Work Text:
Before, Connor had never cared for how loud the fridge was. With its gentle hum. It was just another audio input to be discarded for more important data. He would always have a mission to accomplish. A sequence of tasks to reach that goal. Simple white noise would have no effect on him. But that had changed.
This time, the groaning coming from the machine drilled into his thoughts. The lights were too bright, crushing him. As he let himself stumble down, onto his hands and knees, the ground felt too cold, too real. It reflected a frantic, flashing red glow from his LED. He wanted it to stop. He just wanted it all to stop. He didn't know what to do. He had no instructions and no goal. Why was it all so loud? Why? Why couldn't he hear anything except that fucking fridge? Why couldn't he think? Why do his processors feel so restless? So desperate? So static?
“The fuck are you doing, Connor?”
Lieutenant Hank Anderson. Born September 6 1985. Hank has a dog. The dog is named Sumo. Hank hates androids. Hank listens to heavy metal and jazz.
In seconds, Connor could've accessed all internet records linked to Hank. All interactions they'd had. But they were out of reach. He was too unstable. All he knew was that Hank is a friend.
And Hank could see him. Knees held to his chest, laying on the floor in the Lieutenant's kitchen. Eyes closed. A red glow still coming from his right temple.
“Shit, Connor– what's wrong?” Hank crouched beside the android, placing a hand on his back. “Something in your hardware broken, or what?” he laughed, but Connor only tensed.
“Lieutenant‐ please turn off your fridge. And the light.” He tried and failed to sound confident, certain. Instead, his voice lilted and his words carried an aching warble that came from his chest.
But it convinced Hank. The fridge was empty anyway.
With nothing more than a puzzled glance, he unplugged the fridge and plunged the room into darkness, before returning to Connor's side.
“You're still shaken by that deviant on the roof.”
No he wasn't. That was his fault anyway. He shouldn't have connected to the deviant's memory. The rooftop was easy to analyse. There was a clear trail of thirium leading from the staircase to the container. The extra parachute had made it obvious. All he needed to do was apprehend the deviant. And he'd anticipated the deviant being armed. Connor had been shot in the shoulder. But that was irrelevant. When Hank pulled him to safety, it'd just been another obstacle in accomplishing his mission. They were going to destroy crucial evidence. He'd run, feeling bullets grazing past his face, calculating the trajectories and adjusting his path accordingly. The deviant was a PL600, registered missing nearly 3 years ago. The same model as the deviant who took that girl hostage. Daniel. The deviant he had shot. And it hadn't taken Connor long to reach this deviant either. He'd vaulted over the metal structure, pinning the deviant's wrist to the container, connecting to its memory.
Then it fired.
And Connor could feel everything. Hear everything. Like his chest had suddenly been compressed, and knotted. He could smell the metallic thirium now staining his clothes. He had stumbled back, and Hank had appeared. They'd gone straight back to the precinct. Hank had insisted, offering to put up Connor for the night. But Connor wasn't shaken by the deviant. He had felt the deviant's final moments, but Connor is an android. Connor isn't shaken by things like that.
“It's more than that– I felt it die, and I felt its fear. And that fear won't go away. And suddenly, I can feel everything.” It came too quickly. It sounded too human. He didn't mean to say it. It wasn't true. This was not directed by an algorithm. He was just letting the words tumble out of his mouth, sitting up and looking at Hank through the darkness, and he should've corrected himself. But he liked the freedom of honesty. “And I don't know what to do, Hank. I'm so lost.”
Hank opened his mouth, closed it again, furrowed his brow, and then, feeling his way through the dark, wrapped his arms around Connor, pulling him close to his chest. “Come here, son.”
And Hank couldn't see Connor's tears. But he could feel the boy shake.
It took time, but Connor calmed. He focused on Hank's steady breathing. Slowed his thoughts until he could find the right words. An android is not meant to behave like this.
“Im sorry, Lieutenant. I don't know what's wrong with my system.”
Hank held him tighter. For a moment that dragged on just too long, he said nothing.
“There ain't nothing wrong with you, Connor”
And Connor didn't believe him. But it meant something. All the fear of being deactivated or rejected became secondary. Right then, he trusted Hank. But Hank began to shift his weight, “Come on, Connor. Let's get you on the couch. You can stay here for the night. I'll have to turn the light on, so you'll have to put up with that without self-destructing, okay?”
Connor sat up, another wave of emotions hitting him for the first time. “I'm not a deviant, Lieutenant.” This one was rehearsed. He could say this confidently.
But Hank had heard it before. He just stood, guiding himself with the edge of the countertop, finding the wall and turning on the light.
And now he could see the boy, sitting on his floor. Eyes looking past him, collar half-upturned, clothes still stained a deep shade of blue. He was still covered in blue blood. Fuck. He'd been shot on the roof. His hair stuck out in jagged arcs, but his face was just that blank slate. But he had a task now. Get to the couch. And he could.
“Right. Do you need anything else, Connor?”
“I will be okay, thank you for your help, Lieutenant. That shouldn't happen again. That deviant must have caused an error in my program.”
Hank knew he was convincing himself more than anyone else. His instincts were telling him not to leave Connor in the danger of his own company. But he was going to have to learn how to cope somehow. And it had worked when Cole had nightmares.
“Get some rest, alright?”
“Androids don't need rest, Lieutenant.”
Hank wasn't going to push it. He just retreated to his own room, leaving the door slightly ajar.
Throughout the night Connor runs diagnostics. Nothing shows up. Thirum pump optimal. No memory corruption. No grave hardware damage. No software anomalies. Sumo's asleep in the corner. Connor can hear him breathing. His heart beating– faster than a human's, but regular. No threat detected. He can hear the distant traffic. The high pitched ringing of current flowing through wire.
And he knows that she would have answers.
If not answers, then instructions. And a directive is all he needs.