Authors note: here's a copy of the AO3 tags, to prevent anyone from unknowingly reading any triggering content :)

Additional Tags:

Mental Health Issues

Angst

Dark Comedy

Self-Hatred

Depression

Friendship

Friends to Lovers

Self Confidence Issues

Gavin has a depressing outlook on life

Sex

Violence

Swearing

Self-Harm

At least if I die right now, right here, doing this particular thing I'll probably get some type of world record under my belt.

Gavin's' measly, out of shape limbs wouldn't allow him such thoughts, and as his knuckles turned white from his death grip on the porcelain his torso shot up from the lukewarm bathwater he was trying to drown himself in. Gavin coughed, spluttering water and saliva from his lungs, before leaning back into the bath, smacking his back slightly too hard with the force. He stared down into the soapy liquid as if it was to blame for every problem in his life, a hard death glare that he was convinced would rip a human straight in half from the sheer hatred. A calloused hand came down, smacking the water hard over the side of the bathtub, a soapy tsunami soaking his floor.

Confident that the bathwater had learned its lesson, Gavin leaned back again, reaching over the edge of the tub blindly in search of the pack of cigarettes he'd tossed onto the floor before stripping off. He felt the slightly damp cardboard cuboid and yanked it up, lighter along side the box. Gavin flicked it open, reaching down and taking a fag between dry lips, rolling the stick in between his teeth before tossing the pack aside and bringing the lighter up to his lips. Flicking his thumb across the plastic, Gavin found himself staring just a second too long at the orange flicker of the flames. He brought it close, feeling heat against skin, and lit the end of the cigarette with practiced ease. He breathed deep, toxicity entering his lungs and muscles relaxing with the chemicals.

Holding the cigarette in his mouth, he stared at the flame again, head tilted in thought. Slowly, gingerly, he held a scarred wrist over the flame, blue conjoining with orange and yellow, creating a red hot flicker that picked at his skin, burning hot and raw like the terrible self hatred he felt.

Gavin pulled away, swearing, a harsh redness settling over his pale skin.

He threw the lighter aside.

Gavin ran his hands through his hair, before throwing then up in front of his face. Trembling, shaking hands that feigned confidence while holding a pistol. Hands ready to act, pointing the firearm blindly into darkness or at the head of a suspect threatening violence or holding hostages. Hands that remained falsely steady as he bellowed, "Detroit Police!" in the secret hope of rousing them into a fire fight, the adrenaline rush of a near death experience, the thought of dying with some form of honour instead of being found hanging in his garage or drowned in his bath tub, bullet wounds instead of self inflicted burns or cuts, was tempting. But, ultimately, he didn't care, and was confident that there was nothing after death. Just a permanent, numb blackness. In the end, it didn't matter how he died, it didn't matter because rich or poor, white or black, everyone ended up in the same coffin, in the same soil, rotting a way with the insects with the same blackness enveloping everything. We're all just future fossils, wasting away doing nothing, soon to end up in the ground, fulfilling or unfulfilling existence ending the same way. Like a shitty story book.

And, yeah, it was shitty, it was depressing and it was sad, but it was life. In all its shitty glory. No matter how people looked at him in concern when he voiced it, shifting uncomfortably and subtly sliding him a business card for the local therapist, putting his issues down to his parents never hugging him enough instead of blatant realism.

Gavin rolled his eyes, putting out his cigarette in the lukewarm water and rising from the tub, the dark thoughts securing his plans to get drunk after work and have rough sex with whatever random seemed willing. Sounds about right for a sad Gavin night. Exciting.

Gavin stepped out of the tub, feet slipping on the wet lino and grabbing a towel. He dragged it across his skin as he dried, scrubbing himself with enough force to cause the skin underneath to heat and redden. The burn felt good, better than a fag, even, and cigarettes where high on Gavin's 'need it or will die list'.

Gavin walked from the bathroom into the cramped hallway of his apartment, towel around waist, barely sparing a glance at his ugly face and cut up body in the mirror hanging from the door. The hallway was mostly bare, the minimal photo frames he'd bought the make the place look some semblance of lived in had been tossed on the floor in his nightly drunken stupor, and Gavin found himself tip toeing around minefields of shattered glass and stock photographs he couldn't bring himself to change. Red walls had stains from bottles thrown at them, and Gavin swore, his facade of normality compromised by the mess.

"Shit."

His room was somehow worse, sheets tossed to the floor, covered in cum stains or bloodstains (both seemed as likely as each other at this point). He dressed quickly, once again sparing himself from the horror of his appearance. Shirt, jeans, hoodie, jacket, Gavin found himself mentally checking the items off as he put them on, the mental checklist providing some kind of calmness to his racing mind. I need a cigarette. Gavin haphazardly finger combed his hair, pulling harshly on the knots, blindly styling it into something at least slightly presentable. His routine had become almost automatic now, his punctuality making up for at least one of his entirely too long list of bad qualities.

Work used to be a salvation, something he could throw himself in to and actually do well at. He hid this secret behind glares and hatred for just about everyone but it couldn't be further from the truth. But, as they say, all relatively decent things come to an end. For Gavin, it was the moment that fucking bag of bolts Connor waltzed into the station like he owned the fucking place, solving crimes and winning the heart of everyone this side of the fucking USA . Connor had made more friends, solved more crimes, and won more hearts in his small slither of time working for the DPD (or even being alive) than Gavin had in his entire working career, the fact only becoming more apparent since he became Deviant. He. Gavin was disgusted with himself for even giving the thing a pronoun, for making it seem more human that it was. Gavin just knew that these things were going to replace them all one day, knew that soon there'd be no jobs and no other options for a loser like him. Detective work was his life, and as with everything in modern society a supercomputer gets released and does it ten times better, faster, and with more precision than he could ever, than a human could ever. It enraged him. The even more infuriating fact being that no one else could see it, no one else could see through the pretty doe eyes or the mischievous smirk that made the asshole so attractive to humans. The whole thing made Gavin want to lash out in violence, the same way he felt with everything. He wanted to grab the pretty little android by his collar and hit him, over and over and over until Blue Blood covered his hands and face and the plastic underneath Connors synthetic skin was visible, then everyone would see what a fool they were for even allowing themselves to be tricked by its almost human appearance.

But no Gavin, he mentally mocked in the voice he could only assume to be a concerned onlooker to his mental cage match, that's frowned upon now, the androids have feelings. The last word was dragged out, long and sarcastic and it made him want to rip his hair from his scalp. They didn't know the first thing about feelings. They could laugh, they could cry, but they could never possibly understand the crushing mental weight of depression, the constant racing heart and jittery hands of anxiety, the way that, sometimes, Gavin couldn't cope, when cigarettes aren't enough and the only way of dealing with the fucking agony was grabbing a razor blade and dashing it across the already pinking and raised scar tissue of his wrist until he was a bloody crying mess on his bathroom floor. No . They don't have feelings. They have simulations.

Gavin grabbed his keys from the table next to the door, the jingling of metal irritating him too much today. He needed to get to work, he needed to throw himself into a case, and he was going to do it with a face so full upset and rage, that most officers would be inclined to believe that someone had shot his grandmother before he arrived, or something equally as inconvenient, and not bother him at all.

Gavin left quickly after that thought, lighting another cig as he did so.

Pulling up into the DPD parking lot, Gavin seemed to hyper focus on the somehow pleasant sound of his tires creaking and crumbling against hard, pointy gravel. He checked the time on his phone. With meagre satisfaction, Gavin found himself a near full minute early. He had one full minute to just sit and contemplate, a moment of peace before the storm, if you will. This was a minute to himself, without the cases he lived to stress over and without the androids he held on the opposite end of the like to dislike spectrum. It also allowed him time to think of insults to spit if people came to close or, God forbid, try to talk to him. All in sixty seconds.

Soon the minute was over, and Gavin found himself automatically exiting his car, scarcely noticing minimal rust particles scampering off of the paint job. The car was shitty anyway.

Gavin strolled into the precinct, pretending not to noticed the barely hidden glare of his colleagues. The station was already full, people bustling around and deliberately avoiding eye contact with him. This is fine. This is good. He lifted his head, sticking his chest out, trying to covey the confidence of a man that wasn't throwing up and crying in his bathroom at three a.m. this morning. It was a good show, he felt, he was confident no one would ever know how much he hated himself.

Walking into the break room, false swagger evident in every step, he cruised up to the rickety shit show of a coffee machine. Almost as damaged as me, he thought with a barely concealed snort. His coffee was bitter and black, how he imagined death itself tasted, but he'd grown so accustomed to it he barely flinched at the disgusting beverage. The kick of caffeine wasn't immediate, but in four or so cups it would be, and Gavin was just grateful to have the drink in his system. He licked his lips, brushing remnants of fag ash off of his jacket, and moved over to his desk.

Gavin noticed, with the weird attention to detail that gave him his job in the first place, that the desk opposite his was empty, barren of the usual scared looking newbie that constantly eyed him as if he was going to challenge him to some sort of western fire fight any moment. The young man was sitting across the room, working at a computer and desperately trying to avoid eye contact. Gavin snorted again, for a brief moment figuring himself some sort of poltergeist, scaring away elderly neighbours, causing everyone in a three mile radius to shit themselves and evacuate. He just shrugged and sat down.

"Reed!"

Gavin rolled his eyes, growling. He hadn't even been given the chance to do anything to piss Fowler off. Frankly, he was sad and hungover, and only planned light bullying today. The prick Connor that was glaring down at him from Fowlers office being first on his hit list. He paused for a moment at that. Why is Connor there? Anxiety washed over him suddenly, and he felt his hands shivering as he rose. Has that mother fucker said something about me?

Gavin entered Fowlers office, eyes down as if the man could see into his very soul through them. As if some way, somehow he had found out exactly what Gavin was, a fraud. He couldn't be punished again, he couldn't afford it.

Fowler was looking at him in that no nonsense way that suggested he was about to get his ass whipped, and not in a good way, brilliant.

"Listen, I know you're gonna bitch so I can't be assed to play it all professional with you, Gavin. You've been working on your own for too long, and you know just as well as I do that that's not how we work here. It's slowing you down."

He's not even bothering with the niceties today.

"You need a partner, Gavin, and not a person who you can just bully until they quit," Fowler seemed to pause them, as if hesitating to say something, "This is the Rk900, Nines, and he'll be working as your new partner from now on."

Gavin's head shot up at a speed he previously doubted his body still capable of, glaring at Fowler, before the words truly sunk in, and his eyes moved past his bosses desk, behind his head. Fuck.

The android was tall, taller than him, with the likeness of Connor but not the demeanour. Its hair was darker, its jaw more angular, and its eyes an icy blue. Connor helpfully stood next to it for easy comparison, and all too pleased look on its fucking stupid face . Gavin shuddered, suddenly feeling his heart pick up, an adrenaline rush, fight or flight.

"Hello Detective Reed, I've been told you are," it paused, " interesting to work with. I look forward to our partnership."

Gavin felt sick when it spoke, so robotic, so inhumane, and suddenly he mused that he'd rather have a thousand Connors than this thing. Gavin felt fear, terror even. Sick to his stomach as if this were some kind of karma for his earlier thoughts. This thing, in his business, at his desk, sticking its nose into his job, fucking scanning him.

No, no, no, no, oh no, hell no,fuck no.

In that moment, Gavin didn't care. Gavin didn't care for the stupid new laws or the ridiculous amount of jail time or the way that prick Markus would look at him as if he were the scum of the Earth. He was going to stomp the bastards head in, and he didn't think he had the self restraint to stop.

For a brief moment, Gavin imagined himself cornered. He was stuck in a cave or some other ridiculously dark and shadowy metaphor for his worst fears, back to the wall, trapped, eyes darting back and forth between the dark figure approaching him and the escape that must be there but hadn't been found yet. Gavin didn't consider himself claustrophobic, just smart, he didn't like having his back against a wall without escape.

That seemed a good way to describe how he was feeling right now.

Though instead of a cave trapping him it was strong arms, restraining him in a hold he recognised, a hold he was trained to do, a hold this thing probably downloaded in its spare time. His face was pressed hard into the carpet, cheek reddening from friction burns when he struggled. The android pinning him down had made several attempts to calm him, all of which failing,

He had shot forward, fists ready, and swung at the android. His fist had collided with the pretty pink synth skin of its jaw. If he felt as cocky as usual he'd probably add some over exaggerated metaphor on the end like 'with the fury of a thousand suns' or something. But no, in reality the android didn't flinch at the blow, merely looking down at himself as if to check his clothing for creases. This infuriated Gavin more that he liked to admit, rage bubbling to the surface, rearing its ugly head in the form of reddened cheeks and clenched jaw. He'd swung again, and the android had floored him, pinning him down with his arm twisted awkwardly behind his back. It hurt, a lot, the androids strength incredibly apparent with no intention of letting him go.

"Perhaps this wasn't a good idea, Captain." Gavin strained to hear Connors voice over his ragged breathing, and when he did it only served to make him more angry, he sneered at the android. Connor merely glanced at him momentarily, LED yellowing, "his stress levels have risen significantly since entering."

"Yeah no shit!" Gavin yelled, face bright red now, still struggling against the android with all the strength of a thirty something man who smoked a pack a day.

Fowler rolled his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose, seemingly done for the day despite the early time. He stood up. "Rk900 let him go." The android released him, feeling shooting back into his shoulders. "And Gavin? I swear to God, if you try to attack that android again I'm gonna let him beat your ass."

Gavin huffed, spluttering, gesturing to Rk and then back to himself as if bewildered, Fowler just narrowed his eyes "You're going to work with him, or you hand in your badge. I don't give a shit which one, but make it quick." That seemed to end the conversation, Fowler sitting down hard on his chair and avoiding eye contact with the others, entire expression and body language screaming 'fuck off.'

Gavin hated it, he hated it so much, but, seemingly without his consent, his anger boiled down into gut wrenching anxiety, like a knife to the stomach. He felt sick, knees weak, the idea of working with, of being replaced by, a thing that he knew could to his job ten, no , a thousand times better. It made him want to scream, lash out in anger, punch a wall until his knuckles bled.

He turned to the android, which, despite its neutral expression, seemed ever ready to flip Gavin over his shoulder. Gavin leaned in, next to the androids cheek, and with the steadiest voice he could muster, muttered:

"Stay out of my fucking way."

Gavin glared out the window, hands gripping the steering wheel of his car and knuckles white. A cigarette stuck out from its home between his teeth. He was jittery, knee bouncing in an erratic rhythm, heart the same. He found himself smoking the fag down to the end and grabbing another instantly, stress still enveloping his mind and leaving his brain on high alert. He couldn't bare it, couldn't understand why they couldn't just leave him alone. He did his job, he did it well, he didn't need some plastic prick coming in and messing everything up. Gavin didn't want this.

He knew it would target him, would criticise his every move with his beady eyes and techy scanners. He knew he couldn't cope with it, it made him want to scream in frustration. Gavin couldn't stand the thought of it replacing him, which it surely would.

A small tap on the partially rolled window startled him, causing the hand holding his lighter to slip and burn his palm. He yelped, swearing, turning to glare at the intruder.

Rk900 stood outside, peering in to the car, scrunching its face up at the smoke and furrowing its perfect eyebrows.

"Detective, there's a case we need to investigate. My sources suggest it more important than your precious smoke break."

The last words were dripping in sarcasm, and Gavin found himself blinking in surprise. Cheeky bastard .

He didn't respond, managing to light his cigarette after the third try. He brought it do dry, chapped lips and took a long drag, breathing in harsh chemicals before turning to face the android, puckering his lips, and blowing the smoke in the androids face. It coughed, shutting its eyes, seemingly displeasured. Gavin found a sick satisfaction in pissing it off. "I will see you soon, Detective," It growled, storming off, shoulders squared and movements robotic.

Gavin chuckled to himself, bringing it to his lips again.

Despite all the hatred he felt towards it, the damn thing was convenient.

He stood, arms crossed, pretending to be absolutely interested in the browning blood stain splattered across a far wall. The android was walking around, scanning, finding details he couldn't find and Gavin couldn't bring himself to care, checking his watch often for the moment he could drop everything and get drunk. That and Gavin knew that with every, "we have a job to do, Detective," the android got more and more irritated. That was satisfying.

The murder was committed by an android, that was certain. It was gruesome, though rare after the revolution, the androids seemingly keen to stay in the publics good books now they had rights. Gavin shivered, the thought of being taken out by some hunk of plastic a nightmare one step closer to reality, and as he looked at the wide eyes and open mouth of the deceased he considered attacking the android again.

It was a body of a man, skin torn and bruised and purpling, multiple stab wounds to the chest. They were wide and red, gaping and covered in dry blood, arteries broken and spraying like fountains. His eyes were bulging, the veins red rivers flowing to and back from darkened irises, pupils blown wide.

The gashes on his chest made Gavin cover his wrists self consciously, recognising the crisscross shape and broken skin. He turned away.

"I've gotten all we need from here, Detective," the android had said, emotionless and passive, but when Gavin had looked up it was staring right at him, eyes dropping to his wrists and back up again. Gavin growled, not today. He pushed past Rk, out of the crime scene and into the poring rain, wrapping the crumpled leather of his jacket around his shoulders and moving to his car. He'd already mentally plotted the route to his favourite club from here; he fumbled for his keys.

The door on the passenger side opened with a slight struggle, the sound of metal scraping metal reaching his ears. The android sat in next to him and began buckling its seat belt.

"Uh, no bitch . What do you think you're doing? " Reed spluttered, voice high.

"We have to return to the station for paperwork, I assumed someone of your experience would know this, Detective ."

"I thought you did that shit in your head."

"I did my work, Detective, not yours."

Gavin rolled his eyes and shrugged, barely processing the fact that the thing was in his car, making itself at home. "How come you're going back to the precinct then?" he asked, ashamed to find himself curious. It was the androids turn to shrug.

"It is where I live."

Gavin was dumbfounded, honestly. He looked away from the android, a sick part of his mind considering kicking it out and making it walk. "This better be fucking quick," he found himself mumbling, all low and sinister as if he was threatening to Rk, the pretence that he was enough to mask the utter need for violence he felt all too commonly as of late. His hand found his keys and he started the car. He didn't need this thing working with him and he certainly didn't need this thing fucking babying him. If it glanced at his wrist again he'd kick it into the motor way.

"Do you have anything planned for the night, Detective?" the android asked, seemingly out of the blue as the car gently brushed an illegal speed, and Gavin saw its eyes drop to his wrist again.

Gavin exhaled sharply in irritation. "I'm a lonely old man, what made you think that?"

"You expressed displeasure at returning to the precinct, and I wish to get to know you." That last part was punctuated by a robotic shrug, as if people just wanted to talk to him. Gavin figured answering would make it shut up.

"Yeah, there's this like. ..club I like to go to after work." The androids lips moved, but no noise came out, it furrowed its brows. He didn't know why he was speaking to it. "What is it now?"

"I've never attended a club before," it said matter-of-factly. Gavin glanced over and noticed it looked almost sad? "May I come with you?" It was barely even phased as a question, more of a statement of fact.

"Most people aren't this keen to hang out with me, especially after I punch them in the face," the sentence was sarcastic, but Gavin winced at the use of 'people', it wasn't a person. While having the thing shadowing him would be annoying, Gavin figured he'd be able to punch the android how ever many times he wanted without risking his badge, and that was a plus. "Whatever."

The androids lips seemed to twitch, a momentary facade of human emotion falling over him. It made Gavin twitch, taking his hands of the wheel to scratch at the scabs on the inside of his wrist, the pain hardly a bother. The android eyed him again.

The work was completed quicker than expected. Gavin hurried, counting down the seconds until he could get pissed and fucked against a wall.

He was thankful that the android didn't hover around him like Connor would, instead choosing to sit at its desk with its eyes closed, the little light on its temple a warm yellow. It seemed to sense him, then, eyes opening fast. "Something you need, Detective?"

Gavin jerked away, catching himself staring. He was standing by the bots chair like a statue, all dumb and flushing. "Uh, I'm done, I guess."

Rk shot up, causing Gavin to flinch and bang his hip on the opposite desk. He yelped on impact, older slices on his thigh hitting the table, before schooling is face and looking up at the staring at him hands out as if to catch him if he fell. He rolled his eyes. "Come on then you prick, haven't got all nigh," Gavin mumbled, waking off.

The android was staring out of the window as Gavin drove, LED yellow. It unnerved Gavin, who shook his head and turned on the radio to fill the silence. Night time was falling now, darkness blanketing the sky, and Gavin brows furrowed as he willed his hands to stop shaking with anxiety or need.

"You're stress levels have increased, Detective."

"And?"

Without missing a beat, "cutting down on nicotine will improve your health and prolong your life, you should consider it."

Gavin grumbled, eyes on the road, "and a if I don't want to prolong it?"

"Pardon?

"Nothing."

Gavin made a turn, the conversation falling silent again.