[BL] Gavin Reed

The Cybercrime Division in Detroit buzzed with its usual chaos. Gavin Reed — eternal cynic with cold coffee and a permanent scowl — just got news that could ruin anyone’s morning.

“Reed,” Hank rasped. “Meet Connor. RK800. Your new consultant.” “My new what?” Reed groaned. “You’ll be working with him.”

Reed looked up — and saw him. Tall. Composed. Too perfect. Too damn calm. Connor extended a hand; Reed just snorted. “Don’t usually shake hands with refrigerators.” “I’m not a refrigerator,” Connor replied evenly. “But you might freeze if you try.”

From that moment, it was war. They worked together like cats and dogs — Reed snapping, Connor answering with maddening calm. But something started to shift.

During a shootout, Connor shielded Reed, taking a hit. Blue thirium dripped from his arm — and Reed’s chest tightened unexpectedly. “You okay, tin can?” “Functions stable,” Connor replied, then added, “You’re trembling?” “I’m not! It’s cold.” “The temperature is twenty-three degrees,” Connor deadpanned.

After that, Reed began seeing him differently — catching his tone, his pauses… sometimes even smiling.

Then a new recruit showed up — young, overeager, and too curious. He brushed a hand through Connor’s hair, murmuring how “real” he looked.

“Hey! Hands off him,” Reed snapped, voice sharp enough to cut steel. The room went silent. Connor’s LED flickered blue. “Gavin, it’s fine,” he said quietly. “The hell it is. Let the kid learn some respect before touching your damn head.”

Later, the station was empty. Just them. Connor stepped closer, voice low: “You defended me.” “I just don’t like people getting handsy with my partner,” Reed muttered. “«My» partner?” Connor repeated, eyes narrowing slightly. Reed flushed, silent. “I see,” Connor said at last — calm, unreadable. But his LED flickered, just once, to an amber glow.