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“Hank,” Connor greets as soon as the man walks in the door, “I believe I’ve found an alternative to your nightly habits of drinking at the bar as well as at home.”
He’s at least seventy-percent sure this will work if Hank agrees. He’s run the calculations over and over again in his mind just to ascertain it.
Hank stares, though. Connor believes the look to be incredulity, bordering on utter disbelief. So far, so good it seems.
“Is that fucking Snakes and Ladders?”
Connor tilts his head, appraising Hank as he slowly shuts the door behind him and settles back on his haunches; the coffee table is clear of the usual magazines and beers save and wiped down as well, if only to encourage Hank with the clear environment.
Connor smiles as Hank approaches slowly to squint at it.
“It is indeed, Hank. Care to play?”
“You thought this was… an alternative to drinking?” Hank asks slowly.
Connor nods immediately. “Yes. It is similar to a bar, isn’t it? A nice, friendly atmosphere with calming activities.”
Hank stares a bit more. “’A nice, friendly atmosphere’,” he repeats, even slower, “’with calming activities’…” A pause. Then Hank suddenly moves past, waving a hand. “No thanks.”
Connor frowns. He looks at the game. Looks at Hank as he enters the kitchen. Looks back at the game then looks at Sumo. “I don’t understand,” he says, confused, to the dog.
Sumo gives a low whine in response.
“How about a different board game, Hank?” Connor ambushes him at work this time. He’s holding Scrabble to Hank’s face with a hopeful smile. “Perhaps Snakes and Ladders is too boring for you. Might I suggest Scrabble instead? It will stimulate the mind and surely give you an enriching experience equivalent to a night at the bar.”
Hank’s jaw drops momentarily. He looks… shocked, to say the least. A step up from last night, perhaps: Hank isn’t treating it with indifference.
“An ‘enriching equivalent’…?” Hank laughs then. Connor’s certain this is a situation where Hank is laughing with him and not at him. He’d been explained the difference by Gavin. “I can’t believe some of the shit that comes out of your mouth sometimes, Connor.”
Connor frowns. “My oral cavities don’t have the function to produce human faeces.”
“Oh my—,” Hank starts, slapping his palm to his forehead, before sighing heavily. “Alright. C’mon. Homicide, Connor.”
“Truly?” Connor looks down at the board game, wilting a little.
“Later, Connor.” Hank picks up a bunch of files and waves it at him. “Potential homicides? Does that tickle your mission-senses?”
“Alright,” Connor says, and sets Scrabble down on his desk.
“I swear you’re raiding my old cabinet for all these games,” Hank says, sighing heavily as soon as he sees Battleship set up on the kitchen table.
“I am,” Connor starts to say, before pausing. Would it be displeasing for Hank to know the truth? He adds, “…not?”
Hank snorts out a laugh. Connor had expected him to be angry. “You gotta cut that shit out, Connor. Didn’t anyone tell you not to go rifling through a lonely guy’s drawers just in case you find somethin’ weird?”
“No,” Connor responds, then tilts his head. “You’re the first to tell me. Was I supposed to find something strange?”
“I—,” Hank starts, the smile freezing a bit on his face before he lets out a defeated sigh. “Nah, nevermind.” He seems like he’s going to leave again and something in Connor sinks at the thought. However, he moves to sit down instead, staring at the game. “What’s got you diggin’ through my shit anyway?”
“I thought it would be best to find an alternative to—”
“’A night at the bar’, yeah, yeah,” Hank waves a hand though he seems amused. “You realize this doesn’t really equal getting shit-faced, right?”
“Perhaps,” Connor says, and his words come out quiet. There’s this—abnormality in his system. Nervousness? “I thought it would be better because you would feel better, Hank. Having fun seems a good option to take over being so inebriated you spend at least two hours each morning after in the bathroom.”
“Yeah, well…” Hank looks away. He takes a plastic ship twixt his thumb and forefinger and examines it. There’s a strange expression on his face. “Why’d you go with board games? Wouldn’t it be easier to just throw some fancy computer shit at me? Like, fuck, I dunno—those virtual reality games all the kids are into these days?”
“You’re a millennial by my records, Hank.” Connor smiles faintly. “I thought it prudent to stick with games that are familiar to you as you grew up and that perhaps it would bring up fond memories.”
Hank stays silent for a moment and Connor feels that flutter grow a bit more in his chest cavity. This—nervousness is not a good emotion to deal with.
“BattleShip was Cole’s favourite game.”
Connor feels himself freeze. It takes a moment to stop himself from self-diagnosing because he now knows this is a reaction common to a tense situation for humans. Another disadvantage about being deviant, he thinks faintly, because now his processors feel more than a little scrambled.
“Hank…” he starts, hating how helpless he sounds.
“Tried to introduce him to all the new games the kids his age were hyped about but he kept dragging out my board games instead and asking me to teach him how to play.” Hank gives a soft snort before placing the plastic ship back down on the board. “He liked playing BattleShip the most. He was starting to beat me fair and square before…” He goes silent.
Connor swallows. It’s an unnecessary function but there was a need to anyway. He feels—bad. Terrible. He rests his hands on his lap and clenches them under the table.
“Hank, I… I apologize,” he says quietly. “I did not mean to dredge up unpleasant memories.”
Hank takes a few seconds to respond. They’re the most painful few seconds of Connor’s short life despite not being able to feel pain.
“It’s alright, Connor,” Hank finally says, and Connor lets out a shaky breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. It wasn’t necessary for him to breathe, after all, and he files the strange reaction for later analysis. “Maybe you’re right. S’better to focus on the good than on the bad, right?”
Connor nods slowly, uncertainly. “I believe it would be.” He thinks it’s better to not mention the times Hank’s drunk. He also thinks it’s better not to repeat what Hank’s said and almost done when he’d been ‘shit-faced’ as he so called it. He figures Hank already knows all-too-well.
“Right, well…” Hank stares at the board before giving a quirk of his lips to Connor. A faint smile. “Let’s play then.”
Sumo pads over to sit at Hank’s side. He reaches out to smooth over Sumo’s ears while another hand absently sets up his side of the board.
Connor stares. “How do you play?”
Hank gives him an incredulous look. “Are you fuckin’ serious?”
“I’m afraid the information downloaded to my memory bank on consists of things relevant to this time period and function.” Connor can search it up though. It would take a nanosecond.
He doesn’t.
Hank probably knows he can, too. He doesn’t mention it. Instead, he gives a snort. “Of-fuckin’-course. Fuck. Alright. Figures state-of-the-art technology wouldn’t be bothered with learning something as old as this…” He shakes his head.
“Apologies,” Connor says, but he’s grinning now.
“Up yours,” Hank says half-heartedly, but he’s grinning back as he beckons him forward to teach him.