Like Fire and Powder

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If you think the most courageous and difficult thing you can do is stubbornly stand your ground, try graciously giving in.

-- Richelle E. Goodrich, Slaying Dragons

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Monday, December 2, 2041

10:34 AM

You were late. Again.

You passed your favorite coffee shop, speed walking in your black jeans and semi-professional navy blouse, a matching cloth belt cinched around your waist. You hadn't even attempted with your outfit -- you'd had bigger things on your mind.

Like the fact that you'd run out of your meds and needed to order more. That your phone was dead -- but you knew you had a spare charger at work. Speaking of work, everyone at the office was probably worried sick about you -- what, with not being able to reach you and all, and it made you feel guilty.

You were biting on your bottom lip when you turned the corner, about to make your way down the main street to the precinct. You were only five minutes away, and you weren't paying attention because you were mulling over half-assed excuses you could use.

Someone running past you and bumping into you by accident roused you from your thoughts.

You looked up, about to glare at them, but what you saw at the end of the street, at the precinct, made you take pause. Now that you were paying attention, you could hear the helicopter over the precinct, could hear the nervous chatter and occasional shouting.

In the front of the precinct, cruisers were lined up. Tents were set up behind the cruisers, and there were groups of people, all handling equipment, moving around.

Hostage situation was your first thought.

You started running toward the precinct, clutching your crossbody purse in a death grip. When you got to the crowd gathered behind the electronic yellow tape, you pushed through, frantically searching for Connor, Gavin, and Nines. A police officer approached you and demanded to see your badge, but you realized you still hadn't gotten it back.

You were supposed to have gotten it back today.

You opened your mouth, unsure of what to say.

"Geez, don't you recognize her?" Gavin asked, slapping a hand on your shoulder. "She's been working here forever. Find somethin' else better to do."

The officer walked off, and you turned around to face Gavin. Nines approached you as well, his hands in the pockets of his charcoal gray peacoat. Neither of them looked happy.

"Why didn't you answer your phone?" Nines asked before Gavin could say anything. "We've been trying to reach you for hours."

"It died last night," you said lamely. "What's going on here? Where's Connor?"

The look Gavin and Nines shared made your stomach drop.

"He's inside the precinct?" You asked.

You were strangely calm, but you knew the anxiety would hit you sooner or later. Probably sooner rather than later.

"This isn't a regular hostage situation, (Y/n)," Nines said. "It's an android suicide bomber."

"Fan-fucking-tastic," you said. "Who's handling this? Where's Fowler? I-- I'm good at negotiating. Lemme talk to this guy."

"No, (Y/n) . . ." Gavin trailed off, brow furrowed. "It's our guy. The suspect." He wiped a hand over his face, avoiding your gaze. "Claims to be the killer, and . . . he said he wouldn't hurt anyone. He just wanted 'to talk to Connor.'"