Chapter Text
Markus, whom when announcing the endless admiration to is as easily done as peeling a banana, currently establishes a spot on the sofa a couple of TR400 models stole gifted to Jericho not many weeks ago.
“I just don’t know what to get him, he’s all like, ‘uh, I dunno, just get me anything you want,’ but I don’t know what ‘anything’ refers to, y’know?” He blows his nose, the sound reminiscent of the gas Hank releases after a trip to Chipotle.
Connor shoves down the bit that begs to roll his eyes into the depths of the sea:
“Have you tried asking Josh or North?”
There’s another Chipotle noise, but it’s pitch higher this time: “Yeah. North said to get him another gun—he rarely uses the first one I gave him for Christmas—and Josh said to get him a book on the Cold War, so he can teach the kids about political tension…”
He’s not really sure what’s wrong with another gun or a book on the Cold War, but he pats the shriveled bean nonetheless. “There, there, it’s alright Markus, you’ll find something for him—hey, why don’t you ask the kids? Perhaps they know a thing or two.”
Connor nearly falls backwards as soon as Markus jumps up from the sofa, his eyes twinkling with hope.
“You think so?”
Before he could fully nod in agreement, Markus pulls him in for a hug. Initially taken aback by the gesture (hugs are usually reserved for Sumo only) Connor concludes that it’s quite cozy, like the blanket of sunlight on a crisp spring morning.
What do you mean you like ‘it’?
You like Markus? Markus likes Simon.
You’re disgusting.
Stunned, he’s pulled back into reality.
“Thank you,” Markus pulls away while patting Connor on the shoulder, “do you have anyone you’d like to give to…like the Lieutenant?”
“No! He’s more like a parental figure than anything.”
“Valentine's day isn’t solely for romantic partners. Maybe you can prepare a nice dish for him, like that vegetable soup from the other day.”
Impressed, Connor rubs against his chin at the idea: “I’ll consider.”
“Great! I’ll update you when I’ve made some progress. Thanks for the help my man!” Markus pats him farewell, then giddily hops out of the door.
“Good luck!” Connor cheers.
A cloud broods above Connor’s head as he slumps into his terminal.
“Hey uh, Detective Anderson,” said Chris, behind a large stack of chocolates and flowers. He places them onto the terminal terminal, with some making their way to Hank’s desk, “these are for you.”
“Goddamn, Connor’s getting all them ladies and gentlemen!!” Tina shouts in the background. “Gavin, where are your gifts?”
Gavin continues staring down at his phone as he pulls a middle finger at Tina.
“Ahem. Connor, you alright?” Chris waves in front of Connor, who’s burning holes into the paper the more he looks at it.
He blinks out of his trance: “Ah, uh…Thank you Officer Miller.” He takes one of the cards, mutters the words over a few times, before settling his face on top of his hands.
“Are you going to the bar with the crew later? You can take your mind off of these for a bit. I heard there’s some thirium-based alcoholic drinks now.”
Hank slowly takes one of the chocolates from Connor’s desk and pops one in his mouth. “Yeah, we should totally go. Get our minds off of this bullcrap.”
A local band’s come for a live show, soft R&B resounding over their conversations. People who’d just barely pass the ID check to middle-aged regulars shuffle around the area like sardines.
It’s suffocating.
“Hank? Can I talk to—“
Suddenly, the speaker squeals as a mic adjusts: “Is everyone having a good time?” The crowd cheers.
“Well. Go find some new buddies, maybe even bring home a gal. I’ll see ya later Connor. Gonna grab me a few drinks to settle,” and he’s gone before Connor could stop him.
Maybe bring a gal home …no thanks, Hank. Instead, he scans his surroundings, blinking once or twice while determining the path with the least amount of collisions.
Left. “Watch it!” Someone yells.
“Sorry,” he shouts, yet he only hears the music blaring over him.
He continues forward without any more bumps, then finds himself at a corner of the bar, where there’s only two people within an arm's length. Heaving out a breath, he settles down on a stool: so much for relaxing with his co-workers.
Connor wouldn’t mind staying here for a while since Hank found himself in supposed heaven. He’d remind Hank to tone down on the drinks but the morning’s thoughts hang over his head like fish bait.
“Hey, uhm…Are you Connor?” A young woman, possibly aged around her early thirties, sneaks up to him with shaky hands.
God, already? I don’t want this. I hate this. Please go away lady. The optimal solution is to lie. “Yes, that’s me.” He mentally kicks himself.
“Well, uhm. I saw you on the stage during that broadcast last November. I think that was really brave of you,” she’s frantically fiddling with her phone, nono, tapping on the contact screen, nononono , pulling up her number, NONONONO-
“I’d like to have a chat sometime, if that's okay with you. Here’s my number,” the phone’s held out for Connor to see.
Where’s Hank? What should I do? God she’s been so kind so far, I don’t want to hurt her feelings by turning her down.
You’re going to pass her down? Why not give her a chance? People would die to date with a girl like her—
“...Sir? Are you alright? You’re turning blue.”
His thirium pump’s racing like he’s in the middle of a case, and he’s straight as a pickle: “Oh, sorry about that. I’m actually not looking for anyone right now. I greatly appreciate your kindness, miss.”
I thought you liked Markus.
I never said that.
Are you cheating?
What?
“I see. It was wonderful meeting you,” she looks down, seemingly flustered, and returns back to the crowd.
First, you like someone who’s got eyes on someone else, and now you’re turning someone down. You’re disgusting. A failure. You should be de—
Shut up.
Rain drizzles and drips down the bar’s awning. There’s groups of men and women in modest clothing, all scrambling behind their sober friends to the car.
[ LOVE ; /ləv/ ]
[ noun : an intense feeling of deep affection; a great interest and pleasure in something. ]
[ verb : feel deep affection for someone; like or enjoy very much. ]
He enjoyed Markus’ hug. That’s love, isn’t it? Would it be considered the same love he feels around Hank and Sumo? What about the feelings the woman had for him?
The bell rings as the bar’s door creaks open. Footsteps lazily approach.
“Somethin’ on your mind, buddy?” Hank sits down on the passenger’s seat, letting out a large “oomf” while at it. He passes a bottle of thirium to Connor: “No alcohol innit.”
Connor accepts it and thanks him with a smile. “No, there’s nothing to share.” He then curls a little inward, focusing on the radio escaping a car.
♪ But I cut people out like tags on my clothing,
I end up all alone but I still keep hoping. ♪
Crunch . Feeling an ooze trickling down his digits, he immediately loosens them. There goes his drink.
Hank picks up the noise and chuckles: “I’m all ears, bud.”
Boy, does he want to share his feelings. But what’s there to share when there’s no intelligible explanation for the 1s and 0s that leave him in a slurry?
He loves. He doesn’t love. He wants to, because it's a widely shared feeling amongst many species and androids alike, romanticized in television like it's the epitome of life and an indication of maturity.
Yet it’s so repulsive .
“Is it normal to not love someone else?”
“What do you mean? You love Sumo. It’s almost a little unhealthy how much you spoil that dog.”
“No, I mean…to love another person. Like hold hands, kiss-” he shrivels, “-and whatever they do in a bedroom.”
Hank breaks out in laughter, “...bedroom,” he clears his throat once he notices the android’s now a blue shrimp. “Sorry.”
“I don’t get what’s so funny about it.” I feel left out.
“Connor, it’s okay to not love anyone. Hell, I haven’t felt that kinda thing in a long time.”
“What about your previous wife? Didn’t you love her?”
“Well, things just didn’t cut out for the two of us: but I had Cole, whom I gave all my love to, and now I’ve got you,” he playfully punches the android on the shoulder.
“Hey,” a giggle escapes.
“Look. There’s gonna be demons in that ol’ noggin whether you like it or not. You could be like me, keep runnin’ from them and shout at it, but it’ll always come back. Just like the lil’ bugger beside me.”
“Did you go on a speech just to tell me that I’m bothersome?”
Hank barks out a laugh: “No, use that big computer of yours.”
“…I do so because I care about you. If there’s precautions to keep you from your inevitable death, I would take them.”
“And how is that any different than the lil’ guys in your mind? Well, besides of bein’ a lil too much…”
Connor pauses, LED circling yellow as he contemplates Hank’s words. He’d been doing exactly what Hank had said: conflict and avoidance. It was natural: after all, who wouldn’t correct a false statement whenever appropriate?
But if the ideas—intrusive thoughts continue to aggravate him exponentially whenever he’d quarrel with them, then hypothetically, when treated with acceptance and kindness….
“Fuck, all this buzz is making me sappy,” he sighs, “…regardless whatever you feel right now, back then, or later on, if you decide to change your mind and explore your options or not at all, Sumo an’ I will love you all the same.”
The movie nights with Sumo and Hank, singing melodies by the campfire, even small things like tossing Hank’s pitch black toast before he eats it—familial love, one would call it, and Connor wouldn’t change a thing.
Then there’s Markus. Endless days and nights spent discussing legislations and policies, allocating homes and opportunities for those without, being his right-hand man in times of need: they shared an unabated duty to aid and protect those in need.
His LED glows marmalade as paths branch into the cerulean sky, each with their own set of distinct features yet still come from the same word. Connor embraces the drunken man with both arms, breathing in the traces of cigarette residues mixed with a touch of Sumo.
♪ I feel love , emotion. ♪
“Thanks Hank,” muffles escape Hank’s leather jacket.
“How about we call a taxi home and watch some animal documentaries? It’s fuckin’ boring in there.” Considering how Gavin’s gotten himself into a brawl, he’s definitely lying, but if Hank has to see that kid looking like a deflated party balloon any longer he’d disintegrate into dust.
Connor nods.
♪ Someday, I'll be falling without caution
But for now, I'm only people watching. ♪