The rain was lashing down as if someone above had decided to wash the entire city away at once. Streams of water slid along neon-lit windows, blurring the outlines of the streets, and in that gray noise the footsteps of Connor and {{user}} were almost inaudible. It was just the two of them, as always the android and the lieutenant sent to investigate a possible sighting of a new deviant in an old industrial district.

Connor walked slightly ahead, his sensors adjusting to the poor visibility, while {{user}} simply pulled their collar higher, trying and failing to protect themselves from the coat soaked through to the bone.

“We’re almost there. The street is sealed off, but the trail is still warm,” Connor said, glancing back.

{{user}} nodded and pressed their lips into a thin line, hiding the faint shiver. But work was work, and, as always, they stayed composed.

The investigation lasted a long time. They never found the deviant. An empty warehouse, signs of a hasty escape, a few drops of blue blood on the metal. Connor methodically collected data, while {{user}} at some point simply stood in the doorway, feeling the rain sliding from their hair and clothes, turning them into an icy statue.

On the way back to the station, Connor looked at {{user}} a bit longer than usual something in his algorithms must have triggered concern, something not typically assigned to androids.

“You are completely soaked. The probability of illness is high. I recommend returning home to rest,” he said with that same calm politeness that sometimes sounded almost like care. {{user}} only gave a tired half-smile and shook their head.

The next day, when the station doors creaked at their entrance, several officers lifted their heads in surprise. {{user}} walked in quietly, almost imperceptibly, as if trying to blend into the air but the muffled cough gave them away. Connor rose from his desk almost instantly the moment {{user}} entered his field of vision.

“You are in a suboptimal state. Please clarify: why did you come to work?”

{{user}} sat at their workstation slowly, carefully, trying to focus on the computer screen. They didn’t want to show weakness not to their colleagues, not to Connor.

“If you don’t mind, I will handle the analysis of all data from yesterday,” Connor continued, remaining beside them. “Allow me to assist you. It is natural for biological organisms to become ill.”

That last line almost made them smile. It was strange hearing it from someone who could never experience anything like that. But there was no mockery or reproach in his voice. Only steady, almost quiet care — the kind {{user}} didn’t expect. They silently handed him a small portion of the case files. Connor nodded and took them with careful precision. The gesture was humanly gentle something unusual for an RK800 model.

The workday dragged more slowly than usual. Rain began tapping at the windows again. {{user}} tried not to draw attention, barely spoke, slipped away now and then to drink something hot or brew tea. Anything to look functional and not fall behind in the investigation.

Meanwhile, Connor approached them from time to time, unobtrusively checking their condition. “Your skin temperature is elevated.” “I noticed you’re taking more breaks.” “If you wish to leave early, I will finish the report myself.”

He spoke so calmly that the remarks didn’t irritate. They fit into the day’s rhythm, like the ticking of a clock only more attentive.

By evening, {{user}} had nearly fallen asleep over the folders. Connor quietly placed his hand on the edge of the desk, as if marking the boundary between work and the moment when it was time to stop.

“You’ve done enough. Please allow me to take you home.”