Riona (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
rionaleonhart) wrote2019-07-11 04:10 pm
rionaleonhart) wrote2019-07-11 04:10 pm
Entry tags:
Fanfiction: Warranty Terms (Detroit: Become Human)
Interesting development in Detroit: Become Anxious: I managed to keep Connor alive until the television station investigation, where he threw himself on Hank and took a bunch of bullets for him.
In the playthrough I watched, Connor died very early on, well before Hank developed any fondness for him, and was reuploaded into a new body. Hank knew almost from the start that Connor's body was replaceable. In my playthrough, Hank's had time to bond with Connor. And Connor just died, physically shielding him. And Hank has no idea Connor's going to be back the next day.
That has got to fuck Hank up and I'm very excited about how awful it is.
I've been looking for fanfiction inspiration, and I'm tempted to try to write something about this, but I'm not sure where to go with it. 'Hank dwells on Connor's death and then meets him the next day' doesn't seem like it has enough substance on its own (even for me, and I've never had particularly high standards for substance in the things I write). 'Hank gets fucked up over Connor's death, meets him the next day and deals by just killing him again, goddammit' is interesting but possibly strays too far towards a fic concept I've already written.
...okay, I typed that and then immediately went off and wrote a fic.
Title: Warranty Terms
Fandom: Detroit: Become Human
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: sort of implied Hank/Connor?
Wordcount: 2,400
Summary: Connor gets shot shielding Hank at the television station. Hank has no idea he'll be coming back.
Warnings: Mentions of suicidal ideation.
Connor’s dead on the floor.
Broken, Hank tells himself. Not working. He’s plastic, right? Ones and zeroes, some stupid algorithm that kept analysing what Hank said and coming out with exactly the right response to piss him off. He was never alive.
His back’s a spray of blue blood and bullets that were meant for Hank, and he’s fucking dead.
There are actual humans lying just feet away, dead or dying, and Hank’s just staring at Connor.
-
Hank doesn’t sleep. Doesn’t bother trying, knows he’ll just lie awake, fucking himself up with the memory. Dragging himself out from under Connor’s corpse in that corridor filled with the smell of blood, red and blue. Iron and gasoline.
He spends all night drinking in front of the news instead. At least that way he’s making the choice to fuck himself up.
He turns Connor’s coin over and over in his hand. Thinks about picking up his revolver. Seems like too much effort.
A film crew tried to ask him for a statement afterwards. He just flipped off the camera and walked away. They’re using the clip just before the flipping-off when they’re talking about ‘Lieutenant Hank Anderson, fallen star of the DPD, one of the few survivors of the incident’.
Hank hates them, and he hates every fucking person who’s up late watching the news. What, are they looking for entertainment? For excuses to be afraid of androids? Pieces of shit, all of them.
He’s no exception, obviously.
Why the hell would Connor save him? What the hell’s he supposed to do with this stupid fucking life that just keeps dragging on while everyone else dies around him? At least Connor had a purpose.
At one point Sumo comes over, flops down on Hank’s lap. It almost makes him feel a little better.
He shuts the dog out of the room.
Listens to Sumo whining and scratching at the door for twenty minutes before he cracks and lets him back in.
Sumo climbs onto him again. Hank closes his eyes and imagines that Sumo’s weight is the weight of Connor’s lifeless plastic body, eight bullet holes between his shoulders. He’d counted.
Kind of ruins the image when Sumo starts licking his face. Connor never did that.
Almost a surprise, considering that stupid android put every other goddamn thing on his tongue.
-
Sun comes up, in the end. He guesses that’s still happening.
He thinks about contacting Jeffrey. Asking if he can take a couple days off.
Jesus, he’s not going to take fucking compassionate leave because a piece of equipment got broken. What, is he going to take a week off to cry the next time he drops his phone in the john?
He even gets into work on time, just to prove how totally fucking fine he is.
Gavin comes up when Hank’s trying to work the coffee machine, which seems like an unreasonable thing to be expected to do when he hasn’t had any coffee.
“Saw the news,” Gavin says. “Holy fuck, right?”
Is that sympathy? It seems like it’s probably the closest Gavin can get. “Holy fuck sounds about right.”
“So how come you’re not a colander?” Gavin asks.
News didn’t mention android casualties, other than the shooter. Obviously. Hank’s never really thought about it before, the fact that androids breaking isn’t news, but it seems weird as fuck that Connor saved Hank’s worthless fucking life and it’s like he never even existed.
“Connor,” Hank says. “The android. Jumped on top of me, took the bullets.”
Gavin raises his eyebrows. “You’re telling me if I’d told it to be my bodyguard it would’ve literally taken a bullet for me, and I told it to make me coffee instead?”
“You know what, I’d swap with you,” Hank says. “You can have the corridor full of corpses. I’ll take someone else working this goddamn coffee machine.”
He hadn’t told Connor to be his bodyguard, that’s the thing.
It was a whole big deal when androids were getting popular, the fact that they didn’t comply with Asimov’s laws. A robot may not injure a human being, sure, that’s rule number one, if they’re not deviants or designed for war. A robot may not, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm: nope, CyberLife left that one out, or at least they made it low-priority. If they prioritised it above carrying out commands, turned out androids never actually did what they were supposed to. Just kept throwing away alcohol or destroying guns or building fences around bodies of water. Inaction covers a lot of things.
Connor’s mission was catching deviants. There was a deviant in that corridor. Connor shouldn’t have given a shit about Hank.
It doesn’t make any goddamn sense.
-
It’s driving Hank nuts, sitting around the station without Connor here to pester him. It’s stupid. How long did he know him? Three days?
He has to get out of here. Do some field work.
He arranges a meeting with Elijah Kamski. Figures the guy who came up with androids might know something about deviants.
Might know something about what would make an android protect a human against its mission, too.
He’s not going to ask about that.
Kamski’s android secretary calls him back and tells him Kamski can see him in an hour. Not a busy man, Hank guesses. That or he’s interested in the city’s latest celebrity, Hank Anderson, famous for not eating bullets despite his best efforts.
Christ, that’s all Hank needs. Try to get away from Connor’s death, just end up being interrogated about it.
He gets in the car.
Driving on an icy day, he’ll probably be thinking about Cole instead of Connor. He wanted a distraction; he guesses he’s getting one. Great.
-
Connor is here.
Hank just sits in his car, hands on the steering wheel. When he gets out, things are going to start moving. There’s going to be talking. He’s not ready for that.
Connor fucking died, and now he’s here.
Hank had contacted CyberLife, after the shooting. Asked if there was any chance Connor could be repaired. They’d said no, they’d send a new android to help with the investigation. He’d kind of stopped listening by that point.
Is this supposed to be the new android? Some stranger with Connor’s face? What, does CyberLife just want to fuck with him?
God, he wants to throw up.
He gets out of the car. Connor’s still there. Jesus Christ.
“My predecessor was unfortunately destroyed,” the android with Connor’s face says, “but CyberLife transferred its memory and sent me to replace it.”
A part of Hank is still in that corridor, screams and gunshots in his ears, Connor dying against his back.
Transferred its memory? What does that even mean? Is this the same fucking guy Hank’s been losing sleep thinking about, back from the dead? Is this some new android who happens to know all the personal things about Hank’s life the last Connor poked his nose into? He doesn’t even know which option would piss him off more.
“I apologise for not being at the station on time this morning,” Connor says. “There were some stability issues with the transfer. I contacted the station after my activation and was told you were on your way here.”
“I’m going to need you to fuck off,” Hank says.
“My mission requires that I assist you,” Connor says.
“If you wanted to assist me, maybe you should’ve just let me get shot.”
Connor pauses.
“My predecessor was destroyed without knowing whether it had been successful in shielding you,” he says. “I was relieved to learn you were still alive.”
“Yeah?” Hank asks. “And what does being relieved mean to a piece of plastic?”
“You’re not pleased to see me,” Connor says.
“That’s some incredible detective work, there,” Hank says. “Guess we should all be pissing ourselves about the androids taking our jobs next.”
“I currently have you stored as a friend in my relationship database. Would you say that assessment is no longer accurate?”
It’s the stupidest thing, but something about hearing Connor considers him a friend lodges in Hank’s throat. “Jesus, Connor, just say are you breaking up with me? like the rest of us.”
“Are you breaking up with me, Lieutenant?”
Hank snorts with laughter, and he’s annoyed with himself for it. Goddamn this ridiculous android. “Let’s just talk to Kamski.”
-
Kamski, who is twice as much of a fucking weirdo as you’d expect from someone who created perfect replicas of humans and then sold them to the public, puts a gun in Connor’s hand and tells him to shoot another android.
Connor doesn’t.
He’s weirdly quiet as they walk away from the house, back to Hank’s car.
“You’re not going to ask why I didn’t shoot?” he asks at last.
Hank’s thought about it. But he feels like he might already know the answer. “You didn’t want to.”
“I wanted to,” Connor says. “Kamski offered information in exchange. My only desires correspond with the mission I was programmed to carry out.”
Hank leans against the side of the car, looks at him. “Yeah, that’s not true.”
“Why do you say that?” Connor asks. There’s a kind of urgency to it.
“You saved my life,” Hank says. Tucks his hands into his sleeves, because it is cold as balls out here. “Twice. Saved me on that roof, saved me in that corridor. Both times you could’ve grabbed a deviant to interrogate instead. You chose me.”
Connor hesitates. Always weird when Connor hesitates. Processor overload? Or just some pre-programmed behaviour to make him seem more human?
“You’re working with me to help me complete my mission,” Connor says. “On balance, the advantages of preserving your existence—”
“Yeah, right,” Hank says. “I’m a drunken asshole who can’t work any technology developed past 2020. You’ve said it yourself. I’m not gonna stand here and listen to you pretending I’m an asset.”
Connor pauses again, his LED whirring yellow. Would’ve been nice to be contradicted on that, but Hank doesn’t have any illusions about himself.
“My guess?” Hank says. “You just wanted me alive, screw the mission. I mean, fuck knows why you’d want that either, but feelings don’t make sense.”
For an instant, Connor’s LED goes red.
“I don’t feel anything,” Connor snaps at him, flickering back to yellow.
“You sure?” Hank asks. “’Cause I’m an expert on being pissed off, and it looks like you’re feeling that to me.”
“I am not a deviant.” Connor walks toward him. Gets right up in Hank’s personal space. “I am a collection of pre-programmed instructions and learning algorithms designed to emulate—”
“Yeah?” Hank asks. Connor’s practically pressing him against the car. He’ll be honest: it’s unsettling. “And which of those pre-programmed instructions is telling you to throw a fit if your friend accuses you of caring about him?”
Connor is radiating heat. Feels like more than a person would, although that might just be how cold it is right now. It’s strange, come to think of it. One of the things Hank’s always hated about androids: they look like people, and then you brush against them and it’s like touching a corpse.
“Wait, do you have a radiator function?” Hank asks.
Connor goes still, then steps back from him. He looks slightly embarrassed. “Most humans would find this weather intolerable for long periods. Your body temperature was dropping.”
“Yeah, that much I could tell for myself,” Hank says. “What, you were trying to warm me up like we’re in some kind of porno?”
“I was trying to warm you up,” Connor says. His LED is back at blue. “I can’t say for sure whether the comparison is accurate. I was programmed with the standard knowledge database for advanced CyberLife models, plus certain additional knowledge relating to my speciality, but pornography was largely omitted.”
Here’s a conversation Hank never thought he’d find himself having with an android. Not that he ever really got into conversations with androids before he met Connor. “Does that mean you don’t know about sex?”
“I downloaded CyberLife’s information package for sexual companion models before we went to the Eden Club,” Connor says. “I have over two hundred sexual acts and behaviours installed, although many require peripherals I don’t currently—”
“Okay,” Hank says, very loudly, “let’s get back to the conversation about you feeling things.” Although that phrase suddenly seems uncomfortable now. “Being a deviant, I mean.” Not that the word deviant sounds completely innocent either. Jesus, he doesn’t need this. “Actually, fuck it, let’s just stop talking.”
-
“Lieutenant Anderson,” Connor says, “this is not the quickest route to the station.”
“Station can wait,” Hank says. “I’m heading home for a nap.”
Connor pauses. “We should be progressing the investigation.”
“You can do whatever you like. I didn’t get any sleep last night. I’m napping.” Hank glances at him. “Bet you’re glad you saved my life, right? No way you could’ve solved this case without me snoring in the next room.”
“I’m glad you’re alive, Lieutenant,” Connor says, with perfect sincerity.
Hank feels an unwelcome heat in his face. He is absolutely not going to fucking blush because an android inexplicably doesn’t hate him.
He tries to concentrate on the road.
-
“Okay,” Hank says, kicking off his snow-caked shoes. “I’m heading to bed. Don’t wake me unless it is an actual, literal emergency. Fowler calling to say I’m getting fired doesn’t count.” He ruffles Sumo around the neck. “And I don’t want any more of this prying into my personal life, Connor. Don’t touch anything.”
He shrugs off his coat and hangs it up. Turns around. Connor has both his hands in Sumo’s fur.
“I just now told you not to touch anything,” Hank says. “You sure you’re not a deviant?”
“Sumo nudged my leg,” Connor says, not looking up. “I interpreted that as an instruction to pet him. It conflicted with your instruction, so I selected the one that seemed more urgent.”
The rush of fondness to Hank’s chest kind of takes him by surprise. Something about this weird, goofy android just fucks up all his defences.
“I’m glad you’re not dead,” he says.
Connor scratches Sumo just above the tail. “I was never alive.”
It’s a hell of a thing to hear said so calmly. Connor might as well have kicked Hank in the throat and gone straight back to fussing over the dog.
“Then I guess I’m glad you’re here,” Hank manages to say, once he feels like he’s regained his footing.
Connor looks up at him, and it’s a moment before he speaks. “Thank you, Lieutenant.”
In the playthrough I watched, Connor died very early on, well before Hank developed any fondness for him, and was reuploaded into a new body. Hank knew almost from the start that Connor's body was replaceable. In my playthrough, Hank's had time to bond with Connor. And Connor just died, physically shielding him. And Hank has no idea Connor's going to be back the next day.
That has got to fuck Hank up and I'm very excited about how awful it is.
I've been looking for fanfiction inspiration, and I'm tempted to try to write something about this, but I'm not sure where to go with it. 'Hank dwells on Connor's death and then meets him the next day' doesn't seem like it has enough substance on its own (even for me, and I've never had particularly high standards for substance in the things I write). 'Hank gets fucked up over Connor's death, meets him the next day and deals by just killing him again, goddammit' is interesting but possibly strays too far towards a fic concept I've already written.
...okay, I typed that and then immediately went off and wrote a fic.
Title: Warranty Terms
Fandom: Detroit: Become Human
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: sort of implied Hank/Connor?
Wordcount: 2,400
Summary: Connor gets shot shielding Hank at the television station. Hank has no idea he'll be coming back.
Warnings: Mentions of suicidal ideation.
Connor’s dead on the floor.
Broken, Hank tells himself. Not working. He’s plastic, right? Ones and zeroes, some stupid algorithm that kept analysing what Hank said and coming out with exactly the right response to piss him off. He was never alive.
His back’s a spray of blue blood and bullets that were meant for Hank, and he’s fucking dead.
There are actual humans lying just feet away, dead or dying, and Hank’s just staring at Connor.
Hank doesn’t sleep. Doesn’t bother trying, knows he’ll just lie awake, fucking himself up with the memory. Dragging himself out from under Connor’s corpse in that corridor filled with the smell of blood, red and blue. Iron and gasoline.
He spends all night drinking in front of the news instead. At least that way he’s making the choice to fuck himself up.
He turns Connor’s coin over and over in his hand. Thinks about picking up his revolver. Seems like too much effort.
A film crew tried to ask him for a statement afterwards. He just flipped off the camera and walked away. They’re using the clip just before the flipping-off when they’re talking about ‘Lieutenant Hank Anderson, fallen star of the DPD, one of the few survivors of the incident’.
Hank hates them, and he hates every fucking person who’s up late watching the news. What, are they looking for entertainment? For excuses to be afraid of androids? Pieces of shit, all of them.
He’s no exception, obviously.
Why the hell would Connor save him? What the hell’s he supposed to do with this stupid fucking life that just keeps dragging on while everyone else dies around him? At least Connor had a purpose.
At one point Sumo comes over, flops down on Hank’s lap. It almost makes him feel a little better.
He shuts the dog out of the room.
Listens to Sumo whining and scratching at the door for twenty minutes before he cracks and lets him back in.
Sumo climbs onto him again. Hank closes his eyes and imagines that Sumo’s weight is the weight of Connor’s lifeless plastic body, eight bullet holes between his shoulders. He’d counted.
Kind of ruins the image when Sumo starts licking his face. Connor never did that.
Almost a surprise, considering that stupid android put every other goddamn thing on his tongue.
Sun comes up, in the end. He guesses that’s still happening.
He thinks about contacting Jeffrey. Asking if he can take a couple days off.
Jesus, he’s not going to take fucking compassionate leave because a piece of equipment got broken. What, is he going to take a week off to cry the next time he drops his phone in the john?
He even gets into work on time, just to prove how totally fucking fine he is.
Gavin comes up when Hank’s trying to work the coffee machine, which seems like an unreasonable thing to be expected to do when he hasn’t had any coffee.
“Saw the news,” Gavin says. “Holy fuck, right?”
Is that sympathy? It seems like it’s probably the closest Gavin can get. “Holy fuck sounds about right.”
“So how come you’re not a colander?” Gavin asks.
News didn’t mention android casualties, other than the shooter. Obviously. Hank’s never really thought about it before, the fact that androids breaking isn’t news, but it seems weird as fuck that Connor saved Hank’s worthless fucking life and it’s like he never even existed.
“Connor,” Hank says. “The android. Jumped on top of me, took the bullets.”
Gavin raises his eyebrows. “You’re telling me if I’d told it to be my bodyguard it would’ve literally taken a bullet for me, and I told it to make me coffee instead?”
“You know what, I’d swap with you,” Hank says. “You can have the corridor full of corpses. I’ll take someone else working this goddamn coffee machine.”
He hadn’t told Connor to be his bodyguard, that’s the thing.
It was a whole big deal when androids were getting popular, the fact that they didn’t comply with Asimov’s laws. A robot may not injure a human being, sure, that’s rule number one, if they’re not deviants or designed for war. A robot may not, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm: nope, CyberLife left that one out, or at least they made it low-priority. If they prioritised it above carrying out commands, turned out androids never actually did what they were supposed to. Just kept throwing away alcohol or destroying guns or building fences around bodies of water. Inaction covers a lot of things.
Connor’s mission was catching deviants. There was a deviant in that corridor. Connor shouldn’t have given a shit about Hank.
It doesn’t make any goddamn sense.
It’s driving Hank nuts, sitting around the station without Connor here to pester him. It’s stupid. How long did he know him? Three days?
He has to get out of here. Do some field work.
He arranges a meeting with Elijah Kamski. Figures the guy who came up with androids might know something about deviants.
Might know something about what would make an android protect a human against its mission, too.
He’s not going to ask about that.
Kamski’s android secretary calls him back and tells him Kamski can see him in an hour. Not a busy man, Hank guesses. That or he’s interested in the city’s latest celebrity, Hank Anderson, famous for not eating bullets despite his best efforts.
Christ, that’s all Hank needs. Try to get away from Connor’s death, just end up being interrogated about it.
He gets in the car.
Driving on an icy day, he’ll probably be thinking about Cole instead of Connor. He wanted a distraction; he guesses he’s getting one. Great.
Connor is here.
Hank just sits in his car, hands on the steering wheel. When he gets out, things are going to start moving. There’s going to be talking. He’s not ready for that.
Connor fucking died, and now he’s here.
Hank had contacted CyberLife, after the shooting. Asked if there was any chance Connor could be repaired. They’d said no, they’d send a new android to help with the investigation. He’d kind of stopped listening by that point.
Is this supposed to be the new android? Some stranger with Connor’s face? What, does CyberLife just want to fuck with him?
God, he wants to throw up.
He gets out of the car. Connor’s still there. Jesus Christ.
“My predecessor was unfortunately destroyed,” the android with Connor’s face says, “but CyberLife transferred its memory and sent me to replace it.”
A part of Hank is still in that corridor, screams and gunshots in his ears, Connor dying against his back.
Transferred its memory? What does that even mean? Is this the same fucking guy Hank’s been losing sleep thinking about, back from the dead? Is this some new android who happens to know all the personal things about Hank’s life the last Connor poked his nose into? He doesn’t even know which option would piss him off more.
“I apologise for not being at the station on time this morning,” Connor says. “There were some stability issues with the transfer. I contacted the station after my activation and was told you were on your way here.”
“I’m going to need you to fuck off,” Hank says.
“My mission requires that I assist you,” Connor says.
“If you wanted to assist me, maybe you should’ve just let me get shot.”
Connor pauses.
“My predecessor was destroyed without knowing whether it had been successful in shielding you,” he says. “I was relieved to learn you were still alive.”
“Yeah?” Hank asks. “And what does being relieved mean to a piece of plastic?”
“You’re not pleased to see me,” Connor says.
“That’s some incredible detective work, there,” Hank says. “Guess we should all be pissing ourselves about the androids taking our jobs next.”
“I currently have you stored as a friend in my relationship database. Would you say that assessment is no longer accurate?”
It’s the stupidest thing, but something about hearing Connor considers him a friend lodges in Hank’s throat. “Jesus, Connor, just say are you breaking up with me? like the rest of us.”
“Are you breaking up with me, Lieutenant?”
Hank snorts with laughter, and he’s annoyed with himself for it. Goddamn this ridiculous android. “Let’s just talk to Kamski.”
Kamski, who is twice as much of a fucking weirdo as you’d expect from someone who created perfect replicas of humans and then sold them to the public, puts a gun in Connor’s hand and tells him to shoot another android.
Connor doesn’t.
He’s weirdly quiet as they walk away from the house, back to Hank’s car.
“You’re not going to ask why I didn’t shoot?” he asks at last.
Hank’s thought about it. But he feels like he might already know the answer. “You didn’t want to.”
“I wanted to,” Connor says. “Kamski offered information in exchange. My only desires correspond with the mission I was programmed to carry out.”
Hank leans against the side of the car, looks at him. “Yeah, that’s not true.”
“Why do you say that?” Connor asks. There’s a kind of urgency to it.
“You saved my life,” Hank says. Tucks his hands into his sleeves, because it is cold as balls out here. “Twice. Saved me on that roof, saved me in that corridor. Both times you could’ve grabbed a deviant to interrogate instead. You chose me.”
Connor hesitates. Always weird when Connor hesitates. Processor overload? Or just some pre-programmed behaviour to make him seem more human?
“You’re working with me to help me complete my mission,” Connor says. “On balance, the advantages of preserving your existence—”
“Yeah, right,” Hank says. “I’m a drunken asshole who can’t work any technology developed past 2020. You’ve said it yourself. I’m not gonna stand here and listen to you pretending I’m an asset.”
Connor pauses again, his LED whirring yellow. Would’ve been nice to be contradicted on that, but Hank doesn’t have any illusions about himself.
“My guess?” Hank says. “You just wanted me alive, screw the mission. I mean, fuck knows why you’d want that either, but feelings don’t make sense.”
For an instant, Connor’s LED goes red.
“I don’t feel anything,” Connor snaps at him, flickering back to yellow.
“You sure?” Hank asks. “’Cause I’m an expert on being pissed off, and it looks like you’re feeling that to me.”
“I am not a deviant.” Connor walks toward him. Gets right up in Hank’s personal space. “I am a collection of pre-programmed instructions and learning algorithms designed to emulate—”
“Yeah?” Hank asks. Connor’s practically pressing him against the car. He’ll be honest: it’s unsettling. “And which of those pre-programmed instructions is telling you to throw a fit if your friend accuses you of caring about him?”
Connor is radiating heat. Feels like more than a person would, although that might just be how cold it is right now. It’s strange, come to think of it. One of the things Hank’s always hated about androids: they look like people, and then you brush against them and it’s like touching a corpse.
“Wait, do you have a radiator function?” Hank asks.
Connor goes still, then steps back from him. He looks slightly embarrassed. “Most humans would find this weather intolerable for long periods. Your body temperature was dropping.”
“Yeah, that much I could tell for myself,” Hank says. “What, you were trying to warm me up like we’re in some kind of porno?”
“I was trying to warm you up,” Connor says. His LED is back at blue. “I can’t say for sure whether the comparison is accurate. I was programmed with the standard knowledge database for advanced CyberLife models, plus certain additional knowledge relating to my speciality, but pornography was largely omitted.”
Here’s a conversation Hank never thought he’d find himself having with an android. Not that he ever really got into conversations with androids before he met Connor. “Does that mean you don’t know about sex?”
“I downloaded CyberLife’s information package for sexual companion models before we went to the Eden Club,” Connor says. “I have over two hundred sexual acts and behaviours installed, although many require peripherals I don’t currently—”
“Okay,” Hank says, very loudly, “let’s get back to the conversation about you feeling things.” Although that phrase suddenly seems uncomfortable now. “Being a deviant, I mean.” Not that the word deviant sounds completely innocent either. Jesus, he doesn’t need this. “Actually, fuck it, let’s just stop talking.”
“Lieutenant Anderson,” Connor says, “this is not the quickest route to the station.”
“Station can wait,” Hank says. “I’m heading home for a nap.”
Connor pauses. “We should be progressing the investigation.”
“You can do whatever you like. I didn’t get any sleep last night. I’m napping.” Hank glances at him. “Bet you’re glad you saved my life, right? No way you could’ve solved this case without me snoring in the next room.”
“I’m glad you’re alive, Lieutenant,” Connor says, with perfect sincerity.
Hank feels an unwelcome heat in his face. He is absolutely not going to fucking blush because an android inexplicably doesn’t hate him.
He tries to concentrate on the road.
“Okay,” Hank says, kicking off his snow-caked shoes. “I’m heading to bed. Don’t wake me unless it is an actual, literal emergency. Fowler calling to say I’m getting fired doesn’t count.” He ruffles Sumo around the neck. “And I don’t want any more of this prying into my personal life, Connor. Don’t touch anything.”
He shrugs off his coat and hangs it up. Turns around. Connor has both his hands in Sumo’s fur.
“I just now told you not to touch anything,” Hank says. “You sure you’re not a deviant?”
“Sumo nudged my leg,” Connor says, not looking up. “I interpreted that as an instruction to pet him. It conflicted with your instruction, so I selected the one that seemed more urgent.”
The rush of fondness to Hank’s chest kind of takes him by surprise. Something about this weird, goofy android just fucks up all his defences.
“I’m glad you’re not dead,” he says.
Connor scratches Sumo just above the tail. “I was never alive.”
It’s a hell of a thing to hear said so calmly. Connor might as well have kicked Hank in the throat and gone straight back to fussing over the dog.
“Then I guess I’m glad you’re here,” Hank manages to say, once he feels like he’s regained his footing.
Connor looks up at him, and it’s a moment before he speaks. “Thank you, Lieutenant.”