"...... Detective? I apologize for interrupting, but dinner is ready."

Gavin had returned to the couch, trying to organize all of his extreme emotions while also trying to convince Hank to just send Connor over to take you away. Your words had him look up, set his phone aside and get to his feet.

--Shit. That smells amazing, the fuck did she make?

As he wandered towards his dining table, you returned to the kitchen to clean. "The rest is wrapped up and is set in the refrigerator. Please let me know if it's something you'd like m--"

"You made eggplant parmigiana," he cut in. "...... I haven't eaten this since I was a kid." With your back turned, you couldn't see the male's expression, but you thought you heard a happier note in his words.

"You are vegetarian, so this seemed the most obvious choice. My options were also limited; if given a list, I can do your grocery shopping." The black sleeves were rolled up so you could wash the dishes. "... is there something else you'd like me to attend to after I am finished here?"

There was no reply; Reed was staring at the mouthful on his fork, wanting to eat it but also hoping it was shitty. Judging by the smell alone, it wouldn't be, but he wanted no reasons to actually keep you around.

Please be shitty. Please be shitty. Please.

The clatter of silverware against the ceramic plate made you slow down, turning your head to gaze over your shoulder. "Sir, is everything all right?"

Gavin had his head in his hand, the one that hadn't been using his fork, with his eyes closed. "I burned my fuckin' mouth. Also this is fuckin' perfect." He grumbled but immediately wanted another bite, impatient but not so much as to burn his tongue again. "Goddamnit..." the detective muttered softly. The more he ate, the more he cursed, but kept on eating, practically inhaling it.

^ ^ ^ [sOFtWaRE iNsTAbiLItY] ^ ^ ^

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck this stupid tin can with tits. How the hell can that thing make something like this? I swear to God....

The plate was gently taken away nearly as soon as he'd cleared it. Nothing was said as you washed the remainder of the dishes, but turning back to the human revealed that he hadn't moved. His head was leaning against a hand at his forehead, burning a hole into the dining table with his eyes. Your approach was cautious, very well aware that he was still capable of lashing out, and you wanted to prevent exactly that.

Sensing your proximity, Gavin didn't move much, except to mumble quietly: "...... I don't know how you managed it, but that tasted like home."

^ ^ ^ [SofTWarE inStABilITy] ^ ^ ^

[What is this]

A hand lifted and slowly laid on his forearm; you couldn't feel anything, but the detective sure could.

[His skin texture changed. Is this normal? What are these bumps?]

Glancing at the hand on his arm, Reed's stomach sort of sank.

It's soft. Like... really soft. I've gotta be imagining this shit. Like some kind of nightmare. No way in hell did I somehow get stuck with a talking microwave with tits, that also knows how to fucking cook something I haven't been able to replicate, ever.

...... shit.

Abruptly he stood, walking away for the sake of getting distance between himself and you. Lacking any real plans, Gavin just headed for his bedroom for a few seconds, then headed into the bathroom.

Once the shower was running, you took the time to wander his home a bit, using the detective tactics you'd been given to learn about your directive.

The floor-to-ceiling bookshelf was intriguing and fairly obvious in the living room. Instead of books, however, every shelf was completely taken up with films. There was a wide variety, so no genuine pattern to his interests... except the bottom two shelves were all Disney movies. He'd obtained the highest quality versions of every single one.

Each bit of information you learned turned the LED yellow for a moment. Eyes grazed the walls slowly, meandering the space and soaking up the hints of who Gavin Reed truly was.

[There is a large appreciation for Disney, though there were only a few other animation films aside from them. The ice hockey memorabilia is also prominent; his facial scar has the signs of being a blade wound.]

Your LED flashed again, but it was from something other than your investigation: singing, coming from the bathroom. Heard, but only just, as the shower drowned out most of it. Curiosity got the best of you, and you crept closer to the hallway to hear him clearer. Once you'd placed the song's origin you returned to the living room once more.

Tucked away in a corner was a record player, well taken care of and surrounded by crates of records. Like the bookshelf of movies, however, Reed's music taste was just as eclectic. Though this time there was no real theme, he just seemed to appreciate music from any decade.

By the time the human emerged from the bathroom, you were standing in front of a decorative table, gazing at the handful of framed photos displayed there. Gavin went to check his phone first, mouth thinned out as he responded to the lieutenant. "... the hell are you so entranced by?"

There was still an edge to his tone; whatever might have passed through his mind before the shower had been washed away. "Your scar is a wound from your time on the ice, correct?" There was no answer, so you turned to your directive to find him staring. "The cut is clean and the depth of the wound is almost the exact same if it were mirrored. That points to a swift blade in motion; that combined with the dent in the bridge of your nose points to ice hockey injuries. Both are rather common, especially before helmets and face guards were required."

If his voice had an edge, his gaze was sharper. "You know what, why don't you save your fucking detective work for someone who actually wants you to stick around? What the fuck were you doing, snooping through my shit?"

"I have touched nothing, Detective. I was merely observing what was in the open already."

Reed didn't seem to like your answer, and he stormed over to get in your face. His hair was still fairly wet, and droplets of water flew from his head to spray towards you as he came to a stop. "I suggest you keep your fucking observations to yourself. I don't need some plastic bitch coming into my home and trying to piece me together like I'm some kinda goddamn puzzle. Nothing about me or my life is any of your business!"

"You told me you were vegetarian, and that is very much my business, sir. I wouldn't want to prepare something you could not eat." Your response wasn't intended to be a clapback, but Reed's arm twitched as if he was going to raise it. You didn't react, of course. "Detective Reed, as much as you say you dislike me, you are not the type of man to strike a woman, android or otherwise."

Pink rose in his face, splotchy with his building anger again. He got closer still, his nose nearly touching your own. "How would you know what type of man I am, hmm? You couldn't know. You don't know what a man is, not when you don't know what a woman is, either. You're just a rusty hunk of metal and wire, deformed and bent out of shape to resemble something humanesque. News flash, bitch: it's not working. Cause all I see is scrap metal and outdated computer parts." A smirk pulled his mouth crookedly. "Might wanna let CyberLife know that their new, shiny prototype is actually full of worthless garbage."

^ ^ ^ [SOftWarE INsTabiLITy] ^ ^ ^

"... why do you hate me...?" The question came out automatically. "I've done nothing wrong, yet you are adamant that my mere presence is offensive."

Instead of ignoring or refusing to answer, Gavin's smirk spread. "You want to know why I hate you...?" As expected, you nodded, and he stood up straight. "I'll show you," he added, voice soft and deceiving. Hands on your shoulders turned you around, guiding you towards the door on the side of the kitchen. Opening it revealed the entrance to his garage. Still he guided you in further, stopping only when you were in the middle of the space. He'd parked in his driveway, so you had room. "Stay here and I'll show you. That's an order," Reed added. Letting go, he headed for the door again, glancing at you pointedly. "I mean it. Stay here."

"Yes, Detective."

That smirk felt sinister. "Good." The male went back into the house, shutting off the lights and closing the door, leaving you in the complete darkness. Only your indicator gave light, and that couldn't be seen, anyway.

Fifteen minutes passed, and your directive hadn't returned. Another fifteen minutes passed, and you were beginning to realize it was merely a set-up.

A full hour had gone by before you finally scanned the door from where you stood.

He'd locked you in his garage with an order not to move. And judging by his temperature reading in the bedroom, that was where you were spending the night.