[im almost done writing this & it doesn't feel real]

Again, Dallon found himself at the police station. He'd spent too much time there recently with an android he couldn't stand, and it'd began to get on his nerves. Usually, the only person that had made every day tolerable was Taylor, but she just wasn't the same anymore.

"Since when did you start smoking again?" He asked her quietly. He kept an eye on Brendon in the other room, scanning through the case file in front of the arrested deviant. It had volunteered to interrogate it first, with less anger and more reasoning. Dallon couldn't see why he shouldn't give it another chance if it meant less work for him.

Taylor shoved her lighter back into the pocket to her jacket. "Since my damn shoulder decided to get blown to bits. When did you start caring so much?"

"Since lung cancer started killing people." He grinned to himself and contained himself even after she flicked the cigarette in his hair.

On the other side of the glass, Brendon shut the case file and tossed it over his shoulder to the floor. It'd watched Dallon do it with his burger wrapper earlier and had decided to imitate his actions to appear more human. "Why did you kill her?"

The Lieutenant was slightly perturbed. Every android he'd ever questioned was difficult and refused to talk, but whenever they were around Brendon, spare the one that had murdered Jack Taylor, it got to the bottom of the crime in record time, every time. All the protesters were right when they said androids would kick them all out of work sooner or later.

"I don't know. I was just so... so scared. I felt hate, and anger—"

"Why? What did she do to you?"

Right before Brendon got to the good part of the interrogation, Dallon whipped around in the spinning chair as he heard the flicks of her broken plastic lighter again. "I thought this fucking habit was done. We're at work, Taylor. Be professional."

She pulled the unlit cigarette from her lips and glared at him. "You showed up hours late every single day for 3 years in a row, and right now, you're telling me I can't blow a bit of smoke in the air? God, you're such a hypocrite."

"Would you mind telling me what the hell is wrong with you?! A few weeks ago you hadn't touched one of those since before I'd even met you, and here you are, breathing in the lung cancer again. I know spending time with me makes you want to die, but really?!"

"Oh, go to hell!"

"With you here, I'm already there!"

Neither of them noticed when Brendon walked in the room. The detected tension and stress levels were high, so it stayed quiet to hear their argument out and possibly give advice as it ended.

"You used to be the best thing that had ever happened to me," Taylor rose from her seat and stuffed clenched fists in her pockets, baring her teeth, "but we aren't even together anymore, we're just friends, dipshit. If we were together, maybe I'd listen, but you don't even do shit to take care of yourself! Is Shane literally the only thing keeping you alive? Because that's what it feels like!"

Dallon stood too, but far calmer than she had, somehow twice as terrifying and intimidating. He bit his cheek and sighed. "At least I won't be found dead in a ditch in 3 years flat."

"I can't wait to be dead so I never have to listen to you nagging like your mom ever again."

"Actually," Brendon interjected and they both jumped nearly out of their skin, "If Detective Taylor's smoking habit fails to increase exponentially, she will pass away from multiple cancerous growths in her lungs in a maximum of 26 years."

Taylor's lips parted slightly, stunned into silence. She was concerned, yet simultaneously shooting daggers from her eyes at the android.

"Thanks, Brendon," Dallon muttered, "at least this piece of shit listens to me. Tell her where she can stick her goddamn grapes."

"In the fridge!"

Dallon frowned. "...No. Nice try though. We'll have to work on that."

She stormed out without another word and slammed the door as hard as she could. The abstract paintings on the wall rattled from the force.

[Start the song if you wanna]

Brendon frowned. "She appears to be upset."

"No shit. Tell me what you got before I leave too." Lieutenant Weekes collapsed back into his chair. He covered his eyes with the palms of his hands and tried to fully process what had just happened. It didn't seem real; their stupid argument felt like last week's nightmare.

"The deviant's owner was prone to violent outbursts. It claims it only tried to defend itself. There are dents on its body that do not seem to be recent. If you would like to me access it's memory, I may be able to."

Dallon insisted it not do that. Word was being passed around that deviancy was a virus passed from android to android by contact, and even if it was a stupid theory, it wasn't worth the risk. "I think it's telling the truth. We can do a background check on the woman it killed and see if it matches up to the story."

"You do that. I'm gonna go home."

Brendon could easily sense something was not right about Dallon leaving for home so early. The last few days, he'd stayed late, actually involved in the case, despite his intense hatred for androids and his new robotic partner. "Would you like me to accompany you?"

"No. I wanna be alone."

It'd gone home with Detective Taylor for the last week or so instead of staying at the station with the other androids. She liked the extra help around her apartment, but she was already long gone. It didn't want to label it as loneliness, but it missed Taylor. "I would like to meet Shane properly, Lieutenant. I like dogs."

He sighed, pausing with his hand on the doorknob. "Can you cook something other than pizza?"

Brendon nodded. "I have downloaded various cookbooks that tailor to specific food allergies and preferences. If you chose to stop by the supermarket on the drive to your home, which is about a 5 minute detour, I can prepare pasta carbonara or another dish."

"I don't know what the hell that is," Lieutenant Weekes opened the door and gestured for Brendon to follow, "but it sounds better than pizza. Is it expensive? I don't have much cash on me."

"I can pay for the ingredients on my own, Lieutenant."

"I hope so. My cash is reserved for things I don't ever need."

The pasta carbonara had been substituted with frozen chicken wings prepared for consumption in the oven. It was quicker, and they assumed Shane would eat the ones Dallon didn't.

That had ended up being over half of them.

He'd passed out in the middle of rambling on and on about how being with Taylor had been the best year of his entire life, which Brendon couldn't exactly make any sense of. If they'd been so happy together, why couldn't they continue their relationship? Humans didn't make any sense.

Shane had curled up on his lap, watching Brendon try its best to clean around the living room and return it to a decently normal state. It aimed to throw out every piece of garbage and unused item in sight, but the goal didn't last for long.

Dallon rolled off the couch and picked up Shane with one arm. He glanced around groggily for Brendon, spotting him in the kitchen with old food wrappers and empty soda cans. "I'm fuckin' tired," he mumbled and waved it over, "and I'm cold. You're warm. Warm me up, toaster."

"Lieutenant, I don't sleep—"

"I didn't say you should sleep, idiot. I said warm me up, because I'm cold. Don't you have a built in heater or something? I'll send hate mail to CyberLife if they didn't give that to you."

Brendon set down the trash beside the back door, grabbed Shane from Dallon and led him to the bedroom. It hadn't been in there before, but it understood why the door was always shut.

Clothes were scattered across the carpet, flung over chairs, overflowing in the hamper. All the photo frames on the wall had been tilted sideways, a few turned around. Even more soda cans littered the single nightstand, and the large mirror on the closet had been scribbled over with window markers and bombarded with post-it notes flashing important information from years ago. It looked like the aftermath of a hurricane ripping through a home that had already been decimated by a tornado. The likelihood of Dallon suffering from depression or something of the sort had increased dramatically.

He flopped backwards on his bed and Shane hopped up alongside him, repeatedly licking his socks, careful to avoid the holes in the heel. He grabbed the single thin blanket from the floor and patted the empty space next to him. "Shane doesn't like to sleep next to me because my morning breath is disgusting, just a warning."

Brendon sat beside him and tucked the corners of the sheet into the creases of the mattress from the weight. "I don't find any odor to be particularly unpleasant. I only detect smells, I am unable to strongly detest them."

"Good. Shane lets some rip while he sleeps too so don't be too alarmed. If it doesn't smell natural then you need to wake me up."

"Why? What constitutes an unnaturally scented release of gas?"

"You'll be able to tell if it happens, trust me. He has minor stomach problems, and I don't think the chicken wings are gonna settle very well."

It processed the information after having to try twice, but the instructions stuck in its mind quickly after those few attempts. "I will. Sleep well, Lieutenant."

"Cool. Thanks babe." Dallon murmured and rolled over to press his back against the android. And with one long and content sigh, he passed out without another word for the rest of the night.