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When Connor looked back, it started with three cartons of milk. It didn’t mean anything. It didn’t. Not then.
It didn’t mean anything when Hank called Connor with a ‘I can’t find my fucking keys, I’ve been looking for over an hour and-” Connor had gone over, helped Hank search the house. The keys were found under the record player’s clear plastic cover, and on top of a classic vinyl. Sure, it was odd, but humans could be absent minded. It didn’t mean anything.
The flamingo on the lawn was strange, but it didn’t mean anything. The five others that followed in the next week didn’t mean anything either. A human oddity. The retired man spent too much time bored, and doing home improvement tasks to pass the time, so what if he picked up a flamingo at the home improvement store? It didn’t mean anything.
The pile of money on the counter had Connor raising a brow. “What’s all this for?”
Hank stared at the pile for a moment before huffing out a breath. “Just… something. Doesn’t matter. Decided against it.” He shoved the money in a drawer.
When Hank didn’t show up to the dinner party Connor had invited him to, he spent the night entertaining his other guests; Chris and his wife Tori were having a great time, but keeping an eye on the watch since they had to be home before ten for their babysitter; Tina was on her second beer, and sitting on her girlfriend’s lap; Allen, Nines, and Sixty were all joking about a television series they all enjoyed; and Gavin, well Gavin wasn’t a guest. Gavin’s arms wrapped around Connor’s waist from behind, his chin on Connor’s shoulders.
And when Gavin asked, ‘what’s wrong?’ Connor lied and said, ‘nothing.’
Later, when Connor asked Hank why he missed the party the man had frowned. “Thought it was next week, sorry, Con.” And Connor accepted it. Hank was getting older, he was just a little absent-minded at times, it didn’t mean anything.
Hank told him a story about Cole, about Sumo, about the Christmas that was their last. It made sense that Hank was irritable afterward. While the memory was fond, it could also be painful to look back on that loss, and it had been a few years since Sumo had passed, and Connor still missed the gentle giant too. After a while, Hank told the story again. It didn’t mean anything.
It wasn’t uncommon for Connor to invite himself over to Hank’s. He’d been doing it for years. It wasn’t uncommon for him to cook Hank dinner either. He liked cooking, he didn’t have a sense of taste, couldn’t eat for himself, but he enjoyed the action of it, he liked making things for others to enjoy.
It didn’t mean anything when Hank snapped with a, ‘what the fuck are you doing? Get out of my fridge!” The sleeping in the middle of the day didn’t mean anything either. Mixing up his name with Sixty didn’t mean a thing, that happened all the time. No different with Nines. And if Hank called him Gavin once or twice, it didn’t matter. Nor when he called him Chris, or Jeff. Calling him ‘Cole’ was just a slip of the tongue.
Gavin and Hank had gotten along for the better part of the past ten years, they were friends even. Connor hadn’t expected the fight, hadn’t expected Hank to accuse Gavin of stealing a watch. They snapped at each other, Gavin’s temper was still alive and well. Connor separated the two men before it could escalate too far.
“I didn’t steal shit,” Gavin said on the drive home.
“I know,” Connor replied, taking Gavin’s hand. And he did. He did know. Gavin had been at his side the entire time.
There was no reason that Hank should have even had the thought. It was just a bad day. Maybe Hank had been drinking? Maybe Hank hadn’t been sleeping well? Hank and Gavin would patch things up. Hank would find the watch, realize he’d been foolish and apologize. It was fine. It didn’t mean anything.
The utility bill on the counter, three months unpaid didn’t mean anything- Connor sorted it out on his own, and kept his mouth shut about it. Hank wearing shorts and a Hawaiian t-shirt despite being in the middle of winter didn’t mean anything, he ran hot, and he always wore those offensively patterned shirts. Watching Hank cook, Connor warned the man when he was about to burn the dish. The fact that he got back an irritable, “I know what I’m doing, Cole,” didn’t mean anything.
“My name is Connor,” Connor said quietly.
“Connor, that’s what I said,” Hank replied.
“Of course, my mistake,” Connor whispered back.
The phone ringing at two am wasn’t entirely uncommon. Connor still worked as a homicide detective, he liked his position, and had turned down a promotion. Gavin made Captain a three months ago. It wasn’t cause for alarm. Connor had a physical phone. Didn’t need one, but had one. Humans were less disturbed by it, and he liked to be able to show Gavin funny animal videos on it. Gavin, half asleep, grabbed his phone, then threw it back on the nightstand. “It’s yours,” he said, the words slurring together.
Connor already knew that, already knew it was Hank, and stepped out of the room as he answered. “Hello-”
“I can’t find Sumo,” Hank sounded panicked, and the name of the dog had Connor’s thirium pump stuttering out of beat. “I can’t find him anywhere. Even his bed is gone. What the fuck?”
Connor shut the bedroom door as slow as he could, walked barefoot down the hall. “Hank, it’s okay-”
“My fucking dog is gone-”
“I know,” Connor said. “Sumo’s been gone several years now.”
“What-”
“You just had a bad dream is all,” Connor sat in the darkness of the dining room.
“My dog is missing, Connor,” he snapped. “Are you listening?”
“I hear you.”
“He’s missing.”
“Hank.”
“Sumo! Where are you?”
Connor pressed his fingers into his temple, where his LED used to be. “Hank, please, listen-”
“Are you going to help me find him or not?”
Connor weighted his options. “Sumo is with me.”
“What?”
“Remember, he needs to be lifted at the vets, and your back isn’t what it used to be. I’ll bring him home tomorrow, after his appointment.”
“His appointment?”
“Yes, uh, for the sprain. He’s not a young pup anymore.”
“Right,” the panic was gone from Hank’s voice. “Geez, thanks Con, sorry to wake you, I just thought-”
“It’s fine, but you should go to sleep, it’s late.”
“Yeah, talk to you tomorrow.”
“Good night.” Connor hung up the phone, set it down on the table and held his head in his hands. He nearly jumped when he felt hands on his shoulders, but relaxed into the touch, tipped his head back and saw Gavin barely illuminated by the moonlight coming through the window. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“Sumo’s been dead for years.”
Connor frowned. “I’m sure he just had a bad dream, woke up confused, that’s all.”
The furrow lines in Gavin’s brow deepened. “Babe, I-”
“He’s just getting a little forgetful in his old age,” Connor said, standing. He didn’t want to hear what Gavin had to say. Not now. “Come on, let’s go back to bed, you’ve only got three hours and fifty four minutes before your alarm.”
A tired Gavin was easy to maneuver back to bed, and while Gavin fell back to sleep, Connor stared up at the ceiling until morning.
The three week vacation with Gavin was just what Connor needed, a big anniversary celebration for their fifth year married, and to commemorate Gavin’s promotion. Everything seemed easier, clearer, his processors quick and unburdened. At a distance, none of the signs seemed all that bad, surely he’d just been stressed, over-thinking, compiling information that didn’t actually go together.
Of course, it came crashing down when he returned with a little souvenir for Hank, only to be greeted with a, “What the fuck are you doing in my house, tincan?”
He couldn’t breathe- and then remembered he didn’t actually need to. “Hello, Hank.”
“Get the fuck out of my house.” Connor turned on his heel and obeyed.
It doesn’t mean anything. It doesn’t mean anything. It doesn’t mean anything.
He didn’t tell Gavin what happened, but Gavin hadn’t made Captain for nothing. Connor wasn’t overly surprised when he came home to a ‘went to Hank’s’ sticky note on the fridge. He started to make dinner, pausing to recalibrate his shaking fingers.
Half an hour later he tensed up when the front door opened, and Gavin walked in looked weary, older than he had that morning.
“How’s Hank?” Connor asked.
“Pretty pissed when he found out I wasn’t actually the pizza delivery guy he thought I was.” Gavin crossed his arms. “He didn’t recognize me. At all.”
“He- he still recognized me, he-” What the fuck are you doing in my house, tincan? “He-”
“Babe-”
Get the fuck out of my house. “He’s fine.”
“He’s not,” And it looked as though it gutted Gavin to say it. “He’s not fine, and he needs to be somewhere safe, before he wanders out and can’t find his way home, or-”
“It’s not that bad, it’s- it can’t be that bad.” Sumo! Where are you? “He knows who I am.” I know what I’m doing, Cole. “He’s just… forgetful.” Just… something. Doesn’t matter. Decided against it. “Just a little irritable in his age.” What the fuck are you doing? Get out of my fridge! “It- it doesn’t mean-”
Gavin pulled him in, held him tight. “Humans, we’re… fragile things.”
“Gavin, don’t.”
“We can’t just get a replacement parts-”
“Please, no.”
“Sometimes we get sick, and sometimes it’s slow, sometimes it’s fast, sometimes we can’t stop it, or even slow it down.” Connor clenched his hands in Gavin’s shirt. Pressed his face into Gavin’s shoulder, his tears dampening the fabric. “Sometimes, there is nothing we can do.”
For some reason, Hank still recognized Connor, but as an android, not a person. He didn’t wear an LED, or any of Cyberlife’s markers, but it didn’t matter. Hank stopped talking to him. Wouldn’t let him through the door.
It was ultimately Jeffrey who took him to the doctor. Jeffrey in lieu of family member, because Connor was listed, but Hank wouldn’t talk to him.
Connor went to work. He went home. He watched crime dramas on the television. He went into stasis. He went to work. He went home-
Gavin straddled his lap. “Hey you.”
“Hello.”
Gavin cradled his face with one hand, thumb brushing along his lip, and Connor grabbed his hips, and gently pushed him over to the next cushion. Gavin frowned. “You know, you haven’t talked to me in like six days.”
“I have so-”
“Really talked to me, not ‘do you want a coffee,’ or ‘we can watch whatever’ bullshit, I’m talking it’s been nearly a week since you’ve actually looked me in the eye and had a conversation with me.”
Connor stared down at his hands. He didn’t want to think. He didn’t want to talk. He wanted to be given a command, a structure that he could follow through on. He should have worked through the night.
“For fuck sake, look at me Connor!” Gavin had a temper, but it was rarely directed at him anymore. Connor looked up, found a surprisingly lost look on his husband’s face considering the heat in his voice. “What is it, huh? Are you pissed at me for saying what needed to be said months ago? For laying it all out? For making you look at it?”
“He… he helped me find myself,” Connor found himself whispering. “And now he’s losing himself, and I- you were right, I can’t help, sometimes humans, they just…” he pressed his fingers into his temple. “I can’t-”
“Hey, hey now, I’ve got you,” Gavin said, pulling him close. “I was talking to Jeff today. Uh, Hank’s going to be taken care of, there’s a facility, an entire floor dedicated to people with the same condition, okay? He’s safe there, we don’t have to worry about him wandering off, or forgetting the stove is on, or- fuck, Con, please stop crying, you’re killing me here.”
“He doesn’t- doesn’t remember me. Not really. And in a couple weeks, what more will he forget? Me entirely? Sumo? The revolution? Androids? His time on the red ice task-force? Cole?” He took a breath, leaning into the warmth of Gavin. “Will he remember things in spurts? Get angry about the place we’ve put him in through our actions? He’s lost his home, will that make him forget things faster, with nothing familiar around?”
“I don’t know,” Gavin whispered.
“I just… I know I’m- I don’t age, my battery life is over a century, and can be replaced, almost every part of me can be replaced. Even if I’m totally damaged I still have several bodies, memory loss is minimal. Disregarding catastrophic system failure running through my entire line, I… I knew I would outlive him. I’ll outlive you. And Tina. And Chris, and every human I know and love, and this- this isn’t fair Gavin. I feel like I’m losing him before I lose him.”
He felt the shudder in Gavin’s frame, pulled back to see the man glaring at the wall, eyes glistening with unshed tears threatening to fall. “I get it,” Gavin said, quickly brushing his hand over his face. “I miss the old bastard too.” He shifted, rubbed his thumbs along Connor’s cheekbones, pushing the tears away. “But he isn’t gone, Connor. He’s… maybe not the same, and we’ll have to be patient, but he’s, he’s still Hank. He still needs us. We’re still family.”
Connor felt it, a resolve in his heart as he nodded.
“I know it’s hard,” Gavin whispered. “But I’m here with you, okay?”
Connor pressed his forehead against Gavin’s, felt parts of his synthiskin recede where they touched, breathed a little easier with the burden shared.
It got easier, with time. The facility was nice. There was a large room with activities, and books, a couple of nurses around keeping an eye on things. At first, Connor visited with Gavin at his side, too nervous to do it alone. Too afraid that Hank would remember- just the parts of Connor that he hated- alternatively, afraid Hank wouldn’t remember him at all.
They sat around talking, sometimes Hank would tell a story, fixated on a time, a memory, repeating it several times in a visit. Sometimes they’d play mahjong, or cards. Sometimes Hank wouldn’t recognize him at all, stare up at him, squinting. “Who are you?”
“My name is Connor, I’m-” Connor paused, ignoring the instability warnings. “I’m a friend.”
Other times Hank smiled at Connor, and would say ‘good to see you, son,’ like he used to, and as time went on the fact that on those days he called Connor ‘Cole’ didn’t hurt as much as it did at first. He didn’t mind fitting into a role that made Hank happy.
Every once and a while, Hank would pick out a book, and read it out loud. Connor would sit with him, listening, enjoying the sound of Hank’s voice.
“And then Connor-” Hank paused staring at the page. Connor’s thirium pump stuttered. He knew Hank wasn’t referring to him, just a character in a book. It was nice to hear anyway. Hank glanced over, squinting like he could see through the fog. “Connor?”
Fluid welled in Connor’s optical units. “Hello, Hank.” And that day was the best.