Chapter Text
Connor had been gifted a good life, one that had started out rocky and unstable but was blossoming into something promising. Hank had said he was proud of him and his accomplishments, a large part of the country was grateful for his bravery and Connor himself was thankful for his very existence. This was better than being human, Connor would think, a machine that could appreciate the differences between sentience and staged reality. He could see colors that were brighter than before, sounds and textiles that never influenced his behaviors before, a new chance at life that was all too sweet. Too bright at times, perhaps. Emotions were easy to be overwhelmed by, he grew to understand, but the hard parts of life were nothing to the sheer euphoria of having the option of experiencing it.
Connor was happy, or as close to happy as he’d ever been, and he wasn’t the only one glad to see it. His coworkers were friendly, even the tougher members of the force, and Hank had never smiled as much as he did; nothing like when it was winter, and Connor did not truly exist, and fighting flooded the streets. Connor was grateful, for all of that, and things were looking good. Things were good.
Stood out side of the convenience store, Connor wondered how he got so lucky; to be able to stand on his own two legs and breathe in the thick air of Detroit. A couple of moments of rest before starting his day, his usual order of coffee and tea waiting inside. Hank had introduced him to the simple pleasure of being busy, not feverishly so, but never idle like he once been. Something always occupying his hands, feet shuffling in his shoes; he enjoyed the small motions that reminded him that he was here, that he had lived, he had survived the worst moment of his short life and was still standing.
Warm beverages were his preferred way to start the day, the heat awakening the sensors in his hands and face. He quite liked the way steam felt on his face, a comfort that amused even Hank, who had spotted him face deep in his mug more than once. Hot showers were a blessing, but nothing compared to the rare bath in Hank’s large tub.
It was the small adjustments to life that made the transition all that easier, with Hank along to guide the process. Connor thought that things were going well enough. He was happy where he was now, as close to human he’s ever felt.
He had found his own community, a place where he wasn’t only machine, where he wasn’t the only odd-one out. It was enjoyable, he’d say, spending his time listing to stories revolving about his people’s liberation and hardships. Most had a good ending, or one heading that way, and Connor felt proud that he had a part in creating that.
Out of all of his new emotions, pride was one he was becoming most familiar with. Markus had helped him nurse that feeling into something soothing, not as scary as it had once been. The spotlight no longer blinded him, not when he walked with the other leaders of Jericho, and never when he was stood behind Markus, who soaked up the beam of attention like a sponge. He was always happy to please, to be front and center of the room, and Connor couldn’t understand why until he had seen him on that stage, after the fighting had stopped; delivering his speech to Detroit, to the world, Markus had become his own source of light. His words coated ears like honey, seeping into their brains and sweetening their thoughts. He brought relief and courage, he was everything that their people needed. Markus was so much for every person, human and android, and Connor had wondered how he could ever compare.
Markus had welcomed him with eager arms on the ship, and in the space between those arms he stood. Between the revolutionary’s creation of hope, peace, solace; he was allowed to stand beside the frontline of the Battle of Detroit, included in the celebration of bravery and strength. Even if it felt undeserved, Connor still basked in the light, shone down from the praise of androids and humans. It was often that Connor felt undeserving of his place on stages, sat in meeting halls with senators, pressed against Markus on trips and silent evenings. Connor was never comparable to the magnificence that was Markus, and that was alright, he’d come to realize; Connor was content with being a small part of the battle against their enemies and pain, as long as he was able to make a difference.
Back then, standing beside Markus, North, Simon and Josh, Connor felt a sense of belonging; a welcomed feeling of order returning to Detroit lifting his strained spirits. Overlooking the great city, he could recognize the lengths the citizens have taken towards progress, towards the future. And what a bright future they had planned out before them. Markus had reassured that after dust settled something great would bloom. Perhaps not this spring or the next but, a garden of beauty, of inclusion, of acceptance, was promised. Connor was looking forward to seeing that, more than he thought he’d ever could be. He was excited for this future.
But now, he had to focus on the present. Hank had returned from work a few hours ago and Sumo had already been tended to. Connor had made it is priority to check in on the Anderson household. Every morning and evening was spent making sure the lieutenant stuck to his program, an intensive alcohol recovery support group and various therapies, and was aiding with his progress. Connor found that his interference was needed less and less, the two going days without rescheduling appointments and readjusting medications. There was a promising progress on Hank end, and he was more than glad to see it.
Connor made quick work of picking up their drinks, his tea bag hanging over the lip of the styrofoam cup, and walked back down the block. It had been quiet on these streets, Hank’s house situated between two backroads. The lack of traffic and pedestrians were not as jarring as the rest of the city, where whole gatherings had been banned and curfews placed.
Connor felt odd when he thought about it now, how he had had such a large hand in disrupting the lives of these people. But, he never asked to awaken like he had, pushed over the edge and into consciousness, forced to fight for his right to exist, to live. He tried not to dwell on that, or on the constant reminders around him. Connor had his own future to worry about. But he wasn’t planning on doing that today. No, this time was pushed aside for Hank and his health. A moment where Connor no longer had the right to be selfish, wallowing in his repressed guilt. His duty to keep his only friend safe and alive more important than any big thinking session he could conjure. Connor needed to be present.
Their lack of bickering was pleasant, an air of familiarity and comfort having formed between them over the months. Sumo was an added bonus to Connor’s visits, of course. The large dog forcing his owner out of the house, a routine Connor was all too happy to encourage.
“This is the good life, kid,” Hank said, reclined in his lawn chair, “a cookout and a few beers. Even Sumo’s getting the spirit.”
The dog was bounding after the sprinkler’s path, jumping over the arching water. Connor smiled and sat down on the grass. Freshly cut, it pricked at his skin, but the enjoyment was still there.
“I was under the impression that a cookout involved more people,” he said, gazing at the empty yard. “And more food. This is simply you having your lunch outside, Hank. Why are you so theatrical?”
“Theatrical? Says the man who nearly had a meltdown over his un-matching socks the other day. That tantrum could’ve matched six pissed toddlers.”
Connor gave him a look. “Theatrical.”
The older man shrugged, beer tipped back towards his lips. “Gotta put a little spice on life now that things are boring again. Hell, even work is feelings more like school than heroics and all that shit. Who would’ve guessed that this city would finally cut back on all its shit and take a breather,” he pondered. “Now you cut back on all your whining, I’m trying to enjoy a day off.”
“This is not a day off, Hank, you were sent home early.” He corrected, shifting on the lawn. He stretched his legs out into the sun, synthetic nerves warming up. “You are supposed to be using this time for self improvement and legal work. Getting you back into the field is the end goal and I don’t think ‘cookout’s,” he quoted, “count towards legal retribution.”
Hank groaned, shutting his eyes. “Whining.” He warned. “On my day off. Can’t think of anything more beneficial than an afternoon in the sun. This has got to beat those damn worksheets. You can’t even argue with me, you know I’m right. This shit helps, Con. Someday you’ll see that it’s the downtime that actually makes a difference. I’m sure your overworked, plastic ass can learn appreciate the little things once in a while.”
Connor knew what he meant, and lowered his hackles. The weather was nice after the cold morning in the precinct. The artificial lights flooding his eyes never pleasant. Sumo barked in the distance, a flock of birds disrupted by the shrubs. “I know how to relax.”
Hank chuckled, popping open another can. Connor had kept a tab on his alcohol intake, the measured out bottles stacked neatly in the fridge. He was staying on track now, without the help of Connor and his sponsor. The small changes to his life seemed to make the biggest differences, Connor noted. The shine had returned to his eyes, skin flushed and healthy. He mirrored the old pictures on the walls, hung up by the two of them while emptying the garage of clutter. Trash and memories had resurfaced but Hank had held strong, not once tipping past a point he could return from. Connor always thought that he couldn’t get more proud, but then the lieutenant would clear another hurdle and he would be proved wrong yet again.
Connor squinted as Hank’s body stopped blocking the sun, the man standing and stretching. “The day I see you willingly relax is a day way past my lifetime,” he said over his shoulder. “Might have to force you to take a vacation one of these days. God knows you’ll go kicking and screaming.”
The android scrunched his brow. “I don’t kick and scream.” Hank just walked away from him, tending to his small barbecue.
“And I don’t whine!” He called and Hank flipped him off.
He settled back onto his elbows, the ground sturdy and comfortable. It was one of the few warm days this season, and despite what he had said earlier, he was glad to be able to enjoy it. Not even half a year ago he would have been denied this luxury, possibly dismantled for bringing up the idea of simply resting, enjoying a pleasurable moment. He was glad things have changed. Connor couldn’t think of a better ending to his life without being able to look back on these moments, shared between him and Hank. Even Sumo, who had burrowed himself into his heart. Connor could live a content life knowing that he’d been given this, these simple moments of being alive.
Connor smiled up a the sky. This was a life he wasn’t upset to be living.
.
Connor often had to remind himself, when things got too overwhelming and difficult, that things would never go back to the way they once were. He’d never be a machine again. The endless supply of prompts, missions, curated goals, were no longer a part of his life. He was given the chance to think for himself, but now he struggled to think of the right things.
It was too often that he found himself at a loss for words. Too slow to catch a joke or respond to a questions, small irregularities that were terrifyingly foreign. It had scared Connor at first, the lack of control he had over his mind and body, but now it was just frustrating. Hank had helped him in the beginning, the two creating a list of dialogue for certain situations. Friendlily greetings and apologies, how to congratulate a new baby (‘good job on successfully extending your genetic line’ was not appropriate to say to a new father. Hank helped him practice an apology for Officer Wilson later that night), the correct way to reject an invitation; the list was short but dense. Connor had relied on it, printed in the corner of his vision, for longer than he would have liked. But it had helped him pass the initial obstacles popping up in his life.
Hank had been very supportive of his involvement with Jericho. The man had practically shoved him out of the door for his first meeting, and was happy to see him leave every week after that. That had been five months ago, when Markus had messaged him with a request to formally meet the leaders of Jericho. He had been nervous at first, his reputation not one he wanted to parade around Jericho, but his anxieties were quickly put to rest.
Nothing but open arms, from the second he walked into the building to the moment he left. Simon had given him a hug on the way out, North a pat on the back. Josh was always happy to shake his hand, smile as they crossed paths. Markus had made it a point to sit by him, knees pointed towards his. Connor found an odd sort of comfort in that, and gratefully took his seat with the others. He did so every week, one evening devoted to legal talks and debate, friendly banter and discussion, and daydreams of a bright future. Connor was glad that Markus allowed him to participate and that feeling never dulled, not when he was surrounded by his new friends, his people.
“These men are so full of shit,” North spat across the table. “Nobody cares how much money you have shoved up under your pits, you still stink. They’re all rotten. I say we swerve and avoid that mess all together.”
She had her boots planted on the table, long legs crossed. Her hair was thrown over one shoulder, framing her scowl. Markus sighed and shook his head from the other side of the table. He shuffled the papers in his hands. “That’s not how these things work,” he said. “We cannot be seen picking and choosing who to do business with.”
“It’s not business!” She said. “This is our livelihood. I’m not letting these grimy men anywhere near our shit. That’s not an option.”
She slapped a holographic tablet on the table, screen fizzling. “Johnathan, tax collector, lost his entire business to the machines, now willing to work with androids for an even cut out of our funds. Janice, social security, wants to bridge the gap between humans and androids through—listen to this—through the all mighty power of the economy. What is all of this? Utter bullshit!”
“Unfortunately,” Connor started, hands clasped. “We need to examine every possibility. If we have one thing it’s an abundance of options.” North turned her glare towards him, a challenge in her eyes that he was learning to decline. “That also means that we have many more…suitable options for our financial handlings. Markus should have already received all of the candidates, correct?”
Markus plopped a folder onto the table. The thud stunned Simon back into the conversation, his head bouncing from his propped palm. “What’re these?”
“Pay attention, Simon,” he chided, aiding Connor in unfolding the files. “These are are potential financial managers. None of the suggestions were looking too promising from our lawyers, but we’ve come a long way since then. Connor and I were hoping to find something promising from out local community.”
Simon quickly wiped the bashful look on his face, peering into the pile. “So…resumes?”
“Something like that.”
“Ah,” Simon hummed.
Simon’s shirt was wrinkled and unkept, something Connor couldn’t help but notice. He kept his gaze level, trying not to stare at the other android. It had become obvious from their first few encounters that he had a habit of overworking himself, and his old cardigan seemed to point at another long week. He was still undergoing repairs from the Battle of Detroit, his position as head of Jericho was rightfully earned. He worked tirelessly, organizing nonprofit events, handling money, keeping the people sated. It was a lot for his system and the way things were going lately worked against him. He kept to himself now more than before, it was worrying to everyone else as well.Connor sucked his lip in sympathy, but bet that it wasn’t his place to say anything. So he kept his concerns to himself, instead categorizing the profiles in front of him. He started by age, then gender and eventually name. He was halfway through placing them in alphabetical order when North stood, her boots pushing off the table. The room watched as she stormed out, the double doors pulled shut.
Simon grimaced in sympathy and Markus crossed his arms. His eyes stayed on the doors, lingering on her exit. “She can’t always be so irresponsible,” he said, “this wouldn’t have gone well if we’d been in an actual meeting.”
Simon leaned back. “You know this is hard for her, Mark. I’m sure none of these men bring up good…memories. And she’s got a point, these are slimy contractors at best. She’s within her rights to be suspicious.”
“She can feel however she wants,” he grit his teeth. “I’m not denying her that, but her actions will not go unnoticed by humans. They’re very particular towards how well behaved we are, androids but especially women models.” Simon and Connor felt equally uneasy at that observation, but Markus carried on.
“We need to be seen as professional, no more of this emotional confrontation and mindless activism. We’re finally getting the recognition from the government, we’re getting somewhere! These are not the times to be throwing tantrums.”
Connor agreed, even when Simon remained silent. Their positions as figureheads were precarious, an unofficial role of leading their people. Markus was correct in the ways business worked, respect gaining higher ground than empathy, high emotions and protest. They had already moved past that.
Simon pushed back his seat and left with the intent of tracking down North, hopeful in his ability to speak some sense into her. Markus had let him go without a word, mindlessly digging back into his files. Connor watched him for a moment, grey sweater rolled up to his elbows, his hands deep in work, a never ending job it seemed. Connor silently rearranged his pile of names, not putting much effort into reading them.
“I respect what you are doing, Markus,” he said softly, turning pages between his fingers. “I’m sure the others do too. It’s a lot of pressure right now, and I’m sure we could all benefit from acknowledging that.”
Markus thinned his lips, still focused on his task. Connor looked down. “Perhaps a break would help us all right now. My partner, Hank, had suggested that—“
“We don’t have time for that.” Markus interrupted. His voice was flat but rang loud in his ears. “Slacking off will get us no where, not when there’s still so much to do. And it doesn’t help that everyone keeps storming off, like a bunch of children!” He slapped a handful of paper on the table.
Connor shrunk back from his task, hands folded on his lap. Markus seemed to shimmer under the artificial lights, shadows cutting across his face. He looked older somehow, as if stress could age him like a human. It was a wonder how the pressure didn’t crack him, like a piece of plastic underfoot. Connor figured he was too strong for that, too stubborn to be brought down in his own battle.
The revolutionary dropped forwards into his hands, shoulders bowed. “They don’t know what they’re doing, what we’re really here for. Simon, North, Josh—they were excited at the prospect of freedom. Eager to go to war once and bask in the glory of our success. They don’t realize that we’ve started a chain of smaller fights until we’re equals. We’re never truly finished, Connor. But, you understand that already, don’t you?” Markus chuckled into his hands, a worn sound. “Of course you do, you’ve been fighting your whole life. I’m just glad I’m not the only one who can see how…unimpressive their actions can be.”
Connor offered him a small smile when he looked up, hands twisting under the table. Markus seemed pleased at that. “After all, you’re the only one left here. I guess this works all for us then. What do you say?” He pushed a stack his way. “You sticking around to make a difference?”
Connor stared back down at the table, mind spinning. Of course he was with Markus, how that could have been a question was beyond him. He was correct, as usual, that they were the last at the table. Connor hoped it didn’t symbolize what he feared but he nodded to Markus, not confident enough to meet his eyes. “Of course.”
Markus was happy to hear that. It ended up being just to two of them, going over profiles and testimonies until late that night. Simon had never returned with North and Josh had never shown up to begin with, but Markus no longer seemed bothered. He was content with Connor’s company, and Connor tried not to let that giddy feeling settle in his chest. He tried his best to keep focused, pacing himself with the other android.
To stay up to Markus’ standard was his highest priority, something that the other three could not uphold. Markus’ trust, he realized, was a fragile concept. Connor didn’t want to lose that. Connor didn’t want to lose Markus, and so he kept his head low and carried on.
.
That’s the way Connor’s months went, running behind Markus, trying to uphold his status as his friend, his right-hand man. It was tiring, sure, but Connor was designed to keep pushing. Late nights and early mornings were nothing too extreme, he reasoned, it was just once the line between the two blurred did he see a problem arising. His rest cycle had not completed in fourteen days, his system never catching a break.
Markus had him scheduled for his every meeting, debriefing, and errand. It was strenuous, the tasks he was often given, but it was necessary. Besides, Connor could see how much more than man was doing compared to him. For every night Connor spent pouring over paperwork Connor knew Markus was doing double. Never ending, his energy seemed to be gained purely from progress, success. Connor wasn’t sure how that worked until it had happened to him, Markus praising him for a job well done after a long night, the feeling enough to boost his systems for another round of work. It was becoming a concerning cycle, but it was working well enough for them. Markus was happy with Connor, and Connor was content with himself; being useful was a wonderful feeling.
However, he could sense that Hank was becoming upset with him. Connor had been concerned at first, had his absence been detrimental towards his progress? He always worried that he’d push too hard or too little and Hank would fall back into his old habits. But now he was faced with the angry man, during a time when Connor couldn’t devote all of his energy toward him. Hank had said that wasn’t necessary, but had never denied Connor of visiting him in the end.
Now Connor didn’t even have time for that.
So, when Hank cornered him in the break room, looking rightfully pissed, Connor was mildly terrified.
“Hank—I’m really sorry about my absence, it was not my intention—“
He held up a hand, stopping the android. Hank’s anger was slowly morphing into something softer, something closer to concern at the sight of Connor. “Just— relax, kid,” he said. “The hell you been, though? Not a call or text. I just about missed you this afternoon.”
Connor’s shoulders fell, heavy with guilt. “I’m sorry about that. I’ve been on patrol with Officer Collins this week, and the week before that, homicide, double cases, and —it’s been busy.” He took a deep breath. “I’ve been very busy.”
The air in the break room was stale with coffee, a bitter sense lighting up the back of his throat. Hank had every right to yell at him, to demand he pay more attention to him. Connor knew he was his responsibility, even if Hank disagreed and shut that notion down, and he was slacking at this very, very important job. Shame blossomed in his chest, his mind riding on waves of more guilt. He was being so irresponsible.
“Shit,” Hank said, leaning back. “I can see that. You look like utter crap, Con. You planning on slowing down anytime soon or driving yourself into the nearest wall?”
His brow furrowed. “I’m afraid my schedule doesn’t seem to lessen in the near future. Markus and I are booked fairly regularly, and with the rest of Jericho falling behind…” he sighed. “A lot of responsibility has unfortunately fallen upon us, and I am regretful that it has caused you worry.”
Hank frowned. “You remember what I said about taking breaks, right? This seems like a good time to slow your roll, take a breather or two.”
“Yes,” Connor said, reminded of a similar conversation with Markus. “I am aware, but the time isn’t right for leisure. I’m making good progress, Hank. Hopefully I can stop by and see you and Sumo sooner rather than later, if everything keeps going to plan.”
Hank didn’t look convinced but they could both feel their time running low. The older man pat him on the shoulder, giving him another once over. “Take care of yourself Connor, for my sake at least. And if you can’t make it, give me a call later tonight. You’re still coming to Person’s graduation, I don’t care what android Jesus has to say about it.”
“Very well, Hank,” he smiled. They parted ways as their lunch break ended, Hank benched with desk duty and Connor back out into the field.
Connor left with Officer Wilson, sat in the worn seat of his cruiser. The two were on good terms, he hoped. Their conversations short but light, an amiable relationship forming between them. Connor knew he didn’t offer much these last few weeks, his replies short and clipped. His head was always filled with upcoming cases, new projects. Connor wasn’t sure that half of what Wilson said even registered in the limited free space in his mind. He did his best to smile and nod but even he could tell the officer was losing his confidence.
Officer Wilson seemed to give up that day, his cheek clamped in his teeth. Connor focused on keeping his mind focused, counting the passing trees and lines of text pertaining to their upcoming scene. The silence gave him an opportunity to think, clearly and without diverted attention. He wanted to keep the man happy, but he always had too much to say; so much filler information that Connor could no longer keep up with.
The older officer glanced at him once before unlocking their doors. They headed off to do their jobs, the awkward silence stretched into non existence at they went separate ways. Connor could feel bad about that later, when he could afford to worry over friendships and feelings. Now he had a job to do, and another one after that. His list seemed never ending, but Connor couldn’t complain; he was fixing the mess he had helped create.
Another android murdered in broad daylight, the twist in his gut reminding him that it could have been prevented. Connor just needed to try harder to ensure these stopped becoming regular occurrences, and it was a shame, that after their nice talk, that Connor had neglected to contact Hank that night. And the night after that. The case was at the front of his mind, pre-constructions never ending; an endless spiral into work, blocking out everything else. Connor had to do better for his people and for Markus, he was just regretful that Hank had once again been pushed to the back of his mind.
Connor had tried his hardest to ignore the lingering stares from his coworkers, who he no longer greeted, as he rushed through the halls late that night.It was passed the hours his coworkers occupied, the night crew unfamiliar to him. Connor pushed on with his task, rooting through the mess of the evidence locker. He was one criminal closer to getting things back in order, closer to making Detroit a safe place for his people and to proving his worth to his peers and species.
Cases piled up onto his desk and into his arms, all android related issues had been thrown onto him. Without the help of Hank, Connor was left to handle the workload. He’d never say anything to the Captain, of course, this was what he’s signed up for. He was the most qualified and they both understood this. But now, with his dealings with Jericho and position of liaison, Connor found himself burning on both ends. But progress was progress, and Connor did not complain.
He did not want to seem ungrateful.