Detroit: Become Human - Connor RK800 One Shots

#13 Reverie

So, it's been a couple of months since I posted so I felt like I had to dump in another filler chapter. I know, I'm pretty slack on updating at the moment, a lot has gone on since the last update. And I mean A LOT. I'm not going to get into it but that's basically why I'm lacking motivation and brain cells. But, I wrote this a little while back on my phone late at night. And yes, it's more angst so prepare yourself. I was inspired by the pin above and I just had to write about it. I haven't really developed his lover as such so it's gender neutral pronouns and isn't so marked out and elaborate as the others, so I'm just making sure that's clear and all good with yous. It is a little short snippet but I'm hoping to pull on more heartstrings here because I thrive like this somehow.

And with that rant over, I bid you good day/night wherever you are. Millions of hugs and kisses,

~ bee xoxo

Oct. 27th, 2063 - 14:42 PM

Another wasted afternoon on the couch, another day passing by like the last. Indeed, Connor was comfortable here but wasn't really doing anything productive. He was content with the little life he had made for himself; a wonderful partner, a stable job and a home of his own. This is where his world was, his safe place, his humble abode that he earned for himself. He couldn't have asked for more as the times changed.

Humans had been co-existing with androids as an equal race for twenty-five years now and Connor finally wasn't in the thick of it. He had resigned from his investigation work at the DPD a few years after the successful peaceful protests for android's equal rights. Markus also gave up his position after feeling all his work was complete, that everything they fought for, they now had. Connor didn't blame any politician for doing what Markus did, it took a lot of guts to announce his resignation on live TV and frankly, Connor would be unable to stand up there for a minute without nerves or stage fright kicking in. It reminded him too much of the trauma that Amanda had put him through before escaping her control. Those memories still made him sick to the stomach and gave him shivers down his spine, even when the house was sound asleep.

Yet somehow, he missed the old days. He missed his acquaintances and his friends that he had made along the way. He missed Gavin's stubborn attitude, he missed Fowler's cold stare, he missed Markus' leadership, he missed Chloe's sweet smile, he missed Sumo's soft fur; more importantly, he missed Hank. He cried sometimes at night, just thinking about it. Hank was Connor's father figure, his guide to becoming human, his partner, his best friend and he lost it all to ill health. Did he feel pain? Did he suffer considerably? Did he feel guilt for not being there when Hank needed him the most? Why couldn't he have gotten himself a pair of balls and faced his worst fear, faced the nightmare he so desperately wanted to wake from? It was torment, how it consumed all emotion some days, how it made his heart so cold. Venom, poison, acid, it was hard to differentiate between the emotional effects this significant passing had on him. The utter useless feeling that had laced his tears appeared too often to count. He had grieved excessively, even when he said that he was alright and at peace. He lied to his lover on multiple occasions and it was another internal stab in the process. He had shut out the ones he loved because the ache was always prominent inside him. Connor thought many times over that maybe this is what Hank felt after losing Cole, this never ending rotation of pain that only gets more ruthless as it circulates. Sitting on his couch thinking about it, made him nauseous. He hated himself for not being there, for being too afraid to face the inevitable. Now, he suffered the consequences.

His lover was lounging beside him, a head resting against his shoulder and hands firmly wrapped around a gaming device. He recognised that they were quite the gamer early into their relationship and Connor had some wild respect for them in that aspect. They always encouraged him to play with them, even though it wasn't really of his interest. If Connor was honest, he wasn't too interested or involved with much anymore. The one he loved kept his head above water, just enough to keep him alive. Connor lacked motivation, a hobby, a drive to do anything. He sugar-coated his awful state, making sure the love of his life was always top priority in their relationship, never his mental health. They did question him once or twice when his mood dropped drastically while they were making love and his body refused to move the way he wanted it to. It was so frustrating how even the smallest task required all his energy and attention to complete with success. Every day was either numbing or draining, never in between. Connor wisely assumed that this was another draining day, one prepared to flush his body from the small amount of energy he may have gained. He was mostly deflated at this time of the afternoon and almost didn't hear the voice of his partner phasing him out of his reverie. They asked him cheerfully if he wanted to choose a level on their quaint, adorable local co-operation game. He muttered a response, selecting the nearest one, optical units not as focused on the screen as it should be.

They played through the stage with ease, despite Connor's low concentration levels. Everything was so pitch black in his mind... he could feel himself slipping away again, into the abyss, away from the light. Immediately after that, his vision faded back, like he had seen every detail but wasn't entirely there. He became a master at spacing out, a skill that he developed a short period of time after Hank's passing. An echoing, enthused, shrill voice reeled him in once more, hearing the voice of his lover celebrate as they achieved a new record on the game. Continuously, they repeated the total score, bouncing in their seat. A delicate kiss was planted on his LED light, an action that Connor couldn't help but smile at, his mood remaining sombre. His lover made another excitable shriek, offering a closed fist to him and praising,

"Well done, Connor!" The words hit like bullets, each one marking a deep wound inside his heart. Connor's eyelids were plastered open, his lips split in a blatant expression. His fingers twitched and his hands trembled uncontrollably. He clenched his fist and held it up to his partner's, coming into contact with it. The touch instantly turned back the clock, to a time where Connor's father figure still breathed, walked, talked and joked. The flashback brought beads of water to the android's eyes, though they were left unshed.

"Thanks... Lieutenant." The words so easily fell from his lips, he hadn't the ability to prevent them even if he tried. His lover cocked an eyebrow, puzzled why they were just called a title they had never possessed in their lifetime. Connor didn't notice his smile plummeted but his partner did, causing them to ask,

"What's wrong?" It was beyond him, how their voice alone could be so therapeutic, on the brink of rendering his restless mind redundant. Connor's fist unravelled to grip his lover's closed hand in his slightly more open one.

"I'm fine." The soft, sober smile slowly resurfaced, thinking over again about the mannerism and the person so well connected to it. "It just reminds me of Lieutenant Anderson..." he admitted in a low tone, words trailing off and abandoning him for an eternity. "He would do the same thing when he was alive." Fortunately, Connor's lover knew a lot about Hank from the stories the android told before the death surrounding the subject. They knew how meaningful Hank's presence was in Connor's life but they hadn't asked about it since his death. They often blindly believed the 'I'm fine' excuse and moved on, estimating it would be okay sometime soon. Unlikely, as this mention of Hank was long after all the others, proving Connor was still drawing off his guilt and dwelling on his pain. They dropped the gaming device, their arms trapping Connor in a tight, warm embrace, head nuzzling into the android's shoulder.

"I'm sorry, Con', I didn't mean—"

"It's fine, don't worry about it." Connor cut them off, like he was used to but it still ached nonetheless. Neither of them moved a single bit as they cuddled, Connor's lover whispering amendments and comforts, in the hopes of trying to make him feel any better about it. Hank used to give the best hugs... he had to stop himself before he started up again, the thought triggering other old memories that he had kept in storage for years.

Minutes passed and these little moments in time, parts of his history, began flooding back without a filter. They sped across his interface so quickly, but he remembered it all. These surge of memories hit him, pursuing to break him. After so long, they did. And that's when he finally let tears fall, sliding down his cheeks so gracefully, light reflecting off the water; so impeccably beautiful, yet he was so unaware. A storm had started and now tears dripped onto his hands and jeans, a rhythmic pitter patter as they descended. Connor smeared the liquid on his hands onto his trousers, creating a blotchy wet smudged mess. He could relate to it, this inanimate image. He knew this is what he would be for a long time to come, a blotchy wet smudged mess. An emotional wreck that was irreparable. This, caused by a simple reverie.