[COMPLETED] Corrupted (Connor X Reader)

"You really don't have to do this right now," Connor said, for what must have been the third time, "In fact, you should probably be resting."

You sighed as you had each time he'd said these words, before replying, "Connor, you've waited long enough to get this fixed. I'm doing it now."

When he didn't say anything more, you returned to the task at hand, watching Connor methodically shrug out of his ripped bomber jacket, then his white button-down. The fabric slipped from his shoulders, revealing his slender chest and arms, and you tried not to stare too obviously as he carefully folded the jacket and shirt, before glancing up at you, a small furrow in his brow.

"I suppose I'll have to replace these now," Connor muttered, seemingly amused as he realized he'd just carefully folded ruined clothes.

"I suppose so."

Your fingers drifted forward, up his torso, up to the small bullet hole in his chassis. The synthetic skin surrounding it was gone, unable to retract over the damaged area, leaving a little space of porcelain plating between Connor's soft skin and the hole punched through his chest. Soft blue lights pulsed through the gap, blinking as Connor's systems thrummed under your gentle touch. Any thirium from the gunshot had long since evaporated, both around his wound and inside, but you could almost see the blue spray, stark against his white chest plating and your skin.

"I'm so sorry," you murmured, words tumbling from your lips before you even thought to say them.

"It's not your fault."

Somehow, that wasn't enough, so you continued, "She shot you, Connor..."

"Amanda shot you too." Connor's warm brown eyes watched you as he brought his hand up to meet your tracing fingers, clutching them between his own, and a troubled look flashed across his face. "I should have protected you... I failed."

"Hey," you said, grip tightening on Connor's fingers as his LED spun yellow, "You were shot first and still managed to throw off her aim."

Blinking, Connor stared at you. "But you're the one who feels pain. Amanda may have missed anything vital, but you bled so much and I..."

Connor's LED flashed red.

"I'm here thanks to you," you insisted, pressing your palm flat over his broken shell.

You tried not to think of how distraught Connor looked as he recalled when you were shot, or how if the bullet that pierced his chassis had been just half an inch lower it would have hit the heart of his thirium network, and he would have bled out on that floor right next to you— Nope, not thinking about that, you told yourself, clearing the sudden tightness from your throat.

"I'm going to fix you now, okay?"

As his LED shifted back to blue, Connor nodded, and you got to work. Your side still throbbed intermittently, feeling incredibly stiff, as if the entire area was packed with dense cotton, even though it was really just layers upon layers of nano-stitching. Connor retrieved your tools for you and handed them over at your request so you wouldn't have to bend too far. You fell into a calming silence with him, able to focus on repairing the damage done by the bullet to his wiring and chassis as neither of you said a word aside from the occasional, "can you pass me that insulator?", "Oh—did I hurt you?", "No, that didn't hurt exactly...", and "Sorry."

Connor's new plate clicked in place with a small hiss, and you sighed in relief before his synthetic skin retracted over the shell, all signs of the gunshot erased just like that. You let your fingers linger, right over the spot that had been bare just moments ago. Something in you yearned to see it again, wanted that reassurance that underneath the skin he was fine, all better, not angry with you.