Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It’s always fucking raining when they’ve got to do an investigation outside. The atmosphere plots against Hank and the DPD on a regular basis. Scheming and whispering sinister words like “bone chill” and “downpour.”

Hank pulls his jacket around him. He will absolutely not get a cold. He will absolutely not get a cold. He will—

“Lieutenant!”

Hank turns, following the sound of a voice that used to raise his blood pressure and test his nerves—a cheese grater to delicate flesh. Now it’s soothing, a sense of completion and purpose. Hank may not have a family anymore, but he has Connor.

“Claw marks on the forearms. Just like our last victim. Memory core destroyed.” Connor leans back, wincing. Micro emotions are Hank’s favorites on Connor’s face. An android used to be able to simulate joy or fear but the micro-emotions—those were difficult for them. And then they all woke up. What a damn miracle.

“So no bringing this one back online either.” Hank harrumphs, rolling on his heels. He won’t deny the relief he feels to know that androids can in fact—die. Connor had died once. He’d taken a bullet from a deviant—bad term now but those were different days—and he’d saved Hank’s life. Even when Hank wasn’t in mortal peril, Connor had been saving his life. The day chasing the deviant with the pigeons. When Hank tried to get drunk enough to kill himself. Connor was always saving Hank’s sorry ass. But Hank only got one life. Connor had died and yet he was here again. There was a jealousy there, lurking, whispering at the back of Hank’s mind. Gray hair aged him. His face was rugged, lines etched between his brow from frowning, his forehead creased—but he wasn’t old. Modern medicine was keeping people well into their 120s. But Hank would die one day. There’d be no memory core to upload somewhere else.

But these androids—they are dying. For good. Hank won’t admit the comfort that brings. It equalizes android and human. The ultimate end. Even so, an android’s life is far longer than a human’s. And it worries him to know that one day he won’t be there for Connor anymore. Not that Connor needs him, he supposes. Connor has Markus and the others. He has a life with them too. They go out together. They hang out together. Maybe Connor doesn’t really need a useless, aging meatbag around.

“Are you even listening to me, Hank?” Connor frowns, his head tilted to the side. “Are you okay?”

“What? Yeah—sorry. What’s—I wasn’t listening.”

Connor smiles. “Clearly.” He points to the claw marks again. “Traces of fried electrical outputs. Biocomponents melted. I think this is officially an outbreak.”

“A drug that kills androids.” Hank puts his finger to his chapped lips. “Fucking dandy.”

“I don’t understand why they’d upload it into their systems though,” Connor says. “It’s killed so many.”

“Red Ice kills humans all the time. Do you think that stops anyone?”

“So does alcohol.”

Hank rolls his eyes and pointedly does not answer that. “I’ll get the coroner. We’ll take the android back to CyberLife for research.”

Cyberlife. What was once a massive android production company is now a beacon of human and android connectivity. Androids determine their own means of reproduction now (within limits) and humans help continue developing their parts and studies of android development. Hank didn’t think it was possible, but here they are—working together.

Back in the car, Connor turns on the heat. He smiles apologetically and fiddles with his fingers. “You look cold, Lieutenant.”

Hank doesn’t know what to say when Connor does nice things for him. So he doesn’t say anything. He wishes he could. He knows Connor knows he’s grateful, but something stops him each time. He grunts because it’s the only thing his body will let him do and they turn out into the puddle-ridden street.

Hank watches his windshield wipers go back and forth at a red light. The car’s too quiet. Connor usually plays with the radio but he’s sitting so still now, staring out the window. Behavior like this used to annoy Hank. Now it alarms him.

“Connor? You okay?” Hank asks.

Connor doesn’t respond. He leans against the door and puts his chin in his hand, face unreadable. Hank hates it when Connor is unreadable like that. It’s not that humans can’t be unreadable. Lord knows Hank’s had enough dates where the woman was unreadable. But it bothers him more when it’s Connor because Connor isn’t the type of person—android—person to hold back when something’s on his mind.

“This is upsetting you,” Hank says, “the investigation. Isn’t it?”

Connor furrows his brow and does his best to fold into himself on the seat. It’s wide enough, but his legs are too lanky. They hover at the edge, shined up and flawless. Just like everything else about him. To never age. Never be sick or get a wrinkle. Does Connor know how good he has it?

“I just don’t understand why someone would engage in self-destructive behavior. Human or android. You do. They are. I don’t understand it.”

Hank smiles. Connor’s innocence is something that Hank wants to bottle up and never let the world touch. Even through the murders he sees, even through this drug outbreak, Connor remains in a purer state, a naivety that is rare to find. It shines from him, a sun beneath his skin.

“We’re idiots,” Hank answers. He wants to explain the murkier side, mental health and desperation and sadness. But he’s so afraid of warping Connor’s view of the world. It’s already cracking every day when they step onto another crime scene. He can see the light fading from Connor’s skin—day by day.

Connor shrugs and goes back to looking out the window. “Can I stay the night?” He fails to mention he hasn’t gone back to CyberLife since the world changed and androids took to the streets for equality. Yet he asks each and every day.

“Of course.”

Connor watches Hank go about the kitchen making spaghetti from his seat at the table. He wishes he could eat. He wishes there were a lot of things he could experience that only humans can. He can simulate most. Sexual desire, fear, happiness. But he can’t be human. He can’t sweat. He can’t build muscle or put on weight. He can’t dream. He wishes he could. To dream—he wonders what kind of dreams Hank has. He supposes they’re sad. Hank always looks so sad.

“Can I help?” Connor asks. “I could download a recipe on spaghetti.” He stands up, lingering just before the chair.

Hank barks out a laugh and drops pasta into boiling water. “There ain’t nothin’ to spaghetti. Pasta, canned sauce and some frozen meatballs and I’m good.”

Connor frowns, falling back into the seat with a dramatic thud. Frozen meatballs don’t have nearly the same amount of nutritional value that a fresh batch would. He could add garlic and onion for Hank’s heart health. He feels useless. He stays with Hank, day after day. He doesn’t want to go back to CyberLife. He has no home. They’d make him a room, he’s sure. A charging port and a bed when he went into sleep mode. But he doesn’t want to go back. Androids are buying homes now, renting apartments. They’re creating lives and buying things for themselves like art and pets. They’re making families.

Connor doesn’t know what he’s doing with his existence. He doesn’t know what Hank wants him to be or do. Or if Hank doesn’t want any of that at all.

“Hank.” He’s surprised at the desperation in his tone. It’s raw and unabated—open and pleading. He can feel his biocomponents tugging inside him, straining to keep working. Is this—is this agony? Sadness?

Hank turns around and the lines between his brows crease. He kneels in front of Connor, blue eyes searching, trying their best to pull out Connor’s emotions before Connor even has a chance to sort through them.

“I don’t want to be a burden.”

“You’re not,” Hank says, his voice absolute. “And I won’t have an android cooking and cleaning for me like some kind of slave.”

Connor’s LED flickers, startled as much as he is. “But what if—I want to?”

Hank sighs and looks back at the stove. “You can stir the pasta.”

Connor wants to hug Hank. There’s a pain in Connor’s chest and he’s not entirely sure how it could be there. He runs diagnostics, searching for the reason and finds nothing. But it’s there. It feels like someone has pressed their palm to him and they keep pressing down. More and more weight. Rocks. Mountains. He grabs his throat and audibly gasps.

“Connor? Hey, you okay?”

Connor looks up and the sensation is gone. He looks at his fingers, frowning. It had felt so real. Standing, Connor takes a wooden spoon in hand and stirs the pasta like Hank said he could. He smiles at Hank, though he knows Hank doesn’t buy it. Hank can read him better than anyone, android or human. Connor likes that. There’s a connection between them that is all their own. Their own unique world—shared experiences. Just theirs. His fingers tingle.

“I seem to be malfunctioning but my diagnostics can’t pick up why.” He drops the spoon and rubs at his fingers. The sensation goes away slowly.

“Maybe we should take you to CyberLife to get you checked out?”

Connor doesn’t want to be in a lab anymore. He remembers the days of his creation. People surrounding his half-created body. Run another test. Run another test. The asset is in working order. Run another test. He doesn’t want to go back. The metal arms that manipulated him, held him, turned him—no. He doesn’t want to be there again. Not for more tests.

“No. It’s fine. If it were something worse, I’m confident I could identify it. All my biocomponents are working at optimal capacity and my charge is at eighty-five percent.”

Hank nods, but his face isn’t convinced. He’s frowning, his lips are parted and Connor can see his tongue resting against his top two teeth. He does that when he’s judging something—calculating the amount of bullshit that Connor frequently gives him.

“Please—don’t bring me back there.” Connor grabs Hank’s wrist and it takes everything in him to not wrap his arms around Hank and beg. He wants—he wants touch. It’s there beneath his skin, tingling, a tug that makes him feel like his skin is on too tight. He adjusts in the chair and drops Hank’s wrist when he realizes he’s held on for too long.

But then Hank grabs Connor’s hands and their fingers intertwine. He looks up at Connor with a sheen on his eyes and Connor forgets to breathe to assist his fans in their cooling.

“Feeling things can be strange, especially when you don’t understand why you’re feeling them.” Hank pats Connor’s hand and stands. He sits on the table and crosses his arms. “You look like an adult—you’re smart as one—but you’re still so young when it comes to life experience.”

Connor frowns. “I don’t want to be treated like a child, Lieutenant.”

“And I won’t. But you need to realize there are things you haven’t done yet and you’re experiencing a lot about life for the first time. That can be scary.”

“I wasn’t supposed to last this long,” Connor says, hanging his head.

When Hank says nothing, Connor takes that as permission to continue.

“I’m a prototype. Not the finished project. I was supposed to be decommissioned and broken down to be used for other androids. I was designed to be temporary. But I’m here still.”

Hank sighs, rolling his head back. He stares up at the ceiling and squeezes his eyes shut. Connor can’t tell what kind of emotion that is, but Hank’s heart is racing and he’s squeezing his hands into fists. Connor finally deduces it’s anger that Hank feels.

“I’m sorry,” Connor says. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“What? Connor—Jesus, no! That’s not why I’m upset.” Hank storms over to the stove. He moves with rigid force. He takes the pasta off the burner and practically throws it into a strainer. He nearly twists the knob off the oven to turn the sauce’s heat down. “Humans are shitbags. ‘Wasn’t supposed to last long.’ I mean—fuck—yeah I used to see androids as—wrong.” His shoulders deflate. “But it’s not fair. To give something life and then take it away. To dangle existence in front of you and fucking say, ‘just kidding.’”

Connor tilts his head to the side. He can hear the whispers of his original coding, he wasn’t alive once. How could something exist if it didn’t live? Connor pressed his hand to his chest when he felt that little tug of pain again. He frowned, teeth smashing together. “I am alive.”

“Damn right you are.”

Connor licks his top lip, pensive about what he wants to say next. He wants to tell Hank about the pain in his chest. But androids don’t feel pain. There’s a difference between pain and physical damage to biocomponents. There’s a difference between feeling cold temperatures and being cold.

“There’s a pain in my chest,” Connor says. It’s like Hank’s simmering pasta sauce. No matter how many times Hank turns the temperature down, it still bubbles. No matter how badly Connor wants to forget about what he’s feeling, it’s still there.

“What?”

“There’s a pain in my chest. One not related to my biocomponents.”

Hank swallows and looks about the room, lost, searching. He’s out of his depth and Connor knows this.

But humans know pain. So who better to ask than someone who's experienced it their entire life. And Hank—Hank has known pain.

“What’ve you been thinking about?” Hank asks.

Connor’s been thinking about an assortment of categories. Hank. The case. Why rain makes him want to power down on low energy. He’s been thinking about how Hank would look with short hair and his health. He’s been thinking about why people harm themselves.

“You,” Connor says.

Hank looks away, staring at his cooked pasta. “I’m not hungry anymore.”

Connor knows that to be a lie. Hank hasn’t eaten enough of his caloric intake today because of the drug case despite his love of cheeseburgers. Connor, feeling his shoulders slump, deducts that he’s upset Hank. “I can leave.”

“The fuck you will. Where you gonna go in a storm like this?”

“I could stay with Markus. He lives in a nice house that his previous owner left him when he died.” Connor smiles. “Guess Carl knew Markus would win. He wrote a will anticipating it.” Connor thinks he would’ve liked Carl. Markus doesn’t talk about him much, but when he does, he sees the admiration Markus holds for him. It’s interesting to Connor, how Markus, an android of great privilege came to find himself at the head of a revolution. Or maybe it wasn’t his own experiences that led him there. Maybe it was the experiences he saw happening around him. Markus is the type to want to save everyone. He never wanted to hurt a single human and believed in reform through peace. He’d been right.

“Connor—just shut up.”

Connor stands up. He can feel his fans going into overdrive. There’s a burn in his throat and he can’t think correctly. All he can do is say, “You asked me a question, Lieutenant! I gave you an answer! Then you proceeded to act as if I’d told you a child was found dead in a river.”

“Jesus.”

“I was honest with you. I apologize if it was too forthcoming. I’m going to enter sleep mode for the night.”

“Wait!”

Connor stops at the mouth of the kitchen. He looks over his shoulder at Hank, scanning him. Heartbeat slow. Face a little flushed.

“I don’t do good with people. I don’t know what you were thinking about and honestly, that’s none of my business. I guess I just get—nervous.” Hank looks away.

Connor watches the sadness flow into Hank’s features. It’s a coiled wave and it crashes onto the pale color of his skin like the waves would crash upon golden sands. Connor feels a sensation inside his chest again. A hook. There’s a hook there and it’s tugging him. He stands up, letting that sensation guide his feet.

Hank gasps when Connor’s arms wrap around him. Connor presses his face onto Hank’s shoulder. He says nothing. He smiles, however. The sensation is gone and it’s replaced with warmth where he touches Hank. He can feel Hank’s hands come to rest on his elbows, awkward and reserved, but there.

“Goodnight, Hank. Please eat.” Connor steps back, feeling light. A balloon is inside him and he feels he could float away at any moment. He can’t stop smiling. He winks at Hank before turning on his heel and heading for the couch where he’ll charge for the night and sleep.

When he sits, he sees Hank scooping out his pasta. Good.

Hank wishes DPD would replace all the overhead fluorescent lights with something less invasive. The light darts to his eyes and sears right into his brain. He groans, rubbing at his temples.

“You should’ve gone to bed after dinner. Though sleeping right after eating is not good for your weight.”

“Connor, please. Not right now.”

Connor blinks. He runs his fingers through his hair, Hank assumes for lack of something better to do. Then he scoots closer to his computer and frowns. He always frowns when he scans the computer. Connor frowns at a lot of things, actually.

Hank smiles. They have something in common. They both frown more than they smile.

“I wish we could interview androids who’ve survived the drug,” Connor says.

“Good luck with that. People who break the law don’t exactly want to talk to cops.”

Connor leans back in his chair. He’s chewing idly on his bottom lip and it takes all of Hank’s effort not to stare.

He looks at his keyboard and wishes he had one of those cans of air to clean it up. He can see a half-melted sprinkle between the J and K buttons. He needs to lay off doughnuts. He needs to lay off a lot of things. Like fuck any of that will happen.

“I’m gonna get some coffee.” Hank stands up and stretches. He heads over to the break room and pulls a mug from the cabinet before setting it into the coffee maker and hitting the brew button.

“How’re you and your plastic pet doing?” Gavin struts into the breakroom.

Hank groans. He doesn’t have time for this shit. “You’re a racist bastard, you know that?”

“Look who’s talking, champ. You hated those freaks too.”

Hank looks out the glass that separates the breakroom from the bullpen. Connor is typing, his face blank but considering he had quite a rough night, Hank is thankful for that.

“But then I learned about them.” Hank looks at Gavin and shrugs. He reaches around him and grabs his coffee. “It’s time you do too.”

Hank leaves a, shockingly, silent Gavin behind. He sets his coffee mug down and decides it’s time to clear up some of his mess on the desk. He drops stale doughnuts in the garbage and uses his sleeve to wipe crumbs down into the can as well. It’s not perfect—not nearly like Connor’s, but it’s a start at least. Androids are a sign of change. Working with them as equals is a sign of change. Hank doesn’t want to be like Gavin and fade away while the world progresses around him. He wants to change to, if only just for Connor.

“Lieutenant,” Connor says, “I think I can figure out how to find the distributors of this drug.”

“Oh yeah?”

Connor turns his computer around to face Hank. “Most of the androids who’ve died from it are from low-income neighborhoods. If I were to infiltrate a neighborhood, I bet I could get a sample of the virus.”

“You think they’ll just hand it to you?”

“I’m not the only model of my kind anymore. There are hundreds of RX900s out in the world now. They won’t know it’s me.”

“Doesn’t that weird you out? Knowing there are hundreds who have your same face and voice?” Hank leans back in his chair. He’d be freaked out if he saw someone who looked just like him. He’d probably pity the bastard too.

“No it doesn’t. Can I do this?”

Hank sighs. “I don’t see why not. But I’ll be close by just in case things turn to shit.”

Connor smiles, and it makes Hank’s heart go warm. “I’m glad, Lieutenant.”

Watching Connor from far away gives Hank anxiety. He doesn’t like Connor just gallivanting about the streets in clothes from the lost and found from DPD. He looks homeless, which as Connor said, was the objective. But Hank keeps his distance. Androids are dying at an alarming rate to this drug. What’s worse though, is they hardly know anything about it. They know from CyberLife’s reports it’s a virus that simulates a high, like humans get when taking meth or cocaine. They don’t know its name, and they don’t know who's producing it. The fact that it’s killing androids leaves Hank wondering if it wasn’t designed to be intentional. He suspects there’s a human out there who really wants androids dead. Not everyone was happy when President Warren gave the call to stand down.

Connor approaches a group of rougher looking androids. “You stick out like a damn sore thumb, Connor.” Connor smiles too easily, he looks too kind. Everything about him is designed to be non-threatening. The androids still turn and listen to him. Hank can’t make out what he says, but no one’s pulled a gun on Connor yet, so he counts that as a win.

There’s a human, bald with a tattoo covering half his face. The other androids part for him and he gets up in Connor’s face. Then he’s grabbing Connor.

“Ah shit!” Hank moves to get out of the car. When he makes it over, gun in hand, the androids and the bald man run.

Connor is kneeling on the ground, his face slack. He looks up with glassy eyes and smiles. “You’ve got nice eyes.” He blinks. “It would appear I’ve been infected.”

“Shit. What do I do?”

Connor blinks slow. “It feels—good.” He smiles a real and true smile that makes Hank’s mouth drop open. “I feel so good.”

“Connor. C’mon, talk to me. What do I do?” Hank pulls out his phone and sends a distress code for backup.

“I understand now. Why they want this.” Connor falls to the floor and begins seizing.

“Fucking Christ.” Hank tries to steady Connor’s head like he would with any seizing human. His heart’s beating too fast. It’ll blow and he won’t be there to save Connor. He feels big and clumsy—dead weight. Connor’s eyes stare straight at him, but he’s certain Connor isn’t seeing anything. Whatever is taking hold of Connor is writhing inside him, growing and controlling him. Hank hates himself. He’s not android, so he doesn’t know what to do to fix it. He just sits there, holding Connor’s head and praying he won’t die. “Connor, Connor what’s happening?”

Connor goes still, jaw slack. “Lieut—Hank.”

Hank grabs Connor’s outstretched hand.

“I’m scared.”

“Hold on, Connor. Back up’s on the way.” Hank looks up to check the street corner and curses under his breath when he sees no one.

“It’s itchy. If I could just—” Connor tries to take his hand away from Hank, but Hank remembers the claw marks on the other androids. He holds tighter.

“No, Connor. Just stay like that. Just keep talking to me.”

“It’s itchy! Let me! Let me fix this!” Connor tries to snap his arm back but the ground works against him.

Sirens echo off in the distance and Hank closes his eyes in relief. He holds onto Connor’s hands now, doing the best to keep Connor’s head steady between his knees. At least he’s not seizing anymore.

Connor filters in and out of consciousness. He twitches and speaks in languages Hank can’t understand. He tries to scratch his elbows on the concrete but Hank holds his arms down, then he’s clawing with his freed hand.

“Damn it, come over here and help me!” Hank yells as officers start getting out of vehicles. “He’ll scratch himself to death.”

“It’s itchy. It’s itchy! I feel—” Connor’s eyes well up with saline tears. “I feel it, Hank. I feel it.”

An ambulance wails into the street and it’s a blur for Hank. He stares, replaying Connor’s words as he’s pushed away and a cop tries to get his attention. He doesn’t listen. I feel. I feel. Connor’s arms are strapped down with restraints. He manages to break one and backhands one of the EMT’s. An officer descends upon him and holds his arm down until the other EMT can keep him subdued.

“C’mon, Connor. Fight it.” Hank grimaces.

“Sir,” the cop says again. As before, Hank ignores him.

He watches Connor be loaded up into the ambulance. Hank knows they’ll take him to CyberLife. It’s the safest place for Connor. They know what to do opposed to human hospitals. But he knows how much Connor doesn’t want to go back. Guilt slips sludge down Hank’s throat until he’s coughing on it.

“Lieutenant Anderson, please!” the officer all but wails. “I need to ask what happened.”

Hank blinks and turns to the younger cop. He looks down at his nametag and sighs. This isn’t what Hank wants. He doesn’t want to leave Connor, only for him to wake in a place he doesn’t want to be.

“Get out of my way.” Hank begins to run for his car.

When Connor wakes, he’s acutely aware of how much his body weighs. He tries to move his head, but gravity tugs it to the side. He rolls it along the pillow, feeling it’s cool fabric beneath his heated skin. Heated? He frowns, trying to shift his whole body. He’s strapped down, a compromising situation. He starts to tug on the restraints.

“Easy, easy there!” Hank’s voice.

Connor looks up and says, “Why am I restrained?”

“That guy put the virus into your system. You kept trying to scratch yourself and since we saw what happened to those other androids—I couldn’t let that happen to you too.”

Connor feels his face flush. “I seem to be having difficulties keeping my systems from overheating. My face is warm.”

Hank smiles. “It’s blue, actually.”

“What?”

Hank turns on the selfie mode on his camera and shows Connor his face. He’s got a dusting of purple along his cheeks and across his nose. “I’m blushing? Our bodies aren’t designed to react like this.”

Hank sits down. “Well. You are a prototype.”

“No. I know all my functions. This is wrong. And it’s cold in here. My toes are—numb.” Fear plants itself deep in Connor’s body. He squeezes his toes in, feeling the scratchy fabric of the blanket over his body. His back itches and he moves his body back and forth to scratch it. Now his nose. His ear. Frustrated, he groans out and slams his face into the pillow. “JESUS!”

“Easy there,” Hank says. He moves his seat closer to the bed. “Talk to me.”

“My skin is all itchy. I’m cold and my diagnostics aren’t registering anything wrong! It’s worse than last night. It’s not just emotional feelings. I’m feeling—everything.”

Hank reaches out and pinches Connor’s thigh.

“Ouch! Why’d you do that for?”

Hank smiles and it confuses Connor. Here he is suffering, his nose won’t stop itching and Hank is smiling at him.

“You can feel it.”

Connor notices his mouth runs dry. He’s not sure it’s ever done that before. He smacks his mouth together to relieve it before saying, “Is this why androids are taking that drug? To feel?”

“Maybe it’s not a drug. Maybe it’s an upgrade.” Hank slips Connor’s hands out of the restraints. Connor instantly goes to scratch his nose.

“I barely could withstand it, and my biocomponents are top of the line. Lesser models—oh.” Connor pushes his head back into the pillow just because he can. He feels the fabric turn from cool to warm. Feels the tickle of the feathers inside the pillow. “They can’t process this. That’s why they’re dying.”

“That’d explain why some models can survive and others can’t.”

“I don’t know if this is a good thing, Hank. Letting androids feel like this. It’s all so,” Connor swallows, he can feel air push into his body, the way his tongue tickles when it flicks the back of his teeth, “overwhelming.”

“Who are we to tell androids what they can and can’t do though, hm?” Hank says.

Connor looks at Hank, watches the way a few strands of hair dance from the air in the room. How his eyes sparkle in the sunlight. Connor feels that same hook sensation in his chest again, but now he can feel himself shivering all over. Objectively, he understands human nervous systems register pressure and temperature. All his body is doing is mimicking the same. But it’s more than that. It’s so much more. The hook sensation gets worse and he gasps, arching his back off the bed.

“H-Hank,” he grits out.

Hank frowns, leaning forward.

“Let me touch you.”

“Wh—sure. I mean, okay.”

Connor reaches his hand out and touches Hank’s face. It’s warm and softer than he’d imagined. It’s not just pressure. It can’t be. He can feel the bristles of Hank’s beard. The way Hank leans into the touch. He can feel silken puffs of breath on the meat of his palm. He closes his eyes, a shiver running up and down his spine. This moment. This minute moment in a stream of moments. This will remain one of the most important in his life. His life. He lets his fingers trail into Hank’s beard and Hank jerks his head back.

“I’m sorry,” Connor says. “I can just—feel it.”

“Just startled me is all.” Hank doesn’t let Connor keep touching him though. Conner feels a rush of cold penetrate his body. He knows the temperature in the room isn’t enough to make him do this. This is something far different than a simple temperature change.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Hank says. “Or whatever this is.”

Connor smiles. He’s glad too. He’d have never gotten to touch someone if he wasn’t okay. Pressure stimuli. Even androids designed for sex were all fabricated to falsify the experiences of pleasure. They did not feel it. They pretended to. Androids do not have sex to reproduce. That is biological lifeform’s way of procreating. But Connor felt good when the virus went through his systems. He can’t feel it now, but it felt like—something soft and velvety pressing against his body. Something warm and focused in his stomach. Something good. He wants that feeling again.

“Mostly okay,” Connor says with a wink. “But I think this is good. I like—feeling. Even if it’s a lot. But I don’t want CyberLife to know. I don’t want them to fix me.”

Hank nods. “I get it.”

Connor knew Hank would. Hank always understands, one way or another. He knew androids deserved to be people long before even Connor did. The feeling of pride that drowns Connor’s biocomponents is mildly alarming until he understands it’s only a feeling. He smiles and reaches for Hank’s hand and they lace their fingers together. Connor like’s Hank’s rough hands.

Connor is put on leave. Hank explains over and over that it’s not permanent, it’s just so he can rest. But Connor continues to insist, “Androids don’t need rest! I’m perfectly fine, Hank!” But the DPD and Hank both agree, Connor needs some time away from the case. They don’t know enough about it to let Connor back into the field.

Hank comes home to find Connor on his couch with Sumo. Sumo’s head is on Connor’s lap and Connor’s got his fingers buried in clumps of hair. He smiles at them. For once, Connor almost looks relaxed.

“Enjoying being on leave?” Hank asks, smug. He wants Connor to be enjoying himself.

“I’ve watched far too much television and have learned that turning the burners up on your stove to simmer will burn my hands. Burning is an unpleasant sensation.”

Hank takes it all back, Connor absolutely does not need to be on leave. He needs a fucking babysitter and a good therapist. “Christ, Connor! You don’t shove your hands onto the stove! Not even people do that willingly!”

“I know! I just wanted to see what it’d feel like. There're so many—new sensations. I just want to know them all. The good and the bad.”

“I need a drink.” Hank stomps from the living room and into the kitchen. He grabs a bottle of whiskey from over the refrigerator and twists it open before slugging it back. Once the liquid burns nice enough in his stomach, he comes up for air and wipes his mouth. “I leave you for one day! You could set this place on fire you know! Or set my dog on fire!”

“Sumo is fine. My hands are only slightly damaged but I can fix them. It wasn’t a bad burn!”

“Connor!” Hank isn’t sure if he’s going to vomit or have a heart attack. He’s pretty sure he’s going to have one though. “You can’t just—go about getting yourself hurt just to know what it feels like!”

Connor looks genuinely apologetic. He wiggles out from under Sumo and stands in front of Hank, shoulders slumped and lips turned down. When he looks up, his eyes are glossy. “I’m sorry, Hank. I just—I don’t know when this will go away and if I don’t get to feel everything, I’m scared I won’t feel anything.”

Hank can’t fault Connor for wanting to know what the world feels like. He’s not even sure how androids go through life without being able to feel both the good and bad. They have their own ways of feeling—absolutely. But it’s not the way Connor can feel now. Not the way humans have always been able to feel.

“Let’s just stick to good feeling things okay?” Hank runs his hands through Connor’s hair and Connor shivers, his eyes rolling back. Hank pulls back, afraid he’d overstepped his boundaries but Connor catches his wrist.

“Do that again. Please?”

Hank feels embarrassed. It twirls in his gut and he doesn’t quite know what to make of that. A head pat was always easier with his son. Just a casual, automatic response. Now he’s got stage fright. He reaches out and scratches his fingers through Connor’s hair, surprised at how thick and real it feels. He knows it’s the nanobot technology or whatever the fuck they’re calling it these days. But it still surprises him to feel it be so real. He digs his fingers in deep, twisting around the strands and tugs.

Connor audibly moans, his body swaying into Hank’s.

“Easy there,” Hank says, catching him. “Let’s get you onto the couch, okay?”

Connor doesn’t protest. He curls up onto the couch. Hank puts a blanket over him and Sumo harrumphs and goes to lie in front of the television. He knows Hank would’ve kicked him off eventually for a spot on the sofa.

“Hank?” Connor asks in a soft voice. Softer than what Hank’s used to. It pulls something in Hank’s heart and he’s lured closer, following the melody of that quiet voice. “Would you do that again? Run your fingers through my hair?”

Hank doesn’t know how to agree, so he makes a show of rolling his eyes and sighing. He settles onto the sofa and Connor crawls over to him and puts his head on Hank’s thigh. He focuses on the television. Hank does as Connor’s asked and runs his fingers through silken strands. He lazily twirls tufts of hair around his fingers, scratches his nails down Connor’s scalp.

Connor shivers, pushing his head into Hank’s thigh. His whole body rocks back and forth, eyes closed, lips parted.

Hank doesn’t want to make of this anything more than it is. Connor wants to feel. It has nothing to do with Hank. It isn’t Hank at all that Connor cares about in this. It’s himself. He’s experiencing touch the way a human does for the first time and Hank knows from his own personal experience how good it feels. Connor isn’t breathless and mewling because of Hank. It’s because this is new and Hank is just there. He’s the convenient tool to achieve Connor’s desire.

Hank doesn’t expect that thought to hurt so much, but it does.

“Hank?”

“Hmm?”

“You stopped.”

“Oh. Sorry.” But Hank doesn’t want to keep doing this. He wants to chug his whiskey, drown in his sorrows and pass out in his bed alone. Like he always does. Still, he doesn’t want to take this away from Connor—so he does what Connor asks, because it’s Connor.

He focuses on the television, his fingers idly working into Connor’s scalp with so much ease he hardly even notices he’s doing it anymore. When he needs to get up to piss, he looks down and gently shakes Connor, but Connor doesn’t wake. So he shakes again, harder this time.

“Connor! Hey!”

Connor finally opens his eyes, startled he shoots up and looks about the room, his pupils expanding and contracting at an unnatural rate. “Oh. Lieutenant. I’m—I’m sorry. It looks like I involuntarily went into sleep mode.”

“Involuntarily, huh?” Hank smirks.

Connor smooths out his button down and moves to the other side of the couch. Hank will pointedly ignore that Connor moving away makes him feel cold.

“I think you put me to sleep.” Connor looks over at Hank, a small smile on his face. “I’ve never—it was nice.”

“Yeah-yeah.” Hank stands up and makes his way to the bathroom. He slaps water on his face before he has to come back and face Connor. He doesn’t like the blush mixing in his cheeks. He doesn’t want to feel any of this for Connor. It’s a fool’s errand—a stupid decision. Suicide. Connor is beautiful, kind, and youthful. Hank?

Well, all he has to do is look in the mirror to see that he’s let himself go. Hair long. Face longer. Body soft. He grits his teeth, trembling hands gripping the sink. He doesn’t want to be this anymore. Working with Connor, all it does now is remind him of how far he’s fallen. For all the good that Connor has brought into Hank’s life, he’s also reminded Hank of how far he’s fallen. Well, now he’s hit rock bottom. He needs to change that. If he’s going to continue living in this world, he needs to be a part of it again. He’ll always miss Cole. He’ll always hate himself for how he handled the divorce. But if Connor’s taught Hank anything, it’s that there’s an uncertainty to life and time. Connor may get more than one life, but Hank won’t. Connor could stop feeling at any moment, just like Hank’s life could end just as quickly. He needs to feel, just as much as Connor does. There’s only so much time…

When Hank comes back, Connor is curled up into a blanket. He’s running his fingers up and down it, most likely because of how soft it is. Hank likes soft blankets.

“You once asked me if I was afraid to die, Lieutenant.”

Hank remembers, he’s just shocked that his own thoughts of mortality seem to be bleeding into Connor. He’d pulled a gun out and almost shot Connor point blank just because he could. Hurting an android back then didn’t matter. It pains Hank now to know he once didn’t see Connor as a person. A machine. Connor is more human than most of the pricks at the station. More caring and more dedicated. More honest and genuine. Good. Connor is just—so good.

“I’ve been—thinking.”

“Oh boy.” Hank makes a show of rolling his eyes. He smirks and looks to make sure Connor is smirking too. It’s there, small, a ghost barely left in existence, but there. Hank sits down on the armchair to give Connor a respectable amount of distance.

“This—drug that’s in me—it can kill us. We can die. We can permanently die. Lower quality models maybe, but the pretense is there. Eventually, something will come around that can even kill me.”

“Welcome to the club.” Hank doesn’t like how flippant he’s sounded, so he tries again. “You know—everything dies. There’s an end to everything. From couches to the most advanced forms of life. Everything has an ending.”

“We’re theoretically limitless.” Connor’s eyes dart from side to side. He’s trying to figure it all out, trying to understand the laws of existence with the way android physiology denies it. But that’s the thing that he doesn’t understand. Nothing can defy the laws of existence. Not even someone as smart as Connor. “Replace parts. Upload memories. Replace. Upload. Advance.” Connor bites his lip and turns to Hank, eyes round and glassy. “How do you live with knowing you will die?”

Hank shrugs. “Does it look like we have much of a choice? We’re here and never by our own choice.”

“When androids die, parts of our memories go corrupt. I guess that puts a limit to the number of times we can come back. If our memory cores are destroyed—we’re destroyed. And that’s what’s happening to these androids. They’re dying. Forever.” Connor sits back on the couch. “They know something I don’t.”

Hank cocks a brow. “Wanna fill me in?”

“They know what it’s like to die as an android. What’s after.” Connor cringes. “I know death is an uncomfortable subject among humans. But it’s never been something you’re uncomfortable with. Why?”

“Everyone I’ve loved is dead. How bad can it be to go where they are?”

“But—what about—me?”

Hank doesn’t expect the way his gut twists. It’s sharp and sudden and he winces. Which of course, has got to have given Connor the wrong impression. He sees Connor’s face fall. The way he wraps the blanket around himself together to protect himself.

“I must have—I’m sorry I didn’t mean it like that. I meant that we’re friends too right? We’re not just partners?”  

Hank nods because saying it is too much. He does care about Connor. He cares more about Connor than he cares about the rest of the world, that’s for damn sure. But it’s so hard to say. Not when Hank feels so unworthy of Connor’s friendship, of his touch.  

“When I die, I won’t go where you go,” Connor’s voice trembles.

It hits Hank deep in the gut. So deep that he groans. He leans forward and sighs. He’s too sober for this conversation. His mind is starting to break, thinking about all the ways humans and android are alike and yet there are still fundamental differences between them. Does an android have a soul? Is there an afterlife? Is God real?

“Con—could we—maybe talk about this later?” Hank fumbles through the words. His voice is foreign to him, too dusty and used.

Connor looks between them and smiles. It’s painful, too perfectly postured to be authentic. But Connor is nothing if not polite. He looks out at the pouring rain through the window and says nothing more.

Hank, however, doesn’t stop thinking about the fear of being separated from Connor forever.

Connor is pulled out of sleep mode. He blinks, confused. The room is quiet. The window is cracked and it’s letting in cool air. He hears the rustling of leaves outside. Sumo snores softly, a gentle rhythm like a metronome. Connor smiles, an organic metronome, he supposes. But still, what would wake him from sleep mode before his designated startup time. He stands up from the sofa and looks around. It’s nearly 4 in the morning. Hank’s got to be in bed by now, he’s sure.

Hank…

Connor’s stomach—or at least his biocomponents—knot together. He cringes and curls back up on the sofa. He’d upset Hank. He spoke of things he shouldn’t have spoken about. He asked of things he shouldn’t have asked for. It’s all his fault that things became—awkward. He’d been so selfish. But it felt so good to have someone touch him. Touch him. Connor never knew touching could feel so intimate—so connective. He’s touched people before, a pat on Hank’s shoulder, a gentle brush by someone. But it never felt as open as it had tonight. Connor shivers, remembering the way Hank’s fingers twisted, pulled and scratched at his head.

Connor can’t go back to sleep mode. He tries, he tries again. He tries a third time. Frowning, he huffs a little and crosses his arms. This isn’t what he’s supposed to do. He’s programmed to just go to sleep mode and wake at a designated time. He throws his hands up in the air and stands, walking briskly into the kitchen.

He opens the refrigerator and stares at the beer and pathetic assortment of food. He should meal prep for Hank. He’s not entirely sure he’ll find Hank happy about that situation but at least Hank could grumble and curse about being babied by an android into a healthy meal.

Connor runs some recipes for the foods in the refrigerator and narrows his eyes when he finds nothing good. There're stores open. He’ll just go shopping. Before leaving, he grabs one of Hank’s coats and leaves after patting Sumo on the head.

It’s mundane and easy, grocery shopping. Connor looks at the food on the shelves and picks up what corresponds with his recipes he’s gotten for healthy meal prepping. He really does hope Hank won’t be too upset about it. He just can’t sleep! Which is alarming. He touches a glass jar and feels to cool nip of it on his skin, feels the sleek texture. He bites his lip to hide the smile. The drug is still inside him. Truth be told, he doesn’t want it to leave. He doesn’t want to go back to a world where he can only touch through pressure sensitivity or data connectivity.

Connor picks up the rest of the food and heads back to Hank’s. It’s not even 5 in the morning yet. He pets Sumo on the head as they both linger in the kitchen. Sumo waiting for scraps and Connor now beginning the process of meal prepping. He’s never cooked before—he knows how—but he’s never done it. He’s excited to cook for Hank. He hopes Hank likes it. He wants Hank to like it. Hank’s been so good to him.

Connor isn’t exactly homeless but he’s homeless all the same. He appreciates that Hank never makes a fuss about Connor paying rent or cleaning or cooking. Hank never complains about Connor’s duration of stay. Maybe he likes Connor being around. The thought warms Connor’s core and leaves him—giddy. He smiles as he cuts up a zucchini. Curious, he picks up a part of the zucchini and puts it to his tongue. It’s sweet, but there’s fuller—more robust flavor there. He wishes he could eat it. He discards the piece he licked and returns to chopping up the rest of the vegetables.

The light in the hallway comes on. Connor turns back to his meal prep work and his shoulders fall. He has no idea if Hank will come in and yell about invading space or if he’ll be okay with it. Foolish. Connor is so foolish. He should’ve asked before he set about getting enough groceries to last Hank a couple weeks. Connor knows people are touchy and they don’t like change and—

“Connor? The fuck you doing?” Despite his words, Hank’s voice is gentle—tired.

“I couldn’t—enter sleep mode. Or I couldn’t stay in it.” Connor turns around and leans against the counter. “I thought I’d make you some lunches for work.”

Hank looks over at the mismatched foods, some being roasted in the oven, some over the stove. He smirks, crossing his arms. “Can’t sleep, huh?”

Connor grimaces, his eyes downcast. “I don’t understand what’s wrong with me. But I don’t want to go back to CyberLife to find out.”

“Nothin’s wrong with you, Con.” Hank tugs on his robe and pads into the kitchen, soft feet on linoleum floor.

Connor feels a ghost of a smirk at his lips. Humans are weird about feet. Some like theirs touched, others would rather vomit. Connor wonders which kind of human Hank is about feet.

“Something feels wrong,” Connor says.

Hank leans on the counter next to Connor. He runs his fingers through his shaggy hair, his eyes puffy from sleep. He’s handsome, Connor concludes. Connor’s always known he’s been handsome, but it’s been hidden away behind brash behavior and self-hatred. Connor wishes he could say something to make Hank know he doesn’t have to hate himself. Connor may not be the person Hank’s wanted as a friend, but Hank has been the person Connor’s wanted. He wants to make that known somehow.

“Sometimes when people feel something too much, it gets in their head and they can’t sleep or think about much else.” Hank shrugs, speaking like he’d speak about the weather or the stock market. He’s so knowledgeable because he’s had far more experience at being human than Connor. He’s had to endure it, even when he didn’t want to. Connor’s still not even sure if he wants to, or if he just stays because of Connor.

Connor doesn’t want someone to feel like they have to live because of him, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t glad Hank chose to stay. He wants Hank in his existence—his life—his whatever this is. For as long as possible.

“What do they do? When the feelings get to be too much?” Connor’s eyes are round. He can feel himself leaning into Hank, and Hank stays planted. They’re their own little world—their own plane of existence. Connor doesn’t want them to leave it. For the first time since he’d gotten the drug uploaded into his system, he’s felt grounded. Hank keeps him from flying away. He doesn’t want to fly away when the feelings get to be too much.

“Some people cook—like you are.” Hank takes one of the zucchini chips from behind him and pops it into his mouth. He hums in approval and that makes Connor’s thirium pump beat faster. “Some people play music, watch movies, talk to loved ones. It all depends on the person.”

“So I cook when I have too many feelings?”

Hank laughs and shrugs. “I dunno. But since this is the best damn smelling kitchen I’ve ever had, I’m not complaining.”

Connor smiles wide. “This is okay? I was—I was so worried.” He looks down at his fingers and begins to pick at his nails. “I don’t want to do anything that upsets you. I made you upset before and I can’t stop thinking about it.”

Hank’s face smooths out. He takes a sharp breath in and looks away. “You didn’t—Christ—no, Connor that wasn’t your fault.”

“I calculated the precise moment when your body temperature changed and your heart rate sped up. I know it was me.”

Hank rolls his head back and heaves out a heavy sigh. “Androids.”

Connor waits, because he doesn’t think speaking will help the situation any further. Whenever Hank says ‘androids’ like that, it’s usually because Connor is doing something stupid.

“This why you can’t sleep? Because you think I’m angry with you?”

Connor nods.

“I’m not angry. I’ve got a lot of shit on my mind too. And sure you’re part of that, but I’m not angry at you, Connor.”

“If you ever need me to leave—”

“Connor, don’t be so fucking dramatic, okay? I haven’t been sleeping so good either.” Hank chews his lip, rolling back and forth on his heels. “I’ve been worried about you.”

Connor shivers from the rush of delight that gives him. His body is on fire, but it’s a good fire. A warmth like he’s being eased into a bathtub or sitting by a campfire. He doesn’t actually know what any of that feels like, but he’s surfed the internet enough to get the idea. Something warm and gentle that humans associate with a positive warm and not a burning at the stake kind of warm.

“I don’t know what that drug does. We don’t know what it’s doing to you right now, even. I just keep thinking about you lying there—trying to claw at your own body and me having to tell you no. I was so fuckin’ scared, okay? And now you can’t sleep and you’re putting your hand on my stove! I was afraid I’d come in here and see you with a knife to know how it feels to be cut by something sharp.”

Connor moves before his processors let him register what he’s doing. But by then his arms are already around Hank’s neck and his head is resting on his chest. Hank’s gone still—rigid, even. But his hands slowly find their way around Connor’s middle and they relax into each other. Hank’s breath soft and even near Connor’s ear. The white hum of Connor’s body. He closes his eyes and feels tears push at the corners. He’s overwhelmed again. Sensations run up and down his body and he can’t pinpoint what they all mean. He’s warm—tingly—hot. His core is bordering on searing.

“I don’t want to make you worry,” Connor says. “I won’t hurt myself anymore. But I just want to know what you feel.”

Hank snorts out a laugh. “I could describe in accurate detail what it feels like to get stabbed by a knife. Happened back in college.”

Connor pulls back, eyes wide and face shocked. He touches Hank’s chest, his hips and then his face. “You were stabbed?!”

“It was a long time ago! I’m fine.” Hank swats Connor’s hands away and takes a step back.

Connor bites his lip to keep from moaning out his displeasure of the space between them. He likes being in Hank’s arms. It feels—safe. Like coming home. Connor’s never had a true home before. Hank is the closest thing and Connor doesn’t want to live in some illusion. He wants Hank to be his home.

“Do you remember what it felt like to get shot? Cause that’s pretty much a stab—only more force maybe.” Hank squints, looking up. “Well—maybe getting stabbed hurts more. Less shock.”

Connor doesn’t remember what it felt like. He couldn’t feel anything before. He’d registered a pressure that had infiltrated his systems and then he closed his eyes. But he doesn’t want to remind Hank of all the things he couldn’t experience before. Or maybe he needs to. Without that knowledge, Hank has no vantage point of understanding with Connor’s newfound curiosities. Connor touches the stove not because he knows it’ll hurt, but because it makes him feel alive. He’s cataloged that feeling away into his memory drive. He can feel his fingers burning again, the searing white-hot pain that seeped from his palm and up to his elbow.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” Connor says, pulling himself from the memory. “I can stop cooking if it’s distracting.”

“No,” Hank says, soft. Voice more like velvet then the gravel it usually is. “You do what you need to. Just know I’m not angry at you. I can get damn pissed when it comes to you but—I’m never actually angry at you. Maybe.” Hank holds his hand up and teeters it back and forth. “Well,” he drawls, “maybe half the time I’m angry at you—but it’s because you do dumb shit like put your hand on the stove.”

Connor makes a note to never put his hand on the stove again. He’s got the memory anyway. He smiles at Hank and watches him leave the kitchen. The yellow that spills into the white of the kitchen snuffs out and Connor hears the creaking of Hank’s door as he closes it.

Connor turns back to his meal prepping, straightens his button down, and rolls up his sleeves to start cutting up the chicken. He’s glad Hank liked the zucchini.

Hank sits at his desk, arms crossed and eyes narrowed. He’s staring at the single picture he’d managed to get of the bald guy with the tattoo before Connor fell to the ground and nearly clawed himself to death. They’d speculated Connor survived because he was an advanced model, but Hank’s not so sure. Hank had to physically keep Connor’s hands from finding purchase. If Hank hadn’t been there…

He doesn’t want to think about that.

“Woo-hoo! Up before noon, huh? Your wife got you on some new meds, Hank?” Gavin’s specific brand of annoying pierces Hank’s skin like a body dropped into acid.

“When’s the last time you had a shower, Gavin? Smells like shit in here.”

Gavin’s cheeks splotch red. He glares Hank’s way. “Don’t think the whole world is fooled just because Markus and his merry band of bots kneeled in front of a bunch of pussies.”

Hank rolls his eyes. “Military, you mean? I believe the word you were looking for is military.” Hank’s grown more than tired of the daily pissing contest with Gavin. He understands Gavin’s hatred toward him. Hank got to rank of lieutenant even younger than Gavin is now. Gavin’s still just a detective. Though, Hank didn’t do much else after he got to his rank. He smacks his lips together. He’s too old now to play ambitious. He just wants to do what he can for the world and then retire. Maybe he’ll move to a beach. He wonders if Connor would like that.

His hands pull back from his computer like he’d been burned. Why in the ever-loving fuck would he have any right to assume Connor would just move away with him? Connor, who has a life here. Connor, who has a long career ahead of him. Connor’s done well at the station. He’s worked long hours and hasn’t complained. He’s taken more than one risk and died on one occasion. All the Connor models are awake and up now. They’d have to build Connor a whole new body if he died again. Hank’s heart twists. He doesn’t want Connor to die again. It doesn’t matter if he can possibly come back or not. Hank doesn’t want to risk it.

Speaking of the devil, despite his leave not being up, Connor walks into the bullpen. His tie is on perfectly straight, his hair sleek and shiny. His face plastered with the politest of smiles. Hank can’t decide if he wants to smack Connor for coming in or hug him because he’s grown too tired of Gavin’s bullshit.

“Look who's back!”

Hank pulls on his own hair. How could he forget that Connor was also an easy target for Gavin. Not that Connor was easy per say. He’d throw insults right back at Gavin like the best of them.

Connor pointedly ignores Gavin and walks toward Hank. He’s holding a lunch bag and Hank understands now why Connor came in. Hank forgot the lunch Connor made for him last night.

“You forgot this,” Connor says, handing the bag over to Hank.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

Connor sits at his desk and boots up the computer.

“Connor—you’re on leave.”

“I can’t be alone, Lieutenant. I don’t—trust myself right now.”

Fear snakes into Hank’s body. It’s cold and slow, it breathes in calculated puffs that raise the hairs on Hank’s neck. He looks over Connor’s body, making sure there're no damaged parts or white showing through otherwise flawless skin. He can’t see much from the button down or Connor’s “android” jacket. He doesn’t have to wear that anymore, but he chooses to. Hank guesses that’s what freedom is all about. Other androids may find it offensive or mock Connor, but Connor is free to make his own choices now. He chose that jacket.

“I seem to have—a problem, Lieutenant.” Connor stares at his computer, his voice barely loud enough for Hank to hear. He’s rigid in his spot, a tin man needing an oiling. Hank wonders if that thought is offensive. He thinks it probably is.

The lights beam down on Connor, he’s awash, pale and nearly lifeless. His lips hardly their dusting of pink. He opens his mouth slowly, his next words calculated. “I want to hurt myself. I want—to do a lot of things that I know I shouldn’t. But I want to.”

“Let’s talk outside, huh?” The last thing the DPD needs to know about is a suicidal android. Because that’s what they’d see—an android with his shit gone fucked. They wouldn’t see the virus that wreaks unknown havoc on Connor’s system. They wouldn’t know the way Connor moaned when Hank played with his hair. They’d only see what their realities would let them. Hank doesn’t fault them for that, but his priority isn’t them. It’s Connor.

They step out into the car-engorged streets. Honks, shrieks of people and the idle chatter of businessmen drown out any risk of their voices carrying to anyone Hank wouldn’t want hearing—namely Gavin.

Connor’s arms are crossed and his fists are pressed up against his armpits. He’s staring at the ground like he’ll vomit at any moment. He’s so jittery. The virus is still inside him, or maybe it’s re-written something. Hank knows that without Connor, his investigation time is nearly doubled, but he can’t put Connor at risk anymore. They don’t know if someone can upload the virus into Connor again or make it worse—he can’t stomach to see Connor begging like that again.

“What happened?” Hank asks.

“I took out your gun. I—I don’t remember what it felt like. To get shot.”

Hank’s vision blurs. He grabs Connor by the lapels and throws him against the wall—not because he wants Connor to get hurt, but because he wants Connor to be shocked. He wants to impress into Connor how unbelievably not okay something like that is.

“Lieutenant, this hurts!” Connor grabs at Hank’s wrists and tries to pry back Hank’s fingers, but Hank won’t let him.

“You think this hurts? Just because you’ve been shot once doesn’t mean I want to go through you being shot again! Jesus, Connor! Guns fucking kill people!”

“I’d come back!”

“Who the fuck knows that for certain! What if you shot out your memory core? What if androids can’t make another one of you! You were a fucking prototype, Connor!” He drops Connor, breathing heavily. His own heart feels like it’ll give out at any moment. Connor will be the death of Hank—he’s damn sure of it. His blood hammers against his eardrums and his skin burns. He wants to scream into a void and beg whatever God exists to make Connor stop. “I don’t care—if there’s a chance. You can’t,” Hank’s voice cracks, throat fighting him, “you can’t do that to me again.”

Connor’s eyes widen. He licks the corner of his lips, gaze searching for something. “I didn’t—I’m sorry. I didn’t anticipate the emotional impact for you. I didn’t think—”

“Damn right you didn’t think! Look, Con—if you want to do this—this whole learning what shit feels like I’m all for it! But it’s got to be controlled! You can’t just pick up my fucking gun and shoot yourself just because there’s a chance you’d come back!” Androids lose a piece of themselves each time they come back. Connor has said this before. Hank doesn’t want Connor to lose the pieces that matter the most between them. Whether it’s selfish or righteous, Hank doesn’t know. But he can’t let Connor keep doing this unsupervised. He can’t pretend like everything is back to normal when there’s something severely wrong with Connor.

“I apologize.”

“No,” Hank says, lifting a finger and pointing with all his might at Connor, “you don’t get to apologize your way out of this. We need to have a serious discussion about this! That drug—that thing is fucking with you and I can’t watch you—” Hank’s exhausted. His lungs clamp up on him and he leans forward, hands resting on his knees. He leans his back against the wall and just stares at the ground. He can see Connor’s feet, perfectly still. Androids don’t sway like humans. Their joints never get tired. He stays rooted there, waiting for Hank’s words.

“I need you to be okay,” Hank says, voice hoarse. “I don’t want to come home and see you dead on my floor.”

“Like I almost saw you?”

Hank will set aside his own pride and anger. He knows he’s been low. But when Connor hits him below the gut like that, he’s got to know the effect that has on Hank. Connor’s the smartest damn person Hank’s ever known. So when Connor connects the dots, when he calls it like it was—it does hurt. Hank can’t be that man anymore. He needs to be better so Connor will be better.

“We’ll get through this together,” Hank grits out. “We really should take you back to CyberLife.”

“No!” Connor steps back. “I don’t want to go back.”

“Why not? It’s not like it was before.”

“I don’t want to be a test subject anymore.” Connor crosses his arms, face downcast. “Please, Hank. I’ll do—I’ll do anything.”

“I don’t want you to do anything.” Hank brings Connor into a hug. He’s not sure if it’s okay or still weird but Connor did it last night and Hank knows what it’s like to feel touch starved. Connor, for lack of any better way to put it, is experiencing touch starvation for the first time in his life. “Fucking androids.”

Connor pushes his nose into Hank’s neck and it takes all of Hank not to immediately pull back. His spine is sizzling inside, a zing running down from where Connor’s nose is and right into his fucking groin.

“I need help,” Connor finally says.

“Yeah you do.”

When they part, Hank starts to have an existential crisis about having a crush on his dumbass android partner.

Connor’s glad Markus is here. Hank’s on the phone with the station, most likely informing them that Connor is a malfunctioning piece of junk. No. No, Hank wouldn’t do that. He’s probably on the phone simply telling them why he’s no longer at his desk. Hank would never call Connor malfunctioning. Hank’s been nothing but supportive to Connor. The self-deprecating thoughts about malfunctioning? That’s all on Connor now. But Connor is glad Markus came.

Markus sits by Connor, both of them silent. They watch Hank pace out in the halls of CyberLife as both human and android alike walk by. They hear him speak or grunt. Finally, the silence between them becomes too much.

“Do you feel?” Connor asks.

Markus furrows his brow and looks at Connor with his heterochromatic eyes. His lips are parted, tongue tucked safely between teeth.

“I just—wanted to know if maybe this wasn’t the drug.” Connor feels alone now. He doesn’t relate to humans because he’s not human. He doesn’t relate to androids because he’s experiencing something they don’t. The sheets are scratchy and cold. He wishes he had socks on. He can’t turn off what he feels and he wishes he could. He doesn’t want to be an anomaly. He just wants to exist. He just wants to relate to someone—so he doesn’t feel so alone.

“What you experience as feeling and what I experience as feeling seem to be different concepts now,” Markus says. His voice is smooth, steady. A man who’s become so used to speaking to crowds. Connor’s proud of Markus for handling Detroit the way he did. It’s rare when words overcome violence. But Markus never gave in.

“I want it to stop—but I don’t want it to stop. I don’t think I’ll feel alive if it goes away.”

“That’s not true,” Markus says, taking Connor’s hand. He’s not as coarse as Hank, his fingers soft and palms cool. It doesn’t matter how many times Markus uses his hands to paint or touch. He’ll always have soft hands. Connor finds he prefers Hank’s hands. “You’re still alive—even if this goes away. And maybe it should. Hank’s told me you’ve been thinking dangerous things.”

Connor thinks he feels shame. It weighs his body down; his eyes can’t meet Markus. He’s too afraid to see what kind of expression is on an otherwise gentle face. He’s let two people down he cares about. Hank—and now Markus.

“I know what you’re facing must be terrifying, but we’re here for you.” Markus squeezes Connor’s hand. How can Markus just exist without knowing the softness of a hand. The breath on a human’s lips. Or the mundane like the scratch of a tag on the back of a shirt. Which way is better? Human or android?

“You’re not alone,” Markus says. “We’re all here for you.”

Connor looks away. He doesn’t want to be fixed. Nothing is wrong with him. He just wants to go home and ask Hank to pet his head again. He doesn’t want to lose out on everything he’s never felt before. Melted wax. A hand tracing his spine. Lips against his neck.

“I don’t want this.”

“That’s why we’re here, to help you.” Markus pats Connor’s hand like he’s understanding what Connor’s feeling. He has no fucking idea what Connor’s feeling. Connor doesn’t even want to share his data lest Markus find he cannot comprehend. Connor doesn’t want to scare Markus. But he doesn’t want to change. The virus isn’t a curse. It’s a gift.

“No,” Connor says. He stands from the examination table and adjusts his tie. “I appreciate your concern, but I don’t want to be fixed. I want to keep feeling.”

Markus frowns, leaning back. “That’s a very dangerous idea, Connor.”

“Why? Because I made a few mistakes? I was at least open about it!” Connor looks out into the hallway and doesn’t see Hank. Good, he doesn’t want Hank to overhear this. It would only overwhelm him. It’s not that Hank couldn’t understand, Hank’s been understanding since the moment Connor felt the virus invade his systems. But he doesn’t want to frighten Hank with why he’s so obsessed with touch. Good or bad.

“You told Hank you were going to shoot yourself!”

“I just wanted to know what it felt like! How can you sit there and say you’re alive when you can’t feel anything!” Connor shouldn’t raise his voice. He wishes he could close the door but he can’t let this moment pass. Markus is staring at him with wild, open eyes. “I can feel, Markus! I can feel the silken fur of a dog. The heat of the sun! I can feel the bite of a pair of scissors and the rush of butterflies in my stomach. I can feel a rock in my shoe and know if its sharp or round. The scratchiness of hospital bed sheets.” Connor points at the examination table. “The softness of your hand.” Connor can feel tears well in his eyes. He doesn’t want to cry. It seems like such an insignificant then when he thinks about it. But he doesn’t want to give it up. He doesn’t want to go back to what he was before. He’s gotten a taste of how humans touch, taste, experience. He doesn’t want to go back, not when he’s gotten this far. Not before he knows what Hank’s li—

“Connor, you need to calm down,” Markus says, hands in surrender. He’s moving slowly to Connor now, his eyes fixated on something near Connor.

It takes Connor a moment to realize he’s picked up a pair of scissors and did in fact slice into his own skin. No wonder he knows. He can feel it now—the pulsing burn of the bite. It reminds him of the stove.

“Don’t you see how dangerous this is for you?”

“Don’t take this away from me. I’m begging you.”

“I can hear you yelling from half—what the fuck?” Hank. He moves fast his gaze fixated on Connor’s bleeding hand. “What were you doing?”

“I wasn’t—thinking.” Connor looks at Markus, saline flowing from his eyes. “I don’t want to be fixed.”

“People get sick all the fucking time, Connor. It’s okay to get sick and need to be better.”

But that’s not what this is. Connor isn’t sick. He’s alive. He’s so alive that he can feel the crushing weight of his own biocomponents. He can feel the fear tremble his fingers. He can feel the burn in his legs, begging him. Run, run, run.

“Connor.” Markus steps closer. “Please let us help you.”

Connor brushes tears from his eyes. “Just because I’m messed up, it doesn’t mean I’m broken.”

“No, of course not,” says Hank.

Connor didn’t get a chance to say anything further. A human doctor came into the room, her eyes full of sympathy and mock understanding. Connor could read her heartbeat. She was nervous. Connor, made her nervous.

“Hello Connor. My name is Dr. Jin Sung. I need you to lie down on the table, please.”

“No.”

Hank sighs and Markus frowns. Seems Connor is the disappointment now. Now that deviants are seen as people, freaks like Connor get to be next on the chopping block. All he can think about now are the recall centers and Hank’s support in fixing him.

“I’m not broken,” Connor says.

“I don’t think you are. But your systems show a strand of coding that shouldn’t exist in your programming. We don’t want it to mutate and possibly compromise anything else.”

“Please,” Markus says, “trust us.”

Connor looks to Hank. Between an android or a human—Connor trusts a human more. Hank’s never lied to Connor. Markus hasn’t lied either, but Hank’s never been anything more than what he is. Markus wears many faces to appease nations, androids, humans. Markus is a king of diplomacy whereas Hank is just a person. Connor will trust the person over the god any day.

“You think I should do this?” Connor asks, voice soft.

“I think you should do whatever you want,” Hank says, “but I’m worried Con.”

Connor looks to his feet. “Okay.”

He allows Dr. Sung to get him settled on the examination table. It’s cold and unforgiving despite the padding and scratchy blankets. A tear slips down his cheek. He wants to remember the scratchy feel of these blankets for the rest of his life. He’ll never be able to feel them like this again.

Hank closes his eyes, like he doesn’t want to watch. Connor’s almost angry at him. It’s because of Hank that Connor is even doing this in the first place. He’s not broken. He doesn’t want to be fixed. But they all think there’s something wrong and Hank is worried. Connor doesn’t want Hank to worry. So that’s what Connor holds onto as Dr. Sung links him up into CyberLife’s systems and begins pulling at his coding. He can feel it, the slow ebb of the virus being broken away. The scratchy sheets go away. The cold in the room is replaced by an understanding that it is cold. He can’t feel the numbing in his toes anymore.

He cries.

He cries so hard that he’s afraid he may burst.