Deviant Behavior (Connor x Reader)

Part II: Birds of a Feather

November 7th, 2038
AM 10:46:12

Keyboard clicks chimed under your fingers as they choreographed a dancing cursor.  You ignored the red, squiggling lines and the blue, paired bars as your words took to the screen.  You were struggling enough to keep up with your thoughts.  Editing would come later.

You'd been at it for hours.  Frantically recording what you and Connor had pieced together – a report that just might prove you were coherent enough to go back to work.  A last-ditch effort to get Fowler to change his mind about your suspension.

You stopped.

You recalled your hesitation to pull the trigger.  Not in regret, obviously – shooting Connor would have been devastating.  But the flashbacks that'd occurred beforehand...

You'd seen a few officers fall victim to early-warning signs of PTSD, but as time went on, they got worse.  They'd ignored the patterns, the advice of their friends; and left untreated, they became mentally unstable or exhibited suicidal tendencies.

You huffed under your breath.

You didn't take the shot because it was Connor, the most naïve Detective in Detroit.  You wouldn't freeze up like that in a real firefight.

No, you were fine.

"There," Connor clapped his hands, standing across the living room, "All done."

You turned in your seat, finding a restored bookcase filled to the brim with your prized possessions.

He looked over his shoulder, "In alphabetical order, of course."

"Thanks." The corner of your mouth pulled into a grin, "You didn't have to-"

You jumped as a knock came at your door.  Your brows creased, staring it down.  Connor's eyes narrowed, his face locked on target.

You sighed, your arm flexing as you began to push yourself up.

Connor held out a hand, and you halted, "I'll get it."

You cocked your head, lowering back into your seat.

"Know something I don't?"

"No..." He looked as if he, too, was untrusting as he navigated around the couches on either side of the coffee table, "You need to limit your physical activity."

He pressed his hands against the door, peering through the peephole.

"It is a delivery android...have you ordered something recently?"

"No, I haven't." You took a sip of your freshly-brewed coffee, chuckling into the rising steam, "You're awfully suspicious today, aren't you?"

"I am suspicious every day.  This android could be a deviant."

"Or...someone else sent me something."

"Hmph...Likely story..."

The knob twisted, and he ripped the door open.  His arm barred the entrance, his fingers curled around the edge.

"State your business."

You withheld a laugh, leaning to get a better view of the other android.

"Hello.  I have a delivery for-" He said your name.

"She has not ordered anything, recently.  What is your function?"

"I am a delivery android."

"State your model."

"Model WD500, serial number 335 448 851."

"Hm..." The back of Connor's head dipped, "Very well."