Connor x reader one shots

RK900! Connor x Grieving! Reader

Plot: Connor, your detective android partner and your best friend, was killed. What made it even worst was he died saving you, and although he could easily be restored and remodelled Cyberlife announced that they wouldn't be making anymore RK800 but instead RK900. That means Connor can't be simply brought back to life, and you knew that. During your grief, you start isolating yourself from everyone (even Hank) and go into a stage of depression, much to everyone's worry. But, what if Connor can be brought back; the same personality and the same memories but not the originally RK800 model, but an RK900?

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Your POV
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I chug down another shot of whiskey, the burning feeling of the alcohol sliding down my throat slightly comforting. I never was alcoholic, in fact before he died I never touched a drop of liquor in my life, but I guess everything must change. Even if it's for the worst.

When he died, it was as if a part of me was taken with him.; The part that held all the happiness and joy in my life. And when Cyberlife released the news they wouldn't be continuing Connor's model anymore as they got a 'better' and 'more stable' prototype that was ready to be released. That meant no more Connor; no more happiness.

"Kid, you really need to stop ending up here. You going to get worse than me," A gruff, easily recognisable voice said, sliding into the bar stool next to me.

I just 'tch' while shaking my head, in denial. But, deep down I knew what he said is true, every minute of every hour the only thing on my mind was Connor and alcohol, as well as if I'll finally win the game if Russian rullet I play every day after my visits to the bar. I was truly becoming Hank, and although he never worked with Connor I know he held respect for the Android and was grieving too, even if it wasn't as extreme as me.

I signal for another shot from the bartender, but Hank puts down my hand with a frown and a sigh.

"I'm being serious, (Y/N). You need to stop drinking so much, you're slowly killing yourself," he says, staring me dead in the eyes.

I simply look away, rolling my eyes. 'That's the point you idiot,' I mentally say, but don't voice it.

"Thanks for the chat, Hank, but I'm going to go home now," I muttered, placing the amount I owe to the bartender in my place and sliding off the stool and out of the bar.

As I open the door and take step out, I hear Hank say "don't do anything stupid to yourself, kid," and I whisper "no promises,", not sure if he heard me or not, I quickly left with a slight slur in my steps from the alcohol I drank before Hank came.

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Small time skip
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I slam close the door to my apartment al shrug off my coat, sluggishly putting it on the coat hanger even though it soon falls off. 'Stupid broken hanger' I curse in my head before moving on, having the sudden need to use the bathroom. To vomit.

After I empty all of the previous food I had, which was a small sandwich as I've not been seeing the need to eat that often anymore, mixed with the whiskey, creating a lovely slush in the toilet bowl before I flush it. I spit the remains of the vomit in the sink before brushing my teeth, not liking the taste of vomit in my mouth. I mean, who does?

I watch at the froth from my toothpaste goes down the drain with the help of the tap, and think about how I got into this state.

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Flashback to the day of the incident
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I look over to my partner, Connor, in a mix of shock and fear. The deviant (who we have been chasing for weeks) had opened arms at anything and everything, somehow in possession of a gun. Everything suddenly goes quiet, no more bullets or the yells of the deviant. I peek my head above the coach which was conveniently flipped over in a form a barrier, to meet face to face with the crazed deviant. I yelp and full back, the deviant drawing back and walking around the coach, all while his gun is drawn and loaded,