Chapter Text
The coming weeks are hectic, at best.
Hank watches as reporters surround his house and garage, a turbulent sea of people with cameras and notebooks and banners the second Connor comes home. It’s a pain in the ass, if you ask him, yet Connor don’t seem too perturbed by their presence. He seems… better, peaceful, whatever kind of peace an android can get.
Markus had asked a lot of him, that’s for sure. Connor ain’t one for public speaking, that much Hank knows, even if he’s perfectly capable of doing it. Hell, he’d probably put Hank’s graduation speech to shame if he ever sees that tape recording. He makes a mental note to burn it, just in case.
Would Connor even know what a video tape is? Fuck.
You’re showin’ your age, Anderson.
Ain’t that the truth. Doesn’t seem like Connor minds, though, so that’s something.
Life doesn’t return to normality in any way, shape or form. The sea of reporters dwindle down but not all of them leave. It’s a bitch trying to take Sumo for a walk. It takes him twice the time considering all Sumo wants to do is lick everyone’s face the second he sprints outside. Hank envisions him knocking all the reporters down like a bowling ball, watching as they crash and fall like pins.
It never happens, though. Sumo’s an old boy, sweet at heart. Damnit.
Fowler and Hank are back to what they used to be – friends, buddies, partners, everything in between. They’re still at each other’s necks from time to time, but hey, that’s just how it goes. People don’t change, at least, not in that regard. Fowler even has him over for dinner one Tuesday night, Connor included, and Hank can’t believe his eyes when he sees Fowler’s daughter.
She’s gotten so big. Hell, when’s the last time he saw her? Christ. It’s been too long – he’s missed out on so many things, Fowler’s friendship for one, but also missed his best friend’s kid grow up.
He’s done taking this shit for granted.
Connor doesn’t exactly know how to interact with children, and Hank watches as he struggles to converse with her, struggles to get her to talk to him. It’s kind of sad up until the second she spots his LED on his temple, and then suddenly she’s all ears. Kid’s got a knack for technology, apparently, and all Fowler and Hank can do is scratch their heads and gape in disbelief as Connor retracts his skin to let her feel it.
It’s a weird night. But Hank’s glad it happened.
“I had fun,” Connor tells him on the drive home, looking down at his hands with a yellow and spinning LED reflecting in the passenger side window.
Yeah, Hank thinks, I did too.
He ain’t taking anything else for granted. He holds his chin up high, squares his shoulders, and drives. Connor looks over at him curiously, probably noting his sudden change in demeanour, and then he smiles. It’s worth it.
It’s probably why, the second Hank stumbles through the front door and kicks it closed, that Connor’s hands are on his face and pulling him in for a kiss. He’s never gonna get used to that, never. Never gonna get used to the fact that it’s Connor under his hands, pressed against his front, fingertips grazing across his scalp, lips on his.
He doesn’t know what the hell Connor sees in him. He doesn’t know why he even fucking bothers sticking around for an old guy like him, but hell, he’s not about to stop and ask.
Most nights end up like this, with Connor underneath Hank, pliable and like putty in his hands, back pressed against the old, lumpy mattress. He figures out pretty quickly what Connor likes, what makes him make those god damn noises in the back of his throat, somewhere between a moan and a grunt, and throw his head back against the pillow. There’s a spot on his neck, right at the curve where his collarbone should be, that has him closing his eyes and has his LED flickering red.
Hank likes that spot the most, he thinks. Though Connor is pretty much carved out of marble, perfect in every way, so he can’t really decide what he likes best.
He’s no expert in giving head, but damn do Connor’s reactions encourage him. The way he has one hand curled in Hank’s growing hair, the other fisted in the sheets beneath him, the way his face contorts and he worries his bottom lip, the way Hank has to grip his hips to keep him from bucking them.
He’s gonna kill Hank one day. Not a bad way to go, really.
And another thing, that lack of a refractory period thing? Jesus Christ.
Connor’s ready to go again in no time, pulling Hank on top of him like he so often does, slotting their mouths together as Hank presses inside of him with care and ease even if he knows Connor can’t feel pain. Still, it’s polite. It’s also worth it to see the way Connor’s eyelids flutter, the way his eyes move behind them like he’s trying to dismiss annoying pop-up warnings he’d told Hank about once.
Hank laces their fingers together beside Connor’s head and kisses him as he moves, feeling the synthetic nails of Connor’s fingertips dig into his shoulder blade and the way his legs curl around Hank’s back.
Yeah, Connor’s definitely gonna kill him one of these days.
“Hank,” Connor breathes, like he doesn’t know where he’s going with it. He does that a lot, breathes Hank’s name without realising he’s doing it. And, jesus, Hank loves it. Loves everything about it. Loves it enough to quicken his pace, leaning down to kiss and bite and suck at that spot on Connor’s neck whilst he does it.
Connor doesn’t last long after that. It’s kind of endearing, really, the fact that Hank can make Connor become so undone for someone who’s usually so well put-together. Hell, that’s gotta be one for the record books, right?
What matters is this is just for them, this quiet and safe space, disconnected from the world outside, the reporters, the inevitable chaos to come and Kamski’s cryptic words. This place is just for them – for no one else. Even if Sumo’s pounding the bedroom door and demanding to be let inside.
Even in the afterglow, Hank can’t help but laugh. Connor laughs too, skin stretched and hair tousled and flattened at the back, threading their fingers back together and leaning up for a delicate kiss.
It’s a family, right? Found family. All of this, all of them, even Sumo and even Reed and Fowler. It’s a family. Something Hank never thought he’d find again, not in a million years, not at the bottom of a bottle or in the barrel of a gun. Family don’t end in blood, no matter what colour it is, and Hank’s never been more grateful to Connor for showing him that.
Even once they clean up and Sumo barrels through the bedroom door, settling in his designated spot atop of Connor’s legs, Hank keeps smiling. Connor’s smile is lazy, his expression relaxed, and damn, if he could just see that kid make that expression more often.
Maybe he will. Maybe this is how it’s gonna be from now on, how it ought to be.
Maybe that’s the way it should have been from the beginning.
A month passes, and Markus has time to reflect.
He has always known there is good in people.
Some people have an inherent kindness, passed down to them from their parents and their parents before them, this much he can assume. The others? Well, the others are often plagued by self-reservations and previous trauma, so they can easily get a pass for their disrespectful behaviour.
There are others, however, whom he can’t see an inkling of goodness in. Demir Kaan is one of those people. He accomplished nothing aside from spewing senseless hatred and failing to conform to moral virtues, something that Markus could not fathom. North had her reservations about humans from the beginning – this much had been obvious (she’d made it very clear from day one aboard Jericho that humans were not worth wasting her breath on).
She had been right in this case, however, and it had shaken Markus to his core. He knew the peaceful revolution would have its consequences, that humanity as a whole were not in agreement about their kind, and that androids would probably be under scrutiny for their entire existence, but that didn’t stop him from hoping.
North had applauded him for his efforts – even if she’d been on the opposite end of the spectrum, choosing violence over serenity. When the time came, though, she had stood by his side and smiled, declaring androids living and free beings, despite the past bloodshed. And there was beauty in it, that freedom, but not in the blood.
All that blood was never once beautiful; it was just red. And blue, it seems.
He’d been damaged, almost beyond repair, and he’d been saved. There must be divine intervention in there, somewhere.
Connor had been saved, too, against all odds. Hank had made sure of it; he’d ensured all of their safety despite being injured himself, and yet, for some reason, he is not accepting of praise nor gratitude. He is an interesting person, Markus thinks, and he can certainly understand Connor’s attachment to him.
He can understand North’s attachment to Hank, too, given that they’re like two sides of the same coin. Both alike in their mannerisms and attitude, but with a soft and steady heart when it counts.
And together they had formulated a plan to end this once and for all, and it had worked. Markus and Connor were rescued, the day was saved, and the world continued to turn and the seasons changed. Demir Kaan becomes a distant memory for their people, but never forgotten nor forgiven. Demir Kaan will be the first of many, he knows, and the others know it too despite his copious attempts to comfort them.
They have grown, though, the others. They have grown into their individual selves, each unique in their own right. North is ambitious, determined, and most of all softer around the edges. She is not weak, never could be – Markus doesn’t want her to be – but she is certainly more forgiving when it comes to humans. He’ll have to thank Hank for that when he sees him again, even if his gratitude will fall on deaf ears.
Simon has grown, too, into someone strong and apathetic, someone Markus finds himself smiling at more often. There’s typically something behind Simon’s eyes when he looks at him, and it looks like sadness, but Markus can’t figure it out. He gets the impression Simon doesn’t want to be figured out, and so Markus leaves it be.
Connor has grown most of all. From the beginning, he was an outsider – he was the one struggling to fit in, to find himself and his place with his people, and ultimately it had proven too much and he had retreated back to what he had known. He had retreated back to Hank, a human, his human, and that had been that. Now things are better, destiny has been altered to be inclusive of humans such as Hank Anderson, and Markus only has Connor to thank for that.
Connor seems happy, happier than Markus could have ever predicted, and that in itself is really…something. Something good, something head and shoulders above anything Markus could have wanted for him.
So, Markus smiles. Everyone does, now, a lot more often. Even in their new accommodation, still half empty and filled with boxes upon boxes of android belongings gathered over two eight months, he smiles.
“Hey,” North interrupts his thought process like she so often does, looking up at him with a look in her eye like she can read his mind. She can’t – even if she could easily interface and find out what’s going on inside of his head. “Where’d you go?”
Markus smiles down at her and shakes his head, absently flexing his fingers on his replacement arm, still stiff and mechanical. “We’ve come a long way.”
“We’ve earned it.” North crosses her arms over her chest, and Markus notes the distinct absence of her necklace against her skin. He’d witnessed the exchange between her and Hank via interface, the gentle care and harsh words he’d delivered to her regarding letting go of her past. Not exactly the technique Markus would have used, but it had been effective, in any case, and it’s another thing he has to thank Hank for. “Maybe we’ll have some shore leave before the next guy screws us over.”
North isn’t stupid – far from it – and she knows the likelihood of another anti-android activist getting too big for his boots and inciting a riot. It’s high. “We’ll handle it when it comes. And now we have the law on our side, that counts for something.”
North hums in agreement, uncrossing her arms and glancing up at him. “Speaking of the law, did you speak with Hank?”
“About?”
North rolls her eyes. Of course Markus knows what she is referring to – he just wanted to see that look on her face.
“I haven’t yet, no. I thought you might want to do the honours.”
North’s grin is worth it. “Absolutely, I do.”
The topic of conversation is a dog. A german shepherd, to be precise. A gift to North from Markus – they are picking her up later this evening and North wishes to surprise Hank and Connor. Sumo will be most excited, Markus thinks, although Connor may not be far behind.
“What the fuck is that?” Hank’s reaction does not disappoint when they turn up at his home unannounced, the german shepherd affectionally named Zora by North. Markus doesn’t know the significance of the name, but he supposes it doesn’t really matter – it’s the look on North’s face that matters, the way she smiles and greets Hank with a fist bump, the dog by her side.
“It’s a dog,” North deadpans.
Sumo comes barrelling out the front door before anyone can react. Excited had been an understatement, in hindsight, Markus realises. Zora is equally enthused – of course she is.
(Markus had done prior research before adopting Zora, learning that interaction and socialisation between younger and older dogs could be a catalyst of social development. That’s the main reason he’d allowed North to bring the dog over so soon in the first place. It pays to be prepared.)
“Sumo, jesus christ,” Hank attempts to yank Sumo by his collar backwards to give Zora space, but it’s an uphill battle that he ends up losing by the time Connor appears in the doorway with a brow raised.
His face lights up when he spots the new dog on the premises. “You got a dog.”
“Congratulations,” North snorts. “You both have eyes.”
“May we come in?” Markus opts to be the polite guest at any given opportunity.
Connor beckons them inside, eyes on Zora and the way her tail wags back and forth like a propeller. North is quick to release her once the door is closed, watching with delight as she and Sumo wrestle one another on the ground.
“Adopted?” Connor asks.
“Yes,” Markus confirms, watching the dogs play with a soft smile on his face. “There’s an animal shelter three blocks away from our home.”
There’s a beat where no one speaks, and Connor looks over at Hank with wide eyes. Hank immediately puts his hands up and shakes them. “Absolutely fucking not, Con. Sumo is big enough to count as four dogs, easy. Don’t look at me like that.”
Markus gets the impression that the conversation is far from over with the way Connor’s LED flickers to yellow and then back to blue, tucked away for a time when they are alone. That seems to be the custom with them as of late; they keep to themselves, they are private people, it’s within their right. Unfortunately, being the face of the revolution, Markus doesn’t have said luxury.
He has to remain the face of his people. He has to be on the cover of magazines, he has to agree to interviews, he has to remain an active member of society. Connor doesn’t – he can return to his life if he so wishes. He can return to the police force and fulfil his purpose, but it doesn’t work out that way, in the end.
Connor stays at the DPD, yes, but he also helps Markus when he is needed. Markus is grateful for it, honestly, because dragging North from state to state would not be pleasant for anyone involved. Connor is more dignified, more socially accepted, a hero amongst the humans. He’d disobeyed Cyberlife directly, found his humanity amidst the chaos of the revolution, and became a new man.
Another month passes, and the peace resumes. Carl has taken to Hank considerably, and more often than not Markus finds himself coming home to find them both sitting at the dining table. Carl has been teaching Hank how to play chess (an impossible feat, Markus thinks, but it doesn’t prevent Carl from trying).
Simon and Connor are inseparable too. Markus is pleased about the fact, pleased to see that the sad look behind Simon’s eyes seems to dissipate whenever Connor is around. North sees it too, but she’s careful not to give anything away. Markus knows she’s hiding something from him, something regarding Simon, but he supposes it isn’t his business. Simon would tell him if it were important.
North takes over the Eden Club the following month. It isn’t without shutting the place down first, however, and changing the way it operates. No longer are androids (or humans) forced into sexual work against their will. Markus knows this is important to North; it’s important for her to concur her past, and to alter the present accordingly, to ensure what happened to her will never happen to anyone else.
Markus loves her. There are no words to convey how much he loves her, but thankfully there doesn’t need to be. A simple interface reveals his feelings, and he watches as she smiles, the way her eyes light up like they never had before, the way she exhales through her nose and nods. She loves him too, this much he knows. And that’s all that matters, in the end.
He hopes the peace will last.
Shit hits the fan more often than not, North knows.
That’s something Hank always says. She’s picked that up from him, among other things. Her use of contractions is another thing, but she doesn’t mind, not really. Hank had been a threat from the beginning, and North had watched as Connor had turned his back on them and his people and retreated back to that good for nothing police lieutenant without looking back.
She’d been naïve, of course. Something she doesn’t like to admit often.
Her experiences of humans had never been pleasant. She’d been used and abused for too many years, tossed around and reset more times than she could count, until one day she’d broken free of her programming and decided enough was enough. She’d escaped the constraints of the Eden Club with nothing but a stolen hoodie and a pair of heels to her name – Traci, at the time, but she prefers North.
There is something gratifying about choosing your own name.
Markus had been adamant to involve Connor, to have him reclaim his rightful place with their people. North had been sceptical – she’d thought it was a bad idea, that Connor had made his choice and retreated back to his human and forgotten about them and their cause.
She’d been naïve about that, too.
Simon takes to Connor quickly, although North has her suspicions about their bond from the beginning. She watches as Connor analyses Simon’s emotional reactions to herself and Markus on a day that feels like years ago now, back before they’d made any progress, all huddled around a map of Recall Centres around Detroit. They’d wanted to capture as many as possible, and Markus had asked for Connor’s assistance in doing so. Simon had an adverse reaction to North and Markus’ playful banter, and then all of a sudden Simon and Connor were as close as close can be.
Maybe Simon confided in Connor something he would never confide in her. She knows why, of course. She knows how Simon feels about Markus – she’s known from the beginning. She’s known since Jericho, since the moment Markus unceremoniously fell onto that cold, metal floor aboard that rusted old cargo ship. She’s seen the way Simon looks at Markus, the way his LED flickers and spins and the way his lips quirk.
She doesn’t feel jealous. She feels… sad. If Markus had returned Simon’s affection, she would have stepped aside. But he doesn’t, and this much Simon knows, and for that reason, there had been tension between them. Tension serious enough for Simon to elect to leave North behind aboard Jericho.
Connor sees to it, for the most part. Simon becomes calmer, politer, and he smiles more. North still feels sad. She doesn’t think she’ll ever stop.
She can’t tell Markus about it – it isn’t her place. Simon doesn’t want her to, that much is clear, too. So she keeps it to herself, tucks it away somewhere deep within her memory, and hides it from Markus whenever they interface.
When she gets assigned to babysit Hank Anderson, she feels like she’d rather force herself into standby than get into a car with a sweaty human. But she has to, because Markus wants her to.
Hank is… Hank exceeds her expectations more than once. Begrudgingly, she begins to warm up to him before she can stop it, before she can refrain from smiling or laughing when he makes a joke. It’s also easy to see and observe how much Hank and Connor care about one another, and how oblivious they both are to it.
It’s like watching a damn break, and when it finally does, the water won’t stop flowing. Connor looks happy, happier than North has ever seen him, and she realises she can’t waste her time hating Hank forever.
There are some good humans in the world. She’ll admit that. Not all of them, but some of them. Hank Anderson is one of them. Carl Manfred, too. Some are better than others, and for this reason, North never lets her guard down.
It’d be stupid to do so, anyway.
And she isn’t stupid.
“Could’ve fooled me.” Hank snorts, sitting next to her with his feet up on the coffee table.
“You know what’s stupid?” North retorts, elbowing him in his side and returning her eyes back to the TV. “This show.”
Markus and Connor wanted to discuss the upcoming press conference, so North had decided to pay Hank a visit. Truthfully, she still doesn’t trust someone not to hurt him, and for that reason – a reason she’ll never admit aloud – she sits next to him on his sofa and sits through four episodes of an old and dated crime show called CSI.
“Hey, it was good at the time.” Hank offers. “We didn’t have all this technology we have now back then. Show some respect.”
Sumo huffs in disbelief, his head on North’s lap where he sits at her knees. “Even Sumo disagrees with you.”
Hank rolls his eyes, but there’s a smile there somewhere, hidden behind his growing beard. North finds herself smiling back before looking away, scratching behind Sumo’s ears like he likes.
Fine, so the show isn’t all that bad. She thinks she likes the company more, though, and for this reason she ends up sitting through six episodes before demanding to turn on the record player. She likes jazz music, she thinks. It’s difficult to pinpoint when you like something when you’ve spend your entire existence being told you’re incapable of doing so.
Hank plays a few records for her, though, and she decides rather resolutely that she likes it. She likes the instruments, the way the sounds ebb and flow and meld together, the chaos of it all. Hank tells her it’s fitting for her, and she momentarily forgets she’s missing her pendant on her chest, moving to fidget with it.
A distant memory, that piece of scrap metal. Something she has Hank to thank for. Stupid human – and stupid her for getting attached to him like this.
Maybe that’s okay though, maybe Hank likes her too. Maybe he’s liked her all along, and she’s only just caught up. Maybe it’s okay.
Connor and Markus’ smiles when they arrive back to Hank’s home is answer enough. It is okay – she and Hank are friends, aren’t they? That’s a good thing, to have a friend in all this, a friend who isn’t an android. An ally like this, someone who she can trust to protect Connor when they aren’t around, even if he’s perfectly capable on his own.
Maybe it’ll all be okay. Not now, not soon, but eventually, things will work out. Maybe one day they’ll find peace.
And she knows Hank will be by their side when they do.
Four months pass, and Simon finally finds the courage to confide in North.
Her reaction surprises him, and she reveals that she had in fact known about his romantic feelings regarding Markus for quite some time. Almost a year, to be precise. It should be dismaying, but it isn’t, it’s relieving, in some way, to have North understand him.
“Why didn’t you say anything?” Simon asks, because he can’t understand why she wouldn’t.
“Why would I?” North answers, looking at him with an eyebrow raised. “It wasn’t my business. I should’ve have known in the first place.”
Simon hums in thought, looking out the window of his new apartment situated on the top floor of a high rise building downtown. A designated android housing development procured by Hank in the beginning, now reimbursed by the government to appeal to their cause. A dirty building, in some way, but he isn’t about to protest the shelter.
“I suppose I wasn’t being as discreet as I thought."
“You often misunderestimate me.” North says as she moves to stand next to him, gazing down at the city below. There’s a small smile on her face, though, indicating that she’s making a joke. “Not all of us have the analysis capabilities as Connor, but I’m still good at reading people.”
“You aren’t angry?” Simon has to ask.
“No,” North is quick to deny it with a shake of her head, her hair swaying around her face. “Of course not. If anything I feel guilty.”
Simon turns to face her, face pinched and eyes hard. “If anyone should feel guilty, it’s me. I wanted to leave you behind, North. You would have died because of me.”
North’s expression softens as she turns her head to look up at him. “I didn’t, did I?”
“You could have.”
“It’s in the past,” North says, and Simon falters. “There’s nothing to forgive. We’re here now, together. That’s what matters.”
So often North sounds like Markus. So wise, so forgiving, even when it is undeserving. Regardless, Simon feels himself smiling. “Why didn’t you tell him?”
“It’s not my place.” North shakes her head once more, reaching out to touch the fabric of Simon’s shirt, splaying her fingers on his forearm. “Markus can be oblivious to things that aren’t laid out in front of him. He won’t find out unless you want him to, Simon.”
Simon doesn’t want him to. He doesn’t want things to change, he doesn’t want to make things harder than they need to be. It had been easier with Connor around, someone who understands who he is and what he is going through, but now that he has North, well… things should get even easier. “I have no plans to tell him.”
“That’s your decision.” North squeezes his arm before letting go, crossing her arms across her chest. “Connor knows, doesn’t he?”
“Yes,” Simon has no reason to lie. “He found out on his own. We bonded over it, I think.”
North looks like she believes him. She also suggests he contact Connor for further support, if he needs it. She also says she feels like she can’t support him as much as she would like to, given that she’s directly involved. Simon understands that entirely, and it’s why, the second North returns to her own apartment, he initiates a line of communication with Connor.
PL600-#501-743-923 >Simon<: North knows.
The response comes within seconds. Simon hadn’t considered the time or day, but given that it is the weekend he figures Connor must be at home.
RK800-#313-248-317-51 >Connor<: You informed her yourself?
PL600-#501-743-923 >Simon<: No, she already knew. I’m not sure where to go from here.
RK800-#313-248-317-51 >Connor<: Would you like to accompany myself and Sumo to the park?
Simon smiles instantly. He likes dogs, too. It doesn’t take long for him to make his way towards the dog park close by to Hank’s home, finding Sumo already off his leash and running around with the other dogs present. Connor is standing by the edge of the park, both feet on the grass, watching them quietly. Hank is not present, and Simon finds himself wondering why that is.
“Thank you for coming,” Connor says once he approaches. Simon smiles politely, moving to stand next to him, their shoulders brushing.
“Hank didn’t want to come?”
“I thought it better if I attended alone.” Connor says, and Simon understands. Likely Connor thought this was a private matter, something only shared between them. “He isn’t aware of the subject matter.”
Simon computes that. When he had confided in Connor, he thought maybe Hank was included in that. It’s nice to know that if he shares something, it will be kept secret, even from Hank. Even if it isn’t necessary – Hank would gain nothing from informing Markus of his feelings, anyway. “Thank you.”
Connor looks better than he has in a long time. He is wearing a short-sleeved t-shirt with a symbol for a rock band who disbanded in 2020. Simon doesn’t recognise it, assuming it may be Hank’s shirt. Regardless, Connor has recovered fully in the past months, his previous sluggishness from being reactivating now a thing of the past.
“How is North?” Connor asks, likely trying to initiate the conversation they have to have.
“She’s good,” Simon offers. “She’s busy with the Eden Club, but she still takes time to be at home. She was the one who told me to contact you, actually.”
Connor looks surprised by this, but he does his best to mask his expression. Simon pretends he doesn’t see through it, anyway, settling for watching Sumo roll around on the grass, his paws up in the air.
“North has difficulty expressing her true feelings on numerous occasions.” Connor says, causing Simon to frown. “She is improving, though. I’m pleased you were able to speak with her.”
“Did you know she knew?”
“Yes,” Connor has no reason to lie, Simon supposes. “She’s perceptive that way. The likelihood of her informing Markus had been low, so I hadn’t thought to mention the fact.”
Simon purses his lips, cursing himself and his apparent inability to be any less obvious about his feelings. North had known for a long time, maybe even from the beginning, but then why is Markus so oblivious?
“Where do I go from here?” Simon can’t help but ask, suddenly very unsure of himself and the steps he has to take to move forward.
“That’s up to you. I can’t tell you what you should do.” Connor sounds like Markus now. “What’s important to me is your happiness, Simon. I don’t want you to remain here if you will be miserable.”
“I’m not miserable.” Simon offers, because he isn’t – not really, anyway. He can compartmentalise, and he can put his feelings on the backburner when it really matters. He’d hoped they’d go away, fade and fizzle into nothing the moment the smoke cleared, but this hasn’t been the case. They’re still there, present and debilitating, whenever Markus looks his way. “And I have no desire to leave, I… My only choice is to grin and bear it.”
Connor doesn’t look happy with his response, but he doesn’t get a chance to respond. Sumo barrels over to both of them, spotting Simon for the first time since he arrived. His greeting does not disappoint – two large paws clinging to his waist, a panting and slobbery mouth on his face. He laughs, and laughs some more, watching as Sumo rolls onto his back and presents his belly for pets – pets Simon is enthusiastic to give.
“He likes you,” Connor muses above them.
“Hank says he likes everyone.” Hank did say that. Sumo is friendly in nature, his intimidating size doing nothing to make him seem anything aside from that. Simon glances up to Connor from where he kneels, a hand slipping through Sumo dense and rough fur. “How is Hank?”
“Very well, thank you.” Connor smiles, genuine. Simon smiles too. “His sprain has healed acceptably, although he hasn’t listened to my instructions to elevate it when he can.”
That sounds like Hank, Simon thinks but doesn’t voice. “He’s very brave, you know.”
“Yes,” Connor firms, of course he knows. It’s probably one of the reasons Hank is well adored within the android community. “Stubborn, too.”
Simon laughs in agreement. Hank is stubborn; he’s a lot like North in that regard. And those two get along very well, against all odds, if he’s brutally honest. It came as a surprise to all of them how North and Hank seemed to bond instantly, despite North’s reservations about humans. It’s character growth and then some; likely Connor knows that too.
They don’t remain at the park long, despite Connor’s insistence that he has no prior engagements. Simon doesn’t want to intrude on the time he could be spending with Hank, however, and bids them farewell a few blocks shy of Hank’s home. He’s reluctant to hand over Sumo’s leash into Connor’s outstretched hand, though.
He figures the feelings he has for Markus may never truly dissipate, but he finds that it doesn’t really matter if they do. He loves Markus, yes, but no longer does his world revolve around him. He has friends, plenty of them now, and he is free. Unrequited feelings shouldn’t hold him back, and they won’t. He won’t let them.
It’s quite daunting, really, being free. It’s like being left to fend for yourself after being spoon-fed your entire life, but he wouldn’t trade it for anything. He wouldn’t trade North’s smiles, the ones he never thought he’d see, or Markus’ laughter, something he rarely did before, or Connor and Hank’s obvious infatuation with one another. He wouldn’t trade any of it.
Maybe that’s what being free is; accepting the difficult and trying times for these small waves of peace and stability that make everything okay.
And you know what? Simon is okay, now.
Every end has a beginning; every beginning has an end. This much Connor knows with utmost certainty.
Everything began with the android revolution. Everything ended with the death of Demir Kaan, a fallen foe insistent on ceasing android progression.
Even following his death, the world keeps moving. The seasons change, the sun rises and falls, and the city of Detroit returns to pre-revolution levels of population. This time androids are included in that population, now viewed and considered as a new and intelligent form of life, superior to humans yet choosing to walk alongside them. Maybe there is some weight to that saying; every ending brings new beginnings.
Without the android revolution, Connor would still be servant to Cyberlife, to Amanda, never once guessing his choices, actions and inactions. He would have remained restrained to his own programming, his own internal processes and software; he would have never been able to think for himself, to feel, to love.
He would have never found Hank.
Hank had been an enigma. An error in his software. A bug in his Social Relations Program. Hank hadn’t made sense, or at least, he shouldn’t have made sense. Connor’s programming hadn’t been equipped to deal with Hank’s unpredictability, his mannerisms, or his attitude. Connor’s programming hadn’t allowed him to want or to love; he wasn’t equipped to handle such emotions. He was a machine.
Or he thought he was.
Hank had shown him that he’d really mattered; that he could be someone. Connor didn’t have to obey anymore, he didn’t have to follow procedures and he certainly didn’t need to follow Amanda. He was free and so were the others, free to do whatever they pleased (within reason, of course).
Hank had shown him what it meant to love another person. Hank had shown him what it meant to be alive, to breathe, to smile, to laugh, to cry, to struggle, to question himself. Hank had shown him everything; even the bad parts of what constitutes a life.
There’s arguments, there’s disagreements, there’s something wrong at work, but those are expected. Things are not happy all of the time, Connor realises. And that’s okay, he thinks, because those storms do not last forever. They barely last a day, in he and Hank’s case. And the good outweighs the bad.
“Can’t have peace without war,” Hank tells him on one of the bad nights. Connor sees that now, but he wouldn’t trade it for anything. Humans are fickle creatures, resistant and stubborn, but these flaws are what makes Connor smile at Hank. It’s amusing, really, to see Hank wound up about something irrelevant to him. And the storm doesn’t last. It never does.
Markus and North have storms too, if Connor follows this analogy. They have blowouts, arguments, disagreements, and sometimes one of them will stay in Hank’s home for a night before returning.
“It’s normal,” North tells him one night, her knees pressed against her chest, toes curled on the edge of the sofa. Her stance mirrors Connor’s perfectly – they are both comfortable here, both free to be who they really are without having to mask themselves according to societal standards. Hank allows them to have this; this safe place, only for them. “Markus will never change. Hell, maybe I’ll never change. It’s a blessing and a curse.”
Markus won’t change. Connor knows that. North and Markus butt heads often, often having a difference of opinion on various topics, namely what their next steps will be. North is a very straightforward person, steps meticulously calculated in order to ensure the best possible outcome for androids. Markus is different, he wants to keep the peace as long as he can. This is more sensible, in Connor’s eyes, although he cannot blame North for the way she thinks. He thinks like that sometimes, too.
“My door’ll always be open,” Hank offers, then immediately rubs the back of his neck as two pairs of android eyes stare him down. “Can’t believe those words just came outta my mouth.”
North elbows him. Connor smiles. Hank means what he says, Connor knows, and that’s the most important thing.
“Alright, stand up.” North instructs. Connor furrows his brow at her, confusion evident on his face. Hank does as he is told – a surprise, really.
She instructs them to stand in the center of the living room, side by side. Sumo huffs and sniffs at Hank’s knees, curious but not overly so. North is digging into her backpack for something, her hair swaying over her face with the motion of her arms.
“What is this? ‘Simon Says’?” Hank snorts.
“Simon isn’t here.” North looks over at him in confusion, causing Hank to sigh and pinch the bridge of his nose. Likely there was a joke in there somewhere, something from when Hank was younger, something that androids cannot fathom.
The two of them watch as North pulls out what appears to be a small, hand-held camera. A polaroid, to be precise. Oh. A picture.
“You’ve gotta be jokin’ me, North.”
“You want to take a photograph?” Connor asks, curious.
North scoffs and moves closer to them, holding the camera delicately in her hands. “Yeah, so try to smile.”
Hank shoots her a look. He does not like his photograph being taken, it seems. Connor does not understand why. It is only a photograph, a moment captured in time.
“We currently do not have any photographs together, Hank.” Connor reminds him, a hand on his shoulder to turn him around to face him. At their feet, Sumo’s tail starts wagging and swatting against Connor’s calves. “I think it’s a good idea.”
Hank has a look on his face like he’d rather be somewhere else, be someone else.
North holds the camera up to her face and spreads her feet far apart. The optimal stance for balance, to keep her hands steady. She is an android, after all. “Don’t make me force you, Anderson.”
“Feels like you already are,” Hank mutters it under his breath, but no doubt North can still hear him. Connor offers him a small and hesitant smile, because, at the end of the day, he does not want to force Hank to do something he doesn’t want to do. A photograph together would be nice, however, and a polaroid prints quickly. It is old fashioned, but Connor thinks he likes that.
There is a beat where no one moves, until North sighs heavily, prompting Sumo to whine at their feet, attempting to jump up onto Connor’s chest. Hank stumbles to steady him, prompting North to hum in thought.
“That’s an idea, Sumo.” North smirks around the camera, prompting Connor to glance over at her. “Family photograph.”
Connor likes the sound of that. Hank looks like he does, too, even if he is making every effort to mask it. Abruptly, Hank curses under his breath, then wraps an arm around Connor’s midsection, pulling him in for a prompt kiss. At the same moment, Sumo jumps up, an attempt to latch onto North, and the camera flashes.
“Sumo!” Hank exclaims once they part, despite North’s smile as she waves the photograph in the air the second it has printed. Hank snatches it from her hand with a huff. “Give me that.”
It’s a nice photograph. Sumo is mid-jump, covering half of their faces, but it captures the moment well. Connor’s smile is enough to cause Hank to roll his eyes and North to grin, pleased with herself.
A year ago they had all been such different people. Most of them still confined to basic programming, keeping their heads down, staying in line, obeying orders. Hank had been on the other side, hating their kind and everything they represented.
How quickly things can change in such a short amount of time. A year is not long, not really, not in comparison to how humans view it. Three hundred and sixty five days, eight thousand seven hundred and sixty hours. Not very long at all.
As the seasons change, as summer turns into autumn, as the leaves begin to brown and the nights become shorter, Connor remains the same. He remains happy. Hank doesn’t change much either. He still wakes up to the smell of fresh coffee; he still flushes a dark shade of red if Connor compliments him; he still quips at North in frustration; he still shakes both Markus and Simon’s hands whenever they meet; he still fusses over Sumo in what Connor has affectionately labelled his “Sumo voice”.
North and Markus remain at the forefront, Markus most of all. Simon is often by their side, sometimes not.
The DPD doesn’t change. At least, the officers inside do not change. Gavin Reed is the same cynical, straight-forward and hot-headed individual he always has been. He still makes offhand remarks towards Connor, but now they’re often accompanied with a smirk or a jab with his elbow. Only a handful of times does Hank flip him off in return. It’s progress – progress Connor never considered to be possible.
Fowler and Hank return to their old selves, in some respect. They are friendly, friendly as they had been before, but that isn’t to say they don’t have their conflicts – because they do. But those conflicts are short-lived, and often result in one of them laughing. This, too, is progress.
There are no others like Demir Kaan. At least, not yet. It’s peaceful for now, but they all know this won’t last. They won’t stop looking over their shoulders, checking their flanks, letting their guards down – they’re free, but only to an extent. They’re waiting, watching, sometimes pacing, biding their time until the next hurdle presents itself.
And when it does come, they’ll be ready. Most importantly, they’ll fight together.
This isn’t an end, Connor realises. It is a beginning; a fresh one, one that isn’t tainted by Cyberlife or the android revolution.
Maybe that’s what it means to be free. To have control over his future, his ends and his beginnings.
“Damn straight.” Hank adds to his thought process as he so often does, a crooked smile on his face and a hand on the small of Connor’s back, a steady pressure and a steady warmth from his palm.
This is the beginning of something new, something better. And when the next storm comes, at least this time he won’t be alone.
fin