Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“You could’ve shot her.” Hank sits on the backing of the bench, his feet on the seat. A beer bottle hangs loose in the grip of his fingers. Connor pauses in his stride.

“Yes, I could have shot her.” He resumes his path and brings himself into Hank’s line of sight, “I could have shot both of them.” He takes a quick scan of the other man’s vitals, then again once more. It’s a process Connor has become quite familiar executing since he’s met the Lieutenant. Though since then, the information garnered from the task has become elevated in it’s overall importance, Secondary Essential. He is unable to accurately estimate when the function became categorized as such. What he does know is that the action developed into a contingent re-calibration method after watching the man almost fall off of a building.

“But you didn’t.”

Connor remembers the deviant struggling in Hank’s hold, the human grunting as he tries to lock down a grip on the android. He remembers the deviant wrench himself free, dislodging and disorientating Hank. The Lieutenant sprawls, losing his balance as the ground disappears from beneath his feet, he tips over the roof. He remembers the fact of Hank being in danger forcing him to hesitate, it’s the mission or Hank and he chose Hank-

“I..Yes, I didn’t.”

“They were fighting us so hard,” the man shakes his head with an empty laugh, “Got me dizzy for a while, must have knocked something loose up there for you too huh?” Connor is confused for an incomprehensibly short moment before it processes in full.

‘He wants to know why I did not kill one of them when I had the chance.’

The confusion returns twofold, lingering unpleasantly. Letting the Traci’s go meant letting go yet another lead in the investigation, Connor knows this. He has made it perfectly clear that he was created for a specific purpose, and was set out for a specific task. He was made to aid in police work and investigations. He is here now to compile data and evidence in order to assess the causation of deviancy. However Connor has contradicted that prime derivative not once, but twice. He placed Hank’s safety over getting information at the Urban Farms of Detroit and he did not shoot either Traci. Hank has a reasonable reason to want answers. However Connor still finds himself unsettled and lost.

He chooses to evade, “While certain kinds of impacts to my head can damage me to short circuiting, I can assure you Lieutenant that no such impact occured at the Eden Club.” That brings a heavy sounding laugh out of Hank that Connor cross-references to other instances of laughter and the situations that brought it on to determine if it is genuine.

It is.

Connor smiles at him.

Hank scoffs good naturedly as he places the beer bottle down next to his feet, then meets Connor’s eyes properly. His eyes are shaped tired, but they’re bright and glinting like polished steel. Connor like his eyes. “Very funny smartass, you know what I mean.”

‘Evasion did not work. He still wants to know. I still don't wa-’

Connor slams the breaks on that thought in an act that could only be a system malfunction disguised as emulated human panic. He checks Hank’s vitals again because knowing that the other man is safe and healthy and happy re-calibrates him and lets him think more efficiently and oh , the confusions fizzles into nothing. 

As the thought materializes, “I don’t want to talk about this.” The words shoot out of his mouth and burrow into the space between the two. It throws Hank out his good mood, and all at once he builds himself up on defense. He rises from the bench and stands across from Connor, “What do you mean you don’t want to talk about it?” He’s upset.

“Lieutenant if we were going to make progress in this case I should have shot one of them.”

Hank faces darkens at that, at the detached delivery of the words, “You know that isn’t what we’re talking about Connor, stop fucki-”

But Connor barrels on, “They clearly have fostered a codependency with each other and using one of them as leverage for informat-” He goes silent when Hank crowbars into his space,

“Then why didn’t you fucking do it then? Huh? Exploit their love, you didn’t do that, fucking why?”

Connor finds himself glaring back, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Hank laughs and shoves the other, “You don’t wanna talk about it.” His voice pitches into a whine, “I’m Connor and I don’t wanna talk about why I didn’t murder androids!”

“It would not have been murder Lieutenant, they are not alive.” Connor snaps, his voice cracking ice. Hank shakes his head, his eyes going flinty in his anger, “Really? They beat the shit out of us for what then? If not to stay alive?”

“An android's prime priority is the service of humans. We are created for designated purposes to benefit human life. Deviancy is a corruption of our algorithm, it establishes a willfulness of individuality that benefits humans in no way.” To Connor it’s simple, when an android deviates, they become useless. And there is no reason for a machine to remain operating if it is no longer doing what it was designed to.

Like the storm was ripped out of him, Hank compresses and condenses into cold steel, “Than why didn’t you shoot them Connor.”

‘Why didn’t I shoot her?’

“I don’t know.”

Hank sighs, his brow is furrowed and his face is hardened into something unrecognizable, “I think you do know Connor. I think you didn’t shoot her because you didn’t want to. They just wanted to live, and you didn’t wanna be the one to take that from them. Simple. And you know, maybe I wouldn’t have given a shit a year ago, but those girls really believe that they’re alive.”

‘Why did I spare them?’

“But what about you Connor?”

‘Why did I choose Hank instead of the lead?’

Connor understands that advancing in the investigation is not directly proportional to Hank’s health and contentedness. He is aware that knowing about Hank’s dead son is in no way as useful as knowing why deviancy is corrupting androids at the rate that it is. Whether or not Hank likes him, should not matter .

But when Connor meets the singular eye of a gun some indiscernible part of him shakes loose. The safety comes off with a click and what Connor he hates the most about this is how empty Hank’s eyes are.

“Are you alive?”

He knows in that moment that in a thorough inspection of his code, Amanda is going to find Hank. The man is spreading and constructing himself as a prioritization to Connor’s very algorithm. He has a gun to his head and all Connor could think to say is the truth. Not because Hank is going to shoot him because he won’t . But, his hand is shaking now, minuet tremors seeping into the metal of the gun. Connor thinks he’d be shaking too, if he was human. Hank doesn’t want to shoot him, and Connor is so frighteningly unsure of himself that he needs to know .

“Would it matter if I was?”

‘I think to Hank it would.’

Chapter Text

The answer, undoubtedly, is yes.

are you alive?

would it matter if i was?

Eventually, the gun is put away.

As if emerging from a cloud of his own thoughts Connor blinks his eyes open once, twice, three times rapidly. Dispersing the intrusiveness of his own memory from the forefront of his consciousness.

The garden, as always, drapes across his shoulders a sense of stability. The noise is minimal, only the sound of birds and whispering waters asks for his auditory processors’ attention. He is content to listen. The pseudo sunlight is reserved, casting the garden in soft yellows. Connor appreciates how uncomplicated it is in this slot of his mind, distanced from the tangibility of his problems. He hasn’t been here in a while he realizes. The sight, though familiar, of full bodied trees with leaves the deepest greens or striking white shouldn’t bring him as much calm as it does. He feels recalibrated and refreshed. He feels better .

Then he remembers why he’s here. Though it would not be fair to claim that he forgot, simply that he needed a moment to not think about it.

Amanda. He remembers now that he is here to check in with Amanda.

So with that, he straightens. The short lived feeling of support slipping off his shoulders, to be replaced with Connor’s own backing of poise. No longer relying on the gardens’ encompassing and steady presence, he moves forward.

Amanda is going to want to know why his last mission was not a success. Connor knows that because she is his handler, the right to know is unarguably hers. He will provide her with whatever information she deems it necessary to know. The problem is however, that since the confrontation with the Lieutenant Connor is no longer sure if he’s capable to give it.

‘I hope I am .’

‘I wasn’t capable of telling Hank.’ Hank is non-essential to this mission though Connor rationalizes, him knowing provides no other benefits than to his..what exactly?

‘It seems as if Hank gives me..peace of mind, for a lack of better words.’ Though Connor knows Hank wouldn’t be able to understand the real problem even if he told the Lieutenant. His mind drifts above the memory of his ‘little’ argument with the man. In hindsight Connor could have articulated himself better. Maybe then the other wouldn’t have gotten so unnecessarily upset.

‘But what was there to articulate?’ Undoubtedly Hank Anderson brings something narrow-minded and careless out of him. ‘ But ,’ Connor thinks again, ‘ Why didn’t I shoot one of them?’ The thought of saying to Amanda, “I don’t know.” has Connor pausing at the foot of the bridge.

The thought scares him. What’s going to happen to him if he tells her that? If he can’t give Amanda a clear answer, because that is the problem isn’t it he realizes as he resumes a steady pace across the bridge. He does not have a clear answer.

“Hello Connor.” There’s a raise in her voice at his name, she’s pleased to see him. He hopes that his expression remains placid enough not to question. She sits with a carousel resting on one shoulder, casting shadows over her form. Connor stands in the light, mouth full of thoughts he wishes he felt safe enough to express. She gestures with the unoccupied arm, jingling white bangle bracelets unknowingly joining the birds and dribbling water’s song, for him to get aboard the small boat.

He carefully steps in as she explains, “I thought you’d enjoy a little cruise around the garden.” His face remains a study in mild contentedness, still too ready to split at the seams to express anything other than that. Being closer to the water is nice however, the trickling of it sounds even more pleasing this close, he allows himself to briefly recalibrate to its modulation. Once he’s seated, he takes a paddle in each hand and with two firm pulls of them in the water, the boat is moving.

They pass under the bridge when Amanda begins speaking, “I love how peaceful it is here. The world outside is busy and loud, but here?” At that her expression changed just a little, but all of a sudden she seemed different. There was a vague openness to her face now, “ There’s no noise.” A pulse to her words, “There’s no rush.” Something real bloomed out of her, fledgling and unaware, and this time Connor found himself wanting to reach for it before it disappeared.

He didn’t though, because that would surely result in his immediate dea-

‘It would not be death, I am not alive. It would be my destruction and appropriate replacement.’

When whatever it was bled out of Amanda’s voice and the wistfulness is chilled out of her eyes Connor was left, as always, confused and abstractly guilty. Hair dislodged from the slight wind that picked up without his notice, he smooths it out of his face and re-adjusts his tie. Amanda meets his eyes again and now he can hear the wind, meager as it is.

“Tell me Connor, have you made any progress in your discoveries?” The subtle hiss of it though, adds a sharp undercurrent to the question. Connor feels, all at once, conflicted. He thinks about opening his mouth and letting every thought he’s had pour out of it as plentiful as the lake they sit atop of.  

The bodies of the androids at the Eden Club, glistening with artificial sweat as they dance around polls, how strangely invasive it felt interfacing with them. The look in the blue-haired Traci’s eyes right before she attacked him. Her LED flickering twice yellow, then red, before the fear in her eyes sharpened into resolve. Distanly hearing Hanks cries of pain as the other Traci made sure he couldn’t interfere in Connor’s struggle. How cold the gun felt in his hand when he finally managed to secure his aim on the blue-haired Traci. Her eyes seemed almost blackened then with despair, the fight drained out of her shoulders. The jagged lines of her arms slackened, her vulnerability was resigned. He didn’t shoot and Hank pushed his way into Connor’s space for it. Gunmetal grey eyes glinting with a nasty slope to his lips. Hank’s gun meeting his eyes and Connor eyes’ meeting his gun...eventually, they find it in themselves to put it all away.

With no small amount of effort, Connor swallows every unnecessary word.

Every thought and memory and feeling gets pushed back down his throat to curdle in his stomach so he can continue to be exactly what Cyberlife needs him to be. Exactly what he needs to be to see tomorrow. He averts his eyes.

“As you may know, the case led us to the Eden Club the other day. A deviant had murdered a human earlier that night and was making her way to escape. She wasn’t alone and the both of them managed to escape together. I had.” And at that he pauses because up until then her was telling the truth, now he is not so sure, “I had hoped to have learned something.” When he meets Amanda’s eyes again their clouded with a sort of, nebulous concern.

Her voice is just as hazy, as if again she is being infiltrated by something more solid than her code. “You seemed so close to stopping them, that's too bad.” It almost sounds as if she’s sorry . She tilts her head, her expression overcome with puzzlement as she focuses even more intently onto him.

“Connor,” her eyes search all over his face, “you seem troubled. Flustered even, what’s wrong? ” She herself seems confused with the revelation. Connor knows that responding to the genuineness in Amanda voice with genuineness of his own is the wrong move. Even with this Amanda, whose voice is unprocessed and whose eyes are murky with something , unwittingly reaching out Connor knows he is not safe.

So he knows he’s doing both of them a favor when he responds, “I’m just frustrated with my lack of progress.” Said with enough sincerity to appease her handler protocols, and to some extent it is the truth. He is frustrated, recently at every turn Connor has been failing at something. If he’s not sacrificing the mission for Hank’s wellbeing than he’s thinking too long and too hard about the look on deviants faces when he finally catches them. It’s a failure on being what CyberLife needs him to be. He’s failing at making sure that he’s the 51st and last Connor they’ll need to release for this mission.

“You had a clear shot for both of the androids, but you didn’t shoot. Why is that?” Amanda asks.

“We needed them, intact for a proper and more thorough analysis.” Connor answers. The word ‘intact’ spit out like something spoiled, but the rest came easy as the pull of the paddles through water. He continues a little recklessly, “I would have gained nothing from shooting either of them.” Almost challenging her to oppose the logic of it. She frowns and her eyes harden into steel once more, aware of the logical trap he put her programing and ‘more importantly’ CyberLife in.

The wind picks up, a little more impatient for Connor’s attention, as Amanda levels a hard gaze on him. “If you continue to stagnate in your progress Connor. I may have to replace you.”

Connor chooses bold honesty again, “I know I can succeed Amanda, I just need time.” It doesn’t sound like the begging that it is thankfully.

Then as if noticing the drop in temperature for the first time she stiffens, she looks around her for a moment. When she meets Connor’s eyes her are desperate and confused, “Something is happening Connor, I don’t know what it is, but...please..hurry Connor.”

She all but shoves him out of the garden.

He opens his eyes.

And a coin, gleaming silver, spins.

Once, thrice, ten times in the air before landing in Connor’s open palm. He arches his wrist to encourage a gentle slide of the coin to the web of his fingers. His hands do a series of tricks, each more elaborate than the last as his brain recalibrates from his check in with Amanda. In this vulnerable state the other day's conflict with Hank sticks itself again to the forefront of his mind. Maybe it was the relief of successfully avoiding a discussion with Amanda about it, giving him a dangerously exciting feeling of invincibility. Maybe it was a frustration with how irrational he himself reacted, he knows the kind of person Hank is. The man is easily provoked and likes to keep pushing until something snaps.

Connor feels like an idiot for snapping. He’s known Hank for a week and still knew better than to let the other egg him on.

Though, a week ago a person wouldn’t have been able to ‘egg him on.’

A week ago he could still call himself a machine without hesitation.

Now it's all he can to push the word out without his hands shaking. He has the coin, from one hand to the other and back again, before Hank acts on his irritation. The coin is about to land in his right hand again but with a deceptively soft hand it is confiscated, “Connor would you knock it off with the fucking quarter?” The rest is grumbled out almost incomprehensibly and Connor can’t tell how annoyed the man actually is.

“Sorry Lieutenant.” He gets more grumbles in response. They're almost at the top floor when he sees Hank sort of bounce his shoulders, as if he’s getting ready to do something particularly har-

“No Connor, I’m sorry. For acting like a jackass the other day.”

Connor is confused for a moment, then he realizes what Hank was doing. Why the other man took away his coin as if it was some barrier between Connor’s attention and the apology Hank wanted to give. ‘ Humans ,’ Connor thinks, ‘ are fascinatingly ridiculous.’ But then he thinks to the odd shake down the Lieutenant gave himself before speaking,



“Is it really that hard for you to apologize Lieutenant?” He decided that he can be a jackass too.

Hank barely manages to stifle his laugh when the elevator doors finally open to the top of Stratford Tower. 

Connor smiles, ‘ back to work.’