Chapter Text
APRIL 18, 2039
6:35 PM
Rain pattered on the roof of the car. Hank slammed the door shut, and Connor watched rivulets stream down the windows from the sudden, jarring impact. Opening his own door calmly, he straightened his tie and followed the blustering lieutenant up to his front door.
“Of all your stupid ideas, this is the worst,” Hank complained loudly while fumbling with his keys and getting the door opened. Sumo, the old Saint Bernard, rounded the couch to greet them.
“It wasn't my idea,” Connor protested, his light tone matter-of-fact as he followed Hank inside and closed the door. “Captain Fowler gave me this assignment.”
Hank tossed his keys on the shelf beside the door and gave Connor an incredulous look, pointing a finger at him accusingly. “You volunteered!”
Connor cocked his head slightly, his face deceptively naive. “Would you rather the job had been assigned to someone else?”
Hank threw up his hands. “Maybe!” He stomped over to the kitchen and yanked the fridge open. Connor shared a look with the dog which still watched him expectantly. Crouching, he gave the dog a scratch around the ears, lips twitching up slightly as Sumo’s tongue lolled out to pant happily. A long string of drool dribbled from his jowls to the floor.
The fridge door slammed. A can hissed and cracked open, and Connor heard Hank take a few quick gulps. When he looked over, Hank faced away with his hands on the counter, beer can loosely held in one. He would speculate the lieutenant was glaring out the window. It was an easy conclusion to reach; he'd seen the expression often enough.
A large, wet tongue slid over Connor's cheek and ear, and Sumo rested his chin on the android’s shoulder with a quiet but deep boof. Connor let out a short breath and reached both arms around the enormous dog to ruffle his hands through Sumo's fur. Finishing with a couple solid pats on the dog’s back, Connor stood and made his way to the kitchen. He fixed his collar and straightened the cuffs of his jacket, doing little to actually neaten his appearance between the copious amounts of dog hair and the large drool stain now dampening his shoulder.
Connor leaned a hip against the counter, facing Hank from a few feet away, arms loosely crossed. “I'll place a few wireless cameras outside, and monitor things from indoors. You won't even know I'm there.”
“Like hell I won't,” Hank growled under his breath and took another swig of beer.
Eyes sweeping the room, Connor's gaze caught on the dirt- and dog-drool-streaked floors, the pile of unwashed dishes in the sink, the food wrappers overflowing the trash. “I could make myself useful, maybe tidy up the pla—”
Hank turned and closed the distance between them, jabbing a finger into Connor's chest with the hand holding his near-empty beer. “You touch nothin’, you hear me?” The finger poked again with each point: “No cleanin’, no fixing things up, and no snoopin’ through my stuff.”
Connor regarded him neutrally, a tiny twitch toward a smirk belying his amusement as he held up his hands in a show of not touching anything. “Got it.”
Hank rolled his eyes and turned away with another swig of beer— or would, except all that tipped into his open mouth were a couple of drops. “Aghh…” Crumpling the can with a look of betrayal, he tossed it at the trash, where it bounced off a greasy fast food bag and clattered onto the floor.
Connor lowered his arms and adjusted his sleeves again. “So, cameras?”
Hank waved him off with a wordless grumble, but then his eyes narrowed and he turned back toward him. “Connor, is that another damned suit?”
He looked up with a small curious hum, meeting the lieutenant’s gaze, then glanced down at his own attire and smoothed down the front of his dog hair-covered jacket. “Yes?”
“You earn a paycheck now and this is how you spend it? You must have a closet full of the fucking things.”
Connor’s brows lowered defensively. “I do not.” He turned away, heading for the door. “I have thirteen, and of those, only seven are serviceable.”
Hank pulled another beer out of the fridge and chugged half in one go, then burped loudly and gestured at Connor with the can. “You ever think about, I dunno, findin’ your own style? Or at least dressin’ casual now and then, for Chrissake.”
Connor stood in front of the door, half turning back to answer but not actually looking at Hank, his feet remaining planted. Sumo sat beside the door, looking up at him with an anticipatory tail wag. “I like to look professional. Besides, maybe suits are my style. In fact, maybe you should try them.” When Connor made no move to pet him, Sumo simply laid down and plopped his giant head on Connor’s shiny black shoes, drool dripping down the side of one and onto the floor.
“Gah. I’ve worn a suit twice in my life and I never plan to again.” Hank ambled out toward him and sat against the back of the couch. He took another drink and sat in silence for a minute, then looked over at the android simply standing at the door with a dog happily resting atop his feet. “Connor what the fuck are you doing?”
Connor looked over, eyebrows raised innocently. “Waiting for you to open the door, Lieutenant. Reason dictates that your requirement of not touching anything wouldn’t include the unavoidable, such as the floor, but a doorknob constitutes—”
“Yoooou fucking idiot,” Hank interrupted, knocking into Connor’s shoulder with his own as he shoved past to the door. Throwing it open, he pushed the android out on the porch. “Go plant your cameras, Detective.”
Connor’s facade broke into a smug grin as he was manhandled, and he chuckled as the door slammed shut behind him.
On the other side, Hank turned his back to the door and stared vaguely down at his beer. “Fucking android,” he muttered, the corners of his lips turned up. Sumo sat panting happily, and he glared down at the dog. “What’re you looking at? Huh?” He mussed the dog’s fur side to side and finished his second beer as he headed back to the kitchen, Sumo following at his heel.