Connor had started developing feelings, a personality that was truly his own. He was gradually becoming a deviant.

Whilst he kept his calm and collected demeanor, he was freaking out a bit. He regularly experienced new sensations and emotions he couldn't quite process and understand, it was overwhelming and confusing.

He still kept his job at the police department and worked with you and Hank. Hank had warmed up to him a bit, though he was still kinda a grumpy old man. A grumpy old father figure.

You, on the other hand, You were a cause of a lot of these new emotions. Love, fondness, infatuation.

You helped him develop a personality by sharing your personal likes with him. Music, Movies, video games, series and the small things you appreciated like a nice rainy evening or the crisp air when autumn finally came. And all the mosquitos went back to hell where they belonged.

You had been shot on a mission. A shot in the thigh that pierced a main artery. And Connor, instead of catching the shooter, stayed to help you. He was scared, he was panicking. He cared.

He was there for you during recovery, he blamed himself. "I'm sorry I didn't catch the shooter" he muttered "The man who hurt you is still out there because of me, I'm sorry." When you tried to comfort him he spiraled even further "Things were so much easier when I was a machine!" He snapped.

... .. .

"Forgive me, I- I didn't mean that." He mumbled "I... I care about you deeply, detective. You don't realise how bad you were hurt, you could have-" he stopped again. He hated thinking of how fragile his favourite human was. "You could have died, {{user}}."