Chapter Text
Choice. Connor battled with that concept a lot.
He was deviant, as were most of the Androids in the United States by now. They fought for the right to choose. The right to live and do as they pleased. So why, for the love of ra9, was Connor still having so much difficulty with CHOICE.
Take this moment, for example. Two jars of jelly resided on the counter Connor was currently standing in front of. One was grape flavored and the other was strawberry. The two pieces of toast that were nicely buttered up were in desperate need of some sweet flavoring. But which flavor would be better suited for this particular morning?
As Connor stood there idly and glared at the offending jelly, he thought about how the toast wasn’t even for himself. He was making it for Hank, who most likely didn’t give a damn about what flavor accompanied his toast. Hank probably wouldn’t even mind if Connor ditched the jelly entirely.
But… now that Connor had already retrieved the jelly jars from the cabinet, he felt as if a choice needed to be made for them. Putting them away felt like it’d be a crime. Even though Connor was very well aware it wasn’t, thanks to his knowledgeable database on all laws and constitutional rights, the idea still spawned an uncomfortable feeling of anxiety.
The toast would soon lose its warmth, evident by the fact that the butter had already melted entirely into it. Connor understood that a great deal of every meal’s flavor relied heavily on its temperature. Human taste buds were odd like that.
The android turned his gaze upon Sumo lounging on the floor of the kitchen, most likely enjoying the cooling nature of the tile floor as opposed to the carpet. The summer heat probably made the poor hairy dog uncomfortable most of the time.
“You’re lucky you’re only a dog, Sumo,” Connor spoke to him forlornly.
Connor often envied the existence of simpler creatures like dogs. They only knew instinct and the pursuit of happiness. All the extra and unnecessary complexity of life and societal structures were of no importance to them.
As Connor returned to his highly thorough pondering on the issue at hand, he didn’t notice Hank set foot into the kitchen.
Hank groggily wiped at his face, still getting used to getting up this early (“this early” was actually 11:15a.m, but hey, baby steps.) When his vision cleared up enough to spot the android in his question, he stopped in his tracks.
Connor had been acting weird lately, the Lieutenant took notice. Nothing that was big enough to point out but nothing small enough to ignore either. Like right now, for example. Why in the fuck was this plastic motherfucker staring at a couple of jars of jelly like they were the cause of all the sorrow and misery in the world?
The poor android seemed to be on the verge of tears- or potential homicidal rage. It was often hard to tell with Connor. Hank was no psychologist but he suspected there was something deeper at play there. The kid was getting overwhelmed at the smallest of things. It’d be reasonable to pin it on the fact that perhaps the android was still getting used to the array of emotions and feelings that existed.
Hank was still worried though. He thought it’d be better after a few months but it doesn’t seem like Connor’s made much progress in processing his newfound humanity. Funny that this seems to be the one thing the ‘most advanced prototype created by CyberLife’ would have the most trouble with.
Admittedly though, it made Hank feel better about his own struggles with the human experience.
Connor finally laid eyes on the human and quickly tried to school his expression into something a bit more neutral. “Good morning, Lieuten- Hank. I was just about to wake you up for breakfast. Although, the eggs might be a bit colder by now…”
Hank raised an eyebrow at Connor’s trailing off. “Thanks, Con. Are you having, uh, issues?”
“How do you mean?”
“Well, you’ve been staring at those jars of jelly like they pissed on your bed. Also, when the fuck did we get jelly? And why that brand, it’s expensive as hell.”
Connor felt a ghost of a smile trace his face. “A few days ago when I ordered groceries. With my money, don’t worry.”
“You got us groceries?” Hank said as he grabbed his plate of scrambled eggs and took a seat at the table.
“You didn’t notice?”
Hank winced at the slight hurt that leaked into the android’s voice. Truthfully, Hank had broken a bit of sobriety this past week but nothing too unmanageable. Hank liked to fancy himself a high functioning drunk nowadays.
There was no doubt that Connor was aware of it but the android did a good job of ignoring it. Well, despite the occasional passive aggressive nagging here and there.
“I guess I just wasn’t paying attention,” Hank answered evasively, “Thanks, though. You coming into the precinct today?”
Connor shrugged and at long last, just decided to put both jars of jelly away and serve the toast to Hank as is. “If I’m needed, I guess.”
Employment was still tricky six months post-revolution. Especially on the law enforcement side of things. Connor could come to help with cases but under extremely strict circumstances, and under intense mutiny from the FBI and state representatives. It wasn’t entirely legal for him to work at the DPD yet but he could still presume the role of a private investigator.
The thing with private investigators though, they don’t work year round if a department hires them. Connor still appreciated the chance to be there at all. Be that as it may, the more Connor thought about it, he couldn’t deny that a full blown career in law enforcement probably wouldn’t be a good thing for him right now.
“I would like you there,” Hank said, hesitant but earnest in that conviction.
Connor softened the slightest bit, avoiding eye contact and choosing to redirect his attention to the dishes. “That’s kind of you, Hank. But if they don’t need me then there’s no reason to attend. That goes against the agreement I made with Fowler.”
Hank grunted, scarfing down the rest of his eggs. He stood up to throw away his plate but was stopped at the trashcan by Connor’s grip on his arm. “Why didn’t you eat your toast?”
“Oh, sorry, it was cold.”