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"Great job today, you two," Maldonaldo said, plucking the completed case files from John’s hand. "Take the rest of the night off. You’ve earned it."
John suppressed his grin until she was out of sight, then punched a short celebratory jab in the air and turned towards Dorian. “You on for sushi?”
Dorian blinked, looking up from where he’d been studying the floor between his feet. “What?”
John thought nothing of the dip in attention at the time. Upon later reflection, though, it occurred to him that it should have thrown up red flags at once. Dorian didn’t tune out like that.
It wasn’t until later that he finally noticed, cruising down the freeway when Dorian turned down the opportunity to choose the music.
John liked his music, he was proud of it, he defended his sound system with the determination and protectiveness of Paul and the donut machine at the precinct. It was a rare day when he felt gracious enough to grant Dorian permission to adjust the volume, much less change the stations, and usually his partner never failed to seize the chance.
"I’m good," Dorian had said this time, however, before turning his head to stare moodily out the window, and John had nearly slammed on the brakes and fishtailed around to make a beeline for Rudy’s.
He hadn’t brought it up then, thinking it was maybe just Dorian being….well, Dorian. It’d been a month now since they started working together, and he couldn’t honestly say that he knew Dorian inside-out. For a guy made of silicon and steel, he was more complicated than half the people John had ever associated with.
"Hey, man," he finally said one evening, in the seclusion of a shadowy corner in McQuaid’s. He was on his second beer, nothing notable yet, and Dorian sat across from him as usual, pondering the smeared surface of the table as if it held some incomprehensible cipher.
"Mmm?" Dorian looked up, his gaze strangely unfocused, and John scowled back out of complete reflex.
"You’ve been a bit….off, lately," he said warily, trying to force his face into a more appealing expression of concern and sincerity. Neither of which he excelled at, but he had to get some points for trying, he thought desperately.
"Have I?" Dorian reached forward and, before John could protest, picked up his half-empty glass and downed the rest of it in one gulp.
"Should you have done that?" John asked, once his mind had unfrozen enough to register Dorian setting the glass down calmly. He could hear Rudy already, fluttering like an angry moth in the corner of his mind about ruined hardware and months of recalibrations-
"Probably not," Dorian said bluntly. He still wasn’t making proper eye contact, and John realized abruptly that that was what had been bothering him above all else. Dorian always stared, regardless of who or what was around him. It was something John almost took for granted, but now….there was something weirdly discomforting about seeing Dorian’s gaze flit about, from the table to the ceiling to the wall, but never straight at John.
John shifted cautiously, eyeing the way Dorian’s fingers were still clenched around the empty glass, tapping the brim distractedly against the table. “Something wrong?”
"No." Clink. Clink.
"Clearly," John gestured pointedly, "something is."
The tapping stopped. “John, I’m perfectly fine.” Ah, there was some of the old Dorian back, and John blinked for a second when he realized that he actually did miss Dorian.
"Come on, man," John said quietly, and Dorian’s eyes flicked to his for a brief second before dropping.
Clink. Clink.
John made an irritated sound, leaning forward across the table and grabbing for Dorian’s hand. His fingers closed around the bot’s wrist, and Dorian froze instantly, the glass suspended mid-clink.
"Stop that," John snapped, and he wasn’t sure whether he meant the tapping or…or the rest of it. Judging by the way Dorian tilted his head, he wasn’t certain either.
"John, let go," Dorian said tersely, and that raised yet another alarm.
John frowned, puzzled, and didn’t let go. “Thought you liked it,” he said slowly, remembering the first time he’d unthinkingly reached out after a takedown to give his partner a handshake. He remembered the look on Dorian’s face, like a damn puppy getting a treat, and the way he’d clung on for longer than necessary until John had shook him off in annoyance and dragged him out for celebratory noodles.
"John." There was a note of warning in Dorian’s voice that John pretended he couldn’t hear.
"Look, I know I’m the last person to say this, but if there’s something wrong, you know you can tal-"
Dorian wrenched his hand away,with such force that John’s arm flew back, palm stinging. The glass clunked dully to the floor, miraculously remaining in one piece. John barely had time to open his mouth to bark an automatic reprimand before Dorian was standing abruptly, edging sideways out of the booth and taking off for the exit.
There was a drop of alcohol clinging to John’s thumb, and he stared at it dumbly for a second before biting out a low curse and sliding out of the tight booth himself, throwing down a credit chip and struggling into his jacket as he followed Dorian out.
He caught the edge of the door as it tried to swing shut and stormed out into the night in time to see Dorian disappearing around the corner of the street. It was starting to rain in thin sheets of drizzly mist that did little more than chill his face and hands, and he blinked moisture from his eyelashes angrily as he trotted down the pavement.
Damn bot. Damn temper tantrums.
He wheeled around the corner, ready to take off a dead sprint after Dorian- straight into a godforsaken alley, of all places. His partner was standing in front of him, staring at his blocked exit as if the brick wall had personally betrayed him by existing, and John reached out irritably to grab the back of his jacket.
“Hey," he injected all his annoyance into his growl, and if there was a little concern mixed it….well, it’d been a long night for the both of them.
Dorian didn’t turn around, but he didn’t pull away either or punch John in the face, so he took it as a good sign.
"What’s the matter with you?" John demanded, not loosing his grip. He was beginning to lose the feeling in his fingers from the cold, but he clung on doggedly.
"Let me go, John," Dorian said calmly, but he wasn’t calm at all. If John didn’t know better, he’d think he was staring at an MX right now. He twisted the fabric in his fist, and when Dorian didn’t move, John stepped closer instead and moved in front of him, shifting his grip to the android’s shoulder.
"What’s wrong?" he said, making a concerted effort to lower his voice. The misty rain had dampened his hair enough to plaster it to his head, a drop of cold water rolling slowly down his temple.
Dorian finally looked up at him, his mouth pulled tight in a distressed line, and John felt his stomach flip weirdly. He was an idiot to only notice this now. What kind of a partner-
"You ever wish I was human, John?"
John froze, incredulitydisbeliefshockwhat the hell- “What?”
"You ever look at me and think ‘if only he was flesh and bone and bled red’?" Dorian’s face was flickering quickly, a sure sign of how upset he was, and John wanted to both step away and, inexplicably, hang on tighter. He was way out of his depth here, with the whole mental breakdown thing. Stahl was the one that was good with feelings, hell even Maldonaldo, but he could barely handle himself, much less his partner’s problems-
Dorian’s hand moved, too fast for John to stop, and suddenly he was pushing away, walking backwards down the alley with John’s gun in his hand.
"What the hell are you doing?" John stepped forward, then halted instantly when Dorian raised the gun. He wasn’t pointing it at John, though, he was pointing it at himself, and hell if that didn’t terrify John more than anything else. “Dorian, don’t.”
"You want to know why all those DRNs ended themselves, John?"
"Dorian, don’t do this." John stretched out his hand, praying that Dorian’s finger wouldn’t twitch on the trigger. If he took a head shot like that, not even Rudy could put him back together. "Give me the gun."
"They weren’t good enough, John." Dorian’s expression twitched oddly, like he wanted to cry but had forgotten how. His face was wet with rain, but in the dim lighting….with that anguished look…John could almost think that they were tears instead.
"We can talk, think, feel, but we’re not human, John. We want to live and we don’t want to die, but we’ll live forever as long as we’re maintained. This.” He raised the muzzle of the gun to the side of his head, ignoring John’s spluttered, “Jesus Christ, Dorian!”
"This is what made them feel human at the end. Having the choice to die."
"Don’t you do it," John said, raising his voice to a half shout. "I swear to God, Dorian, I’m not letting you do this."
Dorian just looked at him, with those eyes that John could no longer pretend were completely inhuman, and John took a deep breath.
"I didn’t like you," he said bluntly, and Dorian flinched, nudging the gun closer to his temple. Shit. “No, stop that, hear me out,” John snapped, trying to restrain his mounting panic. “Just….just listen, all right? I didn’t like you at first, I won’t lie,” he continued.
"But you…you’re a good partner, Dorian. A good friend, even. And believe me, you’re better at being human than a lot of people." John could feel himself flushing under Dorian’s suddenly close scrutiny and resisted the urge to duck his head, ignoring the growing heat in his face and neck.
"You’re as real as it gets, Dorian. So don’t you ever say you’re not good enough, you hear?" The gun dropped slightly, and John took a step forward impulsively. Dorian didn’t stop him, and he took the last few strides forward to stand in front of the android. "You’re good enough for me," he said quietly, closing his hand tight around the gun. Dorian’s fingers were icy beneath his, but they warmed slightly at his touch and John tried for a small smile.
"You’re human enough for me," he continued, not knowing what else more he could do, and with a shudder, Dorian dropped the gun. John let it fall with a clatter, then staggered back a step as he found himself suddenly confronted with an armful of cold, wet android.
He felt Dorian’s face pressing hard against his shoulder, arms locked around his middle with bruising strength. “Hey,” John said weakly, raising a hand to pat clumsily at Dorian’s back. “You’re…you’re good, right?”
"I’m good," came the mumble from somewhere to his right.
Funny, John thought. He was standing in a dark grimy alley, the increasingly large raindrops soaking his collar and trickling into his boots, his ribs crushed by steel arms and his gun most likely clogged up with mud, and yet.
And yet he was perfectly content to hold still. “It’s okay,” he heard himself saying, just loud enough to feel the rumble between their two bodies. “It’s okay.”
"Don’t let me do that again," Dorian told him.
John closed his eyes, dropped his own head onto Dorian’s shoulder, and breathed. “I won’t.”