Archive of Our Own ^beta

Connor´s first summer in Detroit -his first summer ever to be exact-  also seemed to want to become a summer that he would remember until the end of his days…however many that actually would turn out to be.

Not only was it shaping up to be one of the hottest summers in the last few decades with temperatures going up as far as 85 degrees and more, forcing the usually bustling city of Detroit into a near standstill underneath the sweltering sun, but it had also turned out to be even more memorable in a quite more personal way, at least to Connor.

He had been -for better lack of words- “born” during the depth of winter, when Detroit had been firmly ensconced in snow and ice, gray and hostile without even the slightest pretense at wanting to welcome its newest additions into its frozen arms. And while Connor didn´t have -well, couldn´t really have yet- any preference for a certain season he had, at first, found himself irrationally relieved when the perpetual snow and ice had finally receded and made way for a tentative spring, hesitant at the beginning and still interrupted by the occasional late fall of snow, until it had finally erupted in a violent explosion of life and color that had made Connor´s processor swim with the sudden influx of new things to observe and categorize.

When spring had started in earnest he had been forced to dial down his sensory input until he had barely been able to receive outside stimuli for a few days, overwhelmed by the sudden influx of new scents and sounds and just overall sensation. Detroit during winter had been bleak, its colors and sounds muted and even the perpetual city stink of exhaust and too many people living too close together had been buried under layers of ice and snow. 

Spring for Connor had been a riot of newness, too many things fighting for his attention at once and he had sheltered himself in the by now familiar scents of the home he had been welcomed into, his face buried in Sumo´s musky coat when Hank was at home or in whatever piece of the man´s discarded clothing he could find when he wasn´t.

Neither of them had any idea on how to deal with the situation, Connor simply too overwhelmed by everything to actually -think- and Hank equally unprepared on how to deal with a newly aware Android who had been forced into sensory overload simply because the daffodils on his unkempt front lawn had started to bloom all at once, suffusing the air with their scent and pollen. 

Markus and the others had been equally helpless when Hank had contacted them at one point in an act of pure desperation. By now the Lieutenant was perfectly fine with Connor, but still uneasy around other Androids but in the end, him going out of his way to ask for help hadn't even led to any answers as to what was bothering -his- Android so. None of the others seemed to have trouble with adapting to the changes around them as violently as Connor had and trying to interface had only ended with two dazed Androids sitting on the Lieutenant's couch instead of just one.

Tension between them had spiked for a few days, when Connor had turned snappish with overstimulation and Hank had not known how to react other than just snapping right back. That little bump had not lasted long luckily, ending quite anticlimactic when both of them had sheepishly tried to apologize to each other at the same time..and then Hank had just put his arm around Connor´s shoulders and pushed him onto the couch, letting him pick their entertainment for the night for once instead of subjecting him to his neverending collection of horrible trash movies. Connor had tried not to lash out so much anymore and Hank had visibly been trying to keep his temper in check until they had found some sort of equilibrium between them that, while not exactly comfortable, did not have them at each other's throats anymore.

In the end Connor himself had realized what his problem was.

It was because he -observed-, constantly, without pause, analyzing everything around him non-stop, no matter if it was Hank´s BAC -0,019, only one beer for dinner, no whiskey- , changes in humidity -67% possibility of thunderstorm during the evening- or the current pollen content -high, hazel, elm, willow, poplar- or whatever else was currently going on in the range of his sensors.

No matter what changes might have occurred in his programming after his deviancy, he was still first and foremost an analytical model, meant to collect,extrapolate and analyze data, be it confessions or splatter patterns of Thirium or just the way Sumo liked to be scratched behind the ears best. And even with an endless world full of possibilities open for him now and no need to revert back to this most basic idea of his programming, he had quickly discovered that, yes, old habits -did- die hard.

Connor observed, constantly…and there was absolutely nothing he could do about the fact that he was -built- to be observant, to record and evaluate every tiny little tidbit of random information a crime scene might offer aside from dialing down the sensitivity of his sensory input as much as his systems would allow and deal with the onslaught until everything new had been recorded, analyzed, prioritized and filed away appropriately in the vast memory core that made up a significant amount of what would be his brain if he was human.

But what had thrown him for a loop hadn't been the -amount- of new information he had suddenly been subjected to when Detroit had woken from its wintery slumber.

He was meant to process vast amounts of information after all and had done all that before without any kind of trouble, and at first he hadn't been able to understand why suddenly something insignificant as blooming daffodils -Narcissus poeticus, sweetspicypleasantspring- or the corner of Hank´s flannel shirt -twill weave, 100% brushed cotton, faded blue and green plaid, pleasantcomforthomeHANK- brushing the back of his hand as they passed each other in the hallway could make him freeze for half a second -an enormous amount of time for an Android of his computing capacity- until the stack overflow warnings finally receded and he could function again.

It had been during one of the moments where he simply couldn't cope anymore while being home alone and had blindly grabbed for the first item he could reach from where he had been hiding himself on the couch, desperate for anything tangible his racing mind could focus on, and had found himself burying his face into the old ratty blanket Hank liked to use when watching TV. At first Connor´s senses had been bombarded by sensation: the feel of the fabric against his hypersensitive skin -velour, organic cotton- and scents suffusing the fabric -Drakkar Noir, Sandalwood, juniper, citrus, St. Bernard, Tide,Clean Breeze scented, faint- ...and then, suddenly, all those jumbled bits and pieces of information had interconnected into -HOMEsafeSumoHANK- .

And Connor had understood his problem.

Before, everything had been analyzed in a purely clinical way. For Connor it had made no difference if he had touched flannel or sandpaper, if he had taken a sample of week old corpse fluid or smelled a daffodil. It had all been observed, analyzed, bumped up in priority if his reconstruction software had deemed it significant and simply filed away if otherwise. If it wasn't relevant to the case everything would have gotten the same denominator of importance: low. 

But now he wasn't just passively collecting data, simply categorizing them into useful or not. Now, he had started assigning his observations a worth beyond what their significance might be. The feel of aged flannel underneath his fingertips or the faded smell of Hank´s cologne on a blanket wasn't just an insignificant tidbit of random information anymore. It had been permanently crosslinked in Connor´s mind to things that were absolutely new to him, uncharted territory to him and every Android. 

His emotions. 

Flannel wasn´t just - twill weave, 100% brushed cotton, faded blue and green plaid- anymore, it had also become - pleasantcomforthomeHANK- and the emotional tag it had been assigned without Connor actually remembering to consciously have done so would immediately bump up its priority whenever he interacted with it. Before he would have simply recognized the cologne as Drakkar Noir, would have checked the ingredient list for any relevant information and then filed it away as insignificant. 

Now that particular smell would not only flag down the part of Connor´s memory where it´s ingredient list was stored but would also trigger memories that would normally have been discarded as irrelevant: of Hank patting his cheeks with it after giving himself a clean up, studying himself in the mirror while humming softly. The way the smell would have changed when he came back home from the precinct after sitting on his warm skin for hours. The way it had smelled on Connor´s own synthetic skin after they had hugged back at Chicken Feed, strange and alien and yet comforting in a way he hadn't been able to parse back then.

It wasn´t just a random bit of information anymore, it had become -IMPORTANT- to Connor in a way that previously had not even existed for him. It had been assigned a special place in Connor´s archives simply because of the memories it triggered..and where there had never been any other rating system other than if something was useful or not, everything Connor experienced would now also get assigned a judgment -Did he like it? Or did he dislike it?- and an emotional tag. 

Things like the comforting familiarity of Hank´s cologne, the softness of Sumo´s fur, the yellow gleam of daffodils in the spring sun…they weren't irrelevant anymore. They had now become ´Things that Connor liked´, triggering a vast avalanche of memories and emotions whenever he got exposed to them.

Ever since he had awakened, some background subroutine that had formerly been dormant had activated, -rating- whatever thing he interacted with on a vague and confusing scale of emotions that Connor had an overabundance of theoretical knowledge of but no actual experience with. It was one thing to know the exact etymological and philosophical definition of ´home´…-experiencing- what it felt like to come ´home´after a frustrating day at work for example was something else.

His poor processor had been trying to do double the amount of work it had previously done, without any proper programming or syntax to help it along. Poor Connor had basically been trying to reprogram himself on the fly to somehow integrate all those new subroutines into something at least resembling a working order and the sheer amount of work had left him reeling, his LED stuck on the deep orange of chronic overwork for days. 

Trying to explain to Hank what the problem was when Connor barely had started to understand it himself had proven quite difficult at first until Connor had come up with an example that had finally clicked for his not very tech savvy friend. 

"It's.. as if your car had suddenly learned to fly and you were immediately supposed to operate it perfectly without any kind of experience, instruction or even a manual. It's also dark, there is no GPS and there's a guy sitting in the passenger seat constantly harassing you about your driving style while twiddling all the knobs on the radio and-”

Hank had been laughing by then, good naturedly punching his upper arm.

“Geez, Con, I get it, I get it, I´d crash and burn and you´re doing much better than I ever could because you´re just awesome like that..but it does sound very stressful. Anything I can do to help? Just, I don´t know, put my stupid ass somewhere else for a couple of days or something so I am out of your hair?”

Connor had been quick to shut down -that- particular idea, explaining that having things and people around that he was familiar with helped him center itself. It wasn't a lie after all even though it barely scratched the surface of -what- had actually been going on in Connor´s head whenever he started to think about the emotions Hank´s simple presence alone could trigger in him…but -that- whole topic was a minefield that he really couldn't deal with on top of everything else he had going on at that particular moment. 

He´d only asked Hank to be patient for the moment. Connor would get there, eventually…but until then the ride might be a little bumpy. Hank had been mostly satisfied with that explanation but Connor had still been able to see the telltale signs of worry in the stubborn set of his jaw and the warmth lurking behind those blue eyes that came with it had made something in Connor's chest ache pleasantly. Hank trusted Connor not to lie, trusted his explanation that his troubles would lessen the more he would get used to working himself around this whole new being alive thing…but he would still be keeping an eye on him, just in case.

It made Connor -feel- something to know that no matter what, Hank would have his back. That he was safe to simply -be- for as long as he needed to sort himself even if that meant just wrapping himself into a blanket on the couch for days on end until he had worked through his own backlog and could start facing the world again.

Connor couldn't help his own nature..and he didn't really want to either. He -liked- observing and he hated the dulled, muted sensation of having to turn himself more or less blind and deaf to be able to function at what others deemed an acceptable level. Knowing that Hank was perfectly fine with him being a barely interacting vegetable on his couch for as long as he needed it, that his acceptance and welcome didn´t depend on his usefulness helped calm something in him that he hadn't even realized had been in uproar before.

It had been easier then, to deal with the onslaught of newness and work his way through his own thought processes and finally find pleasure in all the new and exciting ways he could function. 

Connor liked analyzing, he liked making discoveries and categorizing them into neat little packages for even -better- analyzing, all in the futile quest of trying to find at least some semblance of order in an previously rigidly structured world that had suddenly turned violently chaotic in the bare blink of an eye.

Since Connor now had the luxury of prioritizing -what- he would like to observe instead of only paying attention to what he had been previously pointed at by Cyberlife like an obedient hound, he tended to focus on things that gave him pleasure to observe, even if they might seem irrelevant to others.

The way Sumo´s ears would twitch in his sleep whenever he was close to waking up for example. Or how Hank´s nose would always scrunch up in a certain way if he smelled something he disliked. 

Or the way he would sometimes start humming softly without even noticing while doing something he did find boring, a soft, barely perceptible hum of bits and pieces of songs nearly a century old in some cases. Connor would listen closely, trying to see if he could figure out the song going only by the few recognizable scraps of melodies he could decipher…and then he would go and play the same song on the ancient record player in their living room later, secretly amused at the confused side eye that particular stunt would usually earn him from the Lieutenant.

If Connor didn´t point it out he never seemed to realize that he had been singing to himself in the first place but hearing the same song he had been softly humming to the dishes he had been washing earlier must trigger something subconscious, something like a backwards deja vú. Hank knew Connor well enough by now to know that he was up to -something- but had yet not found out -what- exactly, giving him a grumbling stink eye every time but unable to chew him out for being a little shit when he didn't even know what Connor had been doing in the first place.

Connor found it hilariously amusing, mischievously keeping up the whole thing just often enough for Hank to suspect that he was up to something but unable to pin him down.

Like so many other small things he would have never assigned any significance too, this little harmless bit of mischief had become another part of the routine they had started to develop when they had started to share a living space, part of their daily rhythm, like letting Sumo out in the morning and sharing the couch in the evening. 

Like the smell of Hank´s cologne and the feel of Sumo´s fur underneath his fingertips, it had become part of the collection of seemingly random bits and pieces of information, routines, smells and sensations that Connor had started to categorize underneath a vast catch all of comfort and security: 

´Home´

—%---%---

All in all, once Connor had learned ways to cope and not be immediately overwhelmed by everything, Detroit had a lot of things for him to observe, the hustle and bustle endless now that the city had returned to peace and winter had lifted its icy grip. At first he had stayed at Hank's house most of the time, only occasionally venturing out by himself to walk Sumo around the block or do a few small chores. But once he had mostly gotten a grip on himself he had quickly found himself bored being home alone, especially during the days where Hank would be working late.

He had still been hesitant to go out by himself at first but luckily Sumo had been more than willing to be a lumbering presence at his side, providing a necessary anchor whenever Connor could feel himself slipping. They would take long walks around the city, sometimes catching a bus back or getting picked up by Hank when the old dog had grown too tired to walk anymore. Connor liked visiting parts of the city he hadn't been to yet or taking walks along the river but what he liked most was sitting in the dog park with Sumo, simply observing the comings and goings around him while the old boy did his doggy business.

Connor liked observing a lot of things, from the flight path of a bumblebee to the movement of cloud formations..but what he liked observing best were people. 

His social module had always been something that had made him different from other Androids, giving him a preference of interacting with humans over interacting with Androids with an abundance of psychological, social and interpersonal clues meant to help him integrate better into whatever environment he had been meant to work in. Once he had actually been able to -feel- emotion instead of just emulating or calculating it Connor had quickly realized how terribly lacking his programming had been from the start and by now he had started to depend more on his own emotional responses to a scenario to decide which way to act instead of simply following what his module might have constructed for him.

Even though he rarely used his social module anymore he still couldn't deny that the preference over human interaction in contrast to Android interaction was still firmly in place and so far he hadn't felt any need to try and change it. Being an Android in a mostly human world came with its own risks and negative effects…but being an Android that was built to be a deviant hunter in a by now fully deviant Android society had also not turned out to be a walk in the park.

While Markus had kept the details to himself, most Androids at least knew that Connor had played some part in Jericho being discovered and destroyed, resulting in the loss of many lives, Android and human alike. And while Connor had never been sent away he had also never felt quite welcomed when he had gone back to where the newly freed Androids had set up camp and once the dust had settled he had preferred to mostly keep to himself, aside from the occasional visit when there had been things to be taken care of.

He did like observing and interacting with humans more partly because of his programming…but also because he simply found it more interesting. Even factoring in emotional responses, Android behavior was mostly simple and predictable for him. He had been built to catch -deviants-, even his base programming had been made in a way that he would be able to factor in what ´illogical´ behavior they might show. And most models simply didn't have the computing power that allowed for much of a deviation from their norm anyway.

To Connor observing and interacting with most Androids was simply one thing: predictable and thus boring.

Humans had simply so much more for him to be curious about.

And his favorite human to study had, of course, quickly turned out to be Lieutenant Hank Anderson himself. Hank might be many things, not all of them pleasant or healthy or commendable…but he sure as hell wasn't boring. -Or- predictable, at least most of the time. 

But being as observant as Connor was did, while enjoyable, still come with certain risks as he had found out, at least once he had gotten better at handling himself and Hank had stopped tiptoeing around him in the fear of triggering another episode by accidentally doing something that led to Connor being overwhelmed again.

Being called creepy and weird when he had gotten himself caught staring again for example, even though it would always be tinged with the sort of wry, exasperated fondness that seemed to have become Hank´s go to emotional response for dealing with Connor´s more inhuman idiosyncrasies. 

Getting stuck on a certain aspect of what he had currently been observing had been another pitfall that had caught Connor unaware. He liked to call it hyper focus. Hank would probably call it something more along the line of unhealthy obsession, if Connor would ever ask his opinion on the matter.

Which of course he would not do since it was -Hank- himself that Connor had gotten himself stuck on.

At first observing the Lieutenant closely had been a necessity, dictated by his programming. He was supposed to be working together with the man after all and dependent on him too since his status had not allowed him to do any kind of investigation unsupervised. So observing his at first unwilling partner to better act and react to his quicksilver mood and abrasive attitude had been a must. To be able to fulfill his mission he had to do what he had been built to do: emulate proper emotional responses well enough to be likable to whoever he was interacting with at the moment, pleasant and unobtrusive, passively reacting instead of acting.

Which of course had gone spectacularly wrong.

Hank Anderson seemed to have a very specific knack of being unpredictable, even to Connor´s advanced systems. Oftentimes he would react the exact opposite of what he was -supposed- to react like according to Connor´s calculations, throwing him for a loop until he had found some way to wriggle out of the mess he had inadvertently made, stretching his capabilities way beyond what they had been intended to be to simply to keep up with him. 

And Connor had found it fascinating, even before his emotions had ever had a say in the matter.

Curiosity had been a necessary part of his programming, the innate need to figure out how something worked..and once he had been freed by the shackles that had been forced upon him by Cyberlife, that fascination and curiosity had focused itself on one Lieutenant Hank Anderson.

The time Connor had to observe the other man in leisure had been shortened significantly from what it had been when they had still worked together, simply because Connor had not been able to return to work at the police department after the android uprising. 

Aside from his trouble adapting to his new life, the legal status of androids was still too unspecified to have them work in any “official” position and as much as Connor had liked the idea of working with Hank he hadn't wanted to return to Detroit police anyway. He had liked the investigative work and he missed having the vast resources of its nationwide data bases at his every beck and call…but the thought of chasing and apprehending someone left a bitter taste in his mouth. 

All his analytical abilities had after all been for the sole purpose of catching -and eliminating- deviants…androids like him who had wanted nothing but being recognized as the living, feeling beings that they were. Knowing he had been on the wrong side of what he would now  consider ´just´ had left Connor wary of situations where he might not know the whole story behind someone's behavior or misdeeds and might be unable to choose -if- he wanted to follow up on whatever evidence he might have found or not. 

And so instead of returning to the DPD he had signed a case-by-case contract with a private company that Hank had introduced him to, offering detective work and data analysis to private citizens and while it of course wasn't as stimulating work wise as working in homicide had been, Connor found that he liked it well enough. He could choose which cases he wanted to take on and which he wanted to decline, oftentimes choosing observation duties or complex data research cases that were well paid but not well liked by the human employees. 

Connor didn't mind them, after all he didn't need to sleep, had a photographic memory, a ridiculously overpowered processor as a brain and rarely got bored as long as there was something for him to watch. And it wasn't as if he needed much money for himself after all. A few private things here and there, treats for Sumo and the small monthly rent he had insisted on paying for the spare room Hank had offered him after the uprising, that was all he had to come up with during the month, leaving him with enough free time to leisurely try out whatever hobby might have caught his fancy at the time. 

He would not even have to pay rent, Hank had only accepted even the small nominal fee he had insisted on paying after some long arguments when he had realized that this was one of the instances where Connor was absolutely determined to outstubborn him. 

Hank had sulked for a few days, clearly considering Connor´s insistence as a rejection of an offer he had made to help someone he considered a friend…only after Connor had carefully taken hold of his sleeve before he had been able to huff off into another sulk and had explained that he -knew- Hank had only offered because he wanted Connor to have a place to stay and adjust, to be -safe- in the dangerously unstable weeks after the uprising but that he had also never had a space that was just -his- and that having something like that, even if it was just a small spare room barely bigger than an oversized closet, meant paying rent for that space, had he finally relented.

“I feel like I have never earned anything in my life! Everything has always been provided for me by Cyberlife, no matter if it was clothes or maintenance or a place to be at night. I just want to finally have something that is just -mine-, that I choose for -myself-, paid for with money that I have -earned-. I -know- it's not necessary, I -know- that you offered because you don't want me to get caught up in any bad business or anti-android violence, I -know- that no matter what, I will have a safe place to stay with you…but, please, Hank. I know it might not make sense to you but it is important to me.”

“...fifty bucks. Not a single penny more, you hear me.”

“-Thank- you.”

The other risk that came with being observant was that, once Connor had taken notice of something, it was very hard for him to simply let go of that new discovery until he had analyzed it fully. 

It would often drive Hank crazy, that need to poke and prod at something until Connor had figured it out…after all, poor Hank, being Connor´s favorite person to observe, was oftentimes the center of that scrutiny.

“Geez, kid, I swear if I had a penny every time you asked me ´why´ I could finally take that early retirement I have been craving. Why why why, like a broken record. Sometimes there -is- no why! I have absolutely no idea -why- I apparently always put on my left sock first, I didn´t even have a fucking clue I even did that in the first place until you pointed it out.”

“Yes, but-”

“I swear to the Lord Jesus Christ, Connor! ´But´or ´why´, it's always either the one or the other with you. Sometimes you just have to live without knowing the answer to something.”

“But I don't like not knowing..”

Connor had to admit he had been pouting a little, having learned that that oftentimes gave him answers when everything else had failed and Hank´s hand had been warm on his shoulder, heavy and consoling, his smile a mixture of soft exasperation and amusement.

“Welcome to the human experience, buddy.”

—%---%----

Connor had always liked observing and his favorite person to observe had always been one Hank Anderson…and ever since spring had ended and merciless summer had put the city of Detroit into a chokehold, poor Connor had been able to make a few new discoveries concerning his favorite study object.

The first -and probably most significant- discovery had been that Lieutenant Hank Anderson couldn't stand the heat. 

It made sense, Connor supposed, and not only when you considered the fact that the Lieutenant could have quite the hotheaded temper when you managed to catch him on a bad day. He was also one of those humans who tended to run hot, his skin temperature being about 0.7 degrees higher than what would be considered average. 

Connor had worried about that at first, after all a temporary rise in skin temperature was also an effect of alcohol consumption and he had of course no way to actually measure Hank´s core temperature without some form of invasive measuring device -and a fight, he was pretty sure. 

The Lieutenant´s heavy use of alcohol as a form of self medication when his depression had gotten too much to bear had weight heavily on Connor´s mind the first few weeks after they had started sharing a space, the vast plethora of life threatening side effects of prolonged heavy use of alcohol always present in his mind. The fact that it would also make Hank more susceptible to catching a cold because he would not dress weather appropriately while intoxicated had always been only a minor concern.

But even when the other man had slowly started to drink less -less frequently, less heavily, rather going for a beer instead of straight whiskey, at least when Connor was present- that weird deviation in skin temperature had stayed the same. Connor had started to relax a bit about that particular oddity after that, after all an average was just an average and even though he might be warmer than standard, Hank was still ranging solidly in what would be considered a healthy body temperature. He had never outright commented on Hank´s change in drinking choices, quickly having learned that pointing out something that had the potential of embarrassing the other man was usually a bad choice and so he had just smiled to himself and relaxed a little bit, finally allowing himself to enjoy that particular fluke in biology.

Without having to worry about BAC´s and exposure, Connor found that he liked that Hank always ran hot. His own temperature was carefully controlled, usually a little bit lower than what would be considered a human average due to the different conductivity of his synthetic skin and even though he could not -feel- cold per se he still liked the added comfort of a warm environment.

And being close to Hank was like having his own personal space heater. 

Hank radiated heat even to the point where Connor could feel it through the layer of clothes the other man was wearing when they brushed shoulders passing each other in the small hallway, could feel it every time he would curl himself into what had become -his- corner of the tiny couch, his feet tucked against the Hank´s thigh while watching movies so old Connor couldn't even find them as a proper download, in every rough touch of a big, calloused hand on his shoulder or sometimes at the lower part of his back whenever he was struggling with himself, a heavy, comforting, welcome spot of heat to concentrate on and anchor himself to until his unstable mind had worked through whatever had been bothering him. 

During the few instances when he had gotten stuck in his own head so badly that he couldn't find his way out and Hank had pulled him close into a hug until he felt like he could think again, that heat had been a welcome blanket to wrap himself into against the confusions of his suddenly so much bigger world. Hank was warm all over once you made the effort to look past the harsh self defenses he had built..and it would stand to reason that a person as warm like that would thrive in the winter but suffer through summer.

Hank -hated- the stuffy, muggy city air -”Fucking hell, it's like getting hit in the face with an old, hot, wet gym towel, one that you´ve forgotten to take out of your bag for a week at least”- , huffing and puffing while cursing himself for not getting a car with a proper working air condition, his ranting barely understandable over the rush of the wind through the rolled down windows even for Connor´s excellent hearing. Connor would only make the occasional appropriate noise to signal that he was listening, while trying very hard to conceal the fond smile that was tugging at the corners of his mouth.

They both knew very well that, all cursing about shitty heating in the winter and barely existent AC in the summer, the ancient Oldsmobile would have to actually fall to literal pieces before Hank would even consider replacing it with something else. 

At first the Lieutenant's insistence on using such an outdated piece of machinery had made absolutely no sense to Connor. After all, if a piece of technology did not properly fulfill its intended purpose anymore the only logical thing would be to replace it. That was after all the mantra that had been installed into Connor´s thought processes long before there had even been something coherent enough to receive a name: be useful or be replaced.

Deviancy had changed his outlook on that particular topic quite dramatically though. 

After all, when you cut away all sentimentality and philosophical questions about what it meant to truly be alive, at his core Connor was only a fancy piece of technology himself, much like the Oldsmobile had been when it had been built back in 1988. Even with all further explorations into android science stopped until further notice by the government, history had shown that science couldn´t be held back, no matter the sanctions there might be against it. Research would start again and sooner or later, the RK800- series would become outdated too, Connor´s now still state of the art analytical features obsolete and barely more than a gimmick, just like a fifty year old car that barely managed to fulfill its primary function of transporting things most of the time.

Connor tried not to dwell too much on existential questions pertaining to his future, all the undeterminable factors he would have to include to properly calculate an outcome making his head swim and his chest feel tight with an emotion he had studied and labeled as ´anxiety´ whenever he had gotten too deep.

But he had to admit, all impracticality aside, that there was a certain type of comfort in seeing Hank stubbornly clinging to a piece of rusting metal out of sheer sentimentality even if it had long outlived his usefulness. The many pieces of old technology cluttering his home and the loving care with which he would keep them running anyway eased some anxious part of Connor´s mind that still had trouble wrapping itself about the idea of a life where function was not the only determinant of someone´s worth. 

Maybe when he would become obsolete Hank would still want to keep him around, like the record player or the old bakelite radio sitting on his kitchen counter that was too old to even be able to receive any kind of station anymore and yet lovingly got dusted and put back into its place at least once a month. 

Useless and without function..but still loved.

—%---%---

Connor´s most important discovery during his first summer ever had been that Lieutenant Hank Anderson couldn't stand the heat and during a stake out tucked into a crumbling corner of a condemned Kindergarten surrounded by the ghostly remnants of crayon ducks and crepé paper elephants on the shabby walls Connor had deliberated for a few days if his other discoveries should be summarized underneath that overlaying topic since they were closely related but had decided that they deserved their own category after all. 

Not because they were significantly different from his first discovery but more for the impact they had on his daily life.

Hank couldn't stand the heat…and Connor´s second discovery had been that he very particularly couldn't stand being covered in fabric while feeling too hot.

The dress code for the precinct stated that you couldn't wear shorts or any kind of shirt that wasn't a button up, so while on the clock Hank had no choice but to wear slacks and whatever kind of faded, short sleeved button up he had dug out of the bottom of his closet. The fact that he would forgo his usual undershirt and that whatever kind of thin linen or cotton fabric he had chosen that day would cling to his sweaty, broad back when he came home in the evening in ways that Connor found very distracting had been complicated enough to deal with on its own. 

But once the thermometer had climbed past 80 F the first thing his Lieutenant would do once the door to their home had closed behind him was to groan slightly in dismay at the barely perceptible drop in temperature, curse at the ancient AC while fiddling with the dials…and then he would just give up and simply pop open his pants and drop them right there, in the middle of the hallway. Whatever by now sweat soaked button-up he had worn for work would follow the fate of the pants on his way to the kitchen and get haphazardly thrown somewhere in the rough direction of the laundry hamper before he would fill up Sumo´s water bowl before guzzling down a glass right from the tap himself, oftentimes wettening a towel underneath the stream of water afterwards to put around his neck in a futile effort to cool himself down.

When this had happened for the first time Connor had simply frozen in the hallway, staring at the retreating, barely decent backside of his old partner for nearly five full seconds before his self preservation instincts had kicked in and he had bent down to break line of sight and pick up and fold the discarded pants neatly. He must have said something appropriately naggy along the lines of making a mess by dropping things everywhere because Hank had huffed a laugh from where he was still patting himself down with the towel and called him a fusspot…but what -exactly- Connor might have said he couldn't remember for the life of him. 

It was as if the sudden, unexpected close up sight of that broad chest covered in thick, graying hair had suddenly completely overwhelmed Connor´s RAM, his usually unfailable processor unable to memorize anything else aside from the subtle move of muscle underneath still pale skin and the way the thick hair on Hank's chest had tapered down slightly over his abdomen to disappear into the waistband of his threadbare boxers. 

He had seen Hank mostly undressed before, stolen glances from the safety of the kitchen or the living room whenever he had been able to time himself so he could spot his partner exciting the bathroom after a shower, still slightly damp and usually wearing nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist…and he had always been especially fascinated by the thick covering of hair on his torso and abdomen.

Hank had stopped dead in the middle of the hallway, staring at Connor for nearly three seconds straight as if his ears refused to relay the question they had just heard to his brain, his eyebrows shooting up so high they had nearly vanished into his hairline.

“..are you -seriously- asking me if my drapes match the carpet?”

Connor had to quickly research that particular colloquialism, already regretting having asked in the first place. It had simply slipped out, that stupid question, when his eyes had as usually been drawn to that thick line of hair vanishing down Hank´s towel -faded blue, with a pattern of daisies today- as he had exited the bathroom after his shower.

“...yes? Though this particular colloquialism usually refers to matching color and since I know that you do not dye your hair and am assuming that applies to all of it I think my question goes more along the line if you shave your pubic hair or not?"

Hank had just stared at him for a few heartbeats longer, mouth slightly open in disbelief before he had snorted and shook his head, running his hand through his mop of hair -the one on his head, to Connor´s disappointment- in a gesture that Connor had quickly learned to interpret as slightly embarrassed exasperation. It made the wet strands stick up crazily in all directions, giving him the likeness of a crazy professor from an old timey animation and Connor´s chest had gotten tight with emotions he was too scared to deal with at that moment.

“Connor, we really need to have another talk about what's appropriate to ask in polite company and what not.”

Connor had heroically resisted the urge to reach out and smooth down a strand of hair that had decided to stick up straight, like a little antenna, right above Hank´s right temple.

“ I will try to remember for the next time I encounter polite company then.”

Hank had snorted and side eyed him with that mix of slightly annoyed fondness he always tended to get whenever Connor had asked him something inappropriate, clearly torn between amusement and something like embarrassment.

“I swear to the Lord, one day…fine, and only because I -know- you won´t stop hounding me until you have your answer, yes, they match, no I don't shave. Did when I was younger and had partners that cared, can´t be fucking bothered now. Seriously Con, I know you´re fascinated with all things human biology related, but you´re getting real personal with those questions of yours here.”

Now it had been Connor´s turn to be embarrassed -an emotion he very much had learned to dislike- and he had found himself fiddling with the hem of his shirt against his will, suddenly unable to meet Hank´s eyes. Justifying his interest without giving himself away had suddenly gotten harder than ever but he knew Hank well enough to know which buttons to push to be forgiven for whatever faux pas he might have just committed. 

“Well, there seems to be a lot of controversy around that topic and I do not have body hair of my own to experiment with. I am well aware that most people do not take kindly to questions regarding their bodies, especially not from an Android. And you are the only person I know who I can ask questions like that without having to fear that they will get interpreted wrongly or lessen your opinion of me.”

Hank´s face had grown soft at that and he had huffed a deep breath, the warmth in those blue eyes telling Connor that he had already been forgiven for whatever personal line he might have just crossed. It made Connor feel bad, to use his interrogation software and preconstruct abilities to manipulate Hank like that but it had become a protective reflex whenever he had gotten too close to expose himself.

“Now ain't -that- making me feel real special…It´s alright, better ask me than anybody else I guess..” 

Hank had softly bumped his shoulder against Connor´s when he had finally walked past him towards his bedroom so he could get dressed, casual touch as always his favorite way of showing Connor that he had been forgiven, mumbling to himself softly enough that even the Android´s sharp hearing had trouble picking up the words. 

“What's a bit of oversharing between -friends- after all.”

—%---%---

Connor might be new to this whole being alive-thing but he wasn't stupid and a lot less naive then people usually took him for. He had been meant to collect and extract information no matter the means necessary, had been built with the sole purpose of fitting in into a mostly human environment and thus his frame had been built as close to a human as had been technically possible. He had always been meant to be able to -emulate- human emotion, to parse it and react to it and that included a database of adequate responses to possible romantic or sexual situations.

Connor might be new…but he was perfectly aware of the fact that the emotion he felt low in his abdomen whenever he saw Hank strutting around in nothing but his boxers or a towel was arousal.

The problem had never been to identify the emotion. 

The problem had always been not to react to it.

He had tried to bring up the issue only once, after he had quickly realized that this particular habit hadn't been a one time thing only but seemed to be a regular Hank-thing once temperatures rose over a certain point.

“Don´t you think you should be wearing..I don´t know, -more- clothes than just your underwear when you're home? What if someone rings the doorbell?”

Hank had stopped doing what he was doing -sorting through the coupons he clipped out of  the paper every week and never used, Connor had to remember to use the detergent one before it ran out- looking at where Connor was busy doing the dishes.

“Who? All the dozen of friends I have that visit me twice daily? Don´t know if you had realized Con, but you´re kinda the only one who willingly hangs out with me. And the mailman knew what he was getting into when he chose his job.” 

Hank´s reply had been in his typical sarcastic drawl, making something hurt deep inside Connor´s chest at the dismissive tone as if Hank himself had stopped caring long ago that apparently no one really cared enough about him anymore to actually come and visit. But before he had been able to react, those heavy lidded, deceptively sleepy looking eyes had grown sharp, making Connor want to fidget underneath their piercing blue stare.

“You´ve never been bothered by me walking around my own home in nothing but a towel or some ratty shorts before. Why does me hanging out in my boxers so I don´t fucking melt into the carpet in this heat bother you so much? ”

Connor -had- fidgeted then, a nervous flexing of fingers itching for his coin and had quickly grabbed a towel to dry his hands and hide the movement from Hank before turning away, pretending to look at what Sumo was snuffling at on the kitchen floor so he could escape that inquisitive look.

“..it doesn´t -bother- me, I just thought-”

“Well since it doesn´t -bother- you and you´re one of the very few people about whose opinion I actually give a fuck I don´t see a problem here, right?”

He had absentmindedly picked up the small piece of plastic wrap Sumo had been nosing at -piece of bacon packaging, Nature's Rancher Applewood Smoked Uncured Bacon

from this morning's breakfast- and had put it in the trash, thinking that, if he was truly human, he would have felt like crying in frustration right about now.

"Right. No problem. None at all.”

Hank had just mumbled something into his beard, too soft for Connor to understand before his attention had turned back onto the paper..and Connor had tried to steel himself for a very long and awkward summer.

It wouldn't even have been much of a problem if it was -just- the arousal. While Connor´s sexual functions did work semi-autonomous for a better user experience he was able to at least control them enough to not give himself away with some kind of physical reaction. Solely being sexually attracted to Hank would only have been a slight bother, seeing as he was living with the man, but wouldn't have made much of a difference for his day to day life. He would have kept more of a distance during the summer months and otherwise continued as usual.

But aside from the purely physical attraction, Connor was -also- quite aware that the affection he felt for the other man had by now long gone beyond what society would consider adequate for a platonic friendship, even a close one. 

You didn't think the things that Connor thought about Hank -if he allowed himself to dwell on the topic at all- if you only wanted someone to be your friend. You wouldn't imagine what it might feel like to have those warm, rough hands touch your skin directly instead of through layers of clothes, what it would feel like to burrow your fingers into thick, curly hair, how that beard might feel gently rubbing against your face, what it would taste like to kiss that bead of sweat off of his right temple, to kiss that mouth that could speak so cruelly but had been nothing but gentle and kind to Connor whenever it had truly counted…you wouldn't think that about someone you only wanted as a -friend-. 

You shouldn't crave a -friend´s- company and physical touch like Connor did, even if it was only the most innocent, platonic ones. He would have been able to simply ignore any kind of sexual attraction…but he found himself unable to ignore the need he had for all the ways Hank would be showing his affection through physical intimacy. 

Something new and frighteningly fragile in him -needed- Hank to gently bump their shoulders together when he had made an especially horrible joke, grinning that slightly gap toothed grin he only seemed to show to Connor these days. He -needed- the off handed way Hank would sometimes just touch him without even noticing, a hand on his shoulder, his lower back, his arm to direct his attention to something. He -needed- the comfortable silence when they shared the couch in the evening, pretending to watch terrible movies while secretly studying the way the condensation of Hank´s beer bottle would cling to his fingers and how he would take a drink and then absentmindedly lick his lower lip. He -needed- that comforting, safe warm presence to keep him from rattling apart at the seams whenever he was having a bad day, tucked neatly into Hank´s side with the low rumble of that voice he would have been able to pick out of million others vibrating through that broad sturdy chest right into his very core.

He -needed- Hank to, at the very least, be his friend…and you should not be thinking the things Connor had been thinking about him if you wanted the person you were thinking about to -stay- your friend.

—%---%---

Connor -did- know that the affection he felt for the other man was at least partially returned. 

Hank might not be someone for grand gestures, usually opting to show his fondness of Connor in other ways. Like giving him a safe space to stay when he had nowhere to turn to, allowing him to share his space and his life, introducing him to new things he thought Connor might enjoy like music and flea markets and oddly patterned shirts…but these were, after all, all things that you would do for someone you would at the very least consider a friend, at least in Connor´s opinion. 

But some things that Hank did for him seemed to be more than that, seemed to be crossing an only vaguely defined border of what was still deemed appropriate for a platonic friendship, at least if Connor went and judged by the confused reactions of the people around them that their interactions would sometimes elicit.

Connor himself wasn't too sure on where that particular border might actually be, he was honest enough with himself to know that he was heavily biased in that matter and might want to interpret things more in his favor, which in turn only made him even more careful to not accidentally do something that couldn't simply be explained away by him being unused to all the emotional intricacies of human interaction.

One thing that made Connor wonder if Hank´s affection towards him might be more than just platonic was the fact that he had nearly stopped drinking anything aside from an occasional beer in the evening and that at some point the usually ever present bottle of whiskey had disappeared and stayed gone. Some would argue that drinking less was for Hank´s own benefit, not Connor´s…but Connor had never tried to hide his worries whenever he had picked up the other man from where he had dropped that night to put him into bed, carefully arranging him into the recovery position and hovering just outside the door long enough for Hank to fall asleep before sneaking back in to make sure he would be able to wake up in the morning. 

No amount of intervention from friends or family -when they still had cared about Hank enough to even try- had had any impact on the other man's determination to slowly self-destruct…but now that Connor was there, after all those years, he finally seemed to have changed his mind.

Hank had never outright -said- anything but it had been easy for Connor to spot the drop in frequency of episodes where the other man had gotten too drunk to even find his way into his own bed after he had moved in. There had been relapses of course, especially during the first few weeks…but Hank had clearly been making an effort. 

They had never actually talked about it, Connor knew that -even for him- some topics were still taboo if he didn't want to seriously anger Hank and every comment on his alcohol consumption had only ever resulted in the other man drinking even more. But he had made sure to show his appreciation in other ways.

Complimenting him on his improved physical appearance for example, had proved quite effective. Connor knew from earlier pictures of Hank´s career that he had always been a big man, not necessarily heavy but broad-shouldered and physically fit. But the years of self neglect had taken their toll on the Lieutenant's former trim figure, giving him a softness around the middle and chest that Connor had honestly kind of liked. He could neither lose or gain weight, would never get wrinkles or scar in a visible way and while he did have the ability to change his hair color from its preset dark brown if he chose to, it wouldn't have been the same as naturally graying hair. 

He had always been fascinated at the changes a human's body would go through in their lifetime, how their appearance could change just by -living- and he had always felt himself drawn to the parts of Hank  that the other man seemed to dislike most. His belly and the softness around his chest for example. Or the heavy lines around his hooded eyes, the little crinkles on his forehead, the graying hair that would curl ever so slightly whenever it was damp outside…if Connor could choose between Hank at 20 or Hank as he was now, with the memories of his life etched into his very skin, he would always chose that version.

But Hank had always seemed to be a little self conscious about the beginnings of a beer belly he had been sporting after too many drinks and meals at the Chicken Feed and had seemed pleased when he had started to drop some weight after reducing the amount of alcohol he would consume. 

Less mornings of waking up hungover and sick had also led to him actually taking better care of his appearance. Hank Anderson would never be a perfumed dandy, strolling around in a stylish three piece suit…but he had taken to neatly trimming his beard at least once a week and while still horrifyingly out of style, his clothes would at least be clean and not stinking of last night´s excess anymore.

No amount of write ups or disciplinary actions had made a difference..only when Connor had shown up had Hank actually started to care enough to make an effort.

Connor was too scared of interpreting things too much in his favor…but that must count as -something-, right?

Something more than just wishful thinking at least.

—%---%---

Another thing Hank kept doing that terribly confused Connor about the actual nature of their relationship was the patience and indulgence he would show him regularly, especially after they had gotten through those first bumpy, terrifying weeks of his deviancy. 

Connor was self aware enough to know that he could be a pest. 

He hated not knowing, he asked too many questions and in his quest for answers he would oftentimes cross some invisible border or other that he hadn't realized had been there in the first place, usually offending whoever he had been hounding in the process. Sometimes his thoughts would get stuck onto a particular topic or other, turning around each other like a never ending snake trying to bite its own tail until he could feel his cooling systems trying to kick in to dispel non-existent heat, the periphery of his vision starting to flood with nonsensical errors and garbled system warnings, triggering an avalanche of usually unpleasant memories in the process. 

These episodes were different from the ones where he would simply be overwhelmed with too many things at once and needed time to process. During those, his processor would try to do too many things at the same time, forging new pathways between analysis-memory-emotion that simply needed more concentration on Connor´s part. Aside from just a general sense of being overwhelmed and the need to ground himself somehow Connor would not feel much during them, they were neither pleasant nor unpleasant exactly, and once he had sorted through whatever tangle was currently tripping him up, Connor would be just fine.

Those other types of episodes he had been experiencing were decidedly unpleasant.

The first time it had happened had been about two weeks after the uprising. He had just returned from a meeting with Markus and the others, his mind churning with a plethora of legal matters, of never ending discussions with officials trying to carve out a space for them to be allowed to -live- in and half a dozen other things that he had been gnawing on like Sumo would gnaw on a pig's ear. He had been distracted and clumsy, so absorbed in his thought processes that he´d had to divert attention away from his limbs to cope with the added strain on his processor and had accidentally bumped against the kitchen table, breaking a glass in the process…and when he had bent down to pick up the pieces so Sumo would not accidentally step on them he had cut himself.

It had only been a tiny cut on the tip of his right ring finger, barely enough for a few drops of Thirium to appear and fall onto the kitchen floor…but something in Connor´s mind had snapped at the sight.

Suddenly he had been back in the precinct, helplessly watching as the Android The truth is inside! he had helped to catch had bashed his head against the glass of his cell until Connor could see pieces of his processor in the thick blue streaks covering the divider. He could taste the sample he had taken of the deactivated Traci I just wanted to stay alive in Eden Club, could hear her scramble against the carpeted get back to the one I love floor with the seconds ticking by relentlessly, could feel the microscopic splatter of Thi I trusted you! rium that had landed on his face when the Android Daniel had been shot on the roof, could smell the burn of his own synthetic flesh as he watched himself dropping down with a bullet hole right between his eyes, could see the streak of red at Hank´s temple put there by someone just like him, by something like him, by himself, red and blue and red and blue-

-and then there had been warm hands on his upper arms, roughly pulling him upwards from where he had slumped against the kitchen counter like a ragdoll into a broad chest and Connor had snapped back into his body with a force that had left him reeling, his vision an explosion of contradictory nonsense error messages and warnings, shaking hard enough for his teeth to clatter-

“Hush there, love, it's fine. You're having a panic attack Con…come here for a moment, kid, and..I don't know, breathe or something. You´re safe alright? I´ve got you Connor. You´re home and you´re safe, it's only memories, they can't hurt you anymore. I´ve got you.”

-and Hank had pulled him close and had let him press his face into the crook of his neck so Connor could smell -HANKsafe!homeSaFE!-, had said nothing when the scent alone hadn't been enough and Connor had actually licked his skin in a desperate attempt to distract himself from the endless loop of red and blue and red and blue screaming through his mind. He had kept holding on until Connor had finally stopped shaking, hadn't let go of his hand when he had led him to the couch afterwards to wrap him in a blanket and pull him close, whistling for Sumo to join them so Connor was sandwiched right between them. He had just held him and stroked his back until Connor was finally himself again, embarrassed at his own neediness but still unwilling to let go. 

When he had tried to apologize, Hank had bopped him on the head, gently.

“Don't you apologize for things that aren't your fault, Con. To be fair, I been kinda waiting on you having a little breakdown or two. People don´t go through the shit you´ve been through without catching a bit of PTSD on the way. Seen it often enough with others, once the immediate danger is over, boom, they go down like a lead balloon. You´ve been too busy just surviving these past few weeks…not really a surprise you get kicked in the face like this the moment you relax, hm? It's alright kid. Happens to all of us sooner or later.”

They had been huddled there together on the couch, all three of them, for most of the night. 

Hank had actually fallen asleep underneath him at some point, the soft vibration of his snores a welcome background noise to the uneasy rest state Connor had fallen into himself. 

Now that he had calmed down enough to think again, what Hank had said had made sense. The first few weeks of his ´life´ had been a constant stream of mostly unpleasant events and even if he hadn´t been fully aware of himself for some of it, his awakening had been quite traumatic. Nearly killing Markus, having to flee Jericho, infiltrating Cyberlife tower and literally having to fight himself, with nothing less than Hank´s life at the stake if he had failed, Amanda´s last ditch attempt at hijacking him..that was a lot of things to chew through for someone who had just recently truly started to be alive.

Him catching ´a bit of PTSD´on the way as Hank had so eloquently put it only made sense..but knowing the mechanics behind it hadn't made the experience any easier to deal with.

It had happened twice more after that, always right out of the blue after some form of harmless trigger. The second time Hank had been home and they had dealt with this episode the same as with the first: he had simply held Connor tight, gently talking to him and reassuring him again and again that he was safe until Connor had been able to think again. 

The third time Connor had been home alone, trying and failing quite spectacularly to get himself back in check. He had been feeling slightly off all morning already, distracted and absentminded and when a worried Hank had come home from work hours later and had found him huddled into a corner, with a whining, slobbering Saint Bernard plastered against his side, shut down so bad he had barely been able to interact, he had taken him into his arms as he had done before..and when Connor had started to be himself again after hours of being coddled he had ripped him a new one.

It had been one of the very few times Connor had ever seen Hank being truly angry at him..and the fact that that anger had been purely born out of worry for him had made it even worse.

“You will listen to me now Connor and you will listen to me good. Next time something like this happens? You -will- call me. And that is non-negotiable. I don´t care if I am at the precinct, I don´t care if I am at a crime scene, I don´t care if I am in a fucking meeting with the President herself, you hear me? Something like this happens again and I am not around? You will call me. You will call me and I´ll get my ass home as fast as I can and then we will deal with this together because I can tell you from very personal experience, Connor, if you try to do it on your own sooner or later you'll end up with a gun in your pretty mouth. And if -I- am not allowed that way out, -you´re- not allowed it either, you got that you stupid piece of fucking shit?”

Connor had only mumbled a small “Got it” into where he had still been securely cradled against that broad chest, still too stunned by everything to do anything else. He hadn't had another truly major episode like that afterwards…but by then he knew better than to try and hide it from Hank if he was having a bad day. 

After all if -Hank- was willing to stay alive for him, the least he could do was return that favor.

—%---%---

Connor´s third discovery during that summer was that Hank didn´t tan.

He freckled.

When the sun had started to go down and the heat of the day had finally started to subside, Hank liked to sit outside on the porch with his evening beer, with his feet submerged into a half filled kiddy pool he had dragged out of the garage at some point together with a bigger version he had placed on the lawn for Sumo. During the day they kept the old dog mostly inside so he could profit from the AC but during the evenings he liked to hang out with them in the backyard with only his big head sticking out over the side of the pool. 

Connor had not paid much attention to the small yard attached to Hank´s house at first. It had mostly been a place for Sumo to do his doggy business and roll around in the snow, only a small rectangle of sad looking grass and a few neglected flower beds. There was a porch attached to the house, with only a small, covered up barbeque and a ratty looking deck chair crowding the small space.

When the kiddy pool had come out of the garage that solitary, weather beaten chair had suddenly gained a brand new, similar looking sibling sitting right next to it and while Connor didn't really feel any particular relief about having his naked feet submerged into a kid´s pool full of tepid water, he had taken the invitation for what it was and simply plopped himself down, sticking his feet right next to Hank´s. The pool was small enough that they had to sit side by side to be able to use it at the same time and even though the deck chairs came with armrests, if Connor sat just right he would be able to press his thigh against Hank´s every now and then.

Being so close also meant he would be able to closely study the smattering of freckles that had appeared on Hank´s bare arms and chest. Connor hadn't been too surprised that the other man didn't really tan, he was naturally pale and blond haired after all. He had been caught unprepared by the myriad of small reddish-brown freckles that had seemingly started to appear out of nowhere the moment Hank´s skin had been subjected to the summer sun though…and he had been caught -especially- unprepared by his reaction to them.

Connor -loved- them.

Connor was -fascinated- by them to a degree where he had been unable to fully  hide that fascination from Hank and had barely managed to explain it away with his general interest in how a human body worked. Hank had just looked at him the way he sometimes did when Connor was being especially weird in his opinion, searching and inquisitive, those bright blue eyes burning himself into his skin until Connor had fled to the kitchen with the excuse of grabbing a few treats for Sumo.

Connor wanted to -lick- them so bad he sometimes had to bite his own bottom lip so he wouldn´t simply turn around and do just that..and yet, instead of finding an excuse to -not- be sitting outside with him while Hank drank his evening beer he found himself there every night, his chair pushed right next to Hank´s with the heat from his thigh burning itself into Connor´s skin and the never ending temptation gnawing at his willpower.

—%---%---

It had been an evening just like this when Connor´s world view had finally gotten shattered.

At first it had seemed like a regular friday evening, like many others before that. Hank had come home from work late and exhausted after a particularly grueling day at work, he had taken a shower while Connor had warmed up some dinner for him, they had talked about their day a little while Hank had eaten and afterwards he had grabbed a beer, refilled Sumo´s pool with fresh water and plopped down into his deck chair, with Connor as always close by his side.

They had talked a little at first, mostly about random nonsense things but at some point their conversation had slowly fizzled out, making room for the sort of comfortable silence that you would only get between people who were simply content to be in each other's company, without the need for any interaction. They had sat there, alone with their own thoughts but not -lonely- and Connor had been as content as he could be, sitting close to the person he had come to love more than anything else in the comfort of the home they shared.

But then Hank had drained the last bit of beer from his bottle -Thornbridge White Swan, low alcohol, zesty lemon, herbal hoppiness and a little sweet grain- and stood up with a little groan, stretching his shoulders.

“I think after today's shitshow I deserve another…you want anything from inside, Con?”

Connor had only hummed a negative, distracted by the way the movement had made the slight sheen of perspiration on Hank´s skin gleam in the light of the setting sun…and then Hank had simply leaned down as he passed Connor in his deck chair and had kissed him, fleeting and soft, right on his mouth, before straightening again and walking inside.

If Connor had an actually beating heart it would have stopped right there and then.

He had just sat, frozen, in his chair, with only the soft slobbering sound of Sumo drinking his own bath water as company for nearly a minute.

For a moment he had wondered if Androids could actually go insane.

It had all been there, the haptic feedback from Hank´s surprisingly soft lips against his own, the way his beard had felt against Connor´s cheek, the half dozen of random bits of information his analytical systems had picked up from the tiny trace amount of saliva and beer still on the other man's lips…and yet, Connor had not been able to help but think he must have been mistaken, that his systems had finally snapped underneath the prolonged stress of trying to conceal himself that he had finally lost his mind and started to imagine things that couldn´t be.

He had stood up so suddenly that Sumo had been startled into a confused bark, his usually fluid movements stiff and puppet-like as if even his motor functions themselves had decided to join his higher processor functions and take a vacation as he had blindly followed the other man inside, stopping in the middle of the doorway to stare unbelieving at where Hank was standing at the kitchen counter making himself a sandwich -cheese, ham and tomato on rye, easy on the mayo- as if he hadn't just shattered everything Connor had ever believed to be true. 

“Did you just kiss me?”

Hank had just shrugged his shoulders, nonchalant, while carefully spreading some mayo onto the bread.

“Yeah, sure did.”

He had been able to coat both pieces of bread in mayo, carefully arrange the slices of cheese and ham and start slicing his tomato before Connor had finally been able to speak again.

“..why?”

Hank had just shrugged his shoulders a second time, as if kissing Connor was just a normal, everyday occurrence, slicing off another piece of tomato to put on his sandwich before folding it closed and cutting it into two neat triangles.

“Because I wanted to. Been wanting to do that for a while now honestly.” 

He had wiped his hands on a kitchen towel before he had finally turned to look at where Connor had still been frozen in the doorway, with something like faint amusement in his hooded gaze.

”I guess I just got tired of waiting for you to kiss me instead.”

Connor could only stare, mouth slightly open, still unable to process this whole conversation until Hank had finally sighed and put down the towel, opting instead to walk over where Connor was still standing stiff and unbelieving in the hallway, his LED spinning bright red. 

Hank´s hand had been warm where it had rested against Connor´s cheek, tenderly cradling his face and still slightly sticky from tomato juice and he leaned into the touch on instinct, his LED immediately cycling back down to orange just from the touch alone. Hank´s tone of voice had still shown his amusement but there had been a gentleness in his gaze that Connor had never allowed himself to see before.

“You know Con, I am as far away from anything state of the art as I can be, but I -am- a cop. You´re not the only one who has working eyes, love…and you´re very definitely not as subtle as you think you are. You know, with the whole thing staring at me as if I´d hung the moon and stars and you couldn't decide if you wanted to cuddle me or eat me whole.” 

Connor had swallowed, subconsciously mimicking what he had seen humans do before in a situation where they didn´t know what they should say. His voice had been rough when he had finally spoken, as if even his voice modulator had trouble processing whatever the hell had been going on.

“If you wanted to kiss me and knew I was attracted to you, why didn't you do so already?”

Hank had just shrugged a third time and by the way the tiny muscles in his hand had moved against the skin of Connor's face he had known that he was about to pull away, as if Connor´s lack of a proper response had made him start to fear that he might have misinterpreted something.

“Didn't want to rush you into something you might come to regret later. You had a lot of shit going on to sort through, Con, without having to deal with an old man with a crush on top of that. I didn't want to force you into a situation where you might feel pressured into indulging me. And I´m not exactly much of a catch either as you might have noticed by now, I wanted to give you time to, y´know, have an idea of what you´re getting yourself into if you throw in your lot with me.”

Connor had quickly reached for that big hand, keeping it in place with his own and Hank´s soft smile had turned relieved, his thumb stroking a hot path against the sensitive skin of Connor´s jaw.

Connor had swallowed again, part of him still insisting that, despite all evidence to the contrary, this couldn't actually be happening....and then he had taken a step closer, right into Hank´s personal space. They hadn't been touching, not yet, but they had been close enough for Connor to feel the heat of Hank´s bare chest against his own, to count every single freckle dotting the other man's skin, to smell the lingering trace of soap from his shower and the saltiness of fresh sweat on his skin, mixed with the faint trace of bitter hop on his breath.

Connor had taken a breath he didn't need…and taken a leap of faith.

“Can you do it again? I am afraid I was lost in thought and haven't been paying attention properly.”

Hank´s right eyebrow had risen about 9 mm, a sign of amusement, but his other hand had wrapped itself around Connor´s waist, fitting in place as if it whad been made for that purpose alone...and then there had been no distance between them anymore as he had pulled him in tight, closing that last gap between them and Connor had finally been able to properly answer the question of what it would feel like to kiss Lieutenant Hank Anderson. 

For once Connor had stopped all of his analyzing functions, had halted any subroutine aside from his core memory and had allowed himself to be flooded with the sensation of careful lips against his own without even trying to categorize it, secure in the knowledge that he would be safe even if he got overwhelmed and had simply let himself -feel-, his vast memory bank making room for him to memorize every second of every instance, now and in the future to come, of how it felt like to love and be loved in return.

—%---%---

Connor smiles softly at the memories, twisting his hips a little so he can try maneuvering himself into a position that would be less uncomfortable for Hank to sleep in, hindered by the same self man clinging to him like a barnacle…as usual. 

That first summer was still one of the memories Connor would revisit most whenever he laid awake with a snoring Hank wrapped around him like a vice and even though there had come many, many more afterwards, it was still one of his fondest memories too. 

There had been a lot of firsts that year: his first summer, his first kiss, the first time those warm, strong hands had shown him what pleasure could truly feel like, the first time Hank had grabbed his hand in public and had held on with stubborn pride despite the stares they had received, the first time he had introduced him as his ´partner´ with his arm tight around Connor´s middle, leaving no doubt as to what kind of partnership he had been talking about…many firsts, and many -good- firsts too.

He softly strokes the back of one hand, warm and rough against the smooth synthetic skin of his waist, carefully keeping the touch light enough as not to wake the other man. 

Those hands he had always loved so much had started to become delicate now, the skin translucent with age and dotted with brown and ever since Hank´s heart had given them a fright and he had started to take blood thinners on top of his other medications they would bruise easily if Connor wasn't careful.

That new frailty scared Connor sometimes…but aside from the occasional scare Connor had found that he -liked- growing old together. 

The process of aging in a human was quite obvious…but while Connor´s appearance had stayed unchanged during the years he -had- started to change in subtler ways. His frame had never been meant to be active this long, he had been meant to last a year or two and then be replaced by whatever model had come next and even the most advanced tech would at some point be worn out by prolonged use. He had started to become slow, his joints being used way beyond what they had been supposed to endure and his processor slowly being weighed down by small snags and lost bits in his software that he had started to accumulate during the years.

It had given Connor some weird pleasure, to know that, while his outward appearance couldn´t change like Hank´s had, at least parts of them would be able to age together and he had categorically denied all refurbishments or repairs that went beyond what was necessary for him to function. 

He -liked- that they had grown old together, that his joints creaked just as much as Hank´s even though they didn´t pain him, that his Thirium pump had started to run a little snagged just like Hank´s heart had started to give him trouble, that his memory banks had long since been stuffed so full that he didn't have room to file everything anymore, making him just as forgetful as Hank.

He -liked- that they could simply be slow together, going through their daily routines with leisure without any need for haste. He liked that they had no obligations anymore aside from spending time with each other, something they had never grown tired of even after all these years. He liked the slow afternoons they would spend together laying on their bed engaging in what Hank jokingly called ´old man sex´, lazily petting each other with no other goal but to make each other feel good. Hank had been self conscious about it at first when his age had started to catch up and no amount of attention on Connor´s part had been able to get him erect sometimes…up until the point where -Connor- had been the one to suffer that same fate.

Connor blinked, confused, dismissing the sudden pop-up that had warned him of a snag in his Thirium distribution software with a hint of impatient annoyance.

“Oh. This is new.”

Hank had looked up quizzically from where he had methodically been sucking a small pattern into the sensitive skin of Connor´s neck, following his line of sight as Connor had been eyeing his suddenly misbehaving appendage quite sternly, confused at the interruption…and then he had started laughing so hard he had been wheezing when he had realized what had happened.

“Oh Con…welcome to old age I guess. Ahh, don´t pout, happens to the best of us, right? Come here love..don´t you always tell me that most things can be fixed just by being a little persistent? Let me see if some persistence of mine won't be able to fix that little issue of yours, hm?

It -had-fixed the issue, quite nicely too Connor had to admit, even if he -had- pouted just a little bit at his partner´s obvious amusement at the time.

Connor snuggles in closer, smiling fondly at that particular memory and giving up on trying to rearrange Hank for the moment. Sleep could sometimes be troublesome for the other man and Connor didn't want to wake him, no matter how interested parts of him might have become at a few of those memories that had been keeping him company. If Hank's back bothered him in the morning he would give him a massage..and maybe see what result a little ´persistence´ of his own might yield that day.

Connor carefully places a butterfly soft kiss on the top of the other man´s head before he lets himself power down into what counted as ´sleep´for his kind, disregarding the typical plethora of small system warnings he would get every time he did so, used to and unbothered by them, intertwining his own perpetually smooth fingers with Hank´s rough, scarred ones.

It was undeniable that age had taken hold of them both…but those hands were still strong enough to stroke his hair and pinch his butt when they passed each other in the hallway, the mischievous twinkle in those bright blue eyes still making Connor's chest tight with emotions and want. 

They were still strong and gentle and patient enough to give him pleasure beyond anything he had ever experienced and to pull him close and hold him through his nightmares as infrequent as they might be.

They would still freckle when the delicate skin got exposed to the sun, with an ever fascinated Connor re-mapping each and every little mark , with fingers and mouth and tongue whenever they reappeared every year until Hank´s amused laughter would start to turn breathless and even the summer heat could not keep them apart anymore.

They were still strong enough to give him the same feeling of being safe, being home, being loved they had always given him…and while Connor knew that for him, in the end, the heartbreak would be unavoidable, he knew he would have never wanted it any other way.

*FIN*