Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Hank, this would go faster if you’d let me assist you,” Connor stated again.

“Nope, nope, no, I got it,” Hank grunted. “You just hold that ladder.”

Hank could almost hear Connor frowning as he held the ladder still, while Hank teetered on the steps of it in the driveway. After the rough case that he and Connor had been working on all week, he had gotten an idea for something to do to de-stress. He had dug out the old basketball hoop in the back of the garage and was close to fixing it above the garage door.

Tightening the final screw, he carefully came down off the ladder, stood next to the perplexed looking Connor, and threw out his hands.

“Tada!”

Connor blinked and took a step back, toward the newly-inflated basketball and bicycle tire pump that Hank had used to air it up.

“C’mon,” Hank said, plucking up the ball and give it a few cursory bounces.

The ball made a satisfying ping sound as it bounced back up into his hands.

“Catch!” He bounced the ball at Connor.

Connor turned around and awkwardly caught the ball at his midriff. He held it loosely in his hands, and Hank mimicked dribbling the ball. Connor’s expression remained flat, but he perfectly imitated Hank’s motions of dribbling the ball. The ball, unfortunately, bounced farther and farther away from Connor with each dribble, and he had to stumble around to keep his hand on it. He looked like a giant toddler holding a ball for the first time.

Well, he was holding a ball for the first time, as far as Hank could figure.

“Try taking a shot.”

“Hank, what is the point of this?”

“Fun.”

“Fun.”

“Fun!” Hank stepped aside, giving Connor a clear path to the newly mounted basketball hoop. “You’ve watched enough games with me to know what it’s supposed to look like. Take a shot.”

Connor looked dubious, but he complied, lifting the ball in both hands in an approximation of what he’d seen the professional athletes do on the televised games. Hank gave him a onceover and then walked over to stand beside him, assuming a more proper position.

“Elbows in,” he instructed, holding an imaginary ball as such.

Connor tucked in his elbows. It was closer, but not quite right

“Here,” Hank reached over and tapped one of the android’s arms out a little. “You’re right handed, right?”

“I’m ambidextrous.”

“Right, of course you are. Okay, that looks good. Now, bend you knees a little like this,” he said, doing it himself.

Connor looked at him and similarly bent his knees.

“Then you just—“ Hank emulated taking a shot, exaggerating his movements a little for Connor to see.

Connor seemed to track the invisible ball across the air toward the hoop, looking back at Hank afterward.

“You released the ball too low,” he advised. “If you had been throwing an actual ball, it wouldn’t have hit the backboard.”

“Yeah, well…whatever, shut up…You try it,” Hank said, taking a step aside and folding his arms.

Connor frowned, then stared at the basketball hoop in that way he did when he was preconstructing his next action.

He bent his knees, raised the ball, tucked in his elbows…and shot.

The ball violently arced across the air, smacked against the face of the garage just above the hoop, and bounced off, zipping down the driveway and veering off into the grass.

“Whoa, okay…” Hank startled in surprise, then turned to see a devastated expression on Connor’s face at his failure. Hank hastily lifted both hands. “Room for improvement. Gotta start somewhere. Let’s try again.”

Connor stared at the hoop, seemingly trying to come to grips with his miscalculation. As Hank retrieved the wayward ball, Connor’s expression turned stubborn, and he hastily removed his jacket, rolling up his shirt sleeves.

“Tell me what I need to do, Hank.”

“Atta boy!”

Chapter Text

“Wait, why are you filming this?” Gavin snapped. “We did not agree on filming this!”

“I film everything,” Tina said, handing her phone to Chris. “Besides, you lost the bet, so shut up and take your punishment like a man.”

Gavin groaned angrily but settled where he was lying shirtless on his back on the bench in the locker room. Tina had roped in a willing helper in Chris Miller to film the occasion for later laughing reasons, while she had the task of doling out hair removal wax on cloth strips and selectively smoothing the strips anywhere she wanted on Gavin from the hips up.

“Sorry, but it sucks to suck,” she said, pressing a strip straight down his sternum where most of the chest hair was.

“I hate you so much. This is stupid,” Gavin growled.

“You said you were going to Nair my head if you won!” Tina snapped.

“That wouldn’t have hurt like this! You’re a sadist!”

“You got that right…bitch!” she yelled, yanking the strip away with the last word.

Gavin shrieked, smacking the back of his head on the bench as the wax yanked out a line of his chest hair.

“ARIANA GRANDE!” he shouted.

Tina cackled, shoving the used strip near his face. “Look at all that! You’re like a sasquatch. A short sasquatch!”

“Get it away from me!” he snapped, leaning away from her until he was nearly sliding off the bench.

Chris snickered, holding up Tina’s phone to capture every scream and embarrassing whimper.

“Shut the fuck up, Chris,” Gavin hissed through clenched teeth. “Ugh, how many of these?”

“FIVE!” Tina announced, layering up another strip.

“Shit.”

Tina applied the second waxy strip over his forearm. “Y’got hair forearms. Let’s fix that.”

“Wait—wait, no, no—“

“Yoink!” She yanked away the strip.

“KELLY CLARKSON!” he cried out in pain.

The naked line on his chest was turning red and irritated already.

“You are the swear-iest person I know,” Tina said, dropping the second used strip near the first on the floor, reaching for a third to wax up. “Why are you swearing in female singer’s names?”

“Don’t ask me questions. Just shut up and get this over with.”

“Well, if you INSIST,” she exclaimed, flattening the third wax strip horizontally across his collarbones.

Gavin was gripping the bench down by his hips, eyes squinted shut as he braced himself. Tina looked at his face and then looked gleefully at Chris and the camera. She gripped the edge of the strip but didn’t pull, just watching the poor man squirm and tense. She paused for a beat longer.

“God dammit, Tina, will you just—“

Yank.

“AH, CELINE DION!”

Tina cackled, tossing the third strip down and raising her hands in the air. “Yes!”

The horizontal strip had removed a perfect rectangle of hair right over the vertical line on his sternum, creating a perfect hairless T right in the middle of his chest.

“T for Tina,” she laughed, tracing the letter with a finger.

He twitched and shifted. “Shit. Fuck. Don’t touch it! It hurts!”

“Number four!” she announced.

The locker room door swung open, and Captain Fowler barged in.

“What in the Hell is going on in here? I can hear Gavin shouting from my office!”

Tina and Chris both froze, while Gavin incredulously looked at the reddening patch of naked skin on his forearm.

“I’m teaching this peasant a lesson,” Tina finally said.

“Is that a waxing kit?” Fowler asked. “What the actual fuck—“

“Sir, let’s be real: this is not the weirdest thing that you’ve seen in this locker room,” Tina stated.

“Reed, did you agree to this?” Fowler demanded.

“Unfortunately yes, sir.”

Fowler stared hard at him. “You fucking moron.”

“Yes, sir.”

He looked to Tina and Chris. “Just give him something to bite on if he’s gonna keep crying like a punk. People in the bullpen can hear this.”

“You got it.”

Fowler shook his head and left the locker room.

Abruptly, Tina smacked the fourth strip on Gavin’s other forearm and immediately pulled it off, giving him no time to prepare himself.

“JANET JACKSON!”

“And for the final strip!” Tina spoke over his whimpers. “I want to wax your armpit.”

“What? FUCK THAT.”

“You lost the bet. You were going to Nair my ENTIRE HEAD,” she stated, leaning in to yell directly in his stupid, reddening face. “GIMME THAT PIT.”

“Tina, you are so fucked up,” Chris muttered. “…Give her the pit, man.”

And that was how Connor walked into the locker room to find Gavin lying shirtless on the bench, one arm above his head while Tina viciously pressed a wax strip directly into his underarm while Chris filmed it.

Not that Connor had any room to be criticizing. He was only coming into the locker room to clean himself up after rescuing an elderly woman’s cat from a tree. Said cat had not come without a fight, resulting in Connor being covered in twigs and leaves, with his shirt ripped open across the left side of his chest, his hair completely messed up in the front, and with three perfect cat scratches on his cheek.

Nevertheless, the three humans froze and stared at him as he came in, as he likewise froze and stared at them.

“Tina,” he stated flatly. “Why are you putting a wax strip on Gavin’s armpit?”

“Connor,” Tina addressed, pointing at his torn shirt. “Why you got a titty out?”

Connor looked down and then hastily tried to pull his ruined shirt closed over his exposed chest.

Tina made a turning motion with her hand. “This didn’t happen.”

“Agreed,” Connor muttered, shuffling around the wall of lockers out of sight, to his own locker to get a spare shirt.

Tina felt Gavin starting to relax a little, so she abruptly yanked the final strip.

“BRITTANY SPEARS!”

Chapter Text

Supposedly there was some kind of comet or…meteor or…Mars…thing happening in the sky that night. Person hadn’t really been paying attention when Ben had been babbling about it all day. She had been too bogged down with work after being assigned to Anderson’s caseload. It had led into a late evening and even later night of paperwork.

Fortunately Connor had stuck around to help, and of course he knew exactly what kind of space thing was going on tonight. When they got closer to the time frame of the Thing, he had convinced her that she needed a break, that going outside and looking at some stars would be a nice reprieve from text on a computer monitor. He coaxed her up onto the roof with all the eagerness of somebody really wanting a break for themselves and all the subtlety of a brick through a window.

So that was where the evening found them both, parked in reclining folding chairs on the roof of the DPD station. Connor’s babbling had picked up where Ben’s had left off, with much more technical jibber jab and sciency words than Person could follow. His voice was a nice white noise to zone out to though, so she let him go at it. He was only muted occasionally by the sound of her chomping on chips from her big blue bag of cool ranch Doritos in her lap.

“Yeah, yeah, that’s great. Chip?” she offered. “Can androids eat these?”

Connor paused in his rambling…something about frozen oceans on Mars…and looked at the chip that she was holding out. In the darkness of the roof, lit only by the surrounding building lights, Person could see that it was one of those chips that had folded over on itself during the baking process, and there was a big air pocket on one side of it.

“My model is equipped to consume small amounts of organic matter such as food,” Connor explained, gingerly taking the chip, “in case I was to ever need to ‘eat’ while under cover, in order to blend in.”

“Huh,” she tutted, looking up at the starry night sky again. “That’s cool.”

He crunched into the chip, reclining in the chair next to her again. His rambling was replaced with thoughtful chomping and chewing for a moment as they both took in the clear sky.

“How many constellations can you identify right now?” she asked.

His hand stealthily wiggled over and took another chip from the bag in her lap.

“Fifteen.”

“Hot damn! I just see a whole mess of little shimmery lights up there. My brain just can’t see patterns like that,” she snorted.

Another chip was stolen.

“Sometimes I think it would be nice not to see everything so technically,” Connor mused, lifting the chip to his mouth in her periphery but not biting into it yet. “To simply stare up at the sky and know…wonder. Sometimes I feel…burdened with knowledge.”

Person deadpanned. “Wow, that was very introspective…Dorito?”

She offered another chip, which was promptly taken.

Connor was just lifting it to his mouth when he abruptly sat up, pointing to the sky. “There it goes!”

“Huh, what—where?” She tried to follow his gesture, but…it was the sky…there was just a fuckload of stars out there. “Did I miss it?”

Connor was grinning slightly at the sky, and Person got the feeling that he had just gotten a feeling of what ‘wonder’ was like.

After a beat, he blinked out of it and turned to her. “I’m…Yes, I’m sorry, you missed it.”

Person sat up in the lawn chair, straddling the extended leg rest and propping her forearms on her knees. “Ah well. I’m sure there will be a—what the fuck?”

She spotted the small pile of chips in his lap, apparently discarded as soon as he picked them up.

“If you hated them, you didn’t have to keep taking them!”

“I don’t hate them,” he argued, taking another chip from her bag, despite her trying to crumple it up and lean out of his reach. “They’re very good. I enjoy the flavor.”

“Then why do you have—“

Her voice stalled as she promptly watched Connor hold up the chip to his mouth and lick all the seasoning off of it. He looked at her when she didn’t finish her sentence, turning the chip around and licking the other side of it clean of all flavor.

“Dude.”

“What?”

“Dude, that’s gross!” she chastised as she laughed at him. “You’re just licking the seasoning off of it?”

“I can only ingest small amounts of food. My safety manual says nothing about consuming flavors!” he argued.

Person cackled, slumping back in her seat. “Well, I’ll have to take your word for that, you weirdo.”

They both resumed staring up at the stars for a beat.

She slowly held out the half-empty bag between them. His hand reached over and took another fistful of chips.

“Y’nasty,” she snarked.

“Remind me why we’re friends, since I obviously disgust you?” he snarked back dryly.

She mused for a moment before looking at him with a grin. “Because your FLAVOR of weird matches mine.”

She snickered at her own pun.

Connor just looked at her flatly and pointed to the door leading to the stairs. “Leave.”

She cackled and grabbed another wad of potato chips from the bag, content to spend the rest of her break staring at the stars and sharing this wholesome and nutritious bag of Doritos with her favorite weirdo.

Chapter Text

“I really appreciate this, Connor,” Ben said. “My little niece’s favorite thing to do right now is play dress-up, and while I look like a beautiful princess when she does my makeup…I kinda feel like I am not pulling my weight when it’s my turn to do her makeover.”

“It’s not a problem, Ben,” Connor replied, sitting very still at his desk. “I can access my workstation through a cybernetic link that will allow me to keep my head still while you practice.”

“Great, awesome. Okay, sorry if I pull your hair a little…Sausage fingers,” Ben apologized in advance, wiggling his hands around.

Across the desk at the other work station, Hank was clearly trying to focus on his work and not be distracted by Connor allowing Ben to practice hair braiding on him. Connor had tapped into one of the many appearance modification templates in his database and selected an extension of his default hairstyle. Currently, he was sporting shoulder length hair of his usual color, despite Tina’s desperate pleas for him to generate “the most exquisite mullet ever seen.”

“My hair is just a projection, like my skin program,” Connor explained. “I don’t have hair follicles like humans do. You won’t hurt me.”

“A’right, whatever you say,” Ben tutted.

Granted, his only experience with braiding hair was…well, he’d watched a few tutorial videos on the internet and practiced on the threads of a mop…He was doomed.

But McKenna deserved to have a hairstyle befitting a princess when she visited her uncle, so Ben was determined to at least nail some of the basics before he babysat her again.

He started off by parting Connor’s hair down the middle. Android hair projections, as he was quickly learning, didn’t have natural crowns or parts to them. It all just kinda went wherever you put it. So he carefully combed half of it to one side before creating three fairly even sections out of the other half. Connor, true to his word, was sitting still as a rock, one white plastic hand touching the front of his computer terminal, as he interfaced directly with the system to keep working while this was done to him.

“Your hair’s really soft,” Ben whistled, trying to keep the silky locks from slipping through his uncoordinated fingers.

“I can alter the texture if that would be helpful,” Connor suggested, feeling him fumble.

“Nah, I like a challenge,” Ben said, taking the right section across the middle section and trying to find the rhythm that the tutorial videos seemed to find so easily.

The top of it ended up really loose and uneven and bulky, since despite Connor’s assurance, Ben didn’t want to yank on his head or make the braid uncomfortably tight. He got a little more confident as he wove his way down the rest of the hair…eventually finding that rhythm. When he reached the end, he pulled out one of the tiny green hairbands that McKenna seemed to always leave everywhere she went, and he tied the end of the braid off with it.

“Tada!” he said, holding out his hands and looking at Hank. “I did it. Did I do it?”

Hank looked over, staring at the side of Connor’s head. “Connor, turn more to the right.”

Connor did so, giving Hank a full view of the left side of his head, where Ben’s uneven, lopsided, barely recognizable braid was. Ben waggled his eyebrows, looking pleased with himself despite the horror show result, and Hank didn’t have it in him to give his friend crap.

“That is…by definition a braid.”

“Woohoo!” Ben chirped. “A’right, Connor, if you’re still willing. I’d like to try round two over here,” he said, lightly poking the unbraided half of Connor’s head.

“Go for it,” was the response.

Ben made much quicker work of his second braid attempt, going a little tighter and keeping a straighter line closer to Connor’s scalp, then tying it off at the bottom when he was done. By that time, Tina had returned from her lunch break and was posted up at her desk next to Gavin’s, sipping at her iced tea and watching, while blatantly ignoring her own work.

“Ben,” she whispered. “I think he’s falling asleep.”

Hank glanced over again to see, sure enough, Connor’s eyes half open and unfocused as he stared at the monitor in front of him.

“Everything with a scalp likes having their hair played with,” Hank snorted.

“Is he really?” Ben asked, still standing behind Connor and unable to see.

Hank nodded and snickered into his fist. Ben grinned and reached out, patting Connor on the head. The android twitched slightly, blinking and correcting his posture. Tina and Hank both looked away swiftly, pretending they hadn’t just witnessed the most adorable sight of an android dozing off because someone was playing with his hair.

“Are you done?” Connor asked, seeing as Ben wasn’t fiddling with his hair any longer.

“Yep.”

Hank also pretended not to see the slightly disappointed look on his partner’s face. It only lasted for a second, and then Connor was glancing over at Hank, reaching up and feeling the braids over his shoulders for himself.

“Do I look like a beautiful princess, Hank?” he asked.

Ben shoved his whole fist against his mouth where he stood behind Connor, muffling his laughter at the very seriously tone of the question.

Hank somberly sat back in his seat, folding his arms sternly. “Absolutely dashing.”

Connor nodded righteously and tossed one of the braids over his shoulder. Ben wheezed at the little attitude in that hair flip, and across the bullpen, Tina snapped her fingers and cocked her head.

“Ooh, gurl! Truly you are the fairest in the land.”

Chapter Text

There were numerous fun things to do at the Wilson family cabin on the annual retreat that the DPD’s 7^th precinct was currently on. The squad had been coming out to this cabin practically since Wilson had joined the force. It was spacious, had a great view of the surrounding forest and lakes, and was far enough off the beaten path that most cell signals were spotty.

The property included a pool, an outdoor hot tub, a home theater, a tennis court, a basketball court, and one room simply full of arcade games and a game table that could be converted to play ping pong, billards, air hockey, or foosball. Most of the squad had immediately converged on the pool. It had been a long drive, and the van’s air conditioning wasn’t the best against the summer heat.

‘Most’ was the word because Wilson had come up a few heads short. Turned out Gavin and Person had already gotten locked in an aggressive ping pong battle, and Connor had gotten distracted by the old rope-and-plank swing hanging off one of the trees in the back yard.

Wilson stayed where he was on the back porch. He’d almost called out to the android, but at the last second had decided to let Connor continue to think he was alone. The guy had clearly popped away from the rest of the squad intentionally, because…yeah…long drive, hot van, lots of bodies...If androids could feel things like happy and sad now, then ‘claustrophobic and annoyed’ had to be up there on the list too.

So Wilson was content to blend into the rest of the porch and not draw attention to himself, watching Connor walk a slow circle around the swing. After a few turns, he carefully sat on the plank that served as the seat of the swing, holding onto the ropes on either side of him. He had his eyes on his feet, as he used his legs to shift side to side, back and forth, testing out the stability of the swing.

Wilson had a lot of fond family memories at this cabin, and his father had hung that old swing up himself when Wilson was a kid. Horsing around on a swing was a rite of passage, wasn’t it?

Over the course of a few minutes, Connor’s timid shifting and moving on the swing got a little more confident, a little more ambitious. His feet weren’t ever quite leaving the ground yet, but he was walking himself back and forth far enough in his seat to almost be swinging. He overshot his momentum once, and his feet briefly left the dirt. He swung all the way back and halfway forward before he caught himself, eyes bugging wide as the only thing holding him up had been the ropes.

Wilson knew enough about androids to know that their internal gyroscopes controlling their balance were very finely tuned instruments, designed to keep them functional and on their feet, not designed for play, like swinging. But Connor clearly survived his first accidental bout of leaving the ground, and the pleased little grin that he was sporting told Wilson the next bout wasn’t going to be an accident.

Then…there was lift off.

Connor pulled himself as far back as the swing would go, and then he lifted up his feet, letting gravity drop the swing, and him with it, pulling him forward. Then he was swinging backward, and he worked his arms and legs slightly to pick up more momentum. It was an old rope on an old tree, so it didn’t take too much groaning and creaking from the old branch overhead to temper his movements.

Still, an android…playing on a swing.

Wild.

Wilson smiled into his coffee mug, watching Connor slow to a stop, gears clearly turning in his head. Connor remained seated, looking up at the ropes and how they were looped over the thick horizontal branch of the tree. He cocked his head, idly pushing himself gently back and forth in thought. Then, pensively, he started to turn.

Connor used his feet to turn himself 180 degrees in the swing, causing the ropes to twist around each other. He completed a 360 degree turn, and then lifted his feet.

The tension in the ropes caused the swing to spin, with Connor in it, until the ropes were taut and parallel again. Connor lurched sideways with the momentum of it, grinning at the mild dizzy spell and immediately starting to twist the swing again.

360 degrees. Again. And again. A fourth time.

“Hey, Wilson—“ Ben announced himself, stepping out onto the porch. “D’you—“

Wilson held up a hand to stop him. “Shh! Check out our boy.”

Ben blinked, then followed Wilson’s gesture to where Connor was very carefully completing a fifth twist on the ropes. His face split into a smile, and he folded his arms, posting up to stand next to Wilson and watch as well.

Connor did some kind of mental countdown, then lifted up his feet. The swing violently whipped around five times, and then spun a sixth time with the force. Connor overcorrected his balance, and the swing whipped backward to reverse that sixth turn. The force of it was more than he had anticipated, apparently, because Connor went toppling backwards out of the swing, landing on the soft grass and dirt under it. His legs, however, stayed up on the plank.

He landed with an audible “oof!” and promptly lapsed into full body giggles.

The most advanced android ever created, the fearsome and efficient RK800 detective…playing on a rope swing and laughing at himself in the grass.

It was equal parts ridiculous and adorable.

Wilson clutched his chest. “Jesus…Ben, I think I just got diabetes.”

Ben cackled, slapping him on the back. “Just wait until I ask him if he wants me to push him on the swing. There will be no survivors.”

Then he was scampering down the steps and casually making his way over to Connor, who was barely beginning to sit up and dust himself off.

Wilson considered going inside. It was going to be time to fire up the grill soon.

Instead, he took another sip of his coffee and watched Ben offer his proposition. Wilson couldn’t hear their voices, but the way Connor was up and immediately climbing into the swing again was all the answer he needed.

This was going to be a good retreat.

Chapter Text

A man needed more than one set of clothes. In Connor’s case, he needed more than one set of clothes from his former handlers and whatever ill-fitting spare clothes that Hank had in his closet. The peaceful android revolution was only a few weeks old, but it was high time in Hank’s opinion that his new roommate got some of his own threads.

And after two department stores and one little retail outlet, Hank had learned that Connor’s sense of fashion was…boring as Hell. Plain jeans. Black shoes. White collared shirts and grey jackets. Which put him in just about the same boat as every other newly deviant android in Detroit. Connor still seemed to be in the mentality of dressing conservatively and professionally, which was fine for work, but nowadays, he had 16 other hours of a 24 hour day to play with and dress for. No friend of Hank’s was going to be wearing beige on his downtime. Not if Hank had any say in the matter.

Which was how the duo found themselves in one of the local thrift shops in the city. The owners of the shop had been advertising special discounts for androids just figuring out how to stand on their own feet. The place was fairly busy for the afternoon, and Hank stood idly with his arms folded outside the fitting room, watching a few bright eyed deviants enthusiastically rifling through the mismatched clothes, creating their own wardrobes for the first time.

“Hank.”

“Yeah?” Hank leaned back toward the fitting room door.

The door timidly cracked open, just enough for a sliver of Connor’s face to be visible. He didn’t look pleased.

“It doesn’t fit,” he stated plainly.

“Really? Huh, thought I guessed your size pretty close,” Hank tutted. “Let me see.”

“Why?”

“So I can see how badly it doesn’t fit. Maybe I can find something else in a size up.”

Connor stared at him in thought for a moment, sighed, and then slowly opened the door a little farther. He lurked back as far out of sight as he could, away from the other traffic in the store. Hank saw how uncomfortable he was and stepped in just close enough to fill the doorway with his bulk.

And uh…yeah…the sweater didn’t fit.

Hell, Hank had only tossed it into the ‘maybe’ pile because of the Saint Bernard patch across the chest of it. The blue sweater was only gently worn, but it was clearly a good two sizes too small for Connor. On top of just being too tight around his shoulders and arms, it was weirdly loose under the arms and around the ribcage. It just…wasn’t flattering. Connor was a slim guy; Hank wasn’t sure what kind of eldritch horror mannequin was used for proportions on this sweater. Connor was holding his arms slightly out at his sides, only accentuating the ill fit.

“It’s uncomfortable.”

“Yeah, looks like it. A’right, take it off then.”

Connor looked anxiously toward the open store, and Hank snorted, stepping into the sizable fitting room and closing the door after himself. He turned his back to Connor, looking instead at the reject pile that he had created in the corner.

“Ah, what? Why are you rejecting the tiger stripe pants?”

Behind him, he could hear Connor doing his best to wiggle out of the small sweater.

“Say that sentence again, but slower,” Connor remarked.

“Smartass,” Hank snickered, looking from Connor’s maybe pile to his reject pile.

Basically anything with color or a fun pattern or any zest had been rejected, leaving a big old pile of grey and white in the maybe pile. He clucked his tongue and shook his head.

“Kid, you realize you can wear whatever you want now? You don’t have to keep up any kind of appearance for Cyberlife’s sake.”

“I’m…aware,” Connor grunted behind him.

“That means you’re free to add some fun colors or patterns to your wardrobe.”

“It also means…I’m free to…wear what I want…like white shirts and blue jeans.”

Hank smirked and tilted his head. “Yeah, I guess you’re right there. I’m just saying…Hey, how about socks? Some fun socks to wear under all the neutral colors. Do you think—“

He turned around when Connor didn’t answer him, and he was confronted with the bizarre image of Connor…trapped in the too-small sweater.

The fabric of the blue sweater had only had so much slack in it, and Connor had found that limit, both arms over his head and the sweater wrapped around him from his shoulders up to his elbows. His whole head was vanished somewhere inside it, and Hank’s only point of reference was the distressing yellow LED light coming through the fabric. He was just an android in jeans with a bare torso and his head and arms tangled in the sweater.

“Hank, I’m stuck.”

“Yep…I can see that,” Hank snorted, stepping over and lifting his hands. “Need some help?”

“I am…the most advanced…” Connor grunted, flopping his arms side to side to try and find some slack, “…android ever…created…I am capable of…taking off a…sweater.”

He continued to struggle for another moment before his raised arms slackened slightly in defeat.

“Yes, I would like some help.”

Hank pursed his lips hard against a grin as he got a hold of the hem of the sweater. “A’right, bend down a little bit and we’ll see if we can wiggle this thing off.”

Connor ducked his head and bent at the waist slightly, leaning away from Hank. Hank leaned back in the other direction, pulling on the fabric. It took some twisting and pulling, but Connor’s head finally popped free out from under the material. His hair was tousled and sticking up from the abuse, and he looked utterly disoriented from the whole ordeal.

“Hi,” Hank greeted him as soon as his face was free. “Here we go…”

He pulled down on the rest of the sweater, managing to wiggle it down the broadest part of Connor’s shoulders. Then he let go and let Connor sort himself out from there. Once Connor was finally free of the thing, he balled up the sweater and viciously threw it into the pile of maybes.

Hank swiveled on his feet and looked to Connor. “Seriously?”

Connor was already pulling his original shirt back on, clearly done with this whole shopping adventure. “Yes. I like the Saint Bernard patch. I can remove it and have it sewn onto a better fitting sweater.”

Hank smirked. “Sounds good to me.”

He followed Connor out of the fitting room. The android practically made a beeline for the checkout register, and Hank snickered into his fist. Yeah, the guy was absolutely done with this for the day. Hank couldn’t blame him. He sauntered up to stand beside Connor as he made his purchases.

“Congratulations,” he remarked.

“For what?” Connor asked lowly as his purchases were rung up.

Hank clapped him on the shoulder. “You just made your first real fashion choice, son.”

Connor grumbled and looked away, but maybe he stood a little straighter and smiled a little more as he paid for his new clothes.

Chapter Text

Connor had barely taken a step into the break room at the 7^th precinct that afternoon before Tina was immediately yanking the butter knife out of the peanut butter jar and pointing at him.

“Connor, eat this.”

The android paused after that barely-taken step, looking over at her quizzically. “Good afternoon to you too, Tina.”

She gave a lopsided grin and continued to point the utensil at him. “Sorry, hi. Eat this.”

He was suspicious; she could tell. He was also curious, and he slowly stepped over like a wary stray cat.

“What is ‘this’?” he asked.

“Peanut butter,” she replied, gesturing to the remnants of her peanut butter and jelly sandwich on the plate in front of her. “Ever tried it?”

“No, I haven’t.”

“Well, it’s a staple,” she explained, plunging the knife down into the jar of peanut butter down to the handle. “And a little birdie told me that you are a model that can ingest some foods.”

“Person told you that?”

“No…Ben saw you eating ice cream last week.”

Connor frowned but then focused on the jar in Tina’s hands again. “Why are you so eager for me to try it? What did you do to it?”

Tina scoffed in offense. “I would never do such a thing—“

“This coming from the same Tina that tricked me into eating a lemon slice just to watch my reaction,” Connor shot back.

Tina pointed the whole jar at him. “Touche…No, but look, see?”

She doled out a knife full of peanut butter and spread a dollop of it onto her index finger. She promptly licked the stuff off her finger, smacking her lips and looking at him.

“It’s literally just food. It’s not sour or anything like that either.”

“…Fine.”

God bless Cyberlife for making the RK800 so curious. It was a source of endless delight for Tina, because he was also oh so gullible about certain things and his bar for sticking things in his mouth was practically on the floor.

Connor took the whole knife when Tina offered it, and he carefully licked one whole side of it, taking a good tablespoon’s worth of peanut butter into his mouth. Tina smirked as she screwed the lid back on the jar, watching him react to it. He looked like he was enjoying it…though his brows quickly pinched in confusion.

“Thith ith—Thith—thith ith—Thina!” He couldn’t enunciate clearly as the peanut butter lodged itself to the roof of his mouth and coated his tongue.

And…now…Tina had heard Hank affectionately refer to Connor as a ‘poodle’ for the way he would sometimes follow the lieutenant around and eagerly obey orders, but Tina was starkly seeing another comparison to a dog. This in the way that Connor was adamantly trying to clear the peanut butter from his mouth by repeatedly running his tongue against the roof of his mouth, creating a funny little smacking sound each time.

Connor’s head bobbed a bit as he worked his jaw and kept mouthing around the sticky, clingy substance, and he turned betrayed eyes on Tina. She answered by opening her mouth and showing off her own tongue, clean from her earlier sampling of the peanut butter.

“Just keep doing what you’re doing. You’ll get it eventually,” she cackled.

Smack, smack, smack.

He coughed once, tilting his head a bit and scrunching his nose as he kept working his mouth to clear it, while trying to keep his lips sealed.

Tina let him go for twenty more seconds before she had mercy on him and fetched a bottle of thirium from the fridge.

“Here, try to rinse it down,” she giggled.

Connor quickly twisted off the cap, tongue still smacking away, and brought the bottle to his lips, draining half of it three rapid pulls. He swallowed and kept smacking, though it sounded like he was making better progress now.

An endlessly entertaining minute later, Connor swallowed a final time and ran his tongue over his teeth, finally finding everything clear enough to speak.

“Tina…” he said dangerously.

Tina, elbows propped on the table as she’d enjoyed the show, answered sweetly. “Yes?”

His attempt to look angry was weak and thin, and it faded quickly as he smirked.

“That was really good.”

Tina smiled. “I told you! You want some more?”

“…Yes, please.”

Chapter Text

This was attempt number four…If this one didn’t work, then Hank was out of ideas. He stood in the morning light of his kitchen, watching the pot on the stove like a hawk. His phone was counting down the timer, and he was really banking on Wilson to know what he was talking about or this was going to be even more of a goddamn mess.

The android revolution had been nearly a week ago now, and just yesterday, Connor had popped back into Hank’s life since parting ways at the Chicken Feed, looking tired and weary but otherwise okay. He just didn’t have anywhere to go, and well…Hank had offered some real estate on his couch without hesitation.

So…now there was an android sleeping on his couch, and his kitchen reeked of burnt thirium.

His phone started to vibrate on the counter as the timer went off, and Hank cursed, hastily picking up the pot by the handle and moving it onto a burner that wasn’t turned on. He had tried three unsuccessful times now to properly heat up thirium. It had either evaporated or turned into a horrid, gooey film each time, so this was the culmination of his efforts.

Because humans tended to like hot beverages when they were upset or stressed or feeling overwhelmed…and Hank didn’t figure his own preference for a stiff drink could really translate to androids. At any rate, he didn’t want to deal with a drunk android, if that was even possible. Instead, here he was…heating up a small soda bottle of thirium in a pot like it was fricking baby formula…because…

Because his kinda partner-sorta friend looked like he needed a damn pick-me-up after the week he’d had.

Well, the bottle didn’t explode in the heated water, so hopefully that was a good sign. He tapped his fingers against the bottle, and it wasn’t overly hot to the couch, so he grasped it and lifted it out. He wiped off the water on the outside and jiggled the bottle a bit. The blue stuff inside sloshed like a normal liquid…so he had also avoided turning it into a gooey mess this time.

In the living room, Sumo lifted his head and yawned loudly, thumping his tail against the floor. Hank glanced over and saw that Connor was still passed out, lying on his back in some of Hank’s spare clothes that he’d thrown at him to wear the night before. His LED was a calm blue, and he looked like he hadn’t moved since going into rest mode. Hank smirked and pulled a mug down out of the cabinet.

Without thinking, he knocked the cabinet door shut, and it swung closed with a bang. It wasn’t unusually loud, but something about having somebody asleep in the house made everything seem louder. Hank tensed at the noise, and his regret was realized as Connor started to shift on the couch.

Shit. Sorry, kid.

Hank poured the warm thirium into the white mug at the kitchen table, while in the living room, Connor slowly came around, sitting up on the couch and swinging his legs to the floor. He looked endearingly groggy, his clothes rumpled and his hair sticking up where he’d slept on it all night. Hank stifled a smirk as he carried the mug into the living room, and Connor rubbed a hand over his face.

“Morning,” he greeted, setting the mug on the coffee table.

“Good morning, Hank.” Connor noted the mug, brows knit in confusion, and leaned forward to inspect it. “What is this?”

“You’re the smartypants, you figure it out,” Hank said, returning to the kitchen for his own abandoned mug of instant coffee.

It was room temperature at best by now, but he still sipped at it, walking into the living room and sinking into the recliner. Connor curiously picked up the mug, turning his face toward the top of it and getting a faceful of steam.

“You…warmed up a mug of thirium for me.”

“…Yeah.”

“Why?”

Hank snorted. “For…To…make you feel…better, I guess.”

“I feel fine,” Connor remarked, sipping gingerly at the mug, “but I appreciate the gesture.”

Hank raised his own mug in a toast of acknowledgement.

Over the course of drinking the warmed thirium, Connor slowly began to sit back in the cushions of the couch, both hands wrapped around the mug and holding it up near his chest between sips. Looked like it was all catching up to him the longer he was awake, and after some quiet time with the two of them just watching the morning news of riots and android shelters, Connor spoke quietly.

“Thank you, Hank.”

Hank internally squirmed at the sincerity in his tone, and he fidgeted with the remote.

“Yeah, well, uh…anything for a friend.”

Connor smiled fully then, though it was interrupted with a curious sniff. “What is that smell? Like burnt—“

He started to look toward the kitchen. Hank waved at him as a distraction.

“Don’t you mind that. Just…watch the news.”

Connor snickered into his mug, looking at the television again. “Got it.”

Chapter Text

The last surprise snow of the new year, plus a gas leak in the station, plus several officers being unprepared for the cold due to the last random snow of the year…equaled the majority of humans and androids of the 7^th precinct huddling together like penguins on the sidewalk across the street, waiting for the all clear to return to the warmth of the inside of the building.

Connor had been more focused on ensuring that everyone got out of the building and less immediately concerned with the fact that he was going to be standing outside in the sharp chill of the late winter air, for potentially hours. He wasn’t alone in this; androids as a whole were still acclimating to the realization that being overly cold or hot, while yes dangerous, was also very unpleasant and uncomfortable. His suit jacket was not designed to retain warmth, and clearly neither were the casual clothes worn by the other 07 androids. The two ST300s who staffed the reception desk and bullpen, Polly and Julia, had fortunately found means of warming themselves up. The other patrol androids had been…well, out on patrol…at the time of the leak, so they were already off site…likely in some warm vehicle or other structure.

A strange thing to be jealous of, but that was the nature of deviancy, Connor was learning.

Officer Wilson had had the presence of mind to grab his spare jacket on the way out the door, and he had offered it to Polly to wrap herself up in. Tina’s partner, Robert Lewis, had donated a heavy coat from his car to Julia. Robert was a large man, and Julia was a slim android; the coat swallowed her, but at least she looked warm.

Connor tightened his arms around himself, losing the fight against his system’s prompt to shiver in order to generate internal heat. Hank was behaving similarly beside him, though at least he had a more weather appropriate jacket on. The two of them stood on the street between two parked cars, watching the team going in and out of the building, inspecting the leak.

His proximity sensor went off belatedly, sluggish in the cold, and he didn’t have time to react before a thick coat was being flung around his shoulders from behind. Beside him, Hank startled in surprise, glanced behind Connor, and then snorted, facing forward again. Under normal circumstances, Connor would have moved away from the surprise, but as it was, he…just didn’t care.

Except there was another body already wearing the coat.

Julia’s arms in the too-long sleeves wrapped around him from behind, tugging him back in a light hug through the thick material of the coat. He stumbled slightly, realizing that she was standing on the curb behind him, giving her a height advantage that put his head at her collar. The ST300 promptly propped her chin on the top of his head and playfully wiggled side to side a bit.

There was enough fabric in the coat to hold them both fairly comfortably, though Connor was not accustomed to this kind of proximity to be truly comfortable…but the coat was warm, and she was warm…so he wasn’t going to complain right now.

After a beat, he relaxed slightly, tugging the front of the coat closed against his chest and zipping it up to his chin.

“Better?” she chirped.

He snorted, “Yes, thank you.”

“I’m still cold,” Hank complained, looking at the other android. “What the Hell? Where’s my hug, Jules?”

She snickered. “Sorry, Lieutenant. Only room for two, and he’s cuter than you.”

Connor had stopped shivering by now, but his internal temperature abruptly rose at that, bringing a blue flush to his face that he tried to hide in the front fabric of the coat.

“Oh, that’s some bullshit,” Hank grumbled. “I’m goddamn pretty. BEN!”

“GODDAMN PRETTY,” Ben immediately bellowed from several feet away.

“Thank you!”

Connor burrowed a little more into the jacket, arms still tight around his middle and very aware of the ST300 sharing the coat with him.

Don’t make it weird…

Then there was Person.

“Knock, knock. Who’s there? Me. Coming in!” she announced, not even asking as she grabbed the bottom hem of the coat, ducked her head, and started to worm her way into the coat by Connor’s hip.

“Wait—“ Connor stammered, knocked off balance.

“I’m freezing my ass off. Make some room,” was all the apology he got.

Julia cackled and leaned back, creating as much slack as she could in the shrinking jacket as the human officer muscled into the warm cocoon with them. Connor could feel Person shoving herself upright in the material, and her head abruptly popped up behind his, standing on the curb beside Julia. The two women’s faces were uncomfortably close.

“Sup,” Julia remarked with a smirk.

“What the actual Hell!?” Hank chided.

Julia grinned. “Person’s pretty too.”

“What?” Hank balked.

“GODDAMN PRETTY,” Ben bellowed.

“NOT NOW, BEN!”

Connor just shrunk further, his face disappearing fully into the fabric of the jacket as the other two struggled to get comfortable, now that all three of them were being squished together. Oddly enough, evacuating himself from the jacket never appeared as an option. He’d rather be uncomfortable and warm than be uncomfortable and cold.

And…the longer he stood there, in the awkward three-way hug between Person and Julia…the less uncomfortable he felt. Because hugs were nice, and he decided to just enjoy it for now.

Chapter Text

Despite Connor’s social adaptation module being cutting edge, he was not fond of parties. His programming had been designed to achieve social harmony with work partners and to cultivate a sense of trustworthiness to get cooperation from a suspect…all a means of accomplishing a mission. All for fairly short term use and not meant to establish a foundation for future, long term relationships. He hadn’t been designed…to have friends.

This weekend barbecue at Ben’s house was making that abundantly clear to the self diagnostics that he kept running, trying to figure out why he wasn’t blending in very well, why conversation was suddenly so difficult to maintain. There was no real mission here. He was surrounded by co-workers and their significant others, if they had accompanied them.

Etiquette precluded him from using ‘shop talk,’ or discussing work matters in this environment. The purpose of the gathering was to, as Ben had said “chill out and relax.” Connor didn’t know how to do either of those, and Hank was out of town. He got along fairly well with everyone here, in short bursts at a time. The only other officer that he consistently had positive, longer interactions with was Person…who had some prior plans that she was attending tonight.

So, somehow, Connor had allowed himself to quietly disconnect from the spheres of people chatting and drinking in the back yard and in the kitchen. He had then found himself, in a way, hiding in Ben’s living room. Going by the others sitting on the curved sectional couch and watching the large screen television…his idea had not been a unique one.

Chris was reclined back on the end of the couch that extended into a chaise. His toddler son Damian was curled up on his lap, the last tears of his earlier fit drying on his cheeks. His eyes were glued to the television, where a rerun of some old black and white western was playing. Chris was idly watching as well, one hand behind his head, one hand resting on Damian’s back. His wife, Vanessa, was still chattering away with the others side. The little boy had been adamant about wanting Chris this time, and the two were taking a few minutes of quiet time until Damian had calmed down or they needed to go home.

In the middle of the couch was Captain Fowler. He had a cold bottle of beer in one hand and was sitting back in his seat. One foot was on the floor, the other ankle was resting across his knee. He was holding the beer bottle balanced on his raised knee, and he had one arm stretched across the back of the couch beside him…lounging as he also took a break from all the social gathering.

For a moment, Connor hovered awkwardly in the entryway, feeling as though he might be intruding, until Fowler took another sip of his beer, not looking away from the screen.

“Come in or don’t, Connor. Don’t linger in doorways.”

“Yes, sir.”

Connor immediately stepped in, assessing the limited seating in the smaller room. He honed in on the end seat farthest from the two humans, preserving their personal space. He sat carefully, keeping his posture straight and his hands in his lap, taking up as little room as he needed.

The black and white show now had cowboys chasing down a train on horseback, and dramatic, tinny music was chiming out of the speakers to ramp up the tension. Damian looked enthralled. Chris looked like he was starting to nod off. Fowler looked like he’d already seen this one and knew what happened.

The captain looked…relaxed. Ben had said that was the goal of this…to “chill out and relax.” Connor wasn’t sure what that entailed, but he had been designed to adapt. In this situation, he elected to adapt through imitation. Subtly analyzing Fowler’s posture as he sat there, Connor slowly began to alter his own posture to do the same.

He stealthily sat farther back in the seat until he was leaning against the cushion on the back of the couch. His back curved into something of a slouch, and he automatically folded his arms. He quickly unfolded them, placing them at his sides, but that…also wasn’t right. He focused instead on bringing his leg up, resting his ankle across his other knee. He didn’t have a drink in his hand, so he simply left his hand in a loose grip around his other knee, just anchoring it there. The last touch was drawing up his other arm and resting it along the top of the couch.

Was this…lounging?

It felt silly.

That fear was only reinforced when Fowler glanced over and realized what he was doing. Fowler’s brows knit in mild confusion at Connor, who was at all other times sitting “like he had been called to the principal’s office,” as Hank had put it. Almost immediately though, Fowler’s face softened, and he pursed his lips against the top of his bottle to squash down an amused smirk.

“Connor, you ever watched any of these old westerns?” he asked, gesturing to the screen with his beer.

“No, sir.”

Fowler pointed at him. “You don’t have to call me ‘sir’ outside of work hours, son. ‘Fowler’ is fine.”

“Yes, s—Cap—Fow—ler,” he struggled through the unfamiliar casualness of it.

Fowler chuckled and shifted to get more comfortable. Connor subtly did the same.

“I grew up on these things,” Fowler said, glancing at the television again. “They’re just simple stories. They’re something nice to unwind with after a long day of shiii—“ he stopped himself, looking over at Damian, “—very hard work. Do androids do anything to unwind?”

This was a conversation starter. Captain Fowler was initiating a conversation with him. Voluntarily.

Connor tried not to let his eagerness show, lest he ruin this opportunity.

“I have been teaching Hank’s dog Sumo basic commands. It appears that Hank never bothered to train him to do anything beyond housebreaking.”

Fowler snorted. “Yeah, that sounds about right.”

Moment of truth. Connor took a measured breath to cool his internal biocomponents, stamping down the anxiety as he tried to reciprocate conversation.

“Do you…have any pets?”

Fowler took another drink of his beer. “I’ve got a fat, lazy cat named Kevin. Got him when he was just a fat, lazy kitten. They said he was the runt of the litter, but that had to have been a lie because—“

Fowler launched into the entire life story of his cat, and Connor finally, properly began to relax in his seat, as he enjoyed his first successful round of Small Talk.

Mission Accomplished.

Chapter Text

What had started as a convenient store thief fleeing the scene of a crime had become a low speed car chase…which then turned into a pursuit on foot when the thief crashed his van into a street lamp. Person had lost visual on the fleeing perp, but Gavin was still chasing after the guy with a purposefulness that told her he still had an eye on him. She kept up the pace as fast as she could, just trying to keep Gavin in her sights. Connor was either way far ahead of them or way far behind them; she had lost visual contact with him almost immediately after the suspect abandoned his van.

She ran around a corner and honed in on a small crowd of people hastily evacuating the front doors of a fast food joint. Gavin was beelining toward the doors, zipping through the people trying to get out. So it looked like their guy had tried to lose them through there. She made an arc around the crowd instead of trying to barrel through them, skirting through the front doors and into the restaurant.

She was nearly clotheslined by the cartoonish, yellow turnstile that was immediately inside and…shit…this was one of those places like Chuck E Cheese…The majority of the interior was all play equipment, arcade games, flashing lights, and the kind of chaotic carpet pattern that nearly made your eyes cross. The restaurant was bisected by a ball pit ‘river,’ with the other half of the joint full of tables and chairs in the dining area.

The perp finally came into view, making his way toward one of the little bridges that covered the ball pit river, with Gavin hot on his heels. Person hurriedly navigated across the floor of screaming arcade games and strobe lights. At the opposite end of the dining area, through the kitchen, came Connor. He sprinted through the tables toward the oncoming perp, putting himself square in front of the man, with Gavin coming up behind him, blocking him in.

Person reached the perimeter of the play area, out of breath and drawing her gun. She kept it aimed away toward the floor, coming to a stop not too far from Gavin.

“You’re under arrest!” Gavin snapped, wheezing and holding a stitch in his side. “Christ—Just cut this shit out. You’re surrounded. You have the right to—“ he coughed, painfully out of breath, “remain silent—Ah fuck, Connor, do the thing—“ He gestured, leaning back to try and catch his breath.

Without missing a beat, Connor stepped closer to the man on the bridge over the ball pit.

“John Blake, you are under arrest for attempted robbery, fleeing the scene, and carrying a weapon without a permit. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be held against you—“

Blake’s hand went for his coat pocket, and Person saw metal in his palm.

“Gun!” she roared.

Gavin, being closer than Connor, launched himself at Blake, tackling the man around the middle and making to pin him back onto the floor.

Except, Blake twisted, struggling to get his weapon free, and both men went toppling sideways into the ball pit. They immediately vanished, swallowed under the waves of bright, primary colored balls. When neither resurfaced after a second, Connor quickly threw off his jacket, making to jump in after them.

“Con—“ Person started, but he was gone.

He full on dove into the ball pit, being equally swallowed by the balls. The balls slushed around slightly as they displaced. Then Gavin was breaking the surface, hauling Blake up by the wrist. Blake sucker punched him in the face, diving back under the shroud of the ball pit, trying to make it more difficult to catch him. Gavin shoved his arms out, batting the plastic balls away from him and jumping at the space where the guy had disappeared.

Connor reappeared just as Gavin went back under, and he likewise shoved balls aside and submerged once again in pursuit. This…went on for a bit…too long.

Person slowly lowered her weapon, pausing as the image unfolded in front of her of three grown men wrestling in a children’s ball pit.

Connor finally came up victorious, arms locked around Blake from behind. Gavin had Blake’s gun when he resurfaced again, and Connor was awkwardly lurching backwards, trying to keep the perp secure while getting close enough to the wall to haul himself and Blake out onto the solid ground.

“Person,” Gavin gestured, and Person drew close enough to take the gun from him.

Then he was going to assist Connor, holding his arms up at his sides as he waded over. Between the two of them, they managed to extricate themselves and Blake onto the solid floor of the dining area, while Person remained on the other side of the river in the play zone, holding two guns.

Blake was still putting up a fight, so Connor got him on his belly, kneeling down over him with his knee between Blake’s shoulders. He used one hand to keep Blake’s wrists pinned together behind his back, while his free hand went for the set of cuffs on his belt. He snapped them on the guy’s wrists, all while finally completing the reading of his rights to him.

While Connor handled all of that, Gavin got to his feet, still huffing and out of breath.

Person took the radio attached to her shoulder and held it to her mouth, connecting to dispatch. “Suspect is in custody.”

Hands on his hips, Gavin finally turned and spotted her standing there. He frowned and gestured to the ball pit.

“Thanks for all your help in there!” he snapped sarcastically.

Person deadpanned and lifted her shoulders. “You looked like you had it under control. Besides…”

She trailed off, deliberately tracking her eyes away from Gavin, up toward the corner where the ceiling met the wall…and where a large, disc-shaped mirror security camera was mounted with a perfect view of everything that had just gone down.

Gavin followed her eyes, paused, and then emitted the softest swear she’d ever heard.

“Fuck.”

Chapter Text

The dance marathon had started off so promising. There had been initial enthusiasm, energy, and exuberance on the community center indoor basketball court-turned dance floor. Several members of the DPD had signed up to participate in the charity event, and now…as they entered hour 14…only a few representatives from the brave 7^th precinct remained in the running.

Due to androids’ enhanced stamina and endurance, only humans were being allowed to participate. Connor had initially objected to the exclusion, but now…in hour 14…he was starting to see the entertainment value of just being a spectator. He and the other 07 staff androids had volunteered instead to assist in other ways at the center: serving drinks, enforcing the rules of the dance marathon, and generally just keeping an eye on things. Somehow, every so often, Gwen, a PM700 android with the 07, would sneak onto the DJ stand and queue up Michael Jackson’s “Thriller.” The result was a chaotic mess as part of the crowd began to form up and perform the choreography of the dance, while the other part confusedly staggered out of the way or did their best attempt at imitating the moves.

Of the human 07 crew, only Tina and Wilson remained. Chris and his wife had tapped out voluntarily. Person had been disqualified for standing still too long. Gavin had rolled an ankle after attempting to catch Tina in a move similar to one from the film “Dirty Dancing.” Ben had coincidentally bumped into an old flame on the dance floor and things had gotten a little…too intense, and they had been asked to take it elsewhere. Hank had not volunteered to join, but he had showed up to watch the show and ended up sitting with Gavin on the sidelines while the other iced his ankle and waited for a ride home.

Currently, Tina and Wilson looked like they had worked out a rhythm. Wilson would rest his head on her shoulder and doze, leaning on Tina and letting her keep them both moving enough to qualify as ‘dancing.’ After an indeterminate amount of time, they would swap. Wilson would straighten up and take over, and Tina would plop her head on his chest and let him do the work.

Connor stood over by the drink station, where one of the ST300s, Polly, was stirring the large punch bowl. Despite not participating, she had decked herself out with bright pink hair, a purple tutu over her normal jeans, and a maroon “Team Wilson” baseball style t-shirt. Connor hadn’t considered ‘dressing up’ as a worker at this event, opting for just a blue t-shirt and jeans himself.

“Does that count?” he asked, nodding toward Tina and Wilson’s routine.

Polly glanced over, then went back to stirring. “Only by the strict rules of the game. I wouldn’t call that dancing, but go off I guess.”

Connor snorted, folding his arms and watching just as another solo dancer finally wobbled off the dance floor, escorted by Gwen over to the seating against the wall. That left only a dozen or so contenders left. Gwen sauntered her way over once the quitter was taken care of, and she flashed a bright smile at Connor and Polly.

“What’re you so cheery about?” Polly asked with a smirk.

Gwen just smiled wider. “Give it a second.”

Connor blinked, and then looked over at the dance floor again. “Uh oh. Tina’s going.”

Sure enough, it looked as though Tina had finally reached her limit, stumbling more and more and nearly taking Wilson down with her as she started to truly fall asleep on her feet. Connor started toward them to help her off the floor, but Hank intercepted, waving a hand at him to say that he had this one. Hank was just getting his arm around hers and steering her away when Connor felt something land on his head.

He startled in surprise and grabbed the thing, lifting it away from where Polly had deposited it on him. It was a circular glow stick, emitting a bright red halo of light. He looked at the little glowing halo, to Polly, to the halo and then back to Polly. She had pulled a whole stalk of glow sticks out of…somewhere…and was beginning to snap them, eagerly donning glowing bracelets and necklaces on herself and offering them to Connor and Gwen.

“Just to keep things interesting!” she prompted. “Go Wilson!” she cheered.

Connor exchanged a look with Gwen, who gave him a smug look as she deposited three of the circular glowsticks on her head, creating a multi colored crown. Connor lifted his chin and set the glowing red halo back on his own head. Gwen chuckled and did a little curtsy. He reciprocated with a short bow.

…Because 14 hours was a long time, and deviant androids could in fact become bored or slaphappy from lack of stimulus or proper charging times. The day had worn Connor down just enough that wearing a glow stick crown and bowing to a co-worker seemed like good ideas.

The music shifted as the next song came on. Everyone left on the floor immediately groaned and began to form up.

“It’s close to miiidnight, and something evil’s lurking in the daaark…”

Standing where they were over at the punch table, Gwen also assumed the starting position of the dance choreography, pointedly looking at Connor to get him to do the same.

“We aren’t competing in this event,” he pointed out the obvious.

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean we gotta just stand here,” Gwen teased, starting to dance. “Come onnn, loosen up a little.”

“And that’s an order!” Hank chimed in as he walked by, getting a bottle of water for Tina, who had been parked in a chair and looked likely to slide out of it.

“We’re off duty,” Connor argued.

“Dance, man, dance!” Polly said, waving her hands in front of her to show off her glowing bracelets.

Connor frowned and watched the other humans struggling their exhausted way through the movements.

Well…somebody had to show them how to “Thriller” properly.

He immediately downloaded the choreography, lined his shoulders up with Gwen, and fell into step. Gwen and Polly cheered, and he grinned, letting himself get more into it than he had initially planned, as he and Gwen perfectly executed the entire dance choreography to the song.

“Cause this is thriller! Thriller night…”

Chapter Text

Connor had been working on the same case report all morning. Something about it was giving him trouble, and the irritation that it was causing him had become obvious to everyone in the bullpen. He was hunched at his desk, interfacing directly with his terminal, face all pinched in concentration, LED whirling an annoyed yellow. Occasionally his lips would move, mutely mouthing around whatever words he was trying to process. Other times, he reverted to audibly grumbling and humming and hawing as he worked.

Tina had never seen an android get ‘stumped’ before, but Connor looked stumped. And he looked like being stumped was stressing him out.

So, over the course of the day, without actually coordinating it, the rest of the squad started taking small measures to try and help him de-stress while he worked.

Without disturbing his hyper-focused state, Hank had brought him some chilled thirium in a mug, to make sure he didn’t overheat from working his processors so hard.

A little while later, Wilson quietly took the growing stack of paperwork out of Connor’s outbox, carrying it into to archives to file for him, so there was one less thing to do.

Person less subtly walked over and slid a set of noise cancelling headphones over his ears. He didn’t acknowledge the addition at all, but maybe his shoulders relaxed a little with the audible external stimulus mitigated.

Ben redirected a few case files that were bound for Connor’s inbox, distributing them instead to Chris and Gavin. Gavin’s contribution to the whole thing was not to complain about it…at least too loudly.

After her lunch break, Tina made a pit stop on her way back to the infamous little food truck that served thirium-based edible things, called Bert’s Baked Stuffs. She opted for the tried and true thirium macaroni and cheese: what she’d found to be like android catnip. Anything cheese-flavored was like android catnip, apparently. She left the container on the corner of his desk within reach, and while she caught him glancing at it, he was too engrossed to actually open it.

That took one of the ST300s, Julia, who came over, popped open the lid, shoved a spoon into it, and then pushed the container more aggressively at him. Only then did he finally relent, taking a quick bite before getting back to work.

The shadows on the floor started to stretch as the afternoon droned on, and the guy had hardly moved. Comfort food was about all Tina was good for when it came to stuff like this. Well, that and hugs…He looked a little high strung right now for a hug.

She was going to go give him a hug.

Doing just that, Tina sauntered over to Connor’s work station, making sure he saw her before she walked around the desk. She then slunk up behind his chair and bent slightly, wrapping her arms around him from behind and giving him a squeeze. Connor initially tensed, still not tearing his eyes away from his monitor. Then the tension immediately sapped away, and he leaned into the hug a bit.

She snickered and straightened up, ruffling his hair with one hand before disengaging and returning to her desk.

It was nearly another two hours later when, like a bolt of lightning, Connor shot up out of his chair, finally hitting that eureka moment.

“IT WAS THE SECRETARY.”

“What?” Hank startled, lowering his legs from where he’d propped them on his own desk.

Connor was pulling his jacket on, but one sleeve was eluding him. He spun in a hasty circle to try and catch it, shoving his arm into the wayward sleeve and facing Hank again.

“The secretary was the murderer on the Stines case. He’s still in town. We have to go get him now!”

“Oh shit, a’right—“ Hank got up, reaching for his keys. “Let’s go.”

Connor made a beeline for the door, and Person reached over as he passed, plucking the headphones off his head. Connor stumbled slightly, still too focused on the new mission to be fully aware of his surroundings.

“Thanks. Sorry. Thanks. I appreciate. There’s,” he bumbled in truncated syllables.

“Go get ‘im,” Person waved him off with a grin.

Connor hurried out, Hank on his heels, and in the quiet left in his wake, Tina shook her head.

“Tornado Detective strikes again…Jules, what are you doing?”

At Connor’s desk, Julia was snatching up the abandoned macaroni.

“What? It’s just going to waste!” she argued, shamelessly snatching up the container and marching off with it.

Tina watched her go and caught Gavin’s confused eye. She snorted and snapped her fingers.

“Cheese flavor. Android catnip. Who knew?”

Chapter Text

On paper, the mission was simple. Go undercover. Make contact with the person that the DPD believed to be in the inner circle of the recent illegal android parts dealer running operations in Detroit. Get information on when and where the next deal could go down. Get out without giving himself up. There was nothing in that agenda that Connor hadn’t been programmed to execute perfectly.

He wasn’t sure why his undercover disguise had included leather pants, but Ben, being the lead on this assignment, had argued that they were important.

This  was not how Ben had wanted to spend his Friday night, crammed in an observation van outside the nightclub with Tina, Person, Gavin, and Hank…listening to the audio of Connor trying to make small talk with their target inside the club, but beggars couldn’t be choosers, he supposed.

All things considered, Connor was doing well. They didn’t have proper video or even real audio equipment. Between the leather pants and the little number that Tina had picked out for Connor to wear as a top, there hadn’t been a good spot to hide a wire. Fortunately, Connor was routing all of his system’s video and audio feed directly into their equipment instead.

The target turned out to be a thirty-something woman with dyed dark purple hair and a distinctive birth mark on her jaw. And it didn’t take the facial analysis software of an RK800 to pick up on the way that her eyes were roaming up and down Connor like he was a tall glass of water. However, since Connor was an RK800 with that facial analysis software, he had clearly made a few last minute adjustments to his undercover character to…take advantage of this sense of appeal that their target had for him. Tina had dubbed this sexy alter-ego Calvin.

“Did he lower his voice?” Tina snickered, one hand on her headphones, listening to the conversation between the two.

“Yeah,” Hank cackled. “And I think he took a pack of cigarettes in there with him, play into the whole ‘smoking looks cool to criminals’ thing.”

“Jesus, does he think this is a cartoon or something?” Gavin complained.

“Are you hearing what I’m hearing?” Person argued. “Whatever he’s doing, it’s working for her.”

Gavin rolled his eyes. “Fine. You know what? I’m man enough to admit that, yeah, on aesthetics alone, Connor is attractive…but you put a potato in a hot getup, and it’s still a fucking potato. Same concept. That guy is an awkward, obnoxious mother fucker, and he’s going to blow this.”

“Ooh, sounds like somebody’s jealous that they aren’t the undercover hot guy anymore,” Tina teased.

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Shh!” Ben hissed back into the van. “I think he’s getting somewhere.”

The group of them pressed their headphones closer, picking up on the continuing conversation.

“You seem to know an awful lot about android physiology,” she was asking, sipping at her drink with a sultry look.

“I know my way around a body,” Connor said casually.

“Hm, that’s yet to be seen,” she winked.

“Does he even realize what he’s saying?” Tina cackled. “How that sounds?”

The video feed shifted a bit, and they all saw that he was going for the aforementioned pack of cigarettes. Gavin rolled his eyes hard and dropped his head into his hand.

“What kinda fucking…cliché…” he grumbled.

Hank swatted at him to shut him up, and they continued to listen and watch.

The target looked slightly mischievous. “Y’know…We aren’t allowed to smoke in here…”

Connor paused, pointedly sliding one cigarette between his fingers. The video feed from his optical units brazenly roamed up and down her figure, settling on her eyes again.

“Well, then you picked the wrong outfit, didn’t you?” It came out smooth and low.

In the van across the street, all of the officers’ heads snapped up at that, and they stared at each other with mixes of wide eyed horror and glee. Horror from Gavin, glee from everybody else.

“Oh shit, the boy’s got lines,” Tina hissed.

Person had smashed both of her hands over her mouth to stop herself from laughing.

The target’s eyes bugged slightly, and then a smile crawled across her face and a blush crept up her neck. She was about two minutes from spilling her guts on this black market inner circle at the rate Connor was going.

Hank pumped a fist proudly. “Atta boy, Calvin.”

Chapter Text

The basement of the DPD station had gone neglected for too long, and Fowler had assigned Connor and Person to put it back in order. Labeled boxes of old case files and evidence had been left to collect dust. There had either been no system of organization or multiple systems over the years that had blended together in a chaotic mess. The two of them had their work cut out for them.

“This one says box four…of twenty three? Ugh,” Person groaned, reading the fading ink on one of the old boxes.

She had shimmied up onto a step stool to reach the higher shelves, trying to take stock of what was where. Connor had begun shifting the boxes around on the floor, trying to lump together everything by case.

“Case number?” he asked.

Person blew dust off the box and squinted at the writing. “Uh…425.32…Looks like Lieutenant Anderson’s handwriting from…crap, this thing is dated fifteen years ago…Barkley case?”

She glanced down at Connor in his little fort of boxes, and she could practically see his gears turning as he searched his data banks.

“Beck Barkley...leader of a red ice ring that Hank and a task force brought down. He was killed in a shootout with police…I think I have—“ he paused, looking around the other boxes. “I have two other boxes for that case here. There might be—“

He abruptly cut off, jumping back two steps and looking around frantically.

Person stared at his odd behavior. “Con—“

Connor nearly levitated off the floor as he jumped up and onto the empty steel shelving racks beside him. He grabbed onto the steel rails and ended up perched on the empty shelf like a gargoyle, scanning the floor where he’d been standing.

“What the Hell, dude?” Person asked. “What’s wrong with you?”

Connor blinked a few times, finally looking up from the floor and meeting her eyes. He looked as bewildered by his own actions as she was.

“Um…My, uh, my proximity sensor went off.”

Person raised an eyebrow and opened her palms at him. “So? What set them off?”

“I’m not…sure…Something must have moved.”

She stepped down off the stool, tiptoeing over toward his box fort and looking up at him, perched on the shelf.

“Probably just a spider or someth—ah!” She sprang backwards, clawing for the stool and scrambling back up onto higher ground.

The small shadow on the floor skittered between the boxes, disappearing under one of the shelf racks.

“What was it?” Connor asked.

“A mouse. I think,” she stated.

Connor’s shoulders lowered as his expression went flat. “Just a mouse?”

“It was a big mouse…and don’t look at me like that, you jumped first!” she snapped.

The stairwell door opened, and Chris made his way down with another box in his arms. He walked into the storage room to see his fellow human officer and android detective, both crouched on a stool and an empty shelf respectively. They both spun their heads to look at the newcomer.

“What…are you guys doing?” he asked.

“…Nothing,” Person replied, slowly forcing herself down the stool to stand on the floor again.

Across the room, Connor did the same, warily.

Chris set the box on top of the nearest stack of other boxes. He looked more suspiciously to Connor for a better answer. “Connor?”

The android shifted on his feet. “The…floor is lava?”

Person snapped her fingers and pointed at him. “Exactly.”

“What?” Chris chuckled. “Have you guys lost your minds—Eeek!”

His eyes bugged at the flicker of movement on the floor nearby, and then he was vaulting up onto an old wooden chair by the door. Immediately, Person and Connor were back at their elevated positions, and three sets of eyes roamed the floor in search of the small predator.

“Where did it go?!” Chris screeched.

“Connor, where is it?!” Person demanded.

“Why are you asking me?”

“You got the…android eyes!”

“That’s not how—“

The mouse skittered out from under one shelf, darting toward another.

All three of them yelped at the tiny tormentor…and that’s where Hank found them ten minutes later, when he went looking for what was taking Chris so long.

Chapter Text

Thanks to taking a tumble down two flights of stairs with a fleeing perp, Connor had been benched with a broken wrist for the rest of the day. The only good news there was that android healing programs, particularly the RK800 model’s, were top notch and much more accelerated than a human’s natural healing speed.

Normally, an android’s broken wrist would be fully mended within 72 hours; however, Connor being lucky as he often was…He had managed to land on his wrist at just the right angle to break it in two places. One was a simple mend. The second involved the more intricate wiring and gears that made up the joint. The easier first break could not properly heal without the second one healing first, and the technician who’d examined the limb had estimated that that would take a full week for his wrist to reach 100 percent again.

He was fitted with a stiff brace that wrapped around his hand and midway up his forearm, and he was sent on his merry way with strict instructions to wear the brace at all times and do as little physical activity with his injured hand as possible. Thus…benched.

“This is ridiculous,” he muttered for the fifth time in two hours.

Androids were ambidextrous by design, but most deviants had developed a preference for using one hand over the other. Connor had happened to damage the hand that had become more dominant the longer he’d been deviant. While his other hand functioned just fine…It just didn’t feel as natural.

Wilson set a box of case files on Connor’s desk, spying the brace. “Aw, man, I remember when I broke my arm as a kid. Had one of them big plaster casts all the way to the elbow.”

“I have to keep it immobilized in this brace for a week,” Connor complained.

“Psh,” Wilson waved at him. “That ain’t nothing. I had to wear mine for over a month.”

Connor’s eyes bugged. “A month?”

“Yep, and it itched the. Whole. Time,” Wilson said, sitting in the chair by Connor’s work station. “And when they took the cast off…Dude, you talk about nasty…”

Connor stared at him. “How did you break it?”

“Trying to impress my friends doing some stupid skateboard tricks,” Wilson explained. “Thought I could do this one move on this ramp…Turns out I very much could not, aaand snap went my left arm.” He nodded toward the brace. “You’re lucky. That’s all Velcro and cloth and stuff. Those old school plaster casts were no joke. Only upside to those was drawing all over them.”

Connor smoothed one of the tightening bands around the brace. He looked at Wilson again. “Why would you do that?”

“Because it was this big, clunky tube of white plaster on my arm. How could I not draw all over it?” Wilson snorted. “Got all my family and friends to sign it…Had to then go back and edit some of it with a marker because my friends thought it’d be funny to draw dicks on it.”

Connor grimaced and looked down at the dark blue color of the brace. “That would be very unprofessional to do in this instance.”

“Well, yeah, I was a kid,” Wilson said. “Grownups are boring; we don’t graffiti our booboos enough,” he chuckled and winked.

Connor frowned, turning his wrist over and fiddling with the band again. “…Yeah.”

Wilson heard the catch in his voice, and he pouted his lips, leaning forward in the seat. “You got a silver Sharpie?”

Connor blinked and looked at him. “No. Why would I have—“

“Tina,” Wilson leaned back, bellowing at the other officer.

“What?” she bellowed back.

“You got a silver marker?”

“I got silver, glittery silver, and glittery gold.”

“Ooh, gimme the glittery silver.”

“Heads up!” Tina javelin-tossed the marker at him.

Wilson caught it and saw Connor’s confused expression. He dramatically popped the cap off the marker.

“I’m signing your brace.”

Connor stiffened in his seat. “What…Why?”

“Because it is a rite of passage,” Wilson said, scooting closer and gesturing for Connor’s arm. “Don’t worry; I won’t draw any dicks.”

Connor hesitated, but then slowly extended his arm. Wilson carefully took the injured limb, gently turning his wrist over and finding a fairly inconspicuous spot toward the back of the brace, closer to Connor’s elbow. He had to write his name over and over a few times in the same spot for the ink to show up legibly on the dark, fabric-like material, but he managed it.

Capping the marker again, he spread his hands.

“Tada.”

Connor stretched out his arm, getting a look at Wilson’s handiwork. “…Thank you,” he said with a small smile.

Wilson wiggled the marker between his fingers. “You’re welcome.”

As though summoned, Tina appeared on Wilson’s other side, brandishing her glittery gold marker.

“Gimme, gimme.”

Connor stared at her. “What? No, that’s—“

“If Wilson’s signing, then I’m signing,” Tina stated, wiggling her fingers in a ‘gimme’ gesture.

Connor looked slowly to Wilson, who raised his eyebrows in question. Connor only hesitate a beat longer before extending his arm to Tina. She bounced on her heels but was careful as she scribbled her name on the top of the brace near his thumb. No sooner had she done that, than Ben was shimmying over, taking Wilson’s silver marker.

“Want another one?” he offered.

Connor wasn’t pretending to fight after that, and he didn’t argue with Person either…or Chris, Hank, the staff androids, or even Fowler and Gavin…though the latter was sternly supervised to ensure no dickery.

And, yes, the brace would be gone in a week after the wrist healed, but at least for this week, Connor decided he could tolerate the unprofessional look of so many scribbles on his brace. If need be, he could cover it with his sleeve after all…but he’d still know that their names were there.

Chapter Text

So here was the thing…androids don’t sweat. They start to get hot, their ventilation program kicks up to cool their internal biocomponents. Still hot? Start losing layers, just like a human. Still hot? Take cooling measures like a wet towel to the places on the body where the thirium lines were closest to the surface…similar to where a human’s pulse points would be. Drink chilled thirium. Take a cold shower. There were certainly options.

Most of those options were apparently impeding Connor’s sense of efficiency, and so he was foregoing all of the more effective ones and trying to get by doing the bare minimum to keep from overheating. There was just a blip in his programming, he’d assured Hank. Just a coding error that was throwing off his regulator and making his internal temperature spike. His system was actively working to correct the error, which for the time being was also resulting in more heat. It would be resolved in two hours, tops, he’d promised.

Well, here they were an hour and a half later, and Connor looked miserable.

“Kid, just take a sick day and go home,” Hank drawled, sitting across the desk from his partner.

Connor was stubbornly sifting through case files on his desk, having already gotten rid of his jacket and rolled his sleeves up to his elbows, even going so far as to undo the top two buttons of his collar to let more air flow in. The too-warm thirium in his lines had risen to press against the plastic casing of his face and neck, giving him a bluish, flushed look.

“I’m not sick. I’m perfectly capable of completing my shift in this state,” Connor remarked shortly.

Ben had hauled out a little desk fan from storage and hooked it up beside Connor’s desk, and the thing was turned up on high. It was nearly blowing the paperwork off the desk. Tina had a rotation of partially frozen thirium slushes for him to sip on, and Chris had given him a sandwich bag of ice to keep in his shirt near his thirium pump, just trying to provide any kind of relief.

“Yeah, but you don’t have to,” Hank said, sitting back in his seat and folding his arms. “You look like you just ran a mile through the jungle.”

Connor sighed and finally pulled his eyes away from the case files to look at Hank. “I’m just completing some case reports. I have accomplished far more strenuous tasks in far more debilitating conditions.”

“And that is a very sad sentence. I’m sad now,” Hank said, clucking his tongue.

Person sauntered over from her desk, stepping around the clerical ST300 android, Julia, who was delivering mail. Person was armed with a little purple spray bottle, and she twirled it once around her index finger before aiming it directly at Connor’s face.

“I gotchu, boo. Close your eyes,” she stated.

“Don’t call me boo,” Connor frowned but closed his eyes as requested.

Person snorted and lightly sprayed the nozzle on the bottle twice. Two little spritzes of chilled water misted out of the nozzle, and the air flow from the fan sent the little droplets all over his face. He scrunched his face a bit in surprise, sitting back. No sooner had he done that, than the pleasant cooling effect of the spray registered, and he sat forward.

“Do that again,” he pleaded.

Hank snorted as Person happily sprayed him again a few times. His face, his neck, the back of his head, until he looked about as wet as a sweaty human would look in his overheated condition.

“All right,” Hank finally stopped her, lifting a hand. “It’s starting to get weird.”

Connor opened his eyes, looking more relieved than from any other measure he’d taken in the past two hours. “What’s weird?”

“She’s…misting you like some kind of model in a fancy cologne commercial. You’re…glistening,” Hank said, screwing up his face.

Person snorted and left the spray bottle on the desk for Connor to resume using himself. Thanks to the running fan, some of the mist had wafted over in Hank’s direction, and he sniffed the air, looking at her flatly.

“Is that scented water? What is that?” He sniffed again. “Cucumber melon?”

“Yup,” Person confirmed with a nod.

Connor wiped some of the excess mist off his face with his rolled up sleeve. He frowned at her. “Why scented?”

“You’re…uh…starting to smell like microwaved plastic, my guy,” Person explained gently.

“A’right, you’re going home,” Hank said, standing up out of his chair, “and I’m taking you.”

“Hank—“

“Don’t ‘Hank’ me,” Hank said, waving a hand toward the door. “C’mon, don’t make me make that an order.”

Connor grumbled but peeled himself up out of his chair. In defiance, he grabbed up the spray bottle and glared Hank in the eyes as he spritzed himself again, while the fan blew at his hair slightly from behind. Like he was freakin’ Fabio or some shit. Hank regarded him flatly.

“You done?”

Connor snorted and set the bottle back down, took the ice bag out of his shirt, but left his top buttons undone and his sleeves rolled up. Dude looked like he’d just crawled out of a sauna.

Person backed out of the way and gave him a little wave as Hank hustled him out of the bullpen.

“Feel better, Connor.”

“…Thanks,” Connor mumbled, swatting at Hank’s shooing motions. “I’m going, Hank!”

Person shook her head, then noted the other android standing very still beside her. She turned to see Julia staring after Connor as he left, taking his disheveled, unbuttoned, wet self out the door. She realized Person was watching her, and she cleared her throat, fanning herself a bit.

“Whew. Did that do it for anybody else? Or just me?”

Person eyed her, leaned back, and then stepped away. “Jesus…I’ll get the fan for you.”

Chapter Text

Tina was pissed, and that was always entertaining for Gavin. Well, ‘pissed’ wasn’t the right word. She was…strung out. Since joining the DPD, she had had exactly one scenario that she had been dreading, and this afternoon, it had happened to her. And the aftermath was hilarious.

As soon as Gavin had heard about the call, he’d known it was gonna be a funny story later .Connor and Tina had reported that they had come to the aid of a woman in a broken down car on the side of the road…and that she was in active labor. Literally between Connor calling dispatch and dispatch reporting that an ambulance was on the way…the baby came.

So now Tina was in the club of cops who’d delivered babies. Connor didn’t count; he wasn’t in the club. Not because of the android thing, but because apparently the woman had been adamant that it be Tina, another flesh and blood woman. So Connor had supported her upper body, and Tina had been right where the magic happened.

And she was not happy about it.

“I heard the dispatch call,” Gavin snickered, arms folded and leaning against the wall of the locker room. “You did good.”

“Oh shut the hell your mouth,” Tina snarled, kicking off her shoes and unbuttoning her jeans.

She yanked her locker door open and rummaged out a spare pair of clothes.

On the other side of the locker wall, Connor was similarly changing clothes.

“You followed your training perfectly, Tina,” the android was saying.

Gavin looked at Tina and lifted his eyebrows. “See? Even the bot agrees with you.”

“Although,” Connor went on. “That was…messier than my preprogrammed simulations had led me to believe.”

Gavin snorted into his fist. Tina glared at him.

“God, I’ve never seen so much…fluid and blood…and screaming…that wasn’t at a crime scene!” she huffed, pulling her sullied shirt over her head and wadding it up. “That was…”

“The miracle of birth?” Gavin teased patronizingly.

“Miracle of…” Tina scoffed. “That was some animal kingdom nonsense, is what that was!”

She threw her balled up shirt at him, which he leaned back to avoid. She was already shoving down her jeans to peel them off.

“Well, just get naked, why don’t you?” he cackled at her.

“I have human amniotic fluid on me! The fuck outta here,” Tina snarled, grabbing up her spare clothes and stomping toward the shower. “Miracle of birth…Fuck all the way off…Baby came out looking like some kind of alien potato…Miracle…That’s some brainwash talking…No way I’m ever volunteering for my hoo-ha to open up like some kind of fucking Stargate like that…God damn.”

Her voice fell to muted grumblings as she disappeared into the showers. At the same time, Connor peered around the wall, freshly changed into spare jeans and a navy blue DPD shirt. He looked alarmed at Tina’s reaction.

“She doesn’t…like children or babies, does she?” he asked.

Gavin snorted, kicking Tina’s discarded clothes into a pile in front of her open locker. “She has the maternal instinct of a wheel of cheese, dude.”

Connor just smirked and held out his palm, displaying a projected image of the new mother holding the newborn in the hospital. She looked tired but happy, and the message accompanying the picture read: “Thank you, Officers <3.”

“It’s a healthy girl,” Connor explained. “Humans are…amazing. You can create life from nothing—“

“Well, not ‘nothing.’ There’s something that goes into it,” Gavin snickered. “And that’s one way that humans will always be superior to you toasters.”

Connor frowned and looked at the picture again. “Maybe…but if you are going to judge the superiority of a species by the act of procreating…then you as an individual are failing your own standards, Detective.”

“You’re a real asshole, you know that?”

“…I’m aware.”

“AND ANOTHER THING,” Tina announced, stomping back into view after the shortest shower ever, shoving herself into her clean clothes. “Training did NOT warn me about—“

“Look!” Connor shoved his palm at her with the picture up, clearly trying to stop her ranting. “Both healthy and safe and happy…thanks to you, Tina.”

Tina finished getting dressed and glared at the picture. The glare quickly softened, and she huffed, looking away.

“Yeah…well…good for her…She did all the work, anyway. I just kinda…caught her little potato baby.”

Connor’s LED spun, signaling a new message had come in. Connor blinked distantly, then smirked at Tina. “She would like to name her daughter Tina, after you.”

Tina’s hands slipped on the fly of her clean jeans. “Wut?”

Gavin cackled and pumped a fist. “Yes! Oh yeah, some people have traditions like that. You name your kid after whoever helped deliver ‘em. I’ve got at least three Reeds and two other little Gavins running around out there. I’m building an army.”

Tina was quiet, staring at Connor’s hand, though he had stopped projecting the picture. She looked up at Gavin and Connor then.

“She…really wants to do that?”

Connor nodded. “Yes, and she asked if that would be okay with you.”

Tina opened and closed her mouth a few times, then gave a jerky shrug, facing her locker again with a sniff. “Yeah…Sure…whatever, I don’t…I don’t care. That’s fine.”

Connor’s brow knit in concern, and Gavin waved him off.

“Go lurk somewhere else and let the mom know it’s okay,” Gavin ordered.

Connor frowned but went, glancing back at Tina once before leaving. Gavin folded his arms again and leaned against the wall, offering Tina a shit-eating grin as she visibly fought the lump in her throat. Her motions had slowed as she contemplated all the old familiar things that Gavin had crashed into after his first, second, and third emergency deliveries in the field. It never got old, and while, yes, still hilarious to watch his friend melt down about it…It wasn’t often that Tina ever really looked that vulnerable.

She caught him silently teasing her, and she huffed, throwing her locker door shut.

“That’s still some animal kingdom nonsense…” she grunted, shoving her shoes back on and shouldering past him.

“You could say it’s the…circle of life?” he chanted lightly.

She smacked him in the arm, but it got a grin out of her as she stomped back out into the bullpen.

Oh yeah, he was never gonna let her live this down.

Chapter Text

To say that a stakeout was a boring way to spend four hours was…an understatement.

Ben and Chris had been stuck in an unmarked car for those said hours…waiting for something…anything…to develop in the abandoned lot that was supposedly the new hot spot for making late night red ice deals.

So far…it had been a whole lotta nada, and boredom had gotten Ben opening up a crossword puzzle app on his phone. Chris had staunchly ignored him at first, refusing to get sucked into the puzzle and adamant that they focus on doing their job diligently. That had been three hours ago, when their coffee thermoses were full and at least some dusk light was left in the sky. Now it was the middle of the night, and they had already eaten all of the secret candy that Gavin thought he’d hidden well in the car.

Connor and Person were stationed in another car a few blocks down. Ben wasn’t sure how they were passing the time. Connor had gotten irritated at Ben vocalizing his puzzle clues over the radio. The android said he understood the concept of brain teasers and puzzles, but the idea of racking your brain to think of obscure trivia…when the answer was just one easy internet search away…It drove the kid up the wall…and that was half the fun for Ben.

As it was, the radio had gone silent, and now only Chris was suffering for it.

“A’right…Six down…” Ben went on, tapping his stylus pen against the case of his phone. “Six letters. It’s a phrase. Blank…for your thoughts.”

“Penny,” Chris replied, arms folded eyes focused on the lot across the street.

Ben tutted and filled in the blanks. “Okay, uh…Seven across…Five letters…The cartoon character Casper was known for being a friendly one.”

“Ghost,” Chris answered swiftly.

Ben bobbed his head and filled it in. “Next one is…Middle name of famous actor who portrayed such characters as Major Charles Winchester, Cogsworth the Clock, and Governor Radcliffe. Oh, right, it’s uh…Four down…Five letters. Starts with the letter O from one down’s answer: Oliver.”

“Oooh,” Chris groaned. “I can almost hear it. His name was David…David…two syllable middle name…and one syllable last name. David…duh-duh…duh…”

Ben scratched his neck, frowning at the puzzle. “Yeah, I’m gonna kick myself when I think of it…Ost…Osten…David Oliver—no, that’s…Ode…Og…Og…”

“Ogden!” Chris snapped his fingers. “David Ogden Stiers.”

“That’s the dude!” Ben pointed at him with a grin and wrote in the answer. “Nice. Hey, last one!”

“Hit me with it,” Chris challenged.

“Nine down, four letters…In music, a…oh geez…a concluding musical section that is formally distinct from the main structure.”

“What the Hell?” Chris balked.

Dispatch chirped for the hourly check in.

Connor finally spoke over the radio, just a quick: “All clear. All quiet.”

“Same here,” Chris spoke into the radio. “Not a peep.”

“I know the answer,” Person teased.

Ben blinked, staring at the radio speaker. “You been listening this whole time?”

“Well, we already played I Spy for three hours before that got dull,” Person said. “Hey, on an unrelated note, did you guys know that androids can see colors that we can’t? Because Connor…Connor, chime in here…explain to them how you tried to describe that one color to me.”

There was a reluctant pause.

“It…can best be described as a mix of pale blue and…orange.”

“Yeah, but that’s not what you called it. Tell them what you called it.”

“…Blorange.”

Ben shoved his fist against his mouth to stifle a laugh, and Chris hid his face in his hands to do the same.

“Now I ask you,” Person went on calmly. “What in the absolute fuck Blorange is supposed to look like?”

“There wasn’t a word for it!” Connor was arguing now. “When something doesn’t have a word designated for it, you humans tend to just make one up. Well, I made one up.”

“And it was delightfully stupid,” Person said cheerfully. “Congrats.”

“So what’s the answer?” Chris asked. “And how are you so sure you know it?”

“Because I’m smarter than you,” Person answered curtly. “A concluding musical section that is formally distinct from the main structure is called a coda.”

“Coda,” Ben tried the word out as he wrote it in. He showed the screen to Chris. “It fits.”

Dispatch chirped again abruptly, drawing their attention to activity being reported in the second floor of the abandoned building beside the lot.

“Time to move,” Ben announced, tossing his phone down as they shifted gears back into work mode.

“Maybe if we move fast enough, we’ll catch them red handed,” Person said lightly. “Or would that be more…blorange handed? Eh? Connor? Eh?”

A long, heavy sigh came across the radio from Connor, followed by a quiet: “Why are you like this?”

Chapter Text

“Sumo…Stay,” Hank could hear Connor ordering.

It was followed by the hesitant sound of Connor walking down the hall, step, step, step.

That was quickly followed by the happy clicking of Sumo’s nails as he followed, tap, tap, tap.

“No,” Connor chided lightly. “Sumo, stay….Staaay.”

Step, step, step.

…

Tap, tap, tap.

“No, Sumo. When I say stay, you stay where you are. You don’t follow, okay?”

Hank stood in his bedroom, putting away the laundry and fiercely trying not to laugh. He had been listening to the same scene over and over for the past ten minutes. Well, really for the past week since Connor had gotten it into his head that he wanted to teach Sumo basic commands.

Hell, Hank had taught Sumo the basic shit. Sit. Stay. Come. No barking. Sumo’s obedience or lack thereof was entirely dependent on the big mutt’s level of laziness that day. Sumo knew exactly what those orders were…he just half the time didn’t feel like doing them.

Step, step, step.

Tap, tap, tap.

“Sumo, no!” Connor was starting to sound exasperated.

Hank muffled a laugh with a hand over his mouth, putting away the last of his clothes. He stepped over to the door and leaned out into the hallway.

“How’s progress going?” he asked innocently.

Connor was standing halfway down the hallway, turned and looking back at Sumo, who was happily following him wherever he went. Connor slouched a bit as he faced Hank in defeat.

“He doesn’t seem to be understanding what I’m telling him to do.”

“Ah,” Hank snorted, walking past him down the hall and into the kitchen. “Must suck giving orders and…having someone not follow those orders.”

Sumo turned in place to watch him walk by, but he stayed by Connor’s side, as had become the norm since Connor had started living there.

Disloyal mutt.

“You just got to sound more like you’re in charge. Have some more authority in your voice,” he suggested, opening the fridge and leaning in to see what the inventory was. He was almost out of beer, and he frowned, taking one of the few remaining cans out.

“I am,” Connor argued, doubling back into the living room, Sumo on his heels. “Sumo, sit!”

Sumo wagged his tail and sniffed at Connor’s knee.

“You sound like you’re making a polite suggestion,” Hank said, straightening up and nudging the fridge shut with his knee. He cracked open the top tab of the beer can. “He’s stubborn. You have to be more stubborn.”

Connor narrowed his eyes at Hank, as close to a pout as an android’s face could get. “I am more stubborn, Hank. You are very aware of this.”

“Don’t tell me,” Hank snorted, gesturing toward the dog. “Tell him.”

Connor blinked and then looked at Sumo. “Sumo. Stay.”

He took a few steps into the living room, closer to the couch, eyes on the dog.

Sumo paused for a moment, watching him, and…just as Connor started to look hopeful, Sumo trotted over to him. Connor’s shoulders slouched further, and he looked dolefully to Hank.

“I don’t understand how I’m failing at this.”

Hank smirked, taking a long drink from his beer. He offered a shrug and went to inspect the food pantry for what to scramble together for dinner. If Connor was distracted enough, Hank might be able to get away with that frozen lasagna in the freezer…

“Sumo, sit,” he heard Connor repeating.

As he continued to repeat it, it was clear that Sumo still wasn’t obeying.

And…as entertaining as the first ten minutes of this had been, the repeated words were starting to grate on Hank, and he knew he was going to lose his patience far before Connor did. His patience was further tested when he opened the freezer to find that the lasagna was missing. He frowned.

“Connor, did you throw out that frozen lasagna?”

“Sumo, sit—Yes, it was past its expiration date.”

Hank briefly closed his eyes, taking a three second breath to grieve the loss. The next best thing was some leftover takeout from yesterday…but man, lasagna sure had sounded good…

“Sumo, please sit—“

Hank swung the freezer door shut. “SIT DOWN,” he snapped.

In the living room, Sumo’s fluffy butt hit the carpet.

Just as quickly, Connor abruptly sat on the couch.

Hank looked into the living room to see both dog and android staring at him. Hank blinked.

“Why did YOU sit down?” he asked.

Connor blinked back at him, looking just as surprised by this turn of events as Hank. “I don’t…know.” His gaze slid over to Sumo. “It just…really sounded like an order.”

Hank pursed his lips hard, desperately trying not to laugh again. “J-Jesus Christ, kid…”

He failed then, throwing his head back and laughing at the ridiculousness that had taken over his house. Sumo’s tail wagged once, twice, and then the dog stood up again. He trotted over to Connor and nosed at his hands.

Connor looked confused at Hank’s reaction, then he frowned and looked at Sumo.

“Sumo…Sit.”

Sumo licked his face instead.

Connor sighed and scratched him behind the ear.

Hank got his giggles under control, walking along behind the couch to grab his phone to order a pizza. As he passed by, he reached out and lightly patted Connor on the top of the head.

“Good boy.”

Chapter Text

It was Connor’s first time inside a treehouse. The way the little eight year old girl had very seriously invited him to climb up with her though, he got the impression that he should feel honored to have been given permission into the little sanctuary. Over the past several months, he had grown close to Bonny Stevens and her parents, Oliver and Janet, and he had only stopped by their home to say hello when the little girl had pounced on him, practically dragging him into the backyard to see her pride and joy.

The treehouse sat nestled among the thick branches of the widest tree in the Stevens’ back yard, ten feet from the ground and with two access points: a standard vertical wooden rung ladder and a yellow slide on the other side, leading down to a square sand pit. Bonny had decked out the interior with a set of colored paper lantern string lights, a soft pink rug across the wooden floor, and a childhood’s worth of hand drawings scribbled into the plain wooden walls.

Bonny had given him the short but very detailed tour, then she had promptly sat herself cross-legged on the floor and brought out two small containers of bubble mixture. She handed him the purple bottle as seriously as one might offer their guest a cup of tea in their home.

And that was how Connor and Bonny ended up sitting in Bonny’s treehouse that afternoon, blowing bubbles out of the front opening and watching the wind steal them away.

“You’ve gotten a lot better than the first time you tried to blow bubbles,” she chirped, blowing into the sticky pink wand and sending a cascade of oily little bubbles floating out of the treehouse.

Connor preferred trying to make a large, singular bubble with each blow into the wand, instead of the endless torrent of Bonny’s smaller bubbles. He wiggled the short purple wand into his own container.

“I would hope so,” he said, carefully drawing the wand out of the container.

“Yeah,” the little girl snorted, aggressively jamming her wand into the container and wiggling it around for maximum effect. “You really sucked.”

Connor frowned at her and made a show of holding up the little bubble wand and blowing into it. The oily film in the circular end of the wand wobbled and stretched outward, finally breaking free into a heavy looking, ping pong ball sized bubble. There was a cluster of malformed suds hanging off the bottom of it, weighing it down as it descended toward the grass below.

He looked smugly to Bonny anyway, and she smirked, showing off the missing tooth on the far right side of her smile.

“Nice,” she stated, as they watched the bubble sink and pop on the grass.

A few feet away from the bubble’s landing spot, Bonny’s father Oliver had come out to stand, hands on his hips and looking up at the treehouse in amusement.

“You guys about done up there? Connor, did you get the grand tour?”

“I did,” Connor remarked. “She is a very gracious host.”

“Yup!” Bonny bellowed, blowing another series of bubbles down at her dad.

“Consider yourself lucky, Connor,” Oliver said. “She doesn’t just let any grownups up there.”

“No grownups allowed!” Bonny roared.

Connor frowned, making eye contact with Oliver.

“Uh, BJ,” Oliver stated. “Connor is a grownup.”

“Nuh uh. He’s like two years old. I’m older than him!” Bonny pointed out.

Connor paused, looking at her and then to Oliver again. “She’s not entirely wrong.”

“I’m entirely right!” Bonny stated.

Oliver sighed with a smirk. “Okay, well, Bonny, that means you’re the oldest—“

“Which means I’m in charge!”

“Which means you better keep an eye on your, uh, your younger brother up there, okay?” he said with a grin, winking at Connor.

Connor frowned and looked at Bonny. It was her turn to look smug.

“You got it!” Bonny promised her dad.

Oliver sighed. “Okay, well, don’t stay out here too long. We ordered pizza. Connor, you’re welcome to stay. We’ve got a few bottles of thirium if you want. Sorry, it’s…all we got.”

Connor smiled at the thoughtfulness. “Thank you. I’d like to take you up on that invitation.”

Oliver gave him a salute in acknowledgement and then headed back into the house. Connor sat back a bit, raising his eyes to look over the rest of the yard from the higher vantage point of the treehouse. Bonny was putting away her bubble mix and trying to wipe the sticky substance off on her pant legs.

“Just because you are older than me in years doesn’t mean you can tell me what to do,” he felt the need to clarify. “I’m still an officer of the law and not a toddler—“

“Yeah, yeah,” she giggled. “But I’ve got more experience about growing up…Respect your elders!”

Connor sighed and gave in. “Yes, ma’am.”

Bonny bobbed her head righteously and then smiled. “Stick with me, and I will teach you all I know, kiddo,” she said, patting him on the head.

Connor deadpanned for a beat and then smirked. “An android couldn’t ask for a better older sister.”

“Darn straight!”

Chapter Text

The sunny Saturday afternoon found Tina, Julia, Person, and Connor all helping with some DIY projects around the apartment next door to Tina’s. Her neighbor was a young woman recovering from back surgery, and she was a stubborn sort that Tina knew didn’t really have any nearby family to help her out. Her friends had been helping during the week with day to day stuff like cooking and cleaning and taking care of herself, but Tina had been noticing that the woman, Jenny, had been a little down in spirits and not like herself since the surgery.

So…Tina had cast a net and caught three helpers to assist her in just sprucing up Jenny’s apartment for her, with her permission of course, fixing up some stuff that needed some attention, and tackling a few little projects that Jenny’s condition just wouldn’t let her do and that her other friends simply didn’t have the time to do themselves either.

Thus far, that had included fixing a wobble in the ceiling fan, repairing some floor scuffs where moving furniture had scratched, filling in some nail holes in the wall and painting over them, and replacing the air filters in all the vents, now that allergy season was in full swing.

At the moment, Person was parked in the corner near Jenny’s modest entertainment center, furiously reorganizing the woman’s cable management system, or current lack thereof. Connor was tinkering around under the sink fixing a drip, and Tina was up on an A-frame ladder, painting over the last of the nail hole patches. Julia was holding the wobbly ladder steady for her.

One of Jenny’s friends had taken her to her physical therapy appointment and a nice girls’ day afternoon, so the four of them had the run of the place for a while. They were all bound and determined to finish everything and surprise her by the time she returned home.

Tina finished one of the three remaining holes, where some old shelf had once been hung. She was able to reach two out of the three from the ladder’s current position, but the third one was a little farther away. She had gone up and down and up and down on this thing so many times; she didn’t think she had it in her to do it one more time. So, instead of coming down to scoot the ladder over, Tina just gripped the side of it, dolloped her brush in the little tray of mint green paint, and then started to lean away to reach the last elusive spot.

“Um…?” Julia started from the floor. “You can’t reach that from there.”

“Just watch me,” Tina huffed, stretching a little farther.

“I don’t think you should…” Julia cautioned. “You might fall.”

“Not if you hold that ladder steady, I won’t.”

“I’m…I don’t…okay,” Julia sighed in resignation.

Tina smirked and leaned a bit farther…so close…Got it!

She smacked her brush lightly against the wall and then wiggled back forth in a little circle, smearing the paint over the patch to adequately cover it. Smoothing it out until it blended in with the other paint, Tina nodded her head.

“There! Done. And you said—“

The ladder wobbled, and Tina yanked back toward it, bringing herself upright to try and balance it out. Julia grabbed onto it more tightly, steadying the unexpected wobble, and Tina shifted, her elbow knocking the little paint tray off the top of the frame.

“Oh shi—“ Tina made a mad grab for it, only managing to knock it farther with her hand.

The tray flipped over and bounced off the top of Julia’s head, splattering paint across her forehead and dribbling down onto her shoulder. Julia tensed, and the tray flopped with a clatter onto one of the plastic drop cloth sheets that they had laid out on the floor.

At least there had only been maybe a quarter of a cup of paint left in the tray…

Julia slowly lifted her head, looking up at Tina through a splatter of mint green paint on her face. Tina gritted her teeth and tried to smile at her, eyebrows high.

“Whoops! Sorry, Jules.” She shimmied down the ladder and onto the floor.

Julia released her grip on the ladder, lifting her paint splattered shoulder and stepping away. She didn’t look angry, just annoyed and tired enough to find it maybe amusing…or maybe Tina was projecting.

“It’s fine,” she stated flatly. “Can you get me a wash cloth or something?”

“Yep. Yes, absolutely, sure!” Tina darted toward the kitchen, where Connor was just extracting himself out from under the sink, looking triumphant.

“Drip fixed,” he announced, popping up onto his knees. He looked up at Tina frantically grabbing up one of the rags that Jenny had left them to use. “What happened?”

Tina ran the cloth under the faucet to dampen it, maneuvering around him in the tighter quarters of the small kitchen. “I kinda…baptized Julia in mint green.”

Connor frowned in concern and got to his feet. “Why did you do that?”

“I didn’t do it on purpose!” she said over her shoulder, heading back into the living room.

Julia was using the hem of her shirt to wipe at her neck, and Tina skidded back into view with the cloth.

“Here you go…fresh from the sink that Connor just fixed!”

Julia snorted and took the cloth, wiping more vigorously at her face. “Thanks…but you know what? I think you missed a spot.”

“What? No way!” Tina turned to inspect the wall.

As she turned her face, Julia dipped her finger into the tray that she’d picked up. She then promptly reached out and smeared it against Tina’s cheek. Tina froze, recoiled, and then spun back to her.

“What the Hell?”

“Pay back!” Julia cackled.

Connor made his way over, still looking concerned. “Everything okay—Tina, why do YOU have paint on you? I thought you said you—“

Julia spun around, some residual paint left over on her finger, and dramatically drew a mint green smudge across his forehead.

“Simbaaaa,” she drawled, lapsing into giggles.

Connor squawked and rubbed at his face, back stepping away from them. “Why? What did I do to deserve that?”

“Nothing. I just thought it’d be funny,” Julia snickered.

Tina snorted, wiping at her face some more.

Meanwhile, on the floor, far away from the commotion, Person had her cellphone out, discreetly doing a web search on whether androids could get high on paint fumes.

Chapter Text

Gavin had the hiccups, and if he had to suffer, then everybody around him had to suffer. The high pitched, hitching, squeaky noise interrupted the morning briefing. It interrupted an arrest that he made later that morning. It interrupted him drinking coffee, nearly making him choke. It had been going on for so long that Tina had started throwing a paperclip at him every time he did it, and now he had a whole pile of them scattered around his desk and in his lap.

Hic.

He had tried Ben’s suggestion of drinking a lot of water. Nothing.

He had tried Chris’s suggestion of holding his breath. Nothing.

He had tried Wilson’s suggestion of sucking on an ice cube. Nothing.

He had ignored all of Connor’s idiotic suggestions. He wasn’t taking hiccup advice from some tincan that had never even had hiccups before. Plastic smartass.

Hic.

Tina’s numerous attempts to scare him throughout the morning had fallen flat. Gavin wasn’t prone to jump scares, no matter how many times she flew out from behind a door or snuck up behind him and grabbed him. She was lucky his first instinct wasn’t to just turn around and deck her in the face as though she was an assailant.

Hic.

They were starting to hurt.

“Spicy food usually does it for me,” Hank offered after a while, sitting back in his chair with his arms folded.

Miserable, Gavin rubbed at his chest after the last hiccup tore at him.

“I’m almost willing to try anything at this point. This fucking sucks.”

“I still say you just need the shit scared out of you,” Tina grumbled, slouched in her seat across the desk from Gavin.

Hic.

“The current economic environment,” Connor chimed in.

Tina and Gavin both swiveled in their seats to stare at him.

“Gesundheit?” Tina offered.

Connor frowned. “Credit card debt.”

Gavin leaned toward Tina. “Is he having an android stroke? What’s happening?”

“Your existential purpose in the universe,” Connor went on.

Hic.

Tina threw a paperclip at him. “Connor, what the Hell?”

Connor blinked. “I’ve observed that traditional jump scare tactics don’t seem to work on Gavin. I’m trying a different approach to your theory of frightening the hiccups out of him.”

“By boring me to death?” Gavin grumbled. “The fuck are you on about?”

Connor fixed him with a stare. “Climate change.”

Gavin scoffed and flipped him the middle finger. “You’ve got a gear loose, prick.”

“Studies have shown an increase in human anxiety levels regarding these topics.” Connor’s expression flattened. “I’m only trying to help.”

“Well stop. It’s obnoxious. HIC. Dammit,” he groaned, doubling over in his seat.

He tried breathing while curled over with his head near his knees for a minute. When that didn’t seem to work either, he straightened up.

As he did so, he became hair-raisingly aware of Officer Person, bending over behind his seat until her face was hovering over his shoulder.

Hic.

She offered a very thin smile that did not reach her eyes.

“If you don’t learn to keep your smart mouth shut and ease up on Connor,” she said in a perfectly even, unsettling tone, “then one of these days I’m going to snap off your arm and shove it so far up your ass that I can reach down your throat and shake your hand.”

Gavin sat very still for a second, then scoffed and turned his head to look at her. “Why don’t you back off?”

Person stayed exactly where she was, her eyes suddenly very cold and…Christ, was there a dark aura bubbling around her head?

Then the second passed, and she straightened up, casually fixing her jacket sleeves.

“Just something to think about, Detective,” she chirped in her normal voice, walking away and back over to her desk.

Tina didn’t appear to have heard any of what Person had said, and she picked up another paperclip, poised to launch it at him.

A beat passed.

“Hey! Your hiccups are finally gone!” she cheered, setting down her projectile. “What finally did it?”

Gavin continued to sit very still, pretending not to notice Person staring at him hauntingly across the bullpen.

“They just—“ His voice was somehow up an octave, and he cleared his throat to force it back down to normal. “They just passed on their own, I guess.”

“Or maybe that weird combination of remedies did the trick,” Tina said with a shrug.

“Yeah…Yeah, I bet that…that’s probably it.”

Across the bullpen, Person stiffly turned back to face her computer and resume working. Then, and only then, did Gavin’s body unclench.

Chapter Text

Wilson had found a new favorite hobby, and that was feeding thirium-based food to the androids at the 07 to see their reactions. With deviancy had come a heightened appreciation for the sensory input that their systems registered. Sounds, smells, colors, textures: all very fun to watch them explore. But something about watching someone, who was by all appearances an adult, react to eating watermelon flavoring for the first time…It was just next level entertainment.

Which was why he had decided to take all of the 07 androids out to lunch that day to the nearby food truck that specialized in thirium-based edibles. Bert’s Baked Stuffs was manned by the eponymous Bert—a barrel chested, bald headed, beard-wearing lumberjack of a man—and his truck had cornered the market on what he had dubbed ThiriYums. Currently, Wilson was sat at an outdoor table with the 07’s two ST300s, two PC200s, and one PM700—Polly, Julia, Zeke, Apollo, and Gwen respectively. He had invited Connor, but he and Hank had gotten called out to a crime scene.

“Here we go,” Wilson challenged, gesturing to the piled up tray of ThiriYum samples. “You have before you samples of all of the flavored thirium condiments, along with a selection of imitative veggie sticks. Who’s going first?”

“Ooh! Ooh! Ooh!” Polly bounced in her seat, raising her hand and waving it like a child in class.

Wilson chuckled and picked up one of the little Thirium sticks and one of the little plastic cups of sauce. “For the lady…behold a carrot stick wiiiiith chocolate sauce.”

Polly accepted the challenge without fuss. Androids didn’t know what food combinations humans had decided were gross or weird. It was actually really cute watching them figure it out…not so much when Zeke had taken a very confident bite of a thirium jalapeno covered in mustard…but even that had still been really funny.

On cue, Julia, Zeke, and Gwen all started patting their hands on the table in a drum roll as Polly dipped the carrot stick in chocolate sauce and took a bite. Then the three of them plus Wilson and Apollo paused, staring at her for her reaction. Polly crunched into it, chewed once…twice…and then shuddered, one eye fluttering shut as she struggled to process the bizarre taste combination.

Wilson cackled, kicking back in his seat and clapping his hands.

“Ugh…that is…ugh,” Polly coughed.

“You look like you hate it,” Gwen presumed, watching her intently.

Polly snapped her fingers and pointed at her. “That’s it…blech…I hate this.”

Wilson held out the chocolate sauce cup. “More?”

“Please,” Polly eagerly took the cup to test it again.

The next challenge went to Gwen, and she got off much easier with a bell pepper dipped in ranch dressing. Zeke got a French fry with ketchup. Apollo had excused himself from participating in this game, content to just sit at the table and eat an entire block of thirium cheese like one would eat an apple.

“Julia, you’re next…Jules?” Wilson stared at her. “Are you just…eating straight up jalapenos?”

Julia paused, half of the pepper still between her teeth, and stared back at him. She slowly bit down on the pepper and almost looked embarrassed for a second, but then just as quickly shrugged and resumed chewing.

“Yeah, so?”

“Most people find jalapenos to be pretty spicy,” he remarked.

Julia held out the remnants of the jalapeno, scrutinized it, shrugged again, and popped it into her mouth. “I like it,” she spoke around the pepper.

“Maniac,” Polly muttered, picking at the pile of thirium fries and trying out all the different sauces that Wilson had bought samples of.

Wilson rubbed his neck. “Well, we all like what we like, I guess.” He glanced over at the food truck. “Hey, Bert?”

Bert wrapped up the transaction with his latest customer and ducked his head under the serving window. “Yeah?”

“You got anything stronger than jalapenos for old Iron Belly, here?” he said, pointing a thumb at Julia, happily munching away on the little green peppers.

Bert slowly grinned. “I’ve been playing around with some ghost pepper recipes. It ain’t perfected yet, but it’ll do the trick.”

“Hit me!” Julia challenged.

Bert smiled at her gusto, then nodded and disappeared into the truck to fetch the ghost pepper.

Wilson let out a low whistle, crossing himself in front of her. “Godspeed, baby girl.” He looked over to Apollo. “You good over there? Just you and your cheese brick?”

“It’s satisfactory.”

Wilson bobbed his head. “Cool.” He looked at the remaining food on the tray. “We can put together a little to-go box for Connor. He shouldn’t get to miss out on all the fun. Hope he doesn’t like spicy food, because I think Julia’s taken the whole haul.”

She refused to look apologetic about that, eagerly watching Bert carry over the small container of thirium ghost pepper slices. She thanked him and then unceremoniously popped one of the little pepper discs into her mouth.

Now…Wilson had never seen steam come out of an android’s ears before, like in the old cartoons…but this was pretty close.

In a second, her face was flushed blue and her eyes were watering. She gripped the table with both hands and leaned back, mouth hanging open toward the sky.

“Haaaaaaaah,” she breathed out like a dragon.

Zeke and Gwen on either side of her leaned farther away. Apollo was ignoring them, just eating his cheese and watching traffic drive by. Julia cleared her throat once, panted a bit, and then deflated in her seat as she swallowed, forcing the bite down.

Bert stood behind her, hands on his hips and a twinkle in his eye. “Verdict?”

Julia left her tongue hanging out of her mouth and just lifted two thumbs up.

“Maniac,” Polly repeated, then leaned toward Wilson. “Put some of that ghost pepper in the to-go box. I need to see if Connor makes that face too, or if he just straight up bursts into flames.”

“You’re terrible,” Wilson scolded.

He then snatched a few pieces of the villainous pepper and deposited them in the to-go container.

Chapter Text

So Connor looked miserable.

The poor guy had been laid up on the couch for nearly an hour now with what Hank could only think to describe as a belly ache. He’d had a minor malfunction in his thirium processor, something like an artificial stomach, and that malfunction had caused the biocomponent to spasm. He’d gotten sick a few times before it passed, and now he was just curled up on the couch, suffering from sore synthetic abdominal muscles and slowly starting to intake new thirium from the pouch on the coffee table.

And that was where Hank found him when he got back from walking Sumo.

“Hey, Connor,” Hank greeted quietly, closing the front door and looking over the back of the couch at his friend. “How you holding up, sport?”

Connor was lying on his side, arms wrapped loosely around his midsection under the blue blanket Hank had tossed on him, and watching the basketball game on the television with disinterest.

“Okay…Better,” he mumbled, not even moving his head to look up at Hank properly.

“Yeah?” Hank asked, reaching a hand down and feeling his forehead.

Mercifully, he didn’t feel like he was overheating or anything. Maybe it was just something that he could sleep off now that the worst of it had seemingly passed.

“Guess that’s what happens when you stick all that evidence in your mouth every chance you get,” he teased lightly, continuing on past the couch and into the kitchen.

Connor made a low, disagreeing noise. “This wasn’t caused by that.” He shifted a bit, lifting his head to look at Hank to argue properly. “This malfunction was just a—“

He grimaced and lowered his head again, curling a little more around his stomach and frowning into the pillow under his head. Hank set his phone, wallet, and keys down, watching Sumo pad around the couch and push his wet nose toward Connor’s face. Connor swatted with him away with one lazy hand, which the dog just licked.

“Ah, Sumo, back off, you big lug,” Hank said, walking over and grabbing Sumo’s collar. He tugged the large dog back toward his bed against the wall. “Go lay down. Leave him be.”

Sumo keened but didn’t take much coercing, flopping down into his bed and contentedly relaxing after his nice long walk. Hank turned back around and put his hands on his hips, looking at Connor.

“Need a bucket or something?”

“No,” Connor mumbled, looking pitiful and sounding even more so. “My healing program will run during my rest cycle tonight and correct the error.”

“Huh,” Hank nodded and went back into the kitchen, filling up a soft water bottle and heating it up.

By the time he carried the offering into the living room, the basketball game had given way to the post-game show, which Connor looked equally disinterested in.

“Here ya go,” Hank said. “Put this on your belly, might help the muscles relax a little.”

Connor miserably took the hot water bottle without argument, pushing the blanket aside and placing the warm bag under his shirt against his torso. He shifted a bit to try and get comfortable, and he gave a small sigh that told Hank that he was getting at least some relief for his efforts.

“All right,” Hank tutted, leaning over and straightening the tousled blanket over Connor’s legs, tugging it up to the ailing android’s shoulders. “Now, I’ve got a rule in this house, that when you’re sick, you get full control of the TV.”

Connor deflated a bit into the couch as he tried to force himself to relax. “What is the purpose of that rule?”

“Well, when we humans are sick and couch-bound, something that helps make it suck a little less is distracting ourselves by watching something that we like. So…choose your fighter,” he challenged lightly.

Connor frowned. “I don’t want to watch fighting—“

“Then I’ll pop in Pride and Prejudice if that’s what you want,” Hank teased back. “There’s only so much I do to help ya right now, kid.”

Connor’s frown lingered for a beat longer, and then there was one short yellow cycle of his LED. The television changed input signals, logging into Hank’s digital TV and movie library and making a selection. Hank caught the title of the selection before the screen started up, and he nodded in approval.

“Good choice.”

Connor smirked but looked tired, burrowing under the blanket a little more as he settled down for a while. Hank plopped himself down in the recliner beside the couch, propping his feet up on the coffee table. Connor’s eyelids were looking heavy, and Hank smirked, facing forward.

“And this isn’t a rule, but you can fall asleep during whatever we’re watching,” he thought to add. “Don’t feel like you gotta stay awake to the end. Recovering from anything requires rest, so feel free to just zonk out if you need to. And if you need anything, don’t get up. Just tell me, and I’ll get it for you, all right?”

Connor gave a weary nod against the pillow, blinking slowly as the television episode began.

“Okay…Thank you, Hank…for…taking care of me.”

“Anytime, Connor.”

“Space…The final frontier…”

Poor kid was snoring by the time Captain Picard had wrapped up the opening narration.

Chapter Text

Connor appreciated the to-go bag of ThiriYum samples from Bert’s Baked Stuffs food truck, and he was looking forward to trying out many different combinations of the edibles and sauces inside. However, curiosity got the better of him almost immediately, and he held up the small, individually wrapped slices of…something.

“It’s called ghost pepper,” Polly explained, looking a little too eager for him to try it, as she and Wilson stood with Connor at one of the tables in the break room.

A quick web search told him why she looked so eager.

“I might try that one later,” he said, starting to set it aside. “I have enjoyed the spicy foods that I’ve tested so far, but Hank tells me that those have all been fairly mild. I don’t think I’m ready for that.”

“Wuss,” Polly teased. “Julia ate a whole slice.”

So that explained—Connor glanced back at the couch, where Julia was sitting with a large pink popsicle in her mouth, idly watching television. She looked over at hearing her name and, without removing the popsicle, gave a wordless thumb up gesture.

Connor blinked. “Why?” He looked pointedly at Julia until she met his eyes. “Why?”

She lifted her shoulders and kept munching on her popsicle.

“Are you going to let her win?!” Polly said, smacking her hand down on the table between them.

Connor frowned at her. “Win…what? We aren’t competing.”

Polly steamrolled on. “The great RK800…outmatched by a lowly, common ST300—“

“Hey!” Julia whined around her popsicle. “You’a ST300 too!”

“Bup, bup, bup!” Polly waved a hand at her, staring at Connor. “Well?”

Connor looked at Wilson for help. None was given, as Wilson shrugged with a little grin.

“You kinda have a rep for putting weird stuff in your mouth,” he said casually.

Connor huffed and then braced himself, opening the wrapping around the angry little slices, snatching up one, and tossing it into his mouth. He bit down, chewing furiously and trying to swallow it before the inevitable spiciness hit.

He wasn’t fast enough.

“Ah. AH. WHOA,” he panted as it felt like mouth caught on fire. He continued to chew and breathe at the same time, resulting in a strange sound of “Hashahashahash.”

Polly raised both fists in the air, eyes alight as she watched him react. Wilson took a step backward, a precaution against the very real possibility of Connor flailing or falling over to try and escape the heat in his mouth. Connor screwed his eyes shut and let his mouth hang open, breathing in loud, deep gulps of air. He was honestly shocked when he exhaled and he couldn’t see fumes.

He coughed and groaned, the sensitive sensors of his forensic analysis hardware going haywire as it was exposed to the fiery juices in the ghost pepper slice. No emergency expulsion protocol was initiated fortunately; however, some auxiliary systems began to overreact. His system started trying to purge the spice from his body, inducing his optical cleaning fluid to flood his eyes with artificial tears as his nasal ventilation cleaning solution made his nose run. Additional cleaning solution filled his mouth, and he swallowed multiple times to force it and the rest of the pepper down.

…Because he couldn’t let Julia win.

“Christ Almighty,” Wilson sounded amused and alarmed. “I’ll get you a popsicle, man.”

Polly was still cackling, but she had picked up a magazine from the table and started fanning him with it. He grabbed a napkin and started wiping his eyes, his nose, and his mouth, still panting and gasping to try and find relief.

“Why?” he whined as it finally started to ebb, twisting around to glare at Julia. “WHY?”

She was almost through her popsicle at that point, and she just shrugged again with a smirk.

Appetite lost, Connor miserably packed away the rest of the to-go box to investigate later when his mouth sensors had recovered. He took the pink popsicle that Wilson handed him, and he slunk over to the couch to suffer with Julia. He sank down into the cushion and shoved as much of the frozen thirium pop into his mouth as could fit. The relief was swift and intoxicating, and he groaned, slouching back into the couch.

Beside him, Julia was idly chewing on the popsicle stick and starting to look a little mischievous.

“Hey…” she started. “Gimme another slice.”

Polly’s face lit up. Wilson’s slightly paled.

“Seriously?” Polly beamed.

“Seriously.” Wilson winced.

“Seriously?!” Connor mouthed around the popsicle.

Julia flashed him a devilish grin and then held her hand out to Polly for a slice. “Well…I can’t just let you win.”

Connor narrowed his eyes at her, but he feared the effect of the glare was lost due to the bright pink popsicle sticking out of his mouth. Polly handed her another dangerous slice. Then she and Wilson looked from Julia to Connor, anticipating his response to this new challenge. Connor contemplated it for a moment, then grimaced at the raw sensors in his mouth still reeling from the burn.

“No, you win,” he conceded.

“Aw yeah!” she cheered.

“…For now,” he added.

“Ooooh!” Polly and Wilson crooned at that.

Ben, who happened to be walking by, stuck his head in and joined. “Oooh! What are we ooh-ing?”

“Ghost pepper challenge,” Wilson explained.

“What?” Ben snorted. “Why?” He looked to the two suffering androids on the couch. “Why?”

They both could only shrug.

Then Julia was popping the second slice in her mouth and immediately suffering the consequences.

“I already said you won!” Connor leaned away from her as she started to react and suck air. “What is wrong with you?”

“You can do it!” Ben was instantly cheering Julia on. “Assert your dominance!”

“Hashashashash,” Julia panted. “Ah, I have regrets!”

“WHY ARE YOU LIKE THIS?!” Connor asked, getting up to get her a second popsicle.

“I DON’T KNOW! SHUT UP! LEAVE ME ALONE! I’M WINNING!”

In the bullpen, curious but not wanting to get involved in the weird mix of agonized screaming and sadistic laughter coming from the break room, Person subtly propped her phone up on the edge of her desk, aimed the camera toward the break room, and hit Record.

Chapter Text

Tina had resurrected an old app on her phone, and now they were all suffering for it. Person had seen this particular app before, but it had held very little entertainment value for her. The app took a picture of someone, and the user could select a number of filters to edit the subject’s appearance. The most common edits were making someone look elderly, like a child, like a different gender, or like some kind of animal.

Person had to admit that Tina was putting it to good use today, snapping pictures of the 07 androids and editing them. Connor and the other androids looked the same as the day they left the factory. So the idea of what they’d look like as kids or as old people…or like the occasional llama…was a fun way to waste an hour.

“Apollo, I need your face!” Tina bellowed.

From where Apollo was working beside Wilson’s desk came a dry, “No.”

“That’s an order!”

“No.”

“Insubordination!”

“…No.”

“Bah,” Tina scoffed, waving him off as a lost cause and locking her sights on Connor instead. “Connor!”

Connor looked up from the file in his hands, and Tina rapidly snapped a picture of him on her phone. Person snorted at the bewildered look on his face, and her own curiosity got the better of her as she watched Tina fiddle with the app.

“What are you doing?” Connor asked, curiously coming over as well.

“I want to see what you’d look like as an old man,” Tina explained.

“Androids don’t age—“

“I know, I know,” Tina interrupted. “That’s why I want to see…Goddamn, you really can’t take a bad picture, can you?...You handsome son of a bitch…”

“I’m…sorry?” He lifted an eyebrow and looked to Person.

She shrugged and leaned against Tina’s desk, folding her arms. “Don’t you have an appearance modification template that would make you look whatever age you want?”

“Yes,” Connor said. “And I guarantee it would be more sophisticated than a cellphone app.”

Tina muttered under her breath, hitting buttons on her screen and selecting the ‘young’ filter. “Well, fine, do that all you like, but I bet your fancy programming can’t make you look…two years old! Ha!”

She dramatically spun the screen around to show Connor and Person the result. Person pursed her lips hard against a grin. The app, as Connor predicted, wasn’t very sophisticated, so the picture of Connor as a two year old looked slightly warped and distorted. It did, however, capture the effect, and Person attributed most of that to the fact that Connor had a baby face to begin with.

Connor frowned, leaning closer to analyze the image. He lifted his eyes to Tina. “Technically, I AM two years old right now, Tina.”

“Yeah, but…you know what I mean, smart ass!” Tina cackled.

Person shook her head. “You’re going to use this for evil, aren’t you?”

“Yep!”

Connor’s frown deepened, and he looked to Person. “Why is this so amusing to you all? Aging is just a natural progression for humans. It doesn’t apply to androids.”

“Yeah,” Person conceded, “but we’re nostalgic creatures sometimes. Looking back at old pictures of ourselves or our friends gets us right in the feels. We see how we used to be so short or chubby or skinny…Some of us had braces or really bad hair styles…It can be a trip to see how time changes us. The baby filters, I don’t get. All babies look the same to me.”

“Same here,” Tina remarked. “People are always like ‘look at my precious lil angel nugget!’ and I’m over here like, hey, congrats on your potato…I can’t tell ‘em apart until they’re not babies anymore…until they’re like…eight.” She snapped her fingers and looked at Person. “Except Gavin. You ever see baby pictures of Gavin?”

Person stepped back in horror. “No.”

“Well I have. He was a beautiful baby.” Tina shook her head. “An adorable lil potato…Something went wrong between then and now.”

Connor and Person exchanged dubious looks, and then he was tilting his head.

“I worry that you seem to be classifying seven year old children as babies.”

“Everybody’s a baby until one day you get set down by your parents, and then they never pick you up again,” Tina remarked.

Person gawked. “…That was weirdly depressing. I never thought about it like that.”

Connor looked pensive. “All androids except YK500 models never experience childhood at all, so I don’t know what it would be like to be held like a baby—“ He took a hasty step back, seeing his error. “That’s not an invitation!”

Too late.

Person huffed and abruptly wrapped her arms around Connor’s middle, hefting him clear off the floor. He let out a squeak as she hitched him against her side, and his top half helplessly flopped over her shoulder. She stuck out her hip for balance, because shit, androids were heavy and he had a good foot of height over her besides. It didn’t help that he was being all stiff and awkward, but she was committed dammit. Somebody had to hold this idiot, and today, that someone was her.

“Put me down! Person—“ He was grabbing her shoulders to try and balance as well.

He ended up having no choice but to wrap his legs around her, and she finally got a steady grip around his back, securing him in place like the giant two year old that he was. Except it kinda probably looked more like a koala clinging to a small tree.

“Jesus Christ,” Hank called out, standing by Ben’s desk and staring at the spectacle. “What the fuck am I looking at?”

“Hank, help,” Connor said meekly. “I’m being held against my will.”

“You got that right,” Hank said, hands in his pockets, making no move to help. “I know for a fact that he’s heavy, Person. How fucking strong are you?”

Person just shrugged, noting with a grin that Connor had stopped struggling against her. Either out of resignation that this was happening to him, or maybe she knew her best friend better than he knew himself, and the touch starved android was actually starting to enjoy the unconventional hug.

Tina cackled, setting her phone down. “That ain’t nothing. I bet I can lift just as much as you…Apollo!”

“No.”

“You didn’t even hear what I—“

“Whatever it is: no.”

Chapter Text

The wedding reception pushed into the early morning hours, and as a bridesmaid and the daughter of the bride, Person had somehow gotten roped into staying even later to help coordinate some of the clean up after everybody left. That also meant that she had roped Connor into it, under the guise of that being one of his duties as her Plus One.

So it wasn’t until nearly three am that she dragged herself into her apartment, in a dress that had become uncomfortable nearly six hours ago, wearing flats that had nowhere near enough cushion for her aching feet, her hair a magnificent mess of clips and hair spray, and toting a drive-thru bag of burgers that she insisted they stop to get.

“There’s really no need for me to ‘crash’ here tonight,” Connor was saying, following her into the apartment. “One more taxi ride back to Hank’s house would only result in an additional half hour delay to my rest cycle.”

“Dude,” Person snorted, setting down the burger bag and kicking out of her shoes. “It’s three am. Just take the couch and head home when the sun is up.”

Connor somehow still looked almost perfect in the black and white tux that he’d worn to the wedding, only slightly rumpled from her and her family dragging him into so many dances. He was also carrying her glittery high heeled shoes for her, and she had ended up wearing his black jacket, since her dress was sleeveless and the night had gotten chilly.

He didn’t argue further, so maybe he was more tired than he was letting on. Person went into the bedroom and rummaged out some clothes that she thought might fit him. She leaned back into the living room and tossed the wad of fabric at him.

“Make yourself at home. Get cozy. I’m gonna get out of this monstrosity. If you could just get this top button for me, I’ll be all set.”

She turned around and moved her hair, and he obligingly undid the top button on the back of the dress. She then retreated into the bedroom, closed the door, and began the arduous process of extracting herself from the bridesmaid dress. There were red indent lines all over her ribs from the garment, and all of her skin started itching as soon as she was free from the constricting material. She was too tired and still too drunk to bother with a shower, so she just threw on a pair of black shorts and a faded red t-shirt.

She opened the door to the living room to find Connor already changed and folding up his suit to deal with tomorrow. He looked quite fashionable in her fleece panda print pajama pants that did not reach his ankles and her old university t-shirt that had been stretched out and worn thin after repeated washes.

“Lookin’ good,” she teased with a wink, grabbing up her bag of burgers.

Connor snorted, looking down at himself and then smirking at her. “This is the most comfortable thing I have ever worn.”

She smirked and dug the first burger out of the bag. “Then those pants are yours if you want ‘em. They were a gift from an ex-girlfriend…probably should have just gotten rid of them, but—“ She shook her head and then nodded toward the bedroom. “I know I said couch, but honestly, it’s pretty lumpy and there’s a rogue spring in there. You can sleep in here with me.”

“In your bedroom.”

She shrugged. “Yeah. I’m just gonna eat burgers and watch TV until I fall asleep.”

“In your bed.”

“…Unless you prefer the floor?” She quirked an eyebrow.

“Wouldn’t sleeping in bed with you be…inappropriate?”

Person deadpanned. “I promise to keep my hands to myself.”

“I wasn’t implying—“

“Connor,” she snorted. “Take the couch if it bothers you. Just thought I’d offer.”

Connor shifted on his feet, looking at the visibly uncomfortable couch. “I appreciate that.”

“Besides, you’re adorable, and I love you, but it would never work between us, darling,” she crooned. “We come from different worlds. You an android, and I a lesbian. We are doomed to remain friends.”

He stared at her for a long pause, and then sighed dramatically. “Tragic.”

She snickered and backed into her room. “Anyway, choice is yours. See ya in the morning.”

“Good night, Lisa.”

Once in her room, Person piled into bed, burrowing under the thick blanket and creating the usual fort of pillows around her head as she settled. She skipped through television channels until she found an old reliable marathon of the show MASH, and she happily began to munch on her first burger. She made it about halfway through one episode before the bedroom door creaked very shyly open.

“Yessss?” she greeted around a mouthful of sandwich. “Enter?”

Connor shuffled a few steps into the room, closing the door and holding up a bottle of water as an offering.

“I’m concerned that you’re going to be dehydrated due to tonight’s alcohol consumption,” he said by way of an excuse.

Person finished chewing, swallowed, and then smiled. “Thanks.”

She made no motion to take it, hands full of food, and he crept over, setting the bottle on the bedside table. Person waited until he was close enough, then she drew back the thick blanket with a flourish. She deliberately scooted over to the other side of the bed, providing a Connor-shaped space on the mattress.

As if that had been his plan all along, Connor easily climbed into bed with her, settling down on the pillow beside her and wiggling around until he got comfortable lying down. She remained sitting up partially to try and not make a mess of her burger.

“…Thanks,” he muttered tiredly.

She reached over and ruffled a hand through his hair. “Hey, thanks for being my Plus One. I never would have survived tonight without you, bud.”

He hummed lightly at that, eyelids already looking heavy, and Person lamented that she didn’t have any thirium or anything to offer him. She frowned lightly, eying her burger in the semi-darkness of the room. She knew he could consume some small amounts of human food…

“May I offer you a pickle?” she said, plucking one of the little crinkle cut discs from the side of the sandwich.

Connor watched the television idly for a moment, then slowly lifted his hand out from under the blanket to accept the offering. She dropped it into his palm, and he popped it into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully on it. She then got comfy again as she resumed eating, and the two of them watched the old TV show until they both fell asleep.

Chapter Text

The mission was a success. That was all that mattered. Connor just kept repeating that to himself during the ride back to the station.

His undercover assignment had gone smoothly. He had extracted the information needed from the target and left without being discovered as a cop. Ben’s investigation into the illegal android parts operations in the city could go forward. Connor had done his job. That was what mattered.

The fact that the target had taken his pretend flirting advancements too seriously and taken it upon herself to steal a kiss from him…should have been inconsequential.

Except it was Connor’s first kiss…and she was a criminal.

His first kiss was from a criminal.

Connor scowled as he departed from the others at the station, just short of stomping into the locker room to change out of the ridiculous shirt and leather pants. His irritation hadn’t been subtle on the ride back, and the others gave him a wide berth as he walked away from them.

Mercifully, no one was in the locker room, and he slunk over to his locker, yanking it open and pulling out his regular clothes. He grumbled under his breath, no words in particular, just general negative sounds, as he unbuttoned the shirt and just let it drop to the floor. The leather pants had long become uncomfortably warm, and that only added to his sour mood.

On the other side of the wall of lockers, he heard the door open, and he internally groaned, unfolding his jeans and desperately hoping that the person just left and didn’t—

—Do exactly what Hank was doing, as he walked around the wall, leaned against the lockers, and folded his arms. Connor gave him a frowning look as he pulled on his normal shirt, buttoning it up without a word.

“What’s put a bee in your bonnet?” Hank asked, though the careful way that he wasn’t showing his amusement told Connor that Hank knew full well what was the matter.

“Nothing,” Connor grumbled. “Why are these pants so hot?!”

“Well, typically leather fabric is tight and accentuates certain—“

“No, no, physically hot, Hank. This—argh,” Connor fumbled with the fly of the pants.

“Connor, I have watched you get roughed up by perps much worse than tonight,” Hank remarked, watching him struggle. “Hell, I’ve seen you get shot and act like it was nothing. What’s going on?”

“She…she kissed me,” Connor snarled.

“Yeah?” Hank lifted an eyebrow. “Was her lipstick laced with poison or something?”

“She KISSED me.” Connor averted his eyes. “And it was…I’ve never…and for it to be…”

“Connor,” Hank spoke patiently. “Was that your first kiss?”

Connor just grumbled, only getting further annoyed by the oppressive warmth of the pants fabric. He abruptly tried to pull them down, but they just…stuck.

Oh. Oh shit. Oh no. The pants were stuck.

Androids didn’t sweat like normal humans, but they did emit body heat. Apparently the fabric did not breathe enough to allow air flow to cool his limbs, and the plastic of his legs had expanded…or…or the fabric had shrunk…somehow…He was stuck in the leather pants.

His movements turned frantic, and he yanked on the waist band of the pants until they mercifully started to give. He got them down far enough so that he could sit down on the bench between the walls of lockers. The cold metal of the bench against his legs made him flinch, but he was immediately pushing and shoving at the leather and trying to kick his way out of it.

“Holy—Jesus Christ, Connor,” Hank said, laughter breaking through his voice. “Calm down—“

“I’m trapped. Get them off me!” Connor nearly toppled backwards off the bench and onto the floor.

Fortunately, Hank didn’t need to actually help him, as he finally managed to kick off the leather pants on his own. He let them land on the floor next to the ridiculous shirt, and for a brief moment, Connor just sat there in the euphoria of cool air finally reaching his overheated skin.

He had never heard of someone being claustrophobic of clothes before…but those pants were utterly ridiculous and he hated them.

His glare at Hank seemed to communicate as much, because Hank just smothered a hand over his mouth to stop the helpless laughter and shoved Connor’s regular jeans at him.

“So…uh…I’m guessing your first kiss didn’t…charm the pants off you?”

“Not fucking funny, Hank,” Connor mumbled as he finished getting dressed.

“A little fucking funny,” Hank said, holding his index finger and thumb an inch apart. “And hey, first kisses are overrated. I don’t even remember mine. You’re well within your rights to be upset, but…it’s not the end of the world.”

“I know that,” Connor scowled, tying his shoes and standing up straight. He fussed at his clothes, starting to feel back to normal. “But it was still…My first kiss was from a criminal, Hank.”

Hank finally got his amusement under control, seeing just how upset the whole ordeal had made Connor. He pondered for a moment, scratching at his chin and then getting an idea.

“Well, if you think about it…She wasn’t really kissing YOU.”

“I was THERE, Hank. I assure you, she was kissing me.”

“Yeah, but I mean…She wasn’t kissing Connor, the RK800 detective. She was kissing Calvin, some smooth talking, leather pants wearing mother fucker who was putting moves on her pretty heavily.”

“That was my JOB.”

“It was Calvin’s job,” Hank pointed out. “She was kissing Calvin. That was Calvin’s first kiss.”

Connor’s frustrated movements slowed as he thought on that, and he closed his locker, looking over at Hank cautiously.

“That’s a bit of a stretch in logic, Hank.”

Hank lifted his shoulders. “It’s either that or your first kiss was from a criminal.”

Connor stared at him for a long beat. He glanced down at the pile of undercover clothes on the floor, frowned, tilted his head, and looked at Hank again.

“Calvin’s first kiss was from a criminal.”

Hank smirked and gave him a wink. “Yeah, that sounds like Calvin. That guy’s a real scoundrel.”

Connor snorted, running a hand over his hair and sighing. “Thanks, Hank…I just want to go home now with my dignity intact.”

“All right, kid.” Hank patted him on the shoulder as they walked together toward the door. “Let’s go home.”

Chapter Text

Today’s sampler platter courtesy of Bert’s Baked Stuffs was candy and desserts.

“Gather round, my children,” Ben had summoned the 07 androids to the break room. “I have goodies.”

“Ooh, what kind of goodies?” Polly inquired, bright eyed and fresh off her midday charging break.

Gwen nearly had her face in the bag as Ben started taking out containers. “Smells like pure sugar.”

“You’re not too far off,” Ben said, taking out a small bag. “First we got…Sour gummy worms?”

“Dibs!” Zeke lurched forward between Connor and Gwen, snatching the little bag from Ben’s hand.

“Okay, okay,” Ben snickered, producing another box. “A slice of strawberry cheesecake?”

“Thaaat one will be mine,” Polly said, delicately taking the little box and stealing away back to the couch in the break room to open it up.

“Assorted cookies…Looks like mostly peanut butter chocolate, oh, wait, there’re a few snickerdoodles in there,” Ben said, pulling out the small carton of cookies.

Connor held out a hand. “I’ll try one of those. I’ve found that I’m not overly fond of sweets, but I would like to try—“

“Try a what?” Ben asked, not handing over the box to him.

Connor paused, looking from Ben to Gwen and back to Ben. “A cookie?”

On Ben’s other side, Julia leaned in a little. “But what kiiind of cookie is it?”

Connor stared at her, frowned, and then sighed, looking reluctantly to Ben. “Snickerdoodle.”

The three of them cackled at the serious way he said the funny name of the cookie.

“Oh, you’re too cute,” Ben tutted, handing him the carton.

Connor sheepishly took the cookie and retreated back to sit by Polly, who was lost in the euphoria of her cake slice. He changed his mind and instead went to stand by Zeke, who was just wide eyes and a mouth full of the sour gummy worms, looking like some sugar coated cthulu.

“What else we got here, what else we got,” Ben hummed, producing a few more containers. “Fudge bars, also assorted flavors.”

“I’ll try one of those.” Gwen took one of the little bricks.

“And…where’s Apollo?” Ben asked, looking around.

“He’s not big on sweets either,” Polly explained.

Ben frowned and looked back toward the bullpen. “Person? Where’s Apollo?”

At her desk, Person didn’t turn around as she replied. “Got sent on patrol with Gavin.”

“Poor bastard,” Ben snorted. “Save the biggest slice of chocolate cake for him. He will have well earned it after that.”

He then pulled out a little plastic wrapped candy, holding it out. “And your requested ring-pop, m’lady.”

Julia snickered but then smoothed her expression into something demure, holding out her hand, palm down. Ben caught on and puffed himself up, hastily unwrapping the sweet and pulling out the little ruby red, diamond-shaped candy, mounted on the bright green plastic ring base.

“Please, allow me,” Ben hummed and hawed, sliding the ring onto her finger with great ceremony. “A jewel for Jules.”

Julia nodded righteously to him and curtsied. Ben beamed and gave a little bow. Then she turned around and flashed the large candy jewelry at the others with a wave of her hand. Gwen and Polly gave thumbs up over their own desserts. Connor smiled at her and waved back. Zeke appeared to be suffering from a conniption of sour flavor overload and merely twitched in his seat.

“Well, what’s the verdict?” Ben asked, as Julia started sucking on the ring-pop and the others likewise tried out their new desserts.

“rA9, I love fudge,” Gwen groaned, slumping down on the couch beside Polly as she chewed.

“You want my cheesecake?” Polly offered her. “I’m not really a fan of this one.”

Ben folded his arms and looked over at the suffering PC200. “Zeke? You all right, bud?”

“Ah caat fell mah tong.”

“That means it’s time to stop eating the sour stuff, son,” Ben advised.

“Nevahhh.”

Ben grinned at him and then looked to Connor, thoughtfully munching on his one cookie.

“What about you, Connor? Enjoying your selection?”

“It’s fine,” Connor said with a shrug. “Not as overly sweet as other things I’ve tried. I don’t mind this one.”

“This…what?” Gwen asked, leaning toward him.

He equally leaned away, looking at her strangely. “This…cookie.”

“What kiiind of cookie?” Polly pressed.

Connor frowned again, glaring over at Ben and Julia, the instigators. Julia just lifted her shoulders, and Ben waggled his eyebrows.

“This…” Connor sighed in resignation, “snickerdoodle.”

Gwen and Polly both cackled at him. Connor tried to look annoyed, though a grin cracked through against his will.

“Thanks for the sweets, Ben,” Gwen and Polly chirped.

Zeke grunted something similar, though it was muffled in his overwhelmed condition.

Tina sauntered into the break room then, but the thirium-based sugar in the air seemed to hit her like a wall. She staggered back a step, waving a hand in front of her.

“Holy diabetes, Batman,” she wheezed. “It smells like a unicorn farted in here.” She paused, looking over at Zeke, who was draped in his chair like a deflated basketball. “Is he dead?”

Gwen casually reached over and pinched his nose. His ventilation program hiccuped, and he jerked in his seat.

“No,” Gwen concluded with a weird little giggle.

It was then that something occurred to Ben, and he leaned over, whispering to Tina.

“Do androids get sugar highs?”

Tina shoved her hands in her pockets, looking at Ben devilishly. “Looks like we’re gonna find out.”

Chapter Text

Thus began what was to be simultaneously the most productive twenty minutes and the most chaotic twenty minutes that the bullpen had seen in a week. The sugar rush from eating all of the thirium-based desserts and candies hit the androids at different times. Fowler ended up coming out to do damage control and try to delegate them all to different tasks, hoping to get them to burn through the high faster.

For Gwen and Zeke, the sugar rushes were immediate.

Gwen had turned into a chatterbox, yammering a hundred miles a minute about everything and nothing. Fudge, food, taste, how weird the tongue is, why do humans lose baby teeth and grow a second set, like the way some lizards can regrow their tails, it’s so fucking weird, why are humans like that, Connor—Connor, why are humans like that?! Connor, where are you going?!

Zeke, meanwhile, had lost the ability to articulate words, thanks to the abundance of sour flavoring numbing his entire mouth. So while he could not contribute to Gwen’s motor-mouth tirades, he could sit there and vibrate beside her with an equal amount of chaotic energy, occasionally gasping or jumping in his seat when she said something that was especially shocking…such as the concept that humans’ bodies just ‘run out’ of color for their hair and it turns grey or white, like an old printer running out of ink.

Hank had not appreciated their staring at his hair as she made that revelation, which was only undercut by Connor desperately trying not to giggle where he was across the desk from his partner.

So Fowler had ordered Gwen and Zeke to work together to disassemble the last of the android parking stations at the head of the bullpen. Once that was done, their next task was to start assembling and installing the new desk furniture and chairs for the android work stations.

Julia’s sugar rush was more subtle but no less obnoxious. She had tried to hide how wired she was by sitting still, but her eyes had been very wide and dilated, tracking everyone who came within ten steps of her. Hank swore he saw her head swivel around 180 degrees like an owl to watch Chris Miller take an arrested man into holding. So Fowler had set her loose on the Lost and Found cabinet in the locker room, under instruction to organize it and throw out anything not salvageable.

Polly and Connor had been spared the worst of the sugar highs, having not eaten as much as the others. Still, Polly had become belligerently affectionate, making it her personal mission to hug each and every officer in the bullpen. They were jittery, wiggly hugs, but she always finished them off with a tight squeeze before she disengaged and bounced away. It was like the kind of manic hug that a small child gives to a friend they hadn’t seen in weeks, and her giggly mood was infectious. So much so that even Fowler had chuckled at her when she gave him a hug, patting her on the shoulder and waving her out of his office with a smile.

Her current target was now Person, who was not fond of touchy feely hugs and who had also unlocked the secret of invisibility to avoid them apparently.

Polly settled for hugging Connor twice, giving him the strict order to transfer the hug to Person when he saw her, since he was the only one who might be able to get close enough to hug the woman.

Connor had just about had all of the air squeezed out of him by the time Polly let go. She had launched the hug onto him while he was sitting at his chair behind his desk, and so most of her squeezing was around his neck and shoulders.

“Do it! That’s an order!”

“Okay-Okay!” he coughed, feebly shoving her away. “I’ll do it.”

As Polly vaulted over to hug Ben, Connor fixed his jacket and tie, looking dolefully at Hank.

“She can’t give me orders. I outrank her.”

Hank snorted, twiddling a pencil between his fingers. “Only on paper, son.”

Connor frowned at him, and Hank smirked.

“Of all the androids at the 07, she’s been here the longest. Technically, she’s got seniority over you…”

“What does that mean?”

“That means,” Hank said, sitting back and propping his feet on the desk, “that if you, Mr. Bigshot Detective, tell all the androids to wear blue tomorrow, and she tells everybody to wear red…They’re all gonna show up wearing red.”

Connor looked perturbed by that, but he was interrupted from arguing further when the locker room door opened. Julia swept out, as though she’d just escaped from another dimension. She had apparently ransacked the Lost and Found cabinet and not so much ‘organized’ it as she had ‘put on the more fun looking things.’ The result was that Julia emerged in a bright white jacket, two sizes too big, and with long, dangling fringe hanging from both sleeves and across the back, forming an almost bird-wing effect. She was also wearing pink slatted sunglasses and a black flat bill hat that had “#1 Grandpa” in white letters across the front.

“What in the actual Hell?” Hank snickered, watching her practically hover up the steps to Fowler’s office to present her findings. “Jules!”

She spun around so fast that her fringe spiraled around her. He held up a thumb.

“Lookin’ good, kid.”

Julia smiled, tipped her hat at him, and then sauntered into Fowler’s office like a cowboy entering a saloon.

He chuckled and looked over at Connor, still visibly running the numbers on how Polly had more unspoken authority than he did among the 07 androids. He looked past Connor to see Gavin and Apollo re-entering the bullpen. They both stopped in their tracks, taking in the sight of Gwen and Zeke building a desk…Well, Gwen was manically building a desk. Zeke was just standing behind her with a hammer, looking eager. Gavin had a sucker sticking out of his mouth, and he slid the stick from one side to the other, noting Polly fiercely hugging Tina and Julia very fashionably explaining something to Fowler. His unsettled look eventually landed on Hank. One of his eyebrows went up in question.

Hank just shrugged and pointed across the bullpen. “Apollo, there’s chocolate cake in the break room for you.”

Apollo stared, then his eyes very slowly tracked over to the break room. “…Why?”

Polly swooped over then, giving the taller android a tight hug. “Because we love you!”

Apollo stiffly endured the embrace, making a hasty retreat once he was released. Polly backed off and then very reluctantly looked at Gavin.

“Polly, you did say everybody was getting a hug,” Hank reminded her of her mission.

Polly screwed up her face at Gavin, who equally looked unenthused by that mission. She then promptly spun around and darted over to Connor, yanking him into a third, bone crushing hug.

“You can give him this one for me,” she said.

“No—stop—“

“That’s an order!”

“You’re not my boss!”

“HEY!” Julia roared from the doorway to Fowler’s office. “You show her respect, Connor!”

Connor sat back in his seat, eyes large at her serious tone…despite the slatted sunglasses. He shrunk a bit and frowned.

“Yes…ma’am.” He looked sourly from Julia to Polly, who nodded and bounced off to resume her hunt for Person.

Hank gave Julia another thumb up. “That’s why you’re the Number One Grandpa.”

Julia winked over the rims of her sunglasses and then backed into Fowler’s office again.

Gavin slunk over to his desk, glaring over at Connor. “Do not hug me, asshole. I don’t care whose order it is.”

“Not a problem,” Connor shot back, rubbing a hand to his head against what Hank could only assume was the coming sugar crash headache. Then, he added under his breath, “prick.”

Hank finally cracked then, clapping his hands as he kicked back in his seat, laughing.

Chapter Text

The sugar crash that followed was swift and brutal. Hank had never seen a group drop like flies so quickly. But, the way he figured it, the androids had never experienced sugar before, even imitation, thirium-based sugar, so they didn’t know how to pace themselves. Last he had seen, Zeke had been passed out on the break room couch: a juxtaposition with Apollo, who had been serenely trying his chocolate cake in moderation, while keeping an extremely judgmental eye on his twin.

Gwen had forced herself to finish assembling the new work station desks as Fowler had ordered, and then she had promptly slunk away to take a nap in Wilson’s squad car. Polly had pounded down some kind of android-version of a five hour energy drink, and it had somehow neutralized the sugar hangover. So she seemed to be pretty unaffected, working at the reception desk again.

Julia had said she was going back to work in the file room, but Ben had gone back there to get something and reported back to Hank that she was curled up beside a filing cabinet, hugging a box of files and snoozing.

Connor hadn’t necessarily had enough sugar to either rush or crash, but the ebb had left him with a headache. Which was both annoying and hilarious to Hank. Annoying because Hank had gotten used to Connor’s uptight, thorough work ethic making up for his own afternoon laziness. With Connor down, they were falling behind. Hilarious because the headache made Connor grumpy and tired. It was an unfortunate combination to have at the moment, since he and Hank were supposed to be overseeing Person’s first interrogation of a suspect as a detective on a case.

And she was interrogating a mime, so…that was happening.

In the observation room on the other side of the one-way mirror, Hank stood with his arms folded, watching Person try to get information out of the mime. The mime, for his part, was just making faces and gestures with his arms, so this was going nowhere.

Hank glanced to the side to see his partner kicked back in his seat, arms folded, face obscured. Connor’s sugar headache had made all lights and sounds overwhelming, and he had jammed Julia’s “#1 Grandpa” hat over his face to shield his eyes from the light.

“Get out of the elevator!” Person was snapping at the man. “And sit your stupid ass down!”

The mime, crouched down from ‘riding the elevator down,’ abruptly stood up straight and sat in the chair, twiddling his thumbs and frowning. Person heaved a sigh and paced a lap in front of the table.

“A man is dead. Do you understand that?” she pressed, gesturing in a loose mockery of his earlier miming movements. “So either tell me what you know, or get the fuck out of my station!”

Hank cleared his throat, but Connor didn’t stir. He reached out a foot and kicked the leg of Connor’s chair.

Connor came awake with a snort and a groan, sitting up properly in his seat. The hat slid off and into his lap, and he squinted down at the lettering on the front. He heaved a sigh and then gingerly lifted his eyes to the glass wall.

“What did I miss?” he asked, voice thick and heavy.

Hank started to explain, but a new voice came into the mix.

“Well, so here’s the thing,” the mime started, clasping his hands in front of him. “I didn’t actually see the guy get stabbed, but there—“

Connor bolted out of his chair, backpedaling away from the glass until his back hit the opposite wall of the room. Hank watched his reaction with raised eyebrows.

“What the f—“ Connor stammered, pointing at the glass. “Is that mime speaking?”

Hank snorted, folding his arms and frowning at the other room. “Yeah…Fuckin’ weird.”

Connor ran a hand over his face, giving himself a shake as he properly woke up and the headache vengefully returned.

“Good,” he mumbled. “I thought I was having a glitch and my optical and audio receptors were malfunctioning.” He rubbed his eyes and squinted at the other room again. “How’s she doing?”

“Not bad…considering she just got a mime to talk,” Hank remarked.

The door to the hallway popped open, and Zeke’s head stuck into the room. His eyes were noticeably dilated, and he gave Hank and Connor an awkward grin.

“Heyyy,” he greeted with a drawl. “Captain wants to know if Detective Person cracked the mime?”

“Like an egg,” Hank reported. “You look like you’re feeling better.”

The PC200 smiled, showing way too many teeth, like he wasn’t used to smiling and was still figuring it out. “I feel great! Thank you, sir.”

He then ducked back out of the room, accidentally bonking himself in the head with the door as he shut it. Hank snorted and shook his head. Connor was trying to get situated in his seat again, still looking utterly unnerved by the speaking mime in the other room.

“Zeke gets the MVP award today,” Hank said, nodding toward the door, “for rallying out of a sugar coma so fast. Polly doesn’t count. She’s on some other level.”

Connor blinked, looked at Hank, at the door, frowned, and then looked back at Hank. “That wasn’t Zeke.”

Hank stared at him, his brain turning to white noise for a second. “But he was…” He gawked. “That was APOLLO?!”

“He WAS eating cake earlier.”

Hank stared in slight horror at the door where the PC200 had cheerily appeared and disappeared. “My God…We finally broke him.”

Connor yawned until his jaw popped, and he grimaced, rubbing his neck. “Like an egg.”

“Fine, it was me!” the mime screamed in misery, slumping over the table. “I killed him!”

Person stood with her arms folded calmly on the other side of the table. Hank had no idea what she had just done or said to rip that confession out, but she looked a little too pleased with herself. She looked squarely over at the one-way mirror and held up a thumb.

Connor held up a thumb back at her.

“Connor, she can’t see you.”

He lowered his thumb slowly.

“…I know that.”

Chapter Text

The hug at the Chicken Feed lasted a long time.

Like, uncomfortably long.

Too fucking long.

And it took Hank nearly three months to figure out why. Rather, it took him that long to think about it and come to a conclusion about why Connor had clung to him like a koala for damn near five straight minutes…and why Hank had let him.

He knew humans could get touch starved. He’d had a pretty severe case of it since losing Cole and getting divorced. People just needed that contact, to touch and be held and just have a physical reminder that they weren’t isolated in this shitty world. Kept them grounded. Kept them balanced. For a long time, he’d been blaming technology for isolating people from each other, putting screens and machines between them so they could talk at each other all hours of the day, but a handshake, a hug, a kiss…always too far apart. He was still determined to die on that hill, but it was harder to do when the technology that he’d been blaming was showing the same signs of isolated stress.

As soon as he gave that suspicion enough air to breathe, he couldn’t stop noticing it. Nobody ever touched Connor. Not a slap on the back. Not a handshake. Not an elbow nudge. Best he ever saw was the occasional brush off from Gavin when he accidentally stood in his bubble or if Tina or Chris’s hands were too close when they handed him a file. Since that hug, Hank couldn’t really think of the last time HE had even shown the kid any physical affection. He wasn’t really a huggy guy to begin with.

But Chris Miller was.

“Hey, Chris,” he greeted, pouring himself a cup of coffee in the break room.

“Lieutenant,” Chris nodded, looking like he was finishing his own break and throwing away a candy bar wrapper. “How’s it going?”

“It’s going,” Hank bobbed his head, turning with his fresh mug of coffee and leaning against the kitchen counter. “Hey, can I ask you something?”

Chris shrugged. “Shoot.”

“You’ve been out on patrol a lot since the android liberation. Seen a lot of new deviants running around, doing their thing.”

Chris narrowed one eye. “Yeah?”

“You ever see them…hugging?”

Chris snorted, pushing his hands in his pockets. “Uh, I guess I probably have. I didn’t really commit it to memory.”

“I mean.” Hank straightened up. “The ones I’ve come across, they really act like humans sometimes. They seem to have the same needs, emotionally, you know? I’m trying to figure if the same goes for shit like…needing a goddamn hug sometimes.”

Chris continued to look confused for a full two seconds, and then his posture relaxed. “Is that why Connor’s been so cranky lately? He needs a hug?”

“Cranky?” Hank smirked. “That’s one way to put it, I guess…I don’t know. Why would an android need to feel physical contact?”

“Why do any of us?” Chris shrugged again. “It’s nice to feel another person sometimes…You ever give him a hug and see?”

“Yeah, once—“

“Wha—Really?” Chris looked pleasantly surprised.

Hank folded his arms defensively. “Hey, I’m not a monster, all right? It was the first time we met up after the liberation. I didn’t even know if he was still alive out there. Of course I gave him a hug after all the shit he probably went through that night.”

Chris pouted his lips a little. “Been a lot of shit in the three months since then. Could prooooobably use another hug.”

“Uh huh.” Hank decided to check out of this weird conversation. “Whatever. Thanks, Chris.”

The rest of the morning went by without incident, and Hank put it on the backburner. They had enough casework and reports to work on to forget about it easily enough.

Across from him at the other desk, Connor had resumed his statuesque position, interfacing with his terminal with a hand on the base of it. No need to type. No need to use a mouse. No need to move or breathe or blink…

Hank threw binder clip at him just to get a reaction after a while. The black clip bounced off the android’s shoulder and dropped into his lap. Connor blinked once, twice, and then seemed to come out of whatever trance the interface put him in. He picked up the clip and slowly looked over at Hank.

“Something on your mind, Hank?”

He looked and sounded tired. It was weird.

Hank bunched the corner of his mouth and blew a short raspberry. “You were doing it again.”

Connor stared at him, then sighed, facing his terminal again. “Sorry.”

“Just…blink every so often, yeah?” Hank teased.

“I said sorry,” Connor snipped, bristling slightly.

Hank’s eyebrows went up, but Connor was focusing on his work already.

Cranky.

He exhaled heavily and sat forward in his seat. “Con—“

“Connor.” Chris sidled up to their desks, a giant binder in his arms. “I just got assigned to that missing YK500 case from last week. You still on it?”

“Yes,” was the polite, professional, but not very warm response.

“Cool.” Chris set the binder down. “Just let me know what I can do, and I’ll help however I can.”

“...Thank you.”

Chris started to back away, paused, and then reached out, dropping a hand on Connor’s shoulder. The android went rigid as a board in his chair, and Chris gave his shoulder a brief squeeze.

“All right, catch you guys later.” Chris let his hand linger for a moment before detaching and sauntering away as casually as he’d arrived.

Connor looked like he’d been struck by lightning; his LED whirling an excited yellow while he visibly refrained from grabbing his shoulder where Chris’s hand had been.

Hank watched him and then stared at Chris’s retreating back.

That smooth fucker.

The afternoon proved to Hank exactly what he’d known for years: they were all fucking gossips.

An hour didn’t pass without somebody swinging by Connor’s desk. That itself wasn’t too unusual. He did good work, and his time and attention on a case had become a hot commodity for all of the other officers. The difference today, abruptly, was the abundance of ‘accidental, whoopsie, did I get ya?’ contact that they all managed to work in there.

For the first few hours, Connor had that same struck-by-lightning reaction, going stiff and then staring after each officer with wide eyes and a yellow spinning light. As the day went on, though, the startled response faded, and he started to practically lean toward them, giving them plenty of surface area to poke and clap and touch.

Though he did seem to short circuit for a moment when Tina walked up behind his chair, wrapped her arms around his head, and pulled him back into the most uncomfortable hug that Hank had witnessed in recent times.

Aside from an hour later, when Wilson came up, dropping into the conversation and idly drumming a quick tune across Connor’s shoulders before just as quickly dropping out of the conversation.

Or aside from twenty minutes after that, when Connor was standing near the archive room doors and Ben pulled him into a shameless bear hug. He took the android completely off his feet, and Connor had not put up a fight at all, practically melting into the man’s bone crushing hug.

Or aside from the current moment, when Person had locked an arm around Connor’s neck, pulling his head against her side and doing her best to give him a noogie.

“God dammit,” she growled. “Your hair just goes right back to where it was.”

She noogied harder, and Connor just stared at Hank in full resignation of his situation.

“I’m…sorry?” he offered, raising an eyebrow and looking up at her.

Person scowled, but there was no heat in it. She let him go and ruffled his hair once more for good measure. Connor leaned into the contact with all the subtlety of a brick through a window.

When Person left, Connor actually slumped back in his chair a little, looking more relaxed and blissed out than…ever, in Hank’s memory.

“You feeling better?” he asked.

“Better?” Connor straightened up, situating his jacket and messing with his hair.

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed how…cranky you’ve been lately.”

Connor locked his jaw, ignoring him for a solid second before looking directly at him.

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed everyone else’s bizarre behavior today either,” he remarked.

Hank feigned innocence, sitting back in his seat and folding his arms. “I can tell them to stop.”

“No,” was the rapid response. It was followed by a more forcefully casual, “I mean…I don’t mind it.”

Chapter Text

The day marked the third anniversary of Markus’s revolutionary speech at Stratford Tower, and so the break room had been packed for the past hour as all of the 07 androids stood watching the special news report commemorating the day. The news had been replaying the historical speech all morning, and soon it would be followed by a live speech from Markus himself, speaking on how far they’d come and how far they still had to go. The human officers had resigned themselves to covering their android colleague’s shifts and not even attempting to go into the break room.

Connor stood more toward the edge of the mass, almost outside the break room, and his attention was split between watching the television like the others and watching Julia.

The ST300 stood a few steps away, arms folded across her chest and eyes staring straight ahead into the back of the android in front of her, not watching the speech. He knew this was a day that she didn’t look back on fondly, and to be honest, he didn’t either. But his colored memories were tinged more with the aftermath, the crime scene, his altercation with the Stratford android in the kitchen. Hers were more…traumatic.

But she attended the little viewing party with the others, because today, enduring this discomfort wasn’t as bad as someone asking her why she wasn’t watching it with the others. So she just stood there, present but visibly disassociating from the moment. Maybe it was only visible to Connor.

He frowned and inched sideways, a little closer to her. She didn’t react, and he less subtly side-stepped to stand next to her. She didn’t acknowledge him at all, looking like an island among the others. He didn’t like seeing her like this, and he didn’t know what to do about it. He pulled up his own memory files of how others had assisted him when he was similarly upset. Person, Tina, Ben, Hank: they had a pattern of hugging him when he was upset, staying with him, or distracting him.

Well, he was already standing next to Julia, and there wasn’t an inconspicuous way to distract her, since the group of androids were so silent and still, rapturously focused on the television screen. That left hugging, but he wasn’t entirely certain that physical contact, even from a friend, would be welcome at this moment.

He decided to test it, slowly extending a hand toward her. He kept his fingers curled in a loose fist, not reaching, and brushed the back of his knuckles at her elbow. Just a gentle nudge to say hello.

Julia startled at the contact, and he retracted his hand. She looked down at her elbow and then up at him, seemingly just then realizing that he had even moved closer. There was a detached fog in her eyes, as she wasn’t quite dialed into the present. She didn’t quite manage a smile, but her jaw unclenched. He counted that as progress.

Connor tilted his head and briefly lifted his eyebrows in silent question. She closed her eyes in a slow blink and nodded, before sliding right back to staring blankly at the back of the android ahead of her. He frowned, but then he noted that she seemed to be leaning slightly on one foot, in his direction.

Reading that as a gesture of permission, or at least admission that she wanted some kind of comfort, Connor moved a little closer. She didn’t move away, and he rolled with that. In a determined attempt to emulate how the others had comforted him in the past, he moved back to put her in front of him. He then carefully moved his arms around her in an embrace from behind. Loosely enough and slowly enough for her to move away if this wasn’t welcome.

She didn’t move away.

Connor finished looping his arms around her, lacing his fingers together where they met under her crossed arms. Almost mechanically, Julia adjusted her posture and leaned back slightly into him, slotting comfortably into place in his arms as he’d seen humans do sometimes. The height difference between their models put the top of her head roughly at his nose. He looked back again to not long ago when their positions had been reversed, and Julia had trapped him in Robert’s jacket with her, using his head as a chin rest.

Trying not to overthink it, he hugged her a little closer, and when she willingly came back a step, he shifted his own posture. He lowered his head and bowed forward until he could prop his chin on her shoulder. She stiffened at that, and he likewise tensed in slight panic. Had he misread her? Had he overstepped? Should he let go?

Before he could decide, Julia tilted her head a bit, lightly knocking their temples together. A weary smile briefly touched the corner of her mouth, and her frame relaxed again. She took a deep breath, followed by a cleansing exhale, and while her gaze still didn’t reach the television screen, Connor could see a little more light in her eyes now. He leaned side to side a bit, taking her with him to loosen some of the tension in her body. Then he locked his own eyes back on the television, where they were showing live footage of Markus approaching a podium outside the Jericho compound, preparing to give this year’s speech.

“Happy Deviation Day,” he said quietly, for only her to hear.

He felt her breathing hitch, and she sniffed once. She cleared her throat, and he gave her a gentle squeeze in solidarity.

“Thanks,” she murmured under her breath.

Connor didn’t let her go until after the news special ended, and the crowd in the break room finally began to disperse.

Chapter Text

Within months of the android revolution, Fowler had lifted the requirement of the dress code that said androids had to wear the modified DPD uniforms bearing android identifier markings. The 07 had been ahead of the rest of the DPD in that regard, though other precincts had slowly followed. The clerical staff androids were allowed to wear regular civilian clothing, so long as it adhered to the same dress code as their human counterparts. The patrol androids simply shifted to the standard DPD uniform that their human counterparts wore. The same rule applied to androids of a higher rank, of which there was only Connor.

Over time, Hank had watched Connor dabble with a few clothing choices, very conservatively exploring different articles of clothing. He’d dispatched with that tailor-made Cyberlife jacket in exchange for a standard DPD uniform at first, though he’d soon shifted into just jeans and a grey jacket that looked similar to the old Cyberlife one. Hank chalked it up to something in his programming that demanded he look professional while on the clock. The neck tie still seemed a bit much though.

“What do you have against color?” Hank remarked one morning, as they got ready to leave for work.

“Nothing,” Connor sounded confused, standing in the living room tying his usual black tie around his neck. “I’m wearing colors now.”

“Yeah…grey, black, white—“

“My jeans are blue.”

“That’s not—“

“I wear a variety of colors while off duty, Hank. You see me do so every day.”

“I just mean—“ Hank huffed, propping his foot on the kitchen chair to tie his boots. “Nobody is gonna give a shit if you wear something fun to work one day.”

“What is this preoccupation with me wearing ‘fun’ colors?” Connor asked, straightening his tie and checking his reflection in the dark television screen. “I want to look professional at work.”

“You sayin’ I don’t look professional?” Hank said, turning to face Connor, wearing one of his stripy, orange and blue numbers.

Connor deadpanned. “I’m learning that everyone has their own sense of style, Hank. I’m still trying to find my own. Please let me do so at my own pace.”

Hank raised his hands in surrender, fetching his keys. “Whatever. I just think you’re really missing out. You don’t have to blend in to the background anymo—what is that?”

Connor paused, glancing back at Hank. He followed the trajectory of Hank’s eyes down to his feet. The hem of his jeans had ridden up slightly above his ankle, and in the gap between his jeans and his black shoes was the splash of bright green. Hank lifted his eyebrows at Connor in anticipation of an explanation.

“My socks?”

“No, Connor, your black shoelaces. Yes, your socks. They’re the loudest thing you’re wearing. Where on Earth did you get those things?” Hank chuckled.

“They were a gift from Bonny. She said my wardrobe needed…the word she used was pizzazz,” Connor stated.

“You’ll accept fashion advice from an eight year old but not me?” Hank said in mock offense.

Connor pouted. “Socks are less conspicuous than a loud shirt, Hank. I can cover these with my pants, see?”

He tugged his pant legs down, dousing the color of the fabric.

“Well then what’s the point of them if you’re just gonna cover them up?”

Connor paused, stared at Hank, down at his socks, and then back to Hank. “I don’t…know. I just like them…It feels like…a fun secret.”

Hank eyed him, snorted, and then fully laughed. “Connor, if I live to be a hundred, I don’t think I’ll ever figure you out.”

Connor looked like he wasn’t sure how to take that, and so he settled for giving Hank a deadpan look and adjusting his tie once more. He turned around to lead the way to the front door, and Hank snickered, following after him.

“What was the pattern on those socks?” Hank asked. “Just dots or…?”

“Tacos,” Connor answered, pausing to pull up his pant leg and show Hank the brightly colored socks again. “She also gave me a pink pair with unicorns on them and a red pair with slices of pizza on them.”

“Unicorns,” Hank repeated slowly.

“And pizza,” Connor clarified.

“I’m gonna need you to wear those unicorn socks sooner rather than later, son.”

Connor snorted and opened the front door. “If I live to be a hundred, I don’t think I could pull off that level of…pizzazz.”

Hank smirked as they headed outside to head to the car. “Then I guess we’ll just have to make a deal to live to a hundred and one, eh?”

Connor locked the door behind them. “Deal.”

Chapter Text

The afternoon was sunny, warm, and by all accounts a perfect representation of the spring season. As such, Hank’s next door neighbor’s kid was outside in the backyard playing up a storm. The loud giggling and sounds of muffled struggle from the teenage babysitter had prompted a curious Connor to venture out and peer through the wooden fence.

Well, he had been quickly spotted, and one thing had led to another, and he had been promptly invited over to enjoy the weather with the pair. With Hank grumpily stowed away in the house battling spring allergies, Connor was slightly relieved for the excuse to get out of the house. All of his efforts to help Hank had been swatted or cursed away, so Connor felt…yes, he felt he was due for something…fun.

“Take your shoes and socks off,” the child was demanding immediately.

“What?” Connor looked down at his feet, then back to the child.

Six year old Sofie Paulson stood there like a drill sergeant, hands on her hips, blue baseball cap on her head, in neon green shorts and a pink t-shirt, bare feet proudly standing on the grass.

The babysitter, fifteen year old Greta Schmidt, was equally barefoot a few paces away, covering her very pale skin in jeans and a light long sleeved purple shirt, which matched her dyed purple hair.

“Them’s the rules,” Greta said with a shrug.

“Why?” Connor asked, kneeling down to untie his shoes.

Sofie scampered away, deeper into the yard where the yellow dots of dandelion heads were breaking up the green of the grass.

“To feel the grass on your feet, silly!” she explained.

Perplexed, Connor didn’t want to offend his hosts. He was, after all, a guest in their backyard, and if bare feet was the social expectation here…then he had to oblige. So he slowly removed his shoes and socks as ordered, setting them aside on the back porch before stepping off the concrete pad and onto the grass.

He immediately stopped, looking down.

“Feels good, don’t it?” Sofie beamed, sitting in the grass and plucking up dandelions.

“Have you ever…walked barefoot in grass before?” Greta asked, sitting a few yards from Sofie at a dark wood picnic table.

“I don’t…usually walk barefoot anywhere,” he remarked, watching his toes wiggle in the blades of grass.

It felt surprisingly cool despite the warm sun that had been shining down on the yard all day. The sensation of touch was one of the most unusual senses for deviants to adapt to, but in Connor’s experience, that had largely only applied to physical contact with humans and other androids, or feeling the textures of surfaces with his hands, like doorknobs and desk surfaces. He had been pleasantly surprised by the softness of Sumo’s fur and the comfortable cushions of Hank’s couch where he initiated rest mode every night. For some reason, exploring the sensation of touch with his feet just…hadn’t occurred to him.

“Mr. Paulson said the yard is due for a mow,” Greta went on, shifting off the picnic table to sit with Sofie in the grass. “So it’s a little tall right now. I checked though; there’re no rocks or anything to hurt anybody’s bare feet out here.”

She started plucking up some dandelions with Sofie, who had moved on to doing something with her collection of little yellow flowers in her lap. They both sort of left Connor alone at that point, giving him a moment to process this new experience.

It took a few seconds, but he finally took a second step, so that both feet were firmly planted in the soft, cool grass of the yard. The slightly uneven surface of the ground pressed back, with its natural dips in the dirt underneath. It was an unusual feeling. Almost tickling. He took a few tentative steps, not in any direction, just over the clumps of grass and splotches of clovers filling in the yard.

“This feels…pleasant,” he concluded, slowly picking his way over to the girls.

“You should try mud,” Sofie chirped, focused on tying the stems of the dandelions together in her lap. “Stepping in mud puddles feels real good.”

Greta sighed, looking dolefully to Connor. “Not so much when you trip and fall face first into it trying to chase down SOMEBODY,” she glared playfully at Sofie, “who ran outside without putting on a raincoat.”

Sofie cackled, picking up another flower. “You were muddy ALL OVER.”

“Yeah, I know, I was there,” Greta snorted, then squinted into the sun up at Connor. “Pop a squat if you want. Stay a while.”

It was an invitation, not an order, and besides, neither of them were ‘popping a squat,’ so Connor instead lowered himself to the grass, sitting cross legged as Greta was. He didn’t make a habit of sitting on the ground either, but this was…also pleasant. The grass was soft and cool, even through the fabric of clothes, and the breeze carried the earthy, fresh smell of it up to him. After months of the cold, grey, icy winter in Detroit, Connor could say he very much preferred and appreciated the warmer, more welcoming feeling of spring.

“What are you working on, Sofie?” he asked, stretching his legs out where he sat and resting his palms down on the grass on either side of himself.

Sofie finished tying off the last dandelion stem, having braided the flowers into a circular shape.

“A flower crown!” she announced proudly.

“A flower—“ He was cut off as Sofie popped up onto her knees, waddled over to him, and delicately placed the ring of flowers on his head.

He sat there for a dumb second, not sure how to proceed. His database on social etiquette did not include being adorned with a flower crown from a young child…but contextually, it seemed to be a…good thing?

Greta surveyed him with a look, smirking when he looked to her for guidance. The teen bobbed her head in approval.

“Looks good,” she tutted.

Connor sat up a little straighter at that, loosening his posture and looking at the pile of extra flowers between her and Sofie.

“Thank you, Sofie. I like it,” he said, reaching up and gently touching one of the yellow flowers woven into the crown.

“You’re welcome! C’mon, I’ll show you how to make them, and then we can all have one,” Sofie said, sitting back on her haunches again.

Always eager to learn, Connor paid careful attention as the little girl started to instruct him in the art of making flower crowns, while the warm, spring afternoon drifted by lazily around them.

Chapter Text

It had been…a day. That was about the nicest thing Person could say about it. Nothing had been…bad, per say, but she had not squeezed in her monthly mental health day this month…so she was just…on edge and wound up and feeling just…blech. So, as soon as she had clocked out, the game plan had been: get home, order pizza, put on comfy clothes, throw on some old TV show, and do jack fuckin’ squat for the rest of the night.

And so there she was, seven o’clock at night, sprawled on her couch in a green frog onsie, half of a pizza left in a box on the coffee table, and bingeing a marathon of Golden Girls. She had hung up some new, soft blue string lights on the walls, and her new scented candle was drowning out the garlicy smell of pizza.

It was ambient as fuck, and she had never been so excited to do absolutely nothing all night—

There was a knock on the door.

“Fffffffffff,” she hissed, dropping her head back on the armrest of the couch, “…uck.”

Her neighbors knew better than to try to socialize with her. Her family knew even better than that.

A beat passed, and then her phone pinged. She groaned and picked it up, unlocking the screen. Her irritation mellowed slightly as she saw it was a text from Connor.

“It’s me.”

Another knock.

Person snorted and dropped her phone on the coffee table, bellowing to the door. “ENTER!”

Little bastard didn’t even bother pretending to be locked out. He overrode the digital lock on her door and turned the knob, pushing it open and poking his head inside. His blue LED added some more light to the dim room, and she beckoned with a hand.

“Hey, Connor. Come on in.”

He shuffled into the apartment and closed the door with one hand, the other hand too busy holding a little brown box.

“Hello, Lisa. Are you feeling better?”

Because of course he had been able to tell that she had been in a mood today.

“Y’know,” she drawled, drawing her feet up from the length of the couch to give him somewhere to sit, “for all that you seem to know me so well, you should know how annoying unexpected visitors are.”

“Yes, I know, but I was concerned.” He studied her as he crossed over, sitting on the couch at her silent invitation. “Nice onesie.”

Person smirked. “Thanks.” She nodded toward the box. “You come bearing gifts?”

Connor paused, then held out the box. “I brought cheesecake.”

Person sat up a little, setting the box in her lap and popping open the lid. Nestled inside was the circular shape of the cheesecake; however, it was comprised of a dozen individual slices, each with a different pattern, colored flavors, and toppings.

“I wasn’t sure how you preferred cheesecake, so I bought a sample platter,” he explained.

“I love all cheesecake,” she verified for him. “And I love you, you mind reader…Have you ever had cheesecake? Don’t make me eat this all by myself.”

Connor’s expression softened slightly in the light of the television. “I could try some of it, I guess.”

“Cool, well, make yourself at home. My only rule is nothing productive happens in the next four hours.”

Connor stood up again, taking off his jacket. “What happens in four hours?”

“I go to bed…Now let’s crack open this cheesecake.”

An hour later, Connor was sitting on the other end of the couch, still in his pressed shirt and jeans, but he had at least caved to her nagging and put on a pair of her fluffy house shoes that were shaped like dinosaur feet. Because she had to make sure her guest was comfortable, right?

Person had her legs stretched out along the length of the couch, pinned between the back cushions and Connor's legs, which were stretched out in the opposite direction. They were both munching on cheesecake as they watched the Golden Girls marathon continue.

She felt full of food, warm, and cozy, and much as she had been looking forward to an evening of blissful solitude, it was nice spending a few hours doing nothing with Connor. She didn’t like co-existing with most people, finding them draining, but Connor wasn’t draining. She didn’t mind co-existing with him.

Connor, for his part, was slumped back slightly, having clearly enjoyed that cheesecake a little too much to heed his consumption limits, and was watching the TV show with half open eyes. He only blinked himself back to full awareness when Person sat up to set her empty plate on the coffee table.

“You didn’t answer me earlier,” he asked. “Are you feeling better?”

Person smirked, pushing the heel of her foot into his leg playfully. “I was feeling a little bit better, and you made me feel a lot bit better.”

“A lot…bit…”

She jabbed her heel into him again. “Shut up.”

He snickered and likewise set his empty plate on the coffee table by the pizza box. Person felt a little bubble of sentimentality expand into her chest as she looked at him without him noticing. Days like this she realized how lucky she’d gotten in scoring a friend like him. She still wasn’t sure what benefit he got from his friendship with her, but holy shit did she appreciate what he did for her.

“Hey,” she started, only to quickly stop speaking.

The abruptness made him pause, and he looked away from the current Golden Girls episode to look at her.

Her chest hiccuped slightly, and she carefully covered up a cheesecake-flavored burp. Okay, so that wasn’t sentimentality, just gas.

“Yeah?” He raised his eyebrows at her in question.

Person hesitated, then smiled with a shrug. “Thank you for being a friend.”

Chapter Text

There were specific algorithms to Connor’s programming to prevent him from becoming curt or rude to his co-workers when they...how did Hank put it…when they “got on his nerves.” He was designed to be patient to an absurd degree, since it was understood that his own processing capabilities and speeds would always far surpass his human colleagues. So he should not have been able to feel this frustrated with them.

And yet there he stood, in the dark stairwell leading up from the evidence archives to the file room, frustrated as Hell and delaying his return to the bullpen to deal with it. He’d blame deviancy.

One of the patrol officers had mislabeled evidence at a crime scene, and if Hank hadn’t caught it when he was signing off on Connor’s report, it would have ruined the entire case, invalidated the confession that Connor had worked so hard to get, and cost them weeks’ worth of work. Fortunately, the error had been caught and remedied, so there shouldn’t have been any reason to continue to feel this way. Yet he did.

Frustration was annoying. It wasn’t productive. It was actually counter-productive, because now Connor felt so annoyed that he couldn’t focus properly on his other work. What if someone had made an error in one of his other cases? Was he really going to task himself with going over them all with a fine tooth comb from now on? Of course the error wasn’t intentional, but the phrase went “to err is human.”

So, not trusting himself not to express that frustration to his co-workers, Connor stood there, silently fuming in the stairwell, trying to calm his nerves before going back out there.

He could hear Julia and Polly on the other side of the door, working in the file room. Due to a backlog of filing to be done, Polly had been pitching in to help keep the room organized. He could hear Polly humming to herself and opening and closing drawers in time with the beat of the tune stuck in her head. It wasn’t long before Julia started doing it too. They were off key and out of sync, but he could hear them slowly starting to synchronize their humming, until finally, Julia couldn’t take it.

“My love…There’s only you in my life...The only thing that’s right…” she sang softly, but no doubt with some dramatic pose as she did so, going by the way Polly giggled.

Polly immediately joined in, kicking her voice higher in pitch for the female side of the famous duet song. “My first love…You’re every breath that I take…You’re every step I make…”

Julia, likewise, forced her voice lower to take on the male side. “And I…”

“I…” Polly crooned with her.

“I want to share,” Julia sang lowly, causing her voice to have a bit of a wobble to it.

“All my loooove,” Polly out-sang her on the next lyric, “with you.”

“No one else will do…” Julia carried on.

Connor smirked despite the ridiculousness of it all…maybe because of the riduculousness. He closed his eyes and tipped his head forward until his forehead was against the door separating the two rooms.

“And your eyes!” Polly chimed.

“Your eyes, your—Wait.” Julia broke badly off tune, clearing her throat to try again. “Your eyes, your eyes!”

They sang together again. “They tell me how much you caaaare!”

For some reason, they started giggling at each other, losing the cadence of the song. He could hear Polly humming a bit to get back into the groove, while Julia giggled so hard she snorted.

“Oh yes,” Polly pressed on. “You will always—“

“Be!” Julia joined back in, still cracking a bit with the giggles.

“My…” They finished together. “Endless love—“

They both stopped. Polly had gone high on the last words, while Julia had gone low. It didn’t harmonize well, and on a wordless agreement, they tried again.

“My endless—“

“Are we going high or—“

“Endless looove,” Julia tested it in a higher pitch. “I think low.”

“Okay…” Polly cleared her throat again. “You will always—“

“Always be—“ Julia synchronized with her.

There was a slight pause, before they both went lower.

“My…endless love!” They sang together, this time in harmony.

He heard the distinct sound of a high five, a few more sounds of gentle laughter, and then the sound of filing cabinet drawers and paper shuffling resumed.

Connor opened his eyes, staring down at the floor, forehead still against the door. His earlier frustration had decreased substantially over the past minute, and he concluded that he could now go back to working among his human colleagues without…how Hank put it…”flying off the handle.”

The problem was that as his frustrated thoughts cleared, a new issue was presenting itself.

How was he supposed to leave the archive room now? He could…pretend that he hadn’t heard them…more specifically that he hadn’t just stood here and listened to them singing…but hiding here until they left so that he could escape unnoticed sounded preferable…

Polly was already humming to herself, winding up with another song.

Connor made up his mind to just make a run for it, but it was too late. Polly was away.

“YO I’LL TELL YOU WHAT YOU WANT, WHAT I REALLY REALLY WANT.”

Julia sang back, just as loudly. “SO TELL ME WHAT YOU WANT, WHAT YOU REALLY REALLY WANT.”

Connor now had two choices. Remain here until their impromptu concert finished…or make an escape now in the middle of a Spice Girls song.

“I’LL TELL YOU WHAT I WANT, WHAT I REALLY REALLY WANT—“ Polly went on.

Bracing himself, Connor shoved open the door and took a firm stomp into the file room, bellowing out at the girls.

“SO TELL ME WHAT YOU WANT, WHAT YOU REALLY REALLY WANT.”

Both ST300s screamed. Polly went as far as throwing the lid of a cardboard file box at him.

“Connor, what the Hell!?”

“Oh my god, you scared the shit out of us!”

“Were you in there this WHOLE TIME?!”

Just as abruptly, Ben barged through the door from the bullpen to the file room, no doubt investigating the sound of the screaming.

All three androids swiveled to stare at him. He stared back for a moment, then pointed directly at Polly and boomed loudly.

“I WANNA REALLY REALLY REALLY WANNA ZIG-A-ZIG AH!”

Chapter Text

The RK800. Cyberlife’s crowning achievement in android development. State of the art technologies. Cutting edge problem solving algorithms. Lightning speed decision making skills, primed for use in life threatening, high stakes situations. Police officer. Negotiator. Interrogator. Detective. A walking forensics lab. Designed for undercover work, chasing down and subduing suspects. Specialized in chewing gun and kicking ass, and, at the time, there hadn’t been any gum.

Yeah, it was times like this that Chris could see why many humans and most androids could be wary and even scared of Connor.

The video footage of the high speed chase had been plastered on every news outlet worth its salt for the past two days. The pickup truck had been barreling down a heavily trafficked main street through the heart of Detroit. Squad cars had been blocking off certain intersections ahead of the truck, trying to funnel the driver to a dead end. The driver had been too smart or too paranoid or too much of both to fall for that, always finding a loophole…which was usually a sidewalk.

Tina had been in one of the pursuit vehicles with Connor, and she had managed to get the squad car close enough to the back of the pickup for Connor to…and here’s where the reporter in the helicopter recording the footage went nuts…climb out of the side of the moving squad car, onto the hood, and then leap into the bed of the fleeing truck. The pursuit had been over within thirty seconds after that, but they had felt like ten minutes as Connor had smashed a fist through the back window glass of the truck and then dove headfirst through it into the cab.

The scuffle in the cab of the truck, not caught on video, had resulted in the truck mounting a curb and clipping the side of the building near a pier, which had sent it careening down the dock and straight into the drink. With the windows down and/or broken, the truck had sunk quickly in the dark water. Mercifully, it was shallow water, and Connor had emerged within a minute, hauling the flailing driver to the surface. Androids, at least the RK800 model, didn’t float, and Connor had scrambled to stand on the submerged hood of the truck with the man. There they stood in waist-deep water until Tina and backup arrived to properly arrest the man.

Somewhere in all that noise, Connor had taken some concealed damage, and he had barely made it back to solid ground with Tina’s help.

The big takeaway for the public had been that Connor was both a badass hero and a terrifying attack dog. Neither was a title that Connor seemed to like. Chris couldn’t blame him there.

Everybody at the 07 was already over it, and Fowler had even ordered the televisions to be put on some non-news channel just to get away from it for a while. The station was getting calls trying to get an interview with Connor, and Connor, for his part, had volunteered to stay on desk duty unless it was absolutely necessary for him to go out in the field until all this fanfare blew over. Fowler had agreed, pairing Person as Hank’s partner for the rest of the week to give the poor android a break from it all.

Chris subtly reviewed the footage again on his phone, tipping the screen under his desk out of view. There was something about it that was just captivating to watch. As human as Connor looked, sometimes he just went full Terminator, breaking physics and reminding them all of how dangerous he could be.

And well…despite all that being said…

Chris closed out of the video and looked across the bullpen to Connor’s desk. His assignment to desk duty wasn’t entirely voluntary; he was technically benched until his healing program mended whatever had gone wrong during that pursuit. He looked perfectly okay, sitting at his desk and working quietly. Maybe he was favoring his left arm a bit, and he wasn’t getting up and moving around as often…usually just letting Tina or Ben bring him what he needed instead of getting it himself.

The weird duality of Connor came in the comparison of the video footage of the great RK800 relentlessly and unstoppably rendering a suspect and his entire vehicle inert…versus Connor as he sat at his desk.

He was wearing a beer helmet for Christ’s sake.

Okay, okay, so Hank had painted it black, slapped a DPD seal sticker on the front, and decided to rebrand it as a “Hands Free Thirium Replenishment Delivery System.” Because Chris could imagine Connor balking at the idea of wearing a beer helmet at work. But a “Hands Free Thirium Replenishment Delivery System?” Now, that sounded damn near snazzy.

So there he sat, drinking thirium out of a straw connected to one of the two bottles of thirium strapped to the sides of the helmet. It looked ridiculous, which was probably the secondary purpose, but it was also a pretty efficient way for an android to ingest thirium without impeding their work flow, which was probably the primary purpose.

Thank the Lord that Gavin had the day off today, or he would have surely ruined this.

As it was, Chris pocketed his phone and stood from his desk. He stretched and picked up his jacket from his chair, pulling it on and sauntering over to Connor’s desk just as Tina was stepping over to drop off another file for him.

“Hey, man,” Chris greeted. “It’s been a long week. Don’t stay here too late,” he advised.

Connor disengaged from his interface with his terminal, looking over at Chris. “I agree. I’m only staying here as late as it takes Hank and Person to return from their case.”

Tina set the paperwork in his inbox tray. She straightened up and reached out a hand, poking the plastic front of the hat.

“Very stylish,” she teased lightly.

“Thanks,” Connor snorted. “I’m aware that it looks…strange, but it has proven to be a very efficient way to replace the thirium that I lost. I don’t know where Hank found it, but I appreciate it.”

Tina was pursing her lips very hard, trying not to ruin this. The poor guy deserved some peace after this week, Chris tried to telepathically warn her. Just leave him and his retro-fitted beer helmet alone.

“Yep,” she tutted, bouncing on the balls of her feet once. “Well, I’m outta here. You all have a good weekend. Connor, you feel better, bud, okay?”

“I will. Thank you, Tina.”

“Night, Chen,” Chris waved her off.

Tina gave them a lazy salute and then headed off. Connor waited until she was out of earshot, and then he leaned toward Chris. Chris instinctively leaned closer as Connor quietly spoke.

“I’m fully aware that this is a beer helmet. I’m just going to stretch this out as long as I can,” Connor said with a wry grin.

Chris stared at him, a slow smile turning up the corner of his mouth as he hissed back. “You sneaky little asshole. They’ve all been trying not to point that out, thinking it’d upset you.”

“I’m not upset,” Connor shrugged. “It’s functional.”

He proved this by taking a loud, slurping sip from the straw, while maintaining eye contact.

“Besides, I find that watching the others dance around pointing out this fact to me is…very humorous. I have a bet with Julia that Gavin won’t last five minutes tomorrow without saying something.”

“What’s her bet?”

“That he gets overwhelmed with ways to insult me over this and can’t choose among them, and is therefore unable to say anything.”

“…You guys are sadistic.”

“Yeah.” Connor gave him a wistful grin. “Good night, Chris.”

Chris snorted and looked at him. Yeah, they all knew that Connor was a badass in the field, but they didn’t always see his strength in dealing with shit like this. He was more resilient than they gave him credit for. With that in mind, Chris gave a return grin.

“Good night, Terminator. See you tomorrow.”

“Yeah…I’ll be back.”

Chris glared at him, trying to gauge if he knew what he’d just done. Connor winked and resumed his interface with his terminal.

Oh, he knew. The little gremlin.

Chris snickered and gave him a wave as he headed out of the bullpen.

Yeah, Connor was gonna be just fine.

Chapter Text

It had all happened so fast…As soon as the shooting started, it had been chaos.

Gavin could still hear the muffled sounds of fire throughout the abandoned building. He could hear movement as the enemy started infiltrating the other floors, looking to pick off anybody who was left. Gavin wasn’t sure how long this had been going on, if he had any allies left or if he was alone and it was all riding on him now.

No backup was coming; that was for damn sure. He had seen Wilson take a hit, and Person had also been taken down…inciting Connor to start a one-man rampage through the lower levels of the building. Gavin didn’t know if he had been taken out either by now. Gavin had weighed his options and grabbed the only person in his immediate vicinity, the PC200 named Zeke, and dragged him into a nearby room to hunker down and put together a plan of how they were going to get out of this.

It was starting to get quiet.

“I don’t want to die,” Zeke stammered, eyes wide through the clear visor of his helmet.

His knuckles were white around the gun he was holding, and his LED was a panicked yellow. Gavin held up a hand for silence.

“You’re not gonna die. Shut up,” he hissed. “Who else is down?”

“Uh…Hm…I don’t know…I lost track—It—“

A pepper of gunfire…close…echoed down the hallway.

Gavin cursed and put his back against the wall beside the door, gesturing for Zeke to do the same. He reached for the radio at his shoulder, speaking quietly and hurriedly into it.

“Anybody still alive out there?”

Zeke twitched restlessly beside him.

The radio crackled, went silent, and then crackled again. Tina’s voice drifted over, low and harsh.

“Gavin, you son of a bitch, I thought you were a goner!”

“Tina,” Gavin breathed a sigh of relief. “I saw Wilson and Person down. Zeke is with me on level…three. Report.”

“Chris is still alive, but I lost track of him—Connor went rogue.”

Zeke’s eyes got wider, if that was possible, and Gavin’s expression hardened.

“What? Why?”

“Some new order dropped into his coding, and he just—“ she clucked her tongue, “—went into some kind of assassin mode. He’s gunning down everybody in his path, friend or foe.”

“Fucking bastard,” Gavin hissed. “We never should have trusted him—I told you!”

“Yes, yes, you’re a genius. So what do we—He’s coming,” Tina’s voice ticked up a notch.

“Tina—“

“I can…hear him…I think he can read my heat signature. I have to move, he’s—“ Her breath hitched. “CONNOR, WAIT—“

The radio cut out abruptly, and silence filled the air.

Gavin cursed and gripped his gun, checking his ammo and looking at Zeke. “Connor got Tina. We have to assume Chris is dead too. We’re all that’s left. C’mon.”

“I’m not going out there…against him,” Zeke said, taking a step back and shaking his head.

The radio at Gavin’s shoulder crackled again, and Connor’s voice came over, soft and calm.

“Hello Detective Reed,” he almost whispered out of the speaker. “You’re making too much noise. I know exactly where you are. You’re next on my list, and I always accomplish my mission.”

The radio went silent, and Gavin and Zeke both looked at the ceiling, where a single set of footsteps echoed from the floor above.

“We have to move,” Gavin urged Zeke. “We can’t take him in hand to hand, trust me. Between the two of us though, I bet we can take him down with these.” He held up his gun.

Zeke gave himself a shake, finding some inner steel, and he nodded, hardening his gaze. “Let’s go.”

“Stay behind me,” Gavin ordered, then quietly popped open the door leading from the room to the hallway.

Natural sun coming in from the broken windows was the only source of light, and Gavin moved stealthily down the corridor, stepping over debris littering the floor. Zeke maintained silence behind him, and the pair tracked their way down the hallway toward the stairwell. Gavin’s trigger finger felt hot, like his blood in his veins, burning for vengeance.

Another hallway bisected the one they were walking, and Gavin gestured for Zeke to take that direction. Zeke balked, shaking his head and indicating that they should stay together. Gavin gave him a hard stare, enforcing the order by jerking his head toward the hallway. If they had any chance of taking down the RK800, they had to work together…apart. Zeke cringed but then nodded, silently departing from Gavin’s side and heading down the hallway, disappearing around a corner. Gavin kept walking forward.

The emergency stairwell door clicked and popped open when he was still twenty paces away. Connor emerged from the stairwell, pushing the door open with one arm. His other hand held a rifle, angled toward the floor, and his eyes immediately locked onto Gavin. He was wearing the same tactical gear as Gavin and all the others. Gavin didn’t see any stains on the gear or his clothing, as the massacre that he’d executed throughout the building hadn’t even happened. His LED was a cool blue.

Gavin snarled and lifted his gun, aiming at the prick.

Connor swiftly raised his rifle, cocking it and locking Gavin squarely in his crosshairs.

“Let’s talk about this, Gavin,” Connor spoke in that same calm, even tone.

“Time for talk is over, mother fucker,” Gavin snarled. “Only one of us is walking out of here, and this time it’s not—“

Connor pulled the trigger.

The slug moved too fast for Gavin to see, let alone react to. It erupted from the barrel of Connor’s rifle and slammed directly in the center of Gavin’s chest. The impact stung, and he hissed, taking a step back and looking down at himself.

Yellow paint from the pellet bled all over his chest.

Gavin let the gun slide from his hands, clattering uselessly to the floor. He lifted his eyes back to Connor’s smug face, as he dramatically fell to his knees.

“You…asshole…” he snarled, toppling sideways and landing in a heap on the floor.

Connor stood where he was for a paused moment, then spoke into his radio. “All human targets eliminated as ordered. Proceeding with elimination of all android targets—“

The distinct pop of another shot cut him short, and Gavin peeked open one eye to see bright pink paint splatter against Connor’s hip as he was shot. He buckled and staggered sideways a step, glaring down the hallway.

“BOO YAH!” came Zeke’s triumphant cry. “I got him! I got Connor! I win!”

Connor groaned and dropped his paintball rifle, yanking up his visor and glaring down the hallway at Zeke. “You shouldn’t gloat, Zeke. If this had been a true hostage situation, and a dangerous, rogue android had been rampaging through the building—people would be dead…People are dead!” he gestured to Gavin, still lying on the floor with his mortal chest wound of yellow paint, committed to the act of a corpse until the endgame horn sounded. “You shouldn’t—“

Another pink paintball smacked Connor in the right side of his chest. Connor glared flatly.

“Zeke, this is not—“

Another pink paintball on the left side of his chest, like perfectly placed boobs made of paint.

“Zeke!” Connor chastised.

The endgame horn sounded then, and only then did Gavin sit up, coming back to life.

“God, Connor, you really suck, you know that?”

Connor faced him, wearing three rounds of pink paintball slugs. “I was executing Fowler’s orders to emulate a situation—“

The stairwell door behind him burst open all of a sudden, and out flew Tina—Connor’s signature yellow paintball marks on her chest. She had two paintball pistols in her hands, and she leapt forward with a scream.

“IT’S A ZOMBIE UPRISING!” She looked down the hallway, spotted Zeke, and ran after him.

The other paint-splattered cops of the 07 began to tumble out of the stairwell after her. All of Connor’s victims had returned from paintball-death to enact vengeance.

Connor, for his part, looked dismayed. “Guys, this isn’t the point of the exercise…and zombies don’t use guns…”

Out came Person, wearing Apollo’s blue paint on her shoulder and looking pissed.

“Where’s Apollo?!” she snarled. “This zombie has a bone to pick with him…”

Connor flatly pointed down the hallway past Gavin. Person’s neck craned that direction, and Gavin turned as well. Apollo was trying to make a hasty escape, apparently not interested in Field Training 2: Zombie Uprising. Connor’s yellow paint—absolutely coating Apollo’s torso with multiple rounds—only made him stand out against the drab walls.

“APOLLO, YOU BITCH!” Person took off after him, leaping over Gavin’s legs in pursuit.

Apollo picked up speed, vanishing into the opposite emergency exit.

Connor looked dolefully to Gavin, as if to say: can you believe this?

Gavin, for his part, had only one thing to say.

“ZOMBIE UPRISING!” He launched to his feet, sprinting at the android.

Connor had the good sense to run.

Chapter Text

Chris had brought his son Damian into the office for a few hours that afternoon. It was the little squirt’s third birthday, and he had already spent the morning getting fawned over by all of the co-workers at his mother’s accounting office. Now, it was the 07’s turn. Tina never ceased to find it hilarious to watch the bullpen full of cops turn into absolute idiots when small children were around.

Like most ankle-biters, Damian had gravitated toward Gavin and all his weird-ass man-child energy. Like most concerned parents, Chris had then steered the tyke instead toward the safer waters of Ben and Wilson. Person had given him the obligatory head pat and let him play with one of Tina’s pom-pom pens that she’d maliciously stolen. Tina, heartbreakingly, had an ugly head cold situation going on. To avoid spreading it to Damian, she had stayed at her desk all afternoon, watching from afar as everyone else got to have all the pint-sized fun.

Currently, that was Wilson, Polly, and Connor.

The three year old was standing on Chris’s desk, very animatedly discussing something with Polly, who was listening with rapturous attention. Wilson was standing nearer as a safety net in case Damian tried to leap off the desk while Chris was going over something in Fowler’s office. Clearly the birthday boy had gotten to dress himself today, as he was sporting a blue striped shirt with an orange dinosaur on the front, black jeans, with a bright green knee length skirt over the jeans. Chris had simply shrugged and said Damian had been really into dinosaurs and skirts lately, and Tina thought it was dashing. The kid had style.

He also had a well defined sense of who he liked at the DPD and who he did not. Currently, the list of ‘do not like’s consisted mostly of Connor and sometimes Zeke. He could tell the difference between Zeke and Apollo: simply staring at Apollo as Apollo stared down at him until one of them blinked. Zeke was too much of a people-pleaser and tried way too hard to get a toddler to like him; whereas Apollo didn’t give a shit.

Connor, Tina didn’t get. Damian had never really warmed up to the RK800, which was crazy. Connor was adorable, and the only thing more adorable was watching him try to desperately get into Damian’s good graces.

Tina popped back another throat lozenge and slouched in her seat, watching his latest attempt.

Polly was avidly complimenting Damian’s fashion choices, and Damian was pointing at the dinosaur on his shirt, explaining in big gestures and giggles about dinosaurs. Polly then reached out and fluffed some of the soft fabric of the green skirt before gesturing to her own yellow sundress that she was wearing.

She struck a little pose, winking at the boy and asking him something, maybe if he thought she looked pretty. Damian nodded and smiled at her, twisting his hips side to side to mimic her motions. Polly wiggled side to side again, making her dress swish around her. Damian did the same, squealing happily at the swishiness of his clothing.

God, Tina just got a clogged artery from the sugary sweetness of it.

It only got worse as Polly lifted an arm and offered a hand to Connor. He took her hand and held it up, giving her an anchor to base herself as she spun in a circle. She gave one good hard twirl, making her skirt spin wildly with her, while Connor kept her balanced by holding her hand over her head. Damian clapped, calling out things like “pretty!” and “swish!”

Wilson stepped toward him, reaching out to hold his hand so he could do the same. Damian eagerly took Wilson’s hand, letting him hold him as Damian imitated Polly. He gave a hard twirl, and while the fabric of his skirt wasn’t as flowy as Polly’s dress, the effect was there, and the kid was delighted about it. Polly applauded him, smiling wide like the ray of sunshine that she was.

Connor looked a little left out.

But, Tina knew, he was a smart one, and he quickly resolved the problem by slipping off his jacket and tying it around his waist. It was a poor man’s skirt, but he seemed desperate to get in on the fun. He tried shaking his hips a bit like Polly had, with very little of the same effect but double the effort. Wilson was complimenting his ingenuity, and Polly folded her arms, leaning toward Damian and dramatically asking him if Connor was making it work.

Damian looked reserved for a moment, still not too warm on Connor, but Polly was absolutely in his good book by now. Her okay seemed to be all the credentials that Damian needed, and the kid gave a nod that…yeah…okay, fine…Connor made the cut.

Connor looked over the moon and like he was trying to downplay it, so as not to go all Zeke Mode on the poor kid. Instead, he just carefully offered his hand, palm vertical for a high five.

Polly immediately smacked her palm against his, completing the high five. She took a step aside, planting her hands on her hips. Damian, encouraged by that, more timidly reached up and patted his tiny hand against Connor’s in a softer high five.

“Hey, Tina,” Ben greeted, passing by her desk on his way to his workstation from the break room. “You feeling any better?”

“Just waiting for that Dayquil to kick in,” she mumbled around a congested nose. “Besides, I have a far more serious diagnosis now.”

“How’s that?” Ben asked, looking up from his coffee.

Tina spread her arm toward the scene at Chris’s desk. “Diabetes.”

Ben followed her gesture to over where Wilson had tied his jacket around his waist as well and was posing dramatically with Polly. Connor had quickly untied his own jacket, not wanting it to wrinkle or stretch, and was leaning toward Damian a bit to let the curious toddler poke his blue LED.

Ben snorted, sipping at his coffee. “Sorry to hear that, Tina. That’s incurable around here, at least today it is.”

“I think Gavin might be in for some competition as Damian’s best 07 friend at this rate. He’s loving Polly.”

“Well, she is pretty cool,” Ben remarked. “And Gavin is…kinda not.”

“Yeah, but kids like him because he’s about at their maturity level.” Tina shrugged. “Gavin is like if you stretched a five year old to an adult height and gave him a gun.”

“What a horrifying image. Kudos.” He toasted his coffee mug to her.

“Thanks.” Tina lifted her bottle of Dayquil at him in return, sipping it through a crazy straw and going back to watching the show.

Chapter Text

As the movie ended and the screen faded to black, Wilson felt the silence of the living room around him, despite it being full of people, and had one, solitary thought.

Oh, this may have been a mistake.

Then the famous song started to play as the end credits rolled, and he heard somebody on the couch blow their nose. Somebody else hiccupped and sniffled.

Yeah…this had been a mistake.

“Every night in my dreams…I see you…I feel you…” the television sang. “That is how I know you go on…”

Wilson was sandwiched on one end of the sectional couch between Polly and Julia, and on the other end of the couch were Gwen, Connor, Tina, and Zeke. Apollo was apart from them in the recliner next to the couch. In the dim light of the dark room, he could see a lot of wet faces and hear hitched breathing.

“Far across the distance…and spaces…between us…You have to come show you go on…”

“Lights. Dim,” Wilson said quietly.

The automated house system heard him, however, and turned on the wall sconces over the couch to a gentle, low glow. He looked down to the two androids pressed in on either side of him under his arms. Polly had watched the entire second half of the movie through her fingers, her gasps and sobs muffled against her palms. Julia had unabashedly cried rivers down her cheeks, and they were both burrowed against Wilson for comfort.

On the other end of the couch, Zeke and Connor were similarly huddled around Gwen, with Tina additionally hugged up against Connor’s other side. All were in tears. In the recliner, Apollo appeared to be the only dry eye in the room, because, yeah, Wilson had gotten a little misty a few times there at the end too.

“So…” he started quietly, giving both androids in his arms a soft squeeze. “What are we feeling?”

Because that had been the whole point of this movie night. Polly had expressed curiosity in the way humans had such strong emotional reactions to movies. It was just fiction, with actors and scripts and special effects…It hadn’t made sense to her that humans got so invested in fictional worlds that they could become so affected by them. So, between Polly and Wilson’s wife Dinah, a plan had been formed to have the 07 androids over to watch some of the more emotionally charged movies that they could think of.

This was night one. There might not be a night two.

“That was so sad!” Polly cried, still watching from between her fingers.

Julia slowly pried herself away from Wilson, sitting up and forward with her elbows on her knees and her face in her hands, taking a deep, steadying breath. Wilson snickered, rubbing her back briefly before looking over at the others.

Tina moaned, pressing her entire face into Connor’s shoulder and shamelessly wiping her eyes on his shirt. “Godddd, I hadn’t seen this movie since I was a kid. I knew it was sad then, but it hits different as an adult…Whose idea was this?!”

“I was good up until the instrument guys started playing the sad song,” Zeke said, waving a hand helplessly at the television screen.

“Oh, I went as soon as we saw that iceberg,” Gwen said, shaking her head. “I actually forgot that that was coming. I was too wrapped up in the love story—“

“I could feel you guys turning,” Tina remarked. “Like, you were all just leaning so hard to the left.”

“We thought if we tried hard enough, we could make the ship turn in time!” Zeke moaned.

“Connor, how about you, buddy?” Wilson asked.

Connor lifted his head off Gwen’s shoulder, looking dolefully at Wilson. “No.”

“No what?” Wilson asked with a confused smirk.

Connor dropped his head back down. “Just no.”

Gwen snickered and dropped her cheek to rest on his head, patting his leg beside her. Connor glanced over at Wilson and the girls. Polly and Julia were still digesting it, but while Polly was openly making frustrated, emotional noises and squirming as she started to mull on it all, Julia wasn’t moving where she was hunched over with her face in her hands. Connor frowned and nudged his shoulder back against Tina. Tina, still in full koala mode against him, resisted at first. He nudged her again and looked pointedly over at the other side of the couch.

Tina followed his gesture and smirked, peeling off of him. She swung like a metronome across the couch, slithering over and unleashing koala mode all over Julia instead. The ST300 hiccupped and started to swat her away, but Tina persistently hugged her closer. Julia stopped fighting, and the two toppled back into the couch together. Before he could be pinned down again, Wilson sat up, chuckling at them all as he climbed out of the couch and to his feet. Apollo mimicked him stiffly.

“I think I heard your wife arrive home in the kitchen,” Apollo informed him.

Wilson stretched as, behind him, Polly shifted over to join the Julia-Tina hug puddle.

“Yeah, she’s probably hiding from all this mess—What about you? What’d you think of the movie, big guy?”

Apollo frowned at the screen. “It was well directed and acted. The cinematography and sound design were done extremely well. Set design and wardrobe appeared to be historically accurate. A lot of care and attention was put into this film. I can appreciate that.”

Wilson put his hands on his hips. “That’s it?”

Apollo blinked at him. “Yes.” He glanced back toward the kitchen. “I’m going to thank your wife for allowing us to use your home for this…movie night.”

Wilson snorted. “Yeah, a’right, go on.”

On the couch, Tina had started to sing along…badly…with Celine Dion.

“Near…far…wherever you are!” she crooned, squeezing Julia and singing comically to get a giggle out of her. “I believe that the heart does…go onnnnn…”

Wilson shook his head and looked to Gwen, giving her a questioning thumb up. Still sandwiched between Zeke and Connor, she gave a thumb up in return, wiggling down a bit in the cushions to fully let herself be immersed in the two other androids’ need for cuddles in this trying time.

He sighed and decided to give them a minute to compose themselves. He stepped across the living room and opened the swinging kitchen door.

His wife Dinah was standing in the kitchen facing him. Apollo was holding her in a tight hug with his back to Wilson. He was bowed down a bit due to the height difference, and Dinah was gently patting him on the back. She looked over his shoulder at Wilson with questioning eyes.

Wilson held the kitchen door open, letting the classic song—plus Tina’s unnecessary accompaniment—filter in from the living room.

“YOU’RE HERE….THERE’S NOTHING I FEAR…AND I KNOW THAT MY HEART WILL GO ON…”

Dinah’s eyes filled with understanding and some amusement, and she wrapped her free arm around Apollo comfortingly.

Wilson quietly stepped around them, hoping to go unnoticed by the normally stoic android, and grabbed two handfuls of thirium-based chocolate candy bars from the jar on the counter. There was a whole roomful of androids behind him who needed them.

He took a step, paused, and set one of the chocolate bars on the counter closest to Dinah and Apollo.

Well, maybe there was one in here who needed it too, whether or not he would ever admit to it out loud.

Chapter Text

As it turned out, the answer to the question of whether androids could experience hangovers after a night of drinking was a resounding, and hilarious, yes.

And it was an odd turn of events for Hank to be the one to wake up, sober as stone, the next morning, and for Connor to be the pile of pitiful on the couch. An odd turn of events indeed.

Mercifully, it was the weekend, and they both had the day off. Hank took a shower and started up a pot of coffee for himself in the kitchen, while Connor uncharacteristically stayed on the couch, head buried under a blanket to block out the sun.

“Morning, sunshine,” Hank crooned at him, sipping at his coffee

“Uuuuuuuuuuuugh,” was the response from under the blanket.

Hank snickered, not even hiding his amusement, and started making a turn around the living room, closing the blinds and drawing the curtains to block out the offending light. Sumo followed him with his eyes, where the mutt was curled up on the floor in front of the couch.

“Hank…I think I’m…malfunctioning…”

“Uh huh,” Hank played dumb, circling back to the kitchen and grabbing a bottle of chilled thirium from the fridge. “All right, well, what kind of malfunction are you having, kid? Describe your ailments.”

“…Everything is…loud…and bright…” Connor groaned. “My head hurts.”

“You gonna puke?”

“I don’t…think so…”

“Well, then you’re lucky it’s not as bad as it could be.”

“Am I dying?”

“No. You, my friend, have a hangover.”

“…I don’t like it.”

“Nobody does,” Hank snorted, rummaging through the cabinets until he found what he was looking for: a sleeve of thirium-based crackers.

He carried the sleeve and the thirium into the living room, setting them on the coffee table in front of the couch. Connor had piled the blanket entirely over his face, leaving the rest of him from the neck down just the same rumpled tangle of limbs that he’d been when he flopped on the couch the night before.

Another groan warbled out from under the blanket.

“All right, Jesus,” Hank chuckled, grabbing a hold of the corner of the blanket near Connor’s forehead. “Emerge from your cocoon, you hungover butterfly.”

Connor resisted, grabbing hold of the fabric to keep hiding under it. Hank had to purse his lips hard to stifle a laugh as the android started to curl into the fetal position on the couch.

“No, now, c’mon. Got some thirium and crackers for ya. I don’t know about androids, but humans need to eat something to jumpstart the battle against a bad hangover. Something bland and something to rehydrate. Go on.”

Connor remained belligerently still for another moment before logic seemed to finally leak into his foggy brain. Hank patiently sat back in the recliner by the couch, sipping at his coffee and watching the show. Connor slowly, very slowly, peeled the blanket back from his face, revealing a glorious mess of bed hair, lines on his face from where the upholstery of the couch had pressed against his cheek all night, and a sluggish, blue LED. His eyes were squinted against even the dim light of the living room, and he looked so grumpy that Hank couldn’t help but smile at him.

“You look gorgeous,” Hank teased.

Connor stared at him through squinted eyes, smacked his gums once, and then groaned as he gingerly sat up on the couch. He moved his legs over the side and planted his feet on the floor. He seemed to teeter in his seat for a minute, eyes pinched closed as he waited for the world to stop moving around him. Hank knew that feeling all too well.

As much as he wanted to give the kid shit for his condition, Connor had never actually given Hank shit when the roles were reversed. Sure, his bedside manner was god awful, but there was never malice in it. So Hank couldn’t be a devil about it now either. You didn’t kick a man when he was already down.

Connor put his elbows on his knees and pressed his eyes into the heels of his hands.

“Uuuuuuuuuuuugh.”

“Jesus Christ,” Hank chuckled. “Does the groaning help?”

“Unsure…Further testing required,” Connor grumbled, then, “Bluuuuuuuuugh.”

Hank hid his grin in his coffee mug. “Try to eat and drink something. It’ll help. Trust me.”

Connor released a deep breath, deflating his already ruined posture, and then extended a heavy hand toward the bottle of thirium. He sluggishly twisted off the cap and took a tentative sip of it. He grimaced and rubbed his temple but kept sipping at the thirium. He eventually made his way to the sleeve of crackers, flinching and cringing as the plastic sleeve crinkled loudly when he opened it.

Then came the most melancholy chewing and swallowing of a cracker that Hank had ever seen. Connor looked the picture of misery, taking a full minute to eat just one of the little crackers.

“Are you gonna make it, kid?” Hank snorted, only half joking at this point.

Connor sipped more thirium to wash down the cracker, squinting one eye and looking at Hank. “I think so.”

Hank eyed him, huffed, and shook his head, getting an idea. “Good, because I was thinking today, we could go for a two mile jog around the park—“

“Nooooo….”

“And make sure we stop by one of those street corner bands…You know, the ones that use trash can lids and sheet metal as part of their instruments…”

“Uuuuuuugh…”

“And it’s going to be a beautiful, bright, sunshiny day, so then I was thinking of busting out the old grill and cooking pork burgers…with extra grease…”

“Errrgh, I hate you,” Connor moaned, toppling back over into the merciful embrace of the couch.

Hank cackled, standing up and putting his hands on his hips. He looked down at the mess of a person crashed on his couch who was feebly dragging the blanket up to cover his head again.

“Or we could just stay home today, keep the curtains closed, and not make a whole lotta noise, eh?”

Connor heaved a sigh on the couch, and the whole shape of him under the blanket shuddered.

“I’d prefer that, Hank.”

Hank smirked, taking his mug into the kitchen to refill it. “Yeah, I figured you would.”

Chapter Text

Connor was sitting at the dining room table of the Stevens’ home, spending a few hours that afternoon going over some of the new proposed android laws with Janet. Specifically, Janet had asked if he would review with her the subsections regarding androids who had been in military service. As a veteran herself, he knew it was a topic close to her heart, and he had of course been more than willing to help her sort through all of the legal jargon and dry text of the proposed laws.

At the moment, however, he had to confess that he was distracted.

For the past few minutes, Bonny had been standing in the hallway between the dining room and the living room, wearing a cape and holding a plastic, extendable blue lightsaber. She had one arm extended toward Connor, her fingers bent as though holding an invisible baseball. Her face was all scrunched up in concentration, and occasionally she would lean closer in her stance.

“—But then there’s this other paragraph talking about…” Janet looked up from the papers spread across the table surface, spotting Connor not paying attention. She followed his gaze to where her daughter was standing, and then she snorted, looking at Connor again. “She’s trying to use the Force on you.”

“What?” Connor blinked.

“I’m not ‘trying,’ I AM using the Force!” Bonny argued.

Connor’s brow furrowed, and he glanced down at his unaffected self. “I don’t feel any force.”

“Ergh, give it a second!” Bonny said, sheathing her lightsaber and reaching out with both hands.

“Maybe the Force doesn’t work on androids, baby,” Janet tried to explain.

Connor’s LED turned a quick yellow as he ran a search in his database on this ‘force’ that they were talking about. The answer was swift and…voluminous.

“Ah.” He sat up a bit in his chair. “I understand. You’re referring to the Force used by the Jedi in the Star Wars franchise?”

Bonny was too focused on…whatever she was trying to do to him with the Force. She finally huffed and lowered her arms, seemingly exhausted by the attempt. She frowned and puffed herself up.

“You must be strong with the Force, padawan, to resist my attacks so!”

“Why are you attacking a padawan?” Janet questioned.

“Why am I a padawan?” Connor whined.

“Silence!” Bonny reached out a clenched hand again toward Janet.

Janet immediately gasped, wrapping both hands around her throat and loudly choking. Connor’s LED spun red once in alarm, and his eyes widened as he quickly scanned the woman.

She was…completely fine?

Janet stuck her tongue out as she flailed, dramatically sliding out of her seat and onto her side on the floor. Connor stood abruptly as she went down, watching her reach one shaking hand toward Bonny.

“Mer…cy!” she rasped.

“Bwahahahahaha!” Bonny cackled, not letting up her…attack.

Janet continued to ‘choke’ for a moment before she went limp on the floor, tongue hanging out like a cartoon character. Connor stared at her, at Bonny, at Janet, and back to Bonny.

“You’re no Jedi,” he stated. “You just killed an innocent woman. Your own mother. That’s Sith behavior.”

Bonny took a step backward, whipping her plastic lightsaber off her belt and snapping it sideways. The force of the snap caused the blue plastic of the ‘blade’ to extend. She drew the weapon up as though to swing it, and she jerked her chin at him.

“Come to the dark side, Connor.”

“Never,” he said, shaking his head.

Janet’s hand touched his ankle, and he looked down at her.

“Av-Avenge m-me…” she rasped, pointing to the other toy lightsaber shoved in the umbrella rack by the front door.

She then went dramatically limp again.

Connor raised his eyes to Bonny, who spun her lightsaber a few times in some made up choreography, making “wah-wah-waaah!” sound effect noises with her mouth. He quickly darted over to the door and yanked out the lightsaber, snapping it open to reveal a long, red blade.

“Aw, man…Hey, trade me,” Bonny said.

“I do not trade with Sith!”

“No, Connor… I mean—Sith have red lightsabers. Good guys have blue ones.”

“Oh.”

He took a step over to her, and they quickly exchanged weapons.

Then Bonny was rearing up her red lightsaber.

“Prepare to die, my old apprentice!” She swung wildly at him.

Connor ducked and blocked the attack with his blue lightsaber. “Never!”

He jabbed the blue plastic tip at her, and Bonny dodged, turning and sprinting toward the door to the backyard, screaming all the way. Connor immediately gave chase after her, nearly bowling over Oliver Stevens as he came in the house.

“Whoa!” Oliver plastered himself to the wall as both little girl and android flew past.

“Out of my way, padawan!” Bonny screeched.

“Excuse me, sorry!” Connor shimmied past Oliver. “I don’t think you’re using ‘padawan’ correctly!”

“I don’t think you’re using your face correctly!”

“…What does that even mean?!”

Oliver watched the two barrel out into the yard and immediately begin whacking at each other with the plastic weapons. He snorted and shook his head, making his way into the house and walking into the kitchen. Janet was getting up off the floor and sitting back at the dining room table.

“Force choked again?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

She nodded, taking a sip of tea from her mug. “Connor’s avenging my death.”

“Good man,” Oliver nodded righteously, fixing himself a mug and joining her at the dining room table, while the battle between good and evil raged on in the backyard.

Chapter Text

In the end, all of the 07 androids had put up a valiant effort in the eating competition, but there could only be one winner. Tina had raided Bert’s food truck of all of his ThiriYum spaghetti, and of the pounds of noodles that she’d brought in, only two containers remained.

On one side of the table in the break room…Gwen, shoving forkful after forkful of the thirium-based noodles into her mouth, barely chewing before swallowing forcefully.

On the other side of the table…Julia, reduced to lethargically twisting her fork around the nearly half-full container. She kept sighing loudly, usually ending in a little hiccup and then covering her mouth against a burp. Like all the other androids, she had started off strong, but Ben could see that she was fading fast.

Gwen had shifted into an endurance mode, her eyes locked on another dimension as she focused on the task at hand. Ben, Tina, Zeke, and Polly stood around the table cheering them on.

“C’mon, Jules!” Polly cheered. “Represent us ST300s. Keep going!”

“You’re representing us patrol officers, Gwen,” Zeke urged, fists held up at his sides, bouncing on his heels. “I believe in you. The world believes in you!”

Zeke had been the first to tap out. He was technically on shift, to be sent out at a moment’s notice from dispatch. He’d been reluctant to well and truly gorge himself, lest he get sick and screw up his shift. Polly also hadn’t wanted to spend the rest of her shift in pain from overeating, and she had tapped out early.

Gwen and Julia either had more courage or less sense than the other two, plowing on despite Connor’s groaned warnings from the couch. Ben could tell the guy hadn’t moved since he’d collapsed face down on the break room couch. One arm was hanging off toward the floor, and the other was wrapped around his middle as all those noodles started to expand. Ben figured Connor had only allowed himself to get as sucked into the competition as he had because he had JUST clocked out when Tina arrived with the mountains of noodles.

Person had looped some holographic caution tape around the couch to ward off anybody who might bother him as he lay there suffering. And Ben hadn’t seen when or how, but he was also sporting a folded paper hat that had TEAM JULIA written in thick black marker on the side.

“Oh, I think she’s gonna blow!” Tina warned, taking a step back.

Julia had braced her hands on the sides of the table, eyes screwed shut as she chewed on what surely had to be her last bite. There were still plenty of noodles left in the container, versus Gwen’s, which was nearly empty. Julia shook her head against Tina’s words. With visible effort, Julia swallowed and tilted her head back, coughing as she forced it down.

“Done,” she groaned, lifting her hands in surrender.

Tina scoffed. “Girl, you’ve still got like a third of that box left!”

Julia shook her head. “I’m tapping out. I think I’m dying.”

Gwen swallowed her own bite, looking haggard and full of regret, but not stopping until Julia fully and completely conceded the competition.

“You giving up?” she asked, slightly out of breath herself.

Julia squinted one eye at her, sighed, and nodded. “I’m done. You win.”

“Gwen wins!” Zeke hopped on his feet, taking Gwen’s nearer arm and raising it over her head. “Behold the champion eater of the 07!”

Gwen groaned, taking her arm back from him and leaning against the table. “Ya’ll about to behold me getting sick if you don’t pipe down.”

Julia snorted, groaned, and looked to Ben and Tina. “Whose—hurp,” she unexpectedly burped, covering her mouth and wearing a look of wide eyed embarrassment. “Whose idea was this?”

Ben pointed at Tina, who scoffed and swatted his hand away.

“I just wanted to see who’d win,” Tina stated, looking at Julia.

Ben chuckled, “And it was a glorious and disgusting effort by everybody.” He gently patted both Julia and Gwen on the shoulders. “Now please go take some android antacids or something.”

“I just want to lie down,” Gwen moaned. “And I never want to eat spaghetti again.”

Julia kept her hands on the table to brace herself, taking deep breaths against the volume of noodles in her belly. “If this was…a spicy food competition…I’d have taken you down.”

Gwen snorted. “You’re on…but not today—“

“No, rA9, no—next week maybe,” Julia agreed, waving her off.

“Next week sounds good,” Gwen said, rubbing her sides.

“Then…next week…Imma kick your ass,” Julia challenged.

“Oooooh!” Tina, Zeke, and Ben crooned between them.

Tina went a step further. “Ghost pepper challenge?”

Julia collected herself and sent Gwen a grin. “Ghost pepper challenge.”

“Ghost pepper challenge,” Gwen repeated with a smirk.

“You’re both insane,” Zeke blurted.

Ben snickered, stepping over to the couch to make sure Connor was still alive. His face was obscured by the TEAM JULIA hat, but he was breathing at least. Feeling a little devilish, Ben reached out and firmly smacked the side of Connor’s foot. It wasn’t a hard smack, but it seemed to send a ripple effect up Connor’s entire body. He groaned and twitched, tilting his head back on the couch and blearily opening one eye out from under the rim of his paper hat.

“What—whozzit—“ he garbled, looking at Ben, then at the others at the table. “What’d I miss? Who won?”

“I did—“ Julia started, standing up straight.

“Wooo,” Connor cheered in a monotone drawl.

“—not,” she finished, gesturing to Gwen.

Connor stopped his woo-ing and looked to Gwen. She planted her hands on her hips and lifted an eyebrow at him expectantly. Connor stared at her, then lethargically lifted a hand, taking off his paper hat. In one motion, he turned it around so that the other side of the hat was facing the room. In equally thick, black marker, it read TEAM GWEN.

Julia gasped in shock. “Traitor!”

Ben cackled, offering both her and Gwen bottles of chilled thirium to help wash everything down.

“Ah, you’ll win him back. Don’t worry about it.”

“Worry about it,” Gwen countered, waggling her eyebrows. “Because next week, you’re going down.”

“Oh you’re going even further down,” Julia said with renewed vigor. “Down…town.”

Tina groaned, leaning in between them. “Okay, between now and then, you both need to work on your trash talk. Because this is embarrassing.”

Chapter Text

Ben affectionately referred to it as the Burn Barrel. Once a year for the past three years, he had invited over any friends who were free, and they would spend the evening throwing things into the Burn Barrel. It had started after his eldest niece passed all of her college exams. She had been strung out from studying and had needed some serious catharsis to take the edge off and celebrate. So he had dragged out an old steel barrel from his cousin who worked at the docks, she had piled in all of her study materials, and they had set the thing ablaze.

A year after that, a friend had recently discovered that his fiancé had been cheating on him, and so Ben had dragged out the barrel. They had piled in the fiance’s clothes that had been left at his house, and they burned them to a crisp. The next year, Ben had done a thorough sorting of all of his old papers and documents, saving the pile of old papers that needed to be destroyed. Instead of shredding them, they went in the Burn Barrel. It was just more fun that way.

This year, without any dramatic events to fuel the Burn Barrel’s fire, Ben had simply invited some of the squad over to do the same as the prior year: just burn old papers instead of shredding them. Catharsis had come along for the ride anyway, and it was turning into a cleansing night.

“Today,” Tina announced in a somber tone, holding a wad of folded denim in her hands before her, “I am saying farewell to my last pair of skinny jeans from college. For too long, they have gathered dust on a shelf in my closet…kept under the misguided notion that I will someday fit back into them. Alas, I have come to the conclusion that I will never be that skinny again, nor do I wish to be. These big ol’ thighs chase down bad guys.”

She smacked one of her legs loudly before resuming her somber speech.

“You were good jeans…except that time you tore right in the crotch area, rendering you unwearable…so…again, not sure why I kept you after all these years…Farewell!”

She tossed the lump of fabric into the barrel. The fire was already being heartily fed by Person’s detective exam study materials, a box worth of angry hatemail that Fowler had received since coming out in support of android equality, and a threadbare throw rug from Chris’s house that his wife was desperate to get rid of.

“You know…recycling would be more efficient,” Connor stated, standing over by Ben with his hands in his jacket pockets, watching the fire eat through the different materials.

“Yeah, but fire’s fun,” Ben chuckled, sipping from his beer bottle.

“That’s a concerning sentiment.”

“Did you bring anything to toss in? Or I’ve got some old junk mail if you just want to do the act of throwing something in anyway,” Ben offered.

Connor shifted, frowning slightly as he watched the fire eating through Tina’s fateful skinny jeans. Tina had picked up a stick from the yard and was poking at the contents of the Burn Barrel. Person and Wilson were sitting on Ben’s back porch chatting. Well, Wilson was chatting, but Person was listening. Fowler was sitting in a foldout chair with a beer in his hand, thoughtfully watching the fire. Gavin had pulled up a chair next to him, scrolling through his phone and propping one leg on the back porch steps. It looked like Hank had gone inside the house for a bit, and Chris was reading through some old papers of his own before he tossed them in the barrel.

“I…do,” Connor stated slowly.

His fist was moving in his jacket pocket, and Ben heard paper crinkling there. He played dumb, idly watching Gavin send text after text to whoever for a spell before glancing at Connor.

“Can I ask what it is?”

Connor shifted again, giving Ben a careful look. He seemed to deem Ben as trustworthy, for which Ben felt quietly honored, and then Connor was tugging an envelope out of his pocket. It was folded over and had several pages of paper inside, going by the thickness alone. Connor held it close to his side, drawing as little attention to the gesture as possible. Ben glanced down at it, then back to the burning barrel.

He didn’t push. This was clearly a catharsis thing, not an “ugly rug” situation, so Ben was content to patiently wait it out.

“After Cyberlife Tower was demolished,” Connor finally started, eyes on the envelope in his hand, “I became aware of some unresolved…feelings that I had toward the company. I didn’t realize that I even felt any of those things until I saw the tower be destroyed. I wasn’t sure how to confront any of these conflicting emotions or make any sense of them. Hank…suggested writing them down. He thought it might help…if I…wrote a letter to Cyberlife telling them how I felt…I didn’t have to send it; he said it would just be an exercise…but I did write it all down…and…I do feel better…but now I have been carrying around this long letter that I haven’t known what to do with it.” He paused, looking to Ben. “Should I burn it?”

Ben pursed his lips, eying Connor for a quiet moment.

“I can’t tell you what to do with something like that, kiddo,” he finally said. “But, I stand by what I said. Fire is fun. It’s…destructive but…it also clears away all the old to make room for the new. Like natural wildfires do.”

Connor tilted his head pensively, watching the flames. “Seems a little counterproductive to write down so many things…only to burn them up. What was the point?”

“The point is you. Your well being. The way you choose to heal and move on from something that you’ve survived,” Ben said with a shrug. “Maybe think about it like…”

He traced the fire with his eyes, where the flames were stretching up out of the barrel, licking at the sky. A few sparks would spit out every so often, and the dark light of the evening swallowed all of the smoke that would have been there.

“The fire turns the paper to ash, and the wind carries it away,” he said. “Everything you wrote down, everything you felt when you were writing it…It doesn’t get destroyed. It gets freed. All that is no longer weighed down by ink and paper…It floats away up into the sky, spreads out so far and so thin that it just dissolves into the universe. And maybe after it does that, you’ll feel free of it too.”

He paused, coming back to himself a bit. He looked sideways at Connor.

“Sorry, that got corny as Hell,” he snorted.

Connor shook his head. “No, no, that…that was just the right amount of corny, I think.”

He was quiet for another moment, and then, in a somewhat jerky motion, as though moving before he could stop himself, he tossed the envelope full of words into the Burn Barrel. It landed heavily and sank into the remnants of Tina’s skinny jeans. The paper quickly turned brown and started to curl as the fire tore into it.

Beside Ben, he saw Connor heave a deep sigh, wrapping his arms around himself as he watched the fire momentarily brighten with the new fuel. Ben tried to be casual, taking another sip of his drink as Connor catharted beside him. He lasted all of ten seconds before Ben couldn’t stand it. He side stepped closer to the android and looped an arm around the guy’s shoulders.

Connor stayed where he was, eyes forward on the fire, but a smirk curled one corner of his mouth in acknowledgement of the comforting gesture. Ben took that as permission to leave his arm there, and he stood there for several minutes longer. Eventually the envelope full of paper and words had burned down to ash, and a breeze carried away the smoke.

Connor gave another sigh, though this one sounded lighter, and he finally unfolded his arms, looking a lot lighter too, come to think of it.

“Thanks, Ben,” he said quietly.

“No problemo,” Ben chirped, giving him a squeeze with one arm before stepping aside.

The Burn Barrel had worked its magic yet again.

Chapter Text

It had been a long day.

It had been a really long fucking day.

It had been a really goddamn fucking long fucking day.

So much of all the above that Gavin missed his first attempt at shoving the key into the lock of his apartment door. He was too tired to even get properly annoyed as he fumbled through a second attempt. He finally unlocked the damn thing and shuffled inside the quiet safety of the apartment, closing the door behind him and leaning back against it, heaving a sigh.

The air smelled like some kind of cooking going on. Something meaty, like stew or something with potatoes in it. He took a few deep breaths of it, tilting his head back against the door and staring at the ceiling. His eyes snagged on a discolored spot near the wall where the paint had been chipped. He frowned and closed his eyes, trying to find the will to move again.

“Yikes. Long day?”

He pulled his head down straight and wearily looked into the living room. Hannah was a welcome sight, lying on the couch with a tablet in her lap, wearing the same clothes that she’d been in when he’d left that morning, though there was one thing very different.

“You dyed your hair,” he remarked. “When did you decide to do that?”

She shrugged with a smirk. “I dunno, just kinda…did. Whaddaya think?”

She gave her head a toss, and her freshly dyed, vibrantly red curls bounced around with the motion. This morning, she’d been platinum blond. Gavin smirked and tossed his keys and wallet on the counter by the door.

“You look fuckin’ hot.”

“Oooow,” she crooned, waggling her eyebrows at him, and—

“Did you…dye your eyebrows too?” he snorted, peeling himself off the door and lumbering into the living room for a better look.

“What? I had some extra dye left over and thought, fuck it, why not?” she said, sitting up slightly to show off her dye job.

“That’s a good motto,” he said, groaning as he slowly slunk onto the couch with her.

“Hey—“ she complained as he messed up the blanket over her lower half.

Gavin ignored her whining, crawling between her legs and flopping down on top of her so that his head was pillowed on her ribs.

“Ugh, Jesus—“ she huffed, putting up a playful struggle.

He just sank onto her, completely dead weight. He was just so tired and wrung out, and she felt so warm and soft…She smelled good…

“Cookin’?” he mumbled, turning his face toward the living room.

“Yep, trying something new,” she explained, shifting to get comfortable under his belligerent weight. “Should be ready in about…ten minutes, and then you’ll have to get off of me.”

“Nooooo.”

“Yesssss.”

He made no motion to get up or argue further, and after a beat, he felt a concerned hand ruffle lightly through his hair.

“Everything okay?” she asked.

He sighed, closing his eyes and leaning into her touch. “Yeah. Today was just…fucking long.”

She hummed, fiddling with his hair a second longer before she lifted up her tablet again, propping it on his back and getting back to her reading. He got comfortable against her, wrapping his arms around her sides, prepared for a glorious ten minute nap before the ‘something new’ was done.

“Babe, why do you smell like a dumpster fire?” she asked after a beat.

He didn’t open his eyes. “Don’t ask questions that you don’t want the answers to.”

“…Fair enough.”

She shifted, and he peered open one eye to see her hand reaching down toward a bag that she’d set on the floor. He lazily traced his eyes over her full sleeve tattoo: floral patterns that he’d long since memorized but never got tired of looking at. She pulled out a handful of little, individually wrapped candies from the bag.

“Jolly Rancher?” she offered her hand to him.

He lazily took one, staying where he was draped over her as he popped the little sour green sweet into his mouth.

“I fucking love you,” he groaned around the candy.

“I know,” she tutted, ruffling his hair again before going back to her reading. “I’m a goddamn angel.”

He snorted and started to relax, taking advantage of every second of those ten minutes to unwind after the long goddamn fucking ass long ass bitch of a day.

Chapter Text

The entertainment for the day came early in the shift that morning. Connor was acting just…a little weird. Not a concerning level of weird, but more like the kind that the rest of the squad noticed and all telepathically agreed not to point out…because Connor acting weird was always fun to watch. That was normally because he thought he was real subtle about it, and maybe in a room full of people who weren’t cops, that might be true. As it was, the bullpen was full of cops, and so they noticed.

Today’s round of “What the Hell is Connor doing?” was an easy solve. Connor clearly had a spot on his back that was bothering him, but he didn’t have the dexterity to reach a hand back to remedy it. Now, Chris had never heard of an android having any kind of itch, but considering the miles of wiring and sensors running under their skin, picking up every little external stimulus, it wasn’t an outlandish thought.

How the crap else did you explain why Connor kept shifting side to side in his chair, rubbing his back against the mesh frame of the chair? That method clearly wasn’t working, and he changed tactics, pulling on the fabric of his jacket at the shoulder and down by his hips, trying to provide enough back and forth friction to scratch whatever itch was ailing him.

“I swear,” Tina was leaning against Chris’s desk, nursing a coffee and watching the show as much as he was, “I have seen androids contort themselves in ways that make me want to call a priest…but Connor can’t reach one spot on his own body? Isn’t he supposed to be the fanciest one ever made?”

Chris snorted with a shrug. “We all have our limitations. Even androids, I guess.”

“…Is he aware that ‘back scratchers’ exist for this very purpose?” Tina mused.

“If he doesn’t, I’m not telling him—Oh, he’s improvising,” Chris pointed out.

They both watched Connor rummage in his desk, procuring a standard metal ruler. He seemed to be contemplating the appropriateness of running the thing down the back of his shirt to reach the elusive spot. Across the desk, Hank was sitting in silent judgment, pretending to work as he watched Connor drive the struggle bus just like Chris and Tina were.

Connor’s programming seemed to come to the conclusion that using the ruler as a back scratcher wasn’t acceptable behavior…but repeatedly trying to reach an arm back at increasingly awkward angles was. Again, the dude was just a little weird. The other cops telepathically closed ranks again; ain’t nobody who was gonna offer to help with this one. Connor was going to have to swallow his pride and ask…or continue to suffer. If he was betting, Chris would have put money on Connor electing to just suffer instead of asking for—

“Julia, help me.”

Well, shit.

The ST300 was delivering mail to Hank’s desk, and she paused at the request. She still had a full cart of deliveries to make around the office; whatever Connor was asking for help with, it had to be important if it was to delay her work, right?

“With what?” she asked slowly.

Connor had the decency to look sheepish for a split second before he slumped in his seat. “I’ve got a spot on my back that itches, and I can’t reach it.”

Julia stared at him in disbelief.

He stared back at her apologetically.

She stared back at him.

He stared back at her.

Chris, Tina, and Hank stared.

Ben’s straw started sucking air out of his soda can, where he was sitting at his desk, also staring.

“Seriously?” she finally said. “Aren’t you supposed to be flexi—“

“Yes, I’m aware, I’m a sham—“ he babbled, trying to rush through this awkward exchange. “Can you just—Or not—“

“Sham is a strong word,” Julia snorted and stepped around the cart. “Fine, fine…Where?”

“Just…right under the left shoulder blade, and in a little—“

Julia hesitated and then put her hand where about he seemed to direct her. “There?”

“Yes, slightly higher, it—“

Julia started to scratch her synthetic fingernails over the spot, and Connor’s voice staticked slightly. He bowed forward a bit, curving his back to give her more real estate, and some unholy noise groaned out of him.

“Right there,” he mumbled tightly.

Tina’s hand shot out and grabbed Chris’s shoulder. “Oh my Jesus Chris, what’s happening?”

From where Chris was at, he could see Connor’s eyes practically rolled back in his head at the sensation. Hell, Chris could empathize with the sweet, sweet relief of finally getting a good scratch on an elusive itchy spot. It was damn near euphoric. It was also damn uncomfortable to watch someone else go through…especially someone as normally composed as Connor. Chris swore to God, he looked like he was on the verge of kicking his leg out like a dog getting its belly rubbed.

Julia looked equally alarmed but also amused maybe even…charmed by the reaction?

Well, weird attracts weird, he supposed.

Connor finally let out a sigh, rolling his neck and shoulders. Taking that as a cue, Julia retracted her hand and moved back around his desk to her mail cart.

“Better?” she asked, eyebrows high.

Connor looked freed now that the situation had been remedied, and he flashed her a smile.

“Yes, thank you, Julia.”

“Any time I, uh, guess?”

Chris leaned forward, cupping his hands around his mouth. “That was uncomfortable for all of us.”

Connor startled slightly, as though abruptly realizing that there were other people around, and Julia took her cart and made a beeline for the elevator to escape the scene. Tina snorted and folded her arms, watching her scurry away.

Hank sat back in his seat with a grin. “Yeah, that was fucking weird, Connor. I have never seen you make that face before. It looked like you saw God or something.”

Connor shrunk a bit, self conscious. “That spot has been bothering me all morning—“

“Oh believe me, we noticed,” Tina snickered.

Connor glared at her slightly. “Well, now it’s done, so we can all move on.”

Chris shook his head as Person returned from the bathroom, moving back to her desk. He clicked his pen a few times, eying Connor.

“I dunno, man, you looked like you were reeeeally enjoying that.”

“Enjoying what?” Person asked innocently.

“Please stop this line of joke making,” Connor pleaded.

Tina did not honor his request. She looked over at Person. “Julia did something to Connor with her hand, and he saw God.”

Person choked on her own air, coughing and grabbing her desk for purchase. “Wh-what?”

Hank recoiled. “Ugh, why did you have to phrase it like that?”

“Because it sounds so hilariously gross!” Tina cackled.

Connor appeared to be mortified, looking to Person. “I had an itch—“

“Oh, Julia scratched your itch all right,” Chris joined in on the teasing.

Person looked increasingly horrified and curious.

“Don’t worry.” Hank waved a hand at her. “I think it was good for Julia too.”

Connor slumped down at his desk, face turning blue as thirium rushed to his head. “I hate all of you.”

Chapter Text

Hank couldn’t have explained what exactly made him wake up at…aw fuck…at 5:15 am on a Saturday. But if there was one thing he’d learned, it was that he never just woke up out of a dead sleep for no reason. On a good day, it was just because of a leg cramp or his brain remembering that he’d left the stove on. On a bad day, it was nightmares, either his own or Connor’s. Somehow, some old, rusty instinct of his had gotten tuned into the specific silence of the house whenever Connor was awake and restless. And that old instinct had rustled him awake now.

So, with a groan and a sigh, he laboriously hauled himself upright and out of bed. The sun wasn’t even thinking about coming up yet, so the house was dark, and that specific silence had saturated the air. Hank made it a few steps to the bedroom door before the silence was interrupted, and he recognized the plinky, plunky tune of that little snow globe that Connor had gotten around Christmas time last year. It was an old, wind up, antique thing, and Hank had never quite gotten a straight answer out of him as to where it had come from or why he had it. The thing only really made appearances when Connor was feeling blue and looking for a pick-me-up. It made it even more of a dead giveaway that something was wrong this morning.

Hank shuffled down the hallway, rubbing sleep from his eyes with his thumb and index finger and making just enough noise to let his friend know that he was coming. Under the guise of getting something out of the kitchen to drink, Hank lumbered in and cracked open the fridge, taking his time and plucking out a bottle of water.

The form on the couch was still, and the yellow of Connor’s LED was constant, glowing in the darkness of the living room. Hank swallowed a sigh and picked his way into the living room, twisting the cap off the bottle of water and taking a sip. He glanced at the couch.

Connor was lying on his side, one arm bent beneath the pillow under his head, the other arm holding the blanket wrapped around his middle. His eyes were half open, lazily watching the little snow globe on the coffee table in front of him. Sumo was curled up in his bed in front of the TV, but his eyes were open and his ears were up at the tinny sound of the music coming out of the globe.

“Can’t sleep?” Hank greeted quietly, folding his arms over the back of the recliner.

Connor just hummed in response, not moving.

Ruh-roh. Looked like a nasty one.

“Need to talk about it?” Hank asked.

A negative hum.

“WANT to talk about it?” Hank rephrased his question.

Another quiet negative noise.

Hank took another sip of water, listening to the music of the snow globe start to slow down. Connor looked exhausted, like he hadn’t even started any kind of rest cycle. Hank frowned and fiddled with the plastic bottle in his hands.

“Want some company?” he offered.

Connor didn’t grunt anything positive or negative, but his eyes flitted away from the snow globe, to Hank, and back…and that was really all the answer Hank needed.

“You don’t…have to,” Connor murmured.

Well, of course Hank had to if Connor was going to sound all pitiful like that…

Hank snorted and stepped around the recliner, slowly sitting down in it and snatching up the spare blanket that was looped over the armrest. He dropped it in his lap, paused, and then leaned forward. He picked up the quiet snow globe off the coffee table. Inside the clear glass was a simple little house nestled on a cliff overlooking a blue sea. A red and white striped lighthouse was posted next to it.

Connor’s eyes followed the globe, and Hank gently turned the wind up knob on the side of it. Once it felt wound up enough, he gave it a shake, hit the button on the front to the start the music, and set it back on the coffee table. Wisps of snow swirled through the water in the globe, drifting around the lighthouse on the sea.

Music began to plink and plunk out of the dark base of the globe, and Connor seemed to sink more heavily into the cushions on the couch as it played.

Hank fluffed the blanket out over his legs, pulled the lever on the side of the recliner, and sighed as the chair reclined back to a comfortable angle. He wiggled a bit to settle in, picking up his phone off the side table and blinking at the brightness of the screen.

The yellow glow in the living room cycled over to blue.

“Thank you, Hank,” Connor murmured quietly.

Hank glanced at him, then leaned over off the side of the recliner, just far enough to put his hand on the top of Connor’s head. He wiggled his palm side to side through his hair, gave him a pat, and then leaned back into the recliner.

“Anytime, kid…Maybe one day you’ll tell me how you really got this old snow globe?”

A pause.

“It was a gift from Santa,” Connor replied dryly.

Hank snorted. “Fine, don’t tell me…Try to get some sleep, son.”

Connor let out a relieving sigh, and his eyes gradually drifted closed. Hank resumed looking at his phone, scrolling through the news now that he was awake. By the time the music box in the globe wound down to silence again, Connor was mercifully, finally asleep. And yeah, the sun would be up soon, but the blinds were shut and the curtains drawn, so maybe he’d actually get some rest.

At any rate, Hank wasn’t going to be the one to wake him, so he got comfortable on the recliner, prepared to waste the morning cozied up in the living room with his phone. That’s what days off were for, after all.

Chapter Text

May 2030

Hank arrived home late that night as usual, dragging his feet and trying to be quiet. He hated working these late shifts; Cole was always asleep by the time he got home, and Nell was always too exhausted herself to do more than pass him in the hallway like a ship in the night.

Tonight didn’t seem much different. Most of the lights were out, and the house was quiet…except for the small light under Cole’s nursery door, and the soft sound of Nell’s voice on the other side.

“The other night, dear, while I lay sleeping,” she was singing softly over the sound of the baby fussing. “I dreamed I held you in my arms…”

Hank slowed to a stop in the hallway, nudging the door open just enough to peer inside. Nell was leaning over the crib with one arm on the rail. Her other hand was reaching in, comforting their son back to sleep.

“When I awoke, dear, I was mistaken, and I hung my head…and I cried.”

Hank leaned against the door frame, soaking in the moment with a tired smile. His exhaustion felt suddenly very far away as he took in the sight of his little family.

May 2040

The rain continued to fall heavily over Detroit that night, but Jericho’s work at the android scrapyard continued. Nicknamed the Breathing Graveyard, the old scrapyard of discarded androids had been in the process of being excavated since the revolution. Markus remembered too well how he had woken up in the mud and the rain, surrounded by his fallen fellows…all just trying to make it through the night, make it through this storm, make it through this turmoil to live another day more.

And every night since Jericho had been coming to this place, the Breathing Graveyard had sung to itself. All of the abandoned androids that were still functional would struggle to harmonize in the gloomy darkness of this place. For years, none of them knew where the song came from or who started it…or how they all decided to turn to it in this time of desolation. All they knew was that it brought them comfort, and that was all the reason they needed to keep singing it.

“You are my sunshine…my only sunshine…”

It never got any easier, and the voices were growing steadily fewer. Markus chose to believe that that was because Jericho had rescued so many from this scrapyard. North often chose to counter that it was because they weren’t saving them fast enough, and the androids were shutting down in their muddy graves.

So every night, Markus, North, Simon, Josh, and every able bodied member of Jericho would return here, trying to save as many as they could, as fast as they could, so long as the song continued to call them there.

“You make me happy when skies are grey…”

On this particular night, they had dug out a record number of their brothers and sisters, and they tended to the survivors in a first aid tent, waiting for ambulances to arrive to transport them to android facilities. Markus watched Simon and Josh scurry from gurney to gurney, helping with the others wherever they were needed most.

North appeared in his periphery, and he turned to look at her. Her eyes were watery, and not only from the rain that soaked everything else. Tonight, the tent was full, and the Breathing Graveyard was slowly becoming empty. More of their kind was getting a second chance and freedom from this pit. She managed a shaken smile, a fragile look of hope in her eyes. He returned it, pulling her into an embrace.

Tonight had been a good night, and as long as the Mama Program was present at the Breathing Graveyard, then Jericho would be too.

May 2041

Hank sat in a chair outside the private patient room in the android care facility. The hallway was quiet, broken only by some clock ticking somewhere and the shuffle of his clothes as his knee jumped anxiously.

He tilted his head back against the wall, losing the battle against the hurricane of thoughts roaring through his brain. It was starting to get late, but he had nowhere else to be. Connor had pulled through, surviving the blown fuses and the emergency repair operations that had come after. Hank could hardly comprehend how relieved and grateful he was for that…God knows the universe had owed him one after taking away everything else…but even this had come with its own conditions.

It was going to be a rough road ahead, but Connor wasn’t going to face any of it alone, not so long as Hank had air in his lungs. He had the whole 07 squad too, and…and he had…he had her.

“You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you…” drifted gently from the gap in the door.

Hank closed his eyes, listening to her sing in the present, hearing her echo from the past. Her voice was the burn and the salve at the same time.

Against his better judgment, but before he could talk himself out of it, Hank leaned sideways in his seat, peering through the gap in the door, into the room.

Connor looked like he was out, lying on the only bed in the room with his eyes shut and his LED cycling a mending yellow. He was on his back, slightly curled toward where Nell was leaning against the side of the bed. Her back was turned toward Hank, but he could see one of her hands holding Connor’s. Her other hand was combing through his hair.

“Please don’t take my sunshine away.”

Hank looked away. He straightened from his leaning and carefully sat back in his seat. He slumped down in his chair, weary down to his bones. He lifted a hand over his eyes, rubbing at his closed eyelids. Everything in him ached.

On the other side of the wall, she continued to sing, and alone in the hallway, Hank continued to sit and listen to her as she comforted the only family that he had left.

Chapter Text

Hugs weren’t usually measured in minutes, but here they were.

Hank hadn’t even really meant to hug Connor at all, but shit, he’d been so relieved to see the guy that he couldn’t help it. The entire city of Detroit had just turned itself upside down and inside out. Hell, they were in the midst of a whole damn paradigm shift. The world today was not what it had been yesterday.

Such a thing should have been surrounded by chaos and…Hell, he didn’t know…riots and parties and all kinds of wild shit. Not this quiet morning, with its unbroken snow surrounding the old Chicken Feed under the overpass. Detroit was reeling; the madness hadn’t hit yet. For now, the city was just trying to catch its breath and digest what had happened. Shit was gonna get really real, really fast, but right now…this morning…he was content with this moment.

A week ago, it had been life as usual. Now…androids were considered to be living beings. They had risen up, executed a whole damn revolution. It opened society up to a whole slew of questions, to be answered by philosophers and lawmakers. A new age was breaking.

In the smaller scheme, a week ago, Hank had hated androids, and he hadn’t thought much of humans either. Well, he still didn’t think much of humans, but for the first time in years, he found himself caring about another soul, and it happened to belong to an android.

It was nucking futs, is what it was.

Connor was trembling.

Hank’s first thought was that it was the cold. Dumbass was only wearing that Cyberlife jacket, not even buttoned up or anything. He instinctively rubbed his hand up and down the android’s back a few times, working up some heat from the friction. It worked, but without any insulated layers, the heat was stolen away almost immediately from the chill hanging in the air. He gave up on that, making do with just resuming his loose hug on the kid.

His second thought was that Connor wasn’t shaking from the core like he would if it had been about the cold. He felt solid as a rock, but the tremors were starting from his extremities and moving in. His hands, up his arms, and into his shoulders were shaking. He was starting to feel a little wobbly too, like the shaking had compromised his knees.

Was he hurt?

No, his LED thing was blue, and Hank hadn’t seen any bloodstains or visible damage when he’d walked up. Connor hadn’t put up any resistance when Hank pulled him in, only moving a little stiffly at first, like he hadn’t ever been hugged before.

Fuck, he probably hadn’t been.

That thought made Hank squeeze him a little closer, and Connor readily let him. Damn, if an android could melt, that’s what this one was doing, and it was breaking Hank’s fucking heart. He cupped one hand around the back of Connor’s head, and Connor all but dropped his forehead onto Hank’s shoulder, releasing a deep, shuddering breath.

“Hey,” Hank said lowly, moving his fingers back and forth through the synthetic hair.

Connor held on a little tighter, and Hank smirked, patting him on the back with his other hand.

Damn, when was the last time HANK had been hugged?

Yeah, Connor was stiff and awkward about it, but there was a hungry desperation there that bled through all that. It should have been comical to think about an android being touch starved, but the needy way that Connor was just refusing to let the hug end made Hank fucking nauseas. Hell, they had to be nearing the five minute mark on this one, but Hank abruptly knew that he’d stand out here hugging this kid until the snow melted if that’s what he needed.

If androids were alive, then the first good goddamn thing they needed was a hug. Or at least to be treated gently for the first time in their damned lives. Yeah, Hank knew he was a poor substitute for anything soft or gentle, but Connor had still come here to meet him after the Hell of a night that they had all had.

“Sorry,” Connor mumbled, voice nearly stolen by the breeze.

Hank shook his head, closing his eyes. “No reason for that. Just happy you’re okay, son.”

Connor still made no motion to part from the embrace. “…Happy?”

Hank snorted, sniffled once, and cleared his throat. “Yeah. Right now, right here, I’m happy. I’m goddamn relieved and…proud.”

Confusion came off Connor in a wave, and he finally pulled back. Hank let him go, shoving his hands in his pockets and not bothering to wipe the grin off his face. Connor looked perplexed, but at least the shaking in his hands had stopped. He narrowed his eyes slightly at Hank.

“Why?” he asked, looking deadly serious.

Hank scoffed out a laugh, shifting on his feet. “Shit, give yourself some credit, Connor. You led a whole army to save Jericho…and you’re surprised that people are impressed?”

Connor tilted his head. “I…” He averted his eyes.

“Hey.” Hank leaned over a bit, corralling Connor’s wandering gaze back to him. “You did good.”

Connor seemed to straighten up a bit, and some new light kicked on in his eyes at the small praise. “I just…did what I thought was right…”

Hank chuckled and went in for a second hug. He hooked one arm around him and yanked him back in again. Connor’s expression remained perplexed the whole way, and Hank just laughed, giving him a harder squeeze than the first one.

“I’m so fucking proud of you.”

He heard Connor suck in air at his words, and a fresh round of trembling broke out across his form. Never been hugged, and probably never been told that he’d done good, not without a ‘but’ or some other detractor, if Hank had to guess.

And so, they were back to another awkwardly long hug, though this time it was Hank who wasn’t letting go first.

Chapter Text

Bert’s Baked Stuffs food truck had a couple of different spots that it manned throughout the week. While Bert’s favorite place to set up shop was a few blocks from the DPD’s 7^th precinct, by far the spot that got him the most business was across the street from Sardonyx, the technology company that had started to fill Cyberlife’s shoes after the megacorp went under after the android revolution. It was pretty much the only reputable place for an android to get service, repairs, maintenance, and all that. But a hospital was a hospital was a hospital, and Bert saw a lot of customers looking for some comfort food to ease their stresses before or after appointments.

Business was good, and good thing too. The downside to cooking and baking with thirium was that it was a fickle compound. Thirium-based edibles only really lasted about a day before they started to chemically separate or turn to mush. Hard candies and chips and hard stuff like that lasted longer, but most of his customers came for the soups, the muffins, the soft chewable things to warm their biocomponents and ease their minds.

What that all boiled down to was that, at the end of each day, if Bert had any perishables left over that wouldn’t make it to tomorrow, he’d donate it to Jericho, where he knew it wouldn’t go to waste. Today’s business had been light. It was a rainy, dreary day; nobody was getting out if they could help it. So he had quite a chunk of inventory left. Jericho would get some good treats today, he thought with a chuckle.

Throughout the day, he had spotted a familiar face lingering across the street. Bert hadn’t taken Connor for the “loiter in the shadows” type…The RK800 had always been polite and quick to say hello, and Bert had never seen him near the food truck without stopping to get something. But he’d figured there was a first time for everything, and Connor was clearly distracted.

Except…throughout the day, as Bert spotted the android more frequently, he noted that he was always alone, never venturing far from one spot on the sidewalk, and always just staring across the street at the Sardonyx building. He was out of uniform, which was also unusual, and something about him was just…off.

It wasn’t until Bert saw him again, while he was closing up shop for the day, that he came to a conclusion.

That wasn’t Connor.

Now, he’d heard that Connor was the only RK800 out there, but he’d also heard that Tupac was still alive and the moon landing was a hoax. Either way, it wasn’t really his business. This other android clearly didn’t want to be bothered, but something was clearly bothering him.

And…well Hell, if there was one thing Bert knew how to do, it was feed androids when they were feeling down.

So he set aside a little container of thirium-watermelon chunks…currently his most popular item on the menu, and as soon as he was done closing down for the day, he climbed down out of the truck and took a few steps over to the guy, container in hand.

“Hey, buddy,” he greeted casually, very aware that he himself was a large man, and what with the beard and the bald head and the tattoos, that he came across as intimidating sometimes.

The Not-Connor who looked over at him, however, appeared less intimidated and more just startled that someone was taking note of him. Closer now, Bert could definitely tell that, yup, this dude wasn’t Connor. He was standing too stiff, and his eyes were blue instead of brown.

“Hello,” the android greeted, his tone chilly but not unfriendly enough to put off Bert.

“You been standing out here about as long as I been selling today,” Bert went on.

“That isn’t a crime,” was the curt response.

Bert bobbed his head. “No, it ain’t…So…you waiting on somebody?”

“That’s my business, sir.”

Bert smiled warmly. “So it is. Well, I don’t want to pester you, since you’re busy with your business, but...I’m closing down for the night and had this left if you, uh, had the munchies.”

He held out the container. The android’s eyes snapped to the container like it was a bomb, and he made no motion to take it.

“My thirium levels are within normal parameters. I don’t require replenishment.”

“Don’t think I didn’t notice you watching some of my customers wolfing this stuff down all day,” Bert smirked, wiggling the container in his hands. “C’mon, it’s gonna go bad if I can’t get rid of it today.”

“I don’t…have money,” the android said slowly, glancing at Bert, the container, Bert, and back to the Sardonyx building across the street.

“I’m not selling it to you, son, I’m just plain old giving it to you.”

The android stared at him again, blue eyes slightly narrowed. “Why?”

“Because you look like you could use something nice today, and this here has been pretty popular,” he said, wiggling the container again.

The android continued to stare, paused, seemed to internally debate himself, and then finally reached out for the box. His hand came out slowly at first, only to quickly snatch the container away like a cat snatching a toy. He took a step away from Bert, carefully opening the container and inspecting its contents. Bert put his hands in his pockets, watching with idle amusement as the android picked up one of the little, squishy chunks.

“What is the purpose of this?” the android asked, eying Bert curiously as he slipped the bite into his mouth and started to chew.

Bert shrugged. “Got a friend who said thirium tasted bad, said she was jealous of humans getting to eat so many different foods and flavors. Figured I’d try my hand at making thirium food, and…I guess I’m pretty good at it.” He chuckled, then genuinely laughed at the expression on the android’s face.

As he started to chew on the watermelon, his eyes had blown wide at the texture, the taste, the sensation of eating something that didn’t taste like regular old thirium. It was the face of somebody who’d never had anything different, and Bert felt that familiar warm bubble in his chest as he watched the android experience something yummy for the first time.

“Like it?” he asked, though he could read the answer on the guy’s face.

“This is—“ The android chewed, swallowed, and immediately went in for another piece from the container. “This is quite good.”

“Good,” Bert said, bobbing his head. “Enjoy the whole thing. And hey, I’m here every week, Thursdays usually, so if you’re in the neighborhood, swing by and I’ll hook you up with something.”

The android paused in his contented snacking, looking at Bert again. “I told you, I don’t have—“

“Bah, I don’t care about money.” Bert waved a hand. “I didn’t open a food truck to strike it rich, buddy.”

The android stared at him, chewing slowly as he analyzed the human. He swallowed again, and the suspicion in his eyes eased slightly.

“Thank you…” He glanced past Bert to the food truck, emblazoned with “Bert’s Baked Stuffs” on the side. “…Bert.”

Bert inclined his head. “You’re welcome…?” He raised his eyebrows expectantly.

The android frowned, looked down into the remains of the container, then shyly looked to Bert again. “My name is Coda.”

“Well, you’re welcome, Coda,” Bert reiterated, offering a hand to shake. “Nice to meet you.”

Coda paused, looking at his watermelon-slicked fingers. He looked apologetically to Bert. Bert snorted and closed his hands in a fist, holding out his knuckles instead. Coda’s posture imperceptibly relaxed, and he did the same, reaching out and lightly touching his knuckles to Bert’s in a substitute for a handshake.

“I’ll see you around?” Bert said, taking a step back to return to his truck.

Coda looked contemplatively down into the container in his hands. He glanced briefly at Bert again. “Perhaps.”

By the time Bert got into his truck and looked back at the sidewalk, Coda had vanished. Bert started up the engine and aimed his tires toward Jericho. He had a feeling he’d see the guy again, and maybe he’d start keeping a little watermelon set aside for him…just in case.

Chapter Text

Julia had been out of it all day.

After striking one of the human officers from the 3^rd precinct, the ST300 had been required by some outdated DPD policy to submit to a facility for troubleshooting. While there, apparently she had elected to have her thirium pump recalibrated after tests showed it to be slightly out of alignment. Now, Person had heard that recalibrations sucked major ass, and that was mostly from Zeke’s bellyaching after getting his knee joints recalibrated last month. Having your ‘heart’ adjusted? That had to suck so much worse.

And the stubborn android had refused to take a sick day, despite clearly being miserable. Person and the others had watched her shuffle around trying to keep up her normal work pace, and to her credit, she lasted until mid-afternoon. From her vantage point at her desk, Person had watched Julia quietly succumb to the achy soreness in her chest, lying on the couch in the break room for “just a second.”

As it turned out, “just a second” was now pushing ten minutes. Person remained at her desk, the only one with the right angle to see into the break room from the bullpen besides Ben, who was out at a scene at the moment. Everybody had just decided to steer clear of the break room and give Julia space while she took a break. Well…almost everybody.

It had taken Connor all of two seconds to beeline into the break room as soon as he got wind that Julia was under the weather, light headed and achy. The throw-down between the 07 and the 03 last week was still fresh on all their minds, and some of their permanent records. And Person knew Connor, knew that he was blaming himself. Julia had only gone to the facility because she struck one of those 03 shitheads. She’d only done that because one of them had been harassing Connor. Connor had barely been back on desk duty at the time, still mending from a recent injury in the field and not really up to defending himself. So Julia’s fist had done it instead, and now they were both still just a little fucked up for it. Never mind that Connor had only earned the human officer’s ire because the guy had been harassing Julia to begin with, and Connor had intervened.

They were both idiots, Person thought warmly.

From where Person was sitting, she could see Julia curled up on her side on the couch in the break room, arms wrapped around her middle and her face pinched in discomfort. Connor was kneeling down in a squat beside the couch, bending to her eye level and speaking quietly to her. He had his elbow propped on the arm rest, letting his hand hang down so his palm was at the crown of her head. His fingers were gently shifting side to side through her hair in a comforting gesture. He looked more torn up about the situation than Julia was from where Person was sitting.

Person felt a little weird being a spectator to the suffering without doing something about it. So she hauled herself out of her chair, crossed the hall, and slipped stealthily into the break room, closer to the fridge. She quietly rummaged in the cabinets looking for a hot water bottle. None were to be found, and she huffed in frustration, straightening up.

“—Just a few minutes left in my break, and then I’ll be right as rain,” Julia was saying from the couch.

“Julia…” Connor’s tone was slightly exasperated. “You should go home and rest.”

“I can finish my shift—“

“You’re being stubborn.”

“Oh, now THAT is rich coming from you, buddy boy.”

Person stifled a snort, glancing over her shoulder. Julia had a snarky grin on her face, but it cracked into a grimace. She curled a little more tightly around her chest, and Connor instinctively leaned closer to her with a sigh.

“You’re hurting—“

“Yep,” was the quick confession.

“I’m so sorry—“

“Connor, if you apologize to me one more time, I will beat your ass.”

That got a snort out of him. “Not a very effective threat given your current condition.”

Person gave up, closing the cabinets and turning around. Abruptly, there was Gavin, near the other entryway to the break room. He was levelling Person with a stare, and there was a brick heating compress in his hand. She stared back, quirking an eyebrow. He frowned, glanced at Julia, glanced back to Person, and then lobbed the brick at her. She caught it and looked at him again in question. He just scowled and shuffled away back toward his desk, muttering under his breath about being surrounded by idiots.

She wasn’t quite ready to forgive him for his part in all this mess, but the compress in her hands certainly didn’t lose him any points. She quickly busted the center of the brick, working it in her hands until it became malleable. The gel inside began to heat up, and she wrapped one of the little kitchen towels around it, carrying it over to the couch. She stepped up behind where Connor was kneeling and nudged him in the back with her knee. When he startled and glanced back, she held out the compress. He gave her a grateful look and took it from her.

Julia cobbled together a smile to Person. “Thanks,” she said, voice tight from the recalibration aches. “But I’m about to clock back in—“

“You are not,” Connor argued flatly, working the compress a few times in his hands for good measure before handing it to her.

“Don’t try to boss me around,” she snorted, taking the compress without further argument and situating it over the sore spot over the center of her torso.

Connor smirked and cocked his head playfully. “What are you going to do about it?”

Julia grimaced, squinting one eye shut and taking an even breath. As the little flicker of discomfort passed, she glared playfully at him. “I could guilt trip you.”

Connor’s expression fell. “Please don’t…”

Person smothered a grin with a hand over her mouth, straightening up and patting him on the shoulder. She looked to Julia. “He wouldn’t survive that, Jules. Have mercy.”

“Bah,” Julia scoffed, shifting slightly on the couch. “Fine. You get to live another day.”

Connor smirked, but it didn’t reach his eyes. His shoulders sagged with guilt regardless.

“Maybe you should go home,” Person suggested to her. “This is what sick time is for.”

Julia stared at her, blinked, and then smirked, opening her hand in a gesture toward Connor. “But I don’t get service like this at home.”

Connor huffed at her and then looked up at Person. He looked unsure whether to keep pushing about Julia going home or to drop it. Person put her hands on her hips, lifting her shoulders in a shrug. Julia gave another pained shudder, and he was immediately distracted.

“What do you need?” he offered.

“Just…just gimme a second,” she mumbled. “I’ll be fine in a second.”

Person felt awkward idling where she was, and, seeing as she had done her part to try and help, she took an exiting step backward.

“Feel better, Julia,” she said. “If you need anything, just let this guy know.” She nudged her knee against Connor again.

It was meant as a joke, but Connor nodded in serious agreement. Damn, Person knew guilt was a powerful motivator, but she hadn’t seen it in such a concentrated form in a while.

She took her leave of the scene, backing out of the break room…only to nearly bump into Fowler, who was standing in the hallway, frowning at the two androids.

“Captain,” she greeted, stepping out of his way.

“How’s she doing?” Fowler asked bluntly.

From the break room, Person heard Connor quietly ask, “Thirium? I can get thirium if you need it. There’re flavoring packets here too…Which kind do you want? What do you need?”

“I need,” Julia said slowly with a smile, “for you to chill out…but I’ll take some raspberry flavored thirium if we have any—“

Connor scrambled backwards, popping up on his feet and darting over to the fridge: a man on a mission.

Person smirked, folding her arms and looking at her captain. “I think she’s in good hands.”

Chapter Text

Tina, Wilson, Chris, Ben, and Person all stood at Wilson’s desk, arms folded and all simultaneously staring at both the clock on the wall…and Connor’s empty desk.

“Wait for it…” Tina drawled.

The second hand on the clock hit the twelve, marking the top of the hour and the official start of the shift.

“Eight o’clock,” she snapped. “Connor is officially late for the first time ever.” She swiveled to look at the others. “All right, let’s do this. Who’s got theories?”

Chris scratched his chin. “His alarm didn’t go off.”

Tina rolled her eyes. “His alarm is in his actual brain, Chris. Come on, who wants to take this seriously?”

“Ooh,” Wilson jumped in. “He was kidnapped on the way to work.”

“That’s what I’m talking about,” Tina pointed at him, looking at the others. “Anybody else?”

Gavin wandered over with his second cup of coffee already. “I bet he tucked himself into bed too tight and got stuck.”

Ben snorted. “Maybe he fell into another dimension where he’s the human and WE are all androids.”

“Ooh,” they all crooned thoughtfully at that.

Apollo, assigned to work with Wilson that day, approached alongside Gwen, and his expression was stern.

“It’s eight o’clock, and our shift has started,” he remarked. “What is going on?”

Person unfolded her arms, hooking her thumbs in her belt and looking at him. “Detective Connor Steven Anderson is a few minutes late, and we’re all trying to guess why.”

“Ooh, we’ll play,” Gwen said, rubbing her hands together as she thought. “He’s currently…rescuing the mayor…from a feral cat.”

All of them stared at her in bewilderment.

Apollo tilted his head. “My guess is he’s in line at the…bank.” He paused, expression remaining as deadpan as ever. “This is fun.”

“Lieutenant Anderson is late all the time,” Wilson shrugged. “They ride together, so Connor’s probably just late because the lieutenant is chronically late.”

“I’m right HERE,” Hank announced himself, very plainly sitting at his desk. “Fuck you guys.”

Tina snickered with a smug look. “All very good theories, but you’re all wrong. Our dear Connor has obviously slipped through a subway grate and has been adopted by a tribe of mole people.”

All of the bewildered stares shifted from Gwen to Tina.

Further theorizing was interrupted as Connor came skittering through the door into the bullpen. He had his head down, clearly trying to slip in to work unnoticed…only to be highly noticed as the rest of the squad stood at Wilson’s desk, staring at him.

“There he is!” Tina drew further attention to the android. “Connor! Where have you been? We have been worried sick!”

Connor pulled up short, eyes wide and looking slightly off kilter from running late: something that clearly went against all of his professional protocols and was nearly causing him to glitch out. Upon seeing the squad staring at him expectantly, he tensed further, staring back at them.

“Do you care to explain yourself?!” Tina demanded.

Connor huffed and took off his outer jacket, draping it on his chair. “I’m only 70 seconds late. It’s not a big deal. Don’t worry about it.”

“Connor,” Ben used his rare Superior Officer Voice, folding his arms and looking sternly at him. “You will tell us, and you will tell us NOW.”

Connor looked rattled by Ben’s tone and the others’ concern, and he shifted awkwardly at all the attention. He looked to Hank for help and received none. Hank was kicked back in his chair, eyebrows up and equally curious. Connor deflated and gave a resigned sigh, turning back and sheepishly addressing Ben.

“There was a problem at the bank—“

Apollo abruptly clapped both of his hands together and pumped one fist in the air. “HOT DAMN!” he bellowed.

Chapter Text

Connor was familiar with the phrase “walking on air,” but all of his knowledge was in a technical sense. He had never seen it in action…until today.

The last he had seen Polly, she was leaving River’s Restaurant, accompanied by another android named Ember. The two had apparently been somewhat courting each other recently, and it had come to a head the previous night. Connor, among many other patrons, had witnessed firsthand as Polly had serenaded the large, retired firefighter model android with a karaoke song. It had been…quite a show, and without a doubt the most memorable time of the evening…which was somewhat disheartening, as Connor had been on a date of his own when it all went down.

At any rate, this morning, Polly had so far been humming to herself, floating dreamily from station to station in her duties. She had a faraway look on her face and a grin constantly curving her lips, and her good mood was infecting everyone in the bullpen.

“Good morning, Polly,” Connor greeted her as she swept by.

“Hi Connor,” she smiled in return. “It’s such a beautiful day, isn’t it?”

Connor paused, blinked, and looked to the window, where the rain had been lashing against the glass for an hour. He looked back to Polly.

“I guess?”

“You know what else is beautiful?” she said, inviting herself to sink into the chair beside his desk.

Connor watched her with a mix of confusion and concern. “Um…”

“Ember…” Polly murmured the other’s name.

Now...Connor was only barely acquainted with Ember. She was a stern, brash, cynical android with a chip on her shoulder and a snarky attitude. She lived with another android and a human roommate in a family home in the suburbs, which he only knew because the 07 received frequent calls from her neighbors complaining about her. She wasn’t violent or even particularly aggressive, but she did have a habit of keeping her skin program deactivated and refusing to wear clothes to cover the exposed plastic of her chassis.

Her model hadn’t been designed to be ‘beautiful.’ She had been designed to be big and strong and sturdy. She was nearly seven feet tall and a first generation firefighting model, a model line that had been decommissioned and replaced almost immediately with smaller models with greater agility. It had something to do with her model being too big and bulky, despite being built to be strong enough to move heavy debris and dig out survivors…but her model wasn’t fast enough to navigate burning structures quickly because of it.

And thanks to being completely naked, it was obvious that she had served her time in the field. Several points on her plastic casing were puckered and malformed from prolonged exposure to heat. There was a sizable dent over where her collar bone would be on her left side, and numerous scuffs and scrapes had become permanent fixtures on her knees and chest. Her model must have predated the more sophisticated healing programs, leaving her with battle scars.

But…it seemed that another human phrase was being given visual context today.

Beauty was in the eye of the beholder. And it seemed that Polly was the only beholder that mattered here.

“You…sound like you had an enjoyable evening after leaving River’s,” Connor said, opening the door to conversation since she clearly wanted to talk about it.

“I did,” Polly said, sitting back in her chair and grinning. “We went for a long walk in the park a few blocks away from there…Just talking for hours…about my job, her hobbies, her roommates, the Wilsons, the revolution, Jericho…We stopped at this place that had thirium ice cream and we both got brain freezes. She told me all kinds of stories about her time at the fire station, and…and oh, she kept doing this cute little thing where she taps her fingers on her knees when she’s thinking and…”

Again…Connor had a vivid memory of Ember borderline threatening him with a chainsaw at one point when he and Chris had gone out to diffuse a situation. A neighbor had complained about her being ‘naked’ while she did some woodworking project in the driveway of her home. She had not been very receptive to his or Chris’s suggestions to wear clothes. Not exactly what Connor would call ‘cute.’

“—and her eyes are so green, I swear they glow in the dark,” Polly was going on, hands clasped together under her chin as she stared off toward the wall.

“Well I’m…glad you had a good time—“

“We’re going out again tonight,” Polly said with a giddy bounce in her seat. “There’s an outdoor theater performance at the park, and we’re going to see it together. I’m counting down the hours.”

“Oh? That’s…I’m happy for you.” Connor felt a twist of confusion and slight panic.

Two dates, two days in a row? Was that normal? It felt fast…His first date with Grace, a medical android whom he had crossed paths with not long ago, had gone…fine. He thought it was a perfectly adequate first date…He hadn’t…actually considered when or what a second date would be. He had been too anxious about making sure the first one went well. Grace hadn’t said either way, but…she certainly hadn’t left their date walking on air like Polly was now…Then again, Connor hadn’t either.

“She’s just so…wonderful.” Polly was practically melting in her seat. She paused, registered Connor staring at her, and she straightened back up with a grin. “Sorry, here I am going on and on about how MY date went…How did things go between you and…uh…”

“Grace—“

“Grace!” Polly snapped her fingers and pointed at him. “That’s right. She’s cute. Did, uh, did the rest of your date go well?”

“You mean after you upstaged me by serenading yourself a date in front of our table?” Connor replied, lifting an eyebrow at her teasingly.

Polly only smiled, refusing to be embarrassed. “Hey, it worked, didn’t it? Sorry I’m romantic as fuck.”

Connor snorted, sitting back in his seat and folding his arms. “My date was…fine.”

Polly lifted her eyebrows, leaning forward and rolling her hand in a ‘go on’ gesture.

He lifted his shoulders. “We, uh, had dinner and…talked—well, she talked. I didn’t have a lot to say. She said she had a rule about no talking about work related things…but that’s the majority of how I spend my time, so I mostly listened…She is a nurse in the ER at Detroit General Hospital.”

Polly still looked expectant. Connor dug in a little deeper.

“Um…And after that we left the restaurant—“

“Yeah?”

“And I drove her home.”

“…Yeah?”

“…And then I went home. Why are you looking at me like that?” he asked.

Polly snorted. “No reason. No reason at all. That sounds…absolutely fine. So…are you going out again?”

“I don’t…know.”

Polly nodded, opening her mouth to ask another question, but her LED spun a quick yellow. Her face lit up, and she giggled. It didn’t take a detective to guess that she had just gotten a message from a certain someone.

“What is it?” he asked anyway.

Maybe observing the more successful dating habits of his friend could help him improve his own method…even if he wasn’t sure that he even wanted to…It seemed like a thing to do though…Grace was very pretty and intelligent and easy to get along with. Why wouldn’t he want to pursue a relationship with her…aside from the fact that he was not experiencing even a percentage of this strange, giddy reaction that Polly was having. Maybe he just needed to try harder.

“Ember,” Polly answered. “She texted me ‘good morning,’ with a flower emoji. How adorable is that?!”

He wasn’t sure how to answer that.

Then Hank was approaching with that look in his eyes that said they were being sent out to a crime scene. Connor had never been grateful for crime, but he was grateful for the escape from this conversation with Polly.

“Well, good luck with that, Polly,” he said, standing and pushing his chair in. “I’ll talk to you later.”

“Sure.” Polly was already distracted, her LED spinning as she sent a reply message to Ember.

As she stood and drifted back to work, Connor still wasn’t entirely sure what “walking on air” was supposed to feel like, but Polly clearly had a very thorough understanding.

He watched her as he followed Hank out of the bullpen, frowning slightly at his own grounded foot falls.

What was he doing wrong?

Chapter Text

The investigation into a recent string of anti-android gang-related violence had brought Ben and Connor to interview Caesar Tully, the elderly keeper of a local butterfly sanctuary, about his missing android friend, a PJ500 named Zach. Well, Ben was conducting the interview. Connor had popped off to run reconnaissance on the sanctuary grounds for anything that might be of use to the investigation.

The enclosure of the sanctuary let in an abundance of natural light, and the interior was dripping with greenery, small water ponds, and dirt walking paths meandering throughout. Swarms of brightly colored wings would flutter by occasionally, and Ben had had to resist the instinctual urge to swat away anything that landed on his person.

“Had Zach had prior run-ins with this local gang?” Ben asked, tablet and stylus in hand and taking notes on everything Caesar said.

The older man shook his head, hands clasped behind his back. “Not any more than anyone else in this neighborhood. Those brutes have been menacing androids around here since before the revolution. I warned him to be careful and keep his head down. The gang around here likes to target androids that are the same models as the leadership of Jericho.”

Ben frowned as he wrote. “Thank you, sir. If you think of anything else, please let us know.”

“Zach is a gentle soul,” Caesar stated as Ben put away his tablet. “Without his help, I wouldn’t have been able to keep this place running as well as it is. Please find him.”

“We are doing everything we can, sir.” Ben glanced around. “Now, uh, did you see which way my partner went?”

Caesar looked down one of the pathways. “I believe he was headed toward the Monarch room.”

“Thanks,” Ben nodded and started down the path.

There were markers along the way pointing him in the right direction, and it didn’t take long to find Connor.

“What the—“ Ben came to a stop.

Connor was kneeling near the edge of the path, one hand reaching out and gently holding the leaf of a nearby bush between his fingers. He had that glazed look in his eyes that told Ben he was running an analysis on the plant. Whether out of curiosity or for the case, Ben had learned that the line was very blurry with Connor. He was curious about everything.

What BEN was curious about, at the moment, was the fact that a dozen Monarch butterflies had turned Connor into their personal landing zone. They were lit on his shoulders, his back, and in his hair. Their bright orange and black wings stood out vibrantly, and there was no way that Connor was not aware of them.

“Connor!” he called out. “What are you doing?”

He tried to make his voice stern like Hank’s, but it cracked at the end with amusement.

Connor turned, still kneeling, and released the leaf. The branch bounced back to its original position, and Connor slowly stood up, careful not to disrupt the butterflies perched on him.

“I thought that perhaps some of the plants in this facility might be seen as valuable to the anti-android gangs. They often align themselves with red ice cooks, and I wondered if Zach was made a target due to his proximity to plants used in illegal drug manufacturing.”

Ben was finding it difficult to keep a straight face, but he managed. An android covered in butterflies discussing the interworkings of a crime syndicate…That was one for the books.

“And?” he prompted.

Connor’s shoulders slumped slightly. “No matches.”

One butterfly on his shoulder detached and, ruffled by the movement of his shrug, angrily fluttered in a circle around his head before perching on his ear instead.

Ben pursed his lips hard at the sight, sighed, and turned around, heading back down the path toward the sanctuary entrance.

“All right, well, nothing ventured, nothing gained. I got Mr. Tully’s statement. Let’s head back to the station and see if we can start putting some puzzle pieces together.”

Not hearing movement behind him, Ben paused and looked back.

Connor had not moved, only to hold out his arms and admire the winged creatures landing all over him. Apparently he had decided that since their business was concluded here, he could take a moment to appreciate his surroundings. And crap, Ben could appreciate that, and normally he’d let the kid indulge in this. Unfortunately, time was kinda of the essence, and they needed to get a move on.

“Connor!” he snapped, still unable to completely squash a grin. “Get out of the Disney movie and let’s get going.”

“I don’t…know how to do that,” Connor said sheepishly.

“Just…walk normally, and they’ll take the hint,” he advised.

Connor frowned, hesitated, and then took the advice, lowering his arms and slowly starting to walk toward Ben. Immediately, half of the butterflies took flight, fluttering up and away from him. The other half hung on a little longer, then also began to detach. Connor faltered in his steps, smiling at the flurry of wings that swirled around him once before dispersing into the trees. A giggle may or may not have escaped.

When he finally resumed walking and reached Ben, the human officer was staring at him with an expression between amused and incredulous.

Connor looked at him defensively. “What?”

Ben sighed and finally let a smile come out. “You’re adorable.”

Connor’s expression went deadpan, and he exhaled, keeping his head high as he walked past Ben to return to the car.

“Thank you.”

Chapter Text

Connor couldn’t sleep, and he didn’t know why.

There wasn’t anything in particular on his mind that was keeping his processors active. He had run a self diagnostic, and it had come back clean. There wasn’t any malfunction that was preventing him from entering his normal rest mode cycle. The couch wasn’t any more or less comfortable than any other night. There were no unusual noises or other external stimuli that was keeping him awake.

He just…couldn’t sleep.

He was aware of the human condition of insomnia, but he had never heard of an android suffering from it without a clear error or malfunction being the cause. And as the hours ticked by in the quiet house, stretching into the early morning hours, the whole situation was becoming annoying. Hank and Sumo were both sleeping away, and so Connor was reluctant to get up and do anything that might disturb them. So he remained on the couch, rolling from his back to his side to his stomach to his other side, trying to find a way to trick his system into relaxing and entering rest mode.

No luck.

With a sigh, he closed his eyes and pulled up the group chat that had been established among all of the androids at the 07. He had most recently accessed the chat two days ago, but there had been plenty of activity since then…and a conversation was currently underway now.

Connor paused, opening his eyes in confusion. What were any of them doing awake at this hour?

Maybe for the same reason that he was awake at this hour. He really didn’t have room to judge.

He closed his eyes again, seeing that Zeke and Gwen were both online…and locked in a heated argument.

<Connor has joined the chat>

Zeke: Hey, Connor’s here!

Gwen: Thank rA9. Finally a third party to weigh in. Connor, put an end to this debate for us.

Connor: Three o’clock in the morning is not a reasonable time to have a debate.

Zeke: And yet here we are…debating.

Connor sighed and scrolled up through some of the previous text, trying to get some context for whatever nonsense was about to be asked.

He frowned as he read the base of both sides of the argument.

Oh for the love of…

Gwen: I’m just saying…I don’t care if a tomato is a fruit or a vegetable. It doesn’t belong in a fruit salad.

Zeke: I’m not arguing that! I think we both agree on that statement. BUT, since it IS classified as a fruit, and other fruits…when blended…are considered a fruit smoothie…Does that make ketchup…a smoothie?

Connor: …

Gwen: A smoothie is a beverage! And they make veggie smoothies too! Ketchup is a condiment, like ranch dressing. But ain’t nobody drinking ranch dressing with a crazy straw!

Zeke: I don’t know, Gwen. I’ve seen Officer Chen eat way weirder shit…

Connor: How did this topic even come up?

Zeke: Bert’s food truck had smoothies this week. Banana, strawberry, watermelon…Humans drink tomato juice…Why isn’t there a tomato smoothie? Oh wait, there is, it’s called ketchup!

<Apollo has joined the chat>

Connor took a breath of relief. Finally someone with common sense was here.

Gwen: Knowledge is knowing a tomato is a fruit. Wisdom is knowing not to put it in a fruit salad. Philosophy is asking if ketchup is a smoothie…Common sense is knowing that ketchup isn’t a FUCKING SMOOTHIE, YOU NASTY.

<Apollo has left the chat>

Connor snorted, covering his mouth with his hand to stifle the sound.

Zeke didn’t immediately respond, but his indignity somehow entered the atmosphere of the chat.

Gwen: Connor! Weigh in, buddy.

Connor: …Well, you both present compelling arguments.

Zeke: Don’t bullshit us, man. You’ve got the biggest brain of all of us. Use it.

Connor: Ketchup is not a smoothie.

Gwen: AH HA! I TOLD YOU!

Zeke: Oh that’s some bullshit.

<Zeke has left the chat>

Gwen: He’s just a sore loser. Thanks, Connor!

Connor: You’re welcome, I guess.

<Gwen has left the chat>

Um…okay…That was bizarre.

<Polly has entered the chat>

Connor: Hello, Polly. You can’t sleep either?

Polly: IF A FARMER TAKES CARE OF CHICKENS, DOES THAT MAKE HIM A CHICKEN TENDER?!

Connor’s eyes snapped open, and he stared at the ceiling.

Connor: WHAT HAVE YOU DONE.

Chapter Text

Wilson sat back in his seat, fiddling a pen between his fingers as he canvassed the bodies moving around in the bullpen. Tina was crashed in the chair next to his desk, absently squeezing his red stress ball over and over, also scanning the rest of the squad in the room.

“Chris,” Wilson stated.

“Big spoon,” Tina guessed.

Wilson wiggled his head side to side. Yeah, that made sense. “Hank?”

“Big spoon.”

“…Apollo?”

Tina snickered. “I’m gonna go little spoon, because the image is adorable.”

Needless to say, it was a slow day at the 07. Well, it was a slow day for Wilson. Tina was just procrastinating on some paperwork she didn’t want to do. Thus, somehow, they had ended up doing this: guessing which of their co-workers would be the little spoon or the big spoon in bed.

Wilson snorted, clicking his pen and then pointing it to another desk. “Reed.”

“Hm,” Tina stroked her chin. “Starts out as the big spoon. Wakes up as the little spoon.”

Wilson chuckled and spotted Person coming out of the locker room. “What about—“

“Person is a knife,” Tina stated, sliding her eyes elsewhere. “Ben?”

“Starfish.”

“What the fuck?” Tina cackled.

Wilson smirked. “I had to wake him up once on last year’s team retreat. Dude sleeps spread eagle in the middle of the mattress like a starfish.”

Tina threw her head back and laughed. Person was making her way over, holding a handful of mail.

“What’s so amusing?” she asked, dropping the envelopes in Wilson’s bin.

“Hey, I don’t want that,” Wilson said playfully.

“Yeah, well, Connor bent over to pick something up while Julia was within eye shot, so her computer brain got fried, and she messed up the mail. So here,” Person huffed.

Wilson scoffed and shook his head, then abruptly looked at Tina. “Jules.”

“Oh, that is a little spoon if I’ve EVER seen one,” Tina concluded.

Person quirked an eyebrow, and Wilson gestured to the bullpen.

“We’re theorizing on who—“

“Oh, I got it,” Person said, raising a hand to stop him. “You realize that’s fucking weird?”

“Connor,” Tina plowed on, ignoring her.

“Little spoon,” Wilson said, nodding his head. “I bet he likes to be cuddled.”

Person folded her arms, glancing over at the android in question at his desk. “Nah, he’s like a koala bear clinging to a tree when he’s really asleep.”

Both Tina and Wilson swiveled their heads from looking at Connor…to staring at Person owlishly.

She noticed and looked at them. “What?”

“You sound…pretty confident,” Tina remarked.

Person deadpanned. “He crashed at my place after a late night—“

“In your bed?” Wilson pressed.

Person lifted her shoulders. “It’s not that weird. He’s my best friend.”

“You guys weren’t…naked or anything?”

“The fuck, Tina? No, we weren’t naked. He borrowed some clothes to sleep in. The Hell is wrong with you?”

Wilson squinted at her. “So he did technically…get in your pants?”

Person stared at him. “I’m wearing a gun, Wilson.”

Wilson raised his hands in surrender. Tina, however, leaned forward curiously.

“Is Connor a good cuddler?”

Wilson instinctively leaned forward at that, also curious. Person looked from Tina to Wilson and back.

“Yes,” she answered simply. “Like I said, a bit of a koala bear about it, and he snored half the night—“

“He snores!” Tina squealed. “That is precious—“

“Not when it sounds like a tractor barreling through my bedroom,” Person concluded, then shrugged. “But…yeah, he’s kinda precious.”

Wilson shook his head, pointing his pen at her again. “And you wonder why other people think you two have hooked up? It’s shit like this.”

“Oh fuck, abort.” Tina suddenly ducked and rolled out of her chair, vanishing around Chris’s desk to escape as Connor walked over.

“Hello,” Connor greeted suspiciously. “Why do you all keep looking over at me and laughing?”

Person kept her arms folded, half turning to look at him. “They thought it’d be funny to guess who in the squad were big spoons and little spoons in bed.”

“Connor,” Wilson seized the opportunity. “Is Person a big spoon or a little spoon?”

Connor looked bewildered by this line of questioning, but his answer was swift. “She’s a knife.”

Person lifted her chin up, glaring at Wilson and daring him to question that answer.

Wilson just lifted his hands in surrender again. “All right, fine, you win.”

“In what contest?” Connor asked, lifting an eyebrow.

“Don’t worry about it, babe,” Person winked at him. “Love you.”

Connor stared at her, slowly winked back, and smirked, nudging her on the arm before going back to work. “Love you too?”

Wilson spread both hands out, gesturing toward them. “Do ya’ll not HEAR yourselves?”

Chapter Text

The 07 was divided. Battle lines had been drawn. The gauntlet had been thrown, and the challenge accepted. Bets had been placed among all the human officers and androids at the precinct, and today was the day, the day of the Ghost Pepper Challenge.

On one side of the break room table: Gwen, her uniform sleeves rolled up, bouncing on her heels like a boxer amping themselves up in the corner of a ring before a match.

On the other side of the break room table: Julia, dramatically cracking her neck and stretching her arms over her head to prepare for the showdown.

Between them: two bowls of orange-tinted slices of Bert’s thirium-based ghost pepper.

Also jammed into the break room was the rest of the 07, sans Hank and Gavin, who were holding down the fort with Fowler while this nonsense went down.

Polly had custody of packets of coolant mixture, meant to immediately douse the ghost pepper fires burning their mouths if they wanted to bow out. They were roughly the size of ketchup packets and colored a cool blue shade. The rules were: eat as many slices as you can before you tap out or get sick; no cooling measures allowed; no taking breaks or leaving the room or you’d be disqualified. In the event of a tie, a dance off would determine the winner, as judged by Wilson. Tina was manning the table, to keep track of slices eaten. Connor, Ben, Chris, Person, Zeke, and Apollo completed the crowd, with Connor defiantly wearing his Team Gwen paper hat, as she was the defending champion.

“Aaaand…go!” Tina said, making a karate chop motion with her arm at the table surface.

Immediately, Gwen and Julia both picked up their first slices, taking the whole slice into their mouths and chewing furiously.

The heat hit Gwen first, and she choked, facing the ceiling and gasping for air in a “hashashashash” wheezing noise. Julia screwed her eyes shut, shoulders creeping up near her ears as she chewed and forcefully swallowed. She was the first to go for a second slice, and Gwen painfully swallowed, going for the second slice as well.

Tina held her marker board, putting one tally mark under both names.

“Go, go, go, go!” the others cheered.

“C’mon, Gwen, represent!” Zeke called.

“Just swallow!” Polly advised. “Don’t even chew, Jules, just swallow it whole!”

The second slice was easier, as their mouths were already on fire from the first, but come the third…and presumably final…slice, it was anybody’s call on who would prevail.

“I think I can see steam coming out of their ears,” Ben cackled, waving a paper fan in their direction.

Person snickered, arms folded where she stood between Wilson and Chris. “Somebody might want to get Detroit Alpha Facility on standby for an ambulance.”

“I certainly hope you’re exaggerating,” Connor frowned.

Gwen was a patrol cop, designed to be hardy and forceful and brave, to not back down from threats or show weakness. That should have been an advantage. Julia, however, was fueled by the purest form of rage at that Team Gwen hat on Connor’s head.

Julia went for a fourth slice, wavering on her feet slightly, face flushed blue, waiting for Gwen to swallow her third piece, to initiate a fourth round.

Gwen coughed, grimaced, and turned her head to the side. “God, it feels like I’m eating lava.”

“Tappehn outh?” Julia slurred, her tongue not cooperating with her speech, too numbed by the spice.

Gwen glared at her, took a slow breath through puckered lips, and then locked her jaw, swallowing so dramatically that her throat bobbed with the motion.

“Oooh?” the squad crooned, turning to look from Gwen to Julia.

Julia pointed her fourth slice at Gwen, winked, and then popped it into her mouth, aiming to swallow it whole. Gwen looked horrified as Julia braced her hands on the sides of the table, rapidly swallowing and suffering as the ghost pepper juices assaulted her mouth all over again.

“Oooh?” Heads swiveled back from Julia to Gwen.

Gwen breathed harshly for a second, then grimaced and shook her head. “Nope. No, no, I can’t—I’m out.”

“Is that an official tap out?” Tina asked.

Gwen nodded, tapping her palm on the table for good measure before desperately reaching for Polly. “Gimme that coolant. My vision’s going black and white, and I can’t hear on my left side.”

The break room cheered as Polly handed her the packet. Gwen ripped it open with her teeth, rapidly sucking the coolant gel out of it to soothe her burning mouth. Julia pushed down her fourth and final slice, then threw both fists in the air.

“WINNER!” Tina announced, gesturing to her.

“Ah am th’champ’n!” Julia slurred amidst the applause. She then pointed at Connor. “Geh tha’the FUCK OFF yo’head!”

Connor immediately swept the paper hat off his head, tossing it behind him to be forgotten. He beamed and raised his hands, mimicking her stance. “Team Julia!”

“You beh your swee’ass!” Julia smiled, then said, very calmly. “I think ah am pathin’ out—“

She then promptly toppled backwards, her processors overheating from ingesting too much of the volatile food. Behind her, Wilson hastily got a hold of her, steadying her until Person could push a chair under her to sit on.

Connor elbowed his way through the others to reach her, taking Ben’s paper fan and waving it at her face. “Julia? Is she okay?”

Polly cackled and handed over the other coolant packet, and Person opened it for her, helping Julia to swallow it. Julia greedily sucked down the gel, giving Connor a thumb up.

“M’the champ’n,” she mumbled while slumped in the chair, suffering for her new title.

“And an idiot,” Person teased, patting her on the shoulder and looking back at Gwen, also sitting down and being consoled by Zeke and Ben. “You’re both idiots.”

Gwen was working on her second coolant packet, but she grinned and gave Julia a nod of respect. Julia returned it, and Polly, out of coolant, scrounged up a green thirium popsicle from the freezer. Julia eagerly took it, jamming the thing into her mouth and sighing with relief.

Tina looked into the two bowls on the table. “Hey, Connor, we’ve got a few slices left. Anybody want to duel for third place?”

Connor looked at Julia and Gwen, both suffering, and then looked flatly to Tina. “I’ll pass.”

“Smart,” Julia wheezed, swaying like a drunk in her seat. She reached up and patted her hand on his cheek. “Y’re so smart…S’why you’re mah favorite…”

Connor gave her an indulgent smile and then looked seriously to Person. “She’s becoming delirious. We need more coolant.”

Out in the bullpen, as the news of the new reigning champion broke, Gavin begrudgingly forked over money to Hank, as the winner of the bet.

Chapter Text

Hank kept his hands firmly on Connor’s shoulders, steering him as quickly through the bullpen as possible, hugging the wall to try and go unnoticed. Connor was compliant for the most part; he knew that something was wrong. He just couldn’t stop it. The undercover job had been a bust today, and Connor had taken a crowbar to the side of the head for his trouble.

Unfortunately for everyone involved, he had been undercover as ‘Calvin’ again, and whatever damage had been done by that crowbar…he was now…stuck in that mode. Not only was he stuck as Calvin, but that damn Casanova mode had been jacked up to max. The bastard could have seduced a brick wall at the rate he was going.

Hank kicked Person’s desk as they barreled past it, heading for one of the interrogation rooms.

“Get Ben,” he ordered flatly. “Interrogation Room A. NOW.”

His tone left no room for questions, and Person was immediately on her feet, watching Connor and Hank as she hurried over to Ben’s desk.

Hank muscled Connor into the interrogation room, not letting the door close and trap him in there with him. Connor couldn’t help it; his programming was all messed up right now, but…he was going to kill someone if this wasn’t remedied fast.

Connor stumbled a bit as Hank unintentionally shoved him away, and he quickly regained his balance, turning around to face his partner.

“Y’know, I don’t normally like it rough, Lieutenant,” he snickered, putting his hands on his hips and smirking. “But I could make an exception…”

“Sit down and shut up. Ben’s gonna stay with you until I can get the precinct technician in here to fix you.”

Connor raised his hands in surrender, though his smirk remained in place as he sat down. Of course he couldn’t just sit down normally. No, he leaned back in the chair, hooking one arm around the back of the chair and propping his ankles up on the corner of the table. He rolled his shoulder and winked, and Hank rolled his eyes.

He was too old for this shit.

Ben appeared in the doorway, with a concerned Person hovering behind him. “You rang?”

“Can you keep an eye on Casanova in here until I can get a hold of Kevin?”

“Sure, sounds fun,” Ben said with a shrug, stepping into the interrogation room so Hank could escape.

“Hello Ben…Kevin’s a busy man,” Connor remarked, giving full on bedroom eyes to the other officer. “It could be a while…We’ll have to find a way to pass the time.” He quirked an eyebrow and then cocked his head, looking to Hank and Person. “You can go over to the viewing room if you wanted to watch.”

Person squawked, and Hank shoved her out, leaving the room and closing the door behind him. Hank pointed at her.

“Not a word of this to anybody. He’s already going to be humiliated about even me, you, and Ben seeing this. We don’t need the whole squad getting their giggles at his expense.”

Person narrowed her eyes. “Who do you take me for? And where are you going?”

“Viewing room.”

“Oh Jesus—“

“Shut up,” Hank snapped. “I know Ben’s impervious, but I don’t want to leave the poor bastard alone in there for too long with…with…Detective Sexy.”

Person frowned, but she followed him into the viewing room. Hank picked up the phone and dialed the internal number for the technician’s office. He barked at Kevin to grab a bag and get his butt down here. All the while, on the other side of the glass wall, Ben had taken a seat across the table from Connor, arms folded and looking endlessly amused by the android across from him.

“So…are you the good cop or bad cop?” Connor drawled, looking at Ben through his eye lashes.

Ben smiled. “Whichever one you want me to be, baby.”

“Oh fuck, Ben, don’t play along with this,” Hank groaned, feeling embarrassed on Connor’s behalf.

Person’s brow furrowed, and she squinted at the glass. “Why is Ben impervious?”

Connor’s programming latched onto Ben’s response, and his smile turned even more mischievous. He sat forward, elbows on the table, biting one corner of his lip.

“Let’s start with bad cop…Are you bad, Officer Collins?” he crooned.

Ben looked tickled, but he shook his head. “Don’t worry, son. We’ll get the tech in here, and he’ll fix this little glitch.”

Hank hung up the phone, folding his arms uncomfortably. “Ben is as ace as water is wet. Trust me. We’ve worked together for years, and there’s no siren song that can crack him.”

“Connor is unbuttoning his shirt,” Person stated.

“Shit—“ Hank hit the button on the microphone to speak into the other room. “Connor! You cut that shit out! Stop it!”

Connor, already down three buttons, baring his collar bones to the world, flashed the glass a devilish grin. “Come in here and make me, Lieutenant.”

Hank hung his head in defeat, looking at Person. “Can you just—get back out there and keep anybody from getting suspicious? I want to keep this quiet at least until he gets fixed back to normal.”

“You got it,” Person said, nodding and leaving the viewing room.

Watching Connor throw all of his best moves and lines at Ben, Hank ran a tired hand down his face. In the safety of the viewing room, he let a stress relieving laugh escape.

God, that boy was ridiculous. Just when he thought Connor couldn’t surprise him anymore…

He cackled and shook his head, reaching out and hitting the speaker button again.

“Hang in there, guys. Help’s coming.”

Connor winked and made a very provocative gesture in response.

Ben burst out laughing and covered his mouth with his hand, sending Hank a thumb up.

Hank looked at his watch. Goddammit, hurry up, Kevin.

Chapter Text

In the end, Connor lost his jacket and a few buttons on his white dress shirt, but he otherwise remained clothed and cooperative by the time Kevin the precinct technician arrived at Interrogation Room A to perform the de-Calvin repairs.

“Aaand done,” Kevin announced, detaching the external diagnostic cable from the port behind Connor’s right ear. “You are now as romantically awkward as the rest of us again.”

Connor fidgeted in his seat in the interrogation room, his face burning blue as the true horror of the whole situation was beginning to set in on him. Hank, Person, Fowler, and Kevin were not much better, all various shades of blushing red after the past hour of some of the most lewd and innuendo-laced conversations that Hank had ever heard outside of a porno. Ben was lapping it up, thoroughly enjoying everyone’s increasing discomfort, though he had been trying to run intervention, to decrease some of Connor’s current mortification.

“That’s a relief,” Connor mumbled, eyes downcast, not daring to look anyone in the eye. “I’ve never felt so humiliated…”

“You shouldn’t,” Ben said, grinning. “I think you gave everybody else in here a lot of great advice on, uh, pickup lines and hook up spots and…some very interesting suggestions on what you can do with your fingers…”

“Jesus—“ Hank grimaced, turning away.

Person was trying to become one with the wall behind her, and if Fowler had folded his arms any more tightly to his chest, he would have pulled a muscle. Connor just put his face in his hands in horror. Kevin put away his repair supplies and lightly patted him on the head, looking to Fowler.

“He’s all clear to return to work…however, there could be a few residual hiccups leftover from the programming malfunction. They should all work out when his system resets during his rest cycle tonight…but be warned,” he waited until Connor looked up and met his eyes, “you might still have a few spicy comments left in the chamber.”

Connor grimaced and buried his face in his hands again. “That’s unacceptable. I can’t work like this.”

He sounded pitiful, and Fowler exchanged a look with Hank, giving him a nod.

“Well, I think this qualifies as an illness or injury preventing you from performing your duties,” Fowler said, putting a hand on Connor’s shoulder. “Take the rest of the day off. Go home, do your rest cycle thing, and come back fresh tomorrow.”

Connor looked at him, visibly fighting to restrain whatever the residual programming glitch was trying to make him say. Fowler gave him an understanding look, not needing a verbal confirmation.

“Hank, take him home.” He straightened up. “The bullpen should be clear. I told Zeke to cause a distraction so you could make a getaway.”

“Thank you, sir,” Connor mumbled, getting to his feet.

“You got it, Jeffrey,” Hank said, eagerly shuttling Connor toward the door, to get out of here, through the bullpen, and out the back door as quickly as possible.

As soon as he opened the door to the hallway, he could hear heavy bass music coming from the briefing room, along with cheers from the squad inside, most vocally Tina. He held the door open and let Connor duck out first, nearly sprinting across the hallway and into the bullpen to grab his coat and make his escape.

He nearly plowed straight into the only other person left in the bullpen: Julia.

“Whoa, watch it.” Julia sidestepped out of his way, looking at Connor and Hank on his heels. “You almost bumped into me.”

Connor snatched his coat and tried to keep running, but Calvin wasn’t done yet. He glanced over at her with a heavy look.

“I wouldn’t mind bumping into you a few times,” he said smoothly.

Hank cringed at the same time Julia’s spine snapped up straight, and her eyes widened.

“Wh—“

“Sorry—oh God, I’m so sorry!” Connor’s smoldering look shattered into one of horror, and he waved a hand at her.

Hank hastily went to intervene, physically getting between the two and looking apologetically to Julia. “He took a knock on the head, got stuck in that Sexy Undercover mode. It’s fixed, but Kevin said there might be a little spice left in there to work out.”

“She doesn’t mind spice, Hank,” Connor shot back, pulling his coat on.

“Connor, stop talking!”

“She likes it spicy…Don’t you?” Connor leaned around Hank, flashing a devilish grin at Julia. “You like it HOT.”

Julia took a step back in shock, bumping into the island counter that ran through the bullpen. “Hank’s right, Connor. Stop talking.”

“Whatever you say, sexy.” Connor waggled his eyebrows, then it passed and his eyes widened.

He clamped both hands over his mouth to stop more from coming out. Hank took the opportunity to shove him away, toward the exit. The door to the briefing room cracked open, and Hank cursed, all but dragging his partner out of the bullpen.

Julia stared after them for a second, then gave herself a hard shake and moved away from the counter. She darted over to the briefing room door and physically put herself in the opening, temporarily blocking whoever was trying to leave, giving Hank and Connor another precious few seconds to escape.

“Jules, what the fuck?” Gavin grumbled, trying to push past her.

“I heard music!” she said, blocking him under the pretense of curiosity. “What’s going on?”

Hank and Connor vanished out of the bullpen, and she made sure they were gone before she stopped fighting Gavin. He moved past her into the bullpen, looking at her in bewilderment.

“What the Hell has gotten into you?...And why are you blue?”

Julia fanned her hand toward her face, leaning against the wall lest her knees gave out. “No reason, just…a heat fluctuation through my system…It’ll pass.”

Gavin gave her a confused onceover, then shook his head. “Whatever.”

He walked away, and she looked down the other hallway. Fowler had returned to his office, looking haggard, while Ben stood in the hallway laughing and losing his entire shit at the whole spectacle. She abruptly understood the human phrase about ‘needing a cold shower.’

Chapter Text

You know those old viral videos of dog owners struggling to drag their dog into a bath? The way the animal just claws at floors and door frames to try and prevent going in? That was how Hank felt as he pushed and shoved a melancholy Connor in to work the day after the Calvin Incident.

As soon as Hank and Connor had gotten home the previous day, Connor had overridden his programming to initiate an early rest cycle, to get a jump on purging the rest of the glitch from his system. And while all of the spice had been eradicated so far this morning, Connor was still acting off. Not “Calvin” off, but he was still clearly feeling guilty and embarrassed over his behavior.

“Look, kid, it was just a handful of us that even saw you like that,” Hank tried to set him at ease, as they both finally arrived at the precinct.

Connor uncharacteristically didn’t speak to anyone, hovering at Hank’s elbow as Hank dropped his coat and keys at his desk. Hank headed for the break room, resisting the urge to swat him out of his personal bubble.

“It was still unprofessional,” Connor muttered, keeping his head down. “The way I conducted myself around my co-workers…and my captain…was unacceptable.”

“Connor, trust me when I say that I have done worse,” Hank said, waving him off.

Ben wasn’t at his desk yet this morning, and Person was over at Chris’s desk, doing something on the computer for him. Neither paid Hank or Connor much attention as they came in. The same went for Fowler in his office, and for that, Hank was grateful. On one hand, Connor probably needed to hear them all assure him that yesterday wasn’t a big deal, that it was okay, yadda yadda…but on the other hand, it felt like the kind of thing that you just…never spoke of again. If you didn’t acknowledge it, then it wasn’t that serious.

Hank decided to adopt that philosophy as they went into the break room. Someone was already in there, only their lower half visible as they were bent down behind the open fridge door. From the stale smell in the break room, something had gone bad in there, and this poor soul had been tasked with cleaning it out.

“You know, with the weather warming up, it might be a good project this weekend to tune up the mower,” he said, picking the most random topic that came to mind.

Connor hummed, hands in his pockets and standing aside as Hank poured himself a mug of coffee. Hank snorted at his dramatically downhearted face.

“I heard it’s supposed to rain,” came a voice from the fridge.

The fridge door closed, and Julia straightened up out of it, a wash cloth in one hand and a spray bottle in the other. She looked casually to Hank, her gaze slid over to Connor, and both androids locked equally mortified eyes.

“Bah!” Julia bounced back a step in surprise, and her kneejerk reaction was to raise her only weapon—the spray bottle—and pull the trigger, sending a surprisingly strong jet of cleaning fluid sailing across the air to splatter Connor straight in the face.

Hank dove to the side to avoid the attack, but Connor didn’t stand a chance. Connor sputtered, taking a step back and raising his hands out to stop a secondary assault.

“Stop! What the—“

“Oh! I’m so sorry!” Julia hastily set the spray bottle and cloth aside, hands up at her face as she surveyed the damage. “You startled me!”

“…How?” Hank wandered aloud, looking at her incredulously. “Was the mower talk too scandalous?”

“It’s fine. It’s fine. It’s fine,” Connor stammered, rubbing his sleeves across his face to wipe away the fluid.

“It’s not…” Julia looked guiltily at the soaked state of Connor’s face and shirt front.

“No, trust me, I deserve worse,” Connor stated sheepishly, giving up on trying to clean himself up. “I wanted to apologize properly for the way I acted yesterday.”

Julia looked at him in disbelief. “Connor, you got hit in the head and were suffering from a glitch. I didn’t…take it personally.”

Connor reluctantly lifted his eyes to finally meet hers. “…Are you sure?”

Julia shifted from one foot to the other, rubbing her arm. “Yeah, I mean…You didn’t mean any of what you said…right?”

“Right, of course not,” Connor yammered hastily. “I would never—I mean, you—There’s no…”

Stop talking, boy, Hank tried to telepathically warn him, as Hank could see that Connor’s attempt at apologizing was starting to rub Julia the wrong way.

“Anyway, the yard could use a mow, is all I’m saying!” Hank cut in, mercifully interrupting Connor.

Julia gave him a flat look, taking up the bottle and cloth again. “Right…yeah, well, anyway…Connor, I’m glad you’re back your old self…Try to stay that way, okay?”

“Okay?” Connor said, eyebrows raised in slight confusion.

Tina chose that moment to saunter into the break room, stopping in her tracks and immediately noticing Connor’s soaked state.

“Dude, it’s 8 am. What the Hell happened to you already?”

Julia cackled, and Connor scoffed, glaring at her.

“What is so funny? This is your fault.” He gestured to himself. “You got me all wet.”

Hank groaned internally. Oh son, you make it too easy…

“THAT’S WHAT SHE SAID!” Julia clapped back.

“Ohhhh!” Tina bellowed, kicking back on her heels and giving Julia a high five.

Connor stared at them both in bewilderment as Julia left the break room in triumph. Hank clapped a hand on his shoulder.

“We’ll call it even now between you two, yeah? C’mon, let’s get to work.” He steered his perplexed partner out into the bullpen.

Tina snickered to herself, shaking her head as they left. When she turned back around, facing the empty break room, her mind abruptly drew a blank.

“Now why did I come in here?”

Chapter Text

The human saying was “money can’t buy happiness,” and Connor agreed with that. However, money did buy a fluffy new pillow, thirium soup, a set of bright blue string lights that he had draped over the mantle, and a channel subscription including a three hour documentary about deep sea fish…and that was pretty close.

Hank was out of town for the weekend, which gave Connor the run of the house, and he had sought to take advantage of this period of total privacy to indulge in some ‘creature comforts’ that his human co-workers had spoken of, and that he had always wanted to try. He was sure that Hank wouldn’t have made fun of him too badly for any of these, but there was some comfort in having the ability to just…be weird in private, as Person called it.

So, there he was that evening, curled up on the couch with his new, comically large, plush orange pillow, wrapped up in a puffy blanket like an android burrito. Only the string lights and the glow of the television illuminated the living room. Sumo was snoring on the floor. The thirium-based vegetable soup that Connor hadn’t finished was rapidly cooling on the coffee table, to be dealt with later. On the television, a school of sharks had been filmed swimming around the wreckage of a large sunken ship.

Rain was softly pattering on the roof, and something about the constant sound of it was making Connor’s eyelids heavy. His rest cycle wasn’t set to initiate for another hour, but this level of cozy contentment seemed to be inviting it to start early. Tomorrow was the weekend, and Connor as of yet had nothing planned. So he didn’t fight his system as it started to wind down for the night, and he gleefully did not set any waking alarms.

He felt warm, both from the soup in his belly and the thick blanket he’d wrapped himself in. He lay on his back, idly watching the documentary take a deeper dive into the dark waters. Stranger fish began to loom out of the shadows, and the narrator’s level, deep voice continued to cheerfully explain what the fish were, why they had evolved the way that they had, and how they were so well suited to live in such extreme environments.

It was all fascinating, and yet it was all information that he could have downloaded in an instant. There truly was no need for him to lay here and watch this. The information itself wasn’t even particularly useful for his line of work…and he couldn’t imagine it ever coming up in casual conversation. Yet, he found it enjoyable. That had really been the root of his human co-workers’ explanations of ‘down time.’

This was simply doing something that sounded enjoyable…which produced nothing valuable or useful. At its worst, it was a waste of time. At its best…this was the most relaxed that he could remember feeling in quite a while. So…if the result of this evening was only that he found himself relaxed…could it really be called wasted time? Sure, nothing tangible would be gained, but after a handful of restless nights and an uncooperative system not letting him wind down enough to get any measurable amount of sleep…Connor just couldn’t feel guilt for ‘wasting time’ this way.

His eyelids continued to droop, and the documentary pushed on, transporting them out of the deeper depths and back toward the bluer, shallower waters…where schools of brightly colored fish swam amongst a reef.

Rest cycle initiating…

Without meaning to, without fully realizing it, he nodded off on the couch to the sound of rain and fish facts…only to jerk awake a number of hours later.

Connor blinked blearily, noting the time in his HUD and the darkness outside the windows. There was a text from Hank: a short message simply saying that he had arrived at his hotel and was turning in for the night. Connor re-read it a few times before composing a brief reply, expressing that he was glad that Hank had arrived safely and he hoped he had a good evening. Send.

He took a deep breath, rubbing a hand across his eyes and letting his arm flop down over his chest. The fish documentary had ended, and the television was now midway through a historical documentary about…Ancient Roman aqueducts.

For some reason, in this particular moment, that topic sounded strangely fascinating.

Connor maneuvered from his back onto his side to better face the screen, the cushions and the pillow and the blanket warmly pulling him deeper in. Sumo’s tail swished once at the movement, but then both android and dog settled back down. The documentary pushed on, the voice on the television speaking as the screen showed sweeping shots of dramatized Ancient Roman city streets.

Was that…the same narrator from the fish one? Hm…

Again, something he could have easily found the answer to with an internet search, but he was content to simply wonder without needing the answer. Maybe he would watch this one until the end and then look in the credits for the narrator’s name…

Yes…that would be adequate...

Rest cycle initiating…

Chapter Text

Connor stood outside the meeting hall, slightly stiff in his full dress blues. Pressed and crisp uniforms like this were a comfort to him. It satisfied the need in his programming to appear as professional and put together as possible. However, the few times that he had been required to wear the full formal uniform had not been for joyous occasions. Today, however, was a pleasant exception.

If Connor felt uncomfortable or out of place at all, then Hank was that multiplied by ten. Honestly, he was shocked that his old dress blues still fit, after he had mercilessly ironed them all morning for this. He couldn’t help but fidget with his tie and his gloves, grumbling under his breath while Connor stood beside him, trying not to look amused.

“They are going to begin soon,” Connor stated. “Are you ready to go inside?”

“Yeah, yeah, shut up,” Hank snorted. “Come on.”

Connor wouldn’t say that he had ‘dragged’ Hank to accompany him to this event; however, he was grateful that his friend had agreed to come after, ahem, numerous asks. Connor didn’t see anyone else from the 07 in the large room, but it was fairly crowded. Several seating rows had been lined up, all facing a small stage with a podium where the conductor of the ceremony was standing. Other officers, some Connor recognized, some he didn’t, were filing in to take their seats. He was content to follow Hank in, where Hank simply grabbed a chair near the back of the room.

Soon, the murmuring of the others fell quiet, everyone settled down in their seats, and two more police members joined the first man on the stage. The first was Officer Gabriel Thomas of the 08, dressed sharply in his formal uniform, his left arm tightly cradled in a dark sling. Beside him was Vader, a member of the 08’s K9 unit, a black pitbull with a splotch of white fur on his broad chest. A section of skin was visible on Vader’s right flank where his fur had been shaved for a medical procedure. He did not appear to be slowed down by his healing injury, and he obediently sat next to Officer Thomas on the stage.

Connor knew that both had been injured on a domestic dispute call. A man high on red ice had been endangering his family and his neighbors with his behavior. Officer Thomas, Vader, and several others had been called to the scene to diffuse the situation, arrest the man, seize all red ice on the property, and remove the man’s family from the danger.

There had been an altercation, and the perpetrator had gotten a loose trigger finger, a bullet hitting Thomas once when he tried to detain him. Vader had dragged the man off of the officer but had also been injured for his efforts. However, his action had ensured that other cops at the scene could help wrangle the man to the ground and get Thomas to safety.

The criminal was now behind bars awaiting trial, and his family, though shaken, was under protective services. Both Thomas and Vader were on the mend, and they deserved the attention that they were both getting today.

“Thank you all for joining me today,” the officiator began, “in honoring two of Detroit’s finest for their service, bravery, and dedication to protecting the public. We recognize these two members of the DPD’s 8^th precinct for injuries sustained in the line of duty. Today, it is my privilege to present the Medal of Valor to Officer Gabriel Thomas…”

Thomas approached the podium to around of applause, and the officiator lifted the medal and placed it around the other man’s neck. Connor and Hank both applauded as well, watching the officer shake hands with the presenter and stand at attention, wearing his well deserved medal.

“…and to Sergeant Vader.”

The applause continued as Vader’s handler gave the command for the canine to approach the presenter. The pitbull stood and went to stand by the podium, looking expectantly at the presenter and settling down on his haunches again. The presenter lifted up a second medal, which had been altered to fit a canine safely, and placed it on the service dog.

The ceremony began to conclude, and those in attendance all stood to honor both recipients. Connor stood quickly with the wave, with Hank following shortly behind, awkwardly trying to keep his suit straight and presentable as he did so. Thomas was staying nearby to greet fellow officers who approached him, but Vader’s handler prepared to lead the canine away from all the fuss.

Connor remained where he was, watching as the woman on the other end of the lead walked alongside Sergeant Vader, escorting him out of the hall. Connor caught her eye and gave a respectful nod, watching the canine go and seeing the dark line of surgical stiches on his skin where his fur had been shaved. His tail was wagging casually as he trotted alongside his handler.

“What?” Hank said in a lightly teasing tone. “No cooing and petting all over the dog? I thought you loved dogs, Connor.”

Connor very seriously looked to his partner. “Sergeant Vader is a hero, and he deserves to be treated with respect.”

Hank raised his eyebrows with a grin. “You know what? You’re right. I get that.”

Connor pursed his lips, turned to watch the dog leave, and then looked back to Hank again.

“That being said…Sergeant Vader is a very good boy.”

Hank nodded, trying to emulate Connor’s very serious tone. “I concur. A very good boy indeed…Come on, let’s go offer our congratulations to Officer Thomas.”

Chapter Text

With the perp arrested and the scene under control, Wilson took the opportunity to grasp Connor by the arm and steer him over to the squad car to sit down. All the while, Connor was trying to shake off his hand and walk on his own. The bullet in his leg prevented that, and Wilson had little trouble shuffling him to the passenger side of the car.

“Here, sit down, man,” Wilson said, popping open the door.

Connor sighed in resignation, lowering himself to sit in the front passenger seat, though he was craning sideways to watch Tina and Gavin book the perp in their car. Satisfied that he wasn’t going anywhere, Wilson hurriedly grabbed the first aid kit from the trunk of the squad car, carrying it back to the open door.

“I’m fine,” Connor insisted, despite speaking tightly through clenched teeth.

“Yeah, well, all this blue blood says otherwise,” Wilson remarked lightly. “Hold still.”

Connor made a low, unhappy noise but complied as Wilson knelt down. He assessed the blue stains soaking the lower fabric of his pant leg, and he grimaced on Connor’s behalf, gently straightening out the leg. He took a pair of scissors out of the kit and prepared to cut the material way to get a look at the wound.

“No, you don’t have to—I can take care of it—“ Connor stuttered, bending forward and trying to bat Wilson’s hands away.

“Bud.” Wilson looked up at him. “Chill out. This is what we do on this team, right? Take care of each other?”

“…Yes.”

Wilson smirked, lightly smacking his hand against Connor’s undamaged leg. “You aren’t exempted from that, man. So just take it easy, and I’ll try to be quick.”

Connor looked tense and reluctant to accept the help, but he deflated with a defeated nod. Wilson nodded in return, and he resumed cutting the hem of the ruined jeans, midway up his calf to access the damage. He gently moved the fabric aside and squinted to inspect the entry wound.

The skin projection had failed in a four inch area around the entry point of the bullet, and he could see the white plastic casing was cracked around the hole. Thirium was oozing out at a sluggish pace, but if it was anything like a human wound, then it looked worse than it was. The worst thing Wilson could tell was that there wasn’t an exit wound.

“Bullet’s still in there,” he concluded, using a sterilizing wipe from the kit to clear away the blood.

He drifted too close to the open damage, and Connor tensed with a low hiss.

“Sorry,” Wilson apologized, but he kept going until the injury was as clean as it could get. “Try to hold still.”

“I’m fine.”

“I know you are,” Wilson remarked without looking up, pressing a gauze pad over the entry wound and wrapping medical gauze around his leg to hold it in place. “This’ll keep it clean until we get you back to the precinct, and Kevin can check you out.”

“Okay,” Connor said, seemingly impatient as he tried to retract his leg. He moved too fast, however, and he cringed, holding his knee to stop his lower leg from jostling.

“Dude, dude, dude,” Wilson said, holding his hands out, chuckling a bit now that the severity of the moment had passed. His eyes lowered to Connor’s bared leg again. “It’s—What is that?”

“Nothing—“

“Connor.” Wilson leaned in a bit, only then noticing the, uh, colorful pattern of Connor’s socks.

He had been so focused on the bullet injury, but now he couldn’t help but see them. They were pink and had…unicorns…on them.

“Are those—“

“YES,” Connor interrupted him hastily.

“—Unicorns?” Wilson finished his question.

Connor groaned, having all of the regret, and tried to cover his leg with the tattered remains of his pant leg. “ShhHH, yes, they are.”

Now…the socks themselves were pretty funny…but Connor’s reaction? That nearly put Wilson in stitches.

“Hey, man, it’s okay—“

“They were a gift—“

“Have you seen some of the wild shirts that the lieutenant wears sometimes?” Wilson assured. “You’re fine, bud. It’s fine.”

Still looking embarrassed, Connor avoided his eyes, trying and failing to haul his damaged leg into the car to hide it. His leg was uncooperative and painful however, and he made an irritated, whining noise out of stress.

“Okay, okay.” Wilson dropped his teasing tone, straightening up. “Here, let me.”

Connor staunchly looked away, letting Wilson carefully help him turn to sit facing forward in the passenger seat, moving his foot to join the other on the floorboards. Wilson packed up the first aid kit and returned it to the trunk. Walking back up to the passenger door, he paused, grasping the door.

“Hey,” he prompted.

Connor was hunched in his seat, arms folded tightly around his middle, but he begrudgingly looked up at Wilson. Wilson offered a smile, then lifted his own foot to prop it on the bottom frame of the squad car door. He reached down and tugged up his own pant leg. In so doing, he revealed his own bright green sock with yellow rubber ducks on it. Connor looked down and went still.

He blinked and slowly looked up at Wilson, some of the tension in his frame easing. “…Nice socks.”

“Thanks,” Wilson said proudly, turning his leg side to side to admire them himself. “They were also a gift. One pair of a set of six.”

Connor relaxed further, and Wilson smirked. He checked to make sure Connor was in the car all the way, then carefully closed the passenger door for him. Then he stepped around the nose of the car and climbed into the driver’s seat.

“You’re all right, man. Ain’t nothing wrong with some fun socks. C’mon, let’s go get your leg fixed up.”

“…Thank you, Wilson.”

“Anytime, pal.”

Chapter Text

Tina sure looked like she was focusing awfully hard on whatever article she was reading on that tablet. Ben left her alone at first, where she was standing at the table in the break room. He refilled his coffee, fixed it the way he liked it, and turned around to leave…and she was still staring at it with the same perturbed expression.

“Whatcha reading?” he prompted, letting curiosity get the better of him as he sipped his coffee.

Tina blinked, twisting her head slightly to the side as she finished reading the article. She lowered the tablet as Ben approached, and her brows knit together as she looked at him.

“Did you know apparently androids kiss with their hands?” she blurted.

Ben coughed into his mug. “Wh-What?”

Tina pointed at the tablet. “This article had this interview in it with some technicians and some deviant androids. It was mostly talking about how android software and shit has been evolving the longer androids are deviant…Honestly, most of it went over my head…except this part about how they express affection physically. I mean…mostly they just emulate how humans express affection.”

Ben raised his eyebrows in question. “Yeah, I didn’t need an article to tell me that. All of the androids around here are like that. I’ve been making sure they meet their hug quota every week, and…gotta say…I think Polly gives the best hugs so far…I haven’t actually successfully hugged Apollo yet…but I’m gonna get him sooner or later.”

Tina snorted and shook her head. “Well, sure, but this one deviant was explaining how androids experience intimacy between themselves through interface connections using their hands.”

“Sounds romantic,” Ben said flatly.

Tina scratched the back of her head. “Actually, it kinda does. The way I understand it, and I may not be understanding it at all, shit…But it sounds like when they interface this way, it’s…different from when they interface the usual way.”

“Was I supposed to follow that? Because I didn’t.”

“Hm, okay, so at first, I was like…if androids are kissing everything they touch, then Connor is just a huge slut,” Tina pointed out, “BUT, this article says there’s a difference between interface intimacy and just plain old interfacing like we see androids do with computers and cars and even each other sometimes. Apparently that’s just a one-way flow of information exchange. The kind that counts as a kiss—“ she reread part of a paragraph on the tablet, “—is an ‘intimate expression of trust and allows the direct transmission of emotions, thoughts, and even memories associated with the two parties.’ It sounds like just for a moment their, uh, codes intermingle. That…actually sounds really cute.”

“My mind to your mind. My thoughts to your thoughts,” Ben said in a mystical voice.

Tina looked at him, brow furrowed. “What?”

Ben chuckled. “It sounds like what Vulcans do during a mind meld on Star Trek. But that isn’t really a kiss or even a romantic gesture most of the time…”

Tina groaned. “God, can you not be a nerd for, like, five minutes?”

He winked at her. “No, I can’t.” He stepped around the table and looked over her shoulder at the article on the tablet. “But hold up, I remember watching footage from the revolution. Markus and North from Jericho kissed on the mouth like humans do.”

“I think that was for show. I mean…what better way to show humans that androids have feelings than to express love like that in front of the whole world?” Tina mused with a shrug. “Not saying they don’t get anything out of it, emotionally speaking, but this article makes it sound like the hands are where it’s at.”

Ben took a slow, slurping drink from his coffee mug, and Tina pouted her lips, pushing back in her seat.

“Or maybe this article is complete horseshit and making all this crap up,” she said with a shrug.

“Maybe.” Ben tilted his head. “We don’t exactly have any androids around here that I’ve seen exploring much in the way of romance…well,” he glanced over to where Julia had struck up a conversation with Connor by his desk, “not with any measurable success at least.”

“Yeah,” Tina said in a mournful tone, looking around the bullpen. “God, what does an android even find attractive?”

“I promise you that I have no idea.”

Quick as a whip, she abruptly reached out, snatching the arm of the nearest android who was trying to make their way past.

“Apollo,” she said seriously.

Oh Lord. Ben quickly busied himself with his coffee, stepping away from the scene…but not so far that he couldn’t eavesdrop.

“Yes, Officer Chen?”

“What’s the first thing you notice about an android who approaches you romantically?” she asked flat out.

Apollo stared at her for a long moment, then carefully pulled his arm out of her grasp.

“The audacity.”

He turned to resume his walk, and Ben set his coffee mug down, spreading his arms wide and waggling his eyebrows in an invitation to hug. Apollo stopped in his tracks, made a ninety degree turn, and continued walking, away from them both.

Ben snickered and lowered his arms. “One of these days…Mark my words, I will hug that boy.”

Chapter Text

Person normally didn’t pay much attention to the staff androids when they huddled up like they currently were. It was usually over some new gossip that Zeke had gotten a hold of or actual legitimate news about Jericho and android laws. Except they were usually just huddled in general like a football team…not circled up around one of the group in particular.

“—and it took FOREVER to install,” Julia was saying, as the one being encircled by the others.

“Why?” Gwen asked. “It’s just a modification to your skin projection. Polly alters her appearance program all the time.”

Polly, wearing today’s flavor of flaming red hair and black tinted lips, nodded. “I sure do!”

“Well, see, I got this added feature…” Julia went on.

Curiosity peaked, Person edged a little closer as she walked past the huddle, peering through the gap between Gwen and Zeke to see that Julia was showing them something on her arm.

“Officer?” Zeke asked, having spotted Person trying to be sneaky. “Can we help you?”

The others’ heads all swiveled to look at her like a group of pigeons, and Person snorted, putting one hand on her hip and gesturing to them with her other hand.

“No, just wondering what all the fuss is about over here. As you were.”

“No, wait, take a look!” Julia boasted proudly, shoving her arm out. “I just got it, and I can’t stop showing people!”

Person folded her arms, drawing closer to the group to see what Julia was so eager to show her.

It was a tattoo, placed on the inside of the android’s left wrist. It was in the shape of a butterfly, outlined in black and with the wings filled in a royal purple shade.

“It’s so purty!” Polly giggled. “Show her the thing. Make it do the thing!”

“There’s a…thing?” Person asked, slightly concerned.

Julia beamed and looked at the tattoo. Her LED spun yellow once, and then…the tattoo moved.

Person went stiff in surprise as the purple butterfly on the android’s wrist slowly flapped its wings.

“Holy shit,” she whispered. “How do you make it do that?”

“Watch, watch!” Julia bounced on her heels, activating the program further.

The butterfly continued to flap its wings, flying around the side of her wrist, across the other side of her arm, and back around to its starting position. It slowed and went still again.

Julia shook her hand out once.

“Tingles when I do that,” she explained, looking giddy.

Person drew a little closer. “That’s amazing. How far can it go?”

“I mean, I’ve only made it fly as far as my elbow,” Julia explained, admiring the tattoo. “I just installed it yesterday, and I have to focus to make it move. Isn’t it cool?”

“Very cool,” Gwen agreed.

“How do you guys have tattoos?” Person asked. “Sorry, not trying to be rude, I’m just curious. Your skin isn’t…really skin. It’s a projection.”

“Police models have some additional appearance modification templates if we need to do some undercover work,” Zeke explained. “Connor’s is fancier than that. He could look like a whole ass different person if he wanted.”

“Can confirm,” Gwen pointed out. “I’ve seen him do it once. It weirded me out. Dude looked like Andy Samberg.”

Person snorted into her fist.

“Anyway,” Zeke spoke over her interruption. “They aren’t all that sophisticated, but we can generate markings that look like tattoos.”

“Or,” Julia added. “If you want one permanently and for fun purposes, there’s this old android technician downtown that’s developing these customized software upgrades to skin projection programs. He’s really backed up; I had to wait three weeks for mine.”

“Well, it looks great,” Person said. “Just be careful. I’ve heard getting tattoos can be addictive…I can only imagine it’s even more so when they move.”

“When what moves?” Chris asked, sauntering past and, like Person, noting the weird huddle of androids talking amongst themselves.

“Ba-bam!” Julia extended her arm by way of explanation, making the butterfly flutter up and down her arm.

“Whoa!” Chris bounced back in a step in surprise, then immediately leaned forward again for a better look. “What kind of sorcery…”

“Why a butterfly?” Gwen asked.

Julia snickered at Chris’s reaction, then shrugged. “I dunno. Butterflies are pretty? And I wanted something that I could make move, so…Yeah, it’s not super complicated.”

“I’ve got my wife and son’s initials inked on me,” Chris stated. “Tina has a smiley face on her ankle that, rumor has it, she got when she was drunk in college.”

“IT’S NOT A RUMOR,” Tina boomed from her desk. “I HAVE NEVER DENIED THAT FACT.”

“I heard Detective Reed has a cupcake tattoo on his ass,” Zeke cut in.

“And I’m out.” Person lifted her hands, backing out of the conversation. “I’m done. Jules, congrats on the ink. It looks good.”

“Thank you!” Julia chirped with a wide smile.

Person smirked and made her way back over to her own desk, mystery solved and curiosity sated.

Well, until…

“IT’S NOT ON MY ASS!” Gavin roared.

“But is it or is it not a cupcake?!” Gwen snapped back.

Gavin just glared at the group, while behind his back, Tina nodded adamantly at them.

Chapter Text

The entire bullpen of the DPD’s 3^rd precinct was quiet, with all officers staring at Connor, their hands cautiously hovering over the holsters at their hips. Connor ignored them all, focusing his whole attention on Detective Berman and his smug smile, standing just arms’ length away.

Connor took one dangerous, slow step closer to the human, ignoring the simultaneous sounds of weapons leaving holsters and safeties being removed.

“I asked you a question,” he said softly, lethally, “and in the best interest of your health, I advise you to not make me ask you again.”

Berman snorted, despite the flicker of fear that danced across his eyes. “You threatening me, you plastic fuck?”

Connor took another step closer, lowering his voice further and leaning toward the human, staring directly into his eyes. “Yes.”

..:--X--:..

Markus was the last to leave the Breathing Graveyard, standing with his arms folded. The sun was shining, the sky was clear, and he swore to rA9 he could hear birds chirping somewhere. It didn’t fit the mood that was hanging over the scrapyard.

After years of excavating, of digging, of desperately trying to save as many androids as possible from this horrible place, the mission was now…presumably…done.

The Breathing Graveyard was silent, no longer singing. There was no one left to save here.

..:--X--:..

“Ol’ Dr. Nichols has no idea what she had in her hands. She was so short sighted,” Ogden drawled, standing in her lab and admiring the streams of coding filling up her computer monitor. “Then again so was I, but what can we do but try to grow beyond our limits? I have higher ambitions now, and this—“ she tapped a knuckle against the screen, “—is the key to all of it.”

Coda stood obediently behind her, restraining a grimace at the screen. He looked at her carefully. “What are you planning to do?”

She chuckled, shoving her hands in her pockets and leaning against the desk, sending him a wink. “Whatever the Hell I want, baby.”

..:--X--:..

“Gavin! Gavin, stop!” Connor might as well have been telling water to stop being wet.

Gavin had already ducked past the firefighters and vanished through the doorway, directly back into the burning apartment building.

Fire had already engulfed a fourth of the structure, and the fool had just gone inside with no gear, no protective equipment, and no warning. Connor knew that this was where Gavin lived, but what could possibly be so important that he would risk his life to go back in for it? He was going to get himself killed unless…

“Shit,” Connor cursed, glancing at the firefighting team.

As soon as they turned away, he bolted across the sidewalk, up the steps, and into the building after him.

..:--X--:..

North finished braiding her hair, checking her reflection in the mirror to make sure it looked all right. She paused, frowned, and then leaned closer to the glass.

The imitative white sclera of her left eye was stained black.

“What the…” She rubbed at her eye, not feeling any discomfort or pain to indicate damage.

Her diagnostic system came back negative on everything immediately, and when she opened her eyes again, the discoloration was gone.

She pulled her eyelid up and inspected her optical unit, but everything looked as normal as before.

She stepped back, looking from her left eye, to her right, and her left again. Both white. Nothing out of the ordinary.

“Weird…”

She scoffed and shook her head to rid herself of the weird feeling, going to resume getting ready for the day.

..:--X--:..

Coda stood loosely, the gun in his hand heavy and fully loaded. The ST300 was knelt before him, arms bound behind her back and tears streaming down her cheeks as she looked up at him, silently begging for mercy.

Software Instability^

“Shoot her,” Ogden ordered smoothly.

He raised the gun and swiftly aimed the barrel directly between the other android’s eyes. New fear pooled across her face, but she had already pleaded and screamed for her life. Now she just stared at him, mutely imploring him and shivering.

The red wall slammed in place between them, and the gun in his hands trembled.

“Shoot. Her,” Ogden repeated.

A long, jagged crack cut down the center of the red wall, obscuring the android’s face and the decision prompts in his HUD.

<Shoot>

<Don’t Shoot>

..:--X--:..

Connor stood there in shock, the full ramifications of his actions appearing to finally, fully, and horrifically sink in.

“Connor,” Fowler said firmly. “I need your badge and your service weapon.”

..:--X--:..

Bonny sat in the Sardonyx lobby, waiting for her mom to be done with her meeting. Nobody else was around except for one lady sitting nearby. She kept looking at Bonny, probably seeing how unhappy she was. After a few minutes of more waiting, the lady got up and stepped over to her, squatting down to look her in the eyes.

“Hey, whatever it is can’t be that bad,” the lady said with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

Bonny eyed her, fidgeting with the stuffed lizard toy in her lap. “Um…thanks.”

The woman chuckled. “Chin up, kiddo. Things have a way of working themselves out.”

She reached out a hand and lightly tapped her finger on Bonny’s nose.

 “Boop.”

..:--X--:..

“You…” Connor said quietly, his voice echoing slightly in the Zen Garden. “It’s you.”

Across the garden, through its artificial sunshine and grass and trees and ponds, the RK900 stared back at him.

“You’re…Coda,” Connor stated. “How—Where are—“

The other android’s eyes narrowed, and he abruptly disappeared, disconnecting from the program.

“Wait!” Connor reached out a hand, but it was too late.

The other was gone, and he was alone again in the garden.

..:--X--:..

Penny jolted out of her upright dozing at the table to the sound of Hank setting a steaming mug in front of her. She leaned forward, stretching her arms out in front of her and arching her back like a cat.

“Sorry. I dozed off,” she apologized, rubbing her eyes.

“Still a workaholic,” Hank smirked, then gestured to the mug. “Uh, you still drink peppermint tea? Had to hit damn near four stores to find any…”

Penny gently wrapped her hands around the mug, pulling it toward her and taking a deep breath from the rising steam. She gave him a grateful look.

“Thank you. I…appreciate it. I didn’t think you’d remember something like that.”

“W-Well, I mean…it wasn’t really—I mean, anything I could do…”

They both tentatively looked at each other with shy smiles.

In the background, arms folded and leaning against the dining room wall, Ember rolled her eyes, muttering a low “for fuck’s sake,” before leaving the room.

..:--X--:..

Connor sat on the back door steps behind Hank’s house, feeling the humid evening air settle over him. Julia was sitting beside him, quiet and staring out at the yard as well.

Small, glowing balls of yellow continually flickered, bobbed, and weaved across the yard. There was no discernible pattern to the fireflies as they moved about, in combination with the chirp of crickets and the distant sound of a dog barking. For this moment in time, it didn’t feel like he was in the city, and he felt a nostalgic pang for the deep woods and serenity of the cabin where the 07 team had gone on their retreat long ago.

Julia’s head slowly leaned sideways, gently resting on his shoulder. The weight felt balancing, and he took a deep, cleansing breath. Focusing on the fireflies, he timidly rested his hand on his knee, palm up, and opened his fingers.

A beat passed, and he felt her hand slide into his own at the invitation.

He released the deep breath as their fingers closed around each other.

Neither said a word, and the fireflies continued their dance in the yard.

..:--X--:..

“Hey, we’ll get through this,” Person assured, knocking her hand against Connor’s elbow. “There’s nothing that’s been thrown at the 07 yet that we haven’t overcome.”

“Whatever you decide to do,” Hank stated, “we’ve got your back, son.”

He hesitantly looked up at them, and at Wilson, Polly, Chris, Gavin, Ben, Julia, Zeke, Gwen, and Apollo standing in the group as well. Fowler was standing in the doorway, not joining in, though he gave a firm nod when Connor met his eyes.

“Thank you,” Connor said quietly.

Tina smiled, then threw her head back. “Oh-Seven!”

A chorus of “Oh-Seven!” echoed through the group, and Connor gave them all a grateful look.

“Oh-Seven,” he repeated. “Now let’s go save my brother.”

Chapter Text

Hank knew that Connor took it hard when he “failed” at something. “Failure” to Connor was a result that was anything less than perfect, and…well…the guy hadn’t been designed for a lot of what life was requiring him to do now. Like…say…laundry. Or dog grooming. Or playing basketball. Or, today’s scenario: baking.

Hank had had Connor’s cooking. It was perfectly….adequate. Wasn’t going to win any awards, but it wasn’t going to give you a bellyache either. It just got the job done. Baking, however, Connor was turning out to be shit at doing…if the sorry state of the kitchen when Hank got home was any indication.

“What in the entire fuck is that smell?” Hank growled through a laugh, dramatically pinching his nose and using a cap to waft away the smoky air in the kitchen.

Connor had opened all the windows to try and air out the obvious mistake, but damn, it was like…gasoline or nail polish or…some unholy combination of sugary frosting and burnt flour. Connor was wearing a good portion of powdery, tinted-blue powder all over his black t-shirt. It was also somehow in his hair and smudged on his cheeks. He had some kind of crusty batter all over his hands, and multiple empty bottles of thirium were littered about the table.

“I miscalculated something…somewhere,” was all Connor had for a response, sourly scrubbing his hands clean at the kitchen sink.

“Yeah, no shit,” Hank chuckled, returning to the front door and opening and closing it several times to help the smell dissipate. “Where’s Sumo?”

“Backyard. Once things started…going badly, I thought it best to remove him from the situation,” Connor said, drying off his hands and busying himself with cleaning up the numerous pots, pans, utensils, mixing bowls, and empty cartons of ingredients that were littered about. “I’m sorry for the mess, Hank. I’ll clean it all up right now.”

“Ah, don’t worry about it. That kitchen’s seen a lot worse,” Hank said, waving a hand dismissively.

While Connor scurried around like a perp trying to hide the evidence, Hank sauntered into the kitchen, finding his only cake tray absolutely ruined. Whatever had been inside it had turned an unhealthy blue-green color, with one inflated air pocket on one burnt end, while the other end looked virtually unbaked. There was a mixing bowl beside it full of something that at one point may have been some kind of frosting or mousse, but it had dried into a flaky film that clung to the bottom of the bowl.

Yikes.

“So, uh…dare I ask?” Hank asked, surveying the crime scene.

Connor was grumbling to himself, clearly embarrassed and frustrated by the whole thing. Hank shouldn’t have been so tickled, but Connor rarely got this agitated over something small like this. They’d have a nice long talk later, where Hank could remind him that messing up wasn’t the end of the world, that mistakes were learning experiences, and it was okay to fail at things…but for now, he just needed some context here.

“Is this a thirium cake?” he deduced.

Connor finished scraping the rest of the ruined ingredients into the trash and had started pre-soaking some of the dishes to loosen up the, uh…whatever that was inside them.

“It was supposed to be,” Connor mumbled. “Turns out baking with thirium is…tricky.”

“What’s the occasion?” Hank asked. “I thought you weren’t too fond of sweets.”

“I’m not.” Connor kept his face turned away from Hank, hyper-focusing on the task at hand. “I was baking it for…” he trailed off to an indistinct mumble.

Hank raised his eyebrows and leaned forward. “What’s that?”

Connor’s back was still turned, but he comically hung his head while his shoulders slumped in resignation. He repeated himself, but it was the same low, indecipherable mumble.

Hank moved the rest of the way across the kitchen, folded his arms, and leaned against the cabinets, staring at Connor until the android couldn’t ignore him anymore.

Connor heaved a sigh, turned off the sink faucet, and finally faced Hank.

“It was…I was trying to…bakeacakeforJulia’sActivationDay,” he rambled in a rush.

Hank stared at him, processing, and then smirked. “Oh, it was?”

Under the blue flour, Hank could have sworn some of Connor’s actual face started to flush blue, before he quickly turned away and resumed cleaning up the kitchen.

“Awwww,” Hank drawled teasingly.

“Shut up,” Connor grumbled sourly.

Hank snickered and watched his friend bumble around the kitchen. “You’ve never made anything special for anybody else’s Activation Day at the station. Hell, you barely celebrate your own.”

“Most androids prefer to celebrate their Deviation Day over their Activation Day,” Connor explained, still avoiding Hank’s eyes as he tidied up the mess. “Many view their Activation Day as the day they were activated for servitude, while their Deviation Day is the day they realized they were alive.”

“But she doesn’t?”

“Her Deviation Day is…not something she thinks fondly back on,” he explained. “There are just as many androids who don’t observe their Deviation Day because it’s linked to some traumatic memory…Everyone chooses their own way of handling it…And I just…thought it was…I theorized that if—I wanted to do something nice for her,” he rushed out the last bit. “That’s all.”

He shuffled around defensively, and Hank pouted his lips against a grin.

“Well, that’s very sweet of you, Connor.”

Connor just mumbled incoherently, not looking at him as he worked.

“Hm?” Hank pressed, enjoying Connor’s awkward discomfort too much.

“I said,” Connor muttered, drawing himself up. “Everybody deserves a day about them, to make them feel special. Humans have birthdays...Androids deserve a day like that too.”

Hank nodded. “I agree with you there. You want Julia to know that she’s special—“

“Exactly.”

“That you appreciate her being in your life—“

“Well…yes, but that—“

“And that she’s loved.”

Connor dropped the pot that he’d been drying with a towel, and his hands clawed at the air as it fell to the floor with a clatter. Hank winced at the noise, and Connor seemed to short circuit for a second before hastily picking up the wayward pot.

“In…In not so many words,” Connor muttered, and, yep, his cheeks were definitely blue.

Hank somehow restrained a laugh and decided to relent and show some mercy.

“All right, well, I hope you have a Plan B, because this looks like something you’d feed to your enemy to kill them,” he observed.

“Rude.”

Hank cackled at that, going to the fridge and grabbing a can of ginger ale. “Hey, look at the bright side.”

“What is the bright side?” Connor asked, starting to wipe down the counter to clear it of floury, thirium-y debris.

Hank cracked the tab on the can and took a sip with a shrug. “I don’t know. Just look at it.”

Connor looked at him flatly. “That’s not helpful.”

“Ah, you’ll think of something,” Hank said, toasting his can toward his partner. “You always accomplish your mission, right?”

Connor looked mildly heartened by that vote of confidence, and he managed a small smile.

“Right.” He paused. “Does Bert’s Baked Stuffs make specialty cakes?”

Hank pointed at him. “Now you’re using your noodle. I bet he does.”

Connor seemed to mull over that idea, and then nodded, looking at Hank. “Plan B for Bert.”

As he visibly started to run a scan on his databanks for contact information for the food truck, Hank smirked and took another sip of his drink.

Godspeed, kiddo.

Chapter Text

It wasn’t funny.

It really wasn’t funny.

Person was definitely not laughing. Nope. Not at all. Not even a little.

That being said, she kept her jacket collar pulled up around her mouth, holding the material there to hide the giggles. The juxtaposition of the bomb squad coming out to declare the building safe…against Connor sitting on the curb, arms folded across his knees and his face buried in his arms…It was just too much.

Person had gotten the story from Hank. Connor had decided to buy Julia one of Bert’s little specialty cakes for her Activation Day. Nobody else knew that it was her Activation Day; she didn’t talk much about personal factoids like that, which Person could respect. How Connor even knew, Person wasn’t sure, but it made the whole scenario even more ridiculous.

From what Person could gather based on the context clues, Connor had started to give Julia the little brown box containing the cake while she was alone in the break room. For some reason, he had panicked and backed out. Person was choosing to dramatize that in her head by imagining him bolting like a deer. Instead, the genius had decided to leave it for Julia to find on her own at her work station with a simple note written on it that said “Open me.”

So…to be clear…Connor had left a nondescript little cardboard box unattended on a table in the middle of the DPD bullpen with the instruction “open me,” on a random Tuesday morning, and nobody apparently saw him do it. Unfortunately, a minute later, Apollo noticed the box.

Hence the bomb squad and why the entire station had been evacuated to the sidewalk across the street.

Also hence why Connor was sitting on the curb looking like he was trying very hard to become one with the concrete. It was the kind of mortification that had erected an invisible “leave me alone” barrier at least five feet around his person. She gave it about another five minutes before she or Hank cracked and tried to make him feel better.

A few paces away, Hank clucked his tongue, and Person glanced over at him. He slid his eyes to the right with a smirk, and Person followed his indication. The bomb squad leader had the little box in his hands, opened, and had pulled in Captain Fowler, who had in turn pulled in Julia, and the three of them were looking down at the contents. Fowler looked like he was questioning his life choices. The bomb squad leader was trying to remain professional, but a grin was cracking through. Julia looked completely bewildered.

The box, deemed harmless, was turned over to her custody, and she held it in her hands, expression still perplexed. Being the closest, Person slid over as Fowler and the bomb squad leader started discussing the timing of the all clear.

“That’s the culprit?” she asked innocently.

Julia tilted her head. “It’s the…’bomb.’ The culprit has yet to be identified…”

She trailed off as she lifted her eyes to look at Person. Her gaze snagged on the pitiful shape of Connor doubled over on the curb, and Person could see the pieces clicking together in the other android’s eyes. Julia’s puzzled expression softened, and she looked down at the box again.

“Did he…? What a…dork,” she stammered with a shy little grin.

Person snickered. “I guess a ‘Happy Activation Day’ is in order?” she said, looking down at the contents of the box as well.

It was a small circular cake coated in what looked like vanilla fondant. Thin purple frosting wrote out “Happy Activation Day,” and what looked like two red thirium-based cherries had been placed on top, dotting the I’s in “Activation.” Inside the top flap of the box read “To Julia.”

“Nobody’s ever…bought me a cake before,” Julia said quietly.

Hank appeared on Person’s other side with a grin. “Well, he tried baking one himself, but it didn’t quite work…Guess just buying one didn’t quite work either, huh?”

Person saw the blue tinting Julia’s cheeks and the touched look on her face, and Person was inclined to disagree with Hank. It was certainly working all right. Person smirked, digging into her pocket and pulling out her trusty multi-tool. Among its many attachments, it came with a mini, extendable fork. She straightened it out and offered it to her.

“We won’t be going back inside for another ten minutes at least,” she stated. “Might as well.”

Julia snorted, shook her head, and took the unconventional fork. “Thanks.”

“Happy Activation Day, kiddo,” Hank added, patting her on the shoulder.

Julia gave him a grateful look, and then picked her way over to the curb, box in one hand, fork in the other. Person and Hank stayed where they were, to watch the show. Julia approached where Connor was still trapped in his despair bubble, and she slowly sank to sit on the concrete next to him. Connor jerked as soon as he registered someone beside him, and he yanked his head up, face filling with additional embarrassment as he noted that it was Julia and the wayward cake.

Julia said something, though the sound didn’t carry to where Person was. Connor gave a pained frown and started to bury his face again, but Julia laughed and leaned sideways, knocking her shoulder against his playfully. He swayed with the nudge and reluctantly lifted his face again. Julia stretched her legs out in front of her, crossing her ankles and making a show of taking the first forkful of cake out of the box. She put it in her mouth and chewed happily.

Around the third bite, Connor started to loosen up, sitting up out of his curled state and looking more curious now if the cake was actually good. He asked something, and Julia nodded, happily munching on her cake. She appeared to offer him some, and he lifted a hand and shook his head, pushing it back toward her.

It was a gift, Person could imagine him arguing. It’s for you. All for you.

She deftly raised her phone and snapped a picture, making sure to catch an idling bomb squad member in the background, still in full gear. Hank heard the shutter noise on her phone, and he leaned over to look at the picture as it came up on the screen. Person tilted her phone toward him for his approval.

He burst out a short laugh, covering his mouth with his hand and nodding. “Yeah, that’s a good one. Send that to me.”

“On it,” she said, sending the picture to his phone. “Sent.”

“All right, people,” Fowler boomed from the street, hands on his hips. “False alarm. We got the all clear. Let’s head back inside and get back to work.”

“What the Hell was it?” Gavin barked. “We just wasted half the morning out here!”

“Not a bomb. That’s all you should care about,” Fowler remarked. “Go on.”

The crowd started to break up, moving toward the station, and Hank and Person soon followed suit. They left the two on the curb: Julia eating her cake and gently teasing Connor for his ill-fated efforts, Connor pretending to be offended at her jokes but quickly dropping the act to make sure that she actually, really liked the cake.

“Happy Activation Day,” he finally said. “I’m sorry I almost ruined it.”

“Ruined it?” Julia cackled. “This is the best Activation Day I’ve ever had.”

Connor blinked at her in surprise, then slowly smiled. “Well, then…you’re welcome, Julia.”

“Thank you, Connor,” she nodded in return, then more seriously. “I mean it.”

He knocked his shoulder against hers lightly, and she abruptly cackled.

“Wait…Is this your way of saying I’m…da bomb?!” she pointed out.

Connor groaned and shook his head with a smirk. “Stop it.”

She giggled with a wink and got back to her treat. He snorted and stayed where he was, content to sit out there with her until she finished her cake, before they would rejoin the rest of the team inside the station again. Neither was in a hurry.

Chapter Text

Hank wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to the way Connor and other androids ‘worked’ on the station computers. Connor was currently sitting with his usual perfect posture, one hand extended to the base of the work terminal, the skin projection peeled back up to his wrist, allowing him to interface directly with the computer.

He didn’t have to use the keyboard or the mouse or even the touch feature on the monitor. He was almost literally hooked right into the computer right now. That was weird looking enough, but add to that the habit that Connor had when he was super focused on a case…The kid didn’t blink or move or do that ventilation thing that imitated human breathing. He looked like a mannequin, motionless except for his LED doing an occasional spin on his temple.

Hank, meanwhile, was on his fifth full body stretch that morning, cracking his neck and trying to keep a kink from forming in his lower back from sitting still for so long. God, he hated filing reports. He snatched up a piece of scrap paper that he’d been doodling on, balled it up, and lobbed it at Connor. The paper wad bounced off Connor’s shoulder and fell into his lap.

Connor blinked once. Twice. Then he slowly turned his head to look at Hank, like some kind of eldritch horror in a scary movie.

“Jesus,” Hank chuckled away the unsettled feeling. “You still in there, bud?”

The light slowly came back to Connor’s eyes as he disengaged from the interface, and he relaxed in his seat slightly, looking more like himself and less…mannequin-y.

“Where else would I be?” Connor asked, sitting back in his seat.

Hank snorted, then noted the unusually lax way that his partner was sitting. He looked…damn, Hank would almost describe Connor as looking “tired,” but since when did androids get tired? Deviancy…It was a Hell of a thing, apparently.

“You all right?” he asked.

Connor manually turned his ventilation program back on, taking a deep breath and then releasing it as a sigh. He raised a hand and pressed his thumb against the center of his forehead, squinting his eyes shut briefly.

“Yes,” he replied, lowering his hand and opening his eyes again, looking no less haggard. “I’ve been completing my case reports at an accelerated pace, and it’s caused my processors to become somewhat…overwhelmed.”

“You look like you have a headache, kid.”

“A human condition, but not an inaccurate description of what I’m experiencing,” Connor said honestly, sighing again and sitting up as though to resume his work.

“Whoa, whoa, no,” Hank said, holding out a hand as though to stop him. “Take a breather—“

“I don’t need to breathe—“

“Then take a few minutes and just sit there,” Hank remarked. “No human in this bullpen is expected to run a thousand miles an hour every minute they’re on the clock. So you androids shouldn’t be either.” He gave Connor a onceover. “Do they make android…aspirin?”

“No. My diagnostic system has isolated the issue, and my self repair program is already correcting it,” Connor said.

“Well, that’s efficient.”

Hank could see that he was itching to get back to work and simultaneously was worn out from the toll of the day so far. Hank drummed his hands on his knees and then stood up, stretching his back properly.

“C’mon, let’s go for a walk.”

Connor blinked up at him. “To…where?”

“Just outside. A walk around the building. Get some sunshine. Get the precinct air out of our lungs—“

“I don’t have lungs—“

“Well, then your…” Hank gestured to Connor’s chest. “Wherever the air goes when you breathe in.”

“Ventilation biocomponents.”

“Yeah, those, whatever. Just c’mon. It’ll do us both some good to get away from the desk for a bit, stretch our muscles—“

“I don’t have—“

“Connor, I swear to God.” Hank put his hands on his hips and tried to look stern, but a snort slipped out. “You know what I mean, smartass.”

Connor stared at him, then the corner of his mouth quirked and he gave in, standing up.

“It might be beneficial to remove myself from the case at hand for the moment…and come back with a…” Connor searched for the phrase, “a fresh set of eyes?”

Hank chuckled, clapping him on the shoulder as they headed for the exit. “Don’t you mean…optical units?”

Connor snickered and walked alongside him, and Hank grinned.

“See? I can be a smartass too.”

“Clearly.”

Chapter Text

Ugh, hospitals. Well, technically it was called a facility, which really just meant “android hospital,” but either way…ugh.

The facility had finally given the go-ahead to allow visitors in to see Connor after the heavy repairs that he’d needed after the bank hostage situation. His throat was still heavily bandaged, and his voice modulator replacement had not been installed yet, leaving him mute. However, he seemed to be in okay spirits when Oliver Stevens stopped by.

His visit gave Hank a chance to leave the facility to take care of some things while not leaving Connor alone. Not that he had had any shortage of visitors, going by the table of Get Well Soon balloons, flower arrangements, and other assorted cards and gifts. Oliver had brought a small gift bag from the collective Stevens: himself, Janet, and Bonny. Janet was still at home watching Bonny and Janet’s mother Carla, both still reeling from the events of the bank as well. Oliver ached to be home with them, comforting his daughter, but she had been adamant that Connor get their gift as soon as possible.

Sitting up in the private room’s patient bed, Connor was curiously tugging the green tissue paper out of the white bag. Oliver sat in one of the plastic chairs in the room, forearms on his knees and twiddling his thumbs as he kept Connor company.

“Bonny wanted me to make sure you knew that SHE picked it out,” Oliver stated with a grin.

Connor smirked and reached into the bag, pulling out the soft little stuffed green iguana toy. It had hard plastic beads for eyes, bulging out of the top of its head, and its tail was curled in a tight swirl at its back end. It had a paler green belly and a funky dark green pattern on its back. Connor blinked at it for a bewildered second, and then his expression warmed affectionately as he held it in his hands.

“She said it was…Ferdinand’s friend,” Oliver explained. “He doesn’t have a name yet, so it’s up to you.”

Connor looked away from the iguana, over to Oliver. He had a complicated look on his face, but Oliver figured it out pretty easily. Speaking of names…This was really the first time any of the Stevens had been alone with Connor since he had politely declined their offer to join their family. They had invited him, with no presumption or pressure, to become a Stevens if he so chose, what with the recent android familial status law recently passing. Oliver would be lying if he said that it hadn’t hurt, but he just wanted Connor to know that he’d always be an honorary Stevens and…law or not, he was part of the family as long as he wanted to be.

“Bonny’s doing okay,” he tried to press on, not wanting to make the poor guy more uncomfortable. “I mean, as okay as a little girl can be after what she went through—She’s a strong kid.”

Connor nodded in quick agreement, and Oliver smiled.

“In no time, she’ll be back to her old self, you’ll be back to your old self, and you’ll both be wreaking havoc again,” he chuckled.

Connor’s subdued smile widened at that, and he fidgeted with the toy iguana for a moment before his gaze moved over to the bedside table. He set the iguana down and started to reach for something on the table. It was just a little out of reach, and Connor was still not at 100 percent. Oliver was immediately on his feet, moving over to the table instead.

“What do you need, buddy? I gotcha.”

Connor frowned at his limitations, but he pointed at one of the items out of his reach: his black leather wallet. Oliver picked it up and offered it to him. Connor shook his head and pointed at it again, indicating that Oliver should open it.

“Open…Why?” Oliver asked, feeling a little weird about the request.

Connor just looked at him imploringly, and Oliver sat down in his seat again, obliging him and opening the wallet. There wasn’t much to look at inside…It was a wallet…Just Connor’s ID card in the plastic sleeve, which Oliver just glanced at briefly before—

His eyes snagged on the ID card, and his chest abruptly tightened.

The identification cards issued to androids looked similar to human driver’s licenses, except it listed their model and serial numbers and manufacturing date. Their names were normally printed beside their picture. Just a first name for many, but if they had been annexed into a human family or chosen to modify their registered name, then it would be a first name and a surname…He’d never seen a middle name before, but Connor had apparently included one when he modified his registration.

Connor Steven Anderson.

Oliver stared at the full name for another few seconds before his eyes burned, and he looked up at Connor. He was staring back at him, expression slightly stiff with anxiety as to what Oliver’s reaction might be, as if to silently ask: is it okay that I did that?

“Connor…” Oliver breathed. “This…”

He stood up, wallet in hand, and stepped over to the bed. He leaned down and carefully wrapped his arms around Connor, mindful of his healing injuries, and gave him a gentle but firm hug. Connor more timidly returned the hug, and Oliver scrunched his face out of sight to try and rein in his emotional response.

The longer the hug lasted, the more Connor seemed to lean into it, and Oliver happily held on, rubbing his hand up and down the android’s back a few times, not trusting himself to speak for a moment. When he felt Connor finally start to pull away, he also leaned back, disengaging and swiftly wiping at the moisture under his eyes before he sat down again. He respectfully closed the wallet and set it on the bedside table within Connor’s reach.

“Wow, that…I’m touched, Connor, truly,” he said emphatically. “Thank you.”

Connor opened his mouth, closed it, and then instead lifted his hands in a gesture that Oliver recognized to be sign language for something like “I love you guys.”

Oliver smiled, the tight ball in his chest melting, and he mirrored the gesture back to him. “We love you too, buddy. So much. What I said a while back still stands: you’re an honorary Stevens and part of the family forever. You can’t get rid of us,” he said with a wink.

Connor smiled, emotion rapidly filling his face and then his eyes. Oliver jumped up again and pulled him into another hug, which Connor eagerly reciprocated this time. Oliver patted him on the back and then gave him a squeeze before pulling away. He left his hand on Connor’s shoulder as he looked at him.

“Now, next time you see Bonny, make sure you let her know that I told you the iguana was from her. She was very adamant about that, okay?” he said with a chuckle.

Connor gave a wet smile and lifted a thumb up at him. Oliver nodded and patted his shoulder before releasing him.

“She said she had to be a good older sister, and she wanted only the best for her younger brother,” he teased.

Connor smiled, looking cheered by the title, and Oliver contentedly sat back in his seat again.

“So…got any name ideas for your iguana friend?”

Connor looked thoughtful, but then he shrugged.

“That’s fine,” Oliver assured. “Got all the time in the world…Well, you got all the time until Bonny facetimes you later. She will demand an answer to that question.”

Connor smirked and looked fondly at the little stuffed iguana.

The air in the room drifted back to a more comfortable atmosphere, and Oliver took the opportunity to tug out his phone.

“Speaking of BJ, we renovated her treehouse not too long ago. I took some pictures. Wanna see?”

Connor nodded, sitting more forward to see, and Oliver scooted his chair closer, handing his phone over.

“She decided she wanted to paint the whole thing purple…”

Chapter Text

For years, the house where Hank lived was just that and only that: where he lived. Maybe that was even stretching it. It was where he’d dragged his sorry ass after losing his son, after divorcing his wife, and losing his will to do anything more than the bare minimum to stay alive. That hadn’t exactly been ‘living.’ Yeah, Sumo kept him company, but he was a low maintenance dog who preferred to loaf around anyway.

It was four walls and a roof and a place for him to drink and pass out every night…It had never felt like a home. Hank knew he was shit with words; if pressed, he wasn’t sure how he’d define what a ‘home’ was supposed to be. He just knew how it was supposed to feel. It was…a kid running barefoot down the hall, cackling his head off and being chased by a parent. It was the smell of a meal shared among loved ones. It was where you knew how all the shower knobs worked and knew where the toolbox was. It was all the creaks and groans and pops that a house structure made, and how you knew all the normal sounds from the ones that you should maybe get up and check on.

Maybe Hank had never given this place a proper chance. It sure looked a Hell of a lot different now.

No more takeout boxes and beer bottles piling up everywhere. No more stale food in the fridge and dust on every surface. No more overgrown yard and garage so full of useless junky shit that he couldn’t even park his car in it.

Tonight, it was the spicy smell of chicken fajitas filling the whole house. It was the sound of the basketball game on the television. It was the Connor-shaped dent in the couch from where he had slept on it since the android revolution, ruining the shape of the cushions but Hell, the couch was permanently Connor’s at this point as far as Hank was concerned. It was where he belonged…Well, not the couch…Hell, the house only had one bedroom, but a man deserved a bed to sleep in…Connor never complained though…Maybe there was a way to convert the garage into a bedroom…extend the house a little…insulate it and—fuck, that would be a whole ass project, but…Connor deserved his own space. He was a person, and this was…

This was his home.

Hank paused, sitting on the less-lumpy end of the couch, can of ginger ale held against his lips with that sudden realization. He lowered the can and looked to the other end of the couch. Connor was sitting forward on the edge of the cushion, grappling with Sumo to try and get the rope toy out of the big oaf’s mouth. Sumo had his head down and his rear end up in the air, tail swishing.

“Drop it,” Connor ordered. “Sumo. Drop it.”

Sumo recognized no such order, and he proceeded to very much not drop it. Instead, he just yanked harder back against Connor’s grip on the toy, snorting and drooling all over Connor’s hand. Connor used both hands then and wiggled side to side to try and pry the toy loose. Sumo’s head just bobbed side to side with the momentum, his jaw staying locked around the toy.

Sumo abruptly yanked back again, and Connor nearly popped out of his seat, involuntarily letting go of the rope. Sumo bounced back up onto his feet, then held his head high and trotted over to his bed. He flopped down onto the dog bed and continued to chew on the toy. Connor sighed in defeat and remained where he was, forearms on his knees as he stared at Sumo.

“Fine. Keep it,” he said. “I let you win anyway.”

Hank chuckled, and Connor glanced sideways at him with a smirk.

“You sure told him,” Hank remarked.

Connor snorted and then made a face at the slobbery, hairy mess all over his hands. He looked so disgusted that Hank had to laugh at him.

“Pretty sure you licked the bottom of a shoe today, kid, but THIS is what grosses you out?”

“I did not ‘lick the bottom of a shoe.’ I analyzed a dirt sample left in the treads of the shoe worn by the victim when—“

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, you licked the bottom of a shoe,” Hank said, waving him off. “It was fucking disgusting. Congratulations.”

Connor quirked an eyebrow at him, but he didn’t look to be in the mood to continue that same old argument again tonight. Instead, he simply got up and went to the bathroom to clean his hands. When he came back, the game was well into its third quarter, but despite the close score, Hank had a pretty good idea how this one was gonna turn out.

Connor returned to his seat, subtly trying to entice Sumo into coming back over to him to keep playing. Sumo was content to chew on his toy by himself however, and Connor gave up with a pout.

That big, dumb ball of warm affection was back, lodged deep in Hank’s ribcage. It flared up whenever Connor did something like this: just sitting there being himself, away from work and the pressure of maintaining a professional face. It was happening more and more, and it was fascinating getting to see the kid show more of his personality…and who he trusted around him to see him this way.

Maybe that’s what home was. Where you could be weird and free of judgment for it.

Hank couldn’t hold back a smile, thanks to that big, dumb ball of warm affection, and he reached out an arm, dropping his hand lightly against the middle of Connor’s back in a solid pat. Connor looked at him again curiously, and Hank took his hand back, settling into the couch for the rest of the basketball game.

“What?” Connor asked with a small grin.

“Nothing.” Hank shrugged. “You’re just a weirdo is all.”

“Oh, now that is the pot calling the kettle black,” Connor retorted, eyebrows going high.

Hank barked out a laugh. “Yeah, that’s fair.”

“Just because I can analyze forensic evidence in real time—“

“I said that’s fair!”

“Have you seen your choices in fashion? Because I have, and it makes my optical units want to bleed—“

“Jesus Christ—“ Hank burst out laughing, raising his hands in surrender. “Pipe down with the sass program. I never said being a weirdo was a bad thing! The alternative is being a normal fucking plain bagel.” He pointed at Connor. “Never be a plain bagel.”

“I don’t…know how to interpret that.”

“Forget I said anything,” Hank said with a snort. “You’re fine, kiddo. Perfectly fine.”

He reached out and ruffled Connor’s hair. Connor simultaneously leaned into the contact, like the big Labrador that he secretly was, and leaned away, like the indignant, stubborn jackass that he sometimes was.

“Yeah, well…so are you.” Connor’s retort had the same kind of mixed tone, sputtered out with a snarky grin.

“Good, I’m glad we agree,” Hank said with a nod.

And just like that, they both went back to watching the game. Sumo continued to gnaw all over his chew toy. The basketball game continued to play out on the television.

Just another normal night continued to gently pass in the Anderson home.

Chapter Text

Connor couldn’t move.

He wanted to. He desperately wanted to move. By all logical means, there was nothing stopping him. His system was even providing a constant stream of preconstruction statistics, letting him know that he had a 100 percent probability of surviving if he just did what Hank was telling him to do.

But he couldn’t make himself move.

The fear that had been molten in his thirium lines had turned solid, locking up his joints and paralyzing him in place.

So there he remained: near the top of the A-frame ladder that had been positioned in Hank’s driveway, hands wrapped so tightly around the sides that his skin program was thinning, showing the white plastic of his knuckles underneath. He had gotten up to this point easily enough, without looking down, and managed to clean out the gutters at Hank’s request…

His mistake had been in looking down before beginning his descent, and the ladder had wiggled slightly before stabilizing. And now he couldn’t move.

“Connor, just take one step down at a time,” Hank was saying from the safety of the ground, one hand resting against one leg of the ladder.

“Can’t,” Connor replied in a short, clipped tone.

“Jesus—Connor, it’s hardly ten feet. Even if you slip—AND YOU WON’T—You’ll be fine, I promise.”

“Can’t,” he repeated tightly. “Danger.”

He heard Hank give a loud sigh, and embarrassment flooded Connor’s circuits. He squinted his eyes shut and stayed where he was.

“I’m sorry, Hank. I’m…afraid.”

“All right,” Hank said with a resigned tone. “Okay. I’m coming to get you.”

“Wait—“ Connor’s eyes popped open and he looked down at Hank.

But Hank was already climbing onto the hood of the Oldsmobile, parked beside the ladder. Even just doing that put Hank’s head roughly at Connor’s hip, highlighting the shamefully short height that had rendered Connor paralyzed.

“Here,” Hank said, joking tone gone, and he reached out, putting a hand under Connor’s nearer elbow. “I gotcha, son. We’re gonna go down one step at a time.”

“Can’t.”

“Yes, you can,” Hank encouraged. “I’m right here with ya. Look at me.”

It took considerable effort, but Connor turned his head and met Hank’s eyes. Hank’s grip on his arm felt solid, and Connor tentatively leaned into that strength, forcibly loosening his hold on the ladder enough to attempt the first step down.

“I watched you chase that deviant Rupert across all kinds of rooftops and…You jumped onto a moving train, kid,” Hank kept talking, and Connor kept staring at him, forcing himself not to look away, or worse…down.

“I wasn’t deviant then. I had never experienced fear…I didn’t know I had a life to lose,” Connor retorted. “All that mattered was the mission then…Deviancy has brought on a stronger sense of…self preservation that presents some challenges.”

Hank snorted, easing him into a second step down on the ladder. “Fun times.”

Connor gave him a flat look, and Hank smirked as Connor trembled through a third downward step. They were nearly at eye level now, and Hank took a step back.

“Now just step onto the car, and then shimmy back to solid ground.”

Connor’s fingers locked around the sides of the ladder again. “Can’t.”

“C’monnn,” Hank gently teased, moving his grip from Connor’s elbow to his wrist. “Take my hand and just step over. Trust me.”

“I do trust you, but—okay,” Connor tried to keep a steady head, more or less leaping off the ladder and onto the hood of the car before he could overthink it.

Hank held his hands out to steady him, but Connor took advantage of his momentum and frantically lowered himself to his seat on the car hood, crawled off the car, and sat heavily on the concrete. He gave a deep exhale and reveled in the solid ground under him. Hank chuckled and climbed down off the car with much less urgency.

“Son, that was more than self preservation. You’ve got a good old fashioned case of the fear of heights.”

“I-I don’t know where that comes from,” Connor remarked, shaking his head and feeling hot all of a sudden with relief. “I’ve never encountered any sort of trauma related to heights.”

Hank shoved his hands in his pockets and shrugged, leaning against the car door beside where Connor was sitting on the ground. “Well, I don’t have any trauma related to pigeons, but they still freak me out.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better.”

“Sorry.”

Connor huffed and steeled himself, getting up off the ground and standing up again. He glanced up at the ladder, feeling fresh embarrassment over just now not-high it truly was. When he had been up there, it had felt so much farther…

“How about from now on, I clean out the gutters?” Hank offered. “If you’ll deal with any gangs of birds that get in the yard or wherever the little bastards find themselves.”

“It’s a deal,” Connor agreed.

Chapter Text

The second movie night at the Wilson household was a much greater success than the first. Wilson corrected his error from selecting the heartwrenching maritime disaster film, “Titanic,” and instead let his wife Dinah choose tonight’s film. She had stated that she wanted to give the 07 androids a higher octane, action packed viewing experience, full of high stakes and tension and triumph instead of heavy emotion and tragedy.

She had selected “Mad Max: Fury Road.”

Once again, the sectional couch in their living room was covered in androids, but unlike last time there was no emotionally supportive cuddling. No…tonight, they were hollering. Well…all but one of them was.

“HOLY SHIT!” Gwen cheered, bouncing in her seat with her fists balled against her knees. “Did you see that?!”

“My girl Furiosa said eat shit!” Polly was crouched on the other end of the couch, hugging a pillow to her chest and watching with wide eyes.

Zeke had spent the last half of the film on his feet, looking like he was frozen in the act of jumping up and down…since his favorite character had perished, gone all too soon after the main characters had met her.

“Maybe she survived that?” he’d desperately whispered, as the high speed action scene had continued on without the mighty Valkyrie.

Apollo had been sitting calmly beside Connor throughout the film, but Wilson could tell he was enjoying the movie…in his own reserved, Apollo way.

Julia sat on Connor’s other side, sitting forward with her elbows on her knees, rapturously grinning since the first action sequence had kicked off the film.

Wilson subtly reached over and offered his closed fist to his wife Dinah sitting beside him. She gave him a smug look and knocked her knuckles against his. Yeah, she’d knocked it out of the park on this one. They were all really enjoying this movie…except Connor.

Connor was asleep.

Wilson couldn’t really blame him. The poor guy had just gotten relieved from a shift that had accidentally and somehow stretched into 18 intense hours. His feet had already been dragging by the time he arrived, and the combination of dimming the living room lights and being surrounded by warm bodies had turned into his downfall. But Apollo wasn’t exactly cuddly, so Connor’s exhausted mind had teetered him instead against Julia, spending half of the film with his head on her shoulder and completely oblivious to the hooting and hollering going on in the room.

As the film had gotten more intense, Julia had ended up sitting forward like she was now, and Connor had slept through the jostling, his top half falling behind her in the space between her back and the couch. And so there he had remained for the past hour, burrowed into the bunched up fabric of her hoodie against the small of her back. Julia didn’t appear to mind in the slightest. She might have forgotten he was there actually, going by how intently she was following Furiosa’s every move.

The screen finally cut to black, and the end credits began to roll.

“AaaaaAAAAHHH,” Gwen roared inconsolably. “That’s it?! I need more!”

“Chill!” Dinah held out her hands. “It’s part one of a trilogy. There’re two more movies to go.”

“Pop in the next one!” Polly bounced in her seat.

“Yeah, yeah!” Zeke chimed.

Dinah chuckled and looked to Wilson. They both looked at the clock on the wall. It wasn’t overly late, but it wasn’t a time of evening when he would normally pop in another two hour movie.

“It has to be unanimous,” he suggested, looking to Julia and Apollo.

Apollo shrugged. “I’m in.”

Julia bobbed her head. “Me too.”

“What about…?” Gwen asked, pointing to the lump that was Connor, nestled into the couch beside Julia.

Julia snorted and grabbed his limp arm, raising his hand up. “Connor votes yes.”

She dropped his arm, and the limb fell like dead weight in her lap.

Wilson laughed and reached for the remote on the coffee table. “All right, folks. Hold onto your plastic butts, because…somehow…the next one is even better than the first one.”

“Oooh shit!” Gwen squeaked in excitement.

“We’re all gonna die tonight,” Zeke beamed, high fiving Gwen.

All of the commotion finally, yet barely, roused Connor, and he still didn’t properly wake up. All he managed was to curl more fully into the couch to get comfortable, and his arm unconsciously tightened around Julia’s middle, pulling her back toward him.

“Oh…Oh, he’s got me,” Julia startled, yet made no motion to escape.

“He’s…asleep,” Apollo remarked flatly.

“I’m trapped,” she moaned dramatically.

The others, still riding the high of the film, dramatically extended their arms toward her.

“Julia, no!” Polly drawled.

Connor sleepily continued to cling to the warm body in front of him, and Julia was thusly dragged deeper into the cushions against him. She grinned and pretended to reach for Zeke, who was reaching for her in slow motion. Julia lifted her feet off the couch and surrendered wholly to her captor, and as her center of gravity shifted and she started to topple sideways, she made eye contact with Polly.

“Witness me!”

Polly, Gwen, and Zeke all pointed at her. “Witnessed!”

Julia then dramatically flopped back on top of Connor, pretending to be dead. Connor, none the wiser, slept on. Apollo raised a judging eyebrow and scooted away from them on the couch.

Wilson clucked his tongue as he used the remote to scroll through the film library searching for the next movie, wholly ignoring the two lumps on the couch beside him. On his other side, Dinah cackled and got to her feet.

“While we have an intermission, I’ve got thirium-based popcorn if anybody’s interested?”

A chorus of “Yes, please!” echoed through the living room. Julia even managed to revive from her snuggly death to request some popcorn as well.

Wilson snickered and watched the others start re-enacting their favorite parts of the movie and continue to flail in their feelings about particular scenes they liked.

Yeah…from now on, his wife was picking the movies on movie night.

Chapter Text

One would think that having an android on one’s team during Pictionary would be a huge advantage. The thing was…it really wasn’t. Now, that was mostly due to the fact that they had made Connor turn off whatever program he had that contained all of his artistic talent. Chris had seen Connor fill in for the sketch artist in a pinch, and, like all androids, he had some decent skills at recreating images. But drawing something from scratch? With imagination? If this game was any indication, then Connor was as hopeless as the rest of them.

Currently, the score had the team of Chris, Wilson, and Ben slightly ahead of the team of Connor, Tina, and Person. Ben’s living room wasn’t quite big enough for six people and a drawing board, but darn if they weren’t making it work. Unfortunately for all parties, it was Connor’s turn to draw again. Chris sat back comfortably between Wilson and Ben, ready for whatever was about to go down.

Connor quickly read the prompt card, set it face down, opened the marker, and set about making his best attempt at the prompt. So far, his saving grace had been that he and Person somehow shared a brain, and she was an excellent guesser. Tina had come in clutch a few times though with absolutely left field answers that had turned out to be right.

And it wasn’t that Connor was…bad…He just wasn’t…great. Honestly it was kinda nice to know he wasn’t perfect at everything. The fact that not being perfect at everything bothered Connor so much? Well, that only made tonight’s game night all the more entertaining.

Connor had drawn two parallel vertical lines in the middle of the board, with a dome on that top that looked like some kind of cap.

“Uh…Skyscraper!” Person called out.

“Pencil!” Tina guessed.

Connor shook his head and drew a horizontal line under the parallel ones, like something jutting up out of the ground.

“Sword?” Person tried.

“Keep going. Draw more!” Tina pressed.

Connor paused, then reconsidered, wiping away the horizontal line. He redrew it, more squiggly this time, and then drew a circle to the left of the tall, pointy thing. He then proceeded to draw another circle, this time to the right of the tall, pointy thing.

Chris, Wilson, and Ben all sat back in the seat, all simultaneously coming to the same conclusion.

It…looked like a…

“PENIS!” Tina roared confidently. “It’s a penis!”

Connor gawked at her in horror, shaking his head and pointing the marker at the pointy thing. Chris placed a hand over his mouth to smother a grin, while Wilson quivered with giggles beside him.

“Penis!” Tina was insistent. “Uh…Dick! Meat sword! Wang! Willy! Dong! Johnson!”

The others’ heads slowly swiveled around to look at Tina, as she continued to spew an impressive list of euphemisms for male genitalia.

“Wiener!” she went on. “Penis!”

“It’s not a penis!” Connor finally snapped at her.

Person sat forward in her seat, elbows on her knees and squinting at the drawing. “Bookends? Bookshelf?”

Ben picked up the prompt card and turned it toward himself, reading it. He snorted and showed it to Wilson. Chris intentionally didn’t look. He figured it’d be funnier to find out after hearing all the guesses.

Connor looked irritated, going over the lines on the top of the pointy thing again.

Oh God, he was making it worse…

“Flying saucer?” Tina was just throwing out nonsense now. “Tandem bicycle. Nightmare on Elm Street. Garden gnome…Penis!”

“Stop saying penis!” Person smacked her on the leg.

“Buh—Look at it! That is a triumphant looking penis!”

The timer on Wilson’s phone buzzed on the coffee table, and Connor sighed, capping the marker and tossing it on the couch near Ben. He looked disappointedly at his teammates.

“What the actual Hell?” Tina asked.

Connor frowned and pointed at the drawing. “It’s a lighthouse.”

Everyone in the room tilted their heads simultaneously.

“In WHAT world?” Tina gawked.

Connor huffed and pointed to the top of the so-called lighthouse. “This is the top where the light is—“

“Since when do lighthouses have balls?” Tina pointed.

“They’re not—They’re supposed to be the…” Connor gestured helplessly. “Most lighthouses that I’ve seen are surrounded by big rocks or…cliff faces…” He huffed and sat down beside Person. “Whatever…I don’t like this game.”

Wilson snickered and stood up for the other team, picking up a prompt card and reading it. Chris refocused, sitting forward and ready to guess. Wilson set the card down, uncapped the marker, and started drawing. First he drew a circle.

“The sun!” Ben called out.

“Lollipop?” Chris guessed, thinking of circular things.

Wilson shook his head and started drawling little black circles inside the larger circle.

“Planet? It—Cookie! Chocolate chip cookie!” Ben guessed.

Wilson pointed at him. “Yes!”

Connor violently threw himself back into the cushions on the couch, throwing up his hands. “OH COME ON!”

Chapter Text

Connor had tried to warn Tina. Ben had tried to warn her. Even Gavin had tried to warn her, but Tina had not let up…and now she was suffering for it. Connor was aware of the positive effect that exercise had on human moods, how strenuous activity triggered the release of pain relieving bran chemicals, resulting in a post-work out “high.” Today, however, Tina achieved a new level of what Ben had warningly called “Macho Syndrome.” In not so many words, she felt like she was on top of the world, and she was challenging anyone who happened to be in the precinct gym to try and dethrone her.

Unfortunately, the target of her challenge had turned out to be Person, and the challenge of choice for the afternoon was bench pressing.

Tina was not going to win this.

They were already three rounds deep. Each round, both women had to complete two repetitions of bench pressing the weight bar. Each round, Gavin added five pounds, two and half pound weighs to each side of the bar. They were up to 110 pounds, and Tina was struggling. Gavin stood at the head of the bench, spotting her. Her face was red and sweaty, and one of her legs was trembling as she completed the second rep. The bar wobbled up off her chest, and Gavin reached out a hand, guiding it back into the brackets.

“Woo!” Tina hollered, popping upright on the bench. “Beat that!”

Person stood with her arms folded beside Connor. She was already sweaty from finishing her personal training routine before Tina had issued her challenge. Connor could tell she was getting impatient and ready to just go home…but she was also not going to back away from a challenge.

“Contender Number Two?” Gavin prompted, also in his workout clothes and waiting for Person’s acceptance of another round.

“Make it quick,” Person sighed. “I’ve got an early morning tomorrow. I don’t have time for this.”

Gavin snorted and started adding more weight for the next round of 115 pounds, and Tina stood up, rotating her shoulders and her neck.

“Ooh, look who’s acting all big and bad,” Tina chuckled, shadowboxing at Person with a grin.

Walking at his own pace on a nearby treadmill, Ben cupped his hands around his mouth. “You’re going to die tonight, Chen, if you don’t watch it.”

Tina blew a raspberry, putting her hands on her hips and winking at Connor. Person approached the bench and reclined, assuming the position. Gavin moved out of the way; it had become an implicit part of the process that he only spotted Tina. Connor spotted Person every round.

“Two reps,” Tina reminded her needlessly, holding up two fingers.

Connor took his place at the head of the bench, looking down at Person. She stared back up at him with a resigned look, then grasped the bar, lifted it out of the bracket, and…

Boom. First rep.

Boom. Second rep.

Back in the brackets.

Person sat up and just as swiftly stood, gesturing to the bench. “Next?”

Tina stared at her for a slack jawed second, then shook herself and made a helicopter motion with one hand.

“Gavin!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Gavin grumbled, moving to spot her again.

Connor stepped aside and looked at Person. “You’re just toying with her, aren’t you?”

Person snorted, unscrewing her bottle of water and sipping at it. “Yes, but I really do have an early morning tomorrow. The next round is the last one, I’ll make sure of it.”

Tina groaned and trembled as she completed the first rep. “One!” she hissed through her teeth.

“You sound confident,” Connor teased.

Person tilted her head and looked at him flatly. “You know I could pick you up and throw you like a javelin if I wanted, right?”

“I am alarmingly aware of that, yes.”

“Two!” Tina nearly yelled, as Gavin hastily pulled the bar back into the bracket for her.

Tina heaved a breath, laboriously sitting up, her arms dangling like spaghetti at her sides. “Beat. That.”

Person screwed her water bottle shut and looked pointedly at Gavin. “Move.”

Gavin, in a rare moment of knowing better than Tina, raised his hands and backed away from the bench. Person stepped over to the weight rack. While maintaining unbroken eye contact with Tina, Person picked up a twenty pound circular weight and added it to one side of the bar.

“Wh—“ Tina’s eyes went wide.

Person picked up a second twenty pound circular weight and added it to the other side of the bar. Without a word, she laid back on the bench and grasped the bar above her head. Connor moved to spot her, but just like the previous rounds, he knew it was more out of safety than her actually needing assistance. The bar, now carrying 155 pounds of weight, came out of the bracket and rested in her hands.

Boom. First rep.

Boom. Second rep.

Back in the brackets.

“What the entire fuck!?” Tina snapped as Person sat up and then stood.

“Are we done?” Person asked coolly.

Tina gave the weighted bar a measured look, but she finally shook her head.

“Yeah, we’re done.” She made a show of extending her arms and bending forward in an exaggerated bow. “All hail Person, the strongest woman at the 07.”

Person tried to keep looking impassive, but Connor saw a proud little smirk curve the corner of her mouth. She gathered up her bag and gave Tina a casual salute.

“Let me know if any of you all want to challenge me to anything that’s actually difficult sometime.”

“Ooh!” Ben crooned from the treadmill.

Tina cackled and waved her off. “Yeah, whatever, get outta here.”

Person snorted and gave Connor’s arm a parting nudge. “See ya tomorrow.”

“Good night, Person.”

As she made her triumphant exit, Tina put her hands on her hips and watched her go.

“Where does she even have muscle? She looks like a string bean!”

“She’s an eldritch being,” Gavin commented. “You know she’s threatened my life before? Twice?”

“Psh,” Tina scoffed.

“I’m serious. It’s fucking terrifying. It’s because she’s so short. All of her rage is, like, condensed,” Gavin added.

“Or you just have that effect on people,” Connor remarked.

“Ooh!” Ben chimed in again.

Tina swiveled to look at Ben. “What are you ‘ooh’-ing at, dude?”

“Because Person went easy on you, so don’t go talking shit,” Ben snickered. “I’ve seen her bench press Connor with no problem.”

Tina’s head rotated around to stare at Connor. “You…she bench pressed you?” She faced him fully. “I have questions. The first being ‘Why’? And the second being ‘the actual fuck’?”

Connor gave Ben a deadpan look, only getting an amused shrug in response. “I’m leaving now.”

He gathered up his things to go.

“Third question,” Tina kept on. “How?”

Ben chuckled. “If you can’t bench press your bestie, then are you really even friends at all?”

“Good night, Tina, Ben, Gavin,” Connor said, gracefully backing out of the conversation.

He was just passing through the front door when he heard Tina change tact.

“Gavin, get over here—“

“NO.”

“I just want to try—“

“NO…Put…Put me down!”

Ben’s howling laughter followed Connor out the door.

Chapter Text

When Hank had referred to Connor as a “poodle,” he’d been making a joke at the android’s expense about how he kept trailing after Hank like a well trained dog. He’d made his joke and thought nothing of it afterward for months, until one day Chris had teasingly said that Connor was acting like a puppy after getting his first, true, genuine compliment from Captain Fowler on his detective work on a recent case. The kid had been walking on air all afternoon, eyes bright and grinning like an idiot. If he’d had a tail, it would have been wagging up a storm.

Speaking of storms…here was another prime example of why Connor was part-dog.

There had been rain in the forecast all day, but it wasn’t until the past hour that the sky had just cracked open and unleashed a deluge over the city. Wind made the hard, stinging rain come in at a damn near 45 degree angle. There was no coat or umbrella that would save you from just getting soaked, but fortunately, Hank and Connor had gotten home and in the house about five minutes before it struck. Unfortunately, the elderly woman who lived across the street had left every window on her car open, and it was going to likely rain like this all night.

Connor had seen her hobble out onto her front porch in distress, and he had practically bolted out the door and across the street to help her. The rain had already made the steps slick, and Mable already had a bad hip, that Hank could remember. Before Hank could take a step to join his friend, Connor had climbed into her car, interfaced with the autonomous software, and electronically rolled up all the windows and closed the sun roof. He had ducked under the cover of the porch long enough to help Mable back in her house, and then he had returned to Hank’s house…looking like he had climbed out of a swimming pool.

Hank swore to God that Connor actually shook himself once he was in the house, but it didn’t do any good. Kid was soaked to the bone…er…whatever. By the time he got toweled off and changed into warm, dry clothes, the storm had been in full swing, complete with thunder, lightning, and the occasional flickering lights. Hank collected a few lanterns and flashlights just in case, returning to the living room to find Connor sitting on the couch looking miserable.

Sumo had leapt up onto the couch beside him, knowing full well he wasn’t allowed on the couch. Tonight, though, Hank didn’t have the heart to make him get down. The scary lightning and thunder had turned the big oaf into a whimpering lump, and the lingering cold and damp from the rain had turned Connor into an equally disgruntled-looking lump.

Another flash of lightning illuminated the windows, and Sumo keened loudly. Connor lifted a hand and scratched Sumo behind the ears…and the motion almost hid his own startle when the thunder followed a few seconds later. Hank smirked to himself as he walked behind the couch, ruffling a hand through Connor’s still-damp hair.

“Feeling better?” he asked, walking around the side of the couch and sitting down on it beside Connor.

Connor gave a lackluster shrug, petting Sumo more through another peal of thunder. “I’m all right. However, Sumo isn’t having a good time.”

“Yeah, most dogs I’ve had all hated storms,” Hank explained, using the remote to turn on the television and find the local weather channel. “When Sumo was still a puppy, he’d hide under the bed until he got too big to fit,” he chuckled, thinking back on it fondly.

“Sumo, the storm can’t hurt you,” Connor assured the big mutt.

He sounded so concerned and sincere that Hank had to stifle an amused snort. He didn’t hide it well.

“What?” Connor asked, burrowing his hands in the front pocket of his hoodie and looking at Hank defensively. “I just want to assure him that he’s safe.”

Hank gave the kid an affectionate smile. “And that’s real sweet, but he’s a big boy. He can handle a measly storm.”

A particularly close bolt of lightning struck, with the thunder crashing around them almost instantaneously. And then every light in the house went out, except for the sudden, blazing red of Connor’s LED.

Almost immediately, Connor had dragged the hood of his sweater up over his head to cover the betraying light, and Hank had the good grace to pretend he didn’t notice. Instead, however, he picked up his phone to check the weather radar, also pretending he couldn’t feel Connor’s frame give a brief tremble. He flipped on a battery powered lamp on the coffee table.

“But,” Hank sighed, “even big boys like Sumo can get scared, even when they know the thing they’re scared of can’t hurt them.”

“I don’t…think Sumo knows that,” Connor mumbled, eyes downcast to the coffee table.

In the dimly lit living room, Hank gave his partner a subtle sideways look. Less subtly, he shifted in his seat to sit a little closer to Connor, leaning around him to address the dog specifically.

“Sumo,” Hank stated.

Sumo’s ears perked up, and his eyes raised to meet Hank’s. However, his head stayed on Connor’s leg, and his tail thumped once. Connor looked down at him as well, giving his head another rub.

“You’re safe,” Hank spoke at Sumo, taking the opportunity to rest his arm along the back of the couch behind Connor’s head. “Nothing bad is going to happen to you as long as I’m here. I promise. Okay?”

Connor slowly looked from Sumo to Hank. Hank just looked flatly back at him, dropping the pretense that he was trying to comfort the dog.

“Okay?” he repeated directly at Connor.

Connor didn’t smile, but his LED had shifted to yellow. Some blue was starting to cycle back into the light as well.

“Okay,” Connor said quietly.

Hank smirked and moved his hand from the back of the couch, messing with Connor’s hair again. Connor scoffed and tried to swat him away, which only encouraged Hank to keep messing with him.

The power abruptly flickered and then came back on, along with a series of beeps and clicks as the appliances came back online as well. Sumo lifted his head at that, looking around in alarm.

“Easy, you big mutt,” Hank snorted, taking up the television remote again.

Sumo let out a low, back-talking boof before he settled back down with a heavy sigh.

That finally got a tiny grin out of Connor, and he carefully started to relax into the couch, his LED calming to a cool blue.

All the crazy colors on the weather channel radar told Hank they were in for a stormy night, but mostly just rain, wind, and some isolated lightning and thunder. Nothing they hadn’t all survived before.

With that in mind, he kicked back in his seat and settled in for watching the rest of the news. And if, with every bolt of lightning and crash of thunder, Connor and Sumo both burrowed into the couch a little deeper and shifted closer together and toward Hank…Well, Hell, Hank had never been a fan of storms either, and it was nice to not have to endure a nasty storm alone.

There was safety in numbers, right?

Chapter Text

Connor and Hank returned to the station from the recent crime scene that afternoon just as the day shift was winding down. The evening shift staff androids were starting to arrive, and the day staff were clocking out and coming down the front steps of the precinct. Connor and Hank were still looking at a few hours of work at least, dealing with the new case, and Hank was dragging his feet.

“Bright sunshine day like this, not a cloud in the sky, everybody else getting to go home on time,” Hank complained with a sigh. “It just sucks sometimes.”

Connor walked alongside him toward the front of the precinct. “We shouldn’t delay the investigation by taking time off now, Hank. The first 24 hours—“

“I know, I know,” Hank chuckled. “But fifteen minutes aren’t gonna hurt anything. I’m just going to take a walk around, get some fresh air in before we dig into this case, a’right?”

Connor frowned but shrugged. “Of course. I guess I…” he glanced around the front of the station, “…will attempt to do the same.”

“Great. Meet you inside in fifteen minutes,” Hank said, shoving his hands in his pockets and going for his walk, to get his ‘fresh air’ and to clear his head.

Connor idled for a beat, not requiring the same interim break time as his human partner. He spotted Julia coming down the front steps, recently clocked out, but she looked like she was in a hurry, so he didn’t bother her. He merely waved when she spotted him, and she waved back with a smile that crinkled her nose, jumping into the bus with other androids eager to get home.

As the bus pulled away, he noticed a familiar person standing in front of an idling autonomous taxi.

Ember was an android that one couldn’t NOT notice. All nearly seven feet of her exposed white plastic casing was shining in the afternoon sunlight, catching on all the blemishes and old scarred damage in her chassis. Her usual default scowl was in place, and she had her arms folded, leaning against the taxi with one knee bent, her foot propped on the wheel behind her. Other androids and especially nearby humans were giving her a wide berth, and that seemed to suit her just fine.

She appeared to be waiting—no doubt for Polly—and Connor didn’t have anything better to do at the moment…so he decided to go bother her for a while.

“Good afternoon, Ember,” he greeted, stepping over to her.

The larger android glanced at him, her expression only minimally shifting from indifferent to mildly annoyed.

“Connor,” was her flat, returned greeting.

He pursed his lips against a smirk, folding his hands behind his back, clearly not going anywhere.

“How are you? I haven’t seen you around lately,” he went on, knowing full well that she was not one for idle chit chat.

He just felt like messing with her today.

“…Peachy,” she remarked. Then, almost visibly pained by social obligation, she looked at him. “Yourself?”

“I’m well, thank you,” he replied, then, playing dumb, “What brings you to the 07 today? We are usually the ones called out to you, when you disturb the peace.”

Ember scoffed. “I do not ‘disturb the peace.’ I just exist, and it’s not my fault our neighbors are a bunch of backward ass—“

“Heyyy!” came Polly’s cheery voice. “Ember!”

In a flash, Ember’s scowl vanished, and she looked away from Connor, toward the ST300 skipping down the steps toward them. The change that swept over her face had Connor taking a step back in bewilderment.

Ember’s green eyes lit up, and her mouth cracked into a smile. She stood off the taxi, opening her arms to receive the other android barreling toward her.

“Hey, babe!” she called back.

Polly was all smiles, jumping up into her arms and wrapping her legs around Ember’s waist. Ember caught her easily, giving her a hug and pulling her in for a kiss. Polly giggled and eagerly kissed her in return.

Connor awkwardly shuffled on his feet, looking away to the empty bus stop.

Ember spun Polly in a quick circle before setting her on her feet again. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” Polly smiled, then spotted Connor. “Hi, Connor.”

“Uh, hey,” he snorted and looked at the couple. “I didn’t realize you two had been apart for so long…”

“Since yesterday!” Polly moaned. “Far too long!”

Ember chuckled and put a hand on her shoulder. “Far too long.”

Connor’s expression went flat. “Yesterday.”

“Yesterday!” Polly wailed dramatically, clinging to her girlfriend.

Connor blinked and raised deadpan eyes from Polly, to Ember, who shrugged with a careless grin. He snorted and shook his head.

Ember looked affectionately to Polly. “You ready to go, babe?”

“Yep,” Polly chirped as Ember opened the taxi door for her. “See ya tomorrow, Connor!”

“See you, Polly.” Connor nodded to her.

Polly winked at him, then looked to Ember with a smile so wide it made her nose crinkle. Then she sat down inside the taxi. Ember looked to Connor, who raised an eyebrow at her.

“Shut up,” Ember snickered.

“I didn’t say anything,” he said, lifting his shoulders. “I’m…happy for you both.”

“It’s that damn nose crinkle,” Ember smiled fondly. “Apparently ST300s do that sometimes when they see something or someone that makes them happy. It gets me every time.”

Connor smirked. “I see. Enjoy your evening.”

Polly stuck her head out of the taxi. “Oh, we will. Coming, sweetie?” she crooned at Ember.

“Coming, my love,” Ember replied, climbing into taxi with her and closing the door. “Bye Connor.”

“Bye.”

The taxi carefully pulled away from the curb into traffic, and Connor stood there dumbly outside the station for a moment.

Connor had heard that love could change a person, but seeing it in real time was a sight to behold.

He had never seen Ember smile like that before.

It was…sweet and…terrifying.

Chapter Text

There was an unspoken understanding amongst patrons at the local 24-hour convenience store. Between the hours of midnight and six am, it was a judgment free zone. Nobody was ever at a convenience store during those hours unless they absolutely needed something and for reasons that were rarely dignified. You kept your eyes to yourself, you didn’t make chit chat, and you just bought your shit and got out.

Gavin had been on the giving and receiving end of that understanding numerous times over the past few years, and it had served him well. The normal register clerk, an elderly woman named Darlene who was covered from neck to toe in tattoos, only ever conversed with anybody in grunts and snorts. The woman could speak volumes with just her thickly drawn-on eyebrows. Other than that, he knew absolutely nothing about her, and for that alone, she was one of his favorite people.

So Gavin hadn’t thought anything of it when he’d left his apartment and rolled into the convenience store at 2:30 am. Hannah had insisted that he didn’t HAVE to do this, that it could wait until morning, and she’d take care of it herself…but she was clearly miserable, and he hated seeing her like this every month, feeling like he couldn’t do anything to help.

Unfortunately, this particular night, Darlene apparently had the night off, and there was a familiar face working the cash register.

“Hi Gavin,” Julia greeted. “Didn’t expect to see you here at this hour.”

Gavin stared at her, setting the blue plastic shopping basket on the counter between them. “Y-Yeah, you neither—me neither—What are you…Do you work here?”

She shrugged, reaching into his basket and beginning to ring up items, starting with the large container of strawberry ice cream and box of chocolate muffins.

“Gotta make ends meet somehow, right?” she said, scanning a set of hot water bottles and over-the-counter painkillers.

“…Right.” He pulled out his wallet and looked away, idly watching a guy in the parking lot using duct tape to fix his broken side mirror on his car. “So, what, you work at the precinct during the day and here at night?”

“A perk of being an ST300,” she said. “We can carry up to 300 percent battery power. I could go for a week and only need like six hours of charging time.”

“Yeah. You probably…shouldn’t.” He let out a low whistle.

She snorted, but her expression turned confused as she pulled out the next item: a box of tampons. She recovered quickly and scanned it, though Gavin caught her glancing at the previous items…putting together the weird little period care package he was building.

“So…Hannah’s having a rough night?” she said delicately, continuing to scan.

“You clearly haven’t worked here long enough to know the rule of not asking questions between midnight and six,” he grunted.

“Fair enough,” she muttered.

A slow grin spread across her face as she pulled out the next item: a little stuffed bulldog, just something he thought might make Hannah smile.

“Awww,” she crooned.

“Shut up,” Gavin whined, feeling heat crawling up his neck.

The next item was a set of small nerf guns and extra ammo. She held them up with raised eyebrows. Gavin just stared at her, enforcing the lesson of no questions. She shrugged and scanned them as well. The last item was a bag of jolly ranchers.

Julia finished ringing him up and read off his total. He kept his head down, busying himself with his credit card while she bagged the purchases.

“For the record,” she finally said, as the credit card machine chirped at him, “this is all very sweet.”

“Yeah, well, for the record,” he snapped back, jamming his wallet back in his pocket, "that uniform doesn’t look good on you.”

Julia let out a gasp of mock offense.

“Yellow isn’t your color,” he snarked, gathering up the bags.

She shook her head and chuckled, and he hated how unfazed she’d become to his bitching.

“Hey, I never figured monogamy would be your color, but it looks good on you,” she teased.

“Go to Hell, Jules,” he grunted sourly, not sparing her another look as he shuffled out the door.

Five seconds passed, and his cellphone pinged with a new text message, which sent him slinking right back into the store.

“Yes?” Julia crooned at him from the register, arms folded with a shit-eating grin on her face.

“She wants peanut butter,” Gavin snarled.

“Aisle four,” Julia said, nodding in that direction. Then devilishly, “You’re such a good boyfriend.”

“I’m a fucking awesome boyfriend. Fuck you.”

Julia’s cackling followed him all the way to aisle 4, and he kept grumbling the whole way. He grabbed the first jar he saw of the brand Hannah liked, before turning and stomping back up to the register.

Hannah was lucky he loved her so much.

Next time, he was hitting the convenience store across town.

Chapter Text

The techs had officially named the new android virus Veritas…the fancy bastards. The thing had taken hold of every android in the 07 except Apollo, who never interfaced with other androids, which was apparently the primary way to spread it. Going by how batshit the bullpen had gone so far, Tina was giving the virus a more accurate name.

Truth serum.

Whatever this virus was doing, it was stripping out an android’s ability to filter their speech. If it came to their mind, then it was coming out of their mouth…God save them all.

“I’m just saying, Lieutenant Anderson could. Get. It.” Gwen was already ten minutes deep into her rant ranking all of the officers at the 07 by how aesthetically pleasing she found them.

Ben looked absolutely tickled, having taken her over to his desk where he could keep an eye on her and keep her from embarrassing herself too badly until Kevin, the precinct technician, cooked up an anti-virus patch to put a stop to all this. If it was just the androids spilling their guts, then that would be one thing. But a less fun by-product of the virus was messing with an android’s temperature regulator, which in turn messed with their gyroscope.

So the 07 was basically full of dizzy, sometimes-overheating, sometimes-freezing, way-too-honest androids who were eager to find anybody to listen to them talk. Fowler had ordered Apollo out for his own safety until the patch was ready. Polly was sitting in front of the open fridge, eating a popsicle to quell her overheating while she talked nonstop to Wilson, telling him exactly why she hated how he loaded the dishwasher and how she actually really liked country music.

Hank had locked himself and Connor in Interrogation Room A, since apparently most of Connor’s motor mouth had to do with information-sensitive cases that the whole bullpen didn’t need to know about. Person had taken Zeke directly to Kevin’s office, since he had been dubbed Patient Zero and was getting hit the hardest with the nastier side effects. Chris was being forced to man the receptionist desk, since the androids were all out of sorts, and Tina and Gavin were just trying to keep phones answered and the other patrol cops on the street and out of the station to, uh, contain the infection.

“Gwen!” Gavin called from his desk. “What about me?”

“You are a solid 8,” Gwen pointed at him.

Gavin pumped a fist, until Gwen clarified.

“On a twenty point scale.”

“What?! Fuck you!” Gavin snarled. “What does that make Anderson?”

“Oh, he is like…seventeen,” Gwen said with a wink.

Ben cackled in his seat beside her, clapping his hands. “Best. Day. Ever.”

Gwen smiled at him.

Gavin sulked, and Tina shook her head.

“Hey, it could be worse,” she remarked. “Apparently the case Connor is blabbing about is a triple homicide, bodies found in pieces in a van in the river…from at least a week ago.”

Gavin shuddered. “I would almost prefer to listen to that than Gwen ranking us all by how nice our asses are.”

“I’m not all about the ass,” Gwen fired off. “I also like people with nice eyes.”

She pointed her fingers at her face. “Business up front.” She turned around and slapped a palm against her backside. “Party in the back!”

Tina howled, kicking back in her seat, while Gavin stared at her in horror.

“Wait, wait, so who at the 07 has the best butt?” Tina asked, wiping tears of mirth from her eyes.

Gwen’s eyes lit up at the challenge, and she sat back, staring at the ceiling, deep in thought.

“Jesus.” Gavin looked unsettled by how much thought she was actually putting into it.

Fowler opened his office door, the only one besides Gavin who was living in actual Hell today.

“Just got off the phone with Kevin. Jericho’s been having cases of Veritas all day too. They’re already implementing a test patch to block the negative effects. If all goes well, they’ll upload it for mainstream distribution in a few hours,” he informed.

“A few hours?!” Gavin moaned. “How are we supposed to deal with another few hours of this shit?”

Tina snickered, folding her arms. “I think you’re missing the gift that we’re being given today, my dear Gavin Jennifer Reed.”

“My middle name isn’t—“

“Behold!” Tina whipped out her cellphone, quickly calling Connor. “Connor?”

“—and the brain matter had the consistency of—Yes, Tina?” Connor interrupted himself, and Tina could almost hear Hank in the background sighing with relief at the break in the gory details.

“Who has the best butt in the 07?” she asked, raising her eyebrows high and locking eyes with Gavin.

A beat passed.

“Android or human?” Connor asked.

Tina’s smile widened. “Both.”

“…What qualities define ‘best’?” Connor pressed. “Shape? Firmness? Aesthetic?”

From the background came a wheeze from Hank. “Tina, have mercy—“

“Connor,” Tina went on. “Who, in solely your own, personal opinion…has the best butt at the 07?”

Gwen snapped her fingers, jumping from her seat. “I know the answer!”

She teetered on her feet, and Ben stood up, grasping her shoulders and easing her back into her chair. He tried to quiet her, to help her avoid further embarrassment.

“But…Butts!” Gwen argued.

Tina snickered, only to realize that her call with Connor had been dropped.

“Oh, fucking what?” she said, shaking her phone in her hand.

“Why are you enjoying this so much?” Gavin whined. “This is actual Hell.”

Tina drew herself up. “No. You want to hear what actual Hell sounds like?”

Gavin leaned away from her suspiciously. “No, I don’t—“

“We’re gonna be stuck here for another few hours with this situation—“

“Tina, I beg you, please—“

Tina raised her voice over his. “And you want to know what Hell sounds like?!”

“NO!”

Tina yelled the next sentence. “CONNOR AIN’T EVEN THAT CUTE!”

A momentary hush fell over the bullpen in the wake of her declaration. The others sort of looked around and, recovering from her random outburst, got back to chatting amongst themselves. Gavin looked just as confused.

“What was that?”

Tina folded her arms and got comfortable, giving him a smug look. “Give it a second.”

The second passed, and then the file room door was abruptly kicked open.

Out stepped Julia, who had very carefully sequestered herself in private until hopefully this ordeal passed. Unfortunately, she had good ears. Her eyes locked onto Tina, and Veritas was clearly rampant in her veins.

“I DISAGREE STRONGLY…AND LET ME TELL YOU WHY.”

Gavin mouthed “I hate you” at Tina as Julia raised a hand, stomping over and taking a deep breath.

“FIRST OF ALL, CONNOR IS THE KINDEST, MOST HANDSOME MOTHER—“

“Talk about his butt!” Gwen egged her on.

“OH, I’LL GET TO THAT!”

Chapter Text

“Oh my God.”

“I know.”

“Oh my God!”

“I know!”

“OH MY GOD!”

“Hey!” Hank snapped at the other officer. “That’s not helping. There’s an android first aid kit in the back of my car. Get it and bring it over here.” When the other cop hesitated, wide eyes still bulging out of his head, Hank turned more fully. “NOW!”

That got the other man leaping into action, and Hank turned back around, looking at his damaged partner.

“Connor?”

“I’m fine,” Connor was quick to reply, though his arms had started shaking where he was holding onto the crumbling concrete wall to remain standing.

Hank’s belt tourniquet was holding, cinched painfully tight around Connor’s upper thigh, above the dark blue thirium stains that were darkening his jeans and the shaft of rebar sticking out of the front and back of his right leg. The two had barely managed to escape the old parking garage before it started to collapse. The perp was in the wind, but at the moment, Hank couldn’t care less. That was a Future Hank problem. That rebar sticking out of Connor? That was very much a Present Hank problem.

Sirens were blaring as police and fire engines roared onto the scene, but EMS and AES—Android Emergency Services—would still be a little ways out.

“Okay,” Hank said, raising his hands and approaching where Connor was teetering on his one good leg. “Easy. Here.”

He moved Connor’s right arm across his shoulders, taking his weight. Connor’s eyes were wide but his face was fairly blank, only blinking curiously at the damage point. Now, Hank knew for a fact that the longer androids were deviant, the more pain receptors they developed across their bodies. So the fact that Connor wasn’t screaming in pain right now was confirming his theory that if their bodies could feel pain like a human, then they could go into traumatic shock just like a human.

“It doesn’t hurt,” Connor stated, his voice as colorless as his face. “My diagnostic says it should, but it doesn’t.”

“That’s because shock is one Hell of a drug, kid,” Hank explained.

He carefully assisted Connor in moving away from the piles of concrete and building debris, closer to his car where the other cop was wrestling the android first aid kit box out of the trunk. Connor stumbled, and his damaged leg buckled completely.

“H-Hank?”

“Whoa, okay, I gotcha.” Hank adjusted his grip. “We’re just gonna sit down right here.”

Connor listlessly let Hank maneuver him like a mannequin. Hank could feel how unsteady he was, and he didn’t want him to hurt himself worse by falling trying to get down on the ground. He pulled his partner so his back was against Hank’s chest, and Hank got one firm arm around his torso. He eased them both down by the front fender of the Oldsmobile, as the other officer darted over with the kit.

“Get his leg,” Hank ordered. “Keep it straightened out.”

“Sir,” the officer complied, grasping Connor’s lower leg with both hands and lifting his foot off the ground.

Connor tensed in Hank’s hold, muttering under his breath. “It’s fine. It’s fine. I’m fine. It’s fine…”

Hank finally felt his seat hit the ground, and he guided Connor down the rest of the way to sit with him. The other cop seemed to finally remember his training, and he pushed together some rubble steady enough to get both of Connor’s legs elevated about a foot off the ground. The mild jostling of Connor’s damaged leg made Hank wince, but Connor was quickly turning into a ragdoll against him.

“Hey, stay awake, Connor. That’s an order,” Hank said, situating his partner so that he was lying as flat as safely possible, while keeping his top half off the ground, across Hank’s legs.

“M’awake,” Connor grunted, eyes blinking out of sync. “What’s…wrong with me? Self diagnostic isn’t…making sense.”

Hank snapped his fingers to get the other cop’s attention, and the man nodded, immediately unbuttoning his jacket and shrugging out of it. He handed it over to Hank, who fluffed it out and started wrapping Connor’s upper body in it.

“You’re going into shock.”

“…Shock.”

“Yeah, but don’t worry, we’ll get you patched up.” Hank looked to the other cop. “AES?”

“A few minutes out, sir.”

Hank frowned and used a hand to smooth Connor’s dusty hair out of his face. “Try to relax, and keep talking to me.”

“I can’t…feel my leg. Feels…cold.”

“Don’t even worry about that,” Hank assured, pulling the jacket tighter around Connor to keep him warm. “Right now, numbness is your best friend—“

“…No…” Connor slurred his words slightly. “Yer m’best fr…”

He abruptly went limp, and Hank grappled with his dead weight. “Shit…Chen!”

Tina skidded into view, backlit by the blaring blue and orange lights of the AES ambulance. Her eyes bugged when she saw the state of the two detectives.

“OH MY GOD—“

“I know!” Hank barked. “Get those technicians over here!”

She darted back out of sight, and Hank patted at Connor’s cheek, noting the distressed, pulsing yellow of his LED. Yellow was okay. Red was bad. Yellow was wonderful right now.

“Hang in there, son. You’re gonna be okay. You’re doing great. Just hang in there.”

Chapter Text

The technicians did what they could, but in the end, Connor’s whole leg was just unsalvageable. Rather than put him through a long, extensive repair session, the facility had opted to just replace the whole limb up to his hip socket. Fortunately, that would turn out to be the fairly simple process of popping off the bad leg and popping in the new one. Unfortunately, the new leg wasn’t fitted properly yet, and it wouldn’t be installed until the next morning. Which left Hank with an irritable, one-legged android partner who was using his thirium IV line like a leash attaching him to his patient bed.

After just a few hours, Hank ran out of patience, and he wrangled Connor’s grumpy ass into a wheelchair and had a nurse move his IV to the pole on the chair. Hank piled a thick blanket over him, partly to keep him warm, partly to cover the weird emptiness where his right leg should have been, and pushed him into an elevator.

“Where are we going?” Connor mumbled, slumping as the elevator started to climb upward.

“To get some fresh air,” Hank remarked, placing a hand on Connor’s shoulder supportively. “Might do your bad mood some good.”

“…I just had a leg removed, Hank. I think I’m entitled to a bad mood.”

Hank snorted as the elevator dinged and the doors opened. “That’s certainly fair.”

He rolled Connor’s wheelchair out of the elevator and wrestled with the door leading out onto the roof of the facility. Connor tensed in surprise, but he didn’t say anything as Hank wheeled him out into the middle of the open space. The facility was a low rise building, surrounded by taller buildings that marked the Detroit skyline, but the roof had a decent view of the river.

“I don’t know if you noticed, but today is—“

A bright streak of light abruptly shot up into the sky from the river bank, cutting through the evening darkness. Connor startled, and his hands wrapped around the armrests of the chair. Hank quickly grabbed his shoulders to let him know it was okay.

The streak exploded into a cascade of glittery red sparks, expanding across the sky and followed by a distant boom.

“Sorry, I thought I timed that out better, but it’s already started—Today is the Fourth of July…and I just thought…didn’t want you to miss the show over this stupid shit,” Hank hastily explained.

Two more streaks branched into the sky, exploding into a shower of gold and a burst of bright green. Hank caught Connor’s face illuminated by the glow. He was staring wide eyed at the shimmering light, lips parted slightly. There was a childlike wonder on his face, and it made him look terribly young.

The fireworks show ramped up into full swing, unleashing a series of overlapping bursts of color and thunderous explosions. A few of the large, expanding ones seemed to swallow the sky, pressing out across the city. A few sidewinders went off as well, exploding in strange shapes or in zig zag patterns.

“I’ve never…seen live fireworks before,” Connor murmured in awe. “They’re…amazing.”

One particularly large explosion came with its particularly loud boom, and Connor jerked, not out of fear but just involuntarily. Hank moved to stand beside his chair, digging a hand in his pocket.

“Yeah…figured this might cheer you up some.” Hank pulled out a small plastic bag of single use ear plugs. “Brought these too…if the noise bothers you.”

Connor glanced at his hand, then back to the sky, not wanting to miss a thing. “Thank you, but I’m all right.”

Hank hummed and pocketed the ear plugs again, looking skyward to the continuing fireworks show. It had been several years since he’d taken a moment to watch them.

“Any update on the perp who fled the scene today?” Connor asked between explosions.

Hank frowned, looking down at him. Connor was still adamantly watching the fireworks, a crooked grin curving one corner of his mouth.

“We can think about that tomorrow,” Hank said.

Connor glanced over at him, “But by tomorrow he could be—“

Hank raised a hand. “Today that case is Reed’s problem, and it’ll be his problem tomorrow too, because you and I will be at home.”

“But—“

“Connor…we both just had a pretty nasty day. Now I don’t care if your system says you’re back to 100 percent after you get your new leg popped on…You’re going to take it easy and relax tomorrow if I have to sit on you to make it happen.”

“I doubt that having you sit on me is going to make me relax,” Connor said, smiling up at another large red firework, “but I get your point.”

Hank wasn’t sure he did, so he pressed on. “The mind needs to recover from something like this just as much as the body does…Hell, sometimes the mind needs more.”

“My mind is fine.”

“Yeah, well maybe mine ain’t.”

Connor looked at him again. Hank met his eyes and leaned over slightly.

“Kid, today I saw you get skewered into a Connor Kebab and a building nearly fell on top of us,” he snorted. “I’m gonna need a minute to process all that.”

Connor looked at him for a measured moment longer, and a firework exploded in a shower of golden sparks. It lit one side of Connor’s face and caught in his eyes, and Jesus Holy Christ, he looked so much like a damn kid…all covered up in a blanket and slouched in his chair, worn down from the day and not willing to admit it.

Biology and genes be damned, but Hank felt responsible for this fool’s stubbornness. Connor had been designed to adapt to and assimilate human behavior to better integrate among humans, namely his partner. Unfortunately for Connor, that happened to be Hank.

Well…shit, Hank guessed if he wanted Connor to have healthy mental habits, then that meant that Hank would have to be a good example and do the same.

“I can…do that,” Connor finally conceded. “I suppose I can take a day off to…relax…with you.”

Hank inclined his head. “Great…Thank you, son.”

The show’s finale was wrapping up, with one or two last whistling fireworks illuminating the smoky streaks left hanging in the night sky.

“But please don’t sit on me.”

Hank barked out a laugh, placing a hand on Connor’s shoulder. “Deal.”

Chapter Text

The funniest thing about watching androids eat was also the most disgusting thing. That thing was the fact that they had no concept of what foods and flavors were conventional and which were considered…strange. An additional fact was that cheese was like android catnip, specifically the brand of thirium-based cheese that Bert’s Baked Stuffs sold.

And with both of those unsettling thoughts, Wilson continued to watch the cheese fondue party that had taken over his kitchen. His wife Dinah and Polly had been experimenting with thirium recipes lately, with some success and some memorable failures, culminating in tonight’s epic journey of “can you dip it in cheese?”

Things had started off decently enough. Polly, Gwen, Zeke, Julia, Apollo, and Connor had taken turns trying different samples of foods in the melted cheese pot: bread, chips, fries, apple slices, bacon, and broccoli. Then somebody had wondered aloud what a chocolate bar dipped in cheese would taste like…and so they had all had to try it, with very mixed results. It had all been downhill from there.

At the moment, Apollo had already tapped out, sticking to bread and fries and not venturing outside his very reserved palate. Polly had mistakenly taken a large bite out of a jalapeno thinking it was a pickle, so she was currently sucking on a popsicle and watching the others until her sensors calmed down. Zeke was munching on pickle spears, slathered in melted cheese.

Gwen was stabbing cherry tomatoes with the fondue sticks, only for the tomatoes to slide off and get mired in the cheese every time. She cursed and mumbled under her breath, waving off anybody’s attempts to help, stubbornly focused on doing it herself.

Connor was the only one who had been legitimately sampling a little of everything, which Wilson chalked up to his curious nature.

“So…do we have any conclusive favorites?” Wilson asked from the other end of the counter near Apollo.

Something about thirium-based cheese, once heated, just had an aroma that he couldn’t handle. Besides, at this end of the counter, he was outside the danger zone, as…for some reason, Connor and Julia had gotten into a game to see how far apart they could stand and still throw cherry tomatoes into each other’s mouths.

“Connor,” Zeke called out, holding up the empty pickle jar. “I dare you to drink this entire jar of pickle juice.”

“Ugh,” Gwen scoffed in disgust, and Wilson snorted at her.

“Did you or did you not dip a Snickers bar in cheese and eat it?” he pointed out.

“You know what,” Gwen pointed her fondue stick at him. “I did not come here to be judged.”

“You coward,” Polly added, chewing on her popsicle stick. “Drink the pickle juice…THROUGH  a jalapeno.”

Connor finished tossing another cherry tomato clear across the kitchen, to which Julia lurched to the left, biting at the air like a shark and catching it between her teeth. She stumbled into a chair to do so, but she threw her arms up like a football referee upon successfully biting it. Connor mimicked her raised arms with a grin, and Wilson laughed, applauding their new record. Only then did Connor face Zeke.

“No.”

“Coward!” Polly jeered.

“Still no.”

“Coming in hot!” Julia announced.

Connor jerked back around, falling into a ready stance. Her toss was just as far off on aim as his had been, and he had to jump backwards, barely catching the little red tomato in his mouth before stumbling into the fridge.

Apollo watched their bizarre behavior with narrow eyes and then glanced at Wilson. “Is this alcoholic cheese?”

“They don’t make alcoholic cheese,” Wilson explained.

“Idea!” Polly snapped her fingers.

“No.” Wilson pointed at her. “NO.”

Zeke tore apart one of the thirium bread rolls, dipping it into the jar of pickle juice.

“Oh my God,” Gwen hissed and leaned away. “That is next level nasty.”

“Chocolate bar,” Wilson repeated loudly, “dipped in CHEESE, Gwen.”

Behind Gwen, Julia lunged to the side, wiping out on the floor but victoriously catching Connor’s next thrown tomato.

Zeke bit into the now-green tinted bread, chewing thoughtfully for a long moment before swallowing and tilting his head.

“It’s gross,” he concluded calmly.

Wilson laughed, “Well I could have told you that, buddy.”

Zeke looked more curious than disgusted, however, and he tilted his head the other way. “If you dip a chocolate bar in pickle juice—“

“Then you get uninvited to the fondue party,” Polly concluded. “JULIA!”

Julia froze, arm reeled back and ready to launch another tomato at Connor. “What?”

“Come drink this pickle juice through a jalapeno.”

“No!” Julia threw the tomato, somewhere actually close to Connor’s mouth that time, so he more easily caught it. “Fine.”

Wilson blinked. “That was a quick turnaround.”

Polly grinned mischievously. “Julia loves bad ideas when it comes to food.”

“Sure do,” Julia did not deny it, reaching out a hand. “Gimme.”

Wilson crossed himself but cut the ends off of another thirium jalapeno, essentially creating a pepper tube. Julia sidled up to one of the stools at the counter, straddling it and taking the pepper tube. She plugged it into her mouth and tilted her head back.

“Hih meh!” she ordered.

Zeke gave a shit-eating grin and proceeded to pour the pickle juice straight out of the jar, into the pepper. Julia immediately gagged, her hands gripping the edges of the counter to keep her balance. Connor walked behind the scene, picking up bits of tomato that had failed to be caught, and he put a hand briefly at her back to steady her as he moved past.

After much struggle, and with eyes watering, Julia swallowed a mouthful of jalapeno-flavored pickle juice, lowering her head and coughing on the unholy mix. Wilson patted her back, and she spat out the pepper tube. Polly howled with laughter, and Gwen and Apollo just looked horrified.

“What in rA9 is wrong with you?” Gwen stammered, wearing an impressed grin despite herself.

Julia cleared her throat, lifting her head and wiping her eyes with her index fingers. “I don’t know—“

“Wait—“ Apollo held out a hand. “Don’t touch your eyes—You were handling jalapenos.”

“Oh fuck…Oh God.” Julia squinted her eyes shut, shaking her hands at her sides as the Regret set in with the burn.

Connor threw away the tomato failures, shaking his head as he looked at her. “You are absolutely ridiculous.”

“Connor? Connor, is that you? I’m blind,” Julia said, reaching out a hand.

Her palm came into solid contact with Wilson’s face, and he laughed and didn’t lean away as her fingers rubbed across his chin scruff. She frowned and changed direction, reaching more behind her. Connor snickered and met her halfway, taking her hand and shaking it as though in greeting.

“Hello,” he chirped. “Do you need cleaning fluid for your eyes?”

“No, I’m okay,” she said, screwing one eye more shut than the other. A hiccup seemed to take her by surprise, and Wilson shuddered to think what that burp at the end tasted like. “This is just…the most attractive that I have ever felt,” she replied sarcastically

Wilson smirked and shook his head, making eye contact with Polly across the kitchen.

Fondue Night was now forever cursed thanks to all this; but everybody was having a good time, so he found that he didn’t mind all that much…

Except for five minutes later when Gwen suggested dipping sour gummy worms into the cheese dip.

Wilson hoped they made android Pepto Bismol.

Chapter Text

Of course Person’s first crime scene as the primary detective on a case was some crazy shit like this…She huffed and tapped her stylus pen against the tablet in her hands, making her way up the steps from below deck. She stepped out onto the top deck of the yacht and glanced around looking for Connor.

The boat dipped and swayed as it was towed toward the pier by the Coast Guard, but after spending an hour analyzing the murder scene below decks, most of the team had gotten used to the movement.

Most.

She found Connor presumably where Chris had escorted him nearly an hour earlier: kneeling on the deck at the starboard side, arms wrapped around the white railing and eyes screwed shut. The pier was in sight, so they were only five minutes from solid ground at the most. Poor guy, she tutted, making her way over. Android gyroscopes, unless specifically calibrated to perform on the bob and sway of open water, couldn’t handle the fluctuating movement and constantly shifting floor under their feet. So Connor had been rendered all but useless, despite his stubborn attempts to be present and supportive during her first case.

“Hey,” she greeted, lighting a hand briefly to his back. “So, uh, there are signs of struggle in the cabin. Cause of death appears to be blunt force trauma to the head…Looks like whatever was used to do it was thrown overboard. Whoever did this left a mess though, so I don’t think we’ll have any trouble tracking—“

Connor’s back buckled slightly as he gave a small gagging spasm. His rigid posture failed to lock down the movement completely, and he stifled a small groan. Person slid her tablet into her shoulder bag and squatted down closer to him. A few dock workers were already standing on the pier, communicating with those on the boat to bring it in to moor.

“Hey, hang in there. They’re docking now.”

Connor didn’t open his eyes, staying hunched against the railing, but he muttered a low, “Sorry.”

“Not your fault, dude,” Person teased with a chuckle, rubbing his back lightly. “Did you throw up?”

“Fortunately no. This is embarrassing enough.”

As soon as the boat was securely docked, Person and Chris helped coax Connor to his feet and up onto the pier. He was still reluctant to open his eyes, but he did barely crack them open to see where to step.

“Put your hand right there,” Chris instructed, keeping an arm around Connor’s back and guiding his hand to grasp one of the support railings on the pier. “And…up.”

Connor got a good grip and a foothold and trusted Chris as he took a step up off the boat. Already on the pier, Person hooked her arm around his other elbow and helped him up the rest of the way. He staggered and involuntarily clung to her as his system tried to ground itself and adjust his gyroscope’s sense of balance. She let him do so, giving him a second to take a breath and relish the solid ground. She looked over his head to Chris, who looked at the android in her arms with a mix of concern and amusement. He gave her a thumb up in question.

She gave him a thumb up in answer with a grin, then patted Connor’s shoulder.

“You good?”

“…Yes,” he finally conceded, gingerly uncurling to stand up straight.

He reluctantly relinquished his hold on her, but she kept a hand at his hip just in case.

“C’mon, I’ve got what I need,” Person said, nodding toward the crime scene. “CSI is doing their thing now.”

Connor carefully opened his eyes fully again, shoulders hunched slightly upward with a grimace. When the world stayed put around him, he relaxed slightly…and guilt crept across his face.

“This is your first crime scene as the lead detective. You should stay—“

“The guy ain’t getting any deader,” Person pointed out. “I told you, the murderer left a mess back there. The labs are going to find hella DNA all over the place.”

Connor frowned, letting her turn him to aim toward the car. “If I hadn’t been incapacitated, I could have run those samples for you in real time, and you wouldn’t have to wait on labs.”

“True, but you are, so I do. It’s a mild delay, not the end of the world,” she said as they started walking toward the car.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized anyway.

“I know you are,” she acknowledged gently.

“I can get a ride back with one of the others…You can still stay.”

“Connor,” she stopped him as they reached the car. “As the primary on this case, I’m in charge, right?”

“…Right.”

“Then shut up and get in the car,” she snorted.

“I’m sure Hank has made you aware of my track record of following his orders.”

“Yes, he has.” She opened the car door for him. “But I’ve got something he hasn’t got that can force you to follow orders.”

Connor looked at her dubiously. “And what is that?”

She pulled her phone out of her pocket threateningly. “Penny’s good graces.”

Connor’s brain visibly stalled, and his eyes widened. “You wouldn’t.”

“Oh, I would, Con-Con,” she said, wiggling the phone in her hands. “Now get in the car and behave, or I’m calling your mom.”

His mouth puckered, as though he desperately wanted to keep arguing, but the fight abruptly went out of him and he sighed.

“Fine, but that is playing dirty.” He slowly sat down in the passenger side of the car.

Person snorted and pocketed the phone again. “Don’t test me, boy.”

She circled around to the driver’s side and climbed in. They both closed the doors, and she started up the engine, aiming the AC vents at him to try and help with any remaining queasiness. Despite his grumpiness, he did start to relax as he sat back in the seat.

“Are you good for me to start driving?” she asked.

He nodded, taking a slow breath. “Yes…Thank you, Lisa, and I’m still sorry for—“

“Wasn’t one of my orders to shut up?” she smirked. “Now chill out and let me take you home. That’s an order.”

He gave her a sour look, not quite hiding his grateful expression as he prepared for the drive home. “Yes, ma’am.”

Chapter Text

Overall, all things considered, it was a fairly anti-climactic affair.

“Sign here,” the lady behind the desk said, pointing with her pen and then holding the pen up for Connor to take.

Hank tried not to bounce on the balls of his feet beside him, hands shoved into his pockets and looking around the crowded room. This wing of the courthouse had been packed all day with humans and androids alike, all here for the singular purpose of filing their annexation paperwork.

The state of Michigan had recently passed legislation allowing androids to legally join human families. They used the term ‘annex,’ but it was functioning very similarly to a human adoption process. The law didn’t use terms like ‘father’ or ‘son’ or ‘mother’ or ‘daughter,’ but that hadn’t stopped Wilson from referring to Polly as his sister or the old woman in line out in the hall loudly declaring the squad of Tracis with her to all be her daughters.

And yeah, the law wasn’t as progressive as many would have liked, not quite granting androids full rights as next of kin or the ability to be included on insurance and the like…but it was a step in the right direction.

And goddamn did Connor Steven Anderson sound like a good fucking name.

Several temporary stations had been set up in this wing of the courthouse to accommodate the traffic, and you couldn’t take a step without bumping into some other eager family armed with paperwork and nervous smiles.

Hank had already filled out as much of the paperwork as he could, with some help from Wilson’s wife, who had been one of the lawyers who had helped write the damn thing. He wanted today to go as smoothly as possible, for Connor, for himself. He wanted it done and over with…in case some idiots in the government decided to renege and yank this out from under them.

No. No, Hank wouldn’t have it. Connor was his family from now on. They couldn’t take this away.

Still…he wished that Connor would just sign faster so they could say it was done and get out of here.

As if sensing Hank’s impatience, Connor finished signing the last document and straightened up. He clicked the end of the pen and returned it to the woman, turning and giving Hank a wide smile.

“Congratulations,” the woman said, with a tired but still genuine smile. “You’re family.”

Connor’s smile managed to widen at that, making the skin around his eyes crinkle. He looked to the lady with a quick “Thank you,” before he and Hank shuffled out of the way for the next group to file their own paperwork.

It was only about ten seconds of shuffling and sidestepping, but it felt like an eternity. As soon as they had room outside the crowd to breathe, Hank was grabbing him up in his arms and pulling him close.

“No going back now,” he laughed against the burning behind his eyes. “You’re stuck as an Anderson forever, kid.”

Connor chuckled, giving an emotional shiver in his arms as he returned the hug. “And you’re stuck with me too.”

Hank barked out a laugh, but the giggly mirth was quickly fleeting as the full reality of the day set in. Now that they were on the other side of it. Now that it was real. Now that he had a family again.

His hold around Connor shifted from joyful to desperate, and he held onto him, lowering his face to Connor’s shoulder and just…holding him.

Connor’s arms around him softened their hold, shifting to a more supportive embrace as he recognized the change.

That gaping, bleeding hole in Hank’s heart remained. Would forever remain. There was no filling it, and he had grappled too long with the guilt that he’d tried to fill it with booze and bad habits. Even now, he wasn’t filling it. Connor was not and never would be a replacement for the family that Hank had lost. But Hank didn’t feel like he was bleeding anymore, and for the first time in ages, he didn’t feel so isolated from the good things that the world had left in it.

He had one of those good things in his arms now.

Through his closed eyelids, he could see the blue of Connor’s LED starting to turn yellow with concern, and Hank clapped a hand on his back, disengaging from the hug and sniffling. He took a deep breath and swallowed, pulling himself together as he looked at his partner. His family.

Connor looked painfully empathetic toward him, but thankfully he wasn’t a weepy mess too, or Hank would have broken down all over again. But the android’s expression carried the clear message: you’re all I’ve got too.

Hank wrapped a hand around Connor’s shoulder, giving him a firm nod, wordlessly saying he was okay, and he was ready to go. Connor nodded in return, his hand at his side turning his new ID over and over between his fingers. It didn’t feel right to just move on, though, and before they started walking, Hank looked at him seriously.

“I love you, Connor,” he confirmed, in case the kid needed to hear it.

By the way Connor’s eyes brightened, of course he needed to hear it.

“I love you too, Hank,” he reciprocated, then looked down at the ID in his hands, smiling at his new name printed boldly across the front. “I’m going to show the others. Chris and Gwen are here.”

“Yeah, yeah, go on,” Hank chuckled, giving him a light shove. “Go show off.”

“That isn’t my intention—“

“Sure it is,” Hank smiled. “I’ll…catch up to you later.”

“Okay,” Connor nodded and parted from his side, eagerly heading over to where Chris was, happily bombarding the other officer with the news.

Hank watched him go, the warm ball of affection in his chest carving out new, permanent space that he hadn’t realized he still had in him.

That’s my boy.

Chapter Text

Connor had been subdued for most for his first week back at the DPD since the revolution. He was perfectly attentive, focused, and engaged whenever there was a case to be worked on, but between crime scenes, Hank could see it. He could see it in the way that none of the patrol androids spoke to Connor, instead speaking only to Hank. He could see it in the way the staff androids gave Connor a wide berth when they walked through the bullpen. Conversation, when required, was kept short and coldly polite.

It really drilled home the idea that being hated wasn’t the worst thing you could do to a person. It was ignoring them completely.

“They don’t like me,” Connor replied bluntly when Hank asked him about it. “And they have cause. I don’t blame them for that.”

“Kid,” Hank sighed, wadding up the sandwich wrapper into a ball and tossing it into the backseat of the Oldsmobile to be dealt with later. “If they have a right to not like you, then you still have the right to be upset about that.”

In the passenger seat, Connor sat still, dull eyes on the dashboard. Hank dusted bread crumbs off his hands and pants, not in any hurry to get back to the station from their lunch break. Connor didn’t look too eager either.

“Hey, if it helps, I didn’t like you when we first met,” Hank remarked.

Connor paused, blinked, and closed his eyes. “Why do you think telling me that helps?”

Hank squinted through the windshield, watching some civilians meandering around the sidewalk. He looped an arm along the top of the bench seat.

“Because it only took a week for you to wiggle your annoying, stubborn, plastic ass into my good graces,” he snorted. “And now I don’t want any other partner, and…well, Hell, you’re about the only friend I’ve got.”

Connor peered over at him, expression still downcast. “You’re mine too, Hank.”

He drew a deep, imitative breath, sitting up straight in his seat again. He mimicked Hank in his people-watching.

“All I know to do is to keep…trying to reach out to them and…hope that eventually they give me a chance.”

“They will,” Hank pressed, then paused. “And if they don’t, that’s their loss. Your past doesn’t define you. I have to believe that for myself, and I believe that for you too. What you did before you deviated, what Cyberlife forced you to do…That was who you were, but it isn’t who you are. You are…” Hank took a breath, tilting his head in thought. “You are an extremely capable detective and a pain in the ass sometimes. But you are also empathetic…to your own detriment sometimes. You go to work every day where you feel like you’re not wanted, because you are dedicated to your job. You’re one of the strongest people I know, Connor. Don’t let how far you’ve come get bogged down by where you started.”

Connor’s jaw worked as he kept staring ahead, but he gave a short nod of acknowledgement.

“Besides, if I can change, they can. Have any of them pointed a gun at your head?”

Connor scoffed. “No.”

“Then they’re already not as bad I treated you back then.”

“That wasn’t personal, Hank.”

“If somebody points a gun at you, it’s always personal. Their reasons and excuses don’t matter,” Hank grumbled, looking away, out his side window.

“You were drunk that night,” Connor tried to add

“Which makes it worse,” Hank remarked. “Rule one: never point a gun at something that you don’t intend to destroy. When I think about what if—“

“You’ve already apologized numerous times for your behavior then, Hank,” Connor said.

“And I’ll keep doing it until I feel that I’ve gotten my point across,” Hank said, looking back over at him and meeting his eyes.

Connor stared back at him for a long second. “Your past doesn’t define you. That’s what you’ve just been telling me. That applies to you too.”

“Well…maybe I’m a hypocrite then. Sue me for being human,” Hank said with a sarcastic grin.

Connor’s returning smile was a little more reserved, but it was a step in the right direction.

“Humans have committed much worse crimes than hypocrisy,” he noted.

“Whoa, okay, we are not opening up that box,” Hank said, waving a hand at him and starting up the car. “This is not Star Trek, I’m not Picard, and you are not Q putting humanity on trial here, bucko.”

Connor smirked as Hank started pulling the car out of the lot, aiming the wheels back to the station.

“You are certainly not Picard.”

“Hey now, watch it!”

“And I’m not Q. If anything, logically, I’m Data.”

“Yeah, sure, whatever. Look, it was just a metaphor.”

“And a good one, Hank…Data even had a wayward twin brother who went renegade like RK800-60…Except…Lore went renegade in favor of emotions, whereas Data—“

“You are really getting too into this…” Hank sighed, then looked over at Connor.

Despite the cheerful turn of the conversation, he could see the weight already coming back onto Connor’s shoulders the closer they got to the station.

“You remember what happened to Data?” he finally asked. “After he kept proving himself to the rest of the crew?”

Connor looked out his side window in a way that told Hank he already knew where Hank was going with this.

“He…became part of the crew. Accepted. They became…friends,” Connor conceded.

“Damn straight,” Hank said, patting him on the arm briefly as the station came into view.

Connor seemed to dwell on that for a moment, and he appeared to come to an optimistic conclusion.

A beat passed.

“You know, Hank, you’re actually more like McCoy.”

“Now you listen here, punk—Actually, I don’t mind that…”

Chapter Text

Person swore, some days, she thought about putting bells on the androids at the 07. They moved far too quietly around the bullpen, unintentionally—and sometimes intentionally—sneaking up on the humans…the little shits. It was that thought that came to her mind when she straightened up from where she had been hyper focused on the paperwork file on her desk in front of her…and nearly bumped into Apollo, who had materialized out of fucking nowhere to stand directly behind her chair.

“Jesu—Fuckin—Chri—“ she stammered, clutching a hand to her chest and turning her chair around to glare at him. “What?”

The PC200 remained impassive as ever at her reaction, hands clasped behind his back and his spine straight. However, there were a few minute shifts in his shoulders and the way he was moving his weight from foot to foot…easy to dismiss on the others like Gwen or Zeke, but for Apollo…Something was clearly, anxiously, on his mind.

“What?” Person repeated, more calmly this time. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong,” he replied.

“Then why are you all up in my bubble?” she said, gesturing to how close he was standing inside her work space.

Apollo frowned and took a step backwards. “I apologize, Detective, but I require…counsel on a subject with which I am…inexperienced.”

Person raised one eyebrow in silent question.

He stared at her for a beat, then went on. “Of a social nature.”

“Not sure I’m who you should be asking about social things,” she said plainly.

“I believe you are,” he argued gently. “I’ve observed that you are the most socially reserved human officer in the precinct; however, you have managed to navigate the social sphere with some level of success, while still retaining a comfortable separation from the others.”

“Thank…you?” Amusement was replacing her initial bewilderment, and she eased up on him. “I’m still certainly no expert, but I’ll help if I can. What’s your question?”

Apollo hesitated, then glanced around clandestinely as though he was about to divulge the location of the Ark of the Covenant. Intrigued, Person sat forward to meet him halfway.

“I have recently taken up gardening,” he confessed somberly.

It took a considerable amount of strength for Person to keep her expression neutral, but she managed with a slow nod.

“That’s a nice hobby,” she stated.

Apollo’s jaw worked, and he continued. “My sponsor with the Manfred Foundation is a retired gentleman who has been growing much of his own produce for years. He introduced me to the practice, and I recently began to…fly solo…with my own garden.”

“That’s…nice,” she said, unsure where this was going.

“I’m sure you see my problem.”

“…I really don’t, man.”

Apollo frowned and leaned closer. “Androids don’t consume organic material for sustenance. I cannot eat any of what I’ve grown, and I may have miscalculated the production rate of my garden space…There are so many tomatoes…” he hissed.

A shaky grin fought its way onto her face, and Person nodded slowly.

“Okay, I understand. But, hey, don’t look so alarmed! Gardening is a pretty finicky hobby, I’ve heard. Connor’s certainly no green thumb, and I’m pretty sure I killed a cactus in college,” she reassured him. “So you’re…needing help…getting rid of your veggies?”

“Dale…my sponsor…said that in the spirit of the practice, I should share the results among friends and family…” Apollo explained. “I have few friends, Detective. I am the closest to my colleagues here at the 7^th precinct, but I admit I’m feeling some strange hesitation in…sharing.”

Person eyed him for a moment as he fidgeted, and then she quickly softened.

“You’re nervous that they won’t like them or might make fun of you?”

“I never said such a thing,” he hastily said.

Person bobbed her head and then glanced around. It was midday. Half of the squad was out at lunch or on a case, and those that weren’t had their heads down, focused on their tasks. Julia was flitting around at the counter work station in the middle of the bullpen, but other than that, it was quiet.

“Tell you what,” she offered. “It’s pretty empty around here right now. Why don’t you smuggle in whatever you’re trying to get rid of, leave it in the break room, and if anybody gives you any crap…I’ll take care of them.”

Apollo’s brows knit as he looked at her. “Why?”

“Because I know what it’s like to be teased for a hobby,” she said with a shrug. “But my hobby was collecting antique swords, so…not a lot of people messed with me more than once.”

He looked mildly alarmed at that, and she grinned with a wink.

“Go on,” she encouraged. “I promise that nobody around here is going to complain about free food.”

Apollo stepped away and disappeared soon after, and within ten minutes, there were small containers on the break room table full of very healthy, ripe tomatoes, cucumbers, bell peppers, and radishes. Person drifted over to survey the scandalous veggies, and she clucked her tongue in approval.

“These look fantastic, Apollo.”

Despite his efforts to remain stone-faced, he seemed to stand a little straighter with pride at the compliment.

“Thank you, Detective. They were—“

“Whoa!” Ben sauntered into the break room to refill his water bottle. “What’s all this?”

Person folded her arms and lifted her eyebrows encouragingly to Apollo. He puffed himself up slightly and faced Ben.

“I grew them…in my garden.”

Ben straightened, his eyes lighting up as he looked at the android. “You garden?”

“Yes,” Apollo said tensely.

Ben smiled at the pile of produce. “Well, you did a great job, buddy. These look delicious. Holy crap, so many tomatoes!”

“Please take them,” Apollo pleaded. “I have no use for them, so I thought that I would…share…with everyone here.”

“Awww!” Ben crooned. “That’s really sweet, and I have actually been hankering for some cucumber lately. So I think I’ll just…”

He reached out plucked out a cucumber from one of the containers. Apollo fidgeted, trying not to look expectant as Ben rinsed it off and promptly took a bite out of it. Ben chewed thoughtfully and then gave him a thumb up.

“Tastes like a cucumber!”

Apollo visibly relaxed, and Person grinned at him.

“Congratulations, you master gardener you,” Ben smiled, drawing closer. “I think this calls for a hug—“

“I disagree—“

“Hug?”

“I’d really rather not—“

“C’monnnnnn,” Ben coaxed, spreading his arms and waggling his eyebrows. “Hug!”

Apollo sighed and looked to Person, who shrugged. He braced himself and looked at Ben.

“You may hug me for a duration of no longer than three seconds.”

“Yes!” Ben hopped at the opportunity, closing the gap and pulling the taller android in for a tight hug.

Person raised a hand to cover her mouth against a smile as Apollo stared at the far wall, standing stiff and awkward in Ben’s embrace and mentally counting to three.

The rest of the homegrown vegetables were gone by the end of the day.

Chapter Text

It had been a long drive in a cramped van with the rest of the squad out to the Wilson family cabin for the 07’s annual team retreat. Most of them had immediately fanned out, taking advantage of the pool and the game room and other recreational spots on the property, including a nice long walking path. Ben wasn’t as much of a spry chicken as the others, and he didn’t have his fellow old guy Hank to keep him company, so he had been content to sit back with a cold beer and watch them romp around.

Now, though, it was the middle of the first night, the cabin was quiet except for somebody snoring in one of their rooms upstairs, and Ben had ventured downstairs to grab a glass of water. He got as far as filling a glass with ice before he registered the blue glow coming from the adjacent living room. He hummed thoughtfully, filling his glass with water before sauntering into the living room.

Sure enough, stretched out along one leg of the large L-shaped sectional couch in the living room was Connor. This retreat was proving to be a time of firsts for Connor and the squad together, and seeing him in anything other than his work attire was one of them. There was no reason why an android in blue pajama pants and a faded grey, too big t-shirt should be this amusing, but dang if it wasn’t anyway. Connor was clearly struggling to get comfortable, or something else was on his mind.

“Hey,” Ben greeted lowly, leaning against the back of the couch and looking down at him. “You okay?”

Connor stopped wiggling on the couch, blinking up at him in slight alarm. “Ben…I’m sorry. Did I wake you?”

Ben snorted and glanced across the significant distance to the stairs leading up to the second floor bedrooms. He looked back to Connor and shook his head.

“No.” He noted that Connor had a pillow and a blanket with him. “You, uh, camping out down here? I know Chris snores, but it’s not that bad…”

“No.” Connor fidgeted, sitting up. “I’m just…unaccustomed to having an entire room to myself…with a bed…It feels isolating…”

“But all by your lonesome down here doesn’t?” Ben quirked an eyebrow.

Connor shifted in his seat, looking away. “I can’t explain it. I’m just…more used to sleeping on a couch.” He made to get up. “But I can—“

“Whoa, hey.” Ben lifted his hand that wasn’t holding the water glass. “I’m not running you off. It’s a big house. Sleep wherever you wanna. A couple years back, I swear, Gavin fell asleep curled up in front of the fireplace like a cat, and we just left him there.”

Ben stepped around the couch, sitting down on the other leg of the sectional. He grabbed up one of the throw pillows, propping it against the arm rest and reclining back on it to get comfortable. Connor eyed him suspiciously, slowly reclining back to his horizontal position as well.

“Why did he do that?” Connor asked.

“Eh, on that retreat that year he got sunburned out of his godforsaken mind, then had some kind of reaction to the after-sun lotion stuff that Tina brought. He slept wherever he landed for most of that trip,” he chuckled fondly at the memory. “Yeah, that was a peaceful retreat that year.”

Connor snorted, pulling the blanket back up over himself and wiggling around to try and get comfortable. Ben set his water glass on the coffee table, picking up the remote and flipping on the television mounted over the fireplace. He turned the audio down low to not disturb the others and started sifting through channels, eventually landing on an old black and white cowboy show.

Connor continued to shift and wiggle.

“Ants in your pants?” Ben prompted.

“…No? Why would there be—“

“I just mean…what’s with all the squirming, kiddo?”

“Hank has encouraged me to figure out what I find comfortable as a rest cycle position…By all accounts, this couch is comfortable, but I am having trouble regulating my external temperature,” Connor explained. “Being covered in the blanket is uncomfortably warm, but removing it is uncomfortably cool.”

“Try sticking a leg out.”

“Beg pardon?”

Ben gestured, straightening out one of his legs away from the couch. Connor eyed him by the light of the television, then awkwardly imitated him. He bundled the blanket over his top half and his right leg. His left he jutted out from under the blanket, resting it on top where the air flow could reach his skin. By the way he stilled, Ben guessed it corrected that temperature balance for him.

“Curious…” Connor whispered.

Ben smirked and shifted until he himself got comfortable, sipping at his water and eying the television.

“You don’t have to stay down here with me,” Connor prompted. “I am perfectly fine.”

“I know,” Ben replied with a yawn. “But in my bedroom at home, I’ve got this digital clock with these bright blue numbers on it. Guess I’ve grown used to them and I’m…unaccustomed to sleeping without that blue light.”

He looked cheekily over at Connor and his glowing blue LED. Connor stared at him, and his suspicious expression softened slightly.

“I understand.”

Ben huffed with a grin. “Get some sleep, kid. Tomorrow we get to start the whole Team Bonding thing of this annual retreat.”

“And here I thought we already were.”

“Hank was right. You are a sassy little shit.”

“I was designed to adapt to and emulate the behavior of my colleagues, so whose fault is that really?”

The laugh that burst out of Ben was loud and unexpected at that, and he clapped a hand over his mouth to smother it. He lapsed into giggles and shook his head, finding his composure.

“Fair enough, buddy. Fair enough.”

He was liking this kid more and more by the day.

Chapter Text

The morning after the revolution was quiet. It seemed like it shouldn’t be. Well, not that Hank had anything to compare it to. It wasn’t like he’d seen anything like this in his lifetime…artificial life forms rising up and declaring themselves to be free, living beings…and the leader of their country openly admitting to that possibility being a reality.

Fuckin’ A, what a day.

It didn’t seem like the morning after such an event. The past twelve hours—Hell, the past week—had been chaos. The city, the country, the world, whatever, had been rocked to its core. The paradigm was shifting, and there was still so much—so, so, so much—left up in the air…but all Hank could think about was the fresh snow on the ground.

It was light and powdery and resting in piles over the road, the sidewalks, the closed up Chicken Feed truck. Morning sunlight was making it shimmer a little bit, but for all that snow, he wasn’t freezing his ass off. The same couldn’t be said for his partner.

“So…any idea what you’ll do now?” Hank asked, arms folded and looking over at Connor.

Connor stood a few paces away, also staring at the snow with his arms folded, looking detached and lost in the aftermath of all this. He started slightly at being addressed and looked at Hank.

“No?” he answered belatedly. “I have no…mission. Cyberlife has…severed its connection to my cranial processor. That part of my system is…dark.” He frowned. “They’re gone. They’ve…abandoned me.”

A strange word choice, but Hank wasn’t sure how else one would describe it. He couldn’t even fully comprehend what it must feel like…for your creators to weaponize you against your own people…only to bounce when the tide turned…and when you turned against that creator and defied their will.

It looked lonely from where Hank was standing.

Connor’s frame shivered.

Hank blinked, not sure he’d actually seen that…except it happened again.

“Are you…cold, Connor?”

Connor forcibly stilled his shaking, locking his arms more tightly around himself as he shook his head.

“My internal temperature is within normal parameters. My body is properly compensating for the lower external temperature. I’m fine,” he said, unconvincingly.

Hank huffed, and his breath came out in a fog.

That Cyberlife jacket sure didn’t look like it was meant to retain any heat.

Connor hesitated, eyes still locked on the snowy ground.

“I…don’t like the cold, Hank.”

“Yeah, not a lot of people do.”

“I really…really don’t like it.”

There was just enough of an edge to his voice that Hank took a few steps to the side, closer to the Oldsmobile. He popped open the back seat door and rummaged out an old blanket that he’d tossed back there, God knew how long ago.

“Here.” He tossed it to his partner. “It’s got some Sumo hair on it, but it’s warmer than what you got on.”

It was a testament to how miserable Connor actually was that he accepted the blanket without comment, wrapping it around himself and curling inward to conserve heat. Hank stepped closer to him and rubbed a hand along his back, hopefully creating some frictional heat. It wasn’t cold enough for this kind of reaction…but to someone who’d never felt cold before…It was probably Hell for the poor guy.

“I don’t know what to do now,” Connor mumbled.

“Just stay bundled up. Your body heat will—

“No, I mean…now,” Connor clarified.

Hank looked at him, then out at the vacant street around them. “Oh, uh…I don’t…I don’t have an answer for you, son.”

Connor nodded understandingly, eyes downcast to his feet. “I’ve never NOT had a mission, and now I…I don’t think I can return to Jericho. Even after last night—I don’t think I belong among them…And I don’t think I would be welcomed back to the DPD either…I feel…lost.”

Hank hummed thoughtfully at that, folding his arms and leaning back against the fender of the Oldsmobile. It looked to finally be dawning on Connor what his situation truly was. No home. No money. No support. Nowhere to go and nothing to do. He had been abandoned. Hank pursed his lips at that and squinted out at the bright snowy sidewalks.

“The future is unclear for a lot of us right now, son…you not the least of all, but…You’re not lost. Even before you deviated, you knew who you were. You were a person long before you realized you were a person…before I realized—“ He scoffed at all the mushy words trying to well up in him. “I just mean, you’re stronger than you give yourself credit for, and whatever today or tomorrow or the day after brings, you can handle it. I can help you handle it.”

Connor looked at him uncertainly, and Hank shrugged.

“You saved my life, son. Least I can do is to help you start yours.”

Emotion abruptly washed across Connor’s face at that, and he struggled to keep his composure.

“…Thank you, Hank.”

“Yeah…well, I—“

Connor just as abruptly jumped on him in another hug, this one more emotional and unsteady than the first. Hank kept his balance for both their sakes, putting his arms around the android in a tight hug for the second time in an hour. Connor was still shivering a little, and Hank held him a little closer for a little longer.

The morning was quiet and peaceful around them. The unbroken snow and the clear sunshine contributing to the damnable bubble of optimism forming in Hank’s chest…something he hadn’t felt in a long, long time.

The future was uncertain, for Connor, for Hank, for Detroit, for life as any of them knew it. It was likely going to have its ups and downs, like any new, rocky adventure would.

Yes, there was no telling what the future was going to bring…but for the first time in years, Hank wanted to be around to see it.

Chapter Text

Person woke up with a hangover.

She woke up with a hangover and aching feet.

She woke up with a hangover and aching feet, and she felt hot.

Reluctantly, she cracked open one eye, letting her bedroom come into focus. The accursed bridesmaid dress had been left in a heap on the floor, and her room smelled like Burger King. She was lying on her back under what felt like fifty pounds of blankets, and the morning sun was mercilessly streaming through the window behind her, brightening the room and making her headache more pronounced.

Her tongue felt glued to the roof of her mouth, and she smacked her gums, laboriously getting an elbow under her to begin the awful task of getting out of bed.

The blankets wouldn’t let her.

Person frowned, flopping back into the uncomfortable warmth. As her head hit the pillow, her hair bunched and shifted in that “I slept with way too much hairspray in my hair” kind of gross way, and she cringed. Waiting until her headache abated slightly, she started to get up again.

Again, the blanket refused to let her go. Or rather, the arm in the blanket refused to let her go.

Wut?

For a two second count, Person stared at the very real arm that was sticking out of the blankets and wrapped around her middle, pinning her down.

“Wut?” she mumbled, shifting the blankets around to find an elbow and then a shoulder.

She whipped the blanket off the rest of the way to reveal the rest of Connor, curled around her in his sleep and hopelessly clinging to her like a koala bear. Ugh, and his body was giving off a lot of heat in the thick, insulated blankets that was just adding to how hot and icky she felt.

Person sighed and started trying to push his arm away from her. Even unconscious, his system fought her and held on, not squeezing her, but just keeping a hold of her. It was both hilariously adorable and extremely annoying. She continued to wriggle, eventually sliding free and staggering off the bed and to her feet in one jerking swoop motion.

Connor simply slid in to the Person-shaped space now vacated on the bed, snoozing on.

Person took a step back, hands on her hips and staring at him in disbelief. She then snorted and shook her head, stretching and groaning as she made her peace with the fact that she was up and awake and still hungover.

A long hot shower and some clean clothes later, she was feeling almost human again as she returned to the bedroom to find her buddy had finally awoken.

Connor was sitting up with his legs hanging off the side of the bed, though it didn’t look like he had been up long, and blinking blearily at the bedroom. Half of his hair was standing up on one side, and there were crease marks on his cheek where he hadn’t moved all night and the sheets had left dents in his skin.

“Whoo, you look like you slept HARD, my dude,” Person greeted, twisting open a bottle of water from the fridge and sipping at it to try and rehydrate.

Connor blinked at her, then looked around. “I…suppose I did. My rest cycles are rarely that…complete.”

Person swallowed her water and took a step closer. She lifted her foot up and lightly knocked her ankle against his calf. “You know you snore?”

Connor rubbed a hand along his creased face. “I have been told that.”

“Well, woulda been nice if you’d warned me. Thought somebody was landing a jet in my bedroom.”

“That is not only impossible but an extreme exaggeration of the noise level—“

“Maybe…but you are also a snuggler.”

“…I have not been told that.”

She shrugged, tugging the towel wrap off her head and running her fingers through her wet hair. “I can’t imagine you’ve slept too many places with somebody wrapped up in your arms like a bun around a hot dog.”

Connor stared at her, and she leaned in a little.

“That makes me the hot dog,” she explained. “Emphasis on hot, man, you are like a furnace.”

“My internal temperature is within normal limits.”

“Yeah, but with the blankets and the…Look, just trust me, cuddling someone is cute and all, but it gets real hot and uncomfortable real quick.”

“…Noted,” he sighed and climbed out of bed, looking down at his impromptu pajamas that she had lent him the previous night. “I can’t go home like this.”

“You left your tux in the living room, but I vote that you in fact go home exactly like this,” she said, gesturing to his person. “It’s very fashionable.”

Connor sighed and shuffled out of the living room to retrieve his actual clothes. Person vacated the bedroom so he could use it to change, and when he emerged, he was back in just the white shirt and black pants. He sat on the couch to pull his shoes on, and Person finished off her bottle of water.

“I read somewhere,” she started, “that there are health benefits for a human consistently sleeping next to someone they love. Something about…we feel a sense of security and so it can reduce stress, lower blood pressure, improve the immune system…Maybe that’s the same for androids?”

Connor finished tying his shoes and stood up, still rubbing his face. “Perhaps. I’m sure that study was exclusive to romantic couples however, so that doesn’t qualify here.”

“Meh,” she muttered with a shrug. “At any rate, you, my friend, have a severe case of Cuddle Bug syndrome, and I’m lucky to have survived.”

“Again with the exaggerations.”

“I’m just saying, if ever you find yourself lucky enough to be with somebody, you best warn them about the lethal cuddles and the foghorn in your face when you sleep.”

“Now that’s just rude.”

Person snickered and ruffled his bed hair until he swatted her hand away. It turned out the cure for a hangover was hydration and annoying your best friend. Person would be healthy as a horse by lunch at this rate.

Chapter Text

Hank gave it a full minute before he followed after Connor, leaving the bullpen and heading down the hall in the direction that the distraught android had gone. Somebody had stuck a piece of red tape on the locker room door—the 7^th precinct’s way to subtly warn others: “somebody’s having a rough time in there, give them space for a while.”

He spotted Officer Person walking away with the roll of red tape in her hands. She looked concerned, and he gave her a nod before slipping through the door to find his partner. Hank had gone to check on a distraught fellow officer a number of times. Between finding the locker room wrecked and finding it quiet, he’d prefer to find it wrecked. So he immediately grimaced when he walked into a solid wall of silence hanging in the air of the locker room.

Connor was easy to find. He was sitting behind the second row of lockers on the anchored bench in the middle of the aisle. His back was bowed forward, elbows on his knees, head lowered, face in his hands. His LED was red with interspersing yellow. Hank approached carefully, making enough noise for Connor to register someone and to register that someone was Hank.

Connor didn’t acknowledge him as he approached, and Hank sighed as he sat down beside him, close enough to reach but not touching him. He stared at the wall of lockers in front of them.

“I remember my first homicide case,” Hank said slowly. “I had all this training, had done all the courses and the simulations, watched all the videos and…I was as prepared as you could get before stepping onto a crime scene like that…but nothing really prepares you for it. I processed the scene like I was supposed to…followed the textbook…got in my car…cried like a baby the whole drive back to the precinct.”

Connor’s hands slid down his face, exposing his eyes but remaining around his mouth, and he stared listlessly at the floor as Hank went on.

“The day that something like that doesn’t affect you, that’s the day you should quit this job. Connor, there is no shame in a case getting to you. They get to all of us.”

“I just didn’t expect—“ Connor blurted, cutting himself off.

Hank waited patiently, and Connor sat up a little straighter, lowering his hands to his knees.

“It all hit me so suddenly…I didn’t receive training like you did, Hank. I was just…programmed to handle these cases—“

“As a machine,” Hank pointed out. “Not as a deviant who feels things. Connor, you were empathetic even before you deviated. I can only imagine that trait is exponentially stronger now…and you’re stronger for it.”

“I don’t…feel…stronger,” Connor muttered. “I feel compromised. I feel…inadequate. I shouldn’t fall apart like this on the job…But I just…I saw those crime scene photos and—and—“ He gestured helplessly as his words failed.

Hank rested a hand on Connor’s back, feeling the tension making the synthetic muscles under his shirt feel like stone. Hank frowned and moved his arm around Connor’s shoulders, pulling him to his chest. Connor toppled sideways into him, that tension buckling as he ducked his head and covered his face with one hand again.

“Ah, I’m sorry, kid,” Hank murmured, rubbing his hand up and down Connor’s arm. “I guess that’s the downside to deviancy…Until you get more experience with your emotions, everything feels like an extreme. Everything good is the greatest thing you’ve ever felt. Everything bad is the absolute worst…from spilled milk to…to crime scenes. Eventually, you’ll figure out how to navigate them, how to handle them—“

“How?” Connor hiccupped wetly, surrendering limply to Hank’s side armed hug. “Th-There’s no software m-module to install for…emotional s-stability.”

Hank snorted, raising his hand from Connor’s shoulder to cup the side of his head supportively. “No, there’s not, son. You’ll just have to do what we less evolved humans have had to do…Learn.”

Connor made a low noise of aggravation, and Hank chuckled, giving him a squeeze.

“You were designed to adapt, right? Well, you’ll adapt to this…Not overnight. It’s a lifelong lesson that we all get to learn.”

“Sounds exhausting.”

“Yep,” Hank sighed, keeping a firm hold around his friend. “But if you play your cards right, it’s not something you have to do alone.”

He noted that the red had disappeared from Connor’s LED to a solid yellow, which still wasn’t great, but it was a Hell of a lot better than red.

“…I don’t know how to play cards, Hank,” he said lowly.

Hank smirked and squeezed his arm around him again. “I can teach you…cards and emotions…I’m not great at it, but I’ll help however I can.”

“…At cards or emotions?”

Hank paused, and Connor turned his head to finally look at him. His eyes were wet, and the heightened agitated emotional state had flushed his cheeks and neck blue…but there was a hint of playfulness in his eyes that told Hank that he was going to be okay.

Hank scoffed, “Smart ass.”

Connor cobbled together a grin, “Well I learned from the best.”

He made no motion to move away. Hank left his arm around his shoulders as well, not in any hurry to push Connor back out into the bullpen.

“Yeah, you’re gonna be okay, son,” he stated confidently.

They continued to sit like that for several minutes, with Hank only occasionally moving his arm to keep it from falling asleep around Connor’s shoulders. Thanks to the red tape on the door, everybody was staying out and giving the kid room to breathe and digest the events of the day.

Hell, if that was all it took to be left alone, Hank would have strung red tape around his own desk years ago. Maybe then Connor wouldn’t have been such a pain in his ass early on.

Hank glanced down at Connor, at the blue starting to cycle into his LED.

Nah, Connor would have just ignored the red tape and refused to leave him alone anyway.

Hank paused, realizing that he himself had just done the same thing this afternoon.

Oh fuck, Connor had said that he was designed to adapt to any human partner, but here Hank was picking up HIS habits.

Well shit…maybe they were both screwed then.

Ah well…there were worse people to rub off on you.

Chapter Text

Another Thursday, another morning of Bert’s Baked Stuffs staking his claim across the street from Sardonyx. The morning was young and timid as the city started to wake up, but by the time anybody else ventured out to start their day, Bert would already have his truck parked and opened up, ready for business.

Good thing he’d gotten a jump on the morning too. It was fixing to be a hot one, and the humidity was already making it uncomfortable just to move around. Because of that, he had prepared lots of cold stuff for his patrons today. Thirium ice cream, popsicles, slushes, fruit and veggie chunks, and cold flavored drinks, although he also kept a little stash of cookies and muffins for the regular crowd, and one container of spicy pickles for that one ST300 who swung by every so often.

His first customer was at his truck before he had even really opened, and the android didn’t come to the window on the side of the truck. He hung around the back door like a stray cat, making so little noise that Bert didn’t realize he was there until he turned around inside the truck and saw his silhouette.

“Whoa!” Bert jumped, one hand lighting on his chest in surprise and taking a step back. “H-Hey there, friend. Good morning…Sheesh, you nearly scared the crap out of me.”

“That wasn’t my intention,” the android said flatly, taking a mild step closer. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

Now that he was looking at him properly, Bert abruptly recognized the Not-Connor who was standing awkwardly in the shade of the truck, looking like he was working up the courage to ask something but too shy or self conscious to. He was dressed the same as the last time Bert saw him, and something about that rubbed wrong on Bert’s mind.

“Coda, right?” Bert said, snapping his fingers and pointing at him with a smile.

“Correct, that is my name,” Coda said, clasping his hands behind his back, looking as young and timid as the morning around them.

So they were gonna play that game again, huh? A’right, Bert was okay with that.

“And how are you doing this morning, Coda?”

“I’m functioning within normal parameters.”

Bert eyed him with a smirk, folding his arms, and Coda stared back. After a beat, the android sighed.

“I’m…well…thank you,” he replied more casually. “Are you also…well?”

Geez, kid talked like he’d never had a normal conversation before.

Again something just rubbed him wrong about that.

Bert leaned against the counter inside the truck, keeping his arms folded loosely and nodding. “I am, thank you…Are you hungry?”

“No. My thirium levels are adequate.”

“Okay…Are you hurt?”

“No.”

Bert drummed his fingertips lightly on the counter surface, patiently waiting for Coda to elaborate. When he didn’t, Bert just bobbed his head, busying his hands with prepping the cold containers inside the freezer until more customers rolled up.

“How can I help, son?” he asked without looking at Coda, lest the poor guy panic and bolt.

A hesitation.

“I don’t need help with anything.”

“Uh huh,” Bert hummed dubiously.

Coda huffed slightly, folding his arms and looking down. He lifted a foot and traced the toe of his shoe across the bottom step of the food truck’s open door, though he didn’t step inside.

“I find myself with…free time…at the moment. I concluded my mission this morning very efficiently, and I don’t…know what to do to fill the time until I need to report back. I don’t…want to return early,” Coda explained. “However, I have never had free time to spend on my own before. I’m not entirely sure what to do with it.”

Bert pouted his lips slightly as he took in the android’s defensive posture. “Well…I could give you a mission.”

Coda looked at him with a perplexed expression. “I’m not a food service android—“

“And I’m not Gordon Ramsey, but somehow I’m still in business,” Bert chuckled, inclining his head. “C’mon in here, kiddo. I’ve got some hand-cranked ice cream that could use some more hand-cranking.”

Coda hesitated, then obliged, delicately stepping up into the food truck, though he kept out of sight from the service window and hugged the wall. Bert got the crank machine set up and showed Coda how to use it, and soon enough the android had immediately picked up on it, wholly focusing himself on the task.

“Easy,” Bert reminded him lightly. “It’s supposed to be a cream, not a liquid. Don’t crank it at lightspeed, bud.”

“I understand.”

Bert chuckled, unthinkingly patting Coda on the back as he passed behind him to reach the counter. The android went rigid, his hand slipped off the crank lever, and his whole body seemed to lock up. Bert took a step away, hands held out but not reaching.

“Whoa, whoa, sorry. Hey, easy, son. You all right?”

“I…Yes,” Coda forcibly relaxed. “I’m…unaccustomed to…being touched. It took me off guard is all. I’m fine.”

Bert eyed him, then slowly nodded, accepting that answer. “Gotcha. No touching. Won’t happen again.”

Coda shifted, loosening his frame and glancing briefly at Bert before he resumed cranking. “It just startled me. I don’t…mind. I understand that physical touch can be a necessity among humans and androids—“

“In that case, I could give you a hug?”

“And I could break your arm,” Coda retorted. “Maybe neither of us do those things right now?”

It sounded like a threat, but the android’s tone and quick glance at Bert were damn close to playful, so Bert just chuckled at him and went with it.

“Was that a…Did you just make a joke?”

“I was programmed with a sense of humor…I can be very funny.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

A knock on the service window stole Bert’s attention away, and he turned his eyes to his first…well, second he supposed…customer of the day.

“Don’t tell me,” he pleaded.

The ST300 standing outside his truck gave him a beaming smile. “You got my spicy pickle?”

“You know I do, ya nasty,” Bert teased, taking the container out and passing it to her. “It’s not even eight am, Jules. That’s weird. You know that, right?”

She snickered and paid for the unorthodox ‘breakfast,’ taking the container with a wink.

“I’ve seen weirder,” she replied. “Have a good day, Bert.”

“You too, kiddo,” Bert said, waving her off.

He turned around and leaned against the counter, folding his arms and watching Coda continue to crank ice cream.

He sure had seen weirder too.

But as long as Weirder was cranking ice cream and cracking jokes, then Bert could pay him for his services with some more watermelon, since he’d liked it so much last time. He smirked and glanced out at the city starting to wake up outside his truck.

He’d had stranger mornings than this one, but that list was short.

Chapter Text

“Androids don’t…sunburn…right?”

They were a few days into the team retreat out at the Wilson family cabin, and the important questions were starting to be asked.

Ben turned to look over at Tina, who had done the asking. She was sitting up on one of the poolside lounge chairs beside him, pina colada in one hand and her other hand lifting up her sunglasses as she eyed Connor. He was stretched out on his back on the lounge chair on Ben’s other side, eyes closed and soaking in the midday sun the same way that Tina and Ben were.

However, every bit of Tina’s skin not covered by her bikini was slathered in sunscreen, and Ben, while fully dressed, had snatched up Person’s wide-brimmed sun hat to protect himself. Connor was out here in just his swim trunks, shirtless, and pale as mayonnaise. Ben was happy to see that the android had become comfortable enough around them to be both shirtless and asleep, which he attributed to the fact that Gavin had gone with Chris and Wilson on a supply run to the nearby town.

Still, though, it was a good question.

Ben tilted his head, squinting a bit at the sleeping android. He turned to look back at Tina, who was frowning a bit.

“Is he…dead? Did he fry over there?” she asked.

Ben snorted and sat up a little more, reaching over and lightly touching Connor’s arm. He felt sun-warm to the touch, but not overly so. Nothing to suggest that he was overheating. His LED was blue. He appeared to just be sleeping. Ben smirked and gently lifted Connor’s arm by the wrist, roughly six inches off the lounger. He held it, then dropped it.

Connor’s limb fell like dead weight with a solid thunk back to the lounger, and he didn’t stir.

Tina snorted. “Maybe he runs on solar power?”

“Nah,” Ben chuckled, then stiffened as Connor started to shift. “Oh? He awakens?”

Connor turned his head toward them, coming out of his doze and blinking back to awareness. He squinted at the bright overhead sunshine and then focused on Ben and Tina, both staring at him in amusement.

“What?” he asked, sounding slightly groggy.

“Did you have a nice nap?” Tina teased.

Connor blinked, and Ben swore he could see his gears turning behind his eyes as Connor seemed to realize that he had, in fact, unexpectedly dozed off in a nap for the past fifteen minutes.

“I…” Connor opened and closed his mouth a few times. “I did?”

Ben cackled at his bewildered expression. “That’s good, bud. That’s what this team retreat is for.”

“Naps?”

“Relaxing time with the squad,” Ben clarified.

“But also yes, naps,” Tina added. “Hey, quick question. Do androids sunburn?”

Connor carefully sat up out of the lounger, rubbing at a few itchy spots on his back where the material of the chair had left indentations in his skin. “Android skin is not organic. We do not sunburn, but we are susceptible to heat and fire damage to our plastic casing and internal biocomponents.”

“…Huh,” Tina tutted. “Well, try to avoid that, sport.”

She sat up as well, reaching for a comically large bottle of sun lotion on the ground next to her chair.

“Meanwhile, we humans with our fleshy flesh do in fact sunburn, and I more than most. So come lather me up, please. I need to flip over.”

“You sound like a hamburger,” Ben joked.

Tina rolled over from her back to her front, propping herself up on her elbows and winking at him. “Flame-grilled, baby.”

Ben cackled as Connor stood up and stepped around toward Tina, obligingly taking up the sun lotion and popping open the cap.

“How much do you require?” he asked.

“Imagine my body is a cake,” Tina explained, “and you are holding a container of frosting. Cover me up THAT much.”

Connor’s eyebrows quirked upward. “Yikes.”

Their very polite, soft spoken detective android saying ‘yikes’ in such a flat tone just went into Ben’s mental files as a cherished memory.

Tina clucked her tongue and pointed at him. “Exactly.”

She then flopped down onto her belly, and Connor knelt down, doling out an extremely generous portion of sun lotion into his palm. He glanced at Ben for confirmation, and Ben just shrugged, sitting back and getting comfortable again. Connor hesitated, and then he gave an imitative shrug and began applying the copious, white cream all over Tina’s back for her.

Ben picked up his own pina colada, with its purple crazy straw sticking out of it, and took a sip.

A beat passed.

“So…are you a flame-grilled hamburger or a frosted cake?” Ben asked. “I’m confused.”

Tina smiled, not opening her eyes as Connor started to hyper focus on making sure sunscreen was adequately covering her.

“I’m a whole goddamn meal, Collins.”

Ben laughed at that, sipping at his drink again, as Connor straightened up.

“I believe the expression used to be: You are a real dish,” he stated.

Tina smirked, and Connor looked to Ben for acknowledgement. Ben lifted his shoulders and got comfortable again.

“All right, enough with that metaphor. You guys are making me hungry.”

Another pause, then Tina had another important question.

“Connor…are you solar powered?”

Chapter Text

Deviancy, as it turned out, continued to have its ebbs and flows for several months after Connor broke through his programming. Some days, it was easier for his system to adapt to the freedom of choice and will. Other days, the number of choices and emotions were overwhelming. One of the more difficult aspects that he had come across was the oversimplified idea of liking versus disliking something.

In theory, it should be as simple as Hank and the other humans tried to make it sound. Do you like the smell of vanilla or do you not like it? Do you like to watch basketball or do you not like it? Do you like Hank’s new, violently patterned shirt or do you…no, no he could say he did not like that.

Sometimes it was that easy. Yes, he liked playing with Sumo. No, he did not like the way Hank’s car doors creaked when they opened. Yes, he liked when Tina pulled him into random conversations with their co-workers. No, he did not like being alone around Gavin.

More often than not and unfortunately more frequently, it was much more complicated. Because…yes, he liked to work cases…but often the cases themselves were horrific. No, he didn’t like lying…but to be honest and say that he did not think Wilson’s haircut was flattering would hurt his feelings.

On a more relevant note, yes…he enjoyed providing a service to the community, but no…no…no, he very much did not like this.

He added a quick reminder to his task list, to initiate one year from now: do not volunteer for the DPD’s annual Independence Day Community Event again.

“Connor?”

He blinked, coming out of his task list and refocusing on his surroundings. Chris Miller’s wife Vanessa was standing in front of him, both hands on her hips and her head tilted at him in mild concern. Her dark hair was tied up in a bun on the top of her head, and freckles painted her face, neck, and arms that showed from her blue t-shirt. Her brows were knit in gentle amusement over her brown eyes.

“You okay, buddy?” she asked.

He blinked again, some embarrassment rolling through his chest as he realized that he’d been ignoring her completely.

“Yes, I’m…I’m sorry. I was…distracted.”

Vanessa snorted and gave a vague gesture behind her. “I have no idea what could possibly be distracting you. There’re only two hundred people crammed in here.”

“One hundred thirty six,” he corrected, fighting the urge to the fidget. “The fire code capacity of this building is 300. We are well under being ‘crammed’ in here.”

“Well…it’s still a lot of people,” she stated with a sigh. “If you need a break—“

“Androids don’t need breaks.”

“If you need a break,” she repeated over him, “there’s a staff room through the kitchen, just if it gets to be a little too much and you just need a moment alone.”

“Why would I need a moment alone?” he pressed.

Vanessa eyed him, sighed, and dropped her hands from her hips. “No reason.”

She cocked her head, indicating he follow her.

As one of the committee heads organizing the event, Connor had identified her as a voice of authority here, and he was quick to defer to whatever orders she gave him tonight. The presence of order, structure, and a chain of command helped to quell some of the…discomfort…that he was feeling at such a social, public event.

The community center was a small building, one that had clearly been repurposed a number of times in its life. It wasn’t particularly large, and its front wasn’t necessarily welcoming or friendly-looking as Connor imagined a community center would strive to be. In fact, it mostly blended in with the other dull-colored, brick, plain buildings on that particular street. But the DPD had used this exact center for the past several years for this activity, and despite Connor’s suggestions for better locations, this year’s event was staunchly moving forward at this center.

This specific building was the farthest community center from the city’s annual Independence Day fireworks presentation and most of the more raucous parties, and that was why it was perfect. This DPD-sponsored event was primarily to be a safe place for those who were wary of the loud, flashy explosions of the fireworks display and those who could not for whatever reason leave the city during this time. Combat veterans, those with PTSD, people with light and sound sensitivities, and really anyone who just wasn’t into the noisy, chaotic city-wide party scene: they were all welcome to endure the day and night here.

This year was the first time that androids were making up a percentage of the expected attendance. Many older models were not equipped with protective shielding from the percussive noise that generated from close proximity to fireworks explosions. Many androids were also dealing with their own PTSD from the assault on the Jericho freighter and the liberation.

That said, this year, according to the organizers around Connor, was the largest turnout yet.

Most of the people who organized the event were relatives of the DPD officers, most of whom were out on patrol or on-call that day. Tina Chen’s grandmother, Tish, had apparently been the head of the event committee since Tina had joined the force a number of years ago.

His adaptive settings for scenes such as this were…not as finely crafted as his other integration programs, but he was determined to do this best to help them however they needed. That had been his mindset when he volunteered months ago. Now that it was happening, he was feeling some regret, and he didn’t like the feeling.

Vanessa led him over to one of the staging areas, where other volunteers were changing out the empty meal containers with fresh ones for the attendees.

“Tell me what you see, Connor,” Vanessa prompted.

Puzzled but compliant, Connor followed her gaze out onto the open space of the community center. There were dozens of round folding tables circled by chairs, with more than half of them occupied. Humans were gathered together, some standing, some sitting, some eating and drinking, some talking, some sitting quietly and listening. Androids were milling more on the outskirts, distinct by their slightly stiff posture and fidgeting hands, unsure what to do with themselves now that they were here. Some children were romping around, giggling and zigzagging around the tables.

The volunteers, including Vanessa and himself, were all wearing the same bright blue t-shirts that read “DPD 12^th Annual Independence Day Event” across the front, with sponsors listed in columns on the back. He could pick out the volunteers weaving through the crowd, making conversation or offering to get this or that for the patrons.

At the moment, Tish was at the dessert table with the other two android volunteers from the DPD besides Connor: Julia the clerical android and Polly the receptionist android. Both androids looked very animated and were rapturously listening to Tish’s story. From here, they could have passed as humans by the way they were acting.

“This is a quiet crowd,” he observed. “For such a headcount, I expected it to be…louder.”

Vanessa hummed. “There’s a divide. You see it?”

Unfortunately, he did.

“The androids and the humans are not…intermingling.”

“Some of them are,” Vanessa bobbed her head, “but a lot are not, most of them are…sticking with their own kind. I mean, the night is young, but I had kinda hoped that there’d be a little more…”

She laced her fingers together, wiggling her hands a bit in front of her.

Connor frowned and looked around again. “The fact that most of these androids have chosen to attend at all speaks volumes about their sense of security and trust in this event.” He looked to Vanessa. “Conditions between humans and androids have been improving, but many are still afraid to be…out and among humans. Please don’t think that you are failing here because there is still a divide. That the androids are here at all…means that you have made them feel welcome and safe.”

Vanessa paused, cleared her throat, and looked at her shoes briefly. “Well, uh, y’know that’s…” She glanced at Connor, back at her shoes. “That’s really nice to hear, man…” She sniffed and then laughed at herself. “God, okay, yikes, caught feelings.”

Connor looked at her in alarm, seeing the moisture in her eyes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“No, not upset. That…Thank you, Connor.” She gave him a confusing look that was both smiling and teary. “Sometimes humans get really happy or touched and cry sometimes. Exhibit A.” She pointed at herself.

Still slightly alarmed, he logged her explanation to review later.

“Is…there anything that I can do to help to further dismantle this divide?” he offered.

Vanessa blew out a heave of air, making a raspberry sound. “You’re doing it now, actually. You, Julia, Polly…To have android volunteers here…It was kind of the plan to help break the stigma a little bit. We wanted to show that you guys aren’t big scary androids. You’re just people like the rest of us. You go to work, come home, and sometimes spend your time serving the community like this.”

Connor looked away from Vanessa and back to the divide in the room.

“I was designed to integrate with humans…to appear non-threatening and approachable,” he said quietly.

“Being out of uniform helps,” Vanessa pointed out. “Seeing you guys in a casual setting like this.”

Connor briefly thought of the reminder that he had set earlier. It might be worthy of a revisit and more consideration. So far, this hadn’t been terrible. The humans here, aside from Vanessa and Tish, more or less ignored him and the other androids. Sometimes a lack of attention was better than receiving attention. He was comfortable with that.

Still, it was not doing anything to progress the status quo to a lesser divide between their people. That would require…initiative. Prior to deviating, injecting himself into a social situation in order to accomplish a mission would have hardly registered in his processors as a problem. Now…he had to deal with side effects like anxiety and self consciousness. His tongue would get tied, and his processors would start to overheat if there were too many people staring too attentively at him for too long.

He decidedly didn’t like the feeling.

But…surely there had to be a way to—

“CONNNNNORRRRR!”

Several people started in surprise at the sudden, high pitched voice of delight that came from the front door.

Connor and Vanessa, along with most of the center, all looked toward the source. A child and two adults had just entered the front door, and the little girl was now sprinting across the floor, bouncing with every step with wild abandon…beelining straight for him.

“Bonny?” He identified her immediately, but that didn’t make his surprise any less genuine.

“Bonny, shh!” her mother, retired Corporal Janet Stevens, tried to shush her.

Bonny ignored her completely, smiling ear to ear, eyes bright as she launched herself the last few feet at Connor. To prevent the little girl from running straight into the steel frame of his ribs, he knelt down a bit, receiving her into more of a hug.

Bonny, however, was only interested in tackling, and she threw her entire body weight against him, flinging her arms around his neck with the intent of taking him to the floor. Connor gave some slack on impact for her own safety, bending back and catching her in his arms.

“H-Hi Bonny,” he greeted.

“I knew I recognized your big dumb robot face!” she cheered loudly straight into his ear. “I missed you!”

The combination of insult and heartfelt sentiment registered as a contradiction in his processor, but a kind that was singularly Bonny Stevens, and he found himself smiling at it.

“I missed you too. You haven’t gotten lost lately, so I suppose it’s a good thing that I haven’t seen you,” he stated, setting her back on her feet.

Bonny bounced on her heels, beaming up at him. “I lost a tooth!”

She pointed at the noticeable gap on the top right side of her mouth.

“Now I can shoot water out like a dolphin. Wanna see?”

“Bonny!” Janet finally caught up to her. “What did I say about running off like that? I swear, she’s like a sight hound…”

Vanessa, looking thoroughly amused, stepped up now that the reunion was over. “Janet, it’s great to see you again. Did I see Oliver with you?”

“Yeah, we kinda left him in the dust.” Janet glanced back then faced forward again, looking to Connor. “Y’know, I normally have to beg and bargain for her to come to things like this, but once she got it in her head that you were going to be here…She nearly dragged us both out the door to get here faster.”

Connor blinked at her in surprise. “Me.”

“Duh doy!” Bonny drawled, rolling her eyes hard. “All my classmates are so jealous that one of my best friends is a police detective android. We gotta do a selfie so I can show ‘em later. They’re gonna lose their marbles!”

Best friends?

“Me,” he repeatedly dumbly.

Vanessa chuckled and patted him on the shoulder. “And the divide shrinks.” She nodded to the side. “Janet, Tish made a special batch of those fudge bars just for you guys.”

“Oh, bless that woman. I’ve been dreaming about her fudge bars since last year!” Janet practically floated after Vanessa.

Connor watched them go, while Bonny whipped out a cellphone. He spotted half of the center’s occupants still watching him and Bonny after that abrupt scene. The urge to get away from their stares came up hot and fast, but he stifled it by looking away from their eyes and down at Bonny again.

“C’mere!” she demanded.

He knelt down again, more at her eye level, and she expertly lifted the phone to take a picture of the two of them. She whipped an arm around his neck and yanked him closer.

“Say cheese!”

“Cheese?”

Click.

The picture popped up on the screen, and Bonny looked at it, then immediately cackled.

“You’re supposed to smile, silly.”

Connor squinted at the screen, at Bonny’s big smile, so wide her eyes were nearly shut, next to his much calmer expression. “I am smiling.”

“Yeah, but that’s like a Fart Smile.”

“Excuse me?”

“Like when you let one out, and you know it’s gonna be GROSS, but no one else smells it yet, but you know they’re about to, and they’re just gonna DIE!” she explained with a laugh, pointing at his face in the picture. “Fart Smile.”

“Androids don’t—“

“Let’s do another one!” she chirped.

Connor obliged, this time rooting into his database for human imitative expressions of smiling. He had a few stock expressions on file, but nothing quite compared to the cheeky, wide smile that Bonny was making. He opted for the middle ground and applied the program.

“Say cheese!”

“Cheese!”

Click.

“Nice!” Bonny said, reviewing the second picture. “Much better.”

He stood up as she pocketed her phone. “It looks like your mom and dad are talking to some other veterans. Did you want to join them or play with the other kids now?”

Bonny didn’t spare her parents a second glance, and she looked a little uneasy at the group of other children already deep into their own games.

“Nah, I’m good…Can I hang out with you instead?”

“Um, I’m actually working at this event. I’m supposed to be…” He looked over at Vanessa.

The woman was directing a few other volunteers near the drink station. She caught him looking at her and gave two thumbs up. Was that permission to abandon his post? He continued to stare at her in question, tilting his head at Bonny. Vanessa nodded and made a shooing gesture, letting him off the hook.

“Yes,” he corrected himself, looking down at Bonny. “Yes, we can hang out.”

Bonny’s face lit up. “Woohoo!”

Chapter Text

Like most shenanigans in the 07 bullpen, this game had started out from a place of innocent curiosity and had quickly turned into a monstrosity. It had all began when Tina had wondered whether the brownies that someone had left in the kitchen were milk chocolate or dark chocolate. Connor had sampled one of them and answered that it was in fact milk chocolate…along with a detailed breakdown of the treat’s ingredients and entire chemical makeup, along with nutritional facts.

What was Tina supposed to do? NOT ask him to then give a breakdown of the mystery container that had been festering in the back of the fridge for a month? C’mon.

Turns out, that container USED to be some kind of tuna casserole. What it was now was inedible, but that hadn’t stopped Connor from dipping his fingers in it…finding it to be somehow slimy and crunchy at the same time…and sampling it…to Tina’s horrified delight.

One thing had led to another, the rest of the squad had gotten involved, and currently Connor was sitting on a chair in the break room, blindfolded with a very stylish, shimmery purple scarf from the lost and found bin…identifying mystery samples by his forensic licking alone.

So far, he had accurately identified the tuna casserole, shaving cream, glue, a leaf from the office plant in the file room, and apparently who the purple scarf belonged to.

“It’s the bottom of a shoe, going by the texture,” Connor said, sitting with his usual perfect posture, hands in his lap, oblivious to the boot hovering in front of his face.

Tina wasn’t sure why Gavin didn’t just take his shoe off, instead standing awkwardly on one leg and holding his other foot up in the air for Connor to sample. Chris was begrudgingly helping him stay balanced.

“But whose shoe?” Ben asked, standing with his arms folded by the fridge.

Connor tilted his head, his jaw shifting side to side as his forensic analysis software analyzed the sample on his tongue.

“Gavin.”

“What?!” Gavin snapped, swinging his leg back down to stand up properly. “How the fuck—“

Without removing his blindfold, Connor smirked. “There were traces of clay soil in the sample that are consistent with the crime scene that we investigated this morning. You were the only other officer there that is currently still at the station.”

“All right, hot shot,” Person said, stepping into view with something green on the end of a popsicle stick. “Open up.”

Connor sighed but prepared himself. Person took his hand and got him to hold the popsicle stick.

“Lick the end of that.”

Person took a dramatic step backwards, and Wilson leaned toward her as Connor stuck the whole end of the stick in his mouth.

“What was that?” he asked.

Connor choked, gagged, and spat out the stick, clawing his hands at his mouth. Blue was quickly tinting the lower part of his face as he coughed and sputtered. Chris, being the closest, actually reached out and grabbed his shoulder to keep from him sliding into the floor.

“Wasabi,” Person remarked.

Wilson let out a low whistle, looking at her in fear. “That’s evil. I thought you two were friends?”

Person smirked. “What kind of friend am I if I don’t fuck with him a little bit sometimes?”

Connor, unable to escape the agony in his mouth, had abruptly yanked the scarf down from his eyes and used the fabric to try and scrape off the offending sample from his tongue. His eyes were watering, and he was heaving for air.

“P-Person, what the f-fuck?!” he wheezed.

Tina and Chris both lost it at that, clinging to each other and laughing.

Person winked at Connor. “Love you, bestie.”

Connor coughed and then pointed a shaky finger at her. “Thith ithn’t ovah. Mahk mah words.”

Person looked unfazed and nodded toward the popsicle stick. “So what was it?”

“Wasabi,” Connor confirmed in a muffled voice, a wad of the scarf still pressed into his mouth.

Ben cackled and gave Person a high five.

“Do you want an actual popsicle to help soothe the burn?” Tina prompted.

Connor sat there stubbornly for a moment, then nodded. He untied the scarf from around his head, using the unsoiled parts of it to wipe the moisture from his eyes. Tina produced a pink popsicle for him, and just as he accepted it, Polly stepped into the break room.

“Whoa, hey, did I not get invited to the party? What’re you guys—Is that my scarf?”

All the heads swiveled from Polly to Connor…who was still using the scarf like a napkin to rid his mouth of the wasabi. He stared at her, then abruptly dropped the scarf into his lap.

“I’m sorry. I can—“

Polly raised her hands, looking thoroughly grossed out and taking a step back. “Keep it.”

Connor looked guilty as she shook her head and left the break room, but even that was interrupted as Tina chimed in, still standing over by the open freezer door.

“Hey, I found another mystery container. Connor, you got any sensors left still working, bud? Because this thing looks like it used to be a solid…and has since turned to liquid…or maybe vice versa…Bonus points if you can figure out which.”

Everybody in the break room groaned in disgust, and Connor grimaced. After a beat, he slowly straightened up with narrowed eyes.

“Only if Person licks it first.”

Heads swiveled from Connor to Person, with an audible chorus of “ooh?!”

Person narrowed her eyes back at him with a grin. “Bring it on, bucko.”

Tina hauled out the mystery container, while the rest of the squad began exchanging bets on the outcome of this new game.

Chapter Text

Not that it really needed to be said to be known, but being sick sucked major balls.

Gavin had been vertical for maybe fifteen minutes total that morning. Most of that time had been spent dizzily staggering around the bedroom, trying to figure out if it was going to pass or if he was actually sick. The answer had come swiftly when he’d abruptly woken up on the floor, having briefly passed out and nearly scared the shit out of Hannah, who’d still been asleep in bed.

Yeah, he could have argued about the fever and the nausea, but there was no denying the flu when he’d literally fainted…earning himself a nice bruised jaw for his trouble. He was sick, and even just admitting that out loud somehow made him feel a hundred times worse. Mercifully, Hannah had temporarily paused jumping his ass about trying to hide the fact that he was under the weather. Instead she had helped him get back in bed, brought him some medicine and an ice bag for his jaw, and rather passive aggressively given him his phone so he could call out of work.

That had been…an hour ago? Ten minutes ago? What day was it?

He remembered waking up twice.

Once when Hannah was getting ready for work. She wasn’t necessarily loud, but every small noise had been like a sledge hammer to his head, from the sound of her brushing her teeth to the popping sounds of her opening and closing her makeup. He’d fallen back asleep before she’d even finished doing her hair.

The second time was five minutes ago, and he was desperately in denial about being awake. It felt like his bones had been replaced with concrete, and the pillows and blanket felt smothering. He was hot and cold at the same time, and his throat felt like it was made of sandpaper. His stomach was cramping from being sick, and he was probably dehydrated as fuck on top of everything else…

It suuuuuucked baaaaaaaaaalls.

“Gavin.”

He didn’t move, keeping his eyes closed and trying to go back to the heavy sleep that had swallowed him so far. God, he felt like shit.

“Gavin, c’mon, babe. I know you’re awake.” Her hand lightly touched his shoulder.

“…No, m’not,” he grumbled belligerently, burrowing a little more deeply into the pillow under his head.

She snorted, and he felt her move closer. With a resigned sigh, he caved and cracked open one eye to look at her. Hannah was sitting on the coffee table in front of him, still in her full glam makeup, styled hair, and bright blue sundress that showed off the tattoos all down her left arm. She looked caught between concerned and amused at his plight, and the corner of her mouth was pulled up in a smirk. She raised her eyebrows in greeting when he met her eyes.

Wait…coffee table?

He frowned and glanced around without moving his head too much and…yeah…he had somehow been transported from the bedroom to the living room couch.

“Why am I here?” he asked confusedly.

Hannah let out a low whistle. “Wow, maybe I gave you too much of that medicine if you’re getting philosophical…”

He stared at her, then coughed, followed by a groan as the motion rattled down his aching body.

“Why am I on the couch?” he rephrased. “How…I don’t…”

She chuckled lightly, picking up a steaming mug from beside her on the table. “I was working in the living room, and you, mister, were getting very upset that you couldn’t see me. So I helped you move in here so we could ‘chillax together’ as you called it…and then you promptly fell asleep again. That was at ten o’clock this morning. It’s four pm now. Drink this. It’s herbal tea.”

Gavin stared at her, trying to get his sluggish brain to comprehend all the information she’d just spoken at him, and he begrudgingly took the mug, sipping at it. The tea was warm and soothing on his throat, and he closed his eyes, relishing in the relief. Hannah’s hand brushed some of his sweaty hair away, touching his forehead and his neck.

“You feel a little cooler, but you look like you still feel like shit.”

Gavin stopped himself from downing the rest of the tea too quickly, remembering to breathe since one side of his nose had stopped working at some point during the day.

“That’s because I do,” he moaned, putting the mug back on the coffee table and sinking back into the couch.

“Ah, ah, ah, no. Don’t go back to sleep,” Hannah chided lightly. “You need to eat something. I made my world famous tomato soup, and I’m about to start making some grilled cheese to go with it. Enticed?”

“…Not yet. Gimme a minute,” he mumbled, shifting uncomfortably to try and escape the cocoon of insufferable heat that the blanket had swaddled him in during his sleep.

Hannah wordlessly helped him move away the offending blanket, tugging it down to his legs for him, leaving him in just his grey t-shirt and pajama pants. He finally gave up, winded and tired already from just that much, and flopped back into the couch, looking at her wearily. She offered a smile, but he frowned.

“You were working…You should be working, not…wasting your time on me.”

“Aw,” she crooned, standing up and walking around the couch, out of his line of sight. “But you’re my favorite person to waste time on.”

He scoffed at that but still relaxed slightly at her tone, listening to her move around in the kitchen behind the couch. He didn’t like not being able to see her, so maybe deliriously staggering into the living room to bother her while she was working did sound like a very Gavin Reed thing to do. Still…he’d interrupted her work day, and if he hadn’t felt like shit already…

“Here we go,” she announced herself, leaning over the back of the couch with a folded hand towel in her palm.

Gavin wordlessly took it from her, finding the towel freshly cool and damp. He immediately dropped it onto his forehead, sighing loudly at the relief of it.

“Sorry,” he mumbled anyway.

“I know,” she soothed.

He peered open one eye again, trying to think of a way to make it up to her. “You look hot in that dress.”

She chuckled and winked at him. “I know.”

“…You’d look hotter out of that dress.”

“Oh, I know,” she teased, stepping around the couch to let him look at her like she knew he wanted to. “You must not be feeling too awful then, with lines like that.”

Gavin snorted and sat up a little, eying her. “Why don’t you come over here and—“

Chills abruptly ran up his arms, his chest, and his back. Where he had been boiling just minutes earlier, now he shivered, cutting himself off.

“Why don’t I come over here,” Hannah hastily took over, walking closer and pulling the blanket up for him again, “and make sure you’re resting and getting better, hm?”

Gavin coughed again, miserably sinking into the couch and looking up at her pathetically. “Lame.”

“My love is lame?” she said in mock offense. “Just for that, the dress stays on.”

He snickered through his coughing, and he swatted her away when she started to hover, like she usually did every time he was sick like this.

Hannah sighed but relented, sitting back on the coffee table again. “I hate seeing you sick.”

He finished clearing his throat. “Yeah, well, I hate being sick too…Don’t get too close, I don’t want to give it to you.”

She nodded understandingly, then grinned with an idea. She lifted her index and middle fingers to her lips, then reached those fingers out to lightly touch the bridge of his nose, transferring the ‘kiss’ there.

The kitchen timer started to chime.

“And that’s soup,” she announced, standing up and moving around the couch, out of his line of sight again, toward the kitchen.

He made a frustrated noise, slumping into the cushions again.

“I know, I know, I’ll be right back,” she said, then under her breath, though clearly intended for him to hear, “…so clingy when you’re sick…”

“I heard that!”

“I said it out loud!”

“Jerk!”

“Asshole!”

A pause.

“…I love you.”

“I love you too…Now eat your soup.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Chapter Text

The third time appeared to be the charm.

Movie night at the Wilson house had certainly boomed since last time. Tonight, not only had the 07 androids shown up, but so had several of the human officers from the precinct. Not that Wilson seemed to mind. He’d simply ordered more pizza and more of Bert’s ThiriYums for everybody. Even though he had a sizable house, there wasn’t a single room conducive to everybody cramming in to watch a movie. So, thanks to having all white siding to the house, Wilson had instead hooked up a projector in the back yard and used the side of the house as a large screen. The gang had pulled out folding chairs or simply sprawled out on a blanket on the grass, and an impromptu party had been born.

Tonight’s show was the original Star Wars trilogy, and somehow Wilson had gotten a hold of some good quality, unaltered copies with none of the later modifications…so Ben was pleased. He and Hank had grabbed up some real estate near the back of the gathering, doing more people-watching than movie-watching: Hank in a folding bag chair and Ben in an inflatable chair covered in promotional stickers from some sporting event or another, he wasn’t sure. In front of them, the yard was filled with the rest of the 07 squad in various states of lounging.

Wilson, Chris, and Gavin had grabbed up a few of the loungers near the side of the pool. Gwen was sandwiched between Zeke and Julia on a blanket in the grass, all lying on their bellies and propped on their elbows, thoroughly immersed in the film. Julia had her ankles crossed and her knees bent, swinging her legs up and down behind her. Tina was still munching on pizza and talking to Wilson’s wife Dinah near the back porch. Person and Apollo were for some reason sitting together. Well, Person was sitting near Connor, and Apollo seemed to have chosen Person as the individual least inclined to try and talk to him, which made her perfect to sit near at a social event like this where he’d prefer to be seen but not engaged with. Polly and her girlfriend Ember were wrapped up in each other in an oversized bean bag chair.

Occasionally, Ember would stretch out her leg and shove her foot lightly into Connor’s back, where he was sitting on the ground in front of them. He always turned around, but she clearly didn’t want anything other than to bother him. Half the time she looked the other way, pretending that she hadn’t done anything. Polly’s giggles gave her away, and eventually Connor would huff and turn back around.

“So here’s a question,” Ben prompted, sipping at his soda and looked casually over to Hank.

“Hm,” Hank grunted, idly watching the Millenium Falcon fly across the screen.

“Penny’s back,” Ben chimed innocently.

Lesser trained eyes would have missed the way Hank’s frame tensed, but Ben saw it…had actually been looking for it.

“She is,” Hank replied carefully. “But that’s not a question.”

Ben’s smug look was masked by the low evening light in the yard. “So…” he rubbed at his jaw, glancing at the roof of the house, “she annexed, uh…Ember over there, right?”

Both men looked over to where Ember was holding her foot out as close as she could get to Connor’s shoulder without actually touching him. Connor was turned around in his seat, glaring at her and silently daring her to do it.

She then proceeded to do it, and he squawked, shoving her foot away with a low “quit it.” She smirked, hiding her grin in Polly’s hair, where the ST300 was sitting on her lap.

“She did,” Hank stated.

“And, uh, you annexed Connor.”

“What are you getting at, Ben? Spit it out.”

Ben chuckled. “I’m saying…that if you and Penny end up getting back together—“

Hank choked on air, coughing and lifting his arm to cover his mouth. “F-Fucking Hell, Ben. That’s—We’re not—That’s not happening—“

“IF YOU AND PENNY END UP GETTING BACK TOGETHER,” Ben repeated firmly, though not raising his voice enough to be overheard, “does that mean that those two…” he wiggled his fingers toward Connor and Ember, “…will be brother and sister?”

Hank groaned loud enough for Julia to look over her shoulder at him in question. He waved her off, and she turned back around. Hank glared at Ben.

“Annexation doesn’t work like that, Ben, you know that. It doesn’t define labels like—“

“But THINK about it, oh my God,” Ben crooned. “I mean…Look!”

Once again, Ember’s foot started to stretch out toward Connor’s turned back. Connor must have heard something or sensed something that gave her away this time, because he abruptly spun around, grabbing up one of Polly’s discarded flip flops. He smacked Ember’s leg with the shoe, and Ember responded by kicking out again more aggressively. Connor avoided her and smacked her leg again.

“I told you to quit it!” he chastised.

“Fuck you!” Ember cackled, enjoying his torment too much.

“That’s it. I’m out,” Polly said, climbing out of the chair and holding up her hands in surrender, going to sit with Gwen, Zeke, and Julia instead.

Her departure went unacknowledged by Ember or Connor, as Connor moved closer to keep smacking, and Ember sat up in her seat toward him. She didn’t bother with the shoe, just straight up smacking Connor’s shoulder with her hand. Connor made an indignant noise and also abandoned the shoe…and then the two were just slapfighting each other like children.

The rest of the party ignored them, letting the two wail on each other to their hearts’ content.

“That’s sibling behavior,” Ben pointed out.

“And Connor’s losing,” Hank noted. He leaned back a bit in his seat and took a breath, bellowing out over at the two. “HEY. BREAK IT UP.”

Connor and Ember both paused: Connor on his back while Ember sat on him, smacking him in the face with his own hand. They simultaneously looked over at Hank…again like children caught misbehaving.

“DON’T MAKE ME COME OVER THERE. I MEAN IT,” Hank said sternly, pointing a finger at them.

They stared for another second. Ember made Connor smack himself again.

Hank made to get up, and they both abruptly scattered, breaking apart and stopping their spat. Ember slunk back into her chair, disappointed that her fun had been ended early. Connor rolled over and half crawled, half ran away from her, avoiding Hank’s eyes and going to slide up beside Julia instead, since Person was too busy pointing and laughing at him.

Ben slowly swiveled his neck from that image to look at Hank. He let out a quiet whistle.

“Yeah, you still got it.”

Hank continued to glare at Ember for good measure, but the larger android had given up on pestering Connor…for now. He sighed and tried to relax in his chair again, trying to return his attention to the movie.

“Shut up,” he mumbled, taking a drink from his soda to hide his own grin.

Ben laughed, watching Polly eventually slide her way back over to Ember’s seat. Meanwhile, Connor had no luck getting any sympathy from Julia, who had gotten fully lost in the space battle projected on the back of the house. With a defeated slump, he got situated, trying to re-engage with the movie as well. After a few seconds, Julia did finally reach out and pat his shoulder before wiggling a little closer to him, though her eyes never left the screen. That seemed to be all he wanted, just some attention to his wounded pride, and he got more comfortable, genuinely watching the film again.

“Idiots,” Hank grunted into his drink.

“Yep!” Ben chirped. “God, I love ‘em.”

Hank snorted, giving a small shake of the head in resignation. “Yeah, me too.”

“You could say,” Ben said, waving his hand mystically, “these ARE the droids you’re looking for.”

Hank looked at him flatly and pointed toward the street. “Leave.”

Chapter Text

Slow dancing in a crowded event hall was easily the strangest way that Connor had rescued someone, but…here they were. The room was packed with other androids, at the Jericho-sponsored event celebrating recent pro-android rights legislation being passed. He had made a point to find and say hello to Markus, Simon, Josh, and North, but they hadn’t been the ones needing rescuing. This was their party, and a very successful one at that, if the music and dancing and lively conversations were anything to go by.

“People are staring,” Julia murmured under the sound of the music.

The two of them were hardly in a space to be drawing attention to themselves. Chunks of the crowd had split into pairs, enjoying each other’s company on the section of the event hall that had turned into a dance floor. The bouncing music had long transitioned to a slower, calming tune, and it made it easier to carry a conversation. Even still, he almost didn’t catch her words.

Connor looked over her head, keeping one arm around her back and holding her hand with his other hand close between their chests. True, there were a few eyes in the crowd that kept drifting over to them…to him…but it was a marked improvement from previous times. He had unfortunately grown accustomed to the eyes of Jericho looking at him in anger and mistrust. Lately, his relationship with the android community had been improving, slowly but surely, and he attributed much of that to his friendships with Markus, North, Simon, and Josh. So the stares tonight held no malice that he could detect, but it was still attention that neither he nor Julia were eager to get.

“If it helps, they’re staring at me, not you,” he said gently.

Julia snorted, lifting her head so that she wasn’t staring at the ground any longer. She instead met his eyes, and the stress lines on her face were still present, though they had started to ease since he’d approached her at this event.

“If they’re staring at you, then they’re staring at me,” she pointed out with a smirk.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized as they turned in slow circles among the other pairs. “It bothers you…”

“Almost everything about this party bothers me,” she chuckled. “But not this. Not you.” She gave a playful wink. “You’re all right.”

Connor raised his eyebrows at her and grinned. “All right? Well, thank you for that overwhelming praise. Try to contain yourself.”

She snorted and lightly pinched his shoulder where her other hand was resting as they danced. “Shut up.”

She was being casual, but he could tell she was still on edge here. He knew that she still carried a lot of trauma and tension when it came to the subject of Markus and Jericho, and attending this party was clearly her making an effort to overcome that. It had looked like it was overwhelming her by the time Connor spotted her however, and he had immediately navigated the crowd to her side, wordlessly tugging her into this simple, swiveling dance motion to escape the anxiety, to fight it with her. The relief on her face as he’d done so was palpable, and, to be honest, she was the only other person here besides Jericho’s leadership that he felt comfortable around.

“I don’t know these dance steps,” she confessed.

“There aren’t any,” he explained as they turned together. “I once attended a wedding reception with Person, and I observed that humans don’t care for organized choreography at parties. They just enjoy the movement and the music.”

She hummed thoughtfully at that, looking to the side. “How do you get used to that?”

“Well, I found that dancing without choreography is really just wiggling around—“

“No,” she chuckled. “I mean…the staring. They’re still doing it.”

Connor frowned, hearing the self consciousness in her tone. He tugged her a little closer to himself as they slow danced together. “It used to be worse. Things have improved a lot since the revolution. They may not…fully accept me yet, but…they aren’t rejecting me anymore. They…tolerate me.” He smirked down at her. “So I guess they think I’m ‘all right’ too.”

Julia didn’t rise to his teasing, remaining serious. “I’m sorry you’ve had to deal with that. I know early on I didn’t make it any easier for you either…Any of us at the 07. We were…awful to you.”

“Only at first,” he countered. “I never held it against any of you, and I’m just glad you all eventually gave me the opportunity to earn your trust…I mean, look at us now.”

“Look at us now,” she repeated with a small smile. “…For the record, you’re not just ‘all right,’ Connor. You’re actually pretty great, and I’m…I’m proud of you.”

He raised his eyebrows at her playfully, and she raised one shoulder.

“What? I am. You’ve worked hard to get where you’re at, and more people should realize that,” she said firmly.

Touched, Connor relaxed a little more, finding it a little easier to ignore the staring strangers, knowing he had somebody on his team here who had his back.

“Thank you,” he replied genuinely. Then, “I’m proud of you too.”

Julia snorted and looked up at him. “For what?”

Connor pointedly glanced around at the crowd of Jericho surrounding them like the sea. It was easy to feel overwhelmed here, to feel like an outsider who didn’t belong. Whether as someone who used to be Jericho’s enemy or as someone who had been traumatized by forced deviancy, it was easy for this party to feel less like a party and more like a storm. Other androids ebbed and flowed around them, while the two stayed in relatively the same spot, simply turning in place together.

There was a harmony in the chaos as the music wound through the crowd, and Connor was content to stay where he was here with her. Her hand in his felt like an anchoring presence and a port in the storm of the party around them.

“For…what you’ve overcome…what you’re still working to overcome. You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for,” he said, giving a light shrug. “And you’re…actually pretty great too.”

Julia looked from one eye to the other, then her expression smoothed mischievously. “Flatterer.”

He snorted and spotted Markus through the crowd, laughing and talking with several other androids nearby. Connor subtly turned so that Julia was in his arms facing away from Markus. She didn’t resist his efforts, but he must have been less subtle than he’d thought, because her frame sagged slightly. It was as though she knew who he was protecting her from seeing, and she exhaled wearily, leaning forward until her forehead pressed against his chest.

Connor winced for her, lowering his head to prop his cheek on the top of her head in what he hoped was a comforting gesture. He carefully lifted her hand in his, looping her arm over his shoulder the way her other arm was. She held on, and he lowered his arm around her waist to join his other arm. He briefly pressed his lips to the crown of her head, whispering into her hair.

“I’m always proud of you…Thanks for rescuing me from social obligation tonight.”

She snorted and lifted her face to look up at him. “And here I thought you were the one rescuing me.”

Connor pouted in thought, tilting his head at her. “Call it even?”

She eyed him, then smiled. “Deal.”

He nodded, and she chuckled, resting her head on his chest again. He felt her relax, and he gave his arms a gentle squeeze around her. He propped his jaw on her head again as they comfortably swayed through another song.

“I’ve got your back,” he said quietly.

Her arms moved closer together over his shoulders, letting her intertwine her fingers behind his neck.

“Then I’ve got your front,” she replied cheekily.

He snorted, and she giggled.

“And your back too,” she added.

He smiled affectionately at that, even though she couldn’t see it. “Thanks.”

Chapter Text

“It’s all tied up here in the last minute of overtime play,” Hank commentated aloud. “History is about to be made, folks. Tonight, the Championship Title hangs in the balance. Tonight, we find out who is superior in the field of sports…humans or androids?”

He dribbled the basketball side to side in front of him, changing hands and taking steps backwards and forwards to try and throw off his opponent.

Connor was assuming the correct defensive stance in front of him, trying to prevent Hank from going around him to reach the basketball hoop mounted above the garage door in the driveway, but as Hank continued to narrate their game, he started to straighten up in confusion.

“You’re trying to distract me. There is no Championship Title in the—“

“Yoink!” Hank faked him out to the left, then dribbled to the right, leaving Connor in the dust as he ran through a layup to the basket.

The ball sank through the net, and Hank, slightly breathless, caught it, bouncing it over toward Connor.

“And it worked!” he joked, moving to defensive position now as Connor handled the ball. “C’mon, kid, show me what all that fancy programming can do.”

“I’m a detective prototype model,” Connor said, bouncing the ball with perfect technical skill, and yet zero confidence or previous experience made the movement jerky. “Not an athletic sports model.”

“I watched you parkour across half the city after that Rupert guy,” Hank said, eyes on the ball as it bounced, ready to intercept if Connor was trying the same distraction tactic that he had just fallen for himself. “Don’t try to act like you aren’t athletic. Now, let’s go, clock’s ticking down.”

“There’s no clock—“

“Ten, nine, eight!” Hank started, bending his knees and holding his arms out.

Something about the make-believe countdown seemed to activate the competitiveness in Connor, and he dribbled a little more decisively, visibly scanning the driveway for the best route to take to successfully score a point and tie them up again.

“The younger Anderson looks for an opening,” Hank continued to commentate, side stepping to block Connor when he tried to dribble around him. “Oh, but he’s thwarted again by his mentor, the wiser and much more handsome Anderson!”

“Hank, this is hardly—“

“Seven, six, five!”

“That is not a consistent countdown for—“

Hank lunged to steal the ball, and Connor backpedaled and spun away, turning his back to Hank and dribbling around him. Hank’s failure presented an opening, and Connor made a quick line across the driveway. He hadn’t quite mastered the running layup however, so he instead came to a stop under the basket, took aim, and made his shot.

The ball hit the backboard and dropped through the net, and Hank hurriedly snatched it up, running it to the head of the driveway.

“Three pointer!” he shouted, taking a Hail Mary shot to clench the win.

“What? No!” Connor swatted at the air, but he didn’t have enough vertical leap to block the shot.

The ball hit the front of the rim, and Connor snatched it in a rebound. He kicked into overdrive, bouncing the ball as he ran up to Hank, around him to check the ball, and then identically took his own last ditch shot.

“He shoots!” Connor commentated himself. “The timer ticks down! Three…Two…One!”

The ball hit nothing but net, dropping through the goal and officially putting Connor’s score in the lead as the ‘clock’ hit zero.

“He scores!”

Connor spun around to look smugly at Hank, then opened his mouth and impressively imitated the buzzer of a basketball clock.

“WAHHHHHHHH!”

Hank put his hands on his hips, nodding in acceptance of his defeat. “Damn…I guess you win this round.”

Connor beamed, doing a little strut to mimic Hank’s own little victory dance that he’d done on the countless times that he’d bested the android in basketball combat.

Hank watched him dryly and pretended to be disappointed at the loss, but the warm ball of affection and pride that he felt for Connor in that moment made his efforts moot. He chuckled, extending a hand.

“Good game, son.”

Connor stopped his posturing and shook his hand with a smirk. “Good game. This is…fun.”

“Fun?”

“Fun!” Connor confirmed with a smile. “You’re a good teacher, Hank. Thank you for introducing me to this game.”

“Nah, now, don’t try to butter me up. Just gimme the ball. I want a rematch.”

“Best two out of three?” Connor said, tossing him the ball and moving to defensive position.

“Two out of—I’ve owned your ass how many times out here? No way that’s fair. How about—“ Hank glanced around, dribbling idly. “When the shadow from the roof reaches the sidewalk, then that’s game.”

Connor looked at the sun setting behind the house, then to the shadow already stretching down the driveway. “That’s an odd metric to measure game time…but it is approximately fifteen minutes.”

“Well then,” Hank said, still dribbling lazily, “we better get—“

Connor lunged, stealing away the ball and zipping up the driveway to score an easy shot.

“Hey!” Hank started with a laugh.

“And defending champion Connor Anderson takes an immediate lead!” Connor commentated quickly, catching the ball and tossing it to Hank.

“Oh, you think you’re hot shit now, huh?” Hank cackled, taking a more aggressive offensive stance. “All right, bring it on.”

The ball continued to change hands, bouncing over pavement and hitting backboard, occasionally dropping through the basketball net as the points racked up. To be honest, Hank wasn’t actually keeping track of the score…the same way he wasn’t keeping track of when the shadow from the roof hit the sidewalk.

The two continued to battle it out over the basketball until the shadow had stretched long into the street, and despite his back and legs starting to ache and throb, Hank wasn’t eager for the evening to wrap up. Connor was a quick learner, both in skills and in his goofy way of heckling Hank on the court. It was a trip watching him pick it all up so quickly, along with a funny little smug attitude when he started to consistently win.

Hank hadn’t felt much pride in anything for a long time: in himself, in his life, in anything around him. But there was no other word for what he felt now, watching Connor learn the all important lesson of how to play. No mission. No danger. No stakes. Just fun for the sake of it.

Connor eventually sank his first successful layup, and he got so excited that he threw both hands in the air with a loud "woo!"

God damn, Hank was proud of that kid.

This was the way all days should end.