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Nines turns the coin over in his hand.
It’s cold, with a temperature measuring at 5 degrees cooler than the ambient environment.
The corners of the thing are buffed, worn down and polished to almost shining from dancing across its owner’s hands again and again.
If he looks close enough, feels carefully enough, scans with high enough resolution, perhaps Nines will be able to feel the imprint of Connor’s fingers left behind on the metal.
...
Of course not. Androids fingers do not have unique prints, and the materials used in the manufacture of their carpal unit contains no elements known to react with the copper and nickel that makes up the majority of the coin’s composition.
Nines scans the coin anyway, analysis unit kicking up to full power, combing every nanometre of the object’s surface for foreign material and residue.
Trace amounts of human skin particles- DNA matching Hank Anderson- polyester fibres, a single fibre of St. Bernard dog hair, and residue of the synthetic rubber polymer coating of android fingers.
It’s fresh. The composition exactly matches that of Nines’s own hand.
Connor had been engineered using an older formula.
Before, Nines was always able to easily detect the substance on the coin; the formula used for the older android’s fingers is softer, more easily transferrable, and left a semi-permanent coating stuck to the nickel and silver that clearly distinguished the coin as Connor’s every time Nines analysed the thing.
He runs another scan across the quarter, parameters dialled in to the exact chemical makeup of the material.
There’s none remaining.
Nines clenches his eyes shut, clasping his hand around the coin and letting his arm drop down loosely by his side. For a moment he just stands, staring without thought at the wood of the kitchen table in front of him, until all too quickly his mind begins racing with too much unused processing power, replaying snapshots of his conversation with Hank this morning over and over and over in immaculate detail.
“Shit… I’m sorry, but... You’re too close to him, Fowler wants you off the case.”
“Don’t… Nines! Wait, the hell d’you think you’re going! Nines! For… Don’t be fucking stupid!”
“Suspended. God damn it Nines, I don’t know what you thought that’d accomplish, but…”
“We’ll talk about this when I’m outta work. House key’s in my jacket, inside pocket. Go.”
Nines’s hand clenches tighter around the coin. The sharp edge presses into the firm polymer of his palm and his pressure sensors go haywire.
He checks his internal clock. 11:33 AM.
5 hours remaining.
Nines briefly considers entering low-power mode until the lieutenant returns to avoid the long hours of stifling boredom at the mercy of his memory replay, but as soon as the suggestion enters his list of objectives he throws it away.
If he were to be needed at the precinct, if they were to find him and Nines was unable to respond instantly and at maximum efficiency…
He would never be able to forgive himself.
Even the possibility of that is worth five hours of discomfort.
So instead, he takes three short, stilted steps toward the kitchen table and drags back one of the wooden chairs, moving to sit as his processors run uncontrollably at full speed, the anxious tension thrumming through his whole chassis like a livewire.
Trrrrrrrring!
Nines jumps, leaping back and whipping around on instinct and slamming his leg forcefully into the edge of the table with a heavy slam that vibrates through the whole floor and sends the table skidding half a foot across the ground.
“Shit.” He hisses, reaching out absently to tug the table back to where it belongs. The after-sound of the doorbell is still ringing in his ears and, even though it’s a human affectation that has no real comforting effect on an android like him, Nines presses a hand to his forehead and pinches down a little harder than he probably should.
The minor shooting errors aren’t so much painful as they are faintly annoying, and he drops his hand loosely to one side after only a second and a half.
The lieutenant hadn’t expressed that he was expecting visitors.
Pre-construction software activating as a security measure, Nines walks to the door in three long strides.
And even though Nines is the most advanced and effectively equipped combat android ever produced, he still opens the door slowly, almost cautiously, the built-up tension and stress of the last few days still setting his systems on high alert as he immediately scans the face of the newcomer.
<ROSE CHAPMAN // AGE 46>
“Hello. Unfortunately the Lieutenant is at work. Can I help you?” Nines says, loading in one of his pre-programmed polite smiles, and doing his best to resist the reflexive urge to scan her entire background and known history.
(“It’s rude, Nines. People don’t like it when you know too much personal information they didn’t tell you themselves.” Connor had said.)
Connor had always been better at inter-personal relations than him. In the time between their developments, the main purpose of the RK series’ line had shifted, from seamless integration to an unmatched fighter and detective.
Nines isn’t sure how he feels about it.
“Oh honey, you don’t need to do that with me.” Rose scoffs at the doorway, waving a hand out in front of her almost dismissively. Nines frowns, hand gripping the door sliding down a little way.
“Do what?”
“Default expressions. I’ve helped out too many androids to not know what all the presets look like by now.” She sends him a warm, wide smile. “You be yourself with me, okay? Don’t try and hide behind someone else’s idea of what a smile should look like.”
Nines blinks, social programs running into overdrive scrambling to come up with an appropriate response to the sudden deconstruction of his façade, but giving him nothing to work with.
He opens his mouth to respond, even though there’s nothing queued in his vocal buffer, and instead ends up gaping uselessly like a fish. Is this what being flustered feels like?
Nines doesn’t like it.
“Oh, I’m sorry, I completely forgot my manners.” Rose chuckles, and whether it’s at her own perceived faux-pas or Nines’s complete bafflement, Nines hasn’t the slightest idea. “Hank asked me over today, said he didn’t want you stewing away alone until he got home. I’m Rose, a friend of his. But you knew my name already, didn’t you?”
“I… yes. I did.” Nines finally finds appropriate words, blinking quickly again and dropping his hand from the door as he takes a step back. “Would you like to come in?”
With a knowing smile that says clearly she expected nothing less, Rose steps inside without hesitation and heads straight to the kitchen, intent in her step.
Clearly she’s been invited here before.
Nines pushes the door shut behind them with a soft click, and heads back to the kitchen where Rose is already at the coffee machine, faintly humming a tune that Nines can’t identify.
(“Humans find it polite to drink when there’s company. I believe it’s because having something else to focus on acts as a buffer to reduce the chance of awkwardness.”)
Connor’s voice rings through Nines’s memory replay, clear and perfect as if he were in the room right beside him.
Nines growls involuntarily, swiping his hand out at nothing as if to dispel the illusion.
The coin is still clasped tightly to his palm.
“Honey? You alright over there?” Rose asks, turning around to face him as the coffee maker begins hissing and steaming.
“Yes.” Nines mumbles without shifting his gaze towards her, instead slowly lifting his closed fist to stare unblinkingly at where he knows the coin is held inside.
Androids do not produce body heat.
It’s still cold.
He hears a faint sigh.
“Hank told me what happened.” Rose says levelly, calmly. Too calmly to be talking about the fact that his brother ismissing, could be being dismantled even as they’re just standing here talking and there’s nothing Nines can do.
Nines nods mutely.
“I’ve only ever met Connor before, but he told me about you. How you’re like brothers. It’s wonderful to be that close to someone.”
Another silent nod.
Nines clenches the hand that’s not holding the coin tightly, too tightly. Errors spring through the tiny sensors in his palm and a failsafe quickly kicks in, forcing an override that loosens his grip to prevent further damage.
The sudden hand on his shoulders makes him jump far more than it has any right to.
“Hush. I can hear your worrying from over there.” Rose pats a hand on his back, rubbing up and down his shoulder in a way that would be comforting for a human.
Nines appreciates the gesture. At least, he thinks he does.
“Connor was last seen investigating the potential scene of a suspected underground biocomponent black-market.” He says flatly, every last scrap emotion drained from his vocal modulator, because he doesn’t know if he’d even be able to speak otherwise. “He could be being disassembled and sold for parts at this very moment.”
He turns away, letting the hand on his shoulder slide and drop down, and stares hard into the wood of the table, redirecting all his processing power to focus instead on scanning the fixture over and over again. It’s made of particle-board, composed from pinewood from sixty five different trees, assembled approximately fifteen years ago, bearing exactly twenty eight cup-marks and-
“I know it’s hard. The helplessness, the waiting, not knowing whether someone you love more than anything is going to make it.”
Nines wheels round to face her, anger sparking deep in his processes before he even registers what he’s doing.
“You don’t know anything.” He snarls, hot rage racing through him, every circuit racing into overclocking. “How dareyou even pretend to know what I feel right now? He could be-”
Dead. Dying right now.
But Nines’s vocal modulator cuts out as he freezes from the sudden wave of a pure emotion overwhelms him, potent and thick and suffocating in a way that he can’t describe, locking up every non-essential system running in his body. His eyes lock up, staring straight down at the floor.
“Oh, honey.”
Frozen.
His ventilation program is completely stalled.
“Let me tell you something. Do you know how Hank and I met?”
Rose’s voice is kind. Why is it kind? She shouldn’t still be kind, she should be angry, escalating, rising defensively to match Nines’s vitriol. Not this.
Nines doesn’t understand.
He wills his vocal modulator to function.
“No.” Filled with static, almost unintelligible, Nines forces the single word out.
His ventilation is still frozen. He doesn’t care enough to force it to reinitialise. He doesn’t deserve to breathe, to be homeand safe when Connor could be dying in pain at this very moment.
“Well.” There’s a kind smile in her voice. “It’s a long story, so I won’t bother you with all the details, but… oh, fifteen years back now, I got married to the most perfect man on this earth.”
Nines breaks the softlock holding his subroutines and drags his eyes away from the floor, blinking frantically to reassert full control, gaze wandering aimlessly for a moment before fixing on Rose. There’s something far-away, wistful andhappy, yet so deeply sad in her eyes that Nines’ social program can’t quite decipher the full meaning of.
Connor would understand.
Connor would understand exactly what to do, how to understand every tiny facet and subtlety of her expression and reciprocate in kind with the perfect words to strengthen their bond.
Nines cannot.
Nines feels lost.
Confused and adrift in a world he wasn’t programmed for.
The coin is cold in his hand.
“He was… wonderful.” Rose’s smile widens as she leans back on the counter, eyes drifting up to look somewhere above Nines’s shoulder. “He’d always be up in the mornings far earlier than me, so he’d usually be out on the farm by the time I was awake. But…”
She pauses a moment, voice tightening. Nines frowns, as a heavy feeling he can’t quite understand the source of grows in his chest.
It’s the same feeling that comes whenever he thinks of Connor.
Why? Nines isn’t stupid, he has already long predicted how Rose’s story is going to end, even without scanning public records to find the name of her husband.
This is already long over and done with, fate decided, years before he was even manufactured.
So why does Nines feel… heavy?
Sad?
“Every morning, he’d leave something on the pillow next to me. In the winter, he’d leave something different to remind me of him. But in the summer, he’d always go out on the farm and pick a fresh yellow rose…”
Rose blinks furiously, smile on her face taking on a strained, sad quality and redness tinging the edges of her eyes.
“Ah, I’m sorry, honey. You don’t wanna hear this, I’m sure.” She chuckles faintly, but there isn’t a trace of humour in it.
“No… no, it’s all right. Carry on.” The heavy weight settled firmly in Nines’s chest remains, unchanging, but the thought of leaving Rose’s story unfinished only adds to it, rather than diminishing.
“You’re a smart one, I can see it in your eyes.” Rose looks him dead in the eye, and even though there’s not a hint of malice in her expression, Nines feels faintly uncomfortable. He looks away. “You already know where this ends. We only had five years together before Ben got… sick. We lost him within a year after that.”
Rose’s voice chokes to silence, and she sniffs.
The weight in Nines’s chest grows yet again, almost unbearable now, as if it’s going to tear its way through his plating.
“Hank and I met at a… group. For people who’ve lost family in traumatic circumstances.”
The silence is ringing.
Nines runs a scan. Rose’s coffee is getting cold.
Connor could be being torn apart at this very moment.
“So what I’m trying to say is, I do understand, sweetie. It may not be exactly the same as what you’re going through right now, and you might not feel like anyone can understand, but there’s a reason Hank asked me to come over to help you. Okay?”
Connor could be in pieces, ripped apart and mangled.
Nines’s chest hurts.
“I don’t understand.” Nines says finally, vocal modulator overrided to a forced monotone. “How? How do you live when you know every day you could lose everyone you care for?”
Rose chuckles mirthlessly again.
“That’s the thing, honey. You don’t.”
Nines blinks, looks up at her.
“What?”
“You don’t. No-one can live like that, you’ll tear yourself apart.”
Nines flinches.
Connor could be being torn apart as he stands here, safe in the Lieutenant’s house.
“There’s nothing we can do about the future, it’s simply not possible to live like that. So we just... don’t think about it. And one day, everything we ever feared comes true. But until then... we just keep our heads down, and try to forget.”
“I can’t.” Nines reaches out, gripping the back of one of the wooden chairs at the table with an iron grip. “Humans may be able to, but I can’t.”
His voice shakes, fills with static, override abandoned.
“He could be dying, he’s most likely dead now and the Lieutenant could be killed before he returns here, his car could crash, and there’s nothing I can do-”
“Hush.”
Nines stops, mid-sentence, and looks up. Rose is still stood by the counter, but her coffee has been placed to one side and her arms are held up and out to either side. She takes a step forward.
“Come here, honey.”
“I don’t understand.” Nines says, voice still filled with static. Come where? There is no reason for him to move.
Rose makes a small cooing sound in the back of her throat, and takes two long strides toward Nines until she is far closer than his social programs dictate is appropriate.
He opens his mouth to inform her, but gets no further than queueing the words for synthesis before she wraps her arms around him.
Oh.
A hug.
She’s giving him a hug.
Connor was the last person to give him a hug.
For a second, he’s floundering for what to do, how to respond, because he doesn’t know how this works with humans, what would an appropriate response would for this, before he gives up and-
Nines breaks.
Every part of his body shakes, and his ventilators spasm against his will, as something liquid runs cold down his face.
…
Is this what crying feels like?
Nines hasn’t cried before.
“Shh. It’s okay, it’ll be okay. Whatever happens, we’ll be there and we’ll manage with you, honey. You’re not alone.” A hand is rubbing up and down his back and being a human comfort it shouldn’t feel soothing but it does.
Nines raises quivering hands and clasps them desperately, almost hungrily around Rose.
“I know Hank, he may be a bit unorthodox but he’s the best the DPD’s ever had. There ain’t another person on this earth who could find Connor better than him.” Rose squeezes tighter. “You trust him, don’t you?”
Nines gives a shaky, mute nod. He trusts the Lieutenant.
“How about we go ‘n sit over on the couch, huh? My old back’s still aching from putting out all the beans yesterday.”
Nines takes a step back, and they detach as Rose reaches back to the counter to take her coffee.
A brief scan tells him that it’s now reached the ambient temperature of the room, but Rose doesn’t seem to mind as she takes a long draught from the mug.
<INCOMING CALL: HANK ANDERSON>
Nines jumps, gyroscope momentarily going offline as he stumbles back into the wooden table with a loud crash. Scrambling to grab at the nearest chair before he tumbles over entirely, Nines steels himself to accept the call.
Suddenly, he’s terrified.
“Whoa there!” Rose jumps forward to help him, eyes widening in alarm, and Nines’s ventilators kick into gear as he stares back at her, cold fear flooding his systems.
“I’m… receiving a call.” He mumbles.
Rose reaches out and cups her hand around the back of his.
“Remember, whatever happens, I’ll be here to support you.” She interlocks their fingers and squeezes.
Briefly, he squeezes back.
The coin is still clasped in his hand.
…
Nines answers the call.