Two missed calls: Tina Chen.
Gavin woke up the next morning with heavy duress from his hangover by a gut that wanting nothing more to do with him. He sprinted to the bathroom and threw up half his stomach contents with a practice, almost methodical grace.
Soft meows were in the background, of concern he hoped. He reciprocated with strong scratch under her chin as he closed his eyes to chuck up nothing more but acid.
When the worst went by he grabbed his phone and sat on the bathroom floor, he checked his phone, he had a moment of brief panic thinking he was on call and he'd just forgotten. Thankfully, it was just a message from Tina.
something brewing today at the station. Might be a meeting. More details when I can.
Hell, something was always brewing at the station. Short-staffed; it was a shit show. He flubbed off the text from screen and promptly fished out a Gatorade from his fridge and some acetaminophen, taking two.
Another message, at possibly the worst timing he had ever seen.
Monto : saw Amelia tonight. nerve of the gal coming in with a man on her arm. take care of urself.
"She does live nearby," he said to himself.
Ugly flashbacks to the blonde male mimicry of a human - his arm tensed,, the black coal of grief settling in his stomach and the strong urge to throw his phone at the wall washed over him like a tide, and receded.
Astra got up on her hind legs and started kneading his chest.
"At least you got my back, Astra."
His rescue kitten with her moon yellow eyes was an angel.
The rest of the day was spent in self pity and wallowing. Gavin gave himself the weekend to suffer before returning to the grind.
Hank had seen better days. Gavin brushed his eyes quickly over the old man meandering to his desk . He looked haggard past the usual amount - like he'd been hit by a truck. The divots under his eyes from lack of sleep purplish, and like most days he simply loathed to be alive. In a way, Gavin could empathise all too well. That didn't much change when Gavin threw a half-hearted sneer his way when Anderson walked past his desk.
Gavin knew it was reflex.
Shit, it was difficult Not to know he was how he was. Many a sorrowful, pitying stare was given the year he'd lost his son. Gavin hadn't paid much attention then past My Condolences and a wide berth (bereavement was a difficult subject he didn't want to navigate), still in the throes of advancing his career with some green eyes, youngest Detroit lieutenant. Didn't stop Gavin's rational brain screamed at him some days to give that old bastard a break, to which he flagrantly ignored.
What was the biggest change?
Gavin's critical eye ran to the desk beside Anderson's. The nameplate remained blank.
The emptiness of that table hung over Gavin's head like a carrot.
Where was Connor?
Had CyberLife repossessed him after the events of the violent beat down?
He violently pushed down the recollection of him getting his shit kicked in by that plastic asshole. Not that he should've given a damn after being thrown down like a rag doll by the plastic prick. That had been a rough day after work. The hospital visit was a tough one to explain to Amelia; his pride bristled at that memory. An imperceptible shiver ran through his spine.
The Connor shaped question in Gavin's mind paused only when Fowler got out of his glass cube and called Hank to his office, using one word and a gesture, quieter than the entire bull pen was used to.
How the fuck hadn't he noticed?
He felt as tired as Anderson looked.
Connor was his shadow; Momentarily, on principle he was relieved to forget about Connor, but the pressing thought never left him.
He took his boots off his scuffed desk and leaned forward into his monitor, squinting.
He ran searches.
CyberLife, Connor.
No, wait.
RK800.
Yeah, these would be logged - he didn't care.
Nothing but headlines of Detroit working with the shit head and the many controversial comments he felt kindred to than anyone else right now.
The news wouldn't show Connor broken up and prominent as headlines, right?
For some reason, he couldn't derive joy out of that, even when he pulled up the corner of his mouth purposely.
Anderson walking past his desk registered too late.
"Hey Anderson, where you goin?"
He paused, turning his head sidelong, looking at Reed reluctantly as casually as he wanted to clock him.
"I'm off."
Looking at Anderson, the sting of empathy. That man is going off to get drunk. Again.
"It's barely one o'clock!"
"Pack it in, Reed. Like you give a rat's ass about my schedule."
He was right. He doesn't. Shouldn't? Shit.
That's what he told himself when button up his shirt preparing for his security gig, and was almost on the verve of dismissing the entire thing.
Until Anderson staggered into Tempest that night, still wearing the same clothes as the morning, knocking over the umbrella stand. The bar was on the other side of town of the DPD, for Christ's sake.
Hank lurched up to the bar, and before the man could spot Gavin, he made an abrupt U-turn to the back. He had just began his shift - usually, his arms ached at the start of the shift, the kitchen moving trays of food and glasses to relieve the staff of heavy lifting. He reached for his pocket, a plain black dress shirt rolled to his elbows, feeling for his badge.
He cursed his autopilot for putting it there. Why on earth did he bring it tonight?
It did bring him some measure of comfort, he supposed. So when he moved for a smoke, Monto stopped him in his tracks, literally with his body. The lithe man was 6' 4", towering over Gavin.
"Where are you going?" The man's voice lilted, but was unavoidable.
Gavin flashed him a crooked smile. "A smoke?"
"You just started," Monto said.
Gavin wiped his mouth with an unsteady hand. "Yeah. I know."
Monto craned his neck with bug eyes, even though he couldn't see the bar from their location. "Wait. Is Amelia out there?"
"No."
"So... Who's out there that's got you cowed like a lamb?"
"It's..."
From outside, he heard the grating yell. His voice suggested grievous bodily harm and Monto looked up like a cat to a new noise.
"Fuckin androids! They can screw Detroit for all I care! " Gavin exhaled through his teeth, resigned to fate.
"Sounds like a problem for you."
"Yeah, that's a problem all right."
Gavin groaned, absently popping one side of his collar. He turned around and inhaled deeply. "That's enough, old man. One more threat and you'll be out on your ass."
"Gavin fuckin Reed, as I live and breathe."
Gavin dropped his register to air out confidence that came on only as half as fierce as usual. "Anderson. The hell are you doing here?"
Hank's mottled beard was as unkempt as the rest of his clothes, his blue and white party shirt. He looked homeless.
"Whass it look like, smart ass? I'm—oh."
Hank was leaning over the bar now, squinting at Gavin and what he assumed was the beanpole Monto next to him. He could only imagine Monto's surgically inclined stare.
"... Aah hah. This explains a lot. Heh heh." Gavin clenched his teeth, daring him to say more. "This is the great Gavin, working overtime to pay the bills, huh?" Hank crooned.
Gavin's reaction worked on impulse memory. He stalked to the bar, having Anderson's gleeful eyes on him the entire time, linking an arm to drag the heavy 6' 2" man, in an attempt to move and shut him up.
"Oh? The man himself protecting and serving, huh?" Anderson let himself be dragged, giggling.
"I'm giving you a choice, Anderson. Out. Or keep your remarks to yourself."
The man cackled, like he had the key to Gavin's job at Tempest. "Okay. Allriiight. I get it." Gavin swore he heard the old man mutter, "Does his job better here."
He poignantly ignored it, for the sake of his current employment.
"You know, I heard rumours you were moonlighting. I never thought I'd-" he coughed a rubber sound from the full of phlegm,"-see it for myself."
"What do you want from me, Anderson? I'm getting by. Not like you can say the same. From what I can see, it's like you're falling apart."
Hank seemed to anchor himself to the ground. Gavin couldn't move him any more and he was shocked by the clarity and octave drop that came through his voice.
"Yeah. I am. And you know why?"
Hank's voice lowered to a soft spot, where Gavin was sure Monto couldn't bear him. They were at the entrance to Tempest by now.
"Connor's gone. Ever since the revolution. Just dropped off the face of the earth. Not a single peep since Markus' army marched . And-and the best part?" Gavin's ears burned red as he struggled to come to terms with Anderson's soul bared. "I miss the bastard. I laid out Perkins for him so he could find what he was looking for and he left me alone. For all I know he could have died."
For a second Gavin was back in that evidence room, with a splitting headache and tampered evidence.
"And you're comfortable with telling the whole world?" Gavin muttered. Damage control, he thought, head racing. He tried his damnedest to not let the sensation of heightened fear wash over him, but failed.
"it couldn't get any worse than this."
Hank truly looked at his worst - from youngest lieutenant in Detroit to crazy Friday shirt in rags.
Gavin couldn't believe he was doing this, but he hushed his tone so only Hank was privy. "Walk outside and we'll talk about it. I'm on the clock."
Hank thrust out his jaw in contemplation, nodding. All eyes on them began to fall away, and Hank followed behind Gavin's smaller frame to the front shop, where there was dark snow, golden street lights and a heavy sense of unease. The riots had turned the streets to dead zones, minus those obstinate enough or unfortunate enough to never leave Detroit.
The cool air hit Gavin which brought him back his confidence. He puffed up his chest.
"Doesn't he have like a two way radio in his head? Can't he just call you?"
"Fuck knows why he hasn't!" Hank projected his voice in anger, standing up to his full height, gesturing wildly.
"If the kid could just... Let me know he's okay! Just something! It just isn't like him to disappear like this."
"How well do you know the Android, anyway?" He couldn't keep the petulant, mocking tone out of his voice and it showed.
"That isn't a fair point anymore. They ain't—they're alive. HE'S alive. Connor don't bleed the same, this ain't some radical viewpoint anymore. You saw the march. They fought and won. I really believed in Markus' cause before he charged at the-"
"They fucked it up."
"Shit. I think that's the most empathetic thing you've said about them all year. What makes you say that, Reed?"
"I don't have the time to get into it. But you got to admit, they did a terrible job trying to get anyone to acknowledge their so called humanity. Detroit will become a ghost town."
"Revert back to."
"What?"
"Detroit. It used to be a shit hole."
"You mean still is."
"... I can't imagine work gettin any easier, either. You know they—"
"Do you even work at the station anymore, old man?" Gavin interrupted dryly.
"Oh, get off your donkey. Your work has been down the toilet lately. Heart attack? At Eden club? You gotta be kidding me."
Gavin clenched his teeth. "Yeah? Didn't you have plastic do your work for you? Get the fuck outta here," Gavin said, with no bite to it.
"It's called Team Effort. Get with the times."
"Could have sworn you used to hate androids."
"I... don't. It's complicated. They're just trying to be free."
"What a concept, it's the civil war all over again," Gavin said dryly.
"Pessimistic asshole." The argument felt as old as time. Even Hank sounded exhausted by the brick wall Gavin was.
"Think I've entertained you for long enough. Go home and take a fuckin shower. You smell like a homeless man fucks."
"Yeah fucking yeah. And get your life together. Stop gambling. What are you, my mother? And what about your little spat with Connor? Yeah, I heard about that. Heard you got the living—" Hank coughed again, " shit kicked outta ya!"
Gavin rolled his eyes and walked back to the wooden front door.
I don't have to take shit from a drunk old man. Real nice mistake, Reed.
"Should have shot that plastic prick when I had the chance."
Hank growled, stomping toward him and shoving his shoulder. His aura was a scythe of vodka.
"You fucking prick. You coulda left it. But no, you gotta push it further every time. Where's your fucking heart?"
Gavin looked at him, really looked. It felt like the simplest explanation he could give.
"They're just software, Anderson. Programmed to mimic humans, and look just like em so they don't freak us out. Feelings you got for Connor ain't real, he's just got you wrapped under his goddamn processing parameters. I shouldn't have to explain this to a grown man. They're just tools."
Hank's face went from anger to disbelief to set.
"Of course you wouldn't understand. No kids. No responsibility. Wasting my goddamn breath."
Hank turned around with no more words, shoulders slumped, on the way to the other side of the street.
Gavin briefly thought of his cat, before realising the adrenaline coursing through his head, hands shaking. His hands were clenched, nails digging into palms, just for the relief. Still on the clock.
"At least I got my fuckin dignity! " he shouted into the cold winter street. Hank didn't falter.
Gavin inhaled slowly, attempting to soothe himself as he sauntered back inside. Monto looked up at gin as he passed.
"That was some good de-escalating there, kid." Monto smiled up at him, in the midst of garnishing a cocktail. The only waiting customer turned around to observe their interaction.
"You know I'm older than you," Gavin said, even though he knew the answer.
"Don't out me. I have a reputation to uphold."
"Yeah, sure."
Monto served the cocktail, and interrupted Gavin as he started pacing away.
"Have your smoke. I'll be with you in 5."
Gavin's curiosity piqued. Monto didn't request random chats at work in front of customers like that before. He did as he was told, looking for his jacket in the inner left pocket before lighting up as he descended the stairs down, smoke trail following behind.
Five minutes later, Monto stepped out to the snow covered stoop.
"He's a cop."
"Is he? I couldn't tell."
"He had a piece with him."
Shit.
"Sure he wasn't just some gun nut?" Gavin said,
"You know the guy. He always drunk on the job?"
Gavin crossed his arms, thinning his lips over the filter of his X brand cigarettes, exhaling a puff.
"Why all the questions, Monto? What's so important?" Monto sheepishly scratched the back of his head.
"Just. The bar's not looking for trouble. I overheard the boss that were kind of behind on the taxes."
"Really."
Gavin's instinct spoke to him it was more than that. The bartender was perceptive at the worst of times.
"I really doubt a cop cares about that sorta business. You really called me out because of that?"
Monto wiped his hands on his apron. "Yeah, kinda. I always had this feeling about something."
"Yeah?"
Monto looked him in the eyes. "Are you a cop?"
Gavin smiled, almost out of pride. "Would it matter to you if I said no?"
"It might."
"Then: maybe."
Gavin couldn't shake the feeling like Monto had something else in mind, but it did not come as Monto smiled cryptically. He felt comfortable enough to tease the man, but trusted the man to keep it to himself.
"Okay. Back to work, then. The night's still young and you have to earn your keep."
"Didn't you call me out here? I don't know if that's a valid line of reasoning."
The man chuckled. "Already using his cop interviewing techniques on me. Maybe the whole time!"
Gavin put the butt out under his heel, and said, "You're the one who got spooked by the tax man."
Monto twisted around to grab the front of Gavin's jacket, grinning. Gavin looked up and blinked. Only Monto had the gall to do this to time—"And don't worry. I won't tell anyone."
"I thought that was a given."
"Just being straight with you. You won't get anything but the truth here, baby."
"Yeah, appreciate it," Gavin said.
"Better watch it."
Gavin made his way to the kitchen, beginning the nightly duties as he heard the repeat Android news continue playing.