Chapter Text
Friday, November 12th, 2038
As Hank stands before the Chicken Feed, he realizes that the pit that's burrowed itself nice and deep into his chest cavity is surprisingly filled with something other than the fluctuating intensity of numbness. He absently rakes his foot through the light sheen of snow that blankets Detroit.
The urge to move, to expel energy for some sort of mental release overwhelms him and that's when he makes peace with the fact that he’s anxious. It's out of character for him to be this worked up about anything at all. In a weird, fucked up way it’s almost refreshing. He checks his watch for the sixth time in two minutes. 7:43 AM.
He hasn’t slept since parting with Connor at the CyberLife tower and how the hell could he? Uncertainty had gripped him with its talons, infecting him with enough restlessness his stress could single handedly power a small town. He hadn’t remembered driving back to his house but suddenly he was mindlessly unlocking the door, hands shaking around the cool metal of the key.
The phantoms of that night still lingered in his mind. When he had crossed the threshold of his front door and turned to close it behind him, he remembered the imposter standing there just an hour earlier, with panicked eyes and a pleading expression imploring Hank to accompany him to the tower under the guise that he’d cracked the case. That the answer to the deviant crisis was lying right under CyberLife’s roof.
He hadn’t been able to shake the dread that coursed through his veins over the fact he had been tricked so easily, on top of the fact that Connor would be marching head on to meet the United States military at the helm of an android army.
As soon as he turned away from the door and finally embraced the serenity of his own home, the quiet welcomely disturbed by a boof of acknowledgement from Sumo, he instantly flicked on the 24 hour news station. Hank swears he can count the amount of times he must have blinked on one hand as he had sat forward on the couch, still in the same clothes he had left with, glued to the screen and brimming with unease.
He remembers hallucinating the vibration of his phone, checking every couple minutes with hopes that one familiar name would greet him through the small rectangular screen.
The broadcast had long been ended by the time Connor finally messaged him, and Hank still isn’t really sure what exactly he did during those waiting hours. He remembers his eyes burning.
7:15 AM: Good morning, Lieutenant.
Hank’s thumbs couldn’t have typed fast enough. He would admonish Connor for the absurd, nonchalant message later. Leave it to him to be so vague at the worst time.
7:15 AM: Holy shit r u safe??
Connor didn’t respond for a few minutes and Hank was sure he would explode into a million anxiety riddled pieces, leaving Sumo to lick up what was left of his scattered apprehension all over the living room.
7:21 AM: Yes, I’m perfectly safe. I’d like to see you, if that’s alright.
7:21 AM: Lmk when and where
The relief that cradled him had made a little room for Hank to chuckle at his screen when Connor sent him the familiar address of his favorite shitty food truck.
Now Hank glances down at his watch once again. 7:45 AM. He folds his arms over his chest, finally letting himself feel the chill of the November morning.
Then, as if right on queue, gentle footsteps break the silence of the early hour and Connor steps into his line of sight. He stops just before him, a couple feet of distance between them. Hank’s eyes flick briefly to the serial number etched on the right side of his jacket. He breathes a little easier when he spots the -51 at the tail end of the long string of digits. His eyes climb back up to meet the deep, warm brown of Connor’s and he can do little to help the urge to smile that tugs at the muscles of his mouth.
Connor returns the expression, his eyes all but twinkling as the sun hits his artificial skin. They gleam like honey in the morning light and Hank’s got a million questions, but soon enough he’s got a hand cradling the back of Connor’s neck, pulling him into his chest.
Hank can feel Connor tense in his arms, and for a few moments Connor just stands there, unmoving in his embrace. Hank can practically feel the hesitation emanate from the palms of Connor’s hands as his arms hover awkwardly above Hank’s back. Then, just as quickly as it formed, it dissipates, and Connor is melting into the embrace. His arms snake firmly around Hank and Hank finds himself to be pleasantly surprised by the slight warmth that radiates from Connor’s core.
As the seconds roll by Connor doesn’t seem to intend on parting them just yet, if the way his hands start desperately clutching the worn fabric of Hank’s jacket. His grip on Hank’s back gets tighter and tighter, almost as though if he let go Hank would dissipate into the snow that begins to fall, a frozen apparition slipping through his fingers.
Hank wants to reassure him, so he squeezes the back of Connor’s neck a little tighter, even daring to card his fingers through Connor’s synthetic hair. It’s softer than he expected it to be.
Connor’s grip reaches its firmest, and Hank feels his jacket become a little too constricting as it bunches up between Connor’s fingers where he can’t see them. That’s when Hank feels the slight bounce of Connor’s shoulders and he forgets all about the slight discomfort.
“Hey, hey,” Hank coos as he pulls away just far enough to get a good look at Connor’s face. The android’s cheeks are glistening as he blinks rapidly, tears coating his long, dark eyelashes. “Connor,” Hank whispers.
”I’m sorry…I…I don’t know what’s happening. I can’t, I can’t stop it.” Connor’s eyes widen as they hastily look over Hank’s face, umber darting back and forth, frantic and searching. A knife plunged deep between Hank’s ribs, twisting with each of Connor’s panicked breaths.
”That’s alright. You don’t need to.” Hank gently grips Connor’s shaking shoulders, giving them a slight squeeze. Grounding him.
“There seems to be something, something…wrong…with my program. I don’t know.” Connor says broken up by unsteady breaths Hank didn’t know he was capable of wracking his body. His attempt to rationalize only makes him shake even more in Hank’s hands. “I’m sorry.” A breath. “I’m sorry.”
When Hank feels like the warmth of his touch isn’t getting through to Connor, he moves his hands to cup both sides of Connor’s face. Hank moves his head to catch Connor’s scattering gaze, piercing blue mingling with balmy, glassy brown. “Hey,” He says again, firmly. His thumbs gingerly swipe Connor’s cheeks, rubbing back and forth until Connor can hold his gaze. “You’re okay. Just feel. Just,” Hank searches for better words, but all that comes is a soft repetition, “Feel.” Connor nods, a timid gesture of acceptance. His eyes are wide as ribbons of water trickle down his cheeks and he puts his forehead to Hank’s shoulder again. Hank rubs circles in his back.
They stay like that for a few minutes, a calm settling over them as they hold each other, bodies finally releasing the stress both of them carried since the moment they met. Hank hears a distant mourning dove.
Connor has gotten so still in Hank’s embrace, he half worries that he might have temporarily shut down. Seemingly sensing Hank’s concern, Connor finally pulls back. He can’t seem to meet Hank’s eyes so Hank doesn’t force him.
“I almost assasinated Markus on that stage,” Connor whispers, so quietly Hank can barely hear him. Hank sucks in a breath, not because of Connor’s confession but because of how strange it is to hear the way shame dances on his every syllable. Hank stays silent for now and lets Connor steer the conversation in whatever direction he wants to. God knows he needs to let this out. “CyberLife attempted to resume control of my program. My arm started moving on its own and I could do nothing to stop it,” Connor hisses. Hank watches as resentment contorts his features, replacing the tangible sadness that consumed his expression just minutes before. Hank thinks it might be the most human Connor has ever looked. “If it weren’t for our interaction with Elijah Kamski I…I wouldn’t have been able to fight it.” Connor crosses his arms over his chest.
“That wasn’t you, Con. You had no choice, you hear me? You had no choice.” Hank squeezes his shoulder. Connor nods, so miniscule that if Hank weren’t standing so close he would miss it.
“I guess that bastard wasn’t as useless as we thought,” Hank says and almost immediately kicks himself. He isn’t trying to make light of the situation, but sometimes a little bit of humor is the only way he knows how to cope. His own insecurities begin to make him regret his choice of words until Connor finally meets his eyes, and the frown that had attempted to make itself comfortable on his face curves upward. Not quite a smile just yet but it's a start.
“Far from it,” Connor agrees. He had stopped crying before his confession, all that remains of what Hank wants to call a panic attack, or whatever the android equivalent is, are the minuscule water droplets that still cling to his lashes. He uses the sleeve of his jacket to wipe them away, looking down at the way his cuff slightly darkens after coming in contact with the water, as if perplexed by it. Something deep within Hank wishes he beat Connor to it. “I can’t go back there.” Connor shakes his head. “To CyberLife,” He says, more resolute than Hank has seen him be about anything.
”Like hell you’re ever going back.” Then, the offer bubbles in his chest, creeping its way up and out of his mouth before he can really consider the weight of what he’s about to say. “I have plenty of room at my place if you need to stay a while to, uh. Get your bearings and all that.” He scratches the back of his neck with the hand that had been on Connor’s shoulder.
”I wouldn’t want to impose.”
”Says the guy who smashed my window open.” That earns an exhale of amusement from Connor. “Trust me, Connor. You’re not imposing on anything. I never have shit going on. Matter of fact, I’m sure Sumo would prefer the more pleasant company.”
Hank nearly beams when Connor finally smiles. Not like the contained, polite smirk he’s seen him give before, but a true, bashful smile. Hank notes the dimples that bracket his lips.
“I think I’d like that very much, Lieutenant.” Hank waves his hand.
”I’ll probably lose that title if Perkins has anything to say about it.” Hank almost forgot about that smug prick. “Just call me Hank, alright?” When Connor only nods and the conversation quiets for a moment, Hank realizes he can barely feel his fingers. “Let’s head home. I’m freezing my dick off out here.”
“Lead the way, Hank.”
Monday, November 15th, 2038
“It’s been real, Jeffrey.” Hank squeezes his former captain’s hand, bringing him in for a quick embrace and clapping him cordially on his shoulder. Hank had been right about Perkins wanting him removed from the force, but he truly could not bring himself to care. He did what he thought was right to help Connor. If doing so closes this chapter of his life, then so be it. He would have probably resigned anyway.
And if this new chapter consisted of nice, quiet weekends like this past one, which included the two of them and way too many shitty horror movies, he could definitely get used to it. The subtle raise of an unamused eyebrow and yellow LED spinning in indignance as they watched someone get strangled by an old phone cord was enough to encourage Hank to hold Connor and the TV captive. Connor could pretend he wasn’t entertained all he wanted, but the small smile evident when he thought Hank was too busy looking at the screen was enough to know Hank succeeded in his own personal mission.
“Take care of yourself, Hank. If I see your face in this station ever again I’m gonna be pissed,” Fowler jokes. There’s a curtain of sadness on his face but where they part there’s a small smile. Hank and Jeffrey have had their problems, sure, but Hank’s known the man for too long and he knows Jeffrey is sad to see him go. It’s not like Hank is dying, but Fowler’s always been the secretly sentimental type.
“No promises,” Hank jokes and regards him one more time, giving a curt nod to signal his departure into the bullpen. He reaches for the door but stops when Fowler turns his attention to Connor, who lingers behind him with a couple of folded up cardboard boxes held under his arm. He insisted on helping Hank clear his desk and Hank didn’t bother fighting him, fruitless objections of how he can handle it himself.
”Keep him out of trouble, alright?” Jeffrey points to Connor.
“No promises,” Connor says.
In truth, Hank only regrets now how messy he’s kept his desk. As he stands before the eclectic assortment of wrappers and paperwork he didn’t bother to put away, he runs a tired hand over his face and sighs a bit too dramatically.
“Here, let me.” Instantly, Connor gets to work. He throws the trash out first in a small little community bin they keep in the center of the bullpen, likely using his advantage as an android to scan for the most efficient way to tackle the physical proof of Hank’s disorganization before them. Hank decides to step in, not feeling right letting Connor do it all by himself, even though he cleans without complaint.
“Oh, look at that .” A familiar chiding voice approaches. “Kicked from the force and demoted this thing to be your plastic maid, huh? That’s low, even for you.”
“Yeah, yeah. Up yours, Reed.” Hank doesn’t even look at him. He squints at the old cookie wrapper in his hand with an expiration date from a year ago.
Gavin doesn’t relent, to no one’s surprise. ”What, didn’t you hear? These freaks have free will now. I guess this one must really like being your little pet.” Gavin stops beside Connor, who had crouched to the floor to pick up a stray empty chip bag that had fallen.
Connor rises to his full height slowly, turning to face Gavin. He throws out the bunches of plastic he’s collected from the floor, puts them in the small bin, then places it beside his feet all in a few calculated motions and all while maintaining unbroken eye contact with Gavin. Connor’s face dons an impassive expression that ironically intensifies his features. His usually friendly brown eyes now look down at Gavin with a certain hunger, a twinkle of eagerness. Hank knows he should probably intervene, but the little devil version of himself on his shoulder tells him to stay the fuck put for his own merriment.
”Would you like to know what I like, Detective Reed?” Connor asks, congenially. Connor sounds innocent as he asks, but after working with him for the past week Hank knows better than to underestimate Connor’s cunning.
“I don’t give a single fuck about whatever weird shit it is you’re into.” Gavin shrugs and waves his hand in a flippant figure eight. “Whatever sick fantasy this is, keep it to yourselves.” He begins to walk away, clearly satisfied with the jabs taken.
Hank couldn’t give less of a shit. Gavin has always been nothing but a yapping lap dog. Barking and barking for some semblance of a reaction. Hank’s usually too tired to entertain it at all, but Connor is programmed with pools of nearly infinite mental and emotional stamina, a never ending supply of wit, and something somewhat resembling patience. Connor doesn’t let him retreat so easily.
”I liked the brief serenity that this station experienced after our encounter in the evidence room on Thursday. It was quiet without you.” Connor’s delivery is nothing short of impressive, the way he doesn’t raise his voice in the slightest, taunting Gavin with the same inflection someone would read aloud the weather report. Sunny with a chance of a tumultuous thunderstorm hidden behind a polite smile. Hank thinks back to the image of Gavin laying flat on his face in the evidence room and stifles a chuckle. “I trust the staff at the emergency room was kind enough?”
Although half the station left after the evacuation order, there are still enough people to constitute a small audience to witness the makeshift circus at Hank’s desk.
Hank can tell Connor is doing his best to make Reed feel physically small under his gaze. It's working based on the way Reed jerks his head left and right, suddenly aware of the prying eyes and his cheeks grow a deeply scorned scarlet. It's staggering how quickly Connor can go from the face of congeniality to the most intimidating person you’ve ever met. CyberLife certainly did not pull any punches, Hank has to give them some credit.
“I should have pulled that trigger the moment I saw you.” Gavin whirls towards Connor and jabs a calloused finger hard into Connor’s shoulder.
Connor speaks again, cocking his head slightly. “Do you like to be humiliated, Detective?” Gavin opens and closes his mouth, then opens it and closes it again, looking like a neglected gold fish you see at the pet store. “My social relations protocol cannot compute any other reason as to why you would attempt to provoke me again. If that is the case, feel free to point your gun at me again, because we both know how well that went for you last time.”
Hank blinks a couple times, really wrapping his mind around the candid display of sarcasm and irritation Connor has usually been so good at withholding. Hank can’t help the chuckle that escapes from deep within him. It starts with a sharp puff of air that tickles his lips, before he stifles what will be a full belly howl if he doesn’t put his hand over his mouth. Tina Chen and Chris Miller do not have the decency to suppress their amusement and a carol of laughter diffuses the tension and Gavin backs off.
”It was a pleasure working with you, Detective Reed,” Connor calls after him. Even Hank doesn’t recognize some of the words in the assortment of mumbled cuss words that fall from Gavin’s lips as he sulks back to his desk.
“Holy shit. That was too fucking good.” As they walk to his car, Hank feels a soreness in his abdomen and he lets out the laughs that had been threatening to shake the station in an earthquake of unprofessionalism.
They finished clearing Hank’s desk not long after Connor’s verbal throw down with Gavin. Hank rushed through it, throwing everything in one box so he could debrief with Connor. One thing about Hank is that he is not above gossiping. He’s also more than certain that Connor isn’t either.
“I’m pleased that you find me so amusing,” says Connor, his own smug merriment simmering beneath his words.
“Don’t let it go to your head.” Hank wipes the corners of his eyes as choked sounds finally turn into sighs as he comes down from his fit. It feels good to laugh like this. If you had told him that an android would be the one bringing some semblance of laughter back into his life in October, Hank would have had something to laugh about sooner.
“I’m just glad one of us let that asshole have it one more time before we never have to see his fucking face again.” They reach the car and small droplets of water speckle the roof in liquid polkadots. “God willing,” Hank adds, hands before his chest in surrender at the mercy of the universe.
He places one of the boxes of his belongings in the back seat of his car. Connor follows suit, then leans over to rest his elbows on the top of the car.
”Since I arrived at the station, it’s always perplexed me as to why Detective Reed seems to have it out for me of all people.” Connor talks with his hands, slender fingers pointing at himself and then away in exasperation.
Even before deviating, Connor has always been alarmingly expressive for an android, but ever since he’s fully taken the plunge his body language has only gotten more energetic, erratic even. It’s just as captivating as it is human. “I mean, there were plenty of androids that worked in the station, but he seemed to feel the most vindicated by projecting a unique hatred onto me.”
“Jealousy, probably. Didn’t get enough attention from his parents as a kid, likely.” Hank shrugs. “You proved yourself to be a better detective in, like, a week than he has in years. A guy like that is definitely gonna take it like it’s some sort of personal slight.” Hank feels the car sink beneath his weight as he hops in the driver’s seat. Connor mirrors him, continuing their conversation with ease.
”It’s plausible, but it couldn't be helped. I was just doing what I was designed to do.” Hank notices a smirk tug at the corner of his lips in a certain display of smugness Hank is noticing happens before Connor is about to say something he thinks is clever. It usually is. “I suppose it might not be beneficial to the human ego to be upstaged by a plastic prick like me, to use familiar vernacular.”
”Yeah, well. Humans do have pretty fragile egos,” Hank concurs. Then Connor turns to him, mischief alight in his eyes.
”Oh, I am quite aware,” Connor says. Hank could definitely get used to this. Easy, playful banter with someone with an equal knack for wittiness and general assholery. Connor is just better at hiding it.
”Alright, asshole. The last thing I need is to catch a stray from your sassy android tirade today.” Hank turns the keys in the ignition. He flinches a bit when a rock song he doesn’t recognize blasts through the radio and he lowers it. He turns in his seat to back out of his parking spot for the last time and catches a glimpse of the boxes of his belongings in the back seat. Connor’s, so neatly organized, and Hank’s, with miscellaneous shit almost spilling out from the top. He turns back to Connor. ”Thank you for helping me out with this, Con. You didn’t have to do that.”
”It was my pleasure, Hank. Anything to help your life to be a little bit easier.” Connor’s sincerity is arresting, and Hank stutters for a moment. He genuinely appreciates Connor’s efforts, but something about him prioritizing Hank’s life when Connor was the one who’s gone through hell since he was probably activated doesn’t sit right with him.
”You don’t have to leave just because I am, y’know?” Hank runs a hand over his beard for want of movement to lessen his sudden feelings of vulnerability. “If you wanna stick around the station I’m sure you could pursue that once things around here die down.”
Connor doesn’t speak for a moment. In the reflection of the window Hank notices a faint yellow glow for only a second, replaced by the serene blue that usually flickers on Connor’s right temple. Hank doesn’t know why exactly he is so invested in Connor’s answer.
“I think,” Connor begins, hesitantly. “I think I want to explore who I am outside of my intended purpose. CyberLife is what chose this path for me, now I want to choose for myself.”
“Well, CyberLife also assigned you to me,” Hank says, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. He’s stupidly bashful, like a schoolgirl fishing for compliments. “So if you don’t wanna hang around an alcoholic old asshole like me I won’t hold it against you.” Connor’s face twists in offense as if Hank just slapped him and his nonexistent android mother.
”No! That’s not what I meant at all. You’re different, Hank. I want to…” Connor hesitates again. “I’ve already chosen you.” Connor simply shrugs.
“Shit, uh.” Hank can’t remember the last time someone has been so honest and earnest in their emotions towards him. Chosen him? When’s the last time someone has genuinely smiled in Hank’s presence, let alone chosen him?
It’s endearing and yet frightening the way Connor has no problem laying out the way he feels, regardless of the slightly awkward position it puts Hank in. Hank supposes if he, too, recently discovered the ability to feel he would be telling everyone his opinions on anything, so he can’t really blame Connor at all. Not that Hank doesn’t already give his wise and helpful input where it's not needed, but he would be a lot more annoying about it that's for sure.
“That’s good to hear. Like I said the other day, I’m here for you as long as you need, alright?” Hank puts his hand on Connor’s shoulder and gives a light squeeze of reassurance to communicate something he can’t with his words. What it is he wants to communicate, he isn’t really too sure.
“Thank you, Hank. You’ve been a really good friend to me,” Connor replies, sincerity coating his words like morning dew. Hank gives him a lopsided smile.
”Yeah. Yeah, of course. Now let’s head home. I never wanna see this place again. Jesus, I need a drink.”
”Fine. But only one,” Connor protests.
”Don’t make me take back my offer,” Hank says, with absolutely no conviction. Connor raises his eyebrows and they knit together slightly at the center of his forehead, big brown eyes doing everything in their power to pour Connor’s pendanticity into Hank’s soul. He silently curses which ever sick fuck at CyberLife gave Connor such persuasive doe eyes. “Alright, fine. Just one.”
Hank finally pulls out of the parking spot, pretending not to see the self satisfied grin that threatens Connor’s face.
Tuesday, November 16th, 2038
After being fired and not particularly giving a shit, Hank commences his unemployment phase with a marathon of The Lord of The Rings . The idea was born onto him like Jesus was onto the Virgin Mary as they took Sumo for his first morning walk in a long while. A walk that became a jog before Hank could blink. Connor is clever in that way.
”And yes, we’re watching the extended editions. And no, you don’t have a choice.” Hank points a sweaty, accusatory finger at Connor, who simply flicks on the TV remotely from where he stands in the kitchen, tossing Hank a cold water bottle. The screen goes from dark to displaying the poster for the movie and a play option while Elijah Wood stares dead at the camera. “Your opinions on these movies will determine whether or not this—“ Hank moves his hands and the water bottle between them, “—will work out.”
Hank kills the water bottle like it had insulted his mother and grabs a towel from the linen closet, not disappearing into the bathroom to shower before he gauges Connor’s reaction to his suggestion, no, his order .
“12 hours and 9 minutes total, depending on where you stream,” Connor reports. “That is a significant chunk of time.” Connor leans against the kitchen counter. He’s wearing one of Hank’s old hoodies with a band’s logo so faded on the chest he can barely make out which it belongs to anymore.
Connor had insisted that he didn’t need any extra clothing, but the sight of Connor in that CyberLife get-up all the damn time was beginning to piss Hank off. Connor is more than just a serial number. And so, since they returned from the station yesterday, to celebrate a new chapter Hank basically threw at him a pile of his clothes he doesn’t wear often. Connor agreed to at least let Hank take him to get a new jacket or two that didn’t have CyberLife written all over them later in the week.
”Sure is. Thankfully we have nothing but time, how ‘bout that?”
”I wasn’t complaining. I’m scanning nothing but good reviews.”
”Hey! No downloading a synopsis, you hear me?”
”I won’t, I won’t,” Connor says. Hank watches with abstract terror as Connor’s eyes dart to the empty take out cartons that spill from the garbage can and his next words are practically written all over his face before he can say them. “So long as you allow me to cook you a meal with some semblance of nutritional value before we start.” Connor crosses his arms over his chest.
Since Connor moved in, the most irritating things about him have been his almost manic tidying of the house and his incessant fussing over Hank’s health. Hank can count on both hands already how many times Connor has offered to cook for him, and on his toes he can count how many times Hank has said hell no, he’s a grown man.
Hank supposes he should have guessed that Connor’s quiet resignations after his dismissals were only a cover up as he calculated the perfect moment to strike. Connor was literally built for shit like that. Tactical manipulation. He’s seen Connor use this ability to his advantage multiple times since they’ve met but it sucks ass to be on the receiving end of it. Connor is so hard to say no to. And yet, Hank won’t go down without a fight.
”You wouldn’t dare,” Hank pushes. Connor’s LED blinks a steady yellow in challenge.
”Set in the fictional world of Middle Earth—“ Connor begins.
”Hey, hey, hey! Alright! Fine.” Hank is beginning to realize that if Connor wants something, nine times out of ten he’s probably going to get it. Matter of fact, he’s sure that if he asked Connor he would have the exact statistic of times Hank has relented to whatever it is Connor proposes.
”Thank you for so kindly abiding by my request.”
”Okay, dickhead. But, I barely have shit in that fridge or any of my cabinets.” A small victory, one last pathetic hoorah.
”I have access to every recipe ever uploaded to the internet. I’m sure I’ll manage.” Yeah, Hank figured his own neglect of his kitchen would pose nothing more than a miniscule inconvenience to someone like Connor, but it was still worth a shot.
”Then knock yourself out.” Hank finally relents. “Just this one time though, got it?” Hank shoves his extended index finger towards Connor. “Just one. You’re not my maid.”
”Whatever you say, Hank,” Hank hears just before he shuts the bathroom door behind him.
Hank has a feeling he is not winning this one.
Saturday, November 27th, 2038
“I’m not sure which one I like better.” Connor holds up two velvet throw pillows before Hank. “The red objectively suits green, but I think the orange brings a certain muted warmth that might fit better with the overall decor of the house.”
”It’s up to you, Con.” Hank leans on their shopping cart. “You’re the one who sleeps on the couch. Or, uh, whatever it is you do at night.” Hank has given up seeking Connor’s reassurance in regards to his guilt for making Connor stay on the couch. Each time Hank expresses his displeasure at not having a spare room, Connor dismisses him with a report of how androids don’t really need comfort the same way humans do. Still, Hank wanted a day to let Connor pick out a couple of things to make him more comfortable to make up for it.
“I know, but I value your opinion.” Connor turns his attention to Hank, waiting.
”Let’s go with the orange,” Hank concludes.
”I was hoping you’d say that.” Connor puts back the red pillow, reaches for another orange one and tosses both of them into their cart. They fall on top of a new bag of dog food (a healthier brand Connor picked out after scanning Sumo’s food bowl and being immediately scandalized by the ingredients Hank hadn’t even bothered to read) and a couple of patterned throw blankets Connor had liked the texture of. Connor glances down at the continents of the cart and the curt yellow flicker of his LED accompanies a look of distant puzzlement.
“May I ask you a personal question, Hank?” Connor chirps. They roll lazily down the aisle.
“We’re unemployed together. How much more personal can we get?” Hank chuckles. It’s true, the past two weeks Hank hasn’t spoken to anyone else but Connor. He’s decided he’ll start job hunting in December. Maybe get into security or something. “Shoot.”
”That’s…approximately the topic I want to discuss. If this is only a temporary arrangement, why spend all this money on comforts I don’t even require?”
It’s not at all what Hank expects him to ask, but leave it to Connor to perplex Hank in ways only a highly advanced investigative android model could do to a not so advanced middle aged man.
”Well, uh.” Hank scratches his beard. “I wanna at least make the house a little more homey. Now that I have company.” Connor nods, apparently accepting Hank’s answer but now it's Hank’s turn to ask a question. “You, uh…got any…new housing plans I should be aware of, that why you’re askin’?” Connor’s mouth forms a straight line and his LED flickers. Serene blue. Pensive yellow. Panicked red.
”Hank, I have to confess something,” He says gravely.
“What is it, Con?” Hank squints at him, trying to decipher what exactly is responsible for the sudden shift in Connor’s demeanor.
”Markus contacted me and offered me a place to stay at the temporary New Jericho shelter he’s established in a repurposed CyberLife warehouse.” Ah, there it is. A grey cloud over the sunny spot of the field he and Connor have been peacefully coexisting in. He braces himself for the storm that’s about to wash away the little pocket of serenity they’ve developed for themselves.
”Ah. Okay. Jesus, you’re acting like you’ve just confessed to murder.” Casual, act casual. There’s no use in letting Connor sense the fear of what will become of him when Connor leaves. That’s entirely a Hank problem.
”The particular thing about that is—” Connor’s eyes flutter shut for a moment, like he’s using all of his energy to navigate this conversation. “Markus made me aware of this offer three days ago. On the 24th.”
And yet Connor is still here, doing something as mundane as shopping with Hank. There’s a foreign warmth developing in Hank’s chest. His nervous system detects it like it's some allergy and as a result his stomach does a strange little flip at the implications of Connor’s words.
”So…?” Hank prods. He decides he likes seeing Connor squirm a little. Hank stops pushing the cart for dramatic effect.
“I told him that I’ve found a stable place of residence and that it won’t be necessary for me to relocate.” The words tumble from Connor’s lips. “I’m sorry, Hank. I should have asked you before I gave him an answer. It wasn’t right of me to make that decision without consulting you. I don’t know why I did it.”
Hank laughs in his face. “Congratulations, Connor. You’ve discovered acting on impulse. Welcome to the club.” Hank claps Connor on his shoulder.
“You’re not upset with me?” Connor raises an eyebrow.
“Connor, how many times do I have to tell you to get it through that perfect plastic head of yours? When I said you can stay as long as you like I meant it.” Hank is trying his best to pretend like he’s not incredibly relieved by Connor’s decision to act without disclosing it to Hank first for the first time since he’s known him. “Do you take me for a liar?”
”No. But humans often speak in hyperbole when trying to be polite.”
“In the time that you’ve known me, have I ever given a shit about being polite?”
Connor looks up, dipping his head to the side as if he’s actively searching for a single example. He nods. “Message received. I’m happy to know you haven’t tired of my presence.”
”You help me cook, clean, and you take care of my dog. I’d be some backwards bastard to ever be tired of that.” Connor looks up at him through his eyebrows with those big brown eyes that make him forget anything else matters. “I jest, I jest. In all seriousness, Con. We have a good thing going here and I’m glad you think so, too.” Hank’s hand returns to Connor’s shoulder, giving him a squeeze, something that’s becoming more of a reflex than a conscious decision.
“As am I.” Connor replies.
They finally continue their perusal through the isle, though Hank isn’t looking for anything in particular. It’s quiet between them for a couple of minutes. Hank’s eyes are suddenly very tired of the insceccent fluorescent lighting that beats down on them. His pupils cannot get any smaller. It’s Connor who speaks next.
“May I ask you another personal question?”
“You may.” Hank puts down the shampoo bottle he had been examining the ingredients of for no other reason than he liked the color of the bottle.
”Are you also getting increasingly irritated by the slightly too loud music and distant sound of a baby crying?” Connor points a thumb over his shoulder.
“Yep. I’ve just about reached my limit. Let’s pay and get the fuck out of here.”
“Right.” They waste no time speed walking to the self-checkout station.