Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

An obnoxiously loud buzz rang out in the house and Hank dropped the dirty dishes he was holding in the sink with a swear.

"Why can't he ever be late," he grumbled as he stepped out of the kitchen.

Hank had failed to clear his kitchen in time before Connor arrived and he cursed his lack of organization while wiping his hands on his shirt, which was way too old and way too worn but ultimately way too comfortable to throw away. The android had never explicitly pointed out the lackluster state of his house, but lately Hank had started to feel like he should at least try to clean up his act. There was also the self-esteem thing he'd heard before about how an uncluttered living space favored mental health, which both Connor and Nines had reminded him of on several occasions. Yeah, they never explicitly said anything, but boy did they implicitly. Hank went to get the door and the sight that greeted him there made his eyes widen in incredulity. Connor was covered in grime, his clothes were rumpled and his hair was a mess.

After a few seconds of stunned silence, Hank finally managed to articulate: "What the hell happened to you?"

Connor stood sheepishly in the middle of the entrance. "I'm sorry Hank, but you were expecting me and I thought it would be faster if I cleaned up here instead of going back home to do so. Is that okay?"

Hank didn't think he'd seen the other look so disheveled before, and for a second he was reminded of Cole standing on top of a red and blue slide, the wild strands of his hair catching the rays of a late afternoon sun as his dirt-covered face harboured a victorious, gap-toothed grin. Hank looked down at Connor's knees to check for any scrapes without even realizing it, and then remembered that his friend wasn't a kid that had scuffled for the right to rule over the playground, but an android cop who was designed to be a 6'0" tall adult. He blinked, confused as to how he could have juxtaposed both images.

Connor was still waiting for an answer, so Hank shook himself out of his thoughts and gestured him inside. "Well, uh, sure. Come in."

"Thank you." The android stepped past him and Hank noted that the mud caked his entire side.

"Seriously, what happened to you?"

Connor shot him a look that Hank easily recognized. It was the one that meant he was about to tell a big fat lie and was hoping no one would notice.

"I tripped," he answered smoothly.

Hank crossed his arms over his chest and set his legs apart in the most dubious stance possible. "Do androids trip? Aren't you supposed to have super processors that prevent that from happening?"

"You've seen me fall before," Connor said defensively. "It happens."

"Uh-huh. You know what, I'm calling you out on your bullshit. The only times I saw you fall were because you got hit or something. There's no way you just slipped and fell, stop taking me for an idiot."

"But I did," he insisted as he awkwardly inched away.

Hank frowned when he noticed. "Why are you moving like that?"

Connor immediately stilled. His brown eyes widened in perfectly simulated innocence and he asked: "Like what?"

Hank stepped forward and the android immediately shifted a little to the left. He realized that Connor was making sure to face him and squinted suspiciously. "What are you trying to hide from me?"

"Nothing," Connor quickly said.

A dry smile pulled at Hank's lips. "Oh, really. Turn around then."

Connor was silently conflicted for a moment, shoulders tense and mouth set in an unhappy line, before he finally gave in and showed Hank his right flank. There was a tear in his coat and the first thought that crossed Hank's mind was that Connor had to be pissed about it since he had that thing about getting his clothes ruined. The second thought was a question, and he didn't try to hide the concern in his voice when he asked it.

"Okay, how did this happen?"

Connor averted his eyes and said in a voice that almost sounded sullen: "Anti-android protestors."

"Why didn't you want to tell me?"

"I didn't want you to worry for nothing. I handled them on my own."

Hank scoffed. "Yeah, I'm sure you beat their asses no problem, but that's not the issue here. How many times do I have to tell you not to keep that kind of thing to yourself?"

Connor crossed his arms as well, but the way he did it made it seem like he wanted to disappear. He let out a resentful: "Sorry."

"No you're not. You're thinking that I'm annoying, I can tell." Connor had obviously said sorry because he thought he had to, not because he regretted it. Hank sighed and shook his head. "Let's just get you cleaned up for now, we'll talk about this again later. Did you get hurt?"

Connor finally looked up at him again. "No. The fall wasn't enough to damage me and the knife didn't touch my skin."

Hank raised an eyebrow at that, but he'd expected that there had been a weapon used in that fight. The hole in Connor's clothes was too clean-cut to be the result of pulling. "How many were they?"

"Does it matter?"

His gaze hardened. "Yeah, Connor, it fucking does."

"Only three of them actually tried to damage me," Connor reluctantly told him. "The seven others just watched."

"Fucking assholes," swore Hank. He grabbed the android by the arm and started marching him to the bathroom. "Should put the lot of them in dumbass jail."

Connor let himself be guided there and remarked: "They may not be going to jail, but they're certainly going to the hospital."

That felt pretty good to know and Hank grinned at him. "Atta boy. Break any bones?"

"I was careful not to inflict lasting damage, but I did dislocate a jaw, twist a wrist, and displace a nose cartilage," answered Connor.

"Nice job," said Hank with an approving nod.

They stepped in the bathroom and he went to turn on the faucet while Connor started shrugging off his clothes. There was a question in the android's voice when he said: "I can do that myself, you know."

Hank looked over his shoulder. "It's fine, I used to run baths for Cole all the time."

Connor stared at him, and then looked back down at the shirt in his hands without a word. His silence sounded pointedly loud to Hank all of a sudden, but he couldn't put his finger on the reason why. Instead, he just added: "I didn't ask you, but maybe you'd like taking a shower better?"

"I don't mind either way," said Connor with an awkward shrug. He was still learning the more human ways to emote, but his shoulders seemed stiff even for him. Something was up.

"...Is there anything else you need?" ventured Hank.

Connor put the neatly folded shirt on the side of the sink and still didn't look at him when he asked: "Do you have a change of clothes for me?"

Hank eyed the android critically. Connor was good at covering up his tracks and when he chose not to show his feelings, it was usually a success. He had that carefully smooth mask on right now.

"I mean, yeah, if you don't mind the size. Everything alright?"

Connor's brown gaze snapped up to his and he gave a short nod. "Yes, I'm fine."

"Okay, that was stupid of me, let me reformulate. What's wrong?"

A slight frown appeared on his forehead. "Nothing, Hank."

Hank let the water run behind him and pushed himself off the ground to go stand next to Connor. "Come on, I know you. There's something you're not telling me."

Connor stared at him challengingly. "No, there isn't. I'd like to wash myself now, if you don't mind."

The stubborn glint Hank saw in his eyes told him they were in for a ride if he waited for Connor to spill the beans by himself. He'd back down for now.

"Okay, fine. I'll leave you to it."

"Thank you," said Connor in what sounded suspiciously like exasperation. Hank chose to ignore the bite to his words and went out into the hallway to get him clean clothes. This felt like a role reversal to the time when Connor had helped his drunk ass to the bathroom, only Connor wasn't shit-faced nor was he openly telling Hank to fuck off. It kinda felt like he wanted to, though.

Hank went back to the bathroom with the smallest pair of shorts he owned, which was the basketball kind in black and fluid fabric, and one of his old university hoodies from way back when he'd had a bit of a leaner build. Both were still way too fucking large for someone as slim as Connor. He made sure the shower curtain was pulled before he stepped inside to exchange the dirty clothes with the clean ones. Connor didn't say anything and neither did he. He left to go put Connor's outfit in the washing machine, launched the program, and then he went to wait in the living room. He sat on the couch to turn on the TV, but muted the sound so that he could think. Hank went over their conversation in his head and it didn't take long for him to understand that Connor had started avoiding his gaze after he'd talked about Cole. Given how sensitive the subject was for both of them, it didn't surprise Hank that the other hadn't wanted to expand on it. It wouldn't have surprised him either if it turned out Connor had been beating himself up again over not being human enough; he had this weird fixation on comparing himself to Cole. They'd had many conversations over the past months about this and Hank prepared himself for another one. He didn't mind telling Connor the same things over and over again if it helped; Hank hated how Connor had been conditioned by CyberLife into constantly putting himself down, and he understood why it was necessary to remind him of how loved he was after all the shit the poor guy had gone through.

He heard footsteps in the hall and looked away from the TV screen to see Connor standing a few feet away. The android was staring at him blankly and had his hands behind his back in that default position he still reverted to when he didn't really know what to with himself. It had taken some time for Hank to integrate and automatically translate Connor's mechanical mode into unease, since he behaved so differently from humans and most other deviants, but it was easier nowadays to interprete Connor's actions for what they were.

"Come here and sit down so we can have a talk," Hank told him calmly.

Connor nodded and came closer. Just as Hank had expected, the hoodie was too large and he'd had to roll the sleeves up so that the excess of fabric was bunched at his elbows. Hank felt a surge of affection as he watched Connor sit down next to him. His brown hair had yet to dry, but it looked clean and soft and Hank didn't resist the temptation to pat him on the head. Connor startled and jerked away from his hand, looking at him in surprise.

Hank kept his hand in the air and chuckled. "Hey, come on. It's not like it's the first time I've done that."

"...I thought you'd be angry," said Connor cautiously.

Hank let his hand fall back in his lap. "Well, I'm not. Why did you think that?"

Connor guiltily lowered his gaze. "I was being evasive. You usually don't like that."

"No one likes when you do that, Connor. It's not just me, and I think you know why."

He kept his eyes down, and sadness softened his features. "...Yes."

Hank reached out again to rub his back. "Don't beat yourself up, I know it's not easy to say what's on your mind. I'm not blaming you for any of that, okay? That's not what I wanted to talk about."

Connor glanced at him. "Then what did you want to talk about?"

"You started acting weird when I talked about Cole. What's going on in your head this time, hm?"

The android's long fingers unconsciously curled around the fabric at his elbows and his shoulders tensed ever so slightly. "It's nothing important."

Hank sighed and let his hand rest on Connor's shoulderblade. "Come on, you know it's not good for you to keep that shit to yourself."

Connor's hand tightened around his arm. There was a moment of silence, and then he opened his mouth to say: "...Yes. It's about Cole."

"Okay. What did you think about?"

The android leaned forward, and Hank got the message; he retrieved his hand. Now Connor was a bit hunched over and he couldn't keep his voice from sounding a little anxious. "I... Hank, I know we've talked about this before and I don't want to make you upset."

"It's fine, Con. I promise I won't get upset, this is clearly harder for you than it is for me."

Connor stared at the ground between his legs for a moment. There was only the sound of Sumo shifting around on his pillow, and the movements of the ads on the TV screen. Then Connor quietly said: "You ran a bath for me when I'm more than capable of doing it myself. I don't need to be looked after like that, and it just... It made me feel like I was taking Cole's place. Like a replacement."

"I won't do it again," Hank said immediately. "I get how that must've looked for you, but you're not a replacement. It's just... old habits, you know?"

Connor looked at him. "When you saw me standing in the doorway, you had a strange expression. ...Like you'd seen a ghost." The way he said the last part was a bit stilted; Connor wasn't very fluid in using expressions. "What went on in your head that time?"

"You reminded me of Cole," admitted Hank, uncomfortably aware of how bad this sounded given Connor's current thought process. "You reminded me of him when he'd gotten into a fight with another kid on the playground, and he ended up a mess."

"That's why you ran that bath," quietly stated Connor.

"Maybe. Probably," conceded Hank. "I think I was on autopilot, you know? Human brains are weird like that. It doesn't mean anything. It definitely doesn't mean that your Cole's replacement. I like you for you, Connor, and it's as simple as that."

Connor looked distinctly uncomfortable at that last line and he averted his gaze. His shoulders bunched up and he softly said: "But... I'm a machine."

Oh shit. Hank quickly sent out a prayer that this wasn't one of those days and said: "You know that doesn't matter to me."

Connor looked like he wanted to fold in on himself. "I thought about what they told me. Deviants like me, our personality and our consciousness... It's all fake. It's all just programming. It's not like I can be family to anyone when I'm not even real, so it makes sense that I couldn't be anything else but a replacement."

Hank grabbed his shoulder. "I'm gonna stop you right there. Those protestors told you that?"

Connor nodded.

"And you're taking the word of some idiot numbnuts over mine? Over every single deviant you know? Over Markus'?"

Hank saw Connor's jaw clench, but the android stayed silent. Yeah, this was definitely one of those days. Connor had openly told Hank that he considered him like family on several occasions, and the feeling was mutual; the problem was that sometimes, Connor would start thinking that he wasn't good enough to be family because he was an android. He'd seemed okay standing in the doorway earlier but he'd probably already been looping those assholes' words in his mind, and then Hank had gone ahead and messed up by triggering another one of his insecurities. Hank wanted to kick himself for being such an idiot.

He slowly leaned back against the couch. "Okay. Okay, I think I understand what's going on. Would you believe me if I told you you're probably having some kind of anxiety episode right now?"

"No," said Connor with no hesitation.

"Well you should. You've had them before and I can recognize one when I see it."

Connor frowned at him. "I don't feel anxious, Hank."

"You're distressed, you're afraid, you're sad, and I think you are anxious but you're so used to it that you don't even realize it anymore when it happens," said Hank. "You're always worried about replacing and being replaced, about being a deviant or not, and you can deny it all you want but I know you, Connor. Just like you know me."

Connor was still taut and he narrowed unhappy brown eyes at Hank. "Then what are you proposing, Hank? Perhaps some miraculous solution to this so-called anxiety episode?"

And there it was, the snappy sarcasm Connor relied on when he was backed into a corner. If Hank had any doubts about this being some sort of mood swing before, they were all definitely vaporized.

"Nothing like that." Hank reached behind Connor to grab the corner of the sofa throw that he'd never really gotten around to correctly flatten against the couch, and latched his other arm around Connor's shoulders to pull him closer.

Connor resisted and pulled away. "What are you doing?"

"Just roll with it," Hank said. "You trust me, right?"

Connor still looked pretty glum, but he ended up begrudgingly nodding and allowed him to continue what he'd been doing. Hank lied down with a tense armful of android, propping his back up against the armrest and tugging the blanket over them both. Then he turned the volume of the TV back on and said: "Try to relax, okay? I'm right here with you."

Connor was still completely stiff. "Is this what you used to do for Cole when he felt down?"

"Hey, will you look at that! You admitted you felt bad."

Connor shot him an annoyed look. "You're not answering my question."

Hank lowered a hand on his back and started petting his head with the other. "I'm not answering it because it shouldn't matter if I did this for Cole or not. I'm doing this for you. Does it make you feel better?"

Connor's gaze slipped away and he resentfully muttered: "Maybe."

Hank smiled. Connor wasn't trying to wiggle out of their position, so that had been a definite yes.

"Now you're going to watch that movie with me and try to get your mind off things," he told him. "I know it's not easy, but you're not in a good state of mind and I don't think talking will change anything right now. We'll continue when you're feeling better."

"I don't know when that'll be."

"It's fine. You think I'd know in your place?"

Connor's silence sounded conceding.

Hank continued rubbing the back of his soft hoodie. "You know, usually it takes me a night of sleep to really get out of that kind of mindset. You can go into standby if you want, I don't mind."

"I don't intend to."

"You might, later."

Connor fell silent again and the sound of the conversation on the TV washed over them. Hank's fingers continued sifting through the synthetic hair which was drying surprisingly fast. Connor's breathing was as steady as clockwork and he could feel the android's pump quietly whirring away. As mechanical as it felt, it was comforting.

Connor spoke up again. "If I went into standby, I'd like you wake me up as soon as you needed to move."

"If you went into standby, sure, I'd do that."

"Okay." Connor was quiet for another few seconds, and then he said: "Thank you, Hank."

Hank gave his back a gentle pat. "Sure. Anytime."

Chapter Text

Connor was waiting in the dark.

He didn't feel like turning the lights on, or maybe it was because it was always bright in Markus' house. His brown eyes flickered up and down as he followed the hurried trajectory of raindrops trickling down the glass of Hank's window. The clouds had been hanging low and heavy in the gray skies all day, and it had started storming just about twenty minutes ago. Hank wasn't home when Connor had let himself in using his copy of the house key, and the quick reply he'd gotten told him he'd gone out to buy some groceries. He hoped Hank wouldn't catch a cold. It had been thirty minutes since he'd received Hank's last message, which had reminded him to go change his clothes for the evening. Hank didn't like seeing Connor dressed in his work clothes all the time, and especially not when they had an evening planned together.

Connor looked down at the sweater he'd put on reluctantly, but without protesting. He liked his formal cloths better: they were more familiar and consequently, he felt more at ease in them. However, Hank insisted that changing outfits upon getting out of work was better. Connor had put on this sweater several times now, and he started smoothing out the creases absent-mindedly. It was one of Hank's older sweaters which he used to wear when he had a thinner build, several years ago when he was still just only starting his career. It was the sweater Hank had given him to wear when he'd gotten dirty and had needed a change of clothes. Connor had been somewhat unsurprised to learn that Hank kept his old clothes, just like he'd kept his old car and his old earbuds. Hank was someone who brought his past into his future and it seemed that this would never change. Connor glanced towards the fridge, where he knew Cole Anderson's picture was lying face down on the top, hidden from view until Hank would feel the need to look at it again late at night. Connor looked away and twisted his fingers in the soft fabric, forcing his line of thought in another direction. He didn't know if he liked changing clothes like this, but he thought he was getting used to it. Hank wasn't the only one to insist about comfort being important; Markus also tried to teach Connor how to relax whenever he was off duty and they had free time to spend together.

Connor shook his head and lifted his gaze back up to the windowpane, where the rain loudly pattered against the glass. He didn't want to think about that right this moment, so instead, he thought of what he would do from now on. He didn't think he could return to the Manfred household with the way things were, and he definitely didn't want to impose on Hank. Maybe he'd return to the charging station where he used to spend his nights before Markus had asked him to move in. It was lonely, and certainly not as welcoming as the beautiful light-filled house that belonged to the late Carl Manfred, but it had been enough during the months following the revolution and Connor knew he'd be able to go back to living in the station without a problem. It would simply be like slipping back into his old routine... Though Nines probably wouldn't like the idea of Connor spending his nights alone again. Neither would Josh or Hank, for that matter. And Markus... Well, it wasn't Markus' problem what Connor chose to do.

There was the soft clicking of claws against the ground on his right and his head swivelled to face Sumo. The big dog let out a low whine and sat in front of him, letting his head drop in his lap and his tongue loll out with expectant brown eyes. Connor smiled at him and reached out a hand to stroke the dog's fur. It was easier dealing with Sumo than with anyone else. The dog always wanted the same things: food, sleep, and pats. There were no difficult emotions to read or ever-changing reactions to predict, and Connor didn't need to use his programming for this.

"Good boy," he said quietly.

Markus liked Sumo too. They hadn't often met, but interaction with animals came to Markus fairly easily compared to Connor. Whereas it had taken both time and effort for Connor to establish a cordial relationship with the dog, Markus had seemed enchanted to meet Sumo from the very start. There was no awkward patting, no cautious staring, no nervous smiling, nothing of what Connor had displayed upon meeting the Saint-Bernard for the first time. It seemed Markus could be at ease with any living being and Connor almost felt jealous of him in that regard.

Connor sighed internally. No matter what he tried, his thoughts kept circling back to Markus. There was still a lingering sensation of heaviness in his wires from earlier and echoes of his own shouting in his mind. He closed his eyes in a vain attempt to shut it out.

"They just want a formal interview, Connor."

"Fine. I don't like this, but I'll do it if it's necessary. Who will I go with?"

"... You're the only one they asked for."

"What? No, I'm not going alone!"

"Connor, calm down. We can't help it, they explicitly said they wanted to interview the deviant hunter only."

"Why? I shouldn't be the only one who has to answer for my actions!"

"Yes, but they're focused on you because of the exposure you received after CyberLife made sure to broadcast that you killed the soldiers in their Tower."

"But that's- that's unfair! Why should I go alone? You're responsible for deaths too!"

Markus had opened his mouth to answer, but nothing had come out. A shadow had swept over his features and he'd hastily turned around to leave the room, and Connor had ended up standing alone in the living room as the full weight of what he'd just said came crashing down on him. He hadn't meant to say that, but it was too late to take it back.

Connor leaned forth and rested his forehead against the dog's. "I messed up, Sumo."

Sumo nudged Connor's hand so he would keep scratching behind his ear, and Connor complied. He just needed to talk about this with Hank. Hank would know what to do. Hank would help him.

Hank walked in with grumbled curses ten minutes later, his plastic bags of groceries dripping water all over the floor. Connor stared at him reprovingly from behind the couch.

"You should've taken your umbrella," he told the human.

Hank glared at him. "Oh, shut your trap. Do you see me with a second pair of hands? And you never use an umbrella when you're under the rain."

"Yes, but androids don't fall sick."

"Androids don't fall sick," Hank mimicked in the most mocking voice Connor had ever heard, and even more infuriating was the fact that he found no biting reply to that. Childish tactics were always difficult to parry for Connor.

"You're supposed to be the mature one," he ended up telling the human.

"I've never heard that one before," Hank answered without giving him so much as a glance. He removed his rain-laden coat and threw it at the nearest chair where it landed with a heavy slap, then grabbed a bag and carried it to the freezer.

"Maybe you should dry off first," Connor suggested when Hank sniffed and wiped his nose on his sleeve. "I'll put the groceries away in the meanwhile."

Hank lowered the bag and gave him a grateful nod. "Yeah, thanks. Start with this one, will you?"

"Got it."

Connor was done cleaning up all the groceries by the time Hank reappeared in dry clothes, and his hair was only slightly damp still. He looked to be a lot warmer and Connor preferred things this way.

Hank smiled at him. "Thanks for you help. So, what did you want to talk about? It sounded important."

And just like that, Connor's earlier dread washed over him when he remembered what he'd done. Hank must have noticed his features shift because his smile turned into a concerned expression.

"Oh, shit. What happened?"

Connor looked at him forlornly. "I got in a fight with Markus."

Hank stepped closer and pulled back a chair. "You mean like, a real fight? Is this your first serious argument with him?"

Connor sat down at the table as well and tried not to fidget with his sleeves. "...Yes. I was angry, I wasn't thinking and I... I said something very hurtful."

"How did he react?"

Connor dropped his gaze to his hands. "He didn't say anything. He just left. I haven't had any news from him since."

"So he didn't ask you to leave, you're the one who chose to?"

Connor nodded. "I couldn't stay after what I did." He paused, recalling the fight all over again. "It was bad. I'm not sure... I'm not sure he'll be willing to forgive me."

"You just got out of that fight, Connor. You're probably both still pretty shaken up by it, " reasoned Hank. "Everything's looking grim right now, but you shouldn't start drawing conclusions just yet."

"I know, but this was..." Connor trailed off.

"Well, what did you say?"

Connor felt a wave of guilt wash over him upon recalling his own voice hurling resentful words at the person he loved, how fast Markus had escaped from the room. "I... I called him a killer, Hank. How could I- Why did I say that? He had to defend himself, he didn't have a choice but to kill. It was unfair of me to say that he was responsible for deaths, I must've reminded him of all those who died for the revolution as well, he's always thinking about it, I wasn't supposed to say that, I never should have!" He looked up at the human in utter distress. Hank's features slackened when their gazes met, but Connor continued. "He must be so upset, so mad at me. I ruined this, I ruined-"

"No, hey, hey hey hey," said Hank fantically as he stood up and hurried to his side. Connor was confused by the panic in his voice until Hank wrapped his hands around his own, and he noticed that his hands had started shaking. That hadn't happened in a while.

"I'm... I'm alright. I'm not glitching or anything," he told Hank, but his friend didn't retrieve his hands and instead kicked the closest chair out from under the table so he could sit next to him.

"Okay, sure, but you're freaking out and that's not good for you either. Your LED's bright red, too."

"Oh."

"Yeah." Hank squeezed his hands. "Take a moment to calm down, okay? We don't have to do this all at once, we've got time."

Connor looked away in shame. "I'm sorry for ruining our plans. I know this wasn't what you wanted to do tonight."

Hank leaned forward. "Hey." Connor tore his gaze away from the surface of the table to meet Hank's, and the human smiled. "I think we have enough days left to spend together to watch that movie another time. You're not ruining anything, okay? Sometimes we just need to talk, and that's what we're doing."

Connor nodded. "Yes. Okay. Thank you."

"I know how frightening it is to fight with someone you love, and it's a good thing that you decided to see me instead of mulling over it alone. Okay? You did well coming here."

Connor nodded again, silently this time.

"Good," said Hank approvingly. "You don't even have to talk if you don't want to. We can just stay like this until you feel better."

"Thank you," Connor repeated.

They were both silent for a while. Connor paid close attention to the weight of Hank's hands on his own, the pressure they were gently exerting around his fingers, the warmth of the human's skin, how much more grounded and calmer the physical contact made him feel. He felt protected like this, like his thoughts couldn't hurt him as badly. It took him a moment before he could gather them and speak again.

"... Maybe this is for the best," he said quietly. He hesitated shortly to continue, knowing that Hank didn't like it when he put himself down, but he felt the need to continue now that's he'd started putting the words out in the open. "Markus shouldn't have to be burdened with someone like me."

"What do you mean by someone like you?" Hank calmly asked.

Connor clenched his fists in frustration. "You know what I mean. Someone who used to be the deviant hunter, someone who can't be a proper deviant, someone who's broken and glitches too often."

"Hey, I've shot people before. I'm a depressive old fuck with a lot of issues and I can't stop drinking, but you still love me, don't you?"

Connor gave a tiny nod. "Of course I do, but that's different."

"It's really not. Don't you love Markus?"

"I do!" Connor exclaimed indignantly, suddenly outraged that Hank would imply otherwise.

Hank let out a small chuckle at his outcry. "Let me tell you, Markus obviously loves you a whole lot too. You've both been through some really rough shit and it's never going to be easy living with it, and sometimes you'll make the mistake of using your pasts against each other, but you have to trust that he loves you just as much as you love him."

Connor deflated on the spot. He wanted to believe Hank's words, he really did, but he didn't see how Markus could ever forgive him for what he'd said. Connor wouldn't have forgiven anyone else for saying that kind of thing to Markus.

"But maybe he's wrong. Maybe I'm not the one he's supposed to love," Connor protested.

"There's no one who is or isn't supposed to be loved, Connor. That's not the kind of thing you can put an objective on. It just happens."

"But what if I don't deserve it?"

"And what if you do?" retorted Hank. "You ever think about it that way?"

Connor took a moment to consider this, and then conceded: "No."

"Do you know how many fights I got in with my wife before we even got married? It didn't change the fact that we loved each other through it all." Hank made a face. "Well, I know that's not the best example since we divorced in the end, but trust me, we were in love back then. No number of fights could change that."

"What did you fight over?"

"Stupid stuff. We got into fights over nothings, like who left the last piece of toilet paper and didn't change the roll, and whose turn it was to wash the dishes, and whose turn it was to cook, that kind of stuff. We probably looked pretty dysfunctional from an outside point of view, but we made it work."

Connor couldn't believe Hank was comparing his petty fights to the disaster that had happened a few hours ago between him and Markus. Obviously he wanted to help, and Connor appreciated the effort, but... "Hank, I told Markus he was a murderer. Did you ever tell that to your wife?"

"Uh, no," Hank admitted, and he scratched his beard embarrassingly. "No, I can't say I have."

Connor's shoulders sagged. "You see. This is different."

Hank raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, well, of course. Neither of us were leaders of an entire fucking revolution. We didn't exactly have high-stakes arguments to throw at each other."

Connor didn't find anything to answer to that.

Hank lifted a hand to pat him on the shoulder. "Hey, listen. You should give each other at least twenty-four hours to think, and that's really the bare minimum. You can stay here until then if you don't feel comfortable going back, okay?"

"I don't want to disturb you," Connor immediately said.

"You're not disturbing me, dumbass, you're keeping me company. In fact, you're keeping us company. You think Sumo wouldn't be happy to have you around for a few days?"

Connor looked over at the Saint-Bernard. Sumo hadn't moved from his cushion, but his tail started wagging lazily when their gazes met, and Connor felt a small smile tug at the corners of his lips. He looked back at Hank.

"If you're sure this isn't a bother..."

"Great," said Hank with no hesitation. "Let's just take you mind off things for a little bit, okay? We can watch TV, or you can try to bake me another chocolate monstrosity, we can even play card games or something if you want."

Connor felt the weight in his chest lighten ever so slightly and he smiled gratefully at his friend. "I'd like to do all of that."

Hank smiled back. Then he stood up and leaned forward to pull him into a hug, and Connor suddenly found himself with his face pressed into the warm crook of the man's shoulder. He felt his friend's large hand pat him comfortingly on his back and Hank's voice rumble against his chest. "You're going to be all right, Con. Both of you."

Connor was suddenly filled with a strong, reassuring feeling that felt equal parts good and overwhelming. He lifted his hands up to reciprocate the hug and answered in a muffled voice: "I hope so."

Chapter Text

The first time Hank had sneezed, Connor had nearly jumped out of his synthetic skin. The atmosphere had been tranquil and there had been no warning, but most notably Connor had never heard the man sneeze before. He hadn't been prepared for the speed and volume at which the air had been expelled from Hank's lungs, and the explosive sound had hit his audio processors in an unexpectedly strong shockwave. Connor had felt his pump stutter from the surprise. Hank had seen that he had startled and he'd laughed at him.

Now, however, Hank was in no state to laugh. He groggily wiped his nose on his sleeve, which Connor noted was a very unhygienic gesture even for a human at peak health, and let out a stuffy grunt of unhappiness.

"Maybe you should go to bed," suggested Connor as he ran his hands through Sumo's fur on the side of the room. The dog had rested his head on top of Connor's dark jean-clad knee and he'd rolled up the sleeves to his white button-up shirt, since the dog tended to lick whatever part of Connor happened to be above his snout when he got pet. His shoes laid abandoned in the entranceway.

"Nah." Hank sniffed and squinted puffy eyes at the TV. He was in his old T-shirt and shorts he used as pajamas, wearing ratty slippers and wrapped in the sofa throw. He looked cold despite it.

"You can't even see what's happening on there, Hank. Just go get some sleep for a few minutes."

"Don't feel like it. Just gonna wait it out."

Connor stared at him reprovingly. He knew they were both very stubborn when they wanted to be, but this was ridiculous. "You need rest, you can't expect your body to just get over it like that."

Hank snorted dismissively. "Yeah, okay, doctor."

Connor frowned at him. "What about work tomorrow? You can't go there if you're not seeing straight."

Hank shot him an unimpressed glance. "You think I haven't gone to work sick before? You think any of us go on leave just because of a little cold?"

Connor stared back impassively. "I have noticed, in fact, that most people at the DPD tend to run their physical health into the ground before asking for it, which seems unecessarily risky and counter-productive to me."

Hank just sniffed and ignored him.

"Illness slows down the speed at which a human works, and the fact that you're willing to be on the verge of death before finally taking time off only lengthens the recovery period which means you end up doing less work than you would've done if you'd simply asked for a break in the beginning of said illness. Do you see the problem?" insisted Connor.

"For fuck's sake, Connor, get off my ass."

"No." Connor straightened and marched over to the couch to tower over the human. "If you don't call in sick tomorrow, I'll do it for you. I'm not just going to sit by and watch while my partner decides to run around investigating crime scenes in the cold with a runny nose and a sore throat while coughing and sneezing all over the place. Not only would that be disgusting, but you'd just be putting yourself in danger."

Hank raised his eyebrows. "Danger's kind of a big word for just a common cold, Connor."

"By definition, putting your health at risk is considered dangerous."

Hank sighed. "And here I thought that by not having a GP, I could be sick in peace."

"The fact that you don't have a GP is absurd in itself," Connor told him disapprovingly. "Humans should all have a doctor on hand."

"Yeah, well. Doctors aren't all that great."

They'd had this frustrating conversation before and Connor tried not to sound annoyed when he answered: "Just because you had a few bad experiences doesn't mean they're all so-called assholes. Believe it or not, some people go through years of studies because they actually want to help others. Why do you think health professionals even exist?"

"To torture me."

"To prevent you from wasting your good health!" Connor said, exasperated.

"Well, they fucked up."

"No, Hank, your health is lackluster because you stopped seeing one."

The human stared at him dubiously. "I knew you were a health enthusiast, but I didn't take you for a fervent defender of those medical pricks. Are you on their payroll or something?"

Connor stared back wordlessly, baffled that Hank would suggest something so ludicrous, and for a moment he struggled to find a way to put the conversation back on more reasonable tracks. In the end, he gave up and said: "I'm not defending them, I just want you to be more careful with your health."

"It's just a cold," stated Hank. The tone of his voice implied rather explicitly that Connor was overreacting.

Connor did not appreciate that tone and defensively crossed his arms over his chest. "A cold can turn into a number of complicated health issues if not treated correctly." He pulled up a reference and started reading out the afflictions listed on the website. "You could get bronchitis, pneumonia, strep throat, sinusi-"

Hank held up a hand to stop him. "Okay, okay, I get it."

Connor insisted. "You know how easily humans get hurt. You're not above any of that, Hank."

His friend lowered his hand and softly said: "I know, Connor, but I'm not going to die from a common cold. Why are you so worried?"

"Because you won't look after yourself!" he exploded. "And when I show concern, you act like I'm a nuisance! I didn't force you to take medicine, or drag you to see a doctor, or anything at all. All I asked of you was to take a short nap, but you won't even do that!"

Hank frowned at his outburst and his voice sharpened. "Because I'm a grown man and I don't have to do what you tell me. This is my house, I can do what I damn well want in it!"

"That's the excuse you choose to use? You know, sometimes I wonder which one of us is really one year old," Connor said resentfully.

Hank tightened the throw around him and grumbled: "Oh, it's you, make no mistake."

"It certainly doesn't look that way to me. None of this would had happened if you hadn't gone tramping around in the rain without an umbrella like an oblivious toddler."

"Well excuse me for not being able to predict the weather!" snapped Hank.

"You didn't have to walk in the downpour, there were options for shelter everywhere around you!"

"Will you lay off already? God, you gripe worse than my ex-wife!"

Connor threw his arms in the air in an ultimate gesture of frustration and stomped around the couch before he started saying things he'd regret. He needed to busy himself, do something productive to take his mind off their argument. Hank was sick, Hank was tired, he was on edge and was justifiably grumpy. Connor on the other hand had no real excuse to act this irritable, and he knew that, but even so he couldn't help opening the cupboards with a little too much force and set the cup he took from it on the counter with a little too much noise. If it disturbed Hank, he didn't say anything about it.

Connor wrenched the kettle off its base and thrust it in the sink to fill it up, then slammed it back in its place and testily flipped the switch on the kettle to set the water to boil. The box of tea bags suffered a crushing fate when he grabbed it without quite controlling his strength and the thin cardboard teared at the corners. He cursed under his breath and tried to calm down. If he continued like this, he'd end up breaking something valuable. Connor disliked many parts of deviancy and this was one of them. He hated feeling like this, on the verge of losing control, tense and agitated and not knowing what to do to make it better. He gripped the edge of the counter and stared at the level of simmering water he could glimpse through the transparent vertical band that lined the kettle. The dark swarming mass inside of him slowed down to a crawl after a few seconds, and then congealed into something cold and glum. He didn't like it any better. By the time the water had reached its boiling point, he was morose but calm enough that the kettle's spout only made a light clink when it hit the rim of the cup, and he didn't rip anything apart when he grabbed a tea bag to drop it in the hot liquid. He looked up and rummaged through another cupboard to pull out a bottle of honey. Apparently humans found it to be a useful sweetener, during colds especially. He squeezed a consequently-sized dollop into the tea, put it back on the shelf and swirled the hot drink with a spoon. Once he was sure the honey had dissolved and the tea had infused long enough, he went back into the living room to give it to Hank, ignoring the apprehension growing in his chest. It was unfortunate that every disagreement he had always led to a fight. He didn't like fighting at all. He didn't like fighting because then someone had to apologize, and that was always unpleasant. It had been so easy saying sorry to everyone for anything when he'd been a machine, but now...

Connor stepped in front of Hank and handed him the cup. "I'd like you to drink this. It's tea and honey."

The human stared at it for a moment and then reached out to take it, looking equal parts baffled and grateful. He cradled the warm cup in both hands and looked up. "You know you don't have to do that, right? I mean... we just fought. You're supposed to be, you know, angry at me or something."

Connor averted his gaze. "I am, but they say this is good for common colds."

Hank looked incredulous. "...Uh. Well. Thank you."

Connor turned around to step away when he felt a warm hand wrap around his wrist and pull him back. He looked at his friend in confusion, and noticed that Hank's features were more open than they'd been earlier.

"Look, Connor, I know you get worried easily about my health because I'm a human and yada yada yada. But honestly, you gotta give us more credit than that. We're more resilient than you think. How many colds do you think I've gotten through alone without any help?"

"Probably a lot," Connor answered quietly. He didn't want to argue again, but he didn't want to let the matter drop either. "It doesn't change the fact that you should look after yourself better. I don't like it when you act like your health isn't important."

"Okay, I get that," conceded Hank. "I don't like it when you do that either."

Connor hesitated, and said: "It seems we're both good at ignoring how nonsensical our own behaviour can get."

"Yeah." Hank let go of his hand to hold onto the cup. "We're a pair of hypocrites." The human took a sip, grimaced at the heat, and then looked up at Connor. "Thanks for looking after me, but it's not your role to do that. I'm going to get better, okay? I've always gotten better."

Connor nodded.

Hank made another face. "And I'm going to go take a nap like you told me to, because I think I'm starting to regret my decision to stay up and watch TV with a headache."

Connor smiled. "That would be wise."

Hank gave his hip a teasing nudge. "Yeah, yeah, gloat all you want. You should go see Markus in the meantime, you guys have been ignoring each other for long enough."

Connor's face fell. "But what if-"

"No what if's, Connor, you just go there and kiss that fucker into surrender. You can do that, right?"

A light tinge darkened Connor's cheeks. "Hank..."

Hank grinned. "Oh, come on, don't be shy. I'm sure Markus misses you and he'd probably love it if that was the first thing you two got up to."

Connor ducked his head in embarrassement. "...Okay, I'll try. I'll go to his house."

"Your house," Hank gently reminded him.

"...Our house," Connor amended after a short moment of hesitation.

"Good," said Hank approvingly. "And if anything happens, which I really doubt it will, you can come back here no problem. Got it?"

Connor nodded. "I got it. But you'd better be in bed by the time I come back."

Hank smiled at that. "Yeah, you won't be back."

Chapter Text

"Hank."

"No."

"Please."

"No."

"You're making this a lot more complicated than it needs to be," Connor wearily said.

"You're the one force-feeding me rabbit food!" exclaimed Hank in blatant indignation. "Look at this shit! It's gonna turn me into Shrek!"

Connor lightly scrunched his nose in confusion, briefly looked up Hank's reference, and decided not to ask. "It really isn't. Your skin tone won't change after one single intake of green foods."

Hank stared at the smoothie set on the table in front of him with a disgusted expression, lips set in a distasteful curl. "I'm not touching that thing with a twenty-foot pole."

"It's the fastest way to compensate for your broken diet, and it's a popular recipe on the internet. I'm sure it tastes better than you think."

"What would you know?" Hank shot back. "I'm not guzzling your witch brew, okay? I bet it's got cabbage and kiwis and- ugh, kale, that shit's always in anything fitness-related."

Connor stared at him without answering. Yes, there was kale. Hank was right, there'd been kale in nearly every single recipe he'd looked up online. Hank took his silence for the admission it was and pushed the glass back towards him like a petulant child. "Not. Drinking it."

Connor frowned at him. "You're wasting perfectly good fruits and vegetables."

"Bite me. You're the one who used them in the first place without asking for my opinion."

The glass stayed right where it was, and Connor walked around the table to stand in front of Hank. "This is for your health. If you were eating correctly, I wouldn't have to intervene."

"Who said you needed to? I've been eating more broccoli than I've had in the last damn decade!" growled his friend. "It tastes like shit, but I'm still doing it because you won't get off my ass otherwise, and now you want me to drink that monstrosity?"

"It tastes like shit because you only eat frozen vegetables," countered Connor. "And if you were making an active effort to get in shape, then maybe I wouldn't need to force feed you anything!"

"You don't need to do it either way! God, you're fucking insufferable. I cleaned up my act, I stopped drinking, I eat fucking vegetables. I am healthier, but it's never enough for you, huh? Where the hell do you even draw the line?"

Connor stared at him sternly. "I draw the line where you take care of your body in an optimal manner. You won't even take walks outside of work aside from doing it for Sumo, and even then I'm the one walking him half of the time. Your physical activity is lackluster, and since your tastes won't change and you'll never give up on burgers or soda, the only option left so that you'll lead a healthier lifestyle is to watch your nutritional intakes. Some deficiencies can only be reduced by eating fresh products, Hank, not the contents of your freezer."

"This is why I never got any health program shit device," mumbled Hank under his breath, but of course Connor caught it.

"I'm not a health program smart device," he stiffly said.

"You sure sound like one."

Connor decided not to pursue this line of discussion and reached for the glass again. "Look, I don't want you to die prematurely because you couldn't be bothered to eat properly. I'm not letting this go. Either you drink this once a week, either you start running a few miles every weekend."

Hank swatted his hand away. "Get that shit away from me. Will you really get off my ass for good if I choose to run?"

Connor looked at him in surprise. He hadn't expected Hank to accept the alternative so fast, seeing how averse he usually was to any physical activity that didn't involve pursuing criminals. Hank smiled in a somewhat reluctant manner, like he didn't mean to crack his sullen facade but couldn't help doing so in the face of Connor's stupefaction. "What, did you figure police academy was just us lazing around?"

"No," quickly answered Connor. "Not at all, it makes sense. I've just never seen you do any kind of rigorous training."

Hank made a face. "And now you want me to run laps. I didn't miss those."

Connor tilted his head inquiringly. "...So we have a deal?"

"Yeah. Now put down the radioactive threat."

The green smoothie ended up stored at the back of Hank's freeze in case maybe one day he would feel the unlikely urge to taste it, and they didn't go for a run until the weekend came around. Hank only had his two old pairs of basketball shorts, one which he hadn't taken out of his closet for years except for the time he'd lended them to Connor and for which he'd put on too much weight to wear comfortably, the other he only used at home when he wanted to be comfortable. He didn't really have appropriate clothes for sports, and Connor didn't have any himself nor did he have running shoes. They headed out to buy the appropriate outfits together at the end of the week and Hank went straight for the shorts section while Connor ambled in the pants department. When Hank turned up by his side again, he'd chosen the nearly exact same shorts as his old ones and Connor had opted for some dark track pants with a white outline. The images he pulled up on the internet told him people usually wore plain white T-shirts with track pants and neither he nor Markus had any T-shirts, so he bought one for good mesure alongside simple black lightweight trainers. Hank decided he'd just wear his police academy sweatshirt over one of his worn shirts.

It turned out that Nines was as pleased as Connor had been to learn that Hank was going to take up physical activity on a regular schedule, and even moreso when he had the idea to make Detective Reed's workout coincide with Hank's. Connor wasn't as enthusiastic as Nines in that regard, afraid that it would dissuade Hank from wanting to run; he should've known that his worries were unfounded given the fact that Detective Reed and Hank constantly challenged each other at work. When they joined up with Nines at the park, Hank slowed down as soon as he caught sight of the shorter human standing next to the RK900 and groaned: "I hate this."

Connor threw him a look. "I told you he would be there."

"Yeah, I know. Doesn't mean I have to like it."

"You could've just refused."

Hank shrugged and started walking again. "Nines sounded like it would make him happy." Then he lowered his voice to a disbelieving mutter. "Look at that stupid getup."

Connor looked. He didn't think Detective Reed's appearance was any stupider than usual, but maybe what Hank was referring to was the more purposeful way in which the detective had dressed for this activity compared to their own outfits, which had just been thrown together on short notice. He had an actual running jacket matching his dark grey tights and shoes with visibly thick soles; they looked a lot more adapted to running and undeniably more well-cared for than Hank's worn sneakers, which used to be white but were now a washed-out shade of gray. Connor tilted his head upon noticing the detective's fluorescent socks. They reached up to the beginning of his calves, and Connor decided that maybe Detective Reed did look a little bit ridiculous dressed like this. Nines' appearance was more reasonable, with a simple pale blue tracksuit and white tennis shoes, and he'd discarded his turtleneck for once even if he'd kept the black color of his shirt.

"Would ya look at that, you don't look like an uptight prick today!" exclaimed Hank.

"Am I supposed to take this well?" asked Nines.

"I think what he meant by that is that it suits you," said Connor with a smile, and then he turned to the other human. "Hello, Detective Reed."

"Yeah, yeah," said the man, and he turned to Hank in complete disregard of Connor to taunt the lieutenant with a sneer. "What a fucking joke. You really think your drunk ass can keep up with me, Anderson?"

Hank shot him a thoroughly unimpressed look. "Shut the fuck up, Reed, and maybe you'll stop being such a huge waste of oxygen."

Detective Reed's featured tightened in anger for a second, but before he could retaliate Nines settled a hand on his shoulder and sternly said: "We're all here to run together, and if that's all right with you I'd rather you not flap that annoying mouth of yours all afternoon."

The human just glared at him, then looked back at Hank with that supremely grating grin he was so good at displaying and provocatively said: "Maybe if you keep up, I'll believe you're an actual cop and not some hobo Fowler picked up off the streets."

Hank grinned back mirthlessly. "Keep running your mouth, rookie, see where that gets you."

Hank didn't look fazed by Detective Reed's words, but Connor knew him well. That the detective had put in question his position on the force had struck a nerve in Hank, one that all the remarks about his alcohol abuse and depressive tendencies had never come close to touching, because his work had been the only thing that had made him feel like he wasn't completely gone in those dark years after Cole's death. The only thing that had kept him going, even if it hadn't been by much. The fact that Detective Reed didn't believe he had any worth as a police worker meant more to Hank than he was willing to let on.

Detective Reed just smirked and turned around. "I give you thirty seconds before you start sweating like a pig, and then Connor will have to carry you home."

"Do you ever shut up?" asked Hank in exasperation. "Nines, how have you not ripped his tongue out yet?"

"It can be useful at times," said Nines in a neutral voice, but the detective's head whipped around instantly.

"Don't say another word," he warned in a low growl.

Connor tried not to grin, but the fact that any potential double-entendre never failed to put Detective Reed on edge made it far too easy for Nines to tease him and it was a very amusing thing to witness.

Nines tranquilly smiled. "I won't, if you stop ranting and start running. Move it, detective."

Detective Reed's ears had reddened and he spun around to take his first angry strides, setting a distance between him and the three of them. Nines looked satisfied by his partner's reaction and gave Hank and Connor a small nod before he started running at the other's pace. Hank looked at Connor and shrugged. "Might as well show that prick who's lieutenant around here."

Connor smiled and agreed: "You might as well."

Hank started jogging and Connor adjusted his smooth gait to his friend's pace. He kept the water bottle in his hand perfectly stable so that it wouldn't make a sound despite its regular back-and-forths. Hank had told him it was useless to bring the towel Connor had intended to take with him, but watching his human partner progressively getting red in the face, slowing his pace and starting to sweat more than a simple faint sheen on his forehead, he wondered whether he really should have listened to him. Connor knew in theory that humans sweated during physical activity and he'd witnessed it in Hank before when they chased after criminals, but never to this extent.

His concern grew when he noticed that other people were staring at Hank. The joggers they crossed didn't pay much attention to them, but the many individuals sitting in the park, on the grass and along the benches that lined the path would raise their heads upon hearing Hank's loud breathing and heavy footsteps, and they seemed genuinely concerned about his state. Connor went over what he knew about the human health conditions that came with extensive physical activity- not that a thirty-minute jog was extensive in any way, but one could never be too careful- and then glanced at Hank again.

"Do you need to slow down?" he asked, in a voice as steady as his strides.

Hank glared at him, wiped a steady trickle of sweat away from his face and muttered in a ragged breath: "Fucking androids... looking so goddamn perfect... all the damn time."

Connor was aware humans were not supposed to run forever, but he also knew that the average human wouldn't have looked this wrecked in just fifteen minutes of jogging.

"Should we stop running?"

"You should stop running your mouth," grunted Hank annoyedly. He sounded lively enough.

Connor smiled to himself. "That's a no, then."

"Shut up and wipe that smug grin off your face, you prick."

But Connor kept smiling and didn't shut up. "The amount of sweat your body is currently producing is impressive. I knew a human's level of bodily fluids could fall quickly because of physical activity, but I've never seen it happen to this degree before. Despite being sustainable, humans have surprisingly inefficient bodies. Would you like to drink some water?"

"Stop trying to yap off my ear, Connor."

"You might get a cramp if you don't drink enough fluids while exercising. You didn't drink much before we left your house."

"I'm fine, I won't get one," snapped Hank, his voice harsh from exertion.

Connor didn't insist and they kept running, until Hank started making wheezing noises while Connor was talking and he immediately started feeling very preoccupied by that. "Hank? Are you okay?"

Hank slowed down to a stop and leaned against the closest tree to catch his breath, still wheezing and nearly doubled over. Connor followed him closely. "What's wrong? Do you have a medical condition I don't know about? Asthma?"

His friend was making very strange faces that were halfway between a rictus of pain and hysterical laughter but which could also have been an expression indicative of constipation. Connor's facial recognition program was having a difficult time picking one or the other.

"Hank, can't you talk? Tell me what's-"

"I'm fine," managed Hank, half-choking, half-gasping. "You're a fucking moron, is all."

Connor straightened and stared at his partner in confusion, absent-mindedly fixing his hair. "What?"

Hank's wheezing was irregular and his chest kept spasming, and then Connor realized that despite being so out of breath, the man was laughing at him. "God, you're such an idiot. Of course I'd lose the rythm.... if you made me laugh like that.... in the middle of running!"

Connor frowned. "I didn't intend to make you laugh."

"Doesn't surprise me," grinned Hank, but the shit-eating factor of it was greatly disminished by the physical struggle he was going through to get his breath back. "But you know... People will usually laugh at you.... If you ask them what animal a chicken nugget comes from."

"It was a perfectly reasonable question!" answered Connor defensively. "I've seen documentaries on the food industry, and a lot of processed meats don't come from a single animal. I was only wondering if it was the same for chicken nuggets, and since you seem to like those I thought you'd know."

"Yeah well, all I know is that you're an idiot," chuckled Hank as he wiped his face on his sweat-stained shirt. Then he looked back up at Connor. "Jesus, we've been running for... what, twenty-five minutes? And you look like you stepped right out of a book club meeting."

Connor stopped fixing his plain white T-shirt when he noticed that Hank was right. He didn't look like he'd been running. His ventilation systems had reverted back to the usual frequency of his steady simulated breathing in the few seconds that had followed their halt, and he must have looked oddly composed next to his tired and disheveled friend. Connor mussed up his hair again and tugged on his clothes to regain his messier appearance, cursing his habit of looking impeccable at all times. He didn't dislike that his android looks were so obvious next to Hank, he was what he was; but he didn't want to appear completely unruffled by the activity they were doing because that was much too machine-like.

"Hey, I didn't mean anything by that," said Hank, and suddenly there was a worried light to his eyes.

Connor nodded and tried to sound appeasing. "I know you didn't. It's just that I like it better like this."

"Oh." Hank let out a loud exhale, and then said: "Okay, let's go."

"Ready when you are, Hank."

The human moved, but as Connor turned around to anticipate his start he heard a faint hiss at his side.

"Motherfucker."

Connor looked over at Hank and saw that he was hunched over, and he immediately guessed what was wrong upon noticing the way Hank was massaging his calf. He opened his mouth but was stopped by a raised finger.

"Don't. Don't tell me you told me so."

Connor only hesitated about a second. "But I did tell you so."

Hank let out a huff and let his arm fall back to his leg. "Fucking smartass."

Connor smiled amusedly and handed him the water bottle, which Hank took from him with a grumbled word of thanks, then raised his head towards the road where Nines and Detective Reed must have been waiting for them for the last ten minutes. That was if the detective hadn't already decided to leave, but Connor doubted it was the case. Detective Reed would probably stay in that place for hours if it meant he got to rub how far ahead he'd been in Hank's face.

Once Hank had rehydrated himself and his pain was gone, they started running again. They caught up to the others a few moments later at the end of the road, and there stood Detective Reed, a gloating grin spread out on his face as he took in the sight of his huffing, red-faced lieutenant stomping close.

"That's just sad, Anderson," he declared when Hank stopped in front of both him and Nines to lean forward with his hands on his knees. "You look like a pile of deflated balloons had sex with a sad sack of shit."

"Shut... yer trap, ya prick," heaved Hank.

Detective Reed barked a laugh and then nudged Nines in the side. "Hey, give me my bottle."

Nines' lips drew back to unveil a dangerously polite smile and he raised the container of water up to the detective's outreached hand, which closed around empty air when the bottle smoothly continued its trajectory upwards and finished its course tipped over Nines' open mouth.

They all watched wordlessly as the liquid disappeared down his throat, and then Nines lowered the empty plastic in Detective Reed's hand and said with a grin: "Your bottle, Detective."

There was a stunned silence, and then his partner exclaimed: "You bastard! That was my- What the hell, why would you drink it?!"

"Woah," said Hank from Connor's side. "You sure androids can drink water? You're not gonna fritz out on us, are you?"

"Rest assured, I'm able to filter out undesirable intakes," Nines answered him before turning to an irate Detective Reed. "You were being a dick to Hank."

"Wh- A di- I was telling the truth!" exclaimed the detective, and he ragingly gestured towards Hank. "Look at him!"

"You were red and panting earlier as well, Gavin, what makes you think you're allowed to criticize Hank for his appearance?" asked Nines with an unmistakably dirty smirk, and Hank let out an audible groan.

"Jesus, get a room."

Blood immediately rushed to Gavin's face and he started to wave around his empty bottle agitatedly. "The phck are you talking about? He's just saying that crap to- That's not even- It's not what you think, you old pervert!"

Connor couldn't hold back a smile. "What does he think?"

Detective Reed glared at him and threw the bottle at him. "Phck off, tin can."

Connor easily caught it and tossed it back to Nines. "I understand if you'd like us to give you two some privacy, Detective. We can leave."

"That's not what I meant!" snapped Detective Reed.

Hank raised suggestive brows, unable to resist the temptation to tease him further. "Come on, Reed, no need to be shy about it."

Detective Reed put up a middle finger and snarled: "All of you can phck right off."

Then he stomped away, and Connor exchanged a smile with Nines and Hank. It was all too easy to fluster the detective.

"I could use a shower," then declared Hank. "Nines, you wanna come back to my house with us?"

"I don't see why not."

"You did come with an angry goblin toddler and I wouldn't want him to get lost now that you're separated."

"I'm sure Gavin can handle himself on his own," answered Nines with an amused smile.

"Angry goblin toddler," mused Connor. "You've never used that one before."

Hank shot him a grin, and simply said: "Suits him."

Connor wasn't about to disagree.

Chapter Text

Hank flipped his notebook shut and declared: "I gotta take Sumo to the vet."

Connor looked up from the aloe vera he was watering on Hank's bookshelf and asked: "What's wrong with him?"

"Nothing," answered Hank, tossing the notebook on the table and rising from his chair. "I just remembered he had to get his parvo shot this year."

"Parvo shot?" echoed Connor. He turned around to water the snake's tongue next.

"Yeah, parvovirus. I have to make sure he stays immune to it and it's almost been three years since the last one." Hank stepped around the table to retrieve his phone from his coat. "I'll make an appointment right now."

Connor went to the kitchen to set his now empty glass out to dry while going over the elements in his database about dogs. He pulled up a few videos of veterinarians administering shots and then looked at Hank. "It won't hurt Sumo, will it?"

Hank looked up from his phone. "What, the shots?"

Connor nodded.

"Nah, Sumo's got thick skin. He won't feel more than a little sting, like a mosquito- well, you don't know what that feels like."

"I don't," acknowledged Connor. "But if you say it won't hurt him, I believe you."

Hank called the nearest clinic and made the appointment with a vet called Dr Abbey, and Connor looked over to the Saint-Bernard laying in a corner of the house. Sumo's ears had perked up and he was staring intently at Hank, as if trying to figure out what the words coming out of his master's mouth were good or bad. The dog must've understood that something unusual was happening, however, because he got off his cushion to pad away from the living room and into Hank's room, out of hearing and out of view.

Hank hung up and grinned at Connor when he saw the questioning look on his face. "He knows what's up. Sumo doesn't like going to the vet, so he hides whenever I make the call."

Connor frowned. "He hides? Is he scared?"

"Well, I don't know if scared is the right word, but he definitely doesn't appreciate it. Don't worry, it's the same for humans and their doctor. Health stuff just isn't a lot of fun."

"...I see."

"You want to come along?" suggested Hank.

It didn't take more than a second for Connor to make a decision; if Sumo didn't like going to that clinic, then he wanted to be there for support. "I'd like to, yes."

And so Connor, Hank and Sumo drove to the Saint Mastern's clinic that was situated three neighbourhoods over a few weeks later. The dog seemed elated to be able to put his head out the window during the trip and had been eager to climb on board, less so to get down when they arrived. Hank had to pull on his leash a little to get him to move, and Connor watched on a tad worriedly while Sumo acted uncharacteristically uncooperative. Registering their arrival took about two minutes, they waited in very primarily colored chairs for a quarter of an hour, and then they were called in by Dr. Abbey and sat facing the middle-aged man in a pale blue room covered in various posters about canine teeth and feline life years among many other topics. Hank and Dr. Abbey discussed the reason of Sumo's presence there while Connor soothingly rubbed the top of the dog's massive head. Sumo had laid down in the furthest spot away from the vet, and Connor could tell that the way he was lowering his head between his paws indicated some anxiety. Still, Connor kept silent. Sumo wasn't his dog and he trusted Hank's decision in regards to the dog's health.

It was when Dr. Abbey had Sumo climb onto a metal table that Connor tried to intervene. Sumo whimpered when the vet came close and Connor automatically reached out to put himself between the dog and the human, but Hank stopped him with a hand on the shoulder.

"Hey, hey. What are you doing?"

"Sumo's scared. You said he wouldn't get hurt," Connor told Hank reproachfully.

"He won't," insisted Hank. "Sumo just doesn't like vets."

"It's the white coat," said Dr. Abbey with a genial laugh, gesturing to his attire. "Happens more often then I'd wish."

Connor took a reluctant step backwards while Hank and Dr. Abbey both helped the old dog climb up, and he didn't let his guard down, watching closely as the vet grabbed onto Sumo's thick fur to keep him still and uncapped a syringe. He noticed that the dog wasn't concentrating on the instrument, but rather trying to get away from the vet himself, and he understood then that Dr. Abbey was right. The dog's unease towards the man's clothes reminded Connor of his own, and memory files of lab coats and analytical voices slowly started creeping up to the surface. He straightened and clenched his hands behind his back, resolutely trying to focus on the scene unfolding in front of him and not on his unsettling thoughts.

He didn't like seeing a sharp object so close to Sumo, and it wasn't reassuring to see the dog he liked best get shots for the first time, even if he knew it was for Sumo's good. He knew it would only last a few seconds, that the virus contained in that clear liquid would be attacked and neutralized by Sumo's white blood cells, and that the shot would prevent any future infections. Connor knew it wasn't a bad thing, but his stress levels were rising anyway. He saw the metal pointer come close to Sumo's fur, saw how the human's hand angled it just so, saw the needle slide into the back of Sumo's neck.

And then Connor felt it: the phantom feeling of a foreign object probing at his neckport, right at the base of his nape. He slapped his hand over it defensively.

"Connor?"

He took a step back from the dog, the table, the human in the lab coat.

Fingers fumbling with the slot at the top of his spine.
Something long and solid scraping into him.

"Connor, you all right?"

It clicks into place, sending a vibration through his cranial box.
A hand tugs on the cable to make sure it stays affixed. Tugs on his nape.
Connor is a machine.
Machines do not feel discomfort.

A voice was coming from somewhere on his right. The words were undiscernable.

Lines of code unfurl on the screen.
This part is easy, but it's over soon.
Hands reach for his chest.

Connor's head suddenly jerked to the side and he blinked confusedly. Hank was standing in front of him. There was no Sumo, no vet in a white coat, and they were alone in the hallway. He noticed a hand was holding his shoulder when its grip tightened. He belatedly realized that he'd been hit.

"You back with me?" Hank asked urgently.

Connor blinked again. "... Yes."

"What was that?"

Connor stared at his friend and said: "You hit me."

Hank huffed annoyedly. "Don't you dare tell me that hurt your feelings, you fed me a knuckle sandwich while I was passed out on the ground."

"No, it didn't hurt my feelings. And sorry. I'm just... surprised." Connor frowned, trying to gather his thoughts. "That was... a memory."

"So you had a flashback?"

"I think so."

Hank's gaze was careful. "You wanna talk about it?"

Connor looked up at him. "I just remembered going through maintenance in the Tower, it's not important."

"Looks pretty damn important to me," argued Hank. "You freaked out, Connor. You weren't answering, you just kept staring at the vet, I had to herd you out of that room like cattle so we could be alone, and then I had to slap you to get you to snap out of it. You really think it's not important?"

Connor looked away. "I'm sorry. I won't let it-"

"No, for fuck's sake Connor, that's not what I want to hear. You can't control this, okay? You can't help it if it happens again, we've been over this before. And you definitely don't have to apologize for it." Hank squeezed his shoulder. "I just want you to be okay. That's the only reason I'm asking you if you seriously think that what just happened isn't worth focusing on. Tell me what you really think, Connor."

Connor kept his eyes down, and for a moment the hall was silent. Then he admitted: "Maybe it is important."

"Yeah, maybe it is," agreed Hank. "What did you remember exactly?"

"... It was the needle. You know how technicians have to insert a cable at the base of our neck to check our programming."

"Yeah. But you've had that happened to you since you deviated already, and you didn't react like this," observed Hank.

"I don't know why it happened this time in particular. It reminded me of the Tower, and then I remembered how they'd... open my chest. And." Connor stopped. It was hard to speak all of a sudden. Hank's hand was a dense weight on his shoulder. Too close. Connor could still feel the fingers rifling in his chest cavity.

"Yeah, okay, I think I understand. You don't have to continue."

Connor nodded, and then he said in a quiet voice: "I'm sorry, Hank, but could you let go?"

"Shit, sorry." Hank immediately retrieved his hand and stared at Connor worriedly. "Are you gonna be okay?"

"I should be," answered Connor unconvincingly. He didn't really know if he'd be all right. It had been some time since he'd felt this lingering heaviness in his wires, and prior experience of it had never led to anything good. He soon amended: "I'm not sure."

"Okay. Okay, let's just go get Sumo and then we're going home."

Connor nodded again, silently this time. They walked back to the room where the vet was waiting with Sumo, and Connor noticed the syringe had been promptly discarded. There was no sign of any other instruments near the dog and Dr. Abbey gently inquired: "How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine," automatically answered Connor. He didn't miss the glance Hank threw in his direction, but Connor hadn't known Dr. Abbey for longer than a few minutes and he wasn't about to let a stranger see that he was feeling all wrong inside.

Dr. Abbey finished his examination during which he encouraged Connor to pet Sumo. It was calming and Connor wondered if the vet knew just how soothing petting Sumo always was for him. When they were done, Hank thanked the vet and they walked back out of the building. He hoarded the big Saint-Bernard back into the car, and then walked around it to get into the driver's seat. Connor was picking at the sleeve of his button-up shirt in the passenger's seat and silently staring at the dashboard. The earlier sensations still weren't completely gone and he couldn't stop the internal shudder that kept travelling around beneath his skin. He then heard crinkling coming from his left and when he looked over, he saw that Hank was getting something out of his pocket.

"Treats for Sumo, for when he's a good boy," Hank informed him.

Connor watched as his friend turned around in his seat and held out a bone-shaped treat which had the color of old red brick. Sumo perked up instantly and leaned over the seat to slobber all over the his palm, and with his other hand Hank affectionately rubbed the top of his dog's head. "You did great, Sumo. Even Dr. Abbey said so."

Sumo's tail thumped contentedly against the upholstery and his tongue lolled out in a happy pant. Hank withdrew his arm, wiped his drool-covered hand on his worn coat, and then started rummaging in his other pocket. He found what he was looking for after a few seconds and fished it out to show it to Connor.

"I saw this the other day. You tried it before?"

It was transluscent deep blue circle wrapped in transparent plastic, and Connor recognized it when he remembered seeing children androids using similar objects in New Jericho. This was supposed to be candy for androids. He'd never really understood what the point of it was, since he couldn't taste, but the YK500s seemed to enjoy it a lot.

"I can't say I have," he answered.

"Well I bought it for you or Nines, but I think this is a good moment to try it out so you're the one to get it. Wanna try?"

Connor tilted his head curiously. He couldn't deny he felt interested in the concept, but it was hardened thirium and he wasn't sure his forensics lab could withstand solid objects. "It might damage the inside of my mouth," he finally said, even if a bit reluctantly.

"Are you kidding me?" asked Hank incredulously. "With all the shit you stick in there, I didn't think you'd be worried about eating candy."

"I don't just put anything in my mouth and call it a day," Connor answered defensively. "I only sample liquids."

"It's candy. For androids." Hank put heavy emphasis on both words, as if that would help convince Connor any more, even if it didn't address the problem he'd raised. "And besides, if your lab got damaged it'd be a good thing. That way you'd stop licking every goddamn thing you find suspicious."

"Hank..."

"Just try it, Connor. You're allowed to act like a normal person when you want to."

Person. Not android. Hank always said that kind of thing but it still took him by surprise. Connor looked down at his straightened sleeves. He did want to try the candy: he'd never put anything this solid in his mouth before and didn't know what that felt like, and the YK500 seemed to find the candy entertaining. He'd heard of adult models use it too, because they enjoyed the feeling of eating. It wasn't fair that Connor couldn't do something every other android could just because CyberLife had decided it would be a good idea to put a forensics lab in his mouth. Besides, the only reason Connor was afraid of breaking the inside of his mouth was because his portable forensics lab was useful; but Hank had shown time and time again that he didn't care much about that forensics lab, and that he didn't care much about whether Connor was useful or not at all. Connor wouldn't be decomissioned as soon as anything broke. Hank would let him take the time to get repaired if it did. Connor didn't need to be afraid.

He looked up and held out his hand. "Okay, I'll try it."

Hank's blue eyes crinkled in a smile and he dropped the blue piece in Connor's hand. "Atta boy."

The plastic wrapper crinkled when Connor's fingers closed around it, but it was surprisingly silent when he ripped it open. The circle fell in his palm, flat, solid, slightly warmer than ambiant temperature from its time spent in Hank's pocket. Connor stared at it for a moment, unsure how he was supposed to go about it, but when he looked over at Hank his friend shrugged. The message was clear: don't sweat it.

So Connor popped it into his mouth, and felt immediately mystified by the clacking sensation of the candy against his teeth. It felt strangely satisfying to clamp them down on the hard surface, and its edge was narrow, curved and smooth against his tongue. He remained thoughtfully silent and Hank started the car. Connor toyed with the circle in his mouth for a while as they drove down the road and then decided that yes, he decidedly did like clacking his teeth against it. It made nice, neat little clicking sounds that reverberated all along his upper and lower jaw, down his teeth, into the lower structure of his cranial box.

"You like it?" asked Hank.

Connor looked at him, slipped the circle under his tongue and said with an imperceptible lisp: "It isn't melting like candy does for humans. I like that."

"How do you eat it if it doesn't melt?"

"Androids are supposed to integrate the solid thirium by making it into smaller pieces and swallowing." Connor slipped the circle back over his tongue and let it hit his back teeth. He didn't want to break the circle yet; it was a soothing feeling to have it whole and flat in his mouth.

Hank glanced at him. "And you're taking your time, that it?"

Connor nodded. Hank turned his attention back to the road.

A few more minutes passed before a crunching sound resounded through the car, and Hank jumped in his seat. "Jesus! Did you hurt yourself?"

Connor quickly shook his head, but didn't answer anything otherwise, deeply focused on this overwhelmingly new sensation. He hadn't expected the circle to give so easily beneath the pressure exerted by his jaws and it was like he could still feel the vibrations travelling up and down the sides of his face. The candy had fallen in jagged pieces that were pressed up against the insides of his mouth and he tentatively swiped his tongue across the sharp edges. It was a strange sensation: it had only ever been his smooth fingertips or the supple surface of lips against his tongue before. He didn't know if he liked this quite as much as when the candy had been intact. He quickly decided that he didn't, and made quick work of the pieces until they were grinded into nothing but tiny crystallized fragments which he could easily swallow.

They reached Hank's driveway, and the car shuddered to a stop before his friend turned to him and asked: "You okay? You haven't said anything for a while."

Connor looked at him. "... I'm still trying to sort out the sensations."

Hank studied his face, and then observed: "Yeah, I think I'd be weird too if I ate something solid for the first time. You gonna be all right?"

"Of course. Just give me a moment."

"Sure." Hank went to open the door, then paused and looked at him again, curiosity plain on his face and a touch of anticipation in his voice. "Did you like it?"

Connor ran his tongue across the line of his teeth to reproduce the feeling of swiping it across the candy's curved edge, and then said: "I did, very much. Thank you."

"So it didn't break anything, right?" asked his friend in a way that sounded, for some reason, hopeful. "I can get you more of those?"

The sensation of fingers searching for his chest components had retreated to the back of Connor's mind, replaced by the steady, clean clacking of his teeth hitting solid thirium and pleasant vibrations travelling through his head. He felt much better than he had upon leaving the vet's office, his mind was as stable as it had been before the memory had creeped up on him and his focus was clearer. The new sensations had helped a lot to calm him down. Connor felt good.

He smiled at Hank and answered: "I'd like that."

Chapter Text

Hank let out a long-suffering sigh. "I can't stand this fucking heat."

Connor turned his head slightly off to the side so Hank wouldn't see him smiling. This was one of those moments when Connor was glad to be an android rather than a human, even if he did feel naturally curious to know how it felt to sweat, as uncomfortable as it seemed to be for humans. Sumo pranced ahead of them both and Hank handed him the leash.

"Here, your turn to hold it. It's making my hand all sweaty."

Traverse City was sunny and its streets were bustling. It wasn't often that Sumo took a walk anywhere else than along the Detroit River, but Hank and Connor were on a break and the former had figured they might as well travel a bit. Hank had promised Lake Michigan wouldn't be the furthest they'd ever go together, but he wasn't one for big changes- especially one as expensive as travelling abroad- and Connor didn't mind staying near Detroit. For now, walking with his friend in a touristic town next to Michigan's famous lake was more than enough. They crossed paths with humans and androids alike, though many of the humans were likely androids as well, and the shops and restaurants they passed by were full. Sumo would sniff at displays right outside the stores, occasionally greet other dogs, and passively let children pet him along the way.

The other advantage to being an android, Connor thought, was that it took more than a local temperature at 31°C to cause overheating in androids. He imagined this was what humans called a 'sweltering summer day', and he couldn't say he'd had many of those before. It didn't matter what clothing androids wore when it was hot outside and they felt no discomfort in wearing long sleeves then, but Hank had insisted that Connor brought summer-wear for their three days outside Detroit. Connor missed his white button-up shirt and jeans, but the dark cargo shorts he was wearing were indisputably easier to move around in, and he wondered yet again why CyberLife had chosen to make him run after deviants in one of the most restricting fabrics in existence. As for his T-shirt, he'd been the one to choose it during one of their earliest shopping episodes, back when Hank had insisted he expand the variety in his wardrobe. Connor usually wasn't a fan of prints, but this one sported the illustration of a cartoonish Saint-Bernard eating ice cream and he thought it was the perfect choice to wear on his summer vacation. Connor glanced over at Hank, who wore a hawaiian shirt with blue, green, and yellow parrots. It had enough of a burning effect on retinas that the sweat stains went unnoticed by the human eye. Connor was slightly concerned to see how red in the face his friend had gotten, and even if Hank had thought to bring his sunglasses along, he still refused to wear any kind of hat. He said it made him look stupid. Connor's gaze then flitted back to Sumo and he gauged whether it would be credible to use the old dog's fatigue as an excuse to stop, so that he could ask Hank to take a moment to rest somewhere cooler without telling him that he looked very out of shape. It must've been more uncomfortable for the human than he originally thought, because Hank surprisingly spoke before him.

"Hey, what do you say we stop for a drink? I seriously feel like I'm gonna pass out," groaned Hank.

"Of course," immediately replied Connor.

"Now I remember why I like staying indoors all day," Hank continued to grumble. "I hate the sun."

"I think you have an easier time listing things you like than things you hate," observed Connor, before gesturing to one of the colourful store-fronts. "Should we go in this cafe?"

Hank squinted at him from behind his tinted glasses. "Don't be cute, Connor. And at this point I don't care where we go as long as I can get a decent drink."

"No alcohol," Connor warned him.

"You don't have to tell me, it's 3PM. Who do you take me for?"

"I expected you to tell me one drink wouldn't be enough to get shit-faced," Connor answered, mimicking Hank's voice on the last word.

Hank pulled a face. "Christ that's weird. Don't do that."

Connor smiled at him. "Sorry, Nines' tendencies have rubbed off on me."

"Oh, so he's still mind-fucking Reed with that shit, huh."

"It drives him crazy," confirmed Connor, and he couldn't help feeling amused at the thought. It was undeniably fun to see Detective Reed straighten in alert when Nines spoke his name in the Captain's voice from behind the break room wall; the man was always on the lookout for another reprimand because of his extensive disciplinary file. It felt especially satisfying to see it when the detective was in the middle of antagonizing Connor.

They stepped up to one of the tables in the outside area and Hank let himself fall with little grace in one of the chairs. "Finally," he sighed heavily, and Sumo sat in the shade of his seat with his tongue lolling out.

Connor sat opposite of him in the chair that was more exposed to the sun. "I don't understand why you insisted on walking Sumo at this time of the day if you intended to complain so much about the temperature."

"Don't tell me you told me so."

"But I did tell you so," said Connor with a little smile, and Hank's head rolled back in exasperation. "You're also going to regret not following my advice to put on sunblock."

"Yeah, yeah." Hank reached for the list of drinks between them and started reading it. Connor had already made his choice as soon as he'd found the cafe online, since it proposed four thirium-based drinks of which only two didn't contain the electronic depressants that acted as alcohol for androids, including basic thirium. It wasn't often establishments such as bars and cafes proposed various drinks for androids, unless they were ran by androids themselves. Even so, creating new thirium-based drinks was still a work in progress and Connor had heard of many failed attempts for homogenous liquids that wouldn't look too off-putting in their aesthetic. There currently existed only five well-known depressant cocktails which allowed varying degrees of intoxication, ten neutral ones, and common thirium was available in a majority of restaurants. Only three of these mixtures did not harbour the natural blue tinge of thirium, and they were the most expensive.

Hank put the plastified sheet back in its place and gestured for a server who was passing by. They both put in their order and asked for a bowl of water so Sumo could drink. Hank leaned back in his chair once the man left, while Connor reached down to pet Sumo's muzzle. Voices bubbled around them as the sun shone down on the crowd that sat in its warm rays. There was no wind, and the air was rich with the buzzing of insects harvesting the flowers that lined the short walls of the latticed outside area. Two women laughed together a few tables ahead, glasses clinked on the tables, children ran down the street, and Sumo's tail thumped lazily against the wooden floor.

Connor straightened and watched it all. He liked taking the time to listen to the ambient sounds, and it looked like Hank was enjoying it as well. His friend's eyes were closed behind his glasses and his breathing was deeper than earlier, his shoulders more relaxed. Connor raised his gaze to the pale orange sunshade aboved their heads, and then he looked around it to contemplate the blue skies. He'd grown to like the fact that androids could look directly at the sun with no repercussion on their optical units. Connor was always on the lookout for things that made him appreciate who he was, to remind him he didn't need to be human to enjoy life. Hank had told him to do it after one too many discussions on his insecurities about his humanity, about being alive and sentient. A feeling of wonder and humbleness invaded Connor as he followed the trajectory of a small flock of birds, then dropped his gaze to the tourists milling about, and then looked beyond the roofs towards the clear horizon. Last year he'd never even thought once of taking time to rest like this. He'd never thought he'd be able to see this kind of scenery and find it in him to analyze it with emotion. He had in part himself to thank that he could do this, that he could go places with Hank and find them beautiful.

"What are you thinking about?" suddenly said Hank.

Connor looked at him and noticed his friend had spoken without opening his eyes. He took a moment to gather his thoughts, and answered: "I'm glad to be here."

"Yeah, this is nice," agreed Hank. "I'm glad you're here too."

Connor felt a soft thrill in his chest and couldn't stop his lips from curling into a smile. "I like doing this kind of thing with you. Thank you for bringing me along."

Hank opened his eyes and looked at him. "What, you think I would've gone on a trip by myself? You're basically the only reason I chose to come here. Sumo's good company, but it gets pretty boring without someone to talk to."

The server returned with their drinks, so Hank straightened in his seat as the man set down two drinks on the table and lowered the bowl of water on the ground next to Sumo. The dog looked up at the server approvingly, who smiled at Sumo.

"You can pet him if you want," Hank told him, and the young man happily complied before leaving again. Then Hank looked back at Connor. "Well, you're okay to talk to when you're not being my damn babysitter."

"I wouldn't need to babysit you if you acted like a responsible adult," Connor teased.

Hank snorted. "You know, usually I tend to think Nines is the smug one, but then you remind me that you're never that far off from being a prick either."

"Duly noted," said Connor with a smile. "Now please drink before you shrivel up from dehydration like a dried raisin."

Hank rolled his obscured eyes and reached for his glass. "If I wasn't so thirsty, I'd rebel by not doing that just because you told me to, you damn babysitter."

"Which would be very responsible of you and further prove your point that you don't need one," nodded Connor. "Yes, it makes perfect sense."

"God you're insufferable," muttered Hank, but he hid his grin in his glass.

Connor did the same and felt the liquid slide down his throat. It felt neither cold nor warm in his mouth, despite his sensors indicating that it was at a refreshing 11°C temperature. It was a pleasant sensation nonetheless.

Hank lowered his drink and gestured towards Connor's. "So what's in that stuff? Doesn't look like the usual shit you drink."

"I'd love to tell you, Hank, but I'm pretty sure you wouldn't understand a word of my explanation."

Hank lifted his sunglasses to shoot him a look. "Nice, Con. Way to make a human feel involved."

Connor offered him a candid smile. "Sorry."

"No, you're not. Come on, you know I've been looking into robotics and all. Can't you at least tell me why it's layered? And the light blue part isn't just diluted, right?"

It was nice to see how invested Hank was into understanding recent android developments, but this really was beyond his scope. Connor lifted up his glass, the transluscent teal and electric blue liquids glinting in the sunlight. "This is more like chemical engineering than mechanical. All I can tell you that you'd understand is that these are variations of the thirium molecule and an adjustment in the dyes. They also engineer the density of the solutions to make neat layers, but that's purely for the looks."

Hank had pushed his glasses all the way on top of his head now, and he raised both eyebrows. "So... Does it feel any different once it's inside you?"

Connor put his glass back on the table. "We can feel it circulate a bit slower or faster depending on the density, but it's barely noticeable and only for the extremes in the density spectrum. It's processed all the same, unless depressants are involved. In the latter case it modifies the transmissions between the microcomponents in our blood, until we either dilute it with new thirium or purge."

"Huh." Hank nodded, looking impressed, and took another swig of his drink.

Connor tilted his head. "What about your drink?"

Hank's glass was not made of the same transparent material as Connor's, but a more opaque and reddish surface that altered the perception of the liquid's color. He shrugged and handed him the glass. "You can sample it if you want, but it's not very interesting."

Connor peered at the red liquid inside. There were bubbles of gaz, a few mint leaves, two slices of lime and some ice cubes floating about.The first time Hank had shared a drink, Connor had naturally gone for the two-finger dip. His friend had immediately retrieved it with an indignant cry of protest, and now Connor knew better. He simply tipped the glass to his closed mouth before giving the drink back, then swiped his tongue over his lips, and his brow creased lightly as he ran the analysis. Raspberry, water, sugar, menthol, lime.

"They call it a raspberry mojito," Hank told him. "Non-alcoholic, of course. I don't usually drink this kind of thing."

"Do you like it?" asked Connor.

"It's not bad," answered Hank with a shrug, and then his lips stretched out in a grin. "But a regular mojito would've been better."

"I'm sure," deadpanned Connor.

They stayed there for half an hour, and then Hank decided he'd suffered enough sunlight for the day, so they headed to their hotel.

"We could go out again this evening," suggested Connor. "I think it would be nice if we rented one of those boats on the Lake, and you could bring your dinner along."

"Sounds nice. What about Sumo?"

Sumo's ears flapped attentively when he heard his name, and he turned his big head towards them. Connor smiled at him, and then looked at Hank. "Their website says there's a dog kennel. You can rent out a box for the duration you rented your boat."

"Depends on the size of it." Hank watched Sumo contemplatively. "You wouldn't mind waiting for a bit, huh Sumo?"

Sumo went to bury his snout in a clump of grass on the sidewalk.

"We can make up our mind once we see it for ourselves," said Connor. "If it's not good enough, we'll just spend a moment on the shore. I imagine it would still be a pleasant experience to have picnic there."

"Oh, yeah, it definitely is," Hank said pensively. "It's been a while since I've done that, actually."

It didn't take long for Connor to catch on. "You used to do this with Cole?"

Hank looked at him. "We did it a few times, yeah."

"What would you do there?" asked Connor, genuinely curious about what Hank had done with his family when he'd had time to spend with them.

Hank looked back ahead. "We ate sandwiches, and chips, and soda. Sometimes Cole wanted to make cake too, so I helped him. He'd usually leave in the middle of eating to go play and we always brought a ball along. Sumo liked playing ball with us too. Ain't that right, Sumo?"

Sumo lifted his head to them again, and his big wet eyes blinked as if acknowledging Hank's recollection. Then Sumo opened his mouth, tongue rolling out, and stopped in his tracks to pant for a while. They stopped with him.

Hank sounded wistful. "It was nice."

Connor studied his face, and ventured: "Would it be alright if we did the same thing?"

The longing quality to Hank's gaze sharpened into present awareness and he looked at Connor. "Yeah, of course. I don't see you playing ball, though."

"Me neither. And we don't have one," stated Connor.

Then Hank chuckled to himself briefly. "I just had the image of you and Nines playing ball together, now that would be a riot."

"It would be awkward," said Connor.

"A disaster," agreed Hank with a grin. "That ball would probably end up a projectile to space."

"Not unlikely," Connor smiled back. The construction of two law enforcement androids kicking a ball to each other, one being the ex-deviant hunter and the other a military-grade weapon, did make for a rather ridiculous scene.

"Oh god, imagine if Sixty was there too." Hank laughed outright. "Mass destruction, right there. The ball just wreaks havoc in the city before one of you kick it straight through space-time and it lands in the era of dinosaurs- and you know what, turns out that's actually the comet that destroys them."

"Sometimes your imagination goes surprisingly wild," observed Connor.

"Yeah, it's when I revert to my inner child. It happened a lot when I played with Cole," recalled Hank. His smile had softened, but then the corners of his mouth lifted back up again. "It happens a lot with you and the others, too. I just keep it to myself because you're a bunch of sarcastic assholes most of the time. You guys would ruin any kid's dream after five minutes, and I'm being lenient."

"They're worse than me," Connor defensively said.

"Yeah, they are," conceded Hank. "But you're not that shoddy either."

"Only when you make it too easy."

"Yeah, definitely not because you have an unending well of sass in that head of yours."

"Definitely not," agreed Connor.

The temperature was still very warm as they made their way across Traverse City, but the burning rays were abating. Despite that, Connor didn't doubt Hank would be red as a cooked lobster by the time they headed to the lake, with a magnificent white imprint in the place of his sunglasses. The flow of tourists was a bit lazier at 5PM and Connor felt like they were part of the city's calmer pulse as they walked down its golden streets, following the current like fish down a stream. Sumo looked worn out when they finally reached the hotel, and as soon as Hank unlocked the door to their room the dog went straight to his corner to lie down.

Hank stared at his dog. "Yeah, you know what, you've got the right idea." He turned to Connor. "I'm gonna shower and then take a nap, you might want to find something to busy yourself with in the meantime."

"That's fine, I meant to ask for news about New Jericho at some point today."

"Perfect." Hank disappeared in the bathroom, and Connor went to sit down in one of the two seats next to the window to start communicating with Markus.

In the end, Sumo was too tired to accompany them to the lake and Hank decided to leave him there so he could rest. After they made sure to leave him food and water, they went to the hotel's parking lot and climbed in Hank's car. They tried the local radio to change up from his music, but in the end he found it too boring and preferred putting on the usual death metal. Connor didn't complain. He'd expected it, really; they were both creatures of habit after all. Hank bought a sandwich in one of the gaz stations on the way to the Lake, which Connor didn't understand since Hank loathed the soggy bread in ready to eat sandwiches and it was probably nothing like what he used to eat with Cole, and soon they were rowing to reach the middle of the lake.

Connor couldn't help but be reminded of his time in the Zen Garden with Amanda, and Hank must have noticed because he stopped moving the oars and said: "What's up?"

Connor, for his part, didn't stop and stared at the rippling surface of the lake. "This is... different."

"Different how?" Hank leaned forward and tried to catch his eye. "Hey, you can stop rowing. You have that look on your face when you're remembering something about CyberLife. What's this about?"

Connor complied and let go, but he felt on edge and continued averting his gaze. "Amanda. The Zen Garden had a lake, and she sometimes asked me to join her there."

"What did she do?"

"Nothing, we just talked," said Connor, but then he realized that maybe it hadn't been nothing.

"Well if it's making you weird, there's definitely something she did that you didn't like."

Connor frowned at the side of the boat. "It's not making me weird."

"Yeah, it is. You won't even look at me."

Connor fell silent. Looking at Hank right now would be too reminiscent of that time he'd had to face Amanda to make his report, and for some reason he didn't like thinking of it. He hadn't been reminded of it earlier, when he'd suggested the idea of coming here. He hadn't even been reminded when they'd climbed on the boat. He didn't know why he remembered it now. He didn't know why it was such a big deal.

"Hey, Connor. You said this was different, so whatever happened back then, you're not there anymore." He felt Hank's hand on his knee, an anchoring weight in the present. "You can say whatever you want, she won't be there to bitch about it."

Connor didn't move. He didn't try to push Hank's hand away, either, and thankfully it stayed. After a moment of silence filled only by the soft lapping of waves against the boat, he finally looked up at Hank. His friend was patiently watching him, and beneath the strange numbness that had overcome him, Connor felt a faint twinge of amusement upon seeing his red face, the white outline of his glasses, the bright and dissonant colors of his shirt. Indeed, Hank was nothing like Amanda. Amanda wasn't there.

"I don't know why this disturbs me as much as it does, but I keep thinking that she never rowed. I was always the one to make the boat move, and yet it didn't feel like I was the one directing it." Connor dropped his gaze to the bottom of the boat. "Granted, there was only one pair of oars. I couldn't imagine an occasion where she would've been the one to row and I would've sat there doing nothing."

"Yeah, but they could've programmed a boat like this one, with two pairs."

Connor glanced up. "That's why this is different."

Hank stared at him thoughtfully, and then said: "So it's like when you'd open that umbrella only for her. You were just there to serve her when she felt like it."

"It wasn't like that," said Connor.

"No? Then what was it like?"

Connor's gaze drifted to the side. What had it been like? He'd only stood there and waited for Amanda to initiate the conversation all the other times. If she chose to go somewhere in the Zen Garden, Connor would follow. It was a simple objective. "It gave me a purpose while I was in the Zen Garden."

Hank shifted in the boat and sighed, never removing his hand from Connor's knee. "Nah, you see, I don't think that's it. You already had a purpose there, you just had to make your report. She didn't have to do any of that stuff, walking around in the rain, going on a ride on a rowboat. I think she just did that so you could remember that you were only there to be used."

Connor's gaze remained latched to the side of the boat. He never really liked these discussions. It made him feel like he'd been stupid and blind, and the more Hank talked, the more he felt inclined to believe him. It was true, he'd done all those little things to please Amanda, but she'd never thanked him for it. She hadn't even had to tell him to do any of it in the end because he was so used to it, and he'd done it without a single prompt.

Hank continued talking through Connor's silence. "And then while you were rowing, you made your report to her, and let me guess: she told you you weren't good enough."

Connor nodded. This wasn't news for Hank. It wasn't news for himself, yet he still had a difficult time understanding why that was wrong sometimes. She'd told him he wasn't good enough because he hadn't been doing his best, and he'd been supposed to do his best, so he'd failed and it was only normal to be reprimanded for it.

"Hey, come back." He felt a squeeze on his knee and his gaze jerked back to Hank's hand, and then to Hank's face. His friend was smiling at him, a gentle quirk of the lips. "I can tell you're thinking she was right, but trust me, she wasn't. And it's normal that you feel unsettled by that memory, Connor, because people in a rowboat usually share the workload just like we're doing this evening, and that wasn't the first time she made you feel like you owed her any kind of effort without question. So yeah, if you're thinking about it and it makes you feel weird, it's because part of you understands that wasn't okay. Do you understand?"

Connor stared at him, and then said: "I think so."

Hank nodded approvingly. "That's good. I'll repeat it for you because it's important: you are good enough. You're always doing your best and I know that, the others know that, your friends know that. It doesn't matter what Amanda thought, because she was too hard on you and she was wrong. You're one of the best and we all agree on that. Okay?"

Connor nodded wordlessly. Hank's hand shifted from his knee to one of Connor's hands that rested in his lap, and tightened around his fingers.

"What about you, Connor? Do you agree with me?"

Connor looked down at their hands. He felt unsettled still, loose-footed, like a puzzle that had come slightly undone; complete but not quite. He often got that feeling when someone dissected his past relationship with Amanda and he was made a part of that analysis.

"I'm not sure," he ended up saying.

"That's okay," Hank said immediately. "I'll give you some time to wrap your head around it, we can talk about this again later. Is it all right if I ask you this again when we get back to the hotel?"

Connor wasn't sure his mind would have changed then, but he nodded again anyway. They were used to having these conversations as two-parters by now.

"Good," said Hank, and Connor felt better for giving a good answer. His friend let go of his hand and ruffled his hair. "Okay, you did well bringing this up. We'll get back to it tonight, but for now let's get our mind off all this stuff. You wanna talk about what the guys at New Jericho told you earlier?"

"Yes," said Connor, glad for the change of subject, and he started sharing the most recent project they'd come up with in the mental health department for androids. Hank took out his floppy sandwich while he listened and started eating. A soft breeze swept across the lake and a few leaves landed on the lake's shimmering surface. Ripples appeared here and there and the soft sound of fish breaking the surface occasionally reached their ears. Branches rustled from the shore and the ribbiting of frogs rose in unison with the long chirping of crickets, nature's song of very late afternoons. The sun was lowering over the horizon and painted their surroundings in beautiful strokes of warm gold. All was peaceful.

Connor was happy to be there with Hank.