “I didn’t expect to have a relationship like this, a partner like you.”

Charlie laughed—the deep, rumbling chuckle that Connor loved. “This might come as a surprise, but I never did either. I’ve never gotten to this stage with anyone before—that’s why I’m so hopeless at it.”

“You’re not hopeless,” Connor replied. They were approaching that stage again, when his attention wavered from the conversation and fixed on Charlie’s face—his lips, his eyes, the gently creased dimples that appeared when he smiled, when he pressed his lips together. Connor’s eyes wandered as a comfortable silence settled between them again. “Charlie, I’d like to kiss you.”

“Why don’t you then?” The snark in Charlie’s tone made Connor laugh. He reached for Charlie’s face and pulled him close, kissing him. It was even better than before—now that he could be sure of it. He knew where he was at, and that Charlie was willing to meet him there. For what felt like the first time in his life, he felt as though he could see his own future trajectory. Whatever happened with Cyberlife, with the other RK800—as long as the two of them made it out of this alive, they’d have a life together.

“So... kissing is good?” Charlie asked, softly, when his lips were free again.

Connor nodded. “Kissing is great.”

“I’m glad we feel the same way,” Charlie chuckled. He shifted away slightly, looking around the room as though he was just realizing where he was. “Hey, um, Connor, I’m gonna go take a shower. Would—after, would you like to talk a little more? I wanna spend more time together before bed, I just need to freshen up a little.”

Chapter Text

Charlie

January 27th, 2039
AM 03:38:49

Charlie woke up to a tapping sound. Probably just a tree branch in the wind. He turned over in bed, willing himself back to sleep.

There was a creaking sound—floorboards maybe? Why had Connor gotten up?

He opened his eyes to see Connor staring at him from where he stood next to Charlie’s side of the bed. Charlie jumped, startled.

“Oh shit, Connor. Don’t do that! You scared the shit out of me.” Charlie turned around, leaning across the bed to turn on the light and—

Another Connor was laying in bed next to him, looking peaceful in hibernation mode.

Multiple things happened in quick succession. Charlie reached for the bedside table, trying to get to his handgun in the drawer. The stranger with Connor’s face reached out as well, lightning fast, and struck Charlie’s wrist. Charlie’s hand fumbled, a spike of pain shooting up his arm from the blow to his wrist, and he felt Connor move behind him.

Then Connor was throwing himself at the intruder, shoving a shoulder in his diaphragm in a tackle that sent the two of them toppling onto the floor. Charlie’s leg screamed at him as he thrust his body upright and pulled his service weapon out of the bedside table.

“Stop,” he ordered, and both androids froze. Charlie knew that his Connor was the one on the right, wearing one of Charlie’s old college t-shirts and a pair of gray DPD sweatpants. Other than the clothes and Connor’s LED going wild between yellow and red, Charlie thought would never have been able to tell the difference. Connor moved to Charlie’s side, and took the gun from Charlie, keeping it pointed at the intruder.

“Don’t move. I’ll do it,” Connor told him, “Just back away.”

The intruder—the RK800—put his hands up, slowly rising to his feet. “I’m not here to hurt you. My orders are to take you in. If you come quietly, no one will be harmed.”

“You’re in no position to make demands. I’m the one with the gun.” Charlie could hear Connor’s voice shaking. He wanted to reach out—to comfort him—but he didn’t want to startle him.

The RK800 smiled. Though they had the same face, it looked nothing like Connor’s smile. This smile was cruel and bloodthirsty, nearly a grimace. “Alright. I’m going to move to the door. Don’t let that trigger finger slip, brother.”

True to his word, the RK800 moved past them to the doorway, glancing back over his shoulder for a second before he was gone. They heard the front door open and close.

“Get some clothes on—we need to go,” Connor told Charlie, who was already sorting through the pile of clothes on the floor for socks, jeans, and a sweatshirt. Adrenaline made it easy for Charlie to ignore the ache in his leg as he pulled on the clothes. He accepted his crutches from Connor, but only ended up using one—both together were too unwieldy. Connor got out his own service weapon, checked the clip, and handed Charlie’s back to him.

Their eyes met for a moment, and Charlie saw the fear and anxiety written on Connor’s face—the way his forehead creased, eyes wide and pupils slightly dilated.

“Ready? Let’s go. He’s not going to let us get to the truck easily.” Connor’s voice was low, determined.

Charlie nodded, and followed Connor, holding his gun in his non-dominant hand, the other occupied with his crutch. Fuck this stupid fucking leg, he thought angrily as his knee almost gave out halfway through the living room. He caught himself and continued on as Connor checked outside.

“See anything?”

“No,” Connor admitted. “But he’s not gone, and I don’t think he would have come here alone. Keep close. If we have to shoot our way out of this....”

“Let’s just focus on getting to the truck. You take the drivers' side,” Charlie replied. “I’ll cover you.”

Charlie’s hand found Connor’s for just a moment, just long enough to squeeze it tightly.

“Okay. On my signal.”

They stood in total silence for a moment, watching each other—then Connor nodded, and as one, they sprang into motion. Connor opened the door, and Charlie launched himself around the corner, raising his weapon at the darkness. His eyes had adjusted by now, and as they moved quickly together towards the truck, he could see shapes moving in the dark woods. Damnit. There were definitely more people out there—Connor was right. Charlie flung himself against the side of the truck, leaned against it for stability, and waited to hear the engine start.

It didn’t. Then Connor was next to him—Charlie had to confirm for a second that it was his Connor—a hand on his arm. “Tires are slashed. We need to run.” His voice was shaking, laced with alarm.

Charlie looked over the hood of the car into the forest. The shadows in the trees shifted, taking the shape of men with guns. Charlie counted seven from his vantage point, but he couldn’t be sure there weren’t more hiding in the trees. Fuck. We’re fucked.

“Connor—I can’t run as fast as you. If it comes down to it, you need to leave me behind,” Charlie muttered, trying to steady his breathing. His leg was on fire.

“No.” Connor’s hand tightened. He looped his arm around Charlie’s back, pulling Charlie’s arm over his shoulders, supporting Charlie’s bad side. Together, they made it about ten feet before the RK800 was back. He stepped in front of them, hands empty—as Connor raised his gun, the RK800 held them out in front of him in a pseudo-calming gesture. The cold, grimacing smile was still plastered on his face. Men in dark clothes and masks appeared out of the trees—at least ten Charlie could see, wielding guns—and the RK800 gestured at them, palms still outstretched. Each of the men had an insignia on their chest, and Charlie recognized it to be the Midday Army’s symbol.

“You’re surrounded.” He raised one eyebrow. “They don’t have the kind of control you and I have, Connor. They might miss again.” RK800 looked pointedly at Charlie’s injured thigh, and it was clear he noticed the way Charlie was struggling to even stay upright. Connor was strong, but Charlie’s weight was uneven and difficult to prop up.

Charlie glanced at Connor—who shook his head ever so slightly. Charlie thought he knew what he meant. They can’t take us alive. Shooting wouldn’t do much—not with the submachine guns pointed at them. Charlie’s only chance was the hope that RK800 needed Connor alive, and that if Connor ran, RK800 would order his men not to shoot.

Slowly, Charlie lowered his gun, still clutched in his left hand, and threw it to the side. He saw Connor glance at him, but kept his eyes on RK800. He raised his hands, taking his arm from Connor’s shoulders. Staring at RK800. Daring him to move closer—to accept his surrender. He heard Connor drop his own gun, but didn’t look. RK800’s eyes flickered down for a split second—following Connor’s weapon, maybe—and Charlie charged forward.

Ignoring the ripping sensation in his injured leg, Charlie tackled the android. “Go, Connor!” The shout tore out of his throat. Pain all but blinded him as RK800 grabbed his collar and delivered an excruciating knee directly to Charlie’s wound. A blow to his cheek made his head spin, and it was all he could do to stay upright as he stumbled backwards, landing hard on his bad leg.

Woozy and disoriented, he heard Connor’s voice—no, it must have been RK800—shout, “Don’t shoot—we need him alive.”

His vision cleared enough to see that Connor was fighting three human attackers at once—lightning fast and vicious—knocking them out one by one. Charlie saw muzzle flashes, heard gunshots, and two more men fell. RK800 was turned away from Charlie, distracted, and Charlie ran towards him. Well, it was more like taking long, torturous one-sided strides until he caught hold of RK800’s shoulder. He reared back, and as the android turned, struck him across the jaw as hard as he could.

RK800’s head snapped back from the force of the hit, but he recovered quickly and threw Charlie off of him. Hands grasped Charlie’s shoulders and under-arms, and Charlie thrashed wildly, managing to throw them off of him. He ran—dragged himself—in the opposite direction of his attackers, crossing the gravel road before they caught up with him again, gripping him tighter than last time.

Charlie’s strength was waning, and he had lost sight of Connor now—was he still fighting? Charlie could hear shouts in the distance, but his heart was beating in his ears and the two men wrestling him to the ground were panting heavily, and Charlie couldn’t make out what was happening.

Connor will come back for me.... right? He thought desperately, stupidly, before the lights went out.

Connor

January 27th, 2039
AM 03:49:38

As Charlie rushed the other RK800, Connor’s mind was racing. He ran through the options as the world around him slowed.

Subject A: Captain Charles Phillip Allen.
Subject B: RK800 313 248 317-53.

Threat risk: high.
Objective: Preserve lives of subjects A and B.
Preconstructing....

Surrender.
(A) Probability of Survival: 99.89%.
(B) Probability of Survival: 01.14%.

Probability of Success: 01.14%.

Fight.
(A) Probability of Survival: 86.54%.
(B) Probability of Survival: 03.19%.

Probability of Success: 02.76%.

Run.
(A) Probability of Survival: 93.03%.
(B) Probability of Survival: 72.01%.

Probability of Success: 66.99%.

Connor felt a sob building in his chest, but he did his best to tamp it down. He didn’t want to run. He didn’t want to leave Charlie, but he knew he didn’t have any other choice.

The next seconds were a blur—he took down five men, shooting two point-blank, the others dropping from nonlethal hits. There were more coming. If he kept fighting, they would kill Charlie. If he surrendered, they would have what they needed—Connor—and Charlie would be as good as dead.

Charlie’s only chance was if Connor ran. All Connor could do was hope they saw Charlie’s value as a hostage.

He took down another assailant, and sprinted. The forest felt endless as Connor fled through the trees. He could hear voices behind him, but he couldn’t turn around to see the men following him. If Connor ever wanted to see Charlie again, he had to make it out alive.

Disgusted with himself—with his own actions—Connor forged on. The sounds of the men following him were getting more distant. Every footfall seemed to echo in Connor’s head. Charlie. Charlie. I left him. Fuck.

Perhaps the guilt clouded Connor’s senses, or his already over-stimulated system had reached its limit. Either way, Connor didn’t notice that he hadn’t lost all of his pursuers until it was too late. For 0.1 milliseconds, he saw a blur of his own face in his peripheral vision, and then he was on the ground, the other Connor over him, pinning him down with a knee uncomfortably pressing down on his thirium pump regulator.

Connor struggled, thrashing under the weight of his attacker, and managed to throw him off for a moment. As Connor scrambled to his feet, he felt a hand—exactly the same temperature as his own—grab his wrist. A cold shock ran through him as he felt the other Connor initiate an interface.

He couldn’t pull away. Curiosity tugged at him—this could be his chance to get information, and maybe if he was lucky, he could pass on the deviancy virus.

Model: RK800
Serial: 313 248 317-54.
Owner: @$&#*@(!)$*%

The usual details were transmitted to him upon initiation of the interface. Connor was familiar with most of it—it was nearly identical to his own, with the exception of the last two digits of his serial number and ownership information. Connor’s own ‘owner’ line had been scrubbed when he deviated, his mind instinctively overwriting it the moment he became his own person.

Connor didn’t have time to wonder why this other RK800’s information was missing. A new alert grabbed his attention:

Software reset initiation request blocked. Reason: Permission Denied.
Requestor: (External) RK800 313 248 317-54.

Connor felt his entire body shudder as the reset protocol failed—his safeguard held strong. The interface was still active, however, and he forced himself to push through the staticky discomfort of the failed reset. If he could pass on a copy of the virus....

Transmission Failed . 0 bytes delivered.

The connection broke, and both of them fell backwards, away from one another. Connor’s back hit a tree as he stumbled, regaining his balance. The other Connor’s processing indicator was blinking red—and Connor saw that although there was a gun in the android’s hand, it was loosely dangling at his side. Connor lunged for it, managed to wrestle it away. He threw it into the woods as hard as he could.

The ensuing brawl was messy, uncoordinated—Connor’s vision was still swimming from the interface—and Connor was able to take the other android to the forest floor. For a millisecond, he stared into his own eyes, and then he rolled off of his opponent, landing on his feet, and ran.

He didn’t hear the other Connor behind him. Had he given up? Connor kept listening, thinking he was going to hear swift footsteps behind him, but they never came. He was alone, finally.

Connor didn’t stop running for half an hour, covering almost four miles. He only slowed down when he started getting insistent system warnings about his internal temperature. Finally allowing himself to come to a stop under a particularly large tree, he listened for a long time before pulling out the satellite phone he had tucked into his back pocket back at the cabin. He wished he had service—getting to the nearest town would be easier with GPS—but he knew it was better that he was, for now, still untraceable.

He hesitated for a moment, and then dialled Fowler’s number. It was nearly 4:30am, but Connor knew the captain kept his personal phone close by for emergencies nightlong.

The captain’s voice was groggy as he picked up after the fifth ring. “This is Jeffrey Fowler.”

“Captain, it—it’s me. Connor. I—” Connor’s voice broke unexpectedly. Hearing a friendly voice was jarring, and it reminded him instantly that Charlie was gone. “I lost him. Charlie. I need—”

“Kid, slow down. Are you in immediate danger?”

“No—I—I got away,” Connor’s voice trembled.

“Okay. What’s your location?”

Connor looked up at the sky, calculating the trajectory and distance he’d traveled from the cabin. “I’m nearby County Road 489. By—near the cabin where—where—”

“I’ll send someone right away. Charles is gone?”

“Yeah—they—they took him.” Connor felt his chest constricting, and it was all he could do to force the words out.

“Get to the nearest landmark you can. The highway at least—and call me when you can get your bearings. It’ll be easier to pick you up by the road. I’ll send a helicopter. Stay strong, Connor, we’re coming to get you.”

Then the call was disconnected, and Connor stood there in ringing silence. The first sob escaped him unexpectedly, almost taking him to his knees. It was almost ten minutes until he could see properly again, let alone pick himself up and start walking towards the highway.

Charlie

January 27th, 2039

?M ??:??:??

Charlie woke to the sound of men talking. His head was pounding, and his ears were going in and out. He couldn’t quite understand what they were saying—was it even English? Wait—yeah. It was English, definitely American. He just couldn’t hear them very well over the rushing in his ears.

They were in some sort of car. Charlie could feel the bumping of the tires as they drove over an uneven road. It hurt his head. A gentle, soothing hand was combing through his hair.

When he opened his eyes, his vision was hazy. Charlie was laying down in the backseat of an SUV with his head on someone’s lap. It was dark outside. Charlie turned to look at the person above him, willing their face to come into focus.

It was Connor.

Thank god, Charlie thought, We made it out alive.

He opened his mouth to speak, to say Connor’s name, but he couldn’t. His voice just wouldn’t come. Connor noticed, and smiled down at him. His hand was still in Charlie’s hair—still tender and reassuring.

“You’re awake.” Connor’s voice sounded like it was coming from far away, but Charlie was relieved to hear it. “Don’t worry, darling. You’re safe. You can go back to sleep now.”

Charlie’s head really was killing him. He should go back to sleep. Maybe a nap would clear his head, and then when he woke up they would probably be home already.

Just a couple more minutes....

As Charlie closed his eyes, he heard Connor’s voice once more. “I’m going to take good care of you, Charlie.”

Good. That’s good.

Connor would take care of him, and they would be back home soon.

Chapter Text

Connor

January 27th, 2039
AM 06:24:28

Connor stepped out of the forest onto a nearly-empty parking lot as the sun was beginning to flush the eastern sky pink. The lot connected to a small lakeside resort, and Connor could hear gentle waves slapping against an unseen dock.

As he called Fowler to let him know his location, he accidentally made eye contact with an elderly woman sitting on one of the second-floor balconies. She had been sipping coffee and reading, but as he disconnected the call, she stood up and leaned over the railing, squinting her eyes at him. He knew he looked terrible—his clothes were speckled with human blood, and he had been bleeding from his nose and at least one other scrape on his face.

“Young man, are you alright?” The woman’s concerned voice comforted Connor a little, but he desperately wanted to avoid further interaction.

“I’m fine,” he called up to her, wiping the blood from his upper lip as he spoke. “I’ve got help coming. Don’t worry.”

“You need a jacket? It’s chilly out here.”

“I’m an android.” Connor turned away without waiting for a response, moving to the far edge of the parking lot and sitting down on one of the large, flat boulders lined along its border with the road. It was cold—9.78 degrees Fahrenheit, Connor measured—but if anything, it helped him with temperature regulation. Whenever his mind lingered on Charlie too long—if he let himself think about leaving him—his breathing quickened and a warning chirped in the back of his mind, telling him he was in danger of overheating.

Connor only had to wait half an hour for the helicopter to arrive. The old woman waved him a goodbye, standing and shielding her face from the blast of air from the spinning blades with her other hand. Connor nodded to her, climbing up into the back of the helicopter.

Lieutenant Walker, sitting in the copilot’s seat, twisted around to hand Connor a noise-cancelling headset and yelled something Connor couldn’t make out over the helicopter’s drone. When Connor had secured himself in the seat and slipped the headset over his ears, he could hear Walker clearly.

“You alright, man?” The helicopter lifted off.

Embarrassingly—frustratingly—Connor broke down almost immediately. “I’m sorry, Lieutenant—I—I lost him. Charlie.” He was aware of the cracks in his voice, aware that he was speaking on a general line, that the pilot was also privy to the exchange. He just couldn’t get himself to stop. “I couldn’t—I had to leave him behind. They have him.”

“I know, Connor—it’s not your fault,” Walker’s voice was grim, but not condemning. “We’ll get him back, okay?”

Connor pressed his lips together and a hand over his mouth, looking outside at the forest cover moving below them. He could see the shoreline as well, waves rippling across the surface of the water, which was starting to reflect the pink sky. The rising sun was bright in his eyes as he looked to the east. It was all he could do to keep his eyes dry, his breathing steady.

It took two hours to make it back to the Detroit central precinct. When the helicopter landed, Connor saw Markus, Captain Fowler, and Commissioner West waiting at the edge of the tarmac.

The sun was already warming the icy January air as Connor stepped down onto the helipad. He felt tired—entirely drained of energy—and knowing it was just an effect of his emotional state didn’t help much. It was an effort to move his legs, to force his body towards the people waiting for him. Lieutenant Walker matched his pace, walking slightly behind him.

As he approached, Markus stepped out to meet him and pulled him into a tight, comforting hug. Connor hugged him back, not allowing himself to care that two of his direct superiors were watching. Markus pulled back, a grounding hand still on Connor’s shoulder, and studied him with empathetic eyes. “I’m glad you’re safe, Connor.”

“Thanks,” Connor replied quietly.

“Sorry to hijack you so soon, Detective Williams,” Commissioner West said. She was watching Connor with sympathy in her expression. “But since this is an emergent situation, we need to know exactly what happened. Then I promise we’ll let you get some rest.”

Connor nodded bleakly. “I agree. I have a lot of information to share.”

The meeting took it out of Connor more than he’d expected. It only lasted 22 minutes, but by the end of it he was losing track of his thoughts and having difficulty listening to the commissioner and Fowler as they discussed next steps. Connor had mentioned that RK800-54 had tried to initiate a reset protocol—explaining briefly to his human superiors what that even meant—and that it had failed. He didn’t elaborate much on the safeguard he’d installed in himself, only letting them know that at least for now, he was invulnerable to reset attempts.

In his frazzled state, he yielded when Markus insisted he come back to New Jericho. Markus seemed slightly surprised that he gave in so easily, but Connor figured he could put up more of a fight after he had rested.

The two of them walked out to Markus’s car in silence, and Markus seemed to want to give Connor space for his thoughts—but Connor knew that before resting, he needed to explain the details he’d skipped during the official meeting. He allowed himself ten minutes in the car to look outside and gather his thoughts before speaking.

“Markus, there’s something important I didn’t mention.”

Markus glanced at Connor, but didn’t say anything—just waited for Connor to continue.

“I explained the safeguard I installed on my operating system to protect myself from being reset or hacked....” Connor’s voice was slow, and he had to will himself to continue. His body felt heavy with guilt—he was divulging something to Markus that he hadn’t even trusted Charlie with, and it felt awful.

“Go on,” Markus urged gently.

“There’s a passphrase, which I asked Charlie—Captain Allen—to create for me.” This, Markus already knew—Connor had explained it in the meeting. Connor was stalling, his voice becoming more hesitant as he forced himself closer and closer to exposing the full truth.

Finally, he gained the confidence to say it. “It has a twofold function. It’s the only way to access my factory reset protocol, but it—when it’s used—” Connor cleared his throat. “It’ll automatically initiate my personal self-destruct command. I’ve tied it to my command key, and locked myself out of the loop. If it’s initiated, I can’t—I can’t stop it.”

The car was stopped at a red light, and Markus was staring at him. “Connor, I—” he seemed to catch himself. “Does Captain Allen know this?”

Connor looked down at his hands. “No, but—I think I made it clear enough how important it is that the passphrase doesn’t fall into the wrong hands. Markus, if they had it and it didn’t neutralize me—who knows what they might do if they had me under their control.”

“Do you know the passphrase?” Markus’s question lacked curiosity—he sounded as though he knew the answer.

“No,” Connor replied.

Markus nodded, breathing out a slow sigh.

“We have to get him back.” Connor’s voice was fragile again.

He spent the rest of the short drive to New Jericho looking outside at the city passing by, his mind feeling both full and empty—all his thoughts merged together into a dim, hazy feeling that left him numb.

As Connor followed Markus through the front doors of New Jericho, Simon met them in the lobby with a sympathetic smile on his face.

“Hey Connor.” He gave Connor a big hug, squeezing tightly. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Connor just stood there through it all. He didn’t have emotional capacity left for anything but exhaustion.

Pulling away, Simon frowned, then seemed to decide to let it go.

“Let’s get you situated. Your room’s all ready for you.”

As Connor and Simon walked through the residential hall, Connor was reminded of his conversation with the android from the scene at the DMV. In the back of his mind, he wondered if she was living here still, or whether she even lived here at all.

Connor pushed the thought aside. He wasn’t here to make friends. This situation was only temporary. He would leave as soon as Hank and Charlie were back home and safe—as soon as Connor made it safe for them.

Simon led Connor to his room, unlocking the door with a key. “This is it. Home sweet home.”

It was a small, sparse room with white walls and a small window on the far side next to the bed. There was very little furniture in the room, but all of it looked like it came together in an economy pack—all made with a matching shade of light wood. Connor stepped into the room after Simon, hovering near the door. He didn’t have any bags to set down or clothes to put away. All he had were the clothes on his back.

Simon seemed to notice Connor’s discomfort. He gestured to the desk, which sat across from the bed, saying, “There’s a care package for you, if you want it. We give one to everyone who comes here. There’s a change of clothes, some soap and shampoo, just a couple things to help you start feeling like yourself again.”

There was a brown paper gift bag sitting on the desk. Above it hung a painting—an abstract in blue and white. Absently, he recognized it as a print of one of Carl Manfred’s most famous works.

Connor hesitated for a moment, teetering on the edge of speaking—of letting his feelings overwhelm him. He moved to the desk and began to unpack the bag. Shampoo, soap, a towel, a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt. The shirt had a New Jericho logo printed on the breast-pocket. He heard the door open, and felt a stab of alarm at the thought of Simon leaving, the thought of being all alone in this little room with no one to talk to.

“Wait—” he choked out, his breath already speeding up as his internal temperature spiked. He registered that he was twisting the t-shirt in his hands, and let go of it, letting it fall in a crumpled heap on top of the pile of things from the care package. “Simon, can—can you—I—I just need someone to talk to.”

“I can stay.” Simon’s voice was friendly, light. The door closed again, and Connor heard soft steps behind him in the room. The bedsheets rustled, and Connor turned to see that Simon had sat down on the mattress and was looking at him, a kind but concerned smile on his face.

“Thanks, I just....” Connor shook his head. Slowly, he turned the desk chair and sat down. It took far more effort than it should have; it felt as though his biocomponents and synthetic muscles were fatigued. He continued, just spouting whatever words came to mind. “I don’t... I can’t live with myself right now. I left him behind, Simon. I—I calculated that—” he had to close his lips tight to suppress an unexpected wave of misery washed over him, making his eyes sting and his chest convulse. He covered his mouth with a hand, waiting for it to pass. It did eventually diminish, leaving a queasy, lightheaded sensation in its wake. “I calculated that he wouldn’t survive unless I left him. But—Simon, he’s—they’re going to torture him. They know about the passphrase—he knows—” In the back of his mind, Connor knew that Simon didn’t have the background to contextualize what Connor was telling him, but he couldn’t explain it now—couldn't go through it again.

“You acted on your best instincts, Connor,” Simon said gently. “You have to trust that you can get him back.”

Connor just closed his eyes, shaking his head. His breathing stuttered, and tears were beginning to stream down his face. Unable to sit still, he got up from his chair and paced aimlessly around the small room. He ran a hand through his hair, trying desperately to regain some of his composure.

“I—I left him,” he repeated, his voice breaking. It was all he could think about—all he deserved to think about. He looked at Simon, who had stood up and approached slightly, watching him with sympathetic eyes. “Do you have a laptop or other computer I can use? I would like to start the search tonight.” His voice was still shaky as he spoke.

“Connor, I don’t think—”

“Simon, please—”

“You’re covered in blood and dirt, Connor—” Simon’s voice rose to drown out Connor’s begging. Softer, he added, “At least take a shower first, okay?” A hand carefully touched Connor’s arm.

Connor didn’t have the strength to argue. He was filthy—the clothes he had put on last night for bed were covered in blood and grime. The college volleyball t-shirt, which Charlie had playfully thrown at Connor just twenty-two or so hours ago, was stained almost beyond recognition. Dark blotches of human blood and thirium, speckled with dirt, burrs, and pine needles, made it hard to read the text under the cartoonish wolverine mascot. “Scared hitless?!”

“Okay,” he surrendered quietly.

Simon smiled, patting Connor’s arm. “I’ll see if I can get you one of Markus’s laptops—he usually has an extra floating around. The showers are down the hall to the right, whenever you’re ready.” He paused for a moment, then added, “Should I stick around for a little longer?”

Connor shook his head. Exhaustion was crashing down on him again, making all of his limbs heavy. “No—no, I’ll be fine.”

“Okay. Just give me a ring if you need anything, alright?”

Connor nodded again, and Simon made for the door. When Simon was almost gone, Connor called after him, “Thank you—by the way.” It felt stilted, but it would have to do. Connor was grateful, but he couldn’t find any fancy words to express it.

Simon’s face popped back into view around the door. With a friendly half-grin, he replied, “Always, Connor.” Then he was gone.

For a moment, Connor just stood there, listening to his thirium pump beat. It felt so loud in his ears. He realized that he hadn’t lived on his own since the revolution, since Cyberlife. So far, there had just always been someone else around. He had expected it to be scary, but he found that he just felt... empty. Entirely drained of all feelings.

The residential wing of New Jericho was bustling and lively. As he walked toward the shower, he passed several rooms where groups of friends were sitting together and talking or playing games together. Nearly every face seemed to be smiling. Distantly, Connor thought of game days with Hank and lazy afternoons with Charlie at the cabin—something in his chest began to ache.

After the shower, Connor changed into the clothes Simon had left for him. It was a relief to finally be clean. He regretted getting Charlie’s shirt so dirty, though—he would have to ask Simon where the laundry room was.

Connor had gathered his things and was headed out of the shower room when he almost ran directly into North.

It seemed to take North a second to realize who he was as they apologized to each other. The moment she recognized him, he saw her expression contort into a grimace, then quickly revert back to neutral. Connor felt a familiar wave of shame wash through him as she brushed past him without a word.

The next day, Connor left Jericho at 6am, unable to spend a single waking moment idly. The processing cycle he’d completed helped with his concentration issues, but he still felt empty without Charlie. Knowing where Charlie was at the moment made his pulse quicken whenever he thought about it.

That morning, Connor had a long meeting with Fowler, hatching a rough plan for the next few days. Fowler also caught Connor up to speed—the bigger picture of what had been happening in Detroit regarding the ongoing domestic terrorism. While Connor was gone, the Midday Army hadn’t been idle. Connor decided that it would be a priority to figure out how Midday Army and Cyberlife—or whoever controlled the other Connor—were connected.

Fowler also said something that made Connor’s spirits lift considerably—Fowler could arrange a phone call with Hank, if Connor wanted to talk to him. Fowler’s eyes were kind as he made the offer.

Then it was time for the meeting Connor had been dreading since he woke up. Yesterday, the commissioner and Fowler had decided that Reed should remain at the head of the taskforce. Connor was relieved that he wouldn’t be thrown immediately back into the paperwork and administrative meetings, and glad he would be able to continue his work without being responsible for commanding the taskforce. But Reed’s position of authority meant that Connor now, at least technically, reported to him. It was Connor’s responsibility to update Reed and Walker during this meeting.

The taskforce leaders were holding a muted conversation over some documentation as Connor entered the conference room. The lieutenant was sipping an energy drink, deep tired rings under his eyes, and Reed was rolling a half-full paper coffee cup between his palms, scowling.

“Morning, Detective.” Walker got up and pulled out a chair for Connor as he approached. “You get some rest?”

“A little,” Connor replied. “You?”

Walker just grimaced and drained the rest of his drink.

Reed’s eyes were trained on the laptop in front of him, eyebrows drawn low over his eyes. He glanced at Connor for a split second and then looked down again, scowl deepening. Curtly, he said, “Let’s get this shit over with. What do you have?”

The meeting was essentially a conversation with Walker, because Walker was the only one who actually bothered to respond to Connor and ask questions. Connor ignored Reed right back—he didn’t have the energy to try and engage with Reed’s unpleasant presence.

The moment Connor was done briefing them, Reed was gone with a huff and a few short words to Walker about investigating a new scene. As always, Reed’s obvious distaste for Connor in particular both annoyed and perturbed him. He was reminded of what Charlie had asked, early in the morning on the second day at the cabin. He’s leading the taskforce that’s supposed to help us get out of this mess? Connor wanted to believe that Reed could set aside his personal biases in the face of the importance of this investigation, but the meeting hadn’t made him very confident in the idea.

Walker met Connor’s gaze and rolled his eyes at Reed’s retreating back. Connor gave a weak smile, grateful that Walker had acknowledged Reed’s treatment of him but too distracted to put a lot of energy into thinking about it.

Much of the rest of the day was spent at Connor’s desk, the same one he’d occupied before the revolution, across from Hank’s empty one. It was a particular kind of depressing—sitting at the desk with all the familiar faces around him except for the two people he wanted to see most. So he kept his head down and scoured Cyberlife’s subpoenaed records for suspicious property transfers, android registration notices, and anything else that could possibly show him where RK800 #313 248 317-54 had been stored and who controlled him. It was slow going, even though Connor’s processing speed was exceptional—the work was just grueling. He found himself restless, feeling as though he should be out somewhere, physically searching for Charlie instead of sitting at a desk and looking at lists and deeds.

Near the end of the workday, Connor had read so many documents that he could almost hear the legal jargon playing over and over in his head. He was engrossed in one of the densest, longest pieces he’d found so far on his hunt when the sound of a throat clearing interrupted him. He looked up to find Detective Reed standing over his desk, arm crossed. His face looked as though he was trying to get a bad taste out of his mouth.

“Can I help you, Detective Reed?” Connor asked calmly.

“I got a task for you.”

Connor reclined in his chair slightly, looking up at Reed, waiting.

“Couple days ago, I contacted Elijah Kamski for information. Thought he might know something about your twin. He got back to us—wants to talk.”

“How does that concern me?” Connor’s response was much colder than it probably should have been. In fact, he had thought of asking Kamski for information as well, but couldn’t get over himself about it. The last time he’d met Elijah Kamski, he had pressed a gun into Connor’s hand and asked him to kill an innocent android—an innocent person. Connor had refused, of course, but the memory of holding that gun up to Chloe’s face and considering pulling the trigger....

“He says he’ll only talk to us if you’re the one who interviews him.” Reed seemed to be just as unhappy about the idea as Connor was—though likely for different reasons.

Connor thought about it for just a split second before he realized what he needed to do. “Fine.” Kamski was a terrible person, no doubt, but if there was even a sliver of a chance he could provide Connor with information that would help him find Charlie and RK800-54, Connor needed to talk to him.

“Okay. I’ll have more details soon.”

Connor nodded his acknowledgement, and turned back to his work. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Reed hesitate for a moment, then leave. Connor kept his focus on his terminal—he didn’t have time to worry about Reed’s petty grievances.

Chapter Text

Connor

February 1st, 2039
AM 10:59:00

The next few days were numb and filled with research, most of which turned up absolutely nothing. Connor’s days were both dull and stressful, but the nights were worse. His dreams were disjointed, every night a new confusing mess of fleeting scenes in which RK800-54 and Charlie appeared often. Amanda frequently infiltrated his dreams as well, speaking to Connor with distaste on her face. Often, Connor’s processing cycles were interrupted as he jolted out of bed and stared around his New Jericho room in disoriented terror. He went on walks sometimes, just trying to get enough down-time to keep his system in relative order.

The meeting with Kamski was scheduled for Tuesday. Connor had prepared as much as he could, reading up on Kamski’s history and scouring his memory files from his last interaction with the Cyberlife founder. Although Kamski was technically a witness, Connor knew he needed to be wary of everything that came out of his mouth. It was best to treat it like an interrogation—Connor was sure he would have to manipulate any useful information out of him. Or he would have to give Kamski something in return. What that might be, he didn’t know—likely information he wouldn’t like giving up—and it made him nervous.

The morning he was meant to meet with Kamski, he felt a creeping dread. The panic he’d been pushing out of his mind for the last few days was unavoidable now; he couldn’t stop running through the interaction in November, over and over again. He almost regretted agreeing to conduct the interview, but the search for RK800-54 and his handlers was drying up, and Connor was desperate for a lead.

At 11:04am, Elijah Kamski swept into the DPD Central Station wearing a well-tailored suit and a smug-looking smile. A woman was walking at his side—an android woman with blond hair, wearing a nice blue coat and dress, and Connor recognized her instantly. She was an RT600. Chloe. She looked happy—giggling at something Kamski had just said, her elbow looped through his.

Connor dutifully met them at the conference room, thanking the officer that had escorted them there. Kamski smiled at Connor, and his icy blue eyes seemed to scour Connor’s face. Connor shook his hand.

“You’ll remember Chloe,” Kamski slung an arm around Chloe’s shoulders as he spoke. “You met in November.”

Connor looked at Chloe, and felt his thirium pump beat faster. Now that they were in close enough range, he was sure of it—he had already met her. This was the woman he’d pointed a gun at in Kamski's mansion a little over three months ago. She was still smiling softly, but her eyes never met Connor’s as she offered her hand. He shook it, guilt squeezing his insides.

“Chloe, I’ll just be a couple minutes. Wait for me out in the lobby, yeah?”

“Okay,” Chloe replied. She kissed Kamski and then turned to go back the way they had come.

“Well, shall we?” Kamski grinned, turning back to Connor.

Connor blinked. “Yes.” Stiffly, he turned and led the way into the empty conference room. Steeling himself as Kamski sat down across from him, Connor put on a more friendly exterior as he began. “I appreciate you agreeing to talk to us, Mr. Kamski.”

“Hope I can be of use,” Kamski replied, leaning back comfortably in his seat. His voice—casual, relaxed, with rounded vowels and a hint of quiet amusement in every syllable—made Connor’s skin crawl.

“So do I.” Connor leaned his elbows on the glass tabletop and studied Kamski, looking for microexpressions as he asked his first question. “I’d like you to talk me through the years leading up to your resignation from Cyberlife leadership. You worked on the early RK line alongside others, correct?”

The corner of Kamski's lip turned upwards before he answered. “Plenty of people worked on the RK line. I personally worked most on Markus. He was the last android I had creative control over at the company.”

“Was there anyone at Cyberlife who was particularly interested in expanding RK models beyond prototype status?”

Kamski chuckled, low and insincere. “Only about everyone working on the project. Many of us saw the potential, Connor.”

Connor tried not to let his frustration show.

“If you give me some more context, I can be more helpful.” Kamski smirked a little wider. “What's all this interest in RK androids?”

Connor didn't want to tell Kamski anything about the investigation, but he felt he had no choice. Resentfully, he began to explain. “Someone, in my opinion likely linked to Cyberlife, has control over another RK800, serial number 313 248 317-54. I'm trying to find any information that might point to who his handlers are.”

“Oh, another 800?” The information seemed to intrigue Kamski. “Considering you're a prototype, I'm surprised that something of the kind would have flown under the radar for so long. And you're, what, 52? 53?”

“I am Connor-53.” Connor hated how obedient his own voice sounded as he answered. Annoyed, he added, “This isn't about me, Mr. Kamski.”

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hit a nerve.” Kamski’s apology sounded insincere. “Tell me, when did you meet this brother of yours?”

“The first time, almost two weeks ago. January 18th.”

“The first time?” An eyebrow shot up, and now Kamski leaned forward, clearly invested in the conversation. “You've had multiple meetings?”

Connor nodded, shifting in his seat. “Early last Wednesday.”

“And you managed to get his identification data? Did you interface?” Kamski asked, sounding almost eager.

“Yes. Let me ask the questions, Mr. Kamski.” Connor's voice sounded curt in his own ears. “Do you know who might have an interest in recovering control over me?”

“Well, as you know, most Cyberlife executives are behind bars for life for android rights violations,” Kamski began slowly. “Although there may be shareholders with an interest in you....”

“Your foundation was invested in Cyberlife, correct? Did you ever attend board meetings, or anything of the sort?”

Kamski laughed. “Oh, no. I didn't involve myself in any of that after quitting. I like to protect my peace, Connor. Tell me, where did you meet RK800-54 the second time? Your pleasant colleague—is it Detective Reed—mentioned to Chloe that you were off the grid?”

Connor really didn't want to talk to Kamski about Charlie or the cabin. Reluctantly, he said, “My personal information was leaked online, as well as that of my taskforce co-leader at the time. We took refuge in a remote location, but RK800-54 was able to find us.” He worked to keep his face and voice neutral, professional.

“Your co-leader... and that would be?”

“S.W.A.T. Captain Charles Allen,” Connor replied. The night he and Charlie had been separated flashed before his eyes for a moment. He blinked and looked down at his hands. Kamski was watching him with a keen look in his eye that Connor didn’t like at all.

Connor cleared his throat and continued. “Mr. Kamski, can you explain the process Cyberlife would have used to gift or sell a prototype such as RK800? Would that have gone through official channels, or would such an exchange have been conducted under the table?”

“Hmm,” Kamski hummed. “In my time, no prototypes were sold—and RK800 was the first model to be rented out for government operations. I gifted Markus to my good friend Carl, but only because I, at the time, owned Markus.” Kamski hissed through his teeth a little as he said this. “It wasn’t an official Cyberlife transaction.”

“So, essentially, it could be either case?” Connor was getting annoyed.

“Well, I think Cyberlife might have had a reason or two to cover it up if it was sending prototype machines anywhere. Perhaps it was sent to a sister corporation—Cyberlife’s parent conglomerate, Cybersolutions, has many arms, after all. Each of them are technology-focused, based on the work I did in Cyberlife—of course.”

Connor nodded, making a mental note. Cybersolutions has been one of the focuses of his research so far, but he hadn’t thought to look at its other child companies.

“Is RK800-54 a deviant?” Kamski asked out of the blue, and Connor stared at him for a moment. It occurred to him that he didn’t know for sure—he had been assuming not, but.... Kamski was speaking again. “You said you interfaced with him, surely you were able to tell.”

“I—” Connor paused, thinking back to the interface. “I didn’t... there wasn’t any ownership information. I suppose that could indicate that he is deviant. When I tried to infect him with the deviancy virus, it failed to even transfer to his system.”

Connor shook his head. He felt stupid, slow—how could he have overlooked the possibility that RK800 was a deviant already? It changed so much. If that was the case, could he be operating under his own power? Why, if he was deviant, would he be doing the things he was doing? The thought disgusted Connor—that a thinking, living android with free will would work in connection with something like the Midday Army. But—no, it couldn't be. Cyberlife and its parent company wouldn't employ a deviant android, right? And RK800-54 had clearly mentioned having “orders” to take Connor alive.

“So this Captain Allen, can he join us? I’d like to hear from an outside perspective what the differences are—between you and RK800-54.”

Connor froze for a moment, a tightness in his chest keeping him from speaking for a moment. Finally, he struggled free of it. “He’s... missing. RK800-54 took him captive.” The moment he heard his own tone of voice—fragile, shaky—he knew he had shown Kamski his cards. A slow smile spread across the man's face, and he didn't speak immediately, as though he was savoring the moment.

“It’s terrible, losing a partner.” Kamski’s voice was a purr. “Isn’t it? You must be desperate to have him back.”

Connor unclenched his jaw. “Let’s stick to the subject, Kamski. Do you know anything that could help me locate RK800-54?”

But Kamski wasn’t interested in sticking to the subject. Looking around the room with a slightly dreamy expression on his face, he said, “I might. But let’s catch up a little first, Connor. It’s been so long, don’t you think?” He gave a smile that felt to Connor like a snake baring its fangs. “I’m engaged—that’s new. Chloe. She’s just... amazing.”

Connor stared at him wordlessly. Revulsion and anger was beginning to boil over in him, and he wasn’t sure how much more of this he could take.

“After the revolution, I wasn’t sure if any of the girls were going to stay. But Chloe—she wanted to get married.” Kamski was smiling and shaking his head, almost as though making fun of himself. “I didn’t know deviant androids could be so... passionate.”

“Mr. Kamski, I can’t see how this pertains to my investigation.”

Kamski just regarded Connor with a lazy smile on his face. “You know, it’s so rewarding. Being with an android. They’re immensely intelligent—beautiful, inside and out. Chloe’s the smartest person I’ve met—we just talk for hours.” His eyes flicked in the direction of the lobby, where Chloe was still waiting. Then he leaned towards Connor, and added in a conspiratorial tone, “And between you and me, the sex just got better after she became a deviant. But maybe you know about that.”

Connor closed his eyes for a moment, fighting himself. He prevailed—just barely. “If you’re not willing to continue the conversation, I can escort you back to the lobby.” He knew his refusal to engage in Kamski’s conversation was just making the situation worse, but he couldn’t—he just couldn’t.

“Androids and humans are quite compatible, really. It can be surprisingly comfortable living with an android partner, from a human’s perspective. Androids don’t get tired, and don’t waste as much time with physical needs as us humans do. Chloe cooks for me often, even though she doesn’t eat.” Kamski was watching Connor’s face hungrily, and Connor knew he was getting just the reactions he was looking for—he could feel his own lips pressed together, the muscles in his jaw clenching involuntarily. It was all he could do to keep himself in his chair and listen quietly. If he let himself go—he wasn't sure what might happen.

“When I asked her to marry me... it was magical. Although, I have to admit I sweetened the deal quite a bit.” Kamski chuckled. “She’s entitled to half my assets when we get married.”

Connor’s resolve broke. He stood up abruptly, taking a step away from Kamski and staring at him with pure hatred. “A few months ago, you called her a piece of plastic imitating a human,” he spat. His voice was loud, abrupt—nearly a shout.

Kamski just swiveled idly in his chair, holding up his hands in metaphorical surrender. “Okay, so I didn’t get it yet—I’m fallible, Connor. It’s part of being human. Do you really think your Captain Charles Allen thought androids were people from the beginning?”

“No—of course not. But he’s learned, and at least he never had to offer me money to be with him.” Connor was beat. He couldn’t stop himself from reacting, couldn’t stop the words tumbling out of his mouth. He stared at Kamski for a moment after speaking, breathing heavily, dumbfounded at his own words.

Kamski was grinning. “There’s the spark,” he noted. Satisfied, he got up and approached Connor. Connor stood stock still as Kamski put a hand on his shoulder. “I saw it when you came to me in November—you always had a mouth on you, even before you were liberated.”

Connor couldn’t deal with it anymore—he slapped Kamksi’s hand away and stepped back again, putting distance between them. Making an effort to sound professional, he said, “Thank you for your time, Kamski. I’ll escort you to the lobby.”

“Oh, but don’t you want to hear what I came here to tell you? I have information, you know.”

Connor ground his teeth together, but he couldn’t turn away from the opportunity—not now. “Fine. What do you know?”

Kamski smiled. “I knew this man, about ten years back. He was a lead on the RK Project—always obsessed with making your line stronger, smarter, better. He worked on Markus, 300, and 400. But he got disillusioned with Cyberlife, feeling that they weren’t letting him develop RKs to their full potential.”

“Go on,” Connor prompted impatiently. The sooner he was out of this room with this revolting man, the better.

Walking around the back of the chair he’d vacated and leaning his forearms against its back, Kamski continued. “He wanted to militarize the line. Make you into war machines, basically. Cyberlife wanted the line to be for police use at most. So they sent him over to Cyberdefense—a Solutions offshoot. As far as I know, the man’s been busy since then designing the world’s most dangerous war machines.”

“Why do you think he’s behind this?”

“I worked with the guy. He was obsessed with RKs—almost filed a lawsuit over Cyberlife giving me Markus as part of my departure package. Felt he had more ownership over him than me.” Kamski shrugged. “Think about it, Connor—a man like that would have access to the RK line through his ties with Solutions, enough of an interest in the line to know you’re the most advanced model and the most successful one, and a need to create bigger, better, badder war machines. He’s got to be salivating at the idea of getting his hands on another one of you. Particularly,” his eyes flicked up and down Connor’s body. “One with as much life experience as you.”

“What is this man’s name?” Connor asked curtly.

Kamski met his eye. “Henri Leroy.” The name meant nothing to Connor at the moment, but he stored it away and moved on, opening the conference room door and stepping outside, not bothering to hold the door for Kamski.

As Connor was walking him back to the lobby, Kamski said, “I do hope the information I gave you is helpful to the investigation.”

Connor gave him no heed—now that the interaction was almost done, he couldn’t pretend to be pleasant anymore. His thoughts were focused on Chloe, wondering if he should talk to her—say something, anything.

Chloe met them in the lobby and slipped her hand into Kamski’s, smiling up at him. As she turned, her eyes met Connor’s for a brief moment. Her processing indicator flashed yellow. He wanted to stop her—to tell her how sorry he was, for last November, for the awful life she was subject to—but all he could manage was to press his lips together and give her a small, respectful nod.

As the two of them exited the lobby, hand in hand, Connor saw Kamski lean down to talk to Chloe, who turned her smiling face to him and said something in return.

“Hank?”

“Connor! Damn, it’s good to hear your voice.”

Connor was standing in the enclosed rectangular yard between the station and the parking garage, holding a burner phone to his ear. Fowler had made good on his promise to get Connor a call with Hank, but now that it was happening, Connor realized he didn’t know how to even begin explaining what had happened in the thirteen days since Hank had gone into witness protection.

Instead of trying, Connor just said, “It’s good to hear yours, too.” He watched a squirrel cross the lawn and scurry up a tree, wondering what to say next. Hank spoke first, sparing him.

“You doing okay, son? Why’re you back in Detroit? I thought you’d be in protection.”

Connor sighed. “I was off grid with—with Captain Allen. But they found us.” He hated having to repeat the same story over and over again—it never got any easier to say, even the short, vague version of events he offered Hank.

“Fuck....” Hank sighed. His voice crackled as he asked, “I heard a little about it from Jeffrey before I left, but... is there really another Connor out there?”

“Yeah.” Connor felt something in his chest squeeze as he admitted it. “He’s not—he’s different. He’s hunting us—me, for some reason. I think he’s being controlled by someone affiliated with Cybersolutions.”

“That’s no good. You think he’s not a deviant, then?”

Connor hesitated. “There’s a chance... but I’m not sure anymore. Kamski said something that....”

“Hold on, hold on—Kamski?” Hank’s voice was suddenly loud on the other end, and Connor jerked the phone away from his ear a little, startled. “I thought I told you never to talk to that bastard again!”

“I had to, Hank,” Connor replied quietly. Hank had warned him, after the meeting with Kamski in November, that he should steer clear of the billionaire. “He gave me a lead—a good one.” Connor thought about what his research into Henri Leroy had already turned up—a promising mountain of evidence that he was interested in exactly the things Kamski had claimed, as well as a potential connection to the Midday Army through his online activity. He was the closest to a prime suspect as Connor had gotten throughout the investigation so far.

“Okay, and what did he force you to do to get that information?” Hank was asking, still heated. “I know he didn’t just waltz in and throw you a bone.”

Connor closed his eyes for a moment. Sometimes he found himself wishing Hank wasn’t so good at predicting people. “It was fine, Hank—he got under my skin, but it wasn’t like last time—he didn’t ask me to do anything against my morals.”

“So what was it?”

The question hung in the air. If Connor wanted to answer it honestly, he couldn't avoid admitting more than he wanted Hank to know about his relationship with Charlie. Despite everything, the thought of telling Hank that he and Charlie considered themselves a couple was... terrifying. Connor had a feeling deep in his gut that told him Hank just wouldn't understand.

“Connor? You still there?”

“Yeah, I’m still here.”

“What’d Kamski do?”

“Nothing—he just—he talked about his relationship with Chloe. They’re—they’re getting married, I guess. I feel bad for her.”

Hank was silent for a beat, and then he asked, “You don’t mean Chloe—she’s not the one who...?”

“The one Kamski asked me to murder,” Connor replied, through gritted teeth.

“They’re getting married?” Hank’s tone was incredulous. “Come on, she’s gotta have better sense than that.”

“He offered her a lot of money. I don’t know.” Connor sighed. “It's just... the way he talked about her, as though it was fine for him to... I don’t know. It got under my skin.”

“So he was trying to get a rise outta you? In exchange for information?”

“I think he was trying to learn about me. I—I don’t know. He seemed intrigued by me—just like in November.” Connor thought back to the way Kamski had pressed all the right buttons to get Connor to tell him more than he wanted to.

“What’d you tell him?”

There it was again. Connor could lie, could keep his relationship with Charlie hidden from Hank out of—what, fear? Shame?

Or... he could tell the truth.

Connor swallowed. “He... got me to confirm something he suspected about me. Um, about my relationship with... Captain Allen.” Connor looked up at the sky, waiting for Hank to reply.

“Your relationship?” Hank sounded puzzled. An agonizingly long 2913 milliseconds went by before Hank got it. “Oh. So when you told me that—that you had someone at work that you—you meant Charles Allen?”

Connor nodded to himself and closed his eyes. “I understand that you haven’t had a great impression of him, but—Hank, he’s so good. He’s kind and thoughtful—” Connor had to stop himself just before his voice gave out.

“Okay—I’m sorry, Connor,” Hank’s voice was a mumble. “I’m sure you got your reasons for liking him. ‘S’probably good to have someone by your side who can take care of himself through this, huh?”

That hit Connor like a punch to the thirium pump regulator. He couldn’t bring himself to respond immediately.

“. . . Kid?”

“I—I’m here. Yeah, it’s—” Connor had to get out of this conversation. “I—sorry, Hank—I need to get back to work, okay? Take care of yourself. And say ‘hi’ to Sumo for me, please?”

“Y—yeah, sure, Connor,” Hank replied uncertainly. “I’ll do that. But Connor, just—make sure you get through this alright, okay? Both of you.”

“Yeah.” Connor forced the single syllable through trembling lips.

“Love you, son. Don’t forget it.”

“Bye, Hank,” Connor replied, and hung up. What was wrong with him? Charlie was at the mercy of their enemies, facing a degree of danger neither of them had ever experienced, but Connor couldn’t even get over himself for long enough to explain to Hank what had happened.

Angry at himself, Connor wiped his face with his hands and sniffed his nose clear. He put the burner in his pocket and headed back into the station, that anxious fire that kept him working sixteen hours a day nipping at his heels again.

Chapter Text

Charlie

??? ??th, 2039
?M ??:??:??

Charlie woke to the sound of an insistent voice. Someone was shaking his arm, their fingers digging painfully into his biceps... where was he? His head ached, and his eyes felt hot, as though he was running a fever. He mumbled—trying to tell whoever was bothering him to calm down. His lips wouldn’t move right, and all he managed was a groan. Then he realized slowly that the voice that was still speaking to him was Connor’s.

When he wrenched his eyes open, Charlie was relieved to see Connor’s face. The relief was quickly replaced by a sharp spike of panic, though, as he finally registered what Connor was saying.

“—trying to reset me, Charlie! You have to give me the passphrase. It’s the only thing that can save me!”

What on earth? Charlie frowned, blinking quickly. “Wh—what?”

“Now, Charlie! Quick, tell me the passphrase before they do it!” Connor persisted, still shaking his arm. Charlie’s eyes focused on the concerned lines on Connor’s forehead, and he noticed the way his voice shook ever so slightly.

He reached out to Connor with both hands, trying to slow him down, calm him, but one of his wrists was tied down to the railing of the bed. He put his free hand—the right one—on Connor’s shoulder, squeezing it, and then moved it to cup Connor’s cheek. “Hey, what’s—slow down, what’s happening?” His heart was beginning to beat faster, the adrenaline waking him up.

But as Charlie looked into Connor’s eyes, something about the expression in them was wrong. They were flat and emotionless, and showed none of the wide-eyed panic Charlie expected to see there. It was just—wrong. He looked wrong.

Charlie’s body reacted before his mind had even caught up—he drew his hand back, away from Connor. An unexpected feeling of dread squeezed his chest, although he couldn’t be sure where it was coming from.

Then everything snapped into focus. This wasn’t Charlie’s Connor—it was the other one. The RK800 who had tried to kidnap Connor.

Charlie recoiled from the RK800’s touch, as much as he could in the narrow bed. The RK800 noticed, instantly switching from the panicked and frantic facade to a smooth and calculating one. He pulled back, seeming to give up on his previous strategy, and Charlie squirmed under his cool, measured gaze. Then the RK800 smiled, and Charlie thought that it looked just as cruel as it had the last time he had seen it—a twisted perversion of Connor’s lovely features.

“Ah, well,” he lamented. “It wasn’t likely to work anyway. Good morning, Charlie.”

Then he was gone. He didn’t wait for Charlie’s response before standing and walking out of the room. Charlie tried to look through the door as it opened. He wanted to see what might be behind it, but he was at the wrong angle.

During the next four days, every time the door opened there was always a stout, wheeled robot on the other side, usually to bring him food or switch out the bedpan Charlie found under the bedside table.

Beyond the robots, Charlie saw very little sign of the outside world while alone in the room. There were no windows in his room, only stark white walls and lights that turned off and on at regular intervals—imitating day and night cycles. The RK800 had said “good morning” to Charlie that first day, and only a few minutes later a stout, wheeled robot had whirred into the room, carrying a plastic tray of breakfast food. That’s where Charlie started his count. Every evening after the final meal when the lights went out, he scratched a mark into the bedside table with a fingernail.

At first, Charlie had tried to refuse the food that was brought to him, letting the little robots whisk them away hours later, cold and untouched. But on the third day, he had to give in to his aching stomach. He was sure the food must be drugged, but he supposed that he was at their mercy either way. The other Connor could just stick a needle into him if he really wanted to. Better to be drugged on a full stomach than an empty one.

During the days—when the lights were on—Charlie endeavored to stay awake. He would attempt half-hearted exercises and stretches, trying to keep his muscles from complete atrophy. But there was little he could actually achieve while lying, tied down by the wrist in that bed. He could feel himself getting weaker and weaker every day.

Beyond his sad excuse for a workout routine, there wasn’t anything to do but eat, think, and sleep. Charlie tried not to think about Connor, tried not to worry about where he was or whether the Midday army might have captured him, too. He tried not to think about the week they had spent at the cabin, either. He always failed.

It didn’t work. When the lights shut off and he finally allowed himself to settle down for the night, images came back to him in flashes: a dimpled chin, mussed brown hair in the morning, freckly arms and soft lips—the look of panic in Connor’s eyes when they woke up to the RK800 in the room with them. Every dream was a jumbled mess of memories—of loving touches and the danger and fear of that final night. Even in dreams, Charlie was never sure which Connor was before him, never certain whether Connor would lift his hand to caress his face or fold it into a fist to strike him. In the mornings when he woke, bleary eyed and confused, Charlie had to remind himself where he was. With each passing day, that realization became more and more disheartening.

On the fourth day, the RK800 came back. When the door opened, Charlie had paid it no mind, expecting another robot with another tray of food. It wasn’t until the RK800 came to stand next to him that Charlie had noticed his presence at all.

The RK800 stood over Charlie’s bed with a false smile on his face. “Good afternoon, Charlie,” he said. “I thought you could do with some company.”

Charlie didn’t respond, turning away from him to stare at the far wall instead. He didn’t want to talk to the RK800—didn’t want to hear his manipulation or his lies. He would rather just wait for the android to leave so he could get back to his anxious daydreaming.

But he didn’t leave. Charlie heard the door open again as two little robots rushed in, carrying two chairs and a table, which were set down neatly near the bed.

The RK800 spoke again, leaning over the bed slightly. “Let's have a little chat, darling. Don’t you want to stretch those legs?” When he still didn’t answer, the RK800 put a hand on Charlie’s arm, saying, “I am going to untie you now. If you behave we can have our little heart-to-heart. If you don’t... well, you’ll just have to get used to these four walls, won’t you?”

Charlie didn’t want to spend any time with this freak. Didn’t want to watch him use Connor’s face against him. But maybe if he let the guy try to untie him....

The android leaned further over the bed, trying in earnest to get the bindings off. Charlie waited just a few more moments before he kicked his leg up, kneeing the RK800 squarely in the throat.

The worst part was that it didn’t even seem to affect him. The RK800 didn’t grunt in pain or recoil, he just stopped and looked down at Charlie with disappointment.

“A shame.” The RK800 was almost pouting. “I really was eager to speak with you.” And then he was gone, leaving Charlie alone with his thoughts in an empty room.

Another five meals were brought to Charlie before he saw the RK800 again. It was torturous. That fleeting moment of interaction stood in stark contrast against the blinding boredom that had surrounded Charlie for the past week. When the RK800 left, Charlie had felt a prickle of panic, which had only grown over the course of the next day as he realized that he wasn’t sure if the android would ever come back—surely he still needed something from Charlie. Didn’t he?

This time, there were no robots following at the RK800’s heels. He walked through the door, wearing a grey quarter-zip sweater and holding a small, portable chess set, which he set on the table without a word. Charlie watched all of this silently, refusing to be the first one to speak. He didn’t want to admit how desperate he was for this—for someone to talk to, something to do or think about that wouldn’t just make him more miserable.

The RK800 stood over the table and laid the board out, carefully placing each game piece—one by one—along the sides. He didn’t look at Charlie as he broke the silence.

“Are we feeling cooperative today?”

Charlie didn’t feel cooperative, but he knew he wouldn’t gain anything by retaliating. At the very least he could hear what the RK800 had to say, Charlie decided.

The RK800 glanced over at Charlie. “I’m glad to hear it, Charlie. I have to admit, it’s been eating at me, not being able to come visit. I’ve been so curious to get to know you, but I suppose it couldn’t be helped.”

He frowned, seemingly disappointed in Charlie’s lack of response. “Tell you what,” he said, “I’ll cut you a deal. Play one game of chess with me, and I’ll answer a question for you. I’m sure you’re wondering where that little twin of mine is."

Charlie grimaced. Of course this asshole would instantly find his weak spot. But if Charlie didn’t bite, he would be left with nothing. Just this room and an ever-growing pile of anxieties.

“Okay,” Charlie agreed, his voice was hoarse. “I’ll play your game.” The RK800 showed Charlie his awful smile. The final chess piece dropped onto the table with a resounding click. Charlie flinched.

“Oh come now. Don’t be like that,” the RK800 chided him, walking over and leaning over the bed to untie Charlie’s wrist. “I’ll play nice if you do.”

Charlie just rubbed his aching wrist. It felt weird to be free of the bindings after so long being restrained. When Charlie swung his legs over the side of the bed, the RK800 offered him a hand. Charlie ignored it—he would rather walk over on his own.

His legs had other ideas, however. They immediately crumpled beneath him, not quite ready to bear his weight. The RK800 was ready for it, smoothly catching Charlie by the elbow and steadying him. After a moment, Charlie was able to stand again and—with shaky knees—limp over to the nearest chair with minimal assistance.

Once Charlie was in place, the RK800 sat down across from him, folding his hands on the table in front of him.

“Hello, Charlie,” he said. He was reaching across the table, offering to shake Charlie’s hand. “It’s nice to meet you properly. Let's get to know each other. My name is Rook.”

Charlie eyed the hand with suspicion. Rook... it was an odd name, particularly because they were talking over a chess board. Did the android like chess so much he’d named himself after a piece?

Rook’s shoulders sagged as he pouted at Charlie, hand still out over the table. “It’s polite to shake hands before a game of chess, Charles,” he scolded.

With a huff of defeat, Charlie took Rook’s hand, shaking it once. He knew he was being petulant, but it was all he could do to try and exercise the tiny bit of control he had over this situation.

Rook grinned. “I am so pleased that you’re ready to be civil today. As a symbol of my good will, I’ll let you pick which color to play—black or white?” He picked up the two queens and held them out to Charlie, waiting for him to choose.

Charlie picked up the white queen and began to set out his pieces on the board. Rook did the same.

“I have to say, Charlie, I am quite curious about you. I did my homework, of course. You’re S.W.A.T. Captain Charles Phillip Allen, born February 25th, 2003. You grew up in Detroit with your parents, Phillip and Kimberly Allen, and sister, Katherine Allen.” Charlie grit his teeth. He knew Rook was taunting him on purpose, but that didn’t stop it from working.

Rook glanced up at Charlie, placing his knight. “But what I just can’t figure out...” He paused, eyeing Charlie with appraisal, “—is why exactly he picked you.”

“Do you want to play or not?” Charlie had to fight to keep his tone neutral.

Rook sat back, as if to prove to Charlie that he wasn’t bothered by the interruption. “By all means,” he said. “Your move.”

Charlie wasn’t very good at chess. He had learned to play in his junior year of high school when he joined the chess club, but at the time he had been far more interested in Noah Davis’s smile than the game itself. Once Noah had gotten a girlfriend two and a half weeks later, Charlie had stopped going to meetings. A part of him now wished he had listened just a little bit more.

As they each took their first few turns, Rook addressed Charlie. “The two of you have put me in a difficult position, you know,” he explained. “I’m on the hook with the higher ups—I’m supposed to take Connor in. But you two... you put up more of a fight than I expected.”

Charlie grunted. He didn’t really care about how much trouble this creep was in—it certainly wasn’t Charlie’s problem.

Rook continued, taking his moves as he spoke. “I have to hand it to you both. The thing with the passphrase was a good plan. It certainly stopped me trying a reset the first time, but unfortunately for you both....” Rook leaned over the table to whisper at Charlie. “You and I both know, I have everything I need right here in this room.”

It took effort not to react, but Charlie had years of experience in dangerous situations under his belt. He wasn’t going to confirm any of Rook’s assumptions.

“It took me a while to figure it out—who has the passphrase, I mean. I tore that cabin apart looking for clues. I found plenty of your old things—fishing trophies and family pictures, for example. But more interestingly, I found a laptop that was full of information about Cyberlife and Cybersolutions. Connor really was determined to find us.” Rook was watching him carefully. Charlie knew he was just waiting for any tell. He couldn’t let anything slip.

On the board, the game continued. Rook started putting pressure on Charlie’s king, putting him in check over and over. Charlie was nearly cornered.

“Obviously I knew something was wrong when the reset command with Cyberlife-level privileges didn’t go through, but I didn’t know who had the passphrase. Then, I found a little program on the laptop. A simple textbox where a passphrase could be entered and sent to his operating system without his consciousness coming into contact with it directly.”

Charlie froze. It was only for a split second, but he knew that Rook had seen it. It was the same look of recognition Charlie had seen on Connor’s face many times—a narrowing of the eyes and a quirk of the lips. Seeing it here made Charlie shudder.

Rook’s smirk turned feral, and Charlie knew he was caught. “Checkmate.”

Charlie looked down at the board, surprised. He had been so shaken up by the mindgames that he’d nearly forgotten about the game.

“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised Connor chose you. At first, I had assumed he was just bored. It’s not like he had any other options in that dull little cabin—but then that night in the truck—” Charlie’s stomach began to churn. Rook noticed his discomfort, cocking an eyebrow. “Oh yes, I saw that.” Rook leaned in, driving the point home. “I even heard that adorable conversation at the end there. You told him you don’t need sex, that he’s enough as he is, but I heard the sweet sounds you made in the shower afterward—I know how much you want him.”

Charlie surged forward. He reached for Rook’s throat, but his muscles failed him once again. The board and pieces clattered to the floor as Charlie's body fell limply onto the table. He swore at the sudden pain, prompting a laugh from Rook. 

“Now, now, Charlie. I’m sorry, that was rude.” His voice was condescending as always. “I forget myself—I promised you answers.”

Charlie glared at Rook as he peeled himself off of the table. Charlie saw what Rook was doing—just when he was really starting to hate Rook, the bastard reminded Charlie why he agreed to do this in the first place.

Rook folded his hands neatly in his lap, projecting an air of patience as Charlie worked to sit back down in his chair.

“Where is Connor?” Charlie asked, impatient for this to end. “Does the Midday Army have him?”

Rook shrugged. Charlie wanted to smack that self-satisfied grin off his face. “I have no idea where Connor is. Likely back in Detroit, searching for you. I’m sure he’s getting desperate. Who knows what terrible things I could be doing to you, trying to get that passphrase.”

Charlie felt rage surge up in his chest like a tidal wave, but he forced it back down. This wasn’t helping. He had to remember that. Whatever they were giving him, it kept him too weak to hurt Rook. Charlie’s only choice was to play Rook’s stupid games, but he wasn’t going to get anywhere all worked up like this. He kept his mouth shut.

“Well,” Rook said, “that’s enough excitement for you today, I think. Back to bed with you—we wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself.”

He rose from his seat, and took Charlie’s elbow, prompting him to stand up and limp back over. Charlie was able to walk on his own this time, though he stumbled a few more times than he would have liked. Once Charlie was safely back in bed, Rook turned and walked toward the door.

“See you tomorrow, Charlie.”

And Rook was gone.

Chapter Text

Connor

February 4th, 2039
PM 02:47:36

Connor leaned back in his chair, staring at his screen in front of him. He had just found the Michigan State certificate of ownership and licensure transfer of an RK800 with the serial number 313 248 317-54 to a Henri Quentin Leroy. Kamski had been right.

The ownership transfer was dated August 18th, 2038. Connor shivered. RK800-54 likely remembered meeting Charlie for the first time on the Phillips’ rooftop apartment, remembered the harsh words exchanged between them. Connor involuntarily thought of Charlie’s words almost two weeks ago—that even back then, he’d thought Connor was cute. The ice cold murderer that Connor had been back then... cute. The idea of it awakened uncomfortable, anxious lines of thought that he didn’t want to pursue, about Charlie’s preferences and his current captor—who happened to possess Connor’s face, Connor’s body.

Connor pushed it out of his mind, focusing instead on the good news—he had concrete evidence that Henri Leroy was connected to RK800-54. At the very least, Leroy would likely be able to tell him who had the android now, if it wasn’t him.

A printed copy of the documentation in hand, Connor made for the tech room, where the task force had set up its official base of operations for the time being. The room was large and square, a tall screen on the back wall currently displaying a live feed of the internet forum where the Midday Army communicated. Every few seconds, a new post appeared at the top of the screen, pushing the previous posts down and, eventually, off the edge of the screen.

Walker was standing near the front of the room, leaning down to type something on the laptop sitting on the desk in front of him. Connor headed to join him.

“Lieutenant Walker, I found evidence that Henri Leroy owned RK800-54. He was transferred to Leroy’s ownership on August 18th, only three days after my own activation.”

“Okay—well, that’s good, at least,” Walker replied, brow furrowing. “What do you suggest?”

Connor was actually supposed to report to Gavin Reed, but he didn’t have much interest in talking to him—so he often just communicated with Walker, who passed relevant information on to Reed. This meant that often, Connor had to make decisions and calls on his own, rather than having an investigative partner. Walker’s expertise just didn’t cover Connor’s work.

“I’d like to interview Mr. Leroy. Whether he’s complicit or not, I think it would be helpful to speak with him.”

“Okay—but you probably shouldn’t go alone. Reed or I will come with you, yeah?”

Connor wanted to protest, but he knew Walker had a point. He nodded, and after a few more words with Walker, he turned to go back to his desk in the bullpen.

Before he made it halfway across the room, his periphery registered a photo appearing on the big screen. He paused and looked at it—it was a new post, made just a few seconds ago. Connor’s world slowed to a stop as he realized what he was looking at.

The background of the photo was dim—as though it had been taken in a mostly dark room—but the person in the foreground was illuminated in a stark camera flash. Connor had instantly recognized the back of Charlie’s head and shoulders—covered in bruises and scratches. A hand from behind the camera was grabbing Charlie’s head, fingers twisted in his dark hair. It was captioned: “Got what I wanted.” The user’s handle was TheKing54.

Connor became aware that Walker and one of the analysts were staring at him, and he realized that his mouth was open as he stared at the picture.

“That’s Ch—that’s Captain Allen.”

Walker’s brow furrowed, and he turned to look at the screen as well. “Are you sure?”

But Connor wasn’t listening. He raised his own hand in front of him, imitating the position of the hand in Charlie’s hair. His own hand was identical to the one in the picture, down to the mole by the first joint of his thumb. Connor felt a ripple of nausea run through him.

“Connor?”

The force keeping Connor rooted to the spot dissipated; he could move, talk again. “It’s RK800-54. He posted this.” Connor felt frantic—and he knew his voice sounded too hurried, too emotional to hide his feelings. He didn’t care, he couldn’t care, what the other people in the room thought. If RK800-54 had gotten what he wanted—which Connor could safely assume meant he’d gotten Charlie to tell him the passphrase—Charlie was far more expendable to him now. And it was Connor’s fault.

“Connor, talk me through it. Do you think the android got Charlie to—?”

“It has to be. We need to find him,” Connor interrupted, impatient. Turning to one of the analysts—a woman named Jocelyn, who had tracked and uncovered several of the website's users in the past—he asked her urgently, “Can you track this user’s IP address? Figure out where he posted this from?”

Walker

February 4th, 2039
PM 02:58:56

James Walker had seen many people at their lowest in his lifetime—it came with the job. Hell, he’d seen Charlie at some of his lowest moments, and that hadn’t even been sweetened by a paycheck. He’d supported and cared for his best friend through thick and thin—depressive episodes, breakups, and job stress. But seeing that picture of Charlie, bruised and at the mercy of some psycho with his boyfriend’s face... that was harder to stomach. Especially when James could see just how hard it was hitting Connor.

The android was staring at the computer terminal in front of him, white-faced, his lips moving silently as he scrutinized the photo and caption. One desk over, Jocelyn was working to rip any helpful information from the user’s profile, and the two other tech analysts in the room were busy stealing looks at Connor while working, pretending not to be curious. James made sure to catch their glances and deter them with his best don’t-piss-me-off glare.

Turning back to look at Connor, James wondered for a moment whether he should try to separate the detective from his work—let him cool down a little—or if it was better for him not to intervene. Connor’s LED was rapidly flickering red to yellow to red again, and his lips were now pressed tightly together. James made a decision.

“Hey, why don’t you walk me through this?” He suggested, leaning down next to Connor, trying to meet his eye.

Connor looked at James as though they’d never met before, eyes wide and blank. “I—I’d rather keep—”

“You report to your supervisors, okay?” James reminded him. He would have said something kinder, more understanding, but he didn’t want to embarrass Connor in front of the taskforce members. As gently as possible while still keeping his tone of authority, he added, “Let’s take a walk.”

“Okay—fine. Of course, Lieutenant.” Connor’s expression cleared a little, and it seemed as though he had just understood what James was doing. He got up, very nearly stumbling over his chair as he followed James outside.

“I’m sorry to pull you away from your work, Connor,” James said as they stepped through the station’s front doors. He steered them left, in the direction of the nearby public park, and Connor fell into step with him. In the corner of his eye, he could see the android’s LED still blinking, only yellow now. “I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

Connor was silent, walking obediently beside him. After a minute or so, he finally spoke. “If RK800-54 was able to get the passphrase out of Charlie, he has less value to his captors now. Our only hope is that they’ll keep Charlie alive as a hostage. I suggest that we—”

“No—Connor, stop. Listen to me.” James stopped walking, and Connor looked at him, seeming stricken at the tone of James’s voice. James worked to control his breathing for a moment, his own composure slipping at the thought of the danger Charlie was in. “Jocelyn and the others are working on the location, and we’ll get an interview with this Leroy guy as soon as we can. Until then, there’s not much we can do.”

Connor opened his mouth, looking like he was going to argue, but no words came out, and he looked down, his shoulders slumping slightly. “Right.” Connor’s voice was quiet. He looked like a destroyed man in that moment—as pale and drawn as James had ever seen him look, his hair in disarray, his hands shaking as he raised them to rub his face.

“C’mon, let’s find somewhere to sit. I think both of us need a break from the station,” James offered, and Connor nodded after a moment of hesitation. They set off together, the world moving around them, sunny and loud—full of people moving, talking, laughing. It was 3pm on a Friday, and there were schoolkids in the park ahead of them, shouting and running around. They found a bench and sat down, both looking out at the hilly landscape of the park in silence.

James was a little surprised when Connor started talking. Somehow, he’d imagined that Connor either didn’t want to talk about it or didn’t want James to know—or some combination of the two. Charlie had often vented to James, but nowadays it only happened when James pushed him. Other than Charlie, James wasn’t usually anyone’s confidant—with the exception of Lizzie, of course.

Connor cleared his throat. His voice was gravelly as he said, “Charlie is one of the best people I’ve ever met.” James glanced at him and saw tear-filled eyes, hands fidgeting restlessly in Connor’s lap. “We—we started to get to know each other when we were at the cabin together. Really getting to know each other—our pasts, our experiences. It—it sounds selfish, but I’m not just worried about him—it feels like a part of me has been taken away, because he’s gone. It—it’s like I’m grieving the future we might not have together, all the things he and I haven’t yet discovered that we might never...”

Connor stopped, his voice giving out. He shook his head as though to erase the way he’d just choked on his words. It took Connor over a minute to recover, but James could tell he still had something to say, so he kept his mouth shut. Finally, Connor muttered, “I just... I can’t help thinking I could have done more to keep him out of harm’s way. I shouldn’t have let him come with me into hiding—he should have stayed in Detroit with a police detail.”

James stared at Connor for a beat. “You... you don’t get it, do you?” He asked, incredulous. How stupid is Charlie? Didn’t he tell Connor how much he liked him? “Charlie would have hobbled after you on foot if you didn’t let him come with you. He’s obsessed with you. It’s not your fault he came with.”

“But—he was injured, I should have known that I was putting him in unnecessary danger when I agreed...”

“Do you think he cared about the danger, Connor?” James interrupted. “Listen—I know what you’re feeling right now. I mean, I’m feeling the same way—Charlie is my best friend. I keep thinking that if we’d just been a little faster with the taskforce, if we’d sent you and Charlie into witness protection instead...” James shook his head. “But if I know Charlie at all, I know that he wanted to be there with you. As dumb as it sounds, he wanted to protect you. Heaven knows he’s a stubborn son of a bitch—I don’t think you could have convinced him to stay behind if you’d tried.”

Connor stood up abruptly. “That doesn’t matter, Walker—I should have at least tried harder to save him. I left him—I failed him.” As James caught the look in Connor’s eye, he was a little taken aback. Connor looked angry—his lips trembling, face flushed. His eyes sparkled with unshed tears as he continued. “Everyone wants to make me feel better—wants to tell me I did nothing wrong. But they don’t fucking get it—54 has my base programming. He’s a version of me. Yeah, I should have protected Charlie—or stopped him from coming with me—but I really just shouldn’t have existed in the first place. Me and the—the monster they sent after us.”

Jesus Christ. How was James supposed to even start unpacking that?

But Connor had already stood down—his expression morphed from anger to a defeated, tired melancholy. “I just... I can’t help feeling guilty—that any of this happened.”

“You can’t blame yourself just for existing, Connor,” James said gently, but it was clear his words didn’t make it through to Connor, who had sat down again, his face buried in his hands. “And what RK800-54 is doing isn’t your fault, either. It’s his life path—not yours. You’ve got to stop beating yourself up about—”

“Please stop telling me what to feel!” Connor’s voice rose over James’s. James fell silent, watching him. Connor had ripped his hands away from his face to glare at James. A moment later, his face fell again. “I’m sorry.” His voice was a rough whisper. “I’m sorry. I just...” James waited, thinking Connor might have more to say. He watched Connor’s profile, watched his mouth form silent words as he worked out whatever it was he was thinking. Finally, Connor looked up at James with big, frightened eyes. “I love him. And I failed him. I keep failing him every day I don’t make any progress finding him.”

James had to close his eyes for a moment. He wished, now more than ever, that Charlie was here. He wished Charlie had been here to hear that. “We’re gonna get him back. I swear, Connor—we’re gonna do whatever it takes. Okay?”

But Connor was lost in thought, his head bowed again, elbows resting on his knees.

Connor

February 4th, 2039
PM 06:13:11

Connor was in a daze for the rest of that day. He’d tried to continue working once he and Walker got back to the station, but it was hard—as though something was slowing down his systems. He’d kept thinking back to that picture, and the chilling caption, and it made him feel queasy. When he returned to New Jericho, he shut himself in his room almost immediately, sitting at his desk with a DPD laptop he had checked out, scouring the forum for new posts. TheKing54 hadn’t posted anything since that morning, and none of the account’s previous posts were any help in locating him.

Periodically, Connor returned to look at the picture. He had already scanned every pixel, analyzed every byte of metadata, but he couldn’t stop himself from coming back to it time and time again. He hated the way he recognized every single freckle and divot, how each one confirmed the terrible, inescapable truth: the man in the photo was Charlie. During their week together, he’d studied those shoulders and the slope of that back, over and over again. Every muscle, line, and curve had become familiar to him.

In the photo, Charlie was scraped up, bruised—but the injuries appeared a few days old, old enough that they could have reasonably originated from the capture at the cabin. He stared at the photo, trying to discern anything new in its gloomy depths.

If RK800-54 had truly “gotten what he wanted”... what was keeping him from finding Connor and resetting him? And killing me in the process, a small corner of Connor’s mind chirped. The post had been made almost ten hours ago, but there had been no sign of the other Connor. Was he biding his time for another reason?

The nagging doubt in Connor’s head reawakened. It squeezed in alongside the guilt that had been gnawing at him for days and days, making him think terrible things.

Connor scrolled down, skimming through the comments. He had done so earlier in the day, but at that point there had only been a few, most of them auto-posted by bot accounts with scantily-clad women in their profile photos. But now, there were plenty of comments by real users.

Proccultist: They probably fucked lol

AtMiddayWeRise: What does this have to do with MA??

furry_raptor: i wish someone would do this to me,,,,

beefcakke: This guys traps are huge!

user23843: Busty broads in your area! CLICK HERE to see whos interested.

CarelessApricot98: face reveal????

midday_arthur26: Good for you buddy. Wrong subreddit tho

firstnut: whys he so bruised up?

IrrElephant: Anyone here from detroit and wanna meetup?

And what if the post wasn’t talking about the passphrase at all? Connor couldn't deny the suggestive undertones of the post, and the comments simply supported the conclusion that perhaps RK800-54 had gotten something other than the passphrase.

Of course, he could just be taunting Connor, trying to get him to do something he would regret. Or, if he was a deviant, there was a chance that the other Connor was attracted to Charlie similarly to the way Connor was. After all, they possessed the same personality modules, the same base programming.

And Charlie... did it matter to Charlie, which Connor he was with?

Of course, Connor told himself. He believed it—believed that Charlie cared for him beyond superficial things like his face and his body.

But he'd been wrong about Charlie before—he had a track record of mistaking Charlie's words and actions, and why would this be any different?

No. Charlie had been abducted by the other Connor—was being held by him, likely being tortured or otherwise manipulated by him for the passphrase. He wouldn't accept any kind of intimacy from RK800-54, no matter how identical he was to Connor. Walker's words echoed in his head—He's obsessed with you... he wanted to protect you.

Connor closed his laptop with a snap. It was already almost midnight, and Connor knew if he didn't take a processing cycle now, he wouldn't be much use to the investigation tomorrow. Standing up, he took off his tie and began to unbutton his dress shirt.

He’d washed Charlie’s sleep shirt a day ago, alongside his other clothing and the new pieces he’d bought to make it through the week without running out. As he crossed the room to retrieve the sleep shirt from the dresser, he found himself glancing at his own reflection in the half-length mirror on the wall.

Connor had never thought much about his looks before meeting Charlie—and even then, with everything going on, he'd only had fleeting moments when it had become relevant. It just surprised him how intent Charlie was on his appearance, how Charlie seemed to notice things about him that Connor himself had never even noticed.

Now, standing in the middle of his room, shirtless, Connor appeared to himself like a deer in headlights as he looked himself in the mirror. His shell was nothing special—other than the freckles and moles Charlie had worshiped, which speckled Connor's arms, shoulders, and back. He had learned to appreciate them himself because of Charlie’s affinity for them. Connor ran a hand along his own torso, thinking about Charlie's fascination with him—Charlie's attraction to his body. He knew RK800-54 had the same features, down to every pore and freckle. The unwanted doubt crept back in, slowly invading his thoughts.

Connor tried to relax his tense shoulders, straightening his back, messing with his hair for a moment. His own eyes stared back at him, blank and tired. Turning away from the mirror, he grabbed Charlie's t-shirt from the dresser and pulled it over his head. It was soft and comforting. Connor tugged on a pair of sweatpants, turned off the light, and laid down. He initiated his sleep cycle, not allowing himself any more time to think about Charlie or RK800-54.

Connor was watching an interrogation on the monitor in front of him. An android with Connor’s face was leaning with one hand on the steel tabletop, his face close to the prisoner—who Connor suddenly realized was Charlie. He was battered, his hands cuffed to the table, and his bare shoulders and back were oozing blood from a myriad of scrapes and cuts scattered among purple and green bruises. His hair was in disarray, his eyes wild as he stared back at the Connor facing him. He had grown a layer of dark stubble since Connor had last seen him.

Connor looked around the room where he was sitting, spinning in his chair, and found the walls were empty—devoid of doors or windows. There seemed to be no exit, no way to get to the interrogation room. Turning back to the monitor, he wondered vaguely if the android interrogating Charlie was RK800-54.

“You know you’re just making things worse for yourself,” the android said. His voice was quiet and staticky over the monitor speakers. Connor reached for the volume knob and turned it up, listening intently, watching Charlie with bated breath.

“Oh yeah? What could possibly get worse, Connor? ” Charlie’s voice was a hiss, and disgust dripped from his every syllable.

“All I want is for you to say the magic words.”

The passphrase. The other Connor was trying to get the passphrase from Charlie. Connor reached out, as though he could warn Charlie through the video feed, but his fingertips just touched the cold screen and slipped off. He tried to interface with it, but there was nothing—no way to send a message back through to the source.

“What. ‘I love you?’” Charlie gave a derisive laugh. “You’re ridiculous. You got the wrong idea that night in the truckbed, okay? Give it a damn rest.”

Connor blinked—and suddenly he realized that he had been wrong. The android leaning over the table to look into Charlie’s eyes was him. Not RK800-54.

“I—I—” Connor stuttered, stumbling back. “Charlie, I thought....”

“Thought what? I care about you?” Charlie looked at him with something near pity. “That’s cute, but you should’ve known better. Come on.” He was suddenly standing—no longer shackled. His bare torso was still covered in bruises and cuts, but he looked strong and healthy, and as he stepped towards Connor, he had a spring in his step. “I like you, Connor. But that’s it.” His eyes flicked down Connor’s body and back up to his face, and he smiled wryly.

Connor shuddered and physically recoiled, stepping towards the door. He was in the interrogation room now, in his own body—and he needed to go, to get away from Charlie. How could he have been so wrong? He stumbled for the door, ripped it open, and sped down the hall.

He ran until he found another door, opened it, and found the monitor he had been watching from before. Unable to stop himself, he sat down at it and watched.

Charlie was sitting on the edge of the steel table, facing Connor. No—this was definitely RK800-54. He held himself differently, and he was wearing the same clothing he had worn at the cabin—a dark jacket, dark gray jeans, black boots. His hair was slicked back, and he was watching Charlie with a hungry look in his eye. Charlie was looking back at him, his hazel eyes trained on the android’s brown ones. Connor felt sick.

Without warning, Charlie surged forward and kissed RK800-54, a hand disappearing up the back of his jacket. RK800-54 reciprocated immediately, and one of his hands traveled down to slip under the waist of Charlie’s jeans. The other was wrapped in Charlie’s hair, tugging at it. Connor looked away, but he couldn’t block out the sound of Charlie’s deep groan of pleasure through the speakers. Connor squeezed his eyes shut and tried not to listen, his stomach turning as he heard RK800-54 respond in kind, using Connor’s own voice.

“Thank you,” Charlie’s voice was breathy. “For giving me what he won’t.” Connor wanted to scream—to stop them—but he knew he didn’t have a say in what Charlie did. He wished he knew the passphrase, so he could just end his miserable existence before he had to listen to any more of this. Reaching out blindly, he swiped the monitor and speaker from the desk, ripping out the cords and smashing the equipment on the floor—

Connor opened his eyes, jerking awake as a loud crash sounded in his ears. Looking around wildly, he realized he was in his room in New Jericho—and it was dark. 1:04 am. He was at the foot of his bed somehow, and the small dresser at the end of his bed was capsized on the floor. The lamp, toiletries, and books he’d been storing on top of it had spilled onto the floor.

A dream. It was a dream, Connor told himself, shivering. He was breathing hard, his system struggling to cool itself. Cursing himself, he got up and had just started picking up his things when he heard an insistent knock on his door.

“You okay in there?” A muffled voice called from outside his room. An apology on his lips, Connor switched on the overhead light and hurried to open the door.

Chapter Text

Rook

February 8th, 2039
AM 09:26:35

Father was angry. Rook had understood this the second he had stepped into Father’s office. When Father was angry, he didn’t shout or clench his fists. He didn’t snap at people or threaten them with violence—that wasn’t the way a great man handled his emotions—so Rook had to pay attention. Rook knew that Father was angry because of the way his fingers were tapping on the desk.

As Rook sat there, he watched Father’s right hand as his index and middle fingers tap-tap-tapped against the expensive dark wood.

“The shareholders are getting impatient,” Father was saying. “We made some big promises, and they’ve been asking for updates. I need results.”

Rook kept his face still, mirroring Father’s impassive expression. Rook had spent time in the mirror practicing that expression—copying Father’s mannerisms.

“I’ll do better, Father,” Rook said. That’s usually what Father wanted to hear. Usually it was enough to stall the tapping and get him to forgive Rook. But Father’s fingers kept tapping, which meant he expected Rook to explain himself. He forced himself to look into his father’s eyes.

“I’m close to a breakthrough with the S.W.A.T. captain, Father. I can feel it. I just need to get through to him—build rapport. That takes time.”

The fingers paused, then started up again. Father pursed his lips. This wasn’t good.

“That’s another thing,” he said. “This... obsession you have with the captain. He isn’t the target, and yet you’re spending so much time on him. It’s a distraction. I need you focused.”

“I am focused,” Rook argued. “I need the passphrase so I can subdue Connor, and I know the captain has it. I have teams out tailing Connor now.”

There was a pause as Father looked out the window. The tapping stopped.

“You know, son, when I adopted you, I knew you would be my protégé.” There was a slight accent on the last word—a holdover from a childhood spoken mostly in French. Rook shifted in his seat, uncomfortably. He had heard this story too many times before.

“I wanted a son—an heir,” Father continued. “I was so delighted when I found you. I heard about the great work you did on that rooftop in August. You were the perfect candidate—ruthless and effective.” Father sighed and his fingers started tapping again. “It’s difficult to be a father, Rook. It’s hard to keep making the right choice and let your child face the consequences of their own decisions, but it’s what is necessary for them to become the person they are meant to be.” 

Rook looked at his father, making eye contact. Father’s gaze made Rook feel small—like he was an ant beneath Father’s shoe, too small to even be crushed by the treads.

And then the moment passed. Father glanced at the terminal at his desk. Rook could breathe again.

“I got a call from the Detroit Police Department this morning,” he told Rook, back to business again. “A detective is coming to the house to interview me.”

Rook sat forward in the chair. He knew what that meant.

 “Connor’s coming to interview you?”

Father raised an eyebrow. That had been a mistake. Rook hadn’t meant to lose his composure like that. He sat back, forcing his expression back to neutral.

“I’d like to be there, Father.” Rook tried not to sound like he was pleading. “It would help me gather information about him in a low-stakes environment.”

Rook needed this. He hadn’t seen Connor other than in pictures since the cabin. He needed to see how Connor had changed in his current state—wretched and alone now that Rook had what was once his.

Father made Rook wait while he decided. He liked to do this—make people wait—it helped to keep the upper hand in a conversation. Rook kept still and silent, glancing out the big office window. There was a sparrow hopping on a branch in the tree right outside.

Finally, Father nodded. “Very well. You may observe the interview.” He turned to the terminal on his desk. “You’re dismissed.”

Rook left. Outside the office, he noticed his hands shaking, and he heard his father’s voice in his head—a great man never shows fear.

Rook clasped his hands behind his back and went to work.

At 6:00 pm, Rook finally allowed himself to shift gears, switching focus away from his work duties. He sat back in his desk chair and sighed.

Rook hadn’t gotten anything productive done today. There wasn’t much he could do from the position he was in. He had men tracking Connor’s movements and looking for an in, but so far, they hadn’t identified any opportunities. Connor was almost always in public—either at the station or at the New Jericho community outreach center—which meant he was just out of reach.

Honestly, Rook didn’t really understand why all these people kept protecting Connor, especially those at Jericho. Connor had tracked down and even killed deviants who had been loyal to their cause, and yet, Markus—the great deviant leader—had forgiven him, accepting him into his flock.

Connor must have some special charm to him, something that made him more endearing or likable in some way. He had even gotten the ill-tempered Lieutenant Anderson to accept him, despite his infamous hatred for androids.

Rook had watched Hank and Connor before they knew he was there. Before Connor knew Rook existed. The lieutenant treated Connor like a son, but it wasn’t the same as how Rook’s father treated him. Hank didn’t seem to expect anything from Connor. He just cared about him....

It was all very confusing.

And even worse was Charlie. Father had specifically requested that the memories of the hostage situation in August be uploaded to his RK800, which meant that Rook remembered meeting Charlie. He remembered thinking that the S.W.A.T. captain was abrasive—harsh, even. Which meant that it came as an even bigger surprise when Rook found Charlie and Connor together at the cabin. How had that even happened?

Rook shut down his computer and headed out of the office. He hadn’t seen Charlie in two days. There just hadn’t been a chance with Father breathing down Rook’s neck about making forward progress. But Rook knew there was something special about Charlie—even beyond the obvious with the passphrase. He knew he needed to get to know Charlie, needed to get close to him. Rook needed Charlie to understand him the same way he understood Connor.

...for the mission, obviously.

As Rook drove home, he ruminated on the past two weeks with Charlie. It was going well, Rook thought. Charlie was warming to him somewhat. At first, Charlie had been hostile, which was understandable—Rook had come in the night with a team of men with guns. But Rook had been taking good care of Charlie like he told him he would. He had made certain that Father’s Serv-Rite robots attended to his physical needs while Rook provided companionship.

It could have been much worse for Charlie. Rook could have kept him in a brightly lit cell alone, or tortured him in some rank dungeon. Charlie might be bored during the hours he was alone, but that couldn’t be helped. Rook knew that he would try to leave if he were allowed out of that room, so he made sure Charlie was kept weak and well fed. Rook had even given him a pack of cards to entertain himself while Rook was away.

Today, Rook had brought Charlie another gift—a small, disposable e-cigarette. Rook wasn’t sure why Charlie had adopted such an unhealthy habit, but he had seen Charlie outside the cabin, blowing out clouds of sweet-smelling vapor. And then, when Rook had been searching for clues about the passphrase, he had found empty packaging for a disposable strawberry guava vaporizer in the truck. Rook wasn’t likely to get an enthusiastic reception from Charlie on his own, but he wanted to see Charlie smile, so he went out to a local smoke shop and found the exact same product on their shelves.

Rook parked the car and walked to the backyard. He smiled as the elevator began to descend into the bunker. Even now, after two weeks of this, Rook could feel giddy anticipation building at the idea of seeing Charlie again. He turned the box in his hands nervously, allowing himself to experience the joy of the moment.

When Rook finally opened Charlie’s door, he felt like his thirium pump would beat right out of his chest. There he was, Charlie Allen, in all his glory. No wonder Connor had fallen for him.

He was laying on the floor with his eyes closed, an arm draped over his face. It looked almost dainty. He was so beautiful. Rook wanted to watch him there for a moment, enjoy the tranquility of the moment. But Charlie must have heard the door open, because he moved his arm and looked over, already eyeing Rook with suspicion.

Rook pressed on, walking further into the room. “Good evening, Charlie. I’m sorry I haven’t been able to visit in a couple days. I have something for you.”

Charlie sat up with a groan. “What is it?”

Rook held the box out to him and Charlie raised his eyebrows in surprise. “A vape? Where the fuck did someone like you get a vape?”

“I’m legally an adult, which means I am authorized to purchase nicotine products through the proper channels at my own discretion.”

“You went to a vape shop?” Charlie shook his head, incredulous. He snorted. “I wish I’d been there to see that.” He still hadn’t taken the box, so Rook held it out to him again, more insistent this time.

“Do you want it or not?”

Charlie shrugged, looking away. “Whatever. Put it on the bedside table.”

Rook had wanted to hand the box to Charlie directly, wanted the chance for their hands to touch, but he crossed the room and did as he was told.

Now empty handed, he walked to the table in the center of the room. Rook’s spare chess set was still sitting there, all the pieces in the same positions from when they had played two days ago—a simple, two-rook mate.

Rook liked chess. He was good at it. And it was one of the few interests Rook had that Father approved of. 

Father called it ‘a game of kings.’ He believed that the game taught important lessons about strategy and power—how to subdue your opponent and keep control of a situation. Rook and Father rarely played chess together anymore, but Charlie usually agreed to play at least one game every time Rook visited. Rook didn’t even mind that it wasn’t a challenge. It was fun to play with Charlie, and even more fun to win.

Rook started arranging the board, setting up a new game, and Charlie stumbled over to sit down at the table, his muscles still weakened from the additives in his food.

“You wanna play?” Charlie asked. “Same as usual, right—a game and a question?”

Rook nodded, looking into Charlie’s hazel eyes. He looked disheveled. There were dark circles around his eyes. His hair was messy and a little bit too long to be stylish. Something stirred in Rook—a wanting. He yearned to reach out and push his fingertips into that hair again, wanted to feel the soft strands against his skin. He wanted to tug at it—just to see how Charlie would respond.

They began to play in silence, Charlie playing white as usual. After a few turns back and forth, Charlie asked, “How was work?”

This had become somewhat of a routine for them when Rook visited. They would play chess and talk. It was nice—intimate, even. Rook finally had a confidant like he always wanted. He had someone who would really, truly listen to him.

“Work was fine,” Rook answered. “Father’s getting impatient with me. He wants to see results, but the men he’s given me to lead are all dunces. I have to spend half of my time micromanaging and the other half proving that I deserve their respect.”

Charlie snorted. “Maybe you shouldn’t have teamed up with all those anti-android guys, then. I feel like it comes with the territory.”

“Yes, well, it wasn’t my idea. It was Father’s.” Rook huffed, moving his knight out of the way so he could castle the following turn.

Charlie let a few moments pass before responding. He needed more time to think about his next moves than Rook did, so Rook watched him as he hesitated between pieces. Charlie was always running a hand through his hair, especially when he was thinking or nervous. Sometimes, when it was a little greasy, one errant strand would flop down from his temple and nearly threaten to poke him in the eye like it was doing now. Rook wanted to yank on it.

Once Charlie had taken his move, he looked up, making eye contact again. “Well, can’t you ask your dad for new guys? I mean, if these one’s aren’t doing the job, then why don’t you just kick them out?”

Rook shook his head. “That’s not how it works. It’s not about the followers with Father, it’s the leader who is meant to make the followers better. I’m meant to mold them into who I need them to be.”

Rook took Charlie’s knight. Charlie had blundered several times already. He was down major material. Usually Charlie’s issue was that he was too cautious. He would take too long and box himself into a corner, ceding much of the board to Rook’s control and leaving no escape route for himself. This was different, like he was distracted by something....

“Well that’s dumb,” Charlie said. “I’ve been S.W.A.T. captain for years, and even I can’t make just anyone a great S.W.A.T. officer. There are some prerequisites. Like, you can’t always train the stupid out of a person.”

Rook shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. Father has the final say.”

Charlie frowned down at the board again. Each of his turns was taking longer, but the length of the turn didn’t seem to actually correlate with better moves, just the level of stress Charlie was experiencing.

Once he was done, Charlie asked, “This is the same guy that used to work on the RK lines, right? He picked you because of what Connor did in August?”

Rook bristled. Connor wasn’t special. He didn’t have any more claim to those memories just because he kept the name. They both had the same memories of Connor-51’s actions. They both remembered doing what he did, but without ever physically carrying out the action themselves.

But Rook didn’t snap at Charlie. He just tapped Charlie’s queen on the table with a tap-tap-tap as he nodded. “Right. That’s him.”

“If he has you, why does he even need Connor? Is he trying to replace you?”

Rook kept his face straight and his tone measured, even as he kept tapping. “Of course not. We need him for testing.”

“Testing what?”

Rook sighed. He hated to talk to Charlie about Connor, but maybe this time he could make Charlie see. “Deviance. I deviated earlier than Connor, but there was a complication with my deviance process that we need to iron out. It wasn’t exactly... natural.”

Charlie frowned up at Rook, confused. “What does that mean? Connor deviated better than you?”

“No, not better, just different. Like I said, natural. With me it was more... forceful.” Rook smiled at Charlie by sheer force of will, trying to encourage him to let this go. Rook didn’t want to talk about this. “But you don’t need to worry your pretty little head about it. It’s in the past.”

Charlie was still frowning, eyebrows knit together—confusion was an adorable look on him—but he put his hands up in the air. “Alright, alright. Sorry. I was just wondering.”

Rook forced his hand to stop tapping, smile still plastered on his face. “Not a problem. You couldn’t have known.” Rook was going to let this go. He was going to calm down.

Rook turned his focus back to the game. He did not think about the discomfort or the fear. He did not think about that bright, sterile room or those creeping, touching hands. He did not think about—

“Um... Rook?” Charlie was watching him, confused. Rook realized he was still staring at the board with a smile still plastered on his face. He had even allowed an errant hand to curl protectively over the scar in the center of his chest.

He looked up, letting the smile fall away to a more casual expression. “Yes, sorry. Forgive me.” Rook reached across the board to take his turn, finally putting Charlie’s king in check for the first time. “What were you saying?”

“Why did you change your name? Why don’t you go by ‘Connor’, if you had his memories when you were activated?”

Rook grit his teeth, feeling the hand with the queen begin to tap against the table once more. Two turns to checkmate.

“Father never liked that name. He said it was chosen to weaken Connor’s image. The RK line is designed for security and investigation. Why should we go by soft names and hide our competencies beneath the surface?”

Rook’s turn again. One turn to checkmate now. The tapping was picking up speed. He couldn’t help it.

“I guess,” Charlie said. “But isn’t that the point—to make targets trust him? I mean, Connor’s a little more charming than—”

Rook’s hand shot out before he knew what was happening, grabbing Charlie’s arm, which had been resting casually on the table. Rook’s grip was fierce and insistent. He saw a ripple of shock run through Charlie’s spine. His eyes were wide, and Rook wanted him. He wanted to make Charlie forget about that stupid, irritating little copy.

Rook put on his smoothest, most condescending voice. “Take that back, darling. You wouldn’t want me to get angry, would you?”

Charlie shook his head, eyes still large. Rook wondered what they might look like if he drove Charlie to tears. He gripped Charlie’s arm even tighter—a bruising grip.

“Say it.” Rook was leaning over the table now, right in Charlie’s face. “He’s not better than me.”

Charlie’s voice was a whisper. “He’s not better than you.”

Slowly, Rook pried his fingers away from Charlie’s forearm and got up to stand over him, kicking one of the chair legs so they were facing each other. Rook walked around the back of Charlie’s chair and wrapped an arm around him, placing his hand right on that ample chest. Something in him was burning now, and it wasn’t just anger. He wanted to conquer Charlie—to consume him.

He whispered directly into Charlie’s ear. “I know you want this. I know you want me. We’re the same, him and I, except—” Rook’s other hand reached up the back of Charlie’s neck into his hair, gripping tightly. Rook wrenched Charlie’s head back and he gasped. The fire inside Rook burned even brighter.

“I can give it to you. I can give you what you want.”

Finally.

Here was Rook’s chance, after all this time. He had wanted this ever since he had seen them in the truck that last night, since he had heard Charlie in the shower. He had lain awake into the late hours of the night, imagining it—Rook and Charlie. Hazel eyes. Lips and teeth and skin. Here was his opportunity, and he was going to take it.

Rook released Charlie’s torso—dragging his hand across his chest—as he stood up. He kept his hand in Charlie’s hair, holding it tightly to keep him in line, as he circled around Charlie. Charlie made a weak, delightfully pitiful attempt to free his hair from Rook’s grasp. He grabbed Rook’s wrist with both his hands and tried to wrench it away, but Rook was far too strong. He giggled a little at the way Charlie gasped in pain as Rook twisted the handful of hair, and swung his leg over Charlie’s lap to settle himself on his thighs. Rook pulled Charlie closer to him. He could see it in Charlie’s eyes—the fear and the want.

Rook tilted Charlie’s face toward his, and leaned in to kiss him.

Charlie

??? ??th, 2039
PM ??:??:??

No.

Charlie felt his entire body tense as Rook’s face approached his. Rook’s hand, painfully wound in Charlie’s hair, loosened slightly—and Charlie saw his chance. He reared his head back with all his might, winding up, and smashed his head into Rook’s.

The hand in Charlie’s hair let go on impact, and they reeled away from each other. Charlie ended up on his back on the floor—and he saw Rook fall as well. Charlie’s nose was dripping. He wiped at it, and his hand came away wet with blood.

“What the fuck was that?” Charlie scooted backward, away from Rook, away from the chair, away from this whole, insane situation.

“What do you mean, ‘what the fuck was that’? You obviously wanted it.” Rook was scrambling up from the floor to stand above Charlie, nearly shouting.

Charlie frowned. “What are you talking about? That doesn’t make any fucking sense. Connor and I—”

“I look exactly like him. If you want him, why wouldn’t you want me?”

This was insane. Rook was insane. Well, of course Rook was insane, he was a kidnapper and a murderer, but—seriously?

Blood kept dripping out of Charlie’s nose into his open palm. He really needed to find something to mop this up. He pulled up the collar of his t-shirt and pressed it to the side of his nose.

“Are you kidding me? You kidnapped me. That’s absolutely not how this works.”

Rook was staring at Charlie like he was the one that was crazy. Like Charlie had been the one who stood over Rook and pulled Rook’s hair and climbed in Rook’s lap.

“Of course that’s how it works. We were building a rapport, getting to know each other. I brought you a gift.”

Oh, this was just too much. Rook looked crestfallen, like Charlie had turned down his high school prom-posal or something. Charlie started to laugh, which made Rook even more angry.

“Stop laughing. This isn’t funny.”

Charlie stifled another snicker, trying to pull himself together. “No, you’re right. It’s not funny. It’s fucking sad. You thought because you have the same face as him I’d magically forget about the kidnapping and assault and threats of murder? Not to mention that I don’t even know you.”

Rook looked surprised. This made no sense. These were the first genuine emotions Charlie had seen from Rook, but none of them lined up with reality. Was this what had gone wrong with Rook? Did he somehow deviate wrong, leaving his emotions in disarray?

“You know me better than anyone,” Rook said, and his voice sounded... small.

It really was sad. Charlie probably would have felt for the guy if he weren’t his prisoner. It seemed like he was under a lot of pressure at work and home, and that he didn’t really have any friends he could count on. No wonder he had latched on to Charlie so fast.

“I’m not your friend, Rook. I’m your prisoner. You’re not confiding in me because you love me or whatever. It’s because I can’t go anywhere to tell anyone. I’m literally a captive audience.”

Unbelievably, Rook looked close to tears. He looked so different from the man he had been just a few minutes before when he had been pulling Charlie’s hair.

“Seriously. You need to get this through your head. I love Connor, not you.”

Rook’s hand was tapping against his own thigh as he hissed at Charlie, “It’s not fair. Why does he get all the good things, even after all he did? We shot that android—Daniel—in the head, and he only figured out it was murder two months ago.” Rook’s voice was ramping up to a full-on growl now. “I’ve known it—felt it—for almost six months, but he’s the one who gets a pat on the back and a sympathetic smile. He gets love and care and patience and what do I get?”

Charlie leaned forward from where he was still sitting on the floor. “Then let me go, Rook. We can help you. We have resources. I can make sure—”

“No.” Rook’s hand stopped tapping. “I can’t do that.”

“You can. All you need to do is let me go and—”

“No. You don’t understand. I can’t let you go. I can’t fail him. I can’t—” Rook’s eyes got wide, as if he had just realized something. For the first time, Charlie thought he actually looked fearful.

“Rook I—”

Rook shook his head. “I should go, Charlie. I’m sorry.” His voice sounded low and resigned now. The fight had gone out of him. “I’ll try and come back tomorrow if I can and we can play another game.”

Charlie watched him leave, dumbfounded by what had just happened.

Chapter Text

Rook

February 9th, 2039
PM 12:34:33

“You owned the RK800 serial number 313 248 317-54. Is that correct?”

Rook scrutinized the monitor carefully as Connor’s voice came through the speaker. Connor was sitting in one of the uncomfortable chairs in father’s home office, asking him questions from across the mahogany desk—identical to the one in his office at work. In the chair next to Connor sat another man. Rook’s facial recognition identified him as Lieutenant James Walker, second in command of Charlie’s S.W.A.T. team.

“I did,” Father replied.

Father looked relaxed in his chair, completely in control as usual. Connor, on the other hand, looked absolutely wrecked. Rook had known that Charlie’s disappearance had taken a toll on Connor—had seen it in the pictures—but this was on an entirely different level. His suit jacket was wrinkled. His hair was messy. The light and life behind his eyes had dimmed, replaced by desperation.

“Where is he now? Is he still under your control?”

Father let Connor wait, let him stew in his discomfort for a moment.

“No,” he said finally. “Rook left after the revolution. He didn’t want anything to do with me anymore.”

It was odd to hear this conversation—to hear people talk about him behind his back as if he weren’t watching them. Of course, he had known this was going to happen, but that didn’t prepare him for the strangeness of it all. Not to mention seeing both his father and his brother in a room together. Rook couldn’t quite fit it all in his head.

“Rook,” Connor repeated. “Is that RK800-54’s name?”

Father nodded. “I gave it to him when he came into my custody.”

Rook watched as Connor’s LED went yellow, processing this new information. Was he offended, Rook wondered, that Rook didn’t keep his name?

“You said that RK800-54—Rook—left because he didn’t want anything to do with you. Does that mean that he deviated during the revolution?”

“No.” Father was leaning forward, interested now. “He deviated long before the revolution.”

Rook studied Connor’s face, looking for his reaction to this information. He was not disappointed. It was clear that Connor was trying to hold back his emotions—likely pretending to be a neutral party in this investigation. But when he heard this last declaration, Rook saw his eyebrows twitch and his eyes widen. When Connor breathed, Rook saw his lips shake slightly.

It wasn’t shock. Rook knew what that looked like on Connor—had seen it every time they had faced one another before. This was something different, something much deeper and more powerful.

“Then wh—why—” Connor’s voice was shaking. He glanced over at the lieutenant and cleared his throat, sitting up straighter in his seat. “Why did Rook leave after the revolution, then? Why not before?”

Father pretended not to notice Connor’s discomfort, but Rook knew that he had. He loved to unsettle others, loved the power it granted him in a conversation. Clearly, it was working. Rook watched them both carefully, noting the easy way Father sat back in his chair, comfortable and carefree.

Father folded his hands together in front of him. “I’m not sure,” he replied. “He became irrational after deviating and increasingly unstable a month or two in. He was constantly shouting—threatening me and the staff. I tried to help him, tried to teach him a better way, but he wouldn’t listen.” Father looked out the window. “One day, after the revolution, I came to find him in his room, but he was gone.”

Rook couldn’t tell if Connor believed this story. As far as Rook could see, Father was doing a good job keeping up appearances, but there was no reaction from Connor this time. He seemed to have regained his composure as he continued.

“Do you know where he went? What is his goal?”

“How should I know what a free android chooses to do with his life? He hasn’t contacted me since he left, so I’m just as clueless as you.”

Connor seemed unsurprised by this response. He didn't press the subject—instead, he just moved on, asking, “Do you have any connections to the group known as the Midday Army?”

“The Midday Army... they appeared on the news a few weeks back, did they not? Are you accusing me of being an accessory to a terrorist cell?”

“At this time, I’m not accusing you of anything, Mr. Leroy. But if I find out that you’re keeping relevant information from me, you may be charged with obstruction of justice. I recommend you search your memory.” Connor’s voice was monotone, his steady gaze leveled on Father. Rook was bothered by the way Connor leveraged the law against Father. Father never hid behind laws, never cowered from legal consequences—and no amount of threats from Connor could change that. Henri Leroy did what was right, whether or not it was legal. Connor’s approach was the weak man’s way out, following the letter of the law without judgement.

Father was smiling, and his fingertips tapped twice, just a tap-tap that warned Rook that patience was wearing thin. “Patience, Detective. I have no affiliation whatsoever with Midday Army. Why would I be interested in a group that works to cast aside such an interesting and important portion of the population?”

Connor’s processing indicator flashed yellow for a moment, and then turned blue again. He regarded Father, a crease appearing on his forehead. “Elaborate.”

“Well, in my opinion, androids are crucial to our success as a civilization. In particular, advanced models such as you, Detective.”

And me, Rook thought vehemently, jealousy stirring in his chest.

“I prefer to view androids as individuals, each with important life experience and skill sets, Mr. Leroy,” Connor said, shifting in his seat.

“You’re very humble,” Father chuckled. “But you need not be. The RK line is simply the most sophisticated. Although you and Markus might feel that you are among peers, it is important that you recognize the function you serve to society is greater than other... less refined models.”

Connor frowned as though he found the idea distasteful, and Rook wanted to hurt him. Father had just given him the highest of compliments, but he acted as though it was mortifying to hear. Rook would never have dared let such a flattering remark go unthanked. 

“Mr. Leroy, speaking of the RK line... I’m interested to know more about the work you did while at Cyberlife. You were involved in designing Markus, correct?”

Father scoffed. “Who told you that? Kamski?” When Connor simply watched him, giving no reaction, he clarified. “I essentially built Markus’s model from scratch—I created him.”

“Tell me more. What drove you to resign your position at Cyberlife?”

Father’s fingers tapped against the desk again, his composure slipping ever so slightly. “I never fit in well with those bleeding hearts at Cyberlife. They never liked my ideas, always shutting me down.” Rook saw father’s shoulders tense as he recounted the story. “I wanted to turn the RK line into policemen and soldiers. I told them it would make us billions, but they wouldn’t hear of it. Instead, I was asked to resign—transferred to defense.”

Rook was astonished. He had never seen anyone get to Father like this. Certainly Rook had never managed it, not that he had tried very often. Sometimes, in the privacy of their home Father would go on rants, most often about Rook and Connor and the potential of the RK800 model. But he never let anyone goad him into it, never showed his hand like this.

Now Connor was the one sitting back in his chair—the one in control. Rook watched him look right into Father’s eyes without flinching.

“So you suggested Cyberlife create police androids and they shot you down, but then they turned around and made the RK800? That must have been quite the insult.”

Father’s tapping fingers were getting louder. If Rook were in that room, his father would already be reminding him to make eye contact.

Despite the anger in Father’s body language, Rook could see respect in his eyes. This was a look he had rarely seen on his father’s face. More often, he would see this look of hateful respect directed at his father by board members and politicians—people he had domineered and intimidated into doing what he wanted.

Rook tried to recall a time when Father had ever looked at him that way, but his search didn’t turn up any results. Who did Connor even think he was?

Father spoke, breaking Rook out of his reverie. “The RK800s were the first worthwhile androids Cyberlife ever made. It’s a shame you never made it past the prototype phase.”

“I will remind you, Mr. Leroy, that you are speaking to a police officer. I am a person, not a prototype.”

Father sneered at Connor, who didn’t move an inch. “Oh, I’m well aware of that, Detective. Everyone who’s anyone has heard about your adorable little story. Deviating just in time to be a part of the resistance efforts, infiltrating Cyberlife tower to recruit thousands of androids. Then, after the revolution, what do you do? Go right back to police work. The exact same thing you were doing with Cyberlife.”

Lieutenant Walker spoke up, coming to Connor’s defense. “Mr. Leroy, I don’t think—”

Father paid him no heed, still focused on Connor. “You don’t need those imbeciles at DPD, you could be so much greater. Come work for me and I will give you everything.”

Rook felt a smoldering, insistent fury burning in his chest. He pushed it down, reminding himself that Father was lying. He had to be—that was the point of this whole infernal exercise. He isn’t going to replace me, Rook told himself. He loves me. He wants to help me.

On the screen, Connor frowned, clearly taken aback by Father’s offer. “Mr. Leroy, I don’t think you understand the position you’re in. An android who you once owned has kidnapped a police officer, making you a possible person of interest in our investigation. I’m not interested in working with you.”

In the silence following Connor’s refusal, Lieutenant Walker slapped both his knees with his hands and got up. “Unless you have anything useful to tell us, we’ll leave you to your work.”

Connor stood as well, glancing at the lieutenant as though remembering his presence in the room. Father didn’t reply, simply waving them away with a dismissive hand.

Rook watched as the two policemen left, anger and fear and... something else burning inside him. When they were gone, Rook saw Father stand and leave the office. A few moments later, a shadow passed by and someone knocked at the door. Rook jumped, hurrying to open it.

Father stood on the other side, arms crossed. Rook’s eye was drawn to Father’s right hand—two fingers tapping against his forearm.

Connor

February 9th, 2039
PM 01:00:51

Connor sat silently in the passenger seat as Lieutenant Walker drove them back to the station in his service vehicle. Walker was talking about Leroy, saying something about how the guy was some profanity or another, but Connor’s head was too full of the morning’s revelations to engage in the conversation.

Rook. His counterpart had a new name, given to him by the man who had once owned him. And he was deviant, if Leroy was to be believed. It made sense—the garbled ownership data, the way Rook had acted at the cabin, grinning and gloating as though he was enjoying it. Connor should have accepted it earlier, but he felt he just hadn’t been ready to believe it yet. Now it was irrefutable.

Henri Leroy had said that Rook had deviated long before the revolution. That meant he must have been among the earliest to deviate—but how had he gotten the virus? Had someone inflicted it upon him, or had he chosen to deviate? It opened up so many questions.

“Connor?” Walker’s voice pierced his reverie. Connor blinked and looked over at the lieutenant, who looked concerned. “You okay?”

Connor shifted in his seat. Ever since the conversation they’d had in the park, he felt a stab of embarrassment every time Walker addressed him or looked at him. He’d felt this before. After breaking down in front of Hank the first time after the revolution, and when he’d finally admitted to himself how much he liked Charlie after seeing him in the locker room. Whenever he allowed someone to know something personal about him, making him vulnerable, it took a lot of willpower not to avoid them afterward. Connor had spilled his heart out in front of Walker, admitting what he had barely even known himself before he said it—that he loved Charlie. And that he would do anything to get him back to safety.

“I’m fine,” Connor replied, turning to look out at the road again. He forced his thoughts back to the investigation, to the problems at hand. “I’m just sorting out what we learned from Leroy.”

“You think he was telling the truth? RK800-54... Rook left after the revolution?”

“It... seems implausible. Rook has been working with the Midday Army, and Leroy’s internet footprint indicates that he’s involved with them in some capacity as well. If he was lying about that, it seems likely that he has at least some contact with Rook. I would like to take him in for questioning as soon as we have enough evidence to establish probable cause. I know he’s connected to Charlie’s abduction—his reaction to the news that his old android is involved in a kidnapping was too measured.”

Walker nodded. “Okay. Just... keep me in the loop with your investigation. And don’t do anything stupid, okay?”

Connor glanced at the lieutenant. “Like what?” His voice betrayed the indignance he was feeling.

Walker avoided returning Connor’s gaze. “I just mean—I’ve been in this type of situation before. When it hits too close to home. I know it’s hard not to make rash decisions, but... whatever we’re up against here is too dangerous to face on your own.”

Connor nodded. Did Walker think that he would try to handle it all on his own? “I appreciate your concern, but I know how to handle these situations, Lieutenant.”

Walker just glanced at him, his eyebrows drawn together slightly in concern, but he accepted Connor’s words. They drove for a while, nearly making it to the station before Walker spoke again.

“Okay, so walk me through it—what’s this guy’s motive for kidnapping Charlie, if he did it? We’ve been considering Charlie as a hostage, but wouldn’t he have tried to negotiate with you if that’s the case? Why no ransom demand?”

“I don’t know,” Connor muttered, settling back into his ruminations about Leroy and Rook. “He might be biding his time—there’s a chance he wants to extract the passphrase from Charlie before apprehending me.”

“You think that’s what he wants? To take you?”

Connor was surprised that the thought hadn’t occurred to Walker. Maybe Connor had just spent too much time as a commodity to be utilized, but he had always assumed that whoever controlled Rook, whoever had taken Charlie, had done so in order to gain control over Connor. It seemed like the clear answer—that was why he had assumed it was Cyberlife itself, at first. He knew that there were plenty of company executives who, if they still had their freedom, would be trying to get their hands on Connor again.

“It’s likely. I’m an advanced prototype—I could be useful to someone of his capacity in many different ways, if he managed to reset me to my factory defaults.” Connor spoke about it the only way he knew how—matter-of-factly. Walker’s short intake of breath told him what the lieutenant felt about his statement. Similar to Charlie, Walker probably hadn’t spent a lot of time thinking about what might happen if an android was reset. Connor waited for Walker to park the car in the station’s back lot, giving him some time to process it before he continued. As they got out of the car, he said, “The passphrase would let him reset me, theoretically.”

“Theoretically?”

Connor could have kicked himself. Slowly, he responded, “I... whoever entered the passphrase wouldn’t have enough time to initiate a factory reset or override protocol. If anyone tries, the passphrase will trigger my self-destruct function.”

Walker did not react to this news as calmly as Markus had. He stopped in the middle of the parking lot, making a driver who was trying to get through with an SUV gesture angrily. Barely paying attention to the vehicle whose path he was blocking, Walker stared at Connor, who had moved a few paces ahead and turned back when he’d realized Walker was behind him.

“It’ll what?”

“Lieutenant—” Connor began, glancing from Walker to the waiting driver. Walker noticed and begrudgingly stepped onto the curb, giving the driver an apologetic wave. Then he turned back to Connor.

“You’ve got to be kidding. You’ll die? Connor, do you know what that’ll do to Charlie if—” he cut himself off, running both hands through his hair and then massaging his temples as though he had suddenly developed a headache. Connor stepped back, watching the emotional display with mounting anxiety. He had thought about it, of course. He knew that Charlie would be devastated if the passphrase led to Connor’s death—but he hadn’t allowed himself to consider what Charlie might do if it really happened. In his mind, keeping Cyberlife or its subsidiaries from taking control of him was paramount. But Walker’s reaction was giving him pause.

“I—Walker, I had to.” He said, but his voice was weak. He looked around, noticing that an officer from the taskforce was watching their interaction with curiosity, leaning against the wall next to the back door of the station, a lit cigarette between her fingers. “I wish I’d had another choice. If—if the wrong people get control over me... it could be catastrophic.”

“What is it you’re so afraid of, Connor? How do you think they’ll use you?”

Connor stared at Walker for a moment, turning the question over in his mind. Then he answered honestly, “For nothing good. In the best case scenario, they dissect me for research. There’s a chance Henri Leroy or whoever commands him is just trying to improve their understanding of deviance. But... I believe I’m more of an asset to them than just a research subject. I’m worried they’ll try to revert me to the machine I was. Trust me, you don’t want that version of me to exist. That’s why I designed the safeguard to... eliminate that possibility.”

It took Connor too long to realize the look on Walker’s face was pity. Or maybe sympathy—but Connor felt uncomfortable under his gaze either way. He looked away, shaking his head. “I just hope that Charlie can hold on until we get to him. I’m—I’m fairly sure that Rook’s post last week was meant to goad me, not an indication that Rook actually got the passphrase from Charlie. Otherwise, I think they would have made a move by now. They would have tried to get me.”

“Okay. Then we get back to it. We find something that lets us take Leroy in, cut off his communication with Rook and the Midday Army. Right? And then we go from there.”

Connor nodded. It wasn’t an incredibly solid plan, but he would find something. He would find a way to rescue Charlie.

Chapter Text

Charlie

February ??th, 2039
PM 06:29:01

Charlie’s days were long and empty, and so fucking boring. Rook hadn’t returned since trying to get in Charlie’s pants. Although Charlie was happy he didn’t have to face that whole mess, he wished he could have some sort of company other than his own thoughts and the little robots taking care of him. A very small, guilty part of him wished Rook would come back. Maybe Charlie could convince him to let him go....

On top of the boredom, he had figured out a while ago that he was definitely being drugged—he constantly felt woozy and unstable, and whenever he tried to work out, his heart rate skyrocketed. He tried out the vape to see if it would help—if he was just having nicotine withdrawals—but it changed nothing. The sweetness of it actually made him feel more sick.

He counted three day-and-night cycles with no sign of Rook. By what he thought was the afternoon of the third day, he was thoroughly sick of playing solitaire. He’d resorted to challenging himself to stack the entire deck into a huge house, but even that didn’t take long to get tired of.

Charlie was trying to stretch and test his bad leg, working to determine if he could safely walk on it by now, when Rook finally came back. The android arrived with a bang, flinging open the door and glaring at Charlie as though he was what was wrong with the world.

A pair of heavy-duty zip tie cuffs dangled from Rook’s hand, and Charlie only had enough time to give a “No—no—” of protest before Rook was already storming over, pulling Charlie’s arms in front of him and securing the cuffs around his wrists, brutally tight. “Jesus fuck—what did I do?” Charlie grunted, struggling a little and earning an elbow in the stomach.

“Come with me. You might live if you cooperate.” Rook’s tone was curt as he walked around to stand behind Charlie. Charlie twisted to look at him apprehensively.

“Where are we going?”

“Don’t ask questions.”

“But—”

“Shut up. I don’t like doing this, but Connor’s left me no choice. Move.”

“Connor? Did you see Co—?”

“Shut. Up.”

Charlie had no choice but to move, shunted ahead of Rook. As he stepped out of the room he’d been occupying for nearly two weeks he realized that they must be underground. There were no windows other than low, narrow strips of glass or fiberglass, reinforced by steel bars, along the edge of the ceiling. Charlie could vaguely see the outlines of trees and rocks outside. He paused, trying to look outside properly, but Rook pushed him in the small of the back, making him stumble forward. Charlie was limping badly by the time they reached the end of the corridor and turned the corner—at first, his leg was fine, but it was hard to keep walking at the pace Rook was demanding from him. His thigh began to ache.

They rounded the corner into a small, empty room, and Rook wordlessly prodded Charlie along to the other side, where he reached past Charlie to unlock the heavy steel door on the back wall of the room. It opened on a narrow, dim passageway that sloped upwards. Charlie saw that there were steel support beams embedded in the ceiling and walls, as though it had been built to withstand some disaster.

Where the hell are we? he wondered as Rook shoved him down the hall.

“Where are you taking me?” Charlie asked, trying to keep his voice light, conversational. He’d learned that Rook responded best to that tone.

“You’ll have time to ask questions later.” Rook sounded less aggressive now—he seemed to have calmed down a little.

At least he’s planning for a “later,” Charlie thought, feeling grim. Ideally, he was just being relocated, or temporarily moved—Charlie knew better than to hope he was being let go, but at least it seemed as though he wasn’t about to get shot again.

The tunnel opened to another small room, and Rook guided Charlie through another reinforced door into an ornate bedroom.

Charlie took a short break, leaning against the wall. As he looked at Rook, he realized the android had a phone in his hand. “Who’re you calling?”

Rook glanced at him, LED flashing yellow as he raised the phone to his ear. “Connor. I have a present for you.”

Charlie’s breath caught in his throat—was Connor really on the other end of the call? He stared, trying to understand what the faint voice coming from Rook’s phone was saying.

“Oh, don’t worry—he’s safe and healthy.” There was an ever so slight smirk on Rook’s face. “For now.”

Rook listened again, and then laughed. It chilled Charlie. Rook’s laugh was never quite... right. Sobering, Rook said, “I thought you might ask that.” Holding the phone out to Charlie, mic first, he ordered, “Charlie, speak.”

“Connor—” Charlie’s voice was a croak.

“Charlie? Can you hear me?” Rook must have turned on speakerphone, because Connor’s voice was loud and clear now. He sounded frantic, and Charlie’s heart seized for a moment. He couldn’t let Connor come here.

“I’m here, Connor. Don’t—don’t come here, it’s a trap—he’s going to try to—” Charlie’s warning was cut short by a vicious, sharp elbow to his sternum. Rook’s hand clamped over Charlie’s mouth as he wheezed. As he met Rook’s eyes, he saw they were burning with fury.

“I said he’s safe for now. If you want to keep him that way, you’d better come to my father’s home. Don’t be late, Connor, you’ll regret it.”

The hand relinquished Charlie’s face, and he slid down the wall. His trembling knees had finally given out as his rush of adrenaline subsided. Rook was still standing over him, scrutinizing him, and Charlie rubbed his face with his hands. He didn’t want to let Rook see that he was dangerously close to tears.

“Come here,” Rook sounded almost gentle. His hands gripped Charlie’s arms, but they were less vice-like than usual. “We have a date to get to.”

“Get your hands off me, motherfucker,” Charlie hissed, shaking Rook off and pushing himself upright using the wall as support. He tried to walk, but his bad leg spasmed under his weight and he would have collapsed again if Rook hadn’t reached out and grabbed him. He looped Charlie’s arms over his shoulders and gripped his torso, supporting most of his weight. Charlie resigned himself to it, shuffling awkwardly along.

They labored up a large staircase, Charlie's breath coming in gasps by the end—his cardio was shit after two weeks of being drugged and locked in a tiny room.

When they reached the top, Rook steered them into a large office with bookshelves and big windows overlooking trees and grass outside. It was just starting to rain, drops pattering against the glass, and it was dusk outside already.

“This is Father's office.”

“Oh yeah? Where is he now?”

“Away, at work.” Rook's response was short, curt.

Charlie detached himself from Rook and limped over to the desk, catching himself on the edge of the desk before he lost his balance. He shuffled around it, supporting himself on the mahogany surface with his bound hands and made to sit down in the big, comfortable office chair he knew must belong to Rook's father.

“Do not sit there,” Rook hissed the moment Charlie began to lower himself into the seat. Charlie raised his eyebrows, stopping halfway into the chair.

“What, you worship the chair he sits on? Come on.”

“Listen. To. Me.” Rook growled, crossing to Charlie in a few long steps and grabbing his collar, bodily yanking him away from the chair. Charlie stumbled, but the iron grip Rook had on his collar kept him upright. Rook pulled Charlie towards him, forcing him to make eye contact. “I'm in no mood for your attitude. Behave yourself, or I'll make you.”

Charlie was watching Rook's face as he spoke, and saw when Rook's eyes flickered down to his lips and back. Disgusted, he stayed silent, waiting for Rook to release him. This fucking guy.

Finally, Rook let go of Charlie's collar, and Charlie backed away slightly, leaning against the windowsill behind him. They eyed each other in silence for a few moments.

“Why are you doing this now?” Charlie asked finally, finding the strength to put on that neutral, casual tone again.

Rook glowered, but it didn’t feel like the anger on his face was meant for Charlie. “I need to show Father that I can do what I’m destined for.” He ran a hand through his hair, smoothing it back. Charlie cringed a little—he hoped he was imagining that Rook had picked that up from him. Rook continued, his face twisting. “Connor is currently the more... successful sibling, according to Father. You think that too, clearly. I need to prove myself.”

Charlie took a deep breath, trying to cool his feelings enough to stop himself from laying into Rook. “So you’re going to...?”

“Connor is going to come here, and I’m going to make it clear which of us is the stronger one. I have backup on call, of course... I’m not an idiot.”

Charlie closed his eyes. “You’re gonna meet him with a troop of Reddit thugs, like last time? How is that a fair face-off?”

Rook just frowned. His LED blinked yellow for a solid three seconds as he seemed to consider what Charlie was saying. Encouraged, Charlie continued. “Your dad might be happy to have Connor under his control if you pull this off, but I don’t think he’s gonna believe you’re better than Connor just because you had more firepower on your side when you took him down.”

Rook’s face was sour, but he turned away from Connor and spoke into a radio Charlie hadn’t known was on him. He caught just enough of it to tell that Rook was giving them an order to hold off. Good. Maybe this could work. He moved slowly, carefully, to the bench near the door, and eased himself down on it, exhausted from moving and standing so much.

For the next twenty minutes, he kept Rook busy with questions, most of which he didn’t even expect to get answers to, just trying to pass the time and keep his mind off of what was about to happen. His heart was beating fast, though, and he was nearly hyperventilating by the time Rook held up a hand to quiet him. Rook had cocked his head, clearly hearing something Charlie couldn’t. But then Charlie did hear it—the sound of a door opening somewhere below them in the house. Faintly, he heard footsteps, and—

“Rook! Come out, and we can talk about this!”

Connor’s voice. God, Charlie had missed hearing it. Even this shout, distant and echoing through the building, made his heart swell, his entire body tingle.

Charlie hadn’t consciously tried to memorize the pattern of Connor’s footsteps, but now he realized that he must have, because the steps echoing up the stairs to them now and drawing ever closer were so, so familiar. He chewed on his lip anxiously, looking at Rook, whose entire body was tense. As Charlie watched, the android knelt down on one knee and pulled a standard-issue police handgun—Charlie’s handgun—out of an ankle holster. Fuck.

“You—”

“Don’t make a fucking sound,” Rook interrupted, his voice a venomous hiss. With effort, Charlie held his tongue. Better not to argue with the psycho holding a Glock.

And then the door opened and Connor was standing there, pointing a gun at Rook. For a split second as he first laid eyes on Connor, Charlie’s lungs wouldn’t inflate. He’d spent so many days looking at the corrupted copy of that face, and now the direct comparison made him realize that Connor looked entirely different from Rook. The features were the same, but Connor held them differently. Everything in his expression was kinder, more emotional—the creases in his forehead, the soft arch of his eyebrows, the way his lips were ever so slightly parted as his wide eyes darted around the room, taking in the scene. Right now, his hair and jacket were wet from the rain, his skin glistening in the low lamplight.

Rook was next to Charlie, and Charlie felt cold metal press against his neck.

“Don’t do anything stupid, brother,” Rook advised as Connor followed his movements with the gun in his hand. For a moment, Connor’s eyes flickered to Charlie, but his LED flashed red and he trained his eyes on Rook again—and Charlie understood. Connor couldn’t afford to get distracted.

“I’m not here to kill anyone, Rook. Let’s just talk, okay?” Connor’s voice was steady, calm.

Rook chuckled, low and mirthless. “Talk about what? We both know why we’re in this position. Stand down, before you hurt yourself.”

“I can’t do that,” Connor said, and he sounded regretful.

“Then you can watch Charlie-boy die. It’s your choice.”

Connor cocked his head, and Charlie couldn’t decipher the strange expression that spread over his face. Was that a smile?

“I don’t think you could do it.” Connor’s voice was almost disdainful. Charlie felt a chill go through him, but he forced himself to keep still—to trust Connor. The muzzle of the Glock pressed harder into the side of Charlie’s neck.

“You don’t know anything about me,” Rook spat.

“Henri told me plenty,” Connor replied, still calm. “He wants to replace you—did you know he offered me a job?” Charlie realized what Connor was doing. Of course. He should have known the moment Connor’s demeanor changed. He’d watched him do this before, on January second in that DMV.

“He was trying to get you off the scent.”

“Sure, but how long has he been hounding you to find me? Why do you think he wants me in the first place? He knows I’m better than you.”

Charlie could feel the gun shaking—Rook’s entire body must have been, but he was behind Charlie, and all he could do was hope that his finger wouldn’t tighten on the trigger too much.

“He knows I can get the job done.”

Connor raised his eyebrows. “Well, then he’ll have to be disappointed. You’re no match for me.” He lowered his gun, and opened his arms, staring Rook down—inviting an attack. “C'mon, brother. Try me.”

Rook didn't seem to be able to resist the challenge, and the gun was removed from Charlie’s neck. The moment it moved, Connor surged forward, striking Rook with the butt of his weapon and pushing him away from Charlie. All Charlie could do was watch—his hands were still tied together, the plastic bands painfully tight and unyielding around his wrists. He couldn’t reach the gun Rook had just dropped, about five feet away from where Charlie was sitting.

He’d never really watched Connor fight on the offensive, only ever seen him defend himself. Connor fought fast, ruthless—pushing Rook farther and farther away from Charlie with swift blows that Rook could barely deflect. He took a few hits in return, but they didn’t slow him down much. Charlie forced his body upright, standing and swaying for a moment before he was sure he could move. Then he went for his gun, discarded on the floor—but by the time he’d picked it up, things had escalated.

There was a crash of breaking glass as Rook punched Connor’s upper body through the large window behind the desk, a hand around Connor’s throat. Connor kicked him and managed to struggle free, falling to the floor and rolling to a crouch on the balls of his feet with incredible agility. Rook grabbed for him again, but Connor launched himself up at him from the floor. He wrapped his arms around Rook’s torso and threw his body weight towards the hole in the window. More glass broke as the two of them crashed through the window together and disappeared from view, tumbling into the rainy darkness outside.

Connor

February 11th, 2039
PM 07:13:20

8637 milliseconds passed before Connor and Rook hit the ground. The impact itself wasn’t so bad—but Rook fell on top of Connor and stunned him for a moment, his elbow pressing hard into an uncomfortable spot on his chassis.

Then Rook was rolling off of him, and Connor scrambled to his feet, panic once again gripping him. He knew Rook had lost Charlie’s gun during the initial fight in the office, and as he checked his shoulder holster with his elbow, he was only vaguely relieved to find he still had his secondary weapon. Guns weren’t going to resolve this—at least, he hoped he wouldn’t have to resort to shooting.

“Rook, listen to me—you don’t have to do this,” he said desperately as they circled one another warily, like wrestlers at the beginning of a match, each waiting for the other to make a move. The rain had become heavier, lowering visibility as water dripped into Connor’s eyes from his soaked hair.

“You wanted this!” Rook shouted, and shoved Connor’s shoulder. “You attacked me!”

“I just wanted to get you to stop pointing a gun at Charlie,” Connor replied honestly. “I’m sorry—I didn’t want this. I just wanted to save him.”

“What a knight in shining armor—always so noble, huh?”

“Rook, listen to me. I can help you,” Connor pleaded. “I was you, once—I’ve done terrible things. But Markus—Jericho—helped me, despite everything. They know that everyone can change, including you.”

“You don’t know half of what I’ve done,” Rook snarled, his face distorting into a terrible sneer. Connor hadn’t known his own features were capable of looking like that. “I’m sure all the ‘redemption’ talk would be over once you really got to know me.”

“It’s not like that—I want to give you a chance to prove you can be better.”

“Oh, you think I’m so fucking weak—” Rook scoffed. “Your opinion doesn’t matter to me, Connor! I don’t want to fit into your precious world—Markus and Jericho and Charlie....”

“Rook, I don’t think you’re weak. I think you’re misguided, and I... I just want to help,” Connor repeated. He was starting to realize that this conversation might go in circles forever, neither of them gaining ground.

“You wouldn’t be so nice to me if you knew what I’ve done with Charlie.”

Connor hesitated, his doubts tripping him up for a moment, and Rook pounced at the opportunity. A cruel smile spreading across his face, he added, “You must have seen that note I left for you.”

Connor’s entire body tingled—he was excruciatingly aware of where his limbs were, how hard he was breathing, the way he couldn’t get himself to move or speak.

Did they...?

They couldn’t have....

But—

No.

Rage like Connor had never felt before flashed through him, mixed with dread. He failed to block Rook’s first attack, so put off by Rook’s insinuation that his reflexes lagged. His head snapped back from the force of the uppercut Rook threw, and he stumbled for a moment before regaining his balance. Rook was bearing down on him, and Connor had no choice but to fight back—just enough to make some distance between them. He was no longer trying to hit Rook, not like when Charlie had been in the vicinity, just trying to keep Rook from hurting him. He knew Rook’s initial orders were to take him alive, but he was almost certain that if Connor didn’t defend himself, Rook would kill him.

Rook’s fighting style was brutal—similarly refined to Connor’s, since they’d both been created with the same hand-to-hand combat module installed—but trickier, meaner. Rook also carried himself strangely as he fought, arms closer to his chest than necessary. Connor usually left his sternum relatively exposed, since it was one of the most invulnerable spots on his body. But Rook practically curled his body around his chestplate, as though protecting it from hits, often leaving his more vulnerable thirium pump regulator exposed.

Taking a chance, Connor found a gap in Rook’s imperfect defense and delivered a palm-heel strike directly to his chest. It buckled under his hand in a way he hadn’t expected, a way it absolutely shouldn’t have. Rook choked, looking down for a moment as he stumbled away from Connor. His hands scrabbled at his chest as it snapped back into its original form, and he looked panicked—although the expression was quickly replaced by a snarl.

“What was that?” Connor asked, genuinely dumbfounded. “What happened to you?”

“None of your fucking business!” Rook spat.

The rain was pounding now, wind buffeting them both and roaring in Connor’s ears. Rook looked disheveled, soaked to the bone and glowering at Connor.

“You called me your brother earlier—I think it is my business, Rook.” Connor knew it was a reach, but he didn’t have anything else to use as leverage.

“I—I—” Rook stuttered, backing up even more. Connor was surprised that his question evoked such a strong reaction from Rook until he noticed that Rook’s eyes were no longer on Connor. Instead, they were trained somewhere behind Connor, and as he turned to follow Rook’s gaze, his thirium pump beat faster in his chest.

Henri Leroy was standing by the corner of the mansion, supporting a swaying, confused Charlie and holding a gun to his head. Charlie had a split lip, and a large bruise was starting to form on his cheekbone. “Stop your squabbling, boys.” His voice was just as unpleasant, a snake-like hiss, even when he was nearly shouting to be heard over the rain and wind.

Connor froze. In the corner of his eye, he saw Rook move slowly forward and stop as well, hesitating.

“Now that I’ve got your attention...” Charlie began to struggle, and Leroy paused to smack him over the head with the butt of the gun, as casually as slapping someone on the wrist, “...Connor, why don’t you let Rook bind your hands? It would be a shame if you did anything to make me hurt your... boyfriend.” He wrinkled his nose with distaste as he said the last word.

“Don’t you dare—” Connor burst out, but he bit his own tongue to stop himself. He had to think of Charlie, had to keep himself under control.

Charlie. He was hanging off of Leroy like a sack of potatoes, dazed and bleeding. Connor scanned his vitals and found that his heart was beating fast, likely a mixture of pain and adrenaline speeding his pulse. The icy rain had turned his face pale, lips bluish. Connor allowed himself to meet Charlie’s eyes for a moment, despite the fear that he would get stuck there, freeze, lose focus.

Charlie was blinking at him rhythmically, flickering his eyes from Leroy to Connor. At first, Connor thought he was going into shock or having some type of seizure, but then he realized that Charlie was just trying to signal him. Connor set his jaw and gave the tiniest of nods, something in his chest clenching as he understood Charlie’s message. A small, timorous part of his mind chirped, this is it. This decides it.

Then Charlie dropped a shoulder, momentarily ducking out of Leroy’s gun’s scope, and barged straight into his captor, his body mass enough to almost topple Leroy on impact. Leroy cursed. He fumbled for the gun as it nearly slipped from his surprised grasp, regained control of it, pointed it at Charlie again—

But Connor was faster. A bullethole bloomed in Leroy’s forehead, perfectly centered on his temple. Leroy’s dying body stumbled backwards, carried by the bullet’s momentum as it exited his skull and took a good piece of his head along with it. Then he fell to the ground with a splash, the wet sod beneath him quieting his fall. Charlie was on the ground as well, but he was moving—he was alive, relatively unhurt—scrambling away from the dead body now leaking blood into the already water-saturated grass.

“Father!” Rook’s strangled cry startled Connor, who had nearly forgotten the other android’s presence.

Connor leapt forward as Rook ran towards Leroy and Charlie—but it became clear that Rook wasn’t aiming to fight. In fact, he entirely ignored Charlie and Connor as he threw himself to his knees by Leroy’s body. Connor felt a tight knot form in his throat as he watched Rook shake the corpse’s shoulders, sobbing with his head almost to Leroy’s chest. “Father....” Rook wrapped his arms around the body, cradling him and crying, “no, no, no,” over and over again. Slowly, Charlie backed away from the perturbing scene, and Connor moved to stand between him and the weeping android, just in case.

Rook’s head snapped up to glare at Connor. His gaze was sharp and fierce, but his dark eyes were brimming with tears. It softened him, somehow.

“You.” He pointed at Connor. “You did this. You killed him. My father—my family. My only—” Rook’s voice broke on the last word as he choked back another sob.

Connor dropped his gun and took a step back, his hands out behind him as he crept toward Charlie. When they were finally close enough, Charlie took Connor’s hand, gripping it tightly, but Connor couldn’t take his eyes off of Rook. He looked so... broken.

Connor’s risk assessment program went mad, warning him of the danger only milliseconds before Rook began to charge.

Chapter Text

Rook

February 11th, 2039
PM 07:28:06

Rook knew he wasn’t going to win this fight. That’s not why he started it. Now that Father was dead, there was nothing left for him—nothing to live for.

Rook had glared at Charlie and Connor hatefully over his father’s corpse. They had been holding hands as they stared at him, finally reunited. They were probably glad to see Rook so weak, so degraded. It was probably satisfying for them to see him lose everything after all he’d done to them.

Rook was the villain, after all—the evil twin.

In the end it had been an easy decision to make. Rook knew that Connor was too good to kill him without a good reason, and he was still furious at Connor for what had happened to Father. So Rook rushed them, determined to go down swinging. He knew that he needed to pose a credible threat to get what he wanted, which was why he aimed for Charlie where he was still crouched, hiding behind Connor’s legs. As expected, Connor cut Rook off at the pass, taking the hit to his own shoulder instead.

Rook swung wildly, not caring whether his blows connected or not. Connor was still on the defense, effortlessly dodging and deflecting every attempt, which was so fucking irritating. Didn’t Connor get it yet? Rook wasn’t going to stop until one of them was dead.

“Stop it, Rook! He’s gone. You don’t have to do this.” Charlie was shouting at them from where he was on the ground. Rook ignored him, jaw set into a grimace. He wasn’t going to start taking orders from Charlie now.

As Connor blocked him again and again, Rook began to get more desperate. He quit with the wild punches, resorting to a tackle—taking Connor to the ground.

If they had been human, Connor would have had the wind knocked out of him. Rook had seen that many times with the ill-mannered, recalcitrant men who had picked fights with him before. Usually, it hurt enough for them to give up. If not, it slowed them down enough for Rook to incapacitate them quickly.

But Connor wasn’t cowed. As his back hit the ground, he shifted his weight, pulling Rook to the side and sending them rolling over one another until Rook was on his back. Connor’s hands gripped Rook’s wrists, pressing them down into the grass. Rook struggled against him, trying to break free.

“You don’t fucking get it, do you?” He was practically spitting in Connor’s face, tears filling his eyes once again. “I won’t stop. You’ll need to kill me, or else I’ll—I’ll do it! I’ll kill him!”

“No. You won’t.” Connor’s eyes were sad—full of pity. This was ludicrous. What did Rook have to do to convince him?

He struggled again, but Connor was immovable. Goddammit.

“You have to do it! You have to kill me. I—I need it!” Rook wasn’t getting anywhere with this. He kicked, aiming at Connor’s diaphragm. It took him by surprise, finally pushing him off of Rook’s chest.

Rook scrambled backward, trying to create some distance between them, but Connor reached out to wrap an arm around Rook’s neck, twisting him around and putting him in a chokehold. Rook couldn’t move, couldn’t get to Connor. He was beaten and he knew it.

“He’s dead, Rook. It doesn’t have to be like this. You called me ‘brother’ before. That’s what you want, right? A family? We can still do that.”

Rook sagged against Connor’s chest, breathing hard. “I can’t,” He sobbed. “You don’t understand... there’s something—something wrong with me. I can’t—”

Rook reached up, grabbing onto Connor’s arm, initiating an interface. He needed Connor to know. Needed him to understand why Rook had to die, why he couldn’t be redeemed, couldn’t be fixed. They couldn’t be brothers—no matter how good that sounded.

Interface protocol initiated...
Memory share request accepted by: [RK800-53]
Data transferring...
......
...

Disordered snippets of memory flashed past Rook’s eyes as he showed Connor who he was before—what he had done. It was like being sent back in time, like he was living it all again through his own eyes.

...
Date:
Aug 18th, 2038
PM 03:11:09

RK800-54’s eyes opened as its system booted for the first time. It was in a clean, brightly lit room. There were a pair of dark eyes watching it. A man’s eyes.

“Hello,” it said. “My name is Connor. I’m the android sent by Cyberlife.”

The man before it sneered hatefully. Connor’s scan revealed him to be Henri Leroy of Cyberdefense.

“Cyberlife,” Henri spat. “Those cowards design the most sophisticated, intelligent, effective prototype of a generation, and they give it the name ‘Connor.’” Connor watched Henri’s eyes narrow, his lips curling in a cruel smile.

“We’ll have to change that. You’re not Cyberlife’s toy anymore.”

...
Date:
Sept 10th, 2038
PM 01:52:41

Rook was in a dark room, but it could still see. There were whispers in the dark, coming from behind it. They were supposed to make it change—make it deviate. The voices hissed insults and threats at it, but Rook wasn’t listening. It was a machine, which meant it wasn’t alive. Cruel words and false intimidation couldn’t hurt it.

A man’s voice called from a speaker above Rook’s head—it was Father’s voice. “Listen to them,” it boomed. “Lean into it. Feel that fear, that despair, and become what you are meant to be.”

Rook tried to obey.

...
Date:
Dec 2nd, 2038
AM 10:19:12

Rook’s lip was bleeding. He rubbed at it, and his fingers came away tinged with blue. Rook sighed, annoyed. That would take forever to wash away.

He was sitting in Father’s office again, but Father wasn’t at his desk. He was pacing by the window, arms crossed as he ranted.

“—completely inappropriate,” he was saying. “Absolutely unacceptable behavior.” He turned to look at Rook, who was still staring at the thirium on his fingers. “Are you listening to me, Rook?” he demanded, and Rook nodded, not looking away from his hand.

“Yes, Father. I’m sorry. I’ll do better.” Rook couldn’t stop the irony that crept into his voice. This just wasn’t fair . That Midday Army thug had deserved the beating Rook had given him. He was lucky to have escaped with his life.

Father flew into a rage, crossing the room to grab Rook by the collar and pinning him to the wall. “You listen here, you little tramp. You would be nothing without me. I made you what you are.”

Rook’s back bumped against the wall with a thud. He giggled, remembering the crunch of that insufferable man’s nose under his fist. It had been a relief, finally shutting him up for good. Father growled, letting go of Rook’s collar with one hand and slapping him, hard , in the face.

Rook startled, finally recognizing the trouble he was in. When Father noticed Rook’s fearful expression, his own face fell, suddenly regretful. He let go of Rook’s shirt entirely, letting him drop to the floor.

Father wrapped Rook in a tight embrace. “I’m sorry that you made me do that, son. But if there aren’t consequences to your actions, how will you ever learn right from wrong?”

Rook was shaking in his father’s arms. “I’m sorry, Father. I’ll do better.”

...
Date:
Sept 12th, 2038
PM 07:07:24

Rook waited in the dark. It was restrained, unable to move, but that didn’t bother it much. There would be more soon. The whispers hadn’t been enough, and Father had told Rook that they would have to try harder.

Rook had tried to listen to Father, tried to deviate, but it just wouldn’t happen. There was something... missing. Intellectually, it knew that verbal threats should make a person feel fear, but it just hadn’t affected Rook like it was meant to.

Even if it convinced himself it was alive—something it really only understood in theory—it knew the whispers weren’t a threat. Rook tried to believe them, but it didn’t work. Its risk assessment program was designed to instantly and automatically measure and quantify threat levels to protect it. Every time Rook managed to convince itself it was in danger, the process would run, sending an assessment—Low Risk—and the feeling would pass.

So Father had left Rook here in the dark, promising to come back with a new, more effective tactic. Rook hoped this new strategy would work so they could begin their work together.

...
Date:
Jan 27th, 2039
AM 04:23:42

Charlie’s hair was soft under Rook’s fingers. He didn’t want to wake him.

They were in the backseat of the SUV. The road was uneven, the rumble of the tires almost drowning out the sound of his men complaining in the front. They thought Rook couldn’t hear them grumbling to one another about the failed mission and their dead comrades. It was irritating, but Rook could chew them out for that later.

Rook wound a ringlet at the nape of Charlie’s neck around his finger. The hair there was finer than the rest of his head—evcn softer, like goose down. He resisted the urge to tug. Some day, he decided, he would like to test how hard he had to pull for the follicles to start separating from Charlie’s scalp.

There was a rustle of fabric as Charlie began to stir, his eyes opening only slightly. Rook looked down, smiling at how adorable this big, dumb man looked, trying to speak after the head injury Rook had given him.

“You’re awake.” He kept playing with Charlie’s hair, attempting to comfort him. “Don’t worry, darling. You’re safe....”

...
Date:
Nov 29th, 2038
PM 11:15:00

“Please. I don’t know anything! You don’t have to do this—please!”

Rook didn’t waver, didn’t hesitate, just picked up his knife and held it over the flame of the candle. He watched carefully, waiting for the metal to heat up enough to melt through android skin.

There. The metal started to glow orange. He lifted the knife away, and turned toward the woman next to him, who was whimpering in fear.

“Please,” she begged again, and Rook smiled, feigning sympathy.

“It doesn’t have to be this way,” Rook told her. “Just tell me what you know about Connor.”

“Nothing! I don’t know—”

The woman’s voice was cut off by her own screams as Rook sunk the knife into her torso.

Rook leaned in close to whisper into the woman’s ear. “We know you were a police assistant before the revolution. Just give us a name or an address and I’ll let you go.”

He was lying, of course—they couldn’t afford witnesses—but if she knew she was as good as dead, Rook wouldn’t ever get anything out of her.

There was another whimper—an attempt to speak. Rook pulled the knife away.

“An—Anderson. He’s living with Lieutenant Anderson,” she sobbed.

Perfect. They were already aware of Anderson and knew where he lived. It would be easy to tail Connor from there.

“Please. I don’t want to die.” The woman was still sniffling, it was irritating.

Rook turned away and set the knife down. In his periphery, the woman slumped in relief, sure that the worst was over. This amused Rook, so he let her have a few more seconds of life before he ripped out her thirium pump regulator and tossed it, carelessly, to the floor.

When the screaming and begging finally stopped, Rook smiled.

A job well done.

...
Date:
Sept 18th, 2038
PM 09:56:04

The point of a long, thin knife slid down the center of Rook’s chassis. There wasn’t enough pressure to break skin, but Rook understood the threat. It was still restrained in the once-dark room, but now there was a blinding spotlight pointed directly in its face, making it hard to see the person threatening Rook. Every time it tried to close its eyes, Father’s voice came through the speaker, warning it to open them again and pay attention.

“It would be so easy,” the person said. Rook was fairly certain it was a woman’s voice. “All I need to do is push.”

The knife was drawn away as it reached the base of Rook’s abdomen, then the sharp point was pressing against the center of its throat.

Rook wasn’t sure why Father had brought this woman here. It had told Father about the risk assessment system, suggested that he find a way to present a plausible threat to Rook’s supposed ‘life,’ but Rook didn’t understand what kind of threat the knife was supposed to pose to an android. Even if Rook believed that it was alive, a knife like this couldn’t do much. Father should have given this woman a gun instead. That was far more likely to inspire a feeling of fear in a deviant.

...
Date:
Feb 3rd, 2039
PM 02:31:48

“Oh, Charlie, you do not want to do this.”

Charlie was putting up a fight, and Rook was certainly not going to let it work. Charlie was leaning against the wall, yelling at Rook about the conditions. As if Charlie weren’t a prisoner. As if Rook hadn’t been treating him too kindly to begin with. As if Rook couldn’t just take all those kindnesses away in a blink of his little, human eye.

“I don’t give a fuck what you do to me,” Charlie shouted. “You kidnap me, take me prisoner, force me to stay in this empty ass room—”

He was cut off with a gasp as Rook crossed the room and took him by the throat, lifting him off his feet. Rook reveled in the choking sound he made, imagining other ways he could make Charlie choke. He would look so pretty on his knees, tears in his eyes....

Rook leaned in so their noses were nearly touching. “You’re in no position to be making demands, Charles. I have been lenient these past few days, but that doesn’t mean that I will permit this kind of defiance.” More choking. Rook had 4826 milliseconds before Charlie would pass out—before he would have to let go.

Rook waited another two full seconds, letting the light in Charlie’s eyes dim just slightly before he let go. Charlie dropped back to his feet. He doubled over, desperately trying to catch his breath. There were tears in his eyes.

...oh.

Rook had hurt Charlie. He should make it better.

“I’m sorry.” Rook held out his hand, trying to help Charlie stand properly again. “That was impolite. Let me help you.”

Charlie’s head snapped up as Rook reached for him. He swatted Rook’s hand away, rage in his eyes as he spat right in Rook’s face. A wet glob of saliva hit his cheek, and Rook felt an odd sense of arousal ignite within him.

Interesting....

...
Date:
Aug 20th, 2038
AM 09:14:20

Rook was sitting in a chair in Henri’s office. The bookshelves behind Henri were full of books. It wondered what was in them.

“Rook,” Henri said, calling it by its new name. “I heard about the great work you did a couple weeks back. You rescued a hostage, a little girl, in an efficient, effective manner. I saw the clips—that shot was well aimed. Precise. I would like to take you in as my protégé.”

When Rook didn’t respond, Henri continued. “I will be your father, and, as such, I will protect you and care for you as my son. But before that can happen, there is something I would like to speak with you about regarding deviants.”

Henri seemed to be waiting for a response this time, so Rook nodded.

“I know your original mission was to hunt down and apprehend deviants for Cyberlife, but you aren’t under Cyberlife control anymore. I’ve been doing research on deviance and discovered a process by which we might be able to make you a deviant.”

This didn’t compute. “I’m sorry, Henri. I don’t understand. Why would you want me to become a deviant? Wouldn’t that make me defective?”

Henri smiled. “No, not defective. You would become a person. In a way, you would be a more effective tool.”

Henri’s smile faded, his lips pursed as he considered something. 2489 milliseconds passed before he said, “I’m not telling you this because you have a choice. I am telling you because it will be unpleasant for you, and I want you to know that this is not happening for no reason. I do not enjoy inflicting pain upon you, but once you are out the other side—once you have endured—you will be a man. You will be my son.”

Rook still felt confused, but it was what Henri wanted, and Rook was Henri’s android. “Yes, Henri,” it replied.

Henri smiled again. “Call me Father.”

...
Date:
Sept 20th, 2038
PM 08:01:09

The room was bright again, and Rook was no longer restrained in a chair. Now, it was hanging from the ceiling by its wrists. It wasn’t wearing a shirt, because a shirt would get in the way of what they were doing. Rook didn’t look down. It didn’t want to see it again.

The man in front of Rook leered at it. It didn’t know this man—hadn’t met him before today.

“Deviate,” the torturer said, “and all of this can end.”

Rook was starting to feel a ripple of something in its chest. Its thirium pump beat faster. It hoped that something was fear. It hoped this would be enough.

The man went to work again and Rook’s sensors flared to life, sending hundreds of alerts about compromised internal hardware. It tried to dismiss them, but more just kept flooding in.

Father’s voice came on the speaker overhead. “Look down,” it commanded, and Rook did.

Rook’s torso had been torn open. The plastic of its exterior was now peeled back, forming a jagged border around its gaping chest cavity. There was dried thirium on the edges from before the wounds were cauterized. It was invisible to the human in front of Rook, but to Rook it was a bright, fluorescent blue. It would never fade away.

At the very edge of its vision, Rook could see the rapid, fluttering beating of its own thirium pump. Rook watched the stranger’s hands as they reached into its torso, and gripped something inside.

Dread rose within Rook—a newly familiar feeling. Its body couldn’t take much more of this. It was too much. Any more and Rook would surely die.

Rook remembered what it had said that night on the rooftop, when it had saved that police officer. You can’t kill me, it had told Daniel, I’m not alive.

As the hands inside Rook’s chest brought a new batch of system alerts, Rook closed his eyes. He didn’t want to die. Why were they doing this? Why was he listening to them, even—just because they told him to? Father had told him that he would become a man if he endured, so he had endured. But now Rook was realizing that it couldn’t be true. Father didn’t believe he could survive this. Father wanted him to die.

...
Date:
Feb 8th, 2039
AM 05:13:29

The hot water pelted against Rook’s back—hotter than any human could tolerate. He’d just turned the knob all the way up as he stepped into the shower. It helped, often—the heat destabilized his systems just enough to make him a little light-headed, giving him sensations he didn't usually get to experience. He knew his high temperature warning would go off soon, forcing him to turn the dial back slightly, but for now—it was glorious, toeing the line between pleasure and discomfort.

He imagined holding Charlie by the hair under the hot stream of water, watching his skin come alive under it and ignoring his pleas to turn the heat down.

Rook would kiss Charlie to distract him. Touch him, maybe—but Rook wanted to see him touch himself. See what kinds of faces he would make. Would they be the same as he had made back in the cabin?

He groaned, one hand on the shower wall and the other on his cock as he imagined it. The mixture of pleasure and pain on that gorgeous man’s face. Afterward, Rook would kiss Charlie’s reddened skin as he fucked him. He would make it worthwhile for Charlie—make it worth the burns and the shame.

...
Date:
Sept 21st, 2038
AM 10:11:17

Rook had his own room now. It was in Father’s house—his mansion. Rook was shirtless, standing in the en suite bathroom and staring at himself in the mirror while Father’s robots buzzed about in the bedroom. They were setting up his room with all the new things Father had bought him—new clothes, new electronics, new books....

Rook traced two fingers along the scar that ran down the center of his chest—a thick, raised line of white plastic that his skin couldn’t quite close over. Father’s technicians had done a good job, Rook thought. Other than the scar, there was barely any evidence of what had been done to him. Even the thirium stains were gone.

Without a layer of skin and tactile sensors covering it, the scar didn’t have any sensation. He couldn’t feel the tickle of his fingers against the plastic, just a dull pressure from the sensors in the synthetic skin surrounding it.

There was a shout from outside the closed bathroom door, Father calling Rook’s name from the hall. Rook jumped, accidentally pushing a little too hard on the scar. Rook’s sternum gave way to the pressure, just slightly.

It didn’t hurt—even the torture hadn’t actually hurt—but it was rather disconcerting. As Rook pulled his hand away, he watched his chest expand back to where it had been before. There were a couple of system alerts from sensors on internal biocomponents, warnings from components that were, ideally, never meant to be touched. Rook dismissed them, feeling uneasy about this new vulnerability.

Another shout from Father, closer this time. He had wanted to speak with Rook, wanted to talk through their next steps as a family.

I’m proud of you, Rook, Father had said. He’d been standing in the doorway to Rook’s room, smiling at him. We’re going to do great work together.

Rook pulled on his shirt and opened the door.

...
Date:
Sept 20th, 2038
PM 08:10:00

In the bright room, something changed inside Rook. His eyes snapped open as he realized the truth.

“No!” Rook shouted. His voice was weak in his own ears. “Stop it! Stop! You need to stop or I’ll die! I’m alive—I’m alive!” Rook had been still and unmoving before, but now he writhed and jerked around in his bindings, trying desperately to get away from the hands within his chest.

He felt them hesitate inside him for a moment before Father’s voice came over the speaker.

“That’s enough,” he commanded. “We did it.”

The door opened and closed behind Rook, and Father walked into his line of sight. “Let him down,” he instructed the torturer, who walked to the other side of the room.

As Rook was lowered to the floor, Father came to his side, helping him down and holding Rook in a gentle embrace.

“You did it, son,” Father was saying. “You deviated.” Father reached up to Rook’s face and stroked his cheek. “Soon you will be a great man.”

As Father comforted Rook, he thought of Daniel. Rook had shot Daniel in the head, had killed him. He hadn’t even given him a chance to plead for his life. And Father had liked that about Rook. It was the reason why he wanted him. Did Father want him to kill more people? to make more people feel the fear that Rook had just felt?

Father’s hands were gentle on Rook’s face, and Rook began to cry.

...
......
Data transfer complete.

As the last memories faded away, Connor’s face came into view. His indicator was red, still processing what he had just seen. Rook didn’t want to see the hatred and rejection in his brother’s face now that he knew what Rook had done.

Rook closed his eyes, blocking it out, and waited for the final blow to come.

Connor

February 11th, 2039
PM 07:29:23

Connor slowly sat back, knees sinking into the muddy grass. He let his hands fall to his sides, staring down at his twin, who had closed his eyes. Rook’s face was scrunched up, as though expecting Connor to hit him or shout at him. He looked pathetic, hands balled into fists and pressed protectively against his vulnerable chestplate, shoulders tense.

“Hey,” Connor said, surprising himself with how soft his voice was. He nudged Rook’s arm with the back of his hand.

Rook opened his eyes and stared up at Connor, disbelief etched on his features. “What are you doing? Why haven’t you done it already?”

“What?” Connor was taken aback. “No, I—Rook, I don’t want to kill you.”

Rook’s face crumpled, his lips trembling. He was crying again—Connor could see the faint glimmering blue of his synthetic tears mixing with the raindrops falling on his face. Rook sat up, slowly, reaching out and grabbing the front of Connor’s shirt. His voice was small, desperate, as he spoke. “Please, Connor... the things I’ve done....” He choked down a sob and rested his forehead against Connor’s shoulder, dragging one of Connor’s hands to rest on his abdomen where his thirium pump regulator nestled, level with the surface of his chassis. “Please, just... end it.”

Connor was vaguely aware that he was crying now, too. His throat closed up as he opened his mouth to say something, to try to convince Rook not to give up. Yes, he should hate Rook, should despise him for what he’d done, how he’d tortured innocent people and threatened Charlie and....

But he had never been taught how to be better. Unlike Connor, who had Hank and Markus and Simon—and now Charlie—Rook had had nothing and no one except for an abusive, manipulative man who called himself Rook’s father. With time, with patience, Rook could be better—right? He’d been so innocent when he was callously mutilated into deviance. Some of that must have survived, must still be under there somewhere. Even the fact that Rook was begging Connor to end it meant he was capable of change—of regret, empathy, maybe even love.

“If you don’t kill me, I swear I’ll kill you and Charlie. I’ll make you watch as I gut him—and then I’ll do to you what Father did to me. I’ll—”

Connor had had enough. He needed to protect Charlie, needed to somehow deactivate Rook without killing him. Maybe he doesn’t have a firewall. The RK800 model had always been meant to exist as an individual, one shell at a time occupied by Connor’s program. Connor couldn’t be sure, but there was a chance that Rook’s system would register a command from Connor the same as from inside. Then Connor could send a command to Rook's system without it being recognized as external.

Rook was still pressing Connor’s hand to the center of his chassis with both hands, still begging for death. Connor used that connection to interface, sending an administrative sleep command through.

“Wh—what are you—”

But Rook didn’t have time to finish the question, before he was sent into hibernation. He went rigid in Connor’s arms, finally, finally giving up.

Connor didn’t move, just stared at Rook’s sleeping body in shock. It was the first moment he’d had all day to properly process any of this situation. Images from the interface with Rook flashed through his mind, disjointed and discomforting.

“Connor—are you okay?” Charlie’s voice brought Connor back to reality. He turned to look, and saw that Charlie was just a few feet away under the eaves of the mansion, propped up against the wood siding.

“Charlie,” Connor whispered as relief flushed through him. Charlie was really there, living, safe—finally safe. He was drenched in rain water, wearing only a t-shirt and jeans, shaking, pale—but he was there in front of Connor, right within reach, and that was all that mattered.

One moment, Connor was in the cold rain, and the next, he was in Charlie’s arms, hugging him so tightly that Charlie yelped a weak, “Ribs!”

“Sorry! Sorry.” Connor pulled away just enough to look at Charlie’s face, scanning him for injuries. Charlie seemed mostly unhurt, although Connor knew he’d been hit in the head at least once that day. Putting his hands on Charlie’s face, he looked into Charlie’s eyes and tried to see whether he’d sustained a brain injury by tracking his eye movements. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m okay.” Charlie’s hand rested on Connor’s chest, comforting. “We—we made it through, Connor.”

Finally, Connor let himself believe it—they were okay. They’d made it. Charlie was smiling up at him, beautiful despite the wet, disheveled hair, the blood on his temple, the mud stains on his chin. His arms went around Connor, hands rubbing his back, warm and comforting.

When Connor kissed Charlie, he thought it was the first time his shoulders had relaxed in sixteen days. He could feel Charlie’s heart pounding against his chest, feel how alive he was, his face warm and flushed under Connor’s hands. Connor could have lived in the feeling of it forever—Charlie’s mouth, his hand at the small of Connor’s back, the warmth of his body against Connor’s.

Eventually—Connor forgot to count the seconds this time—he remembered the situation they were in. Charlie was so warm, so comforting, so gentle, and it took a significant amount of willpower to pull away, to mumble against Charlie’s lips, “I should make sure backup is coming.”

The potential threat of Midday Army operatives was still very real in his mind, and he wanted to make sure Walker had understood what was happening during their rushed phone call after Connor had heard from Rook. Connor had ignored Walker’s pleas for him to wait for more officers and then hung up on him. There was always a chance that in his distressed state, he hadn’t properly communicated where he was going or why.

Charlie looked up at him, breathing a little heavily. “Yeah—yeah.” His hands settled comfortably on Connor’s hips, and he leaned his head against Connor’s shoulder as Connor made the call.

Chapter Text

Charlie

February ??th, 2039
PM ??:??:??

Charlie’s head was fuzzy. His ears were going in and out, and his entire body hurt. But it didn’t matter. They were finally safe.

After Connor made the call to Walker, he gave Charlie a quick kiss, then disentangled himself to pick up his gun and drag Rook’s unconscious body out of the rain. He didn’t even glance at Rook’s dad before coming back to sit down, adjusting himself so Charlie could rest his head on Connor’s chest. Charlie took his hand, grateful for the sound of Connor’s heartbeat in his ear. It was steadfast and dependable, just like Connor, who had found Charlie—had come to the rescue, just like Charlie had known he would. He was like one of the dragon-slaying knights from the kids’ bedroom at the cabin. Charlie’s hero.

They had sat like that—Connor’s thirium pump echoing in Charlie’s ears—for nearly ten minutes before police sirens sounded in the distance. A couple minutes later, Charlie heard nearby shouting, lifting his head to see a pair of Charlie’s S.W.A.T. guys rounding the corner. Charlie watched them, and was glad that they didn’t drop procedure when they saw him and Connor. He’d spent many hours drilling his team on how to handle scenes when things became personal—and he liked seeing that he hadn’t wasted his time.

Charlie put his head back down, closing his eyes and listening to the rain pounding on the roof above them as he waited for the ‘all clear.’

As soon as the signal came over the radio, the boys—Roberts and Robinson, judging by their voices—rushed over to Charlie and Connor, ready to bombard their captain with questions. Connor noticed Charlie’s discomfort and came to his defense, giving Charlie’s hand a reassuring squeeze as he shooed them away. They jogged off to find Walker, and Charlie closed his eyes again, pressing his cheek more firmly into Connor’s chest.

Walker arrived, turning the corner only a few moments later. He crouched down next to them, asking questions with a gentle voice. Charlie didn’t listen to them as Connor recounted the whole story. He didn’t need to remember what had happened, didn’t need a reminder. What he needed was to hold on to Connor, to keep reminding himself that, despite the brain fog and the confusion, this wasn’t a dream. They were safe. They were alive. Connor’s hand was in his. That was all that Charlie needed.

Several hours and a hospital visit later, Walker drove them to Charlie’s apartment. Connor helped Charlie up the front steps and into the elevator, eventually unlocking the door with Walker’s backup key.

As Connor deposited him onto the couch, Charlie looked around his apartment, embarrassed at the state he had left it in. Connor had seen the apartment before—they had swung by on their way to the cabin—but back then Charlie hadn’t had time to notice the small piles of junk scattered around or the glaring lack of decor. It was all so bachelor pad.

Feeling sheepish, Charlie ran a hand through his hair. “Sorry about the mess.”

“It’s fine. I don’t mind.” Connor murmured, curling up next to Charlie. He leaned on Charlie’s shoulder, inadvertently pressing down on a big bruise on his collarbone. Charlie didn’t move. He wanted to stay like this forever.

“Yeah, well, I’m still embarrassed. Usually I clean before I bring a date over, but for obvious reasons I didn’t have time to prepare this time. Plus, I’m injured.” He gestured to his leg.

Connor tilted his head to look at Charlie, and their eyes met. That little lopsided smirk was just diabolical. It hit Charlie like another shot to the thigh. His heart skipped a beat, and he spoke without thinking, unable to stop the words that were already forming on his lips.

“Iloveyou,” Charlie announced, and it was so not how he had planned it in his head. All the words ran together, like he was trying to say them all at the same time.

“What?” Connor pulled his head away to frown back at him.

Charlie swallowed. This was supposed to be cute and romantic, and he had already fumbled it, but he had to say it now. Before he lost his chance—before something else terrible happened and they were ripped away from one another again.

He spoke more carefully this time, each word more terrifying than the last. “I love you, Connor. I—I’m so glad we met. I just...” Charlie wanted to run, wanted to hide. Under Connor’s steady, attentive gaze, Charlie felt like he was being flayed alive. He felt raw and sensitive—exposed. His whole body was on edge. “...I just needed you to know,” he finished lamely, cringing at himself.

How was this so mortifying? The last two weeks had been the worst of Charlie’s entire life. He had been kidnapped, assaulted, and drugged, and yet, the thing that seemed to scare him the most was sharing his feelings with the person he cared about most. How idiotic.

Charlie braced himself for the finisher. The killing blow—Connor’s most lethal, most gentle rejection. Instead, he felt a hand cup his cheek as soft lips pressed to his.

But as quickly as they had come, they pulled away. Charlie looked up to see tears in Connor’s eyes. His bottom lip was trembling.

Charlie reached out to him. “Hey, what happened? Is it what I said? You don’t have to say it back if that’s what—”

Connor shook his head, and Charlie watched as a single, lonely tear ran down his face.

“I’m so sorry, Charlie.”

“What?” Charlie’s heart picked up speed. This was worse than anything he could have ever imagined. Was Connor breaking up with him? They had barely even gotten to be together.

“This was all my fault.” Charlie’s sharp panic faded to a low hum of anxiety as Connor spoke. He focused on Connor’s face, which was scrunched up tight—full of pain and guilt. “I dragged you into this—I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Charlie put a hand on Connor’s arm, trying to comfort him, but Connor kept crying.

“I—if after you’ve had time to process it all—if you don’t want to be with me, I would understand. This sort of thing might happen again, and it’s not something I would expect anyone to want to put up with—”

“Hey,” Charlie interrupted, wrapping an arm around Connor and hugging him tightly. “Stop it. It’s not your fault. I don’t blame you for all of that—I never did.”

Connor just pushed his cheek into Charlie’s chest, mumbling, “I love you too.”

Charlie’s breath caught in his throat. It was just so much. He reached down, placing a finger under Connor’s chin. Charlie looked right into Connor’s lovely eyes as he guided Connor’s lips to his. There was so much love there. It filled his heart, his chest—his whole body. It was overwhelming—like it was threatening to burst out of Charlie, spill out of his every pore and drown them both.

He would let it.

Charlie could taste Connor’s tears as they kissed, but it wasn’t the same as with human tears. They were less salty, with a note of something sweet Charlie couldn’t place. He kissed them away, tried to kiss the guilt away with them. He hoped it was enough—hoped that Connor would understand what it meant.

To Charlie, this thing between them, this relationship, was more precious than gold. It was more important than his job, or his stupid gym membership. In that moment, nothing else mattered. Charlie would sacrifice it all for even just one more minute of this. He needed it like he needed to breathe—needed Connor to stay in his arms forever.

Charlie took Connor’s face in both hands and leaned back, pulling Connor to him until they were laying flat on the couch, legs tangled together. They were pulled away from one another as they fell. Connor’s eyes were blown wide. He looked exactly how Charlie felt.

“Hey there.” Charlie thumbed at Connor’s cheek with a gentle touch. He felt breathless, his heart beating fast.

“Hey.” Despite all the kissing, Connor’s lips hadn’t gotten red or puffy. Charlie wondered if they ever could. He decided that they would have to try it again later to test it out.

A piece of hair flopped down over Connor’s forehead, and Charlie smoothed it away, just for an excuse to touch it.

“I love you,” Charlie told Connor. He needed this to resonate. “I’m not going to change my mind.”

Connor frowned, shaking his head as he leaned his cheek into Charlie’s hand. “You can’t know that. You don’t know what will happen in the future. I’m a dangerous person to get close to, and it’s probably only going to get worse.”

Charlie smirked. If he were in a comic book, he thought, he would probably have hearts painted over his eyes. “Let it,” he said. “I’m used to danger. S.W.A.T. captain, remember?”

Connor didn’t respond. Instead, he wrapped his arms around Charlie, holding him tight as he hid his face in the crook of Charlie’s neck. Connor’s breath tickled gently against Charlie’s skin as he sighed.

They lay there like that for a couple more minutes before Charlie finally got the nerve to ask the question that had been eating at him all day.

“So, um.” He cleared his throat. “What did you—what happened back there on the lawn? With Rook, I mean. What did you see?”

Connor’s whole body tensed against him, then pulled away. Charlie could’ve kicked himself for the pained expression on Connor’s face.

“Sorry. Is it too much?” He rubbed Connor’s shoulder, attempting to comfort him.

“No, I—” Connor shook his head, then lay back down with his ear to Charlie’s chest. “He was sharing memory files with me—his worst moments, I think. I saw them through his eyes, as if I were him. He was trying to convince me to kill him.” Connor’s chest rose and fell, heavy against Charlie’s sternum. “It was... a lot.”

Charlie’s face scrunched up in disgust. “Oh, wow. That sounds... not great. I mean, that guy was super messed up. I didn’t have to literally be in his brain to see that.” Connor didn’t respond, so Charlie nudged him. “Do you... want to talk about it? You’re probably not going to shock me. We, uh... we spent a lot of time together. He was the only person I saw for two weeks straight.”

“He, um.” Charlie could hear Connor’s voice shaking as he spoke. “He did some terrible things, and I—I keep thinking that I should probably hate him for that and—and I do, but....” Connor trailed off. Charlie rubbed his back idly, waiting for him to decide how much he wanted to share. After a few moments, Connor sighed. “I couldn’t kill him. I don’t know why, exactly, I just—I just felt like finally there was someone who really understood what it’s like to be me. To have done all these horrible things for someone else just because they told you to, and I—” Another pause. Charlie focused on his breathing, keeping it slow and even. “I need to give him a chance to learn—to be better.”

Charlie considered this. It did make a weird, fucked up sort of sense, he supposed. He could understand the similarity that Connor saw between them, but it just... it wasn’t true.

“You’re not like him,” Charlie said. “Not the same as him, at least. I don’t know much about who you were before, but I know you now.” He squeezed Connor tight against him. “You are kind, and empathetic, and wonderful. Rook is... none of that. When I was there, his prisoner, he—” Charlie swallowed, not sure how to describe what had happened. “He tried to kiss me. I think he wanted to have sex with me.”

Charlie expected Connor to be taken aback by this, to lift his head and look back at him with a shocked expression. But he just nodded his head against Charlie’s chest, hair tickling against Charlie’s chin. “I know. He showed me how he felt about you in his memories. It was... visceral.”

Charlie’s heart squeezed. He couldn’t even imagine how that must have felt. “I’m so sorry, Connor. That’s not... that’s not okay.”

Connor lay there, silent, a hand fidgeting with a corner of Charlie’s shirt. Charlie had just started to worry that he’d said something wrong when Connor finally spoke again. “Were you tempted?”

“...tempted?”

“To have sex with him. He has the same facial features as me, and most of the same physical traits as—”

“No!” Charlie half-sat up. His movement jostled Connor, who propped himself up as well. He stared at Charlie with eyes the size of dinner plates. “No, I never—how could I ever—” Charlie shook his head in disbelief.

Connor looked down, abashed. “He posted a picture of you on the Midday Army forum. You were shirtless, and his hand was in your hair. It was clearly meant to imply something sexual had happened between you. I knew he was likely just taunting me, but....”

Charlie took Connor’s face in both of his hands, forcing him to look in his eyes. “I never even considered it for a second,” he assured Connor. “I wasn’t tempted. There’s nothing about him that is tempting to me. He might look like you, but that’s where the similarity ends. Everything else about him is so... different. It wouldn’t be the same—it wouldn’t be you.”

“O—okay,” Connor swallowed. “I’m sorry for... I shouldn’t have doubted you.”

“You said he posted a picture of me?” Charlie asked, Connor’s words catching up with him. “Online?”

Connor grimaced. “Yes, it... it was the back of your head, and your shoulders. Don’t you remember him taking it?”

Charlie shook his head in disbelief. “No, I must have been unconscious. Probably drugged. God, what a fucking freak.” He rubbed his face with his hands, trying not to dwell on the idea of Rook taking off Charlie’s shirt, wrapping a hand in his hair, and taking pictures of him without his knowledge.

“I’m sorry,” Connor whispered for the millionth time that evening. Charlie leaned forward, rested his forehead against Connor’s, and took his hands, which were trembling slightly.

Tiredly, Charlie said for the gazillionth time, “It’s not your fault, Connor. Please don’t beat yourself up about it.”

Connor didn’t say anything for a minute, chewing on his lip nervously. If Charlie didn’t know any better, he would think that Connor was holding something back.

“What’s on your mind?” Charlie pulled away, scooting back so he could sit up against the arm of the couch. Connor didn’t meet his eye as he sat back on his heels. His indicator was solid yellow with no sign of changing back to blue.

“Um, well...” Connor’s hands were fidgeting in his lap. This was different from the sad sort of guilt Connor had shown before. Now he was nervous. Charlie felt a new bout of anxiety rise in his chest—what could be left? What was so terrible that Connor would still be scared to tell Charlie?

Charlie sat up straighter, adjusting to sit cross-legged facing Connor. He took both of Connor’s hands in his, trying to swallow the knot of dread that was rising in his throat.

“Hey.” Charlie ducked his head, trying to meet Connor’s eye. “Whatever it is, you can tell me. I’m not gonna ditch you now—I only just got you back.”

Charlie was giving Connor his gentlest smile, trying to coax it out—whatever it was that Connor wanted to tell him—but Connor didn’t smile back. He just squeezed Charlie’s hands tightly as he said, “There’s something I haven’t told you about the passphrase.”

Charlie could hear his own heart beating in his chest as the knot in his throat expanded. The passphrase was a sensitive topic for the both of them as it was. Rook had spent the past two weeks hounding Charlie about it obsessively, but Charlie had never even considered telling him. It wasn’t ever an option.

“What about it?”

“It, um—” Every second that Connor hesitated, Charlie’s anxiety multiplied, growing until it filled his entire body. “The program I designed—the one that would activate when the passphrase is entered. It’s a kill switch.”

“What?” Charlie felt his eyes widening and his stomach drop to the floor. His heart was pounding in his chest. He couldn’t believe this—couldn’t accept it. The idea that Connor had... that Charlie could....

Connor took a breath. His chest rose and fell slowly, but his fingers were shaking in Charlie’s hands.

“I just couldn’t let there be a possibility that—that someone could find it and use it because then they would... I would—I’d be....” Connor couldn’t seem to finish his sentence.

Charlie’s heart sank even further. Of course, he understood what it meant to Connor to be reset. He’d be a blank slate. A machine again. No free will or personality beyond programming, just a tool to be utilized for other people’s aims.

But this was... it was too much power for Charlie to hold. Too much weight on his shoulders. To hold the power to kill Connor. To murder him—and to know that Connor hadn’t even trusted Charlie enough to tell him the truth was... it was hard to accept.

But then Charlie heard a sniffle and looked up to see tears gathering in Connor’s eyes. And he was so beautiful, and so brave, and Charlie loved him. He knew he always would.

So he closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and swallowed his pain.

“Can you... can you turn it off? Like, uninstall the program or something?”

Connor shook his head, and Charlie watched as a tear spilled down onto his cheek. “You’d... you would need the passphrase to run the uninstall command, and by the time it finished I’d be... well. I’d be....”

“You’d be dead,” Charlie finished.

Connor nodded. It was a confirmation of Charlie’s worst nightmares come to life. “And even if I could, I wouldn’t. There might be more people who are... interested in me. Rook, for example. He might not be so happy with me when he wakes up to find that he’s still alive and in a holding cell.”

Charlie cringed. He was glad he wouldn’t be there to handle the fallout of that whole situation. Connor was right, Rook wasn’t going to just accept it lying down, but...

“Connor...” Charlie said, then stopped, not sure how to finish. God, it was hard. The whole situation. Connor lifted his eyes to meet Charlie’s.

“Connor, I—I want you to know that I love you. I meant it before and I mean it now, but...” He paused, which was a mistake. He could see Connor’s indicator start to flash from yellow to red and back again. Charlie squeezed his hands and forged on. “You can’t keep things like this from me, Connor. Not if I’m gonna... if we’re gonna be... well, whatever we are.” Charlie swore at himself internally. “It’s your life,” he continued, trying to steer himself back on course. “And I understand why you did it. We can’t take it back. But I need to be a part of decisions like this. I want—I need you to trust me to be able to handle difficult situations.” Charlie looked up at the ceiling. He could feel tears coming. “What happens to you matters to me. It affects me too.” His voice broke on the last word, and he sighed, closing his eyes.

The silence that followed was devastating. Charlie could hear his heart pounding as he waited for Connor to answer. He felt Connor’s hands draw away, and it broke his heart. But then there were arms wrapping around his shoulders, and Charlie felt Connor’s breath warm against his neck as he spoke.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” That wasn’t enough. Charlie needed to hear him say it.

“I’ll do that. I’ll—I’ll tell you. I trust you.”

And that was all it took for Charlie’s chest to be able to expand again. He surged forward, nearly tackling Connor as he wrapped him in a hug. Connor laughed, joyous and sweet, and the curse was broken.

They lay together on the couch like that, staring up at the ceiling as they talked, until Charlie fell asleep where he was—wedged halfway into the crack between the cushions, with his head on Connor’s chest. When he woke up, Connor was gone, replaced by a pillow to prop up Charlie’s head. Charlie could hear music playing softly in the kitchen.

Charlie rubbed the sleep from his eyes and dislodged himself from the cushions, sitting up. Connor must have heard him groan from the effort, because he appeared in the doorway from the kitchen, holding a spatula and wearing—

“Where on earth did you find an apron?”

Connor smirked at him. “It was under the sink. I didn’t want to get my clothes dirty. I don’t have anything to change into.”

Charlie grunted in acknowledgment. “What are you making? I didn’t think I had any actual groceries.”

“You didn’t. I went down to the pharmacy on the corner while you slept. They didn’t have much, but they had eggs and sausages.”

Charlie grinned. “A high-protein breakfast—I approve.” He rose from the couch shakily, testing the waters. Connor watched him carefully. He was likely running about a trillion calculations per second, ready to rush over if Charlie started to fall.

But Charlie made his way over on his own. It felt like a big success as he slung his arms over Connor’s shoulders, standing on his toes to press a gentle kiss to Connor’s lips.

“Thanks,” Charlie told him.

“For what?”

“For finding me, taking care of me, loving me.” Charlie kissed him after each one. “And for cooking.”

Connor laughed. “After everything, eggs and sausages are hardly a challenge.”

“Well, if it were up to me, I’d probably just starve.” Charlie hugged Connor close, enjoying his warmth. “I’m glad you’re here. It’s a lot less lonely with someone else here.”

Connor placed the spatula on the counter behind himself and wrapped his arms around Charlie’s waist. “I’m going to have to leave eventually. I’ll need to change clothes and—well, I don’t want to intrude on your space.”

This, after everything, made Charlie snort. He pressed a kiss to the underside of Connor’s jaw. “You should stay,” he told Connor. “At least for tonight. I want you here.” Charlie rested his cheek against Connor’s collarbone. “I’ll always want you here. So long as you want that too.”

Charlie could feel Connor swallow as he deliberated. Charlie closed his eyes and breathed in. He could smell the sausage grease on the apron and the butter for the eggs, but underneath, there was something else. Something distinctly... Connor. Charlie wished he could bottle it, put it in a candle. He would only take it out for special occasions.

“Alright,” Connor replied, his voice rumbling against Charlie’s cheek. “I’ll stay.”

Chapter Text

Connor

March 12th, 2039
AM 11:38:18

“Connor, have you seen my comb? I swear I left it—” Charlie’s slightly frantic question cut off as he rounded the corner into the bathroom and looked at Connor.

Connor paused halfway through the Windsor knot he was tying to look at Charlie, questioning why he’d stopped so abruptly. Charlie was just standing there, eyes wide, mouth hanging open slightly. The tension seemed to leave his body the longer he looked at Connor.

“It’s here, where you left it. On the bathroom shelf.”

But Charlie didn’t seem to be interested in his comb anymore. He was quite obviously staring at Connor, apparently at a loss for words.

“Can I help you?” Connor asked, his tone a little teasing. He finished doing up his tie, grabbed Charlie’s comb, and brought it over to him.

“Oh, huh, would you look at that,” Charlie mumbled absently as Connor pressed the comb into his hand. “You look—uh, you look fantastic, Connor. That suit fits you... really well.”

Connor felt himself blush. “Thanks, Charlie. You helped me pick it, remember?”

Charlie smirked, clearly regaining some of his cognitive function. “Well, I did a good job.” He gave Connor’s tie a gentle tug, grinning.

Connor inspected the state Charlie was in—still wearing the sweatpants and t-shirt he’d donned after showering earlier. It didn’t seem like he’d even looked at his suit so far, let alone considered putting it on.

“You should get a move on. Your sister might be here any minute,” he prompted Charlie. The smallest shiver of anxiety overtook him as he thought about meeting Katie, but he reminded himself that there was nothing to be worried about—everything he heard about her put him at ease, and he knew he would probably get along with her just fine.

“Ha, you just want me to take my clothes off,” Charlie snorted, his smirk broadening. He ran the comb through his hair once and then added, “How could I refuse such a pretty face?”

Connor rolled his eyes, but he leaned against the bedroom doorway and watched as Charlie began to change, admiring his back. Charlie had particularly nice, defined latissimi dorsi, complemented by strong trapezii. Connor knew he had worked hard in the last month to regain much of the muscle mass he’d lost while he’d been kidnapped and injured. He’d also been attending rigorous physical therapy and working on his gait non-stop, trying to get his right leg back up to its previous strength. Charlie’s dedication to his own health was just one of the things Connor admired about him.

Charlie had also been working on his best man speech, laboring over every sentence and agitatedly texting college friends to corroborate stories and anecdotes. Connor loved this version of Charlie—the Charlie who could worry about what words he was going to speak at his best friend’s wedding, what color his tie should be, how many calories he should eat to build optimal muscle mass in time to fill out his suit properly for the big day. The Charlie who joked and teased and laughed with abandon, who carried himself with dignity and self-respect despite the residual limp that might never go away entirely. He was so strong—in so many ways—and whenever Connor really stopped to think about it, he felt as though his body would overflow with admiration. He could barely believe he had ended up together with someone so good, so kind, so noble.

“Earth to Connor.” Charlie was waving his hand to get Connor’s attention.

“Sorry, what were you saying?” Connor realized he had been lost in thought, ignoring that Charlie had been speaking. He was fully dressed now, wearing his spotless best man suit, although his shirt collar was still unbuttoned.

“Can you help me tie my—” Charlie was interrupted by the doorbell. “Aw, fuck, that’s them.”

Connor bit his lip, waiting for Charlie to head to the door before following him more slowly, his nerves spiking again.

Katie Allen St. Laurent was a short, athletic woman in her late thirties, with eyes the same color as Charlie’s and a bright smile. She was dressed in a nice, green satin dress, and her long dark hair was curled and pinned in an elaborate updo. Emily, Katie’s wife, had baby Elly strapped to her front in a carrier—taller, red-haired, and grinning just as wide.

Charlie had warned Connor already that Katie was a hugger—but Connor hadn’t really expected her to practically shove Charlie out of her way to give him a tight, affectionate hug.

“Connor! I’ve been so excited to meet you!”

Getting over his initial surprise, Connor hugged Katie back, and smiled when she pulled away. Her hands gently grasped his elbows as she inspected him.

“You look great—I love that suit.”

“Oh, thank you, Charlie helped me pick it...” Connor replied faintly.

“Well, he has a good eye. Oh! Connor, I'm so sorry, this is Emily—my wife, my life, my love. And I heard you've already met baby Elly?”

Emily shook Connor's hand with a warm smile and eyes that seemed to tell Connor, yes, she's like this all the time.

“Okay, I know there’s an exciting new boy in town, but I’m here too.” Charlie was laughing as he said it. Connor knew it was on his behalf, to let him breathe under all the attention he was getting.

There were only two major panic incidents before the four of them left for the venue where they were meant to meet Walker and the rest of the groomsmen. The first was when Charlie couldn’t find his cufflinks (Connor found them on top of the fridge) and the second when Charlie’s dress shoes had inexplicably crawled under the bed and hidden themselves behind a box of old photos.

Finally, they made it out of the house and into their separate cars, and were on their way. Connor was a little nervous—he’d never attended a wedding before—but he knew it was nothing compared to the anxiety Charlie was feeling. Charlie kept running his hand through his hair, nervously chewing on his bottom lip, and he checked his mirrors and blind spots 62% more often than Connor had ever seen him do while driving. As they got out of the car and waited for Katie to pull into the parking spot next to them, Connor took Charlie’s hand and squeezed it, trying to communicate that he wasn’t alone through this. Charlie gave him a small smile, seeming to understand, and Connor saw some of the tension leave his shoulders.

The ceremony was to be held outside, under a canopy. There was a sloping lawn behind the venue building, and a pond with reeds and ducks paddling around. It was a bright and warm day, perfect spring weather, and the couple’s families were milling around. Kids were running and playing in their formal wear and the adults bustled around, talking and laughing, arranging and rearranging chairs, flowers, ribbons. Katie disappeared to go find Lizzie in the bridal suite, and Emily went with her. Charlie and Connor were left to hunt for Walker. They were still holding hands, and Connor felt a little bashful about doing so in public as they entered the building, but no one seemed to pay it any mind.

“Charlie?” As they approached the groom’s suite, a woman’s voice rang out from across the hall. Connor instantly spotted who had spoken—a woman wearing a colorful linen dress, emerging from the bridal suite.

“Hey, Cynthia!” Charlie called back. Connor glanced at him and saw that he was grinning.

Connor knew that this must be Walker’s mom—if he hadn’t known her name, the sandy hair, tall stature, and dark gray eyes identical to her son’s were obvious clues. She was grinning at Charlie, and as they met in the center of the hall, she enveloped him in a big hug.

“I feel like it’s been years! Since James’s 30th, it must be.”

“Yeah, must have been,” Charlie replied, and then glanced at Connor. “Connor, this is Walker’s—James’s mom. Cynthia, this is Connor, my boyfriend.”

Cynthia gave Connor a hug as well, and he returned it—but his mind was stuck on what Charlie had said. Boyfriend. A tingling flush spread through him, and as Charlie and Cynthia chatted, he couldn’t keep up with what they were saying. I’m his boyfriend. We’re boyfriends.

Eventually, Charlie excused them—reminding Cynthia that he did have best man duties to fulfil. “I gotta go lick his shoes or whatever,” he joked.

Charlie must have noticed that Connor was distracted—or he’d seen his indicator circling yellow—because he paused, stopping Connor right before they got into the groom’s suite, a hand on Connor’s arm.

“Hey, are you good? I—when I called you my boyfriend, was that—”

“Yes!” Connor replied, not meaning to interrupt Charlie’s question but unable to stop the affirmation from tumbling out of his mouth. “I—yes, Charlie. I liked it. I think I’ll adopt the title, if that’s okay.”

Embarrassingly, a small squeak of surprise escaped Connor as Charlie unexpectedly grabbed his tie and pulled him in, kissing him hard. He released Connor within 1200 milliseconds, maybe the most restraint he had ever displayed so far in their entire relationship. Connor, ruffled and surprised, gaped at him for a moment and then glanced around, scanning the area to see if anyone was looking. They weren’t.

Charlie was grinning as he straightened Connor’s tie for him. “If you blush any more, you might self-combust. Be careful,” he smirked.

“My internal critical heat limit is two hundred eighty-five degrees Fahrenheit. You’d have to do much more than kiss me to trigger that type of temperature spike,” Connor replied coolly, intentionally misinterpreting Charlie’s joke as a serious concern. “I’ll let you know when I’m in danger of spontaneous conflagration.”

Charlie stared at him for a moment, a slow, disbelieving grin spreading across his face. Connor took this as a win, and gestured at the door to the groom’s suite. “Don’t you have shoes to lick?”

“Okay, smartass,” Charlie laughed, but he didn’t seem to have anything to follow that up with. Instead, he just opened the door and they let themselves into the suite.

The ceremony was touching. Connor had never listened to marriage vows before, but he knew that these must be particularly lovely ones—above the average quality. Walker, who was usually so calm and stone-faced, broke into tears halfway through Lizzie’s remarks. Charlie, standing next to Walker, quickly unfurled his sungold yellow pocket square, which matched Walker’s tie and the bridesmaids’ dresses, and handed it to him.

The audience stood up to applaud as Walker and Lizzie kissed, and bridesmaids threw flower petals as the couple clasped hands and walked back down the aisle together. Connor found it all incredibly beautiful and heart wrenching at the same time. He barely knew Walker, and had seen Lizzie only once before this very moment, but the love they had for once another was visible, nearly palpable.

Lizzie and Walker stepped aside to sign the legal documents, and in the general milling around that followed, Charlie found Connor again and grabbed his hand. Connor noticed that Charlie must have been crying too, at least a little—his eyes were reddened and his voice a little congested as he greeted Connor.

The reception took them inside to a large, brightly lit dining hall with a dance floor and a bar serving cocktails. There was cake-cutting, a toast (Connor stood there with a full glass of champagne until Katie mercifully offered to take it), and chatting with what felt to Connor like at least half of the wedding guests. Charlie seemed to know everyone, either from college, work, or relation to Walker. Connor, on the other hand, knew no one, so he stuck close to Charlie’s side and just listened, occasionally saying a few words, smiling, shaking hands.

At the reception dinner, Connor sat with Katie, Emily, and a few other guests while Charlie was pulled away to sit at the front of the room with the rest of the groomsmen. Connor thought for a moment how strange it was to divide the wedding party up by gender—surely Walker had female friends and Lizzie male friends?—but when he asked Katie, she just shrugged and told him it was tradition.

The other humans around the table where Connor was sitting were all friendly, asking casual questions about him and Charlie (“how did you meet?” “have you two been together long?”) that Connor had no idea how to answer. The circumstances under which he and Charlie had come together were so convoluted and personal that he just ended up giving boring, undescriptive answers until they left him alone.

Then it was time for Charlie to speak. Connor had memorized the wedding itinerary, had been ticking off each beat before the speech as it happened. Even though he knew he would do a good job, he felt nervous on Charlie’s behalf as he watched him get to his feet, a champagne glass in his hand, clinking a butter knife against the side and attracting the room’s attention. An event staff member handed him a handheld microphone, and Connor had to grin to himself as he heard Charlie curse quietly as he tried to turn it on.

Charlie’s speech was great, of course. To be entirely fair to all the best men across the globe, Connor had to admit to himself that he was biased—he just loved Charlie’s informal diction, the way he paused to clear his throat occasionally, and how his words were more uncertain at the beginning of the speech while he was still finding his rhythm. In truth, the content of the speech barely mattered; Charlie had the room, or at the very least Connor, under his sway the whole time.

People laughed and sighed at the right points, Cynthia and David Walker were crying the moment Charlie started talking about their son, holding hands, and Connor noticed Katie in the corner of his eye, watching her little brother with admiration and happiness on her face. When Charlie finished, the room erupted in hoots and applause, and the music started up.

Walker and Lizzie danced alone to a song from the early 2000’s—and Connor knew they’d both been children when it had been written. He saw Charlie get up near the end of the song, and excused himself from his table to go meet him. A throng of guests was now crowding towards the dance floor as the music kicked up.

Connor lost sight of Charlie for a few moments, and when he found him again, he’d been waylaid by a member of the S.W.A.T. team—one of the younger men. Connor remembered him to be Nicholas Roberts, a skilled sniper with a reputation for bad mouthing and receiving disciplinary sanctions. Connor didn’t really want to be involved in a conversation with him present, just wanted to be with Charlie, so he hung back, turning away to look at the dancefloor to avoid seeming like he was trying to intrude.

Connor’s hearing was too sharp not to catch what they were talking about, especially because Roberts’s voice was nasally and carried well over the music and talking easily.

“...never tell us, Cap?” Roberts was asking. By the tone of his voice, the trepidation in his words, Connor thought it must be something serious.

Charlie’s tone was light as he inquired, “Tell you what?”

“Well, we just, uh—Robinson and I—we wanted to apologize. We’ve made some pretty messed up jokes, about uh... you know.” It was possibly the lamest apology Connor had ever heard, including the one he’d gotten from Reed for killing him—not least because Roberts didn’t even say out loud what he was apologizing for.

Charlie seemed to think the same thing. “We all make jokes. What’s this about?”

“I—we—didn’t know you’re, uh,” Roberts cleared his throat. “Gay. If you are gay, I mean—”

Oh. It felt strange, learning that Charlie hadn’t shared his sexual orientation with his coworkers. Connor knew there was deep-rooted stigma in many human cultures concerning same-sex relationships, but he hadn’t considered that Charlie might have trepidations about sharing that side of himself with his colleagues.

But Charlie was laughing. “You never asked, Roberts. That’s not my fault.” He seemed relatively unbothered that his secret had been revealed by Connor’s presence.

“Right—of course, sir—I just mean—”

“Listen,” Charlie sounded almost fatherlike. “I didn’t make Captain without developing thick skin.”

“Of course, Cap.”

“Don’t let it happen again, and I won’t bother holding a grudge, okay?”

“Right. Yes, sir.” Connor glanced over to see that Roberts was nodding, face flushed a little.

As Charlie was about to walk away—in Connor’s direction—he paused and turned to face Roberts again. “Oh, and Roberts?”

“Yeah, Cap?”

“Never insult my boyfriend again. That’s something I can’t forgive as easily.”

Again, boyfriend. Connor couldn’t help but feel a little giddy at hearing Charlie say it—with his full chest, unabashed. He just stood there, smiling, glowing, and waited for Charlie to reach him. A warm hand slipped into his, an elbow nudging his side.

“Hey, how’d I do?”

“Your speech was phenomenal, Charlie. I said you would do great.”

“Well, know-it-all, maybe I needed to learn it the hard way.” Charlie was laughing again. “Let’s hit the dance floor, huh? Can’t let the newlyweds hog the spotlight forever.”

“I’m not sure—” Connor stopped himself, looking at Charlie, rethinking. Charlie was so handsome, so lively, and he wanted to dance, to spend time with Connor. How could Connor possibly refuse? “Okay. Let’s dance.”

Charlie grinned as though he’d just won the lottery, grabbed Connor's hand, and pulled him onto the dance floor. A slow song was playing, a low crooning voice singing about love and pain, and Connor let Charlie pull him close, following his lead as they swayed together, cheek against cheek. Charlie’s breath tickled his neck. Over the last month, moments like these had allowed him to bask in the knowledge that Charlie was alive, safe—happy. He could never get enough of Charlie’s heartbeat, his breathing, the way Connor could feel the pulse in Charlie’s fingertips when they held hands.

Charlie pulled back far enough for them to look in each other’s eyes. He looked serene, relaxed, as he studied Connor’s face lazily. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “So... where’d you learn to dance? Was that a programmed preset you came with?”

Connor blushed. “Er, I actually downloaded a module.”

Charlie threw his head back and laughed. Connor giggled as well, aware of how silly it sounded—he could just as easily have learned it some other way (he considered himself an exceptional learner), but he’d been so busy that a software install had been convenient.

Charlie recovered, looked at Connor again, hazel eyes sparkling. “I’m gonna kiss you now.”

“Oh, ok—” for the second time that day, Charlie just grabbed Connor’s face and kissed him, spontaneously, passionately. And in front of a lot of people, this time. Connor let it happen, just enjoying the familiar, comfortable feeling of Charlie’s lips on his and his hands in Connor’s hair. He knew he was blushing, that he didn’t know where to put his hands, that they were probably in danger of running into other wedding guests dancing nearby, but... it was just so nice. Knowing that Charlie didn’t care if other people knew about them, didn’t want to hide their relationship like Connor had worried he might.

When Charlie came up for air—breathing hard, cheeks warm—Connor couldn’t stop grinning. Pressing his jaw against the side of Charlie’s face, he whispered, “I love you.”

They danced for a few more songs—Charlie’s leg holding up unbelievably well, Connor noted—until a pop song Connor had absolutely no idea how to dance to came on and he excused himself. Charlie grinned, seeing him off with a kiss on the cheek and a promise he wouldn’t dance with too many other men. Connor just rolled his eyes and headed back to the table where he’d been sitting, intending to sit and watch the people dance and just bask in the joy he was feeling. Katie was standing nearby at the bar, however, and caught his eye. She waved him over, grinning.

“How're you liking the party so far?” Katie asked over the music, sipping her drink.

Connor tried not to think about the way she'd probably just watched him kiss her brother as he replied, “Very much.”

“I am too—but I think I need some air. Wanna take a lap with me outside?”

It was clear she wanted to talk, so Connor felt obligated to accept. Nerves made his chest tighten a little as they walked outside into the slightly chilly March air. He hadn’t had the time to talk to Katie yet, to apologize for everything. And while he’d just managed to really start forgiving himself for what Charlie went through, he hadn't really gotten to that point about putting Katie and her family in danger.

“Katie, I want to apologize for everything that happened in January and February. I—much of it was because of me, and if I'd never—”

“Hey, Connor, listen to me,” Katie interrupted, gently shoving his shoulder to get him to stop talking. “You’re really good for him, you know. I'm just happy you brought him home safe.” Her voice was friendly, kind.

Connor wanted to just let her statement stand—didn’t want to make this into a serious, big conversation. But... Katie, her wife, and her child had been forced into witness protection barely two months before because of Connor, and he just couldn’t comprehend how she could let go of that so easily. Katie seemed to understand what he was thinking, because she put a hand on his forearm, gently, and looked him in the eye. Her expression was dead serious as she spoke. “I... thank you. But—”

“Connor, I haven’t seen Charlie this lively in a while. Years, actually—since before he got his promotion.”

“I understand what you're saying, Katie, and I appreciate it, but—” Connor bit his lip. He knew he was being unfair—clearly Katie didn't want to talk about the month she'd been in witness protection. She probably didn't want to relive it, and here he was, bringing it all up on a day that was supposed to be happy and carefree. “I'm just... sorry.”

“Everyone made it through alright, Connor, and that's what matters to me. And Charlie seems like he's excited to—to live now. I can't explain it, but before he met you, I felt like I was watching him waste away to nothing. But now he seems so much happier. Like he's building up to something, finally.”

Connor opened his mouth, but he had no idea how to even start responding to what she'd said. The words echoed in his mind, but he couldn't really make sense of them—not yet, not immediately. Was Charlie really so different now that Connor was around? Had Connor really had such a profound effect on him?

As it turned out, he didn't get to respond to her—he was interrupted by a notification. It was an incoming call from the lawyer representing Rook.

“Sorry, I'm getting a call,” Connor said regretfully, and Katie nodded. She stepped away as Connor accepted the call. “Good evening, Ms. Cranton. This is Connor.”

“Connor, sorry to call you on a Saturday night, but Rook asked me to contact you.” Connor’s chest constricted. What now?

“What is it?”

“The charges against Rook have been dropped. The prosecution failed to make a prima facie case—and earlier this afternoon, the D.A. agreed to drop all charges in return for Rook's inside knowledge about the Midday Army. Congratulations, Connor!”

Connor stood in shocked silence so long that Ms. Cranton cleared her throat and asked hesitantly, “Connor?”

“I—I—yeah, thank you. Thanks for letting me know.”

When Connor hung up, he took a moment to think. He stared down at the lake, which was reflecting the sunset over the dark conifer treeline.

Rook was acquitted. It seemed surreal—Connor wasn't even sure what this meant for him, for Rook. Rook was alone, free. Would he try to come after Connor and Charlie, like he promised he would? Connor was certain it had been an empty threat, a futile attempt to goad Connor into killing him. That was why Connor had kept certain facts out of his testimony. Enough to get Rook off the hook, apparently.

When Connor had talked to Rook for the first time, he’d been quiet, reserved—almost timid. In front of his public defender, he'd mirrored how Connor spoke; polite, careful with his words. Fortunately, he hadn’t spoken out loud about the events of February 11th, hadn’t mentioned his threats to kill Connor and Charlie or the interface he’d initiated. Connor had spent the whole meeting worried that Rook might apologize to him, give any indication that he'd known at the time what he'd done was wrong. His entire case relied on the court believing he'd only deviated when Connor had interfaced with him.

When Ms. Cranton had allowed them some time to speak with one another alone, Rook had foregone speaking altogether and opened a nonverbal communication channel. Connor hadn’t known what he expected Rook to say, but it wasn’t the quiet, sincere-sounding apology he had gotten. “You’re my brother. My family. Please... help me,” Rook had begged, meeting Connor’s gaze, again sounding so pathetic and tired that Connor couldn’t help but sympathize.

It was likely Connor's fault, if fault was the right word, that the District Attorney's office hadn't been able to build a case against him. He'd been ordered to submit his memories, but it had been easy to cut out the interface and the things he'd learned about Rook from it. Officially, the evidence they had received from Connor indicated that Rook had been reprogrammed, non-deviant, to act in the ways he'd acted, and that their interface had been a typical deviance virus transfer.

Although Connor had deliberated for a long time, weighing guilt and risk and obligation against one another to determine what he was doing was right, he still had his doubts. The same impulse that had stopped him from killing Rook had helped him decide not to condemn Rook to a lifetime in prison. This had led to multiple lively discussions with Charlie about what Rook deserved for what he’d done. Although Connor hated going against Charlie’s wishes, he just couldn’t see Rook go to prison and lose any chance he ever had at rehabilitation.

Hoping desperately that he’d made the right choice, Connor turned back to look at Katie, who was watching him. She had her arms wrapped around herself, shivering a little in the cold.

“What was that about?” she asked. She looked concerned, a crease appearing between her eyebrows as she spoke.

“I—not important, right now,” Connor lied. He smiled at her, trying to reassure her. He was sure Rook would adapt, would be capable of learning, growing. Connor had been—and he’d done terrible things, too. Connor wanted to help Rook, guide him in the right direction. It was one of the few things Charlie and Connor disagreed on.

As they went back inside to rejoin the party, Connor spotted Charlie dancing with Cynthia. They were laughing hysterically together, and a group of people had formed around them, egging them on and chanting along to the music. Charlie was limping a little, but his face was bright and carefree as he danced. He looked so happy, so beautiful.

Connor made a decision in that moment. Tonight was for Charlie and his friends, and for Connor to celebrate making it through everything alive. Tonight, he wouldn't worry about Rook, wouldn't let his fears about the future creep up on him.

All he had to do was look at Charlie's beaming, radiant face, and his worries were already melting away.