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You awoke to the enchanting smell of cooked eggs and sound of subtle sizzling. Kicking the blanket away and rising to your feet, you stumbled into the kitchen, where you found Connor facing the stove and stirring around in a pan.

You smiled softly at the sight before being perturbed by the sound of rustling paper and something sliding under your front door. A letter.

You picked it up quickly, ripping the envelope open in excitement, heart hammering against your chest. About time Brennan wrote back!

Dear (y/n) (l/n),

Our thoughts and prayers are with Major Brennan (l/n)'s family, and the families of our soldiers who were lost in the tragic events that took place in Normandy. These soldiers were professionals, committed to the mission. It is their service and sacrifice that define us as an Army.

Our priority right now is to take care of the families, ensuring they have all the resources they need during this difficult time.

We remain committed to our mission in Normandy and will continue to work with our Allied partners to ensure the safety and security of all coalition soldiers and civilians.

The paper contained no trace of Brennan's handwriting, instead, stencil letters of a writing machine. A sensation similar to receiving a sucker punch right in the stomach-you couldn't breathe, you couldn't think, hell, you couldn't even cry.

Brennan was dead.

You threw the letter onto the nearest table, clutching your dress in a disorderly fashion while stumbling towards the kitchen.

Your brother was dead.

"Good morning, (y/n). Since your last meal was yesterday's lunch, and because you might be suffering of a hangover, I thought you could use a hearty breakfast. Have a seat, I'm almost done." The Android smiled sincerely, moving the pan back and forth as he talked to avoid burning the food. He didn't seem to notice your perturbed expression just yet.

Connor watched you with sight confusion as you sat down at the kitchen table, staring at virtually nothing.

Your brother had died, and he was never coming back.

"I've prepared scrambled eggs and bacon." The Android added. "I hope that suits your taste."

"Yeah." You nodded emptily, standing up and taking out two plates.

"What for?" Connor asked.

"What for what?" You raised an eyebrow in confusion, staring at Connor.

"Why are you taking out two plates? You know I don't eat."

"Oh, right, I...I don't know. I forgot for a second." It was almost embarrassing to think that you had played an important role in the Android's creation and had forgotten his habits at said moment. You had almost forgotten he was an Android.

"It's alright." He took the plates from you, put one back, placed one on the table, then scooped the food onto it. "Have a seat."

In spite of your stomach feeing unpleasantly full, you pulled up a chair for yourself and sat down, mind still going haywire with the news. Your brother had died, and you weren't even able to be there for him. To give him one last hug, to tell him everything was going to be alright, to feel him kiss your forehead the way he always did when he was be leaving. None of that was every going to happen again.

Fucking Nazis.

The eggs were scrambled to perfection, and of a healthy, vivid yellow. The consistency also left nothing to complain about, except for the taste. Slightly under-salted.

As if he had read your mind, Connor was holding said ingredient, offering it to you. "I didn't know how salty you liked your food, so I decided to not put in any at all. I hope you don't mind."

He really did think of everything. Just like Brennan used to.

"Thank you."

Connor sat down across from you, fixating you with a satisfied, maybe even proud gaze. Suddenly, his LED switched to red, perturbed.

"I need to talk to you about something you told me last night."

"Connor, I don't think right now would...I..."

"We cannot afford avoiding this subject. It's about Kamski. I wanted to ask further last night, but I figured that it may be smarter to talk about it when you were well rested and sober. Would you prefer me to give you headache medication before we talk? You seem rather absent."

"No, that's fine. I...didn't drink that much last night anyways." You forced the best fake smile you could muster onto your face. Connor wouldn't understand what you were dealing with. Of course he wouldn't. It was unnecessary to burden him with your problems.

The Android nodded and leaned back in his chair, LED blinking a thoughtful yellow. "Last night, you told me that when I first arrived at the workshop, you noticed that my memory drive hadn't been damaged by an explosion, unlike the rest of my body. You addressed said detail with your boss, however Kamski seemed uncooperative with his responses."

"Yeah." You nodded your head, looking up from the food. You were about halfway done with the portion of scrambled eggs, although the pit in your stomach was there, as empty and aching as it could get. "That was the course of things."

"Can you tell me anything else you noticed to be suspicious about Kamski's behavior? I think it may be smart to investigate further."

Elijah. Elijah was all that you had left when it came to family. You'd have to tell him about Brennan, about his best friend's death. He would-no, he was going to understand what you were going through. He would feel the same.

"Alright, Connor, listen. I know Elijah. Sure, not as well as my brother used to," The word 'brother' was heavy, insufferably heavy to even say, much less hear. "But I know him well enough to be sure that it would never be his intention to harm me. He's a man of his word, and he's made a promise." You answered, coming off as a bit more defensive than you would have wanted to.

"You are acting irrationally. Whatever he is hiding could be putting your life in danger and you wouldn't even know it until the last minute."

How dare he? How dare Connor not only question the closest thing you still had left to family, but doubt his own creator?

"I trust Elijah with my life. I couldn't expect a machine to understand that. All you- no, all every single Android thinks about is numbers. Probabilities, chances, percentages. That's exactly how you were programmed. I don't know why I thought you'd-" You pushed your chair back, making your way out of the kitchen. You stopped at the door, not bothering to look Connor in the eyes and spoke: "Thank you for the meal, RK800. You are free to return to the workshop."

Of course Connor wouldn't understand the concept of death. Even when he had been obliterated almost completely, you and Elijah had fixed him as good as new. But there was no such thing for humans. For Brennan. And that's something the RK800 wouldn't have understood.

The Android remained in the kitchen, dumbfounded and confused. Something about hearing his model name slide off your tongue so soullessly, sharply, left a pit in his stomach as a heavy ache flooded his chest. He replayed your entire dialogue in his head again, struggling to figure out where exactly he had made you angry. There was nothing. He had been perfectly rational and diplomatic, and yet...

He heard you shut the bedroom door behind yourself.

Realizing that there was nothing else he could do, Connor cleaned up the plates and other utensils he had dirtied in the cooking process, then started leaving.

Until something white, carelessly thrown on the small table right beside the front door caught his eye. A letter.

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