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There was a knock at Hank’s door, and Connor’s voice rang out, “Lieutenant?”
Hank pushed himself to his feet, making his way to the front door so he could open it. Once he saw the state Connor was in, his eyes widened.
Connor was shaking, wringing its hands out in front of it. Brown eyes met blue as Connor glanced up, wet streaks staining its cheeks.
Wordlessly, Hank opened the door further and stepped aside.
Connor entered, reaching up and wiping its eyes. “I’m sorry, Lieutenant, I— I don’t know—”
“Don’t be sorry, Connor,” Hank muttered, shutting the door. “I’d offer you a drink, but… well, you can’t drink, can you?”
“No.”
Hank nodded. “So, uh… you want to talk or something?”
“I don’t know,” Connor said. It was staring at the ground. “I just— I’m supposed to work.”
“You work fine,” Hank pointed out.
Connor’s brow furrowed. “No. No, I don’t. Every single time I’m faced with a decision, I freeze. With the Tracis, with Chloe, with every fucking investigation. I was made to be perfect, Lieutenant. The perfect detective, one who never falters, never fails. And what have I done? Failed numerous times.” A fresh batch of tears ran down Connor’s cheeks. “I just— I don’t know anymore. Ever since Jericho, and even before that, it’s like my code is… broken.”
“I wouldn’t say that means you’re broken. I’d say that means you’re finally learning what it’s like to be human.”
Connor merely stared at Hank.
“That’s what it means to be human,” Hank explained. “To me, at least. You’re noticing your faults. You may be failing, but that doesn’t make you a failure.”
“That doesn’t make any sense,” Connor pressed.
“Then why’d you teach me that?”
“I didn’t.”
“You did. I felt like a fucking failure for years,” Hank folded his arms across his chest, trying to avoid eye contact with his pseudo-son. “Still do sometimes. I hated working with you when we first met because androids were supposed to be these perfect, obedient beings— and because I blamed them for Cole’s death. But… seeing you fuck up some decisions opened my eyes. You aren’t perfect, but you’re not a failure.”
“I am a failure, though,” Connor said.
“Am I a failure?”
“Of course not.”
“Then why are you?”
Connor paused at that, hands trembling in front of it. “I—” It cut itself off. “I don’t know. CyberLife didn’t design me to fail.”
“I’ll let you in on a secret,” Hank said. “No one wants to fail. No one tries to— but people fail all the time, and the only thing we can do is try not to do it again.”
With its eyes downcast, Connor didn’t seem all that convinced, but it nodded. “I suppose.”
“Your worry only proves something I’ve been thinking about,” Hank mused. He waited for Connor to look at him again before continuing. “You really are alive.”