Summary: After the Android Revolution, you were one of the few that chose to remain in service. You were still considered alive and free to make your own choices, but you couldn’t leave your charge; a sick elderly woman that doted on you as if you were a member of her family. After a break-in, Connor is the first responder and helps track down the person – or android – responsible for the crime.
Remaining on the police force with Hank as his partner had been a no-brainer. He wanted to make sure that both parties – humans and androids – would be held accountable for their actions. When responding to a call one night, he met Y/N, a caring and sassy android that he never saw coming. He was still learning to deal with his emotions, but no one – not even Hank – could have prepared him for the overwhelming swelling in his chest and this need to see her again.
Word Count: 2,411
Warnings: Angst, fluff, language. Possibly more to come.
Author’s Note: I absolutely adore this game and Connor. Title inspired by Robots in Love. I will be using my Everything tags for this series. If you do not want to be tagged, I’ll remove you. GIF Credit [X]

Series Master List

My work is not to be posted on any other sites (AO3, Wattpad, etc.) without my express written permission. Reblogs are fine.

2039

Less than one year after the Android Revolution, the government declared that androids were alive, a verified new form of intelligent life. That meant a wave of new bills flooded the President’s desk; equal rights, no more segregation and slavery, the right to expand their families, to get paid a salary for their hard work, to have a home to call their own.

Those rights might have been granted, but that didn’t mean it was going to be easy.

Millions of people around the globe were resistant to the changes. Losing their androids meant they needed to clean up after themselves, to take care of their children, to get clean and sober. It also meant more competition for work, which made the humans more bitter.

Demonstrations and riots started soon after, humans and androids were caught in the crossfire. And then, after a particularly savage protest where red and blue blood ran through the streets like a river, the President passed a law that, “All android lives were to be treated with the same respect as human life.”

Whoever took the life of an android would be punished as severely as if it had been another human. The same went for androids. If they took the life of a human, they were to be persecuted to the extent as humans.

After all, equal rights wasn’t a one way street. Everyone had to take the bad with the good.

Grace was settled in her bed, an army of pillows behind her head, supporting her, her silver hair surrounding her head like a halo. One of her arthritic hands was in your lap, turned up, her forearm exposed.

“This may sting,” you informed her with an empathetic, tight-lipped smile. “I’ll try and make it quick.”

“It’s alright, dear,” Grace assured you. “It’s not like it’s the first time.”

You grabbed the cocktail of liquid medication from the night stand and twisted it into the cartridge. Grace hadn’t been able to swallow pills for the last couple of years, and with her medications increasing almost yearly, it had become necessary to administer them intravenously.

Her moss and honey eyes found yours just as the needle pierced her skin. The pump whirred softly as the liquid medicine entered her bloodstream.

“What would you like to do tomorrow?” you inquired, hoping the question would help distract her.

Grace’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment as her stomach twisted. “Is the weather supposed to be nice?”

The LED on your temple glowed yellow as you checked the forecast. “Partly sunny, high of seventy-two, with low humidity. Twenty-five percent chance of storms in the early morning,” you informed her.

“I wouldn’t mind going to the park,” she said breathily.

“Almost done, Grace.” You took her other hand in yours and gave it a comforting squeeze.

A shuddering breath left the elderly woman. “I hear there’s a concert in the park tomorrow afternoon.”

“Which one?” you chuckled softly.

Grace’s musical preference varied from classical – Bach and Beethoven – to rock & roll – Metallica & Green Day – to cover bands of everything in between.

“A Foo Fighters dedication band,” she admitted, a soft blush coloring her cheeks.

You chuckled and shook your head. Thanks to Grace, you knew every Foo Fighters song, backwards and forwards, could even play a soft version of them on the piano. Grace really liked it when you did that.

She gave a low and heavy groan as the last of the medication was administered. You withdrew the needle and covered the entry point with your hand. Your skin faded away until your hand was white, the color of your android skin the temperature dropping to help soothe Grace’s overheated skin, just one of the many side effects she suffered from.

You stayed there until she fell asleep, your hand drifting up and down her arm, along her neck, the sides of her face, and her forehead. The silver strands of her hair felt like silk against your skin as your nails drug along her scalp, massaging away the electric pulses under the skin and bone, the ones that made her hands twitch and shake involuntarily.

Only when you had completed your analysis of Grace Tompkins did you place her arm over her belly. As you stood, you took apart the cartridge and disposed of it properly; in the sharps disposal container attached to the wall.

Before leaving your charge, you placed a glass of water on the nightstand and turned the lamp on low. You closed the door quietly behind you and headed downstairs to clean up. Dishes needed to be cleaned, books needed to be placed back on the shelves, the laundry needed to be washed; the list was seemingly endless. Not that you disliked it, a clean house was important for Grace, for her illness, and if anything you could do helped Grace live a little bit longer, you would do it without question. And honestly, you enjoyed it.

Despite being an android, Grace never treated you as such. In fact, it was the opposite. Grace was kind-hearted and generous, doting on you as if you were a family member, her child. She was never married, never had any kids. Her life was mainly spent in and out of the doctors offices, trying to figure out what was wrong with her. Her weakened immune system made her childhood miserable and lonely.

The doctors never really figured out what ailed Grace, no matter the technological and medical advances of the twenty-second century. The only real good thing they were able to do was find a mixture of medication that helped boost her immune system, adding years to her life instead of an early date with the coroner. Their initial diagnosis was ten to fifteen years. Grace was currently in her late fifties and appreciated each and every morning she woke up.

You loved Grace. No one had ever treated you the way she did, as if you were a human being. Your feelings were valid, they were valued and appreciated, that your input mattered, that you mattered. Grace never did anything or made any decisions without asking for your input first.

It happened when you were wiping down the counter in the kitchen. You heard a noise that didn’t belong. It wasn’t the normal sounds of a house settling or noises that happened outside; dogs barking, cars driving past the property, the occasional argument from the neighbors next door. No, the sound was coming from inside the house.

The LED light on your temple glowed yellow as you dialed 911.

“What is your emergency?”

“This is Grace Tompkins’ android at 6538 Sycamore. There is someone inside the house,” you informed the woman.

“Dispatch has been notified and there is a squad on the way,” she said, her fingers working across the keyboard. “Are you alone in the home?”

You moved soundlessly through the kitchen, curiously approaching the source of the sound. “No, ma’am. Miss Tompkins is asleep upstairs.”

“The squad is close,” she assured you. “Do not engage.”

The intruder’s footsteps grew closer to the stairs, solidifying your decision to act. “You don’t understand, he’s going upstairs. Grace is there. What if he hurts her?”

“Do not engage,” she repeated sternly. “Go outside and wait for the first responder.”

“I can’t do that.” With that, the call was disconnected. You ran through the house, surprising the intruder as your shoulder connected with his lower back.

“There’s an intruder at 6538 Sycamore,” dispatch announced.

Hank was the one to respond first. “Squad eleven-fifteen responding.”

Connor smirked as Hank stomped on the gas. The car lurched forward and around a corner, sending Connor into the door.

“Getting us killed before we get there would not be ideal,” Connor teased his partner.

“Shut the fuck up,” Hank grit out, a sly smile pulling at his lips.

They pulled up to the house less than a minute later. Both android and human lunged out of the still-rocking car, Hank with a gun in his hand, Connor launching himself toward the house. The front door was open, the alarm sending a shrill beep into the air.

Connor was the first one inside, bright blue eyes scanning the entryway, analyzing every little detail, reconstructing the fight that had taken place. There was a trail of red blood that went out the front door, and a trail of blue blood that went up the stairs. Hank’s hand flexed on the handle of his gun as he pivoted on the spot and sprinted down the way they had just come.

“The house android came from the kitchen,” he said to himself. “And took the intruder by surprise as he was about to ascend the stairs. The intruder was pushed into the statue.They struggled, but he was human, he wasn’t strong enough.”

Hank was back, doubled over, a pinched expression on his face, gasping for air. “Bastard got away. Jesus, can you turn that fucking thing off?”

Connor rolled his eyes in feign annoyance but covered the alarm with his hand, effectively hacking the system. Once the alarm was silenced, Hank gave a shake of his head, trying to get rid of the ringing in his ears.

“I’ll call it in,” Hank announced. “You clear the rest of the house.”

Nodding, Connor ascended the stairs slowly, listening for any sort of noise. What he heard was a woman’s voice, low and laced with concern.

“You should not have done that, Y/N.”

“I couldn’t let him hurt you.”

“He hurt you.”

“Grace, I -”

Connor announced his presence with a soft knock. “I’m Connor, an android detective with the Detroit Police Department.”

“It’s about time you got here,” the elderly woman in the bed chastised the detective. “Y/N could have been killed.”

“As I understand it, Y/N would have done so to protect you.” Connor stepped into the dimly lit room.

“Be that as it may,” Grace lamented, her hands wrapped around that of her android’s. “She was instructed to go outside until help arrived.”

Y/N huffed in annoyance. “I don’t take instructions from anyone but you, Grace.”

“Ma’am,” Connor said as he approached the duo. “With all due respect, if Y/N hadn’t acted, we could be looking for a murderer.”

Grace’s android turned to face him and gave a tight-lipped smile. “I did it to save her.”

“I know,” Connor said. “You did nothing wrong.”

“What would I do without you, Y/N?” Grace hummed, her hand coming away from Y/N’s to wipe away some blue blood that was coming from her hairline.

“You’re hurt,” Connor commented. “Run a diagnostic.”

You shook your head in defiance. “It’s superficial, detective. No biocomponents were damaged.”

Hank entered the room, his steps heavy, determined, and oddly reassuring to the women on the bed. “Is everyone alright?”

“Thanks to Y/N,” Grace beamed at the seasoned detective.

Connor was quick to agree. “Y/N acted on the sole purpose of saving the life of…?”

“I’m Grace,” your charge informed the man and android.

“Ma’am,” Hank said, tipping his head. “Now, if you’re up for it, both of you, we would like to get a statement.”

You went to object, but Grace beat you to it. “We would be happy to, detective.”

“Are you sure?” you asked her, voice soft, reassuring.

“I’m not the injured one.” Her eyes drilled into yours with authority that you hadn’t seen for a while.

Clearing your throat, you stood up. “Gentlemen, if you’ll excuse us for a moment. I need to get Grace presentable.”

Ten minutes later, you were making Grace some tea. Hank was in the sitting room with Grace, getting a statement from her, which left Connor to retrieve yours.

“I was doing my evening chores when I heard something, a sound that didn’t belong.”

“Where were you at that time?” he asked, eyes drifting around the room.

You pointed to the bottle of cleaner and towel on the counter. “Right there. I was wiping down the counter. The noise came from there,” you offered, pointing toward the hallway.

“You hadn’t seen or heard anything before?” He wasn’t asking you out of judgement or to gage your reaction. He was a detective, it was his job to ask questions.

Shaking your head, you turned around to get the kettle before it screamed. “No, sir.”

“Please,” he chuckled. “Call me Connor.”

You said his name, and watched curiously as his LED light flickered yellow. “I called 911 and then -”

“Charged at the intruder,” Connor finished for you.

While finishing getting her tea the way Grace liked it, you commented, “You analyzed the scene.”

“It’s my job.” He moved to help you, but it was just a teacup.

“I got it, thank you.” Without waiting for him, you moved around the island and went into the sitting room.

Hank looked up as his partner entered the room. “Well, I think we got all we need.”

Grace murmured her thanks after taking a sip of her tea. “Will there be any further inquiries?” she asked Hank.

“I don’t think so,” was his gruff answer. Not because he was upset, but because he used to drink and smoke himself into a stupor.

“What about the mess out front? Am I able to clean it?” you wanted to know.

Connor was the one to answer you. “I’ll need a sample of his blood first.”

You led him out to the front door where you watched as he bent down and dipped his finger in the intruder’s blood. Connor brought his finger to his lips and ‘tasted’ the blood; an android’s version of taking a sample.

“Hank,” Connor called out.

“You got somethin’?” he asked as he emerged from the sitting room.

You took a step closer to the android detective. “What is it, Connor?”

“Perpetrator’s name is Vincent Cruz,” was Connor’s answer.

Hank ran a hand through his grey hair. “He’s got a file. Good, that’s good.”

“We should get back to the station. You need to see something,” Connor announced, LED light blinking from yellow to blue.

“You will let us know if there is anything we can do,” Grace’s melodic voice drifted through the entryway.

Hank dipped his head once again. “Will do, ma’am.”

“Thank you for all of your help,” Connor said with a warm smile.

You ushered them out of the house with a quiet, “Thank you.” You reset the alarm and set about cleaning up the blood.

TWO

Everything: @captain-rogers-beard @stevieang​ @sunriserose1023​​ @feelmyroarrrr​ @moderapoppins​ @nomadstevergxrs​ @slytherin-in-hufflepuff-robes​ @fatalcrossbow​ @phoenixwench​ @cattfeine​ @jbarnes87​ @shynara51​ @kanupps06​​ @girl-next-door-writes​ @palaiasaurus64​​ @supermarvelbrivalentine5sos​ @mcdanno71​ @female-accountant​ @badassbaker​​ @mittenskittie​ @icysquares​ @jobean12-blog​ @bella-ca​ @brieannakeogh​ @jamesbarnesappreciationsociety​​ @breezy1415​​ @titty-teetee​​ @speakinvain​​ @diinofayce​​ @pebblesz892​​ @thatgirl-xx-thatgirl​​​ @iwillwakeherinthemorning​ @redqueen1221​ @brittyevans​​ @prettybubblesintheair​ @unlikelygalaxygiver​​ @andiyholly​​ @everythingisoverrated​ @akamaiden​ @glitterquadricorn​ @carls1022​ @marvelellie​ @neeadinghugs​ @minahraven​ @gigistorm​ @sea040561 @universal-death-of-a-fangirl​ @tinyfistwarrior​ @coal000​ @capsheadquaters​​ @sebstanwintersoldier27​ @denise1605 @brastrangled​ @xtina2191 @buckysothiccbarnes​ @jessica-bones-winchester @iamthemaskhewears @wheresthekillswitch @chonisberonica​ @tsukuyomi011​ @roonyxx​ @doewhisper-of-windclan

Flawed Design: @itsyaboijozach​ @no1-is-typing​ @kennysspace​ @multifandomgirlrandomstuff​ @supermoonpanda​