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I'm certainly going to miss our bromance

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The fight escalates as it always does.

Insult to insult until they’re toeing the line of physical violence. Detective Reed will stalk off once his appetite for contention has been sated. Lieutenant Anderson will huff and fume at his desk. Occasionally he resorts to blasting heavy metal from his outdated headset.

Connor’s interference is not tolerated by either party, so he stoically sits at his desk and waits it out.

It has, at this point, become routine.

Until the day after the Eden Club. The day after Connor had roused Lieutenant Anderson from a drunken coma and learned about Russian roulette, and Cole. The Traci’s. The bridge.

“Always got that thing following you around like a lost puppy, Anderson,” Gavin drawls, “Do you tuck it in at night, too? Give it a kiss on the head?”

He laughs into his coffee. “Better than nothing, I guess.”

Connor’s LED flares red once, twice.



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As one, every cell phone in the precinct rings. Lieutenant Anderson had just braced his arms to launch himself from his chair, presumably over the desk at Detective Reed with the intent to commit murder judging by the thunderous fury in his eyes.

He pauses, confusion mirrored on everyone’s faces as suddenly Gavin Reed’s voice plays loudly over every speaker, “The android took three steps forward and stood but an inch away. It raised it’s right hand to place a delicate finger on my brow, tracing it to my temple and down my face, across my jaw to my chin, slowly dragging it down my throat, gently brushing it across my collar bone.”

Stunned silence. Even Captain Fowler had frozen, jaw-dropped, inside his office.

“I shuddered, the hair on the back of my neck and arms standing up as my breath stopped. It raised itself onto it’s toes and stretched a long, pale neck to press smooth white lips gently on my cheek bone. I closed my eyes, inhaling sharply, it’s warm breath giving me shivers once again.”

“That’s not- what the actual fuck?” Detective Reed is tomato red all the way to his ears, eyes bulging, breathing heavily through his nose. He gestures wildly, “That is not me!”

Reed rounds on Connor. “You,” he hisses, “what the fuck did you do?”

Connor, sitting primly in his chair, cocks his head in a model of pure innocence. As the first few brave souls begin laughing, Detective Reed curses feelingly and storms out of the precinct. Lieutenant Anderson watches him leave, mouth still agape. When the door slams, he sinks down into his chair, swivels to face Connor.

“Holy shit, Connor. How’d you do that?”

Connor’s face is perfectly neutral, LED a pleasant blue as he replies, “Do what, Lieutenant?”

The Anderson’s face contorts into what could either be disdain or disbelief. Under his breath he mutters, “Save me from this plastic asshole.” Louder, he gripes, “You know what? I don’t wanna know. You fucking terrify me sometimes, kid.”

Connor is struck by the overwhelming urge to smirk. He doesn’t fight it. The lieutenant does a double-take, staring disbelievingly for 3.5 seconds before surprising himself with a laugh.