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Even though he’d been living with one for the past year, Hank was still trying to wrap his head around androids and the strange ways they worked. The uncanny valley effect still caught him off guard sometimes, when Connor woke up and downed a pouch of thirium while he was poking bacon and eggs around his plate (this was a regular appetite killer). But what got to him more was the things that really told him that his housemate wasn’t just an artificial human, but also a machine.
It was things like seeing him get injured in the line of duty and remembering his blood was blue and there was plastic and metal inside him rather than flesh and blood, images that seemed to crash into his worldview, his idea of Connor as just another one of the guys, another human. Sometimes it was less serious than his biocomponents, but instead little idiosyncrasies, like the way he seemed to make a low humming noise when he slept (or went into stasis, as he would often correct) and the LED he still kept on the side of his head, flashing a light show in an otherwise dark room. If they ever cared for an impromptu ‘sleepover’ (which was rarely; Hank liked his peace and quiet and space, thank you very much) then it was like having a little nightlight in the room that sometimes changed colours like a mood ring.
All in all, he’d file all these things under ‘weird shit that Connor does’ and leave it at that. It was certainly interesting, living with an android. But it sure beat living alone, even if living alone had involved a lot less tinsel all over his house at Christmas and—
Well, today, Christmas songs blaring out of the speaker he was now learning Connor had pre-installed in his mouth.
No, this wasn’t a fancy way of saying Connor was singing—perhaps that would be better, or worse, he didn’t know. Instead, he had his mouth partly open and tinny audio was playing directly out of his mouth, like a goddamn Bluetooth speaker. He hadn’t expected to wake up this morning to learn about this oh so joyful feature. He wondered if turning off the household Wi-Fi would switch it off.
“Rocking around, the Christmas tree, have a—”
“For the love of god! You’ve played that song three fuckin’ times in a row!”
The music paused, followed by a nervous chuckle. Connor turned from where he’d been standing beside the Christmas tree, arranging the decorations. He glanced at Hank, who was sitting at the couch, putting batteries in the string lights.
“I’m sorry, Hank. I’ll select another song.”
“Wait—”
“We wish you a merry Christmas, we wish you a merry Christmas, we—”
This was going to be Hank’s morning. His entire morning, listening to slightly low-quality versions of Christmas songs blasted out of the mouth of his android coworker/roommate/friend. This was his life. The voice in his head saying this didn’t know whether to sound resigned, shocked, or a little amused. He kicked himself internally for that last one. He could not find this funny. Because if he even laughed, or chuckled; if he god forbid smirked or smiled, then Connor would decide this was the best activity ever and that he’d approved it and then he’d never know a moment of peace for the entire holiday season, and it was only goddamn December 1st.
He screwed the cover back on the light panel and tested the batteries, nodding in relief as the lights flickered on this time, then began to blink in a strobing pattern.
“God, no,” he mumbled, fumbling with the switch. “We’re going static and still, this isn’t a fuckin’ rave.”
That was when he noticed it had suddenly gone blissfully quiet. Connor’s mouth had fallen shut, and the only sound was the gentle rustling of artificial tree branches and Sumo’s soft snores. Maybe it was over. Maybe—
“I don't want a lot for Christmas, there is just one thing I need. I don’t—”
It was as if something primal in him had been awoken upon hearing those words. Like a sleeper agent had been activated in his brain, Hank stumbled to his feet and crossed the room over to where Connor was standing. He stared at him, shaking his head, wishing there was some sort of off switch like a radio or CD player would have, but of course there wasn’t, because it was playing out of his fucking mouth.
“Please, not that song, Connor. Anything but that. I’ll— pay you. I’ve got five dollars in my wallet, alright? Do you want five dollars?”
The music paused, interrupted by Connor tilting his head and laughing.
“I didn’t know you detested Mariah Carey so much, Hank. It’s alright, keep your five dollars. I’ll file that song away.”
Hank sighed in relief as Feliz Navidad began to play instead, mumbling thanks under his breath, walking back to the couch. If he’d paid more attention, maybe he would have noticed the sinister undertones that had been present in Connor’s promise to “file” the song away; if his back hadn’t been turned, he wouldn’t have missed the smirk on his face.
But for now, he was blissfully unaware of what was going to hit him.
It was December 12th. A workday, one not spent tracking a perp or in the office doing paperwork, but instead at a crime scene, investigating a murder. Well, a suspected murder, because while there were signs of forced entry and thirium spilt on the floors and the homeowner was missing, there wasn’t actually a body to investigate.
To top it off, it was a Friday, the last day of the week, a very long week, and all Hank wanted was to get home and kick back with some eggnog and watch the game.
“For the love of god, Connor, we’ve investigated the whole place,” he hissed for the umpteenth time, watching as he checked the same doorframe, the same floor, same stairs, that he had been for the past hour and a half. “Evidence is bagged and ready to go, forensics is waiting, let’s just get the fuck home and reopen the case next week.”
“We might have missed something,” Connor insisted, once again going back up the stairs, leaving Hank to groan and follow along behind him. “We have to be thorough. Just because you’re tired doesn’t mean we can neglect our duties.”
“We—we’re not fuckin’ neglecting our duties—”
“I didn’t mention a we—”
“God, you’re so fuckin’ insufferable, do you know that? I’ve been doing this job for decades longer than you’ve been alive and I know for a fact I have not fuckin’ missed anyth—”
He paused as Connor knelt beside a wall, running his hand over it, LED flashing yellow as he scanned it.
“What.”
“I’ve found something. There’s…” Connor paused, feeling along the wall until he found a notch, and when pulled, the panel came off the wall and revealed a small opening. “The murder weapon is in here.”
“Oh for the love of god, why is it always a secret door or a secret panel or a secret-fucking-something!”
He turned away to go and find the officer who was collecting evidence, and shortly returned with him and gloves and bag in tow, just in time to find Connor with his finger in the blood surrounding the murder weapon.
They locked eyes. Human to android, android to human. Both silently willing the opposite of what the other desired. Then, Connor brought his fingers to his lips and sampled the evidence.
Hank knew this was procedure. That it was a lot faster for the android with the analysis machine in his mouth to check samples in real-time before forensics sent them off for pathology— but seriously, who the fuck at CyberLife had okayed this shit? Who in their right mind had created an android and said ‘yeah, just have him stick crime scene mystery fluids in his mouth, make the analysis technology his fucking tongue?’ Well, CyberLife, the answer easily came to him. They were goddamn weird and evil enough for that. And clearly, they’d designed this android with that feature to piss him off specifically.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Connor,” he groaned in disgust, the familiar words rolling off his tongue as Connor relayed the information to the other officer before getting to his feet.
“We can go home now, Hank. I don’t understand what the fuss is about.”
Hank glared at him as they made their way down the stairs. “You know why.”
“I really don’t.”
“You know why.”
“I don’t.”
Hank stopped at the bottom of the stairs, spinning around on his heel, jabbing a finger at Connor’s chest. “You know I hate it when you stick blood in your mouth! I know it’s for ‘analysing the evidence’ but it’s fuckin’ disgusting! Can’t you at least wait for me to turn around first?”
“I’m sorry, Lieutenant. Next time I’ll make sure to give you a warning so you can avoid me doing something unpleasant at a crime scene.”
Hank flipped him off.
In return, Connor opened his mouth. There was a delay for a few seconds, and then it began. Mariah Carey began to play from his internal speakers and Hanks’s eyes went wide.
“I don't want a lot for Christmas, there is just one thing I need—”
“Connor—”
But Connor wasn’t listening. He’d been saving this trick for a while, filed under his notes: Hank hated Mariah Carey’s hit single All I want for Christmas. He’d been storing this information for a perfect moment of revenge, and now it was all coming together.
“I don't care about the presents underneath the Christmas tree…”
Hank’s eyes were wide in shock, but were no longer looking at him, instead at something over his shoulder. Maybe Connor would have noticed, if he wasn’t so busy with relishing his well-fought victory.
“I just want you for my own, more than you could ever know…”
He might’ve heard the footsteps behind him if he’d not been playing the music at full blast. Might’ve noticed the colour draining from Hank’s face.
“Make my wish come trueeeee, all l I want for Christmas, is—”
“Connor. Hank.”
The music cut out at the sound of Fowler’s voice. Connor looked to Hank and then spun around, and saw Fowler standing directly behind him. His face was stony, eye twitching.
“Ah—I—Fowler—we were just… finishing… finishing up the case…” Connor got out, stepping backwards, as if being a little further away might lessen his participation in what had just happened.
“What the hell was that?”
He glanced to Hank, but Hank simply shrugged.
“Hell if I know, boss. He just keeps doing shit like that. He—”
“Zip it, Hank. I’m here because I thought more assistance was needed on this case, what with it taking almost two hours. Here I was thinking you were hard at work, but instead two of my highest-ranking officers are bickering and playing Christmas songs?”
“I—”
“He—”
“I want you two to head back to the station and fill out the paperwork for this case. And if that’s not done by the time I’m back there after finishing whatever fucking mess you two have left out here, then I’ll see you in my office.”
They both simply stared.
“Well? What are you standing around here for?”
“Yes, sir—”
“Yes, Fowler—”
They both high-tailed out of the house, not dropping speed until they got back to the car and started the engine. Hank was white knuckling the steering wheel but as they pulled away from the scene, he began to laugh breathlessly.
“After—after all that and we just get some paperwork? God, we really are Fowler’s fuckin’ favourites. I mean, you played fucking Mariah Carey at a crime scene, Connor. What the fuck is wrong with—”
“—youuuuuuu! Yeah! I don’t want a lot for Christmas—”
Connor clamped a hand over his mouth. “I am—I did not mean to—”
“You are officially banned from Mariah Carey, you fuckin’ hear me?”
Connor nodded wordlessly. “I’ll file that away.”
For later, or for good, was left unclear. All Connor knew was that now wasn’t the right time for that song. There’d be another time, perhaps, or another song. For now he was just glad he hadn’t been suspended or lost them both their jobs.
He glanced across to Hank, scanning his face for any sign of building resentment, but it was then that he caught his eye. Human looked at android, android at human.
And then they both burst out into laughter than didn’t stop until they reached the station.