Chapter Text
First impressions are very important for you and your RK900. He forms attachments very easily, and tends to imprint on the first human he has a prolonged interaction with. Being polite and receptive is advisable, as the RK900 is very sensitive to microexpressions and other physiological responses congruent with your mood. However, he has been noted to form positive relationships despite rocky first meetings, for reasons yet unknown.
And, whatever you do, do not get on his bad side.
Sometimes Gavin Reed wonders if the universe is out to get him.
Maybe he did something really fucking stupid in a past life; he’s no stranger to dumb shit, and, frankly, it’s rather believable that he caused the dissolution of the Mayan Empire or something like that.
Or, maybe, this is karma kicking his ass in his current life for setting Alissa Myers’ pigtails on fire in sixth grade—but, no, she totally deserved that. The week before, she had pushed him off the slide and broke his wrist.
(He’s still kind of proud of himself for setting the fire one-handed.)
Perhaps God or whatever deity that watches over him just really fucking hates him. It’s a fair assumption: he’s been basically screwed over from birth, starting with the doctor who had shouted it’s a girl and slapped the stupid little “F” on his birth certificate. Being tossed into the system at eight and bounced around from house to house—none were ever home— hadn’t fucking helped either, and he had the luck of being dumped into the same shithole as the Elijah Kamski, boy fucking genius and successful inventor.
(More successful than he’s ever been, more important and more worthy and more of a person than he’ll ever be. They always liked him better.)
Actually, screw God—or Jesus, or Buddha, or whatever. Kamski is definitely the source of every problem Gavin’s had, ever, and he has the flowchart to prove it.
Kamski enters his life. Kamski gets all of their attention and their praise. Kamski leaves him at sixteen to go study at some prissy college. Kamski invents androids. Androids fuck up his entire fucking life.
Well, he can’t really blame the androids. Yeah, okay, he knows he has a reputation. Gavin isn’t exactly lauded for being a progressive, ‘yeehaw, android rights!’ activist, and he’s never claimed to be. But he couldn’t deny—still can’t deny—that, as unsettling and scary as it was, androids were undoubtedly, painfully human. At first, it had hurt to admit; he was basically throwing his pride out of the window, and the idea that he’d been abusing someone who was as much of a person as he was (and, honestly, more than he’d ever be) fucking sucked. But, in a twisted way, he understood them. He’s never been a stranger to prejudice, and that was what really motivated him to go up to the RK800—Connor—and apologize on the first day the android had come back to work.
It was terrible and awkward and stuttered out; he could still remember the cold, distrusting glare that Anderson had greeted him with the minute he approached the pair, the open confusion on Connor’s face as he stumbled through his apology, the almost derisive way Anderson had looked him in the eye and said you’re kidding, right? It hurt. It fucking sucked. But it was honestly what he deserved for being a massive dick, and he considers himself lucky that Connor had even heard him out at all.
But the android had smiled at him— smiled— and accepted his pathetic little ‘sorry.’
It’s scary, how kind Connor is to him, like he thinks Gavin is anywhere near as good as he is, like Gavin is anyone to look at and say, you’re worth my time. He doesn’t deserve the patience, the acceptance, the forgiveness that the android gives him without a thought.
Gavin is certain: the universe’s final middle finger to him is making him deal with the guilt of just being around Connor. The guy’s a ray of fucking sunshine, and it highlights all of his flaws and weaknesses. Connor is bright and friendly and optimistic; he’s dull and grouchy and stopped looking forward to the future years ago. People want him around, and Gavin understands why. He can’t even be mad at the android, because it’s not his fault. It’s never Connor’s fault. It’s all on him for being a terrible fucking person, and yeah, that sucks, but he can live with it. On average, he probably has forty years left—thirty, if he picks up a drinking habit, which seems really tempting right now—and he can deal for forty years. He can totally do that.
Yeah, no, the universe is definitely fucking with him, and he’s not gonna make it past the next forty minutes at this rate, he realizes when Anderson drops a thick book on his desk with a loud thunk.
“What the fuck— you scared the shit outta me, you prick!”
“It’s for you,” the lieutenant shrugs while Gavin cusses him out—ahem, inquires about it. “Dunno what it’s for, but Connor said you should take a look.”
That gets his attention—maybe it has something to do with the case they’re working—and he takes a good look at the cover.
The Care and Keeping Of Your RK900, by Elijah Kamski, PhD
(and, in neat, handwritten cursive, added post-printing: Elijah, you do not have a PhD in anything. - Chloe RT600)
(and then , scribbled underneath, Don’t ruin this for me, Chlo. Also, Gavin! This is for you, baby bro!, followed by what might be an anime winky face and several lopsided hearts.)
Oh no.
Oh hell no.
This has gotta be some kinda sick joke. That bitch—he wouldn’t. There’s no way in hell that this is anything to be worried about. There’s no way in hell this is going to be relevant to anything in his life, ever, he is not gonna deal with whatever the hell a RK900 is, and this is just a dumb prank Kamski’s playing on him. Connor and Anderson are probably in on it too. Maybe they’re recording it for Kamski, and they’re just trying to get a reaction out of him that he refuses to dignify. Oh, hell no, he is not falling for this shit.
And then, Connor steps out of Fowler’s office with himself but a hunk, and Gavin straight-up dies.
His soul ascends to heaven—surprising, but not unwelcome. He walks through the tunnel of light, hears the whispers of his ancestors before him; he sees the pearly gates, golden and beautiful, bathed in the soft, warm sunlight; he sees his pet hamster from middle school. Oh, poor Hammy. She was taken from this world too soon (in an unfortunate incident that may or may not have involved an attempt to breed radioactive rodents to get hamster powers.) It brings him comfort to know that she’s at peace. It’s what she deserves.
He hears God speaking to him.
Gavin...Gavin, it’s not your time...Gavin...
“...Gavin? Gavin!”
Is he on the floor? He blinks, and he’s flooded with harsh white light almost immediately. He can see the gum under a desk—his desk—from here, and that’s so fucking gross, what the fuck, he didn’t put it there, and, hey, didn’t the DPD pay someone to clean that shit up? A shadow blocks the light suddenly, and he starts a little. Connor leans over him, warm brown eyes wide with concern and light-blinky-thing swirling yellow, and he’s waving a hand over his face.
“You fell and hit your head,” the android explains, worry evident in his tone as he helps Gavin up. He stumbles a little, catching himself on a desk chair. “Are you alright?”
Gavin squeezes his eyes shut, so tight he sees the floaty-things in his vision, then opens them again. Nope, Connor-but-a-hunk is still there—and now that he’s getting a better look at this prick, he realizes that they might be more of a twunk than a hunk. Their face still mirrors Connor’s, so much so that it’s creepy, and both androids have a distinctly soft face. They’ve got a slightly hunk-ier build; their jawline might be a little sharper, and, damn, it’s sure nice to look at, but that’s not nearly enough to drag them out of twink territory. Twink-itory? Twink-tory?
Damn, he must’ve hit his head hard.
“Fucking peachy,” he mumbles, head still spinning; he’s in deep shit if he sounds even half as dazed as he feels. “You there—” he points at Twunk-Connor (Twunk-nor?), and the android starts a little, cocking their head and appraising him with baby blues. “You got booze on you?” They blink, LED flashing yellow as Connor groans, burying his face in his hands.
“This is RK900, Gavin,” he sighs, looking at the detective like he’s an idiot, and Gavin chokes on air. He doubles over, hacking violently—fuck, Kamski was serious?— as the…’RK900’ makes a distressed noise, somewhere between a gasp and an adorably R2D2-like beep. “He’s going to work here in the homicide division. I do believe,” Connor says over the sound of him dying, looking far less concerned and far more annoyed, “that Elijah Kamski did give you the appropriate...warning.” Wheezing, he flips the android off, wiping a stray tear away and glaring at him.
(But not with the kind of heat his gaze used to pack. It’s never really angry anymore, like they’re both in on some shitty joke, like it’s banter between friends.)
“I would not suggest consuming alcohol so soon after a possible head injury,” the RK900 finally speaks up, his glorified mood ring spinning yellow. Gavin nearly chokes on his spit again; he even sounds like Connor. It’s at the very bottom of the uncanny valley, and it brought a fucking jackhammer. The android continues before he can unscramble his brains, “I am RK900, and I will be assisting you in detective work.” Gavin stares blankly; he notes this and clarifies. “My understanding is that we are to be partners. It is a pleasure to meet you.”
The RK900 sticks out his hand, and it takes a moment for Gavin to register he’s trying to shake his hand. Snorting, he waves it away. The android visibly deflates, his brows drawing close together, and he frowns, his hand hovering in the air for a long moment before it drops back down to his side.
“Gavin Reed,” the detective grumbles in lieu of an introduction, a weird nausea settling in his stomach. He pushes it down, schooling his expression into something less pathetically stressed and more angry. He always defaults to angry. It’s so much easier than feeling things, really feeling things and he knows damn well that he makes himself unapproachable and douchey this way. But right now, he’s so wrapped up in his own stupid, stupid shit brain that he can’t bring himself to care.
The anxiety itself isn’t anything new, but its source is, and that scares him. He’s fine with androids: he’s fine with working with them, speaking to them, hell, even befriending them. But an android partner is pushing it. He’s a living being, as much as he really doesn’t want to be right now, and there’s no way he’s gonna be able to keep up with this RK900. The android’s gotta be a part of Connor’s line—a more advanced model—and Gavin knows that he doesn’t hold a candle to his predecessor.
In short, he’s absolutely fucking scared of this prick, and it’s not just because he looks like he could snap Gavin in half without batting an eyelash.
(And he totally looks like he could do that.)
(Which is lowkey hot.)
“I look forward to working with you,” the RK900 says, still looking a little put out from Gavin’s less-than-stellar attitude, but he offers a stiff, overly toothy smile that reveals rows of sharp canines. And that, Gavin thinks, is both terrifying and kind of arousing at the same time.
He needs to get the fuck outta there before he does something stupid, like starting a fight on the spot or bursting into tears or dropping his pants and begging the RK900 to eat him out there on the spot. Yeah, okay, he’s feeling a lot of...conflicted emotions.
“Move, I gotta go," he grumbles, "official police business). He shoves past the pair of androids in the direction of the rarely-used archive rooms, trying to take a moment to just catch his breath and get his mind back on track. He’s paired up with an android. He’s paired up with an android— an RK900 who seems to be the worst deviant to ever...well, deviate, who is painfully awkward and stiff, who has the sharpest teeth he’s ever seen, and Gavin thinks he’s gonna need that manual real soon.
“I like him.” He hears the RK900 speak to Connor; the android doesn’t even bother to lower his voice. The RK800 groans, and that’s definitely audible. “I do admit he seems volatile, but...I like him. I want to keep him, Connor.”
Yeah, the universe is definitely out to get him.