He's been standing there for some time now. Through the corner of your eye, you can somehow make out his figure, tall, lithe, definitely male. He isn't doing anything particularly of note but it is off-putting to see him just standing there and watching- waiting, most likely. You try to stay as cool and composed, but your mind swirls, your thoughts firing off on all directions as you process this turn of events.

Did one of them get away? He wouldn't do anything in a public place, would he? But it's been so long.

He comes to a conclusion before you're able to make sense of what's happening, you can make out the sounds of his steps, sure, steady, and headed straight for you. You grit your teeth, the paths you could take were winding down with every inch he took. You had to make a decision; you hoped you made the right one. He puts a hand on your shoulder, triggering a cacophony of alarm bells in your head. Nothing else but instinct drives you into action, all the carefully planned modes of action you had in your head seemed to flee from your mind as your adrenaline kicked in and all those months came swooshing back in.

You manage to stand up and wrap an arm around his arm, the hidden blade in your sleeve sliding down into your waiting palm with all the reassurance of a mother's hug. Scarcely before you're able to properly play your hand, he somehow manages to shift his center of gravity and pin you to the desk. The force of it knocks the breath out of you and worst of all, it knocks your weapon out of your hand. You wriggle around his hold, attempting to manage what little leverage you have left into something you can make use of but he's unnaturally strong. Thankfully, the ruckus turns a few heads and you hear the surprisingly comforting sounds of guns cocking, trained at the strange man.

"This is highly unnecessary," the man begins, his tone light and factual. "I've just apprehended the suspect."

"Everyone stand down," a familiar voice cuts in.

You see most of the officers lower their weapons but your assailant only tightens his grip on you, "Captain, I'm afraid that I must decline-"

"_____ has been undercover for four years, now let the good detective go before someone's finger conveniently slips," Fowler continues, "I'm looking at you Gavin."

A beat of silence passes between the three of you before he finally lets go. The precinct shifts back, like a clockwork to its normal proceedings, you don't miss the weary glance Fowler throws your way. You'd be getting an earful later. Still, you do your best to look as in control as you possibly can when you were embarrassingly outmanoeuvred. You gruffly attempt to straighten your clothes, throwing a glare at him. This time, you're able to properly size him up. A mop of his dark hair is ruffled slightly from your tussle earlier but he looks entirely unaffected. It's only then that you notice the LED on his head. An android? Your train of thought is interrupted momentarily by the appearance of a man who looked like a disheveled Santa Claus, clearly winded and placing a hand on the android for support.

"I leave you for five - fucking - minutes," he huffs, "what'd I miss?"

"I attempted to apprehend a suspect, only to be stopped by the captain," he turns to the other man, "apparently, she was an undercover for quite a while."

"Ah, well," the other man sizes you up, he holds his hand out to you, "I apologise if I don't recognise you, but it's good to see you back here, detective."

It feels a little bit like a sucker punch to see one of your idols in such a state, despite his appearance you still eagerly shake his hand. He was still the Hank Anderson, right? "I-I wouldn't blame you, sir," you ramble, "I kept to myself, mostly."

"Well, anyways, I'm sorry for the trouble, Connor caused you," he says apologetically, "he's not a people person."

"Connor?"

The android, who had been silent for most of the conversation, turns to you, "my name is Connor. I'm the android sent by Cyberlife."

"So the T-1000 has a name," you snort.

"I am an RK800, not a T-1000," he corrects.

"I wasn't - it was a - forget it," you huff, a frown immediately marring your lips as your metaphor flies over his head, you roll your eyes at it.

He pauses, LED flickering yellow as he ponders the appropriate response.

"You must be angry about earlier, I understand. I found no trace of you as an officer, only your ties to a high profile dealer in the Red Ice trade and I assumed that you meant harm, especially when you attempted to retaliate when I merely placed a hand on your shoulder."

"W-well," you stutter. Sure, you did overreact but you couldn't help it. Being undercover for as long as you did, just had an effect on you. "You shouldn't have wrestled me into the desk!"

You know you're not making a strong case for yourself and you're entirely aware of how childish you sound but you can't help it. It embarassed you to be taken down so easily, android or not. You believed that your time undercover honed your skills and that returning you'd be better than your old self. But if today was any indication of your skills...

You don't stick around to listen to Connor's response. You just try to get out of there as quickly as you can and with what little of your dignity you can muster. So much for the perfect first day back on the squad.

"Well, I'd say you made a very nice first impression, Connor," Hank quips as he makes his way to his desk. "You certainly have a way with the ladies."

Connor frowns, as he follows his partner's suit, "very amusing,  Lieutenant."