Like Fire and Powder

10. The Eyes of a Killer

For [he] had eyes and chose [her].

-- Shakespeare, Othello

〇〇〇

When you and Connor woke up, the morning forged ahead quickly -- and (seemingly) without your consent.

You were still trying to wrap your head around Monday's events and, well, the fact that you'd practically confessed to Connor last night. While you got your booties back on and fixed your hair, Connor checked himself out of the hospital and changed into a clean suit (a suit that the hospital had in storage for RK900 models).

The room was quiet as Connor changed in the joined bathroom, and you let your mind wander.

You . . . weren't sure you were mentally prepared to "explain" yourself.

Yeah, you wanted to know where you and Connor were in the relationship department. For all you knew, he could've interpreted last night as a grand gesture of friendship, which-- Well, you didn't not want to be friends with Connor. You just wanted more.

You shuddered and shook your head, standing up from his bed.

It was . . . weird, to say the least.

Allowing yourself to think so . . . boldly. It felt like you were revisiting an old part of yourself -- one that'd been more assertive, carefree, and innocent. Unapologetic.

That's a good way to describe it, you thought, nodding your head slowly. Unapologetic. Yeah. That's how I'll approach this whole thing.

This whole thing being . . ?

Well, Connor. And your life in general.

Just two minor things.

You mentally dispersed the beginnings of an existential crisis. Pacing slowly in front of the bed, you instead let your thoughts wander about the case. There were still so many things that needed to be done, and you just knew that Gavin and Nines needed a break from picking up your and Connor's slack. The more you thought about the case, and this so-called android "Rex," the less your life seemed like a problem.

A hand on your shoulder roused you from your thoughts.

You looked over said shoulder to see Connor adjusting his tie, and it made you smile.

"Your eyes don't look too puffy," Connor said, and you immediately felt embarrassed. His LED flickered yellow, and he must've caught on because he quickly waved a hand. "Uh . . . What I meant to say was that--"

"No, no," you said, waving your hand. "It's fine. I -- I didn't check them. I guess I should ice them a bit." You paused, tucking some hair behind your ears. "So . . . You know. The swelling goes down."

An awkward silence lengthened between the two of you until you finally had to say something. "I was just gonna get ready at my place--"

"You can get ready at mine," Connor said. You looked up to gauge his expression, but he just looked focused. "Besides, someone has to make sure you show up to work on time."

"Ha," you deadpanned, turning on your heel. Connor followed you out, and you checked the time on your phone, wanting to feel tired but not being able to. You'd gotten enough sleep over the last twenty-four hours that waking up at five in the morning was the least of your problems -- in fact, it wasn't a problem at all.

It'd probably been a blessing.

〇〇〇

Showering at Connor's house was interesting, to say the least. He'd insisted on you showering in the master bathroom so you'd have more space. "More space" was an understatement -- the master bath was huge.