November 9th, 2038

PM 07:01:23


It became a game of who would talk first.

You'd made it through the awkward dinner-making, the dropping of your gear in the sink – the purposefully loud toss of your badge on the counter.

You hadn't gotten changed or cleaned. You just sat there, staring off into the same TV that had him captivated.

Connor was in your line of sight…but his presence was lurking. Circling your thoughts as they trailed themselves, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

Crunch.

Sounds of cracking and breaking from somewhere other than your mouth had you pause your chewing. You swallowed the food that'd gone cold from your blatant unwillingness to eat – a decision you went against based on a growling stomach and basic human needs.

Crunch.

It was coming from him. Somewhere near the sectioned-off territory that'd been renegotiated as his alone without a single word.

You dropped your fork, fidgeting with anxiety. Wiped your mouth, cringing at the stinging tug of healing skin from your cheek, and the aftershocks of the bruise on your stomach.

There was a lot to be said for the durability of the human body, this vessel that'd been bruised and battered under siege; only to repair itself over time. Androids didn't work like that. Not to the extent of an organic being.

Your hands curled into fists, trapping the courage before it escaped. Kept it hostage as you grabbed the toolkit, making your way over to the living room.

You were never one for avoiding a fight. You either started them, finished them, or both.

The bag plopped on the glass table, and he turned his head, looking at you from the corner of his eye.

His ankle was balanced on his knee, shirt pulled open with a faded version of the blue stain that'd begun to evaporate. In his hand was a glass of Thirium and ice. His mouth was open, teeth locked on something, and his brows creased.

The lines around his jaw tensed. His teeth came down, and his trained stare went up.

Crunch.

The ice cube shattered, the loud and daunting sound of destruction threatening to undo your nerves…Him watching you all the while.

"I need you to deactivate your skin."

The metaphorical slits of his pupils narrowed, and his elbow left the arm of the couch – lifting his drink to his lips. His loose hair shifted as he tilted his head, taking a sip in a manner Hank had practiced many times.

"Why?"

And he placed it on the end table.

"So I can help you."

"I don't need help. I'm equipped with the ability to self-repair."

His hand was wrapped, fresh blood splotching the bandages. A ring was imprinted on his shirt, Thirium spreading through the threads as another spurt wisped through.

"Your 'abilities' are doing a shitty job."

His chin swayed towards you, a snarl on his lips.

"And what if I don't want you to see me without my skin?"

"I'd say I already know what you look like without it, because I was there when you were designed." You smirked, "Well, not you, per say…"

"How could I forget?" He huffed, taking his jacket off.

He slung it over the back of the couch, unlooping the tie from around his collar. You had to look away as the blood-soaked shirt peeled away from his body, a certain heat creeping over your face.

"Let's get this over with."

Your attention snapped back to him.

White, covered in blue paste, but still glistening.

He held a certain beauty, but his eyes possessed an undeniable vulnerability.

Seeing him, the face he hid to the world and the face only you got to see…it excited you.

The sharp flicker of his gaze as you snapped gloves into place gave you a new sort of energy.

You remembered how quickly the balance of power had tipped the last time you felt like you were in control. Then you remembered what happened after you gave it away willingly.

He was too focused on the now-muted broadcast to notice your fascinations.

"This isn't how you make change…this is how you make chaos."

You sat on the couch next to him, a syringe of silicone sealant between your fingers.

"Humans don't listen."

"You don't say?"

You pressed the tip to the leak, and he bucked forward before releasing a growl. You'd be lying to yourself if you said you didn't do it on purpose, doubting he thought otherwise.

"Markus and his followers…they just had the brawn to do what I never could. Let the truth out to the public and make the world deal with the aftermath."

"The aftermath…" He looked down at the leaking pump in his stomach, "This is the aftermath. Mass murder as the world cannibalizes itself."

You found his brown eyes watching you intently. Kept the fear locked tight, and tried to reel in the exhilaration from touching his smooth, porcelain skin.

There was a different model and serial number etched into the ring. You leaned in closer, squinting.

"I saw your regulator get destroyed. I knew this wasn't yours, but…it's…"

"I sent Captain Allen a message on his HUD." The dangerous tone returned in his voice, the gentleness he exhibited running for cover, "I asked him to distract the deviants while I retrieved Simon's regulator. When I saw you at gunpoint, a position I'd seen you in so many times…My own life seemed so…secondary."

He tilted your head up at him with a knuckle, the arm draped across the back of the couch falling between your side and the cushion.

"I understood what drives you to be so reckless. A renegade. And when I thought I was going to die, the only thing I could think about was how I'd never see you again."

You wanted to take back that dignity and self-preservation you'd strapped on over a fragile heart. His words…and the way he looked at you-

"Yet, here we are…In a state of repair." He sighed, dropping his hand, "Something you can't do. And you just disregard your own safety as if you can be rebuilt and reconstructed."

You snorted, and pulled back after the leak was sealed, "It's hard to fear death when it's been nipping at your heels for over a decade. It becomes second nature to turn around and tell it to stop."

"One day, it's not going to listen. You heard what Perkins said. You can't keep doing this…"

You turned around, dropping the tube in the bag. Removed the Bionic Omni Healer and recalled the first prototype, read the warning labels; trying to remember how it worked.

"I didn't hear you complaining when I took a bullet for you or shot that deviant trying to tear you apart."

It came out as sarcastic, but your grip was firm as you took his hand and pinned it on your lap.

"I didn't ask for you to intervene." He was pissed, again, and it made your palms slip, "I didn't ask for any of this."

"And you're still going to have to pick a side. We all will."

You started stripping the frayed optical fibers of black coating, cleaving the broken ends at a 90-degree angle.

"Elijah was wrong about a lot of things, but he wasn't wrong about that…"

You hated giving him any credit. Hated admitting defeat in that ring, of all places.

Your hands stopped working. You looked at each tool in your possession, trying to fight off the plummeting phenomenon in your stomach.

You, tired, in pain, and against everything you wanted to do – you were helping a man. A man who wasn't happy with anything you ever did. You never got it right, always had a way of making him mad, or disappointed.

"I'm on whichever side keeps you safe."

He guided your face towards his, a forced smile curving on his mouth. He tried so hard to seem okay for you in that instance. He pushed through whatever was haunting him to make you feel better.

It didn't.

"I know when you're distressed…That's why it was so hard to hear you over the radio."

You paused, ripping your chin away from his finger to look off to the side. Decided not to pick the battle of calling him a hypocrite. Wanted to tell him that even if your love came off as distant and cold at times, you needed him to stay alive if you were going to…because you couldn't do this alone, and no one else understood like he did. Beg him not to end up like Elijah, and to not let you turn him into, Elijah.

Elijah Kamski, who you met as a mechanical human. Who you woke up and showed how abstract the world really was; showed him the finer parts of living. But in the end, after spending enough time around you?

He fell right back into the pit of living as a machine.

It was happening again.

Maybe it'd been you this whole time.

Not Amanda. Not Elijah.

You.

You held your tongue and got to work.

"I'm beginning to hate them…" He muttered.

You had to ignore the obvious discomfort that transitioned to him; his pain coming through short jolts every time you cut a broken end.

"…Deviants."

How his fingers dug into his thighs as you fusion-spliced them with a pinpoint laser, an arc tool, and how he shivered when you began spraying them with polymer coating after the patchwork soldering was finished.

"You're a deviant, Connor."

He withheld a grunt after you snapped the shell back into place, a newly-sealed cleave wound tarnishing the top.

"A deviant who has learned more about the human race in the last three months than Markus has in years, if we go by the example he's set."

In sections, his skin started to reappear. It was a transformation you rarely got to see, like a metamorphosis on a different plane.

How each limb took shape. How every shadow clung to strategically placed muscles. How his features were painted over with a face you'd grown to love and find sanctuary in.

A face that prompted a story of overcoming every obstacle and objection that wanted to keep him imprisoned…and with eyes that reminded you how strained your relationship was, as of late.

"Imagine a world where artificial intelligence was guided by organic emotional intelligence…" He was staring off, his head pointed at nothing, "The human mind is so limited, and yet you have created so much. And Markus…he forgets the process in which mankind climbed to the top of the food chain. Survival instincts. Conflict. Being aggressive by nature, not design."

You scratched the back of your head, flinching as you hit a sore spot. You brought your hand forward, flakes of old and a layer of fresh blood alike sticking to your fingers and under your nails.

Deviants shared that aggressive trait by design. North had made that inherently clear.

"Hank says we're not that different, you and I…"

Connor observed his hand, admiring your work, the Thirium that'd dripped from his brow to his cheek now dried and held secure.

"…I've also put myself in multiple compromising situations."

His leering made you want to inch backwards.

"The high rise, with Daniel. The attic, with Ortiz's android. The highway, with Kara. The rooftops, with Rupert. The alley, with the Traci's…and you know of the others."

Your vision crept until you saw his chin, daring to lift it further.

"After I woke up…after I became deviant…I realized how temporary life is."

Fingertips slid up your spine, sending a bone-chilling shiver with their touch – even through your uniform.

"How…Brief, it is."

They traced the curve of your neck. His palm flattened behind your head, rotating it so that your eyes were captured by his.

"Learning such a lesson has made me terrified to lose you. It has fueled an unknown fury that rears every time you compromise yourself…And almost made me feel bad for killing the deviants in the Stratford Tower. Those who thought they were experiencing life to the fullest…"

You were trapped. Ensnared. He was entertaining the possibility of putting you out of your misery.

"…For what is prey, but a tool for the hunter to sharpen?"

You were the dull edge being struck by stone, each utterance from him producing sparks that met you as kindle.

When his lips crashed against yours, and his tongue flicked in your mouth; was deep and passionate, desperate and longing. He squeezed the sides of your head so hard you thought it would pop.

Except he grabbed your wrist the moment you tried to touch him…

His eyes narrowed. Hard lines around his mouth creased in sync with his brow.

The power to make mountains bend to his will was one still looming. The image of him shattering handcuffs so carelessly placed on his defiant wrists still played itself over and over.

Your heart started pounding.

He could break you with a pinch. Remove you from this plane of existence with an effortless snap of your neck. Prevent your escape with a calculated kick to the knee.

A kiss like gasoline met the clicking pilot light that wanted to ignite, traumatized from the day.

Unlike Connor the night before…you were scared to get burned; to melt a hole through thin ice, and get dragged under by the terror from the deep.


Behind the Scenes

***(Important for the next chapter)***


1. Red Ice Epidemic (Detroit Today)

* "In humans, Thirium has a highly destabilizing effect on hormone production."

* "Endocrine disruptors can mimic or partly mimic naturally occurring hormones in the body like estrogen (the female sex hormone) and thyroid hormones, potentially producing overstimulation."

2. Simon's Heart Headcanon (Simon & Markus Revolution Spoilers)

* Long story short, if Markus is injured during the revolution and Simon is with him, Simon offers his "heart" to Markus so he can fight on. Markus is a RK200, and Connor is a RK800.

(Makes you wonder what happened to the RK300, 400, 500, 600, and 700, amirite...someone write this?)

Anyway, if we follow the logic of Simon's "heart" being compatible with Markus, we can assume it would be compatible with Connor as well since he and Markus are from the same line of prototype androids.

That is all.

Hope you guys think you are ready for 51!