Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

That car ride home was one that felt like an entirely new emotion altogether, for the newly deviated android. In the passenger seat, he watched the bright yellow morning sun fall flat onto the snow that covered the entire city- an extreme contrast compared to the night that had just passed. He didn't want to admit it, and he never would, but he wasn't expecting how much more… Sensitive, it was being a fully fledged deviant. The bullet that his counterpart shot into his shoulder at the cyberlife tower hurt. He could feel it burn, and he could feel how it severed the thin wires inside of him. Moving his shoulder was still difficult, but- for Hank’s own peace of mind, he decided to conceal that information.

Considering, he was allowed to do that now. He was allowed to conceal his thoughts and he could actually decide whether or not he wanted to do something. That freedom felt so foreign. It didn't seem real. And so, he didn't want to exercise that just yet, opting for leaning against the car seat just like how he would every other time- the sense of familiarity easing his stress levels that had been surfing between the 50’s and the 70’s all morning.

“You still with me there?”

Connor blinked, feeling a strange heating buzzing from inside of his systems. Yet another thing that he’d never felt before. Like a strange radiation coming from his face, and an emotional response he couldn't grasp- Connor held his eyes onto the floor– right at his feet.
“Yes, Lieutenant.”

He heard the elder man huffing, though not in a way in which Connor would feel belittled, or threatened, or intimidated. A regular huff of frustration.

“We raided the goddamn cyberlife tower a good few hours ago, Connor. You don't gotta keep callin’ me ‘Lieutenant.”
The android turned to look at him at last, confused as his LED blinked a puzzled yellow.

“But it's your… Title? It’d – be factually incorrect to-,”

“Connor. We're on a first name basis by now, got it?” Hank insisted, the only thing on Connor’s side being the rumble of the car as it drove- preventing an awkward silence. Slowly, his LED rolled back to blue– as he slumped down in his seat.
“Got it.”
Calling him ‘Hank,’ out loud would feel strange. Connor wasn't sure how to feel about that. At cyberlife, he was always taught to adress humans by their correct titles- no matter what. To always remain respectful, polite, yet serious at the same time.

Watching the scenery zip by, Connor wanted to start some sort of conversation. They were on their way back to Hank’s house, which would take approximately thirty three minutes and forty two seconds, if the weather didn't get in the way. It was just an estimate- but either way, it’d still take a while. Connor found that the silence brought unpleasant feelings he couldn't identify. Possibly, shame, in humans?

The reflection in the car window showed him that his LED was stuck on yellow, constantly flickering and blinking. He hoped Hank didn't notice. Usually, not knowing much about androids– Hank tended to inquire more about his systems, and why he did this or that. It wasn't too different, from Connor asking him personal questions– but Hank never really warned him before asking.

Even before deviancy, Connor caught himself telling small lies. Sometimes Hank would ask what his reports to cyberlife featured, or why his LED was a certain color and what the different colors meant– or, why he was busy staring at the portrait of Kamski and the real Amanda stern at Kamski’s place. He’d just informed Hank that he recognised the woman from some photos at cyberlife, and that he was simply only analyzing. It wasn't exactly lies, but he knew he wasn't giving the answers the Lieutenant was looking for.

“Why’s your blinker going crazy? Thinking about somethin’? I’d be more surprised if you weren't, really,” Hank suddenly spoke- keeping his eyes on the road as he drove through the eerily barren streets. Connor pretended not to notice the occasional splatters of Thirium that covered the snow, being larger in some places. He pretended not to notice shut down androids laying on the snow, sparking and some still leaking their thirium.

He’d gotten so caught up in attempting to analyze the powered off androids and the blue blood outside that he’d ended up forgetting to answer Hank’s question. That was something new, likely a result of deviancy. Before, he would've felt compelled to answer- no matter what his opinion was. Now, his mind simply just… Wandered off. It felt so unusual.

“Connor?”

“Sorry– Lieut–... Hank. I apologize– I was just, analyzing– outside there’s…” Connor paused, looking back out, another unpleasant feeling filling up his chest as he stiffened.
“There are many androids- on the streets. Thirium everywhere, as well. I think it is..” He stopped, pressing his middle and index fingers against his LED.
“Making it difficult for me to… Stay focused.”

Hank seemed disturbed, at his words.
“Shit… Forgot about how- that shit uh.. evaporates. I probably can't see as much as you can, huh?”
Connor only nodded, deciding to go back to keeping his gaze at his feet.

Hank inhaled, a deep breath.
“This shit is so fucked up. Sorry, Connor… Uh. Look. We’re gonna- get back home, and- uh…” He stopped, looking him up and down.
“Get ya’ outta that uniform. Some clothes.. uh. You sure you even wanna be stayin’ with me? Not with– robo-Jesus and your friends? Solving that– revolution crap?”

Connor felt himself frown, probably for the second ever time since deviancy.
“Calling them ‘friends,’ would be inaccurate, Hank. Most androids are not very fond of my presence- considering my… Original purpose. It would be mostly optimal to stay with you, so I don't…” Connor trailed off, feeling something aching in his chest. He’d have to run a diagnostic, back at Hank’s.
“Cause a scare. I apologize if it poses an inconvenience to you– I can find somewhere else, if you'd find that easier-,”

“Fuck that, you're coming home with me. ‘Sides, I bet you miss Sumo, huh? Yeah. Guy’s been waitin’ for you for a while even though he only met ya’ once.”

What felt like cracking a smile lifted some of the weight from Connor’s shoulders, and suddenly he started to speak without thinking. It wasn't rational, none of his thoughts were anymore. Everything felt so different, and he felt too present in every moment. Not the robotic sense of awareness, in which he was always ready for action. In the sense that he felt…
Afraid?

“This is unpleasant,” he started, the words coming out of him like vomit, which would again- be inaccurate, considering androids don't ‘vomit,’ they can only purge out any contaminant in their systems. Akin to a human throwing up, though.
“- I can see so many of them, Lieutenant. All over the street. The thirium is – everywhere. From the androids getting .. terminated by the army. I don't think I like this. I don't think that I’m–,” Connor trailed off, hitching a breath. Something he didn't do before.
“I don't think I’m ready for deviancy, Lieutenant. This isn't right. None of my instructions are rational, and it was easier before to just follow along with whatever order I saw in my HUD. I feel I’m experiencing errors in my systems and for some reason I think that I can feel these emotions…” He trailed off yet again, this was becoming a habit.

“Physically. I am… Worried. I think. I think I– I think that I am afraid, too. This isn't.. correct. Nor does it make any sense. The revolution was successful. Markus was successful. We were successful in gathering the androids from the cyberlife tower, and she’s not going to come back. I don't…” Connor brought his hands to both sides of his head, clutching tightly as swarms of instructions and swarms of pop-ups made their way into his vision– practically blinded by the red– the daylight getting drowned out.

“I don't know, Hank.”

The car lurched forward as Hank ended up pulling over, turning to the distressed android– panicked himself. Connor felt guilty. Maybe that is what this feeling was. Guilt.
He didn't enjoy how Hank’s mouth was moving, and he was saying words while Connor was too busy trying to push away the influx of instructions and commands in his head, whatever the Lieutenant was saying being completely tuned out and blurred beyond comprehension.
It hurt. Badly.

“-- So don't be panicking over that, son, we’ll work that one out. You got that big oaf waitin’ back at home, and you can take over my bed with him for the night if ya’ have to. Swear, I don't mind. You’ll be able to get through this uh… Deviancy stuff. I’ll be– keepin’ up with the news and going down to the station. When all this- law bullshit gets sorted out, we’ll… Go to the store. Or whatever… Shit you wanna do, with your freedom. Remember, Connor, you have rights now. And I swear to fucking God, if anyone has a problem with that, you call me straight away, and I’ll show ‘em what happens to people who ignore basic decency. Swear.”

Connor found the warnings slowly disappearing, and a feeling of relief of some sort let him exhale slowly. Androids didn’t need to breathe. But he felt like he had to.

“Thank you, Lieutenant.”

Hank started the car back up, pushing down on the accelerator.
“It’s Hank, Connor. My name is Hank.”

Chapter Text

Hank had watched Connor leave the car when they got back to the house, his movements still near the exact same as they always were. Fluent, precise, perfect– or whatever way you’d describe them as. Pushing that to the side though, Hank noticed the look in his eyes. His face, and how that stupid circle blinked every five fucking seconds on his temple.

Hank could see it flashing red every so often, and even though he wanted to know exactly what that was about, he didn't push it. He just had to stick with the simple reminder that the kid just got out of a revolution. One that Hank had ended up watching from home, since that's where Connor had sent him after Belle Isle. After the cyberlife tower. After he had to play that cliché of guessing which one was his Connor. After he had to train his gun at the two of them, almost identical, one being his partner- his friend, the guy that taught him that androids were alive–,
While the other was nothing but a husk. A useless machine that that company used as a last resort, and he ended up wrapped up in it.

Craziest fucking week of his life, and Fowler better cut him some slack for it. This shit would be going down in history, so Hank wasn't expecting to be called in so soon. Yeah sure, they might have a shortage, with all the cops that either got killed, fled to Canada or just up and quit in the mill of it. Not like he could blame him, since he could remember accumulating a thought back before Connor deviated about just simply taking the android and driving off to Canada.

Now, he could definitely see how that would've failed, trackers and all that bullshit. Still though, even before he heard Connor utter to him the words, ‘I deviated,’ it was like it’d already happened.

That thought stayed when he saw Connor standing and waiting for Hank to get out of the car, his hands by his sides for once and not behind his back. It was just… How he looked. Somebody was home. Even when he first met the idiot, at Jimmy’s, the way the android stared at him when he looked into his eyes unnerved him greatly. (Y’know, since he used to be very anti-android leaning, so seeing an android that resembled things he’d rather not speak about just casually smiling at him like that gave him some existential doubts.)

Sighing with a deep breath, Hank pushed open the car door– the cold air feeling like a slap to the face with how it stung, making his skin crawl and his teeth grit.
“How the fuck do you not feel affected by this? Holy shit, it’s like minus a million degrees out here,”

Connor tilted his head, LED swirling yellow for a split second.
“Well… First of all, Lieutenant, I’m an android. I am not as susceptible to weather as human’s are, as all androids are. Especially me in particular, considering it could help aid in investigatio–,”

“Fuck, kid, it was a rhetorical question. Let’s just get inside before my fuckin’ fingers fall off. Also, it’s Hank. How many times am I gonna have to drill that into your head now?” He cut him off, waving a hand as his hand swam around in his thick coat pocket in search of his house keys.

Connor continued to stand awkwardly by the door- staring down at the snow covered pavement. Fuck, Hank definitely had to shovel that soon, didn't he?
He shook that thought off just like the snow as the door creaked open, and he was greeted by quick pitter pattering making it’s way over to him, and a whole bunch of slobber in his face.

“Jesus– Sumo! Down, Sumo! I wasn't gone for that long,” he sighed, glancing at Connor.
“-- He was, though.”

Connor blinked, almost in disbelief or amazement, as he watched Sumo panting, making his way over to him and deciding to jump repeatedly with his paws landing all the way on the androids thighs, Connor letting out what sounded like a laugh of some sort– shutting the door behind him and letting Sumo jump all over him, licking his face and shedding his hair all over him… All that gross shit.

At that moment though, Hank felt like he hadn't a care about it in the world. If he showed this scene to himself about a couple days ago, he frankly just wouldn't believe him. It was fucking insane, though, it really was. It astonished him how he could go from the most anti-android, alcoholic, slacking in-his-job prick ever, to standing over this weirdo who was now sat on his floor, Sumo wagging his tail and barking happily as if he knew what the occasion was.

“Ha– Hank, I think he really likes me,” Connor beamed through his small giggles, his hands buried in Sumo’s fur, trying his best to pet a dog properly. It was honestly quite the sight, but it was endearing nonetheless.
“Oh, you really think so? I had no-o idea.” Hank chided back sarcastically, as he let the coat fall off of him, taking another weight off of his shoulders– physically, and metaphorically.
Hopefully, he'll have a couple days to recover from… Well. The robot revolution the kids back in the day could only dream about– the type of shit that happened in movies…
Plus, the new addition to the house. This weird, evidence-licking, dog loving, detective deviant who was just… Suddenly a part of his life.

It was shocking how fast he got Hank to get his shit together. He hadn't been doing police work that good in a good fucking while, and suddenly he went from the drunkard washout of a man to 'participating in infiltrating the cyberlife tower to assist with the rise of the androids.’

No matter how bad he wanted to crack open a beer to cope with the events of all that shit, he knew that android would be on his back immediately if he even mentioned it. Hell, if he wasn't still on the ground hugging Sumo and getting crushed, he probably already would've somehow read his mind and told him no before Hank could take another step.

Scratching the back of his neck, Hank cleared his throat, lips pressing into a thin line before he spoke.
“So.. Uh. What’s the go plan now, Connor?”

Those big brown eyes diverted from Sumo to look up at Hank, brows furrowing quickly.
“What do you mean? If you are speaking long-term, don't worry about it, I’m sure I will be able to… ‘Get out of your hair’ as human’s may say– soon enough. Perhaps New Jericho would take me after this… Dies down.”

That opened an entirely new discussion, one Hank had previously forgotten to ask about.
“Oh yeah. Right. I was gonna ask about that actually, uh..” Hank hummed, slowly waltzing over to take a seat on his couch, Connor standing up from the floor and following close behind, Sumo alongside him.

“-Why aren't you stayin’ with them? I mean, wouldn't that make more sense? You helped them out with the revolution, and all that… Jazz. They're your people, Connor, even if you said ‘friends’ was a stretch,” he inquired absentmindedly, unbuttoning some of the higher up buttons of his shirt, leaning back further into the couch to relax.

Connor paused, now sitting down– his elbows propping himself up on his knees, his head down and his LED flickering that strawberry looking red again. Despite what the light was telling him, Connor waved his hand.
“- Markus has a lot to deal with. I wouldn't want to… Impede, on that. After all, there are a lot of androids on edge at the moment and I feel them sticking with their… More original groups will grant a better sense of security.”

Hank immediately knew that was bullshit. He always tried to pull that stunt, in which he started speaking like a fucking wikipedia page– to deter Hank from any deeper meaning. So, taking what he could from it, the older man shortened it.
“So to summarize, you feel like you don't belong with ‘em? ‘Cause I promise you that you do. C’mon, you brought– a fuckload of those androids to the demonstration that freed your entire species.”

Connor seemed to blank, but shook his head almost frantically. “No– no, I didn't say that. Of– of course I know that I… It– I just feel…” He paused, looking to the side and stopping, before looking right back at Hank.
“The statistics show that, out of my options, staying here with you seems like the most productively successful one.”

A hearty laugh pushed out of the lieutenant’s stomach, as he folded his arms across it shortly after.
“Me? Productively successful? Shiit, things really do change,” he joked, hoping to detour the conversation– his eyes trained on that LED ever since he’d hugged the android at the Chicken Feed.

Another string of silence hung over them, before Connor broke it.

“I do hope that I’m not… Impeding on.. you, Lieutenant. From the information I’ve gathered on past interactions, I fear that sometimes I can be… Irritating,” he explained, as Hank almost choked on air.

“Connor, Connor, you? Impeding?? Son, this house is gonna feel like rehab for the next… However long,” he snickered, scratching at his beard. “- In– the positive sense, by the way. Don't read into that, Connor. You gotta stop that.”

He only blinked, something between a frown and a mouth tilt of confusion shrouding his face. “... Duly noted.”

…

..

They’d spent probably around a whole half an hour sitting on that couch, Connor constantly petting sumo while Hank interrupted with short questions every now and again, trying to keep something going. He got that this was probably…
A lot, for Connor. Deviant-hunter to confused-and-traumatized deviant in the span of a couple days probably wasn't fun for him at the minute. At least, one thing he did know how to handle, was that existential dread that would probably hit him. To be completely honest, he was already preparing the dialogue in his head for the questions that Connor would probably start asking soon– Hank already familiar with the curious nature. He was just waiting for the questions to be asked, hunched over patiently.

It was probably about eleven in the morning, and still radio silence from the DPD. Which, he couldn't tell was good or bad. Shrugging it off though, Hank knew he did definitely have more pressing matters at hand. Like the android living in his house, now. It wasn't like he had anywhere else to go.

Back after they’d hugged, Connor had actually tried to justify him being homeless. With full confidence too, trying to use everything he could. Hank also knew there was a real reason he wasn't with the Jericho club at the minute, with Markus and co.
He was still a damn good cop, and all those years of investigation made that obvious.
He wouldn't press on all that shit now, though. His top priority was to just… Help this guy get some rest. Or something. Even though Connor seemed allergic to that, considering how– even now, he was tiss-tossing that coin in between his hands like a madman.

Hank still couldn't understand those tricks. Even after he took that coin himself for a try at the stratford tower, he was no good.
…
He probably still had that coin in a pocket or whatever somewhere, so he mentally noted that he should probably return that.

Staring over at the android, he’d at least kicked his shoes off– and was now curled up on the couch with sumo– cheek pressed against the large saint Bernard like he was a pillow. He probably needed a fucking pillow, him almost getting killed everyday for a week straight before he was even fully conscious. There was nothing Hank appreciated more than a good snooze after a hard time, and hopefully androids were the same– even though Connor had already informed him a total of about twenty two times that androids, ‘don't sleep, they only fall into a state of stasis,’ or whatever.
Same fucking thing in his brain. Rest is rest, blue blood or not.

And so, that was his next plan. Just to get his room ready for Connor to sleep in tonight.
Did androids even ever sleep in beds? Hank had never even seen Connor laying down unless it was for combat reasons, or he was pushed, which was pretty fucking insane. So whether it was a bullshit ‘non-necessity’ or not, Hank wasn't accepting no as an answer to this.

Besides… Having him just… Standing there somewhere would be creepy as all hell, and he wasn't in for that.

So, getting up with little struggle, Hank trudged all the way over to his room– flicking on the lightswitches as he made his way through the house– and as far as he knew, Connor was still having the time of his life on the couch with that damn dog. Which gave him the opportunity to start fixing up the room a little without Connor asking any questions yet. ‘Cause if he did, he’d probably do everything in his power to ‘avoid invading his space’ or… Whatever he was afraid of.

He only had to push some empty glasses aside, as well as tidying some of the loose shit on his floor– like records, Sumo’s toys, all that kinda jazz. He felt a pang of shame course through him as he started to move things around, gathering the old bottles and fixing up the bed…
He got it looking halfway decent– at least, enough to the point where Connor wouldn't start picking everything apart and analyzing to the point where Hank would think that little robot brain would fry itself. An accomplishment to him, at least– and it was honestly the cleanest his room had looked in a very, very long fucking time.

And so he breathed out, a single hand buried in the warmth of his jeans pocket as he made his way back into the living room– not surprised to see Sumo completely on top of the android, – or well, on his lap as Connor was sat on the couch, but Sumo was way too fucking big for that, so it just looked like the kid was being crushed.
The sight brought up a laugh that bubbled from his throat, a feeling he forgot even existed. That stupid ‘droid looked so happy, for the first time ever; and it wasn't because he won equal rights. No, it was because of a dog. An eight year old, probably overweight, gargantuan sloppy dog.

That smile on his face reminded him of the smile he used to see on Cole’s face. The way his nose scrunched up and his eyes squeezed shut, Hank swore that– this is what Cole would've looked like, if he were still around.
Of course, Hank still felt that hole in his chest. Nothing could replace what he lost, and nothing could change the fact he’d never get to relive those memories with his boy.

But what kept him going now, was the fact that he could make new memories. That weird robot on that couch with his dog managed to pull at his heartstrings before even deviating, and even though Connor gave a quick explanation of when exactly he deviated, (at Jericho with the android Jesus, apparently) he didn't give many details. Which had his nerves through the roof anyway, considering, well, Connor was in there when Hank watched it get blown to smithereens on the news.

To put the long story short, he and Connor needed to have a long conversation soon.
It could wait another day, though, because judging by the wonky movements and long blinks, Hank could tell Connor was at the very least, a little tired. A little would be a huge understatement anyway. So much shit just went down– and now they were just… Here.

And so, whether how he was acting was just a deviancy thing or not, Hank was planning to get Connor into bed, and asleep. Or– the android equivalent to it. That ‘stasis,’ shit. Connor needed it, Hank could just tell. So if he tried to pull that, ‘I am functioning at full capacity, Lieutenant,’ bullshit– Hank wasn't buying it.

“Hey Connor,” he called, watching the android look up at him– surprised, out of his previous content state. “--I think it’s about damn time you get your ass off to bed.” He stated, rather flatly, as Connor’s LED spun back to that bright yellow.

“... It’s just about twelve in the afternoon, lieutenant. Besides, androids don't necessarily need to ‘go to bed,’ considering–,”

Hank groaned, rubbing his face with his free hand idly. “Fucks sake Connor, just c’mon. Frankly, I don't give a fuck what time it is. You and the fuckin’ Jericrew spent the past– fuckin’, hot minute on that revolution– and uh, you're clearly out of it. You're a deviant now and I heard that gettin’ tired is definitely somethin’ that happens, so uh…”
He trailed off, only now realizing how much he spoke– Connor blinking at him, expressionless.

“-- Just… Just at least lay on the bed, or something. And you gotta get outta that fuckin’ uniform. That shit’s not flying anymore, I’ll grab you somethin’ from my closet. No guarantees that it’ll be fantastic though.” He admitted, slowly turning around to go back in the direction of his room.

“-- And for the last time, it’s Hank, Connor. Jesus, I hope you break that habit soon, for the good of my own health… Gonna be feelin’ like I’m working a case twenty four seven if you keep callin’ me that.”

Connor’s expression shifted as he managed to get Sumo off of him, (reluctantly so) fiddling with the sleeves of his old cyberlife uniform.
“... Sorry, Hank.”
A quick statement, letting the lieutenant know that he wasn't feeling like putting up much of a fight, even if Hank’s logic didn't match his own.

The pair continued to walk into Hank’s room in silence, a very mutual silence. Surprisingly though, it wasn't awkward. Connor just simply sat himself on the edge of Hank’s bed, doing all of his analysis shit silently instead of out loud for once. Hank didn't know if that was a good or bad thing. At least– now though, Connor would be able to wear something of decent enough comfort instead of that tailored to perfect business casual android suit.

Opening drawers and flicking through different articles of hung up clothing, Hank eventually landed on a pretty basic pair of sweats and an old band T-shirt that he hoped would fit Connor well enough. Even if it didn't, it wasn't like he’d be getting around, anyway. He’d just be in bed. Relaxing. Doing whatever androids do to relax. Something they were all only discovering how to do now…
Fuck, this world’s messed up.

“Hey uh… You can change into these, I know it’s not– perfect but, look– what else can I do..” Hank sighed, placing the shirt with the sweats on the bed near the android, who stared up at Hank– looking strangely lost.
“... Okay.” Connor simply complied, nodding his head. It looked like he had a bunch of questions on his mind– and so did Hank, but all that could wait until tomorrow. This was way too much shit to deal with, and they both needed to sleep. Or even just relax.

“... If you're lost for anythin’ to do and you can't sleep by the way, just uh… Go read a book. Talk to Sumo. Uh… Listen to music. Quietly, though, if I end up asleep. This old man’s about to fall face first into his grave if he doesn't get some damn shut eye…” Hank murmured, but before he could exit the room– Connor’s voice made him pause in the action.

“... Why am I in here? Shouldn't you be sleeping in your own room? I could easily take the couch, I’m sure it would be more efficient in both of our cases if I…”
Connor ended up trailing off, seeing how Hank’s smile turned into a frown halfway through his protest.
“... Okay.”

Hank’s smile came back, as he waved the android off.
“Yeah yeah… We’ll be talkin’ tomorrow, Connor. Spend today and tonight gettin’ a well deserved fuckin’ break.”

Chapter Text

…
MODEL: RK800
SERIAL #: 313 - 248 - 317 - 52

! MINOR DAMAGE TO BIOCOMPONENT #5578v

INITIALIZING BIOSENORS… OK

INITIALIZING AI ENGINE …

…

3RROR,, - CLASS 4 ANOMALY DETECTED ! &&:/

CONTA // Ct CYBERL11FE ?
Y/ N ///

/NNN

….

…..

He knew it wasn't right to wake up like this. Red warnings blaring in his eyes, interrupting a well-earned stasis, at least, in his opinion. Connor was unsure if the ‘class four error’ his systems were detecting was just his deviancy, or something else. If it were something else, however, he would've noticed by now. He was fully aware of the damage he’d sustained in his shoulder from the bullet he’d caught back in the Cyberlife tower, though that was only mild damage. His self-repair systems would handle that fully in a couple days, and it only caused…
Minor discomfort.

Aside from his systems spamming him with warning messages he always swiped past, he soon remembered where exactly he was– and discovered the true reason he didn't feel quite correct waking up. That would be because he wasn't in his usual, straighten up posture and well composed stasis– instead, he was covered in a comforter that he could recognize all sorts of residue on– that stemmed from mild traces of ethanol to traces of lactic acid, H2O, minerals and urea.
Or just to put it simply– alcohol, and human sweat. Likely old, but it was very easy to remember where he was with that information without having to skim through memory files. The memory files that for some reason felt oddly lagged, or delayed. Glitched in a way that didn't make any logical or rational sense.

…
Then again, things haven't been very logical or rational for a while now. Not ever since that night on the bridge, really. Even back in the Eden club, he knew something was wrong. Even though he tried to deny it.

Lieutenant Anderson’s bed, in the silence, aside from the shuffling he created as he moved to sit up– regretting that quickly, feeling something wet at his shoulder– warm fluid dripping down from the damage he’d gotten. Thirium, obviously. What he panicked about though, was the fact that it had ended up leaking through the hoodie Hank had thrown at him last night, and a small amount had ended up on the blankets.

LED spinning yellow so deeply it was more so closer to orange, Connor huffed in disgust, and in disappointment. Of himself. Hank was so generous, to allow him to sleep here, despite the fact that the Lieutenant needed it much more, especially when you looked at his health. Scans became a habit, even before getting close to deviating, always excusing it as just trying to keep up the greater chances of completing the investigation. He was getting… Well… Old. Putting together his age, his stature, workload, physical exertion and definitely with his alcoholism mixed with his rather poor diet, Hank would benefit a lot more than Connor by sleeping in bed. The mattress, as he’d deducted, seemed to be in good enough condition– not too old, but not exactly brand new. Stable enough to provide the right amount of physical comfort–

He shook his head. These deductions were quite pointless, weren't they? What mattered was that he got thirium on Hank’s bed, and thirium was not easy to get out of fabric. He learned this a lot earlier, during his first few activations. Getting sidetracked wouldn't help get the thirium out.

Even though thirium evaporated after a few hours, and even though it was no longer visible to the naked eye, Connor could still see it. He didn't want to be messy, it was one of his least favorite things. Especially if it was ruining Hank's bed. It was obvious Lieutenant Anderson prioritised and loved his space and his comfort, ruining it like this felt so wrong.

He still felt so wrong. He wasn't even used to feeling at all. It used to be just the mission. Then he was assigned to work with Hank. Then it was Hank and the mission. Overtime he felt that Hank had become more important than the mission–, constantly compromising the investigation and the case if it benefited Hank, or his relationship with Hank. For reasons still unknown. It was probably just the way he spoke to him at the bridge that night.

Something he still though about regularly, the memory constantly looping back into his mind at random times completely unprompted, alongside other disturbing moments–
Maybe it was just a deviancy thing. Just a deviancy thing. Something he found himself repeating a lot inside his mind.

Before he could fully pull the covers off of him, the door creaked open– something that wasn't anticipated. The android froze, one hand gripping the blanket, with the other hand pressing down on the damaged area of his shoulder–, in an attempt to hide the blue blood that was already starting to stain his fingertips.

“Hey Connor.”
A simple greeting, that left him wondering.
He had to stop over-analysing. He was previously under the impression deviancy would make him lazy, make him avoid analytics– but ever since that red hot grid shattered to pieces at his command, he couldn't stop looking into everything, even the smallest grains. It was tiring. At least that's what he’d concluded for now.

“Hi… Hank.”

The words, ‘Good morning, Lieutenant,’ danced on the tip of his tongue– just a routine thing. Every time they met up, that’s usually how the greeting would go. There’d be no questions. No deep, existential thoughts. No over analysing. Only focusing on solving the puzzles that were left behind from runaway deviants, and working with Hank. Back when Hank didn't seem to worry about him.

Would it be very machine-like, or, non-deviant like to perhaps mourn times like those?
He did regret hunting the other androids. He did regret it. But it was still easier than… This. Back before deviancy, when he was still with the belief that an android’s fear was just a few wonky lines of code, he thought it ridiculous that they were so jumpy. So afraid in general. His Cyberlife-implanted belief system led him to believe it was pointless that they were so scared, since 'they were just machines.’

Ever since deviating, though, fear felt like the default. Like, at any moment, something would go wrong. Even in simple interactions like this. It felt like, at any moment, Hank would discover the blue blood stains and he’d lose it. Even though all the preconstructions showed him that Hank either wouldn't notice, or he’d be slightly sympathetic. He didn't get it.

“So uh… Good sleep I guess, sleeping beauty?”

“Androids don't sleep, like I’ve said before. It’s merely stasis.”

“And that stasis is supposed to last two days?”

That’s when Connor shot up, disregarding how worried he was about Hank catching onto the blue blood– that he probably wouldn't notice anyway, taking into account how dark the room was.
“Excuse me?”

Hank pressed his lips into a thin line, leaning against the doorframe, fully dressed and in his coat– some snow still littering the clothing like sprinkles. Suggesting it was still actively snowing out, and Hank had probably just gotten back in from being outside.

“You heard me. One thing, I’m lending you somethin’ to actually sleep in, and the next, I peek back in and you're out like a light, kid. Didn't feel like waking ya’. Well uh… I didn't actually know what to do,” he stammered, looking away–, something Connor knew was associated with embarrassment or shame.

“- Y’know, I’m no android expert. Not a fuckin’ clue how long you guys are supposed to sleep for, so I just let you. I was checking your little blinker–”

“-My LED,”

“-- to make sure you were still kickin’, but Jesus, Connor, revolution must've got you tired, huh?”

Leaving Hank’s question unanswered, Connor immediately checked the time internally, to see that he was right. It had been exactly forty nine hours, fifty two minutes and three seconds since he fell into stasis, and it didn't help that he was still actively bleeding. The damage probably prolonged the stasis in itself in order for his self-repair program to operate at its best functionality.
Which was… Irritating. He wanted to get things done. The moment he’d walked into the house, he’d run a couple of scans– just to see what needed to be done. Some extensive cleaning was on his list, as well as reorganising some of the shelves, and then restocking the fridge with food that would actually be good for Hank.

… With his permission, of course. Half permission.
He’d inform him before he did so.

“Well…” Connor began, adjusting the way he sat to ensure that Hank wouldn't notice the blue blood, or the way his LED flicked between red and yellow like a stoplight.
“Regularly, androids are supposed to enter stasis for five hours a day to function at maximum capacity. Of course this rule depends on the type of android, and other environmental factors, however that is just the case for the vast majority.”
It was far easier to just answer normal questions like that. Ones he knew the answers to.
Questions in which he didn't have to beat around the bush about.

“-- For androids that may be a part of the general workforce, such as retail or security, there's most of the time ‘shifts,’ just like real people. Companies often have stations for androids to go into stasis when not in use, and they’d get switched between depending on performance factors– I suppose.”

Hank breathed out, shaking his head– and then Connor identified that he may be feeling put down at that answer.

“So they just force you all to work until you drop, throw ‘ya in a box or somethin’ until you're ‘well rested’ enough, and then throw you back out again?” He asked, and Connor was unsure if the question was rhetorical or not, so he lacked a response– turning his head further away.

“I think I actually saw that happening at the station, y’know. With the police ‘droids. Officers would take them out of their little… Standing box when they needed ‘em. It creeped me the fuck out to see them just... standin’ there like that.”
A frown formed on the lieutenant’s face, as he unfolded his arms and started making his way to sit at the edge of the bed, Connor backing up further to avoid being seen, only now noticing how the light was shining in through the tiny gaps in the curtains. According to his clock, it was just about 1:36PM.

He was never lazing around at this time in the past. Before, he could never even process the thought of being comfortable. In a comfortable bed– in a comfortable house. Maybe this was just one of those stasis moments, in which his memory files would overlap. Where the information he kept as priority would get scrambled, and he’d live through them again. Most times they were warped. Scenes would play out differently. He’d say different things, make different choices.

He didn't understand it, but he felt this was too good to be real life. What he didn't get truly, was that Hank had always treated him like a person. Even back when he hated him. Despite the few remarks he had made during their very first meetings, it changed very fast. Hank had even discreetly implied he didn't want Connor to get killed, when they discussed the highway incident regarding that case with the AX400.

He’d discovered her name was Kara. He saw her at Jericho. He hoped she got to where she needed to be.

“... Hey Connor,” Hank said– his tone of voice showing lingering curiosity.
Without a verbal response, the android blinked, tilting his head to the side to assure Hank he was listening.

“What’d you do whenever you weren't with me? Y’know, when you’d… Have to ‘Recall back to Cyberlife,’ or something. Did you stand in a corner for hours too?”

For some irrational reason, it felt as though his thirium pump was squeezed when he heard the words leave the lieutenant's mouth. Everything on the inside felt suddenly hot and sore– his artificial lungs functioning at approximately a sudden 1.5% faster than usual.

^^ STRESS LEVELS: 24%

That was weird. What was there to be stressed about? It was surely all in the past now. It wasn't even relevant anymore. Surely Cyberlife would get taken down, by Markus or something. Connor saw no logic in keeping the company thriving, considering the entire revolution.

“It’s… It’s unimportant, Hank. Don't worry about it.”

Hank however, didn't seem so convinced at the rebuttal. The old man swayed in his place beside the bed, with his arms crossed, the sprinkles of the snow that stuck to his hair and clothes only serving to bring Connor back to the garden–, the wasteland of blizzard, poles of light emitting such a false hope that only scared him even more. What if he thought about it too hard, and accidentally brought himself back? What if he accidentally reopened the… The code, or something? What if Amanda took back control, and hurt somebody else? Ruined everything they’d tried so hard for? Just like that, with the snap of her fingers.

He knew she could. He knew that if Cyberlife were able to take back that control that maybe even Hank could end up dead, because Connor knew Hank would try to do something about it– because that's what he always did, he always tried to do something but humans were fragile machines and they didn't come back–,

“Connor?”

Blinking about six times in the space of three seconds, Connor shook his head– trying to put a smile back on his face. Hank didn't need to worry about that. Connor’d deal with it in his own time. Maybe – maybe he needed to stay away. Not just from Jericho, like that android had said– but everyone. It was probably for the better, he didn't want to put anybody in danger. That was the one thing he didn't want to do. And it was what he was made for. It made him sick.

“Yes– yes, Hank? Sorry I– I didn't quite…Uh…”

Now, he was even more aware of the situation– and now because of the position he’d mistakenly adjusted himself into– Hank could see the pulsing ruby red LED flickering like a siren. The stuttering was even worse. Connor had never stuttered before. He always knew what words were going to come out and how he would say them. He wasn't supposed to stutter.

“What’s up? Did I – uh, ask a… Personal question, as you’d so.. merrily phrase it…?” Hank muttered, shuffling a little closer– finally fully sat on the very edge of the bed, scratching his neck.
“You… You alright, Connor? Your uh– … LED… Is– all red and– I know that’s definitely not good, uh..”

^^ STRESS LEVELS: 57%
RISING RAPIDLY, TRANSFER TO SAFER ENVIRONMENT TO ALLEVIATE.

“It wasn't… Well…” He paused, recalling back to the actual question itself. It hadn't been personal. At least, Hank didn't intend for it to be. He didn't know, there was no way he could've known. He was just being leased to the DPD from Cyberlife for some more ‘field testing.’ Connor knew it wasn't ‘field testing,’ now. Amanda and the Cyberlife staff kept saying different things, regarding deviancy. Amanda said his defiance was planned. That they’d engineered a revolution. Yet, she always pulled him toward mechanical choices. What was the actual goal? It was bewildering.

He could remember when he’d be called back, usually at night after a case. Sometimes Hank would take him to random places in the car. Connor preferred those nights, where he’d just sit there and take in the blasting music from the speakers, drowning out the troubling worries of displeasing Amanda, or possibly deviating. Even though a lot of the time, Hank would be in a drunken state, one time even unresponsive, but those nights were his favourites compared to the nights in which Cyberlife would request his presence at the tower, and he’d have to go through scanners, and checklists, and updates– reports. Then they would, in fact, force him to stand in a corner all alone during stasis. Even after he’d awaken, he wouldn't be sent back out unless there was a case update, or the DPD called.

Hank would take him to the Chicken Feed for lunch, until later on– when Gary, the owner, packed up to flee to Canada right before everything truly kicked off. Then, Hank took him to the bridge.
The first time was unpleasant. Hank pointed his gun at him, questioning him thoroughly. Likely attempting to check if he were deviant or not, the night of the Eden club. Connor had learned he was afraid of death.
He didn't want to die. He couldn't say that directly, but there was a spark that irritated his regulator, his choice of words upsetting Amanda, even though she’d only vaguely mentioned the event.

He could remember that they wouldn't let him calibrate- with his coin. He found it so irritating. He didn't know that at the time, though. Under the impression that anything he’d felt emotionally were just signs of software instability. Errors, that could be corrected with discipline, punishment. Not normal punishment. Just the look in Amanda’s eyes whenever he’d make a choice that disappointed her, the way the air in the garden would shift to something crisp, the warmth disappearing so fast. The way she felt distant, and the rumbles of unstable weather rocking the waters that were once so calm.

Even now, he wondered what the garden would feel like completely sunny. Amanda’s smile. He wondered what it’d feel like, if she ever smiled at him. Would it feel the same as it does when Hank smiles at him?
He isn't sure if he blames himself for deviating. Amanda only smiled when he did something that hurt his chest. Whenever Hank would smile, there'd be a gleam in his eyes that didn't come from environmental light. Only warmth.

“I don't want to answer that question. I apologize.”

^^ STRESS LEVELS: 76%
DANGEROUSLY RISING, TRANSFER TO SAFER ENVIRONMENT OR CONTACT CYBERLIFE.

He didn't need to contact Cyberlife. He didn’t want to, never again. The Connor they had sent to ‘deal with him’ pointed a gun at Hank’s head, and would’ve definitely shot him if Connor hadn't obeyed in disconnecting from the AP700.

Hank nodded in understanding, something that surprised Connor. Remembering he could voice opinions now was something he was still unfamiliar with. In the past, if he’d even mentioned that he ‘liked’ something that wasn't just said to persuade a human for the investigation, or to test his social relations programs, he’d have been corrected immediately.

“... I-Is that your blood, Connor?”

He’d forgotten about that. Why did he forget? He’s an android, he’s not supposed to forget– his missions are always right in front of him, and– not letting Hank notice was a part of that ongoing person mission.

Suddenly, alert of everything, he tried to deny it– to tell Hank he must be seeing things, but it was pretty obvious, in the end. There wasn't any getting around it, and now Hank was going to panic. And it was his fault. He should’ve told him earlier.

“Holy shit! Uh– oh– oh fuck, why’re you bleeding?! I – fuck, I saw you get shot in the shoulder last night by that douchebag pretendin’ to be you but, you– shit, kid, you said it’d be fine in an hour or two! What’s all this?! Damn that’s a lot of android blood– FUCK there’s no human technician in the damn country that wants to see an android right now, least not one I can find– oh jesus, Connor, why can't you just tell me when somethin’s wrong?! I can't lose you yet, you just fucking got here!!”

“It’ll be fine, Lieutenant– please, stop panicking. Repairs are just taking slightly longer than anticipated,”

“‘Longer than anticipated’ my ASS! You're– you're bleeding everywhere! I– Jesus christ,”

Tugging away the blanket, Hank huffed, standing and rushing to the side of the bed Connor was at, getting a closer look at the dark blue that bled through the sheets, and the hoodie that Hank had given him. His fingertips and the palms of his hands were covered too, and the cobalt blue paired with the blaring red of the LED was a poor combination.

“Shit… Shit… You're— You're not in imminent danger or nothing, right?”

Connor swallowed, blinking back at the man, each blink longer than the last. The frown on his face grew larger with every millisecond.

“No. That’s what I’ve been telling you.” Connor spoke, barely even a whisper– his voice lower than the ground beneath him.
“- It’s just a bit of thirium. I’m sorry for getting it on your clothes and your sheets. I didn't… Anticipate that. Rest assured, thirium evaporates after a few hours, so at least you won't have to see it– it’s– it is hard to get out of fabric, but I’m sure I’ll find a way to-,”

“That’s not the point here, Con. C’mon, sit up– uh– can you sit up?”

The android nodded, but not without an eyebrow raised. “Why?”

Hank seemed to take a pause, pressing his lip into one thin line as he watched Connor move, with watchful eyes that Connor couldn't pinpoint the exact emotion of. Getting up was harder than he thought, a lot of his motor functions impaired due to the loss of thirium. With every movement, it didn't help that he felt heavy bubbles of the heated chemical pour out of the wound– and down his side, or feel how the fabric of the hoodie clung to him as the stickiness prevented the damage from being completely uncovered.
It was so uncomfortable. He was unaware that deviancy could bring on all of these new terrible physical feelings.

Before, he could feel pain, despite ensuring he couldn't. That’s because no android that wasn't a deviant could feel pain. It felt like keeping that one small thing a secret would be better for everybody involved, and maybe even lead to better safety on his part. Some humans only hurt so the other experiences pain, because they're horrible creatures.
So simply just pretending he didn't feel anything was easier. He pretended all day every day anyway, so it was easy. Especially when he was used to it. It wasn't typical pain, however. A shot in the shoulder wouldn't be as bad for him as it would be for someone like Hank.
A human.
He felt the thirium lines tear apart, and the hot pierce of the bullet stabbing through the plastasteel, how the circuits overworked and heated the area, and how his self-repair systems activated almost immediately, making it burn even more.

Now, it felt like a dull ache. A buzz, if you could call it that. Though being covered in your own blood isn't nice, human or android.

“Does it hurt?”
The words vibrated in his audio processors, for reasons unknown.

“No. Androids don't .. feel pain..”

Hank shook his head, with furrowed eyebrows. Connor noticed that he kind of resembled a Bouvier des Flandres. The dog breed. The way his hair was, and how the wrinkles in his skin formed its shape. Connor liked dogs. That wasn't something he’d made up because of the social relations program. He really did like them. He wondered if Sumo could join them, if Hank was going to do what Connor thought he’d do. Sumo would make this easier. Maybe Connor should start a Sumo centric photograph album.

⇊ STRESS LEVELS: 34%
STABILISING. . .

“Look, Connor… Hate to be that guy, but can't deviants feel pain? I mean– did you see them? How they reacted to gettin’ hurt? Even if… If you can't feel it, it still probably doesn't… Feel very nice. I mean–, shit, it’s a fucking bullet hole. Obviously it’s not gonna be nice. How about uh… You guide me through… Helping patch this up…?”

The android’s LED, for the first time since Hank entered the room for the first time, spun from red to a slow orange that eventually led into yellow. Maybe this would be better. Logically, Connor knew it would be. It would improve the mess, so he wouldn't dirty Hank’s possessions. It would improve how he felt, even though he knew the process was not very pleasant. He also knew Hank would sleep better, knowing that Connor was completely stable. (Or, as stable as he could be.)

… But he didn't want to bother Hank. He didn't want to stress him out further. Surely, the stress mixed with his heinous dietary habits could not be good for his heart.

“... Okay. Okay.”

Weighing the pros and cons, this one ended up winning. And so despite his reluctance and hesitation, Connor agreed.

Sitting up, and sitting on the edge of his bed with his feet on the floor now after laying for so long was disorienting. He was made to always be standing, the same with most androids. It almost felt like his head was spinning, but that was irrational. Irrational and stupid.

The android drew in a heavy breath, knowing that this wasn't going to be very easy. Did Hank even have any resources that could be used?