November 8th, 2038

AM 02:05:05


Angelic, feathery ice crystals kissed the windshield. Rubber blades squeegeed them away, two rainbows of melted water streaking along their tips. The hood of your car glistened from each running, illuminated stripe as you passed under street lights. They lit the cabin in brief spurts like a distress beacon; pulsing and fading, brief and alert.

Coming down from the events of the night, you found yourself distracted. Dehydrated, maybe. Jimmy had tried to fix that. Settled your stomach, at least…until some asshole decided to get too handsy and Connor almost snapped his neck in half…

This night just kept on going. So did the headache.

You watched the city scroll by outside, fogging the window with your breath as the rest of it floated away. A different sort of distress beacon caught your attention in the hazed reflection.

The breathing, golden ring on Connor's temple. His hair was damp, the frizzled strands out of place. His face was molded in forlorn countenance. His left arm was locked straight as he gripped the steering wheel, the other resting on the transmission shifter. He slouched in the driver's seat, as if he'd been driving all his life.

You shivered, hugging the wet sleeves of your jacket. It was so…fucking…cold. Each muscle convulsed in spasms, your stomach clenching as you tried to stabilize your core. Your self-medication had started to wear off, and things began hurting again.

Not just your body. Your mind.

Thoughts were painful, somber recollections of your past – distant and recent all the same. You'd tried to recount the events that led to this specific point in time, but you couldn't slow them down enough to catch one. Couldn't hold on to something hopeful as each memory overrode the next like a disk fragmentation.

The car slowed to a red light, your brakes squealing as the pads you'd been told to replace several times outed themselves. You looked at your dash, staring at the knob pointed at a dotted, red line. Your eyes lifted.

He was watching you.

You snapped your chin back towards the window, teeth pressing together.

What sounded like a wind tunnel fired, and a clicking noise came from behind you. You returned to the source, squinting at headlights as oncoming traffic drove by.

Connor had turned the heat up; the fans to the highest speed, and was in the middle of aiming the two air vents on his side of the car towards you.

He propped his elbow on the window sill, leaning his head into a curled fist. His wrist relaxed on the curve of the wheel, fingers silently drumming at the plastic. His knee bounced.

"Your LED's been yellow ever since we left." You whispered, pulling in an icy breath.

His lips pursed, and his eyes crinkled. He turned away, almost ashamed.

"Is something wrong?"

"I'm…" He refocused on the road as the light turned green, the transmission shifting from neutral to drive, "It's been a hectic night."

Your gaze fell, shoulders jumping to your ears as a chill assaulted your resolve.

"I'm sorry…" You swallowed hard, "For…what happened, with Kim."

"There's no need to apologize," He flicked the turn signal, rolling the steering wheel with the ball of his palm, "What happened wasn't your fault."

"I know it wasn't. But you have enough going on without getting involved in my shit…"

"Why wouldn't I?" He shot you a glance, "I care about your well-being."

You didn't know what to say. The wheel spun in his shallow grip until his hand closed around it.

"I went to your apartment building." His features fell flat, "The ST300 receptionist informed me that you hadn't returned, and that I was permitted to enter your home, regardless."

"Why didn't you? I told you that you could…"

"I…" His brows tensed and relaxed in a sequential order, "I was worried, about you."

"Connor," You smiled, "You don't need to worry about me. Jimmy and I could've taken that guy down, no problem."

His hand tightened around the wheel, "I didn't like the way that man was speaking to you…Like you were…"

His eyes darted to the side as he cursed under his breath.

"Hey," You put your hand over his, resting on the shifter, "I'm okay now, thanks to your spectacle, back there." You chuckled, "It's over. Just try and let it go."

His LED flashed red. The tires squealed as the wheel spun to the side, and your seatbelt snapped in place. Your back bounced against your seat, which did nothing for the creeping pain.

"Ow, fuck-"

He threw the car in park and cranked the emergency brake; pulled over on the side of the road. You were breathing rapidly, heart pounding – hands braced against the edge of your dashboard.

"Connor, what the-"

His head jerked back and forth, his fingertips digging into his skull like he was trying to pry something out.

"I let it go-" His voice cracked, a small squeak breaking the last word, "I let them go-"

The red light as flashing sporadically, an angry eye blinking at you in a new form of warning.

"Connor," You placed your hand on his shoulder, and he jumped away, bumping into the door's interior.

"Connor, come back to me." You twisted in your seat, leaning towards him, "You're okay. You hear me? You're okay-"

A new sheen took to his cheeks as he pried his eyes open. His pupils shook, distant and lost and-

"Hey," You ducked in front of him, and his trembling stare found you under a twitching eyelid, "It's me," You repeated your first name, "Remember?"

He was shaking so hard you worried pieces of him would start flying off.

His lips quivered, but his sight never left you. The flashing red went quiet, and the yellow light returned.

"That's it, there you go…" You gave him a sad smile, your hand curving around the back of his head, "See? You're okay."

You swallowed as his hands lowered, and he studied them as if he'd committed a horrible crime.

"I…"

"Shh…" You petted him softly, "Just relax."

He turned to you in a rapid motion, the tip of his nose brushing against yours, "I can't."

The deep contours around his mouth – held in place by his sharp jaw. The way his eyes held a certain longing, how is brow was slanted into sadness…He'd never been so close to you, before. But this…all of this…

This was heart-breaking.

You remembered how Jimmy pulled you back from your despair, just by offering a listening ear.

"Talk to me."

You wanted to share this intimate moment with him for a little while longer, but you pulled back and gave him space. Your hand left him, and you leaned back into your seat.

"What happened at the Eden Club?"

He was breathing deep – something that seemed odd for an android. His eyes clamped shut, his jawline shifting as he swallowed. The space around his LED tensed, and the color stabilized to blue.

"It started at Lieutenant Anderson's house…and a game called Russian Roulette."

He'd told you about going to Hank's, how he found him passed out on the floor with a revolver. A .357 Magnum, much like yours – but with one bullet in the chamber. He'd described how Hank attempted to get his dog, Sumo, to attack him; giving him "positive reinforcement," even when he didn't. Connor had mentioned a plethora of sticky notes on his bathroom mirror and inquired about one that read, "Keep Sailing," something Hank said often. His question was if the message was linked to Hank's ringtone in your phone. It was. He'd asked a less light-hearted question about a picture of Cole Anderson, Hank's deceased son. You'd declined to answer.

He'd walked you through the arrival at the crime scene; how Gavin and Chris were already there. How Gavin had referred to him as Hank's "plastic pet," and how Chris remained civil and professional. He admired him. He'd referred to him as his, "friend."

When the topic shifted to the murder itself…things were less clear.

Connor was less…stable.

"Lieutenant Anderson and I deduced that Michael Graham died of asphyxiation rather than cardiac arrest. There was a deactivated android in the room…a WR400 Traci model. I was able to temporarily reactivate it…" He looked away, "It said Graham was hitting it… 'again, and again…' It told us it wasn't the murderer. Our investigation led us to the club's warehouse…I found the deviant. Both of them."

"'Both of them?'"

"There were two female Tracis. One of them was the murderer, and the other was its accomplice. There was a struggle. They resisted. I chased them outside to the loading bay. I was struck down, I landed next to a gun, I had them in my sights, and I-"

His light flashed yellow. You were starting to lose him again.

"Easy, Connor." You tried your best to stay calm, "You're doing great."

His eyes lifted to you, and he settled himself.

"The deviant told me it didn't mean to kill Michael. That it wanted to stay alive, and get back to the one it loved and be held in its arms-" He pursed his lips, "Machines don't feel love…Our emotions are simulated, an imitation of-"

"That's not true."

"NOTHING is true anymore." He growled, "I saved Lieutenant Anderson and let Rupert get away. I decided not to shoot the two deviants at the Eden Club. Even after Lieutenant Anderson told me 'it was better off' that way, I still…I'm designed to accomplish a task. If I keep failing, CyberLife will…"

The fact that Hank had approved of Connor sparing the deviants threw you off…but if Connor was implying what you thought he was…

"They'll what?"

"They'll deactivate me."

His warning hit you in the chest. A belt slipped in your brain, knocking your heart in response.

"Lieutenant Anderson held a gun to my head and asked me if I was afraid to die," He slammed the wheel with his palms, "I shouldn't be afraid to be deactivated!"

"Wait, wait, hold on…First of all, be careful with that. It's old." You nodded to your steering wheel, "Second, Hank did what?"

"He said those two girls really seemed in love. Asked me what I really was. He held a gun to my head, asked me if I was afraid to die, and then questioned what would happen if he pulled the trigger." His face was pained as it fell, "I told that I'm whatever he wants me to be. That I would find it regrettable to be interrupted. That, if he shot me…There would be nothing. No more being his partner or working at the DCPD station. No more 'happy hours' or illegal gambling with Officer Miller and the rest of the unit." His shoulders shook, and he found you through his sadness, "No more reading, or engaging conversations. No more you…"

He watched you as if waiting for reprimand. To be told he was wrong, and that his feelings were fake, and his ideas were irrelevant. He was practically begging to be put out of his misery.

"Come on…" You frowned, pulling away from him, "…Let's go home."

Snow had formed a thin veil over the windshield. The quiet, crisp specs piled on top of each other. They shook as his hesitation expired, and the engine roared to life.

Your nerves stilled, and the building tension flatlined. Everything had become clear, in the wake of his near self-destruction.

Connor was becoming a deviant, and it was your fault.


A/N: Thanks to my betas for making this process incredibly easier 3

Also, thanks to everyone (again) for all of our amazing conversations. This has been SO FREAKING AWESOME. Next update might take an extra day, as June 25th is my (25th) birthday. :)

NOW GO HUG CONNOR!

Guest Review Responses:

Eidhnean: I actually did some research on this after a commenter on AO3 pointed out the same thing. It turns out, the names are interchangeable. There is a professional volleyball player named Kim Yo-Han, and he goes by Kim. The NPC in question is listed as Kim Yo-Han on the website, as well. Again, no hard feelings – and totally understand where you're coming from. Thank you for being such a thorough reader and leaving constructive feedback. : ) Half of my family is Russian, and they run into things like this with their names all the time. Anyway, hopefully that clears things up a bit. I might still be wrong, but there's not much I can do at this point, sadly.

Other than that, thank you for the wonderful review and I'm thrilled you're enjoying the fic so far! :D The Nietzsche chapter was definitely one of my favorites to write!

Kaycie: Haha, thank you. I'm glad you're here!