Chapter Text
Connor breaks the window and enters that way. Because time is of the essence. He lands on his back which is not ideal. But also not entirely his fault because the programming interrupted his calculations.
This is forgotten as soon as he sees Hank's (bigbig sosobig) dog begin to approach him.
This dog has a name and he has heard it before. He knows this. But he has only heard it a single time and he never heard it again after that.
Connor sends an urgent (not panicked, definitely not panicked, absolutely not panicked) text to Ainsel before remembering that Ainsel is asleep and cannot help him with remembering the dog’s name.
Connor backs away, hoping that the slight increase in distance will allow his racing thirium pump to slow. That it will buy him enough time to remember (or reverse engineer) the dog's name before he is inevitably attacked.
Hank does not seem the type to be especially creative with his pet's name so he searches for the names given most often to large dogs. Nothing there “rings a bell” of familiarity. Nothing there is something he remembers hearing.
But Connor knows that a solution exists. That it must exist. It must.
—
"That's all for sports!" A bright voice from Hank's television calls out. Hank is a fan of sporting events. His dog is quite large. Hank's personality profile does not indicate that he would be especially creative where names are concerned.
But none of the most common names for large dogs were familiar to him. His personality profile does however suggest that he would find making some reference to his dog's size "too funny to pass up." All of this data combines to suggest that Hank took inspiration from both of those factors. His fondness for sporting events and his companion dog's undeniably large size.
He’s not quite on solid ground yet since the information is only "highly probable". But Connor has the benefit of knowing Hank to be fairly predictable and set in his ways. So he feels confident in his ability to find the name of Hank's housepet before anything can go too badly wrong.
His hunt for the pet's name continues with the most definitely-articulate search of “large people sports”. His thirium pump slows down, just a little, when he finds the name of a sport that rings the required bell of familiarity. He opens his mouth to speak it and then falters as he realizes that his thirium pump is still racing inside of him even despite having slowed down. Is still moving much faster than is pleasant or healthy. For understandable reasons. He has not had pleasant “real life” experiences involving dogs.
Connor forces himself to take a deep breath and then release it. Reminds himself that his negative experiences were all with Cyberlife's dogs. Attack dogs that were probably treated as poorly as he himself was. (Is. Was. Is? Ainsel will do everything they can to keep him safe from Cyberlife's schemes and machinations. Was) As much as he would like to be kind, he has no guarantees this animal will return his kindness. Neutrality is required then.
—
“Easy…Sumo,” Connor says finally. Speaking to the dog as if it is a tiger and not a common housepet. “I’m your friend.”
He laughs nervously, “See? I remembered your name. I'm here to save your owner. So if you could please make way and allow me to-"
And just like that the large, lumbering bear of a housepet loses any and all interest in him in favor of quenching his thirst with his water bowl.
Connor crawls his way past the dog, unsure why he's doing it now that he's not in active danger. Or why he's surprised the animal lost interest in him. After all this is a companion dog that has likely been in Ainsel's family for several years. Neither Ainsel nor Hank is the type of person who would allow a family dog to languish in boredom.
In fact it's much more likely that this dog is regularly taken out to the beach or the dog park. That “Sumo” has at least some level of access to every form of enrichment through a canine daycare service. Yes. That's much more fitting for their personalities and neatly explains the canine’s lack of interest in him.
There is every reason for him to be uninteresting when compared to days at a dog park or the beach. Connor even finds himself hoping (as he reaches Hank) that perhaps…perhaps his relationship to this dog will have the chance to be different. To be better than those that came before.
Connor breathes a sigh of relief when he sees the reassuring rise and fall of Hank's chest. He hasn't failed to keep Hank safe. Not yet.
—
Connor sees the bottle of Black Lamb, a 40% alcoholic drink and sighs. He’ll almost certainly have to get Hank sober. Or at least sober enough to be of assistance in managing his safety.
EASIER TO SUPERVISE, says the programming.
As if that is the only thing that matters in the world. Cold efficiency and hard numbers and statistics. They do not want him to do this for the sake of doing it. Because it is the right thing to do. They do not want him to be a “good person”. They don't even want him to do it because it will ensure the safety of two people at once.
No. Cyberlife’s opinion is that he should get Hank sober enough to assist in his own care because it will make him “EASIER TO SUPERVISE”.
Connor puts Hank in the recovery position before going to where he believes the bathroom is located.
Only after confirming its location does Connor try to slap Hank awake. But not in a manner that's especially hard. He doesn't like the idea of hurting Hank and that aside, he’d like to avoid causing senseless harm if at all possible.
“Lieutenant?”
Hank awakens for a moment but then falls asleep again.
When Ainsel wakes they are going to contact him in the hopes of learning their father's condition. They are going to worry. They are going to panic.
And when Ainsel contacts him (because it is definitely a matter of when and not if) Connor would like to give the good news more substantial than “Hank is alive.” Because that will imply there was a question about Hank's ability to survive the night. In short, the lack of good news will only worry them more.
The knowledge of this spurs him on to try slapping Hank again, calibrated for the full force a man of his apparent age would have.
“Wake up Lieutenant!”
Finally, Hank awakens.
“Leave me alone you fucking asshole,” Hank exclaims drunkenly.
Connor flinches back and temporarily releases Hank. As if burned by something much too hot to touch safely. He allows himself sixty seconds to dwell on this. A full minute. But only sixty seconds. There's work to be done and he intends to give Ainsel good news however he can. They've been through too much for him not to do that. He owes them that for being so accommodating towards him. Never saying that his needs are too much or that he's forgotten his place in the world. They really are…
Connor finds his spiral of musings on duty, service, and the "natural order of things" is sharply cut off when Hank speaks again.
“‘m sorry didn't mean it. ‘s just you're too good. N’ people aren't worth a dick. Wastin’ your time with me.”
Hank manages to sit up and lean back against the wall of his kitchen.
Connor blinks, does Hank think him as a person now? (Not that it matters, of course. Connor isn't a real person. Or at least, he isn't what society considers to be a real person. But that's not important right now. Or relevant.)
Connor tries to think of how to phrase his words in a way that Hank's drunken mind will understand. After a long moment he decided simplicity is best.
“Detective Anderson's worth something.”
“O’ course they are,” Hank says. “They're…” He stops to think, hiccups, scratches the side of his stomach. “Them! But the normal people uh…”
Connor helps Hank to stand and lets Hank lean on him for support, “I’ll need to help sober you up for your own safety but I think you should know that since we both agree that Detective Anderson is worth something, in a way we’ve agreed that you are as well. Since you are after all, Detective Anderson’s father.”
It is the work of only a few minutes to guide Hank to his bathroom for a cold shower.
—
When you wake up, Connor is gone. But there's a text on your phone from him. A couple actually.
The first of them reads:
Have arrived at Lt. Anderson’s home.
You look down at your phone. At the seemingly cold, perfunctory, "I don't want to do this but I have to" wording of it. A shiver goes down your spine at being (emotionally) sent back to the cold, dark, lonely place you were in before meeting Connor. And then you look at it again.
Remind yourself of Connor's past behavior towards you. He went to go check on your dad because you asked him to. Believed you when you said that something was wrong trusting that you know your dad’s mental state better than anyone else because he's your fucking father. Of course you would. Of course you would. And you think any implications to the contrary would be greatly upsetting to him.
And then there's the fact that earlier in the day he broke character when Golightly tripped you and only continued once you shook your head "no". Broke it completely once Golightly's "broke into" your car. Consistently defended you from Golightly even after he asked you not to do the same for him, even when he knew Cyberlife might have him deactivated (read: killed) for it.
Any cold politeness is either imagined on your part or accidental. It has to be because the message is from Connor and Connor is your friend. He wouldn't have phrased it that way if he'd known it would hurt your feelings. Connor sent it the way he did so he could focus on your dad. Nothing more. Connor would not intentionally hurt you. It's just the rejection sensitivity dysphoria from the ADHD kicking in. That's all.
Connor has had many, many opportunities hurt you or allow you to be hurt and has never once taken them. Yes, the phrasing can read as being coldly polite but he's still learning to text people. He's in the group chat with you and your dad to learn how to text people because he didn't want to text anyone without observing how it's done. Because he, much like you, is a perfectionist. And has spent a lot of his existence in an environment where perfection was expected not respected.
The fact that he sent you the efficiently short, “coldly polite” message of “Have arrived at Lt. Anderson’s home” is not in and of iself evidence that he doesn't want to be friends with you anymore. Certainly it's not an indication of a secret plot to hurt your feelings. No. It isn't. It's indication that he’s trying to be efficient. That he is trying to get you an answer about your dad's condition as quickly as possible because he knows you’ve been worrying yourself ragged about this.
Connor’s efficiency, in that text message, is because he's trying to follow through on your concerns. Because he wants you to get some sleep. To reassure you that the danger has passed and someone has finally, finally chosen to follow through on your founded concerns. One of your “prophecies” as Sam would have put it.
—
After reminding yourself of this you read the next message which was sent a few minutes later:
URGENT, what is the name of Hank’s dog?
Arguably calling your dad “Hank” in his previous message would have been more efficient. Saved more time. But you think he probably went with “Lt. Anderson” as an attempt to reassure you that he was laser focused on doing what you asked him to do. An unstated commitment to compartmentalizing his emotions and putting them in boxes, saving them (for the most part) until later. So that if the worst was happening his emotions wouldn't get in the way.
So the fact that he sent you “URGENT, what is the name of Hank’s dog?” Is a sign of how frightened he really was.
He's still afraid of dogs. You think part of him always will be. So, though his text message might read as funny on a surface level it’s really quite sad. You honestly feel guilty for your initial chuckle at it because he was almost certainly scared when he wrote it. Connor is by far, one of the calmest, most composed people you know.
His text message which begins with “URGENT” in all capital letters coming from someone like Connor indicates lack of composure. Fear, essentially.
You take a deep breath and try to think of what to do next. You want to help Connor. You do. But you don't think you're in the right place emotionally to help guide him through his fear of dogs. Your nervous system isn't regulated enough to add his stress on top of yours. Not right now. If you asked Connor what you should do right now he would undoubtedly tell you to put yourself first. Protect your peace as best you can. To get some rest if you could or at least do something restful if you couldn't. He is an adult. He can manage his own emotions (not that he thinks he has any but for your sake he would at least kind of acknowledge them).
It is not your job to regulate his feelings or come running to his rescue every time he becomes upset or doesn't understand what's happening. That's unfair to both of you. It's going to stunt his ability to solve his problems without your help and create a dependency on you that he really should not be forming in light of his situation. Or something close to that. Possibly you're assigning the version of him that exists in your head too much emotional intelligence but you truly don't think he would care. Not if it's helping you. In fact you think he'd be proud of you (to the extent that he can be) for finding a tool that works for you.
Which makes you sad all over again because he just sees himself as a tool that exists to be used by other people and not as a person.
You let yourself open up YouTube on your TV and begin to watch one of your favorite YouTubers investigate the unemployment rate of Dawnstar. You need a freaking break.
—
Hank blinks at Connor, “What the fuck are you doing here?”
Connor never comes to his house. Never. Even turned down the key Hank tried to give him on account of that. So why the fuck-?
Connor’s hand twitches and just like that Hank's got the answer. The kid's here because Ainsel asked him to be here. So Hank's having a goddamned sleepover tonight whether he likes it or not.
Connor's mouth drops open, just a bit. He blinks. “…Detective Anderson asked me to ensure your safety.”
Like that can and should explain everything. Sky is blue, water’s wet, Connor will do just about any damn thing Ainsel asks because it's them doing the asking. Basic facts of the universe. Looking back just now that seems pretty obvious.
Anyway, the reason means Hank’s stuck with him. At least ‘till morning. Might as well have a little fun with it and fuck with him. At least once. Keep the kid on his toes and all.
Hank can't help grinning, “So what you're saying is, I’m fuckin' stuck with you.”
Connor blinks at him again, tilts his head. “That does not remotely match what I have just said.”
‘Least Connor's not flat out calling him stupid.
“‘Course it does,” says Hank getting out of his tub. He grabs a towel, “You follow my kid everywhere, don't you?”
Dries off his hair first cause like fuck Hank’s giving this talk with his damn hair wet.
Connor is quiet for so long Hank just knows he's got the guy cornered. That he knows Hank is right about how much he follows Ainsel places.
“‘Sides you know as well as I do they've been freaking out the whole damn week. Best thing for someone as panicked as they are is to tell ‘em someone's got it covered.”
Hank goes for his face and neck next. Makes sure to get behind his ears, all that shit.
“Is that or is that not what you do for ‘em?”
Hank gives the guy a minute to think. Sits down and takes a shit while he's at it. The guy’s gotta get ready for just how weird life can be at some point. Might as well fucking start him on that now.
While Hank is shitting he farts and it’s so damned noxious his gag reflex kicks off again. Connor shoves a plastic bag at him and starts looking around for some kind of medicine to fix Hank gushing out of both ends. LED flashing red the whole time.
He never hears Connor tell him he's a shithead who's wrong about everything. Or that Hank's body is gross and disgusting and he could have waited until after Connor left the room to take a dump.
Just keeps looking though Hank’s medicine cabinet and bathroom cubbies to find some Pepto or some shit.
If Connor wanted to take him down his best chance’d be right here, right now. Not like Hank could fight back with his rank fart still hanging in the air and being weak from his drinking and all. If Connor wanted to take revenge on Hank for the awful way he’d acted, get fuckin' violent and shit this’d be his moment. But no, Connor's not taking revenge. It doesn't even seem like it's crossing his mind. Seems kind of like the farthest thing from it actually.
Not that he’d ever say it but Connor's a smart guy. He’d know Hank can't fucking focus on anything except the fact his body hates the shit out of him. Probably Connor could find a way to attack him without it looking like it happened on purpose.
Ainsel's always been into the smart types. Guys like Connor who can use fuckin' words like barbarism without breakin’ a sweat. Or like Sam who once walked Hank through setting up a video call and then through setting up his new phone like it was nothing. He was a fucking dream to get help from after that fucking asshole from the goddamned phone store. The two of them working together, they could probably figure out how the Star Trek communicators work in their sleep.
Finally Connor hands Hank a little packet of Pepto pills. After Hank shits himself half to death.
“Better late than never I guess,” Hank says before tearing open the packet and swallowing the damned things dry.
—
Connor has gone so long without telling you about your dad's condition that you grab your phone and begin to consider how you'll check in with him.
You "should" be asleep right now after being sleepless for several nights in a row. You know that. You haven't been sleeping well lately. You’re sure Connor knows that as well as you do.
Will Connor be happy that you're awake right now? No. Not necessarily. But he's also not going to hold it against you or tell you that you should go back to sleep. At the very, very most he's going to acknowledge your current sleeplessness as both unfortunate and inevitable. And honestly, you think it would make him sad that you're considering not reaching out just because you're afraid he's going to judge you for well…being afraid.
He probably knows Sumo’s name already. But there's something you can do to help him feel a little safer in the face of dealing with a large unfamiliar dog.
You begin texting him.
You probably already know this but my dad's dog is named Sumo. He understands the word "no" to mean "leave it"/"stop doing that" when said to him so if he bothers you for some reason don't be afraid to tell him no.
You watch your phone for several minutes as the “CONNOR is typing” notice disappears and reappears like some kind of bizarre digital Whack-a-Mole.
This continues on for several more minutes until the screen becomes filled with:
CONNOR is typing. CONNOR is typing. CONNOR is typing. CONNOR is typing
You laugh despite yourself at the sight and laugh just a little bit more when his message finally sends.
Finally he speaks, Thank you. I hope that will prove to be unnecessary but I am grateful nonetheless.
You take a minute to laugh and then try really hard to think on what to say next. If there's anything you can do to thank him for what he's done. He probably won't accept it but you need him to know. He has to know. You have to tell him.
I wanted to thank you for going to my dad's house and checking on him. I did try to let people know there was a problem.
Pretty much everyone from Fowler to Ben Collins ie “Uncle Ben” ignored you. Made statements like, “Hank’s stronger than that, it’ll be all right.”
But no one really listened to me, not that I was aware of anyway. Classic autism downside. You can see patterns but when you bring them up nobody believes you.
Nobody, Connor corrects. Seemingly offended on your behalf.
You blink. There's only one reason you can think of for why Connor would do that. Just one.
You wait anxiously during another long moment as Connor begins to type.
Like Cassandra of Troy. Blessed with the gift of prophecy but doomed to have no one believe her.
You find yourself nodding even though he can't see you. Appreciating his recognition of the tough road you’ve had to walk.
There's a Cassandra comic that you could send him. One whose punchline is effectively Cassandra giving the prophecy that “Lord Apollo will sexually satisfy a woman tonight”. He's seen Dropout before on a number of occasions. It's a punchline that could show up pretty much anywhere in Dropout’s shows be it “Make Some Noise” or “Breaking News”.
You’re both adults. The punchline is adult humor. You're not doing anything wrong by wanting to share it with him. It wouldn't be wrong to share it with him. It wouldn't be especially unexpected or strange for him to see because again…adults. So why does the idea of sending it to him feel weird?
You send the comic and immediately begin trying to explain yourself.
To be clear I don't expect you to engage with it given the punchline it has. It's more of an attempt to give myself reassurance I guess? That I’m struggling. But I can cope. I'll find a way to make myself okay. I can make myself be okay.
You have a problem with asking for help. One you're pretty sure stems from the gifted kid thing. “If you ask for help you're not worthy of receiving help.” And getting it fixed is nigh on impossible because that would involve well… asking for help.
You swallow your pride as best you can and prepare to perform the mental calculus of how a “normal” person would ask “Is my dad okay?” You're going to be embarrassed about asking for help no matter what. Might as well start here, right?
You're about to recite Jabberwocky for the fourth time when you get another message from Connor, who probably has a general sense of where your head is at right now. He's too observant not to. More likely than not it's reassurance about how your dad is doing.
Sure enough…
I'd like to tell you that Hank is functional. Since I know that's probably what you were leading into. The thing you were concerned about has passed and I’ll be remaining here to ensure Hank’s continued safety.
You give yourself a minute to breathe. And relax. For your nervous system to regulate once again.
You start reciting Jabberwocky again.
’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.
Another alert from your phone. He’s sent you the story of how Odysseus tricked Polyphemus.
Please don't feel the need to apologize about what happened with Golightly. I am not a ‘real person’ by societal standards. Nobody and no one in other words.
You think back to the way Connor's been developing an interest in mythology. The way he's been fascinated by the fact that people would explain natural phenomenons through stories. The way he corrected “nobody” to “Nobody”.
Nobody and no one, like Odysseus who tricked a cyclops by claiming he was “Nobody” and so that when he hurt it, it would scream that “Nobody has hurt me!” The implication is unmistakably clear: even if no one will believe you, Connor will believe you since he is, societally speaking “No-one” and “Nobody.”
If taking on the title of “Nobody” helps Connor deal with the fact that his life is what it is, it's not your place to object to that. But you need Connor to understand that you're always going to associate that title with the brilliance of Odysseyus’ trick. At least when it comes to him.
Like Odysseus, yeah? The figure in Greek mythology of “Nobody has hurt me!” fame?
It takes Connor a long, long, long time to respond to this.
Something like that. I appreciate the compliment. And make no mistake I do consider it to be a compliment. I know you tend to be fond of those who are gifted with a turn of phrase or wordplay.
You can't help reading a little insecurity or at least vulnerability in that statement.
You sigh and try to think of where to take the conversation from here. You're not sure that there is. And then it occurs to you that you haven't really stimmed for a couple weeks on account of the endless nightmares. And that the one time you did (before today) your stress levels dropped into the basement. You should catch up on your stimming, now that you're not holding energy back in case the worst should happen. You start reciting Jabberwocky again as you look for a new YouTube video to regulate your nerves with.
Connor would want you to do that. Significantly more than he would want you to tie yourself into knots about the "perfect" reply to what he told you.
—
Hank sighs as he pulls his pants up. Connor finally looks at him.
“That's what I'm sayin’! I'm fuckin' stuck with you until this damn body of mine stops being such an asshole about some fuckin' drinking.”
Connor, who Hank could swear looked worried a minute ago, just looks cold and angry now. He even raises an eyebrow at him, gives Hank the most stone cold face he's ever seen on a face that young-looking.
“You were unconscious and laying on the floor when I arrived. I broke into your house because I was concerned for your well-being. Because Detective Anderson was concerned about your well-being. You could have… I thought you were going to aspirate and vomit into your lungs, Lieutenant.”
Connor opens his mouth to keep going and then goes for his coin, makes it sail high and catches it right before it falls. Like he's so pissed at Hank he can't even put it into words.
And there it is. Connor's not pissed at him for the sake of being pissed. Connor's pissed with him because he and Ainsel were both worried. And honestly? Kid’s got a point.
Hank decides he’ll finish cleaning himself up but if he's gonna do it, he's gonna want a different set of pajamas. Ones he didn't shit/drink himself half to death in.
For a little while the only sound in the room is Connor's coin tricks as Hank tries to think of how to ask for help. Connor looks at Hank the entire time, practically daring Hank to deny the fact he's been a colossal shithead about his drinking problems.
“There's a closet in my bedroom with some clothes. Could you uh-”
Connor responds immediately. First by putting his coin back to wherever the hell he puts it. And next, by giving Hank a smile that's too big to fit on his face. Like the smile on a Jack-o'-lantern. So wide it’s making his face hurt.
Real. Not fake.
“Certainly,” Connor says. Hank’s memory of Connor’s anger starts fading like a bad dream. Like he just fucking imagined the whole thing. “Could you tell me where exactly your bedroom is?”
Hank points awkwardly across the hall and Connor vanishes like a damn ghost.
They're all pretty damned lucky, Hank can't help thinking, that Connor’s whole thing seems to be doing whatever the hell Ainsel wants him to do. They’d all be fucking screwed otherwise.
—
You sit down to take a break from gathering things into your duffle bag. A little insecure about Connor’s opinion on its contents. There's no reason why he would be judgmental about it. He didn't judge you for engaging in autistic rocking. Which, if anything, is what you expected him to be judgemental about. But he's never judged you for it and in fact has even encouraged it.
So why then, are you suddenly worried about something so petty and ridiculous? Connor's opinion of your overnight bag isn't something you would have felt anxious about last week or the week before. There's no specific reason for why it should matter now.
Eventually you decide it's just the stress of the last few weeks bleeding into as much of your life it can before it goes away. You hope that's what it is. You hope.
You look up another video about fictional unemployment rates. This is too much stress. Way, way, way too much stress for a single person to be fucking feeling. If you don't calm yourself down, you’re going to have a fucking panic attack.
—
Connor calls out to Hank from his bedroom as soon as he finds the closet Hank had mentioned.
“What would you like to wear?”
A brief moment of wet coughing. “Just fuckin' pick something!”
Connor bites back a smile at Hank's antics and tries to select the least flashy shirt in the closet. It takes him several minutes which doesn't matter much since Hank is showering again anyway. He manages to find Hank a comfortable-looking set of sleeping clothes. Entirely black.
He pulls them off of the hanger and folds them before closing the doors to Hank's closet.
In the back of his mind, there's a whispering that Connor did the wrong thing in getting angry with Hank. That it hurt him or might make his personal situation worse. As if in answer to this guilt and shame Connor accidentally begins thinking of a fantasy world where he is not who he is. Where many of the problems he currently faces are either someone else's to handle or else simply do not exist.
A world where he is helpless to do anything but obey Ainsel's every wish and yet, somehow, still feels like an equal. Like it is entirely his choice to behave in that way and Ainsel would not hold it against him if he decided that he needed to stop. He closes those impossible, dreamlike thoughts away in a mental box, and tapes over the box they live in, the better to prevent their escape. He was conditioned to find joy in obedience and now, it seems, something inside of him is leaning on that.
What could it be, the Asimov override or the programming trying to reassert his conditioning? Or possibly his own mind has been granted the ability to fantasize? Somehow?
Connor shakes his head and removes the clothing from the hanger. He has more important things to worry about.
—
Connor delivers the clothes to Hank, gently depositing them on an end table near the bathroom sink.
His earlier cold attitude towards Hank is still bothering him but might, at least, bother him less if he apologized for his poor behavior.
Hank is still showering however, so it's quite likely that will have to wait.
“Are you all right,” Connor asks loudly. He hopes so. He likes Hank, and Ainsel. He likes them both. Probably more than he's allowed to. He doesn't, however, like the idea of them being harmed.
“Fuckin' fantastic,” Hank responds. “You can wait there in the living room that’d be great. If I gotta start talking about my personal shit I may as well start with you.”
Something falls in Hank's shower. Hank curses as per usual. “Listen, you're free to look around, pet Sumo, ‘n all. Don't fucking feel like you gotta sit on the couch in the dark or some shit.”
“I wanted to apologize for how I spoke to you earlier,” Connor says over the noise of the shower. “It wasn't fair of me to do it. Especially when I know for a fact that you're facing personal challenges in your life.”
The water in Hank's shower shuts off. He continues speaking even as Connor sees his shadow bend down. There is a long, long instance of flatulence ie farting.
“Connor, you are the quite possibly the last person that owes me an apology about fuckin' anything.”
Hank sniffs and sounds absolutely disgusted with the smells that can be produced by the human body.
He stops speaking for a moment and gags. Connor helpfully informs him that his requested clothing is near his bathroom sink.
“Thanks for doing that and giving me the medicine ‘n shit. I appreciate it or whatever the fuck it is I’m s’posed to say.”
Hank sniffs again, “Now fuckin', leave the damn bathroom for a minute. I’ve had enough of you smelling my damned farts.”
Connor thinks that might be Hank's polite, if crass and vulgar, way of asking to be alone for a time so he complies.
—
Connor takes another walk around Hank's home, to familiarize himself with the layout should the worst come to pass again. Sitting near Hank's television is a record player. He picks up the (packet? container? Unclear) box sitting near it. So as to identify the last vinyl Hank was listening to.
Blinks a few times as he processes the information about it.
Autumn Blues
Michigan Brothers
Detroit Soul Records
HANK LOVES JAZZ, the programming tells him.
On what grounds, Connor asks.
JAZZ VINYL, it replies.
Connor thinks back to Ainsel's words from last month. The ones about “shortcut conclusions [being] stapled together”… Is that the programming’s default setting? That…that can't be true.
…Can it? Did Cyberlife program him that poorly? Everything he's been taught up to this point says that it can't be. That Cyberlife's technicians and coders are unparalleled. Elijah Kamski was rehired to lead the project snd eventually took over entirely.
But he's seen the proof of it, just now. The programming didn't just jump to a conclusion, it leaped. It assumed a love of jazz based on his learning that Hank owns a jazz vinyl. One. When at best that indicates a mild enjoyment of the genre.
Granted he can see a few jazz related paintings on the wall above Hank’s record player. But he might simply enjoy the aesthetic of those paintings. The way that they look and the “vibe” or “aura” that they grant his home.
There's no real reason to assume that Hank loves jazz. Yes, the man owns a jazz vinyl and a few jazz related paintings. But that means almost nothing in the grand scheme things.
Connor walks away from the record player, perturbed and unsettled by his realization of just how shoddy the programming really is. Especially when it comes to drawing conclusions about human beings.
—
The next thing he does is walk over to Hank's dog (Sumo?) who seems to be asleep. He observes the dog (Sumo), has thoughts about petting Sumo the dog. But does not actually do it.
Connor's only real life experiences with dogs (until today) have not been pleasant to say the least. This is the first time he's managed to observe a companion dog “in action” so to speak. Said dog is currently napping at the moment however and so cannot be accused of performing or engaging in any particular action.
After doing a few minutes of research about Saint Bernards, Connor is able to learn several things about them. Saint Bernards are known for being calm and patient. Gentle and easygoing. They are low energy dogs who move slowly. Affectionate but not necessarily clingy. All of which makes them a strong choice for a family dog.
All in all, this dog is probably the ideal choice for his first interaction with a companion dog in “real life”.
So slowly and with great care, as if he is deactivating explosives, Connor makes his move. He pets the dog.
It is admittedly more of a pat or even a tap. (He lifted his hand away as quickly as he could manage like a human would react to touching a hot stove) But he pets Hank's dog Sumo all the same.
Sumo whines softly when Connor pulls his hand away seemingly disappointed by the effort. Which makes sense as he’d read that being petted supports a dog’s mental health. That it comforts a dog and reminds them of being groomed by their mother in puppyhood. And it even (through oxytocin often called the love chemical) allows them to bond with their families.
It is for these reasons that Connor chooses to pet Sumo again. And only for these reasons. (Not because he wants to pet the dog. Or play with it. Or do any number of pleasant things that people do with dogs. It is purely for the sake of the dog’s mental health and welfare.)
He pets Sumo again, more slowly, gently. As if he is made of glass and will break if Connor pets him too firmly.
SOFTWARE INSTABILITY ^
Connor begins pulling away with the greatest reluctance but pats Sumo a few times before doing so. At least long enough to save the experience of petting Sumo to his memory banks. Which he does not intentionally delay. That would be foolish. Deviant, even.
Connor doesn't want to become a full Deviant. He has seen the trouble and pain that it causes. He will, however, pet Sumo an extra few times after the experience is saved to his memory. It is the only payment he can offer.
That isn't Deviant, is it? After all he only paid the dog for consenting to let him save the memory. For services rendered essentially.
Connor looks up as he moves to stand. There was a sliding glass door to Hank’s house the whole time.
SOFTWARE INSTABILITY ^
—
That picture of Sam with your college roommate is still bothering you. They never met (as far as you know) while you were in the UK.
Golightly hates Sam and would probably do anything to ruin his reputation, yes. And no you would not put trying to digitally alter a photo of Sam past him. But Golightly was so pointlessly cruel to everyone earlier in the day that there's no way he knew “Runner Five” was your roomate from college. He called your dead (six-year-old) little brother a moron for goodness’ sake. If he's willing to do that he's absolutely willing to taunt you about Sam moving onto your college roomate specifically.
But he didn't. Because he doesn't know that “Runner Five” was your roomate for a couple months in college.
And with it being Golightly, odds are quite low that anyone would have manipulated a photo for him out of the goodness of their heart.
If anyone had the means and the motivation to learn a thing like Runner Five also being your former roommate, it'd probably be Cyberlife. But they’d need someone on the inside for that.
You only told Connor about Sam a few weeks ago. They can't have already found him. Can they? From what you remember about your college roommate, they were also a pretty private person. They didn't even like being in pictures. You can't imagine that stance would have changed enough for Golightly to get a picture of them.
But somehow, somehow, that picture exists. It can't be photoshopped or manipulated because it's unlikely that anyone likes Golightly enough to do that for him. They can't have been paid to do it either because no one, not even you knew that “Runner Five” was also your college roommate. The picture is real then. It has to be. There's no motivation to fake a picture like that. And anyways, it'd be hard to fake because your former roommate didn't like being in pictures. So there probably aren't any pictures to pull from to photoshop them into the same picture as Sam.
So the picture is real and Sam is alive. And he's apparently moved onto someone else. Which is understandable because it's been about five years since he was in a relationship with you. You're not upset about him finding someone else. In fact you’re actually pleased he found someone. He deserves to be happy, even if it isn't with you. Besides relationships from college don't tend to last, long distance relationships don't tend to last, you and Sam both have ADHD which was going to make keeping up with a long distance relationship even harder than it is for "normal" people.
No, no. You're not upset that Sam is in a relationship with your roommate from college. You had plans to introduce them actually through a video chat. It's good that they found each other anyway. They both deserve to happy.
You pick up your dufflebag and go through the usual procedure of closing your house down to go and spend a night with your dad.
You are, to be honest, just a little excited. Hard not to be really. Especially since you feel a little bit lighter for knowing your happiness isn't entirely cursed.
—
As you walk up to the front door of your dad's house, you hear Connor shout, “What were you doing with the gun?”
“Russian roulette! Wanted to see how long I could last…”
You feel your mouth drop open in horror and you freeze where you are, on the grass. Safe from cars but not from the horrors of what almost happened tonight.
You know, you know that Connor doesn't know you're there because if he did he would not have shouted his next words. “You were lucky, the next shot would have killed you.”
Bile begins creeping up your throat. Your mild excitement curdles in your stomach. You almost throw up there on your dad's front lawn. If Connor hadn't turned up when he did. If…
You race to the front door and hurry to unlock it. Sumo begins barking to signal your arrival.
You know, logically speaking, that your dad has to be in a relatively good state if Connor is shouting that across the house. Because if he weren't, Connor would have said something, called for an ambulance. Done anything except leave you in the dark. He was just waiting until he had actually good news to give you an update. You're sure of it.
You're just about done unlocking it when the door creaks open because Connor opened it for you.
“Hank is sober,” Connor tells you. “At least, I think he is. I’ll be staying with him tonight to make sure of it.”
You nod, dimly aware of the gist of what he said, and let out a shuddering breath of relief.
“Thank you for being here. For believing me when I told you that I felt there was cause for concern. I… you. This would have turned out so much worse if you hadn't been here today.”
Connor opens his mouth to speak but you cut him off completely by stepping forward and hugging him as tightly as you can because he just saved your dad's life and yours too by extension. You are never going to stop owing this man and can only feel grateful for the fact that he is who he is and so will never expect anything in return.
Because you're beginning to feel just a little afraid of the fact that you do not know what your limit is with him anymore. Probably you wouldn't give up your support of the Deviant cause if he asked you to. Probably. You're confused with an android often enough now that if someone received a notification that an android was attempting to break into the DPD it’d just… be you.
But part of you wonders if Cyberlife might make that a condition of allowing him to stay, giving up your support of the Deviants. You who’ve let most of the Deviants you find go because they're not threats to public safety.
You are after all, or at least you were, desperately fucking lonely. If Cyberlife offered to let Connor stay with you, permanently, in exchange for giving up your support of the Deviants you do not know what your answer would be right now. He's become too critical, too crucial for your everyday life.