December 3, 2038
Hank didn't take the news well.
When Connor returned home after spending most of his night at the hospital, he found Hank awake and furiously pacing between the living room and the kitchen. It turned out Andy sending the FBI out of state while she went to apprehend their most wanted terrorist upset them, and they'd called Hank to personally congratulate him on closing the case. It was a loud and endless loop of an argument, and the closest Connor would ever come to experiencing a headache. Hank stormed out of the house, stumbling his way back inside a few short hours before the sun would rise.
As a predictable result, he missed his morning psych evaluation, which put him out of work for another twenty-four hours. Andy didn't even have time to worry, having to spend her day juggling Stewart Combs, the FBI, and the media frenzy brewing at the front of the department. It also gave her a reprieve from his threat to rid them of her SD card, and a chance to formulate a plan.
By the time Friday hit, Andy knew what she wanted to do, and she was a charged bundle of nerves. She needed to wear herself out, so she called up her old friend and headed for the gym.
She wasn't sure what time she left the apartment, but she knew she was one of the first customers to walk in. She worked out until the sun started shining through glass walls along the sidewalk outside. Once a trainer arrived, she jumped into the small ring set up in the middle of the building, and she didn't bother holding back against the well-built professional.
At some point, Desta Delgado arrived, but it wasn't long before Andy approached the bench where her gym bag sat.
"Wait, are you leaving? I thought you were gonna teach me something today!"
Andy looked over her shoulder at the DDA, who'd already broken a sweat on the treadmill. Unzipping her bag, she grinned and replied, "Don't be late next time."
Delgado pouted, picking up her water bottle. "I had some last-minute paperwork. Come on, we just got started."
"You just got started. I've been here all morning," Andy teased, dabbing her towel at the sweat on her neck. She wouldn't have minded dedicating another few hours to the gym, but she had somewhere to be. "Besides, I have a date tonight."
It was like dangling bait in front of a starving fish. Delgado lowered herself onto the bench, eyes glued on Andy. She gave an interested hum before asking, "Who's the unlucky person?"
Andy shoved her towel back into the bag and delivered a pointed stare at the casual jab. It was a lazy attempt for information Delgado had to know she wouldn't be getting any time soon. Relationship talk between them always happened slowly, if at all. The fact the unlucky person was Connor, not just an android but a de facto co-worker, made things even more complicated. "I plead the Fifth," Andy finally brushed off.
Unsatisfied but unwilling to push for more information, Delgado shrugged and looked away. "Fine. But good for you." At the detective's skepticism, she insisted, "Really, I mean it. You deserve to treat yourself."
Andy couldn't say she agreed with that. A lot of the recent chaos were designs of her own making - she wanted to go undercover, which put her on Sharon Weaver's radar, and she pushed herself into the deviant investigation, which put her in the direct path of Internal Affairs and Stewart Combs. She wasn't comfortable thinking she 'deserved' anything after that. These were doubts she'd keep to herself, already imagining the potential lecture Delgado would throw at her otherwise.
Turning to sit on the bench beside her friend, she decided it was best to move on to other business. "There's another reason I wanted to meet here," She began, speaking under her breath. Clapping her hands together and resting her elbows on her knees, she said, "I want to talk about Arthur Vick."
Delgado's brows dipped in confusion. "The IA agent?"
Andy nodded. "You said he was new to the city."
"He moved here last August."
"What do you know about him?"
It'd been weeks since he was a problem, and bringing him up now worried Delgado. With a sharp sigh, she explained, "His mother's with the NCA in England, his father's retired FBI. He went to Cambridge, then the UN's Court of Justice until he moved to Atlanta for the CDC. Then he came here."
She rattled off his credentials like it was nothing, and it only reinforced the impression that she was leery of him. Andy wanted to know why. "And now he works Internal Affairs. Sounds a bit like a downgrade, doesn't it?"
Delgado shrugged. "Which is why he makes me uncomfortable. Guys like that aren't looking to settle down, they're trying to make waves."
Andy wondered if there was more, but believed the answer to be genuine. As inconvenient as he may have been for the DA's office, a guy wanting to make waves sounded exactly like who she needed. "He's good, though. You said he's good?"
Narrowing her eyes, Delgado was reluctant to admit the truth. "Very. Why are you asking?"
"I need a meeting with him. And I need you to set it up," Andy mused with a faint grin, fully aware of the weight of the favor she was calling in.
Delgado didn't react right away. Her friend was bold and often times prone to make waves herself, but never without a reason. "You don't want the department to know."
Andy shook her head. "I do not."
"Will you tell me why?"
"No."
After another moment of internal debate, Delgado gave in and nodded. "I'll give him a call." Pulling her lips into a sweet smile, she leaned forward and added, "Because I trust you, and I'm a good friend who supports your decisions."
With a snort, Andy grabbed the strap of her gym bag and stood to her feet. "Still not telling you who I'm seeing tonight."
Delgado scoffed, watching her walk away toward the doors. "Be here next weekend?" She called before they were too far apart.
"Be on time," Andy yelled back, throwing a hand over her hand to give half a wave.
On Thursday, the precinct had been left suffocating under the stress of its workload. On Friday, the scene had changed completely. The lobby was almost empty, save for the secretary at the desk who smiled and nodded as Andy walked into the building. The relaxed chatter in the bullpen behind the space divider indicated everyone else was also in a decent mood. Not having the FBI breathing down their necks, or a terrorist in their jail cells, was like a breath of fresh air.
A familiar face entered the lobby to speak with the secretary, and stopped at the end of the front desk to prop himself up on its surface. "Hey, Andy. Way back from the gym?" Wilson asked, gesturing to the gym bag hanging from her shoulder.
Andy nodded, approaching him. "Yep. How's it going?"
"Better than yesterday," He joked, eyes drifting away as a thought struck him, "And the day before. And, like... all of November."
She managed a breathy chuckle, knowing that the bliss would be short-lived if her suspicions were correct. Reaching into her bag, she began, "Well hey, I forgot to bring some paperwork in for the Ferguson case. Can you get that to Reed for me?"
She pulled out a folder and handed it off to Wilson, who nodded and kicked off the desk. "Sure thing."
"Thanks. See you tomorrow," She replied, following him through the bullpen a short distance before parting from him for the bathroom.
Wilson turned and made his own way across the public workspace. He stopped at a desk on the opposite side of the room, where Gavin Reed was typing into a file on his computer. He looked up at the shadow suddenly cast over him, and found Wilson displaying a folder. "Detective Hope brought in something for the Ferguson case," Wilson told him, tossing it onto the desk.
Reed stared at him a moment longer - the Ferguson case was almost closed by now, and Andy had nothing to do with it after the first day. Deciding this wasn't a joke, one that Wilson was in on at least, he gave a subtle nod in response. As Wilson walked away, Reed leaned back in his chair and grabbed the folder to peek inside. He closed it a second later, dropping it into a bottom drawer and returning to his previous task at the computer.
Around four minutes passed.
Closing the window he was working on, Reed sat up and stretched. He swept his arm around for the drawer where he'd placed Andy's folder, and in the process, his elbow bumped into a nearby coffee mug on the desk. He started to feign anger as it rocked off balance, but the hours-old coffee was on a trajectory he hadn't anticipated. Rather than simply overflow to the floor, it splashed across his jeans, and he jerked his chair back in much more genuine frustration. Someone walking by stopped and offered to take care of the spill while he cleaned himself up. Waving at them and muttering half a thanks, he stood and stormed across the bullpen to the bathroom.
Andy was waiting inside against the counter when he sulked in from around the corner of the wall. She looked up at him, and her eyes immediately darted down to the dark spot across his thighs. She struggled to prevent the smile pulling at her lips, even more so after she met his dark pout.
"I was aiming for my shoes," He muttered.
The petulant tone ensured she would fail at hiding her glee. Smiling wide now, she informed, "You missed."
His face sharpened into a glare aimed at her, but he chose not to respond. Walking over to the edge of the counter, he unlocked the maintenance cabinet on the wall and retrieved a roll of paper towels. "So should I be going to HR?" He finally asked, beginning to pat at himself to dry his pants. Catching the disgusted scowl on Andy's face in response, he stopped to throw up a defensive hand. "What, am I not supposed to joke about us meeting in a fuckin' bathroom? Why are we meeting in a bathroom?"
She shrugged and answered, "No security cameras in the bathroom."
He slowed down, gawking at her. She'd said it casually, as if that was a normal thing one would consider for a work conversation. "Should I be going to HR?" He repeated, a little more serious than the last time.
Her scoff was audible, and if he listened hard enough, he imagined he could have heard her rolling her eyes, too. "I need you to look into something for me. Quietly," She explained. The air in the bathroom was taking a grim turn as she went on. "Combs wasn't acting alone, and I think whoever he was working for has a contact in-"
"Wait, wait, wait," Reed interjected, waving a hand full of crumpled tissues. He clenched his eyes shut to process the bomb she'd tossed on him; he was so close to having a normal work day again. Turning toward her, he asked, "Rewind that and pretend like you just said something important. Combs has a partner?"
She tilted her head and shrugged, "I'm not sure partner's the right word, but yeah."
"How the hell do you know this?"
There was a small pause before she answered, knowing it would set off alarm bells. It should do that - this whole thing was a suspicious mess - but she needed him to listen to everything before dismissing her. "I was given an SD card with thousands of files on it, including personnel records and security footage, and it wasn't made by Combs."
If she was telling him the truth, and not playing a bad prank, she had something in her possession that was not only powerful enough to bring down a city, but illegal enough to possibly send everyone who knew about it away for a long time. He knew that, logically, but his head was unable to wrap itself around those ramifications. "Who gave it to you?"
Another pause, a little longer than the last. "Sharon Weaver."
The name pulled a harsh laugh from his throat. "Sharon Weaver!" He repeated, throwing up a hand as he shifted away in disbelief. He was quick to regain his composure, spinning around to argue, "And how do we know she isn't the one responsible for it?"
Andy shook her head, retorting, "We don't know that, but can we move off the first part of this story? The second part's worse."
"What could possibly be worse?"
She met his gaze with a hard frown. "I think they're getting information from someone in the department."
Yeah, okay. That was worse.
He looked to the trashcan to throw out his paper towels, and then took slow steps toward her. Stopping next to her, he turned on the closest faucet and placed his hands on the counter-top, leaning over the sink. "There's a mole," He echoed under his breath.
"Yes."
"In the DPD."
"I'm asking you to look into it."
He lifted his head to find his reflection in the mirror. She was facing the opposite direction, watching the stalls. With a huff, he complained, "Why me?"
Her shoulders went up in a shrug. "Because all the people in the middle of this are probably being watched, and you're the last one anyone would suspect to help Jericho."
She was right, which is why he was having a quiet but confusing mental breakdown. "And how do you know I'm not the rat?" He sneered.
"You might be an anti-android dick, but you're also not stupid."
"Thanks, that's real swell of you-"
She turned her head, cutting him off, "You were my first partner." He could see the side of her face in the mirror, and as annoyed as she looked, there was also a staunch conviction. They may not have been good friends, or known much about each other's personal lives, but she was right. Your first partner meant something, and when shit hit the fan, you went to the first person you could trust.
"Shit," He huffed, his shoulders dropping at the realization he wasn't walking out of here with clean hands.
"I've got someone I think I can take this to, but I need evidence," She explained before tilting her head back to get a better angle of his expression. "So are you going to help me out or not?"
"Yeah, all right? I'll...," He sighed. "Where the hell do I even start?"
"Oak Park PD's arrest of Sebastian Hobbs. Other than that, look for suspicious and sleazy," She told him. Pushing off the counter, she started to pass him on her way to the entrance. She stopped to shoot him a smirk, musing, "You know it well."
Irritation flashed on his face, though it didn't carry much weight. "Yeah, that's- That's great. Way to treat the guy doing you a favor," He complained, slapping the faucet to turn off the water. Before she was gone, he called out to her and waited for her to turn back. "Just so we're clear, if you're wrong about this and someone finds out what I'm doing, I become the most hated guy on the force." Pointing at her, he quickly glared and added, "And don't say I'm already the most hated guy on the force."
She snorted, but not at his own self-deprecating jab. Wrapping her hand around the strap of her gym bag, she warned him, "Reed, if someone finds out what you're doing, you won't be on the force anymore." She let the words sink in before saying, "But if I'm right, there's a dirty cop out there."
He was quiet at that, trying to make his brain truly grasp the severity of what they were talking about. Returning to the cabinet on the wall, he slammed it shut and shot her a long look. "You better be right."
After missing his psych evaluation, Hank had to reschedule his appointment.
He was fine with paid leave until he could meet the usual guy - Evans didn't ask too many questions or analyze too many answers - but the captain gave him a clear ultimatum. He'd get evaluated by the end of the week, or he'd be suspended. He played along with the threat, and the last minute scheduling left him with limited options of available psychologists. Ending up at the office of a therapist he'd never heard of until now put him in a foul mood.
Fouler mood, anyway.
He wasn't stupid. His evaluation had less to do with the car bomb, and more to do with his recent behavior. Everyone noticed it. They shouldn't have, considering he'd been this way for years, but he supposed since Connor showed up and Andy returned, he'd started acting a little different. Putting in more of an effort. This was a bad influence, he decided. Good things don't last, and it was only a matter of time until life went back to normal. People should have expected this, he thought.
The waiting room was surprisingly comfortable, decorated in soothing colors and Jazz memorabilia. He probably would have gotten along with this doctor in a different setting, but as it was, he felt a bit like a hostage. He glared at the old-school record on the wall across from him, able to see his grumpy and haggard reflection in the glass frame.
"Lieutenant Anderson?"
He blinked out of his downward spiral and turned to Dema Nazarian standing in the doorway to her office. She'd been watching him, if the curious concern on her face was anything to go by. How many times had she called his name, he wondered?
She didn't press him on it, to her credit. Nodding her head toward her office, she urged him to follow. "Come in, Hank."
The last date Andy could remember being on was when she was fresh out of the police academy.
Back then, she was more concerned with securing a position on the force than she was having a good time with her boyfriend, and it had been a forgettable night at best. While Connor was now exploring a new part of his life and trying to understand how it worked, her own relationship experiences had been primarily negative, and left her as much a stranger to this as he was. It made her nervous she was committing the same sins again, and she wanted to get it right with him.
She was also over-thinking it, so she rushed through getting ready in order to leave her apartment as soon as possible.
Arriving at Hank's, she skipped over the steps leading up to the porch and reached out to knock on the door. She almost didn't have to wait at all before the door swung open. Connor stood on the other side, and his eagerness to see her brought a small smile to her face. He faltered somewhat as if embarrassed, but she said nothing about it.
"Hi."
"Hi."
"You ready?" She asked, pointing to her bike with her thumb. He nodded and reached for the beanie on the end table by the door. Securing it over his head and the LED at his temple, he started to step out onto the porch, but she glanced into the living room. "Is Hank not here?"
He quietly shut the door behind him, saying, "He left twenty minutes ago." He was hesitant to talk too much about the lieutenant. It was a sensitive topic for a multitude of reasons, and he didn't want to upset her. After all, his goal for the night was to show her she'd made a good decision in pursuing a relationship with him. That mattered less when he saw her struggling to appear nonchalant, likely to hide the concern that Hank had left because he knew she was coming. "He'll come around," He tried assuring her.
"Maybe," She murmured. Shaking her head to clear herself of her worries, she declared, "I don't wanna think about it." That was fine with him, and he followed her down the porch steps. Pulling her keys from her pocket, she let them jingle in her hands as she asked, "So where to?"
"Actually-" He stopped, watching her near her bike. With a small smile, he added, "I'd like to drive."
She looked over her shoulder, brow quirked. "You know how to drive a bike- I realize how stupid that question was as I asked it," She cut herself off and tossed the keys over her head. He chuckled, catching them with ease as he approached. She waited for him to get situated and start the engine before she threw her leg over the back and placed herself behind him. Helmets secured, she wrapped her arms around his waist and leaned in as he took off out of the driveway.
It wasn't a long ride to their destination, but Andy's curiosity made it feel like she'd been waiting an hour. She tried to guess where they were headed, and all she could say for sure was that they'd gone into Ferndale. It was busier than usual, considering the holidays were fast approaching and the entertainment side of the city was a hot-spot on weekend evenings.
She remained in the dark as Connor pulled into a parking garage, and found a safe place to park. Lowering the kickstand, he cut off the engine and waited for Andy to climb to her feet. Removing her helmet, she turned and watched him do the same. "I don't suppose you'd tell me what the plan is if I asked?"
He glanced to her from the side of his eyes, enjoying the mystery while it lasted. "You'd be correct."
"A hint at least?" She requested.
"That isn't necessary," He chuckled, taking her helmet off her hands to store it under the bike seat.
She watched him turn and begin walking toward the entrance, and she scoffed. "You're enjoying this too much." Catching a sight of his expression, she pointed, exclaiming, "I see you smiling!"
After catching up to his side, they left the parking garage and he led her along the sidewalk. They walked no more than four small blocks before they turned the corner and came out to the Ferndale City Park.
Less of a park and more of a city square, the space had been used in public events run by the metropolis of Detroit and its neighbors for years. One of the most popular events was the Winter Festival, which was home to local vendors, good food, art shows, musical acts, festival games, and a large outdoor skating rink surrounding a small gazebo.
With everything going on, Andy had completely forgotten about the festival. It appeared as though recent events had gotten to everyone; the decorations this year were somewhat dull relative to its past, leading her to believe the event may have narrowly escaped being cancelled at the last minute. Strings of lights intertwined in the branches of scattered trees, community-made snow sculptures lined the sidewalks, and cheerful holographic images decorated the walls of surrounding buildings. Somewhere music played from a DJ system, and faintly danced through the entirety of the park.
"How am I doing?" Connor was still beside her, attempting to gauge her reaction. He could read her surprise, but was unable to tell if it was working in his favor or against it.
She noticed the stare, and picked up on the apprehension behind it. The delight that came with knowing he cared so much about her opinion was fleeting, and it was replaced by a concern that their nerves would overshadow the rest of the night. More than that, she didn't want the relationship they already had to be overtaken by uncertainty. She was there with him because he made her feel safe and comfortable - made her feel valued - and she wanted the same for him.
She wanted to get it right.
Jumping off the curb in front of her, she started to cross the street. She twirled on her heel to walk backwards and face him, hoping her response to his search for approval would soothe them both. "That depends on how well you skate," She mused with a challenging smirk.
He took the bait, perhaps knowingly, and followed her toward the rink with a new grin. They rented skates at the stand nearby, and moved to the side out of the way of others. Andy dropped to the ground to replace her shoes while Connor remained standing. They talked about the sights, made declarations of interest regarding the different festival stations - he had his eye on a small crafts shop being set up, and she wanted to track down the source of the caramel she could smell wafting over from the crowds.
Once she was finished putting on her skates, she lifted her arms into the air and he joined hands with her, pulling her to her feet. She leaned back to straighten herself out, but quickly began to lose her balance in the aforementioned direction. She reached behind her to slap her hand against the wall of the rink for support, and Connor was even faster, catching her by the waist before she could sink any further toward the ground.
They didn't move right away, Andy taking a moment to gather herself. Connor's brows raised in a silent but playfully charged question, and she pursed her lips upon spotting his face. "It's been a while," She confided, moving her hand away from the wall to use him as support instead.
As they pulled apart, he hummed, "I was hoping that would be the case."
Her jaw dropped somewhat, feeling the flattened palm of his hand brush across her lower back seconds before he'd let her go. He turned his back toward her, leaving her there so he could reach for his second skate. She watched him kneel down to slip his foot inside it, and he looked back at her only briefly, but she swore she saw a smirk.
Okay. Connor had game.
He was the first to enter the cold arena, and offered her a hand to help her over the ledge. With an amused grin betraying her accusatory eyes, she accepted the help and followed him into the rink. He pulled her further in, and started gaining speed for the both of them.
For a while, that was how they stayed, Connor guiding backward as Andy let herself drift after him at a steady pace. Growing accustomed to being on skates again, she finally let go of his hand and moved on her own. He slowed down enough to give her time to catch up to his side, shifting out of her way.
With a small shake that quickly grew into something far less stable, she bent forward and grabbed the wall again. She could see Connor slide into view in front of her, and she could feel his smirk before she actually caught sight of it. Looking up at him with a grin of her own, she pointed at his face. "Shut up."
Chuckling, he tilted his head down and asked, "When exactly was the last time you went skating?"
That had her snapping up in an instant. Straightening her back, she widened her eyes and asked, "Are you talking shit about my sick skills?"
He couldn't have believed she was offended even if he wanted to, and the snort he gave suggested as much. He kicked off to move backwards again, replying, "I would if you had any."
She let out a loud gasp, watching him glide away from her. "Plot twist, you're an asshole!" She exclaimed after him, finally moving again to skate alongside the wall for the time being. Giving herself a bit more force in her strides, she jerked her chin upward and bragged, "All right, big guy, just you wait. My unmatched skating prowess is gonna humiliate you in a minute."
In one big push, he was skating past her, and he made a show of rotating to face her as he went along. "By falling on me?" He whispered, stopping behind her.
She threw her head to the side to shoot him an empty glare, threatening, "Keep it up and I'll take us both down."
His hands went to her sides, and she lifted her own to meet them there. They started the process again, Connor pushing her along and keeping her balanced. They lapped the rink a few times, going a little faster after each successful circle and resetting whenever she stumbled. Eventually they were passing the others on the outer edge of the rink, so they moved further in toward the center, and he let go of her.
Despite the friendly goading, they were both patient and content. As families and younger couples came and went, they stayed in their zone. It was a new activity for Connor and he was enjoying it, and Andy liked almost anything that required a physical effort. It was a sort of cleansing for them, to let go of the week's stress and have a good time - something that had been rare lately.
They also found another benefit of being in the rink. Going at their own pace side-by-side allowed them a modicum of privacy, and an opportunity to talk about all the pointless little things that filled the space between important moments. They talked about Andy getting ready to store her bike away as the weather got worse, and Connor walking Sumo every night after Hank went to bed. They talked about the expensive coffee shop across the street from the precinct, and the prank war that was brewing within SID. What little they could, because of his lack of experience with them and her lack of time to enjoy them, they talked about books and movies and sports. They made plans to catch up on those sorts of things.
At one point, he slowed down to turn and ask her a question, but she hadn't been expecting the sudden change. She tried to stop, wobbling in the process and latching onto the arm he was extending toward her for support. "I got you," He assured her. He waited for her to catch her footing before he pulled away and slipped his hand into hers. "Come on."
They maneuvered around other skaters and went further into the rink, nearing the gazebo in the center. The walls were set up atop an elevated curb, but the floor of the structure was part of the rink, allowing people to skate inside. He headed for the closest opening and came to a stop at the edge, pulling her in with him. She had more momentum from it than expected, and knocked face-first into his form. He grabbed her hips to stop her while her hands went to his shoulders, and they spun out, ending up with his back pressed against a column holding up the gazebo's roof.
Their proximity was noticed by passersby. Before they could even react to themselves, they were interrupted by children skating by making kissing noises. Their father shushed them, pushing them along, but the two of them had already taken fire. They watched the group until they disappeared behind the wall of the gazebo, feeling a bit bewildered by the sudden attention on them.
Andy recovered quickly. Looking up at Connor, she grinned and said, "I think I'm getting back into the groove of this."
"I've had to catch you three times," He retorted, seamlessly returning to their conversation.
The corner of her lips twitched, and she leaned away from him. "The audacity you're laying on me right now is only a little attractive, I'll have you know," She informed with the quirk of her brow.
"But it is attractive," He teased, though he was beaming at her comment.
CyberLife had designed him to look friendly and unassuming, but he had never given it much more thought beyond that. He supposed a part of him didn't want to. No one had total control over their appearance, but with androids, it was even less so. Physically speaking, there were carbon copies of him out there. Markus was the only unique one, and even his face was meticulously sculpted from Kamski's imagination. Humans were random, and organic. Andy being beautiful was a little different than whatever he thought he was.
But the way she talked about it, the way she called him attractive - as if it had more to do with him and less to do with engineers in a room somewhere - pleased him a great deal.
He almost missed it by being so deep in his own thoughts, but something over his shoulder in the rink caught Andy's eye. It was for just a split second, but it brought out a smirk that definitely meant she was up to something. He started to call it out, when she moved forward and kissed him.
Immediately he lost interest in questioning her motives. They hadn't done this since four days ago in her living room, and it felt as overwhelming as the first time. How something so simple could stop his thoughts in their tracks and create a stream of new sensations and emotions was beyond his understanding. All he knew was that he wanted to cling to that moment as long as she'd let him.
She couldn't know she had this power. She'd win every argument.
Before he could spin off into that thought, she moved a little closer, and his mind went to a blank space he didn't know he could go to without going on standby. He leaned into her and was travelling his hands up her back when shouts of, 'Ew!' and childish laughter rang out beside him. He couldn't bring himself to care, but she was unable to resist a small laugh, which rumbled against his own lips before she finally made a slow retreat. She looked to the same children they'd seen earlier in amusement as they did another lap around the gazebo, but Connor's dazed eyes stayed on her.
After getting his world ripped to shreds in the bathroom, Reed proceeded through his work day as normal.
As normal as possible. In the quiet downtime between tasks, he eyed his coworkers with a sickening level of suspicion. He didn't personally like many of the people in the precinct, but at one time, he would have trusted any of them to have his back in the field. That was fundamental to their careers, and now that had been shaken. Trust was required, but not inherent.
There were reasons to not listen to Andy, of course. It was a big risk to his career, and he had more ambition than anything else. It could have been a misunderstanding - being undercover for so long was bound to make you see enemies where there were none. It was dangerous, if Combs was anything to go by.
Despite all of that, Andy was a good detective, and for the same reason she confided him, he would choose to rely on her judgment. This was why, twenty minutes after his shift was over, he was walking into the Oak Park Police Department. It was a much smaller precinct than Detroit's central station, and the cluttered bullpen was in plain sight over the shoulder of the secretary at the front desk.
She didn't look away from her computer until Reed was standing in front of her. "Can I help you?" She droned, making it clear she hoped the answer would be short.
Reed ignored the tone, lifting the edge of his jacket enough to flash his DPD badge. "I need to talk to someone about an arrest," He explained. He waited for a response, but the secretary raised her brows, quietly urging him to give more information. "Sebastian Hewitt?"
There was a hefty sigh that followed. She recognized the name, and didn't need to look in the database to know who Reed wanted to talk to. "That'd be Brooks. He just went on break."
With a shrug, he grinned and shifted to rest his elbow on the ledge of the desk. "I'll wait here."
"Great," She grumbled, returning to her work.
He watched her a moment, letting her settle into the comfort of silence - and then he broke it. "What's he like?"
"Brooks?" The secretary shook her head, still typing into her keyboard. "He's fine."
Leaning in, he grinned and gestured toward her. "Come on, between you and me."
He could tell he was starting to get on her nerves, but to her credit, she persisted. "I don't know him that well," She disregarded him, shaking her head.
Shrugging, he looked away and examined the bullpen. Most of their equipment were 'gifts', glorified hand-me-downs from Detroit's ever advancing technologies. That had to be a sore subject. "So this is Oak Park PD, huh? Bit smaller than I'm used to," He commented, before nudging a finger out to point and joke, "I bet you guys are still on old school evidence collection, aren't you?"
She ignored the condescending question.
"You should see how we do it back in the city," He continued with an arrogant smirk. Slapping a hand down on the ledge, he feigned being struck with an idea. "Hey, are yo-"
In one smooth shift, the secretary looked up at him and adopted a polite tone to suggest, "Why don't you wait for Brooks at his desk? It's all the way in the back. Way... in the back."
He rose a brow and straightened to gesture to himself. "Really, you won't mind?"
She shook her head, trying not to appear too eager. "Make yourself at home."
With that, Reed entered the bullpen. After spotting the right nameplate, he made a casual approach toward the empty desk, holding himself as though he belonged in the space. He glanced around at nearby officers as he fell into the chair, and let it spin to get a full view of the room. No one noticed he was there, or cared if they had, so he slid to a stop once he was facing the desk.
He lowered a hand and subtly opened each drawer, sifting through old paperwork, various office supplies, and a broken tablet. There was nothing he found that he believed to be noteworthy. Closing the last drawer, he relaxed in the chair and tapped his fingers on the top of his knees. Sparing the bullpen another cautious check, he then turned his attention to the desk surface.
There wasn't much left out in the open. An old coffee mug sat in front of the monitor, with a case folder next to it. A fast food wrapper was balled up in the corner, and loose pens were strewn around. The most interesting thing was the mouse-pad with a 2038 calendar printed on it. Reed hadn't seen a mouse-pad since his college days - most consoles were either touch screens or holographic now, but even the classic inputs hadn't entertained their use for some time. Curiously he pulled at it, almost out of nostalgia more than anything, and in doing so, he caught sight of a slip of paper underneath it.
A phone number with a Detroit area code had been scribbled in haste. Whether it wound up hidden by accident or out of deceit, it was good enough a clue for Reed. He copied the number into his phone and fixed the scene to cover up his tampering. Giving the place one final glance, he stood and headed for the front of the department.
The secretary heard him approaching, and lost her cool upon noticing it was him. "Oh for fuc-"
He didn't give her a chance to release her frustrations on him, holding up his phone as he darted for the front door. "Work never stops, right?" He forced a laugh, pushing the door open as he told her, "I'll stop by later."
"Please don't," He vaguely heard her mumble in response before he was out the door.
Descending the steps toward the sidewalk, he called the number he'd collected from Brooks' desk. He'd parked a few blocks away, in case of... the worst possible outcome, he supposed. Now he kept his head down and blended into the scattered foot traffic of Oak Park, and was headed toward the car as his phone rang.
It was a lengthier wait than he was used to, but when someone finally answered, he heard a familiar voice on the other end. "Hello?"
Reed came to an abrupt stop on the sidewalk, earning the ire of the person behind him. "Miller?" He stressed, moving to the side.
"Who is this?"
He scoffed, almost taking more offense to the question than his paranoia that Chris Miller was the mole. "Who- It's Reed."
"Oh. Hey," Miller greeted, friendly and unassuming of what was going on in Reed's head. His voice turned confused, though, as he asked, "Why are you calling a payphone?"
Payphone? Who the hell still used payphones? And where?
Miller had answered the call, though, which reminded Reed that the DPD had public phones in their stations. "The one in the lobby?" He asked.
"Yeah. I forgot we even had these things."
It made Reed feel slightly better about the call, but only slightly. Why did an Oak Park officer have the number to the DPD's payphone? The secretaries and desk sergeant would notice a suspicious conversation going on in their lobby, but if that conversation was happening after the front desk was closed... Clearing his throat, Reed rushed to end the call. "Yeah, me too. Uh, I think I dialed the wrong number. Don't worry about it."
Miller wasn't convinced, but also wasn't going to question a superior officer. "Sure... Detective," He murmured before the line went dead.
"Do you celebrate any of these holidays?"
Andy and Connor had abandoned the rink in favor of browsing the rest of the festival. They walked along the edge of the main park path, watching others shop at vendor stands or partake in the games. Neither were too interested in joining; Connor quickly surmised the games were rigged, and Andy knew her competitive streak would keep them hostage there for hours if she made any attempts to play.
In between the different stands were displays and decorations recognizing various winter holidays. Andy assumed they had attracted Connor's eye, and it led him to asking her about her own celebrations, regarding which she had little to say.
"Even before the task force, I was too wrapped up in work. My last-" She grimaced, catching herself in the middle of her sentence. Her last boyfriend decorated the apartment one year, she was going to say, and she hadn't noticed until he was taking down the tree. It was a rough memory, and one that didn't need to be mentioned. Shaking her head, she corrected course and hoped he wouldn't push too much. "I just haven't given it much thought lately."
He noticed her veering away from whatever train of thought she'd had, but he let it go. "Would you like to change that?" He asked.
Looking up at him, Andy rose a brow in faint surprise. "Are you interested in it?"
He was, in fact. Life was new to him, and he wanted plenty of experiences, and he knew the humans' holidays would be overwhelming the city soon. With a small shrug, he started to ramble off his thoughts, "In a way, though I haven't thought about celebrations like this. I know some of them are religious, but most seem to have lost their original meanings and become superficial traditions now. They're excuses to enjoy uncommon leisure."
Andy rolled her eyes, but her smile softened the reaction. "God, you sound like my mom-" Holding up a finger, she added, "-Who is very much into all of this, if that dinner and the invitation to the Nutcracker didn't clue you in."
As they came to a stop in front of a stand selling hats and scarves, his mind went to the invitation he'd received a few days ago. Natalie was planning one big night, and she wanted them to be a part of it. "I assume that will be the limit of any festivities Hank will agree to," He mused, still surprised the lieutenant had even committed to that much. Even if it was Natalie asking, his recent behavior mixed with the melancholy the holidays carried seemed as though they would have been a rather significant deterrent.
She picked up a scarf that caught her eye as she hummed. "You would probably be right. I heard last winter, he shot one of those LED reindeer they put up at Capitol Park." Connor was less than thrilled with this story, and at his expression, she shrugged, "Ask Wilson. He'll tell you all about it."
He watched her put on the scarf, which was bright red and matched her beanie and boots. He liked it because it looked like her, and that led him to a more anxious line of thought. "Will Natalie be expecting gift-giving?"
"Only from her," She was quick to dispel any possible concerns that he was doing something wrong. Shaking her head, she assured him, "Don't worry about it. Just show up, and she'll be happy."
He smiled a little at that. "Just her?"
The question yanked at her attention, but the surprise soon became a flirtatious grin. "I could be persuaded," She teased.
Her ringing phone interrupted the moment. When she pulled it from her pocket, he spotted Desta Delgado's name on the screen. "I'll be right back," She told him, transferring the scarf to his neck. Giving his shoulder a light, affectionate squeeze, she walked past him in the direction of the park bathrooms.
In the nook that led to the bathroom doorways was a bench against the wall. It was out of view and away from potentially prying ears, while still giving her a vantage point of her surroundings. She was vaguely berating herself in the back of her mind for even taking the call as she sat down and answered her phone. "Hey."
"How's the date?" Delgado sang her unofficial greeting.
"It'd be better without the interruption," Andy retorted, hoping Delgado would drop it there.
The DDA would keep it short, then. "Well I have news, so deal with it," She muttered with a small sigh, "First thing: Arthur Vick has a lunch in two days with the DA. I'm going to catch him afterward to mention you."
"All right, but that feels like something you could have told me tomorrow. What's the second thing?" Andy pressed.
That was where Delgado paused. After some rustling of papers, she said, "Jason Hart wants to plead guilty and go straight to sentencing. No trial, no bargain, no new lawyers."
An uneasiness settled into the pit of Andy's stomach. On the surface, and to outsiders, Jason not wanting to go to trial would seem a good thing. The legal portion of the case would be over, and he would be dealt with. The problem was that he wasn't the kind of person to go down so easily. Something was amiss, and the fact Delgado felt it too assured Andy she wasn't being paranoid. "He's been fighting from the start. Why the hell would he do that now?"
"No one knows, which is why it's news," Delgado murmured. "He might realize he doesn't have any options, or he has one we don't know about. Needless to say, we're going to be pulling all-nighters over this. The office ordered pizza," She ended in a chipper tone, but it was short-lived as she proceeded to offer a serious warning, "Don't let it ruin your date, but be prepared for trouble."
Andy almost rolled her eyes, dipping her head against the wall behind her. "Prepared for trouble is my default at this point."
Delgado turned to sympathy, with a hint of embarrassment. "Sorry. Should I have waited till tomorrow?"
"No. Not when it comes to Hart." As much as she wished she didn't answer the phone, Andy also wanted to be constantly up to date on everything concerning her old work. She may have not have been with SID anymore, but she'd put too much of her life into ensuring they stopped as much of the Weavers' red ice trade as possible. She'd given up a lot, and now it was personal.
She sighed, and tried to move away from the spiral she was going down. "Keep me updated, okay?"
"Of course." She could hear Delgado's smile as the woman added, "Have fun."
With an amused huff, Andy ended the call. She put her phone away and sat on the bench for another few seconds, letting the news process before she would push it to the back of her mind. It would not be an easy task with her stomach already twisting into an anxious knot, but the knowledge that Connor was waiting for her made it a little easier.
"Andrea!"
A familiar face had emerged from the bathroom, thoroughly ripping away whatever peace Andy was managing to find. "M- Mrs. Richards," She stuttered, instinct pulling her to her feet, "It's been a while, Ma'am."
Aside from a few white strands contrasting against black hair, Ishani Richards hadn't changed at all since the last time they met. She stood tall and poised, looking slightly indifferent, even when she wasn't in her work robes. They thought well of each other, and their relationship went as far back as when Scott Hope was alive. Were it any day that Andy wasn't on a date, their chance reunion would have been a pleasant one - but Andy was on a date, and the last thing she needed was her work life finding out about it.
Of course, Ishani was unaware of this. She pursed her lips and chided, "Long enough you've forgotten not to call me ma'am."
"It's either that or Your Honor," Andy told her with a small smile.
The older woman scoffed, but let the comment slide. "Harvey tells me you're back permanently."
"That's the word."
"Good. I've never agreed with that sort of operation. You're better put to use in other ways," She explained, briefly giving a glimpse into her well-known disdain for undercover work. Rather than delve into a lecture neither of them had the energy for, she waved a hand forward and said, "You and your mother should come to dinner some time. We all need to catch up."
Andy nodded, grateful for the change of subject. "I'd like that. I think I've missed your food more than I have anything else."
"Then it's a plan. For the new year, when things settle."
As time went on, the detective's nerves grew stronger in fear of her old lieutenant showing up to investigate his wife's absence. She started to look around, and asked, "Is the lieutenant with you?"
Ishani scoffed and shook her head. "I haven't been able to get that man to do anything fun in twenty years."
Grinning to mask her own relief, Andy joked, "Keep at it. You'll wear him down."
Richards may not have been there to walk into an awkward conversation, but there was someone waiting outside, and he had decided to come check on Andy. He'd stopped immediately upon noticing the two women talking, but it was too late - they already noticed his presence in the entry way.
It was the one thing Andy wanted to avoid. She went tense, but quickly took control of the situation, introducing, "Uh, Mrs. Richards, this is Connor."
Connor was momentarily frozen under the spotlight before he composed himself. He recognized the woman's face, and recalled her name from the files he once had access to while working at the DPD. He gave a smooth greeting, hoping to keep their exchange short and painless. "It's nice to meet you. I've seen a photo of you on the lieutenant's desk."
Ishani allowed herself a second to examine him, but if she thought anything of finding him with Andy, she kept it to herself. "Call me Ishani. I've heard a little about you, Connor. My husband owes you quite a bit," She said, shaking his hand. Shifting her stare between the two, she made a swift exit. "I should go find my girls before they get into trouble. It was nice seeing you- and meeting you."
They watched her leave, Connor waiting until they were alone to face Andy, whose anxiety he could still feel radiating. It may not have been a co-worker to find them, but it was as close as they could have gotten to that. He was already expecting this to mark the end of their otherwise good date, and her silence was taken as an indicator he was right. "I should have planned something further from home," He tried to apologize.
"Stop," She interjected. Reaching out to him, she managed a weak voice, "It's okay."
It wasn't incriminating just to be seen together; after all, it was no secret they had a unique friendship outside of work and Jericho. However, their intentions had changed. Teasing between friends on a casual outing was different than brazenly flirting by the scarf stand. This wasn't even because Connor was an android, not entirely - a lot of it had to do with Andy's own deep-seated insecurities and the habit she'd built up over the years of hiding parts of her life. Being exposed in a personal and uncontrolled way made her uncomfortable. This was her fault, no one else's.
The look on his face told her he was reading the situation differently, though, and laying the blame squarely on his own shoulders. From not telling Hank about them, to keeping his LED hidden, to planning their date in a city where he thought they wouldn't be recognized, it wasn't lost on her how willing he was to accommodate what he no doubt believed to be her wish to hide him.
That sting of guilt was sharp. So much for getting it right.
Dema Nazarian's office was shrinking, Hank decided.
He'd been sitting in the dimly lit room for what felt like an hour now, stone-faced and unwilling to initiate a discussion. After his eyes adjusted to a single lamp shining from the desk, the paintings decorating the walls started blending into shadows, and he was sure the corners were closing in on him. It was either that or he'd developed a weird new symptom to withdrawals.
It had to be the room.
The psychologist sitting across from him was looking through his file, the contents of which he was sure were mostly bullshit. At some point, her eyes darted up at him, making him worry he'd said that aloud. Instead, she said, "You've been at the department a long time."
"Yeah."
"With a rather successful run, I'd say."
"Depends on what part you're lookin' at."
She smiled. "All of it." With a small shrug, she added, "Even after the task force, you've done quite well on Homicide."
He felt his frown deepening, and he snapped without much thought, "Are you writing me a résumé or looking at my psych profile?"
She looked up at him fully, laying her hands over the armrests of her chair. "I'm giving you openings to start talking to me," She explained with an inviting wave of her hand that Hank did not find tempting.
When it became clear he wouldn't be making an effort, she picked a place to start for him. Returning to the file, she flipped to the next page and read off, "You've had three evaluations before this one: one upon founding the red ice task force, one after a personal tragedy, and one after a suspension last year." After a pause to let the information linger in the air, she asked, "What happened?"
Hank made a point of not moving too much while under a therapist's microscope, but his hands came together in a tight and nervous grasp. While he knew exactly what incident she was talking about - he'd almost lost his badge permanently that day - he couldn't begin to explain why. "It was just a disagreement with my captain," Was his flimsy excuse.
She didn't buy it, and the raised brow said as much. "You broke your hand."
"I-" He let out a frustrated sigh, arguing, "I punched a wall. We all let off a little steam."
"Not everyone's steam breaks bone," She remarked. Taking on a more neutral tone, she asked, "What was the argument about?"
"What?" He almost flinched at the question, though he should have expected it. "I don't remember," He muttered, shaking his head.
Her head tilted in skepticism masked as confusion, and she pushed him on his answer. "You were mad enough to hurt yourself, and you don't remember why?"
"It wasn't a big deal! And it's over now," He exclaimed. He could recognize the uphill battle he was facing, and it was making him feel like a cornered animal.
"Were you drunk?"
There it was. She had finally cut to the heart of her casual interrogation, and why Hank believed Fowler sent him there in the first place. He knew this would be coming eventually; he'd gone down this path with the department enough times by now. The more logical side of his brain was telling him they were being lenient with him, as any other police captain would have let him go a long time ago. It was telling him to follow along and fix this. The other, louder, slightly intoxicated side of his brain didn't care and only wanted to flee.
That part of him had been the easiest to listen to for some time now. He bristled at his therapist, snapping, "A bomb went off at CyberLife two days ago and you're talking to me about my drinkin'?"
Upon finding the smell of caramel Andy had been hunting since they left the rink - a food truck selling flavored hot chocolates - she and Connor removed themselves somewhat from the festivities. They wandered across the street to a closed bistro, and sat side by side at the outdoor seating that remained accessible. They watched the park, letting themselves relax into a comfortable silence after their stressful encounter by the bathroom.
Relaxation would only be so helpful, and Andy knew as much. "About earlier...," She started, keeping her eyes toward her lap. "With Mrs. Richards..."
"It's okay," He dismissed. He wanted to reassure her, but didn't know what else could be said.
"It's not because of you," She stated.
He appreciated what he thought she was trying to do, and he even believed that his being an android wasn't the only factor, but he was an android, and it did play a part. He didn't hold that against her. Between the department, Jericho, and her undercover work, involvement with an android was a complicated topic to share with the world. He knew this would be one of their obstacles, and he was prepared for it. His worry was about whether or not she was. With a meek smile, he said, "Well, being me doesn't help."
She wasn't going to deny that, but she also wasn't inclined to run away from it. Shifting in her seat, she admitted, "Yeah, that's going to be a conversation I'd rather have a little later than the first date, but that's not-" She stopped, because rambling wouldn't help her here.
With a small sigh, she reorganized her thoughts and started over. "Keeping my relationships private has always been my last line of defense," She explained. Gesturing to him, she added, "I don't like work and romance mixing, and we're already kind of doing that without needing anyone else to do it for us."
Whatever she felt she needed to defend herself from could have been a number of things: her own issues with balancing work and personal life, the potential danger of people like Sharon Weaver knowing too much about her, possible workplace gossip, or even Gavin Reed's targeted harassment. Knowing Andy, all of these concerns were possible.
Connor wanted to lighten her load, not burden it. He leaned forward and met her insecurity with a steady gaze. "I have no intention or desire to push you into telling anyone anything," He promised.
Eventually it worked, and he could see her shoulders relax as she realized he wasn't upset with her. "I'm sorry I made you feel like any of that was your fault," She told him, sincerely.
He smiled to reassure her, but as a nervous afterthought, he added, "I will say, though... Hank isn't just your work life."
She tried to huff in amusement, but it rang hollow. "I know; that makes it worse."
Indeed, he thought to himself. "Is everything okay with DDA Delgado?" He asked, hoping to ease each other into better conversation.
Unfortunately, it was as treacherous as the last topic. The light-hearted expression she'd started to manage fell away, and she replied, "Jason Hart's giving up his legal battle."
He went through a thought process similar to hers and Delgado's, trying to understand the motives behind the decision. Ultimately, it would lead nowhere; Nick Weaver was dead and Sharon was long gone, and all of Jason's other allies had less power than he did. To make matters more dire for him, celebrity attorney Malcolm Otto was working against in him in favor of a lesser sentencing for his own crimes. Jason Hart was alone.
"He may have realized he doesn't stand a chance anymore," Connor suggested.
Andy knew it was possible, but it didn't sit well with her. "When is it ever that simple?" She muttered. With a short sigh, she shook her head and complained, "We're supposed to be... not working. Let's... talk about this later."
She'd had to almost spit the words to get them out, and Connor shot her a faint grin. "That hurt you to say, didn't it?"
"Can you taste?" She deflected, voice raising a little as she leaned forward on the table and wrapped her hands around her hot chocolate. Looking at him over her shoulder, she added, "I mean, I know you can analyze the makeup of something, but..."
"Is there more?" He helped her along. When she nodded at him, he explained, "Taste and flavor are different things. I'm capable of detecting the six basic tastes - I know whether something is sweet or not. What I don't have is the sensory experience of flavor."
She listened to him quietly, humming once he was finished. "Makes sense."
He watched her take another sip, fully aware she was trying to keep herself distracted. He also knew it wasn't something that could be switched off so easily. "If you want to discuss Hart, I won't mind."
She was quick to protest the offer. "Don't tell me that, because then I'll do it, and I don't want to. I'm trying to set boundaries." He had to admit he was taken aback by that. He knew she had concerns about her identity being consumed by the DPD, but the firm declaration hinted at how much thought she was putting into it. It was more than he expected, and his expression pulled a pout from her. "You don't have to look so surprised."
"I think I do."
Heaving a sigh, she looked away and picked at the edge of her cup. "I started going to therapy after I got reassigned."
"Voluntarily?"
"Yes, voluntarily," She rolled her eyes, "I just... It was suggested to me, and I thought I should listen." She lowered her head to take another sip, muttering into her cup, "For once."
He knew immediately how heavy that was - not just the confession, which was enough to floor him on its own, but the actual decision to see someone. Andy had a certain kind of emotional intelligence that drew him in, being open to change and willing to learn. That didn't mean she didn't have her walls, or that she wasn't stubborn about them, as evidenced by their earlier conversation. Like most people, she was reluctant to go outside her comfort zone. What helped was that hers was already larger than theirs.
It also mattered that she'd had prior experience with psychology, and from what he'd seen so far, it wasn't pleasant. "Does Natalie know?" He asked.
Her eyes widened. "Absolutely not-" Pointing at him, she exclaimed, "And do not bring it up with her, or anyone for that matter. I'm sharing this in confidence."
"You can trust me," He insisted.
She went quiet, and the mild panic softened into a smile that lingered on her features. "I know." Relaxing in her chair, she added, "She made me talk to someone once, after my dad. But I was... stubborn."
"Not much has changed, then," He teased.
He received an amused glare in response, but she went on to admit, "I should have just sucked it up. Things probably wouldn't have been so hard."
That wasn't true, and he didn't have to be privy to all the details to know it. Putting weight on the armrest of his chair so that he could be a little closer to her, he said quietly, "From what I've heard, I don't think anything would have made it easy."
He was right, and there was some solace in that. "You know, Sundays used to be our days," She started, "He had a bike - big surprise. But we'd pick some activity and go looking for it." With a small, excited smile forming, she described one of her fondest memories. "Rock climbing was our favorite. He started saving up for us to take this trip after I graduated college. Said we'd finally climb some real cliffs."
When Andy brought up her father, something changed. Her eyes glazed over as her mind took her elsewhere, and her voice softened to the point he worried it would break. It would have been a sight wrought with grief, if not for the bittersweet smile. This was why she didn't talk much about him.
"Maybe we could try a similar trip the next time you're off work." He glanced away, adding, "The riding, not the beaches."
"Yeah, I got that," She laughed and smirked, resting her cheek on her palm. "Already trying to score a second date, huh?"
He tilted his head, murmuring, "If you don't want to..."
With a small chuckle, she pushed her shoulder into his. "Slow your roll, we still have to finish this one."
She took another sip of her hot chocolate as they turned their attentions back to the festival. A crowd was beginning to form near the new band that had set up, some dancing while others simply listened to the music. Their unfiltered joy reminded Connor of a decision he'd made.
"I'm thinking of finding a hobby."
Andy glanced to him, raising a brow. "Yeah?"
He nodded. "If I'm going to be alive, I want to explore what that means." It was time for a confession of his own as he said, "Everyone at Jericho is discovering other parts of themselves, and I feel like I'm just waiting for something to happen."
To some extent, she understood how he felt. A hobby was more than superficial leisure - it enriched your identity, and helped you fill other corners of your life. It gave you something to focus on when the world felt like it was closing in, and in Connor's case, that was truer now more than ever. Even with the new deadline she was keenly aware they were avoiding discussing, he couldn't wait for Jericho to achieve their goals before he took total control of his life.
"What do you have lined up so far?" She questioned.
He shrugged, "Mostly basics. Cooking, painting, things Natalie suggested."
"You should come to the gym with me sometime," She invited, "They've got a couple different things going on. Something might click."
He knew he would be taking her up on that offer soon, but he couldn't resist the grin that crept up on him. "Now who's trying to score another date?" She could only laugh, nudging him in the arm.
"So this explosion at CyberLife..."
Nazarian trailed off, searching Hank's face for any tells that he was uncomfortable. Well, more uncomfortable. So far during his appointment, he had appeared indifferent and sometimes irritated. Before he walked in, she suspected anything other than a hard-line approach wouldn't work, and as the time ticked on, she was discovering she was right.
When he remained stone-faced against her line of questioning, she pushed, "How are you handling that?"
"You tell me. That's why I'm here, isn't it?" He retorted, tilting his head to the side.
Gesturing to herself, she explained, "My role is to decide whether or not you're fit to return to work. How you're doing is up to you."
He clapped his hands on his knees and declared, "Well I'm fine. Never been better. You can check me off your to-do list and let me go right now." He didn't expect it to work, but when she pursed her lips and shot him a pointed stare, he sighed. "What? What will it take?" He almost yelled the words in frustration, sinking back into the couch.
"All right, I'll cut through the bullshit, then," She said. Her voice was calm, but she punctuated her sentence by sharply snapping his file closed to give her an added edge. Placing it on the coffee table in front of her, she straightened her blouse as she sat up and offered him an early way out of her office. "I have two questions, and I want an answer for either one of them. I'll even let you pick."
It was obvious she had something planned, but he didn't care anymore. "Great. First question," He spat.
Her next words were slow and meticulous. "What was the nature of the argument with your captain that broke your hand?"
He wouldn't be answering that today, or any day for that matter. It wasn't because it was a sensitive subject. It was because he was too drunk to remember it. He couldn't remember what he and Fowler fought about the very next day, when he woke up hungover with a bandaged hand and his badge and gun missing from his end table. It was why Nazarian was so focused on that event, and creating a fake reason was impossible when she had his file, where Fowler no doubt described the argument in great and sober detail. All Hank could do was lie and evade.
Nazarian knew this. She had to know this, and that meant her next question - the one he would be able to answer - would be the one he didn't want to answer. "And the other one?" He asked her, building up a sense of dread in the pit of his stomach.
She smiled at him, knowingly and gently. "How much have you had to drink today?"
"This was ridiculous."
Andy and Connor had continued their date with their good spirits renewed. They did one last lap around the festival, then went to find a late supper which resulted in hunting down a nearby food truck before calling an end to the night. When they returned to her bike in the parking garage, he asked to drive again. She let him do so, unaware that he'd planned to take her straight to her apartment.
They walked down the hallway leading to her place, careful not to disturb her likely sleeping neighbors with too much noise. They stopped in front of her door and she pulled her keys from her pocket while he looked on. "I can get a cab to Hank's," He told her, disregarding her grumblings.
She looked over her shoulder at him as she slipped her key into the door knob. "You could have gotten a free ride there if you weren't being ridiculous," She mused with a smirk.
He shook his head, unwilling to be moved from this position. "It's too late to be riding more than you have to."
Once the door was unlocked, she turned fully to face him. Leaning against the wood, she pursed her lips. Normally that sort of comment would have kicked off a fight about treating her as though she were fragile, but he looked so earnest. "I'll let you get away with that this time," She warned with a smile that betrayed her.
He quirked a brow. "Get away with what, being concerned?"
"Overbearingly so," She answered, nodding her head. "I can take care of myself, thank you."
"You can let me do a little of the work."
The response disarmed her, to say the least. What she expected was eye rolling, or dismissal of her stubborn pride - not such a gentle request. For a brief moment, it rendered her speechless, but Andy was never someone who would be speechless for long. She smiled, moving away from the door to take a small step toward him. "Well I suppose there's one good thing about stopping off here instead."
As soon as he realized what she was getting at, he leaned down to meet lips coated in lip balm and hot chocolate.
She really liked kissing him. For starters, he was always warmer and softer than he looked. Until now, she had done most of the leading, and as he was growing accustomed to this, that was shifting to a more equal back and forth. She loved that. He didn't overwhelm her with too much want, but neither did he sit idle by. He asked for more in patient increments, while at the same time gauging her actions and responding in kind. When she wrapped her fingers around the collar of his jacket, he was happy to follow her until her back hit the door; when she tilted her head, she felt fingers slide through her hair.
He was in step with her every move, able to read her easier than anyone ever had. She could get nothing past him.
He pulled away but remained close enough to still feel her breath. He watched her eyes open, and her hand leave his jacket. She smiled at him, and he blurted out, "I'm glad you agreed to give this a chance."
Placing her hand at the side of his neck where her thumb brushed over his jawline. "Me too."
Her touch was distracting, and he suspected he could have stood there all night under it. "I should let you get some sleep," He murmured.
She hummed an amused affirmative, in part because he had yet to actually move. She gave him a chaste second kiss, shifting her hand to tap her knuckle under his chin. He heard her open her door with her free hand, and a second later, she parted from him and whispered, "Let me know when you get home."
Despite the sincerity of the request, she wore a small grin that he suspected was teasing him for needing a cab in the first place. She took a step backward to enter her apartment, and he stood rooted in place until he heard the door lock, and her footsteps fade into the depths of the room.
