Chapter Text
Connor blinks. His LED flashes yellow, and his internal processes begin to slow and lag. He coughs, once, twice, to kickstart his voice.
“Pardon me?” He asks, unsure if his audio modules were working correctly.
“Don’t make me say it again, kid.” Hank says, frowning as usual, as he speaks to Connor. When said android doesn’t do anything except continue to blink owlishly at him, Hank sighs and repeats his previous statement.
“You’re free to stay at my place, at least until you find somewhere else to live.” He avoids direct eye contact with Connor (who has currently looking at him with an expression approaching awe) and crosses his arms. “Unless you don’t want to, of course. Maybe you already got someplace to stay back at New Jericho or somethin’”
“No,” Connor chokes out, “No, Lieutenant. I would very much like to stay with you.”
“Oh.” Hank blinks. “Right. Good.” He clears his throat gruffly and turns back to his monitor. He tries to focus on typing out a report, and not look at Connor. He does not feel a warmth spreading from the center of his being at the smile Connor flashes at him. And he definitely does not begin thinking of ways to refurbish his guest room to make Connor more comfortable. Not at all.
After accepting Hank’s offer, a new directive abruptly popped up in front of Connor’s vision. In clear, bold, text, it stated:
[Determine the reason behind Lieutenant Anderson’s offer.]
It should be an easy enough task to complete. Just ask the man, right? And Connor tries to do so, except a sudden thought brings his processes to a screeching halt. What if Lt. Anderson gets upset? What if he rescinds his offer of a home?
He argues to himself that Hank would never be so cruel as to dangle such an opportunity before him, only to take it away after a single question. The argument is sound, with all the information he has about the man in his memory banks. Lt. Anderson is not a cruel man.
Regardless, the argument does nothing to eliminate the anxiety that is flowing through his circuits. He utterly loathes the uncertainty he’s experiencing. He wonders vaguely, if this was what humans experienced whenever they were faced with a problem. How did they ever get anything done?
The anxiety is all-consuming, and Connor finds himself stuck in a loop. His system runs the same arguments over and over and over-
A touch on his shoulder jolts him out of the loop, and he flinches. Blinking rapidly, he realizes Hank is leaning over him, looking at him with concern.
“Connor?” Hank asks. He doesn’t lift his hand from Connor’s shoulder. Connor appreciates the gesture. It keeps him grounded, and prevents him from returning to the torturous loop.
Connor looks up at Hank. He straightens his tie, allowing the familiar movement to calm him. “Lieutenant? Is there something wrong?
"You tell me.” Hank answers, and straightens up. “You zoned out there for a second, and I saw your LED flashing red.” He raises his eyebrows. “Anything you need to get off your chest?”
“I-” he considers lying, for a brief second. But Hank deserves nothing less than honesty, after everything he’d done for Connor, so he decides to tell the truth. “Why did you offer for me to stay with you?” He forces the words out, before he can change his mind.
Hank stares at him. Connor counts every single second which passes by, as Hank remain silent, and he can practically feel his systems going into overdrive as his anxiety grows. A drop of sweat slides down his forehead as his cooling system kicks in.
Finally, finally Hank answers. “Because…” There’s a faraway look in his eyes which Connor feels is vaguely familiar.
“Because we’re friends. I wanted to help,” Hank admits, meeting Connor’s eyes directly.
“You deserve a break, Connor. After, everything,” he gestures vaguely, “The least I could do was give you a place to stay. Besides,” he adds, “it’s what friends do. They help each other out.”
There’s something stirring inside of Connor, something warm and gentle and wonderful and he doesn’t understand- he doesn’t know how to deal with it. There’s a thickness in his throat which he can’t identify, but he couldn’t care less. Hank had called him a friend, had trusted him enough to bring Connor into his home; nothing in the world could ruin this moment for him.
The concept of friendship is so new to Connor, but he knows exactly what it means. That Hank would be the first to say it to describe their relationship is what shocks him the most.
There are over 3000 languages stored inside Connor’s memory, and not one pf them have a word which can sufficiently contain his gratitude to Hank. Not one word is enough for him to fully express the powerful emotion thrumming through every single one of his circuits.
No word can relate the vast enormity of his emotions, but he tries to settle for two.
“Thank you,” he says, and a tear slips down his cheeks. His hands trebmle as he leans forward and looks at Hank. He repeats his words.
“Thank you.”