Chapter Text
Clack, clack, clack.
Connor swirls the oversized cotton swab inside the small bottle. The clear liquid soaked up by it is designed to clump up thirium and stop it from leaking any further. His left hand tilts Nines’ chin upwards while the other cautiously dabs the substance along his nostrils. It’s sufficient for now, but he still needs to see CyberLife for repairs later. The more pressing issue is… what on earth just happened.
Nines had to piece it together bit by agonizing bit, to understand where things went wrong. At first, the outburst seemed random, just another anomaly carrying Gavin’s fingerprints. Not likely, considering the recent development of their relationship, but also not entirely impossible, given his unstable personality. He might not be equipped with an extensive social relations module like Connor is, but he’s still an android and he knows how to learn. So he did. Tried to create a matrix where Gavin is concerned, to map the essence of him, something that makes sense to him. Something he could turn into probabilities and variables. It’s foolish, he understands as much now, humans refuse to be described in terms an android is comfortable with. He never got the clear picture that he wanted. Nowhere near enough.
His jacket, the object of dispute, lays folded in Connor’s lap. After Gavin had bolted, Connor was the one to provide him with the context that somewhat explained the events that followed. It’s… ridiculous, to say the least, how little it took to upset whatever it is they have between them. A misunderstanding, a simple, stupid, unhappy coincidence. Nines gave his jacket to Connor after the latter’s uniform was ruined in a violent struggle. He didn’t think much of it at the time, Connor ran into him in the hallway shortly before, and he didn’t need his at the moment since the coat Gavin selected for him was hanging on the office’s hanger. Simple.
And how could he have predicted that?
“You’re frustrated,” Connor observes while packing up the kit he’d used to patch him up. “I can see why.”
“I handled this whole thing wrongly.” Nines’ voice is small, barely above a whisper. He’s not sure why he’s even talking out loud to Connor, but Connor likes to play at being human, so he caves. It’s the least of his problems.
“I don’t think it’s your fault.”
“It is. He clearly doesn’t trust me, or rather, he still doesn’t trust me or else he might’ve been susceptible to hearing me out. And why should he? I have given him enough reason to… doubt my intentions.”
Connor watches him with plaintive eyes. “What are your intentions, Nines?”
“I don’t know,” Nines lies.
He wants to connect. Forget that him and Gavin are incompatible in more ways than is bearable. And what’s the point of it all? What’s the point of deviancy then? Nines was startled into it the second he was awake. There was no purpose to it, no conflict, no aching for something different. Just broken code from the very start when he was supposed to be perfect. They took that from him, the other deviants. Jericho. And Nines would be lying if he said he doesn’t resent them for it in some capacity. Now he’s left picking up the shattered fragments of a craving for something unknown. Something that’s bearing a human name perhaps.
Thankfully, Hank appears in the door frame before Connor can probe any further. “Are you okay, Nines? Fowler’s taking this seriously, you know. Disciplinary action and all.”
“No!” Nines leaps to his feet. “I can fix this. There’s no need, Lieutenant. This is entirely my fault.”
Hank shakes his head, disappointed for some reason, and Connor looks at them both. “Yeah, and deep down he really loves you. That it?”
“Why would you think that?” Nines asks, bewildered, but the lieutenant just sighs, not deeming that with an explanation. “I really hate to break this up, but we’re already behind schedule, Connor. Are you gonna be alright, Nines?”
Nines nods, avoiding Connor’s concerned glance. “Of course. Thank you for looking after me.” He has somewhere else to be, by any means.
---
Dusk is approaching. His shift is nearing its end, and so is Gavin’s, but his partner is nowhere in sight. Nines hovers by the precinct’s north entrance for a while, it’s the one Gavin stormed out of, and eventually spots a security camera mounted on the building opposite of the station. He figures it’s as good a place to start as any.
---
The area is dead silent, save for the faint caress of evening traffic in the distance, but Nines can make out the telltale signs of human activity in the yard surrounding the small warehouse just fine. This place is not abandoned.
Nines slips quietly through the same entrance he’s seen Gavin use in the hacked video footage. Inside, he scans the detective’s footsteps for guidance, ignoring the various pieces of rubble lining the dusty passage. It’s awfully dark inside and it’s straining his visual processors enough to make them work overtime to keep up. He can hear clatter from maybe two rooms away, the one emitting light from a single lamp judging by its lack of intensity, and creeps closer to tune his sensors to what’s happening inside.
Someone’s talking. His voice recognition software confirms the owner of the voice to be Dave Richards. He’s seen him, seen Gavin follow him through the lenses of several cameras spread throughout the city. Nines keeps himself from assuming the worst.
Then, finally, the low growl of Gavin’s voice finds his ears. He’s alive . Having already thought about retrieving a body before being able to reconcile… he crushes the notion, intent on moving on. On working with what’s at hand. He can dissect this parody of human emotion later. Nines chances a peak past the door frame.
It takes him less than a second to memorize the picture: it’s not just a room, it turns out, it’s the main hall of the building. Richards has his back turned towards him, and Gavin, arms tied behind his back, on the floor, is staring up at him in a bold display of hostility. On the left side, there are two men, well-known to the police in their own right, packing unidentifiable items into boxes, while two others are discussing their next steps with Richards in hushed tones.
Nines pauses the image in his head, uses it to compute distances, probabilities, anything and everything that might be useful to his escape plan. None of the percentages satisfy. He swipes away most of his HUD display and focuses on the readings of one single heartbeat in the room for a while, synchronizes his pump regulator to it.
I’ve got you.
The conversation dwindles down eventually. He hears the frustrated scrape of Gavin’s boots on the concrete floor in the silence that follows after, as if asking him to hurry up. Nines shifts his weight, unsure which path to choose, as he translates life and death into statistics.
He’s too preoccupied with a perfect outcome, when the notification he dismissed a few moments ago pops up again: someone’s coming his way, detection inevitable at this point. A few seconds, that’s about as much as he gets, and he braces himself for confrontation. It’s the first time for Nines, to be forced to decide something so critical, faced with irreversible failure should he miscalculate. Something he’s only familiar with through Connor’s memories when he interfaced with him months ago. And now it’s time to reap the benefits of CyberLife programming. Six, five, four… Pre-construction complete. It's shameful, how nervous he is. Three. Gavin’s heartbeat is thrumming in his head like a guideline. Two. The unmistakable clatter of a holstered gun. They won’t have time to use it. One.
Just as computed, he pulls the unsuspecting man to his chest once he rounds the corner, twisting his arm behind his back before he can realize what is happening to him. Uses him as a shield and aims the stolen gun at the first person to turn his way. The bullet blows a hole between the poor bastard’s eyes but Nines doesn’t stop to appreciate his own efficiency and moves to the next target. He gets two successful shots in, then the sharp click of a cocked gun moves to the center of his attention and he freezes. The gun is not pointed at him.
Nines lowers his weapon obediently, an act of surrender, and drops it to the floor and skids it over when Richards beckons him to do so all while still clutching the other guy for protection.
Recalculating...
A shot goes off in the commotion that follows. His hostage shouts in panic when it rips past them. Richards raises one of his hands to his men, calming them.
Recalculating...
“Fuck,” Gavin hisses, cursing in unison with whoever is left alive.
Richards turns to Gavin, low whistle on his lips. “I’m guessing Terminator here is with you?” But Gavin says nothing, he just stares into Nines’ face like he’s grown a second head. “Tell him to let go of our friend. I think he’s hugging him a little too tightly.”
His tone implies he is more amused than he is worried about the turn of events but then again, Richards’ list of criminal offenses might put an encyclopedia to shame. A little quarrel and a few dead bodies aren’t going to faze him.
Gavin shakes his head no.
“Okay, let’s try again,” Richards singsongs and pushes the barrel of the gun more deliberately into Gavin’s temple. Nines drops the hostage unceremoniously and the man crumbles with the loss of support, scrambling indignantly to his feet, face red with fury and embarrassment. Richards stops him from reaching for his gun and shooting Nines in retaliation with a patronizing click of the tongue.
“I’ve seen this model before. On tv. During the revolution.” He cranes his neck to meet Gavin’s line of sight better. “One of the police androids that got loose and secured the deviant’s victory. Nice job on that, by the way.” Richards nudges his shoulder with his knee, laughing to himself.
It’s confusing. Every second that he still gets to live. Confusing.
He then returns his attention to Nines and motions him to step closer into the scant lighting. When Nines complies, the remaining members of the operation follow his movements with apprehensive eyes. The atmosphere is wound tight, the tension threatening to snap. All of it accentuated by Gavin’s frantic heartbeat ringing in his ears. Only Richards seems to be relaxed, despite the stink of gunpowder and fresh blood hanging between them.
That’s probably why he has no problem entering Nines’ personal space, or what would be considered personal space for a human being anyway, without fear of having his bones snapped in half. Before he does, he hands one of his men the gun.
“If it makes any sudden moves, shoot the cop.”
He approaches and knocks his knuckles into Nines’ chest like a curious child would tap the glass of an aquarium.
Recalculating...
“C’mon, talk to me, Detective. You’ve been so chatty just moments ago, calling me e-ver-y name in the book, and now you’re giving me the silent treatment. What happened?” he chuckles, still examining Nines’ build, smoothing his palms over his shoulders, even jostling him a little to check how sturdy he is.
“He’s sulking,” Richards tells Nines conversationally. “What’s your name, Terminator?”
Richards is a tall man, slightly taller than Nines. He has to tilt his head back to stare at him at close quarters.
“Hmm, quite the team, you two.” Richards turns to one of his colleagues after a few more seconds of silence. “I say, we take this one down to Basker’s, have him reset it and join the team. That being said, I ask you boys not to hold any grudges.” He wiggles his fingers towards the bodies on the other side of the room. The reactions to his proposal are mixed, the member who has been restrained by Nines huffing in protest while some others shrug in indifference.
“Isn’t the thirium worth like twenty batches of red ice?” one says. Seventeen at most, Nines data bank provides. But the prospect of being reset, of having his memory erased, is much more distressing than being disassembled and bled dry.
Richards shakes his head. “Maybe, but I think its... talents are more useful to us.”
Nines couldn’t care less about their opinions, his gaze is trained on Gavin, computing, computing, computing scenario after scenario, trying to find one where he survives. The chances are always too low, too risky. And Gavin himself? His heartbeat is steady now, steadier than before, now that Nines is sharing his spot in this fuckup of a situation.
But he doesn’t know what it means when Gavin’s heartbeat is steady. Does it make him more or less likely to try something stupid? He’s watching Gavin watching him and nothing comes up. Everything points to the same problem: he doesn’t know Gavin well enough. Not enough data available. Or worse, conflicting data. The frustration of being denied a clear decision is threatening to paralyze his systems. His mind is going in circles, picking up and aborting processes, LED burning yellow.
Recalculating...
“Find a way to restrain the android and pack up the rest of the product. Take the cop with you. And hurry, will ya? We probably don’t have much time before the rest of them notice they’re missing.”
Nines watches Richards leave through a rusty double door, and restarts his calculations. Without him in the room, they might have a chance. The most successful scenario turns up a survival chance of 67%. All he needs is a distraction, a lapse in attention, just one second to gain the upper hand and push that percentage into acceptable territory.
They move a few steps towards him, unsure of how to go about Richards’ request. Clearly, none of them want to get too close and the one man that has gotten too close earlier is still looking like he’d rather shoot Nines on the spot. Looks like he’s taking it personal. How peculiar. When Gavin’s heart rate starts to pick up again, however, it’s a dog whistle to Nines’ systems, and he suspends his assessment of the guy.
“Nines! ”
The sudden bark of Gavin’s voice attracts everyone’s attention, and no matter how brief, it turns out to be a deadly mistake. He rips the gun from the person closest to him, marks them by priority and pulls the trigger three times. Their bodies sink to the floor with a heavy thump each, gazes no longer focused on anything. Nines pays them no mind and goes to kneel next to Gavin. He tears the tape holding his arms and legs together with ease.
“Are you–"
“I’m fine.”
Nines offers a hand and drops it when the gesture is ignored.
“Let’s go after Richards,” Gavin grits out, flexing his arms to get some feeling back into them. Then he checks the bodies for a spare firearm while Nines is left to stare at his back, not believing his stubbornness.
“No, this operation is over. I am fairly certain he’s heard the gunshots and has already fled or, worse, backup is coming up. We’re outnumbered, Gavin. I would prefer to get us out of here unscathed. Please do not argue with me, not now.
“What? You just wanna run?”
“Precisely. It’s the most sensible choice right now. We’re no use to the department if we’re dead.”
Gavin bites his bottom lip in frustration, the line of his body all nervous energy. When he nods, Nines thanks his lucky stars for not having to knock his incredibly bullheaded partner unconscious to drag him out of there. His blessings dissipate as he rattles at the metal door he entered through, futilely, because it has been chained shut from the outside sometime between his arrival and his freeing Gavin.
“Great,” Gavin murmurs at his back, not entirely genuine in his disappointment. “I take it we’re going after him now?”
Nines shoots him a positively venomous look that Gavin seems to enjoy despite it all.
Back in the main hall, he confirms that the only other door has been barred as well. He gives it a few more probing shoves and kicks but it’s no use, even for someone with inhuman strength. Determined not to lose much time, Nines scans his surroundings, notes the ladder leading to a second floor and weighs the possibilities of being able to escape via window. They would need a rope or something of the kind, so he lets his gaze wander over the various bits and pieces strewn across the cluttered old warehouse until he spots it by a shelf that’s seen better days.
“Where the hell is our backup, though? Are those assholes taking naps or what? I mean, you did call for backup, didn’t you? Nines?”
Well, yes and no.
“I’ve transmitted my position to Connor at reasonable intervals when I followed your trail. Something in this building however is actively blocking my connection. While I’m certain that Connor could identify the warehouse as my current location with the information I provided, it will still take him some time to realize that something is amiss. So until then, we’re on our own.”
“Just say fucking no, you fucking fuckwit.” Gavin runs a jittery hand through his hair and murmurs to himself, too low for the audio processors to pick it up. Nines watches his quiet little breakdown for a bit.
“Do you smell that? Like something’s on fire?” Gavin pipes suddenly and looks over the hall for a possible source, posture straightening.
“No, I don’t.” If there was indeed a fire in the building, they’d have even less time to find an escape route. It would also explain the locked doors. Maybe they are trying to burn them alongside everything else.
Gavin scoffs, kicking at some boxes in his way. “Really? You can’t smell that? You’re so goddamn useless.”
“I’m sorry, Gavin, the dried thirium in my nostrils is clogging the gas sensors. So if it’s the decrease in performance you’re bemoaning, you only have yourself to blame, I’m afraid,” Nines snaps, patience wearing thin. They’re trapped in this warehouse, a warehouse that is possibly on fire, after Gavin foolishly decided to go on a solo mission, and now he has nothing better to do than to spew this insufferable rhetoric he has graced him with since the very beginning of their partnership.
“Oh do I now? Who started this shit, huh?”
And there’s no end in sight.
Nines lets go of the ladder he was inspecting and whips around. “Please define started , because I remember every word you said to me but you seem to have forgotten or else you would not think yourself so innocent.”
There’s a few heartbeats of silence, Nines can count them precisely since he’s still synchronized to Gavin’s. Priorities. He climbs the ladder intently, their weight shaking the rusty frame when Gavin joins him.
“Sorry to have hurt your non-existent feelings,” he says from below.
The second story is considerably dustier than the first. Probably not part of the operation, at least not on this side. He checks the first door on the right, finds it locked and rips it from its hinges with little remorse. The old wooden door splinters miserably, spraying his dress shoes with its remains.
“I find your choice of words very ironic. I do believe you wish for me to have feelings,” Nines retorts, not looking back at him as he steps into the tiny room. “More specifically, you want me to have feelings for you .”
He can’t see it but he hears Gavin bristle at that.
“And I believe you’re projecting, buddy.” The way he tries to school his tone into something detached renders Nines’ many classifiers obsolete. It is just that obvious. Android or not. Sometimes Nines constructs scenarios in which he admits that he can hear him lying every time and one in which he asks him to be straightforward with him. None of them end well, so he plays the game of dancing around the things he actually wants to say, and learns its rules with every subterfuge. Humans seem to simultaneously tire and not tire from it themselves. Writing ballads about their miscommunications like it’s worth the trouble. “Besides, you’re the one that’s stalking me, running around doing favors and shit. But you conveniently skip that part, huh.”
Nines drops the rope next to him where it lands with a dull thump. He sees Gavin jump out of the corner of his eye, the adrenaline keeping him on edge still. Fair enough, Nines thinks, he just escaped certain death. At the moment, that percentage is down, provided they find a way out fast enough. Smoke is reaching inside the room now, blooming gray and threatening across the ceiling, not hiding the presence of a fire any longer. Time is running out and they’re spending it at each other’s throats.
The only window of the room is nailed shut with wooden boards. He digs his fingers into a ridge and forces one of them out of its place while Gavin hovers by the door frame, gun shaking a little in his hands.
“I am not opposed to establishing a connection with you, Gavin. You seem to insinuate that I am too uncomfortable to admit such a thing. I’m not.” He doesn’t need to turn around to know that Gavin’s eyes are focused on him. Assessing him, maybe. Like he’s trying to figure out whether Nines is telling the truth. This paranoia of his is what has been smothering their delicate bond – still is. And Gavin sure holds it dear, the only protection that he knows. Nines wants to make him understand. But it has to wait.
He gets rid of the last board, swiftly driving an elbow into the glass behind it once it’s gone, shattering it easily. The smoke uses this as an opportunity to flee as well. Gavin left his post and is by his side now. He pushes some shards into the evening air carefully. Holding up the rope he abandoned earlier, Nines gestures towards Gavin. “You first.”
“Why me?”
“I’m not going to let you suffer from smoke inhalation.”
“What about you?”
Nines glances out the window, calculating the height separating them from the ground. “I’ll follow after. We’re short on time. Please.”
For a split second, he thinks Gavin is going to protest again but he only nods, inspecting the height as well. Nines takes this as his cue to loop the rope around his body in a makeshift safeguard. “Do you have any idea of what you’re doing?” Nines hums, affirmative. “These knots ensure optimal weight distribution. Considering the means, that is.”
“I was joking.” Gavin shakes his head and laughs softly, a stark note amidst the low roar of the fire, and Nines realizes that he trusts him still. Trusts him to get him to safety. He rises and places a kiss to Gavin’s brow before reason stops him.
“I’ll wait for you down there,” Gavin whispers, averting his eyes and climbing over the window frame. “You better not die, asshole.”
His knuckles turn white from gripping the wooden veneers of the building, hesitating a little too long. Nines rubs a comforting hand over the small of his back. “Are you afraid of heights, Gavin?”
“Who the fuck isn’t?” Gavin snaps, but there’s no real heat behind it. A cough rattles his body and interrupts what he was about to say next. They have to hurry. He closes his fingers around the rope when Gavin is ready to let go, and lowers him, slow and cautious, onto the grass beneath. Meanwhile, the fire is painting the inside of the hall in bright orange lights. Nines observes the scene curiously from where he’s still standing at the window. Now that Gavin is safe, he feels strangely calm. He thinks about how he will have to submit these bits of his memory to his colleagues as evidence and how he should not have kissed him.
“Nines, what are you standing around for, get down here!”
He secures the remaining rope around the tabletop of an office desk. It’s should suffice as a counterweight once it’s wedged against the window frame. Even if it breaks, he’d only need it to soften the fall. Nines won’t necessarily be damaged beyond repair if he drops down from this height, but he prefers not to take the risk anyway.
As soon as he reaches firm ground, Gavin throws his arms around his neck, pulling him down, and Nines closes his eyes to the blinding red and blue approaching the burning warehouse.