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Plasma. Very hot gas, basically. Hydrogen, and helium; combinations of elements so far away from the Earth that even artificial intelligence can't really calculate how big the distance is.
Or, as the humans call them, stars.
Humans have given those far away suns a name, as they always do with all things. They seem to be so fond of them, for reasons Connor can't quite understand.
He's caught Hank looking at them before. He's seen his eyes wander over the vast expanse of the universe, almost as if he was looking for something up there.
It's almost three in the morning, and the world is quiet. So quiet that it's almost unsettling; Detroit never sleeps, but this far-away road in the suburbs does. Hank is holding his beer can in his right hand, but has long stopped drinking.
He's sat on a bench, in the middle of nowhere and almost completely burned on the left side. Two pairs of initials have been carved in its middle, held into an old heart; the artificial wood supports Hank's weight easily, uncaring of the scarce light barely casted on its guest.
Connor follows the direction of Hank's gaze, raising his eyes up at the dark sky above their heads. The neighborhood behind them is dark and silent; there's no noise coming from the houses, and even the wind seems to blow quietly among the few trees that surround them.
Connor asks briefly to himself if this is what humans fear. If this resembles the end, somehow; the lack of light, the lack of noise, an empty house in the distance and a half-burned old bench.
The light of the street lamp finally goes completely off.
Hank scoffs, a not-so-amused chuckle escaping his lips. “Of course”, he sarcastically says to himself, and raises his hand to bring the beer can to his mouth again.
“Lieutenant”, Connor calls, “I'd advice you to head back home. Your presence will be requested tomorrow at the police station, and I suggest you come to work sober and rested for once.”
Another light chuckle forces its way out of Hank's chest. “Getting sassy, huh?”
Connor only tilts his head. “Lieutenant-”
Hank sighs and cuts him off. “Shut up”, he says tiredly. He takes one last sip of his beer, emptying the tin can and abandoning it next to him.
Connor watches him curiously. He's completely used to his mannerisms by now, but he's never seen him look like this; there's something in his eyes that isn't rage and isn't sadness. Something that he just can't pinpoint, no matter how hard he tries.
He imagines it must be cold. It isn't snowing, but his sensors tell him that the temperature keeps lowering day by day; Hank is wearing warmer clothes, and the wind is blowing more frequently than usual. Connor distantly thinks that winter might be his favorite season.
He rests his lower back against the short wall that runs through the borders of the road, crossing his arms over his chest. He tilts his head again, deep brown eyes fixed on Hank.
“Can I ask you a personal question?”
Hank sighs, rolling his eyes so hard it's almost as if Connor can hear the movement. “Connor, we've been working together for months”, he grunts, “just fuckin' ask. You don't have to say that every time.”
Connor nods, but Hank already knows that he will do it again and again- maybe even consciously. He's a little shit.
“Why are you behaving so strangely today?” Connor asks, watching him with interest. “You're...quiet.”
Hank furrows his brows. “Quiet?” he repeats.
Connor blinks. “You're not grunting quite as often as you usually do”, he clarifies.
Hank curses under his breath, but there's fondness in his voice when he talks again. “What an asshole.”
“Lieutenant?” Connor insists, completely untouched by the insult.
Hank sighs, taking some time to himself before finally answering. “It's just”, he starts, and then stops.
Connor furrows his brows, concerned. He slowly walks to him, waiting for his nod before he sits down by his side.
“Are you even comfortable?” Hank grunts. “That side, it's- it's all...”
He sighs to himself, trailing off. “I'm too sober for this shit”, he mutters, apparently remembering just then that it's not like Connor can actually care about that.
The android just smiles.
“I'm very proud of you”, he says gently, changing the topic. “You've done much progress since the first time I've met you, lieutenant. I'd say your condition is actually getting better, and likely to improve even more over the next months.”
“Yeah, well”, Hank grumbles, “whose fault is that?”
Connor meets his eyes, blinking confusedly at him. “Fault?” he repeats.
Hank makes an exasperated noise. Connor lowers his eyes, lips opening slightly in a quiet display of confusion.
“I'm merely doing what I think is best for you, I-”
Hank puts his hand on his back, patting between his shoulders with fond exasperation. “It's okay, son”, he sighs, “it's okay. I just wish you'd let me buy more junk food, is all.”
Connor immediately raises his head once again. “Hank”, he scolds, “you know it's-”
Hank laughs, effectively cutting Connor off mid-sentence. “The only way to get you to call me by my name”, he comments, “the only one, see.”
Almost as an after-thought, he squeezes his shoulder affectionately. “You've done so much progress, as well”, he murmurs. He hesitates for a second. “Don't you ever regret not doing something else?”
Connor looks away for a second, distracted by a squirrel climbing up a tree. “Like what?” he asks.
Hank shrugs. “You could've stopped being a detective”, he offers. “Done something else. Taken a different path. You could have been...what is it that androids do these days...”
Connor does a quick research, his led light flicking for a few seconds. “An artist, or a chef, or an architect, or-”
Hank raises his hand, nodding quickly. “Yes. Shut up. Any of those things?”
Connor hesitates, finding himself unable to answer. “I- I wouldn't know what to do”, he says quietly. “This is...this is what I do. I don't think I could do anything else.”
Hank squeezes his shoulder again, and when Connor looks at him he finds his lips curved into a smile. “Of course you could”, he replies.
Connor lowers his head again. “Maybe I don't want to”, he adds, after a few seconds of silence. He meets Hank's eyes again, and smiles lightly as well.
Hank chuckles, looking up at the stars again. His softened-up expression changes slowly, his smile disappearing in favor of a nostalgic, longing look in his eyes. “Today was the day of Cole's death”, he simply mutters.
Connor blinks, his mouth opening in a little circle of surprise.
Hank sighs, shrugging to himself. “You two would've gotten along really well”, he murmurs. “I'm sure of that. He was...he was a smart child. But his head was always in the clouds, you know.”
He smiles a little, meeting Connor's eyes for a second before gazing up at the sky again. “Sometimes, you remind me of him.”
Connor remains silent, not knowing what to say. He watches Hank as he keeps looking at the stars, and the question is out of his mouth before he can even think about asking.
“What is it?” he asks, almost impatient. “What is it that you humans search for in the stars?”
Connor gazes up at the universe as well, narrowing his gaze to make shapes out of the far-away lights. “Constellations, legends...even those zodiac signs. It's ridiculous. Why are you so...so fond of them?”
Hank scoffs, a tiny, amused chuckle finding its way out of his mouth again. “I know. Bullshit, really”, he laughs quietly. He sighs, shrugging lighty. “I don't know, kid. Maybe we search for...answers.”
“There is no answer up there”, Connor rationalizes. “It's just gas. Hydrogen and helium.”
He shrugs to himself, almost mirroring Hank's action a few seconds before. “The whole universe is going to disappear”, he adds. “No point in trying to find...something among the stars.
He takes a deep breath, gazing at the sky with burning determination. “It's just-”
For the first time, Connor really looks at it. At the night, starry sky above his head, with all those shining lights that somehow seem so big, so many, so beautiful.
He can find them all. The Ursa Major and the Ursa Minor; Orion, and Andromeda, and Auriga and Cassiopea and then-
Hank chuckles. “Lost your breath?” he teases fondly.
And Connor can't quite believe it. He has no breath; no oxygen to need, no air to let in and out, nothing to lose at all.
But, he has.
His breath has caught in his throat, somewhere between his voice synthesizer and his artificial heart; somewhere under that coin he's so fond of and above his head so carefully built by his creators.
Somewhere among the stars.
“I think”, Hank says quietly, “that maybe stars could, you know. Not be just stars. That they may be something else.”
“Someone else?” Connor supplies.
Hank tilts his head, looking at him with surprise clear in his gaze. “Yeah”, he nods, suddenly breathless. “You...”
“I could be an astronomer”, Connor offers quietly, still taking in all the incredible beauty of the universe. His mouth opens slightly, and his eyes widen like never before.
He can feel his heart skip a beat. Which is stupid and impossible, because his heart is not an heart, it's just a machine inside another machine simulating an heart that could never be inside Connor's artificial chest-
“But I don't want to”, he adds, meeting Hank's eyes again. He swallows, feeling his heart swell in his chest; feeling it jump to his troath and back again, skipping beats and flipping right and left in his ribcage. “I just don't, Hank. I don't want to”, he murmurs, and his voice breaks.
Under all these stars, he feels alive. Hank's hand ruffles his hair, and Connor lets out a weird sobbing noise that he's never, ever made before; his face splits into a sincere, confused smile.
Hank smiles as well, and Connor is finally alive.