Some False Truth || Connor x Reader D:BH

9 | Death's Door

My fears ran through my lungs,
And my eyes only saw gold.
My room's where my throat hung
And my fingers turned purple.
Connor

DNA samples, stale coffee grounds and a grouchy Lieutenant greeted Connor at work the next morning. Hank was cracking sex jokes under his breath to lighten his own mood, chuckling that Connor was meant to 'watch over the girl, not sleep with her.' Hank was of course referring to the way he looked as he stepped into the office after surveying the (L/N) household.

Considering he foolishly fell into sleep mode in his work clothes, Connor was sporting his white, wrinkled formal shirt rolled to his sleeves. His hair dropped to one side, cascading waves taking over it. He'd been fiddling around with new features on his model now that he was free of Cyberlife's confined expectations of his appearance. According to Hank, it looked like much more than bed head.

Connor had been making less and less of an attempt to keep up his incredibly formal demeanour ever since the fall of his robotic nature. The signs were starting to become noticeable, from the way he talked to his sloppy attitude towards preparing for the very case he was working. It was as if his deviation gave him an unwanted human emotion – laziness. He was slacking off, and part of it was starting to make him feel bad. But he found it easy to brush off most of the time.

His train of thought was interrupted by another perverted comment from Hank. He looked over, clearly unimpressed.

"For the last time, I did not-"

"Well fuck me, here comes Jeffrey looking pissed as ever."

He was right. Connor looked over his shoulder to see the Captain storming his way through the bullpen. If death had a melody, it'd go to the rhythm of Fowler's footsteps. He was definitely angry about something and judging by the way he gave the two detectives a look as he made his way to his office it had something to do with their case. With one last statement he shut his office door harshly.

"Andersons! My office. Ten minutes."

The two looked at each other.

"You got any clue as to how we fucked up?" Hank asked.

"I didn't think we were doing that bad. The lab tests came in today, I thought he'd be neutral at best, but not angry."

"Well, we got 9 minutes to un-fuck ourselves, unlike you with-

"If you don't stop that your disciplinary folder's going to look like War and Peace."

Hank scoffed another laugh, giving Connor a pat on the back. "Fine, fine I'll leave you be. Suppose you'd better make use of those last 8 minutes before we get the chopping block."

Connor nodded, no longer leaning against the lieutenant's desk to return to his own.

Another humane change was Connor's desk. After Hank softened up, he offered the spare desk for the 'plastic-asshole' to take permanently. Connor showed his personality through the way his desk was laid out. A small porcelain statue of a Saint Bernard that he got from Hank as a moving in gift. Several post-it notes of self-affirmations he'd been teaching himself.

Besides his responsible, independent exterior Connor got quite insecure and anxious. Knee bouncing was a new habit now, along with rolling his coin over his knuckles repeatedly. These sticky notes of 'emotions aren't a bad thing' and 'you're feeling because you're living' were helping to smoothen his transition that had started several months ago.

One of his proudest knick-knacks was his old LED. After deviating against Cyberlife to explore his own emotions, Connor pried the flashing ring from his head. It was liberating in a way, freeing himself from the shackles he was prisoner to for so long. He could make his own choices now, and to celebrate this he had a specialised case made to keep his old LED safe for display. Hank insisted they remove the light on Connor's 'birthday' – AKA his activation day. Part of him felt relieved, but he was also anxious. Looking at the old emblem of his mind prison as it sat on his desk, he was scared to even think of what might've happened if he stayed a machine.