Work Text:
He found that with deviancy, came more of a need for relaxation, and there were very few things that relaxed Connor like a good game of fetch did.
He liked the repetitive sensation of it. Reel back, look to Sumo, aim precisely, toss and then follow through. It was like the most enjoyable maintenance check ever. Hank hated that he called it that. Just throw the damn ball.
Through fault of his excitement, there were times when Sumo missed the ball. After all, he was a living creature with imperfections. After a few previous successful rounds, Connor watched this time as Sumo over-calculated, snapping his jaws shut as the ball bounced off of his face, onto the ground, back up into the air and then sailed into the bushes. The St. Bernard looked like he wanted to pounce for it but likely due to past experiences, he jumped around the bush, ultimately not being able to fit through. Connor smiled and wandered over to the bush.
“It’s okay, Sumo,” he said. He would not have done that before, knowing that the dog couldn't possibly understand him. Just something he picked up while being here. “I will retrieve it for you, and then we can get on with our game.”
Sumo seemed satisfied, panting happily away. He'd have to take that as some confirmation he understood. Connor smiled again and crouched on the ground, seeking the lost ball.
He reached out a hand, feeling over the soil. That was another thing he would have done differently before the humans came into his life. Usually he would have gone straight for the scan, but lately he had found delight in stalling his tasks to just enjoy being in the moment. He liked feeling the earth beneath him. Just being alive.
Still, there wasn't any use in wasting your talents. Connor found the brush to be thick and mostly opaque and his fingers grasped nothing. He resigned to using his environmental scan. Hank was always jealous whenever he lost something.
Connor got on his knees as the world turned gray and he looked around. As expected, a yellow notification popped up and Connor double scanned it, confirming that it was indeed the tennis ball.
“Bingo.”
Reaching for it, he pulled his arm back, projecting it onto the grass. A chipper bark from Sumo confirmed that it was free and Connor heard snuffling about. He was likely ready to continue.
“I’m coming, boy.” Connor called, starting to retreat back. “Just one...second.”
His arm moved back and another notification popped up in his vision. Something else in the bush, foreign like the tennis ball. It didn't belong there so it had to come out. Connor would be the one to do that.
He tilted his head and reached for it, hand curling around a slab of concrete. He picked it up carefully and when he brought it closer, he noticed some writing scrawled onto it under a layer of dirt. He wiped away so he could comfortably scan it. He didn't anticipate feeling the blue blood freeze in his veins.
Markus Manfred
2038-2039
May he rise again
All systems were operational, yet Connor found that he could suddenly not move. An icy fist gripped his thirium pump as he stared at the stone, seemingly hypnotized. He wanted to look away, but he couldn't. Events started to play out in his mind. Markus was dead. That didn't make sense. But he absolutely should be. Connor had almost made sure of it. He saw the gun. Fire. blue blood. Tears. Explosions. The sound of someone shrieking. A disapproving look. From who? Connor couldn't tell. The images fled too fast for him to keep track, yet he still felt their presence. Markus’ mangled body was on the ground; something he couldn't remember. But he could see it, clear as day. A wave of darkness washed over him, dragging him under.
He had to get out of here.
He launched himself backwards. Or he would have had his jacket not gotten snagged on a prickly branch. He yanked it around, finding himself trapped in its puncture. It shook stubbornly as he struggled. He tried to reach behind him but he slipped, hands planting themselves in the dirt and leaves cascaded below. He stretched his legs out, grounding his knees and pulled with his shoulders.
The nature he had recently found so comforting was now suffocating him as he became uncomfortably aware of every leaf, stick and pebble touching him. This wasn't the sweet sanctuary he worked so hard to build. Instead, it morphed into something hauntingly familiar. Water flowed from somewhere in the distance. The sun beat down on him like a searchlight and the sickly sweet aroma of flowers filled his senses. Someone who wasn't there felt like they were closing in. Connor’s eyes darted frantically as he began to panic.
Finally, the branch let go with a riiip! and Connor fell onto his side, scrambling away from the bush. For a moment he just lied there, frozen in time. It was silent, save for the wind rustling the leaves and the thirium roaring in his ears. His thirium pump pounded in his vacant chest intrudingly so. An uncomfortable heat was building inside of him and he wanted it out.
Instead of breathing, androids had a program in them that ventilated by pushing air through them in a circular motion. The air comes in, it goes through, and then comes out in a calming pattern. The next “breath” was guaranteed to replenish you, but Connor found that now the air was only going up and down, like he was pumping up a balloon with no progress. The heat was trapped. He was trapped and he would never escape.
Suddenly, there was a new sound. He heard footsteps pounding against the ground in a hurry. There must have been something amis. If there was an emergency then he should be able to help. Get up, Connor.
“Connor? Connor! What the fuck happened?”
He was jostled into a sitting position and being supported upwards. Connor tried running a diagnostic test but to no avail; his vision began to cloud with static. On the edges of it he found Hank’s gaze, firm and concerned. The feeling of comfort left just as quickly as it arrived.
After several more failed diagnostic attempts, Connor reached out in the only way he could remember how. Grabbing Hank’s arms at his elbows, he trained his eyes on Hank’s face.
“That’s it, son,” Hank breathed, somewhat relieved at the joined eye contact. “I think you're...hyperventilating. Think we can slow that down?”
What? Connor sucked in a greedy breath and held it to snuff out the panting he had been replicating involuntarily. He followed Hank’s example; in and out. In and out.
Throughout this, Hank watched him closely, careful to take it one step at a time. He had never seen such a sight with Connor before. The yard was dug up and he was a mess, his jacket ripped open from the back and dirt and mud all over him. He had to slow down just to take it all in. Connor looked absolutely frightened. Once he was quieter, Hank commented again.
“Let's get you cleaned up. You’re bleeding all over my arm here, c’mon.”
Connor looked down at himself and sure enough, there was a nasty gash on his palm. It had stained both his hand and Hank’s arm blue. That was the second thing he had failed to detect.
Much like his legs wobbling as they made their way to the house, Connor’s lip quivered as he threatened to succumb to the fear bubbling over inside of him. He tried to focus on the man beside him. Hank was here right now. Cyberlife was...elsewhere. Always watching with their hand on the button. Out of sight.
Once they stepped inside, Connor lost all of his composure and crumpled to the ground, holding himself tightly and squeezing his eyes shut, but it was no use. Tears leaked out of his eyes as he began to sob brokenly. Hank was gone for only a second before he returned, pressing something soft into Connor’s hand.
“Jesus, Connor. What’s going on?” worried Hank.
Connor squeezed the cotton with a shaking fist as it absorbed the thirium leaking out of him.
“We were playing,” Connor started, his voice shaking. “Sumo and I were playing in the yard and the ball rolled into the Garden…” his breath hitched with a hiccup. Hank quirked an eyebrow, beginning to rub his hands up and down Connor’s arms with comfort.
“I wouldn't exactly call it a garden, kid. One sad looking bush, maybe. I’ve never even touched it.”
They were quiet for a minute, Connor struggling to find some speaking room while Hank mulled over his words.
“Sorry, that...wasn’t right.”
“The Garden,” Connor continued. “There was something else, a-a gravestone. Markus’ name was on it i-i…”
Sumo took this opportune moment to come back inside with said stone in his mouth. He dropped it before them on the ground and Connor jumped slightly.
“There!” he gasped, covering his face with his hands. “It’s his name on it, he's dead I…”
Hank picked it up with one hand, shifting it around under the light. He studied it high and low but ultimately came up inconclusive.
“Con, this thing’s blank. Are you messing with me?”
Connor slowly lowered his hands, ready to counter that statement. But sure enough, Hank was right. He scanned it but came up with nothing. It was ordinary. Connor shook his head.
“No...no, Sumo must have retrieved the wrong one-”
“Connor,” Hank soothed, pushing his hair back. “It’s okay. You're just a little freaked out.”
He paused. “I think you confused this crap for...something else. Markus is fine. Remember? The whole revolution thing? We won. We just saw him a couple of days ago.”
Connor looked broken, tilting his head back as tears streamed down his cheeks. He searched his memory again and saw himself conversing with Markus. Their first casual conversation. Standing on the steps of Carl’s house. He was laughing. He was alive.
“Yes” he whispered. “I remember now. I…” he looked at the stone. It was blank now. It should have made him feel better, but he gripped it with fury.
“This never happened. It could have, but...it didn't.”
“Right,” Hank confirmed. “You’re just remembering shit from the past.” This was all so bizarre and new to the both of them. “It’s a part of being human, kid. Stuff creeps up on you.”
Connor sniffled, gritting his teeth. “I find that inapplicable. Sumo and I were just playing. Why would I resift through irrelevant information? Events that never even occurred?” Hank sighed and shook his head.
“You’ve had a lot to process. Trauma is...well, it’s shit kid. It sure as hell ain’t convenient. That’s how it goes.”
Connor couldn’t wrap his head around it. He grimaced at this confusing information.
“I hate it!” he wailed. “I don't want to feel like this.”
He went silent for a while, but Hank was patient. A flash of something grim crossed his eyes before he took a shuddering breath.
“I am going to purge my memory.”
Hank’s eyebrows shot up in alarm. “Hey hey hey hold on. You're not going to purge anything.” He held Connor’s face in his hands, watching as the tears poured over. “You do that and youre just gonna fuck yourself up. I wish I could do that, kid. I really do,” his voice cracked. “But you can’t when you're human. That's a part of the experience.”
Connor sniffled again, looking at him with wide, questioning eyes.
“Life?”
Hank sighed and then nodded.
“Yeah. That’s life. Sucks I know. But I think it’s probably better than…”
A glance at poor Connor told him that whatever he was about to say was better left unsaid.
“Forget it. Uh…” he seemed at a loss for words. He looked down at Connor’s hand. “Let’s take a look at this, okay?”
Connor nodded and let Hank take away the cotton. It was still bleeding slowly but that was not what unnerved Hank. Connor was shaking profusely and when Hank dabbed at the wound, he found the area to be surprisingly hot. He frowned.
“Tell me this temperature is normal.”
Connor let out a shaky sigh, looking defeated. “It is not. I am in distress and trying to keep self destruction at bay. This is the best my body can do.”
Hank nodded, wiping the horrified expression off of his face quickly. “Yeah okay. It would be great if you could keep that up.”
Hank felt silly thinking this all would be easy. In his opinion, androids were designed to be the perfect human, never out of line and rarely an inconvenience. Of course it did not seem like that way for him from the start, but he now found that the positives outweighed the negatives. The gap between android and human was there, but Hank felt that Connor was more human than most of the people he knew. He learned something new about him everyday. Usually pleasant. And even though this was definitely an unpleasant situation, it presented him with an opportunity.
Coming back to the present, Hank realized that Connor had started to cry again. The poor kid was totally overwhelmed. As if finally sensing the tension, Sumo padded up and sniffed at the android’s face. Connor sagged into the dog’s touch, reveling in the feeling of the soft fur against his skin while Hank mulled over his dilemma. He felt useless, not knowing what being an android was like. On the other hand, he had tons of experience being a human.
He reached a tentative hand for Connor going unnoticed and settled on his shoulder, rubbing calming sensations that hopefully conveyed what he wanted to say. Connor jumped a little, but it was apparently the right thing to do, because he switched from the dog’s embrace to the man’s and clung to him desperately. Hank closed his eyes, swallowing a lump in his throat as he did his best to comfort Connor.
“That’s it, kid. You’ll be okay. I’ll be right here when you are.”
It wasn't much, but it seemed to do the trick and Hank felt Connor relax ever so slightly in his hold. If it weren't for their proximity, Hank would have missed Connor’s small sweet voice.
“It may take many trials and we are likely to experience more difficulties like this. Deviancy has proven to be a lot less predictable than I hoped.”
Hank smiled and pulled away so he could look at Connor’s face. “Shit’s always difficult. You're taking it like a champ. Don't beat yourself up.” he ruffled Connors' hair playfully. “Let me know if there's anything i can do.”
Connor looked grateful, finally giving him a small smile. He looked at him through soft, weary eyes. “Do you think we could give Markus a call?”
Hank nodded almost immediately. “Sure, kid. I think you both could use one of those. First, you should get out of these rags; there's clothes in the laundry. Go crazy.”
Connor selected an oversized sweatshirt, warm and dry from the dryer. Once his old clothes were taken care of, he slipped the sweatshirt over his head and sighed under the toasty weight. It smelled of whiskey and sweets, immediately replacing the stench of the garden.
Not another word about it was uttered that night, but when later that week Connor had noticed the shrub missing from its roots, he made sure to not let his gratitude go unsaid.