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The hug had been a surprise, but not unwelcome. After the events of the last few days a simple gesture of camaraderie was very pleasant.
Hank slapped him on the back and pushed away from the hug, shoving his hands in his pockets as soon as he was free. “So, what's next for you?”
Connor hesitated. His eyes slid away from Hank's face, to the street behind him where a group of humans was loading what possessions they could into an already-crowded passenger van. “I'm not sure. I don't think Cyberlife will want me back after this.”
The lieutenant had twisted to follow Connor's line of sight and grunted in affirmation. “What about your new friends? That, uh, that Marcus guy?”
An unfamiliar feeling caused a momentary pang in his chest. The androids of Jericho had enough to worry about without him—the wounded sheltered in the church, the liberation of the androids still held in the camps, the rescue of the dozens still in hiding around the city. They didn't need his help, didn't want his presence. “I'll...adapt,” he finally said after a moment, offering Hank a reassuring smile.
With a roll of his eyes, Hank dropped a heavy hand on Connor's shoulder. “Well, my couch's free, if you need a place to crash.”
Connor began to reply, but his gaze was suddenly caught by the scrape on Hank's cheek, left there by the other RK800 they'd faced in the warehouse. The wound was still red and irritated, though it would undoubtedly fade over the next few days.
We don't bleed the same color .
“Thank you, but I'll be all right,” Connor said.
“Come on,” Hank squeezed Connor's shoulder and leaned in further. “Where else you gonna sleep, huh? My place is a hell of a lot warmer than some park bench.”
“If it was up to me, I'd throw the lot of ya in a dumpster and set a match to it.”
Connor gently twisted away from the man's grip and brushed at the wrinkles in his jacket. They had been through much together in the last few days, but he wasn't so sure a few words spoken in the heat of the moment could really overwrite years of prejudice. “I can recharge at the station,” he replied simply. “Or, if Captain Fowler won't permit it, there should be a few public stations still standing.”
“Jesus, Connor, you think I'm just gonna let you wander off on your own?” Hank shook his head and threw his free arm up in a shrug. “Don't be ridiculous, I'm not letting you loose when there are still assholes out there knocking android heads off for chuckles.”
“Concussive damage is a faster death than incineration.”
When Hank's face paled Connor realized he'd actually vocalized that thought. How strange. His new emotions seemed to be disrupting the usual precise control he had over his speech unit.
“Connor...” Hank looked like he wanted to reach out again, then shoved his hand back in his coat pocket and turned away. “Shit. I fucked up, didn't I?”
Despite the difficulties they faced at the beginning of the case, Connor found he was unwilling to cause the man emotional distress. “They were opinions made in ignorance. You've given me no reason not to trust you.”
“Bullshit,” Hank's head snapped around, eyes narrowed in anger. “Why do you look like you're ready to bolt for it if that's the case?”
“I'm not...”
“Every time I take a step forward you take a step back,” Hank continued. He took a purposeful step toward Connor, and Connor barely caught himself before taking a step away. “You're afraid of me.”
Connor pressed his lips into a thin line. “I'm not...not afraid of you, Hank.”
“So waddya want me to do? Want me to throw away all the matches or something?.”
“That's not the point.”
“Then what is? Jesus, kid, I just want you to have a safe place to go, all right? I've gotten used to you over the last few days, and you're finally acting like a person...ah, forget it.” Hank folded his arms over his chest and took a few angry steps toward the closed Chicken Feed cart. “Will you at least let me pay for a hotel or something? Get you a few good nights in a safe place before you try to, I dunno, adapt to the world?”
Connor slowly approached the cart and leaned his back against it, standing next to Hank but not looking him in the eye. “The slogans on your screen were a bit...concerning,” he admitted.
“Yeah, well, I was stupid, all right?” Hank turned around to lean against the cart as well. “I know this might surprise you, but I haven't always shown up to work the sober and respectable lieutenant you see before you.”
He couldn't quite hold back the smile at Hank's words. “I have seen you vomit after consuming a high amount of alcohol, Hank.”
Hank waved the comment away. “Right, right, not my proudest moment. Anyway, I was pissed, had been on the trail of this kidnapped kid, and the captain pulls me away to go to some fucking android first aide course. We were probably too late for the kid anyway, but damn if it didn't feel like those two hours were the difference between life and death.
“So yeah. I was pissed at Fowler, and I wrote that shit because I wanted him to know how I felt. Wanted him to remember not to partner me up with a godda—with an android. I made a mistake.”
Somehow, Hank's story relieved some of the uneasiness Connor was feeling. “He shouldn't have pulled you off the case,” Connor finally said. “You're a good detective, Hank.”
“You too,” Hank replied, bumping Connor's shoulder with his own. They were silent for a few moments, then Hank awkwardly cleared his throat. “Would it, uh...would it help if I said I was sorry? Goddamn, I bitch about Reed not caring about his job all the time, and you come along and just try to get me to investigate my own fucking case and I treat you like shit. I know it's not much, but...sorry, Connor.”
Connor mulled the lieutenant's words over for a moment. Hank eventually gave a grumble and pushed himself away from the cart, angling his feet toward the car he'd left parked at the curb.
“Hank?” Connor called after him. The man stiffened and slowly turned back around, loooking like he was bracing himself for condemnation. “Is your couch still open?”
Hank's face split in a wide grin and he moved back to Connor's side to wrap an arm around his shoulders. “Damn straight, as long as you can put up with a grumpy old man who needs mend his ways.”
Connor returned the smile and let himself be lead to the Oldsmobile. “As I've said before, adapting to human unpredictability is one of my features.”
“Smartass.”