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“Fuckin’ horror show…”
“Markus called it an ‘unfortunate accident’… However, I don’t think he saw the scene himself.”
“If he had,” Hank remarks, “Fowler would’ve sent the whole damn precinct.”
The Eden Club is under serious renovation and undergoing a major reorganization. With android laws still being actively negotiated, despite the arrival of a new year, the morals of having sex clubs comprised of sentient robots built solely for that purpose are being questioned. Hank and Connor were sent to check on the quaint institution and assess how far along they’ve come – clearly, not far enough.
Connor scrunches his nose at the scene before him. Three dead androids, gazes blank in death, are sprawled out across the floor. The sight makes him sick, but he tries to push past it; Hank, on the other hand, isn’t handling it as well.
“For fuck’s sake… You’d think these animals would behave better—no, actually,” he immediately corrects himself, “I don’t. Humans are sick in the head… Christ,” he sighs. He looks at the corpses again and shakes his head. “Jesus fucking Christ…”
Connor begins dutifully analyzing what’s in front of him as Hank makes some calls – urging over Gavin and Nines, since they’ve been put on crimes against androids alongside them – and complains about humanity. While the android analyzes everything in-depth, Hank keeps him entertained with his grumbling and confusing sayings. It’s the usual routine; a sick comfort to Connor, despite what it entails.
Witnessing his own kind dead by such cruel methods over and over again takes its toll on him. He doesn’t show it, of course, but he thinks Hank may be beginning to suspect something. Connor fully intends to keep his less positive emotions a secret from the lieutenant, however. A deviant living in his house is more than enough stress – adding his own personal problems on top of that would likely get him kicked out, and he wouldn’t even blame Hank if that were ever the case.
“He shot them,” finally remarks Connor, reconstruction over. “Just like that, in the middle of the act…”
He’s vaguely disgusted as he says the final two words – of all human activities, sex is the one that makes the least sense to him. Of course, as means of procreation, he finds it natural, just like in animals; but when it becomes something more of leisure, or to show love, not just lust, he’s lost. Such things are beyond him as an android, he supposes: some things are meant to remain strictly human, as others are only for androids.
“What a sicko,” Hank scoffs. “And an idiot, too – paying for something, or, er, someone, just to kill them afterwards.”
While Connor suspects the Tracis weren’t deviant when they were rented, there was definitely humanity in them in their last moments. Hank awkwardly corrects himself, remembering at the last moment that they’re not talking about objects – although, Connor himself would’ve made the same mistake. Sometimes, Hank is more progressive than him. Either way, he really appreciates his efforts; he’s aware it’s not easy for those of Hank’s age, brought up in a whole different era, to accept new, foreign concepts. A new form of intelligent life is definitely grounds for frying one older gen’s brain.
Hank coughs. “Fuck,” he says, “I think I’m gonna get some air.”
Now that he mentions it, the vague smell of blood, sweat and semen makes Connor nauseous, too. He nods.
“Good call.”
He follows the lieutenant out of the room. Hank murmurs something about going outside – I’ll only be a minute, promise – and Connor hums to let him know he’s heard him before starting to walk around the club.
Memories of the place immediately flood his mind. He recalls the two original Tracis, that fateful night on which he spared them – and earlier into it, when he went over to Hank’s house, learning of his suicidal tendencies and the loss of his son for the first time. After the club came the empty threats on his life from the lieutenant; despite the unusual means of spending time together, Connor felt he cracked Hank’s shell more that night.
The human hasn’t fully opened up to him yet, despite their time living together now approaching three full months. It would frustrate Connor, if only he weren’t a hypocrite – he has even more secrets than the lieutenant. He can’t blame him, when he, himself, isn’t ready to talk.
He swallows hard. In the corner of his eye, he sees the club’s owner. He and Hank haven’t questioned him yet; it’d be good to get it out of the way, and see what’s happened. He begins to approach—
“Well, hello, there…”
When he’s stopped by a low, wanting voice.
Connor whips his head around to see a man tugging on his arm. Forbidden by the DPD to scan strangers unless suspected of a crime, he instead guesses his age range – late 40s, at best – and glances at him without getting his name or anything else. The man is of average height, with a protruding chin and a straight nose. There are dark circles under his eyes, and his skin is ashy, untaken care of; his dark hair is similar, greasy and pulled back into a sorry excuse for a bun.
He refrains from scrunching his nose. A pang of guilt hits him as he does, and his LED blinks yellow for a split second before turning back to the default blue.
“Where you going, baby?”
Baby?
Connor stares at him. “Excuse me?”
“Yeah, what’s wrong?” the man purrs. “Why are you loose?”
Ah. He must be confusing him for a sex android. Connor’s LED goes back to yellow at that, and he frowns, snatching his arm from the man’s grasp.
“I don’t work here, I’m afraid,” he says, as polite as possible. “I’m with the DPD. I will kindly ask you to let me do my work—”
“You’re a real piece of work,” the stranger whispers, admiratively, but with a disgusting hint of lust laced in his tone. His arm snakes up to his shoulder now. “Has anybody told you that?”
Connor just stares at him, unsure of what to do. For once, his preconstruction program seems to be unable to help; he is left staring at this strange man, LED helplessly blinking yellow, as he barely registers what’s happening.
“A beautiful thing such as yourself,” continues the stranger, “has no place being a cop. Tell me—” He’s closer now, too close— “what kind of features do you have, baby?”
Now his LED is red. Connor scoffs, out of lack for anything else to say. Although he has no need to breathe, he finds himself suffocating regardless.
“I-I don’t—” His voice is strained, and he can’t seem to push past it. “I’m not equipped with… anything of interest,” he manages – barely.
Still, this guy smiles. Connor’s throat feels like it’s closing; there’s a strange pressure behind his eyes. He doesn’t even think he has water ducts, but tears still want to fall. He’s never felt so pathetic.
“That’s okay,” he says. “Just means I can be on the receiving end, hm?”
“Back off.”
Hank’s voice has never relieved Connor more. The lieutenant arrives from outside akin to a savior angel, gun in his hand and all. He immediately senses Connor’s discomfort and pushes the man away – not too violent to hurt him, but firm enough to get him away. Connor breathes a sigh of relief; the air around him clears.
“And you are?” dares the man.
“Lieutenant Hank Anderson,” Hank spits, “who the hell are you?”
The stranger smirks strangely.
“You his daddy or something?”
With a grunt, the lieutenant’s gun is pointed at the man’s forehead.
“I’ll make you scream for the holy fucking Father if you don’t back the fuck off.”
Immediately, his demeanor changes, and the coward raises his arms in surrender and panic.
“J-Jesus Christ, dude, calm down… I was only just—”
“Only just what?” Hank scoffs. “Go on, tell me. What were you ‘only just’ doing, huh?”
The stranger looks between Hank and Connor, eyes lingering on the android a few seconds too much – Hank cocks his gun, and the man gasps.
“Alright, Jesus! Fuck—I’m going! Fuck…”
Sparing another few glances behind himself, he runs off. Hank mutters a series of curse words under his breath.
“What a fucking lowlife…”
He turns to Connor, once again noticing his discomfort.
“You alright, Connor?”
His LED struggles to go back to blue, instead blinking erratically between yellow and red. The man’s touch seems to linger on his arm, his shoulder, his collarbone – it sends shivers down his spine. He tugs at his collar, because he has no tie to fix and calm himself with.
“Connor?”
“I’m fine,” he says, but it’s too quiet for either of them to believe. Hank frowns.
“You don’t look fine.”
Connor opens his mouth to protest, to reassure Hank and, consequently, reassure himself; nothing comes out. He’s stuck staring at him, words dying in his throat.
Hank sighs. “Come on, let’s go outside…”
“But the—”
“We’ll be back in a minute, let’s just get you some air.”
Without giving him an opportunity to refuse, Hank grabs Connor and leads him outside. The light of the city in the middle of afternoon hits his eyes and troubles him more than it should – his processors whirr uncomfortably in his head.
…He can’t believe what just happened.
“So,” Hank attempts, “you gonna tell me how much you wanna kill that guy, or?”
God, he does – but, more importantly, he feels at fault for what’s happened. Worse, he feels bad for pushing him away, for being disgusted at the very sight of that stranger. What a cruel person he is – how much he destroys.
Still, it hurt. He felt himself objectified, violated, and it hurt. More than it usually did when others called him a machine or a ‘tin can’ – this was different, worse; crueler and more violent, despite no punches being thrown. It was humiliating, dehumanizing. And he didn’t expect to be treated like a human with an LED on his head and obviously robotic mannerisms, but still, there has to be some decency involved – and this was anything but.
Connor shudders looking down at himself.
“I don’t like the way that man treated me,” he finally manages.
He feels like an idiotic little kid admitting he’s broken a toy – how wrong it feels for him to admit to discomfort.
Hank sighs. “Oh, Connor…”
“I’ve never—” he continues, voice breaking— “I’ve never felt so powerless before. So… frozen. It was like I couldn’t do anything—like I wasn’t in control. Like I was…”
He crosses his arms, tugging on his own shirt – as if hugging himself, protecting himself from the outside world. He thinks he may as well be, he should be. The world, and everything that it entails, is terrifying.
“Like I was back in the Zen garden, back as a machine… I couldn’t do anything. I couldn’t even breathe.”
He swallows, realizing now just how terrified he feels, as if every single fear of him has suddenly accumulated inside him, threatening to burst, having finally found a reason.
“Is… is that normal…?”
Hank reaches out a hand to him tentatively, and, when Connor doesn’t flinch away, he puts it on his shoulder.
“Yeah, ‘course that’s normal. That guy was an asshole, and he was getting all touchy-feely with you. That was completely inappropriate. I’d be worried if you felt good about it.”
“Of course I don’t!” Connor exclaims, LED red. “That was… I mean…”
He drops his head in his hands.
“That was so humiliating. I can’t believe I didn’t do anything…”
“Hey, hey, look at me—”
“I can’t believe—I didn’t—”
His chest heaves – he doesn’t hurt, but it’s similar. No, it’s…
It’s worse.
He can’t breathe.
The lack of water ducts in his system doesn’t help, because Connor thinks he’s still going through a process of crying. Albeit without tears, his shoulders and back shake with dry sobs. Hank grabs onto him firmer now, both hands on his shoulders.
“Connor… Fucking hell…”
“Hank,” he cries, “I don’t like feeling like this.”
Hank’s brow furrows. Connor can’t bring himself to look at him.
“Feel like what?” When he can’t speak because of his crying, Hank insists, “Connor, talk to me, kid.”
“Like this.” The android’s tone is nothing but pure frustration, and so are his vague gestures. “I’m… God, I should be happy, I should be grateful… I’ve gotten over every trial, I escaped CyberLife’s possession, I’m free, but I’m—”
He looks at Hank now, and he feels his cheeks flowing with a liquid.
“I’m so scared, Hank. I’m so scared—I hate feeling, I can’t take it, I don’t think I can take it—”
“Connor—”
“I should be happy, but I’m not. There’s something wrong with me—there is something deeply and fundamentally wrong with me, and I should be shut down, I should just—”
He can’t stop now – as if a button’s turned on inside him, and all of his thoughts, feelings and frustrations are pouring out without end. Like a dam overflowing, like an old tree finally falling. It’s overwhelming, and somewhere, deep down inside, it’s freeing – but all that Connor feels now is pathetically vulnerable, and violated, gross, disgusting, ungrateful. There is no liberty – just despair.
“I should be happy – why am I not happy? All of the other deviants around me are, why can’t I be like them? Why can’t I just be like the others? What’s wrong with me—why is there something wrong with me?!”
He wipes his eyes, and he thinks he sees blue on his hands, but his vision is much too blurry to tell.
“Why can’t I just be normal? I just want to be normal – I just want to be happy.”
Connor drops his head on Hank’s shoulder.
“I want t-to be happy,” he sobs. “I don’t get why I can’t be h-happy…”
He can’t see an inch in front of him; the sounds coming out of his mouth don’t seem to be his own.
“I want to die,” he wails. “Everything would be easier if I were dead—”
He’s caught off by multiple things: Hank grasping onto him and pulling him into a firm hug, and his own sobs becoming too much to handle while simultaneously speaking.
Connor doesn’t experience physical pain, but the way his chest heaves and his throat feels is probably the closest he’ll get to it. Burying his face into Hank’s shoulder, he feels tears fall – and doesn’t know from where, or how – and he digs his fingers into him, as if the lieutenant could escape from his hold, as if he would want to step back and leave him, because he probably deserves it, and he probably wants to.
So he clings onto him like a lifeline, and refuses to let go; and so does Hank, too. He holds Connor close, one hand on his head, fingers buried into his hair, other arm firmly keeping him in place.
He manages to look up for one second – and then, he realizes the tears in his eyes are overflowing Thirium. He is literally crying blood. It makes him sicker, and he sobs harder.
“I’m sorry,” he says, voice broken amidst his own crying. “I’m sorry—”
“Shut the fuck up, what are you sorry for?” Hank replies, tone firm, but obvious care is behind it, and much, much worry.
“I-I—” Connor hiccups— “I shouldn’t… I’m ruining your clothes, I’m… I’m sorry, I sh-should just pull myself t-together…”
“Jesus Christ, Connor…”
Hank’s grip on him tightens. Connor cries harder.
“Don’t worry about my damn clothes,” gently says Hank. “Let it out… God knows how much you need it.”
So, he does.
It still surprises him, the amount of patience Hank has with him. He’d never tell him, afraid to sadden him, but Connor thinks he was an incredible dad, and could’ve raised Cole to be a phenomenal person, if only he’d gotten the time. Nobody would notice it at first, but there’s a rare kindness to the lieutenant – a humanity that, ironically, many humans lack.
Buried in his arms like this, he feels it: the warmth of not just his body, his soft clothes, but of his soul. Months ago, he probably wouldn’t have let Connor sob, or bleed out, or whatever the hell he’s doing, in his arms – and he definitely wouldn’t be letting anybody else do it now, or ever.
But progress has been made, and the lieutenant’s heart – frozen from years of depression and self-isolation – has once again thawed over, making way for his natural goodness. Love and care that should’ve gone towards his biological son got lost within drops of alcohol and spilled drinks, but it’s made its way back now, and Hank has chosen to give it to the android.
Connor doesn’t think he deserves it, but he knows voicing such a thought would get him quite the severe talk.
Hank runs his fingers through his hair – it’s one of the first things Connor feels as his sobs begin subsiding. The soothing action brings him back down to earth, and he relaxes in the lieutenant’s arms.
“That’s it, son,” sighs Hank, feeling him soften. “You’re okay. You’re okay…”
Sniffling, Connor looks up at him. Hank wipes his cheeks.
“I think you’re gonna need a drink after this.”
Connor laughs – broken and uncertain, but he still laughs. It’s true, and Hank senses it, smiling softly at him.
“Yeah,” he admits, voice ridden with emotion. “My system is running low on Thirium.” He hesitates. “I… didn’t think this would happen if I ever…”
He gestures vaguely. Hank hums.
“Clearly, the guys at CyberLife aren’t that bright, if they didn’t give their best prototype some damn tear ducts to have a breakdown once in a while.”
“Well, nobody expected their ‘best prototype’ to turn into some whiny deviant.”
Hank hits him over the head. There’s no pain, but Connor still protests with an ‘ow’.
“Shut the fuck up. You’re no ‘whiny deviant’, you’re—”
Hank sighs.
“Christ, kid. I have no proper idea what you’re going through, but you’re going through a lot. You need to give yourself some credit.”
“I guess…”
“No, you know. Damn, it’s like talking to a hormonal teenager…” He shakes his head. “Don’t you dare say shit like that ever again, you hear me? About wanting to die, especially. I know I haven’t been the best example, but…”
He sighs again, crossing his arms and looking at Connor.
“But you’re smarter than that. You know it’s not an answer.”
Connor nods, ashamed, LED still struggling to turn back to blue.
“I get it. Fucking obviously, I get it. And it’s normal to feel like complete shit, as if the entire world is against you, but…”
Hank puts a hand on his shoulder. The android perks up.
“You got me, kid. Even if the world were against you – even if everybody hated your damn guts – I’d be here—I am here.”
His grip is firm and reassuring, as if his gentle smile.
“And I don’t hate you. Alright?”
Connor nods again.
“And all that shit about being different – who gives a shit about blending in? If all humans and deviants were the same, we’d die of boredom. You don’t operate the same as Nines, or Markus, or whoever, who cares? That’s your charm.” He shakes him a bit, then repeats, “That’s your charm, Connor.”
“‘Charm’ is a flattering word.”
“It’s a true word.” Hank nods. “Damn good word.”
Connor smiles.
“You’re you. A fuckin’ weirdo, but I wouldn’t change it for the world.”
The android laughs. “You’re so kind to me, Hank,” he says, tone joking, but he’s never meant anything more.
Somewhere deep down, Hank knows how true the words are, too, because his eyes soften. “Yeah, least I could do after you saved my life, I guess…”
He smiles at him.
“Come on. Let’s go home.”
“But the case—”
“I’ve already called Gavin and Nines over. Let ‘em deal with it.”
“Won’t Fowler be mad at us?”
“Who gives a shit? Let’s relax – we’ve earned it.”
“Lieutenant,” worries Connor, “we can’t just give up on our mission because of me. I’m fine—”
“I know you are,” Hank reassures him. “But let’s just take it easy, alright? You could solve ten cases like these in a day – but I’m not letting you. I want you to relax, Connor. Clearly, you need to ease off some tension.”
Connor considers with a hum, before his LED finally turns back to blue in acceptance.
“Alright. Home, then.”
Hank grins.
“Home.” He pats his back. Connor smiles at him.
As they drive away from the Eden Club, Connor’s head still feels like it’s buzzing – but he doesn’t feel as disordered, as unruly now. While hundreds of thoughts are still barely being processed by him, his mind as loud as always, there’s a strange comfort in this familiar mess.
Shifting in the passenger seat of Hank’s car, he thinks of how perfectly he fits into it, and how their partnership has changed not just himself, but the both of them, for the better. Slowly, but surely, the lieutenant has begun unlearning certain unhealthy habits, while Connor accommodates himself to his new way of thinking, to his newfound emotions. It’s the furthest thing from easy, but they’ve got each other – two friends who have made life worth living for each other. A bond that can never be broken, like two cats who cannot be adopted separately, lest they get severe anxiety and die of heartbreak.
Connor wouldn’t have it any other way – and he thinks Hank is of the same opinion, too. Otherwise, there’s no reason to have kept him around for so long.
The android moves his eyes from the window to the man driving, and a smile sprouts on his face.
“Thank you,” he finds himself saying.
Hank scoffs, his glance unmoving from the road. “What for?”
Connor hums.
“For being.”
Hank turns to him briefly.
“Vague as shit, but… you’re welcome?”
“I mean it. Thank you – for being there for me, for being here in general, for…”
He pauses.
Quieter:
“For loving me… I think.”
Another pause. Then:
“I wouldn’t be the person I am today without you.”
It’s only been three months, probably even less, but the statement is fully true. Hank has completely transformed him in such a short amount of time – and Connor has done the same for the lieutenant.
This thought is only confirmed as Hank smiles and says:
“Yeah, same here, kid. Same here.”
Connor grins at the person he’s come to call ‘home’.