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To say that Detective Gavin Reed and the RK900 unit, now known more commonly as Nines, were like oil and water was an insult to both oil and water. At least those could be forced into a temporary, if unstable, emulsion. Gavin and Nines were more like a lit match and a puddle of gasoline.
To Tina Chen, their daily interactions were a masterclass in mutual antagonism, and frankly, her favorite form of entertainment. She'd perfected the art of hiding a smirk behind her coffee mug and subtly sharing knowing glances with Chris. It was her own mini telenovela, playing out live in the bullpen whenever they were in the same room, which, thanks to some cosmic joke played by Captain Fowler, was most of the time.
So, when Fowler had called her two main leads into his office on that fateful Monday, the entire bullpen had held its breath. Ten minutes later, the two emerged, walking stiffly, a very visible six inches of pure hatred between them. Gavin’s face was a thundercloud of repressed violence. And Nines’ expression was… well, as always, a placid mask that somehow still managed to look condescending.
“Listen up!” Fowler had barked, stepping out after them. “There’s an ongoing investigation into a series of blackmail incidents connected to a high-end couples' counseling retreat.” Everyone sat up, listening to what the captain had to say. The mood sobering up once case talk came up. “Reed and… Nines,” he’d said the name like it was a foreign word, “will be going undercover. As a couple. In therapy.”
The look on Gavin’s face grew into a full, raging, typhoon.
A silence so profound fell over the precinct that Tina could hear the gentle hum of Connor’s thirium pump from two desks away. Then, a snort from Hank Anderson, quickly disguised as a cough. The assignment was frankly absurd. It was a suicide mission, not because of the danger, but because there was a statistical certainty that one of them would likely murder the other before they even checked in. They left for their week-long assignment that Friday, Gavin looking like a man being marched to his own execution.
The bullpen placed bets. Tina put twenty dollars on Nines filing a formal complaint for workplace harassment within forty-eight hours.
――――――――
When they returned a week later, that’s when things got weird.
The shouting had stopped.
This, more than anything, set Tina on edge. The familiar soundtrack of Gavin’s rage was gone, replaced by a quiet, simmering tension that was somehow more unnerving. On their first day back, Nines placed a coffee on Gavin’s desk. This was not unusual. What was unusual was Gavin’s reaction. There was no “I didn’t ask for this, you plastic prick.” There was no shove. There was just… a quiet, almost imperceptible nod. He picked up the cup and drank it. Tina watched, utterly baffled, over the rim of her monitor.
The changes were small, but they were constant. Nines, who had previously maintained a surgically precise distance from his partner, now often stood closer, a silent, imposing presence at Gavin’s shoulder. When a smarmy lawyer tried to corner Gavin by the evidence locker, Nines simply materialized between them, his sheer height and intimidating stillness forcing the lawyer to take a step back. He didn’t say a word, just stared with those frankly creepy piercing gray eyes until the man stammered an excuse and fled. Gavin, for his part, just rolled his eyes and muttered, “Show off,” but there was no heat in it. It was almost… fond .
The gossip in the break room was rampant.
“Did they actually get therapized?” Chris asked, pouring an ungodly amount of sugar into his coffee.
“Maybe they hate-fucked the tension away,” another officer offered with a laugh.
Tina stayed quiet, observing. It wasn’t that simple. They didn’t act like friends. They didn’t even seem to like each other. They acted like… something else.
Her confirmation came on a Thursday. Nines was at his desk, and Gavin was pacing behind him, ranting about a lead that had gone cold. “-and of course, the witness clammed up, so we’re back to square one. It’s a complete waste of time.”
Nines swiveled in his chair. “Was it a waste of time, Gavin?” Gavin?? Never once did Tina ever heard the android call him anything other than some variation of ‘Detective’. “Or did you allow your temper to compromise the interview, as was discussed in our session with Dr. Albright about your confrontational response to perceived failure?”
Gavin stopped pacing, a look of offended shock on his face. Like he could not believe what he was hearing, and Tina can relate. He glared at Nines, his face flushing. “You can’t just use the ‘active listening’ and ‘I statements’ on me, you asshole. I was there . I know all your tricks-”
Nines's expression didn't change. "That is not what those terms mean. Your assessment of my methods is factually inaccurate."
Gavin froze mid-rant, his mouth hanging open for a split second. The sheer, deadpan audacity of the correction seemed to momentarily short-circuit his rage, leaving only pure, sputtering disbelief in its wake.
"My query," the android continued with unnerving placidity, "was a combination of a clarifying question and a challenging statement designed to encourage self-reflection. At no point did I employ active listening, nor did I use an 'I-statement'."
Across the bullpen, Tina had to physically bite the inside of her cheek to keep from cackling like a dumbass, quickly ducking her head and pretending to be engrossed in a case file. It was the most bizarrely domestic and professional argument she had ever witnessed. It was the sound of a real, actual couple who had, against all odds, been to therapy together.
――――――――
The final piece of the puzzle clicked into place on a rainy Friday night.
Tina had stayed late to finish up some paperwork, the bullpen nearly empty save for a few shuffling night-shift officers. She was heading to her car when she saw them under the flat, humming fluorescent lights of the covered car park. Gavin was leaning against his car, looking utterly exhausted. Nines was standing in front of him, holding on to a set of keys.
“You are demonstrating a 3.2% decrease in motor function due to fatigue, Detective,” Nines said, his voice low. “My driving would be 27% more efficient and statistically safer.”
“Yeah, yeah, save it for your performance review,” Gavin grumbled, but he didn’t snatch the keys. He just held his hand out.
What happened next was so quiet and so quick, Tina would have missed it if she hadn’t been staring. Nines didn’t just drop the keys into Gavin’s hand. He gently took Gavin’s wrist, opening his palm more, and placed the keys squarely in the middle. And then, his thumb brushed over Gavin’s pulse point, a slow, deliberate stroke that lasted only a second but felt like an eternity in the silent garage.
Gavin’s breath hitched. He didn’t pull away. He just watched the android’s hand close his around the keys, his expression completely unguarded for the first time Tina had ever seen. He looked… subdued. Tired, and soft.
“See you tomorrow, Nines.” Gavin finally said, his voice rough but quiet.
“Rest well, Gavin.” Nines replied, his own voice holding a note of something that sounded suspiciously like warmth.
Nines stepped back, and Gavin finally got in his car.
As Tina retreated back into the shadows of the stairwell, her heart pounding, she knew. The undercover mission, the fake relationship, the surprise therapy - it had all been a catalyst for something real. The precinct’s worst-matched partners, the lit match and the gasoline, hadn’t exploded. They had just… burst into flames.
Tina smiled to herself as she continued her walk to her car. She had never been so happy to lose a twenty-dollar bet in her life.