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It had been little over half a year since the revolution’s end. Three months of Connor staying in Hank’s house.
Connor was a newer model than most other Androids on the market. Many common models, like the AX400, were older models that were kept in production. Why fix something that isn’t broken. But Connor’s model was a bit different.
Connor’s model was only about 1 and a half year old, presently. He only knew brief details of his creation - he was created initially as a concept model, to test the efficiency of Androids as detectives - but when the Deviancy issue started ramping up, he was rushed through production and testing, equipped with lots of things average housekeeper Androids were not. His mouth was equipped with what is essentially a complete forensics lab, he had one of the fastest processors ever put in an Android, he was faster than most. He was equipped with advanced temperature and touch sensors, he was able to feel small changes in temperature, the most subtle changes in texture.
And, in the words of his programmers, he is “able to interpret signals from damaged components as pain to determine when to withdraw from an altercation to protect his overall structural integrity”. A complicated (and in Hank’s opinion, bullshit) explanation that he can feel pain, as one of the few models where it had actually been integrated into their base programming.
His database was filled with millions of inputs about detective work, investigations, and reference points. He was specialized to detective work and every way it branched out.
So specialized, in fact…
That any type of household task was utterly, completely beyond him.
The past week had been hectic and Hank had been exhausted. Connor and Hank had been working together at the precinct again since after Connor moved into Hanks house, and there had been so much work in the cleanup after the revolution. Every day, Hank had pretty much passed out the minute they got home.
So Connor wanted to do what he could to take some work off Hank’s shoulders. He’d done his best to research how to do classic household tasks, like laundry, doing the dishes, cleaning. He really had tried.
It wasn’t his fault it had never been part of his programming.
The first time he did laundry, he’d shrunk several of Hank’s shirts and some of his own when he’d washed them too warm. It was bad enough that not even he could button some of Hank’s shirts, that was already approximately two sizes larger than his normal size.
Needless to say, he wasn’t allowed near the washing machine again.
So then, today, he’d ended up trying to tackle the ever growing mountain of plates, cutlery and cups on the counter. Hank had collapsed on the couch in front of the TV, but Connor was mostly sure he was asleep already. He wanted to try and be quiet, as to not wake Hank, but…
It wasn’t Connor’s fault it wasn’t in his programming.
He’d turned on the water, gotten the soap and the sponge he needed, and rolled up his sleeves. He carefully moved a few plates into the sink, picked one up and moved it under the running water, only to find out the hard way that the water was way too hot when his temperature and touch sensors practically screamed back at him. He hissed and reflexively jerked his hand back, dropping the plate in the process.
He saw the plate drop, in a split second analyzed every single outcome that could come of the situation, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in his core (note; dread; came the manual input filtering into his visuals) , and he stopped analyzing as he immediately reached to catch the plate.
The ceramic plate hit the edge of the counter with a loud crash and shattered into jagged pieces, and Connor’s reflexes struggled to keep up - his hand closed on one of the shards, and he felt the sharp sting of the china cutting into his palm, and his self diagnosis of “harm; left_hand; superficial; possible_thirium_leak; “ was confirmed when he saw the bright blue fluid seep up in between his fingers. The rest of the plate shards fell to the ground with an additional crash.
He panicked for a brief second, quickly turning off the water, then crouched down to pick up the shards. Internally he was berating himself - he was trying to make things easier for Hank, not mess everything up. He felt kind of useless.
As he struggled to pick up the remnants of the plate, all the while trying to not get blue blood on everything, Hank appeared in the doorway, hair tousled and clothes wrinkled.
“What the hell is going on in here, Connor?” he almost shouts, and Connor turns to look - Hank’s expression is a weird mix of emotion, concern partly concealed by frustration and anger. He looks for just a second too long, thinking of a response, and he saw Hank’s expression shift once more once he spotted the blue blood staining the plate and Connor’s hands.
“Jesus Christ, kid, what did you do?” he exclaimed, kneeling down next to Connor, immediately taking Connors hand, making him drop the shard he was holding. The porcelain had pierced deeply into his hand, and the skin projection around it had drawn back, exposing the white plastic and metal underneath. The cut had exposed some wires and framing inside his hand, but thankfully hadn’t damaged anything worse than some minor thirium lines. It was something he could easily self-repair with a little bit of time.
“I was trying to help out. You’ve been so stressed out lately, I- I just wanted to help out.” he stuttered, more out of embarrassment out of anything else. It wasn’t the first time Connor had been embarrassed since he’d deviated, but the feeling never failed to make him want to crawl underneath his bed, into his closet, anywhere just to hide. It wasn’t a pleasant feeling. He looked away, refusing to meet Hanks gaze.
“Connor, can I ask you something?” Hank said, and Connor stayed silent for a while, contemplating. He didn’t really want to talk about what had just happened, but he trusted Hank.
“Okay.” he says, blankly, staring down at his hand that was still firmly grasped in Hanks, trying to seem unfazed, but the whirling yellow of his LED proved otherwise.
“You can download programs, right? Why didn’t you just… do that?” he asks, his blue eyes looking intently after something in Connors expression. Connor glanced up, meeting Hank’s gaze for just a second, before looking off to the left, knowing that his LED would be on show for the lieutenant.
“Yes, I can do that. It’s easy for me to download an AX400 program and I’d be fully able to perform any normal household task. I just… I don’t like it.” he said, his voice shrinking and become quieter the longer he spoke.
“‘Cause it makes you feel less human, right?” Hank filled in, and Connor looked back up. He didn’t understand how Hank always did that. Everyone else expressed difficulties with reading Connor, and it reassured him to know that he could hide his feelings if he didn’t want to show them. It helped with his line of work, but Hank…
Hank just always saw through him.
“Yes, I guess that’s how I’d express it. I just… I don’t like being perfect. I want to be, I want to know how to do things and I want to learn, but even as I have the knowledge right there at my fingertips, I just… don’t want to use it.” he says, the words tumbling out before he could stop them.
The silence settled heavy between them for a few, mindracingly long moments, before Hanks hand suddenly settled firmly in his hair, ruffling it out of place. Connor gave un undignified yelp as he looked up.
“Connor, not being perfect, but wanting to learn is what makes us human, but remember that you’re not confined to being human. You’re you. I just want you to learn how you want to live your life, downloading programs or not.” Hank said with a soft smile, the same smile he’d worn when he showed Connor his room for the first time. The same feeling of warmth and safety as the first time he laid eyes on his room's door bubbled up inside Connor, and he couldn’t help sporting a small, lopsided smile of his own, looking back down.
“Thank you, Hank-” he said, suddenly catching on a thought, halting his other processes. His LED flickered and settled on a slowly spinning yellow, interspersed with flickers to blue, and Hank must have caught it.
“What’s going on, kid?” he asked, leaning down to try to catch Connors gaze. The android looked back up after a few moments, his expression blank, but with an undertone of uncertainty.
“I know- I know it doesn’t work the same way. Androids don’t have ‘parents’, and I know you may not agree, but Hank- can I call- call you-” he started, his voice breaking up toward the end, and Hank stopped him before he could finish.
“Yes.” Hank said, and Connor froze for a second, his LED spinning faster with solid yellow. When Connor didn’t respond, he sighed.
“Yeah, you can call me dad, or pops, or whatever word you fancy. You’re my son, society’s opinions be damned.” Hank continued, and Connor saw no hint of embarrassment or unease, that he’d otherwise expected from the human.
Leaning forward to wrap his arms around Hanks chest in a hug, mindful of keeping his bleeding hand off of Hanks back, and he relaxed with relief when Hank wrapped his arms around him in turn.
“Thanks, Ha- ...dad.”
He felt Hank chuckle against him, and they parted from the hug.
Hank was smiling, the smile wide and warm, and Connor was sure he sported a similar one.
“No problem, son. Now let’s get that hand fixed, shall we?”