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It’s been three years, Connor thought absently as he leaned against the grimy wall in one of the seediest downtown bars. Three years since the end of the revolution. He didn’t think about the passage of time often, but the thought only occurred to him after he realized how long it’s been since Hank and Connor have actually been out to a bar. Months…has it been a year, even? Connor had been working hard on getting Hank to ease up on the alcohol to the point of him barely even consuming it. Connor let up this one time, however, since they just wrapped up a particularly difficult case and Hank wanted to celebrate. He figured the association of alcohol with celebration was an okay thing to partake in once in a while…definitely preferable to the association of alcohol with depression, anyway.
That’s not to say that Hank’s depression had totally disappeared. Connor would occasionally observe him some nights sitting on the couch watching TV with a far-off look in his eyes. But luckily with some persistence and determination (and a few arguments here and there) Hank eventually would refrain from drinking away his sorrows most of the time. It was one of the many reasons Connor was grateful to be living with Hank. Without Connor around, who’s to say Hank wouldn’t have drunk himself to an early grave by now?
Connor took his coin out of his pocket and flipped it up and down a few times, suddenly realizing absently that even after three years, this habit was one that still stuck. He liked having something to do with his hands. It helped him focus his thoughts, or even distract himself from things he didn’t want to think about or pay attention to. Like that android standing at the far end of the bar.
Connor side-eyed the android, and as if on cue, the android furtively glanced back. The attention was…interesting at least, but it was sort of unwanted. Though, he supposed it was kind of nice to not be shot glares just for being out in public for once.
Connor sighed, pocketing the coin, and pulled something else from his pocket—a crumpled piece of paper. He studied it for a moment, and pocketed it again, taking a few strides towards the bar.
“There you are!” Hank said a little too loudly. Connor observed him sitting hunched on the bar stool through the haze and the dim, red neon light. He was definitely pretty drunk, but not yet “sloppy drunk” as Hank called it.
Connor leaned his arm on the side of the bar. “I didn’t go far,” he said with a small, lopsided smile. “Enjoying yourself?”
Hank hesitatingly returned his smile, nodding slowly. “Yeah,” he said thoughtfully, eyes slightly glazed over. “Though…to be honest, I didn’t miss this place as much as I thought I would. Guess you’ve really rubbed off on me. Prick.”
Connor smirked and sat next to him. “I would have hoped my efforts would have had some effect by now. It’s been three years since we’ve been living together, you know.”
Hank nodded, swirling his whiskey on ice. “Y’know, I was just thinking about that.”
Connor nodded slightly in reply. He absently let the low rumble of the sound system and the mingle of the crowd fill his audio processors. Silence fell between the two of them, but it was comfortable. That is, until Connor again became aware of someone watching him. He turned to see the same android quickly avert its gaze away from Connor to one of the pool tables.
Connor sighed in quiet confusion as he slowly turned his head back forward, absently observing the half-empty bottles of liquor. The bartender seemed to notice his gaze, for he asked him then if he wanted a drink, but Connor blinked out of his daze and politely declined.
Hank observed his strange demeanor, looking him up and down, eyes finally resting on his yellow LED. “Everything okay?” he asked.
Connor considered for a moment, staring at the bottles for a bit longer. “Yeah,” he said, slowly turning to look at Hank. “This android keeps looking at me though. It’s just distracting is all.”
Hank’s face suddenly turned very serious. “Like…a dangerous look? We can go to another bar or head home—”
“No,” Connor said, stopping him. “Not dangerous. It’s smiling at me.”
Connor watched Hank’s somberness melt very quickly into something like realization and then…humor. Or playfulness. It made Connor uneasy.
“Yeah?” he asked, raising an eyebrow and taking a sip from his drink.
“Yeah…” Connor muttered, trying to piece together Hank’s expression.
Hank observed his furrowed brow and took another sip. “Don’t tell me you’re confused.”
Connor recoiled slightly. He didn’t like to be left in the dark. “Call me confused.”
Hank sighed gruffly and nudged him in the shoulder. “C’mon Connor, I thought you androids were supposed to be smart. She’s probably…interested or something.”
Connor quirked a brow, still not quite following. “Interested…?”
Hank rolled his eyes, looking frustrated. “Do I have to spell it out? Yeah, interested. In you.”
Connor processed for a moment. He looked down at himself, and back at Hank. “What’s so interesting about me?”
“Jesus Christ, Connor.” Hank sighed, turned around to check if anyone was in their vicinity, and leaned closer to him, continuing in a hushed voice. “Like. I dunno if you androids operate like humans do in this way but, at a bar, if someone gives you the eyes and smiles it means they…like you. She probably thinks you’re cute and wants to talk to you, or…” He trailed off, not knowing how to finish the sentence.
“Or…” Connor prompted.
“I dunno Connor! Have sex or something!” he whispered harshly.
Connor thought for a moment, eyes downcast, brows furrowing deeper. Well great, now he was even more confused. The thought of android romance and…sex was kind of ridiculous to Connor. When it was in relation to him, anyway. Then, he remembered—
He pulled out the crumpled piece of paper from his pocket and studied it for a second. “It gave me this—”
“Bah—” Hank cut him off gruffly, “—enough with the it, Connor, we talked about this.” He took another sip of his drink.
“Sorry. He—”
Hank practically choked on his drink, coughing and spluttering.
Connor stood up abruptly, paper fluttering to the floor, his hands flying to Hank’s shoulders. “Are you okay Lieutenant?”
“Yeah—” Hank caught his breath and coughed again. “Yeah.” He took another breath. “What were you saying?”
“Oh,” said Connor, having momentarily forgotten the conversation at hand. He scanned the wooden bar and floor quickly and picked up the piece of paper. “He gave me this.” He offered it to Hank.
Hank took the paper, studying the letters and numbers and confusion. “What is it?”
“Oh—his serial number. So we can talk telepathically when no longer in the same vicinity.”
Hank slammed down his drink in…not anger. Surprise? Connor startled slightly. “Christ Connor, you got his number?!” Hank said more loudly than anticipated.
Connor blinked a few times, and eventually let his shoulders relax. “You could call it that, yes.” He sat back down next to the lieutenant.
“When did—?!” he stopped, realizing he was being loud, and continued in a quieter voice, “When did this even happen?”
Connor shrugged, slightly confused at why Hank was making such a big deal about it. “Nine minutes and thirty-eight seconds ago.” He paused, remembering distantly that Hank disliked when he was unnecessarily precise. “…I guess,” he finished in an attempt to be casual.
Hank sighed, shaking his head in disbelief. “Damn,” he muttered.
Connor watched him, unsure of what to say.
But Hank watched him too, with an expectant sort of look. “So?” he prompted, patience obviously wearing thin.
“…So?”
“C’mon—what do you think?”
Connor blinked twice, momentarily unable to process that sort of question.
For a long time—three years to be exact—he had been working on trying to understand and express his feelings and thoughts accurately without the hindrance of “being a machine designed to accomplish a task”…but it still proved very difficult for Connor. Other androids seemed to embrace emotion and thought very easily, but for Connor, those sorts of things just made him kind of uncomfortable and confused. Especially when the conversation at hand was so...ungraspable.
“What do I think…” Connor reiterated quietly, tapping his fingers on the bar. “Well. I don’t know. I’m not…interested really, as you phrased it.”
Hank raised his eyebrows slightly, just for a moment. He continued to look at him with a sort of dazed expression and nodded slowly.
Connor didn’t like his lack of response. “What?” he asked, almost defensively. “Are you surprised or something?”
Hank blinked slowly. Connor remembered that he was still drunk.
“Well…no,” said Hank, swirling his drink again. An idea seemed to strike him as he tilted his head, and he changed tact. “Would you…be interested if…the android was a girl?”
Connor processed the question for a moment and had to hold back from rolling his eyes. “What, Lieutenant—” he began snarkily, “—is this your roundabout way of asking if I’m ‘gay’?”
Hank barked out a laugh, seeming to be pleasantly surprised at the very humanlike response. “I dunno, Connor,” he said through a smile as he sipped his drink. “Maybe. I’m just curious.”
Connor did roll his eyes at this, trying to suppress a smile. In no way would they be having this conversation if he were sober. “Androids don’t have sexualities like humans do, Hank.”
Hank’s smile faded with a final chuckle and he turned…thoughtful. He looked up to the dusty ceiling, blinking against the hazy light. “Do they not though? We saw that Markus guy kiss his girlfriend on national television. And the Traci girls...”
Connor followed his gaze upward at the ceiling, his visual processors absently going over the cracks and cobwebs. Call him empathetic, but he turned thoughtful as well. “Mmm, that’s not what I mean. Androids can fall in love, I guess.” He paused. That concept was foreign and…unnecessary to him, though. And sex, that thought confused him even more—androids weren’t even programmed with pleasure so…what was there even to gain? Did androids even have sex with each other? He supposed they could…he never thought about it. But why they would, who knows.
Maybe it was all in an attempt to be more human. Connor suddenly felt bad for his kind. They would never be like humans, and honestly, they should probably stop trying and just accept the fact that they were different. Though, that was sort of difficult in this unstable political climate. Humans didn’t like different. And androids…most of them just wanted to feel. To experience something other than directives and tasks. To be…included in the experience of humanity perhaps. Were they all just…emulating humans? Did they actually really feel? Actually think?
Connor shook his head slightly at these thoughts—he knew them to be untrue. But for someone like Connor, it was just hard to really believe it sometimes. What did he really know anyway, he was sort of out of the loop with all this “humanity” business. Maybe if he were in the mind of someone like Markus it would make more sense. For others, maybe they really did feel…human.
That wasn’t to say though that Connor never felt. He most certainly did. He felt happy and fulfilled working as a detective. He felt warm and comfortable living with Hank. He liked being outside, taking Sumo for a walk, feeling the breeze run through his hair. He felt negative emotions too. Frustration. Fear, whenever he and Hank were in a dangerous situation on a case. Even panic and grief, when he thought Hank had been shot once (those emotions, Connor had noted, were very painful and should be avoided at all costs).
And yes, perhaps he felt something…akin to love for the lieutenant. Like a friend would love another friend or…maybe how a son would love his father.
But romance was something Connor couldn’t really relate to.
Blinking, Connor remembered the conversation at hand. “What I meant to say is, there’s no…preference. Androids don’t really see gender. We’re all genderless, sort of. We just look traditionally ‘male’ and ‘female’ to make humans more comfortable. Aside from the few androgynous models.”
Hank thought about this for a moment, looking down at his drink. He took the last sip, swallowing and clicking his tongue. “That doesn’t really make sense though.”
Connor’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Why not?”
“Well, the way I see it...” He paused and tapped the bar twice with his hand to indicate to the bartender he wanted a refill. Connor cringed internally. He hoped he wouldn’t be having to drag Hank back to the house. “The way I see it,” he started again as the bartender poured him another, “androids could technically have a preference.”
Connor cocked his head to the side. “Are you suddenly well-versed in android knowledge, Hank?” he asked, a mocking edge to his voice.
Hank rolled his eyes, taking the first sip of his fifth drink. “No,” he said after an audible gulp. “But I’m just using common sense. It doesn’t even have to do with gender really, more like...a type. Just because you don’t have genders and aren’t attracted to specific genders, doesn’t mean you all don’t have types—” Noting Connor’s confused gaze, he clarified, “Like...preferences. Looks and personality traits that are preferable to a certain android. And for the most part you were all made to look masculine or feminine, since you were created by humans. So it wouldn’t be wrong to assume that one android might prefer a more masculine look to a feminine, and vice versa.”
Connor nodded slowly, considering Hank’s words. “I...guess you have a point,” he muttered, letting him have this one. It was certainly an odd occurrence to see Hank so talkative and philosophical. When it did happen, it was usually during times like these, when Hank was in the sweet spot right before “sloppy drunk.”
Hank nodded and looked at Connor. He raised his eyebrows, almost as if he expected him to elaborate.
“What?” Connor asked, eyes shifting uncomfortably.
“Do you have a type, Connor?” Hank asked with a slimy, shit-eating grin.
“Agh, Hank!” He buried his face in his hands as Hank bumped into his side playfully. Embarrassed as he was, he couldn’t help but hide a smile in his hands. It was nice when they could both be open and joke around like this. It was sort of a rare occurrence at first, but it happened more and more as the months and years went on. It made him warm inside, even though the topic at hand was certainly not his favorite. Part of him wished he could go back to three years ago when this would be the last thing that Hank would want to talk about. Just a small part of him though.
When Connor didn’t elaborate Hank nudged him annoyingly. “Ugh, Hank I’m really...not interested in...androids in that way,” he said, voice muffled by his hands. “Or humans for that matter.”
“I know, I know, but if you had to pick,” Hank stressed.
Connor shook his head in his hands, defeated. He looked over to Hank with an exasperated sort of expression. “People and androids just aren’t on my radar in that way. I wasn’t made to—”
“Deviancy, Connor,” Hank reminded him.
“Okay—even though I’m deviant it just doesn’t really interest me.”
Hank nodded as if he was really finally letting Connor’s words sink in. But Connor has known Hank for three years, and he knew bullshit when he saw it. “But if you had to pick.”
He expected it. He rolled his eyes exaggeratedly, and huffed a sigh. All learned expressions, but they were coming more naturally lately. He gave Hank one last pleading look, but Hank didn’t seem to be budging.
Sighing, Connor considered the question for a moment, humoring Hank, or he’d never hear the end of it. He thought about the types of people he felt more naturally drawn to. It was hard, because really his only friend was Hank, and he could get along with most people as long as they were nice enough. But was there something...some sort of quality in someone that made him more...what did Hank say? Interested?
He considered gender, or the construct of such. He supposed most of the people he interacted with were men in the precinct. And though he didn’t like all of them (Gavin especially), that’s what he was more used to anyway. Come to think of it, he really didn’t interact with many feminine people...ever. He supposed maybe it was because they didn’t...interest him as much really.
Connor eventually shrugged, not coming up with anything more conclusive at the moment. “I suppose I’m more...swayed towards the masculine type. But again—”
“Ha!” Hank blurted out, jabbing a finger at him. “I knew it!”
Connor tensed, blinking in surprise at his sudden outburst. They were both still for a moment. Then his shoulders relaxed as he let out a breath of laughter and smiled, shaking his head. “You’re impossible, Hank.”
“No you’re impossible, Connor. It’s like pulling teeth trying to get a straight answer outta you sometimes.” Hank finished off the rest of his drink two large gulps, wiping his mouth ungracefully with the back of his hand.
Connor curled his lip slightly in distaste, not wanting Hank to get any more drunk than this. “Are we...done celebrating?”
“Pppft,” Hank puffed out a sort of laugh. “Yeah I guess so. You’re driving though.” He stood up rather unsteadily, cracking his back. “As if you—”
“As if I’d allow another option,” Connor muttered, finishing his thought. He offered an arm to help support him, but Hank’s pride prevented him from taking it.
“Took the words right outta my mouth.”