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Connor watched the doors of the precinct fly open and a surly detective blow in with the wind.
“Fucking hell,” Detective Reed grumbled, voice muffled beneath the impressive amount of layers he'd swathed himself in. His hair was disheveled and heavily dusted with snow, and he looked just one more winter gasp of wind away from throttling mother nature herself with his own bare hands. “What the fuck type of weather is this?”
“Good morning, Detective Reed,” Connor greeted sunnily from where he was seated by his terminal. Beside him, Hank sat slumped over at his own desk with his head cushioned in his arms, broad chest resonating with rumbling snores. Like Gavin - or, he surmised, any other reasonable human being - he didn’t exactly fare well with the cold. His initial plan even had him staying in bed and disregarding work entirely until Connor had cheerfully burst in, babbled some rhetoric about the precinct being understaffed because of the cold, and yanked him out into the snow. He’d been too bleary and miserable to put up much of a fight then - and was sleeping pretty soundly now - but Connor didn’t doubt he’d be getting an earful later when Hank was in a little bit more of a coherent state to do so. “The weather is currently at 14 degrees fahrenheit, with forecasts estimating a drop to around 10 degrees later in the day-”
Detective Reed shot him a withering glare. Connor watched him stomp huffily into the precinct, already yanking off his scarf and coat to flop miserably into his chair. He caught Connor’s inquisitive stare and scowled, frown carving deep furrows into his cold-flushed cheeks. “What the hell are you still looking at, tin can?” He grumbled, leaning forward to boot up his terminal. “Fuck you and your plastic ass; you don’t even feel this fucking cold, do you?”
Connor cocked his head, slightly amused. “I'm equipped with a few subcutaneous temperature sensors to vaguely process changes in weather,” he stated primly. 'But you are correct, detective; I do not feel cold the same way humans do.'
Detective Reed huffed. 'Good for you then,' He bit out, rifling a hand through his frosted hair. The wind had whipped and tousled it into a messy and (if Connor decided to be honest with himself) somewhat tasteful disarray. He wasn't exactly certain why, but it appealed to Connor in a peculiar way. He felt the stirrings of a smile tug his lips, his cheeks warming with what he could only assume was a rush of faint blue.
They worked in silence for a beat, punctuated at irregular intervals by Detective Reed's occasional huffs, sniffles, and sneezes so explosive they seemed to shatter the quiet into palpable shards; usually followed by a colorful stream of language and curses in the detective's usual flavorful tongue. When he'd sneezed the fifth time (and decorated it with a litany of words that'd make a sailor's mouth curl), Connor thought perhaps it was about time to take some form of action; however ill it might be received.
“Detective Reed?” Connor called out, his voice soft in the quiet. Said detective glanced up, eyes watery and dejected, sleeve pressed against his flushed nose. He peered up at Connor with what had to be the most pathetic glare he'd ever received since his re-hiring into the DPD.
“What the fuck'd'ya want now, dipshit?” He bit out, voice hoarse.
Connor straightened, pushing back his chair, and strode primly to where the detective's desk was pushed against the opposite wall. Detective Reed squinted up at him, eyes radiating suspicion, fingers still pressed ruefully to his nose. Connor cocked his head and surveyed him for a moment.
“Do you have a cold, detective?”
Detective Reed scowled, his face flushed. “No.”
“Are you certain? My scans detect that you do indeed ha-”
“Don’t you dare fucking scan me, asshole.”
“...understood. However, I must say that exerting yourself further will likely have detrimental effects on your health. I suggest that taking sick leave for the day would be the most reasonable course of action-”
Detective Reed glared daggers at his direction, the edge of it somewhat dulled from his weary eyes and flushed nose. “I’m fine ." He grit out. "And even if I wasn’t , I don’t need a plastic asshole like you telling me what I should or shouldn’t do, okay? Now could you kindly,” he emphasized this last line with a fierce backward jerk of his thumb, “fuck off?”
Connor frowned. He supposed he should have anticipated such an outcome - he and detective Reed had never been on amicable terms, and though he had apologized somewhat in the weeks following the revolution and even made some efforts to curb his antagonistic behavior towards androids, they were still hardly in a position to be called friends. It was likely that the detective’s current condition was also contributing some to his sullen mood, but he was still surprised at the odd twinge the bitter rejection had torqued in him; an unpleasant twist in his inner processes. He had been feeling a lot of similar, peculiar sensations around Detective Reed lately. Perhaps it was some system error? Connor reminded himself to run a diagnostic at a later time.
Connor dithered for a bit longer, ruminating options, before starting again: “...if you dislike the thought of taking the day-off, detective, might I suggest something else that might help your current situation?”
The detective sniffed. “I don't need your fucking help, tin can.”
Connor pushed on regardless: “In the case of extreme weather, the temperature regulators beneath my skin are designed to generate heat to keep my internal processing units running at optimal levels,” he explained, raising his arms and letting warmth come into his skin. “If you're cold, I can supply heat to ensure that your sickness does not worsen and...impede your ability to function optimally.”
Detective Reed blinked up at him, bloodshot eyes narrowed. “...wait,” He got out. “Are you fucking suggesting you act like some sorta...fucking...glorified personal heater?”
Connor cocked his head, LED pulsing a soft yellow. “..I suppose so, yes.”
Gavin barked out a laugh, chest stuttering with suppressed chuckles. The sight of it sent an odd flutter through the usual calm percussion of Connor's thirium pump. Strange. “Jesus fuck, only you'd suggest doing something as fucking dumb as that,” He leaned back in his seat, chair groaning under his weight. “..you know what? Sure. Stay there and generate heat or whatever. God knows I need it in this fucking weather and the heating in here is shit.”
Connor frowned. “I don't think I'll be able to supply you sufficient heat from that distance, detective. However fitting the analogy might be for you, my temperature regulators weren't designed to function as heaters; they were designed to keep me, personally, in optimal function.”
Detective Reed's brow furrowed. 'Then what the fuck are you suggesting, asshole?'
Connor spread his arms out again. “If you came closer and let me put my arms around you, I think I'd be able to generate enough heat to keep you warm.”
There was a beat of silence.
Detective Reed gaped at him, goggle-eyed. “That's..That's a hug. You fucking described a hug.”
Oh. Connor blinked, his LED whirling a steady gold. “..I suppose it would work in a similar fashion, yes.”
“You're fucking nuts. I'm not hugging you, asshole.”
“But it would grant you some relief, would it not? My scans conclude that warmth is a good comfort for a human with a cold during cold weather-”
“I don't have a fucking cold. And I told you not to scan me-”
“I assure you that I have not scanned you again; merely working on information from my previous one. And you do have a cold, detective; however much you preferred you didn't.” Connor spread his arms again, smiling gently. “Come now, detective; it'll only be for a moment!”
Detective Reed eyed him warily, bunched shoulders and aghast expression still radiating disbelief. He glanced at Connor’s outstretched arms, the warmth playing over his skin, the encouraging smile. Just as Connor’s face was beginning to fall, the detective sighed, scrubbed a hand down his face, and shoved himself off his chair with all the weariness of someone who could not believe he was giving in.
“Fuckin'- fine, tin can; just for a moment,” Gavin eyed his surroundings warily - the mostly empty precinct, the lieutenant slumped over his terminal in a dead snooze - and stabbed a finger in Connor’s direction with a heated glare; “and if you dare tell anyone about this, I'll fucking tear you into pieces, got it?”
Connor beamed, deciding against reminding the detective that all crimes against androids nowadays would be met with serious legal action. “Got it.”
Gavin wavered at his desk for a moment, fumbling awkwardly as he stumbled towards Connor. He shook his sleeves out, rubbed the back of his neck, scrunched his face into one of clear discomfort. Connor tamped down the urge to roll his eyes and stepped forward, curling an arm around the detective's shoulders and pulling him gently against his chest.
Detective Reed stiffened, muscles tensing in the instinctive reaction to shove away and flee. Connor smiled, wrapped both arms securely around his rigid form, felt the tension gradually bleed from his bunched shoulders and balled fists. He slumped against the android, taut shoulders sagging like a released bowstring, face nestling deeper into the crook of his neck. “Fucking Christ,” Connor heard him murmur, voice thick with disbelief and warm with contentment; “you're fucking warm.”
Connor smiled, pulling the man closer. “I tried my best to adjust my temperature to the optimal degree for human comfort,” he explained; “I’m glad you find it soothing, detective.”
“Hmm..” Gavin slurred against him, eyes fluttering closed. They stayed locked in an embrace for a moment longer before Connor realized the detective had gone completely limp against him, eyes closed and face placid in sleep as it never had been in consciousness. Connor stifled a smile and smoothed a hand down the detective's jacket-clad back, feeling that strange flutter grip his chest again.
“Rest well, Detective Reed.”
*
“Connor, what the fuck.”
Connor looked up from his terminal, brow furrowed. The lieutenant had roused from his short doze and was gaping at Connor as though the android had suddenly grown two heads - or so the human metaphor went. He was pretty certain he had used it correctly. “...is something wrong, lieutenant?”
“For the last time, it's Hank. And don't you fucking ask me what's wrong. Why the fuck,” he enunciated this word with clear emphasis, as though the sheer volume of his disbelief would bleed out through the word; “do you have fucking Reed sleeping against your chest, in your fucking lap?”
'Oh.' Connor looked down at where he'd sat Gavin on his seated thighs, still sleeping peacefully against the warmth of his chest. It'd been difficult to navigate them both into a seated position at Connor's desk without jostling him back into waking, but Connor wanted to get some work done and the detective had been so deep in a doze that he hadn't even stirred. Now he sat curled against his chest like a sleepy tomcat, shoulders rising in an even rhythm, his face still tucked against Connor's neck. He could see the clear confusion and disbelief writ into the lieutenant's face. “...I can't tell you.”
“What the hell do you mean, you can't tell me? Connor, I swear-”
“Detective Reed very clearly specified not to tell anyone about this, and I'm fairly certain that also includes you. He told me he'd 'fucking tear me into pieces', if I recall correctly-”
“Connor, Jesus fucking Christ.”