Detroit Become Human x Readers

Expectancy (Connor x Reader)

When Connor was informed that you had not come into work today, he had his concerns. You were a police officer, you had a job to do. Of you were unwell then that could cause issues with the department. He brought up this with Hank, only to be confused when he was informed that you likely would not appreciate an opinion like that on the matter. With far more expletives, mind you.

Another day passed, and then another and Connor found himself becoming frustrated. You were supposed to be working a case with him, and he did not appreciate having his work ground to such a sudden halt. Why did you have to waste his time like this? He wasn’t impressed.

It’s on the fourth day that he snaps. Coming into work to find your desk empty again, Connor turns tail and leaves. Before Hank or anyone can say a word to him he’s out the door, on a warpath to your apartment.

Did you simply not care about your work? There’s no way a human could be this sick without needing medical attention, but you had not admitted yourself to any nearby hospital. You were impeding his research and his time. He was not about to let himself fail his first task as an official member of the DPD. You were not about to fail this mission for him.

It’s a short walk to your apartment, shorter even up the stairs as he reaches the door, practically steaming from the ears. He knocks on the once, no answer. Then again, and again and again until finally, he hears your voice, thick and congested, calling out to him.

“Who is it?” You ask with a sniffle, and Connor is rash in his answer.

“It’s me, Connor!” He shouts, his artificial hearing picking up a groan and some shuffling before you respond. His fingers twitched with irritation at that.

“The door open!” That didn’t seem safe in the slightest. Connor would have to bring that up with you later when he wasn’t this annoyed. Twisting the doorknob and pushing open the door.

Your apartment is a familiar sight. One he’d visited quite a few times after the android rebellion and his subsequence deviancy. Normally he looked forward to coming inside, but this was not one of these times. Your living room is nice. Modestly decorated and cosy. Connor himself has looked over these walls and few paintings a number of times, but he’d never seen you in a state like this.

Blankets covered most of your body, leaving only your head free as you lay completely still, not even looking his way as you sat back. The tv is on, playing music, and there are tissues by your bedside, tinted a reddish orange with what his scans tell him is earwax. It’s disgusting, but he doesn’t comment once he settles on your face, pale and sickly, with tired and glassy eyes.

“You’re sick.” He’s not sure what he expected. For you to be faking it? That very clearly isn’t the case now he’s seeing it face-to-face. He’s never seen you look worse, in fact. He’s so caught up that he nearly doesn’t notice how all his anger and frustration has slipped away.

“Really? I hadn’t noticed.” Your sarcasm is noted, and he supposes well deserved. You continue to not look at him, and Connor has a hard time telling whether it’s because of the illness, or because he’s upset you.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, watching as you groan and blink. Not a single part of the rest of your body moves.

“I got Labyrinthitis, and then a cold.” A quick search tells him all he needs to know of the illnesses. A cold is simple, but this Labyrinthitis? Not so much. An inflammation within the ears that makes a person’s head spin and causes vertigo and imbalance, often leaving the afflicted person unable to move. Connor feels a slight twist in his stomach, a feeling he’s only recently learnt is guilt.

“Has this happened before?” Connor tilts his head, staring down at your sweat-covered brow. You let out a sigh, slowly moving your arms beneath the blankets.