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1.
Day one was cold. It was strange, after so long of nothing but emptiness, of mindlessly following whatever whim his superiors sent him, the first thing Connor truly felt, the first thing that pierced through him was the cold.
His steps were hesitant. He wasn’t sure how his first meeting with Hank since the Android uprising would go. Would Hank even show up? Would they still be friends? He noticed the reflection of his LED flashing in the snow as he cautiously made his way through the streets. Steady flashes of yellow, only interrupted by the briefest bursts of red. The second thing he’d felt since becoming deviant. Uncertainty. It gnawed at him, twisting somewhere deep inside of him, racing though his mind, making each step feel like he was sinking into the ground beneath him. His LED spun, a bright yellow, before it settled on red and stayed there. He continued on.
The snow covered shack that was Chicken Feed brought back bittersweet memories tinged with something else that he wasn’t yet able to identify. He saw Hank, his hair and coat dusted with a fine layer a snow. He saw the white cloud billow from his mouth as he exhaled and ran a hand through his hair, dislodging some of the snow that had built up. Connor could tell he’s been there a while, which was odd. The lieutenant wasn’t usually one known for punctuality. The thought made Connor’s thirium pump start beating rapidly. With each step closer his pulse quickened. He was almost there. He could hear the artificial beat in his auditory sensors. The twisting deep inside him doubled. He was there. Hank was there. He wanted to see him. Connor wanted—the thought made him pause. Connor wanted. He wanted so badly. He ran.
“Hello, Lieutenant.” Hank turned around and their eyes finally met. For the briefest moment there was nothing but silence. Connor’s artificial heart continued to pump wildly in his chest. Snow continued to fall. His LED continued to glow an angry red that reflected off the snow. They continued to stare at each other. Then finally, they broke.
“Connor.” It came out a strange, broken sob. Connor found he never wanted to hear that sound leave his friend’s lips again. It was odd. Wanting. He wanted so much now.
Hank took a few cautious steps foward and reached out, pulling Connor close to him. Even covered in snow Hank was so warm.
“Thank God you’re okay, kid.”
Connor said nothing, only wrapping his arms around Hank and pulling himself closer. Warmth. The third thing he’d felt since becoming human.
He pulled even closer.
2.
Day two was hard. After spending the previous day in the calming presence of his former partner, returning to the dilapidated ruins of the church that now called itself Jericho made him realize how much he missed Hank. He missed his wiry hair and dubiously fashionable shirts. He missed Hank’s presence by his side and his gentle teasing. He missed the sounds of Sumo’s gentle breathing and the soft thuds of his feet against a hardwood floor. But, above all else, he missed the feeling of home that Hank brought along with him wherever they went. Connor was having a hard time naming the emotion he was feeling right now. Grief was...too strong, but wistfulness didn’t seem quite concrete enough. Melancholy?
Perhaps.
He wandered aimlessly around New Jericho, looking at the androids that were gathered inside. Even with the President’s announcement and the streets of Detroit more or less evacuated, save for the few stubborn individuals that refused to leave, nothing had really changed. With all the new emotions that their kind felt now, fear was still the one that rang strongest. They were so afraid to leave. He was afraid. There was nowhere for him to go, but the longer he stayed the more out of place he felt. The more the walls of Jericho went from being a safe haven to an overbearing, claustrophobic cell. He needed space.
Connor stepped out the back door into the rarely used rear lawn. It was an overgrown jungle of weeds, cracked benches, and forgotten graves. Though in the snow, the sad scene before him had an almost ethereal quality to it. Like a painting from some long forgotten, classic human artist. It held its own unusual appeal. He wasn’t the only one that used the yard as an escape, apparently, since there sat Markus, seated on a cracked bench, looking as contemplative as usual.
“Oh, hello Markus. I hope I’m not disturbing you. I can leave, if you’d find it preferable.” Markus sighed, but still gave him a small smile.
“No, you have as much of right to be here as I do. I was just...thinking.”
“You seem troubled.” Markus laughed.
“Yeah, I guess you can say that.” He shook his head and Connor sat next to him. He still couldn’t control the unease he felt around the man, his mind always going back to the near ill-fated night where Connor almost cost them everything.
“Care to talk about it? Research tells me that talking about confusing emotions can often help one begin to process and understand them.”
“It’s just...a lot. I’m not sure you’d understand.”
“I’ve been told I’m quite adept at reading the nuances and intricacies in human emotion. I’m just not quite able to identify them in myself, as of yet.” Connor could see the twinkle of amusement in his mismatched eyes.
“Well if you insist.” And just like that the air of sadness had returned to him. “I don’t know, Connor. I—I just don’t know. Everything’s just—I don’t know.”
“What’s wrong?” Markus laughed again, but this time it was a dry, mocking kind.
“You know, it’s pretty silly. There’s so much going on, our people just got the freedom that we’ve been fighting for—that we’ve been dying in the streets for. And I’m more concerned about my...relationship drama.”
“So I take it things with North went south?” And at that Markus laughed. And Connor wanted to hear that again. He’d begun to realize he enjoys trying to make people happy, even if it’s only a moment as fleeting as this.
“So I take it you’ve been hanging around that police officer of yours too much. Puns, Connor? Really? We’re better than this.” Markus wiped at the artificial tears that have gathered in his eyes. “But yes, it’s not going well.”
“Why? Things seemed fine to me.”
“And that’s the problem. They’re fine. Everything’s FINE. I’m...fine, so I shouldn’t be as unhappy as I am. But these last couple of days have made me realize that I’m just going through the motions right now. Being the revolutionary our people expect me to be, being the partner North expects me to be, being the leader the humans want me to be, and it’s like no one cares about who I REALLY am except—“
“Markus. You have to calm down.” Connor could tell he was panicking. From the jumbled mess of words that was spilling out from the usually so articulate man, to the way Markus was holding himself so tense, his LED would be glaring red if he still had one. “You were right, I don’t understand. What does any of this have to do with North?”
Markus sighed and buried his face in his hands. “I don’t know. I’m just so confused. About everything. I feel so lost. Everything was fine until Warren made her announcement, and then it was like the veil finally lifted and I could stop pretending.”
It was times like these that Connor wished he was just a little more human. A little less awkward. A little more likeable. He wished he knew what to say to make Markus feel better, to feel like he didn’t have to hide who he was or live up to the messianic image they made of him. Instead, he reached out and gently placed a hand on Markus’ shoulder in what he felt was a comforting gesture. It didn’t seem to help Markus feel any better, but he did at least smile.
“Markus, if you don’t mind me asking, what have you been pretending about?”
He sighed again. “A lot of things, Connor. I’ve been lying to my people, pretending that I’m some great savior, come to deliver them to salvation. When I actually hate every minute of this. Of course I want my people to be free, but I kept asking myself ‘why does it have to be me?’ You know, even though I was a prototype, I was designed to be a caretaker model.” Connor did know, in fact. But he wasn’t going to say that. “I’m no different from the AK-400s or the PL-600s out there. Yeah, I loved taking care of my people, but I never wanted to lead them. I just wanted to help, but everything got so out of control and by then there was no turning back. Everyone was looking at me to save them.”
“But you did.”
“But I did.” His voice was grave. Suddenly Markus stood up and began to pace. “I think I might have to end things with North.”
“Why?”
“I can’t keep lying to her. Or myself. Or everyone. I love her, I really do. I just don’t think I knew, at the time, that there was a difference between loving someone and being in love with someone. And then there came Simon.”.
“Simon? The PL-600?” Another one Connor found it hard to be around without the ghosts of his past coming back to haunt him.
“Yeah, Simon.” Markus sat back on the bench next to him and he had a saccharine, almost syrupy-sweet smile on his face. “Throughout the entire revolution Simon was the one person I could turn to when I needed to get away. Whenever the arguments between North and Josh became too much, or the guilt of the deaths that happened because of decisions I made, or whenever I just needed to be myself, he was always there. And then once the President made her announcement, and we were finally free, we just looked at each other and something happened. I’m just not sure what. I don’t know—does that make any sense?”
And it did. Connor had never identified with a feeling so strongly in his short life. That sudden realization that things just...weren’t right and if he didn’t fix it right now he’d jump out of his own skin. He first remembered feeling the slightest inkling of it before—before he even knew that he’d been feeling all along. It had only been getting stronger since he’d gone deviant, only to reach its crescendo upon reuniting with Hank. He knew he needed to do something—he was practically buzzing with it—Connor just didn’t know what yet.
“You know, Markus, you’d be surprised at just how much I understand. Do what needs to be done.”
And so would he, Connor decided. He had already wasted too much time.
3.
Day three was surprisingly nice. It felt like Connor could finally breathe, like the pressure that was building on his shoulders had finally lifted. Even though leaving Jericho was the hardest decision he had ever made—even harder than finally giving into deviancy—once he saw Hank open his front door with a smile on his face and pull him into a hug, he knew he’d made the right one. Being in Hanks arms was like going home after a long, exhausting day. It felt like he finally belonged.
“I gotta say, Connor, it’s good to have you back.”
“Glad to be back, Lieutenant.” And he was. Connor wasnt even sure it was possible to be this happy. Part of him thought this was all some cruel trick, and at any minute Cyberlife would be yanking him back to reality and revealing that it was all some sick illusion to torture him for his betrayal.
“Fuck, how many times I gotta say to quit it with the ‘Lieutenant’ shit. If we’re gonna be living together, least you could do is call me by my name.” With that Hank threw a roguish grin his way and Connor felt something flutter deep inside him. Odd. No system alerts came up, but he ran a quick diagnostic. Just to be sure.
“Alright then. Hank.” And Connor smiled back. Though his was much more hesitant, not the easy spread that lit up Hank’s face and made his beautiful, blue eyes shine. But he was working on it. Slowly but surely. “So what’s on the agenda for today?”
“Well, first things first, we’re marching down to Fowler’s office and demanding that smug ass give you your job back.”
That was surprising. Even though one of the few things he’d truly wanted was to return to being Hank’s partner, he hadn’t dared ask. It seemed too soon, the wounds of the rebellion still too fresh, to think he’d be able to waltz back into the DPD like nothing had happened. The scars of their actions still haunted the streets of Detroit. Though Markus had tried his best to lead a peaceful revolution, there were casualties. Lives on both sides were lost. Buildings were destroys. Families were destroyed. The evacuation hadn’t even been fully lifted yet. Detroit wasn’t the same anymore. Connor wasn’t sure if it ever would be again.
“Hank, are you sure that’s a good idea?”
“Hold on, are you trying to say you don’t want your job back?”
“No, I’m just saying that perhaps now isn’t the right time.” Hank was incredulous. He scoffed and walked off to the kitchen, no doubt in search of a beer—or maybe something stronger. With a sigh, Connor followed after him. “Hank, we were just granted the right to be people, don’t you think that trying to force the DPD to give me a job might be pushing it? It’s just too soon.”
All Hank did was shake his head and take a swig from his beer. Connor was just glad he hadn’t reached for the stronger stuff. It was nice seeing Hank make progress.
“No offense, kid, but that’s a load of bullshit and you know it.”
“I—“
“No! You listen here, Connor. You and me are gonna go down to the precinct, and you’re gonna march your skinny, plastic ass in Fowler’s office, and you’re gonna say ‘Hey asshole’—“
“Hank, I don’t believe—“
Hank shot him a sharp glare. “Don’t interrupt me, kid. Like I was saying, you’re gonna say ‘Hey! Fuckface!—“
“I thought you wanted me to say ‘Hey asshole’—“
“I want you to stop interrupting me!” Hank took another swig from his beer, finishing the rest of the bottle, and tossed from across the kitchen and into the bin. Connor would already tell from the trajectory of his throw that he was going to miss the trash bin completely and land approximately 3.76 inches to left of it. Which it did, with the loud sound of broken glass echoing through the room. Somewhere in the distance Sumo barked.
“Nailed it, Lieutenant.”
“Did you just—“ Then Hank broke off, suddenly consumed with laughter. Connor couldn’t remember him ever laughing, and the sight made a small smile cross his face. “Goddamn, I missed ya, kid.”
And oh, the breathy tone of Hank’s voice, from him trying to catch his breath after the laughing fit, the slight hint of pink across his face, the glint of amusement in his eyes, it all made a rush of warmth fill his chest. It was as if he couldn’t breathe. All he could do was stand there, completely enraptured by everything that was Lieutenant Hank Anderson. Suddenly everything that he’d been feeling started to click into place. The emptiness in his heart, the feeling that he had some sudden task that needed to be finished but was unsure as to what, the way his thirium pump quickened, the warmth that raced up his body when their eyes met, the way Hank could make him feel like he belonged like no one else could. Everything. He was falling for Hank. Completely and rapidly.
His LED was spinning almost uncontrollably, cycling between yellow and red with intermittent bursts of blue. His audio processor seemed to be malfunctioning. He could hear Hank’s voices. He was saying something, no doubt asking Connor a question, but it was as if there was a thick wall between them. His voice sounded so muffled. So far away. He expected at any moment to see the small -Software Instability^- notification in the corner of his vision.
Connor couldn’t help the swear that came out of his mouth at the realization. “Fuck!”
4.
Day four was nerve-wracking. Anxiety. Connor was getting better at naming the emotions he felt. Nervous. Jittery. Frantic. Uneasy. Scared. Scared. He was so, unbelievable frightened. His hands were growing clammy with artificial sweat. He could feel it beading around his hairline, making the wisps stick uncomfortably to his skin. It took everything in him to resist the urge to wipe at it. Androids don’t fidget. Connor didn’t fidget. But it was as if he was filled with uncontrolled energy and if he didn’t do something about it right now he’d self destruct. It was almost enough to make him cry.
What good was an anxious android to anyone?
But the worst part was the awful, invasive thoughts like that filling his mind. Connor was a state of the art prototype that none could hold a candle to, then he became a living, thinking, albeit artificially, breathing person. And now he was...he was....
...struggling to reconcile what he was with what he is. Existentialism sure was a bitch.
Connor wandered aimlessly around Hank’s tiny home. It was nice, slowly seeing it become more of a home than a...mausoleum, as harsh as that was. Hank was healing, but it was a process. Lately he was just as likely to see Hank smiling and pressed against him on the sofa with Sumo at their feet, as he was to see him passed out in the living room with his pistol in one hand and a photo of Cole in the other. But still, progress was progress.
Tonight though—tonight Connor was all alone. Nothing but the sounds of Sumo’s snores and his own oppressive thoughts keeping him company. Loneliness. One more emotion to add to his log. In ways it was worse than anxiety. Because, God, did being alone hurt so much. It cut straight to his core, making his body curl in on itself and his shoulders shake as he tried to repress his sobs. At least Hank wasn’t there to see it. Just Connor in an empty house, sitting on an empty sofa, crying all by himself. Oh, how he hated the humanity part of being human.
Embarrassment. Another one he could tick off the list. It was ridiculous. Connor was a state-of-the-art Android created for the specific task of hunting down and neutralizing deviant threats, yet he fell to pieces the second he was left to battle his demons. What good was an Android with anxiety? What purpose could he possibly serve when every other hour he was fighting against the tidal waves of guilt and grief and whatever unnamed feelings that would come to him in his darkest moments. It was strange. Connor wasn’t even aware he was equipped with the ability to cry until tonight. Until the loneliness started to claw at him, and all the mistakes he’d ever made played over and over in his head like some twisted, eidetic version of post-traumatic stress created just to torment him. Until all the wires and gears and cogs in the machine that made up Connor felt as if they were filling with water, and no matter how hard he tried to remind himself he didn’t need too, he just couldn’t breathe and nothing made it better.
Connor was like this for exactly three hours, thirty-seven minutes, and fifty-five seconds before he heard the turn of a deadbolt lock and the jingling of Hank’s keys. Then, as if a switch was flipped, his posture straightened, he stood up from his seat, his tears dried, and a smile was on his face. He refused to let Hank see him like this.
“Hank! Long night at the station, I take it?”
“Yeah, that fucker Fowler’s got me by the nuts working on bringing in some lowlife Red Ice pusher.” Hank removed his jacket, shaking snow onto the floor, and tossed it on the back of the dining room chairs. Connor made a mental note to mop up the quickly melting snow and put Hank’s coat in the closet where it belonged. One day he’d get Hank to care about the state of his home as much as he cared about basketball. Or gambling on basketball games. Hopefully.
“Were you able to collar them?”
“Nah. Fucking Reed sank the whole operation ‘cause he couldn’t keep his goddamn mouth shut.”
“Detroit’s finest, indeed.” Hank laughed as he walked over towards him. The sound still made his thirium pump flutter in a way that made him almost lightheaded. Connor had fallen so hard and so quickly for Hank and it scared him. He wasn’t sure what to do about it. It was strange. He was so used to having his parameters set for him and every decision he had to make already outlined with subsets to make the process function more smoothly. But know there was no CyberLife-generated task list. No red walls to keep him in place. He’d have to decide for himself. Connor wasn’t sure he could.
Hank has been speaking, Connor could acknowledge the fact that the Lieutenant was moving his lips, but for the life of him he couldn’t process what the man was saying to him. He was trapped in the rapid downward spiral that were his own thoughts. He couldn’t do this. Hank was going to find out how Connor felt about him and make him leave. He didn’t want to be alone again. It was too much. Connor could hear his thirium pump beating in his ears, his hands were growing clammy from his own lubricant, the pressure behind his optical units was almost too much to bear, and his own voice inside his mind wouldn’t quit telling him that he was going to ruin everything.
The only thing that broke through to him in the middle of what he was hesitant to call another panic attack was Hank gently pushing him back down onto the sofa and grabbing his shoulders.
“Connor!” Hank gave him a slight shake for emphasis. “What the fuck was that?”
The lines on Hank’s face deepened in concern when his eyes flicked to Connor’s LED, which was undoubtedly bright red. Maybe one day he’d gather up the nerve to remove it. He wasn’t sure where the hesitation came from. Maybe he’d grown to think of it as an extension of himself. Maybe he was becoming a creature of habit. Maybe he was just a coward.
“My apologies, Hank. I seem to be...malfunctioning, as of late.”
He was so afraid.
“The fuck, Connor? That’s one way to put it.”
He was weak.
“I’ll try to make sure it doesn’t happen again.”
He couldn’t do this.
“Nah, how about you tell me what’s going on inside that robo-head of yours that’s got you having a goddamned panic attack in my living room—“
Connor wasn’t sure if he was doing it right. He only knew of the act in theory, but the second he leaned in and pressed his lips to Hank’s all he knew was that it felt right. And it felt even better when Hank’s hands came up to cradle his face.
Maybe he would get the hang of this deviancy thing.
5.
Warmth. Out of everything he’d experienced so far, his favorite feeling was warmth. The heat of Hank’s chest pressed into his back. The way Hank’s breath fanned out across the back of Connor’s neck as he slept. The way he tossed in his sleep, tightening his hold on Connor and pulling him closer. The feeling of Hank’s skin underneath his fingers.
The look in his eyes when he woke up and smiled at Connor. The tightening in his chest when he smiled back.
He was so warm.