Saved || Bodyguard Connor x Reader

Chapter 19: Machines Bleed

A wave of red and blue flashed past as sirens blared, their insistent wails blending with the violent screech of tires on asphalt. Cars slammed on their brakes, honking in protest as the police vehicles tore through the street.

You barely register any of it.

Your breath is uneven, the adrenaline still coursing hot through your veins as you kneel beside Connor. Your hands—shaking, clammy—are slick with thirium, the deep blue of his blood staining your fingers.

A car door slams. Heavy footsteps pound against the pavement, followed by a gruff, familiar voice. "Jesus Christ, Connor."

You glance up just as a man with tousled gray hair and tired blue eyes rushes toward you. His gaze sweeps over the scene—your frantic expression, Connor struggling to stand up straight, the stark contrast of thirium against his skin—and concern flashes over his face.

"Hello, Lieutenant," Connor greets, voice steady despite everything.

Hank scowls. "What the hell happened?"

"Attempted homicide," Connor replies calmly. Too calmly. Like getting shot  was just another Tuesday for him.

Your hands clench into fists. "Some psycho jumped us outside the café—he had a gun. If Connor hadn't—"

"Whoa, easy, kid," Hank says, gripping your arm just enough to ground you. "Breathe. You look like you're about to pass out."

You inhale sharply, realizing only now how lightheaded you feel. Your pulse is a drumbeat in your ears, every muscle wound tight, caught somewhere between shock and anger.

Hank sighs, rubbing a hand down his face. "Alright. I'm Lieutenant Hank Anderson, DPD. We're gonna figure this out. But first—" His gaze flickers back to Connor's wound, and he mutters another curse under his breath. "We need to get you patched up before you start leaking all over the damn sidewalk."

Connor blinks. "I am already leaking."

Hank pinches the bridge of his nose. "Goddamn smartass android."

┈┈·୨ ✦ ୧·┈┈

At the precinct, you help Connor into a chair, your hands hovering as if afraid he might collapse. You try your hardest not to burst into tears again as you glance at the wound.

Connor had been the one hurt. Because of you.

"Y/N?" His voice is gentle, careful. You meet his gaze, soft brown eyes scanning your face, reading the tension in your shoulders, the tremor in your hands.

You exhale, unsteady.

Connor places his hands over yours, the warmth of synthetic skin grounding you. "Androids don't feel pain. I'm okay."

"But still," you murmur with a frown, staring at his wound.

Hank sighs heavily beside you. "So what did the suspect look like?"

You swallow, trying to focus, forcing yourself to replay those split-second moments.

The stalker had moved fast. Too fast. A dark hoodie had concealed most of his face, but you'd caught glimpses—sharp, sunken eyes, skin pale and stretched too tight, a cruel twist to his lips as he raised the gun. He had moved with certainty, like he knew you, like he had been waiting for this moment.

And then he was gone.

You describe everything you can to Hank, piecing together what little you remember.

"Alright," Hank grunts, "lemme call Fowler, get a team looking for the bastard." He places a firm hand on your shoulder, a brief but reassuring squeeze. "We'll find him." Then, after a beat: "What's your name?"

"Y/N," you say.

Hank gives a short nod, lips twitching slightly. "I see we finally get to meet." Then he gestures at Connor, shaking his head. "Now keep that idiot from trying to walk this off."

Connor blinks, his LED flickering. "I am not an idiot."

Hank scoffs. "Yeah? Then quit getting shot."

┈┈·୨ ✦ ୧·┈┈

After some pushing (and Hank muttering something about "stubborn tin cans"), Connor agreed to let you help with his temporary field repairs. You follow his instructions carefully, reconnecting a damaged biocomponent with steady hands.

"You are remarkably precise," Connor observed as you worked.

"You're bleeding out, and that's what you're focusing on?"

His LED pulses yellow. "It's relevant."

You sigh, pressing a little harder than necessary on the final patch. He doesn't flinch, but you swear you see the corners of his lips twitch downward.

"Drink up." You hold up the bottle of blue blood to his lips and watch him drink.

Satisfied that he wouldn't collapse in the next five minutes, you finally sit back, releasing a breath you didn't realize you were holding.

And then, before you could overthink it, you reach forward—arms wrapping around him in a firm, real  hug.

Connor stiffens. "Y/N?"

"Just... shut up for a second," you mumble against his shoulder.

For a moment, he doesn't move. Then, slowly, his arms lift, uncertain but steady as they rest against your back.

"I thought—" Your voice wavers, and you swallow hard before pulling back, meeting his gaze. "I thought you were dying, Connor."

He tilts his head slightly, scanning your expression. "That is not possible. Androids don't die."

You give a shaky laugh. "Yeah, well... tell that to my heart rate."

His LED flickers, as if processing your words on a deeper level. "...I apologize."

You shake your head. "Just—just be more careful, okay? You keep jumping in front of bullets, and I'm gonna need medical attention."

When did I start caring for him this much?

Connor studies you for a moment before nodding, something shifting in his posture—more protective, more certain. "Understood."

Something between you has changed. Subtle but undeniable.

And damn if that didn't terrify you.