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“This is our dumbest idea yet,” Hank grumbles. He casts a furtive glance around the restaurant, but there’s no sign of their suspect yet— just couples leaning in close to whisper intimately to each other. “This is too crowded. It’s noon; there’s no way he’s gonna show.”
“Previous sightings suggest he is frequenting the same restaurants in a pattern, and he staggers his arrival by precisely 93 minutes each time. That puts his arrival here at approximately 12 PM today.” Connor looks up from where he’s pretending to read the menu. His LED is missing, taken out for their undercover mission, and Hank hates that he doesn’t have the extra tell on how Connor’s feeling ‘cause the android has got one hell of a poker face. “He will be arriving shortly, so I highly recommend you try and blend in so as not to draw attention to us, Lieutenant.”
Hank snorts. “Jesus, you’d think that I haven’t done this a thousand times before,” he says, but he picks up the menu and relaxes back against the cushioned seat. “And cut it out with the Lieutenant crap, I keep telling ya. Why’s it so busy in here anyway?”
Connor idly turns the page of his menu. “It is Valentine’s Day, Lieu— Hank.”
“Shit. Really?” It feels like it was only New Year’s last week, although Hank had been knee-deep in paperwork trying to get Connor to be accepted as a legitimate detective to take any notice of that, too. Connor has been doing a good job, of course. Nothing less than perfect from the android sent by Cyberlife— “Wait,” Hank says, suddenly realising something. He takes a second look around the restaurant, the red hearts and roses scattered around, including on their table. “Are we on a date? Is that our cover?”
Connor sighs. “If you had read the mission brief that I drew up for you,” Connor says archly and heh, he can be so bitchy sometimes, “then you would know that we are posing as a couple because it is suitable for the environment and occasion, and will allow us to blend into the background while we study our suspect.”
Hank smirks. “Which page of the Detective Handbook is that one from?”
“There is no Detective Handbook, Lieutenant,” Connor says, frowning. “It is simply common sense when working undercover.”
“I know, Connor. I was just teasing you.”
The android blinks and he goes from concerned at Hank’s apparent lack of knowledge at being undercover to being entirely unimpressed with his antics. “Your sense of humour is unconventional,” he says dryly.
“Hey, I’m a fucking delight, and you know it.”
“Hm,” Connor hums, and Hank spots the barely-there tick in his cheek that means he’s holding back a smile.
Hank chuckles. He takes a quick, casual glance around the restaurant, but their man still hasn’t turned up— not that Connor would miss a target’s arrival, but old habits and all that jazz.
“Not sure why you asked me on this one, though,” Hank says. He starts fiddling with the touchscreen on the table where they can put in an order. He might as well get something to eat while they wait.
“You’re my partner, L— Hank,” Connor says matter-of-factly.
“Yeah, but, wouldn’t it have made more sense to bring Chris out? Hell, even Reed would’ve been a better choice.”
Connor tilts his head. “I don’t follow.”
“I mean,” Hank huffs, realising he’ll have to say it straight for Connor to understand, “we don’t exactly look like a typical couple. The age difference for one. I look like I’m twice your age.”
Connor blinks. “Given that we are both consenting adults, I hardly see how that matters.”
Okay, fair point. Still, Hank adds, “You’re also so far out of my league that there’s no way anyone here believes that we’re a couple.”
“Hank—”
“Don’t worry about it,” Hank interrupts, waving off what would probably be Connor attempting to boost his self-esteem. “I know I’m not a looker, no need to lie. Besides, it’s not like it’s a real date, so there’s no harm done.”
Connor goes suspiciously quiet, his eyes intently focused on the menu once more. Hank frowns.
“Con,” he says slowly, “is this a real date?” The android doesn’t answer, but Connor’s cheeks suddenly have a faint blue dusting on them. Hank feels his face flush. “Connor—”
“He’s here,” Connor says quietly and shit, this is such bad timing. “He just sat down 4 tables over.”
Hank looks up under the guise of watching a couple walk past their table, and he catches their perp in the corner of his eye. “Yeah, I see him,” he says just as quietly. “What’s the plan, Detective?”
Connor looks up, a practised smile plastered on his face. “We wait until he leaves, and we tail him. I doubt he’ll make a scene somewhere crowded like this, but we should be able to follow him back to wherever his base is.”
It’s a good plan, and it’s Connor’s mission, after all, so Hank lets him take the lead on it. Hank’s food arrives and they engage in awkward small talk as he eats, the weird moment from earlier hovering over them as they kill time while waiting for their perp to move.
It’s nearly an hour later before the guy gets up and moves out of Hank’s peripheral.
“What’s he doing?”
“He’s stopped at the bar,” Connor says. Hank can actually see his visual processors shifting as they try and focus on the suspect without Connor physically moving his head. “He taking out his phone and— dammit.”
Hank starts (he always does when Connor does anything that’s swearing-adjacent). “What is it?”
“He leaned on the counter— it’s blocking my sight of his phone.”
“It’s okay, the plan is still to tail him, right?”
“Yes, but if I can get more intel from him beforehand, then I would prefer that. Hang on,” Connor says, scooting along the set and around the table. “Don’t move.”
“What are you—” Hank’s words abruptly leave him as Connor leans in close. His hand rests atop Hank’s thigh and he tilts his head in close, his lips almost brushing Hank’s ear.
“I can see a reflection of his phone from here,” Connor murmurs. Hank shivers, unbidden, at the puff of air that comes with his words.
Hank clears his throat. “Alright,” he says, staring resolutely ahead and trying not to think about how Connor would just need to tilt his head and his lips would make contact.
A minute passes, and Hank thinks he’s doing a pretty good job of staying calm.
“Hank,” Connor says, and the bastard sounds amused. “Relax.”
“Easy for you to say,” Hank says gruffly, but he exhales heavily and convinces his body to not be so tense. It’s all for nothing, though, ‘cause Connor’s thumb rubs gently against his thigh and it sets Hank’s heart racing. “Connor—”
“For what it’s worth,” Connor says, his voice low and intimate, “I think you’re very handsome.”
Hank makes a strangled noise. “What—"
“I’ve got an address,” Connor interrupts and Hank actually forgot what they were doing here for a moment. “I’ve sent it Captain Fowler and I’m requesting backup to meet up at the location. Our suspect is moving; I suggest we follow.”
Connor smoothly slides back to his side of the table, pointedly letting his hand trail down Hank’s thigh as he puts some distance between them again.
“Right.” Hank follows as Connor stands up, and he takes a deep breath as he forces his brain to focus on the mission again. “Fuckin’ androids,” he huffs to himself.