Chapter 1
The silence between them is heavy. Gavin- Gavin knows they need to talk. Something's wrong. Or, if not wrong, something is unsaid that desperately needs to be spoken aloud. Something has been for the past month, two months, three.
They're alone in a corner of the break room, lights dimmed, the smell of burnt coffee sitting lightly upon every surface like a layer of dust. Gavin is nursing a cup of some himself, gaze surreptitiously flicking to Nines every few moments. The android also has a coffee, but only keeps it for the warmth it provides his hands. Nines' gaze doesn't wander- it's stuck on the bottom right corner of the doorframe, unblinking, unseeing. His LED swirls a solid yellow, but Gavin grew used to seeing that color more often than not in place of the normal cool blue a week and a half ago.
Gavin knows he fucked up. And he could probably guess how, if a gun was to his head.
Emotions are not Gavin's strong suit. He has the emotional intelligence of a rock smashed through a window, and is only a little bit more tactful. But it doesn't take magic plastic mind melding to deduce that Nines was more distant than he'd ever been, and- yeah! Yeah, it stung a little! More than a little, maybe, maybe it hurt just as much as a fucking freight train to the gut, but nobody could blame him.
Loathe as he was to admit it, Gavin had grown... attached. Attached to this cocky son of a bitch who took bullets to the shoulder like he worked part time as a target at the shooting range. Attached to the way he fixed his hair in every shiny surface, finished a day's paperwork in 13 seconds and quietly, sometimes, did some of Gavin's too. Attached to the ways he fought, like it was a dance, like it was a game. That smile, most times sarcastic, sometimes cocky, rarely exuberant, and once accompanied by a clear, unexpected laugh that Gavin would (reluctantly) treasure always. The way he kissed, hard and angry and full of fire, how he held down Gavin's wrists and grabbed at Gavin's throat so roughly the bruises stayed there for days.
Yeah. Attached was one word for it. Gavin would snort, if this wasn't an internal monologue.
He tears his eyes from his partner's LED and settles his gaze on his own coffee, frowning. He- fuck. They need to talk. But Nines is just as bad with emotions as he is. And he knows the toaster would never bring it up himself, so of course it falls on Gavin's shoulders. Shit. At times like these Gavin wishes he had Nines' pre-construction shit, just so he could figure out the best way to go about this.
They sit in silence for another uneasy minute, Gavin sipping at his coffee and Nines letting his go cold.
A pen dropping would crack like a gunshot in this kind of environment, Gavin thinks. A word, a bomb.
Sometimes, bombs are needed.
The detective clears his throat- Nines' LED stutters in its rotation, but other than that, no reaction.
"Nines."
At that, the RK900 tears his eyes from the doorframe corner. Hazy blue meets dull green. Yes, detective? he signs, after setting his coffee on the table. Gavin's mouth twists into a frown when the android doesn't use his name sign. That had become commonplace, lately, and Gavin… Gavin fucking hated that. It's not something you could bring up easily, though; Hey, Nines! Noticed you haven't been calling me by my name sign since we had that one night stand and I refused to talk to you about it because I caught feelings! Could you start calling me it again? And possibly also choke me?
Yeah. Right.
He opens his mouth to say more, but- well. He hadn't really planned this far. So Gavin stares dumbly at his partner (cold blue eyes, sharp jaw, scar above his left eyebrow that the android hadn't allowed to heal fully, swirling, stuttering LED) before tearing his eyes away with a grimace. Looking at his coffee, watching it go cold. It's a few seconds before he speaks up.
"We… need to talk."
Nines hums in acknowledgment. I've sent the case files to your terminal, detective, but if you wish to discuss them here and now-
"Not-! Fuck, RK, not… that." Gavin runs a hand through his hair, tugging at it slightly. Nobody said this would be easy. "About… the thing. That happened two weeks ago."
I… see. Nines fiddles with the cuffs of his jacket; a nervous tic he picked up from Connor. Might I suggest we have this conversation elsewhere? At some other time? This isn't exactly the best place to talk about- Nines flounders for a moment, hands stuttering in the air. Matters such as this.
Gavin grimaces. He knows the android is right. Anybody could come walking in, and with this conversation, that could be awkward for all parties involved. And, fuck, they need to get to work in- 7 minutes, according to his phone. Probably not enough time to have an awkward emotional conversation that would end in the best thing that happened to him in years leaving him. Fucking- Christ, he was gonna be sick. The revelation that he fucked up his relationship with Nines is not a new one, as unwelcome as it is every single time he realizes that.
Jesus, why couldn't he just keep it in his pants for once.
"Yeah," he mumbles, for lack of better words. "Yeah, we- later." Gavin gets up from his chair, metal scraping against tile. Dumps his coffee in the sink, leaves the cup unwashed. He just wants to get out of here, to bury himself in work before he fucks something else up. Leaves the room, leaves Nines behind him. He doesn't look back to see if the android follows him.
The day is uneventful. Paperwork, paperwork, and more paperwork- Gavin and Nines don't have an active case right now, so they're working on the things that had been piling up while they had their last one. When Gavin was little, he didn't expect paperwork to be so much of a detectives workload, but a lot of things he thought when he was a kid turned out to be wrong, so he can't say he's surprised.
The mindless paperwork has him concentrating on the anxiety that settled low in his stomach like a pool of lead, heavy and toxic. He's not looking forward to the conversation with Nines, but it has been a long time coming. Even before the one night stand- there had been a tension between them, at times. A brush of hands when walking together in the hall, a lingering hand on the shoulder. Nines' gaze resting a bit too long on his face, flicking away a bit too quickly when he noticed. Gavin knew he did the same.
Gavin leans back in his chair, letting out a sigh and pressing the palms of his hands to his eyes. Stress headache, not helped at all by looking at a fucking terminal all day. God… who was he kidding. He had caught feelings long before the one night stand. Who could blame him. It was impossible not to fall for Nines; his confidence in his capabilities that radiated off of him, his quiet patience with Gavin even when he'd been a shithead. The way that, when he got comfortable enough, he'd talk about whatever came to mind at such a pace that Gavin thought his hands might fly off with how fast he'd sign. His dry sense of humor, how he'd shut down any of Gavin's attempts at self depreciation with such a startling sincerity that it was dizzying at times.
Christ, he's so fucked.
And, because he's Gavin Fucking Reed, he had to ruin it. Of course.
He needs a fucking cig.
The roof is littered with cigarette butts and bird crap and gravel. It's as unappealing as it sounds, but Gavin's not just about to smoke in the front of the building like some normie. Plus, it's only him that comes up here, nowadays, and he needs the alone time.
Shaking hands pull out the cigarette (shit, he's almost out) and zippo, and light it. He breathes in an acrid lungful of smoke, holding it in his lungs for a moment before breathing it out his nose.
He was supposed to have quit months ago.
Smoking was one of the habits Nines had first started bothering him about- Gavin can remember, clear as day, the clinical look and mechanical movements of Nines' hands as he lectured him about it for the first time, almost a year ago now.
Those will kill you, Nines had said. Harsh, cold eyes, steady blue LED. Unreadable expression
"That's kinda the point, dipshit," he had snarked back, crushing the butt of the cigarette under his shoe even as he lit another one. The case they were working on had been particularly gruesome- little girls, 6-12, dressed up like dolls. Cause of death: exsanguination. Less than half a pint of blood was left in them after the perp was done with them. It made Gavin sick.
But as he lifted the cigarette to his lips, preparing to take another drag, it was smacked out of his hands. Nines was glaring at him even as he ground the cigarette into the ground, even as he tore the pack from Gavin's shocked fingers. "What the fuck!" Gavin yelled, hands curling into fists.
Kill yourself on your own time, detective, the android signed after stuffing the pack into his pockets. Mechanical. Artificial, movements too precise. It made Gavin even angrier. He would punch the prick if he didn't already know it would end with Nines flipping him onto the ground. Again. And so he stormed away, leaving his partner behind, not for the first nor the last time.
Later on, when animosity turned into respect, genuine insults into banter, Nines had told him that one of his primary mission objectives was to keep Gavin safe. That seeing him destroy himself caused a stress that Nines simply didn't know how to deal with.
Gavin started weaning himself off of cigarettes after that. Succeeded, a few months ago, went without a cig for a full month. The smile on Nines' face, bright and happy when he told him, had made it worth it.
Gavin wonders how the android would react now, if he knew where he was and what he was doing. He finds that he doesn't know, and stuffs a hand in his pockets and takes a long drag around the lump in his throat.
I'm a fuckin' mess, he thinks, grimacing and biting down on the cigarette between his teeth. If he knew that fooling around with Nines would end up with a situation like this, he'd never have invited him to his apartment to watch that stupid movie. He would have been content pining for eternity if he didn't have t-
Gavin hears footsteps behind him, heavy and purposeful. Making their presence known. He closes his eyes, rips the cigarette out of his mouth. Grits his teeth. So much for alone time
Nines is there when he turns around. Swirling yellow LED, stony faced, tugging at the cuffs of his sleeves.
"What are you doing here, dipshit." It's not a question. Nines' gaze flickers to the cigarette in his hand, frowns faintly.
I was wondering where you were.
"And you found me. Fuck off, Nines, I needed a break. I'll get back to work soon." Gavin finds that his words come out more exhausted than anything. He turns around to look out over the edge of the roof again, leaning against the railing. The cigarette dangles in between his fingers.
Nines walks to stand beside him, standing stiffly. Taps him on the shoulder so that Gavin looks at him. Gavin selfishly wishes that the android would talk, so he wouldn't have to look at him to to see what he was saying. He feels a pang of guilt. I thought you had quit.
Gavin lifts the cigarette to his mouth. "I did."
The words hang between them for a few seconds, Nines silently prompting him to continue. He doesn't; he takes another drag instead.
The silence is heavy.
Nines' movements are slow when he speaks again. Uncharacteristically hesitant. I think we should have that talk, now.
Gavin's heart jumps in his throat, threatens to choke him despite the fact that he had suspected the conversation would head this way. Whatever. Yeah, Nines is right. Better to get this over with. Rip off the bandaid.
"Yeah. Yeah, I- shit." He looks down to the ground. Purses his lips. He swallows. "I'm… sorry."
For what?
"For what?" Gavin lets out a bitter laugh, waves the hand holding his cigarette around. It's almost out. "For- you know! We- we had-"
Sex?
Gavin balks at the sign, runs a hand through his hair and takes a final drag of his cigarette before flicking it to the ground. "Yeah. That."
Nines' expression doesn't change, but Gavin wasn't expecting it to. I see.
He sees?
"That's all?" Gavin can feel himself growing angrier, more frustrated with every passing second. He feels like they're back at square fucking one, he feels like he's back to not understanding Nines at all and it fucking hurts.
I do not know what else to say to such a sentiment.
Gavin growls, low and frustrated and guttural. "Of course you don't. Of course you don't! Shouldn't have expected you of all people to-" Jesus fuck, Gavin, hostile much? He runs a hand through his hair, agitated. He needs to calm down. Fuck. He's never been too good at that, and right now the only thing that could calm him down is the reason he's like this in the first place. Shit.
What a goddamn bitch of an unsatisfactory situation.
Nines' LED is red-yellow-yellow-red-yellow now, but his expression is, as usual, blank. Gavin doesn't expect anything different; his partner has always had trouble expressing his emotions in human ways, through action and articulation instead of thought and intention. Gavin selfishly, selfishly wishes that Nines was fucking normal for once, wishes that he could express and laugh and cry and was made for integration instead of hunting and planning and destroying before guiltily shutting that thought down. He was supposed to be past that now, he was supposed to not be the fucking unhappy bastard of a man he used to be.
What is normal, anyway? Gavin could never quite define it, even before his life got flipped upside down. Normal is a façade. An excuse to hide individuality and create cookie cutter people with traits that are easy to swallow. Gavin isn't normal. He's an insufferable mess of a man who's only just starting to pick up the pieces of a life he had chosen to destroy with heartless ambition and deep-rooted self-loathing. He's 38 years old and he's only just starting to recover from what he put himself through.
He draws his mouth in a tight line. His hands are shaking. He runs them through his hair (greasy- ew, fuck, he hasn't showered in fucking days, huh) and shudders out a deep breath. "I gotta fuckin' go," he mutters. He shoulders past Nines, stuffing his hands in his pockets and clenching them into fists in an effort to stop their shaking. He leaves the man behind him for the second time that day; digs himself a deeper hole with ever step he takes.
What'd he do to get himself in this fucking situation?
