Detroit Become Human x Readers

Clinical (Connor x Reader)

“Is there a problem?” You shake your head, wiping your nose and casting a quick glance to the cameras that littered the room, monitoring your movements, your speech, his thoughts. You blink and the dampness is gone.

“Make me a promise.” You say, tightening his tie as you look him in the eyes with an intensity that makes his systems falter. He nods. Whatever you needed, he’d do it. I was what he was made to do, right? Help humans. Help you.

“If you’re ever in a bad situation, where you’re in danger of dea-” You stop yourself and swallow, voice barely a whisper.

“Of destruction…” You shut your eyes for a moment, breathing out a deep sigh, before opening them back up, mouthing one word to him.

“Run.” You beg, and Connor nods, and you stay quiet, ushering him out of the room.

There are no deaths after that. And he does not see you again.

Connor isn’t sure what number he’s at now, but he knows he won’t be becoming another any time soon. Over and over again he died until finally- it happened. What was meant to happen all along, according to Amanda.

It bothered him a little that his freedom was planned by CyberLife. His independence was intentional. But with the company defunct and his programming broken, he was properly free now, on his own and ready to face the world. Maybe not alone, but ready nonetheless.

6 months post the revolution and things are still tense. Markus is making international appeals to overseas leaders, papers and documents for androids to register as citizens with rights and civil protection are being written and rewritten with every second, and the world is still adjusting. Detroit is still adjusting to this new age.

He is not who he was when you first met. Cold and uniformed clothing are far in the past, his beanie and jeans are enough evidence for that. So are the constantly forced smiles (though they do happen at times he’s nervous) and the stilted dialogue, replaced by smoother transitions and gentler words. He is not ordered, but he is orderly. He is not broken, but he is bendable. Flexible in his mind. He is old, and he is new.

And he hopes that’s enough for you.

“In here?” Hank bumps his arm as the two stand outside the coffee shop, an array of bookshelves and tables inside, through the foggy glass. Rain pitter-patters on their shared umbrella and Connor nods, looking to the wooden sign hanging over the door. Very old-fashioned.

“This is where they said to meet,” Connor says, the slight shake in his voice not going unnoticed by Hank, who slaps a hand on his back, taking the android by surprise as he jumps.
“What the worst that could happen?” He asks, and Connor cringes. 6 months is a long time. Maybe you hate him because he’s a deviant? Maybe you hate him because he’s part of the reason CyberLife was defunct? Maybe you were jobless? Maybe you simply hated him from the start? Or were working with Amanda?

These are questions flooding through his mind, cut off as Hank pushes him towards the door, flinging it open before shoving him in.

“Good luck, Connor.” Is all he says, before he shuts the door rather loudly behind him, taking the umbrella and dipping out in the rain. When Connor turns, the few and far between pairs of eyes of the small coffee shop are upon him.

Including yours.

Sitting at a table in the far corner, you’re halfway to standing up, a coffee cup and a muffin on tiny china plates and teacups. Frozen mid-action, staring him down in wonderment. Wonderment that catches his words in his throat, and his movements in their step. He’s much like a deer in the headlights, under your close inspection once more.

You look much the same, and Connor is okay with that, more than okay, he’s thrilled. Same eyes, same expressions. Just a softer lighting, a gentler atmosphere. Devoid of your coat, dressed in warm undertones of mustard, and coolness of black. Your coat hangs on the back of the chair, and he tosses between whether he should scan you for more information, or whether that would be creepy and invasive and if you’d be able to tell. And then get mad. There had to be a better way to approach.

“Hello, Connor.” Everything is different, but everything is the same. You are you, you are fascinating and you are open, welcoming and bright. Not harsh, like chemicals but bright like golden nectar and twinkling sunlight. His feet move, taking him to the table as he tries a smile that, by the sudden, muffled giggling behind a pursed-smile, was likely an awkward one.

“Y/N.” He did not mean for the breathe to leave him once your name is uttered, but it is hard for him not to feel relieved. There you are, smiling, happy, glowing and alive. More real than you ever had been in that little, white room.

“You’re deviant.” You smile, looking his clothing up an down with an approval that makes his heart ache. It’s similar to the feeling he gets when Hank is happy with him, but it’s also… different. Flustering, and warm.

“You’re human.” He answers quickly, the blue draining from his face when he realizes how… uncouth that came across as. Your face blanches, before breaking into a wide grin, snorting laughter falling past your lips and capturing his pump in a vice, stuttering it to a near stop.

“Cheeky fucker, aren’t you?” You swear like Hank does, and he can tell it isn’t aggressive, nodding to the table and sitting down. It’s so… casual, he doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know what to say, he’s so used to structure and this is anything but.

“You gonna sit? We have a lot to talk about.” You tell him, gesturing to the free seat with a flourish. Connor is stunned.

6 months… it really was a long time. Long enough for him to be deviant, long enough for you to be… human. To be warm, and shed of your mechanical nature. To be free and unbound by him, to be open and crude with your language in a situation where he can laugh a respond.

6 months is a long time, sure, but when he sits down across from you and meets your gentle smile, Connor can’t help but settle. Relax in his seat, let his shoulders drop and let his voice speak freely.

6 months is so, so very long. And Connor hopes that the next few hours he spends with you last the rest of your lifetime, alone together.