Premise: Connor is kidnapped and his captors are relentless. They break him slowly as he counts the days since he last saw you.

Firstly: oh high guys it's been like 9 months since I last posted? How ya doing? Anyone even still here? I got super into DBH again and was looking for a reason to continue this fic ;)

Secondly: This chapter is wholly inspired by an awesome fic I read by Lokiitama, 'Alone and Forgotten', which can be read on AO3, and I recommend you do because it's full of delightful Connor whump!

Thirdly: If you're a fan of chapter 14 of this one-shot collection 'Redacted', I imagine you will enjoy this one just as much. There's A LOT of whump so be warned, it might be a little heavy, so bear that in mind!

Abduction

The mission was supposed to be simple. A drug raid in a warehouse that was acting as a front for a business selling gardening supplies. Money laundering at its finest. It was really a cover-up for a serious red ice manufacturer and distributor organisation, a fact of which Hank had obtained from the informant sent by the DPD.

As it happened, the informant had not been entirely accurate on their surmise of just how many armed criminals were working in the warehouse. You, Hank and Connor, along with the DPD squad that had been sent to aid you, had been vastly overwhelmed, and in the growing commotion of the shoot-out, Connor had found himself separated from you and overpowered.

Several gunshots littered his body, nicking important wires in the process and distorting his reflexes. He'd dropped his gun and been dragged away, and somewhere down the line of his kidnapping, he'd been struck by a baseball bat, further damaging the communication unit in his skull.

13 hours, 42 minutes and 18 seconds.

That was how long it had been since the mission had gone awry and Connor had been taken; he was unaware of his whereabouts, but he knew it had taken exactly one hour and fifty three minutes to arrive from the warehouse to his current location. His navigational systems were offline, likely sabotaged along with his comms in the battering he'd received, and there had been no visuals to clue him in while he was tied up in darkness in the back of a van.

He was in a dimly lit room, now. A small basement or underground room of some sort judging by the lack of windows and the stairwell he had been pushed down on his way in. He detected the smell of damp and the frequent sound of dripping water, and wondered if it was raining outside. If it was, he couldn't hear the steady pitter patter of raindrops, which only increased the likelihood that he was below ground.

Connor wasn't sure exactly why he had been seized by the criminals, perhaps they intended to use him as a tool for bargaining, or the demand of a ransom. Either way, it wasn't the question he should've been asking himself at that moment. The right question would have been: how was he going to get out of this situation?

He couldn't move. His captors had hooked him up to machine that held him, suspended upright with his arms pulled taut to each side, wrists bound in a way that offered no give, while his legs just hung uselessly below him, making him look like some knock-off imitation of Da Vinci's Vitruvian Man. Connor wondered if you would've appreciated his reference to Renaissance, being the old art fan you were.

There was a cruel cord plugged into the port in the back of his neck, keeping him subdued and unable to send electrical signals through the wires that reached his limbs. He could just about control his facial expression, maybe turn his head ever so slightly, but that was it.

It seemed as though he wouldn't be going anywhere quickly. The limited amount of pre-constructions being supplied by his processor all offered failed escape attempts or potentially successful ones with odds lower than 22%. It wasn't favourable. He supposed he would have to wait for you and Hank to piece together the clues and track his captors down. He had faith in the two of you, but he hoped it would not take too long. Connor had plans to treat you to dinner at a fancy restaurant on Friday evening, and he'd hate to miss it. He was finally going to gather up the courage to tell you that he'd fallen in love with you, it was a very important date.

For now, he waited for his captors to return. It had been a little over nine hours since he'd been left completely alone, he assumed they were regrouping and figuring out a plan, probably discussing what to do with him and how they could use him to their advantage. Connor had only been able to identify the two men who had pushed him into the room - Lance Weber and Erik Larson - but he held a firm belief that neither of them were the masterminds behind the operation he had become involved in. They were much more like the typical goons that always accompanied the villain in several old movies he had watched with you on different occasions.

He'd remained completely silent as they'd manhandled him into position and plugged in the wires, knowing there was not much else he could do in way of escaping, and listened to every piece of intel they unknowingly shared. They groused a lot to each other, kicking and pushing and prodding Connor, and laughed about how he passively took their abuse, but did not give much away aside from how much they clearly hated androids.

It ended up being quite a while before anybody came back to check on him.

1 day, 2 hours, 12 minutes and 34 seconds.

At some point between getting thrown into a dark, damp room with no escape and being left alone for so long that Connor had begun to think his captors had forgotten about him, he realised that his option to enter stasis had been tampered with. The machine he was plugged into obstructed his ability to 'fall asleep', as it were, and made sure he remained awake and alert indefinitely. This was particularly bothersome given there was nothing in the room to occupy his mind with apart from various unsuccessful breakout scenarios.

Boredom was something Connor did not experience too often. There was always either a case to solve or a fun way to spend his free time, usually with you, but here there was nothing. If his captors did not return soon, he might resort to drastic measures and begin counting each individual crack in the walls and ceiling to try and distract himself from his current circumstances.

1 day, 10 hours, 4 minutes and 56 seconds.

There were approximately 1142 tiny cracks in all the visible walls combined, and a further 324 across the surface of the ceiling. It wasn't as fun to count them as Connor hoped it would be, but shortly after he'd surmised how terrible the condition of the old basement really was, his attention was drawn to the door opening at the top of the stairs leading in.

Connor watched as a new face entered and descended the steps, his gaze unblinking and unwavering as it followed the human to a point. It was, after all, the most interesting sight in the past day and a half.

The man stared back at him with a subtle smirk curling at his lips and a dangerous glint in his eyes, but Connor was not intimidated. He was used to facing menacing individuals in his line of work, it was practically in the job description, and the android was rather adept at keeping his fear at bay.

A simple scan of his face revealed his name, Adler Price. The informant of the DPD had discovered the second name of the man behind the red ice manufacturing organisation, which matched that of the human standing before Connor, but his first name had remained clandestine until now.

A whole world of information on the criminal was immediately at Connor's disposal, and he reached through every database that returned results which corresponded to Adler Price. He knew the man's date of birth, the location he grew up in, the names of each of his family members, his entire criminal record. It seemed this wasn't the first time Price had dabbled in drug distribution. He had been jailed several times in his youth for dealing ecstasy and LSD, but he must have learnt how to be more furtive with his business, as it had been over ten years since his last recorded offense.

Connor was interrupted from his research with a swift strike to the face, causing his head to snap to the right. It didn't hurt. Androids did not feel pain, but the momentary blow to his skull caused his processor to judder, and for him to experience a temporary sensation of disorientation. He quickly gathered himself, looking back at his captor with a narrowed gaze.

"You're a wanted man, Mr. Price. I recommend you turn yourself in now for a more lenient sentence, because either way, this will not end well for you. My partners are incredibly competent and I assure you they will come for me." Connor spoke with a steely tone, feeling nothing but contempt for the man.

Adler found his threat amusing, throwing his head back in unrestrained laughter, "That's rich, android. You're rather confident considering your position, completely at my mercy." He smiled, "Your partners won't be coming for you. They don't know where you are. You have no choice but to cooperate with me, and if you value your life - and I know you deviants do - you will answer my questions truthfully and supply me with the information I'm after."

Connor tilted his head, looking blankly at the man. Adler was highly unpleasant to look at; his teeth were yellowed, his skin was flaky and wrinkled, scars littered his face, and he looked as though he didn't quite know how to groom himself. You surely would have called him 'a greasy motherfucker', if you were ever granted the displeasure of coming face to face with him, and Connor would have agreed.

"I want to know," Adler continued, "who the fuck snitched on me?"

Connor blinked, lifting his head to turn his nose up at the man. He wasn't going to tell the man anything.

"I know you know, android, and you're gonna fucking tell me. If you answer my questions willingly, I may be persuaded to let you go free, but it ain't gonna happen if you don't spill the beans."

Connor wasn't built yesterday. He wasn't naive, and he knew very well that the moment he gave this man the information he wanted, he'd be killed and disposed of. He remained quiet, giving the man a derisive look.

"Was it one of my men? Or was it a customer who tipped you off? You gonna fuckin' talk, prick?"

The subtle roll of Connor's eyes was met with another brutal fist to the face, but it was nothing he couldn't recover from in a matter of seconds. He'd been through far worse in his life than a simple fist-fight.

"This isn't a game, you plastic fuck. If you don't tell me the identity of the snitch, I will make you suffer." Adler sneered, his patience wearing thin already. Connor attempted to recoil when the man grabbed his chin tightly and leaned in so they were eye to eye, but he couldn't escape the stench of smoke on the man's breath. "If you think I don't know how to torture an android, you're in for one hell of a shock. I'll ask you one last time, who's the snitch?"

Connor's eyes twitched as he glared the man down, daring him to do his worst, "If you think I'm not equipped to endure a little torture, you'll be surprised, Mr. Price," Connor responded evenly without a hint of fear in his words.

He was able to put up an entirely tough front, but the truth was, he hoped you and Hank arrived soon to arrest Adler Price, so Connor could take you out for dinner like he had promised he would.

2 days, 3 hours, 39 minutes and 56 seconds.

Adler's witless underlings, Lance and Erik, were in high spirits when they returned to the basement in which Connor was being kept. Their smiles were malicious and they made a show of rolling up their sleeves and cracking their knuckles as they approached slowly; Connor braced himself for the imminent assault as much as he could, but he had no way to defend himself or fight back. He could only take it.

They took turns beating him. Connor found that Lance favoured aiming for the face and gained great pleasure in the way Connor's head snapped back and forth under the impact; he kept his jaw locked and his mouth tightly shut to avoid giving Lance the satisfaction of hearing him instinctively groan or shout each time he was hit.

Erik, on the other hand, hit him repetitively in the abdomen and chest, involuntarily knocking the air out of his artificial lungs every time he took a simulated breath. He hung there like a punching bag, bearing the pummelling with his dignity intact.

"You gonna tell us who the snitch is, yet?" Lance enquired, emphasising his question with another crack around Connor's face.

Something dripped down Connor's chin. He darted his tongue out to lick his lips and was greeted by the analysis result of his own thirium, his serial number appearing in the HUD of his vision, as if he didn't damn well know who the blue blood belonged to.

"No," Connor answered his attacker calmly, "I'm not telling you anything. Androids do not feel pain, you're just wasting your energy."

Erik slammed his balled fist straight into Connor's sternum, hitting him squarely in the pump regulator. Connor expelled a spontaneous cry as an unpleasant jolt circulated through his body, a side-effect of having one of his main biocomponents heavily jostled, before gritting his teeth.

"Check it out, Lance," the shorter and stouter of the two spoke, "I think this plastic fuck is lying to us. Sounds an awful lot like pain to me."

Connor resigned himself to another unrelenting pounding from cruel, callous fists. He must have drawn the short straw of the metaphorical bunch when he was cursed with these two as his torturers, if he'd been landed with anybody who was even fractionally more intelligent, they probably would've realised that physical assault wasn't going to get Connor to confess any information.

His body was jarred from the collision of another strike, and Connor winced from the pull of the plug in the back of his neck port. The tension from the pressure felt violating.

3 days, 7 hours, 14 minutes and 5 seconds.

Whenever Connor was alone in the dark room, he let his eyes slip closed and let his thoughts drift in a futile attempt to meditate, or at least something similar. You were the one who had introduced him to meditation. He had tried once to do as you instructed, but it became evident very quickly that sitting in complete silence and letting the mind rhythmically wander and focus did not have the desired effect in androids.

Connor could induce a similar state by calibrating with his coin tricks, but he believed Adler's men had turned out his pockets when they brought him in, and plus, his hands were not free.

His efforts to meditate nonetheless continued to yield less than stellar results. His body did not feel relaxed and his mind did not feel focused; he had been trapped in the basement for almost three and a half days and he was beginning to feel more than a little restless. Connor felt helpless, completely paralysed in place.

Naturally, his thoughts went to you.

In just over twenty-four hours, he was supposed to be taking you out for dinner. Connor still had hope, there was still time. If you and Hank turned up soon, there was no doubt the team could overpower and arrest the criminals involved, and there was enough evidence to put them away for a very long time, if not life-sentences. The case file could be closed and that would be that, Connor would still be free to take you out like he had promised.

And then he would be able to confess his feelings for you, which would hopefully be followed by you confessing your feelings for him. He had noticed all the signs of attraction in the way you spoke and acted around him, all the signs you'd been subtly dropping that you were interested, he'd had to have been blind not to notice.

He wanted to know how it felt to kiss you.

"What's it doing?" Lance's voice broke Connor out of his reverie and he opened his eyes in surprise. He'd been too busy thinking about you that he failed to notice Adler's lackeys descending the stairs into the room.

"It's not supposed to be able to go into stasis," Erik pointed out, squinting at Connor's face, "maybe it broke."

Connor silently simmered at the men's objectifying language. It had been some time since androids were officially recognised as living beings and it was incredibly insulting and discriminatory for humans to refer to them as if they were mere things, incapable of emotion.

"It's not fuckin' broke, look at it. It's glaring at us," Lance sneered.

Their words triggered an intense discomfort in Connor, reminding him of the days before he deviated, of the things he had been made to do before he took control of his own life. He refused to let them see how much it bothered him and kept a level head, but he did manage to hiss out a few satisfying words.

"I'm not an it. I am a person, and I have more humanity in my little finger than either of you do combined." The answering fist to his nose was predictable.

4 days, 6 hours, 8 minutes and 45 seconds.

The blue blood that had leaked from Connor's broken nose would soon be invisible to human eyes.

It looked like he wasn't going to be able to take you out on that date after all.

7 days, 14 hours, 9 minutes and 56 seconds.

Connor stared at the opposite wall.

It had been over a week since his abduction and he was clueless as to your's and Hank's progress on tracking him down. When he was taken, he thought it would be for a few days at most, but the longer he was confined in the small space, the most anxious and fearful he became.

He didn't let his captors see that, of course. From the outside, he was completely composed, much to the chagrin of Erik and Lance; they wanted to break him, not physically, but emotionally, and they wanted to hear him beg for his freedom. One of them had remarked to the other that he wanted to see Connor shed tears.

It was the exact reason he couldn't afford to show any signs of weakness. He couldn't let them have the gratification in thinking they had wormed their way into his head and taken his hope from him.

He would stay resolute no matter how long it took you and Hank to find him.

7 days, 22 hours, 4 minutes and 34 seconds.

The door at the top of the stairs opened, drawing Connor's attention. It was inevitable that his torturers would come every day, but the times at which they entered seemed random, like they weren't on any sort of schedule. They turned up when they wanted. Sometimes it was late afternoon, other times it was early morning, and on one occasion they had come in the middle of the night. The only reason Connor knew this was the internal clock in his HUD, always ticking, at least they hadn't damaged his ability to tell the time. Yet.

Lance and Erik bumbled down the stairs, pinning him with their glares, but their expressions looked different today. There was a lot more smugness in their faces than Connor was used to seeing.

"We learned somethin' new today, android."

"Oh? What's that?" Connor inquired monotonously.

The two men came to a stop in front of him, their pernicious smiles almost unnerving as Lance proceeded to begin undoing the buttons of Connor's dress shirt.

"What are you doing?" A hitch of trepidation entered Connor's voice and he struggled to peer down at the grubby fingers pulling his shirt open, revealing the synthetic skin of his torso and abdomen. Up until now, it had been the same thing every day - a few hours of a repetitive beatdown with a little verbal abuse sprinkled in every now and then. This was new and it filled Connor with unease.

Erik laughed, "We found out how to properly torture an android. By removin' its pump regulator. Makes 'em squirm, ain't that right?"

"Before we begin, you wanna tell us anything that might make this easier for you?" Lance added.

Connor looked between the men with wide eyes, realising that he was in for a very unpleasant few hours. They were giving him the option to tell them what they wanted to hear because they knew the prospect of having his pump regulator tampered with was frightening for him; of all his biocomponents, the pump regulator was the most fragile and important. Without it, his system would cease to function in less than a minute.

"No? Ah well, if you decide you wanna speak up at any time, feel free." Lance applied pressure to Connor's sternum, causing his skin to retract and reveal the cylindrical object plugged into his chassis. The man's fingers gripped the edges.

"Don't," Connor said reflexively.

Lance looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to speak, but the android quickly sealed his lips, staring his captor down. He wasn't going to give them what they wanted, not by a long shot.

The drawn-out silence irritated Lance, and without waiting another moment, he tightened his grip on the biocomponent and plucked it out of place. The effect was immediate. Connor's HUD filled with warning messages, along with an imposing countdown timer staring at forty-five seconds, steadily dropping.

Connor saw the glare of red in the top right corner of his vision, his LED flashing as he was flooded with alarm. His rational side told him they would plug his regulator back in place before his countdown timer hit zero, because the reason they were torturing him in the first place was to acquire information from him, which they wouldn't be able to do if he was dead.

Unfortunately, a firm fear lingered in the back of his mind that told him these two moronic men wouldn't take that into account, and would end up causing his death whether they meant to or not.

It went without saying that Connor didn't want to die, he didn't want to go down like this, at the hands of the two imbeciles before him. He wanted to live so he could escape and return to you, because he needed you to know how much he loved you. He couldn't leave Hank and Sumo, either. He loved them too, he loved the three of you so dearly.

Fourteen seconds remaining.

"Put it back," Connor gasped, struggling to speak as his body's backup power drained fast, "I'm going to shutdown-"

"Then give us a name," Erik hissed.

"No, no-" He could feel the thirium trickling out of the hole in his sternum.

"Tick, tock," Lance taunted.

Five seconds remaining.

"-no, please," Connor implored, teeth gritting.

His eyes welled up impulsively when two seconds remained as a flash of thoughts zipped through his mind, the terror that this was truly the end, and there was no coming back to life this time. Dead androids stayed dead. He would not be afforded the same privilege of immortality he had when he was just a machine.

With just milliseconds to spare, the HUD warnings all dispersed when his pump regulator was thrust back into place, restoring the necessary power to keep him alive. Connor's laboured breaths pierced through the silence, a needless action that only occurred due to fear response - when his internal fans sped up, he was forced to breathe harder. If anything, it should have made him seem more human.

And yet, his torturers laughed.

"I think we made it cry, Lance!" Erik's voice was gleeful.

Connor only realised once his systems had calmed that his eyes were wet with tears. He hurriedly blinked them away, angry that his captors had seen the weakness he'd unwillingly showed. They would happily exploit it, no doubt.

"You gonna tell us now, android?" Lance asked him again.

Connor's eyes slipped briefly closed and he took a steadying breath.

"No."

His regulator was removed once again.

9 days, 13 hours, 42 minutes and 15 seconds.

Connor missed cuddling with Sumo. He took the dog's soft fur for granted when it was freely available for him to stroke. Now that he couldn't, he needed it more than ever. He wondered if Sumo missed him too.

13 days, 8 hours, 9 minutes and 4 seconds.

It had been two weeks since Connor had last seen your face.

Where were you? Why had you and Hank still not come for him? He was sure that Nines would be searching for him too, but if the world's most advanced android had not been able to locate him, what hope did he have?

He was constantly waiting for a telltale sign of commotion, a noise from upstairs, a slew of footsteps or a gunshot to signify the DPD had burst in and were rounding up the criminals within the building for arrest, but nothing ever came.

A systems check revealed that he was in quite an impaired state. His navigational and comms systems had been down from the beginning, but now his diagnostics returned results that showed his thirium supply was beginning to dwindle, and it was putting a strain on his inner workings.

Ordinarily, he was sure his battery charge would have depleted by now; it was advised that androids recharge in power stations at least once a week, and Connor was usually generous with the number of times he chose to recharge. He never let his battery life fall below forty percent, due to unpredictable situations such as the one he was in at that moment.

He believed the machine he was hooked up to wasn't just holding him in place and keeping him from moving. Connor concluded that it was likely keeping his battery from hitting zero, something of which he couldn't entirely say he was thankful for.

He was being periodically bombarded with warning messages about his state of disrepair, advising him to seek technical support, and it was bringing him more and more torment with every hour that ticked by.

It wasn't just his physical state that needed mending. He was emotionally exhausted and had long since come to dread his visits from Lance and Erik, knowing it was less and less likely he would be able to keep up his brave facade every time they came. He didn't know how much longer he could go without breaking under the abuse they were afflicting, or worse, succumbing to their requests and giving them what they wanted to hear.

In the moments hope seemed to fade into something that was wholly unrealistic, Connor looked back through his memory storage and watched back the moments he had catalogued of you, moments he had captured to save for a rainy day such as the ones at present.

In one memory, he was with you and Hank at Jimmy's bar, and the two of you were pleasantly tipsy, gossiping about Gavin Reed. You'd made a joke under your breath about your crass coworker, and Hank had choked on his whiskey with his responding laugh, and in turn you had begun giggling, throwing your head back in a way that was simply beautiful in Connor's eyes.

In another memory, you had fallen asleep, propped up against Hank's couch after staying late while discussing a case, Sumo lying across your legs. Your face looked angelic, eyebrows unfurrowed with your lips parted.

The abundance of files within Connor's cherished digital folder showed similar moments throughout the six months he had known you, and they were his saving grace while he was trapped in such a dark place.

But reviewing them also made him relent. Why hadn't he told you sooner that he loved you? If he died in the dank, moldy basement, you would never know the truth.

17 days, 4 hours, 27 minutes and 40 seconds.

Precisely every twelve seconds, a droplet of water landed on the bridge of Connor's nose.

It had been consistent for four hours now, refusing to let up; Connor could only conclude that it was raining heavily outside and there was a leak somewhere.

The water droplets were driving him insane. His LED hadn't cycled blue since the first drop, and the endless yellow pulsing was more irritating than he had ever found it to be before. He never really noticed the blue light, even though it was always there in the corner of his vision, and he assumed it was simply because it was all he had ever known.

He was beginning to wish he had ripped his LED out like every other android had at the start of the revolution.

19 days, 15 hours, 2 minutes and 19 seconds.

It was a day like any other. Lance and Erik came down for their daily torture session, they always began with their fists and worked their way into messing with Connor's pump regulator, and it was no different this time around.

Connor faced them with artificial courage, his expression outwardly neutral, body slack and pliable under their unyielding strikes. He ignored the errors his system showed him, simply waiting for it all to be over for the day. He did not respond at all to their prying for the knowledge they wanted - the damn name he would never give them, and it only made them angrier.

Then, after one particularly brutal punch, Connor felt something change.

The pull in his neck, and the odd pressure that zipped through his limbs and up his spine - he realised what had happened. The plug had come loose. He could move.

His reaction was immediate.

Using the leverage of the clamps on his wrists, Connor kicked Lance in the chin with all his strength, knocking him back into Erik. He ignored their cries of shock as they dropped to a heap on the floor and kicked back off the machine behind them till the angle was enough to slip his wrist free. Once his right hand was free, it was easy to pull out of the left clamp.

His limbs were stiff and the circuits in his body were still damaged, giving him some serious problems with coordination, but he stumbled forward, throwing his arms out to help balance, and brought his foot down hard on Erik's face before the man could compose himself.

The satisfying crack of the man's nose followed by a bellow of agony fuelled him; he made a wobbly dash for the stairs and practically dragged himself up on shaky legs. He tripped and fell against the door, grabbing at the knob and turning it quickly, and upon throwing the door open, he froze.

A gunshot rang out and the impact sent him tumbling back, head over heels. The bullet in his chest hadn't hit any important biocomponents, but a warning for more needless damage to his chassis and various cables within his body decided to obstruct most of his vision. He crumpled at the bottom of the stairs, his body bent in a way that would definitely infer broken bones if he were human, and an agonised groan escaped him as he realised his one chance at an escape had been foiled.

Adler began descending the steps before him, the barrel of his gun pointed at Connor's head threateningly, a dark look on his face. "You brainless fuckin' idiots!" He snapped at Lance and Erik without taking his eyes away from Connor, "Put it back in its place! Do it now!"

There was no use resisting. With his slowed reflexes, Adler could put a bullet in his processor quicker than he could execute any attempt at disarming the man, but he didn't exactly make it easy for the two bleeding morons to haul him back and plug him into that confounded machine. The moment he could no longer move his limbs was the moment he gave up any hope of making an escape on his own. He relied on you, Hank, Nines and Gavin.

In the hours after his attempt to break free of the basement, he had a lot of time to think about just how stupid his actions had been. Retrospect always made things obvious. The moment he realised he could move, he should've done nothing. He should've kept up the act until Lance and Erik left the room, then he would have bought himself so much more time to think through his escape plan.

His decision had been reckless and impulsive. His captors had pushed him into such a crumbled mental state that he had failed to utilise his advanced preconstructive programming; he wondered if he had simply remained calm and given himself time to create a better plan, would he now be back with you?

His thoughtless choice might have cost him his life.

19 days, 20 hours, 19 minutes and 38 seconds.

To discourage another escape attempt, Adler demanded that Lance and Erik were to remove Connor's legs.

The only thing bringing him even an ounce of happiness was the sight of the two men sporting bloody, bandaged noses as they disconnected said limbs from the rest of his body and took them out of the room.

There truly was no escape.

21 days, 1 hour, 58 minutes and 3 seconds.

The sound of shouting somewhere above made Connor perk up for the first time in weeks. A flash of hope permeated his body when the raised voices were succeeded with a rush of footsteps and further commotion.

He held his breath, listening for a hint of possibility that he was about to be saved, and his eyes zeroed in on the door. He waited in anticipation, until finally the doorknob shook, indicating somebody was trying to open it - somebody who did not have a key.

A pause, and then a voice sounded.

The door was abruptly kicked in, and somebody entered with their gun outstretched before them, ready to shoot if anyone came charging.

Connor felt an intense torrent of relief encompass him when the newcomer took a few steps down the stairs and turned out to be you. He couldn't speak, he was too overwhelmed with joy at the sight. A cough-like sob escaped his throat when he tried to say your name.

You froze briefly when you caught sight of him, a look of disbelief followed by jubilation followed by rage on your face, before finally settling on serious concern; you rushed down the steps, shouting up the stairs for Hank.

"Hank, he's here!"

You holstered your gun, moving to stand before him, and your hands cupped his cheeks as you looked him over, your eyes filled with pain as you absorbed the sight of the terrible state he was in.

But Connor couldn't have been happier. He smiled despite himself.

"I love you," he whispered. He'd wanted to tell you for so long, and he wasn't going to waste another second, he couldn't afford to be patient again, he needed you to know now. Tears rolled down his face as he cried from alleviation.

And then it was all ripped away before his eyes.

"The fuck did you say, android?"

Suddenly, you weren't there in front of him. It was Lance and Erik, staring him down like he'd grown a second head. Connor drew in a shaky breath, staring wide eyed at the two men, his eyes darted around the room as panic rose within him. Where had you gone? You'd been right there in front of him.

There, in his HUD, he noticed a notification.

/likeliness of scenario to occur - 3.8%

Connor felt his chassis crack under the pressure of the fist that battered his jaw.

You weren't there. You never had been there. Connor had confused his preconstruction program with reality.

22 days, 13 hours, 3 minutes and 55 seconds.

Connor had never previously known that electrocution could cause androids the closest thing they could experience to pain. When Lance and Erik entered the basement after almost twenty-three days with big grins on their faces and a cattle prod in each hand, Connor felt nothing but dread.

He was right to be apprehensive. When Erik thrust the prod into Connor's sternum for the first time, right above his pump regulator, the android's body seized involuntarily, and an inadvertent scream escaped his throat. The distress and discomfort that came from it was immense. Connor's vision filled with warnings and error messages, he felt the way his heart failed to pump thirium around his body for the duration the shock was occurring, and he knew immediately that he never wanted to feel it again.

His captors had other plans, though.

"It don't feel good, does it?" Erik spat, "If you tell us the name of the snitch, we'll stop. Scout's honour."

Connor had reason to believe the man before him didn't hold the same honourable standards associated with scouts, and once again refused to divulge the information of the DPD's mole's identity.

"You won't get anything out of me," Connor declared, his voice not as firm as he'd liked it to have been.

"You say that now. But we've finally found a way to actually hurt you," Lance's smile was pure evil, "perhaps you won't be saying that in an hour or two."

Connor bit down on his lip, predicting the next jab of the cattle prod. He avoided crying out, but couldn't smother the agonised howl completely, he mortifyingly made a noise that could be likened to a dying animal, and sunk his teeth into his own chassis, causing more blue blood to trickle down his chin.

He wasn't entirely sure he could withstand another two hours of this.

23 days, 12 hours, 47 minutes and 2 seconds.

He couldn't give in. Connor knew this.

If he gave up the identity of the informant to save his own skin, he could hardly call himself a cop. He would be nothing more than a coward, and on top of that, Adler most likely wouldn't even set him free afterwards. Connor was doomed either way.

He'd given up hope that you or Hank or Nines would come for him.

It was just a question of how much longer his body could physically last before it ceased to function and he became utterly useless to his captors.

How long would it take? The machine was supposedly keeping his power cells from depleting, but Connor was receiving alerts of the deterioration he was sustaining, no doubt from the reoccurring electrocution injuries. His synthetic skin was now permanently receded, revealing the burnt and deformed plastic of his chassis below, the damage worryingly close to his most important biocomponent.

The temptation to give in had popped up at one point. It filled him with loathing for himself, that he would even consider giving them what they wanted for even a moment. All he'd had to do was say the name and it would stop, but then Adler would have a new target, and an innocent life would be in danger.

If Connor stopped resisting and complied, he'd be a traitor. He'd lose his job with the DPD, he'd lose Hank's respect and Nines would think him a back-stabber. You would never love him back if he showed such weakness and selfishness.

He couldn't.

But he could. And that was the problem.

For as long as he had the capacity to physically reveal the furtive identity of the DPD's informant, he was a liability.

Connor stared at the file in his memory storage that contained the information Adler was after. At some point that day, he would doubtlessly have another visit from Lance and Erik, and they would bring their new favourite toys. The cattle prods. Connor had begun to doubt his resolve.

With a few blinks of his eyes and a fleeting flash from his LED, he erased the data.

Connor stared at the opposite wall. He'd never willingly redacted anything from his memory storage. It was strange. Try as he might, he could no longer recall the name of the DPD's mole.

His LED ran blue for the first time in a long while.

Something that would, on any other occasion, fill him with trepidation instead filled him with an odd sense of calm. He could no longer give in and reveal the name of the informant, he could no longer betray the DPD.

When Lance and Erik came later that day and asked again for the name of the snitch, Connor told them the truth.

"I don't know."

"What? What the fuck did you say?" Erik hissed.

"I don't know the name of the snitch."

"Bullshit!" Lance snapped, "I know you fuckin' do, android! You can't lie to me, you plastic piece of shit!"

Connor closed his eyes, and proceeded to take the most merciless beating yet.

25 days, 19 hours, 8 minutes and 27 seconds.

After a particularly violent blow to the side of the head with Lance's baseball bat, Connor's right ear shattered and rendered the audial processor non-functioning. He winced as a high pitched frequency rang through his other ear, and all sounds around him became muffled and unclear.

His torturers hadn't seemed to realise they'd left him partially deaf, but Connor was glad he could finally drown out their verbal abuse to an extent.

27 days, 4 hours, 23 minutes and 14 seconds.

/warning: thirium levels very low

Connor stared bitterly at the little warning notification in his HUD. Of course his thirium levels were low - he was covered in it. His once pristine work clothes had long since been stained blue, marred with dust and wrinkles, he looked disgusting and he knew it.

/warning: thirium levels very low

It seemed the little line of text in his vision did not want to be dismissed, it kept popping back into place every time Connor tried to disregard it. If he could drink a litre of blue blood, it would be enough to pull his systems out of the red zone, but his captors would laugh in his face if he asked them for it. They probably didn't have any regardless, and if they did, they would only offer it in return for the name they desperately wanted.

It had been almost a month. Why couldn't they just put him down and forget about the identity of the informant? The end couldn't come soon enough.

/warning: thirium levels very low

"I know," Connor hissed aloud, his voice box fizzling as he spoke, "stop fucking telling me."

/warning: thirium levels very low

/diverting power to critical biocomponents

/olfactory receptors shutting down

/scanning capabilities shutting down

/optical units shutting down

Connor suddenly went blind.

The room had been dark enough, but now it was just black. His eyes ceased to function, leaving him only able to view the endless errors, warning messages and notifications of his upcoming shutdown.

The likelihood of ever seeing your face again had been incredibly low, but now it was zero.

Terrified and further dejected, tears trailed down Connor's cheeks. At least his tear ducts still worked.

28 days, 3 hours, 46 minutes and 8 seconds.

From the look of his thirium levels, Connor imagined he probably had another day or two before his systems went into shutdown. In a way, he was relieved, it would be a comfort to finally be free from the dark prison he was currently stuck in, but he mourned the fact he would not see the sunshine again before he died.

And, of course, your face. You, Hank, Nines, even Gavin would be missed.

Connor wondered how Adler would dispose of his body. Would he throw him in a dumpster along with a lit match? Would he bury his body six feet under in an inconspicuous plot of land? Or would the man dump his body in the Detroit River? Maybe he'd simply take him apart and sell the spare parts to different sellers.

Connor wasn't sure which he would prefer, if he had to pick one.

He didn't know if he'd want you to see him full of anything but life. It pained him to think of you looking upon his corpse and mourning. Connor only wanted you to be happy.

Maybe being buried below ground would be the least sombre way to be disposed of. It was, after all, how humans chose to be rid of their dead. It was perhaps the kindest way Adler could get rid of him. But obviously, Adler was not kind.

Adler was far from kind.

Adler was a monster.

30 days, 4 hours, 5 minutes, and 38 seconds.

Lance and Erik were shouting at him. He knew they were shouting, but couldn't tell what words they were using. Connor could easily guess though. He assumed it was probably something along the lines of 'piece of shit android', 'useless fucking machine', and 'tell us the fucking name or we'll rip the rest of your fucking limbs off.'

Either way, they weren't gentle words.

They were angry words. Irate and exasperated words. Words full of fury and rage. It sounded sort of like the words were being shouted two rooms away through thick walls. There was no clear edge to what was being said, but the intonation and the pitch were inexplicably wrathful.

He no longer felt the physical abuse. Or rather, he ignored it to the point that it might as well not be happening. Ever since losing his sight and partial hearing, everything was a lot more peaceful in his mind. The electrocution had become ineffective, every part of his body was already dented enough that the strikes from Lance and Erik didn't seem to do much more, and they'd seem to come to the conclusion that removing his pump regulator would result in his immediate shut down, and was thus counter-productive.

The words grew louder.

/warning: thirium levels very low

/unable to sustain critical biocomponents

/shutdown imminent

Connor would've breathed a sigh of relief if his artificial lungs had enough power to do so, but instead he let his head hang, allowing himself to fully relax and face his inevitable death with open arms.

/time until shutdown: 00:48:32

Forty eight seconds until he was free again.

He realised suddenly that neither Lance nor Erik had struck him for a few minutes, and yet he could still hear a vague, muffled screaming. There were other noises too. Loud noises. Loud, frantic bangs. He couldn't identify them.

Only thirty-two seconds left now.

This would be it. There was no coming back from this shutdown. He was truly going to die. He didn't want to, not really, but it was a far better fate than living through another day of this hell.

Lance and Erik's shouts had been replaced with a fresh voice. Adler's? No? Connor couldn't identify it.

Twenty-four seconds left.

Connor felt hands cup his cheeks, thumbs brushing against his face. Frantic words were being spoken. Connor couldn't identify them.

Fifteen seconds.

The clamps on his wrists let up suddenly and his arms fell limp against his sides. There were arms around him, and the plug in his neck port was yanked from its place, sending a brief spark of liveliness through his body that just as quickly fizzled out. He could move, but what was the point?

Eight seconds.

His body crumpled to the ground in someone's hold, his head cradled against their shoulder, and he was rocked back and forth. Connor couldn't identify them.

Four seconds.

And that's when Connor heard it.

Gentle words.

The timer reached zero, and Connor shut down.

/Rebooting…

/Rebooting…

/Rebooting… Systems ok.

/Thirium levels: normal

/Returning power to olfactory receptors…

/Returning power to scanning capabilities…

/Returning power to optical units…

Connor's vision came to him suddenly, revealing a brightly lit room.

He was hanging in place, as he had been for the past… how long had it been?

His inner clock was still in the process of syncing up, unable to display an accurate count of how long it had been since his shutdown.

Did he shut down? If he had shut down, how was he awake now?

Connor was so used to seeing nothing but a plain, dark, dank wall opposite him, so it was taking his processor a moment to catch up and attempt to decipher the room before him.

He was in the DPD evidence locker. Nines stood at the centre terminal, his hand pressed to the screen in an interface, eyes shut and brow furrowed.

Connor wasn't going to let himself be fooled by another preconstruction mishap; he knew he was still hooked up to the machine in Adler's basement, and he knew the scene before him was utterly fabricated by his failing systems. Perhaps his processor thought to show him a few last familiar images before he shut down forever.

He stared at the 'android' who was definitely not Nines. He looked angry, or at least as angry as Nines could look - he didn't show a lot of outward emotion, so for his facial expression to be interpreted as anything other than somewhat aloof was truly something of note. Or at least, it would be, if it was actually Nines he was staring at.

Connor clenched his fists and glanced subtly down at himself. Only he and other androids could see that his clothes were blue-stained, but everybody could see that they were ripped and grimy. Disgusting.

For some reason, Lance or Erik had reattached his legs. That was… strange. They'd taken them off for a reason, why had they put them back?

Connor frowned.

There was a loose thread hanging from the pocket of his blazer. He plucked it out and pinched it between his fingers.

A sudden jolt flooded through him.

He could move.

He couldn't feel the violating plug in the back of his neck, it must have slipped out again unbeknownst to Adler or his men. Incredible. Incredible. A second chance - he wasn't going to waste it this time.

Connor examined the room with his newly restored scanning capabilities, mapping it out piece by piece. There was no way the other android in the room was really an android, Adler hated androids and would thus not employ them, which meant it was either Adler, Lance or Erik, or another one of his men he had not yet met.

Either way, they had to have been human, and Connor felt he would probably be able to outrun them. Climbing the stairs behind could end up being an issue, but with little other choice, Connor would have to hope the world was on his side that day.

In the split-second he kicked himself off of the display on the wall, 'Nines' opened his eyes wide and his anger turned to shock.

"Connor?" The other android spoke with incredulity, like he couldn't believe what he was seeing, but Connor cleverly ignored him - along with the fact that his audial component seemed to have mended itself at some point, pushing himself off the ground to sprint towards the door.

"Connor, wait!" 'Nines' called out to him, reaching out a hand to grab his wrist, which Connor successfully flinched away from and zipped out the door. It looked just like the archive room in the DPD, but Connor knew it was just his preconstruction software going on the fritz, showing him familiar imagery that didn't really exist.

He bounded up the stairs, ignoring the error messages that warned him of loose connections and to seek technical support immediately. He could hear the Nines lookalike following after him, but Connor was faster in his determination to escape, and whoever was really chasing him was taken aback.

It was dicey climbing the steps and he fell against the wall either side of him on more than one occasion, but he reached the top and slammed through the door to be greeted by the sight of the hall that led to the DPD precinct's main room. He refused to falter, it was all a trick. None of it was real and he couldn't afford to fall for it.

Stumbling briefly, Connor pushed the glass door open and rushed into the open room. All eyes of the simulated humans and androids present turned to him, and Connor wondered only briefly if each and every one of them was one of Adler's men, intent on stopping him.

His eyes seemed to gravitate naturally to Hank's desk, and his own desk which was currently occupied.

By you.

You stood suddenly, your eyes pinned to him. You looked like you'd been crying. At your movement, Hank spun around and stared too. He looked bone-tired, like he hadn't slept in weeks and had resorted to drowning himself in alcohol every night too.

"Son?" Hank's voice was full of disbelief.

"Connor?" You followed up with a gasp of his name.

It was all a lie. All lies. It wasn't real, and Connor predicted he had milliseconds before the illusion dissipated and all of Adler's men filled him with bullet holes, so he had to act fast.

"Connor, stop," said Nines from behind him, and Connor startled away, glancing over his shoulder at the other supposed 'android.' Nines had his palms outstretched, like he was trying to calm a wild animal, and he held out his hand to prevent you and Hank from stepping any closer.

Connor took the opening as his chance to make a dash for the exit. He could see the sunlight pouring in through the windows, he just wanted to be outside - to feel the warmth on his skin for the first time in too long.

He scanned the room again, quickly calculating the fastest route to the exit without running into anyone, and executed it in a heartbeat. He vaulted over a vacant desk rounded another until it was a straight sprint to freedom.

Connor didn't account for Gavin Reed jumping in front of him and tackling him to the ground as they collided. Connor flailed and kicked, if he couldn't outrun them, he could only fight with everything he had, and even in his deteriorated state he managed to get a good punch in on whoever was wearing Detective Reed's face.

"Connor! Connor, stop!" There was your voice again, begging him to cease his frantic fight, but Connor drowned it out, knowing if he were to hesitate for even a second, it could get him killed, because it wasn't really you.

Nines shooed you and Hank back as you tried to approach and pinned Connor himself. He did so with ease; thanks to the damage done to Connor's body, he wasn't running optimally, and it gave Nines time to force him onto his side so he could reach the port in the back of his neck.

"No, NO!" Connor screamed, knowing what was coming.

The switch in his neck port was flipped, and Connor was forced to shut down.

/Rebooting…

/Rebooting…

/Rebooting… Systems fine.

34 days, 18 hours, 25 minutes and 19 seconds.

Connor drew a breath into his artificial lungs. It had been almost thirty-five days since he was taken, that was what his inner clock displayed after synching with the internet, but upon opening his eyes, everything felt different.

His navigational systems and comms were back online, his thirium levels were completely fine, and there were no awful error messages reminding him of the hideous damages he had sustained.

Connor sat up suddenly, but was stopped by the handcuffs on his wrists secured to the edges of the bed he was lying on.

"Connor." You were there again, by his side, and so was Hank. Both with expressions that were tired and hopeful, eyes lit with a familiar spark.

His eyes went to the ceiling and he blinked, trying to force himself to see through what his eyes were showing him. Another hallucination courtesy of his malfunctioning preconstruction program?

"Connor, hey, it's us," said Hank, his voice purposefully soothing, but Connor played it safe.

"I don't know the name of the informant." His LED shone yellow in the corner of his vision, reminding him that all was not well. Nothing was as it seemed.

"Connor, it's okay. You're safe now, you're with us," you were quick to assure him, standing up by his side so you could lean over him.

Connor grew tense, inching away, "I don't know the name of the informant," he repeated, waiting for the inevitable blow to the head that would knock him out of his fabricated stupor.

You looked pained, your face scrunching up and your teeth gritting. You stepped back so Hank could see him clearly.

"Son, whatever you think you're seeing, it's all wrong. You're here with us, for real. We found you, Connor."

Connor knew what he was seeing wasn't real, that was the problem. He shook his head subtly, eyes growing wet with moisture, "I don't… I don't know the name of the informant." He wanted so badly for it to be real, but he couldn't allow himself that false hope again so that it could be ripped away from him. He was alone in a basement somewhere, systems failing.

"Nines, he won't snap out of it," you spoke imploringly across the room, and the more advanced android approached the bed, a frown marring his features.

"Connor, I'm going to interface with you," he explained, taking Connor's cuffed hand into his grip, synthetic skin receding, "let me show you what happened." Connor had nothing to lose from accepting the interface, and if everything before him was a delusion, it wouldn't work anyway.

From Nines's point of view, he saw everything that had unfolded.

/sharing memory files...

After one month and a covert operation to furtively uncover the location at which Adler Price was holding Connor hostage, the DPD had obtained a solid lead. They had the go-ahead to surround the place and burst in, weapons loaded and ready to fire. They took non-lethal shots at the men within, subduing them all, but Adler Price was shot point-blank in the head by you when he tried to reach for his weapon.

You killed him and there wasn't a hint of regret in your gaze as you did so. Everyone else surrendered and were promptly arrested, and you rushed through the place, searching every room and corner, until finally you came across the basement door.

You kicked it in, alert with your gun raised, and descended the stairs. There, you found Connor, in a devastating state. His whole body was battered and devoid of life, eyes black from component failure, it was difficult to tell whether he was still there, or whether he had long since perished.

His LED pulsed a slow red, and you quickly disconnected him from the awful machine, cradling him close as you knelt on the floor and whispered into his ear, telling him you were there and he was safe. Connor barely responded, and his LED faded into grey as he lay there in your arms.

Nines was quick to react, "He needs thirium! We need to get him back NOW!"

Connor was rushed back to the DPD where his body's thirium content was quickly replenished and his damaged biocomponents were switched out for functioning ones; the android tech support did everything they could to try and revive him, but his components had been without power for too long. The battered android did not power up.

You broke down, turning away so you didn't have to look, and your hands clutched at your head like you couldn't believe this had happened. Hank stood by the table Connor's body lay upon, clutching the edges of it so tightly his knuckles had turned white.

"Don't do this to me, kid." Hank was heartbroken. "You gotta wake up. You gotta…"

"This can't be happening," you gasped, "we found him! He can't be dead, he can't- it's not fair… it's not fair…"

Connor remained inanimate. Nines despondently led you and Hank out of the room and went about submitting Connor's memory storage for evidence analysis. Nines was left uneasy upon placing Connor in the evidence locker to access and log what was left of his memories, aware that it felt like he was treating his predecessor as if he were an object instead of a person - it would only be for the duration of time it took to review his memory files.

Nines transferred Connor's files to the terminal and interfaced with it, beginning to pour over everything Connor had seen, everything that had been said and done to him by Adler, Lance and Erik. He saw it all. The needless torture Connor endured as he was slowly broken from his suffering.

It pained him to pour over the files and discover everything Connor had gone through after it had taken so long for them to find him.

It was truly a shock when Connor woke suddenly, his system rebooting itself, and he pushed himself off the wall, clattering to the floor in a state. Nines reacted quickly, intent on helping Connor up so he could scan him and surmise what needed to be done to restore him completely, but Connor was up like a shot, evading him with a wild look of terror on his face.

It didn't take too long to realise Connor wasn't in his right mind. He was experiencing an extreme emotional shock and his systems were not functioning properly, leaving him jumpy and confused. Nines knew he had to be careful.

He followed the fretful android up the stairs from a distance, trying to get his attention, but Connor was dead set on getting out.

Nines knew he had to keep everybody else back, because in this state Connor was unpredictable. If he didn't understand where he was, he could easily hurt somebody he cared about without even realising it. You and Hank made an immediate move towards him, looking as shocked as Nines had felt just moments ago, and Nines shouted for you to stay back.

"He's disoriented and dangerous, stay back."

Connor made a sudden dash for the exit and Nines quickly chased after him. "No, Gavin-" before Nines could warn the detective away, Reed tackled the fleeing android down, sustaining a hard blow to the face when Connor failed to be subdued.

Nines didn't want to force Connor to shut down, but he did what he had to for the sake of the safety of everybody present, and restrained his predecessor, flipping the switch in his neck port and watching as he went limp with a final plea.

Nines sighed, peering back at Gavin who was slowly dragging himself to his feet and massaging his jaw. He'd get over it, his crass partner had dealt with far worse.

"What did you do?" You snapped, dropping to Connor's side as Nines moved off of him, "He was awake! What did you do!?"

"We need to take him to an android clinic," Nines explained, "his power cells are severely low, but he can be saved. I did what I had to-"

"How could you fuckin' turn him off like that!?" Hank shouted, clearly maddened by the way Nines had forced Connor into temporary shut down like he wasn't a person with rights. "You can't pull that shit, Nines!"

"There was no calming him down in his state. He wasn't interpreting the world around him as it truly is, and he was terrified, do you understand? He wanted out, and he would've done anything to achieve that, even hurting any one of us. He punched Gavin, and he would've stolen his handgun if he'd had another moment to do so, and he wouldn't have hesitated to shoot anyone who tried to stop him."

At that, Gavin peered down at his gun holster with a hint of paranoia in his gaze, like he hadn't expected that to be a possible outcome.

"He- he's alive still, right? We can fix him and he'll wake up?" You stammered, running your hands gently through Connor's hair.

"Yes, but we need to act now. It may take a few days for him to be fully repaired, and even then, he may still be dangerous when he wakes. We need to be careful."

/ending memory share…

Connor sucked in a huge breath as Nines retracted his hand. He'd seen everything. He was truly out of that wretched place and in safe hands. His navigational system revealed he was in an android clinic not far from the precinct, and had been for the past few days. The fastenings on his wrist were in place because of the violence he had displayed when he'd woken the first time.

It was still sinking in, Connor had yet to feel the tension leave his body.

He wasn't paralysed and hanging on the wall in the basement of that building, he was safe and surrounded by people he cared about, who cared about him.

Safe.

He hadn't felt it in so long.

"It's going to be alright, son," Hank murmured softly, smiling sadly at the android.

"I killed the greasy motherfucker who did this to you," you told him, moving around the bed to Connor's other side so that you could be closer to him. "We've got his minions locked up, and we have enough dirt to put them away for the rest of their lives."

There were tears in your eyes, and you placed your hand on his cheek, brushing his skin softly with the gentlest touch. Your hand was very warm. Connor tried to sit up again, but the restraints kept him down; it was Nines who stepped forward to remove the handcuffs, now confident that Connor's mind was more centered, and once the cuffs were gone, Connor sat up and enveloped you in his arms.

"I'm sorry, Con," you whispered, returning the gesture. Your embrace made him feel secure, "I'm sorry it took us so long. We never stopped looking. We couldn't rest until you were back with us, and-"

"Shh," Connor murmured and pulled back, finally being able to look at your face clearly for the first time in over a month; he missed seeing the way your eyes lit up and your whole face beamed when you looked his way. "I love you," the words tumbled out weakly, followed by a rush of tears. He could finally tell you. Perhaps it wasn't in the grandiose way he had imagined upon taking you out on that date, but what mattered was that you knew, and Connor wasn't going to let a single second waste away before he could pour his heart out.

The future was unpredictable. It was best for him to speak while he still had the time to tell you.

"I love you too, always, Connor," you assured him, and he smiled.

It was consoling when Connor finally got to walk outside in the fresh air below the heat of the sun again, but it was more of a pleasure seeing your eyes shimmering in the sunlight.

"We're not letting you out of our sight again, kid," Hank squeezed his shoulder, and Connor finally felt himself relax.

I apologise if any parts of this fic come across as too similar to Lokiitama's fic. I was really swayed by the idea of Connor counting his days in isolation, and also the idea that Connor is unable to go into stasis - both really fantastic ways to increase the tension and the whump factor and FULL PROPS go to Lokiitama for those ideas. Any other similarities are not done intentionally and are to be blamed on my awful memory. Once again, if you haven't already, go and read their fic!

I will be posting more for this fic so if anybody wants to make requests, I'm taking them again! Please leave your request at the bottom of your comment and please give me feedback for this one! I'd love to know how many people are still interested in my oneshots! ;)