Chapter Text
Gavin was 37 years old when he finally got his scar covered up.
For more than two decades the ugly burn mark on his arm sat there, unevenly splayed from forearm to the lower part of his bicep, sitting on his skin like a bad omen. It didn’t hurt to the touch anymore, but the memory associated with it was painful enough.
He’d tortured himself with it for too long, he finally decided. Looking at it day in and day out started to feel like a kind of self-harm. He’d play it over and over in his head, mentally tracing the timeline since that night over the raised lines inside the scar, wondering why he was the one that made it out. It seemed like he always made it out.
It was a sinking realization when he discovered the scar was the only thing left he had of that night. There was no reason to carry it with him anymore.
Getting the damn thing covered was easy. He texted his artist— he didn’t give a shit what she drew, he just wanted the scar gone. She’d understood him, as she always did, and he was in her shop within the week. He wouldn't have done it on a Sunday, but with a mandated day off, she agreed to squeeze him in early.
It felt like all tattoos do. Like a razor dragging across his skin, but over time the sting and the vibration of the machine mix and turn into a dull hum. The scar made it hurt more than his other tattoos, but it wasn’t that bad.
“It takes a certain type of bad bitch to sit for hours for a burn cover-up tat,” she said, dipping her machine in a black ink cap. “I know this has to hurt like hell.”
“I’ve had worse.”
“Okay, tough guy.”
He listened as his artist talked. Her sister was recovering from a mastectomy, she explained, and when the scars were healed she’d be giving her a freehand floral design to cover them. This was all assuming she was in remission by then, but she was confident her big sister would be fine in no time.
“Someone’s gotta find the cure for cancer sometime. How have we made it this far without one? What’s that Cyberlife guy’s name— Kamski, maybe Elijah Kamski can figure it out.”
“He won’t, he’s an idiot.”
She asked about his job, and of course his job was going well, he was fucking good at it. What about his boyfriend? He explained they weren’t together anymore. She frowned and asked why, and he gave the same bullshit answer he’d given everyone else. It was enough to satisfy her curiosity.
“I heard the Connor android works for the DPD, do you work with him?” She asked.
“How do you know about Connor?”
“He was on the news during the revolution, duh.”
“Oh, right. Yeah, I know him.”
“Is he as cute in person?”
“Absolutely not.”
She rolled her eyes. Connor was cute in a puppy dog sort of way, sure. But not in a general sense. He looked too nice for Gavin’s taste. Besides, he had… whatever it was going on with Hank.
“Are you investigating the bombing that happened?” She asked, voice low.
The bombing. He didn’t sleep at all last night because he was at the scene until the sun came up. Fowler made him take today off for his own health— which also worked out, because his artist agreed to go ahead and get the tattoo done today.
Four dead, three androids and one human. It was bad, but far from the worst he’s seen. The circumstances were suspicious, to say the least, but he’d get it figured out eventually.
“Yep.”
“Holy shit,” she said. “I knew it. I told Cat earlier, I knew you’d be the guy. You figure it out yet?”
“Working on it.”
“Scary stuff. I once dated a Marine, and he would say there’s nothing worse than a bomb because it doesn’t discriminate.”
“This one kind of did, though,” Gavin said, wincing as her needle passed over a particularly sensitive part of his scar. “All android fatalities except for one.”
“Coincidence?”
“You ask too many questions.”
When the tattoo was done, she sprayed him down with Bactine that burned the new wound she created on top of his old one.
“Your scar took the ink like a bitch,” she explained. “But it’s kind of sick. Check it out.”
He’d watched it every step of the way, the big snake and florals that now strategically covered the uneven blotch on his arm. Standing and looking at it in the mirror was different.
“You like it?” She was bouncing with excitement behind him, clearly proud of her six-hour torture session on his scar.
“I love it,” he smiled, and she hugged him.
“Out with the old,” she sang, grabbing a clear adhesive bandage and covering the tattoo for him, explaining the aftercare process he’d already heard at least a dozen times.
He walked out after carefully layering his jacket back on his arms, covering the part of him he was now the most proud of. Out into the autumnal Detroit sky.
He kept this therapist appointment for the next day before work. The day off before had provided some much-needed rest and time for the tattoo, but everything was back in action today. Starting, of course, with Dr. Ayad herself.
“So you’re still not socializing?” Dr. Ayad asked.
“I talk to people.”
“Outside of work?”
Gavin kept fidgeting with a pen he’d taken from the waiting room. Across from him, Ayad's eyes were kind but unflinching. “I’m not 20 anymore, doc. My days of late nights and taking home strangers from bars are over, I’m afraid.”
“I don’t mean one-night stands, I mean meaningful, long-lasting friendships.”
“I have those.”
“Who’s the last person you spoke to?”
“Your receptionist. Lisa, I think?”
“Before that. Like, actually had a conversation with.”
“My tattoo artist. Her name’s Jesse.”
“You got a new tattoo?” She raised an interested eyebrow.
“Yeah, scar cover up.”
“For what scar?”
“Burn scar.”
“Why did you finally decide to cover it?”
“Tired of looking at it.”
“It’s been on you since you were a child.”
“And now I'm tired of it.”
“Can I see?”
He shrugged his jacket off and showed her his arm, still wrapped in the clear plastic bandage. Some ink and plasma had leaked into it while he slept and the bandage kept it trapped, so it wasn’t as clear as before.
“Looks good,” she smiled. “How do you feel about having it covered?”
“Fan-fucking-tastic.”
“You’re letting go of your past.”
“I can’t let go of the past. I’m just… continuing into the present finally, I guess.”
“That’s what we call progress.”
“It’s a tattoo, it’s not that deep.”
“Don’t minimize your victories, Gavin. Did it hurt bad?”
“Didn’t hurt good.”
“It is kind of poetic how you have to go through the pain to get a painful memory covered,” she said. “It’s such an interesting process, I’ve always thought. The pain, of course, is temporary.”
“But the pain is real. True,” Gavin put his jacket back on. “Pain is probably the truest thing I’ve ever felt. It’s consistent, at least. And familiar.”
“And love isn’t?”
“No.” He didn’t elaborate.
“It seems for you that the two are synonymous more often than they should be.”
“Jesus, here we go. I can’t deal with your ‘love shouldn’t hurt’ speech again.”
“It’s not that it shouldn’t hurt, it just shouldn’t hurt in the ways it’s hurt you in the past. You know how I like poetry, right? We’ve spoken about it before.”
“Yep.”
“I, well, I found this poem. It’s actually taken from a short story, a poem in a story, but it’s good. Can I tell it to you?”
“I guess so.”
She pulled out her phone and scrolled until she landed on something. She cleared her throat.
“If you’re raised with an angry man in your house, there will always be an angry man in your house,” she read. “You will find him even when he is not there. And if one day you find that there is no angry man in your house— well, you will go find one and invite him in.”
Gavin frowned. “We broke up a year ago, doc. Why are you reading me this?”
“Interesting how your mind went to him first.”
“I’m not inviting any more angry men into my house.”
“Do you think the tattoo could be a turning point for you?”
“The big badass snake will scare off any potential abusers, I promise.”
She rolled her eyes. “That’s not what I meant. That burn was your last physical remnant of your father, the first angry man in your house, was it not?”
Gavin hadn’t thought about it like that. “I guess it was.”
“And now it’s covered.”
“It’s not gone, though.”
“It can never be gone. The damage can’t be undone, but you can learn to live and move on. Create beauty where there once was wreckage.”
“I think you read too much poetry, doc.”
She smiled. “Maybe so. I’m encouraged by this, though. I feel like it’s the start of good things to come in your life.”
“It’s just a tattoo.”
“And I’m just a therapist, and you’re just a cop,” she said. “We can reduce everything if we want.”
“Detective, not just a cop.”
“Oh, here we go.”
Ayad’s office was always too uptight and clinical, an attempt to mimic a sense of comfort it never seemed to give. That’s how all shrink’s offices were, in Gavin’s experience. It was a stark contrast to the station— TVs around the walls, people walking and talking with every bit of liveliness that had been sucked out of him by his therapist’s office.
Connor was at his desk next to Hank, typing away and happily sporting his new ‘I’m a real boy’ look. His hair was curly now, which Gavin didn’t know how the fuck that happened, and he’d finally ditched the tie and android markings in favor of plain white button downs or hoodies. Cute in a Ken doll way, maybe.
His LED was bright yellow as he read through something on his computer.
“Don’t hurt yourself, tin can,” Gavin commented. “Would hate to see you short-circuit.”
“Funny.”
“I’m serious, all the Radio Shacks are long gone, we won’t be able to repair you.”
The reference was too outdated for Connor to understand or be insulted by, so he just nodded. Clearly his android brain— wiring, whatever— was focused elsewhere.
“The fuck are you doin’ over here?”
Connor closed out of the screen on his computer as quick as he’d had it up.
“Well that’s suspicious,” Gavin crossed his arms. “The fuck are you up to, Plastic Detective?”
“Leave him alone, Reed,” Hank said, looking irritated.
“Fowler was asking for you, actually,” Connor said, unaffected by Gavin’s aggressive tone. “He’s in his office.”
Gavin glanced over. The glass was frosted, which meant shit was no doubt getting real. Fuck.
“What, you tell on me or some shit?”
“No.”
“What does he want with me?”
“It’s better if you hear it from him. He’s been waiting on you.”
“Better if I— yeah, okay, whatever.”
Captain Fowler didn’t scare Gavin. Mostly, anyway. He gave the door a knock before he heard a familiar voice invite him in, tone anything but welcoming.
There was a man standing in front of Fowler’s desk, back to Gavin. His jacket marked him as an android, as if that was at all relevant information anymore.
“Problem?” Gavin asked.
“How are you coming along on the bombing investigation?”
Gavin sighed. The android still hadn’t turned back to look at him, which was starting to get unsettling. Fowler’s tone was on edge, which set the whole vibe off. Something wasn’t right here.
“I’m working on it,” Gavin replied cautiously.
“Leads?”
“Nothing solid. Not yet.”
Fowler paced while Gavin frowned.
“Well, Reed, I have news for you,” Fowler finally said. “You’ll have a partner for the remainder of the investigation. Connor seemed certain Nines here could get this put to bed quickly, and frankly I’m ready for the story to die down already. You missed the media frenzy yesterday.”
A partner?
Fucking really?
“You’re kidding me.”
“Nines,” Fowler gestured at the android, who finally turned.
There was nothing, literally nothing, Gavin could have done to prepare for the sight of him.
It wasn’t exactly Connor, but he was awfully close.
The face was broader, hell, all of him looked sturdier. Taller than Connor, bigger arms and a wider chest. Cheekbones and jaw sculpted, pale skin drawn tight around his features. And the eyes. Blue-gray, almost colorless. Unsettlingly cold. As far from the warm brown of Connor’s eyes as they could be.
If Connor had been designed to inspire trust and camaraderie, they clearly gave that shit up with this model and opted for big, scary and alarmingly attractive.
“The fuck are you?” Gavin asked, because when in doubt, hostility is always an option.
“My name is Nines,” he said.
God, even the voice was like Connor, making his stomach flip uneasily. What the actual fuck?
“This is… Fowler, you’re kidding me. This is too much. What, is he an off-brand Connor model?”
Nines’ head tilted like a predator, eyes focused on Gavin. Suddenly the air in the room was getting thinner. “I am an RK900 model, the last android developed by Cyberlife before the shut down. I was made to correct all flaws of the RK800 model, equipped with the assets of every android before me and designed for war. So no, Detective Reed, I am not an ‘off-brand Connor model.’”
To be fair, he did kind of look expensive, if such a look existed. If all that was true, it would have been billions poured into his creation. And for war. Pockets of the state are deep when it comes to killing machines.
He was still staring at Gavin. Truthfully, it was unsettling.
“Fowler, come on.”
“Reed, I don’t have time for this. He is your partner.”
“I’m not comfortable with that.”
“You’ll have to get over it or turn in your gun and badge.”
It was an empty threat, but it still made Gavin’s heart leap out of his chest in anxiety.
“It’s not— look, Fowler, I’ve said it before and I’ll fucking say it again— we don’t need robots doing police work. There’s more that goes into this than running and gunning and following some programming. We make decisions that aren’t always logical. You don’t always ‘accomplish your mission’, and if you do, it’s to the detriment of some hostages or abused kids or homeless people or your partner or whatever. There’s judgement that goes into this that machines just aren’t programmed with. Don’t put that responsibility on me.”
“Yet Connor is doing a fine job—”
“Connor’s as deviant as deviants come and you know it. He’s an exception. Look at this one!” Gavin gestured wildly at Nines, who's expression had not changed. “Tell me he has fucking anything going on up there other than a bunch of ones and zeroes.”
“Gavin.”
“If you want an android so bad, use Connor! Where did this one even come from?”
“Connor’s recommendation.”
“Cyberlife’s been shut down a year. What, was he in a landfill somewhere?”
“I live in an apartment downtown,” Nines corrected.
“I’m gonna shoot myself,” Gavin ran a hand through his hair.
“Gavin,” Fowler’s tone had dropped any hint of friendly. “Not funny.”
“Don’t act like a fucking dad, Fowler, you know what I—”
“I do not. You’re with Nines. Go throw your fit elsewhere or I’m writing you up.”
Gavin turned his attention back to Nines, whose stare cut him to the bone. A single piece of hair was hanging forward over his forehead, like a damn comic book character. Designed to be perfectly imperfect. He opened his mouth to speak, cadence calculated and measured.
“I’d say I’m looking forward to working with you, Detective Reed, but in the short time I’ve known you, you’ve been very difficult. You see my programming as a weakness, but it is actually a strength. In fact, I consider your emotions a weakness. I’d advise you get them in check.”
“Eat glass, robot.”
Gavin turned and walked out, slamming the door behind him.
He had planned to walk straight out the front doors and keep going, but stopped short when he caught sight of Connor, desperately pretending to not be paying attention to what just happened in Fowler’s office.
“Is that your doing, dipshit? You decide this?”
“Nines expressed interest in the bombing case and I know he would be an asset,” Connor said, sounding firm. “I advised him to speak with the captain. I had no hand in pairing the two of you together. In fact, I advised against it.”
Gavin frowned.
“If it helps, he doesn’t like the idea of working with you any more than you like the idea of working with him,” Hank said disinterestedly.
“What, you’re in on it too?” Gavin asked. Was everybody privy to this shit except for him?
“He and Connor are friends or brothers or twins or whatever. They talk. I’m around.”
It took every ounce Gavin’s strength not to fling a fucking desk lamp at the two of them.
“I hope you’re fucking happy, dipshit,” Gavin bit. “I hope you’re real fuckin’ thrilled with the way things turned out today. I was gonna solve this, and I don’t need a bunch of circuits and wires to help me.”
“That’s a reductive way to refer to the single most expensive machine to ever set foot in Detroit,” Nines’ voice rang out from behind Gavin. He turned around, not wanting his back to that thing for a fucking second.
The single most expensive— fuck this.
“Fuck you,” Gavin said. “Fuck you and you and you,” he pointed at Nines, Connor and Hank in that order. “And fuck all y’all listening in on this,” he threw up a middle finger directed at the whole precinct. “Fucking amateurs. If anyone wants this piece of plastic, please have him.”
When Gavin turned back to look at Nines, he noticed the android had walked away sometime during that rant, retreating into the break room. That was… fucking not okay. Gavin made an indignant noise, turned on his heel and followed, feeling offended and pissed off all at once.
“Excuse you,” Gavin said. “I was talking to you.”
“No, you were throwing a fit,” Nines corrected simply, pulling a pouch of blue blood from the fridge. “The best way to keep a petulant child from throwing fits is to not give in to them. You work much the same way, I presume.”
“Asshole.”
“I’d like the chance to look at your case files so far,” Nines said, changing the subject. “Captain Fowler mentioned you spent several hours after the incident doing interviews with witnesses and victims. I’d like access to that information and whatever ballistics has been able to acquire up to this point.”
And now he’s acting like he owns the fucking place. The nerve of this guy. If Connor was bad when he showed up, Nines was 100 times fucking worse. He didn’t even pretend to give a shit about people.
“No, fuck you,” Gavin spat. “The fuck you think you are, ordering me around? I don’t give a shit how much it cost to piece you together, or what you were designed to do. You’re a fucking robot. Get me a coffee, let’s start there.”
He hadn’t expected that to work, but much to Gavin’s surprise, it did. Nines simply turned around toward the coffee pot, grabbed a mug from the cabinet, and poured.
Yeah, fucking subservient. No idea why Fowler thought this one would make a good cop.
The coffee in the pot must have been a few hours old, it wasn’t steaming when it was poured, but Gavin would drink old coffee any day. Hot, cold, it’s caffeine, and it’s good.
Nines’ face looked almost friendly as he approached Gavin, cup in hand. Before Gavin could react, Nines crossed the distance between the two of them and poured the drink over Gavin’s head.
Gavin wiped at his eyes and ran a hand through his hair, wringing old coffee out of it. He couldn’t help his mouth falling open in shock. What the ever loving fuck was that?
“Did you just fucking pour coffee on me?” Gavin’s voice was almost a shriek.
“I thought that was apparent, detective,” Nines had the empty cup in his hand still. He shrugged. “Perhaps you’re not as sharp as you think you are.”
The android was fucking lucky the precinct was full of people right now, because Gavin would have throttled him if not. If he didn’t have rights now, Gavin would fucking pull him apart right here in the break room.
“I’m going to go read case files. Officer Chen and Officer Miller are preparing for a briefing to get us on the same page in this case. I’d advise you to clean up, detective. We have a long day ahead of us.”