“If you - hic - laugh, you can spend the night on the fire escape. I don’t care - hic - if you do - hic - rust.”
“I am fully waterproof,” RK900 commented mildly, the bulk of his processing power busy cataloging everything he could about this strange human process.
Singultus, his databanks informed him. Hiccups. Involuntary contractions of the diaphragm.
Gavin cursed as another overcame him, hand rubbing futilely at his chest.
“It isn’t - hic - funny. It fucking hu - hic - rts.”
RK900 didn’t doubt it. Was all too aware of Gavin’s distress.
He was already searching for methods of easing his partner’s suffering.
Gavin dropped onto the sofa, groaning, the hiccups seemingly far from abating. RK900 felt guilty for saving away the sharp little noises Gavin made.
The flush in his cheeks as he attempted to hold his breath, telling him testily that it was a well known cure.
That androids didn’t know how good they had it.
Being an artificial lifeform was not without its drawbacks, RK900 knew, but he chose not to voice it.
Sometimes timing was everything.
Gavin moaned, a sound too closely associated with so many of RK900’s favorite memories, and it was all RK900 could do to leave the room in search of essentials. He so badly wanted to envelop Gavin in his embrace.
In the kitchen he prepared ice water and a spoonful of honey.
Watched on helplessly back in the living room, all of his suggestions proving ineffective.
He had Gavin rub at the back of his neck and pull on the tip of his tongue. Suck on an ice cube and press the thumb of one hand into the palm of another.
“I think - hic - you’re making this - hic - shit up,” Gavin accused, increasingly miserable as the hiccups continued unabated.
Nothing they did made any difference. There was nothing he could do to relieve his beloved’s suffering.
It had error messages crashing open, one atop the other, and his LED cycling red even as he rubbed soothing circles between Gavin’s shoulder blades.
Even as he emitted a sudden loud burst of white noise, so that Gavin jolted in his seat and glared at him accusingly.
Hiccupped defiantly, moments later, and told him that they both knew CyberLife were a shower of idiots.
He wasn’t in any way frightening.
The words caused a fresh set of error messages. Had his fingers twitching with a glitch, a strange sense of warmth washing over him.
People judged on appearance. Were often afraid of him, based on nothing more than his presence. It was the one thing that made him wish he could change.
That had him gazing wistfully at Connor and wishing he could be more like him.
To hear Gavin say that he wasn’t scared of him, that he didn’t understand how anybody could be, meant so much that RK900 couldn’t control himself.
Flung his arms around Gavin’s perfect frame and held him close as he dispersed the overwhelming sensations inside him the only way he knew how.
“I love you,” he pledged, speakers crackling with static, “I love you so much, Gavin.”
“I actually need to breathe,” was Gavin’s sarcastic response, flustered with embarrassment, and RK900 loosened the tight hold he had on him.
Sat back to apologize before his mission directive updated itself.
“I believe your hiccups have ceased,” RK900 said, lost to the way the scar across Gavin’s nose shifted as his partner considered the statement.
As Gavin let out a relieved sigh, slowly relaxing back into RK900’s solidity.
“I can still taste the lemon, you know,” Gavin groused, head lolling against his chest, but RK900 understood what he was really telling him.
Registered the shape of the love heart Gavin’s thumb was drawing over the plastic of his hand with a momentary stall of his thirium pump.
Gavin loved him too.