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Androids didn’t sleep, exactly. Hank didn’t know what the fuck Connor did when he powered down, but it looks a hell of a lot like sleeping.
While he was, technically, a trained—well programmed—Deviant hunter, when Connor slept, he looked like a kid. Hank can’t deny it. There was something youthful, kind of childlike that came over him.
They were on the bus because Connor informed him that he’d never ridden on a bus before. That was something else that reminded Hank of a kid. There was so much he’d never done. Sure he looked like a young man, but he hadn’t even been functioning for a year, and he’d been alive for even less time. He was technically a toddler.
Hank felt that there wasn’t much left in life that was worth getting excited over, but Connor found something new everyday.
So they took the bus downtown.
Hank would never live it down if anybody found out how much he humored Connor.
Since the revolution, Connor has been living with him. There wasn’t anywhere else he could go. Despite the invitation from the others, Connor felt out of place among them, and Hank sure wasn’t going to toss him out onto the streets.
It is very strange to watch someone learn to be alive. Hank imagines it’s what watching a child age would be like. What watching Cole grow up would have been like.
After a trip to the shop to get Connor something to wear—Connor has no personal sense of style, at least not yet, so most of his clothes were just shirts that vaguely resemble ones Hank already owns— Connor may have well been human. He had a job at the station, an ID card, hell, Hank thought he wasn’t doing too bad at this human thing.
Reed calls Connor your little twin but Hank is much less annoyed by this than he expected to be.
It’s fucking freezing out today, despite the fact that it’s only October. He’d shoved a hat on Connor’s head before the left. Plenty of Androids have removed their LEDs, but since the legislation passed rendering them rights and privileges, there wasn’t much reason to hide.
Connor still liked having it.
“Is that your son?”
Hank looks up. There’s a woman sitting across from them, probably his age. She’s showing it a lot better. Hank knows he looks like hell most of the time.
(He had promised Connor to drink less though, he was really, really trying to make good on that. He was trying to pull himself together again because there was now another person who appeared to give a damn about his well being.)
“Yeah,” Hank says. That’s certainly a change from how he used to be.
“He looks like you,” she says. Hank doesn’t think that’s true, but don’t you always tell fathers that their sons look like them? Isn’t it some source of pride?
Connor looks, for all intents and purposes, passed the fuck out. Nothing about his stature indicates that he might be overhearing this. Hank doesn’t really know if he remembers the things he overhears when charging up or whatever the fuck it is. His head rests gently on Hank’s shoulder. Once upon a time Hank would have probably shoved him to the other side of the bus.
“I guess,” Hank chuckles. What the fuck right? “Do uh, do you have kids?”
He’s fucking awful at small talk because he doesn’t really like being social if it’s not at a bar or with someone who already knows him. Another cop maybe.
But the city has changed so much. He should change with it. He should at least try.
“A daughter,” she smiles, a proud mother. Hank knows the look, “He looks around her age.”
Hank is certain that the woman’s daughter is not a year old. But Connor looks what? Twenty five maybe? He’s younger than Cole would have been, which is always a strange thing to consider. Cole will never not be six, but Cole should also be nine now. Connor is somehow both an older and younger brother.
Hank wishes he had a beer right now. He misses Cole so much sometimes that it feels as if it’s going to kill him. But sometimes, these days at least, the grief comes in waves. It’s not all consuming.
It lets him live, just a little bit. He hates to admit that Connor helped with that. Connor needs looking after. He’s a killer, yes, but he still needs to be looked after.
(He thinks that Connor would say the same exact thing about him.)
But he’ll take what he can get. If the grief isn’t all consuming anymore, then maybe he can learn to handle it.
He wishes Cole was here. But maybe he can still see him some day. That day doesn’t need to be tomorrow. It doesn’t need to be today.
“Children,” she shakes her head with a sigh, “I bet he was a handful. Do you have others?”
“Yes.” Hank hopes that she’ll shut the fuck up now. Or Connor will wake up and do some weird ass Android shit to change the topic.
Connor really is like a toddler in one way—Hank is always yelling at him to not lick random shit.
“They grow up so fast.”
Please lady, just leave it be.
The thing is that Connor won’t ever grow up either. He’s going to look like this forever.
Hank Anderson, father to a fucking Android. What the fuck. Does Connor feel that way too? Certainly he’d sought Hank out after everything, but what did he think about it?
Hank wonders if he only feels this way because there’s a huge hole in his life, one that Connor just so happens to fill. Why the fuck would Connor even consider Hank as anything other than a roommate and a colleague?
“Connor,” Hank says softly. He puts a hand on Connor’s shoulder, “It’s our stop.”
Connor makes a face, like he’s irritated to be woken from his nap.
“Ma’am,” Hank nods politely at the woman and steers Connor towards the door.
The wind whips around them when they step onto the sidewalk. Hank pops his collar and after a moment of analysis, Connor does the same thing.
“Are you alright?” Connor asks, “You appear to be agitated about something.”
“Nah kid,” Hank throws an arm around his shoulders, “I’m fine. Come on. Let’s get outta this wind.”
“I listened to the conversation you had on the bus,” Connor says.
Hank winces, “It’s not polite to evesdrop.”
“I don’t believe that I was. Do you consider me to be your son?”
“Yeah.”
Connor nods, “I thought as much. You often refer to me as such. Mostly when you’re concerned that I may be dying.”
Connor’s been a lot less inclined to throw himself into a chase now. He’s afraid of dying. Hank knows that.
Comes with the humanity, Hank assumes.
“Though,” Connor continues, “Men of a certain age-”
“Fuck you.”
“Often refer to younger men as son or kid.”
“Don’t make this some big thing. You need a family. I need a family. Maybe that just works out.”
“That makes sense.”
“Is that okay?”
Connor nods, “Why wouldn’t it be okay?”
That’s a far cry from what Connor would have said when they first started working together. That Connor was more machine than human.
Though Hank thinks there was always a little bit of Deviancy shining through.
“Come on. Let’s go inside. You seen Markus lately?”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
Hank laughs, “Nothing kid. Never mind.”