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“Connor?” Hank’s voice echoes down the hall, “Come here a minute.”
The android’s brow creases in question. He puts down the small water spritzer by his nicely growing dieffenbachia and heads towards the sound. Hank is in the living room, his back to Connor, hands on his hips.
“Is everything alright, Lieutenant?”
“You tell me.” He replies, unmoving. Staring down at something on the floor. Connor comes to a halt beside the man, trying to follow his gaze and see what he is looking at, but the android can’t tell. There is only Sumo lounging by the coffee table. Nothing else looks different.
“I’m not sure I understand.”
“That.” Hank says. He doesn’t point at whatever ‘that’ is, however. He’s not making this easy. Connor scans. There are some old splashes of coffee on the floorboards, as well as a collection of Sumo’s hair. Dust. The usual clutter.
“Hank... I really don’t understand.”
“What have you done to him?”
Him?
“You mean Sumo?”
“Yeah I mean Sumo.”
“What’s wrong with him?” Connor asks, tilting his head as he looks down at the dog. Sumo looks back. He seems to know they are talking about him and mimics Connor’s head tilt. “He seems happy enough.” The android concludes.
“You— You’ve—“
Hank seems to be struggling.
“Lieutenant, might I remind you that while I am an advanced prototype, I’m not a mind reader.”
“What the fuck is he wearing?”
Concern flows through Connor’s chest. “Hank? Are you saying you’re incapable of identifying the things around you? Because that is some cause for alarm.”
“What? No, what the…?“ For some reason Hank is staring incredulously at Connor.
“If you are failing to identify a simple scarf and hat at your age, it can be a strong indicator of—“
“—No.” Hank interrupts, “I am not failing to identify ‘em, Connor. I’m fucking failing to comprehend why he is wearing them.”
“What’s wrong with them?”
“What’s— Connor, he’s a huge fucking dog, he doesn’t need to wear that shit.”
“What does his size have to do with what he should wear?”
Hank points at Sumo, then stares at Connor, “My dog does not wear clothes.”
Connor frowns at the statement. “I’m afraid that’s simply incorrect, Lieutenant. As you should be able to observe, Sumo is wearing clothes.”
“Jesus Christ— Yeah I know he’s wearin’ ‘em, I’m sayin’ he shouldn’t be.”
“Oh…” Connor feels his shoulders slump and his lip twist down. He’d been quite happy with his colour coordination. “… Why not?”
The question seems to stop Hank for a moment. The man is watching Connor. Searching his expression.
“Because.” Is all he says.
“That’s your reasoning?” Connor asks, uncertain. “‘Because’.”
“Uh huh.”
“Well,” The android begins, crouching down and starting to fuss the dog, “I don’t think Sumo agrees with that.”
“You speak dog now?”
“No. But his vital signs and body language denote he is happy.”
“He’s always happy. He’s a dog. The hell does he have to be sad about?”
“Dogs can become depressed.” Connor says, pushing back to his feet, “I read a study on—“
“—Ah ah. No. I don’t wanna know sad shit about dogs.”
Connor pauses, then nods solemnly, “Yes... I feel the same.”
“Then why the hell did you read it?”
“I wanted to make sure Sumo was living the healthiest and happiest life possible.”
“Oh…”
“Yes.”
“And... these clothes make him happy, or somethin’?” Hank asks slowly.
“I believe the clothes produce attention from passers by that might not have been obtained otherwise. And he very much appreciates all the attention he can get.”
“You’re not wrong about that.” The lieutenant mutters.
“And… Well I suppose there is the added benefit that seeing him dressed in such a way gives me a lot of joy.”
Hank huffs, dryly amused. “Really.”
Connor nods. Really.
The honesty in his expression must make Hank feel differently, because he stops smiling in such a derisive way and folds his arms. He chews his lip for a moment, contemplating.
“Well… Fine. Whatever.”
“Does that mean you will allow Sumo to continue wearing this?”
“Only when you’re walkin’ him. ‘cause I sure as hell am not taking him out like that.”
Connor smiles, pleased at the result. “I think that is a fair enough compromise.”
Hank huffs again, muttering nearly silently, “Kid has me goin’ way too fucking soft.”
“What was that, Lieutenant?”
“I said take that shit off him before North comes over later.” The man offers instead.
“I certainly will not.” Connor states. “She will love it.”
Hank groans, “She won’t let me live it down for a month.”
“Nonsense.” Connor says, feeling a smile curl his at lip, “She’ll never let you live it down.”
Hank looks at the android. Just stares at him silently for a few moments. “Connor?”
“Yes?”
“You’re a shit.” Hank states. “I ever tell you that?”
“Most days.”
“Good. Don’t forget it.”
“Absolutely not.”