Archive of Our Own

"God, why do people still have old CCTV?" Hank groaned, muttering under his breath. The lieutenant walked into the storage room rather sluggishly, as if speaking to the store owner had drained all of his energy. 

Connor didn't bother to turn towards the lieutenant. LED yellow, Connor analyzed the footage from the CCTV. The suspect they were looking for had walked into the store, went to the back aisle, and... disappeared. 

Rewatching the clip, Connor caught the subtle glitches and inconsistency throughout the video. He pressed his lips together. The footage had been altered.

"Lieutenant, did the store owner seem... concerned at all?" He asked, rewinding it once more and narrowing his eyes. 

Suspect walking. Time stamp – 12:32:34 PM. 

He hit play.

Suspect disappeared. Time stamp – 12:47:21 PM. 

There was 14 minutes and 47 seconds unaccounted for. 

"A bit nervous, yeah. Why? What'd you find?" Hank walked closer, leaning on the closed door right of Connor.

Connor nodded to the computer, "Watch this. Pay attention to the time." He replayed the footage again, stepping out of the way for Hank to see as the man pushed himself off the door to see.

The lieutenant looked over the footage, letting out a low, "Huh," he leaned away from the computer, eyebrows knitted together. "Someone fucked with the footage." Hank mumbled, staring at the ground thoughtfully.

"Correct. I believe the owner is covering for the suspect. If so, its likely the suspect is still in this building." Connor quieted, not wanting the store owner to hear. 

If he did, he might warn the suspect. 

That wasn't an option. They couldn't lose this lead. 

"Shit," the lieutenant whispered, immediately stiffening. "Stay alert."

"Got it." Connor walked away from the computer, observing the storage room for anything of interest that he might've missed. 

Suddenly, a bang from behind Connor vibrated the floor, accompanying a familiar grunt. 

He turned around swiftly, observing the sight. Time seemed to slow down. The suspect was on top of Hank, holding a knife. He must've been hiding in the closet by the lieutenant and heard their conversation, thus, feeling cornered. 

Focusing on the percentage in his vision, Connor tensed. Hank had a 72% chance of coming out uninjured from the encounter. 14% less than his probability of surviving when Rupert pushed the lieutenant off the ledge. 

The suspect—his systems identified him as Davison, George—was a skinny man. The lieutenant's prime days were long in the past, but he was still exceptionally strong. Especially compared to Davison's build. The 31 year old male clearly was on something, and it made his skin have a sickly green undertone. 

His program supplied another option: Connor could leave and arrest the store owner, while the lieutenant took care of the main suspect. The thought of leaving his partner alone with an armed agressor made his biocomponents twist, and he felt as if there was 20 lb added to each component.

Remembering how he gave up pursuing Rupert, Connor frowned. He wouldn't risk the lieutenant there, so why would he now? He had no direct 'mission' to accomplish anymore.

There wasn't any reason for him to prioritize the case over Hank. Not anymore.

The RK800 was by Hank's side in a couple seconds, grabbing Davison by his arm and throwing him to the side, earning a rough 'augh'. 

Connor did a quick scan on the lieutenant, no wounds. Probably out of breath. The heavy feeling lessened in his biocomponents. 

He'll have to do a more detailed scan later.

Turning back to the suspect, Connor observed the slender man. Davison was back on his feet now, eyes flickering between Connor and the open door to his left. 

Connor prepared to chase. His LED flashed yellow as he calculated what the suspect would do.

Running would be the most beneficial choice for Davison. 

Lunging at Connor wildly, an animalistic aggression was in Davison's hazel eyes. He sliced at the android, a small smirk growing on his sunken face. Connor cursed himself mentally, LED a sharp red at the unexpected outburst. Why would Davison attack? It was not directly beneficial to his motive, and went against his obvious aversion of police. 

Connor barely dodged in time, the knife still scraping his side. 

Biocomponent #2314p damaged. 

His lip twitched downward. It stung, but he quickly ignored the discomfort—not pain—of his side.

The android's LED cycled to yellow, his eyebrows furrowed before positioning himself behind Davison. His combat program took over, kicking the back of the suspects knee. That sent him sprawling to the ground with a satisfying groan.

Connor's nose curled slightly at how Davison's boxers were visible from his low pants. He would never get human fashion. 

He wasn't sure he wanted to, either.

He kicked the knife away from the man, not daring to take his eyes off him. Connor observed as the suspect began trying to stand, expression unreadable. 

Connor put his full body weight onto Davison's back, forcing the man onto his stomach, with a bit more force than necessary.

"You're under arrest." Connor stated in disturbingly calm tone, handcuffing Davison and dragging him to his feet. "You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can–"

"Fuck you!" Davison spit. "Damn fucking androids. You plastics don't deserve freedo–" Connor tightened the cuffs, earning a yelp from the man. Irritation worked it's way into cracks of Connor's usual stoic expression. After almost hauling the man forward, he forced his expression neutral. 

"...and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you." 

The lieutenant must've recovered his breath, as he walked over to where Connor was, looking between Davison and him with an amused look. "I'll see if the owner is still here, call the arrest in." 

Hank looked Connor up and down, ignoring the seething man in the android's grasp, "You good?" 

"Yes." Connor nodded automatically as he lied, ignoring the feeling of thirium sticking to his shirt underneath his suit-jacket. He angled his chest away from the lieutenant.

Technically he wasn't lying - he was 'good'. There wasn't any vital biocomponents damaged, and he was still perfectly operational. The knife had missed his jacket as he dodged, but not his shirt, cutting deep enough to scratch a biocomponent.

It was minor. Nothing to make a fuss over. 

The thought of telling Hank made his chest feel... odd.

The damage was caused from his mistake. He should've expected Davison to attack, he had a clear past of violence. It would be inconsiderate to bother Hank about non-critical damage, especially if it was from Connor's own error.

Hank pressed his lips together, giving a nod and walking off to look around the store. 

He buttoned his jacket. As long as he kept it closed, the blood or cut wouldn't be visible. Hank wouldn't see, and he'll never have to know that he made a mistake.

Connor called the arrest in, and soon a patrol car arrived. Davison was took to the station.

Specifically, the interrogation room.

"If you were more of a man, Aida would've stayed with you. You know that, right?" Connor shrugged calmly, deliberately aggravating Davison. 

Connor purposefully had his back straight and shoulders square. He was making himself more masculine, because it was obvious: Davison was insecure. Connor might as well use that insecurity to help pry a confession out of him.

Observing the man's expression, his eyes widened a fraction before his eyebrows furrowed. Connor saw Davison's heart rate and blood pressure tick up, and the android gave a subtle cocky glance to the one way mirror. He was about to break.

"You don't fucking know anything! I had to destroy that plastic so she could see the truth! I'm way fucking better than a damn robot!" Davison yelled, pulling at his chained handcuffs.

'I had to destroy that plastic...' 

Giving a curt nod, "Thank you for your cooperation." Connor relaxed his posture, standing up from the table. Android laws were still a work in progress but at the least, Davison would be charged with assault. That was a step better than property damage. 

What feels like a bolt of lightning shoots up Connor's side, but he makes a point to not show a wince. A brief flicker of a yellow LED the only evidence of his discomfort. It was just uncomfortable, is all. 

Davison seemed to realize what he said too late, and began yelling as Connor left the room. "Wait—" The door shut.

The android couldn't help but feel a sense of accomplishment, as he did with every case. Pulling the cuffs of his white shirt down, he also readjusted his jacket. 

Connor met up with Hank on the other side of the one way mirror. The lieutenant was watching Davison thrash around in his handcuffs, amusement in his blue eyes.

Turning towards Connor, "Huh, not half bad." Hank smiled, arms crossed.

Connor couldn't help the way his lips quirked up at the praise. Meeting Hank's gaze, "Thank you, Lieutenant." The familiar warmth of approval buzzed in his thirium lines.

The truth was, he absolutely thrived in this environment. It was familiar, and—not to be egotistical—but he was quite good at it. He was made for it, after all.

As soon as the interrogation was over, Connor and Hank had to give a report of what happened, per usual. The lieutenant vocalized his displeasure, but Connor really didn't mind doing reports. 

"That's because you cheat," Hank glared at the android across from him. He took a sip of his coffee, unamused eyes peeking over the cup. 

Connor blinked, "I don't 'cheat'." He said in a defensive tone. "I'm making use of the resources I have," he paused.

Nodding towards the lieutenant's terminal, "Maybe you should do the same, Lieutenant." He teased, a ghost of a smile on his face.

Hank had done two reports of sixteen in the last month. The rest of the reports Connor had done. 

Though, Connor did offer to do them.

It was clear the lieutenant hated reports, and Connor didn't mind them. 

It was more... efficient if he wrote them.

"Har har," Hank rolled his eyes. "Whatever you say, cheater."

After Connor finished the report, it was time to head out. He uploaded it, disconnecting from the terminal. The discomfort of Connor's side had been steadily increasing since he was first damaged. 

He was trying his best to keep a even expression, and monitor his LED. The last thing he needed was Hank to question him.

"You ready?" Hank yawned, watching as the android's synthetic skin returned to his hand.

He couldn't wait to get home and patch the damage. It was starting to become pretty bothersome. Connor turned toward Hank, meeting the lieutenant's eyes, "Yes, Lieutenant." He answered contently before slowly standing up.

A shot of... discomfort up his side made his LED snap to red quickly before yellow. His eyes narrowed, nose curling up, unable to wipe the distress off his face before Hank saw.

Pretending it didnt happen, Connor walked over to the lieutenant and waited silently. He was functional. It didn't hurt. He couldn't feel pain. He was an android. 

His side, still sensitive, rejected the grinding movement of the silicone as he walked. He bit his tongue. Keeping his face neutral, Connor met Hank's gaze. 

Hank raised an eyebrow, clearly searching Connor for something. Most likely an injury. 

Connor resisted the urge to readjust his jacket. The lieutenant ran his eyes over Connor's body with a furrowed brow. He prayed that all the thriuim had evaporated. Just in case. 

Hank didn't seem to find what he was looking for. 

After a few seconds, Hank sighed. "I'm beat. Let's just get home." He rubbed his temple, voice low. The lieutenant began walking towards the exit. The android mentally sighed, relaxing.

Connor silently followed, the idea of being home sounding quite appealing. 

It took approximately 34 minutes to get to Hank's house. The car ride was silent except for the sound of Jazz playing on the radio, and Hank's occasional curses for slow drivers.

Hank unlocked the door and the two walked inside. Connor shut the front door, barely keeping himself from leaning against the firm, stable wood. He closed his eyes as the discomfort in his side had worsened to a constant throb. 

"God, I'm so fucking worn out." Hank grumbled and swiftly took his coat off, stretching his back with a groan. "That damn twig guy. Fuck him! My backs sore now." 

Forced amusement slips into Connor's tone as he slid his shoes off, "I thought you were strong, Lieutenant."

"Hank." The lieutenant corrected for the 23rd time. He glanced at Connor, "And I thought you were supposed to be smart. Guess were both dissapointed." Hank teased, walking towards the kitchen. 

"Must be a deviancy thing," Connor muttered, going along with the playful banter.

It felt odd to address Hank as, well, Hank. He was his superior, and he was to be addressed as such. Saying otherwise felt wrong coming off his tongue.

Connor made his way to the couch, eyes focused on the Saint Bernard. He relaxed at the sight of the adorable dog laid out on the floor. Connor bent down to love Sumo, placing his hand gently on top of the soft fur. The fluffy texture was comforting. 

His LED flashed to yellow as he bent down. "Agh," he grunted with a poorly stifled wince. Connor quickly silenced himself by pressing his lips together tightly. He tried to ignore the discomfort at his side. He's dealt with worse. Sure, it was when he was a machine, but still. 

The dog tilted his head to the left, pleading to Connor with confused, big worried eyes. A pang of sadness hit his chest, feeling bad about worrying Sumo.

Scratching his ears, "Good boy, Sumo. You must've been so lonely all day." Connor mumured soft-heartedly. He wished he could take Sumo to work everyday. He would be a good boy. 

The Saint Bernard whined softly, leaning into Connor's hand. He felt his lips tug upward, continuing to love the dog. "You need a friend, dont you? We have to convince Lieu– Hank, okay?" He whispered, being met with a low 'boof'. 

"I was thinking a golden retriever. Would you be okay with that, Sumo? I researched and it said they get along well with most breeds of dogs." Sumo licked Connor's hand. "Is that a yes?" He asked, genuinely trying to understand what the Saint Bernard was communicating. 

Hank yelled from the kitchen, "I'm not getting another damn dog, Connor!"

Connor deflated at that, smile faltering. He had asked Hank about getting a puppy before, which had been quickly shot down. He said, 'It was hard enough training you, I couldn't have another clueless dog in the house'. 

Leaning his back against the couch, his face twisted into a grimace. He inhaled sharply as another wave of discomfort went through his body. His grip on Sumo's fur tightened, earning a small whine from the dog. The Saint Bernard sniffed his injured side, nudging Connor's arm with his snout.

"I'm okay, Sumo. Don't worry." Connor reassured the dog quietly, releasing his grip and petting softly again. 

He really needed to patch the damage. It wasn't critical, but his self-repair program obviously refused to fix it. Connor would have to manually fill the cut before his program decided it was minor enough to heal on its own.

Sumo sighed loudly, before moving and resting his head on Connor's lap, looking at him with big eyes. Despite the uncomfortable feeling, his lips quirked upwards at Sumo's puppy eyes, not wanting to upset the dog. It was proven that dogs can detect what humans are feeling. 

Was he human enough for that?

Hank walked over, setting leftover pizza slices on the coffee table, along with a Pepsi. 

Connor frowned, analyzing the nutritional values of the meal. 834 calories in the two slices of pizza—which was about 10% grease—and 204 calories in the 16.9 fl oz Pepsi. He glanced away, knowing lecturing the older man about his dietary choices would be futile.

He settled on being subtle. "According to several studies, sugary drinks shorten human lifespan by–"

Connor could practically hear the lieutenant's eyes rolling as he chewed his food, "Anyone ever tell you to shut the fuck up before?" Hank spit out, leaning his back into the worn-in spot on the sofa cushion.

He opened his mouth, before closing it again. Not wanting to start another argument about Hank's... less than healthy lifestyle choices, Connor decided to leave it be. "Just you. And Detective Reed, I suppose." 

Although Reed had been better lately (definitely not of his own volition), the detectives hatred for Connor had not lessened. He didn't hate Connor because he was an android now. He hated Connor because he was Connor. 

That was an improvement. 

Memory of being punched right in the thriuim pump regulator popped into his mind. 

Yes. Definitely an improvement.

Hank scoffed at that. "TV 'uhn." He stated with mouth full of pizza. The television screen quickly illuminated the room. "So, what are we watchin' tonight?" Hank swallowed, displeased at the hockey game on screen.

Connor replied with a shrug, "Anything is okay with me."

Seemingly knowing that he was going to say that, the lieutenant sighed. He had said that everytime Hank asked. It wasn't hard to see the pattern.

After about a minute of booting up Hank's desired streaming service, "Pick one, Connor." Hank pointed at the TV with 8 movies to pick from.

Connor read over the titles and summaries, looking up reviews online. What movie would the lieutenant find the most enjoyable? They all seemed to have good reviews. But... Hank didn't seem to follow the opinions of reviews.

He once showed Connor a movie with two stars and said it was the 'best piece of cinema he's watched'. 

Hank scolded him, "Jesus Christ, Connor. Just pick one that looks interesting!" 

Giving an unsure glance toward the man, Connor reluctantly listened. After a minute of weighing the options, "The Terminator seems intriguing." 

Hank smirked. "Good choice," he leaned forward, reaching over to pat Connor on the back. Connor forced his lips into an unsteady tight line, the pat somehow making the discomfort spike up in his side. "Terminator it is, then."

Watching the credits scroll past, Connor's eyebrows were knit together. The movie was so unrealistic. Hank had compared the Terminator to him, but Connor didn't see it. He guesses this is what it felt like to dislike a movie. 

He heard a yawn behind him, and Connor turned his head to look at Hank on the couch. He forgot he was still sitting on the floor.

It's not like Sumo would approve of him getting up, anyway.

Hank noticed Connor looking at him and met the androids gaze with tired eyes, "'I'll be back.'" He tried to imitate, failing miserably. The lieutenant leaned back into the couch cushion. 

Connor raised an eyebrow, having an idea pop into his head.

Smirking, "I'll be back." He replicated the Terminator's voice perfectly. 

"What the fuck, Connor." Hank stared, the creases in his face pulling off a disturbed expression. He leaned forward, eyebrows furrowed while staring at the android. "Could you always do that?"

Connor gave a proud smile, "An android never reveals his secrets." He winked.

"Yeah, well, don't do that again. Shit's fucking creepy." 

"Understood." He definitely was going to do that again. 

Sighing before cursing under his breath, "I'm heading to bed. I've had enough 'Connor' for the day." Hank stood up and turned the TV off, leaving his dishes on the table.

"Goodnight, Hank." Connor called after the man, gaze falling to the 120 lb pile of fur laying on his own legs. 

"Night." A click of Hank's bedroom door shutting echoed in the now-silent house. 

Connor let his expression fall, exhaling slowly. The discomfort of his side hadn't let up. He gently pushed Sumo off, the dog getting up with an annoyed sigh. 

He let his hand find the cut under his shirt, trying to gauge the damage. Accidentally poking the open wound, Connor bit back a groan. He cursed quietly, closing his eyes. His yellow LED shined brightly in the dark room. 

There wasn't much he could do until Hank was asleep, at least if he didn't want Hank to find out. The man was surprisingly alert.

The average human took around 10 to 20 minutes to fall asleep. Connor set a mental timer for 15 minutes, moving onto the couch as quietly as possible. 

After an excruciatingly long 15 minutes, Connor carefully stood up. He gripped the couch arm for support, his side not agreeing to the movement. Just had to get to the bathroom. That's all. He could do that.

He slowly made his way to the bathroom, not hiding the grimace on his face. Connor held his side protectively, opening the bathroom door with his left hand. Shutting it as softly as possible, He listened for Hank's snoring. 

Yeah, he was asleep.

Sitting himself on the floor, Connor gave a sharp inhale as his waist turned. He opened the cabinet under the sink and grabbed the android first aid kit. Fumbling with the safety lock, Connor managed to open it. He rummaged through it, finding the plasti-paste. 

A sigh of relief left his lips as he held the container, LED spinning back to blue. 

He needed to stand up to give himself the best angle to fix it. His LED switched back to yellow at the thought. He had to. There wasn't a choice.

Pushing his legs up from under him, he groaned and held his right arm to his side tightly. He closed his eyes and steadied himself on the sink. He was fine. Just needed to get this done.

Connor slid his jacket off, along with his shirt. It looked clean (besides the cut), but he could still see the thirium on it. He threw it to the side and bent down to grab the first aid kit.

A tsunami of pain—no, severe discomfort—washed over him, causing him to drop the box onto the floor. He shut his eyes as tight as possible, stumbling forward and hitting the ground. Letting out a low yelp, he pushed himself up against what felt like the edge of the tub.

His side radiated a stinging sensation, his LED a sharp red. Connor's eyes opened and he forced himself to look at the damage. 

"Shit," he whispered, seeing fresh thiruim drip down his side. He must've aggravated it when he fell. 

Five knocks pounded on the door. 

Connor forgot about Hank. His artificial stomach dropped. He felt like a cornered animal. There was no where to go, no where to hide. 

"The fuck you doin' in there?" Hank grumbled groggily.

Looking at the mess on the floor, Connor felt his thriuim pump quicken. This is the only chance he had to fix this. His social relations program supplied responses, ones to quell the lieutenant. He hadn't used the program in months, not for anything more than interrogations.

The responses never seemed to work properly with Hank. But he had nothing else.

Letting the program reply for him, "I'm sorry, Lieutenant. I knocked the soap bottle off of the sink. I hadn't meant to wake you, everything is well." His voice was an even tone, sounding more machine-like than he had in a long time. It felt distant, like he wasn't really in control of his actions. That thought made his ventilation turn off. The temperature seemed to drop in the room.

A tense silence filled the bathroom as Connor's nerves only worsened.

Hank is going to find out. He's gonna know that Connor messed up.

He'll be even more pissed that he hid it. He'll kick him out.

Decide that he's not worth the time, the money. The dissapointed look. Hank knows Connor can do better than that.

Connor will do better.

He doesn't want to dissapoint her again. She only wants the best for him.

She—

"Connor. Connor! Look at me, god dammit!" Hank held Connor's shoulders. Connor met his gaze, his ventilation systems kicking back on. They were a bit faster than usual, most likely to make up for the amount of time they were off.

He had gotten... lost in his thoughts, and now the lieutenant was less than a foot away from him. Hank had definitely saw the blue blood on the floor, and likely bits of the damage on his side.

Hank sighed and pulled his arms away as his gaze flickered to Connor's probably red LED. He focused on making it yellow. He was fine. "What the fuck happened?" Hank's tone sounded irritated.

Connor looked to the side, having an expression that was unsettlingly neutral. "Nothing." 

"Nothing? Nothing. Right, of course. You're just bleeding out on my bathroom floor because of fucking nothing!" Hank raised his voice, forcing a laugh as he gestured to Connor's side. "Wanna try again?"

The android's LED flashed, looking toward the lieutenant. "I can– I can take care of it. You don't need to worry." 

"We're way past worrying, Connor. That ship has sailed. Actually, uh, it fucking crashed. Sank." 

Connor kept his mouth closed, gaze falling to the floor again.

Realizing this wasn't getting anywhere, Hank rubbed his nose bridge and cursed. "Fucking Christ..." 

He ordered sternly, "Let me see it." Hank nodded toward Connor's side, which was still dripping blood. 

Immediately stiffening, "No." Connor snapped out.

"The fuck? What do you mean 'no'?"

"I am capable of fixing it." 

"And you did a great job of that so far, haven't you?"

Connor opened his mouth to speak, but clamped it shut and avoided eye contact. He could take care of this. He didn't need the lieutenant's pity. 

Shaking his head, Hank stood back up, grabbing the kit that fell, along with a towel. Sumo laid in the doorway, watching closely. 

"Good thing I bought this, huh." Hank lightly joked, looking inside the kit.

Staring blankly at the tile, LED yellow, Connor gave no reaction. "It seems to be of use in this situation." He replied dully, holding his injury protectively. 

He heard a tired exhale as Hank stepped closer and dropped to his knee infront of Connor. The older man reached for Connor’s side with a towel in hand.

Pushing himself away from Hank swiftly, "What are you doing?" Connor cautioned, pulling his right arm closer to his damaged side instinctively. His eyes narrowed suspiciously, observing the lieutenant kneeling down infront of him. 

Hank's eyes meet the android's gaze, "Er, what's it look like? I'm fuckin' helping you?"

"I– I don't need assistance."

"Oh, can it. Let me see the god damn wound, Connor."

"Lieutenant, I assure you—"

"Connor," Hank warned, giving Connor an irritated look. 

Connor went to argue back, but stayed silent and glared at Hank. The older man's gaze didn't waiver while looking at Connor. A quick flash of red appeared in his LED, and he saw Hank take notice. His expression softened.

That caused a heavy feeling to rise in his chest, feeling as if it was weighing his biocomponents down. Pressing his lips together, Connor reluctantly removed his arm from his side.

Hank hissed at the sight. "Shit," He looked up to Connor sympathetically. "Doesn't that hurt?"

Connor shook his head, "No, it's just uncomfortable." He lied, blinking. Feeling the urge to dismiss Hank's concern, Connor muttered, "It's not bad."

The lieutenant exhaled, "Not bad, pft, shit. If this happened to me, I'd be in the ER right now." He stated, exasperated. "We have very different definitions of 'not bad'."

Avoiding eye contact, "It's not critical damage." Connor retorted. The knife didn't hit any vital biocomponents. No need to get worked up. 

If only that logical reasoning would calm his thirium pump.

Hank reached inside the medic box, grabbing the first thing he saw. Flipping the container over, he read the label. Android Repair Plasti-Paste. "So how do you use this?"

Snapping his head towards Hank, "You don't have to apply it. I am more than capable of doing it myself, Lieutenant." Connor tensed, lip twitching downward.

He felt deeply uneasy (was that the feeling in his chest?) at the thought of someone touching, caring, for him while he was damaged. 

Hazy memories of Cyberlife technicians fronted in Connor's mind. Poked and proded, like some science experiment. (He guesses, in a way, he was.)

The memories weren't fully stable, cloudy or completely erased. But those memories that he could grasp the concept of, even just a flash of it, he knew weren't pleasant.

Gears seemed to turn in Hank's mind, eyes somehow becoming gentler as he looked at Connor. "I didn't say you weren't capable, Detective Ego," he reminded teasingly. "Just because you can do something, doesn't mean you have to." The lieutenant's voice was steady, like the columns in Cyberlife tower. 

While Connor processed the lieutenant's words, Hank looked off to the side, scratching his head. He was clearly out of his element on the comfort side of things. 

Connor relaxed at his words. He remembered that he will have to face the lieutenant's dissapointment soon enough. Right after telling him how he got damaged. He frowned, quickly forcing his lips into a tight line. 

Closing his eyes, he knew Hank cared about him. He cared even when he was a machine. That confused Connor. He had done nothing for the lieutenant. 

Sighing tiredly, "I don't have all night. If you're uncomfortable, I can go." Hank rubbed his eyes with his index, middle and thumb. 

Uncomfortable? "I'm not uncomfortable." Connor spits out. He remembered Hank must be exhausted, but he still had the urge to defend himself.

Hank didn't care to argue, seemingly knowing it was a lie. 

Connor's voice quieted, even if just by a fraction, "You can," he blinked, hesitating. 

"You can apply the paste. It would be appreciated." He allowed the lieutenant access to his side, hiding a grimace as he pushed himself up onto the side of the tub. "You should wipe the thriuim off before applying the paste for optimal application."

Hank nodded, "'Kay. So clean it. Got it." He reached out with a towel.

Tensing up, Connor watched as Hank gently wiped the thirium off. His grip on the tub tightened, looking to the side. Every system in his body seemed to scream at him. Knowing someone was so close to something as vunerable as a wound made Connor's thriuim pump speed up. 

He knew it was irrational, Hank had never hurt him before. There was no evidence that he would in this moment. 

That logic did not comfort Connor. His overworking processor had a different opinion. 

Preconstructions of plans to run popped up in his vision. The idea of running pleased Connor. He considered it.

Lightly shaking his head, he forced the preconstructions away. Connor let out a sharp exhale.

Hank's eyes never left his cut, working delicately. "So, this happened when that guy attacked me, right?" He asked casually.

Connor froze. His processor sputtered. 

He shamefully nodded, "Yes," he forced out.

"Yes, it did. I'm sorry, Lieutenant." He dipped his head, mirroring the face of Sumo when he was caught eating trash. 

Connor knew this was coming. 

The dissapointed look, the shameful feeling. The: 'I expected better from you, Connor'. 

A familiar chill ran through his thirium lines.

"It was my mistake." Connor's gaze kept to the bathroom tile, tone eerily monotonous. "I assure you, it wont happen again." Connor blinked, and he swears he saw the Zen Garden's white floor. He had said those exact same words how many times? 

Hank halted his movements, looking up to the android. "You don't gotta apologize, jeez. We got the damn twig in the end." He gave him a bothered look.

The older man seemed to analyze Connor's face. If he was an android, Connor would've thought he was scanning him. Hank sighed before going back to cleaning, keeping his thoughts to himself.

Connor stayed silent, not knowing what to say. He observed as Hank finished meticulously wiping around the cut, the towel stained a bright blue. 

The lieutenant reached to his side, leaning over slightly as he grabbed the paste. "Um. Can I just use my fingers, or?" He looked up, eyebrows raised.

Connors eyes flickered between Hank and the paste before answering. "Yes," he answered warily.

Hank dipped his index and middle into the paste, cringing at the texture, but not vocalizing his obvious discomfort. He took a slow breath, and started applying the paste in the cut.

The android inhaled sharply. It was cold, and felt odd against his skin. He resisted the urge to shiver at the sensation.

"Shit, did I hurt you?" Hank pulled away, examining Connor's expression.

Connor shook his head, "No." 

Hank's lips pulled downward, "Well, tell me if it does hurt." He muttered and began applying it again. 

Connor wasn't used to this. Why was Hank doing this?

He almost wished that Hank would be upset. That, at least, he knew how to deal with. How to react.

As he focused back on the damage and Hank, his lips twitched downward.

Something pulled at Connor, something he wouldn't dare admit aloud. 

In this moment, he yearned for Amanda in place of Hank. A part of him liked to think she would've cared for him like this.

Connor looked away from Hank with guilt in his eyes, his shoulders stiff and posture rigid. 

Hank was finishing up, "Did they do alot of... uh, stuff like this at Cyberlife?" He cleared his throat in the middle of his sentence, clearly not quite knowing how to describe what 'stuff' he was doing. 

Connor's eyes trailed back towards Hank. He seemed to debate answering the question, "You could say that." His voice stayed completely even, making sure to not let any hints of discomfort at the topic slip in. Cyberlife was far less kind. Their touches were careful, yes, but not gentle. 

Hank hummed at that, pulling away from the cut. He didn't push Connor for more, which he was thankful for. He preferred not to think about Cyberlife more than he already did.

"Anything else to do?" Hank cleared his throat, looking up to Connor.

"I should wrap the damage so the paste stays in place."

"Need me to help?"

Connor shook his head automatically.

Nodding slowly, "Then I'm done." Hank stood up, groaning as his knees screamed in protest. He began heading for the door. 

Connor looked down at his freshly patched wound, feeling heat rise to his cheeks. "Wait," He felt himself call out. Everything programmed into him begged him not to. 

The lieutenant turned around, raising an eyebrow. "What?"

"It would be helpful if I had assistance in wrapping the damage." Connor averted his eyes. "It's no problem if not, I know I have woken you up and—"

"Shut the fuck up." 

"What?"

Hank rolled his eyes and motioned for Connor to stand. "It'll be easier if you're standing." He simply explained.

Connor obeyed, pushing himself up. His side stung, but not nearly as bad as earlier.

"I dunno what they told you at Cyberlife, but humans make mistakes." Hank stated, his tone a little harsh on the word Cyberlife. 

Humans. Humans make mistakes. 

Not androids.

"Lord knows, I've made a lifetimes worth." Hank mumbled as he began wrapping the cut, going around Connor's waist with the same caring touch as earlier.

Connor stiffened slightly, "I'm not supposed to make mistakes." 

"You're not supposed to be deviant either."

That statement caused Connor to stare at Hank, perhaps a bit amused at the statement. Irony. He had forgotten the lieutenant didn't know that he was planned with deviancy in mind. Or, at least, that's what Amanda told him. But she couldn't really be trusted, could she? 

Playing it off, "Right. Good point." He agreed awkwardly, watching Hank finish wrapping. 

The older man taped the bandage, keeping it in place. He observed his work, before exhaling slowly and looking to Connor. A warm yet tired smile tugged at Hank's lips, a certain fondness in his eyes. Connor couldn't bring himself to return it.

After a few silent seconds, Hank patted the androids shoulder firmly. "All good?" He asked, raising his eyebrows questioningly.

"All good," Connor confirmed, giving a nod. 

As Hank walked out of the bathroom, he returned a few minutes later with fresh clothes for Connor. A plain gray long-sleeve and black sweatpants. 

Connor had picked out those clothes during a trip to the mall with Hank, a month or so back. He picked things that were largely considered socially acceptable, since he had no idea of what he liked to wear. No bright colors, no patterns (much to Hank's dislike). Everything he got was casual and plain. 

Except for the formal white, long-sleeved dress shirt and black suit jacket. (One of which was ripped.) But those were needed. 

It gave Connor the familiarity of his Cyberlife uniform without the look. He had grown accustomed to the feel of his uniform, even if it wasn't comfortable. But Cyberlife never did care for comfort.

Accepting the clothes, "Thanks." Connor nodded respectfully, giving an appreciative look to the lieutenant. 

Hank looked away while grumbling, "Yeah, yeah. Whatever," he waved his hand, dismissing Connor's thanks. "Just get cleaned up, will ya?" 

The bathroom door shut with a soft click. Connor move towards the tub, frowning at the small puddle of blue blood from where he sat. His hand subconsciously moved to his side, cringing at the recollection of falling. Not wanting to waste more time, he winced as he bent down with a towel and soaked up the thirium. 

He hadn't lost a substantial amount, but it would still be helpful to top off his systems later. He'll have to drink some thirium at the station tomorrow. 

After cleaning, Connor leaned his head over the tub and used the detachable shower head to wash his hair. Feeling his hair loosen as the gel washed out, he turned the shower handle off and dried.

He changed his clothes, slipping into the comfortable material. When he raised his arms above his head, he felt a strain in his side and grimaced. His self repair program switched on, immediately causing his internal temperature to rise. The android equivalent of exhaustion weighed him down, wanting nothing more than to slip into stasis. 

Connor felt annoyance poke him in the back of his mind. Shoving the feeling down, he reminded himself that he was at fault for this.

Checking himself in the mirror, Connor ran his hands through his now-wavy hair. He reached to adjust a non-existent tie, lips twitching downward as his hands fell back down to his sides. It seemed habits were hard to break - even for androids. How inconvenient.

Connor looked away, twisting the doorknob and heading towards the living room, where Hank was most likely sitting.

"Hey, Connor. C'mere."

He turned to his left, already halfway to the living room. Hank was leaning against the kitchen counter with his arms crossed, his expression unreadable. 

Stepping closer, he faced the lieutenant. Connor furrowed his eyebrows and tilted his head slightly, observing Hank questioningly.

With a tired sigh, Hank pushed himself off the counter and tossed Connor something from behind him.

Connor automatically caught it, although his reaction time was a millisecond slower than normal.

He automatically scanned it, analyzing the object. Blue Blood — Thirium 310

It was a bottle of thirium. 

He didn't know the lieutenant had any in the house, and he looked back up to him with an open mouth. Closing it, he watched as Hank avoided eye contact. 

"Thought you might need some, ya know. Since you bled all over my damn floor." He shifted his weight, meeting Connor's gaze.

He bought thirium for Connor. It was expensive, especially now that androids were free. 

Guilt sprouted in his tone, "I... Thank you, Lieutenant. But you really didn't need to buy–" 

"Oh, just accept the damn blood, Connor. And for the last time, it's Hank!" Hank shook his head, muttering under his breath, "Damn androids..."

"Right. Thank you, Hank." He nodded gratefully, opening the cap and drinking the whole bottle in a less than 20 seconds.

The lieutenant watched in amusement, leaning his head back with raised eyebrows. "Ain't nobody taking it away from you, son." He scoffed jokingly, "I oughta sign you up for one of those chugging competitions. That's gotta be a new record."

Finishing the bottle, Connor threw it away in the nearby trash can and wiped his face. "Actually, the record for quickest 8oz drink chugged was 11.21 seconds," He gave a small grin, "I took 10.78." 

Hank chuckled, and Connor smiled tiredly. He could feel his biocomponents warming up, and he was starting to regret wearing sweatpants. "Er, well, I'm gonna stay up a bit longer since I was... interrupted," Hank motioned to Connor, specifically his side.

Connor looked at the floor, "I hadn't meant to wake you." He admitted, rubbing his shirt where the injury resides. He forgot that him falling resulted in waking the lieutenant. "It won't happen again." His head rose, meeting Hank's gaze.

Hank muttered, "Fucking better not," his gaze didn't waiver. "And I'm not talking about getting woke up, Connor." The lieutenant's expression hardened, head dropping a fraction. 

Connor forced his expression neutral, his LED betraying him by flashing a bright yellow. 

His overworking systems were already getting taxed from the self repair program, and his rising stress levels didn't help. As the heat of his biocomponents rose, his processor slowed, even if just by a couple milliseconds. 

He knew this was coming. Had he been that naive to think that Hank wouldn't be upset about his error?

Jumping in before Hank could speak, "I should have anticipated that Davison would attack. From what we learned, I knew he was aggressive. Its to my own error that I got damaged." 

He continued after a brief pause, looking Hank in the eyes. "Perhaps I am unfit to work at the department. I understand if you decide to pull me off investigations. There must be someone better fit for the job," Connor explained tonelessly, the words coming naturally to him. 

Connor looked to the table and counter, searching the house for flowers. He swears he could smell roses.

"What?" Hank replied, genuinely speechless. 

Connor had never seen him speechless. His biocomponents suddenly felt pinched.

A brief moment of awkward silence filled the room. 

"Slow the fuck down, Connor." Hank scoffed, a faux-amusement to his stern tone. The lieutenant uncrossed his arms, holding them out in an aggressive placating gesture.

"Nobody is getting pulled off jackshit. You made one damn mistake!" His volume raised, his index finger held up. "One!"

Hank put his face in his right hand, sliding it down his face, composing himself.

Looking up again, with his chin still in his hand he spoke quieter, but not calmer. "Why in hell would you think I'd do that?"

"I..." Connor suddenly didn't feel very confident in his reasoning. His eyes flickered to the ground before back up to Hank. "I failed to predict Davison's attack, and it resulted in my damage." His tone was less confident, the end of his sentence sounding more like a question than a statement. "It would make sense to replace me with an officer who would preform better."

Connor was an android. He was an advanced android, no less. He was expected highly of. To deliver less than that standard meant dissapointment.

'A pity you didn't manage to capture it.'

It meant replacement.

'If your investigation doesnt make progress soon, I'm afraid I may have to replace you, Connor.' 

And he was supposed to be okay with that.

He was.

'I am of no importance. The mission is all that matters.'

Connor resisted the urge to shiver, eyes unfocused. Although his internal thermometer read as above optimal temperature, he felt an icy feeling crawl up his back. He ignored it, along with the heavy feeling in his chest. 

The lieutenant watched Connor with an... irritated expression? He couldn't be sure.

Hank rubbed his temple, "Like I said eariler, everybody makes mistakes–"

"No."

"I swear to god, Connor,"

"You said humans make mistakes." Connor corrected, recalling eariler. "I'm not human, Lieutenant." He supplied a response with no apparent expression.

"You know damn well what I meant!" Hank gestured angrily. 

"I'm afraid I don't. I'm a machine–"

"You're a deviant!"

"–and I need to do better than what happened today, Lieutenant."

"You don't need to fucking do anything," Hank spit out. "You did better today than I ever could. Christ, Connor!"

Connor shook his head, "Don't undermine yourself, Lieutenant. I don't understand... I got damaged from my error. Why are you so upset at—"

"Dammit, Connor, how the fuck do you want me to react?" He furrowed his brow, throwing his hands out in confusion. "I saw you damn near bleeding out on my fucking bathroom floor and I'm supposed to be okay with that? Fuckin' hell..." Hank mumbled that last curse to himself, looking downward.

Connor's LED flashed red, his expression tense. "...I'm sorry, Lie–"

"I swear to god if you call me Lieutenant again, I will knock you out."

"Hank," Connor corrected. "I'm sorry, Hank. I know my mistake upset you. It won't happen again."

Hank seemed to just... stare at Connor, deciphering him with his eyes. 

Connor fixed the cuffs of his sleeves, a restlessness bubbling in his core.

After about a minute, Hank opened his mouth to speak. Narrowing his eyes, "Do you think I'm pissed because you got injured?" The older man questioned, with a cautious tone.

What else would he be upset about? 

"Yes?" Connor replied, eyebrows knitted together in confusion.

Hank let out a deep sigh, leaning against the counter as his hand seemed to trail down his face in exhaustion. 

Connor kept his mouth shut, his mind feeling foggy from his rising heat. His LED was a constant yellow.

"I'm not pissed, or whatever," waving his hand in the air, "that you got injured. I'm pissed that you didn't tell me. I found out after you busted your ass in my bathroom." Hank gestured to the direction of the bathroom, an annoyed look on his face. Yet, his eyes displayed concern.

Connor froze. "Oh." 

He wasn't mad at Connor for getting damaged... He was concerned that Connor didn't tell him? His gaze slowly fell to the floor, LED spinning as he processed. 

He heard Hank move closer, "I don't want this to happen again. 'Kay?" The older man put his hand on Connor's shoulder, and the android raised his head. 

The android nodded, not speaking. He opened his mouth, clearly piecing together what he wanted to say. Hank pulled his hand away, waiting with an expectant look. 

"I didn't want to... dissapoint you," Connor conceded, eyes flickering to the side as he paused. His expression was blank, but his voice was unsteady. He looked to the dog-hair covered floor. 

Hank's expression softened, "I ain't gonna be dissapointed when you get hurt, son," he scoffed lightheartedly and shook his head. Connor looked up, observing the lieutenant. "It's not the end of the world when you have errors, make mistakes - whatever you wanna call it. It's part of being alive, unfortunately."

Connor considered the lieutenant's words, taking a few seconds to process them. His high temperature was slowing his processor down.

He felt a weight leave his biocomponents, at Hank's statement. He wasn't dissapointed. "You're not angry?" 

Glaring at the android, "Oh, no, I'm pissed. You hid a god damn wound from me, Connor."

Connor shifted his weight, looking to the side. In his defense, he was gonna tell Hank.

Eventually.

"We can leave that conversation for mornin'." Hank yawned, stretching his back and walking towards the living room. "Gonna watch TV, you wanna—"

Connor reached out, stopping the lieutenant by grabbing his forearm. Hank turned towards him, expression questioning. "Gettin' real tired of you stopping me from leaving," he muttered flatly.

Hesitating, Connor looked away. Was this appropriate for the situation? Would he find it weird? What if he did it wrong?

Fighting an internal battle, he exhaled before going to hug the man. "Thank you, Hank." He murmured. A pleasant, almost familial, warmth rose in his chest. Ridding the heaviness that previously accompanied it.

Hank stiffened, definitely surprised by the action. Clearing his throat, "'Course," he mumbled in that weird in-between tone of soft and firm. 

The lieutenant wasn't good at comfort—they both knew that—so Connor accepted Hank's version as he returned the gesture. He relaxed into the hug, his arms awkwardly hugging back. This was only his second hug ever - he hadn't got it down yet. 

They stayed like that for awhile, pleasant silence filling the house. The android's LED switched back to blue. Connor listened to Hank's heartbeat, the steady rhythm comforting him. 

The silence made Connor realize how strained his systems actually were. His ventilation system picked up, trying its best to cool Connor off. To the lieutenant, it might look like he's breathing slightly swifter than usual.

"Alright," Hank was the first to pull away, patting Connor on the back and giving a quick smile. "Gonna go watch TV. Come on." He walked past Connor, walking towards the couch.

Staring at the lieutenant's back as he walked, it bothered Connor how it took effort to comprehend what he said. His LED cycled to yellow because of his concentration.

Connor followed shortly after, mind foggy. The older man turned his head to see the android approaching. Hank raised an eyebrow at Connor as he smirked, watching him walk closer to the couch.

"Thank god you washed eariler, you stunk." Hank teased, most likely overexaggerating for comedic affect. 

He felt so hot. He had to hold himself back from panting, systems desperate to cool down. 

Meeting Hank's eyes, Connor's gaze focused on the shot in Hank's hand. 

Must've gotten a drink while Connor washed up. The android stared at it from the end of the couch, gaze flickering between Hank and the shot glass. 

Hank's smile faded, knowing what Connor was thinking. "Get off my ass! You put me through enough damn stress today, I deserve a drink." He turned back to the TV, "TV on."

It flipped on, playing a rerun of a basketball game. "I didn't say anything," Connor teased back, going to sit down before realizing Hank had put extra pillows in his spot. There was none on Hank's side of the couch.

"I think you put too many pillows here," he observed.

"Eh, I just threw them over there." Hank shrugged, flipping to a different channel. He settled on a basketball game he hadn't been able to fully watch. 

Connor didn't reply, instead just slumping into the couch. He was careful not to irritate the damage. His normal perfect posture was nowhere to be found. 

Gazing at the TV, Connor noted the score of the game. 23-58. It wasn't looking good for the Gears. He would've searched the outcome of the game, if his processor wasn't working at the speed of a smartphone. 

The familiar scene brought comfort to Connor. A basketball game on, Hank complaining (and drinking) about said game, and, of course, Sumo laying nearby. The android relaxed into the sofa, releasing a soft exhale. Closing his eyes, he leaned his head slightly backwards. The weight of the day seemed to finally hit him, along with the feeling of his systems repairing his side. 

Hank glanced at Connor, his voice tinted with a hint of amusement, "You really that tired?"

Connor let his gaze move to Hank, processors slowing by milliseconds as he breathed deeper, cooling himself off. Normally, he would go on about how 'android's didn't get tired', but he couldn't bring himself to explain. He did feel exhausted.

His system was practically begging for stasis, having to work twice as hard to repair when he was conscious than if he was in stasis. Connor's temperature was higher because of the workload.

Taking a couple seconds longer than normal, "Yes." Connor answered tersely.

Hank's gaze softened. Admitting that he was tired was probably surprising to the lieutenant. "Should head t'bed then. No use forcing yourself to stay up."

Connor shook his head. His gaze fell to the TV, not actually paying attention to the game. "Comfortable," he mumbled out.

The lieutenant sat in silence, watching Connor with a mix of amusement and concern. 

A few seconds passed before Connor blinked and corrected himself, sitting up. "Apologies... I meant to say that it's comfortable out here." He turned his head to Hank. "I'd prefer to stay here. With you and Sumo. If that's alright." Connor composed himself, forcing himself to articulate every word precisely.

Scoffing, Hank raised an eyebrow at Connor's slip up. He shook his head in amusement. "'Kay," he relaxed into the couch, sipping his shot.

He 'watched' the game for around ten minutes. Sumo had curled up by Connor's feet, holding them down with a comforting pressure.

Although his best efforts to stay conscious, Connor slowly felt himself drift off into stasis. Hank had spoken to him, but he couldn't bring himself to listen. Giving a quiet hum of acknowledgement, he hoped it was an acceptable response.

He lasted another minute before he gave up on fighting it and leaned against the pillows. He allowed his eyes to flicker shut, LED a calm blue. 

He listened to the sound of squeaking shoes and soft curses as they faded into the background. Going over the events of the day, he went back to the lieutenant. How he cared—no matter how he showed it—for Connor. 

It was an odd feeling.

He didn't know how to be cared for. 

But, he decided as he lost consciousness - that he could learn.