Chapter Text
It started simply enough.
When Connor realized he had nowhere to go after the successful uprising (and subsequent failure of the entire reason for his existence), the solution had been, he’d rationalized, obvious: Go to the police station. It had stasis stations for its androids that he could surely use until he figured something out.
Then the problems had been obvious.
Primarily, he technically no longer belonged to the Detroit Police. Likely, his access to the station had been revoked the day prior. He would not be allowed inside.
Problem one.
Problem two immediately followed that realization: CyberLife was also not an option, given his actions in the past forty-eight hours. It should have been a safe choice, but…
Connor studied his hesitation and found that he didn’t trust CyberLife not to deactivate him while he was in stasis. It was why he was recalled in the first place, after all. Still, the fact that he now had a newfound distrust of CyberLife was… surprising?
“Jesus, I can hear those cogs in your heading turning.”
Though he knew it was a saying, Connor said, “I don’t have cogs in my head, Lieutenant. That isn’t how androids operate.”
Hank, sitting next to him at the bar, snorted into his drink–his second of the night so far (yes, Connor was keeping count, because depending on the number of drinks his–friend?--ingested, he was either going to have to carry Hank out of the bar or get to say a simple goodnight as they went their separate ways.
Because they would, wouldn’t they, after this? Go their separate ways? They were no longer coworkers, partners. Hank seemed to like Connor now, but without the pretense of a mission tying them together, Connor didn’t know that Hank would want to see him again after all this. The thought caused a slight – tremor, in his programming. It was the best way he knew how to describe it.
Markus would have called it an emotion. Connor still wasn’t convinced he had them, deviant though he was.)
The bar was modestly full for a Thursday night. A human waitress flitted between tables, managing a heavy tray full of drinks and bar food with ease, while in the corner the television was silently playing the rerun of President Warren’s address to the nation regarding the android uprising. Everyone glanced at it, some stared at it for longer, even though they’d all seen it multiple times by that point. Humans seemed to process major events by rewatching the news sometimes, Connor had noted, and they often used that as a jumping off point to talk to strangers.
It was one way in which he differed from humans. He saw the news once, processed it, and only spoke about it if it pertained to his mission. Could he learn that instinct, that second nature of simply talking to someone about nothing and everything?
“Spit it out, kid,” Hank said, roughly nudging Connor with an elbow. He felt the pressure point and his system responded in kind: An elbow jab was a friendly move between two people, meant to tease, annoy.
Hank was being a friend.
Connor considered his options. “I’m considering where I’m going to stay now,” he said at length. Distantly, he noted his voice was… quiet? Subdued. He was subdued.
Hank shifted in his seat and Connor could tell, somehow, that the man was staring at him. “They didn’t give you a fancy apartment or something with those slick clothes?”
Sometimes, Hank’s–humanness–made Connor trip over his programming. (It was an aching feeling. But he was–not afraid, not afraid, but–reticent, to call it as such.)
“I have no need for an apartment,” Connor said with a slight shrug. “I stayed at CyberLife when we were not on duty.”
“Right,” Hank said with a resigned sigh. “And now you can’t, because…”
They both glanced at the television. The replay of the address had ended, and now it was on to the replay of the news endlessly picking it apart, analysts arguing over what it all meant, what came next.
Connor had helped to facilitate that. He still knew, down to his core, that it was the right choice.
But where did that leave him now?
“And you can’t get a hotel,” Hank continued, in the tones of a man who was slowly putting a puzzle together and not entirely liking the picture it made. “Because you don’t get paid.”
Because before everything, Connor wasn’t considered a person. Only a machine designed to do a task. Machines didn’t get paid.
“Ah, fuck,” Hank sighed, running a hand down his face.
Deciding that Hank needed some reassurance, Connor put a light note into his voice. Humans considered that a good sign. “I don’t really need to go into stasis yet,” he said. “I have some time before it becomes required. I can…”
He could… what? Wander the city? Go back to Markus’ new place in the camp, where he and his allies had set up in order to figure out their next moves? It was his best option, but despite everything, Connor didn’t consider himself a part of their movement either. Not after everything he’d done to stop them at every turn until the very end.
Would they even welcome the Deviant Hunter?
“Fuck’s sake,” Hank said. “Get that goofy ass mopey look off your face. You can stay with me, until…”
Connor waited, but Hank didn’t finish his thought. There was no way to finish it.
“I don’t want to impose,” Connor said when the silence had gone on for a minute and forty-two seconds. “You’ve done a lot for me already.”
“Have I?” Hank muttered into his cup. Connor wasn’t certain if it was a question that he needed to answer, and while he was trying to decide, the bartender came over to them.
“Hank, buddy,” the woman said, and Connor, without meaning to, brought up what he could find from her in the public files. Martha Lockhart, DOB 3/10/1990, no criminal history. She was a short, stocky woman with dyed black hair and blue eyes with deep crow’s feet at the edges.
He knew that meant she laughed and smiled often, and indeed, Martha was smiling at Hank even now, though with a hint of exasperation.
“You know Jimmy doesn’t let androids in here,” Martha said. She didn’t look at Connor while she spoke, yet he also didn’t detect any hostility in her body language. She was simply a woman doing her job. “I’ve let you stay as long as I can, but any longer and he’ll probably chew my ass out over it.”
“Yeah, right,” Hank said with another sigh. He finished his beer and set the cup aside. “Thanks, Martha. Have a good night.”
“You too,” Martha said, her smile growing wider.
Later, Connor would consider this interaction, study it carefully. He would remember the way Hank lingered at the bar, smiling back at Martha, and the way his gaze followed after her while she walked away, noting how his eyes fell to her swaying hips.
But for now, Connor merely stood up with Hank and followed the other man out. It was nighttime, with a brittle temperature of 32° though no windchill, with snow falling gently from the cloudy sky. Hank’s breath fogged in the air; Connor had no such effect.
“Don’t be stubborn about it,” Hank said as he shrugged back into his jacket and zipped it up. “Just shut up and get in the car.”
Then he paused, wincing, and said, “If… you want to. That wasn’t an order. I mean–Jesus–I don’t want to order you to do something you don’t want to do. But you need a place to stay, and I have a couch, though you’ll probably have to fight Sumo for it, and you’ll get dog hair on your fancy clothes. But it’s open to you. If you want it.”
Hank shifted on his feet, uncharacteristically nervous, and Connor felt himself smile without thinking.
“Thank you, Hank.”
And then, because he knew Hank needed the comedic break, he said, “But I have no wish to fight Sumo. He would overpower me easily.”
The laugh that Hank gave sounded almost startled, like he hadn’t expected Connor to joke, or that he would find it funny. He shook his head.
“Get in the car, dumbass. And it’s not like it’s permanent. Just until you get back on your feet.”
“Of course, Lieutenant.”
Robophobic tweeted
To all the androids and robofuckers out there…
What comes next? You've been "freed"
You're on your own
Awesome. Wow.
Do you have a clue what happens now?
Libby 🐱
Bro. A Hamilton ref? Seriously?
Andrew THE ARCTIC BELONGS TO THE INUK
Ignore the dude, Libby, he’s on the wrong side of history, pretty much like the dude he referenced.
Robophobic
Go back to fucking your full size fleshlight, dickwad.
Andrew THE ARCTIC BELONGS TO THE INUK
Wow, what a comeback.
It ended up being somewhat permanent, without either man entirely intending it to happen.
A revolution happened slowly, then all at once, and then slowly once again. Change came piece by piece. December passed, with no real progress being made on any front, because the politicians went home for the holidays and everything in Washington ground to a halt. 2038 became 2039, and when the politicians returned, the arguments began.
One party, of course, wanted the status quo to return, just with additional protections for androids. The other wanted to move forward with legally recognizing androids as sentient, intelligent, self-aware beings, with all that entailed. Lobbyists argued about the effects on the stock market; analysts argued about the effects on politics and the world at large; podcasters gave their thoughts on everything to anyone who would listen, some against android freedom, some for.
“Connor, I haven’t even had coffee yet,” Hank called from the kitchen. “For the love of God, can you turn it off, please?”
Beside him on the couch, Sumo’s tail thumped once, but the dog didn’t bother to move his head from Connor’s thigh. The journalists on the television continued their heated debate about androids and their future. Connor reached for the remote–because of course Hank had an old television that wasn’t voice activated–and, instead of turning it completely off, simply muted it.
(It was a decision to slightly disobey Hank. It was almost a game, sometimes. Hank did his best not to accidentally order Connor to do something, and Connor sometimes did what he wanted, just because he could. Besides, this was Connor’s future the journalists were discussing, so he deemed it slightly unfair for Hank to ask him to shut it off entirely.)
Seven months and two weeks had passed since Connor had unofficially moved in with Hank. To say it had been an adjustment was inaccurate. At first, Hank had moved uncertainly around Connor, unused to another person being in his home again. More than once, Connor had accidentally startled Hank by standing in nearly pitch darkness when the other man had gotten up to use the bathroom in the middle of the night. Twice, he’d nearly punched Connor, thinking he was an intruder.
After the fifth night of accidentally scaring Hank, Connor no longer stood around in the dark. This, he reflected, was what being a roommate meant: Compromise. When sharing a space with someone else, both parties had to change certain things to make cohabitation comfortable for everyone involved.
Sumo, of course, got to keep the couch, as Connor had no need for sleep. He still occasionally laid on the furniture, though, as Sumo seemed to consider himself a lap dog, and he enjoyed splaying out on Connor’s body, like he was a bed himself. Connor didn’t mind in the least.
(The CIA couldn’t waterboard the information out of Hank, but one morning he’d found Connor in stasis mode with Sumo lying on top of him, and it had been… almost cute. Almost what should have been in a different world, had his son lived to Connor’s physical age. The thought should have made him angry and melancholic; instead, it only hurt for a moment before the worst of it passed.)
Somehow, they figured things out. Some mornings Connor started coffee for Hank. Sometimes Hank offered to let Connor join him on his morning walks–which he’d grudgingly started after his doctor got on to him one too many times about his unhealthy habits. “I won’t fucking run unless something’s chasing me or I’m chasing it… but I s’pose I can walk,” he’d grumbled more than once.
All the while, Connor’s legal status remained up in the air. He didn’t return to the police force with Hank, who only continued working because he was two years from retirement anyway, and “someone needs to make money so Sumo can keep the life he’s used to.”
Which left Connor alone most days, and… restless. Uncertain.
What did a person do without a clearly defined purpose or mission? If they asked Connor, the past few months of his existence–his life–wouldn’t have given them much of an answer. He read. (He liked mystery novels, to Hank’s eternal confusion.) He watched movies. (He liked musicals. Hank had given up trying to understand at that point.)
He watched the news. He went outside and simply walked, taking in his surroundings, in the ways the world was changing and pulling him along with it.
He realized, some way into his new normal, that he had no idea what to do with the rest of his life. What was he without his mission? Without being the Deviant Hunter?
It was a question for which he still hadn’t found an answer.
The sound of Sumo’s food falling into his metal bowl filled the silence instead of the television. Connor expected the dog to make a mad dash for the kitchen like usual, but he didn’t move.
Frowning, he stroked Sumo’s ears, his tactile program registering the softness of his fur, the warmth of his flesh. They were hotter than normal. He didn’t know what that meant.
“So,” Hank said as he came into the living room with a mug. There was no room for him on the couch, so instead he stood, leaning against the doorframe. “Another day of sitting around and watching the news?”
There was no rancor in his tone, only a slight needling. Connor kept his gaze on Sumo. “I thought I would visit the park,” he said. “There’s a farmer’s market happening. I thought it would be… interesting to go.”
“Uh huh,” Hank said. “You’re going to buy me some rabbit food.”
He had, in fact, been thinking about spending some of his new allowance on fresh food for Hank.
“I’m givin’ you that allowance to spend on yourself,” Hank said, his tone becoming uncomfortable but also firm. “Not on me, and not on broccoli. I don’t need a maid or a mommy.”
Used as he was to Hank’s prickliness, Connor merely gave him a glance over the back of the couch. “I have what I require.”
“Yeah, but what about what you want?”
“I don’t know.” It came out sharper than he’d intended. He’d meant it as a simple statement of fact. Instead, his voice was… annoyed. Defensive.
Sumo let out a quiet breath of air, then slowly got up away from Connor, seeming to decide that whatever was going on with him and Hank was interrupting his relaxation. He moved off the couch and settled on the rug instead.
An awkward pause passed between him and Hank. Connor wouldn’t describe himself as flailing, exactly, but he was trying to find a way to break the tension and coming up short and that just led to him being more annoyed–no, he wasn’t annoyed, he couldn’t feel emotions, not like humans, not like that–
“Okay,” Hank said easily. “I’ll go with you. It’s not miserably hot out yet. Might be nice.”
He came around the couch and scratched Sumo’s head. “You wanna go with us, boy? Work off some of those pounds Jackie said you gained?”
Sumo’s tail thumped against the floor, but otherwise, the dog didn’t move.
“Yeah, that’s the choice I’d make if I didn’t have this pain in the ass reminding me to stay healthy,” Hank said, and Connor heard the affection in his tone. Not just for Sumo, but… for him, too.
His programming righted itself. Whatever–irritation–he’d felt calmed a little.
“Thank you, Hank.”
Hank merely waved a lazy hand as he went off to get properly dressed, leaving Connor to wonder how the other man could see what he needed when he couldn’t see it himself.
Katie tweeted
Ugh, this article is so annoying. Of course guys think sex with androids is better. They don’t have to put any effort into making sure the other party gets off or even has a decent time.
Taryn replied
It’s just so frustrating. How hard is it to talk to another human being and make sure you’re both having a good time? Why is it that guys only care about getting their rocks off?
Zack relied
Lol hard
Taryn replied
🙄
Michael Impeach Warren 2k39 replied
Not all guys are like that and its not like women aren’t lining up to fuck robots too. Y’all are just as responsible for this.
Katie replied
Maybe we wouldn’t be looking for comfort in androids if men actually put in some effort. But we all know that’s asking way too much of you, right?
By human standards, it was a pleasant morning, bright and sunny with a light breeze. The market was packed as a result, the air full of voices and the sizzle from the food trucks that were part of the event.
Some people gave Connor wary or unfriendly looks, others ignored him, and he found he was… okay with it? Resigned to it? Change didn’t happen overnight, and just because androids had won their freedom, it didn’t always change things for everyone.
It was after the fifth booth worker ignored him that Connor realized Hank had kept close to him the entire time. Almost as if the older man were protecting him.
As they walked to a less crowded part of the park, Connor made certain to keep his voice neutral as he said, “I can take care of myself, Hank. You don’t need to worry.”
“I’m not,” Hank said, so quickly that Connor knew it was a lie without having to look at the man and catalog his tells. “I’m makin’ sure you don’t buy–I don’t know–cauliflower or some shit.”
Connor considered the bag in his hand. He had pushed the limits of Hank’s tolerance as much as he could. Cauliflower would have simply been insulting at that point.
For whatever reason–Connor wouldn’t be able to explain why, necessarily–a flash of blonde caught his attention. A woman sat at a bench beyond the end of the market, a book open in her hand, blonde hair moving gently in the breeze. Connor focused on the book’s cover and saw it was one he had read recently, an older title in a long crime series by a female Canadian author. It had been a good novel, structurally and technically, and he had… enjoyed it.
The woman seemed to pay no mind to the world around her, lost in her book.
He felt Hank’s elbow in his side again and stumbled slightly, righting himself almost immediately, giving the other man a questioning look.
The grin on Hank’s face was unusual, not one he saw often. Connor didn’t know what to make of it.
“She’s cute, huh?”
The question didn’t immediately compute for him–until it did, and Connor realized Hank had noticed his attention focusing on the woman and her book.
“I’m unable to comment on whether someone is attractive,” Connor said, training his gaze down on his feet, on the bag, anywhere but Hank or the woman. “Beauty is subjective, and while I can judge whether someone is cute by a certain set of factors–”
“Wow,” Hank said drily. “You’re a regular Casanova. Don’t talk like that to anyone you want to, uh… be with.”
We are not having this conversation, Connor thought to himself. He had considered all his options, every path the conversation could take, and he had decided, quite firmly, no. Negative. Denial.
“She looks kinda like that Chloe that asshole Kamski had,” Hank noted. “You should go talk to her.”
“No,” Connor said, wanting to stop the conversation and its many possible trails in its tracks.
“C’mon, kid, what could it hurt? You should make some friends. I’m not saying you need to go over and make out or… whatever it is you guys do, but–”
“What would we talk about?” Connor said, irritation rising in his voice. “I don’t know her and she doesn’t know me.”
“That’s the point of talking, Connor,” Hank said.
They seemed to reach an impasse in their conversation. Hank’s gaze drifted to a booth in the opposite direction and, with a sigh, he said, “I’m going to go get some more stuff. Be right back.”
Connor watched him leave. He knew it was a trick of Hank’s, to leave him alone and see what he would do next. (But he was also buying eggs, which Connor noted as being a food Hank wasn’t allowed to eat.)
Walking into CyberLife to wake up the androids and aid Markus’ cause had been easier than walking over to the woman on the bench. And yet, somehow, Connor did it. Maybe it was loneliness that made him eventually move. Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe he just wanted to show Hank that he was trying, in some way, to figure out his life, that he wasn’t hopeless, that he could be something close to human.
Whatever it was, Connor made his way over to the bench, his shadow falling over the woman’s open page.
He stood for a second, another second, then five more, considering his conversational options, when the woman looked up with an annoyed line between her brow.
“Help you with something?”
Distantly, Connor noted her tone and body language said she wanted him to go away, but he forged on. “Are you… enjoying your book?”
The woman blinked. “Uh… yeah. I am. A lot, really, and I’d like to get back to it.”
“I finished it some months ago,” Connor continued, even as his programming told him it was an unwise decision, that the woman was very clearly not interested in a conversation. “I liked the scene–”
The woman sighed, placed a bookmark between the pages, and began gathering her bag. “Look, I don’t know what you’re getting at, if you’re trying to get me to come over for your owner over there–” She nodded her head towards Hank, who was still at the booth. “But I’m gay. I’m just sitting here because I have a bad back and my girlfriend is shopping the market right now. And you’re an android, and I know everyone’s all big on how you guys feel emotions and whatever these days, but we both know you really don’t. So you didn’t ‘like’ anything, did you? You don’t know how.”
She stood, shouldered her bag, and walked away, leaving Connor to think over her words. There was too much to examine.
But I do know how, Connor thought. At least, I think I do.
He heard and recognized Hank’s footsteps before he joined Connor at his side. After a second, Hank put a hand on Connor’s shoulder in a comforting way.
“Sorry, Connor,” Hank said. “Didn’t call that one right. It’s been a while since I’ve been out on the scene, and–you know what, never mind, you don’t need to know that. Let’s go home.”
At the time, Connor merely nodded and followed Hank home like a good little android. But later, he would consider Hank’s words and put them in a file next to other similar things he had observed about Hank.
Something close to human… but not quite.
“So,” Hank said slowly, “you’re telling me I’m gonna spend over a thousand dollars to find out that Sumo is being a picky eater?”
The veterinarian, Jackie, smiled widely. “Yep. Lucky you.”
Hank gazed down at Sumo with resigned affection. “You son of a bitch,” he said.
It had been two days since their outing to the farmer’s market. Two days since they’d come home to find Sumo hadn’t touched his food and was acting unusually lethargic. Sunday came, and Sumo nibbled at his food but didn’t eat all of it, and he ignored Hank when he tried to play fetch. The clinic wasn’t open on Sundays, so they’d had to wait until Monday to take Sumo in.
All to be told that Sumo, who’d been put on a special diet, was protesting this change in his life by simply refusing to eat the food at all.
Jackie laughed brightly, and Connor immediately noted the way Hank’s gaze went back to her, a corner of his mouth lifting in a smile. Jackie–Jacqueline Medford, DOB 5/31/1989, no criminal history–was a tall woman, nearly of a height with Hank, with short brown hair cut close to her scalp and hazel eyes. If Connor were to judge her features by a certain metric, she was an attractive woman, perhaps more handsome than beautiful by human standards.
Hank certainly seemed to think as much, if his body language was any clue.
He leaned closer to Jackie over Sumo, hand absently stroking the dog’s back as his tail made a happy beat against the linoleum floor. His pupils were dilated, and they were focused on the long line of Jackie’s throat.
Connor–who had come along to the vet visit because he didn’t want to wait until Hank returned for answers–noted this, and somehow, it was like a final piece of a puzzle he hadn’t realized he’d been putting together finally slid into place, and he could see the entire thing.
Hank was a man of a certain age. He was divorced and his social life consisted entirely of Connor and Jimmy’s. He would often stare at a woman, occasionally a man, he found attractive, but he never initiated any conversation.
Hank was lonely. Hank still desired companionship outside of platonic friendship.
Connor wasn’t sure how he hadn’t noticed it before.
“--Of course, we can try a different food, and just switch between the new food and his old favorite until he gets used to the new one. We have some new healthy treats he might like…”
Connor waited until an appropriate break in Jackie’s instructions to say, “Perhaps you could make a house visit to check up on him in… a week?”
Jackie fell silent, looking at Connor in surprise, and Hank rose his brow. “I don’t know that it’s necessary,” Jackie said, her voice neutral. “He’s in good health otherwise. Not that I don’t enjoy our conversations, Hank,” Jackie said, giving Hank a sidelong, amused glance. “But I don’t think we need to meet at your house to have them when there isn’t any need.”
She’s interested in return, Connor decided. “The journey to the clinic stressed Sumo out,” he said, though the trip had done no such thing. Sumo was universally loved at the clinic and the dog knew it. Going to the vet was a chance for extra treats. “A check up at home may help with that.”
“Connor,” Hank said, and something in his tone made Connor think he’d been too obvious in his attempt. “Sumo will be fine. He’s just a grumpy old fuck like me who doesn’t like change.”
Hank was usually good at knowing what Connor was trying to do and helping him with it. Why was he being difficult now?
“Thanks again, Jackie,” Hank said, and before Connor could do anything else, they finished their business and Jackie was back out the exam room door.
Hank turned to Connor and raised a brow, expectant and waiting.
“I only want what’s best for Sumo,” Connor said.
“Uh huh.”
The back door to the exam room opened again, and a vet assistant that hadn’t been with Jackie before came in, smiling broadly. Her name tag said LIBBY with paw prints in front and at the end of the name.
“There’s my favorite patient!” Libby said, kneeling down to let Sumo excitedly lick her face.
“Don’t listen to her, Sumo,” Hank said. “She says that to all her patients.”
Libby covered Sumo’s ears. “Because they’re all my favorite patients,” she said in a stage whisper. Then her dark brown eyes went over to Connor, and he saw her note the LED at his temple, and knew what would likely come next: A pause of surprise that Hank had an android, maybe discomfort, maybe she wouldn’t care at all and simply ignore him. Maybe she’d say hello and be nice enough, but that would be it. Most humans hadn’t varied from those reactions, as Connor had experienced it.
What came next was a surprise.
Her smile broadened, showing off a dimple in her cheek. “Hi! I don’t think I’ve met you? Mr. Anderson’s usually here alone.”
Stymied by this response, Connor didn’t immediately react. After seven seconds of silence, Hank stepped forward slightly.
“This is Connor, uh… just Connor. He’s staying with me for a while.”
Libby accepted this with an ease that seemed odd to Connor. “I’m Libby. Nice to meet you.” She held out her hand to Connor, who took it with his customary firm handshake. Something like amusement flashed in Libby’s eyes as she returned it with a firm hold of her own. Her hand was cold and the skin was dry from handwashing between patients.
The impression of it shouldn’t have stayed with Connor after they let go, but it did.
“Nice… to meet you as well,” Connor finally managed to say.
Sumo chose that moment to lick Libby’s ear, and the giggle she let out ended in a snort that Connor hadn’t heard a woman make before. “Okay, okay, someone’s jealous we’re not paying attention to him. Will a treat make it better?”
As Libby got out the treat jar, Connor became aware of Hank watching him with an amused expression. Unable to figure out what was amusing to him, Connor looked away back to Libby, his gaze following her hand as she made Sumo sit for his treat. They got the bill for the visit, and Libby saw them out with a cheerful, “Have a great day, you two!”
Hank didn’t say a word about it until they’d stepped out of the clinic. “So–”
“It’s good that Sumo isn’t ill,” Connor said, hoping to bypass whatever it was Hank was about to say. “I can monitor his feedings while you’re gone–”
“She was cute, huh, Connor?”
Sometimes, Connor reflected, he wondered if deactivation wouldn’t have been the better fate for him after all.