Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It’s a very well known fact at the Detroit Police Department that you don’t mess with Richard Kyle ‘R.K.’ Nines. You only have to remember the first April Fools he spent at the office.

It’s a forbidden subject even to this day.

Hank (an old, old KL900 model they adopted for whatever reason) had inquired about it the day he deviated.

“Has your brother always got a stick up his ass?” he’d asked Connor.

“Um,” Connor had said. 

R.K.’s used to hearing those kinds of comments. Why do you care so much about your career? You sure you don’t want to drink with us? Distractions, R.K. calls them. He’d rather be productive. He’d rather prove his worth in this increasingly convenient world. 

So when Fowler paired him with the very essence he’s trying to compete against, R.K. nearly pops his lip biting back his dissent.

R.K. isn’t a popular guy. Distinct, but not popular. Not like Connor is. Yet the news that he’s getting a partner, an android no less makes him the subject of gossip. R.K. likes being acknowledged but not like this, in a way that gets him compared to Connor and his own grandpa android partner.

“No offense,” R.K. says belatedly to Hank.

“None taken, punk,” the grandpa says. He and Connor have him cornered in the break room, the latter looking torn between pride and concern.

“You really don’t know anything else? Not even their name?”

“Well.” Fowler had told him it was a model GJ500, a private security specialist, but other than that… R.K. allows a scowl. “He said the partnership would be for our mutual benefit. That is, between this android and me.”

Hank snorts. “I can see why.” At R.K.’s unimpressed look, he says, “What? It fucking is. Besides Connor and me, you hardly interact with anyone. You insist on working your cases alone, you do everything by yourself, and don’t get me started on your—“

“My what,” R.K. says, daring him to go on.

Hank doesn’t, the barest hint of annoyance flashing in his LED. The man can’t help it, R.K. supposes. KL900 models are practically psychiatrists, and it’s just his luck that Hank can read him despite how hard he tries to school his expressions. (Despite how hard he tried to back then, when Hank was still a tactless tin man.)

Connor looks between them like he’s missed an inside joke. “What? Hank, what were you going to say?”

“Nothing. Your brother likes you just the way you are.”

On any other person, the sentence may have come off as left field, but Connor takes it without question. “Oh. That’s good. I like the way you are too,” he says to R.K., smiling that winnable smile.

It’s interesting how, despite Connor’s amazing deduction skills, things can still go over his head. Though it’s happening less and less the more time he spends with Hank.

R.K. nods, mulling.

You insist on working your cases alone, you do everything by yourself, and don’t get me started on your—

Two words rise unbidden in his mind. R.K. clicks his tongue.

Ridiculous. How is working with an android supposed to help him with that?

R.K. squints at the email Fowler sent him. It’s a file on his to-be partner.

To prepare you, the Captain had written. R.K. doesn’t know why that sounds ominous.

Skimming the file, R.K. becomes more and more apprehensive of this android. Apparently, it’d been a custom-designed GJ500 that acted as a bodyguard for a renowned mobster couple. Interrogators couldn’t find anything else, not even through a direct interface with another android since the GJ500 could firewall its memory banks. The only reason they’d succeeded the barest minimum was because they stressed it so much.

That’s another thing the file noted. Prone to outbursts. Interesting, since GJ500 ‘droids lacked social protocols.

The thought makes him groan.

“Look at that. A fucking stalker,” comes a voice over his shoulder.

R.K. swivels around. He’s met with a scruffy middle-aged man, brown hair greasy and eyes a mocking grey. R.K.’s never seen him before, but judging from the other man’s appearance, he probably would’ve met him in a jail cell.

“Can I help you?” he asks anyway.

The man scrunches his nose. Looks R.K. up and down, as if he’s a skinned rat. “Fuck my life,” he mutters.

“Is something the matter?”

“Shut up; let’s just get this over with. Where’s your Captain?”

R.K. purses his lips. “I think it’d be fairly obvious that a man of his rank would be in that room,” he snarks, pointing at the glass cube. “You’re welcome,” he adds smiling, if only to aggravate the man further.

“Fuck my life,” the man repeats. R.K. turns away, thinking the conversation’s done when a finger jabs his temple. “What’re you still sitting on your ass for? Come on! Christ, you things are fucking slow.”

Normally R.K. would tough out the verbal assault until there was boredom on both sides. But something about this man and his incessant jabbing to his head just rubs him the wrong way.

“Excuse me,” R.K. says.

“What?!”

Swivelling quickly, R.K. punches the guy in the gut. His fist registers more pain then he expected, but it’s nothing compared to the man’s curses as he sinks to the floor.

“You fuck—!” His voice penetrates the air, loud enough to make every cop in the room look. R.K. pretends like he hadn’t done anything, though that plan’s foiled the minute Connor approaches.

“I can explain,” R.K. says. 

“Holy shit,” he hears Hank say. The old android marches over, glances down at the still-cursing man before looking at R.K. with something like pity.

R.K. doesn’t understand until Fowler storms out of his office.

“I did not agree to this so you two can punch each other’s shit in my precinct! You’re partners now! Get your shit together!” 

“I didn’t even deck him!” his partner argues.

“Really now,” R.K. says, poking GJ500 on the temple, escalating his efforts until the man—the android—slaps his hand away with a snarl.

“Enough,” Fowler snaps, voice reverberating around the glass walls. “Nines, I don’t care what your reason is, you don’t fucking assault an android on these premises! And definitely not the one who’ll be your goddamn partner!” 

R.K. tries to be calm. “Sir, he was being rude. I just assumed he’d been taken in for questioning.”

GJ500 scoffs. “Great detective work there, Nines. I can already tell what a useless sack you’ll be on the field.”

R.K. grinds his teeth. So much for calm. “How was I supposed to know? You don’t have your LED, not to mention how—“

“What?” GJ500 interrupts, daring him to go on. 

How deviant you are, R.K.’s mind finishes. “Your lack of social protocols,” he instead says, resuming a neutral tone. “It would explain your vulgar personality and lack of vocabulary.”

“I can speak fine, you arrogant prick!”

R.K. looks pointedly at Fowler.

Surprisingly, the Captain takes the hint. “Reed,” Fowler snaps, making the android tense. “Look, I know you’ve got your temper, and trust me I would’ve paired you with Miller if he wasn’t doing fine. But let me get this straight—you are on a trial period. You make one wrong move and I can have CyberLife take your sorry ass away. You want to be a detective?”

GJ500 nods stiffly. “Good,” Fowler says. “Detective Nines will show you the ropes. You can help him on the Flowers case and anything else that comes his way. Don’t make me drag you two into my office again. Else it’ll be an hour in the escape room.”

“The what now,” GJ500 blurts. 

“You’re dismissed,” Fowler shoos.

“Your desk is here,” R.K. points, once they’re in the bullpen. “I assume you’ve been given guest log in details and the like, so you should have access to the Flowers case.”

“Right,” GJ500 says, sitting on his office chair. He takes in his new space, pulling drawers and never once looking at his terminal. “Hey, when do I get my own plaque?” 

“Your what?”

“Plaque. That fucking ornamental tablet that says my name on my desk. Did you think I meant the disgusting shit in your teeth?”

“I brush my teeth fine,” R.K. says calmly. All the more to bite your head off, he thinks. “I’m sure you’ll get one after you officially become a detective. You are on a trial period.” 

“Don’t remind me,” GJ500 mutters.

“You should play nice,” R.K. says. “After all, I’m the one evaluating you.”

That’s not actually true, but R.K. figures it might as well be. He and GJ500 may be partners, but it’s the latter who has the most at stake here.

It’s the reason why R.K. is playing along (for now). Not out of sympathy, no—more out of relief that GJ500 isn’t here because of privilege, despite what the android himself thinks.

So far, GJ500 hasn’t proven himself one bit. He’s vulgar, combative and untrained in police work. There’s no way an android of his model and attitude could be a detective.

Yet R.K. still has to endure.

He tries small talk. “Why Gavin Reed?”

GJ500 scowls. “What kind of question is that?” 

“I’m curious. Did your owners give you that name?”

“None of your business. Just call me my name from now on, you sack of shit.”

“Nines,” R.K. corrects. “If we’re going to be partners, Reed, let’s at least try to be professional.”

GJ500—Reed, sneers. “Says the one who punched me first.”

R.K. bites back a retort. So much for small talk. A small part of him is disappointed; after all, the file Fowler sent left much to the imagination. He’s somewhat curious on how Reed deviated so… naturally. Enough to make R.K. mistake him for an ordinary human.

Must be the lack of social protocols. It can be easier to start from a blank slate.

It must be part of why Connor’s so successful. He’s already made his mark; now it’s R.K.’s turn to convert a grumpy android into a self-respecting colleague. If he fails to even live up to his brother’s example…

No—he won’t fail. He’ll prove his worth to Fowler. He’ll… he’ll make this work.

First, Reed has to prove himself worthy. Whether R.K. will end up respecting the android is another matter.

The Flowers case is simple: the victim is Monica Flowers, human, who lived alone in a modest apartment. She’d been shot in the head by what R.K. suspects is an android.

He’d only started the case yesterday and was going through persons of interest before Fowler hit him with the partner news. R.K. thought it would be good for Reed to see the crime scene himself, regardless of the body already being moved.

“What are your skills?” R.K. asks as he drives them to the crime scene.

“You mean in general?” Reed asks stupidly. 

“No, I mean those suited to this work. Take Hank, my brother’s own android partner. Being a KL900, he’s good at judging emotion, which helps in negotiations and interrogations.” R.K. glances at him. “You on the other hand worked as a bodyguard. Were you equipped with special protocols?”

“Course I was! I could take on a tank if I fucking wanted.”

“How about a TR400?”

From the corner of his eye, he sees Reed instantly sour. “They thought about replacing me with one of them. Like I didn’t carry their stupid asses through everything…”

“So you know how to use a gun,” R.K. prods. “I also assume you have the physical and analytical capabilities to fight, defend and protect. I already know you can block access to your memory banks, which is an interesting feature. I’m just wondering how these can apply in an investigative setting.”

Reed turns away. “Fucking stalker,” he mutters. Instead of elaborating on his skills, he says, “You and that Connor guy are human twins, aren’t you?”

“Great detective work, Reed,” R.K. says dryly.

“Shut up! I’m just saying—I thought you were androids at first. If you hadn’t been stalking me on your screen, I would’ve gone to the other guy.”

R.K. pauses. “What makes you say that?”

“Dunno. He seemed…” Reed starts making inane hand gestures before giving up with a growl. “Fuck—I dunno! Some kinda presence. I can’t explain it.”

“Eloquent, you are,” R.K. deadpans. Reed punches him in the shoulder and nearly swerves them off the road.

They reach the apartment complex after a bout of hissing, parked just metres away from the holographic tape. Exiting the car, Reed cocks his head.

“Hey Nick.”

“Nines.”

“Whatever. Look, I’ll spell it out before you get any ideas.” Reed raises his chin to meet the taller man’s gaze, voice dropping to a hiss. “I’m not in charge of protecting you, you got it? You’re not my owner. You’re just a prick I’m stuck with.”

R.K. studies him coolly, taking note of the android’s mercury eyes and synthetic stubble.

“Noted. I won’t take advantage of your core objective protocol.”

Reed gawks. “How did you—“ He stops, shaking his head and stomping away. “Goddamn stalker…”

“I didn’t read that about you,” R.K. clarifies as they duck under the tapes. “I only deduced it based on your words and what you are. As an aspiring detective, you too should practice deduction.” 

Reed snorts. “That’s rich, coming from the sack who didn’t even recognise me the first time we met! What, file didn’t come with a picture?”

R.K. bites back a retort. “You should be pleased that I passed you off as human.”

“Humans are horseshit. Like I’d integrate with them.”

They step into the apartment, R.K. leading them to the crime scene. “You and our culprit may have that in common,” he snarks.

“No prints?”

“None besides Flowers’,” R.K. says as Reed looks around the dead woman’s bedroom.

“No wonder you think an android did it. What else?”

R.K. raises a brow. “You read my notes. Besides, I can evaluate you better if you make your own firsthand deductions.”

Reed guffaws. “Alright, you sack. Victim died here,” he says, pointing at the taped outline on the floor.

“How did you know?” R.K. says with faux surprise.

The android flicks him off. “The human was shot standing up. Clean shot straight to the forehead. Minimal blood spatter. No signs of a struggle. No tampered lock. No gun left behind.”

“What does that tell you?” 

“Killer wasn’t stupid,” Reed says. He squints between the taped outline and the bedroom’s only window. “They knew what they wanted and didn’t hesitate.”

R.K. accepts that, pulling out a notepad. “Here’s the list of persons of interests. Three months ago, Flowers contested a parent’s will against her brother Tim Jenkins, who lives three miles from here. She won, so he could’ve held a grudge. From what I gained last night, Flowers wasn’t a very nice woman, often starting altercations. One of her neighbours could have acted; a few live with or live alone as androids.”

R.K. actually planned to question the residents more intensively today. Whoever the culprit was, they had to have been invited in by Flowers. 11 PM is her estimated time of death; that’s when the gunshot was heard. Takeaway containers were found in the trash, and her state of undress, from what R.K. saw, indicated she was changing into something more comfortable. She might’ve invited someone over. But why go out with a woman you’re planning to kill?

R.K. puts that thought on hold. He needs more information. “Come on,” he says, heading for the door.

He’s annoyed when Reed doesn’t follow. The brunette android stands over the taped outline, brows furrowed, and R.K. has the feeling that if Reed had an LED, it would be spinning yellow.

“Reed,” R.K. says.

No answer.

“GJ500,” he tries.

No answer. R.K. jabs the android on the temple.

“The fuck?!” Reed finally responds, pushing the detective away. “Don’t sneak up on me like that! Fucking creep sack of shit…!”

“You weren’t answering.” 

“I was trying to solve this case, smartass.” Reed’s annoyance suddenly gives way to mirth. “Do me solid. Stand over here. Right here.”

R.K. narrows his eyes but obliges. He moves to the middle of the room when Reed decks his forehead.

Pain registers first. Anger second, and R.K.’s about to give Reed a piece of his mind when the android steps on his chest.

“Stay down and look!” Reed points insistently.

“Get your foot off me,” R.K. hisses.

“Look, you dipshit! You landed in the outline!” R.K. pulls at Reed’s pant leg to no avail. Reed sneers. “I knocked you down with a knuckle. Stop bitching—”

R.K. pulls out his gun and points it at Reed’s dick.

“If you even have one,” he says lowly.

Reed hastily gets off him. “Fuck,” he huffs. “Fuck, pfuck, phck!”

R.K. glides to his feet, peeved as he gingerly rubs his forehead. He has enough sense to give Reed a chance.

“Why did you do that? What… did you find?”

“Can’t believe I have to spell it out to you,” Reed scoffs. “Didn’t it occur to you how that human fell? Right in front of the fucking window? She probably opened it all the time, to stargaze or whatever.” When R.K. looks ready to use the gun, he snarls, “She died from a sniper shot. She stood right where I told you to, and she fell right where you landed on your ass. Clean shot.”

R.K. pinches the bridge of his nose. “You punched me to simulate your half-baked theory.”

“No prints, right? Doesn’t mean it was an android. Killer could’ve just, oh I don’t know, not stepped inside?”

R.K. reviews the evidence. He looks out the window—across the street is a flat, seemingly accessible rooftop.

He bites his lip.

“Let’s say you have a point,” he says. “How can you be sure your simulation is correct?” I didn’t know you could process bullet trajectories.

Reed bares his teeth. “You questioning me? Huh? Think you’re better than me just cuz you’re a hotshot detective, a human?”

“I don’t understand your aggression, Reed, considering that I’m giving your theory some merit.” R.K. towers over him, mouth set to a thin line. “If you want to be a detective, learn to have some respect. I’m sure your programming can learn something besides bad manners.”

Reed sneers. “Fuck you.”

“Original.” R.K. heads for the door. “Let’s go, we have people to question. Until we get the ballistics report, your theory is in the air.” 

“I’m right, I know I am,” Reed grumbles as they leave. “I’ll get my own plaque by the end of the week, you’ll see…”

“You’ll need to make up for your lack of social skills first,” R.K. says as they reach the first suspect’s apartment. 

“Says you,” Reed bites back. “Had me fooled once, could be fooling me now.”

“What?” R.K. asks impatiently, just as the door opens.

“I know why I would’ve gone to the other guy,” Reed says on the ride to Jenkins’ residence. 

“Who?” R.K. asks impatiently.

“Your brother, dipshit. I took one look at him and knew he wouldn’t be as much of a prick as you are.” 

“Really now.” 

“You walk with a stick in your ass. Like a newly-bought android.” Reed scoffs. “As soon as I get my thermal scanners working, I’ll be able to tell.”

“You have thermal scanners?” R.K. blurts.

“Fuck yeah, I do! They glitch out a lot but that’s normal with my eyes. That’s where my cool shit comes from.” Reed’s grin is surprisingly nice, the corners of his eyes crinkling. R.K. averts his gaze.

“Did your owners request that feature?” he says experimentally.

Reed shrugs. “They wanted a walking surveillance system. Upgrades came later… was cheaper than replacing me with a TR400.” 

“I see.” R.K. decides not to push it. No matter how much he wants to suggest eyeglasses for Reed. That would be stupid—they aren’t human eyes, no matter how… deviant his partner is. 

He’s thankful that Reed is interesting enough to tolerate. R.K. has never met an android like him. Begrudgingly, he admits that Reed’s skills could help him be a detective, if not a great one…

Still. His attitude is a problem, much less his inexperience. They already had a difficult time questioning Flowers’ neighbours because his partner tried to ‘smoke their alibis out’.

For all his deviancy offers, Reed lacks humility and respect. R.K. can show him the ropes but he isn’t responsible for teaching the android basic social skills. That’s not his problem.

“You walk with a stick in your ass. Like a newly-bought android.”

R.K. huffs. Ridiculous. He sees Reed glance over but, like most grievances in his life, R.K. ignores him.

They stop for lunch at a nice café. Reed lounges like a bored cat as R.K. tucks into his sandwich, the silence between them a comfortable strain.

R.K. has never been one for small talk. It’s worse with strangers he’s not interested in, and even strangers lose their novelty once he gets to know them. Still, he has questions for Reed: for who the ‘droid used to be, what he’s capable of, why he wants to be a detective. R.K. could ask him outright but it’s likely the android wouldn’t cooperate.

You just want to know the threat, a part of him says. It sounds like Hank. R.K. scowls into his drink.

“What’s it like?” 

“Hm?” He looks up to Reed squinting. 

“Caffeine, water, 2-Ethylphenol, quinic acid, putrescine, trigonelline… sucrose.” Reed leans forward. “What’s it taste? Coffee?”

You can chemically break down substances? R.K. runs his tongue along the inside of his teeth. “Bitter.”

“What’s that like?” 

R.K. blinks. “Why do you want to know?” 

Reed tenses. “The fuck does it matter? Mind your own business!”

R.K. drinks his irritation away.

Reed insists driving the rest of the way. R.K. doesn’t see the harm in it until he realises that they’re in a cop car, and by then it’s too late.

“Slow down,” he grits out as a holographic speed sign blinks red. He’s about to force Reed to pull over when he catches the android’s face.

Elation. Pure, manic elation as they speed down a near empty road. The grin is back full force, laughter bubbling out of Reed’s (synthetic) throat.

“At least justify it,” R.K. huffs, turning on the sirens.

Despite his near-death experience, R.K. is glad that Reed stays in a good mood. Though knowing the android for as long as he has, that could change in an instant.

They stand before Jenkins’ humble house, the man having once shared with his ex-wife before she moved out. R.K. glances at the well-kept front yard and the woman tending to it.

“Android,” he murmurs to Reed.

“No shit, Sherlock.” Reed mockingly taps his temple where his LED should be. R.K. debates decking him in the forehead when the woman glides to her feet.

“You must be the police!” When R.K. shows her his badge, she lets them in through the gate. “My name is Lia, Tim’s fiancee. He’s inside right now sorting Monica’s funeral. Come in, come in!”

As she ushers them inside the house, R.K. can’t help but ask. “I’m sorry, you’re Mr. Jenkin’s fiancee?”

“Damn. Excuse him for being an insensitive ass,” Reed says.

Lia tilts her head. Without warning, she brings a hand to Reed’s cheek, making the other flinch.

She gasps. “You’re not human!”

Reed backs away, scowl already forming. “I-I’m sorry,” Lia says, LED flashing yellow before returning to blue. “Please, sit down! I’ll bring Tim over.”

“Deviancy didn’t teach her personal space,” Reed grumbles as they wait on the living room sofa. “What about you, Nate?”

“Nines.”

“Whatever. Do I seem human to you?”

R.K. gives him a once over. “I’d say so. From what I read, you’ve been deviant before the revolution march even began. You had enough time to develop your micro-expressions and speech patterns.”

“My what now?”

“Body language,” R.K. simplifies. “There’s also the fact that you have a… distinct personality.”

Reed crosses his arms but, judging from his micro-expressions, he isn’t irritated. There’s a furrow to the android’s brow, the one true indicator that he’s thinking, processing, as he side-eyes R.K.

“Fuck,” he mutters, rubbing his eyes.

R.K. realises something. “You’re sponsored by CyberLife. You shouldn’t have a problem with your sight.”

“I don’t need to be babied by that fucking company," Reed barks.

“That ‘fucking company’ allowed you to trial at the DPD,” R.K. points out. “I’m sure they’ll be more than happy to repair your optical units.

Reed scowls. “On the other hand, you can get eyeglasses,” R.K. ventures.

Lia and Tim Jenkins round the corner of their open-plan house. Reed relaxes by R.K.’s side as the detective gives his condolences, notepad in hand.

It’s not until he’s mid-questioning that Reed interrupts. “You don’t happen to own a sniper rifle, do you?” he asks.

The human-android couple look perplexed. R.K. sighs.

In the end, Lia and Tim are unlikely suspects. Lia was the reason Flowers contested the will, apparently out of resentment for her brother. Since Jenkins refused to treat Lia as property, the matter was quickly settled, yet after new android laws passed, the case was made void. If anything, it was Flowers who had the grudge. 

“Look smartass, I don’t need the backstory,” Reed says. “We know they were both in bed the night Flowers died, and we know I’m definitely right about the sniper.” 

“I’ll concede on the first part,” R.K. says, since Lia consented to her memory being probed. “The second part is still up in the air. Reports from the lab should be on my desk as soon as we arrive.”

“I’m telling you, that’s what happened!”

“A capable detective needs evidence to support their claims,” R.K. firmly says. “It’s best to remember that, Reed, before you get ahead of yourself.” 

“Arrogant prick,” the android scoffs. 

“Says you,” R.K. fires back.

“Ha! You’re just pissed I got one over you. You know,” Reed says joyfully, folding his arms behind his head, “I have a confession to make. See, I stalked you too. Even have the files right here.” He taps to his temple.

“2034, you took down an illegal gambling ring. Two disciplinary strikes for going off the cuff! But you,” he clicks his tongue, “you learned your lesson.

“It’s too bad you got cold feet on that Casey-Gangria case.” He makes punching motions in the air. “If only you’d just been quicker!

“And Lyle Warner—what an asshole. What’d he do again, poison a patient? Or euthanize them? Now that was a controversial arrest.”

R.K. stomps the brake and swerves them to the kerb, jolting them in their seats. He means to have a civil conversation, he does, but that all goes out the window when he processes the goddamned smirk on Reed’s face.

“Damn,” the android whispers, and R.K. sucks in a breath.

“Alright. I admit it. I’ve made mistakes. But, over the years, I’ve tried to rectify them. I’ve only become a better, more efficient detective by learning from my mistakes.” R.K. jabs a finger at Reed’s chest. “I’m not an arrogant prick like you are, GJ500. I constantly work to improve myself, to close cases as fast as I receive them. Perhaps that’s why the Captain paired you with me,” R.K. says lowly. “So I can teach you a lesson.”

The purring engine is the only sound filling the silence. R.K. doesn’t know what he must look like—he already regrets losing his patience to Reed’s obvious bait, no matter how hard he’s tried to be goddamned professional in spite of the android’s infuriating volatility.

To think it fell apart because of his pride.

“Wow,” Reed says.

“What?” R.K. asks impatiently for the nth time that day. 

“Wow,” the android repeats, flicking the detective on the nose. “Congratulations, Neil. You’re now a deviant.”

“Nines.”

Reed guffaws. “You’re better like this. All messed up and whiny, no stick in your ass. It’s a good look on you.”

Shoulders slumped, R.K. lets out an explosive breath.

Fucking deviant.

Chapter Text

R.K. composes himself when they enter the building. It’s harder than he thought, what with Reed being in an annoyingly good mood.

“Don’t do that.”

“What?”

“Hum,” R.K. says.

“Hands, touching hands,” Reed practically croons. “Reaching out,” he goes to harshly pinch R.K.’s cheek, “touching me, touching you~" 

He hums the rest, the crescendo to the song trailing away as Reed swaggers past reception, leaving R.K. in a state of mild shock.

“We need to talk,” he says to Hank.

The KL900 doesn’t even flinch. “Can’t you see I’m busy here?”

“You can multitask,” R.K. says simply, watching Connor try his hand at intimidation.

Hank pries his eyes from the interrogation. “It’s about that GJ500, right? Gavin Reed? Knew he’d be a piece of work.”

“He’s… volatile. One minute he’s angry, or smug, or sulking. Or humming Sweet Caroline under his breath.” Hank sniggers, and R.K. turns his head. “What’s so funny?”

“You haven’t been this flustered since April Fools.”

R.K. crosses his arms. “Reed’s behaviour goes beyond deviancy, Hank. If I’m going to work with him, I need to know how to handle him.”

“So you’re tattling to me like a fucking kid?”

“Do you know what’s wrong with him or not?”

Hank stops smiling. “R.K., nothing’s wrong with him. He’s just… confused. Trying to find who he is in all this. Like you are.”

“I know who I am,” R.K. says.

“Sure,” Hank says, as Connor collects the suspect’s confession, “if you say so.”

Reed is jostling with Person when R.K. returns. They’re not subtle about it; once Fowler catches wind, he breaks up the fight and calls them to his office.

“What happened?” R.K. asks Chen.

“Hell if I know. Think Sally was talking about the Morozovs.”

“Morozovs,” R.K. murmurs, glancing at the Captain’s office. Reed’s body language is incredibly telling—he looks like a feral dog being verbally beaten. “They were Reed’s owners. I think he hates them.”

“Doesn’t give that plastic prick the right to take it out on Sally.” Chen catches his look and huffs. “I know, I know, I can’t say that. But the ‘droid’s still a prick. I saw the way he shoved you.” 

“He’s more unstable than most,” R.K. agrees.

Chen nods. “I bet he’ll be gone before the end of the week. Equal rights, yeah? No leniency for dick humans, no leniency for dick androids.” A beat. “Though android dick is still alright. Rubber’s already rolled out, you know?”

“Right,” R.K. says, feeling out of his element.

“So you’d know,” Chen says. It sounds like a question, but R.K. takes it as rhetorical. He sees her dither, probably on whether to invite him for drinks tonight, but she ends up going back to her work.

It’s moments like those that make R.K. wonder about his social life. He’s not disliked amongst his colleagues, just… distanced.

He thinks of Monica Flowers, of her own isolated existence. She never had close friends or anyone who could say something significant about her, save for her brother and his fiancée. She had, quite simply, existed in a void.

Messages in his inbox bring him back to reality. R.K. straightens as he opens up the intensive forensics report. Only one thing catches his eye.

…

Monica Flowers: scene of crime – Areas 1, 2 & 3

Fingerprints: traces of Red Ice – 33% concentration

No other traces in Areas

… Huh. R.K. searches the autopsy report:

…

LABORATORY DATA:

Drug Screen Results: PENDING

Figures. He’s certain that the toxicology report will match his suspicions, though he wonders if Flowers’ tendency to Red Ice means anything.

His forehead pulses with pain. Teeth grit, R.K. checks the ballistics report:

Cross-referencing Autopsy Report MONICA FLOWERS

…

EVIDENCE COLLECTED:

One (1) bullet, .30 calibre military cartridge

Trajectory angle: 9 degrees elevated-depressive

Distance: Minimum 9.08 meters, Maximum 15.3 meters

Direction: 0 degrees (0.2 approximation) front body profile

OPINION:

Immediate Cause of Death: Damage to the prefrontal cortex due to penetrative bullet.

Manner of Death: Homicide

Remarks: .30 calibre military cartridges are common amongst U.S. military rifles (Intensive ballistics crosschecking is still pending).

“Richard? Are you alright? Hank told me you were having trouble with your new partner,” Connor’s voice floats behind him. “Richard?”

“I need coffee,” R.K. says weakly.

“Is it so bad that he’s right?”

“You don’t understand. Throughout this day, I’ve been lecturing him on humility and respect. Admitting that he was right despite how unprofessionally he came to those conclusions is—!“ Swallowing, R.K. lets his bitter coffee speak for himself.

And Hank. Hank always manages to read his mind. “I can see how this is a problem. A bloated ego means a bigger asshole,” he says, nodding to himself.

Connor’s eyes glint. “Hank, you can talk to him. You’re always saying you need a challenge.”

“Fuck no! I’d rather analyse from a distance!”

R.K. sighs. “Either way, I don’t have a choice. We still have a culprit to catch, and with no strong leads, Reed and I don’t have time to bicker.”

“Hank didn’t take too kindly to me when we first met,” Connor says sympathetically. “I’m sure it’s only a matter of time. Perhaps you can try the escape room?”

“No,” R.K. deadpans.

“It worked for us,” Connor says with a smile that makes Hank cringe. R.K. would know; his brother practically bullied the KL900 with polite words and a fistfight.

R.K. could definitely do the same towards Reed, though with less politeness and more of whatever could make Reed cow into submission.

He’s on a trial period, R.K. recalls. He wants to be a detective, yet he’s acting so unprofessionally?

Maybe it’s the only way he knows how to act.

The thought lingers when R.K. returns to his desk, Reed languidly spinning in his office chair. “You sure like your coffee,” the android says in that observationally friendly way. Fowler must’ve done a number on him. The scowl seems permanent, though.

R.K. wastes no time. He emails the reports before striding to the entrance, not bothering to wait for Reed to process the evidence.

When the android catches up, he has the widest smirk on his face. Damn.

“I told you.”

“That you did,” R.K. says evenly.

“Ha, and you said I was wrong. Now who’s the bitch?”

R.K. feels a migraine coming. “Let’s reconstruct the crime with the new evidence. We know Flowers was in her bedroom, and that she was standing when shot.

Reed snickers. “You forgot she was facing the window. She definitely saw the sniper right before getting murked.”

“Bullet did penetrate her forehead.” R.K. suddenly stops.

“Wait, where the fuck are we going?” Reed stops beside him. “Hey prick, you ignoring me now?”

“Neighbours heard a gunshot,” the detective says absently. “A shot from a sniper rifle, at that distance, with a rationally-equipped silencer… shouldn’t have made a noise.

“Flowers’ time of death was around 11 PM, the same time neighbours heard the gunshot,” R.K. says before Reed can get a word in edgewise. “Or a gunshot. That noise could have been used to lure Flowers to open the window.”

Reed scrunches his nose. “You’re kidding, right? Who opens a window after hearing a gunshot?”

R.K. barely conceals his scowl. “Point taken…” A beat. “Though it’s better than your ridiculous stargazing theory.”

“Fuck off!”

“I’m not wrong though,” R.K. says, towering over his partner, daring him to challenge. “There was a gunshot, or a noise that sounded like one. Our killer is either an amateur or a cocky merc.”

Reed doesn’t back down. “Who cares how the asshole wets their barrel? You’re getting caught up in the details!”

R.K. leans closer. “Do you know who the culprit is?”

“No—“

“Then we keep investigating.” He walks away, Reed squawking behind him. 

“Hold on! Don’t I get thanks for my super deduction? Where the fuck are you going?!”

“The rooftop across Flowers’ bedroom. We might find clues there.”

They buckle into R.K.’s personal car, Reed looking none too pleased. “Be fucking quicker to check CCTV,” he grumbles, digging his back in the passenger seat.

It’s a good point. R.K. can’t bring himself to say it.

“Do you ever have fun?”

R.K. doesn’t know what he’s getting at. The stale air inside must be clogging the ‘droid’s biocomponents. “I enjoy a puzzle every now and then,” he says.

Reed squints from where he’s watching the surveillance feed on three screens. “What’s that?”

“A jigsaw puzzle. Have you not heard of those?”

“No.” Reed sniffs. “Sounds dumb anyway.”

R.K. is at a loss. He watches as Reed rises to his feet with the simulated motions of back pain, stretching and bending despite not needing to. It looks… forced.

“Hey,” Reed says, pointing to his scruffy face, “eyes up here.”

R.K. wants to throttle him.

As it turns out, there was a figure that entered the alleyway from where the pair accessed the surveillance, carrying a duffel bag. “They must’ve have taken the fire exit,” R.K. says as they clamber upstairs.

“Stick in the ass,” Reed mutters back. “You either talk about work or don’t talk at all.”

“We’re investigating. What’s wrong with you all of a sudden?”

“Wrong? I’m fine as a fucking fiddle!”

“You sang Sweet Caroline to me,” R.K. says disbelievingly.

Reed snorts. “Right. You should’ve seen your fucking face.” You’re better like this. All messed up and whiny, no stick in your ass.

“You must be a sadist,” R.K. mutters, wrenching open the door to the rooftop. The stars are peeking out, the sky a warm indigo; he’ll go into overtime again.

“Probably got that from my…” Reed doesn’t continue, instead finding Flowers’ bedroom window from across the street. “Perfect vantage. This here is definitely the spot.”

R.K. cups his chin. “The killer was smart enough to leave as little evidence as possible… yet they didn’t equip a silencer.”

Reed scoffs. “Not everyone can plan a perfect crime like you. Humans are dumb shit.”

“Perhaps the killer wanted us to hear the gunshot, so we would think the altercation happened in the bedroom.”

“Wow, a killer covering their tracks? Whoop-de-fucking do!”

R.K. shakes his head. “We need to look at this from another angle. Not who the culprit is, but why they would go to such an effort to kill Flowers this way. Crimes involving firearms typically involve handguns, not sniper rifles. Not unless it’s organised…” 

“Alright. Fine. Maybe the victim pissed off the wrong crowd.”

“There were traces of Red Ice in her fingerprints all over her apartment. No tangible evidence of the drug.”

Reed crosses his arms. “Toxicology report hasn’t come back yet.”

“It’s still enough of a lead.”

“Fuckton of dealers in Detroit,” Reed points out as they head downstairs. They stew in silence, R.K. nodding silently to the AP400 landlord as they cross the street. The holographic tapes are gone now. Flowers’ death a whisper in the wind. Streetlight flickers from where they slide into the car.

Reed looks smug enough to be twirling a moustache.

“Don’t be cocky. I would’ve come to the same conclusion once I read those reports,” R.K. says.

“Face it. You don’t trust me,” Reed taunts. “You’re the smartass loner who doesn’t want anyone else to jerk his own shit.”

“You’re the smartass android who wants to be human.” 

The air grows cold.

“What’d you say to me?” Reed hisses.

“I didn’t say,” R.K. replies. “I deduced.”

The back of his head hits the window immediately. Reed is fisting his collar, teeth bared and eyes blown into slits.

“You think you’re so fucking great? You’re not. I never want to become like you arrogant sacks of shit. Think you can just create us to do your dirty work? Ha!” Reed knuckles his jugular. “Fucking pathetic.”

R.K. instantly drives his arm against his throat. He pushes Reed against the passenger seat, grip firm and blue stare unwavering.

“Do you know what’s pathetic about this, Reed?” R.K. says lowly. “Even if you weren’t an android, or a deviant, or a human, I wouldn’t respect you. You don’t seem to realise that respect is earned, not entitled to.

“I don’t care if humanity has been enslaving androids. I don’t,” R.K. punctuates, remembering Chen’s words. “What matters is that we are equal now, which means mutual respect.”

“Pfuck you!”

“What are your skills?” R.K. pushes harder. “Tell me.”

He feels the android’s Adam’s apple bob. “Surveillance,” Reed says. “Got eyes like a scope. Thermal scanners. Forensics shit. Can firewall my memory. Archive weapons.”

“… You have remarkable capabilities,” R.K. says honestly, and the shock on Reed’s face almost makes it worth it. “But, that doesn’t make you, as the kids would say, ‘hot shit’. You’re an intern. You’re my intern. I like to think that I’ve proven myself to be a role model worthy of your respect.”

Reed squawks. “And I haven’t?”

“No,” R.K. retorts, jabbing him on the temple, “no, you haven’t.”

He lets go then, the android quickly scrambling out of his grasp. “You may have the skills to be a detective, Reed,” R.K. says as he starts the car. “But you don’t have the manners of a respectable living being.”

To rub salt to the wound, he asks Reed where he lives, and the android’s sullen silence doesn’t bog down R.K. in the least. In fact, he feels much, much better.

They’re enduring moderate traffic, radio on, when Neil Diamond suddenly lilts.

R.K. doesn’t usually hum.

“Prick,” Reed hisses.

“Hands, touching hands,” R.K. sings softly. “Reaching out,” he goes to poke Reed in the temple, “touching me, touching you~”

“Fuck,” Reed slaps him away, looking horrified. “Fucking weird to see you in a good mood." 

“Is it not a good look on me?”

Reed doesn’t answer. He actually looks uncomfortable, like he’s out of his element.

Maybe it’s the only way he knows how to act.

They reach the android’s apartment complex. “Goodnight, Reed,” R.K. says, watching him falter mid-exit.

Reed’s voice is uncharacteristically even. “About what you said... I’ll work with you,” he says.

“What?”

“I said, Nigel, that I’ll work with you.”

“Nines.”

“Nines,” Reed agrees, and it throws R.K. for a loop. Then the android faces him, lips curled, eyes gleaming like wolf in the night. 

“I’ll play nice, Nines. I’ll follow your role model example until I become another you, but better, faster,” his voice lowers, “stronger.” Reed winks, clicking his tongue. “I’ll be the robocop you’re always trying to be. And you are gonna fucking hate yourself.”

He leaves then, waving a mocking goodbye. R.K. flushes as his fingers tighten over the steering wheel, the stiffness to his shoulders returning.

You just want to know the threat.

Ruefully, he smiles. Of course. How could he think any different? Deviancy may have introduced some problems but the fact is, androids are better. If R.K. can’t compete, he’ll be left behind. 

This isn’t like Connor’s situation with Hank. Reed is too unstable, too socialised into the criminal network he undoubtedly worked in under the Morozovs.

Viciousness is the only thing the android knows, and R.K. will be damned if he can’t match that.

Chapter Text

Monica Flowers was involved with Red Ice. She wasn’t a user, judging from the state of her apartment, but she had come into contact with it. Possibly recently. Enough to incite her death. 

A thud snaps him from his thoughts. R.K. looks up to Reed’s calculated smile, the android sliding a mug of coffee towards him.

R.K. doesn’t touch it.

Reed sits in his chair and goes about his work, like he isn’t trying hard to be a tryhard.

R.K. has to ask.

“I got you coffee.” Reed adds innocuously, “Dipshit.”

R.K. doesn’t touch it.

They’re scanning the archives when Connor comes over, Hank a large shadow. “Good morning,” he greets, somewhat warily. “Richard, why do you have so many mugs of coffee…?”

“I made it for him,” Reed says.

Connor blinks. “That’s nice of you.”

“Yeah. He won’t drink it though. Breaks my fucking heart.” 

“You couldn’t stop at one?” Hank questions. 

Reed throws his arms open. “My kindness knows no bounds.”

“Thanks for sending the files,” R.K. says as evenly as he can to Connor. “This case turned out to be deeper than I thought. I won’t be surprised if, by the end of it, we don’t just arrest Flowers’ killer.”

“About that,” Connor says, and shit. “Don’t you think you should reassign the case to us? Hank and I specialise in Red Ice homicides. We would be better equipped to follow your lead.”

“It’s fine,” R.K. mumbles.

“Jesus. You didn’t give Fowler a report, did you,” Hank questions. That’s all he ever seems to do, whether it’s about someone’s mental state or philosophical musings on shitty human nature. 

“I must’ve forgotten.”

“You never forget,” Connor says, frowning.

Hank claps R.K. on the shoulder. “We’ll have it handled, punk. Something’s bound to come along, as fucking depressing as that would be. We’ll talk to Fowler for you.”

R.K. bites the inside of his cheek. Hank and Connor leave, and he sees Reed grin at him from the desk across.

“What?”

“This the uh, example I should be following? Being a petty motherfucker?”

“It’s my case,” R.K. huffs. “Our case,” he corrects when he sees Reed’s face twist into—alright. “I don’t have to explain anything to you.”

“If you say so.” Reed stands up, pulls the sleeves of his jacket and heads for the exit. R.K. watches him with a sinking feeling in his gut.

He had resolved to match whatever Reed threw at him. R.K. tried to prepare last night by reading the abstract of a study: it concerned a deviant called Ralph who had manic tendencies. The cause, simply put, was intense emotional shock.

Being tortured by humans resulted in Ralph violently hating them. R.K. wonders if the same could be said of Reed.

He shakes his head. Surely Reed knows that not all humans are his owners. The android is only being a hypocrite through his bigotry. Hank would probably tell R.K. to be diplomatic, but he’s already decided to fight Reed on his own terms, manners be damned.

This the uh, example I should be following? Being a petty motherfucker?

“You already do a fine job as is,” R.K. mutters.

For the case to be reassigned, R.K. has to send the report. Unfortunately, he needs Reed’s signature on it, and the android is nowhere to be found.

“Have you seen a GJ500 pass by? Goes by the name Gavin Reed?” R.K. asks the reception.

“He checked out half an hour ago.”

“Do you know where he went?”

The ST300 hums. “I told him that if he wanted to go downtown, he should take a taxi.”

“Downtown,” R.K. intones, already getting an idea. “Thank you.”

“Detective?” the android—no, deviant calls out, her eyes glinting with amusement. “Mr. Reed also asked if there was CCTV in the precinct parking lot. Then he asked how much he would be fined if he stole a precinct car.”

R.K. nods stiffly.

Two minutes later, he stares at the empty parking space where his car should be.

“What are you doing?”

“Oh, hey! The stalker strikes again!” Reed snickers. “How’d you find me, anyway?”

They’re three blocks away from Flowers’ apartment, surrounded by passersby and cars. R.K. raises his phone where his tracking app blinks loud and clear.

“Ah,” Reed says. He’s leaning on R.K.’s car, pointer finger twirling imaginary keys. Must’ve hacked the dashboard.

“Reed, what are you doing,” R.K. repeats, using his height to intimidate the other. Try to, anyhow. Reed looks unimpressed.

“You’re in a pissy mood. I’m only trying to help with the case.”

“The case will be reassigned to my brother. I need you to sign the report.”

“Nope. Won’t do it.”

R.K. sets his jaw. “Sign it, Reed.”

“Come on, Nines! Did you become a good detective by giving up?” Reed jabs him in the chest. “Or did you power on despite what your asshole of a Captain said to you?”

“Don’t use my past mistakes against me,” R.K. says sharply.

“Alright, you prick. Guess I’m going to have to solve your case by myself.” With a calculated shrug, Reed saunters off.

Vicious manipulation, R.K.’s mind whispers. Don’t fall for it.

Don’t.

He doesn’t even register it—the way he slams Reed by the passenger door and slaps him with handcuffs.

“What the fuck—“ Reed blusters, as R.K. opens the door, as R.K. shoves him inside with nary a word.

“What the fuck,” Reed repeats, as R.K. raises a finger.

“The case is technically still mine. Ours. Shut up,” R.K. says, swallowing his regrets. “If everything goes south, I will blame your lack of cooperation.”

“Whatever, you fucking sack! Get these cuffs off me!”

R.K. strikes him in the jaw.

He shouldn’t have. But Reed’s eyes widen a fraction, mouth slightly agape as blue blooms across his chin. He looks more attentive than the detective has ever seen him.

Violence makes you listen? 

A knock on the window jolts them. On Reed’s side, a civilian looks concerned.

Reed pulls down his window. “What?”

The woman side-eyes R.K. “I saw what that officer did to you,” she says.

Reed pulls the window back up.

“I’ll also blame that on you,” R.K. says, fully expecting the woman to tattle. “Now, tell me in more detail: what were you doing?”

Reed looks like he’s swallowed a lemon. “Fuck you,” he says ritually before adding, “I was going through the CCTV in the area. Thought maybe someone was shadowing the victim.” 

“And?” 

“Nobody suspicious. The human had gone out the night before, like 7 PM? Came back 10 PM ish before getting murked. Probably pissed a gang.”

“We can probably retrace her steps,” R.K. says, starting the engine.

“You know,” Reed says, wriggling his bruised chin, “ever since you went deviant, you’ve become a lot less annoying to look at.”

“I am not an android,” R.K. says.

Reed squints at him.

“Hang on, gimme a second.” He huffs, “Fuck! They never work when I want them to!”

“Have you heard of emotional shock?”

Reed blinks. “Is it like being tased?”

R.K. looks at him like he’s grown a second head. “No. Emotional shock is trauma for androids, which can trigger their deviancy.” He signals to the right. “I was wondering what yours was.”

“None of your fucking business.”

R.K. frowns. Whether it’s because Reed is being uncooperative (no surprise there) or because he’s again curious about the android, he doesn’t know.

Still. Reed expects him to be a petty motherfucker—which is what he’ll get.

“They say emotional shock can determine a deviant’s personality after awakening. When Markus awoke, he was ingrained with a sense of justice. Hank was programmed with a wry sense of humour, but it only became naturally genuine after he deviated. Considering your personality, I imagine humans wronged you. Was it your owners?” 

“I said it’s none of your business.”

“I heard what you said,” R.K. replies. Braking before a stoplight, he points his gun to Reed’s temple.

Said android balks, enough to make R.K. falter. He’s about to pull away when he feels warm steel hit his cheek 

“Two can play this game, motherfucker,” Reed hisses, holding a gun that he definitely stole from someone in the DPD.

R.K. bites back the urge to reason with him. Instead he stares Reed down, even as the light turns green, even as cars angrily honk behind them.

Then Reed knocks both their guns away, stashing his before sulking in the other direction.

Feeling like he discovered something obvious, R.K. finally accelerates.

They reach their destination: an uninteresting alleyway in the middle of nowhere. It already seems suspicious.

“Stay behind me,” R.K. orders, the gun in his hand once more.

“No, I’m going first,” Reed argues.

“I’m going first,” R.K. orders.

Reed mockingly chuckles. “You read my file, stalker. You know who I am and what,” he says, decking R.K. in the face, “I can fucking do!”

Reed doesn’t smile for long, not when R.K. swipes his legs from under him. They tussle for a solid minute until R.K. straddles Reed with a vice grip, a hand pinning his wrists and the other circling his thirium pump regulator.

R.K. leans down. “As I said, I’m going—“ 

Reed headbutts him.

“I’m better than you,” the android sneers, shoving R.K. away. “Don’t fucking forget it.” 

R.K. wipes the blood from his nose. “Still bad-mannered,” he remarks, because he can. He should’ve pulled his gun on Reed. Should’ve been better.

They scurry along until they reach a wider alleyway. Noises resound. “One set of footsteps, moving back and forth—“

“Asshole’s putting crates in the trunk of a car,” Reed interrupts. R.K. wants to obliterate that smirk. “I’m gonna take a peek,” the android continues, and R.K. goes to stop him.

Except he’s carried by the momentum, and both of them catch a glimpse of the bulky asshole putting crates in the trunk of a car.

“Dammit,” R.K. says.

“Fuck, it’s him,” Reed says, and what? 

They exchange glances. Go back to their hiding spot and continue being confused. 

“Do you know him?” R.K. asks. 

“I mooched off him before the revolution, before I sold him out to the cops.” Reed furrows his brows. “Wait, do you know him?”

“I was there on scene,” R.K. says, baffled. “I cuffed him.” Before he managed to get away due to R.K.’s impatience. Fowler hadn’t been happy.

“Wow. What are the fucking chances… Speaking of cuffing that sack of shit, I’ll be the one doing that.” Reed pulls out handcuffs that he definitely also stole, and considering their tussle, R.K. knows Reed won’t hesitate.

So he stops him. “Don’t be presumptuous. We don’t know if Rodriguez is involved yet. I’ll approach him, and if he runs, he’s suspicious enough to potentially warrant arrest.”

Reed huffs, “You want to lower our probability of catching him through his fucking rights? Look Nines, the prick deserves to be in jail even if he didn’t kill that human!”

“Quiet,” R.K. whispers, pulling Reed into a headlock. He’s tempted to shove his gun up the android’s mouth, but covering it with his hand suffices. “You will approach him and I will sneak from behind,” he says. “No sudden movements. If he attacks, I will cover. Do you understand?”

R.K. tightens his grip and really, he doesn’t need him in a headlock. But violence makes Reed listen—and if there’s one thing R.K. can indulge him with, it’s that. 

R.K. feels Reed slump, though even as he lets him go, the android still seethes.

Despite their petty one-upmanship, they have a job to do.

“I never thought you’d see daylight again,” Reed starts.

“Jesus fuck,” Rodriguez wheezes. From where R.K. hides, he can see the silhouette of the man’s pistol.

“Woah—hey! I know I left you for dead but come on, you—what? Still live in your van? Most assholes prefer prison than that.”

“Don’t come any closer, you freak!” Reed halts, and Rodriguez steadies his aim. For a big guy, he’s rather jittery. Red Ice?

“I would’a shot you,” Rodriguez continues, as R.K. inches closer. “If I’d—I’d known what you were, I wouldn’t have taken you in. I should’a fucking realised—! You never ate—you didn’t let me see you bleed—!“

Reed snarls. “Don’t test me, you son of a bitch! You worked for a fucking maniac! Who’s it this time, huh? Red Ice dealers? Acetone, lithium, thorium, toleone, hydrochloric acid… and something. Hey—stand still, I’m trying to scan your ass!”

“Fuck off, you plastic!" 

R.K. is directly behind Rodriguez now, shadowed under the open trunk of his van… full with crates of firearms.

Reed licks his lips despite not needing to. “A woman died last night. Monica Flowers. She came this way.” He probes on. “You know who killed her, don’t you? What, she messed up, had to be offed?” Rodriguez shakes. “Bit the wrong dick, snorted too much? You know something Paolo, I know you fucking do! Tell me or I swear to that rA9 crap—!” 

Rodriguez fires. It was inevitable. Except he hits Reed in the shoulder before running for the van’s driver’s seat, and R.K. doesn’t know what to do for a split second.

He weighs the options. Chooses to hold Rodriguez at gunpoint and yell, “Freeze!”

Rodriguez whirls around. Red spatters his jeans. He yowls, crumpling to the floor.

R.K. turns to Reed.

The android waves his gun. “What, I can’t shoot him in the leg? He’s immobilised, you should thank me!” 

Indignation surges within R.K. “You stressed him out too much,” he points out, cuffing Rodriguez. “You could have died, Reed.”

“He ran. He’s suspicious.” Reed smiles that wolfish smile. “I fucking got your lead.”

R.K. nearly shoots him. But Rodriguez’s pained mumbling of fucking androids is enough to vicariously agree on. “Your arrogance continues to be irritating. What you did was reckless,” R.K. instead says.

“Oh, like how you’ve been acting today? Guess someone felt threatened.” Reed snickers. “Not that it hasn’t been entertaining. Who knew? Android detective had some balls after all.”

“It’s unfortunate you don’t have the anatomy to match.”

“You wanna try me, prick?”

“Go ahead. Rent us a room.” R.K. calls the precinct.

Paolo Rodriguez is currently detained in one of the precinct’s cells, leg bandaged and mouth shut. The evidence room is filled with the firearms found in his van, a topic Connor will surely bring up in the coming interrogation.

R.K. can’t attend, though. 

“You’re lucky I’m not suspending you,” Fowler says. “Hell, you’re lucky I’m letting you go with a goddamn smidge in your folder. This could’ve been much worse for you, Nines.”

“I know,” R.K. says.

“You know,” Fowler throws back at him, voice low, “I have a feeling you said that the last time I brought you in for misconduct.”

“Reed was… onto something. I found it worthwhile.” 

The Captain lets out an explosive breath. “Let me make this clear. I’m not mad because you chased down a lead. I’m mad because I was forwarded a call from a citizen who saw you deck Reed in the goddamned face!” 

R.K. stiffens. “Violence is the only language he speaks. He is unmanageable otherwise. Advising him to be respectful was a lost cause, so now I’m just keeping pace.”

Shaking his head, Fowler retakes his seat. “I knew you were never a pushover, just like Connor,” he says. “I also hoped that by partnering you with Reed, you could bring him around, like Connor did with Hank.”

“I know,” R.K. says, like a broken record.

“Good. I’m putting you two on a break,” Fowler says, jabbing a finger at him. “Reed will work with Chen for now. I’ve also asked Hank to talk to him, but from the looks of it that bastard hasn’t been making an effort. Dismissed.”

“Captain,” R.K. says, hand on the door, “can I ask you something? ... What made the DPD let a deviant as violent as Reed trial here?”

Fowler sighs. “He aided in crimes back then, but as an android following orders. Deviancy’s since screwed up the rulebook, so, this was the compromise—putting his skills to better use.” 

“It’s too bad about his attitude,” R.K. says.

“Well, he didn’t consent to being reset, so there’s that. I’ll say this though: he got shit done. Even if I have to file him for not asking CCTV permission first.”

It’s too bad about his attitude, R.K. nearly repeats. It’s true. He would’ve found Rodriguez much sooner if it hadn’t been for Reed’s outbursts. The android is a whiny, self-entitled asshole, so no wonder R.K. didn’t follow up on his observations.

You don’t trust me, Reed’s voice echoes. You’re the smartass loner who doesn’t want anyone else to jerk his own shit.

That’s fine with R.K. He’s always been more efficient on his own.

“Who crapped in your coffee?” Reed asks, when R.K. returns to his desk.

“You’re being reassigned to Chen for an indefinite period of time. Not that it saddens me.”

“Well damn,” Reed whistles. There’s a gleam in his eye. “Hey. Bet I can solve more cases than you.”

R.K. looks at him. “Quality over quantity, Reed.” 

“A good detective would settle for both, right? Good thing I have the equipment. ”

R.K. slides into his office chair. “I’d beat you by a milestone.”

Reed guffaws. R.K. wants nothing more than to throttle him.

(Damaging the deviant would at least give him an advantage.)