Work Text:
It was a warm day in Detroit during the early summer day. Children were running in the park across the street, joggers were going about their routes on the sidewalks, and storefronts were busy and open as they attracted hungry patrons. Both androids and humans alike were outside coexisting. Living. Peaceful.
Nines enjoyed days like this. Although the temperature was of no concern to him—he enjoyed both cold and warm weather—days like this where the sun was shining warm on his synthskin were quite lovely. In addition, he liked that sounds it brought. While disliking loud noises for long periods of time, birds singing, dogs woofing and barking, and kids laughing combined into a summer soundtrack that eased his thoughts
It just so happened that it was also Connor and Nines’ mutual day from work.
Ever since Nines had been discovered in the hidden levels of the CyberLife Tower, deviated, and eventually began working at the DPD, he had always been curious about his predecessor. Connor was not like anyone he had ever met, granted that he had not many people in his short life, but the sentiment was still the same. Every time Nines thought he knew how Connor was going to react to something or do something in a certain way, more often than not he was mistaken or partially correct. Connor was…an enigma. One that made Nines want to get to know him more and more each day. That want grew greater and it only became obvious once Ben pointed it out one day.
“Looks like you want to be his friend!” he had chuckled.
Nines had tilted his head. “Friend?”
Ben’s smile had been nonjudgmental as he had pointed at Nines and then Connor, whose back was turned to them as he had talked with Hank at his desk. “Wanting to get to know someone and be around them means you like them. And by ‘like’, I don’t necessarily mean in a romantic way—although nothing wrong if you want that—but that’s how friendships come to be. It’s been pretty obvious to a lot of us that you want to spend time with him.”
“Ah,” Nines’ face had colored a faint blue, “I did not realize my intentions were that…blatant. However, thank you for giving me some insight. You are not wrong in your assessment. Being friends with Connor would be something I would like.”
“That’s the spirit!”
He only knew Connor as a friendly coworker; however, whenever they spoke, Connor always asked what Nines was interested in, how he was managing being deviant, and how well he was fitting into the precinct. The only other people who were this welcoming to him were Tina, Chris, and Ben. Reed was…trying, to say the least. Hank was nice, but the older man was often busier than the others, so they did not get to work as much together. And while his other coworkers were pleasant to be around, Nines being Connor’s successor made the RK900 want to get to know him more than the others.
Nines brought up the idea of getting to know each other outside of work, and Connor was delighted to agree.
So here they were. They were on their way back from visiting a local city garden. The two of them discovered a shared interest in learning—while androids like themselves could access any database they wanted, there was a certain charm and appreciation seeing objects and locations of interest in person. Nines had looked up basic information about the garden but seeing it in person was an experience he would never forget. It was a rare occasion that he was ever taken aback, but he most certainly was when they started exploring. Beautiful, colorful flowers bloomed all around them, tall trees rose above them providing shade, and plenty of shrubs, bushes, and sprouting plants provided information to learn if they wanted a break from the flowers. Nines never tired of the flowers, though.
While Nines found pleasure in all the different flowers, he did take note of Connor avoiding any roses with a particular determination. The RK900 found it odd and a little worrisome, but if Connor was not comfortable bringing it up, Nines would not ask. There was more to do today.
“Thank you again for inviting me to spend time with you,” Connor said as they were walking to their next destination, the history museum. “I have to admit, I had been thinking for a while of bringing it up myself, but I wanted you to get acclimated to working before then.”
Vehicle traffic was oddly heavy today. It felt like a long minute and thirty seconds before they were able to cross. “Of course. Thank you for agreeing to spend time with me. You are an interesting person. I wanted to know you better.”
Connor’s mouth quirked into a small smile. His LED cycled a bright blue. “Why thank you. But don’t do yourself a disservice, Nines. You are a rather interesting person yourself.”
A what? That threw him for a surprise.
Nines blinked. “I…hmm.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I did not expect you to say that. I felt myself to be rather boring, if I am being truthful.”
A surprised sound escaped Connor, making Nines turn his attention to him once they passed a large group of people. “I believe that I have an obligation to tell you that this thinking about yourself is incorrect.”
“…Explain, please?”
“I have noticed that despite what you can do in the field, you are a rather gentle person. I have seen you interact with animals that we come across in cases and children that are involved as well. Additionally, I have observed your recent data downloads about crafts.”
Nines looked away, face growing warm. He did not realize Connor had been observing him as much or more than he had been observing him. “I find crocheting a nice past-time to occupy my hands.
The two of them turned the corner of the block, and the museum was in sight two blocks straight away. They were going to arrive sooner than expected.
“What are you looking forward to the most at the museum?” Connor asked him.
Nines looked up at the clouds as he thought about his answer. There were plenty of things that he would like to see, so how could he possibly choose one? “It is hard to choose. I believe I would have to say the Japanese art section. From the images I previewed online, I appreciate the art style.”
“A good choice,” Connor nodded. “I have a keen interest in animals and marine-life. Although we do not have time to see the aquarium today, I am looking forward to seeing the marine fossils and prehistoric animals. A picture is one thing but being next to ancient creatures is an entirely different experience.”
He found himself in agreement.
A moment later, he noticed a small food vendor at the end of the block before the one the museum was located. Reading the sign, he learned that they served both human and androids. A pleasant sight as finding on-the-go android food was difficult; most android foods and drinks were in sit-down locations.
“Go on ahead,” he said to Connor as he began walking towards the food vendor. “I will get us some refreshments.”
His statement took Connor by surprise, but at least it appeared to be a good one by his pleased nod. “Why thank you! I’ll get us scanned in.”
Once Connor headed towards the museum, Nines went straight to the vendor. There were two people in line in front of him, one android with rather bright purple hair and one human with a matching bright purple and black shirt. Their clasped hands marked them as a couple. It was nice to see more mixed couples like that ever since he had been awoken. Quicker than he had anticipated, the couple paid and received their order, walking away to enjoy their snacks. With that, he walked to the half window and was met with a cheerfully smiling face of south Asian woman in a pastel yellow hijab.
“Hi there!” she greeted him. “You’re looking awfully parched. In need of a drink?”
Do I look that thirsty? Perhaps she was a mind reader. “Yes, ma’am.” He did a quick scan of the menu posted next to the window, “May I have two thirium milkshakes, please? One with extra sweetener, if you will.” He had a sweet tooth he could not help. The chemical sweetener that was added to thirium drinks like that was, frankly, delicious; however, according to his human coworkers, smelled strongly of pennies.
It was a good thing it was not for humans, then. More for him.
“Sure can do. Give me just a minute or two, and they’ll be right out!”
“Many thanks.”
The woman seemed to be rather kind. If her drinks matched her personality in tastes, then Nines decided he would come here more frequently in the future. Another location on his mental sweets map. Delightful. The woman went deeper in the stall to make the milkshakes.
Ten seconds passed.
And then one of the worst moments of his short life thus far began.
The sounds of people screaming soon erupted, coupled with the grating shriek of tires. Nines whipped around to the source of the noise. Up the block towards the road in front of the entrance of the museum was a small child crying in middle of the road. She was trying to move but was stuck by something. A large self-driving transport truck was barreling out of control down the street straight towards her. People were jumping and running out of the way in panic. Except for one person.
It was Connor who was running straight towards the girl.
From Nines’ quick analysis, Connor would just barely make it with the girl if he jumped out of the way in the next five seconds. He got to the girl, threw her out of the way, yet did not move himself. He…could not move? Shit, he’s stuck!
“Connor!” Nines took off from the vendor stall into a dead run towards the museum. Arms swinging, legs pumping, colors streaked around him. His feet pounded at the ground. Faster and faster, his lung components worked their hardest in his chest, practically pushing against his pump. “Get out of the way!”
Three.
His successor looked up at the sound of his voice. Connor stopped the hurried tugging of his leg, and to Nines’ confusion, smiled at him. Smiled at him?
[It’s okay,] was said over their telepathic link.
No. No, no, no, no, no it was not.
He was almost there.
Two.
Just a little more!
“Connor!”
One.
Tires screeched.
The little girl screamed.
Thud.
The funeral service was held three days later.
It was sunny.
It did not feel like it should have been sunny at all.
Although Nines had never been to an android funeral personally, or any sort of funeral for that matter, he was aware that funerals for androids were different than those for humans. Humans were often buried and sometimes cremated, both methods finding a way to put the physical remains to rest. However, humans did not have to worry about limited materials. Androids did. When an android died, their physical body was recycled. That was okay, because even though an android’s body was their own and a large part of their self-identity, it was their motherboard chip that housed everything about them. It was everything that made an android unique and their very own person. The motherboards of the deceased in the area were held in the heart of Jericho. Because of that reason, most services for the deceased and their loved ones were held at Jericho. (1)
Humans were not an everyday occurrence in the android community here, but for times like this, none of them batted an optic. From the DPD, Hank, Tina, Chris, Reed, Wilson, and Ben were the humans who came to pay their respects. Reed was, for like of better words, kind of an asshole, but even he had some respect for a fellow officer. Pamela, one of the receptionists, was an android who also came from the DPD. There were a few other humans that were not from the DPD—civilians—that Nines did not recognize. Even with several DPD officers and other humans here, the Jericho androids knew what they were here for.
They had to say goodbye to Connor today.
Nines had to say goodbye to Connor.
Both androids and humans alike who knew Connor gathered around a thick column. Its height was floor to ceiling, so it towered above them by over five feet. It was a reflective black with clear glass as its surface. Inside were dozens upon dozens of small blue lights arranged in neat, gridded rows. Tiny and numerous, they looked like stars. Beautiful in appearance, one could stare at them for a while. But Nines knew better. Each blue glowing dot was a pinprick of light that illuminated an android’s motherboard chip, their whole sense of self.
Connor’s whole sense of self was going to join the others.
Once everyone was gathered proper, the leaders of Jericho gathered their attention. As the leaders, Markus, Simon, Josh, and North were the ones who conducted services like this. Markus began to speak, “Thank you all for taking the time to be here today. Although the circumstances today make us feel sad, we are not only here to say goodbye to Connor and pay our respects, but also to celebrate his life…”
Whatever Markus said after began to fade from Nines’ audio processors. Speech, sounds, and images began to blur together. His processors ran on autopilot.
A hand was set on his shoulder, and it was only then that Nines came to. A check to his internal chronometer told him that thirty minutes had passed. He…lost time? He looked around and somehow, he had ended up standing in front of the columns. There was a small panel open in front of him and resting in it was a motherboard chip. It was Connor. A look around told him that most everyone had left. The Jericho leaders were still present, off to a corner talking in order to give others time to pay their respects, and there were a few people from the DPD around him. To his side was Hank whose hand was on his shoulder.
Nines looked at Hank, who gave him another pat on his shoulder before moving towards the cars. “Time to leave, Connor.”
Nines stopped right in place and stared at Hank with eyes wider than he would normally have them. Did he…? I am not…
Hank noticed him not walking next to him and looked up at Nines. Seeing his shocked and taken aback expression made him confused, but he soon realized what he said. Their coworkers in the vicinity that heard him looked shocked as well with awkwardness soon following. The man immediately flustered, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Shit, fuck, I’m sorry Nines. I know you’re not—I know you’re not him.” He looked like he was going to say more, but instead retreated to his car with a faster pace than before.
It had been two days since Connor’s…
Since Connor.
It’s been two days and Hank hadn’t left his house since he got home from the funeral service. He still couldn’t believe Connor was gone. Not even during work—not during a shootout, not chasing down a perp, and not even during an assignment. He had been killed by a fucking self-driving truck, the piece of shit that it was. It seemed like Hank couldn’t escape people he cared about being taken away from him by technology.
Cole…Oh Cole, how he missed him every day. The damn truck and the ice. God.
And now Connor by another truck.
From his spot in his bed, he rubbed the heels of his hands over his eyes and let out a long, tired groan. The sun of the afternoon was shining through the curtains he had forgotten to draw close all the way. It was three in the afternoon, and he was still in bed. He was tired. So tired. He knew he should get up and go take a damn shower, but he just didn’t have the energy.
His phone buzzed on the bedside table, and it took more effort than it should have to reach his arm over and get it. The light from the screen burned his eyes, making him blink away the stars that danced in his vision. Eventually he could make out the ten missed calls and wall of texts.
Jeff: I know you’re going through a lot right now. That’s fine. I don’t want to rush you, but I am going to need you here at least by next week for paperwork if you’re going to take a leave of absence. If not, then at least give me an estimate so I know how to shuffle the work around.
Ben: Make sure you eat and drink some actual water. Think of yourself as a six-foot-something-tall plant.
Reed: The tincan wouldn’t want you to fuck yourself up, old man. Hurry back to work.
Tina: We miss u here at work! But please make sure u take care of urself!
Fuck.
Before he could read the rest of the texts, he locked the screen and tossed it to his side. He kept thinking about the funeral. No roses since he knew Connor had a thing against them, but the lilies and carnations that were brought to the service were thoughtful. Connor was gone and Hank hated it. He liked the guy, he was a—he had been—a good friend. Weird, caring, primp, and goofy sometimes, the android had helped Hank get his life on track more than either of them realized. Connor was his partner and his friend, had even started to feel like family, and now he was gone. He couldn’t see his goofy face or earnest brown eyes anymore. He couldn’t hear him ask ‘May I ask you a personal question?’ anymore. He couldn’t help him decide between poodle socks or dalmatian socks anymore. He couldn’t hear him complain about his ‘loathsome eating habits for a human’ anymore.
There was a lot of things that Hank wouldn’t be able to do now that Connor was gone.
The more he thought about Connor, the more he thought about Nines. This, in turn, made him remember Nines’ face at the funeral, both in the beginning and at the end. The guy had this blank look about him when the actual service began. Hank had kept an eye on him during the whole thing, and the way Nines had moved without seeming to be fully there was disconcerting. What was worse, however, was how he had looked after Hank had fucked up. It just kept replaying in his mind.
A shocked expression that was incredibly foreign on the guy’s face. The hurt that was present in his blue eyes.
God, Hank wanted to punch himself.
Nines was Nines. Even though he and Connor looked similar, they were two completely different people. Even though he wasn’t as close with Nines as he had been with Connor, he knew his remark really cut him. More often than not, Hank had learned that androids hated being compared to one another, especially if they were within the same series. Hank felt like a whole asshole. He sighed, raking a hand through his tangled hair.
The locked liquor cabinet in the living room called to him.
Don’t drink Hank.
Don’t do it.
“—nes?”
“—ines?”
“Nines!”
A small jolt went through Nines. He blinked.
Chris and Reed were sitting in front and next to him at a table in the breakroom. Food and snacks were spread across the table and there was a half-eaten bag of thirium mini donuts in Nines’ hand. Chris was looking at him with naked concern on his face, while Reed appeared not to be his normal self. Nines looked back at his human companions’ lunches and his own half-eaten bag of donuts.
When had he moved to the breakroom? When did he get lunch?
A hand waved in front of his face, causing his optics to automatically train on it. It was dark, and the arm it was attached to was clothed in a blue uniform sleeve. “Hey, you alright there, man?” Chris asked, his sandwich being ignored at the present. “I called you, like, four times. You okay?”
“Don’t tell me you’ve got your head in the clouds, tincan,” Reed said. His words were carried with his typical snark, but his eyes looked at Nines with the same analytic angle he had during investigations. “That robo-brain of yours acting up?”
“…Yes,” he lied. “I am simply thinking of the new case that we were assigned earlier.”
How was it already one p.m.? It was just nine in the morning. He was listening to Tina talk about her new pet bird, so how did he get from there to here in the breakroom four hours later? He had no conscious thoughts or recollection from what happened between nine this morning and now. His stress levels ticked upward.
“Jesus Christ, take a freaking break. I don’t wanna listen to the case during lunch. We can deal with that later! Lunch is a no-work zone, got it?”
“Always working! You have to take a break, you know,” Chris said.
“Of course.”
He popped a donut in his mouth.
He could not taste it.
Hank glared at the pile of work that he had to do on his desk. He had been ignoring it since he came back to work, but every time he went to pull a file and start working on it, he would read one line and set it right back. He had been having difficulty concentrating at work—all he kept thinking about was that he did not have his friend and partner here with him.
The empty chair and bare desk across from him screamed their silence.
He missed Connor talking about new desk decorations he had been considering, sitting on the edge of Hank’s desk as they went over case details, and them sharing coffee (and thirium for Connor) at their desks in the morning as they would start the workday. No more chattering and bantering. No more random facts told to him at weird times of the day.
Looking around, he could tell he wasn’t the only one not feeling it today. Everyone was doing what they were supposed to, but the general chatter that would be exchanged between everyone was diminished. Connor always engaged with most people here. Without him…it just wasn’t the same.
“Hey, Lieutenant,” Tina came up to his desk.
He sighed involuntarily, then winced. By the look on her face, she didn’t take it personally. “What is it?”
She gestured towards the entrance. “There’s a witness here to talk to you. A lady named Miss Patel?”
Oh right. The double android homicide from last month. She was the next-door neighbor who had found the two victims dead in their apartment. Poor lady. He had told her to come in and talk to him if she remembered anything more than her original statement.
“Tell her I’ll be right there. Take her to the third interrogation room. One and two are in use right now.”
“Got it!”
He headed towards the interrogation room to talk with Miss Patel. He wanted to get this case closed as soon as possible. Now that he was working it without…Now that he was working on it himself, every day it dragged on lead to more stress he didn’t need. Fuckin’ A.
It took about thirty minutes to finish with Miss Patel. When she left, he walked to his desk to gather his shit.
He left work early.
“I’m just saying, I don’t think either of them are doing well.”
“I don’t even know how to describe it. They’re both space-cases, the tincan more than Anderson, and we don’t need that. I ain’t putting up with it anymore.”
Ben was here with Gavin in Fowler’s office. It had been about a week since the tincan—since…Connor—had…died. Now, Gavin prided himself not getting himself involved in other people’s shit. In fact, he made it a point. That changed only because Nines’ shit affected him as his partner and Anderson’s shit affected both the people he worked with (Gavin included) and Nines. Them together was proving to be a hot mess and Gavin couldn’t deal with it anymore.
Fowler looked at them both, steepling his fingers in front of his mouth. “I can’t say I haven’t noticed a change in them since Connor passed. I haven’t seen much of Nines, but Hank’s been leaving early and coming in late.”
Ben nodded, “Hank hasn’t been well. I don’t know if he’s been drinking again, but I’m worried he might start back up. Guy doesn’t really eat, from what I’ve noticed when he’s here, and he been looking a little rougher around the edges than usual. You already know this is how he started last time, Jeffrey.”
Gavin crossed his arms. He didn’t really get along with the old man, but that didn’t mean he wanted Anderson to end up like he had after what happened to his kid. Nobody deserved that.
Fowler leaned back in his chair looking like he wanted to sleep for the next two months. “I know, I know.” He turned his attention to Gavin, “And what about Nines?”
“He’s been weird,” Gavin said, sneaking a glance to said android through Fowler’s glass walls. “Not responding immediately like he used to. Spacey. Half-out of it. I talked to him about a case yesterday and got two nods the entire time. You know how much he likes to put in his two cents.”
“Sounds like he’s been dissociating.”
“I know.”
They were all silent for a few moments before Ben spoke up. “I think I have an idea about how to help.”
Nines was waiting in front of Hank’s front door at twelve noon on a Sunday.
Small bag in hand, he had been standing there for about five minutes now. His processors had been debating about what the best course of action would be after ringing the doorbell. What should he say? How should he interact with Hank? Should he change the way he behaved now that he was in a casual home setting rather than the standard work environment? All the questions and worries were starting to give him a cranium-ache.
Just as he was about to ring the bell, the door creaked open to reveal Hank’s tired face. The man looked, well, haggard would be an accurate description. Barely combed hair, tired eyes, and slightly wrinkled clothes spoke of someone who was just getting by in the day.
But then again, who was Nines to judge? He was not doing much better. (Gavin having to text him to drink thirium and oil his compartments spoke to that. And he may have been neglecting stasis as well…)
Even though he did not need to, Nines cleared his throat to attempt to dispel any awkwardness. “How did you know I was here? I did not ring the doorbell or knock.”
“Saw you,” Hank said gesturing to the window. “I was waiting to see how long it would take you to come in, but I got tired of waiting after the first few minutes. How long were you actually out there?”
“…Five minutes.”
“Ahh well,” Hank shrugged and stepped aside. “Come in. Guess we’re going to be roommates or something for a while. Whatever the hell for, only Jeff knows.” The last part was grumbled under his breath, but Nines’ audio processors picked it up with little problem.
“I am sure Captain Fowler had only the best intentions.”
“Yeah, yeah, if you say so.”
Both Hank and himself were approached by Captain Fowler last week. They were brought to his office to discuss their current work ‘dilemmas’ as he called it. Nines knew that he was not the same since Connor…died. As a state-of-the-art android built to be an upgraded model, he should have been always aware of his surroundings, should have been executing his work flawlessly, and should have been able to process data with no trouble. He had been doing none of these well. Lost time, having to ask questions over, not absorbing information like he should—he was concerned for himself. Worried.
Additionally, though not as close with Hank as Connor had been, he did worry for the man. Although Nines had been trying his best to manage through work at the precinct himself, it did not escape his attention that Hank was not doing well. A quick glance to the kitchen and around the living room affirmed this: from what he could see, the sink was full of dishes and the trash in the kitchen had not been disposed of; there were crumpled pillows on the couch, dust covering multiple surfaces; curtains shut, and, questionably, multiple empty sodas lined up on the dining room table.
When he glanced up from the sodas back to Hank with his head tilted, the other man shrugged and turned into a hallway. “Been tryin’ to stay away from alcohol. Fizzy stuff helps a bit,” his voice came from what Nines assumed led to a bedroom area.
Hank returned with two blankets and a plump bed pillow, placing them over the crumped pillows already there as if embarrassed. “It ain’t much, but I got a free couch. Pulled these from the linen closet—still clean even though they haven’t been used in a while. Would offer a bedroom, but…”
But the only other free bedroom than Hank’s was Connor’s.
“I understand,” Nines was quick to say, sitting on the couch with his bag in his lap. “You don’t have to explain. I appreciate you agreeing for me to stay here. Your home is very…” what was a socially acceptable word to use to describe the place of depressed, alcohol-recovering police lieutenant? “Interesting.”
Hank snorted. “You’re allowed to say it’s a god-awful mess. You’re not gonna hurt my feelings.” He went to get something from the cupboard, a cup, which he filled with water. He took a sip “Only other soul living here is Sumo, and he’s happy as long as he gets food, scratches, and sleep.”
As if summoned by his name, Sumo lumbered from the backroom into the living room. Seemingly ignoring Hank (and his comment of ‘Well, there’s the lazy pile of fur’) as he saw Nines, the dog bolted towards him with surprising speed for such a large thing.
Nines’ LED blazed yellow with a quick cycle of red, and for all his advanced systems, he could not move out of the way before close to two hundred pounds of furry Saint Bernard slammed right into him, knocking him on his rear-end to the ground. The air in his lung components was knocked out of him.
“Why h-hello there, Sumo,” he wheezed.
“Jesus, Sumo, get offa him!”
“It is alright. I am not injured,” he managed to say with the mass of dog on his chest and stomach. Sumo was pawing at him all about, licking his face as best he could with Nines shielding it from the storm of dog slobber. After he got a few more licks in, Sumo backed off with a small, odd ruff. Nines watched the dog lean in and sniff him before whining and trying to paw at his face.
Confused, Nines could only hold the paw gently in his hand and look to Hank.
Hank, which had finished his water and was rolling the cup between his paws, sighed. His voice was low when he said, “He’s been missing Connor. Whenever I come home, he looks around like he’ll see Connor behind me. Lately, he’s been scratching at his door. I guess when he saw you, well,” he kneeled down and called Sumo to him, “you know. The smells don’t match up.”
Nines did know.
He looked like Connor.
…Another reminder that his predecessor was preferred over him. His LED cycled red, and while he kept the expression on his face as neutral as possible, he felt sick at himself for thinking such a thing right now. Connor has died—I should not be pitying myself for how people react to me as they are mourning him. It is…natural. We do…did…look incredibly similar. It does not mean anything, so get over it.
(But people still like him better than you. Always better than you.)
Always better than you.
The air in the living room turned to something more resigned, more tired.
“C’mon. Let’s get you settled.”
Having Nines in the house was…
Well, it was something else, all right.
It was odd to see the android in his living room and around his house. Every tired moment that Hank’s brain and eyes had a disconnected lag of a few seconds, from his periphery, Connor would be there in his place. But then Hank would blink, and it was just Nines. He hated that his brain kept thinking of Connor, Connor, Connor when Nines was his own person, but he was just so fucking exhausted all the time.
And he missed his friend, dammit.
He wasn’t sure how to act around the android. Work was one thing, but his own home was another. He had attempted to connect to him like he had Connor: conversations about sports, cooking, and anything else that could come to his mind (which granted, wasn’t much). Everything was made more awkward when none of these landed like he thought they would.
Nines did not pay attention to sports. He did not make human food, and he was much less inclined to speak about himself than Connor had.
Things were awkward between the human and android, to say the least.
Work was a pain to go back to. Now, Hank thought that almost every day, but ever since…ever since, it’s been sucking more and more to go back there. He’d been trying his best to get all his shit done—he knew he had to shape up because making other people’s day harder ‘cause he couldn’t do what he had to do—and each day proved to be a challenge. Even though he was without a partner, Nines did his best to oscillate between helping Hank and Reed, something which Hank appreciated indefinitely.
Still, though, even through his own mess, he could tell that this wasn’t easy for Nines either. Sometimes Hank had to repeat himself while other times he caught him staring into space. It happened less here than at home, and Hank guessed that had to do with Nines having to be in the moment at the job due to safety reasons. That, and being mostly by himself at home gave that brain of his more opportunity to dwell on things.
Hank would have to be more attentive when they were home. Get the guy more grounded in the present.
How can you help him if you can barely help yourself? His own brain asked him.
He shook his head. Not going that route, shut up.
In order to give himself some distraction, he went to the breakroom in order to grab another coffee. Maybe the caffeine would give him the jolt he needed to trudge through the digital paperwork. When he got loser to the breakroom, he began to hear laughter. That wasn’t strange as it was a common place for people to decompress, get the latest gossip (mostly Ben), and tell inappropriate jokes (mostly Gavin). What was strange was that he was hearing a laugh that he did not recognize.
“—a-a-and and then, and then raccoons chased the guy straight out of the bushes and sent him diving into the squad car!”
A turn into the breakroom, and he was met with the sight of Tina, Chris, Nines, and Pamela from the front desk cracking up around one of the tables, snacks and thirium spread across the surface. Tina and Chris were holding themselves upright due to their laughter and Pamela was leaning against the Pamela was wiping tears from her eyes and trying not to spill her thirium. Nines was, well, he was something Hank had never seen before.
The guy was hiding a smile behind his hand, eyes crinkled. Although it was hard to hear him over everyone else, Hank could discern his quiet chuckle that was entirely unique. When the RK finally dropped his hand to reach for his thirium, there was a small smile that was still present on his face. Eyes bright, smile and laugh bringing a soft color to his face, he looked more alive and freer from worries than he had been since he had been witness to Connor’s accident.
Hank had never seen him like that before but was glad to. The guy needed to unwind. Plus, his laugh was nice, and that smile looked good on him. Reserved as they were, his laugh wasn’t like Connor’s louder chuckle or smile as large as Connor’s, but it was—
Shit.
Shit, he did it again.
Nines was. Not. Connor. He wasn’t Connor. Hank had to stop doing this shit to himself, Connor, and Nines. It wasn’t fair to either of them. He had to do better.
And he would. Taking a breath, he went to the coffee pot and addressed him as casually as he could, “Hey, Nines, why don’t you tell ‘em that time Reed had to run from those two ladies he offended last month during your case? The two women from the sex shop flinging not-for-sale dildos at him.”
“Flinging what?!”
Cleaning helped to keep Nines occupied.
During times of idleness, his thoughts ran busy through his processor. What he could have done differently that day, how he could have helped Connor, how he should not have gone to get them drinks, and so on. He had not been losing time as much lately, but he did not want to chance it.
He missed Connor. Although they were just starting to get close, Nines felt as though something had been stolen from him. He had just been getting to really know Connor, and now that opportunity to do so further was gone. Permanently. If thought about it too much, the feelings of sadness and mourning would shift to something that he could not pinpoint. Though, said feelings always led to him thinking, ‘What would Connor do?’
How would he clean this? Would he do a better job than Nines? How did Connor navigate this place with such ease? Why was Nines struggling so much with Hank?
Just clean. Just focus on cleaning.
And yet, in moments of cleaning, Nines inferred things about Hank that he had not thought about before.
He knew the man was not stupid, far from it. One could not be a police lieutenant if one did not use the squishy gray matter between their ears. With that said, Nines took note of Hank’s book collection as he was trying to keep himself occupied by dusting. Curiosity piqued, he set down the duster and scanned the shelves. He had only seen three physical books during the time he had been activated—two older, wrinkled bloodstained paperbacks that were part of evidence in a cold case and one withering yellow phonebook that he had come across when they were shuffling through the house of an elderly victim. He had needed to search what a phonebook was.
The History of Human Dynamics by Elliot Thomás, Queerness Was Always Here by Roberta Shift, Gender Identities of the Silenced Voices by Asher Whitefeather, and “How to Keep Openminded with a Curious Child” by Ki dos Santos were just some of the titles that he saw.
Nines was aware that making assumptions, especially about others, always led to a high possibility of something going wrong or a situation leading to awkwardness. He was embarrassed to admit that he thought Hank would not be interested in these sorts of topics. The article about children was the only one he expected as he knew, from mentions from his coworkers, that Hank had had a young son.
Was Hank part of the LGBTQ+ community? He never struck Nines as such, but that was a very human assumption. Gender did not have the same meaning to androids as it did to humans, so Nines could only wonder what interested Hank in these books. Despite the difference in android versus human gender, he had to admit that he was highly interested in reading them. He defaulted as male as that was what he was built as, but…gender did not mean much to him in ways of labels. Being called ‘male’ did not have much impact on him. Do all androids feel this way? Perhaps reading about human genders could give him some more insight to his own.
Before he could glide his fingers over the rest of the books, a voice came from behind him. “If you want to read one, you can borrow it.”
Startled—how did his systems not alert him to Hank’s presence so close? —he snatched his hand behind his back and turned to face Hank. Thankfully, the man did not look mad, which was a relief to Nines. However, the android was a touch embarrassed to be snooping through the collection of literature. “Apologies, it was not my intention to be intrusive. I was dusting and I grew rather curious….”
Hank waved him off, drawing closer to the bookshelf. “Ehh, don’t worry about it. What’s a bookshelf if not to show what I got?” He plucked a thin paperback from the third shelf from the top. Nines had not noticed it before as it was so skinny and old that the two thicker hardbacks on either side of it had practically obscured it from sight. He watched as Hank sat on the chair by the bookshelf and held up the paperback.
Trans Mens’ Guide to Transitioning Later in Life by Giorgio Alberto and Wesley Carpenter-Rooks.
Oh.
Oh.
Nines must have had an interesting and rare look of blatant surprise on his face, because Hank laughed deeply. “Hah! Always makes my day when an old man like me can get the leg up on you smarties in your design series.”
He was not sure how to respond, and instead took the moment to sit on the footrest not far from the chair Hank had claimed. He set his optics on the book, then to Hank, then back to the book and picked up the duster he had been using. He tapped a rhythm against his knee with it.
Hank’s smile dimmed a little. He set the book down on the armrest of the chair and leaned in. “Aw hey, didn’t mean to make fun of you. You’re still top of the line as long as I’m concerned. You good?”
He felt himself nodding, but that was more of an automatic response than anything. He was still trying to pull formable words from the rushing through his central processor. At this rate, he was going to get a cranium-ache before long. After a few moments more, he found his voice and met Hank’s gaze. “How,” he started quietly, “How did you know that…that you were transgender—if I may ask? Especially after so long as your assigned gender?”
Hank looked at him for a second. His head bobbed, and this time he leaned back in the chair, arms resting. “Getting right at it huh?”
“I am sorry, I do not wish to make you uncomfortable or—”
“I know you’re not being an ass or trying to insult me, it’s okay.” Oh, thank rA9. “Since I was a kid, I knew I wasn’t like other girls. Felt fine being called a girl, but figured I was a tomboy more than anything. Elementary and middle school were pretty small where I went, so didn’t really have much exposure to anything queer there—nothing that I didn’t catch a glimpse on TV. High school also sucked with LGBT groups. Lot of racists and phobic people coming out of the woodworks in that one. Fuckin’ glad to graduate out of there and book it to University of Detroit. Bigger, more open-minded. Wasn’t till I got there that I could join an actual LGBT-focused group. Gave me information and a wider understanding of gender and sexuality and all that.”
“Understandable.” That made sense. One could only grow their sense of understanding if provided with a wider expanse of knowledge to draw from. “And you realized you were transgender at your university?”
“Nope,” Hank said, popping the ‘p’. “Not at all. I figured I was a butch lesbian. Had that idea well after I graduated. Let me tell you, spending several years popping into gay cafes, drag shows at bars, and pride festivals gave me an even larger exposure to queer people. Made some friends and acquaintances along the way, mostly trans guys and some nonbinary people. By the time I was thirty-one, I realized I wasn’t a butch lesbian, but a trans man. With some help, I started socially and medically transitioning. And here I am now, in my fifties and feeling damn great to be a man.”
That was a lot of information to absorb. He was happy that Hank was comfortable and settled into his gender identity; he deserved it. But…something wriggled inside his code, making his stomach component flutter in quite an uncomfortable way. He hit the duster harder against his knee.
“…But that wasn’t quite all that you were asking me, were you?”
Nines shook his head.
“Assigned gender?”
“What?” he blinked.
Hank plucked the duster from his hand before he could keep hitting himself. Once it was gone, there was a soreness left—he hadn’t realized he was using so much force. “Your earlier question had an emphasis on assigned gender. Doctors assign that at birth based on the dumb decision about genitals, but that’s not the case for androids. Even an old fart like me knows that.”
“You know a lot of information, Hank.”
“You’re supposed to say I’m not an old fart, but I appreciate you thinkin’ so highly of me.”
That prompted a little airy laugh from Nines, making his anxiety lessen a few levels.
“Like I was saying, humans get assigned when they’re born. Mine was female at birth, but I’m not female. I’m male. You were assigned male when CyberLife made your model, yeah?”
Nines gave a quiet confirmation.
“Mmm,” Hank tossed the feather duster to a corner—Please stay organized, Hank, honestly—and then threw the old paperback at Nines, who caught it with ease despite his preoccupied processor. “Feel like you’re questioning?”
“Can…can you tell me more? About gender identities?”
“Sure thing, Nines.
A few weeks had passed, and Hank was at the mall with Nines.
It may have been that he disliked being around swarms of loud people or obnoxious, rude kids bumping into him with not even an ‘excuse me’, but he was not a fan of malls. If he ever had to go shopping for something he couldn’t get online or from a quick trip to the corner store, the mall was the dreaded last resort.
Nines seemed to be of a similar vein as he winced at all the loud sounds and screaming toddlers. This was probably a pain for him with his advanced tech stuff, poor guy. The only reason they were here was that Nines needed new clothes. His CyberLife uniform had long since been disposed of, but all he owned were turtlenecks, two button-up shirts, and two pairs of slacks. Not a lounge item in sight.
“I do not sweat or shed skin as humans do; therefore, I do not need to change clothes as often,” Nines had told him.
“Yeah sure, but you can’t just only have one outfit all the time.”
“I do not see why not. My clothing is clean, and I see no point in having different clothes if my current ones function perfectly.”
“Gotta have the appropriate clothing for different situations. Can’t show up to a dinner party in a DPD bullet vest and tactical gear and you wouldn’t roll into work in a swimsuit, would you? Different situations, different clothing.
“Hm, I suppose,” he had acquiesced.
So here they were, walking towards one of the clothing stores Hank knew was within a decent price range and had a wide selection Nines could choose from. It had been pretty interesting getting to know the guy the past couple of weeks, and in doing so, had discovered this wardrobe situation. Now, Hank knew he was not the go-to guy for any sort of fashion advice whatsoever, but he did know his way around the basics of a closet and day-to day wear. Not all denim, blues, and grays worked well together, make sure a tie doesn’t look frumpy, jorts were for the young gays, and t-shirts shouldn’t be tucked into pants except for the very few fashionable people that could pull it off.
They passed the main fountain on the bottom level and took the escalators up to the fourth where it was a bit less crowded. By the time they got there, Nines was looking less tense. “You okay there?”
His LED finally went blue after a long time of spinning yellow. “Yes, thank you. Although I know I should be able to deal with it,” he sounded embarrassed, “too much noise makes me uncomfortable.”
“Nothing wrong with that,” he turned towards the right wing where he knew the clothing store that he was looking for was. “Almost everyone who comes to the mall hates being here when there’s tons of people. You should see the Christmas hoards—nasty place to be, the mall then.” He winced as he remembered the week before Christmas where about four older women almost beat him black and blue with their solid-feelings handbags (he had no idea what they hell was in there to make them feel like bricks) over a toy he wanted to get for Cole. Their precious grandchildren had also requested the same toy for Christmas, and it was the last one.
Goddamn, the ladies were savage.
“As…unique as it sounds, I would have to decline such a thing.”
“Good choice.”
Walking towards the clothing store, they passed by a pet shop. Hank didn’t pay it much attention as he had no need for another animal. Sumo was plenty enough dog to have in his house, and he didn’t have the time to take care of another one. Cops worked too crazy schedules to take care of lots of pets. He was just thankful Sumo didn’t mind being on his own when Hank was at work.
“Hey Nines,” he said, stopping at a trash can to throw away the crumped paper from his taco, “what do you think you want to get?”
Silence.
“Nines?”
Hank looked around to figure out where the hell the guy had went so quickly, but to his luck, he did not have to look far. A short distance away, all six feet of RK900 was hunched in the doorway of the pet shop doing…something. When Hank walked over to him, he could tell that Nines was being greeted by a set of two black and white kittens that, to be fair, were the cutest kittens he had ever seen. Big blue eyes, constant purrs, Hank would have stopped to pet them too if he were Nines.
The manager of the pet shop laughed when he saw Hank. “These two lil’ rascals were about to run out when this fella o’er here caught ‘em before they could get lost in the mall! He your friend?”
Nines looked up at Hank, and with a dead serious expression on his face said, “I could never let any harm come to kittens such as these. It was a requirement that I stopped.”
Hank snorted and told the manager, “Yep, can’t find another one like him either.”
Before he could say anything else, Nines stood up with arms full of the kittens and stared at Hank with an intensity that would be serious anywhere else, yet comical here. “I do believe I need to stay longer and make sure these animals will be completely safe.”
In other words, “Can we please stay so I can look at the kitties more?”
Hank shook his head, amused.
“Well, ya heard the man, sir. Looks like you both gotta come in and look at some animals!”
In what seemed to be just a few minutes, they were soon inside and surrounded with so many baby animals that it looked like Nines was being swarmed with moving balls of fluff. The most of them were kittens, but there were a few puppies scattered in there. The two kittens that had greeted him at the door were vying for the most attention in the little baby-pile. Squeaks, mewls, and yips made the place sound full of squeaky toys.
Hank was about to say some teasing comment, but when Nines looked up at him from his spot from the floor, it died in his throat. The guy’s eyes were the brightest he’d ever seen, and the smile on his face was even more calm and peaceful than when Hank had seen him laughing in the DPD. For such a large and strong guy, it was a little surprising just how gentle he was being with the animals. Hank knew Nines wouldn’t dare hurt anything that didn’t deserve it, but it was something else to see his large hands picking up the mewling little fluff nuggets like they were glass. The android was cuddling them to his chest as he sat cross-legged. He was able to fit them all close in his lap with room to spare.
Nines was really something else.
“Did ya still wanna get some clothes today, big guy?”
“In a minute.”
To let Nines have a peaceful moment like this, Hank wouldn’t mind waiting thirty minutes.
Later that evening, something unexpected happened.
Although Nines had initially been skeptical about going clothes shopping, the trip to the mall was more pleasant than he had expected. Sans the high levels of noise at the lower levels of the mall, the detour to the pet store had been the highlight of the trip. He had been nervous that he might harm the animals—he did not realize how small baby animals actually were—but the more he interacted with them, the more his anxiety decreased. Sumo was a wonderful dog to be around, but he was much larger than a little kitten.
Once they had left the animals—more reluctantly than Nines had wanted—they went to the clothing store Hank was familiar with. As soon as they had entered the store, Nines was admittedly out of his element. It was overwhelming, to say the least. How did anyone choose what kinds of clothing they wanted in all these departments?
Thankfully Hank had guided him right to the men’s section before his stress levels could rise anymore. He had noticed that he had been led to thick cardigans, sweatpants, plush garments, and other soft, thick clothing items. Although they were soft, Nines had not been particular to these.
He looked at Hank with a head tilt. “Are these what Connor liked…?” he asked carefully.
“Shit.” Hank had flushed and stuttered out an apology, “Sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean, uh—well, I noticed you’re a big texture guy. I know you’re not, agh,” he rubbed the back of his neck, “I know you’re not him.”
He had felt a little worn down by always being compared to Connor, but that had been something Nines was trying his best to work through. He knew Hank had not meant it in a negative or patronizing way. He understood that the man had had little examples to draw from as to what an android like Nines might prefer, so he had appreciated that Hank had noticed his aversion to certain textures.
“I know and thank you. I appreciate your thoughtfulness, however.”
“Fucked it up, though.”
“It is okay. Why not take me to another section? It is a rather large store to look through.”
Hank had taken the opening with gratitude. “Uh yeah, sure. Since you like those turtlenecks of yours, I think I have an idea of some other stuff that might be up your alley.”
Once he was among pants, shirts, and some other basic wardrobe items, he had felt calmer with less choices. He had hated the feeling of some of the fabrics on his synthskin—wool sweaters were too scratchy, linen shirts itched the wrong way, and anything pure nylon felt slippery in a way that sent tingles like buzzing insects down to his chassis. After Hank had jokingly shown him some optic-burning bright sweaters that had clashing colors, he had suggested shirts, sweaters, and longsleeves made of blended materials.
He had several turtlenecks already, so he was free to choose some longlseeves of a similar cotton-polyester blend. Although he had stuck with blues, blacks, and grays, he did pick up one that was a deep purple that had caught his optics. Pants had been simple to find as the textures of jeans and slacks did not bother him. Hank, however, had pressed him to find some casual clothes. One t-shirt had been okay, but casual sportwear felt safe on his synthskin. The materials had not been scratchy, and they had been tight enough that they didn’t brush against him with extra fabric.
Now, Hank was helping him store his clothing away as they were in his room getting some extra hangers for his shirts. Pants could be stored folded, so those were easier. Looking in Hank’s closet, he was amused to see all his uniquely patterned shirts, some loud and some more muted. Not shirts that Nines would wear himself, he still appreciated seeing Hank’s personality through his clothes. How quirky. The old, black Knights of the Black Death t-shirt towards the back of the closet piqued his interest. A quick online search informed him that the Knights of the Black Death were a metal band that was popular a few decades ago.
He looked over his shoulder to Hank who was taking out the shirts from the bags to lay them on the bed. “Were you a big band fan?”
“Huh?”
“Your Knights of the Black Death shirt. Were you interested in bands like them?”
Hank laughed, putting a hand on his hip. “’Were’? More like still am, heh. When they were big when I was a younger guy, I used to go to their concerts whenever I could. Although they haven’t had any concerts in the last decade, they’re still one of my favorite bands. I did listen to some other groups and get some of their merch, but my good ol’ favorite will always be Knights of the Black Death.” He nodded his head at Nines. “Maybe I could take you to a concert one of these days when you get your own taste in music. Get you some noise-cancelling headphones with adjusters for the noise levels.”
That…did not sound terrible. He felt a small smile grace his lips. “Thank you. I think that would be an event to look forward to.”
They talked about this and that, music and other things. It felt easier to talk to Hank in his home compared to when he first came to stay here. Interacting with him, Nines felt less like a stranger and more so like a welcomed guest. The space they shared was more comfortable to navigate. Hank, in turn, felt less like an associate and more like a friend. Closer.
Nines liked the sound of that. Friends.
Just as he was about to start pulling the hangers from the closet, the doorbell rang unexpectedly. Hank and Nines exchanged a look.
“Were you expecting someone?” he asked.
“No, you?”
“Not to my knowledge.”
As he was closer to the door, Nines decided to go see who it was. Perhaps it was someone who had the wrong address for a delivery or something to that nature. “I do not mind going. I will be back shortly.”
Hank’s door did not have a peephole and Nines was already at the door before he remembered he could look out one of the windows. Given the time of the evening it was, he did keep himself on alert just in case there was something nonfriendly on the other side. Hank and himself both worked for the police department—there was always a small chance that it could be someone with ill intent. If he moved to check through the window, there was a high possibility of the person seeing him and attacking through the window. Positioning himself so he had one arm hidden behind his body, he unlocked the door. If it was a threat, whomever it was would not see the hidden mantis blade that had now unfolded out of his forearm.
He cracked it open slowly, about to ask who—
He could not believe his own optics.
“Hank!”
Hank had never heard Nines raise his voice with such urgency before.
He dropped everything he was doing, grabbed his gun from his dresser, and bolted out of his bedroom. Sumo, who had been alerted from the yell and commotion, bowled out of the bathroom where he had been laying on the carpet as fast as he could. Hank almost tripped over him but managed to keep upright. When he skidded to a stop out of the hallway, all he could see was Nines’ back to him, back stiff and blade—since when did he have a blade in his arm?!—unfolded out of his left arm.
“The hell is going on?” he said, gun in his hands pointed down at the ground.
“Hank...” At first, he thought Nines had said his name, but the voice was a touch different than Nines’ own. Hair rose at the back of his neck. Nines slowly stepped away from the door and someone who looked just like him was in the doorway.
It was Connor.
Or, someone who looked like Connor.
Shock struck him like a hammer, but it quickly made way to skepticism and wariness. He pointed his gun at the possible Connor in the doorway. “Nines, step back now.” Then he addressed their guest, “And you, you better not move a single muscle.”
Possible Connor looked startled as he had hands raised in the air. It was then that Hank noticed the rough, bare chassis of his hands and arms. The bare joints and synthetic muscles were exposed in some places while the skeletal frame under his chassis was exposed in others. The skin on his face was missing from the bottom half of his cheeks and lower lip, showing scratched white and gray chassis underneath. “Nines, Hank…it’s me.” His brown eyes looked earnest, but Hank wasn’t taking any chances.
“Nines, what’s his model number? Can you get anything on him?”
The RK900 was silent for a moment as Hank assumed he was taking a scan of Possible Connor. “He is RK800: 313-248-717—53. Connor was the 52nd version of his model number.” The shock slowly dissipated from Nines’ face, soon replaced with guardedness. His blade arm stood more at the ready rather than lax at his side.
Hank frowned, not dropping his gun an inch, “Last time Connor—or rather, someone saying he was Connor—came to my house, I got kidnapped and almost shot at the CyberLife Tower. I ain’t taking any chances this time.” CyberLife Tower Connor, or Connor-60 as they had later found out, was a call too close for comfort. He didn’t know what this Possible Connor was capable of even with his roughed-up appearance, but he had to consider both his life and Nines’ and Sumo’s lives in this, too.
Sumo had been sensing the tension in the air, causing him to whine and pace a step behind Hank’s legs.
Possible Connor looked to Hank, to Nines, and then back at him. “How can I prove,” he started quietly, “that I am who I say I am?
Nines spoke before Hank could say anything. His voice sounded like anything louder than a whisper would shatter it. “What did you tell me while we were on our way back from the garden? What did you say that took me by surprise? Something that close in time to the accident would not have been able to be taken by another model.” The last part, Hank understood, was added for his benefit than Possible Connor’s.
Possible Connor smiled at Nines, his dual-colored lips gentle in their shape. “I told you that your thinking of yourself was incorrect and that you are an intriguing and gentle person.”
Hank was holding his breath as he waited for Nines.
“That…is correct,” Nines confirmed, finally lowering his guard as Hank did so as well. His arm dropped to his side, blade slowly folding back into it, and he stood taller. “Connor?” Hank could just barely hear him. “Connor, is that really you?”
“Yes, it is. I—”
Before Connor—and yes, that had to be Connor—could finish, Nines had rushed forward and drew him into a hug. Unconsciously, Hank followed suit, grabbing them both in a tight hug in his arms. Sumo padded up to them, sniffing Connor then picking up the pace as he circled around them. Tears prickled Hank’s eyes. He couldn’t believe it.
“How?” was all he could ask into Connor’s messy hair.
Into Nines’ shoulder, he explained, “Before I was hit, I transferred my memory to the last Connor model in the CyberLife Tower.”
“I was under the impression that there were none left,” Nines pulled back slightly to make eye contact with Connor.
Connor shook his head. “That is only half correct. There are no more functioning models, but this one was under heavy repair. That is why I look like this,” he gestured to himself. “There had been some sort of construction accident with this model originally. It took me…so long, to get out of the CyberLife Tower and towards Jericho. Two whole weeks just to get there.”
Hank relaxed his arms from the embrace, but still kept close to the two. His nerves were still frayed. “Two weeks? Jesus Christ, the hell happened?”
“Half-working thirium lines, low thirium levels, broken chassis in places, and low battery levels.” He wiggled his bare skeletal fingers, “Among some other things. It took them quite some time to get me stabilized at Jericho. I still have a lot of physical issues to get fixed, but everything internal is stable.”
His smile was the brightest thing in the room. “I’m back, I’m here.”
Connor was back and alive.
Nines was here and in the moment.
Hank couldn’t ask for anything else right now. Nothing else.
Nothing else.
Published: 9/22/2021
A/N: This was much longer than expected, but I hope you all enjoyed it. Please leave a comment and let me know what you think! <3
A/N: If you like my stuff or want to contact me for any questions, feel free to go to my twiiter: el_rey_ciervo
(1) The idea of android’s motherboard chips being an android’s sense of self and them being stored in Jericho was inspired by rhinozilla’s Detroit 07 fic series (https://archiveofourown.org/series/1473497)