Lieutenant Weekes had been at a loss of words for a week. 7 days prior, an unwanted android had solved a case in less than a day, and then had managed to get itself and the suspect killed, and Detective Taylor critically injured. He'd brought it up to Daniel and demanded the android be formally demoted from the investigation, but he'd insisted it had gotten a confession when he hadn't, so it would stay.

Despite the severe errors Brendon had made during his unprecedented leg of the interrogation that called for a reset into another body, he still found himself upset and distressed that neither of his partners were pestering him for things. They kept him busy and focused on something other than a constant hangover and longing for retirement, even if he did prefer to be left alone. They made time pass quicker.

He didn't exactly miss the android, though. He missed Taylor. There was a very crucial difference between them, that being Taylor was a human and Brendon was a hunk of plastic with stupid comments and a computer for a brain.

Taylor was supposed to be off duty, obviously, for quite some time. He hadn't heard from her since she called from the hospital to assure him she wasn't dying, but word passed around that the injury was one of the worst case situations. It didn't look so when she took a seat in the vacant desk across from him.

But, he had to admit, she looked different. Her blue eyes had been nearly drained of her signature liveliness, dark rings circled underneath instead of the usual sparkle. Her hair was barely brushed through, arm in a sling and damaged shoulder cushioned and wrapped with a solid inch of bandages. "Remind me again why I became a detective, please. I spilled the whole ass bottle of pain medication and I'm fresh out of laundry detergent. And I bled all over my last box of tissues."

"You wanted the action and liked the sound of eating chocolate filled donuts on late-night stakeouts. You can always do your laundry at a laundromat or my place, and there're plenty of tissue boxes to steal from the supply cabinet. As for the pain meds, my deepest condolences." He said. It didn't seem like she'd be getting much action anymore, but the donut stakeouts were still a possibility. That wasn't what she wanted, though.

She laughed sarcastically, her eyes glassy from tears. "I shouldn't even have been on duty, you know. I should've stayed home, but I had to finish filling out paperwork because I hadn't finished it the day prior. I was dicking around with some stupid game on my phone, and Daniel found out, so he told me I had to go take Brendon to find you so he didn't get his lil' robot head mailed back to the station in a cardboard box."

He shuddered at the thought of that android, but not so much at the idea of its dismantled head far away from the rest of its body. "What'd they give you besides the pain meds you dropped? Drugs? Cocaine to take the edge off?"

"So many prescription drugs I can't keep track of them all, a sling for 8 weeks, plates and screws and whatever to put back the pieces of bone that got fucked up, and constant physical therapy for a couple months after the bandages and stitches are all gone. They said I probably won't be able to have full movement in my shoulder ever again, and that they were surprised my whole ass arm can still kinda function. And I hate to burst your bubble, babe, but they didn't give me cocaine."

"That's rough," Dallon turned away so she couldn't attack him for feeling bad for her, "let me know if you need anything, and I mean anything. It's a once in a lifetime offer, but it excludes foot rubs and driving you to another country because that roadtrip to Canada was hell on wheels. When Brendon comes back, it can do shit too. That's the only good thing androids are used for nowadays."

"He's a sweetheart," she wiped at her nose with the back of her hand, "the only good fuckin' android out there."

"If it was a good android, it wouldn't have gotten you shot at all," he gestured to her shoulder, "yet, here you are. Doesn't that shit just suck?"

Taylor frowned. He was right, after all.

The third RK-800 stood at Lieutenant Weekes's desk, waiting. It'd been told he would be back soon, that for once, he was actually present and on time.

His desk was an absolute mess. Saint Bernard dog hairs coated his chair in a patches and the basketball hat hanging off the side of the computer. He'd left his headphones playing music at full blast, which Brendon identified as heavy metal after a quick listen from a distance. Dallon didn't strike it as the heavy metal type, but all humans had their likes and dislikes. That's what made them all so complex to understand and communicate properly with.

Newspaper clippings were tacked to the wall, all praising Dallon's past accomplishments for various cases. The largest one had a photo of him standing at a podium with a smile, the title naming him as the youngest Lieutenant ever promoted in the Detroit police department.

Brendon didn't know much about his new partner, even after searching through all his belongings and a decent portion of the internet. It found more on Detective Taylor, but she was social and had a couple hundred friends on Instagram and Twitter. Dallon had 17, on both sites combined. Brendon didn't have an account on either social network.

It spotted Dallon out of the corner of its eye, walking slowly beside Taylor with a pouch of her favorite chips in his hand. He was smiling, cracking jokes judging by how loud she laughed, and holding the bag to her good hand so she could get them herself.

But his face fell when he saw Brendon standing at his desk. "What in the fuck are you doing here? I thought you were gone for another week. Shit. How'd they fix the hole in your head so fast?"

And Brendon looked him in the eyes and said, "bitch" [im not funny delete this later???]

"Jenna had prepared another model in anticipation I would be critically injured in the field. She was correct, and decreased the software programming time and information transfer by a week."

Taylor made up for the lack of enthusiasm. "I missed you so much! I sit next to Dallon so often, I've forgotten what happy things look like! Do androids smile? Is that in your software, or does it considered as an emotion?"

"Androids find it difficult to smile, especially newer models. As an instruction, it does not qualify under an emotion, but a smile on its own may have been influenced by deviancy."

She seemed upset at the simple fact androids couldn't smile naturally. "That sucks. So like, if I showed you a photo of Dallon's dog, you wouldn't tear up or anything? That would count as an emotion, wouldn't it?"

Lieutenant Weekes was having nothing to do with a picture of his pet being shared with an android. "If you show it one photo, it'll be able to track down my house and watch me while I sleep. Don't even fucking dare, Taylor." He pointed at her phone threateningly. Neither Brendon or Taylor knew how to respond to that without pissing him off further.

"Lieutenant Weekes, you appear to be more stressed than usual by the case. Perhaps your irrational moods are justified by—"

"Fucking androids," he shoved Brendon aside and collapsed in his seat, "can't get any peace and quiet. Leave me alone, yeah?"

Brendon frowned. Its LED blinked yellow. It couldn't understand why Dallon and Taylor had such different opinions regarding androids, specifically Brendon. Usually, people assigned to a case together had similar opinions on the matter, and conflicting personalities would only jeopardize the investigation. "Lieutenant, there has been another murder. Reported 43 minutes ago, a man—"

"Does it sound like I fucking care?" He snapped and Taylor jumped in her chair. "Because I don't. Get her some coffee or something, she looks deader than Jack Taylor."

"But, Lieutenant—"

"That's an order, tin can! Get out of here before I punt you to the street like a football or somethin'. And before you say it, I don't give a shit about the repair costs."

It glanced over at Taylor, but she didn't defend it. She stared at the strings fraying off her sling and picked at the bandage keeping her upper arm stable. "Coffee sounds nice." She mumbled after Dallon had cursed angrily under his breath in frustration and stormed out of the station.

Brendon nodded. It had taken a preference to Taylor more so than its actual partner. "Your frequent posts on social media regarding coffee lead me to believe I should order an extra large iced coffee with 3 pumps of caramel sauce; if that's wrong or you would like something else, please correct me. Where can I locate you after I acquire your drink?"

"Honey, I'm not going anywhere for quite some time."

[is this good. Do ppl like this.]