Chapter Text
“What the fuck?”
Hank curses slightly, reflexively wiping at the whiskey now splattered all over himself and his up until then clean undershirt, nearly falling flat on his face when his legs get tangled in the old blanket he had wrapped himself up in against the evening´s cold.
He had been comfortably ensconced on his couch, half asleep, with Sumo at his feet and a nearly empty glass of whiskey in one hand, lightly dozing to the monotone voice of the news lady droning on in the background and the shrill sound of his own doorbell followed by Sumo´s reflexive bark had made him jerk in surprise, dousing himself in what had been left of this night´s first -but surely not last- shot.
There is another, shrill ring of the bell and Hank pushes himself off the couch angrily, trying to pull his half opened bathrobe closed with one hand to at least be halfway decent enough to be subjected to some public viewing.
“Yeah yeah, I´m -coming-, lay of the bell already, sheesh, old man ain't a speed train, fucking hell” Hank grumbles, already pissed at the interruption of what should have been his first free evening for the last two weeks.
The precinct had been -busy- in the aftermath of what the press had dubbed “The Uprising” and even the homicide department hadn't been spared from taking to the streets to keep up the peace. Hank had had to squeeze himself into riot gear for the first time in decades to try and reinstall order unto a city that had descended into chaos.
Even after the initial situation had stabilized into something less volatile, Hank had been busy, running to and forth between the precinct and what the Androids had named ´New Jericho´ -formerly Cyberlife Tower, now occupied by Markus and his possé- as liaison between the DPD and the Android´s leader.
His objections that he was absolutely wholly unwilling and unqualified to basically be a glorified messenger boy in the world's most riskiest game of ´-you- go tell your dad that´ had fallen on deaf ears, simply because Markus had at first refused to talk to anybody from the DPD but him..courtesy of Connor, who, after freeing the Androids from Cyberlife Tower and tipping the scales in his people's favor by sheer power of numbers, had become a reluctant part of what could be counted as the Android's leading committee.
Connor hadn't been wholly willing to step into that role himself, he was just as unhappy about being in the limelight as Hank had been…but Markus had insisted and Connor had been the only one available who's programming had come with the extensive knowledge of jurisdiction and legal matters that they had needed to navigate the thorny path of being acknowledged as living beings. And since apparently Connor -trusted- Hank to the point where he would be willing to hinge the success of New Jericho´s relationship with the DPD on Hank´s tired, mostly drunk shoulders, he hadn't had much of a choice in the matter either.
After all who the hell would have been able to resist those dark eyes earnestly asking them for help as if they weren´t just a rundown old drunk but someone who could be trusted not to fuck shit up? Not Hank, that was for sure.
Even though things had calmed down these last few weeks and he had mostly been able to go back to his regular police work, impromptu evening visits during a work week usually meant someone from the precinct bashing down his proverbial door because he had slept through whatever call he was supposed to attend to this time…but when Hank rips open his door, mouth already half opened in preparation to chew out whoever dares to disturb his evening off it's neither Chris nor Ben he´s facing…but Connor.
Hank automatically gives him a once-over and his already prepared insults get stuck in his throat, making room for confused disbelief instead.
“Connor? What the fuck are -you- doing here?”
Connor doesn't even react to his accusatory tone of voice , the RK800-model´s polite empty smile firmly fixed on his face…and Hank´s formerly still half-asleep mind snaps into focus.
“Good evening Lieutenant. I am sorry for dropping in unannounced like this but I was at the courthouse and thought I might come by for a visit. I haven't had a chance to talk to you for a few days. Mind if I come in?”
Hank´s eyes narrow slightly, his gaze growing sharper by the second as he takes in the other man's appearance.
“It's Hank when I am off duty.”
Connor doesn't even blink. Not that he would -need- to, but usually he was pretty good at pretending to be a regular human being by now, automatically acting out all the small little cues that would make his facial expressions more lifelike.
Hank can see about none of that right now.
“I am sorry. Would you mind if I come in, Hank?”
Hank just wordlessly steps aside, sharp blue eyes following Connor when he passes him by to walk over to where Sumo is already wagging his tail at him, crouching down to pet the big dog between the ears. Usually his interactions with Sumo would always be more relaxed, less stiff then when he was trying to interact with humans, especially those that weren't Hank. But today Connor´s movements are rigid and automated, untypically Android-like, and Hank closes the front door to lean against the door jamb, arms crossed, to get a better look at the other man petting his dog. His earlier annoyance had all but disappeared, making way to a gut deep sense of worry that he couldn't help creeping up on him.
“So…you were at the courthouse, hm?”
“Yes. I know it is considered impolite to simply appear at someone's door without asking first but I knew you had the evening off so I thought I could just…say hi?”
"Hm. Yeah it´s a little impolite…but I think being lied to to my fucking face is even more impolite then simply appearing for a surprise visit."
Connor grows very still where he is still crouched next to Sumo, rising slowly when he can hear Hank push himself off the wall to walk towards him. That empty, pleasant smile that Hank hates so much seems to be frozen right onto that beautiful face and only when Hank steps right into his personal space, close enough that Connor must be able to feel his whiskey-heavy breath on his skin and pokes an accusing finger right in the middle of his chest does he get a reaction, the suspiciously unmoving blue of the LED on Connor´s right temple suddenly flickering to red, then yellow.
“ I might be a -shitty- cop Connor…but I am still a cop. So pay me some fucking credit, hm?”
Connor´s eyes are wide and very brown in his too pale face when Hank softly grips his chin to force him to look at him. He does neither lean into the touch nor does he try to pull away and that passiveness is what worries Hank the most at the moment. Usually Connor was anything but passive..but now there was none of that usual, cheeky underhanded sarcasm that could drive Hank right up the wall, none of that mischief that had started to peek out once Connor´s true personality had started to show underneath his preset programming.
There was none of that in his gaze, only tiredness and something else that made Hank feel the sudden urge to go find and fight whoever had been the cause of making Connor look like that.
Hank finds himself growing soft against his will.
“You know Con, aside from the fact that setting up a date with you is like trying to set up a date with the Pope and includes at least three written notifications at all times and you simply deciding to pop by without as much as a ´by your leave´ is as likely as snow in June, the courthouse is also only about a ten minute walk down the street. Wanna try and explain how you managed to get soaking wet -and- all covered in ice like that during a ten minute walk when it has been at least an hour since it last rained, hm? Not to mention that it is-” he takes a quick glance at the clock ticking away on the kitchen wall -”-nearly half past nine and the courthouse has been closed since at least four o´clock.”
They stare at each other for a moment, with only the barest, nervous flutter of dark lashes against too pale skin as a sign that -his- Connor is still in that prefabricated shell somewhere…and then Hank sighs, breaking the tension between them before reaching for Connor so he can run his other hand through dark brown hair crusted in white frost,the gesture surprising the other man enough that he actually blinks.
Hank hums softly to himself, at a loss at what to do for a moment but it seems as if Connor´s shoulders relax just the tiniest bit with the gesture. He might not be at his best, far from it to be honest, but he had done enough interrogations in his time to know that with someone clamped shut as tight as Connor at the moment, prying usually never got you to where you wanted to be. So finding out what the hell had happened had to wait and making sure he relaxed at least a little before Hank would try again got bumped up to priority number one.
“Come on, let's get you warm and dry first, then we´ll try that again, hm?”
Connor lets himself be dragged towards the bathroom without any sign of wanting to put up a fight. The smooth synthetic skin underneath Hank´s fingertips where he has taken hold of the other man's wrist is as cold as ice. Temperatures had been around freezing all day, the weather switching between rain and icy sludge and Connor is covered head to toe in a thin, already thawing sheet of iciness. Hank knows that Androids dont react the same to cold as a human would but he can't imagine being this cold as being any good in the long run.
Aside from the obvious off-ness of his friend, Connor´s movements had seemed slow, without their usual grace and getting him warmed up seems like a good idea to start with.
Connor is silent, passively letting himself be arranged to Hank´s liking and it takes Hank sitting him down on the edge of the bathtub and bustling about the room to grab some fresh towels for him to start speaking again.
“I didn't lie. I -was- at the courthouse…this morning.”
He accepts the towels when Hank hands them to him but makes no move of trying to actually use them.
“Hm. And after that, Con?”
Hank carefully takes one of the towels back, stepping closer so he can wrap it around Connor´s shoulders and use the corners to start wiping at the thin sheen of ice covering the other man's head and neck
“I went back ho..to New Jericho.”
Back to New Jericho. Not ´home´.
“And then?”
Connor´s LED starts it´s lightshow again, flickering from the steady yellow it had been before to red.
“I…”
He lapses into silence, mouth pressed into a tight unhappy line. Ah. Something must have happened at New Jericho then. Hank gives the other man's shoulders an encouraging squeeze.
“And then?” he prompts again, more gently than he had initially intended to.
“I walked. Here.”
“You walked all the way from New Jericho to here? That's halfway across the city Con, why didn't you call or take a cab?” No wonder the kid was drenched to the proverbial bone, the water having frozen into a thin layer of ice when the temperatures had properly dropped below freezing once the sun had set.
Connor immediately clams up again, his shoulders growing stiff underneath Hank´s hands and he relents quickly, not wanting to unnecessarily exacerbate whatever state of unrest Connor must be in by prodding too much.
“It's alright, it doesn't matter. What happened at New Jericho that made you walk all the way here during ice rain? Wanna tell me, hm?”
“I…not right now? I don´t…can we just sit on the couch for a bit with Sumo? We wanted to watch some movies last time but I had to cancel because of that conference. Can we do that now?”
There is enough raw pleading in those soft eyes that Hank can feel something in his chest squeeze with sympathy and he uses the towel still wrapped around Connor´s shoulders to pull him into a short hug on reflex alone, shivering at the icy coldness of the other's synthetic skin. The way the other man literally melts against him as if Hank alone was the thing holding the world together has every alarm bell in his head going off at the same time…but Hank has been a cop long enough to also know that trying to press the issue right now wouldn't help in the very least.
If Connor needed a break he would give him a break and they could figure out what had happened once he didn't seem as if he was about to fall apart any moment anymore.
“Alright. If you dont wanna talk, you don't need to. We can go hang out with the old lump for a bit and watch a movie. How about that? I´ll go grab some dry stuff for you to put on while we put your things in the dryer, you go take a shower to warm you up again cause I get frostbite just looking at you and I'll set up the TV in the meantime. That sound good?”
“Yes. That sounds good. Thank you.”
The sheer amount of gratitude in Connor´s voice makes Hank´s heart squeeze painfully in his chest and he leans in again for a slightly awkward, one armed hug, affectionately pressing his cheek against the top of that mop of dark hair for just a moment before he can help himself.
“De nada, kid. Now get your ass into the tub so you can stop dripping all over my floors, alright. I'll drop something dry for you to wear outside the door.”
—%---%---
It takes Connor about twenty minutes until he finally re-emerges from the bathroom, wearing some of Hank´s old sweatpants and an ancient sweater that, while still too big on him, at least didn´t slip right off his slim shoulders. Hank had been hovering in the hallway all the while, nervously listening to the sounds of the shower while pretending to tidy up a little. He had seen Connor nervous and unhappy before, fidgety and on edge with emotions he hadn't had time to adjust to yet during a time when the whole world had been shaken and on the verge of violence.
But this type of withdrawal was new, usually when Connor was bothered by anything he would tend to rant and ramble, pacing in circles while occasionally stabbing a slender finger at where Hank was listening more or less patiently to make a point. He'd go off for a bit and once he had gotten whatever had been bothering him off his chest he'd be calm again, finally able to think things through properly and find a solution if necessary.
He at least looked more comfortable now in Hank´s too big, warm clothes then he had when he had still been wearing his own and Hank has to smile a little at the other man´s tousled appearance. While he had ditched that stupid tie the moment he had deviated, Connor still preferred to dress in a way that Hank would call ´prissy´: pressed pants and smart shoes, topped by crisp button ups and semi-formal jackets. Seeing him like this in Hank's old worn things with his usually carefully arranged hair all tousled and in disorder made him seem more human than any carefully programmed social module could ever have achieved.
Hank smiles at him, stepping over so he can playfully tug at the askew neckline of the too big sweater.
“Feeling better? You look like a very comfortable hobo.”
Connor´s returned smile is tiny and shaky…but it -is- ,at least, a smile.
“A little bit, yes. And I do have to admit that I am comfortable, even though I am unsure if the holes in your lounging clothes are incidental or a fashion choice.”
He waves one arm to demonstrate the row of ragged holes adorning his sleeve and Hanks huffs slightly at that, refusing to be shamed about the state of his ´lounging clothes´by a walking mannequin. Connor eyes him warily for a second, as if expecting his admission of feeling better to lead to another round of questioning. But Hank just puts the book he had been pretending to tidy away back to where it had always lived before he had picked it up and plants his ass on his couch, patting the raggedy cushions invitingly.
“Alrighty, what do you feel like watching then? I´ve got the remastered version of ´Killer Clowns from Outer Space´ if you feel like absolutely trashy splatter stuff or we can watch some more of those old Disney movies you liked. I've got..lemme see…I´ve got a pretty decent version of ´Bambi´somewhere if you want something really ancient or you can come and have a look at what's in my library, see if anything sounds good.”
Connor finally walks over to the couch himself and Hank tries very hard not to react when, instead of sitting in the opposite corner as he usually does, he sits down right in the middle, close enough that Hank can feel the residual heat of the shower radiating off his skin. His friend might be feeling better than before…but he clearly wasn't back to his usual self just yet.
“I have no preference, I just think I would like to watch something..happy?”
Hank nods, quickly deleting Bambi from his playlist for now and queuing up ´The Emperor's New Groove´instead. Mothers being shot to death in the first few minutes of a movie would hardly count as ´happy´,he thought, and he had seen the other movie before and knew that it was simple, slightly snarky fun.
“Alright, just lemme get up and-ah! Sumo! You brute!”
Hank can't help but laugh as he futilely pushes at about 160 pounds of overly excited Saint Bernard trying to slobber at his face while poor Connor quite unceremoniously was being squished underneath the big dog. Sumo had quickly learned that Connor being over and on the couch meant he would have a lap to lay in that didn't mind his enormous weight and would also continue to scritch his ears long after Hank would have already shooed him off.
And so he had decided that, since both of them were on the couch, it would also be time for -Sumo- to be on the couch, no matter what those delicate can openers might think about it and had squeezed himself into what little space had been available with all the delicacy of an overweight hippo on steroids.
Hank finally manages to wrestle the big dog at least mostly off of them both, shoving him into the corner of the couch where Connor would usually sit. Most of Sumo´s bulk is still firmly pressed against Connor, pushing him into Hank´s side and when he puts his big head in Connor´s lap with a satisfied huff and closes his eyes for a doggy nap, Hank knows neither of them will be moving much anytime soon.
He throws one longing look at the empty whiskey glass he was about to get a refill for but then decides against getting up for now. Connor is petting Sumo, pretending like he isn't using the excuse of the dog 's weight to heavily lean into Hank. There is something slightly defensive in the hunch of his shoulders and the way he doesn't really look anywhere but at Sumo and Hank just can't find it in himself to leave him hanging when he so clearly seemed to need some form of physical contact.
He only scoots himself back a little so he can put up his feet on the couch table more comfortably and moves the arm Connor is pressed against to rest it on the back of the couch so it won't fall asleep, allowing Connor to more comfortably fit against his side. Connor seems a little surprised at first at his willingness to be cuddled against..but it only takes him a moment to fully tuck himself against Hank with his feet stuffed underneath Sumo´s soft belly for added comfort.
Connor very rarely initiated any kind of physical contact even though he did seem to crave it at least sometimes, always happily leaning into or returning any kind of physical affection that Hank would show him. He probably was still unsure towards the social clues when what kind of touch would be deemed socially appropriate or not..or at least that was what Hank thought might be the explanation for this slightly weird contradiction.
Whatever the reason, tonight seemed to be a night where Connor was desperate enough for contact to seek it out without Hank obviously offering and if that's what he needed, Hank would gladly provide.
Words had always been hard for him and he had always found it easier to offer comfort with a touch than talking and even before he had turned old and jaded enough to barely give a fuck about anything anymore, he had never cared about that kind of toxic male bullshit where he apparently was supposed to never comfort anybody at all just because he had been born with a dick.
If Connor needed some cuddling then cuddled he would be, for as long as he might need it.
With that resolution firm in mind, Hank leans back into the corner of the couch, watching the intro sequence for the movie while steadfastly ignoring his wish for a drink.
—%---%---
A soft, cool hand patting his cheek awkwardly is what Hank wakes up to, grumbling a bit while opening one bleary eye. Connor´s face is very apologetic and also much closer than Hank would have expected, startling him a little.
“I am sorry, I didn't want to wake you at first but I don´t think your back will be very happy with you if you stay like this the whole night.”
Hank blinks, trying to reorganize his thoughts. Right, they had been sitting on the couch watching movies, with Connor pressed tightly into his side and a snoring Sumo taking up half of the already too small couch. He can remember some of it but not all and a quick glance at the TV screen -in standby- and the small LED clock glowing on his ancient BluRay-Player -1:32 AM- tells him what must have happened.
“Ah, sorry to fall asleep on you like that, week´s been long..” Hank grimaces slightly, trying to stretch a little where he is still firmly ensconced on the couch. He had slid down slightly, his head ending up in an awkward angle between the back of the couch and the armrest and he could already feel his neck protesting at the weird position. Connor gently lifts Sumo off his lap -so much for being overwhelmed by his dog´s weight, Hank thinks amusedly- so he can move to the side, allowing Hank to get up and stretch, groaning when his back makes a series of quite impressive pops.
Connor looks at him in slight alarm and Hank simply flips him the bird, rubbing his sore back with the other hand.
“Don´t you look at me like that, I´m ancient, I creak..and yeah, I should be getting into bed. Got late shift tomorrow so I don't have to get up that early but I am way too old to be sleeping on the couch all night. Lemme grab you a proper pillow, you need anything else to sleep before I go have a snooze?”
Connor hesitates for a moment, then shakes his head and the blatant relief he can't hide quick enough for Hank not to notice breaks his heart just a little.
´He let me sleep because he thought I would kick him out for the night when I woke up…silly kid.´Hank muses to himself, walking to his bedroom to pick up one of his spare pillows for Connor to use. He knew Androids didn't need to sleep per se, but he also knew that Connor liked to rest during night hours, imitating human sleep behavior by putting himself into a low power mode so his systems could refresh themselves..which sounded a lot like sleeping to Hank, but who was he to try and explain Connor how he worked, right?
He hands the pillow to Connor, who mumbles a soft thanks, before heading to the bathroom to brush his teeth and take a much needed piss. When he comes back out Connor has made himself comfortable on the couch, curled up into a ball where Hank had been sitting before, his favorite threadbare blanket pulled up to his ears and Sumo draped across his legs. He had turned off all the lights but one and the dim light of Hank´s ancient coffee table lamp makes him look exhausted…and horribly, heartbreakingly young.
Hank coughs slightly, pretending the sudden tightness in his throat to be nothing more but a little random scratchiness. Stupid kid. As if he'd kick him out while he was still in need of whatever it was Connor seemed to be getting out of being here. If the kid needed a night on his ratty couch with his ratty dog and his ratty company to work through whatever was bothering him, he was welcome to it, for as long as he needed it.
“Good night Connor.”
“Good night, Hank. Sleep well.”
Hank mumbles a soft `I´ll try to´, throwing one last, worried look at the Android curled up on his couch before he turns away, silently walking the rest of the way to his bedroom. The house felt weird with another presence inside that wasn´t just his stupid old dog. Hank didn't -like- having people over, didn't like people encroaching on the lonely space he had carved out for himself during these last few years and had found as much solace in as he could have found solace in anything.
Hank had started to hate having people around, hated their pretend sympathy and judging looks…but for some reason he didn't mind -Connor- sticking around nearly as much.
He never gave him those looks of fake sympathy whenever he had a bad day, the look that was mostly relief that -they- didn't have to go through what -Hank- had to go through. He never groused back or was insulted when Hank was in a bad mood, snapping at everything in sight but he didn't just sit there and take it either, calmly holding his own until the inevitable guilt set in and Hank would apologize.
Inside his bedroom, Hank throws a single, contemplative look at where he keeps his other bottle of whiskey, hidden at the bottom of his wardrobe as if there was still anybody around he needed to hide it from that he had become an old drunk, but in the end he leaves it be, hoping that he will be tired enough to fall asleep on his own.
Connor never judged when he found him drunk out of his mind either, simply making sure that Hank was as comfortable and safe as he could be and even though he did comment every now and then on the long term health risks of prolonged heavy alcohol use, Hank -knew- he only did so because he worried and actually wanted Hank to stick around, as ridiculously fantastic of an idea that might be.
And for once, he might need -Hank- to take care of him, not the other way around..and he could hardly do that if he was drunk out of his mind.
Hank buries himself into his untidy nest of blankets, trying to still his thoughts enough to go back to sleep. Usually, with someone else in his space he would have closed the door… but tonight he keeps it slightly ajar, just enough so his big lump of a dog could push it open and enter if he decided he was done playing heated blanket for their Android.
Hank doesn't know if Androids can dream…but if Connor could dream he was sure tonight's dreams wouldn't be good ones. He wriggles around a little until he is comfortable, trying to ignore the small sliver of yellow light falling in from the outside.
The door is ajar just enough for someone to push it open fully and come inside if they wanted to.
Just open enough to be invitation and permission at the same time if need be, just open enough that a light sleeper like sober-Hank would be able to hear any kind of nightmare occurring close by.
—%---%---
Hank wakes to the smell of freshly brewed coffee and delicious things frying in butter the next morning, needing a few minutes to wrap his head around the fact that, one, someone that wasn´t him seemed to be cooking, and two, he hadn't woken up with the feeling of his head being stuffed with very aggressive cotton this morning, meaning he hadn't been drunk when he had fallen asleep.
Both of these things had become rare enough occurrences that his still sleep-slow brain needs a moment to process all that, despite not having had any alcohol…but once he has recalled the last night he quickly untangles himself from his blankets to grab his bathrobe, giving a still snoring Sumo a quick pat on his big old head where he has curled up in his usual spot at the foot end of his bed in passing.
A short trip to the bathroom later and he is finally following the enticing smell to his kitchen, where Connor is busy attending to something on his stove, quickly giving him a slightly lopsided smile over his shoulder before focusing his attention back onto whatever it was he was cooking.
“Good morning Hank. Did you sleep well?”
Hank walks over to take a peek over the Android´s shoulder to inspect the scrambled eggs the other man was busy preparing, lazily scratching his tummy through his ratty old sleep shirt.
"Hm? Yep, can't complain…are you making breakfast for me?”
“No, this is for the marching band I hid underneath the couch.” Connor deadpans, giving Hank a look that clearly showcases how unimpressed he was with this question and honestly probably Hank in general as well.
Hank just swats at him half-heartedly for the snark -he hadn't even had coffee yet, how was he supposed to think- but other than that he is too busy scanning the spread adorning his kitchen counter and the table to retaliate much.
“Would definitely be enough food for one.”
He leans forward, using one hand to stabilize himself against Connor´s hip so he can steal a piece of the bacon carefully arranged on a paper towel to degrease. It's crunchy and salty and fried to perfection and Hank can't help but smack his lips in appreciation.
“This is good. I didn't even know I -had- bacon.”
Connor watches him, expression torn between amusement and something else that Hank can't quite parse.
“You didn´t. I woke early and took Sumo out to get some groceries at that little corner shop you like. Mabel says hi by the way and that ´you better be showing your face again soon´.”
“That old, naggy shrew should mind her own business, “ Hank says fondly, eyeing the bacon hungrily. Mabel -and her husband, Wilbur- owned the small corner shop that Hank liked to buy his groceries at, two blocks down the street. They were both old as dirt and as nosy as a squirrel digging for nuts and if Hank ever needed any kind of information on anybody living in a three mile radius, he'd know where to go.
He reaches for another piece of bacon, ignoring Connor´s disapproving look as he crunches down.
“Hm, salty and delicious. Con, you know I didn't expect any kind of anything in return for letting you crash on my couch, right? As much as I do appreciate some nice greasy food in the morning.”
Connor meets his gaze, nodding softly.
“I know. But I wanted to do something nice for you regardless. You have been working so much and I know that last evening had been your first evening off for quite some time. And instead of spending it however you wanted, you had to attend to me.”
Hank quietly thinks that he would have done much of the same even if Connor hadn't shown up at his door: sit on the couch and watch TV..he would have just done it with a lot more whiskey and a lot less cuddling. He keeps the thought to himself, licking bacon grease off his fingers while stubbornly ignoring the slight tremor that had started to appear whenever he didn't get himself drunk at night with the ease of long, guilty practice. So far it had always disappeared with a greasy meal and copious amounts of coffee..or the next shot of whiskey.
“You make that sound like a chore, Con. You´re my friend, you have a bad day you better be sure to get your ass over here so we can try and make it better. ´m not complaining about you making me a nice, fatty fry up instead of harping about my cholesterol though.”
Connor immediately gets that slightly pinched look that tells Hank that a lecture about the pros and cons of a Healthy Diet™ is incoming…and for once, he doesn't even mind. At least not too much. A Connor lecturing him about glutamate and sodium was at least a Connor that was talking..and that alone was an improvement over the silent shadow of his friend that he had opened his door to the evening before.
“It´s -turkey-, it has 35 percent less saturated fats than pork bacon.”
Hank shrugs his shoulders, unconcerned. To him it tastes just as good and if going for turkey instead of pork makes Connor feel less guilty about feeding him a crispy fried heart attack he's all for having gobble bird for breakfast.
“Still probably has at least half the amount of salt I am supposed to have during the day.”
“About 11 percent,” Connor´s spatula taps against the back of Hank´s hand where he is trying for the next piece of crispy goodness,”…per slice. At least wait until I am done with the eggs before eating it all?”
Hank lets himself be shooed off good naturedly, giving up on bothering Connor for the moment in favor of sauntering over to the kitchen table.
“That's what makes it taste -good-, Con. And alright. You know there´s no way in hell I will be able to eat all of that by myself though, right?”
Connor has the decency to look at least a little sheepish from where he is arranging the scrambled eggs he had just made onto a plate together with the surviving bacon before bringing them over to the table where pancakes, syrup, toast and -probably for Connor´s ease of mind- fresh fruit had already been waiting together with a pot of freshly brewed coffee.
“Ah..I did not know what your favorite breakfast food would be so I decided to make a variety of things that sounded easy enough for me.”
“I am usually good with everything, as long as it has enough fat and salt to take at least a year of my life, but this is very nice. I know you can't have any but at least come and sit down with me while I eat.”
Connor´s eyebrows knit together in what Hank has come to know as disapproval, but he does wipe his hands and pulls out the chair diagonally across from Hank to join him. Underneath the small kitchen table their knees brush against each other for a moment and Hank gets the uncanny feeling that Connor must have done that on purpose.
“Hank-”
He had known what would be coming once Connor opens his mouth and before the other man has a chance to get more words out then his name, Hank interrupts him slightly impatiently. He loves the kid, he really does…but sometimes he can't help but be irritated by the other man´s stubborn insistence that he should be taking better care of himself, like he'd actually matter.
“You shut right up again, I know what you wanna say. ´Hank your cholesterol is too high´and ´Hank, you need to lay off the burgers and booze´…Con, I appreciate you wanting to take care of me, you know, I really do and -I know- I´m living unhealthy. I just don't care.”
Hank regrets his word always immediately when, instead of giving him hell like he usually would, Connor simply hunches his shoulders, immediately uncharacteristically docile.Their first interactions this morning had been so much like Connor´s usual self he had completely forgotten about the fact that he had barely been talking the evening before, withdrawn to the point of no interaction at all. Having some downtime clearly had helped, but Hank should really take it easy on him for the moment.
“I am sorry, Hank. I did not mean to imply-”
In a desperate try to lighten the mood again Hank spontaneously picks up a grape to throw it at Connor -who of course catches it before it can hit him in the face- demonstratively popping another one into his mouth to showcase, hey, look at me, I am eating green things, just for you.
“Connor. It's alright, I know you´re nagging because you want me around but just, take it easy okay? I'm trying but I am an old dog and as you know old dog´s are slow at learning new tricks, alright?”
He reaches over, playfully pushing against the other man's shoulder, once, twice and even a third time until Connor finally starts to smile and rolls his eyes at his antics. They´ve been through this little game enough times that Connor knows that, once Hank starts acting silly like that on purpose, he has been forgiven for whatever he had annoyed Hank with in the first place.
Just to make sure that he really got his point across Hank tousles that mop of dark hair until Connor finally smiles properly…and then the grape he had caught earlier gets very unceremoniously stuffed right into his face, leaving him no choice but to open his mouth and eat if if he doesn't want a face full of grape juice.
“Just eat up. Your eggs are going to get cold.”
Hank sputters a little indignantly…but Connor is -smiling- and so he just swallows his pride together with his grape and finishes his breakfast.
—%---%---
All antics during breakfast aside, there is still the smallest bit of tension between them, something still unacknowledged lurking in the background: Connor still owes Hank an explanation. And he knows quite well that, even though he had been granted some leniency, he wouldn't be leaving today without having spilled the beans on what had happened the day before.
Hank has kept their conversation during breakfast light, purposely not touching on any subject that would have to do with work or New Jericho…but when he is done eating he helps carry over the dirty dishes to the sink, leaning against the kitchen counter with his arms crossed. Connor has insisted on doing the dishes and Hank watches him carefully clean for a while before he clears his throat slightly.
“Connor-”
“Let me finish these first, alright?”
Hank huffs softly, but grows silent again, allowing Connor to finish what he's doing. Only when all the dishes are done, packed away and the counter and sink have been cleaned at least twice does he talk again, gently but leaving no doubt about the fact that this time, there won't be another reprieve waiting for his friend.
“Con. Tell me what happened.”
Connor stops wiping the ancient faucet for the third time, sighing softly. He doesn't look at Hank, preferring to simply stare into the sink as if there was ancient wisdom to be found, nervously fidgeting with the corner of Hank´s equally ancient microfibre rag and visibly steeling himself for what is about to come.
“I…there was an incident. At work. I went to the courthouse in the morning like I said, worked in my office for a bit after that and in the afternoon I was supposed to attend an informal meeting between Markus, Simon and North. Markus prefers to meet at the observatory on the top floor because he likes the view but it is a very popular spot so the hallways around it are often crowded. There was a group of female Androids there, talking. They hadn't noticed me and were blocking the corridor, so when I got close I unconsciously touched one of their hands, to indicate my presence and have her move out of my way…she turned and -recognized- me, and- Hank, she just started screaming, panicking so badly that she just turned and ran straight into the wall trying to get away from me. There was Thirium on her face and then the -others- started screaming and someone shoved me and I-I didn't know what to do! Everytime I tried to calm her down she would just get louder and I-I couldn't -listen- to her anymore and I just turned around and walked away. And I didn´t stop walking until I was at your door. I didn't -plan- on coming here, I didn't think anything at all aside from needing to get away.”
“You dissociated.”
“Yes. I didn't even know I could do that.”
“Sounds like a pretty fucked up way to find that out.”
Connor huffs softly in agreement, plucking small tufts of fibers out of the poor rag he's been squeezing all the time. Hank wants to just grab him and hug him so badly it -hurts- but this is interrogation time now. Comfort comes later…and to be fair, at the moment Hank is mostly one thing: confused.
He carefully touches Connor´s arm, pulling his attention back from whatever memory he seems to be trapped in to the here and now.
“I know you just told me what happened but I might need you to run a few things past me again, alright? What -exactly- did you do to her that made her panic so bad she ran into a wall and damaged herself again?”
“I touched her hand.”
“You touched her hand.” Hank parrots, as if repetition would suddenly make things make sense.
Connor nods, clearly mortified about his admission.
“Did you lick it?”
Mortification makes place for surprise, that apparently unanticipated question finally getting Connor to raise his head from where he had still been staring unseeing into the distance to throw Hank a confused look.
“Now why would I do that?”
Hank shrugs his shoulders as if wanting to say that, hey, you lick stuff a lot, it might have been a possibility.
But okay, no licking then.
Hank asks the only other thing he can think of that would warrant a reaction like Connor had described.
“Did you touch it with your dick?”
Surprise morphes into irritated concern and Connor looks at him as if he has lost his marbles, all his own mortification momentarily forgotten.
“No! Of -course- not! I walked past her in the hallway and my -fingers- touched the back of her hand.”
Hank takes a deep long breath, letting it out in a drawn out hiss of air.
“Okay, then I think something got lost in translation right now, cause to me this makes absolutely no sense.”
Connor just stares at him for a few seconds, visibly running the last few minutes of their conversation past himself again…then he sighs, deeply, running a hand through his hair.
“It's…Hank, have you ever seen two Androids interfacing?”
Hank´s eyebrows rise until they have all but disappeared into his hairline and Connor rolls his eyes, exasperated.
“Not -that-kind of interface. The one where we exchange -information- by touching.”
“Not my fault you got the same word for two different things, Con. You mean the vulcan mindmeld finger touchy thing, right?”
Hank casually flips him off before he touches both of his hands together, fingertips against fingertips to demonstrate what he means. Connor freezes for a second -brain-googling, Hank knows- then his face crinkles slightly as he finds the answer he was looking for.
“That´s…yes, I suppose, at least in essence. We are able to share quick bursts of information via direct contact of our chassis, without the need to establish a proper connection first. Usually we do so by retracting our skin and touching hands. It was meant to be a convenient feature, mostly for money transactions and quick data transfer between models but it has become a kind of greeting by now, for most Androids. A quick way to share information and, at least to a certain point, emotions too.”
Proud Saint Bernard-owner Hank nods his head knowingly.
“Like dogs sniffing each other's butts.”
Connor gives him a -look- that could make even the most hardened of criminals squirm with unease…but Hank just shrugs his shoulders.
“Greetings and quick exchange of information too, right?”
Connor must have decided that ignoring Hank might be the best choice at the moment and simply continues his explanation, stubbornly refusing to take the bait.
“-Because- an Android´s memory contains a lot of personal information about their owners, like account information, addresses, medical history and suchlike, that data transfer is heavily secured and encrypted, requiring both party's consent before any exchange can happen.”
He pauses, suddenly back to avoiding eye contact in favor of fiddling with his cloth.
“At least that´s the case for nearly all Androids.”
Hank finally steps closer, plucking his poor dishcloth out of Connor´s destructive fingers and drops it in the sink. They´re standing side by side now, with Connor still facing the sink and Hank right next to him, leaning against the counter and facing outwards. He leaves his arm where it is, right in front of Connor with his hand lightly resting against the other man´s hip in a weird kind of half-sideway hug, leaving it up to Connor if he wants more than that or would rather that Hank keep his distance for the moment.
“But you're the exception?”
“Yes. I am the exception. The only one, as far as I know.”
Connor sighs, unconsciously leaning a little closer as if suddenly the few centimeters of distance had become too much to bear.
“I am…I was -built- with the sole purpose of hunting deviants, of apprehending them and interrogating them, acquiring the information Cyberlife desired no matter the method. I can rip through another´s firewalls and encryption in a matter of microseconds, I have been programmed for exactly and specifically that purpose to the point that that ability is anchored so deep into my core programming that it cannot be removed. And believe me, I tried.”
Connor sounds utterly -miserable- and in the end it is once again Hank who takes the last step, simply wrapping his arm fully around Connor´s middle to pull him properly against his side. It is a slightly awkward position with only their sides touching instead of a full on hug but Connor doesn't seem to mind, returning Hank´s one armed embrace before resting his head against his shoulder. His voice is slightly muffled by the thick fabric of Hank´s bathrobe but still loud enough for him to hear the pain underneath the words.
“They´re -afraid- of me, Hank. They see my intended purpose and can´t help but be terrified, up to the point where, yes, even an accidental touch can trigger what would count as a full on panic attack in a human.”
Hank can hear the other man´s voice hitch suspiciously, tightening his embrace but not speaking. Sometimes you just needed to give someone a safe space to vent and after a few moments of just clinging to him, Connor continues, agitated and desperate.
“She completely lost it and I just…I just walked out and kept on walking without even thinking about it. I didn't -plan- to come here, it just happened and I think..-I think I just needed someone -not- be afraid of me. Not be afraid to touch me. And you have never been afraid, even when maybe you should have been, back before I deviated and I´m-.”
Connor interrupts himself, taking a breath he doesn´t need to try and calm down again.
“I´m -lonely-, Hank. You´re the only one who's willing to spend time with me outside of work, the only one that doesn't immediately run away screaming when I touch them. Markus tries, but there will always be some transfer of emotion during interfacing, I -know- how uncomfortable he is. Everyone else just avoids me. I´m lonely and sometimes I wish I could just go back to being nothing but a machine again simply to not have to -feel- it anymore.”
Hank finally caves, turning himself around so he can pull the other man into a full, proper hug, wrapping his arms around him and squeezing him tight, his own throat too thick with memories to trust himself to speak for the moment.
Oh, Hank knows how it feels to be lonely, to be avoided as if you had some form of contagious sickness that would spread if you stayed close to him for too long. Losing someone close to you was something that made people avoid you as if they'd be next if they stuck too close, as if death was something you could catch like a common cold. He´d had Brenda, at first…but even she hadn't stayed with him.
Hank had never found out if she had been unwilling or simply unable to deal with his guilt on top of her own loss. He had just woken up alone in their suddenly too big house one morning with nothing but his dog as company and pre-signed divorce papers on the kitchen table. He´d only seen her once afterwards, walking out of the courthouse after their divorce had been finalized and she hadn't even looked at him, simply hurrying past as if he had been nothing but a stranger.
That -betrayal-, that unwillingness to stick to the ´in good times and bad times´they had promised each other had been what had done him in for good.
There was more than one reason after all why Hank Anderson drank.
Connor is crying now, finally allowing himself to give in to his own misery and the soft, silent noise of it pulls Hank back into the presence, burying all his own unsolved heartbreaks deep back down into the recesses of his mind where they had been festering all this time.
There would be time to go through all of his old hurts later, prodding the proverbial sore tooth until only the whiskey would be able to muffle at least some of the pain.
But now Connor needs him and so Hank holds him tight, carefully thinking about nothing while stroking the other man's back and hair until he can finally feel his shoulders unclench slightly, as if at least some of the hurt had been expunged together with those carefully fabricated synthetic tears. Connor is leaning heavily against him for a moment as if boneless and when Hank can feel his body get tense as if he's about to push himself off he knows what is about to happen.
“I´m sor-”
Hank stubbornly tightens his arms, preventing Connor from going anywhere.
“Don´t you dare apologize. It's alright, Con, you hear. It's alright, you´re no bother, you´re my friend and I love you and I´m not going anywhere, alright?”
Connor stays stiff for half a second, then he relaxes again, leaning against Hank as he had before.
“Alright.”
Hank sighs, satisfied that he has gotten his point across and pats that soft mop of hair once more, just for good measure. They just stand like that for a moment, just existing in each other's space until Hank has an idea.
“It's important to you? That interfacing thing?”
“I…kind of? Not the data transfer part of it, I think what makes me miss it is the social component. It's like..a handshake between friends. And not being offered just makes the fact that I have none of those aside from you even more obvious.”
Connor sounds much too casual about that in Hank´s opinion, even though he can't hide the slight tint of bitterness underneath. Connor had had just as much choice concerning his programming and function as any other Android had: exactly none. It seemed unfair to Hank that, even though he hadn't had any say in the matter at all, he would still be shunned for it.
Hank thinks for a moment, then he holds out his hand, palm up.
“Want to try? I mean, I won't be able to, you know, actually exchange anything aside from some leftover bacon grease, but if you want to, I don´t know, at least go through the motions I´m game?”
Connor hesitates for a moment, then he reaches for Hank´s hand, the smooth unblemished synthetic skin covering his palm and fingers slowly pulling back. His milky-white chassis underneath is surprisingly soft to the touch, almost velvety and reminds Hank of the hairless, satiny-soft skin of a Sphynx cat he had once petted.
Connor does something that makes his skin tingle and Hank flinches slightly, not having expected anything to occur.
The sensation stops.
“Does it hurt?”
There is worry in Connor´s voice but Hank just shakes his head, his cheek brushing against the other man´s soft hair.
“No, I just wasn't expecting anything to happen honestly. It's just staticky. Like wool socks on carpet. Can you feel anything?”
“Human nervous response is based on electric impulses, so yes, I can feel something. It's not unpleasant, a bit like white noise maybe? It gets stronger when you move.”
Hank flexes his fingers and Connor´s reflexively clench tighter too before he starts to let go, as if worried that Hank might have disliked that. Hank is having none of that, simply holding tight until he can feel Connor relax again. They´re still huddled closely together, with most of Connor´s weight leaning against Hank and his head resting against his shoulder but Connor seems torn about it.
Hank puts as much warmth and reassurance in his voice as he can muster.
“You don't have to pull back anytime I twitch, Con. I´m -fine-, -this- is fine, I don´t mind you touching me at all, to be honest it's nice. I don't exactly have people lined up outside my door who want a hug from good old Hank too, right? And if there's ever a moment where I don't want to be touched for whatever reason I will tell you so, ´kay?”
Connor squirms a little, as if he still had a hard time believing but for the moment doesn't make any move to pull away again.
“Okay. I just…I always have to be so -careful- when it comes to physical touch with other Androids, it feels like I am doing something forbidden, being this close for so long without even asking permission. And to be honest, human social norms when it comes to physical touch between non-related adult males are terribly confusing, I never know what would be considered appropriate and what not.”
Hank snorts softly. Knowing what he knew now, that whole weird thing where Connor barely initiated touch but seemed to be crazy for it when it was offered made a lot more sense than before. But at least he had gotten part of the reason right in the first place.
“Yeah I get it..but Con? Firstly, I´m not an Android. And secondly, this non-related adult human male has never given a single fuck about what people might think of him and social norms can go fuck themselves for all I care. So I hereby give you blanket permission to hug me or touch me or whatever, mindmeld me, whenever you need to or simply want to, no matter if we´re in private or public, you understand? You don't have to wait for me to initiate, I'm perfectly fine with you touching me, you want to, you go for it, alright?”
Connor still sounds small and watery but there is the barest hint of his usual mischief peeking out from underneath his misery.
“Everything I want?”
Hank knows he's walking into a trap but doesn't care.
“Yep.”
“...even sniffing your butt?”
“Haven't gotten a write up for indecent exposure yet, could as well go for the full set, right?” Hank deadpans immediately, getting a small surprised laugh in return.
”As much as I appreciate the idea of a complete collection I think this might be something I would heartily recommend not to try for.I think I'll keep to this for the moment.”
Connor squeezes their intertwined hands gently and Hank doesn't comment when he rubs his eyes with the heel of his free hand, leaving a suspiciously damp sheen on the pale, synthetic skin.
“Good.”
Hank rests his cheek on the top of Connor´s head, content to just stay where he was for as long as the other man was game. He hadn't been lying about being a bit short in the ´someone to hug´- department himself and Connor fits nicely against him, his slim body just that bit smaller than Hank so that the hug wasn't awkward and his head fit perfectly underneath his chin.
The hand gently carding through thick brown hair has become steady, sure of what it's doing and for once without the need for anything else.
“Whatever you want I'm good with it.”
—%---%---