Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was noon. The streets were abandoned, silent, except for the sound of footsteps slamming against concrete as one man sprinted ahead with a particular prototype almost closing the distance between them.

Then finally, “Jordan! I caught him, put the cuffs on him, fast!” 

He had done it. Yes he had. 

Connor had sprinted down three blocks, eyes locked on the figure darting across the streets, who had almost disappeared in the distance, but he had been faster. Connor had managed to knock the man down, pinning him while another cop reached for his cuffs. 

Right now, the suspect was face down against concrete on the side of the road–struggling under their hold. 

The PC200–no Jordan–locked the restraints shut. He had a name, Connor reminded himself, and he was going to use it. He was still learning, and there had been considerable progress as well.

Jordan had chased the suspect with him, but Connor had caught the threat. However, it required both of them to subdue him completely. “Get off me!” the man yelled, thrashing beneath them. 

"Stay put!” Jordan snapped back, adjusting his hold, while Connor shifted, pressing one arm across the man’s upper back, using his weight to pin him firmly in place. As the suspect struggled beneath him, Connor’s eyes flicked toward the road adjacent to the sidewalk–on which they were currently situated, waiting for someone. 

Once the cuffs clicked into place, Connor stood up and stepped toward the curb.

And as expected, the silence on the street was disturbed by the muffled sounds of a heavy metal song leaking through the windows from a certain red coloured Oldsmobile. The car screeched to halt right next to Connor, and out stepped a figure he knew better than anyone else. 

A tired Hank. One hand gripping the car door, the other massaging his temple as though, he was trying to press a headache out through his skull. Maybe he’d drunk too much today and it was just noon. Once again, feeling like someone was playing with a drill inside his head. 

“Fuck, never drinking again.” He muttered under his breath, knowing damn well he didn’t mean it. 

Connor’s eyes lit up, in pure excitement as he saw Hank walking towards them. It had been part of the plan. He and Jordan would run the suspect down while Hank would cut him off from the opposite end of the street, to corner the man. But that hadn't been needed.

Because Connor had got the job done.

He turned his head towards Jordan and the now cuffed suspect, and then back at Hank. He felt a wave of anticipation or was it nervousness..? course through him.

I caught the suspect. I assessed the threat, I tracked him, tackled him first. 

I did good, didn't I? 

Will Hank think I did good? 

A small smile grew on his face, awaiting praise. But Hank didn't pause to see him. His eyes were on Jordan, who had just hauled the suspect upright. 

“Guess you two managed to catch him. That fucker was fast.” Hank said as he rubbed the corner of his eye. He thought,

Huh, Jordan managed to catch him? Hm. Impressive. 

“Good Job Jordan.” He praised, lips curling into a tired but approving smile. At least someone around here could actually get things done. Unlike half of the damn precinct, who seemed to think that Connor had ten hands or shit. Maybe twenty, the way they piled work on him.

Connor’s face fell. He could feel a strange feeling–a negative one spread through his chest. 

The compliment hadn't been meant for him. 

Jordan noticed immediately. He got to explain the situation. He knew the actual work was done by Connor and the look of the sadness on his face only fueled his intent to tell Hank the truth. “I didn't–” He said, one arm still supporting the cuffed suspect, but his other hand lifted slightly, trying to physically push the credit away from himself.

But Connor cut him off, already walking towards the oldsmobile “The suspect has been apprehended.” he stated, reaching for the door handle. “I believe it's best to return to the precinct without any further delays.”

And thus, they all headed to the precinct. 

The sun had already set. The sky outside was painted black, and the neighborhood had begun to settle in. 

Hank, seated in a kitchen chair at the table, took a big ol’ bite of the salad he’d made. Yeah, a salad. The decision had been equally shocking for him. The roasted veggies and the chicken had been seasoned decently well. 

This tastes better than whiskey. That was new. 

The lettuce crunched loudly in his mouth, mingling with the tangy taste of vinaigrette. He hadn't even called for takeout tonight. 

Look at me bein’ all responsible. 

He sank the fork into a piece of tomato, scooping up another bite with the same impatience as the last, still chewing through the previous mouthful. He was feeling better than usual, and of course it was because he hadn't had a drink in the past five or six hours. The headache he'd been nursing all day had subsequently eased. 

Sumo lay beneath his chair, head pressed to Hank’s calf. Puppy eyes stared up to him wanting a bite of the meat.

Greedy dog.

Hank had given him enough pieces that he had specifically set aside for the dog before adding the seasoning to his salad. Not to mention that Sumo had been given dinner too. 

Hank glanced down at the dog, muttering around his bite “This isn't even good for you.” To that, Sumo let out a small whine, that would sound pitiful to anyone. But Hank wasn't going to fall for it. 

He reached for his phone beside the plate, the screen lit up. 

8:30 pm. 

He stopped chewing for a moment.

The kid hadn't returned yet. 

Hank’s brows dipped low, chewing resuming just slightly slower now. He swallowed, then placed the fork down on the plate. 

Connor had said something about going to Jericho and that he was needed at the moment. Hank had waved it off at the time, barely coherent through the throbbing in his skull. Alcohol made him about as socially perceptive as a brick. Now with the salad doing magic on his blood sugar, his thoughts were clearer. And when he thought about it, Connor had been acting a bit weird. He had been distant. Which, granted, androids weren’t exactly fountains of emotions, but there was something off about him. 

And he didn't know why. 

Hank leaned back in his chair, gaze narrowing toward the hallway.

Was it something he had said? He hadn’t even said much to the kid. Spent most of his afternoon massaging his temple and telling others to fuck off. 

Maybe he was over thinking? Yeah, that could be it, Hank tried to shrug it off. No need to go spiralling. 

But Connor should be home by now.

The worried part of his mind called at him. Hank stared at the phone again debating whether he should call Connor. The fork in his hand tapped impatiently against the ceramic plate as he hesitated to make a decision.

He didn't want to sound paranoid, alright! What if it came off as overbearing? 

But what if… 

The fork kept tapping… tap, tap, tap. 

Thump!

A loud sound disrupted the silence. Sumo's attention instantly switched from the plate to the sound. His head shot up, as sprang to his feet, barking at the door.

Hank's posture went stiff. He dropped the fork into the plate. What the fuck? He wondered. The sound had come from the front door. And no, it wasn't a knock. It sounded like something or rather someone had slammed against it. 

“Anybody there?” Hank called out. Sumo stepped protectively in front of the lieutenant, still barking toward the door. 

No response. 

Chapter Text

The plate had been long forgotten, as Hank carefully got up from his seat–senses high on alert, cop instincts kicking in. He swiftly moved towards his bedroom, eyes briefly landing on Sumo who was pacing around in circles. Inside, Hank opened his cupboard and crouched down to the lower drawer. He yanked it open, and reached inside.

His fingers curled around the service weapon. A while ago, he'd have it with him outside, when…..Hank briefly sighed. But now, it stayed locked away unless needed for work. Slowly yet fast enough, he shuffled back towards the living room. 

“Stay behind me, Sumo.” he ordered the St. Bernard, as he stood in front of the dog. Hank’s finger rested along the trigger, ready to neutralize any threat. Sumo gave a small ‘boof’ in response. It seemed as if he understood the lieutenant perfectly. 

Hank's other hand, went towards the doorknob. He twisted it, and the door opened. The cool air of the night outside nipped at his face. His arm shot up, holding out the gun to–

Nothing..? 

Huh? Hank, now confused, looked around and found no one. Gun still raised, he stepped carefully beyond the doorway, scouring the front path and the space beyond the porch railings.

Still nothing. 

Until–a certain movement, caught in the periphery of his vision. Hank whipped around, gun pointed–only to freeze in his tracks. He squinted, just to check whether what he was seeing was truly real…? 

“Shit” Hank hissed.

There, slumped against the wall beside the front door, partially in the shadows cast by the roof of the porch, was Connor. 

That sound against the door–it had been him! 

One knee of the android was drawn up, while the other leg bent awkwardly beneath him. His back leaned heavily against the wall, with arms limp at his sides. But he was completely still.

A shiver ran through Hank's body. He didn't know if it was because of the cold, or was it because he saw the kid like that? 

“Connor?” Hank called, voice lowered to urgency. 

The android didn't respond, he barely moved. That was all Hank needed to see. He tossed the gun aside–it hit the porch with a clatter. 

Hank rushed forward, dropping into a squat beside the slumped figure, ignoring the fact that he had aged and his body wasnt that flexible anymore. 

“Connor?” He repeated. “Hey, talk to me.”

Was the kid hurt? Why isn't his agile ass responding? 

Still no response from the android’s end. 

Hank's reached out to lightly tap Connor’s face, “You in there?” He said, voice slowly edging towards panic. Connor stirred–barely, the lack of response only sharpened the worry inside Hank.

Then, without thinking, he pressed his palm more firmly against the android’s face, instinctively. Then the palm pressed against the forehead, as if he was checking for fever.

Did androids even get fevers? 

The deviant wasn't cold like a corpse, but he wasn't warm like a person either. His temperature was…somewhere in between. Off. Hank's eyes darted to Connor's LED, it was… blue? Nothing serious right? That's normally what it should be, right?  

At the contact, Connor nuzzled–actually nuzzled his face like a cat into Hank's palm. “Warm…” He finally murmured. His cheek remained pressed into Hank’s hand. 

Hank blinked.

Wait a fuckin' second

Connor looked dazed, sleepy as fuck and–

No. 

Was he–

DRUNK? 

AGAIN? 

Hank’s brows shot up slowly. His lips parted, processing every clue all at once,

-sluggish movement, slack limbs, disoriented muttering.

Hank braced himself to ask that question, already dreading the answer….if Connor even gave any. 

“Kid,” He hesitated, "Are ya drunk?” 

Connor’s lips twitched upward into a droopy grin. Then, with excruciating slowness, he gave a tiny nod, just one. 

Then, another, a little more exaggerated this time. “ Mm–hmmm..”

Hank slapped a hand over his face, fingers dragging down across his beard. “Jesus, why’d you have to–” he exhaled, looking off to the side, voice trailing off to a sigh. 

Bad influence huh Anderson? He thought to himself. 

At the door, Sumo tried to shove his snout between the partially open space and tried to squeeze through it. Hank nudged the dog inside with his arm. “Sumo, no.” 

After successfully getting the dog inside the house, Hank placed a hand on the kid’s shoulder. “C'mon let's go inside.” 

Getting up, Hank bent to hoist Connor to his feet. the android wobbled, his centre of gravity clearly shot. His brows creased, as Hank finally managed to make him stand. 

No, he didn't want to go inside. Connor shook his head slowly. Trying to resist Hank's grip. “N-noooo…” he slurred, not wanting to enter the house. His body leaned away from where Hank was trying to take them. 

The wind bit at the lieutenant’s neck. He was freezing his ass off. No jacket, no gloves, just an old T-shirt and the his hands holding almost the entire weight of a stubborn ass drunk android keeping him outside on his own porch. Hank tightened his hold. Connor's body felt like dragging dead weight. The lieutenant put his arm around Connor's shoulders, dragging them both towards the front door. 

Almost there… He encouraged himself, as they finally reached the entrance. 

“I don’ wan'no gooo…” Connor shook his head again as his hand clung onto the doorframe, not willing to step inside.

“Jesus, What's gotten into ya?” Hank grunted as he tried prying Connor’s fingers off the frame–one at a time, and holy hell, even though wasted, the android still had a grip like a damn vice.

“Noo..” Connor repeated.

“Connor, for fuck’s sake, get in the house!” Fortunately, Hank had an upper hand in this situation. Because he was sober and on the contrary, Connor was not. With a final tug, he yanked the android’s hand free, and he finally managed to drag–literally–drag the ragdoll the android's body had become.

And with that they were finally inside the house. 

The door slammed shut behind them. 

Hank’s back had started to ache, from carrying the uneven weight distribution of Connor's body. Androids had mass–and this one–this one wasn't really that light. Hank shifted his hold, easing some of the strain in his shoulder. Much to his relief, the warmth from the fireplace had already started to take effect. He loosened his grip just a little. 

Jesus this bastard is heavy. 

Connor's dissociated self, took that loosened grip as cue to free himself. 

Now that Connor was inside the house, and there was currently no threat where he could crack his skull open, Hank let go. 

Connor stumbled toward the couch, nearly falling twice on the way. His foot snagged on the edge of the rug. Then again near the coffee table. Hank flinched each time, ready to lunge forward if the android started tipping.

“Careful, idiot." Hank muttered, as he followed closely, Sumo trailed beside them. 

Connor reached the couch and for a moment, Hank felt some relief. The android’s hands were gripping the armrest like it was a lifeline, and Hank thought good, finally–he’s gonna sit. Maybe even lie down.

But Connor wasn't planning on  doing anything normal, was he? 

Instead of sitting on it, Connor used the couch as leverage–pushing himself forward and moved towards a direction Hank hadn't nearly expected.

It was towards a corner in the living room.

“Connor….?” Hank said, utterly confused by the situation. 

The deviant didn't respond and kept moving, as if he hadn't heard Hank. He continued his journey towards the corner, with his feet dragging slightly with each motion. But, for a drunk man, he looked quite determined.

Hank continued to follow him closely behind, not knowing what the android wanted to do next. Connor’s feet were wobbling with the effort it took to walk. 

Thump. 

Without any warning, Connor sank to the floor, right in the corner of the room. Facing the wall, his back turned toward Hank. 

“What the fuck..?” Hank breathed. Sumo barked, mirroring Hank’s confusion. 

Dead silence. 

“Kid..?” Hank tried again.

Connor’s posture slumped more. His head hung forward, as if invisible weights were piling onto him, pressing him further into the floor. 

Hank let out a sigh. He was exhausted. His headache had only just receded after drinking too much. All he wanted was to go to bed, and maybe sleep in tomorrow. He also needed to put the kid to bed, so that tomorrow, he can wake up well rested and with minimal hangover (if they could have any). But looking at the android in front of him, he didn't know how long it was going to take, and, he didn't want to guess.

“Connor, c'mon get up.” He said stepping forward, “You need rest kiddo.”

Suddenly, a stuttering sound filled the living room. Hank paused from where he stood, right behind the android.

A trembling inhale followed, and then another escaped Connor’s lips. 

Connor was crying? Though Hank couldn't see the kid's face, the trembling of the shoulders, had confirmed it. 

Why? Was he hurt? Had someone say something? Hank wondered as worry began to gnaw at him.

He immediately walked over towards the android, circling around to face him directly. And the moment he did, the sight that greeted him, felt like a punch to the gut. 

Fresh tears ran down Connor's face leaving it tear streaked–glistening under the light of the living room. He had a pout, and in no way was he looking like Detroit's state of the art prototype. 

Right now he just looked like a kid. 

And Hank's concern only increased. 

“Hey, what's wrong?” Hank asked, lowering himself to the floor. His knee protested, but he ignored it. Right now, he was more concerned about the android curled in on himself like a wounded animal. 

“W-why di’ you do'tha’?” Connor mumbled almost to himself. 

“Huh?”

The response back hadn't been immediate, but it arrived eventually. 

“Why’ di’ you’ say that?” Connor repeated. 

It took a second for Hank to make sense of the broken words. Then another to connect them to any context. He stared at Connor, the worry hadn't lessened but now he felt confused. He sat there blank. 

What had he said? 

The lieutenant squinted slightly, trying to recall, as his brain tried to rewind through the haze of the day that had passed. What had happened today? He asked himself, memory fuzzy from the bottle he’d been nursing through in the afternoon. He barely remembered any fucking thing. 

Did I say somethin' bad to kid? No? Not that he could remember.

Did I snap at him? No, he'd barely spoken to him. 

Did I say something as a joke and the kid took it to heart–or erm..thirium pump? Probably. Because his foul mouth barely thought before spewing nonsense.

Hank’s eyebrows furrowed in concentration, as he tried to think even harder. All that he could remember was that he had drunk, filed a few case reports, talked shit to Fowler like usual, then followed up on the street case. Connor and another cop had apprehended a suspect. Hank had shown up there. Yeah that was it, right?

Connor continued, “Y-you praise’ him”

The words were like a clue for an unresolved mystery Hank’s brain was trying to solve, as it continued scanning it's memories even further. 

Who the fuck had he praised and if he had, what made Connor upset about it? 

“I had’ ca-ugh' himmm” Connor’s voice wobbled. His lips quivered, more tears spilling down, as he looked at Hank. 

Hank felt a jab to his heart. 

Jesus. He thought. The kid looked like a whole mess.

Then he remembered, he had praised someone.

It was Jord–? What was his name again? 

He had praised the cop with Connor for catching the suspect. But that was that. It wasn't something huge, He hadn’t even thought about it after. 

Hell, he couldn't even remember the name. 

And then like a bulb lighting up, it all clicked back to Hank. “Ohhhh…” He said out loud as he understood the situation. 

Had Connor caught the suspect? 

Another oohhhhh…. The revelation felt too stupid and profound at the same time. 

So, Connor had felt bad, when Hank had complimented someone else for his work.

Had he drank alcohol because of this? The kid didn't drink alcohol or thirium alcohol or whatever the fuck it was. But, if he's drinking that means something’s bothering him. Even though Hank hadn't thought about the compliment since–Connor clearly had. 

Hank exhaled a breath through his nose. His shoulders sagged as he sat, watching the android slowly turn away from him. Connor tucked his knees in, curled even tighter than before, as he turned his back to Hank.

Again. 

Hank let out a breath that was half laugh, half sigh. Because, this situation was so absurdly ridiculous, it especially felt hilarious since Connor looked like he’d just been emotionally gutted by a single line.

How would Connor's sober self react to this meltdown? The question flashed through Hank’s mind–and immediately, he bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. Not now, Hank. He told himself. 

He reached forward again, tapping Connor lightly on the shoulder. It felt like he was poking a sulking cat that might hiss.

“Connor?”

The deviant didn't respond back and shrugged, recoiling away from Hank's hands. 

“Oh, don’ be like that.” Hank said. He wasn't going to back out so easily. Another try. 

“Kid?”

Connor's body had only curled even more on himself. He stayed stubbornly silent. Which was saying surprising, because the guy, could fill an entire car ride with just with traffic facts and rules. 

“C'mon,” Hank coaxed, “You know, I wouldn't have said it to him if I knew it was you.”

Still, Connor didn't budge. 

And Hank had to do something about it.

Jesus, he's worse than an pissed toddler. 

Speaking of upset kids, Hank knew how to deal with that. Especially because of Cole–That thought was immediately pushed back by Hank. 

With a groan, he got up from his place. He walked around to face Connor again, kneeling down to eye-level. A small smile came on his face.

Sumo who had been watching this meltdown, sniffed at Connor’s trembling form. 

“Connor,” Hank spoke with a soft voice. The same one he used for Cole. But using if for Connor, didn't feel odd at all. “Is that why you wanted to stay out?” He asked. 

Connor's head shifted to side again, wanting to hide it. But Hank caught onto the small clumsy nod.

Then came a whisper,

“You don’ like m’.” Connor's lower lip trembled as he said that. Another sob escaped Connor and his shoulders started trembling again. 

Hank was taken aback, “Hey, that's not true.”

Connor sloppily shook his head in negative. “No, you do-n't”

Oh God, Hank closed his eyes, he had to say it, didn't he? He braced himself, preparing for the sappy words that were gonna come out of his mouth. 

“Kid, I do…like you, a lot.”

“The’ why didn’ you compli-men’ me?” He hiccupped.

All Hank could see was a wounded pup, sniffling away in front of him. 

“I’m sorry, okay?” Hank leaned in a little, placing a hand on Connor’s shoulder. Then he added, “I didn't think, I'd ever need to tell, ya know?" 

Hank genuinely had not thought, he'd have to tell Connor to know that he's proud of him. Hell he didn't even know Connor could get so affected by something as small as a compliment. But again, Hank didn't know if it was the thirium alcohol or a kudos to CyberLife for making Connor need constant reassurance. 

Awkwardness took hold of him as he said the next sentence rubbing the back of his neck, “I'm always proud of you.” His eyes then softened, “I figured… hell, you already knew how proud I was of ya.” 

Underneath all of that awkwardness Hank knew one thing: he meant each and every word. 

Connor was sniffling, but it looked like he was listening. 

“I figured it was obvious,” Hank went on, a little sheepish now. “But… I’ll say it. You want me to say it, fine: I’m proud of you, Connor."

"Always." He added. 

With that, Connor immediately looked up at him. “Really?” came a hopeful question.

Then, he slowly lifted his hand, holding out a pinky. “Pinky swear?” He sniffled.

“Jesus,” was Hank’s response, he couldn’t help the laugh that escaped. Because that–that–was fuckin’ precious.  “Pinky swear.” He repeated, hooking his pinky with Connor's. 

The change in Connor’s face was instant. A dopily bright smile bloomed across his face. And as if tonight wasn't enough, Hank was caught by yet again another surprise. 

Connor threw himself forward clumsily for a hug. 

“Whoa–!” Hank’s body almost fell back by the force with which Connor had jumped in. But he was successfully able to balance both himself and the drunk mess currently in his arms. 

“I loveee you tooo Hannnnkk” Connor slurred, as he placed his cheek on Hank's shoulder, eyes closed and content. 

Hank on the other hand was having a hard time with holding Connor’s weight.

But he didn't let go. Arms instinctively wrapped around the android as he hugged him. 

Sumo took this as his cue to get involved and began licking Connor’s face. Connor giggled in response, and his hands tried to uselessly stop the dog but he was not really trying to. The other remained looped around Hank's back, with no intention of letting go. He buried his face deeper into the hug, face now smushed against Hank's shoulder

“Alright, that's enough of a hug for today, dumbass plastic.” Hank chuckled, patting Connor's back. 

But in contrast to his words, he didn't even try to push away. Instead, he held on to the kid just a little tighter