Work Text:
Gavin sighed as he tromped down the stairs to the evidence locker. A week had passed since the successful revolution of Markus and the rest of android-kind. Humans were returning to Detroit—first in trickles, then in droves—but the precinct had seen neither hide nor hair of its previously assigned PC200 or PM700 models. Not even the fake detective android that belonged to Hank— Conrad? Connor? something stupid —had been spotted anywhere near the DPD. Though precluding the plastic prick’s ability to wander around crime scenes, licking shit and mucking up the evidence for the actual detectives, its absence also meant that Gavin couldn’t order it to carry heavy file boxes or restrain a particularly violent perp. Or make him a coffee.
Gavin was conflicted. Irritated. Having to log his own fucking evidence.
He winced as the automatic lighting kicked on, blinding him as soon as he passed through the doors. Probably should’ve gotten a little more shut-eye than three hours worth last night. The dark circles under bloodshot eyes were a testament to Gavin’s habitual lack of sleep and reliance on caffeine to keep him functional. Nothing new, but still a shock to his system. Maybe he could petition Fowler to dim the damn things by twenty percent or something and— focus, Gavin. Right. Log his evidence, get the fuck out and back to his desk to do actual work. And take some more pictures of cats in the new Neko Atsume game.
Placing his palm against the computer interface, his identity scanned, Gavin logged in with his tried but true FUCKINGPASSWORD and waited for the evidence container to open. His leg jiggled with nervous energy, his gaze darting back and forth across the deactivated androids still taking up space on the rack. Fuck, those things were creepy. All torn wires and blue blood, sightless eyes and dim LEDs—wait. One of the fuckers’ LEDs sluggishly circled red, and Gavin swore he could hear a few words muttered within the burst of static that emanated from its mouth.
“Ripple… where’s Ripple?”
And then the sightless eyes turned directly towards Gavin as if it could see exactly where he had crept closer.
“...Ahh, fuck.”
—
While waiting for a technician to arrive, Gavin stayed in the evidence locker to prevent the fucked up android from getting free and hurting somebody. Then the technician called with a delay, and then another, and Gavin went from steadfastly ignoring the android, to giving one-word answers, to asking short questions, to an almost completely free conversation.
It turned out Gavin and Echo, as it— she— called herself, had more in common than Gavin thought.
Both disliked the sleazeballs found at the Eden Club, both thought Elijah Kamski was a slimy piece of shit, and both thought the Detroit Gears were overrated. Oh, and both had an intense dislike for the cocky, over-dressed, stick-up-the-ass ‘Deviant Hunter’.
Maybe some androids weren’t so bad after all.
When the technician finally showed up, Gavin excused himself with a nod to Echo, and went rummaging around the Lost and Found for something she could wear out of the station. She was almost completely naked, after all, and likely to get more than a few stares on her way to Jericho—which, thanks to the protective police detail, Gavin knew had found its new home in the old Woodward Church.
Gavin couldn’t find a single fucking thing for Echo to wear. Not on her upper half, at least. How could they not have a single button-up or jacket waiting for their owners’ hopeful return? He couldn’t give her one of the DPD’s hoodies—the branded clothing item was somewhat of a security risk. And Gavin definitely couldn’t give her the leather jacket he wore. Android or no android, that leather jacket was his.
Where the fuck was he going to find some clothes?
—
“Thank you again for everything, Detective Reed. Maybe some humans aren’t so bad after all.”
Echo gave Gavin a tentative half-smile, the corners of her mouth struggling against her sorrow. Patched up enough to see her to Jericho, clothed, and alight with the hope that Ripple—who had managed to escape from Lieutenant Anderson and the RK800 unit that fateful night of her initial deactivation—was there.
Rubbing at the scar on his nose, Gavin cocked a grin at Echo.
“Yeah, yeah. Just remember most are douchebags. Now get outta here before Hank—”
A loud, boisterous voice called out at the entrance to the bullpen—Hank had chosen that very moment to arrive. Luckily, his head was turned towards the entrance of the precinct.
“Connor! Are you planning on staying at the front desk?”
A muffled reply of “No! I’m coming, Lieutenant!” could be heard.
Gavin used this brief window of fortuitous chance to push Echo to the other side of the bullpen, hissing “Go, go, go!” under his breath as he kept a wary eye on his superior officer.
Echo smiled gratefully at Gavin one last time before she turned and strode purposefully towards the exit, not once looking back.
Connor at his heels like a fucking poodle, Hank crossed the bullpen and walked up to his desk. Following Gavin’s gaze to where it had been focused only a moment before, Hank caught only a flash of black and white streaky fabric as Echo rounded the corner and disappeared from view.
Hank raised an eyebrow quizzically before turning to Gavin, who was suddenly concentrating very intensely on his phone.
“Is that my shirt?”
/the end