Work Text:
The problem was the model from the reception ST 300 - Stella, as she called herself after the revolution. Of all the androids assigned to the police before, only three returned to work at the station - Connor, the patrol model PM 700 - Paula, and Stella. Connor wouldn't have given it much thought if he hadn't seen how warmly Hank greeted her on the day she decided to return.
- You're not getting rid of me that easily, Lieutenant Anderson, - she said, tilting her head, and Connor froze in place when he saw Hank smiling at her. Sincerely. A little amused. In a way he hadn't smiled at other androids in Connor's presence before - and at other people, too, to be honest.
- I didn't know you were friends, - Connor said as they walked back to the desks still assigned to them. The feeling of annoyance from Hank's smile addressed not to him was strange - at the same time a chill and heat passed through the wires with a sharp static.
- I wouldn't say that we were friends, although maybe she will give me a chance now, - Hank shook his head, his voice turned sadder. - You remember how much of an asshole I was towards androids when we met. Just with Stella - I gave a piece of mind to a couple of scumbags who gave her a hard time at the reception. And she's always been, you know... as if she had a mind of her own. Kind of like you.
Hank squinted slightly, smiling out of the corner of his mouth, looking at him, and Connor, against all logic, felt the tension in him stop growing, right at the point of equilibrium.
He and Stella really had something in common - Hank. And every time now, when Connor and Hank stopped at the counter or went to the cafeteria, where they had already installed a thirium drinks machine, Connor saw more and more signs confirming his guess. He knew them well - he felt the same way.
Her LED also stumbled on yellow if Hank came in well-rested after a quiet evening, with his hair in a ponytail, with the first buttons of a fresh bright shirt unbuttoned. Connor knew this greed to note down all the details of his appearance, deconstruct it into its component parts and assemble again. Connor recognized the way her synthskin got lost when Hank patted her arm goodbye - a white stripe from shoulder to elbow. Connor felt it all the time, every time Hank squeezed his shoulder, held him behind his back as they walked through the door. He knew this warmth, an instantaneous flash compelling his body to delay the sensation, record it as data to save and play it again. But he wore shirts that always hid the white marks - and she was in a dress, and Hank could have seen if he hadn't turned away, if she hadn't covered her elbow with her other hand.
Hank didn't notice Connor's looks, his hints, his yearning - maybe he would have stopped tracking Stella so mercilessly if Hank hadn't noticed her too.
“If” - an invalid category for android. Hank was smiling at Stella - not so warmly that it would be unbearable, but enough to give Connor no peace. Noticing one day how Connor was looking at Stella's new dark blue dress with an aggressive dislike, Hank dropped in a slightly muffled voice that it suited her - and Connor almost crushed the tablet in his hand to cracks. Dark blue was Hank's favorite color, and Connor had to leave and go into a brief stasis in the storage room to clear the processor of thoughts about how she found out - when they had time to talk about Hank’s favorite color without Connor, because it never came up in front of him.
Connor tried to figure out what was playing in her favor so much, and did something he could never admit to - he found a photo of Jennifer, Hank's ex wife. What he found out depressed him enough that it served as a punishment. In Hank's house, where he often spent the night and for this occasion used his ability to walk silently - there were no photos of her, he had to search the web. The resemblance to Stella was not absolute- about 67 percent - but enough to make a human feel likeness. Similar elongated brown eyes, similar shade of straight brown hair, high cheekbones.
Connor knew that type wasn't always the deciding factor. He knew that after Cole Hank had few pleasant memories of Jennifer. But subconscious associations could come in play, maybe this type of appearance corresponded to Hank's ideas about beauty.
Connor tried to tell himself that he had to stop obsessing like that. He had a lot more with Hank than Stella could ever have. The roof of Urban Farm, the backyard of the Eden Club, a snowy night by the bridge, a trembling revolver. The prevented shooting in the Stratford tower, Kamski's porch and the warmth in Hank's gaze makes the LED, which is glowing with panic red, circle to calming down. The key to the archive on the table, which Connor almost forgot about when Hank was a breath away from him for a split second. The liquid cold that binded his limbs when he saw the gun at Hank's temple in the Cyberlife tower - and the light, light warmth that filled his body the morning after the demonstration, when Hank pressed him close to his broad form.
All their movie nights on the couch, walks with Sumo, concerts, late-night conversations - their work shoulder to shoulder, the same as before, but better. Stella didn't have any of this, she only got a couple of friendly remarks, a couple of smiles. But Connor couldn't stop thinking - what if she did get what he still didn't have? Hank didn't notice - or was he deliberately ignoring it? - all his hints, and about Stella he joked or waved off - more and more tense - but did not pretend that he did not see anything.
Connor tried to imagine - distantly, by way of calculating probability - how he would feel when Stella finally got that part of Hank's life that remained inaccessible to him. Whether it would feel like betrayal, or just a burn from unquenchable greed - he always had not enough of Hank, his voice, his touch, and perhaps it would always be this way, even if they were together. He tried to start with a kiss preconstruction - the simplest and most frequent manifestation of public affection display for humans. His system refused to cooperate, and as if out of spite, he shaded Stella's preconstruction next to Hank and painted himself over. To hell with it all, let his jealousy be black and poisonous the moment he really sees it, let it not spoil his time with Hank with bitterness now.
Connor didn't even need the last drop, but he got it. That evening, Stella called after Hank again after work, when they were already leaving. She started talking to Hank about music, something about a new album she was listening to. Connor lowered the audibility of their voices - he didn't want to hear into it, but he couldn't bring himself to wait for Hank outside. He stood near the exit door, his fingers reflexively feeling for the missing coin in his pocket. He didn't want to see their next exchange of pleasantries - but he knew that not to see, only to imagine would be worse. Connor was being selfish, petty right now, but he'd be damned if he'd voluntarily give them a minute alone, something really just theirs.
Hank handed Stella his player, the synthskin slipped off her fingers at the moment of contact. Then they nodded goodbye to each other, Stella tapped the LED with her finger, Hank grinned, shaking his head. Connor didn't know what was going on with his face at that moment, but Hank's smile faded as he came closer.
- Maybe we won't watch a movie today? - Hank asked when they were already in the car.
- Why? - Connor replied in a tone of calmness that he would be proud of - if he could stop staring at the road, if he didn't see the reflection of his LED in the glass - heavy yellow, with flashes of red. He won't put up with it - if the romantic escapade of these two starts taking up his time with Hank, he won't be able to endure it.
- Your left eye twitches like it does when you're overloaded with info, - Hank replied in a quieter voice. There was genuine concern in his voice. Wasn't that the worst of it? Connor had so much of him, and he couldn't stop wanting more.
- No, I'm not tired. It happens not only from fatigue, - Connor replied, lowering his eyes. The only thing he was tired of was seeing Stella next to Hank, and he didn't know how to say it to make it sound acceptable.
- Stella likes you, - he began, trying to stick to the positive facts, trying to look Hank in the face. The field of vision became a ripple of errors, a thin grid of incorrect code symbols - he did not want to see hope, joy, pleasure, even flattery on Hank's face, so much so that he could not recognize the real expression on his face.
- Great, I suppose. She's alright, - Hank replied meanwhile, and nothing could be determined by the intonation either.
- She looks at you for about fifteen seconds after you leave. She's always the first to find you with her eyes in the cafeteria. She talks to you about your interests, finds music for you… - Connor felt the words stop on his tongue, the enumeration becoming automatic and a metallic echo appearing in the intonation. He wanted to speak further, but forced himself to be silent, almost physically breaking the line of the uttered remark. He didn't allow himself to say Why you noticed her, but you didn't notice me.
Hank exhaled heavily, and suddenly turned the steering wheel sharply, pulling over to the side of the road. Connor overstepped the boundaries, he knew perfectly well that he would upset Hank - he was sick of himself for liking it. He liked not being the only one in distress right now. He liked that he could make Hank react emotionally at least in this.
Hank dropped his face into his hands, then straightened up.
- Connor, I know this whole feelings thing is new to you, - he said, looking straight ahead. His face looked more tired than before. - But you don't have to worry, seriously. We are always together, remember? - He gave a mirthless, dry grin. - She's looking at you, man. Stop worrying about trifles, take your balls in your fist and ask her out on a date.
The annoyance in Hank's voice blocked meaning of his words for a while.
- You're used to scolding yourself, it distorts your perspective, - Connor desperately shook his head, trying to remove mistakes. He could see the bitterness on Hank's face, and the desire to immediately ease it struggled in him with ironic frustration. Trying to convince Hank that he had a chance with Stella was the last thing he was ever expecting to do. - I've been watching her very closely, and I can assure you I've seen unmistakable signs of romantic attraction -
- I noticed how closely you were watching, - Hank cut him off, twitching his shoulder as if from a spasm of pain. - Can’t take your eyes off her whenever we're around. And it's all great, I'm damn glad you've finally thawed enough to fall in love, so I'm not rushing you. But I'm telling you again, - Hank sighed, looking into Connor's eyes, and his gaze was so tender and so sad at the same time. - You're worrying for nothing. I'm just a familiar human who wasn't a complete douchebag to her before the revolution, and we both like heavy metal.
Connor didn't know Hank was capable of such an astounding level of denial. He didn't know it would be so hard to try to be a good, honest friend. But Hank deserved only the best that Connor could give him.
- Synthskin serves not only cosmetic purposes. It dampens the irritation of the environment, which can overload the sensors. But when we want to feel someone... - Connor closed his eyes for a second, and still forced himself to continue. - Then we want to be a little overwhelmed.
Hank was silent, frowning uncomprehendingly.
- I think you've seen this from Stella too, you just didn't understand, - Connor said, reaching out to Hank's hand on the steering wheel. The fingers only trembled slightly, it was already an achievement.
Perhaps from surprise - but Hank didn't try to stop him when Connor put his hand on his. Tactile sensors recognized the warmth and texture of Hank's skin in a split second - and he almost smiled at it. The tips of his fingers tingled sweetly from the absorbed body heat, exactly the one that he always wanted to feel so much - Connor already knew that almost the entire palm was bare plastic, and he could not take it, and looked away.
Hank was still silent. It was probably too much - another broken boundary, and Connor didn't even know whose it was anymore. He couldn't take his confession back - but now he wouldn't want to. He gave himself exactly five more seconds of the warmth of Hank's hand in his, and then he would take his hand away and accept Hank's offer - they would not watch a movie tonight. He didn't know how to turn off jealousy, whether it was possible at all - but he would look for a way all night if necessary.
Connor shuddered all over when he felt Hank cover his hand with the other. The sensation was twice as strong as before, it was almost impossible to distract from it - but Connor was able, by closing his eyes and reducing the number of stimuli, to hear what Hank was saying to him.
- We're idiots, - he said softly, grinning, and suddenly his voice became even closer, almost over Connor’s ear. - So fucking afraid of being rejected we chased the first ghost.
- Not a ghost, - Connor answered automatically, though already in a whisper. He couldn't and didn't want to speak louder - because Hank was kissing his hair, temple, forehead, so slowly and so carefully. These touches made the flow of his thoughts slower, his self-discipline weaker. Maybe that's why he couldn't stop talking. - You never… You always pretended not to see how I was looking at you, what I was telling you when I was trying... flirting was supposed to be an obvious technique, but you never noticed.
Connor didn't want it to sound like a reproach, or too plaintive, but he couldn't stop. He couldn't believe that the gentle, charming, soft feel of Hank's lips and his breath on his face meant exactly what he had hoped for. His perception was in full sensory and cognitive disarray.
- I'm sorry, - Hank whispered right into his ear, Connor involuntarily tilted his head, feeling the synthskin on his neck thinning where Hank's exhalation touched him, but he shook his head slightly and forced himself to open his eyes. Hank didn't pull away - his face was so close, his gaze was so deep. - I thought you weren’t serious. I told myself that this is your character trait, all these innuendos. You've always been like this.
Hank smiled with a little guilt, lowering his eyes. Connor stopped him with a hand on his cheek. He revered in these sensations, the blissful difference between Hank's skin and the texture of his beard. He shook his head. Resentment now seemed to remain so far away in the data columns of the past days.
- With you. I was like that with you only, and you never even wondered why.
They both grinned, exhalations bumped into each other between their lips, brought very close.
- I don't have to wonder now, I know, - Hank replied, and Connor already felt the last words with a touch, pressing into the kiss.