Work Text:
That morning, hugging Hank in the stillness and peace of the dawn, silence had seemed like the most beautiful sound. Now, nineteen hours later, there is no silence to be found.
Even from his position on the couch he can hear Hank's soft snores from the bedroom, and at his feet Sumo is also snoring. The latter is interspersed with the sound of him chewing and wagging his tail against the floor as he dreamed.
No, it certainly isn't a quiet house — and Connor couldn't be happier.
He closes his eyes and recalls the sound of Hank's voice, asking him if he wanted to stay. Or maybe ask is the wrong word — he had turned to head home, glancing back when he noticed Connor wasn't following him. 'Come on, I'm freezing my ass off here,' he'd said. 'Let's go home already.'
That had been a beautiful, beautiful sound — especially coming from Hank's lips. Home..
There's nothing beautiful or good about the half-strangled yell that cuts through his memories and has him sprinting to the bedroom.
He bursts in through the door — it's not closed, just partly drawn shut, so his momentum makes it bang up against the wall.
Hank is sitting up in the bed, alone. A quick scan reveals an accelerated heartbeat, but everything else seems to be fine.
"Jesus Christ, Connor. What's with you and breaking my stuff?! First the window and now the door."
"It's not actually broken," Connor points out.
"Yeah, yeah," Hank grumbles. "Maybe not the door, but damn near me. Gonna give me a fucking heart attack if you keep charging into here as if the place is on fire."
"Sorry, but I heard you scream. I didn't think, I just..."
He'd just acted. The realization of that fact is jarring; it goes so completely against all that he was meant to be. But he doesn't have the be the coldly analytical and detached machine they created him to be, right? Hank had taught him that. So maybe it's okay.
"C'mere," Hank says, softly. He scoots over and pats the bed in a clear invitation.
Connor sits down on the very edge, careful to not overstep any boundaries.
"No, come on, make yourself comfortable. It's not like you were sleeping anyway, right?"
"No, I wasn't," Connor replies, as he mimics the way Hank is sitting — back leaning against the headboard, legs stretched out on the bed.
"I can't imagine not being able to just shut off after a long, shitty day."
"I can sleep, in a way. It's not exactly the same as humans, but it's a fairly close approximation."
It's dark, but he can still make out Hank's features this close. He raises an eyebrow as he stares at Connor. "Then why did you stay awake?"
"I was just enjoying the sounds of..." he trails off, uncertain whether to end with 'a home' or 'the house'. Hank might not have meant to imply any deeper meaning by using that word, so Connor probably doesn't have the right to use it.
But — but Hank is looking at him, patient and warm. Connor decides to take the chance.
"The sounds of a home," he finishes.
Hank lets out a snort. "Like what? Sumo pretending to be a sawmill?"
Connor smiles. "He wasn't the only one."
"Hey, hey, hey! I do not snore."
"Whatever you say, Hank."
Hank makes a face, clearly not pleased with that answer. "Still," he says after a moment, "regardless of what you thought you heard, I'm sorry for interrupting if you were enjoying it."
"It's okay, I don't mind." It's true, but deep down he also hopes that he'll get many more chances to just sit and listen.
He hesitates briefly, before daring to ask. "Bad dream?"
"Uh, yeah." Hank looks away.
If it had seemed as if it was something painful, like a nightmare about the past, Connor would have let it go. But every aspect of Hank's body language points towards him being embarrassed about it. And that? That he is willing to push and prod at.
"What about?"
"What difference does it make?" Hank snaps.
"It'll make you feel better to talk about it," Connor teases.
"Oh, you can be such a complete ass. You know damn well it's nothing like that."
Connor shifts closer in order to bump their arms together. "So tell me."
"If you laugh, so help me..."
"I won't, I won't."
"Fine," Hank says, sighing. "I was dreaming about us investigating that one android, the one with all the fucking birds. Only this time it wasn't him who dropped down from the ceiling, but this giant murderous pigeon."
Connor is very, very careful to keep his face completely blank. But it apparently doesn't fool Hank for a second. "I told you not to laugh!"
"I'm not laughing."
"You're laughing on the inside, goddammit. Don't think I can't tell."
Connor allows the grin to break free. "Okay, okay. Sorry."
"Ornithophobia is no joke, lemme tell you. But I know fear is still a foreign concept for you."
Connor frowns. "It's not. I know what it's like to be scared."
"Oh?"
"When we were at CyberLife."
Hank grimaces. "I wouldn't have shot you, Connor. I know I messed up big time mistaking that bastard for you, but I wasn't about to do it a second time."
"No," Connor says, shaking his head. "I knew that. I trusted you completely. I meant I was scared that I'd lose you. Terrified that I'd get to watch my mirror image — the creature I once was — kill you right in front of me without being able to stop it from happening."
Hank is silent for a long, long time. "You did stop it, though. You chose me over the revolution; chose me over every single one of your fellow androids. That's... that's really something, Connor."
"No, you're wrong. It was the easiest decision I've ever made."
Hank's fingers brush against his, just the softest of touches. Connor looks down, and silently watches as Hank presses their hands together.
He probably doesn't realize it, but it's as intimate a touch as there can be for androids — it's the way you'd touch each other if you wanted to share memories.
Then Connor looks up at Hank, and realizes that holding hands might mean a lot to humans, too.
He watches as Hank's gaze slowly moves from his eyes to stare at his lips. Without really meaning to Connor opens his mouth slightly, just a tiny movement, but it's apparently enough to have an impact on Hank. He starts to lean forward, eyes drifting shut, and...
The bed shifts violently as Sumo jumps up.
"Sumo, get down!" Hank snatches his hand away and pushes at the intruder. Sumo, however, seems to think his owner is welcoming him and lies down. He's lying straight over Connor's legs, but that clearly doesn't seem to bother him. The bed creaks alarmingly under the added 170 pounds.
Hank tips his head back, slamming it against the headboard a couple of times.
Connor reaches out and gently pets Sumo, smiling as he begins to wag his tail.
He can feel Hank staring at him. "You really do like dogs, huh?" he asks, voice quiet and fond.
"Yeah."
"Well, good. Because once he's up you can't get him off."
Connor risks a glance back at Hank. He's lying back down on the bed, clearly getting ready to go back to sleep.
"Then I guess I'm staying here tonight." There's a myriad of feelings within him as he says those words, each one fighting for dominion.
"Yep. Night, Connor."
"Good night, Hank."