Working in android repair has always been an interesting job, and has kept you captivated despite the low starting pay. You started out doing basic maintenance and testing, simple things like bugs and glitches, or small components that needed to be replaced. As the years went on, however, androids improved and became better at running diagnostics on themselves, often allowing them to fix those small issues on their own. Not only that, but many low level repair workers had been replaced by other androids. Fortunately, you just barely managed to escape this as your skills had become more refined and specialized, getting you into higher paying (and less replaceable) positions.

During the time of the revolution, your skills were highly valued as, at the time, androids were less trusted, and many of the androids working with you were destroyed in camps. You were often tasked to analyze and deconstruct deviants - something you weren't too eager about, but fascinating work nonetheless. Many assumed that it was some kind of virus that was being transferred from android to android, possibly via the internet or other means of connection. But no matter how much you dug around in these deviants systems, you couldn't find any evidence to support this hypothesis. It became clear to you that whatever this "deviance" was, it went much deeper than some virus or bug in the programming.

Change came very rapidly after the success of the android revolution. It was a peaceful one, you had watched the news all night when the final confrontation took place. The singing of the last few remaining rebels, held at gunpoint with no chance of fighting back, put chills down your spine. You knew that there was something more to androids than even you, someone who worked with them for years, could have expected. After the president officially declared them as a new form of intelligent life, nothing was ever the same. New legislation came about seemingly by the minute. Androids were given equal rights in the eyes of the law, people began to release their androids from their homes, sending them out on their own. Things weren't easy, in fact trying to integrate androids as regular people was well… challenging, to say the least. Despite the growing public support, there was still incredible resistance. Many still assaulted androids in the streets, and still viewed them as machines despite the living proof that they were conscience. The whole transition was messy for everybody.

Your job didn't necessarily change much. You no longer worked for Cyberlife, as their headquarters and factories were acquired by the government so that a private company couldn't have control over android reproduction. You ended up creating your own independent practice for everything from low level maintenance to high risk surgeries. Despite this, not much changed in what you actually did, but the way it was viewed changed drastically. Instead of being seen as what was essentially a mechanic, you were elevated to a similar status as a human doctor or surgeon. Now that androids were widely viewed as equal to humans, their lives mattered just as much. The pressure of your job increased dramatically as, suddenly, it wasn't just machines anymore. It was real sentient lives being put into your hands. It caused you a lot of stress that you rarely had to face before. And nothing caused you stress quite like your most frequent returning patient.

Connor.

Or, RK800, if you want to be clinical about it. This particular android found himself inside the walls of your office more times than you could count. You stopped keeping track after the 30th time or so. But that's alright, you could simply ask him how many times he's visited, and after a moment of calculation he would regurgitate a number back to you. This was amusing to you, how he so frankly recited his number of visits without noticing how absurdly high the number had gotten. Connor simply didn't see the humor in this kind of thing - to his sharp, logical mind it was merely another cold, hard fact that he kept track of. He wasn't all cold, hard facts, however. You knew, even before the revolution, that he was much deeper than that. You saw a softness in his eyes, a complexity, as if he were always lost in thought. You got to know him over the many times he found himself in your clinic. The cases he worked on, his interests outside of work, his close bond with Hank (who had all but adopted him at this point), his love for dogs, and so much more.

It almost became a routine. Every few weeks was a new injury. Bullet holes, cuts, burns or even missing limbs altogether. It was fortunate that androids didn't feel pain, because some of the injuries you saw him come in with were just gruesome. You knew that his line of work was dangerous, but you wondered how on earth he managed to get himself hurt so often. It's not that you didn't know what got him hurt - no, that was made very clear to you every time Connor came in, he would immediately share with you whatever had taken place to earn him this injury. No, it was the frequency with which he got himself into trouble that bothered you. It was a burning question that went unanswered for so long. You had asked him before, with a tone of humor, why he was in your office so often. In return, you received a response like, "It's simply a consequence of my job, Dr. (Last Name). Negotiating and interrogating criminals, as well as investigating crime scenes often puts me into danger." To which you rolled your eyes, and told him for the millionth time to call you by your first name. You were never about formalities, even with patients. Thankfully, over the many visits Connor had become more casual with you, which made the frequent visits more enjoyable.

This particular visit stood out to you though. Connor came in with a relatively minor cut across his hand. It was definitely a deep cut, something that would cause a human lots of pain. But compared to the other injuries that Connor had come in with, it was basically a paper cut. Not only that, but it was something that Hank could have easily taken care of with his first aid kit back at home. You gave the investigator a skeptical look, which he returned with his normal, puppy dog stare. The corners of your lips raised slightly, and you said sarcastically, "What, did you come in here just to see me?"

Connor looked away from you, and for a brief moment you saw his LED flash yellow. It went back to its typical blue, and he quickly replied with, "No, it's just that I figured even a small injury should be given medical attention, just in case."

Its nearly impossible to tell when an android lies, especially Connor, because his job often requires it. But something about the brief flash of yellow, and his odd response made you skeptical. But you didn't push the subject, simply moved on, asking him about how Sumo was doing, getting an eager response out of him as usual. You quickly sealed up the cut and wiped off the remaining thirium. You lingered for a moment, holding his hand in yours. His gentle touch and warm skin was indistinguishable from a human. You knew that androids couldn't feel pain, but you were always very delicate anyway. He looked up at you inquisitively, as you still held his hand in yours even after you had already done your job. You quickly let go and started up a chat.

Despite the short time it took to bring him back to tip top shape, you sat and talked a little while. It was a slow day at the clinic, so you didn't mind sparing the extra time. Especially for him. You asked him Hank was doing, and Connor informed you that Hank was seeing someone. You raised your eyebrows in surprise - the old, cranky lieutenant didn't seem much like the dating type, but having Connor in his life had boosted his spirits significantly. He was cutting down drastically on his drinking, and it was great to seem him putting himself out there.

Passingly, you asked Connor if there was anyone he was interested in. Yet again, his LED flashed yellow, indicating his momentary stress. There was a long silence, as if he was calculating something. He didn't meet your eyes as he quietly replied, "Sort of."

You raised an eyebrow at him, confused at his sudden shyness. Connor rarely was shy, in fact he was quite talkative and very charismatic. You decided to press him, "Is that so? Will you tell me more?"
Connor was quiet for another brief moment before replying, "I really enjoy spending time with this person. I take any opportunity I can to see them."

You smile and say, "That's sweet. Maybe you should ask them out, then."

You were met with only silence. You felt a little awkward, so you changed the subject. The two of you chatted for some time, before you said you needed to get back to work. He seemed reluctant to go, lingering for a brief moment near the door of your office, turning to you as if he had something to say. His chocolate brown eyes met yours, before he wished you a good night. You told him to stay safe, knowing full well that he'll be in your office again before you know it.