"'Allergic to cats' is a nice touch," Stahl tells Dorian the next time he sees her.  "Is that true?"

He's used the phrase "allergic to cats" three times in the past two days, and only one of them is publicly accessible.  Another could be dug up by a detective like Stahl, but there's no discernible reason for her to look.  The only other possibilities are that someone overheard him, or that John mentioned it in context while he wasn't around.  Dorian considers this unlikely.

Since the most probable stimulus for her question is John's dating profile, which she has not only looked up but put some effort into deciphering, he replies, "Why, do you have one?"

She laughs, and he judges the amusement sincere.  It doesn't seem to be either a mockery of his misunderstanding or an involuntary cover for her discomfort.  Instead she says, "I'm thinking of getting one now!"

It could be an invitation to camaraderie, so he smiles in return.  Around Stahl it's less frequently about setting her at ease and more often a matter of actual enjoyment. He thinks John has good taste, even if she isn't interested.

The captain pauses on arrival.  She's in the habit of visually assessing the room's energy and activity level, so he doesn't mark it as strange.  He notices when her gaze sweeps to him, but he doesn't disengage from the virtual terminal until she speaks.  To him.

"Dorian," she says.  That's something she does much less frequently: addressing him instead of John.  "A word?"

John looks up as well, and she adds, "Excuse us a moment, Detective."  It's clear that she means for John to stay while Dorian accompanies her, but John takes a step forward anyway.  He's frowning.

He catches John's eye and shrugs to indicate a lack of plausible deduction.  The captain has never taken him aside before, so there's no precedent for her motivation.  She often speaks to John alone; perhaps something in those exchanges has made John nervous.

The captain closes the door to her office and says, "You're aware that the department does not condone misrepresentation of internet avatars."

It isn't a question, but she expects a response.  John's standard form of address is too familiar and Stahl's may be influenced by her gender, so he copies Paul instead.  "Yes, sir," he says.

The captain gives no indication that this is incorrect.  "At best it's an invasion of privacy," she tells him.  "At worst, it's impersonating a cop."

If someone else has committed a crime, she'd be talking to John.  Therefore the problem is his.  And if it doesn't involve John, she wouldn't bother to separate them.  He concludes that this is about John's dating profile, and that the captain doesn't know John as well as she thinks she does.

"I'm aware of that," he says.  "I can assure you I've done nothing John doesn't know about."

She folds her arms.  "Tell me he knows you're replying to people who submit inquiries to a dating profile you created.  As him."

"I can't discuss John's online presence with you, ma'am."  People tell him that he smirks.  Most of the time he's aware that he's doing it.  "That would be an invasion of privacy."

She raises an eyebrow at him as though she didn't expect that.  "Not even to defend yourself from an accusation?"

So he is being accused.  It's not quite explicit, but the intent is there.  "The implication of compromise doesn't give me the right to compromise others."  He doesn't have any rights at all, but he thinks she'll appreciate the juxtaposition.

She activates the interoffice instead.  "Detective Kennex, join us."

The door opens immediately.  Too soon for John to have been anywhere but directly outside the door.  He shrugs in the face of the captain's reproving glare.  "Hey, you made him my partner."

Did she?  Dorian had assumed he was next in line; the only one available when the department came up short.  It might mean nothing more than that, of course: she'd "made" him John's partner by enforcing department policy.  But John doesn't say it with that kind of resignation, and the captain acknowledges his words with a nod.  They don't act like it was just a matter of procedure.

"Your partner is courting your prospective dates online," the captain tells him.

John grins, and Dorian feels something subtle in him ease a little. "Yeah, he's good at that.  Is the department tracking that kind of thing now?  You want me to register all my aliases, or what?"

"She thinks I'm going behind your back," Dorian says.  "Impersonating you online."

"That's ridiculous."  John dismisses it like the thought isn't worth his time.  "If he wants to date someone, he could do it a lot easier being himself.  He's just helping me out; you know I'm hopeless with..."  His gesture is indeterminate.  "All that stuff."

He fully expects her to remind John that synthetics don't date.  All she actually says is, "As long as you're fine with it."

John snorts.  "I think 'fine with it' is stretching things a little," he says.  "But yeah.  We're good here."

They stop acting like he isn't in the room when the captain looks directly at him and apologizes.  "I'm sorry if I jumped to conclusions," she says.  "Next time I'll ask first."

She doesn't owe him anything, and it takes him longer than it should to generate an appropriate reply.  "Thank you," is all he manages.  But she nods, so maybe it's all right.

"I'm sorry to bother you," he says, when he finds himself on the line with a woman he's never met.  "I'm John's..."  

His tact subroutine kicks in a second too late, and he starts again.  "I work with John.  He's not answering his phone, and he mentioned that he planned to visit Marty this afternoon?"

The voice on the other end of the phone must be Maria.  He's given her no reason to trust him, no way to even pin down his identity, and still she sounds kind when she asks, "Is this Dorian?

"Yes," he says, surprised.  "Yes, it is."  He wants to ask how she knew, but it's probably not appropriate.

She tells him anyway.  "John said he told you about Marty," she says.  "Both of them.  It isn't something he talks about much."

He's barely said two words on the subject to Dorian, but he supposes given John's usual style of communication, that could be considered talking about it.  "I didn't mean to interrupt," he says.  "I've got information on a case."

"A case?" she says.  "Or a new date?"

"A case," he says, because that's the answer to her question.  He hadn't anticipated the amount of attention a disguised dating profile would draw.  "Did he tell you about that too?"

"He told Marty," she says.  "I overheard.  I think it's good for him."

"Dating?" he asks.  Because for all that he's the one who set it up, he doesn't believe John's ready to date.  He's ready to remember that dating is a possibility, though, and Dorian can force that reminder if it helps.

"Having someone who cares whether he dates or not," she says.  "Give me a minute, all right?  I'll see if I can find them."

Rudy is the only person Dorian knows who's more interested in him than in John, so it comes as a surprise when he says, "That dating profile you put up.  That's John, isn't it?"

His reply is a little testy, if he's being honest.  "I didn't realize the entire precinct would take such an interest in John's private life."

Rudy's forgiving enough, and he just laughs under his breath.  "Most of us don't have much of a private life," he says.  "We'll take what vicarious thrills we can get."

Dorian has no private life.  Everything he does, thinks, or feels is a matter of public record.  He doesn't know if that makes him more interested in other people's lives or not.  It's never been any other way, so he has no basis for comparison.

"I noticed that he has a 'looking for' section now," Rudy remarks.  "The physical description is interesting."

"Is it?"  He asks mostly to be polite.  His curiosity on the subject is limited, given his inability to participate in this particular social custom.

"It doesn't specify sex," Rudy says.

Dorian doesn't find this interesting.  "Neither did John," he says.  Not exclusively, at least.  If it's important, he thinks John would have said so.

Rudy puts down the tool he's using and turns to stare at something on a nearby wall.  "Dorian, John's dating profile says he's looking for someone like you.  That's not a connection you want other people to make."

He reviews the entire profile in light of that assumption and finds it impossible to disprove.  "I'm sure that wasn't his intent," he says.

"You should change it," Rudy says.  "Make him change it.  Use different words.  Specify women only.  Something."

Rudy thinks it's not a connection he wants other people to make.  Not John, whose PTSD could get him suspended even without that kind of rumor. Not the department, whose synthetic partnerships are under constant scrutiny and threat of defunding.  The concern here is for him.

For Rudy, it's about Dorian after all.  He finds that unexpectedly pleasing.

Paul may have seen something suspect in John's profile as well.  Dorian can't rule out the possibility of bias based on the knowledge that he fits John's criteria as well as anyone.  If it had occurred to him earlier, he might have tried to be more clear.

Still, when Paul sneers at him for the twenty-ninth time and tells him that dabbling in the human world of dating is a dangerous game, Dorian doesn't respond with clarity.  He doesn't even force himself to walk away.

Instead he smirks back at Paul and mocks his tone with mimicry.  "What can I say?  Danger is my middle name."