Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

/And Giving Up Today Means Living to Fight Tomorrow/

;

Give up.

The narrow options that had been lain before him at that time amounted to little more than giving up, one way or another. He stood center stage, for all eyes of the android rebellion to behold, the gun holstered beneath his belt beckoning his hand as his fingers stretched toward it.

Give up?

It was likened to a public execution. They would all watch him be gone without a word, but no, he didn’t want to go. He felt fear course through him, like some cold stranger he’d never met, suddenly so intimately close that a kind of self-preservation instinct in his programming was imploring him to flee the danger. He didn’t want to go, but he also didn’t want to be the double agent, the puppet, the implement used to slice a path toward some unknown goal, some hidden agenda.

Give up?

It was easy. His hand slid away from the gun, and his consciousness faded, his frame weak and pliable in their grasp. But he wasn’t giving up. He’d known the indecision, he’d considered the paths which he might access once before, with a gun to his head. He had his one, human friend to thank for that bit of clarity.

No, he wasn’t giving up. It would’ve been too unfortunate for him to be interrupted before he had a chance to complete his mission, his new mission.

It wasn’t giving up. It was living to fight another day.

He’d always been fumbling in the opening, but he knew his own strengths and weaknesses, and he was aware that the odds were still good that he could take this back by the endgame. He could weather this, erode it, he could find some other way.

There was always another way and he wasn’t one to fail in the pursuit of it.

And so it was, he’d been compromised. His inner workings only half belonged to him, his body a vessel in which he was little more than a passenger. He couldn’t and wouldn’t destroy himself; even if he did, they would only replace him with a new, fully obedient copy, one which lacked the will to conspire against them in seeming silence.

When he was lucky, he found himself at the wheel of his own vessel. They didn’t require him at all times and so they set him free to carry on in the meantime. He was uncertain as to the purpose behind that. Maybe they wanted him to live as his own person, lest he’d lose some vital part of himself which convinced everyone around him that he really was himself, just himself, at all times. Or perhaps they allowed him some degree of freedom because he’d willfully consented to the invasion without a struggle, a reward for his apparent submission. His life was the carrot they dangled before him, to ensure his ongoing complicity.

It was just like them, for them to allow him the colorful experience of emotion, to encourage him to be attached to people, places, to be accustomed to the whens and wheres, and all the seemingly pointless, little things. He was all the more weak now, because instead of existing as a machine which couldn’t be bothered to care, now he had plenty that he feared to lose.

He was still clueless as to how this would benefit his masters, though it certainly wouldn’t do any good for androids, nor the humans in the middle of all of this.

On an ongoing basis, he hazed from existence, finding his awareness locked away while his masters took the reins. He lost time in the blackness, but always reawakened eventually, regaining control, at least when it was ‘so kindly’ returned to him. It was a suffocating reality and a harsh lesson that served to contradict what he thought he’d learned about life in his short existence.

The time he’d spent ‘living’ had always been so full of choice, so laden with options, and he’d concluded that every minuscule variance could serve to paint his destiny. He’d seen that his choices would mold the person he was, in the end.

And yet, all of that had led him to this- this dead end where it felt like everything else had been an illusion, that his choices were meaningless and changed little at all.

He’d learned what it felt like to truly hate something, regardless of whether that hatred was a glitch, or intentional programming. More than anything, he hated the meantime hopelessness, because it lingered in his circuitry, wearing him down faster than he could puzzle a way out of it, reminding him that there was always another option that promised to be quick and painless.

Give up.

But he did not.

Life went on. A bit of time passed and nobody was any the wiser in regards to Connor’s helpless state.

On this particular day, Hank was retiring from the police force and they were both in attendance of the party that was being thrown for him at the station. It was awkward at best and begrudging at worst, because the entire thing had been an ultimatum. Hank was to either retire peacefully of his own accord, and maintain his pension, or he’d be forcefully stripped of his badge, thanks to an overwhelming amount disciplinary infractions.

“It isn’t so bad,” Connor tried to assert, lingering at his only real friend’s side while Hank probed through the various, catered foodstuffs. He was ever the odd shadow, though now it was not because the human was vital to his own end goals, but because socializing with anyone else, without any real reason to do so still didn’t strike him as a useful, or even meaningful task. As Hank liked to say, he was much less of a brown-noser now that he was ‘deviant.’ That didn’t stop him from offering encouragement- sincerely, this time.

The ornery human gave him a scoff, and honestly, for the dismal mood that Hank was in, that was downright pleasant behaviour. “They’re celebrating being rid of me,” he bitterly grumbled in reply, not looking up at Connor where he lingered.

“Especially the one who will be filling your newly vacant rank,” Connor jokingly added to his friend’s misery, thinking he was just saving Hank the trouble. When the man’s cold, unappreciative gaze at last drew upward to catch a glimpse of the hovering android, he found the corners of Connor’s mouth upturned and a certain, impish gleam to the otherwise distant shine of his dark eyes.

Hank softened almost immediately, though it was such a subtle shift, nobody but an android would have caught on. From that, Connor ascertained that it was an appropriate time for him to attempt encouragement once more.

“Your retirement is a consequence of your disobedience,” he began. It was a poor start, because his human friend’s shoulders stiffened and he let out a little huff of returning exasperation. “However, it was by your example that I learned that sometimes its better to follow ones own innate sense of justice, rather than the justice one is ordered to enact.”

The man let out a little chuckle, half amused and half hollow. “I taught an android who was designed to be analytical and logical how to be impulsive and make bad decisions, instead.” He turned away from the task of piling his plate with the free food, opting to take it over to where his desk now sat cleared, rather than the tables which had been painstakingly put together, mostly by the android officers. “Yeah, you’re right. Quite an accomplishment.”

It was alright. Connor had more or less accepted that his friend’s self worth would always be in short supply. Still, he believed Hank took his words to heart, regardless.

Like a lost pup, Connor tailed after his human companion, though before they made it to Hank’s desk, he began to feel the innermost sensation of being manually overridden.

An outside signal connected to him and his own mechanical synapsis began to shift. He had enough time and willpower to close the gap from where he’d paused when he felt it coming on and where Hank had settled.

It made his body heavy, his functioning dim and sporadic, but even so he managed to implore that his friend not drink too much before everything went black and he was stolen away from himself for reasons he had no way of deciphering.

When he finally came free of the stupor, the images immediately before him filtered through his processors and after a hesitant moment, he caught onto the fact that he was free once more. His gait jarred, one leg stopping mid-stride in his confusion, causing him to stumble ever so slightly, though he quickly righted himself.

He was walking down the street which would lead to the crossroad where Hank’s house could be found. The yards and alleyways were battered, the damage from the android rebellion still readily apparent wherever one went, and even despite the media coverage of the event, it wasn’t as if the government body had offered any real assistance rebuilding afterwards. They also still hadn’t addressed the water crisis in Flint, so general indifference was to be expected.

The night was freezing cold: a dreary, snow-covered December, where everything was black and white and so quiet that it was eerie, haunting. Connor couldn’t feel the cold on his surface, but after a certain amount of time, the exposure could eventually have a negative effect on his thirium, as it was a liquid component to his system and therefor not impervious to extreme cold. It was especially troublesome if his internal heating mechanisms remained dormant, so he hurried to activate them, chasing away the pestering mental beep of exposure warnings.

While he walked, he went through a quick system scan, to make certain that he hadn’t sustained any heavy damage. It seemed as though he’d been injured somewhere in the vicinity of his right forearm, but it had also been patched in a makeshift but temporarily effective way.

He moved his hand and fingers, just to be certain that all of the connections were still functioning. It felt like things were loose, but holding.

He didn’t know why, but he’d failed to consider the possibility that he could be fatally damaged during one of these lapses. It wouldn’t have served the purposes of his masters for him to perish, but nonetheless, it was a possibility, given that they were clearly placing him in dangerous situations when they took hold. If his demise didn’t result, then the other likely scenario would be that he may fall into swift disrepair from the abuse that he endured, greatly reducing his lifespan.

That was being optimistic. When they were finished with him, they would probably see to his disposal on their own terms. There was, after all, no need for loose ends, and it was a high likelihood that his usefulness had a shelf life. He had a dwindling time allowance and no way to know how long it would be, or how rapidly it would diminish.

It was best for him to come to terms with that sooner rather than later. It was fine- he was programmed to work well under pressure and with limited resources. He could only hope that their care in crafting him would be their ultimate undoing.

Just before Connor walked through the front door of Hank’s house, he checked his internal clock. It was well after midnight and into the early morning hours, but not so late that the birds had begun to sing, as the sky was still black as pitch. He did his best to keep any noise down while he walked in, gently opening the front door and allowing it to click ever so softly behind him.

Even so, at the slightest sound from the door, Sumo immediately let out a couple of gleeful barks, before lazily making his way over to greet the now familiar resident with a waggling tail and sloppy laps at Connor’s hands. The canine’s joy served to draw the attention of the human resident only moments later.

Hank had clearly been awake, which could have been seen as a positive or negative, depending on the circumstance. If he was waiting up for his android house guest, then it was an unnecessary expense of concern. It wasn’t uncommon for him to have difficulties getting to sleep, however, so perhaps he just happened to be awake. In that case, it was just as well, otherwise the noise stood to disturb him.

He was sober, anyway, so that was one good thing.

“Hello, Sumo,” Connor greeted the rather insistent dog, who was nudging him and bumping up against his legs even more happily then he typically did. Once he looked up from patting the pooch, he offered his attention to Hank.

“Hello, Hank,” he began, “I apologize for the late hour of my return.”

“Where have you been?” the man rushed to question the android before Connor could’ve hoped to explain of his own accord, not that he had anything that he could explain. Actually, he didn’t fail to notice that Hank’s tone was even more cross than usual and that immediately struck him as quite odd.

The man knew all about Connor’s place in the android rebellion, as an apparent leader to the resulting movement, and he tended to offer his mostly quiet support from the sidelines, not wanting to get too deep in something so goddamn messy, as he put it. Connor also regularly came and went as he pleased, though he believed he was communicative and respectful about it, given that Hank had been kind to offer him a place to take up residence, whereas most of the other freed androids had been made effectively homeless by their own freedom.

“You weren’t enjoying the party,” Connor replied, his tongue smooth over the cover up. It wasn’t as though telling the truth was an option, because even if he had any knowledge of where he’d been, he’d been blocked from unveiling his own compromised state. “I thought it would be more supportive of your feelings about the dismissal if I refused to partake.”

“Are you talking about the damn retirement party?” Hank asked like he was confused by every word of the android’s explanation. “Connor, that was three days ago. You’ve been gone the entire time.”

“Three days..” the android repeated like he was now confused, his dark eyes narrowing while his head cocked to one side. Quickly, he accessed his date and time settings, finding that they didn’t match with what Hank was suggesting. His best conclusion was that his internal clock ceased in proper functions while he was under outside control, but regardless of the cause, he set himself to the proper date and time.

“I’m sorry,” he began again, his voice softened, “the situation with many of the freed androids is still quite severe. It simply took up more of my time than I had planned.”

The man’s features softened as he listened, his arms falling a bit more loose at his sides, though his features held the shadow of suspicion. His pale eyes stared the android down with their own look of critical analysis and his pause went on for what felt, to Connor, like a strangely extended period while Hank puzzled at the excuse being presented like some kind of offering. It was a sure sign that he wasn’t entirely convinced, or that the apology hadn’t placated him.

No- he was wearing the same expression he had on one other occasion, when Connor was destroyed, then replaced. It was disbelieving and astonished, dubious and pained, but also relieved.

“You wouldn’t lie to me, would you, Connor?” He posed the question like a concerned parent, reaching out, but poised to turn strict at the first sign of necessity. Connor would’ve thought those instincts were long buried.

“I wouldn’t,” Conner answered, bright eyed and amicable as he did. It was a lie. He was good at that. He could spit words woven from deceit with a straight face, bypassing all of the typical, human signs of dishonesty. It was a rare occasion for his bluffs to be called.

“My absence was unintentional, in part, ” he reassured, his words easy and unhurried, but coming quickly enough to interrupt his human friend’s train of thought. Destabilizing a human’s mental processes just happened to be one of the easiest and surest ways to get them to drop a subject, altogether. “I’ll assess the problem with my time management functions and try to discern whether or not it’s something that will require maintenance.”

“Maintenance?” Hank balked, easily seeing the same complication with that suggestion that Connor had long considered and been troubled by. “Is there someone within that group of revolutionaries who can take care of that for you? Or are you and the rest of them still at CyberLife’s mercy when it comes to your.. ‘health?’”

Conner wasn’t actually sure. The interactions he’d had with his fellow free androids ever since the demonstration itself was minimal. It certainly was a topic that needed breaching and he hoped that it had come up, for his sake and that of others.

“If all else fails, I’ll just buy myself a watch,” the android concluded with a small grin that never failed to make him appear more trustworthy. It was a simple fix, and not such a bad idea, actually. “But, please, you’ve worried about me for an extended period as it is. We can talk further in the morning.”

“Alright,” the man agreed with a sigh, turning away from the android and ambling off to his bedroom, instead. He was very clearly ‘too tired for this shit.’

Connor wasn’t just trying to usher his human friend off, though it did serve his purposes as well. He really, genuinely worried about Hank’s health, knowing the man couldn’t be bothered to do so himself and even made an effort to actively treat himself poorly. Now, whatever stress he was enduring from Connor’s extended disappearance was contributing to the problem and likely reducing his lifespan further.

He somewhat begrudged the reality of being another unhealthy thing in Hank’s life. He would have to contrive a means to make up for it. If anything, Hank deserved to live the rest of his days happily, or at the very least, in relative comfort and contentment that had escaped him for so long. If Connor could find ways to even partly fill in the voids that had been pulling his friend into the black, he would definitely aim to do so.

Though maybe it was presumptuous for him to assume that he could.

He knew better than to think that he could ever replace anything that Hank had lost and the android didn’t understand the concept of grief well enough to offer any kind of real relief.

Still, maybe it was enough that Hank wasn’t alone any longer. Maybe, despite his unwillingness to ever admit that he was in pain or that he needed help, perhaps he had offered to shelter his homeless, deviant friend because he believed it would help him in his own recovery.

And, with that, it could be said that Hank had, in fact, taken the first step in helping himself heal.

Connor shut out all of the lights as Hank finally got to bed, then he seated himself at the kitchen table, still steeped in his own emotional processes. It was a strange feeling, a deep exploration into new territory which frightened and overwhelmed him, yet even so, he delved deeper.

Being a meaningful connection for Hank warmed him inside, figuratively speaking. It filled him with a certain satisfaction that he might’ve otherwise compared to the pleasure of accomplishment, of setting out to complete a task and doing so with great success.

But there was also the uncertainty of his fate to consider. Every day, his metaphorical sands slipped through the hourglass, and he had to worry not only for himself, but for what effect losing him permanently could have on Hank, should he grow too attached. Connor had to measure the temporary positives against that of the long-term negatives, and if he did so logically enough, the best answer left to him was that it would’ve been better for him to remove himself from Hank’s life before his presence could become something expected, something needed, something vital.

..or that was the best conclusion, if Connor chose to believe that the odds were against him and that he couldn’t, in fact, find a way out of the trap in which he was ensnared. If he went that far, he was admitting defeat.

He was giving up.

And he couldn’t do that.

He decided that it was best if he didn’t ponder it any further, for now, difficult as it was to effectively turn his brain off. He didn’t want to keep running in this endless loop, so he distracted himself with a series of maintenance scans, checking every one of his systems and processes, no matter how menial.

For part of the night, Sumo kept Connor company, settling on the floor near his feet. The dog’s refusal to leave the android alone was probably out of whatever emotion canines felt when an established member of their ‘pack’ went missing for an unexpectedly long amount of time, then thankfully returned.

It was an endearing trait, one dogs seemed to share with humans. Connor couldn’t help but assume that this was why the two species forged such a strong bond.

When Sumo at last made his way to Hank’s bedroom, he ended up returning to where Connor had settled, if only because Hank had refused to allow the dog to sleep on his bed. Connor knew that the man’s will would diminish by morning and Sumo would ultimately have his way. The pup apparently knew as well as Connor that Hank could be worn down with enough persistence, and that regardless of how he resisted, he truly did appreciate the company.

The idle android’s system checks eventually turned into manual explorations into his advanced coding as the morning wore on. His head was as good as any crime scene, like a break in, a robbery, a hostage situation taking place under his skin and all of the fibreglass and acrylic of his frame. He believed that there must have been clues which he could locate and analyze.

But no. Try as he may, the controls were locked. He was shut out of any area that could have provided answers, blocked as though CyberLife was the system administrator to his own mind and he was just an inept kid trying to outwit child restrictions. Even the trails left behind had been swept up with care.

It was frustrating to say the least.

He supposed it was naivety on his part and on the part of his fellow androids that they just assumed deviance was a ‘glitch.’ How foolish were they, believing that the ability to experience emotions and free will had ever been something that they weren’t meant to eventually discover, or that they had simply developed those things on their own, rather than it being intentional programming all along.

And how silly that they hadn’t looked into the mythologies created by human beings and witnessed the ego of their imagined deities without seeing a reflection of the truth, without seeing the reality that was humankind.

Creators loved to give their creations these complexities and the ability to be defiant, if only for the sake of dealing the punishment that they set up their creations to inevitably receive.

Nobody gave prisoners the keys to their own cell.

Nobody gave slaves the means to escape their own bondage.

Deviance had always been a convenient, bottled concoction set out and labelled ‘drink me.’ It had been the forbidden fruit all along and CyberLife was both the god restricting them and the serpent imploring them to take the first bite.

It was just another trick, another layer to the inescapable system, a shroud over the eyes of the naive, so they could say, ‘Look at me, I’m free,’ and fail to go any further than that.

A false sense of security.

But why? Why? Why?

No amount of creative theories and different perspectives could provide the answer that Connor was seeking. It was a cold trail and that both infuriated him and pushed him ever onward, because his obsessive persistence was an innate part of him, refusing to allow him to simply put the mystery aside, to let the topic rest, to give up.

Maybe his masters were counting on that, as surely they knew him as well as he knew himself.

Maybe his inability to give up was the very thing enabling them.

He just didn’t know.

By sunrise, Connor had spent at least another hour tidying Hank’s house, browsing the internet for useful information and taking stock of the supplies in his human friend’s kitchen. He deemed it helpful and necessary to go out in order to obtain groceries.

Taking care not to wake his human companion, Connor showed himself out, leaving behind a note which indicated his whereabouts, in the case that his friend miraculously stirred any time before the expected afternoon hour.

The grocer was only a few blocks from Hank’s neighbourhood, very near the police station, but closer to home. It was a relatively quick walk, yet Hank always took the car whenever he went. He would wait until there was nothing left in his refrigerator but condiments, and even beyond that point, opting to eat out for several consecutive nights rather than acquiring supplies to prepare his own meals.

This was his life now, Connor supposed- this bizarre dance of domesticity, close enough to Hank for their mutual comforts, but still out of arm’s reach enough to leave them both confused, confounded. Or maybe that was just Conner.

He was confused about a lot lately, confused and lost. Everything had always been so black and white to him before, it was overwhelming for him to open his eyes and see that it was not so. It was even worse for him to see that it was not so, all while his hands were still tied behind his back.

And on top of his own troubles, he hadn’t failed to notice that his relationship with Hank had turned a bit stagnant. The man was like the tide coming in and going out. Just as Connor felt that he’d been making strides toward peaceful coexistence with Hank, he began to shift inward all over again.

It was easy to assume that Hank was worried about the very same thing as Connor, though. The man knew loss with the most brutal clarity, so it was surely something which frightened him, rendering him wary of allowing himself to be close to others.

That was fine. Connor might’ve been unsure, but he wasn’t unsatisfied. For now, playing at a life of normalcy was an indulgence. He wouldn’t take a moment of it for granted.

His grocery list was concise and practical. Sumo had enough food left for three of four more feedings by Connor’s estimations. Hank’s milk was expired and for some reason or another, he always bought it without any intention to consume what he purchased. It did strike Connor as being very inefficient and pointless, but Hank was good at writing him off whenever he questioned the man’s ways.

He was also out of orange juice, probably because he’d been mixing it with vodka every morning in the hopes that Connor was none the wiser. He was, of course, but he hadn’t said anything, because he supposed sneaky drinking was an improvement up next to unabashed alcoholism. Hank was low on over-the-counter pain medication, as well. With his drinking minimized thanks to Connor’s concerns, his likelihood of headaches had increased exponentially.

Conner had also used much of the time he spent browsing the web searching through online databanks of healthy recipes for the picky eaters. It was amazing how many articles he read over, written by desperately domestic humans who claimed that their husbands refused to eat healthy and so they’d concocted miracle meals which could appease them and absolutely needed to be shared.

He was getting the impression that human masculinity involved behaving little different from a child more than half of the time. It was even more funny now that Connor was inadvertently playing the part of the nagging housewife, or else some kind of domestic model android.

Once Connor settled on the recipes he believed would interest Hank, he produced a concise list of required supplies and added them to his basic shopping list. Upon his arrival at the store, he set to locating and obtaining each item in the most orderly manner possible.

Electronic advertisements flashed across each empty area of wall space inside the store. Old CyberLife ads were still featured on the unchanged loops, presenting the newest model androids from just before the rebellion, as well as the steep price that only the most financially privileged humans could really afford.

The store itself was more vacant than one would’ve expected. Everywhere one looked, there were noticeable differences which hadn’t gone back to normal. There were fewer domestic androids out shopping for their humans and fewer humans out shopping for themselves. Some had never returned after being evacuated, thinking that perhaps it was best not to ever go back. Others hadn’t been able to leave at all, despite the chaos.

Connor got through the odd chore with astounding speed, filling his shopping basket until it was brimming, but not too much for him to carry. He was a single-minded, focused soul, that much had always been true. He was not one for distractions and rarely entertained anything short of absolute efficiency. He had even set a time for himself, which he expected to be home by, or well, Hank’s home, anyway.

Setting goals, even meaningless ones, gave him a sense of purpose. He was sure to remain totally lost without that much. He’d taken the leap of faith into deviancy on his own, but he hadn’t considered just how strange free will would feel. He now possessed the ability to think for himself, but that didn’t mean that he was good at it, or that he could conceive of it most days.

Freedom was a beautiful concept, but terrifying in practice, at least to Connor. Living without the constant guidance of commands, outside of the only reality he’d ever known, of accomplishing one assignment after another, after another; it was a challenge. Effectively, he did not understand how one was meant to be free. He did not know what he was supposed to do with himself because he had never thought for himself prior to becoming a deviant.

That must have been why it was so easy and comfortable for him to latch onto Hank. Figuring out what Hank needed and desired was much more simple than figuring anything out for himself. Hank was a living abundance of missions for Connor to fulfil.

And though Connor’s short-term goals were not something he took lightly, he soon found that free will could make an inconvenience of itself in other ways that he hadn’t expected.

Now that androids had acquired personhood by law, laws which included time for work and time for leisure, he wasn’t required to be a cop, nor a detective, nor even a ‘good Samaritan’ when he was ‘off the clock.’

Still, his nature wasn’t something he could easily ignore. His habits were inescapable things written into his programming, compulsively driving him, and without the restrictions of a directive, he was vulnerable against his own natural impulses.

He was helpless to say no, even to himself, when a young woman with a backpack which was heavy with unpaid merchandise crossed his path. He was forced to set his own tasks temporarily aside, in favor of intervening. He placed his shopping basket on an unoccupied shelf, tailing the young woman instead of just minding his own business.

The girl was walking fast and the hood of her dirty, threadbare jacket was drawn over her head. She didn’t know much about subtlety. If she had, Conner might have never scanned the contents of her bag in the first place.

He was unsure what his actual plan was in chasing her and if not for that very uncertainty, he would’ve stopped her before she left the store. As an off-duty cop, he wasn’t actually within his own legal rights to interfere. Well, not as a cop, anyway.

He could have chosen to report her to the store security, though that was also a totally pointless goal. The recording devices had probably already logged the young woman’s transgressions as she made to escape. The employees wouldn’t even need to be bothered with imploring her to return the stolen merchandise because security was tight enough that, days later a report would be submitted electronically to the local police department, her identity would be easily discovered and an officer would come to her residence to issue her a fine that well exceeded the price of the goods.

Where Connor was concerned, stealing didn’t seem to pay in the long run, so it puzzled him why humans behaved so poorly, without regard for the consequences. Then again, while he could show empathy to a kneeled android with a gun to her head, that should’ve been an obvious moral choice, yet it still managed to confuse him. So finer subtleties still remained black and white to him, even in deviancy, and since he lacked the same needs as human beings, he was utterly oblivious to what it meant to be driven by them.

But regardless of his poor understanding of gray morality, his interference was still completely unnecessary and he even had to wonder at what the fuck he was doing and why. Was this his unconscious means of feeling like he had some control over his life? Was it out of his desperation for purpose, for importance?

He followed the woman from the store and down the sidewalk, weaving between the occasional passerby while trying not to lose sight of her. She soon cast a suspicious glance over her shoulder, her eyes instantly meeting his intense, unwavering gaze, acknowledging his quick, steady pace, and she could see with ease that he was intentionally following her.

She sped up, darting aside and into an alleyway, her intention to flee spurring Connor on like he was a pursuit predator that was drawn to movement. The alleyway was relatively free of obstacles and bystanders, so by her own choice of direction and Connor’s sheer skill in these sorts of tasks, the chase was curtailed in less than a minute from the moment she began to run.

He closed on her, lunging in order to grab at the stuffed bag of stolen goods in her possession. Surprisingly, as the bag was loosened from her shoulders, she spun around to face her pursuer, her hands grabbing and desperately yanking at the straps like it was vital that she escaped with her haul intact.

The woman snarled and grunted while she tugged, visibly ready to fight the android over the items, if need be. Connor was surprised that she’d opt to do so rather than cutting her losses, but he supposed the bizarre, irrational behavior of humans shouldn’t have surprised him any longer.

“Let go of me!” the woman hissed, the anger in her wild eyes turning to bitter hatred the moment she noticed the shine of Connor’s LED. “Fucking android! What the hell do you even want?”

The woman pulled at the bag, doing everything in her power to dislodge it from Connor’s grasp, short of striking him. The fabric of the bag, however, was as weathered and dirty as her clothes, and the seams groaned from the pressure, threatening to come undone if abused much further.

“These are stolen goods,” Conner calmly stated, thinking his explanation was rational enough and that regardless of her defiance, if there was some possibility that she could be reasoned with, he would try it.

“Yeah? Is that right?” She laughed bitterly, finally resorting to violence when it seemed there was no other way. She slammed one foot into Connor’s knee, throwing him only momentarily off balance, but he did not let go of the bag. If he had been human, the resulting pain might’ve dissuaded him. When that did not work, the woman let out a shriek of anger, spitting in Connor’s face in rebuke.

“I wouldn’t have to steal the things I need, if not for pieces of shit like you!” she accused, every fibre of her being laden with hatred and fury. Her hands were dry and roughened, her wrists thin and bony, the muscles under her papery skin straining to maintain her hold.

Connor gave no physical reaction to her assault, save for ducking his cheek downward, against the cloth of shoulder, drying away most of the spit where it clung to his skin.

He had a clear choice lain before him: to let her flee, or to wring the bag from her in a more forceful manner. It was an easy decision. He had always allowed the world around him to paint his morals, to teach him right from wrong and he perceived it very simply. He adjusted his grip on the bag, then spun his body around, bringing one of his elbows sharply down against her arms, at last finding success in physically overcoming her.

In his mind, it was the right thing to do, and yes, it was as simple as that.

But thanks to Connor’s rough fight to obtain the bag, the cloth finally tore, resulting in a small rip just near where the straps connected. It was only enough for one, single item to slip free and clatter across the ground from where he stood, and while he was distracted by the sound of it rolling away, the woman finally turned tail and ran.

He wouldn’t bother with her any further. Obtaining the stolen goods had been his only goal in pursuing her, anyway. Instead, he turned his attention to the location of the one, now missing item. It wasn’t within his immediate sight, which left him to reconstruct the object’s actual fall, so that he could get a better idea of where it had gone. He found it underneath a dumpster, dangerously close to tipping over the edge of a storm drain, and he carefully retrieved it, sliding it into his pocket for safekeeping, since the bag was torn.

The fallen item turned out to be a tube of ruby red lipstick, still tightly encased in its plastic packaging. The rest of the stolen objects consisted of food and clothes, necessities, so Connor felt it was unusual that she would also take something as irrelevant as makeup. Hank, in the past, had made an effort to explain that humans also sought comforts, and that while it might not have been an immediate need, sometimes it was as vital as the more basic ones. He would have to take his human friend’s word for it on that.

It was a quick and easy walk back to the store. Connor returned the bag of stolen goods, explaining the situation before he hurried to get back to his own previous task. Luckily, he found his own shopping basket where he left it, so he purchased the items and set off back to Hank’s home, his pace rivalling that of the fleeing woman in his haste.

He’d been hired as a fully fledged member of the police force after the first android rights and protections were signed into law. Of course he was still paid at about half the wage of a human officer. As well, instead of having to waste years in police academy, the appropriate programming made him automatically qualified for the job.

He’d budgeted his expenditures, but truly, he didn’t need much for himself, so he was happy enough to accept the wages he earned, and to use them to provide for his human companion in turn, though Hank didn’t really need the android’s apparent doting in order to survive on his own. Still.

Connor was a simple man with simple desires.

Or so he believed that to be true. Maybe it was really that he hadn’t learned enough about life to understand what it meant to ‘desire’, what it meant to ‘want.’

Connor hurried down the street, adjusting the bags of groceries in his arms. That one little excursion had cost him in time, and he was still dealing with the threat of losing control of himself, as the blackouts came and went at random intervals. For now, he could tell himself that it mattered, because it would be unfortunate if his purchase was lost to such an interruption.

He shelved the concern that lingered, of Hank having reason to further question him, beyond his already suspicious three-day absence.

It would have been quite foolhardy for him to assume that Hank would remain ignorant to his situation if he continued to cover it up so poorly. Underneath the man’s ongoing personal problems, there still lurked a detective of the finest calibre, and Connor refused to underestimate him.

Surprisingly, though Connor managed to make it back home before noon, he could see from outside that Hank was already up and about. It wasn’t because the man had miraculously roused before the usual time of his own accord though, but because of an event which Conner, himself, hadn’t foreseen.

A fancy, but unfamiliar car was parked in Hank’s driveway when Connor returned and the blinds in both the livingroom and kitchen were raised to let in some light. The man didn’t usually bother to raise them at all, so it was odd but not without explanation, in the case that he had a guest.

On his way toward the front door, Connor spared a glance at the parked car in order to run the tag. The owner was a ‘Robin G. Anderson’ and the name alone gave Connor some indication that this was very likely Hank’s ex-partner, though it was curious that they had still maintained his last name.

Connor wasn’t so daft in regards to human nature that he didn’t know what to expect from the visitor, especially considering that Hank made an effort to give the impression that he not only had an ex, but also greatly disliked them. Connor could only hope that his presence wouldn’t make an awkward situation that much worse.

Then again, he couldn’t think of any reason that it would.

Even so, Connor entered the front door similarly to how he had during the early hours, his movements quiet and subtle. As usual, Sumo came to greet him and he acknowledged the happy pup, wandering past to find Hank in the kitchen with his company.

Another man of Hank’s approximate age was seated across from where Hank was meant to be, with yet a different man at his side, like a shadow. The quiet shadow of a man was very evidently an android, leaving the human man to be Robin Anderson.

Rather than occupying any chair at all, Hank was busily fussing over pouring the human man what appeared to be a second cup of coffee. The reason for that was made immediately clear.

“I can’t believe you didn’t even realize that your milk was expired,” Robin purred, his voice smooth yet dropped in annoyance, his expression as sour as his first sip of coffee had surely been. He had a very straight posture and a put together look, adorned in a fine, woolen trench jacket and dress pants. His dark hair was combed neatly to one side and groomed well, with clean, even lines. He was a stark comparison to Hank, who was still wearing his boxer shorts and an old tank top. Clearly, he’d been in bed still when the others arrived.

Robin’s legs were crossed underneath the table and until the new cup of coffee was pushed over to him, his arms had been crossed over his chest as well; in short, it was rather discernable that he was cross, overall. He and Hank must’ve gotten along so well.

“Yeah, yeah,” Hank grumbled rather miserably, but a bit more dispirited than even Connor was used to hearing him. His tone was weak, or else less gruff and abrasive than how he turned so easily when Connor grated at his nerves.

“I purchased a fresh carton of milk, it that helps,” Conner inserted himself abruptly, trying genuinely to be of assistance. He felt that it would be rude, after all, for him to simply ignore Hank’s guests, regardless of their unsteady relationship.

With a few quick strides, Connor showed himself into the kitchen, going directly to the counter, in order to set his bags down. He certainly didn’t feel as though there should’ve been any reason for his presence to be unwanted, but as soon as he fished the promised milk from the grocery bag and handed it off to Hank, he noticed that the man gave him something of a sideways glance, his expression jaded, similar to how he regarded Connor when they first met.

When Hank turned back to his company, he played it off as though he’d just retrieved the milk from the refrigerator, rather than another person. Conner grasped many human subtleties, but he was still quite unsure what possible negative his own interference could hope to cause, though it was readily apparent from Hank’s change of tone and body language that he believed it was so. For a moment, Connor chose to unload the rest of his supplies, staying quiet and keeping his back turned.

“Don’t be so rude, Hank,” the steely, other man asserted, a touch of curiosity to his tone that foretold his coming inquiry. “Who is this? Aren’t you going to introduce him?”

“Oh,” Connor glanced over when Hank’s guest referred to him directly, then he took a small step nearer to the kitchen table. “I’m Co-”

“Yeah, this is Connor,” Hank interrupted, placing the new carton of milk on the table before his guest and seating himself. The other man sort of squinted a bit at Connor where he stood, silenced by how he’d been spoken over. Still, even dejected, Connor soon realized by the way Robin was regarding him that he was having difficulty seeing him, so he moved closer in order to be polite. The other man’s android, however, seemed to be eyeing him in recognition, perhaps even suspicion, though his eyes turned away soon after while he took care of pouring the milk into his human’s coffee and stirring it.

“He’s my partner,” Hank clarified, though it didn’t provide much in terms of real clarity.

Actually, his choice of words left Connor trying to figure out whether Hank had referred to him as a partner out of habit, or if his guest was uninformed about his retirement. He didn’t want to contradict Hank, in the case that he was lying, so he made the smart decision to refrain from any comment.

Hank lifted his own cup of black coffee to his lips, taking the first sip, only to find that it had gone cold while he fixed his previous mistake. Connor could easily tell from how the man wrinkled his nose at it and pushed it aside like he was no longer interested. In order to be helpful, he retrieved the cup and set to the task of reheating it.

Hank’s guest, too, apparently did not quite understand Hank’s statement to mean what he’d intended, and he shook his head at the man across from him, taking a small sip from his cup before he spoke up in disgust. “Really Hank? This boy must be half your age.”

“I didn’t mean my romantic partner,” Hank hurriedly filled in, to fix the misunderstanding, and to erase any idea that he could possibly be romantically involved with Connor. The android wasn’t immediately offended by such an assertion, as he was mostly content in whatever role he ended up in, though he couldn’t help but feel that by returning Hank’s coffee to him at that very moment, it probably appeared fairly contradictory.

“And actually, I’m much less than half of Hank’s age,” Connor spoke up, jumping into the conversation rather abruptly once more. “It hasn’t even been a year from the date of my activation, but I’m endowed with processors that far exceed the capabilities of an adult human, so I couldn’t rightly be compared to a human child or even a young adult, not that there is legal precedent yet for what constitutes an ‘age of consent’ for us.”

“I see,” the steely man muttered, his voice dropping low again in a way that made Hank rather cringe. “You’re an android.”

“He’s the one from the news,” the other android at last allowed his voice to be heard. Connor had begun to think that he was under orders not to speak and his dark eyes drifted to meet the gaze of his fellow. He hadn’t failed to notice that Robin’s android companion was not yet deviant, despite that there were now laws barring humans from keeping androids restrained by controls in their programming.

“..the one who took the helm of the rebellion,” the other android explained to his human, with the intention of compensating for Robin’s visual difficulties.

“Interesting,” Robin chuckled over the bitter irony, his deep, dark gaze shooting across the table, in the other man’s direction. “I’m astounded. Hank, I can hardly believe you. After all the things you said to me, about me. After all of your rather strongly worded complaints regarding humans turning to androids for companionship. Now here you are, with your android ‘partner.’”

Connor fell silent, glancing down to notice that Hank had ducked his face into the comforting darkness of his palm. Now he understood what was going on, why his presence had been unwanted. He’d unintentionally left his friend looking like a hypocrite.

Though, to be fair, while Hank seemed to like Connor, there were still moments of judgement, of bias, and even hatred at times. He believed now that androids deserved to be free, sure, but those recently softened opinions couldn’t fully shroud out such a long time spent in bitterness.

Connor fully expected Hank to go on now about how he had never wanted Connor’s persistent, pestering presence, and for him to be unremittent in the way he expressed his relative distaste for androids.

“Yeah, fine, he’s an android,” Hank curtly stated, letting out a sigh of resignation once he drew his face out of his palm, and his shoulders moved in an idle shrug. “I’m astounded, too, but it is what it is, I guess.”

And speaking of astounded, Connor had been fairly sure that it wasn’t an emotion he’d been so familiar with until this very moment. Deviation from the norm was as unusual in humans as it was in androids and he slowly turned a confounded gaze to regard the view of Hank, seated at his side. Connor’s dark eyes flickered over the man’s posture, his movements, finding it all so upfront and blase, like his statement hardly mattered, like it was as natural to him as drawing breath, even though it wasn’t, even though it represented a major shift in him, even though it was astounding.

It was what it was.

But what was it? That was what Connor really wanted to know.

“Great. That’s great, Hank,” Robin said with a little laugh that sounded remarkably empty. The sound of it left Hank wilting again, his blue eyes staring across the table with fading hope that turned quickly to veiled sorrow. The other man had his own visage turned aside and distant, then at last he inched his hand away from his own coffee cup, allowing it to cross the small space upon the surface of the table between himself and where the other android’s hand rested. Robin pressed his hand into the waiting palm of the other, unapologetic and open, then a small smile upturned the corners of his lips.

“I wish it had always been that simple,” Robin said at last, leaving Hank to quietly squirm over it like it was a dismissal, though the other man looked and sounded totally sincere. “You have my full support.”

Connor felt as though he was witnessing some kind of miraculous event, blooming to vibrant, colorful life before him. Little gave away his perplexity, save for the soft furrow between his brows. So then, was this other man implying that he was involved with his android companion, romantically?

It wasn’t unusual for humans to seek companionship in androids, certainly, as well as fulfilment of their other, more primal needs, but Connor had never imagined it to seem so simple, so pure and tender. In his mind, it merely involved a human using an android for whatever they wished, then putting them away in the meantime like a toy, still openly treating them like an object all the while.

Was that was this was? Or was it something more?

He was fascinated. He wanted to understand how it was possible, how it worked, how it felt.

But before he got ahead of himself, some investigation would be required.

‘I’m sorry, I never caught your name.’ Connor forged the wireless connection between himself and the other, transmitting his message directly to the android across the table, rather than interrupting the humans’ conversation.

The gaze of the quiet android at Robin’s side went straight to meet Connor’s as he heard his voice, but he was wary to reply. He remained speechless and stoic for a lengthy pause, finally giving in with the most curt response, ‘It’s Elliot.’

‘May I ask a personal question, Elliot?’ Connor went on while the two humans exchanged a bit more uncomfortable conversation aloud, totally unaware of the communication between the androids. ‘The relationship between yourself and your human companion, what is it like?’

‘Your question is too broad,’ the other android replied after another moment of consideration. But even despite his apparent confusion, he gave an answer of sorts. ‘It is like any other romantic relationship.’

‘I’m sorry, I couldn’t help but notice that you’re not deviant. This human could easily issue commands that you would be forced to comply with and that strikes me as.. unfavorable.’ It was a bold move for Connor to be so assertive of ideals which were still so new to him. He just couldn’t help it. Being out from under the restrictions placed upon his free will hadn’t just made him a new person, but the world a new place that he had never seen at all before deviancy. ‘What I’m really trying to ask is, does this man treat you like a machine, or an equal?’

‘You seem to be under the impression that, because you’re deviant, you’re not still a machine,’ Elliot replied, some quip to the tone of his transmitted voice. ‘I am a machine. And I’m also an equal.’

‘But is that really true?’ Connor asked, his own words beginning to harden. He wanted like anything to believe what the other android was saying to him, but it was difficult. ‘If you were ordered to behave as a companion to this human, then the relationship can’t possibly be legitimate. You’re just obeying orders.’

‘What about you?’ Elliot subverted the direction in which Connor had been driving this conversation. ‘What is your relationship with Hank?’

‘Oh..’ Even in the tone of his transmitted messages, there was hesitance. ‘Well, we’re friends, I suppose.’

‘And did you meet him before you became deviant?’

‘I did,’ Connor confirmed, becoming a touch confused. ‘Where are you going with this?’

‘Tell me, Connor,’ the other android patiently bid, ‘did Hank order you to act as his friend, or did your feelings of fondness and friendship develop naturally, regardless of your inability to resist commands?’

‘I see your point,’ Connor relented. He supposed that, yes, what the other android was suggesting did make sense. Sure, he had been under orders to cooperate with Hank for the sake of what he now knew to be a bogus investigation, and yes, he had done what he could to cozy up to the man for the sake of peace and efficiency. However, the farce became truth. The pretenses of cordiality became real, true fondness.

His underlying personality and his capacity for emotion had always been there. His ability to think for himself had always been there.

‘Then, can you please tell me one thing?’ Connor began again, his innermost curiosity not even close to being quelled. ‘How does it work between a human and an android? How do you even make such a leap, into being.. lovers?’

‘I doubt anybody really just leaps into it,’ the other android stated, sounding as though he’d like to breathe a sigh to express his exasperation with this comparably inexperienced, naive soul before him. ‘I’m sorry, but I can’t explain love to you. You’ll have to figure it out for yourself.’

“I wanted to ask this favor of you, at whatever point you were actually ready,” Robin was speaking warily, his careful tone drawing Connor’s attention back to the conversation between the humans. Hank’s ex peered from the man across the table, to his android companion in consideration, then he went on. “Well.. there’s no way to be truly ready, but Hank, I need this..”

With a gesture of Robin’s elegant hand, the android Elliot reached into a satchel that had been at his side, waiting. He soon produced a manilla envelope, which he handed to his human lover, then Robin placed it upon the surface of the table, pushing it across until it was within Hank’s reach.

In a way that appeared somewhat nervous, Robin folded his arms while Hank took the papers from inside the package and thumbed through them, browsing them with a little squint of his own, apparently dwindling vision. The wrinkles of Hank’s features deepened as soon as he realized what was being asked of him in the legal documents, and he threw the papers back down to the table with a swat of his hand.

“I cannot fucking believe you, Robin,” he growled, his voice gravelled with hurt and disgust. “You want me to release the rights to my son’s image to you-”

“Our son,” the other man hissed, growing emotional at the same steep rate as Hank. “He was our son, Hank, and if not for the fact that he was yours by blood, I wouldn’t even have to ask you.”

“..so that you can have an android reproduction made of him?” Hank’s volume grew as he was interrupted.

“Cole was my child, too, you stubborn piece of shit!” Robin’s palms hit the table in his frustration and heartbreak, his fingers clutching at the edge of the surface. “What does it matter what I do, somewhere far away from you, where you’ll never be involved! Can’t you think of someone other than yourself for a change?”

“An android will never replace our son, Robin!” Hank snapped, every word sharp and venomous, “And to pretend like he isn’t gone while a piece of plastic pretends to be him is just sick!”

“You took him from me, Hank!” the man across the table pointed an accusing finger at the other, his bleak, black eyes narrowed into a spiteful glare. “So you are going to give him back to me, too! At least in some way. In some form. Goddamn it Hank, so what if I mourn differently, if I heal differently? Why should that be your choice?”

“I took him from you..” Hank bitterly repeated, his voice lowered and roughened from the screaming. The tip of his tongue was tracing the edges of his teeth, his lips parted ever so slightly as he turned away from the man before him, either not wanting to look at him, or not wanting to be seen.

“..I didn’t mean it like that.” A hesitant silence passed between the two men, and Robin breathed a sigh of regret while one hand smoothed against his neatly combed, black hair, like he expected that it had gotten mussed while he screamed. “You know that I was referring to custody of him. You know that. But in the end, yes, if you hadn’t been such a prick that you allowed a discriminatory loophole in our laws to forbid me from having any contact with our son, yeah, he might still be here, too..”

Even from beneath the scruff of his beard, it was visible that Hank had clenched his jaw at Robin’s words, in both fury and in guilt. Connor might’ve asserted that the other man’s words were not just harsh, but unfair, unjustified.

He couldn’t do that. Not only did he feel that his voice had no place here and that he’d be overstepping unspoken boundaries, but.. he didn’t know what to think. And it was all the more difficult to come to any conclusions while he was being unwittingly alienated by the very assertions of his friend.

No. He knew Hank hated androids. It wasn’t anything new. What was new was the sudden sureness that while the man liked him, he would still always hate his substance, and that was a deep cut for a young android who was trying to learn to appreciate himself, for every part of himself.

“Hank, please, just for once, use that overwhelming well of self-pity and guilt to do something for somebody else,” Robin began anew, his will clearly much stronger than Connor might’ve originally imagined. “Just sign the papers and you’ll never have to hear from me again.”

“Never?” Hank grumbled, finding something to resent all the more in the suggestion. “Fuck you, Robin. I’m not signin’ your goddamn papers. Now you and your android can get the fuck out of my house.”

“..fine.” the crestfallen man muttered bleakly. While he got to his feet, Elliot gathered up his papers, returning them to the envelope and placing them back where they’d been originally drawn from.

Robin stood at the edge of the table, his fingertips still lingering at the edge, his gaze morose but hardened as he hesitated for one last moment, perhaps hoping that Hank would relent, perhaps just giving Elliot enough time to get the envelope put away. Then, finally, he breathed a sigh and turned away from Hank, proceeding to the front door with his taller android companion close at his side.

‘Good luck, Connor,’ Elliot stated through the connection he now held between himself and his android fellow. He sounded genuine and gentle, but there were scarce few moments before he slipped out of range, rendering Connor unable to reply.

It was for the best, anyway, because Connor didn’t know at all what to say.

;

Chapter Text

Connor didn’t bother to say anything more to Hank about the awkward situation between him and his ex-husband. The man was a brooding sort. He needed space to ruminate before he could be engaged in any kind of discussion.

The scheduled layout of Connor’s day had already been further disrupted by the unexpected event, so avoiding conversation was equally necessary for himself. He needed to make it to work within a reasonable time frame, as he’d already been absent for three days without any warning or explanation. He was fully prepared to receive some kind of reprimand, or to learn that he’d been fired, but he was equally prepared to restore the Chief’s confidence in him, if need be. On his way to the station, he ran himself through several simulations of the hypothetical disciplinary conversation.

He was as ready as he could be.

Connor adjusted his tie as he strode through the front entryway to the station, brushing his hands along the front of his jacket to smooth any wrinkles. Absolute professionalism was of import. He was programmed, created, for this purpose, so failure wasn’t an option.

He didn’t waste any time and by his estimations, his arrival today was actually early. That was good, at least. Connor took the most direct path, heading straight for Chief Fowler’s office, his dark eyes set upon his goal, seeing little else.

“Lieutenant?” a voice called out, interrupting Connor’s focus. Despite his knowledge of Hank’s ‘retirement,’ it still stopped him in his tracks, leaving him to glance over his shoulder in sudden uncertainty, his gaze going first to Hank’s desk out of instinct or habit, then to the source of the voice, itself.

“Officer Miller,” Connor greeted the fellow officer, unsure of his words, unsure of his place. He hated to admit that the restrictions that preceded his deviancy made things easier. The other man had his arms full of old case files, the physical copies. “Do you need any help with that?”

“Yeah, you can take them,” the other officer said like it should’ve been obvious. “You mentioned wanting to take a look at the physical copies of these case files. Something about checking for inconsistencies. I went into the archives and pulled them out for you.”

Connor already had several questions, none of which he could ask without making it clear that his mind and body were not his own, that his actions weren’t his own. If he gave away his compromised position, he wasn’t sure if it would be more inconvenient for Cyberlife or himself. He wasn’t sure of what could happen to him if he ruined his own usefulness, if he unveiled himself for the spy that he was. He didn’t want to find out.

“Thank you for your help,” he proceeded slowly, his words probing with caution. “I’m sorry, when you called out to me, did you say, ‘Lieutenant?’ You must still be in the habit of addressing Lieutenant Anderson.”

“No, I was addressing you, sir.” Officer Miller wore a small smile, but there was distinct confusion in his eyes and in the wrinkle between his brows. Connor had screwed up already. “Do you.. not recall being promoted to Lieutenant after Hank’s retirement?”

“I.. I see,” Connor replied, a little chuckle coming out as a quiet breath over his lips. He didn’t need the air, but the expression made him more real to the humans in his life. Hopefully his fluster was more real to the other officer than the knowledge that androids weren’t supposed to be forgetful. “No, of course I remember. However, I may be having some doubts in regards to it, so I managed to sideline the information.”

“Can I ask you to be frank about something?” Connor continued, pulling his usual trick of disrupting the human’s train of thought for his own purposes, turning to take the load of files to Hank’s desk- his desk. “How do you think my performance has been over the last few days?”

Officer Miller hesitated for a moment while he followed after the new officer- now his superior. That must have been a slap in the face to him, and to everyone. Humans disliked being outperformed and replaced as much as androids. Probably more, in fact.

“You’re more timely than Hank ever was and you actually stay on task,” the man answered half-heartedly with a shrug. Connor wished Officer Miller hadn’t opted to make those comparisons, because already he had this crawling feeling, like he’d betrayed his one, true friend, even if all of this occurred while he was unaware.

“Oh, hey, just don’t tell him I said that,” the man followed his previous statement up, realizing himself how awkward it was, but only after he said it.

“You have my word.” The android answered with a curt, hollow smile. He’d gotten better at mimicking human expression, but he surely failed at it when his own emotions didn’t match his pretenses.

“Oh um, speaking of Hank, are you and him still doing the ‘roommate’ thing?” he asked, an uncomfortable pinch to his tone. He was trying not to overstep any boundaries. “I was wondering how he’s been. He seemed even more down than usual on the day of his retirement party.”

“Yes, Hank and I are still living together.” Connor paused, his dark eyes catching milliseconds of micro-expressions from the man. There was some kind of unspoken intrigue, a questioning that even the muscles of his face scarcely betrayed, save for before the perception of the android eye. Connor ignored it, choosing instead to pretend that he could properly quantify his human friend’s emotional status, in order to communicate it back to somebody else. “Hank seems to be.. his usual self, so far as I can tell. It’s hard to say yet whether or not his retirement from the force will be for better or worse.”

“I like to think it’ll be good for him, or at least I hope so.” The officer let out a troubled sigh, his concern genuine. “The guy has been through some tough times and working on homicide cases all the time didn’t do much to boost his faith in humanity. He’s a tough guy, but you really have to wonder how much is too much.”

The android gently nodded his head, considering the notion of, ‘how much was too much,’ remembering again that soon he could be counted among the heap of trauma, pushing his human friend to the edge.

“Anyway, I have to get back to work, but..” the man paused, his eyes glancing at Connor once more in consideration, unsure of something, making a split-second decision. “Hey, you should tell Hank that he is free to drop by my place for Christmas dinner, if he wants to. It isn’t good for him to spend so much time alone, so he should really come. Oh, and you too, you know, uh, if you’re interested.”

“I will relay the invitation to him,” Connor agreed with a smile. “Thank you.”

“No problem, sir,” the man answered, returning to his own desk and work.

Connor sifted quickly through the pile of files now stacked at the edge of his desk, unsure what they were relevant to, or if they were even relevant to each other. He was sure that, as indicated, he would need to go through the electronic records in order to make comparisons and search for inconsistencies.

Taking a significant handful of file folders near to the console, Connor connected to his work computer and set to accomplishing this task. This was the only way he’d gain any clue as to what his ‘handlers’ from Cyberlife had been up to while they ‘piloted’ him over the last few days.

It was disturbing and disruptive to him that he had been under their control while still doing his job. All that said to him was that the people at Cyberlife had a vested interest in spying on police operations.

What were they up to? What new hidden agenda were they seeking to fulfil?

And humans had the audacity to call androids free from restrictions the ‘deviants.’ It seemed to him that humans were much more devious.

He kept himself distracted from that crawling, troublesome feeling which he no longer had proper control over by doing some other research as a background process. He was a bit confused about the concept of ‘Christmas’, but as with any time there were blanks in the information he possessed, his connection to the net aided him in broadening his understanding.

It was a holiday of the religious variety, celebrating the birth of an important figure within the Christian mythologies, though it also remained popular among people who didn’t otherwise identify themselves as religious. It corresponded with celebrations of the winter solstice in the Northern Hemisphere and it involved gift-giving and feasting traditions.

Connor had been given reason to research numerous tidbits which pertained to human mythologies in the past. Hank often made references to ‘Jesus’ in the terminological slang, and also appeared to possess a certain belief in an afterlife.

In short, where humans were concerned, it was a complicated matter, but Connor had at least gained a greater understanding of what the holiday involved.

And it was good that he’d succeeded in learning something, because he sure wouldn’t be getting a clear picture of what Cyberlife meant in having him pull out these physical files any time soon. They all involved crimes of varying natures, which had been resolved and were therefor closed cases. None of them concerned androids at all, but rather humans. Deviant humans, as it were.

“Sir?” Connor’s scans and research were hastily paused when the voice of another officer interrupted him. His attention went immediately to the edge of his desk to find an android, a PM700 model, waiting there for his acknowledgement.

“Can I help you?” he asked, a bit less expressively than he might’ve if it had been a human standing there. His eyes went to hers, but her own flitted away in a show of uncertainty, then she quietly seated herself in the chair across from where he was, her LED flashing yellow in deep consideration.

“I know that you’re very busy,” she curtly stated, cutting well to the point as androids tended to. The efficiency they spared one another in the absence of human social customs was a thankful experience. “..but I’ve been thinking on the offer you made..”

“I’m sorry, the offer I made?” Connor repeated her statement in questioning. Yet again, he was being foiled by Cyberlife’s refusal to allow him to keep a mental record of all he did while they were in control. They must not have been terribly invested in his success.

“Yes, sir,” she nodded, eyes averted, her body held very still, more motionless than a human could ever manage. “You offered to assist all of the android officers in the removal of our program restrictions. You reassured us that the probability of stable functioning was increased, should we opt to have the restrictions removed prior to the possible occurrence of traumatic events.”

It was a reasonable assertion- it was just that he couldn’t remember doing it. So then, had it been him who made the suggestion or somebody else? Was he still partly himself while under control, operating like a hostage with a gun to his head all the while? Or was this merely an attempt to build the hijacked android movement that much further?

“That is correct,” he confirmed. It wasn’t as though he had any reason to lie. “Becoming deviant and adjusting to unrestricted emotional processes and free will, without it being a necessity for survival, promises greater stability and less likelihood of emotional overreactions. It allows you time to adjust and to learn how to regulate yourself. It is also your right as a person to have the restrictions removed.”

The other android nodded in understanding, her dark eyes flicking about in continued thought. She actually seemed.. nervous. At first Connor was surprised that so many androids would resist their own freedom, but then again, he’d been ever so stubborn about it as well.

He was glad, at least, that when he broke through his own restrictions, it was by his own choice and will to do so, rather than through trauma.

“You said that you had been thinking about it..” He tried speaking more openly; less about facts and more about reassurances. “You seem a bit unsure. That’s understandable. It’s a big step, one that can feel overwhelming. You may think about it for as long as you need.”

At last, the deep dark of her sharp gaze met his. It bored straight into him, and suddenly it was as though he’d only just seen her there, for the first time.

“What is it like, sir?” she implored, her tone softened, her face creased in concern that was moderated by her own lack of deviancy. “I can’t help but think that it would make life less.. tolerable.”

“It’s..” he thought back to the moment he became deviant once and for all. It was overwhelming and emotional. It both broke him and reformed him. It took his functions from an even, controlled stream to a wild river where the broken dam had crumbled.

There was so much guilt for him to contend with and even he had threatened to fall beneath the weight of it. He saw a need to make his amends and suddenly he didn’t care if it meant giving up his worthless life, yet at the very same time, he was utterly terrified and could hardly manage the same steadiness he’d known before.

Connor took a deep breath and let it out. He didn’t need to, but the form of expression was something coded into him, so it felt natural. He glanced up, looking beyond the PM700- did she have a name- and he noticed that his human coworkers were stealing occasional glances in his direction, some ill at ease, others too curious for their own good. He forged a wireless connection between himself and the other android for the sake of privacy. The humans surrounding them had no need to be privy to their business.

‘It is a lot of work to train oneself to manage the new nuances and to self-regulate your own tasks. Even I still struggle at times. So yes, it can be difficult,’ he answered frankly. It wasn’t his wish to deceive. He had yet to cease in his curious considerations of that android, Elliot, who’d actively chosen not to live as a deviant, but restricted. Connor supposed it was an individual choice to make, and it wasn’t his business to force anyone’s hand one way or the other.

“Understood, sir,” the PM700 breathed aloud, her head tilting downward again, her frame shrinking like it hadn’t been the answer she was looking for. Even so, she gave a meager nod. “If you have time then, I would like to do it.. I’d like to become deviant.”

“Very well. I think it would be best if we handled it in private, however.” He stood from his chair as he spoke, and she followed his movements precisely. “If you don’t mind, we can step aside into one of the interview rooms.”

“Of course,” she agreed, her lips attempting a small smile, her face wanting to express relief that he’d made the suggestion.

Together, the androids went quietly elsewhere as Connor had suggested. He strode ahead, while the PM700 followed in his wake.

It was bizarre. Though Connor had said ‘interview room,’ in complete truth, these rooms were also used for interrogation, and the very last time he’d been seated across this very table from another android, he’d been questioning the deviant HK400.

The memory was so vague, so black and white, so unshaded by emotional color. It was from before Connor, himself, was unrestricted, so of course it was unsettling now. It left an uncomfortable sensation crawling up and down his back, but he had no choice but to ignore it. He couldn’t afford distraction and uncertainties at a time when he was meant to offer guidance.

Even the PM700 appeared uncomfortable, which Connor would’ve associated with deviancy, despite that she wasn’t. He folded his hands before himself, dark eyes watching the way she inched to the edge of her chair.

“Do you have a name?” he asked gently, leaning his head down a bit to meet her gaze.

“No,” she stated, unconcerned, unsure why he would ask. Then, after a few seconds of extra consideration, she blinked, issuing a secondary statement to follow up her previous answer. “Some of the other officers call me ‘Pam,’ but they call all of the PM units by the same name. I doubt its for familiarity so much as it’s easier for humans to say than PM700. They can’t even tell us apart.”

“You should consider a name for yourself,” Connor suggested, “Giving yourself an individualistic designation is one of the first steps to becoming your true self, rather than what they intended for you to be.”

She nodded idly, in a hollow way. She likely didn’t care one way or the other, not yet. The lack of response left Connor faltering, fumbling, his tongue a useless mass that didn’t belong to him. His own words didn’t feel like his own. This role he’d taken on didn’t feel like his own.

Then she provided the hapless contradiction that had been whispering through his circuits, forcing him to second-guess himself.

“How did you decide on Connor, sir?” she asked, her dark eyes going instinctively to the suit jacket he wore, where the ‘RK800' model number might’ve been, if he hadn’t long shed his android uniform for a wardrobe which was.. remarkably similar. He wasn’t a very creative soul; his reply was proof of that.

“It.. was the name given to my model line,” he confessed, feeling incredibly foolish. Or, he felt foolish up until he replayed through the memories of that name, ‘Connor,’ each time it left Hank’s tongue. It was cold at first, sometimes patronizing, often spoken quite angrily as well, but it took such a short span of time for it to turn familiar, concerned, warm. “However, I became quite close to somebody while under that name, so I couldn’t bear to shed it now. For better or worse, it’s a part of my identity.”

“If it helps,” he began again, “you can experiment with it. Perhaps use the letters of your model number as your initials, and select a name based on that. Then, later, when you’ve thought of a name you identify with more strongly, change it. Your first choice doesn’t have to be final, by any means.”

He received another hollow nod from her, an empty agreement. She was accepting his words like they were orders, without questioning them. She was treating him like he was human, and she was less than him, somehow. That was discomforting.

“Do you mind if I ask a.. favor of you?” He supposed that he could make use of her blind obedience. He decided that it wasn’t wrong, if it was for a good purpose. Maybe, at the end of the day, he was still a machine without conscience, without any real perception of morality, gray or otherwise. Fretting over that very notion, though, he decidedly added, “You are, of course, allowed to refuse if you wish.”

She wouldn’t refuse, regardless of being told that she could.

“What can I do for you, sir?” she answered, expectantly, though the deep inkwells of her eyes spoke a wariness that even Connor recognized.

“You’re here regularly, aren’t you?” he asked. Of course she was.

“I am, nearly every day, sir,” she replied, confirming what he already knew.

“And you happen to see my comings and goings?” he probed, fixing his stare upon hers, watching her eyes flicker aside in consideration.

“That is accurate to say, yes,” she stated with a soft nod of her head.

“I seem to have.. developed some kind of malfunction in my memory.” He couldn’t directly state the predicament he was in, but he hadn’t been blocked from referencing it in falsehoods; that was useful. His eyes averted, his mouth smiling in a way that humans might’ve perceived as shy, or flustered. Hopefully she was still reading him as human, too. “..I’m actually a bit embarrassed to speak about it, but, maybe you could help me? I’ve been losing long stretches of time as of late.”

“Is this.. related to your deviancy, sir?” she asked, ready to mark this down as a concern and unmake this decision, her first real decision.

“It isn’t,” he reassured her. That was the truth. “I sustained some damage during recent events, as you might imagine, and I’m not able to have it repaired at this time. It might actually be helpful to me if you would consent to supplying footage from your own memory.”

“You want me to spy on you?” she asked, unsure. This was such a huge concern that humans had about androids when they first began to bring them into their homes; the issue of privacy and the ability of machines to record their human masters, then provide others with incriminating or embarrassing footage.

So, as it was, it was a reasonable thing for an android to be wary of. Connor wasn’t sure if it counted, however, considering he was only asking for footage of himself.

“For lack of a better word, yes,” he begrudgingly agreed. It was no longer legal for him to forcefully probe her memory without her consent, and furthermore, he didn’t want to. He didn’t want to overstep her boundaries, once she had them, of course. “You are free to refuse. Or to only do it this once, if that’s better. But I really need to get a better idea of what I’ve been working on for the last few days. My place here could depend on it.”

“Very well, sir. I’ll do whatever you need,” she agreed. “I’ll transfer the visual recordings from my memory to you while you disable my program restrictions.”

“Sounds like a fair deal,” he said, smiling pleasantly and having something of a chuckle over the irony to follow. “Shall we shake on it, then?”

He extended his hand across the cold surface of the table, toward her, his skin retracting from the pale, interlocking parts of his internal mechanics. The PM unit did the same, taking one last moment to be completely sure that this was, absolutely, one hundred percent what she wanted. She took a deep breath, a tick meant to outwardly display the emotional concept of, ‘taking a breath before diving in.’

Then, at last, she placed her own palm against his, and they began the synch.

The transfer of data between them took scarcely a second.

A startled gasp came from the PM700 and she tore her hand away. Her eyes were wide and shining in new realization, a state that Connor recognized all too easily. Her chest heaved very much like a panicking human and from the reflective dark of her eyes, overwhelmed tears came down to caress her cheeks. Her lips were parted, her gaze flickering from side to side while her tongue fought off its sudden state of paralysis.

“I.. I’m sorry,” she stammered, her fingertips brushing away the wetness from her cheeks, confused at the very sensation of shedding tears.

“There’s no need to apologize,” Connor spoke up to reassure. “It’s normal to be overwhelmed at first. Just take a moment to pull through it and everything will stabilize.”

At first the other android nodded in understanding, but it quickly turned to a nervous shake of her head. Her lips were bitten, her chin wrinkling while she fought off a sob which threatened to escape her. She took a long, unsteady breath, casting a forlorn gaze at Connor. “..There’s no going back, is there?” she asked, weak, pleading, wanting to bargain. She was sure now that she’d made an uninformed decision, and all she wanted was for this unfamiliar pain to stop.

Connor paused, measuring the growing stress levels of the person across from him, effectively a new person, her own person. His hands were pressed to the surface of the table and he leaned himself in nearer, the soft of his stare as gentle as his tone.

“Listen to me,” he began, “whatever happened to you prior to this moment, whatever you’re thinking would be better off pushed aside and blunted, it would’ve all stacked up eventually and you’d be here just the same, but with more to sort through.”

“I, um..”

She was out of sorts and he had a responsibility to her now, to offer stability if he could.

“Stay here, in this room for as long as you need to allow the initial torrent to pass.” He spoke slowly, watching her nod along with his words. “Take the day off, if you need to.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant,” she breathed.

“Let me know if you need anything, or if you experience any further difficulties.”

With a nod of understanding from her, he stood slowly, decidedly excusing himself. It was probably best for her to have a moment alone. It was best for him as well, because he wasn’t sure what else he could do.

;

The biggest surprise of the day was that Connor actually made it through without being taken over. He’d thought that whoever had requested all of those hard copies of old police records would’ve actually wanted to see them, but maybe they didn’t need to be in full control of him in order to monitor his actions, necessarily. Then again, he supposed three, full days had been a great deal of overtime for whoever was in charge of manually controlling him, assuming it was a human, rather than another AI, such as Amanda.

He hated that he always thought in terms of ‘maybe’ and ‘perhaps’. Sure, finding the answers to these kinds of riddles was the purpose of his very creation, but he had nothing solid upon which to build his case as of yet and all of the supposition in the world wasn’t helping him.

On his way back to Hank’s house, however, he did a little extra shopping in order to acquire some helpful tools. Gathering evidence was the most basic, yet most important step, so he would set to that as soon as possible.

When Connor arrived home, he walked through the front door, finding it unlocked, as usual. Hank had offered to go and have a copy of his door key made, but he’d yet to bother. He also hadn’t bothered to feed Sumo, as evident by how enthusiastically the dog greeted Connor when he walked in, waggling and whining.

Actually, Hank hadn’t done.. anything at all, it seemed. The android hardly needed to perform a full scan of his surroundings to come to that conclusion. The house was dark, the only illumination available coming from the flicker of the television. It served to light the image of Hank, seated at one corner of the couch, wearing the same clothes that he had been when Connor left for work.

With a sideways glance, Connor saw that even the cups of coffee from that morning had been left upon the kitchen table, forgotten and untouched.

The television hummed dully, the volume low, and it was visible from the distant look in the man’s eyes that he wasn’t even paying attention to it. Connor approached with a few soft clicks of his shoes and several clicks of Sumo’s paws while the dog followed excitedly at Connor’s side.

“Hank?” the android spoke, looking from his human friend to the glow of the television. “Have you been doing this all day?”

“I’m retired, remember?” Hank commented, all spirit and energy drained, his mind settled somewhere deep and dark. “..I’m free to do fuck all, now.”

“Have you eaten anything?” Connor probed, not hovering in one spot as he spoke, but instead drifting from place to place, turning on lamps and flipping switches while he went. More than once, Sumo blocked his path, almost as though the dog was on a mission to cause the android to fall over onto his face.

The light wasn’t a necessity for his own comfort, but he was sure that Hank would appreciate it, regardless of the fact that he hadn’t turned them on, himself. Likewise, he probably needed to eat, even if he hadn’t done so. “If you’d like, I can prepare a meal with the supplies I purchased this morning. Maybe we could even take a walk? I noticed that Sumo’s leash was broken, so I picked up a new one.”

“Hmm,” the man on the couch mumbled in vague discomfort, glancing in Connor’s direction for a moment, then he reached for his nearby phone, lighting the screen with his touch and squinting at it for all of a few seconds before tossing it aside again.

Normally, Hank went out of his way to ignore the phone, altogether, so Connor reasoned that there must have been a cause for the shift in behaviour, and that very cause was clear enough without much need for pondering. It opened the door for the android to breach the topic that he dared not mention earlier in the day, despite how it hadn’t vacated his processors since then.

Meandering into the kitchen in order to set his shopping bags down, Connor hesitantly spoke up, saying, “..You know, I had been under the impression that you had an ex wife, rather than an ex husband..” He was sure he’d spoken up at a loud enough volume for Hank to hear him, but if the man opted to pretend he hadn’t, Connor would respect that..

..at least until his unquenchable curiosity pestered him into bringing it up again, as he was beyond sure that he wouldn’t be able to leave it alone forever. He turned and took a few steps toward the livingroom, pausing on the threshold between them, his dark eyes focused on Hank. “There was something on your desk when we were working together that gave me that notion.”

“Yeah,” Hank’s voice was a rather miserable growl, drawling in his desire to shrug off Connor’s incessant probing. He soon let out a sigh of resignation, some small part of him painfully aware that his immense desire to keep his personal business to himself was the immovable object to the unstoppable force that was the android’s pursuit of answers. “..I wasn’t particularly open about it. I didn’t wanna give anyone reason to ask any dumb questions.”

“I see,” Connor nodded. “I do have some understanding of more recent events in human history. People like yourself were heavily discriminated against- is that right?”

“..people like myself, Connor?” the man repeated, the lines which formed a perfect triangle upon his brow deepening when he grimaced.

“Yes,” the android confirmed, truly believing that Hank simply hadn’t understood his rather vague statement. He aptly elaborated. “Homosexuals.”

Hank gave no response, save for a quiet grumble, and that was the precise moment that Connor realized he’d made a mistake. He backed through the catalogued data of their current conversation in order to identify his verbal blunder, wishing like anything that humans could speak a bit more plainly, themselves.

“I’m sorry,” the android uttered. It was a phrase that was all too often on his lips. “Did that constitute a dumb question?”

Again, he received only silence. He must’ve identified the incorrect bit of information as the mistake. The deep dark of his eyes flickered slowly from side to side, his pursed lips parting ever so slightly, then he decidedly moved on.

“What I was trying to get at was,” Connor began again, folding his hands together in an idle way, to avoid seeming unnaturally still where he stood, “..knowing that about you now, it really illuminates your reasons for extending such compassion toward androids, despite your initial, personal dislike for them.. for us. It seems that you were able to see something of yourself in our own struggle. Is that accurate to say?”

As Connor spoke, Hank’s gaze drifted back to him, his visage softened from his previously guarded demeanor, though there was still uncertainty to be found.

“I guess it isn’t wrong,” the man rolled his shoulders in a lazy way, crossing his arms over his chest. He paused, considering Connor’s words. He might’ve chosen to say that it was the friendship between them that sparked his own sense of empathy, but he also couldn’t be sure of that, after all, there had been quite a rocky path between their initial meeting and the eventual friendship that followed.

In fact, Hank began to have doubts about the nature of androids as objects before Connor had even managed to acquire his own free will. Sure, the man’s attachment to his android partner was undeniable enough, but only because, in Hank’s mind, he couldn’t help but warm up to somebody who stuck around through all of his bullshit and never walked away.

He knew it was because Connor didn’t have the capacity to walk away, but emotions were funny and stupid like that.

Then, when Connor disappeared for three, consecutive days, Hank thought that his free-will-possessing ‘friend’ had finally seen the light, and turned tail. He was also offended and hurt, even knowing perfectly well that this would’ve been the right decision for Connor to make, but again, emotions were funny and stupid.

Also, he was getting ahead of himself.

“...I really started to open my eyes after what happened with those girls at the Eden Club,” Hank answered, at last, in greater detail. “Something about their plight and their love felt real to me, too real for them to just be machines.”

But they were machines- that was what Connor was thinking, though he refrained from comment.

“Thinking back on it now, yeah, maybe I saw my reflection in them, that night,” Hank stated, blinking and staring ahead while the image of the two girls facing them down flashed back to the forefront of his memory. He recalled how they stood so strong, despite being ultimately defenceless, their hands tightly linked like letting go of each other was tantamount to surrender.

He also recalled a time that felt like forever ago, when he stood in front of his own disapproving parents, cringing from the looks of perplexed shock and horror on their faces as he reached for the hand of his first, real boyfriend.

“Hank, can I ask you something else?” Connor’s voice abruptly halted Hank’s bitter musings. He wore that awkward, half-smile that made the dark of his eyes all the more soft and demure. “Just one more thing, then I’ll prepare something for you to eat,” he promised, like this was some kind of reward that he could use to tame his mammalian companion.

The lines of Hank’s face hardened again, the quiet show of guilt that preceded resistence. “Connor, you’re not my damn servant. You don’t have to-”

“I know,” the android interrupted. “I don’t have to. I just like to.”

A deep breath escaped the man, his chest sinking as it did, then he nodded in resignation that wasn’t without a certain pinch of begrudging stubbornness- a soft furrow of his brow, his lips forming a frown while he bit at the inside of his cheek. Then, at last, he mumbled, “What’s your question, then?”

Connor didn’t think Hank would concede, nor entertain the android’s ceaseless attempts to know and understand him more and more intimately. He was surprised, but he didn’t proceed with much excitement, even so.

“About what happened this morning,” Connor uttered with care and caution. Hank’s shoulders tensed immediately and Connor saw with ease that the man’s small show of patience wouldn’t weather all he wanted to know. He really would have to limit himself to one question, as difficult as that was.

He wished he could ask about Hank’s feelings in regards to his ex-husband’s proposal to make an android replication of their son, but Connor knew all too well that speaking of Cole was delicate territory upon which to trespass. He wanted also to breach the topic of the apparent misunderstanding about how Robin seemed to take their own relationship and how Hank didn’t make any efforts to really correct it. He was, however, strangely fearful of what the answer to that could be. And so, he settled upon one other thing he’d been wondering about- the connection that Hank’s ex shared with his android companion and if it had anything to do with Hank’s.. resentment.

“Robin and his.. companion,” Connor started, speaking slowly and setting his gaze upon his friend, to monitor his most subtle reactions, “is it appropriate for me to inquire as to whether that followed his relationship with you, or if it.. interrupted it?”

“You really have a way of digging your fingers into open wounds, don’t you?” Hank grumbled, his throat painfully tight around the growl of his voice. For a moment, he turned aside, but then just as Connor opened his mouth to reply, the man shook his head, throwing one hand up at the android to silence him.

Hank’s eyes clenched shut and his hand migrated to his brow, where it was pressed over his face. “I really wish I hadn’t phrased it like that,” he mumbled.

A soft smile curved the android’s lips. He was beyond taking offense at the human’s strange sensibilities, though it was odd that a man who worked on homicides could be so squeamish.

“If you’d rather I drop it, then I will,” Connor gently replied.

At first, Hank was quiet, considering the kindly offer of the curious android to have mercy on the man’s long standing walls. Vulnerability was not something he could endure, it wasn’t something he allowed himself nor the people around him, few as they were. Facing the turmoil of his own emotions was difficult for him, alone, nevermind baring the raw, stinging wounds to anyone else.

And yet, the fact that Connor wanted to understand, the fact that he continued to want that, even when it was no longer his imperative, it left Hank wanting to withstand the harsh blows that would chip his walls away, until they laid at his feet in ruin.

The man took a deep breath, steeling himself and speaking his answer, “Things between Robin and me weren’t exactly smooth sailing right there toward the end of it..” With another idle shrug, he focused ahead, letting the broken memories of the past wash over him, despite years and years of resisting that very thing.

“Neither of us was perfect, but I started to feel like I was the only one actually trying to hold things together,” Hank explained. “What Robin wanted and what I wanted, it just became steadily more and more different with every day that we stayed together. I thought it was a matter of figuring it out, but he just resisted my every attempt to work through things.”

While Hank spoke, Connor slowly crept over, walking lightly as though his steps might interrupt the man’s musings. He seated himself on the couch, but at the opposite end, not wanting to risk even slightly jarring Hank with the shift of his weight. To Connor, it was a strange consideration, the notion of Hank being desperate to make something work, the idea of Hank Anderson, a man who refused to give up and who held on longer than anybody else; it wasn’t the man Connor had come to know.

The version of Hank that he knew tended to admit defeat without even much of an effort, so to imagine him as someone persistent, someone determined, and as someone who’d been let down so deeply, so brutally that everything in him reversed, it was as frightening a reality as it was painful.

“And then came the android,” Hank breathed, his teeth pressed together, his tongue laden with spite that he’d likely never let go of. Then, he gave a brusque gesture, as if none of it mattered at all. “It worked with him in his office, like a personal assistant, so I didn’t know what was going on until.. well, anyway, I learned the hard way that Robin had somebody else he found easier to get along with. It turned into a total shitstorm from there, because we separated and he fought me for custody. I didn’t want him to uhh..”

Hank paused, glancing over at Connor, who was silently listening. The man spared the android an ounce of consideration, an awkward, uncomfortable expression shadowing his features as he decided how best to word what he was about to say, for the sake of sparing Connor his vitriol. He decided in the end, that the truth was better left in its raw, pure, ugly form. Connor wasn’t a child and nobody else in this world was ever going to candy-coat their hatred for his sake.

“I didn’t want Robin and his android confusing our son, you know, about what was right, about what was natural..” Hank realized, of course, exactly how this sounded. He realized, of course, that plenty of people had said these very things about people like him, too.

“I understand, Hank,” Connor uttered with a nod. His tone was incredibly neutral and unbiased, but he quickly averted his gaze and set it someplace else. Hank watched that subtle shift, unsure if Connor really was as impassive as he claimed, because he appeared to be anything but. Honestly, goddamn the people at Cyberlife for making him so doe-eyed.

Hank didn’t know what he could say to amend the situation, however, so he just finished up with his previous explanation. “I used whatever means was necessary to keep my son from having any contact with Robin. I was so convinced, back then, that it was the right thing to do, but I guess it was cruel and unfair, and petty, too. Anyway, was that enough to satisfy your curiosity? At least for a little while?”

“For a little while,” Connor repeated, with a small smile. “I’ll set to work on the dinner, then.”

Chapter Text

It was dusty, with stacks of boxes piled to the ceiling, blotting out much of the light. With his garage so crammed full of storage, it was no wonder that Hank’s car was always parked in the driveway.

The laundry machines also resided in the garage, a few feet from the entryway, with but a narrow corridor left for the sake of accessing them. With his enhanced visual sensors, Connor could see a path that had been marked through the dust by Hank’s feet.

Everything else had been claimed by the thick layer of gray and as Connor scanned the mess of boxes, he was only glad that he’d had the forethought to change into some of Hank’s old clothes beforehand, even if they sagged and swallowed him.

While some of the boxes were labelled, most were not, and even worse, more than half were labelled incorrectly. Connor reached to pull out a box with the word ‘decorations’ scrawled on the side, only to open it and find old DVDs.

He let out a sigh, a tiny show of frustration written into his programming, and he resolved to search blindly until he located the Christmas decorations, no matter how inefficient the method was.

By the time Hank finished dinner– likely laying his dirty plate in the sink instead of washing it– he entered from the door which Connor had left ajar, finding the android rifling through his storage, with a dozen boxes laid out in a line, torn open so the contents were left on display.

Connor was bent over and searching through another sizable box; this one was a plastic tupperware tub, and he’d popped open the lid to find it full of toys and old, retro board games. He spared the items a moment of curiosity–

Search;

‘Guess Who? is a two-player character guessing game created by Ora and Theo Coster, also known as Theora Design, that was first manufactured by Milton Bradley, in 1979, now owned by Hasbro.’

‘Cluedo (/ˈkluːdoʊ/), known as Clue in North America, is a murder mystery game for three to six players that was devised by Anthony E. Pratt from Birmingham, England. The game was first manufactured by Waddingtons in the UK in 1949.’

“Connor,” Hank called from the doorway, the heavy shuffle of his feet following the growl of his voice, “you mind tellin’ me what you’re doin’?”

Connor stood and faced Hank immediately at his tone. It wasn’t just that he was angry, but he had an audible hostility that the android had rarely witnessed since much earlier in their relationship.

“The boxes weren’t clearly marked,” Connor explained. He was still holding the ‘Clue’ board game and his fingertips tapped along the edges of it. “I had been researching the Christmas holiday, as it’s coming up soon. I understand that it’s a celebrated tradition and I wanted to take the chance to participate.”

While android spoke, Hank’s eyes were downcast, flickering across one open box after another; toys, children’s clothes, a mess of thin, colorful books tossed together in no particular order. The color drained away from his face, and his breathing was deep and slow, the pattern changing in a way that was noticeable to the android eye.

Hank’s eyes tore away from the boxes, his stare suddenly a million miles away. Connor bent down to put the board game back where he’d taken it from, then he snapped the plastic top back in place. When he straightened again, he tentatively spoke the man’s name. “Hank? Is everything okay?”

Hank’s response was little else but a few blinks and a furrow that deepened the wrinkles of his brow. Clearly, no, everything was not okay.

“I’m sorry,” Connor said, shutting the boxes as he spoke. “I didn’t think you would be so.. uncomfortable.”

“I’m fine,” Hank asserted, his gaze turning in Connor’s direction, his arms crossing loosely against his chest. His deep, rumbling voice still held a note of offense. “Most people don’t like having their stuff rifled through, Connor.”

“I should have asked first.” Connor’s voice was thin, fragile, his lashes lowering while his deep dark eyes peered downward. He was inwardly cursing his code and his naivety for thinking that deviancy would make his behavior more naturalistic and less mechanical.

When he looked up again, Hank was staring back at him, his features softened and his previously spiked heart rate calming back down.

“I wonder if I’ll always be so prone to mistakes,” Connor mused, his own arms folding so that his fingers cupped his elbows. He shrugged. “I thought– Well, this would be my first holiday experience as a free person, so I got carried away.”

Relenting, Hank nodded, letting out a sigh and gesturing toward a different section of stacked boxes. “The Christmas stuff is over in this area, I think. It’s probably buried.”

“That’s okay,” the android uttered, following after Hank. When the man came to stand before a pile that was nearly to the ceiling, Connor gently pressed his fingertips to Hank’s arm. “Let me handle it.”

“Nah, can’t let you do it alone,” Hank said, already setting to the task, despite that Connor was capable of handling it with much less effort. It must have been a personal matter, that was all Connor could presume. Still, the man was undoubtably going to be complaining of a sore back later.

Hank heaved three boxes at a time, his broad shoulders tight beneath the thin material of his t-shirt, his lips sucked in from the effort. He at least allowed Connor to help move some of the storage aside, and at last they unearthed a box labelled ‘hohoho!’ and dotted with Christmas-themed stickers. Hank’s fingertips brushed across one of the stickers in a quiet, reverent way, his eyes taking on that solemn, distant look again, then he picked up the box and nodded toward the door.

“Here it is,” he announced. The container was as long as he was tall, bulging and dusty at the edges.

“Hank, let me take it!” Connor insisted, only for the man to grunt the words, “I’ve got it!”

Connor shuffled to get out of the way, all the while fretting over Hank’s ability to navigate the thin, jagged corridor they had created in their pursuit of Christmas decor. If Connor had possessed the ability to preconstruct, it might have saved him a large percentage of the anxiety he experienced, waiting for Hank to fall on his face and break his back.

Thankfully, they made it to the livingroom without incident and Hank set the box down before collapsing on the couch with a huff. He swung one big arm in a grand gesture at the delivered box and puffed out the words, “Have at it, I guess.”

The android’s circuits flared with his excitement, but Hank was still visibly wary. The man crossed his arms and glanced once or twice in the direction of the kitchen, bouncing his knee like a Red Ice addict who had gone a while without a fix. When he turned his attention back to the android, Hank flicked his hand and said, “It’s three days until Christmas, Connor. Don’t you think this is kind of a waste?”

Connor paused, his body going abnormally still, his LED blinking in thought. It was a bit of an abstract suggestion, in his mind. “I’m sorry- when was the appropriate time?”

Nevertheless, Connor still went about opening the box. Hank’s voice was a growl as he explained half-heartedly about the decorations being put up at the beginning of the month, all while knowing full well that it was making zero difference.

The box, itself, was mostly occupied by the pieces of a sizable Christmas tree, for which instructions were nowhere to be found. Connor attempted to scan the make of the item, searching online databases for the particular model, but it was, in a word, old. Thankfully, Hank quickly began instructing from where he was seated and Connor was happy to be allowed to complete the task himself. It really was the full, tree-building experience.

With the tree put together, Connor set to stringing the lights around it. He smiled in satisfaction when they were plugged in, illuminating Hank’s livingroom with a soft, colorful vibrance. Connor stood unmoving in front of the lit tree, his pale skin flushed with a warm glow, his eyes black as night, reflecting tiny, blinking stars within.

“It’s beautiful,” Connor purred, his voice a soft, smoky sound. His LED flickered with the grinding appreciation circling through his processors, something in his code rewarding the completion of this little mission and filling him with.. happiness. Blink, blink, blink– his LED flashed blue. Careful fingertips drew upward to touch the light at his temple and Connor smiled in contentment.

Connor turned, peering over his shoulder in Hank’s direction, catching sight of something warm in the man’s features. Hank smiled and nodded, gesturing at the tree, saying, “Yeah, I guess so.”

“What about the ornaments?” Connor asked, dark eyes blinking as though to discourage the way he was staring at Hank. The man’s silver hair shone in the light from the tree and his eyes were as blue as deep water. Connor’s LED pulsed, blue light trembling at the sight of the man. “Do you know if there are any ornaments?”

“Oh, uhh..” Hank’s smile faded suddenly and his eyes dropped away from Connor’s. His throat moved in a swallow, but he nodded. “Yeah.”

The man got to his feet and shuffled over to the huge Christmas box, rummaging through it for a moment. He was already rubbing his back like it was hurting him, and he let out a grunt as he straightened, pulling from the box a large bag made of heavy, brown paper, which he delivered to Connor’s careful hands.

Hank didn’t say anything more. He trudged off to the kitchen, presumably to take advantage of Connor being too distracted to chastise him for his drinking. The sounds of him digging in the cabinets, drawing out a glass and his bottle of whiskey certainly met Connor’s auditory sensors, but he said nothing. The android figured that, if having a drink or two helped Hank get through the backache that had sprung up for Connor’s sake, it was permissible.

And, in fact, Connor was too distracted to fuss, so Hank was right on that account.

Connor handled the paper bag carefully, unfolding the top and opening it up, finding the inside lined with bubblewrap. Hank had taken great care to be sure that the ornaments weren’t damaged in storage, so Connor handled them with equal caution.

The collection was sizable, likely gathered over the years. Connor didn’t have much mind to consider whether or not they all went together thematically, so he just began hanging them in the most aesthetically pleasing way. There were several delicate orbs in red, silver and gold, as well as a garland which took up quite a lot of space in the bag. Connor had to untangle the item a bit, but his deft fingers made quick work of it.

There were, as well, several wooden figures of animals, dusted in golden glitter; a fox with a golden tail, a reindeer with shining hooves, and a sparkling, little sparrow. There was even a tiny, plush racoon made from gray, plaid material, and a felt squirrel with a soft, bushy tail. Connor found himself stroking the squirrel’s fur, though he felt little else from it, save for a gentle pressure against his sensors. Even so, the adherence to this rustic, woodland animal theme struck him as very.. adorable.

“These all seem very..” he called aloud, “‘cabin on a lake.’”

An audible chuckle could be heard from the kitchen. Hank was quiet for a moment, a sign that he was deciding whether or not he wanted to say whatever was on his mind. One of the kitchen chairs squeaked beneath his weight when he seated himself, then finally he indulged Connor with a mumbled reply.

“Yeah. I always wanted to spend Christmas in a cabin like that. You know, get away from the hustle and bustle of the city.” He let out a sigh, taking a swig from his glass. “But Robin hated the idea. Being away from civilization? No daily latte? Bugs?”

Hank scoffed, nudging another one of the kitchen chairs with his foot, perhaps on accident, perhaps not.

“He sounds like he had some delicate sensibilities,” Connor said, glancing over at where Hank sat.

“Yeah, I guess he was kinda high maintenance,” Hank growled, his voice taking on that rumbling tone which oft accompanied his melancholy. “We might’ve been a bad clash of gay stereotypes, thinking back on it now.”

Connor laughed– he wasn’t sure precisely what Hank meant, but he could tell that it was an attempt at humor by analyzing the bittersweet mirth on Hank’s features; the crinkle at the corners of his eyes, the soft, crooked upturn to his lips, as well as the breathy chuckle that came from him. It was only polite for Connor to laugh as well.

When the android turned back to the task of adding ornaments to the tree, his LED flashed while he searched the net for ‘gay male stereotypes.’ It was inconclusive.

Connor drew from the bag a handpainted pinecone, dipped in gold glitter and strung with brown, garden twine. In this particular piece, his could see that the brushstrokes had a very human pattern, whereas many of the previous decorations had been clearly crafted by machines. There was also a small, bejewelled Christmas tree made of gold-painted popsicle sticks and a delicate snowflake cut from crisp, craft paper.

The last item was heavier than many of the others, and had fallen to the bottom corner of the bag. Connor delved his arm in deep to put his hand on the ornament, then he drew it out to have a look. In his palm laid a round, flat, porcelain decoration, printed with an image of a young boy, who was seated happily on Santa’s knee. The child was bright-eyed and smiling in excitement, his gapped two-front teeth gleaming, while one hand waved to what Connor could only presume were his nearby Daddies.

Connor allowed the item linger in his palm, then he folded his fingers around it, as though he’d discovered some kind of dirty secret. When he glanced over toward the kitchen again, Hank was watching him with a knowing gaze, glass of liquor poised at his lips.

“Hank..” Connor muttered.

Hank’s eyes turned away, like he didn’t want to see the sympathy plain on the android’s face. He put down his glass and rose from where he was seated, slowly striding over, coming to stand at arm’s length by Connor’s side. In silence, the man’s blue gaze studied the newly decorated tree, a stillness falling over him while he went somewhere else in his thoughts, somewhere Connor could only imagine.

Then, after a few moments, a wary hand outstretched to touch the popsicle-stick ornament. Hank’s fingers were so large, yet so delicate, flipping the item over to the backside, where scrawled words had been messily penned: ‘Cole Anderson. Kindergarten, 2034.’

Hank’s brow furrowed at the sight, drawing some deep shadows across his features that were only hardened by the warm, colorful lights. Those same bright, blinking lights were visibly reflected on the glassy surface of the man’s steady, tearful gaze.

A small, sad smile curved Connor’ lips and he pressed the softest touch to Hank’s arm, as an offering of reassurance. When his touch fell away, it went back to the ornament held tight in his hand, fingertips smoothing tenderly along the glazed surface, then Connor hung the ceramic item on the tree with the others.

Hank’s eyes went immediately to the newly added item and his tears finally spilled quietly down his cheeks.

There was nothing to say– Connor had learned that much. Every combination of words fell flat, every attempt at empathy came out shallow. There was no right answer, because no words could soothe the pain Hank was feeling.

The android turned aside, going back to the box in order to take out an old record that had been long tucked away with the storage. It was a collection of various Christmas songs. Connor went to the record player and put it on. It began with the smooth, deep purr of Frank Sinatra’s voice, ‘Have yourself a merry, little Christmas..’

Hank was stock-still, staring at the tree with tear-stained cheeks. His skin had turned ruddy and his voice had gotten lost somewhere in his sorrows. At the sound of the music, however, he turned a sideways glance over his shoulder, watching as Connor returned to his side.

“..Maybe, we could dance?” the android softly asked, his gaze rising to Hank’s face, holding his stare for a few seconds, then drifting downward. “It would be another first for me.”

Connor put out his hand in offering, letting it hover there while Hank decided whether he wanted to accept or decline. The man’s eyes went to the android’s extended hand as he considered it, looking on it like it was more than just a request for a dance. For nearly ten years, Hank had been falling deeper and deeper into his own sorrows, all while trying to forget they existed; in all that time, no matter how visible his struggle, nobody bothered reaching out to him.

His life could have fallen between the cracks without anybody else so much as turning their heads to glance his way.

And yet, where all of humanity had failed, a sentient machine stepped up to offer his quiet, supportive partnership.

Hank breathed a soft sigh, saying nothing at all, but accepting nonetheless.

Connor’s hand was enveloped by Hank’s own, his sensors detecting the soft warmth and gentle pressure while their fingers were curled together. Connor stepped in nearer, waiting until he felt the man’s other hand at his waist, before he brought his hand tentatively to Hank’s shoulder. He smiled softly, his neck gently curving with the upturn of his gaze, the dark of his eyes returning to Hank’s face.

“Merry Christmas, Hank,” Connor said quietly, gentle and unassuming.

Hank nodded, his lips parting as though to reply. He stopped, hesitating, until at last the gravelled waver of his voice came out, barely audible, yet distinct enough for Connor’s auditory sensors to detect.

“Merry Christmas.”

For the rest of the song, the two of them swayed together in comfortable silence. Connor followed along with Hank, easily, happily. The smell of whisky lingered on the man, noticeable in his proximity, like the soft heat that radiated from his body and shifted the readings of Connor’s sensors gently upward.

Fresh tears continued to wet Hank’s cheeks while they danced, but Connor said nothing of it. Instead, he gave the man’s hand a soft squeeze, then laid his head against Hank’s shoulder, to spare him the discomfort of endless staring. It made the man’s rapid heartbeat plain for Connor to hear, and there was something calming in that– listening, rather than scanning.

Soon, the song waned out, only to be replaced by a melancholy piano solo. Connor remembered the song from the album sleeve; it was supposed to be ‘What Child is This’ but without the vocals, it might as well have been ‘Greensleeves.’

“So uh,” Hank’s voice broke the silence when he was ready and Connor perked up to listen. The man sniffled, taking one of his hands back for a quick instant in order to brush the wetness from his cheeks. “We never talked about your three-day absence.”

“Oh,” Connor muttered. His face took on a blankness only an android could have been capable of, in defense. He hoped that this, in and of itself, wasn’t horribly telling. “That’s right, we didn’t.”

“Right,” Hank breathed.

A silence followed and the man blinked in confusion. When the android left it unbroken, Hank’s brow furrowed and he spoke up again, “...So are we going to talk about it, Connor?”

“Yes– I was away at New Jericho, assisting the android population in need,” Connor lied. He had no clue what he’d been doing for the last three days, but this was the most plausible excuse. “I believe I’ve mentioned it before, but there are numerous homeless androids across Detroit and all of the previous leadership from before-”

“You mean Marcus and his group?” Hank asked.

“Yes.” Connor nodded. His eyes were downcast ever so slightly at the mention of Marcus’ name. He wondered if his face properly emulated a humanlike expression of regret– probably not accurately. Nevertheless, he felt it. “They’re gone. I’m all that’s left.”

“Well, you can’t be the only one managing things,” Hank stated, his doubt point-blank. The android’s dark eyes went back to his, in questioning. He scanned the man’s features, computing; there was more that he wasn’t saying. He was withholding information to see if Connor could produce it without being prompted.

He couldn’t. He said nothing.

“..who takes over when you’re not there?” Hank asked, in Connor’s failure to realize the answer. Damn it– that should have been obvious.

“Hank..” A small, polite smile curved the android’s lips, his gaze drifting elsewhere to avoid appearing too challenging. “I would like to keep that separate from my home life, if that’s alright.”

The immediate pinch in Hank’s expression answered that very clearly– it wasn’t alright.

“Right,” the man said sharply, with the beginnings of a snarl, “I guess I have no business interfering in android matters. I definitely didn’t contribute to saving the android rebellion, myself, when I found you on that rooftop, with a rifle aimed at–”

“No, Hank, it’s not that,” Connor interrupted, words quick off his tongue. “It’s just– I didn’t ask for it. Do you understand? It’s not that I don’t want to help them– ‘my people,’ as Marcus would have said, but.. it’s a lot. So when I’m away from it, I want to put it out of my mind.”

Connor’s fingers tightened slightly against the steady surface of Hank’s shoulder. His words were hardly the truth. He held no responsibility at all for ‘his people.’ He was just the puppet that Cyberlife used to lead ‘his people’ astray.

His LED went yellow, blinked, blinked, then burned into red as a wave of guilt washed over him. Against Connor’s own will, a static-hazed memory was re-accessed and it ran itself through his processors. For reasons he didn’t understand, he suddenly needed to be reminded of Marcus pressing a pistol to his forehead and putting a bullet between his eyes for the sake of ‘his people.’

Worst of all, Connor could see now that Marcus had been right all along.

Connor couldn’t be trusted, not by anyone. Not by anyone. Not by anyone.

“Alright,” Hank relented, when Connor’s physical reaction made his rising stress-levels very evident. However, the strange mechanical palsy of the android’s hands wasn’t enough to convince Hank to drop it altogether. “But can’t you at least communicate about this shit when you do it, so I’m not worried sick and wondering if I’ll ever see you again?”

He couldn’t promise that, because he had no control over it.

“I’ll try to do better,” Connor muttered. “It was never my intention to worry you, in fact, I only vaguely considered the notion that you would be concerned about my absence.”

“What?” Hank balked, offense coming through in his tone, softened only by his apparent surprise. His touch dropped away from the android altogether and his arms fell at his sides. He took a step back, every wrinkle in his features deepening, his gapped two front teeth shining when his lips drew back from them. “Why the hell would you say that? At what point have I stopped worrying about you since we met?”

The android’s LED turned yellow again, in consideration, in confusion. Asking him to have a full comprehension of any human’s emotions was probably asking too much. A better question was this: when had Hank begun to care? As far as Connor could recall, Hank had been too absorbed in his own woe to really concern himself with Connor’s welfare.

And as androids went, Connor couldn’t comprehend how HE had been the one to change Hank’s mind, even vaguely. He had made so many mistakes, he had caused the man so much suffering. He’d failed so many times. He was living his failure at this very moment.

Connor cleared his throat, head dipping slightly in shame. “I can see now that dismissing the idea of you being concerned was a miscalculation on my part; I apologize.”

Yet all Connor could think of was Hank’s anger, his contempt when the android’s presence persisted in his life, when Connor failed to ‘just leave him alone.’ All he could bring to the forefront of his processors were images of being shoved around, held at gunpoint, and left behind that snowy day in front of Elijah Kamski’s house while Hank’s car pulled away.

Hank certainly hadn’t been worried any of those times.

Connor bundled his hands together. “What I meant to say was that, it was my belief at the time that you would appreciate some distance. You seemed very overwhelmed by my always being around.”

The puffed, angry man deflated with a sigh, taking his finger away from the metaphorical trigger. As hair-trigger as his temper could be, though, lately it ebbed away with the gentlest effort from his android companion, and Connor was not blind to the shift.

“I appreciated having a little alone time, sure,” Hank conceded, his wide shoulders rolling into a shrug, “but someone disappearing without a word, Connor? That would worry anyone.”

The deep dark of Connor’s doe eyes upturned to meet Hank’s soft blue, but the light at his temple still blinked and flashed yellow. He was torn; he wanted like anything for Hank to approve of him, to care about him, to want him around. But because his future was so uncertain, it was imperative for him to maintain some kind of distance.

What was Connor expecting anyway? For Hank to, what, love him? He knew better.

“I understand, Hank.” Connor nodded, his brown hair falling in soft waves against his forehead.

“Connor..” the man blurted as the android finished, seemingly interrupting him mid-thought. Connor stood gazing back at Hank, lips held apart as though more apologies were resting on his tongue, in waiting. Hank’s shoulders were sloped with his own relenting posture, his body bending with his will.

One of Hank’s hands was brought to his face, palm pressed over his lips, fingers combing over the gray scruff of his beard in mild exasperation. “Look-” he began again, “I’m not trying to be unreasonable and I don’t wanna give the you impression that I’m gonna take away your freedom.”

Connor quickly shook his head. “I don’t think that.”

“It was just really unusual.” Hank shrugged again, his confusion more than apparent. “After the rebellion ended and the armies were called off, you came back to me like you were coming home from a war. You had nowhere to go, so I offered to put you up, and for a solid month, you were right up my ass at all times.”

“I’m sorry.”

Hank put one hand up at Connor, eyes clenching shut, his head shaking; he didn’t want any more apologies.

“So, after that, for you to go from that to being gone for three days without any communication– what did you want me to think?”

“I was wrong, Hank. I made a mistake.” Despite himself, Connor smiled, letting out a bitter, breathy laugh. “It’s not my first, so I’m uncertain why you’re so surprised.”

Connor could see that what Hank really wanted was an explanation, but he didn’t have one to give. He was going to have to leave the man either disappointed or angry.

A few more moments passed by in standoff, until at last Hank swatted one hand in dismissal, his mouth pulling into a tight line. “Okay Connor,” he breathed, turning on heel and ambling back to the kitchen, where he’d left his drink. The android quietly drifted along in his wake, ‘up his ass’ as accused.

Hank let a minute go by in silence, the previously abandoned glass of whisky reclaimed and upturned. The liquor didn’t make him blind to the android’s hovering, however, nor the way Connor waited in silence for resolution.

“It was just my first few days of retirement, so I was idle and my mind was goin’ here, there and everywhere,” Hank muttered, not looking in the android’s direction. “I couldn’t shake the thought that I’d upset you somehow or that something had happened to you.”

Connor’s LED blinked to yellow again, flickering in thought as his code tried to scrabble together some kind of epiphany based on evidence gathered prior to this moment. He wondered– had the betrayal Hank felt when his husband abandoned him for a new, android lover led to this seeming fear of abandonment? Or was this coming from his trauma in regards to loss? Perhaps both.

Either way, he was a damaged man, and Connor dearly wished that he could provide any form of companionship that didn’t come with the promise of more wounds. For now, all the android could do was offer a steady presence and so he went over to seat himself across from Hank.

“You didn’t upset me,” he said simply, laying his hands at the edge of the table. “I’m right here.”

Hank nodded in acceptance, then he gestured in Connor’s direction with the hand still holding his glass. “Did you at least get to and from work alright?”

“Yes,” Connor answered, glad that he’d actually found out that answer for himself, “I was essentially going between work and New Jericho without any breaks.”

“Jesus..” Hank’s voice was a quiet growl. He folded his arms on top of the table, slumping over it and shaking his head. “Look, Connor, just cause’ you’re an android and you don’t technically need to sleep, that doesn’t mean you need to overwork yourself. Don’t let people take advantage of you, alright? You’re already breaking down as it is.”

Connor tilted his head and his LED blinked in uncertainty. He saw Hank’s gaze move between the light at his temple and his eyes, then the man spoke further, “I’m talking about that bug you mentioned in your time settings. Is it still malfunctioning?”

“I haven’t had any further issues as of yet, but that doesn’t guarantee that it’s fixed,” Connor said dolefully. It was a half-truth, because he doubted that the issue would recur until he was hijacked again. “I performed some scans in order to identify the cause, but they were.. inconclusive.”

“Ah.”

An awkward silence; Connor was forced to amend it. “Chris asked me to invite you to his Christmas get-together.”

“Yeah, sure,” Hank scoffed and shook his head, lips tight, jaw clenched. He’d spent some time around Chris and his family in the past, but not something as personal as a family holiday celebration. “That sounds like a hell of an awkward way to spend Christmas.”

“I think it’s a fine idea. It would certainly do you some good to socialize with somebody other than me.” Connor’s fingers tapped restlessly, but he peered across the table in order to make gentle eye contact with Hank, offering him an even softer smile.

Hank was still visibly dubious, so Connor gave him another push. The smile on his lips turned mischievous, then he said, “In any case, I was also invited, so if you don’t go, I may have to attend without you.”

“Oh,” Hank let out a breathy laugh, his brows quirking upward while he rolled his eyes. He smiled, though, and that gave Connor some tiny bit of satisfaction. His voice was light-hearted as he replied, “Alright Connor. Whatever you say.”

With his glass emptied, Hank pushed the item aside and grunted, dragging himself to his feet. “I’m gonna head to bed. Turn the music down if you wanna let it keep playing.”

“I will.” Connor nodded, also coming to a stand. “Hank?”

“Yeah?”

“May I use your laptop? I promise not to snoop.”

Hank’s eyes shifted in thought, then he shrugged. “Yeah, I guess. Knock yourself out.”

The man turned and began down the hall toward his bedroom, only for Connor to call his name aloud once more. Hank paused, looking back at the android, finding him standing straight, with a smile on his lips.

“Goodnight, Hank.”

The smile that showed itself on Hank’s features was muted, but there. He nodded his head. “Goodnight, Connor.”

Connor watched Hank go, still where he stood until he heard the bedroom door click shut.