Work Text:
When Connor walked into the station with Hank that morning, he didn’t expect that day to be different from any other. It was Valentine’s Day sure, but that had nothing to do with him. The only impact it might have is the possibility of more calls coming in regarding couples’ disputes.
That was all he expected when he entered the bullpen. What he didn’t expect was the small bundle of red placed on the center of his desk. He froze in place, still a few feet away.
It was a floral bouquet. Two dozen red roses wrapped in white cloth and interspersed with baby’s-breath. They were just flowers, the logical part of his brain told him. Connor felt a chill run across his shoulders.
Hank had stopped along with him. He clapped a hand down on Connor’s shoulder, breaking his attention away from the bouquet. When he looked at the other man, he saw a wide smirk plastered across his face.
“Looks like someone’s got an admirer,” he said in a tone that could only be described as teasing. Then he continued on his path to his desk.
Connor stood in place for a moment longer, then walked forward with quick steps. He grabbed the bottom of the bouquet, plucking it off his desk. The scent of the roses invaded his sensors. A voice, familiar and chilling, whispered in his ear. Connor turned on his heel, making a beeline for the large trash can in the breakroom.
He was about to drop them in when Hank was suddenly there, ripping the bouquet out of his grip. Connor’s LED swirled yellow.
“Hank, what are you doing?”
“No, what are you doing!? What the hell, Connor?” he hissed, lowering his voice on the second question. His eyes darted across the room then locked back on Connor.
Connor’s eyebrows furrowed. Hank was… irritated?
“I was throwing away the flowers,” he responded. Hank rolled his eyes.
“I could see that. Why were you throwing them away?” Hank asked. A frown tugged at Connor’s mouth.
“I don’t like roses,” he said. Just having the flowers hovering in his peripheral vision was causing the synthetic muscles in his shoulders to tighten.
Hank pulled a face, making an aborted hand motion, and seemed to struggle to find his words for a bit.
“Seriously?” was what he settled with.
Connor shifted on his feet, looking away from Hank and the flowers. He’d told Hank about Amanda - the basics - but he only realized now that he’d never brought up the roses. They hadn’t been part of that night, withered and dead already before the blizzard hit. They weren’t a detail there was ever a need to bring up.
It wasn’t something he wanted to talk about now though. Not while he was at work where he could clearly see some of their more nosy coworkers listening in. He lowered his voice.
“They make me uncomfortable.”
Hank made that face again, this time accompanied by a sigh. “They’re just flowers,” he said, waving the bouquet at Connor, “what’s there to be uncomfortable about?”
Connor resisted the urge to step back when the roses flashed in his vision. For a second the zen garden flashed too, replacing the break room around him. A figure stood at the trellis in the distance. Connor blinked it away.
Amanda was gone. He’d checked his code more than a dozen times following that night. He’d had Markus check too, just in case. He’d scoured every line of code for weeks and even visited the zen garden again. It was empty. She was gone.
“Listen, Connor,” Hank said, losing patience with his silence, “just because someone gives you some flowers on Valentine’s doesn’t mean you gotta go out with them or anything, alright?” he tried to catch Connor’s eyes.
Connor’s frown deepened. He wanted to tell Hank that his discomfort had nothing to do with that, but the lieutenant was already continuing.
“But it’s basic fucking courtesy to not throw their gift away the second you see it. You need to be more considerate about how they might feel. I thought you’d know that much with all that social relations programming you boasted about.”
The criticism stung. He felt the accusation under Hank’s words, that he wasn’t good enough. Amanda’s voice drifted in again, cold, you’ve disappointed me, Connor .
“I didn’t mean to make anyone upset. It’s just that…” Connor searched for an explanation, something that would make Hank understand without him having to give every detail right now. What could he say other than what he’d already said?
“They make me uncomfortable,” Connor repeated his earlier statement.
“That doesn’t matter. It’s not an excuse to be an ass. Someone was nice enough to think of you today and get you some flowers. Maybe they’re not your favorite or whatever, but that’s not the point. So take them,” he shoved the bouquet against Connor’s chest, “and just let them sit on your desk for a day. It’s not that hard.”
The floral smell drifted in once again. In one jerky motion, his hand moved up to hold the flowers as Hank’s hand released them.
Hank didn’t want to hear how Connor felt, he realized. The lieutenant’s eyes still held their annoyance, their disappointment. There was no point in explaining his reaction- in making excuses. He wanted Connor to react correctly.
Machines do not make mistakes, Amanda chided.
Connor slipped back into his social relations programming, something he hadn’t done in over a year. It ran calculations in fractions of seconds, providing him with responses that would result in a favorable outcome. The neutral but pleasant expression his programming suggested fixed itself in place.
“You’re right, I apologize lieutenant. I was being inconsiderate. It was a nice gesture and I will be sure to show my appreciation to whoever gifted these to me,” Connor said.
His fingers trembled faintly and he tightened his grip around the bouquet to still the motion. Hank was still watching him, but he didn’t look angry anymore. He was scrutinizing Connor.
You are wasting time, Connor.
“I will return to work, then,” Connor said, turning around. When he reached his desk, he settled the flowers down on the opposite side from his terminal, before turning it on.
His hands hovered over the keyboard, but his fingers felt locked in place. Connor slowly forced them to stretch out, watching them do so in quick, twitchy movements. He repeated this motion until he noticed Hank walking over with a fresh cup of coffee. Connor placed a still tense hand against his terminal and started the interface, beginning to work.
The roses were out of sight, but their smell lingered. He wasn’t the only one in the office to receive flowers. His peripheral vision identified five other desks with flowers on them. Two of those were also roses.
He felt cold.
It was snowing outside. The temperature was a little colder than average for February, but neither of those should matter. The precinct was heated and his temperature sensors and thermoregulator reflected that, even without his coat - which was draped over the back of his chair.
Still, he was cold.
A tremor made its way through his hand. It started in his fingers as a barely perceptible movement. But it grew worse until his whole hand was faintly shaking.
He lost focus on the case he was reviewing.
Looking at his hand, fingers shaking, the world around him fell away, and he was in the zen garden again, reaching out through blinding snow. It was dark and cold. Icy winds tore away at him, penetrating through his clothes like they didn’t exist to chill his core.
He stumbled forward. His limbs were locking up, frost encasing the joints, seeping beneath his chassis. They cracked with each movement, and each step grew harder to take.
This is what was intended from the start.
Even over the howling of the wind, he could hear her voice. He needed to find the exit. Connor searched for the blue glow, but everything was swallowed in a wall of white and gray. All he could do was stagger along in what he hoped was the right direction.
His foot caught on something buried under the snow and he pitched forward. It only took seconds for the blizzard to cover him. Snow piled atop his body, freezing his limbs and weighing him down. He couldn’t move. A shut-down timer flickered to life in front of him.
“Connor.”
He didn’t know where the voice was coming from, but he could hear it in spite of the snow blocking out all else. Connor focused on it instead of the timer counting down.
“Hey, don’t just ignore me.”
Connor struggled against the snow, fighting to push it off of himself. No matter how much he struggled, more engulfed him, choking him.
“Connor?”
As soon as it had come, the zen garden snapped away.
Connor was sitting at his desk in the precinct. His hand was outstretched, resting against his terminal. It was shaking more noticeably now. He blinked, then turned his attention to Hank. He was looking at Connor with his eyebrows pinched together.
“Yes, lieutenant?” he asked. He realized he was breathing wrong, taking fast, shallow breaths. He was aware of the floral scent again. He turned off the breathing program.
“Are you alright?” Hank asked.
Connor’s hand was still shaking. He locked the joints in place, forcing his fingers to freeze in their current position. He did the same with his other hand, then his arms. The shaking stopped.
At some point his social relations program had shut off. He turned it back on, and let it shift his face back into a perfectly neutral expression.
“I am functioning within normal parameters,” Connor responded.
Hank’s expression grew more troubled. Connor had picked the incorrect response. It was a simple statement to reassure humans that he wasn’t malfunctioning and ease their concerns.
You must do better than that, Connor , Amanda’s voice returned.
One of his fingers twitched. He tensed the joint, forcing it still again. He had to do better. He was showing weakness and disappointing Amanda. Machines weren’t supposed to-
He wasn’t a machine anymore.
Hearing Amanda’s voice again had done something. Words she’d said in the past mixed with his thoughts now. It was the roses. Connor knew it was the roses.
Every time they caught his eye, or their aroma made its way in, he felt as he did back then. Memories of Amanda flooded to the surface and he couldn’t force them back. He felt the terror he did on that night, but he also felt like a machine. Connor didn’t want to feel this way.
“Wasn’t asking how you’re functioning. I asked if you were okay,” Hank said.
Connor turned off his social relations program and unlocked his joints. The tremor returned. Connor stood abruptly, and Hank pulled back in surprise.
“No,” he responded. Then he left.
He could hear Hank call after him but he ignored him. He had to get out of there now before he lost himself. Connor burst through the precinct’s doors and kept going, quickening his pace. The further he got away the better.
He turned his breathing program back on, sucking in deep breaths of the fresh outside air. The tainted air needed to come out. Connor needed to eliminate that smell completely. He breathed quickly, taking in as much air as he could and then expelling it immediately. Over and over, speeding up. He needed to cycle the bad air out.
It was cold outside though. Every time he pulled in the cool air only to release a heated breath he could feel his temperature lowering. It stung, but he continued doing it.
“Connor! Wait up!” Hank shouted. He’d followed after him.
Connor slowed to a stop but didn’t turn around. He could hear Hank’s footsteps crunching in the snow, drawing closer. When he reached Connor, Hank rested a hand against his back.
“Take it easy, kid. You’re gonna pass out if you keep breathing like that,” he said. Connor wouldn’t. But Hank’s statement made him realize just how erratic his breathing had grown. On the next intake, he forced himself to hold it in for a few seconds, before releasing it.
He repeated the next breath even slower. Hank waited quietly by his side until he managed to get it fully under control.
“There you go,” Hank patted his back, before dropping the hand. Then Connor felt something pulled around his shoulders. It was his coat. Hank had brought it out. He threaded his arms through the sleeves and pulled the thick garment tighter around his shivering frame.
“Now,” Hank said, and Connor turned to properly face him, “tell me what’s going on.”
As the panic receded, it made room for another emotion. It had been simmering just under the surface all morning, but now that Connor had room to feel it, it took hold.
“There’s no point,” he said. Hank looked taken aback for a moment.
“What are you talking about?” he asked.
“I mean, you don’t… you don’t care how I’m feeling,” Connor said.
“Of course, I care,” Hank reached out to him. Connor moved back, stepping away.
“No, you don’t! You don’t… I told you that I don’t like roses. I told you they make me uncomfortable, but that didn’t mean anything to you. I told you how I felt and you said it didn’t matter!” Connor’s voice cracked. Tears made his vision blur for a second before they slid down his face. He wrapped his arms around himself.
“I didn’t know it was that big of a deal! It’s not like you really said much of anything else,” Hank said.
“Because I knew you wouldn’t care!” Connor said. Saying it out loud and knowing it was true made it hurt worse. He hugged his arms tighter around himself.
“And how would you know that? If I knew it bothered you this much-”
“No, you wouldn’t!” Connor interrupted. “You didn’t then, and you don’t now.”
Connor started to walk away. Hank followed after, grabbing his shoulder. Connor wrenched away from him.
“Don’t just walk away,” Hank said.
Connor didn’t want to be having this argument anymore. He just wanted Hank to leave him alone, to let him leave. This just hurt. A sob escaped him.
“You- you cared more about how I’d make someone else feel than how I felt. You said I should know better because I’m programmed to, but I’m not a machine anymore, Hank! I’m not. I’m not always going t-to react correctly,” Connor’s face was a mess of tears at this point, and his body shook with them too now, along with the cold.
Hank didn’t immediately respond with a defense or anything. He stood frozen in place, but Connor couldn’t see his face very well through the blur of tears. After a few seconds filled only with the sound of Connor crying, Hank spoke.
“I really fucked up today,” his voice was quiet. He dragged a hand down his face.
“I’m sorry, Connor. You did tell me how you felt and I didn’t take you seriously. I didn’t realize but- No, not gonna make any more excuses,” Hank sighed. “I was being an asshole. You didn’t deserve that.”
The apology surprised Connor. He wasn’t even sure how to respond to it, because he was still hurting. He didn’t even know if he could speak through the crying anymore.
“I do care about how you feel, Con. I know I did a shit job showing it today, but I mean that,” Hank said. “If you want me to give you some space, I’ll go. But if not,” Hank spread his arms, and invitation.
Connor shuffled forward, pressing his face into Hank’s shoulder. Hank’s arms wrapped around him, pulling him in close. One of his hands moved to run through Connor’s hair at the back of his neck. The other stayed securely around his back. He was warm.
Hank waited a couple minutes, for Connor’s cries to lessen, and then he asked, “What were you feeling today? More than uncomfortable.”
Connor hesitated but decided to tell him.
“I was scared,” he admitted. Hank’s grip around him tightened.
“Why?” he asked.
And Connor told him. He explained more than he had before about the zen garden, about how the roses had made him feel today. And Hank listened.
It didn’t take long for Connor to calm down after that. Hank waited for him to pull away first.
“How about we head home early today,” Hank asked. Connor thought about protesting. It wasn’t even lunch yet after all. But he didn’t want to go back in there, not today.
“Okay,” he agreed.
They went home and had a relaxing day marathoning movies. And the next day when Connor got to work, all the roses were gone.