Predecessor (Connor x Reader)

23 - Signal Interference

The sun barely cuts through the cloud cover, casting the DPD lot in that familiar steel-gray tone—Detroit's version of morning. You pull into your usual spot, engine ticking quietly as it shuts off. The heater hums its last warm breath before silence falls between you and Connor.

You glance sideways, and so does he. Then you both open your doors, stepping out in unison. The cold hits your cheeks, sharp and damp, and you pull your coat tighter as your boots crunch over the salt-scattered pavement.

Across the lot, two figures lean against a car—Tina, flicking ash off the end of her cigarette, and Gavin, arms crossed, talking like he owns the air. The smoke curls up toward the overcast sky, and for a second, you think maybe they didn't notice.

But Tina does.

Her eyes flick to you both at once—landing, lingering. She doesn't say anything. Not yet. Just smirks around her cigarette.

Gavin looks over too. Doesn't smirk. Just squints. Like he's filing it away for later.

And you feel it—both their eyes on you and Connor, not just arriving at the same time... but getting out of the same car.

You pretend not to see them.

Connor doesn't seem to register the weight of it, or maybe he just doesn't care. He falls into step beside you as you head toward the entrance.

You wait a few steps before you speak, voice low enough to stay between you. "You know, I woke up at one point last night and saw you on my tablet."

Connor glances at you, mildly surprised. "You were awake?"

"Just for a second."

He doesn't answer right away.

You nudge your shoulder lightly into his. "Didn't know you were into obscure sci-fi."

"It was the top of your reading list," he says simply. "I was curious."

You hum. "And?"

"I liked it."

You smile. "Good."

Silence stretches comfortably again—until the front door of the precinct clicks open in front of you.

Tina's cigarette sizzles out on the pavement behind you. And you have the faintest sense that whatever they just saw... They're definitely going to bring it up later.

You've barely stepped inside the precinct—Connor peeling off toward his desk—when you hear it:

"Detective. My office."

Captain Fowler's voice cuts through the ambient buzz like a clean blade.

You glance up, try not to stiffen.

He's standing outside his office door, arms crossed, that permanent frown looking a little more permanent than usual.

Great.

You follow him in.

The door clicks shut behind you. He circles around to his desk, sits, then just stares at you for a moment—expression unreadable.

Then he holds up a tablet.

You lean in slightly.

Your stomach drops.

One word, all in red: POSITIVE

Drug test. Marijuana.

Cherry. Are you fucking serious.

Fowler raises an eyebrow.

"Anything you wanna tell me about this?"

You shake your head, playing surprised—because honestly, you are. "That's gotta be a false positive."