Predecessor (Connor x Reader)

4 - Fragile

As the automated taxi pulls up to your building, a wave of relief washes over you—but it's short-lived. The thought of walking into the building, into the elevator, all the way to your door... It fills you with a strange, almost suffocating sense of dread. The idea of letting anyone see you like this, let alone Connor, weak and broken—it's unbearable.

You both step out of the cab, your legs feeling unsteady beneath you. The cool night air does little to soothe the ache, but it's a small distraction. Connor puts his hand on your back as you begin to walk toward the entrance. He understands by your body language that you don't want too much help, but he still shows a sign of support without crossing your boundaries. Every step feels like an effort, like you're dragging yourself forward through thick air. The elevator looms ahead, and you almost freeze at the thought of stepping into that small metal box. The walls will be too close. You'll have to stand, to hold yourself still, and you don't know how long you'll be able to fake it.

You take the first step inside the building and feel the familiar hum of the lobby around you, the low buzz of lights and the muted sounds of movement. It's a strange contrast to the chaos in your head, the nagging feeling that everyone here could see through you if they just looked hard enough.

The elevator doors slide open, and you barely catch your breath before stepping inside. You try not to wince as you press the button for your floor, to mask the ache that shoots through your legs, but it's getting harder. The elevator moves upward, each second stretching out, the heaviness of its ascension making it harder to keep your composure.

As you look into the elevator's mirror, a startling image stares back at you. Your face is covered in dirt, your hair is a dishevelled mess, and your clothes are torn. You look like a complete mess.

When the elevator dings and the doors slide open, you feel as though you've been holding your breath for a lifetime. The hallway feels like a thousand miles long. Your feet feel rooted to the ground for a second, unwilling to move. But you know you have to. It's as though your body is betraying you, making it harder to pretend. You'll be fine, you tell yourself. Just a little longer.

Each step feels like an eternity. The walls close in around you, the fluorescent lighting above flickering just enough to remind you that you're being watched by eyes you can't control. When you reach your door, you stop. You want to collapse. You want to give in to the pain, to let it overwhelm you, but you can't. You turn around and give Connor a weary smile.

"Thank you, I appreciate your help."

He simply nods in response, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

"But, can I just ask you something?" Your weight shifts from foot to foot. "Why did you help me? If you had kept running, you would have probably caught the deviant."

He hesitates for a moment. "I deduced that helping you would have a more desirable outcome in solving this case rather than chasing after one deviant. You're part of the team, and the overall investigation would be much slower if you were too injured to work."

Of course. It's not a genuine concern for your well-being; it's just his programming. All he cares about is accomplishing his mission. You were foolish for even considering otherwise. Your face falls flat, and you look at him, furrowing your brow.

"Goodnight, Connor." You say, opening your apartment door

"Goodnight, detective. Remember, you can call me if you need anything."

"Yeah, thanks." You wave him off, enter, and shut the door. Instantly, you face the peephole. He lingers for a second, seemingly weighing his thoughts, like he's genuinely concerned and wanting to ensure your safety. But then, he pivots and heads for the elevator. He's so confusing.