Chapter Text
It seems like every day, Connor discovers something about himself.
Sometimes, they’re pleasant surprises. Like the day he found a scarf in a small shop. A soft, baby alpaca wool scarf, dyed a deep, brilliant cerulean blue. After explaining to Hank that baby alpaca wool was a term for a degree of softness, he’d spent several minutes running the pads of his fingers over the material, his sensors lighting up pleasantly with each stroke.
Eventually, without a word, Hank snatched it from him and bought it. Once they’d left the shop and gotten back in the Oldsmobile, Hank had tossed it in the android's lap, mumbling something about it being an early Christmas present.
Other times, the things Connor finds out about himself aren’t so pleasant.
There have been moments when the falling snow brings with it bouts of what Connor can only classify as malfunctions, triggering the memories of being stuck in that endless garden with Amanda.
His simulated breathing stutters and catches in uneven bursts and though Connor has no need for air, he finds himself gasping for it anyway. His thirium pump works faster, and he hugs himself tightly as if to hold himself together.
Panic attacks, Hank calls them.
Though Connor still isn’t sure if the term can even apply to him.
Then he notices the way Hank grips the steering wheel when the roads turn icy, his knuckles white. He notices the shortness of Hank's breath, the spike in his heart rate, and the tightness in his jaw. And Connor thinks that there’s something oddly comforting in knowing that this might be an emotion that they both experience in similar ways.
The heater in Hank’s car rattled faintly. Snow swept across the windshield, melting into thin, shining streaks under the windshield wipers. The cars and the city’s lights outside were blurred through the flurries, washing the interior of the car in ambers, reds, and blues.
“Christ,” Hank exhaled, the sound rough and exasperated. “I thought I was done freezing my ass off after that case.”
Connor glanced at him, part of him unable to help from studying his partner's profile. The silver of his beard and hair catching in the light from the dashboard, and the muscle tensing in his jaw. “You insisted on investigating the rooftop before calling it a night. Even after I informed you that the suspect had already left the premises.”
“I didn’t see you stopping me.”
“You appeared determined.”
“Could’ve told me I was bein’ an idiot.”
“I calculated a ninety-three percent chance you would ignore me.”
That earned him a grunt that crossed somewhere between annoyance and amusement.
The quiet that followed started out a bit less tense than before, then graduated to something that wasn’t uncomfortable so much as heavy.
Connor tugged at the blue scarf around his neck, slowly shifting the soft fabric between his thumb and forefinger. The case had been a grim one. An android had been found, beaten and dismantled behind a warehouse like common trash, its memories corrupted beyond recovery.
Brutality like this wasn’t something he was unfamiliar with, but… he kept seeing their face. The cracks in their casing, fractured limbs, the frost clinging to the blue blood that had stained the surrounding snow. He’d stood there, unmoving, before Hank had gently touched his arm and guided him away from the body, and into the warehouse.
The android’s face remained in his mind's eye, like a ghostly apparition, offset by the rhythmic movement of the windshield wipers behind it, and the falling snow.
“You okay?” Hank’s quiet, gruff voice cut through the thmp of the wipers, and the soft sound of thick snowflakes pattering against the windshield.
Connor blinked, the image dissolving as he came back to himself. “Yes. I was only thinking.”
“About the case?”
“About mortality.”
Hank shot him a wide-eyed sidelong look. “Hell of a topic for the ride home.”
Connor didn’t respond. But his LED flickered at the word ‘home’, barely perceptible to the human eye, a tiny pulse in the dark, before stilling to blue once more.
The moment the car rolled into Hank’s driveway, a muffled boof sounded from inside before Hank had even cut the engine.
A soft smile spread across Connor’s lips as he opened his door. “Sounds like someone missed you.”
“More like someone’s hungry,” Hank muttered, pocketing his keys and trudging up the steps.
The door opened to warmth and the familiar smell of stale coffee, old furniture, and dog fur. Sumo barreled toward them, his weight and enthusiasm nearly knocking the two men back into the snow.
“Christ, you big lump, get back!” Hank barked, and pushed Sumo back inside, grinning despite himself.
Once inside, Connor immediately crouched to greet the dog, running his hands through Sumo’s thick fur, and ruffling his ears. Sumo leaned into him, his tail swishing happily. It didn’t take long at all for Connor’s uniform to be peppered with dog hair.
“Alright, alright, come on boy.” Hank said, still chuckling. He hooked two fingers under Sumo’s worn collar and steered him toward the back door that led to the yard.
Connor stood and smiled softly, but when the door closed behind them with a brief rush of frigid air, his smile faded, and the quiet felt heavier once more. With no Hank, no Sumo, and no case to focus on, the images started to return. Flashes of shattered plastic, his preconstruction software replaying a spray of blue blood that the spatter pattern indicated.
The curse of an android’s photographic memory.
He closed his eyes, more out of preference than necessity, as he forced the thirium blood-stained visuals away. On their next shift he’d have to examine and analyze what he’d seen more thoroughly, so for now, he could do without it.
Almost automatically, he reached for Hank as a distraction first. The way the light would sometimes catch his eye, landing a subtle glimmer in the blue of his gaze. The coarseness of his beard, and the way Connor yearned to run his fingers through it. He’d tried once, it hadn’t ended as well as he’d hoped.
He needed to do something. Something ordinary, grounding. Once Hank returned with Sumo, he would want to warm up. Maybe a warm drink. And Sumo would no doubt need dinner.
That was something he could do. Connor opened his eyes and shrugged off his jacket. A neat dark grey, that had replaced his Cyberlife issued uniform. His choice of wear was still ‘too stuffy’ in Hank’s opinion, but Connor didn’t mind. The scarf, he hung on a hook by the door with care, and the jacket, he draped over the back of the couch.
A half-empty bag of dog food leaned against one of the lower cupboards, with a metal scoop resting on top. He reached for it and poured kibble into the bowl, the rattle almost deafening in the empty house.
When Hank opened the door, shaking the melting snow from his hair, Connor was at the stove, stirring something in a small pot. A sweet scent lingered in the air. He held Sumo firmly, though still stumbled a bit as the Saint Bernard pulled. “Fuckin’- just wait a minute!” He grumped, grabbing a ratty towel that had been tossed by the door and worked on drying off the thick fur, as clumps of snow melted into it.
He almost finished drying off Sumo’s paws when the large dog wriggled away from him, and bounded over to Connor.
Sumo shoved his head against Connor’s leg, his tail wagging happily when Connor obliged, stroking his damp fur, and scratching behind his floppy ears.
"What're you doing?” Hank asked, making a face as he stood up, his knees protesting. His pants were damp around his knees and thighs now where the snow had soaked through the fabric.
“Preparing a beverage,” Connor said. “I thought you’d appreciate it, due to the weather.”
“Well…” Hank used his foot to push the towel over the wet paw prints left behind on the wooden floor. “I told you before, you don’t gotta do stuff like that. I don’t want you actin’ like some kinda servant around here, but- not that I don’t appreciate it…” He sighed and rubbed his forehead. “You know what, I’m just gonna go change.” He grumbled under his breath, quickly making his escape from the conversation by disappearing into the hall on his way to the bedroom.
“I’ll wait here.” Connor acknowledged as he set a mug on the counter. For a moment, he let his fingers linger there, the ceramic radiating a gentle warmth against his palm. Then, he opened the cupboard to reach for another mug.
The snow outside was getting worse, large flakes catching the glow of the streetlamps outside.
Connor had just finished pouring the hot chocolate into Hank’s mug when the sound of footsteps announced the man's return, now barefoot and dressed in a threadbare t-shirt and gray sweatpants.
The android’s eyes briefly flickered downward without his permission before his gaze snapped back up with no more than a quick flash of yellow from his LED. Otherwise, he displayed himself as the perfect model of composure. It was basic, messy attire, but Hank's frame was still solid, his stomach soft, and his legs thick. “You seem to be… comfortable.”
Hank stopped a couple feet from the kitchen, and raised an eyebrow, his hand frozen where he’d been scratching at his cheek. “Sometimes I can’t tell if you’re being sarcastic, or just bein’ yourself.” Hank said with a judgemental squint in the androids direction.
A teasing smile graced Connor's lips before holding out one of the mugs to Hank. “Perhaps ‘both’ would be an adequate assumption.”
The corner of Hank's mouth twitched up as he shook his head, but still accepted the drink, his fingers brushing over Connor’s, unknowingly sending a small shiver up the android's artificial spine. “Asshole,” he grumbled softly.
Connor followed him to the couch where Hank settled into the cushions, and joined him while holding his own mug; one with the DPD logo on it, and one Connor was 98.2% sure Hank had stolen from the station. The moment they both sat down, Sumo jumped up and sprawled his large body across both of their laps.
“Hey- get off!” Hank barked, but Sumo only settled down heavier, huffing a contented sigh.
Unfazed, Connor began running his hand through the dogs fur, smiling faintly.
Seeing the smile on Connor’s face, Hank groaned, but relented anyway then took a sip of his cocoa and grunted in approval. “Not bad, tin can.” Then he grimaced as the damp fur began to seep through the fabric of his sweatpants.
Connor arched an eyebrow at him. “I’m glad it meets your standards.” He said dryly.
“Still could do with a little whiskey,” Hank muttered, though he kept drinking. “Can’t even drink in my own damn house,” he grumbled with no real bite to his tone.
Before Connor could respond, Hank finally noticed the mug Connor had cupped in his hand.
“Hey, I thought you couldn’t drink anything but thirium?”
As if just remembering that he’d been holding it, Connor gazed down at the dark surface of the hot chocolate. “In large quantities, no,” he admitted with a stiff version of what could be assumed was supposed to be a casual shrug. “I mostly wanted to share in the experience.”
Hank blinked at him and lowered his mug, his thick brows furrowing slightly. “Of what? Drinking cocoa?”
“Of the warmth. I enjoy the sensation. And shared meal times have been proven to be a type of social bonding.” Connor said simply, wrapping both of his hands around the mug.
For a long moment, Hank stared at him before scoffing into his drink. “You’re a weirdo.”
Connor hummed non-committally as Hank watched him raise the mug to inhale the steam that rose and tickled at his synthskin. He almost hesitated before taking a small sip.
The wind howled outside, muffled and constant, pressing against the windows.
“So…how is it?” Hank asked for a moment.
Connor gave him a sideways look. “I doubt you’d want me to recite the chemical breakdown.”
Hank winced, rubbing the back of his neck. “Fair point.” He grumbled, then after a moment: “Uh…sorry.”
He stared down at his drink, still appreciating the sensation, and the steam, even if his sensors could only analyze the chemicals, and not the sum of its parts. “I’ve heard of upgrades to allow a larger range of models to ‘taste’ in a more human way. It’s experimental, and likely not completely efficient just yet. But there are times I’ve considered it.”
“Yeah?” Hank took another sip and leaned his head back into the cushions in exaggerated satisfaction, his adams apple bobbing when he swallowed. “Well, let me know if you ever get it, I’d love to introduce you to some quality whiskey. Then maybe you won’t be on my ass as much.”
Connor rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to respond when a loud thud sounded from outside, followed soon after by the lights going out with a click, plunging the house into darkness.
Sumo lifted his head with a questioning whine before settling back down.
The faint glow of Connor’s LED flickered to yellow, the light painting both of the men's faces.