The first thing that you become aware of is the sound of someone gently sobbing. The sound starts off in the distance, but after a moment you realise is very close by. The next thing you become aware of is a machine sending out steady bleeps. Is something malfunctioning? You distantly recognise the sound, but your frayed consciousness hasn't yet been able to figure out what the noise is. The next thing you become aware of is the weight of your body, pressed into a... bed?
With shocking clarity, you suddenly realise where you are, and your eyes fly open. They instantly dart to your arm, where an IV drip is plugged into your veins. The bleeping suddenly picks up speed, and you understand now that you're attached to a heart rate monitor. You're in the hospital. You can feel your pulse quicken even more as your eyes rush to take in information about the room.
You don't remember how you came to be here. Were you hurt? Dying?
Your eyes pass over your mother, looking at you through tears, to your father, who is stood behind her with a comforting hand on one shoulder. Before you have time to really process the sight, your head whips around to the other side of the bed, where a small movement catches your eye. "Hey, whoa! Calm down Y/N! It's okay; you're at the hospital." It's Hank, but the words don't quite click in your head. He's got his hands raised defensively. Defensively could mean trouble, your addled mind says. Years of being a police officer mean that your instincts kick in wildly at the first sign of danger. Impulsively and instinctively, your arm moves towards where your holster should be, and you wince in pain as the IV in your arm is forcefully yanked. Panic floods your system.
"Y/N, calm down." It's your father's voice, gentle and calm, that seems to cut through the last of your confusion. Your head whips back to him again, looking at those patient brown eyes. Your hand falters, and your body stills.
There's a beat of silence as you look at him. It's been almost a year since you saw each other. Work has just been too busy. "Dad?" Your voice is quiet and weak, and full of confusion. Your throat feels so dry. Your head is throbbing dully. You haven't even fully been able to process your surroundings. But you feel calmer, now.
He speaks softly again, and the tension that fills your shoulders melts away. "Hello, Dango-tan." His cute little nickname for you relaxes you almost completely, and you take in a breath, realising that you haven't yet inhaled since waking. He hasn't called you that in a long time, and it makes your heart swell slightly.
"What happened?" The words tumble out of your mouth, and you don't even realise you've reverted back to Japanese again. Your voice is cracked and unfamiliar, and you go to reach your parched throat with your other arm, only to realise it is being weighed down with something. Like a startled prey animal, you are automatically back on high alert, and your eyes go straight to your arm.
Only to see that a hand is holding yours. A gesture of comfort, not an attack. You look up to the owner of the hand, and see that there was someone else in the room that you hadn't noticed until now. Connor's chocolatey eyes are on you, watching you with deep concern. He looks troubled. Why is he troubled? All the panic from before sets in, and as you feel your other hand be taken, you can hear the heart monitor start beeping rapidly.
Your eyes turn to back to your father, who is perched on the edge of the bed now. "Breathe, little Dango." The instruction makes you take in a deep breath without you even thinking about it. "And out." You exhale, the movement feeling stilted and unnatural. His voice is as calm and patient as it was before, and you feel the fight or flight instincts fade. "And in." The air that rushes into your lungs calms you, even as you feel hot tears roll down your face. "And out." Again, your body follows his commands, and you can feel yourself regaining control of your body and the situation. The bleeping from the monitor slows down as you take a few unguided breaths. Your father is smiling tenderly at you. "Well done." Your heart fills with an almost unrecognisable feeling- it feels like it has been so long since someone comforted you.
He reaches out a hand and wipes away the tears you shed, and a moment of silence fills the room before you think to ask your question again, this time in English. "What... happened?"
To your surprise, it's Hank who answers your question rather than your father, his tone dripping with frustration. "You passed out from exhaustion, kid. When's the last time that you ate something?" Your eyes find Hank's, and you find them glowing with concern, even if his voice is gruff and angry.
You don't remember. You falter with your answer, unsure what to say. "I don't... I don't know." Your weak answer is genuine, as your head scrambles to answer his question. Why does your brain feel like scrambled eggs? Hank's quizzical expression doesn't even register in your mind as odd, or that you are answering in Japanese again.
Connor is the next one to speak. His hand has slipped out from yours, and he holds out a cup in front of you. "You should drink this, Detective. You're still dehydrated." You silently take the cup, almost unaware of what you are doing. This is made evident when he has to steady your hand with his own to stop you from spilling it everywhere. His hand is so soft and warm, you think distantly. "Detective, are you alright?" He asks hurriedly, the words falling out of his mouth so quickly that you barely understand them.
You look into his eyes, a little alarmed by his tone. He hasn't called you Detective in months. And it's not like Connor to get worked up over things. That was part of the reason you two had bonded so well over the past few months; you were both more level-headed than the rest of the team. Well, you used to be. "I..." You aren't sure where that sentence was going, because you don't have a chance to finish it.
Your mother has gotten over the shock of seeing you wake up, it seems.
"I cannot believe how reckless you are Y/N! The doctors said you must not have eaten for days. You aren't looking after your health! What on earth was going through your thick skull! You could have died! Thankfully your friend here found you before it was too late and bought you to the hospital." You remembered then, the argument, the bathroom, Connor coming to apologise, and your mouth opened in a little 'o' shape. Connor must have been the one who bought you here. The thought left you flustered. Your mother barely took a breath before going on to speak again. "This sort of thing never would have happened to you if you had listened to us and not become a police officer!" Oh god, you almost groan as she goes back at it again, the words cutting through the peace in the room like shards of broken glass. The headache you felt distantly before throbs in your head as she carries on. "When you are discharged you are coming home with us! I cannot believe that you would work yourself into such a state! If you had told us sooner we would have-."
She cuts herself off when your head whips over to look at her. Your voice is extremely monotone when it comes out, flat and dry. "I'm not coming home, mother. I'll be going back to work."
Three voices overlap each other in an effort to tell you off. You had been expecting your mother to snap at you, but when Hank and Connor join in, you can't contain your surprise. Connor makes the most of your stunned reaction, fixing you with a serious look. "Detective, I'm not sure how to tell you this, but.. you have been given medical leave. You aren't coming back to work tomorrow."
Dread fills your stomach as those words sink in. "For... for how long?" The words are broken and tinged with panic, and you hardly care that you sound like a child.
Connor looks at you slightly reproachfully, and his words come out more gently this time. "Captain Fowler thought it would be best if you took the next two weeks off, to rest and recuperate your strength."
You've stopped breathing again, the heart rate monitor has picked up on the panic in your chest. Two weeks. Two weeks that these mindless murderers will be out there, killing innocent people. Innocent people you should be protecting. All while you 'rest' at home. The thought makes you feel sick. The words that pour out next don't help your case at all, not that you are aware of it. Your voice is panic-stricken, and you'd be surprised if anyone but Connor could really understand what you were saying in that moment. "Two- two weeks? But I'm not sick. I'm fine. I need to help, you can't take me off of these cases, there's too much overload on the department as it is. I was just tired, I'm fine now! Really!"
Hank is the next one to chime in, his voice still a little gruff as he speaks. "Jesus Christ kid, you passed out! We watched the security footage, we know you didn't leave to office for 6 days." Had it really been 6 days? You had lost track completely. "Hell, you hardly even left your desk to use the bathroom!" The words don't compute with you, you cannot see the issues in what he is saying. Everyone stays late at the office sometimes. "If you were to keep on doing this it would be a matter of time before you collapsed again. You're working yourself to death, and making yourself a liability!" Those words make you physically flinch. You couldn't afford to be a liability. Hank looks completely exasperated as he carries on, more gently now. "If I'd had any idea... You really scared us there." That makes a lump rise in your throat, and you aren't sure what to say to him.
Connor joins in now, speaking in comforting tones. His voice is so convincing, so soft, that you almost trust the sentiment behind his words. "You've been obsessing over the cases too much, Y/N. You need to take a break. I know how much this job means to you, but you need to look after your health or you won't be able to come back. You're one of the sharpest detectives on the force, we need you to be in top shape mentally. We can't risk you getting ill while you're at work, you could have been injured. Some rest will do you a lot of good."
His eyes convey a deeper meaning than his words do. They screamed of the worry that he felt. He was worried about you, worried about your health. His worry hit you differently than the way your mother worrying about you did. It seemed deeper, and if you had to put a word on it, you would say that he was trying to cover up fear in his eyes. He wasn't just worried about you getting hurt, or ill.
He was terrified. And you didn't know how you felt about that.
Sensing that the hard work of getting through to you had been done, your father gently stepped in next, placing a hand on your head and stroking it gently. "Dango-tan, listen to your friend. We know you love your work, but you have to come first, ok? You don't have to come home with us, but it's time to relax and unwind for a while. Some time in nature would do you a lot of good." You thought about the offer to go home with them- admittedly, it was somewhat tempting. You missed your father's zen garden, missed the sound of the stream that ran through the forest at the back of the house. Home was only 2 hours away, it would be so easy to get in the car with them and go for a visit.
But you knew your mother would give you no peace if you went.
You looked at your father apologetically, guilt filling you as you saw the disappointment in his eyes. He knew that you wouldn't come home. He even understood why, but it did nothing to stop the sorrow in his eyes. "I... want to stay in the city. I can't come home, I'm sorry." Your mother looked like she was going to say something to that, but your father silenced her with a hand on the shoulder.
An understanding smile graced his face, but the guilt in your stomach did not abate at all. "As I said, Dango-tan, we just want you to be well rested and happy. Perhaps we can spend some time together tomorrow, before your mother and I leave."
A nurse entered the room then, a large black man with a serene smile. "My apologies, but visiting hours are now over. You will have to come back tomorrow morning if you would like to visit again." An LED flashed on his temple, temporarily turning yellow, then back to blue. Your eyes slid over to Connor, vaguely wondering if he had been communicating telepathically with the other android.
Your father patted your mother on the shoulder. "Come along dear, we must let our little one get some real rest."
Clearly, your mother doesn't want to leave your side, but reluctantly she rises to her feet. "We'll come and collect you when you have been discharged in the morning." She promises, squeezing your hand gently before turning away to leave the room with your father. Although you would never wish to admit it aloud, life would be so much easier without your mother in the picture. If not for her overbearing manner, you almost certainly would have gone home with your father. The thought brings a dull pain in your chest, one that you are used to feeling when you think of your family.
Hank rises to his feet next, clapping Connor on the back. "Come on, son. We should let them rest."
You still can't quite stand to look at Connor, and you aren't wholly sure why. The concern he was showing you before has had the opposite effect to the one desired; instead of feeling comfortable you now feel awkward. Perhaps it is because you know that the android would never overwork himself to this point of exhaustion. Was it even possible for him to get exhausted? Or perhaps it was because you know that he will treat you differently from now on, like you are delicate. The shame that thought creates a different heaviness in your chest. He had to clean up after your mess, to babysit you when you should have been able to look after yourself.
Finally, the words that you have needed to say for a whole week tumble out of your mouth, barely above a whisper. "I'm sorry, Connor."
You don't hear a response, and when you raise your head to look, you realise that no one else is in the room. The emptiness of the room fills you, and you find yourself staring at the spot where Connor had been sat long after the Sun has set.
Thank you to those who have read the story so far.