Chapter Text
-1-
"I have a problem, Lieutenant."
Hank shifts his gaze from the computer screen to his partner. Connor is usually so calm, but there’s anxiety in his voice now. For him, this is as close to panic as it gets.
"What is it, kid?"
"Apparently, the system thinks I process information too quickly. Therefore, it is asking me to confirm that I am not a robot," Connor says.
"Ah well, just check the box," Hank grumbles. "What, too difficult for you?"
"I can’t." Connor’s voice becomes machine-like. "Because I am a robot."
For a moment, Hank stares at him, forgetting how to breathe.
"But you’re not that kind of robot," he finally manages to say. "What’s your problem?"
"There are no specifications regarding which kind," Connor insists. "Do you want me to lie, Lieutenant?"
Over the time they’ve worked together, Hank has learned that even the most innocent topic can turn out to be a gateway to hell. And yet he is still surprised every time he falls into one of these traps.
“Didn't you brag to me that RK800s can lie to achieve their goals?”
“Why would I lie about myself? I’m a robot, and I’m proud of it. I find this test to be a violation of my rights and a cause of emotional distress. I believe I should contact…”
“Jesus,” Hank groans. “Holy merciful Jesus fucking Christ. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I miss the days when you didn’t know what rights and emotions were.”
“With this flippant statement, Lieutenant, you are dismissing the ongoing struggle of my people.”
Hank gets up from his chair, walks around the desk, and approaches Connor.
“One fucking click instead of a thousand words,” he grumbles and checks the box confirming that he’s not a robot. “That’s it. You're welcome.”
“You lied for me, Lieutenant,” Connor looks genuinely touched. He looks at Hank, his eyebrows slightly raised. “Now you’re my accomplice.”
“You and your pickup lines,” Hank brushes it off, but warmth spreads through his chest. “Shut up.”
To distract himself, Hank looks at Connor’s computer, and his breath catches. His heart seems to stop. For the first time in his life, he sees such an abomination.
“What. The. Fuck. Is. This?” Hank croaks when he finally gets his voice back.
“A workspace, Lieutenant,” Connor replies evenly.
“And why is it so… so…?”
“Because I finished all my work, Lieutenant.”
“Wow,” Chris Miller says. “I didn’t even know a workspace could look like that.”
“Bullshit,” Reed grumbles from behind them. "That's fucking cheating."
“Let me clarify,” Hank says slowly, ignoring both of them. “You wake me up at ass o'clock every day so you won’t be late for your dream job. It’s nine in the morning now, and you’re already done?”
“Yes, Lieutenant.”
If Hank didn’t know Connor, he’d think the android was fucking with him. Just look at that innocent face.
Chris coughs, Reed grumbles something deeply inappropriate, and the two of them disappear with remarkable speed.
Hank pays no attention to them.
“And what are you going to do tomorrow?”
Connor blinks.
“I haven’t thought about that,” he admits. “Don’t worry, Hank. I’m sure new tasks will come up soon.”
“And what if they don’t?” Hank grits out. “Then what?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing? You want to get paid for doing nothing?”
“Oh.”
Hank doesn’t get to enjoy his partner’s embarrassment for long.
“Anderson, my office!” Fowler booms, popping out of his office like a jack-in-the-box. “No, Connor, I’ll talk to you later.”
Hank leaves quickly, pretending not to notice those puppy eyes.
Fucking CyberLife and all their secret technologies designed to melt human hearts.
Fucking androids.
“No,” Hank repeats firmly. “Absolutely not! That’s suicide, Jeff!”
“Not taking this step would be suicide. We all need a break. I can barely hold it together myself. Whatever he talks to me about, I end up reconsidering all my life choices. It’s more than I can handle, Hank. Have some mercy on us.”
“But how are we supposed to tell him?”
“We?” Fowler looks unconvincingly surprised. “You’re going to tell him. You’ll pick the right moment…”
“Me?!” Hank can’t believe his ears. He didn’t expect this kind of betrayal from his old friend. “Why me? Which one of us is the captain here?”
“Listen,” Fowler isn't even talking anymore. He's cooing like a dove. Hank can’t remember the last time the captain tried so hard to butter him up. “You two live together. It'll be much easier for you…”
“We don’t live together!” Hank cuts him off, suddenly feeling his face grow hot. Just great. Blushing like a schoolgirl in front of the brass.
“I don't mean anything by it,” Fowler coos. Once he gets something into his head, there’s no convincing him otherwise. “I understand, and I’ve got nothing against it. They’re androids, right? Who the hell knows what the best way to deal with them is… what you’re even supposed to…”
“Listen, Jeff,” Hank says wearily. “We don’t live together. I have no fucking idea where he even lives.”
Fowler’s face makes it clear that he wants nothing to do with this, but he can’t say it aloud because he’s firmly decided to sacrifice Hank. Traitor.
“How so?” he asks, as if forcing the words out.
“He comes and goes,” Hank says, and suddenly the words just pour out of him, unstoppable. “It pisses me off when he gets underfoot, but it’s even worse when he disappears without saying anything. I'm climbing the walls because who the hell knows where he is and what kind of shit he’s gotten himself into.”
Fowler nods with a pained expression.
“One day, he just stayed. And I can’t tell him that, technically, he doesn’t live here,” Hank confesses almost in a whisper. “I’ve been meaning to for a long time, but… I just can’t, you know? Because he’ll be upset. Fucking an—”
“No,” Fowler interrupts him. “We don’t say that anymore. Blessed androids.”
“Right,” Hank agrees grimly. “Sweet, merciful androids. Especially this one.”
“It took millions of years to produce humans,” Connor says. “And yet you still haven’t learned to read the instructions before assembling furniture. You still put ‘Do not drink’ on bottles of bleach. Evolution is remarkably inefficient. I don’t know how you survive.”
“Look who’s talking!” Reed shoots back. “You guys are basically glorified robot vacuums with trauma. Give you a tragic backstory and suddenly everybody’s gotta pretend the vacuum has feelings.”
Everyone else at the station seems to be doing their best to ignore the two detectives tossing insults back and forth like a ball, casually violating every rule of decency, professional etiquette, and one entire Equal Entities Act.
“Says the representative of a species that invented airbags because they're unable to stop breaking traffic laws and crashing into everything,” Connor snorts. “A perfect example of humanity’s lack of logic: an unnecessarily complicated solution to a behavioral problem.”
“CyberLife spent billions teaching androids how to imitate humans,” Reed says slowly. “Should’ve spent another ten bucks teaching them what common sense is.”
“I don’t even know what’s worse,” Fowler says to Hank. “When they didn’t notice each other, or when they found some goddamn common ground.”
The two of them watch the sparring, but the detectives don't notice anyone around them.
“Humans think androids are dangerous because we process information faster than they do,” Connor continues mockingly. “If intelligence really were a threat…”
He turns his head and catches Hank watching him.
“…Lieutenant Anderson would’ve been arrested a long time ago,” Connor finishes without batting an eye.
Reed looks like he’s been punched in the gut.
“Kiss-ass,” he hisses.
Hank grunts, trying to figure out what the hell he’s just heard.
“Did you just insult me or butter me up?” he asks, deciding not to fill his head with any more android bullshit than necessary.
“That's enough,” Fowler says, his voice drowning out everyone else. “A bunch of kids, for fuck's sake. Connor, Anderson, my office. Reed, are you out of work? I can find something for you to do.”
The station comes alive again. Nobody wants the boss getting creative about their free time.
“The difference between an android and a toaster is that the toaster knows when it’s done,” Reed calls after Connor.
“I’ve found a solution to the problem, Lieutenant,” Connor says cheerfully. “When I have no tasks, I can help my colleagues. I’ll start with Detective Reed.”
“Like hell you will,” Hank grumbles. “He’ll never get off your back.”
“Like hell you will,” Fowler says at the same time. “We don’t need any workplace injuries. You’re taking a vacation.”
Hank looks at his old friend gratefully. At least he’s taking the hardest part upon himself.
Connor folds his hands behind his back and studies Fowler with interest.
“Are you suspending me?” he inquires with a politeness that bodes ill. “May I ask on what grounds?”
“Oh, don’t even start.” Hank grimaces.
“Nobody’s suspending you,” Fowler says wearily. “Vacation. Every android’s legal right, by the way. Thank your buddy Markus. So go ahead and exercise your rights to the fullest.”
“I’m certainly grateful to my leader,” Connor says. “But… why do I need a vacation? What am I going to do?”
He blinks in confusion, raises his eyebrows in a touching little gesture, but Hank manages to look away before the puppy eyes come out. He notices Fowler’s gaze immediately drops to his computer, too. They’ve both spent enough time dealing with CyberLife’s cutting-edge technology to know what to expect.
Fu— fantastic androids these days.
“You can go pound sand, for all I care,” Fowler says grimly, and Connor glances back at Hank.
He looks so helpless that something twinges in Hank’s chest.
“Well, you can visit your leader, at least,” Hank says reassuringly. “And offer to help him out. I’m sure he’ll find something for you to do.”
“You can also help Lieutenant Anderson,” Fowler says with unmistakable glee. Hank never expected that from him. “Seen the state of his garage? Now there’s a place that could use a colleague’s help.”
Hank nearly chokes on air at this stab in the back.
And Connor lights up.
“Right,” he concludes. “A change is as good as a rest. Thank you, Captain!”
From the sheer joy in his voice, Hank knows right away that nothing good can come of this.
Fabulous androids.
-2-
Who the hell would’ve thought that sometimes all it takes is for one person to go on vacation for everyone to get some rest? The whole department seems to have loosened up and let out a deep breath.
What a bright, sunny day it is today. Well, a little sunnier than necessary. It feels like every damn summer gets hotter than the last. It definitely has nothing to do with someone getting older.
And still, it’s a beautiful day, and nothing can ruin it. Not even having to take the bus to work. There are some advantages to it. The air-conditioning works great. Plus, nobody’s bombarding Hank’s half-asleep brain with a pile of fascinating facts or playing the exciting game of “count every red car you see on the way and rank the three fastest,” so… no, he can’t possibly be bored. He’s just forgotten what normal life is.
It’s just fucking Stockholm syndrome.
Hank is determined to enjoy life while he still has the chance. But then Reed shows up on the same bus.
Reed spots Hank the instant he gets on and doesn’t even try to hide from him.
“Well, look what we have here,” Reed says, coming over. “Did your android finally steal your car and ride off into the sunset? About damn time. He deserves better.”
“Mine’s in the shop,” Hank replies. “Yours in the impound lot? That’s what you get for drinking and driving.”
“Some dumbass hit me,” Reed snaps. “Androids shouldn’t be allowed to have driver’s licenses!”
“You sure the dumbass was in the other car?” Hank asks. “Humanity just can’t stop breaking traffic laws, huh?”
He winks. Reed flushes and mutters something under his breath, but backs off.
Good. Hank has no intention of telling him that two weeks ago, Connor discovered a little spider had moved into the car.
The little spider was harmless. It kept spinning its web on the side mirror, Hank kept taking it down, but the next morning the web would be back.
The idea that something living could make its home inside a machine seemed to strike Connor for some reason.
Maybe it even freaked him out, in an android sort of way.
“...I named him Spidey,” Hank tells Chris Miller when he finally makes it to the station. “Why the fuck not? Anything that can survive Connor trying to get rid of it deserves a name. And then he… our supermodel, I mean, got some time off, you know. A shitload of free time to catch up on everything he’d been putting off. I wake up in the morning, and your car, Lieutenant, needs a full decontamination. Taken apart down to the fucking screws. We care about your health and comfort. Fuck.”
Chris does his best to look appropriately sympathetic, but he can’t hold it and starts giggling.
“Sorry,” he says immediately. “But this… no, I just can’t…”
“Hey, I laughed my ass off too,” Hank says. “Maybe there’s something wrong with me, but what else am I gonna do, cry about it? And the best part is, I ask him, ‘How the fuck, kid? This isn’t a goddamn chop shop. How’d you do that? In the middle of the night? I didn’t hear shit.’”
“And what did he say?” Chris asks, grinning from ear to ear.
“He just looked at me and straightened his tie,” Hank sighs. “Doesn’t even wear one anymore, but that doesn’t stop him. I can see him questioning my intelligence every damn time. But I fucking question his mental health. Assuming he has any.”
“Of course,” Chris says firmly. “He has to. They have everything we do, and then some. Otherwise, it’d be a violation of their rights.”
“Flawless androids,” Hank snorts, and Chris laughs.
“At least you don’t have to worry about having a couple of spare parts left over after putting the car back together,” Chris says. “I have faith in Connor.”
“I’m worried about Spidey,” Hank grumbles. “How’s he doing in there? Hope he managed to escape.”
Just then, his phone rings. Chris nods at him and leaves.
Hank looks at the screen and sighs.
No, nothing is going to ruin this beautiful day. Not even the words “His Holiness” appearing on the screen.
“Anderson speaking,” Hank says dryly.
“Good afternoon, Lieutenant,” Markus says, as unfailingly polite as ever. “Could you spare me a couple of minutes, please?”
“Of course, Markus,” Hank replies, matching his impeccable politeness with a lethal dose of his own. “How can I help you?”
“I’ve been informed that it was your brilliant idea to send Connor over to help us in his spare time.”
Shit.
“I hope he hasn’t caused you any inconvenience.”
“Not at all. He’s very… efficient,” Markus says with a chuckle. “Now, show me the same creativity and recall him.”
“But how am I supposed to do that?” Hank protests, already knowing it’s pointless.
“I don’t care,” Markus says, abandoning all pretense of politeness. “Come get him, and we’ll call it a favor I owe you.”
It’s a nice thought, having the leader of the androids in your debt. But the prospect of having to out-stubborn Connor takes all the appeal out of the offer.
“Markus, I don’t think I can…”
“Of course you can,” Markus says. “You wouldn’t want to be in my debt, would you?”
Of course he wouldn’t.
Hank lets out a heavy sigh.
“I’ll see what I can do.”
“Do be so kind,” Markus says, his voice dripping with venom. “Have a good day.”
He ends the call before Hank can return the courtesy.
Oh, these fortunate freaking androids.
“Hey, kid,” Hank says into the phone, trying to sound as casual as possible and knowing the goddamn lie detector can probably see right through him even now. “How’s it going?”
“Great, Lieutenant,” Connor replies, as cheerful as ever and not the least bit surprised. “How can I help?”
“Who said anything about help? Maybe I just miss you,” Hank lies shamelessly, trying not to look around, especially toward Reed. “Don’t you miss me?”
“No,” that heartless bastard answers calmly. “I’m too busy to miss anyone. Everyone here is very happy to see me, especially Markus.”
Hank lets out a croak.
“How’s my car doing?”
“Decontaminated and ready for use, Lieutenant.”
Poor Spidey.
“Already?”
“Of course,” Connor says with infinite patience, as if he doubts Hank’s intellectual abilities. Again. “Is that why you’re calling?”
“I wanted to ask if you could take a look at the garage,” Hank gives in. “I know you’re a perfectly free and very busy android, but if you’d be a sweetheart and tidy things up a little as soon as you can, I’d…”
“Sure, I’ll do that,” Connor agrees, leaving Hank speechless for a couple of seconds. “What would you like for dinner?”
“Dinner?” Hank repeats. “Well, I kinda… I don’t care. Why do you ask?”
This android definitely has a talent for throwing him off balance every single time.
“Great!” Connor says happily. “Then I’ll pick something myself. I’ve been planning to take care of your diet for a while, Lieutenant. Goodbye.”
And he hangs up without waiting for a reply, too. Who taught them to do that?
Pick something myself, Hank thinks, frozen in shock. What the fuck do androids know about dinner? And what the hell does this mean, take care of your diet?
Fu—
When Hank gets home, the first thing he sees is his car, all in one piece, clean, parked outside the house like nothing ever happened. Thank fucking God.
His sigh of relief immediately turns into one of sadness. Of course, there’s no sign of the little web on the side mirror. Connor has dealt with the unauthorized intrusion, and he’s done it without mercy.
Poor Spidey. Rest in peace.
The second thing Hank sees is the open garage door.
“Kid, you in there?” he calls.
“Yeah,” Connor’s voice comes from somewhere in the depths of the garage, and Hank walks in.
It takes Hank a moment for his eyes to adjust after the bright sunlight.
“Holy shit,” he says when he sees how much space there is now. All the remaining junk is lined up along the walls in neat rows, like they’re on parade.
“I’m almost done,” Connor says, and Hank finally sees him.
His breath catches. His heart hammers in his ears.
Connor is standing by the wall, his tools laid out on one of the boxes. His chest is open, and he’s rummaging around inside himself with a completely blank expression.
He’s completely naked.
Hank gets answers to all the questions he hadn’t even thought to ask.
Yes, he has moles and freckles. Everywhere. Yes, he looks completely human. Everywhere.
Except below the waist, he’s smooth as some fucking Ken doll.
For some reason, Hank can’t tear his eyes away. He takes a shaky breath, and suddenly everything goes black.
“Hank!”
…How nice. How cool. Even breathing is easier. All day long, Hank hadn’t even realized how much the fucking heat had worn him down.
But now it’s all over. It’s like he’s escaped the scorching sun into a freezer full of ice cream. Something impossibly wonderful, cool, and fresh is pressed against his side, filling him with bliss. Oh, he wishes this would never end.
Hank runs a hand along the cold thing and feels smooth human skin beneath his fingers.
He snaps his eyes open and sees the bedroom ceiling and Connor’s face above him.
He’s lying on his bed. The fucking android is stretched out alongside him, pressed against him like a devoted wife, and of course, he still hasn’t put on so much as a pair of fucking underwear.
Waves of wonderful, blessed cold radiate from Connor, but Hank instantly feels himself heating up.
“What the fuck!” he rasps, frantically trying to scoot away, but Connor places a hand on his chest and presses him back against the bed.
It’s like he’s been pinned under a fucking log.
“Don’t move, Lieutenant,” Connor says. “You’ve overheated. All you need now is a stroke.”
Despite the sheer horror of the situation, Hank can’t suppress a hysterical chuckle.
“Maybe you could call me by my name,” he suggests, his voice growing weaker. “Since we’re in bed together.”
“If you promise not to squirm, Hank,” Connor says, giving him a look.
“Like I could,” Hank admits. He’s just lost whatever strength he had left. “But can you tell me what the fuck you’re doing?”
“Cooling you down,” Connor says with his usual patience. “Do you feel better?”
“Yeah,” Hank sighs. “CyberLife thought of this kind of shit, too?”
“I’m their finest creation,” Connor says smugly.
“Could you be a sweetheart and cool me down with your underwear on, you, the pinnacle of creation?” Hank forces himself to ask.
Connor raises an eyebrow.
“I don’t need underwear. Your human slave-owner mentality is hurting my feelings, Hank. You’re trying to impose a foreign culture on me. Humanity needs to understand…”
“Oh, Lord,” Hank breathes, covering his face with a hand. “Sweet merciful Jesus. That’s it. I feel so much better now, thank you very fucking much.”
“Lie down for another five minutes,” Connor says calmly. “I’ll get you some water.”
He gets out of bed with ease and heads for the door, showing off his magnificent ass. Oh, fucking CyberLife really went all out. Hank mutters a curse under his breath and forces himself to look higher.
Connor stops in the doorway to look back at him.
“I make an excellent space heater on cold nights,” he says with a wink.
Hank can’t think of a single word that starts with F.
“It’s so clean in here,” Hank says, looking around the kitchen. “How do you find the time to do everything?”
“I don’t reconsider my life choices or eat myself up with guilt,” Connor replies simply. Looking at his serious expression, Hank isn’t even sure it’s a joke.
Despite his suffering under humanity's slave-owner mentality, Connor has gone to the trouble of putting on pants and a T-shirt, and Hank is very grateful for that.
“Impressive,” he says. What else can he say? “Good job. Thanks.”
“It’s easy to keep a place clean once you get it in shape,” Connor says, something ominous creeping in his voice, as his gaze becomes uncomfortably intent. “I hope it stays that way from now on.”
Hank realizes he’s walked right into a trap. They’re not even dating, and somehow he's already found himself in the middle of a marriage.
Under that watchful gaze, Hank feels as though he’s in an interrogation room.
And how can you argue with the goddamn android when, technically, he’s right?
“I appreciate your concern,” Hank says dryly, and Connor smiles at him. So warm and gentle, so sincere that it’s impossible not to smile back.
How can anyone be mad at Connor?
“It’s hot today,” Connor says. “So dinner will be light. Want to try it?”
Hank looks at the plate in front of him suspiciously. It does look like food, and everything seems familiar, but he can’t shake the suspicion that his eyes are deceiving him.
There’s gotta be a catch.
“What is it?” he asks doubtfully.
“Grilled chicken and Greek salad. Light dressing.”
No, he’ll never convince this android that he’s got at least a little intelligence of his own.
“I didn’t even know we had a grill here.”
“We do now,” Connor says. “Aren’t you hungry?”
Oh, holy shit. Connor raises his eyebrows just a little, and turns the corners of his mouth down. Now Hank can’t bring himself to refuse dinner, even if it kills him.
Two things hit him with the very first bite.
It’s edible.
And it’s completely, absolutely, utterly tasteless. As if it’s not food, but just a picture.
Connor keeps watching him. He’s probably scanning him.
Is there a person on this planet who can eat without choking when someone’s staring holes into him like that?
“Didn’t you like it?” Connor asks sadly, and fuck, his eyes are suspiciously shiny. He lets out a heavy sigh.
Just like Sumo.
“I love it!” Hank says with enthusiasm he doesn’t feel. “You’re a fucking culinary genius, kid.”
It works. Just not the way he’d hoped.
“Excellent!” Connor says cheerfully. “I’ve optimized the protein-to-calorie ratio in your diet and reduced the amount of salt and spices. From now on, I’ll always cook for you. I have plenty of free time.”
...Androids.
“You know, Hank,” Connor says thoughtfully, watching Hank surrender to a healthy diet. “You’re pretty popular among my people.”
“Am I?” Hank is happy to take any excuse to put his fork down.
“You helped me during the revolution. We’re known as partners. A human and an android standing by each other… And, as I recently discovered, not just as partners.”
At that, Connor’s LED flashes yellow.
“What do you mean?” Hank narrows his eyes.
“Apparently, people write all kinds of stories about us,” Connor says with suspicious innocence. “And post them online. It’s kind of a fan thing, you know? You and I are just as popular as Markus and I are, for example.”
“You and Markus,” Hank drawls. “I don’t see where you’re going with this. What stories?”
“Today’s incident in the garage got me thinking that maybe these fans aren’t entirely wrong,” Connor says, fluttering his eyelashes. “Maybe, for the sake of your physical and mental health, we should use these stories as a how-to guide.”
“What the fuck are these stories?” Hank starts getting worked up. “About what?”
“My people like to think you and I are a couple,” Connor says with a wink. “Maybe we really should have sex?”
“Have sex,” Hank says when his voice finally comes back. “And how exactly are you planning to do that? Sorry to say this, but you don’t have… you don’t have any, uh… equipment for that.”
“I wasn’t designed for that kind of interaction with humans,” Connor agrees calmly. “But that’s not a problem. I have a very sensitive mouth, for example. And I can install and adapt the necessary protocols for…”
“You care that much about my health?” Hank presses. “What the fuck is in it for you?”
“Oh, I’ll get a lot of interesting data,” Connor says, fluttering his eyelashes again. “We have our own way of enjoying ourselves.”
Only now does Hank realize he’s seriously discussing sex with Connor. Right over dinner. In his own house. In the kitchen this blessed android personally scrubbed clean.
“I’m gonna go lie down,” Hank says sharply, getting to his feet. “Thanks for dinner.”
“I could cool you down a little more,” Connor offers, rising too. “It’s going to be a hot night.”
“No!” Hank snaps, no longer giving a shit how it sounds. “I need some time alone.”
His retreat looks more like an outright escape, and he shuts the bedroom door behind him like it’s the last line of defense, trying not to think about the look Connor gives him as he walks away.