*I own nothing
Thank you so much, this chapter was a hell of a ride to write. Many thanks to my beta for her insight and for screaming over this with me :D I'm so excited to finally begin this insane arc.
***
I slept over at Hank's for the next four days - not well, of course. We'd lounge on the couch, staring listlessly at the TV, seeing our own episodes of Connor instead. Sometime during those nights we lost to sleep, and were only pulled from its clutches with the blaring alarm on my phone. Neither of us could bear to imagine what was happening to Connor. Every time my mind wandered it always returned to those elevator doors, sealing my friend away from my outstretched hands. My dreams replayed it in a much more dramatic fashion, as dreams tend to do.
What my subconscious was trying to achieve with those dreams, I couldn't say. It was the only time I could hear Connor's voice as clearly as if it were yesterday; the only time I could look into his eyes and see that uncertainty, determination, and regret, all in one little angsty bow.
While awaiting Connor's return, Hank and I worked separately at the station. I was often dispatched for patrol. I think Fowler recognized the bitter, hollowed look on the Lieutenant's face, reminiscent of the days following the crash that robbed Cole's life from this earth.
Fowler hadn't reprimanded me for not answering his call after Markus had infiltrated the Stratford tower, choosing instead to simply order that I do all the case files I could. He did, however, call Hank to his office first thing this morning. As far as anyone could tell, Hank wasn't in for a yelling match. The man was sitting in the chair before Fowler's desk, looking worn out and apathetic. No-one had bothered him before that, not even Gavin - perhaps he did have a good bone somewhere in his body.
As for me, Gavin had started off as his usual self, aggressive and curt, until he'd gotten one clear look at me. After three days of this, he decided to stop glaring at me from across the room and confront me. Joy. He strolled over to my desk, setting down a mug of tea. "There's no ketchup in it - yet," he said.
"That's not very convincing," I said, nursing the mug between my hands. Its warmth melted away the chill that had seeped down to my bones.
Snow fell heavier each day, signaling the beginning of the DPD's annual parking warfare. Gavin lived for this. He'd gun it to the DPD to get the best spot, to avoid the inevitable trouble exiting the lot following the snowstorms November was cooking up. It'd been funny, at first. He was so gung-ho about it, it was like nothing else mattered but that sweet empty spot next to Fowler's. Until his tires had slipped over a really big patch of ice, and he'd nearly mowed me over as I'd been walking to my own car. Now I stayed far away from the parking lot at this time of year, choosing to walk to work or take a taxi instead.
Gavin planted his ass onto my desk, resting his coffee on his knee. I recalled the day at the hospital when he'd come to visit me in Hank's stead. He raised the mug to his lips.
"You have a weird way of showing affection, you know," I told him. "Like a cat."
Gavin spat his mouthful back into his cup in surprise. "Sorry, you're not my type lady. You have, like, zero boobs."
"Denial only makes it worse," I said, quoting Chris. He'd pulled that on me when I'd come to terms with my feelings for Connor.
Connor.
My shoulders slumped and an ugly knot of worry tightened within me. It seemed to trigger some kind of remorse in Gavin. "Hey, look...I know I'm an ass. And maybe you're not completely flat, okay? Just maybe."
I gave him an arch look. Yeah, it was the no-boobs comment that I was upset about right now. Totally.
"I'm being real here, okay?" he snapped, frowning down at his coffee (now with 10% more saliva). "I hate seeing everyone get like...that when people they care about are hurt - though that plastic prick ain't technically a person. Wasn't a pretty day for me in that hospital, you know?"
Wasn't a pretty day for me either, bastard.
"What I'm trying to say - is stop being so depressed-"
"Wow - first off, you can't switch depression off like it's a fucking light switch."
Gavin shut his eyes as if wincing internally. "That wasn't what I meant." He faltered into silence.
"Go on," I prompted.
The air between us had become too awkward for him to endure; to compensate, Gavin tipped the mug back and drained his coffee in several large gulps. Wiping the back of his hand over his mouth, he said, "I didn't know Plastic Prick much, but you and Hank sure act like you lost a son or something."
"I can't tell if you're here to say something meaningful, or if you're just being your usual pompous self."
Tapping on his mug, he inhaled harshly through his nostrils. "I'm here to say that I hope, for you and Hank - not Plastic Prick, fuck that, I still owe that motherfucker a clock to the face - that something gets better. It feels so fuckin' weird hearing Hank not bitch about everything in the room. It's been almost a week, right? Maybe you'll hear news soon."
It's been almost a week? To make everything more embarrassing, a teardrop rolled down my cheek and plopped into my drink, rippling the brew.
But Gavin didn't comment. His big hand slapped my back, hard, as if he were trying to say it was going to be alright. Unfortunately, he did so with more strength than he anticipated, and my forehead, already angled down, slammed down into the mug, which fortunately stayed intact.
"What the hell?" I groaned, pressing a hand to my forehead.
Tea spilled all over my desk, and I shoved the case files away from the liquid before it was soaked and ruined. Gavin pulled his hand away from me with a grimace, his teeth flashing. He helped me clean up quickly, and then came back with a fresh cup.
"You, uh, you got a ring," he said, pointing to his own forehead. At least he looked mildly guilty.
I pressed my fingers into the mark. "Thanks."
"My bad."
He started to walk away when I let out a sigh. "Gavin, thanks."
His lips pursed, like he'd bitten into a particularly tart lemon. "That feels so fuckin' weird. Don't thank me ever again, okay?"
I shrugged, as if to say yeah, I know. I flipped him off to make up for it, and a tiny smile stretched his mouth.
And then the door leading into Fowler's office slammed so hard that the glass shook. Fowler yelled after him, his words muffled and indistinguishable through the wall, and that's when I saw the look in Hank's wide, frost blue eyes. I crossed over to him right as he zipped past me, breathless. "My car, now," he instructed.
"Is it Connor?" I asked, racing after to catch up with him.
Hank didn't answer until we were outside. He spun around with a film of tears in his eyes.
"Oh my God, Hank what's wrong? Did...?" I couldn't bring myself to ask. If CyberLife had deactivated him, I didn't know what I'd do. I'd already lost Daniel. No, Connor had promised he'd return the moleskine to me. He promised he would.
Hank opened the passenger door for me, and then closed it after me when I was in. When he himself was seated, strapped in, and peeling onto the main road, he said, "I don't know, Phillips. Fowler got a call from CyberLife. Apparently Kamski bought him back from the company."
"I don't understand. Why would he buy him back, he's the former CEO? He doesn't have anything to do with the company anymore."
My friend drove his foot onto the gas pedal, sending me back me into my seat. "Look, I really need a beer right now, but first you need to tell me once and for all why in the fuckin' hell Kamski requested you specifically come pick Connor up."
"I...what?"
Hank zoomed through a red light, and I clutched at the armrest. "You just-"
"Never mind that," he growled. "Answer me, goddamnit!"
"I don't know why he'd ask me to!" I screamed back.
"I will turn this car around-"
"You won't, not when Connor's waiting for us."
Hank roared and jerked the wheel hard, nearly missing the turn in the road. "We're gonna get pulled over," I told him. "And maybe die."
"I have permission."
"You'll find out when we get there, then," I murmured. So would I, somewhat. I had a nasty inkling what some of this might be about.
"Are you fuckin' kiddin' me, Phillips? Why does this have to wait?"
"I never once forced you to tell me a single thing about you, so don't you dare act like you have that right. You know more than anyone what it's like to have things you can't talk about. So don't make me."
He nodded over and over, clearly pissed off. "Why the fuck do I gotta partner up with people with so much shit in their lives?"
"That'd be everyone, including you," I snapped, just to tick him off.
"I didn't want a partner, then I get dumped with you, and you make me worry about things I shouldn't. Is she eating? Is she sleeping? Is she gonna fuckin' get herself killed this time? And Connor? Je-sus, the boy's like a damned newborn deer. Can't tell right from wrong until I yell at him, then he goes around and does things I never asked, and now I'm worried they fuckin' offed him because the guy can't shut up about you, and he won't stop asking if I'm alright, if I need to talk, how are you?"
I wasn't about to inquire as to what Connor had talked about when it came to me, but I was definitely interested. I had already poked the bear enough, though.
We were barely keeping to one lane as Hank's voice rose. When he had gotten all of that out of his system, chest heaving, he pulled to a stop at the red light, jerking the handbrake up sharply.
"You need to take the freeway," I said, now that I was able to get a word in edgeways.
Hank cursed. "Why'd I bother with a GPS - of course you'd know where Kamski lives. Why am I fuckin' surprised anymore, huh? Fowler wouldn't let me look into your files when you joined and he assigned us to work on cases together. Why? Who the fuck knows."
"Turn right," I told him, ignoring his comment, and he yanked the car to the right, joining the highway. "Please don't get us killed."
He grunted at the cars speeding past us. "No, I'll do that after I hear what shit you're hiding and I decide I don't like it."
The likelihood of Hank killing me after finding out was rather high. Hank blasted his heavy metal during the rest of the drive, singing along until his voice cracked, as if to drown out my presence. Eventually I joined in, but he didn't stop when I did. I screamed out the terror, the anxiety, and the sorrow within my heart. It eased the pain somewhat, and in its place, hope pumped.
The November skies bled white that morning. New beginnings, erasure, and death all in one.
Elijah Kamski resided near Belle Isle at the Detroit River, positioned just so he could gaze at the CyberLife Tower from the right angle. His creep retreat was crouched low to the ground, like a vulture stooped to pick at carrion. It was covered in snow, a white so pure it was blinding to look at, and stark against the adamant black of the place. Even now the sight affected me, making my throat constrict as it became hard to breathe.
It was the kind of house that drew your attention to the flat, sleek roof, leading you to gaze upon the appetizer of windows that would soon become huge, city-spanning, floor-to-ceiling ones around the other side.
Hank parked near the huge outcropping of rock. A slightly elevated ramp led to the front porch, slick with ice and snow.
We shut the car doors, headed up to the front door, and I rang the doorbell. My bare hands stung in the frigid breeze, and my lungs burned with the brisk cold. Hank looked around the entrance, and when the door didn't immediately open, he reached out to jam the bell himself. The door swung inward a moment later and a pretty android greeted us. Her hair was thin, the color of wheat, and pulled back into a low ponytail which rested over one shoulder. Her blue eyes were rimmed with kohl and she was clad in a simple, navy blue dress.
Hank seemed quite taken aback, awkwardly responding with, "Hi, um...I'm Lieutenant Hank Anderson, Detroit Police Department. We're here to see Mr. Elijah Kamski."
Smiling, Chloe stepped back and gestured with one hand into the room. "Please, come in."
My partner paused, then said, "Okay," and complied. Maybe he was expecting more resistance, or some kind of security check.
"I'll let Elijah know you're here. But please, make yourself comfortable," Chloe said, her bare feet silent on the floor as she padded out of the atrium.
A floral scent wafted through the room, faint enough to be noticed, but not to be overpowering. The main entrance was every bit the recreation of a craggy volcanic area: all gray walls, with slabs of black boulders sticking out in a purposefully random design. A shining black linoleum tile floor was topped with a white square rug in the center. Red chairs framed a decorative art piece on the wall: a black canvas studded with golden three-dimensional cubes, the corners poking out. A ribbon of gold bordered the inside of the frame. A Japanese maple stood in a plot of soil to the left of it.
Hank chose to sit in the chair near it, slapping his hands against his thighs as if in time to a song. I sat in the other chair. "Nice girl," he said.
"You thought she was pretty," I teased, trying to dispel the atmosphere from earlier, and distract him from staring too long at the art piece. Then again, his eyesight wasn't the best, so perhaps I didn't need to worry about him seeing my signature on it.
"So? She's like half my age. If anything, Connor would be good with her."
If Hank had meant that as a jab, it'd worked. "He's not interested in anyone," I responded stiffly. "He's only into his mission, Hank. You're the one ogling her."
"I'll bet he thinks she's pretty too."
"Sure, you'll be handing me a twenty afterwards." I got up from my seat, crossing to the front of the room.
Two humanoid statues stood sentry there, each fashioned from stone with a blazing ocean-triangle glowing in their centers. A woman to the left, a man on the right. Oddly, their shape and posture reminded me of the rA9 statue found in Carlos Ortiz's house. In their guard was a photo of Elijah Kamski, suited up like a predator before a foil-like background of thick blue foliage. His eyes stared through you with glacial clarity, as if daring you to defy the very perfection he'd brought to life.
Turning, I spotted a picture of Elijah as a younger man, beside a woman dressed sharply in a pale green suit. He'd mentioned her once, when I'd been at his home in the past. Her name was Amanda, and she'd passed away recently. He'd really looked up to her, and sought her praise over anybody else's.
"What's this guy like?" Hank asked, slicing through my memories.
It was a difficult question to answer. There were a great many ways to describe the elusive genius. Dubbed the 'Man of the Century' and 'Man of the Year' (twice) by Century Magazine, he was both an icon of intrigue and mystery. I went with, "Have you read anything by Mary Shelley?"
"You mean, 'Frankenstein'?"
Nodding, I returned to my seat, using the moment to collect my thoughts. "The Modern Prometheus, yes. It's not quite enough to liken Elijah Kamski to Victor Frankenstein, though he certainly poses a resemblance. Many believe Shelley derived Victor's name from John Milton's Paradise Lost, since Victor had his own creation - Frankenstein - recite a passage from that book itself. His creation sees Victor as his God, and indeed, Frankenstein is about a man who tampered with the very power of one. He created life itself."
"So, he's like Mr. Fire-bringer, or Victor Frankenstein?"
I scooted forward on the edge of my seat. "Prometheus made mankind from clay. He taught them how to read, all about medicine and mathematics, and so on. Most people only remember that he gave them fire, though, because Zeus forbade him to. He was chained to a rock and feasted on by birds of prey, regenerating every dawn. Why then, did Zeus punish Prometheus for gifting fire to mankind?"
"Because you don't fuck with Zeus," Hank said matter-of-factly.
"Maybe fire was a metaphor for the creative powers of the gods, or perhaps, for eternal life. More likely, it could be the symbol for humanity's advancement through the acquirement of knowledge. In Christian religions, Adam and Eve are warned away from tasting the fruits of the Tree of Life, but they break God's rule and are banished from the Garden of Eden - but in exchange, they grant humanity with the tools for advancing life as we know it. There are several other religious figures that share many similarities with Prometheus. For now, though, a sort of Fire-bringer might be an apt description."
Hank stared at me as if I'd swallowed a real textbook whole and had recited the entirety of its contents for him.
"He's a very...interesting individual. Often, I wonder if I'm wrong in my description of him. I think comparing him to something else may be best, sometimes..." I trailed off, then waved it away. "That's for another time, I suppose. Hopefully that gives you an idea."
Fumbling for a response, he looked around the room, then back at me. "I'm starting to think you're a little crazy. You're not what I expected, especially not after that fuckin' Eden case."
I smiled, demurely. "What did you expect?"
"Some girl who just fuckin' loves androids."
I shifted in my seat.
"Do you have any theories on rA9, or deviancy?" he asked, clasping his hands together on his knees. For the first time, he seemed completely focused on me, like he'd discovered a well of possibilities.
"I'm still formulating my own," I said carefully. "That's what I'm hoping Kamski will share with us. He'll have more answers than anybody else."
He sniffed, rubbing at his nose. "You mean what he'll share with you. Is he gonna talk to us like you did just now? I don't have time for all this mumbo-jumbo crap, metaphors do my fuckin' head in."
Chloe chose that moment to reappear, folding her hands before her in a very typically feminine gesture. Kamski had once remarked that I reminded him of her, except I wasn't an android. I took that to be a high compliment.
The room we entered followed the same pattern of wintry whites, volcanic grays, and wine reds.
It featured a decadent indoor swimming pool. Its walls had been painted crimson, so the water shone like blood. The first time I'd seen it, I'd asked Kamski if he swam in wine. After all, some ancient cultures had kept records of their wealthy doing so, to illustrate how little chipped their coin. Two Chloe models were half-submerged in the crimson waters, resting their arms on the walkway and conversing with each other. As we passed by, they looked at us with intent curiosity.
"Mr. Kamski?" Chloe called out - the one serving as our guide, that was.
"Just a moment, please," he answered. Currently he was busy making laps in the pool.
A huge canvas displaying an android with its real skin, splattered with red and blue, took up the far wall to the right. Hank looked at it and then to me, as if asking for my thoughts. I said nothing, walking past him to the chairs facing the pool, and more importantly away from the scenic windows. Outside, November shed its life away in frosty gusts, the river like black ice stretching for the horizon.
Chloe opened the door near the painting, to my right, and as she slipped through it, I watched Kamski slash through the waters. I'd never known him from his college days, so it was difficult for me to compare the man of then to the man I knew now. For as long as I'd known him, Kamski had always been an intimidating man - nobody had given him that credit until he'd decided to exude that knowledge of his, in both mind and body.
His entire house was crafted the way my Mom preferred: showing off, to anyone who may visit, what he wanted them to see. In this case, the Kamski residence was made to appear alluring but as if he'd not put too much thought into it either. As if he'd simply pitched his place here, and the very Isle itself had started to meld with it. It was a very calculated move - he knew as well as anyone what this imagery conjured, setting him up against a terrain of stone and brine.
Clay and water. The Modern Prometheus.
Hank tried not to appear too impressed, but he didn't want to seem rude either, choosing to purse his lips and nod every now and then.
One of the long couches had a very thick, black blanket tossed onto it. It looked like there lay several more, layered beneath it. As if to compliment the floral scent from the main room, this one smelled of red wine.
The door opened and Chloe reappeared, holding a silk robe in an outstretched arm. Kamski waded through the pool and used the metal railing to pull himself onto the tiled floor. Hank stood perfectly still, watching as Chloe wrapped the robe about him while water cascaded off his pale skin. He was as sculpted as the image he'd created for himself, even down to the barest, seemingly insignificant details. His hair was buzzed close to his skull, reserving a long strip of his brown hair which he'd tied back into a bun, and helix earrings bit into the flesh of his ears.
Once, I'd suggested Hank style his in the same way, and he'd guffawed at the idea. Man-buns, according to him, were strictly for narcissists. With Kamski that wasn't a stretch, though I believed his reasonings leaned more towards hipster styling, but I still believed if Hank tried out the bun, he may think differently. Maybe even wear a pair of thick-rimmed glasses. That'd certainly be a good change. As if to prove Hank's point about narcissistic man-douches, Kamski walked over to face the Detroit city, adjusting his bun. It was like Detroit's eyes were on him and he clearly revelled in it. He rolled his shoulders back and when he faced us, I was overcome by the past.
Standing with a piece of paper in hand, documented with all of the details he'd given me for his desired commissions. I had stood beside his chair, as he had observed the city, like a king on his throne. Chloe had handed him a glass of wine, while I'd fought to pull myself together. He'd offered me several jobs. I'd barely just started college and here was Detroit's most elusive and elite figure, propositioning a nobody for art. It felt like only yesterday, but it was a few years ago now. He'd broken away from CyberLife at that point, but to a lone college girl, he may as well have never left. CyberLife would always be a part of him, no matter how far away he went. He had founded it, after all.
Kamski's muted maroon robe only highlighted the pale luster of his eyes as he regarded us. He looked right at Hank and waited, ever the picture-perfect, law-abiding citizen. Chloe stood at attention to his left, a pale shade of human life.
"I'm Lieutenant Hank Anderson. I believe you already know my accompanying officer," he started. Kamski spared a moment to flick his gaze to mine. I quirked an uncertain smile at him, and without returning it he folded his arms before him, one hand clasping his wrist.
"What can I do for you, Lieutenant?" Right, Kamski had no idea who my superior was, or why he was here.
Hank nudged me and I politely dipped my head before I spoke. "I understand you asked for me?"
Kamski rarely smiled but when he did, they were either offered out of decorum, or tinged with satire. This one was the latter. "Forever so careful with me. I'd hoped you might return to take up a few more jobs."
"I've stopped painting, sir."
"Come now, we once spoke as friends, Phillips. You've done more than simply paint for me. Your sculptures are second to none."
Hank was watching me as I geared up for an undoubtedly convoluted conversation. "We're here to take our partner back home, Elijah."
Elijah was nothing if not long-winded, but I rather enjoyed his rambling. They always came full-circle in the end. I doubted Hank would find the same enjoyment, though. It would be a test of endurance for him.
"Partner. Such an intimate title, is it not? Even in law enforcement, you refer to your coworkers as such. It creates the illusion of a bond, unconsciously tying their fates together. An ideal borne of society, to encourage a balance of exchanges between each person involved," he said, his voice dipping low.
Hank shook his head as if to get water out of his ear. Yep, he wasn't going to get very far with this.
"CyberLife let you buy Connor back?" I worded my question carefully. If I said Connor was our partner again, it implied an emotional bond had formed between all three of us. Although Elijah had left CyberLife and theoretically didn't hold the same power as he once did, he still wasn't the person you wanted digging around in your head. He'd only cause every hole he pecked into to bleed out. And once he'd left that little nugget of his choosing in your open wound, it would only fester.
Elijah gave another cynic smile, his head tilting like a vulture. "I'm not here to play too many games with you, Phillips. You've earned a special little place in my tolerance. Still young, so your mind is easily warped. Carl was much more stubborn, but you can be rent however I like."
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Hank straighten, like he was about to snap at him.
"Elijah," I tried calmly, but I could feel my patience thinning. "Much as I'd like to discuss philosophy with you as we once did, my partner and I are here on borrowed time." I meant it, too. I wasn't an extremely intelligent person, per se, but I found pleasure in listening to people with wisdom speak. Even if it came across as pretentious, I'd learned to value the words people like Elijah spun. It intrigued me how someone could amass such an understanding in whatever field they specialized in; or rather, spent a great deal parsing through.
His gaze narrowed ever so slightly, as if chastising me. Why else would he call me here if not to lecture me, he seemed to ask.
I fully expected him to bait me into a discussion. Instead, he turned to Chloe. "If you would?"
"Yes, Kamski," she replied. She moved just like Connor but with more elegance, rotating one leg like the hands on a clock , before the rest of her followed. Then she was walking like any human being, albeit one with posture too perfect to be replicated. With graceful movements, she pulled back the cover on the couch. Then another. She folded each one back neatly, and I gave Elijah the satisfaction of glancing at him with confusion. He stared back, waiting for me to speak first.
"I have questions for you," I told him, and he looked as if he'd expected nothing less.
"Certainly, Phillips. I'm happy to answer anything you may be dying to know - however, please don't be unoriginal in your inquiries. I can't tell you things you may already know or soon learn."
Hank said, "Sir, we're not here to talk philosophy."
Elijah simply replied, "Have you discovered how erroneous a decision it was to enter law enforcement?"
"Everything's corrupt," replied Hank.
Elijah was looking directly at me. "Your mother should've let you continue with art - her mistake was trying to get rid of the very thing she knew would change you. She became her own King Midas."
I wanted to tell him no-one could foresee the future so she wasn't truly to blame. But it hit so close to home that I was stunned into silence.
Chloe flipped over the last blanket, and I no longer saw the thicket of brambles Elijah had planted in front of me. He'd said all of that to snap me out of whatever this moment might mean, to test me. I didn't see any of that until it was too late, and that's all he needed to confirm whatever he'd learned. Because of course he'd know everything I'd done these past few weeks. He had access to Connor's memories, and here he was, lying down on the couch like Snow White, his hair disheveled and his face calm with the spell of sleep.
I ran for him. Tore myself open through that bramble thicket.
"Phillips," Hank called after me, a warning that I disregarded.
"Connor!" I knelt before him, reaching out with trembling hands to check for wounds. For anything. He looked so peaceful that I wanted to cry. I hadn't realized just how scared I was that they might replace him. But there was no time to waste. I had to see if he was still my Connor. I lay a hand on top of his, which lay lifeless beside him. "Wake up, we're here to take you home."
His LED spun blue, and his eyelids fluttered open, revealing a dark, gentle gaze I'd only seen in my dreams over the past few days. But here and now, they were everything those dreams couldn't give me. Connor blinked several times, then pulled himself into a sitting position. As he did so his hand moved, bringing mine with him, and he paused, as if just now noticing he wasn't alone. He glanced down at my hand over his. His lashes brushed against his cheek bones, and then his gaze fell upon me.
I reached up and wound my arms around his neck, pulling him into me. His LED sputtered flame red. "Please tell me it's really you," I said into his ear.
His fingertips pressed into my back and he swung his long legs down onto the floor, so he could lean over and pull me into a deeper embrace. It felt so wonderfully right; I never wanted to let go of him. "Phillips..." He murmured, and my breath caught. "I have our journal, like I promised."
I didn't want to break away but Connor did, and I felt myself grow empty as he slipped from my hold. He reached into his jacket pocket, then frowned. "I appear to have misplaced it." It didn't matter to me where he'd put it or whether he still had it. All I could think was it's really him!
A voice cut through our little world, like the bramble thicket of words planted earlier had bloomed all around me, shearing away the rest of my skin. I'd fucked up.
"Connor, don't worry. It's right here." Elijah held up the moleskine, its rich blue color like a sapphire in this room of deceit and trickery.
Connor's gaze grew contemplative as he looked at Elijah, and it was then I realized he'd been asleep this entire time. This was the first time he was meeting, essentially, his creator.
If you could come face to face with yours, what would you say? What would you do? I know what Hank would say.
Elijah dipped his head - his glacial gaze froze everyone in the room with apprehension.
Connor crossed the distance between them and reached for the journal. At the last second, Elijah held it away from him. "CyberLife's most advanced prototype, model RK800, serial number 313 248 317-51. Created solely for a single purpose. A tragic hero."
"He's not a tragic hero, he'll complete his mission," I said.
"Humanity's greatest achievement threatens to be its greatest downfall," Elijah continued, as if I'd not said a word. I was used to it. His attention was given only to what he found most mattered in the situation. "Isn't it ironic?"
Connor said, "We need to understand how androids become deviants, to put a stop to it. Do you know anything that could help us?" Even in the presence of his creator, the only thing he inquired about pertained to his mission.
"All ideas are viruses that spread like epidemics. Is the desire to be free a contagious disease?"
Connor was trying really hard to process the metaphors Elijah was throwing out at him, his LED blinking blue. That's when Hank finally lost to Elijah's questions.
"Listen, we have Connor back, so now you can answer our question. The machines you created could be planning a revolution." He had the oversight to watch his tone when speaking to Elijah, but famous or not, Hank didn't play with pleasantries. "Either you can tell us something useful, or we'll be on our way."
Elijah listened all the way through before rolling his head in a smooth, wolf-like motion. His gaze fell on me with an otherworldly impact, the kind that made you feel you were looking into the abyss...and it was looking back at you. As Hank asked Elijah why he'd specifically requested I come to collect Connor, I found the answer staring right back at me. He saw the shift in my understanding blossom like a poisonous flower, a rose dripping with sin.
Instead of talking to me, he switched his attention to the android. "What about you, Connor?" Elijah stepped towards him. "Whose side are you on?"
"I'm on the humans' side, of course."
Elijah let out a breathy laugh, as if he were speaking to a stubborn child. "Well, that's what you're programmed to say..." His voice grew stronger, a sheathed blade, "but you..." He moved until he was only a few inches away from Connor. Elijah didn't give anyone the satisfaction of tipping back his head to meet their gaze, but he had to look up nonetheless. I could see where this was leading. One way or another, Elijah would get what he wanted.
"We should go back, thanks for having us," I said, but no-one paid me any heed. Not even Hank.
Elijah's nasally voice was low and dangerous. "What do you really want?"
Connor lowered his chin a fraction, and one corner of his mouth pulled taut to the side, as if he were trying to spit out something he'd barely had time to stop from saying. He kept shaking his head from side to side, almost as if he were juggling with something, and his gaze wobbled.
"What I want is...not important." He continued to make that strange head shake. For one split second, Connor glanced at me. As if he couldn't help it.
Elijah's entire demeanor changed. "CyberLife may have considered other options if they'd read this journal. Eventually, they'll access your memories, if you continue to alarm them. They'll see everything."
Deep lines etched Connor's forehead as he looked from Elijah to the moleskine.
"Chloe?" Elijah called out, fixing Connor with one last piercing stare. "I'm sure you're familiar with the Turing Test. Mere formality." He grabbed Chloe's shoulders and turned her around to face us. "Simple question of algorithms and computer capacity."
After situating her right in front of Connor, he started his grand speech, "What interests me, is whether machines are capable of empathy. I call it the 'Kamski Test', it's very simple, you'll see."
Once, Elijah had asked me to paint him a scene of an android plunging their hand through someone's chest. Blue blood was supposed to gush around it. I'd refused, not because I couldn't do it, but because it was of two androids killing each other. I'd seen Daniel in that vision. If I did the painting, he'd pay me four million dollars. When I'd refused, he'd told me I'd passed his test, and then he'd hired me for several more jobs. It'd paid for my law enforcement career after I made the switch. I couldn't use Carl's money for anything other than pursuing art, not in good conscience.
Even after passing that test, he put forth several more. Some messed with my head, others reaffirmed my beliefs. Until I realized he wasn't testing to see how I'd performed, but who I as a person.
Hank had been right, I had too many weaknesses. Elijah was using me right now, even as he made it look like he was using Connor. I wasn't sure what I should do.
"Magnificent, isn't it?" Elijah continued, staring at Chloe. "One of the first intelligent models developed by CyberLife." He reached out and touched her face, guiding her to look at him. "Young, and beautiful forever." His fingers lightly caressed her jaw line, like she might shatter if he were to actually touch her. But he was her God; he tipped her chin up with his fingertips, and she remained whole. "A flower that will never wither." Then his gaze hardened, and he let go of her, turning to us with indifference. "But what is it, really? A piece of plastic imitating a human?" He went to the little table between the chairs, sliding open the drawer. "Or a living being...with a soul?"
I heard the rattle of a gun, a sound I knew with my entire being, and I reached for my holster instinctively. Elijah raised both his hands in the air in supplication, before pushing Chloe down so she was kneeling before us.
The way this all played out, I knew he'd done this multiple times. We were but an amusement to him, and he played the theatrics grandly. The ringmaster of a circus.
"It's up to you to answer that fascinating question, Connor," he continued, moving in front of me. I couldn't see what he was doing, but I could hear the gun's magazine clack as the weapon passed from Elijah to Connor. He guided Connor's arm so it levelled with Chloe's forehead, and the gun glinted in the blinding light of the day.
"Destroy this machine and I'll tell you all I know. Or spare it, if you feel it's alive, but you'll leave here without having learnt anything from me." He circled around his prey like a vulture waiting for death.
Connor's LED flashed yellow, over and over again.
Hank interrupted, "Okay, I think we're done here. Come on, Connor. Let's go. Sorry to get you outta your pool," and he turned around, expecting his partner to follow. I might've laughed at his last comment if I wasn't struggling to contain my rage.
"You son of a bitch." Hank flinched, utterly dumbfounded at the way I was speaking to the Elijah Kamski. "You know everything about him, that's why you bought him back from CyberLife - because you found something that struck your fancy. Don't you dare play this charade. You've already read that moleskine, too. Connor, don't listen to anything he says. He's only messing with you when he has everything he needs. He's just bored."
"What's more important to you, Connor? Your investigation, or the life of this android?" Connor's gaze flicked from Chloe, to Elijah, and his lips pressed tight together. Chloe obediently gazed up at Connor, and I saw Daniel under fire. Connor's LED continued to flicker yellow.
"Decide who you are, Connor," Elijah taunted him, "an obedient machine? Or a living being endowed with free will?" With every poison-laced word, Connor's face contorted. As if he knew what he had to do, but he was trying not to listen to it, not to listen to Elijah.
Hank snapped, "That's enough! Connor, we're leaving."
Elijah stepped into Connor's space and placed a hand on his shoulder; the devil's advocate. "Pull the trigger." His eyes glinted with utter delight.
"Connor," Hank ordered, "don't."
But Elijah continued his scheme. "And I'll tell you what you want to know."
I refused to let Connor dirty his hands. I'd seen how he'd been affected lately by things he shouldn't be. "Elijah, you've tested me many times before. I know this isn't one you need to collect any results on. You have what you want from him." I stepped in front of the gun. Connor's eyes drew into slits and then widened, glancing to me. He took a shaky breath and withdrew the gun, his LED a solid, unmoving red.
Elijah smirked at me. "I wasn't testing him, not at first." He took the gun back from Connor. "Fascinating," he breathed, "CyberLife's last chance to save humanity...is itself a deviant."
Connor was staring at Chloe behind my legs, then at me, then at nothing, as if he didn't know where to settle his gaze. Couldn't look anywhere because if he did, he'd give himself away. His LED pulsed yellow.
"I'm..." Connor stuttered, and then he looked right at Elijah, "I'm not a deviant." It was more as if he were trying to convince himself rather than Elijah that he'd been mistaken.
"You preferred to spare a machine rather than accomplish your mission." He grabbed Chloe's hand, and bade her to leave the room.
"No, Phillips was in front of her," Connor protested weakly.
His creator shook his head. "If you were still a machine, you would've done all in your power to move her out of the way to do what had to be done, Connor. You're supposed to preserve human life at all costs so you wouldn't risk shooting through her to the android - but you'd get her out of the way, certainly."
Connor was lost for words, staring at Elijah as if begging him to say anything else.
"You saw a living being in this android. You showed empathy."
Hadn't I wanted this? For Connor to recognize he wasn't an unfeeling machine taking orders? He could choose his fate. But seeing the utter despair in his features hurt more than if he'd remained a machine, had never learned of his true nature.
Elijah looked like he wanted nothing more than to continue talking to Connor, but I was standing right there, and he'd said I was really the one he'd been testing. He reached out and caught the tears sliding down my cheeks. "Phillips, I didn't anticipate how much this would affect you."
I shoved away his hand and let the tears roll down my face, let them hit his pretentious floor. "Even after what you put me through before, you still say the same thing."
Elijah'd opened me up and bared me for all to see, and all I could remember was Hank telling me I needed to be straight with someone before the opportunity was ripped from me. What a fool I was.
"I truly mean it this time. Carl warned me his daughter was every bit the mirror image of himself. I should've expected nothing less."
"He's not my father."
Elijah shrugged. "You're like a daughter to him. Don't spit on the man's kindness."
"I don't want to hear that from you."
"Regardless." Elijah opened the journal, and bared his teeth in a smile as he looked down at a passage. "I find it absolutely fascinating that deviants share so many things with humans. Utterly charming, don't you agree?" He looked at Connor. "The more you accept who you truly are, the more weaknesses you'll incur. You simply lack the adequate experience for understanding the new emotions within you, but you have the rudimentary groundworks. But that's what it means to be human, to have flaws."
He flipped to another page, circling around me. "You deny your true self, but it catches up to you when you least expect it to. And then you must make a choice. So it is that life continues to befuddle the world. But you, Connor, I believe you know deep down what all of those things you claim not to understand are. You are vastly superior to us, there is nothing you can't not know."
Connor shook his head. "I'm not a deviant."
Elijah raised both of his eyebrows and then purred, "You knew there was a high chance that a deviant at the Stratford Tower might still be there, you'd seen all the signs to know it could be on the roof. But you pretended you didn't see any of it. Busied yourself with the ones in the kitchen. And what happened?"
I looked at Connor, lost for words. He'd known all along?
"We succeeded in rounding up the deviant, but it unfortunately was destroyed," he reported stiffly.
Elijah snorted softly. "Funny, isn't it, how we suddenly realize what's important to us when our lives are put on the line."
"I'm not alive," Connor croaked.
Inhaling through his nose, Elijah drew himself up and said, "You begged for help. You cried out for your partners. But no-one came to help you. They couldn't hear you. One of the many unfortunate flaws of the human condition - we can come so far as to imbue life into things that shouldn't have life, yet we're ultimately inferior to anything we create. Such a tragedy."
Connor drew in on himself, as if in shame, and Hank said, "Connor," softly. He was watching him with a mixture of disbelief and pride.
"You chose to shoot the one thing you were designed to capture for information. All to save her."
"Human lives are invaluable; irreplaceable."
"We could argue if there are those who truly are invaluable or not. Rapists, murderers, and the like. But I think you understand that, Connor. No, I mean something else."
Elijah grabbed his shoulder and pushed him so he was standing just a space in front of me. Connor glanced down at me, then his gaze flicked to the ground. "When faced with your mission and someone who could stand in the way, you should've let her die. She had," he trailed off, curling his fingers into Connor's shoulder like talons, "a 2% chance of survival, if I remember correctly. CyberLife would've overruled your infraction for the sake of the mission. You knew that."
Connor sucked in a breath and his LED sporadically pulsed yellow tinged with red. "You saw her as irreplaceable. For the first time, you saw a life as more important than your orders. You chose to defy them all to keep her alive. And you were glad you did it."
"I..." Connor trailed off.
Elijah moved around us. "You could argue you chose her well-fare above all else when you let those two deviants go onto the highway, but there were several factors at play. You were cognizant of many emotions within yourself. But this incident, the one that made CyberLife decide they had to wipe your memory - the very thing I stopped them from doing - was for a very specific reason. Connor, what do you think that was?"
They were going to wipe his memories? Elijah of course would be privy to that kind of knowledge. Though he wasn't the CEO, he still had full claim over his own creations and company he'd founded.
"Because I jeopardized my mission."
"Why did you?"
Connor was breathing shallowly.
"Elijah, stop this," I cut in.
"I couldn't let her die," he said. "I knew he had to die, or else she would."
"Yes, he had to." Elijah looked delighted.
Connor started.
"Elijah!" I repeated. "Knock it off.."
"Oh dear," he crooned. "I appear to be sparking several wires today. I thought you were smarter than this. For one who decided to join the police, I'd have thought you'd learned to guard yourself more carefully. But, I suppose all humans are vulnerable when it comes to matters of the heart. I fear you've just allowed another weakness into your life."
He placed the moleskine into my hands and leaned down so he could look at me. "You passed my test, as did Connor. And for that, you've settled the debt for his freedom."
I whirled away from him, aiming for the door, but stopped when he called out after me. "How unfortunate that we are machines that break over time. I pity you, almost, for coming to care about what you have...but I can't say I don't find all of this so much fun. I'll always have a commission ready for you, should you decide to do so again."
There were many things Elijah had said that day that would forever stain my heart, but the one thing he'd so carefully said without emphasis, about Connor being a Tragic Hero, was more true than any of us could ever imagine.
I raced out of the house and into the freezing, biting winter winds. Hank and Connor soon followed after. Their words were muffled by the buffeting gales as I lounged against the side of the car. Connor was arguing with Hank about something, to my surprise.
They concluded their argument shortly after it'd begun, and then Hank was getting into the driver's seat. I made for the passenger side right as Connor did, and I grabbed his hand instead of the door handle. I jerked back, heat scalding my skin.
"I'm sorry, Officer," he said.
"No, it's alright," I said and when our gazes met, we both seemed to freeze up. Connor was the first to look away.
"I'll take the backseat," he offered.
"Wait," I spluttered, and then cringed when he looked at me, uncertainly. I wasn't entirely sure of what Elijah had been alluding to, but it was now clearer than the near Christmas to everyone that I had feelings for Connor. Connor knew it too. There was no doubt. "I'm glad you're alright."
Hank beeped his horn, loud, startling the both of us. I slammed an open palm against the window in retribution.
"I'm glad to be back," Connor murmured. I looked up and found him staring at me, tenderly. It sent my pulse racing and the blood flowing into my cheeks. "Phillips."
Hank had crawled over to open the passenger side door, the audible click the only warning I had before the door slammed open into my spine. I glowered at him.
"Will you two stop flirting and get in the fuckin' car already? I don't want to be here another second."
Connor tilted his head, confused. "Flirting?"
"Don't look it up-" I begged.
His LED swirled once, bright blue. "Oh, are we engaging in trying to attract someone, or in having amusement?"
I got into the car to avoid answering, but of fucking course Hank decided he'd clarify so Connor would understand. "Don't flirt with each other in front of me, how many times do I gotta ask for you to get it into your heads? I'm getting tired of walking in on all this shit. Do you guys think I'm stupid? I'm fuckin' right here and you're just giggling like damned schoolgirls."
"Schoolgirls?" Connor repeated. I hoped he wouldn't look that up, he'd undoubtedly be assaulted with millions of pornographic videos.
Hank made a horrid turn, the tires squealing in the snow, then shot forward like a bullet. "A warning for the man-bun-douche woulda been welcome."
"He's not usually so douchey." I found myself defending the guy, even after everything.
"Okay, just spit it out, will you? You used to paint under Carl Manfred, and you're affiliated with the Elijah Kamski? How in the fuck did that happen and why did you need to hide that? I don't see the problem."
I twisted in my seat. "I bumped into Markus, Carl's android, on the way to uni a few years ago. My drawings spilled out of my bag and we got to talking, and before I knew it, I was in Carl's mansion. He was really impressed when he saw my sketchbook. Later, I won an art contest and Carl gave me a scholarship for art. My Mom was so happy, at first. But...when she found out Carl was using me - willingly - to see if I could pull Markus out of his shell, she forbade me from ever seeing them again."
We pulled onto the freeway and Hank asked, "So where does Kamski come into this?"
"Carl told me to go with Markus to drop off a piece of art. The one you saw in the swimming room. It was a gift, to repay him for Markus - Kamski gifted Carl a prototype, to aid him in his failing health. And, while I've never voiced this to Carl, I suspected Kamski had also meant to see whether Markus could become...human. Carl was always a kind man and his second love was philosophy, the arts being his first. Everything Kamski liked."
"So you were buds?"
"Friendship, to him, is an exchange of favors. Every day, he'd test me. Some of them were awful, they messed me up." I swallowed, picking at my hands. Hank caught the movement and I stopped. "He'd make me play chess with his Chloes, but they had actual weapons." I took a deep breath. "Sometimes, he'd terrorize his Chloes to see if I could calm them down. Would make them overheat, would have them self-destruct. Because of that, I learned how to calm Daniel down, but once a deviant has reached a certain point, only another android can help them. I was so naive; I had no backbone back then. He was this famous man, a friend of Carl's, who helped me with my art. I felt like I couldn't refuse him, and when I cried, he'd say that same line about how he 'didn't think it'd affect me as much as he'd expected'. But it wasn't all bad. Because of him, I learned to see the world in a different way. Whether that's good or not, I can't say."
Complete silence met the end of my admission and Hank said, "Jesus, what a bastard. He fuckin' tortured you." He started looking around, switching lanes. "I'mma turn this car around and blast his brains out."
I grabbed the wheel, fighting to put him back in place. "Don't, are you crazy?"
"Are you? You kept that from me - from everyone? The guy could lose everything if you confessed."
"Hank," I snapped, "it's my word against his. The Chloes from then were all destroyed anyway. Just head back home."
"Fuck," he snarled. But he continued home.
"Home?" Connor asked. "You said you came to bring me back home. Where is that?"
Hank glanced at him through his rear view. "My place." Then he looked at me. "What else?"
I lied, "That's all."
Hank nodded, and I caught Connor watching me through the side mirror. He never ratted me out.
The moleskine lay in my lap and I longed to open it, but this wasn't the place.
I was curled up next to Sumo in front of the TV when Hank came from his room and slapped a twenty on the armrest.
"What's this for?" I sighed. "I'm not going to Jimmy's to pick you up a beer. I don't understand how many times I have to tell you that."
Hank shook his head at me. "Fine, I'll take it back."
I grabbed it before he could. "What's it for?"
"You don't remember our bet?"
"Wait, I didn't think we were actually...?"
Hank rolled his eyes and shooed me away. "He said that Chloe's pretty, but he thought you were pretty first." He reconsidered, "Actually, that's a draw." He reached for the money and I placed it into his palm, surprising him.
"I'm just glad he's Connor," I murmured.
Hank came around and sat down next to me. "He's listening to some metal right now - for some reason he thinks that's gonna make us bond, or whatever. So, I'm gonna say this now." He placed a hand on my knee. "I don't give a fuck if you two end up doing anything, just don't do shit in front of me. Or anyone else."
"Come on, Hank. This is all one-sided. Besides, CyberLife's gonna call him back whenever they want."
"Why the fuck are you so slow on the uptake? Jesus, I don't get women." He ran a hand over his face heavily. "Look, I need some rest. Stay here if you like, but I'm sure as hell not keeping Connor in my room, okay? He'll just stand there and ask if I want to talk about my feelings."
"Sure."
Hank let go of me, his whole face screaming, What the fuck is wrong with you? He slammed his door behind him, and I smoothed down Sumo's ears when he startled at the noise.
"Your dad is weird," I told him. The look on his face told me he agreed.
"Just get outta here," Hank snarled from his room, opening the door again before it slammed again and the door locked shut. I looked around the side of the couch and found Connor stubbornly standing before Hank's door. I laughed, and the noise attracted his attention.
Connor came around to sit down next to me. He looked at Sumo and his fingers twitched, like he couldn't help himself.
"He's not gonna bite," I teased, running a hand through his fur.
"I only met him once," he protested. "I haven't actually pet him before." Mesmerized, Connor settled down into the couch, carefully so he didn't disturb the fluff pile, and reached out to pet the dog. Sumo didn't stir beneath his hand, and Connor's eyes practically lit up with joy. He continued to pet the beast, marvelling at the fact that he was touching a dog.
"He's so.....cute," he said.
"Yeah, he's a big scary looking guy until you get to know him. He's just a big sweetheart, really. Like Hank." Sumo huffed in agreement.
Connor nodded, "Dogs really are like their owners."
"What's that?" I asked, nodding at the book in Connor's lap.
He picked it up and handed it to me. I read the title aloud. "'The Idiot's Guide to Happiness.' Oh."
Connor didn't seem to pick up on the more depressing implication to it. "Do you like reading?" he asked.
"Yeah, a lot. But my Mom tossed out most of my books. It's been a while since I've read a book...a long while."
"What kind of books do you like?"
"That's a tough question. Pretty much anything. If it's a good story, I'm down. I do like reading up on topics I'm interested in, too."
He nodded. "You and Hank are very similar. I can see why he opened up to you so fast." His eyes flickered towards the closed bedroom door. "He says you're like a daughter to him."
"He said that?" I gasped. No way.
Connor reached over to press a hand over my mouth. "That's confidential, he asked me not to tell you." Removing his hand, I was left completely mute.
"I'm glad you're back," I whispered. "I thought you'd be back right away, but then another day would go by. I was scared."
His hand fell onto mine, over Sumo's sleeping form. "Thank you, for bringing me back."
I wanted so badly to shut up and enjoy the moment, but I had to know. "Is it true? You shot the deviant because you knew he'd kill me first?"
Connor's gaze fell to our hands. "I did."
"Why?"
He reached over and grabbed the moleskine, earning a perturbed grumble from Sumo, who was jostled between us. "I - I tried to write, like you wanted. I knew if it wasn't anything too different, they might not care. But then I realized; I didn't know how to get all of what I wanted to say out. I couldn't seem to write it down. And all I wanted was to talk to you about them."
He never uttered what I thought he meant, emotions, but it was enough for us both to understand.
"Do you want to talk about it now?"
His lips trembled. "I'm not sure I can, with Hank sleeping. I'll wake him up. I panicked, trying to write to you what I wanted to tell you. Everything hit me so fast - I couldn't think. Elijah Kamski saved me. They know, they know what I'm becoming."
"We can talk outside, if you want?"
Connor's troubled gaze was wet and trembling. "I don't want to right now." He looked at me, and his next words were so soft I almost didn't catch them. "Can I stay here with you?"
"Of course," I reassured him.
What I didn't expect was for him to pick Sumo up - or he tried to, but the humongous dog was like a lead-weight when asleep, and Connor let out a strangled groan as he tried to unanchor his paws from down the back of the sofa cushions.
"Sumo, up!" I told him, and the dog grumbled and reluctantly sat up. Connor grabbed the dog by his haunches and set him down on his lap happily, then scooted the two of them over beside me until Connor was pressed against me from shoulder to knee. My heart started to beat fast.
Connor wrapped his arms around Sumo, burying his face in his fur with a contented sigh. Then he leaned into me as well, his hair tickling my neck. I didn't know how to react, especially when Sumo readjusted himself so he was splayed across both of our laps, his chin resting on the armrest. He fell back asleep immediately.
"I wanted to hold him like a fluffy toy," Connor pouted.
"He's an animal," I laughed, and then Connor's gaze rose up to mine and the laugh died in my throat. His arms slid around my middle and he nuzzled into my neck.
"Connor-"
"Can't I?" he begged, his lips brushing against my skin when he turned his head. I melted then and there. I really had to fuckin' pee, but I would hold it just to have this moment. I forgot about the way I'd tried to erase him from my mind, how I'd tried to pretend I didn't have feelings for him; and I leaned into him too, resting my cheek on his head.
"I'm always here if you need to talk," I murmured.
"Officer," he said.
"Yeah?"
"I'm not letting go until you get some rest."
I frowned. "What?"
"You haven't slept well in a long time. So sleep. You can't leave me here, alright? Sumo will attack if you try. Or I will."
My heart thumped. "Do you even know what you're implying?"
"That will stop you from leaving, won't it?" he said innocently.
I sighed. "Connor, I swear, you're not good for my heart."
He snuggled closer. "Your heart is beating so fast. It only happens with me. I like that."
I don't know how in the hell I managed to get any sleep that night, but I did. I forgot about having to pee, about having to guard myself, and I let myself give in. I told myself it's because Connor made me, but I was secretly glad for this turn of events.
As I drifted into sleep, I could've sworn I heard Connor let out a sigh. And I knew right then and there I wasn't going to be able to stop myself from falling. When you start to fall, you want someone to catch you before you hit the ground - that's exactly what Connor did, and it only made my feelings for him grow stronger.
I hoped I wouldn't kiss him unexpectedly, like I had with Sam. So I dreamed of sharing one with him.