Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

A cigarette hung from Hank’s mouth. It spread warmth to his lips, the curling tendrils of smoke that he exhaled wafting back to burn against his skin, ghostly beasts against the night. The rest of his body ached from the cold. One hand was firmly planted in his pocket, an attempt to seep warmth from the fabric which wasn’t working out in his favour, while his other grasped the cigarette between his knuckles. Rapping his fist against the door, he paused to listen to the echoing sound fading into dogged silence, before taking another drag. He kept it dangling between his lips, stuffing both of his hands into his pockets. Head tilted back, eyes closed, he was a study in patience.

Light pooled in a weak circle around him, flickering twice, before shutting off completely. One eye fluttered open at the disturbance, before he opened them both and shook his head. The fixture hanging onto the wall, clinging desperately to the bricks by a few exposed wires, hadn’t been fixed since the last time he had visited. It dangled uselessly, a delicate layer of frost fixing itself around the lamp. His hand reached out, planning to tap against it or perhaps tug it from the wall so he wouldn’t have to look at it anymore, but the door sprung open before his arm had finished extending. It dropped back to his side.

“Hank!” Kara exclaimed, her arms held wide to beckon the man into a hug. Her arms withdrew before they could reach him, batting away the puff of smoke that Hank had breathed into the air. Her wide smile smoothed itself into an annoyed line. “You’re late.” Lifting her hands, she pressed her palms against her short hair, straightening out the clumps that had chosen to stick out at odd angles. Her eyes were rimmed with black circles, shoddily hidden behind make-up, and Hank made a quick note to warn her against late nights. And taking extra shifts at the hospital.

“I wasn’t late. You took a whole fucking five minutes just to open up the damn door. I was standing here, freezing my ass off.” Kara winced at the cuss, her lips still a stern line, her eyebrows joining in to shape her face into one of disapproval. It was easier not to meet her eyes. Moving forward, he tried to slide past Kara, but the woman’s hands rested on his shoulders and pushed him back. The touch was light, barely a brush of fingertips, and he was certain he could fight against it. He yielded, and stepped back.

“You’re more than five minutes late. Half an hour, actually.” She kept her hands pressed on his shoulders as she spoke, commanding his entire attention with a scolding voice. He still wouldn’t meet her eyes. It was the same tone she had used on Alice before, when the girl had taken crayons to her walls in a fit of artistic inspiration. The man lowered his head, flicking the ash of his cigarette to the ground, grumbling out a gruff ‘I’m sorry.’ Bitter taste touched his lips at having to say it, but Kara nodded her forgiveness.

“You gonna make me stand out here for much longer?” Hardened steel had blazed through Kara’s gaze before cooling in the night air, the scolding nature of her body relaxing. He should remind Kara that he wasn’t a child and shouldn’t be treated as such, he’d dealt with himself for more than fifty years and could continue to do so, but he knew that an adult would have made it to Kara’s house on time. The argument could be turned by Hank pointing out the dark patches below her eyes, but it’d be a waste of his only trump card. He wouldn’t walk into Kara’s house empty-handed. She might try to put him on a time out if he had no response to her mothering words.

“No bringing that cigarette inside. That’s how addiction starts in young children. They get a whiff of it, and it never leaves their systems. They start craving it like crazy.” Kara batted away another puff of smoke, as if her body was a physical forcefield that could counterattack anything seeping into her home. Hank stubbed the cigarette out against the wall. Debating throwing the cigarette on the ground in an act of rebellion, the thought was vanished as he imagined Kara demanding that he pick it up. He knew he would. Saving himself the eventual humiliation, he slipped it into his pocket.

“That isn’t how anything works.” Now that his cigarette was safely out of sight, and Alice’s risk of addiction was significantly lowered, Kara brought Hank into a swift hug. Her arms looped loosely around his shoulders, a quick squeeze, before she dropped entirely away from him. Any longer would have made him uncomfortable, any tighter would have made him weary. He was peculiar with affection, and Kara adjusted accordingly. Stepping inside, he shrugged off his coat, fighting the chill that wrapped around him.

“No, it is. I read an article about it.”

Hank wondered if it was the same article that had said bombarding Alice with the colour yellow would be detrimental to her health. The house was covered with despondent blues, browns, and greys. Even her own clothes were plush and dull, a long brown cardigan draped over a grey dress. Maybe the dark eyebags were just following along with the trend. “You moved the couch,” Hank commented, pushing aside every other thought that had swarmed him, hanging his coat on the rack. It used to be a hook, but hooks were now dangerous.

“It improves the aura of the room,” Kara responded. Hand falling onto Hank’s shoulder, Kara spread a comforting warmth across his skin, a delicate touch that bled deep. He let himself be guided towards the moved couch. He almost tripped over his feet. Both sat together, a low sigh passing through Kara’s lips as she stretched herself out against the cushions. Her hair had began to curl again into a clump, and she flattened it out. “I haven’t seen you in a while, anyway. Of course things have moved.”

“It hasn’t been that long. Don’t be dramatic.” As Hank leaned forward, his arm paused to pat at Kara’s thigh, bare from where her dress had rode up. Kara’s hand tapped against his fingers, brushing her thumb with gentle intent over his knuckles, before pushing it off. Hank poured them out drinks from where the bottle and glasses sat alone on the table, the same sigh that had befallen Kara pushing from his own lips. “What’s this fruity crap?”

“It’s been almost a month. At least three weeks. I’ve missed you.” To argue that he’d been busy would have been insulting to both of them. Instead, he evened out their drinks, lifting them both up into the light to measure them, before passing one over to Kara. “Non-alcoholic. I thought it would be good for your health.” A groan escaped him as Kara’s hand lifted to his forehead, first her palm and then her knuckles.

“My health is just fine, thanks,” Hank huffed, dismissing Kara with a wave of his hand. Her hand remained on his forehead, nose scrunching up as she attempted to assess his health based entirely on the warmth of his body. He was a touch too cold. “I’m not a kid in your ward, Kara, you don’t get to diagnose me with this and that.” She was already planning to invest in a few blankets for him, and a bigger coat. His forehead was warming up beneath her hand, so she dropped it away.

“I’m not trying to diagnose you with anything. I’m trying to help you, you just make it harder than it should be.” In her newfound comfort, Kara toed off her sandals and brought her feet under her body, shuffling her cardigan around her in lieu of a blanket.

“Speaking of health, how is Alice?” Kara threw him a suspicious look, but she relented to the change of subject. Any opportunity to talk about Alice, especially one which hadn’t been brought up by Kara herself, was one she’d happily take.

“She’s actually had the flu for the past week. I’ve taken her in for a check-up twice, but they just say that it will pass with rest.” Lips pursed, she dropped her fingers to pick at a toenail. It was the same advice given to almost every worried parent that had brought their child in with a common illness, but she had never been on the receiving end of it before; it felt like sitting back and just watching Alice struggle back to health. She would do whatever it takes to have her bouncing around outside again, enjoying the blazing summer heat, but sitting back felt like giving up. It felt useless. She felt...useless.

“And has she been resting?” Worry was cool in his voice as he dropped his eyes to Kara’s toes. He placed his hand over hers, dragging it away from her feet, letting it fall into her lap. Her pursed lips clenched tighter, fingers lifting to physically smooth out the crease between her eyes, pinching at her cheek lightly. “You know, I thought you knew better than to disobey doctor’s orders, Kara.”

“I haven’t been disobeying. She’s been resting more than usual.” Hank reached out for her hand again, intent to pull it away from her face, but she moved it before he got to her. “She just gets a little antsy when she’s in bed for too long. Am I supposed to not let her escape her room, Hank? She’s getting better, I know what I’m doing.” The last line was spoken with a quiet ferocity, and Hank held his hands up in defence as if he could protect himself from her words.

“I never said you didn’t know what you were doing.”

“You have a look, Hank. And I have to say, I don’t like it when that look is on me.”

At the mention of some kind of look, Hank shook his head, trying to rearrange whatever distortion his features had twisted into. He steadied his head after, and Kara studied him quietly, peering closer. “It isn’t your face. It’s in your eyes. Sometimes the eyebrows, but mostly the eyes.” She tapped her fingers against his cheek to a faltering beat, before drawing away from him. She placed her glass, without a single sip taken from it, on the table. “Tell me how you’ve been. Your...wife…”

“Ex-wife.”

“I don’t think you can call someone your ex-wife until you’ve signed the divorce papers.” Hank winced.

“Has she asked you to talk to me about this? I don’t want to have this conversation, Kara.” Body turned away from the woman, arms crossed gruffly over his chest. His tongue was dug into his cheek, a scowl pasted across his skin as he fixated on a spot hidden in the wall. The dim grey was blooming into a dark green, a patch that had been scratched over with crayon and hastily cleaned up. He wouldn’t rat Alice out.

“Let’s not ruin a pleasant night.”

“You think bringing up my ex-wife isn’t already ruining it?”

“I think it was an innocent remark. I think you happen to be ruining it by being so defensive.” Sensing that an argument was brewing, and that whether or not she was right or wrong was irrelevant, Kara relented. Hank would be ready to argue the subject into the ground, and Alice was sleeping. There was no reason to rouse her with one of Hank’s tantrums. “Fine, fine, I won’t mention it again.”

“Just tell me if she put you up to it.”

“I’m not getting in the middle of you two.”

“You are in the middle,” Hank said. There was a trace of finality in it, a stubborn integrity that followed all his words, but Kara wouldn’t be the one to yield to it. Shuffling on the couch to find herself a more comfortable position, she shook her head at him. One hand laid dormant in her lap, the other reaching out for her drink, gulping it down. The full glass slipped down to half, and she tapped the rim of the glass against her lips a few times as she let Hank’s anger settle. Clearing his throat, Hank began another sentence, and Kara lifted up a single finger to stop him. It worked surprisingly well, and the two of them lulled into silence.

“Don’t make me play the bad guy, Hank.” Her voice was a measured clip as she spoke, smoothing out her hair as if she needed to keep her hands busy. Tipping his head back, Hank breathed once through his nose, before letting his eyes settle on Kara. He righted his head. “You can say you’re sorry, it’s okay.”

“You speak to me like I’m Alice.”

“That isn’t true. Alice is always sweet and polite. She’d never make me get angry at her.”

“You speak to me like I’m a patient.”

“You act like I’m keeping you here against your will.” A tired gesture was made around Kara’s living room. Hank decided against commenting that it’s exactly the kind of place he’d imagined being kept against his will. A room filled with shades of beige and grey, boring with its sense of symmetry and perfection. Child-proof, Kara would call it, with no chance of anything tipping over, or breaking loose. No choking hazards, nothing sharp, not even any bookshelves. There were marks on the wall from where a bookshelf had been before Alice moved in. That, along with the green splotch, were the only two things in the room not primed to perfection.

“Let’s just talk about something happier.” A pause of silence slipped between them, breathing into a space with an icy wrath, stretching and desperate to make itself known. Only a few seconds passed in the coldness, but Hank felt it heavy against his shoulders. “I’m sorry. You know I’m not here against my will. I don’t do anything against my will.” A hint of a lie, but it was truth enough. He wouldn’t spend time with Kara against his will; she was one of the only people who talked to him. The only person who talked to him, if he excused all the people at the station, and all the people at the food vendors and bars he frequented.

With a nod, Kara was about to talk about something sunnier, but a small figure appeared in the doorway before she could start. Though her body was curved towards Hank, her eyes burning dreadful circles into the skin of his neck, refusing to meet his gaze until the ice between them had melted, her ears detected a change. Alice walked like air was a close friend. She drifted like she knew all the subtle ways to draw silence out of her surroundings. The gentle pitter-patter of a child’s feet was lost on her. She barely breathed as she moved. It was a reactionary state, learned from a past that Hank had only heard about in a brief, clinical summary with a sidenote to never bring up.

Kara glanced over her shoulder, the scrunch of her brow turning even and smooth as she glanced at Alice. The little girl had made no noise, but she hadn’t needed to. Motherly intuition lined every inch of Kara’s attention to the little girl. She reached out her feelers into the small house, searching for any signs of distress, and knew Alice more intimately than for her noise.

Swinging one foot in front of her, Alice drew a circle on the floor with her toes, leaning her body against the door. She stared at Kara, diverting her gaze to Hank for just a second, before biting down against her knuckles. Each movement was hushed. Though her shoulders rose and fell, her breathing seemed to be a parlour trick, as she was too silent to be actually doing so. Her forehead bumped against the door, nose scrunching up in a way that seemed to mirror Kara’s worried look.

“Can’t sleep?” The ice-touched voice that had been pointed at Hank turned into summer warmth around Alice. Chin blooming into the palm of her hand, Kara’s eyes were wide open, letting in the promise of kindness at Alice’s state. The little girl lifted a hand to smooth out a clump of hair that had stuck out of her head, swinging her leg behind her. She captured her foot in her hands as she lifted it, tugging at the white sock as she shuffled a little. “Were you having a bad dream, honey? I can come up and read you a story if you want me to.”

Shaking her head, Alice’s locks sprung around her shoulders in quick blasts, resting messily around her neck once she’d stopped moving. “Can Luther read me a story?”

“Luther?” Hank echoed, the name leaving an unfamiliar taste in his mouth. It had been a while since Hank had visited, but it still wasn’t long enough to justify the addition of a male presence in his absence. He half-expected the formless outline, kept solid only by the uttering of a name, to appear from some closet. Surely, Kara wouldn’t be so careless as to invite a stranger into the same house as Alice, and to let the girl get so attached that she asked for bedtime stories from him - not unless, of course, it was serious.

“Well, I’d have to ask Luther.” Halfway through the sentence, Kara turned from Alice to face Hank. She gave him no more to work with than an utterly blank expression, her eyebrows flat and her lips thin. “Luther? Are you busy?” As she spoke, she kept her eyes on Hank’s expression, her eyebrow twitching upwards before relaxing. Gazing around the room, Hank readied himself to spot a man that hadn’t been there before. Perhaps he’d materialise out of the walls, or Hank would find him suddenly lounging in the chair across from him.

No one appeared.

“I think he might be reading, honey, I’m sorry. I’ll come read you a story.” Pouting, Alice rocked in the doorway. Hank was about to offer himself in the place of Kara, but a low beep reigned through the room. Alice’s pout was swept from her face, a happy gasp leaving her. Following the beep, the sound of digital waterfall filled the room. Kara lifted her fingers to cover her lips, eyes dancing over to Hank as if some prank was being played on him. Or if a secret was being revealed to him.

“You were listening in on us, weren’t you, Luther?” Fondness was a visible shade in Kara’s voice. Hands reached out towards the table, pushing aside her glass with her knuckles, before picking up a small compact. The square fit nicely into Kara’s hand, no bigger than her palm, but the smile on Kara’s face made it seem as if it were more important than the sun.

“Perhaps.” As the smooth voice bled from the device, three dots lit up against the orange background. A white swirl sat in the middle, but nothing other than the dots moved, a dormant creature cooing out words. Hand curved around it, Kara kept it close to her body, protective and careful in how she handled it. “I was waiting for the right time to introduce myself, but…well, I couldn’t bear having Alice upset with me.”

“Is that a phone? Are you on the phone with someone?”

“Lucky for you, I can’t stay mad at you for long,” Kara spoke, cutting over Hank’s voice. Spitefully, he still finished his sentence, but no one in the room paid him any attention; the orange compact seemed to fill the space on the couch, another entity sitting between them, a wall kept tight in something small enough to be forgotten. “Take him upstairs with you, Alice,” she murmured, waving Alice close.

Stepping out from the shadow of the doorway, Alice breezed into the room. She was a faint image of the quaking ghost he had first met. Everything about her that had been intangible was sharpened into straight lines and soft corners. She no longer shook as she walked, her body unable to contain the touch of horror that blurred her memories, but floated like she knew each step would land before she took it. She trusted her feet to find the floor, and she trusted Kara to care for her if they didn’t.

What had once been a continent-shaped bruise stretching over her cheek, a mess of fading yellows and purples tinting green, had disappeared into flushed skin. The hollows of her eyes, flighty and disturbed the first time Hank had crouched down to introduced himself, had turned light and curious; she had the eyes of a creature dying, the same hopeless displeasure of helplessness. Everything about her seemed alive today.

“Alice,” the compact breathed. Placing her hands on the arms of the couch, Alice rocked on her tiptoes to catch a glance of the thing in Kara’s hand. “You should be asleep by now,” he chastised, but soft laughter freckled his voice. Resting her head against her hands, Alice let out a small sigh, shaking her head. “Oh, you shouldn’t be asleep by now?”

“Bedtime story first.”

“You two be good, alright?” Kara laughed. Her arms reached out to wrap Alice into a tight hug, a quick tug towards her body before she released her. Leaning up, the younger pressed a kiss to Kara’s cheek. “Go, go, I don’t want you staying up too late,” Kara said, lifting her hand to rub Alice’s ear between her fingers, before waving her away with three fingers. With a bright smile, Alice waltzed from the room, the doorway holding her shimmering presence, before she twisted up the stairs.

Footsteps patted along the landing, the whimsical soundtrack that accompanied hushed voices, the sound of a creaking door opening and closing ringing through the living room. Hank stayed quiet through all of these muffled noises, and waited a few moments after the door had closed before breaking the silence. “What, in the ever loving fuck, was that about?” Voice was low, leaning closer to Kara, in case another Luther was looming in the corner, studying their conversation.

“I knew you’d react like this.” Wagging a finger in front of her face, Kara’s tone was decidedly accusational.

“What’s that...that computer thing? It talked to you, Kara. It talked to - to Alice.”

“Don’t use the word computer,” Kara said, finding her patience once again. It seemed harder to grasp at each time Hank talked. Her patience acted as a wild animal that crawled away from her, pouncing on the stray that was Hank Anderson. “You should try to keep up with the world more. It’s going to move too quickly and leave you behind, otherwise.”

“It’s been moving too quickly for the last thirty years.”

“I never would have guessed you had such a natural flare for the dramatics.”

“Kara, tell me what that orange thing was.”

“It was Luther.”

“What, is that an acronym? Does that stand for something?” Hank asked, holding his palms flat and towards her, a sign of general peace. She took his hands in her own, placing them into her lap. It was vaguely infantile, a mothering gesture to a man who was nearly twice her age, but it calmed Hank a little.

“It’s a name, Hank. You know what names are, right?”

“Don’t use that tone with me.”

“Don’t tell me what tone to use,” Kara retorted. A stray strand of hair was curling free again, jerking in the air, but no one made any attempt to smooth it out. “He’s an OS. One of the older models, in fact, so I don’t know why I waited so long to bring him into the house. He’s…” She was a mix of dreamy and nervous, glancing at Hank as she spoke rather than looking at him directly. As the first outsider she’d told, he had the power to destroy the slither of happiness she had created. She prayed for rain rather than a storm. “He’s part of the family.”

“An OS is part of your family?” The disbelief was crushing. Kara’s hand touched her chest, the five-point compass of her fingers spreading thin and wide. Everything about her face seemed pinched. Her eyebrows had drawn together, her lips were pursed, eyes downcast. He had seen the expression used once before, when someone had asked how she could deal with Alice, a practical stranger in her house. It was the sort of pain that couldn’t spark anger. It was too dear. “No, I just meant - “

“I know what you meant. I never claimed to have a normal family. But it’s still my family, so don’t question it like that again.” Her voice shook as she spoke. “Please.” It was added after, but not as an afterthought. There was a raw desperation that made her voice squeak, her hand still resting against her chest, rising and falling in time with her breathing. “Luther’s really good with Alice. She trusts him like...you know that it’s hard for her to trust people, Hank. After everything.”

“Tell me how it happened.”

Something loosened in Kara’s features. The ice had melted, and the river was flowing once more, touching her lips into the threat of a half-smile. “I wouldn’t know where to start,” she murmured, shaking her head a little. Her fingers lifted to fix the curling hair that had sprung free.

“Why did you get it?” A pause. “It. Him. Your OS. Luther.” None of the words seemed to fulfil the entire complexity of what Luther was, for either of them. He, it, was a word that hadn’t been invented yet. He belonged to a future that hadn’t been written, not by them, at least. Perhaps Hank was just aged. He was stuck with the belief that everything had come too far, that the world was moving too fast; it should at least have the decency to let him die before evolving.

“Planning, mostly.” Hank kept quiet, and it encouraged Kara to keep talking. As Hank withdrew, Kara allowed herself to grow into the space. “Scheduling has always been difficult. I work long hours at the hospital, and I’m always tired after. But it had been fine before Alice, I didn’t have anyone to worry about at home, but now I need to make sure that she’s - safe. Luther’s amazing. He can organise my hours at work, and make sure that I still have time with Alice. And when I can’t look after her, he can arrange babysitters in an instant. I feel like I finally have some control over my life again.”

Hank considered this in the same way he considered everything; quickly, without much thought. “He makes life easier for you.”

“He makes life better for me,” Kara corrected, with the same manner as a schoolteacher correcting a child on their homework. Patient, but undeniably right. “There’s something about him that is so...alive. More alive than I feel most days. He learns, and has things he likes, and doesn’t like. He has...ambitions. Sometimes, I think he can dream. Better than I can, clearer, everything about him is - right.” As she spoke, she drew her thumbs together, before lacing her fingers into a clasp.

“You make it seem like…” Whatever Hank wanted to say next seemed too ridiculous to breathe into the air between them. His eyes had fixed themselves on the curve of Kara’s cheek, because meeting her eyes was too difficult. Her gaze was raw.

“If he can like things, why can’t he love things?” Kara had meant for her words to be fierce, but she felt the desperation linger in her throat, the tingle of need building inside of her. She hadn’t shared Luther with anyone yet, and that meant that she hadn’t had anyone to reassure her. Not that she needed to be reassured, or even thought that she’d get that from Hank, but she needed something. She wished Luther was with her. “I’m not saying I’m in love. I’m just saying that there’s...something. Can’t there be something?” It was a challenge and a plead.

“It certainly sounds....new.” It was a safe answer. At least, he thought so, until Kara tilted her head at him.

“It isn’t that new. You just don’t keep up with the news,” Kara said. “Relationships between electronics and people have been occurring for years. People have an innate need to attach to things. AIs are just more developed now. They’re dynamic. They can learn. They can become more than just their programming.”

Hank tried to put a personality to the orange compact. To the three dots that had lit up as a voice flowed from it. Everything inside of it had been programming. Delicate wires, and whatever the else people put into machines; he wasn’t going to pretend he knew anything about them, but he knew that they couldn’t develop to the point of falling in love. If they could, he was sure that there would at least be more news reports on it. Nothing as big as that could pass through the radar undetected. “You really believe in this, don’t you?”

“Alright, you don’t get to have an opinion anymore.”

“Oh, very mature.”

“You don’t have an OS. You’ve never even interacted with one. You just don’t understand.”

“I’m trying to understand.”

“No, you aren’t. What you’re doing is making me explain so I sound crazy, and then ridiculing me so you can act like you’re so much smarter.” She had his game all figured out.

“I just don’t understand.” Hank, realising that he was rapidly losing in whatever debate they had started up this time, had a touch of helplessness in his voice. There was no part of him that wanted to be malicious, and yet there was every part of him that wanted to be right. He couldn’t just sit by quietly while she was drawn into some pseudo-relationship with a tiny orange square. “You at least have to admit that it doesn’t make a lot of sense.”

“Not everything has to make sense.”

“That also doesn’t make sense.”

Kara shrugged. Her hands laid flat out towards him, a dismissive way of giving up, and she shrugged again as if to hammer her lack of a point home.

“It’s really been nice seeing you again,” she said, draining her drink, before letting the cup rest against the table. “I’ve missed this.” Hank didn’t know what there was to miss. “Stop closing yourself off so much to the rest of the world. Or, at least, stop closing yourself off to me.”

“I’d never close myself off to you. Who else is going to invite me over and serve me non-alcoholic wine?” He set his glass on the table, though it wasn’t even half-empty yet.

“Visit me more often.”

“You have a man now, you don’t need me coming in and upsetting the family flow.” Kara pushed at his shoulder, and Hank rolled with the movement.

“Hey, don’t work yourself too hard, alright? Alice needs you.” Lifting his hand, Hank pressed his thumb below her eye, tapping at the spreading darkness that clung to her skin. Her fingers closed over his. She smiled at him in the same testing way that someone would smile at a reflection, doing it just to make sure that they still could.

“I know. I’ve had the same lecture from Luther, twice.”

“No one would have to lecture you if you just took care of yourself.”

“Oh, we’re talking about taking care of ourselves? You look like you haven’t showered all month, Hank.”

“No, we’re talking about you taking care of yourself. I’m already had the divorce lecture. We’re talking about you now.”

“You don’t need to worry about me.”

“You don’t need to worry about me, either. That’s just what friends do. Worry blindly about each other.” As she sighed, Hank felt the heat of her breath against his fingertips, dropping his hand away away from the perch on her cheeks because of it. He was dimly aware of the sound of laughter from upstairs, an echo of a different time, a different conversation. “Sleep. Alice needs it. So do you.”

“You’ve been here too long,” Kara sighed, waving the back of her hand at them. Together, they stood, Kara brushing her hair back with her fingers, Hank straightening out his jeans as she dismissed him. “Come over next Saturday. In the morning, too. Alice misses you just as much as I do. More, even.” Hank wasn’t sure the little kid could even remember his name most days, but he was eternally fond of her.

“You’ll get bored of me.”

“Never.” A rush of air left Kara’s lips. Arms wrapped around Hank’s shoulders, which was definitely more times than he should have been hugged today, and squeezed him close. It was odd to think that months could pass without a piece of human contact, without fingers laced into his own or lips pressed against his collar or a body touching his own, and yet Kara could heap on so much affection in one night. She pulled away, glanced at his face, and then hugged him again, tighter than before. “If I give you some advice, will you promise not to get mad at me?”

“No.”

“I’m going to give you the advice, anyway.”

“Oh, what a surprise.” The scoff that left Hank’s lips made her shoulders tighten into a straight line.

“You should get an OS.” A beat of quietness passed between them. As soon as Hank opened his mouth, lips twisting into the idea of words, words ready to flow from him before he even started to think of an answer, Kara was already shushing him loudly. “Listen, it’ll help you keep to a tight schedule. And it might just give you someone to talk to. You don’t have to be lonely for the rest of your life, Hank.”

“I’m not lonely.”

“Don’t lie to me.” As they talked, the two of them walked to the door, Hank leading the way with Kara trailing behind him. “It’s just a suggestion.”

“Is it suggestion or is it advice?” It sounded like an order. Hank decided not to mention that.

“It’s my way of trying to care about you. Have I mentioned you don’t make it easy?” From their position near the doorway, he could more clearly hear the muffled voices of Alice, and an unknown baritone, belonging to the OS. The Luther. Luther. His heart had become a stony weight in his chest, the sinister idea of inviting an OS into his house suddenly far too present. Kara tilted her head to the side, blinking slowly at him as if she was considering him for the first time. Hank tensed his shoulders and prepared for a hug that didn’t come; he was almost upset by that, actually. “Just consider it.”

“I’m considering it.” He wasn’t considering it.

Both of them reached out for his coat, four pairs of fingers brushing against the rough fabric. It was a heavy weight, but easier to carry with the two of them, until Kara felt assured that Hank’s grip was tight enough and allowed her hands to drop away. Hank shrugged it on, letting Kara straighten it out against him, flattening it against his shoulders, and smoothing it out against his chest. It was a repercussion of having a child, the caring instinct of a newly-instated parent, something that was faded and aged inside of Hank.

“I just think it’d make you happier.” Pressing one palm against her left eye, Kara smudged her make-up as she rubbed away the pressure that had built up in her head. Weary exhaustion was a natural ailment to Kara, a creature she had been born with, the sleepiness of her life bearing down against her in a way that sleep couldn’t cure. A smile was quiet over her lips, made not to convince, but just to exist. She was happiness without bounds. He wondered what Luther’s role was in her happiness, and then dismissed that thought; he was a placebo. The DPD could surely confiscate the OS as an intruder.

“What makes you think I’m not happy?” His life was not dictated by feelings. It was based on movements, the forward motion of a racetrack horse, head poised forward. Each action was geared towards making it to the next day. That felt like a close enough second to happiness; not really happy, but living. Being alive still. The urge today was a relic, he’d buried it below sediment and rock and the need to grasp the morning sun beneath his fingertips and scream, I live . It was a sparse life.

“Tell me that you’re happy.” She squeezed at his arm, rubbing her palm over it until the creases were evened out. All the touching seemed intent on grounding someone, but he couldn’t tell if it was for the assurance of himself or Kara. Maybe she just needed to know that he was still solid, that he hadn’t torn himself apart yet, a hard body formed of sinew and bones and anger. He was knitted together by phantom hands, and the marks of needle and thread still shone on his skin.

He wasn’t happy.

“I don’t think an OS is going to help that.” It wasn’t an answer, but it was all the answer that Kara needed. She bowed her head as if lost in a silent prayer, some ritualistic need to preserve Hank’s dying soul, but it was merely a way to collect her thoughts. She felt scattered. There was a way to help Hank, to stifle the misery that had become him, and yet he wouldn’t take it; she’d had patients too young or too numb to understand that she was helping, she was the good guy, and had reacted violently. They couldn’t tell a cure from brutality. Alice hadn’t been able to understand Kara’s love, not at first.

“You don’t know what’s going to make you happy until you try it, Hank. Clearly, what you’re doing isn’t working.” Two bodies stood across from each other in the doorway, and revelled in their utter separateness. They were co-existing without ever overlapping. It was odd to share a goal with someone else, the reach towards happiness, while knowing that their roads to such wouldn’t cross. Kara thought an orange compact would solve the heaviness inside of him. Hank preferred to lose all his senses.

“Say goodbye to Alice for me.”

“Say goodbye to me first.” Hands dropped away from Hank’s body. The twisted look that had stuck on Kara’s features, the gnarled curl of her lips as it was worried beneath her teeth, the harsh slice of her eyebrows as they carved confusion out of her forehead, shaped itself into something less helpless. Hank was thankful that the subject of the OS had passed. Safer territory remained with the discussion of Alice and goodbyes.

“No, don’t say goodbye. Just tell me that you’re going to visit me again soon.”

“I’ll visit you again soon.”

“When?”

“Soon.”

“No, no, tell me a date. A time.” Hank lifted his wrist to glance at the watch that should be there, before realising that it had disappeared. Stolen, maybe, but he didn’t know how any pickpocket could sneak away with something that had been attached to him; maybe he’d traded it away at a gambling table, but it hadn’t been worth much. He dropped his hand back limply to his side.

“Soon.” Reaching out, he placed his hand on the door handle. A moment of hesitation kept Hank’s hand resting there, expecting Kara’s hand to close over it and tug it away. She didn’t. He opened the door. “Sometime next week, I promise. I need to look at when I’m working. So do you. Let’s not pretend we aren’t two very busy people.”

“Take care of yourself,” Kara said as Hank walked out into the streets, his form indecipherable from the night. He didn’t turn back to look at her, but fingers waggled at her, light and ghostly in the night, looking as if it was separate from his arm entirely. As he fled into the darkness, Kara stood in the doorway, arms folded over her chest and a frown on her face as she watched him.

Plans were already being formed in Kara’s mind.

Chapter Text

Something odd had arrived in the post.

All the usual trimmings were there; a postcard from his sister’s latest adventure, a letter from his dentist, a handful of flyers, the bills. Most of the latter were marked in red, with words like urgent and immediate scrawled heavily on the front. Hank threw them down onto the kitchen table without a second glance. He leafed through the flyers, separating the ones advertising new fast food places into a separate pile, while the rest were thrown atop of his bills. When everything else had left his hands, he eyed the package.

He had been ignoring it before. And he could keep doing that for as long as he damn well pleased - it worked with his bills.

Instead of dealing with it, Hank pulled out a bowl and some cereal. There wasn’t any markings on the package, just his address in the top corner. As a cop, especially one who dealt mainly with homicides, he knew he had a lot of enemies. This was most likely a gift from them, as horrific as the ones that detectives bragged about in the department, and Hank wasn’t going to deal with it. His cereal spilled across the side. A grumble erupted from him as he dropped the box.

It wasn’t going to be a bomb, or a loved one’s severed fingers.

Weighing up the package in his hands, he considered the nearly blank coverings. It was only as big as a letter box, light and easy to hold. He knew better than to open strange parcels. His curiosity bloomed inside of him. Tearing it open, he let the paper fall to the ground, and then dropped the contents to the table with little finesse.

A few pieces of paper captured his eye, detailing guidelines, and a how-to guide. There was a diagram stretching over a single-page spread. Buried beneath the mess of paper was a circle compact. Picking it up, he raised it to the light, the shiny blue metal already bearing the mark of his smudged fingertips.

“The hell are you, huh?” Hank grumbled. Pulling a booklet out of the mess on his kitchen table, he studied the first page. YOUR NEW AI, A PERSON’S EVERYDAY BEST FRIEND. Leafing through the manual, he found instructions on activation, voice control, how to let the AI deal with budgeting and temperature control and whatever else. It was creepy and invasive and - did that say it could help with his bills? No, no, Hank wasn’t going to be lured into selling away his soul to the circle.

The Devil already had a tight grip on that.

It doesn’t take long, or even a lot of considering, to realise who sent him the AI. HELPER , it was nicknamed, in bright red letters, on a page describing all the ways it could improve a life. Jesus, soon humans wouldn’t ever have to think for themselves again.

Kara must have meant well. She wasn’t an evil entity, intent on ruining his life by prying into it, but that didn’t mean she was free from his scorn. It wasn’t like he was dying. His life had steadied out in his later years, which was normal for someone of his age, with a past as spotty as his was.

As he thought, his fingers kept running over the smooth surface of the compact. It was smaller than his palm, the rim a dark blue, the inside a paler colour, two lights resting in the middle. Four buttons spread around the edges, with a bigger one on the back.

Dropping it to the table, Hank busied himself with his morning routine. Breakfast, without bothering to clean up the mess of spilled cereal. Dressing in something other than his favourite sweatpants, which had become worn and riddled with holes, just the way he liked them, and just the way station would hate them. It wasn’t as if he put much effort into his appearance, he had bigger things to worry about than the state of his hair or how unkempt his beard was becoming, but he could at least put on ‘work clothes’.

In his hurry to leave, Hank swept up his keys and phone from the table, capturing the compact in his hand and shoving it in his pocket with everything else.

The journey from Kara’s house to the hospital was long. A cluster of homes sat neatly together no more than a mile from the hospital, but they cost more than what Kara would earn in a year; only the doctors were ever paid enough to afford them. Instead, Kara drove into the city centre and parked her car in one of the free spaces - just like with the houses, the doctors took up all the staff parking at the hospital.

She couldn’t complain. When she was in town, she could stop by her favourite little coffee shop and sit for a while after work. Between that and the hour after she put Kara to bed, it was the only alone time she had. Even her breaks at work were filled with questions from her coworkers.

Coffee warming her hands, Kara enjoyed the last fleeting seconds of alone time. At home, Chloe would be there. That was, of course, never a bad thing. The babysitter was always ready with a smile and a kind word - she even helped Kara out of her jacket as soon as she was through the door. She’d most likely stay for an hour or so to relate the day to Kara, any behaviours that Alice showed that were worrying, anything that should be watched for. Was she showing signs of a fever? Had she been burying her toys in the backyard again?

Fingers lifted to rub against her forehead. As she ventured deeper into her thoughts, her surroundings slipped away. She hadn’t noticed how little attention she was playing until she slammed into the wide back of a man.

“I’m so sorry,” Kara rushed out, eyeing the patch of coffee that was staining his blazer. The man turned around slowly, seemingly the only mode of speed allowed by the wall of bodies that had been formed. There were people clumped together in a way that was unnatural of the busy city centre, where movement was a necessity. Her eyes rose, up and up and up, until they landed on his face.

“It’s no issue,” the man smiled. Even from such a looming height, his face was kind. There was a sign in his hand, but it was lowered. “It was my own fault. Do you want me to buy you another coffee?”

The drink had spilt all over her hand, wet droplets dripping into the inside of her sleeve. She shook her head. “No, no, thank you.” A shout was heard in the distant, angry and distorted by the wind. “What’s going on here?”

Peeking over his shoulder, there were rows upon rows of people with signs, and noise everywhere, a building sensation of something intangible. Instinct told her to move away from the crowd, but she stood firm. “We’re TechLefts,” the man said, offering it as an explanation. Kara blinked at him.

Noise was swelling around them, faint but encompassing, the buzz of a hundred working bees blending together. She had to tilt her head closer to him just to hear what he was saying, the soft mumble of his voice drowned out. “Excuse me?” she asked. “And what are those?”

Noticing her trouble, he leaned down. “TechLefts, we’re - “ Before he had time to finish, a hand was pressing against his elbow, dragging him further into the crowd. Kara followed behind the two, the smaller woman holding a similar sign. “You don’t have time to be talking, they’re going to walk by again any moment now,” she said, throwing a glance behind her at Kara. “Who are you?”

“Oh. I’m Kara.”

“Are you joining the protest or not?”

Her college days hadn’t left her with much time for anything extracurricular. Nursing was a degree filled with tiring hours that stretched to the early morning. Even sleep had become scarce. While her roommate had invited her to quite a few protests, Kara had never found the time, no matter how invested she was in the cause. She didn’t even know the protocol of it all - would saying yes this time lead to a blanket yes? She still wasn’t sure what they were even protesting.

“I don’t know,” Kara responded, but it didn’t matter. All the attention was turned away from her. A line of people began to walk down the space between the protestors, holding their own signs, chanting something so warbled and mingled that it was incomprehensible. Silence descended. All at once, without a signal or a word, the crowd dropped from a roar to a held breath. Kara glanced at them all, each face pointed forward, bodies hardened into stiff outlines as they lifted their signs. The only sounds were the marching of feet as people passed ahead.

Standing on her tiptoes, Kara tried to catch sight of the opposition’s signs. The shoulder in front of her was wide, making it so Kara had to bounce in place as the sign bleeped in and out of her line of vision. The woman to her left, the one who had put her hand on the kind man’s elbow, glared at her. Her face was pretty, but mangled into harsh lines, a distortion of cruelty that showed itself in cold eyes and a hooked nose. Kara ignored her.

She managed to catch the red lettering of one of the signs, ‘Down With AI’ sprawled across cardboard, but it disappeared as the people moved on. Sound resumed, flooding the space with its sudden intensity. As if it was falling from the sky, and not thrown from a hand, something soared into the crowd. Gasps fluttered around them, chaos sparking in an instant, and then something else was thrown - and something else, and something else, and the woman to her left had been hit, dropping to the ground with her hands over her face.

Kara pushed forward, hands finding the woman’s shoulders.

Leaning against the inside of a bathroom stall, Hank held a phone to his ear and tried to ignore how disgusting the place was. It was nearly always empty, no one wishing to battle against the fumes and the cockroaches if they could survive until they were home, which meant that Hank could have stood outside of the stall and gotten just as much privacy. He didn’t want to risk it, though.

He’d survived four hours of paperwork, steadily watching the clock tick down as he thought of and revised everything he wanted to say to Kara. Something along the lines of ‘stay out of my business and don’t meddle’, but in a tone that wouldn’t ruin their friendship.

He hadn’t come up with much.

A click sounded from the other end of the line, the familiar sound of a house phone being picked up. For all her attention to the AI, Kara still relied on some old-fashioned technology.

( ‘ It’s in case Alice ever forgets my phone number, she might be able to remember the house phone,’ Kara had informed him, voice strained, as she wrapped bubble wrap around the wires at the back of the TV.

Hank had reserved comment.)

He’d tried Kara’s phone three times, before giving in and calling her house phone.

“Hello? Mr. Anderson?” The voice was small and tinny, which had little to do with the quality of the receiver.

Hank never made much effort to compare Alice and Cole, partly because it would depress the hell out of him, and partly because - there was little to compare between the two of them. All of Alice’s attributes and actions, in the glimpses that he saw of her, were so distant from his son’s. She was a flower curling in on itself to protect against the winter. He couldn’t be sure, and didn’t like to assume, but it seemed like Alice had been forced to be quiet and still for a lot of her life. Even in the safety of Kara’s care, she couldn’t quite grow back the parts of her that had been cut away.

Cole had been vibrant.

“Alice,” Hank said, clearing his throat. “Is Kara in?”

“Nu uh.”

Pausing, waiting for Alice to elaborate, they stayed in silence for a beat until Hank realised that she wasn’t going to say anything unprompted.

“Who’s looking after you, then?”

“Chloe’s over.”

A sigh of relief passed through Hank. At least Kara wasn’t leaving Alice in the care of some toy robot, which would be crossing a thousand lines. Hank only really had one rant in him. Not that Chloe faired much better than a robot. She was nice, and friendly enough, but all her smiles made her look a little dead in the eyes. Kara had made Hank do three not-quite-legal background checks before even considering her as an option for a babysitter; he had drawn the line at helping her install cameras.

“Well, are you having fun?”

“Mhm.”

“Can you pass the phone over to Chloe?”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Anderson. I can’t do that.”

Bolting upright, Hank clutched his phone tighter to his ear. “Why not? Is everything alright, Alice? What’s going on?” Had Chloe invited friends over, rowdy friends, that left her distracted? Had she gone out to the shop for something and left Alice alone? It would take Hank at least ten minutes to reach her, if the traffic was good. Anything could happen in that time.

After a beat of silence that was punctuated with Hank’s pulsing heart, Alice whispered, “we’re playing hide and seek, and I don’t want her to think I’m a cheat. I don’t want to draw her out of her hiding place!”

Hank’s lip twitched upwards. “Alright. Where is Kara?” he said, when his heart had returned to a manageable pace.

Mumbled sounds were heard from the other side of the receiver, Alice drawing away from the phone to talk to someone, a small giggle passing from her lips. “I found Chloe!” Alice exclaimed, before pressing the phone to her ear again. “Um, she’s just busy.”

“Is she at work?”

“Nu uh.”

“You’re gonna have to give me a little more than this, Alice.” With anyone else, Hank would have already started to raise his voice out of growing impatience, his lunch break nearing an end. It was hard to feel anger towards Alice, though.

“One second,” Alice murmured. More muffled sounds buzzed around, before a cooler voice was speaking, “Hank.”

“Chloe,” he returned. She sounded more robotic than the compact Kara had held. Her voice was always pleasantly strained, lacking the childish warmth of Alice’s murmur, or the heated hiss of his own voice. “You gonna tell me where Kara is, or am I going to have to launch an all out investigation?”

“That won’t be necessary.” Her voice was like looking into an unblinking face; there was something terribly still about it. It didn’t move, or warble, or change pitch. It simply was, existing in a vacuum of unaffected tones. “She’s out at a rally for an hour or so. You know how busy she can be, she’s just finished work. You shouldn’t have expected her to answer.”

“A rally?” Hank blinked, catching that piece of information and choosing to ignore the rest. “Are the nurses taking a strike again?” It was better for the police department to know these sort of things, in case they found a victim near-dead. They could relocate.

“No.”

“Then what the hell kind of rally is it?”

“Don’t raise your voice at me.” A pause. “Oh, Alice? Could you go fetch me my phone from upstairs? I must have left it there.” Another pause, echoing footsteps. “You don’t know about the rally?”

“You know, you could really get on someone’s nerves.”

Politely, or annoyingly, Chloe ignored him. “There’s a rally in town, concerning the rights of AI. There’s some anti-groups believing that they should be taken away from every household, and Kara thought it was best to stand against them. Something about being active in the face of adversity.”

“Sounds like a load of horseshit.”

“Would you use this kind of language in front of Alice? Kara wouldn’t like that.”

Hank hung up. The phone hit something in his pocket, letting out a soft jangle. He knew what it was. The compact had been with him all day, hidden away in his pocket. The thought made him glance at the toilet and consider throwing up; what had it recorded of him in that time?

There would be no time in the following week for him to visit Kara. Their schedules rarely aligned, both working intensive jobs; Kara had a child, as well, which complicated things. Hank had a dog. It was also unlikely that Kara would bother answering her phone if she thought Hank was going to be mad at her. Chloe would tell her everything, as her loyalties were very much against Hank.

The damn AI hadn’t even come with a receipt.

Over the years, Kara had gifted him some particularly horrible things. Her main interactions were with children, being a nurse and a mother, which seemed to give her some instinctive need to buy presents for Hank that would be far more suitable for a child. On his last birthday, he had received pink glitter glue. After accepting it with a forced smile, it had been stuffed away in a kitchen drawer, never to see the light of day again.

He wasn’t going to get into all the unicorn-themed merchandise she’d happily bestowed upon him over the years.

Out of all the terrible things Kara had decided Hank desperately needed in his life, the AI had to be the worst. At least a pair of socks with pink unicorns decorating them couldn’t pry into his life. Placing the AI in a drawer seemed too - sinister. Perhaps the compact would grow resentful to him and infect all the technology in his house.

The toaster was already forming evil plans against him, if the constant burning of his toast was any indication.

And who the hell cared about the rights of AI, anyway? No one was trying to give his toaster rights. In fact, Hank thought that the stupid thing should have less rights.

A frustrated sigh bubbled in his chest, head hitting against the stall wall.

Quickly glancing at his phone, he realised his break had ended five minutes ago, but he took his time washing his hands in the sink, trying to clear away the grime that stuck to every nook and cranny of the bathroom. There was no soap left in the dispenser. He was sure it had been that way for a while, but he couldn’t be bothered to file a complaint. Instead, he held his hand under the hot water until his fingertips began to prune.

The journey from the bathroom to his desk was a long one. Most of the recruits didn’t bother him, filing away their own paperwork; they knew better than to bother the grumpy lieutenant. Some people never learned their lesson, though. Chen was in his path, smiling at him. “Coffee, Anderson?” she asked, lifting a cup up to him. “I got some for Lewis, but he’s apparently trying to cut down.”

“Black?”

“Of course.”

“Sugar?”

“Not even one.”

Hank was lured to her desk, a cup placed in his hands. It was practically freezing as he lifted it to his lips, but he bravely endured. “Oh, while you’re here,” Chen hummed, raising her brows at him. “You’re not working this Saturday, are you?”

Hank knew where this was going. Silently, he cursed his coffee cup. “No.”

“I am.” Taking a sip of her coffee, she studied him carefully, waiting for his reaction.

“Huh.”

“But, you know, there’s that parade in town this Saturday. I was really hoping to go with my niece.”

“Huh.”

“I don’t see her, or my sister, very often. They live out of town.”

“Hmm.”

With a sigh, Chen changed tactics. There were very few heartstrings in Hank for her to tug on. “I’ll do all of your paperwork for the week if you take my Saturday patrol.”

Half a smile unfurled over Hank’s lips. “I gotta lot of paperwork, Chen.”

“You always seem to.”

“Thanks for the coffee,” Hank said, tipping the mug towards her in a salutatory manner. “I’ll get the paperwork to your desk by the end of the day.”

About to abandon Chen to mull over his victory, Hank was stopped by the sound of familiar grumbling. Something had upset Reed, murmured havoc coming from his desk, which wasn’t an unusual state to find the man in. A glance over showed him muttering intensely to himself,, looking half-crazed.

“Should we be worried about that?” Hank asked, jerking his head towards the sight. Reed had leaned forward, a scowl biting at his features as he scribbled something down on a piece of paper. Paperwork didn’t even make Hank lose it that badly.

Chen didn’t even bother looking. “He’s probably just talking to Nines.”

“Is that his imaginary friend?”

“Not quite.” She’d begun walking away to sit at her desk, her break nearly over and her conversation with Hank beginning to wear on her. “It’s his AI.”

There was something Reed was cradling in his palm, earphones extending out of the flat device. His head tilted forward to quietly speak to it, elbows resting on his desk, lips pressing into a thin line after every word. Despite thoroughly believing that he should mind his own business, Hank was walking forward. “Reed,” Hank coughed, in place of a greeting.

Turning his head up to watch Hank, Reed looked every bit disgruntled at being disturbed. “Fuck off, Anderson. I’m on my break.”

If he liked Reed at all, Hank would admire his attitude.

“And you’ve decided to spend it at your desk?”

“Didn’t I just tell you to fuck off?” Reed’s brow creased, his eyes dropping to the compact. “I’m not gonna watch my damn language.”

“Is that thing scolding you?”

“It’s none of your business.” Eyes jerked back to Hank, narrowing into slits. “I have him on personal mode, so he thinks he can run my life.” A low huff left Reed. “You don’t run my goddamn life, you ruin it.”

There was only so much weirdness that Hank could take. It was almost funny; the way that Reed spoke into the machine, all serious and offended, like it had a brain instead of interlacing wires. As funny as it could be, it was also deeply unsettling. The ease with which Reed switched between talking to him and talking to the compact, without so much as a change in his tone. His tone even seemed softer when he was speaking to the AI, less polluted with unmitigated hatred. If Hank ever spoke to his toaster, he’d declare himself ill.

Hank walked back to his desk and spent the rest of the day attempting to focus on work.

His phone started ringing as soon as he was home. Coat was hung up, distracted pats ruffled Sumo’s fur, before he was searching his pockets for his phone. The beeping was growing quiet, a telltale sign that the caller was ready to give up. Grasping it from his hung up coat, Hank pressed it to his ear. “Hello?” he said, pulling it away to catch the name. Kara. “You got something to say to me?”

Sumo was barking at him, nose pressing into his jeans in a bid for attention or food. Pushing him away, Hank moved into the living room.

“You upset Chloe.”

“I upset Chloe!” A light scoff left Hank as he paced the length of the coffee table, hand thrown up in the air as if Kara was stood in front of him.

“Yes. You can’t just hang up on people, Hank. It’s rude.”

“I’ll hang up on you if you don’t stop talking about Chloe.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re a very rude man?”

“Yes. You do. Constantly.”

“Someone has to keep you in line.”

Hank didn’t bother with a response, merely standing in place and kicking his boot against the leg of his coffee table. Kara heaved a deep sigh that seeped through the receiver. Her reception wasn’t good, so there was a faint crackling around her voice whenever she spoke, parts of electricity pooling between her teeth were spilling into the space between them.

“It’ll do you some good, is all I’m saying.”

“What? Being nice to Chloe? Being kept in line by you?” A sharp edge had infected his voice, venomous and biting. Kara tutted at him in return.

“If you don’t like it, you can dispose of it.” The word dispose held an ominous air. It reminded Hank of how many times he had written it out in relation to bodies and killers, and Kara was using it to talk about a small compact. “But I’d like you to try it. They’re not cheap, you know.”

“You can’t fix the entire world, Kara.”

“Contrary to your own personal belief, you aren’t the entire world.”

Despite himself, Hank cracked a smile. “If I give it a try, you have to get off my case for the next year and a half.”

“Deal.”

“This thing isn’t - dangerous, is it?”

“How could it be dangerous?”

The gap between their ages didn’t affect their friendship too badly, apart from their equal exasperation that the other hadn’t heard of famous bands or TV shows that existed as a blip in their childhood. Kara had been fed on idealistic family-orientated dramas, where Hank had grown up under the cold eye of threatening characters that bred good citizenship. Mr. Fluffs, the unsmiling man who had narrated the most popular TV show of Hank’s childhood, still haunted him.

There would always be unfixable rifts between them, though. Kara was unthinking in her acceptance of technology. There was a certain devotion in her that was manifesting towards the compact, the urge to love and protect rearing its ugly head. The most advanced piece of technology in Hank’s house was the microwave, and he steered clear of that unless he was in dire need.

“What if it’s being used to spy on us?”

“Everything we use is gathering data on us, Hank. We just need to weigh up the pros and cons.”

“Why did I expect you to comfort me?”

“I am comforting you.” As she spoke, her lips twitched upwards into a smile. Soft footsteps had padded downstairs, too light for the phone to pick up - too quiet for anyone but Kara to hear, who was attuned to Alice’s every movement. Burying her face into Kara’s stomach, arms winding around her waist, Alice was as silent as a held breath. Fingers dropped to absently card through her hair. “You wouldn’t have answered the phone if you weren’t curious about the AI.”

“Never said I wasn’t curious.”

Alice’s face looked upwards, blinking her owlish eyes at Kara. She held a finger up to her lips, shushing the little girl.

“Then what are you?”

Staring straight ahead, Hank’s eyes were fixed on the peeling wallpaper, the ends of it yellowing and curling upwards. His wife had picked it out once they moved in, as a temporary fixture to be replaced once they had the money to really decorate, but it had stayed there. “Dashing. Some people would say ‘enigmatic.’”

“No one would say that,” Kara laughed. Shuffling closer into her side, Alice made herself comfortable. “But you are kind and you deserve someone, or something, to look after you.”

“Thought that was your job?”

“Yes, well, I need a little help. You’re sort of a handful.”

“Noted.”

“Alice is looking sleepy, so I’m hanging up. Goodnight.”

Hank was halfway through his own goodnight when he realised that she had already hung up. With a wince, he slipped the phone into his pocket, an odd noise sounding as it knocked against something else. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the circular compact, covered with a freckling of dust. His thumb rubbed over it to clean it. Instructions were brought from the kitchen and placed beside him on the sofa, intently reading over them. He’d never had much care for these sorts of things, but he was uniquely suspicious of the compact, and he suspected it necessary to be thorough.

Turning On and Setting Up Your New AI.

The words were sleek, emboldened in blue. Each page was glossy, filled with diagrams and pictures, of the compact, and the compact with strangers. Smiling strangers with sparkly, white teeth. At the back, there was interviews about ‘real people’ whose life had been changed by the AI. Gritting his teeth, he placed the compact on one knee, and the booklet on his other.

Explaining the Controls: there are, in total, five buttons on your AI. The one on the back operates as an on/off switch…

His finger pressed against the button, a soft click sounding from the compact. It lit up red, before fading to blue, whirring against his palm.

“You are yet to set up your AI,” said the compact, flashing a dull yellow as it spoke. The voice was monotone, delivering each word with precise care. It buzzed lightly. “In order to continue, please pick your preferred settings by pressing the button at the top left. If you have already set up your AI, press - “

His fingers tapped against the button, tilting it to eye-level.

Another hundred commands were levied at him from the automated voice. He could change the colours of the lights, which he didn’t. He linked it up to his TV and heating, but nothing else; those two felt like safe options. What would the compact do with his heating? Make him sweat too much? He was sure it couldn’t cause mass destruction with access to just that. There were four voice options; three were whiny and high-pitched, while the fourth was only just tolerable, so he had to pick that one. He’d go mad if he had to listen to stilted monotone for too long.

“Hello,” the compact spoke. “I’m your new AI, built and programmed by CyberLife. Now that I’m hooked up to your internet, I’ll be able to satisfy any queries or questions, as well as taking control of your TV and heating to suit your preferences.”

“Uh,” Hank cleared his throat, twisting the compact between his fingers. The voice was strangely life-like, each inflection smooth and gentle. “Do you have a name?”

“It is customary for the customer to name their device.”

Hank let the silence stretch on between them. He wanted to see how the AI would react to it, if it would fill in the space with mindless small-talk like a human would be forced to.

“It is customary for the customer to name their device.”

There was no hiccups in the speech, no point where it didn’t join perfectly together. It was even and soft. It had to have been recorded by someone, the words; he wondered what poor bastard was being forced into doing something like this.

“It is - “

“Yeah, yeah. Can you shut up? I’m thinking.”

Whirring yellow and then red, the compact fell silent. Giving it a name felt too personal. He hadn’t given Sumo a name until a month in, when the huge beast had been a small pup who butted its head against every damn thing in the house, and that was done as a great sacrifice to his pride. Now, he was hopelessly attached to the stupid dog, and it was all because he had a name.

“What do people usually call you?”

“I cannot access the data files of other AIs. However, if you wish, I could scour the internet to find the most commonly used names.”

“Sounds like a lot of effort.”

“It shouldn’t take me over a minute.”

“What do you want to be called?”

“As an AI, I do not want for anything. My primary function is to improve your life through servitude.”

Booklet falling to the ground, Sumo settled himself across Hank’s lap. It was a position Hank hadn’t bothered to encourage out of him when he was a pup and now he had to suffer the consequences of a dog that weighed more than the average adult resting against him. His foot was already going a little numb, but his free hand still carded through Sumo’s fur. The dog’s nose touched against the compact, which whirred red. Hank switched it to his other hand so Sumo couldn’t swipe at it with his paws.

“Connor,” the AI spoke. “If I must choose, you can call me Connor.”

“Fine.”

“Connor means ‘lover of hounds.’ It seems you have a dog. I felt it would be appropriate. However, it is advisable that you keep me out of reach of any pets or small children.”

A shiver passed through Hank’s spine, his hand pausing its pursuit along Sumo’s fur. Even if he’s curious as to how and why the AI was aware of Sumo’s presence, he’s certain the answer would upset him. Believing that the compact was spying on him was one thing, the product of a suspicious mind, but having it confirmed? An unpleasant ache swelled in his chest.

“I was just about to feed you to Sumo as a snack, as well.” The joke was an attempt to stabilize himself, but his voice was weak.

“Inadvisable.” The yellow whirring flickered to blue. “How should I refer to you?”

“Uh. Hank.” Anything else would seem too formal. Even being called ‘Lieutenant’ at work made him shuffle awkwardly from foot to foot, like a child about to be scolded. There were people who took pleasure in the honour of a title - it made others subservient by nature and usually espoused one’s good deeds. Hank didn’t think he deserved his rank any more or any less than anyone else at the department.

“Alright, ‘uh, Hank’.”

“No, no. Just Hank.”

“Alright, ‘Just Hank.’”

“Uh, no. That’s not my name. Listen.” Hank cleared his throat, levelling a glare at the compact. It would be so easy to crush it. It wasn’t exactly a weighty device, and he was certain that only a few stringy wires ran inside of it; one clench of his fist and it would be gone forever. Kara must have paid a pretty penny for it, though.

“I know.” There’s a jovial hint in the AI’s voice, light enough that Hank can imagine a smile. “I was merely joking.”

With a crumpled brow, Hank shut the AI down.