I wanted to give another HUGE shoutout to my lovely beta, Cordelia Rose. She's been such a delight, an amazing person, and I'd be completely lost without her. I also want to thank all of my readers-you truly mean so much to me. Thank you so much for following this story! Next chapter releases tomorrow and this is the point of no return. CyberLife has finally realized Connor's getting a little too involved with you for his own good, and to add to that, Markus and the squad are making their moves.

Secrets never remain secrets once someone knows that you're hiding something.

The more you bury it, the more someone tries to unearth it in turn. They'll toe at the fresh grave, prodding every now and then, until their curiosity grows and they scratch at the soil; and when you still don't give, they come out with the shovel and claim it's for your own good. They're weeding out the bad things, after all.

It can do some good, to reach into that pit and exhume those poisonous weeds. But sometimes, digging too much can cause the barrier around that cavern to crumble, and that shifts your world. And it is never the same afterwards.

You become an expert on recognising that world-shift once you experience it yourself. I should know.

Connor sat beside me on the gray couch, his hands deftly layering a cloth bandage strip around my right hand - the one that the deviant had stomped on last night. It was sore, but there was no obvious damage. I wasn't sure if I preferred my wounds to be more discernible. It's easier to treat those, but the ones that lie beneath the surface are….trickier.

"Is that too tight?" he asked me. The city outside was covered in the gloom of the waning evening, so the lights blaring from the TV and the lamps shed a harsh glow on him. It picked out the shallows in his cheeks and highlighted the harsh cut of his jawline.

The TV was currently tuned to KNC. Rosanna Cartland was, once again, discussing the threats that Russia's desire to claim the North Pole for itself posed for the United States. If they controlled it, they had access to pure minerals that could be synthesized into thirium, resulting in advanced military androids. Obviously, President Warren had adamantly proclaimed the end of America as we knew it if they were to claim it - and I found myself agreeing. Technology had come this far, who knew what could happen. Russia didn't have the best track record as of late.

"It's fine," I responded, staring down at his hands. They were unmarred, the skin smooth and pale. Meanwhile, a host of knicks and scars decorated the backs of mine. I was proud to show them off to my sister and to Hank; yet somehow, I felt oddly ashamed of them under Connor's scrutiny. It was more obvious than ever before how careless I'd been in my career, and I hated to admit that he was right, that everyone had been right. Ever since Daniel had destroyed my family, I'd been throwing myself at death.

I didn't desire death in so much as I simply put little stock in my own life. And that was perhaps the scariest part. If I were gone, Emma would have only herself to care for her. My hand twitched and Connor's careful fingers stilled. He didn't comment, and I wonder if he'd scanned me; and if he had, what he'd found?

Connor resumed his task of winding the rest of the bandage around my hand, taking his sweet time. His nose, I thought, was slightly crooked, a detail I hadn't noticed before.

I was in the middle of memorizing the planes of his face, unabashedly so, when Hank turned around from his seat at the bar. A cardboard box half the size of my torso sat in front of him on the countertop, filled with a surprising collection of my past belongings, the ones Emma had scrounged up before Mom had time to toss them. I'd tried to hide what I could when she'd started purging my things, and I'd been successful until she'd decided everything had to go. I'd never have imagined my little sister had gone out of her own accord to rescue my things.

Hank and Connor had gone to let my Mom know about the attack earlier, and Emma had slid a box into Connor's hands and asked him to 'take out the trash.'

What had Mom said about the deviant hurting me? Hank hadn't elaborated, and from the way Connor was unsettlingly quiet, I'd guessed it'd been her usual response with anything involving me. Particularly anything that said I was still in law enforcement, meaning she didn't care.

Mom had changed so much after Dad had joined CyberLife. It was like she'd become a different person. Dad had once told me that ice had frozen her wings and sharpened her feathers into icicles so her young couldn't roost in her arms.

Or, I thought, to freeze them to her, by locking bars around us.

I'd not had the time yet to look through my belongings, as Hank had ordered me to sit down and that Connor 'do something useful for once'. His trip to buy me a new phone must've been a huge inconvenience - then again, everything that wasn't booze was to him. Said new phone was now resting on Connor's knee.

"Phillips," Hank said, "don't worry about the deviant. Connor got his information, we'll know him next time we see him." He fished out several journals from the box: some sparkly and pink that I'd chosen as a young girl; and some gifted to me by my dad. Books were rare, nowadays. Everything was digital, more convenient. Still, I couldn't bear to completely transition to it, much as I appreciated their easy access, affordability, and sleekness.

Real books were ancient relics, something you could smell and touch. It was one of the big reasons that Hank and I had grown so close so quickly. I'd been the only one he knew of who not only had ebulliently ran for his bookshelf the first time I'd been to his house, but actually knew the titles and their cover-bound worlds.

Now he reverently handled my own collection. "Coming apart. Things are damned old," he said, trying to stuff back some of the pages which had come unbound. He opened one of the journals to push the papers back in, and the whites of his eyes widened. Connor lifted his head, fixing his gaze on the Lieutenant with concern.

"Don't tell me you found my creepy love letters," I smirked.

"Love letters?" Connor asked, smoothing the bandage down before securing it.

"Yeah, the 'James, your smile is cute. Thanks for lending me your pencil in English' kinda letter. The stupid ones that no one needs to be reading," I snapped pointedly at Hank, who was glued to the pages, and clearly hadn't heard a word I'd said.

"Who's James?" Connor pressed, and I sighed.

"It was an example."

"Oh," he faltered, suddenly awkward.

Hank said, "Kids can't draw for shit, unless you got some kinda natural talent. I always wondered about you, though. You ain't just some doodler, that's for fuckin' sure."

Connor dipped his head. "Your rendition of those two deviants was masterful. As well as all of your sketches of Gavin picking his nose, and of Hank not doing his work."

"Don't be smart, Connor," Hank said.

Connor looked at him quizzically, and said, "One is either already intelligent or not, how could I-"

"It's a saying," I said before Hank could retort, but the older man had already passed a cursory glance over him, as if he were used to it and couldn't be bothered to deal with it anymore.

"So, you take some art classes or what?" Hank continued.

"Yeah, there was one at my school," I replied, not catching his drift. If he even had one.

"You're telling me they taught you how to do shit like this? What the fuck kinda school did you go to, huh?" Hank turned the journal around, showing me a charcoal drawing I'd made of a house. A grand one, stretching towards the treetops, which were few and carefully sectioned about.

I shrugged. "When you're bored enough and you're constantly drawing, you get better, not worse. You could be the exception, though."

My superior swiped his tongue across the pad of his thumb and, his gaze never leaving mine, flipped to the next page in a very deliberate motion. There was a splatter of color, some leaking down the page as if the paint itself had been in the throes of despair. It was quite awful. I'd never been good with colors. There were so many I had no idea what to do with them, and it was plain just by looking at my attempts. It was much easier to understand the principles of them rather than work with them. Handing me a palette was like trying to shape water to your liking.

Still, to someone who didn't dabble in it, mine probably didn't look half as bad as I was making it out to be in my head. Nevertheless, I cringed internally.

He flipped to another page, and his lips pulled to one side like a zipper that's been messed with so hard it's jammed. "How old were you?" He seemed almost angry.

"When I drew those? Not sure. Why?"

"How old are you now?"

I gave him a look. "Really? My birthday's almost here and you don't even know my age? Did you forget the date too? I sure spent quite the penny on you last year, I hope you haven't forgotten."

He waved my jab away. "Just humor me, will ya?"

I said, "You can look it up yourself on the database! I can't believe you."

Connor, the bastard, gave Hank the information he wanted. I puffed air up at the hair sliding into my eyes.

"I don't play games, kid," Hank said, and I was tempted to bring up the one that he so often did play. I forced myself to take a deep breath and cleared my expression into one of annoyance instead. That's when I saw Connor's change too. It was so careful, so quick, I would've missed it had I not been doing the same thing. He smoothed out the deep lines in his forehead and retracted into a blank expression.

I peeked back at Hank, who was rifling through my drawings. Then he set it aside and picked up the gaudy, blue rhinestoned journal.

Shoving off the couch, I crossed the distance in five strides and tore the journal from Hank's hands. I gathered all of them up and stuffed them into my box, then set that down behind the counter, momentarily surprised at the weight. Just how much had Emma smuggled from the trash back into her room? I really needed to thank her.

"You know more than anyone here how important privacy is." My voice was strangled. I rolled my shoulders back, tossing my hair over one side to cool off my neck, which had become damp with sweat.

"I can't admire your work?" he said with an unidentifiable edge to his voice, and I had the sense that he wasn't simply admiring.

I poured myself a glass of water and eyed him over the rim. Rounding the counter, I settled down by Hank, one stool between us, ready to tell him what was what. Man, was I tired. Rubbing circles into my tempes, I nursed the glass before me, grateful I'd never succumbed to alcohol.

Connor strolled over to join us at the bar, trying to sit between us with feigned grace. His long legs got caught up in the footrest, and Hank quickly adjusted himself on his seat so his side knocked into Connor. It pitched him off balance and he slipped, knocking into me. I grabbed for the counter, but my hand cramped up in agony and I was couldn't keep the grip. The glass exploded into a million pieces and I landed hard on my rear.

"Officer!" Connor helped me up carefully, brushing bits of glass from my clothes. He turned my wrists over, looking for injury, "I'm very sorry, I didn't mean-"

I cut him off. "Hank, what the hell? You pushed him!"

"Oh, quit your whining. There's glass on the floor."

"Yes, everyone can see that," I snapped, letting Connor pick out the glass stuck in my shirt and hair like we were monkeys grooming each other.

"Where's your trash bags?" Hank got up off the stool finally.

"Below the sink cabinets."

He ambled off in the direction I'd pointed, and Connor gently rotated me in a semi-circle. "There can't be that much," I protested as he continued to fuss over me. When I clocked back to face him, he picked at my eyebrow. He showed me the shining, clear shard as big as a grain of sand between his thumb and forefinger, the kitchen lights suffusing it with an amber glow.

Hank lumbered back into sight with a trash bag in one hand; he held out a broom and pan in the other to Connor.

"You made the mess, you clean it," I told him, stopping Connor from reaching out.

"I didn't smash the cup." With a grumble, Hank cleaned up the glass and mopped up the water. I'd expected him to put up more of a fight. On the way out the door, he said, "Connor, bring the towel, we'll drop that off at the lobby."

"You don't both need to go," I said. Hank could easily handle both jobs in one go. I frowned. He was acting very strangely.

Connor flounced after him. Not wanting Hank to mess with my things again, I gathered up the box. What did Emma save for me to weigh this much? I kept the mass on my left side as much as possible and dumped it into my closet, shutting it with my foot.

I came back to the main room just in time to find Connor closing the front door behind him. Quietly. He was alone, and wearing a troubled look. One that only deepened seeing me standing there.

"Where's Hank?"

"He….says Captain Fowler called him. I'll be accompanying him back to the station."

He says? What did that mean? Connor was always so sure of everyone else's motives. "Alright, well, thanks for your help, I appreciate it. Saved my ass back there last night."

There was so much more I wanted to say, but I didn't even know how. All I could see when I looked at him was the rain dripping off him as he carried me back to my apartment, his gaze a tender hickory against chestnut in the low light of the streetlamps.

"Did you need anything?" I asked when he remained where he was, staring listlessly at the plush cream carpet. He perked up at my voice, as if he'd been pulled out of a trance. "Something on your mind?" I tried again.

Connor's fingers curled into his palm; he flexed them, spilling a quarter over his knuckles like waves ferrying its passengers. "Yesterday was a long day," he said contemplatively, and I could hear the exhaustion needling at him through his tone. I waited, ready to listen, but he slipped his coin back into his pocket and seemed to give himself a mental shake. "There are many things to consider."

I hadn't a clue what he was referring to, but I could see a shadow perched on him nonetheless; some burden he couldn't dislodge. When I looked at Connor, I saw a young man worn down by an experience that'd left him rattled. I didn't think it was about Kara either. This was more raw, more visceral. My first guess was it related to Hank.

"When I'm dealing with things that become too much, I write them down," I offered. That familiar itch to write returned just at the idea.

"Does it help?"

I tried to imagine what he must be going through. Here was CyberLife's current prototype, literally created to sniff out his own kind, to have them destroyed. His mission is his number one priority. Then he gets paired with a grieving alcoholic who detests androids for something he can't control, nor even know why, and a girl who can't get her own priorities straight. She cares about his kind as if they weren't things, but real beings with real feelings. His partners are the very antithesis of everything he's programmed for in two very different ways.

"It does, for me at least. But what works for me may not work for you," I said. It sounded lame as hell coming out of my mouth.

Connor asked, "Are you sure you're alright? You've been operating under very stressful conditions these past few days."

Why was he still worrying about me? He was clearly in turmoil himself, but it was like he'd pushed the very notion of it away. I replied with, "I'm good, don't worry."

He reached into his jacket interior pocket. Right where his triangle ocean patch rested. Where his thirium heart pumped.

"What are…?" I trailed off as he removed my moleskine from his inside pocket. I'd been so wrapped up in last night's events, the horrible revelation that I had feelings for Connor, and just now Hank purposefully booting Connor off his chair like a puppy that'd jumped up onto the dinner table, that I'd never had a moment to reach for my journal and find it was missing.

"I'm sorry, Detective Reed ruined some of the pages," he murmured as I flipped through it, finding several smashed and bent spreads.

"It's okay," and then I stopped. I raised my gaze to his, searching them for the answers I needed. "Why did you cover for me? On the highway?"

His gaze snapped to mine, narrowing ever so slightly as he tried to discern what answer I wanted.

"You know what I was doing." I squeezed the moleskine. "It's not like this is the first time, either." I would've lost any chance at promotion if he had, and I think he knew that. But there was no reason for him to mind any of that, he wasn't meant to think about such trivial matters.

"There are a lot of things you've done that have caused you to be written up, Officer."

I raised my chin high. I had the faint impression that I was letting things go too far, and that if I took that step, nothing would be the same.

I took it anyway.

"And I don't regret a single one. You are just as human to me as my little sister is. Just like Daniel had been. As will all the other androids we come across. I can't sit back and pretend any longer. I did that before, and people I loved were killed." I shook my head. "You should catch up to Hank."

I'd said too much. I wasn't ready to divulge my past to Hank, so there was no way I could do so with Connor. Especially knowing he was sent by CyberLife. That would be like falling onto your own sword with an open grave right beside it.

He didn't let it go. "The Android Sympathizer - you're consistent with your title, the one that Hank created for you. Yet, he covers for you."

"Emotions are weird like that," I said, recalling Hank's distraught confession at Jimmy's about what he'd done.

A muscle ticked in Connor's jaw. "Emotions," he repeated, as if tasting the word. He stared at me as if he were trying to fit in the last piece of a puzzle.

"Yes, you did the same thing," I said. The implication behind my words hit him hard.

He jerked back as if he'd been slapped, drawing his shoulders up to his neck. "I'm programmed to simulate human emotions, nothing more. You'd do well to remember that. I should get back to Hank," he whispered. Before he left, he turned to look at me. His gaze wobbled. "I'm glad you're feeling better, Officer. I look forward to seeing you at work tomorrow."

There he went again with his contradictions. It was like he was telling himself things he knew he was supposed to believe, but he didn't know if he actually did. I caught his arm as he tried to slip through the door. "Wait, please." I dashed into my room and snatched my last umbrella from the closet. I ran out of my room, relieved he hadn't taken off, and held it out to him.

Connor looked contrite and said, "I'm sorry, I never returned your umbrella."

"It's fine. It's may rain again."

"But-"

"Just make sure you return this one. My jackets aren't the best at keeping out the cold. Also..." I drummed my fingers over the moleskine and held it out to him. My jaw clenched and my arm shook with the sheer gravity of my gesture.

He looked from the book to me, no doubt realizing that housed between each scrap of paper were thoughts that had bled from my fingertips. Feelings that had flowed through my very veins. I was, for all he knew, packaging my sins, my heart, and my soul into one notebook, and entrusting them to him.

Hank would have blown a fuse had he seen this.

Why would I do something this foolish? Simply because I wanted to.

His lips parted with an audible smack and I thought, this was a terrible idea, and then he reached out and splayed his long fingers atop the cover. His nails were clean and perfectly trimmed; not a mark blemished his skin.

"I'd be taking away your outlet if I did this. It's too important to you. I would worry about your well-being."

I deflated a little, oddly disappointed. Had I truly wanted him to read my damning innermost thoughts? Or had I wanted him to find some identity within, feel something, as Daniel had? My heart skipped a beat. Maybe he'd already read it during our note passing?

Connor picked up the umbrella, running his fingers over the material. His lashes brushed against the tips of his cheekbones. "Detective Reed is already aware of my notes to you in that one. Perhaps if it were a new one, we could? I would find it regrettable if he were privy to any more of your own burdens. He gives you enough trouble as it is."

I was stuck to my seat all day, only getting up to use the restroom and pace about the break room. Connor sat across from Hank, entertaining himself by playing with his quarter. How he was able to move it like he did baffled my mind.

Nearing my wits' limits, I glanced at the time. Thanks to some fresh new additions to patrol, I'd be out of here soon. Fowler had determined I needed a break, so all I needed to do was finish my report. After countless hours dedicated to the art of case filing, my fingers had become dance partners with the keyboard. Hank too had little to complete today, and I assumed he'd leave before noon. He'd arrived around 10 AM, a miracle for him.

Behind me, someone roared with anger, breaking the silence. And my patience. I spun my seat around and found Gavin hunched over his desk, palms flat against the surface. "Who the fuck put this on my desk?"

Chris had one hand over his open mouth in mirth. We exchanged excited glances.

"Keep it down," said Hank mildly.

Gavin, clearly agitated, stormed over to the man and slapped the documents down. "This isn't funny. Who did this?"

Hank raised a pepper-gray eyebrow. "That's a saucy report."

I couldn't contain my glee. A snicker escaped my lips, and Gavin's neck swiveled in the direction of the sound.

"Was nice knowing you," Chris murmured.

In one smooth movement, Gavin swiped the documents up. I groaned as he came up to me. When I didn't immediately confess to the crime, he held up the evidence and flashed it for all to see.

"Those are some high quality images," I marvelled, "how'd you get it past Fowler?"

Some of my coworkers laughed but Gavin held my gaze, his expression stony.

"Don't look at me," I said, raising my palms up.

"Show me your terminal history," he snapped.

I let him scroll through countless records. He sucked at his teeth, shaking his head as he continued to parse through the datalog.

"I need to get my work done, you know," I reminded him.

"Shut it, I know you were the one."

I sighed. "You've gone back a year already."

"It's on here."

Hank wore a look of pure disbelief, his jaw slack and his gaze hooded. "Will you let her finish her damned report?"

I tapped Gavin's arm and when he shot me a glare, I pointed at the title of the document and then at the search bar. He tsked and pounded at the keys, as if he were trying to break them. When his search yielded no results, he rose to his full height.

He pinned his gaze on Chris. Then he looked at Connor.

"Dude, you're in my space." I shooed him off. The guy actually backed off for once and folded his arms.

"You deleted the history, that's what you did," he said quietly, as if to himself.

I opened my case report back up and nodded, "Sure, Gavin. The DPD online security let me look up android porn and then erased all traces of it."

He nodded back at me sarcastically. With a smug grin, he sidled up to Connor's desk and held out the paperwork to him.

"Gavin," I said with feigned astonishment, "you can't just ask him to do that kind of stuff for you. Eden Club has you covered."

"Funny," he drawled. "I know it was you, you plastic-"

Connor picked up the proffered papers, flipped through them casually, and then stood. He adjusted his tie, and I could've sworn I saw his mouth quirk up. "Detective, I'm pleased to see you've given some thought to the idea."

"What are you-"

"I wasn't initially programmed to please humans in this way, but I can assure you that I'm the best at what I do. I take all of my missions seriously. So, if you insist," he turned over one page, and looking quite proud, showed it to Gavin. The detective paled. "I've learned a lot from Eden Club. Just say the word and I can show you."

My jaw practically fell to the floor.

Chris coughed.

Hank moved his chair closer to watch the spectacle unfold.

"Keep it," he sputtered, "you'll have better luck with your officer."

I crooned, "After all the trouble he went through for you?"

"Shut it," he snapped. He went back to his desk and settled down with a glower. Success.

I turned back to my monitor when Chris hissed through his teeth at me, trying to catch my attention.

"Hmm?" I looked up at him and he tilted his head slightly. I followed his gesture and found Connor regarding me, his lips drawn to the side. He glanced down at the documents in his hands, then up at me.

I could practically hear the disappointment in the look Chris was giving me. Hank was also staring at me, and I ignored them as I clasped my hands together. There wasn't time to waste, I had a report to finish. As I typed away, I felt someone's gaze burning into my back. I paused and looked up to find Connor was still watching me, his chin cupped in one hand.

At long last, my shift was over. My body felt like I'd been training for the Olympics as I made my way outside. The rain was coming down in silver sheets, so dense that I could hardly see through them. To my dismay, everyone else had already gotten the memo for the drowning-day. There were no available umbrellas near the entrance, and I had given away my last one. I pushed my hair back into my jacket and pulled up the hood in a futile effort to protect myself. The chill seeped into the material, spreading in a slow crawl through my clothes until I was shivering.

I could bother Hank and make him drive me home. Then again, there was no telling when he'd be finished. Fowler had pulled him into his office an hour ago and he'd yet to escape. I almost felt bad for the guy, if he didn't totally deserve it.

Loath as I was to take my squad car when I could simply walk home, I'd been in enough involuntary showers these past few weeks. Jamming my hands into my pockets, I ducked out into the rain, ready to gun for the parking lot. The deafening downpour momentarily became shallow, like someone had placed a funnel over my ears.

I turned my head and was met by an inquisitive gaze, narrowing with concern. He held an umbrella over me, protecting me from the onslaught, while the drops drenched him in seconds.

"Officer," he raised his voice so I could hear him, "do you enjoy the rain?"

He was standing there, unfazed, except for his constant harsh blinking to see through the sheets of silver.

I grabbed his arm and pulled us both back into the main entrance of the DPD. A few androids stood at attention behind the reception desk, and the TV high on the wall to the right continued to blast KNC. A few people were seated, absorbed by the newscaster reporting on the increase in deviants.

He continued to hold the umbrella over me, water rolling off it's curves. Rain dripped from him into a pool around his feet in a ring. I was suddenly grateful androids didn't get cold.

"I should be asking you that," I told him. "You're soaking wet."

"So I am," he replied, as if wondering where I was going with this. I reached up and took the umbrella from him, shaking it dry and then closing it. When I held it out to him, he grabbed onto it and pulled. I slipped over the slick, wet linoleum, holding onto the umbrella to support me. "As I suspected, you're catching a cold."

"Connor," I said, "you're dripping all over the floor-"

His placed his palm over my forehead, catching me mid-sentence. "Your body temperature is currently at 104.9 degrees fahrenheit. It's been steadily rising since this morning. Running out into the rain will only worsen your condition."

"That kind of temperature would place me in the hospital, that can't be right."

He lowered his hand and said, "Correct."

"Excuse me?" I asked, befuddled. Connor looked as serious as ever, but the tiny quirk at the corners of his lips told a different story. "Holy crap, did you just make a joke?" I couldn't believe it.

"I did. However, it's imperative that you take care of yourself. You've been severely distressed as of late."

I laughed with disbelief. "Don't worry, I'll be fine."

"You say that often, and then right after you get into a lot of trouble."

With a shrug, I gave him a once-over. "Yeah, but look at you. What were you thinking?"

"I was thinking of returning your umbrella, as well as keeping you out of the cold. Also, I have something for you. But it's with Hank right now, I'm afraid."

"Something for me?"

He straightened his clothes. "Actually, you may want to prepare yourself. Hank is quite angry with you."

I ran through a laundry list of what could possibly incurred the Lieutenant's wrath, but pinning down what I could've done was nearly impossible. The light could flicker above him and it'd ruin his entire day, and he'd find some way to pin it on me.

"What'd I do this time?"

As if on cue, Hank's heavy steps sounded on the linoleum. Working with him for as long as I did had that effect. I could immediately discern his walk from anyone else's. When he called out, "Phillips, in my car. You're coming with me!" a dark scowl drew his features towards his downturned mouth. That's when I realized that I hadn't just pissed him off. I'd disappointed him. And that alone had me more worried than anything else.