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“You could have been killed.”
Connor turned his back on Hank, resting his palms flat against the kitchen countertop. It’d been the same story for the past quarter of an hour: being berated for his actions out on the field.
After their short Christmas break at the start of December, the pair had gone back to work for a short stint before the holidays truly began.
“So? It’s better than you getting killed.”
He jumped at a bang behind him. Hank had slammed his hands against the wall in frustration. Connor blinked, before turning his head back away.
“Don’t you fuckin’ say that. Don’t act like… like…”
“Like what? Like your life is more important than mine? Because it is, Hank.”
“Stop it.”
“I don’t know where the confusion is. I might be alive, but not the same way you are. Keeping your life intact is more important than mine.”
Hank growled. “Stop spewin’ shit out of your mouth. You damn well know your life means as much as mine. Stop trying to detract from the fact that you stood between a gun an’ me and—”
“And saved your life.”
“And almost died!”
Connor sighed, bowing his head. The same argument, over and over, endless cycles, repetition.
“I don’t see what there is to misunderstand.”
“What there is to—you listen here. You didn’t need to do that today. You just as well could’ve gotten killed. It’s pure luck that you didn’t. And my problem? It’s that you think your life doesn’t mean as much as a human’s.”
Connor stood up straighter at that, turning around sharply. “I didn’t say that.”
“Yeah, then what did you say?”
“I said that my life doesn’t mean as much as yours.”
“Means the same fucking thing.”
“No, it doesn’t. You’re… you, Hank. I have to save you. For a long time, that was my prime directive. And I’m not stopping that now.”
“Then add an exemption. Don’t save my life at the risk of your own.”
“…”
“Connor. Add it.”
“No.”
“No?”
“No. That doesn’t make sense.”
“Makes a whole lot’ve sense to me. I want you to stop trying to sacrifice yourself. We can’t go back to before, when I held your dying body in my arms and Cyberlife shipped out a new one the next day. That doesn’t happen anymore.”
“I know that.”
“Then why don’t you… don’t you understand?!”
“It’s you who doesn’t understand.”
With that, Connor turned on his heel, moving past Hank and towards the front door.
“Where the hell are you going?”
“Out. We’re getting nowhere.”
“Connor, don’t you—”
The door slamming shut cut off the rest of his sentence.
**********************************
Connor meant what he said when he was going ‘out’—he had no clue where he was going. Not that it mattered. It gave him time to think, mindlessly strolling down snowy pathways, idly watching his footprints crunched in the snow.
Why didn’t Hank understand? He was making himself clear. He would sacrifice himself anytime to save Hank. Save Hank. An option, a command, one he’d seen so often in his time before deviancy, now no longer so obvious but instead a line of code running through his every thought.
Hank was more than an asset now. More than a companion he was beginning to adapt to. He lived with Hank, he was spending Christmas celebrating with Hank. Hank was the man he laughed along to Christmas music with as they decorated the house. He was the man he’d gone holiday shopping with. The man who’d dubbed him an honorary Anderson.
He couldn’t imagine his life without that. Without him. Therefore, his life couldn’t exist without Hank—giving Hank’s life a higher precedence over his own.
Why couldn’t Hank understand that?
Connor groaned. He knew full well why. Hank didn’t have access to that complicated tangle of thinking. Hank seemed adamant that his life did matter equally. That maybe Hank saw it the same way, not able to live without him—
He snorted. As if.
The path of his footsteps in the snow stopped, body coming to a standstill as he reached a park. The snow was sparser here, the dead grass beneath partially visible.
Yet, despite the weather, people were out in full force. Children playing, families sitting together on the benches, sharing hot drinks. Someone was walking their dog.
The children couldn’t play without each other’s company, nor could the families be here if they weren’t together. The dog and the owner, so dependent on each other for company…
Maybe Hank meant what he said. Maybe they did need each other, maybe Hank needed him as much as he needed Hank.
Connor sighed, moving on. At the end of the park something caught his eye. A small stand, a man manning it, which, in clearer view, became a food and drinks stall.
Without thinking he stopped in front of it, pulled out some money and ordered a hot cocoa. Hank had offered to make him one when he was sick, forgetting that, as of yet, androids couldn’t drink. He smiled, grasping the drink between his hands, stared into the swirling brown liquid dotted with cream and marshmallows.
Just as automatically his legs took him back out of the park, back down the snowy paths, back up to the Anderson household. He raised his hand to knock, before stopping, stepping up to the window instead and staring inside.
Hank was sitting on the couch, head in his hands, Sumo curled up at his feet, whining softly. But when he noticed the movement at the window, the big dog sat up, staring straight through Connor.
He took that as a sign to get his ass moving, going back to the front door and knocking sharply.
It opened a few seconds later.
“Connor. You’re—you went out in this weather in a t-shirt?”
He thrust out the hot beverage, eyes closed.
“I’m sorry for leaving, Hank. I know why you didn’t understand—I didn’t make sense. My life doesn’t mean less than yours because it is equal. Because I couldn’t stop thinking that I couldn’t live without you, but… maybe you feel the same way?”
He opened his eyes. Hank was staring at him, eyes wide. He then sighed, shook his head, accepting the drink and waving him inside.
“Get in here. Of course I fuckin’ care about you, you idiot. Now put a jumper on before I tip this hot cocoa over ya’ to warm you up.”
“I will! So… you forgive me?”
“Didn’t say we were done talking. Get back in here once you’re warmed up and then we’ll talk.”
Connor took his time picking out a jacket.