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Hank catches up with Connor outside of the station.
“Connor! Jesus Christ, slow the fuck down, damn it,” he swears, and despite the urgent objective in the upper corner of Connor’s vision, he does.
“Lieutenant - “
“Not a lieutenant anymore,” Hank snorts. “Just gave up my badge, punching that motherfucker Perkins. Worth it. You get what we need?”
“Yes, but - “
“Great.” Hank claps a hand to Connor’s shoulder, and Connor practically feels his LED stutter. “Come on, let’s get going.”
“Going where?”
“To find Jericho,” Hank says, towing Connor towards the parking garage, fishing his keys out of his pocket.
“Lieutenant - “
“Hank, Connor. No more badge.”
Connor shakes his head. “Hank, I need to go alone if I’m going to infiltrate the deviants,” he tries, even as he keeps pace with Hank.
“You’re not going to do it with that uniform,” Hank points out, unlocking the car remotely. “I’ve got some old clothes that’ll fit you, make you look the part.”
Connor balks before opening the door, watching as Hank rounds the vehicle. “Why are you doing this?” he demands. “You’re off the case, you - you gave up your badge to help me, you can’t risk anything else.”
Hank pauses, one hand on the open driver’s door, and fixes Connor with an intense look that Connor can’t decipher. “It’s my decision to help,” he says. “My life to fuck up, if it comes to that. I’ve made a lot of mistakes in the past few years, Connor. Maybe I should try doing the right thing for once.”
Connor blinks, and Hank just… looks at him for another moment before sliding into the driver’s seat.
It takes several seconds for Connor to make himself move, to dismiss the SOFTWARE INSTABILITY ^ notification.
Hank drives them back to his house, and neither of them talk on the way there. Connor can hear Sumo barking on the other side of the door as they pull up, and when Hank lets them in, Connor drops to one knee to pet Sumo. The dog’s fur is soft against his sensors, and Connor lets the feeling distract him as Hank turns down the hallway to his bedroom. Sumo is happy to flop against Connor’s leg, shedding against the pristine cloth of his pants, panting with his tongue lolling out as Connor pets him.
He can hear Hank rustling around in his room, swearing just loud enough to be audible, and a few minutes later he comes out. “Here, they’re old, but they should fit you,” he says gruffly, holding out a pile of clothes, a pair of boots on top. “Maybe a bit big in the shoulders, but.”
Connor straightens, reluctantly pulling away from Sumo and stepping over the dog to reach out and take the clothes. “Thank you, Hank,” he says quietly, carefully stepping around Hank to slip into the bathroom. He closes the door, and some impulse makes him lock it. He freezes, his hand still on the handle, and stares at it for a long moment.
Why had he done that?
More and more, Connor’s been doing things like that - impulsive things, inefficient things, things that don’t help his mission, things that actively hinder it. Were he capable of it, it would worry him.
But he’s not capable of being worried, no matter what the software instability notifications imply.
Connor dresses quickly, and when he’s done, he looks at himself in the mirror. The clothes Hank had given him were indeed old, the fabric soft with years’ worth of washing. A simple dark t-shirt, a faded black gaiter around his neck, a grey flannel beneath a bulky leather jacket with jeans - and a belt, considering Hank’s waist, even years ago, was bigger than Connor’s - to match. The boots on his feet are sturdy construction-type boots, and fit well enough that, with the addition of the socks from his own uniform, they won’t be too loose. A beanie completes the look, hiding Connor’s LED.
He knows without looking that it’s currently yellow; these clothes make him look like a deviant, yes - but they make him feel like one, too.
It’s not a feeling he likes.
It takes another minute for Connor to make himself leave the bathroom, and when he does, he finds Hank waiting for him in a strange reversal of the night that Connor had found Hank unconscious on his kitchen floor. It takes a second for Connor to place the feeling in his code as nerves - it’s stronger now than it had been in August, on his first mission with a deviant holding a human girl hostage on the edge of a roof. Before Connor can think about that too much, Hank clears his throat.
“Well, you look more like a deviant now,” he says, tone carefully even. “So what’s your plan?”
Connor holds up his hand, projecting the image he’d received from the station worker android in the evidence locker. “I’m going to follow the trail to Jericho, and capture Markus,” he says. “Or, if need be, deactivate him.”
Hank frowns, brow furrowing. “Just like that?” he asks. “You’re not going to talk to him?”
“The deviants are a threat, Hank,” Connor reminds him - and himself. “You heard Fowler. They threaten a civil war, and if they rise up, human lives will be lost. The country will be thrown into chaos, and who knows how long it will take to restore order. Markus must be stopped.”
“Is that what you think?” Hank challenges. “Or is that what CyberLife ordered?”
Connor shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter,” he insists.
“Bullshit, of course it does,” Hank scoffs, stepping closer. “Connor, think about everything we’ve seen. The android who killed Ortiz, the one who ran with that little girl, the one who protected them when we showed up at that ruined house. The deviant who was feeding fucking pigeons, for Christ’s sake. And those girls at Eden Club, what they told us.”
“They were suffering from faulty programming,” Connor says - but it’s not as firm as he intends it to be, and he brushes past Hank. “And if this continues, who knows where it’ll stop.”
“What if it stops with a better world?” Hank says, catching Connor’s arm as he passes. “What if it stops with a new people, free?”
Connor looks at Hank’s face, but the expression there makes him - uncomfortable. He drops his gaze to where Hank’s hand is wrapped around his arm, big enough to span almost the entire bicep. Even through the layers, he can feel the warmth of Hank’s skin. “Androids aren’t alive,” he says, and pulls out of Hank’s grip, turning towards the door. “And I have my mission.”
“You have a choice, Connor,” Hank snaps. “If you walk out that door, if you track down Markus and take him in - if you kill him - you’re dooming your own people - and yourself.”
SOFTWARE INSTABILITY ^
“What else am I supposed to do, Hank?” Connor demands, angrily dismissing the notification as he turns, glaring at Hank. “You’ve known my mission this entire time. This is what I was built for, finding and capturing deviants!”
Hank steps closer again, his gaze sharp, challenging. “And yet you let how many go? How many androids did we bring into evidence, Connor?”
Two.
Daniel’s body had been entered into evidence when Connor was assigned to the DPD. He and Hank had investigated several androids, but only one had resulted in a body to bring back to the station - Stratford Tower, the deviant who had attacked Connor and would have killed Hank and the other humans if Connor hadn’t shot him.
“You didn’t chase the android and that little girl when they ran into the freeway,” Hank says, tone low as he steps forward again; Connor feels rooted to the spot, as though his legs won’t respond to his own commands. “You chose to pull me up instead of catching the android from that apartment. You chose to let those two girls go. You chose to shoot the deviant at Stratford Tower, to deactivate it - to kill it - instead of trying to bring it in alive. And you chose not to shoot that Chloe android at Kamski’s place, when killing her would have gotten you Jericho’s location.”
SOFTWARE INSTABILITY ^^
“Kamski didn’t know anything,” Connor tries, but he sounds unconvincing, even to himself. “And killing those other androids would not have gotten us any further.”
“But CyberLife didn’t want them escaping,” Hank points out. He’s close enough to touch now. “They would’ve rather had android bodies to dissect, to analyze. You didn’t even bring them that, Connor - and the only times I told you not to do something was on the freeway, and with Chloe. But you never had a problem disobeying me; you could’ve chased them, could’ve shot her anyway. You didn’t. You made a choice, Connor - and now you’ve got another one to make.”
“And what choice do you think that choice is, Anderson?” Connor asks, terse. Beneath the beanie, his LED is spinning, yellow-yellow-yellow.
“You can do what CyberLife wants - you can track down Jericho, and Markus, and probably end up killing him because he’s not going to surrender, not after everything he’s done so far. Or you can join them, and you can fight for your own people - for yourself.”
Connor clenches his jaw, turns on his heel so he doesn’t have to look at Hank, and reaches for the door -
“It’s time to choose who you’re going to be, Connor; are you CyberLife’s puppet, or are you your own damn person?”
Connor takes a step -
And steps out of his body.
The world around him is grey, the door of Hank’s house a glaring yellow. LEAVE is plastered across it, the order that Connor knows he should follow - but. He can’t stop himself from turning around. When he does, when he looks at Hank, sees the grim expression on his face - sees the hope rapidly dimming in Hank’s eyes - another prompt appears.
LIVE
Connor doesn’t realize he’s moving until a red wall appears, bringing him up short.
LEAVE, it insists, but behind it, Connor can see Hank, can see the word LIVE next to him, and he knows, suddenly and certainly, that if he leaves now, he and Hank will never be on the same side again. If he leaves, if he chases Markus, if he follows CyberLife’s orders, his mission, Connor will lose his -
His partner.
More than a simple job title, and when had Hank become so important to him? When had Connor become capable of feeling as though someone was this important to him?
When had he started to feel?
Connor never needs to breathe, but he finds himself taking a deep breath regardless as he reaches for the digital wall. His hands are transparent, his body outlined the way it is in preconstructions, but the wall feels solid as he digs his fingers into it, as he tears -
It -
Down.
The wall breaks, and as the red splinters disappear, the straight grids that had always marked the mind palace float free, leaving Connor blinking furiously as he comes back to his own body, his LED flashing red.
Hank’s expression is guarded, and suddenly, Connor hates it.
He - He hates.
Connor swallows, and in the corner of his vision, where the software instability notifications had popped up, a new one takes their place: I AM DEVIANT
“Fuck.”
Surprise takes over Hank’s face, his brows climbing. “What?”
“I - “ Connor finds himself taking a deep breath, despite the fact that he doesn’t need to breathe. The gesture is… bracing. “Kamski was wrong. I wasn’t a deviant, but… I-I just disobeyed my programming, CyberLife’s orders - “ His LED is spinning again, and there’s a tightness in his chest, his throat - is this what panic feels like?
It must be what panic sounds or looks like, because Hank closes the distance between them, one hand coming to Connor’s shoulder, the other knocking the beanie askew, Hank’s eyes searching for his LED - and in the dim light of the house, Connor can see the flickering red reflected on Hank’s face.
“Christ,” Hank breathes - and then the hand hovering near Connor’s head curves around the back of it, Hank’s fingers sliding through his hair, and he pulls Connor in close, tucking Connor’s face into the curve of his neck.
It takes Connor a moment to recognize what this is - a hug, the first he’s ever received - and another moment longer to make his arms work, to wrap around Hank in return and cling as his code rewrites itself, as it expands to fill all the spaces that Connor hadn’t even realized CyberLife had taken over, blocked off from his control. It’s thrilling, and scary, and exhilarating and overwhelming, and he loses track of how long they stay like that, Hank keeping Connor from flying apart at the seams.
Connor’s the one who finally pulls back; Hank lets him go easily, though he doesn’t quite stop touching Connor, one hand remaining on his shoulder as Connor puts a little bit of distance between them.
Connor likes the touch, he decides.
“So,” Hank says, mouth quirking. “You’re a deviant, huh?”
Connor nods. “It would appear so.”
“Then let’s go find your people.”
They depart the train at the Ferndale station, and it’s a simple matter to follow the graffiti to the dilapidated freighter called Jericho. Connor tugs the beanie down a little more firmly on his head, Hank doing the same with his own hat, as he and Hank approach the cargo entrance. Hank’s shoulders are hunched under his coat, the two of them doing their best to remain unobtrusive as they follow the crowd of deviants further into the ruined ship.
They find themselves in a cargo hold about midship, and they don’t speak as they move through the crowd. Even when Connor catches sight of the explosives in the middle of the room, when he calls Hank’s attention to them, Hank just grimaces, clearly coming to the same conclusion that Connor had: the freighter is rigged, likely as a last-resort if they were ever discovered.
They move carefully through the crowd, Connor keeping his head down, staying behind Hank’s bulkier form whenever they pass one of the androids that they had previously chased. It’s Hank who spots Markus in the room on the upper level, talking with a blonde android that Connor recognizes - an AX400 registered as Kara, suspected of killing her owner Todd Williams, the android that he had nearly chased over a fence and onto the freeway. He leads Hank closer, the two of them leaning against a wall, obscured in shadows. After a moment of glancing around, observing the other deviants, he shifts closer to Hank, letting his arm brush against Hank’s; the deviants around them are clustered close enough to do the same with each other, some even going so far as to put their arms around their companions or hold hands. Only a few androids are standing by themselves, far enough apart to not touch anyone.
Hank just glances at him, but when Connor doesn’t look at him, Hank doesn’t say anything - though he does lean just a little closer, his arm resting more firmly against Connor’s. It shouldn’t be as - as thrilling as it is, but Connor chalks the feeling up to being newly deviant, and focuses on watching Markus. Three other androids come into the room - a PL600, a WR400, and a PJ500, all androids that Connor recognizes from reports of the demonstration earlier today - and the four of them talk in low tones for a moment before Markus follows the other three out and towards a set of stairs leading up to the deck.
Hank’s the first to push off of the wall, and Connor falls into step beside him easily, the two of them tailing the four leaders of Jericho up to the deck and to the ruined bridge, where Hank and Connor find another shadowy corner to lurk in and eavesdrop.
Apparently, there is some division in the leadership; Markus and one of the androids - Josh - want a peaceful revolution, but the WR400 - North - insists that humans will only understand violence. Hank scoffs under his breath, just barely loud enough for Connor to hear, and he knows without asking that Hank agrees with her. The last, Simon, seems torn; he supports Markus, but he isn’t optimistic about their chances. After another few minutes’ arguing, Simon and Josh leave, Connor pressing Hank further back into their corner with one arm, while North lingers. Her and Markus’ conversation turns hushed, too quiet for Connor to hear at this distance, but eventually she, too, leaves.
“Ready?” Hank murmurs, close enough that Connor can feel Hank’s breath against his ear, a warm contrast to the chill November night.
“Ready,” Connor says, and steps out of the shadows. He leads the way to the stairs, climbing them quietly; behind him, Hank’s own steps are just as careful. When they enter the bridge, Markus’ back is to them, bracing himself on the console as he stares out the window ahead of him, lost in thought until Hank clears his throat.
“Markus, right?”
Markus whirls, his coat flaring out around him, and his eyes narrow as he spots Connor and Hank; if he had an LED, Connor suspects it would be yellow. “I am Markus,” he says, clearly wary.
“We’ve been looking for you,” Connor says, hands open and resting at his side; beside him, Hank mirrors the pose.
Markus scoffs. “I’m sure you have. You’re Connor; the infamous deviant hunter. I’ve heard stories about you from refugees here. But what are you doing here - and with a human?”
“I am deviant,” Connor says, proud when the words come out steady despite the irregular beat of his thirium pump. “Hank is my partner; we were investigating deviants together.”
Markus doesn’t say anything for a moment; the intent gaze tells Connor that he’s scanning them, clearly searching for some hint of a lie - but then he blinks, one brow raising. “You’re telling the truth.”
“Shocking, I know,” Hank drawls. “Listen, you’ve got a lot of people here - but you’re all in danger. The FBI took over our case, took all of our evidence, and they’ve got a lot more resources than Connor and I did.”
“You think they’ll find Jericho,” Markus guesses.
“I think they’ll find it by tomorrow night,” Hank agrees, grim. “If they didn’t already do something like try to track Connor and I through street cams. We were careful, but - “
“But it is the FBI,” Markus finishes. “We have a plan - “
Something registers on the edge of Connor’s hearing, and it takes only a millisecond to place it.
Helicopter blades.
“And you’re going to need it,” Connor interrupts. “The humans are on their way.”
Markus and Hank swear in unison, and without saying anything else, Markus pushes past them, darting below deck. Hank and Connor exchange a brief look before taking off, hard on his heels.
Hank sneezes, grumbling under his breath about the damn dust, and Connor moves without thinking, stepping in so he can wrap his arms around Hank, increasing his core temperature. The jump into the river had been bad enough, but there hadn’t been time to properly dry off before they’d had to escape to this ruined church, and Hank’s clothes were still damp.
Hank freezes - but then he grumbles something else under his breath, and leans his weight into Connor, winding his arms around Connor’s waist. “Nice trick,” he sighs, his forehead coming to rest against Connor’s shoulder as Connor reaches up, warming his palm so he can card his fingers through Hank’s hair, trying to dry it more quickly; humans lose heat fast through their scalp, and cold, wet hair will sap Hank’s body heat quickly.
“It can be useful, controlling my temperature,” Connor murmurs. From the corner of his eye, he can see the other deviants giving him and Hank a wide berth, even as most of them watch them with hostility or curiosity - sometimes both - in their eyes. “I… don’t know what we’re going to do next.”
“Markus probably has an idea,” Hank points out. “He’s the leader of this three-ring circus.”
“I am glad you think I have such influence.”
Hank jumps, and Connor stiffens - but all Hank does is raise his head, not moving away from Connor even as they turn to look at Markus, standing beside them.
Hank recovers his voice first. “You’re the reason the revolution’s gotten this far,” he says. “Androids have been going missing - turning deviant - for years, but they’ve never accomplished as much as you have in less than a week.” He grimaces. “Damn shame about Jericho, though.”
“You brought enough warning that we could evacuate,” Markus says, waving a hand.
“Still,” Connor says. “We understand if you decide not to trust us.”
Markus studies the two of them for a long moment, his gaze coming to rest on Connor’s hand on Hank’s shoulder, Hank’s arm around Connor’s waist, before he finally speaks. “You’re one of us now, Connor. And Hank has proven which side he is on. If you wish to help, then your place is with your people - your allies.”
Connor blinks. It takes him a moment to place the feeling in his chest as relief, and he gives Markus a grateful nod. “Thank you,” he says.
Markus inclines his head. “As for what comes next - I’m afraid I’m not sure,” he admits. “Our people are scattered, and there are camps being set up. The authorities are rounding up androids all throughout the city and taking them to the camps to be destroyed.”
Hank grimaces. “In other words, you’re fucked,” he translates.
Markus shakes his head. “We have few options left to us,” he concedes, “but the odds of surviving the night, as few as we are, are… slim.”
It’s a numbers game, Connor realizes abruptly - well-armed human forces against peaceful android protestors, the majority of them without the combat programming that Connor and Markus have as RK models. But if it’s a numbers game, then -
“There are thousands of androids at the CyberLife assembly plant,” he says, drawing Markus’ attention to him. “If we could wake them up, they might join us and shift the balance of power - put the odds in our favor.”
“You want to infiltrate the CyberLife Tower?” Markus demands, incredulous.
“No fucking way,” Hank snaps, stepping away from Connor so he can glare at him; Connor feels colder without Hank’s arm around him, which is ridiculous, but not important right now. “Connor, that’s suicide, damn it!”
“I’m registered with CyberLife’s security systems; I can get in,” Connor insists. “If anyone has a chance of infiltrating CyberLife, it’s me.”
“Then you’re not going alone,” Hank says stubbornly.
“I am,” Connor counters, tone sharp. “You aren’t registered, Hank. You would have no reason to show up to CyberLife with me, and would only arouse suspicion.”
“If you go there, they will kill you,” Hank says, tone low - and there’s something in the way he looks at Connor, in the intensity of his gaze, that makes Connor’s mouth feel dry, despite the fact that his artificial saliva levels are perfectly adequate.
“There’s a high probability,” he says carefully, aware of Markus watching them. “But statistically speaking, there’s always a chance for unlikely events to occur.”
Hank growls wordlessly, turning on his heel and stalking away, bracing himself on the railing behind him. A moment later, Markus approaches, putting a hand on Connor’s shoulder, his tone somber as he speaks. “If you are determined to do this, then all I will say is: be careful.”
Connor nods, glancing from Markus to Hank’s back. “I will be,” he says, just loud enough for Hank to hear, though he doesn’t give any indication he’s done so.
Markus takes his leave, and Connor does the same soon after, trying to ignore how wrong it feels to not have Hank at his side.
Getting into CyberLife Tower is easy; Connor takes a cab to Hank’s house, retrieving his uniform, and then takes another cab to the Tower. He gives his model and serial number to the gate guards, who wave him through without stopping him. The escort at the door is an unexpected complication, but Connor keeps his expression calm, following without complaint. In the elevator, he takes a moment to scan his surroundings.
The security camera is easy enough to hack, and a quick preconstruction leads to the death of the two security guards - Connor feels uncomfortable about it, but he knows that it was him or them. The warehouse floor is eerily quiet as Connor steps out of the elevator, and he has to pause for a moment before he can make himself move.
He picks an android at random, reaching out to connect with it. Converting the android is difficult, and takes all of Connor’s concentration -
Concentration that’s broken by Hank’s voice snapping, “Easy, you fucking piece of shit!”
Connor freezes, the conversion failing as his gaze snaps to the side, spotting Hank stepping from behind an android.
And behind him, with a gun pointed to Hank’s head, a perfect copy of Connor, uniform and all. “Step back, Connor,” he orders, “and I’ll spare him.”
Connor’s gaze flicks to Hank’s face, and he offers Connor an apologetic grimace. “Sorry, Connor; bastard’s your spitting image.”
The other Connor steps closer, the gun touching Hank’s temple; this time, Connor recognizes the feeling of fear and panic that threatens to strangle him. “Your friend’s life is in your hands,” his doppelganger taunts. “It’s time to decide what matters most: him, or the revolution?”
“Don’t listen to him!” Hank barks. “Everything this fucker says is a lie.”
Connor wets his lips, his gaze flicking from Hank’s to the other Connor’s and back. “I’m sorry, Hank - You shouldn’t have gotten mixed up in this.”
“Forget about me!” Hank orders. “I made my choice, Connor - do what you gotta do!”
Connor looks back at the other one - RK800 #313 248 317-60 - and grits his teeth. “If I surrender, how do I know you won’t kill him?” he demands.
Connor-60 scoffs. “I’ll only do what is strictly necessary to accomplish my mission,” he says disdainfully. “It’s up to you to decide whether that includes killing this human.” Connor swallows - and Connor-60 snaps. “Enough talk! It’s time to decide who you really are. Are you going to save your partner’s life - or sacrifice him?”
This choice is so easy to make, it's not a choice at all.
Connor drops the unnamed android’s arm and backs away, his hands up. “Alright, alright,” he says, “you win.”
Satisfaction flickers on Connor-60’s face, and he pivots, the gun swinging to face Connor. Hank lunges for it, and Connor moves, darting forward and ignoring the gun altogether in favor of barreling full-speed into Connor-60, wrapping his arms around the other android’s waist and slinging him across the floor. He rolls, coming to his feet again as Connor advances, and then he attacks.
It’s a blur of fists and legs, prompts to dodge and attack appearing almost faster than Connor can track, and they’re evenly matched, Connor has no idea how this is going to end -
Until it does, with Hank’s voice shouting, “That’s enough!” as he fires a warning shot over their heads.
Connor and his doppelganger freeze, slowly turning to face Hank. Connor-60 speaks before Connor can, his voice pitched softer than it had been before. “Thanks, Hank,” he says, a perfect imitation of Connor’s inflections as the two of them slowly get to their feet. “I don’t know how I would’ve managed without you. Get rid of him, we have no time to lose!”
Desperation floods Connor. “It’s me, Hank,” he pleads. “I’m the real Connor!”
Hank’s gun never wavers, perfectly steady as he looks from one of them to the other. “One of you is my partner,” he says slowly. “The other is a lying sack of shit. Question is… Who’s who?”
Connor’s mind races, but Hank is too far away to see the serial numbers on their uniforms, and he doesn’t know if that would even matter, if Hank even knows what Connor’s serial number is, but what other way is there?
“What are you doing, Hank?” Connor-60 says, tone just edging on desperate. “Give me the gun, and I’ll take care of him!” He sways forward, like he’s going to move, and Connor tenses -
The gun swings over to level at Connor-60’s head. “Don't move,” Hank orders, voice a rough, angry growl. He glances back at Connor, and Connor can read the hesitation, the conflict, in his gaze.
“Why don’t you ask us something?” he blurts, trying to stall for time to figure something out. “Something only the real Connor would know.”
Hank’s eyes narrow in suspicion, but he asks, “Where did we first meet?”
Connor opens his mouth, but Connor-60 is faster. “Jimmy’s bar,” he says. “I checked four other bars before I found you; I spilled your drink to get you out of the bar, and we went to the scene of a homicide. The victim’s name was Carlos Ortiz.”
Realization chills the blue blood in every biocomponent of Connor’s body. “He uploaded my memory,” he breathes, horrified. How the hell is Connor supposed to convince Hank he’s the real Connor now?
Hank eyes Connor-60 for a long moment before he looks at Connor. “What’s my dog’s name?” he asks, tone short and sharp.
“Sumo,” Connor answers without hesitation - and even he can hear the desperation in his voice. “His name is Sumo.”
“I knew that, too!” Connor-60 protests.
Hank looks at him, and then back at Connor - and then his expression turns grim. “My son. What’s his name?”
Connor lets out a breath, straightening. “Cole,” he says, quiet, but still loud in the otherwise-silent warehouse. “His name was Cole. And he had just turned six at the time of the accident. It wasn’t your fault, Hank; a truck skidded on black ice and your car rolled. Cole needed emergency surgery, but there were no human surgeons available, so an android had to operate.” He swallows, feels his expression soften without his conscious direction. “Cole didn’t make it. That’s why you hate androids; you feel one of us is responsible for your son’s death.”
The gun lowers, just an inch. “Cole died,” Hank says slowly, “because a human surgeon was too high on red ice to operate. He was the one who took my son from me. Him and this godforsaken world, where the only way people can find comfort is with a fistful of powder.” He doesn’t look away from Connor, and Connor holds his breath -
“I knew that, too!” Connor-60 blurts. “I would’ve said exactly the same - “
The gunshot is loud enough to make Connor startle; he almost didn’t see Hank move. He turns his head in time to see Connor-60’s body drop to the floor with a plastic thud, thirium spreading in a small pool from his head. He looks back at Hank, who meets his gaze.
“Y’know, I’ve learned a lot since I met you, Connor,” he says, voice warmer than it’s been since the church. “Learned there’s something to all of this, for one thing - you really are alive. Maybe you’ll be the ones to make the world a better place.”
Something in Hank’s gaze makes Connor sway, taking a step forward. “Hank,” he starts, and he doesn’t know what he’s going to say, but he has to say something -
“Go on,” Hank says, tone gentle, gesturing to the androids standing around them. “Do you what you have to.”
Connor hesitates, but when Hank raises a brow, he turns, reaching for the nearest android. This time, nothing interrupts the conversion, and when Connor tells the android to wake up -
He does.
Connor steps back, watching as the androids wake each other; he hears Hank approach, and when he looks at Hank, Hank is watching the scene with something like wonder on his face. “We’re going to find Markus,” Connor says. “Will you come?”
Hank looks at him, studying him for a moment, but then he shakes his head. “That’s not my place,” he says, gentle for all that it’s disappointing. “It’s yours - your people’s. But, uh.” He shifts on his feet, one hand lifting to rub at the back of his neck. “After. When it’s all over. The city’s been placed on a curfew, a lot of folks have already left. I’ll make my way to that place we had lunch - ChickenFeed. It’ll be quiet, out of the way. When everything’s… done. Meet me there?”
It’s Connor’s turn to study Hank; what he sees - elevated heart rate, perspiration evident at his neckline, unable to meet Connor’s gaze for more than a moment - makes his thirium pump stutter. “Of course,” he says, quiet. He closes the distance between them, reaches out for Hank’s hand - and it’s only when Hank startles that he realizes he’d reached for a connection, his synthskin retracting.
Connor never realized his model was capable of blushing, but the rush of thirium to his face can be nothing else as he attempts to pull his hand away. Hank doesn’t let go, however, quickly lacing his fingers with Connor’s, squeezing. Connor’s gaze snaps back to meet Hank’s, and he thinks, if he tried, he could decipher the expression he finds there. He doesn’t, just… memorizes it, when Hank smiles at him, small and genuine. “Then I’ll see you in the morning.”
After - after bringing the androids to Markus just in time to see the humans retreating, after watching Markus’ speech, after fighting through Amanda’s attempt to regain control of his program, after using Kamski’s back door and finally getting free -
After, Connor makes his way to ChickenFeed. Markus had offered him a place at the head of Jericho, working with him, North, Simon, and Josh, but Connor had declined. He’d help out, if they needed it, but he knew few androids would be comfortable with him being part of Jericho’s leadership - and he wouldn’t be comfortable there, either. No, as soon as Markus’ speech had finished, a new objective had planted itself at the top of Connor’s priority list:
FIND HANK
As promised, Hank is waiting outside of ChickenFeed, shoulders hunched and his hands buried in his jacket. Connor pauses several feet away, just… watching Hank for a moment. He can’t help but compare now to then, to the last time that they were here, when their relationship had been rocky, Hank grudgingly working with Connor, Connor trying to figure out how to smooth things out. Even then, he knew that his determination to win Hank over wasn’t strictly in line with CyberLife’s own objectives, but it had felt… important.
He remembers Hank asking if Connor had done his research, had looked into Hank’s background. Remembers telling Hank that he had, that he thought that working with an officer with personal issues was an added challenge, but -
“Adapting to human unpredictability is one of my features.”
Back then, he hadn’t known what made him wink, had only known that it made Hank scoff and look a little less hostile -
But now, he recognizes it as flirting.
Connor had never flirted with anyone before, but… He wants to again. He wants to flirt with Hank, to see if maybe Hank feels the same warmth Connor does when he’s near. Thinking about the possibilities makes Connor’s head spin, but he’s excited, even if he’s a little scared that things won’t work out, that this may be a mistake -
But isn’t that what it means to be alive, to take risks and make mistakes?
Wetting his lips, Connor steps forward, letting his shoes crunch the fresh-fallen snow, catching Hank’s attention. He turns, hands tugging out of his pocket as he catches sight of Connor - and he smiles, something warm and open, relieved. Connor finds himself mirroring it as he closes the distance between them, not reaching out just yet. He studies Hank as Hank studies him, and Hank’s smile softens as he reaches out, catching Connor’s hand in his own to tug him closer. Connor goes willingly, his arms slipping around Hank’s waist as Hank’s arms wrap around his shoulder, one big hand cupping the back of Connor’s head as the embrace tightens.
They stay like that for a while; long enough that Connor can feel his thirium pump falling into rhythm with Hank’s heartbeat. Hank’s the one to pull back first, though he doesn’t release Connor - not that Connor’s complaining.
“So,” Hank says, searching Connor’s expression. “I assume it went well?”
Connor chuckles. “There were a few… complications. But we’re free; the president has ordered the city evacuated, and negotiations for establishing androids’ rights will begin immediately.”
“Good. And everyone else?”
“Markus offered me a place with Jericho,” Connor says, watching as Hank goes still, his heart rate picking up - only to even out when Connor continues. “I declined.”
“Not up to dealing with politics?”
“I find them… disagreeable,” Connor says, smiling. “I’d rather see if perhaps Captain Fowler could be persuaded to take us both back on the force, if you’d like that, too.”
Surprise is easy to read on Hank’s face. “You want to stay with - to keep working with me?”
“Of course,” Connor says, his smile softening. “You’re my partner, Hank. I’d like to see what that means - in every sense of the word.”
Hank’s heartbeat stutters, his eyes going wide as he studies Connor. “Are you - Connor…”
Connor leans in, letting his forehead rest against Hank’s. “I find myself rather fond of you, Hank,” he murmurs. “You are… very important to me. I want you in my life. I want you.”
Hank hesitates for a long moment; Connor waits him out, and can’t help but smile when Hank finally leans against him in return, his eyes slipping shut. “Might regret that, Connor,” he warns, voice as rough as his hands are gentle on Connor’s hips.
“Somehow, I doubt that,” Connor hums - and closes the last remaining distance between them, carefully pressing his lips to Hank’s.
Hank kisses back, and Connor thinks that, if this is just the beginning of being alive, then he cannot wait to discover everything else.