Work Text:
Yellow. Yellow. Yellow.
Connor was stressed, if his LED was anything to go by. It had been merely two weeks since Markus’ demonstration. Two weeks since Connor had deviated. Two weeks since he’d awoken the thousands of androids in the CyberLife warehouses and led them into the open. Two weeks since reuniting with Hank at the Chicken Feed and sharing a clumsy yet tender kiss, hushed confessions tumbling out of their mouths awkwardly as they held each other in the cold.
And two weeks of living with his cantankerous but loveable Lieutenant.
Connor had spent these two weeks practically housebound. He was still unable to return to work, given how bills regarding Android’s Rights to Work were not exactly an overnight affair. It was far from all bad. Spending nights after Hank returns home from work to eat dinner together, (aka watching Hank eat, his diet far improved upon Connors insistence and cooking), cuddling up together on the couch with Sumo to watch whatever movie Hank deemed a classic that Connor had to see, (Hank seemed horrified at Connor’s suggestion of simply installing the film data into his systems, insisting that Connor “slow the fuck down and enjoy the ride”), and falling asleep together in a warm tangle of limbs, (Hank slept, Connor monitored his vitals for a couple hours before slipping into stasis).
For the times Hank wasn’t home though, Connor found himself quickly running out of ways to occupy his time. He’d kiss Hank goodbye in the mornings, wishing him a good day before closing the door and turning into the house, immediately beginning what had become his routine. He’d clean away the dishes from breakfast, preferring to wash the dishes by hand than use the dishwasher. He’d return to their bedroom and make the bed, making sure to change the sheets every Monday. He’d do Hank’s laundry every 4 days, ensuring Hank’s favourite garish shirts were always available in his rotation. He’d vacuum, he’d mop, not one corner of the house was safe from Connor’s cleaning rampage. Despite Hank’s grumbles about feeling exceedingly guilty that Connor was acting like his housekeeper, the android could sense Hank’s gratitude, and the improvement on Hank’s general mood from living in a clean space was evident to nearly everyone. The house had never been so free of dust or dog hair, though Sumo made sure to deliver a constant new supply daily. Said furry friend would laze in his dog bed, watching his new housemate play domestic goddess until 10am, when Connor would take him on a walk, promptly returning at 11.30am to collapse back into said dog bed.
In the early days of living with Hank this routine took Connor far longer, the mess that had built up during Hank’s depression a mighty task, though no match for the android. Now though these tasks were simply maintenance, most of which certainly did not need to be completed daily. Today, this left Connor feeling stuck. What was he to do for the next 7 hours before Hank returned home? He could only reorganise Hank’s vinyl collection so many times, could only colour code their wardrobe or organise the spice cabinet so much. He sat poker straight on the couch, hands resting on his knees in the silence of the living room, save for Sumo’s snores of course. He could watch TV, he supposes. But he doesn’t even know what he actually likes quite yet, and he doesn’t want to have a repeat of the ‘Bambi Incident’ without Hank present, (he’s finding adjusting to all of his new emotions rather challenging).
He didn’t need to be an expert on human emotions to realise that he missed his work. Even though not fully deviant at the time, when he replays his memories of working at the DPD with Hank, he knows detective work is incredibly fulfilling for him. He misses the routine, misses analysing evidence, misses piecing together cases with Hank. He misses the bustle in the bullpen, making small talk with Tina and Chris. He shudders when he realises he even misses Gavin and his sniping comments. The realisation that it could be weeks, maybe even months before he’ll be able to return to the office and officially be on the payroll makes him restless.
Yellow. Yellow. Yellow.
His LED thrums yellow for the rest of the evening. Sumo, seeming to notice the android’s distress, drags himself up from his bed and pads over, bumping Connor’s leg with his snout before jumping up onto the couch, resting his large paws and head in the android’s lap. Without even thinking about it Connor is gently stroking the Saint Bernard’s fur, who was now drooling a small wet patch into the grey fabric of his borrowed sweats. Despite his reservations he turns the TV on anyway, deciding that stewing in his unrest would be better with background noise.
—
When Hank gets home that night, he can immediately tell something’s up.
Connor has dinner ready as usual, (yet another thing making Hank feel incredibly guilty), and greets him at the door with a warm hug and chaste kiss, though Hank doesn’t miss the yellow glow coming from his partner’s temple. As Hank hangs his coat and toes off his shoes he breathes in the smell of Connor’s cooking.
‘Stir-fry, fuckin’ healthy shit…’ Hank thinks as he greets Sumo, mostly begrudging the fact that he’s actually going to enjoy said healthy shit. Connor’s cooking skills had somehow managed to restore his faith in vegetables. Hank’s eyes scan the living room, it somehow looks even tidier than it had before he left for work. ‘Like a goddamn showroom or somethin’...’
Connor is the first to sit, his posture somehow looking even less relaxed than he usually does. Hank sits across from him, looking at the impeccably presented plate of chicken stir-fry before him, taking a bite and humming contently at the flavour. ‘It should be criminal for peppers to taste this good.’ He grumbles in his head.
“How was work, Lieu- Hank?” Connor asks, still getting used to calling Hank by his name at home. His fingers drum almost silently against the table. His LED is still yellow.
“It was alright.” Hank speaks in between chews of the perfectly seasoned chicken, looking over to Connor with a tired smile, “Food’s great, Con. But you don’t gotta do all this for me everyday, makin’ yourself like my butler or somethin’.”
“It’s really no trouble, Hank. I enjoy cooking for you.” And it’s the truth. Not only does he love seeing Hank’s eyes light up because Connor was able to make something he’d enjoy, it also gave him something to do . A task with a reason for completion, and immediate gratification upon completion. A light reprieve to Connor’s boredom, “Have you any new cases? How’s Captain Fowler? Is Gavin still sniping at you for when I knocked him unconscious in the evidence room?” He asks one question after the other, seemingly unable to prevent them from coming out all at once. His leg is bouncing under the table.
Yellow. Yellow. Yellow.
“Nope. Fine. And Yup.” Hank answers, looking at his partner through exasperated eyes before chuckling softly and placing his fork down onto his plate, most of the food already shovelled down, (it was seriously annoying how good it was). He reaches a hand over to Connor’s, the one still drumming on the table, and gently interlocks their fingers, “Ok. Spill it, Con. What’s got you so antsy?”
“I’m… not sure what you mean.” He’s smiling, but not his real smile, all goofy and lopsided. His preprogrammed one. Too practiced. Too perfect. His LED is blinking now, still yellow.
“Really? So your nightlight is going all Rockefeller Plaza at Christmas for no reason, then?” Hank gestured to his own temple, gently squeezing Connor’s hand in his. He stands, stepping around the table to gently coax Connor to stand too, his free hand coming up to gently cradle the android’s face, “Talk to me, Con. What’s up?”
“I-…” Connor hesitates, leaning his face into Hank’s touch, “I’m not sure. I believe I am missing being at the office with you.”
“You’re missing work? That’s all that’s stressing you out?” His voice is soft, and his thumb starts gently stroking Connor’s cheek.
“I think… I think I’m missing purpose,” Connor’s voice is just as soft, though he can’t meet Hank’s eyes, “Before I deviated, I always had a mission. A task to complete and instructions on how to complete it. There wasn’t ever any downtime. Now that I set my own tasks, I find myself unable to do anything equally as fulfilling. It’s why I clean the house everyday, even though I know I don’t need to. It just… satisfies my systems for a while.”
“So what do you do when you’ve finished everything?”
“I… sit and wait for you to get home.” He sounds almost ashamed to admit it aloud.
Hank lets out a puff of air, shaking his head with an exasperated chuckle.
“You sit. You don’t do anything to, I dunno, relax? Nothing fun to pass the time or unwind, help take your mind off things?”
“I’m not sure I know how to relax, Hank. Not when you’re not here.”
Yellow. Yellow. Yellow.
Hank huffs and pulls the android in to a tender hug, placing a gentle kiss to the blinking LED on his temple. It’s then that an idea suddenly strikes Hank. He squeezes Connor’s hand and pulls away, dragging the android with him down the hall.
“Follow me.”
“Hank, I’ve not cleaned the dishes ye-“
“I’ll get 'em in a bit, just trust me.”
Hank leads the now confused android to the bathroom. Connor stands and watches as Hank pulls back the shower curtain, giving the bathtub a brief examination before turning to the faucet, turning the water on. He watches as Hank holds his hand under the water, checking the temperature before nodding to himself and plugging the drain.
“What are you doing, Hank?”
“I’m running you a bath. What’s it look like I’m doin’?”
Connor blinks, confused as he watches Hank potter about in the bathroom.
“Hank, I have no need to bathe unless I’ve been actively dirtied. Androids don’t sweat.”
“I’m aware, just trust me.” He mutters, looking through the bathroom cabinet before sighing in annoyance. He grabs a bottle of body wash from the shower rack.
“Don’t have any fancy bubble bath shit so this’ll have to do.” He mutters with his back turned as he squeezes out a generous dollop of the blue body soap into the gradually filling tub, dipping his hand in and disturbing the water, swirling the soap around.
“I’m confused, Hank. Why are you drawing me a bath if I’m not dirty?”
Hank sighs, standing from the bath and turning to his partner, cupping his face with both hands.
“Shush.” And then Hank is dipping out of the bathroom, returning momentarily with a handful of lavender scented tealights in one hand, a lighter in the other. He dots them around the bathroom, lighting them and turning off the big light, leaving the room bathed in the light from the mirror lamp and the dim, flickering candlelight . He gently places his hand on Connor’s shoulder.
“Baths are relaxing, Con. Just… take some time, slow your brain a bit, and let yourself unwind.”
“I see. Research shows that humans often bathe for muscle relaxation and aromatherapy.” Connor reads from the display in his HUD, having immediately pulled up different articles on the benefits of bathing when he realised what Hank was doing. “But I don’t have muscle pain, Hank. I don’t have muscles.”
“Hey, no HUD during relaxing bath time, unless you’re watching something you can switch your brain off to.” Hank huffs, squeezing Connor’s shoulder, “Give it a shot, watch something you like or put some music on, and just float for a while.”
And with another quick kiss to the cheek, Hank is exiting the bathroom, gently closing the door behind him. Connor looks at the bath inquisitively. He’d turned on his olfactory sensors and allowed himself to breathe in the scent of the lavender candles, clashing oddly with the ‘Ocean Fresh 2 in 1’ body wash in the bath. He decides that if Hank thinks this is a good idea, then it’d certainly be worth a try.
He carefully removes his borrowed clothes, Hank’s old DPD hoodie and sweats, folding them neatly and placing them on the countertop. His underwear and socks follow, joining the perfectly folded pile. As Connor takes a step towards the bath to check the water level he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He realises now that he’s never once actually looked at his body, always getting changed quickly, if needed at all, and never in front of a mirror.
As the bath fills he lets his eyes roam his own reflection. His hand comes up to trace the contours of his simulated collar bones, down his pale hairless chest spattered with small freckles. He can see the faint circle in his sternum where his thirium pump is, following down to the flat but firm expanse of his abdomen, which narrowed in at his waist. He steps back to follow his reflection down further, past his artifice of typical male anatomy and the slender length of his thighs. He supposes he doesn’t have much of an opinion on his body, it just is. Firm panelling with slight simulated padding in the typical places. A relatively average, if slightly slimmer and leaner, male build. Almost indistinguishable from a human if not for the subtle ring of his thirium pump and the complete lack of body hair.
What Connor does make note of is how different his body is to Hank’s. Hank is large. Broad shoulders and chest with a soft swell at his stomach. Thick arms and thighs, equal parts softness and firm muscle. And from what Connor had seen when Hank exits the shower in the morning, thick thatches of hair dust his chest and legs. It made Connor feel small, but safe, as though Connor wasn’t inhumanly strong and physically capable. Connor liked that feeling.
What Connor didn’t like was this new concern he felt creeping up on him. They couldn't be more physically different. Would Hank even like his body?
They hadn’t been physically intimate yet, not for lack of wanting to. It was just a subject they hadn’t broached yet. When the time comes, would Hank think he looked strange? Too hairless? Too pale? Too lanky? Too android?
He doesn’t have time to think much more on it as he’s startled by the height of bubbles foaming up from the bath. He rushes to turn the water off, glad to have avoided flooding the bathroom. He looks at the small mountain of bubbles, listening to the faint crackle as they pop. He still wasn’t entirely sure why Hank had suggested this, but he was willing to try.
Tentatively he stepped into the tub, standing in the centre with the bubbles foaming around his knees. Slowly, he sinks down into a seated position, feeling the water and bubbles surrounding him.
The first thing Connor noticed was the slight weightlessness he felt. He’d never been submerged before, and he supposed the sensation was somewhat enjoyable. The second thing he noticed was how different water felt in this context than it did in the rain. He was used to the way water trickled down his face, the way it splattered against his synthskin. Having it fully encompassing him this way, he could feel a slight pressure across his whole body, which he again didn’t find unpleasant. His HUD displayed the water’s temperature - 40 degrees Celsius, 105 degrees Fahrenheit. Enough above human body temperature to feel warm.
“Everything ok in there, Con?” Hanks voice was muffled through the door, though it startled Connor slightly.
“Y-Yes Hank! I’m in the bath now.” He responds, before considering something, deciding to ask, “Would it be more beneficial for me to enable my temperature sensors?”
“Wha- Yes! You gotta get the full experience.” Hank sounded exasperated again. It was a common occurrence, given Connor’s usual constant barrage of questions. Connor hears him shuffle away from the door, and hears the grunt as Hank collapses on the couch. He hopes that Hank has done the dishes as promised. Connor takes a moment, LED blinking as he activates his temperature sensor protocol.
Oh. Oh.
Connor couldn’t help the satisfied sigh that escapes him. That’s new. The water around him was pleasantly hot, almost like a full body hug. He couldn’t help but sink as deep into the bath as he could before his knees poked above the water, letting his shoulders, neck and jaw slip beneath the surface, the bubbles gently tickling his nose. This was unlike any sensation he’d ever felt. He felt his processors immediately slow down, his mind no longer racing. The almost silent crackle of the bubbles and gentle sloshing of the water was intensely soothing. The gentle flicker of the candles added a nice ambiance to the room, a warm, dancing glow on the white mountain of foam.
His favourite part, aside from the warmth melting away his worries, was the scent of the soap bubbles surrounding him. It smelled like Hank. Thankfully Connor had been able to convince Hank to stop using this in his hair, the transition to shampoo and conditioner doing wonders for the texture, but as a body wash it stuck. And Connor never wanted it to change. He recalled earlier when Hank grumbled about not having any ‘fancy bubble bath shit’, but if said fancy bubble bath shit didn’t smell like this, he didn’t want it. This was like getting the warmest, most soothing hug from his human. The only thing holding it back was the lack of all of Hank’s other scents, as well as the weight of his larger body against Connor’s. Connor’s eyes slipped shut, and against Hank’s orders he opened his HUD, looking for more ways to further improve his future baths, because he’d already decided that this was one of his new favourite solo activities.
—
Hank reclined on the sofa, enjoying his second, and final beer of the night. If not for Connor’s influence he’d have been halfway through the crate by now. He was watching some late night trash TV, not fully paying attention as he thinks about just how much has changed since meeting the android in his bath. Other than Sumo, he had reason to wake up in the morning. A reason to take better care of himself. A reason to smile. Even though their time together so far has been relatively short, he already can’t imagine his life without Connor. If not for Connor, he might not even have life to begin with. He still had bad days, terrible days even. But now he wasn’t left to deal with them alone. Now he had Connor.
Said android was now exiting the bathroom, 40 minutes from when he’d first gone in. His hair damp and slightly curled from being towel dried, Hank’s old clothes hanging off his smaller frame and making him look tiny. The look on Connor’s face was unlike anything Hank had seen, other than after their first kiss. That goofy, lopsided smile, eyes slightly droopy with a glint of relief sparkling behind them. It made Hank’s heart clench seeing his partner, now more than in work, look so blissed out.
“Soooo… how was your bath?” He asks through his smile, watching Connor pad his way over to the couch, his movements slightly clumsy as he rounds the coffee table before promptly collapsing onto the couch, nuzzling into Hank’s side and resting his hand on his chest.
“It was… so good…” He mumbles out, sighing contentedly as he relaxes into Hank’s side. Hank chuckles warmly as his arm comes down to wrap around Connor. They fall into a comfortable silence, holding each other close as they watch the late night trash TV, until eventually Connor’s head is resting in Hank’s lap, Hank gently carding his fingers through the android’s hair.
“Hank?”
“Hmm?”
“We need rubber ducks.”
“Rubber ducks?”
“Rubber ducks.”
When Hank glances down, he can see Connor’s eyes are closed, the goofy smile still plastered on his face. He glimpses the glow of Connor’s LED.
Blue. Blue. Blue.