Chapter Text
JULY 18TH, 2039
3:48 P.M.
- Beep -
“Hello, Handler. This is Detective Connor from the Detroit Police Department. My voice module has just been repaired. I meant to ask if you have plans tonight, but after I dialed your number, I remembered that you can’t answer calls right now. Whenever you get this, don’t be alarmed by the fact that you have missed a call. Goodbye.”
- To play the next voicemail, press 1. -
You sat facing the bulletproof windows between the kennels and the training yard, listening to Connor’s voice through one earbud while the rest of your attention remained on the built-in displays in front of you. Beyond the glass, a thick radiation fog reduced the world outside to a featureless void of white; you had to infer your drones’ positions based only on the data readouts from their sensors, a long list of variables that shifted and updated hundreds of times per second. For you, though, the numbers painted a perfectly clear picture of how each drone was moving through the obstacle course, what they were thinking—and the mistakes they were making.
“Ares, Athena, you’re overshooting every time you turn a sharp corner. I’ll boost the derivative gain in your next PID update. Heph, be mindful of your siblings’ pathing. The only reason you’re faster than them is because they’re busy trying not to crash into you. Ten more minutes of yard time, everyone, then come back in and recharge,” you advised them through your microphone.
Beside you, Hades nudged your phone and emitted a low, solicitous whine. It was your most attentive drone who refused to leave your side ever since your return, even as the rest of the swarm went out for training. Apparently, it sensed that the best way it could contribute today was to keep you company.
You couldn’t see why, exactly. You didn’t need to be looked after. You were fine. “I’m fine,” you repeated aloud, reaching over to give the drone a friendly scratch on the back. “You don’t have to stay here for me, Hades. Don’t you want to be with your swarm?”
In response, it simply barked a duo of short, high-pitched blips. I am with my swarm, it seemed to say. But it did turn its attention elsewhere, lifting itself away to wander around in the workspace behind you. As the air settled in its wake, you reached once again for your phone.
- Beep -
“Hello, Handler. It’s Connor. I know you just left the station a few minutes ago—as of the time of this call—but I miss you already. There’s so much more that I want to tell you. I can’t believe you said yes. I’m the luckiest man on the planet, I... I meant what I said to you today. You are really, truly everything to me. Good night.”
- To play the next voicemail, press 1. -
His voice was serious and slow this time, weighed down by honesty and awe. It brought a warmth to your chest that lingered long after the playback ended. Leave it to Connor to make sure you knew that you mattered, before anything, after everything.
How did you ever doubt that?
You shook the thought away and leaned forward until the monitors were all you could see, and you plunged yourself once more into the world of coordinates and headings and system statuses. Maybe opening up those voicemails wasn’t such a good idea right now. Then again, the silence without them was just as distracting.
Hades floated back to your side, and you briefly acknowledged it before getting back to work observing the other drones, taking notes and editing code. It wasn’t until several minutes later that you noticed Hades was being a little too quiet, internal fans whirring contentedly while it processed—“Hey, wait a minute! What’s in your data port?”
You reached closer, but it dodged playfully out of the way, a small flash drive sticking out of the port underneath it. Again you reached, and again it flitted just out of range. Rather than chase it down, though, you held out a hand and waited for it to come to you.
“Drop it,” you ordered, making it clear you weren’t interested in playing. Hades whined in disappointment, but it dutifully ejected the drive into your hand. “Thanks, Hades,” you reinforced it for complying, “just don’t interface with random flash drives you find lying around. What if they’re infected? Where did you get this, anyway?”
The drone directed its spotlight toward the only other human in the room.
That answered one question. One to go. Curiosity got the better of you, and you fired up a virtual machine to inspect the drive’s contents: a ‘Homework’ folder, a ‘Projects’ folder, and... would you look at that? A ‘3Os’ folder, equipped with a fresh copy of the drones’ source code.
Summoned by the same spear of light that pointed him out, Kevin watched over your shoulder with his hands stuck comfortably in his pockets. “Ludwig was curious about how the drones work. I figured he and I could walk through the source code together,” he explained preemptively.
You craned your neck back to give him a skeptical look, one eyebrow raised. “First of all, you should’ve asked.”
“Fine, can I—”
“—Well, no, it’s proprietary.” To that effect, you went ahead and deleted the illegally downloaded code for him, replacing it with dummy files to keep it from being recovered. You’d have to change the drones’ access codes, too, at some point. “And anyway, our drones are sentient AI. There’s no point trying to reverse-engineer them, it’d be like trying to learn how a brain works by dissecting one. Don’t they teach you this stuff in school?”
“My major’s electrical engineering, not computer science.” He shrugged in defense, though admittedly a valid one. “It’s not like it could hurt anyone to read a little code, would it?”
Maybe on a good day, you might be willing to bend the rules a little. But there were policies and regulations you had to follow. The code you wrote technically belonged to the State, and that meant it wasn’t yours to give away. “How about this? I can teach you how I designed their software, and you can take notes to share with anyone you want. Just... later. Damn it—” Upon recognizing the time, you left abruptly toward the training yard doors. You were late to let your drones back inside.
A short walk away, you pushed the heavy doors open and welcomed the four tired drones in from out of the fog. Hades flew past you on its way to join them, blowing a light breeze against your sleeves. If only you could recharge as quickly as they did, to simply settle down and run a maintenance cycle atop your own specialized shelf.
Instead, there was work for you to do at your terminal, the adjustments you needed to make based on today’s data. With a sigh, you plopped back down in front of the screen, phone in hand.
- Beep -
“Handler, when you get this, you should remember to change your air filters. Based on the air quality in your apartment, your climate control unit should be due for maintenance beginning on the twelfth of July, six o’clock P.M., which is right... now.”
- To play the next voicemail, press 1. -
- Beep -
“Hello, Handler. Hank wants to know—....Was I not supposed to? Sorry—Is your refrigerator running? ...What do I say next? ...No, it went to voicemail. ...Oh.”
- To play the next voicemail, press 1. -
Consider yourself pranked, you guessed. A ghost of a smile crept onto your face as you worked—only to be interrupted by a set of footsteps approaching your desk. “What is it this time?” You whirled around, expecting Kevin to be back with a new complaint. But when you looked up, it wasn’t him. “Detective! I, uh. Sorry. Hi.”
Connor blinked in surprise, certain he had never heard you use that tone of voice before. “How are you feeling, Handler?”
“I’m fine. You don’t have to keep...” You avoided meeting his eyes. Other than Kevin, everyone kept taking time out of their day just for you, to see if you were alright. It was wearing on you; you weren’t used to being on the receiving end of so much attention.
“Now I know something’s wrong,” the detective observed, running a hand along the edge of your desk. He could see it, too, the unusual strain on your cardiovascular system every time you told someone you were ‘fine’. If he was like you, he would know exactly what to say to make everything better. Or he’d flash you one of those contagious smiles of yours, the kind that made him forget what it ever meant to be unhappy. But he wasn’t you, and all he could do was hope you opened up on your own.
You laid your hand over his. “I should be the one asking how you feel. You almost lost your life trying to protect me, I mean, how are you already back to business as usual?”
“You were worth the risk,” he answered so easily, like it was the most natural fact in the universe. “I weighed my options, and I do not regret my decisions.”
“That makes one of us. Lately, I’ve only made decisions I regret,” you confessed without realizing it.
“Do you regret being with me?”
“No! Of course not. I...” You were exaggerating, he meant to point out. But it didn’t feel like much of an exaggeration. “Look at everything that happened this weekend. I yelled at you.”
“For lying to you.”
“I got you shot.”
“You’re not the one who pulled the trigger.”
“And then I abandoned you.”
“Fleeing was the only way to guarantee your safety. Even then, there was a high probability that you would have refused to leave if I didn’t reassure you.” So, that’s why he was suddenly so optimistic when he told you to leave him behind. He knew you wouldn’t have made the smart choice unless he convinced you that he didn’t need your help.
You slowed down, the ammunition against yourself all deflected by Connor’s logic. He sounded so reasonable, you were almost sure that if he wanted to, he could convince you that you’d never done anything wrong in your life. “I should have had more trust in you, Connor. Or, is it trust? I was never suspicious of you, it’s... I wish I never doubted you.”
He listened attentively, blue LED spinning as he thought up a theory of his own. It was consistent with what he knew about you already: “Perhaps what you lack is faith.”
Faith! Exactly! “That’s the word. I’ll remember to show more faith in you from now on, I promise. You deserve it.”
“No, Handler.” Connor brushed his fingers against your chin, guiding you to look up at him. “You lack faith in yourself.”
Now, there’s an idea you hadn’t considered before.
“Among other things,” you evaded, but the returning spark in your eyes told him that the point was well-taken.
With that, you moved on to other matters. It turned out there was a reason the detective came back here, besides chatting with you while he was supposed to be on the clock. Hank sent him to ask if you wanted to crash on his couch for the night, let Sumo keep watch in case you weren’t comfortable falling asleep alone. Of course, Connor would be there too—you accepted without a second thought.
You reached for your new phone to confirm it with a text, and he caught sight of your voicemail app as the screen switched on. “What? What are you listening to?”
“Just the private thoughts of some cute guy,” you shrugged in jest, and offered him an earbud to listen along.
- Beep -
“Handler. It’s Connor again. I’m calling from my desk to advise you that your spare uniform is a size too small. It may be a hazard for your coworkers. Someone might get distracted, for example, if his vision subroutine automatically traces all the outlines of your—...” After a sharp inhale and a long pause, you heard an echo of your own voice in the background. “...Ahem, hello, Handler. I see you’re wearing your spare uniform today.”
- To play the next voicemail, press 1. -
Connor pursed his lips, hoping it wasn’t obvious what he was thinking at the time. It seemed inappropriate in the wrong context. Wait! Speaking of inappropriate, he remembered the next message he left after this one! “We should get back to work. In fact, why don’t I help you with some training today? But let’s go right now.”
“Well, hang on. I want to hear more.” For the first time in too long, you smiled wide, seeing him go from confident to flustered just from hearing his own thoughts about you. You changed your mind: Listening to these was a great idea, actually.
- Beep -
“I’ve decided there’s something I want to tell you tomorrow, at the end of our date. I hope you’ll say it back, but I don’t want to pressure you. You won’t hear this before then, so allow me to practice saying it: I—”
- Message deleted. To play the next voicemail, press 1. -
His cheeks ran blue as his LED ran yellow, swiping a hand over your phone as a last resort.
“Rude!” You chuckled, and stood up to face him. He was so much taller than almost all the other officers in the precinct, and by comparison you weren’t that intimidating up close, but that didn’t stop you from challenging him with a playful stare-down. Er, stare-up?
“All I did was interrupt myself,” Connor excused himself on a technicality, stepping forward to close the last of the space between you. “Besides, I believe you’ve listened to me enough for one day.”
“But the message! What were you going to say?”
In place of an answer, he cocked his head to the side, every breath reaching your skin.
“What was it?” You poked an accusatory finger at his chest, which provoked only an amused smirk at one side of his heart-shaped lips.
He was beginning to laugh, and so were you, by the time he bought your silence with a kiss. “Hey!”—Another kiss, you stepped back and he stepped forward—“Tin can!”—Affectionately, suppressed by yet another, deeper kiss—“I’m talking to youmm—”
He did want to say it. But it was the wrong time for you to hear it, to prompt you for words that couldn’t be taken back once spoken. What he could do was tell you in a language that didn’t ask anything of you in return, in this sequestered corner of a rarely-visited office. There was an old metallic door between you and the rest of the kennels. You turned the lock shut, while he reached behind your back and swept an armfull of clutter off your desk.
Your phone clattered against the floor.
- Beep -
“....zzKKKKTT...”
- There are no new messages in your voicemail box. -